For whatever reason, our building is infested with various endoskeletal creatures. The ELD teachers' rooms are especially infested, and they've learned, relatively quickly, that the women on the floor are the ones to call. The ones who don't mind bugs. The ones who can kill them with one pretty squish of the high heel. The men? Well, they go a bit white in the face and scream girlishly from the edges of their desks, bodies crouched and shaking.
I only exaggerate a little.
For some reason, however, two of the teachers have decided that I like bugs. Because three times now, I've gotten them as gifts. Now, the first, granted, was quite impressive-- a bright iridescent green beetle about an inch in diameter. He was cool. I put him in a little plastic container and placed him on the desk of Mr. X who, like some of my girly-girls, panic at the sight of any creature with more than four legs. (He, in turn, tried to scare my girl Monica with it by placing it either on or extremely close to her... but she just looked at it and said "Cool"... cus she's my girl. :) )
But then this week? I got a grasshopper. And then a cricket. The kids bring them to me with a smile, cupped hands. The transfer. And oh, lovely. Another insect to put in my room. Thank you. Let's think positively.... Now we can have an insect symphony. And crickets are good luck.
The other good thing about handling insects on a near-daily basis? I don't mind holding their squirming bodies so much anymore. In fact, just the other day, I was in the cafeteria when a cricket scampered across the floor in front of me. Jaleeza, one of my 8th grade girls, saw it and started screaming. (And if you know Jaleeza, you know that this is not pleasant--even her normal speaking voice is decibels above that of a jet engine taking off....)
"Oh my GOD what IS that THING?!" she shrieked.
"It's just a cricket," another girl replied, annoyed, as she was half squished by Jaleeza's squirming, terrified body.
I just grinned. And picked up the cricket. And started walking towards her.
"You want to get a closer look, Jaleeza?"
Oh, the screaming. And the laughter. Some days I just crack myself up. That ability? The greatest gift of all.
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
Snippets II
One of my students has this insane, plastered-down, curly hair. He looks like a Latino Ken doll, hair all plastic-y and one piece. Last week, I bribed him.... let the hair go, own it, and you get yourself some cookies. Two bags of Oreos? Deal.
So, Jesus let's the fro-go, I grin, pass over the goods, and then, Monday comes, and his bright, mouthy girlfriend Bryanna decides to poke a little fun at me.....Bryanna, possibly the only student who knows with absolute certainty that there is nothing going on between myself and Mr. F..... Bryanna who's just trying to give me shit.
Bryanna: "So, you're in love with Mr. Faulk. We know. Cuz you gave him TWO bags of cookies." Her eyes glint. A twisted little grin spirals on her face.
Me: "Well, by that logic.... I'm also dating Jesus. As, I gave him two bags of cookies on Friday as well."
Bryanna: "Back off Miss J! ...I thought I trusted you!" Sniff.
Well... stop givin' me lip, woman....and I'll stop.... Wow. Yeah. Gotta stop making comments like that before I get fired.
Course, I'm incorrigible. I need to keep myself entertained. So, the insanity continues.
Usually when the kids leave my room, I have the last kid flip off the light. This day, however, I flipped it off just as they started walking out.... The room blossomed with the requisite amount of ooOOOOoooos at the sudden darkness. And of course, I have to open my big mouth.
"I know it's all dark in here, but....no making out in my room! You hear me?"
The kids walk out, giggling.
"I'm serious. There will be no making out in here. This is a making out free zone."
Now I'm just asking for it.... Here comes Leslie....
"Oh come on Miss J, you KNOW if you had a boyfriend at this school youd be making out in here ALL THE TIME."
Err...... Wow.
So, Jesus let's the fro-go, I grin, pass over the goods, and then, Monday comes, and his bright, mouthy girlfriend Bryanna decides to poke a little fun at me.....Bryanna, possibly the only student who knows with absolute certainty that there is nothing going on between myself and Mr. F..... Bryanna who's just trying to give me shit.
Bryanna: "So, you're in love with Mr. Faulk. We know. Cuz you gave him TWO bags of cookies." Her eyes glint. A twisted little grin spirals on her face.
Me: "Well, by that logic.... I'm also dating Jesus. As, I gave him two bags of cookies on Friday as well."
Bryanna: "Back off Miss J! ...I thought I trusted you!" Sniff.
Well... stop givin' me lip, woman....and I'll stop.... Wow. Yeah. Gotta stop making comments like that before I get fired.
Course, I'm incorrigible. I need to keep myself entertained. So, the insanity continues.
Usually when the kids leave my room, I have the last kid flip off the light. This day, however, I flipped it off just as they started walking out.... The room blossomed with the requisite amount of ooOOOOoooos at the sudden darkness. And of course, I have to open my big mouth.
"I know it's all dark in here, but....no making out in my room! You hear me?"
The kids walk out, giggling.
"I'm serious. There will be no making out in here. This is a making out free zone."
Now I'm just asking for it.... Here comes Leslie....
"Oh come on Miss J, you KNOW if you had a boyfriend at this school youd be making out in here ALL THE TIME."
Err...... Wow.
Sunday, September 28, 2008
Perpetuation
So, remember that Boy? Well, here's the wee detail I neglected to mention, which makes the whole thing relevant to this blog-- he works with me. Let's call him Mr. X. (He's a math teacher. X is the most common letter used as a variable. And the situation is currently an "unknown".....Wow. Dorkiness prevails.... Don't tell anyone that you know and love me....)
Hence last post's "something I thought I would never do." Date a co-worker? Horrible idea! The rumor mill, the drama, being "that couple," having everyone know my business, the sea of broken 7th grade hearts....
