I didn't think it would ever happen for me but. . .it did and now I'm all "Oh you can't tell where my crotch is in these pants? TOUGH".
Jump suits and things reminiscent of the 90s (okay, I'm always obsessed with things reminiscent of the 90s).
Is it costume-y? Is it sequin-y? Is it a jumpsuit reminiscent of the 90s?! I want to say something obnoxious like "fashion-gasm" but. . . I'll refrain.
Clothing that reminds me of calico cats? It’s odd, because it's honestly kind of dull. I mean, the color scheme isn't exciting and almost seems wrong. . .it's black and grey and funky shades of brown but there is this little part of me that wants to fold Pippa Middleton up and carry her around in a tote occasionally feeding her kitty treats and rubbing her belly. And then there is this other part of me that wishes Pippa Middleton and I were BFFs and I weighed about 63 lbs so that we could share that dress.
Lastly, Drake. How can you get enough of that smile?? You can't, it's science.
Did someone on Facebook say something you don't like?
You should probably get your panties in a wad about it.
And then, you should passive aggressively comment on said topic in order to let the entire Facebook community know that your panties are in fact, in a wad.
The passive aggression is necessary otherwise people might confuse you with someone who is mature enough to NOT GET THEIR PANTIES IN A WAD OVER FACEBOOK CRAP.
I have a friend who is a teacher in a third grade classroom and one of the tools she uses to help the students assess their problems is to ask them "is this a big deal or a little deal?".
My favorite part of this helpful tool is how belittling it sounds when used among adults. Because after you wave your wadded up panties around Facebook like a freak flag, I want to sit you in a tiny chair, look down at you and ask "now, is this a big deal, or is this a little deal?". And if you really want to say "big deal" (I know you do) I want to remind you that sometimes people say things on Facebook just to be controversial (i.e. get attention) and when you respond to said controversial topics in a manner exactly as they'd hoped, you are only feeding the insanity that is High School Didn't End When You Graduated. In Fact, It Only Ends When You Stop Acting Like You're in High School. So yes, I know someone offended your religious beliefs or said something political about the party they support, but let's be real- you aren't going to stop abortion and change each state's stance on marriage VIA FACEBOOK COMMENT THREAD. Even if it is 36 comments long. (Side note: everyone in that thread who isn't arguing with you, hates you.)
In unrelated news, there is this really cool feature on Facebook that enables you to hide people's posts. In other words if there are people who tend to repeatedly post OBNOXIOUS SHIT that makes you want to revert to the third grade version of yourself you can HIDE THEIR OBNOXIOUS SHIT. Also, there is this cool feature when you become an adult that enables you to shut your mouth and stop arguing on Facebook. It's that button at the top of your screen called Please Stop Taking Everything So Seriously.
If you see me in the next two weeks and I'm still wearing this outfit it isn't because I'm too lazy to do laundry (serious though, I need to buy some new underwear) it's because this is my most favorite outfit ever. In fact, I'm not sure how I've lived so long without it.
Dude, I'm smiling in the majority of these photos. That's what I like to call a thrift store high.
So I recently accepted a new job in a new city. It's a very exciting adventure that I'm about to embark on and it is going to be a serious life change. Upon hearing this news this was one of the responses I received: "Oh! I bet they will know someone your age that they could introduce you to!". Because HOT DAMN! if dating is not PRIORITY NUMBER ONE. Forget that I am moving across the country and rearranging my entire life. ARE. THERE. ANY. AVAILABLE. MEN?
Do you remember the scene from My Big Fat Greek Wedding- the one where the dad and aunt and uncle are all sitting in the restaurant discussing sending Toula (the "old" single daughter) back to Greece to find a husband and the dad says "it's like she don't want to get to married!" and the aunt and uncle gasp in horror? I FEEL LIKE THIS IS MY LIFE.
Yes, I'm single.
Like, single single.
Like, hasn't been on a date in ten months single.
And yet. And yet. I still manage to get out of bed every day. But I assure you, it's only because I hold onto the hope that today will be the day. The day that I meet that special someone. You know, that someone who will end the constant heartache that singleness brings and give purpose back to my otherwise futile life. Because really, how else could I survive? Clearly something is missing from my life. As clear as if I were missing a limb or a vital facial feature, like. . .EYES. That clear. Because I swear sometimes when people look at me they cock their head to the side, as isn't entirely uncommon when you see a three-legged dog and think "Hmm, what's wrong with it?", until it hits them. The thing that's wrong with me. Then they straighten up, the color returns back to their face, and they get that twinkle in their eye- because surely they know someone who would date me.
Sure, it would probably help if I didn't have so many weekend Needlepoint and Crochet conventions at home with my 12 cats, and was out frequenting the Young Singles events at all the local churches- but really, my doily collection is BOSS. Also, my cats suffer from separation anxiety.
ALL THAT TO SAY. Hi, my name is Sarah. I'm single and I'm complete. I am not on an eternal quest for my other half. I do not spend every waking moment contemplating finding the completer of my soul, nor do I wish for other people to spend any of their waking moments doing so. Singleness is not a disease, disorder, virus, or infection that is painful and in need of a cure. I am able to happily spend time with couples. Happy couples even! And I. Don't. Hate. Babies.
Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go drink some laxative tea and brush my leg hair.
