This is a Croc of ...

I went to visit my sister in Denver to see her super cute grown-up apartment. As I was getting the grand tour, I opened her closet door and was immediately horrified. Lying on the ground was a pair of dark brown Crocs.

I have been on a personal mission since the Croc inception that I would never own a pair of Crocs! I don't care how comfortable they are or how convenient they are for gardening or running to the store. I refuse to condone anything that is so heinously against footwear aesthetics.

I was quite saddened to see that my own sister had fallen to the Croc craze. And what is more annoying is my inability to destroy them. They are immune to water, fire, dogs. I could kill an entire family and dispose of the bodies with greater ease than it would take to "off" a pair of Crocs.

I sat alone in her bedroom staring into the closet. I felt defeated, like I was in an episode of The Twilight Zone and I was the only one with good taste.

I avoided the closet the rest of the afternoon.

The next morning we were cleaning her apartment and I needed to make a quick run downstairs to throw away the trash. I only brought a pair of knee-high boots and I didn't want to put forth the effort to put them on. Fine, I'll just slip on the Crocs, quickly run down stairs and never see them again. They would be my mistress, my one run stand.

Can I ask you something? Do you believe in love at first sight?

I don't. But I do believe in a relationship based on fundamental understanding that grows into love. I believe in something deeper than looks. I believe in deep emotional connections; in substance, loyalty and dependability. I believe in Crocs. 

My feet feel like they're being hugged every time I slip them on. I imagine it is the same feeling as being blanketed by a cloud, wrapped in love and sprinkled with sunshine dust. I didn't fear abandonment anymore and oddly was cured of my fear of flying, heights and being naked in public.

To all of you who hate Crocs: you are reflecting your own inadequacies and self-esteem issues that have been brewing since childhood. Maybe when you become less superficial about outer appearances you will finally find love!

Men and the Marketplace

When I go to the meat market there’s only one thing I’m looking for…actual meat. Perhaps a nice cut of steak, inappropriate veal and on rare occasion pork chops. If I wanted a man I would go to the bar or gym like any normal person. But more so than these two popular hook-up hotspots, the meat market has become the supermarket.

The Marina Safeway has been on to something for years and now I think the rest of the world is catching on. Perhaps it was a comment made between two guy friends or a random blog post on how to get women- but now at the grocery store can you not only pick up a gallon of milk but your next lay as well.

A friend of mine oriented me to the intricacies of finding the love of your life or a quickie in aisle 5. It may be a new art form, but it requires just as much “A” game and tactic as the bar scene.

First of all there is a ranking system when it comes to grocery stores depending on the quality of women and effort exerted. At the bottom would be stores such as Wal-Mart, while one step higher would be regional chains like Albertson’s. Apparently, the hot ones shop at Safeway. And only those with exceptional skills should venture into a Whole Foods (this would also be for those with Vegan and gluten free fetishes).

According to my friend it begins with filling your cart with wholesome foods. Nothing frozen or highly processed- things that require preparation. This tells women that you put effort into your food and thus, life. Dress nicely without showing effort.

Casually bump into a potential conquest while reaching for a perfectly ripe Asian pear. Subtle eye contact and courteous smile should be given two aisles later. The next aisle a witty comment should be made such as, “We need to stop meeting like this” or “Are you stalking me?” A few aisles later another comment like “I guess I’ll see you in canned goods.” The next meeting should initiate a more in-depth conversation where a well rehearsed story can be used. A popular one involves talking about the food you’re buying so you can make dinner for your nephews who come over to play with their favorite uncle. You just adore children.

Important: Do not pick up girls in the frozen food aisle. A girl resembles the food she eats. You don’t want something cold hearted who is done after four minutes (rotating in between). Also avoid the liquor aisle. You don't want to pick up the pieces from the last botched grocery trip. Drunk and crying isn't your style.

White Boards, Neon Dreams

I love white boards, or to those not in the biz- dry erase boards.

They’re crisp and clean and you can use a variety of colors. When I write on them I write in all CAPS, just because I think that is something grown-ups do.

I like to sit at the back of the classroom admiring my own writing on the board and feel powerful because, with an Expo marker in hand, I could ruin these kids’ lives!

Nowadays, chalkboards are obsolete and have been replaced by the SmartBoard. The SmartBoard makes me feel like a DumbAss. I think sometimes I’m more suited to teach the Wilder kids on Little House on the Prairie (not to mention Michael Landon is hot), but instead I have to work with these new age gadgets.

This Board O’ Smart is linked up to everything imaginable: the computer, the internet, a satellite, some foreign kid in Germany.

