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The last time I felt this horrible was when I had kidney stones three years ago and spent Christmas in the ICU. Which, in hindsight, wasn’t all that bad. Midge brought movies and cuddled in bed with me. The pain was somewhat tolerable with a Morphine drip. However, once I started seeing the face of Jesus in the wallpaper I made them take it out. Talk about ruining a good time.

My body has never handled germs of any kind very well. I’m a chronic puker. When I was in high school a doctor accused me of being bulimic when, after a case of Mono, I couldn’t stop throwing up for weeks. My mother in her prime mama bear days got angry with the doctor and reminded him I’ve had a weak stomach since I was a very tiny baby. As a nurse, she was always very involved when I was sick. Perhaps that’s why, at 32, the minute I feel sick I want my mom taking care of me. And if I asked she’d drop everything and drive two hours to get here, just to rub my back or get me a drink of Gatorade. Since it’s my dad’s birthday tomorrow I’m not asking her to drive up. After all, he only has a birthday every four years.

What I thought was a cold is a full-fledged case of the bird flu—self-diagnosed of course. Sure, I get flu symptoms with a minor headache, but this is beyond ridiculous. I can’t even keep a sip of water down. Not to mention, every part of my body hurts, even my eyebrows. Which is all very inconvenient given that I had a math midterm tonight and a Lost party to attend.

I promised my mom if I wasn’t feeling better tomorrow I’d go in and have then hydrate me with an IV, but until then I’m going to lay on the couch, continue to whine, watch trash TV and remind myself over and over what the silver lining of being sick is…

SKINNY JEANS!

Obviously, I’m going to look really good after this “diet” helps me fit back into them.

I’m in a bad mood today. While I don’t have one specific reason, I have dozens that would suffice. Though for the sake of your sanity, I’ll list the top four.

Winter: I’m so over it! I’m sick of being cold; I’m tired of wet shoes and pants; I’m annoyed there is no decent parking because of snow drifts the size of my car.

Construction: The office suite next to mine has been in a state of construction for what feels like an eternity. It’s loud; It’s distracting; It’s dirty; It’s loud; I can’t walk down the hall without having someone in my way and also being in their way; Oh, and it’s LOUD!

Burns: I have a burn on my hand from attempting to make bread pudding. DISASTER! This was over a week ago and the burn is only getting worse. And yes, I’m applying Neosporin ALL THE TIME, but it’s still getting worse. I suspect I contracted a flesh eating disease from either a) the construction disaster or b) God.

Math class: Really, do I need to explain this? The fact I can’t log into the class because I own a Mac computer. How can an institution of higher education not have a system in place for both a Mac and PC. Totally and completely fucking insane. I can say fuck, I’m in a bad mood. In fact, I can yell it loudly, but you wouldn’t hear me because of the construction.

And yes, Mom, I know you raised me better, but frankly fuck being raised better.

For the past couple of days I’ve been searching for the Netflix movie I need to return with no luck. I gave up and emailed them to see what the cost for replacement would be. In a bad mood I went to the fridge for treats and instead found this:

Working full-time, going to school full-time and making time to watch Snoop Dogg’s Father Hood doesn’t leave me with a whole lot of free time. Fitting in daily tasks such as grocery shopping, sleeping and working out has been a challenge.

Yesterday, while lunching with a co-worker, we decided to try and fit in a liquor store run. The weekend is nearly upon us and I was completely out of wine. Unacceptable. The trip was a complete success; my favorite Shiraz was on sale. Getting into his car to head back to work I heard my mother’s nagging “Buckle-up, Sarah, safety first.” So I did.

A couple of blocks from the office a SUV next to us forgot to check lanes before moving over. (Is it really that difficult?) The vehicle nearly hit us and it was that moment I realized I’d buckled the wrong seat belt.

I am not a morning person. This is a well-known fact among my friends and previous bosses. I cannot function properly until after ten. This sucks for any of the clients I do work for, but…

I’ve tried everything: going to bed earlier, tripling my morning dose of coffee, massive does of morning meth and still nothing works.

Over the past year I’ve started turning into my mother by forgetting things right and left. Mornings are by far the worst time for remembering any details. I’m not talking about complicated details, just the basic essential items…like getting dressed. I’ve left the house and headed to the office in slippers multiple times in the last few months. Luckily it’s been cold so I’ve remembered pants–no one wants a frozen hiney.

