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Since I gave up cheese fries there’s just not as much incentive to live, let alone leave the house.  Yesterday was a stay at home day. Not because I wanted to, but because leaving the house just seemed like too much work.

Later in the evening Daisy dog started getting really stir crazy. I unhappily put jeans on, put Daisy in the car and left the house for a whole 45 minutes to run some errands.  I checked the mail for the first time in days and found a surprise waiting for me. This shirt:

It couldn’t have been any more appropriate!  I, of course, took it as a sign to forget my other errands and went straight home to take my pants off.

A demon cold has decided to use my body as a host, and I still haven’t found a cold medicine that doubles as an exorcism. This is exactly why I hate winter: first a case of Strep Throat and now this.

Last night I took some nighttime cold medicine in hopes of getting a full night of sleep.  I did!  However, waking up this morning was a bitch.  I slept through my alarm clock, woke up dizzy and had the general symptoms of a Las Vegas bender.  The good news is I didn’t have to worry about where I lost my panties or whether or not I really did dance on top of a table in the middle of a crowded bar.  So I’ve got that going for me.

The bad news is I have no idea what the remedy for a cold medicine hangover is.  Somehow I don’t think greasy eggs and a Bloody Mary is going to solve this one.  Instead, I’m going to try a lot of coffee and a day filled with sarcasm.  It’s really all I’ve got at this point.

I’m a sucker for dive bars, so when we found a dive bar named after pugs in Georgetown I knew I’d love it. And I did, until the bartender told me about the special spiced cider they were serving.

“What’s in the spiced cider exactly?”

“It’s regular apple cider laced with rum.”

“Laced?”

“Yup, laced.”

I had no idea what to say so I sat there awkwardly silent for a moment, until he spoke again, “Oh, yeah, maybe laced was a bad choice of words.  We don’t want people thinking they’re going to get drugged in here.”

“How about infused with rum?”

“No, that’s way too much fancy talk.”

“Fine.  Can I get a vodka tonic, please?”

If you’re ever flagged as a security risk in an airport I suggest flashing your Costco card. 

Yes, a Costco card. 

This morning trying to get out of the Dulles airport I was stopped and questioned for nearly an hour for having a Utah temporary drivers license, that was paper. PAPER, that I could use to paper cut someone to death.  After showing a school ID, a credit card it was my Costco card that convinced them I was indeed Sarah Nielson.  Really all they should have done was given me a sarcasm test.  I would have passed that with flying colors.

I’m in the Chicago airport waiting for my flight to SLC.  I only hope no one pisses me off between now and then.  I hear those paper cuts are a bitch to recover from.

Washington D.C. is everything I thought it would be and more.  The best part so far?  Realizing that I can blow dry my hair in bed.  Vacations fucking rock.

Just proving to Sarah who is the boss. – TheKid

The only thing that will renew my faith in a higher power has arrived: healthy chocolate.

I saw this car parked outside the office yesterday and stalked it for a good twenty minutes. I ran through all the scenarios in my head of what I would do when I found the person behind this “healthy chocolate.” And every single scenario resulted in lots and lots of leg humping.

Sadly the owner of the car never appeared, so I’ll never really know the story behind the healthy chocolate, but since the sticker was on a Mercedes and not a 1999 Dodge Neon I’d like to believe it held some validity.

Last night, just as I was walking up the last flight of stairs for my math class, I received a test message from Summer asking if I wanted to play hooky and go the the Jason Mraz concert with her.

I should add that Summer, too, was supposed to be in math class.  I should also add that I don’t even listen to Mraz. I only know who he is because one of his song titles has the word pink in it.  See, random Google searches for containing the words “pink” and “song” are beneficial!

When she mentioned the tickets were in a suite that would likely be catered I turned around and walked back to my car, leaving my education behind.  FOR MUSIC I DON’T EVEN LIKE! No wonder I’m still working on my bachelor’s degree at 32.

When I fail college algebra I only have myself to blame.  Well, and Kelli, because she wouldn’t fly out here twice a week and take the damn class for me.  What a bitch that girl is.

The best part of the night was not the concert—we left after two songs—but seeing this on the door of the E-Center:

(Insert high pitch squeals here.)

October is a rough month for me.  It means my birthday is drawing near, and who wants to get any older?  Not me!  And more importantly, it’s the anniversary of Tim’s death.

Every time I see those first leaves fall it takes me back to that day.  Standing outside of his house while the police officer tried to talk to me about the situation.  I was afraid if I looked into his eyes as he spoke the moment would be real.  So instead I stood there listening to him while silently staring at the leaves on the ground until the tears blurred my vision.

How stupidly naive I was to think that moment could be any less real.  My friend was dead.  That’s as real as it fucking gets.

This year I’ve been trying so hard to ignore all the feelings that surround a friend’s death anniversary, but last night those feelings found me.  I was at a party enjoying myself when the man I was with started talking to a friend of his who shares my name.  As common as my name is last night was the first time I’d ever met someone sharing the name.  I was amused until he called her “snielson.”  I instantly felt like I’d been kicked in the chest; Tim called me snielson.

I stood there in awkward silence nursing my drink until it was time for me to head home.  Home to an apartment where still, four years later, my books still smell like Tim.

I’d write a real blog post, but I’m too busy dreaming about eating more of these cookies and obsessing over this blog.  I’m also busy not cleaning my apartment, not finishing my laundry and ignoring that last bit of homework.  I’d feel worse about being so unproductive, but it’s cold and rainy outside so I’m happily cuddled under blankets with a farting pug.  Jealous?