Whew– it was a long week. I wish I could say it was a good one, or at least an interesting one, but no–it was sort of the same ol’ same ol. I do have a few notable exceptions for you, if you’d like to see…
* I effectively called a kid a pissy little girl–but that’s not why he huffed out my class in a snit. (Yes, I said he, why?) The thing is, I was passing out practice test packets for their, you know, practice tests. Anyway, this was a class set–and it had been around a while–and some of the pages were coming off. So, instead of saying, “Ms. Lane, can I staple this?” or “Ms. Lane can I get another packet?” this kid says “These pages are awful how come we can’t make new ones gees, how am I supposed to know which order this goes in I can’t read this?”
To which I replied, “Can we think of a less pissy way to put all that?”
“What do you mean, pissy?”
“Dude, you’re whining like a little girl!”
And that’s not when he stomped out of my class in a pissy little girl tantrum just to prove I was wrong. No–it was when I called him up to my desk and told him exactly what he said and what it sounded like. THAT pissed him off. I hope he gets used to getting the snot beat out of him when he works fast food until he’s 42–he’s just not tough enough for anything else.
* Chicken and Spaznado Boy got signed up for soccer again. I found up that I COULD sign Ladybug up, and I must say, I was fairly taken with the idea of her, her red hair a-flyin’, sturdy legs a-pumpin’, charging down the field for HER ball, but I can only do so much.
“What do you want to be, Ladybug? A soccer boy or a dancing girl?”
And that’s when she put her hands up in a full pirhouette and said, “I want to be a DANCING GIRL!” It was precious. She wins. Dancing lessons it is.
* And finally, I went in the staff room today to catch shit for my writing preferences. You think I’m kidding? Mr. Curmudgeonly Colleague went out of his way to accuse me of writing gay porn. I told him there was a matter of ratio that made my werewolf stories not really porn–they were more romance.
“I don’t care, they’re still butt-luv.”
Nice. Anyway, he then asked me why I was still hanging around, and since he’d just totally irritated me (in a friendly, I’m- dicking- with- you- to- make- lunch- go- faster kind of way) , I told him the Goddess’ honest truth about Plan BM, which was this: Spaznado boy wasn’ feeling good this morning, and Ladybug woke up without him and got mad, so they both had a whine-fest on my lap during the time I”m USUALLY taking my morning dump. Consequently, I was really constipated and in a lot of pain, and I was waiting for the staff room to clear out after lunch so I could go potty in peace.
About the time he blinked and roared, “WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?” a big mucky-muck from our district came knocking on the staff room door, and Curmudgeonly Colleague got his revenge.
You see, the bell rang, and everybody cleared out EXCEPT Curmudgeonly Colleague and Mucky Muck, who were talking big political mojo. So while I went in to use the bathroom and execute Plan BM, a horrible thing happened: The sound of Curmudgeonly Colleague’s voice made the whole works try to crawl back up, and I had to cease and desist Plan BM.
True story. I’m not kidding in the least.
In fact, I shit you not.
(I’m running away now so you can all throw rotten tomatoes at me as I probably deserve. But it really did happen, I swear!)