Seriously? New Year's? Again?

Well I am currently getting ready for the worst holiday ever. This year will be interesting and sad because it will be the first time in a long time that I'm not with my sister. However, I will be with some hot single ladies and my friend Squirt who at our 10 year reunion ran around telling every single boy I ever had a crush on that I used to have a crush on them so I know it will be fun. Plus I am wearing a shirt that is so cleavage-baring that when I tried it on, I could hear my father crying somewhere in the distance. It is definitely putting me out of my comfort range, but whatever. The ladies need to breathe.

By the way, while I'm writing this song I have the 90's music channel playing on my TV, and "Justify My Love" by Madonna is on right now. Remember that? Seriously what the hell is up with this song. It is not good.

Tomorrow I leave for Florida, obviously, because what else do people do on New Year's Day? Diane, Drew and I are flying out to meet my parents who are already there. I'll have my crackberry with me, though, so I can keep you up to date on all the old people who try to give me hard candy.

I hope everyone has a wonderful New Year's, and I sincerely hope that 2008 brings you every happiness. Above all, my New Year's wish for you is to go out and buy or rent season one of "Friday Night Lights" and sit down and watch the whole thing. Then when you realize it is the greatest show ever, watch season two by any means possible and write to NBC and tell them it's the greatest show ever. And I mean that from the heart, you guys. Kisses.

This is just like Castaway except without the hunting, the volleyball and lack of storyline. Yeah I did.

I don't want to alarm anyone, but I am literally the only person ON MY ENTIRE FLOOR right now. There is a very real chance I will go crazy by the end of the day. My first order of business? Figure out how to play my iPod through my computer so I can have a one woman dance party.

Merry Christmas, cookie!

A couple weeks ago I volunteered to be a in a cookie exchange at work. That means you make a dozen cookies for each person who takes part in it, and they do the same then you all exchange. There were 7 people in the exchange including me so I had to make 6 dozen cookies. Volunteered, you guys. What was I thinking? I don't make cookies. I don't make anything. Why did I say I would do this?

I wrote my mom for her No Bake cookie recipe which requires no in-and-out-of-the-oven movements, and when she gave it to me she asked me why I needed it. I explained how apparently I had suffered from a moment of temporary insanity and volunteered to make cookies that other people would actually have to eat, and she was like, "Oh that sounds fun." A couple days later this happened:

A phone rings.
Me, answering: Hello?
My mom: Hey, honey. What day are you making those cookies?
Me: Saturday
My mom: Okay I'm going to come over.
Me, protesting: Mom! I can do it!
My mom, totally fake: No I know! You can do totally do this. I'm just going to come over and watch you. I mean, there's nothing to them, but I think I should be around.

With that vote of confidence, I went out to buy my ingredients last Saturday ready to show my mom that I could do this on my own. Less than a minute after getting to the store, I had to call her to find out where they kept the walnuts.

When she came over we began making them, and she really did just stand there and watch me do them. I was glad, though, because I could quickly identify several points in the cooking process where I would've completely freaked out on my own. Then my mom told me the story of how her grandmother taught her mother how to make these and then her mother had in turn taught her. It was really kind of cool to be a part of that, mothers and daughters bonding, and suddenly the cookies really became larger and more important than what they really were-they were my family history. As I was reflecting on this point and feeling the spirit of my grandma and great grandma before me, my mom, clearly trying to search for the right words to say at this poignant moment said, "Besides. It's time...I mean you...really need to.........learn how to cook. Anything."

P.S. Speaking of cookies, this past Saturday was another family bonding over cookies moment when we made my mom's famous cutout cookies and decorated them. I really felt the Christmas spirit, especially when my dad did this to the angel:




















As Drew then said, "That angel has a SWEET rack!"

P.P.S. MERRY CHRISTMAS! I hope everyone has an amazing holiday filled with family and love and hot chocolate and Christmas movies and X-rated baked goods! If you don't celebrate Christmas, have a fantastic December 25th, and you know what? I think you should enjoy some X-rated baked goods, too.

Feliz Navidad!

