House of Zathras

I’ll be the first to admit I’m not the best cook. It’s a chore, a chore no one else is willing or able to do. So I do it.

I cook simply. Yes, I cook from packaged mixes frequently…like scalloped potatoes, or jambalaya mix, or Bisquick. I don’t have the time or energy to cook from scratch every night. I use frozen veggies most of the time, and steam them (better than canned, at least).

But I have learned one secret from my Southern heritage…bacon. And its drippings. (No, it’s not called grease down here except by health nuts. Who all wind up dying scrawny and shriveled, and just as dead as the fat, happy people.)

Anyway, I made chicken-fried steak last night. But instead of cooking it in oil (I do use vegetable oil, just so you know), I first fried up some bacon. THEN I cooked the steak in the drippings. I added some of the drippings to the green beans. And crumbled up some of the cooked bacon in the scalloped potatoes. O.M.G. …was it good! ALL of it. I know our arteries were hardening as we took each mouthful. But bacon is nature’s perfect food. I’ve been wanting to try bacon-wrapped, cheese-stuffed jalapenos, but need to find a raspberry sauce in which to dip them.

We don’t eat like that every night. But it just sounded right last evening. And it tasted good. As my grandmother would have said, we were all as full as a tick. Yum.

Now I’m off to make some banana nut bread. Sans bacon. But cornbread with bits of bacon in it…yeah, that’s a good bread. But right now, I think I am baconed out.

I love the counselor at our school. She’s been a wonderful personal support through all my years of turmoil. I just wish High Inquisitor Umbridge would let her work with kids again with group counseling. Oh, no, it’s more important that the counselor test the kids and be free to do car duty and stuff. Yeah.

Anyway, the counselor came up with a great idea to help some of us with stress relief. We’re kind of doing a ’sewing-bee’ and are going to make some cute handbags. Eight of us met at the fabric store to pick out the materials we would need. That was fun in and of itself…matching the fabric and trim work and helping others do the same is enjoyable for us sewers. SEW-ers, not sewers. Then we had lunch together. In a restaurant, with a waiter…not in a stark white cafeteria filled with screaming kids and pieces of lunch and spills of milk on the floor.

In two weeks, we meet again to do the actual sewing. And then go to lunch together. In a restaurant, with a waiter…not in a stark white cafeteria filled with screaming kids and pieces of lunch and spills of milk on the floor. I swear, one day the teachers are going to start a food fight, just because the stress is getting to us! I just wish I could go out in style, like Fred and George Weasley did in HP: Order of the Phoenix. But in the book, not the movie. The movie simply did not do justice to the mayhem and swamp that the twins left behind them.

But all in all, it’s good to have co-workers with whom you can get out and have fun. Simple, harmless, middle-aged fun (just don’t count the time another teacher and I went unknowingly into a gay bar…ahem.)

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Until the past few years, my Dad hasn’t been much for phone conversations. He’s not quite a hermit, but has made sure to live hundreds of miles away from the nearest relative. He can be terse, and will not put up with bullshit from anyone.

When he was still a young officer in the Navy, I was playing with the Captain’s daughter. Apparently she was quite a brat, and my Dad told her that if she didn’t mind her manners, she wouldn’t be allowed to stay at our house. She responded that her daddy was the Captain and stuck her tongue out at him. Big. Mistake. He grabbed her tongue and held on to it, and told her in his house HE was in charge, not her Daddy. She promptly ran home and tattled. Captain-Daddy did come over to thank my Dad for disciplining her because his wife had made her a spoiled brat. Wouldn’t have mattered if the Captain threatened him with the brig, however. Dad wouldn’t have apologized for someone else’s problem.

Fast-forward to last night. My dad actually called me…itself a rare occurrence. We chatted about Eraserhead’s college (Dad manages his tuition program). Then Dad started to reminisce about his Navy flying days when he was a navigator. He told me a story that he has told me several times before. It’s always the same…he hasn’t embellished it over the years (remember, he has no tolerance for bullshit). But Dad is a very engaging story teller, so you don’t mind listening to it again. His favorite, however, is about the time his plane crashed into the ocean (he was flying off the Kennedy). I think it was right after take-off, and it was filmed because it was so close to the ship. The film showed him as the only one who looked around to make sure everyone made it out of the plane.

