Dirty Tale

Several years ago - while trying to shed a few extra unwanted pounds, I opted to go for a diet that had worked for me once before. The Cabbage Soup Diet. Which primarily consists of a homemade soup concocted with water and cabbage.
Saturday was fine. Sunday was fine. Monday was a work day and despite severe stomach pains, was also, basically fine.
Mid-day, I had my free period- and missing one of my best girlfriends that had moved away to LA on me, I decided to go out to my car in the massive parking lot to have a smoke and a chat. And to divert the attention I was focusing on my belly pangs.
Midway through my cigarette and chat, I felt my stomach do some flip-flops. I figured the gas was setting in. I did my best to maintain focus on the conversation. Suddenly, in a burst of rumbly outburst, and while discussing my girlfriends near tragic car accident- I suffered through my own sort of tragic car accident.
I shit my pants.
At first I didn't know it. At first I just assumed that whatever was happening down there would just require a quick exit and a visit to the ladies. After a tiny investigation, via a glance down at my barely khaki, almost white pants.... So not the case.
I interuppted my girlfriend with the news- and suddenly her tragic incident took the back seat to my suddenly urgent predicament.
There was a lot of repeat questions between her and I...
Me: I shit my pants?
She: You shit your pants?
Me: Did I really shit my pants just now?
She: Did you really just shit your pants?
Me: What am I going to do? I have to go back into work!
She: What ARE you going to do?
Me: Do I need to go or what?
She: You DO need to go... call me later and tell me what happens.
And so I did what any other person would do... I wrapped a sweatshirt around my waist and went into the the closest entrance and knocked casually on the first occupied classroom door I could find. A woman approached and apprehensively opened it a crack and I then realized what I was about to have to say to this woman I didn't know.
Me: Look, I am a teacher here... and I just shit my pants, and I have to go. You really need to help me out and tell someone I need a sub. Here is my phone number in case you can't get ahold of anyone. I am leaving the building.. um... NOW.
And off I ran. I couldn't afford to look back.
Feeling completely disgusted, I got back into the safe confines of my car and called my very best gay guy friend- who I knew would help me laugh and sympathize my way through my car ride home.
Upon hearing my story- he declared a state of emergency- after laughing hysterically, of course, and then also called off work so we could nurse me back to a normal emotional state together.
After throwing out the clothes, showering, and demanding I eat some fiber- things started to feel much better.

Within hours, after getting through the larger part of a twelve pack, we actually went out dancing. Never mind that it was a Monday. To me it was a pant's shitting day and I really needed to get some other notch in my belt in order to take the heaviness out of the fact that my most recent noteworthy event was crapping myself at work.

Somehow- because I work with a fat mouth- this story came out at my NEW teaching job. Just last week. Lots of teaching professionals laughing at me. At my story- about the day I pooed my pants. I quickly turned the tables and asked my colleagues if any such thing had ever happened to them. Shockingly- while guffawing uncontrollably at MY story- nary a soul raised their own hand to admit such a dirty tale.

And I call bullshit. I call a good old fashion shit-your-pants-bullshit- because it HAS. It of course has happened to SOMEONE else besides me.

Sunshine

I must say- the last week has been a whirlwind. Ironically, I took a break from having a baby to go back to work for three days. Not just any three days- the FIRST three days of SCHOOL. Which just happen to be about the most stressful three days of the year. Well, aside from the LAST three days of the year- but that's a different story.

There were curriculum projects to complete, lesson plans to prepare, classrooms to decorate, supplies to be bought and organized, memos to be written and sent, and of course, people to greet, among the myriad other tasks and tedium. And as much as I was frustrated that the chaos was interfering with my time at home, it was a good place to have to be. Not many people can say they love their jobs- but I can.

To make matters even better, my husband stayed home with the baby. Meaning there were no drop-offs or pick-ups to juggle. And especially no worries about leaving my baby with a babysitter, as I knew he was in good hands with his Dad.

The three days flew by with surprising speed, and during that time, we went against the doctor's orders and went with gut instinct and changed the baby's formula to a more sensitive version to see if that would help with the colic. Lo and behold a miracle has happened.

It's like we have a new baby. He doesn't cry. Ever. He's so... good. I am shocked that this is what it's like to have a regular baby. Completely shocked. Life is so much... easier.

We can actually find him a regular bed to sleep in - some semi-normal routines. We can teach him to sleep on his back, play with him, read to him, leave the house with little to no concern. We can even SIT DOWN sometimes! I don't think we have even grasped the full scope of our new capabilities yet. The fog has begun to lift and despite the rain, the sun is shining a little brighter in our world today.

