I never talked back...ever. I still don't, and probably never will because whenever I see other people talk balk to teachers, coaches and other adults I always get that awkward feeling that makes me wan't to leave the area. I don't like confrontation, and you'll never see me seeking it. This is a lesson I learned back in the sixth grade, a lesson I learned the hard way. In front of the entire sixth grade class...
Physical education, especially in elementary school, is a joke. I don't even need to explain why, because everybody knows that there has never been a single kid who has overcome his weight issue becasue of a rigorous P.E. course. My elementary school, Mountain Avenue Elementary, had a P.E. teacher named Ms. MeanLady. We had P.E. three days a week and every single time we would go I was scared crapless. To me, the ultimate mark of failure and humiliation came from having a teacher get mad at you. Ms. MeanLady was the last teacher in the world who you wanted mad at you. She could stare down a mountain lion and just by barking a single angry syllable, make it stab itself in the heart. So when one day in the sixth grade, she gave us the assignment to bring the fitness sheets we had been given to the next P.E. class, I was sure to make a mental note to not forget to do so. Well to no suprise of my own now that I look back at it, I forgot to bring the fitness sheet the next class. As I sat in my line while she took attendance I began to get really nervous and scared about what my punishment would be for forgetting. I wanted to run away. When she was done with attendance she stood up in front of the class and asked everyone who had remembered to bring their sheet to hold it up. "oh no oh no oh no oh no" I thought, "i'm done for, I just know it, there's no way out of this. what are they serving for lunch today? oh no oh no oh no." But then as I looked around I realized that only half the class had brought the fitness sheet, which means half of the class didn't. This sent joyous hope rushing to my heart.
If there is one thing that every school kid knows it is that there is safety in numbers. You know that if you didn't do your homework, as long as most people also didn't do it then you knew wouldn't get in trouble. There was no way that I would get in trouble with Ms. MeanLady if i was only one of twenty who didn't do as instructed. I could see that she was upset that so many people didn't bring the sheet but there wasn't really anything she could do. She got her clipboard and told everyone who didn't bring the sheet to come up and sign her paper.
Well, having been newly inspired by the mass defiance I had just witnessed and having a lesson on the signing of the Declaration of Independence fresh in my mind, I proudly walked to the front and pulled a John Hancock. I signed my name really big in all caps like this: JACOB WALTERS. I guess I did it to show that I was not ashamed of forgetting my fitness sheet and that I would not be intimidated by Ms. MeanLady and her very stong upper body. Class went on it's way without incident and pretty soon it was time to line up again so we could be dismissed.
When people ask if you could go back and change something about your life, what would it be, this is one of those times i would change. I knew something was up when she didn't immediatley dismiss us after we lined up. She took a long look at her clipboard and in her deepest most scariest voice said, "Where is Jacob Walters?" The four scariest words I have ever heard in my life.
I timidly rose my hand and her sunglassed eyes focused on my quivering, pudgy countenance.
"Come here." she said. I did. She took of her sunglasses and shoved the clipboard in my face. She pointed to my extremely large signature and asked, "What is this?" "My name." I replied. Then she really tore into me:
"Yes I can see that, this is depsicable, completely ridiculous. Look at how your classmates signed, nice and neat! This looks like a first grader wrote this! Who do you think you are? Thomas Jeffereson?"(I think she meant John Hancock, and I wanted to correct her but I didn't think it was a good time for a history lesson.) She went on for a bit and got right up in my face. She wasn't saying this quietly either, she was legitimately yelling two feet from my face in front of the entire class. I have never felt so humiliated. Not even when I farted while doing situps while the girl I liked was holding my feet was I as embarrased as that moment when Ms. MeanLady tore apart my dignity. She ended with an arm gesture and a sharp "Sit down!". I hung my head and walked back to my place.
It is this experience that made me promise that I would never yell at a little kid becasue it made me feel terrible, and really didn't accomplish anything at all. She wasted her time harshly yelling at a good kid and made him feel really bad inside. Maybe I was oversensitive but still, she was out of line.
