Since talking about how "teachers get the summer's off" will only thwart my calm, I've decided to tell you about the many happenings of mine instead of cursing and turning into a vitriol filled banshee.
So, recently, as in, 24 hours ago, I signed up at roommates.com. Currently, I am living with a friend/coworker, but her place is eons away from anything and everything else. Friends are 35 minutes to an hour away, grocery store/bookstore/Target.... similarly. Its very pretty and very isolating. So, I thought, hell, I'll wander. See if anything good pops up.
On the site, I placed a picture (called by a friend to be JC Penney's catalogue worthy) of my sister, grandmother and myself. I also placed picture of my overwhelmingly handsome cat, and low-quality snapshot of myself in my new glasses (the ones that make me look like I should be saying something like "Gimme two more seconds! I can hack into the mainframe!"). All three, lacking of bosoms, lacking of pouty lips or any type of sexiness of any kind.
Not a day passes, when I receive this e-mail.
" Hi there! YOU look fairly normal :) Let me know if you'd be interested in renting from me. Also I have another ad on mysapce for rental."
I look at the person's page and see he is 34. A musician. And clearly wayyy too fond of his own appearance. Is that a glamor shot? Good god. I go back to my profile. I see that it clearly says I am 25, do NOT want to live with men, am a teacher... and not much else. Okay. So, I'm safe.
I decide to let him down softly. Because, although its clear that he thinks he's hotter than fresh horse dung... he hasn't done anything to offend.
"You know, I AM fairly normal... as much as a middle school science teacher can be, anyhow. Unfortunately, your place's location doesn't suit me, and I'm not the type of girl who moves in with strange musicians.
Your house looks beautiful though. Good luck on your quest."
And then, I get two emails. In rapid succession... What, I think, is this guy waiting by his computer?
"mmmm.. just saw your other pic. LOVE the glasses...and lips! Holy lips!
Anyway, since you're not moving in...call me! Or text me...seriously. I would love to chat or maybe even see your lips in person ?
Rodney
*** *** ****
waiting
cmon pretty head....let's see what ya got"
Followed by:
" hmmm come to think of it I love the hair too. Stop it already"
Oh god. Really? Seriously? Two minutes and you're already talking about my lips? C'mon pretty head? Let's see what you've got? More than YOU can handle!!! You...are a douche-bag. Bona fide. And I am disgusted.
But once again, just to torture myself mostly, I decide to be nice. This guy doesn't know where I live, doesn't know anything, clearly. He probably thinks I'm some little, impressionable chicky who will be flattered by his attentions. So...
"Wow. You're ... a terrible flirt. Sorry, but pretty boys with compliments dripping from their lips don't impress me. Good bye."
And now I see that this... was a challenge. I should have stuck with my instincts. Because what I got next, made me do several things.... One, involves unbridled laughter. The other involves uncontrollable vomiting. Here, in it's unedited glory, is Rodney's masterpiece.
Once upon a time in the land of non-originality, a pretty boy was searching for a roommate on the internet. "Wow" he thought unimaginatively, "girls are good."
He pondered.
Even though he had no idea what ponder meant. Then he had an idea. "I will do something, maybe!" he shouted to himself aloud quietly. And he nearly did, but forgot what it was going to be...so he took a nap and had a sandwich when he awoke. In his mind he pronounced it 'samwich" like every other ignorant modern day pretty boy in the land of clones.
Then it happened.
With a click of the mouse he landed on a page so different, so engaging, so pure and titillatingly elegant, his entire world changed (if only for a moment).
Suddenly there was color where grey had been, song where there was silence, and the "d" pronounced in sandwich. He was struck. Awe-struck if you will...and even if you won't. His eyes soaked in the beauty...the lips...the hair...the funky glasses and the golden cat (not so exciting but still fun to look at) and his simple, unimaginative self stood up and made a pledge.
"I will know this woman. I will speak to her and picture her lips moving when she speaks my name. I will stand close enough to her to smell her skin, yet far enough from her so that I don't step on her toe. I will do all these things because in my simple visual world, she has turned on a light (energy conserving flourescent) in a place that has only known darkness. Plus she's hot."
He finished the last bite of his sandwich and did a set of curls with a nearby dumbell and proudly looked at his reflection and thought, "I love things."
He waited by his phone, for surely a man of such character and command of prose would deserved a call or at the very least a text from this ruby lipped earth angel.
So he waited....
Okay. Where to begin?
1. "Girls are good"... at WHAT? What does that MEAN? "He shouted to himself aloud quietly." Is that supposed to be deep and artistic? And forgive me... but are you trying to rhyme? In every paragraph? Is that where this drivel is coming from? Hold the phones. Did you just write "Plus, she's hot."? I... have no words. No words for that. Other than maybe... I am feeling my lunch starting to defy gravity.
2. Hello, Narcissus. You love things, eh? Like.... your own biceps? Do you look at women with as much lust as you look at YOURSELF? I have a few things you could do with that dumbbell.... And ruby lipped earth angel? Ha! Are you using magnetic poetry?
3. Command of prose. Right. You talk about sammiches and how you don't know the definition of "ponder." Also, you are RHYMING. That makes it some sort of poetry/prose chimera. And lastly....I will show you command of language! *shaking of fist*
4. Wait. Did refer to my lips again? You did. Okay. Now, you're going down.... but....
5. As much as I want to smack your ass back down to earth, you are going to have to keep waiting. Because you don't want to.
So now, now it's a game. I know that whatever I do from this point will just egg him on. I'm not an idiot. But it's also clear that this guy has to be taken down a few notches. A few...dozen notches. And, you know, I'm pretty good at that sort of thing. I've been wanting to get back into writing, and I've been especially wanting to back into poetry. So, I will simultaneously fulfill both aspects--cut a few of his trees down while polishing my skills.
I present, my rebuttal: (which, for the record, I haven't sent yet... I want to make him wait a while... because I am pure, concentrated evil.)