The End Is Near

What is it? What did they eat? Or drink? The kids are OUT of their MINDS. It's total chaos here at the school. With the "Prom" finally behind us, Seniors out for the year, and only graduation and finals in front of us, there are fewer and fewer things to "dangle" in front of the students to bribe them into behaving.
This year it's particularly stressful for me becuase I feel torn between tying up my regular end of the year loose ends and preparing sub plans for the Fall when I will be knee deep in diapers and late night feedings. And while the sub can always call me, every additional detail written down in the "binder" is one less phone call to answer when I will truly NOT care at all.
And it's unbelievable to me that somewhere in the weekend, squeezed between my very last, and thank-you-very-much, bountiful baby shower and a retirement dinner at an incredibly fattening and SO-HOT-I-WAS-SWEATING-WHILE-EATING Japanese steakhouse there was a wonderful Spa Day complete with the sisters, Mom and Grandma that was absolutley splendid. Well, splendid except for my facial girl, and while she was quite nice, she did use me as a sounding board to clairfy her marital problems. But that aside... the Spa Day itself was over the top great.
And even when my massuese and I were laughing at my huge body on the tiny table and how it was cumbersome to move and my boobs kept flopping out of the sheet ( sorry people, these things are new to me.... I haven't exactly figured out how to exert control over those babies yet.. ) it was mah-va-lous.
If only I could have bottled me up some of that Spa Day to sip in doses this week. Sigh. Only five more pregnant days of school.

Farter Starter

My body is turning against me. Really. It hates me.

Somewhere between my first bra and the braces coming off, I figured out that farting in public was way taboo. By the time I was a full fledged teenager I was most lady-like in gassy situations and seldom recall a situation where I was emabarrassed by any kind of flatulence. In my twenties I somehow basically lost the ability altogether. By my 30th birthday, I lit an additional candle on my cake to commemorate a decade of fart-free-living. More or less.

In the three years my husband and I have co-habitated, I have essentially been fart-free. He's not heard a peep nor has he sniffed a smell. I have managed to convince him AND myself that I no longer fart at all. Now, mind you, we all know that is impossible, but I have worked hard at learning to conceal what some might consider a deadly weapon.

Suffice it to say, since I have become pregnant, that has all changed. And against my will, of course. Because I don't think an hour has gone by where I have NOT farted. Actually, if I could figure out a way to harness all of the gaseous energy I am creating I could seriously make bank. Seriously.

And the worst part is not admitting that I have turned into a fart fest- but that I no longer have the social skills needed to handle these "touchy" situations in public.

Take for example the other day. A co-worker and I ran into each other in the stairwell. We talked for several minutes and then I felt it. I did my best to keep it "quiet" so as not to interrupt our conversation... but I knew within seconds that while you could not hear what I had done, that was certainly other "evidence". Luckily for me it's Spring in the high school, so she immediately confused my body's hatred for me as a Senior prank, "Eww, another stink bomb- I am outta here!". So, I managed to escape blame free on that one. However- the embarrassment has been haunting me.

Last night at dinner, I was chatting with my husband at the table. He said something funny and when I busted out in laughter I also busted out in sing-songy fart. I didn't know what to say- or DO. So I of course did what any 35 year old would do, I ran into the living room and hid from him.

And while I am most certainly "out of control", I don't want to create a "reputation" as a liar OR as a farter- so I am trying very hard to manage moments like these with grace and consideration.

I cannot believe I have almost three more months of this! Please someone, tell me that AFTER I deliver this baby that certain "things" will go back to SOME sort of normalcy? Either that I will have to get THIS :

tatooed as a tramp stamp on my back.

