Yesterday Ben, Kiesha and I went to the cemetery to leave flowers on my grandparent’s grave. We were walking around when I looked down and noticed which tee-shirt I’d put on that morning. Talk about poor planning. Who picks a shirt with a girl shooting herself in the head to wear to the cemetery? Me. That’s who. I’m an idiot. I have got to start paying closer attention to the little details in life.
Last night while hanging out at very, VERY young guys house, his roommate walked in. He started to introduce me to the roomie, and everything froze. Shit. This could totally be the end of a good thing. I’m so weird about this, well, and everything really… If he introduced me as someone he’s dating I’d feel too much pressure. Did I mention I’m a total lunatic?
And then I heard the magical words I needed, “This is my friend Sarah.”
Bingo. We’ve got a winner.
I shouldn’t be surprised. He’s done everything right so far. Three tickets to see Wilco: one for me, one for him and one for whomever he’s dating at the time. Calm down, Internet! That’s what I wanted.
In fact the only thing he’s done wrong is being born in the wrong year, and I can’t be too hard on the boy. His age is really his mom’s fault, not his. Seriously, how selfish of her. Is it really too much to ask that she be doing it four years earlier?
My brother was out of town yesterday so I picked up his four-year-old twins from daycare. I knew it was going to be a good night when I walked in and Hannah started jumping up and down and told her teacher, “That’s my aunt Sarah, she’s a total rockstar.”
As per usual, the ride home consisted of Jesus talk. These kids are just as obsessed with him as I am. So much for the Jesus talk dying (Puntastic, no?) down after Easter.
“Aunt Sarah, we have to take a different road home.”
“Why, buddy?”
“Because Jesus brought a big, yellow pipe and left it on our street.”
“Um… why would Jesus leave a pipe in your street?”
“Aunt Sarah, the road is broken. Some big tractors came and dug it up, and then Jesus left a big, yellow pipe to fix it with.”
“Did this Jesus guy have a hard hat on?”
“Yes.”
“Buddy, I’m pretty sure that was a construction worker, not Jesus.”
“NOOO, it was Jesus… I just know it.”
“Seriously, buddy, I know for a fact Jesus is not a construction worker. Grandma told me he was a carpenter.”
Silence. Oh heavenly silence.
And then… in an amazed tone he asks, “Grandma knows Jesus?!”
Fuck.
I wanted to tell him that his grandma is obsessed with Jesus. And not in the fun/blasphemous way I am, but in the “Jesus is the Savior” kind of way. I’ll let him figure that one out on his own.
When it comes to preserving the environment and recycling, I feel like I have to double my efforts to make up for my family.
My parents live in the country and as far as I know there is no recycling program. I’m not sure if my other brothers recycle, but I know Ben doesn’t. He’s way too lazy. His idea of preserving the environment is leaving the food wrappers and empty drink cups in the back of his car. At one point when I told him how gross it was he replied, “Sarah, I’m working on a compost pile, leave me alone.”
Last night, when a light bulb burnt out in my apartment I went to retrieve the energy-saving fluorescent light bulbs I’ve been using, but I was out–thus the following conundrum: use the regular light bulbs that I already had, or drive to the store to buy more fluorescent bulbs?
Using low-energy bulbs is awesome, but using the fuel to drive to the store isn’t exactly the most environmentally sound decision. And fuck walking, I didn’t want to change into comfy shoes.
Being a list lover, I sat down and started writing a pro/con list to help make the decision. Ten minutes into the list process I poured myself a glass of wine. Five minutes later a second glass was consumed, and then a third…
Clearly my drunken subconscious was telling me to stay home and preserve gasoline. I can’t very well drive after drinking, right? Right! I then polished off the remainder of the bottle of wine and vowed to recycle the bottle, which I promptly forgot about and threw the bottle in the trash bin. Next time… I promise.
Summer is here. Which means I finally have an excuse to strip down the minute I walk into my apartment. It’s hot as hell in my little princess pad. Last night my bedroom was 95 degrees, and nothing justifies being naked more than 95 degrees.
I love soaking up the sun. Nothing makes me happier than roasting myself tan. However, I’ve learned my lesson. Two summers ago I had to have some spots on my back removed that were direct results of a lifetime spent in the sun. Listen up: WEAR SUNSCREEN BITCHES! Now, I look around at all the tanned bodies and find myself envious. Saturday I finally broke down and tried the sunless spray tanning at a local salon.
OH MY GOD! For the life of me I cannot figure out why I waited so long to try it. It looks as close to real as my cancer fearing self will allow.
There was only one small incident… the very Mormon looking girl who showed me how the machine worked forgot to warn me how cold the spray would be when it hit me. I screeched so loudly I think they thought the Second Coming had arrived. And oddly enough, I was totally fine with the thought of Jesus walking through the doors to the tanning salon. If there is a Jesus, and he comes to earth I want to look my very best. Perhaps if I look hot enough, he can overlook all that sinning I’ve been busy with.
