Wednesday, May 5, 2010
Today I found a play that some of my students had written. It's titled "I Love Mary."
Andy: Mary, I love you.
Mary: I love you.
Andy: Will you marry me?
Andy: I love you.
And now, for the best part of my day, hands down! Ohhhhh hahahaha hands down. When I tell you this story, you'll understand why I'm laughing at this. I should also preface this story with the following: I have a very crass sense of humor at times, and I'm maybe a 12 year old in a 30 year old body. I also was a big fan of the dumb Austin Powers movies, so the jokes just roll right off of my tongue.
Today at recess, I was standing there wearing my sombrero (HELLO, it's CINCO DE MAYO!) and minding my own business when I noticed my coworker with an extremely red face, fumbling and waving his arms. He had a little girl with him, and they were approaching me. I look at the little girl and notice something in her hand. No. Surely not. Is that what I think it is? What is she holding?!?!
SHE WAS HOLDING A VIBRATOR.
My jaw drops as I look at this child brazenly walking around with a big vibrator in her hands. The male teacher tells her to go take it inside and put it in her locker. And then he comes to me and shrieks "What do I DO??"
I promptly responded "BWWWAAAAAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. Oh my gosh. HAHAHAHAHAHA. Hold on. I'm getting serious now. Hahahaha. Ok. I think you should maybe go tell the principal. And see if her locker is buzzing when you go in."
Apparently the darling came up to the very shy male teacher and said "Look what I brought to school today! It's a hand massager. See? When you turn the button on the bottom, it vibrates!" The shy teacher, who seriously blushes like crazy if I say the word "bra" said that he looked at it and thought to himself "Please be a pencil holder. Please be a pencil holder." Then it began vibrating and his hopes were dashed.
So, the shy teacher went into the office where he, according to the secretary who had tears in her eyes she was laughing so hard, came in sputtering and stuttering, asking for the principal. The principal wasn't available, so he asked for the assistant principal. The assistant principal wasn't available, so the secretary asked him what was wrong. He had to lean over (he's very tall) and tell this old lady about the vibrator.
The assistant principal had to call the girl into her office and confiscate the vibrator. I would have LOVED to have been a fly on the wall for that one. She told the girl that toys weren't allowed at school. I really, really hope she wore gloves. Then, she had to call the parents. Can you IMAGINE the conversation? Either way you look at it, it's not good.
Scenario 1: Your child has not only found your vibrator, but has taken it to school and is playing with it, showing it off as a hand massager.
Scenario 2: Your child has somehow managed to get their hands on someone else's vibrator, which is very alarming.
We had a faculty meeting after school and everyone was teasing the teacher about it. Everyone. Word travels fast when sex toys come to school. Everyone kept walking up behind the male teacher going "Bzzzz." Then the principal starts waving around a folder that had the last name "Wood" written on it. Wood. I busted up. I was dying. Then she talked about taking time to be alone and enjoy yourself. Then she said that we needed to turn in any keys that are by the company Schlage (and of course, I thought "schlong"). Then she said we had to get down to the meat and potatoes.
My face hurts.
Saturday, May 1, 2010
I went for pedicures, sushi and drinks, and the movie "Date Night" with my friends last night. It's hard to go out and do things like this with most of my friends because they all have kids. This means they either have little money, have no sitter, or feel guilty going out.
It was the first pedicure of the season. If I could afford them all the time, I would do them always. They feel great, my feet look nice, and it's just a fun get away. My whole life I've kind of struggled with ingrown toenails, and despite my best efforts, they sometimes hurt. Last year I went to this nail place and they damaged my toenail. On my big toe, there was a large bruise under the nail and it cracked my nail all the way across. I've not gotten a pedicure since to try and grow it back out and let it heal. So then last night, I go into the local Vietnamese shrine to have my toes done. By the way, being as culturally sensitive as I am, I blurt out in the middle of my pedicure "Is something on fire?!" And they are like "No, it incense you smelling."
So here's the breakdown of what happened. Imagine all the conversations that are not with me in a thick, Vietnamese accent:
Torture Woman: Oh, you have bad nail. What happen to nail?
Me: Another nail place damaged my toenail.
Torture Woman: Oh you need to take care of ingrown toenail. It bad where the nail damaged. I dig out.
Me: OK [Side note for the pedicure challenged - it's uncomfortable to have this done, but it's worth it because it really does make it feel better.]
Torture Woman starts to mess around with my nail. I yelp, jerk my leg up, but bite my lip, determined to get this fixed. She keeps working and working as gently as she can, but I can see things are not going well.
Torture Woman: You nail is very damage. It is really hard by part of the nail with the crack. I have to get it.
I begin looking around at the cleanliness of this shop. How much digging is she going to do, exactly?
Me: I'm never going to OH DEAR GOD OW OW STOP OW OW OW!!!
Torture woman: [Turns to her friend next to her] Zhidawangli longvanzhan longduckdong
I translate this into: This is a bad one. I'm gonna need some back up.
Torture Woman's Cousin: I help. [She starts poking and prodding like crazy. I have tears in my eyes.]
Meanwhile, my friends are texting one another about what is happening, because they can't say anything in front of the women, and I'm trying to pretend that my toe isn't killing me like a Mo-Fo. Torture woman puts her hand out like a doctor doing surgery and Torture Woman puts some tool in her hand. I think in Vietnamese she was saying "Scalpel." Or maybe "Rib Spreader."
Torture Woman: [Takes back over] I sorry that hurt.
Me: [Suddenly, I remember that Paula Abdul got a staf infection in her arm from a manicure, and all kinds of wild thoughts are racing through my mind. I've just had major surgery in a dirty Vietnamese nail shop! My toe begins to bleed.] Um, am I going to get an infection?
Torture Woman: No, you not get infection. Put your foot back in water.
Me: I'm not going to get an infection?
Torture Woman, who has apparently become an MD in the last 30 minutes: No, you not get infection. Put your foot in water.
Me: You don't understand the year I've had. I will get an infection. And I will lose my toe.
Torture Woman: Put your foot in water!
Me: I'm sorry, I just can't. I don't want to get an infection in there.
The pedicure concludes with a very nice looking BLEEDING TOE. My entire evening was ruined as I had BLOOD TRICKLING OUT OF MY TOE, and also I was so freaking worried I was getting gangrene or something. I'm pretty sure my toenail was beginning to smell a little bit like almonds. At a very late hour, I arrived home only to find that I had no supplies to clean my rotting toe with. So, it probably festered all night. I think the toe will be gone at any time now.
Stay tuned for the exciting conclusion of "Will Non-Mommy Have to Chop her Big Toe Off?"