Twilight blossoming,
nomadically wandering
through created spaces
searching for my own abode
in places shady
not good enough for this little lady
preposterous prices
girls with vices and
people hiding thoughts filled by
malady
Then, hilarious
(possibly nefarious)
meanderings from pretty boys
who probably please most
lasses by
swooning, crooning and showing
off muscles, but this time,
criticized
supersized by dumbbell action
hoping for friction but I’ve got
traction
Perhaps it’s pessimistic
but seemingly narcissistic
mirror-gazing boys
who think they’re impressive enough
to hit on this Rolls Royce
(attempting rosy prose and
making internal wagers)
still won’t be able to savor
this wordsmith’s “beauty”
chronic spontaneity or
much of her behavior
Time for truth-telling
get your soothsayer
this girl’s genuine, fierce and
not sanguine, proposing that
you’re just a player
say your arms are flexing but
vexing me, this ego of
monstrosity has made
optic cord damage from
rolling eyes beneath lids
call me titillating and
I’ll think you an annelid
giving already reasons
to be wary
complimenting lips and not
my vocabulary
Aaaaand bow. Take THAT, you goon.
I will keep you all posted.....
Friday, June 20, 2008
Wednesday, June 04, 2008
Of Age
School is officially out for the summer! With joy and elation, I pranced like the most festive and rainbow striped of all gazelles.
To celebrate, I slept many hours, spent some time terrorizing a boy, and went to see the new Sex in the City movie with friends.
Disclaimer: I am not a Sex in the City person. I'd seen a couple early episodes and thought it was petty and trite and awful. There was not one character that I identified with, and though the show was largely about single women in NYC doing it on their own, the focus on fashion (boring) and sex (less boring but really... that's all you have to talk about?) left me rolling my eyes so many times I think I saw more of the inside of my eyelid than the screen. BUT, because I wanted to hang out with my girls, I went. To a matinée.
It goes like this.
I say, somewhat embarrassed and with disbelief, "One for the 4:20 Sex in the City."
The young pony-tailed girl behind the glass replies, "That'll be...blah blah blah too much money."
I hand over my credit card, she asks for ID. All's well and good. Except for the fact that I am paying to see a movie I'm not interested in.
She stares at my ID for what seems like half a century, and I'm thinking "How long does it take to compare my name with the name on the card?"
And then it dawns on me.
That isn't what she's doing. Frantically, my mind struggles to come up with other explanations than the one I know to be true. Finally, the words slip out of her mouth, making my fear a reality.
"Wow! You just look so YOUNG!"
.... I GOT CARDED. At the THEATRE.
Un...believable.
It's not like I was seeing some slasher movie at 10:30, all dressed up in black, hanging out with my obviously emo friends, wearing mermaid-like eye glitter, chucks and moodily enhancing my tresses with a strand of hot pink. Come on!!
For shame. One of these days, one of these glorious days, I'll look of age.
.
To celebrate, I slept many hours, spent some time terrorizing a boy, and went to see the new Sex in the City movie with friends.
Disclaimer: I am not a Sex in the City person. I'd seen a couple early episodes and thought it was petty and trite and awful. There was not one character that I identified with, and though the show was largely about single women in NYC doing it on their own, the focus on fashion (boring) and sex (less boring but really... that's all you have to talk about?) left me rolling my eyes so many times I think I saw more of the inside of my eyelid than the screen. BUT, because I wanted to hang out with my girls, I went. To a matinée.
It goes like this.
I say, somewhat embarrassed and with disbelief, "One for the 4:20 Sex in the City."
The young pony-tailed girl behind the glass replies, "That'll be...blah blah blah too much money."
I hand over my credit card, she asks for ID. All's well and good. Except for the fact that I am paying to see a movie I'm not interested in.
She stares at my ID for what seems like half a century, and I'm thinking "How long does it take to compare my name with the name on the card?"
And then it dawns on me.
That isn't what she's doing. Frantically, my mind struggles to come up with other explanations than the one I know to be true. Finally, the words slip out of her mouth, making my fear a reality.
"Wow! You just look so YOUNG!"
.... I GOT CARDED. At the THEATRE.
Un...believable.
It's not like I was seeing some slasher movie at 10:30, all dressed up in black, hanging out with my obviously emo friends, wearing mermaid-like eye glitter, chucks and moodily enhancing my tresses with a strand of hot pink. Come on!!
For shame. One of these days, one of these glorious days, I'll look of age.
.
Thursday, May 22, 2008
You're like... a 50!
The following is a conversation I had with my class today. I hadn’t planned on sharing this with them, but… well, we’re close. My comments are in bold. Enjoy.
Miss J are you texting again?
Nope, but I just got one.
From your best friend again?
Nope.
From who? Why are you smiling?
No reason.
Yeah right. You’ve been smiling all week.
Okay, okay. You want to know?
Yeah!
Really?
Yeah!
Are you totally sure? Cuz it might kind of gross you out.
Come on!
No seriously, you guys get weirded out if you see me in the grocery store.
Tell us!
Fine. Sigh. I went on a date.
*gasp!*
What?! Lucky guy! Was it Edgar?
No!
If Edgar was older would you date him? [Class cracks up]
No!
Would you date a 16 year old?
And again… NO. That’s just gross. Not to mention illegal. And also gross.
How old does a person have to be for you to date them?
Uhh… at least 23. No older than 30.
Hey! If you add me and Lorenzo, that makes 24! I can just sit on his shoulders and wear a long jacket!
Nice problem solving, guys.
How old is he?
26.
Oh, he’s older than you. But not too old. That’s good.
Yes, it is.
Is he cuter than your old boyfriend? On a scale of 1-10 what would you rate him?
You’re like, a 50, Miss J!
Did you upgrade, Miss J?
Guys… good lord. Don’t get carried away. It was one date.
Yeah, but you’ve been grinning all week.
So?
So it must be good.
How’d you meet?
He’s a friend of a friend.
Oh! Your friend gave you the hook up? Nice! You should thank her.
Is he Mexican? Is he Japanese? Is he a Pacific Islander?
No, you morons, he’s AMERICAN.
Did your dad get ever get mad when you brought home boys?
Well, if it was a boy that was my friend, he’d steal them, show them all his guns in the basement, and take them shooting. Then I’d be lonely. If it was a guy I wanted to date, dad would bring the gun upstairs and clean it. [Swipe, swipe. Dangerous expression…] When will you be bringing my daughter home?
Miss J! You should bring him in to show and tell.
That’s a terrible idea. In the beginning of the year, Panerio wanted to punch out my last boyfriend and “take me as his own” if I recall correctly.
