fresh out of gold stars

don't hate me

noreply@blogger.com (@OutofGoldStars) — Wed, 12 Oct 2011 02:16:00 +0000

Hello All. Don't hate me. For real.

So you see I always get these genius ideas over the summer.

Previous genius ideas....

1. Get in good shape
2. Teach summer school
3. Actually make a budget and stick to it
4. Walk the crazy ass dogs on a regular basis
5. Take a road trip

Let me go ahead and tell you now, I have not followed through with ANY of those.

Guess what this summer's genius idea was?

Yup.

BLOG.

Well fuck. Clearly, I have failed at that too.

I do not want to fail at this as well and I am certainly not ready to throw in the fucking towel, but I have got to work some things out before you will see blog entries on a daily basis. I cannot even begin to tell you how crazy and stressed I have been. This school year has taken a huge toll on me professionally, socially, and personally. And yes, it is only October.

So, long story short. Check in, maybe there will be a post, maybe not. But for the love of god, if you send me hate comments for not posting, I will punch you. Across the internet.

she'll love you even if you're bald

noreply@blogger.com (@OutofGoldStars) — Thu, 22 Sep 2011 02:16:00 +0000

Weelllllll. No.

The poor husband. He's losing his hair. Slowly but surely, the husband is balding. Not the receding hairline balding, or the 'you are way too self conscious' balding, but legit, approved by the super gay and fantastic hairstylist balding. Oh yah. And a doctor too.

So the first time the husband discussed his hair loss to the doctor, the doctor claimed that wives don't notice and that it is not a big deal. Clearly I am a bitch because I totally told the husband he would look like a fool with no hair. Obviously this was in the 'I have been dating you/married to you for 10 years' type way.

Poor guy.

So now he is using fancy hair products that cost more than the designer hair products I was told not to use because I "didn't need" them. Herbal essence my ass. Oh yah, and the $50 a month prescription, women can't touch them, magical hair pills.

As I type this he is packing a bag for an interview in the big apple. I of course made fun of his Target bag full of travel toiletries. I mean, the hotels have pretty nice shampoo these days. But no, he, and am not fucking kidding you, replied, "I need to take my fancy volumizing shampoo so it doesn't look like I am balding!"

Let's just say this shit better work.

If not, he might end up looking like this.....

And that just won't work.

beer that tastes like food is NOT fun

noreply@blogger.com (@OutofGoldStars) — Tue, 20 Sep 2011 00:23:00 +0000

Dear Rachael Ray,

Your article is beyond wrong, disgusting, and disgraceful. In fact, when I showed it to my husband...after dropping it in the bathtub, spilling wine on it, and drying it back out....he grabbed the top of my head and shook the article cursing you and food beer lovers all over the world.

I mean, I know your magazine is written for women - the cooking, baking, decorating, organizing, gossiping around the swing set, mommying, #winparty type of women. But come on now. These women must drink beer too! I mean, I can't be the only 20 something, no kids, overworked and underpaid, putting my husband through law school type of woman that reads your magazine. We like beer. We like beer with our food. Not beer that fucking tastes like our food.

Now I know I've got you all running into your craft room to dig out the October issue of EveryDay, but don't worry. I've posted it here for you.

Yes, it is a photo from my phone of the ripped out, dropped in the bathtub, wine covered edition...shut up and read it.

It is not fun. It is fucking lame. Way to be a douche canoe. But wait, that's just page one....

PB&J Beer? What the holy fuckballs? Are we trying to market beer to small children? Am I crazy to think that NO ADULT IN THEIR RIGHT MIND would ever drink a PB&J beer?

But that isn't really even the worst. Put on your reading glasses and set down the wine. Time to read the small print. See that last beer on the end and underneath it where it says pizza flavored beer and oyster flavored beer? I don't even have words to describe it. In the words of the husband, "WHY IN GOD'S NAME WOULD YOU DRINK PIZZA FLAVORED BEER WHEN YOU COULD JUST EAT THE DAMN PIZZA WITH YOUR BEER AND NOT BE A FUCKING TOOL!"

DEAR GOD. THE WORLD MUST TRUELY BE ENDING.

Don't even start on the whole bacon flavored vodka trend.

taking a break

noreply@blogger.com (@OutofGoldStars) — Mon, 19 Sep 2011 01:55:00 +0000

Sorry guys. I know I dropped off the face of the earth for like a week. I needed to live in the real world for a little bit. Or, well, I was forced to live in the real world for a little bit. Fucking work. And life. And all that shit.

I am currently trying to figure out how to balance everything. I'm pretty sure I'm failing. Oh well.

I do have a post for tomorrow if I don't want to implode when I leave work, then perhaps I will actually post something other than excuses for not posting.

sharp nails

noreply@blogger.com (@OutofGoldStars) — Thu, 08 Sep 2011 02:24:00 +0000

Ok friends. Sharp Nails is here. You will be so proud of me. I made you a audio track. As I type this I currently have no idea how to load the audio track, but I am sure google will teach me.

Unfortunately I have not had enough wine for this to really sound the way it should. Perhaps I will do an update an hour or so from now and you will get the full effect.

And speaking of wine, I have officially gone backwards in classiness. I bought my first boxed wine. #wineparty anyone?

Here we go. My friend, as we will now refer to as Broken Scissors, is special. And by friend, I mean student. For those of you new to the blog, I teach a special education inclusion classroom. That means about 3/4 regular ed and 1/4 special ed. Now don't get me wrong. I totally love my sped babies. But some days are more interesting than others. And my interesting I mean productive. And well, no, let's be honest. Some days fucking suck. Other days, I get an awesome nickname like Sharp Nails.

Anyways, I currently have a little fellow, Broken Scissors, who is placed in my class while we try to figure out his permanent class setting. He is a bit too low to really be hanging with the regular kids (8 years old, reads a book upside-down, took us 2 weeks to get him correctly counting past 6, etc.). Right now it is kinda like having a 5-year-old hanging out in his brother's classroom all day.

I gave him an early reader. And by early reader, I mean a book for pre-k students. The book has one picture and one sentence per page.

Page one has a picture of a dog and the sentence: The dog.
Page two has a picture of a fish and the sentence: The Fish.
Page three has a picture of a cat and the sentence: The cat.

