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Yesterday afternoon I stopped at ShopKo hoping to find a cheap, black jacket to keep at the office since my nerds keep the heat low. They have The Force to keep them warm. Me? Not so much. I need something a little more tangible than made-up nerd crap.

I found two potentials and made my way to the dressing room. Four of the five dressing room stalls didn’t have mirrors. Just as I was about to take the only usable stall, an elderly woman walked in. Channeling my inner nice I stepped aside and let her go first.

One problem: old people are slow, and I am impatient. I waited a total of five minutes and then convinced myself she suffered a heart attack and was dead. I didn’t feel the need to alert anyone, because really she’s already dead. What could they possibly do? I mean besides find her a nice outfit to be buried in.

I made the best of the situation and headed to the empty men’s dressing room. No biggie. I’d be in and out before anyone noticed… or so I thought. Unfortunately, after trying the clothes on, I couldn’t get the stall door opened again. The stupid lock was stuck. I twisted it a few times, but nothing happened. I attempted to use my best ninja move and kick the door open, but having the ability to watch my bad ass moves in the mirror was too distracting.

Thinking I was still alone I dropped to all fours and crawled under the stall door towards freedom.

Only freedom just happened to be the left foot of a store manager. You know because my life isn’t weird enough. He looked as shocked as I did, but recovered just in time to lecture me on my inappropriate shopping behavior.

Um…

Um…

I had absolutely no retort. Nothing. The dude, in all his pimply glory, was correct. I apologized and left, making myself empty threats never to shop there again.

I think it’s safe to say I will never again channel my inner nice, because nice is bullshit and results in figuring out ways to move closer to Target.

My dog is an asshole. I’m not being harsh, she totally is.

Yesterday it snowed like crazy at my house. I’m pretty sure the storm hovered right over my driveway and left the rest of the city alone. The weather just loves that I’m single and stuck shoveling snow all alone. Now that I think about it, the weather is also an asshole.

I tried to make Daisy the Pug come outside while I shoveled so she could get some fresh air, but she refused. Instead she sat inside and sipped some brandy while smoking a cigar, or whatever the hell it is old people do all damn day.

She looked out the dog door every twenty minutes to mock me.

Which, to be honest, I deserved the mocking. I was too lazy to get dressed yesterday and shoveled snow in pajama pants without underwear. One thin layer of cotton is not enough to protect my lady bits from the cold, harsh winter elements.

I learned my lesson and will be buying thermals as soon as I dig myself out of this bullshit snow.

Holy crap I’ve missed a lot of TV while I was busy finishing school. I’ll probably end up spending more time on my Hulu queue than I did on that last paper.

When I logged on and saw the number of videos I nearly shut down my computer, but in the end decided now that I’m all educated and shit I should do the smart thing and avoid procrastination.

I jumped right in and started watching “Vampire Diaries.” Um, why didn’t anyone tell me prime-time television turned into porn while I was busy with school?

Halfway through the episode I heard the line, “Imagine what her butt tastes like.”

OH MY GOD.

Why are we concerned with additional troops being deployed to Afghanistan, or health care reform? There are far more important things to worry about, like how in the world anyone could enjoy dead ass. That cannot taste good!

I paused the episode, poured some more wine and prepared myself for some seriously weird vamp porn. I started watching it again, but the next scene had nothing pornographic about it.

Huh?

I went back and watched the previous scene again.

“Imagine what her blood tastes like.”

Ohhhh. I was totally prepared to be completely outraged with Hollywood. I’m partly relieved, but sorta left wondering what happens in vamp porn.

Due to insanely cold weather my local power company is asking customers to conserve energy. Something about blowing the power grid up and dudes being so cold their balls shrink.

The power company suggested ways to conserve:

• Avoid using holiday lights.
• Adjust the use of clothes washers and dryers, dishwashers and ranges.
• Utilize small kitchen appliances and microwaves for food preparation instead of ovens and range tops.

This is seriously the best thing that’s ever happened to me!

I don’t have to feel guilty that I am the only house on the block without Christmas lights. Who’s the dickhead neighbor now? These idiots are going to be the reason the power goes out. I’ll be blameless, while they will be responsible for a bunch of old people freezing to death.

Death is totally sad, but the take away message here is I’m a green party hero.

Yup, I’m awesome.

As a reward I don’t have to do the dishes, laundry or even cook. I can live off a diet of junk food and red wine while wearing dirty jeans.

I’m pretty much living the dream and saving the planet at the same time.

When I was in high school I worked in a grocery store as a cashier. It was a great way to learn about humanity, and help friends steal beer.

It was interesting to see what items people purchased. By far the saddest purchases were people who bought canned food for their pets and frozen food for themselves. It sorta broke my heart, you know, after I was done judging them.

Well, karma is a motherfucking bitch, as we all know.

Enter my grocery purchases tonight:

I don’t know when, exactly, I turned into someone I once pitied, all I know is it happened and I’M PISSED!

