Illadelph BassLife: Too Cute For Jail

by pronounced "ahhh" like a sigh

I’m little. Despite the 10 Philly Food truck pounds I’ve gained over the last month, I’m still short and a size S (or M at Forever 21 which I’m too old to be shopping at anyway and is obviously evil because S makes me look like Mo’N’I’Q’u’E) rather than my usual XS. Shut it. That’s not my point. My point is this, if I kill one of these children, I will most likely go to prison and well, as the title, notes, I’m too cute for jail. Even if I pretended to butch it up and shank someone with a toothbrush or tampon or whatever, I’m probably going to have to keep killing people and maybe a guard so I can be thrown in solitary and not have to be around other people. or… whatever Oz was about.

Speaking of Oz, I learned a lot of murder from that show. I learned that you can grind up glass and put it in someone’s food and they won’t even know it’s there and then they’ll die or something. (DISCLAIMER: Don’t do this. Murder is wrong. Glass is not to be ingested. Um… Jesus forgives. Oprah saves.) Oz was such a strange show, I mostly watched it with my hands over my face peering through my fingers and screaming every time a rogue penis showed up and took someone’s eye out. But every single week, I was back in front of my TV watching and hiding under the decorative sofa pillows. It was an abusive relationship. I remember the time I couldn’t sleep and watched the first 2 seasons in one night. I don’t know why I did that. I was traumatized for weeks. I actually ran into the guy that played… Beecher? Not the one that is on Law & Order: SVU, the other one. The one that played his boyfriend. We were both on the Amtrak headed back to New York City. Nice guy but all I could think was, “I’ve seen you be anally raped. I’m not sure how to handle this.” Awkward. I loved Adebisi. I don’t know how that little hat stayed on. I don’t know why I loved him. I just thought he was great. And every time I see that Nazi leader on ANYTHING else, I want to call 911.

I have completely lost track of this blog. My point again, is this: I can not kill these children. They were trying me this morning. TRYING ME! Even my adorable kindergartners were high on marker fumes or something. Then the 6th grade came in and decided to finish me off. Juan was running behind the curtain and knocked the dry erase board, narrowly taking out the little girl from my favorite little look alike family. And Mugaza! My adorable, older brother to Suni and Mohammed. The one that sits quietly and never wants to play Pinnochio even though he looks like he could be a little wooden boy, the one that always says, “Hi, Ms. Bassey. What are we doing today?”. Even he got called out once because Juan (that hooligan) kept trying to get all the boys to make fun of *name withheld* because he’s um… a little more Tevin than he is TI. If you catch my drift. Mugaza didn’t do anything but not sit down when I told them to but just because he’s my favorite doesn’t mean he gets off scott free! And *name withheld* is such a drama queen but I was going to let him put on his little step show at the end of class but no, he wanted to get on the microphone and sing Justin Bieber’s greatest hits. No. I’m serious. The girls were fine. They’re always good in THIS class. The other classes, the girls have so much attitude, you’d think they were at least in their 50s, bitter because their man left them for a younger woman and he ain’t never give them child support and they work 3 jobs just to make ends meet and they had to take off work to get Little Ray Ray after he got suspended for fighting again. YOU ARE 11! Why are you so damn angry? At me! I’m awesome! I have on Pumas!

And yes, I understand socioeconomic, lower income, racism, red Kool-Aid, Rosemary had a baby. I get it. I understand. But I still don’t really “get it” and I don’t feel like having to fight them every day. It’s exhausting.

And I have 4 hours and 3 days left.

And all of this before 11 o’clock. I need some alcohol.

make it a double,

B.

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