It can be found in the words “this isn’t working”.
It lurks in the C+ when you needed the B- to pass
It hides out in the “maybe” that turns into a “no
It slips into the “Waitlist” at your number one school
It follows after telling you the concert has sold out
And all the things your family just can’t afford this year
But perhaps the worst disappointment of all
Is an unfinished…
Kickass Dad of the Day: When Stuart Chaifetz learned that his 10-year-old son, Akian, was being violent and disruptive in class, he was puzzled. He knew Akian, who has autism, to be mild-mannered and sensitive, and had a hunch that something more was going on. But after several meetings with a team of school officials created to help special-needs students, nothing changed. So Chaifetz did what any concerned parent would do.
On the morning of Friday, February 17, 2012, I wired my son and sent him to school. That night, when I listened to the audio my life changed forever. I heard my son being bullied by his teacher and aide. The six and a half hours of audio I had proved that my son wasn’t hitting the teacher because there was something wrong with him — he was lashing out because he was being mocked, mistreated and humiliated. His outbursts were his way of expressing that he was being emotionally hurt at school.
The New Jersey father has since launched a website full of damning evidence and aFacebook page, and he is petitioning the state to change legislation so that teachers who bully children are immediately fired. The aide has been fired, but the rest of the staff have merely been relocated.
“I seek a full and public apology from all those adults who were in my son’s class for what they did to him,” Chaifetz says. “It is also far past time that these issues are allowed to be hidden from public view.”
[vvv]
Fuckin’-a, dude. Fuckin’-a.
(via chicagochi)
—Rodgers/Hart
“Blame it on the way her hair looked in the moonlight
Blame it on the way she came and got you
Even though she knew that you were mine
But please don’t blame it on the alcohol
~~~~~
Blame it on the low cut, high hem, whore dress
Blame it on the giggling and touching
And admit that you were out of line
But please don’t blame it on the alcohol
~~~~
Being drunk doesn’t make you weak
Getting boozed up doesn’t make grown men cheat
So baby you can leave right now, that’s your call
But if you stay don’t blame this on the alcohol
~~~~
Blame it on your boys saying you could go and get it
Blame it on the music playing, hips swaying
You thought that I would never know
But please don’t blame it on the alcohol
~~~~
Blame it on the cab ride, right by her side
Blame it on the soft light touches
Didn’t know how far that you would go
But please don’t blame it on the alcohol
~~~~
Being drunk doesn’t make you weak
Getting boozed up doesn’t make grown men cheat
So baby you can leave right now, that’s your call
But if you stay don’t blame this on the alcohol
~~~~
I am tired of hearing people say
That saying I was drunk can make everything okay
You have lost, just any chance with me
Don’t sacrifice your dignity
I am tired, of hearing that you think
That you won’t blame your dick, just what you had to drink
Just admit that it’s your fault
Don’t blame this on the alcohol
~~~~
Being drunk doesn’t make you weak
Getting boozed up doesn’t make grown men cheat
So baby you can leave right now, that’s your call
But if you stay don’t blame this on the alcohol
—————————————————————————-
Free Write, posted exactly as written, written in 10 minutes. Please tell me what you think. Prompt was “blame it on the __________”.
This morning I hit up an old friend, only to realize exactly how estranged we had gotten.
Ellie, Elle now I guess, became glamorous, just like we always said we would. She lives in a high rise in New York, and she dances on Broadway, sings in the chorus, you know. She was up for a lead too until that teeny bopper from Glee got it, and she says the next show they put on she’s going to have her very own character.
I tried my luck in film acting. I landed a small role in a TV show on the CW, my character got killed after four episodes. I landed a small roll in a film, well, a speaking role in Superman. I wanted to be the chick that hit on him, but they said the part called for a more effeminate type. Yeah, I know what that means, someone else got down the director’s pants first. Well, that or she was, well, more endowed than I am. Instead, I’m the girl screaming and crying under her car. I think they cut my bit out of the final take.
She has one of those purse dogs, named it Voltaire even though Voltaire is a girl. She and Voltaire get pedicures every Tuesday, she tells me, laughing all the way. And Lea, that’s the teeny bopper’s name, thinks Voltaire is adorable. She’s friends with Lea Michelle. Lea wanted her to audition for the next season of Glee. She didn’t; said that was always my thing. She offered to hook me up.
My cat Albert is fat, and yes that’s where I got the name. He was a rescue cat, but he’s very affectionate. You can’t fit him in a purse. He used to hoard food in the back of my closet, until we both got allergic to the mold. I currently work at a restaurant in East L.A. It’s a nice restaurant. I once met Robin Williams and he told me to call him Rob. He gave me a thousand dollar tip, but no phone number. I offered to give Elle a coupon.
——————————————————-
Free Write, posted exactly as written, written in 10 minutes. Please tell me what you think. Prompt was “This morning I hit”
Late last night as I stood in the driveway I saw an old fashioned hearse drive by and I thought of you. Not in the good way. It made me angry, because you drove that stupid car and loved it more than me, but I stayed with you anyways. People ask me if I didn’t know what kind of a freak you were, but I guess it’s easy to laugh at someone else’s misfortune. Other girls get left for prettier girls. They get left for smarter girls. They get left for nicer girls. Sometimes they just plain get left. But not me. Not you. You left me alright. You left me for your car.
