Dr. Mario...

can suck my balls.

He ain't even a real doctor anyway.

Pick a new word!

Listen up, people! It's time for a new word.

I know you all know it and love it. It's like an old familiar friend you can always count on to come to the party with you. But your friend isn't fun anymore. Your friend brings nothing to the party. Your friend is unwelcome. Your friend has BO. "Amazing" is over! "Amazing" is played out! Pick a new word. Find a new friend.

You know a word is overused when you have to find new ways to pronounce it and stretch it out so that it sounds less boring. Don't think that it's suddenly a new word just because you pronounce the word like this:
This song is (pause) uh..MAAAYzing.

I don't care what you use. You can even go back the most played out A-words of years past ("awesome" and "actually," in case you didn't know). But it's time to face it--describing everything as "amazing," especially things that are decidedly NOT amazing, just makes you look stupid.

Just call me stumpy.

My two coolest Christmas gifts:
1. My new video camera I got from my wonderful husband.
2. My 10-inch compound miter saw from my dad. Dad also wisely threw in a bag full of shop towels and duct tape, so when I cut off a finger, I can make myself what I like to call a "mandaid"--paper towel held on with duct tape.

I have such wonderful people in my life.

My New Christmas Desktop

Someone's on the verge of being on the suck it list

Dammit, Al Gore, fix your internet! Blogger's broken.

It's really hard for me to reply to any of my comments or to leave comments on other Blogger blogs. Since I signed up for my own account, I keep getting a broken image where the word verification is supposed to be. I managed to leave Jennie a comment the other day after about 10 minutes of refreshing and error messages because it thought that the letters I typed, while they DID match the few word verifications that popped up, did not match the word verification. I only managed to reply to a comment on my own blog by going into my settings, getting rid of word verification, replying, then turning it back on.

So, Jennie---boil 'em, mash 'em, stick 'em in a stew. I'm sure you've seen the video remix.

Freedom!

Christmas vacation, bitches :D

I'm SO the winner!

We had our annual Christmas door decorating contest at school this year. We have it every year, and the same woman always wins. Her room is on a corner, so she has three times as much space to decorate as everyone else. Everyone just assumes her advisory will win and shoots for 2nd place.

This year, my advisory came up with an absolutely hilarious idea. "Let's do Disco Santa!" one girl said. "We can make him a white afro out of cotton balls." I laughed at it and asked for more ideas to decide on. The same girl spoke up again. "But we could also use cotton balls to make him white chest hair," she said.

"Sold!" I said. "We're SO doing that!" Santa with chest hair just cracked my shit up hard. So we worked really hard during advisory for the last few weeks making the pieces. We worked when we were supposed to (during our 20 minutes of advisory four days a week and after school). Meanwhile, the woman who always wins and her advisory TOTALLY cheated--more on that in a minute.

Here are some pictures of my advisory's door:

Yeah, that's a metallic irridescent disco fringe curtain in front and a spinning disco light on the left.

This is a close-up of Santa

You can't really tell because of the flash, but I used several colors of chalk to make him "cracker" white, as opposed to "paper" white, which was a huge concern of my advisory.

And finally, my favorite, Santa's Sleigh, a 1972 El Camino.

After all this work and creativity, my advisory got 2nd place. We "lost" to the cheater woman who always wins. You all know me. I'm not competetive. I'm a stickler for rules and good sportsmanship, but if I do my best and play by the rules, I'm happy with the outcome. But I was pissed that we lost. If she hadn't cheated, I would have been fine, like I have for all the other years she's won. But this woman had kids out working on their door during class. For one day, that's not too bad. But she had two girls out in the hall for the entire class period EIGHT days in a row. And her door was not fun or creative. Just big.

So I told my advisory that we didn't cheat and we are the real winners. Which, while petty, is still pretty good considering that in my head I had a running monologue of "Fuck that! We motherfucking won! Let's burn this bitch down."

You know what really burns my ass?

A fire about three feet high.