After he initially started reading the book upside down, I turned the book the correct way and had him point to the words as he read. This is how he read the book:

Ok, so now you now Broken Scissors. Let me tell you about the day I became Sharp Nails....

We were all sitting on the carpet the other day during bus call. I had gotten some new games and was opening the boxes to show them to the kids. Mind you, I had just had my fancy-pants gel nail polish removed and my nails cut down, so basically they looked like a 12-year-old boy's nails. P.S. No more fucking gel nails for me. They remove that shit with acetone. Because that's good for you. Anyways, I used my nails to peel off the shrink wrap while my friend broke a pair of scissors by trying to cut using his non-dominent hand. Of course they were dollar store scissors, because I'm cheap and schools don't pay for things like scissors or pencils...

So yah. Sharp Nails. That's my name.

On another occasion, Broken Scissors was a store manager. We were doing our monthly class store. You know, earn pretend money for good behavior and then you get to spend it on cheesy dollar store junk. Well, Broken Scissors didn't earn much money, plus I needed him right where I could see him at all times. So I made him the store manager. My thoughts were that he could make sure people were following the rules and practice real world skills like greeting people and asking/answering questions. Then I had the novel idea of giving him a pretend cash register so we could practice identifying numbers 0-9 at the same time. Yes, I know, gold star to me for differentiating my curriculum....

Well, it turns out that Broken Scissors has a career as a store manager, or an actor. He got really fucking into it.

Now to get the full effect I would need to record the kid talking. But something tells me that wouldn't be a genius idea. You also have to picture yourself surrounded by 20 other kiddos and imagine hearing the voice of a black grandma coming out of a little boy's mouth all day long. Excuse me while I go drink my boxed wine.

who wears cowboy boots at the beach?

noreply@blogger.com (@OutofGoldStars) — Sun, 04 Sep 2011 22:08:00 +0000

So I am at the beach this weekend. Relaxing. Thank fucking god. This also means you will have to wait to hear about my new nickname Sharp Nails until Monday or Tuesday. Because ladies and gentlemen, I don't feel like blogging at the beach. So take that.

Some quick beach going tips:

1. Only porn stars wear cowboy boots on the beach. To the blonde girl in the bikini and boots, you look like a whore. Sorry.

2. Cornhole is a tailgating game. If you are so drunk that you can't aim the beanbag and it hits me in the face instead, you really need to think about your choice of beach entertainment.

3. You don't get to judge my plastic cup of wine when you are drinking cheap beer.

4. I don't want to talk to your dog. No. He is not cute with all sand in his hair. And no, I certainly do not need him to drink my wine.

5. Yes, if you are a perfectly toned, attractive 25-35 something guy and decide that even when it is freezing cold and raining that you must have your shirt off, you may absolutely block my view of the ocean. Any time you want.

And because I know this post is lame, I will attempt to make you laugh with a cat video.

Why yes. Gray cat is a douche canoe. However, this video should really be titled "why the fuck did you turn your cat into a lion?"

And, speaking of douche canoes....

On the way to the beach we (my mother and I, because that's how the cool kids travel....for free) stopped at one of those shit gas stations that are open at midnight. I had to pee. Anyways, the sign on the bathroom door read, I swear to god, "Obviously this bathroom is shared by others. Don't be a douche." I cannot even begin to tell you how badly I wished I had a sharpie so that I could've added the word canoe to the end.

Hope you are enjoying your holiday weekend. I sure as fuck am enjoying mine.

i kept you waiting too long....oops

noreply@blogger.com (@OutofGoldStars) — Thu, 01 Sep 2011 02:30:00 +0000

Sorry. I could give you lots of excuses, good ones too, for not posting recently. But here I am. So I won't bore you with my dog-ate-the-homework excuses. YAY. Let's all have a #wineparty to celebrate. I experienced my first #wineparty a few days ago. Super intense. Next time I will be drinking out of the box.

Ok. So YESSSSSSSS. The husband truly is insane. What, dare I ask, was he doing at 3 in the morning with dish soap, a paring knife, and rubbing alcohol?

Oh how I wish he was carving soap dolls or digging out imaginary bullets....shoot, I would have even gone for real bullets, cause, you know, I married into a crazy-ass, wanna-be, modern day redneck family... please see my posts entitled Grandaddy, Can I get an AK-47 or From What I know This is How it Works if you don't believe me...or even if you do believe me...

ANYWAYS....

No soap dolls, no bullets, no carving up hobos....

He was, are you ready for this?

Getting rid of fucking poison ivy.

Forget the cream, or a shot, or whatever it is normally people do.

No. No.

See, this was round two.

Round one involves a razor blade and bleach. He cuts open the rash, and pours bleach on it. Because that sounds like fun. And, obviously bleach is made to go on open cuts.

Fucking insane.

But that didn't work. So apparently, the idea was to clean his arm, cut off the rash, and pour rubbing alcohol on the raw skin.

I think he should just give up on law school and switch over to med school. Right?

On a completely different note, I have a new nickname, Sharp Nails. Like Sharp-Tooth's long lost cousin. Crazy ass adventures in shit kids say and do coming soon!

- Sharp Nails aka Meaniest Teacher Ever aka Psychopath Wife aka @OutofGoldStars

oh wait. that's right. you're insane.

noreply@blogger.com (@OutofGoldStars) — Fri, 26 Aug 2011 00:47:00 +0000

The husband is a complete nerd most days.

You know, four computer screens up in one room with a recently purchased from amazon air conditioner just for his electronics kind of nerd.

The oops, I really stayed up all night playing Civilization (1,2,3, or 4 ?) and pitched a fit when the wife wakes up for work and tells me to go to bed kind of nerd.

The I can't possibly go to sleep without watching Futurama on repeat but the headphones the wife makes me wear hurt my ears when I lie down so I cut a hole in my memory foam pillow, fed the earphones into the pillow, and now have a pillow-speaker for my iPod kind of nerd.

Got the picture?

Ok. GREAT.

Here is what I saw this morning when my 4:35 A. Fucking. M. alarm went off and I stumbled into the bathroom to pee. . . .

