Things that I have substituted in place of dinner in the last two days.

1. Strawberry shortcake
2. Coldstone's Raspberry sorbet
3. chocolate milk- skim with Hershey's syrup- I pretty much hate pre-made chocolate milk
4. a mini chocolate muffin
5. a peanut butter cookie
6. triscuits and cheddar cheese


And a picture of Cindy, Frenchy, and me on Memorial Day.

Michael being funny.

Upon talking on the phone to Michael the other day, he said this:

"I think she was giving me the sexy eyes."

I laughed really hard. I am practicing giving my sexy eyes in the mirror now.

One of the dumbest things I've ever done in my whole life.

For my 21st birthday, my friend Jik got me a bottle of peach flavored wine. Now, this was before I was schooled in alcohol, which you should keep in mind when you want to tell me later how stupid I am. ANYWAY, I put the wine in the freezer. Because you can put vodka in the freezer. All that wine wanted was to be put in the freezer and treated equally. So, I did it. Here wine- Fine. Go to the freezer.

So. A few hours later, I go to get wine out, and wine was all frozen up. Frozen right up. The glass was still attached, but it was all broken apart like a puzzle. Now, I am one of those people who feels bad when something happens to something a friend got me. So, I decide that, instead of throwing it away, I'll just thaw it out. Things go downhill from here. I progressively got dumber as the night wore on. I'm going to number them to downplay my dumbness.

1. I try to pick the glass pieces off of the frozen wine. I cut my finger open.
2. I put it into a bowl in the sink to thaw the wine and let the glass fall off.
3. My roommate accidentally turns on the faucet and gets some water in my thawing wine.
4. Wine thaws.
5. I pick out the big pieces of glass.
6. I realize that there are some little pieces in there.
7. I call my dad because I figure he'll know about this kind of stuff. He does. He tells me to use pantyhose to sift out the glass because it would be an efficient strainer.
8. I use the pantyhose idea. It's a good idea. Well, it's a good idea, but for an idea that is very, very dumb.
9. At this point I have, like, a glass of wine out of the whole ordeal. I try to get Lola to take a sip. She says absolutely not. Rude. I think I had a few drinks so that I wouldn't feel like Jik's thoughtful present went to waste.
10. I tell Jik that his wine was amazing.

I think I might be ready to retire.

I'm avoiding work. Here are some pictures from Muca's parents' Margaritaville party on Saturday night.

Back: Brian, me, Jeff Front: Ben, someone's daughter I don't know, Muca, Jen

Brian (super happy), me (super tired), and Jeff (super cool).

Dan sent this to me. And I liked it. So, here:

Ears are for iPods
by John Fischer

Do you ever wonder how much God knew about what would become of what he made when he first made us? I mean, did he know that little dip in the bottom of my ears would work perfectly with my iPod earphones so they would stay put while I jog? What about drinking Starbucks latte on the go? Do you suppose he knew my lips would wrap nicely around that little hole in the lid and my tongue would allow me to let through a sip at a time so as not to burn my whole mouth?

I know this sounds a bit silly, but I actually find it easier to believe this and a whole bunch of other unbelievable stuff about God and myself than to do the heavy lifting of leaving God out of the equation. God had to know about stuff like this when he made us if he is God.

Which means he had to know about war, disease, calamity, terror, abuse, and all manner of evil, too. And how do you reconcile any of this with the idea of a kind, loving, and compassionate God? Not very easily. In fact, I’ll go so far as to say not at all. I can’t reconcile stuff like this. But just because I can’t make sense of the world doesn’t mean he can’t either. You see, God is not bound by my judgments. He never asked for my counsel. He didn’t check in with me before he made the world the way it is, and a big part of believing in God is accepting the fact that he is God and I am not.

Now don’t get me wrong. This doesn’t at all mean I don’t still try to get answers to questions like this, nor does it mean I just blindly accept what happens as God’s will and blow off my own human reactions. In fact, if God is God, then he made me with a questioning mind, and why did he do that if he wanted me to just blindly trust him? No, he must have wanted to interact with the process in some way. He must have wanted the give and take, push and pull of a relationship, or else, why did he do this?

Here is my conclusion, at least so far. More than he wants us to follow him, he wants us to have a relationship with him. More than blind obedience, he wants conversation. He’ll even get down on the mat and wrestle with us if that’s what we need. God made us for himself and none of us will rest until we are one with him. That is where we belong, and pretty much whatever it takes to get there is worth it.

Dogs.

Today I didn't go to work. Because I didn't feel like it. So, that was good. So, while I was driving around doing errands, I saw this dog sticking it's head out a car window and it had purple bows in it's ears. It wasn't even a poodle dog- it was some kind of, like, hunting-type dog. I felt really bad for it. I gave it sympathy eyes when I drove past. Which made me think of this dog that my babysitter had when I was little. It was this little, white poodle and it's name was Pepi. It was a boy, but they always had bows in its hair and painted its toenails purple. And it's penis was always out which makes me puke in my mouth. I hate poodle dogs. Also, I hate white dogs. White dogs always get orange hair around their mouths and butts. It's so sick. White dogs should just evolve out of existance. For their own sake as much as for mine. If I was a white dog, I'd be mortified having to walk around with an orange muzzle and butt.