No thank you!
Three things save me and make it all completely worth it:
1. The fact that he is (get your barf bags now) utterly, astonishingly, amazingly good to me.
2. The hilarious assumptions the kids make.
3. Mr. Faulk, my hero.
Let's go to #2. The kids, in all of their adolescent glory, assume that Mr. X is dating Ms. C-- the 8th grade math teacher (Should she be variable Y? Cus then they could be X and Y! Like on a coordinate grid!!!! .... Ohhhhh....here I go again. Pretty soon I'll be bustin' out algebraic equations...)
Anyhow, Ms. C's friendly and bouncy and platinum blonde and hilarious. X and C's rooms are right next door to each other and the best part? Adjoining window. Shenanigans ensuing? Oh yes. There is constantly a prank war going on.
Let's do the math here:
1. They're both math teachers. Common ground? Check.
2. He's an insufferable flirt. Enough said.
3. She's the type of girl that most guys go for.
And they get along. So clearly, clearly, they must be dating, right? Right?!
She's the type of teacher the boys think dirty thoughts about, and he's the kind of teacher the boys idolize (he's their coach) and the girls love even more (especially the way he hip-sways when he walks...according to Bryanna). So, of course, it seems like the match made in heaven.
X + C = LOVE (Awwwww yeaaaaah!)
Here's what the kids see: Mr. X and Ms. C walking together, laughing. Nearly every day.
Says two students: "Oh, Miss J, they have SUCH chemistry! You should see them. They're so good together."
Says me: "Oh yes. Definitely. Very cute."
What the kids don't know: The reason Ms. C is laughing? She's teasing Mr. X about me, and as his face starts to turn scarlet, or as he tries to deny whatever nonsense they both know is true... she bursts into laughter. Perfect.
The kids tell them about all of their dates, and Ms. C agrees with it all. From time to time, she tells them she's going to break up with him, and they scream and whine "No, Ms. C! Give him another chance! He's a really good guy!"
But, there's a glitch. There's a 9th grader who comes back to visit all the time, and for whatever reason, he's figured it out. I walked into Mr. X's room after school. Juan, the student, looked at me, looked at X and went "Mmm hmm."
Like "Oh, yeah. I got this."
He looked straight at X and said "You WILL be telling me by the end of the day who you are dating." And then stared me down. Broke into a grin. And walked out the door.
Shit, shit, shit! The problem isn't Juan knowing. The problem is that Juan's best friend's brother is an 8th grader. In my class. An 8th grader with an exceptionally large mouth. If Juan knows, his best friend will find out, which means his little brother will find out which means ....the entire school will erupt.
So, enter my savior, Mr. Faulk.
Thursday, between two of the last periods of the day, while at least 80 kids are standing out in the hallway, Mr. Faulk says "Miss J, dinner, Saturday?"
My eyes light up. I stop in my tracks, and twirl like the most excited girl in the world. My hair orbits wildly around my face. I brush it from my lips and look at him with wide, luminous doe eyes.
The kids go silent.
"Really?!"
He grins, seeing how totally full of shit I am. I nod, giggle girlishly, scamper around the corner, burst into laughter, and start down the steps as some of the kids start to go wild. Chimpanzees on parade. The oohing, the aahing, the excited cacophony erupting.
At duty, at the end of the day, a sea of kids swarm me.
"So, is it TRUE?! Is it TRUE, Miss J?!"
"Don't deny it, Miss J. I was THERE. I HEARD it!"
"SECRET LOVAHHH!"
I widened my eyes and blinked them innocently. "I don't know what you're talking about."
Denial, as you know, is a powerful tool. The more you deny it, the more they believe it. Damn, I'm good (but nothin' at all without the Faulkster).
The next day, to thank Mr. F, I brought him in two bags of those high-quality, Pepperidge farm cookies in the little white, aluminum lined bags. But did I deliver them myself? Ohhhh no. Think efficiency. Let's get that rumor mill workin' in my favor....
I had kids deliver them and worked it out so that each of my 4 classes would know me givin' F some suga' before the end of the day: first hour gives it to his first hour-- my third hour. Second hour gives it to his second hour-- my fourth hour. PERFECT!
On one bag, I stuck a pink post it note, Mr. Faulk, thank you so much for everything you've done for me....
By the end of the day, the kids were even more chaotically excited.
"You and Mr. Faulk can NOT stop talking about each other."
"You guys are like, so totally in love."
"Miss J, you'll never believe it!"
"What?"
"Mr. X is TOTALLY JEALOUS!"
"WHAT?!... er. I mean... what?"
"Well, he saw the cookies and tried to STEAL them. But Mr. F said "I know enough secrets about you that you do NOT want to take those cookies!" So, Mr. X stops in his tracks, turns and puts them back on the table. TOTALLY JEALOUS."
Oscar chimes in. "Totally. OOH! Ooooh! You know what you should do? You should write Mr. X a love letter to make Mr. F jealous."
Me: "But I'm friends with Ms. C. Won't that make her mad?"
Oscar: "No! Have her help you! Let her in on it!"
Me: "I'll keep that in mind....."
But again, Faulk comes to my rescue. This morning, Faulk told the kids how romantic our Saturday date was, how we shared and appetizer and desert to save on money. The kids ate it up and walked into my room with knowing grins on their faces.
The best part? Knowing that one day, they'll probably figure out the truth... and the looks on their faces when it dawns on them that we'd been messing with them the WHOLE TIME? Ohhh! It is going to be absolutely priceless.
