A Spooky Teacher's Tale

My 7th graders have been in a tizzy over the antics of one of their
teachers. Let's call him Mr. A. Here is their tale of terror:

Did you know that Mr. A went in the gym and tried to talk to
something? He went in about 8:15 one night, and stood on the
bulldog in the center circle. He had a recording thing with him.

Mr. A said, "Is there someone here who wants to communicate
with me?" Then he held out the recording thing. He didn't hear
anything. Next he said, "If you want to communicate, give me
some kind of sign. Anything will do. Show me something." He
didn't see or hear anything.

When Mr. A got home, he loaded the sound on his computer
to listen to it. After he asked if somebody wanted to communicate,
he heard a kind of whispery sound but couldn't tell the words.
When he said "Give me a sign," there was a high screechy sound.
He burned it to a CD, and played it for our class.

Do you think he's serious, or is he like Mr. B? You know, how
he makes up that clown story every year?

Oh, and Mr. A has a picture from when we had that assembly to
sing the National Anthem. There is the head of a woman behind
him. And she is frowning like she looks really mad.

*******************************************************

I haven't seen Mr. A, so I don't know what he's up to. We are
in different buildings. I was believing it until the picture. I think
maybe Mr. A got Photoshop and was playing around.

Today the kids said Mr. A told them it was a Halloween prank.
He told them:

Couldn't you tell that picture was a fake?

So the CD was a fake, too?

No, that was real.

NO IT WASN'T!

Okay, it wasn't. If that's what you want to believe...

They are very confused. The kid who went to the haunted
Blackwell House said Mr. A is looking in the wrong place.
He says he knows some kids who went down to the basement
cafeteria and took pictures, and when they were developed,
they had orbs of light near them in some pictures. This was about
6-7 years ago. He said, "Remember, we had funerals in the gym
for two students and that teacher that got murdered by a former
student." Yeah, that's right. Who knows? I never got those vibes
from that gym, and I used to coach in it.

Nope, but I sure got vibes from this gym. Here's even a picture
of it, but it's just an illusion in this photo. And from my own house.
Booooo! It's that time of year again.

A Kid's Spooky Tale

My 7th grade students have been all a-buzz with tales of a teacher
looking for ghosts in the gym. I'll tell that one tomorrow. I asked
one of the older kids if this teacher has been telling them the same
thing, but he said no.

However...this kid had his own tale of terror, which I would like
to steal from him (hey, he doesn't know I have a blog) and share
with you now. I will put myself in his place, so I may tell it in
first person. And now...The Blackwell Mansion:

***************************************************

A bunch of us wanted to go to this haunted house in Blackwell.
A murder happened there, and everybody says it's on public
land, and people go there all the time. My mother said I couldn't
go. I told here there was no such thing as ghosts anyway. She
said that wasn't what she was worried about--at one "haunted
hospital," a crazy guy hid out and killed people who came in
looking for ghosts.

We told my mom we were going riding around in town. Then
we went to Blackwell. Some of the guys took their paintball
guns in case some maniac was there to kill us. Cause I figure
that if I'm trying to kill somebody and he shoots me with a
paintball gun, I'll run off and quit trying to kill him, cause it
hurts. About 8 of us went.

It was dark, and we had some trouble finding the house. We
had to park by the road, and walk down a trail. I was at the
back of the group. A rabbit jumped out and they jumped. I
picked up a big rock and chucked it over in the woods. They
screamed and ran past me. I said, "Hey guys! It was me! Stop!
I won't do it again." They came back.

We found the house and went in. We were there about an hour
and a half, taking pictures. Then we went to another little building.
We came out of there, and I was stepping over a fence when I
looked up and saw a man holding a shotgun in my face. I thought
I'm going to die! My buddy was right next to me. The guy saw him
and pointed the shotgun at him. I took off running as fast as I could
to the truck. We had left Youknowwho there because, well, he's
in a wheelchair you know, and we were afraid he'd get stuck. So
he says he'd been trying to text message us "GET OUT. GET OUT
NOW!" but we couldn't get service down there.

