droller than thou.

my one good deed for christmakkah.

Dear person(s) repeatedly searching for "honey baked ham screaming commercial":

Now, for the love of all that is holy, please stop googling it.

Luv, your friend 4eva,

Sarah

P.S.-I love ham, too.  

on seinfeld, for some reason.

According to the Merriam-Webster Online Dictionary, "asshat" is defined as: "The word you've entered isn't in the dictionary. Click on a spelling suggestion below or try again using the search bar above."

Wasn't that just the best way to start an English paper in high school?  It made you sound so very learned [that's pronounced "learn-ed," as in "Ed," as in the name of my Dad's former secretary's husband who was a contractor], plus it showed that you knew how to use the dictionary.  Plus, god, actually I always hated people who used that as their opener.  Amateurs.  [That's pronounced "ama-tyoors," as in some kind of Frenchie and/or other kind of foreigner who pronounces things all high class and shit.] 

Okay, so this is how I'm actually going to start this post:

As a conversation on Seinfeld once went: "I will never understand people," [Elaine].  "They're the worst," [Jerry].

Or, as The Mister and I like to condense it: "People.  They're the worst!"  

Now.  A fact which we've all come to know and love about me is that I'm a bad person.  There are just so many reasons for this.  If you don't believe me, just take it from me.  If you're too lazy to follow the link and read the really quite reasonable in length blog post--quit being so damn lazy.  Also, get a job, hippie.  Also, basically the point is that I don't like most people.  

I know that I've talked about this before [Note: I can't actually find a post which goes into much detail about this, other than this brief mention; so maybe this is one of those things that I think about all the time but have never actually blogged about--but because I've thought about it so much I forget that it's never actually left my mind and made in onto the interwebs.]  [Another Note: Sorry that the first note was so long; breaking up a sentence like that--especially with such a boring and unimportant digression--is really distracting, don't you think?]--but I really must reiterate how obnoxious it is when people comment on my supposed lack of conversational enthusiasm at work.  

When a coworker (who I've known for, like, two days) interrupts me in the middle of my third hour of running potatoes through the food processor (for latkes, naturally) in order to ask me if I want to hear a knock-knock joke--how am I supposed to respond?  Am I supposed to jump up and down, clapping my hands, peeing my pants, shouting with joy?  Or is it totally normal and acceptable to say, "Sure," in a regular, potato-food processing voice?  Because, apparently, I'm doing it wrong.  I got the old, "Wow, your enthusiasm is astounding!" bit from two different people.

I am honestly confused and annoyed. Is this what having autism is like?  Or is it more like this?  [Note: I've started working part-time for another former employer, a Jewish catering business; oy vey!]

And now back to Seinfeld.  

I never watched Seinfeld when it was on the air.  I tried to watch it a few times, but always ended up  annoyed with the quirks of the characters/involved and self-referential plot lines/Jerry's hairstyle and fashion blunders/etc.  But, apparently, all I needed was to grow and learn a little, and in time I came to fully appreciate the 'feld via reruns.  I never really understood what prompted my dramatic change of opinion...Until one fateful day when The Mister told me about a conversation he had with his sister, wherein she stated that she decided she didn't like Seinfeld anymore because she realized that "all the characters were assholes" who judged people all the time for insignificant things.  Upon hearing this, a glorious, shining light illuminated my brain.  I now understood why I liked the show: I'm a judgmental asshole, too!  

Way to go, television--you've helped me plumb the depths of my very soul, and I have emerged, reborn, a more perfect and complete person with a deeper understanding of my place on this big ol' ball of green and blue that we call, in some circles, "earf."  

Amen sweet jesus and pass the latkes.

on my amazing past hilarity.

Okay, not to toot my own horn or anything--but I've been reading some of my old posts on here, and by golly, I write some funny shit sometimes!  And what's really awesome is when I've totally forgotten about some minor incident and then read about it, like, a year and half later, and I'm like, "Oh yeah; that happened!"

Way to go, past me! [High-five through time]*

*This, of course, leads us to the ever-spiraling-out-of-control questions related to time travel: if present me was there to high-five past me, then who's writing the funny shit on my blog in the future??  I'm tripping balls, man.

important goings on.

In my seemingly never ending fascination with the search terms that bring strangers to my blog...

Someone has reached me by searching for "honey baked ham screaming commercial," like, ten times.  Also, there have been numerous visits from an image search for "russian brides." 

WTF?

In other news, it snowed here for a whole goddamned day.  Yeehaw!  I bought hot chocolate mix to celebrate.

Then the next day, after the snow had melted all away, I bought some black crepe paper to mourn.  Then I wrapped myself up in crepe and drank my hot chocolate and watched seven consecutive episodes of A&E's Intervention in ten minute installments on YouTube.  

And that's what winter is like in New Mexico.  The end.

tales of the uncool me.

Believe it or not, I haven't always been the radical, amazingly cool dudette that stands before you.  In truth, I used to be a pretty uncool dorkus malorkus.  And so I present the first (and hopefully not last) installation of...

Tales of the Uncool Me

I had very sensitive skin when I was a kid.  Therefore, all tags had to be cut out of my clothes and I refused to wear jeans because they irritated my skin too much.  The unfortunate result was that in elementary school I primarily wore stretchy cotton pants (either the pedal pusher or the stirrup variety), usually paired with an oversized tunic-y type shirt.  There was frequently tie dye involved.  And Tevas.  And I had this thing for gigantic dangly earrings, the tackier the better (my favorite pair consisted of a big cow with various barnyard animals hanging off of it; that, or the fairly realistic rubber cockroach ones).  And also I was fat.

So.  Clearly not a lot going for me in the fashion department.  In terms of culture, I pretty much exclusively listened to oldies music (which I don't actually consider uncool, but other people did)--until 5th grade hit and I began jamming out to KISS FM.  I believe at that time Salt-n-Pepa's "Shoop" was playing a lot, as was "A Whole New World" from the Aladdin Soundtrack.  Hellz yeah.

I also read.  A lot.  There was quite a bit of Greek mythology, but mostly Christopher Pike and R.L. Stine.  This is not to say that reading is in any way uncool--but Pike and Stine?  Sheesh.  (For those of you unfamiliar, they're horror writers for children/young adults--lots of ghosts and murders at the school dance and whatnot.)  I even wrote R.L. Stine a fan letter in 6th grade (which was, admittedly, a literature class assignment--but still).  I thought I was, like, the epitome of awesome when I transitioned to Stephen King books in middle school.  Whenever I was in the airport, I made sure to hold my book with the cover facing out, so that everyone would know that I, a mere child, was reading Stephen King.  Wow.  

My pants sensitivity carried on through middle school, where I unashamedly donned a variety of  chinos with my Teva sandals and enormous tee shirts.  I honestly can't remember if I ever wore socks with sandals, but I'm hoping not.    

Finally, in 8th grade I discovered that I could wear pants like other normal preteens--miracle of miracles!  And so I promptly began wearing jeans to school.  My Mother's jeans, to be precise.  

Sigh.

on talking to children.

I recently started subbing at my former place of employment (a preschool).  This happened in the first five minutes of my first day in a class:

Me: [trying to make some sort of connection with a very quiet little girl] So, do you have any brothers or sisters?

Little Girl: ...I have Tinkerbell shoes.

Me: Oh, well, that's kind of like having a brother or sister.

Little Boy Standing Nearby: I don't have Tinkerbell shoes.

Me: I'm sorry.

It's good to be back.