ONSD: Pinterest

If you know me, you know that I'm a gusher. Over-exaggeration may not be my official middle name but that's because "Drama Queen" is hogging that space.

That out of the way, let's just say that I love Pinterest and take it as face-value without the 17 paragraph love fest that I've been known to partake in.

I was going through all of my boards recently and patting myself on the back for being an oh-so-fabulous pinner. I spent a solid 30 minutes (alright an hour and a half) gushing over wedding/love boards (and hot celebrity boys), and had an honest-to-Bette Midler epiphany. I realized that should any potential husband (ok, ALL single men are potential husbands to me) see the estrogen-charged activity my boards display, I would be screwed. Any male possessing a masculinity score somewhere between Richard Simmons and Hulk Hogan would pack up his sanity and hit the road after just one sniff of all the glitter and puppies my page oozes.

So, for the sake of all single women out there, it's time for a new Oh No She Didn't.

It's quite simply really - no song or dance. Just one solid rule.

Under no circumstance, are we to ever encourage the straight male population to create a Pinterest account.

EVER. And if you're sitting there doubting me, consider this. Why is the site invite only? Oh yeah, BECAUSE IT'S GIRLS ONLY!

Don't talk to guys about how awesome it is unless you're creating a visual in their heads that everything on the site is shirtless guys, cupcakes, and DIY projects. Oh wait, it is. Never mind.

Pinterest is sacred land, ladies. Feel free to pass on what you learn through P-fab (just made that up) to boys, but never make them think they can have one. Because they can't. I don't want my crazy out there for my first-third husbands to see, ok? Have a heart, and help a sister out.

Or I will Photoshop your face onto a herpes ad... and Pinterest it.

My mission to be Hollywood royalty

I've been told more than once that I should "lower my standards and expectations" when it comes to men.

At first, it offended me. I took it as an insult to my looks or personality (hot and sassy) and was wildly confused. However, I was taking this piece of advice all wrong. What they really meant was that my standards and expectations usually fall in one category... CELEBRITY. And, apparently, that is setting the bar too high.

I'd like to take this moment to say thank you for your advice and concern, and you're probably right. But no way, Jose. My ambitions remain as high as ever.

I don't think there is anything wrong with concentrating the majority of my man-catching energy on the one percent of the American population. But for the record, I'll take a European. Mrs. Pattinson has a lovely ring to it.

Truthfully, my romantic history is composed largely of celebrity crushes. Let me break it down for you.

5 years old: Johnny Depp
In 1993, "Benny and Joon" was released. It was that year, I fell in love. Though my frontal lobe was approximately 18 years away from being fully developed, I was positive I would marry him one day. To be honest, my frontal lobe is now fully developed, and I'm still kind of holding out on this one.

8 years old: Patrick Swayze
I don't really know what I was allowed to watch "Dirty Dancing" or if I was actually even allowed, but I watched it and there was no turning back. This movie was and is a huge hit with the women in my family. My cousins and I used to say we were "Patrick Swayze-Crazy". Some things never change. Miss you, boo.

9 years old: Leonardo DiCaprio
"Titanic". No other explanation necessary. I was first in line in 1997, and I'll be first in line in 2012.

10 years old: Devon Sawa
You may not remember this one, but my heart does. You may remember him as Casper after Christina Ricci put him in that machine that made him a real boy for like 30 min, and they kissed? Or maybe in "Wild America" with Jonathan Taylor Thomas (King Heartthrob of the time, but far too mainstream for my eternal hipster attitude). Or you might remember his bare butt in "Now and Then"! It was quite scandalous at the time.

Junior High: N*Sync

Pretty much any member of the band at different intervals over three years. But particularly Lance Bass, who turned out to be gay. Pretty much sums up my life...

High School: The mash-up years
These were the years where I became adept at juggling many celebrity crushes. I realized that I was limiting my potential if I declared my love for only one Hollywood hottie. A girl had to have options! However, these four years were comprised mostly of Adam Brody. Yum.


