Oh, No He Didn't.

Have you missed me?

I have been super busy, plus my doctor called and told me that tests indicate that I am in fact sick. Again. Sonofabitch. So MORE antibiotics. At this point, everyone at the pharmacy knows me by name. The elderly, the pharmacists - we are all good friends.

Anyway, I do not have time to write because I am busy, but I wanted to let you know that I was called bitter (due to the fact that I am childless, of course) by a friend's husband.

So I gave you the end of the story. Wait until you hear the beginning. I was shaking, I was so pissed.

Happy Day, Friends!


Ding-a-Lings & More

First of all, the principal and assistant principal thought my email about the guillotine was hilarious. Not the point, but happy that I could do that for them. They forwarded the email to some guys that apparently know shit about ceiling noises and one of them came out and he could not figure it out so he sent his BFF out to look at it and he was like, "How long have you been hearing these noises?" I told him that I'd been hearing them since I moved in the room. He asked why I did not tell anyone. My response was "I thought it was just me."

Then I realized that made me sound a little crazy and I tried to cover for myself by laughing hysterically. Smooth, Emily.

Anyway, he told me that the loud noises were actually TOILET PIPES. Every time someone flushes, I know it. It is a little disgusting. Now every few seconds I am thinking about how someone is using the bathroom. He promised to see what he could do.

Speaking of falling into my mini-fridge (see how smoothly I transitioned there?), I think I know why I fell. Saturday I woke up with a horrible pain behind my right ear and ended up at Urgent Care. With an actual fever. The horrible doctor told me that I had fluid in both ears. I am thinking that ear fluid probably screws with the equilibrium, you know? So bad sinus infection. And ding-a-ling number one, because she really was an idiot.

Our next stop was the pharmacy, because she gave me a crap-ton of scripts. Let me tell you about my pharmacy. It is filled to the brim with elderly. There is an entire aisle dedicated to adult diapers. I am the youngest person to shop there by about thirty years. This will be important in the story. Sort of.

I stood there with my new prescriptions and my thermometer that I had to purchase in order to monitor my fever, and things then went downhill. The girl at the counter asked with a curled lip if I had a fever. No, honey. I always sweat like this when I am immobile.  Ding-a-ling number two, for making me feel bad about being sick.

I figured that while I was there, I would pick up a prescription that my Snuffy's Disease doctor had called in earlier in the week. One was to be mailed to me, one was to be picked up. Except that the one that was to be mailed he sent to the pharmacy, and the one that was supposed to be at the pharmacy was not there.

At my wit's end, I said of my doctor "He is SUCH a ding-a-ling!". The two hundred year old woman waiting in the endless line behind me steps up and starts rubbing my shoulder. "Honey?" She says to me, "They ALL are."

The end.

P.S. I had a "reaction" to the meds the doctor prescribed and spent the whole night wide awake filled with paranoia and a heart that I was sure was going to jump out of my chest. Like, I actually thought it was going to hop out. Jump across the floor. As my brother would say, I was nuttier than squirrel shit. The next morning I read the warnings on the scripts and they said if you were already a little crazy, you should not take these meds. And now I sit here wondering just how nutty I actually am.

P.P.S. I did not take those meds again, in case you were wondering. I decided to tough out the horrible pain without painkillers and the doctor phoned in a different antibiotic. I am feeling like myself (which according to the warnings, is only slightly sane) and waiting for the pain and sickies to go away. Send happy healthy thoughts my way, please.



Yesterday when I walked out of the bathroom my skirt was tucked into my undies.


What the hell is wrong with me?

So confess. Most embarrassing moment. I've had two within one week. Getting stuck in my mini-fridge and having my ass hang out (for just a brief moment). Someone tell a story so I can feel a bit better about myself.


I Know Why the Chicken Crossed the Road.

I spent last week at Grammar Camp.

Stop laughing. I really did.

If you are imagining a camp that focuses solely on grammar - you would be imagining correctly.

If you are imagining me so absolutely in my element that I was sad to leave at the end - you would be imagining correctly.

This is the second time I have been sent to Camp. I am not sure if it is compliment that I am being sent. They might just be trying to get rid of me. They know that I won't turn down the opportunity to increase my nerdiness.

Camp was held on the third floor of a building across town. While waiting for a session to start, I looked out a window on to a neighborhood across the parking lot. There were beautiful mature trees and lush landscaping. I was jealous. As I watched this neighborhood from my window, I SAW A CHICKEN CROSS THE ROAD. I thought, "What the eff. Is this a joke?" No. Seriously. One single chicken. Crossing the road.

