Wednesday, May 7, 2008


The lovely DJ Kirby has tagged me. The dealio is I tell you 6 things about me, which just quietly is not going to be very interesting, but you might learn something, and that's the whole point, both of the tagging and this blog. So, without futher ado, in no apparent order, here are 6 things you don't know about Ms Anonymous.
  1. I didn't actually want to become a teacher. Everyone always told me I was bossy I'd make a great teacher, so to spite them I tried to find something else to do. But there were forms due, there were universities to go to and after 4 years of drinking studiously applying myself I popped out a teacher.
  2. The people I work with think I'm sweet and innocent and lovely. I bitch about all of them behind their backs. Hourly. They shit me.
  3. Mr Anonymous and I travelled this great land we live in with a caravan called Bertha for 13 months. You know you'll either love someone for life or never want to see them again after doing something like that.
  4. I have been taken home by the police 3 times... And I wasnt' naughty once! Just in the wrong place at the wrong time.
  5. I have dated/been in love with 3 pizza boys, a (male - just to clear that up) nurse, an army boy, a farm hand, a cop, a basketball player and a race car driver. Mr Anonymous in none of these.
  6. I believe I am right. 100% of the time. My way is best and if you don't believe that then you can just fuck off find somewhere else to take your wrongness.

And just a bonus number 7: Ms Anonymous is not really all that interesting...

To share the love I hereby demand politely request that Sparx and Julz

spill their guts.

Wednesday, April 23, 2008

A left, a right, a glass of water.

So. Comfy?

Yesterday morning Little Boy Lemming came up to me and asked to go to the toilet. My kids may not learn much but one thing they all excel at is work avoidance. This particular Lemming is by far the brightest button on the shirt that is my class and was clearly just feeling above having to do anything that morning, so I said "NO." To which Bright Button Lemming said "But I'm busting," knowing I have an aversion to kids peeing on the floor. So I let him go.

5 minutes later Bright Button Lemming had still not returned. I opened the sliding door between our class and the class next door and announced to my neighbouring teacher that I had a war to win and would she mind supervising my Lemmings in the effort that is not murdering each other. I stormed out of the class room preparing my rant of terror for Bright Button Lemming who I suspected would be fucking around taking his time in the toilets. Well. No Bright Button Lemming. Hmmm. Sent the two boys who had just come out back in to open all the stall doors and check. Definately no Bright Button Lemming . So I went back upstairs and hit panic stations rang the office. And made it their problem.

Over the course of the next 2 hours, every teacher aide in the school was sent out into the neighbourhood looking for him, sent to shopping centres looking, police were called, I was asked to give a description of Bright Button Lemming more times than I can remember. Turns out I'm not very observant... I told everyone he was wearing black or blue pants. They were white... The Principal went out walking through the neighbourhood, the office ladies were scouring the school and the Deputy went driving in his brooom brooom car.

And he found Bright Button Lemming sitting on Bright Button Lemming's mailbox at his house. As he pulled up Bright Button Lemming said

"If you're looking for my dad, he's not here."

To which a very confused Mr Deputy asked

"Are you Bright Button Lemming?"


"Do you go to Hell on Earth State School The Happiest School Ever?"


"Is your teacher Ms Anonymous?"


This is the part where Mr Deputy got out of the car and roared at Bright Button Lemming to get his arse on the seat of the car and get his very much in trouble butt back to school. And the whole neighbourhood didn't even bat an eyelid at a huge towering 6 foot something man putting a small child into his car and driving off.

By this time I was convinced Bright Button Lemming was dead calmly waiting in the office. Poor bastard returns and after much screeching mature and grown up discussion we establish that Bright Button Lemming walked home unannounced because he was thirsty. For water. From his fridge.

After even more questioning we established that he was intending on playing out the front for the rest of the day, had no key to get in, didn't know where his dad was or when he would be home, and that he missed his school he has recently moved from because he had friends there. To which I got all teary cause I am a fucking sooky la la. Then I got to thinking that I never really see him in the playground and asked him why. He lost his hat weeks ago so has been going to the library instead which of course no one else does. It was so important to me that he knew that we cared about him and wanted him to be safe that I did my own runner from school and went and bought the kid a hat so he could go and play with friends not computers. He's been as happy as a pig in shit ever since.

