Just another reason to always look a gift horse in the mouth (also, a scaaaary Halloween story. Boo!):

Really, take a good look. How are his teeth? Breath? Give a careful examination, or the following may happen to you:
At the beginning of the school year, I enter my new classroom, which is, of course, filled with the last person's junk and some wonderful treasures (construction paper, rulers, the like), and, lo and behold!, an almost brand new class set of dictionaries/ thesaurases. The luck- can you believe it? I choose to remain hush-hush about it, because this is a place where things like this don't come down the pipe everyday, and set up the dictionaries in each desk. We've used them numerous times- when a student asks me how to spell something, I like to respond "Look it up!", or we use the thesauras for improved writing.
Anyway, my self-identified pagan student was trying to explain Paganism to a fellow student on Friday, and so they thought to look it up in the dictionary (pause for a moment here while you relish that picture in your mind. it's a beauty, no?). Do you know how this dictionary defined paganism? "The worshipping of false gods". Now, far be it for me to believe that IT'S ALL A COMPLETE CONSPIRANCY- THIS WHOLE "EDUCATION" NONSENSE- BECAUSE THIS IS HOW WE DEFINE THINGS IN THE "FREE" DICTIONARIES LEFT IN A CLASSROOM- dictionaries that were obviously placed there by right-wing christian trolls who are attempting to influence the minds of children with hateful and prejudice thoughts. Now, posthipchick is left with a dilema, for obviously I do not have the time to look up every word in said dictionary for accuracy. Do I keep them in my room? Or do I throw them out for some unsuspecting new teacher to find and treasure, until the haunting of the christian right begins for them?

Why I Want To Shoot My Television:

NOBODY EVER GETS KILLED AT OUR HOUSE
(Charlie King)

Nobody ever gets killed at our house,
Nobody ever gets maimed.
No glorious fight on the court or the ice
Where the grown-up boys play
At their big money games.
No one gets shot at, run over or stabbed,
Nobody goes up in flames,
And the Army recruiters,
They never pass through here,
You must wonder how we stay sane.

CHORUS:
Joanne and Jamie curled up with their books,
I'm strumming an old song or new.
It may come as shock, but some nights we just talk.
It's amazing the depths that you can sink to.
We might watch the fire,
We might watch the baby,
We might watch the stars passing through,
Ah, but nobody ever gets killed at our house.
Take care, it could happen to you.

No bathing suit beauties parade through our house,
Nobody's having affairs.
Nobody wiggles or giggles or jiggles
In cute little outfits with platinum hair.
We miss all the gay and risque little jokes
From Johnny and Joanie and Bob.
And out of sheer malice, we never watch Dallas,
I guess you could say we've been robbed.

Chorus (We might watch....)

Ronald McDonald won't come to our house.
Barbie and Ken stay away.
No precocious teens sell us Calvin Klein jeans
Or feminine hygiene deodorant spray.
Imagine a childhood with out G.I. Joe,
Of all TV's wisdom deprived
In ignorant squalor with rings round our collars,
We live out our meaningless lives.

You cannot make this shit up:

In my absence yesterday, one of my boys was suspended for throwing a condom at the sub.

I forgot my lunch today and was forced to once again eat cafeteria food. On my way to the cafeteria, I notice about 100 students gathered around a woman who is yelling. In my confusion, I thought maybe she was a Spanish storyteller, because she was talking really loudly in Spanish. As I get closer, I notice that she is screaming and really irate- I thought maybe she was a cafeteria worker that was having a mental breakdown. Then one of my students yells out to her (like the kind genuis he is) "Speak English!" and turns to him and screams "Say it to my face, motherfucker! Come down here and I'll kick your stupid ass!" Mental breakdown or not, I realize I need to intercede and approach the woman, saying "Ma'am, we don't speak like that here. You're going to need to come into the office." She starts yelling at me that she's going to talk to the principal and she's going to kick some ass, etc. I sort of lead her into the office by her shoulder (not knowing if she's going to swipe at me) and secure the door while about 100 13-year-old's heckle us. As it turns out, she is the PARENT of a student and was pissed that this 7th grade girl was bothering her daughter. She was actually there to fight a 12-year-old. Like I said, you cannot make this shit up.

