Step off

Well, I’m back.  At least for now.

I’ve collected two classes’ papers.  I have graded three and can tell you that my wish for my birthday, Christmas, and the handful of pennies that I threw into a fountain didn’t come true.

I’m hesitant to start reading them.  My spidey senses are tingling… and telling me that spelling, grammar, and following directions are the three things the students this semester have a difficult time with.

Speaking of spelling…

I do not like the Gosselins anymore.  I only watched the show every so often because the kids were absolutely adorable.  Mom’s a crank and dad’s a pig.

Dad is currently upset that he’s been “fired” from the show (omitting his name: ”Kate plus 8″)… and a friend or paparazzo buddy of his (no doubt) hung a sign on his gate to the McMansion that had spelling errors galore.

He was upset that the person who made the sign spelled HIS name wrong.

It also spelled “penalty” as “penelty”.

Okay… if you want people to take you seriously, get a proofreader.  Dumbass.

Back to my papers… and quizzes… and the nothingless void that has become my life.

I found out that a family in town put their house on the market and sold it in TWO WEEKS.  (bark)

TWO

WEEKS

*sighs*

*pouts*

In due time, people.  At some point in my life, I will be staring out my window at the Rocky Mts… putting my crazy life in NJ aside and starting something new (and hopefully better).  In the meantime, I’ll be spending umpteen amount of hours in my batcave writing, reading, and grading.

Oh, the life of a teacher… how much fun it is… to be me.

Here are some interesting emails that I’ve received this week. (The only thing changed here are the names.)

They may give you as much a chuckle as they did to me:

• Professor Herstory… is the Encyclopedia of American History an encyclopedia?  I can’t tell because its online.
• Hey… get me my grade, k?
• (20 minutes before class)  I want an extension on my paper. 
• I was booted from my online quiz. Restart it.
• Professor Lady, I wanna assk you if you can do me a farver.  I wanna get an a in ur class, but your hard.
• I know you don’t give ickstensions on papers and do not resetting the quizzes on the computer, but I was sick and now I’m still sick and I want more time.
• (15 minutes after test was taken in school) I cant wait anymore.  What did you give me on my test???

*chuckles*

I tell you, for as much as I love teaching college (repeat after me: no parents, no parents, no parents), these emails never cease to amaze me.  First of all, there are no manners… such as, “Dear Professor,” “Professor,” or “Mrs.”  Secondly, most of them never sign their names.  So I have to email back, “Who is this?”  I have even gone as far as emailing a student and explaining ettiquette… because if one more person calls me “hey”, I will respond with, “what the fuck do you want?”

I’m sure THAT’D get their attention.

I’ve already been in to the Assistant Dean to speak to him about a couple of things…

Like… this relatively EASY thing I do called ON LINE QUIZZES.  I use the school server and account to create a series of chapter quizzes that are OPEN BOOK and to be completed at HOME.

I’ve only seen 3 students score a 25 (out of 95 students)… most are barely passing with a 10/25 or 15/25.  Sad.

I even got an email from a student questioning my “difficulty”… “I think your questions for those open book quizzes are hard.”  GOOD, I say.  It’s an open book, it’s supposed to be hard.  My response was, “Welcome to college.”

Again… I still stand firm to the belief that not EVERYONE belongs in college.  But, let them try a semester at least to see if it is for them.  Just let those kids take someone else’s class for a change…

Oh… I have picked up tutoring hours at the college, as I’m sure I said once or twice before.  The combination of teaching them and then tutoring them is killing me.  By Thursday and Friday, I’m a zombie.

However, I have gotten closer to a few fellow staff members (about time… its only my 3rd semester here)… and we have fun, when we’re allowed to.  Sometimes when we’re not.

Speaking of fun…

My girlfriend from h.s. is in this week (tending to her mother who is dying slowly from cancer)… and she, along with another h.s. friend, were over last night, drank a LOT of wine, then drunk texted friends of our’s.

I’m a bad girl waiting to come out, I think.

My husband is sleeping in the big comfy chair while the three of us are sitting at my dining room table, huddled over my cell phone, as we’re texting silly shit to two of our guy friends from h.s.  One was at home sick, watching the game and the other is in the process of being trained for a new occupation over 6 hrs from here.

It was silly, dirty, nasty fun.  And, I am not ashamed… at all.  hehe…

Today, I find out that a mutual friend is upset that she wasn’t invited to our drunk texting thang… and feels left out, yet again, because she’s not married, has no kids, has no significant other, and for the life of me, and for reasons I can’t explain, thinks that by dressing like a slutty 16 yr old (she’s older than me), and by aggressively flirting with men (married AND single alike) that she’ll land a guy.

She’s already announced that she’d be people’s fuck buddies.

Ok, well… I guess I’m still a bit on the conservative side… even though I’m outspoken and can be abrasive (at times).

I don’t think that if you’re looking for a long-term, stable relationship with a nice guy that saying, “Can we be fuck buddies” is the best choice of words.

That more or less establishes your relationship as a big booty call.

I’m not a booty call type of girl.  I’m too ridiculously romantic to want to screw someone whom I don’t know and then never see them again.

I don’t know… maybe I’m missing something.

Oh well.

I’m off to bed.  I have been wanting to write for a while, but work just sucks up ALL of my awake time, it seems.  At least for now.

Toodles poodles!

If I had only known sooner…

while in college, if someone grabbed me by my two arms and shook me while telling me to get out of education before it eats me alive, I probably would’ve laughed at them.  My mother said that I was SO determined to become a teacher that God floating down on a chariot pulled by gleaming white stallions, I would tell him to buzz off.

Hindsight is 20/20, they say.

Although I enjoy being the center of attention (yes, I’m a self-admitted attention whore), and like interacting with students (unless they were created to drive a rod up my ass and irritate me to pieces), I do not like the bullshit political part of teaching.  You know, the fake smile-wave thing.

I would definitely not make it in the realm of politics… I don’t like backstabbing, underhanded manuevers, or game-playing.  You have something to say, say it.  Don’t threaten me.  I’ll get you back… and whilst trying to be a considerate person, I have a mean streak.  (thank my father for that)

Yesterday, I received about 38 emails from two classes of students whining about getting kicked out of their online quiz.

My response: “I’m not resetting your quizzes.”

Their response: “Oh, ok, I guess I’ll take the failing grade.”

Yup.  That’s the idea.

Though, I did reset two who didn’t even start their quiz, thinking that’d be fair because they didn’t even get to SEE the quiz… but the next time I have a quiz, there’ll be no excuses.  If you do something to get kicked out, the system hates you, the server is being flooky, your Internet is mean, the man is out to get you, or whatever you seem to think is happening… it’s true.  My online quizzes are created to help you to fail… to frustrate you… to make you cry and beg me, on your knees with tears and sniffles, to help you.

Seriously… I have a life, albeit, school is currently sucking the “free” out of my free-time.  I had to turn off my blackberry last night because if ONE more student emailed me that they “accidentally” hit submit before they finished or that the server is out to get them, I was going to smash my phone.

I’M WATCHING TV WITH MY KIDS… the first time I’d seen them all day.  Are you… kidding?

I keep kicking myself for giving them my “just for them” backup email (in the event that the school account isn’t cooperating)… I need to re-establish some boundaries.

The SCHOOL email is the first line of defense.  DO NOT use the additional email unless I have not responded to your initial email within 24 hours.  DO NOT expect a response from me after 9pm on weekdays and 7pm on weekends.

And for CRYING OUT LOUD… stop sucking the fun out of my life with your petty whining.

Last night, I posted a message, mostly out of desperation, at the class server… and said, “I’m tired of repeating myself.  I am NOT resetting your quizzes.  I cannot reopen your quiz for you, because then I would have to reset it.  Understand that this was established the first day of class.  I’m sorry that the Internet is out to get you, and that the server hates you, your computer is being wicked, and your mouse likes to close your quizzes.  In order to be fair to everyone, you all must follow the rules.  That’s it.”

I have spoken.  After yesterday, I haven’t gotten any more emails.  So far.

The deadline for that quiz is tonight.  There’s still 12-1/2 hours before I can say, “Oh well, the quiz is over, too late” in an official capacity.

The first quiz was my apron string cutting quiz.  And, I told them that.  This isn’t high school, is yet another thing I’ve said.  And, I will be getting progressively harder, was one more thing I told them.

Apparently, my suspicions about this school are correct: it IS grade 13.

(I work at a community college.  I’m getting to know the full-time staffers and some of them are a lot of fun to be around, as I’m there four days a week.  My department supervisor seems to like me.  The deans seem to like me (especially after reporting what seemed like a depressed and despondant email from a student last semester)… because I’m a rule-player.  I’m not a flouncy, goes by the seat of her pants type of teacher.  I have actually set up the course in advance (something I was never able to do in high school)… and I FOLLOW IT.