Don’t worry, Miss J, I won’t bring my shotgun
Thanks, Meza. That’s kind of you.
Miss J, did he do the cheesy stretch thing? You know like yawwwwn! Streeeeetch!
No, no he’s not that cheesy.
Yeah, he’s probably really smart, huh? You wouldn’t go out with a dumb boy. What did you talk about?
Told stories. Talked about people hallucinating in the Amazon rainforest. You know. Science. History. Life.
You talked about SCHOOL STUFF?
Guys, I hate to tell you this, but intelligent people need more to talk about than themselves and other people. You gotta know what’s going on in the world so you have something interesting to say. I don’t always want to be the teacher, you know? Sometimes I want someone to tell me something I don’t know. Sometimes I want someone who has the same information already so we can share.
Nerd!
Yeah, yeah. Like you didn’t already know this about me.
If a girl started talking about history, I’d be like, see ya!
That’s because you’re 12.
Are his hands sweaty? Does he have a mustache? Are his armpits hairy? Do you want to kiss him? DID you kiss him? Is he strong? Is he stronger than Gerome? Gerome’s got like, little rocks in his arms! Could he take out Gerome?
Oh, I don’t know. I think Gerome might have a good shot at kicking his butt. [Gerome, tiny and adorable, grins]
Does he have a tattoo?
I don’t know if he has a tattoo or not, seeing as how all of his clothing remained ON in the movie theatre.
[Class cracks up]
I bet he has a little star tattooed right on his butt.
I bet you’re right. Lorenzo. I’ll ask him.
Would you stop dating him if he had Winnie the Pooh tattooed on his butt?
Is he rich?
Who cares?
Did he use breath freshener?
I have no idea. But I did.
Yeah right, you did not!
I did! [whips it out of my bag] You don’t want to sit be that close to someone and insult their senses.
Woooo! Go Miss J.
Is he really loud?
Naw, of the two of us, he’s the shy one. I’m the flirt.
If he tried anything would you smack him?
Oh totally. Without even thinking.
So…..have you had to smack him?
Ha! You guys are awful.
What does he look like? Does he look like Meza? Can you bring in a picture?
Does he have spiky hair?
Does he have a flat-top with lightning bolts cut in the sides?
Yes.
Really?!
No.
Damn!
Ha! Okay. We done? Can we talk about biodiversity? Or do you have anything else to throw at me?
What if you were at his house at like 1 am and….
Jacob, where is this going?
I better not finish it.
Jacob, you’re a pervert. Miss J is no ho.
Thank you, Adrian. You are correct. I not a ho. So, science. Who wants to know how plants have sex?
Oh! I do, I do!
That’s what I thought. Check this out….
.
Many thanks to Rapunzel the Koala :)
Miss J are you texting again?
Nope, but I just got one.
From your best friend again?
Nope.
From who? Why are you smiling?
No reason.
Yeah right. You’ve been smiling all week.
Okay, okay. You want to know?
Yeah!
Really?
Yeah!
Are you totally sure? Cuz it might kind of gross you out.
Come on!
No seriously, you guys get weirded out if you see me in the grocery store.
Tell us!
Fine. Sigh. I went on a date.
*gasp!*
What?! Lucky guy! Was it Edgar?
No!
If Edgar was older would you date him? [Class cracks up]
No!
Would you date a 16 year old?
And again… NO. That’s just gross. Not to mention illegal. And also gross.
How old does a person have to be for you to date them?
Uhh… at least 23. No older than 30.
Hey! If you add me and Lorenzo, that makes 24! I can just sit on his shoulders and wear a long jacket!
Nice problem solving, guys.
How old is he?
26.
Oh, he’s older than you. But not too old. That’s good.
Yes, it is.
Is he cuter than your old boyfriend? On a scale of 1-10 what would you rate him?
You’re like, a 50, Miss J!
Did you upgrade, Miss J?
Guys… good lord. Don’t get carried away. It was one date.
Yeah, but you’ve been grinning all week.
So?
So it must be good.
How’d you meet?
He’s a friend of a friend.
Oh! Your friend gave you the hook up? Nice! You should thank her.
Is he Mexican? Is he Japanese? Is he a Pacific Islander?
No, you morons, he’s AMERICAN.
Did your dad get ever get mad when you brought home boys?
Well, if it was a boy that was my friend, he’d steal them, show them all his guns in the basement, and take them shooting. Then I’d be lonely. If it was a guy I wanted to date, dad would bring the gun upstairs and clean it. [Swipe, swipe. Dangerous expression…] When will you be bringing my daughter home?
Miss J! You should bring him in to show and tell.
That’s a terrible idea. In the beginning of the year, Panerio wanted to punch out my last boyfriend and “take me as his own” if I recall correctly.
Don’t worry, Miss J, I won’t bring my shotgun
Thanks, Meza. That’s kind of you.
Miss J, did he do the cheesy stretch thing? You know like yawwwwn! Streeeeetch!
No, no he’s not that cheesy.
Yeah, he’s probably really smart, huh? You wouldn’t go out with a dumb boy. What did you talk about?
Told stories. Talked about people hallucinating in the Amazon rainforest. You know. Science. History. Life.
You talked about SCHOOL STUFF?
Guys, I hate to tell you this, but intelligent people need more to talk about than themselves and other people. You gotta know what’s going on in the world so you have something interesting to say. I don’t always want to be the teacher, you know? Sometimes I want someone to tell me something I don’t know. Sometimes I want someone who has the same information already so we can share.
Nerd!
Yeah, yeah. Like you didn’t already know this about me.
If a girl started talking about history, I’d be like, see ya!
That’s because you’re 12.
Are his hands sweaty? Does he have a mustache? Are his armpits hairy? Do you want to kiss him? DID you kiss him? Is he strong? Is he stronger than Gerome? Gerome’s got like, little rocks in his arms! Could he take out Gerome?
Oh, I don’t know. I think Gerome might have a good shot at kicking his butt. [Gerome, tiny and adorable, grins]
Does he have a tattoo?
I don’t know if he has a tattoo or not, seeing as how all of his clothing remained ON in the movie theatre.
[Class cracks up]
I bet he has a little star tattooed right on his butt.
I bet you’re right. Lorenzo. I’ll ask him.
