Something About Jake......

I swear some of the funniest things that I have ever happened to me, happen at school when I am teaching. One of the top 5 HAS to be an incident that happened about 15 years ago. Everyone at that school still laughs about this one to this day.

I was teaching 3rd grade, it was my second year of teaching. I had the most delightful class of kids. Outgoing, smart, fun, kind....they still are one of my most favorite classes that I have taught.

We were doing prep stuff for Christmas, the holidays were coming on fast, and every year the 3rd grade classes studied about celebrations and holidays around the world. We did all kinds of different activities to tie the learning in with multiple subjects and making sure to cover core concepts the children were required to learn (I put that last sentence in here so that I look REALLY good, just in case someone here in Southern Cal wants to offer me a job).

Anyhowzit, we were making some sort of craft, and then going to a dress rehearsal practice for the holiday program, so the kids were taking turns going down to the bathroom in groups to get dressed in their nice clothing. I sent down a small group of boys and continued working with the students in the class with me. About 5 minutes or more later, I realized that all of the boys from that group were back, with the exception of one student. Jake.

Jake......Jake was a bit of a problem. He was a momma's boy, his dad didn't live around them, and his mom doted on him, allowing him to do mostly whatever he wanted. Also, Jake was smart. No...he was bright, probably one of the brightest kids I have ever worked with. He was smaller than the other kids, looked different, and acted different. This was not lost on the children. They were tolerant and nice to Jake, but they were wary. This is because at any given moment, Jake would become angry or upset and throw a tantrum truly worthy of "The Nanny". The first time I witnessed one of these tantrums, I was trying to get the class down to the auditorium for Picture Day. This is already a difficult day as you, as the teacher, need to ask the students for their order forms, collect the order forms, ask the students again for order forms, collect the forms from a few stragglers, write down or check the names of those students who have order forms, ask the students who have NOT turned in the order forms if they have the order forms, collect these latest order forms and mark them down also, ask students if anyone else has an order form, and so on..... So Jake's first tantrum occurred when we were walking down the hall to get the pictures done. He said his mom had told him she was coming to go with him to take pictures, which none of the other parents were allowed to do, and when she didn't show up, he started crying, and then stomping and then he THREW himself down on the floor and had an old-fashioned down-right-dirty tantrum, in the hallway, on the floor. All of us had eyes that were huge, watching him scream and kick. I tried to pick him up and get him to stand. He wouldn't and he continued. I told him to stand up. He continued. And then, I used my most ugly you-had-better-get-your-rear-off-the-floor-right-now voice, the voice that made other kids, even the toughest ones, tremble and do what I told them to do. It didn't even faze him. I finally had to reach down and lift the kicking kid off of the floor and carry him, kicking my legs, hitting me and screaming, up to the office. His mom got to us when We were almost there, and she simply helped him stand and smoothed his hair and kissed his sassy little cheek as if he had been mistreated and misunderstood. THAT was his tantrum. So back to the original story......

On THIS day, he had not returned from the restroom with the other boys. Knowing his penchant for getting into trouble (and having the other boys already tattle on his antics in the bathroom) I decided that I better go down to the bathrooms and check on things. As I started walking down the hallway, I heard yelling down by the bathroom. I sped up and ran the rest of the way, thinking that there was a fight going on. When I reached the open doorway that went into the bathroom, a boy came out and said "Mrs L, Jake needs your help!" I leaned in the doorway and yelled, (it WAS a boys' bathroom), "Jake! What's going on? Are you ok? What's the matter?" and then, from inside the bathroom came a yell for help like I have never heard before or since........

"My......peeee......nisss.......iss.....stuck....innn....my......zi.........pperrrrrrrr!!!!!!"

I stood there, dumbfounded, trying to think. I instantly decided that I would NOT be going in there to unhook his wanky. Emergency or not, there are some lines you cannot cross. Especially with a mama's boy. Especially with Jake.

I ran down the hall to the teacher's lounge. Now this is an elementary school, the ration of male to female teachers is about 1 to 30. My chances of finding a guy to handle this were slim. My principal however WAS a man, and he had a long history with Jake. THIS would be interesting.

There weren't any men in the lounge area and I ran to the principal's office - empty too. I ran to the front office and asked the women where the principal was or Mr. Johnson, a 5th grade teacher. They were both in the auditorium in the middle of an assembly. So I ran to the auditorium and went up to the door and yanked it open. Mr. Gills, my sweet, ready-to-retire principal was up front and talking into the mike to a room full of parents and students. I motioned him to come over and he could tell by the look on my face that I needed him NOW. He came over and I told him I needed his help quickly. We started walking down the hall and on the way, I told him what had happened. Mr. Gills is an amazing principal and he is the kind of principal that spends recesses and lunches out on the playground BEING with the kids. He's a really nice guy. But I am telling you, when we walked down that long hallway and I told him the story, I saw his lips twitch and he suppressed a smile.