So, we’ll see how the day goes…

Oh, in response to the “putting pics on Facebook”… last night I went into FB and took out any pictures that may seem to border what the law enforcement drones may consider child porn… a headshot of my 6 yr old with a soapy mohawk whilst in the bathtub (with no privates showing)… if they can arrest a mom for putting pics of her little ones on FB in the tub, God only knows what they have in store for ME.

I’m waiting, law enforcement people, in my batcave, staring at a pile of paperwork that I need to get done today.  IF you can give me an hour, I’ll be ready for you to cuff me.

In the meantime, would you mind picking up some decaf coffee for me?  I’d be much obliged.

Donut, coffee, and a fetal position

It’s been yet another long week in a series of long weeks to be followed by even MORE long weeks in which all I do is eat, breathe, sleep, and pee school.

Ok, the peeing of school was a little too much.  Sorry.

I”m also more exhausted than last semester… especially inregards to the on-line take home quizzes I’ve assigned.

It’s like these people have never used computers and I’ve pulled the technology out of my ass and one day said, “POOF! Be technologically advanced and multiply!”

Let’s just say that *I* am more technologically saavy and capable than most of my 18-20 year old students collectively.  OR, so they want me to believe.

I receive 32 emails since 3pm… whining about this or that… telling me that I have incorrect answers… or that my TAKE HOME quizzes are too hard.

Boo-freaking-hoo.

(I did realize how many SPELLING typos I’ve made.  It’s shameful.  That’s all I feel badly for…

Then, I get an email from a student telling me (rather boldly) that my questions were “too hard” and he feels that they need to be “easier.”

My mouth dropped.  Then, I started to laugh.

My response was, “Welcome to college.”

(Yes, I actually said it.)

Then, I get an email from a DAD … more or less telling me that I better excuse his son for attending his mother’s “devastating” gall bladder surgery (which I’ve had… and its far from devastating… especially since she had a laproscopic surgery… with three little incissions)… threatening to call the administration.

Uh, fuck that shit.

I forwarded it to the Dean.  And, after meeting with him (the Dean) today, it has become apparent that he also agreed that the parent was out of line.  This email has been forwarded up the higher levels of the school administration.  GOOD.  I know what my r0le is, and know full well that *I* cannot discuss any college-related stuff with anyone’s parent… especially if they are over 18.

My view was this:  I made my policy for makeups and absenses when I wrote my syllabus.  I went over this policy after giving my syllabus to my students.  I reiterate the policy when needbe.  What I will not be is threatened, cajolled or manipulated into changing my policy because some DAD said I had to.  I don’t even listen to MY OWN father now… so, some stranger’s dad doesn’t scare me…  especially not as much as my OWN father used to.  NO father scares me.  So take your idle threats and cram them up your large expectations ass… and think on it for a few.

Before I even received that insulting email, I offered to let him come into another class to take his test (as they were taking their’s, too).  This wasn’t a new concept… I’ve done this before.  However to say, “I expect that you WILL allow him to make up all missed assignments, tests, etc, or I will notify the administration” is the button that does not need to be pushed by an over-bearing father or his son.  Ever.

Needless to say, the administration is deciding how to approach this… you know, to avoid any future lawsuits.  So, this essentially means that the teachers involved will be screwed… and it’ll be just…like…teaching…high school.

Maybe.

We’ll see. 

At least *I* am the one who took the step to talk to the administration first.  It was probably just an idle threat… however, I’m not taking ANYYYY chances.  Nope.  Not me.

Although, this is a school that has hired as a full-time, tenured professor… who kicks off his shoes, screams at the top of his lungs, and propels such words as “FUCKERS’,” SON OF A WHORE BITCH” and “COCKSUCKER” during his lessons…

The first time I heard him, I nearly died.  The students in his class saw my face through the glass in the window… and the shock on my face was probably more than enough for them… and they started laughing.  And, I had to physically pull my mouth shut so I didn’t look any more ridiculous tha…oh hell, when don’t I look ridiculous.

I think I’ve said hell (in the proper context) and damn (once, only once).. but never ever say f-bombs, or any other x-rated words in class.  That’s for outside of school, out of the earshot of impressionable young people.

 

Nor do I “hang with the homies”… though, one of my students (who is friends with my son) has become my lunch buddy.  I eat in the wide open of the caf…  I don’t invite them to my house, exchange cells or any of that creepy pervy stuff.

The weird thing is this… at least 1/3 of my students are friends with my older son and of that 1/3 at least 1/2 of those have been in my house, slept over, eaten at my table, etc.  It’s weird, I have to say, to have so many people I’ve known since they were in kindegarden in my classes.

Weird.

Ok, so here is a question…

Recently, a woman was arrested because she posted pictures of her children in the bathtub on Facebook.

What is your perspective about putting personal pics on such social networking sites such as Facebook?

zig zag hide the bag…

I’m a horrible, neglectful blogger.  I hope you (yet again) forgive me for my negligence…

I’m teaching three classes, tutoring two days a week (for a few hours), run the little one to soccer (when I’m not melting down with time constraints), and am lacking adequate sleep…  and, I think I’m starting to NOT feel well.

*sighs*

Needless to say…

School is going “all right” I guess.  They’ve had a test (which they did well on because I dumbed it down to the point that retarded circus monkeys would be able to score a high grade), an on-line quiz (which they failed miserably), and a deal struck…

I am doing things a little differently this semester.  I do not want to become predictable… and fall into a pattern, necessarily… and I want to be a BETTER teacher, not a slave to mediocracy.

So…

We’ll see how things pan out.  I’m not helping some of them by going easy on them, but I’m hoping I can lull them into a false sense of security before I pull the rug out from beneath them.

Or… something like that.

What’s to bitch about?  I just saw my paycheck and it’s a couple hundred dollars MORE than the spring semester.  I’m also working my ass off, too.  Something’s gotta give, that’s for sure…

——-

Last night, at #3’s soccer game (mind you, its a clustermenagerie of 6 yr olds all scrumming to get the ball)… my little angel was misbehaving because of a lack of proper coaching-adult supervision… across the field from where I was sitting.

I put my hand, horizontally, in front of my neck and did this “knock it off” thing… and my LOVELY little 6 yr old stuck his tongue out at me and did a mini Neener Neener face.

I felt my eyes bulge.

I sent #1 son over to talk to him… because I would make a scene if I had to go over there (it has been an entire WEEK of his misbehaving)… when he was walking back to us, that little one was at it again.

So, I got up and walked over, trailing behind two other parents whose lovelies were misbehaving as well.

Just as I was passing a mother and granny at the corner of the field, the granny hollers out, “Don’t be beatin them kids cuz its illegal.”

I’m seething.  The LAST thing I need is some pointy-droopy boobed old lady to tell me how to not discipline my kid.  Would I have beaten him on the field? No… but, I was THIS close to grabbing him and taking him home.  To hell with the game, sort’ve thing…

Then, I hear the old bitty yelling out again, “Someone needs to teach them kids a lesson.”

First of all… they’re SIX goddamn years old.

Secondly… I’m HERE aren’t I?  Shut the fuck up.

Thirdly… weren’t you just the old bat who told me to NOT beat my kid?  Would you please make up your mind?

Finally… but the hell out of my business or I’ll have my son scissor kick you to the back of your head.  (/insert movie quote from Talladega Nights)

I get to my son and he IMMEDIATELY sits up and says with this pitiful face, “What? What did I do?”

“You made me get up and cross the field because you cannot behave.”

“I’m behaving.”

“No, apparently you’re not.”

I can STILL hear the heckling of that older woman and her daughter… related to a little girl in #3’s kindegarden class last year… “Beatin them kids is illegal.”

[Sorry to interrupt... I just got a phone call from "Steve" from the Chimney company.  Steve sounds 11, maybe 12.  His voice cracked like Peter Brady when he sang that "Sunshine" song.  I said, "Steve, I don't have a chimney, sorry." And I hung up.  I think I need to re-up on my DNC listing... ]

[Shit, I just dated myself, didn't I?]

[Oh well... it was bound to happen...]

I stood by #3 for a few minutes… squatting down to whisper to him that either he behaves or we go home.  At this point, my allergies were screaming… my skin was itching all over, my eyes were watering, my nose was getting congested… I couldn’t give a rat’s ass if we stayed… all I wanted to do was GO HOME and drink a bottle of Benedryll.

He behaved.

I walked back to my seat, keeping an ever villigant eye on my little spider monkey.  Whilst walking past the hecklers, I snarled, “Better call DYFS… “

And, no, I didn’t beat him.

