This Bitch

If there are kids present, put em to bed. Or at least keep them away from the screen because I'm holding nothing back on this long overdue installment. Allow me to tell you all why I hate standardized tests. First of all, they can't tell me nothin about MY kids that I don't already know. Second, for whatever reason, we still suck as a state at education. I think the only people worse at educating the youth are Oklahoma (obviously) and home schools of families that live on the street. Third, these units of "measurement", known as standardized tests, perpetuate the trippin that bitches be doin. Bitches be trippin so much that my title abandoned the use of the Beloved moniker that is always used, in some form, for the first time in blog history. But this bitch gotta learn.

So my faithful followers have been asking when the blog would be back. I've been giving it some thought; my decision was that I really had not a lot to write about. Things have, more or less, been quiet at the halfway school. Well I'm pleased to report...that is no longer the case. I could probably blog every day that I am at school from this point forward. Hmm...that's a thought. Perhaps I will become an engine of chaos for that exact purpose. These bitches gotta learn. Naturally, by "these bitches gotta learn", you can infer that I mean 'this bitch gotta learn'.

I'll start here: Anybody that knows anything about the school "system" knows that we've this test to prepare the kids for, which is a completely different issue for me. This test--is a mutha sucka. The level of difficulty of this test, compared to the previous test, is ridiculous! So ridiculous, in fact, that the standards for passing these tests in most subjects is in the 50s or low 60s. Imagine if all we needed to pass a class was a 55. That woulda been crazy. Anyways, in light of the emphasis on testing, you get niggas everywhere acting crazier than they ever have. Here's the kicker though. They continue to ramp up the rigor of these tests, which puts the educators at a disadvantage, yet the kids are literally getting dumber. How?

None of these kids ever get held back. Let's face it; being held back is a sign of weakness that no parent wants to subject their child to, whether they need it or not. My maternal grandfather was retained...back in 1st grade, I believe. The teacher told his mama he wasn't ready, and she said keep him where he is until he is ready. My grandfather took that extra year and made up for the deficiencies that he had, went on to finish school without any other major hitches, and became an accomplished music teacher and eventual counselor. That requires both an undergraduate and postgraduate degree. But he was retained. Who gives a chit?

Let me tell you how to retain a kid. Bribe somebody with power. And by bribe, I mean sell your soul to the devil, no refund, sign your name with the blood of a 40-year-old virgin whore with a pen made from the horn of a unicorn, then put ink on the scrotum of an uncircumcised Leprechaun to notarize the document. Or...you could bring forth work samples for the entire year, along with a significant number of failing report card grades (we're only allowed to fail 10% of a class which adds up to 1 person for me), suggest retention before the committee, which then needs to be approved for the student to go to summer school. Now, if anybody knows anything about summer school, it practically ensures that you move on to the next grade. In the event that everything in place happens, the parent still has the right to refuse the student retention and win. Who wants to go through all of that chit? Not I. What does that mean? The standardized tests are getting harder, but as a student, it's easier to pass. That irks me, as it sets me up for the remainder of this blog and why this bitch gotta learn.

I don't know what yall seem to enjoy more. The misadventures of my ever-ridiculous class or a good story chronicling the struggle between good and evil, of which I'm still uncertain of my role. Lucky for you, this is a double feature. It was a school day, like any other. Except that it was a Thursday, and sometimes school is on Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Friday, hell...even Saturday, much to my chagrin. The story begins during my planning period, which we might as well rename "random unscheduled meeting in which the aura of bitchiness is emitted upon my presence" period. That name is probably too long, and you wouldn't wanna use a name that long around the kids. It was during this period that I learned my fate for next school year. The bitch known as Tractor called us into the office individually, where she told me that I would be teaching 5th grade Reading. Now if you're one of my faithful followers, you know that I currently teach 4th grade Reading and Writing. It's been a couple of years since I taught Math, but the number after 4 is 5, I think. That means, yes, I will be moving up with my current crop of kids. My first reaction? "NOOOOOOOOOOOO!" After I left the office of course. My secondary, more rational reaction? I thought about it, and I considered what I have been telling adults that I've come in contact with. My kids are not that bad. I could stand to lose a couple of them, but all in all, they are pretty good. That's actually the reason I rarely have anything to tell you all. I find myself enjoying my students. I never figured that would be the case lol.

Last year, my kids were, by comparison, little spawns of satan. In fact, the class was probably comprised of 70% children of Tractor, seeing as how she is a direct descendent of Beelzebub himself. Beelzebub is like French or something for devil...or maybe it's Jewish. Just kidding, it's definitely Ebonics. As I was saying, the kids were terrible. But looking back at them, it's quite possible that I miss 85-90% of them. My former colleagues would probably slap me for saying so, but true it is.

So upon receiving the news that I now knew of my new assignment, I went back to class, where I gave the kids their writing prompt for the day. "Write about the subject you have enjoyed the most this school year and why." It was a simple assignment, and its intent was to find out if they learned ANYTHING from ANYBODY this school year. I like to read the papers as they write, something called monitoring. Naturally, I learned that from somebody else because I couldn't possibly have any knowledge of how to work with kids. One student writes about why they enjoyed Math, and how they learned to divide big numbers, and how proud that makes them. Another writes about gym, and how they appreciate the value of exercise (plus they don't have to read or write or compute to do it). Then I approach the desk of one we will call Butter. Butter is this sweet little girl that came to us from another school in perhaps early March. It's funny because Gobment really can't stand her, but she's quickly become one of my favorites, if teachers had favorites of course. Paraphrasing, but Butter writes that she loves Reading because you get to get lost in books, and they're interesting, and she has the best Reading teacher, Mr. Beloved. She also said she hasn't been here long, but it feels like he's taught her everything. Obviously, that may be a bit hyperbolic, more so than even she knows. But the combination of that touching sentiment and the fact that everyone's writing was so thoughtful and improved gave me a chill. My mood at this point was so great that NOTHING could damper it. (The use of all caps on 'nothing' is what us English nerds would refer to as foreshadowing. Foreshadowing basically just gives us a glimpse of actions still to come. What do you all think is going to take place later?)

If you guessed anything that starts, ends, or contains at all the words THIS BITCH in succession, pat yourself on the back. Or if you wanna substitute that pat on the back, you can go find Tractor and tea bag her for me. So about 3 o'clock, I got word that scores for this enormously critical test could be viewed online. As little as I really care about these things, my heart still dropped a bit just because of the potential ramifications of a lack of success. I got online, I viewed, I was a bit disappointed, but I wasn't 'irrational tirade' disappointed. Why? I looked at the scores from the same students from last year, and they all showed growth from the previous year, most showing some significant leaps and jumps (remind me to tell you about Danica later). I can live with that.

Still, we get the call to come down to the office after school to talk about our scores. I'll set the scene. Gobment and I head down to the office. It takes a long time because her prune juice sends her frequently to the restroom. After a brief intermission we resume our mission to Tractor's office, where Tractor is waiting with our academic coordinator.

