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.  

The Night I Wasn't Beloved

Here I am again, staring at this white screen, with the intent to fill it up in such a manner that I am able to express myself to those who may be reading.  Much to say on this day, as I apparently am not so Beloved in the eyes of some.  But before I get to my ridiculously jam packed hour in which I realized that some people prefer their coffee "Beloved free", I'll give a quick update on the new halfway school.

It's crazy how each institution has its own quirks, yet at the end of the day, crazy is the universal thing.  I've got a Charles update.  He has officially made his way entirely off of my ish list, maybe the first in this blog's short history to accomplish such a feat.  Unfortunately, he would still qualify for any discussion we have about boxes of rocks, but at least his attitude is in check.  He does have a brain, I think.  It just serves little purpose in my room.  This is how it works.  There are 2 teachers, Gobment and myself.  Strictly speaking, his test results are far superior in the subject area that Gobment teachers. However, he still has no practical value in my class, other than that he keeps the crows away. And he's got a low center of gravity, which is just a nice way of saying that he's so short he has to get the librarian to get books off of the bottom shelf for him.

Griffin is still a HAN.  I would tell you what that means, but I don't use that type of language. Although I fully plan on using that type of language in just a few short paragraphs. Anyways, I won't waste valuable space on the blog beating a dead horse to death. We all know he's crazy.  And his yellow teeth have been known to illuminate my classroom, with the lights on and the blinds open. Them thangs sharp too...look like the top of a picket fence.  The way they protrude from his mouth, it's in describable.  But I'll try anyways.  It looks like his teeth are giving his top lip the heisman.  Ok enough about that little ugly niggra.  Time for my most customary Gobment joke of the day.  She got more names than the Dallas Cowboys' preseason roster.  I be like got dang!

Let's talk new characters.  Let me tell you about Danica "Puff", she who makes me think twice about Swift's Modest Proposal (this is a piece that advocates the cannibalism of children).  Clear satire, but I think he may have been on to something.  This dumb arse...asks so many dumb arse questions.  On top of that, she craves attention...probably a whore too, but that's just speculation.  We'll call her an attention whore anyways.  So I'm asking a very straightforward question about what ideas they have as far as classroom rules.  By simple, I mean "What do you think classroom rule number 4 should be?"  Do you know this WHORE (of attention) raised her hand, and when called on, said "My papa is the crossing guard up here."  If you've ever seen me try to keep a straight face, you know that my face was anything but straight.  It was frowned up somethin serious.  I diffused that situation and decided to roll with her punches.  Did I mention her micro braids, or whatever the flyin f they are that go down to her knee pit?  She looks like her actual hair would be nappy, as indicated by the naps present in her braids.  Well she has micro braids, on a macro head, with a micro brain, yet a macro mouth.  She all messed up.  Well we were talking about changing and growing and I mentioned that I'm sure some of them had grown over the summer, gotten taller, hair got longer.  That whore met her match though, when she said "Yeah, my hair is LONG!"  This other female dog that be talkin a lot, who is insignificant to the blog outside of this fact, has really long, silky smooth hair.  She's a mutt.  Mutt says, "That's not even yo hurr (direct quote)."I would have said something to her about classroom etiquette, but it was a true statement.  AND she set herself up for that one.  She asks so many off topic questions that I finally just told her that she's not permitted to talk to me, hand raised or not.  This blog is long!

Ok, stay with me, so I can tell you how bitches be trippin.  Went to our championship softball game last night, which we lost.  Unfortunate, yet incredibly irrelevant in the grand scheme of things.  What's not irrelevant is that I nearly got kicked out by an umpire who takes his night job way more seriously than Cocoa down at the strip club.  He kept warning my team that we had too many men out of the dugout.  I was NEVER one of the ones receiving the warning, yet I made one joke about him sucking, just like my girlfriend (Hardball reference) and he told me that he would take his last warning really seriously.  That totally stifled my creativity, and subsequently, may have been the reason we lost.  That, and he did legitimately suck.

So after the game, we're all walking out and I'm not bitter about the loss because, well, it's softball.  I was just still in disbelief that this umpire had no sense of humor.  This is when I found out that Beloved  aint chit in some people's eyes.  I was telling teammates that I was disappointed that I had to end up getting a warning without even saying a word, which kept me from being able to say most of the stuff I would normally say, when the wife, girlfriend, tramp, pornstar, whatever she is, of one of my teammates yells, emphasize YELLS, out the following.  "It don't matter you shoulda just shut the f*ck up then and you wouldn't have to worry about it.  Just shut the f*ck up like you tell your kids with all that bullish*t."  My initial thought was "how does she know that I tell the kids that?"  Ok, that wasn't my initial thought because it was actually "Bitch who the hell are you and what impact have you had on this team?"  Had I said that, however, I would not have been Beloved.  I kept it cordial, strictly out of respect for my teammate, and I let her get her shine.  As if she hasn't already had enough.  She look like a lock to be on 16 and Pregnant or Teen Mom or Real Sex or one of them shows that would accentuate her hookerish disposition and her trashy appearance.  She was foul for that, but hey, what can you say?  At least I had taken my blood pressure medicine that day because that woulda been one of those "close to the edge" statements.  Proof that bitches be trippin'.

That wraps up this edition.  Blogs get more and more obscure, as I do more lesson planning, LOs, DOLs, LOLs, LMAOs and all kinda little stuff.  Then they wanna say we should extend the school day and year even more.  These folks is crazy.  Life goes on.  Til next time-

-CantevensignmynameBelovedbecauseapparentlyitsnottrue

Beloved, III

3.0, Trilogy, Numero Tres, and so on, and so on.  For some strange reason, I've this propensity for making decisions that force the reverberation of torturous regimes, far and wide.  In layman'a terms, I keep going to these halfway schools, of which I know nothing will ensue, aside from utter foolishness that could be likened only to a low-level concentration camp.  Unfortunately, concentration is not high on the kids' priority list.  We could actually call it an un-concentration camp...un-concentrated camp.  Something.  Nonetheless, school is officially in, and I've been in a bit of an Ebenezer Scrooge-ish mood.  So I'll be giving an update on some of these clowns of characters, my life as a softball player, and general quips of nothingness.