However, when we got to the car, after the game had ended, my angellic little one stuck his tongue out at me and did that crappy face whilst saying, “I hate you, you’re a weiner.”

Did I mention that the mom who went to restrain her little girl ignored the child while she told her mother to “suck her weiner.”

Apparently, the kid is confused.  Girls can’t tell anyone to “suck their weiner” unless they’re harboring two different genitals… which was not the case, I don’t believe.

I tried to shut my mouth, but I felt my jaw drop.  My husband could see my face from across the field.  “What’s wrong,” he later asked me, “Why did your mouth drop?”

Out of ear-shot of #3, I told him… and HIS mouth fell open.

Ok, back to the car…

I wanted to clobber the little turd at this point.  He does this all of the time and my lovely husband doesn’t say a WORD unless I give him shit about it.  Back me up, will ya?  Is it that hard to do?  We need to be a team!  etc.. etc…

Last year, my little one apparently BIT this little girl.  Why?  She was sticking her fist in his face and he bit her.  No, he didn’t draw blood.  I was livid when I found out.  He lost his Nintendo DS for a month and was sent to his room.  Every day thereafter, he was in time out.  I almost used a little bar soap in his mouth (I wonder what that old bitch would’ve said had I pulled out a bar of zest and stuck it in #3’s mouth.  I think I’d hand my phone to her so she could expedite the call… and I’d even spell my name out for her.)

This little girl, after observing her for about 10 minutes, is the reason MY son says words like, “Weiner,” “You suck,” and “I hate you.” 

He never said it as much as he’s been doing lately… and the longer he sat next to her, the more he said it TO ME.

I’m tired… I’m cranky… I have nagging college students whining and nagging me for their grades every second of the goddamn day.  I have 3 essay questions to write for Monday, notes for an entire chapter, and grading of tests (that have written essays on them).  My eyes are crossing, my throat hurts, and my body aches.

I think I’m gonna go take a short nap… I’m cooking chicken soup on the stove and I should go check it.

Oh, so when we got home, #3 ended up spending some time in his room until dinner arrived (we ordered pizza b/c soccer ran late) and once he was finished, he was bathed and put to bed.  No television, no dessert, nothing.

I’m going to have to drop the hammer again on my husband.

Either back me up or I’m kicking everyone out of MY house… or I’ll run away to an undisclosed place… that way he’ll have to deal with the shit directly and for a longer amount of time… and perhaps he’ll “get” it …

*sighs*

For an ENTIRE week, I posted an OPEN BOOK quiz to be taken AT HOME by my students… because, I truly didn’t want to read weekly essays and took the same amount of points and applied it to four take-home tests.

Should’ve been cake, right?

Hardly.

The majority of my students STILL haven’t taken this quiz yet, and it closes at 11:59:59pm TONIGHT.

And, of those who have taken this quiz (which comes VERBATIM from the text), the class averages are 19/25 and 17/25… only ONE class has a satisfactory score: 22/25.

*sighs*

In my days in college, which weren’t THAT long ago, an open book was a miracle from God. A TAKE HOME open book was golden. If you failed it, you were truly an idiot and didn’t belong in college.

There, I said it. Although, we were sternly warned (with pointed finger and scowly faces) to not try to weed out those who do not belong in college… because hey, this is community college and EVERYONE belongs in college… here.

So, when do we use honesty and forth-rightness in telling some of these students that either they kick it into gear or they go to a technical school.  Let’s face it, we still need people to pump our gas in NJ (which makes us better than nearly every other state because our hands don’t smell like gasoline) and flip burgers (except for a fastfood place my husband and I went to en route to our cousin’s funeral.. robots would have done a better job).

It is NOT my job to tell some doe-eyed kid that they are not college material.  It IS my job to teach them and then assess whether or not they “got” it.  However, as I write their tests today for next week, I am wondering something…

If they can’t PASS a take-home open book quiz, how in the HELL are they going to pass a pen-and-paper test?

I’ve also noticed that thus far, this week, the same 5-6 students are having difficulties accessing or completing this quiz.

Um… ITS A TAKE HOME OPEN BOOK QUIZ.  Really?  Are you going to make this super dramatic?  It’s 17 questions DIRECTLY FROM THE BOOK… I could’ve given some of the people the PAGE numbers and they still would’ve failed.

It’s sad… ya know?

Yesterday, before and after class, the same student was bugging me about one of the questions that I had on the quiz.

He failed without that 1-point question, by the way.  And he is arguing semantics.  Patron and leader, in our perspective of a particular noble who supported navigation is the same thing.  This one individual OPENED the door for western exploration and enabled men such as Columbus, Vespucci, Magellan to show the Old World that there was more to this spinning globe than their egotistical selves and what they deemed “inferior”… Asia, Africa, and the Middle East.

So, I told him, numerous times, that I stand by the answer: Prince Henry the Navigator.

I get home, a mere 30 minutes later, and there’s the SAME student writing the question for me in an email, in the event that I’m stupid and had forgotten that he already nagged me twice before without my relenting… to remind me, that if ANY OTHER STUDENT has this question wrong, that perhaps I should revisit it.

My response was:

If anyone’s gotten it wrong, it is because they didn’t read further in the text when it states that Prince Henry founded a Navigation school, gleaned navigational/maritime technology and enabled it to be improved upon… making him the patron and founder of…

Ok, you get the message.

Apparently, he did not.

So… I anticipate an email from an administrator asking me why an angry student is in their office bitching over a 1-point question on a quiz that they miserably failed.

This ridiculous sense of entitlement has been perpetuated.

I’m not saying that I do not make mistakes… however, after I checked the question when he FIRST brought it to my attention, I checked it and it was correct.  Ok, so there ya go… I looked at it and gave him his 30-seconds.  Let’s move on, shall we?

So, I’m DUMBING this test down more than LAST semester… and it pains me as I write this test to admit that if I do not dumb it down, that only a handful of students across the board will actually PASS.

Tho, I do have to say that they are fulfilling their part of the bargain we made… that I give them the notes and we have lengthy classroom discussions, they participate, and I give them an occasional activity in class to do.

Yesterday, by far, was my most productive and informal class since I’ve started at college.  I started to tell them the story of history, throwing processing questions out at them, “Why do you suppose…” and “In what way…” to see if they were getting it.

A small percentage of students began to raise their hands… and I didn’t pick on the hiders because I still don’t know their names… however, I will start calling from the roster next week… they need to earn the participation grade, it’s not a gimme.

———–

I have decided to invest in a netbook so that I can work on my lessons while I have downtime at school, as well as update grades, answer desperate emails, etc.

My school is odd… the adjuncts outnumber the full-time staff 10 to 1.  We have NO lounge.  We have NO desks of our own.  We have NO computer access that is out of the reach of the students (i.e. library).  And, dragging my shit from classroom to bathroom to car to tutoring to classroom to the cafeteria is getting exhausting.  One of the poli sci professors offered two drawers in her file cabinet for any adjuncts who need a place to put their stuff.

The full-timers have a room with cubicles for their offices.  The school must have sensed that the part-timers are getting pissy and put two SUPER SMALL cubicles together for us… with signs saying “Adjunct Computer desks.”  Guess what?  There are NO computers there.

Hmm…

Another adjunct and I have devised an evil plot… we’re going to print two pictures of a computer and TAPE it to the desk.  If nothing else, the other adjuncts will get the joke.  In other words, more likely than not, there never WILL be computers there… OR they will give us the left-over rejects that no one can use because its a POS.

I also noticed a small room used as a lounge.  I asked who it was for.  I was informed that the students are free to study there… but it cannot be used by adjuncts.  So stated the freeholders and board members who are in charge of our school

Are we a hated people?  Shall we wander the hallways for a thousand years like the Jews in the desert?  Or, will someone at some point realize that without us, that cheap school would have NO ONE to teach…

So, in rebellion, I went outside to my car (in a milled parking lot behind the modular classrooms) and had a cigarette… in the no smoking area.

Bite me, she said tongue in cheek.

One more time around the crazy tree, please

…If for nothing else, it’ll look good on my resume.

Kayne West is a piece of garbage.  His blatant rudeness towards Taylor Swift during the recent MTV music awards (or the AMA.. or whatever in the hell it was, oh wait, it must’ve been MTV because it was chaos on a stick)… for taking her microphone away while she was accepting her “best female performer in a music video that no one gets to see because MTV is more focused on stupid television shows focusing on alcohol-infused idiots jumping off balconies and having random sex with homeless bagladies” award so he could point towards Beyonce and shame the judges by saying something about Beyonce’s shit is better than that stupid white girl’s… (not in those exact words, but you know that’s what he was saying)… embarassing the entire music industry.

Well, except for Kanye… who thinks his egotistical bullshit doesn’t stink.

