Thanks!
This week’s installment of “That’s What She Said.” It’s all about NKOTB, yes, as a matter of fact I can feel your excitement through the computer. Which means I can also hear you singing the “Click Click Click” lyrics, and let me say dear readers, I’ve never been so proud!
With her new found youth Daisy has been especially hyper lately. Which is cute, certainly, but can also drive me stark raving mad.
For example, this morning she wanted so badly to play but I ignored her and climbed into the shower. Rather than her usual morning routine of sleeping on the bathroom floor she brought her stuffed animals into the bathroom, even pushing her Hello Kitty toy into the tub. So there, in my shower was a wet kitty. Go ahead and make your own naughty joke here… must I do all the work around here?
Completely annoyed I ignored the dripping wet toy and got out of the shower. In the process of putting on my robe I tripped over her elephant chew toy. That’s right, my dog crosses party lines. The thought made me laugh so hard that I got dressed, ignored the time and took her for a nice, leisurely walk, which resulted in being late for my morning class.
Thankfully the professor didn’t call me out on it. Otherwise I would have been forced to explain that I’m late for class due to a wet pussy, and there’s no possible way to say something like that without sounding like a sleaze.
Its no secret math is the bane of my existence. It’s safe to say 80% of my Twitter comments are math related complaints. The other 20% are about dog farts.
As far as I’m concerned the only good thing to ever come out of math is the “Math Class is Tough!” Teen Talk Barbie from 1992 that was highly controversial, and in my book highly awesome. I’m still mad at myself for not buying one.
My hate of math is not just limited to school; I am an equal opportunity hater and therefore detest all numbers, not just complex equations. So it was no surprise while at Daisy’s vet appointment on Sunday I found out she is actually a year younger than I thought. See, even simple math escapes me.
Not believing the vet technician she showed me the chart and explained that Daisy’s birth date of 1997 subtracted from 2008 was indeed 11, not 12. I left in complete embarrassment, but of course immediately called and made a doctor appointment for myself this week in hopes of the same.
Thus far, 33 years old is completely overrated, and I’m ready to go back to 32 again.
After all these years my crush/true love Jonathan Knight still has the right stuff. No really, just look at his sexy dance moves. Hubba hubba. To read abut the actual concert you’ll have to wait until Thursday when my column comes out. But in other crush news, I have one, and it’s good.
My good Mormon parents are drug runners for Jesus. There’s no other logical explanation for their yearly disappearance to exotic locations like Columbia–that was the location for the trip last year. This year they are in Thailand. Suspicious, right?
What’s more suspicious is the fact they travel during the holidays. Last year I was forced to make my own damn mashed potatoes while they were gone. I can’t help but wonder if there’s some sort of buy one kilo get one kilo free deal going on for Black Friday.
It’s very likely they’ll end up in a Thai prison, but luckily I’ve seen the movie “Brokedown Palace” so I know exactly how to get them home. And once I do, I plan to blackmail them for extra Christmas presents. I have a feeling their Mormon bishop won’t be as understanding as I am.
While I wait for the phone call alerting me to their prison sentence I’ll continue to miss my mommy, just like I do every time she leaves the country. I’d obsess over the fact I’m a 33 year old momma’s girl, but I think this behavior is a lot healthier than when I was 16 years old yelling about how much I hated her every single day of my life. Hormones are a motherfucker.
There will obviously be a movie about my parents prison experiences, and when there is I’ll be sure to remind the producer to include the scene where the loving daughter listens to the last few voicemails her mother left over and over, because she misses her so much. See, Internet, I AM A GOOD DAUGHTER!
Remember the Metallica birthday tickets? Yeah, the concert rocked… LOUDLY! Read about it in this week’s “That’s What She Said.”
I know I said I wasn’t going to write about RLO all the time, but this post is not a regular RLO post. Consider it a public service announcement.
RLO is a big, fat cheater who cannot be trusted.
Since RLO fancies himself a biker and I fancy myself shallow we both decided to give up sugar recently. I’ve been diligently skipping all things sugar. Meanwhile RLO has been stuffing his face with treats left and right. First it was a “harmless” sucker. His thought process was that he wasn’t actually eating sugar so much as sucking it. Sucking is cheating too, just ask the Clinton administration.
It gets worse. Much worse. Last night while I was online trying to figure out a math problem I saw that he was also online. I hadn’t seen him at the gym earlier so I thought he needed me to whine about it. So I did. Only I didn’t use my nice words. There may or may not have been a wiener mention. A few minutes later he responded, “You just sent that message to Sugar, who is here doing her laundry. She says thanks for the info.”
There are a few problems with this:
1) Why is he doing her laundry and not mine?
2) Why is she on his computer trying to have chat conversations with his beautiful best friend. Lesbian much?
3) Why the hell is he hanging out with her anyway? WE GAVE UP SUGAR!
As you can see, this is the second time in a matter of days that RLO has cheated. He’s evil and cannot be trusted as a friend. He can, however, be trusted to help me find a new couch and carry it upstairs on his own. That should burn off those calories he consumed and hopefully teach him a lesson.
My brother, Ben, called last night to discuss his wedding nuptials.
“Hey, Sarah, I think I finally figured out when I should get married.”
“Um, never? Because that’s good for me.”
“No… April Fools’ Day. This way if I get cold feet and want to back out I can and call it an elaborate joke.”
“That’s actually a really good idea, and I’m obviously going to steal the idea for myself.”
It matters not that neither of us are in a relationship. It’s just good planning if you ask me.
I’m a lousy outdoorsman, or is that outdoorsgirl? Whatever it is, I’m LOUSY at it. Last night when trying to find a flashlight to take along on my Emigration Canyon adventure I realized the only flashlight I own is a Hello Kitty one that sings.
I would certainly make a worthless hippie, but I would make an excellent Japanese teenager.