Things to notice: kitchen dishwashing soap dispenser, bottle of rubbing alcohol, and a paring knife.
Nope. Nothing fucking wrong here. I mean, it's only the bathroom and all.
Oh wait. I forgot to mention. The husband is slightly insane.
Perhaps I should let you guess what all of these things are for. It'll be like those Walmart commercials where you have to guess what all the products are being used for. . .
Don't know what I mean?
Here yah go. . .

So guess away bloggy friends!

fat pants suck

noreply@blogger.com (@OutofGoldStars) — Tue, 23 Aug 2011 01:13:00 +0000

Let me start this post with a screen shot of a google image search for fat-pants.

Can we please talk about how eclectic this search is?

We've got the lady in the pink top trying to button them, then she shows up 5 shots later with them buttoned. GOLD STAR.
Spanx, if I am googling fat pants, do you really think that I want to shimmy into a pair of your 'you think they are hiding your fat, but then you just muffin top/jelly roll right over the edge' underpants/hellish contraption? No.
Loving the ripped pants. That is sooo my worst nightmare.
All you people standing in one side of your fat pants. Good job. But are they really your former pants?
Green shirt man, you are my favorite.

Ok. So I used to be skinny as a stick. I don't exactly know what happened. I used to eat entire dominos pizzas and still be a size 0. I know. It's disgusting.

So, needless to say, I can no longer eat an entire pizza and manage to lose wait in the same 24 hours.

This morning I woke up at 4:30 AM. A. Fucking. M. . . . To go to the gym. And, I actually went. Gold fucking star for me.

Then I came home, actually showered, and got dressed. You read this like it is a lame sentence. However, the husband will gladly tell you that I think showering is overrated. Then one day he broke the shower and it sprayed water everywhere and leaked through the ceiling etc. So then he had to fix it. Good story, I know.

But let me tell you. THIS is the best shower I have ever taken in my entire life. So now, I shower more often.

Peerless 76950 2-in-1 Shower System

Anyways. . . .

My stupid, ugly, must be sized incorrectly, fat pants wouldn't button. My fat pants. And don't you go thinking, oh, psssh. Fat pants, if she was a size 0 a couple years ago, her fat pants must be like a size 4.

No. My fat pants are now a size 12. Except I don't feel like that is a fair size. Perhaps I got so used to not ever gaining weight, that now I can't see it. Perhaps mean, thieving kittens went and swapped all the tags off the pants I was trying on to be funny. Because cats are cruel like that. Who knows. The real point is that we all know how much it sucks to not fit into your fat pants, regardless of what size they might be.

So what did I do? Go get a bagel for breakfast. Because I'm stupid like that.

Then I do the whole teaching children thing and after that I have a stupid class that I signed up for. Because I don't already live at school.

Well. The class sucked. So I quit. Oh man, did that feel fantastic.

Then, after a long day of work/stupid ass class, I decided I deserve a beer.

So ladies and gentlemen, I treadmilled it with a beer for an hour. Because nothing says fat pants suck more than burning calories while drinking.

Thank you Ellen at Life in Reviews for that fantastic picture.

Tomorrow I am wearing a dress or stretchy pants.

And now, to make up for the rant on my fat pants, I have decided to share two lovely videos that prove that I spend way too much time working hard and I really need to just be great at doing something stupid and pointless. . .

If you don't know what Nyan cat is, well, your loss.

And by that, I mean, you aren't missing much.

Can someone please pay me to design stupid manicures instead of paying me jack shit to teach our future generation? Thanks.

Because eating spaghetti with normal utensils is just too demanding.

What are people going to do, pull the fork thing out of their purse at a fine Italian restaurant?

Jesus. H. Christ. I am so in the wrong profession.

Anyone out there have fat-pants horror stories?

why women shouldn't drive

noreply@blogger.com (@OutofGoldStars) — Sat, 20 Aug 2011 01:20:00 +0000

If you burned your bra in the 70's, this post is not for you.

Please tell me why in the world all women are allowed to drive. And by women, I mean human kind in general. Because men are completely capable of being douche canoe drivers too.

1. Why the fuck is there a dog driving the luxury SUV? And when I say driving, I don't mean, "oh look how cute, see that parked car in the parking lot over there, looks like a dog is driving!" I mean, a fucking dog is in the front seat, touching the steering wheel while the car is in motion.

But don't worry, if it was just one dog driving the vehicle, that might not be very safe. It should be TWO dogs driving. Oh wait, there already are TWO dogs driving!

But wait, not only is the blonde woman letting her dogs drive her baby-mama-mobile, but she is also talking on the phone at the same time! And, as she drives by me, it get's even better. She's got all those damn disney family decals on her car.

Quit cocking your heads. You are going to fucking crash. It's not something to smile and get cutesy about.

2. Sometimes, when I am driving to work and I get to the last stretch that happens to be the road I grew up on and learned to drive on, I forget that I am not 30 seconds away from the alarm clock going off to cue my mother to wake up and realize that I did not make it home by curfew. Might, maybe, never ever ever, run over a small child waiting in the dark at the crack of dawn for their bus to pick them up.

3. To the lady who made the illegal for a no good fucking reason U-turn in her brand new Audi convertible today, you are a bitch. I am glad your top was down and my windows were down so you could hear me over your Whitney Houston music. Just so you know, broken hearts don't usually go to the Audi dealership. So glad I had Cee Lo at my fingertips. Blasting FUCK YOU over your sappy boo-hooing illegal U-turning ass that made me not make the fucking light on my way home from work after one of my chunky monkeys missed the bus because he walks too slow...well, it made my afternoon.

Ignore my bad grammar. I can dissect a sentence like no one's business. But this isn't a book, it's a blog. So just be glad I use capital letters and periods every now and then.

3-cheers for fat kids update

noreply@blogger.com (@OutofGoldStars) — Wed, 17 Aug 2011 01:09:00 +0000

So today, my chocolate milk drinker did not in fact choose chocolate milk. About half-way through lunch (since obviously my school does not provide teachers with duty-free lunches) I walk around encouraging students to eat the decent food on their tray and open their milk. She of course had not opened her milk. So I reminded the entire table she was sitting at to open their milk and drink up. Then we had a discussion about what they drink with dinner at home. When it was her turn, I was cringing on the inside, waiting for her to say Coke or Fruit Punch or some other form of liquid 'I told you.' But no. She said milk. So I asked her what kind of milk she drank.

