Thanks!
Do you ever write something and five minutes later–after it’s too late to do anything about it–suddenly regret what you wrote?
Yeah, me too.
ALL THE FUCKING TIME!
Sometimes it’s passive aggressive work emails or misspelled text messages. And other times it’s a column that talks about vagina, and not just any vagina, but MY VAGINA.
On my last birthday when my niece, Hannah, asked how old I was I told her 16. I’d forgotten all about it until she called me sobbing last week.
“Auuuuuunt Sarah…. Daddy said you’re a grown up.”
“Honey your dad is a big, fat liar.”
“He is?”
“Yes. I’m 16 years old and that is not an adult. Don’t ever listen to him again.”
She sniffled for a minute and said, “OK, I won’t.”
Fast forward to last night, when I met the twins and their mom at the Gateway mall for some dinner and shopping.
Hannah and I were paying for a purchase at Urban Outfitters when the cashier asked for my driver’s license.
As I handed it over Hannah said, “Aunt Sarah I’m soooo glad you FINALLY got your driver’s license since you drive me to school sometimes.”
I should have just ignored the scowl from the cashier, but no I’m the girl who has to explain everything. “Oh, don’t listen to that. I’m not really driving her around illegally. I’m just lying to her a lot more than usual.”
Sigh.
I’m sure that statement totally fixed her image of me. Not that I actually care, but I hate the idea of getting calls from Child Protective Services when I’m not even a parent.
My friend Ryan and I were at dinner last week when I did the unthinkable: I invited him to spend the evening with my mother and brother. I was smart about it though, and made him eat a hamburger first. Protein makes you stronger and increases your chances of survival.
I’ve known Ryan for a few years, but this was the first time he’s ever met my family. He’s a good guy and I know multiple Nielsons can be intimidating. I absolutely adore my family. I really do, but we are bat shit crazy.
After an hour of NORMAL FAMILY CONVERSATION Ryan looked at Ben and I and then told my mom she was so patient. Like piranhas my brother and I immediately attacked him.
“What do you mean patient? Are you saying we are difficult to handle?”
“Oh my God, did you just infer that our Mother doesn’t love us?”
“Did you just call my sister horrible?”
“Did you just call us miserable human beings that should be locked up and never released?”
Ryan said nothing. It was all he could do from rocking himself from the corner straight into a mental institution. We have that effect on people.
He was very polite about the evening, but I think hearing about my Mom’s beard fetish left him a little skittish. I can’t imagine why.
Did you guys watch the Neil Diamond TV concert last night? If not please lie, because otherwise you are dead to me.
I was so excited about the concert that I picked out a special couch outfit, which is code for tee-shirt and underwear. I couldn’t decide on just one shirt, instead I chose two and switched halfway through the concert. I did, not, however switch underwear. It seemed like a waste of a clean pair. I’m single-handedly saving the environment with my vagina.
First half:
Second half:
After watching the concert I decided Neil should be my BFF. I mean we have sooooo much in common–well except for that wrinkly old man part. He’s Jewish and I work out at the Jewish Community Center. He has a pink sparkly shirt, I have four. OK, so the similarities stop there, but that doesn’t mean the BFF-ship should stop. It’s perfect timing since RLO is practically worthless to me.
(When your BFF falls in love he suddenly become an idiot.)
(RLO didn’t tell me he was in love, but he also didn’t tell me he was Canadian and he totally is.)
(Canadians shouldn’t be allowed to fall in love and ruin lives.)
(So maybe RLO didn’t ruin my life, but eating at the pub isn’t the same without him.)
(Enough about RLO. He pisses me off anyway. Neil Diamond DOES NOT piss me off. Neil Diamond is perfect.)
I guest posted on Aiming Low today.
Instead of sending me a tiara and sash my friend Brittany called me lazy on Twitter:
She’s seriously a bitch, which is a badge of honor for her, but I still want the damn tiara.
This week’s “That’s What She Said” is about my upcoming move.
You’d be freaking out too if you just realized how much furniture you DON’T own. How will I ever be a real adult if I don’t even own a bed frame? Or a desk? FUCK, I don’t even own a mop.
From now on I’m going to be the dirty girl who sleeps on the floor. In some social circles that’s hot, just not my circle.
“Sarah, did I lose your dog?”
“No, Ben, I haven’t even dropped her off yet.”
“Oh good. I was so worried I’d already lost her.”
That conversation was not the most comforting thing in the world. Yet, I still took a chance and let my brother keep Daisy while I was traipsing in the woods trying to hug coyotes after drinking way too much wine.
Ben assured me that nothing would happen to her, and I was stupid enough to believe him.
When I picked Daisy up this is where I found her:
She was so hungover that she didn’t even hear me come in and I was able to catch her laying in the aftermath of a passionate night with Willie Nelson.
My bitch made me proud. Also, I’m going to kill my brother.
Seriously, what little pricks. I take the time to make a homemade dinner, turn my back for one second and the little prick steals my popcorn.
Inside my head I picture a Mormon Jello salad with a lovely whipped topping where my brain once was. This semester left me without one. Thankfully I only have one semester left.
In an effort to recharge I’m headed to a friend’s cabin for some much needed down time.
I’m going to get in touch with my country girl roots and do some hiking and drinking. Probably at the same time, which makes me really happy that my phone has GPS. I can barely survive day-to-day live without getting hurt so the chances of mountain survival without incident are low. I cannot wait to tell you the stories when I get back… if I get back, that is. If I don’t I’m going to haunt all your asses for ignoring my SOS messages on Twitter.
Before you watch this video you should know he totally deserved to be yelled at. He broke our pinky promise that he’d not tell Susan I don’t think cats should exist, which is sad because her cat is really quite lovely.
In another life if her cat was a Canadian I think we’d be great friends. I bet a previous cat, newly Canadian friend would NEVER break a pinky promise, or get me in trouble with Susan and then laugh about it.