Tractor: Hi, you all. Have you had a chance to look at your scores?
Unison: We were kinda still looking.
Tractor: *excuses Gobment to go resume looking at her scores and tells me to sit down.*
Have you looked at your scores?
Beloved: *in my head* Bitch what did I just say? *out loud* I was still looking at them.
Tractor: Well can I just be honest with you?
Beloved: (Pauses) I'm listening.

I feel compelled to explain the scores first so that you are not confused or asking questions during my presentation...I hate that chit. So the two tests that I was responsible for were Reading and Writing. The scores ended up very similar. Of my roster, I ended up with 75% passing for each. Now, 3 of my students that passed will not count for me because they were at other schools. What that means is that my scores will eventually be recalculated, totaling about 71% for each. Not great, but.....well let's just get back to the story.

When we last left off, I was telling this bitch that I was listening. This is a line I use commonly when I have a genuine disdain for an individual.

Tractor: Beloved (yeah, she really did call me by my first name), you haven't added any value to these kids at all. Mrs. Tyler is devastated because she has never had a percentage this low for writing, and that's all your fault because you forced us to bring her in. If she hadn't helped out, it would have been lower than that.

By the way, this dialogue is actually a monologue because I didn't say a damn word throughout the entire conversation. She just wanted to hear herself talk, and I let her because I didn't know what was going to come out of my mouth. At any rate, in my mind, I was thinking that she shouldn't be devastated because they aren't her scores, they're mine. And don't gimme that "you forced her" because she does the same thing every year. I've only been there for one, so I don't know how I necessarily forced her.

Tractor (cont.): You know, you walk around here like everything is all hunky dory and like you don't have a care in the world, but you should be devastated. You don't take anything seriously and this is what happens because of that. You have failed these students, and you have failed this school.

PAUSE!! Let me just tell you how bad I wanted to reach across the table and slap that bitch. The only thing that stopped me was that I didn't wanna get makeup all over my hands. This bitch come to school everyday lookin like a powdered donut. I don't even know her real skin tone because she gets her makeup supply from the clown store...that or the damn art supply store. You can say a lot of things about my apathetic demeanor, as I'm sure I do appear not to care about things, but you better make sure you never take a low blow like that. You don't know how much I care about these kids; you have no fuckin idea. You don't even know half of my kids, so get yo ass on somewhere. So I proceeded to look at her sideways for the remainder of the conversation. Literally, I rested my right ear on my right shoulder. My head was completely sideways.

Tractor: We got 75% in Math, so you should have at least been able to get in the 80s. (In my defense, Gobment has at least 50 years of teaching experience on me, so that's not fair.) I moved you up to 5th grade because I couldn't move you any lower (my certifications are 4-12). If you can't get it together with these kids, I will do everything I can to get you out of here. So if I were you, I would start looking for another job.

Beloved (head turned sideways thinks to himself): Bitch, do you want the address to my blog? I want out as bad as you want me out. Don't do me no favors. I bet you think this conversation is hurting my feelings...it's not. I actually feel sorry for you. You need a 'just in case' scapegoat so bad, that you lash out at somebody who outperformed the district, albeit you aren't satisfied.

Dang, how I wish I could have said that out loud.

Bitch: Do you understand that?
Beloved: *excruciatingly long pause* Uh...huh.

Look at that, this was a dialogue after all!

Bitch: Ok.
Beloved: *Deep, obnoxiously loud sigh, walks out*

How dare this bitch? I wonder what the 'bitch' count is for this installment...does the title count? Does it count when I quote it as something that's already been said? Things that make you go hmmm. Ok, so she finally got to me this time, with the whole "you have failed the students" thing. Because let's face it, I don't even fully give a damn about failing the school. But those kids, they are mine, and I cherish and fully respect having the opportunity to be a part of their lives and foster and facilitate, as well as stimulate growth of all kinds for these kids. I know, you all are accustomed to slight dramatizations when reading what I write, but I DID NOT MAKE UP A SINGLE WORD FROM THAT CONVERSATION. You don't do stuff like that. If I had low self esteem, I'd have run off in the corner and cried somewhere. Instead, I went and shared a conversation with my occupational confidants. It's nice to have people around that you feel comfortable with. Although, they are potentially part of the reason I think everything is "hunky dory". Bitch, please. Dang, that shoulda been the title of this blog! Hmm...perhaps I will blog again. Foreshadowing.

Oh, thanks for reminding me. There was another encounter, the day after, that validated my position. Remember Danica? Well if you can recall from earlier blogs, it's kinda her thing to be annoying. She also talks extremely loud, which prompted me just before Christmas to tell her it sounds like she has a microphone in her throat. She was then dubbed "Microphone Jones". Since that time, she has done numerous things to warrant eye rolls. She has spelled her name wrong, she has talked in line and class more times than I care to count, she has come to class unprepared, she has failed several tests. She has, she just has. She didn't pass either of the tests that she took last year. At the beginning of the year, Gobment and I were so sure she had a disability that we referred her for special education services. She didn't qualify though. Well, on Friday, I, along with Gobment, got to tell her personally that she passed not one, not two, but all three of the tests that she took. Reading, Math, and Writing. Now, I know that doesn't count for anything since I have failed the school, but it was still the single most gratifying moment I have had this entire school year. I am generally emotionless, yet I found myself so choked up that I literally had to hold back tears. Not because I was proud of myself and Gobment...I don't even like her...but because I was so proud of Danica and what she was able to accomplish just because she didn't give up. No greater feeling, I swear.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is why I do what I do. Hell, it's why most of us do what we do. I can honestly say that it's not for self-gratification either. It's the same reason I hold the door open for people. 50% of all situations end without the recipient of the held door saying thank you. Should I stop doing that, too? I'm a damn good door holder...I think I'll continue. I literally got my ass chewed off, but it really matters not. I am not there to try and touch her life in any way. Instead, I am there to see improvement and growth in students. A test may not always measure that. Nay, a test RARELY measures that. In this case, it can serve as validation for a student on the right track, but hell, I knew that Danica was maturing before she took those tests. They didn't tell us anything that we didn't already know. The only thing those tests did was told Beloved that he sucks at teaching and, quite possibly, life in general. But you know what? I'll never stop sucking. I'll never stop walking around like everything is hunky dory. I'll never be devastated unless I can't see any hope for the future. I will never be defeated. If you wanna put me in a box based on some scores, that were not all that bad, then you can kiss my ass with your tongue out because I will never go away...ever. Well--I may get away from This Bitch's school lol.

Until next time
Beloved

Beloved Be Hated II: Public Enemy Number 1

Shat!! How do you know when something is really true, as opposed to just an anomaly? When you have to devote a part 2 to chronicle the continued ASSassination of one, Beloved. I mean, quite frankly, Beloved may need to be stripped of his distinction soon, if these issues persist. And trust me, they are likely to persist...at least until June 11th. What's special about that day? It's the day I will be free from the tyrannical reign of one who will come to be known as "Tractor", formerly Mrs. Piggy.

