my son will never...

A funny (I promise) insight into the world of being a wife, mom and teacher. Every day when I leave my job as a high school teacher, I think of all of the things my own precious son will never do when he is a teenager. I've decided to write it all down, just to make sure...

Wednesday, June 07, 2006

Girls Night Out.

Or in. Whatever. The point is, I had a girls' night. Yip! With adults and wine and everything. And funny stories about teaching. FUNNY. Man, you haven't lived until you've been a kindergarten teacher and you have kids who declare "I speak horse." And then kids who are jealous of the horse whisperer and declare "I know what the ants in the ant farm are saying. I speak bug." That's some funny shit right there. Plus, the wine. Not pink, cheap, sweet low-class stuff. Real wine. That gets you a bit drunk. And sleepy. My husband just asked "Whatcha doin?" Nothing. Going to bed. I've hit the backspace key so much my pinky is about to fall off. Id i hadno't, ths post wpould all have olooke liek this and you woeuldn't have been abelt o read it.

Oh yeah. Myh son will never even dream of not being aperfect angel like he was tongiht for mommy's firls night out. Brcause he is so sweet. the sweetest, even. the best babay bot ever. BFF.

Tuesday, June 06, 2006

She Out-Skanks Herself Everyday

*Note: This entry is about no one person in particular. Especially not the person pictured above. I just needed a picture to represent the generic idea of what a skank would look like. And the clothes, or lack thereof.

So I've worked at two different high schools. The first one I worked at was run by a horrible aweful dictator bitch-ass principal. My "duty" period consisted of standing by the front door every morning before first period and being the clothes police. In a mall, being the clothes police would be fun. There are offenders abound! Hell, my own father is guilty of wearing the occasional brown belt with black shoes and really really really pulled up high shorts. But in a school you are not there to judge the coordination of the outfit, you are there simply to make sure people are appropriately dressed. Man did the kids hate me. "Excuse me miss, do you have a sweater to put over that tank top? It's in your locker? Go get it and show me that you have it on or you'll be called down from first period and be given a referral." You think I'm joking. My job depended on how I performed this one task alone. On some mornings the bitch-ass principal would stand in the front office and bang on the glass and wave frantically to get my attention if I let a perp get past me. I hated every second of it.

Now to the flip side. High school number 2 is a different school in a different county. There are almost 3 times the number of students. At this school they worry about test scores and tardies, not the dress code. Good, right? WRONG! I never thought I'd say this, but I miss the days of telling a young lady that her outfit was not appropriate for school and then her actually having to do something about it!

At lunch today my friend asked if I knew a particular student. I said I did not, why? Her response was "She dresses like a total skank. You think Monday's outfit is bad and then you see her on Tuesday! She out-skanks herself everyday." I almost spit my cafeteria milk across the table.

Mothers out there, listen to me! Please, please do not let your 16 year old daughter out-skank herself on a regular basis. If they do, they will never be able to marry nice boys like Gus, because...

My son will never bring home a girl who out-skanks herself on the second date.

Monday, June 05, 2006

Nashinul Speling Be

You know you watched it. Everyone I've talked to watched at least part of it. I felt pretty dumb during the whole thing. Had I been the final contestant, this is how the last word would have played out...

Judge: Your word is "Ursprache."

Mac: Umm...

Judge: Ursprache. You have to spell it now. That's how it works.

Mac: Umm. OK. Are there any other pronunciations?

J: No. Just "Ursprache."

M: Umm. OK. Could you please give me the country of origin?

J: Yes. Originally from Germany to Zimbabwe to Bolivia to the Galapagos Islands and then to Cleveland.

M: Umm. OK. Could you please give me the definition?

J: Yes. Ursprache-some nasty German shit that you should never under any circumstance eat unless you are very intoxicated in the Hofbaurhaus. Also, means to balance oneself on one foot while plucking your eyebrows (the Cleveland defintion, of course).

M: Umm. Could you please use it in a sentence?

J: Yes. Ursprache-If you do not spell "Ursprache" correctly, you will be the laughingstalk of all the Spelling Bee-ers for years to come.

M: Umm. OK. Can I use my bonus time.

J: You don't have any.

M: Umm. OK. Oorshpraka. O... No. No. Let me start over. O...O...S...H...P...T...J...G...A...K...UH. Oorshpraka.

J: *giggle* I'm sorry, but that is incorrect.

Mie sun wil nevir mispel eezy wurds.