Hate mail.

Dear *&%$ jerks who
A) rammed into my front bumper the other weekend in the parking lot and,
B) puked all over the side of my mom's car I borrowed tonight,

As a rule, I don't hate people. If, however, I did hate people, I would hate you. You are bad people. And I hope that Santa did not bring you anything for Christmas. If I find out that he did, I am going to seek you out, run your presents over, and then puke on them. I am sure that you have black hearts.

Sincerely, Sara A. Hinshaw

A letter.

Dear Christmas Break,

D. used a glue stick as chapstick today. And ate a q-tip. You should have gotten here last week instead of tomorrow.

Love, Sara

4 pictures. Just for you.

Last weekend I went to my sister's sister in law's wedding. Hm.

Alio and I acting normal.

Ry and I acting normal. After three attempts, one of which had Ry's finger up my nose.

One of the attempts before the 'normal' photo.

Aaaaaand, my family. :)

I'm like the little chicken that did all the freaking work herself. But then didn't get any bread or anything.

I raked the leaves.

I bagged the leaves.

I got a rash on my finger from the leaves which my crackhead doctor told me could be a form of herpes because it's a good FREAKING idea to tell that to a hypochondriac. I spent two days crying and afraid I had herpes. Which it wasn't. Crackhead.

I took all the bags out to the side of the road for leaf collection.

I took all of the bags back into my garage because my neighbor told me the wrong day.

I took all of the bags back out to the side of the road (thirty 30-gallon bags, mind you) a month later. In a blizzard.

Leaves suck. These are my leaves. Ooooh! And my Christmas house. :)

Truth and modesty.

This is Ryan and I this past weekend. I feel as though I should post it because it really displays the fabulousness and suave...in...ity we just seem to exude so naturally. I mean, I'm not worried about being modest here. It's just a plain fact. Like superheros of fabulousness and fun. Kind of.

Favorite email responses addition.

Erin C: Please reply with your address as well! and don't worry, i'm in the same christmas card boat. toot toot.

Favorite responses to my mass email for addresses for my Christmas cards.

Michael: because I am grumpy I am choosing to simply send you my address and include absolutely no funny stories to cheer you up...merry christmas.

Stef: Hey Sar-Bear, How are you my darling?

Dougie: Sar, You are the only person that I know, our age, that sends Christmas cards. But I love it!

Becky: You're a goofball.

Segal: Puma! You must be the cutest girl ever alive. Seriously, I heart you.

About rubber ducks.

Tonight I am in a pissy, bitter mood. Thus, I took a bubble bath, had some wine, watched some Grey's season 2, and felt sorry for myself. And talked to Kristin 4 times because whatever guy I end up with someday is going to have to understand that Kristin is pretty much my support system and I just can't see any guy being better at dealing with me than she is. Too bad she's a girl. And married. Or I'd totally marry her. Or something.

ANYWAY... as I was taking my bubble bath, I had the new rubber duck in there with me that Dougie, Ryno, and Emily got me for a housewarming gift at my party Saturday. (Which was huge amounts of fun. If you weren't there, too bad for you.) And I had this realization that I have received lots and lots of rubber ducks over the years. Like, probably 20. No joke. I am the kind of person you apparently buy rubber ducks for. It's a little weird, but a true statement I suppose. I mean, I do like rubber ducks. And I've never even asked for any. I'm not sure what that says about me. I am a rubber duck girl, as noticed by the general public.