To my friends in the business of self-inflicted pain, known as education, this will be easily relatable. If you are a friend who does not understand how ridiculous a profession this is, you may have no interest at all in reading beyond this point, unless you like degrading comments and seeing me call people bitches and tell you how they be trippin. Then, I would stick around.

Note: The events that follow are in no way a reflection of the real life of the author. You may proceed.

Before I get into the struggle between good and evil, where the line has become increasingly blurred and I am no longer certain whether I represent the good or the evil, I've got news from my little basketball team. These kids annoy the heck out of me because they don't pay much attention, but they are mine. I guess when you're between 5 and 7 years of age, it's a little difficult to always focus. Hell, I zone out in meetings and I'm a little older than them. I love them though. So much so, that one of the girls is gonna be playing on my soccer team this coming March, much to the chagrin of Luby. She always cryin 'bout something. Apparently, she thinks the girl should be playing on the team with her son, even though she never even invited her to play. Anywho, I kinda miss seeing Luby on a more regular basis. Now, we just see each other at basketball practice and games. But it's hard to talk about people when you're coaching.

I digressed. What was my dang point? Oh yeah, so we lost our basketball game last night to the kids on the church team. Shocking that they got allllllll the calls from the referee. Well the "church kids" were calling my kids losers and suckers after the game. I guess they don't do lessons on sportsmanship often enough. Well, it's just motivation for us. We'll strike back.

Some people probably think it's weird that I still have so much involvement with my former halfway school. The kids I coach attend, and are affiliated solely, with the institution. In addition to that, my antithesis of a brother, Jack, is still there, along with Luby. I also tutor kids that attend the school, but that's more so because they actually trust me not to completely eff up their kids' lives. I'm not sure that same level of trust is extended at this place. Uncle Rock is still there as well. I probably talk to Rock once a day now because he's concerned about my well-being at the new halfway school. I told yall he's like an uncle, or a big brother. He's extremely protective of me. Plus he has the best advice and old school sayings, which tend to make me laugh, even if I'm extremely annoyed. I've always got a new story for him, and he's always got a corresponding suggestion.

So, yeah, I'd say it's pretty weird to have such an affiliation, especially when I have such good friends, right down the hall, at my new place of employment. This includes Gobment and her infinite supply of names. I mean it looks like the steroid list in Major League Baseball. Then there's San Marie, who follows me around like a lost puppy, hinging on my every word. I think she just likes to hear me say stupid stuff, which I'm pretty good at. Bless her heart for having to put up with me. Whenever I get on a misogynist rant, Trio has always got my back. At least the 2 of us know a woman's place. Macy is across the hall from me, and she's kinda the 6 degrees of separation link because she knows my stupid brother, Jack. Well, she always makes me feel like I can actually do stuff right. That makes me smile. If not for these folks, I'd probably have to disband the blog because I'd no longer be employed. Yes, it's that bad. All I can say is the following: I'll miss you guys when I'm gone lol. It appears that my quest to extend myself to one facility for consecutive years shall continue on.

And now...........for the main event. It's been an incredibly trying week and a half at the Halfway School. We are working our arses off, and for what? Little thanks, multiple disrespects from uncultured kids, long hours, inferior work spaces, long arse meetings, and last, a bitch in charge. I mean...I wanna keep calling her a bitch, but I feel like the female dogs are gonna be really offended by the comparison. Yall know Cuervo, Griffin, Charles, Giggles, Baajing, Danika, Nothing? Yeah, they are the least of my concerns. I mean, in their defenses, with the exception of Charles, they're still bitches, but to be fair, they got it honest. Having met some of their parents, I see that they were doomed from the time them dang sperms won their respective races. Not to mention, Danika, has made significant improvements as far as reading comprehension. Enough improvement for me to mutter something I never thought I would tell her, "I'm.....proud of you." Charles, though his breath still stinks from time to time, got the 4th highest score in the 4th grade on his major district test, so I can't talk about him academically. Griffin, well I could still talk about him, but I met his mom, and it put so many things into perspective. But man, that boy been coming to school MUSTY!! Straight smellin like brothel genitals...it's been awful. Yet and still, these kids are not the main event, just an introduction to how egregious you have to be to surpass dumb, stank, attitudinal kids.

We all know that very little affects my way of thinking, positively or negatively. I adopted a philosophy a loooong time ago that I really just don't care. As you may know, I've been stripped of certain duties at school, in favor of one who knows far more about the content area than myself. I am fine with that. I don't know everything, not even close. If she is more capable of helping them pass a test and teaching me how to teach towards a test, then more power to her (and ultimately us). The thing is this: I literally could not care less about the grand scheme of these tests, as I don't see the impact they have on their future retention. Basically, they learn how to pass these tests without really retaining any information. Do I think it's wrong to teach them how to pass the tests? No, because we all need employment. I just don't personally value that skill over teaching them to do things in context.

Alas, Tractor and I begin to clash. She claims not to see the "urgency" from me, and I'm clearly incapable of teaching a child how to write. This is ironic because I was actually brought in to do just that. It appears that I am excelling more at the Reading curriculum than the Writing curriculum. Do I get any appreciation for some pretty dang good Reading scores? Of course not. Instead, I just become the scapegoat for things that are going poorly.

It all started when I was told about a list of things I need to turn in weekly, to ensure that I'm being the puppet that she wants me to be. First, I need to score documents and leave copies for her to review. This would have been a cinch. The problem is...I don't have the documents because they were given to the woman who is supposed to be saving my kids from my inadequacy. Ergo, I failed to submit physical copies, even though I met the necessary online requirements. It was at this point that I was warned that I was in danger of receiving a letter of reprimand. That conversation didn't go all that well, yet it still went better than subsequent conversations.

The next thing I am responsible for is submitting several different assignments that they have. That, too, would be a cinch, if I were not deferring to someone else on assignments and class schedule. It is an interesting conundrum, if you will. It has forced me to feel massive levels of disdain and resent for certain individuals, and by individuals, I mean one individual. Anyways, when I submitted my stuff for the week, some things were missing. I didn't do them because the kids were not in my class. Soooo, I got that letter of reprimand that I had previously been threatened with. Fortunately for me, I don't care that much. I'm not gonna start jumping through hoops just because somebody wants to contradict his or herself and make me look like I'm not doing anything. I also think it's classless of someone to try and do things of that nature. Anyways, I survived that meeting by saying "ok" and "uh huh" and, when given my letter, "thank you". She didn't look very happy to get that response.

Fast forward to this past week, things have just gotten worse. In the words of somebody famous or smart or something, "Everybody is lobbing paper balls, and you wanna throw bricks, or stones, or something else hard that can knock a nigga out." I paraphrased a little bitch...I mean bit. So during our extremely fun grade-level meeting this week, I was again subjected to tyranny. I mean...I have got to be public enemy number one, and I don't even think it to be close. We can't even discuss things as simple as scheduling and potential conflicts and things of that nature without having a discussion that is less than amicable. That's putting it mildly. This meeting is when she decided to throw something heavier than paper balls; it's also where I decided, with certainty, to be a rogue employee that she will undoubtedly have her hands full with. I apologize in advance to all individuals who get in the line of fire, deliberately or inadvertently.

