Two dozen years old.

**FYI: I had this all typed up and ready to go YESTERDAY, but then my internet crapped out at my apartment.  Crapped out as in a tech guy is going to have to come and fix it.  So.  I'm SORRY, but GEEZE I DO have a LIFE you know...


Anyways, on to the story.


My, you are gullible.  Did you REALLY believe that Peter got me a puppy for my birthday after all of those posts about how he knows I don't enjoy dogs??  Come now.  You know me better than that.  Also, when I typed that, I was speaking in a British accent in my head.  Bloody 'ell.


Now, on to bigger and better things.  The REAL reason that I didn't blog yesterday was because I couldn't find my camera cord, but I found it now so I can share some pictures with you.


On my favorite day of the year, I woke up feeling older and wiser.  Since I was feeling older and wiser, I only hit the snooze once instead of 3 times.  Since I only hit the snooze once, I had time to straighten my hair instead of wearing it up, and straight hair days are always better.  Also, since I hustled my bustle a little bit, I left early and went to Starbucks for a birthday treat.  It is shocking how a 1 snooze vs. a 3 snooze can make such a huge difference.  This day had all the makings to be great.  The only hiccup that I had in the morning was that when I walked outside, I didn't realize it was going to be really humid out, and so my hair got frizzy pretty quick, and I ended up putting it in a ponytail.  Meh.  


Went to work.  My friend Ashley took me out for lunch.  I left work 10 minutes early since it was my birthday.  Got home at 5 instead of 5:10.  Started getting anxious because Peter said that I could come over...  When he told me I could. 


After checking the clock every 26 seconds, I texted Peter to see if I could come over.  


Finally went over at 6:01.  Walked in the door.  Saw my presents on the table.  Made small talk for 33 seconds.  Asked if I could open my presents.

I look like the devil in this picture... But I couldn't figure out how to get rid of the red-eye.  Shoot.

I was reaaaaaaally excited, since I couldn't guess what Peter got me.


He over-taped the presents, so it took me a little while to open those suckers (like 11 seconds instead of 2).  


The first present was a gift card to my favorite store.  I was very happy, because I like my favorite store, and I like shopping at my favorite store even more.


The second present waaaaaaaaaaaas...


Bed sheets.  Pretty bed sheets.  But I was very, very confused.  So I said that I liked them.  Because I really did, I was just thinking that this was very random.  And then I opened the third present......


Which waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaas........................................


A new bedspread.  Which I also really liked.  But I was even more confused.  Because my mom just bought me a new comforter set for my new apartment, and I really like the set that my mom got me.   So then I started thinking, "My this is a passive way for Peter to tell me that he hates my comforter."


But Peter isn't into the whole torture thing that I'm into, so after about 3 seconds of me being confused, he said, "And THOSE!!  THOSE are to put on your neeeeeeeeew mattreeeeeeeeessssssssssss!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"  (New mattress, for those of you who can't read game show host speak)  


And then I was very very very happy.


Let me give you some background.


When I moved from Lake Geneva to Green Bay, I was able to bring one of the beds from my grandma's spare bedrooms.  This bed...  This bed is old.  The mattress is even older.  I kid you not, I think that it's probably from the seventies or something.  Since it's old, it doesn't really have any  support.  At all.  You don't sit on my bed.  You sink into my bed.  Even if I sit on the edge of my bed to put on socks or something, I basically somersault backwards because a fall into the hole that is my bed.


Now, I want to be clear (mostly because I don't want my mother to think that I am complaining about this bed that was so generously given to me) - this bed is fine.  I sleep right in the middle of it, so I usually don't have any problems, except that sometimes I wake up with a kink in my back, and then I have to put a pillow between my knees like I'm 84 years old instead of 24 years old.  And then I start laughing at myself because I feel like an idiot, and then I REALLY can't get back to sleep.  It's a sad situation.


I seriously considered buying a new mattress.  I mean, I am a girl that needs her sleep Ttrust me... You don't want to be around a sleep-deprived Sara.  (Ask Peter, he'll tell you how awful it is), but I didn't want to invest in one at this point in my life and career (I mean, I get a steady paycheck, but it's not like it has six figures or anything) because the one that I have is fine.  Really.  (But for the record, even my DAD was like "Yeah, Sar, you're going to have some back problems with this mattress" when he helped move me into my new place.)


But maaaaan oh maaaaaaaan, I don't even have this new mattress yet... and my back ALREADY feels better.  I'm not sure when this mattress will be acquired, but when it does, I think that my life will change.  


Peter spoils me rotten.  My mother reminds me often how much he spoils me.  I know it too, and I've accepted it.  I've accepted that I've found someone that will spoil me to the core, and then keep spoiling me more.  I've accepted that no matter how many times I say, "Peter, you are too good to me," he still somehow manages to out-do himself once again.  


