I absolutely feel like the most laziest person EVER.

Seriously.

School started up again a little over two weeks ago- a total of 12 school days has passed.  I have been in school for a grand total of 5 days out of those 12.  That's right FIVE.  Granted, two of those days were "cold days" and two were "holidays" (for lack of a better term), but still.  Five.  I feel like I have missed so much.

I was actually relieved when I returned from Kentucky and found my students had not, in fact, killed the substitute.  If anything they thought he was as incompetent as the rest of the teachers on my floor did and commented several times on his ability to fall asleep quickly.

Very reassuring that one is. 

::Note to self::

Never allow male sub C to be in classroom again.

::End Note to self::

So not only have I missed a lot of school, but I feel as though I have been working 24 hour shifts at the IHOP.  It's like I can't get enough sleep and my stress o' meter is far too high.

At least my students have not received my angry eyes yet.  They did, however, receive several sighs and "just go." from me today.  One of which happened at the end of the school day.

Picture my classroom if you will:

Seven minutes to go and all seems calm.  I have finished my lesson for the day and my students are happily playing scrabble, talking quietly amongst themselves, or playing educational games on the smartboard (what can I say, this is my advance class and I love them). 

Suddenly, the fire alarm goes off!  All my students look at me and get up to follow the "fire emergency" procedures.  I encourage them to continue in this effort while I find my shoes (no judgment from you.  They are extremely high heels.)  Some students panic for our class turtle and stop to grab him on the way out.  As quickly as it began, the alarm goes off.

"Hmm..." we all say.  Confused looks, followed by quick teacher conference in the hall and an announcement that all is well lead us to usher the middle schoolers back inside. 

No sooner had my advanced awesome students returned to their scrabble games then the alarm goes off again.  I calmly (yet loudly since the alarm is ridiculously EEEEEEEERRRR) told my students to stay where they were and went into the hallway for another quick teacher conference.  This time the "fire alarm man" came on so I thought to my self, "Self, this must be serious."  After all, only on serious fire alarm drills does the fire alarm man come on with his monotonous, yet very serious and concerned voice yell monotonously:  "Fire.  Fire.  Leave IMMEDIATELY.  Fire.  Fire.  Leave IMMEDIATELY."  (PS- I just wanted to see how many times I could get monotonous in that last sentence).

So I send my students out into the hallway- "Quick!  Go!  Fire!  We are told to leave immediately!  Forget the turtle!  It's every amphibian for himself!"

NO SOONER had most of my kids gotten down the stairs then I hear "FALSE ALARM!" over the "Fire.  Fire.  Leave IMMEDIATELY"  and the EEEEEEEERRRRRR.

"Wait!"  I holler to my slow, unconcerned for their lives children on the stairs.  "Get everyone back up here!"  Then I hear "Miss Shakespeare!  Charles is across the street!"

Great.

Luckily everyone returned (while the "Fire.  Fire." and EEEEEEERRRRR was still going on), and we were able to pack up bags amidst the EEEERRRRR and "Leave IMMEDIATELY." and be ready to leave when the last bell rang amidst the EEEEEEERRR. 

Here is the best part about sixth graders.  I don't know if you know this, dear reader, but when the bell rings to dismiss you and there is still a fire alarm going on, that totally gives you license to scream like a kindergartner at recess. 

So now we have "Fire.  Fire.  Leave IMMEDIATELY."  And "EEEERRRRR"  happening amidst the  "Ahhhhhh!!!!" of sixth graders.

The fire alarm stops.

::sigh of relief::

The fire alarm starts again.

::"EEEEEEERRRR."  "Fire.  Fire. Leave IMMEDIATELY."  "Ahhhhhhh!!!"::

Only that last time it was accompanied with "For the love of everything HOLY!  Get your bags and get out of the building!!"  (that would be the teachers yelling over the EEERRR.  And Fire.  And Ahh!!)

I would say that was where my day ended.  But after 6 more minutes of fire alarms AFTER the students had left, and a 3rd grader peeing his pants at math tutoring and then asking if I, the teacher in 2 inch high heels, could stop running because he, the energetic 3rd grader, was tired of running, I said "No.  The bus will leave you now suck it up and get moving!"

In my mind of course... :)

I don't know which I would rather deal with more: screaming sixth graders and a continuous fire alarm, or a third graders with pee down to his knees.

Choices, choices...

Ah, the life of me...

Girl's night.

That's all I had going on tonight, and I was excited for it.  I use the past tense because this is how I felt before I drove to drop off my movies at Blockbuster.

Cursed Blockbuster.

I had about 25 minutes to drop off my rented movies, stop by the bank, and then get to Cheddar's.  Mmm Cheddar's.

Unfortunately here is where the problems started: I parked in a handicap spot and turned off my car.

Now, I usually don't park in the handicap spot, in fact, I never park in one, but all the front spots were taken and I just needed to toss my movies in the slot box.

Ugh.  This is what I get for parking crookedly in a handicap parking spot.

I put the key in; I turn the ignition; my car doesn't start.  Doesn't even make a sound.  Nothing.

Did I mention it's like 20 degrees outside too?

Yeah.

So, I do what all single girls would do in this situation: call daddy.

Oh, to have a husband...

Here is the part that got me angry: while waiting for dad, I thought I would go into Blockbuster and see if anyone would like to help me.  I had jumper cables, I just needed a car and someone who knew how to jump a car properly.  (The black goes on the right and the...wait do I start one car first?  Do I put the cables on my car or the other first?...yeah.)

Out of eight employees in Blockbuster- EIGHT- I got blank stares and only one person who said, "Well, if someone will loan me their car, I can help." 

Nothing.  No one would offer their car.  In fact, they didn't even say anything- just kept doing their work and acting like I wasn't even there.