Hence last post's "something I thought I would never do." Date a co-worker? Horrible idea! The rumor mill, the drama, being "that couple," having everyone know my business, the sea of broken 7th grade hearts....
No thank you!
Three things save me and make it all completely worth it:
1. The fact that he is (get your barf bags now) utterly, astonishingly, amazingly good to me.
2. The hilarious assumptions the kids make.
3. Mr. Faulk, my hero.
Let's go to #2. The kids, in all of their adolescent glory, assume that Mr. X is dating Ms. C-- the 8th grade math teacher (Should she be variable Y? Cus then they could be X and Y! Like on a coordinate grid!!!! .... Ohhhhh....here I go again. Pretty soon I'll be bustin' out algebraic equations...)
Anyhow, Ms. C's friendly and bouncy and platinum blonde and hilarious. X and C's rooms are right next door to each other and the best part? Adjoining window. Shenanigans ensuing? Oh yes. There is constantly a prank war going on.
Let's do the math here:
1. They're both math teachers. Common ground? Check.
2. He's an insufferable flirt. Enough said.
3. She's the type of girl that most guys go for.
And they get along. So clearly, clearly, they must be dating, right? Right?!
She's the type of teacher the boys think dirty thoughts about, and he's the kind of teacher the boys idolize (he's their coach) and the girls love even more (especially the way he hip-sways when he walks...according to Bryanna). So, of course, it seems like the match made in heaven.
X + C = LOVE (Awwwww yeaaaaah!)
Here's what the kids see: Mr. X and Ms. C walking together, laughing. Nearly every day.
Says two students: "Oh, Miss J, they have SUCH chemistry! You should see them. They're so good together."
Says me: "Oh yes. Definitely. Very cute."
What the kids don't know: The reason Ms. C is laughing? She's teasing Mr. X about me, and as his face starts to turn scarlet, or as he tries to deny whatever nonsense they both know is true... she bursts into laughter. Perfect.
The kids tell them about all of their dates, and Ms. C agrees with it all. From time to time, she tells them she's going to break up with him, and they scream and whine "No, Ms. C! Give him another chance! He's a really good guy!"
But, there's a glitch. There's a 9th grader who comes back to visit all the time, and for whatever reason, he's figured it out. I walked into Mr. X's room after school. Juan, the student, looked at me, looked at X and went "Mmm hmm."
Like "Oh, yeah. I got this."
He looked straight at X and said "You WILL be telling me by the end of the day who you are dating." And then stared me down. Broke into a grin. And walked out the door.
Shit, shit, shit! The problem isn't Juan knowing. The problem is that Juan's best friend's brother is an 8th grader. In my class. An 8th grader with an exceptionally large mouth. If Juan knows, his best friend will find out, which means his little brother will find out which means ....the entire school will erupt.
So, enter my savior, Mr. Faulk.
Thursday, between two of the last periods of the day, while at least 80 kids are standing out in the hallway, Mr. Faulk says "Miss J, dinner, Saturday?"
My eyes light up. I stop in my tracks, and twirl like the most excited girl in the world. My hair orbits wildly around my face. I brush it from my lips and look at him with wide, luminous doe eyes.
The kids go silent.
"Really?!"
He grins, seeing how totally full of shit I am. I nod, giggle girlishly, scamper around the corner, burst into laughter, and start down the steps as some of the kids start to go wild. Chimpanzees on parade. The oohing, the aahing, the excited cacophony erupting.
At duty, at the end of the day, a sea of kids swarm me.
"So, is it TRUE?! Is it TRUE, Miss J?!"
"Don't deny it, Miss J. I was THERE. I HEARD it!"
"SECRET LOVAHHH!"
I widened my eyes and blinked them innocently. "I don't know what you're talking about."
Denial, as you know, is a powerful tool. The more you deny it, the more they believe it. Damn, I'm good (but nothin' at all without the Faulkster).
The next day, to thank Mr. F, I brought him in two bags of those high-quality, Pepperidge farm cookies in the little white, aluminum lined bags. But did I deliver them myself? Ohhhh no. Think efficiency. Let's get that rumor mill workin' in my favor....
I had kids deliver them and worked it out so that each of my 4 classes would know me givin' F some suga' before the end of the day: first hour gives it to his first hour-- my third hour. Second hour gives it to his second hour-- my fourth hour. PERFECT!
On one bag, I stuck a pink post it note, Mr. Faulk, thank you so much for everything you've done for me....
By the end of the day, the kids were even more chaotically excited.
"You and Mr. Faulk can NOT stop talking about each other."
"You guys are like, so totally in love."
"Miss J, you'll never believe it!"
"What?"
"Mr. X is TOTALLY JEALOUS!"
"WHAT?!... er. I mean... what?"
"Well, he saw the cookies and tried to STEAL them. But Mr. F said "I know enough secrets about you that you do NOT want to take those cookies!" So, Mr. X stops in his tracks, turns and puts them back on the table. TOTALLY JEALOUS."
Oscar chimes in. "Totally. OOH! Ooooh! You know what you should do? You should write Mr. X a love letter to make Mr. F jealous."
Me: "But I'm friends with Ms. C. Won't that make her mad?"
Oscar: "No! Have her help you! Let her in on it!"
Me: "I'll keep that in mind....."
But again, Faulk comes to my rescue. This morning, Faulk told the kids how romantic our Saturday date was, how we shared and appetizer and desert to save on money. The kids ate it up and walked into my room with knowing grins on their faces.
The best part? Knowing that one day, they'll probably figure out the truth... and the looks on their faces when it dawns on them that we'd been messing with them the WHOLE TIME? Ohhh! It is going to be absolutely priceless.