There was another guy with a pistol. They marched everyone up
to the truck and said, "What are you doing on our land? We called
the police, and you're waiting until they get here." We sat in the
back of the truck and almost cried. Some of us were praying. We
didn't want those guys to shoot us. We didn't know who to call for
bail. We couldn't call our parents. We saw the police lights, and
those guys threw their guns in their truck.

The police took all our IDs and wrote down the information. Then
he started to question us. "What are you boys doing here? Do y'all
believe in ghosts? Are you robbers? Have you been drinking? Do
you have any girls here?"

We told him no to everything. Then he said, "This looks mighty
suspicious. Eight guys all alone out here in the dark." I turned to
my friend and said, "Hey, I think that cop just called us gay." But
I said it so he couldn't hear me. The cop asked the guys if they
wanted to press charges, but they said no. They were afraid we
would tell about their guns, I guess. The shotgun guy said, "No.
I have all their information if I change my mind."

Now I'm kind of scared, because there's a crazy guy with a shotgun
who knows my name and address and social security number.
And you know the worst part of it? We were at the wrong house.
That was not the haunted house. We walked around in some guy's
house taking pictures for an hour and a half.

***************************************************

I asked him why they didn't just admit that they were looking for ghosts,
and he said they thought they'd get in trouble. They had told the cop
they were on "public land" and he laughed and said, "Don't tell me that!"

He said he would check into the story the kids were telling about the
teacher ghosthunting. Maybe I will have more information to put with
that story tomorrow.

No Cheese For You!

Whatever you do, don't ever feed me cheese after 10:00 pm. No,
I don't turn into an evil gremlin like that Stripe character who spat
on precious little Gizmo while he was tooting his Christmas horn.
I have bizarre dreams. You may not be able to handle the dreams.
Read at your own risk.

It happened Monday night. I had some running around to do
after school. We had some unexpected visitors and phone calls.
Supper as we know it did not happen. I had stuffed the kids full
of Sonic while in town, so Hillbilly Husband and I made do with
what we could find. Part of my supper was some Oberle cheese.
Do y'all know what that is? It is a soft, garlicky long stick of cheese,
made in Ste. Genevieve, Missouri. I googled it to see if maybe
it might be found outside of this area, and gosh darn, wouldn't
you know it, the first thing to pop up was something from April
about Listeria in Oberle sausage. So maybe I did have some bad
cheese. You'll have to be the judge if you dare read about this
dream.

I made the mistake of not wanting my slices of Oberle cheese
with my hearts of romaine, shredded cheese, tomato, and
sunflower seed salad. It sat on my desk for a couple of hours.
OK, 3 1/2 hours. I thought it was fine. It's cheese, right? That
stuff is cured or already spoiled or something.

So around 10:10, I returned to the computer. Mmm...cheeeese.
I felt like Homer Simpson. I took a bite. It was kind of soft,
but tasted fine. About an hour later, I felt queasy. Maybe I
should have said no to the cheese.

I had the oddest dream. I haven't been remembering them lately.
What good fortune to remember this:

I was in a limo, going to some big awards show. It was like the
Emmys, or the Oscars. My parents were with me. I was the
guest of honor. So we get there, photographers all around, we
go up the steps, dressed to the nines. Up some more steps was
Lily Tomlin. She had her hair done up in an Audrey Hepburn kind
of twist. Or a Jennifer Love Hewitt playing Audrey Hepburn kind
of twist. She was in a long white evening gown. I couldn't see if she
was wearing comfortable shoes. Because that seemed important to
me, right after I saw a big banner proclaiming THE GAY AWARDS.

What? Why was I guest of honor? It seemed like they were
humoring me, like I was part of the Make-A-Wish Foundation.
Hey, people. I'm not sick! Oh, I had to get a thyroid ultrasound,
but I ain't kickin' it yet. And I don't recall this being my wish, either.
Not that there's anything wrong with that.