Last night I felt like getting fancy. Not the kind of fancy that involves a little black dress and heels, hell, my fancy night didn’t even involve real pants. In my house fancy means pajamas without stains and my good slippers. It also means Grape-Nuts in a martini glass.

Waiting to die is sort of anticlimactic, don’t you think? I mean you wait for that big moment where you walk towards the light, but then bam you’re dead and it’s over.

I’m waiting to die right this very second. It’s nothing serious like cancer, or swine flu. I cooked dinner. Like from a recipe, not a box. There was nothing pre-packaged about this meal, which is why I’m waiting to die.

I’m certain I gave myself food poisoning. Sure, a little case of food poisoning doesn’t kill the normal person. But I’m not normal. I’m an overachiever. Not for the important things in life like education, career, hobbies or a relationship. I’m an overachiever at shit that doesn’t matter. Dental floss for example.. I’m a crazy overachiever when it comes to Gingivitis. And you know what they say: where there’s a will, there’s a way.

See what I did there? I made a little death pun. You know, because death is anticlimactic AND funny. Right? Ahh, fuck it. You’re going to feel bad you didn’t laugh when I’m dead. Jerks.

Sometimes, when I’m bored, I like to imagine having a conversation with Jesus via Twitter. I don’t know why exactly. It’s just one of those weird things I do.

Dear Jesus, will you please force someone to invent batteries that never die.. specifically battery size AA.

Dear Jesus, vibrators aren’t the only things that require AA. TV remotes need them, too. You know, to watch Christian TV and shit.

Dear Jesus, Sorry I said shit in that last tweet. Sometimes shit just slips out, you know.

Dear Jesus, I totally didn’t intend “shit just slips out” to be a pun. It just happened.. sorry.

Dear Jesus, I apologize for swearing in the last three tweets. Please don’t take it out on my batteries. I need those bastards.

Dear Jesus, is bastard a swear word?

Are you there Jesus? It’s me Sarah. The shit-talker. Why aren’t you @replying me?

Dear Jesus, stop ignoring me, please.

Dear Jesus, I’m starting to get seriously pissed off here. I said ‘please’ and everything.

Dear Jesus, UNFOLLOW! No, I’m not kidding. I’m totally unfollowing you until you make nice.

HINTS FOR JESUS: fixing that battery problem would be a great way to make nice, or flowers.

“Ben I have two questions. Did you know that 62% of bankruptcies in the U.S. are due to medical bills?”

“I didn’t.”

“Then you don’t even want to know how many of those people had private medical insurance. It’s totally screwed up. Also, do you think a raccoon could get through my dog door?”

“I have no idea. Why are you asking me? You have a raccoon expert on your speed dial.”

“I know, but Carl won’t answer the phone. What good is having an expert if you end up using Wikipedia as your source?”

“True.”

“I had a dream that a raccoon got through the dog door and Daisy wrote about it on Twitter while I was at work.”

“Sarah, I’d be more concerned your dog was using Twitter. Shut off her phone service, and your problem is solved.”

“No, it’s not! There’s still a fucking raccoon in the house killing my dog. I just won’t know about it.”

“Maybe Daisy will leave a note.”

“Ben, that’s ridiculous. If I find a note and a dead dog how will I know she left the note, and the raccoon didn’t coerce her into writing it? The raccoon could easily get away with murder by making me think it was a suicide.”

“I’ll tell you what… if Daisy dies a violent death we’ll do a thorough investigation into her death.”

“OK, cool. Thanks Ben. I’ll talk to you later.”

I’m stalking the UPS delivery truck, and apparently not afraid to admit it.

When I couldn’t find footed pajamas that I liked, I broke down and ordered an electric blanket from Amazon. You can judge me all you want, but I won’t hear you through all the warmth and happiness.

Saturday I saw the UPS truck delivering a package next door. I ran to the truck and asked the somewhat bewildered driver why he skipped my house.

“Oh my god, do you hate me? Do you not want me to be warm at night? How could you just leave me in the cold to die?”

He just stared at me.

“Seriously this isn’t a game! There’s a life at stake… my life.”

Still, he stared at me like I had horns. Devil horns.

“I hope you can live with yourself when I die!”

Sometimes verbal diarrhea gets the better of me. Not to mention I’m a tad over-dramatic.

He went from bewildered to being annoyed, but could tell I wasn’t leaving until I had my answer. He checked, but nothing for me.

Monday I saw the same driver delivering to a different neighbor. I chased him down begging for my fuzzy pink blanket. Again he had nothing.

When I got home last night I saw him at the end of my street. I rushed to his truck. Before I had a chance to utter a work he looked at me and asked, “Amazon?”

“YES! How did you know?”

“They use The United States Postal Service. Now please, I need to get back to delivering packages for OUR customers.”

A man in brown shamed me. The least he could have done was wear pink sparkles to let me down easy.