Yay! Lists are Fun!

I’ve noticed that a lot of blogs have themes.  Mine doesn’t really have a theme.  Or does it?!?

I’m going to list the topics of my posts and try to find some kind of theme, which I will implement in my blogs in the future.  Here we go!

1)      I like sleeping more than cooking.

2)      Black turtlenecks aren’t just good for vampire attacks.

3)      Happiness isn’t an option for people who won’t eat fast food.

4)      Studying for tests is turning me into a serial killer

5)      If my husband ever eats me, he’d better have the decency to pray over me first.  The cad.

6)      Studying without pretzels is like sliding down a slip n slide without water.

7)      I may or may not be a cyborg.

8)      The intrepid absence of Youtube Robin Hood.

9)      I am in a bad mood, and nothing is ever my fault.

10)   My blog is aptly named after all.

11)   I’m not sad; I’m just bored out of my mind.

12)   Life is good when you are the God of Cheese.

13)   Nobody loves me.  Even my arms keep trying to make a run for it.

14)   Just because my face is zitty, doesn’t mean I don’t have feelings.

15)   Color-coded study schedules are made to be broken.

16)   Proposals are not nearly as interesting as my computer manual.

17)   Orange blogs are better than blue ones.

18)   Blogging under the Influence.

19)   Ireland is almost as green as my newfound superpowers.

20)   I know less about facebook than your grandma does.

So far I’m not seeing much consistency.  I like talking about food.  I also like talking about myself.  I think that at least one day of the week should have some kind of theme, though.  Maybe I could blog about Gertrude.  I’d have to do it on the sly; she doesn’t like it when I tell people about her.  Something about breaking the sacred oath of the something-or-other, resulting in some kind of zombie apocalypse.  I’m sure she’s exaggerating…

But Gertrude will have to wait until later, because right now I'm going to bed.

It's Friday. I'm Allowed to Write a Short Blog.

So today I actually went on fache-book for the first time in weeks, a mistake that I will not be making again anytime soon.  On this particular sojourn I discovered that there is a way of sending more private messages to people than posting on their wall, and that I have messages sent as long ago as October of last year.   Talk about a guilt-trip.  I saw messages from people that have been there for so long that I am scared of responding for fear of reminding them that they sent the message in the first place.  I also have no idea how to send messages of my own and it does not seem likely that I will learn anytime in the near future.  (How ironic that I am typing this while Mark What’s-His-Name Zucher-bugger, the founder of facebook, is speaking at BYU right now.  I thought about going, but it turned into a toss-up between listening to one of the most prominent young CEO’s of our time and sleeping in, and sleeping in won hands-down.)

                Anypoop, if any of the aforementioned message senders are reading this, please understand that I’m too stupid to communicate with you by today’s technologically advance means.  Sara is out…peace!

Look Who's Never Sleeping Now, Crime!

Wow.  Okay, I just wrote a paper in two hours.  Not my best idea.  I admit a certain lack of planning was involved.  By the way, if you’re my teacher and you’re reading this, I’m just kidding.  Funny joke, right?  I’m such a kidder…

I decided today was a good day to make a screensaver slideshow of all the places I would never get to see.  At first this was pretty hard because I was including things like the dog pound in Philadelphia and the inside of a men’s bathroom in Kentucky, but after narrowing my search field significantly, I started to make some real progress. 

I started with pictures of Ireland.  Heads up, guys, Ireland’s green.  Really green.  Like, think of the greenest thing you’ve ever seen (I thought of my brother’s face after riding a rollercoaster) and times that by a bazillion.  (By the way, did you know that bazillion is an accepted word, but bajillion isn’t?  I know because my spell checker told me so.)  I would post a picture of Ireland, but I am technologically retarded.  You’ll just have to make do with the following description:

There’s a green tree.  Also green grass.  Also?  Green moss on the rocks.  And behind one of the rocks is something that might be a leprechaun or a leprechaun disguised as another tree.    And if the camera had been in focus, the sky would probably be green, too, and not that pasty, unnatural shade of blue.  Everyone knows that all of Ireland is green, even the sky.

The problem with travel is that it costs money.  Real money, not the kind I almost got arrested for trying to use at the purple pantyhose emporium.  I thought about getting a second job besides the one I have at Plato’s Closet, but then I got an even better idea.  Are you standing up?  Because you might want to sit down for this one.  (Also, if you regularly stand up while you surf the internet, you have serious problems, my friend.  Remind me to explain the concept of chairs to you sometime.) 

My idea is this: I will become a superhero (cue thunderclap).  My plan has three simple steps:

Step one: Get some kind of incredible power.