Thursday, September 25, 2008
"INSTANT DEATH!"
A couple days ago, I got a new student.... seemed all spunky and intelligent, which I like. I like the punks. Today....
"So, if we're going to puzzle out what 'vapid valley girl' means, we have to look at the word vapid. What part of speech is it?"
"Its an adjective," new kid says with a scorn-filled smirk.
"It is? How do you know?"
"Because its describing."
"But, adverbs also describe. How do you know its not an adverb?"
A pause.
He looks me dead in the eye.
"What's your point?"
Now, its my turn to pause. Seriously? Did this kid just ask me what my point was?
"Well, both describe words. So what's the difference between an adjective and an adverb?"
"What's your point?"
AGAIN?! Okay. War. Let me roll up my sleeves, baby. I'm going to enjoy this.
I leaned forward, cold smile silently feathering across my face.
Quietly, grinning like a shark, I say "You really want to fight this with me?"
And from the back, Big William, one of my favorite kids from two years ago screams...
"Ohhhhhhhh! OOOOOOOhhh! Not smart! INSTANT DEATH! INSTANT DEATH!"
His smirk shrinks. Damn right, I think.
I grin wider. William has totally made my day. And now I am a predator. Instant death? Oh no. I'm gonna gut him. With a grin.
"Anyone? Difference between an adjective and an adverb?"
Iris, the most vain and one of the most intelligent girls in class says "Duhhhhh! An adjective modifies a NOUN and an adverb," she spits out the sarcasm, "an adverb modifies, oh I don't know... a VERB?" She shakes her head and rolls her eyes.
My grin has now reached epic proportions.
"Very good, Iris. Thank you."
I stare back at Newbie. I smile. And then playfully, I say "And there we have it. So, next time, maybe, if you want to be a smart alec and challenge me.... next time, it might be a good idea to know the right answer. Eh?"
He doesn't say anything. I've won this battle. I haven't let him ruffle me. He's testing me, seeing if I'm possibly smarter than he is. I've got to earn his respect yes, but the little bugger's got to earn mine too.
Later, I pulled him outside as the rest of the kids were working.
"Here's the thing. I like you. You're smart. You've got personality. You've got spunk. I like that. But you don't know me. And I don't know you. Those kids in there? I've known some of them for going on three years now. You've got three days. They've got my respect and I've got theirs, which is why I can play, which is why I can talk smack and get back to work. But you? I don't have your respect yet, and you don't have mine. So, we're not crossing that line. We're not playing until you know where that line is. So, when you've got MY respect, then, game's on. But until then? Sit back and learn. Fair?"
He shakes his head. "Yeah."
"Yes ma'am," I correct.
He looks at me, into my cold eyes, "Yes ma'am."
The coldness melts. I open the door for him. "Now, that's more like it. Welcome."
Booyah.
"So, if we're going to puzzle out what 'vapid valley girl' means, we have to look at the word vapid. What part of speech is it?"
"Its an adjective," new kid says with a scorn-filled smirk.
"It is? How do you know?"
"Because its describing."
"But, adverbs also describe. How do you know its not an adverb?"
A pause.
He looks me dead in the eye.
"What's your point?"
Now, its my turn to pause. Seriously? Did this kid just ask me what my point was?
"Well, both describe words. So what's the difference between an adjective and an adverb?"
"What's your point?"
AGAIN?! Okay. War. Let me roll up my sleeves, baby. I'm going to enjoy this.
I leaned forward, cold smile silently feathering across my face.
Quietly, grinning like a shark, I say "You really want to fight this with me?"
And from the back, Big William, one of my favorite kids from two years ago screams...
"Ohhhhhhhh! OOOOOOOhhh! Not smart! INSTANT DEATH! INSTANT DEATH!"
His smirk shrinks. Damn right, I think.
I grin wider. William has totally made my day. And now I am a predator. Instant death? Oh no. I'm gonna gut him. With a grin.
"Anyone? Difference between an adjective and an adverb?"
Iris, the most vain and one of the most intelligent girls in class says "Duhhhhh! An adjective modifies a NOUN and an adverb," she spits out the sarcasm, "an adverb modifies, oh I don't know... a VERB?" She shakes her head and rolls her eyes.
My grin has now reached epic proportions.
"Very good, Iris. Thank you."
I stare back at Newbie. I smile. And then playfully, I say "And there we have it. So, next time, maybe, if you want to be a smart alec and challenge me.... next time, it might be a good idea to know the right answer. Eh?"
He doesn't say anything. I've won this battle. I haven't let him ruffle me. He's testing me, seeing if I'm possibly smarter than he is. I've got to earn his respect yes, but the little bugger's got to earn mine too.
Later, I pulled him outside as the rest of the kids were working.
"Here's the thing. I like you. You're smart. You've got personality. You've got spunk. I like that. But you don't know me. And I don't know you. Those kids in there? I've known some of them for going on three years now. You've got three days. They've got my respect and I've got theirs, which is why I can play, which is why I can talk smack and get back to work. But you? I don't have your respect yet, and you don't have mine. So, we're not crossing that line. We're not playing until you know where that line is. So, when you've got MY respect, then, game's on. But until then? Sit back and learn. Fair?"
He shakes his head. "Yeah."
"Yes ma'am," I correct.
He looks at me, into my cold eyes, "Yes ma'am."
The coldness melts. I open the door for him. "Now, that's more like it. Welcome."
Booyah.
Phat.
Today, the principal came in to watch me teach. She sat in the back, typing away as I did my thing, acted ridiculous and had fun with my last hour class.
