The Dumb Row

I remember being so nervous when I started fourth grade. I had spent my first three years of school at a private school in Wintersville, Ohio, that was run by a coven of sadistic nuns. (Notice that “coven” actually means “a group of witches.”) I did that on purpose. I hated going to that school.  I begged my mom about every day to let me attend Edgewood, our local public school. I was so excited when I found out I was going to switch schools in the fall.

“ Vickie, we are going to let you go to school with your friends this year.”

I loved how she said, “we.”  My dad had no say in the matter. My mom was a rolling pin wife and my dad was Wally Cox. He had no spine when it came to her. He hid behind his newspaper and made faces at her when she wasn’t looking.  Oh, how I loved him. She would yell at him and he would just take it. Then, he would hop on his little red tractor to cut the grass, and run over her flower bed. And he would look over at me and smile. He knew he was going to get yelled at.

So, back to me. I couldn’t wait to attend school with my bff, Ramaine. We could ride the bus together and sit by each other in class and everything was peachy keen. Well, except that it wasn’t. I had Miss Emler.

Aunt Bee (Frances Bavier) in her kitchen and apron, from “The Mayberry Chef.” (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Miss Melvina Emler. I honestly do not remember much about her. When I think of her, I picture Aunt Bee from The Andy Griffith Show, but she looked nothing like her. And she definitely didn’t act like her. I just spent three years at the Little Jesus Baby Immaculate Conception, a school with nuns. Oh, not just any common nuns, if there even is such a thing.I’m talking about the evil kind. I wanted to come to Edgewood and see balloons and unicorns and lollipop gardens. Instead, I saw the Dumb Row.

I’ve briefly mentioned Ms. Emler’s Dumb Row before, but it made me think of it yesterday when day-dreaming how wonderful it would be to have a marine standing beside one of my fourth graders to help them listen to my directions so they don’t repeatedly ask a hundred times a day “So, what are we supposed to do?”  I frowned though, at remembering Ms. Emler’s Dumb Row. I really tried hard not to be placed in that row for stupid kids.

When I entered the classroom that first day of public school, I was a happy child. I was with my best friend and all the neighbor girls that I hung out with after school and throughout the summers. This was going to be great. But, also remember that I was as hyper as Speedy Gonzales on speed. My mom tried to minimize that by slipping me a mild tranquilizer every morning before school and disguised it as a “car sick pill.” Thanks, Mom. Did it help? I have no idea, but I think that it may. It didn’t help with my car sickness, however. I had no idea that I was being tranquilized every morning. Who does that to a child? My mom.

Anyway, I had my hyper moments, I am sure, but seemed to do well in fourth grade. I stared at that Dumb Row sign daily and never wanted to stit there.The row was never empty. It was one of those old row of oak desks that were connected to each other and bolted to the floor.  There were three boys who sat in the Dumb Row almost every day: Nickey, Bert, and Joe. I changed their names so they won’t get pissed it they read their names here. The chances are slim.

These boys lived in the Dumb Row. Years ago, teachers got away with that crap. You could grab a kid by the arm, drag him to a Dumb Row, and then smack the shit out of him. I don’t remember any smacking, but I remember plenty of talking down to students because, well, I was one of those. Ms. Emler apparently thought I was a wise-guy one day and put my ass in the Dumb Row.

It’s amazing how you can remember something that happened when you were in fourth grade but can’t remember what you did fifteen minutes ago. I can vividly recall the first day Ms. Emler put me in the Dumb Row. We were going over our homework for Spelling. We had to write sentences, using each of our spelling words. We were studying compound words at the time.  She would say each spelling word, and then pick a student to read the sentence we had for that word.

“Cardboard…..Vickie, read the sentence you have for cardboard.” She stood right in front of me, holding her teacher’s manual to her chest. I would gladly read my sentence, for I was quite creative in my sentence formations.

” I live in a cardboard box.”