The above is only the tip of the iceberg when it comes to my celebrity love life. Just as girls wish to be princesses, I wish to walk down the red carpet at the Oscars while my handsome Hollywood husband shows me off to all of the adoring paparazzi.

You might call me crazy, but don't expect an invitation to my post-Golden Globes soiree.

Crush, crush, crush.

"When you hop on the love train, you are buying a damn ticket to heartbreak. Hell, you're buying a ticket to be run over by the damn thing. More often than not, you are not going to end up in Candyland."-Amber Oldham

I'm not very good at having a "crush". Before you say "What?! Like, omg, everyone is good at having a crush", you should just know that YOU ARE WRONG.

Horribly.

Completely.

Seriously.

WRONG.

Some people are really, really kinda awesome at the whole "crush game". And, apparently, there was a class? Maybe? In elementary? And I friggin' missed it.

Unbeknownst to MOI, a crush does not entail creating an entire alternate universe in your head where everything is hipster and wonderful and totally-Nicholas Sparks minus the inevitable death thing. No. Apparently, it's a little flirting and maybe a couple of emoticon texts. For example: "Hi :)", "XOXO :P", and, of course, the extra-special winky face that is usually just awkward when I attempt to integrate that in my repertoire.

So, to recap, I'm not good at crushes. Another fairly decent explanation as to my ineptitude could be the fact that my crushes are generally directed at three types of guys: The Douchebag, The Clearly-Unattainable Hottie, and, oh yeah, CELEBRITY.

Oh yes, so few people are quite as masterful at convincing themselves that John Krasinski is totally going to leave his beautiful, successful wife for me after our serendipitous encounter at a quaint coffee shop in SoHo. Not that I've thought about it or anything...

And then there's the Unattainable Hottie. And I'm not saying that to fish for a "you're so pretty" compliment because, frankly, duh. I know I'm hot. What I'm talking about is that guy that is seriously so hot it's like he rolls around in burning coals. It's like his face isn't even real! That guy. That's the one I fall for.

Finally, we come to my kryptonite. Douchebag. If there is a jerk in a 20-mile radius, I will sniff him out like a bloodhound, and claim him like Columbus "discovering" America. Which means I will drop some polio on you, skank. That heart breaker is MINE.

Are you beginning to see my point?

Friends say it's because I don't want to get hurt? I don't really count that as a valid argument because I'm not some kind of Twilight-obsessed masochist, and I'm pretty normal in the fact that I don't particularly enjoy having my heart stomped on. Doesn't feel good. Not one bit.

Really, I don't think my problem exists solely in the fact that I'm attracted to all the wrong men. No, I think it has more to do with the ugly, horrible awkwardness that inhabits my body to its core whenever I'm around a guy that I like. If I could paint a picture of what these fun little interactions looked like, I would make millions as the Tarantino of the art world. Weird and just scary. Like conversations about Serta mattresses and frozen dinners. Mmmhmm.

And then there's the obsession thing. And the minor stalking that I just can't seem to control. Yep. That ALL happens inside this sick little mind. I carried a burning torch for Justin Timberlake that seriously almost stood the test of time. I was convinced he was "The One" from about 5th grade through sophomore year. And, to be honest, he could still eat crackers in my bed.

So, there ya go. My dirty little secret. I can't crush. And if you are aware of some training classes, I'd be most appreciative.

Be vewy quiet; I'm hunting... BOYS

November is here. Ahhh, sweet November. These glorious 30 days bring so much wonderment to the world. Including:

-Halloween is over, and they'll finally quit playing that damn Paranormal Activity 3 trailer.
-It's finally socially acceptable to start listening to Christmas music, and I've got my eye on a juicy new She & Him album and, of course, the new Justin Bieber.
-I will spend literally hours snuggling coffee and listening to cute boys play acoustic guitars on YouTube.
-I will write many, many letters to Santa asking for aforementioned boys.

But most importantly, the real showcase of this month, is NO SHAVE NOVEMBER.

Urbandictionary.com defines it as "The month of November in which you don't shave any hair of your body but instead you grow more bestial, brutish, and manly."

I couldn't agree more, but it goes by another name in the Woman World: Man-catching season.

