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It’s not easy being a crazy, single chick. I like being independent, it’s sorta my thing, but lately it feels like a lot of work.

I don’t want to be in charge of putting air in my low car tires, or be the sole household bug killer. I’ve killed 30 spiders and crickets in the last two days alone. I don’t live in the south, so that’s a LOT of household bugs. I’m not scared of bugs, but I am scared of zombie bugs. Yeah. This is where the crazy part comes in.

Today is the third week my garbage hasn’t been picked up. I have trouble remembering to take it to the curb. The bins aren’t full so it’s not a huge deal. I hardly mind the smell of rotting food anymore. It’s all the dead bugs I’ve tossed in the trash that bothers me.

WHAT IF THEY TURN INTO ZOMBIES? It’s close to Halloween and that’s when spooky things happen. And then what? I don’t even know how to kill a zombie spider.

Sometimes I try and be a good person, but my effort usually turns into a giant wad of embarrassment. Driving home from school today I saw my friend Jeff walking to the train station. His house is on my way home so I figured why not save him some time and give him a lift.

I pulled my car over and yelled out the window, “Hey jerk, wanna ride home?”

Well the jerk wasn’t Jeff. It was some stranger, who probably isn’t a jerk at all. Neither is Jeff, really, but I use the word jerk in a loving manner. Something a stranger wouldn’t know about me.

I should have explained the case of mistaken identity to the stranger, but noooooooo. Instead I sped off. Yup, that’s me. I flee when humiliated. That’s ALWAYS been my M.O.

Tomorrow that all changes, because tomorrow my new life M.O. will be: Just be an asshole already. You end up looking like one anyway.

After a weekend in dirty Las Vegas I made it back to SLC just in time to meet my friend Sandi’s new baby.

Sailor is perfect. She is beautiful, sweet and content to let a perfect stranger hold her. It was love at first sight. I wanted to toss her in my purse and take her home, but I was worried that Sandi would kill me, and her feeding tube might get caught in the zipper of my purse.

I promise, I’m not usually the kidnapping type, but oh my God I fell in love with this little girl. The minute I saw her my ovaries did a perfectly choreographed tap dance up and down my womb.

I took the batteries out of my biological clock years ago, but holding Sailor close enough to feel her heartbeat started that damn clock. I don’t know how that thing is running without batteries, but it is. And, man, is it loud.

Internet, I think I’m in big trouble. Let’s just hope a pug puppy this spring will fill the void, because a baby daddy is just like the perfect red lipstick. Impossible for me to find.

That title is only partly a lie. I also have short, sausage looking fingers. It all depends on the angle.

My body is doing some sorty of crazy Al Gore shit. I’m plumping up for the winter just like he does, only I didn’t mean to. He gets all Santa fat-like to save on heating costs. My fat was a total accident. It just sorta snuck up on me. My fat cells are total bitches like that.

With that said, I gotta find a new gym–one that doesn’t have an Arctic Circle within a twenty mile radius. Those pumpkin pie shakes will be the death of me. Until I find a new gym I decided the park is the best place for me. Not only is it a total pumpkin pie free zone, but maybe seeing skinny fit chicks will encourage me.

I put my workout clothes on and was just about to leave the house when I had the most brilliant idea ever: WHAT if someone made a pumpkin pie flavored protein shake? That would solve everything.

I turned around and ran to my computer. Google paved the way to heaven. I was so happy that I spent the next hour researching which protein powders have the lowest sugar. I’m all over this health shit.

BUT I was so tired from my research I decided to take a nap instead of going to the gym. It’s no wonder my jeans are tight.

I downloaded an iPhone app that provides affirmations as needed. I thought this would be a great way to learn to be more appreciative of what I have, and hopefully learn how to be a little more positive.

That’s not what happened.

My sarcasm and pessimism kicked in. I argued with ever single affirmation, which, as you can imagine, has the exact opposite effect… not to mention I look like a crazy person fighting in public with my phone.

I'd rather the universe pour me a glass of wine.

