Tag Archives: education

My Autobiography – from 6th grade?

Recently I have been redecorating my home office/craft room – looking for painting ideas on the Internet and basically overhauling the whole damn thing.

I have been wanting to change the decor in that room for 12 years!  Twelve years!

Finally, it seems like a reality – but I’m not quite there yet.

Scouring every inch of shit I’ve accumulated has been a real chore but maybe finally I’ll get my ass organized.  I’ve come across bill from 1993 and other crap that I promptly burned in my chiminea – because that damn shredder keeps crapping out!

Anyway, I cam across a lot of sentimental items as well:  pictures, mementos and my 6th grade autobiography.

It’s so funny to see what I thought of the world at 12.  That was 33 years ago!  I can’t believe I’m that old!  Damn!

So I thought I’d share some excerpts with you.  Now keep in mind that after I graduated college I became a translator in New York, the 6 years later a French & Spanish teacher.  Here we go:

Table of Contents (including page numbers of course!)

First Born
Kindergarten to Third
Fourth to Sixth Grade
My Future Plans
My Thanks
To Get This Information
Pictures

A full 14 pages!!!!!  Remember that this was pre-computer – 1979.  This is not the complete “work”….

… At two years I was potty trained and at four months I used to climb out out of my playpen by putting my toes and fingers in the holes and climbing out.  I couldn’t stand my pacifier or playpen.  I used to climb out of my crib and my parents couldn’t figure out how I did it.

I swam at two years and stopped my bottle at two years old, when my mother threw it in the garbage.  I walked at eight months and was a pain in the foot.

I cried a lot, my mother said I was born with my mouth open.  I never slept, my mother had to play country music mostly “Tiger By The Tail” by George Jones and dance me to sleep, but I still wouldn’t go to sleep…

…When I used to do something wrong I used to hide under my Aunt Mary’s bed.

My mother said I was always quiet and good, and never touched anything when I went out.  I used to sit by my mother all the while, I was very shy like my father…

…I was promoted to first grade when I had Mrs. Romano.  We had a play and I was a sunflower.  For Halloween I was a flower girl with a pink gown.  Mrs. Romano left to have a baby, and that’s when Mrs. Tobie took over.

When I was in second grade I had Mrs. Forstenhausler.  She was a very good teacher.  We had a play and I was an Arabian belly dancer.  I looked exactly like Jeannie on T.V., even my hair and shoes…

…When I was eight years old I made my First Holy Communion

…I was in Brownies from second to third grade.

When I was eight and a half I started twirling at the Masonic Temple in Bloomfield… But then she transferred the Bloomfield girls to Nutley to the Elks Club and we became the “Elkettes”.  Then I was asked to take private lessons…

…Fourth to Sixth Grade.  I went to Mrs. Little’s class and developed many nicknames but one still sticks called “Apollo Creed” because I always put up my fists…

…At nine years of age I started competitive twirling, modeling, strutting, etc…

…I’ll soon be going to North Junior High and I’m a little bit scared about the whole new thing.

My hobbies are:  twirling, swimming, crafts, ceramics, ice and roller skating, biking, modeling, diving, dancing and many more…

…I have been in numerous twirling contests and beauty contests…  All together I have about ninety trophies and medals…

…I will certainly try to get into Miss America when I grow up.

My Future Plans.  For my future I would like to be a Psychiatrist.  I have thought about being an actress but with a hundred to one chance I won’t get to be famous….

It’s so weird to read this.  Lemme see…  I did want to be a doctor but when I realized that I couldn’t stand the sight of blood – that was out.

Miss America?  After Essex County Junior Miss (which I did for MY MOTHER) I was DONE.  D – O – N – E, done.  Pageants weren’t for me.

I can still twirl, and I still consider my hobbies to be crafts, roller skating, swimming and if I was younger and still clubbing my nights away – dancing!

Some things have changed, some haven’t, but I’m still Jacqui.

How different or alike are you all these years later?

© 2012 J. H-M and CultureChoc2010.

