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Three more wake-ups until Spring Break! Hallelujah! Praise Jesus! (or the district gods who create the school calendar)
I don’t know who invented spring break, but it clearly was this wee little fetus of an idea in the brain of a genius who realized she did not collect enough patience stamps (also known as restraint-from-drop-kicking-students stamps) to last the rest of year. Alas, she needed a week to travel to her happy place, pick up a fresh supply of special stamps, and recoup in preparation for the last leg of the school year. The day that fetus idea was birthed and formed into the beauteous little miracle of spring break is a day I celebrate in my heart every March/April. Smiles shoot from my orifices and spirit fingers appear out of thin air.
Do you know what it’s like to teach Dickens the week before break? Dik-en-a-pain-in-the-ass is what it is. The wee ones don’t want to hear about the woman petitioning Monsieur de Marquis and caressing the carriage tenderly as if it were a breast! They want to go to Daytona (or most likely just watch MTV and pretend they’re in Daytona), and see some real breast in a good ol’ fashioned wet t-shirt contest. Duh.
As for me, my mind has already journeyed to that far off land of Orlando, and is awaiting my physical arrival. First stop: The Wizarding World of Harry Potter.
Alohomora!
(English nerds unite!)
I stole this from a blog that stole it from another blog…so here it goes…
{a} age; 25
{b} bed size; Twin, b/c I crowd my room with bookshelves and clothes and have no room for anything else!
{c} chore you hate; putting away folded laundry
{d} dogs; Two: Rudy the German Shorthair Pointer and Gunner the giant black Labrador Retriever
{e} essential start to your day; hot Zen Tazo tea w/ 2 Spenda
{f} favorite color; Blue
{g} gold or silver; Is white gold an option?
{h} height; 5’4″
{i} instruments you play; I used to play the piano, but my instructor hated me b/c I insisted on having long nails, so we parted ways
{j} job title; Teacher.
{k} kids; None. I’m too busy with the 150 children I see every day!
{l} live; suburbs of Chi-town
{m} mom’s name; TerBear
{n} nicknames; Big Red, Mama Mc, B-Money
{o} overnight hospital stays; None!
{p} pet peeve; They are mostly grammatical: “your” when you mean you’re, “could of” when you mean could’ve, and improper there/their/they’re usage
{q} quote from a TV show; ”A person who has to pump her nonnies full of gravy to feel good about herself clearly doesn’t have the self-esteem to be my head cheerleader. Oh, and Boobs McGee? You’re demoted to the bottom of the pyramid, so when it collapses, you’re exploding sandbags will protect the rest of the squad from injury.” – Sue Sylvester from GLEE
{r} right- or left-handed; Right
{s} siblings; I have an older sister, C-bass
{t} time you wake up; On the weekdays, I wake up at 5:10 a.m. On the weekends, anytime between 8-10:30 a.m. Next year school starts an hour earlier, so hellish 4:30 wake-ups, here I come!
{u} underwear; I’m convinced thongs prevent excessive cellulite/ass dimples
{v} vegetables you dislike; Rutabega
{w} what makes you run late; I try on about 5 outfits before I settle. Also, my bf takes girly long showers and is a perfectionist with an iron.
{x} x-rays you’ve had; Besides the teeth, just on my neck when I couldn’t move it and TerBer thought I was dying of menangitis
{y} yummy food you make; I’m a really good baker! I can make truffles and cinnamon rolls from scratch
{z} zoo – favorite animal; Lions & tigers. If monkeys didn’t smell like ass and fling poo, I might like them too…oh and pandas! Although I have a grudge against China…
Weird things have been going on. Actually, they’re actually quite normal in high school crazyland; however, when I leave that alternate universe of hormone-crazed teeny weenies and reflect on the happenings of the day, I realize that my social acceptability compass has lost its magnetic force. Crap…am I making sense, or am I starting to Sheen it up here? I need to watch myself before I start rambling about armless infants and mental activity that exists on a terrestrial level. I digress.
I was out of the building for professional development on Monday, and Tuesday morning I returned to a sub report that came with bonus art work that she found littering my floor. You know, a day never truly starts until you are gifted with detailed penis illustrations…pubic hair and veins included free of charge.
Yesterday as I rounded the corner down the hall from my room, I looked down to see another lovely depiction of the male genitalia drawn on the TILE…in pen. I’m surrounded. Everywhere I look it’s Balls. WHAT, may I ask, is the teenage occupation with drawing their junk? I mean, I’m pretty positive they fondle it, think about it, scratch it, and think about others thinking about it. Is that not enough? I guess you know the answer.
One of my female students had the misfortune of dropping a feminine product on the floor of my classroom. Well with the scattering and ruckus that ensued, you would have thought that someone dropped ninja poops which then sprouted legs and scurried up the skinny pant legs of unsuspecting victims. Why does a wrapped tampon hold that kind of power over boys that don’t find it at all gross to compete with their flatulence? Well, don’t think for one moment that this is where the tampon transgression ended. One boy dove in, found his sea legs, colored that tampon red, and made big plans to attack an unsuspecting victim with it in the hallway. Mothers got called; that’s all I have to say about that.
I showed part of a webcast today from Oprah’s website because she had a Dickens scholar on to talk about A Tale of Two Cities. A student turned to me, 100% serious, and asked, “WHY wouldn’t Oprah just have Charles Dickens on to talk about his books instead of some lady??!” You know…I know many people (not I, said the fly) think that Oprah has rays of sunshine coming out her butt, sparkles shooting from her orifices, and the power to breed unicorns; however, while resurrection is an idea that A.) is appropriate because of Easter approaching and B.) is a theme that runs through A Tale of Two Cities, it is NOT something that can be listed as a power of the all mighty Oprah. She can resurrect the pounds that she kills off with dieting stints and bring them back to life with a vengeance, but doggone it she can’t resurrect a famous author. Go figure.
