God speaks… through post it notes

God speaks in mysterious ways, or so I have been told.

And his message was very clear.

I stood up the other day and this was stuck to my butt.

damn god has sexy handwriting

damn god has sexy handwriting


I am not certain if was telling me I  like boys or that he likes boys? But, Since we all know I don’t like boys clearly god was telling me that he is gay. Or he is a straight woman. Maybe the message wasn’t that clear after all.

Everyone’s an Addict

What’s your poison?

Looks tasty, I'll have a shot!

Looks tasty, I’ll have a shot!

Is it fast food? Romance Novels? Watching grass grow? Perhaps something harder? Alcohol? Cigarettes? Clown Porn?


It’s exercise.

The kind that you hate to give in to, you dread it, and then somewhere in the middle of it the dread washes away. The adrenaline rushes through your body reaching into your soul. The road beckons you to just go a little further. The wind swirls past you seeming to lure you around the corner. As you slow to a walk, they call to you, begging your return. And in a matter of moments, I am ready to turn around and begin again. Damn, it feels so good.

For some of you this may sound a trifle  addiction. Sure, I can wax poetic about it now, because right now I have it under control. Right now I am not exercising on my way to exercise. Right now I am not laying in bed thinking about my next workout. Right now I am not consumed. How long can I remain in the Right now?

Can you walk the line?

You know it isn’t a straight line, don’t you? The damn line is always moving trying to get me to fall off.

Damn line.  Don’t they know lines are infinitely straight? Who do they think they are?


There is a quiet out here that is unerving

Leaving you alone with your thoughts

Can you imagine a scarier place to be?


Even the wind is afraid to speak


In the silence their is also a beautiful calm

One that slows your breath

and softens your gaze

I think the colors are brighter out here

Maybe without the noise

I can finally see clearly

through the chaos

and into the beauty that lies within

To be or not to be… out that is…

In one week I start teaching at a new school. I am going  back to working in public school.

Every year teachers are frantic setting up bulletin boards, prepping lessons, and worrying about whether or not they will get the crazy students this year all in one class.


But not me.


I am distraught over what to tell my students about my wife.

In Louisiana it is legal to fire someone for being gay. Especially if they work with impressionable youth. My school is progressive, they have a gay straight alliance. And the GSA even has a bulletin board on a main hallway in school. But, that is not the same as an adult teaching children it gets better.


I could ask my principal what she wants me to say, but last time I asked that, I was fired.


I could just do my usual and use words like ‘they’ when they students ask about my husband, and simply not correct them. But, when I do that I feel like I am doing the young gay kids in my class an injustice. I am standing there telling them they should have to hide who they are because it might make someone uncomfortable. Which is not right.

I could correct them when they ask about my husband. But, if I do that do I use the word partner or wife? I use the term wife because we are married, and I personally feel partner is a second class separate but equal term. But, in god’s country, people may not take kindly to me using the word wife. Because didn’t you know that using the word wife means you are shoving your ‘lifestyle’ in everyone’s faces?

Wouldn’t it be nice if I could just go to work?

Wouldn’t it be nice if I didn’t have to worry that a moral lynch mob was going to come after my job simply because I am married?

Maybe If I were butch, the kids would assume I was gay and not ask me about my husband?

I wish I didn’t work with kids sometimes, but honestly, I am a fantastic teacher. Why should the kids miss out on a great teacher, and why should I have to change careers because a preacher can’t be bothered to read his bible?

Or maybe one day, it won’t matter that I’m gay.



Maybe one day I will convince a school to do an it gets better video?

What I learned in Grad School…

I am now a master.

I have learned quite a few life changing things while in grad school. Out of the goodness of my heart I have decided to share a few with you.


1. Putting a group of adults into one room for eight hours a day for an entire summer is a terrible idea. Somehow we made it out alive, yet I am not sure how.


2. If you are lucky people will leave you notes on how to use a toilet.

photo 1


Thank goodness I went to grad school! I had no idea you were supposed to flush these fancy things.

3. Good men still exist.

photo 2


Isn’t nice of this young man to warn girls ahead of time that he has a small dick.


4. If you tell your advisor that you are going to get shots, he will ask to come with you.

photo 3


5. Whatever anyone says it is totally worth it. Educate yourself people.

Blue Milk

This post was inspired by James Madden and rumplemintz shots:

We are feeding our children blue milk.

There was a time when they used to feed cows with leftovers from the beer breweries. This left the cows under nourished and in turn would cause them to make very thin milk. In order to conceal this from consumers they added chalk to the milk; leaving children drinking fake milk.

This is what is happening in the world of Mathematics textbooks.

Look at me! I'm bullshit math.

Look at me! I’m bullshit math.