This was an intense day of work

Here is a rundown of my day yesterday:

8:30am - Get call from John asking me when I'll be in so we can go to Starbucks. Turns out we are entering downtown at the same time so I drive down to his parking spot 7200 miles away to drive him up to our building.

9:00am - John and I go to Starbucks.

9:24am - Back at my desk, reading E!Online. [Ed. note: Jamie Lynn Spears! Pregnant! 16 years old! WTF!?]

10:00am - Call into 10am meeting. Am one of two participants. I cancel the meeting.

10:03am - Seriously Jamie Lynn Spears is totally a teenage pregnancy statistic.

10:20am - Go buy pop. Walk up to John's desk. Watch funny videos, draw things on his white board including this:















11:05am - Back at my desk, I email the above picture to people as proof that John and Scott are in love.

11:12am - Yay! Someone calls with something for me to do.

11:37am - Defamer.com

11:49am - It's go time for lunch.

12:10pm - Keith and I explain our Male Personality Continuum model that he, John and I came up with at happy hour Tuesday. It's awesome. Essentially it's a range from Jock to Nerd with overlap. All the cool people tend to fall in the middle, overlapped area. On either end, there is the risk that you will fall off of the continuum into the Douche area. One day I will draw it for you. Scott tries to change our model to a grid. He is wrong.

12:30pm - Keith almost insults "Back to the Future" but catches the flash of violence in my eyes and backs off.

12:54pm - Am I seriously back at my desk? This sucks.

1:05pm - Tony Parker totally cheated on Eva Longoria, right? I mean who are we kidding here.

1:12pm - Should I get bangs? I haven't had bangs since I was 14.

1:16pm - It seems like Sarah Michelle Gellar hasn't been in a lot recently.

1:19pm - Kill me.

2:00pm - Conference call.

2:15pm - Play Skeeball and pool with Scott and John. Suck at pool. A lot.

2:47pm - Go to Scott's desk and get cookies from his wife. Awesome.

2:52pm - Back at my desk.

3:00pm - Watch upcoming movie trailers. The new "Rambo" movie looks exactly like previous "Rambo" movies just with a really old Rambo. Where the hell is Matthew Fox? I heard he was in this movie.

3:03pm - What the hell is "Cloverfield"? I just peed my pants watching the trailer.

3:14pm - Rapid-fire emails to and from friends about what to do on New Year's Eve. I hate New Year's Eve.

3:27pm - Seriously. Kill me.

4:00pm - Work call! I am useful again.

4:11pm - Usefulness over.

4:27pm - Start shutting down. Enter in PTO time into our timecard system. Fuck it up. Have to call an 800 number.

4:46pm - No one is answering. Pack up and go home.

7:30pm - Matt, Steph and I barhop.

11:00pm - Close down the last bar we go to where we share a pitcher of daiquiris and Steph surveys the staff about the effectiveness of her new pickup line. I start to seriously wonder if my drinking problem has resurfaced. 5 out of the last 7 days. I'm just saying.

11:35pm -Pass out on couch.

3:57am - Wake up on couch and blog. Realize my blog sucks total ass and wonder why the 3 people left reading it are still reading it. Suspect it has something to do with the fact that I used to have a tail.

4:30am - I promise I'll post something better tomorrow.

Merry Drunkmas!

Another reason why my new job is awesome: these people love to drink. I have been to happy hour 3 out of the 4 last business days. On Thursday at happy hour a vendor tried to motorboat me. On Friday I crashed John and Scott's happy hour-and stayed 2 hours longer than they did. Yesterday John and I decided another happy hour was in order. Let me just say that this group + Christmas = drinking all the time = best thing ever.

Sadly Friday I really did stay at the boys' happy hour 2 hours longer than they did. I couldn't help it. I was having too much fun. Then I drove out to Tremont to meet my girls where I promptly drank 2 martinis and led an all out verbal assault on their senses. I mean I really didn't stop talking for 2 straight hours after I arrived. The reason we were out was to show how grown up and sophisticated we were by going on the Tremont Art Walk. All the art galleries and shops in the area stay open late, and you walk around and look at it all while drinking free wine-like an adult. Not like how I normally drink it (by the gallon). We made it to roughly 2 galleries before we completely gave up the idea of the art walk and just went barhopping. It was fantastic. We made friends with a married couple and their brother/brother-in-law and made them come with us to another bar.