Would you stop dating him if he had Winnie the Pooh tattooed on his butt?
Is he rich?
Who cares?
Did he use breath freshener?
I have no idea. But I did.
Yeah right, you did not!
I did! [whips it out of my bag] You don’t want to sit be that close to someone and insult their senses.
Woooo! Go Miss J.
Is he really loud?
Naw, of the two of us, he’s the shy one. I’m the flirt.
If he tried anything would you smack him?
Oh totally. Without even thinking.
So…..have you had to smack him?
Ha! You guys are awful.
What does he look like? Does he look like Meza? Can you bring in a picture?
Does he have spiky hair?
Does he have a flat-top with lightning bolts cut in the sides?
Yes.
Really?!
No.
Damn!
Ha! Okay. We done? Can we talk about biodiversity? Or do you have anything else to throw at me?
What if you were at his house at like 1 am and….
Jacob, where is this going?
I better not finish it.
Jacob, you’re a pervert. Miss J is no ho.
Thank you, Adrian. You are correct. I not a ho. So, science. Who wants to know how plants have sex?
Oh! I do, I do!
That’s what I thought. Check this out….
.
Many thanks to Rapunzel the Koala :)
Monday, May 19, 2008
Miss J; History Buff. Edgar: Not Buff at All
Oh yeah!
For the record, I passed the state's history exam. I got a perfect score on my essay (an examination of westward migration and its impact on natives, the land, and its ties to future events like the Dust Bowl), and am pretttttty sure I'm a supa genius. Just a rough estimation though. I might actually be just a genius. There's no way to tell for sure.
So now I am officially qualified to teach k-9 (That's kindergarten through ninth, not dogs. Though I'm sure dealing with German shepherds would be easier to deal with than horny 6th graders. With the dogs? You can take them to the vet's and have their bits snipped out so they stop humping things. Can't do that with kids. What a shame, no?) with specialties in language arts/reading, science AND history.
Who's awesome? Oh yeah. Me.
Who's NOT awesome? That'd be Edgar.
We were taking a test the other day and he was getting a litle squirrely. So I balled up a piece of paper and chucked it at his shoulder. His eyes got really wide, then really narrow. He grabbed the missile, feigned innocence, and flung it where I'd been standing only moments before. But, because he'd failed to look.... he didn't see that I'd moved completely around the corner. He missed me by a mile.
Quietly, I walked to the board and wrote "Edgar has no skills." Then I made two columns. "Times Edgar Got Me, Probably by Accident" and "Times Edgar Missed Completely and I Laughed at Him". I looked at him, and made a giant line under the second category, smirked and raised an eyebrow.
Now, about a third of the class was watching. Edgar flexed his non-existent muscles (pushing the bicep up from the other side) balled up another piece of paper, and with all his might.... FLUNG IT! It missed me by about 6 yards. Silently again, I pointed, pretended to laugh so hard I'd fall off my stool, and marked another tally in the column. No skills, no skills! I pointed to my own arm to mock his. My elderly grandmother's got more power than that! I mouthed.
At the end of the class period, all of my kids had finished their tests. All were watching silently, Edgar was throwing different pitches and I was red from holding back laughter.
Final score? Hits 7. Misses? 32. The bell rang. I circled the words "Edgar has no skills."
The kids lined up.
"Miss J? Can we do that again? Only can I throw next time?" Devin says.
"Sure, but you know I'm going to ridicule you and make fun of you every time you miss, right."
"Yeah."
"Game's on."
So next time, I'll have to let you know who wins. Miss J, the history buff, Edgar, who's not buff at all, or Devin. Stay tuned!
For the record, I passed the state's history exam. I got a perfect score on my essay (an examination of westward migration and its impact on natives, the land, and its ties to future events like the Dust Bowl), and am pretttttty sure I'm a supa genius. Just a rough estimation though. I might actually be just a genius. There's no way to tell for sure.
So now I am officially qualified to teach k-9 (That's kindergarten through ninth, not dogs. Though I'm sure dealing with German shepherds would be easier to deal with than horny 6th graders. With the dogs? You can take them to the vet's and have their bits snipped out so they stop humping things. Can't do that with kids. What a shame, no?) with specialties in language arts/reading, science AND history.
Who's awesome? Oh yeah. Me.
Who's NOT awesome? That'd be Edgar.
We were taking a test the other day and he was getting a litle squirrely. So I balled up a piece of paper and chucked it at his shoulder. His eyes got really wide, then really narrow. He grabbed the missile, feigned innocence, and flung it where I'd been standing only moments before. But, because he'd failed to look.... he didn't see that I'd moved completely around the corner. He missed me by a mile.
Quietly, I walked to the board and wrote "Edgar has no skills." Then I made two columns. "Times Edgar Got Me, Probably by Accident" and "Times Edgar Missed Completely and I Laughed at Him". I looked at him, and made a giant line under the second category, smirked and raised an eyebrow.
Now, about a third of the class was watching. Edgar flexed his non-existent muscles (pushing the bicep up from the other side) balled up another piece of paper, and with all his might.... FLUNG IT! It missed me by about 6 yards. Silently again, I pointed, pretended to laugh so hard I'd fall off my stool, and marked another tally in the column. No skills, no skills! I pointed to my own arm to mock his. My elderly grandmother's got more power than that! I mouthed.
At the end of the class period, all of my kids had finished their tests. All were watching silently, Edgar was throwing different pitches and I was red from holding back laughter.
Final score? Hits 7. Misses? 32. The bell rang. I circled the words "Edgar has no skills."
The kids lined up.
"Miss J? Can we do that again? Only can I throw next time?" Devin says.
"Sure, but you know I'm going to ridicule you and make fun of you every time you miss, right."
"Yeah."
"Game's on."
So next time, I'll have to let you know who wins. Miss J, the history buff, Edgar, who's not buff at all, or Devin. Stay tuned!
Things they Want to See
Today, disgust.
Sick little pervert: J, [not even MISS J!] can I see your thong?
[two seconds of RAGE]
Me: Can I see the 18 missing assignments you've racked up this month?
Class: BUUUUURN.
Me: So that's a no then. Get out.
Today, smug elation.
My 6th grade sister: Miss J, you look really happy. And really tired. Were you out partying too late last night?
Me: Partying is for losers.