That's right, ladies! Our own official sport has arrived! For one solid month, those lovely male faces will be enhanced with rugged, manly beards and bodies clad in flannel. For 11 months we pine for MEN - not boys. And now, they have arrived.

Thus, this is a month we should all be taking very seriously. As much as we would like to just lounge in Starbucks and watch those precious beards twitch as they pore over their MacBooks and swoon when whipped cream clings to those hair particles above their lip...

Sorry. Sidetracked. Anyway, back to business. Don't get distracted! Many a boy was claimed and lost during this month. Don't fall victim to distraction.

I've been asked the question, "Does No Shave November include girls?"

Yes. If you want to end up without a Christmas cuddlebuddy and spend the holidays gorging your way through sprinkled cookies and spiked eggnog! But if you want to catch you a honey, shave ya damn legs. We have 11 months of the year to slack. This. Is. Not. One. Of. Them.

In fact, just as game-hunters prepare their shotguns and crossbows to take down Bambi's mom, we need to build up our arsenal. Here's what you'll need.

-Man-Catching Clothes. Pull out your best threads. Leave the sweats at home.
-A full social calendar. You won't meet a boy sitting on your couch unless you're into screen names like BigBootyLuvr69.
-New hair, new you. Time to call up that hairdresser. If you're like me, those grays aren't going to lure in the big fish.

What's the last thing you need? Passion. That's right, ladies. Visualize the prize, and go for it. As Coach Taylor from Friday Night Lights so adeptly coined, "Clear eyes, full heart, can't lose." As I so adeptly coined, "Go catch you a damn man, ladies."

Go forth and prosper.

Oh No She Didn't: Airplane Attire

Hello friends, fans, secret admirers... lovers.

Today as I sat and evaluated this blog and its mission to educate on the art of man-catching, I realized that there were still some components missing in order to make it well-rounded and effective. So, in addition to our lessons and Eye Candy, I present to you "Oh No She Didn't."

Most of my daily thoughts begin with the phrase "Oh No She Didn't", also known as ONSD. And most of those thoughts are completed with me mentally tearing apart this girl for her fashion choices. Are people blind? Or stupid? Or lazy? I can forgive everything but the latter. Laziness will NOT catch a honey, mark my words.

Our first ONSD was inspired by my girl, Jade. She broke down today and bought her first pair of skinny jeans. Everybody applaud. Seriously, hooker, give the girl a hand. That's better.

Her dilemma was what to wear on her flight from Austin to Lubbock. I can sympathize. I, myself, have made some very poor fashion decisions on flights. And guess what, I'm still single. Coincidence? I think not.

Just because you are trapped in a vacuum-sealed, airborne litter box (think about it) does not mean that it is OK to dress like a bag lady in the name of "comfort." You know what else is comfortable? A couch that you will share with no one but your 18 cats. How do you feel about comfort now? Mmmmhmmm.

Every moment is a chance to land you a sugar daddy. I mean husband. Oh hell, I meant sugar daddy. They say that money doesn't grow on trees, but only poor people say that. Rich people have money orchards, and I want to move in. But I can't convince a man to let me make it rain 100 dollar bills if I look like that troll under the bridge.

Now, I'm not suggesting that you wear a couture gown and diamonds, but would it kill you to put on a pair of jeans instead of those sweatpants? Oh, do NOT give me that "But they're Victoria's Secret, and they say LOVE across my butt." Well good for you, honey. I'm glad that someone loves your ass because no man on that plane is going to. Rule of thumb, if you're going to put on makeup - put on pants. It's that simple.

Next, I realize you're going to have to take off your shoes. That is not permission to wear those ugly Adidas slider sandals or, God forbid, Crocs. Ballet flats and TOMS are both easy to take-off and put-on in a hurry. Just so you know.

I say all of this out of love... for good clothes. Oh, and you too. Because I do love you, and I want to see you catch a man. Just not one of my men. Just to remind you, I will cut a ho.

To recap, an airport/airplane and early flight does not constitute pajama-couture. Look fly on that plane, girl. Haha, get it?

Go catch you a damn man, ladies.