First of all, where were the backstage staff?  Do they get long canes to reel in long talkers and stage stealers?  Why didn’t security bum rush him and tackle him to the ground?  Would it have even occurred if Elton John pranced on stage dressed in seguins and feathers?  Or if Liza Minelli started throwing M&Ms at the audience?  HELL NO…

Well, they DID let Michael Jackson and his then (fake) wife Lisa Marie Presley make OUT… which still sends nauseating chills up my spine.

And, Howard Stern sail in on some high-wire harness with his ass cheeks exposed.

Essentially, the show was more excited about getting negative press for a stupid stunt by a stupid person than it was for the young girl who’s moment he crapped on.

I never liked Kayne.  Not that I don’t appreciate out-spoken people, because at times I do.  What I don’t appreciate is the general and over-all lack of respect that people show to one another.

Like, when I’m driving to work and some 14 year old kid, who SHOULD be in school, skirts across the road on his bike, popping in and out between cars, begging for someone in a big SUV to hit him.  Like me, for instance. 

Or, the lady with her dog on her lap and a coffee in her hand while she juggles her cell phone on her shoulder.  Hello?  Stupid lady?  Hang UP the phone, put the damn dog in the seat next to you, put your coffee IN your cup holder, and try to not hit the stupid kid on the bike who is darting across the road.

———-

Have I mentioned YET this week that I’m utterly exhausted?

Dreaming Patrick Swayze dreams is adding to my exhaustion.  What a great actor… in movies such as Youngblood, Red Dawn, the Outsiders, Point Break, Road House, Dirty Dancing, Ghost… and the list goes on.

Hey, Patrick… Nobody puts baby in the corner!

We’ll miss you…

———-
UPDATE 9/16/09 @ 11:03

Leno shut up Kanye… News at 11!

How unlucky are we?

Last night, my son comes running up the stairs w/ his laptop in hand, freaking out.

He turns the screen towards me and says, “MOM??”

My husband’s cousin… her husband died.  Their daughter posted it at FACEBOOK but did not notify anyone in the family.  Essentially, aside from the cousin’s brothers, my family was the first to know.

I had suspected something was up all day long, why I didn’t CALL them, I don’t know.  Maybe I was afraid that it was true. 

Have we lost ALL sense of person-to-person verbal communication so much that we rely upon Internet-based websites?  Is it even more ridiculous to feel insulted and hurt that a close family member couldn’t pick up the phone and start the family phone chain?  I had to find out on FB and then break the news to my kids, husband, and inlaws?

I understand posting a funny comment, picture, or lyrics to a song at facebook.  I get people leaving me messages all of the time (I use the FB with my real name for people who do not know that I have THIS blog, and have neglected my friends at my herstory07 facebook page… my bad, I’m awful… you should unfriend me out of spite)… about stupid shit.  Imagine my angst and pure frustration when I see an indirect comment (COMMENT) at their daughter’s page saying, “I love and miss you dad.”

WHAT? what? Whaaaaat?  I think I hit forty-three levels of anxiety that I didn’t even know I had.  By the end of my phone call inquiries, I couldn’t sleep.  When I catch sleep in the middle of my tossing and turning, I dreamt about our cousin… something I’ve never done.

So… when did we lose our penache for speaking directly to people?   When I call any company, I’m impatient because I, for one, do not appreciate being put on hold.  Nor do I appreciate having to push number after number after number in hopes that a human voice will save me from that button-pushing hell.  Mostly, I do not like elevator muzak.  It gives me a headache and I can never get the damned song out of my head.

#2 son won’t answer the house phone anymore.  When I ask him to CALL someone, he’d prefer to text them.  I, too, find myself texting things, but for something that requires more than a few words with ridiculous spelling and acronyms, I pick UP the phone, dial their number, and speak with the person… voice to voice.  A skill that’s been mostly lost with this present generation.

So, you can probably understand why I have been nursing a headache, my stomach is in knots, and my eyes hurt.  I’ve been trying to get people to use the goddamn phone.  Thankfully, my mil knows how to use it (and states, “I don’t even HAVE Facebook, so if you didn’t see it, when would I be told?”)… because she’s called me about 5 times since my sil told her early this morning (we wanted her to not be up all night, worried and upset… we’ll just save that for today and tonight).

I texted the cousin’s daughter… “I just saw FB, what the hell is going on??”

NO response.  Granted, they are in shock, and I empathize with them… emphatically.  Been there, done that… have a t-shirt to prove it.

So, the next person to be annoyed with are the siblings of the cousin who were told YESTERDAY MORNING… who then could have called family.  Did they? No.
The past  19 hrs have been just purely chaotic in a hellish manner.  I shall miss our cousin… his loss is a sad loss.  (Not that any loss isn’t.)

Argh…

I think I need to go lay down for a bit…

You’re the only one who knows that…

One week down and fifteen more to go.  Whew.

I didn’t think this week would end any time soon, however, it has.  My little one also started soccer the first week of September and was supposed to have his first game today… in the pouring rain and cold… but, fortunately, a last minute phone call from the coach’s wife as I stood in a towel, just out of the shower, made today MUCH BETTER.  The game has been post-poned.  Whew.

I am very opinionated (if you haven’t noticed yet), and I do not hesitate to say what I’m thinking… and sometimes my “don’t say that” filter isn’t working well.  And, then I feel like shit until I get to apologize for speaking my mind.  It took me a LONG time to be able to speak my mind, ya know.  I like it.  However, people tend to think I’m this mechanical bitch… but, I’m really not that way.  I’m skeptical and CAN be a bitch.  There’s a difference. 

Besides, there’s a lot of work that goes into being a bitch 24/7.  I couldn’t do that… it’d be too tiring.

So, I know that a few of you probably are wondering how my first week back to school was.

It was… uh… ok.

My filter didn’t work on Day 1.  I said “Henry 8th was a manwhore” in a room of impressionable, first semester college students.  I saw one girl’s face.. her eyes were HUGE, her mouth hung open, and there was a hint of a smirk.

YES, I SAID MANWHORE.  Hello?  It’s college.  Can (most of us) we be adults?  Ok, so I said something completely out of character for myself… I usually wait a few weeks before shoving around comments like, “insane from inbreeding” or “manwhore”… though, in my opinion, someone has to say it.  If I am going to capture their attention… I have to say things like “inbreeding,” “sexually incompatiable” and “manwhore.”  They’re lucky they are not in my World Civ I course, or I’d say crazy-ass things referring to vestal virgin sacrifices, chastity and premarital sex, as well as condoms.

I had an ENTIRE lesson on methods of birth control… I swear to GOD my class last fall nearly exploded in laughter.  And, for the remainder of the semester, if anyone said “condom”, they’d burst out laughing.   Sheep intestines are apparently VERY funny…

Needless to say, I’m hoping that I can take the info (which is HUGE, but even when reduced is still a lot) and make it more interesting.

So, I’m inserting questions into my powerpoints to force conversation.

We’ll see how that works…

Needless to say…

I have a student who told me her entire life story in the hallway before class on the first day, after calling me by my first name (uh, no)… and reminds me of that mom from That 70s Show:

 

Kitty Forman. 

 

 

 
… except, during that 5 minute tour of her life, she actually made me feel badly for her.  She’s in her 50s and finally going back to school because her dad wouldn’t LET her go to college… and that she felt too… old… to be in college.

LET her go?

My dad didn’t THINK I was college material (not that he paid for any of my tuition or books or anything), and therefore TOLD me that I should goto a community college.  I wanted to get away from them.  I went away to a school that my mother nagged me to go to (but I didn’t want to go, because it was UBER conservative Christian) and I ended up screwing around (because I just wanted out of my parents’ house) and failed out my first year.

Where’d I end up?  Community college.  And for all his faults and foibles, he never prevented me from at least going.  I think he believed I was going to fall on my ass, get some office job typing, and that’d be that.  Har har… er, shit.  I’d probably be making MORE money if I had done that, but I was determined to get a college degree… a few in fact.  But, it doesnt’ make me any smarter than anyone else.  What it does is makes me indebted to the financial aid system… repayment of that tuition (that would then land me the PERFECT job where I could work for 30 years, collect my pension, and retire)… and struggle to find a job, to which I have since discovered that NONE are perfect… however, this is pretty damn close… except for the pay… and my lack of a place to put my stuff (officially). 

So, while I’m listening to her tell me about her struggle to get to this one single point, I smiled, stopped her (she was near crying at this point), looked her deadpan in her eyes and said said, “When I went back to college when I was 29, more than half of my courses were filled with men and women in their 50s and 60s who were going back to college, too.  Do not ever feel that you’re too old to be here.”