Sidenote: As much as I enjoy a good Yoda monologue, I also enjoy a good Spock monologue.  Not a big Star Trek fan either, but that guy sure knows how to put his words together.

Ok, so let me tell you about these clowns.  As predicted, Griffin and Professor Charles have reprised roles in this ongoing debauchery of a saga.  Ironically, I may have misjudged Charles, in my haste to have material suitable for a blog.  It is also entirely possible that I did not misjudge him but have grown accustomed to his insolent, yet markedly less disruptive, antics.  Either way, he has shown himself to be a valuable asset.  Not intellectually, of course, because...well.  But he works well with others, specifically one student who requires special attention.  I have a bit of a soft spot for kids who show compassion for those unable to help themselves, so he is well on his way to getting out of my over-sized doghouse.

His companion, however, shall remain.  This boy is the epitome of *insert something ingrown that annoys people*.  He's like that booty hair you just can't get the turd off of (those are called dingleberries btw).  I also call them booty chips.  He's like that one track that's coming unglued but you don't wanna try to fix it because then you'll mess up another one.  He's like that lace front wig.......well, he's like all lace front wigs.  Am I the only one that thinks "track", in its context for this blog, should be spelled in a way that indicates its utterly and inappropriately ghetto clients?  Traque, trakk, t'rack...or we could add the quintessential marking of niggacentric presence. La', Sha', or D'-track.  I digress.  Little Griffin has this smirk, this permanent smile in the midst of wrongdoing, that is exponentially less endearing than that of the Joker.  Why less endearing?  For one, the Joker's teeth were straight.  His look like an open accordion, which is ironic because they don't appear as if they've ever been on one accord.  The Joker's were also white.  Look like somebody just slung glued corn in his mouth and told him to smile.  Urgh.  I am generally disgusted by his reaction to correction, but I have learned to deal with him.  Now, if only he weren't so unintelligent.  Can't win em all.

Remarkably, he is NOT number one on Uncle Mike's s*** list (Bad Boys II reference).  He was swiftly, and DECISIVELY, passed up by a classmate of his.  We'll call him "Cuervo".  No, that does not indicate the drunken stupor with which he presents himself to others, however it fits as well.  Talk about defiant...talk about a clown...talk about someone who has no regard for rules, regulations, authority.  If God told him to "enter in" he would jump down to hell just because he doesn't want anybody telling him what to do for a period to extend beyond a few seconds.  I was feeling like I missed something, like I was the only one ready to slam him, when my esteemed colleague, Gobment, confirmed that she shared similar sentiments.  Little Cuervo's list of character flaws includes, but is not limited to:

• failure to walk in a straight line
• lack of desire to face forward AND shut up in line
• inability to listen intently to instructions (which the jury is still out on)
• disruptive comments
• talking to hear himself talk
• wanting to enter into clown school as a profession
• being ugly
• being short
• not being gifted intellectually
• uncouth
• unscrupulous
• without morals

Naturally, kids find amusement in some of his jokes, but not all.  That's not his gimmick.  He likes to make outlandish comments and pose ridiculous questions to see if he can elicit a response from myself and/or his classmates.  Most of them will do anything to get on the teacher's good side, so they try to respond for me.  I think they are starting to pick up on the fact that he has them in the palms of his hands.  This is why I say the jury is still out on his comprehension of instructions.  I will say something, and he will (5 seconds later) ask if he can, or is supposed to, do the complete opposite.  Even when I show him examples of the task I want completed, he asks these stupid questions.  Friday, I decided that I would not be able to hold my tongue much longer.  "Don't talk to me" was the command I gave.  Any time he spoke to me after that, his response was the same.  I will be visiting his living accommodations expeditiously.  That should get me the permission that I currently seek.

Enough about stupidity, I mean the kids...wait, I mean stupidity.  My band of misfits, as well as myself, are tired.  Real tired!  You wanna know why?  There have been changes made in our routine as educators.  We are required to serve extra time, like OJ, each day after we are done in the trenches each day.  I know I'm fairly new to the profession, but usually, teachers spend time after school straightening and preparing for each upcoming day.  Yeah...not happening.  The days are so long.  So long that I actually spent a good portion of my Saturday preparing my classroom because I was just that far behind.  I'd complain, but meetings with the new "in charge" people are often little more than broadway productions and collections of resources (clips) combined to form an entire movie series.  It's enough for a brother to start drinking again.  I'm a full 2 weeks sober and now this.  If I do start drinking again, I'll have to hit up Gobment, who apparently lives at a distillery.  She stay drinking somethin.  I think she may have more bottles in her house than she does names, which is a feat in and of itself.  Take that back.  While she has a bar that rivals "Cheers", where everybody knows her name, she also has more names than Santa's naughty list.  I mean I guess she just believes in bulk...alcohol by the bulk, names by the bulk's bulk.  I should just start calling her Sam's Club.

That's all for now.  I have sleep to achieve, lesson plans to create, food to eat, old people jokes to perfect, tv to watch, monologues to read, inappropriate stories to tell my classes......not all in that order.  We are also starting up soccer, and softball playoffs are coming up a week from now.  I'm plenty busy. I wish I could clone myself 12 times and borrow only a small portion of the names old woman Gobment is currently occupying.

Post script-I was able to sit at the house for much of yesterday, after 2 o'clock, without muttering a single sound until this morning.  It was amazing.  I really appreciate the silence.  You should try it some time.