As I’ve mentioned here and here, I’ve started leaving myself reminder notes on my front door to ensure some things aren’t forgotten. Today’s is by far the worst of the bunch: If I have to remind myself why I’m leaving the house it might be time to admit defeat and just stay home.

Jess had the girls over last night for a PJ party. Over dessert we discussed sex toys. The conversation was much like the one every man imagines, only we didn’t have a pillow fight in our panties afterwards.

I regaled the girls with a story of my mother and her body massager from The Sharper Image. Everyone knows those massager’s aren’t intended for use on your back. I tried explaining this to my mom, but she wouldn’t listen. One weekend when both Ben and I were home my mom’s neighbor and her young daughter came over to visit. 

Mom: “Just calling to say goodbye. We are leaving in the morning for our trip.”

Sarah: “Ok, but who is going to take care of me?”

Mom: “You have three brothers, if you need anything call one of them.”

Sarah: “Umm, I actually have four brothers, but what if there’s an emergency?”

Mom: “Just call 1-800-Princess.”

Sarah: “Mom, come one. Seriously. I’m not playing the part of a princess, by wanting a contact number.”

Mom: “We’re taking a Princess cruise, Sarah. And before you say anything, yes, without you. Sorry.”

Sarah: “Fine… I still love you, but give the contact info to a more responsible child. Have fun and don’t forget to bring me a present, but please not from Columbia. I don’t have the bail money it would take to spring a drug smuggling mama from jail.”

I’m 32 today. I know this because my mom left me a voicemail telling me so. It went something like this: “Good Morning sweetheart, it’s your birthday. Have a good day.” Direct and to the point… I can appreciate that.

Today is like any other day: wake up, swear at the alarm clock, drink too much coffee, shower, get ready and go to work. Only I don’t want to. I want to lay around and be lazy. So I compromised; I didn’t shave my legs, which is fine since I don’t think birthday sex is on my agenda today.

In honor of today, I decided to post a picture of little Sarah:If the writing on the back is correct this was taken on my third birthday. Not a lot has changed with my sleeping habits. I still sleep with pink pajamas, only they don’t have feet anymore. Ernie has been replaced with a pug, my bed is a little bigger now, and I don’t sleep with a beanie. Unless I’m cold.

I showed my Mom and Jen this picture at dinner last night. Immediately afterwards my Mom knocked her drink over. I looked at her and suddenly knew this is where I’d inherited my klutziness. She ruined my theory by blaming the shock factor of the picture. “I just can’t imagine anyone touching my baby Ben like that!” I don’t buy it for a second. I think she was secretly thrilled a girl touched Ben’s ass, taking her one step closer to more grandchildren. God knows she gave up on my cobweb filled womb years ago.

Dear Mom,

Happy Birthday! This year for your birthday I’ve given you the gift of eternal youth. “How,” you ask? I’m not posting your real age for the entire world to read. That’s how much I love you!

I’m extremely lucky to be your daughter. You’re everything I’m not: sweet, kind and caring. I have these traits somewhere inside of me, I just choose to share them with people I care about, not everyone like you do. I’ve always admired that about you—your ability to care about anyone and everyone you meet.

You’ve been such an amazing influence on my life. You’ve always been tremendously supportive of my creativity and I will eternally be grateful for that. I know at times it wasn’t easy. Like the time I painted the cat because I wanted to be an artist, or the time I faked sick for an entire week at age eight so I could stay home and write the next bestseller, or the time I told my primary class I wanted to be a prostitute when I grew up because I wanted to play with boys all day and get presents. You have the patience of an angel, and I’ll always love you for that.

I hate change and I think I’m finally at a point in my life I don’t freak out and need you every time said change happens. That makes me happy and sad at the same time. I loved being able to call you night or day and knowing that just hearing your voice will make everything okay… and it always was. You’ve been a magnificent mother and I can’t imagine a life without you. You’ve always been there for me and that is the best feeling in the world.

I know I didn’t turn out the way you’d hoped. I gave up long ago the belief system you hold dear, but Mom, you’re what I hold dear and I’ll never ever give that up. You’ll always be my Mommy.

I love you!

Love,
Your Princess