I wanted to recap a story I had told them the day before ... but none of them would summarize it for me. Suddenly one girl pierces the silence:
"You're FAT!"
I pretended to be horrified and shocked "I'M FAT?!?!? How.... I..... Oh my god.... How could you...."
"NO! In the STORY. In the STORY you were fat."
I ignore this.
"Oh my GOD, you're right I am fat," I replied. Then, my eyes sparkled....
"P-H-A-T, baby! Awwwwww, yeah!"
Later: "Okay, eyes, eyes, eyes, eyes. I need all your pretty little eyes on me please. I know I'm hideous and I'll probably turn you to stone... but I still need your eyes if you can bear to look at me for just a moment."
Later: "Thank you, my dear students, for making me look good in front of the principal. I mean, let's be honest here, I already look reaaaaaaaaally good, so its not much of a stretch."
Student: "Miss J, you have some serious issues with your personal appearance."
Student 2: "Yeah, first she was all acting like a narcissistic mirror-gazer, and she's acting like a hideous monstrosity, and now she's back to being like a vapid valley girl again."
Me: "Okay, first, I'm joking. And secondly, I did not teach you those insults so you could use them against me."
Student 2: "Can we use them against Mr. Faulk?"
Me: "OH yeah. Totally. Or, rather... maybe just teach them to him. Mr. Faulk has a small vocabulary."
Student 3: "Them's FIGHTIN' words, Miss J!"
Student 4: "We taught him halitosis so now he can say you have bad breath intelligently."
Me: "Again.... not supposed to use our intelligent insults.... against me. You punks."
Student 3: "You love us."
Me: "Yes, yes I do."
I wanted to recap a story I had told them the day before ... but none of them would summarize it for me. Suddenly one girl pierces the silence:
"You're FAT!"
I pretended to be horrified and shocked "I'M FAT?!?!? How.... I..... Oh my god.... How could you...."
"NO! In the STORY. In the STORY you were fat."
I ignore this.
"Oh my GOD, you're right I am fat," I replied. Then, my eyes sparkled....
"P-H-A-T, baby! Awwwwww, yeah!"
Later: "Okay, eyes, eyes, eyes, eyes. I need all your pretty little eyes on me please. I know I'm hideous and I'll probably turn you to stone... but I still need your eyes if you can bear to look at me for just a moment."
Later: "Thank you, my dear students, for making me look good in front of the principal. I mean, let's be honest here, I already look reaaaaaaaaally good, so its not much of a stretch."
Student: "Miss J, you have some serious issues with your personal appearance."
Student 2: "Yeah, first she was all acting like a narcissistic mirror-gazer, and she's acting like a hideous monstrosity, and now she's back to being like a vapid valley girl again."
Me: "Okay, first, I'm joking. And secondly, I did not teach you those insults so you could use them against me."
Student 2: "Can we use them against Mr. Faulk?"
Me: "OH yeah. Totally. Or, rather... maybe just teach them to him. Mr. Faulk has a small vocabulary."
Student 3: "Them's FIGHTIN' words, Miss J!"
Student 4: "We taught him halitosis so now he can say you have bad breath intelligently."
Me: "Again.... not supposed to use our intelligent insults.... against me. You punks."
Student 3: "You love us."
Me: "Yes, yes I do."
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
Taking Flight
So, while school has been taking up tons of time, as per usual, it isn't the reason I've been such a slime-mold about updating. The reason? I've been holding off sharing a story some of you already know. This blog, generally speaking, I reserve for school-related stories. Yet as any teacher knows, the two worlds become so utterly entwined sometimes, that stories are hard to separate. Plus, the situation was more delicate than sunbaked wings of a dragonfly. But, the time for being delicate has passed on to the time for being honest.
This year, as I've mentioned earlier, is a year for me. A year to write and draw and play and learn. A year for me to refuse to be boxed in. A year to really work on myself. A year to be undefinable. A year to say I have no regrets. A year to make myself the person I want to be in full. A year of good habits. A year for the soul. A year of friendship, of exploration, of adventure. A year for me.
So, I did something I never thought I'd do. Nope. Not skydiving. No to joining a shooting range. Also no to karate and horse whispering. No, even, to taking bootay-shaking classes. (Which, really, is a shame, no?)
Instead of all of those things..... I stirred up the drama pot something awful, got a terrible, terrible stomach ache, twisted my hands in frustration, furrowed my brow into crevasses and nearly gnawed off my bottom lip. Why? Because I'd been laughing, euphorically, for weeks.
That makes sense, right? To be terrified because I'd been skipping around, grin on my face, feeling free? Feeling like a flood of shimmering golden butterflies were swirling around me, lifting me gently me and giving me wings, strong and powerfully gliding. Monarchs in migration to warmer climates; monarchs migrating to better times. Feeling like, I can do anything. Floating, lifting, climbing into the stratosphere. Jettisoning into space. Propelling into wonder. Why? Again, if you know me at all, you know.
As it turns out, there's this boy......
WAIT!
Halt!
Stop now!
Quit thy eyes from reading! Turn off your brain completely! It's about to get sappy. And if sap causes the gag reflex or reverse-peristalsis... you will be hurling your Oreos all over your monitor! Cease, I say. (And desist! my mother would add)
No? Going to be difficult? Okay. You asked for it...
So it goes like this....
Girl invites boy to hang out, purely platonically. They've known of each other for a year, but don't really know one another at all. Girl is curious and sees a potential partner in crime; she is always on the lookout for a fellow mischief-maker, you see. So, boy and girl go to the bookstore, talk about nerdy mathematic/science-y things, eat lunch, dress up in ridiculous outfits and laugh, heads tilted to the heavens and chortling.... all day. Then, while walking amidst commerce, misty lights, and winking stars; among the sounds of laughing children and the splash of fountains, the girl has this thought, this sudden, epic, striking, lightning-bolt thought:
This boy is going to be one of my best friends.