We got to the restroom and he went right in - Jake was whimpering, poor thing, and I could hear Mr. Gills talking to him for a second. I stood outside the open doorway listening, and then, with a loud yelp from Jake, Mr. Gills unzipped his p*nis (c'mon let's just all agree right now - p*nis is an ugleeeee word). Mr. Gills walked out and I said, "Oh my gosh! What did you do?" and he said that he simply grabbed the top of the pants and YANKED the zipper down! And then, with the wisdom that only a principal of 30 years could give, he said, "Well, Mrs. L., if he wasn't circumsized before.....HE IS NOW!" And I swear his lip twitched again.

Coffee, Tea, or ..........

Filling Up The Bottle

Last year, during the summer, the kids and I went on a trip to Las Vegas for a visit. We lived there for over 15 years, and having moved recently to Southern Cali, we were feeling a bit homesick and wanted to see our friends again. I knew the traffic would be heavy, as always is the case around LA, so I chose a Friday afternoon before rush hour for use to get on the road and head out. We drove out to I-210, singing to Rob Thomas' new CD at the top of our lungs. We didn't even get out of Pasadena when I knew we were in deep deep doo-doo. The traffic was not just heavy, it was gridlocked. We moved about 2 - 5 miles per hour, we couldn't even get over to the carpool lane, which was going really fast - about 8 - 10 miles per hour. We should have turned around to go back home, but that was almost impossible too, and I knew that ANY MINUTE the traffic would let up and we would be outta there. But it didn't and we weren't. An hour later we were not even to Arcadia. We were in the inside lane and still moving only barely. This was the time my son announced his plans for the day. "I have to PEE!" Yep - a nightmare in any situation where toilets are nowhere in sight. And the intensity of his announcement told me I had no leeway time. "I really gotta go BAAAAD!" It was impossible to change lanes in order to get to an exit, you have to move to change lanes right? And we were not. So I wracked my brains (no smart aleck remarks here) and did what I knew was our only possibility. "I can't HOLD IT ANY MORE!" I knew quick action on my part, and cooperation on the part of my kids, was paramount. And NO, I was not going to have him get out and go - although we WERE all but parked. So I did the next best thing.

"L!! Roll down your window and pour your water out of the water bottle."

"Why???" was the typical teenager response.

"I want you to dump out the water so H can go potty in the bottle!"

Not even a millisecond passed before she yelled "EWWWWWWW! NO WAY! OOOH GROSS!!"

"I gotta go - gotta go - gotta GOOOO!"

"Dammit L! Dump out the water and give your brother the bottle so he doesn't pee all over the car!"

There was more mumbling and complaining but she finally opened the window and dumped the contents of the bottle onto the freeway. She threw the bottle at her brother as I was yelling to him to unzip and go. And then began the longest 3 minutes of the entire trip, sitting in an immobile truck, listening to the sound of..........well, you know. When he finished, I told his sister to grab the bottle "EWWWWW!" and screw the lid on tight and put it somewhere out of sight. We girls in the truck were completely grossed out, little brother, now feeling great, was back to playing his Game Boy. All I could think is how thankful I was that it was a boy, not the girls, in such a bind.

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Drinking My Propel

One time last autumn, I was working on the computer and I happened to look up and see H. walking from his room over to the kitchen with a bottle in his hand. He opened the fridge door and stuck the drink inside, closed the door and went back to play in his room. i remember thinking "that little stinker is drinking one of my Propels". I love Propel, but it isn't cheap, and when given the opportunity, the kids will drink it like water and then soon, it is all gone. So the Propel is for the grown-ups, unless they ask for permission to have one. This is a great rule and a great theory, but it's not the way it works very often.

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Filling Up The Bottle AND Drinking The Propel

The kids and I had gone shopping to Target last fall. While in the store, my phone rang and I answered the phone call and heard an angry sounding voice on the other side. I couldn't really make out what was being said, but I knew it was daddy on the other side. It was really hard understanding him, but what I could catch sounded like.........

"H.......BOTTLE!....DRINK!!.......PROPEL!!!.....PEE'D!!.....*&^+#$%@*&!!!"

