Updates of Many Things!

Sneaky Lizard Update!

He has not been spotted at my house, but the other morning when I was leaving in the early hours to go to Algebra class, the clarion call had apparently been heard, because there were about four types of lizard on my front porch.  I ran on my tiptoes out of the house, squealing like a little girl under my breath so as not to wake up M2, whose window I was right outside.  And as I was squealing my way to my car, I ran face-first directly into a giant spiderweb.  Sometimes, I think God put me on Earth to entertain Him.  If so, I hope the resultant gyrations satisfied my purpose on Earth this week.

Algebra Class Update!

I got a 44 on my most recent algebra test.  In my defense, my new baby niece was born last Thursday, and I spent Wednesday night through Friday evening in South Texas, staying with my 13-month-old nephew while my sister-in-law was in the hospital.  So that put a crimp in my studying time.  That's my story and I'm sticking to it.  I don't know what the rest of the class's excuse is, though, because a 44 was the fourth highest grade in the class.  The highest grade was a 66 (two people had that), and the next-highest was a 53.  Then there was me.  I should elaborate on this.

I totally knew I was bombing the test while I was bombing it.  I could not get my brain to function, and promptly had a huge panic attack in the middle of the test.  I finally stopped torturing myself and turned in my test without even trying a bunch of the problems.  And then I immediately went home and cried in the bed until it was time to get the kids from school, skipping Radio and TV entirely.  Which was actually okay, because the Radio and TV guy didn't care.  So I felt guilty all day Monday for no reason.  This has actually happened to me before - in 2000, when I took this class the first time.  I bombed a test and left the testing center in tears, only to run into my high school algebra teacher in the hallway (NO LIE), who asked me what was wrong and then gave me a hug when I told her and said "Well, you always were a mess when it came to tests."  Nice to know I made a good impression on you, Miss Cooley.  Turned out that everybody in that class bombed that test, too, so she curved it.  I'm wondering now if maybe it was the same part of the subject matter.  Maybe rational expressions just are not for me.

The Final Exam is on May 9th.  Our instructor passed out the review packet today, and I feel pretty doggone good about it.  There are only about three rational expression questions, so I should be just fine.  I'm still going to study like a madwoman, and I sort of want to get a hotel room for the weekend so I can just hole up with my dear friend algebra and have a weekend-long tryst that will result in a good grade.  After the test, I'll have two weeks (srsly) until Intermediate Algebra begins.  And then in the Fall semester, College Algebra.  So two more semesters of this.  Le sigh.

Punctuation Matters!

It's amazing what a difference a hyphen can make.

"I am so sick of these stupid-ass hairs getting in my mouth."

OR

"I am so sick of these stupid ass-hairs getting in my mouth."

Misplace the hyphen at your peril.

The Great Algebra Debacle of Last Week, Pt. 2

Tutoring starts at noon on Sundays.  Spike has suggested that perhaps I should go get something to eat and then go to tutoring.  I, being convinced that the early bird gets the worm, agree to do that (in theory) and then ignore him entirely (in practice).  This was a mistake.

I get to the Learning Lab at 11:45.  I wait patiently for the doors to open.  Once they do, I sign in like I know I'm supposed to, and then I stand there awkwardly for a moment because I don't know the protocol.  Then I realize that the tables are sort of sectioned off by subject matter.  I find a "MATH" table and sit, waiting patiently because I still have no idea what to do.  After a few minutes, a guy who looks exactly like an Asian Harry Potter comes and sits down next to me.  He says "Are you waiting for a tutor?"  I nod.  He says "You have to raise your hand and one will come to you."  I start to raise my hand, but he says, "I'm a tutor."

Of course you are.  And you better use your fucking wizard magic to make me understand this motherfucking algebra, because I am a woman on the edge.

He sits down next to me, and the weirdest goddamn thing happens.  You know how, when your car starts making a funny noise and you take it to a mechanic and then suddenly it's working fine?  That's what happened with my brain.  I sat down with Asian Harry Potter and I could suddenly do it again.  So, because I felt dumb for coming to tutoring when there's obviously nothing wrong my comprehension, I blurt out the entire story: Drunky, the kolaches, the weeping, everything.  He gives me the side-eye and then says "Well, maybe you shouldn't have drunk friends over when you're trying to do homework.  In fact, maybe you shouldn't do your homework at home.  Ever."

Thank you, Asian Harry Potter, for your wisdom.