How I Met My Husband (for mi & anyone else who is interested):

The year was 1996, I believe, and I had just fumbled my way from three traumatizing years of living in Los Angeles to this new apartment with strangers in San Francisco. I will not get into all the details here of what it feels like to be 21 and suddenly living in San Francisco, knowing next to no one and feeling so *alive* every day and feeling ready to explore and engage and partake in anything you can get your hands on. Because that is not how I met my husband, but remembering this time makes me remember my emotions, so I digress. Anyhoo... So, my new apartment came complete with a crazy landlady and her seemingly sane part-time assistant, who was forever writing letters on her behalf and helping us tenants breathe through her insanity (which included things like rummaging through the trash and berating us for not recycling, which, did we not remember?, is actually part of the lease). The landlord stayed, but the assistant quickly left, leaving behind a trail of letters with his signature that went in our "Lease" file and remained there for the five years I spent at the apartment. Once or twice during those five years, crazy landlord lady would say, out of the blue "Oh, you need to meet R. I just know you would like him." But she is crazy, and I have a boyfriend, so I ignore such comments. So cut to five years later- I'm 26 and suddenly laid off from my dot-com job, and have moved out of said apartment and crazy landlord lady thinks I should come work for her- part-time. under the table. a little extra pocket money that I really need. I agree.
R., as it turns out, is still in her fold, on occassion. Now he does little construction jobs for her, on the side. I am managing said jobs, or rather managing her insanity about said jobs, when his name comes up. He has been hired to do one of her insane jobs, like get a 25-foot pole off a roof there is no access to, or something. So he is out doing one of these bizarre tasks, and he calls the office, and we talk, all about work. But as soon as I heard his voice, I just had a feeling that he was going to be important to me. I recall thinking that I needed to look cute the next day, as he was coming to the office to do something, but unfortunately, a bottle of body oil leaked in my bag and got on my brush and I ended up with this weird oily hair that was really wrong and bad the first time he came to the door. He looked nothing like I imagined he would, but my heart leapt at the sight of him. It was- and I recognize how cliched this is, but apparently I have become Ms. Cliche- love at first sight for me. That day, he did work around the office, while my heart thumped around wildly. He came back the next day, and I was determined to ask him out, something I was not exactly a pro at. But I really wanted to, and just couldn't (my sympathy to all the boys out there who must take such risks. it SUCKS!), so off he went. That night, I was doing my regular search through Craigslist Missed Connections, when an ad caught my eye. It didn't say anything that would indicate that it could only be our situation, but I just knew that he had written it (I have it printed out somewhere, but it basically just said all sorts of flattering things about me that you, dear readers, already know). I was dropping something off at his house the next day, and after reading it, knew I had to ask him out! Nobody believed he had written it when I read it to them, and all my friends thought I should behave more cautiously- after all, who knew if he had a girlfriend? was gay? etc.? So the next day comes, I drop by his house, and again cannot work up the nerve to ask him out (could this be why women have the babies? because men must go through this trauma of asking someone out? i am not a shy lady, and am pretty good at getting what i want, but 3 years later, remembering how awkward i felt is still pretty horrible). Anyway, HE finally asks ME out, to which i respond "How about tonight?", but he has previous plans. I will not bore you with the dating story- how we knew it was right from about date #2, and how date #4 lasted for 4 days, and how totally, totally smitten i was- but that is how we met.

famous last words, i suppose.
i WILL NOT leave my students with a sub for two days. ha! nothing like 36 hours of no food and barely getting nasty-ass pedialite down to really change your mind. also, the realization that you cannot have coffee in the morning AND that if an emergency should come up, you could not leave the room to go attend to it. yup, still home. yup, still on the couch, bundled in blankets. soon, i think, i can move to the BRAT foods- bananas, rice, applesauce and toast. i am soooo hungry for something with flavor it's making me sort of crazy.

Biting Me In The Ass:

I had planned on taking today off to go to a doctor's appointment (pyschiatry, if you must know. and you MUST!) and then spending the remainder of the day catching up on errands, doing some schoolwork, pampering myself a little, and then going to a nice dinner with a.
Instead, I either got sick from a La Victoria burrito or I have the flu, and I spent last night with the absolute worst stomach pain of my life, sending the lovely husband out to walgreen's in the middle of the night to get me mylanta, then sleeping with a heating pad on my stomach all night. i woke up at 9, stumbled my way to the doctor's appointment, and was struck with some sort of gastrointestinal problems that i have never before experienced. all morning, i was sick, sick, sick (i will spare you the details), and at 11 a.m. crawled back into bed and proceeded to sleep until 4 p.m. i am still really not well, but i cannot and WILL NOT leave my students with a sub for TWO WHOLE DAYS (i simply cannot imagine the clean-up job there), so i simply will be better by tomorrow. it is such a cliched curse- calling in sick and then getting sick- gah! so no dinner with a., just dry toast and the world series and the hope that i am not becoming dehydrated.

Found in the cupboard today:
A box of wild rice- expired June, 1997.