Rescue was shortly thereafter, and Dad and the rest of the crew found themselves in the sick bay. The doctor asked them if they wanted medicinal brandy, and my Dad said (and here was an embellishment I’d never heard before), ‘F**k, Yes!’. I nearly dropped the phone. In all the times my Dad has relayed his Navy day stories, he only occasionally says ’shit’ or ‘damn’…and then only when I got into my mid to late 30s or so. My Dad has always been aware of proprieties, even complaining at my sister’s wedding that she dressed the groomsmen and him in TAILS for a mid-day wedding…tails weren’t supposed to be worn until late afternoon/evening. He has always had a very precise code of conduct. Until last night.

He’s 71 now…he’s entitled to let fly whatever he wants to, I guess. And if you’ve been any kind of long-time reader, you know that I let fly with the f-bomb from time to time.

But it’s my DAD, for goodness sake. My DAD said the f-word. It’s like finding out your parents actually have sex and enjoy it. Which kind of goes with the f-word, I guess.

Oh, and for the record, Dad said that the brandy tasted like shit. He accused the doctor of drinking the good stuff and substituting rot-gut instead, and would need to crash three more times before that stuff tasted good.

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My Dad said ‘F**k’. Does this mean he finally sees me as an adult? It makes me kind of sad…I still want to be his ‘little blue-eyed sweetheart’. *sigh*

…in the hands of a teenaged girl…is a very, very scary thing.

Especially since she’s a tiny little thing, learning on a big ol’ SUV.

But I’m putting on my best face and trying to find whatever humor I can.

Like having her drive into the Church parking lot and go past the youth director who is talking to one of the little old Church ladies. And pressing my face and hands against the window, mouthing ‘Help Me!’.

And again at the Church parking lot, when an older gentleman of our acquaintance sees Princess No driving, and he acts like he can’t figure out which way to run, waving his hands in the air like a maniac. Princess No gets freaked out that I’m laughing when she can’t figure out which way to go around the guy.

Or laughing my ass off when Princess No can’t see if she’s made it between the parking space lines and bonks her head on the rolled-up window trying to check it out.

Yeah…it’s a wild ride. But so far, at speeds far below the limit.

So in the past few nights, I’ve dreamed of zombies and a nuke going off in New Jersey.
Last night, I dreamed of something related to war. WWII, to be exact. I think I was an officer’s daughter in it. There was some kind of party, and in this dream I was talking to this really cute and outgoing enlisted man. As it is often in dreams, I remember being ‘me’, and thinking I was old enough to be this man’s mother! But in the dream, we talked and agreed to write to each other. He had the cutest smile! His name was Joseph, and he had tanned or olive-toned skin, sort of Italian-looking. When I woke up, I remembered looking at his name-tape (I don’t even know if they had those on uniforms in WWII). In my dream, I couldn’t see part of the name because of the angle from where I was standing. So I typed in his name as I thought it was (Joseph Cagglione)…and Dogpile made a suggestion: Joseph Scaglione. Looked at that…and it was the guy from my dream. He was a gunner and/or a radio operator on a B-17. Mr. Scaglione was a POW briefly at the end of WWII after his plane received flak that caused the engines to catch fire.

I don’t know what made me dream of Mr. Scaglione. But if nothing else, it had me come across a hero of America’s greatest generation, and he deserves whatever recognition I can give. God bless you, sir.

Dreaming about hordes of invading zombies one night…and then nukes going off in New Jersey another night.

Maybe I should drink more before I go to sleep.

What. A. Day.