The Good the Bad and the Ugly

It is NEGATIVE NINE degrees outside this morning. I don't know how I am going to manage to get myself out of my cozy pajamas and into the shower and dressed for work on time. The temperature is too much of a deterrent for my level of work motivation. Speaking of which.
I had a meeting with the boss man on Monday. I had been looking for him for a few days and when I threatened through work e-mail that I was about to start stalking him he magically appearred at my classroom door.
We sat down in the student desks. Because when you are going to talk to your boss, do you really sit at your own BIG desk? It felt uncomfortable to me. I wanted to be on a level playing field. And while I wasn't exactly sure what I was going to say, I did want to talk to him about some changes I was seeking for next year. Imagine my very own surprise when the whole conversation took a very unexpected turn and I heard myself saying, " I am burnt out, I don't want to be down here anymore.". Down Here meaning in the basement of the school, teaching the ED students in a self-contained classroom.
Unexpectedly, he said, "Oh, just that? I thought you were going to tell me you were pregnant too or something awful like that. "
Silence. Ummm... while we are on that subject! I ended also letting that cat out of the bag. Wow. Not a good day for the boss man. And while I wasn't intending on letting him in on my little secret so soon, I didn't see a way to avoid it. "Plus!", I said, "If we need to pull the ole prego card, it would be terrible for the ED students to start the scool year with a sub next Fall.. just saying!".
With my big fat confessional of both my desire to change positions within the school, as well the fact that I am not just getting fat but am with child, I felt liberated to say the least. I felt slightly high all day. By nightfall, however, I began to feel vulnerable. And as a result, because I am completely weird, hormonal, and emotionally maladjusted, I became angry and defenseive to my coworkers on Tuesday and Wednesday. Feeling slightly as if I am failing them, or guilty to be selfish with what I want, or even embarrassed that I am burnt out.
Last night I woke at midnight, my thoughts a swirling jumble of me saying and acting defensively. Snippets of rude comments, jabs, and oh yes, the complete bitching out of the guy I co-teach with for something ultimately that was completely not his fault. Thanks to God for HGTV, the only channel that will play half-hour after half-hour of completely interesting yet dull enough TV shows at one in the morning to lull me back to sleep.
And today, I have a new attitude. I intend on lying low, and apologizing profusely to those I may have offended. I MAY even bring in the school teacher's well-loved peace offering... bagels and cream cheese. This ought to start things right again.

Thank a Vet

I woke up today after sleeping in, feeling like it's a Sunday. We don't have school today in honor of Veteran's Day. To commemorate, I am drinking Pumpkin Spice cream with my coffee. No, just kidding. In honor, I had a guest speaker talk to my class yesterday.

He is currently a security guard in our high school after serving time in Iraq.

He was very open and honest about his experience. He let the kids ask him virtually anything. And aside from some sophomoric, yet interesting questions, about where he went poo, what he ate, and how he drank, there were some insightful questions as well.

He told three stories I will share with you:

1. He and some of the other troops were in Baghdad and made a trip to McDonald's. There were some females soldiers in the bunch, and being American, the guys pushed the girls to the front to order first. While standing at the counter, the Iraqi gentlemen behind the register looked past the women and asked the men what the ladies wanted. Ultimately, they flat our refused to wait on the women first. Tensions mounted, but eventually, the guys ordered for the girls. One of the girl's in my class said she would have punched him. He reminded her she would have then most likely faced an untimely death. It was enlightening to watch the students' faces as their minds met with the information and let it absorb.

2. According to him, he was privy to information about the weapons of mass destruction. He said they were found, and he was a part of that. He then went on to stress the cover up came when George Bush gave Iraq 72 hours to remove the weapons from the country. He said there soon followed a caravan of semi-trailers and trucks that moved the weapons Northeast over the border to Syria. While patrolling the caravan, a fellow soldier pulled over one of the vehicles for an inspection. After discovering a large amount of weapons, the soldier asked our speaker if he should shoot the driver, confiscate the weapons, or let it pass. Because of the orders of the President, our speaker found it difficult to say to his comrade, let it pass. But he did, and off it went, along with the hundreds of other vehicles taking the weapons to safety. He stressed concern for the imminent removal of troops and feels strongly that as soon as the troops are withdrawn, the weapons will make thier way back. I hope he is mistaken.

3. Since he has come back, he told us that many of his army friends are suffering from PTSD. He told us it is very real and that there is little help available for these people. Most prevalently, they suffer from flashbacks, anger, and nightmares. All of which lead to an unsettling life. When asked about support, he mentioned that most of the people he knows don't even bother with doctors or the like, anymore, but have created networks of people that meet in groups to talk about thier experiences. He told us he has yet to suffer from such things, but mentioned, "It could happen to me tomorrow or in five years down the road". How awful it must be to see so many of your friends suffer and feel as if your turn may be inevitable.

I understand the scope of opinion and sides and controversies. I could go back in our history and try to make plausible the necessity of war. I could pull instances from the Bible to suggest it is inevitable, even. But I won't. Today I will focus on thanking those that have done what they feel is right, and have risked thier life to do so. I will appreciate that I can go the grocery store all by myself. I will appreciate that there is order in my world and that it is not acceptable for the police to pull me over and force me to pay a ransom, or worse, for no reason. Ultimately, I will appreciate that others are suffering on my behalf and that I sleep well at night due to thier own personal sacrifice.

WHOO-HOOO!