Me and my couch

Me and my couch spent some quality time together this weekend. As I mentioned earlier in my post on colds, I was sick as hell and spent at least 90% of my waking hours this weekend laying on the couch under an electric blanket. Because I was on the couch and there was nothing on all weekend, I watched Return of the King on TNT. All three times it was on. The Sunday night showing was cut a little short as I had to go to bed (I was exhausted from my hard day laying on the couch).

This reflective time helped me realize that I have a few favorite moments from the final installment of the story of Frodo and his homies.

1. My absolute favorite moment happens when Frodo just can't go any farther. Sam says. " I can't carry for you... but I can carry you!" I love, love, love those moments of pure, true friendship in books and movies. They make me cry every time. They make me think of all my friends who have carried me when I could no longer carry my burden.

2. When Eowyn stabs the Witch King in the face and kills him. I always love it when a woman stands up for herself and for others in a place where she had not been allowed to do so. I have another moment like this that I still remember from a tv show that will make me look like more of a nerd than this post about LOTR.

3. When the Hobbits bow before Aragorn at the end and he says, "My friends, you bow to no-one," and the whole kingdom of man bows to them. It's humility, and it's credit where it's due.

4. When all those green dead soldiers come out of the boat and across the water. That just looks cool.

It's amazing how much time you have to contemplate these things when you're on a couch for a whole weekend.

Oh, I should also put my favorite moment of the whole trilogy on here. It's at the end of The Two Towers when Sam gives his speech about the great stories and about good in the world. Best moment of the whole story. Love it!

Totally

I just totally wrote that last post so I could write "pounding wood like a 13-year-old boy on a snow day" and "suck it like a whore on trash day." That last one doesn't even mean anything. It just made me laugh when I thought of it. Must be the DayQuil.

One more thing that can really, really suck it

Colds. I flippin' HAAAAAAATE colds. I catch a cold, and it usually lasts a month. I fought off a cold for part of last week, but by Thursday afternoon, the kids in my classes watched me get sicker by the minute.

It started on Wednesday. Wednesday I was dragging ass all day. I just never woke up. Then Wednesday night I got *the tickle*. It's that sensation in the back of your throat that warns of impending doom. So I started slugging back Airborne and snorting Zicam every hour for the next 2 days. Neither of these things has ever really worked for me once I got the tickle. But I tried anyway. I got slammed hard by my cold on Thursday and Friday. Saturday sucked too. Yesterday, I got up at 1:30, saw that TNT was showing the Lord of the Rings trilogy, and laid on the couch watching it all day. I got up after the trilogy had started and went back to bed before it was over.

Now, I'm surprised to say that my cold is getting better. My head is clear and I can speak again, although not loudly or for more that 10 minutes at a time. I think that my aggressive attack, while not preventing my cold, has actually shortened it's duration as per the big print on the shiny boxes. I'm not trusting this completely. I'm not just knocking on wood when I say that I'm getting better. I'm pounding wood like a 13-year-old boy on a snow day. But I'm hoping this cold will be over before February.

So my cold is getting better. But colds in general can still suck it like a whore on trash day.

PahRumPumPumZzzzzzzzzzzzz

I think I have figured out what the most effective sleep aid imaginable would be. I bet if Amy Grant, the most boring singer ever, sang "Little Drummer Boy," the most boring Christmas song ever, the world would never wake up from the sheer boredom.

Dating Trouble

Today is December 13. I've been a little sentimental today. I can't help but be reminded of a very special event from a few years ago: May 5, 2005 (in case you haven't guessed, it's another student story).

I have had a very special handful of students in my life who have been incredibly intelligent, yet who can't seem to make the connection between the most simple of facts. I had one of these students a few years ago. He's a sophomore now. In fact, when this happened, he was in the same class as Ash. I'll call this kid Charlie.

On May 5, 2005, the date was 05/05/05. Halfway through the day, Charlie looked up at the board in the middle of a dead silent classroom and said, "Oh my God, it's five five five!" All the other students turned to look at him with puzzled looks on their faces.