Be to the loved

Beloved Farewell

It shoulda been an RIP, or perhaps even something slightly more vulgar, but this is a family program, not like the new Jack in the Box commercial that proudly says "no nookie".  So what I'm being charged with, aside from being an idiot, and a jerk, and apparently Ryan Reynolds black twin from the eyes up (huh?), is wishing the year's most premier vacation for educators a final farewell.  As you're well aware, I am not all that sad to see the summer end, but dang, I shole could do without picking these kids up on Monday morning.

Since a lot of teachers read my blog, I know yall can empathize.  Since there are multiple soon-to-be first year educators, congratulations, and this will quickly be something with which you can look at and say "omg, that's exactly it!", if you haven't already done so.

We started meetings today, and there's nothing more exciting than sitting in meetings all day with a whole bunch of people that are either yawning, sleeping, or comatose.  One of those comatose folks was sitting next to me, my new team teacher, Gobment.  If you recall, she is the one with more names than a bathroom stall on Dangerous Minds.  I can't ever remember which one to call her.  It be like this,

, except her name isn't Li.  So yesterday I was off for my farewell lurnch with some of my favorite people from the last halfway school, and I explained to Gobment that I was "going to see a man about a horse".  This is a phrase that I like, for no particular reason.  Do you know this Bumpkin didn't even get it?  Which I find amazing because she is, much like Cece, from the most country of country places, that being Arkansas.  Arkansas is so country, *gives y'all time to say "how country is it?"*, that if they gave President Obama a choice of places to stay between Arkansas and Oklahoma, he would gladly opt for an outhouse in some heavily poverty-strickened area, like this'n. 

But enough about them, this is Beloved's blog.  Cece, unfortunately, was unable to attend lurnch with us folks, so it was just Rock, Jack, and Luby.  Speaking of people who often make me scratch my head...

Jack: Luby, hurry up, so we can go to breakfast!

Luby: I'm coming, we'll make it before they stop serving it.

Jack: Scoff.

Beloved: Play nice, siblings of mine.

Jack: Hurry up, before we miss the lunch special!!

Luby: I'm around the corner.

Jack: Your classroom is only 12.7 meters away in the first place.  You should have been here.  We're leaving.  We'll be back.

Luby: Ok give me one more hour.

I, of course, with the assistance of Rock, convinced Jack that we could wait, since we were just going to Sonic.  So we ride down to Sonic and place 4 separate orders.  I think we all managed to get what we ordered.  Then we headed back to the school, where Luby says, "Ok, I'll see yall later."  She made us wait on her so she could ride down the street.  It's pretty hilarious, when you think about it.  Gotta love them.  They're gonna miss my calming nature, in the midst of their proverbial storms.  I told them I would still be able to help them, but I also have to be the voice of reason for Gobment, so they have to share.  Everybody's so territorial these days.  I got my own problems to deal with.  Like this.

Tonight I said farewell to my nearly blemishless hitting record in softball, which is by far the most anti-climactic thing I've done in quite some time.  I went up there with the bases loaded, and first hit a foul ball.  Then I swung and missed (shamefully).  If you're wondering what I did next, I went to get my glove lol.  In this league, you get 2 strikes, not 3, so what had happened was, I struck out.  I had some hits, but I'll never forget that moment.  

Well these two dudes on the team, we'll call them Sorry and Sorrier, decided they would light me up for making an out for maybe the 4th time all season.  They went too far, especially for such easy targets.  They both play infield, and a general prerequisite to playing the infield is the ability to field a ground ball.  Neither is very adept at that.  But this isn't about Sorry, it's about Sorrier, who I'm pretty sure rode to the game in the back of a truck full of landscaping equipment.  This little garden gnome talks just like Wilmer Valderrama, that dude that hosted "Yo Mama".  I mean he's so short, he'll one day stand on top of his own wedding cake.  He's so short, he has to jump for ground balls.  He's so short, his bat looks like a pole vault.  HE'S SO short...well I guess we can leave it there.  He is averaging about 5 errors a game, and has single-handedly lost a game for us with his shoddy defense.  I think he's unaware that there is more than one facet to being a baseball and/or softball player.  On top of that, every time he says "we have one out", he says "we have Juan out".  I don't know if he just can't say it or he's telling us that his cousin just got here from Mexico.  Well, I'm pretty sure he got enough.  Moral of the story, I SUCKED TONIGHT lol.  Farewell to amazing batting statistics.

Well, that's all for now.  I have to be at training at 8 in the morning.  I really shouldn't have been blogging, as I have school business to handle, but I figure I'll be busier in the coming days, so no time like the present.  Good luck to all the teachers already servicing idiots, and better luck to those beginning on Monday.  Christmas is just around the corner.

Post Script - I just wanted to say Juan more thing.  Ok, that's it.

Beloved's Summer Epistle

Dear summer,

I am disgusted by your very presence.  You are not worthy of me writing this but I'm gonna do it anyway.  Kiss my arse, with your tongue out.  Ok, so here's how it works.  I will try my best to convey my disdain with this summer.  I must have been having a predictive moment towards the end of spring because I had been expressing my unrelenting desire to skip directly from spring to fall.  Let's examine these seasons, briefly.

Spring: The season of rebirth, all things are made new, the great renaissance, when the dead things in nature begin to have life again.  The weather begins to warm, but it is at a bearable rate.  I think here, we are more susceptible to tornadoes during this period (remind me to tell you about the great tornaduh--pronounced tore-nay-duh--of the halfway school).  However I find that to be a reasonable sacrifice to spring's dreadful replacement.

Fall: Football, the Fall Classic (aka the World Series), the beginning of the NBA season, Halloween (ok scratch that one).  All of these are prominent during the fall months, and I could not be more ecstatic.  There is also a mystique associated with Fall that I just love.  That mystique is likely due to it swiftly coming to uproot its predecessor.  I think that is the most gracious thing that good old autumn could do for us.  Do we say thank you?  No, we do not.  Ungrateful Americans.

