I hate Valentine's Day.

I hate Valentine's Day. Everything about it. The hearts, the overpriced bouquets of red roses, the stupid-looking teddy bears with Cupid wings, holding hearts that say "Bear Hug". I especially hate the heart wreaths and the pink and red lights women have taken to hanging over their bushes to hide the Christmas lights that were never taken down. That's right it's nothing more that an excuse- an excuse to trade chocolate for sex. Not my idea of a good time. I'd enjoy myself more if I sat in analyzing Picasso's tones and images of his rose period (yes there was a rose period, it came right after the blue).
And no, nothing traumatic happened to me in Valentine's past. My heart wasn't broken (not around any February 14th). I wasn't forgotten on that day by my mom at age 10. I didn't wait up in my room until my eyes were heavy and the sun was rising, listening to Celine Dion, wondering when my dream boy would call to say "I love you". None of that happened to me. Instead I have no reason to love it or hate it. I just do. I don't need to justify my feelings towards this pseudo holiday. I think it's all the people who do like it that owe me an explanation. Why force someone to make you feel special on one predetermined day? How special can you feel knowing that Sue in the cubicle over got the same medium-stem red roses (your husband waited last minute and they were all out of the long-stem; you pretend not to notice) and heart pendant from Sears as you did. What happened to the spontaneity of a love note taped to the bathroom mirror or getting home after a long night to find dinner already cooked and ready to eat? Or how about a mix tape resting on the seat of your car?
So you see it's not because I was damaged by some zit-faced boy as a teen. Screw those guys. They never knew what they were doing and what they coulda had. Consider it like a predestined disposition for certain foods. Some people like asparagus, some don't. They don't know why they like the taste or why they don't -really. Same with V-day. I just don't like it.
I'll be frank though, the one and only thing I don't particularly mind and will contribute towards is buying some half-priced conversation heart candy the days following February 14th. I like them. I don't know why. I just like the way they taste.
It's not that I am non-romantic. We all know I exude the air of a tough girl, that I have a proclivity of just being and standing firm. That doesn't mean I am reticent when it comes to love. I'm human and I like to be loved and wooed. I love roses, chocolate-hell yee. I even like the color red- just not on the 14th of February. So feel free to buy me flowers or a cd or chocolates- just pick a day that will make me feel special and loved and once of a kind, and maybe not the 15th either.

Cleaning your house = Catharsis of Self

There is something cathartic in cleaning my house. I find a sense of peace in cleaning, dusting, scrubbing, vacuuming, and laundering. Let me elaborate. I stop, block everything else, no school work, homework, lesson planning distractions, attempts to overhaul life, make a difference, be the change. All of that is put on hold and in a meditation state of mind, I throw myself into a fury of working on my house. I think about things, problems, issues, don't necessarily need solutions, but it gives me the time I so desperately need to just reflect and consider my options. I become self-aware and in touch with my intrinsic needs, a deeper connection with the world around me. I swear it's just as good as meditation or prayer. I find myself in the same frame of mind, where I'm calm and focused and aware. Trust me on this, it is a pretty fantastic feeling. And perhaps it won't be generally cleaning for you; maybe scrubbing the toilet brings you close to nirvana, or vacuuming, or cleaning your car, organizing your sock drawer. The point is do something that seems so insignificant and trivial that it makes you understand your own self worth. Even if you're not a neat freak, take the time to slow down and try it. Worse comes to worse you have a sparkling sink and an excuse to say I was wrong about something.

here come da judge

Someone tried to burn the school down. Again. For the third time. There is a wave of arson in our school all revolving around lit garbage cans in the boys' and girls' lavatories. Last week we were outside in 10 degree weather. Some students wore t-shirts, all were cold. It took two periods for my fingers to defrost enough so I could write on the board. Today, wouldn't you know it, smoke in the hall- another trash can on fire in the bathroom. So we waited. In the cold. Then it started flurrying. Yeah. Great. I'll tell you who was a happy camper after that. That would be me. So I am on a personal mission to find this/these kid(s) and bring them to justice. Call me Judge Bringing Punks to Justice Sid-dawg. Too long? Judge S?