She stops for a second, pauses her feet from chasing him through the fountain, and looks at him through half-squinted eyes. Eyelashes dotted and sparkling with droplets, eyes seemingly dotted with these watery sequins, she knows. A best friend. She can feel it. Being with him feels like being with every Great Friend I've ever had.
She also knows she's gleaming, and that it's not from the soft spray of water, its not the subtle glow of perspiration from the scampering. Its from the smile that glints in both sets of eyes. As children squeal and squeak, as the light glows blue, colored my neon lights, as the moon in its nearly-whole state beams, the girl, a guarded-ninja by trade.... becomes the little girl she is with only her best friend in the galaxy.
She realizes, (another lightning-bolt moment) that the whole time, she's been the Real Her. She's there, in all her glory. Every ounce of the Girl. There's no fear, no holding back. The silly voices and dances and nuances are all there. There's this feeling, this feeling of complete and utter comfort. Yes, this boy is going to be one of her best friends.
A week passes, a mere seven days, and hours of conversation helps bloom a budding friendship into an explosion of unfurled petals. The girl unleashes her darkest demons on the boy, unloads trunk-loads of baggage, spews her most horrid memories, and he doesn't flinch. She unleashes her total and complete Silly Monster... and he doesn't flinch. She opens the box of Utter and Rampant Denial and refuses to admit that the boy's actually kind of ridiculously adorable.... And he doesn't flinch. And so, the dastardly dance of flirtation begins. The girl, terrified of making waves, suddenly panics.
What if, what if, what if... what if this goes all to hell?
But then a Voice of Reason (named Liz) asks back "What if it doesn't?"
Another voice. "You're YOU when you're with him. And you're not always you."
A third voice with a possible smirk. "I could get behind that."
A fourth voice, absent, detached, not in-the-know, and far away. "So, when are you two going to hook up?"
A fifth voice with a raised eyebrow. "You like him. Own it. You can't stop smiling at your phone."
And so, favoring experience over stagnancy, adventure over routine, the girl takes a deep breath, spreads her tiny muscle-barren arms, let's go of the denial and the lingering fear, and lets the monarchs take her.
To be continued.....
This year, as I've mentioned earlier, is a year for me. A year to write and draw and play and learn. A year for me to refuse to be boxed in. A year to really work on myself. A year to be undefinable. A year to say I have no regrets. A year to make myself the person I want to be in full. A year of good habits. A year for the soul. A year of friendship, of exploration, of adventure. A year for me.
So, I did something I never thought I'd do. Nope. Not skydiving. No to joining a shooting range. Also no to karate and horse whispering. No, even, to taking bootay-shaking classes. (Which, really, is a shame, no?)
Instead of all of those things..... I stirred up the drama pot something awful, got a terrible, terrible stomach ache, twisted my hands in frustration, furrowed my brow into crevasses and nearly gnawed off my bottom lip. Why? Because I'd been laughing, euphorically, for weeks.
That makes sense, right? To be terrified because I'd been skipping around, grin on my face, feeling free? Feeling like a flood of shimmering golden butterflies were swirling around me, lifting me gently me and giving me wings, strong and powerfully gliding. Monarchs in migration to warmer climates; monarchs migrating to better times. Feeling like, I can do anything. Floating, lifting, climbing into the stratosphere. Jettisoning into space. Propelling into wonder. Why? Again, if you know me at all, you know.
As it turns out, there's this boy......
WAIT!
Halt!
Stop now!
Quit thy eyes from reading! Turn off your brain completely! It's about to get sappy. And if sap causes the gag reflex or reverse-peristalsis... you will be hurling your Oreos all over your monitor! Cease, I say. (And desist! my mother would add)
No? Going to be difficult? Okay. You asked for it...
So it goes like this....
Girl invites boy to hang out, purely platonically. They've known of each other for a year, but don't really know one another at all. Girl is curious and sees a potential partner in crime; she is always on the lookout for a fellow mischief-maker, you see. So, boy and girl go to the bookstore, talk about nerdy mathematic/science-y things, eat lunch, dress up in ridiculous outfits and laugh, heads tilted to the heavens and chortling.... all day. Then, while walking amidst commerce, misty lights, and winking stars; among the sounds of laughing children and the splash of fountains, the girl has this thought, this sudden, epic, striking, lightning-bolt thought:
This boy is going to be one of my best friends.
She stops for a second, pauses her feet from chasing him through the fountain, and looks at him through half-squinted eyes. Eyelashes dotted and sparkling with droplets, eyes seemingly dotted with these watery sequins, she knows. A best friend. She can feel it. Being with him feels like being with every Great Friend I've ever had.
She also knows she's gleaming, and that it's not from the soft spray of water, its not the subtle glow of perspiration from the scampering. Its from the smile that glints in both sets of eyes. As children squeal and squeak, as the light glows blue, colored my neon lights, as the moon in its nearly-whole state beams, the girl, a guarded-ninja by trade.... becomes the little girl she is with only her best friend in the galaxy.
She realizes, (another lightning-bolt moment) that the whole time, she's been the Real Her. She's there, in all her glory. Every ounce of the Girl. There's no fear, no holding back. The silly voices and dances and nuances are all there. There's this feeling, this feeling of complete and utter comfort. Yes, this boy is going to be one of her best friends.