She tried to hug me, but instead her urge to go potty overwhelmed her and she scampered off towards the ladies’ room.  I leaned back against the wall, looked up towards the ceiling, and took a deep breath.  When I quietly exhaled, a student from another class got my attention with, “Did your son tell you I was in your class?”

Oh boy.  I’m a goddamn celebrity.  And, as it turns out, her DAD is a big wig politican in my county… a freeholder, I believe.  That means he’s my boss.  Great.  My luck, “manwhore” will pop out of my mouth and her father will find out.  I’ll be banned from breathing ever again.

——-side note——–

When I was an undergrad, I had a professor who was notorious for swearing at appropriate times…

Like, “Since I’m teaching you the 1960s this semester, if those rotten bastard suits drag me out, I want this ENTIRE class to protest like no tomorrow.”

One time, he blurted out “fuck” in class and the entire group grew silent (which was difficult for them).  I quietly snickered… he was my advisor, I was fully aware of his ability to drop the f-bomb… but apparently a few were not.

Like, “these fuckers beat black people with big baseball bats and set dogs loose on them.”

One time, frustrated that the lacrosse team wouldn’t SHUT THE HELL UP… he said, “SHUT THE FUCK UP”

They shut up.  I again found it funny and smiled.  Some people never learn.

—-end of side note——

Ok, so essentially… the semester is going to be super duper interesting.  I have a large class of comatose 18 yr olds, an emotional 50+ year old, and a few kids who remind me of dejected muppets.

It’ll be interesting, for sure!

Check back for updates… they may be sporadic, but I’m sure they’ll be interesting…

And, maybe, just maybe, I won’t get fired… *grins*

Mistress Dorkmeister, at your service

Today was my first day back to classes.  WHEW BOY! 

First of all, last semester (and the one prior), I recall bitching about the air conditioning not kicking in until my class was over.  That was an 8am class.  I’m now starting my day with a 9:30am class.  Guess what?  Being as wet like when you get OUT of the shower to greet your class is NOT fun.  The hallway was steamy.  The room was hot only because the antiquated projector they sent me (some evil plot to sweat me out) was blowing HOT air on me for 90 minutes.  During my 90 minute break before my next class, I went outside to experience  muggy, buggy and cloudy… to get my lunch from the car, to dump off stuff from my first class… and to get some air. 
I go back inside and claim a table in the cafe (which I have labeled “MINE”), telling my students that if they need to find me, I will lay claim and make it my office.  (No one came to visit… bummer)

So, I purposedly positioned myself under the a/c vent.  Ahhh….

Then, once adequately cooled off, I venture down the now a/c’d hallway to my class (I had it switched from a smaller, cramped room, to one with more desks… to be able to handle 37 students and myself). 

The

room

has

NO

air conditioning

AT… all!

*sighs*

SOAKED again… the windows were open… the door open (eek, I think the president heard me call Henry VIII a man-whore)… and lights down… I was sweating profusely.

My students must think I’m menopausal.  The truth is, I have low tolerance to heat.  It doesn’t matter if its 75 and humid or 90 and not, I will sweat like the gates were open on a dam.

Then, while frustrated that there was neither a laptop nor a projector, I sent a student to the library to fetch one.

Gotta love the librarian… she pointed to the 100″ screen (I thought it was a television, what did I know)… and said, “Silly, THAT is your computer.”

I melted.  I giggled.  I hugged the goddamn thing.

It’s a GIANT smart board… easier than what I had seen before… one where I can touch the screen to make it work, one with a wireless keyboard and mouse… one that makes me (almost sort’ve) forget how hot the room was.

Some of the students in that class are kids I’ve known since they were born.  They KNOW I’m off my rocker.  It’s the ones that I don’t know who I think are afraid of me…

Tomorrow, I have one class.  In this class are remnants of that group that followed me from first to second semester.  I’m the ONLY history teacher they’ve had.  I have molded them… and they are my clay creatures.

I’ll give more updates tomorrow… need to goto bed.

Night friends!

In Honor of Labor Day

The history of labor in the United States was always quite tumultuous.  Children working by the time they were kindergarden age.  Women only permitted to work until they were married, IF they were permitted to work.  Black people, once emancipated, were liberated through their ability to work.  However, their jobs usually consisted of low-level, unskilled work that not only paid very little but was also rife with racist undertones and discriminatory practices.
The Irish and Chinese built railroads and canals.
Hispanics fought for the right to unionize farm labor, but were always given the menial tasks for the most minimal of pay.
The Irish and Italians were barred from most east-coast factories at the start of the 20th century, with “NINA” a common sign outside most locations.  (No Irish Need Apply)

Once the unions entered the picture, their anger reached revolutionary levels, fighting for a 10-hour day, a 6-day work week, better pay, healthier and safer working conditions, and a more liveable existence.
But, they were met with both business and governmental resistance as their strikes grew in greatness.

Factories would commonly chain doors shut to prevent union members from coming in to “tarnish” the minds of their workers, but also to keep workers IN the factories (freedom equated laziness and low output).

And, when unions did penetrate factories, workers who complied with union demands or participated in strikes or work-outs would either be fired, harassed, or in extreme cases, killed. 

Over the course of American history… our workforce has evolved from an agriculturally-based minimally-industrial economy to fully-evolved industrialization, to war-time industry, to a struggling economy that has high unemployment rates as industry outsources its labor and production to 3rd world countries because then it would enable the owners to make even MORE money… but, putting quantity ahead of quality.

So, while you’re grilling burgers (or tofu) and drinking a beer with friends, family or by yourself, remember why we have these holidays.

This one, in particular, was officiated around the 1890s… giving the workers (who mostly worked 12-16 hr days, 6-7 days a week, without sick pay/days, or insurance) a day OFF… so they could relax.

Relax.  Enjoy.  Take a moment to think about those who are working today… to serve you so that you can have a day of rest…. Gas station attendants, convenience store clerks, police/fire/emergency services, taxis, doctors and nurses in hospitals, and those trying to just make ends meet.

Here are some pictures that serve as a reminder that the labor movement has really evolved from where it was 25, 50, 100, 200 years ago.  Enjoy!

 

 

         CHILD LABOR IN FACTORY

 

 

 

 

TRIANGLE SHIRTWAIST FACTORY (before the fire that killed hundreds of women workers who were barred into their workareas to avoid them escaping and skirting out on work… as a result, doors can no longer be chained shut, but that doesn’t stop factory owners from doing it)

 

 

 

 

Sweatshop prior to the 1911 Triangle Shirtwaist fire in NYC.

 

 

 

 

 

Another area of the factory before the fire in 1911

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 The newspapers showed the public the result of this horrific fire.  The media made sure that events such as this frequented the public eye, probably in an attempt to get a reaction out of the American public. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 A STANDOFF between the police and striking workers in Lawrence, KS

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

In the end, which is more important?  Making money or enjoying your job?

I’d opt for the fair and ethnical treatment of workers… not just in the United States, but also in those 3rd world countries that now house a growing percentage of what we see as “former” American labor.  Places such as India, Indonesia, Mexico (sorry, but I don’t consider them more than 2nd or 3rd world), China, Pakistan, Vietnam, Cambodia, Laos, and Africa have been struggling under the leadership of oppressive rulers, absentee leaders, or strict legal constructs… so that they can earn a few cents an hour making products that we could easily make here.  What they need is to develop their own industry… to evolve in their own right… and begin to mend their countries, economies, and society.

 

THIS POST WAS:

Real quick…

We finally got the soccer thing cleared up.  The head of rec soccer (for #3 son) responded to my email today… more or less, “oops” came through, loud and clear.  They inadvertantly put him in kindegarden soccer.  He’s a big boy now… completely in 1st grade. 

So, we have practice tonight.  I say “we” because (I’m sorry Nicole, if you’re reading this), I have now joined the team. The LAST time I had to endure soccer was 9 years ago when #2 son was in 1st grade.  He said to me, midway through the season, “I don’t like soccer, all I do is run and I never get the ball.”

Sitting in the heat, rain, heat, rain, and chilly rain are just not… interesting to me.  *sighs*

So, we’ll see how long he wants to do it (hopefully long enough to outgrow the cleats and soccer gear I bought him this summer).

And, before I go, I want to erase the notion of bitchy soccer moms from my mind.  Had a bad experience with a few… one of whom was making bitchy comments about how MY son (he was 6… just barely 6) sucked.  She said sucked.  I laughed for a second, turned to her, in front of all her bitchy soccer mom friends, pointed to my son and asked, “That sucky kid?”  She laughed and said, “YES! Him!”  I smiled, and stared at her full on and said, “That “sucky” kid is MY son.”

I glared at her for a full 10 minutes before she slithered off to her bitchy soccer mom cave.