Reasons 1, 2, and 3 That I Never Should Have Gotten Out Of Bed Today:

1. The note I got from a fellow teacher in my box this morning about how offensive and rude a comment I made about her age was (The Comment: "You are still young- there is plenty of time to have kids."). She turned 30 last week, which got told to me through tears when I went to apologize. Alrighty, then!
2. My classroom windows were BOTH broken out.
3. The student I had after school who, when I asked her how I could help her, said "Just kill me". When I told her that wasn't something to joke about, she started crying and said "Do I look like I'm kidding?". An hour and a half after school with her, the psychologist, and the principal. Apparently I am not far enough away from my own 8th grade emotions, because her tears got me started (after she left). I must bring out the emotional side of kids- this is my 5th crier in as many days. I really thought this week was going to be a non-crying week, after wading my way through so many tears last week, but it's not looking good for me so far.

Words I simply cannot believe I uttered:
"Oh, let's go to Pasta Pomodoro so we can go to Borders, too!"

Count Your Blessings, Name Them One By One:

1. The weather. Stormy. Cozy Sweaters. Thick Socks. Boots.
2. Game Seven.
3. Pink Uggs.
4. Breakfast for dinner.
5. Season Premires.
6. The 1st period student who came in after 6th period and said "Oh My God! What happened here? Let me help you clean up."
7. English Breakfast Tea at 6 p.m.
8. This Lotion.
9. New Cozy Autumn Bedding.
10. My best friend giving birth to a healthy 8 lb., 11 oz. baby boy yesterday. His name will either be Lucky or Johnny (I'm hoping for Johnny!).

babies, babies, everywhere and not a drop to drink:


he's coming down the chute right now



his mom is already familiar with wearing that weird donut thingy while he eats ALL DAY LONG!

as if you didn't know this already, posthipchick is apparently a bad teacher. i mention this because apparently when the power goes out, you are supposed to have a "back-up plan" for power outage days-- and apparently one that doesn't involve heads up 7-up and silent ball. shame on me.

s. just called- going to the hospital to deliver. what do you say?
talk to you tomorrow, when you're a mom? good luck! i hope it doesn't hurt too much.

wow.

how have i gone 29 1/2 years without ever having a toblerone bar? i have no idea, but i'm considering it a travesty that i must begin making up for IMMEDIATELY!

i'm not quite ready to talk about this weekend yet- all of the overwhelmingness of seeing people i haven't seen in so many years, mixed with all these babies and husbands and aging parents and just the sheer shock that i am this old- but i will say that ain't nobody should mess with my guesses of when babies are coming, because i will always be right. and my best friend is in labor right now, two whole weeks early, and exactly when i said she would be.

posthipchick helpful household hint:
when you take a steaming hot bath in your parent's jacuzzi tub because your neck is KILLING you so badly that you cannot move, and you get out of the tub and your mom offers to rub some icy hot on your neck because the bath really didn't help much, unless you too would like to lie on the floor, writhing in pain because apparently your pores should not be that open before rubbing icy hot on your skin, do not let your mom put anything on your neck. this is especially true if YOUR mother walks away from you while you lie on the floor, screaming, because you are "being so dramatic".

you know you're a teacher when you're in code red training (what to do if there's a shooter or bomb at your school) and the police officer is talking about the "bad man" and you think- he's not a "bad man", he's just a man making bad choices.

this relentless heat is really getting the best of me. it was over 90 degrees here today. i blame bush directly for this situation, by the way.
every morning i go to get dressed and i want to burn my summer clothes. i have been wearing them for over six straight months now. i would like to break out a sweater one of these days. i'd like some nice rain. i'd like something other than sunshine and heat and sunshine and heat and sunshine and heat. i want to drink tea and wear scarves and fuzzy socks and bundle under the comforter in flannel pj's and drink HOT coffee in the morning. i want to smell fall and feel the crisp and have the days get shorter (ok, they are getting shorter- apparently bush hasn't ruined that- YET- but not any cooler). i want to bake holiday treats and enjoy the warmth of the oven on in the kitchen. please fall, please come soon.

you would think that having been a teacher for over a year now, i would know exactly how annoying it is to have THAT person in class who raises their hand at EVERY question and squirms in their seat to please, please, please be the person who can talk! but apparently i haven't internalized that lesson quite yet...

are any other teachers out there being harrassed by students to know who they are voting for? my students ask me almost every day and i really don't know how best to handle it (not that it would really take them long to figure out- just a walk by my car in the parking lot with the kerry/ edwards sticker prominantly displayed).

