“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:
This week’s “That’s What She Said” is all about my inability to figure out dating equations. You guys, math is HARD! I’m suddenly wishing I’d paid a little more attention in College Algebra. You can download the PDF here.