The good, the bad, and the really-awful-embarrassing mistakes

I'm going to put it out there. Sometimes, my milkshake brings ALL the boys to the yard. But sometimes, my milkshake has been left in the fridge a little long and rotten results ensue. No bueno.

This past weekend proved to be yet another opportunity to set my man-catching tally back a few points. My girl, Jade, and I went to Game 3 of the World Series (Go Rangers!), and if the score wasn't enough to tell you that someone's mojo was a little off, just sit back and wait. The Rangers weren't the only ones that walked home with their tail between their legs.

Overall, the night was amazing. One of the best experiences of my life. Just thought you should know that.

So, my really-awful-embarrassing mistake? Why the hell am I putting this on the Internet?

It all began with a hot dog. Get your mind out of the gutter. Ranger Ballpark has these pretty dang fantastic hot dogs wrapped in bacon, and Jade and I had to have one. We weren't the only ones.

As I'm paying for my hot dog ($9, worth every penny), Jade begins to tickle my ass in public. You're sitting there all appalled, but it's really not that unusual. It's true friendship. I'm, of course, feigning disgust at Jade over my shoulder and paying about zero percent attention to where I'm walking. Which is also no surprise. I was not born with very much poise or elegance. But then, by the grace of God, I turn around right as I'm about to slam into a guy. In my defense, he was blocking the mustard. I look up to say excuse my clumsy behavior, and I'm staring straight in to "The Bachelorette" contestant Lucas' face. Rather than excuse myself in a ladylike manner, what do you think I say? Wouldn't you know it that the only word that my college-educated brain could pull from my extensive vocabulary was... "shit". Yes, that's right. I screamed (Ok, it wasn't that loud) an expletive right in this dude's face. And THEN, as if I hadn't embarrassed myself enough, I spun on my heel to report my encounter to Jade at a decibel loud enough for Meryl Streep to hear in her luxurious and most certainly sound-proof abode.

Needless to say, the only picture I got of him was this one. As he was running away from the tacky, loud girl.

There you have it, ladies. Even the man-catching blogger screws up. A lot, actually, but keep reading because sometimes I get it right.

Eye Candy #2

I enjoy looking at boys. I'm not ashamed. There's nothing wrong with appreciating what God created; especially if that something has abs that make me want to pass out from sheer delight.

Not a thing wrong with it.

My love for the male face, body and boootay is partially what gave birth to this particular man-catching business. I can't survive as a cat lady. I need stubble in my life, and I'm not talking about my currently unshaven legs.

I could've taken the usual route with the Eye Candy posts and chosen fan favorites like Jared Leto (who will always be my Jordan Catalano) or the ever-so-beautiful Ryan Gosling (Noah! Oh Noah!).

But what your hormones need is some fresh faces. I hope you enjoyed Jake Johnson from last week. I've been watching "New Girl" episodes at least twice a week just to see that handsome face. But it's time for a new boy on the block.

Chris Lowell

When I was a junior in high school, ABC debuted a show that would become one of my many TV obsessions and, of course, it was canceled far too soon. On a side note, I believe that top television executives just love to lure me into a show, make me fall in deep loving obsession with it, and then chop it down as if it were some kind of tainted zombie. Tragic. Anyway, there was this show called "Life as We Know It", and, within the first episode, I had declared my undying love for the utterly precious and adorable Chris Lowell.



Lowell played 'Jonathan', the yearbook photographer who falls for the then-plump Kelly Osborne. LOVE. What more could I possibly want in a man? Nothing, I tell you. NOTHING.



Lowell doesn't have many credits to his name, which is a damn shame. He did have a several-episode arc on "Veronica Mars" but that aired during the height of my crippling and mind-numbing obsession with Adam Brody and all things related to "The O.C." And then a stint on "Private Practice", but I boycotted all things not directly starring McDreamy and missed out again. Needless to say, I somewhat lost my soulmate for a brief time. I finished high school, went to college, and became an adult during that time. So much life was lived without my Jonathan. Then Netflix brought us together in a truly cosmic way. Seriously, there were butterflies and unicorns. Sigh...