So they whisked me behind the scenes while TV cut to a commercial.
There I saw some chick that I don't watch on TV. Someone like
Mariska Hargitay, who last year wore some green dress to an
awards show, and whoever won asked her to come up on stage,
and there she stood like a giant 5th wheel in a green dress during the
thank-you speech. Not a 5th wheel camper. She's not that big. A
5th wheel like someone totally unnecessary. Like an extra actress
on stage while a winning actress gives a thank-you speech. Well,
this Mariska kind of chick was acting up with another chick, like
kissing with a gigantic open mouth. They thought it was hilarious to
do that while TV was on commercial. The other chick looked like
Britney Spears, only pretty, without her eyes too far on the sides
of her head. Some kind of blond in a ponytail.

That embarrassed me, so I went to another backstage area. Oh,
my! Was that ever a mistake! Here was another blond girl in a
fancy shmancy dress, and she saw me and my parents and pulled
up her dress to reveal, er, shall we say, a very manly part. And
very large. It looked like the fake one on Marky Mark in Boogie
Nights, if I had ever watched that movie, which maybe just maybe
I have, because hey, it has Burt Reynolds and Julianne Moore and
Don Cheadle and John C. Reilly. And my mom was cheering at
it! The manly part on the blond chick, not the movie Boogie Nights.

After that 'part,' my 5:00 am alarm woke me. I was still kind of
queasy, though if from the cheese or the dream I am not sure. I took
a shower, packed the boys' lunches, and took a short nap in the
recliner while HH took his shower. Well, it was intended to be
a short nap, but my Hillbilly Mama woke me with a call at 6:05,
which is my emergency plan and I ask her to do it every morning.
I did not ask her how she enjoyed my special award honor the
night before, as I was worried about my other dream from which
she had awakened me.

I was worried about my friend Brian. Except I don't have a friend
Brian. He looked like that guy Jason from the Sci-Fi show
Ghosthunters, but his name was clearly Brian. The only person
I can think of named Brian is from the blog An Audience of One.
They both look kind of similar, I guess. So this Brian was a teacher
AND a bus driver at my middle school, and he had been called in to
a meeting in the Superintendent's building. Because it was the first of
the month, and they had to let fired teachers know. Except that happens
in April, but anyhoo, Brian must have been fired and was ashamed
to tell anyone, because he was standing with me on bus duty while
I wondered, "Who's driving your bus?" I had also been called in,
and had gotten a glowing recommendation. By that I mean the
principal had told me, "Well, for some reason they want to keep you."
Okaaaaaay. I don't have to worry. I have tenure. And I haven't done
anything stupid like pretend I'm dying so I can be the guest of honor
at THE GAY AWARDS.

So I am not going to eat warm cheese after 10:00 pm anymore,
because this is just weirding me out. I will have to look it up in my
Dream Dictionary, which I keep at school for entertainment
purposes only. Hey, any book you can get a kid to read is a good
book.

This is about the weirdest dream I've had, after that one where I
stabbed a woman in the back 57 times and got on a schoolbus to
ride to a bar where I planned to sit and drink until they caught me.
But nobody ever caught me, so we had a good ol' party. And I
didn't even eat warm cheese for that one.

So, Alexandrialeigh, don't worry so much about your dream of
dating that hairy Robin Williams. It could have been worse. Or
maybe not, because now that I think of it, I would rather be the
guest of honor at THE GAY AWARDS as long as I wasn't dying
than be on a date with Robin Williams, because I was almost
physically ill when I saw his naked hairiness in the movie Moscow
on the Hudson with Maria Conchita Alonso, who now has some
kind of nervous twitch, most probably from being so near to a
naked hairy Robin Williams.

If you made it through this whole crazy post, congratulations to
you! Not many people have been commenting lately, so there,
take that! See what happens when you let me run wild? There's
nobody to restrain my craziness, and my two loyal readers must
put up with this nonsense. Sorry Mabel. Sorry Bean. If you had
your own blogs, maybe I could be stopped. Or not. Bwahahaha!

Ask Hillbilly Mom

Good gracious! The things my students come up with these days!

Yesterday, I knew I was in for a bumpy ride when one asked me:

Can you get a shot to make you give milk, like for a baby? I don't
want to, but my friend and I are having an argument. She doesn't
want to, either, but she says you can't.

