Today I overheard two kids arguing about some mutual acquaintances. That's what I get for allowing partner work. It went a little something like this:
"No. That's not her. I'm not talking about the skinny one. I'm talking about the really thin one."
"Oh. You mean the blond one."
"Yeah. They are both blond. The one I'm talking about is almost 40."
"Well, they're twins. So they would both be almost 40."
Welcome to my world. Sometime this year, I'm going to try to teach them the Who's On First routine.
In other news, the #1 son had a substitute in his Drafting and Design class. I think that's the name of it. It's something techy. They are building bridges out of some specially-ordered wood. #1 said, "I love that substitute in Mr G's class. She let us do whatever we wanted." His criteria for a good sub are a bit different from mine.
Thursday, October 8, 2009
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
She's A Mean One, Mrs. HM
Today a kid told me, "You take all the fun out of everything."
OK, he was joking. But for a minute, I got all excited, because that's my goal--to take all the fun out of things those kids should not be doing. Like hanging around beside by classroom window while waiting for the bus, slamming a fellow student against the brick wall.
It all started because I told two of #1's cronies that I did not want to hear them talking while I was giving my lesson today. They took offense. "Since when? Since when do we talk in class?" Of course that deserved an answer. "Oh, let me see. Since the first day of school? Yes. I think that's it."
I proceeded with the lesson, and when I was passing out the assignment, I said, "Why are you two so quiet? Cat got your tongues?" The Concussor said meekly, "We are not talking during the lesson." And LegHairPuller put on an emo face and said, "You take all the fun out of everything." I wasn't about to let that slide. I continued around the room, passing out papers. "Yes, I do. I take all the fun out of everything. I can even take the fun out of waiting for the bus." I shot a look at the Brick Wall Gang. They had a twinkle in their eyes. I went on. "I can take the fun out of holding someone in a headlock underwater for 60 seconds in his own pool." That was a tale that the victim had related about LegHairPuller earlier in the year.
LegHairPuller turned around. "That's not funny." But he was close to cracking. I just had to work it a bit more. "Well, that's the way it goes. I have to amuse myself. Whether anyone else finds me funny is just a bonus."
My stand-up routine might need a bit more polish before I take it on the road.
OK, he was joking. But for a minute, I got all excited, because that's my goal--to take all the fun out of things those kids should not be doing. Like hanging around beside by classroom window while waiting for the bus, slamming a fellow student against the brick wall.
It all started because I told two of #1's cronies that I did not want to hear them talking while I was giving my lesson today. They took offense. "Since when? Since when do we talk in class?" Of course that deserved an answer. "Oh, let me see. Since the first day of school? Yes. I think that's it."
I proceeded with the lesson, and when I was passing out the assignment, I said, "Why are you two so quiet? Cat got your tongues?" The Concussor said meekly, "We are not talking during the lesson." And LegHairPuller put on an emo face and said, "You take all the fun out of everything." I wasn't about to let that slide. I continued around the room, passing out papers. "Yes, I do. I take all the fun out of everything. I can even take the fun out of waiting for the bus." I shot a look at the Brick Wall Gang. They had a twinkle in their eyes. I went on. "I can take the fun out of holding someone in a headlock underwater for 60 seconds in his own pool." That was a tale that the victim had related about LegHairPuller earlier in the year.
LegHairPuller turned around. "That's not funny." But he was close to cracking. I just had to work it a bit more. "Well, that's the way it goes. I have to amuse myself. Whether anyone else finds me funny is just a bonus."
My stand-up routine might need a bit more polish before I take it on the road.
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
SnoozeFest
I took my boys to get their seasonal flu shot today. It's been a couple of years since they had one. The good news is that the #1 son could still feel his legs after his shot, and The Pony did not vomit. That's what happened last time they got a flu shot. #1, on the way to the parking lot, said, "I can't feel my left leg." I call it hysterical paralysis. The Pony did not complain, but upon arriving home 15 minutes later, promptly vomited. I call that a case of nerves over getting a shot. Anyhoo...they both went in without me, got shot, and returned. All with no untoward effects.
I would love to entertain you with further tales of heart-pounding excitement, but I am OH SO TIRED, and must forsake you for a nap in my recliner.
I would love to entertain you with further tales of heart-pounding excitement, but I am OH SO TIRED, and must forsake you for a nap in my recliner.