I have however always been careful how I sign my name on things since then. The last thing I want is the bank teller yelling at me for writing like a first grader. Oh wait, that's right, normal people who aren't bitter becasue they are Elementary School P.E. teachers don't care how I write.
24 March 2010
18 March 2010
More like Wiki-speed-ia.
Of all the injustices that I have been served with during my attendance at public school, the worst one is not being allowed to use Wikipedia as a source for research. I don't think my teachers understand how much the quality of my work would incerease if I could just cite the bastion of knowledge that is the wiki-verse. My research papers would be done in ten minutes if Wikipedia were allowed. My time after school is spent like this:
20% -napping
15%- staring at the wall
25%-napping
40%- Wikipedia
As you can see from the, I guess you could call it a chart, above, the majority of my time is spent on Wikipedia. I will literally go onto wikipedia and search for random things that I want to know more about. For instance, today I looked up "the two dollar bill" and the plots of all the "Saw" movies cause I wanted to know what they were about but didn't want to actually watch them. EVERYthing is on wikipedia. It is the one stop shop for fun facts and a bioggraphy on Chris Farley. Whenever I watch a movie and don't understand the plot, I'm ok with it because I know I can just go onto wikipedia afterward and read the plot synopsis. Just the other day I ruined the ending of "American History X" for myself because at the last comercial break I went onto Wikipedia and looked it up. And you know what? What wikipedia said would happen is exactly what happened! Not credible! HA! If it wasn't credible then how did it correctly relay the ending of a hit film hmmmm?
Basically my point is that because I can't use wikipedia as a source I am procrastinating my reasearch paper by writing this blog post. I'm also not doing the laundry I need for tomorrow, but that's because I'm a little bit afraid of the washing machine. It makes weird noises and it's dark in the garage and the cat sometimes scratches me when I go in there and it just puts a lot of stress on me when I'm trying to wash clothes and my leg is bleeding and I cant see anything cause it's dark and I end up putting milk in the washer instead of detergent and my mom gets mad at me and yells in spanish and I go to my room and I try to take a nap but then I remember that I have a reasearch paper due so I go on the computer and just end up on wikipedia learning how the show "Boston Legal"* was conceptualized.
*worst show ever created.
20% -napping
15%- staring at the wall
25%-napping
40%- Wikipedia
As you can see from the, I guess you could call it a chart, above, the majority of my time is spent on Wikipedia. I will literally go onto wikipedia and search for random things that I want to know more about. For instance, today I looked up "the two dollar bill" and the plots of all the "Saw" movies cause I wanted to know what they were about but didn't want to actually watch them. EVERYthing is on wikipedia. It is the one stop shop for fun facts and a bioggraphy on Chris Farley. Whenever I watch a movie and don't understand the plot, I'm ok with it because I know I can just go onto wikipedia afterward and read the plot synopsis. Just the other day I ruined the ending of "American History X" for myself because at the last comercial break I went onto Wikipedia and looked it up. And you know what? What wikipedia said would happen is exactly what happened! Not credible! HA! If it wasn't credible then how did it correctly relay the ending of a hit film hmmmm?
Basically my point is that because I can't use wikipedia as a source I am procrastinating my reasearch paper by writing this blog post. I'm also not doing the laundry I need for tomorrow, but that's because I'm a little bit afraid of the washing machine. It makes weird noises and it's dark in the garage and the cat sometimes scratches me when I go in there and it just puts a lot of stress on me when I'm trying to wash clothes and my leg is bleeding and I cant see anything cause it's dark and I end up putting milk in the washer instead of detergent and my mom gets mad at me and yells in spanish and I go to my room and I try to take a nap but then I remember that I have a reasearch paper due so I go on the computer and just end up on wikipedia learning how the show "Boston Legal"* was conceptualized.
*worst show ever created.
