I’m losing it, dudes. I don’t know if “doing it all” is quite my speed. I’m usually more sloth-like motivated when it comes to being busy. The idea of being highly occupied with more than one really important thing sounds like something that might come with rewards, but I usually regard those kinds of notions with a wary-eye-sneaking-around-my-bag-of-Cheetos-caution/disdain. What was I thinking believing I could do this. I don’t know if I can teacher AND student.
Following is how awesome I’m playing the part of Grad Student Teacher.
Continue reading “5 Ways I'm Killin' It As A Grad Student Teacher”
Tag: blogging
Lemme Know
Happy Monday! Or, f@%*!, it’s Monday! I need some feedback from you beautiful people. I am planning on scheduling my posts for the same day and a time once a week. To reach the maximum amount of my fabulous readers, I want to hear from you about when you prefer to read the blogs you follow. When I schedule doesn’t matter to me, but it matters to the people who are reading my posts.
Do you like to start your day with a cup of coffee and some satire? Or, do you like to curl up with a glass of wine, in the evening, for some laughs?
Please let me know when I should schedule my posts, people!!!
Thanks and cupcakes
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Shopper Lottie-The Art of Public Pooping
Yes, I said “pooping”. I know you are intrigued. Check out my latest post over at Shopper Lottie. The site has recently been revamped and it is positively GORGEOUS and super user-friendly. Go check it out, and while you are there, find out what I mean by The Art of Public Pooping.
Let me know what you think over at Shopper Lottie. I love feedback. Give me ALL the feedback. If you have no feedback to give, let me know if you have anxiety around pooping in public, or if I am just neurotic (probably we already know that…)!
Have a great Tuesday. We are that much closer to Friday. CHEERS!
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My 13th Birthday
20 years ago, today, I turned 13. In celebration of birthdays, fond memories, and penises, I’ve revised and Reblogged a post from my first blog. Enjoy and Happy Birthday to me!
Every girl, from the time of inception, dreams about her 13th birthday (and 16th, 21st, pretty much any special day when you get presents and loads of cake). Your 13th year usually signifies huge changes, such as larger boobage, your own phone line, and the ability to date actual boys. The party is essential. “Party and 13” goes together a lot like Cheech and Chong, or if you’d rather, peanut butter and jelly. Translation: You can’t turn 13 without the party.
I really didn’t want to have the overdone coed party that consisted of 18 girls and two boys, awkward two-left-feet-dancing, and lukewarm punch. Instead, I went along with my mom’s idea of a girls’ spa get-away. Sounds great, right? Well, this spa day was not white robes, massages, and cucumber water, no. This “spa” was Campbell’s Hot Springs in Sierra County, California. It was, most certainly, not what most think of when they think “spa”, but it was an adventure nonetheless.
Before I get into the adventure-of-a-lifetime story, I must, first, explain that my birthday is in January. The year I turned 13, it snowed quite a bit. Quite a bit, as in a crap ton. Not only was it a harrowing drive to Campbell’s, it was quite a hike to an actual hot spring. After trudging through snow drifts and thick trees covered in snow for what seemed like hours, we finally rounded a bend and saw the incredibly inviting sight of steam. Our freezing feet almost felt warm. We excitedly, albeit awkwardly, ran towards the oasis in our thick boots and snowsuits. My mom, still agile in those days, kept up. At this point, she must have seen it all before us, as she gained speed and sprinted in front of us. “OH GOD!” is all she yelled as she tried to use her entire body to shield five 13-year-old girls from…well, it was monumental. Through flailing arms and legs, we were able to see. Out of the steam, like apparitions, were two very naked and hairy men. In total and utter shock, we all stood, mouths gaping, eyes popping out of our skulls. It was our first glimpse of the male anatomy close-up. It was a real gift. My mom, of course, was freaking out. The men were coming towards us, with clueless smiles, asking if we were lost. My mom had no idea how to say simultaneously, “Stay where you are! Apparently we are very lost. GAH! Quit moving forward. Cover your junk, please! Where’s the PG hot springs? Allison, quit drooling. Holy shit!” I was not sure what was more exciting, seeing my mom so flustered and red in the face, or seeing my first, in-the-flesh penis. Eventually, the naked men realized they were advancing towards a pack of pimpled, bad permed, very underage girls. Both, with just one hand, covered their bushes and proceeded to have a very detailed conversation with my mom about where the family area was. My mom was half listening and she responded with “Uh huh’s” as as she tried to turn us around and hide our eyes with her hands. We were all transfixed, agape. Eventually, she successfully scraped the last jaw off the frozen ground and we were turned around towards the non-nudist section of Campbell’s. The rest of the day was uneventful, by that I mean, we didn’t see any more dicks.
On the ride back, my friends and I recounted how awesome it was that we saw our first penis and that we hoped so-and-so from school didn’t have as thick a rug as the guy at the hot springs, because, “That was just gross.”
Later, my mom had to call four sets of parents and apologize for taking their daughter to see her first, live penis.