Friday, April 18, 2008

How to piss off Ms Anonymous

I'm not one of those dickhead teachers that goes around wearing a t-shirt or drinking from a mug that says
"I touch the future...I teach"
because lets face it that is both incredibly wankerish and highly illegal. I do however think that most days of the week I am actually doing my bestest to make someone's life better. Even if I all do is make a kid feel happy or ok or safe for the 6 or so hours they are with me each day, then as far as I'm concerned I'm doing a fuckload better than some of their parents. Our kids don't come from the most, ah...shall we say, happy home lives. They put up with shit that would make me curl up in the foetal position and wail myself to sleep each night, make me want to sleep with a knife under my pillow, and generally make me incapable of functioning, yet they do it all with a smile on their face and relatively few aggressive attacks on things smaller than themselves. I work damn hard at making their lives at school as fun, stress free, successful, empowering, enjoyable, friendly and safe as I can without pissing off my boss, the classes next door or breaking any rules.

Before you get the wrong idea, I am not trying to make you think I'm a saint, pure of heart, or mother Theresa-esque. I growl at them, I keep them in at lunch time when they need it, I remove them from the room when they need it, I refuse to talk to them if they're being shit heads and often do all of these things until they cry.

Now. The point of my story. The other day, I was walking through a shopping centre when I was accosted by a fool from one of those bloody charities trying so save the fucking universe. They were operating under their usual MO. Parked in the middle of nowhere so that anyone who wanted to go somewhere had to go by them and getting in peoples faces with their shit. I don't really like to be openly rude and I don't particularly get off on confrontation, so my usual tactic is to either change where I'm going completely to avoid them or just keep my head down looking through my bag for something that I just can't locate.

Well today this arse clown was just not going to let me get by. I did the whole "No thanks, no, no, NO thanks, have a nice day though, thanks but I'm all good, thanks, have a good day," and he just kept following me. Just as I thought I had escaped his clutches he yells after me, "It's because of people like you that these children are dying!".

Well. Holy. Mother. Fucker. He did NOT just go there! Did he go there? Fuckin A.

I interrupt this impossibly interesting story for a little side note. My other half believes I have rage issues. He also believes that we are all born with the same amount of anger but because I'm kinda on the smaller side of average he theorises that my anger is more concentrated than others. He also believes I have a rather short fuse. All hearsay.

This tool with the laminated name tag pissed me off more than I thought a tool with a laminated name tag ever could. I spun so hard and fast that he stepped back and I can't be certain but I'm pretty sure his life may have flashed before his eyes.

"Because of me? These kids are dying because of me?! What do YOU do to help these kids? Stand in shopping malls abusing people who won't give you forty fucking bucks? Do YOU sponsor any of these kids? What about those kids outside there! The ones sitting outside the pub waiting for their pissed fucking parents to take them home and beat the shit out of them for the fucking fun of it?! What about the girls you see walking around here during the day when they should be at school? The girls whose parents let strangers have sex with their daughters so they can buy drugs with the money?! What about the 12 year old that tried to beat ME up so he wouldn't have to come to school and see the counsellor who makes him talk about things he pretends didn't happen? What about the 5 year old I had to pick up off the toilet floor because he had passed out from the ALCOHOL he had been fed to amuse his parents and their friends? Are you helping him? And the kids that broke into YOUR house so they could find money to buy food for their brothers and sisters? Or the girl that bashed your girlfriend and robbed her for her money so she wouldn't be raped tonight? Are you helping them? OUR kids, right here, right now! THEY ARE DYING EVERY DAY YOU MOTHER FUCKING BASTARD! So you can fuck off with fucking suit and pointy leather shoes and your god damn $50 000 car sitting in the car park and your fucking abuse!"

At least that's what I wanted to say. But those kids and more were walking by, around, drinking, eating, hanging out with their families and friends. Their families and friends who think I don't know those things about them. Who trust me, who are grateful for me being in their lives, even if they show me by grunting at me when I say hello instead of pretending I don't exist, or yell at me after listening to what I have to say because hey, at least they listened in the first place. I wasn't about to humiliate these people any more by airing their dirty laundry to this stupid little weed who would have forgotten it all by first drinks at the pub that night.