Tractor: Why aren't the kids going to Reading?
Beloved: They have been leaving to go to the Writing teacher that's better than me.
Tractor: That's not acceptable. And that's not why the scores were low on their last test.
Beloved: Nobody said that was the reason.

Tractor: I didn't say anybody did. I was just saying it in case somebody was thinking it.
Beloved: :-/
Tractor: And let me just say this. None of this would be necessary if they had been getting the instruction they were supposed to be getting in the first place. And I'll just leave it at that.

Shots fired...

Beloved: *smirks unendingly*

Bitch: So ultimately these are your kids so what are we going to do?
Beloved: .............
Tractor Bitch: I'm asking what you want to do. There needs to be a plan. 
Less Beloved: ...................

Tractor: I'm not a dictator.
By "I'm not a dictator," she meant, "I am absolutely, unequivocally, without a doubt a bitch, I mean dictator."
Tractor: What's the plan?
Beloved: I don't have a plan, and I won't have one any time soon.
Tractor: When there's no plan, I have to come up with one.
Beloved: Well I'll just do whatever you all come up with.

Tractor: But these aren't our kids.
Beloved: Well...I'm inadequate, so I'm not gonna have a plan.
Tractor: You're not inadequate, yo...8sdgfaaohrt a09hst aro 8art nsosjndfa sdflkhiasf sdfkjasgd sdgkha 9arth arotiartoar  aoirthaerot a rtsohuakert artaeoriute artg. (Charlie Brown's teacher voice)
Beloved: I don't even know what you just said.
Gobment: Can we do the schedule like th......

Tractor: .....WAIT A MINUTE, THESE AREN'T OUR KIDS, THEY'RE HIS! 
Tractor In Extra Bitch Mode: DON'T TRY TO HELP HIM OR I'LL SLAP YO ARSE TOO, THEN TAKE THE TENNIS BALLS OFF OF YOUR WALKER.
Beloved: Why you yelling, bitch?
Ok so the last two didn't happen.
Beloved: Well I don't know.

Tractor: If you will provide them with some extra writing, they should be able to stay and get Reading.
Beloved: Well I won't be doing it the same way other people are doing it, and I'm not gonna teach them the how to memorize papers because I don't know how and don't feel comfortable. *puts foot down*
Tractor: Well I hope while you're saying what you're not going to do, you say what you will do to help them pass this test which is the most important thing they will ever do in their life, and will determine their entire future, plus give them a college degree and job, fresh out of 4th grade.
Beloved (in his head): Bitch, don't you think I've been thinking about that?

Beloved (out loud): *raises eyebrows and shrugs*
Tractor: So we'll have another meeting, masquerading as an official meeting, to discuss future meetings, regarding official meetings, to discuss a plan, next week, so I can berate you more, further denigrating any shred of confidence remaining in your insufficient body.
Beloved: .......
Tractor: Ok?
Beloved: Yep.

And......scene. This is a dramatization, but only slightly. This is the life of one, Behated. I think it will probably get worse because I am stubborn. Hopefully it does not, but I don't know how much self-control I have remaining. As of now, it is occasional snide remarks, but they are becoming increasingly stated. Yall just keep me in mind when you say your prayers. Not because I'm sad or anything, but because I'm dangerous.

On a brighter note, it's Saturday. Ok, so that didn't actually help lol. I'm gonna go exercise and then watch Boy Meets World while thinking of my master plan. Oh wait, I don't have a plan. Until next time...

Be-to-the-Hated
(Formerly Beloved)

That Beloved 'S'

Well I'll be. This is my third post for the month of December, which I'm thinking has to be some sort of record. I'm not sure if it counts though, since the world ended 10 days ago. Just in case, I'll try to finish before 2013 hits. I may get tired and say forget this 's'. Below you will find what I consider to be the Mona Lisa, the culmination of my hard work in bringing to you "general quips of nothingness". Since I'm on break, I can't bring you any new stories, so instead I'll just offer some thoughts and opinions. If you happen not to like them, let me know so that in the future, I can remind myself to have you kiss my arse...with your tongue out.

If you have been unable to deduce to this point (based on a title or anything), this blog will be loosely based on things I've made fit, rather conveniently, into my theme. It's the way of the world. Pastors do it. Heck, Christians in general, atheists, slave owners, saints, nuns, hoes, and politicians do it. Take a statement or scripture or work of literature or whatever and use it to their advantage or benefit or someone else's impending demise or whichever comes first. Well yeah, that's what this is. So that means that there will be no shortage of 's' words discussed at some point or another.

Speaking of (s)lave owners, I went and saw Django. Hilarity. I chose not to exclaim the "hilarity" because of its generally mildly offensive existence. There I go, showing that sensitivity of mine, because I was thoroughly entertained and not offended at all. Any how, Quentin Tarantino pretty much managed to do what he does best, entertain us all in an incredibly unconventional and inordinate manner. If forced to sum the movie up in one word, which we know wouldn't happen because you can't force me to do 's', I'd call it eclectic. I mean an ADHD patient's dream. Which is ironic because it was long as heck, obviously not boding well for someone who suffers from such issues. So long as you're not offended by Samuel L. Jackson's potty mouth, you should be good. Oh, and they say "nigga", or "nigger", or some variation a lot. I hope that's cool with all the white people. But y'all niggas bet' not try to get away with it. Jamie Foxx was as to be expected, and naturally Samuel L's rants were classic, but the character I was most amused by was Christoph Waltz. I feel like his sense of humor just matched that of my own in a near-perfect manner.

I'd put it up there with the better flicks I've seen this calendar year, right up there with "The Avengers" and "Batman III", which is obviously not the name of that movie. I guess it's pretty obvious that I'm a fan of the vigilante, and if it's not, you're probably far too dumb to ever experience mediocrity. I'm looking forward to some more sic-fi/vigilante movies this upcoming calendar year, including The Lone Ranger, G.I. Joe II (also not the name), Star Trek 2.0 (""), and, probably most of all, Superman. It'll be a good year as far as movies are concerned.

Sticking with my vast and limitless film and tv viewing skills, I started to watch "(S)candal"last night, on Netflix. It is exactly the type of trashy, devious, underhanded, egregious trash that keeps our society in a place of unscrupulous deeds. I know I said trash twice, I just wanted to make sure yall were following me. That being said, I am on episode 6 lol. It's just so climactic-over, and over, and over again. Like if you were to experience a multitude of climaxes in a short period of time. Get your minds out of the gutter, perverts. Although I'm not sure how you can keep it out if you are fan of the show. I'll likely finish the rest of the season tonight before working on catching up with season 2.

