The Donahue Show Comes to Third Grade

I am now using an FM system in my classroom, for a student with auditory processing issues. I got rather excited when our psychologist first approached me with the idea, because I envisioned myself running up and down the aisles like in the good old days of the Donahue Show, thrusting the microphone in front of the outraged audience member. Or, in my case, a third grade student.

Come to find out, it's a tiny mic clipped to my shirt, with the rest of the system clipped onto my belt (or shoved in my pocket, as I ended up wearing it). The student wears earbuds, which are attatched to a similar-looking unit at his desk.

Not quite as noticable as Phil Donahue, but still noticeable enough for the speech therapist to suggest I have a conversation with the class about what they would be seeing both the other student and myself wearing.

I must have "sold" the program pretty good, because when I explained that I didn't have a set of earbuds for all 25 other students, there was a collective groan of disappointment.

He's now the coolest kid in third grade.

And I don't think he's at all worried about looking differently in class. During a transition today, he was suddenly overcome with the desire to run up to the front of the room, and thrust his face near the microphone (hanging between my breasts, yes) so that he could hear himself say "Funky Chicken" through the FM system.

Wonder if Phil ever had that problem?

Ordering a Pizza

We swagger up to the counter. The 17-year-old in the Papa Murphy's shirt smiles uneasily at me.

Me: It be a pizza we be wantin'

Pizza Guy: Um, huh?

Me: You do know it's International Talk Like a Pirate Day, don't you?

Pizza Guy: What? Seriously?

Me: That it be!

Pizza Guy: So you've been talking like a pirate all day?

Me: I teach elementary school, so...

Pizza Guy: ...so you have been talking like a pirate all day.

Me: Can you be fixin us a delicious pizza today?

Pizza Guy: How do you say "yes" in pirate?

Me: "Aye."

Pizza Guy: Oh. Aye. What... you be... wantin... on your pizza?

Me: (clapping hands enthusiastically) Arr! That be some fine pirate talk, matey! We be wantin to have some fine cheese on one side of that thar pizza, and ye can put some of that pepperoni on the other half.

Pizza Guy: That will be $8.07.

Me: Will ye accept me Pieces of Eight?

Pizza Guy: What is that?

Me: Pirate money. Here. Take me fine debit card, instead.

Pizza Guy: What name can I have for your pizza?

Me: Captain Binta.

Shrimp Stink

On tonight's menu: Top Ramen

It's pain and torture to get my child to eat anything. Top Ramen is one thing she will usually tolerate. Tonight, I prepared shrimp flavored Top Ramen for her dinner.

As a side note, I must remind my readers that I do not eat seafood. I define seafood as: "anything that has lived in, looked at, or ever considered the sea as its home."

So I thought I was being pretty generous to not only provide her with a shrimp-flavored packet of sodium and other nasty crap, but I also put real shrimp into the dish!

Real shrimp! Yeah! These are the things I do for my daughter!

So as she's eating, wrapped up in a blanket (why? I don't know) she knocks the bowl of shrimp-flavored Top Ramen with real shrimp into her lap. The blanket catches most of it.

Horrified, I manage to carry the blanket over to the garbage can to dump the remains of the ramen noodles and real shrimp. Some of those little tiny ramen noodles remained clinging to the blanket.

I thought it would be a smart idea to take the blanket outside to shake the remaining noodles from its clutches.

Wrong! I feel the shrimpy broth spray all over my arms and face! Bad idea! I'm now covered in a Shrimp Stink!

Going OUT

Participated in a "Girls' Night Out" extravaganza last night. Complete with limo service! It was nice.

But...
it has reminded me of why I don't go "out" much anymore.

"Dancing" on the dancefloor surrounded by way too many other drunk, sweaty strange bodies of people you don't know. I hate touching people I don't know.

One time, as we were bumped and jostled from side to side by the masses on the dance floor of the Phoenix Underground, my friend Kim said to me:

"This isn't dancing. This is what molecules do."

Or rather, she yelled it. I think that was sometime after someone's "Sex on the Beach" splashed on my arm and someone stepped on my toes, but sometime before the girl with the scratchy sweater started gyrating with some guy, oblivious of the fact that she was way too close to me.

Yeah. I'll be staying IN next week.

"What is it With You and Spiders?"

That's the question I was asked on Thursday morning, as I pulled up to the Ford dealership to give Tina and co. a lift to school, and we discovered a significant-sized spider clinging to the back of my new car.

Ok, back up. So first off, I'd like to address the fact that I seem to have angered many reliable readers by leaving the Hummer post up for so long. It was disturbing, they say, to log in each day, only to be greeted by the same disgusting scene of Hummer on my hallway floor. This "torture" was the inspiration of one of Amy's posts on her blog.

Please understand. As the writer, I am charged with the tremendous responsibility of getting my feelings and emotions across to you, dear reader, with only the 26 letters of the alphabet. And the occasional photo. Quite a task.

You think it's easy being me?

Some ideas are easier to convey than others. In the case of Hummer, I knew I had a daunting task ahead of me, to get my reader to truly shiver with the horror of what I had discovered in the sanctuary of my home. I knew my words would be a good start, I knew the picture would be a huge help, but most of all, I knew that by leaving Hummer up for so long, by forcing my readers to confront this monstrosity day after day, that the emotions would truly leave the page on the screen and begin to make an impression on my reader.

Ok, so this is really just a load of bullshit. I've been busy. Holy mother of god. I've been really really busy. Hummer just came along at an unfortunate time for us all. I'm sorry about it, all right?

So we're back to Thursday morning. You know, with Tina?

As Binta and I leave the house to get Tina and co, I discover a spider has made a web which extends from the gutter of my house to the back of my car.

Tina has a saying: "The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over, and expecting different results each time."

Well, my friends, I have a spider who is in need of a straight-jacket living at my house. Each morning, as I leave, I see this idiot has once again built his web in the same location, stretching from the gutters of the house to the back window of my car. Each morning, I fire up my car, pulling his house apart as I coast down the driveway.

Actually, I guess the straight jacket will now need to be delivered to the Ford dealership. For this time, as I pulled away from the house, I pulled the spider with me. He hitched a ride all the way to where Tina and co. were waiting for their ride to school.

"What is it with you and spiders?" Tina asked as she removed her shoe and removed the spider from my car.

Well, now he lives at the Ford dealership. He's got plenty of cars to build webs on now.