I guess it's possible. You can get a shot to stop it. It's regulated
by a hormone. Prolactin, I think.

Can you drink alcohol at a football game? My friend says you
can, that at another school they were drinking it.

I don't think that sounds right. Drug-free schools and all that.
And if it could be done, you could bet the school would do
it at the concession stand to make money.

Can you smoke at a football game?

Same thing. Nicotine is a drug. They probably have a designated
smoking area.

She said they were sitting in the bleachers smoking. Not her,
but some other people.

Maybe they didn't get caught.

Have you ever been to the bathroom there?

Uh, no. Not since I went to school there many years ago. You
had to go inside then.

Well, they have them outside, and they don't have a main door,
they have plywood doors, and it's like in a shack. I went in, and
you could see my head when I sat on the toilet, so I just pretended
to go. Then I had to go all night, and I kept walking back, but I
couldn't go because of those plywood doors. Then I didn't want
my ex-boyfriend's parents to think I was drinking or something,
because I kept going back to the bathroom.

Hmmm...

My friend thought I shouldn't sit by them. She said I was stalking
him. I just thought it would be nice to sit by them. And do you
know, they list the player's weight in the program? That's none
of anybody's business. It's embarrassing.

They do that for football. And wrestling. Same as they list height
for basketball. They don't do it to embarrass them.

Well, my ex-boyfriend's said 275.

That's not that much for a football player. You want them to be
big. So they can knock people down and not get hurt.

Do you remember Blankety Blank?

He can't even take care of himself. If he falls over, he could die.
And his mom isn't even home with him. She's off running around.

I heard she's a lesbian. She's sleeping with some woman.

Unh uh. She's sleeping with Whack Whackety. That's where she's
running around to.

Hey, hey! Tra la la! Mmmmmmmm. Too much information! I
don't want to hear that!

Oh, okay. My friend got mad at me because I wouldn't go in
and pay for her gas. I told her, "No. I will go in and pay for my
own gas when I get my license." She made my little sister go in
and pay. Then she was mad and driving really crazy. But I didn't
tell her that, because then she would have been madder. I just
wanted to get home. It's one thing if she wants to kill me, but
she had my little sister in the car. That's just not right.

Maybe it's time to get another friend.

Intervention Audience

I watched this show last night on A & E called "Intervention." I have
seen parts of it before, but it's not something I plan my schedule
around. Here is my problem with this show. Who exactly is the target
audience? Are they looking for addicts who want to change? Family
who has an addict they want to change? Why would you watch
something that reminds you of your personal heartaches? And I
can't exactly picture addicts sitting around watching the show.

I know I joked about having an addiction to Sonic Cherry Diet Coke.
I don't consume drugs. I don't drink. But when I watch this show, I
watch it to see the people before they get help. To watch them take
drugs. And I don't think, "Oh, that's terrible! How can they do that?"
I think, "Man, I bet that's some good stuff. I bet they feel good right
now." Kind of sick, isn't it? Do you think this show makes some
people get high? Do you think it gives them that little push that they
might not have had if they were watching, oh, I don't know, perhaps
Everybody Loves Raymond?

There is nothing glamorous about the way it is depicted. In fact, the
subjects of the show think they are being filmed for a documentary.
This 24-year-old guy went to visit his dad and 4-year-old half-brother,
and after he left he held up a baggie of powdered Demerol. He said
he took the capsules out of the medicine cabinet and one-by-one
poured out 40 mg of Demerol, leaving 10 mg and replacing the rest
with salt. That is just wrong. But when he licked his finger and dipped
it in the baggie, I thought, "Ooh, that's gonna be goooood." I know.
I'm sick. I'm an addict. What's up with that? Think about people who
dabble in this stuff. Couldn't a show like this push them over the
edge? Assuming they watch it, if they're not already out getting high.

Oh, I teared up a little when the families told the addicts how much
they were loved, and how they were hurting everyone. But still, I was
thinking, "I wonder if he's gonna get high one last time before he
arrives at rehab."

