Hey Ma! This Cherry says Substitute Teachers!

The students turn with murderous looks on their faces, sharpened pencils in hand. The harried teacher races out the door to go to the "urgent staff meeting"....yeah, right. And of course, the poor sub is left facing a group of squirrely, rowdy third graders who don't seem to realize that pencils + rulers do not equal helicopters. Students begin to bounce around the room...the room begins to spin as the poor sub sinks to his knees...it's a substitute teacher's nightmare. I personally don't think they pay our substitute teachers enough money. It's hard enough for the regular teacher who deals with children everyday, knows the children's habits, knows which children are best left alone to their own devices, which need to be watched constantly, and which children are angels in disguise and can be left alone with a sharpened saw without mishap. However, substitute teachers don't have this luxury of background knowledge and are instead left with every question possible. Is Angel really an angel? How did Dominic eat his homework so fast? Why does Marcus keep on banging his desk up with Lucy's head? And how did Rachel end up on the floor bleeding from her index finger?!?!?!??! All these questions a substitute teacher must strive to answer before the end of the day, or else. Mayhem, chaos, and cacophonus sounds are just part of the job description for an average substitute teacher. The minute a sub walks in, children seem to lose their ability to control twitching, yelling, screaming, and various acts of violence. That's why I believe most CIA operatives were once substitute teachers. It takes the same amount of stamina, courage, wits, and flexibility to do both jobs. One job may involve dangerous missions with lots of cool, night vision goggles and classic, black spywear while the other may involve keeping children from smuggling their silverware from the cafeteria to the classroom and managing to poke it in an electrical socket. That's why I admire substitute teachers. They're a tough bunch of cherries, and I honor them. Hey, stop by, read for a while, make your own decisions, leave a comment. I'll appreciate it. And I hope that somewhere, someone is waiting for you with a hilarious story about a crazy sub from their school days.

Hey Ma! This Cherry says Airplane Food!

Yup. Airplane food. That sludge that's served on a tasteful plastic tray with that undrinkable, stale airplane water. Mmm....my stomach's growling already. I'm pretty sure that prison food is first tried out on airplanes...just to make sure it's healthy enough for the prisoners, of course. If it turns a few passenger stomachs, hey, that's okay. But at least we don't get in trouble with the state! Okay, okay, I should probably give the airplane cooks a break. It is hard to whip up a gourmet meal for a hundred some passengers and a few, grumpy pilots. But you have to admit, when you're exhausted and on a plane where some balding man is hacking his guts out and a baby is wailing so hard, the windows are shaking, you wish for something else to eat that cold, jiggling jello which your're sure has a life of it's own. I feel even worse for the poor stewardesses, though. They have to load this mess on carts, plaster a bright smile on their faces as they pass out the slime to snappish passenger who send them hateful looks, praying that the passengers aren't so disgruntled as to chuck that whining baby at their faces. Yes, I love airplanes. That atmosphere of terrible food, no sleep, unhappy people, tired pilots, screaming engines, and tiny, smelly bathrooms with sandpaper to wipe your hands with. Sorta like....well, sorta like.....sorta like nothing, actually. Airplanes have an atmosphere of their own. But the horror is almost worth it for that glorious relief that washes through you when the plane touches down and you bolt out the doors. That feeling that you got somewhere safely. That feeling of strength as you realized you survived the greatest torture American citizens are routinely subjected to. It's a great, almost unmatched feeling. Okay, okay, I'll stop babbling, you've probably stopped caring a great while ago. But stop by, read for a while, make your own decisions, leave a comment. I'll appreciate it. And I hope that somewhere, someone is waiting for you, ready to give you a delicious, home-cooked meal not airplane style.

Hey Ma! This Cherry Says Toilet Paper!

Ah, toilet paper. Something so simple, yet so essential. Something even the ritziest apartments on Fifth Avenue posses, yet the elite cringe to mention. Toilet paper. Yeah, yeah, there are some important politicians somewhere debating health care which is an important issue. But some of us are sitting on the toilet freaking out because there's no more toilet paper. Then we have to call out to someone not "occupied" at the moment to save our butts....literally. I understand that the war on terror, health care, racist issues, and poverty are some of the biggest problems our nation have ever faced...but I think it's comforting to think that some days, we can just take a break and the biggest problem we have is to wonder if it's politically correct to let the toilet paper hang over the roll or come out from under. (I prefer over...I find it more sanitary because there's no risk of the paper coming into contact with the filthy wall....) When, though, did we start taking this paper seriously? When did children across America begin to recognize the Charmin bears and come to love them? When did we actually start paying attention to the flowered, diamond, or dotted designs on the paper we use to wipe our seats? I'm not sure, but I think that day was a glorious one. One where children rushed to watch the Charmin bear and not worry about getting new toys. One where we found that we took delight in tracing the designs on our toilet paper and realizing that they were extremely attractive. One where politicians put down their differences and bonded together to try to solve the problem of how big a standard "plush" roll should be. Sigh....maybe I'm exaggerating the importance of toilet paper. But nevertheless, stop by, read for a while, make your own decisions, leave a comment. I'll appreciate it. And I hope that somewhere, someone is waiting with the plushest, fluffiest role of toilet paper known to man to save you your next trip to the bathroom.

Hey!

My Social Studies teacher promised me that if I blogged, there would be some group of insane people who would be interested and want to read it. So here it goes....if you are really interested, then I'm amazed. I named this blog for the saying "Life is just a bowl of cherries." I disagree. It's SO MUCH more complicated. I mean, there is so much more to life than cherries, which are delightful, but not extremely important. What about the sadness, the joy, the anger, the insanity, crazy, bubbling joy that wells up in your throat when you scream on a roller coaster? Or those dark, murky moments when your purpose isn't clear? Do those things fit into the category of "bowls" or "cherries"? Some of you are going, "Wow, this girl is CRAZY!" right now, and I don't disagree. I'm crazy, and funky and weird, and I don't really mind if nobody reads this. But I kinda hope you do. Stop by, read for a while, make your own decisions, leave a comment. I'll appreciate it. Thanks for reading, and I hope that somewhere, someone is waiting for you with a delightful bowl of cherries to eat.