Winter: In the words of the great, ever-philosophical Gucci Mane, "Burr".  Winter is interesting because it offers something that we often reject as fact, even though we should all know better.  It is the quintessential season of perpetual romantic hope, aka "cuffing season".  Noah would be proud because I'm almost certain everyone in the world gets paired off, in anticipation of the cool temperatures.  Who doesn't like to cuddle in the cold, confuse what they like about a given situation, and then regret talking to their short-lived better half, all by the time Spring rolls back around?  Cuff away.

Either you're really dumb, or you may notice that I skipped a season.  I wish I could say that I was saving the best for last, but the fact is, I don't wish that at all.  Ah summer...you, my foe, are HOT AS BALLS!  You are hot as vaginal penetration betwixt victims with assorted STD's.  You are hot as sodomy, which when passed around and coupled with the theory of the plagued monkeys, create what I like to call "Magic Johnson Disease".  For the first time in my entire life, I know what it feels like to have one bad memory of a particular thing, and eventually have that coupled with traumatic emotional events, to harbor a unique vacuum of feelings causing psychological disparagement.  Sodomy, by the way...well just look it up.

Bad memory: I never would have believed that it was possible, being that my brain is 79% comprised of baseball adages and thoughts.  I really cannot stand, nor can I function in, the heat for an extended period of time.  20 years in the sun, never getting sunburn, never being dehydrated, never seeing a single mirage, and this summer I sustained a freakin' HEAT RASH.  If you know anything about heat rash, it is essentially a condition comprised of bodily fungus (urgh), prominently activated in extreme heat and dampness.  Well when I get hot, I sweat.  I guess that's a double-whammy.  When I tell you that ish itched, when I tell you that ish was ugly, when I tell you that ish would not go away, you better believe it.  Now my body is all different skin tones.  I look like Michael going through "The (other) Change". Stay out of the Texas heat.  You have been warned.

Traumatic Emotional Event I: So by now, most people that know me in some capacity know about poor little Kayla Brown, the soon to be 1st grader, who was hit by a car while riding her bike.  She was 6.  How do you rationalize that your 6-year-old will never smile again?  All it makes me think about is my soon to be 6-year-old sister, who ironically, I just kicked out of the room for not knowing how to follow instructions.  Dang, I'm gonna invite her back.  Slight digression, we have and raise these kids, and blame them for stuff that ultimately is not all that much of their faults.  Their brains are still developing.  Ours are finished with the developmental process, yet we're still foolish.  Stupid know-it-alls.  So my sister was sitting at my grandparents' house this evening and decided to go find our mom, who was outside.  "Oh my goodness, I have to go see my mom!"So I told her to get her shoes and she could go out.  She searched long and hard, long enough for a redneck to wash his hands in the woods.  Then she comes back.  "I can't find my shoes, I have to find my shoes, where are they?", to which a family friend replies, "Go ask your mom where they are."  Umm ma'am, her mom is the reason she wants the dang shoes.  See the contradiction we put in these kids' heads?  Unfortunate.  Little Kayla was in my sister, Luby's, class, so mostly my heart just went out to her, but knowing a little about Kayla was really all it took to put me in a funk.

Traumatic Emotional Event II, Mid-Summer Nightmare: An ugly sequel.  Again, if you know me, you know that I somehow got trapped into every facet of my life being seamlessly woven into a quilt revolving around kids.  I won't say they are the best birth control because that's technically abstinence, but they're a close second.  Wait...that's condoms.  Ok they're third for sure.  So even though I didn't know a thing about soccer this time last year, I started coaching 4-year-olds because my sister's team needed a coach and, well let's just say I was a last resort.  Two seasons later, I am becoming less ignorant of a sport that is quite a bit more interesting than its 2-1 scores would indicate.  I had this kid in my second season, who has since moved on to Rowlett, or Rockwall, or some place really far that begins with "R".  I'm going to miss him and his spirited personality.  Well today, I was informed that I should be in prayer for him because on yesterday he witnessed his dad drown in a lake in Oklahoma.  I have this hierarchy of most awful deaths to cope with, which I always begin with burning. It just seems so torturous.  Somewhere, not far behind would be drowning.  It's such the freak accident that I just can't imagine.  As devastated as I know the family is, I am feeling similarly.  I knew his dad, as he was an avid attendant of our games.  He wasn't that guy that you would say was not, at the very least, trying hard to be there for his son.  The poor kid is too young to understand drowning, so as of this morning he still had no idea that his dad was dead.  Now, anybody care to tell me how do you tell a 5-year-old his dad died, and you actually witnessed it happening?  Murdered, figuratively, by Poseidon, while his young child is left to watch, unable to offer any assistance.  I'm not gonna harp on this because I've already exceeded my crying limit for the day and Summer (curse), but we just take so many things for granted that it's crazy.  Now, I'm gonna need strength because I feel it my duty to actively step in and take some of the stress away from those most affected.  Wish me luck.

I think I'm actually ready to get back to school, get back to the impressionable minds, the crazy kids, the NORMALCY.  I think things may loosen up once that happens.  Naturally, since all of these things have happened this summer, I am now adamant about being unable to wait until this calendar changes to the first day of fall, which is far too distant from this very day.  Though my heat rash (bad memory) has subsided, there are still visual reminders.  Even if there weren't, I'd still be miserable.  I was telling a friend earlier that I absolutely cannot take anymore heartache, for an indefinite period.  If it happens, I honestly don't know what I will do.  Yall just pray for me.  Now I'll have to come up with some sort of tribute and plan of action.  RIP Calvin Straughter.  Love you, Evan.  I'm always here fore you.

Beloved

Beloved Stubbornness

I was gonna name this one "The Apology of Beloved", as a parallel to the Apology of Socrates, but as some of you may be familiar with that text, it was meant quite satirically.  I will apologize later, but I will actually be sincere, so I want to not make light of the situation.  In the mean time, a little housekeeping.