She drinks the mother fucking white milk at home. Holly mother fucking god damn shit parade fuckballs.

So I said, "WOW! What a healthy choice!" and high-fived her (and the other kids with healthy choices). Two minutes later, she walks up to me and her pants are all wet. Apparently, *I* bumped into her when I was walking away and spilled half her milk on her pants. Bitch please. You poured that shit on yourself. But no. That was not all. Then she held my hand and walked me over to her seat where there was more milk. . . .all over her seat. Please explain to me how you can pour milk all over your legs and all over the middle of your seat unless you were standing up when it "spilled."

Just my luck I will have mom standing at my door in the morning with a shot gun. So, if I am not blogging in the next day or so, please tell someone that my tombstone should read "the chocolate milk wench."

Grandma says no.

fine, go ahead and be fat

noreply@blogger.com (@OutofGoldStars) — Tue, 16 Aug 2011 00:43:00 +0000

First off, this post is not against fat people. I am currently becoming a fat person. And my husband is a chubby dude. Good. Now that we are all clear. . . .

Apparently some parents do not like my food policies. Which really aren't even food policies. They are called, your kid is so fat they can't walk up the stairs without taking a fucking break and I don't have time for breaks on the stairs nor do I want to see your kid get diabetes, policies.

High poverty school = kids in the neighborhood mostly eat shit food = they are overweight and under exercised. It's really quite sad. A couple years ago I got all hooked on Jamie Oliver's Food Revolution TV Show.

I thought it was GREAT. Because let me tell you, cafeteria food is SHIT. When my kids can get a balanced meal of a 42gm of sugar chocolate milk, fried pizza balls, french fries, and a pudding cup for a meal, we have a problem. And don't you all start with, well, I'm sure some vegetables/fruits being served. Let's be real. If a kid has a choice between french fries and broccoli, you know what they are going to pick. Same thing goes for an apple or a pudding cup. DUH. I am all for student choice. But why can't their choices both be healthy? Hello?

So now for three years, I have banned chocolate milk for my class. Except I didn't really ban it. I told the kids that if the entire class drank white milk or water everyday for lunch that I would bring them ice cream on the last Friday of the month. They totally bought in and I have never have had any complaints. Until today. Fuckers.

I had an irate mother call administration and complain that I was making her child thirsty and that my chocolate milk ban is some sort of cruel and unusually punishment.

FUCK YOU.

Peer pressure is where it is at. Those kids are going to be so sad tomorrow when I look down the table and see the one chocolate milk and I have to tell them that they won't be getting ice cream in a week or so. See how long that lasts.

Bitch please.

one week down, thirty-nine to go

noreply@blogger.com (@OutofGoldStars) — Fri, 12 Aug 2011 23:24:00 +0000

Ok. So this is not a poop post, but it is certainly a *I just got home from happy hour after the first week of school* post. There will be typos. Don’t judge me. I am a good teacher. A good teacher with bad blog grammar. You liked that fragment, didn't you? Get over it.

Here's a little background about my school: 1500+ students and 95% poverty level. It's a drama-prone school. It's a fucking hot mess. I fucking love it. . . . Some days more than others.

So, just like the research tells us, I need to keep stuff short, sweet, and to the point. Here yah go.

Lessons Learned This Week

Twitter for students is fucking amazing. Each day, a kid gets to tweet. Here's my favorite potential tweet, "They must have been checking out my handsomeness and my awesomeness. Like, obviously" (unfortunately for my class twitter followers, it wasn't this kiddo's day; fortunately for you, it wasn't his day and he is hilarious, but completely on accident),
Even if you have a student who is not capable of completing a homework assignment, you should still send one home because Mom might need to review place value herself. Mom, you got a check minus this time. Let's try to bring it up to at least a solid check. And yes, your handwriting kinda, sorta, maybe, definitely gave you away.
There is nothing fucking wrong with going to bed by 7:30 two nights in a row. In fact, it is amazing.
If you wake up at 5:00 AM and there is a large-ass spider on the ceiling, you can't just tell your husband to kill it when he wakes up. Fuckers. Now I am going to wake up with a large-ass spider laying eggs in my nose. Or something equally as creepy.
Most schools are just asking to be sued on a daily basis.
Every class has at least one frog-hopping student.
Don't go to happy hour with teachers in the south and expect anything other than being deeply annoyed/offended/shocked. Tonight's realization: apparently like one third of the teachers I work with have guns in their cars. HOLY FUCKBALLS. Because that's smart.
Drinking in my school shirt in my school's neighborhood is fun. NOT.

Fun week. Here's a funny video to make up for the not so funny post.

Fucking fantastic. Send him my way when he is older and in school. We'll have some fun.

this is a poop post

noreply@blogger.com (@OutofGoldStars) — Wed, 10 Aug 2011 02:01:00 +0000

If you don't want to read about poop, then you might want to check back tomorrow. Because this is a poop post. . . among other things.

It's only the second day of school, so don't get all excited. It's not a kid poop story. It's too early in the year for that. I need at least ten school days before I can start writing about 3rd grade shit.

Florence, the dog days are not over. Some days dogs get on my freaking last nerve. Okay, well, maybe most days.

Let me show you why. . . .

Example 1:

Dear inventor of green fluff. You fucking suck. EVERY fucking dog bed with green fluff is gone within a week. If you make green fluff beds, it should come with a guarantee that if it is destroyed within the first week, you will come to the house to clean the fluff. My dyson doesn't like fluff. It despises fluff.

And then the dogs cry and bark when I take it away. Really? Want to move that fluff out of your mouth while you whine?

Example 2:

Go ahead. Be jealous. I got a mid-shit picture. Okay, over the jealousy yet? Notice how the dog is shitting on the patio square thing. Also, notice that the ground is dry. Not wet. No need for a princess dog to refuse to go on the wet grass. No, no, folks. She's just lazy as shit. Get it, lazy as shit? I know, I'm really witty.

Example 3:

The husband would be so proud. They found a use for the *useless, ugly, waste of space, pillows.* Fuck you husband. And fuck you dogs. So glad you grabbed a bone to snack on. Maybe if you hadn't eaten your green fluff bed you would have had your own place to chill. But no, why do that? Throw pillows are so much better.