It's not like this is a novelty for me. I have been around the getting
high scene. I went to college, for cryin' out loud! What is my
fascination? Do you think I have a problem? Do you think I need
an intervention? Am I the only person who watches that show to
see people get high?

I have had a stressful day. I am off to feed my other addiction:
Little Chocolate Donuts.

May I Help You Find Something?

Here are some 5-seconds-or-less visitors to my blog. I can't imagine
they would have stayed longer. I don't believe I have what they're
looking for. I might have some explainin' to do.

swimming in high heels - I do not recommend it. The water will run
out of your blue plastic Wal-mart pool.

lateral meniscus hurts after mowing lawn - Duh! Then don't mow
the lawn!

neo nazi haircut the boys will come a'runnin' - But you may not
want to meet these boys.

train made from 55 gallon barrels lawnmower - Pick a hobby and
stick with it, "Fitty." You can pull the train, you can stuff victims in
55 gallon barrels, or you can torture your meniscus with a lawnmower!
Don't spread yourself so thin.

middle school math sponge activities - I swear I had nothing to do
with this. It sounds so....WRONG!

dill molestation - Dill. Not just for pickles anymore.

hot hunky hung mature gay truck drivers - What have I been blogging
about? I did not know I reached this audience!

sinkhole repair hicksville - Gosh! Can you call people to come fix
your sinkholes out in Hicksville?

hillbilly party - YeeHaw! I'll whittle a few more corncob pipes, shove
a possum in the oven, and shovel out the outhouse. We'll have us a
hoedown!

4 wheelers for kids - It's my charity. Like Toys for Tots. 4-wheelers
for MY kids.

redneck party ideas - Cause the hillbilly party wasn't good enough
for 'em.

what hillbilly looks like - Oh, c'mon. We're not as elusive as Bigfoot!

what kid of clothes did puritans have - Uh, maybe you meant kind of
clothes? Are you planning a Puritan party?

hedgeapples to feed horses - I don't think hedgeapples are good for
horses.

redneck fashion - Don't get your hopes up. Apparently, we dress like
Puritans.

movie quotes all the way with a red hot poker - If you didn't like my
movie contest, you could have said so. No need to jab me with that
poker.

hillbilly kevin - Hey, he's my neighbor.

hot mom's hung son - No no no lalalalala mmmmmmm I can't hear you!

beaver diva - Is there something one of you is not telling me, DIVA?

hedgeapple fruit trash - What are you saying? Do they live in trailers?

lea thompson duct tape gag - Uh, Ms. Lea Thompson, actress, do you
have a bodyguard? Because you might want to check into that.


This is just from August and September. Who knows what the future
holds?

Circus of the Absurd

How Redneck do you have to be to wear this to Thanksgiving dinner?
I think the house would have wheels on it. Now don't you trailer trash
people go getting your panties up your butt (Oh, you already do. They're
called thongs!). I spent my first 12 formative years in a home on wheels,
so I'm allowed to use the TT words. Now you might notice that this offer
is an exclusive. Don't go buyin' no cheap knockoffs of the Turkey Table
Hat. The inventors at Collections, Etc. might go all crazed crystal meth
addict on your a$.

Actually, this photo was just to snag your interest. We will now return
you to your regular programming, which is of course all about ME!
ME ME ME! ME stuffed into a chicken stuffed into a duck stuffed
into a turkey. I call it momturducken. With a side of greenMEEEEn
Funyun casserole, and a MEcan pie for dessert. The beverage would
be Cherry Vanilla Diet Dr. ME. No, I'm not serious. I can't stand
that stuff. It would of course be Cherry Diet ME, or Classic ME.
Guess who's not coming to dinner at my Thanksgiving table? That's
right. All of you!

So getting back to my tales of working for the state unemployment
office....I was out of my element. I am from Redneckland, all white
people all the time. We are all pretty similar. Except for that Nub
guy who pushes himself around in a little red wagon. Dadblastit!
There I go again! That was on Burt Reynolds' TV show, Evening
Shade. I mean Big Larry, the 500 lb. guy who walks all over town
hitching rides in the back of pickup trucks. Imagine if he didn't get
all that exercise walking!

