Thanks!
Friend: “What did Colin Firth win an Oscar for last year?”
Me: “For best supporting male in my pants.”
Friend: “OMG, I love you so hard!!!”
Me: “Funny, that’s exactly what I said to him.”
I love documentaries, but watching them comes at a price. I am naturally anxiety ridden, so when I’m given something valid to worry about I do. A lot.
Last week FSB(f) and I watched “Gasland” – a documentary about the hazards of drilling for natural gas. The movie was great, but all I could think about was that my tap water was contaminated with natural gas and would kill asshole puppy or worse my house would blow up.
I was busy planning a living will in my head when I heard FSB(f) fumbling around with something in the kitchen. I walked in and found him with a lighter heading towards my kitchen sink. Worried that the house would blow up I grabbed my phone to document our death. iPhones are pretty much the same thing as an airplane black box, right?
We lived, obviously, but my gas induced worries aren’t over. I made FSB(f) promise to check for gas in the water once a week and have added “find Hello Kitty water filter ASAP” to my shopping list.
“Sarah, do you have a computer mouse I can use?”
He looked at me in disbelief as I handed him the only spare mouse. “Um, really? A Hello Kitty mouse?”
“Yes. Cool, right? The AKs brought it back from Japan for me.”
He ignored me, plugged the mouse into his computer and went back to work.
Later that night I changed into something more comfortable than my work clothes. When I walked out of my bedroom wearing the most ridiculous pair of 1970s gym pants he looked at me and with zero sarcasm said, “Sarah, you’re so incredibly beautiful.”
“Thanks, but you have to say that. It’s your job. If you’re going to date me your job is to think I’m pretty, like pugs, Anderson Cooper and pink glitter.”
“No on the pink glitter.”
“Fine. What about Hello Kitty instead?”
“If all Hello Kitty products are as well designed as the computer mouse I think I can do that. The Japanese really took the form of the human hand into consideration with that design. Once you get used to the little bows as buttons, the mouse is very user friendly. Hello Kitty’s face really fits into your hand well. On the scale of one to ten I’d give it a 9.5. It’s purrrr-fect.”
I wish I could tell you he was saying this in jest, but with the exception of the ridiculous pun he was quite serious. Give me a month and this boy will be just as obsessed with Hello Kitty as I am…. or he’ll break up with me and torch every store in Utah that carries HK products.
“Can I help you find something?”
“Yes, I’m looking for a low calorie bottle of wine.”
Blank stare.
Blank stare.
Blank stare.
“So… “
“We don’t actually have low calorie wine. What about vodka?”
“Nah, I like the warm fuzzy from red wine, but without so many calories.”
“Maybe weed would better suit you.”
“Weed?”
“Yes. It’s pretty much a warm wine fuzzy, but without the calories.”
“I think I’d like to stick with wine.”
“I’m sorry, but we really don’t have a low calorie wine.”
“What about wine for people with diabetes?”
“I think diabetics can smoke pot, but I’m not a doctor or anything.”
“I’m not a diabetic, I’m a wino trying to watch my figure.”
“We have vodka.”
First wine and cycling and now chocolate. I am officially a fitness failure.
Would you believe me if I told you that I snack and work out in order to save time? Yeah… didn’t think so.
I’m absolutely terrified of finding a body in my house. It was built in the 50’s and has a creepy crawl space, so chances of discovering skeletal remains are high. I just hope David Boreanaz and the rest of the “Bones” cast is here when it happens.
Oddly enough, I was watching that show when Asshole Puppy’s tennis ball rolled underneath the couch. While retrieving it, I felt something lumpy attached to the couch frame.
DEAD BODY. DEAD BODY. DEAD BODY.
After a moment of hysteria, I realized how ridiculous this assumption was. However, I still waited until a friend arrived to check it out further. You know, just in case.
We found this labeled black bag:
Knowing that killers never leave behind labeled evidence, I fearlessly opened the bag and found extra couch legs. I sighed a deep breath of relief as my friend laughed.
I really should stop watching all things scary. I only have so many friends patient enough to come by each time I think I’ve discovered a body. And this friend? Well… he removed himself from the list. Jerk.
Do you remember the Mr. Men and Little Miss books from the 80s? I loved them! My mother would refer to me as Little Miss Bossy, Little Miss Trouble, Little Miss Stubborn, Little Miss Bad or Little Miss Naughty depending on my mood and behavior. Not once did she call me Little Miss Helpful, Little Miss Neat, Little Miss Sunshine or Little Miss Splendid.
I think it’s safe to assume my mom was calling me Little Miss Asshole, behind my back.
Since then, I’ve often describe my moods with the book characters. And now, for the first time ever, Little Miss Scatterbrain has surfaced. Bitch. Wait… did I just call the character a bitch or myself a bitch? Both are accurate, I suppose.
Lately I am so all over the place. Sure everyone is scattered now and then. How many of us misplace our keys on a daily basis? Me. And probably you. That’s normal and not at all what I’m dealing with. I’m forgetting important life details. Like how many eyes my puppy has.
TRUE STORY.
I’ve been accidentally kenneling the wrong dog. The first few times I was convinced someone was breaking into my house and switching dogs just to fuck with me.
Because, seriously, the difference is obvious:
I’m hoping Little Miss Scatterbrain moves along soon. Otherwise I’m going to end up Little Miss Drinks Herself Into a Coma. That’s a character, right? Well it should be.
On my way home last night I stopped at Target for some groceries. Realizing I still had a long drive ahead of me I made a quick trip to the restroom before shopping, stupid given my history of embarrassing moments in public restrooms.
The first stall didn’t have toilet paper, so I moved to the next. I was finishing up when I heard someone enter the other stall. I considered warning her about the lack of toilet paper, but didn’t want to engage in pee talk. I absolutely hate when people chat it up in the bathroom. Pee in peace, that’s my motto.
As I walked to the sink my phone started ringing. I reached for my purse to silence the damn thing, only to discover my purse was still hanging in the other stall. I started panicking but was quickly distracted when my phone started ringing for a second time. The sound of Warrant’s “Cherry Pie” was deafening. I considered fleeing the scene, but my keys were also in the purse.
“Is someone out there?”
I wanted to remain silent, but was terrified she’d rummage through my purse and steal my Hello Kitty lip-gloss.
“Yes, sorry, I left my purse in there.”
“No problem let me hand it over to you.”
Oh my god, this woman was about to stand up without wiping and hand me my purse. My favorite purse was about to be tainted with stranger vagina. I paused my dry heaving long enough to say, “No it’s fine. I’ll wait. I’m not in a rush.” And wait I did.
Seriously, slowest woman alive. I was so busy freaking out about stranger germs I didn’t think to pass her some toilet paper, so this next part is totally my fault.
She walked out and handed me my purse and said, “Sorry, but I think your purse got a little wet.”
I couldn’t look her in the face as I mumbled thank you. I grabbed my vagina purse and ran. I didn’t even get the groceries, which is too bad since Clorax Wipes were number one on my list.
