So last night I am dancing with Captain Hot, and he says "Bunni, would you like to marry a Russian man?"


Timing is so everything in life.


"No."


"No, is not me, is good guy."


"All Russian men are bad. ."


"No, this one is good. Really. He's gay."


Now what one Earth makes him think that I want a Russian gay green card husband? You mean I don't even get the occassional fuck? Please. What kind of deal is that? I mean, I suppose I could use the interior design advice, but the Russians aren't really known for their decor.


What's really sad is this is the SECOND offer for a gay green card husband I've had this year.
The Divine Miss P, also known as my cat, is a rather engaging conversationalist. No, I do not think she actually speaks to me, but she has a a very expressive face. And trust me no one does effortless disdain like a cat. The French only wish they were so good at it.


The other night my cellphone rang while I was in bed. My cat and I were in our regular configuration. She was stretched out at my feet looking away from me, as if to guard me from harm or more likely to prevent burgulars from taking her cat food. She was unphased by the conversation. After I hung up the phone, Isaid to P "I own him." Generally when I speak of men in terms of real estate, it is not a good thing. It means that they have so failed to impress me with their, well, whatever it is men are supposed to have, that I have successfully objectified them to the point I can visit any torture I wish upon them without feeling guilty. My cat opened her yellow eyes wide, "This is supposed to be a good thing, I take it?"
"Well, yes, I could use the ego stroke."
She narrowed her eyes, not closing them, "What the hell is the point of this little exercize? You know this won't last."
"How do I know this?"
She rolled onto her back pointing her toes "Oh, puh-lease the guy doesn't like cats, and you know that means things won't last."
"How does his allergy to cats doom us?"
She rolled onto her side again slowly flicking her tail. "OK let me make it simple, if you had to choose between men and cats, you would choose cats because how many times A DAY do you say you hate men? And how many times have you EVER said you hate cats?"
This is a point. I have never for the record said that I hated cats or even a specific cat. Perhaps dislike, but never hated a cat.
She started to close her eyes again. "Let's face it. If I was a man, I would be the perfect guy for you. Ok so neither us is into the lesbian interspecies thing. The universe is a cruel place. All these men you keep looking for a stand in for me. I mean Ivan was just a cheap hairless P imposter with a cock. Christ he wasn't even that much bigger than me. And incidentally the next time you decide to evict me from my sleeping spot can you show a little more taste."
"Don't start with me. You liked UDR."
She cast a look of disdain over her shoulder. "Oh you would have the bad taste to bring that up."
"Alright well you don't have worry about this one because he's allergic. He won't evict you."
"You know, sometimes I think there is no point talking to people. Then I talk to you and I know it."
NYU is having a classroom crunch this year.


Let me say that again.



For some reason that, even considering my vast intellect, I can not conceive, NYU is having trouble finding classrooms for all of its classes. I, for example, walked into my 15 person class to find that I was in a room large enough for eleven sewer rats. Now part of the reason I opted out of teaching for public schools was to avoid this very problem. I shouldn't have to be calling up people the second week of classes and saying "Uh, yeah, unless you want my students to sit on each other's laps you NEED to get me a new classroom. By next week."


Since my non-accepted resignation, everyone here, including the year long supervisor, has gone out of their way to talk me into not leaving. They give me long lectures hypothesizing about the psychology of Queeg, they give me the St Crispin's Day "By quitting you're only letting her win" raise your battle axe high exhortations, and the desperate "please don't leave me alone with the rest of these nutsos" pleas. I have given up trying to explain that I am not leaving because of this one incident. I am leaving because I should have left a while ago, which is what that meeting made me realize. This job was never intended to be permanenet. It was intended to be a nice thing on my resume to get me another better paying job, you know, one that might actually get me health insurance. And although it is flattering to hear how highly others think of my work and how much my co workers want me to stay unfortunately neither of those things will cover my rent increase. Or get me published. Or make me happy.


And that last one is really the bottom line. I am perhaps an idealist having been raised as an only child in fairly isolated circumstances with a great deal of literature, but I think I need to find a path towards something that is not only more significant, but more satisfying to me personally.


This, honestly, is not what I wanted to write about on this blog. I've been trying to make the blog more about writing and less about "So this is what is going on here" but the encouragement that I've gotten from you all has been touching. But after this, back to writing about being Pantless in the Poconos and the further Adventures of Capt. Hot.


Speaking of Hot, he informed me that he is going back to Russia. I think this is a good idea as I am sick of his whining, although I will miss his little linguistic ticks. For example, he referred to a coffin as a "tuxedo made of trees" and then accused English of being a language for stones. Then of course he told me that Americans aren't really free because all we do is work. He actually said to me, "It's not your fault. It's the system. You aren't free. You aren't alive." Considering what I read about the Soviet Union at Ivan the Imbecile's blog, this evaluation is in stark contrast. I tend to agree with Hot's evaluation that many of us are not free here, especially now so terrified are we of bad credit ratings and the idea that one's work is considered the most important aspect of personal identity (and mate evaluation). Still to be told days after resigning that I'm not alive and not free is rather insulting. And then he told me he wouldn't miss me I when he goes back to Russia because he will be having too much fun. Yeah, well let's just see how quickly I replace him because there are LOTS OF MEN, honey, who roll their rrrrs. And I'm gonna find me one who is NOT from Russia and make him feel very lucky that he is not a Russian, and never will be.
So I resigned from my job last week.


Kind of.


I honestly don't want to go into details for a variety of reasons one of which being I just don't have the strength to relive the soul sapping meeting that lead to this decision. To make a long story short there is a person who here who wants me to quit. Much like Captain Queeg, she is convinced that people are "out to get her" and much like Queeg she refuses to see that any "persecution" she experiences she has brought upon herself. I haven't dealt with this much insanity since my father was put in the Institute of Living. (The Institute of Living is a rather interestingly named looney bin. I would think the Institute of Coping would be a better name.) Anyway Queeg isn't going to get fired nor will she retire and although she doesn't have much power she has enough to make my life miserable. And I have more than reached my quota on miserable and dealing with insanity. I think we all know that Chez Lapin we hit our crazy quota for the year thanks to one person. In fact, I'm might be stocked up for two or three. So I resigned.


Except that my resignation won't actually take effect until May.


And the year long supervisor refused to accept it.


But I meant it and I stand by it. I will NOT continue working here for another year.


Now a lot of you have already extended a lot of support and for that I thank you because I may have fucked up my life in some pretty creative and important ways, but at the very least I have managed to attract some fabulously good friends. But really this isn't the horror show you might imagine it to be. First of all this job was supposed to be temporary. Second I've gone as high as I can here. My rent keeps going up, my salary won't. So basically I need to look for a new job anyway. So really, things aren't so bad.


Lord help me, I actually sound like an optimist.