I hope I don’t have that this time.  I don’t make a good team player when the others are being bitchy.  Then, I become the antithesis of a cooperative parent.  I will become the black spiderman or when superman went over the edge and was a crazy drunken bastard (that’d be me minus the stenchy booze smell).

Since the latter part of last school year, some of the moms chose to speak to me.  I guess I am intimidating?  I like to think that I’m too cool to be a part of the bitchy mom click.

I have briefly spoken to a couple of the moms (briefly, in passing, or at a birthday party)… I know they know who my son is.  I’m hoping he takes some of that athletic energy and transfers it to SOCCER.  He’s been running, kicking, hitting, and yelling since birth (actually, we used to watch his feet push out when he was invitro)… soccer should be easy as pie for him.  I’m actually waiting for lacrosse… but he has to be in 3rd grade.  I’M READY… I sure hope Colorado has lacrosse as I am HOPING to not be here then.

So, I’m going to predict that this season I will be totally cooperative, doing my duty (brining in “healthy snack” and “drink” on my snack day, making sure #3 is dressed properly, and that he has an icy bottle of water at his disposal, as well as plenty of sunblock for both he and I)… and will try to make nice with the other mommies.

But… I do not want to be a “soccer mom.”  My kid plays soccer.  I don’t drive a minivan with little (stupid) magnets on the back.  I don’t put (ridiculous) stickers in my windows.  I also don’t suck up (at all) well.  Hmm…

I guess I’m more comfortable around men.  Not for the reason you’re thinking… I so do not hit on anyone.  I’m antisceptic and asexual.  If they see me as one of them, they feel no need to flirt, act spastic, or worry about their wives yelling at them about me being in their presence.  Men are simple creatures… there are (usually) no pretenses about who they are, who they like or dislike.  Give them food, something to drink, and talk football/baseball/basketball/hockey with them and they are golden.  I don’t have to listen to them bitching about how so-and-so looked at them funny and they called all of their friends so everyone can snub her.

I listen to it all at pick-up after school.  I roll my eyes behind my dark sunglasses.  I murmur under my breath about how utterly catty they are.  I smile weakly as I walk away.  And, once I am home, I realize that although I am not the Homecoming Queen amongst the mommies, but I am also no longer in middle school.  Therefore, if there’s any bitching to do… I do it on MY terms.

And, out of earshot of the catty-bitchy moms.

So… cross your fingers… and wish me luck as I embarque on this new… thing.

Not funny

What bothers me about some teachers is that they will do the least possible so that a) their students like them, b) they don’t have to GRADE anything, and c) make the rest of us look like work-mongers and slave-drivers.

It just so happened that last night, at the faculty meeting, I met a woman in my department who is new.  She is not only teaching at MY school, but is also teaching at my son’s college.  Ask me how I knew that…

Ok, I’ll tell you.

We were discussing the different types of assessments that we use (I’m using on-line quizzes, tests, midterm, final, a paper, attendance, and participation to assess their achievement)… and she says, matter-of-factly, “Oh, I hate tests.  I’m just giving a paper and a project.”

This is where my attention was ALL her’s… aside from the little voices in my head screaming that she can’t effectively assess a student’s ability to understand the material IF she only gives two assignments.  My son had mentioned this to me earlier, before I ran out the door for my meeting, before I realized she is a part of my department, too.  I was floored, and didn’t hesitate to tell him how I felt.  As usual, he glazed over and looked like someone just stabbed him in the forehead with a bbq fork.

So, when she said that last night, I quickly looked at my department supervisor, who cringed.

You can’t miss when he cringes.  I, personally, think he’s one of the BEST supervisors I’ve ever had (though, if you ask the older angry woman who sat next to me, he ranks at the bottom of HER list)… and since I’ve been there a few semesters now, I’ve had opportunities to talk to him.  He’s funny.  He’s nice.  He welcomes suggestions (not that the full-time staffer cares, she hates me, and I don’t exactly have a fondness for her).

Anyway…

She was adamant about not giving tests.  She hates them.  She hates grading them.  She hates writing them.

So, I asked the obvious question that apparently EVERYONE was thinking but was too afraid to ask (because I’m like that), “So, is that all you are assessing them with?”  The look of disgust on my face, as described to me by a fellow staffer, was apparent.  I think I snarled.

I hope not.  It’s HER class, I shouldn’t give a shit how she assesses students.  But, she is grading my son… and even though she doesn’t know his name (because I told her I’m not telling her… we have different last names… and maybe it’ll keep her on her toes a little)… to which she said, “I don’t like parents.”

NONE of us like dealing with parents, that’s why we adjunct in college.  Right?  I have had way too many crazy run-ins with parents who’s sole objective was to either make me cry, quit, and fall apart.  I’m not like that with my kids’ teachers… and have ONLY yelled at two in 13 years of school

One who publicly announced (to parents and his peers) that since #1 son (who was in pre-k) didn’t write his name, he must be stupid, and therefore couldn’t participate in the Valentine’s Day party.  My son was in hysterics and I grabbed him and went for a 15-minute drive to calm myself (and him) before I throttled her into the next millenium.

When I returned to the school a mere 15-minutes later, I marched into the school (after dropping my kids off at my mil’s house, when she lived near the school) and went to the teacher’s classroom (no kids were there) and proceeded to question her about her manner of humiliation.  She said, “Well, that’s what he gets when he doesn’t write his name.”

I FLIPPED OUT.  She told me my kid was stupid.  He was 5 years old. 

I had asked him why he didn’t write his name… and his response was as simple as a 5-year old could answer… “She didn’t say please.”

Fair enough.  This woman was crazy… she started freaking out on me.

So, I left and went to the head master and spoke to him.  He made her apologize to me AND most importantly my son, in front of the parents and students of his class.

This was her apology, “Sorry he can’t go to the party because he didn’t write his name.”

Ever want to slap someone?  I restrained myself.

The second, his 4th grade replacement math teacher, who was like 150 years old and past retirement age, made all of the boys in his class (him included) stand up while she told the girls that the boys are retarded and stupid and will never learn math.  Hell hath no fury like a mother scorned.

Back to his college instructor:

I have beefs with her.  She apparently doesn’t HAVE a master’s degree.  HOW in God’s name did she get that job?  No one would hire me until I had my MA in hand.  She must be blowing someone…

(Yeah, that was rough.  Oh well.)

After our meeting, I asked her a few “assessment” questions.  It more or less went like this:

“So, how do you assess their writing?”  (I’m always looking to glean ideas, anyways.)

“I just look at it and decide.”

(I had to touch my face to make sure my jaw didn’t drop.)

(The other teacher’s eyes grew as he was listening to her.  Even he knew to use a viable and reliable assessment tool.  I use rubrics for EVERY aspect of writing and/or projects.  This way I can SHOW them how I graded and that it was objective… and without emotion.)

“Oh.”

“What do YOU use?” she asked me.

“Rubrics.”

“Rubrics are stupid.”

THIS is the woman who will be teaching my son.

Oh, and she doesn’t use lessons… they just “discuss” history.  I discuss it, too, but I also have what I plan on discussing written down in case the school wants to know what I did that day.  I’ve learned, since my first year of teaching, to keep detailed records.  Apparently, she doesn’t.  Doesn’t keep attendance.  Doesn’t care if the students are late.  Doesn’t care if they don’t show up again.  As long as she doesn’t have to grade much.

The other teacher touched HIS face to make sure his jaw didn’t drop.

Oh, and she lets her students call her by her first name.

Both of our jaws fell.

I’m sorry, but there has to be a line… a professional line, if you may… drawn in the sand between us and them.  Sure, I chit-chat and talk to them on a one-to-one… asking about their weekend, and things… but I never let them call me by my first name.  It’s Mrs. Herstory or Prof. Herstory.  Professional line.  Right there.

He has two professors who have told him to call them by their first names.

During his 1st semester of his 1st year of college.

I told him to call them Professor or Mrs./Mr., and regardless of what they say, there has to be a sense of propriety and professionalism.

I don’t want the students to think they can hang out w/ me at the bar, my house, or go shopping with me.  I’m their teacher, not their friend. 

And, all of that personal shit makes me uncomfortable… especially in light of a teacher in NJ selling grades for money.

YES… selling grades for money she supposedly was going to give to a charity, but instead, kept for herself… and probably used to buy her Coach purse.

Lines, people… I’m sorry there NEEDS to be lines. 
UGH!!

I start school on Tuesday and you can BET your ass they won’t be calling me by my first name.  That’s for sure!  And, my evaluations by my students are 96% positive.  I think that speaks for itself, don’t you think?