Sister: Hmm. I know that look on your face. Half the 6th grade's got it.
Me: What do you know? You've got nothin' sistah.
Sister: Uh huh. [scrutinizes my face] You say that, but I think you got yourself a new man.
Me: [eruption of laughter]
Sister: Keep laughing. But I know its true. ....He any good?
Me: I do not have a new man.
Sister: Yeah. Not YET. It's...what's the word you used earlier today? Preliminary. That's it. Don't worry though. Your secret's safe with me.
Me: Mmkay, Jessica. Whatever you say.
Sick little pervert: J, [not even MISS J!] can I see your thong?
[two seconds of RAGE]
Me: Can I see the 18 missing assignments you've racked up this month?
Class: BUUUUURN.
Me: So that's a no then. Get out.
Today, smug elation.
My 6th grade sister: Miss J, you look really happy. And really tired. Were you out partying too late last night?
Me: Partying is for losers.
Sister: Hmm. I know that look on your face. Half the 6th grade's got it.
Me: What do you know? You've got nothin' sistah.
Sister: Uh huh. [scrutinizes my face] You say that, but I think you got yourself a new man.
Me: [eruption of laughter]
Sister: Keep laughing. But I know its true. ....He any good?
Me: I do not have a new man.
Sister: Yeah. Not YET. It's...what's the word you used earlier today? Preliminary. That's it. Don't worry though. Your secret's safe with me.
Me: Mmkay, Jessica. Whatever you say.
Friday, May 16, 2008
Immaculate Conception?
Today, my partner teacher was showing my kids the movie Twister. In the very beginning, the husband/father character is devoured by the shape shifting maw of a tornado. To this devastation, David says...
"Oh my GOD! Does that make her mom a VIRGIN?"
The sweetest, smartest girl in class replies, "No, it makes her a widow, you crack head."
Hilarious.
"Oh my GOD! Does that make her mom a VIRGIN?"
The sweetest, smartest girl in class replies, "No, it makes her a widow, you crack head."
Hilarious.
Thursday, May 15, 2008
Snippets
"Jacob says he's a camel. What's so special about camels anyway?"
"Uhhh.. well... they can store water. This is a desert.... That might come in handy."
"What is a camel anyway? Some kind of horse?"
"Its a dromedary."
"A what? Does that mean he can be in the acting club?"
"Are you guys rooting for a specific presidential candidate?"
"Yeah! I really like the guy whose name sounds like Yo Mama."
"Uhhh.. well... they can store water. This is a desert.... That might come in handy."
"What is a camel anyway? Some kind of horse?"
"Its a dromedary."
"A what? Does that mean he can be in the acting club?"
"Are you guys rooting for a specific presidential candidate?"
"Yeah! I really like the guy whose name sounds like Yo Mama."
Monday, May 12, 2008
Something About Jesus
Some of my kids from last year stopped by today. Not long after they arrived, the girls started beating up on the boys [out of love of course]. While I sat back and tried to hold in my laughter [I failed] this was the conversation that followed.
"Ewww, Jesus, your hair is all white and flaky."
Eyes glint. A huge mischievous grin erupts.
"Yeah! It has.... SPERM in it."
Silence.
"Sperm?"
"I'm not even going to ask you how that got there!"
"It's Israel's fault!!"
"Israel's sperm is on your head? Now I'm really not going to ask."
"You guys are all bunch of perverts." [me]
Moments later, one randomly opened a textbook.
"Speaking of perverts.... Miss J, why the hell are there penises drawn on the inside covers of your textbooks?"
"You solve that mystery and you'll become one rich lady."
"Yeah, either that or I'll go insane from looking at all of them. Ew."
"I echo those sentiments, girlfriend."
.
"Ewww, Jesus, your hair is all white and flaky."
Eyes glint. A huge mischievous grin erupts.
"Yeah! It has.... SPERM in it."
Silence.
"Sperm?"
"I'm not even going to ask you how that got there!"
"It's Israel's fault!!"
"Israel's sperm is on your head? Now I'm really not going to ask."
"You guys are all bunch of perverts." [me]
Moments later, one randomly opened a textbook.
"Speaking of perverts.... Miss J, why the hell are there penises drawn on the inside covers of your textbooks?"
"You solve that mystery and you'll become one rich lady."
"Yeah, either that or I'll go insane from looking at all of them. Ew."
"I echo those sentiments, girlfriend."
.
Monday, April 28, 2008
Why the Caged Bird Sings
Today, instead of getting in line with the rest of the miscreants, I saw a kid dancing. While this is usually something I jive with.... this was no psuedo-disco. No macarena. No hokey pokey, much to my dismay.
Oh no, Mr. Hotstuff was thrusting his hips and grabbing his junk. Shaking it. With rapture. Like it was a pair of magical maracas. Who knows? They might as well have been. I didn't get close enough to look.
Anyhow, Mr. Junk Grabber, swaggered over to the wall, and with enthusiasm started to sing "Balls to the wall! Balls to the wall!" Thrust! Thrust! "BALLS TO THE WALL!"
Yes, because what every wall needs is a good dry humping. I know that's what I need. (Oh wow. Okay, that was sarcasm. Sarcasm, folks. Don't get any ideas.)
So, I walked behind Mr. Humper and cocked my head at him, much like a parakeet that isn't sure if its reflection is another bird or not.
The boys around Prince Humperdinck saw me watching, half amused, half "confused" and erupted with raucous laugher. To which, our prince, assuming the laughter was his, started thrusting even harder.
He was: a porch swing in a tornado, an oil derek out of conrol, waves with an erratic moon's orbit, a bumper car stuck sideways in a small hallway. BALLS [HUMP!] to the [HUMP!] WALL! [HUMP!]
Austin Powers on Viagra.
I tapped his shoulder.
"Excuse me," I said politely, and for the hell of it, with a slight British accent, "But what are you doing?"
Crimson! Scarlet! Maroon! Flood. Stuttering silence.
Hilarious laughter. Stern British nanny face.
"Well?"
Nothing.
"That was quite a show. Wherever did you come up with that? Was it in detention? Because I don't want to send you back there if that's where you learned it."
More stammers. "I uhhhh was fixing uhhhh my zipper."