I don’t know why she just stared at me. Didn’t she hear me? She must not have. I read it again, this time with feeling. “I live in a cardboard box.” I think I may have sounded like a flaming gay guy the second time. The students laughed. Ms. Emler did not.

“What kind of sentence is that?” Ms. Emler slammed her teacher’s manual on my desk. What the hell.

“Um…..it’s a ……………….declarative sentence?”  I didn’t know what she expected from me. I had my homework. I wrote complete sentences. I answered her question correctly. What the hell.

“Vickie, you do not live in a cardboard box! I have been to your house. That sentence is absolutely ridiculous! Go sit in the Dumb Row!

Corrugated shipping container, one type of “cardboard box” (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I had never seen Ms. Emler so mad. The only thing I could think of was that she must live in a cardboard box somewhere and the subject was a little touchy. But, that couldn’t be true. Oh, sure, she wore the same five dresses every week, but where would she hang them if she lived in a cardboard box?  They don’t have closets. I didn’t get it.

I quietly stood up and glanced over at the empty seat waiting for me in the Dumb Row. I’ve always had this thing about inanimate objects, and I really think that row of seats was happy I was going to sit there for a while. I saw the sign on the first desk, announcing the row. The three goof ball boys looked shocked, which is better, I guess, than the blank look that sat on their face most days.

I burst into tears. I didn’t understand why I had to go sit in the Dumb Row. Dori and Kathleen smiled at each other. They thought it was highly amusing that I was going to sit in the Dumb Row. I stuck my tongue out at them and then continued on with the crying. Not good, Vickie.

Miss Emler thought I was sticking my tongue out at her, behind her back.

“Ok, you can just sit there all week, Vickie. You don’t live in a cardboard box and you should never disrespect a teacher.”

I didn’t understand that last part. How can you disrespect a teacher for crying and walking over to the Dumb Row?  I wrote a goddamn complete sentence. I skipped a line. I used my best penmanship. I even underlined the spelling word like we were supposed to. Why can’t I live in a cardboard box? I didn’t understand.

So, I sat and cried all week in the Dumb Row. Every time I looked at Miss Emler I saw Sister Dominica from the Jesus Mary and Joey Immaculate Academy.

And so when I broke out of my daydream, I looked over at my fourth grader who asks for directions immediately after I give directions and write the directions on the board. It happens a zillion times a day. It’s tiring. But, I don’t want to be a Miss Emler. I don’t want to be a mean teacher. I am not allowed to have a Dumb Row.

So, I went over the directions yet another time. I will try not to lose my mind.

I will hire a marine.

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Jumping in Mud Puddles: A Memoir of a Picky, Hyper, Big Fat Liar

SongPop

It’s really easy to get me addicted to new things. After my divorce, my friends talked me into coming over to Facebook….to farm. I did. Farmville kept me up late at night. Well, someone had to harvest the damn wheat crop. And then Pinterest reeled me in. I have over one hundred boards. Why the hell would I need one hundred boards? Yes, I’m easily addicted. I’m just glad I never started smoking.

Several months ago I started playing Angry Birds. I mean, what the hell is wrong with me? I play one game a day and am in a weekly tournament. And this on top of writing two books this summer. As I look around my living room, I notice that it is neat as a pin. Well, it should be since I have been on this damn computer most of the time. And now SongPop has invaded my life. But, I’m not too happy about this one.

SongPop is my newest obsession. A friend invited me just last week to play them in this fun Facebook game. I didn’t understand how to play at first, so I was already screwed for the week. A friend sends an invitation to listen to a few tunes and then you can pick the answer from four choices. No one told me there was a time limit. Right now I am playing about nine people. And I’m ready to throw in the towel and I will tell you why.

This game is a great test of reaction times. Most of the people I play are about 20 years younger than me and I can’t press the button fast enough. I know a lot of the answers, but it’s like I mosey on over to the button with my mouse. What the hell? This is a sure way to let me know that I am getting old. It’s actually pissing me off, because I am actually really trying and I just can’t ring in fast enough. I’d suck if I were on Jeopardy.