————————————————
Free Write, posted exactly as written, written in 10 minutes. Please tell me what you think. Prompt was “Late last night as I stood in the driveway I saw an old fashioned hearse drive by and”
————————————————-
The flowers died. Not the night he broke off our engagement. Not the night he said it was because he loved me. Or because he didn’t. Our couldn’t. Or wouldn’t? I’m fuzzy on the details. I remember what I said a lot better than what he said to be honest. But anyways, the point is, the flowers didn’t die when my heart did. They waited until I had already started to move on. Until I found Jerry. Then Adam. Then West. Then Anthony. Until I found the empty space between my fingers again. Until I found the empty couch perfect for taking a nap on, all alone. Until I didn’t have to share the remote, and until I had to learn to cook eggs. They waited until I found myself.
—————————————————
Free Write, posted exactly as written, written in 10 minutes. Please tell me what you think. Prompt was a vase of flowers sitting on the table. ?
Another effing Saturday detention… -.-
ANYONE IN MR. KAMMRATH’S MI4 CLASS SHOULD CONTACT ME IMMEDIATELY BEFORE THEY TURN IN THEIR PROBLEM SET.
WE (I) WOULD HAVE GOTTEN AN A ON THE CREATIVE PIECE….if I didn’t turn it in so late. But at least we passed, right?
Hakuna Matata.
when life throws me lemons, I make lemonade. The only problem is when it throws me watermelons.
———————————————————————
Free Write, posted exactly as written, written in 10 minutes. Please tell me what you think. Prompt was to write a found poem composed of facebook statuses. ?
Hatred
———————————
It burns
Deep down within.
When I see you
The anger that I feel
Runs right through my narrowed eyes.
If one day I find I’m able
To burn you to a smoldering crisp
With the heat of the emotion that I feel
Whenever we lock eyes, whenever I can see your face;
If one day my every wish could be completely fulfilled,
Then they will have to change the name of this silly poem.
Only the thought of waking up every day knowing that you are gone
Could ever bring me the one thing that I have always asked of you. Peace.
—————————————————
Free Write, posted exactly as written, written in 10 minutes. Please tell me what you think. Prompt was to write a poem where the title is one line and every line of the poem adds one more word. ?
The Undertones
Selfish Desire
Artificial Immunity
The Prisoners
Imprisoned
The letters of our names
The Juliettes
The Story
The Unknown
New Wave
Endless Spirit
Endless Hope
The Endless
One Forever
The Liars
The Wanderers
Remoreseless
No Remorse
The Belles
Songbirds
Free Write, posted exactly as written, written in 10 minutes. Please tell me what you think. Prompt was come up with a list of names for your band. ?
[No babies were harmed in the making of this metaphor, but one was fed a few tiny marshmallows to keep him quiet.]
You know what I love? Babies.
I am totally down for the babbling and the obnoxious cooing and the soft baby whispers into baby’s ear and OH MY GAWD, THE TINY BABY HAIR, MUST KISS. I will change diapers and make bottles and play peekaboo and watch a baby rock in one of those perpetual motion machines that apparently runs on babies - I’m totally down for all of that. I took care of Ty Ty during his first 24 hours outside of the hospital, because his mother had a medical emergency. I learned how to wrap him up in the little comfort swaddle and laid him on my chest and we slept in between feedings and diaper changes.
Babies? LOOOOOVE THEM.
But if someone came to me and said “Garland Grey, since you love babies so much, I’m going to build a machine that takes zygotes, incubates them and then shoots them out into the loving arms of an adoptive family or at least a social worker,” I would say:
“So you want to build a baby cannon?”
“Yes! Of course! Because babies are so great!”
“No, don’t ever do that. Stop doing that this instant.”
“What, you don’t like babies? You don’t want to manifest babies at every available opportunity?”
“No! What about the babies that don’t get caught?”
“Oh, they’ll get caught! They won’t hit hard pavement moments after being born! People love babies!”
“Yes, but what happens when everyone who loves babies has already caught as many as they can?”
[Mumbles something about adoption.]
“What about the babies that aren’t adopted? What about the babies that aren’t going to be landing in the soft arms of noble caretakers?”
“Sex has consequences, Garland.”Because that’s what it always comes down to, isn’t it? Four decades of slut shaming, disguised as concern for babies. We talk a lot about developmental stages when we talk about abortion - conception, the formation of certain anatomical structures, the audible heartbeat, the quickening, and then, of course, the final dimension: birth. The question I’ve always had is: what is so goddamn special about birth that makes a child worthless to conservatives? Why are they in favor of a fetus until it is born, at which point they make public statements about poor children needing to starve so they don’t multiply like stray animals and hunger being a great motivator?
Conservatives want to exist in this extra-moral bubble where none of us are allowed to notice that if they really, truly wanted to reduce the numbers of abortions, they would fund comprehensive sex education and contraceptive programs. But babies - precious, magical, subject of many a chain e-mail babies, the very reason they think they occupy the “high moral ground” - are significantly less important than making sure no one gets off without being punished. They know that teen pregnancy rates are highest in states with abstinence-based sex education programs and yet they are more interested in giving teenagers ultimatums about chastity than lowering the abortion rate.
We support legal abortion because we know that illegal abortion is too high a price to pay to let conservatives control Reproductive Rights. We know that life is more complicated than screaming when you don’t get your way and pretending it’s discourse. We know that a group of people that loves fetuses but doesn’t care about babies would gladly accept half a baby in a maternity dispute than deny it was their’s and save its life.
(via chicagochi)