Eructation, Flatulence And Other Funny Noises? A Re-Blog

As I’ve said before, if you are a teacher you need a sense of humor.  The minute someone farts, burps or makes some other weird noise, you lose all control of the classroom for a few minutes.  The giggling and laughing overtake the room.  The sarcastic comments from the kids flood the class with a host of accusations about who farted, burped or otherwise.  When my stiletto makes a squeak on the floor I too find it necessary to say, “That was my shoe, not me”.

I started writing about this topic when my period 10 class was amidst presentations.  The room was quiet, someone walked up to present and yes, someone farted.  Though the offender was never confirmed we all had our ideas.  Although I am against farting in class, you have to feel for a kid who accidentally slips one out.  Who would want to admit that in school?  Your friends don’t care but among a host of mixed company you will be socially destroyed.

My friend (who shall be nameless) used to fart in the car, lock the windows and put the heat on full blast.  This wasn’t fitting behavior for 17 & 18-year-old young women – but when alone we did act pretty gross.  The same friend passed gas in my face during a Twister grudge match in her living room.  I did not falter but my nose did.  Despite her flatulence, she is still my friend today.

We grow up (at least I did) thinking farting was the funniest thing ever.  Our fathers farted and made jokes about.  My Poppy was an equal offender.  And almost every guy I dated (for a significant period of time – including my spouse) was a Lothario of Farts who thought they seduced women with their perfume.  At a really young age I may have found it funny but at this point in my life I’m just grossed out.

I mean, I couldn’t say the word “fart” in mixed company until I started teaching.  I always said “passed gas” because it was more elegant – I’m not sure how that can be elegant but maybe I’m looking for the words proper or correct.  I was baptized into my first year teaching by a student and his farts.  I had a class of 10th or 11th grade boys with one poor girl thrown in.  I couldn’t take the gas so I made the guilty student go outside, shake it out a bit and come back in EVERY SINGLE time.  And he did.  The best was when someone walked into it after he left the hallway.  I couldn’t help but crack up by the look on the poor kid’s face who walked into that horror show of an odor.  Yes, I found it funny as well.

Kids will be kids – but I can’t say that without saying – old people with be old people.  Today I was walking around Target when I ducked into the magazine aisle to find a lo-cal recipe for tonight’s dinner.  As soon as I grabbed a magazine an old lady loudly farted and looked around to see if anyone had heard her indiscretion.  I avoided eye contact and quickly threw the magazine back in the rack and got out of there quickly.  Ew.  I was thoroughly grossed out then I remembered that I knew people who did that too.  They would offend and walk away and leave it lingering for all to walk through.  I don’t think I ever did that.  Maybe once in an emergency but never on purpose.

Everyone passes gas, burps, poops and pees but we all pretend that we don’t.  Some middle school boys may have a rude awakening in the future when they discover that girls actually do all these things too.  We blame it on the cat or dog or someone else.  Whoever smelt it dealt it.  Whoever denied it supplied it.  Are there any new ones?

Girls, boys, men women, dogs, cats.  Why are these noises so funny?  Is it innate, learned, spontaneous or just plain old bad manners?

Image: Clare Bloomfield / FreeDigitalPhotos.net

© 2011 J. H-M and CultureChoc2010.

Rich Boys, Turkish Toilets and Mosh Pits?

When I was a wild and crazy 21-year-old, living in Paris and doing whatever the hell I wanted, my days were never dull and my nights were pretty exciting as well.

I was always meeting random guys and going to random parties – which were always spectacular.  One night I was invited to party right off the Champs Élysées – I think it was on rue Victor Hugo.

It was a great soirée complete with spoiled, rich boys ready to show all a good time and spend some serious cash.  The night went great – drinking, dancing, socializing… and then I had to pee.

I sauntered into the co-ed bathrooms and discovered that I was facing my long time fear – peeing in a Turkish Toilet.  If you have never seen this particular animal, it’s a hole in the floor with a place to put your feet – but remember to jump out as you flush or your feet will get wet.