Corrupt evil crappy geometry textbook companies, yeah that is you Pearson, Holt, and Glencoe,  got together with arrogant stupid fuck heads in the department of education. To create water downed mathematics. To the point where when you open a geometry text book it isn’t actual geometry. But NC, it looks like math to me. That my friends, is because you have been lied to for generations about  math.

You were taught blue math.

Your children are being taught  blue math.

And thus the sorry state of affairs America is in. Uneducated masses buying into the  bullshit from Fox news and Bobby Jindal.

The time has come to stop drinking blue milk my friends.

Wake the fuck up.

Oh the places we go…

My friends I know I have been gone far too long. Here are my very justifiable excuses:

1. Grad School Thesis- two weeks left fingers crossed

2. Family Vacation- went to the beach so be jealous

3. Took on a second job- I got 99 problems and bills are one.


Here is the epic beach trip we took for my daughters 3rd birthday. What? I have a three year old, but I look so young? I know I know its a curse :)


First we get into the car. Because obviously the government is still holding its transporter secret. Damn government. The first that happens is I see corn fields. When I used to see corn fields I would think children of the corn. Every damn time. Now I think “Is that GMO corn.” Dear god, I have gone over to the green side y’all. There is no hope for me. Save yourselves.

This corn will kill you! Watch out!!

This corn will kill you! Watch out!!

Now I realize I was in alabama, but apparently they need to let you know that if you are hungry you should eat.

I'm hungry, but not for your nasty food.

I’m hungry, but not for your nasty food.

You probably can’t see it but it says hungry in giant letters I promise. Then, I think well once I get to the beach I will safe from this food that is obviously trying to get me. And then this happens.

Did the SUV make it? I will never know.

Did the SUV make it? I will never know.

Sure, I could have been a good person and tried to help them from their inevitable demise by shark attack, but who are we kidding I am pro- choice, so we all know I don’t care about human life.

To come full circle on my satanic beach trip we all settled into the condo to play a little magic. Because nothing like casting spells and fighting the underworld to make you feel better about life.

Can you feel the evilness.

Can you feel the evilness?


They can see you

They are in my house waiting for me.


I slowly turn the dead bolt lock and push the door open. Holding my breath in hopes that it will somehow keep the door from squeaking. My eyes slowly criss cross the room looking for any sudden movement.

They hide in different corners of my house every day.

I slowly make my way to the kitchen and jump at the kitchen sink as though an army might come out of the pipes to attack my darkened soul.




I try not to let my foolish excitement overrun me. They are still here. They must be.

I slowly make my way down the hallway. Careful not to make a sound. As I turn the corner, there they are.

Just waiting for me.


Laughing at my utter inability to stop them.


I throw everything I have got at them. To no avail.

And just like that they are gone.

Back into hiding.

Just waiting for my next move.



~my ode to fruit flies~

It’s story time

I often think about how most people only look at their parents lives from the point they became parents to now. I admit it is hard for me to imagine my parents in their youth and when I look at photographs it does not look like them, while at the same time it does.


This leads me to wonder how my children will see me. (hehe I have children, still seems surreal) Will they ask me about my pre baby life? Or will they not want to know about my wild youth? My daughter already asks me everyday for tattoos that match mine. Which makes me think of when I got tattoos and people said, “what will you tell your children when they ask for tattoos?” Well this is what I told her, I said when you are 18 you can get a tattoo and then I took a marker and drew a matching tattoo on her foot. She then screamed and went wipe it off! Parenting success.

I have such amazing stories to tell that I hope my daughters want to hear them. I even have the lofty hope that they will learn something from them. But, the notion that I should hide things I have done or pretend to have always been the perfect adult specimen I am now would be foolish.

When I would ask my mother about her youth, she would get very upset and try and claim that she had never done anything foolish outside of the story she tells about wearing black leather pants. Which only made me feel less connected to her. If you cannot tell someone your stories, can you truly say you have any kind of relationship with them? Honestly, I don’t think so.

Who do you tell your stories to?

Lies, Damned Lies, and Hand Soap

In the restroom at school someone felt the soap on the wall was not good enough, so they went out and bought this soap.


Looks like it may  have potential. I mean look at that green color. Vibrant!

Looks like it may have potential. I mean look at that green color. Vibrant!


I  saw it and thought to myself goodness, I did not know hand soap could be invigorating. So I stood there and pondered do I want the traditional soap, or the invigorating cucumber melon soap experience. I live life on the edge, so I went for the invigorating hand-washing experience. And guess what y’all, It was a huge disappointment. Not only did the soap make not bubbles, it barely smelled of cucumber melon. I left the restroom felling disappointed not invigorated. I had to stop other people from making the same mistake, so I went back and left this on the soap.

Problem solved

Problem solved

Preventing hand-washing disappointment one bathroom at a time, that’s my motto.