I am so darn excited today I can almost trick myself into forgetting that I have to attend parent-teacher conferences later. Within 24 four short hours the election will be done. DONE. I cannot wait. I must admit that I am dying to see what happens in grant park tonight- as the votes roll in and no less than 500,000 calm, cool, and collected folks hang idly at the Obama headquarters under circus tents. Bring on the riot gear. Win or lose, I predict it will be total chaos.
Being a special education US History teacher during an election has not made any of this easier. Kids spouting off at the mouth in an UN-educated fashion mimicking parents.
Kids trying to understand the issues and really only caring about the drinking age and abortion rights. Neither of which have any real bearing on my presidential choice.
Kids arguing the merits of having a first black president and what that will mean.
Don't get me wrong, as I recognize my roll is to educate. And I really do try to lead discussions that are thought provoking and two-sided and unbiased.
But it will be pure bliss when I step into my little ballot booth and punch in those choices which are completley mine. Without explanation.
Because sometimes regardless of my efforts, students come from where they come from and no amount of class discussion or eye-opening video or enthusiastic mock election can change attitudes instilled in children since they were born.
During the last election I actually had one of my students say, "Our governemnt sucks, my uncle had to weight EIGHT YEARS to get his section 8."
Yep. Shore did! He did say that! My response? "It only take four to get a degree, so that seemed like a collossal waste of time!"
Either way, I cannot wait to get back to my regular scheduled programming. Because even the SNL skits are starting to get boring.

Teacher-Parent Conferences

Does it mean I am a terrible teacher if I admit I am much more concerned about what I will wear for Parent-Teacher Conferences ( and yes- I have been conditioned to capitalize it) than I do about my actual conversations with parents?
Is it even worse to admit that this particular night, in which I am ambushed by parental concern, are two of the worst of my school year?
It is a rather odd meeting of the minds anyway. Half the time you come in with pre-conceived ideas. And I too, come in with pre-coneived ideas, about what you are like. What you are going to say. How you are going to defend or offend your child.
And the last time I met with parents I had a horrible experience. Truly horrible. It's definitely time to think about hiring a babysitter for your little ones. Just saying. And really, while I don't expect you to shower and primp, I do expect your general person to be in decent smelling order. You should probably keep one eye on the clock, because ten minutes really is a short time, and NO... I don't want to shop with you OR have coffee with you or UGH.... have dinner by your place some night to "talk further". Oh- yeah- and go ahead and brush your teeth for me. That is a plus. And in case anyone has found me at my NEW school, let's just say this all happened at my old school. Because voicing my opinion on that isn't really worth losing my job. Need I not remind you that as a teacher, my soul DOES belong to the state, first and foremost.
And now that I am ranting, I need to bring up that having a label means that there is something about you that is outstanding. Some say special. Regardless.
And changing the name of what the state has labeled you every few years so you don't get too comfortable with the term is an effort in futility. Because if you are super duper small and used to be a midget, and then you were a dwarf, and now you a little person, you are still really short. And really, changing the name of that doesn't make you taller. Or give you the right to stare down the offender who used LAST years term, like "midget"- as if they just threatened to jab you with a weapon and toss you into an alley. It's not like that.
So if you come to my table, I mean if you DID come to my table in the past, I will speak( I mean spoke) openly and honestly. No sugar coating. I call it like I see it. Sorry if it hurts. I don't mean to hurt you. Really. But I am over the lolly-gagging around what your child is and is not.
And for the record. IF your child is thinking about becoming a professional football player, I suggest he go ahead and go out for the team and get suited up or call a family roundtable about "other" career options. Because at five two and 90 pounds, I was thinking more like dressage jocky. Just saying.