I entered the stall, ignoring the fact that a cute boy was peeing next to me, lifted my skirt, pulled down my stockings and tried to perform a super squat directing my urine into the tiny hole rather than spilling it down my legs.

Success!  All was well dans les toilettes.  My legs were dry and my clothes were pee free.  I had managed to pull it off.

Back on the dance floor a mosh pit had developed with young, drunk Parisians slamming into each other with of course, some casualties.

After a few more cocktails and some major ass-shaking, we headed over to Les Bains Douches – the hot club du jour in Paris in 1987.  Bains Douches was an exclusive “Studio 54” type atmosphere where you waited outside until you were picked to go inside.

The rich boys that we were with were a tad inebriated and tried to push me to the front in my see-through lace top and micro mini and very big hair so that we would all get in.   That didn’t work because the door Nazi would only let me in and no one else.

Then the poor, little rich boy pulled out a wad of cash and tried to bribe the chick guarding the door…

“Ça vaut pas la peine monsieur.”

Which is French for “No fucking way!”  We left with our tails between our legs (not mine – frankly I was a little aggravated I didn’t go in – but I couldn’t ditch my new-found friends) and trudged off to another club or bar – who remembers?

What I loved about Paris then and love about it now is that there is always something to do, someone to meet and somewhere to go.  You’ll never be bored unless you choose to be.

I never saw those guys again (at least I don’t think I did – so long ago) but I’ll always remember it like it was yesterday.  Twenty two years later I can still envision my surroundings and remember what it was like to pee in a co-ed Turkish Toilet for the first time.

I’ve peed in a few since then.  Have you ever?

© 2011 J. H-M and CultureChoc2010

Happy To Be Back… A Reblog from 2010

Bopping back and forth from the bed to the bathroom floor was not my idea of fun these last few days.  Stuck in the house with a stomach virus since Tuesday when I foolishly tried to go to work gave me time to ponder.  Ponder what, I don’t know.  Maybe I should have thought about my idiocy when I got in the car at 7 am to head to work.

From 2 am to 6 am I spent most of my time with my head in the toilet or my ass in the same place.  Just typing that “skeeves me out”.  Ass – face, ass – face, ass – face.  Our heads should never been where our asses have already been but I get it’s one necessary evil for all of us at one time or another.

So at 6:30 I got up, showered, dressed and headed up the Garden State Parkway with 2 Ziploc bags as my passengers.  Halfway up the parkway, the cold sweats started and I started to get dizzy and nauseous.  I grabbed my first passenger and drove the rest of the way, Ziploc bag beneath my chin and praying I wouldn’t have to pull over.  Damn John!  I thought I had food poisoning from the Mascarpone cheesecake that he baked the night before.  I couldn’t believe it was getting worse instead of better.

When I pulled into the Dwight Road faculty parking lot, I didn’t think I had the strength to get out of the car.  I waited a few minutes and mustered up some vigor and staggered into the building, up the stairs and right into the bathroom heading for my stall.  I was sick again!  I must have been crazy for coming in.  What was I thinking?

I called my friend Barb (who is the school nurse) from my Blackberry while I was sitting on the dirty floor of the handicapped bathroom and explained my predicament.  She met me in the hallway and told me that I should leave and she would let the office know what was going on.  I teetered to my room and starting writing plans.

Tout a coup a sub was at my side and I was sent home.  I felt like I was in high school again.  I managed to drive directly to the doctor’s office to find out what was wrong.  The doc checked me out, took a couple of samples, gave me a VERY painful shot in my ass, handed me 2 prescriptions and sent me on my way home.

It took me 3 days to recupe both my health and my dignity but I returned to work today.  I woke up at 5 am and couldn’t wait to leave the house.  Did I mention that John is home all day?

I got there at 7 and couldn’t believe how happy I was to be at work.  I needed human conversation.  No meowing, no fur, no skid marks on the cat safety sheet.  I needed my routine – surtout, my sanity.  Don’t get me wrong, when I was lying on the bathroom floor in the middle of the night my 2 wonderful and caring kitties were by my side the entire time while my husband was snoring peacefully in his room.  I just needed to be with my kids at work.  All of the kids, even my skootches.  It would be a great day!

