Females....sheesh.

I am exceedingly annoyed with people about 72.37891% of the time. I'm not proud of it. It's not a great quality of mine. In my defense, if other people had better qualities that percentage would lower drastically. I am a teacher. I give you the tools to grow.

However, I should clarify the first sentence. Of that percentage, my annoyance with my own gender is to be blamed for 3/4 of that total.

I have a theory. Perhaps it's the college kid part of me that is stubbornly hanging on for dear life, but I have determined that most girls fit into the same categories as alcoholic beverages. If you're female, you're putting up the defense. I understand, but some women don't fit and some women are just the right kind. Why am I explaining myself?! Just follow me on this one, or quit reading.

Whiskey and Coke
This drink is used to describe THAT girl. THAT girl who starts out the night fun, sweet and feisty. It usually ends violent and with someone holding her hair back. I think that's all I need to say about her...

Beer
I really enjoy my "beer" friends. T-Money is a great example. She's chill, friendly and laid-back. Not much phases them, and they get along with everyone. Some may not like their simple taste, but everyone respects them. Also, they usually don't lead you into an ugly tomorrow. Unless you go to far...

And then... Fruity Cocktails
Fruity Cocktails always look good, but they generally aren't all they claim to be. These are girls who look fun and fresh, but don't have a whole lot going on past the perky umbrella and the fruit kabob. A little bit of them goes a long way in the end. These are usually the girls who give you the first impression of "wow, she's so nice" and then leave you with the "oh my crap, please go away." There's generally an inordinate amount of stalking in their past. Watch out, she's sticky! Wink, wink.

I could go into further depth, but I like to lump sum people. I'm not ashamed. I guess I should add the disclaimer of THIS BLOG IN NO WAY ADVOCATES THE CONSUMPTION OF ALCOHOL. Yep, that should do it.

Have a BIG day :)

Crafty much?

I can't sing.

I can't dance.

I can't play an instrument. (Unless you count my harmonica, Boudreaux, who I think just sounds good to make me feel better.)

I'm not much of an athlete. (I have a mean jump shot, though.)

I cannot lick my elbow. (You may think this sounds odd, but I have a friend who can, and I've always been deeply jealous.)

I'm significantly untalented. Unless you count my flawless ability to stick my foot in my mouth during about 83.7215% of conversations, then I'm ALMOST completely untalented. I do have good taste though. Some have even said 'impeccable'. OK, one guy said that, but he's gay so that's worth 20 people saying it. Gay men KNOW good taste. So, I'm trying to be crafty. Yep. Crafty, I'm gonna be. I'll let you know how it goes...

Who let me become a grown up?!

It's been awhile since I've flexed my blogging muscles, so bear with me. I'm a little rusty. In the previous post, I mentioned things are crazy right now. I am sufficiently overwhelmed and frustrated, and I haven't seen my friend, Positivity, in a few days. Growing up is hard. I understand why Prozac is so popular in adult social circles. Him and Whiskey seem to be besties. I've estimated that I have been an "adult" for about three weeks now, and here is what I've learned.

Adults overshare WAY too much. I'm putting females on blast for a moment here. I do not, under any circumstance, care to see your childbirth scars or hear about that experience. Furthermore, I do not care to hear about it when I'm getting a manicure. I came about one dry heave away from enlightening the pretty Asian lady of what I had for breakfast (coffee and yogurt). Guys don't talk about stuff like that! Granted they enjoy scratching in public, but I can ignore that.

No one pays attention when I whine. I'm a whiner. Always have been. My mother whines. My sisters whine. My dad rolls his eyes....and then gives us what we want. Do not say I'm spoiled because I don't particularly love how that word equates me with expired dairy, but I will allow you to say that I'm...loved. When did it become so wrong to have standards and expectations?! Apparently it's not wrong, but no one gives two hoots. I may have to revert back to my foot-stamping days. Which only ended about a month ago...

Single=unhappy,loner,scapegoat I love being single for the record. I will continue to be single until my daddy cuts me off. I will not accept the pity glances. Why yes, I would LOVE to come to your dinner party even though I am the only single girl on the list. Why? Because Jesus is my main squeeze. My Man threw the best dinner party in the history of dinner parties with nothing but one fish, one loaf, and a sip of wine. Boom! And you thought your boo was so special. Pshhhh.

Responsibility WHEN DID THIS BECOME A PART OF THE DEAL?! I would've enjoyed some fair warning on this one folks. All of you failed in preparing me for that little golden nugget of crap.

Hmmm, so that's what I've learned. Apparently I'm not as smart as I once gave myself credit for. Also, being an adult is hard. I'm not very good at it yet.

