Thug Hipster Teacher

There may only be a few of you that were following my blog in 2011. For those of you who were not I wrote this lovely little piece about my life goals HERE. In this post I discuss my disdain for new years resolutions as well as my three current life goals. The most important goal on my list was clearly learning to drink my coffee black.

My coffee can beat up your coffee

My coffee can beat up your coffee

Guess what my lovelies? I have not only accomplished this goal, I have blow that shit out the water. I now drink shitty break room coffee black.

If only you could see how this has increased my thug hipster image in the teachers lounge. I stroll in with my skinny jeans, my hipster thick glasses, and my worn out converse. Slowly walking towards the circle of teachers in over sized school sweatshirts hovering around the coffee pot as if it were the magic ticket out of that hellish parent conference you have waiting for you in the next room. They part as I walk over without even knowing why. I pour my coffee into my cheap paper cup and turn to walk away, having said nothing to them. By the time  I get to the door I have chugged the entire cup of hot coffee and toss the cup in the trash. Leaving nothing but questions in my wake.

Thug hipster teacher goal check.

Now to come up with a replacement goal…..


God speaks… through post it notes

God speaks in mysterious ways, or so I have been told.

And his message was very clear.

I stood up the other day and this was stuck to my butt.

damn god has sexy handwriting

damn god has sexy handwriting


I am not certain if was telling me I  like boys or that he likes boys? But, Since we all know I don’t like boys clearly god was telling me that he is gay. Or he is a straight woman. Maybe the message wasn’t that clear after all.

Lies, Damned Lies, and Hand Soap

In the restroom at school someone felt the soap on the wall was not good enough, so they went out and bought this soap.


Looks like it may  have potential. I mean look at that green color. Vibrant!

Looks like it may have potential. I mean look at that green color. Vibrant!


I  saw it and thought to myself goodness, I did not know hand soap could be invigorating. So I stood there and pondered do I want the traditional soap, or the invigorating cucumber melon soap experience. I live life on the edge, so I went for the invigorating hand-washing experience. And guess what y’all, It was a huge disappointment. Not only did the soap make not bubbles, it barely smelled of cucumber melon. I left the restroom felling disappointed not invigorated. I had to stop other people from making the same mistake, so I went back and left this on the soap.

Problem solved

Problem solved

Preventing hand-washing disappointment one bathroom at a time, that’s my motto.






Surviving the end of the world one diet coke at a time

What do people do with boxes?

Huge piles of cardboard boxes

At work I get an all faculty email about once of week of someone needing boxes of all shapes and sizes? I have never needed oddly shaped boxes at school and thus I cannot fathom what they are doing with them.

Perhaps they are covering the walls in cardboard as a new hipster form of decorating?

Perhaps they are moving their house and need an individual box for each item in their house? Damn it, Susan where are the boxes that fit my star wars cookie cutters.

Perhaps they simply are box hoarders preparing for the apocalypse when only the ginger mormons are left standing and there is a civil war over boxes as it has become the currency.

Should I be collecting boxes? In the event of a zombie attack I don’t want to be left without boxes, maybe I should just start collecting diet cokes instead. Bc if the world ends and I have all the diet coke, I know I will have all the power because bitches be loving their diet coke.


You guessed it, I am in fact Taylor Swift’s secret muse.

There are so many songs out there written just for me. I find this fascinating as I have never met any of these artists, yet here they are writing songs about me. Talk about crazy.

She is winking at me during the MTV awards

She is winking at me during the MTV awards

For example Taylor Swift, and no I did not date her. She is way too tall for me, obviously. But she wrote a song about me called Trouble.

I knew you were trouble when you walked in
So shame on me now
Flew me to places i’d never been
So you put me down oh
I knew you were trouble when you walked in

I am trouble, and I do take my women to places they have never been, how did you know?

Then there is the beach boys. I am fairly certain almost all their songs are about me. Sure, they were all written before I was born, but that is a small insignificant detail.

And the Southern girls with the way they talk
They knock me out when I’m down there
The Midwest farmer’s daughters
They all make you feel alright

You see I lived all over the country, so I got to be all the girls in the song. Totally explains my dreamboat status.

