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Congratulations to Misty Fowler and Laura for winning the Sorry Clementine giveaway. You bitches are going to look hot! I expect to see pictures of the shirts Suzanne makes for you.

Read this week’s “That’s What She Said” for probably way more info than you want about my dating life and over obsessive mind.

I’d love to hear where others are meeting people to date. Unless it’s a truck stop bathroom, because I grew up in the country I’ve so been there and done that. I want NEW IDEAS!

Last night I asked Daisy the Pug if she wanted a baby or a new puppy. She cocked her head after each word, stood up and walked into the kitchen. She scratched the cabinet door open and pulled out the Hello Kitty toaster.

My dog doesn’t want a human baby or a fur baby. She wants fucking toast, which either says a lot about my parenting skills, or that my dog is a selfish whore.

Either way I called my vagina doctor and canceled the appointment to remove my IUD. Which is probably OK because I don’t have the time, money, or penis it takes to make and care for a baby.

The point of this story is that my dog is a selfish whore, not that my biological clock is ticking.

“Sarah, I have good and bad news about your computer issue.”

“What’s the good news?”

“I was easily able to log into the account you weren’t able to access.”

“So I’m stupid?”

“Well, you see, that’s the bad news.”

Once upon a time there was a sister-less girl named Sarah. This girl was incredibly sad until she found that pseudo sisters were even better than the real thing. She made a point to surround herself with strong, talented and loving woman. One of these women is a talented clothing designer named Suzanne.

Suzanne has been designing and sewing clothes for years. When she was designing under her last label Drop Dead she let me play model for a night in one of her fashion shows. That’s how much she loves me. I didn’t fall down the stairs. That’s how much I love her!

Suzanne would do anything for me. And I her. Which made it easy to talk her into sponsoring a giveaway. This is awesome news for y’all!

Two winners will receive shirts from Suzanne’s new clothing line “Sorry Clementine.” She will contact the winners for measurements and favorite colors so she can construct the perfect shirt for you. One of a kind, yo!

You can comment as often as you like. I will close the contest on Friday at noon. Using a randomizer I will choose two winners. Trust me, you soooo want to be one of those winners. I have a few items she has made me over the years and they remain some of my favorites.

Check out her new Sorry Clementine Clothing Etsy Shop to see what kind of clothing she designs. If you’re a SLC local you can visit her booth at Craft Lake City on Saturday, August 8 from 2 p.m -10 p.m. at The Gallivan Center. I will be!

Help Suzanne get the word out about her new line. Retweet this giveaway link (short link: http://bit.ly/irMFR) on Twitter with #sorryclementine after the link. You never know what kind of goodies you’ll get out of it. If you want to follow Suzanne on Twitter go here.

Now get commenting.

This week’s “That’s What She Said” is all about the ‘she’. I talk about my weekend at the BlogHer09 conference. I don’t have a lot of pictures from the event, but what I do have you can see here.

“I can’t sell you this Sudafed.”

“Why?”

“You don’t have a barcode on your driver’s license.”

“Are you kidding me?”

“I’m sorry; there’s nothing I can do. People make drugs out of this stuff.”

“Um, it already is a drug. One I need.”

“I can’t sell you full strength without proper state identification. You’re going to have to buy the regular strength.”

“Would it help if I cried?”

“No.”

“What if I tell you the elevator/airplane/vertigo diagnosis the Internet gave me. Would that help?”

“You’ve already told me twice and no, it won’t help.”

“Would it help if my panties fell out of my purse? It happened before you know.”

“Miss, I really need to help the other customers now.”

“Fine, but I really don’t think this is what they meant by crack ruins lives you know.”

It’s not a secret how much I like taking my pants off, though I do have SOME limits. There are a few places that I refuse to take my pants off like public restrooms, my grandmother’s house, or on a date with a total douchebag.

Yesterday, flying home from Chicago, I was forced to take my pants off in a dirty airport bathroom.

Before my flight home boarded I made a quick trip to the bathroom because I’m allergic to gross and nothing is grosser than airplane bathrooms. Right before I exited the stall I noticed my underwear on backwards. That’s the danger of boy short style undies and being in a rush to make a flight. I thought I’d be able to easily take off my pants and fix my undies, but just as I was about to drop my jeans I noticed liquid on the floor. Not wanting to risk the “is this pee or water” game I stepped onto the toilet seat to take care of business. Trying to maneuver a slippery plastic “let’s prevent toilet herpes” covered toilet seat with my pants half off in flip flops was not a good idea. Seeing that my foot was dangerously close to the germy toilet water I hopped off the toilet seat as fast as possible. In the process my left flip flop flew off my foot and under the next stall which, of course, wasn’t empty.

I froze.

There was no way I was going to walk out without a shoe. Um, germs much? No way. I’d rather die in a stall than walk barefooted on that floor. I had no idea what to do. I didn’t have my phone with me so I couldn’t send an emergency SOS text message to Summer, who was waiting for me in the terminal. Just as I was about to have a complete meltdown a perfectly manicured hand reached under my stall and handed me my shoe. Without saying a word. Not one. No laughing, nothing.

I’m convinced it was the hand of God. And people, it’s my job to tell you that God is a woman. With hooker red nails.

I slept in, packed and am taking Daisy to my brother. WHO IS NOT ALLOWED TO LET ANYTHING HAPPEN TO HER. Do you hear me Benjamin? Nothing.

Let’s just get this out of the way, shall we? Do you see my suitcase? Yeah, I packed my baby blanket because, apparently, I’m still six-years-old. Luckily the blanket is pink and therefore matches my second security blanket: my pink flask.

If anyone needs me I’ll be cuddled up in the corner drinking. Heavily. For the rest of you there will be a guest post tomorrow to keep you company and it will have nothing to do with BlogHer. I promise.