07 March 2010
Mistake = An unmarried piece of beef.
Sometimes I wish I could be walking down the street and I would pass by a park bench and there would be an old man sitting on it. He would be wearing and old man coat and scarf and one of those old timey hats and he'd have a pipe and his hair would be white and he would beckon me over to sit next to him. I would do so and he would proceed to give me fantastic life lessons based on his own experiences and we would have a stimulating disscussion on life in general and its purpose. However I feel that I am fairly safe in my assumption that this will never happen, due to the lack of park benches and old british men in my area. I think the reason that I want this to happen is because I always feel like I need guidance for myself. It could also be that there is something psychiatrically wrong with me but I'm always too afraid to go see the psychiatrist at my school. (who I recently discovered exsisted.)
I realized recently that I would have to be my own old man. Nobody in my life is going to call me over to their park bench and help me learn from their mistakes in life. I have to call myself over to my park bech(or in this case, the armchair in the living room) and learn from my own mistakes. What mistakes do I make? quite a bit actually. I have a top five list of my mistakes that I think have the most to be learned from:
1. Walking behind the swingset.
2. Eating too much food at the Golden Corral
3. Eating at the Golden Corral in the first place (my sister said it was a classy buffet...ya, nothing classier than a 300+ pounder taking the Advert for endless shrimp a little too literally.)
4. Sharky Mcsharkington (long story)
5. Introducing myself as Poo P. Pants at a Coprophobia convention
These definitley aren't the only mistakes I've made, just the ones that have interesting stories behind them, which will be the topics for my posts for the next couple of weeks.(expcept for #4, that story has to be told in person.) I do this with the hope that you won't make the same mistakes I did.
and also with the hopes that you google coprophobia.
Sincerely yours,
Poo P. Pants
I realized recently that I would have to be my own old man. Nobody in my life is going to call me over to their park bench and help me learn from their mistakes in life. I have to call myself over to my park bech(or in this case, the armchair in the living room) and learn from my own mistakes. What mistakes do I make? quite a bit actually. I have a top five list of my mistakes that I think have the most to be learned from:
1. Walking behind the swingset.
2. Eating too much food at the Golden Corral
3. Eating at the Golden Corral in the first place (my sister said it was a classy buffet...ya, nothing classier than a 300+ pounder taking the Advert for endless shrimp a little too literally.)
4. Sharky Mcsharkington (long story)
5. Introducing myself as Poo P. Pants at a Coprophobia convention
These definitley aren't the only mistakes I've made, just the ones that have interesting stories behind them, which will be the topics for my posts for the next couple of weeks.(expcept for #4, that story has to be told in person.) I do this with the hope that you won't make the same mistakes I did.
and also with the hopes that you google coprophobia.
Sincerely yours,
Poo P. Pants
23 February 2010
Contemplation Constipation
Dear Diary,
Just kidding. I don't have a diary, but I was having trouble coming up with a beginning. I actually have a journal with a total of three entries spaced out over a good 17 months. I used to keep a journal regularly from the time I was a small boy of 5. I couldn't write effectively so I dictated to my Father and he would painstakingly record every word exactly as it left my mouth. This helped ensure complete historical accuracy. It's interesting to go back and see what exactly was going through 5 year old self. A lot of entries were just recaps of my days adventures which included activities such as, watching my cat, counting the stones in the walkway, eating chef-boyardee, and losing the legos that my brother specifically told me not to play with but I did anyway. A lot of the things I recorded were very arbitrary but every so often I would delve deeper into my inner thoughts and emotions, like this gem from April 17th, 1998:
"Today I thought about a lot of things. But mostly school because school is stupid, kind of like Karen."
This passage made me happy to reread because it reminded me of two things, 1. I hated school, 2. I hated karen, and 3. I was capable of deep thinking. (I realize that I said it reminded me of two things and I put down three. It's what we in the buisness call "comic relief" What buisness you ask? Funny Buisness.)