What was my mom’s worst day ever, was the best, most memorable day for five, hormonal, coming-of-age girls.
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Definitely
Well, today marked the end of my social life and any semblance of free time. Today, my first online course went live. My first assignments are due tomorrow, but like the smarty pants I am, I decided to get a head start (actually, tomorrow is my birthday, so I plan on doing nothing unpleasant all day long).
I am a huge proponent of working smarter not harder. Some examples of working smarter and not harder would be:
- Not reading all of your emails. You may miss a crucial email from your principal, but that is the risk you take when you receive 3,456,782 emails a day.
- Calling, “spraying down your shower with the detachable shower head every day when showering” cleaning your shower. It’s really genius multi-tasking, methinks.
- Choosing to only correct quizzes, class work, and exit tickets, but not homework, because you are not Super Can Do Everything Teacher, and ain’t nobody got time for that.
- Getting fast food all week, for dinner, because then you don’t need to wash dishes. Blam! Lots o’ time saved.
- Grading papers at red lights. AT LEAST I AM NOT TEXTING.
This is obviously an abridged list, and not complete. There are many ways in which you can save time by doing things the “smarter” way.
Today, I went about my usual “smarter not harder’ routine, and things were going swimmingly. I had skimmed through the course introduction page. I purchased books for the course on Amazon while listening to the tutorial on how to send a message to classmates. I typed up my first assignment in a record 3 minutes. I was on a real roll.
Then, immediately after turning my assignment in to the instructor, I turned in that same assignment on the discussion page, per the directions, and I noticed…
definetely.
Yes, this college graduate-self-professed-spelling-stickler-teacher, spelled ‘definitely’ incorrectly on her very first assignment for her masters in education.
I am killing it, guys.
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Now or Never
I am happy to announce that I’m certifiably insane. Methinks, to some of you, that might not come as much of a surprise. With a ton of feedback from all of you (wow, I am beyond grateful), add in some advice from close friends, together with my gut instinct, I’ve decided to do it all! I am Fatty McCupcakes! Hear me roar (well, it’s probably more of a groan, coming from the kitchen floor, where I’m sprawled out, comatose, surrounded by really sweet, half-gone bad decisions. Any way, moving on…)!
Many of the people who lent me their good advice said that no matter what decision I go with, there will likely be regret for whatever I choose to put on the back burner.
I don’t handle regret well.
Right now, I’m riding a really good blogging wave, and I don’t wanna get off. It’s too fun! No, you can’t make me!
Right now also happens to be the time that I can take advantage of a discounted tuition rate, a grant for teachers at Title 1 schools, and a fast-paced program that will result in a masters degree in a year.
How can I dismissively say, “No thanks” to any of that?
I can’t.
On top of it all, while in school, my mammoth student loan will go into “In School Deferment”. This means that I will save close to $400 a month for a year. That’s a lot of paying off debt.
Additionally, one of my top favorites, also my blogging bestie, Katie, suggested that with all the dough I’ll be saving, I can pay someone to clean my house. With that time saved, I can blog! And there we have it, folks!
Problem solved.
The sweet release of knowing my decision has been made is making me feel almost euphoric. Just be warned: in a month, I’ll likely be cursing myself and everyone who suggested this was a good idea. Don’t be offended, it will just be my exhaustion talking.
Here we go!
As an aside, my best friend (from age 2 to when we decided we hated each other for 2 years) has decided to join the dark side, and become a teacher. She will be going through the teacher credential masters program with the same college I’ll be attending. In honor of our being in school together again, I’m planning a blog post about the hilarity, and subsequent idiocy that was our friendship.
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Google Searches and Hairy Older Women
Thanks to Blair, over at The Shameful Sheep, I had to check out the search engine terms that people have used to find my blog. Either they were looking specifically for my blog, or their search for “hairy sex” lead them to my blog. I had no idea that this awesome feature was available to me in the “stats” section of my dashboard. I’m equal parts horrified and amused.
These are some of the search terms:
#teamwearehairy2015
Or, should we extend the club into the new year?
The best part was some of the comments my friends made about these, um, interesting search topics:
After some time thinking about hairy older women and front butts on legs, I got to realizing that I’ve mentioned all of these. All.
I’m assuming, rather than be ashamed, I should be damn proud, as my friend, Jenn says.
Then, I happened upon Suzie’s first post of the new year. In her comments, she suggested reblogging some of your older posts, so newer followers can read your earlier stuff (because even hardcore creepers ain’t got time for that-scrolling months back. Yeah. I’ll just creep your Instagram).
So, what better time to share some links of my earlier blog posts? These posts should prove that I write about some truly random things.