My job in South St. Louis was an eye-opener! They had different
kinds of people working there! There must have been 4 (count 'em,
4!) Black people! (Well, it was South St. Louis, after all, which is
not so very different from Redneckland). There was a Little Person,
and a woman with an oxygen tank, and an albino, and a closeted
gay man (that's what the workers told me, anyway), and some
Catholics, and a Lutheran, and I think even a Jewish person. Plus
two women who wore sensible shoes, but I didn't get any other
vibes from them, so they must have just been Midwesterners with
comfortable feet. Now comes the Circus of the Absurd part. It wasn't
that great diversity that made the work environment strange. It was the
actions of the people.

My cronies in the unemployment claims department were not so
crazy, as I knew the method to their madness. Familiarity breeds
understanding of their coping methods. Alice would do anything to
be in control, so she was our ringmaster. Shirley was the sad clown,
always nervousing (thanks, Cowboy, from Big Brother 5, for that
new word) that she had punched something into the CRT that couldn't
be fixed. Paul was the magician who always fixed it. Cliff the temp was
the Slowest Man On Earth. Eileen the temp was the Oldest Living
B****. Bob, the albino claims supervisor, was the driver of the clown
car, miraculously coming up with workers to move the crowd when it
seemed there were not enough workers scheduled. Larry, the supervisor
of the technicians, was the lion tamer, keeping the tantrums to a minimum.

The Job Service side of the office was certifiably nuts. They didn't
have enough work to do. Nobody came to the unemployment office
to look for work! So they spent the day sitting in each other's cubicles
talking about us. Carol, the oxygen tank lady, was like the bearded
woman. She scared everyone, because they didn't want to turn out
like her. Jane the Little Person wasn't nuts, but people treated her
as if she would break, and tried to do things for her that she would
rather have done herself. Pat the employment service technician
belonged under the Big Top. Word had it that in the downtown
office, she threw a pencil at another worker in a disagreement.
She lived alone and played Nintendo and walked about a mile
home from K-Mart with a blue hard-plastic kiddie pool on her
head for her cats to swim in. Go figure. Diana, the job counselor,
wore two different shoes to work. (No, Mabel, she didn't have
foot surgery. She got dressed in the dark). Shirley pointed this
out to Diana after lunch, and Diana said, "I wish you hadn't told
me. Now I'll be self-conscious the rest of the day." Lois was
divorced, but her ex-husband lived in the upstairs of her house.
Lois had connections, because she used to work with Kathleen
Madigan, the comedian. Gina and Cynthia were the two popular
girls who got their way. They put the sign-in book away at 8:00 am
on the dot, but would get it back out if one of their buddies was
late. They were like corrupt ticket-takers, skimming the till.

I was constantly amazed at what people could get away with.
Joyce, the 60-something claims tech that worked in the cubicle
next to me, seemed on the surface to be a nice little grandmotherly
woman. She wore a wig, but nobody would ask why. Her shoes
matched her purse. Her fingernails matched her pastel sweater/
skirt sets. She was calm, very genteel, and called everybody
"honey." Then one day she finished taking an appeal in person
from a Middle Eastern guy, turned to me, and said, "Typical
Sand N****r." What?!!!!!!!!!!!!! I was speechless. These
people were much more racist than the Rednecks I was used
to. Their excuse was "You haven't been around them like we
have. You don't know what they're like." Which was just hard
to take from people who are supposedly smarter than average,
because you have to get a pretty good score on the merit test
to be interviewed and hired. It's not like I was working with
a bunch of 8th grade dropouts who had never been out of
Hooterville.

Speaking of Hooterville, I eventually got a transfer from that
office to one that was two blocks from my house in Redneckland.
I worked there until a big reorganization that made the claims
all automated, done by phone. But it left Job Service people
working, in a job where nobody ever came to see them. Hey,
I could have taken a transfer to the downtown St. Louis office,
or to Springfield, but by then I had my #1 son, and didn't want
to drive or move.

And yeah, I drew unemployment for 26 weeks. Because I could.