Actually, it started yesterday. Yesterday, the painters came to my room shortly before dismissal and told me they would be starting the next day. They would start moving stuff right after the kids left. I told them that would be fine, but I needed to get a few things I would need for the next two days for the room in which I would be in during the painting. The bell rang at that point. I told them I had to take the kids to the buses, and would return in ten minutes to get what I needed.

I came back in ten minutes…and they already had all the desks, shelves, computers, books, EVERYTHING moved to the center of the room. All pushed in together. And I had no time to go through trying to find the things I needed because I had a student meeting to go to. Which lasted a freakin’ hour and a-half!!!! So I was too worn out to search through the piles of stuff to get what I needed.

When I got to school this morning, I had to hustle the kids to get their books out of their cubbies to take to the PE room. That’s right, the PE room…our temporary abode during our painting hiatus. They had desks in there for us. Desks and chairs at a height for KINDERGARTNERS! I have second graders, some of them repeaters, who are way, way too big for the desks. I couldn’t adjust the chairs, but I could adjust the desks. Got the kids set up in some independent activities, and started turning a wrench. And who ever put the desks together did it WRONG!!!! The legs are attached to the desk with a set of metal plates. Plates which have tabs to slide into slots on the legs to keep them from slipping down. Every single one of the plates was on the wrong way!!! So I spent almost 40 minutes of the damn day adjusting desks. My hands got tired, I guess, and at one point the wrench flew out of my hands and hit me. In the face. And I said “shit”. Not loudly, not vehemently…more in surprise than anything. But I know…I KNOW at least three kids heard me.

So…we finally get the desks adjusted, and settle down to some REAL lessons. Not just learning inappropriate vocabulary. I wanted the kids to be settled so we could take an important comprehension test. Just as I was passing out the test papers, in comes some workers to install a SmartBoard in the room. So then we had the banging and buzzing of electric tools. ARRRGGGHHH!!!!!

Later, the kids were working quietly when I heard a buzzing, slightly rumbling noise. It was coming from the other side of the partition. Since the kids were working quietly, I peeked around the divider, trying to pinpoint the sound. It was one of the coaches, holed up in the corner, taking a nap. No fair. I was worn out!! And I think the kids knew I was going 90-to-nothing today. Right before dismissal, I sat down to fill out the behavior sheets and was calling the kids up one at a time to pick up their papers. One kid took his and remarked, “Mrs. Who, this is the first time you’ve sat down today!”

Yeah. That kind of day.

Hellacious week so far. Haven’t really had the weekend off since I worked at my school Saturday morning, and spent most of the remaining hours working on a very irritating but necessary huge mound of paperwork for an upcoming meeting.

Had a meeting today after school, and will have yet another one on Tuesday. And Wednesday. And Thursday. And, oh yeah, my classroom is being painted this week. At least two days physically out of the classroom, with the days before and after involved with having all my stuff moved around. REAL conducive to a good learning environment, hunh?

I want a drink, but am headed for the treadmill.

I’m tired already.

Thoughts on the universe:

Which of course, leads to these thoughts:

Totally unrelated to my previous post. But I’ve become aware of a possible ethics violation, and I have to report it. It could make things really ugly and uncomfortable at work.

But if I don’t take action, it could come back on me, and I’m not going to let that happen.

I need an enviro-suit…and soon.

And I thank God I joined the union this year.

Apparently a big-wig in the district received a complaint about another teacher from our principal. The apparent big-wig was surprised, because he’s known this teacher for a very long time. Said big-wig had talk with said teacher. He will also be looking into the attrition rate of long-term teachers at the school, I guess to see if it’s a higher rate than other schools.

And as a long-time teacher at Swamp Rot Elementary, I’m on this big-wig guy’s list of people to whom he wishes to speak.

Just. Fuck. It could be good. It could be bad. Either way, it’s going to be a wild ride.

Why me?