Right. [Seriously? That's the best excuse? I would have believed "My balls got stuck in my zipper," with those moves more than fixing it.... Good god.]
All of this just reaffirms my theory that 6th grade boys have the mental acuity and maturity of.... a parakeet. You know, the ones that hump the mirrors as they believe their dashing good looks to be another bird? (Not the ones that just cock their heads and look confused. There is a distinction there...)
The point of all this?
I, like Maya Angelou, now know why the caged bird sings.
The only distinction: unlike Maya, I know the lyrics.
(This one's for you Mr. Faulk :)
Oh no, Mr. Hotstuff was thrusting his hips and grabbing his junk. Shaking it. With rapture. Like it was a pair of magical maracas. Who knows? They might as well have been. I didn't get close enough to look.
Anyhow, Mr. Junk Grabber, swaggered over to the wall, and with enthusiasm started to sing "Balls to the wall! Balls to the wall!" Thrust! Thrust! "BALLS TO THE WALL!"
Yes, because what every wall needs is a good dry humping. I know that's what I need. (Oh wow. Okay, that was sarcasm. Sarcasm, folks. Don't get any ideas.)
So, I walked behind Mr. Humper and cocked my head at him, much like a parakeet that isn't sure if its reflection is another bird or not.
The boys around Prince Humperdinck saw me watching, half amused, half "confused" and erupted with raucous laugher. To which, our prince, assuming the laughter was his, started thrusting even harder.
He was: a porch swing in a tornado, an oil derek out of conrol, waves with an erratic moon's orbit, a bumper car stuck sideways in a small hallway. BALLS [HUMP!] to the [HUMP!] WALL! [HUMP!]
Austin Powers on Viagra.
I tapped his shoulder.
"Excuse me," I said politely, and for the hell of it, with a slight British accent, "But what are you doing?"
Crimson! Scarlet! Maroon! Flood. Stuttering silence.
Hilarious laughter. Stern British nanny face.
"Well?"
Nothing.
"That was quite a show. Wherever did you come up with that? Was it in detention? Because I don't want to send you back there if that's where you learned it."
More stammers. "I uhhhh was fixing uhhhh my zipper."
Right. [Seriously? That's the best excuse? I would have believed "My balls got stuck in my zipper," with those moves more than fixing it.... Good god.]
All of this just reaffirms my theory that 6th grade boys have the mental acuity and maturity of.... a parakeet. You know, the ones that hump the mirrors as they believe their dashing good looks to be another bird? (Not the ones that just cock their heads and look confused. There is a distinction there...)
The point of all this?
I, like Maya Angelou, now know why the caged bird sings.
The only distinction: unlike Maya, I know the lyrics.
(This one's for you Mr. Faulk :)
Monday, April 21, 2008
Mishmash
Today was field day, a day of ridiculous activities out on the-- you guessed it-- field.
My kids only really kicked butt in one event, but I was sooo proud of how they acted. They cheered people on, weren't negative, didn't cheat and weren't obnoxious. That, AND they listened to my little pre-field day rant. Here's proof:
"You know, you guys are all LOSERS," Her Highness of Haughtiness says to my class.
"Really? You know, we're not out here to win or lose. We are out here to have fun. Besides, we already know we're winners and we don't NEED any silly little competition to tell us that," replies Jessica, Queen Diva of 615.
HECK YES. You go girl. [wiping tear]
So proud.
Also. I made up a new word: smellifluous. Instead of a sound that is caramel for your ears, it is a smell so delicious you swoon in delight. [Pronounce as if spelled with a s' like in s'mores. A quick s.]
The English language just doesn't have enough words for good smells.
The Dunk Tank
The awesome, diva, goddess secretaries:
"Miss J, will you go in the dunk tank?"
[two seconds of consideration] "
"Yeah. Sure."
"REALLY!? None of the other girls will go in but us! Really?! You will?!"
[puzzled]
"Uhhh. Yeah. Why not?"
"Miss J, you are so cool. You are one of us."
[Feelings of self doubt melt away. Strut impedes any semblance dignity but makes me feel like a bad ass.]
My kids' reaction:
"Right. Okay. Well, remember this. I volunteered. So, let's look at the scenarios here.
One: you throw the ball, I fall, I cool off, I win.
Two: you throw the ball, you miss, I make fun of you, I crack myself up, I win.
Three: you hit the button, I fall in and cool off, I make fun of you for being a loser with no skills.... say it with me now..."
"You win."
"That's right. I win. Any questions?"
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
China: Oracle Bone Action!
After testing our levee engineering skillz (that's right. With a z), we moved on to studying the history of the Chinese language, written characters the Shang Dynasty and BEST OF ALL-- ORACLE BONES.
As usual, kids had to either pass a quiz or turn in a heaping load of homework and if they did....a cool project designed to blow their minds ensued.
How to make Oracle Bones to display in your very own homes? See below!
Materials:
Balloons
Glue
Newspaper
White Paint
Several pages with Chinese Characters
Paintbrushes
Black/Colored Paint
Glasses/cups full of water
Next:
1.Blow up a balloon and put your name on it. Balloon should be slightly larger than your head.
2. Tear 1-2" wide strips of newspaper.
3. Once you have a pile of strips, dump water on them so they're wet but not dripping.
4. Squeeze a thin line of glue on each strip.
5. Start layering the wet, gluey newspaper on top of HALF of your balloon. (And NOT the part with your name. Also, if you do one layer of horizontal, then one layer of vertical newspaper it tends to keep its form better. You also want to make sure your newspaper is as flat and smooth as possible!)
6. Wait a night to dry!
7. Paint your Oracle Bones (aka turtle plastrons) white while STILL ON THE BALLOON.
8. Ask your oracle bone questions. Become inspired and paint your answers (from the Chinese character pages) on the oracle bone.
9. Pop balloon with glorious euphoria.
10. Separate and display Oracle bone for all to see... or wear it as a helmet. Your choice.
Results in picture form will soon be posted. :)
As usual, kids had to either pass a quiz or turn in a heaping load of homework and if they did....a cool project designed to blow their minds ensued.
How to make Oracle Bones to display in your very own homes? See below!
Materials:
Balloons
Glue
Newspaper
White Paint
Several pages with Chinese Characters
Paintbrushes
Black/Colored Paint
Glasses/cups full of water
Next:
1.Blow up a balloon and put your name on it. Balloon should be slightly larger than your head.
