Pardon the shittiest pics ever. Not only were they snapshots to begin with, I took a SNAPSHOT of these old printed snapshots. MMM…grainy!
It’s GdD’s first halloween! She was a pea pod, duh! That’s FS’s birth-sister holding her.
Me? I don’t have a problem with my height. Paddy (a kid I grew up with since we were infants; his drunk-arsed dad poured our basement, which is supposed to be 20″ deep to code and is 2″ — HAR!) is 6’4″. Yeah? Well, I’m 7′ now!
As a bonus, which pricked my heart so intensely, who is behind Paddy? Gram. ::huge sniffs:: Gram got to see me graduate. I didn’t study the Law, as she wanted (btw, nobody paid my way, hence choosing Psych/History/French/Oh, shite…what’s something useful? Film/Photography) but she’s there in a blue skirt suit! HAR!
Unlike most people, I had two Godmothers. The real/legit one and the one who was Sicilian and when a Sicilian of her family claimed you as a godchild, you were Her Goddaughter. And nobody’d better say boo.
We didn’t say boo but this is my real/legit Godmother. I love the fact that you see how much she loves me in this photo! I’m officially The Worst Goddaughter Ever because I haven’t even seen her in a few years (well, maybe 2?) and she’s only 90 minutes away (one-way). I suck. I love her.
She has this quirk where you cannot get in and out quickly. I’m highly scheduled and live 90 minutes away. I can absolutely meet her (and my Godfather, who’s grand — they have no children, btw, so I suck all the more…they DO HAVE a favourite niece, who they prefer over me, so they have somebody) for supper! That means like an hour, maybe two? Try 6 and then another hour of being dragged over coals for leaving ‘so soon.’ Ugh. Just saying. I LOVE HER. I truly do. If you do guilt trips, I tend to hide. I’m half-Irish and half-Jewess. It’s in-built. I don’t need external. Thanks.
So! I don’t visit as I should. And it’s too bad because I miss them! Oh, and phone’s the same way. I can’t talk on the phone with you for 4 hours if you’re my godmother. We have THAT in common. Her far-right political stance and why-aren’t-you-married thing grates after we’ve worn out the first 45 minutes of polite conversation. I’m an ahole. I own it.
While I’m completely Unnecessary at my job (this is why I’ve been gone from here…it’s a story I don’t really want to think about, I’m dealing and tweeting a bit — yet all that’s going on is why I made time to find Happy Time Photos), it’s hard to believe that I used to have three assistants! I’m the Worst Head/Lead in the world, too. If you won’t come into work or do your work? I have no idea what to do with you. You know when you hear a teacher say, ‘It’s not my job to entertain them. It’s not my job to inspire. I’m a TEACHER.’ *
Apply that as my Management style. Get It Done and Leave Me Alone…unless you want to go out drinking later.
That’s St. Patrick’s Day in Turtle Park near Dogtown, St. Louis? MAN WAS SHE DRUNK. I’m speaking of my assistant, not myself, of course.
*I taught secondary school for two years; one in a high-class French lycée and one in my poverty-class home district in the US, where about 1/3 of my students were at-risk, whether due to behaviour/home life or various disabilities, the other 2/3 were ‘general population’. I never said or thought the above! I am there to inspire! I am there to design individual lessons for students to help them get better, learn more and find confidence, bitches! And as an aside to this digression, don’t anybody tell me to go back to teaching. I taught BEFORE No Child Left Behind and I don’t wish to be a part of that ‘education system’.