"PLEASE tell me you didn't take this long to notice," snarked the bitchy girl in front of him. Everyone shook their heads and went back to work.

A few minutes later, Charlie sat straight up with a gasp and yelled, "That means next year, there will be a six six six!" The bitchy girl glared at him. Charlie was unphased. Obviously amused at the thought, he said, to no one in particular, "Wouldn't it be awesome if it happened on Friday the 13th?"

Giggles and comments of disbelief rang out around the room. Confused, Charlie asked me what was wrong. "Well, sweetie, if it's the 6th, it can't be the 13th," I replied.

"Oh," he said, embarassed, and returned to his work. But young Charlie was not done thinking about this particular topic.

My class got back to work on their projects. After another ten minutes of silent hard work, my class was again interrupted by a very excited Charlie.

"That means that in 2013, there will be a thirteen thirteen thirteen!"

"Are you retarded?!?" exploded the bitchy girl (maybe I should have been calling her Kerry).

"What did I say this time?" asked poor Charlie, obviously confused by this rejection of his discovery.

"There is no thirteenth month," I replied. "But in 2013, December 13 will fall on a Friday the 13th." Charlie went back to work, and he never said anything about dates in my class again.

Happy Anniversary Jennie and Ben!

Happy, happy day to my besty and her hubby.

I think I'll start calling you Jenjamin.

Fuck Walmart

They ain't got no damn hula hoops.

Do You Smell Something Burning?

The girls asked for some stories about my students, so I decided to pull out one of my favorites from a few years ago. The boy in question is now a sophomore. I'll call him Ash, for reasons that shall be obvious later.

As a teacher, I don't act much different than I usually do. I'm pretty much just like I always am, just with fewer cuss words. So what all that means is that I act like a 14-year-old boy on his best behavior. As a result, I usually have a group of boys that love the crap out of me. Not that they have crushes on me, not like that. They just love to hang out with me. They see me as a buddy. So I usually end up finding out far more about them that I ever wanted to know.

During our Middle School basketball season, the boys' and girls' teams take turns having late practice. So when the boys have late practice, I tend to end up having a group of the boys who live too far away to go home between school and practice coming to my classroom after school and asking me to come play Uno or some other game with them before their practice starts.

Two years ago, I was walking through the commons when the boys called me over to play with them. I heard a few of them talking about a slumber party they'd had the weekend before. Because they think of me as one of the guys, they forgot to stop talking about it. One of them said, "I wonder how long before Ash's hair grows back and the burns heal." I thought back to Ash's class earlier in the day, and I didn't remember anything being wrong with his hair. So I just HAD to ask.

"What happened to his hair?" I asked. "It looked the same during 3rd hour today."

"Um, no, not this hair," one of the boys said, grabbing ahold of a curl on top of his head. "This hair," he said, pointing to the general area of his winky-woo.

I stood there, stunned that even as close as we were, the kids would tell me about that. I quickly put together the story in my head.

"Oh my God, were you guys lighting your farts on fire? What is wrong with you?" I got ready to tease them relentlessly about their idiotic obession with farts and fire and be done with the story. If only the chain of events had really been what I had thought. But that's not how it happened.

"No, that's not it at all," said one of those good kids that's always afraid he'll get in trouble for the slightest little thing. "We were playing Truth or Dare."

I know now that I shouldn't have asked. But, of course, I did. "Then how did Ash get burned in his, uh, there, if he wasn't lighting a fart on fire?"

The boys got very quiet and looked around at each other. In those few seconds, choices were being made. Who could resist the glory of being the one to tell a really good story, and who would not be getting their ass kicked by Ash when he found out they told me. Having made his choice, the curly-headed boy spoke up first.

"Well, Ash, he picked dare. So Brian dared him to light it on fire."

"It?" I asked. "He dared Ash to light IT on fire? And he did it?!?" For a few seconds, I thought seriously about getting Ash's IQ tested.