Something Has Come Up

As a teacher of high school emotionally disabled students, you run across a lot of... odd stuff. And I wouldn't dare to make or poke fun at them to the world because I would seem crass and uncaring. But I do to thier faces. Because it often times helps us all cope with... the weird stuff.
For example, one of my students has Pica. Which means he will eat just about anything. Like tacks, or staples or his plastic binder. Loan him a pen? Forget about it. Give him paper? It's gone. He gives a whole new meaning to the saying "I ate my homework". Oh wait... that's dog.
But I love this kid, and we joke about his eating of "stuff" and we laugh together, because what else are you suppsed to do? And when we played a trick on the other students and had him jump up and down and had the teaching aide shake a box of paper clips so it seemed like all the metal was jangling in his tummy, it went down in history as one of our favorite moments in all of time. Because he can't control the Pica and so he must learn to laugh about it. Or else he will become a murderer just because he can't quit sucking on his Algebra book.
At any rate, one thing about most high school boys that is universal is the onset of puberty. And all of the "things" that "grow" from it.
And in my classroom I have had my fair share of what some guys refer to as the NRB ( No Reason Boner ) and believe me when I say I do my best to turn a blind eye.
But at the moment I have a student that tends to be... "going through puberty without control" and it's making me feel a little on the hinky side. Becuase I can tell a kid he needs to shower when he really stinks. I can tell a girl that her shirt reveals too much boob fat and needs to cover herself. I can even tell the pica eater to "stay away from my paper clips"... but I dont' dare confront the boy with the... risen appendage... with anything.
So this boy keeps "getting himself into this situation" and then standing in the middle of the room by the half-wall room divider. Hiding "certain parts" of his body. Which is inappropriate- as in CLASS IS STARTING. And I am GIVING A LESSON. But I just can't say it. Because I don't really know what it's like. And frankly, I don't want to know anything more about it.
I asked my husband about it and he informed that this is sorta normal at certain ages. And the wearing of baggy pants might help. And that I should leave him alone.
But when your classroom is all about structure and then the Boner Boy is over against the half-wall rubbing it out, what is the female teacher to do... when already the boy is ostracized for a myriad of other eccentricities. Because honestly, at this point in the game, if you made it into my classroom? You are most likely already on the "outside", if you will. So the "group" confrontation would be beyond humiliation. And there sure as hell ain't going to be no "private confrontation" between me and a boy and his... grody thingy.
So I am hoping this phase passes by sooner rather than later.

I Am Not Nearly as Cool as I Think I Am

I know I talk about fashion more than your regular gal, but less than a true "fashionista". I am overly concerned with my clothing and I know it. But I cannot help it. So finding a stain on my button down blows. And the day I wore navy tights with my black skirt and boots to work was terrible for me. The day I crapped my pants, literally, while at work, was a complete nightmare. Well, even fashion aside on that one. But really, my pants looked pretty awful.
So deciding to bite the bullet this morning and going for school spirit was hard for me. To purposefully look wierd during our Homecoming Spirit Week. The title was "Decade Throwback" or something along those lines. Basically dress in your favorite era. Easy one for me. I mean, my name is Lori for goodness sake. Even my NAME reeks of the seventies.
I busted out my red suede jacket. Buttoned up my lightly floralled cowboy shirt. Wore my flare jeans. Threw on a necklace and slid into my brown suede shoes. For extra uumph I parted my long curly hair right down the middle of my head. Voila. "The Seventies".
Not so much.
When I needed to pop into the gas station this morning I giddily walked in and wondered "What must they think of my ridiculous costume! Haha! I am just SOOO wacky! " The attendant greeted me with the usual.
When I walked into the building and ran into a co-worker I asked, "What era are you?" She smiled brightly, "Oh-the eighties!" ( Like I couldn't tell!!) No response on MY era.
When I ran around the school during my "free" period I waited patiently for someone to comment. But nary a word was heard regarding my "craziness" today.
I sat down in my classroom with my aide during our lunch period and said, "No one seems to notice my outfit!" Her stifled giggle response was reassuring that I didn't look nearly as "70's" as I thought I did. And even worse... I look like the "70's" ...a lot. So much that not even a red suede jacket on throwback day could illicit a single comment.
Tomorrow is "Dress like a student day"... I am SO going for it because the way I see it, I can don a hoodie and jeans.
Surely then tomorrow someone will tell me that Throwback Day was yesterday.

What? NO SCHOOL??

I am supposed to be sleeping in right now. School has been canceled due to the fact that most of my district has declared a state of emergency. Flooding. From the rain. The rain that has been disrupting my life since Friday night when we spent an hour and a half in the car to drive two miles, then turned around and came home, never making it even close to our destination.
Billy was called out to work at six in the morning on Saturday, and then my exciting plans for the day were henceforth canceled.
It started off okay. The warm and cozy "flooded in" feeling. An excuse to go nowhere and spend time at home doing those things that get neglected here and there.
I have baked cookies, taken a luxurous bath, done all the laundry, planned the meals for the week, cleaned the house, read three books ( yes, three ) watched two movies, including Legally Blonde 2 ( for about the tenth time), and I loved every second of it, caught up on some excruciating G's to Gents, but I can't resist, wedding present shopped via the internet, gone to the two stores in my area that I can safely get too, Dominick's and Target, and even completed the US Constitution Studyguide I plan on giving my students today. Well, as of now, tomorrow.
Since school was canceled.
Among the texts and phone calls I received from my co-workers, extolling their excitement, I must admit I was,... annoyed.
I am bored out of my mind. My husband has been gone all weekend, working away, so the most human contact I have had was via the check out girl and my elderly neighbor who bitched me out for not putting in a new sump pump earlier in the year- like he told me, too. He's so not getting any cookies.
And I know I should be grateful for the day off, but I am pretty much caught up on lounging and cleaning. I am feeling antsy. My eyes are darting around my house, just waiting for a speck of dest to land so I may attack it with my weapon, a paper towel. My feet are searching for an excuse to walk from one room to another- giving my overly-lounged butt a reason to move a little bit. My ears are listening for the phone to ring, or at least a neighbor outside I can pounce on and force to talk to me.
And even though it's not even Fall here, I might just tackle my closet. Figure out what goes and stays, put away the gladiator sandals and bust out the wool. So tomorrow when I go back to work I will be sweating my ass off in a turtleneck and and knee-highs.
Either that or start on the "picture project"... photos commemorating the last five years of my life that currently lay in boxes, bags, and piles... begging to be organized into: well, that's where the project falls flat. I get stumped on how to group them.
And what are you supposed to do with the little photos you get in Christmas cards and birth announcements and update letters? It's terrible to think of what a friend might say upon seeing their little Johnny's precious face a foot deep in coffee grounds and Dove Bar wrappers. Trashing the photo is not trashing them, is it?
I digress.
I just hope we have school tomorrow.