Step two: Use that power to fight crime on a semi-regular basis.

Step three: Make a fortune from the action figures and t-shirts.

Step two is easy, like falling off a log.  Step three is even easier and is more like falling off a pillow onto a softer, more comfortable pillow.  Step one might be a little trickier.  As far as I know, I don’t have any superpowers: except for the ability to overuse colons.  But I don’t think that would make a good action figure, and the t-shirt would be a disaster.  Because isn’t a colon also some kind of disease or tumor?  So if the t-shirt said “Colons are the best!” it could create some confusion. 

I know what power I would have if I could choose any power in the world.  I would choose the ability to make people reeeally sleepy at will.  That would be an awesome power.  Think about it!  If someone’s robbing a bank or something, all I would have to do is will them to get really tired and even if they didn’t fall asleep they would still be all stupid and stumble-y like a herd of drunken horses.  I could have a cool name like “Sleepinator Sara” and a cool catch phrase like “look who’s never sleeping now, crime!”  You know, because crime never sleeps.  It’s funny.  Really. 

But I have no idea how to get this particular superpower.  Bite from a radioactive sloth?  Radioactive Tylenol PM?  But wouldn’t those things just make me sleepy?  I’ll have to do some research on the principles of comic book radioactivity…

Sheesh, becoming a superhero is starting to get just as hard as getting a second job.  Meh, whatever.  I’m going to go eat some cheese.

This is What Happens When I Blog Past My Bedtime

Today I saw him again.  You know, him.  HIM.  Ri-i-i-ight.  And I was definitely going to say “hi” this time.  Really.  I did alright a couple days ago!  Sure, I sounded like a strangled fish, but at least I managed to articulate actual words.  But when I saw him today while I was walking to class, we were separated by this huge group of people.  A huge group, like almost five people.  And what must be understood is that every time I see this guy, I can’t breathe, and my skin goes cold, and my hands start shaking (I figure I either have walking pneumonia again or I'm crushing hard).  So given the circumstances, it’s hardly a surprise that I have trouble speaking to him, let alone yelling to him across a fearsome fivesome. 

The sad truth is if this guy even remembers I exist, he probably thinks I’m a total spaz with a lung condition.  Every time I talk to him I get nervous, which ratchets up my spaziness, which makes me even more nervous.  It’s a vicious cycle of spaz.  I also feel like I’ve just been punched in the stomach every time I gaze on his all-encompassing gloriousness (that’s a real word, by the way.  Look it up) complete with Heath Ledger smile, so I kind of wheeze when I talk. 

I just love him.  You know, whatever.  It’s fine.

But who would want to date a spaz-a-tron or a magnificent wheeze?  No one, that’s who.  At least I know what my name will be if I ever become a super-hero: The Magnificent Wheezing Spaz-a-Tron.  Or maybe I should stick with magnificent wheeze.  It’s snappier, yes?  I’ll be like batman, except when I talk it won’t sound like I’m gargling marbles.  (zing!)

Eh, love’s overrated anyway.  Besides, there’s so many other wonderful things to love in this world.  Disneyland, for example.  The other day I wrote a rap about Disneyland.  It’s pretty neat.  I’d post it, but it’s still a working progress.  It’s going to get better…

I also love cheese.  Today I went grocery shopping and I bought string cheese, macaroni and cheese, cottage cheese, and a can of easy cheese.  I wish I was joking.

And now I am starting to ramble.  It is time to kill the beast before it gains control of the master.  And so my friends, adieu.

(P. S. – This is for you, Brianna!  Love you!)      

Side Note

My blog used to be blue.  Blue is boring.  I thought about drawing a picture on paint and using that as my new background, but I'm lazy.  Hence the orange template background, which is slightly less boring than blue.

I've got a Proposal...

So I haven’t been blogging as often as I hoped.  That’s one New Year’s resolution I’ll never make again, along with “go to the gym”, “wash hands regularly”, and “for the love of Pete, STOP EATING HOSTESS SNACKS.”

So why have I resumed tonight?  Could be the hostess sugar high.  Could be that I’m bored out of my mind because of my self-imposed ban on TV-watching, a habit that has begun to take over my life.  Could be I feel guilty for letting my fan base down (sorry, mom).  But it’s probably because I have a hot new topic: proposals. 

And I’m not talking about business proposals.