Instead all I managed was to storm back, poke the little bastard in the chest and growl "Fuck YOU" at him.

Monday, April 14, 2008

A Holiday Exorcism

Holidays are over. God damn it all to hell.

I flew out of Somewhere Not Here to Somewhere Not There to see my Bro, his Mrs and The Baby. I heart The Baby. Like freakin truck loads! He is the world's most awesome baby. (Sparx I'm sorry, but I'm biased - forgive me?)

I learnt in the week I was there that he

  • loves it when I wink, but only with my right eye - I think I look more stupid when I do it with my right eye, it kind of makes me screw my whole face up.
  • loves it when I screech "WILD STRAWBERRIES!" Pnau - Wild Strawberries - give it 20 seconds... that's all I ask.
  • loves horsey rides, but due to the excessive size of his head and the fact that he's 4 months old and not that skilled in the area of head control, this is to the horror of his mother and father.
  • is most comfortable when you are not, ie, should you wish to sit down he will need you to stand up and vice versa.
  • is the world's most awesome baby.

Anyway, so I flew to Somewhere Not There for The Baby's christening because my Bro and his Mrs are under the impression that I would be a good influence over their child and that I should be his godmother. With the Mrs's sister. So the kid is fucked from word go, he has 2 godmothers and no godfathers. Anyhoo, continuing on... I don't like churches. I don't really get a kick out of religion. But I was doing it for The Baby. The priest was acutally a sweetheart, quite liked him and he gave me a cheat sheet that told me what I had to say. So there I am chillin out showing the lovely old ducks in the congregation what an awesome godmother I am when I see this written at the top of the cheat sheet:


What. The. Flying. Duckshit. The kid is 4 months old, can't hold up his head, loves horsey rides, and doesn't know where his hands are, but he needs an exorcism?! Yeah yeah yeah, whatever, I went to a Catholic school, I know about Original Sin and all that bullshit, but an exorcism? Can we say Drama Queens? Faaarq.

Anyway the point to all of this is we had a week long holiday, I was away playin with The Baby for that whole week so going back to school today felt like I had never left. And not in a good way. This is going to be a mo fo of a term.

Friday, April 4, 2008

A Traitor at the Picnic

It's holidays. Thank christ. Only for a week, but a week is better than a dislocated knee.

I was reading with one of my lemmings yesterday and his book was called The Picnic. We did the whole talk about it first and then read it thing. But while we were talking about it, because I have learnt to assume nothing, I said "Lemming, do you know what a picnic is?" You know what he said? Like seriously? He said ....


Fuckin A! He didn't know what a picnic is! How does that happen?! Anyway, I managed to disguise my look of shock - because yes, even though I have learnt to assume nothing, it doesn't mean I'm any better at hiding my what the fuck? face - and spent a minute or two talking about what a picnic is and why you have one.

So I decided that we could have a picnic lunch today so Little Boy Lemming would be able to actually experience one. So there we are, a bunch of lemmings, all in hats and with lunch bags in tow, trudging across the oval to find a shady spot on the least boggiest patch of ground. We sat in a circle, it was all very civilised, the lemmings were uber cute with their conversations, was a lovely little moment in time and one I'll be trying to do more often. The bell went, they all took off to play and left me in their wake. I toddled off to the staff room - which like never happens - only to be stopped by a fellow teacher.

Her: "Ms Anonymous, did you enjoy your picnic?"
Me: "Why yes thank you we did. How did you know we went on a picnic?"
Her: "Because Little Girl Lemming came running up to me to tell me that 'We had a picnic because Ms Anonymous is blonde and has never had one before!' "

At which point my fellow teacher pissed herself laughing, turned bright red and nearly popped herself out of her skin.

And do you know what was the only thing to cross my mind?
What a traitorous little lemming to call me blonde!
I mean I am, but to use that to excuse my erratic behaviour!? And it wasn't even about me!! It was for someone else!

Traitor I tell you.

Saturday, March 29, 2008


In no order, here is a list of things shitting me this week.