I need to finish it tonight though, because I'm gonna start devoting more time to less-senseless activities in 2013. Oops, I said that wrong. New year, new me. Because the changing of a date, if even by one minute, is gonna be my motivation to become a better me. I call this section...the (s)top it section. I fell off of my 2012 goals in March, so I've been waiting 8+ months to be able to become this better person. Now I can start the year going to the gym and crowding all of the stations that would otherwise be vacant, I can start going to church, I can start reading a self-help book, and I can start having compassion for others. I could NOT do this until the calendar turned to 2013. That's just the way it is. Nevermind that if I severely eff up in June, I can say, "Dang I won't make that mistake going forward." I need a date to confirm my ability to change. I've always believed that a year is just too large of a sample size to gauge general self improvement. Now, if we're talking financially, then fine, but that's a different story cause yall aint gettin money no way. *Back to the King's English, I go*

Now, the moment you've been waiting for-the true object of my affection.

Clock strikes 12

Friend 1: Happy New Year(s)!!

Me: Happy New Year(). See, there's actually no 's' at the end because it's only 1 year.

Friend 1: Whatever it's the same thing. You always doing that.

Me: That's because you always effin up, dummy. There's New Year's Eve, which requires an apostrophe, so to signify possession, and then there's the New Year(), only 1, no 's' required.

2 Minutes Later......

Repeat this entire interaction with Friend Number 2.

ANOTHER MINUTE LATER

REPEAT AGAIN, WITH DUMB ARSE NUMBER 3.

It's not their fault though. The new year just brings the illiteracy out of people.

Speaking of illiteracy, I would be remiss if I did not take a few moments to focus on the Halfway (S)chool. In 1 week, I'll be back with the little dummies, I mean darlings. Got mixed up. New year, new me...I'm going in with a different outlook on these kids. And by different, I mean the exact same outlook. I still feel mildly bad for them because I know that it's not really, fully their fault. I mean, if Cuervo lived with me, he'd be on the 'A' Honor Roll, and he wouldn't be unbearably misbehaved. His mama did that to him. If little Griffin lived with me, I mean, he would still be ugly, but I'd make sure he got that velcro pad on top of his head cut every week, and he wouldn't be as dumb as he currently is. If Baajing lived with me, she'd still be a bitch, but I think yall are kinda sorta catching my drift. And if these kids lived with Gobment, their names wouldn't fit on my roll anymore. They would have like 12 names a piece, just like her. The spreadsheet would have their names, but no data because the second cell just wouldn't fit.

Anyways, that's it for now. I'm ranted out. I need to go read some more of this book that Macy let me borrow. Maybe I'll explain that to yall next time, if you're unlucky. Then, it's off to finish season 1 of Scandal. Unfortunately, that now gives me yet another show to keep up with. Darn you, script writers. 

**Be kind to your friends and refrain from telling them "Happy New Years". It is sofa king annoying.

**Be kind to yourself, and stop waiting until January 1st to do anything positive with your life. I mean, you could just be like me and never try to change lol.

**If you're gonna drink, don't drive...If you're gonna drive, don't drink. I don't wanna lose any of yall......I only have a few readers.

We'll talk next year,
Be to-the loved

P.S.-I forgot one of the 'S' words. Cowboys (s)uck. Romo for President though. Now you may assassinate me.

Beloved Be Hated

You know, I never understood, much less got on board with, the way the rich always get richer. For me, it's the whole republican theory all over again. "Let me give my tax breaks to the people who are actually more capable of paying them." I mean, why can't it be a percentage, like tithes. If it's good enough for God, it should be good enough for us. So no matter what you make, you pay a certain percentage. If one person makes $1.00 every month, he pays 10 cents. If your check for the week is $1,200,800, you pay $120,080. Simple enough?

So it occurs to me, as I was once told by my aunt, that TD Jakes' loving members pooled together to get him some type of vehicle that costs as much as my parents' house, which is not small by any stretch. Am I hating? No, I just don't see what human in his/her right mind would forfeit earnings that he/she can ill-afford to forfeit so somebody can drive a Bentley. Heck, all the tithes you pay and "seeds" you sow, he can buy his own dang Bentley. Anyways, I'm saying all that to say, or ask this: Why are the people without the money always the ones forking it over for the people with the money? I'm offended by the prospect. 

Meanwhile, back on the home front, I'm being pursued by halfway school bounty hunters, bloodhounds, and heat seeking missiles to "donate" to the fund that will buy the highest paid person on campus an appropriate Christmas present. I don't know if my non-educator friends are aware of the disparity, but this particular position doubles that of my lowly salary. Am I saying that it shouldn't? Noooo. But I'm also not saying that my funds are so disposable that I should use them to buy things for people whose perception of the dollar takes on an entirely different point of view than that of my own. I mean, from a purely rational standpoint, we should be the ones getting the worthwhile presents from this individual that some may call Regina Greer, AKA Bosslady, BKA Piggy. Every time I make a dollar, she makin 2. That may sound negligible, but it definitely is not. Ima say it like this...I aint got no money, and the money I got goes towards my family. I mean, I am saving up, just to buy chitty Xmas presents.

I just completely bypassed the introductory phase of this blog, and for that, I apologize to my readers. Why did the dinosaur cross the road? Because the chicken wasn't created yet. What do you call a smart woman in America? A tourist. *cymbals crash*

Well, it may be a bit awkward to report, but I have essentially joined forces with the better part of our student body to defeat a common enemy. Yall know I like to liken things to vigilante-ish concepts. It's like Batman teaming up with Catwoman, who displays both good and bad, because they have a common enemy. Anyways, enemy is probably too strong of a word. But you know when a particular style of execution stifles the creativity, or at the very least apathy for process and disdain for paperwork, that you have? It turns into a big ball of IDGAF. Yes, IDGAF (pronounced "id-gaff"). Well, this is when you team up with the little diablos that you find yourself talking trash about on a regular basis.

At some point, you gotta remember that you were a kid. If you weren't, you are. If you aren't, you couldn't have made it to adulthood, thus, you do not exist. I won't get into specifics, other than the fact that I stay talking to Piggy about a plan of action, or some data, or a plan, or a meeting, or tutoring, or meeting about a meeting, or being taken out of my position so that somebody else can supplant me, rescuing me from my own ineptitude and salvaging any shred of dignity that remains. Not my dignity, which has clearly been compromised, but that of someone else's. On second thought, maybe enemy isn't so strong after all.

"A disgruntled employee, particularly in a field of individuals who affect the lives of others, should be the most dangerous adversary to anyone who pissed them off." That's a quote from this brilliant, strappingly handsome, charismatic guy, known as Beloved. So in addition to the multitude of meetings and get togethers, I've learned that I have very little effectiveness when it comes to preparing my kids for tests. I mean because I did so terribly with the kids last year...so terribly, in fact, that my kids outperformed a certain group of kids at an unnamed halfway school. BBT when you don't do stuff the way they think it should be done, even if it does create a contradiction with what is expected.

Let me explain it to you this way. Modern day education is all about who can make their kids have the most fun, using food and internet sources and toys, such as legos and blocks and chit, while teaching them concepts in such an abstract manner that they are incapable of sufficiently completing a pencil/paper test. Because for some reason, this is more effective instruction. Even though memorization and homework and studying individual assignments worked for a time. So, when I am observed and evaluated, I am expected to have kids engaged in group assignments and actively use things that will never show up on a test. What do I do? I conform. I adjust so that I can achieve the desired ratings as an "educator", or whatever I am, and now I'm basically being told that I need to be drilling my kids. I'm sorry, what? 

