Pinky's Book Link

Thursday, October 31, 2013

Why am I a teacher again?

I’ve read that teachers who were crap at Mathematics as a kid are the best at teaching it because they’ve processed the methods of problem solving in their brains in more simplistic terms. This allegedly enhances the teacher’s ability to explain the formulae at the student’s level.

This theory suits me. I remember sitting at the dinner table while my father irritably attempted to help me with my homework and explain simple algebra.

Eventually, after several cracks at getting it through my dim-witted head, he’d yell something like, “Why don’t you understand? Are you stupid?”

Mum would then yell at him, and I’d burst into tears. Poor Dad. I was seriously as thick as a brick.

Who knew my lack of algebraic nous would make me a more empathetic teacher, eh?

However, this morning I braced myself for what I knew would take me to the outer limits of my sanity; delivering yet ANOTHER lesson on converting mixed numbers to improper fractions and vice versa to my fledgling ten year old students.

Before even beginning the activity I was conscious of the rogue muscle in the back of my neck tightening up ominously.

“So…” I chirped brightly, after furiously drawing illustration after illustration on the whiteboard, “now can you see how four and three quarters equals nineteen quarters?”

I desperately scanned the sea of uncomprehending faces.

Clearly, not one of them 'got' it.

The neck muscle delivered a painful spasm.

Grabbing the lolly jar I extracted five jelly snakes. The lollies ensnared the kids’ attention with twenty-eight faces watching me in rapt fascination as I broke four of the snakes into quarters.

“See!” I enthused, counting all the quarters up to nineteen and feeling like the World’s #1 teacher. 
“Do you understand now?”

“Yes, Gilbert?” I’d noticed his saucer-eyed interest and anticipated his hopefully educated comment.

“Can I have those lollies, Mrs P?”

I looked at my watch. Every muscle in the back of my head was squeezing like a disgruntled python and waves of nausea had set in.

It was ten minutes until lunch. ‘There’s one solitary, squished aspirin in my bag but I really should wait until I can take it with food,’ I thought bleakly.

While the kids struggled through the practise sums on the board, and I walked around wondering if I was actually suffering an aneurism, I planned my attack.

I had roughly twenty minutes at morning tea to eat my salad, make a cup of tea, take my painkiller and go to the loo. It was imperative I get that aspirin into my system as soon as possible BUT... I was also busting to go to the toilet. I couldn’t skip it because I had duty at second break and couldn’t hold on until 3:00pm.

No… I’d take my chances. Food and painkiller took precedence.

Finally the bell rang and I sprinted up to the staffroom, grappled through the fridge to find my lunch and set about pouring the dressing on the salad.

“Who’s on duty in the Grade Two area, Pinky?” boomed Emmsie as she stared out the window at the unsupervised Grade Twos who were enjoying their rare freedom and swinging from the rafters.

“Not me!” I bawled back self-righteously.

“Well how come your name’s down on the roster?” she called back.


I’d mixed up my f##king duties.

The salad went back in the fridge to wilt itself away until second break and my throbbing headache was granted permission to expand at leisure.

Wednesday, October 30, 2013

Pinky revisits her lost youth!

                       Pinky (2nd from left) with the bevy of beauties.

I received an out-of-the-blue phone call last week. It was a young girl called Rachel, the local 2013 Surf Girl entrant who’d exhumed my mobile number from my parents and was contacting all the previous Surf Girls. 
Apparently, it’s the club’s fiftieth anniversary this year.

If you’ve read Pinky and the Surf Life Savers , you will recall back in 1981, Pinky gave the Surf Girl Quest a bit of a whirl and managed to add inadvertent, naked flashing into her dingy resume.

“I’m trying to get as many ‘girls’ as I can down to the beach for a group photo. Are you free to meet up at the clubhouse about 5:00pm this afternoon?” asked the vivacious Rachel.

Mmmm… I thought. It might give me something interesting to write about on my blog, I thought self-servingly.

After I hung up the phone my mind was besieged with paranoid insecurity. Let’s see… If I was a surf girl thirty-two years ago that means there were about seventeen girls who came before me.

Surely I won’t be the oldest… unless the others have all passed away from old age or are in resting homes of course.

I wonder if they’ve all turned to fat? Geez…I hope so, I mused optimistically.

