J. and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

I wasn't in the mood to play around when the boys walked into my room on Tuesday morning. I let them know that if they felt like actin' a fool, I'd be promptly escorting them down to the 6th grade hallway, where they could spend the rest of the day. (This was mostly because those were the only teachers that would agree to take them, but I may or may not have made it sound like it was the principal's idea.)

At the thought of having to suffer the humiliation of sitting with lowly 6th graders, T. decided he was going to become a model student. He sat still. He said yes ma'am. He even helped another student by leaning over and whispering "Hey man, when you talk like that we can't learn. C'mon, man!" He refilled my water cup and swept the floor. All in all, he made me wonder why I hadn't thought to threaten them with this way back in September.

J., on the other hand, decided to go in the opposite direction. To him, the best course of action would be to put his head down on his desk and play dead. He didn't respond to any of my questions, redirections, or threats.

Oh, we're so now we're playing that game? Honey, I invented that game. Now sit and watch while I call your mom. Rude.

He was less than pleased with me, and decided to walk out of the classroom. When I caught up with him in the hallway, he informed me that I was "getting on his f**king nerves."

Yeah...he got sent home for 5 days.

I wish I could say that I was upset about it, but I'm actually really jealous. He's been getting on my f**king nerves since August, and I'm the one who NEEDS a 5 day vacation. From now on, students who yell obscenities at their teacher should have to stay in school while their teacher gets a spa vacay.

Needless to say, T. and I are having a very quiet week. And my floor has never been cleaner.

RH of Beverly Hills: La Sur or La Slur?

Seeing as how it's a three day weekend and I may or may not have taken a significant nap Monday afternoon, I was actually able to stay awake to watch the best show ever created Real Housewives of BH last night. 

One of my favorite things about these Housewives? Besides the fact that they're loaded and gorgeous, they're pretty much the only RH cast that doesn't spend entire seasons in screaming matches (execpt for Kim and Kyle, and really, can you blame them?). It's much more fun to watch when the ladies actually get along.  

Once, again, we find Kim heavily sedated, which apparently causes her to crawl around on the hotel's bathroom floor. I've never been on anti-anxiety meds, but I'm pretty sure that's not an official side effect. 

But then again, neither is looking like a hot mess and having a busted, creepy boyfriend, but she can't seem to shake those, either. Oh, Kim. Why are you on the show again? I'd rather see more of Dana and the wine cooler in her closet. For realz. Why doesn't she get more camera time?

Kim then reveals to Kyle that things aren't working with said busted, creepy boyfriend, to which Kyle and the audience both said: we feel so bad for you duh. 

Taylor bravely showed up to the opening of SUR to talk to the ladies about the ending of her marriage. (Another thing I love about these ladies? They literally hide nothing from the camera. I. Can't. Get. Enough.) If the diamonds in their Captain Planet-like pile up don't make you drool, I really can't help you. 

The biggest reason they're smiling? Kim's not there. 

All images from Bravotv.com

Sadly, the season finale is next week, which means my reasons for living will whittle down to about zero. Sigh. At least I only have a few more weeks until Orange County premieres...

What If...I Punched You in the Face

Today during our daily reading group, I was absolutely blown away listening to T. and J. read fluently on a 2nd grade level. Hearing them sounding out words that they would have attempted to guess at before is the reason I show up for work everyday.

During a pause, T. reached over and gently touched my cheek.

I could only imagine his thoughts, which I assumed were something along the lines of "How can I ever thank this woman who has given me the greatest gift-that of literacy? Who causes me to believe in myself? Whose patience and kindness are as eternal as her beauty?


Nope. Instead, he sweetly asked: "Ms. G, what would happen if I punched you in your face?"

Pause.

I pondered this for a minute. What would happen if he punched me in the face? I thought of how kids who get into fights get suspended for 10 days, which basically means they get to hang out with their high school dropout friends and watch as much daytime television as they want. (Can we say: Dream vacay?)

With Spring Break so far away, it doesn't sound half bad. 

"Why do you ask?" I replied without taking my eyes off of the story we were supposed to be reading.

"Because sometimes you make us do so much WORK and stuff and it just makes me want to punchyouinyoFACE!"

I know should have been offended, but I reminded myself that since I have the urge to punch him in the face between 100-200 times a day, we might as well just call it even.

Oh and T.? File that under the "Things We Think But Don't Say Aloud", get a filter between your mouth and your brain, and get back to your reading. (Now.)

Dear Kate Middleton

You are the only person who I love for being perfect in every way. WHY DO YOU ALWAYS LOOK SO GORGEOUS.

I want to be you.