First off, Happy Birthday to a dear friend of mine, Anna Smith Beloved.  As I look at my Gucci watch, it's not actually her birthday, but it will be once I post this, unless I can finish in the next ten minutes, which I doubt because all of my blogs consist of stories and digressions and tomfoolery and sarcasm and references to things that only a geek like myself would care about and people with names that I don't use in real life and rude remarks made about remarkable students and really really long sentences that are completely unnecessary, yet enjoyable for me.  Where the heck was I?  Oh yes, Happy Birthday, Anna.  You deserve to have a tremendous one because you, yourself, are tremendous.  You've had significant impact on my life, whether you believe it or not.  You should believe it though because I said it on the internet, and you can't put anything on the internet that isn't true.  Ok that's it.

Anyways, no quirky stories or ridiculous student bashing on this night.  Fret not, school starts at the end of this month.  Until then, I'm gonna try to play nice.  Let me tell you guys a quick story.  But before doing so, if you could be so kind as to ponder the following question...What do you consider to be a "date"?  Ok, the story can now commence.  Yesterday, or I guess officially the day before yesterday, was an interesting day for me.  I spent some quality time with my siblings, Luby and Jack.  Jack plays volleyball in coed leagues, so Luby and I decided to travel our arses out to Allen so that we could offer our support.  The game, itself, is of little importance because they stomped the dookie out of the opposing team.  A lot of that is due to my brother's prowess on the volleyball court.  Cat-like reflexes, hand/eye coordination, and an intimidating vertical will make you a star in most sports.  Volleyball is no exception.

So we head out to the game after dropping off Luby's siamese twins, and it is decided that I will drive her car out to Allen.  It is decided.  She was sleepy and hoped to get a power nap so that she could be alert during our brother's olympic level performance.  She also indicated that if I were to drive, she would be able to drive us home.  I'm cool with that.  Fast forward through that beat down of a game, which happened to be the championship.  The team is going to celebrate their newly acquired plaque at Pluckers, so of course we tag along.  "You know I'm not driving." That's not my quote, either.  So, again it is decided that I will drive to the next destination.  By this time, I am getting disturbed, only because I do not like to drive vehicles that I am not insured on.  I prefer not assuming the responsibility for anything going awry.  That's just my logic, and I am comfortable sticking with it.  But I drove because it was decided.

>> (That's me, hitting the fast forward button again).  Pluckers was pretty cool.  My waitress was attentive and they had a really good strawberry lemonade.  They should pay me for this plug because I'm broke and just got them way more business than they've ever had.  Oh, so this is where my question was discussed by the people sitting at our table.  I'm gonna reserve my opinion for after you tell me yours.  Y'all know how to reach me.

Anyways, again >> to the apparent breaking point of the situation.  I'm sure that I made a much greater deal out of this situation than what it was worth, but that's what stubborn people do.  Ladies, we all know that yall are smarter and far superior.  Dang, there I go with that satire.  It was again decided that I would drive back from Allen, in a car in which I am not insured, thus not comfortable assuming responsibility.  Let me tell you why this was so difficult for me.  Each time I mentioned a decision, I said that it was decided.  I never once talked about what we decided.  Why?  Because I didn't even have a say lol.  I don't think people will ever quite understand my aversion to being made to do something or being told what to do.  It is, quite possibly my greatest peeve, and it causes what I know is an overreaction.  I know this.  I am accepting of it.  I am apologetic about it.  All I'm asking for is a shift in sentence form.  Instead of imperative, use interrogative.  By that, I just mean that I would love to be consulted on things that pertain to me.  Just ask!  Can I at least get that?

The reason I decided, against my better judgment, to blog about the event that caused temporary discord betwixt Luby and I?  Simple.  Communication is key. I'm not sure my point was ever heard, so maybe it will be read.  In no way, am I suggesting that I am without blame.  There are apparently some other things I do that could be offensive.  I extend my sincerest apologies for my role in this incident.

This was a bit more somber than I care to be in my writing, but I felt it important because, well, when you care about somebody, you express it the best way you know how.  I'm not a talker.  Not that I'm a writer either, but I like to write.

Oh, by the way, I've decided to create a blog for my students this year, so when we get that set up I will most certainly share the link.  It, in itself, should be filled with the spirit of genuine hilarity.  I can't wait to see how it turns out.  I've got training in the morning, and these things are filled with moments to be captured.  It's quite possible that I'll be back sooner, rather than later.

P.S.-should I have just used P.S. on the part that starts "Oh, by the way..."?

Beloved Appreciation

So it finally hit me, like Angela did Laurence in the limo, or like Joe did all them Jacksons, or, more notably like the Rangers did the Angels...finally.  What finally hit me?  There are some situations you should just appreciate for what they are because a lot of times they prove to be as good as it gets.  More on the good to follow.  By the way, Angela would probably hit me too because she's super swole and she was reprising the role of the battered black woman.  Because we've never heard that story before.  Oh, so why should we appreciate things for what they are?

Because niggras be trippin'...hard.  I say niggra because I don't wanna call anybody's child a nigga.  See how big of a difference it makes?  Remember Griffin?  Of course you do because the blog is right below this one.  Well I may have mentioned that I am not a big fan of his, but I failed to mention in my last installment that I told him where he could go: H......ome.  If you thought anything else, you are awful.  I told him to come back on Monday, but to make sure he skipped Tuesday and Thursday because those were the days that I would be there.  Guess what, he was not present on Tuesday lol.  When my esteemed colleague, Gobment saw him on Wednesday, she asked him where he was on Tuesday.  His response: something about his stomach hurting.  My response: Point for me.  He did come on Thursday though (can't win them all).  But I suppose he got the message because he actually created the allusion that he has some sense.  Since a lot of teachers are probably reading this, we all know better, don't we?

So if young Griffin has "woman's orgasmed" having sense, he can't be the niggra that I'm referring to, can he?  Nope, but I do know this...Bebe's kids always work in tandem.  I'm convinced that kids can only function in dysfunction.  How's that for an oxymoron, emphasis on the jackass...I mean moron.  By the way, if you "woman's orgasm" something, it means you are faking.  Or pretending, whichever you prefer.