Then there is the ever popular and amazing Ani Difranco. Her music just speaks to my soul. So many of her songs ring true to my life. We are even such kindred spirits that she does not live far from me. I know she values her privacy, so I pretend I don’t live near her.

squint your eyes and look closer
I’m not between you and your ambition
I am a poster girl with no poster
I am thirty-two flavors and then some
And I’m beyond your peripheral vision
So you might want to turn your head
Cause someday you might find you’re starving
and eating all of the words you said
Sure, people may say that the point of music is that is supposed to feel as though they are writing the words of your life you could not write on your own. But, really I think they just say that so everyone else doesn’t feel bad. Because sometimes these songs are just for me. 🙂
P.S. I have made it to over 2000 followers!! Thank you to each and every one of you, especially those that take the time to read and comment every week. I am truly grateful you enjoy my silly musings.

Why should I follow your blog?

It is the time of year when bloggers slow down. Less is being written and more is being celebrated in real life. I know it is hard to believe, but the internet is not what I consider real life.  It has also been a few months since I have added new blogs to read and many of the lovely blogs I follow no longer write anything. This is where you come in.

Tell me why I should be following your blog and I will check it out.

Give me a sentence or two about your awesomeness, your theme, or maybe just why you think we would hit it off.

I can’t wait to read them all!



I found the 1990s on my search for christmas

I have begun my search for christmas. The first place I decided to look was netflix live streaming. Surely, there would be at least one christmas movie. Nope, no christmas yet, but what I did find is Portland.

Portland is where the dream of 1990 is alive. And there is an amazing show all about it, Portlandia.

It sounded so amazing I had to share it with y’all.


The dream of the 90s is alive in Portland! (Portland…)
The dream of the 90s is alive in Portland!
The tattoo ink never runs dry!

The dream of the 90s is alive in Portland!
All the hot girls wear glasses (yeah!)

The dream of the 90s is alive in Portland!
Sleep ‘til 11,
You’ll be in heaven.

The dream of the 90s is alive in Portland!
(The dream is ali-i-ive…)

The dream of the 90s is alive in Portland!
My flannel shirt still looks fly.
The dream of the 90s is alive in Portland!
The dream of the 90s is alive in Portland!
The dream of the 90s is alive in Portland!

The dream of the 90s is alive in Portland!
The dream of the 90s is alive in Portland!

(Song lyrics appear in italic, dialogue isn’t, and I’m not 100% sure Carrie Brownstein’s character is named Melanie, which is part of the reason I listed the dialogue under the actors’ real names.)

FRED ARMISEN (as “Jason”): Do you remember the 90s?
CARRIE BROWNSTEIN (as “Melanie”): Yeah?
FRED: You know how people were talking about getting piercings and getting tribal tattoos?
F: And people were singing about saving the planet and forming bands?
C: Yeah?
F: There’s a place where that idea still exists as a reality. And I’ve been there.
C: Where is it?
F: Portland.
C: Oregon?
F: Yeah.

The dream of the 90s is alive in Portland! (Portland…)
The dream of the 90s is alive in Portland!
The tattoo ink never runs dry!

F: Remember when people were content to be un-ambitious? They’d sleep ‘til 11:00, and just hang out with their friends? I mean, they had no occupations, whatsoever… maybe working a couple hours a week at a coffee shop?
C: Right. I thought that died out a long time ago.
F: Not in Portland. Portland is a city where young people go to retire.

The dream of the 90s is alive in Portland!
All the hot girls wear glasses (yeah!)

F: Remember in the 90s when they encouraged you to be weird? It was just an amazing time where people would go to see something like the “Jim Rose Sideshow Circus” and watch someone hang something from their penis? You could grow up to wanna be a clown? People went to clown school.
C: I gave up clowning years ago.
F: Well, in Portland, you don’t have to.

The dream of the 90s is alive in Portland!
Sleep ‘til 11,
You’ll be in heaven.

The dream of the 90s is alive in Portland!
(The dream is ali-i-ive…)

C: So, from what I can surmise, from what you’re positing, it’s like Portland’s almost an alternative universe. It’s like Gore won. The Bush administration never happened.
F: Exactly.
C: In Portland, it’s almost like cars don’t exist, right?
F: Yes.
C: They’ll ride bikes, or double-decker bikes. They ride unicycles.
F: Yes!
C: They ride the tram, they ride skateboards.
F: Yes!