A random sampling of things that happened there:

- We called Matt to meet us and when he got there he found me walking around in front of the bar aimlessly. And when I looked at him the first time, I had no idea who he was.
- We were the only ones dancing at the bar. The bar without a dance floor, I might add.
- New friend smacked my ass while I was on the phone with my mom.
- Steph asked the bartender to shake his ass for $7. When he said he hadn't had enough to drink yet, Diane offered to pitch in more money.

Seriously you guys should come work here. See if you can get hired quickly because there is another happy hour tomorrow night. Also tomorrow night: Girls' Christmas. You can read about previous Girls' Christmases here and here.

Send help

Somebody please tell me why for the last three nights I have watched "The Nanny" on fucking Lifetime television. Do I hate myself that much? Or am I just that lazy that once "Golden Girls" is over, I can't be bothered to change the channel? How did that show ever get greenlighted in the first place? And if you ever end up in the seventh circle of hell and have to watch it, pay attention to Fran Drescher. She is so obviously looking at cue cards.

On a happier note my lovely, adorable, charming Lee Pace and his perfect show "Pushing Daisies" got nominated for Golden Globes. If they don't win, I will strike. I mean that seems like it works pretty well seeing as the writer's strike has only been going on for over a month, and all it's managed to accomplish is ruining my life. Okay that may be a slight overreaction. But not really.

P.S. I just got to work like 20 minutes ago. New job=awesome.

Knock out the fat! And outer layer of skin!

I just want to say that I love my Foreman Grill. It is easy to use and cooks stuff really fast and you can't hurt yourself on it. Oh unless you are me, I mean. Yes I burnt my fingers on a Foreman Grill. Looking at the device I'm not even sure how that's possible. But I found a way.

Incidentally, I think I have some insight into my proclivity for hurting myself in the kitchen. This weekend while getting ready for her annual Christmas party, my mom was moving a hot pot of soup. Something happened where the pot got stuck and my mom kept moving. This created a tidal wave in the soup which spilled out of the pot all over my mom's arm.

Two hours later my mom had to leave her own party to go to Urgicare with 2nd degree burns. Her arm was covered in huge blisters, and now she keeps having to go in to have it redressed and she's on heavy painkillers. Monday the doctor said, "You probably won't need skin grafts.". My mom was like, "Umm...skin grafts? Was that even an option?".

So you see, you guys, it's really my mom's fault that I am a clutz in the kitchen. The only thing is my mom is a great cook. I think I will blame my dad for my lack of cooking skills. Let's see-I've been cleared of all responsibility in this Foreman Grill matter, right? Okay my work here is done.

Whatchu got, 31?

Thirty-one wasn't nearly as big an emotional rollercoaster as thirty was. In fact, I barely even thought about the number at all. As usual, my family and friends made my birthday amazing. My parents took me out for dinner at a really nice restaurant where I spent the entire time talking about how I was going to branch out from the norm and order Boston scrod then I got steak. Because honestly why wouldn't you get steak unless you are a person who makes no sense.

I was showered with amazing and plentiful presents because I am spoiled. One of the best presents I received was when John and I were leaving our building. See there are turnstiles. Not like regular turnstiles where you push through and the arms turn. It's just one arm that goes up and down. I will do my best to draw it:












So to get into the building we put our key card onto the card reader. If we have access the arm goes down and we can pass through. On the way out of the building, you don't have to use your key card. You just walk up and a sensor senses you are there and the arm goes down allowing you to pass through. Usually if you follow someone out the arm will stay down, and you can just go right out. John followed me out and right after I walked through I heard a grunty "Oh!" and turned around to see John clearly caught in mid-step with the turnstile arm buried in his crotch. Apparently as he tried to walk through, the turnstile thought it would be hilarious to come up real fast and hit him right in the package. And also trap him there.