"No, not IT! Just one of the hairs, that's all," said the curly-headed boy. "So he lit one. But then they, like, all caught on fire."

I should have had something adult and professional ready to say, or at least kept my mouth shut until I did. Unfortunately, I did neither. "Didn't he think to yank one out first? Didn't he realize that if ONE would burn, they ALL would?"

"I guess not," said a small blonde boy. But it sure was funny though. He isn't going to sit right for a week!"

We all had our laughs, and the boys made me promise not to tell the other kids. As if I would actually stand up in class and say, "Guess what. Ash burned off all his pubes playing Truth or Dare this weekend!"

I did, however, tell all the other teachers.

Bitches What Can Suck It: The Hall of Fame

I have what I like to call my list of bitches what can suck it. I know I should say "who" instead of "what." But I like it that way, and that's how I'm keeping it. It's my little way of embracing my little hillbilly town. Don't like that? Leave me a comment about it, and I'll add you to my next list of bitches what can can suck it.

The list changes pretty much daily, but there are some people who have earned a permanent spot on the list. Here goes:

• Sprint. Sprint is full of pigfuckers who can eat shit and die.
• Jared the Subway guy
• Giant raised trucks with foglights on the bumper
• Whoever created the chicken dance
• Pigs
• Broccoli farmers
• Bad parents
• People who "don't do" Walmart, and think that they're a better person than everyone who "does" Walmart. If you can afford not to "do" Walmart, good for you. Either stop looking down on me for loving Walmart, or write me a damn check every month so I can support small local businesses.
• Those fuckers that stole my snow shovel out of my yard last weekend. I swear to God, if I find you I will use that shovel to bury you.

Man, venting feels good. I hope I've gotten off to a good enough start on this blog.

The Go-To's

Everyone has a "Go-To." I have many, depending on the job. For example, my Go-To Classroom-Pain-in-the-Ass Ender is going to the computer, looking up the said Pain-in-the-Ass's dad's work number, reading it to him outloud (let's face it, it's usually a boy if it gets to this point), then picking up the phone and dialing. It works so well that I've never had to finish dialing the area code. One of my favorite Go-To's is a story. Whenever I need to make someone laugh, or get the attention of 28 8th graders, this story works every time. Ready?




Wait for it...




Wait for it....



So... close...


This one time, my dog peed in his own eye!

Great, isn't it? There is a story to go with it, which is pretty funny. But once I get past that first line, I've gotten my laugh. I've gotten the attention of enough 14-year-olds to fill a school bus. When I made this blogger account it said something about sound from a cell phone or something. If I can figure out how to work it, I'll try to add a sound clip of me reading the Go-To line. It's even better than reading it in big purple print.

Anyway, my Husky Eddie is still pretty young. He's not much older than a puppy, and he still gets REALLY excited about any attention he gets. Sometimes, he pees a little. Mike and I have learned to stand back and watch out for the pee stream when giving the Eddie-man belly rubs. One day, the Eddster was more excited than usual. The stream let fly, we jumped back, and the peeps hit him square in his blue eye. Apparently, peeing in your own eye stings if you're a dog. He let out a pathetic little bark, then looked around to try to figure out what hit him.

Special note just for Jennie: Does this remind you of a certain friend threatening to piss in a certain shitty-ass ex-boyfriend's good eye? And then "slap him in the face...with my dick!"?
Me too!

Come one, come all!

Here goes! Jennie and Jessie ganged up on me and called me out on their blogs, so now I have to have one. But they told everyone that I'm really funny, so no pressure there, right?

Anyway, I'll try to write regularly and keep up with the blogging. But do NOT expect rainbows and sunshine! I will bitch and moan and complain, and I will curse like a sailor with tourette's and a mama who never spanked him. Because sometimes, you just feel like you have to punch someone in the head, and dropping a few F-bombs can help the head-punching urge subside.

Enough with the introductions. On to a real post....