Liar Liar Pants on Fire

Me: There was a hand. It came up- from between the seat and the back of it. It was a man's hand. The man was in the trunk. I had my parent's pull over because of the hand that came up that was attached to the man in the trunk. But when my Dad looked he could't find anyone. It was a ghost or something.

( I was in second grade and I was sitting in the tires at the playground. Convincing all of my friends about my vast experience with ghosts. )

Me: So, yeah. We are going polar bear hunting in Alaska. The whole family. We didn't want my baby brother to come but we brought him anyway. We are going for the weekend.

Me ( Monday morning) : Yeah- we almost caught one but it got away.

( I was in Kindergarten, talking to Mrs. Lynne about our weekend. )

Me: Yeah- I fainted in the bathtub and almost died! I woke up sputtering water and my Mom came in and asked me if I was okay, but I was fine.

( I was at a slumber party in junior high, again, expounding on my vast life experience. )

LIES. ALL LIES. Why? I don't know. Bored? Creative? Just wanting to impress? I remember these lies vividly. Perhaps because of the slight discomfort I felt afterwards. Perhaps because in each of these moments I recall the listener doubting me.

So why does it bother me so much when one of my students... EVERY time I mention a movie tell me that he "saw that one yesterday on TV". EVERY TIME.

Breakfast Club? Saw it. Yesterday. Johnny Cash documentary? Saw that one too... yesterday, surprisingly. How about Groundhog Day? Wouldn't you know... saw that one, TOO! And only just... YESTERDAY!! Wow- life is just full of coincidence.

And each and every time I try, as horrible as it may sound, to solicit a tidbit of detail, like a station, or a time slot, so I may research the assertion and prove it wrong. And then, e-mail the evidence to my teaching assistant, who sits approximately fifteen feet away from me. And watch her smile broaden as she reads it. It brings me great joy.
And I confront this student each and every time. And I don't understand why he keeps doing it, and not learning that I will call him out. Because his response is not to defend himself... "Oh must have been a different station"... or "must have been last week... " He just giggles stupidly at me. He's SEVENTEEN.
And my excuse is that I was trying to inject excitement into my life, and in addition I was only 12. And I still remember the discomfort enough from those situations that I would never surmise to do so again.
And so, on Monday, I will prepare myself by searching for the most obscure movie known to man and find a way to insert it into class, just so I can watch it all play out again.
Sometimes I wonder if I am the weird one.

Another Little Piece of My Ass

Not every day deserves an "A". But when I heard my co-workers were throwing me the obligatory lunch since we-missed-your birthday-in-August-and-we-still-like-you kind of a deal, I played along.

And when I pranced out of the condo this morning I looked in the dining room's floor to ceiling mirrors ( perfect for 80's dance party) and gave a self-assured, " Uh... Adorable". And believe me when I say I RARELY compliment myself. Really. But it was a demin skirt and a complicated pink top and "nude" buckle-ey type shoes and I thought... okay... Fashion- "DO". Becuase I tried and it was like my birthday, only professionally... at work. And to me it worked. Oh yeah baby, it "worked" alright.

So who would be surpised when things when disasterously wrong?