Monday, October 5, 2009
Real World: Hillmomba
This is the story. Of four goats. Picked to live in a pen. And have their lives blogged. To find out what happens. When goats stop being polite. And start being real. The Real World: Hillmomba.
OK, you won't get that if you are not familiar with The Real World, an MTV staple. But play along. I mentioned that Farmer H got a new goat on Saturday. Umm...no. Farmer H got THREE new goats. Count 'em. THREE. It would be easier if I gave you a picture of them, but that ain't happenin' until the weekend. Here's how it went down.
We were happily minding our own business on Saturday afternoon. Farmer H had returned from bowling, with the boys. The #1 son was supposed to assist Farmer H in rebuilding an old truck that he wants to enter in car shows. Don't hold your breath. He's had it for 11 years already. So anyway, the phone rang, and #1 answered it because it was the mother of one of his bowling friends. She said that her husband had a goat for Farmer H.
Farmer H was busy with his Number One Son, the one with two little girls who were being taught to shoot a shotgun. I know. That's about as hillbilly as you can get. The plan is for him to take the girls deer hunting with a shotgun, "So nobody gets hurt." Upon hearing about the proffered goat, Farmer H abandoned his son, who stayed in the BARn with his girls and our #1 son. Farmer H took The Pony to town, on a 10-minute drive to pick up a goat.
I'll admit that I was curious. And that curiosity grew as time ticked away. When Farmer H and The Pony returned from the two-hour tour, they had not ONE goat, but THREE. OK, two are small, and would only add up to one proper goat. But still, they each have a mouth to feed. We now have FOUR goats. Farmer H put the two baby billies in the old rabbit pen, since Spot the rabbit is currently on a world tour of the area around the BARn, what with Farmer H not checking the internet to see if you can keep rabbits in a pen with a dirt floor. The baby billies are about the size of a big fat cat. They have little horn nubs, and are cute as buttons. One is gray and one is black-and-brown. The other goat is about half the size of Goatrude. Farmer H thinks she might be the mother of the gray billy, because they have similar coloring. He also thinks the black-and-brown billy is a pygmy goat, not a baby, because he has a couple of dangling parts that are well-developed, according to Farmer H. The goat expert. Goats are herd animals, you know.
Goatrude used to bleat longingly when we got out of T-Hoe. Or when we opened the front door of the Mansion. The Pony used to bleat right back at her. Same thing with Farmer H. Those guys and Goatrude had a regular thing going. Since bringing home the new goats, Goatrude will not respond. She dropped Farmer H and The Pony like a prom queen drops the friendly nerd when the football team walks by. Farmer H says she doesn't need them now. She has her own people. Which happen to be goats.
Goats. They're herd animals, you know. It's on the internet.
OK, you won't get that if you are not familiar with The Real World, an MTV staple. But play along. I mentioned that Farmer H got a new goat on Saturday. Umm...no. Farmer H got THREE new goats. Count 'em. THREE. It would be easier if I gave you a picture of them, but that ain't happenin' until the weekend. Here's how it went down.
We were happily minding our own business on Saturday afternoon. Farmer H had returned from bowling, with the boys. The #1 son was supposed to assist Farmer H in rebuilding an old truck that he wants to enter in car shows. Don't hold your breath. He's had it for 11 years already. So anyway, the phone rang, and #1 answered it because it was the mother of one of his bowling friends. She said that her husband had a goat for Farmer H.
Farmer H was busy with his Number One Son, the one with two little girls who were being taught to shoot a shotgun. I know. That's about as hillbilly as you can get. The plan is for him to take the girls deer hunting with a shotgun, "So nobody gets hurt." Upon hearing about the proffered goat, Farmer H abandoned his son, who stayed in the BARn with his girls and our #1 son. Farmer H took The Pony to town, on a 10-minute drive to pick up a goat.
