Need a laugh?

Need a laugh? ( Mmmm hmmmm

Has the universe left a giant bag of flaming bullshit on your doorstep recently? (Yup!)

We were paper tigers: maybe more creepy than funny, but essentially harmless. 

These were paper facial masks from the beauty section of Target. Buy 3, get one free, but my nephew wanted nothing to do with his mask or with the three of us. 

My biggest regret was that I did not take a video of us making “tiger noises” because we totally were. 

Also MomBert looks like Leatherface from The Texas Chainsaw Massacre. Another missed video opportunity. 

I call this one: “Big Butt Dramatically Exits Chair.”

Dear Fortune Cookie…

Someone was asleep at the wheel when I ordered Chinese food the other night. Instead of the obligatory two fortune cookies, (I assume that they assume that I carry my order back to an additional human. I don’t. I get 3-4 meals out of my delightful carryout.) I got THREE fortune cookies! Oh, the great fortune, I thought, until I started opening them.

Fortune cookie 1: “Always be kind and loving to people older than you. You’ll soon be their age.”

img_8864Ughhh. It’s like the fortune cookie sweat shop (Yes, I mean sweat shop. Hundreds of tiny fingers stuffing fortunes into fragile cookies.) has tapped into my life right now. I’ve been helping my neighbor Sick Margaret mother to the vampiric Baby because she fell…AGAIN. One simple helpful task quickly escalated into more helpful tasks as I put on my smiley helpful face to hide my daily dread of being sucked further into her world.

I want to be  a good person and kind to others, but at the same time I don’t want to interact with my neighbors beyond the friendly wave or head nod.  I’m happy in my bubble of cats and gardening. Conversations about how nice it must be for me to have friends (hers are dead) and “don’t you ever get lonely” intrude heavily into my safe bubble.

Fortune cookie 2: “You are realistic, and others relate to you.”

Oh, fortune cookie! What. The. Hell? I try to be realistic, but most people seem to find my realism horrifying. It might be my delivery which does not always self-edit and is heavy on the sarcasm. Students have gasped from the back of the room: “She’s so real.” This happens primarily when I’m calling out someone on whatever bullshit they’re indulging in at the moment. Surely other teachers have a limit to their tolerance and ability to sugar-coat life.

Maybe I just know too many glass half-full people who react in horror to my assessment of situations. “Let’s not pretend. Let’s be for realz on how this will pan out.” Being realistic labels me as negative and a quitter. Two combine two already odd turns of phrase: The sun does not shine out of my asshole, don’t blow smoke up it.

Fortune cookie 3: “Cheerful company and a  merry time.”

Yes! I’ll take it! Let’s get drinks and tacos….but mostly tacos!

Yoga and…..

Yoga and…

Yoga and…

(My sister and I have an unhealthy love of Super Troopers. “Do you boys like Mexico!” is family code for getting tacos.)

Yoga and….FOOD!

I’ve done yoga with cats: awesome! Yoga with some friends and hundreds of strangers in a giant soccer stadium: pretty cool, but almost barfed a little. The instructors kept trying to one up each other and suddenly 50 minutes of yoga turned into 90 minutes on a July evening.


However yoga with the promise of food is on par with petting cats during poses. The local trend seems to be bars and restaurants that will clear out their dining space, bring in a local studio teacher and hold yoga sessions with anything from craft beer to full meals afterwards.

When I’m done flipping my dog, I’m more of a full meal type of girl. If that full meal involves plantains and black beans all the better! El Arepazo, which serves a combination of Venezuelan and Colombian foods, has hosted two yoga brunches that I’ve coerced friends into attending.

Trying to be subtle about setting the camera timer and taking pictures while following instructions was a challenge. The instructors took a ton of photos and continue to use one where my warrior 2 looks like I’m a whiskey barrel with arms and legs attached to promote additional brunches, but I won’t steal pics from them.


The most recent brunch left me moving like I was ready for the retirement home this weekend. Yesterday my hips refused to work which meant lots of hobbling and an inability to try on shoes at DSW unless they were slip-ons. Today my hips are better, but my abs are screaming which means sneezing is an adventure in bodily fluids going everywhere.

For $25 we got a pretty challenging 50 minute session. Part of the challenge was mentally tolerating the ongoing yogi “change your outlook, change your life” life coach monologuing. My glass is often half empty with dead bugs floating in it.

However the pre-fixe meal options afterwards were worth it. The first time I got the chilaquiles (top photo), but this time I tried the tostada (bottom photo). Chilaquiles win due to the overall quantities of plantains and beans. The tostada was good, but was essentially a salad with a few desirable items hidden inside tons of lettuce. I’m no rabbit. That green sauce on the side that is a combination of cilantro and some highly addictive street drug is the magic that holds all Arepazo meals together. I want to bath in this sauce.


Yoga and cats and food so far are the winning combos. Yoga on stand up paddle boards?

I just don’t know.



(But hear my voice -or Samuel L. Jackson’s– when you come wandering into my classroom with time on your hands while I’m staring at the computer wondering who needs strangled next.)


His Samuel L. Jackson impersonation.

Tomorrow is the last day of school. It has been a glorious and terrible week of exhaustion, panic (failing students panicking, not me), and universal done-ness. Tomorrow my colleagues will have an adult meeting with adult beverages and ramble on about their own done-ness.

I am not done.

If I can get the publication kids done, that’s a positive step, but that rarely happens in time for attending the adult meeting.

I am never done.

Miles and I will just leave this here. Whoever wrote it didn’t get the quote quite right, but it is my favorite desktop graffiti. Found during yearbook camp– yes, that’s a thing- that I attend and teach at during the summer.

Just another sign of my not done-ness.


“Say ‘what’ again. I dare you.”