  • I don't like or trust my boss. When I first met him I thought a used car salesman had stumbled into our school.
  • The moron from the rich school trying to tell me about how shockingly dumb her Ben or Bruce or Bill or whatever the hell his name was, to make herself look like she was a saint for dealing with it. When I said I have 24 of your Ben/Bruce/Bills and they don't speak English she told me it wasn't a competition. Really? No shit. Well fuck off and stop trying to get sympathy out of me you arse clown.
  • People asking me when we are going to have kids. We've been married for, umm.... like 12 weeks now.
  • Liars. But they shit me full stop all the time.

Ok, that was a surprisingly small list considering the rage blackouts I have been having of late.

Things not shitting me this week.

  • I didn't get knocked off by an axe murderer in my sleep. Always a plus.

Tuesday, March 25, 2008

The Easter Who?

I'm not very good at telling stories in 500 words or less so I apologise in advance.

Today was the first day back after the Easter long weekend. I said to my lemmings, "Let's do some recount writing!", in my best I'm-excited! voice. So the drill goes, I do it, they do it. It's called modelled writing people. Anyway I did it and then they went to do it. I get them to draw the pictures first cause they're dumb and forget what they're writing about. In fairness it's really bloody hard work for them and they concentrate so freakin hard on what letter "on" could possibly start with that they forget the rest of the sentence they were writing. The picture helps their long suffering teacher. I like to jab it a lot and screech "Yes but what were you telling me!!!!!". It's a long, slow, drawn out, painful process.

So all my lemmings are sitting there drawing away except Bob (name is changed to protect his identity. One day he might actually become literate and be able to read this). I ask Bob what the dealio is.

"Sweetie, where's your picture?"
"Honey, do you remember what you are meant to be doing?"
"Mate, what did you do for Easter?"
This at least brings an expression change. From vague to blank.
"Bob, honey, do you know what Easter is?"
After much careful deliberation Bob slightly adjusts the tilt of his head to indicate that no, he has no damn idea what the hell Easter is. Apparently the eggs, the chickens, the bunnies, the chocolate and the fully grown man in a white polyester suit sweating like a mo fo are all there purely for decoration. Oh and Jesus. Jesus has something to do with something. I think he went behind a rock and laid a chocolate rabbit that regurgitated a fluffy chicken. Or something like that.

But I digress.

"Ok, is there anyone who can tell Bob what Easter is?"
Lemming 1 "It's Jesus day!"
Lemming 2 "Egg! Egg! Egg! Egg! Egg!", at which point I thumped her on the head to stop the CD skipping.
Lemming 3 "Dat bunny rabbit bring you chocolate egg!"

Lemming 3 had me. I thought that was the funniest thing ever. Don't know why, can't explain, but I thought it was piss funny that he called the Easter Bunny "Dat bunny rabbit!"

Anyway, I gave up trying to get anything out of Bob.

Later in the day our neighbourhood hippie Miss Hippie (clever name change I know) popped in for a visit. Well she floated/drifted in but you get what I am saying. She has an actual job at the school but I'm not sure what it is, but she loves the kids, the kids love her and she is as mellow as all fuck which is nice. Now Miss Hippie has a wicked sense of humour, i.e., the same as mine. So I was regaling her with the story of Bob and Lemming 3's explanation, when who should appear in front of us, but Lemming 3 himself. Seeing as I am all for using the small children in my class to keep myself amused, I started prompting Lemming 3 to say "Dat bunny rabbit!" again.

Me: "Lemming 3, tell Miss Hippie who came to see you on the weekend."
Him: " *crickets chirping* "
Me: "What happened this weekend?"
Him: "Easter"
Me: "Yep and who gave you the chocolate eggs?"
Him: "....", his expression clearly reading, this teacher is a tool.
Me: "Who sneaks in and gives them to you?"
And very slowly, so his dim witted teacher can keep up he says "... Daaad..."

Moral of the story? There is no Easter Bunny. And for this poor lemming who didn't even know his name, I don't think there has ever been an Easter Bunny, there has only ever been Dad.

At least Dad is not a total bastard. At least he bothers to give him the eggs.

I have come back to say that shit fire hell that was one looooong post. About shit fire hell. It amused me at the time though. I laughed belly laughs with tears.