This calm Sunday night will be spent shitting my pants and worrying about finally starting work tomorrow. I was going to visit my school on Friday just to say hi to everyone and get the kissing thing out of the way (although for better or worse I'm getting used to being kissed by coworkers) but my other teachers caught wind of it (because all my coworkers are gossips and thanks to WhatsApp are able to do it light years faster than ever before...a very key reason why I love them so much, haha) and arranged an impromptu meeting with our new principal. The old head nun (not to be confused with the bat-crap crazy yet loveable leather-skirted nun) changed schools [read: got rotated to another school] and we have a new one. Her name is Sister Solitude of Youths. Or Sister Loneliness...of Youth. It's really not fair to translate it because it sounds better in Spanish, Sister Soledad...but it's kind of funny to do it anyways. It makes me want to sing Sister Christian to her for some reason...which is even more ironic, if you consider the lyrics.
You know those boys don't wanna play no more with you, it's true...MOTORIN'! What's your price for flight...in findin' Mr. Right?
Is that blasphemous? It feels pretty inappropriate...but come on, so funny. I can't wait to tell Jenny, the new assistant at our school. I'll feel better if I'm not the only person singing "MOTORIN'!!!" in my head when I see my boss.
Anyways, my meeting with Sister Christian went really well. She met me, was impressed by my Spanish, and offered me a "promotion"...although after I considered everything I'm going to use "promotion" in air quotes because I have a feeling it's going to be a big pain in the ass. Rocio, our English coordinator, called me Thursday after she heard I was coming to school and asked in confidence if I would be willing to work more hours. She was so excited to be the first to tell me the school wanted to offer me three extra hours a week (which doesn't seem like much but I think I'll end up getting an extra 150 euros a month...which means I can travel more and get bitten in the ass less by my little prick private class kids) with the preschoolers. I told her no problem, I'd keep my mouth shut (because Sister Christian wanted to be the first one to break the news) and pretend to be surprised. Let me tell you how surprised I really was, though, when Sister Christian asked how I thought I'd handle working with the 3-5 year olds..........................3-5?
This chick is 3 years old. (By the way, there is an abundance of hits if you search for "Smoking 3-year old"....like DIFFERENT three year olds. What the hell is going on over in Thailand?!) Okay, granted, I don't expect many of my new students (...okay, so I don't expect any of my new students...) to be chain-smoking miscreants but I wasn't expecting 3 year-olds. Last year we had tossed around the idea of me teaching the oldest kids in preschool (the 5 year-olds) one hour a week...which would only add three extra classes. Sister Christian sprung it on me that I would be teaching ALL of preschool. I believe I have blogged in the past about my visit down to Spain's version of pre-school. I think all kids must attend school in Spain once they are 2-3 years old. Most of these students can barely manage to not soil themselves in any given two hour time increment. I visited one of the teachers I used to work with down there last year and her only job (that I witnessed) was her making sure none of the "students" murdered or seriously injured their fellow classmates with obscure sharp objects around the classroom and that they didn't shit their pants. Literally. One kid did shit his pants. That's it. How am I going to teach them English? Sister Christian was quite adamant about not speaking a word of Spanish with them (which is also going to be a challenge since I quit pretending last year) and suggested I use story-telling and puppet theater to facilitate English, so they could just hear me speak and absorb. I can just see it now, Chelsea's Masterpiece English Theater presents "Who Crapped In The Corner?; A Fecal Mystery [based on a true story]." Based on my previous experience of only fifteen minutes, I'm quite positive by the end of the year they will have mastered the phrases "Why are you holding your crotch?", "Do you have to go to the toilet?", "We don't go poo-poo on the floor", and "Stop hitting each other." I feel like I might be being a little pessimistic, but on the positive side there's guaranteed to be an overwhelming amount of material for my little blog here, so......yay? Yay! In the end, adding all of pre-school, I will have around 600 students, total. Luckily, in pre-school, I only have 20 minutes with each class...so best or worst case scenario, it won't be too difficult to squirm through. Through which to squirm. I am an English teacher after all...never end a sentence with a preposition. Or use fragments.
In other good news, I'm finally 7/8 settled in to my apartment. I was avoiding it like the plague because I hate unpacking (which seems weird, I know, but it simply reminds me how much crap I have accumulated in Spain and makes me seriously depressed thinking about how I'm going to eventually get it all home once I decide to move home. I haven't thrown away one copy of Cosmo since I've been here...I wouldn't say I'm a hoarder but I'm only 5 bottles of nail polish, 3 gel pens, and a missing pet trapped in my clutter away from officially qualifying for the title. Luckily I don't have a pet (that I'm aware of) so I won't ever legitimately qualify. I unpacked all of my stuff-stuff and am still in the process of unpacking my clothes. I got through two huge space bags and two small space bags, got really excited and took a celebratory nap, and then when I woke up realized there was one more big space bag...so I gave up and am leaving that for later. Like tomorrow, or next weekend. Or 2013 if the world doesn't end. If there was anything more than that one space bag I was seriously considering burning all my clothes and becoming a nudist. I'd have to move to the coast to a beach town to fit in, and I'd for sure be the cutest person on the beach considering all the old wrinkly nudeness I've seen...my boobs would also be the perkiest, since the other women at the beach practically step on theirs...actually this scenario is getting a little too appealing, so let's change topics before it becomes my reality, haha.
I'm surprisingly home alone, even at 11:30 p.m., because Paco is still with his boyfriend in Sevilla and Irene left to go kayak down some rapids or something. All I could understand while she was squealing excitedly about it was "so much water!!...so fast!!!....the terror!!! EEEEK!!" I'm assuming it was kayak-related. Let's hope. Paco left me homework this weekend before he left....I was supposed to practice Mario Kart in the next level of difficulty so he could race me once he gets back. I adore him but he's the worst influence ever...and I am, equally, to him. Numerous times this past week it's been 12:30 a.m. and he comes crashing in, "SHELLTHEEEEE....eeets time to play da Mario!!! Come on, leetle squeetle (squirrel) I'm goin to ween to jew!!!" (he's going to beat me...he can't remember "beat" so he always mistranslates to "I'm going to win you". Hilarious). I always wonder what our neighbors think because we are quite loud...one time last week I actually beat him. I was on my A game and he kept having bad luck...and I beat him. All of Madrid could hear him screaming "COME BACK JERE JEW BABY BEETCH!!!!!" as I won. (My character I always choose is Baby Peach, so he thinks he's being super clever...unfortunately the name has stuck and now anytime he wants to play he no longer calls me Shellthee, he comes bounding in and yells "Baby beeeetch, we have to play!!" Luckily I don't think the neighbors understand him.) I don't think, without proper video evidence, I could explain how serious Paco is about Mario Kart. He's never met anyone who can challenge him and he loves and hates it at the same time. One time I came home and he was listening to music in his room, blasting it at full volume, so I assumed he was busy and started playing on my own. He comes in a little bit later and threw a fit. "What are you doing!?! You're playing and you didn't even invite me to come play?? YOU'RE TRAINING!!! I can't believe it you're training so you can beat me!! IRENE!!!! She's been TRAINING!!!" My life not be high speed and exciting but you can damn well bet I would never train for Mario Kart to beat my gay roommate.
Except this weekend. I definitely did this weekend. But don't tell Paco...I'm gonna let him find out himself :D Love you all, pray for me and my first week of 21 hours.
No comments:
Post a Comment