Example 4:

Dog, when I tell you to move, I mean MOVE. All I wanted to do was close the damn curtains. You didn't have to be all passive aggressive. Yes, I see you with your eyes half-open. Bitch.

Example 5:

Nothing. I mean nothing smells worse than fresh, steaming hot, shit on your carpet. I earn a gold star though, because this time, I didn't throw up a little in my mouth when I went to clean it up.

And there we go. . . . just lost 5 followers for that one. You can't say I didn't warn you. It is a poop post.

if i say it's a name, then it's a name

noreply@blogger.com (@OutofGoldStars) — Mon, 08 Aug 2011 01:34:00 +0000

Over the weekend I created a Facebook page. Now. Here's the thing. In my real life I have a Facebook page. With my real name and all that jazz. I used to be obsessed with it. But now that I have taken on this @OutofGoldStars identity, I am finding that I prefer internet socialization with my new bloggy friends and tweeps. That being said, Facebook, you fucking suck.

Here's an idea. If I tell you a fucking name, go with it. There are some strange ass names out there. I PROMISE you that my names are not the strangest of the strange.

First I tried @OutofGoldStars.

Mark Zuckerberg and his friends didn't like that. . . .

Then I tried plain old OutofGoldStars

Mark Zuckerberg and his friends didn't like that either. . . .

Oh Mark. You fucking suck. Who are you to decide how many capital letters a name can have? Hmmm? I'm waiting. Yah. Douche bag.

So then I decided I would give them a nice, normal, used on a daily basis name. Jane Doe.

Mark Zuckerberg and his friends really didn't fucking like that. . . .

Dear Mark Elliot Zuckerberg and all your asshat employees, Jane Doe is a very common name. Why wouldn't you approve it? What, are you afraid the zombie apocalypse has started and zombie Jane Doe's are going to take over your precious Facebook?

So I figured maybe it was a mistake. I mean, Jane Doe. No characters other than letters. Only one capital letter per name. Perfect. Right?

So I tried normal, lovely, Jane Doe again.

Mark Zuckerberg and his friends got really fucking annoyed with me. So annoyed that they even took the time to change their message!

Fine Mark. You win. I'll give you my real name.

Janet Doe.

HA. HA. HA.

Motherfucker.

I teach plenty of students with real names, like on their birth certificate names, that would not meet Mark's high standards. Names with invalid characters. Names with multiple capital letters. Names that would score upwards of 100 points if played correctly on a scrabble board (I mean, who has an X, Y, and a Z in their name?). So Mark. What do you have to say for yourself?

dancing is cool

noreply@blogger.com (@OutofGoldStars) — Sat, 06 Aug 2011 22:45:00 +0000

Ok, so this is a lazy Saturday post. No point denying it.

Apparently dancing is cool. I suck at dancing. . . . when people are watching. I can DDR like no-ones business, but I don't think most people would consider that dancing.

These kids are fucking amazing though. Like really fucking amazing. Like I have watched it 5 times today fucking amazing.

How serious are the international kidnapping laws? I so want these kids in my class.

Maybe my bad ass DDR dancing abilities are not so lame after all. Did you know you could swing dance to the Mario Brothers music? Neither did I.

Don't judge me for watching the entire video. You probably watched it too.

Oh yah. Boy bands are back. . . . Just not in the US. South Korea knows where it's at!

So smooth, so stylized, so choreographed, so, so fucking cool.

Shut up. They are fucking amazing.

That's it. I'm moving to South Korea will people *actually* have an appreciation for boy bands.

The next time these guys drive by me. . . .

. . . .I'm blasting Super Junior. I'll show them. Who's fly now hot stuff?

you know when you don't know the lyrics so you just mmm-bop it?

noreply@blogger.com (@OutofGoldStars) — Fri, 05 Aug 2011 03:22:00 +0000

So my car battery got replaced the other day. Thank you Honda dealer for telling me that my maintenance required light was on because I needed an oil change. You would think that by 80,000 miles that would be a regular occurrence if you were correct. Anyways. Since I have such an expensive sound system in my honda with 80,000 miles complete with a dog hammock in the back seat, my radio/clock/CD play/tape deck requires a 5-digit code to make it fucking work. Now, Honda asshats, please tell me why a radio thingy with a tape-deck requires a security code.

No one is going to steal this shit!

So this means that I have been driving around for a couple days now having to entertain myself in the car. You know, making up my own NPR All Things Considered stories and generating new songs. Because clearly, me being the person that mmn-bops my way through most songs, does not remember the real lyrics enough to actually sing the real song.

Here's one from today on the way to work at 6:00AM.

You see me driving down this road like everyday and I'm like, FUCK YOU.
I've got some kid shit in my car and a diet coke and I'm like FUCK YOU and a FUCK THEM TOO.

Say if I was richer I still be sleepin, ha - aint that some shit.

Although the kids are great most of the time, I'm like FUCK YOU.

It goes on...but I'll leave it there for now. I know. I'm the next you-tube sensation.

Well, maybe not.

But these guys are. . . .

Ok. . . . those were funny. But if you haven't seen this one. . . get ready for the mother fucking tissues. For real. Cried like a baby. Maybe that's because I had a few glasses of wine. Both the first time I saw it and now. Ok. For real. Crying while typing. I am so pathetic. I know it is 8 minutes and 2 seconds. You will watch all 8 minutes.

So, do you think my song will be the next you-tube sensation? Cause when I get fired for not being able to keep my mouth shut around administration, that is my back-up plan.

sometimes I am annoying

noreply@blogger.com (@OutofGoldStars) — Thu, 04 Aug 2011 02:12:00 +0000

So my husband has been working out of town all summer and that has been interesting. Mostly because I have become the sole person responsible for my three crazy ass, non-stop barking, poop in the house when I am pissed at them or lazy, dogs. Anyways. The husband will be coming home on Sunday. Which is fantastic because I have missed him and his dog whispererness. But in reality, we are going to start getting on each others nerves again very quickly. You know what I mean. So, in honor of his impending return, I have compiled a shit list for you.