A Facebook friend wrote that she was done with SongPop due to the fact that she feels that she has a neuropathy problem. She is a sarcastic lass like me, and I hope she doesn’t really think that she has a problem.  I’m just pissed off that age has robbed us of our rapid fire response finger. We are getting old and SongPop has just slapped us across the face. We can’t play with the big dogs anymore. Well, I guess I should only speak for myself. I can’t play with the big dogs anymore.

But, that’s not all. I don’t know music like I used to. I still know all the words to Aqualung and Hotel California. I know my Disco and Classic Rock. I don’t know a damn thing about Modern Rap or Latin Radio. My daughter was home this week and she sat on the couch playing SongPop and would send me songs in the Latin Music genre. Thanks, sweetie.

The fastest I have been able to buzz in on a song is Ice Ice Baby. How sad is that?

In the end, I guess the older I get, the worse my response time will be. Pretty soon someone will take my car keys away from me for fear that I will hesitate and then pull in front of a truck or something.

But, then again, I always sucked at Hungry Hungry Hippo. Maybe it’s just me.

NYC Trip Report: Scoring tickets to the Colbert Report

I’ve been to New York City to visit my daughter several times, and let me tell you, it is exhausting. Every time I come home I am pissed at myself for being out of shape. And people, if you plan to visit New York City, you will walk. Oh, sure, there will be some of you who taxi from one place to the next. That is the smart thing to do. I am one of the stupid tourists.

Oh, don’t get me wrong. I had a great time in New York. I love New York. But, my daughter walked me all over the damn place. And I will admit that I need to lose weight. I was able to lose 22 pounds last year and did pretty well hoofing it around NYC last summer when we went apartment hunting. Oh, hell, that’s a lie. I was ready to have a stroke. Like I said, I’m not very smart. I picked 90+ degree weather to walk around the city. I’m beyond stupid. This year was the same.

My journey to NYC is not quick. First I have to drive two hours to Pittsburgh International Airport. I have to park in the extended long term parking lot, which is not close to the terminal. By the time I make it to the building, I really want to just stand on that people mover thingy. When I hear someone coming up behind me, I will start walking, but I don’t wanna.

After my nice flight with Jet Blue, I arrived at JFK airport. I like airports. Just thought I would mention that. I don’t know why taxi cab men scare me, but I feel like I am imposing on them. So, I head outside to the ground transportation area and buy a $15.50 ticket to ride the NYC Airporter bus. It takes a while to exit the airport, as the bus driver stops at each terminal.  I didn’t mind. As long as I didn’t have to drive through New York, I don’t care if I was on the back of a donkey. Again, quite a lie. I would care.

The bus dropped me off at Grand Central Station, where I have to find the 6 Local Uptown train. Again, it’s easy. Well, except that I found out while I was on the subway that the Local 6 was not working this particular day. What? I’m on the local 6. Well, apparently it is allowed to change to be called the Express 6 which bypasses my stop. Someone sitting next to me tells me that I can get off at 125 and then take the local 6 downtown to my stop. What?

So, I get off the stop and walk across to the train going in the other direction and hop on, hoping it is the right one. It was. I then walked a couple of blocks to where my daughter was meeting me for lunch. I could see her smiling at me. I know that smile. I am doing somethig stupid.

“Mom, you are such a tourist. You don’t need to look both ways when it is a one way street.”

We had a nice lunch and walked back to her apartment so I could drop off my carry-on. Our plan for the day was to head to the Brooklyn Bridge and then head over to High Line. We walked the several blocks up the hill to the subway. I had to stop several times on the way up. I am weak. We got off the subway on Chambers Street. I had never been this far south before. So, there was the Brooklyn Bridge. And it was all boarded up on the sides of the bridge for construction. I had no idea we were going to actually walk over to the other side. What?

My daughter on the Brooklyn Bridge

Well, we had to walk over to the other side. I don’t know why. Because everyone else was doing it? There was nothing to see for quite a while. We stopped and wrote our names on some plywood…because everyone else was doing it.