A great day until a few of my 4th period skootches informed me that someone had left my phone number from the fax on their dittos.  “Ooooo.  I have senora’s number.”  Great!  Now the prank calling would start.  I told them, “Big deal, rip it off the ditto and don’t call me.”  They giggled and I forgot about it…

Until 7:39 pm this evening when I received my first prank call from a “Raul”.  I promptly laughed it off, told them to stop bugging me and not to call again.  They hung up and I dialed *57 to trace the call.  We’ll see what happens on the phone front.  Ugh!

Did I say I was happy to be back at work?

© 2011  J. H-M and CultureChoc2010

Image: zmkstudio / FreeDigitalPhotos.net

Do The Excuses Ever Stop? Enabling, Mommy Texting and Other Evils – A Re-examination From A Teacher’s Point of View

I wrote this post back in June but every year it seems to get worse.  The pussy generation is getting bigger and bigger and I am going crazier and crazier.

Psycho parents… qu’est-ce que c’est?

The school year is winding down and most World Language classes are preparing for final exams. Both the students taking exams and the teachers giving them are stressed, to say the least.  The school year is finally getting into full swing and the stress levels are mounting.  I have such issues with what’s happening with many in this generation of children.

EVIL NUMBER ONE: Enabling.  The last thing we need is more stress.  It’s the end of the year for Christ’s sake!  Four full days.  Four full days of exams.  Four half days for students and 1 day of graduation.  So why are parents still making excuses?  Why are guidance and the CST still ENABLING?

Because it’s all about the CHILDREN?  Give me a break.  If it were all about the children, there would be consequences.  Consequences for bad behavior, laziness and truancy are just a few.  If it were about the children there would be more administrative discipline, more in and out of school suspensions and more children being retained.

Why do the powers that be insist on pushing kids through when they do absolutely NOTHING, they can’t read or write and they are horrible disruptions to the entire class?  Let them fail.  Maybe it would be a good wake-up call for these students and their parents.  Maybe if their kid is 16 and still 7th grade, they would be so ashamed that they would finally stand up and be good parents.

Parents need to stop being their children’s friends and start acting like moms and dads.  Start acting like parents.  Kids need discipline.  Kids need consequences and boundaries.  Caregivers at home and school should be able to recognize the manipulators – and there are many.  I get sick to my stomach every time I think about it.

I know teenagers.  They will manipulate, lie and try to get away with as much as possible if you let them.  That’s normal.  Allowing them to have a free-for-all is NOT!  We were all teenagers once.  We were the same but we had the fear of God and our parents.

I was afraid of my parents.  Afraid of disappointing them and afraid of getting trouble.  So many children nowadays have NO FEAR.  Seriously, no fear.  I’ve been in IEP meeting when a young girl stood up and called her mother a Bitch.  Mommy would have back-handed me – but I don’t think I would have had the nerve to say something like that to begin with.

EVIL NUMBER TWO:  Mommy Texting.  Did you ever e-mail a parent or give them a call to update them on their child’s progress or lack thereof and 10 minutes later, their child comes bursting into your room, in the middle of your class, protesting with a foul attitude?  This is a result of Mommy Texting.  A text sent to a student by his or her mommy telling them what Ms. So And So said about them.  Where do they get their nerve?  No cell phones in school means NOTHING.

EVIL NUMBER THREE:  Rewards for social retardation.  Ice cream for the mal élévé.  How can rewards, such as pretzels, candy and ice cream be a punishment for bad social behavior.  Slamming your backpack on a desk, fighting with classmates, overtly hating and alienating everyone around you and doing ZERO, nothing, nada, niente and rien are surely great reasons to be penalized by ice cream and sugar.  All the other kids talk about it.  It’s embarrassing.  I’m embarrassed for them.