I can honestly say that in 31 years of life on this planet, I have rarely, if ever, seen something so. gdamn. funny. I instantly couldn't breathe. I almost dropped everything I was carrying I was laughing so hard. The security guard yelled out, "WHOA! Man I did that before! I was on the ground! Sue [name of company]!" All I kept thinking was, '1-I can't believe the security guard and I are the only ones seeing this right now and 2-Holy crap he is totally stuck.' He was stuck there for what had to be at least a full minute until the arm finally released his genitals. I laughed almost uncontrollably for the next 15 minutes as we walked up to my car to drop off our stuff. As we walked over to the bar for happy hour. And as we sat there having our first drink. It was seriously the greatest thing ever.

This is the best I can do to show you what happened since I was laughing too hard to even think about taking out my camera phone:













I told my friends that we shouldn't celebrate this particular birthday. I had such a big party last year, and I thought we should just leave the celebrating to those who weren't over the big 3-0. So obviously my girlfriends took me out Friday night, wouldn't let me pay for my own dinner and then forced me at gunpoint to drink like 4 martinis. And by "at gunpoint" I mean "I really wasn't forced into anything". Chocolate mint martinis make Sarah happy. Also a 22 year old boy told me I was "crazy cool". When he and his buddy who were hitting on us realized we were only slightly older than them (stop laughing) this is what he said, "Well we've all been working hard all week and hey, whether you're 21 to 35, you still deserve to drink, right?" At that point Sharda said, "Um exactly how long have you been working?" And he said, "Since Monday." Then I read him a story and put him to bed with a glass of milk. Because seriously. I probably work with his mom, and we are best friends.

On Saturday, a joint party was thrown for me and Bob whose birthday was December 9th. Bob turned 29, but I think more people wished me a happy 29th than they did him. That's how awesome my friends are. I wasn't even allowed to buy any drinks. Not that I needed to. I was kept well stocked with vodka and white Russians and shots of Bailey's. Plus my sister's future sister-in-law (got that?) gave me a corsage and danced an Irish jig. Yeah. Amazing. I think the best part about the party, besides having all my friends there, was that I was not the drunkest person there. Not by a long shot. At least three people threw up-none of them me. Thanks, friends who were bigger drunks than me!

Sunday was Decorate Aloyd's house day, and it was amazing. He bought us wine, and I bought us pizza and we put up all his decorations, took videos of ourselves (including one where I thought Drew was just taking a picture so I was just staring at the camera creepily smiling for like 15 seconds) and watched "Christmas Vacation". I think we achieved our goal of bringing the Christmas spirit into Aloyd's house…and his heart (this is something Doogie Howser would write in his computer journal at the end of the show. I can hear the theme song in my head. Worst. Theme song. Ever.)

Sunday night as I lay on my couch letting my hangover catch up with me, my mind wandered to how amazing my life is that I have a family who spoils me rotten and still makes me take pictures holding up my birthday presents as I open them and friends who refuse to let my birthday go by without celebrating it. I am one incredibly lucky person.

Happy Birthday...to YOU!

It's the night before my birthday, but I thought I'd give all of you a gift seeing as I have been a lousy blogger recently. You might remember me reluctantly admitting that in high school, I had a tail. A tail coming from behind my right ear. 'Sarah, how does that even happen?', you're probably asking yourself right now. Here's how that happens. Right before 9th grade, six of your friends decide it would be totally sweet to have a tail coming from behind one of your ears, so since you are planning on getting your long hair cut to shoulder length and because at age 14 you will pretty much do anything to fit in, you get one, too. And then your mom cries. So when you first get the tail, it's not that big of a deal because everyone else has them, too.

Here's where things fall apart for someone who doesn't know when to let go of a fad (me). By the next year, everyone has gotten rid of their tail-except you. Yours has grown into one beautiful specimen of a tail that you not only painstakingly braid every other day but also add colored beads at the bottom of because why not take this thing as far as it can go. Before you know it, the tail is down to your belly button, and it is the summer before your junior year in high school.