It’s sad to think this new generation will never experience chalk. The smell, the way it would dry out your hands, the awkward ass handprint that would show up on your black jeans. Of course the pegged jeans, side ponytail and New Kids on the Block sweatshirt in neon wasn’t awkward at all.

I think you do

Math is not my strong subject. In fact I hate numbers all together. I even get nervous when looking at the time. So I was extremely bummed when I found out I had to cover Pre-Algebra.

These kids can smell fear- so it is of utmost importance to continually fake it like I knew what I was doing.

I had almost made it through the day by simply passing out worksheets and sitting at my desk with a stern look on my face when suddenly some brave little high school musical look-a-like stands up and makes her way to my desk.  Showing no fear I firmly hold the answer key in my hand.

She be-bopped her way up and asked me if 5.5 was the answer to problem #10. I glanced down at the KEY and was relieved to see that 5.5 was in fact the correct answer.

“Yes it is,” I said.

“Really? But I don’t know how I got that answer,” she replied.

Oh crap!

Trying not to panic I quickly look at the problem to see if maybe I could wing it, but there was no way. I could spell out my own name with the amount of variables it had in it.

I calmly looked at her and say, “Oh, I think you do. Now go sit down.”

The look on her face was a cross between as if she had just seen God or found out that her cat died.

And that is how you make Math your bitch.

Middle school students are , like...so immature.

Today’s assignment in Science was to read through the Weekly Readers and complete a worksheet. At the end of each class the students turned in the Readers for the next class to use.

Because I get extremely bored during classes, I sometimes work on the dittos. I write in red pen and put the word "KEY" on the top and I ALWAYS finish before all of the students. Why? Because I rock.

Mid-day I pick up one of the Readers to see what great discoveries have been made in the world of Science. At first, I notice the last kid to have the book had scribbled into it. A couple pages into the book I noticed they weren’t just scribbles…there was a penis drawn on every page! Penises galore. It was penis palooza.

Not only were penises drawn on all of the male characters in the book, but inanimate objects were artistically transformed into the male organ. I started to erase the images and then I thought, “Who am I to destroy art?”

Of course I did not place the booklet back in the pile. It’s on my fridge held by a magnet that says,“Look what Shannon did Today!” along with the worksheet and extra credit assignments I finished early.

Bathroom Mafia

After an almost three year hiatus from subbing, I have returned. It is a bit awkward since I vowed never to return while scratching "he doesn't really love you" on the inside of the girls' bathroom stalls at the middle school.

At any rate, several "career" moves have led me back behind a desk. And it didn't take me long to remember all the little tricks these darling pubescent kids pull.

They think I'm clinically retarded. They honestly believe that I jumped from 1st grade to college, landed this great subbing gig and thus am completely in the dark when it comes to substitute shenanigans.

Misconceptions students have:

1. I think "Emo" is just a bad side-swept bang coupled with tight girl pants.

2. I've never seen a seating chart.

3. I buy the excuse that they have such underdeveloped bladders that severe internal damage will be done if they can't go to the bathroom THIS VERY MINUTE!

Yet due to my astute substituting skills, developed over my tenure, I am able to identify the crap. What's the latest observation you may ask...

I'm pretty sure this school has a highly organized Bathroom Mafia.

The bathroom run is one of the oldest tricks to be pulled on a substitute. Since the sub is not familiar with daily routines and does not want to be held responsile for any medical malfunctions- bathroom passes are easily obtained.

What I have seen with my OWN eyes:

1. After a series of quick glances and baseball type signals, one of the member will arise and ask to go to the bathroom. I allow.

2. After a series of repetitious sounds made by clicking mechanical pencils and sneezing, much like Morse code, another member arises and asks to go to the bathroom. I allow.

3. After an unexplainable series of rings and hang-ups on the classroom phone and an ominous message that appeared on the screen of the computer, another student arises for the bathroom. Fearing for my life- I allow.

This occurs during every class period. I have yet to figure out what exactly happens when they leave the classroom. I think it has something to do with scheduled meetings where members discuss their drug trafficking, prostitution ring or scam to get extra fries at lunch. Whatever it is... it's hardcore. 

My Favorite Game

I like sitting at my desk at the front of the class feeling like God. Sometimes I even jack up my seat so I appear taller and more powerful than I really am.

My favorite thing to do is scan the room and make eye contact with one of the students. I slightly close my eyes as if I'm concentrating while they begin to get a "deer in the headlights" look.

I stare at them for an awkwardly long period of time and then ask their name.

"Jimmy"

"And how do you spell that, Jimmy?"

As he spells his name I scribble on a sticky note, nothing legible. The whole time I'm staring at him.

"Why?!"

"Oh, no reason. Go back to your work."

They absolutely lose their minds!

I love it.