I raced home after work; showered, inspected myself in the mirror from ninety-seven angles, had a bit of a cry, dragged on a pair of tight black jeans and a t-shirt to appear as if I just didn’t give a toss and then meticulously trowelled on enough makeup to sink a Magnetic Island ferry.

I was the first to arrive.

As the lovely ladies trickled in, I came to the slow and tragic realisation that I was, indeed, the oldest chicky-babe in the group.

Not only were they all considerably younger, but the gals were all sans make-up, au naturale, sun kissed and athletic-looking.

Pinky looked like the Joan Collins of the surfing fraternity.

To make matters worse, the press turned up and the first thing the junior reporter asked was, “So who is the earliest entrant here.”

“You mean the oldest,” I mumbled raising my bat-winged arm in disenchantment.

“What was it like way back then?” the twelve year old Lois Lane persisted.

“Oh, we rode in on the back of pterodactyls and wore neck to knee bathing costumes.” I replied.

No, I didn’t say that but I should have.

Rachel had asked all of us to bring in any old memorabilia and photographs we had of our glamorous year.

Many of you young folk won’t believe this... but back in 1981 videos had not even been introduced into Australia yet.

“What’s a video?” I hear you ask.

It was a black rectangular prism we used to use instead of DVDs. People literally fed them into a thing called a VCR which would chew them up into mangled plastic globules.

The only photos I had were faded 5 X 7s my beloved father took of the TELEVISION SCREEN during the judging broadcast!

BUT… I did keep this beauty!

                              Scotto, modelling my sash!

Tuesday, October 29, 2013

Pinky's Conspiracy Theories

After last night’s expose on cats I thought I’d check the Internet this afternoon to see if Mr Google had ranked my post at all. 

Well guys… it seems like I’m not the only individual to come to the conclusion that cats are extra-terrestrial. When I typed in “cats are aliens”, a whopping 10 200 000 results came up. I must have been hiding in a closet somewhere when this particular conspiracy theory was trending. 

Pinky’s post was ranked on page nine so I guess that’s not bad considering the volume of competition out there.

I do love a good conspiracy theory.

A few years ago I joined the The Flat Earth Society for a laugh.

The website’s mission statement describes how for years the world has been duped into believing our earth is round when in actual fact the earth is flat. The society’s head honchos back this up with ‘scientific data’. It’s all tongue in cheek and poking fun at the bizarre rubbish espoused by the multitude of nut bags out there.

There are some even weirder conspiracies around though.

# Redheads are the offspring of aliens because they all look alike.

This is my mate Greggles…

And this is Ed Sheeran...

Go figure... (I'll be in a sh#t load of trouble for that).

# The anti-Christ is among us.

Yes… it’s the producers of reality television turning our brains into porridge.

# Sonny Bono was murdered on the ski slopes.

Who’s Sonny Bono again?

# All the really famous people in the world (even the Royal family and key role players in political parties) are just disguised ‘Lizard People’ who normally live underground. They’re deviously plotting to take over the world.
                          Ric Okasek: Lead singer of the Cars!
I know...not nice Pinky!

# The Queen ordered the MI5 to kill Princess Diana…

Think about it. If Princess Diana married Dodi Fayed the queen would have been able to send grandsons Harry and William into Harrods for some brilliant discounts, so that just doesn’t make any sense at all.

# The Moon landing was fake.

Well, my dear old departed Grandad advocated this theory but he also supported the view that Harold Holt was kidnapped by Chinese spies in a submarine so I’m not sure how reliable he was.

# Michael and La Toya Jackson are the same person.

Yeah? So what? Donny and Marie Osmond were the same person weren’t they?

Monday, October 28, 2013

Cats are aliens. No joke.

Scotto was sitting beside me on the couch watching this video on his laptop and as I peered over his shoulder I came to a staggering conclusion.

Cats are not of this world. Cats are aliens in a furry disguise. They’re most definitely extra-terrestrial creatures sent to spy on us, and eventually take over the world.

Don’t get me wrong… I’m not saying I don’t like cats, I just think they’re hiding some terrifying secret to do with eventual world domination.

Think about it. Cats were mentioned once and once only in the entire Bible and there’s even some question if the reference was actually referring to a cat at all.

If they weren’t on the Ark how did they survive then?

You tell me. 

I know for a fact cats deplore water, so I’m sure they weren’t doing backstroke otter-style in the flood waters.