The Lenten Season begins today with Ash Wednesday. As I’m too tired to express spiritual thoughts in a meaningful way, I’ll just post the Psalm from today’s Mass:

Have mercy on me, God, in your kindness. In your compassion blot out my offense. O wash me more and more from my guilt and cleanse me from my sin. My offenses truly I know them; my sin is always before me. Against you, you alone, have I sinned; what is evil in your sight I have done. That you may be justified when you give sentence and be without reproach when you judge. O see, in guilt was I born, a sinner was I conceived. Indeed you love truth in the heart; then in the secret of my heart teach me wisdom. O purify me, then I shall be clean; O wash me, I shall be whiter than snow. Make me hear rejoicing and gladness, that the bones you have crushed may revive. From my sins turn away your face and blot out all my guilt. A pure heart create for me, O God, put a steadfast spirit within me. Do not cast me away from your presence, nor deprive me of your holy spirit. Give me again the joy of your help; with a spirit of fervor sustain me, that I may teach transgressors your ways and sinners may return to you. O rescue me, God, my helper, and my tongue shall ring out your goodness. O Lord, open my lips and my mouth shall declare your praise. For in sacrifice you take no delight, burnt offering from me you would refuse; my sacrifice, a contrite spirit. A humbled, contrite heart you will not spurn. In your goodness, show favor to Zion: rebuild the walls of Jerusalem. Then you will be pleased with lawful sacrifice, holocausts offered on your altar.
-Psalm 51 (Miserere)

I’m worn out! Hit the ground running Monday morning…School had been cancelled Friday because of a ’snow day’ (never saw a lick of snow! And is Florida the only state to have schools out for both a ‘hurricane day’ and a ’snow day’ within three months of each other?). When I had left on Thursday, the superintendent had said there was a 99% chance we WOULD have school the next day, so I didn’t bring home my plan book. Which meant that when school WAS closed on Friday, I hadn’t finished my plans for this week. And when I got there Monday morning, nothing was up for the new week…new vocabulary and spelling words, new ‘objectives’, yadda, yadda, yadda. And then I had to leave right after the students did to take Princess No to dentist and eye appointments.

I had also promised to take Princess No and a friend to a Mardi Gras parade last night, too. I was really too tired to go…but had a blast! I haven’t been to a parade in several years, and kind of forgot how much fun they could be! The yelling and screaming and grabbing…almost like being in Congress. Wait…bad analogy. But a lot of fun. And watch out for those old ladies. They will take you out trying to get the throws. New for this year – peanut butter moonpies. O.M.G. Like the Girl Scout peanut butter cookies, only much, much better!

So I didn’t get in till late from the parade, and dragged my tired butt to school, STILL without completed plans, and had an early morning appointment with the school intervention team for a student with problems. Another 45 minutes away from my classroom. This week is crazy, and it’s only Tuesday!!!!

Lent starts tomorrow with Ash Wednesday…so no meat. Which is why we picked up a Papa Murphy’s 5-meat pizza tonight. I’m making ‘Fat Tuesday’ live up to its name, yes, indeed. (And to my exercise buddies…as soon as it digests a little, I WILL be on the treadmill!)

But I really need to think of a Lenten exercise to implement…my spiritual life has really been lacking lately. I need to work on that more. Maybe be sure to pray the rosary every day…instead of just falling into bed each night and being asleep within three minutes. Focus a little more on slowing down and getting away from the worldly stress that takes away from everything I do.

It’s about 6:30 in the evening, but my body feels like it’s almost midnight. No Facebook or Farmville tonight. Time to do a few things for myself (exercise and read), and then go to bed.

Good-night, y’all!

( a bit delayed since this didn’t post as scheduled)

VW cracked me up…in the previous post she commented that I needed to list all my blog friends as family and insist they be added to the wedding guest list (oops, almost typed ‘weeding’…Freudian slip, lol?)

Y’all are invited if you want. Hell, the girl has no family that we know of (she was in foster care for most of her teen years), and Goob’s other family are the Utah shitheads (hey, shithead is considered a ‘real’ word!!! No squiggly line under it!). So guess who would be putting on this wedding if it should happen…which means we’ll probably have it at the local Wal-Mart.

Plus, both of them are under legal drinking age. Which means no booze at the reception. Hell, we have enough troubles in our lives without being arrested for supplying minors with alcohol!