Yes-I kept the tail for 2 full years. Looking back, I think that there's absolutely no way that's correct, but it's true. I think I am just trying to block it out. As I said, before my junior year I decided it was time for the tail to go. This time my mom cried tears of joy. Before I cut it off, though, I obviously took some pictures of it so that one day I could post them on the web to gross out the Internet.

Here you go. Happy Birthday.











This one's a little hard to see. So I circled it for you. What's that? Oh you're admiring my Tasmanian Devil sweatshirt? Well it was the 90's, and I was a complete dork. Here's a close up of the tail-sans beads:











Ew.

These will be some good memories for my parents on the anniversary of the day of my birth. I have to think that when you have a baby you probably look at him or her and think only of the promise they hold. And you probably ask yourself questions like Will she be tall? Will she be smart? Will she be funny? Will she love sports or the arts or science? Will she be kind to others and have a good heart? Will she have a tail? Luckily for my parents, they know the answer to that last question. And the first one. I am pretty tall.

I write this with a space heater blowing on my face

Okay I am officially the worst blogger ever. As soon as I got to work yesterday I got a message from Erik that said, "Hey, Pumpkin Bread-update your blog already." So where have I been? Not home. That's the short answer. Thursday we went to Steph's place. She is organizing a food drive for her apartment building to collect for the Cleveland Foodbank. She kicked it off by having her friends come over to donate food and enjoy a cocktail hour. More like cocktail six hours since that's how long I was there. It was an endless flow of wine, and let me just say this: I love drinking for charity. I think we really did a lot of good for the hungry by stuffing our faces with buffalo chicken dip and potato chips and getting drunk and listening to Chumbawumba. You're welcome, Cleveland's needy!

Friday was Seriously Family Shopping Day. My sister, my parents and I are dorks who take one day off every holiday season, and we go shopping all day. It's awesome. Within the first 2 hours of shopping we had accomplished so much-namely getting hot chocolate, going into JC Penny's and standing around for 20 minutes and eating lunch.

Fifteen minutes before we were meeting my dad, sister and Drew for dinner, my mom and I were sitting at Borders going over everything we still needed to buy. Also I was playing with my right boob. Seriously something was definitely wrong and I was adjusting it and my bra for like 10 minutes straight till finally my mom was like, "What exactly is happening over there?" Then I realized my underwire had busted, and it was jabbing me in the side. Since we were at an outdoor mall, we literally ran down the street to Victoria's Secret. We burst into the store and just started grabbing bras left and right. Then I ran into the dressing room and tried them on in record time. When I found one that worked, my mom grabbed it and ran up to pay for it while I waited in the dressing room. She came back and threw the bra over the top of the door and yelled, "Happy Birthday!" Then we left the store and ran back down the street to the restaurant where my father and Drew told me that I should tell everyone I broke a bra because it gives me automatic bragging rights. Yes-my father and my future brother-in-law. Creepy anyone? But seriously-I broke a piece of metal just with the sheer size of my boobs. I am totally bragging about that.

Saturday we got up and finished our shopping for Christmas at Aloyd's. Then that night I went to Danielle's house for a party where we had to bring a mystery guest that she didn't know. I literally don't know one person who Danielle doesn't know so I just brought cookies instead. I also had to educate some people on the fact that Phil Collins sings "Easy Lover"-not Genesis. And he sings it with Philip Bailey. Come on, people-it's the greatest song ever. You need to know this stuff.

Sunday I got to see my little Baby Gerbs. Our friends Gerbs and Shannon had a baby a month ago. He has a real name, but I call him Baby Gerbs. He is amazing, and he loves Diane and Sharda. Like apparently more than his own mother. Then I went and sang Christmas songs at a retirement home where in between songs you could hear people ordering split pea soup and one guy playing the harmonica. Awesome.

Oh also Denzel Washington's son is on the St. Louis Rams. How did I not know this.

Sorry I was in a pumpkin bread coma

I swear I'm still alive. I will be posting today in a little bit. But right now I'm in my car and am about to kill myself and others around me. Drinking and typing do not mix! In the meantime, you can discuss the Thanksgiving Day episode of Grey's. Bursting artery anyone?