The Egyptians, on the other hand, revered the moggy, even mummifying them to be entombed along with the Pharaohs. If a cat died in an Egyptian house the entire family went into mourning just as they would if it had been a family member. Everyone in the house shaved their eyebrows.

 Cats were presented with jewellery… cats were big in the fertile crescent.

Throughout the centuries cats have adapted their vocal ability to… wait for it, this is f#cking scary… imitate the sound of a baby’s cry in order to get attention. 

Does that not sound mildly malevolent? This is probably why you always see firefighters lifting a bedraggled cat from the after rubble of an earthquake. 
The burly and dedicated fireman risks his life thinking he can hear a baby beneath the layers of debris then has to mask his bitter disappointment when he discovers it’s only a cat.

Have you ever wondered why they don’t send cats into space? Apparently the French planned to launch a cat called Felix, into space in 1963, BUT… Felix escaped. Can you imagine the security the French would have had surrounding the mission? And yet the space station was outwitted by an ordinary old cat. That’s freaking bizarre if you ask me. Monkeys, dogs, mice, guinea pigs, fire flies, rats, mealworms and even cockroaches all went off into space without a hitch… but the cat? No fricking WAY. That cat probably had an alien spaceship waiting around the corner for it.

Think about how cats are portrayed in Hollywood; Dr Evil and Mr Bigglesworth, Mr Jinx in Meet the Parents, those sh#tty Siamese cats in Lady and the Tramp, Church from Pet Cemetery to name but a few fearsome felines that raise the hackles on the back of my neck.

I think I’m going to start keeping a closer eye on my cat.
You know… cats spend two-thirds of their life sleeping… but are they actually sleeping? Perhaps that’s when they’re connecting to the mother ship.

Cats can jump up to five times their own height and run at 49 kms per hour. Some experts believe that cats have magnetised cells in their brain that help them to find their way home. Phone home ET??

Even weirder… cats have no collar bone. This means they can squeeze into any orifice their head can squish through. There is a documented story of a cat called Andy who survived a fall from a 16 storey building. Could any other animal boast the same luck? A bird maybe

I rest my case.

Cats are aliens.

(Just as I was about to post this, an ungodly scream from outside my front door frightened the effing bejesus out of me, seriously. It was the cat… I think it was warning me not to reveal its secret to the world. Now I'm scared.

                    This is my baby smother-er, Chelsea.

Photoshopping: Scotto

Sunday, October 27, 2013

What really lazy bloggers do when they can't be a#sed to write.

And coming soon... LINTEREST

(Hand and bellybutton modelling by Scotto)

Saturday, October 26, 2013

Pinky's Guide to Ideas for Fete Stalls.

                             Rach, Pinky and Emma.

“So what type of stall are you doing at this year’s fete, Pinky?” queried an indifferent Scotto on the eve of his eighth effort of helping me out at my school’s annual fete.

Scotto has endured working on stalls spruiking ugly, clay pots made by my class of six year olds, lampshades decorated by a similar demographic, cake stalls, a second-hand book stall, a haunted house, showbags and a plant stall.

“We’re doing glow-in-the dark stuff and helium balloons,” I replied nervously.

“I’ll agree to sell the glow-in-the-dark stuff but I’m not going near any balloons,” my big, strong, tough, globophobic manly-man spluttered.

Scotto, you see, is frightened of balloons.

Rach, my teaching buddy, Emma and I, had spent a good part of the hot afternoon preparing our stall and were set to go. The fete was set to launch off at 5:30pm and we waited for the onslaught of excitable midgets to descend like a cloud of bats at dusk. We secretly hoped we’d be sold out of stock by 6:00pm.

So… we waited… and waited… and waited.

Apparently glow-in-the-dark paraphernalia is only appealing when it actually gets dark. Who knew?

We could hear our prospective clientele shrieking in exuberant thrill on the oval where the jumping castles and rides were and the sugar-infused hobbits had no intention of visiting our fine stall in any forseeable future.

A couple of world-weary parents rocked up to help out, so Scotto and I decided to go for a wander and check out what creative inspiration the other teachers had dreamed up.

In order to ensure the rugrats were sufficiently hyped up, psyched up and 'sweetened' up, several of my fellow teachers had decided to act as logistics specialists...

         Bea at the chocolate toss... no losers here!

