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When it comes to preserving the environment and recycling, I feel like I have to double my efforts to make up for my family.

My parents live in the country and as far as I know there is no recycling program. I’m not sure if my other brothers recycle, but I know Ben doesn’t. He’s way too lazy. His idea of preserving the environment is leaving the food wrappers and empty drink cups in the back of his car. At one point when I told him how gross it was he replied, “Sarah, I’m working on a compost pile, leave me alone.”

Last night, when a light bulb burnt out in my apartment I went to retrieve the energy-saving fluorescent light bulbs I’ve been using, but I was out–thus the following conundrum: use the regular light bulbs that I already had, or drive to the store to buy more fluorescent bulbs?

Using low-energy bulbs is awesome, but using the fuel to drive to the store isn’t exactly the most environmentally sound decision. And fuck walking, I didn’t want to change into comfy shoes.

Being a list lover, I sat down and started writing a pro/con list to help make the decision. Ten minutes into the list process I poured myself a glass of wine. Five minutes later a second glass was consumed, and then a third…

Clearly my drunken subconscious was telling me to stay home and preserve gasoline. I can’t very well drive after drinking, right? Right! I then polished off the remainder of the bottle of wine and vowed to recycle the bottle, which I promptly forgot about and threw the bottle in the trash bin. Next time… I promise.

Dear Stranger.

I did not mean to call your child fat. I really didn’t. You only heard part of my comment. You heard, “Oh my god, look at that chubby kid!”

What I said was, “Oh my god, look at that chubby kid. He is soooooo cute! I want to steal him, take him home and have him terrorize my dog while bringing me drinks and changing the TV channel for me.”

If I hadn’t driven away so quickly you would have heard the entire thing. Sure you would have still glared at me, but for a very different reason. You’d have been upset I wanted to kidnap your child and turn him into a slave. However, at least you would have known I thought he was cute enough to turn into a slave.

Love,
Sarah

Ben and I drove to the country today for Mothers’ Day. We wanted to prepare breakfast in bed for my Mom like we did in the old days, however, we are admittedly the laziest kids ever. Instead of getting up at the ass crack of dawn we left instant oatmeal and a “Gilmore Girls” card on her bed while she was at church praying for replacement children.

Reading the BlogHer site today I noticed there is a student ticket price for the upcoming SF conference.  Umm, hello, why did I not know this?  I’ll tell you why, because Loralee is a horrible friend.  Trying to keep me from going on a trip to San Fran with her.  She’s totally fired and the only way I will forgive her is if she drives to SLC and wins back my love by having a lunch date with me.  Or if she finds me a roomie for the conference, preferably one that doesn’t suck.  I can swing the ticket price but the hotel room will kill my shoe budget.

Who out there is going?  Who out there needs a roomie?  Who do I have to sleep with to get a good place to stay?  Seriously.

To all the people at Liberty Park last night, I was not dancing in anticipation of playing kickball. I was only jumping around trying to get my pants to itch the back of my ass and legs for me. I’ve learned my lesson about putting my hands down my pants in public. I really, really have.

Remember being a kid and thinking that if only you had a certain kind of shoes you’d be faster on the playground? I’m here to tell you it’s a giant lie!

Believing in the magical power of my pink KangaROOS tennis shoes I wore them to my kickball game last night.

My turn up to kick was comedic gold. I kicked the ball and started running for first base, albeit a little slow. Hey, I was very busy admiring how cute my shoes looked kicking the ball. Don’t give me shit, even the catcher commented on the cuteness!

The pitcher grabbed the ball and tried to tag me out. I wasn’t going down without a fight. I ran outside of the baseline avoiding him while screaming, “Don’t you dare hit me with the fucking ball!” I was called out. Apparently you’re not allowed to run outside of the baseline or something?

I played right field, which I love because it’s typically very uneventful. Last night was the exception. Someone kicked the ball my way and as I watched it in slow motion flying through the air I screamed, at the top of my lungs, “NOOOOOOO!!!!!” Thankfully my personal MVP, Melissa, caught it for me. Whew.

We lost.

And despite all this, I had fun. Which in my book is way more important than winning. Now if I could just talk my friends into feeling the same way.

This picture is a giant lie, because OH MY GOD do you see how skinny my arm looks?!

Today’s autism walk was a complete success! I was very happy to be part of it, and even happier knowing our team kicked ass at fund raising. A big thanks to my readers who donated, and to Rlo who carried my bag for most of the walk. I rewarded him by not making fun of his sunglasses.

Dear Utah Residents,

I’m extremely sorry for yesterday’s snowy weather. While I don’t normally control the weather I did offer a prayer to baby Jesus for miserable weather to get out of playing kickball. But that damn baby Jesus showed me a thing or two by providing sunny weather by game time.

Like I said, I’m very sorry and will never pray again. Ever. Unless I see some amazing new jeans that I can’t live without, in which case I’ll throw myself on the department store floor begging and praying for a sale. But otherwise consider me prayer free!

Love,
Sarah

Never share your music library with The Kid. He’s very judgmental over my Brittney Spears obsession.

I took part in a local news show called On the Record with Chris Vanocur. Also on the show were Jon and Heather Armstrong. It airs Sunday, but you can watch the video here.

When I was told the writer of Dooce was taking part I was pissed. This meant I would have to switch out my purse. I mean, sure, I thought it would be cool to meet her since we have so much in common—we both watch “The Hills” and I have a feeling she knows the super secret that I do: THE SHOW IS REAL, DAMN IT!

But the purse issue took precedence!

A couple of months ago George! sent me an article about his cousin Heather (Dooce) I couldn’t get past the picture to read the article. Her purse was incredible, and I knew I had to have it. And really can you blame me? The retro style print is amazing and those colors? Perfect for spring!

After hours of unsuccessfully searching online I gave up. The next day I couldn’t get that purse off my mind. I convinced myself the purse and I were totally meant to be. And we must have been, because I finally found it and immediately ordered it.

I knew it was a risk as I live in the same city as Heather, but I figured the chances of me ever running into her were slim. I forgot to take into consideration the gods of fate hate me, because a few days later she posted the purse in her daily style section. Within a day the purse was sold out.

The next day a friend of mine complimented the purse and said that it looked familiar. OF COURSE IT DID, because it was posted online for millions of Dooce readers to see. The purse is now fondly referred to as the “Dooce ruined my life” purse. Despite the fact half the world now owns the purse I still carry it daily. So, you’ll understand my annoyance at having to switch purses for the filming. After all, nothing says crazy stalker like showing up with the exact same bag as an Internet rock star.

The sheer stupidity of Utah liquor laws never ceases to amaze me. Last night while at Club 90 for the “Rock of Love” tour I was so pissed off. It’s illegal for me to have two shots in my vodka tonic, but it’s perfectly legal to serve a pregnant woman who looks like she could deliver at any moment. I so badly wanted to walk up to her and tell her off, but I’ve done that in bars before and guess what? It doesn’t change a damn thing. For me to point out to the parent(s) in question what horrible parents they are going to make changes nothing. They will still make shitty parents, and chances are they’ll be back in the bar the following night.

The pregnant woman kept encouraging her friends—who, incidentally, were smoking around her—to feel the baby kicking. Aimee and I sat there in complete and utter disgust. When she took her shoes off and walked around the bar in bare feet I had to stop watching her. It was just too much. That poor, poor baby…