>This morning, I awoke to the sensation of my cat licking my underarm. Does that make me a salt lick?

Last week, I was not sure that it could get any worse. Or that I should stick around to find out. But I did. And it did. Actually, only in terms of bizarrity, not with regard to my personal safety, as it was last week with the high school experience.

Have been sleeping with the local NPR station playing softly in my bedroom, as it is easier to tolerate than the sounds of the neighborhood, which, at any given time, might include a distant gunshot or an extremely loud car stereo system. It makes for some interesting subliminal messages. And some questionable lines between dream and reality. This morning, I thought I was learning a Bob Fosse dance in my sleep when Liza Minnelli was singing “All That Jazz” to me, and I was unclear, upon waking, whether or not it was really happening or not. Then George W. Bush was speaking to the United Nations General Assembly. Broadway. Afghanistan. Broadway. Uzbekistan. Where am I? When I realized I was still just wearing my five times too large pajama pants and $1.99 GAP T-shirt, instead of fishnet stockings and a three sizes too small leotard, I saw the light. Marshall, Texas, exotic wonderland of lights.

Where to begin. At the beginning of last week, I was posing as a fifth grade math teacher. And, lucky me, Mrs. P had arranged for me to have to EARN my $55.00/day. I was charged with the responsibility of introducing a new math concept : probability. What? In the fifth grade? Based on my limited experience in the past month, fifth graders can barely write their own name. And are still getting excited about the prospect of writing in ink, rather than with a #2 pencil. Okay. Let me study the teacher’s manual really quick. For I am quite sure that I understand the concept – I mean, I HAVE been to Vegas. But how to tell those less-than-fresh-faced beings about it all. I had some definitions. We’ll have them write those down. Then go through the practice exercises in the textbook. They’re using a bag of marbles as their example. And I’m reflecting on my 7th grade language arts teacher, Mr. Yow, who at least recognized how banal the book’s language could be. He theorized that if his example sentences (while learning to diagram sentences) had something interesting in them, we would be more likely to pay attention, remember and be changed by his teaching. So, instead of, perhaps, “Mrs. Jones attended Brown University and studied British Literature”, Mr. Yow might have asked us to diagram the following sentence: “Mr. Gonorrhea attended the KISS concert and ate big, green boogers during intermission”. Really.

Back to fifth grade math. I was convinced, in my own sick mind, that instead of “You have a bag full of all red marbles. What is the probability of pulling out a blue marble?” it might have been more tangible, for instance, to say, “You have a room full of six ‘uncles’, what is the probability that one of them is your father?” I stuck with the textbook. And they were duly befuddled.

There were a few hilarious, non-math-related incidents on Monday and Tuesday of last week, though. Like the one day that my cousin, M*** (one of the aforementioned 5th graders) came up to me in class, after a 35-minute recess/lunch period, and said, in a weak, sloooooooooow voice, “Miss Wright, my mom told me that if I got to feeling real bad, I should call her at work so that she could call the doctor and get me an appointment”. So I said, “Have you got to feeling real bad? Right here after lunch and recess?” And M*** said, “Yes, ma’am”. So I wrote him out a hall pass and sent him to the office, reminding him to make sure that an office worker signs the pass for him to come back to class. He goes. I assist some students in their practice, and he returns, as instructed, having secured Mrs. B’s signature on his hall pass. He returns to his desk. About fifteen minutes later, he approaches me again, saying, “Miss Wright, I really think I need to go call my mother”. What? I said, “M***, didn’t you just go call your mom?” Response: “No, ma’am, I didn’t get a chance to call her”. Well, what the hell did you do in the office? “You told me to get that hall pass signed and come right back.”

Oh my God. Future of America. What I really wanted to say was, “If I gave you permission to go to the restroom, would you require permission also to unzip your pants, evacuate your system, wipe your butt and re-dress yourself before returning to class? Or would you simply stand there and return a few minutes later?”

Next day, A. Roach, a sweet and needy little boy who commands adults’ attention by misbehaving in class, came in after recess/lunch claiming that he felt sick and needed to throw up. I just told him, in his perpetual hoax mode, that he should make sure to stick his head in the trash can if the impulse should become reality. He went back to his desk, the urgency dissipated. About ten minutes later, I was assisting a student at my desk, and he returned, with the same claim. I said, “A., what did I tell you to do if you felt sick?” He said, vomiting undigested fresh grapefruit in the trash can right beside me, “To make sure I put my head in the trash can?”

Yes, A.. Thank YOU for following instructions.

Later that day, I had to go to Wal-Mart, diabolical institution that it is, for some cat food and litter. I picked up a few other things there as well, because they apparently have the right to sell one of everything. I stood in the shortest express line that I could find. Manned by Ski-Anne (two words, rhymes with city in Wyoming), who is checking out a fellow Wal-Mart employee who has blatantly disregarded the item limit in the express lane. And who has rocked Ski-Anne’s world by wanting to pay for her purchases with her Wal-Mart payroll check. This is a new one. And it locks up Ski-Anne’s computer. Due to inexperience, of course, not ineptitude. After four calls for a customer service representative to register three, someone finally arrives. Why did I stand around and wait? How could I not? The purchaser was going on about how her “auntie” (pronounced ‘ay-nee’) will straight up leave her if she’s not outside in two minutes. Ski-Anne was incredulous. “she’ll leave you?” — “yeah, girl, she done it before.” Then Ski-Anne was complaining about how hard her day had been, and I said, “well, then it could only get better right?” And she responded, “Well, I’ve only been here an hour, and knowing how stuff goes at Wal-Mart, it could get WAY worse!” I said, “Well, at least you’re not buried under rubble,” a dismal reference to 9/11.  And she said, “Well, I don’t know, it gets pretty scary here, and I’m not sure that being buried under rubble wouldn’t be better.” Oh, Lord. So, now I’m definitely staying in this line. For then, completely unsolicited, Ski-Anne begins telling me about her fascination with the apocalypse and how she’s read the Book Of Revelation she doesn’t know how many times. And she assures me that this can’t be the end of time because in the Book Of Revelation, it states that there HAS to be a twenty-year period of barrenness in women (no pregnancies, no babies born) before the world can end. So, I say, “Well, sister, let me tell you, I’ve been teaching school for the past three weeks, and that is DEFINITELY not going on!”

Enjoyed the CMA Awards this year. A far cry from the disaster they were last year. Lots of really great songs…no dancing…and a few surprises. Anyhoo, the back half of the week is a bit of a blur…….my mom’s out of town for the next three days, so who knows what might go on on this little street!