EVIL NUMBER THREE:  The Running Excuse Via Parental Manipulation. “Ms. Jones, please e-mail me as soon as Fred starts having problems.”  Why do I bother?  With 13 days left of school I’m still hearing the same old song.  He said he did the work.  He said he’s not talking.  He said he’s paying attention but just doesn’t get it.  Well… get your ass in here for extra help and stop whining!  We did it in class TOGETHER.  It was a class assignment and if you did nothing (which is probably the case), you had to take it home for homework.  I can’t wipe your asses for you dears.  Someday YOU will be accountable.  I cannot wait for the day!

So when will this generation (and I’m not talking about all of you – you know who you are) of parents rise to the occasion and step up to mold their children into hard-working, productive, non-whining members of society?  When?

I don’t know if that day will ever come but I wish they would stop masking their poor parenting skills and own up to it.  In my opinion we’re raising a weak generation of complainers.

Ladies and Gentlemen, step right up to see the pussification of America at its best!

Image: Francesco Marino / FreeDigitalPhotos.net

Image: Suat Eman / FreeDigitalPhotos.net

© 2010 J. H-M and CultureChoc2010.

 

A Raving Lunatic’s Friday Rants

09.10.10

Image by colemama via Flickr

Where do I start?  Thursday was the worst day!

For some reason all my classes had selective hearing.  I gave them instructions and 5 seconds later someone asked, “What are we doing?”  Two more seconds later, “Do we have to write the full sentence?”  Over and over again.  I must have explained 4 times and I still got:

  • What page are we on?
  • What are we doing?
  • Is this in the workbook or textbook?
  • What exercises?
  • I’m sorry.  I was in the bathroom.  What are we doing?

And over and over and over again.  Sorry – I already said that but I was ready to take the gas pipe!

If that wasn’t bad enough my day further reared its ugly head at my current state of finances – but that’s entirely a different story.

So I get home and I have to deal with all the money sh**.  Then… a giant cat fight!  Hiss!  Meow!  Growl!  Spit!

I can’t take it anymore!

To top it off my boy cat attacked me, sprayed all under the bed, sprayed the girl cat, fur everywhere!  WTF!

I’m officially losing it.

Bitch.  Moan.  Bitch .  Moan.  It’s my turn now.  I need a break from my life.  Work.  Cats.  Husband.  Worries.  Everything!

How do people have kids?  And more than one kid?  No freakin’ way.  I’m completely overwhelmed with cats – pussies – felines –meows – whatever you want to call them – I’m exhausted.

So I lowered the heat to 60, opened all my windows in 20 degree weather and the smell still lingers.  Shortly after, Bailey comes trolling around upstairs and I have to lock Thursie in the bedroom with the stinky litter box – that by the way, Bailey already pooped in it to show his dominance – with door closed and I’m afraid to venture up because I know it with be an assault on my nose.

Where the Hell am I going to sleep?

So now I’m downstairs watching A Charlie Brown Christmas – which is not helping – drinking a glass of Sauvignon Blanc.  I just ate dinner – it’s 8:30 pm and I’m looking around at my complete disarray – mentally and physically.

I think I’ll covet someone else’s life tonight – sorry God.

I can only pray for a better tomorrow.

© 2010 J. H-M and CultureChoc2010.

It’s The Weekend…

It’s the weekend, so check out some of my posts or pages that you haven’t seen!

Cooking In Stilettos; The Page, Not The Blog

Dinner At The Bar

Journal of A Dieting Diva

Shake It Like A Polaroid

Shoe Shock

Enjoy your weekend!

© 2010 J. H-M and CultureChoc2010.

Why Teachers Need Summers Off

In loco parentis.  Is this really true?  For 185 days we teach, we enlighten and frankly babysit other people’s children.  We can’t beat them (well, in some states you can – maybe I should move there), we are often unable to punish them effectively (there is often no follow-through).  We can’t take their IPODS & cell phones away for any extended period of time.  We can’t ground them.  We can’t even assess book fines without someone whining profusely, then calling administration to complain about the fine – oh and don’t forget checking to see if the others have wiped their asses too.  We can’t even give a quiz, test or exam without some kind of negative brouhaha.