2. Tear 1-2" wide strips of newspaper.
3. Once you have a pile of strips, dump water on them so they're wet but not dripping.
4. Squeeze a thin line of glue on each strip.
5. Start layering the wet, gluey newspaper on top of HALF of your balloon. (And NOT the part with your name. Also, if you do one layer of horizontal, then one layer of vertical newspaper it tends to keep its form better. You also want to make sure your newspaper is as flat and smooth as possible!)
6. Wait a night to dry!
7. Paint your Oracle Bones (aka turtle plastrons) white while STILL ON THE BALLOON.
8. Ask your oracle bone questions. Become inspired and paint your answers (from the Chinese character pages) on the oracle bone.
9. Pop balloon with glorious euphoria.
10. Separate and display Oracle bone for all to see... or wear it as a helmet. Your choice.
Results in picture form will soon be posted. :)
Saturday, March 22, 2008
American as Apple Pie
On April 12, less than a month from now, I have opted to take the state's history exam. Why? Because in order to teach 8th grade history next year(one of my options), I have to prove to the state that I'm not a moron. That should be no sweat, right?
Well, here's the fun part.
The state test covers the following:
1. Ancient civilizations (including Egyptian, Greek, Chinese, Middle Eastern....)
2. American history from colonial expansion until roughly present times.
3. Ecomonics
4. Geography
Basically, I need to know everything until to the foundation of America, and then all of America's history. Pfft. Piece of cake!
To help me study, I bought a stack of fantastic books that promised to help me unearth the lies of history books, teach me the scandalous events never mentioned, and show me the light quickly and easily. One particular textbook guarenteed to teach me America's history in 24 hours. Did it help? Yes, yes it did. But it also made me absolutely furious.
A couple points of interest. The author had a tendency, in his easily digestible chapters, to leave out what I consider important information. He could have mentioned the Oregon Trail. He could have mentioned the Louis and Clark Expedition. He didn't. You know what else he failed to mention? The Holocaust.
An entire chapter is devoted to WWII, and yet, mysteriously, the author leaves the Holocaust out. In ONE SENTENCE describing the Nuremburg Trials after the war, the author describes people being found guilty of war crimes such as "the genocide of jews, slavs..." etc. And this is the only mention. The author defines WWII as being a war of good versus evil. I can't help but ponder... which side does he see as good?
More evidence that said author is a biased, incompetent sludge-face:
After the bombing of Pearl Harbor (which was also historically inaccurate) he describes Executive Order: 9066. Japanese internment. Okay, I'm thinking, good. The author isn't going to skip over that.
But then I read this sentence: "Life in these centers was as American as apple pie, they even had Boy Scout troops."
WHAT?! ARE YOU KIDDING ME? I nearly threw the book across the room. Next thing you know, you'll be telling me that slavery was a cushy profession as well.
So, now I'm worried that everything I read up to that point could have been riddled with bs as well. Maybe what I now know about the Monroe Doctrine and the Missouri Compromise and the freaking Battle at the Alamo.. maybe its all wrong too.
It's a damn good thing I bought so many other books. And its a damn good thing there's Wikipedia. (OH CRAP! Maybe he wrote things for wikipedia too... Crap, crap!)
So, in the end, after I pass my test with flying colors (keeping my fingers crossed), I think I'll write Mr. Davenport a letter. Let him know that his take on history makes me glad to be a teacher. I can imagine using his book in my classes. To teach my kids not about, oh the Holocaust, or anything about history really.... but not to trust everything they read.
Well, here's the fun part.
The state test covers the following:
1. Ancient civilizations (including Egyptian, Greek, Chinese, Middle Eastern....)
2. American history from colonial expansion until roughly present times.
3. Ecomonics
4. Geography
Basically, I need to know everything until to the foundation of America, and then all of America's history. Pfft. Piece of cake!
To help me study, I bought a stack of fantastic books that promised to help me unearth the lies of history books, teach me the scandalous events never mentioned, and show me the light quickly and easily. One particular textbook guarenteed to teach me America's history in 24 hours. Did it help? Yes, yes it did. But it also made me absolutely furious.
A couple points of interest. The author had a tendency, in his easily digestible chapters, to leave out what I consider important information. He could have mentioned the Oregon Trail. He could have mentioned the Louis and Clark Expedition. He didn't. You know what else he failed to mention? The Holocaust.
An entire chapter is devoted to WWII, and yet, mysteriously, the author leaves the Holocaust out. In ONE SENTENCE describing the Nuremburg Trials after the war, the author describes people being found guilty of war crimes such as "the genocide of jews, slavs..." etc. And this is the only mention. The author defines WWII as being a war of good versus evil. I can't help but ponder... which side does he see as good?
More evidence that said author is a biased, incompetent sludge-face:
After the bombing of Pearl Harbor (which was also historically inaccurate) he describes Executive Order: 9066. Japanese internment. Okay, I'm thinking, good. The author isn't going to skip over that.
But then I read this sentence: "Life in these centers was as American as apple pie, they even had Boy Scout troops."
WHAT?! ARE YOU KIDDING ME? I nearly threw the book across the room. Next thing you know, you'll be telling me that slavery was a cushy profession as well.
So, now I'm worried that everything I read up to that point could have been riddled with bs as well. Maybe what I now know about the Monroe Doctrine and the Missouri Compromise and the freaking Battle at the Alamo.. maybe its all wrong too.
It's a damn good thing I bought so many other books. And its a damn good thing there's Wikipedia. (OH CRAP! Maybe he wrote things for wikipedia too... Crap, crap!)
So, in the end, after I pass my test with flying colors (keeping my fingers crossed), I think I'll write Mr. Davenport a letter. Let him know that his take on history makes me glad to be a teacher. I can imagine using his book in my classes. To teach my kids not about, oh the Holocaust, or anything about history really.... but not to trust everything they read.
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
Next Year: Part II
More thoughts....
Options:
--My best friend here has openings in her school. I can be a dynamo and interview like the goddess I am.
--There is a district much closer to me which has many already excelling schools. Already excelling = less pressure? I can submit online applications there.
-- Figure out my options at the current school.
-- Eat lots of ice cream.