I hope you’ll check these posts out, and you won’t think I’m that hairy or that I’m, like, into hairy older women. Not that that’s bad, or anything…
My Hairy Life
An Ode to the Hairy Women
Porta Poop
Porta Poop #2
Front Butt Thighs
Ugly Sleep
And, a couple just because:
21 Minute Survival Challenge
Get Out the Way, Bitch
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Vroom Vroom
I’m so very sorry to my readers that I’ve been so quiet lately. This past weekend was a whirlwind of car shopping, Steampunk, stress, excitement, and car buying. Yes, I bought a car! All I want to do is drive. If I could comfortably sleep in my new car, you’d find me curled up in my sleeping bag, happy as a hippo.
She’s beautiful. Basically, I’m driving the Taj Mahal of cars. When your old car’s AC doesn’t kick in until you’re home, and it has holes-plural, anything is an improvement.
I have many plans for future posts: My 8th Grade Perm Debacle and Country Living-A City Girl Does Elko, to name just two.
Please bear with me, as it’s hard to write when you’re driving off into the sunset with your new lover.
Vroom vroom
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At Least I Have Ice Cream
Am I the only one who has those kinds of days where amidst the crap and absolute fuckery, you realize there is a carton of ice cream in the freezer, the same ice cream you bought the other day and actually forgot about, and…
It makes everything OK?
Then, every time the stress starts creeping like the neighborhood weirdo, you remember that frozen goodness and it’s OK again?
You think, “At least I have ice cream.”
Am I the only one who is reassured by the promise of gluttony?
Please tell me I’m not…
Either way, I can’t wait until it’s Ice Cream Time.
The actual ice cream I dreamed about all day.
Yes, that’s a cereal bowl that I plan to eat my ice cream out of. Yes, that’s a piggy spoon. Don’t judge me.
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Took a Fart
It’s time to tell it like it is. If you’re a teacher, or you were once a student (this should include everyone. If not, um…) then you know that expelling gas is a huge part of the learning experience, almost more than actual learning. We all remember that embarrassing time we just couldn’t hold it in anymore and we farted in the middle of silent reading time. Or, the time we let go of a silent, but deadly bastard, and our red face gave us away. We all fart. We also have spent a huge chunk of our lives in a classroom, so it’s only natural that tooting happens at school. It happens a lot.
Today, immediately following a serious chat about why it’s important to pay attention, and why whistling during a lesson doesn’t lead to success, one of my students let out a fart that was likely heard in the next room. They were all on the carpet, sitting tall and proud like 3rd graders who are responsible for their own learning. They all (even the culprit) had expectant, eager-to-please, and innocent expressions painted on their little faces. The fart was a mistake. It was not intended to derail learning. And it was just what my stressed-out, exhausted, and wound-up psyche needed.
Basically, I lost it.
Teaching 101 says you never, never respond or react to a fart. Ever. Two very simple reasons why:
- They (your students) will take your laughter as license to act like wild hyenas, and your lesson is as good as over.
- The poor tooter will feel humiliated, and you try to avoid that as an educator and role model.
So, despite my knowledge of these possible outcomes, I lost all composure, and had a very serious, ugly-laughing fit. I was crying. I couldn’t regain my composure. It was awful. At first, I tried to hide my laughter behind my math teacher manual, but eventually someone said, “Um, teacher, are you OK?” I don’t usually sit with a book directly over my face, in front of my whole class, for an extended period of time. They likely thought I had gone crackers. When it could no longer be kept a secret that I was laughing like a fool, I kept saying, “OK, that’s enough. OK. That’s it.” Except I was the only one laughing.
You know those laughing fits you’ve had with a really good friend? The kind where you start making some ungodly repetitive noise and you almost gag yourself? Yeah.
I could not stop.
Eventually, my kids decided it was safe for them to laugh as well. Amidst the laughing and fake farts, someone accused Fred* of farting, and he proclaimed, quite seriously, “It wasn’t me! I take farts outside!” More laughing. Basically, math was over for the day. Thank God we were at the end of the lesson. Also, the teacher gods were watching over me today, for sure, because how awesome would it have looked had my principal walked in, mid-gagging laughing fit? I can’t even.
Some days I rock the shit out of teaching, and some days I’m the reason a single toot derails learning.
At least we had a nice chat about how everyone makes mistakes, farting is only natural, and we weren’t laughing at anyone, but with them.
In honor of my idiotic lack of self-composure and well, because farts, here is a list of truths about gas in the classroom:
- It doesn’t matter the kid, the age, the time of day, or whether it’s before or after lunch, ALL kid farts smell.the.same.
- We (teachers) have announced, at least once in our careers, after a barrage of fart smells, “I think someone maybe needs to go to the bathroom!”
- Students whose first language is Spanish say, “Took a fart”, because that’s the literal translation for ‘farting’.
- The phrase, “Took a fart” never gets old. Ever.
- Every teacher, in the history of teaching, has been guilty of intentional crop dusting, at least once. It’s only fair.
- Physical Education has a higher incidence of farting when compared to other classes, double the rate of incidences after lunch.
***Side note: My own boyfriend once earned an award for maintaining correct sit up form, even whilst farting. Fart pro.
And that’s all I have to say about farting (in a Forrest Gump voice).