BUT!!! AFTER the reception, I’ll definitely need some kind of high-octane recovery. So if y’all want to join us for an after reception-reception, for anyone of LEGAL drinking age…let’s meet at some nice bar and drink to these wayward youth. May they overcome any obstacles (and God knows they’ll have plenty) and be happy with each other, and not dump munchkins on our doorstep. (Although God knows I’d rather than bring innocent children to us than on those shitheads in Utah. I’ve already told the girl via a FB message that if they ever turn to Utah because the evil grandmother there will promise them a house and a car then we are done with them. Finit. That the price to pay for that is their very souls and I won’t be a part of that in any way, shape, or form.)

I’m shaking my head at the whole thing. The girl, (bless her heart), is messaging me saying she wants to have a faith practice but that Goob is claiming agnosticism and what should she do. I told her that she needs to talk to him because she definitely knows him better than we do now. And I’m pissed at myself for being suspicious of her…that she doesn’t really want the religious aspect but is trying to get on my good side. And I’m not going to get in the middle of their relationship. Whatever I reply to her, I’ve told her I’m sending a copy to Goob also. And does she really want to be married to a man ten-foot tall and bulletproof boy who claims he would rather be molested again and profess to be proud of it than admit that maybe he did something wrong in the week before he left for Korea, and tell his Dad he’s sorry. Because that’s where things stand right now.

I would so love to feel happiness for them. But if Goob won’t admit he made a mistake now, will he ever apologize to her when he’s done something wrong?

God bless them both. They’re going to need it.

Seems Pvt. Goob is getting married. In August.

How did we find out?

On Facebook. A comment that I caught in passing.

*sigh*

Warning: Brief instance of adult language.

Our school district’s web-site was hacked today. By folks claiming to be Turkish Muslims.

When I saw the site come up, I wanted to yell out, “Durka Durka Mohammend Jihad!!”

But the kids would have looked at me funny.

So…was this the threat that Iran promised for today? Taking down our educational system one web site at a time? More power to them. God (not Allah) knows our whole educational system needs a revamp anyway. They could be doing us a favor.

Joe: One of the terrorists is trying to tell us something.
[looks through binoculars]
Gary Johnston: [waving the distress signal towards Joe and Chris] It’s me! It’s me!
Joe: Looks like he’s saying, “Kiss me! Kiss me!”
Chris: Smart-ass motherfucker!
[fires missile at terrorist jeep]

Don’t have much to write about. I get caught up in Farmville on FB, and it’s starting to tick me off. How can I allow something so inane take up so much of my invaluable and minuscule spare time like that?

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We’re looking at getting another ‘family’ car. We have two drivers coming up soon. A friend of mine is selling an older model Mercedes that we’re thinking of getting. I just don’t want them in my SUV. I love my SUV. I don’t want anything to happen to it. The Mercedes is 20 years old but sounds to be in good shape…we’ll see.

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How much rain can we handle? And it could be changing to snow by week’s end. Damn Al Gore.

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And how much longer before people realize the educational system is heading towards Urinetown because of texting and having the internet on one’s cell phone? Parents aren’t interacting with their young kids because of these devices. Thank about the last time you were in public seeing parents with young kids. Were they interacting with their kids, or were they pushing the stroller while yakking on the cell phone? Kids aren’t developing the language patterns and skills they need, and will be far behind when they get to school. At my school in particular, the speech referrals in kindergarten are up 3x from last year.

Of course, it will be the teachers’ faults when the kids can’t learn.

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Wondering what will happen Thursday…Iran has threatened something big. I fear for Israel, because Obama is an imbecilic amateur.

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Is it Friday yet?

It’s also the middle of Mardi Gras, the partyingest party known to mankind, and you want to show support for the Saints. How do you do it?

By having an RC Cola and a Moon Pie of course! Geaux Saints!!!