This is like one of those situations where you are driving with someone in your family, older than you, and they continue to say things like, "You see that car? How fast are you going? It's faster if you go this way." This is when you pull over, give them the keys, get in the passenger's seat, recline that seat, and go to sleep. Well, we can't fit a car in the halfway school, so I'll probably just sleep walk for a while.

I suppose maybe enemy is not the right word...not nearly strong enough. As much as little Cuervo and Baajing and Danika are getting on my nerves, they have earned the reprieve of a lifetime. We are all, at this point, fighting "the man". Kids are born and bred to be annoying and defiant (unfortunately), so I understand when it happens. But when adults begin to be the driving force behind unrest and pisstivity, something is wrong. The difference is, when they do it, it's classroom management. When I do it, and yes I said when, it will be insubordination. Why the hell isn't there a campus management that allows us disgruntled employees to run amok with no fear of real reprimand and/or ramifications?

I just wanted to gripe...I'll be back. I didn't even talk about Gobment tonight because being disgruntled blocks my ability to think of insults to hurl her direction. Dang.

Be to the Hated

Generally Beloved pt I

Why did the chicken cross the road? I have no idea, but I bet it had something to do with a woman. Isn't that the way it usually works? Maybe a woman sent him over there on a death mission to see if he really loved her. Maybe she sent him to the store, hopefully to get some food for her to cook or some cleaning supplies, or.....let me stop. Or maybe there was actually a woman over there that he wanted to *get to know*. Any way you slice it, these kids can probably tell us why the chicken crossed the road.

By the way, that totally had nothing to do with this blog, I just thought, "What better way to begin this episode than with a totally unconnected, downright digressive, epically inappropriate topic?"

It's been almost a month, and I haven't talked to y'all. I figured an update may be in order. I have these totally ridiculous stories, every day, that I could share, however folks got me working like a Hebrew slave. Or any slave for that matter. I'm working like a slave, period. [Lol I typed the word "period" and then I put a period. What if we wrote out the form of punctuation we wanted to use in our sentences(question mark) That ish would get extremely tiring(Exclamation Point) Not to mention(comma) that would probably get on somebody(apostrophe)s nerves.] Ok, I'm done..................

..................Had to go back and add brackets to that digression. Back to my life as the modern day version of Kunta Kinte. Not only are the kids being very usually obnoxious, but now I also have tons of things to do that have resulted from their ineptitude. I mentioned a month ago that I am a very mediocre, at best, educator. I would, however, consider myself to be slightly above average as a motivator. Yeah, apparently I'm wrong about that as well. The period between Thanksgiving Break, which is now only 3 days, and Christmas Break is the most Godforsaken period in my short teaching career. Literally Godforsaken...its pits of despair strongly resemble those which Beelzebub uses as captivity for the wicked. In fact, I don't think Hell could match its level of miserableness. It's been historically miserable for 3 years running, and it does not appear that this period desires to give up the stronghold it has on this dubious distinction. Let me explain this process in some sort of sequence, beginning with the kids' actions, leading to several reactions, and culminating in duty being thrust upon dear old Beloved.

First of all, these kids...are bitches. I think I'm actually being nice by putting it that way. Since the dawn of time, educators have used exams, assessments, tests, whatever you want to call them, to measure the comprehension and growth of their darling students. Well, at this halfway institution, we follow those principles and precedences that have been set by our predecessors, and we even manage to add a few. We won't get into that last part, at least not now. So, exams, we use them to see what our kids know and what they need to work on. Apparently, "everything" is not socially acceptable in the field of education. After much preparation and slaving over a hot computer screen, Beloved managed to come up with a 6-weeks Exam, which would measure each child's grasp of an entire 6 weeks worth of material. [slight digression to follow] These exams are to be called "general exams". Now first of all, let's please, for the sake of all that is good, define the word "general".                                                                                                        Had a minute to do so? Great. Well, it is my understanding that general brings some type of majority into consideration. Like, it's typical, widely recognized, almost universal, right? If I'm wrong, get off my page lol. By virtue of my understanding, I put together a comprehensive, thought provoking exam that took me in excess of 4 hours to complete. I even prepared the kids for the type of information they would be expected to know. 1 day before said general exam, not even a full day actually, I am told that I cannot use this exam because my new teammate, Mrs. Ariguerrero, will not be able to use the same exam. I forgot the most important rule of all...this test needs to be general enough for everyone to use it. By everyone, I mean all 2 of us. Because that's what general means, right? It doesn't mean the consensus, but rather it constitutes only 2 people doing the same thing :-/ Sufficed to say, I was a bit more disgruntled after getting this news. I had to go find a test that looked nothing like the one I promised those dumb arse kids, and you know how dumb arses do when things don't look right to their dumb arses.

As I'm sure you predicted, the kids absolutely BOMBED this "general exam", which by the way, was not common at all. Did I say common? I meant general. As much as I understood their performance, my issue with them was the effort they put forth. These tests were different, but I don't believe they were so hard that the kids could not have done well if they followed the strategies that they had been given previously. These mutha suckas didn't do not one thing they were supposed to do to prove their answers. Consequently, I added them to my "pissed list". It's an ever-growing list that, while getting longer, shall never surpass Gobment's list of names, which grows twice as fast. She got so many names, they had to print her birth certificate on poster board. She old as The Flood though so this was before poster board. It's really just a collection of pieced-together papyrus leaves, that stretch as long as the ark that Noah used as shelter from The Flood. Dang, that's long. Anyways, my pissed list grew so long that week that I didn't think there was any way for me to be more pissed. Wait.for.it..................

I'M TOO PISSED!!! Now that students apparently don't know what they're doing, I'm left to answer questions about why this is so. I'm also left to compile data in my spare time (wtf is that?). Spare time is a luxury that common, I mean general, folks get to enjoy. How is my data-compiling coming along? I'll let you know when I finish. It's not due until like last Wednesday lol. I need to find a high paying side hustle so that when I don't complete things, like I currently have not, I can justify my "IDGAF" philosophy and my "KMA" attitude. I mean, the philosophy and attitude are currently being exuded through body language and tone, but I don't think I can justify them without a backup plan. It would also probably feel better to be able to express them out loud, although I think that may be what they're calling insubordination these days...people are so picky. Anyways, I'm actually gonna do some of this work now, so that I don't have to do ALL of it tomorrow. I'll then be able to finish my story and tell you about a some kids, because I know that's the real reason yall read this thing anyways. Just wanted to vent a bit. 

Part II tomorrow (I think). Until then.....

