I swear . . .

I'm no prude by any means, but I try to keep my language as decent as possible among my friends at work. Today, I lost it. Dropped the f-bomb in the middle of our workroom. Working in a large urban school district is like trying to push watermelons through a sieve. No matter how hard you push and try to make it happen, it won't. Our relatively new superintendent is recruiting his youthful minions to affect much needed change/improvement in our district. One of his recent hires, Opie Cunningham has been an extreme disappointment. Today I find out that paperwork that was submitted one month ago to pay 35 teachers for working the Saturday and Sunday before the first day of school to set up their classrooms has been sitting on his ASSistant's desk. I get the paperwork completed a full week before it is due and today, payday, the teachers were not compensated for their extra time. They had to come in on their own time because the district was not able to complete renovations to a group of portable classrooms. This is NOT the first time that district employees have dropped the ball. Oh, no it's a way of life for them.

What comes around . . .

Bohemoth hair accessory. Blue polyester faux silk brocade jacket w/Imelda Marcos puffed-sleeve treatment. Silk ankle-length twist skirt. Blue Birkenstocks

Never throw any fine fashion away because it will always come back . . . like a bad canker sore or dengue fever. But I selectively follow this mantra and save a few fashion gems in the recesses of my closet, because one just never knows.

As a teacher, I work at a school that has different celebrations (homecoming, Halloween, Ethnic Celebrations, etc.) which might call for dressing up in some sort of theme. I have intermittently participated through the years, having shown up to school as a punk rocker, Buckwheat, a groovy gal from 70's and most recently I rocked the 80's. Did I go out of my way to purchase a costume? No, these fine ensembles were all just hanging in my closet. Proud? Maybe. Disturbing? Definitely . . .

Bad hair life

When I think I'm having a bad hair day, I just have to remember this and I feel just a little bit better . . .

More scary than clowns . . .

Something about these dolls scares me. Maybe they look too real, or their smiles are really hiding some sort of demonic evil. I just had to walk away . . .