my mom came down this weekend for a girls night. my husband was off camping and her husband is very sick and she hasn't left his side- not even for 10 minutes- since july. she really needed a break. so, being that it was girls time and all, we celebrated appropriately:
we shopped
we ate
we shopped
we ate
we read
we ate
we took our adivans
we slept
we got up and drank very strong coffee.
sometimes we are so alike it scares me. other times i think- so alike? that's not so bad.

in sickness and in health
both my husband and i are sick. he seems to have gotten hit a little stronger than i did, although it's hard to say. we both woke up with raging sore throats this morning, only mine went away by mid-morning. in it's wake it left a feeling a lethargy, which, combined with the anxiety and pms that i was already experiencing, didn't put me in the best teaching mode. the thing about teaching- the part i really, really hate- is there are no down days. there are no days that you can go in a little sick and just sort of file and answer some emails and then maybe even leave early if you're still not well. i mean, the ONLY time a teacher leaves school after she/ he is already present is if somebody dies or an ambulance takes them away. seriously. i've never, EVER seen a teacher leave halfway through a day. both my husband and i were home by 4 p.m. and napping away. i have coveted the heating pad, as i am incredibly achy and sore, but he gets to stay home all day tomorrow, whereas i will be gone from 7:30 a.m.- 10:30 p.m. mmm, i love tuesdays.
at least i did not have my brother's day, which involved physically restraining a student who was attempting to strangle a school security guard, and then fought my brother, the security guard and two other adults even AFTER he was handcuffed to the heater. why didn't you want to work in public schools again?

grrrrrrrr...

last night i had a dream that my husband was away (which he is) and that i went out to the store and bought cigarettes! cigarettes! then i smoked them! and then i was furitively trying to hide the pack from him that was still in my purse as i got ready to renew our vows at a "second wedding".
it was strange, but not as strange as waking up to an empty bed at 4 a.m. and having to remember he is gone. luckily my mom is coming to spend the night tonight and there will be no cigarettes or empty beds!

i am not 22 anymore

if i could do two things at once, and if my husband hadn't taken the camera on his camping trip this weekend, i would show you pictures of myself right now dancing in the kitchen to old ani difranco cd's, sometimes with embarrasing passion and sometimes squinting through my glasses at the cd player to see where we are and feeling very, very old.

today i shocked and awed my students when i informed them that the government had the right to draft people into the army in times of war and that they would be sent to jail if they chose not to go war.
the room was aghast. 13-year-olds went ballistic. it was mayham. they had no idea.
how could this be true? they asked.
what if they didn't believe in the war? they asked.
jail?!?! they asked.
there was true concern in their eyes and to be honest, i didn't have answers that could calm them. what can i say? no, it sure doesn't seem fair. you have to make choices. all pat answers that don't make them feel any safer.
and i think about this as i watch tonight's debate, and hear our "president" say we must all make sacrifices because we are at war. did i dream that whole air force scene when he said the war was over? did anybody else have that same dream? how far can we go when we are not at my war? waht does war even mean anymore? is it just a word he throws around now?

dearest husband,
congratulations on beginning an exercise regiment! i know what an awesome feat this is- especially after you quit smoking AND you're doing the south beach diet. i admire your dedication to your health and i'm relieved you will not get sick when our children are small and i will not have to be a single mother. the relief is palpable. my admiration every time you get on that bike and ride those trails must follow you out the door and stay with you the whole time you ride. a little admiration angel or something.
but you know what isn't with you the whole time you ride? our dog. and you know who hasn't reacted particularly well to this new object-with-wheels-that-shares-our-home-and-takes-you away-to-god-knows-where? again, it's the dog. now, i think we've both worked hard to ensure that her separation anxiety has waned enough that we can leave her safely and quietly in the crate during the days we work. HOWEVER, something about the sight of that bike makes her previous separation anxiety look like a walk in the park (no pun intended). as soon as she sees that-goddamn-object-that-takes-you-away-to-god-knows-where-but-it's-either-somewhere-Really-Fun
or somewhere-from-where-you-will-not-return-EVER, she freaks out. she freaks out like nothing i've ever seen before. and an 85-lb. dog can cry REALLY LOUD, and she begins as soon as she sees you take that thing out of the garage. i know you think it's cute- oh, your doggy loves you so much. but you leave for an hour. and the goddamn dog cries and carries on the entire time you are gone. just to clarify, by "carry-on", i mean she tears around the house, crying at full volume, barking in some weird, high-pitched tone, and throwing herself against the doors and windows. cookies cannot distract her. chewies can not distract her. i cannot watch tv or have a phone conversation during this hour because of the noise level in this house. i'm actually surprised you don't hear her on the ride (maybe we should get one of those baby walkie-talkies so you COULD hear it while you ride. kind of like an ipod!).
i know that it's cute when you come home from these greuling rides and she is SO, SO, SO excited to see you and she wags her tail and licks your sweat and you think she's the most loyal dog EVER! just fyi, she is. maybe you could take her with you?
xoxo
your loving wife