My thoughts were very clear and easy to express at that age, and that is something I am currently not capable of. Recently I have had a lot different thoughts and ideas running through my head but it's all been very confusing and conflicting. I call it my contemplation constipation, or contemplationstipation for short. I think it is because I haven't gone to my thinking place in a while. (Side Note: Never let anybody else into your thinking place. It creates conflicting thoughts and awkward conversations.)
I tend to cope with these contemplationstipations by taking a lot of naps, but that doesn't always work because now my mother doesn't let me go into my room after school to "do homework" because what I actually do is fall asleep. I take naps anywhere I can get a spare space large enought to lay down. One time I was trying to fit myself into one of those suit bags but I fell asleep in the attempt and stayed that way for a good four hours. Anyway, what naps do is help clear my mind for a while so those clogging thoughts have an opprotunity to rest and not bother me. On the other hand, whenever I take naps I'm always cranky afterwards, and that doesn't help when trying to interact with other people and convince them that you don't hate life.
I'm not really sure what message I am trying to get across, because of the whole constipation thing, but I guess I can end here. I really don't have anything else. So just like I said on October 18, 1997: "I hope tomorrow is better because today I did not feel good. Oh, and I forgot, I had a peanut butter and banana sandwich for lunch and it didn't taste good."
Just kidding. I don't have a diary, but I was having trouble coming up with a beginning. I actually have a journal with a total of three entries spaced out over a good 17 months. I used to keep a journal regularly from the time I was a small boy of 5. I couldn't write effectively so I dictated to my Father and he would painstakingly record every word exactly as it left my mouth. This helped ensure complete historical accuracy. It's interesting to go back and see what exactly was going through 5 year old self. A lot of entries were just recaps of my days adventures which included activities such as, watching my cat, counting the stones in the walkway, eating chef-boyardee, and losing the legos that my brother specifically told me not to play with but I did anyway. A lot of the things I recorded were very arbitrary but every so often I would delve deeper into my inner thoughts and emotions, like this gem from April 17th, 1998:
"Today I thought about a lot of things. But mostly school because school is stupid, kind of like Karen."
This passage made me happy to reread because it reminded me of two things, 1. I hated school, 2. I hated karen, and 3. I was capable of deep thinking. (I realize that I said it reminded me of two things and I put down three. It's what we in the buisness call "comic relief" What buisness you ask? Funny Buisness.)
My thoughts were very clear and easy to express at that age, and that is something I am currently not capable of. Recently I have had a lot different thoughts and ideas running through my head but it's all been very confusing and conflicting. I call it my contemplation constipation, or contemplationstipation for short. I think it is because I haven't gone to my thinking place in a while. (Side Note: Never let anybody else into your thinking place. It creates conflicting thoughts and awkward conversations.)
I tend to cope with these contemplationstipations by taking a lot of naps, but that doesn't always work because now my mother doesn't let me go into my room after school to "do homework" because what I actually do is fall asleep. I take naps anywhere I can get a spare space large enought to lay down. One time I was trying to fit myself into one of those suit bags but I fell asleep in the attempt and stayed that way for a good four hours. Anyway, what naps do is help clear my mind for a while so those clogging thoughts have an opprotunity to rest and not bother me. On the other hand, whenever I take naps I'm always cranky afterwards, and that doesn't help when trying to interact with other people and convince them that you don't hate life.
I'm not really sure what message I am trying to get across, because of the whole constipation thing, but I guess I can end here. I really don't have anything else. So just like I said on October 18, 1997: "I hope tomorrow is better because today I did not feel good. Oh, and I forgot, I had a peanut butter and banana sandwich for lunch and it didn't taste good."