Annoying Ass Stuff I Do to Piss Off the Husband

Curse in public where ~~people can probably but maybe not hear me~~ people can't mother fucking hear me. Sometimes you just have call people mother fuckers. Or asshats.
Decide not to curse in public because I *know* it will piss the fuck out of him. So instead I say things like...pulled that out of their ass or, my new favorite, makes me want to fart rainbows (Husband, you can thank tazerwarriorprincess for that one. I know you are SO fucking excited to hear me say it in public. . . .You can stop shaking your head now.)
Describe poop stories from work. Because EVERYONE likes a good poop story.
Go to the farmers market and ~~deliberately~~ accidentally forget his junk food snacks. *Ooops*
Wash his clothes and get too lazy to move them from the washer to the dryer and then they smell like mildew.
Say I'm going to cook dinner...and then decide it's not worth it because I'm not hungry. No, I will not get in the kitchen and make you a sandwich.
Freak out over spiders. Panic attack over spiders. Go completely fucking bananas over spiders. And I'm just talking about these kinds. . . .

You don't even want to know how I react to the big guys.
Come in his office to check up on his homework. Apparently I am not his mother. Who would have thought?
Call him and have nothing to say and then get annoyed that he doesn't want to talk. Or better. Call him over and over and over again because he won't answer.
Yell and scream every obscenity under the sun to make the dogs fucking shut up because I am in bed drinking wine and watching my shows.

Really Annoying Ass Stuff the Husband Does to Piss Me Off

Intentionally, deliberately, incredibly on purpose, leaves articles of clothing all over the house. A sock here, a shirt there, etc. I retaliate by ~~ignoring it until I can't ignore it anymore and then putting it away for him~~ training the dogs to eat each article of clothing, but only enough so that he will unknowingly put his foot in what looks like a unharmed sock only to find that it is filled with dog slobber and snot and hopefully smells like a dog farted on it.
Refuses to kill a spider for me because I am a *big girl.* Fuck that shit. Our gender roles work nicely. Stick to them.
Stays up playing computer games until I get up for work just to rub in the fact that he only has classes 3 days a week. Then when finals come, freaks out about how tired and unprepared he is. Hmmmm. Maybe you should have fucking thought of that when you were playing video games a month of go. Two words. Time. Management.
Puts a pillow between us in the king size bed because he doesn't want to touch me. Then when I threaten to spit on him because he is being a pain in the ass, he tells me that one day when I least expect it, he will retaliate by squeezing honey on my face while I am sleeping and send the dogs in to lick it off. Two words dear. Douche. Bag. What the holy fuck balls? a) it's a king size bed, so you weren't even touching me anyways b) yah fucking right are you not going to touch me c) if you ever put honey on my face you are in for a full out battle. And honey dear, I've got blogger friends who will come up with bad ass shit to do to you.
Pretends to fall asleep when we are out to dinner. It is just cruel. I clearly am not creative enough to be that annoying.
Sings opera in public just to get a rise out of me.
Intentionally leaves empty milk cartons in the fridge. When asked why he does this, he says ~~he is really incredibly fucking lazy~~ it helps him remember to put milk on the grocery list that is attached to the fridge door. Who does that?
Keeps the entire cupboard of dishes in his upstairs office. Each plate crusted with some sort of nasty old food. Then when asked to take them to the dishwasher, he says in a minute. They never fucking make it to the dishwasher. MEN. They are all the same.
Has two fucking offices. An upstairs office and a man cave complete with an office, an exercise room, and a tool room.
Tells me not blog about him. Ooopsie doopsie. <insert big, fake, sarcastic, smile>

You may think you wear the pants . . .

Now, one question and one request. . . .

What's on your shit list?

Start thinking of bad ass shit for me to do when our all out battle takes place because he mother fucking puts honey on my face.

dear school leaders,

noreply@blogger.com (@OutofGoldStars) — Tue, 02 Aug 2011 22:06:00 +0000

Oh how I missed you over the summer. Not. Now that the dreaded staff meetings are starting up again, I would like to give you some pointers.

1. If you have to sell us (the teachers, not the students) a themed school year through not one, but two, poorly designed presentations then the theme aint working. And why exactly do we need a theme? Why can't we just do our job and teach?

2. Have you heard of separation of church and state? Please don't tell me to pray about something. I am cool with Jesus being your homeboy, but it's not Sunday and I'm not at church. Maybe if you auto-tuned it like this I would be ok with it...

3. On tomorrow is not grammatically correct. Please don't say it. It makes you look stupid.

4. Please don't sing to me when I have shit to hot glue.

5. Also, please don't dance for me. No really. I don't need to see it. Oh great. Now we are going to have a dance party. Again, I have shit to hot glue.

Now that I have given you some fucking excellent pointers, I will share with you a true example of leadership.

XOXO,
@OutofGoldStars

i fought the alarm clock...and the dogs won

noreply@blogger.com (@OutofGoldStars) — Mon, 01 Aug 2011 11:26:00 +0000

MOTHERFUCKER.

It is too early.

I am a vampire.

I need to sleep.

Now.

Kill that thing making all that fucking noise.

AHGHGHGHGHGHHGH.

Stab it.

Throw it across the room.

Fuckers. That's my phone.

And now the dogs are barking out of control.

Motherfucker. Now I have to get up.

Welcome to the next 180 days of hell. Why I thought teaching was a good idea? I don't know. Teachers get up at the crack of fucking dawn.

Now let's watch a cute kid movie to make us feel better.

Ready. Set. Go.

I like my school. . . . I can do anything. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. I can do anything good, yah, yah, yah. Better than anyone. . . . Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.

And now I am going to be late. Fuckers. Is it bad to go in with wet hair to a staff meeting?

shit my students say and do

noreply@blogger.com (@OutofGoldStars) — Sun, 31 Jul 2011 04:41:00 +0000

Shoot me in the face. I have to go back to work on Monday. All you parents out there who are doing the happy dance because in the next couple of weeks your precious little child gets out of your fucking hair. . . . I really hate you right now. Yes, your child is precious, and smart, and always well behaved. . . . on the first day of school. Then they just give me a run for my money. I'm not saying that I don't love teaching and that I don't spend 10+ hours a day at school during the school year, but man, kids these days are interesting little people.

So, on that note, I thought I would share a few highlights from the past couple of years. . . .