The dream of the 90s is alive in Portland!
My flannel shirt still looks fly.
The dream of the 90s is alive in Portland!
The dream of the 90s is alive in Portland!
The dream of the 90s is alive in Portland!

F: In Portland you can go to, like, a record store and sell your CDs.

Turn that dirty clown frown right upside down!

C: In Portland you can put a bird on something and just call it art.

The dream of the 90s is alive in Portland!
The dream of the 90s is alive in Portland!
The dream of the 9—-

C: Hey. I made it.
F: Yeah. You’re… you’re a little late,
C: Sorry.
F: You’re also a little San Francisco right now, if you know what I mean. Try to… try to… Sorry. Much better! Welcome to Portland.
C: Thank you!

The dream of the 90s is alive in Portland (Portland…)

Jason from LA
“Dream of the 90’s”
Songs from the Northwest
Major Label

Toy Ducks Gone Wild

I walked into my kitchen and this is what I found.


Damn, that’s a sexy kitchen floor

I found myself wandering where was this duck going and why did he need pinks shoes to get there.

Maybe he was preparing for a flood and thought the shoe was a boat.

Maybe he was on his way out of the house and into the back yard when he fell into the shoe and got stuck.

Perhaps he was hiding from my daughter in her favorite shoe. This would be a terrible place to hide as she is always looking for the pink shoes.

Or, he too fancies himself a princess and needed pink shoes for his ensemble that day.

He forgot halloween was over and was trying to go trick or treating as a shoe. I knew I shouldn’t have let him go to colorado with his friends.

Or just maybe the aliens took him to their spaceship and performed secret alien experiments on him and sent him back in a pink shoe. Hey, stranger things have happened. I even dated a boy once.

The time of year we all celebrate what is gross and evil, hooray!

Today is almost October 1st. So naturally, we began our month long halloween celebration. If you knew me in high school you would wonder how I had gone from not celebrating Halloween because it was a satanic pagan holiday to a month long celebration, but isn’t that everyone’s natural progression?

Halloween and October mark the beginning of fall. The stores begin to put out fall decorations, isles upon isles of candy to continue the decline of American youth into a hopeless cycle of depression and despair, and of course Christmas begins to go up in many stores as well. America is nothing if not a good corporation ready to sell you cheaply made goods at your weakest moments.

We began our celebration with cookies. I always bring cookies to the old ladies who live in the two houses next to me. Little did I know that bringing cookies today would make me privy to the war that is about to start between the three houses next to each other all because one of the old ladies needs a boyfriend that makes more money than the one she has. Yes it is an awesome story, but it deserves it’s own post, so I will continue on.

I can smell the cookie wonderfulness from here.

Next we went to the center of all that is Halloween, Party City. The aisles were covered in cob webs with “giant happy bad guys” hanging from the ceiling. Why did my daughter think they were happy, I guess I will never know. Creepy kid. We have been talking for weeks about this costume. She looked through the catalog each morning with her breakfast everyday.

Nothing like the morning paper to get your day started.

It was time to commit. The pressure was building. We went to the wall of pictures and found the number of our costume.  The store clerk, who seemed a little old to be working at party city, brought us our magical Alice in Wonderland dress. She squeeled in delight. Did we try it on right then and there. Absolutely. [the old store clerk said we could so there] What was the first thing she said, when she looked down at her dress? Where is the rabbit? A sign that she has watched Alice too many times, or a sign that she can memorize lines and will be a famous actress that buys me a giant mansion because she loves me so much. Only time will tell. I am hoping for the giant mansion. Blogging parties anyone? Bring your own red solo cups.

“It’s a pretty dress”

Wait, you mean there is more to this magical not yet Halloween day? Why, yes there is. A bath with glow sticks to be exact. I know your mind is being blown as we speak. Glow sticks are something I was deprived of as a child. But, not my kid. We shall glow every night if we want to.

“Mommy, it’s dark”

p.s. Our day ended with homemade chicken parmesan made by my wife, who swears when we met she had never cooked, and a raspberry pie, made by yours truly. It’s ok to be a little jealous. I would be. Except I can’t be jealous of myself.