Tales of Wit and Charm…

“Sarah, what happened to your knee? Those bruises are awful.”

“I feel down the stairs.”

“Again?!”

“I don’t think again is necessarily the right word. They were different stairs this time.”

“Where?”

“At work. The heel of my shoe got caught on my cuffed jeans and before I knew it I was falling.”

“That totally sucks. Did anyone see you?”

“No one that matters, just some asshole that happened to be walking down the stairs too. He moved aside and let me fall.”

“What a jerk, have you dated or something?”

“No… not yet.”

I am considering renewing my faith in Jesus. When Arlo decided to ruin my Friday night plans by getting a date, I did what I do best: I used guilt. When that didn’t work I went home and prayed. I prayed to every type of Jesus I could think of: hot Mormon Jesus, dead Jesus, baby Jesus, cross Jesus, resurrected Jesus, carpenter Jesus and every other Jesus imaginable.

And guess what?!

It worked; Arlo’s date canceled. Either I’m magic, or there is a Jesus after all. I’m going to investigate further by praying for a skinnier ass, new shoes and a boyfriend. I’ll keep you posted.

They send my brothers on missions. Chady-bear turns 20 tomorrow and I can’t see him because he’s in a foreign country serving God or something. And to make matters worse it’s against the rules to phone him.

It’s the little things in life that make me smile–like chasing tail at the office:

Dear Internet,

Please stop emailing me about Hillary Clinton. I read the news; I watch CNN; I refresh my Internet browser OCD style when it comes to news. With that said, I’m fully aware that Obama is rocking the nation. And guess what, dear Internet? That makes me happy.

I don’t have to explain my political views to you, but rather than reply to the 42 emails in my in box let me go ahead and do, just that, explain.

I’m a Democrat. A proud one. I grew up in a very conservative Republican home, so unlike some people I know, I picked my political party. I wasn’t raised a Democrat. I became one. A choice that I’m very proud of, so don’t give me shit.

I think Obama would make a fine president. In fact, I would be thrilled to see him in office. However, I voted for Hillary, because I am a woman. Like many women today, I remember growing up wondering why a woman couldn’t be President of the United States.

So, when finally a woman is on the ballot did you really think I’d not vote for her? I mean, really? I’m not a feminist by any means. I like men to do stuff for me. And not just in bed.

This is why I voted for Hillary Clinton, but would be just as happy at to have someone like Obama running our country. He bring passion and not just a last name. Plus his wife is pretty hot.

So back off, would ya?

Love,
Sarah

This week’s “The Dating Years.”

I met the perfect guy for my brother. That is, if my brother weren’t adamantly straight and currently dating a woman that I actually like.

I recently met a man who, despite being fantastic, is as far from my type as possible. This is causing me more stress than it should. I need to learn to relax and go with the flow. Keeping a running count of our differences is not only time consuming at this point, but also keeping me up at night.

First off, he drives an SUV. Don’t get me wrong, there’s nothing wrong with driving an SUV, I just don’t. I can’t seem to justify the cost of filling one with gasoline. I keep my cars economical, but can appreciate those who don’t. Mostly I appreciate them on snowy days when my great gas mileage car can’t make it out of the driveway. My brother, on the other hand, not only appreciates an SUV but has the knowledge to discuss things like lift kids and tire size. Things I know nothing about, and probably never will.

In this above-mentioned SUV his radio presets are rock, KBER to be specific. I only recognized the call letters because the same station happens to be one of my brother’s favorites. My car radio is either on a local NPR station, or on a music station that is more likely to produce bad 80’s pop music. Not necessarily because I like that music, but generally hearing Paula Abdul on the radio makes me giggle.

Last weekend, after dinner, we made our way to the dive bar Ex-Wives Place. I love dive bars, but for some reason haven’t spent a lot of time at this particular one. My brother, of course, has on a weekly basis.

And if that weren’t enough, the new guy invited me to a NASAR party he was hosting. I hate NASCAR with a passion. The “sport” makes no sense to me. I don’t understand why watching cars drive really fast round and round in a circle is entertaining. I can barely tolerate watching real sports, like football, on TV let alone four hour car races. My brother digs NASCAR. So much that he’ll often lie and tell me he has to work on Sundays only to find he’s really sitting home on his couch glued to the TV watching these dumb races. (Un)fortunately I had other plans for the big party and wasn’t able to attend. I considered sending my brother as a surrogate, but thought better of it. My brother teases me non-stop and so far so does this guy. I don’t want them spending quality time together finding more reasons to mock me.

So if/when I let the new guy and my brother meet, I imagine they will have loads to talk about. Lots and lots of stuff that makes me want to stab my eyeballs out with a fork. But since this guy isn’t too hard on the eyes, and a lot of fun to be around I’ll probably keep him around. At least long enough to fine one thing we have in common, besides my brother.