Kindergarten

PJ Day: Pajama day at school my first year teaching was one of the most unforgettable moments ever. I had this super spunky girl in my class who totally marched to her own drum. Well, on PJ day I wore my footsie pajamas. . . . only they looked more like a flying squirrel suit than real footsie pajamas.

Thank fucking god I was smart enough to wear MORE than just the flying squirrel suit. I happened to also wear leggings and a tank top. The kid unzipped my PJs, climbed inside, zipped them back up, and squealed, "I'm a little snuggle bunny!" before I had figured out what the fuck was going on. She will be in my 3rd grade class this year. Should be fun.

Michael Jackson: One of my boys decided to thrust himself at one of my sweet, quiet, lovely young girls. I took him into the hallway for one of those teacher talks and this is the conversion that followed...

Me: WHAT ON EARTH ARE YOU DOING?
Boy: I dunno.
Me: Nice try.
Boy: I didn't mean to.
Me: Try again.
Boy: I'm sorry?
Me: Eeeeghhh. Wrong answer.
Boy: Ummm, well, umm. Michael Jackson does it.
Me: Uh.
Boy: Michael Jackson does it like this. . . .
Me: <oh dear fucking god what do I do now???> Umm, I think you need a time out. That is not how a gentlemen acts towards a lady.

Awesome.

Poop: My second year teaching I had a very chunky little boy. He loved his lunch. . . and the other students' lunch. One day he grabbed his butt at lunch and looked at me with utter fear. Clearly, he was about to/already had shit his pants. I told him to run. About 20 minutes later when he hadn't returned I went looking for him. When he wouldn't respond to my call, I went into the boys bathroom, past the kids sword fighting (yes, your little boys sword fight in the bathroom, and I'm not talking about with pretend swords), and stopped at the last stall. All I could see were underpants and socks in a pile on the floor. I knocked on the door, and my chunky little friend crawled out underneath. . . . with his pants on. . . . and shit on his head. Fan-Fucking-Tastic.

3rd Grade

Hide-and-Seek: I had several students in my class who enjoyed playing one-sided games of hide and seek. On one particular occasion, I found one of my 10 year olds pretending to swim on the drain of the boys bathroom. Dear fucking god. I thought I left that shit behind in kindergarten!

8 Days a Week: Probably one of my all time favorite happy, this is not fucking happening to me, moments ever. Every morning my students listen to the Beatles during morning work. One day, during a silent reading session, I was out in the hallway adding stuff to a bulletin board when I heard one kid start tapping his pencil. A few minutes later I hear another student start humming. And then, much to my surprise, my life actually turned into a fucking musical. My entire class started singing 8 Days a Week. All by themselves. I think I started crying. I mean, just a little bit. Later in the year we had scheduled sing alongs. This was their favorite video to sing along with. . . .

As the school year starts up, I am sure I will have tons of redonkulous stories. But for now, I will leave you with a back to school tip. . . don't believe everything your kid says about their teacher and their teacher won't believe everything they say about you.

appling, the new planking

noreply@blogger.com (@OutofGoldStars) — Fri, 29 Jul 2011 16:00:00 +0000

So apparently people are bored out of their minds. Or they are unemployed and have nothing better to do. Or they have gotten tired of watching the debt limit shenanigans and all the tv shows are on summer break. Or they are nerdtastic....minus the tastic.

First we had planking...

Then we had coning...

Then we had owling....

Now, I suggest, we start the appling trend. Because this is fucking hilarious!

Seriously. WAY better than coning. I mean, who wants to drive around with ice cream all over their hands??

transportation is not a cocktail party

noreply@blogger.com (@OutofGoldStars) — Thu, 28 Jul 2011 17:40:00 +0000

I don't know about you, but when I am trying to get from Point A to Point B and it involves riding with strangers, I have no desire to talk to you, listen to you talk, or participate with you in any sort of game. It is not a fucking cocktail party folks.

Air Transportation

I had the joy of sitting infront of the most obnoxious child on the earth. And his parents. The most obnoxious parents on the earth. Parents, I know you all think your kids are the shit, but let's be real, sometimes they are little shits. And when they are little shits, they need to be put in their place. Not coddled.

When obnoxious seat 24E decides to make a fort under my chair, the response should not be, "Oh, good boy. Kisses for mommy."

When obnoxious seat 24E decides to play bumper cars on the back of the fucking seat, the response should not be, "Oh, that a good boy, play play nice nice!"

When obnoxious seat 24E decides to use the tray table as a treadmill, the response should not be "Yay! Strong boy run fast fast!"

Here's a fucking idea lady. Make your kid stay in his seat. Invest in a refurbished i-pod touch to pacify the kid or, if that is too much, I'm not opposed to baby benadryl.

And cut the baby talk. You are stunting his vocabulary growth.

AND, furthermore, why the fuck is his white blanket named Night Night Colors?

Ground Transportation
Have you heard of the those candles that smell like roadkill, bacon, and farts? Because I have. And so had the guy standing behind me waiting for ground transportation. In fact, he invented them. I guess that makes you famous. Being on the shark tank show and what not. Personally, I don't really give a flying fuck. And I really don't want to hear about it while I wait for the asshat who is supposed to be providing me with a cheaper and FASTER way into the city.

I swear to god, we waited for an hour to leave the airport. Why didn't we just take a taxi?

Instead, I got to stand with my annoyed at me for not keeping my mouth shut husband, candle man and his lotion lady friend, and the driver who wouldn't drive...

Me: Hurry the fuck up!

Candle Man: Well, did you know that the fart scent is our most popular?

Driver: Let me run inside real quick.

Me: BALLS!

Candle Man: In fact, more women buy the stinky candles than men.

Driver: Hmm, run around like a chicken with my head cut off despite the fact that I have van full of people including the famous candle man who has places to go and people to see.

Me: STAB YOU IN THE BALLS!

Candle Man: Cracker Barrel and Bass Pro Shop are great for sales.

Driver: Let me go call my grandma, and eat a 7-course meal, and adopt an orphaned kitten.

Me: HOLY MOTHERFUCKER.

Candle Man: Have you thought about chocolate scented lotion, I bet that would be huge for women.

Me: ASSHAT, DRIVE THIS MOTHERFUCKING VAN NOW.