15 February 2010
The Great Escape
Valentines day is a fantastic day for napping. Nothing eases the pain of loneliness and depression, as good as being unconsious does. Sleep is a great way to get out of things, like important desicions for instance. Anytime anyone asks you something important you can just say "I'll sleep on it" which is complete bull crap because I do my worst thinking when I'm asleep, in fact I don't do any thinking. I'm not even sure it is possible to think while asleep. I wish I was as smart in first grade as I am now. Actually, let me rephrase that, because I think I was smarter in first grade than I am now, What I meant was, I wish I had known about the "sleeping as a defense" theory back then cause I think it would have saved a lot of emotional heartache. Allow me to explain:
It was a rainy morning in April during first grade ,please take note of the fact that it was April, and Junior Chorus practice had just ended just like it did every Tuesday morning. In case you were wondering, I was a soprano...along with everyone else, except for one Alto,but he had been held back in the third grade. Anyway, I was retreiving my backpack which was shaped like a baseball, when I was approached by Karen.
In first grade, I did not like people, especially girls, and especially Karen. My reccess activities included, walking the perimeter of the playground several times, being the hula hoop champion, talking to myself, and coming up with ways to weird the other kids out so they wouldn't talk to me. So needless to say I was very wary when Karen approached me with a paper something in her hand.
She stopped right in front of me and I think I tried to move around her but she moved to block my path. She handed me the homemade card she was holding and asked, "Will you be my valentine?" I opened up the paper and sure enough, it was a homemade Valentine card.
I had no idea how to react to this. Nothing in my six years of existence had prepared me for this moment. Looking back, I realize that what I should have said was. "I'll sleep on it" but I was much more logically practical than that because what I did say was, "Save it for Valentines day." Which is a very cold and heartless thing to say, but then again, at that age I was very cold and heartless. and also it was the middle of friggen April.
Luckily i never had to find out if she really did save it for valentines day because by the next year she had moved away.
But that doesn't mean there were no lasting effects from the incident. Ever since that day I have never had a request to be a Valentine. It's like the curse of the Bambino, (except that curse was broken when the 2004 Red Sox won the world series) . Which is perfectly okay with me, because to be honest, I still sort of don't like people and I still do weird things so they won't talk to me.
But if you really want to be my Valentine, just submit a request through my secretary and I promise you...I will sleep on it.
It was a rainy morning in April during first grade ,please take note of the fact that it was April, and Junior Chorus practice had just ended just like it did every Tuesday morning. In case you were wondering, I was a soprano...along with everyone else, except for one Alto,but he had been held back in the third grade. Anyway, I was retreiving my backpack which was shaped like a baseball, when I was approached by Karen.
In first grade, I did not like people, especially girls, and especially Karen. My reccess activities included, walking the perimeter of the playground several times, being the hula hoop champion, talking to myself, and coming up with ways to weird the other kids out so they wouldn't talk to me. So needless to say I was very wary when Karen approached me with a paper something in her hand.
She stopped right in front of me and I think I tried to move around her but she moved to block my path. She handed me the homemade card she was holding and asked, "Will you be my valentine?" I opened up the paper and sure enough, it was a homemade Valentine card.
I had no idea how to react to this. Nothing in my six years of existence had prepared me for this moment. Looking back, I realize that what I should have said was. "I'll sleep on it" but I was much more logically practical than that because what I did say was, "Save it for Valentines day." Which is a very cold and heartless thing to say, but then again, at that age I was very cold and heartless. and also it was the middle of friggen April.
Luckily i never had to find out if she really did save it for valentines day because by the next year she had moved away.
But that doesn't mean there were no lasting effects from the incident. Ever since that day I have never had a request to be a Valentine. It's like the curse of the Bambino, (except that curse was broken when the 2004 Red Sox won the world series) . Which is perfectly okay with me, because to be honest, I still sort of don't like people and I still do weird things so they won't talk to me.
But if you really want to be my Valentine, just submit a request through my secretary and I promise you...I will sleep on it.