Beloved

Beloved Departure

Pretty awesome day to chronicle:

1. It's my youngest, most precious, most attitudinal sister's birthday. Or at least it WAS when I started writing. She is officially 6. We have been celebrating all day, although technically she was not born until 8:25 p.m., so why the heck did we start so early? What if we celebrated birthdays down to the minute? I mean, It almost makes no sense to be born at 11:59 p.m., yet celebrate that entire day. You should just celebrate from 11:59 p.m. to 11:59 p.m. Agreed? No? Whatever. Moving on...

2. We had a soccer game today, and while we have become quite the mediocre team, we pulled off the victory. There's more to the story, but if I revisit it I'll have to tell yall how some crazy parent from the other team upset me to the point that I yelled expletives. They were supposed to be stated internally, but when you get so accustomed to speaking your mind freely, sometimes you speak it too freely.

3. It's that Saturday/Sunday of daylight savings time...I get to sleep for an extra hour!! How often does that happen? Now that I think about it, I guess once a year.

Ok, enough about today...I's gonna get sleepy if I digress too frequently.

Ok, can I talk some **** now? Because that's obviously all I came to do.
Dear Board of Education.....we are too. Get it? Nevermind. So it's been 10 weeks, and I'd just like to say that they have been absolutely miserable lol. These kids, along with their torturous regime, are overextending my quotient of niceness. Once I have reached my pinnacle, children will pay. Legally, I'm not allowed to tell you how. Incidently, there are a lot of red squiggly lines on my computer screen. Why don't they recognize my dang words?! There I go again.

Let me start by telling yall about teachers. They routinely engage in pissing contests, unnecessarily.--I believe this to be the result of being overworked and underpaid. I was sitting around thinking, and I priced myself, and my worth as a very average teacher, at $76,549...and 2 cents. How did I come up with this? I am fostering and providing daycare, for one. For two, I manage anywhere from 15-35 people on a given day, which is a step down from my 22-90 scale from last year. For three, what the hell is a weekend? And why do people still contend that teachers have it easy because they "get off" at 3:15, or whatever time? You fulla chit.--Oh yeah, the pissing contests. Most teachers really annoy me with their unrealistic expectations and warped views of the things that they accomplish. We all wanna make it appear that we are in complete control, academically and in terms of keeping people in line. "*Insert bad nigga's name here* never gets outta line in my class because he knows what it is." :-/ You lie like a dead dog. You know he is just as off the chain in your class as he is in the hallway, as he is at his own house, as he is in the choir stand on Sunday. And frankly, I don't really give a dang what you think you do that is so much better or so much different than anybody else. If you're that good at controlling kids, take mine too. I have no problem telling you that little Griffin gets on my nerves, or that it bothers me that Cuervo just doesn't seem very motivated. Does that make me a bad teacher? Probably by somebody's standards. Fortunately for them, I thought it before they thought it. I don't need a piece of paper or outside opinion to tell me how inept I am.

Ok so I'm gonna introduce a new character. Hell be known as nothing special. I forgot to capitalize the name...first name: Nothing, last name: Special. I did not forget the apostrophe in he'll. This arse, Nothing, is extremely frustrating because there is honestly nothing that should keep him from performing on at least a semi-normal level. I mean, he performs well in old woman Gobment's class, and he also performs reasonably well in my Reading class. It's the Writing component that makes him suck at life, or at least my class. Nothing doesn't give a fat rat if you stand right over his undersized, taco meat-covered head. He aint gonna write anything on his paper because he really just doesn't feel like it. Notice that I have yet to say that he can't, only that he won't. He's probably too busy trying to get milk from his old arse grandmother's old arse titties. Is that a socially acceptable term? Eh...I don't really care. I stood right there with my teammates, as we chastised him for his poor work ethic; I'm sorry, "poor" when would referring to his work ethic would be an overstatement. Let me not insult that adjective. His work ethic is more like my friend, her name is Shitay. Grandma coddled him the entire time, protecting his ears and eyes with the warm embrace of her sagging bosom. He really only comes up to her waist, yet his head was in the middle of her boobs. Go figure. Enough about this niggra. His mama came up to our school to confer with us in her jeggings...really? I just got another dang squiggly line! She wearing clothes that the computer don't even recognize as real words...for conferences. Enough said.

I know I'm usually talking about my less than esteemed colleague, Gobment, she of the buffet of names. I mean, she does have more names than a Jay-Z party guest list, but that's not the point. She's also old as Methuselah. That's really not the point either. The point is that none of this is really about her and I just wanted an excuse to talk about her old arse. This is really about my other colleague, or officially former colleague, Stretch. She has been with us for the better part of 10 weeks, but it is now time for her to move on so that she can become a teacher of record, for students to speak only English.

There really isn't a lot I can say to do justice to her freakishly grand height. All I can tell you is that the students really looked up to her, literally. I bet she always puts the star on the tree, unless that's too far for her to bend down. She is basically that one letter at the beginning of a story that looks like this:

once upon a time...

Obviously, she is the "o". She is also incompetent. She always needed somethin. I was like dang, can I live?! Have you ever tried to teach a teacher? Isn't that ironic or redundant or somethin? It just does't sound right. It's like taking out a wallet to buy a new wallet, or taking a picture of a camera, or being absent when you're receiving a perfect attendance award. Like what? Well this has been my life for 10 weeks. I know I have done my best to build her tolerance of bs. Anybody that listens to my teachings is dooooomed to begin with. In the mean time, I tried to sneak some jokes by her, but let's be real, nothing ever goes over her head. Not even wayward satellites. I mean I felt like "Nothing" with his grandma when she gave me a hug among her departure. She was droppin tears on top of my head and everything. But it wasn't awkward at all. It's not everyday that you get an opportunity to be Big Tex's replacement, so we had to let her go. I'm kidding. I mean she could replace big text, but then low flying planes would be in danger, plus her braids are flammable.

So this is my farewell to you, Stretch. I wish you well on all future endeavors. Sure, there won't be a Beloved there, but I still exist. You can always call or text. I won't answer, but you can do it anyways.

Ok, that's all for now. I've two more really interesting characters to introduce, but they are so awful that I have no idea how to put into words just how awful. Stay tuned.

Be-to the-Loved

What the ____ , Beloved?

Where do I start?  I have amassed quite the collection of stories and scenarios over the past 3 weeks.  There are numerous female dogs for you to meet, some of whom, aren't even females. *insert cliffhanger music here*.  I would also be remiss if I didn't hall off and complain about things I can't control, update you on the big beard of 2012, talk about people that have annoyed me, and in doing so, exude such beloved qualities that indicate exactly how I got my name.  Enjoy...or not, it's totally up to you.