My mind went back to the Propel bottle H. had carried and set inside the fridge. I turned to my son and began to ask "H, did you........." and my voice trailed off as I had to grab hold onto the cart because I was laughing so hard. I think I called every one of my friends and family members to share the story that week.

Free Vision Test

Why pay for a vision test when you can do it for free right here? 

 

If you cannot decipher anything, then try pulling the corner of your eyes or squinting.      

White Christmas in Vegas!!

I received an email today from a friend of mine who lives in Las Vegas, where we lived for 17 years.   It snowed today in Las Vegas!!    The pictures tell the whole story!

Taser Tag - An Electrically Charged Event

I received the following story in an email from a friend. Regardless of whether or not it is a TRUE story, it is an hilarious story to read. Kinda goes with the BALLS story above.

"Last week somebody broke into my sisters Sport shop in Columbiana Ohio, so I got stuck repairing the door where they broke in. Anyway I saw something that sparked my interest. I was looking for a little something special for my wife, Marty to protect herself. We live near Youngstown Ohio, it made the top 10 list for the most dangerous cities in america What I came across was a 100,000-volt, pocket/purse-sized taser, it was really small and I thought it might be good for backpacking also. The effects of the taser were supposed to be short lived, with no long-term adverse effect on the assailant, allowing her adequate time to retreat to safety... WAY TOO COOL!
Long story short, I bought the device and brought it home. I loaded two triple-A batteries in the darn thing and pushed the button. Nothing! I was disappointed. I learned, however, that if I pushed the button AND pressed it against a metal surface at the same time; I'd get the blue arch of electricity darting back and forth between the prongs. Awesome!!!
(Unfortunately, I have yet to explain to Marty what that burn spot is on the face of her microwave).
Okay, so I was home alone with this new toy, thinking to myself that it couldn't be all that bad with only two little triple-A batteries... Right?
There I sat in my recliner, my cat Sonny looking on intently (trusting little soul) while I was reading the directions and thinking that I really needed to try this thing out on a flesh & blood moving target. I must admit I thought about zapping Sonny (for a fraction of a second) but thought better of it. He is such a sweet cat. But, if I was going to give this thing to my wife to protect herself against a mugger or carry it into the wilderness, I did want some assurance that it would work as advertised.
Am I wrong?
So, there I sat in a pair of shorts and a tank top with my reading glasses perched delicately on the bridge of my nose, directions in one hand, and taser in the other. The directions said that a one-second burst would shock and disorient your assailant; a two-second burst was supposed to cause muscle spasms and a major loss of bodily control; a three-second burst would purportedly make your assailant flop on the ground like a fish out of water. Any burst longer than three seconds would be wasting the batteries.
All the while I'm looking at this little device measuring about 5" long, less than ¾ inch in circumference, (pretty cute really and loaded with two itsy, bitsy triple-A batteries) thinking to myself, "No possible waaay!"
What happened next is almost beyond description, but I'll do my best.....I'm sitting there alone, Sonny looking on with his head cocked to one side as if to say, "Don't do it Master." Reasoning that a one-second burst from such a tiny little ole thing couldn't hurt all that bad....I decided to give myself a one-second burst just for the heck of it. I touched the prongs to my naked thigh, pushed the button, and ... HOLY MOTHER .WEAPONS OF MASS DESTRUCTION. &#$!%*!!!
I'm pretty sure Jessie Ventura ran in through the side door, picked me up in the recliner, then body slammed us both on the carpet, over and over and over again. I vaguely recall waking up on my side in the fetal position, with tears in my eyes, body soaking wet, both nipples on fire, testicles nowhere to be found, my left arm tucked under my body in the oddest position, and tingling in my legs. The cat was standing over me making meowing sounds I had never heard before, licking my face, undoubtedly thinking to himself, "Do it again, do it again!"
Note: If you ever feel compelled to "mug" yourself with a taser, one note of caution: there is no such thing as a one-second burst when you zap yourself. You will not let go of that thing until it is dislodged from your hand by a violent thrashing about on the floor. A three-second burst would be considered conservative.
SON-OF-A-..... That hurt like h...l!!!
A minute or so later (I can't be sure, since time was a relative thing at that point), I collected my wits (what little I had left), sat up and surveyed the landscape. My bent reading glasses were on the top of the bookcase. How did they get up there??? My triceps, right thigh and both nipples were still twitching. My face felt like it had been shot up with Novocain, and my bottom lip weighed 88 lbs. I'm still looking for my testicles? I'm offering a significant reward for their safe return."

* please remember this is not MY story - i do not have testicles, nor am i looking for them. :)