So how the f**** parental are we?  I say, not very.

Many parents need parents.  Maybe they should go back home and remember what they were taught as younggins.  That teachers should be respected not disrespected.  If I came home with a book fine, my parents would not question the teacher, they would pay the fine.  I find it ridiculous and frankly embarrassing that no one is responsible for their own actions anymore.  When does it stop?  Does it ever?

People.  Take responsibility for you own actions.  EVERYONE!

Before becoming a teacher, I never understood why teachers had sick days.  I guess I just figured that you can train your body to be sick only in the off months.  Was I wrong!  Working in a school is like living in a prime germ incubation bubble that is relentless.  If you have a terrible immune system like mine, you’ll be sure to catch EVERYTHING – and I do catch everything.  I welcome the sick days because, frankly, I need them when I’m so ill that I can’t function enough to get out of bed.

Summer is another story.  Summer recharges your batteries.  It refreshes you after be being beaten down all year by students and parents (not all of them) and other powers that be.  By June I’m ready to commit murder, seriously hurt someone or just pick up my purse and leave.  In this current economic environment – not such a good idea.  Mental health days are a must.  A necessary evil so that you keep your job when all your common sense and composure seem to leap out the window and cause you to snap like a twig.

It’s really difficult not to lose your cool when tensions are high and morale is down – the current environment in NJ and elsewhere has not been very teacher-friendly.  Summer is my saviour:  job saviour, people saviour, savior from jail, etc….

By mid-August I’m ready to go back (unless I’m on some fabulous vacation) to work and start off fresh.  I love summer because I can relax, veg or get stuff done around the house.  If you are someone who wants to teach, don’t do it for the vacation time (you won’t survive), do it because you love teaching and you’re not afraid of hard work.

Happy Summer!

© 2010 J. H-M and CultureChoc2010.

School’s Out For Summer

It was the last day of school on Thursday (Wednesday for the kids) and my room looks like a bomb went off – the custodians are probably swearing at me as I type.  Not that it’s not always a mess – but it’s worse if that’s possible.

My day started out with a pre-alarm phone call from my husband who had managed to get 2 flat tires on the Garden State Parkway within 5 miles of each other.  AMEX was not an accepted means of payment, so in the middle of my shower I had to dry off and go through a complicated rigmarole to get the bill paid – long distance.  My sinus infection was worse than yesterday and my voice was slowly vanishing.

On Wednesday, my students were revved up all day long fueled by cupcakes, brownies, cookies and candy – to name a few.  So by the time 11th period rolled around, they were through the roof:  climbing on chairs, being sneaky, yelling, jumping around, standing on the desks slapping their asses and trying to hug me.  I had lost all control.  Eleventh period is a tough class to begin with.  There are the hooligans, miscreants, learning-disabled, social-inepts, slugs, over-achievers, under-achievers, wise guys, sweethearts and all-around model students.  It’s a big mixed bag that’s never dull.

Who was suspended last week?  Who is getting suspended?  Who’s in ASP?  Who lost all their books?  Who returned 4 textbooks – and none of them were his?  Who farted?  Who had to pee?  Who’s ass is hanging out?  Who’s creepily hanging around my cove?  Who’s this?  Who’s that?  Who, who, who?  It’s never-ending.

Until the last day of school – when summer begins.  It’s a cooling off period – a battery re-charging of sorts for all involved – teachers, students and parents.  The stress of school/work is gone – at least for 2 months – and then we start anew in September.  That’s the great this about teaching – you always start fresh in September.  Everyone gets a clean slate.

In June everyone has had enough of each other.  Sometimes the mere though of spending another second with someone sends me to a premature breakdown from which I eventually recover after some much-needed absence.  The kids get on my nerves and in many cases the parents are worse.  I find myself disconnecting from everyone:  students, parents and colleagues.