Stupid phone obviously can't see my muffin top.

Highest vibration means vibrators right? Because every second would pretty much break my vagina.

The 7-11 is open. Me? Not so much.

I'd be a lot MORE beautiful if this damn zit would go away.

Let go of anger? Pfff. What would I blog about?

I'd be happier if my pug jammies were clean.

Energy? Oh hell no. I'm ready for bed right now.

I also think that letting me peruse the clearance section of the local craft store was a very bad idea, albeit a fun one!

As usual school is kicking my ass. I’m struggling to balance work, school and personal hygiene. This morning I was in such a rush to leave the house that I didn’t brush my teeth. Shut up. That’s why Baby Jesus invented gum.

I realized my transgression halfway through my first class. While rummaging through my purse for gum I felt something that didn’t belong. Much to the surprise of my classmates I pulled out a giant cucumber.

Rather than explain it was from my mother’s garden and going to be my lunch I just kept my mouth shut. I knew I’d somehow end up talking about tossing a salad, AND there’s just no recovery from that. So instead I threw the cucumber back into my purse, unwrapped a piece of gum and continued taking notes because that’s the kind of Monday I’ve had.

“Ma’am (FIRST MISTAKE) I’m here to install your Internet. Would you like me wait outside while you get dressed?”

“No. I’d like you to install my Internet. How else am I going to use bit torrent to steal my shows? Besides what do you have against my pink, pug pajamas?”

“That’s illegal.”

“OH MY GOD! Pug pajamas are illegal? Well I don’t care. They are cute enough to go to prison for. Wait. Would I be allowed to take them to prison with me? If not I may be willing to give them up. I mean really what’s the point of going to prison for something I’m not even allowed to have in prison. Right?”

“Um… Ma’am (Seriously, again with calling me old!) I’m sure your pajamas are legal, but downloading television is a crime.”

“Ohhh… OK, well I was kidding about that part. (… ahem) Come on in. You brought coffee right?”

A few weeks ago I bought a very UN-Sarah style shirt from Forever 21. It’s a white, flowy tunic shirt with a tie in the back and sorta reminds me of my favorite jacket.

The first time I wore it my friend, Mark, told me I reminded him of Maryann on “True Blood.” She’s cute enough, I guess, but she’s a BAD GUY! Not exactly who you want to look like.

I didn’t wear the shirt again for a while. You know, because I’m nothing like that crazy chick. Shut up.

Moving on.

I decided to give the shirt another chance and wore it to school. Walking to my car after class I started unbuttoning the shirt. The kid next to me looked over and said, “LADY, what are you doing?!”

I stopped dead in my tracks. Holy shit, I confused my shirt for a jacket and nearly flashed a child. Can you imagine calling my mother to bail me out of jail for public indecency? I can. She’d probably yell at me and then ask me if I got a date out of it because moms always question your dating life. Even when you refuse to have one.

On my last birthday when my niece, Hannah, asked how old I was I told her 16. I’d forgotten all about it until she called me sobbing last week.

“Auuuuuunt Sarah…. Daddy said you’re a grown up.”

“Honey your dad is a big, fat liar.”

“He is?”

“Yes. I’m 16 years old and that is not an adult. Don’t ever listen to him again.”

She sniffled for a minute and said, “OK, I won’t.”

Fast forward to last night, when I met the twins and their mom at the Gateway mall for some dinner and shopping.

Hannah and I were paying for a purchase at Urban Outfitters when the cashier asked for my driver’s license.

As I handed it over Hannah said, “Aunt Sarah I’m soooo glad you FINALLY got your driver’s license since you drive me to school sometimes.”

I should have just ignored the scowl from the cashier, but no I’m the girl who has to explain everything. “Oh, don’t listen to that. I’m not really driving her around illegally. I’m just lying to her a lot more than usual.”

Sigh.

I’m sure that statement totally fixed her image of me. Not that I actually care, but I hate the idea of getting calls from Child Protective Services when I’m not even a parent.