Slight digression.  This moment reminds me of the taboo game we played at the soccer party.  I was the clue giver, and it was, much like the natural order of things, a battle of the sexes.  The word was flick, and naturally I couldn't use words like "movie" or "theater" or "watch".  I'm saying things like "another word for the things that are on dvd."  These fools are stumped, but of course the ladies know. In a haste, I say "Another word for porno."  I'm talkin' bout, these horny negroes SIMULTANEOUSLY shouted "FLICK!"  I was the only male playing whose wife was not on the opposite team.  You should have seen the looks of disapproval on these wives' faces, as they went into a chorus of "How do you know what they call pornos?"  I, of course, found it hysterical, but I guess I may have been alone...oops.

This is as good a place as any to resume my story.  One of the students in Griffin's class, we'll call him Professor Charles, comes up to that dang program sleepy, every day.  Well, this particular day was just like any other day.  He couldn't answer know questions because he don't no *insert explicit term for fecal deposit*.  A sentence with double negatives and misplaced homophones, how befitting for Charles.  We were creating a video, in order to show our remarkable mastery of such terms as subject and predicate.  When I say mastery, I mean a term slightly less than that, like catastrophe.  This dude didn't stop clowning the entire time, so much so, that he's probably clowning at this very moment, a day and a half later.  "I thought you were sleepy, go back to sleep."  Naturally I dismissed him from participation in our video, but he can be seen in the background, looking sleepy.  Perhaps I will post the video one day, but then that would suggest that these stories are, in fact, real.

I was prepared to give Charles one more opportunity to participate, and simply asked him if he was done being silly.  This nappy headed, four-eyed, inch-high, water jug head having, kool aid man shaped, stank breath, chapped lip, narcoleptic, soft voiced, intellect lacking, darling of a child gave me that all too famous shrug of the shoulders, so to indicate that he didn't know.  I said okay, we will continue without you, and when your mom gets here we'll see if she knows.  As a side hustle of mine, I thoroughly enjoy training kids and doing lessons for baseball.  As an alternative to that side hustle, I love getting insolent kids in trouble.  I wasn't doing lessons at the time because I was in my good shoes, so what must I have been doing?  You guessed it.  Getting him in trouble.  It brings about a different issue in the educative community because we are never really sure if the parents "handle it" the same way our parents did.  Judging by the suddenly somber disposition on Little Charles' face, his mama was gonna "handle it".  Sorry kid.  And I actually mean it.  That kid is sorry.

So what is it that I am appreciative of?  I'm glad you asked.  I will tell you.

I'm appreciative of the effort, authentic or otherwise, that Griffin put forth.  I'm betting we will have our moments because he reminds me of a kid I had last year, named Pencil Boy.  Pencil Boy's nickname is Walen Jilliams.  But for now, he has gained a reprieve.  Interestingly enough, reprieve means to cancel or postpone punishment.  Trust me, it hasn't been cancelled.

I am appreciative of Charles' mama.  We had a good conversation.  Hopefully I have gained her support, unlike some of those calculative 304s at the last halfway school.

I am appreciative of a handful of students, all of whom I will miss dearly, from my last school.  I think I can use their real names because I actually like them.  Maybe I'll save it.  This is getting a little long, and I wanted to actually talk about the wonderful kids, most of which are girls.  By most, I think I mean all.

My cousin goes back to Pennsylvania tomorrow, so I'm gonna go spend some time with her.  Beloved appreciates you all.

Post Script-Now I know what P.S. means.  Why can't we just say "Post Script"?  Lazy Americans.

Beloved Sunset

Hey ya'll (Texas draw).  It's me, Beloved.  I promise, every time I write one of these, it seems like I'm starting anew.  At any rate, this is the point of the blog where I make some outlandish, erroneous vow to blog more frequently, knowing good and well that "aint nobody got time fa that".  So here goes: I have missed blogging and talking about people so much that I am going to post new blogs at least twice a week for you all to read.  Wouldn't yall enjoy that?  Too dang bad, aint nobody got time fa that.

So anyways, clearly a lot has changed since my last installment, post date 2/16/Twenty-Twelve.  What is the same, I am still Beloved, as my name would suggest.  What is different, pretty much everything else.  For starters, I will not be returning to the halfway school of old when school resumes in a little less than a month.  More on that to follow.  I was given my walking papers (I like to say transferred), and will be employed at what appears to be a slightly different, yet equally as halfway, institution.  I am really just a product of a budget cut.  The reason I say walking papers is because some random guy from downtown came up to the school to issue me some document, stating that if I did not find an internal position by "_/_/12", my contract would be terminated.  And had the nerve to try to be nice when he gave it to me.  Luckily, I had a principal who did not want to see me leave, and he put up a good fight...too bad he loss.  So, out into the wilderness I went, for a period of almost 2 full days actively seeking a job.  Man, was that day and a half difficult!  Made it through those 2 days I did.

Anyways, those *female dogs* couldn't terminate my contract because I found a job. Now what?! What if I really didn't know the difference between "loss" and "lost" and y'all thought I seriously meant loss in the last paragraph?  That would be worse then not knowing the difference between "then" and "than"...got yall again lol.  Pardon the digression.  So this new school will be interesting.  I am being forced to teach an additional subject, but I am fortunate to have the number of students I will be servicing cut in half.  I think that might epitomize the adage of "give and take".  I hope nobody is thinking that I will be without stories to share since I'm leaving an institution of foolery because, to the best of my knowledge, I am entering in to one just ass foolish.  As sure as I'm typing, you are trying to decide if I put that extra "s" in there on purpose or not...ambiguity at its finest.  How do I know foolishness will ensue, you ask?  Last week, I began participating in this "Jump Start" program, designed to teach the kids some basic skills for a period of 2 weeks, so that they are not completely behind the 8 ball upon returning to school.  Program would work wonders, by the way, if there were more than 8 participants.  There's always an idiot, in every bunch.  I don't care if there was only one participant.  That one, by my calculations, would be the idiot.  The idiot in this scenario is Griffin, III.  Little Griffin thinks he's funny.  More accurately, little Griffin wants to be funny, which is a general product of being deficient in a given subject.