I rewatched all of "Life As We Know It" (only 13 episodes) and pouted about the clear lack of Chris Lowell in my life.

Look at this perfect little hipster. Swoon.


And then the stars aligned and Chris came bounding back to fill the void in my heart. He was cast as the delightful douchebag Stuart Whitworth in "The Help" (SEE THIS ASAP) and my heart was mended momentarily.


Hey, Emma Stone. Get your filthy hands off the merchandise, or so help me, I will cut a bit..

So, there he is, girls. If you don't just love this face, then good because he's mine, and you have no chance anyway. This is one man you will NOT be catching.

Lesson Two: The friend zone

The friend zone is all too-familiar territory for me. In fact, I can maneuver through it so well I'm like Whitney Houston running through the halls of rehab.

What is the friend zone? Well, the friend zone is, at it's core, completely misunderstood. It's really not as bad as it seems. Females have spent centuries (hello, hyperbole) complaining and trying to avoid it. Males, on the other hand, seem (I'm not an expert) to have a completely different outlook on it. In fact, guys have a much higher standard for the friend zone than you might assume. They won't just let anyone in it, only those they value. So stop dreading it. It could turn out to be the best friendship you've ever had. Plus, sometimes guys pull girls up from the friend league to wife up. Might be worth the wait.

But sometimes you want to hold the crap outta that boy's hand. Sometimes the friend zone is not enough.

I'm here to help. I've spent years trying to figure out the friend zone, and here's what I've found.

It all hinges on that first encounter. Just as in a job interview, you're being scrutinized, sized up, and picked apart in the brain of this dude to determine if he's willing to shell out some cash for what could be a waste of time. Guys do not enjoy wasting time on anyone but themselves. And perhaps, women should adopt that principle as well. We'll date every Tom, Dick, or Harry just in case he might be "the one". Guys know what they want, and if you don't fit the bill, move along.

We females tend to have a misconception of what the first encounter should be like. In our heads, we're Jennifer Aniston in one of her latest rom-coms. We expertly flip our hair and laugh our infectious laugh while, on the inside, we're the perfect girl that all these guys having been missing out on. We're low maintenance, funny, sexy, smart, and every other quality that describes the "perfect" woman. We're misunderstood. But ladies, the only misunderstanding most of us are suffering from is the one we're having with reality. There is no such thing as a perfect woman. So stop trying to be. Whenever you make up your mind that being you is enough, then you'll understand.

But back to that first meeting. Girls have been known to make a few very fatal mistakes when it comes to reeling in that fish. I'm not saying my rules are tried or true, but take it from a girl who perpetually lands herself smack dab in the middle of the friend zone.

Rule #1: Shut up.
If you're like me, nothing brings you more pleasure than talking 90 miles an hour in front of a captive audience. However, if you're trying to catch a man, shut your pie hole, lady. This is what it means to be "mysterious" and "keep them guessing". What it really means is that divulging the woes of your last menstrual cycle or how that b-word at work ate your non-fat yogurt when it was clearly labeled is a big no-no. Guys don't want you to be who you are; they want you to fulfill all their qualities for a perfect woman. Even the best guys feel that way. Don't blame them. They watched the same Disney movies we did, and did you ever see a whiny, slightly neurotic princess? Hell no, you did not.

Rule #2: Avoid man-talk.
I love baseball. To my very core, I love baseball. Guys love baseball too. Perfect conversation starter? Negative. While this guy loves that I share an interest in his favorite sport, he has simultaneously placed me firmly in his friend zone. You can notice this if he says "this chick is cool" or man-shakes your hand. You know that weird thing they do where it starts out like a high-five but ends in an awkward finger clutch? Why do they do that? But, trust me, it's the sign that you screwed up. Save this quality for the second date. It's still useful, but it's only to be used as your clincher. You need him to be attracted to you on a physical level first. He's got to want to hold your hand and kiss you good night. And then you land that baseball bomb on him? Now he wants to hold your hand and kiss you at the Rangers game. Bada-bing, bada-boom. You've got him where you want him.

