Hello, My Name is Dr. House.

Shakeem is sort of a baby thug. Not a real one, but he wants to be. He steals stuff all the time and has been sent off to boot camp more than once for getting caught with weed, weapons, etc. He basically raises himself and has a pretty shady life outside of RMS, from what I know.

I kind of like Shakeem because he's really chill and he looks after me in his own strange way. For whatever reason, he's decided that he likes me, so I do my best to cultivate that relationship (I'd like to keep my speakers and phone, pleaseandthankyou). It's difficult to balance the fine line of keeping him on my side and still exercising my authority over him.

Today: "SHAKEEM. I swear if you open your mouth ONE more time while I'm teaching..."

"I'm sorry Ms. M but I gotta 'mergency. Maybe you can help 'cause you a science teacher."

I sighed. "What?"

"Whatchu think dis is on my arm?"

I took a quick look as he lifted up his sleeve. "Honey, that's ringworm and you need to get you some cream, STAT."

Devin burst into laughter beside him.

Shakeem looked horrified. "I slept on dis guy's couch..."

"Did that guy have a cat?" I asked.

"Naw he ain't got nothin.'"

"Well what he 'got' was ringworm, and now you've got it it too, baby doll."

"Is it...is it gon' crawl out of my arm??" Shakeem looked like he was about to throw up.

"No, it's not actually a worm. It's a fungus."

"EEEEWWWWWWW!!!!!" the whole class screamed in unison. I had to hide my giggle as I watched all the color drain from Shakeem's face. No, Shakeem, you are not a gangster. You are a 13-year-old boy with a fungal problem and you are scared out of your mind.

real tawlk.

4:00 p.m. found me at my duty post in the breezeway watching kids stampede to the buses. Ever the multi-tasker, I was supervising and finishing up my piece of cake from our staff meeting. I had about four bites left. Before I could sink my fork into it, a boy snatched it off my plate and popped the whole thing in his mouth as he passed by.

I'm not making this up.

"Are you SERIOUS!?!?" I ran after him, took the icing/cake-smeared plate and smashed it in his face.

This type of gut reaction tells me one of two things:

1. I probably do not need to be teaching middle school boys.

or

2. I was probably made to teach middle school boys.

damn it feels good to be a gangsta

"Hey, where da party at?!" begins Jae Qwon.

"Girls is on dey way, where da Bacardi at?!" I finish. My kids sigh and roll their eyes. "Jagged Edge?"

"Whatchu know bout dat?" Jae Qwon asks.

"No...WhatCHU know about that? I believe you were like seven when that came out." I remind him.

"Ms. M a GANGSTA, y'all." Leontay says from the back. His expression is dead serious, and he nods his head for emphasis. "She a skraight up THUG, forreal."

It's true. You heard it here first. I'm a thug.

Today I was a thug in cranberry-colored flats.

You know. My white girl swag.

Keepin' it fresh with my lanyard.

You arready know what it is.

Ya digg?

Worst? Worst.

I can safely say that this was my worst birthday ever. There. Now that I've said it, let's keep in mind the following:

1. Last year my birthday fell on a weekend. If it hadn't, I'm sure it would have taken the cake. Pun intended.

2. I've never had a bad birthday. I've been blessed to be around thoughtful friends and family every February 21st of my life--which is all I could ever want or ask for!

This year, I'm so glad I celebrated my milestone with the people that love me best...my...students.....

....

...

..

.

I got a really "sweet" "card" with a portrait of me on the front!!!!! I was naked!!!! And the caption said, "Ms. M. Small tits. Skinny legs in boots."!!!!

First of all, Jaylon Barker, YOU WOULDN'T KNOW A PAIR OF "TITS" IF THEY SLAPPED YOU IN THE FACE. Because you are 13. And even if you were twice that age, girls do not like you. Period. Thanks for once again stripping me of dignity and any illusion that I'd earned an ounce of respect up in hurr.

When I found the note and confronted him (wouldn't you be absolutely mortified?), he just shrugged. Didn't even deny it. Said I'd made him mad when I got on to him for walking around the room not doing his work.

Duh.

When my boss gets mad at me for not doing my job, my first inclination is to sketch up an unflattering rendering of his genitalia.

Ughhhhhh. These children. I forget that they're children. Tell me how I'm supposed to love that? But I am.

Let me stop before I go on a tirade, telling you how terrible they all were today and how I couldn't get through half a lesson. Instead, I'll tell you how Jimmy brought me a tacky crystal dolphin and weird homemade "sesame balls" and made me cry a second time today. Only the good kind, because he remembered from the beginning of school when he'd asked what my birthday was. I'll tell you how Raquon and Anthony got in trouble for running out of their English class to fling open my door and crush me with their birthday hugs. I'll tell you how past students sent me messages telling me they loved me and were thinking about me today.

I guess if this is my least happy birthday, I've been blessed beyond measure.

Thanks for making it special.

I love you.

Good night!

full moon Friday=school lockdown and power outage

Today the power went off. We walked to lunch down the dark hallway, lit only by the eerie emergency lights.

Je'Corey: "Mann, dis how you KNOW we in the ghetto. Even our SCHOOL didn't pay the electricity bill. Dis just ridiculous."

WIN.

I made 85 fourteen-year-old hard-ass boys sing:

"Water travels in a cycle, yes it does!"

to the tune of "She'll be comin' 'round the mountain when she comes!" With gusto. Complete with hand motions.

Ms. M for President.

happy v-day.

As in...

Vexing day?

Victim's day?

Vile day?

Villain's day?

I don't think I've ever felt such hatred on a day meant to celebrate love! I threw an eraser at one child. I escorted another out of the room BY HIS FACE. And I squeezed one boy's arm so hard as I was lecturing him he jerked out and started trynna FLEX on me.

{to "flex" means to bow up on, get aggressive with}

Don't worry. He's about 90 lbs. And has a gimp arm.

Him: WHY YOU TOUCHIN' ME!? Bruh, you betta get off me RIGHT NOW. You trippin. You ain't ABOUT to get in my face.

Me (instead of a professional, composed response): YOU'RE THE ONE ACTING LIKE YOU DON'T KNOW YOUR HEAD FROM YOUR ASS AND I'M TRIPPIN?? Oh no. Oh NO. Whose class are you in!?!? That's what I thought. So you "AIN'T ABOUT" to tell me what I "AIN'T ABOUT" to do in here. If you had been in here acting right, I wouldn't BE in your face or BE touching your arm. SO IF YOU HAVE A PROBLEM WITH PEOPLE IN YOUR FACE DISRESPECTING YOU, THEN DON'T DISRESPECT ME!!!!!!

What the what.

I think I'm so trill.

Somehow, in front of the classroom I transform from passive, even-tempered skinny white girl to...Madea or something. I need a glass of wine and some ibuprofen. 14 more Mondays and I'll be peelin' out of that parking lot so fast you'll break your neck trying to watch me leave. Imma throw them deuces up.

Before I leave you with that disheartening Valentine's post, I'll show you the card my autistic student made me. I'm not really sure what the poem means, but I'm feelin' it. You feel me?

In case you can't read it, it says:

Roses are red,

Violets are blue

I like to be with my teacher

the more than you