Contact

Dear Nicotine,

I saw you at the drugstore last night, and I was oh so tempted to toss you in my cart and take you home. I love any new product and one that promises “a neat and tidy nicotine fix” by delivering you into my system via hand gel seemed like a dream come true. Only I don’t smoke, and not for lack of trying.

Remember when I first bought you? You were packed into little tiny Capri cigarettes. The box had pink on it, so I overlooked the granny image and went for it. After one afternoon of smoking on the porch with a neighbor, I quit you. Even at the age of 21 I had commitment issues.

I forgot about you for a while, and then I found Midge. When I met her the two of you were already best of friends. Feeling left out I tried you again. This time in the form of a white trash Newport with a tiny mint Altoid tucked in my cheek to hide the smoky flavor. I tolerated you on occasion, but sadly couldn’t form an addiction.

Two years ago you re-entered my life–this time in the form of a patch. A friend of mine was trying to kick you out of his life… can you imagine? I convinced him that I needed you and he carefully applied the patch on my back. Minutes later I was on the floor of the bathroom puking my guts out. Oh, Nicotine, why do you hate me so? I’d love to lather up my hands with the clean cool gel, all while getting a fix. But I’m sure you can understand why I put you back on the shelf and walked away. Maybe in another life…

Love,
Sarah

A fellow blogger friend and I were discussing our reader stats at coffee today. He pointed out you really have to be a mommy blogger these days to have a large amount of site traffic. To which I replied, “I’m not getting knocked up just so I can be a mommy blogger!”

Which is why I will be strictly enforcing the bring your own condom rule in all my future, ahem, endeavors.

The hostess with the mostess, Katie, had another great bbq Sunday afternoon for a friend’s going away party. (If you’re keeping track that’s two friends leaving this month.)

We were talking about online dating and she told me that Match.com had tried to match her divorced parents. I laughed. No way was that going to happen to me.

…but then it did.

Yesterday an email came from Match letting me know an ex and I are an 84% match. Seriously? Been there done that. I think it’s time for Match to revamp inventory.

There’s a new bitch in town, and she goes by the name Pants. I only hope she doesn’t catch the Jesus–I hear it itches in the nether regions.

My lovely friend is moving to the land of Zion this week. She hails from San Francisco where wine flows cheaply and the men, while gay, are very, very pretty. I suspect the shock value of her new home will drive her to daily drinking. YAY!

She comes from religious stock, but like myself quit that shit years ago. Who said quitting was a bad thing?

I’ll let the good old women of Relief Society know you’ve arrived, dear girl. Let the baked goods begin. They magically appear on my doorstep twice a month. I think the treats will go well with our Bloody Mary Sundays– the only true religion for kids like us!

I decided to use my best coping skills and go on an afternoon bender. If that didn’t fix my horrible weekend, nothing would. Heading to the grocery store for supplies I find myself growing excited for my afternoon in. How could it not make me feel better? I could catch up on my Tivo, wander around in boxers and my ratty Social Distortion tank top all while drinking boozie smoothies.

Yay, things were looking up!

I got home and started making a beautiful raspberry lemon smoothie when my blender crapped out. And if that weren’t enough, in one final moment of glory the blender shot a pink mixture all over my kitchen.

Fuck today. I’m going to bed; It’s too exhausting to be awake.

I’ve had the worst weekend ever, but it was quickly forgotten when I saw someone found my blog by searching “NKOTB WIVES.”

I’ve been telling Milinda since 7th grade I was born to marry a New Kid. It’s so meant to be!

I feel fifty fucking five today! I just got off the phone with a friend who called before heading to Colorado for the weekend to do some hiking. Instead of telling him to drink up and have fun what did I say? “Ok, be safe!” What is wrong with me? Sure, I love my friends and care about their well-being, but seriously there must be a way to care without sounding like my mother.

One of my dearest friends, Carmen, is ditching this pretty, great state and heading to the land of sun and bikinis. To read this week’s column written as one last guilt trip click here. While at his house I couldn’t help but notice the giant dent he’s made in his packing:

I have a feeling he’s going to need just a few more things for survival than roller blades, baseball mitt and hat. But at least he’s got the basics.

I picked up the twins from school today since their parents are out of town on business. I got them all buckled in and off we went for an adventure. It’s funny, kids will find the most boring errands exciting if you tell them it’s an adventure. It also works with Ben.

New Order’s “Blue Monday” was playing on my stereo and Hannah starting shrieking with excitement. “It’s dinosaur music aunt Sarah. I love it sooooo much!” I asked her if the song was on one of her movies, maybe one with a dinosaur. Nope. I know 80’s music seems sorta old, but really dinosaur music? I think my three-year-old niece called me ancient. Great.