A week passes, a mere seven days, and hours of conversation helps bloom a budding friendship into an explosion of unfurled petals. The girl unleashes her darkest demons on the boy, unloads trunk-loads of baggage, spews her most horrid memories, and he doesn't flinch. She unleashes her total and complete Silly Monster... and he doesn't flinch. She opens the box of Utter and Rampant Denial and refuses to admit that the boy's actually kind of ridiculously adorable.... And he doesn't flinch. And so, the dastardly dance of flirtation begins. The girl, terrified of making waves, suddenly panics.
What if, what if, what if... what if this goes all to hell?
But then a Voice of Reason (named Liz) asks back "What if it doesn't?"
Another voice. "You're YOU when you're with him. And you're not always you."
A third voice with a possible smirk. "I could get behind that."
A fourth voice, absent, detached, not in-the-know, and far away. "So, when are you two going to hook up?"
A fifth voice with a raised eyebrow. "You like him. Own it. You can't stop smiling at your phone."
And so, favoring experience over stagnancy, adventure over routine, the girl takes a deep breath, spreads her tiny muscle-barren arms, let's go of the denial and the lingering fear, and lets the monarchs take her.
To be continued.....
Speaking of Being an Ass...
So, this story involves Mr. Faulk again, and if you wouldn't know any better, you'd probably assume that I had a mad crush on him. The kids think I do, in fact, and sometimes refer to him as being my "secret lover," which, for reasons I'll make clear (eventually) I totally perpetuate. Oh yes. Mr. F? So dreamy.
Anyhow, a few days ago as I was walking my little darlings back from lunch, Mr. F handed me a cookie. Naturally, I started picking off chunks and eating it in front of my kids who all stood attentively in line. Attentively, of course, because they wanted me to share. HA! Oh, funny kids.
"OOOoooooo! Mr. Faulk gave Miss J a COOKIE!" (Give me some!)
"SECRET LOOOOOV-AHHHH!" (Can I have some?)
"oooOOOOOooooo!" (Miss J, where's mine?)
"Yep. Mr. Faulk. Is dreamy. And no, I'm not sharing. (You're mean!) Yes. I know. I'm terrible and evil and a dictator. Can we walk now?"
We walk a bit, I nibble my cookie, and one of my girls goes "You know, Miss J, for a little white girl you got BOOTY!"
Oh sweet lord. AGAIN!?
"1) No, I don't. 2) WHY ARE YOU LOOKING AT MY BUTT?! Sickos."
"No, really, Miss J. (turns to a friend) "She's got WAAAAY more booty than you do!"
"Nuh-uh!"
"Oh yeah. Miss J. Booooo-tayyyyy!" (girls crack up. I cover my butt and keep walking.)
Maybe that should be my rapper name, eh? Miss J Bootay? Once again, all I can do is shake my head.
Anyhow, a few days ago as I was walking my little darlings back from lunch, Mr. F handed me a cookie. Naturally, I started picking off chunks and eating it in front of my kids who all stood attentively in line. Attentively, of course, because they wanted me to share. HA! Oh, funny kids.
"OOOoooooo! Mr. Faulk gave Miss J a COOKIE!" (Give me some!)
"SECRET LOOOOOV-AHHHH!" (Can I have some?)
"oooOOOOOooooo!" (Miss J, where's mine?)
"Yep. Mr. Faulk. Is dreamy. And no, I'm not sharing. (You're mean!) Yes. I know. I'm terrible and evil and a dictator. Can we walk now?"
We walk a bit, I nibble my cookie, and one of my girls goes "You know, Miss J, for a little white girl you got BOOTY!"
Oh sweet lord. AGAIN!?
"1) No, I don't. 2) WHY ARE YOU LOOKING AT MY BUTT?! Sickos."
"No, really, Miss J. (turns to a friend) "She's got WAAAAY more booty than you do!"
"Nuh-uh!"
"Oh yeah. Miss J. Booooo-tayyyyy!" (girls crack up. I cover my butt and keep walking.)
Maybe that should be my rapper name, eh? Miss J Bootay? Once again, all I can do is shake my head.
Rapalicious Miss
Once again, let me apologize for being an ass.
I am sorry. I am an ass. I have neglected you for far too long and you have every right to smite me and give me leprosy. Or thumb your nose at me. Or some other such nonsense.
To get you to forgive me, I shall now write several entries. To delight you. Or, more so, to get myself out of this terrible, terrible mood I'm in. But more on that later.
I know it's been a horribly long time since I've written, and if you're a follower with any decent sort of regularity (or lack there of as I've been said ass), you know that about me by now-- I get all caught up in the moment and can't escape. Only for me, moments are like weeks.
Have hijinks ensued? Of course. Just today, while having story time, when my Smart board screen went black, instead of saying "could you put that back on please?" I looked at particularly sexually charged group of 8th graders and said "Could one of you tap that?"
Tap that.
Which, in the world of 8th graders is slang for... well, you know. Or, you should if you are in the know at all. Watch any ho-rap video.
What did they do? Cracked up. Rolled on the floor with tears in their eyes. No joke. (Course, we were on the floor to begin with so it wasn't much of a stretch for them to get there.) I, naturally, could NOT laugh as that would mean owning up to the fact that I'd realized what I'd said.
No, Leslie, I do not want you to have wild and dirty sex with the Smart board. *smacking forehead*
Also, I had earlier planned a rap-off with one of my fellow teachers. But, as life has it, we both got busy. I have my rap written, but do I have it memorized? Nope! Do I have my ghetto-fabulous outfit planned? Nope! Do I have my cheering hoard of fans... well, yes. Yes I do.