Yeah.  So I sat in my freezing car because I am determined to never step into that Blockbuster again and decided to start tonight.  In fact, I just might write a letter to the big Blockbuster man in charge...

Dear Mr. Buster,
Your employees are rubbish and only think of themselves.  Although they were hard at work within your store, they were most certainly not thinking of the customer when I, the customer, was in need.  I will no longer be purchasing any rental movies from your store, although I didn't rent much their anywhere because your prices are simply outrageous.

Happy Going Out of Business,
The Angry Rejected Searching for a Little Bit Help and Didn't Get It Customer

Luckily, Daddy came to the rescue and I made it home, although every time I braked my headlights went out.  That could be trouble.  We'll see tomorrow.

The night ended well.  Of course, I'm still trying to get over the Chick Flick Blues.  Always happens to us single gals after an excellent Chick Flick.  You watch the movie, you love the ending, you ooh and aah at the appropriate parts and smile at the end. 

Then the credits rool and you silently (sometimes really loudly) cry because you realize your life is just the same as it always was, and you have yet to meet a man that is actually interested in you or puts you before his job.

One day.  One day.

Alas.

Until then, I shall dream of beautiful Irish men with great smiles...

Sixth grade is an odd time in life.

There have been several times throughout the day when I furrow my brow in utter confusement.

::What IS Odd Boy A doing skipping down the hallway?::

::Why is Odd Boy B banging his head against the wall and trying to kiss the hamster cage?::

::Does Enthusiastic Girl C know that she is flirting with Odd Boy D who still happens to be only interested in Manga?::

These are all examples of questions that cross my mind every day as I stand guard outside my classroom door during passing period.

Greg, a middle school character in Diary of a Wimpy Kid, put it best when he said:

"Let me just say for the record that I think Middle School is the dumbest idea ever invented.  You've got kids like me who haven't hit their growth spurt yet mixed in with these gorillas who need to shave twice a day."

So true.  I actually have several sixth grade students that literally look down on me- they can't help it!  I seriously wonder if they do shave and am actually shocked when I find out they have not been held back, but are actually just giant sixth graders. 

Oh my word. 

Thought.

Birthing those students must have been extremely painful...

Refocusing:

These giant students look especially comfortable in our playskool desks, knees up to their eyeballs, and appear even more ginormous when sat next to my sixth grade students barely pushing 4' 1/2 feet.

You've got the high voices, you've got the low voices.  You've got girls with bigger cup sizes than me, and girls that still look like 8 year old boys.  Some love the WonderPets, some love Grey's Anatomy.  I mean really!  Do you see the difficulty in trying to teach to this much variety!?  And that's not including the learning disabilities, the behavior problems, the language barriers, and the general lack of common sense.

I just started teaching my unit on mythology and I'm pretty sure I already scarred some children with my introduction tales of the gods and almost, unbeknowst to me, led a girl to Agnostiscism.

Let me be clear.  I am a Christian.  This girl thinking God is not real because of me would have been BAD.

Don't worry.  We fixed the problem.

I'm pretty sure....

NOTE TO SELF: check on Confused Girl A tomorow.

You know you should be paid more when you tell others what you do, and the first response that leaves his/her mouth is, "Why?"

Always an encouragement that one.

One day I shall shock and awe my 'feel sorry for me' listeners when I respond with one of the following:

• I would have been a nurse, but my fangs don't allow me to be near human blood.
• I had planned on being a politician, but, alas, they told me I had too much sound judgment, common sense, and selflessness. Of course, I am also full of great humility (but you would never hear me say so)

And Lastly:

• I was going to major in M.R.S., but unfortunately, they only had so many degrees and if you didn't grab one your freshman year you were, quite frankly, S.O.L. (The M.R.S. alternative certification was also an option, but I wasn't that desperate.)

And, so, there you have it. You, as a reader, have now used your clever deductive reasoning to deduce that I am neither a nurse nor politician nor am I married. And if you are incredibly daft and haven't read the title of this blog, then I will make this simple for you: I am, in fact, a sixth grade English teacher. Although, I believe the preferred term is "Language Arts." And one day, "Teacher" might be dropped all together and replaced with "Adult who happens to stand guard in a room of crazy, hormonal, smelly kids."

Something like that...

I don't know if it would all fit on a badge though...AWHTSGIAROCHSK.

Wow. Trying saying that five times fast...

More like, try saying that at all.

Continuing...

I most certainly did not grow up with the desire to become a teacher. Between my undiagnosed ADD and my habit of perpetual procrastination, TEACHER was not one of the jobs on my "When I Grow Up..." List.

Well, I suppose that's not true.

It was actually on my "When I Grow Up Do NOT Become Any of the Following..." I think 'teacher' was numbered somewhere between 'deep sea fisherman' and 'counselor.' (I don't have time for whiners.) (Or fish.)

So I am writing this blog (and the readers say, "HUZZAH!") mainly because I have had a lot of complaints that I need to, but also because I thought 'what the hey-dizzle. Might as well share my life with others who have nothing else to do but read random blogs all day long.' And if that is you, dear reader, please let me know what your secet is to so much free time. (Unless it is unemployment. To that I say, "Get thee off of thy couch and get to work thou lazy pox-ridden wench!")

No, I do not make it a habit of speaking 'Shakespearean,' and no, my name is not Miss Shakespeare, but I decided that while protecting the identities of any student or parent I might talk about, I might as well protect my own.

After all, it's only a matter of time before some middle schooler gets on here and goes, "Hey. That's my teacher." (said in a very monotonic, not quite all there, very obvious statement of a voice...)

So, why not make it as hard as possible to find me while I create a bit of fun online?

Indeed...