Me: CANDLE MAN, NO ONE WANTS TO WALK AROUND SMELLING LIKE A GODDAMN HERSHEY BAR!

Me: RELEASE THE KILLER KITTENS!

Pow! Pow-Pow! MEOOOOW! Pow!

Driver: Oh shit, killer kittens! Maybe I will drive that van with that profane crazy lady and the famous candle man....

And we arrived at our hotel 2.5 hours after our fucking plane landed. But don't worry. The hotel has an $85 bath listed in its services. So perhaps I should relax a bit.

in the name of coolness

noreply@blogger.com (@OutofGoldStars) — Wed, 27 Jul 2011 18:23:00 +0000

And now for my own version of 25 Things Kids Today Will Never Have

25 Things Kids Were Singing Fucking Hallelujah to Never Ever Having to Deal with and are Now Pooping Their Pants that They Might Actually Have to Endure in the Name of Coolness

25. Waiting in line to buy a "limited eddition" stuffed animal and then carry it around when you are 10 years old. Because that's what the cool tweens do these days.

24.I know. Let's write gossip about each other in this book and leave it around where evil adults can find it, read it, then lecture the shit out of us for....oh wait. That's what social networking is for.

23. Slap Bracelet. Because slapping is fashionable.

22. One word. Wedgie.

21. The Long Sleeve Micro-Mini wil never be cool. Maybe they are just underwhelmed by it all. And if you don't know what I am referencing, you clearly weren't one of the cool, I watched Clueless one billion times, kids like I was.

20. No. It wasn't cool then. It isn't cool now. The only time it was ok is if you are Sue Sylvester for Halloween....in 2009. And even that is not cool.

19. On a Farm. In construction. But nowhere else. Well, unless you are a boy band. Jonas Brothers, did you hear that?

18. Why slouch socks? What purpose do they serve? Maybe you could store snacks in them. Maybe if they were protecting your ankles/cankles from bug bites. Maybe they are for carrying tiny kittens.

17. Scrunchies. They scrunch. They match your slouch socks. They make for good slingshots. Maybe they should come back in style for that very reason.

16. I know, let's all walk around with an electronic device attached to our hand that can't talk to you for real, can't play real games with you, and can't play movies. I'm going to be first in line. Did I mention that you have to watch it shit and feed it or it dies? FUN!

15. It traps stuff and it keeps stuff....until it all falls out the bottom. You can also make your own sound effects to neon safari theme.

14. They were uncool before they were even cool the first time. Good luck the second time around.

13. All the cool kids say it. I think I will teach my students to use these phrases on teachers I hate.

How Rude.
Talk to the Hand.
Wax on...Wax Off.
All that and a bag of chips.

12. More people most have been fucking color blind in the 90's.

11. I don't even know where to fucking start...

10. Really? Raisin men kids meal toys? Hardees, what were you thinking?

9. I know. Let's put bra parts in our hair. And add some pretty butterflies to get their attention. Then the boys will really like us.

8. No. No. and No.

7. Here's an idea. Buy clothes that fit. Then your shirt doesn't need a bitchin ponytail.

6. Puffy headbands scare me. They are like bumpers for your head.

5. Holly Balls. The pieces are so small. You can't even walk Polly around. And her home certainly doesn't fit in your pocket.

4. Puff Painted and Bedazzled Clothes. The fact that there were NO pictures on the interwebs to accurately describe my memory of puff paint makes me think I was exposed to some bizarre form of torture. The hand-made, matching sister outfits for all occasions...puffed and bedazzaled.

3. When the parties weren't sarcastic and you didn't win a fucking gold star for looking like shit.

2. Balls. Not cute at all.

1. Fucking Yes! Cameltoe and suspenders are going to be trendy again!

For those of you who are annoyed that I have now posted 3 fucking posts about the 90's, I'm sorry. They really did suck balls. I know. This will be the last mention of them for a little while. Also, you know you read all the way to the bottom of the list...so you can't be that annoyed.

What were your worst memories of the 90's? Cause let's face it, all those websites out their glorifying the 90's are redonkulous.

harold camping may be on the right track...maybe the world IS ending

noreply@blogger.com (@OutofGoldStars) — Wed, 27 Jul 2011 02:09:00 +0000

Because apparently...the 90's are trendy again. WHAT THE HOLY FUCKERS?!? ARE YOU SHITING ME?!?

Now obviously, I was one of the cool kids who clearly realized how lame, over-hyped, and redonkulous the 90's were. Yes. I said redonkulous....and I'll say it again.

Or maybe not so cool...Cue the headgear, braces, bangs with a cowlick, glasses, and acne.
Thanks mom and dad. No way I could hang with kids like Tia, Tamera, Topanga, and Clarissa.

If this accessory for American Girl dolls would have been available then, I probably would have had one for each of my 3 dolls...because again, I was cool like that.

Way to be inclusive American Girl. One question though....is the headgear marketed at children to accessorize their dolls or at parents to make themselves feel better about making their kid wear the fucking thing?

Anyways, back to Camping's prediction that the world was ending on May 21st...

Why, you might ask, do I say the 90's are back?

Proof:

Trending Article

25 Things Kids Today Will Never Have

You know that you remember all of those...and yes, some of them are a bit older than the 90's. Get over it.

Trending Video

Fuck. Shit. Fuck. I was bobbing my head. Oh wait. I don't pretend to dislike music from the 90's.

Trending Hashtags

See number four. In all likelihood, you didn't even need to look because you a) don't care b) already knew what I was referring to c) used #90sareallthat or d) created #90sareallthat.

Trending Fashion

Ok, so clearly these are not current photos. But you know that you will see these stylish pieces everywhere you fucking go now...

So maybe we shouldn't have signed up for Eternal Earth-Bound Pets: The next best thing to pet salvation in a Post Rapture World, but as most people assicoate all things 90's with a version of hell, maybe our dear friend Camping was just a few months off. You know, floods, earthquakes, tornados, 90's...it's just a matter of time.

Stay tuned for my own version of 25 Things Kids Today Will Never Have...entitled...25 Things Kids Were Singing Fucking Hallelujah to Never Ever Having to Deal with and are Now Pooping Their Pants that They Might Actually Have to Endure in the Name of Coolness