Deficient = Delinquent. That could be a Math problem, Science equation, Synonym lesson, anything.  But little Griffin wouldn't know one way or another because he is, in fact, deficient...sufficiently deficient!  What I've discovered is that some kids will mess up a surrounding area and then deny, deny, deny.  Yes, this is Griffin.  What I've also discovered is that any given situation can be equated to an episode of Fresh Prince.  Any one!  Give it a try one day.  This is Griffin, denying, denying, denying.

 http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZfDAQNdesyc

Heeeey-eeey! Even after the jig is up, Griffin's contention is that he did nothing wrong.  IT'S NOT!! But it's ok because this program has afforded me the opportunity to see what I needed to see to.  He thinks he's gonna get the best of somebody.  His access will be, much like his unrelenting defense, denied.

If I had to pick a word to describe my feelings towards being forcibly removed from a place that I was at, and beginning an entire new set of circumstances for a second time, I guess I'd say anticipative.  My new colleagues seem to be extremely helpful and cool, although there are only 2 general education teachers in 4th grade, myself and "Gobment".  Let me tell you about this lady.  She got mo' dang on names than Schindler's List.  I aint lyin to ya!  The fact that there are only 2 of us still renders that we are a team of 3 or 4.  She's a Gemini, that Gemini that doesn't know how to be just one person.  I think I heard there were like 3 people living in her head and it's a coin flip to see who will appear.  If you've ever tried to flip coins with more than 2 people, you know this can't end well.  Still, I need that craziness to be present in order to keep my sanity.

Remember Cece?  I would not have made it through the year with a job or semi-normal blood pressure levels without her.  I can picture Cece reading the blog, or looking across the hall, or texting me, talking bout some "awwww", making stuff awkward.  I'm not one for sappy moments, however I will miss my fam.  You sit in those trenches called schools, and take enough of those rations called poor pay, all the while battling those enemies, who inevitably must be the students, with a group of people long enough, they literally do become your family.  Jack, Rock, Cece, Luby, my mentor, Suga Mama....I shan't forget them.  Nobody at the school, actually.  When I needed something, I usually got it.  Custodial staff, including Wigoff, Teacher's Assistants, CRC, Academic Coordinator Sharaya, and Sleepy Eyes.  But I'm sure to encounter many, even as I must go.  Luby will probably still need my advice every waking moment of every day, so I'm sure I will hear from her.  Rock and I will see each other at soccer, as well as occasionally kick back to watch a game or something.  Cece...she knows she has to gimme some of them cookies.  Jack will probably continue to grovel at my feet, with the hopes that I'll stick around and show him the way of life, but I am not here to guide you, Jack.  Get it together.  If anybody wants to see what a faux account of my bloggery looks like, Jack has created one.  He's a second fiddle type person.  Don't even get me started on my child...that would be too much gloom for one blog, so I will save her place in my heart for my next blog, which I so convincingly stated, will take place this week ":-/".

So, what have we learned today, class?

1. I am still, and always will be, Beloved.
2. The Man tried to keep me down, but I beat him like Rodney King.
3.New school: The walls may look different but there's still writing on them.
4.Griffin is a dumb arse for showing his true colors before school even starts.
5.Every scenario can be a Fresh Prince episode.
6.I am looking forward to working with Gobment...and Gobment, and Gobment.
7.Cece be cryin, but she has the best cookies, and I will miss them, I mean her dearly.
8.My siblings, Jack and Luby, will probably crumble without me around, but they're just gonna have to get over it.
9.Rock was the only sane person, aside from myself, in the crew, which is why we can still hang out.
10.Suga Mama gon be Suga Mama...say hello to Penny for me.
11.I'm still breathing, so despite my terribly mixed emotions about leaving the school, and by mixed I mean mad and pissed off, today is a good day.

My next blog will be devoted to former students.  I'm gonna create my all-star roster from last year, and probably talk about a lot of people.  You don't wanna miss this.  Until then, I gotta go...these guinea pigs keep squealing, and I'm about to make some guinea bacon.

P.S. the one thing about sunset is this...it shall rise again.

P.P.S.-Wth does p.s. stand for?

My Beloved Arse

But why? Why must I be subjected to such inJustises? If you have an issue with that spelling, then just hold tight for another blog. It's me, Beloved, back to give the people what they want, which consists of realistic fictional stories, super long sentences featuring comma after comma, and the occasional syntax that would rival that of Yoda in Star Wars. Focus on the realistic fictional stories I will try.

I figured that blogging today could help cure me of this mood that I am currently in. One which does not benefit these little darling children of mine. Not sure if any of you have seen the old "american dream" portrayal of a show, Leave it to Beaver, but these children are nothing but a bunch of 2012, cell phone carrying, Facebook account having Eddie Haskell clones. "Good morning, Mr. Beloved. Good morning, Mrs. Ynan. Good morning, Mr. Rock. Good morning, Jack. How are you all on this blessed day?" To which I reply, "Kick rocks, doofus."

A lot has changed since my last installment. I'm practically a different person, which either means it's been a long time or things are always changing. I have had this growth, sprouting from my face, since probably late September or early October. Me, being the Beloved trendsetter that I am, paved the way for what came to be known as "no shave November". Well my face had become downright hair. In fact, I've been likened to a Muslim, a werewolf, Rick Ross, and Osama Bin Laden's tall, dark, and handsome cousin.

Eat your heart out, Uncle Bin. So, it's come to my attention that a very small handful of individuals are not fond of this look. By a small handful, I mean my mom, older sister, aunt, aunt, other aunt, grandma, older cousin, colleagues, church members, and my barber. I was kidding about the barber, I think. Out of all of the comparisons drawn, which do you think would drive me to cut it? You guessed it Rick Ross, the boss *insert annoying, uncool ad-lib here*.