03 February 2010
Jerkface Magee
I would like to meet the jerk that decided middle school was a good idea. No such person probably exists because Junior High is sort of necessary in order to bridge the gap between the innocence of elementary school and the cesspool that is High school. I remember the first day of 7th grade at Rosemont middle school and it’s not a happy memory. I don’t know why, but I thought it would be a good idea to wear on of my Dad’s old/huge sweaters. I looked completely ridiculous and I didn’t realize it at the time but I think I liked wearing my Dad’s old sweaters because they hid my fat boy breasts that I denied existed. I remember lying in bed the night before the first day of school and coming up with this awesome one liner that I was going to zing at my Father as I got out of the car in the morning. As he dropped me off I said “You may want to call the local morgues and compare prices.” I said it all somber and dead-pan and I thought it was hilarious. Let’s just say that that moment was the high-point of the next to years. The whole sweater wearing thing was just the first of many mistakes that I made in my middle school career. Another was overanalyzing every single interaction I had with females. I was a mess. Anytime a girl spoke to me or acknowledge me I would pick the moment apart and leave nothing to speculation. I remember one time, this one girl waved to me during passing period and it opened up a whole floodgate of confusion. “Why did she wave to me? Does she like me? Why would she wave to me if she doesn’t like me? Was she just being friendly? Did I eat that donut I put in my backpack? Should I take this relationship to the next level?” These were the sort of thoughts I preoccupied myself with on a daily basis. They never amounted to anything, surprisingly.
I was very impressionable at that age I think and very meek when it came to my relationships with my teachers. I think what made middle school the worst was the mean teachers. I had one experience in 8th grade that gets me upset just thinking about it. It was in English class and as a group of three or four students our teacher was having us prepare a debate on abortion. Why the deuce she was having us debate abortion, I have no idea, but then again, she was related Satan. Anyway, as members of a group we each had a job to due, something we were in charge of. Me and this guy, Eric were on the pro-life side of the argument and this chick, Leanne was on the pro-choice side. Leanne is sort of the co-antagonist of this story and to understand it, you have to realize that Leanne was the kind of kid who would carry the lunch monitors clipboard and rat you out for anything. She was a real pill, believe me. Anyway, the day of our presentation came and the day before, Leanne had taken our entire notes home because she said she didn’t trust us to not lose them. I didn’t object because I figured that she was probably right. But lo and behold our time came to present and the notes were nowhere to be found.
“Oh my gosh! I lost them!” squealed Leanne.
Fantastic. The show had to go on and interestingly enough, Leanne had no trouble in firing off her arguments while Eric and I just stood there sounding like fools. I was pretty upset at Leanne for forgetting the notes, which I’m pretty sure she did on purpose, and as we were leaving the class I said to Eric,
“You know, if we fail, its Leanne’s fault.” I said this because it was true.
Eric nodded in agreement and we left the class.
Fast forward 24 hours to the next English class. We had just finished an excellent lesson on why we should worship the devil and were getting ready to leave when the teach, we’ll call he Jerkface, called Eric and I to the front of the room and asked us to stay after class. “Oh no” I thought, “We are screwed.”
I wasn’t even sure what for though; I had done nothing that I could think of to warrant an after class meeting with Jerkface. Everybody else filed out of the class so the only people left in the room were Me, Eric, Jerfkface, and Leanne. Jerkface started off like this:
“Yesterday I heard something that I could not believe I heard.(I nodded my head) And it came from your mouth (she pointed at me). Do you mind repeating what you said?”
I had no idea what she was talking about so I just shrugged my shoulders. Just as you never run from a mountain lion, you never shrug your shoulders at a teacher who is yelling at you. She continued fiercely:
“You said that if you failed it was Leannes fault, is that correct? (nod) You made me sick to my stomach and I couldn’t even sleep last night because of the hateful words I heard you say.”
She went on and on yelling very angrily at me mostly and went on to say “shame on you” several dozen times. She made me apologize to Leanne who just stood there with a smug look on her face and she also made me verbally say that if we failed that it was my fault. I would like to take the time now to officially redact my apology. I am not sorry at all. I still stand by my original statement. To hear Jerkface going off at me you’d think I had openly blamed black people and Jews for our terrible presentation. The fact that she got so angry over an offhand comment that only a retarded person would take offense at is what makes me most upset.