I'll admit that I was curious. And that curiosity grew as time ticked away. When Farmer H and The Pony returned from the two-hour tour, they had not ONE goat, but THREE. OK, two are small, and would only add up to one proper goat. But still, they each have a mouth to feed. We now have FOUR goats. Farmer H put the two baby billies in the old rabbit pen, since Spot the rabbit is currently on a world tour of the area around the BARn, what with Farmer H not checking the internet to see if you can keep rabbits in a pen with a dirt floor. The baby billies are about the size of a big fat cat. They have little horn nubs, and are cute as buttons. One is gray and one is black-and-brown. The other goat is about half the size of Goatrude. Farmer H thinks she might be the mother of the gray billy, because they have similar coloring. He also thinks the black-and-brown billy is a pygmy goat, not a baby, because he has a couple of dangling parts that are well-developed, according to Farmer H. The goat expert. Goats are herd animals, you know.
Goatrude used to bleat longingly when we got out of T-Hoe. Or when we opened the front door of the Mansion. The Pony used to bleat right back at her. Same thing with Farmer H. Those guys and Goatrude had a regular thing going. Since bringing home the new goats, Goatrude will not respond. She dropped Farmer H and The Pony like a prom queen drops the friendly nerd when the football team walks by. Farmer H says she doesn't need them now. She has her own people. Which happen to be goats.
Goats. They're herd animals, you know. It's on the internet.
Sunday, October 4, 2009
Somebody Stop That Guy
Oh, dear. That poor Jon Gosselin just can't catch a break. The nanny that he denied having a romantic relationship with has been giving interviews about having sex nine times with Jon (and not very good sex). OK. Maybe Jon did not see those nine times as A) romantic, or B) a relationship. Seems that Stephanie Santoro only worked for Jon for a week. Wonder if that was Jon's choice, or Kate's choice.
Here's the worst part (besides that image that can't be scrubbed from your brain of Jon having sex): they went to the garage apartment to finish this hot-tub fling. That means that after Jon loving checked on his 8 children ages six through ten to make sure they were asleep, HE LEFT THEM ALONE IN THAT BIG HOUSE so he could go have sex in the garage. You can't just let sleeping children lie. No, no no. Anything could happen. But that seems to be a low priority on Jon's Screw As Many Women As I Can list.
Nanny. Hmpf! That Santoro woman was paid, all right. But she wasn't paid for watching those 8 kids, was she? Because she wasn't watching those 8 kids. She was engaging in sexual activity with Jon.
Here in Hillmomba, we don't call that a nanny. We call it something else. Call Jo Frost. Let's see what SHE can do for Jon.
Here's the worst part (besides that image that can't be scrubbed from your brain of Jon having sex): they went to the garage apartment to finish this hot-tub fling. That means that after Jon loving checked on his 8 children ages six through ten to make sure they were asleep, HE LEFT THEM ALONE IN THAT BIG HOUSE so he could go have sex in the garage. You can't just let sleeping children lie. No, no no. Anything could happen. But that seems to be a low priority on Jon's Screw As Many Women As I Can list.
Nanny. Hmpf! That Santoro woman was paid, all right. But she wasn't paid for watching those 8 kids, was she? Because she wasn't watching those 8 kids. She was engaging in sexual activity with Jon.
Here in Hillmomba, we don't call that a nanny. We call it something else. Call Jo Frost. Let's see what SHE can do for Jon.
Saturday, October 3, 2009
A Little Of This
Oh, how the mighty have fallen. Another prep football contestant and I are now tied for 2nd Place, two points out of the lead. My old alma mater dared to WIN in spite of my confidence in her as a loser. How dare she! There are four weeks left in the contest. I don't want that recliner to slip away from me.
At school, basketball is gearing up, with conditioning practice beginning on Monday. The #1 son is eager to hit the hardwood. He practiced all summer on his own. I don't think he will be picked last in the pick-games.
GoatHoarder H went to pick up a new goat this afternoon. I have not seen it yet, but it took him an hour and a half to get it, even though it only lived 10 minutes away. No word yet on whether it is a girlfriend or boyfriend for Goatrude. GoatHoarder H has been letting Goatrude out to run on a dog leash and clothesline. He lets her eat the brush around the animal compound. Funny thing, Einstein H trimmed the brush so Goatrude wouldn't get hung up while she's on the leash eating the brush. There's something O. Henry would appreciate there. Well, if he wasn't dead.
We got a past-due statement on the #1 son's ER bill due to his concussion in July. That is crap. CRAP, I say. I paid the $100 ER co-pay that very day. Then the hospital billed us $621 for the doctor. Insurance paid $113, leaving that hospital to hound us for $508. Insurance Mediator H called GHP after the last statement, asking how they could say the doctor was out-of-network, when he was working at that hospital that is in-network. What were we supposed to do, drive around to emergency rooms knocking on those sliding glass doors, until we found a doctor that was in-network? And what if we found one, but he was at an out-of-network hospital?
