I couldn't leave my mark

I tried leaving my mark at Central High (literally), but instead it left its very permanent mark on me.

Central High School has been in a rebuilding mode all year -- new rooms, sidewalks, buildings, and of course, cement. As our department made our way through the construction zone toward the district office, I somehow managed to dig both heels into very wet cement. The best part was that the cement was right outside the classroom I teach, so I thought it to be quite convenient. A happy accident. And so I left my print, hoping the construction workers wouldn't notice the deep 7 1/2 heel marks in the blobbing gray cement, and continued on to the district office. On my way back curiosity got the best of me, and I had to check my mark. It turns out I wasn't as permanent as I thought. The construction workers found my prints, and ruthlessly paved over my John Hancock. I was devastated to say the least. The only thing I have left to show for it is the dried cement dust stuck to my nice black flats.

Question of the day

As appropriate as this title is, it's not very catchy. So in an effort to come up with something more intriguing I thought of: "The secret life of the American teacher." Of course it's a huge play off of the popular TV series, and corny to boot, but it does provide an outlet (and dandy split) for the things that go on in the classroom and the things that go on in my head. However, there are some pretty scandalous connotations that go along with that phrase....off the top of my head I'm imagining working the street corner, maybe selling opium, or running an underground smuggling ring. Now that won't do at all. So until another title for this running feature presents itself, we'll go with the question. And there was a whooping question asked yesterday.

"Miss Scott, are you pregnant?"

First thing in my head: "Are you calling me fat?"
No, strike that. First thought: "Why do you always have to be a bitch?"
She asks right there in the middle of class in front of everybody, and tries to blame it on someone else. I give her a deadpan expression and told her no. Not that it's anybody's business whether or not I am pregnant. I'm pretty sure she's had more sex than I have.

I'm struggling with why I even care to teach her anything. I'm not sure I do care anymore.

And today I am now the recipient of a lovely picture depicting me as a green witch -- complete with broom and pointy hat -- compliments of the same student. Such nice kids I have. Monday will no doubt be another adventure. The kids have already taken to throwing wads of paper at me. What's next? Rotten tomatoes?

Choosing solitude over friendship

Today I have come to the conclusion that I am not fit for friendship. I am not trying to be facetious, but find it to be remarkably true.

1) I'm a homebody: I enjoy spending time by myself at home either reading, catching up on tv, or writing.
2) When it comes to going out, I need to know ahead of time otherwise I don't care to get dressed up at 11 pm.
3) I used to care what people thought about me, but recently I've noticed that I don't even careI don't care if you're mad at me, I don't care if I've offended you. I don't care about anything but my own laid plans.
4) As previously inferred, I am selfish. I have my own plans and I intend to carry them out. If you don't want to go along with them, then fine, do your own thing and I'll do mine.
5) I HATE confrontation. I can't handle it; I really can't. So instead of telling people how I really feel, I choose to avoid and ignore them until I am over my irritation and can see them again without being mad. Yes, I am a coward. I admit that freely.
6) After I realize that people are flaky, I generally don't waste my time on them. Makes my life infinitely simpler.

And since I enjoy the simple life, I have discovered that I don't necessarily need friends. They make things so complicated and I can handle life just fine on my own. what people think.

Ravings of a student teacher:

Some things I've learned while at school:

• No matter how crummy a teacher's salary is, it's still money. I could sure use some.
• Students don't actually care about the parts of speech. They care about using certain parts of speech (preferably vulgar adjectives and pronouns)
• No one actually cares how you dress for school. Therefore, I have become quite the expert on rolling out of bed twenty minutes before I need to leave for school.
  
• There is absolutely no respect for teachers anymore. With so many laws in place, students can walk all over teachers and we can't do a damn thing about it.
• Students need to get over themselves. Yes you. Believe me, you're not all that.
• The perfect class size is fifteen to twenty students -- that way I can pay attention to all of them and actually care whether or not they are succeeding. Currently I do not.

• And the most important thing I've learned: lunch is the only time in the eight hour work day to have intellectual conversations. Savor those thirty minutes while you still can.
  

Epic failure

Today has been eventful. More than eventful, today has been a series of one failure after another. The only silver lining I see is that I just made chili. And it is delicious.

Things I didn't accomplish today:
1) Teach my classes at the high school
2) Prepare adequate lesson plans for my mentor teacher
3) Prepare handout for Literacy presentation for grad cohort
4) Coach my soccer girls through their game
5) Go to powder-puff football practice
6) Go to women's bible study

Things I halfway accomplished today:
1) Gave a group presentation with little preparation
2) Sent last-minute lesson plans to my mentor teacher
3) Showed up to the soccer game just as the whistle was blown to end the game
4) Prepared(ish) lesson plans for tomorrow


Oh, and I just found out my neighbor across the courtyard is one of my students. Great, now I can't walk around my apartment naked.

