open letters

Dear Olympics,
Are you trying to turn me into a sleep deprived, weeps-at-the-sight-of-athletes-moms sort of a person? If so, you are succeeding. I would hold this against you, maybe threaten not to watch you religiously but, it turns out I am incapable of resisting your charms. Also, Olympics? You need to get out of my head. On Saturday night, I seriously considered going for a late night jog only to glance at the clock and realize it was 12:41AM. There are so many things that are wrong about that last sentence, namely that I thought about going for a jog for fun. Ugh. I'm done talking to you, at least until 7:30PM when I'll plop myself on the couch and start making kissy faces at the T.V. See you then! Oh wait, I'm angry with you. I will see you then, maybe. - Sarah


Dear Michael Phelps,
Can you please move into my apartment and just walk around with your shirt off? Also, since I think lisps are ADORABLE, you should feel free to say things like "Schara, I jusht misshed you so much today." (sidebar: has no-one else noticed this in listening to his interviews? Does it take one reformed lisper to hear it in the voice of another?)

Back to the subject of YOU, Michael, in exchange for your shirtlessness I will make you waffles and promise not to get angry when you eat all my snacks. Because according to Bob Costas, in addition to being an athletic wunderkind, you are also a human trash compactor. I'm ok with that, but if you touch the Cool Whip, so help me Michael, I will be forced to require that you walk around in a Speedo. Xxxes and ohhhs - Sarah

NEWSFLASH - my dad thinks ladies underthings are pretty fantastic

Sarah - Have you been watching diving? It's aahhhmaaaaazing.

Dad (former diver) - Yes! I just turned the T.V. on and saw a sploosh.

Sarah - **silence as we both watch two dudes step up to the diving board** Those speedos are ridiculous. They're so unnecessarily small.

Dad (former diver) - They are small, ours were like that but bigger. More like boxers. They really are the best though.

Sarah - Huh?

Dad (former diver) - Yeah, they work like girdles!

Ladies and gentlemen, as far as I'm concerned, statements like that deserve a round of applause.

if it's yellow...

"I'm practically showing ass crack with my in depth assessment of the situation and he's like 'I plunge, yes?'" - text message sent regarding the toilet that clearly, hates me.

A few months ago my toilet decided that it was tired of being taken for granted. It channeled the attitude of a hormonal 16yr old girl with a love for all things glitter, and pitched a motha-effin-fit. This was the third time I'd had "issues" with the toilet, so calls to the landlord started out relatively calm "Oh hi. I seem to have a hehehe plug in my toilet or something and I can't unplug it and I don't know... could you please come check it out?" and then degenerated into progressively more panicked voicemails "IT'S BEEN A WEEK OF NO TOILET. PLEEEEEASE FIX THIS TODAY. NOT TOMORROW. TODAY!"

I spent my evenings planning out bathroom trips. Before I left work I'd take a trip to the ladies room regardless of whether or not I actually felt the "urge". It felt like I was 4yrs old and leaving on a 13hr road trip with no potty breaks in between. Every. Single. Night.

I literally spent hours plunging and snaking the thing. I poured enough chemicals down there to burn the hide off a big, angry Rhino and still, nothing. Finally Desmond, the Jamaican repairman who I swear smoked a bong right before tapping on my door, showed up. He stared at my dinner and made hungry faces, but since I was angry, I was all "No, no seafood burrito for you, Mon." After about twenty minutes of pounding, plunging and creating a foul toxic mess, he ripped the thing out of the floor and wall only to disappear for the remainder of the weekend. At this point I was ready to burn the building down and call it even.

Understandably, I began to panic when the toilet started acting up again this past weekend when the flushage was increased x2 due to the presence of a houseguest. I scolded Jane, demanding an inventory of the last three days of her bowel movements and asked really polite questions like "WHAT HAVE YOU BEEN EATING?!" I explained that Toilet was a whiny little priss incapable of handling more than the lightest of loads (pun intended). Thankfully, in spite of my mad skills at hosting, Jane and I are still friends. Toilet on the other hand had better clean up its act. Because I've got a bottle of liquid plumber and I will not hesitate to use it.

my AM commute

There's nothing like seeing a homeless man blatantly rummaging around in his nether regions to really make you appreciate the city you live in. For that sir, I can spare some change.