        Fluffed up, multi-coloured sugar! Yay!

               Feeling thirsty after all the salty sugar?
       Try the soft drink toss with Greggles and Kristen!

                                             Or the frozen version!
                        Slushies with Kaz and Jodye...

And of course some take-away sugar via the tombola stall run by Gilly!

Suitably staggering in a zombie-like sugar-coma, the kids were then free to colonise other fun-filled stalls, for instance...
                  Face painting a-la Glenys Da Vinci

             Mystery sock (pick a sock to find a surprise)
             So that's where all those bloody socks go!

          Stick in the Sand (pick a stick to win a prize... I'm                                seeing a pattern here)

And of course entertainment for the parents...
An auction of all the works of art created by their progeny.

The home-made cakes and slices stall manned by Adele   and Emma!

                And of course... the BOOZE BARROW!
(Scotto making a dodgy agreement with Geoff that he'd win the raffle... we're still waiting for the call though.)

The only other stall (apart from ours) which didn't seem to be seeing any action was the plant stall. I wonder why?
               Lee-lee, Dylan and Kyles working hard for the money.

Finally, at 8:30pm the oval was abandoned and the flying monkeys flocked in noisily; surrounding our stall, thrusting sticky fingers clutching crumpled five dollar notes at us, pointing to the various glowing swords, skulls, aliens and fairy wands and jumping from foot to foot in hyperactive mania.

Scotto was so happy when the night was at an end he wet his pants...

No... he didn't really. Not being accustomed to hanging around schools he mistook the water trough for a bench and sat in it!

Oh well, at least it's over for another year.

Friday, October 25, 2013

One man's trash is another man's... trash.

Our school fete is on tonight. We lucky teachers have to work until 10:00pm instead of knocking off at 3:00 pm (like we ever do... hardy-ha-ha).

There's one thing we look forward to though and that is we get to raid the Trash and Treasure stall before the gates open at 5:30pm. 

As soon as we've finished setting up our own stalls we're like a bunch of crazy Boxing Day shoppers, aggressively shoving our way through the doors of David Jones in a frenzied search for that elusive bargain.

We take no prisoners. It was like a cat fight this afternoon and I've the fingernail marks on my bloodied arms to prove it.

All I can say is, it's amazing what people are willing to part with. The generous, albeit pre-loved donations titillated each and everyone of us girls and let me tell you... the bootie I snapped up was worth every elbow in the guts and Chinese burn those other bee-artches delivered.

Carla is the most athletic of us and scored the Dazza's Fishin and Drinkin DVD as well as a cool new hat and an antique camera. Lucky bloody cow!

Plus... she somehow nicked one of the best items on the table without the rest of us seeing... a Wiggle's money bag. 

Adriana's little girl is going to be thrilled with the piggy bank her Mum fought tooth and claw for. The best thing about it is IT STILL HAD ITS BOX!

Then Paula, nabbed the Bob the Builder doll we all had our eyes on using subterfuge and camouflage. (Well... we think it's supposed to be Bob the Builder and it did smell a bit funny).

Tash, who is into decorating and Feng Shui, bigtime... found a delightful Chinese artifact we all agreed probably dates back to at least the 1970s. The K-Martian era?

Christie-lee, the scariest and perhaps most dedicated fossicker of obscure but valuable items, unearthed some old hair curlers and the shelf from a fridge. Damn her!

Bloody Emm, tackled me just as I was about to grab the racing controller for a console (without a console) and beat me to the punch. And to add insult to injury, she brazenly pinched the plastic duck from under my nose.

Emmsie thought she'd discovered a bag of archaic paper clips (possibly worth a lot of money) until we told her they were just some old perming rods.

But Pinky scored big time!!! Here's what I managed to grab before the others...

A bottle of aged shampoo! (Okay, it's clearly already been opened but it's European and that's good, right?)

A barely used French Fry cutter (still in the box).

A slightly rusty corkscrew... for when wine manufacturers finally realise screw-top wine bottles are not really all that convenient.

A kitchen thingy set with a VERY interestingly shaped something in the back right hand corner???

And finally... the best buy in the Trash and Treasure stall...
 a teapot lid. Please, if anyone has a teapot that matches this lid I'm willing to cough up a very good price.

A full, pictorial report on the fete will appear in the very near future.

Please comment on the best thing you've seen at a trash and treasure sale.