As I walked across 25th Ave. to get from the parking lot to the school, rainy as it was, arms loaded as they were, coffee hot as I like it, I didn't expect the BUS to side swipe the CAR RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME and to CARRY ON as in HIT AND RUN. So when I paused in horror in the middle of the busy road and was shockingly screaming, " The bus hit the car...The bus hit the car,.... did you SEE the bus hit the car?... and my co-worker said, "Uh, get out of the road!"and then a little later, "I hate to be "that person" but do you really want to stand out here in the rain and wait for the cops?" and I said, "But the bus HIT the car!!" and she said... "I'm going inside Rain Man. Let me know what happens." And I said, " You are SUCH a BITCH!" but eventually followed her in. But by now I was drenched.

And I called the po-po from the safe confines of my room.

And then, a few hours later when I was walking my special ed class out of the library, my adorable "skirt" got caught in the turnstyle. Yep. The turnstyle.. . Flash city. Whale tail. THERE WERE no less than FIVE 16-18 year old boys behind me- and if they didn't puke they masturbated and nomatter what they told thier friends. And if you read my blog regularly, you will know that my ass is ALL over You- tube by now( 38 new cameras ) . Did I TELL you about the new cameras? I got so paranoid about sexual harassement I "popped" by the dean's office to "let them know"....

So when I carefully sat my fat and over-exposed ass in the joint Special Education/English faculty "office" to get my birthday pizza ( my LUNCH is at 10:45- SERIOUSLY!! ), I was slightly jaded. Thankfully, I still, for SOME reason ( perhaps beucase I hadn't seen a mirror in HOURS), was able to walk tall.

And within minutes THREE people came in from the English department ( SO not my crowd) and took pizza without asking out of the boxes and one girl was particularly disturbing as she BENT OVER AND SNIFFED the BOXES....and I thought...WTF is the DOing to the pizza? And she asked ( after spotting the Happy Birthday Lori" sign)"Who is Lori?" Chomp chomp. And I hollered, "That would be ME!" Only normally I would have retorted, "And I never said you could have my pizza!" (and then fake laughed JUST KIDDING! ) but the ass-exposure just completely had me off my game.

And when I came home and caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror I could not believe I had ever thought I looked adorable. It was nowhere near that. And when I did a reenactment of the ass flash I did NOT like what I saw. I am so not taking my students to the library anymore.

First Day of School

I thought today was going to be BLOG worthy city because it was my first day back to school. Not so much.
It was so predictable and lame. Even losing my keys and not having a single thing planned for tomorrow has me off my game. And I could get in some big trouble for losing those keys that can gain you access to anything in the public high school. But the dean said they installed like... eighteen new cameras that actually work. So, go right ahead, Chachi. Use my keys. See if I care. Your ass will get thrown in the slam because you still think all the cameras are fakes. Like I did a week ago when in the building. So, hopefully there is not currently some YouTube out there of me doing something grotesque.
Even the free lunch for teachers was pretty good.
And even now, I am bored. I had "saved" tonight for staying late at school, running errands, printing and photocopying loads of crap. But, I came home and made dinner. Like usual.
And even now, I ask myself, what the heck was I doing last year that made me so busy all the time.
I was most likely depressed and therefore felt like walking to the flippin restroom was taxing, so everything felt cumbersome.
Tomorrow the students come. I am non-plussed. Come, I say. Come in droves. .. Like you will. Ready to show off your new sneakers from Big Lots. Your matching jams, also from Big Lots. And your choke chain marijuana necklaces from Hot Topic. Come ready to tell me that you have no school supplies because your parents can't afford it and then text your friend on your new Blackberry about coming over later to play on your new 360. While I loan you my last pencil charged yesterday to my credit card. Come to me so I can teach you.
Because I have been doing this for 12 years now and I know what to expect.
Bring it. Because I am bored already and I can't wait.

Neicey? Are You Out There?