So, there I sit.  I work on algebra until it's all done.  Four and a half hours later, I get in the car to go home.  By this time, I'm starving.  I still haven't eaten anything.  I go to a nearby gas station to get gas and some caffeine and decide to eat a gas station hotdog.  You'd think I would have learned something from the stomach bug, but apparently not.  However, God or my guardian angel or whatever was looking out for me, because they were out of hotdogs.

My brain completely jellified by lack of food and four and a half hours of algebra, it's all I can do to drive myself home.  The soundtrack for the drive was Coldplay, accented by shuddering, weepy sighs, because piano and Chris Martin's voice is about all I can handle at the moment.

When I walk in the door, Spike takes one look at me and says "Go to bed.  I'll get you up at seven."

So I do.  And then the next day, it's test day.

The snakes are fully back in my belly, because I haven't been this haphazard about my algebra all semester long.  I sit down at my little table in the classroom with my test.  I look down at it and realize:

I was so worried about getting the homework and quizzes done that I forgot to review the older stuff for the test.

Amazingly, I hold it together.  I do the test-prep thing of answering all the questions I think I know and then going back to the ones I don't know quite as well.  I turn in the test and trudge slowly outside, feet heavy with the weight of knowing that I have completely fucked myself in the ass.

And then I start this blog.  I've been so wrapped up in picking out the stories to tell for this blog that I completely forgot to obsess over the test result.

I got my test back this morning.

I got an 87.

I don't care if I have Ebola.  I am never missing a class again.

Elementary, my dear Algebra

I'm taking Elementary Algebra.  Again.

My first trip through CCC, I took Elementary Algebra and got a big fat A.  I was so proud.  That was ten years ago.

When I met with my advisor at the beginning of this current (and last!  I swear it will be the last!) try, she looked through my grades from before and said "You can go straight in to Intermediate Algebra, and when you're done with that, you'll be math-ready."  I was pretty sure she was crazy because I haven't done any algebra whatsoever in the intervening ten years, but she was the expert, so I said okay.

Then I got my textbook and leafed through it.  Upon looking at all the Intermediate Algebra stretched ahead of me, I felt panic like I have seldom felt panic before.  This panic was worse than the panic you feel when you have unexpected guests call and say "I'm fifteen minutes away, can I drop in?" and you look around and realize that you have dirty underwear hanging from the ceiling fans and ten days' worth of dirty dishes in the sink and only fifteen minutes to hide it all in a closet.  This was like snakes-in-the-belly panic.  I could have gone to school in my underwear and felt better about myself than I did the first day of Intermediate Algebra.

It was a Saturday morning class, and I got there early hoping to talk to the instructor.  When she came in, she was my age.  Or maybe a little younger.  More snakes in the belly.  I explained briefly my situation, and she told me, very kindly, that I could take the pretest if I wanted to, but she would recommend revisiting Elementary Algebra.  I agreed and fled that class faster than I have ever fled anything in my life.  I couldn't have run from a ticking time-bomb faster than I ran from that classroom.  I ran to my truck as if chased by rabid linear equations.

The following Monday, I went back to the advisor and very politely refrained from telling her that she was not very good at her job.  I told her what had happened and then proceeded to spend the following three hours getting Special Dispensation from the Pope to transfer to Elementary Algebra.  The only section still admitting students was one at 7:30am, but at least it was at a campus that was easy to get to, and, in fact, in the very room where my Introduction to Radio and Television class was held just a couple hours later.

The professor for this class also teaches Basic Math Skills.  Our homework and quizzes are completely online with examples and animations and help solving problems (except not on the quizzes).  This is exactly where I need to be.  Even better, after almost twenty years of not understanding slope, this amazing man and his newfangled machinery finally helped me figure it out.  My homework grades are fantastic, my quiz grades are fantastic, there are opportunities for extra points on tests.... it's good.  I'm not the dumbest person in the class.  My self-esteem is fantastic.

Then, I caught a stomach bug.  And not just any old stomach bug.  It came upon me with very little warning.  I bought a box of Girl Scout Cookies and before I could even open them, I was throwing up in the parking lot of my local convenience store, right in front of the intrepid Girl Scout who had sold me the cookies in the first place.  Sorry, Girl Scout.  I hope she didn't have nightmares.

That was on a Tuesday evening.  I managed to take the kids to the Book Fair, but their dad had to take them to Math and Science Night, while I laid in bed, periodically running to the bathroom and trying my hardest not to die.  It was a lot harder than it sounds.

This moment, however innocuous, was the first step in the Great Algebra Debacle of Last Week.