If You Don't Have Anything Nice to Say...

Dear Glob,

As one who espouses God's Will to be synonymous with grave misfortune only slightly soothed by sweet submission to a frozen phallic pudding pop in the rear, I am loathe to deem deitous credit when credit is due. However, when great suckitudity is upon me, I find it quite easy to claim I am being carried across the beach (3 inches above the ground via an ironically environmentally friendly hemp noose about the neck). That's how my footprints just vanished and the police dogs were allowed to sniff each other's butts in bewilderment as their masters scratched their heads (insert lame sexual pun here) re: the loss of my scent just 5.7 miles south of East Bumfuckery.

For reasons I could internalize at grave detriment to my 8mm self-esteem, project apt blame upon with an astonishingly infintessimal satisfaction guarantee of, like, .78 milliseconds, or just right out state with humiliating clarity, I was dropped from my apprenticeship teaching and asked to return in the fall.


I am under the impression that this is a feat of rare proportions, and for that I could sadistically be proud, or I could become profoundly bitter. I'm leaning toward the latter.

Suffice it to say, I have had too much on my plate. My family seems nothing less than extraordinarily supportive and downright near relieved, as, for the next several months, one class and them are the only two responsibilities I must endure. I know they are not stupid enough to think this will mean our house is going to be clean for a bit, and I know it's not that they don't want me to succeed, but, frankly, this is one of the greatest reliefs I've ever experienced.

I missed that $50,000 literary prize submission deadline, because I confused the deadline to graduate with last year's submission deadline, so I will not be hitting the blogger's lotteria this century. I will, however, graduate (pending my sufficient completion of Real Analysis- the odds of which just improved about 67338%).

I knew I was starting off on the wrong foot with my mentor teacher- a church-goin' fundie, who I respect greatly as a tremendous educator. I was late submitting my lesson plans to her (despite my not even blogging, mind you) for much of the beginning of the semester. I had an extremely difficult time pleasing what I began to feel was a very vague pickiness. I had just started to please her in that way and others when she would switch complaints.

In the end, not praising the students enough, and the "performance" aspect of teaching are the only two complaints she's sticking with. My undiagnosable Aspberger's yields it's head again, and to my serious delight my children are now going around the house with mock enthusiasm praising the least worthy feats they can find.

"Oh my holy Lord, let me see your ass! You have wiped nearly every lick of poop off of it better than you ever have in your entire life. Here is a gold star!" These are the sorts of performances that are occurring at my home at both my expense and pleasure. How they became so smart without their fundamental right to be praised adequately met, I'll never know, but figure the whole thing has something to do with the never-ending pressure I felt I was under. For folks who lauded the importance of boosting students' self-esteems, there are two people whose mercies I was under who sure didn't offer up any boosting whatsoever. It really is baffling. Either that, or I suck.

If it were not for the support of one of my class's advisors, the science advisor, who came and advocated for me, helped me, and said nice things about how I was just going to have to "hang in there" with my teacher, I would be doubting my return to the completion of my certification in the fall. I never once felt safe to make a mistake, because I had two people lurching over my shoulder the whole time saying, "You're screwing up." Incessantly.

I am not arrogant in saying that I'm really not that bad a teacher, but I can see many of the things they were saying. All in all, I could justify a defeated cause, or I can accept my pudding pop in the ass like a good girl should and be grateful that I can be home with The Lip Model... just in time.

She has been skipping school quite often, a problem exacerbated by being at her dad's house, unfortunately, and her father withdrew her from school two days after I got fired from my 60 hour per week unappreciated voluntary teaching position. I am going to take her to two different program orientations- as she is in grave danger of becoming a high school drop out, as her attendance alone (which is improved when she is at my house by her counselor's assistant calling me as soon as she's been marked absent in any given class period- but, doesn't work when she's with her dad) caused her to not get credit for the majority of the classes she took last semester. She's sixteen, talented as all shit, and hates school.

We are going to supplement some sort of work study program she wants to do with some credit by examination credits, home tutoring, and appeasement by means of the continuous manifestation of art supplies to feed her creative fury. We cleaned out one Salvation Army's faux jewels and formally introduced ourselves to the ladies on over at The Hobby Lobby. She's made a few peices of jewelry. I have some new yarrns for some crocheting projects and I will resume my former occupation of growing my family's food as soon as my next paycheck finds me blowing it over at our local over-priced organic gardening center.

I have a first chapter of a memoir, and if any one... Bueller... Bueller... will kiss my ass, even blown across the country, I will shamelessly post a link to the wiki where I am shamefully hiding its whereabouts.

There's more to write. Oh so much more. I am über-dissatisied in oh so many delicious (not) ways that I will surely be increasing my blogging sometime in the next decade- as soon as I'm not crying and writhing in pain.

Incidentally, I will be graduating with a BA in mathematics in May- a degree that alerts one to its utter lack of BS-itude immediately, but nevertheless will be handed to me with all manner of "So Whats." All those people who wish to have folks pontificate the meaning of limits for reals and desire that extra semester of spanish will be beating down my door shortly, but for now I'll see if I can't accomplish completing my new life's goal- to watch every Hal Hartley movie I can lay my greedy man hands upon.