And since I do live in Alabama, here is a story from Lewis Grizzard:

One day a man walks into a place and orders an RC Cola and a Moon Pie. The guy behind the counter says, “You must be from Alabama.”

The customer replied angrily, “Just because I ordered an RC Cola and a Moon Pie, how come you think I must be from Alabama? If I ordered spaghetti, would you think I was from Italy? If I ordered sausage, would you say I was from Poland?”

The man at the counter says, “Well, I can’t say. It’s never happened.”

So the customer asks, “Then how come when I come in here and order an RC Cola and a Moon Pie, you just automatically assume I’m from Alabama?”

And the man calmly replies, “‘Cause this is a hardware store.”

It can suck. There’s nobody who can run the Netflix DVD out to the mailbox when you don’t want to get dressed to go out there.

And nobody to get up at 6:00 AM to let the animals out and feed them.

*sigh*

How do you say TGIF?

Now, how do you say it without kids for the whole weekend? 

And so…what are y’all’s plans for the Super Bowl? I usually make fried mushrooms with ranch dip. And wait for the commercials.

Oh, wait. Now we have DVR…I can make the commercials wait for me!!! Bwah-haa-haa-haaa! I have the power!

My new Haitian student? Gone. Without my being able to say goodbye.

Seems the ‘evaluator’ for the ‘ESOL’ (English for Speakers of Other Languages) deemed my student’s older brother ‘not proficient’ in English. So now they’re going to be bussed out of their home neighborhood to a school that ’specializes’ in the remediation of the English language. Among mainly children who speak Spanish and Vietnamese. Yeah, that will be really good for building their English. These kids aren’t speaking French/Haitian/Creole. Accented English yes, with different cultural implications. But supposedly their English will improve by being among non-English speakers!!!!

And get this…when this evaluator came to the school to screen my student, I was asking her about some situations I’d experienced with my student (see my previous post). The woman said she had no idea. I said something to the effect of the belief systems being a combination of traditional African beliefs and Catholicism. She looked at me and said, “Well, you know more about it than I do.” And SHE made the decision that the boys would be better off at the other school to build their language skills.

Maybe it will. But these boys already spoke English AS THEIR NATIVE LANGUAGE!!!!. My student was really opening up and interacting and laughing with the other students. He was asking and answering questions in class.

I am just heart-broken about this student leaving. I don’t think it was right what they did…I’m sure the cultural differences affected the outcome of the test…I’ve experienced that in California and in Texas.

And they called him into the office while we were at recess with no damn explanation. I call to check on him, and was told he’s gone. Just like that.

It ain’t right. And you know what else???? It’s FTE week. It’s the week we do a ’special count’ to see how much funding schools get from the government. The more kids in ’special services’, the more funding the district gets. I’m sure putting two kids into this ’special’ program will get the district some extra money.

It’s a bunch of crap.

It’s been an experience getting to know my new student from Haiti. Anybody know much about Haitian culture? I require my students to be polite and use good manners. However, this little boy doesn’t say ‘ma’am’. With his accent, it sounds like he’s saying some kind of ‘yeah’…but it might be the normal polite reply. I’m not requiring him to say ‘ma’am’ because I worry that it would be subservient in the Haitian culture (due to the history of slavery there). He is polite in all other aspects, like saying ‘thank you’ when he gets something.

When the class came in from PE today, another boy had been apparently talking to ‘Henri’ about Haiti. My American student told me that Henri’s mother had died, but not in the earthquake. I asked Henri if he wanted to talk about his mother (since he had already said something to this boy), and he said his father told him not to. I did ask why, and he said because then his mother would come into his dreams.

Wow…talk about cultural differences. It also shed a whole new light onto a news clip I saw last week about a young Haitian mother who had lost three children. The stupid news reporter asked her if she had buried her children. She replied, ‘No…I just tossed them aside. I go on living’. At first I thought it was the shock making her so callous. But now I believe it’s something to do with their belief systems about death.

This is so different from the American view of ‘talking it out’. I worry that this boy is feeling lost and scared but won’t say anything because of his upbringing. I’m not trying to change his upbringing…I just don’t want him to feel alone.