This was not the first or last time I would be yelled at in middle school for absolutely nothing but those are different stories for different times. I have a lot more stories from middle school, it was a very volatile time in my life, and I am a very bitter person sometimes, so you can count on reading them in the near future.
I should probably let experiences like this one go…but that’s no fun now, is it?
I was very impressionable at that age I think and very meek when it came to my relationships with my teachers. I think what made middle school the worst was the mean teachers. I had one experience in 8th grade that gets me upset just thinking about it. It was in English class and as a group of three or four students our teacher was having us prepare a debate on abortion. Why the deuce she was having us debate abortion, I have no idea, but then again, she was related Satan. Anyway, as members of a group we each had a job to due, something we were in charge of. Me and this guy, Eric were on the pro-life side of the argument and this chick, Leanne was on the pro-choice side. Leanne is sort of the co-antagonist of this story and to understand it, you have to realize that Leanne was the kind of kid who would carry the lunch monitors clipboard and rat you out for anything. She was a real pill, believe me. Anyway, the day of our presentation came and the day before, Leanne had taken our entire notes home because she said she didn’t trust us to not lose them. I didn’t object because I figured that she was probably right. But lo and behold our time came to present and the notes were nowhere to be found.
“Oh my gosh! I lost them!” squealed Leanne.
Fantastic. The show had to go on and interestingly enough, Leanne had no trouble in firing off her arguments while Eric and I just stood there sounding like fools. I was pretty upset at Leanne for forgetting the notes, which I’m pretty sure she did on purpose, and as we were leaving the class I said to Eric,
“You know, if we fail, its Leanne’s fault.” I said this because it was true.
Eric nodded in agreement and we left the class.
Fast forward 24 hours to the next English class. We had just finished an excellent lesson on why we should worship the devil and were getting ready to leave when the teach, we’ll call he Jerkface, called Eric and I to the front of the room and asked us to stay after class. “Oh no” I thought, “We are screwed.”
I wasn’t even sure what for though; I had done nothing that I could think of to warrant an after class meeting with Jerkface. Everybody else filed out of the class so the only people left in the room were Me, Eric, Jerfkface, and Leanne. Jerkface started off like this:
“Yesterday I heard something that I could not believe I heard.(I nodded my head) And it came from your mouth (she pointed at me). Do you mind repeating what you said?”
I had no idea what she was talking about so I just shrugged my shoulders. Just as you never run from a mountain lion, you never shrug your shoulders at a teacher who is yelling at you. She continued fiercely:
“You said that if you failed it was Leannes fault, is that correct? (nod) You made me sick to my stomach and I couldn’t even sleep last night because of the hateful words I heard you say.”
She went on and on yelling very angrily at me mostly and went on to say “shame on you” several dozen times. She made me apologize to Leanne who just stood there with a smug look on her face and she also made me verbally say that if we failed that it was my fault. I would like to take the time now to officially redact my apology. I am not sorry at all. I still stand by my original statement. To hear Jerkface going off at me you’d think I had openly blamed black people and Jews for our terrible presentation. The fact that she got so angry over an offhand comment that only a retarded person would take offense at is what makes me most upset.
This was not the first or last time I would be yelled at in middle school for absolutely nothing but those are different stories for different times. I have a lot more stories from middle school, it was a very volatile time in my life, and I am a very bitter person sometimes, so you can count on reading them in the near future.
I should probably let experiences like this one go…but that’s no fun now, is it?
27 January 2010
Write Now=Pun
How famous does someone have to be to write an autobiography? I realize that you don’t have to be famous at all to write one but if you want it to be published you are going to need have obtained a certain level of notoriety. I think that is why so many random people blog, like me, I’ll probably never be famous enough to write an autobiography so I put random thoughts on here hoping a few people will read it and pay me compliments, cause that’s what all of are ultimately after right? Compliments.