And I'm going to buy a house too! So, that's exciting. That has nothing to do with white dogs, but it's exciting anyway.

Poor Izzy.

Tonight, I was bawling watching the season finale of Grey's Anatomy because Denny died and he had just proposed to Izzy. I need a date soon. I'm getting pathetic.

But seriously, that show is so good.

Also seriously, I need a date.

Reasons why you probably wouldn't have been friends with me in middle school.

1. I permed my bangs.
2. I always forgot to wear deodorant. I had to print out a sign that said "Don't forget your deodorant!" and tape it onto my ceiling so I'd remember it when I woke up.
3. If you were a guy, I wouldn't have talked to you anyway.
4. I came up with this plan to where I could put my spelling words in a ziploc baggie and hang it from the shower head so I could study my spelling words while I was showering in the morning.
5. I had to wear a mouth guard for a while before I got braces because apparently, my dentist had never heard of retainers. I am FAR less shy now than I was then, and cannot for the life of me understand how I was able to do this. I would be mortified now.


As a side note, Dougie said a few weeks ago something to the effect of my blog being uncomfortable to read sometimes. I'm guessing this might fall into that category. I'm going to need to hire someone to censor me soon. Particularly if I want to get a date anytime soon.

Things that made me unneccesarily happy at the grocery store today.

1. It is time for corn on the cob!
2. They had edamame beans in stock.
3. I got three new nailpolishes for, like, $1 apiece.

Joe sent me this picture of Lori, Pat, Joe, Mikey, and I at Mikey's wedding reception a couple weekends ago.

BFF

I have often said that in bar bathrooms, all girls are best friends. I've had some crazy conversations in bar bathrooms. Tonight, while I was in the Monaco Bay bathroom with Muca, a girl started cleaning the bathroom sink and complaining about, "How could you be so drunk that you can't even keep water in the sink?" Then she said, "ALL women are queens! Don't matter if you're 16 or how old you are- if you've been blessed with a vagina, you're a queen!" Before leaving, she invited all of us, (about 7) to her wedding.

Big Sara.

Tonight I babysat my triplets. When I put Ryan to bed he told me he had a secret to tell me. Actually, three secrets:

1. You are Big Sara. (They call me this because one of the triplets is also named Sarah.)
2. You are Ryan's Big Sara.
3. You are beautiful.

It was one of the nicest things anyone has said to me lately. Every girl should be told that she is beautiful once in a while, even if it's from a 5 year old. Go tell some girl she's beautiful.

Boobs.

I bought a new bra from Victoria's Secret this weekend. It is from their new Pink line which is very, very cute. I once worked at Vicky's for a summer. I really sucked at it, mostly because I really suck at selling people things. (Although I'm very good at convincing people to do things, but I guess that's different. It has to be because, like I said, I really sucked at that job.) Anyway, here are some helpful things that I learned from that summer.

1. You do not call underwear, underwear. It is panties. Always panties. My old roommate Lola says that that word sounds really dirty to her. I don't know. I do know that Vicky wants nothing to do with underwear. It is all panties, all the time.

2. You do not call stick on bras, stick on bras. (For those of you who are unfamiliar with this concept, they are basically stickers that you put on to serve as a bra for when you have a backless dress or something. They are weird and don't really work.) What you call these things is adhesives. I know because I got in trouble for calling them stick on bras.

3. You cannot wear red nail polish.

4. Your nails can't be too long.

5. Your suit has to be, if I remember correctly, at least 70% black.

6. You aren't allowed to spray the tissue paper with perfume when the customer is looking. I also got in trouble for this.

7. If a man comes in and wants to try on women's clothing, you can't say no. This happened at my store.

8. This is my favorite story from working at Victoria's. It's a good one. So one day, this woman comes in and asks for these enhancers. I have no clue what these are, so I have to ask. I don't remember what I called them, but I probably got in trouble for whatever I said. Anyway, it turns out that they are these boobs in a box. Literally. They look like someone chopped off two boobs, and put them in a pink, striped box. Surprise! Tas in box. (My friend Pat calls boobs tas which I think is funny. I stole it from him.) So I show this woman the ta box and she goes to try them on. Apparently, what happens is you put them in your bra to make it look like you've got a bigger rack than you really do. Here are my thoughts on that. You are obviously wearing these to impress someone. Fine, whatever. Problem is, there is a good chance that if things work out between you and guy-you-want-to-impress-with-bigger-boobs, he's gonna eventually find out that- surprise again!- half of your boobs are boxed. And then you're going to look like a big weirdo for putting in fake boobs all this time. Boobs from a BOX no less. SOOOOO, anyway- this woman decides that boobs in a box are indeed for her and she buys them. They are expensive. Bigger boobies are a big deal to her. Good- more commission for me. So a few days later, another woman comes in and also wants a booby box. So this time, I go over and open the box to show her what they look like and I am stunned to find that- OF ALL THE NONSENSE- boobs in a box come in different skin shades! And it dawns on me that I had sold the previous booby box woman (who happened to be white) boobies that were actually intended for a woman who was black. WHO THE CRAP KNEW?!

So, the moral here is to never assume that boobs that come in a box are one and the same. They are many, many things, but one-shade-fits-all is not an attribute.