Updates first.  Griffin, while he still gets on my nerves and still needs a haircut, has turned into a near-likeable kid.  I say near because...well I still don't really like him.  That may just be my general disdain for his early actions consuming my brain.  Anyways, last week he took tests in 2 of my classes and was told to get them both signed.  On the Language Arts, he got a 45 or something else that would be a high point total, if we were playing football.  How you get a 45 on the easiest grammar test ever ASSembled, I don't know.  Anyways, he got a 70 on his Reading test, which is remarkably improved from his earlier work.  Tell me why this niggra comes back to school with the 45 signed, accompanied by a long note from his mother that said how unacceptable it was and how she would continue to work with him.  I appreciate concern from parents when I know it's genuine.  Is it genuine?  Your guess is as good as mine.  So I asked young Griffin where his Reading test was, to which he replied, "What Reading test?'  Naturally, that meant it wasn't signed.  This is what made me realize that he is just dumb as a box of rox and he really doesn't behave this way intentionally.  The boy lost the test with probably the best grade he's ever gotten, couldn't even remember what grade he got on it, then gave his mama a test grade of 45 to sign.  I shoulda slapped him in his mouth, but his teeth protrude and they sharp as daggers.

Professor Charles is no longer causing discipline problems, but I tell you what...he's getting dumber by the minute.  And I think I smelled unsterilized urine on his breath when I was helping him read the word "hat".  You shouldn't be allowed to read words that make the "h" sound when your breath smells like donkey sweat.  He breathes, and it smells like ass...thma.  Anyways, maybe he'll be introduced to the toothbrush...and the word "hat" one day.  As his Reading teacher, I think the latter would be my job, but last time I turned water into wine, my alcoholic teammate, Gobment, stepped in and drowned her sorrows, my sorrows, the sorrows of a small country in crisis known as the United States, and the sorrows of the infinite names she possesses in said wine...and some taka vodka...and a little patron.  But that's what old people do...keep the good stuff to themselves and leave you with the cheap version, or the taka.  She learned that in these last 53 years of service time to the world.

I finally heard something that I've never heard, at least in real life.  This girl, who is insignificant in the grander scheme of things, came to my class without her homework a couple weeks back.  Dare I say that she was the only one in the entire class that didn't have it?  I dare say it, but yall know it aint true.  There were 2 people that didn't bring it back.  I wasn't totally offended by her not having it because if everybody did everything they are supposed to do, what would I have to write about?  I went through the customary process of inquiring as to the presence of her being, yet the absence of her assignment.  Luckily, she had a really good reason for not having her homework completed and in class.  Her dog ate it.  I have never laughed so hard in a classroom, with a class full of kids, even when I was a kid.  I laughed so hard, as I made the universally understood sign for "zero" (0), which is nothing but the biggest circle my arm can make.  It was funny.  So apparently, people will use that excuse from time to time.  It just seems so antiquated.

Speaking of old, why did Gobment come up to the school talkin bout she done added some new names to her repertoire?  I mean...collecting names like they baseball cards.  I'm so tired of her and her foolishness.  She said these are for that new split in her personality, as apparently now she's up to 10 people...sharing one brain...and it shows.  Anyways, Rush Hour 3 was made, inspired, by her and her names.  Every time she gets a new set, they write them on this list, called "Shy Shen".  This is what the list looks like.

Now, allow me to introduce you to a new character.  We will call her Baajing (Baa is pronounced "bay").  She has 2 eyes, but they could talk, you know they'd be arguing because they can never agree on which way they wanna look.  I personally find her to be a hideously constructed creature.  And don't get me started how ugly she is, or how much of a female dog she is.  It's unbeweaveable how much, or how little, I can care about some of these kids.  To this day, 7 weeks after the commencement of the school year, she is yet to answer any question I have asked her as it relates to correcting her behavior or her abysmal grades.  AND she's not cute.  These are the people that end up as cheap garden tools.  Why?  Because obviously she doesn't know anything (I'm not convinced that she has a functional brain), she is urgly (auto correct tried to change the way I spelled that, but the 'r' tells you just how ugly), and she doesn't even have any people skills.  That is a recipe for disaster.  One day, I was tired of her acting out and pretending she runs anything besides the train, which will inevitably be run on her, so I asked her why she could not conform to the standards that each other student is held to.  If I ever want her to be quiet, obviously all I have to do is ask her a question.  She still has not answered my question...like I'm still waiting.  Yet I am supposed to pretend to care about her?  That's horse droppings.  No, instead, I lined my entire class up, and we walked her down to the 1st grade wing together, before returning to class.  She sat in first grade all day, went to P.E. with them and everything.  It is said that she interacts well with them.  Well that's because those 1st graders are probably age appropriate tutors for her.  You want proof of that, you say?  She did 1st grade work, and quite a bit of it was incorrect.  Yet, and still, she is in the 4th grade.  How do you justify that?  My arse is beginning to itch.

Oh, Cuervo.  We will keep him short and sweet today.  Being short is already customary for him, but the sweet thing will be a...it will be....a lie.  I have largely grown unaffected by his antics of idiocy and discombobulation.  I actually sat and talked to him yesterday, in the presence of another of our amazingly flustered educators, Macy.  She rocks the Dr. J fro, and she uses big words in meetings because she is sooooo smart.  She also knows my brother, Jack, and for some reason, without a gun held to her head, would speak to him regularly.  Oops, I'm supposed to be talking about Cuervo.  We had an interesting conversation, which was the result of a binder falling off of his desk in my class.  His response, "What the hell?!" Audibly, and without remorse, he uttered these words.  How could I do anything but chuckle internally.  See if a teacher were to use profanity, they would either have his job or drag out the situation as long as humanly possible.  But a child who curses is protected under the "That's your fault, that's classroom management, why wasn't he engaged in purposeful learning" clause.       

Or as I like to call it, the "this is what you can do" clause.

And speaking of gay boys, I have 2 more girls to tell you about.  One is named "Skipper" and the other is named "Giggles".  As far as I know, both Skipper and Giggles have male genitalia, but you wouldn't be able to tell by their actions.  Skipper is always skipping through the halls, classroom, bathroom, lunchroom, office, and probably male genitalia of Giggles.  Giggles, well first of all he stinks (a very musty smell), and second he is always giggling.  He giggles when he makes answers questions in class, he giggles in line in the hallway, he giggles on the playground, and it's very likely that he giggles on the genitalia of Skipper.  They try to throw us off the trail by always being at one another's throats.  Poor choice of words, or pun intended?  They argue like female dogs.  When we do restroom break, I take all of the 4th grade boys, while Gobment and Too Tall Jones take all the girls on the other end.  I told Skipper and Giggles on Wednesday that they were not allowed to take restroom break with us until they start acting like us.  Until that time, they could take restroom break with Gobment and Too Tall.  Friday, they continued to behave like cats, having cat fights.  Because that's what cats do.  I told them to cease with the cat fights because they were bothering me.  

Skipper: (under his breath) I aint no cat.

Giggles: (much more audibly and accompanied by giggling) Me either *insert gay giggle here*

Beloved: (visibly annoyed) Then quit actin like it.

Gobment: (dropping her walker on the floor) HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!

Hopefully, this will not persist, but I am preparing myself for the worst, like Noah did.  In the mean time, I promise not to let these blogs lapse too long.  I left out a good 4 stories in the interest of time and because I have to go act like a big kid at this party for one of my soccer kids.  Until next time, stay away from cheap whores, female dogs that aren't females, cussing kids, fawnk breath little niggras, and people whose dogs eat paper...construction paper no less.

Be to the Loved.