I hate hand painted signs by the side of the road. What makes you think I want to vote for your candidate because you spray painted with yellow paint on a blue tarp? Professionalism you do not require, apparently.
The day before a teacher workday is tantamount to the day before spring break or Christmas vacation or the day of a full moon. They're nuts. And I need a nerve pill.
While we're on the subject of teacher workdays, is it too much to ask that teachers be allowed to really work on said workdays? I could get so much teacher stuff done - say, planning and grading! - if I were not required to be in meetings all day. Guess that's what the weekends are for, huh? (Sarcasm intended).
I did not cry when my husband went out of town the last time. Tomorrow when he leaves, I feel there may be weeping and gnashing of teeth.
I am having to end my friendship with a precious woman because she casually mentioned in a conversation that she loves cashews. Having forgotten the splendor of a cashew, I bought a bag. And since then? Approximately 274 more. And can we talk about the price of nuts, people? Good stinking grief. My little habit may require a part-time job.
I adore sweater weather. And boots. And scarves. But not hats. I just look like a weirdo in them.
At what age do your children stop bothering you while you're in the bathroom? Because apparently we're not there yet. Door shut = privacy, please. (I realize I have referenced the bathroom twice in one post, which is twice more than I have ever spoken of it. But COME ON.)
Enough with the Dracula commercials, already, NBC. Jonathan Rhys Myers is so doggone scary. I don't enjoy your attempts to cause nightmares in me when I'm innocently watching the last few minutes of Ellen. Give a girl a break. Real life is scary enough.
An incredible teacher I used to work with posted on Facebook that she recently was invaded by swarms of educational higher-ups including but not limited to the district and STATE superintendent of education. Hives. I would have broken out in hives - not just because of his presence but his policies. Oh, lordy. Better her than me! I'm becoming way too candid and outspoken in my old age to keep the old mouth shut.
I think today I have verbal diarrhea. Wait - does that count as a third bathroom reference? If so, I apologize. But not really, because sometimes it just has to come out. Am I lying? Let it out or explode.
On that note, I'm done. For now. Enjoy your evening while I go pick out a cute sweater outfit and try to use the bathroom in peace.