What would make me happy:
--Having my last year's kids again. Some of the kids are shit heads, but they are shit heads I like. They are, in essence, my kind of shit heads.
--The time to get really good at one subject instead of trying to be astoundingly brilliant at multiple ones.
--Teaching history.
--The time to put together my own curriculum binders for other subjects than the one I currently teach. The time to focus on things I want to get better at for ME, not because something is due the next day.
--Having the time to take more professional development or classes so I can learn how to be more effective and become highly qualified in more areas.
--The opportunity to help and collaborate with other teachers.
--Learning to be an AA.
-- Eating lots of ice cream.
Options:
--My best friend here has openings in her school. I can be a dynamo and interview like the goddess I am.
--There is a district much closer to me which has many already excelling schools. Already excelling = less pressure? I can submit online applications there.
-- Figure out my options at the current school.
-- Eat lots of ice cream.
What would make me happy:
--Having my last year's kids again. Some of the kids are shit heads, but they are shit heads I like. They are, in essence, my kind of shit heads.
--The time to get really good at one subject instead of trying to be astoundingly brilliant at multiple ones.
--Teaching history.
--The time to put together my own curriculum binders for other subjects than the one I currently teach. The time to focus on things I want to get better at for ME, not because something is due the next day.
--Having the time to take more professional development or classes so I can learn how to be more effective and become highly qualified in more areas.
--The opportunity to help and collaborate with other teachers.
--Learning to be an AA.
-- Eating lots of ice cream.
Next Year?
So, on Friday, I have a meeting and I'm rather excited.
I'm trying to figure out what I want to do for next year. Do I stay? Do I leave? What subject? What grade level? What would make me the happiest? I know something's gotta change.
Pros
-- My principal and vice principal are very supportive of me.
--The assistant principal frequently pops into the room to check up on frequent fliers. He is very proactive when it comes to discipline and tries to prevent situations. He also has impeccable timing and often steps into my door as I'm thinking about calling him.
--The AAs are awesome-- both help everyone with curriculum, unwrapping standards, and put together vast binders of ready to use, standard oriented activities, notes and homework. I love speaking with and collaborating with both of them. They get me. Which is great.
-- I have a reputation. Kids that I don't even know.... know me. I feel like a celebrity because I am known by the community. Parents know me, sisters and brothers know me, cousins know me. My expectations are already set. Being part of a community makes me feel like I have a family.
-- I have grown attached to a good chunk of the kids, especially the ones from last year. Even the ones who drove me nuts. I desperately want to make sure they stay on a Good Path. And not, you know, the jail/pregnancy one.
Cons
-- Our district is in a great amount of debt.
-- We may experience salary freeze.
-- We may experiencing a "tightening" of staff. IE: less teachers, larger class sizes. And less pay.
-- The commute is too damn long, and gas prices are projected to hit $4.00 by summer after which they will probably keep rising.
-- AZ as a state has no idea what to do with ELL learners. They've stupidly made bi-lingual education illegal, and now they have mandated that ELD kids be grouped according to their level of English. Which is absurd. (Don't get me started). The big question is this: since WHEN is separate equal? I thought we did away with that via brown vs. education....Which leads to....
-- I am terrified of getting the ELD cluster again. The kids are so damn apathetic and I can't handle it two years in a row. I love teaching low kids, but DAMN it, give me low kids that have at least an OUNCE of giving-a-damn.
-- I am beginning to burn out. I need to focus on one thing that I love. But in this district, I don't know if that's a possibility with the wacky scheduling.
-- In this district, we are not guarenteed a prep.
-- We are not paid extra money for when kids are split OR if we have to sub... which leads to....
-- Our school never has substitutes. Which meant for the longest time that special areas teachers had to be subs. Which stinks for everyone and creates a LOT of resentment leading to....
-- Teacher retention and morale is low. --> Huge melancholic raincloud.
-- Teachers don't collaborate, share, or help each other.
So.... what am I going to do?
I'm trying to figure out what I want to do for next year. Do I stay? Do I leave? What subject? What grade level? What would make me the happiest? I know something's gotta change.
Pros
-- My principal and vice principal are very supportive of me.
--The assistant principal frequently pops into the room to check up on frequent fliers. He is very proactive when it comes to discipline and tries to prevent situations. He also has impeccable timing and often steps into my door as I'm thinking about calling him.
--The AAs are awesome-- both help everyone with curriculum, unwrapping standards, and put together vast binders of ready to use, standard oriented activities, notes and homework. I love speaking with and collaborating with both of them. They get me. Which is great.
-- I have a reputation. Kids that I don't even know.... know me. I feel like a celebrity because I am known by the community. Parents know me, sisters and brothers know me, cousins know me. My expectations are already set. Being part of a community makes me feel like I have a family.
-- I have grown attached to a good chunk of the kids, especially the ones from last year. Even the ones who drove me nuts. I desperately want to make sure they stay on a Good Path. And not, you know, the jail/pregnancy one.
Cons
-- Our district is in a great amount of debt.
-- We may experience salary freeze.
-- We may experiencing a "tightening" of staff. IE: less teachers, larger class sizes. And less pay.
-- The commute is too damn long, and gas prices are projected to hit $4.00 by summer after which they will probably keep rising.
-- AZ as a state has no idea what to do with ELL learners. They've stupidly made bi-lingual education illegal, and now they have mandated that ELD kids be grouped according to their level of English. Which is absurd. (Don't get me started). The big question is this: since WHEN is separate equal? I thought we did away with that via brown vs. education....Which leads to....
-- I am terrified of getting the ELD cluster again. The kids are so damn apathetic and I can't handle it two years in a row. I love teaching low kids, but DAMN it, give me low kids that have at least an OUNCE of giving-a-damn.
-- I am beginning to burn out. I need to focus on one thing that I love. But in this district, I don't know if that's a possibility with the wacky scheduling.
-- In this district, we are not guarenteed a prep.
-- We are not paid extra money for when kids are split OR if we have to sub... which leads to....
-- Our school never has substitutes. Which meant for the longest time that special areas teachers had to be subs. Which stinks for everyone and creates a LOT of resentment leading to....
-- Teacher retention and morale is low. --> Huge melancholic raincloud.
-- Teachers don't collaborate, share, or help each other.
So.... what am I going to do?
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