Posts Tagged ‘people’

We walked into one of our favorite little hole in the wall diners and there he sat, in the corner, alone. Whether he wanted to be noticed or not, one could not help but be drawn to him. His hair was jet black except for the bright pink mohawk that ran down the center. His jet black hair somehow weaved into the pink mohawk making the mohawk take on an even more angular appearance. He had multiple face piercings and bulging biceps that any man would envy and any woman would fantasize over for days to come. The man was buff. 

We watched him leave. As he climbed into his sleek, black Mercedes, I watched the muscles in his leg ripple. This man obviously works out. We live in a small city which is still hickville by many standards and I am left wondering what type of employment this man has. Although he may be a resident in our town, something tells me that he is not. He is not a young teenager or a 20 something year old. He was well into his 30s and appeared to be very confident in who he was. So I ask you, dear reader, who was this stranger? 



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If I had a paper, this is what I would call it:

STFU Journalism
Journalism by the People, For the People

Yeah, I am pretty sure that the name alone would sell the paper. Anyone could contribute. People would read the articles and think, “STFU!” but they’d keep reading anyways. Funny how that works. I wouldn’t need to edit. I could let anyone post. Idiots would rat themselves out by their words, lack of grammar, lack of purpose. Kind of like this post…lack of purpose. Think about it, though. STFU Journalism. How awesome is that title? Also, old people wouldn’t know what STFU means, so they wouldn’t be offended. Can’t you just see 89 year old Mrs. Harrison reading the articles to Mr. Harrison?

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People are so weird. Yeah. Enough said. 

Except….might I add…Wow. 

*scratching my head as I exit*

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I saw this on myspace today. I like it. I like it a lot. I am definitely growing older, but I refuse to grow up. Ok, I do have to grow up somewhat. The responsibilities at this stage in my life are pretty endless, but I refuse to give into them. Being goofy and silly is so much more fun. I teach 5th graders. At that age, they are beginning to think that they are too good for being silly. Let me tell you, when they see their teacher acting silly, singing songs, making up rhymes, doing crazy dances to help them remember things, etc., it doesn’t take much for them to let their shields down and have some fun. One student in particular gives me the craziest of looks. It’s simply become a game between us. The more that she looks at me like I have lost it, the odder I get. We laugh, we joke. I tell her to stop giving her parents a hard time. She confides in me that she is being a “brat” at home. It’s all good.  During that terrible fifth grade year when hormones are going crazy, boyfriend and girlfriend relationships are being explored, the body is changing, kids don’t know who they are (child, teen or adult), don’t know what they want from life, during all of the demands and stresses and frustrations, they can look back at their teacher and say, “She was nuts!”

Ok, that’s not the impression that I hope to leave on my students, but oh well. So far this year I have taught my students a few songs and dances. During our bookstudy when the book started talking about a fawn, I sang to them the song from Sound of Music – you know, “Doe, a deer, a female deer…” The reaction that I received? Most of them started to sing with me. I taught them a random dance that I made up to help them learn some math terms. Months later, it’s stuck. I look like a complete idiot/dork, but they know what those words mean. 

The older I get, the crazier I get. You might find this hard to believe, but I am not really getting crazy, I have just let go of the image that I felt that I had to uphold. I don’t care if my kids think I’m nuts. I don’t care if someone walks in and sees me being a dork. I care that my students are learning and that we all enjoy being there. At the end of the day, I want my students to know that I care about them and I enjoy being with them. 

Grow up? Nah. I want to enjoy my life as an off the wall kind of person, not as a prim and proper, predictable person. Someone’s gotta be me, and I think I’m doing a pretty fine job of it.

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Ping. Ping. Ping.

Can’t sleep? Follow that little arrow in the right hand corner. 

Bored? Follow that little arrow in the right hand corner. 

Trying to procrastinate? Follow that little arrow in the right hand corner. 

Curious? Follow that little arrow in the right hand corner. 

Little by little, our lives change by ping. We click the arrow and we are pinged to a random blog of a person who we probably don’t know and will never meet again. Life used to be a matter of chance. In the blog world, it’s a matter of a ping. I wonder where the random pinging will lead me tonight.

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