Sincerely,
Ensley

Beyonce's Officially a Baby Mama

Did Beyonce not announce her pregnancy until late in the game, or did she just have an abnormally short gestation period? Wasn't it only 2-3 months ago that she was doing all of her "Look, I'm knocked up!" belly-rubbing at the VMAs?

Who knows. Time warps when you live in the middle of nowhere.

I have a few things to say about the choice of baby name (Blue Ivy...?), namely:
1. Don't name your child something that sounds like a restaurant (or a stripper...)
2. An adjective followed by a noun is generally a bad name combination in general, and
3. What the hell

I don't even care about the name. What I'm dying to know is if the baby will be as gorgeous as Beyonce or as busted as Jay-Z. (Listen: I'm not denying the fact that he's awesome. But I fo sho wouldn't want my daughter to look like him.)

Who do you hope the baby will look like? (Please say Beyonce. Please say Beyonce.)

Miami or the Jersey Shore...Is There A Difference?

I spent my recent (and glooorious) Christmas break on my parent's sailboat in Miami. (Tough life. I know.)

View from the boat in Sunset Lake

After living in the middle of God-forsaken nowhere since August, it was everything I'd hoped: gorgeous Miami sunsets, people watching on Lincoln Road, time with my family, and a few too many Skinnygirl margaritas. (If such a thing were possible, which it isn't.)

A few times, while walking around Ocean Drive or Coconut Grove, I couldn't help but wonder where all the people who looked like J. Lo or Beyonce were. All I could see were geriatric Europeans with fanny packs. Where was the bling? The stilettos? The spray tans with sparkly flecks in them? Rude.

Then I looked around in horror as music from the Twilight Zone played: every man I could see was in cargo shorts. And a tank top.

Was I in the Miami season of the Jersey Shore? Nope. Just Miami.

I was so bummed. I had no-so-secretly hoped that I would find a gorgeous Spanish businessman to whisk me around in his sportscar and feed me grapes and cocktails in his penthouse South Beach condo.

Needless to say, it didn't happen. Not even close.

Having been pretty removed from all things Florida (minus cheering for the Gators) since I moved away in 2008, I'd forgotten especially how SoFlo is a world all its own. A cargo-short world, apparently. Instead of the blinged-out Beyonces and J. Los, all I saw were a lot of leathery looking people who seemed to be chain smoking like it was their last day on Earth. (Let me tell you: cigarette smoke + scorching heat from the sun is always a pleasant combination for my senses. Always.)

Oh, and as for me? I went jogging in a tank top my first day and got a sports bra tan that would've given any fanny-packed tourist a run for their money. I spent the next week laying out with strategically placed dishtowels over my chest and shoulders to help even it out. (Surprise: it didn't work. I looked like a fool.)

So there you have it. While I had an absolutely fabulous time (like drinking peach mai tais with my friend Mia at Villa Mayfair) the trip also showed me that North Carolina feels much more like home.

Mmm...crunk juice

Recap: Ensley...pale with splotches of sunburn, Mia...tan and gorgeous

If nothing else, it's a comfort to know that the Jersey Shore will never, ever have any interest in your state. And that's just fine with me.

Diets That Work...If You're Not Me

On my way home from my recent trip to Miami, (my brain was all fried from days spent in the sun/possibly still hungover from one too many Fat Tuesday's mango daiquiris) I made the poor life choice (#457,290) to waste $3.99 on the Diet That Work issue of US Weekly. (Even grosser that it had Kim K. on the cover. Ew. Ew. Ew.)

To save yourself the money that could go towards a vegan Starbucks latte, I'll give you the gist. Sign up for one of the meal delivery services like celebrities do for on $25-$75 a day! How easy is that? Oh, and workout everyday for like three hours. I mean, wow. Where have I been? 

P.S. Kim Khardasian only lost weight because she took that gaudy 22 carat diamond off of her finger. (Don't act like it's not true, girl.) (P.S. Everything she does annoys me, but not enough to turn down the purchase of a tabloid magazine.)

P.P.S Every celebrity would be as "fluffy" as I am if their only gym for 25 miles was a one room, three machine YMCA. (This is not an exaggeration.)

Of course, no where does it mention the real diet that works: a whole foods, plant based diet that saves money and your health in the process. (But why do that when you could eat 200 calories, shrink-dried meals and starve yourself?)

Ugh. Am I the only one who gets sucked into this magazine? (I still secretly love it. Don't hate.)

While making poor magazine choices, I also had to laugh out loud at this one:

Riiiiggght. I'm pretty sure the thought of being "undateable" has never crossed Pippa's mind, especially now. Don't hate on a playa!