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My beloved niece and nephew have a new addition to their home:

You know what word is practically impossible to screw up? PUG! They should get one.

All dog owners talk to their dogs like they are human, right? Well I do. All the time, and sometimes Daisy talks back.

Me: I need a new masthead for my blog.

Daisy: Deal.

A big thanks to Alma for starting over the design work when I told her Daisy the Pug needed to be in the masthead. She didn’t once question my insanity. I love that.

If you’re reading this in feed reader you’ll want to click through and refresh. Trust me, it’s THAT cute.

Read “That’s What She Said” online about my trip to the country for the demolition derby. I had grand plans to make a cool video with the footage I took, but then this week kicked my ass. So this is all I had time to do. Do me a favor and pretend you can hear AC/DC, the anthem of the country.

One of my favorite things about my job is the people I work with. My agency employs a lot of talented and entertaining people.

Oh, and nerds.

I can’t forget my nerds. How could I? Eating lunch with them is the best part of my day–except today. Today’s lunch was horrible.

Today is the day a nerd spit into my eyeball, you read correctly MY FREAKING EYE BALL! The nerds were discussing their love of HGTV when someone made a joke about the odd choice in television channels. I turned to see what was so funny at the exact same moment one of the nerds couldn’t contain his laughter and spit out a mouthful of juice into my face.

I started freaking out and yelled, “There is human spit in my eye!”

One of the non-spitting nerds looked at us accusingly and said, “This is why we can’t all eat together. PEOPLE GET HURT!”

I wasn’t actually hurt, but I’m worried I may catch a strain of super nerd. If I start dreaming of PHP, Linux or Apache I’ll know who to blame and then immediately murder.

OK, so I wasn’t actually a derby princess, but I will be. That’s my new life goal. Forget college and the dreams of writing; I want to be a demolition derby princess.

I NEED that tiara and sash.

If only to cover up the unflattering shirt I decided to wear. I probably would have chosen my clothes a little more carefully had I known I was going to be riding around on top of a car. The crowd is just lucky I wore pants.

I should be easy to spot in this picture since I’m the only girl. I’d say look for the long hair, but the derby is mullet turf.

I had an incredible night and I’d tell you all about it, but I’m saving it for column fodder so I don’t have to leave the house again this weekend. DON’T JUDGE ME! Well you can if you want, but after judging send wine.

“Sarah, are you coming down here for the 4th of July?”

“I will try, but I’m super stressed out and can’t think straight so I may end up in the wrong small town.”

“Bring your brother. Between the two of you perhaps you can make one functioning person.”

Read this week’s “That’s What She Said” online or download the PDF here. I want to hear what you would get rid of from your time with 1997. There must be someone out there with a worse 90s tattoo than I have. Right?

If there’s a God let one of my readers have a Taz or Tweety Bird tattoo. Do they have RSS feeds in heaven? GOD ARE YOU THERE IT’S ME SARAH! If you’re there and reading I’m asking for a miracle. A tattoo miracle. Let me wake up tomorrow and be ink free. Please?

I think I might be an emotional loner. I like people well enough and I enjoy spending time with my friends, but I have the hardest time letting new people in. This does not bode well for any new relationships.

When someone tries to get close to me I’m extra abrasive, overly critical and sarcastic. There’s only so far pretty hair can get you in a relationship.

I wouldn’t date me.

I wouldn’t encourage my male friends or brothers to date anyone remotely like me.

So what makes me think I will find someone who WANTS to date me?

Heavy stuff for a Tuesday morning, I know. If you want some lighter reading go read my guest post for Libby Logic.

A few weeks ago I wrote about how much I missed my Magic Date Ball, and because I have the best readers in the world this magically showed up in the mail today:

I immediately tested the ball out with a dating question. The answer was a very exciting, and a very glittery “Absolutely!” You’re going to have to figure out the question on your own though. I can’t be expected to do all the work around here.

Plus it’s embarrassing as hell.

And sweaty.

I just gave it away didn’t I?

Thanks again Jogurl. You’re the best!

My little apartment has a balcony that I rarely use. I don’t grill food or own patio furniture. The area sits empty except for a stray dog bone and a formerly empty cheap, plastic planter. I grew weeds in the planter all by myself. I’m basically a gardener at this point.

I was on the phone with a friend when I saw the weeds and in my excitement said, “I grew my own weed.” My friend was silent for a moment and then asked, “I didn’t know you smoked weed, and aren’t you worried about getting arrested?”

The gardening excitement faded as I realized the misunderstanding. I quickly corrected the mistake and assured her that I don’t smoke weed and that my incredibly skilled green thumb was not going to be carted off to jail. Thank god, because I think she was about to ask if she could have custody of my shoes while I served time.

The mix-up was extra comical to me because my mom once requested that I buy her pot for Christmas. She meant a kitchen pot, but having your Mormon mother ask you for pot is one of those memories I’ll always cherish.

Mom, if you’re reading, this weed’s for you: