Brownies

Brownies...the breakfast of champions.

Gah! This is exactly why I cannot bake when living alone. No self control whatsoever.

Maybe I should invest in a shock collar...I'll just wear it when I've baked yummy goodness. Man, I'm a genius!

Matter of fact...I think I'm on to something. It could be the next big thing in the world of weight loss. Instead of going through expensive surgery or buying pills that never work, people could wear my shock collar. It will go off if anything with more that 2 grams of fat come within 6" of it. It will be like negative reinforcement (which we all know is the best kind of reinforcement). I'll call it "Pavlov's Collar". Ha!

Just three easy payments of $29.99! Act now and I'll throw in this handy dandy refrigerator alarm. It'll send a ear drum bursting sound throughout your entire house if you so much as walk into your kitchen past 9pm. No one needs to eat after 9pm, fattie.

I can just see it now...Sarah, the obese millionaire who made her millions keeping America skinny. 'Cause let's be honest, If I'm a millionaire then I'm eating whatever the hell I want. Even brownies for breakfast.

Yes Ma'am

I've always had a thing for accents. Doesn't really matter what type...English, Scottish, Irish, Italian, Southern...they are all deliciously yummy to me. I admittedly have taken for granted the Southern accent. Living in the South for so long and being with a Southern boy for five years took away the novelty of it.

However, since the ex and I broke up I haven't been around any Southern boys. I forgot what that accent can elicit from me. Like an internal monologue going something like this...'Oh hot damn!'.

Today I was wandering around the wine section at Cost Plus when a cute stocker dude walked up to me to ask if he could help me with anything. First thing I noticed was that he had an adorable Southern accent. Definitely didn't hurt the fact that he was adorable anyway. I said 'no, thank you' and he responded with a very sweet and very sincere 'yes ma'am'.

Whoa. Something about it almost knocked me off my feet.

California boys have definitely got a thing or two to learn from Southern men. Chivalry, manners, politeness and respect...just to name a few.

Boys from the South...if you want to see women falling all over your every syllable, move to California. You will pretty much have your pick of any lady here...well, as long as you are one of the sweet well mannered Southern boys. White trash Southern boys can stay home. No one wants to play with you.

Spiders

I think they are out to get me. Now, before you say, 'Sarah, I think you're a little paranoid', just hear me out.

My dislike for spiders started at a very young age. I've been terrified of them for as long as I can remember. However, being the animal lover that I am, I made a pact with the spiders. If they were outside then I would not kill them. I may run away screaming but I wouldn't kill them. If they were inside...well, then I'd have every right to end their little blood-sucking lives.

It doesn't matter if they're big or small, hairy or not. They creep me out. Think about it. One minute you see them sitting on your wall or wherever the hell they are just being evil then you look away for one split second and they're gone. Where'd they go? Probably up your pant leg. To kill you. Or at least maim you to the best of their ability.

A little over-dramatic? Okay, fine. Maybe. But this week I have found a spider on my nightstand, one hanging from my recessed lighting in my bedroom, one in my shower and one, get this, on my freakin' bedspread. Hitting below the belt, if you ask me. Not to mention the fact that I have about ten webs outside on both of my patios and outside of my front door. They are descending. So, no. I am not being paranoid. They are out to get me.

Luckily for me I have lots of shoes to squish them with. It's on, evil spiders.

Brunette Arch-Nemesis

I realized the other night while in the bathroom at the local movie theatre that I don't like brunette girls. Some chick made a point to walk in front of me and then stood right in my walking path. It may have hit me a little harder than usual because, well, hormones are a bitch. But this chick was a bigger bitch than my hormones.

Then it dawned on me...all of my close friends are blondes. All the girls that I've ever had beef with have been brunettes. The slutty girls who hit on my boyfriend right in front of my face were brunettes, the chicks who are pains in the ass when you go out are usually brunettes, dirty look givers typically are brunettes....do you see a pattern here?

Now, this is just a general observation. I do have a few friends that are brunettes but I see them as the exception to the rule. Generally, if I meet a brunette I don't like her.

Not to worry though, girls who are brunettes! Don't be a bitch or a pain in the ass and have some consideration for others and we can probably be friends.

You may have to dye your hair, though. It's totally worth it.

There Go My Horticultural Dreams....

I'm a good cook. I can clean house with the best of them. I can bake just about any dessert. I used to think that I was a domestic goddess. Of course, that was before I had the brilliant idea to go buy a handful of plants for my patios.

Yeaaaaah. I'm a plant killer. No green thumb on this chick.

Martha Stewart, I am not. Damn. And I had such high hopes.