So now that it's been down into the 30s with a windchill of -17, my face is cold. One day, I will get you back, one day.

The previous tenants at the place I reside moved out. Now what? So I am the only resident, occupying this house that would be fit for a family of 5 or 6 people. They say there used to be a family of 4 there. I wonder what happened to them.

Anyways, I don't often get to enjoy my digs because I'm spending all of my time with the kids at the halfway school. I must be losing my mind. Lost my mind I have. I'm not a big Star Wars fan, but I do love a good Yoda monologue. It's not so bad working with the kids, so long as they realize how much of an honor it is to have such a Beloved person whose tutelage they can study under. I mean, they are awful, but what do you expect from kids? More specifically, what do you expect from kids whose parents are older, yet equally as awful? You don't know? Allow me to tell you. Stick with me, as I weave this tangled web.

So, I'm "coaching" this basketball team. These boys are 6 and under, which means that mentally they are 4 and under. One is mentally 4, physically 4, emotionally 4, psychologically 4, spiritually 4...he's just 4. Recall waaaayy back when, when I said that he was physically 4. He has the strength of a styrofoam cup. He shoots the basketball, and it looks like a bounce pass. If you know anything about basketball, you know that a bounce pass is when you pass the ball to a teammate, or maybe not, and it bounces. I guess even a non-basketball person could have figured that. We are at practice, doing drills, and every time he gets tangled up with somebody, he cries. So finally I just kinda put him over to the side, so that he can watch because practice time is really dwindling down. Mama comes up to me after practice to give me an earful because he didn't get enough "ball time". If I were a Lil Wayne person I would insert a "no homo" after that statement. I politely tell her that he just isn't strong enough, nor does he possess the mental makeup to do the drill that we were doing. No offense intended, but I have a slight aversion to kids crying while I'm having practice.

My decision, I will go to practice, scale it back ever so slightly, tailor my drills to things where everyone is participating simultaneously, and everything will be back to some semblance of normalcy. The aforementioned boy, Louis, is the offspring of the offspring of one of my esteemed colleagues. In case some of my box of rox students are reading, that means that he is the grandson. That means the lady "giving me the business" was the daughter. Ok, she wasn't really giving me the business, but I hit her with a "duly noted", so as to maintain my Beloved aura. Well, I guess mama wanted to get in on the action too because she rubbed me the wrong way yesterday. Figuratively, of course. I don't know what was going on, but it just was not a good day to be me because I would have take offense to so much as "you look nice today". She's ranting and raving about me not helping with this oratorical contest, of which I acknowledge that I am on the committee. It's at this point that I ask why she didn't just mention it because I would have been happy to pitch in somewhere. "I shouldn't have to tell you anything, you know you're on the committee." There's absolutely no way for me to replicate how utterly ridiculous her tone was when she said this, so I won't even try. I'm just thinking to myself, hell, you must not want help then. I guess you just want to play the victim. Carry on. I'm also thinking, shoot, this is not my only responsibility on this campus, or in life for that matter. I tutor and do Saturday school, I try, unsuccessfully, to run a program of kids in desperate need of mentoring. There's a program being arranged for that as well. Oh, and I coach the basketball team. Monday and Wednesday, I am doing work at this place from 7:30 to 7:30, no exaggeration. If you think I'm doing a poor job, keep it to yourself, or address it with me in a non-threatening forum. I'm not down for abrasive conversations, so I'm gonna join the KMA club with another colleague, Mrs. Candle. (psa: KMA may or may not stand for what you perceive it to stand for.)

Anybody that knows me, knows that I am probably the least malicious person you will meet, so if something is bothering you about what I'm doing, or in this case not doing, find solace in the fact that I mean no ill will towards anyone else. Sure, I could have actively sought some role in the oratorical, but I still believe that a simple communication would not have been an issue. Naturally, now that I have been ostracized, I aint helping' with chit.  I'm supposed to count votes Friday, they're gonna see how bad at Math I can be. Crazy arse halfway school, makin my arse itch.

These two events, coupled with things that I will not be mentioning on this blog, drove me to a breaking point. It was at this point that I decided I would take a lesser role in practice, letting Coach "AngryMan" fulfill most of the duties. Everyone could tell there was something amiss with me. I was very reserved and to myself. All I did was blew a whistle, with very few words coming out of my mouth. Wouldn't you know it, a DIFFERENT parent had a problem with my lack of interaction. I guess that witch don't understand that there are 2 coaches on a team for a reason. She pissed me off so bad, she forced me to negate my subject-verb agreement. "Hey, witch, there are 2 coaches on a team for a reason!!" In a haste, she storms out, taking her child, as if she was hurting my feelings. Then she has the audacity to suggest that her son can't learn, sitting on the bench. I would contend that her can't learn because his mama is slow. His sister, Milton, is a student of mine...fits right on in that rock category. I don't really know the brother because he is in the 3rd grade, but you know what they say about apples and trees. I would also contend that he won't learn because he's allowed to not come to basketball games when he says that he doesn't feel like it. Yes, that happened. 

These people are starting to get a little too comfortable with my Beloved mentality and my equally as endearing Beloved personality. I have learned from my brother, Jack, the art of stoicism. I will be putting that to good use along these hallowed halls.

{Side-note: I'll be blogging about my estranged siblings, Luby and Jack in the coming days. They've been making my arse itch too.}

So, next time you decide to make my Beloved arse itch, consider the fact that you aren't quite perfect. In fact, you are quite a ways from "not quite perfect". Quite a ways from "not quite perfect" you are. Now I know how Socrates felt. I thought this was going to put a smile on my face, but it only mustered at temporary semi-smile. How's that for redundant? Oh well, until next time.......

"Getting on someone's nerves because you have a problem doesn't make them care any more, it only makes them join the KMA club."

-Beloved