I love me some Niecy Nash. I watch Clean House all of the time. And Reno 911. Mostly because of her. I like how she is able to confront these scary freaks, oops, I mean folks with compassion and forward goal- oriented thinking about gutting all of the crap out of thier lives. And that stuff goes deep. Real deep.
Recently I saw an episode of the show about the messiest house in America. It was horrific. Worse than a Salvation Army after surviving a hurricane.
It was scarier than scary.
Now... let's talk about these folks. A mother and two daughters. They looked normal on the outside, but when they spoke it was like listening to a three year old when confronted with another child's bite marks. NOT ME! If I had been Niecy, I would not have been near as compassionate and patient. I would have blown a gasket and would have had to resist from gently placing my palms around the necks and shaking hysterically until I got some sense. Ot at least an admission.
Eventually, this family, after many, many, tears allowed eight trash dumpsters of pure SHIT to be hauled away. There was the requisite yard sale and what not... and even still the basement had to be stripped of it's intended design in order to house over 50 more bins worth of valuables. Sorry Mark, I know you tried!
In the end, mom seemed okay about the new relaxing home she could actually navigate and USE. But what got me was the reluctance to admit they liked anything. The one daughter, age 24, was a little bitch about her bedroom, which had been coated in Grateful Dead posters upon a layer of pink Holly Hobby wallpaper. The older daughter said she was going to move out and take all of her new bedroom furntiture WITH her. The mom nonchalantly said thanks at the end as if these people just didn't make it reasonably possible for her to FUNCTION. ( One guy said he found food in the fridge that expired in 2005 ). She did manage to hang onto some horrible PINK window treatments as she loved them. I might have to if it was still 1977.
I am left days later still thinking about it, actually traumautized by the whole experience.
I think it goes without saying that part of the reason I watch this show, and most reality shows for that matter, is to feel better about myself. It's obvious that while I am laying on the couch doing absolutely nothing and feeling guilty that I can easily say at least my house is not like that! Key word being house.
That is until yesterday. And I almost had a nervous breakdown.
I thought I would just stop by my classroom for a little bit and organize some of my things.
I needed a dumpster. And Niecy. It was out of control in there.
A co-worker stopped by and asked why I had so many stuffed animals. I couldn't think of a reasonable answer, I just asked him to please throw all the plush toys away because I didn't know if I would be capable of doing it.
I was there for over three hours. Luckily my friend and co-worker was helping me. Or I think I would have thrown myself onto one of TWO mounting piles of junk in a big blubbery mess. I was horrified by my collection and came home and drank three beers one after the other to cope.
I have to admit, I didn't realize it had gotten so bad. If I were watching myself on TV I would have chuckled to myself and thought- yeah right! You are lazy and depressed you fool!
I am humbled.

Sit DOWN Horseshack

SO.... typically in the week before school I opt to help ( get paid ) with the "book line". As in, all of the students file in one by one and hand you thier schedule and then you run around the stacks finding Algebra 2 by Houghton-Mifflin and a Writer's Inc. workbook. I generally like it because it is A) a drastic wake up call that school starts in less than a week. B) it gets me into the actual SCHOOL which by this point every summer I have completely avoided C) I begin to reacquaint myself with some of the personalities at work.
The personalites one might find are more diverse than one might typically venture to guess. There are cops, maintenance, cafeteria, teaching staff ( which, in a high school, general personality characteristics are defined by subject like Math, or English, unless you are a coach, which supersedes all and defines you as just that.. a coach ), suppport staff, social workers, admin., etc.
It's all very exciting for about two, three minutes, when the smiles and jokes are ripe, and then baselines back to hum drum. At best. But yet also comfortable and familiar in a good way.
My classroom was pretty predictable. I mean, on the last day of school last Spring I was informed that since summer school would be taking place in my classroom I would need to secure my belongings. Meaning: Me, shoving every ounce of ten years of teaching crap into a small back closet in a hustled mess and without any thought more intellectual other than I can't wait to get OUT of here. And while I dreaded my former actions when I walked into my basement-with-flourescent-lights-classroom, it was kind of a good thing in the end because I actually am going though it all organizing it. Annoying, but at least productive and results-oriented.
Most surprising to me was my student interactions. I heard myself talk a few times and wondered when I had gotten so impatient. I mean did I really need to bark at the kid for going through the book line with a hicky on his neck? Did I need to retort to the kid who obviously had failed English for so many years in a row ( due to his mile high stack of Enligh books ) that he might want to try doing his English homework this year? And lastly, could I not have at least feigned interest when the girl told me about her summer? I just brushed her off and was like.. great! with that faux-smile that is so irriating to receive.
Maybe I am PMS'ing. But most likely I am thinking ahead to the long year in which I am sucked dry emotionally every day by stupid student crap. You know.. like seriously, it's the third quarter and you don't even have a pencil yet? You are EIGHTEEN! Or, NO! It's not the janitor's job to pick up your lunch trash! And I don't mind getting sucked dry when it's an isloated incident. I mean, Sally can't help her parent's fought last night and didn't even think to sign her permission slip. But I am sort of sick of that crap that most high school teachers are faced with now... Higher expecations, longer hours, better scores, and with a population that is so self-absorbed and blameless and eager to self-satisfy. Like I don't have to justify to you DAILY whey you cannot text DURING the TEST!
And it's not the average kid that is like that, but it just seems that more and more we are forced to focus on the kids who are "slipping" ( i.e., crap parenting and no money and no respect for themselves or otherwise ) . And perhaps it's time to face the fact that while some kids can be saved from themselves, others cannot.
I think my goal for this year will be to focus on student achievement. No matter how small. It's time that the average and superior students get some attention as well.