Insurance Mediator H called GHP again on Friday. Funny thing, GHP had sent the hospital a check for that $508. A check that the hospital had cashed two days before the statement date. Somebody needs to introduce the left hand to the right hand at that place. Something's not up to snuff in the billing department. I had told Personal Assistant H that he needed to call the hospital on Friday, too, so they could put a note in our file. He said, "Yeah. A note that we don't pay our bill." I think he missed the point. When I am off in the summer and deal with crap like this, they always put a note in the file that we are haggling with the insurance company. Anyhoo...I'm not paying that $508 that they already cashed. They can bill me until the goats come home. Fair is fair.
At school, basketball is gearing up, with conditioning practice beginning on Monday. The #1 son is eager to hit the hardwood. He practiced all summer on his own. I don't think he will be picked last in the pick-games.
GoatHoarder H went to pick up a new goat this afternoon. I have not seen it yet, but it took him an hour and a half to get it, even though it only lived 10 minutes away. No word yet on whether it is a girlfriend or boyfriend for Goatrude. GoatHoarder H has been letting Goatrude out to run on a dog leash and clothesline. He lets her eat the brush around the animal compound. Funny thing, Einstein H trimmed the brush so Goatrude wouldn't get hung up while she's on the leash eating the brush. There's something O. Henry would appreciate there. Well, if he wasn't dead.
We got a past-due statement on the #1 son's ER bill due to his concussion in July. That is crap. CRAP, I say. I paid the $100 ER co-pay that very day. Then the hospital billed us $621 for the doctor. Insurance paid $113, leaving that hospital to hound us for $508. Insurance Mediator H called GHP after the last statement, asking how they could say the doctor was out-of-network, when he was working at that hospital that is in-network. What were we supposed to do, drive around to emergency rooms knocking on those sliding glass doors, until we found a doctor that was in-network? And what if we found one, but he was at an out-of-network hospital?
Insurance Mediator H called GHP again on Friday. Funny thing, GHP had sent the hospital a check for that $508. A check that the hospital had cashed two days before the statement date. Somebody needs to introduce the left hand to the right hand at that place. Something's not up to snuff in the billing department. I had told Personal Assistant H that he needed to call the hospital on Friday, too, so they could put a note in our file. He said, "Yeah. A note that we don't pay our bill." I think he missed the point. When I am off in the summer and deal with crap like this, they always put a note in the file that we are haggling with the insurance company. Anyhoo...I'm not paying that $508 that they already cashed. They can bill me until the goats come home. Fair is fair.
Thursday, October 1, 2009
Rude Awakening
The students seem to think I have superpowers. Just today, one asked me, "Did you give Goldilocks ISS?"
"No. I don't have the power to give anyone ISS."
"Didn't you give him his fifth tardy?"
"I don't give tardies. People earn them."
"Well, because you gave him his fifth tardy, he got ISS."
"If you are not in the room when the bell rings, that is a tardy. It makes no difference to me what happens after I record a tardy, or how many tardies you have before or after that one."
Reports later in the day were that Goldilocks did not get ISS, because a certain teacher wrote him a note that he was not tardy for my class. Funny that on the day in question, Goldilocks did not say he was late because he had to gather his stuff from that certain teacher's class. Goldilocks, in the hall, not even to the drinking fountain yet when the bell rang, said, "You're not giving me a tardy, are you? Because it will be my fifth one." Like I care. You're not in the room when the bell rings, you're tardy.
This afternoon, I had three people tardy in one class. There was no reason for it. They were just lollygagging in the hall. I also had two others late (but not tardy) because I gave them permission to collect their FCCLA Krispy Kreme Donuts for their fundraiser, and another one late (but not tardy) who came in with a note from a teacher. See? I'll work with you. But no permission-no note-you're tardy. One of the lollygaggers had the nerve to say, "I better not get a tardy." To which eagle-ears Mrs. Hillbilly Mom announced to the classroom in general, "That better not be a threat about me giving a tardy. If you're not in the room when the bell rings, you're tardy."