Then there are the sad occasions, that no matter what’s going on in your head, you are there for your kids and friends.  A death, a loss of some kind or perhaps a transfer can trigger your LOVE, KINDNESS and UNDERSTANDING genes that you do possess but carefully tuck away when your crankiness abounds.

Today is my first free day.  I’m already stressed about not receiving any more paychecks until September.  I’m still sick and on antibiotics.  Before I even got down the stairs this morning, I cleaned up vomit and hairball.  The sun is playing peek-a-boo.  I ran out of coffee but luckily found a packet of Starbucks Via in the island cabinet.

My first day of summer vacation has not been a model of perfection so I treated myself to a nice, greasy lunch with Ronny McDo.  I feel better now.

Let the games begin!

© 2010 J. H-M and CultureChoc2010.

Eructation, Flatulence And Other Funny Noises?

As I’ve said before, if you are a teacher you need a sense of humor.  The minute someone farts, burps or makes some other weird noise, you lose all control of the classroom for a few minutes.  The giggling and laughing overtake the room.  The sarcastic comments from the kids flood the class with a host of accusations about who farted, burped or otherwise.  When my stiletto makes a squeak on the floor I too find it necessary to say, “That was my shoe, not me”.

I started writing about this topic when my period 10 class was amidst presentations.  The room was quiet, someone walked up to present and yes, someone farted.  Though the offender was never confirmed we all had our ideas.  Although I am against farting in class, you have to feel for a kid who accidentally slips one out.  Who would want to admit that in school?  Your friends don’t care but among a host of mixed company you will be socially destroyed.

My friend (who shall be nameless) used to fart in the car, lock the windows and put the heat on full blast.  This wasn’t fitting behavior for 17 & 18-year-old young women – but when alone we did act pretty gross.  The same friend passed gas in my face during a Twister grudge match in her living room.  I did not falter but my nose did.  Despite her flatulence, she is still my friend today.

We grow up (at least I did) thinking farting was the funniest thing ever.  Our fathers farted and made jokes about.  My Poppy was an equal offender.  And almost every guy I dated (for a significant period of time – including my spouse) was a Lothario of Farts who thought they seduced women with their perfume.  At a really young age I may have found it funny but at this point in my life I’m just grossed out.

I mean, I couldn’t say the word “fart” in mixed company until I started teaching.  I always said “passed gas” because it was more elegant – I’m not sure how that can be elegant but maybe I’m looking for the words proper or correct.  I was baptized into my first year teaching by a student and his farts.  I had a class of 10th or 11th grade boys with one poor girl thrown in.  I couldn’t take the gas so I made the guilty student go outside, shake it out a bit and come back in EVERY SINGLE time.  And he did.  The best was when someone walked into it after he left the hallway.  I couldn’t help but crack up by the look on the poor kid’s face who walked into that horror show of an odor.  Yes, I found it funny as well.

Kids will be kids – but I can’t say that without saying – old people with be old people.  Today I was walking around Target when I ducked into the magazine aisle to find a lo-cal recipe for tonight’s dinner.  As soon as I grabbed a magazine an old lady loudly farted and looked around to see if anyone had heard her indiscretion.  I avoided eye contact and quickly threw the magazine back in the rack and got out of there quickly.  Ew.  I was thoroughly grossed out then I remembered that I knew people who did that too.  They would offend and walk away and leave it lingering for all to walk through.  I don’t think I ever did that.  Maybe once in an emergency but never on purpose.

Everyone passes gas, burps, poops and pees but we all pretend that we don’t.  Some middle school boys may have a rude awakening in the future when they discover that girls actually do all these things too.  We blame it on the cat or dog or someone else.  Whoever smelt it dealt it.  Whoever denied it supplied it.  Are there any new ones?

Girls, boys, men women, dogs, cats.  Why are these noises so funny?  Is it innate, learned, spontaneous or just plain old bad manners?

Image: Clare Bloomfield / FreeDigitalPhotos.net

© 2010 J. H-M and CultureChoc2010.