So you see I always get these genius ideas over the summer.
Previous genius ideas....
1. Get in good shape
2. Teach summer school
3. Actually make a budget and stick to it
4. Walk the crazy ass dogs on a regular basis
5. Take a road trip
Let me go ahead and tell you now, I have not followed through with ANY of those.
Guess what this summer's genius idea was?
Yup.
BLOG.
Well fuck. Clearly, I have failed at that too.
I do not want to fail at this as well and I am certainly not ready to throw in the fucking towel, but I have got to work some things out before you will see blog entries on a daily basis. I cannot even begin to tell you how crazy and stressed I have been. This school year has taken a huge toll on me professionally, socially, and personally. And yes, it is only October.
So, long story short. Check in, maybe there will be a post, maybe not. But for the love of god, if you send me hate comments for not posting, I will punch you. Across the internet.
The poor husband. He's losing his hair. Slowly but surely, the husband is balding. Not the receding hairline balding, or the 'you are way too self conscious' balding, but legit, approved by the super gay and fantastic hairstylist balding. Oh yah. And a doctor too.
So the first time the husband discussed his hair loss to the doctor, the doctor claimed that wives don't notice and that it is not a big deal. Clearly I am a bitch because I totally told the husband he would look like a fool with no hair. Obviously this was in the 'I have been dating you/married to you for 10 years' type way.
Poor guy.
So now he is using fancy hair products that cost more than the designer hair products I was told not to use because I "didn't need" them. Herbal essence my ass. Oh yah, and the $50 a month prescription, women can't touch them, magical hair pills.
As I type this he is packing a bag for an interview in the big apple. I of course made fun of his Target bag full of travel toiletries. I mean, the hotels have pretty nice shampoo these days. But no, he, and am not fucking kidding you, replied, "I need to take my fancy volumizing shampoo so it doesn't look like I am balding!"
Your article is beyond wrong, disgusting, and disgraceful. In fact, when I showed it to my husband...after dropping it in the bathtub, spilling wine on it, and drying it back out....he grabbed the top of my head and shook the article cursing you and food beer lovers all over the world.
I mean, I know your magazine is written for women - the cooking, baking, decorating, organizing, gossiping around the swing set, mommying, #winparty type of women. But come on now. These women must drink beer too! I mean, I can't be the only 20 something, no kids, overworked and underpaid, putting my husband through law school type of woman that reads your magazine. We like beer. We like beer with our food. Not beer that fucking tastes like our food.
Now I know I've got you all running into your craft room to dig out the October issue of EveryDay, but don't worry. I've posted it here for you.
Yes, it is a photo from my phone of the ripped out, dropped in the bathtub, wine covered edition...shut up and read it.
It is not fun. It is fucking lame. Way to be a douche canoe. But wait, that's just page one....
PB&J Beer? What the holy fuckballs? Are we trying to market beer to small children? Am I crazy to think that NO ADULT IN THEIR RIGHT MIND would ever drink a PB&J beer?
But that isn't really even the worst. Put on your reading glasses and set down the wine. Time to read the small print. See that last beer on the end and underneath it where it says pizza flavored beer and oyster flavored beer? I don't even have words to describe it. In the words of the husband, "WHY IN GOD'S NAME WOULD YOU DRINK PIZZA FLAVORED BEER WHEN YOU COULD JUST EAT THE DAMN PIZZA WITH YOUR BEER AND NOT BE A FUCKING TOOL!"
DEAR GOD. THE WORLD MUST TRUELY BE ENDING.
Don't even start on the whole bacon flavored vodka trend.
Sorry guys. I know I dropped off the face of the earth for like a week. I needed to live in the real world for a little bit. Or, well, I was forced to live in the real world for a little bit. Fucking work. And life. And all that shit.
I am currently trying to figure out how to balance everything. I'm pretty sure I'm failing. Oh well.
I do have a post for tomorrow if I don't want to implode when I leave work, then perhaps I will actually post something other than excuses for not posting.
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Ok friends. Sharp Nails is here.
You will be so proud of me. I made you a audio track. As I type this I currently have no idea how to load the audio track, but I am sure google will teach me.
Unfortunately I have not had enough wine for this to really sound the way it should. Perhaps I will do an update an hour or so from now and you will get the full effect.
And speaking of wine, I have officially gone backwards in classiness. I bought my first boxed wine. #wineparty anyone?
Here we go. My friend, as we will now refer to as Broken Scissors, is special. And by friend, I mean student. For those of you new to the blog, I teach a special education inclusion classroom. That means about 3/4 regular ed and 1/4 special ed. Now don't get me wrong. I totally love my sped babies. But some days are more interesting than others. And my interesting I mean productive. And well, no, let's be honest. Some days fucking suck. Other days, I get an awesome nickname like Sharp Nails.
Anyways, I currently have a little fellow, Broken Scissors, who is placed in my class while we try to figure out his permanent class setting. He is a bit too low to really be hanging with the regular kids (8 years old, reads a book upside-down, took us 2 weeks to get him correctly counting past 6, etc.). Right now it is kinda like having a 5-year-old hanging out in his brother's classroom all day.
I gave him an early reader. And by early reader, I mean a book for pre-k students. The book has one picture and one sentence per page.
Page one has a picture of a dog and the sentence: The dog.
Page two has a picture of a fish and the sentence: The Fish.
Page three has a picture of a cat and the sentence: The cat.
After he initially started reading the book upside down, I turned the book the correct way and had him point to the words as he read. This is how he read the book:
Ok, so now you now Broken Scissors. Let me tell you about the day I became Sharp Nails....
We were all sitting on the carpet the other day during bus call. I had gotten some new games and was opening the boxes to show them to the kids. Mind you, I had just had my fancy-pants gel nail polish removed and my nails cut down, so basically they looked like a 12-year-old boy's nails. P.S. No more fucking gel nails for me. They remove that shit with acetone. Because that's good for you. Anyways, I used my nails to peel off the shrink wrap while my friend broke a pair of scissors by trying to cut using his non-dominent hand. Of course they were dollar store scissors, because I'm cheap and schools don't pay for things like scissors or pencils...
So yah. Sharp Nails. That's my name.
On another occasion, Broken Scissors was a store manager. We were doing our monthly class store. You know, earn pretend money for good behavior and then you get to spend it on cheesy dollar store junk. Well, Broken Scissors didn't earn much money, plus I needed him right where I could see him at all times. So I made him the store manager. My thoughts were that he could make sure people were following the rules and practice real world skills like greeting people and asking/answering questions. Then I had the novel idea of giving him a pretend cash register so we could practice identifying numbers 0-9 at the same time. Yes, I know, gold star to me for differentiating my curriculum....
Well, it turns out that Broken Scissors has a career as a store manager, or an actor. He got really fucking into it.
Now to get the full effect I would need to record the kid talking. But something tells me that wouldn't be a genius idea. You also have to picture yourself surrounded by 20 other kiddos and imagine hearing the voice of a black grandma coming out of a little boy's mouth all day long.
Excuse me while I go drink my boxed wine.