Hitchhiker's guide across America

I have recently picked up a complete and total stranger on my way home to Eastern Oregon. I am usually not one to willingly offer a ride to someone I don't know. I mean, do I really want to be stuck in a car with a stranger for four hours? But I decided why not? I could use the company since my radio is defective. So she and I set out on an adventure across Oregon. It turned out that she and I are practically the same person -- only she came along four years later. Imagine me as a Mexican (I know, huge leap) and you have my new found friend. She graduated from HHS four years after I did, is now attending Western, and plays sports. Sound familiar?

But she brought up an interesting idea that has now sparked my curiosity. She has a fearless attitude about hitchhiking across America, and now I really want to try my hand at it. It doesn't matter that I have three degrees and could potentially have job security when I eventually join the work force; I'd love to beg my way across the great US of A and meet all sorts of interesting people. Of course I'll have a buddy with me -- no sense getting ravaged on a gravel road in the middle of Kansas. The buddy system always works.

Now I'm ready to pack my duffel bag, smear some dirt across my face, wear holey jeans, and see who will pick me up.

Ponderings of a single woman...

So there are a few things that I've been throwing around in my brain these last couple days; the topic generally revolving around the differences between men and women: the single most interesting subject on the face of the planet.

The first conclusion I've come to: men are the superior athlete. I understand that this is no big surprise for many of you, but the significance lies in the fact that I'M admitting this openly and with complete humbleness. As an athlete myself, I have been struggling against this fact my entire life, challenging all men who would deem me an inadequate match in any sport. However, now that I have had years to observe sports between men and women both on and off the field, I have come to the sound conclusion that men are undeniably superior in the realm of athletics. They have the speed and finesse that can only be described as beautiful and awe-inspiring (when done right).
On the other side of the physical pendulum, women still hold the title for grace on the dance floor. Men may be suave, but they don't hold a candle to the seductive, sassy, sway of a woman when she moves across the floor (by the way, that was consonance in action).

Moving away from the physical differences, I've slowly been made aware of how easy it is to....manipulate men (for lack of a more tactful term). Now, I don't mean to be offensive with that statement; however, for some resourceful women, it is not difficult to enlist men to do whatever they want. A little bit of playing helpless mixed in with a healthy dose of ego feeding and a bit of good ole fashioned flirting go a LONG way in achieving goals. I'm not saying I've had much experience in this practice, but I don't think it would be too difficult if I really wanted to. So seeing this trend, it's a wonder to me that women don't rule the world. Not trying to be feminist about things, but if women can sway men so easily, what is holding us back? Tradition? I'm sure we've kicked that in the pants when we took care of civil rights.

My future life goal: take over my own small part of the world simply by using what God gave me: feminine wiles.

It's not about me. But it doesn't have to be about you either.

Things are going to get a lot more personal -- as if they haven't already. Regardless of who reads this (if anyone), my personal life is going to become more....accessible.

Remember the line from A Knight's Tale, "You have been tried; you have been measured; and you have been found wanting"? Well I have just been on the receiving end of that line. Not literally, but unintentionally. Ever get the feeling that you are being judged while talking with someone? Yeah, we are NEVER judged by others in this day and age. But lately I've been bombarded with the idea that I am inadequate. That I don't measure up. But then that begs the questions, "measure up to whom? And by whose standards?" I am still trying to explore this nagging feeling (without going completely insane). I am not insane -- that much I know -- but I have definitely been judged and held accountable for the very same things I am most insecure about. Now I know I don't have the stature, or figure if you will, that commands attention, but that doesn't mean I am any less of a person. I am not an eloquent speaker, nor am I particularly charismatic, but I do have my own thoughts and ideas that are worth listening to. Being measured purely by outward appearances has been something I have had to deal with my entire life, and it is something I recognize in an instant when it happens to me.
I've seen the look in people's eyes when they look me over and decide which category I fit into. With men it is one of three categories: 1) I wouldn't touch you with a ten-foot pole; 2) Sure, we can be friends; and 3) Hmm, potential interest? For those who have dared for option #3 and failed, they usually head toward option #1 pretty quickly. For those who stay safely in option #2 usually become a solid friend of mine. But then again, this option provides very little wiggle room.
But there is so much more to me than what is seen on the outside. I feel like for those who truly get to know me, I come as a surprise. I am not one who can be easily put into a box or categorized. But then again, how many people take the time to come to that conclusion on their own? I'm not saying I'm perfect -- far from it actually -- but there is definitely more to me than meets the eye. I'm just so tired of being put into a box by people who think they have me figured out. I will never truly and completely be figured out by anyone. Including myself.