Rule #3: Act Interested
Too often girls bend over backwards to seem like the most interesting girl alive and to hold his undivided attention. Once again, shut up. The male ego is very fickle and needs some lovin'. A few well-placed 'uh-huhs' and 'oh my goodness, tell me mores' will go a long way. Don't get me wrong. It's still about you, but take the high road and feed his self-esteem for a little while. You'll be glad you did.

Rule #4: Don't be a pushover
We all want to prove to guys that we're super laid-back and not at all high-maintenance, but no man wants a woman who doesn't know her self-worth. It's OK to set high standards. Guys like a challenge, and most will rise to the occasion. Don't protest when he brings you flowers; thank him and move on. Wait for him to hold open the door. Not only does it say "I'm worth your time, are you worth mine?", but it also says that you need a good man.

Rule #5: Laugh at his jokes.
Duh.

In conclusion, don't fear the friend zone, but don't doom yourself to it. Life is not a romantic comedy. Learn to play the game.

Now, go out in the wild blue yonder, ladies. And catch you a damn man.

Eye Candy # 1

Two posts in one night? Look at me go. Go me.

While I offered my first tip in the art of Man Catching earlier, I thought to myself, why delay on our first Eye Candy?

Jake Johnson



I adore Fox's New Girl. It's witty, fun, cute, and has Zooey Deschanel skipping around in the cutest clothes EVER. That, my friends, is a recipe for success.

But there are some major Hottie McHotPants in this show, girls. All of Zooey's (or Jess Day's) roommates are adorable, but one totally caught my eye.

Johnson plays Nick, the easy-going-but-still-kind-of-hung-up-on-his-ex guy. But what you might not know is that Johnson was in the little known but absolutely endearing Paper Heart which just so happened to have been partially filmed in the lovely Lubbock, Texas (Wreck 'Em Tech!). If you haven't seen it, do so. It's really fantastic.

Anyhoo, Jake has that really unconventional hotness factor. I think that's the most hipster thing I've ever said. But, really, he's got a good face and is super witty. Snap.

Now, sources (Twittah) lead me to believe that Johnson is hitched. In which case, bravo. I'm such a girl's girl, and I applaud my gender on their romantic pursuits. And it's obvious the girl has good taste. I think we'd be friends. Plus, his lady-love is lucky to be tied to a man who can successfully carry a mustache.

Not. Easy. But he does it well.

So, congrats Jake! You'll probably never read this, but your hotness is applauded and appreciated.

Be sure and check out New Girl on Fox, Tuesdays after Glee!

Lesson One: The Booty Pop

I was not blessed with a butt. In fact, my dad affectionately dubbed my lacking physique "the back with a crack". I've learned to embrace it... what little there is to grab hold of. But I realize there is one thing I must master to place me one step ahead in the Man-Catching business.

The Booty Pop

You've seen it. The girls who can back that thang up with ease and the men flock to them like a moth to a flame. It's like magic.

The art of the finely popped bootay is not one to be snubbed. It's not a skill monopolized by the club or bar scene. Oh no, not at all, my friend. The booty can be popped in many different settings. And let me tell you - men enjoy a lady who can finely shake her rump.

Have you ever seen someone turn down Kim Kardashian or J-Lo? That's a rhetorical question because heck no you haven't. Those girls got back.

Let me offer a disclaimer. Don't be a tramp. The booty pop should never be abused. In fact, it's more a way of life rather than an actual act. You've got to let that boy know you are one hot ticket. I'll leave it at that.

So take it from me and the wise words of Kelis. The milkshake can bring all the boys the yard.

Adventures in Man-Catching

After I brushed the cobwebs off this darling blog, I was utterly stumped on how to fall back in to the business. Nothing new or exceptionally exciting has happened that I didn't tweet about (love me some Twittah).

But then, it hit. Well, actually Sarah-friend gave me a verbal butt kick in the right direction.

I have this list. It's actually in my brainium - not on paper. It's my Man-Catching List.

A good man is a hot commodity these days, people, and should be treated as seriously as unicorn tears. I don't mess around with matters of the heart... or bank account. I mean to catch me a good (rich) one and, preferably, before I'm committed to velour sweatsuits and underground Rascal racing.