But if anyone knows anything or a resource I can use to understand the culture, please let me know. Thank you.

It has been a long crappy day at work. It is report card week, with all the data collation that implies. I was also supposed to be getting ready for an important meeting tomorrow concerning a student’s academic progress. There was paperwork involved with that process, too. I was hoping to finish that work after school, only to find out I had yet another meeting pop up out of nowhere. So it meant that I had one event to attend immediately after school, then go pick up Princess No when her school let out, then go back to my school to finish up paperwork.

I had a headache that wouldn’t stop, and I was hungry. Hoping to finish up and get out, I made one last call to the counselor to clear up some information for tomorrow’s meeting. That’s when she told me “Oh, you’re back at school? You’re probably going to be mad at me.” Of course I asked ‘why’, and she told me that she had asked for a new student to be placed in my classroom. Of course I asked ‘why’ again. She replied, “Because this new student will need a certain type of teacher, and I narrowed it down to you and another one. But the other teacher lost her husband last year, and this kid’s situation might touch too close for her.”

The kid’s situation? He’s from Haiti. Yeah.

So I rushed to the front office to see about getting some supplies. I hate getting a new kid unannounced, because I want to have at least a desk nameplate ready. It’s hard enough for a kid to go to a new school…I try to be as ‘ready’ for them as possible, so they feel they had a place ready for them…not standing alone watching the teacher having to hustle to get a desk, books, etc.

When I got to the office this kid was still there with his godfather. So I got to meet him, and show him our classroom and the school. He’s quiet, bless his heart. But his accent is sweet!

If I had left school ‘on time’, I wouldn’t have known about this new student until I walked into work tomorrow…20 minutes before kids start arriving. My ‘late’ day at school was actually a gift that placed me in the right place to hopefully give this kid a nicer start to his first day of school.

But I’m scared. This kid has witnessed something I can’t really comprehend. What do I do FOR him to help make it easier for him? The kid has not only seen his home destroyed, he’s had to leave his country. I can’t comprehend that series of upheavals and losses. I’m not really sure if his parents are alive or not.

God bless the dear little boy.

NOT!!!!

You need a teleprompter to talk to a bunch of kids? TWO teleprompters? What kind of lazy-ass wuss needs all that prompting to talk to a bunch of kids?

Give me Bush and whatever the hell goat story it was any day. He got right down with the kids, and didn’t freak out and scare them on 9-11. Our current president is keeping his distance from the kids. Oh wait…he got out and shook hands with some of those kids…after they had removed the desks from the room to put up the equipment for the teleprompter…leaving the teacher to get everything back in order after his royal asinine-ness left.

I just don’t have a favorable impression of a man who has so little understanding of children. If you need a teleprompter to talk on a kid’s level…dude, you ain’t much of a man. And if you weren’t talking on a kid’s level while in a school, then again, you ain’t much of a man.

They’re going to the Super Bowl, baby!!!

I just heard about this…do a google search for the newest Senator…truckin’ man Scott Brown. But after his name, add the word ‘Cosmopolitan’. Just be careful…NSFW.

My husband is always saying that the Conservative side of politics has better-lookin’ women. But damn, we’ve got some nice-lookin’ men, too.

Princess No is the ONLY loser who has to wait after school on a Friday for her MOM to pick her up! Everyone else has a place to go and cool things to do and Mom just doesn’t understand! HRH has to wait until Mom gets off work which means she has to wait almost a half-hour when everyone else zips away to a weekend of fun and friendship! Oh, the world is ending and Mom doesn’t understand!

see more Lolcats and funny pictures

Apparently Obama thinks that ‘everybody can buy a truck’, trying to snub Scott Brown as he drives around Massachusetts (see, Coakley, I can use spell check even if your staffers can’t) in a pickup truck with around 200,000 miles on it.

Well, Comrades Obama and Coakley, I have something to tell you about ‘everybody’:

Everybody LOVES a pickup man!