the good, the bad, and the imcomprehensible:

good: i have a student who is totally brillant but also very, very angry and has little impulse control. he is by far my highest-level thinker but is also the one who will get out of his seat and do cartwheels for no reason. i love having him in my class, though, because our discussions make me feel like a college professor. anyway, he is leaving the school to transfer somewhere else and that is bad, but he came up to me today out of nowhere and said "you are my favorite teacher this year". collective 'awwwww....'.
bad: being a teacher means you must constantly do paperwork- documentation for everything within your classroom, along with all this documentation that has to go to the district, your credentialing program, etc. it's my least favorite part of this profession- the constant beauracracy. because of this, i always have these fears that i've missed doing something and that they are going to come to my classroom and say "out, damn teacher, out! you forgot to date the yellow paper that had your right fingerprint on it back in september and you cannot be a teacher anymore!" yeah, well that happened today. not quite so dramatically, but i can't go back to school tomorrow and have to run around getting paperwork to this person and signatures from that person, and begging everyone to do it NOW. yeah, i love being that person.
incomprehensible: i was walking to 1st period this morning and i saw one of my 1st period students sitting outside. he is a quiet and nervous sort and since he was sitting alone, i said 'hey, want to come to class with me?' he agreed and we were walking together and as we walked, he was writing something. we got to the classroom and he hands me the note he was writing that read 'i am "jimmy's" father. please excuse him from talking in class today, as he is sick and his voice is heavy." i looked at the note and turned to him and said "jimmy, i was WITH you when you were writing this note. you can just TELL me you are sick." sometimes i just don't get teenagers.

yo teachers!
november 16 is mix-it-up-day and you can get involved. the website has a lot of information about how to implement this into your school and all sorts of sterotype-breaking activities.

yo non-teachers!
what's it like in the real world? is it quiet?

some days are better than others when you're around 13-year-olds all day.
some days they are independent thinkers who say amazing things that just make your head spin. other days they are needy 3-year-olds who want your constant approval and attention. today was more of the later, and really not my favorite thing to deal with. imagine, if you are not a teacher or a parent, your name being said by 37 bosses needing something RIGHT NOW, all day long. it can take it's toll on even the strongest person, which i certainly never claimed to be.

does anybody else think we will "find" osama bin laden before the elections?

today we went to my husband's bosses' house for a little party. the boss has a 12-year-old son who i was conversing with upon arrival. i was asking him the regular, boring, adult questions about school and sports and video games and the like. as i was pestering him with my brutal questioning, he stopped me and said "i'm not really into extracurricular activities except for gourds." thinking i was once again missing the big thing for young people, i started questioning him about this interest in gourds. he sort of sighed at my ignorance and said "if you've ever eaten a cucumber, you've eaten a gourd." yes, he meant GOURD. as in the vegetables. except that there is a different sort of gourd grown specifically for the use of cutting up for arts and crafts projects- the hard-shelled gourd. duh. so anyway, i got to see his collection of gourds being stored in the garage- which he doesn't seem to be using for any sort of arts and crafts. rather, he just sort of likes cutting pieces of them out and then scattering them around the floor. regardless, his gourd collection seems to be keeping him VERY busy and far be it for me to interfere with 12-year-old business.

twice this week students from my school managed to escape kidnapping attempts. in one instance, a man grabbed a girl and she turned around and punched him in the face. finally, 8th grade chutzpah pays off!
but seriously, it was a little scary and the news and tv stations and all were hovering around yesterday after school. not something you want to have to deal with, and there are really no leads. we're just holding our collective breath and re-teaching 2nd grade safety skills.

yeah, my students called me a racist again today. not the first time this has happened (i mean, for obvious reasons. i just ooze racism.), but today i had my response ready. when they said that i was a racist, i replied "saying that is not productive. please specify a behavior i did that could be considered racist". their response-- "you are RACIST against stupid people. you always pick on the people who don't do their work". conversation over. i won't engage in those types of discussions. look up "racist" in the dictionary that I found and ensured would be under EVERY GODDAMN DESK in my classroom and try again. i'm making it sound like i was more angry than i actually was- i was actually rather amused (you know, before becoming completely depressed that they don't even know the definition of the word racist- EVEN though we've been reading about harriet tubman and anne frank for the last four freakin' weeks).

why are my sex dreams always about the world's most inappropriate people?