I like to fancy myself a writer, even though I’ve never written anything longer than anything on here and I am currently failing English. But I feel like I really could write a novel or something if I just set my mind to it but my attention span is the same as a goldfish and every time I write something I come back to it and realize that it really sucked.
My whole plan is to become a teacher in the public education system, because let’s be honest, it’s a pretty easy job and it provides me the opportunity to give those unfortunate enough to be stuck in high school an at least competent teacher that enjoys his job. The earnings from my best selling novel will more than make up for my scant teacher salary and I will be able to support my family of four in a lakeside home in Connecticut. (our summer home is in the English Country side). By that time I will be famous enough to write an autobiography or maybe even a memoir. (I think you have to be slightly more famous to write a memoir but I’m not really sure what the difference is, I’d look it up online but I’m in the library and you need a password from the front desk to access the wi-fi and I still owe them $87, so we’ll go without for now.) I’m even thinking about writing the autobiography first because I’m not sure I can trust my future self to do it, especially if he is anything like my current self. That way, all I would have to do is fill in what has happened since now and I would be set. That’s the plan anyway.
But don’t worry, if that doesn’t work out I have an even better back up plan. Today I read in National Geographic that NASA is planning to send a manned mission to the moon in 2018. That puts me at 26 years old, and I have no idea how you do it, but I am going to be an astronaut. I want to walk on the moon really bad. Plus, if I become an astronaut and go to space then I can still write an autobiography.
If I ever do become a famous writer then there will be a question on Jeopardy that is like: “This best-selling author failed an English class in High School” Buzz “Who is Jackal Smith?” “That is correct, you now have the lead.”
Jackal Smith is my pen name, or at least one of them. The other is Rex Condor and a third is Jenkem Walters, but that is for more controversial works. Having a pen name is so much better than using your real one. That gives me an idea, time to go open up a library card under Maverick Stallworth.
Until next time,
-Jackal
I like to fancy myself a writer, even though I’ve never written anything longer than anything on here and I am currently failing English. But I feel like I really could write a novel or something if I just set my mind to it but my attention span is the same as a goldfish and every time I write something I come back to it and realize that it really sucked.
My whole plan is to become a teacher in the public education system, because let’s be honest, it’s a pretty easy job and it provides me the opportunity to give those unfortunate enough to be stuck in high school an at least competent teacher that enjoys his job. The earnings from my best selling novel will more than make up for my scant teacher salary and I will be able to support my family of four in a lakeside home in Connecticut. (our summer home is in the English Country side). By that time I will be famous enough to write an autobiography or maybe even a memoir. (I think you have to be slightly more famous to write a memoir but I’m not really sure what the difference is, I’d look it up online but I’m in the library and you need a password from the front desk to access the wi-fi and I still owe them $87, so we’ll go without for now.) I’m even thinking about writing the autobiography first because I’m not sure I can trust my future self to do it, especially if he is anything like my current self. That way, all I would have to do is fill in what has happened since now and I would be set. That’s the plan anyway.
But don’t worry, if that doesn’t work out I have an even better back up plan. Today I read in National Geographic that NASA is planning to send a manned mission to the moon in 2018. That puts me at 26 years old, and I have no idea how you do it, but I am going to be an astronaut. I want to walk on the moon really bad. Plus, if I become an astronaut and go to space then I can still write an autobiography.
If I ever do become a famous writer then there will be a question on Jeopardy that is like: “This best-selling author failed an English class in High School” Buzz “Who is Jackal Smith?” “That is correct, you now have the lead.”
Jackal Smith is my pen name, or at least one of them. The other is Rex Condor and a third is Jenkem Walters, but that is for more controversial works. Having a pen name is so much better than using your real one. That gives me an idea, time to go open up a library card under Maverick Stallworth.
Until next time,
-Jackal
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