"Does this plan cover brain damage caused by ridiculously long meetings?"

I wanted to ask, but I suspect she would have assumed it was a legitimate question, and then the meeting would have been longer.

I swear I think the left half of my brain is numb.
It literally feels numb.
More numb than my ass.
I feel so much dumber than when I went in.
*jiggles*
Maybe this will bring the feeling back.

And if that's a dumb idea, blame the meeting.

Blech!

Note to self - Don't keep both jelly beans and advil in your pocket.

Death and Taxes, preferably in that order.

Last night I started doing my own taxes.

This is big.

For me, this is big.


The last time I attempted to do my own taxes, I tried to do them online and messed them up so badly that I was actually banned from doing them online again for the next three years.

You didn't know that could happen, did you?

I'm special.

This distinction should come with a trophy!

I am the 11th search result under "batteries taste like happiness."

I must be friends with the person who did this search.

It totally sounds like something I would say. It sounds like a good title to my autobiography, really.

I'm also the 3rd search result for "'my little valley' cleavage" but ew. That does NOT sound like something I would say.

Let's review the rules.

1. Nobody gets to be rude on the phone until at least 10 am on mondays. I think this is fair, and benefits everyone.

What exactly are they MADE of?

I must confess I was a bit disturbed to see an add in my gmail for "Realistic Stuffed Cats."

The actual product is a bit scary, although not in the manner in which I was afraid they would be scary.



Also, I want one.

"It's a cat, Dad."

About a year ago, my father called me, and was talking about Rose's cats. He was complaining that they were skittish and shy and wanted nothing to do with him. Glad to find a safe topic, I gave him some tips on bonding with shy cats. He went on to complain that it was hard to give them their flea drops. I agreed, that if you couldn't surprise them and get it done within a few seconds, you just had to give up and try again later. He said he would continue to chase them and hold them down, because "no cat was going to get the better of me."

At which point there was nothing to do but bang my head, slowly and softly, into the wall.

"It's ....... it's a cat, Dad."

Sometimes I think that phrase sums up my relationship with my father. This is the same man who, when he drifted into my line of sight just as I was giggling to myself over something that was funny in my 8 year old imagination, spanked me for about a half an hour until I would tell him what I had been laughing about. (Ironically, what I had been thinking about was a way to surprise him and make him smile.)

And so what I wanted to say that day on the phone, "It's a cat, Dad. Who on earth is it going to impress when you win?" I've wanted to say many times in my life to people, to whom I am usually the cat, metaphorically speaking. (But occasionally even to myself, because when it comes to my faults I am my father's daughter in many ways. I'm not immune to getting caught up making my point in conflicts with people who matter very little to me.)

Lately I seem to be the cat in a few people's lives. Situations where they feel they have to "win" in some way that matters to them, even thought I play a very small, and frankly powerless, role in their lives. Who cares what I think anyway? If you think I'll oppose you in some why, you've over estimated my power. Not that many people listen to me. I don't even listen to half of what I say. If you want a sympathetic listener to your bullshit, the world is REALLY BIG, with LOTS of OTHER PEOPLE. If you want a friend, remember, friends don't have to agree with each other. I don't demand that of anyone.

And it's sad, but also annoying, to be pounced on, and have some one's bitter false reality shoved down my throat, when I was just minding my own business, sitting in the sun, not hurting anybody.

You can't treat me like the cat, and then wonder why I'm skittish and have claws.

Dad, I don't think you were Father of the Year, and I won't revise that statement no matter how hard you try to charm/lean/bully me. I don't want to go to lunch with someone who tries to rewrite my memory, who pretends he has no idea why I don't like him. Even if it's a free lunch. And who the hell cares what I think, anyway. I'm not your boss. I'm not the President of the United States. I'm not even your neighbor. I'm just little ole me, minding my own business. You might say it matters because I'm your daughter, but believe me, if that fact had mattered more to you when I was young, the fact that you're my father would matter more to me now. I'm not unforgiving, but I won't rewrite. I won't play anyone but myself in the pageant of your memory.

Dufel, yeah, your technical voodoo is stronger than my technical voodoo. I can't block you from contacting me. I'm the cat of the technical world. Dear god man, find something else to do besides contacting me. Take on a bigger challenge. I found better things to do than contact you, and I'm telling ya, I'm having a great time. Seriously, why the persistence? Do you really think that winning the battle of Don't Contact Me will win you the war of Let's Be Friends Again? You cannot be that delusional. Besides, I'm not that pretty, or that witty or that fun. I have my charms, sure, but you know what? SO DO A LOT OF OTHER WOMEN, AND FRANKLY, IT'S THEIR TURN.

The rest of you, and you know who you are, leave me alone or I'll call you on it. And if you're that concerned about what opinions I carry in the privacy of my own mind, I'm sure it worries you to think about what pretty unpleasant noises I can yowl on this backyard fence of a blog.

I reek of onions.

Every part of me seems to waft the onion smell.

But I'm sorry. It was brought to my attention that I've been rather cryptic about the onions, and what their purpose is. I'm sorry about that. We here at the Que Sarah, Sarah Circus believe in openness and honestly.

They're for work.

When I grow up, I wanna be just like Bunny.

*in line at the movies, watching a screen showing a promo for Dirty Jobs, where a man gets bit by a snake*

Bunny - "Oh, I always hated that, my mom would have to take me in for all those shots every time I got bit by a snake."

Sarah Smile - "I have never been bit by a snake."

Bunny - "Really? Never?"

Sarah Smile - "Nope. Never."

Bunny - "Well, I was that kid that always tried to catch them when I saw them."

Sarah Smile - "Yeah. I was not that kid."

Lets all tell puke stories.

All the cool kids are doing it these days.

I remember being about five years old and having some sort of stomach flu. I was sitting on the couch, probably listening to a Psalty record and I knew I was about to hurl. (Not because of Psalty the singing Psalm book. I don't think, anyway.)


My mother was on the front porch talking to a neighbor. I walked over to the glass door and tapped on it. She looked over at me, and as if on cue, I puked. Straight at the door. She and the neighbor flinched, in that involuntary way you do even when you know there's glass there. She asked me, why on earth would I come to the front door to puke. It was hard to answer her through my giggling. To this day, it's still funny to me.

Love is funny.

So I'm browsing through the local PennySaver (think craigslist meets newsprint) and the section of Valentines Day greetings had me laughing out loud. Here's my favorite.

"MY HEART BEATS FASTER
When you're around, equalling
sweaty hands."


And there is some great inspiration for finding a pet name for your loved one. Here are some of my faves, all of which I would expect to be broken up with for using.


"Your Miss Thang"

"Mitter Sitter"

"Magnet BFF"

"Bumpkin"

"Baby Dew"

"Iggy"

"Bandit"

He treasures us, in his afterthoughts.

Actual bumper sticker.

Jesus died for me!
(and you)