Yesterday, I got a new student. He’s a spunky, sweet kid from the south. I am sure he will be a wonderful addition to our classroom. As for his opinion of me? I am going to have to be extra awesome-teacher for the next few days, let’s just put it that way.
When you get a new student, it behooves any good teacher to make a great first impression. I made sure we got all of our dedicated brain breaks throughout the day-“Hey, this is a really fun classroom-we get to do a YMCA kids Just Dance video between math and reading?!”. I made sure to emphasize the positive reward system and incentives-“If I make good decisions, I get to eat lunch with the teacher? Baller status!” I made sure my students really showed what they have been learning about ancient Rome-“Wow! They know so much about an ancient civilization. I want to be like these kids!”
After that, it all went downhill. Clark Griswold-sledding-like-a-fool-downhill-like.
Every day, I do a read-aloud about our social studies topic. In the middle of reading about Julius Caesar’s ultimate demise, someone farted.
I know, I know. What the hell is it with farts? I know.
I have always been excellent at ignoring fluffs. If you don’t, you lose instruction time, there is the potential for embarrassing the culprit, and it is just not good role model behavior. This year, however, farts have become exponentially funnier. I don’t know why.
But, I am a freaking human, alright?
I could feel it building inside. I tried to ignore it. I tried to focus on Brutus killing Caesar, “Et tu, Brute” and all that.
There wasn’t a single laugh or even any acknowledgement that it had happened.
But…it went “Bloop”.
I couldn’t hold it in. I started laughing. I didn’t dare look at anyone. Maybe it would stop. I kept my face behind the book.
Fuck. I cannot believe this is happening to me. AGAIN.
Because, it went “bloop”.
At this point, I am too far gone. You know when you are not supposed to laugh? During funerals? When someone is telling you something sad? When you are getting bad news of some sort? But, someone told you a joke before the bad news and you are still laughing, or the person talking to you has a crusty booger and you just can’t even?
It was like that. I knew I shouldn’t laugh and so, that is precisely when I can’t control laughing.
My best friend in high school will relate, because we were the most hated students in Ms. Gibb’s class. We had laughing fits, on a daily basis, over stupid shit, like Ms. Gibb’s flock of seagulls hair. Once we started, we could.not.stop.
It was like that as my poor students sat, wide-eyed, watching their demented teacher lose her shit.
A few brave souls attempted apprehensive, “hehe’s”.
One student said, monotone, teacherly, “Are you OK, Ms. P?”
No. I was not OK.
Eventually, I did collect myself and we carried on, but not until we discussed why I was laughing. I was not laughing at the person who farted. We went over that it is a natural bodily function that is funny. Right?
The same student who asked if I was done losing my shit said, “Ms. P, that wasn’t even a fart, that was my shoe…”
What an excellent first impression for my new student. Teacher of the year right here.
If you didn’t infer from my last post, or you missed the one about my sister, you don’t know I’m on vacation.
So, yeah, VACATION.
I know I feel bummed when some of my favorite bloggers disappear for too long (they probably work, or have actual, real-life stuff to do), so I figured I’d make it clear that I haven’t given up on Fatty McCupcakes! Don’t you love how I’m assuming I might be one of someone’s favorites? Oy!
I’ve been having a blast, and I’ve been experiencing all that I can. It’s all fodder for new blog posts, of course. Most importantly, though, I’ve put the iPhone and iPad somewhat away and I’ve just lived, watched, breathed, and engaged. It’s been refreshing as all hell.
I’m still vacationing, so I don’t anticipate an actual post until I get back and sleep for a whole day (jet lag is worse as you get older, I swear)!
Hopefully some vacation pictures will keep my loyal followers satiated enough until I get back. Don’t give up on me, guys! I love you all.
Goodbye land, goodbye sanity, goodbye lunch. Flying gets you to cool places, but it’s nerve-wracking as fuck.
What you do after traveling for 9 hours and you’re ravenously hungry, and you’re alone in a big city-for the first time (more on my newfound independence soon). Room service, baby!
Obviously, I tracked down a cupcakery while in Philadelphia. It’s like my fat gut has a built-in honing device for baked goods.
Some resident of the City of Brotherly Love loved their city so much, they felt the need to tag an iconic landmark. Way to go, asshat! It’s why we can’t have nice things *hangs head in disgrace*.
If I could make one suggestion/comment/bit of feedback to whoever planned the structure housing the Liberty Bell, it’s that the natural light coming from behind the bell makes it really hard to capture the famous crack. Oh, you’re just supposed to reverently view and move on? Gotcha…*slowly puts selfie stick back in bag*
Residents of the East Coast are different people entirely. I had never seen anything like this before. Apparently, I’M the weird one for not being familiar with edible curved manhood. BTW it is NOT like Bologna at all.
After a nice little jaunt through Delaware, we made it to Ocean City, MD. We promptly put our feet in the surf. Because ocean.
We drove all the way to Maryland to eat at a Jamaican-themed restaurant, complete with real palm trees and jerk chicken-everything, just so I can show people this picture and say I went somewhere exotic.
Yes, the views are priceless, but our $300 a night hotel room is…well…upon getting a towel, the towel rack promptly fell off the wall. Classy. I simply cannot wait to write my Yelp and Trip Advisor reviews.
Our piggy toes are obviously genetic. You’re welcome.
3 more sleeps and I will be heading to visit my sister from another mama. This will be the first time I’ve traveled further than one state over since my trip to London in 2010! To say I’m nervous about the flight is like saying, “I’m just a little in love with baked goods.”
I adore travel. I want to see the world, yet flying is so, so fucking scary. I am a control freak to the nth degree. If I could sit in the cockpit, I would feel a little better. I would feel a little more at ease if I could be on the lookout for birds or other planes, or whatever else there is to watch out for in the sky. I would feel more in charge, and thus safer, if I could say, “A little to the left”, “Whoa, let’s ease up on that throttle”, and “Are you sure you checked the landing gear?”
I would be that person they want to tie up and store in the cargo hold.
This time around, I’ll be traveling with just me, myself, and Ivana (she’s my alter ego). I’ve never flown alone. I’ve always had someone to annoy with my constant questions and worries, “Are you really sure we aren’t going to die?”
I feel like a super, take the Bulls by the horn, independent woman. That is, until the morning of my flight. I’ll most likely be having to use the restroom every 10 minutes, and I’ll question whether or not to take my “huggy pillow” with me on the flight-to keep me safe, obviously.
I’m not a real chatty person when it comes to talking to strangers. When some random person says something like, “The weather has been crazy lately”, my response is usually something along the lines of, “I don’t like hot dogs”. And then I want to kick myself for not saying something easy, like, “Hasn’t it?”
So, I’m dreading the inevitable flight talk.
Basically, I’m dreading the flight, in its entirety.
Someone reassure me *sucking thumb in fetal position*