I just feel as though my life is complete. I have seen it all.

Also, any time someone starts the joke "Why did the chicken cross the road?", which is a joke that you hear a lot when you teach in an elementary school,  I can tell them that I have seen the chicken cross the road and I know what her goal was. I know her motivation.

The damn thing just wanted to get to the other side.

Anyone else feel that their life is complete? Seen something unbelievable?

p.s. One of my students gave me a picture upon my return. It is a picture of me looking a bit bottom-heavy but well-dressed (tell it like it is, sister) and I am yelling in all caps "I LOVE MY CLASS!" and I am smiling and I am CRYING. I did not notice the tears until after the girl left but now I am curious why I am so happy that blue tears fall freely down my face.

p.p.s. There is a noise that has been coming from my ceiling since I moved into this new room. It happens every few minutes. It sounds like a giant guillotine chopping off someone's head. It is honestly the most gruesome noise you can imagine. So I sent a note to the principal letting her know that they might have accidentally installed a guillotine on the roof above my room and that it was loud and distracting and perhaps it was not in the students' best interest to have an instrument of torture at an elementary school. Please would they look into moving it or silencing it?

I will let you know what she says. I bet she sends me away to camp again.


Well, I Got Stuck in My Mini-Fridge This Afternoon...

I worked a bit over twelve hours yesterday. I was deaf and speaking quite loudly by the time that I arrived home. Thankfully, they have switched Jeremiah's hours yet again, so I did not have to think about what to make for dinner when I rolled in at 7:45 pm.

That is because he had made dinner for me. Just in case you are having trouble inferring that detail. Jeremiah home early = Emily does not have to make dinner.

Jeremiah asked me how my day was and if anything interesting happened. This is always a good question because with kids, you never freaking know what can happen. And also? With me, you never freaking know what can happen.

So I responded with "Well, I got stuck in my fridge today at work."

And really? What do you say to that?

Jeremiah: How does that even happen?
Emily: Conferences start tomorrow and I was preparing things. During one of my many procrastination breaks, I leaned over in my wheelie chair and it slipped out from under me. Acting the whole thing out for him. My arm was in my fridge (which is on the floor, if you are trying to picture this) at the time reaching for a cookie, I mean, a carrot, and I fell on the front and top of the fridge. I trapped my arm in there. The fridge door closed on me. It was horrible.
Jeremiah: Well, that explains the bruise. He points to my arm, where there is a perfectly straight horizontal green line. I am guessing that is where the door of the fridge closed on your arm?
Emily: Oh...Yeah. Also? I really effed up my neck and shoulder.
Jeremiah: Shakes his head. Dinner is ready.

He did not seem too surprised by the incident.

At one point, I did think, Why me? But then I remembered my dad sailing down the dunes and wiping out and my mom sliding under the Jeep one icy morn and then I was like, Yeah, seems about right.


Dear "Guest" Teacher,

Thank you so much for coming into my room last week and deciding for me that all of my dry erase markers (which aren't cheap, by the way) were not "dark enough" and throwing them out. That was nice of you to show initiative.

I also want to thank you for giving my students free time at the end of the day when I specifically asked you AND my students to not have free time and to wait until Monday. It was not even in my plans. My students even told you they were not supposed to have it. But again, you showed initiative.

Lastly, thanks for NOT covering my duty at the end of the day. You were scheduled to be here until 3:20, but you did not want to do a duty that lasted until 2:45. So you left at 2:30. I mean, good for you. Leave work fifty minutes early.

Maybe it is because, as you mentioned repeatedly, you are a retired teacher and taught for twenty-eight years. I thought that I expressed the correct amount of respect and admiration. I could be wrong, though, because I tend to be socially awkward.

Here's the deal, though, honey.

YOU were a guest in MY room. I am the teacher. You said it yourself - you retired. It is now MY turn to make decisions and run a classroom. I would have never had the balls (excuse my language) to go into someone's classroom and do the stuff that you did. It would be like being invited to someone's house and throwing away their stuff or listening to a friend give direct instruction to their child/grandchild and then intervene, telling the child that they do not have to listen to their parents.


So thanks again for everything. You'll understand when I don't ask you back, right?

Hugs & Kisses,
Emily - The Teacher