Hot for Teacher

For the record I HATE that song. Moreso since I became a teacher, but even in my Aqua-Net dousing, hair band days, I was not a fan of the Van Halen high school stoner anthem.

I am not talking about that kind of hot anyway, I am talking about why it is that the air conditioning must fail EVERY fucking summer right as school starts.

 

At a balmy 83 degrees BEFORE 35 teenagers crammed into my classroom, 

I doubt anyone will be getting used to it.

Twenty minutes into my first period I looked like I had been teaching Bikram yoga instead of biology.

And, I am not sure how much you know about 15 and 16 year old boys, but suffice it to say that no one wants to be in an enclosed space with tropical-like conditions with one of them, let alone half a class full of them.

If you have one living in your home, I am truly, truly sorry. To remove the stench, I hear it is easier to just burn the house down and move once they finish puberty. 

This school year I had a to take on a new challenge, I am teaching chemistry. I got a chemistry teaching credential when I got my biology teaching credential. I got for job security, but never expected to use the damn thing. Kind of like when I put down tennis as a hobby on my resume to make myself sound like I actually had a hobby and ended up coaching the goddamn girls' tennis team for three years and the boys' team for one. 

Originally I was supposed to teach one overflow class to help reduce the gigantic chem class sizes, but somehow that translated to me showing up the week before school to a schedule that included THREE sections of chemistry.

One of my least favorite questions at the beginning of the year as a biology teacher is, "When do we get to blow stuff up?" , which is students' tacit way of reminding me that I teach the "boring" kind of science. This year when they said it, it sent a chill down my spine, and I thought (but gratefully did not say) "Fuck. I hope not soon, but let's be honest, it will probably happen."

I did, however, glance around the room and made a mental note of the location of  the dust covered fire blanket in my room.

I am hoping to be only as incompetent as, not more than, a muppet scientist.

At the time of this post I have completed my first chem lab complete with Bunsen burners and we survived without charred flesh or structural damage to the room, so we will take that as a win.

I will keep you posted. 

Running (kinda)

Last time I wrote I mentioned starting a slow runners club of sorts. So to be added to my "most people are big, fat fucking liars" file, I will tell you the story of my first run with the group.

Many of you know I have had some trouble as of late keeping a running partner. They keep getting injured (not by me), knocked up (not by me), or disillusioned with moi (ok, I will own that one).  In an effort to find some folks to run with I started a group on Meet Up (I don't have the energy or desire to explain it, so feel free to click the link and look it up) for slow runners. 

There are about 5,000 run groups on Meet Up in my area and almost without exception they boast welcoming runners of "all abilities" and post pictures of runners with less than 16% body fat and sparkly, Justin Bieber smiles. What they mean by "all abilities" is "if you want to get dropped like a  flaming bag of dog shit within the first 200 yards of the run and return to an empty parking lot, you are welcome to come run with us!" said with a sparkly, Justin Beiber smile.

Umm... Pass. Thanks. 

So I started a group. I was stunned to have 20 runners RSVP for the first run all of whom where "so thrilled" to finally have a running group that was "not intimidating or competitive" and "geared towards slow runners." 

First Run - I am standing out at the park certain no one is going to show up and I will feel like a total loser which will only be augmented by the fact that my shame will be posted on the internet when no one "checks in" for the run, when people start to show up. 14 people to be exact. 

I have been doing this gig for awhile now. I know "my running people" when I see them. These were not my running people (translation: skinny bitches in cute run clothes). Everyone starts to titter about how slow they are and they are going to be last.... "Oh my God. I am sooooo slow"....

Blah, blah, fucking blah. I can see the writing on the wall... I am going to be DFL at my own slow running group. 

Here it goes the next course of events: 

The run starts. 

I get dropped within 100 yards. 

I run the whole 2 painful miles alone. (Ok, I walked a lot and ran some. I packed on 30 pounds and had not run a step in 6 months. Cut me some slack)

Let the record reflect that I did not cry, but it was touch and go there around mile 1. 

However, I did not return to an empty parking lot. I returned to a bunch of happy runners that wanted to go with me to coffee and were "so excited" for future runs and "so grateful" I got them out running again.  So I sucked it up, went to coffee, had a great time and went home to schedule more runs. 

Come on. It is not the first time I have been last and it sure as shit won't be the last time. As long as someone will have coffee with me after I can do this. And so it goes. It has been a mixed bag of good times, feeling shitty about how far down I have gone in terms of fitness, and some girl drama because even though high school was a looooong time ago, that weird inter-female, insecurity bullshit still plagues us when there are more than 2 sets of ovaries gathered together. But, all in all I am glad I did it.

Lola is noticing a dog that had the audacity to walk on the sidewalk in front of our house and is about to completely lose her shit. She is still adorable though.