It took us forever to get to the other side. And it was 90 degrees and 2:00 in the afternoon. Where the hell are the clouds? I was complaining a lot. My daughter told me to stop. I stopped.

It’s a 1.3 mile walk, but it takes a long time to walk due to the amount of foot traffic….and baby strollers…..and people like me who take pictures along the way and complain about the heat and stop alot. But, I was glad I did it. Because when we got to the other side, there was a park. And that park had a water taxi. Oh, hell yeah, I was on that thing.

The water taxi cost $25 and takes people around the statue of Liberty, past Ellis Island and Battery Park and up the Hudson. It makes stops along the way for those who want to get off in a different stop. I sure as hell didn’t want to walk back over the Brooklyn Bridge.

It was pretty cool. The taxi was huge and besides those who just wanted to look from inside the air conditioned lounge area, there was an upper berth and lower outside viewing areas. It was nice. We opted to get off at one of the piers on the Hudson, Christopher St., Pier 45 on West 10th Street.

This is also Grenwich Village, which was pretty darn cool. We walked past a Bareburger, where we had an early dinner. After that, my daughter wanted to take me to High Line Park. We had to walk again.  I thought she was taking me to a normal park. Boy, was I surprised when I saw High Line. High Line is a park built on an elevated freight line railway. The freight line wasn’t in use since the early 1980′s. It was slated for demolition as it became an eyesore for those who lived in the neighborhood. One man’s crusade led to the development by the city of New York to create this elevated park. It is magnificient. We walked along the park until a storm hit us. That’s not the best place to be when a thunderstorm approaches you. Luckily, there were places for all of us to hide. We then hailed a taxi and headed back to the apartment. We had great aspirations for the next day. We were going to wake up early and head to the local bagel shop for breakfast and then rent bikes in Central Park. However, we ate a huge breakfast and opted to go back to bed for a little bit. We then showered and headed via subway down to visit the Top of the Rock.  I’ve always wanted to visit Rockefeller Center and see the ice skating rink and the NBC Studios. It didn’t disappoint. Several blocks are pedestrian only, and it is just a really neat area. We finally found the place where we were to buy tickets to the Top of the Rock. I wanted to see Central Park from the top of this building. It was great.

After we left Rockefeller Center, I looked at my watch. We were late. My daughter wanted to go to the Colbert Report Studios to see if we could get standby tickets to that night’s show. We were supposed to be there by 2:30. So, we started walking. We had to go to 54th Street. We were on 50th Street. The Colbert Report was filmed on 54th Street. We had to hurry. Oh, but wait. We got to 54th Street. Alex asked a doorman and he told her it was about four blocks to the west. What? Four long ass blocks. We walked some more. And walked some more. We passed by where The Letterman Show was filmed. Nope. We kept walking. I was ready to give up. We had to be there in ten minutes. Not going to happen. I really thought she got the address wrong. We were headed into a less commerical area, one that had auto repairs and……nothing else. My daughter was laughing at me. Finally, we found it.

It was 2:40. We didn’t make it. Alex walked up the steps and a guy stepped out of the office. He told her that we needed to go stand by that garbage can. He pointed to….a garbage can. Someone would be out at 4:00 and hand out stand- by tickets if there were any to give out. It was a slight chance that we would get tickets and we had to discuss this.

Well, right by the garbage can was a narrow covered alley and there was a guy sitting there eating lunch. He told us he was in line for tickets. Except he had tickets. Oh. So, we were screwed. We stood there talking to another couple who came to stand in line. They too had tickets, but came to stand in line, because if wasn’t a certainty even with tickets that you could get in. I was ready to give up when the couple told us they had 2 extra tickets that we could have. What? Omg.

So, we sat and stood in line from 2:40 until they came out at 4:00 and took our information from our driver’s license and then left. Now there were two lines…one for ticket holders and one who were stand-by’s.

We were now full fledged ticket holders. They let us go into the studio at 5:50. We had to go through a metal detector and hang out in the lobby for a long time. We took pictures.

