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Last night while letting Daisy out, I decided to give her a quick walk up the street. It was dark so I thought no one would see me, and started doing lunges as I walked her. (I’m trying desperately to tighten my junk in the trunk.)

Five minutes later I heard something behind me and turned to see the neighbor’s hot son. Great.

It might not have been so bad if I wasn’t wearing a wife beater tank top, an ex-boyfriend’s ratty boxers and mismatched flip-flops. At times like this I’m amazed I ever get dates.

Do you ever find yourself looking at a friend mid-conversation and wonder why in the world you’re even friends with him or/her? And just because I do that, does that make me a shitty friend?

Just because Ben is getting older, do I have to?

I miss someone I shouldn’t be missing–do I act on that?

To read this week’s column click here.

I hate Friday the 13th. I’ve never been much of a superstitious person until a few years ago. Now, I’m absolutely terrified of these blasted Fridays. The entire day I worry and feel panicky that my world is going to come crashing down around me, once again.

It was Friday the 13th when I found out my boyfriend at the time was cheating on me.

Since then many things in my life have changed. I’ve finally gotten to the point where I don’t feel that I drove him to it. I don’t hear his name and instantly feel like my heart has been ripped out of my chest and thrown into a blender. I’m at the point where I (gasp!) trust men again. But, each time the calendar reads Friday the 13th I feel sick inside. Now that feeling only lasts one day, and not every day.

Typically I ignore the day altogether and hibernate, but not this year. It so happen happens today is not just the day of impending gloom, but also Ben’s birthday. So instead of feeling sorry for myself, I’m going to focus on my rockstar brother, who despite all the shit i give him, is the best brother a girl could ask for.

Happy Birthday Bennyboy!

I walked into the bathroom last night with the intention of throwing a teeny bopper clothing catalog into the garbage.

I glanced at the toilet, then glanced back at the magazine and quickly without a second thought I sat down and flipped through the pages while I peed.

I finished up business, tossed the catalog into the trash, washed my hands and felt manlier than I have in a very long time. Which is a tad surprising, given my deep mannish voice.

“Hey Ben, are you busy?”

“Yup. I’m doing shiv research.”

“You’re so weird, what are you really doing?”

“Looking up shiv on the internet.”

“Why exactly?”

“I was trying to text shit and my t9 wrote shiv. So I needed to research it.”

“And what are you learning?”

“Duh, Sarah. Lots. The shiv is the favored weapon of inmates in prisons across the world.”

“Cool Ben, I’ll know what to kill you with if you don’t come hang these shelves on my wall.”

Dear Chady-bear, 7/10/07

Thanks for your email! As requested here is your “real” letter. I’m glad you liked the package I sent you. However, I’m not sending you anymore jerky. I gave you enough to last a normal person a year. Silly Bear, red meat is bad for you. Did you like the stuff Ben included? As you may have guessed the half used bottle of mustard was his addition. Go figure.

I’m sorry you have to share a room with 12 guys. That doesn’t sound so bad to me, sans the garments of course.

This part of your email made me giggle: Are the mariners winning their division? Are the redsox wasting the yankee’s? Come on, keep me posted, I’m in a prison up here about to go crazy!

It’s so cute you think I have any idea which baseball teams are winning. The only baseball related fact I can offer is Thirsty Thursdays at the Bee games are by far the best thing baseball has to offer, even though the beer lines are long.

As far as feeling like you are in a prison, I have one word: DUH! What were you expecting? The MTC isn’t exactly a Hilton.

Three months without any sports, news and “huntin” is going to drive you crazy. Maybe you should just come home. You can hide in my apartment for the next two years–Mom and Dad will never know the difference. I think it’s brilliant! You’ll of course have to get a job or be my manservant. Your duties would be simple: clean, cook, walk Daisy, designated driving, Starbucks runs and garbage removal. It’s not Japan but at least it’s religion-free. Plus the only language you’ll have to learn is Sarah-speak, and you’ve already got 19 years experience.

All in all, it makes sense. Well… other than I can’t offer you medical or dental insurance. And I have a strict no gun policy in my house.

You’ll stay, I know you. Besides you’re the youngest child and pleasing Mom and Dad is all on your shoulders. I was lucky to be the oldest. I knew I could spend a lifetime disappointing them with my life choices and they still have four other children to make them proud. But no pressure, Chady.

I love you and miss having my Bear around. Visiting home just isn’t the same without you there. It’s too quiet and no one fights me for complete control of the television.

Let me know if you’d like something sent that isn’t jerky. I can wrap items in newspaper next time so you can at least read what the hell is going on in the world.

Love,

Sissy

Is it just me or are these dinner mints an odd choice for a Thai restaurant?

Being the constant klutz, I accidentally knocked over a friend’s orchid while at his place last week. It snapped in half and was totally unsalvageable. After a bit of a guilt trip on his part I replaced it with a new one.

I picked it for the color and didn’t notice the name until I gave it to him: “City Girl x Marriage Ring.” I kept the tag and added it to my own orchid. Who knows, it may bring me luck… or a ring.