I had thoughts about not posting my raptastic-writing here as I know my fantastical team-mate does read this blog and wanted the rap to be a surprise.... but at this point.... well, its just too good to leave the rest of you waiting. So, for your utter amusement (moreso if you actually know the Wondrous Faulkster):
Mr. Faulk's Rap:...
Mr. Faulk be sayin’ that
I’m an albino
but rhino’s have more
flavor to savor than this
Florida native
who’s got less color
than vapor.
Rockin’ out polos,
Faulk be swinging solo
tryin to ride the
gansta wagon
sock pulled up neat
draggin’ feet and
and leanin’ like a cholo.
His pick up lines
lay lame like a possum,
a bit of a late blossom,
Fresh Prince of Glendale
since lederhosen was
awesome.
Oh wait I forgot
that’s never been in style
I kid you not
this mama’s boy’s got it
off by a mile.
Roots and suffxes
have him lustin’,
before class
busting out moves with
sass wondering where his
homies be at.
Sayin’ “What up dawg?”
wishin’ he was wearing a
backwards hat to cover
that forehead,
fillin’ me with dread
every time I see it
gleaming, beaming light
and waking up the
dead.
He’s so tough
bees flee when they see
that grin on his face
displacing his
scowl when he’s playin’
at being serious.
Or maybe
his fearful flailing displaces
all perilous insects from their
original places.
Either way, spiders
bees and outsiders
make him whirl,
spinnin’ and screamin’ like
a little school girl.
Hope he can spit
back rhymes like
a viper but thinkin’
he’s all hype and
hyper so far singing
only one line at a time.
What skills he’s got, its not
clear, so far only
“ain’t gonna be no
grindin’ up in here.”
Gimme a breath mint.
For a minute
hint that I smell
well, bring it on, Greggy
keep talking’ crap
but now you know that
this white girl can rap.
All's I gotsta do is add a "word, yo" at the end. That'll make me genuine, right? That and a pair of giant hoops that have my name curled in them in giant swirling script. Oh yes. I am 1) and ass but 2) also a badass. Right?...
I am sorry. I am an ass. I have neglected you for far too long and you have every right to smite me and give me leprosy. Or thumb your nose at me. Or some other such nonsense.
To get you to forgive me, I shall now write several entries. To delight you. Or, more so, to get myself out of this terrible, terrible mood I'm in. But more on that later.
I know it's been a horribly long time since I've written, and if you're a follower with any decent sort of regularity (or lack there of as I've been said ass), you know that about me by now-- I get all caught up in the moment and can't escape. Only for me, moments are like weeks.
Have hijinks ensued? Of course. Just today, while having story time, when my Smart board screen went black, instead of saying "could you put that back on please?" I looked at particularly sexually charged group of 8th graders and said "Could one of you tap that?"
Tap that.
Which, in the world of 8th graders is slang for... well, you know. Or, you should if you are in the know at all. Watch any ho-rap video.
What did they do? Cracked up. Rolled on the floor with tears in their eyes. No joke. (Course, we were on the floor to begin with so it wasn't much of a stretch for them to get there.) I, naturally, could NOT laugh as that would mean owning up to the fact that I'd realized what I'd said.
No, Leslie, I do not want you to have wild and dirty sex with the Smart board. *smacking forehead*
Also, I had earlier planned a rap-off with one of my fellow teachers. But, as life has it, we both got busy. I have my rap written, but do I have it memorized? Nope! Do I have my ghetto-fabulous outfit planned? Nope! Do I have my cheering hoard of fans... well, yes. Yes I do.
I had thoughts about not posting my raptastic-writing here as I know my fantastical team-mate does read this blog and wanted the rap to be a surprise.... but at this point.... well, its just too good to leave the rest of you waiting. So, for your utter amusement (moreso if you actually know the Wondrous Faulkster):
Mr. Faulk's Rap:...
Mr. Faulk be sayin’ that
I’m an albino
but rhino’s have more
flavor to savor than this
Florida native
who’s got less color
than vapor.
Rockin’ out polos,
Faulk be swinging solo
tryin to ride the
gansta wagon
sock pulled up neat
draggin’ feet and
and leanin’ like a cholo.
His pick up lines
lay lame like a possum,
a bit of a late blossom,
Fresh Prince of Glendale
since lederhosen was
awesome.
Oh wait I forgot
that’s never been in style
I kid you not
this mama’s boy’s got it
off by a mile.
Roots and suffxes
have him lustin’,
before class
busting out moves with
sass wondering where his
homies be at.
Sayin’ “What up dawg?”
wishin’ he was wearing a
backwards hat to cover
that forehead,
fillin’ me with dread
every time I see it
gleaming, beaming light
and waking up the
dead.
He’s so tough
bees flee when they see
that grin on his face
displacing his
scowl when he’s playin’
at being serious.
Or maybe
his fearful flailing displaces
all perilous insects from their
original places.
Either way, spiders
bees and outsiders
make him whirl,
spinnin’ and screamin’ like
a little school girl.
Hope he can spit
back rhymes like
a viper but thinkin’
he’s all hype and
hyper so far singing
only one line at a time.
What skills he’s got, its not
clear, so far only
“ain’t gonna be no
grindin’ up in here.”
Gimme a breath mint.
For a minute
hint that I smell
well, bring it on, Greggy
keep talking’ crap
but now you know that
this white girl can rap.
All's I gotsta do is add a "word, yo" at the end. That'll make me genuine, right? That and a pair of giant hoops that have my name curled in them in giant swirling script. Oh yes. I am 1) and ass but 2) also a badass. Right?...
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