On a good, happy note. I had what I would describe as my first brush with fame yesterday. Without any introductions, a very kind and lovely woman noticed that I was 'The Blogger'. BIG holla to my new friend!

Hello, long lost friends.

Whoa. It's been awhile. Let me bring you up to speed on what's been going on.

I passed my teaching content exam. I am officially a teacher...pray.

I just returned to West Texas after spending more than two weeks in Dallas at a teacher school thingy. I could go on for hours about all that I learned, but let's get down to the fun stuff. Potential teachers should have a far more rigorous process. Like burning hoops and lion taming? I'm terrified for the students of some of those people. They would be better off learning from Snookie and The Situation...

I've taken up harmonica playing. Feel free to submit applications to be in this entourage.

Oh, and John Krasinski married that wench. It's too soon to talk about it...

I promise another blog soon.

BIG love :)

Love letters.

I wish I could sum up my love and devotion to each and every rude person I've met this past week in one general letter, but I cannot. Truthfully each one deserves their own few inches of Biggity Blog space.

To the Wal-Mart parking lot man:

I never knew this would be the day my life would change. What began as a normal trip to the grocery store soon became an afternoon of pure, unadulterated passion. How quickly I did judge those who lazily leave their shopping carts in the paths of vehicles capable of doing massive damage to property and people! If I would've known you were a part of such an elite group, I would've have held back such vicious words. I remember the moment of our meeting clearly. I was unloading groceries and so were you. Fate? I think yes. I pushed the random (but blessed, obviously) basket into the holder followed by my own. How lucky I am that you were so kind to leave yours for me to put away! I was frozen with bated breath. My fingers clenched tightly around the bar of the cart as you walked towards me. The wind caught your magnificent mullet and for just a moment, so precious, the clouds broke to cast a ray of sunshine to glint off your yellow and rotten teeth. My mind and heart hoped you would come and rescue your abandoned basket from me and return it. But no. You bestowed that duty upon me. Thank you, kind sir. Thank you for giving me further reasons to prove what is so beautifully wrong with America. I bid thee well.

Jerk.

To the lovely con-artist woman:

Work can be such a bore. Anyone can attest to that. How lucky I am that you would choose such a day to call ME. My heart leaped as I heard your friendly, monotone, smoker's voice crackle through my cell phone. It was such a beautiful sound really. Like unicorns weeping sugar tears into a river of chocolate with gummy bears floating on LifeSavers. Ahhhh, bliss. I love that I always have you as a friend to advance your financial situation by attempting to con me into purchasing an extended warranty on a car you know nothing about. Just like ObamaCare...pre-existing conditions? Who cares? Ahhh, YOU are a friend. As much as this is a love letter to my new-found friend, this is an apology. I apologize for being so rude when you interrupted a busy day at my sole means of earning a living. Really, I should be more concerned with making sure YOU have a great day. My snarky ways are often unnecessary. Your wit of "Damn, lady, pull the stick out of your butt" continues to make me giggle in the warmth of our friendship glow. I am so sorry. Please forgive me. You have a swell day.

B-word.

Interesting Person #4

Hello friends.

So I've searched the earth far and wide to bring you IP #4. OK, that's a lie; I haven't really looked at all. However, one did just happen to appear. I will warn you, friends, this is not a happy tale. It is not sad. It is creepy. That's right. I've decided to give you a brief insight to what a creeper magnet I truly am.

A lovely Sunday it was. The sun was shining and off to Barnes & Noble did my roomie, Katie, and I trot (drive) to study. All seemed well. We didn't have to fight any junior high students for a study table. Which brings me to a brief point. If you are one of those inconsiderate tools sitting at a study table drinking a cup of coffee/laughing at a decibel not fit for human ears while you can clearly see two young ladies lugging heavy bags with laptops and books in search for such table--MOVE! I will not apologize for giving you the stink eye or for making you the subject of a defamatory blog. Anyways, back to the subject. We found a table...with an outlet. Big deal, actually. While setting up our materials, a guy (I can't say man because I don't think he qualified, but he wasn't a boy) turns and begins small talk. We respond thinking he's just friendly. Well, friendly he is. So friendly in fact that one could assume he might have a girl shoved in his trunk! I don't know how this always happens to me! This makes twice in the past week I've had to dodge a creeper. While I'll be the first to admit that the female gender can be crazy, obsessive, dramatic, emotional...blah blah blah, all of that in no way entitles a guy to be a 'Ted Bundy'. I don't know if you've been watching The Bachelorette but that Kasey character is case and point number one. Crazy much?! And Ali didn't even flinch at the tattoo. I guess to spare his feelings, but if it had been me -- this is how that convo would've gone.