A couple of things I forgot to mention…

Before I go to bed… and forget (again) what I wanted to write about, I’m going to jot down a few thoughts before I drag myself upstairs and attempt to beat my insomnia (that kicked in LAST night)…

• Garido… Garedo… whatever the guy’s name is… who kidnapped, molested, and fathered two children with an 11 year old girl he abducted from a bus stop in 1991… is a sick sonuvabitch.  And, SUDDENLY neighbors are telling the media, “Oh yeah, well ONE NIGHT, I heard screaming from that pile of trash and empty broken cardboard boxes that littered the backyard and obstructed that shitty metal shed in the yard.  Maybe they were having sex.”  No, he was probably raping the woman or their two daughters.  Hm.  So, now that the cat’s out of the bag, it seems that the neighbors are all gabby and yappy.  How many of them ACTUALLY called 9-1-1 WHEN they heard the screaming?  One.  And, the sheriffs did jack-squat-on-a-stick about the complaint.  Bravo!  This is how an (inexplicitly ridiciulous and not very) efficient law enforcement machine works.  I love our legal system. (Not)
• Michael Jackson IS DEAD.  He’s been dead nearly 2 months now.  Bury him before he beats James Brown’s record of being held in a refrigerated room until his family and many ex-wives figured out that none of them were getting his money.  And, is it really necessary to muddy up the news with every Tom, Dick, and Harry who find their 32.3 seconds of fame whilst dressed like MJ with the sparkly glove, or a huge courtyard of Russians dressed and dancing to Thriller?  *slaps her forehead*  ENOUGH ALREADY.  This is what we call, “Beating a dead horse.”  In this instance, it’s beating a dead Michael Jackson.  He’s dead enough.  Very dead, in fact.  Bury him.
• The chair is faboo (a word that has since been picked up by my fake-gay-friend who thinks my choice in vocab is just funny, funky, and cute… I’m not cute… I’m cranky, moody, and seldom suffer a shortage of things to say… usually… sometimes).
• It’s OKAY if Tiger Woods doesn’t win something.  You can’t always win.  That’s what I tell my son who is a DIE-HARD Yankees fan.  (I root for them to lose every so often because I don’t believe the same people need to win all of the time… especially since they’ve managed to ignore the public distain for A-Rod, a player who has admitted to using steriods, cheating on his wife, and probably trying to unhinge the Statue of Liberty’s arm (the one with the torch) so that NJ people will die… it’s a conspiracy, I tell you… and I believe that A-Rod needs to be dropped, fired, pushed into early retirement because he is a POOR role model… but kept on the lineup because the Yankees spend a lot of money on him.  I think morality is more important that high salaries.  HELLO… Steinbrenner family… ya hear that?)
• My middle son starts school on Monday, my oldest and youngest start Wednesday and I go next week.  Where did the summer go? *sniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiff sniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiff*
• OH and did I mention that my mother outted herself to me yesterday on the phone?  The self-proclaimed-force-it-in-your-face-til-you-cower born again Christian mother of mine now tells me that she’s dabbles with wine and other forms of alcohol since moving to AZ… because “all the ladies I go out to dinner with do it.”  So, if someone tells you to jump out into traffic, would ya do it? OH, and thanks for embarassing me in front of my friends at my 40th bday when I had a glass of wine in my hand and you verbally berated me in front of them about hurting God and breaking his “thou shalt not drink wine in the presence of people you know” commandment.  Which number is that one again…?

Ok, that’s it for now.  Sleep tight… don’t let the money-mongering politicians, special interest groups, and Bill Clinton bite…

Era of the Great Chair Hunt has ended…

Early this morning, my husband and I drove to a furniture warehouse (from the company where we bought our one sofa) for an “up to 80% off” sale.  I also had in hand an additional $25 coupon for any purchases over $250.  Now, I’m a skeptic by nature… and didn’t think we’d find anything.

We arrived about 15 minutes after the card said they’d open… and it was a FREAKING CIRCUS… as a matter of fact, 10 cars pulled in behind us within a matter of seconds.  People, children, baby strollers all jammed into this roped off section of this furniture store’s warehouse.

We moved about the recliners… you get what’s there, and there’s no special ordering… and they were in such INTERESTING colors… like babypoo brown n yellow, sage green, royal blue, mauve, you know… most out-dated colors.  We rounded the sofas and began to look for things tucked in corners when I happened upon this beige pillowback chair with matching ottoman.  KA-CHING!!

We bought it… $375 for both, not including the coupon.  The set, which is what we saw when we were on the hunt last weekend, for about $850 with the ottoman.  I sat on it until we found a salesman.  And, since there were two (one on the floor and one plastic-wrapped on the racks), we opted for the plastic wrapped b/c then NO ONE had sat on it (unless they were the inspectors).

It’s in good condition.  It’s taller than the two couches, however, it fits within the theme.  And, as soon as we got it unloaded and unwrapped (again, we did check it at the store), and the wooden feet attached to the chair (the ottoman’s feet were on, probably to show us HOW they need to be)… and put it in the spot, adjusting the sofas and such… #3 son climbs on it and has been immovable since.

I think I got a whole 30 seconds on the chair since we brought it home.

And, it is much cheaper than the purple chair… by at least $200.

HUZZAH!

We have succeeded in hunting down the “perfect” chair.  Now, if the “perfect” kids don’t muck up the chair, all will be golden… therefore, the LAW has been laid: NO FOOD, NO DRINK, NO STICKY HANDS, DIRTY BODY PARTS, OR GREASE on this chair, ottoman, or toss pillows or someone’s paying me to have it cleaned.

So far, so good.

I think the “look” helped…

Potty in the Office

I am getting used to the batcave, with exception to ONE THING: my cat has no problem going potty in my office, or rather… his litter box located just outside the imaginary walls of my office. 

About 30 seconds ago, distracted by what I’m doing here (plus music blaring on my iPod), I happened to catch something from the corner of my eye.

My cat doing a doody.

Then, I smelt it… or rather, it attached itself to the inside of my nasal walls.

So, I grabbed my Lysol (I currently may be a basement dweller, but it doesn’t mean it has to smell like one).

Hold on.  I’m gagging.  Apparently, Lysol is useless.  Let me go get the Febreeze.

Ok… *sniff*

Better.

The cat needs to lay off stinky stuff for a while. *Gak*

——–

Anyway, this weekend was shitty, as usual.  I invited a bunch of people over Saturday night for burgers and beer… and two showed up… and I ended up nixing the burgers for slow cooked pork… which was like butta.

I didn’t get upset.  My two girlfriends showed up and we did crazy shit like… drink some beer, eat some pork, gossiped, then started to take pics… and my husband took pictures of the three of us (which we always have to have proof that we’ve hung out, apparently)… and I don’t know what he did, but all three of us had glowy eyes… creepily glowy eyes.  We nearly PEED ourselves laughing… it was like a vampire sleepover (as someone so aptly described the pic).

Then, we had this bright idea to take pictures of our feet and send them to our friend who posts pics of HIS feet ALL of the time (which, to be honest, are GNARLY… mosquito-chewed-chigger-gnawed-hairy-gnarly-knuckled men feet).

And, I think we ALL peed ourselves…

The idea was to sit on the deck, enjoy my deck, eat and drink ON my deck, and then start throwing shit into my messy neighbor’s yard to see if he noticed.  I invited like 12 people… but in true form, 2 people showed up and it monsooned outside for HOURS.

Finally, it let up about 11pm… and by then, the chairs and table were THOROUGHLY soaked.  So, we went outside and stared at the stars.  Where they are from you cannot see the stars as clearly… because of the lights of thousands of houses and even more buildings, businesses, malls, etc.  We had fun…

———-

Sunday, hung over and sleep deprived (I went to bed around 2AM and up at 7:30AM)… we dragged ourselves to a few furniture stores STILL hunting for that perfectomundo chair that needs to be found so that we can dispose of the shittier-by-day rocker in my family room.

THREE STORES… my butt, during the course of about 6 hours, sat in about 30 chairs, some twice, and more recliners than I knew existed.  And, by the the third store, I was begging to go home.  I’m a furniture shopping quitter.  I couldn’t TAKE much more.. up, down, back, forward, is there a handle… ew, there’s a button, or who needs heat in a recliner.. I just want a GODDAMN COMFY CHAIR.

We hit (big) Bob’s furniture.  I had an overwhelming urge to run into the bathroom and scrub my hands.  I’m not dirty, but I’m not an obsessive germophobe either.

It’s just that… well… in every seat I sat in, in our estimation, at least 100 people have sat in it… dirty, clean, gnarly feet, nice hair, back hair… the whole gammit of humanity.  And, my butt just touched the spots where their butts had been.  And, I didn’t know where their butts had been.  And, it grossed me out. 

I did notice some butts yesterday… frumpy, dirt and mystery-stained shorts with torn pockets with their little mud-eating children in tow. 

