Just wanna bang on the drum all day...

What's that song?  I don't want to work, just wanna bang on the drum all day..."  That's how I feel this morning, despite leaving the house early to get ready for my LAST lecture of the semester!  Which is on conflict resolution, and which has always been not one of my best.  And now I know why.  I don't give a &*(%$ and neither do they. 

 They are all staring at me with drool coming out of the corners of their mouths, and one young lady in particular is shooting daggers at me through her eyes.  Always fiesty, she has morphed into downright bitchy, (because I'm "making" her "write too much.").  This super-bitch metamorphosis is not smart at the end of the semester, nor is sauntering in late and missing class. 

Allow me to tell you why.  The madam is human, afterall.  And she is about to calculate final grades.  And a theory I like to explain to them: primacy-recency effect - states that we remember what happened most recently.  So in plain language: It don't matter what you were like back in January, students.  I'm going to remember what happened LAST.  So when you have 79 out of a 100 points, the madam has a vivid picture of you rolling your eyes at me while I lecture and huffing with resentment.  Which means she fills in the C+ on the little sheet, not the B-.  Otay Panky?  (Little Rascals reference, get it?  If you got it, leave a comment, please...)  Now let's see, what else can I bang the drum about?  Oh - Campfire Girl informs me that I am the first member of the department to close a class for the fall.  Yay!  Oh, and lest I forget, I GOT A CHILI PEPPER.  From a girl.  I'm guessing it's my fashionista because the comment refers to me being "sweet" and "caring."  That's not exactly a guy way of speaking.  I was happy till Cleopatra Girl implied that she gave it to me, which is no fair.  She said she really didn't, but now I don't know who to believe. 

UH OH - I'm sitting here playing my ipod and all of a sudden, some godawful WWE anthem (Sexy Boy?) comes on.  Excuse me while I shuffle. Whew, my head almost blew off just then.  I'm like a dog, very sensitive to sound.  Dexter and I both bark when a squirrel races through the yard at 3 am.  These godawful songs are on my ipod because Middle put them there when I wasn't looking.  Then when I updated it, all these little lyrical gems were on, including Crank that Soulja Boy, which someone tells me is about masturbation.  Great. 

 Middle, by the way, is spinning out of control, again.  We must again lower the velvet hammer, and it's going to get ugly.  I plan on getting some coffee on my way home today, and taking extra happy pills to get me through the initial confrontation. That will be about his doing homework upon getting home from school, rather than watching The Fairly Oddparents, which is yet another screaming cartoon.  All my children's cartoons SCREAM at you.  There is no normal speech on any of these, except for maybe, Spongebob. And even that is pretty screetchy on a regular basis.  And I swear, the kids get screetchy after just ten minutes of watching it.  Where is bugs bunny when you need him?  Alittle classical music in the background, some Elmer Fudd. Anything but these godawful screamers.  Okay, looks like it's time to teach.  Or rather wipe drool from their mouths for ten minutes then let them go early.  Today my 300 pound boy is supposed to sell his body.  I'm guessing he'll be unprepared.  And you know what, I don't really care.