This lollygagger complained that he was late because he had to go all the way to the other end of the hall to get his book. Never mind that we're in the eighth week of school, and he has been bringing his book the majority of days we've had class. Never mind that all other students are expected to bring their books. Never mind that I have told him to take it with him to his previous class so as to avoid the locker trip. Nope. According to Lollygagger, he can't take his book to lunch and then take it to his tech class because books are not allowed in tech class, and besides, he can't take it to lunch because he has his books from before lunch with him then. Which begs the question, "What happens to those before-lunch books when you go to tech class?" If they're not allowed, you must be going to your locker before tech, huh? And I find it quite odd that books would not be allowed in tech, because there is a classroom separate from the shop. I think I'll ask Mr. Tech tomorrow if he outlaws books from his building.
The next Little Einstein to give me a superpower gave me psychic ability. I had just finished warning my 7th hour class before handing out their tests, "Some people got most of them wrong, but their wrong answers matched the right answers on the other test." Meaning that I had two forms of the test, and somebody cheated in an obvious way. Of course they clamored to know who, but my lips were sealed. I only told them, "They know who they are. But I haven't called them in yet to discuss it." Leaving Little E to ask, "Was one of them me?" Dear me. Where do you start?
"Since you haven't even taken the test yet, I don't think one of them was you. Unless you are trying to tell me something. Because I would have to be psychic to say that you cheated on a test you haven't even taken yet."
Dang. I am one mean and crazy, ISS-giving, cheating-predicting, master teacher!
"No. I don't have the power to give anyone ISS."
"Didn't you give him his fifth tardy?"
"I don't give tardies. People earn them."
"Well, because you gave him his fifth tardy, he got ISS."
"If you are not in the room when the bell rings, that is a tardy. It makes no difference to me what happens after I record a tardy, or how many tardies you have before or after that one."
Reports later in the day were that Goldilocks did not get ISS, because a certain teacher wrote him a note that he was not tardy for my class. Funny that on the day in question, Goldilocks did not say he was late because he had to gather his stuff from that certain teacher's class. Goldilocks, in the hall, not even to the drinking fountain yet when the bell rang, said, "You're not giving me a tardy, are you? Because it will be my fifth one." Like I care. You're not in the room when the bell rings, you're tardy.
This afternoon, I had three people tardy in one class. There was no reason for it. They were just lollygagging in the hall. I also had two others late (but not tardy) because I gave them permission to collect their FCCLA Krispy Kreme Donuts for their fundraiser, and another one late (but not tardy) who came in with a note from a teacher. See? I'll work with you. But no permission-no note-you're tardy. One of the lollygaggers had the nerve to say, "I better not get a tardy." To which eagle-ears Mrs. Hillbilly Mom announced to the classroom in general, "That better not be a threat about me giving a tardy. If you're not in the room when the bell rings, you're tardy."
This lollygagger complained that he was late because he had to go all the way to the other end of the hall to get his book. Never mind that we're in the eighth week of school, and he has been bringing his book the majority of days we've had class. Never mind that all other students are expected to bring their books. Never mind that I have told him to take it with him to his previous class so as to avoid the locker trip. Nope. According to Lollygagger, he can't take his book to lunch and then take it to his tech class because books are not allowed in tech class, and besides, he can't take it to lunch because he has his books from before lunch with him then. Which begs the question, "What happens to those before-lunch books when you go to tech class?" If they're not allowed, you must be going to your locker before tech, huh? And I find it quite odd that books would not be allowed in tech, because there is a classroom separate from the shop. I think I'll ask Mr. Tech tomorrow if he outlaws books from his building.
The next Little Einstein to give me a superpower gave me psychic ability. I had just finished warning my 7th hour class before handing out their tests, "Some people got most of them wrong, but their wrong answers matched the right answers on the other test." Meaning that I had two forms of the test, and somebody cheated in an obvious way. Of course they clamored to know who, but my lips were sealed. I only told them, "They know who they are. But I haven't called them in yet to discuss it." Leaving Little E to ask, "Was one of them me?" Dear me. Where do you start?
"Since you haven't even taken the test yet, I don't think one of them was you. Unless you are trying to tell me something. Because I would have to be psychic to say that you cheated on a test you haven't even taken yet."
Dang. I am one mean and crazy, ISS-giving, cheating-predicting, master teacher!
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