Crazy Kasey: "I got a tattoo to prove that I'm here 'to guard and protect your heart'."

Me: Security! We've got a crazy bleepity-bleep-bleep-bleep over here! Listen, Kasey, you need to check yourself into an asylum. Give me your shoelaces, Kasey. Don't fight the straitjacket."

Done, and done. Girls, don't spare their feelings. When they're creepers...call them out! You wouldn't beat around the bush with an alcoholic or a guido would you? No. Stop doing these creepers any favors and send them to a support group.

So there ya have it. IP #4 is Mr. Creepy-shove you in a trunk-dude.

Have a BIG day, and don't forget your pepper spray.

TV gradebook

When it comes to TV, there's the good, the bad, and the downright ugly. So ugly in fact that producers of said hideous shows often gather in rituals of torture. That's right, they shop for Ed Hardy and get their tips frosted. Ugh...I'll pause to let you vomit. But every once in a while, there's a true breakthrough. Like a unicorn galloping over a rainbow ridden by Santa. You can't believe your eyes, but there it is. A myth proven true that is so beautiful you can't tear away your eyes. But they usually cancel those shows after one season, so that's why you're still an unbeliever. Yes, I'm still bitter about Freaks and Geeks.

I love TV. Which probably attributes to many of my problems, but in my defense I am a much wittier and socially-conscious individual than when I used to see sunlight every single day. Silver lining, anyone?

Seeing as this is MY blog with MY thoughts, I feel like I can say what I want. So please read.

The Office- Let's begin with the obvious. The theme song is my ringtone. I have a poster, my browser is Office themed. There is a slight obsession. But lately, I fear for the integrity of my favorite show. Let's face it Jim and Pam were so much cuter when they were just that. Jim...and...Pam. Not Jam or Pim...or with a freakin' baby. I'm a fan of marriage, but let's be honest - the only person we care about finding wedded bliss is Michael. If you're female, you want to be able to fantasize about cute, adorable slacker Jim and not mortgage, boss, no-longer-look-in-the-camera Jim. Step it up, people. The Brits are winning.

The Biggest Loser- I love it. With my whole heart and soul. I love Bob Harper. I like Jillian Michaels, but not when she perches on the machine like a vulture. Too much, Jill, too much. The only slight problem I have is that it's apparent some skinny b-word thought of the title of the show. Double-edged sword. Do you REALLY want to win that award?

Glee- This is the unicorn I was referring to. However instead of mounted by Santa, this fine steed is ridden by Ms. Sue Sylvester. A vision in velour track suits, Sylvester brings back to TV what we've been lacking since the day of Roseanne. Classless, rude, biting wit. Oh how we've all missed a woman who doesn't give a damn. Oh, and the singing is quite nice too. Perhaps dim the light over Shuester's life (who cares?) and redirect to the true stars. Kurt, Mercedes, Brittany, Artie and Puck deserve some time in the limelight.

American Idol- I love you Ellen, don't you ever forget that, but I secretly hope Ryan Seacrest will fall down those stairs every night and suffer a penis injury. Though the verdict still isn't in on the existence of rumored falice.

Parenthood- Breakout hit. Bravo Lauren Graham. Can I be you when I grow up?

Jersey Shore Remember my reference to Ed Hardy and frosted tips? Here's the cess pool. Forget the recession. Why the hell is this being given media precedence over...well anything. Someone should be stabbed with Pauly D's hair, smothered by J-Woww's boobs, and have to spend an hour teaching Snooki the Pythagorean Theorem.

True Blood- Porn with a gap-toothed smile. Though all my friends love it? Maybe I'm missing something?

Bachelor/Bachelorette- Jake is engaged to canned meat (Vienna sausages). That's enough said. Too soon to tell about Ali. Though she still has that wrestler on there. Um...ewww.

Drop Dead Diva- You probably haven't heard or seen this because it's on the estrogen channel...oh excuse me, Lifetime. But there it is, amidst all the wife beaters, alcoholic psychopaths, and teen moms. Witty, smart, funny, and some really hot men? Lifetime did something right.

Teen Mom- My uterus is officially closed for business.

Alright, that about does it for right now. There might be a follow-up. If there's another TV show that strikes my fancy or causes me to question if I'm existing in some weird parallel universe.

Comment. Pass it on. BIG love.

***This is dedicated to my roommate, Katie-bug. Without whom, I would feel foolish for hip-thrusting while watching the hot shirtless men on The Bachelorette. She encourages it.