Thanks!
Is it just me or is the new season of TV just blah? I guess I could just not watch TV, but then I’d have to make plans and wear pants. Unless, of course, I could make plans that don’t involve pants, but that would require dating… also just blah.
While I haven’t found a solution of the dating blahs, I have found a solution for the TV blahs; read my new “That’s What She Said” for said solutions.
Someday I’m going to cherish the extra time I’ve been spending with my niece and nephew, but currently I’m rolling my eyes and laughing at them a lot.
“Aunt Sarah your puppy reminds me of a boy.”
“She’s a girl.”
“I know that, duh. I said she REMINDS me of a boy.”
“OK, why does she remind you of a boy?”
“She sleeps all the time and brings slugs into the house.”
“Hannah, which boys do that?”
“All of them.”
“Have you been hanging out with my high school ex-boyfriends?”
“No. I don’t even know what an ex boyfriend is.”
“It’s the boys you don’t ever marry.”
“Oh, well I want a LOT of ex boyfriends.”
I don’t think she has anything to worry about. With her sassy personality I suspect she’ll have a lifetime supply of ex-boyfriends… just like her auntie.
This week’s “That’s What She Said” is all about my so called drug use in Utah County.
For those of you outside of Utah perhaps this storefront will give you perspective:
Um, yeah, welcome to my new life.
Last night Hannah asked if we could lie on my bed and listen to music together. I really wanted to drink wine and watch crap TV, but how do you say no to such a sweet, innocent request?
Um, you don’t.
After she played “You Belong With Me” by Taylor Swift for the nine millionth time she started analyzing the lyrics.
“Aunt Sarah, this song is totally about us!”
“Um, how so?”
“You wear short skirts and I wear t-shirts. You wear high heels and I wear sneakers.”
“Hannah you think my skirts are too short? Even when I’m wearing tights with them?”
“I’m six years old, woman, I don’t know.”
“Stop calling me woman.”
“Well then stop talking about other stuff. I only want to talk about how this song is about us. Aunt Sarah, it’s like Taylor Swift and I are the same person!”
“Well that’s gross. Your brother thinks Taylor Swift is hot, so you’re saying he thinks you’re hot? Hannah this isn’t Kentucky.”
“Aunt Sarah, sometimes I don’t even understand you. Or want to.”
I suck at being a columnist, well, and life. It’s just so hard to be engaged lately. I’m hoping my new surroundings will spark some creativity, or at the very least give me more things to mock.
New surroundings you ask? First things first. This is what I’ve been up to for the last three weeks: I bought a Jeep, I decided to lust after fictional characters and then I moved to Happy Valley.
And that is that.
Yesterday morning I spent 80% of my 45-minute commute contemplating whether I pity people who have jobs where they are forced to wear roller skates all day or envy them. After creating a pro/con list I sided with jealousy. The remaining 20% of my time was spent swearing at the idiot drivers who use the carpool late incorrectly.
My evening commute was also spent deep in thought. Not so much roller skates this time, but why the open container law is stupid. It should be legal for a passenger to drink as much wine as it takes to keep them calm enough they don’t want to murder bad everyone else on the road. Laws are intended to protect the general public. A sober passenger suffering from road rage is likely to unroll the windows and hurl items at passing cars, while a pleasantly buzzed passenger would sit back and enjoy the insanity that is I-15.
Sometimes government doesn’t make a whole lot of sense to me. Also, sobriety.
Yesterday I received the third best compliment of my life.
“Sarah, if I was Noah and I had to pick just a few people for the new world, I’d include you.”
Nice right?
Well, of course, I decided to steal it and brand it as my own. I’m going to start telling people if I were Noah I’d never, ever pick them for my ark. In fact, I may even use it in my next breakup.
It’s not you; it’s me. I just can’t picture us on an ark together.
Perfect right?
Speaking of breakups. I recently had one of the most amicable breakups of my life. I’m starting to see a relationship pattern here. I date someone for three months. Month one is spent in complete adoration. Month two is spent picking them apart and month three is spent trying to figure out how to break things off.
Obviously I’m broken, but this was doomed from the start. He was a great guy, but not the great guy for me. We wanted different things in life.
PLUS, he didn’t know me at all, which was obvious when he sent me this text message:
Sarah, I just found something that belongs to you!
It didn’t.
I was so upset he thought I was the kind of girl who would own a cheap, heart print bra. That is not at all Sarah. If I had to have a design on my bra it would be pugs or wine bottles.
Duh.
Last night at the Willie Nelson concert I picked up a new guy and brought him home. Before we spent the night together we ate veggie burgers and drank whiskey.
My new guy drank a little too much, but I just picked him up off the pavement and carried him home.
This morning was a little rough, but nothing some coffee and Advil couldn’t cure.
We’re going to be incredibly happy together. I just know it.
Last month a co-worker gave the office nerds remote control cars to thank them for all their hard work. This was also the same day I started cursing more at the office.
I don’t know what’s more annoying: tripping over a car and falling on your face or trying to explain to clients the background noise they hear is a bunch of toy cars. Rather than putting a contract on their heads I decided I had to find a way to embrace their dumb toys. It took weeks, but I finally found a use for the toys:
Sporty Nerd was thrilled at the idea of delivering my drinks all day, but since the office doesn’t stock vodka tonics he didn’t have much to do after one delivery. Being a resourceful nerd he quickly found that driving notes to my desk was not only better than soda delivery, but also more efficient than email.