Why am I doing this?

I'm a tad bit boy crazy. I know you're shocked. I've suppressed the quality for years because no one likes those bat-crap crazy females. Not that I'm a bat-crap crazy female or anything. I'm just throwing that out there. For educational purposes.

In addition to sharing my Man-Catching List, I'll be posting some Eye Candy every now and then. Most will be celebrities because, unlike most, I'm destined for a life of fame and fortune and prefer to be realistic about my destiny and not toil with average boys. You can all come visit after I'm on Cribs. I'm totally OK with rubbing junk in your faces.


DISCLAIMER: This list, thus far, has proved to be 100 percent ineffective. You were warned.

Adventures in Teaching

It's April, and April means that we are only ONE six-weeks away from summaaaaaah! If I can make it six more weeks, then I will have looked my first year of teaching in the eye and kicked in the throat. I wish I had the stamina to run up a flight of steps Rocky-style, but seeing as how this year has added 20 lbs. to my formerly fabulous physique (ha), and I've battled three rounds of bronchitis, I think I'll hold off on that.

Teaching is an adventure. EVERY. SINGLE. DAY.

If you aren't a fan of emotional rollercoasters, then you should step out of line and go to the spinning teacups because this ride ain't for suckas. But it's fun. Lawdy, it can be fun. In fact, every day is a bit like that awkward feeling you get when watching Jerry Springer. You want to look away, but 1) you're a tinsy bit afraid and 2) you really don't want to look away.

In honor of my near completion of my rookie year, I'm going to start a series about teaching because my life is already consumed with it. Might as well roll with it. Here goes. Enjoy.

The Room-Smell Game

At first, this annoyed me. In fact, it drove me nuts. Now, it's my own personal game to guess what the winning smell will be.

Let me explain.

Every single period has at least one kid who enters the classroom, and without so much as a 'Sup', decides what the room smells like on that given day.

Last Friday was Tootsie Rolls and puke. Those days are my favorite.

I might marry my DVR.

I'm addicted to television. Nothing cute about it. No quirky lead-ins or self-deprecating humor to distract you from the fact that I have a significant problem.

Alright, I'm over it. Whew, I actually thought I was going to commit myself to some sort of meeting. Yeah right! Like I have time in my busy TV schedule to do that? I think not.

Television programming hasn't been this fantastic in some time. Every week I'm satisfied with just enough junk to balance my enrichment and just enough drama to balance my humor. Seriously, they should pay me to watch TV. The love of my life, my DVR, and I are more than up to the challenge.

Monday:
-The Bachelor: Shut the hell up. I see your judgy eyes. Yes, it's trashy. Yes, it's dramatic. Yes, it's ridiculous, Yes, it's AWESOME. Remember how that vampire kid told that ugly, twitchy girl that she was like his meth or something super teenager angsty like that? Well, the Bachelor is mine - without all of the scratching and drug-addict tendencies like, ya know, theft. None of that.

-Greek: Cappie is hot. Plus, I get to feel like a sorostitute for one hour a week. I always wanted to see how the other half lived.

-Harry's Law: Kathy Bates is a beast. Plus, my grandma loves it. I'm down with the elderly. They're my people.

Tuesday:
-Glee: I do a fair amount "pop, lockin', and droppin' it" whenever I just think about this show. Can you imagine what I'm like watching it? Let me give you a visual... pelvic thrusts.

-Raising Hope: Dear God, thank You for this show. Also, I peed my pants once while watching it. I'm not ashamed.

Wednesday:
-American Idol: I love Steven Tyler, and J-Lo will always be Jenny from the block to me.

Thursday:
-AI: Word.

-The Office: If you know me, you know about my eternal, undying devotion to Jim Halpert. I need not explain further.

-Grey's Anatomy: I've been there since the beginning. I can't divorce them - even when things get tough. I'm loyal.

Friday:
-Supernatural: I really have no words for this.

So yeah there it is. My life in a week.

Okay, maybe I do need a meeting...

BIG love.