(I just ended, not just a sentence with a preposition, but even an entire blog post.) Fuck off!

(Not you. It wasn't you I was writing about.)

(Damnit, I finished each of those last sentences with prepositions and never managed to properly sign- off.)

Your enemy in perkitude,
-Freida C. McBee, MD.


Randal Graves said...

Hmm, should I, like Hollyfeld, be happy and sad for you?

Okay, teachering is a loon profession and therefore not grasping in eight seconds like a hot dog eating contest, but that's some fuckery on church lady's part, at least from this third person view. Not that I was a fly or a gnat on the wall. I mean, you could have been reciting Anton LaVey in class for all I know.

Tell The Lip Model that if she doesn't get all schooly, you'll send her to the John Boehner Crocodile Camp where you'll spend the day crocheting liquid quilts. That'll get her right straight.

Alright, I just blew a posterior-loving liplock. URL. Now. And make it sexy.

Randal Graves said...

Grasped, not grasping. That's what you get for showing illusory nudity.

Anonymous said...

Well, then. I am sorry that your teaching gig didn't work out this time around...and here's hoping you'll get a better teacher-match next time. My mom had a horrible student teaching experience and went on to a long career as both a teacher and an administrator. For whatever that's worth.

darkblack said...

F: You'll do better, and go farther, because you can.

aside to Lip Model: Take a coatpull from uncle darkblack, scourge of the Internets: ungraduated sucks sweaty ass, and talent don't mean shit unless you've got backups. Get that diploma and make life your bitch.


Utah Savage said...

Darkblack gives excellent advise. The lip model should take it. I skipped my senior year of high school since I hated it and managed to score very high on the entrance exam. But I did not get that BA. so I am essentially a high school drop out.

Yes, I want to read the hidden secret stuff, and I want to know WHAT CONTEST WITH A $50,000. PRIZE!!!!? Don't hold out on the ones who love you.

Anyone who can come up with a word like suckitudity is a genius. And now I'm craving a frozen pudding pop you know where.

Freida Bee, MD said...

Utah, This is how much I suck. I never even entered, and I will not be a student there next time around. Only 50 people entered last year. Granted, they were creative writing graduate students, but still....

I'll send you a link/ invite to the wiki where that lonely chapter is hiding. Maybe I'll write more with all that extra time.

You know, funnily enough, the pudding pop thing kinda grew on me two by the second time I referenced it.

Oh Darkblack- I will have to tell TLM to drop out of school, get pregnant and be poor all her life, if I want her to even entertain the idea of higher education. She is the most responsive person I've ever seen to reverse psychology. I have no idea where she gets her contrarinesses.

Lassy- You don't know how comforting it is to hear (read) that about your mom. I know I can (and will) do better in the fall. I already know what grade I will be in, so I can start to prepare. I've passed my content-specific certification exam and started my portfolio, and am only fingerprinting shy of being a sub. Next semester, I have the opportunity to only focus on the things that were hard for me, with the day to day planning preparation and composure.

Freida Bee, MD said...

And, Randal, If I was reciting that Anton dude, tell him I'm gonna kick his ass, 'cause whatever I was saying wasn't good enough.

I literally developed skills at writing in order to communicate what is kind of difficult for me to express verbally, namely, to my mother.

Mauigirl said...

Glad you're back, just realized and am catching up. And advanced congratulations on your BA in May!

Randal Graves said...

I had the start of a reply to your reply to my comment, and now it went away. Though it IS only a shade after 6am here.

It's often far easier to communicate via the written word, I know that tune.

darkblack said...

Well, alright then, a 'Freuda' special - Here goes:

"Lip Model, I hear there are exciting and challenging opportunities in the 'broke-ass crack-ho dingy double-wide three months in arrears and a rusty green Torino up on weed-covered blocks with 18 baby-daddies a-drinkin' on the soiled cream upholstery while they whistle at the strumpet in mustard stained hot pants the third trailer over and holler at you for another Lone Star' industry...And all you have to do to obtain this joyful treasure in such high demand, the penultimate mark of a successful existence and yours to keep for life, is quit school.


Freida Bee, MD said...

DB- That is going to become the newest inspirational poster in my house.

Ghost Dansing said...

i'm really sorry Freida Bee...... here's a little tune to make you feel better my friend......

Liberality said...

I'm catching up like some of the others. Sounds like the people you are working with down there are just dicks.

My niece tried to quit school in her junior year and I took over homeschooling for her. She went back in her senior year and graduated. Her senior year was a piece of cake compared to what I put her through. And I HATED high school with a vengeance that has yet to mellow even more than 30 years later. I read books like The Student as Nigger when I was 15 and I pretty much said hell yeah and fuck this shit. Anyway, I'm sure you'll convince her that school, no matter how much it really sucks, is in her best interest.

Utah Savage said...

That Darkblack sure can give some great advise. He is the master of reverse psychology.