The room started to spin… round and round… and the more I looked, the faster it spun until I declared that I was finished with that store. (Sorry, Empress… it was not that impressive, but I know a bunch of people who told me to go there, not just you)

The next store was about 40 minutes away.  My eyes were sleeeeppyyyyy… rolling around in their sockets, head drooping, eyes slosing slowly until WHAM…

My head snapped forward and hit the dashboard.  We must’ve hit one mother of a pothole for my head to lunge forward like that.  I snapped to attention, looked around, and quickly felt my forehead for blood, contusions, or something that needed stitches.

First of all, when I fall asleep in the car, for even a few seconds, I start dreaming AND my head lunges forward.  That’s what keeps me from sleeping WELL in the car.  It rolls forward, then sideways, then snaps backwards with every turn, bump, or stop.

In other words…

THERE WAS NO POTHOLE.  I was just SO tired that my head flopped all the way forward, or at least as forward as my seatbelt would allow, so when my husband hit the brakes (because apparently MEN do not understand the preparing to stop IN ADVANCE concept), my body pushed forward and I just barely hit my dash with the top corner of my brick-dense head.

Son of a…

I hear a CACKLING from the backseat.

My 6 year old, in his booster seat behind me, was able to watch my sleep-gastics from the front side mirror (“Mom, look in the mirror, can you see me?? I can see YOU!!”)… and thought I was just frigging hysterical.

That’s me… hysterical.

After the next two stores, I begged to go home.  I could not look at, sit in, touch, or feel another chair.  I just couldn’t.

Besides… the more I looked, the more the price climbed… from $300 to $1300… and my eyes were crossing and I just couldn’t pay attention anymore.

We had NO attentive salespeople at Bobs.  They greeted us at the door, stared at us from a distance, but no one was around when I had questions.

THEN, the next furniture store, our salesMAN (with a woman’s name) captivated us with his CREATIVE lisp that turned simple words like “recliners” and “ottomans” into some indecipherable word that sort’ve resembled “shiners” and “autobon”.  We gave up when we saw that the SAME chair we wanted last week, but the saleman told us to look elsewhere (because SOMEONE either doesn’t work commission or didn’t NEED his commission)… and it was $200 MORE.

Yep.  I’m not lying.

The last furniture store was more like the first.  A salesman sort’ve stalked us, said hi twice, and then stalked us from a distance.

What ever happened to engaging the customer in conversation?  I know EXACTLY what I want, in what size, shape, color, price, AND material.  Why are salesmen so afraid of me?  I know what I want.  I had my checkbook WITH me… did I need to flag it around?  (Hmm… I think the NEXT time I go into a furniture store, I will take out my checkbook and hold it up and announce that I’m looking for a reclining creamy-buttery yellowish-beige microfiber chaise footrested pillowtop recliner for under $499 WITH a warranty.  Any takers?)

I’ve also been toying with haggling with the furniture guys.  Why not, right?  If I can haggle for a car (except at a Saturn dealership, as I’ve learned, they DO NOT HAGGLE)… why not a chair?  My husband cringed when I suggest we go into furniture negotiations with, “Ok, so what can YOU do for ME?” 

What? It’s my genetic structure to haggle with people.  Although, I am not as aggressive as the other hagglers in my family (one, affectionately calls me the “GOY HAGGLER”)… I get it done.

So, we came home without a chair.  Then, I started to think about how much I’d rather use the $499 for something else… like a new floor in my kitchen… or a new kitchen/dining table. 

*pfh*

Furniture shopping is a lot more arduous then I remember…

———-

Today, I have anywheres between 6-10 teenagers at my house… the majority of whom are starting college and/or going away the end of this week.  My older son starts college in a week, my middle son goes back to h.s. in a week, and the little one needs to get back into the school thing before he drives me bonkers.

#1 son can be like his grandfather, in that, he likes to brag about things.  Showboating.  You know.

He tells me, in front of his friends, that his co-worker is taking my class… and HE TOLD HER that I’m not giving any hard assignments.

I picked up a pan to throw at him, but I thought it might freak his friends out.

“WHY did you do that?”  I yelled across the kitchen, into the family room where he was acting like an ass…, “You have NO idea what the hell you did!”

“Whaaaaat?” Now I’m challenging his manhood.  GLADLY!

“You CAN’T go telling people shit like that, what’s wrong with you,” at that point, I forgot who was there, and frankly my dear, I didn’t give a shit.

“Chill, mom,” he gets all cocky, and I reach for the frying pan again, this time he sees me.

“Get in here now.  NOW!”

The vein that pops out of my forehead is throbbing pissed.

“You listen to me right now,” I had his some of his attention, “YOU cannot go telling MY students about what goes on here because I have to keep it separated.  You also CANNOT tell her anything about the course because I have NOT decided yet what I am going to do.  And, even if I had, who gave you permission to TELL anyone? HUH? HUHH???”

He was TRYING to blow it off like it was nothing, but it IS something.

First of all, I never mix school as my students do not come to my house, they do not hang out w/ my kids, and they most definitely do not get privvy info about shit I haven’t decided upon… because its a conflict of interest.  And, I do not give insider information to ANY student.

But, this semester will be different as my older son’s classmates are also set free to attend classes and I cannot sign them OUT of my class.  In other words, unlike a state university, community college students can take whomever they want without having to get the professor’s signature.  At the state uni, I could’ve removed a kid from my class if it were a conflict of interest (before the semester began), however, here I’m just an underpaid drone with no rights, privileges, or a place to put my shit during the day.

I’m steamed, man.  Steamed.  I don’t go calling up his teachers, inviting them to OUR house, and telling them things about him, do I?

So, my retaliation for his snarky bullshit attitude was this, in front of his friends, I told him I’d post embarassing pictures of him online where his friends can see it if he pulled that bullshit stunt again.

He said he’d de-friend me.

I still know people on his list who’d post it for me.

MANY.

He got all wide-eyed… and I ended with, “This is your FINAL warning.”

I’m sorry, but I don’t like him telling people shit…

Oh, somewhere in the mix, he says to me (in front of his friends), “So you’re gonna let me review tests with you, right?”

“Review? What are you talking about?”

“My mom tries out questions on me,” he started again, and I’m scanning naked potty pictures soon, “and *I* help her grade her exams.”

“GET IN HERE, NOW!” I bellowed from the kitchen.

“Will you EVER shut the hell up?  What will it take?  Me getting FIRED??”

“What?” that snotty goddamn what is going to cause him a world of grief if he doesn’t stop it.

“YOU CANNOT TELL PEOPLE THAT YOU HELP ME GRADE… BECAUSE I WILL GET FIRED,” I whispered harshly, grabbing his shirt and pulling him closely to my face, “YOU NEED TO SHUT THE HELL UP BEFORE YOU GET YOURSELF IN A SHITLOAD OF TROUBLE, DO…YOU…UNDERSTAND…ME??”

I let him help me ONE TIME last fall.. he and his brother, in order for me to get 200 finals graded and all grades posted in 3 days, I needed the family to grade multi-choice and true-false questions… so that I could read their essays… all 200 of them… and finish their papers… all 200 of them.

ONE GODDAMN TIME.

Usually, my husband helps me… because he doesn’t know these kids.  And, sometimes, I will have #2 son help me because he doesn’t fuck up the answers like a certain 18 yr old who can’t follow a simple numbered format of 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7…

(I had to REDO the few finals HE graded last fall… all 20 of them… from the state university where he doesn’t know anyone.  My rule, if you know ONE person in that class, you cannot help me grade.  Now that’s he has graduated, he will not be helping me… nor will he get to read my tests when I write them or glance at the papers.)

“AND BEFORE YOU SHINE YOUR HELPING TROPHY, LET ME REMIND YOU OF THE PROBLEMS YOU HAD GRADING THE WHOLE HANDFUL YOU WERE GIVEN…” my angry whisper took on a monster of its own.

THEN the doorbell rang and he broke away to let some more friends in, and then I smiled sweetly and said, “#1 son, may I finish speaking with you… NOW?”

The one friend said, “Uh OH,” and I jokingly responded with, “Oh, there’s no blood… THIS time!”

I put him in the corner of the family room, and angrily whispered that he will pay dearly if this shit leaks to my bosses… and if I get fired because he’s trying to be a hotshot, I will strangle him with his bravado. 

MEN… BOYS…MALES… phooey!

One of his friends, the witness to this whole interactions (minus the angry whispered threats to this boy’s life) is ATTENDING MY SCHOOL in the fall… but will not be my student.

This kid doesn’t GET it.  He’s always been this way.  Shoots his mouth off until *I* get pissed off. 

“Learn to keep it shut,” I reminded him with a snarl, “you’ll be happier that way.”

Apparently, now I’m an angry secret agent teacher… Herstory… Herstory 007.