So, we got to watch the Colbert Report being filmed. Since, we got there so early, and they took us in after the VIP people, Alex and I were #7 and 8 to be seated. It was great. By the time we got out, it was time to hail a taxi and head to a Thai restaurant in Upper East Side. We then walked to her apartment. I was one tired tourist/mom.

 I left early the next morning. I hope to return in the fall sometime when the weather is a bit cooler. I’d like to see the 911 Memorial this time…and Central Park again. I missed it this visit.

I just love visiting my daughter.

Padiddle!

I must live under a rock. I have no idea what the hell is going on most days. And then I get laughed at for being such a dingbat. I mean, I’m fifty-five. Is that old? I don’t feel old. Well, I do moan when I bend over to pick things up. Ok, I’m old.

But, I always thought that I was with the times. My mother-in-law used the word “dungarees” for jeans until the day she died. My mom favored, “pocketbook.” I don’t think she ever used the word, “purse.”  I thought I understood contemporary slang. Nope. Not at all.

It all started with me overhearing one of my kid’s friends saying something about watching MTV Cribs.

MTV Cribs (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I think this was like when it first came out circa 2000. Well, hell, I thought they were talking about singers who had children. Seriously. I really did.

“I didn’t know that Moby had children?” I thought I was really with it because I knew who Moby was. I got laughed at. Then it was explained to me that cribs=homes.

“That’s stupid.”

“You’re stupid.” My daughter laughed at me. Well, I guess I was. It didn’t get any better. I sure as hell had no idea that “hooking up” meant having sex with someone. How casual people are speaking nowadays. I heard this on tv one night:

“So, did you guys hook up last night?”  Back in MY day that would have meant “So, did you guys meet somewhere last night and then go to the movies or something?” And yet, my daughter is the one who scoffs at me because I still use the phrase,  “Are they going together?” Well, hell, back in the 70′s that meant going steady. What the hell is wrong with that?

So, now I am getting really made fun of at the school where I teach because I didn’t understand “That’s what he said.” WTF are you talking about? Evidently, I often say things that my perverted co-workers laugh at and then insert that comment. I didn’t know why. And that made them laugh harder. I mean, why say that after I talk about the snow fall from the night before. “I only got an inch or two last night.”……that’s what she said.   It took me a while.

My biggest misunderstanding came from the History Channel show, American Pickers. Just a few months ago, after talking about heading out to go antiquing, someone asked me if I ever watched American Pickers.  I thought that was a pretty random comment, considering we were talking about antiques.

“No, to be honest, I am not a real big fan of Country music.”

Yeah, so they laughed. Hell, I didn’t know it was about guys hunting around barns and whatnot for antiques and collectibles. I thought it was about people playing fiddles and banjos. Seriously.

So, it was no surprise that I didn’t understand my two friends when we were leaving dinner last night and they were laughing and making motions with their arms like a “raise the roof” motion. I drove up to them and rolled down the window.

“Padiddle!” They both yelled and then laughed. “You’re headlight is out, Vickie.” Of course, it doesn’t pay hanging out with girls in their late twenties when I am in my mid-fifties. I realized I have no idea what the hell is going on. So, I just laughed.

So, when they read this blog post, they will laugh again because I am just so clueless about Padiddle. I had to look it up on Wikipedia:

“Padiddle is a night-time travel game with the objective of earning points by spotting vehicles with a burnt-out headlight.  You must say “Padiddle” and hit the ceiling of the car as fast as you can, while driving.”

So, Sheena and Erin were laughing because it is a game that is supposed to be played in the car while traveling. I thought they were laughing at me because I just bought this car and it already had its headlight burned out. I guess that makes me feel better…….. No, don’t feel better. I’m still a dingbat.

I don’t remember my kids ever playing “Padiddle.” I sure as hell didn’t teach them. And if they played it and I don’t remember them playing the car game, then I have bigger problems than not knowing what things mean.

I am too old for this shit. Why can’t we just keep playing  Slug Bug?