It started with a po-dunk (poe-dunk?  Poh-dunche?) concert at a random high school in the middle of nowhere, which was starring two fabulous, if underappreciated, singers.  It was for Valentine ’s Day, and after an uncomfortably long intermission, there was a nice little dance number in which a cheerful brunette woman leapt and rolled around the stage in a modern fashion that I still have a hard time wrapping my head around.  (Seriously, is it supposed to look like they’re making it up as they go or something?)  After the dance number, a tall guy made his way to the stage, calling the girl back out.  After some mumbled words about sentiment and love, he got down on one knee, and – get ready for it – announced that he wanted to watch this girl dance for the rest of his life.

That line worked pretty well on the brunette, who squealed and hugged him enthusiastically.  Not so much for me.  I was left choking on my chewing gum, doubled over in my seat.  That sappy line could have landed me in the hospital if it weren’t for the quick-thinking of my fellow concert-goers, who gave me some hearty thumps on the back that probably saved my life.

Why must so many proposals be so very cheesy?  Or so very blah?  I don’t feel like writing a list of ground rules, but I do think that certain types of proposals should be banned.  For instance:

The metaphorical proposal: “Without you, I am like a small, lonely pond, but you are like a set of mirrors, reflecting my pond over and over again so that it becomes a vast ocean.  Or I guess you could be like another pond, making me a bigger pond.  Or you could be frogs, so my pond won’t be so lonely.  I’m really okay with any of those.  You can take your pick, my beautiful froggette.

The jokey proposal:  Will you marry me?  Ha ha, just kidding.  You should have seen the look on your face!  But seriously, will you marry me?

The prom proposal:  Guy leaves a jar of pickles on her porch with a note that reads: Here’s the dill: will you marry me?

The saying-something-stupid-in-forever-terms proposal:  I want to watch you brush your teeth…forever.  I want to watch you bake pie for me…forever.  I want to watch you do that fancy computer stuff that I don’t really understand…forever.

The hide the ring proposal: 

Guy: Honeybunch, don’t eat that cupcake too quickly.

Girl: Babycakes, why ever not?

Guy: Well, angelfish, I-

*sound of tooth cracking*

Girl: Ow!

Guy: Oops.  Well, after we go to the dentist, will you marry me?

I must be really passionate about this subject, because this has broken the record as my longest blog ever!  Which is why I have to stop now before I reach 600 words; my reputation as a lazy ne’er do-gooder is on the line.

Color-Coded Study Schedules and True Love

I have begun a new semester of college!  This means new classes, new teachers, and a new bag of some kind of chocolate-type food.  I don’t want to brag, but already this term I have inadvertently insulted one of my teachers and embarrassed myself in front of two others.  That’s three out of five, and I’m just barely beginning the second week.  It might be a record, but I’ll have to call Eustace’s Book of Baby Names, Spelunking Techniques, and Useless World Records to find out for sure.

I started out this semester with a gorgeous color-coded study schedule that allows five hours of free time a day and three hours for eating, because, you know, I’ll have to get rid of that chocolate somehow.  Even with the large amount of credits I’m taking, which I am too modest to even mention cough*eighteen*cough, I still will have enough time to watch my shows, go to zumba (not as great a place to meet guys as I hoped), and migrate my little colony of string-cheese people to the other side of my desk for the winter.  (It’ll be a tough trek; some of the canoes might not make it.)

Still, as gorgeous as this schedule is, I’m afraid I have already deviated.  While I did manage to write my three scheduled blogs last week (you saw those, right?  Gee, I hope something didn’t go wrong with the upload.  I hear most freak internet accidents come in threes…) I already feel a teensy bit behind in my classes.  Especially Spanish.  I have to take two years of a foreign language for my English major, which seems a tad counterintuitive.  Besides, I thought I lived in America, the country that doesn’t have to learn anyone’s language because we force everyone to learn ours.  Duh.  Oh, well.  At least speaking Spanish will be useful to me in the future, like when I have to teach Don Quixote in its original Spanish text to my high school English class.

The best thing about this school year so far is my Spanish teacher, or more specifically, my Spanish teacher’s voice.  It’s basically the most fantastic voice I have ever heard.  I could listen to it all day.  I’m thinking of sneaking in a recorder so I can listen to it when I fall asleep at night.  I know that isn’t creepy, because my brother told me so.  He also said that it’s perfectly normal to build a wedding alter out of the used tissues of that stunning guy who I’ve barely talked to.  My brother suggested that I rope the afore-mentioned guy with some kind of lasso when our marriage alter is finished, but I’m more of a shepherd’s crook kind of gal.

Advice of the day:  Facebook stalking is nice, but people who mean business should go for the classic sit-in-a-tree-outside-their-window method.  That’s true love for you.