Despite what you may think (especially if you don't know me and my sense of humor very well), I have genuinely loved every gift that Peter has ever gotten me, even though I give him a hard time about it.   Sometimes I wonder about what you all think about the relationship that Peter and I have.  Let me assure you, you only see a teeny tiny part of it.   It cracks me up, because I've gotten several emails from people that know me, but not Peter, saying "I really want to meet Peter, because he's either really awesome, or you make him sound really good."


When people say that to Peter, he says, "She makes me sound good."


But let's get real - he's really awesome.  And I'm so happy to be dating him, even when it's not  my birthday and he's showering me with gifts and cupcakes from Coldstone.

Tomorrow is the day!

Tomorrow is the day that I have been waiting for since June 28th, 2010.


My birthday.


I wanted to post on my birthday eve to share that Peter has been torturing me all weekend.


Friday: "Well, you can open your present today, buuuuuuut then you won't have aaaaaaaaaaaaanything to open on Monday..."


Saturday: "No, you can't come over because I'm wrapping your birthday presents.  Well, you CAN come over if you WANT, but then you won't have aaaaaaaaaaaaanything for your birthday on Monday..."


Sunday: "I have your birthday present from my parents, but sorry, you can't open it until Monday.  But you should open the card now, because it's funny." 


When we were driving back up to Green Bay from Lake Geneva this afternoon, there were three very large presents wrapped in pretty pink paper that I couldn't touch or open.  When Peter dropped me off at my apartment, he took my presents with him back to HIS apartment.


Isn't he MEAN??


Just kidding, Peter, you're the nicest boyfriend in the world.


But you've been torturing me since February, and you've been playing up my birthday for months.  I hope I'm not disappointed... 


Siiiiiiiiiiiiigh.  Only about 21 hours and 51 minutes or something until I get to open my birthday presents.  


Not that I've been counting or anything.


I would be reallllllllly happy if this was my birthday present:

Buuuuuuuuuut I'm not holding my breath because the box wasn't THAT big... 

Behind the Scenes

Every once in a while when I get bored REALLY want to get to know what kind of people read my blog, I take a little peak behind the scenes at the stats.  Now, I don't do this very often at all, mostly because I'll get depressed if I see that no one reads my blog (by the way, if you do read, you should become a follower of my blog (on the right), and also follow me on Twitter @saravander - maybe I'll give you a prize!), and no one wants to deal with a depressed Sara.  Especially someone whose name starts with a P and ends with an eter.


Today when I took a look at the stats, I found out some very interesting and really weird things.  


Like.  The most viewed blog post of all time was Nosebleeds and Coldsores.  People - you are disgusting.  I was thinking about how THIS POST is the most viewed of ALL TIME (my personal favorite  is the one where I ruined Peter's birthday), and I couldn't figure it out... And then I found something very interesting and a little disturbing.


My blog is a public blog, so if people type something into Google, one of the search results may just be my blog, and someone might think that I have advice or something, and they MAY just click on the link.  Searches that lead people to my blog that have relevance to the nosebleed/coldsore post:


"Coldsore STD"
"Nosebleed coldsore STD"
"i have coldsores do i have std"


I hope that these people found guidance from my blog post.


The most interesting search that lead people to my blog was this:


"I grew a goatee and people are calling me a poser. why"


I don't have a specific post on this, but I think that people are calling you a poser because you are probably in high school and can't REALLY grow a goatee, but you are trying very hard to look more like a man.  Unfortunately, it ends up looking more like you missed a little patch while you were shaving.  But I don't know that for a fact, since I don't know who you are.  But I hope that I helped.  Trust me, speaking as someone who is a little bit judgey, do yourself, as well as those around you, a favor, and shave it off.  No one will call you hurtful names anymore.


Other searches include:

• "aren't we all dying" - please reference Peter's email.
• "brandy old fashioned tshirt" - dang these are good.
• "english sucks" - I know.
• "how to make friday's strawberry lemonade" - I don't know, but I recommend not using real strawberry chunks.

Let's get serious - I'm just happy that people are somehow led to my blog.  No matter how you got here, welcome!  I like you!

By the way: my birthday is in 4 days.  Yay!

And now look at this funny baby.

Craigslist Killer

Confession: I am a scared person.  I live most of my life in fear.  Not like "I'm afraid I'm going to FAIL and be WORTHLESS and my life will mean NOTHING" ... More like the "I'm having a hard time breathing and I'm sweating kind of profusely because I'm afraid that I will be abducted/break a bone/die/get yelled at" kind of fear.  Tangent: I actually don't know why I'm afraid that I'll break a bone - I've only broken my arm, once.  That happened when I got in a street fight with a gang and I got shoved, so I threw a punch, and then the other kid high-kicked my arm and it snapped.  


Actually, I fell off of my pogo-stick in fifth grade, but the other story makes me sound like less of a sissy. 1. Who has a pogo-stick? 2. Who thinks it's cool to jump on said pogo-stick?  Fifth grade Sara Jane Vanderstappen did.


So anyways, I'm afraid of most things, like the dark and being by myself in my apartment and funny noises.  I'm a very VERY jumpy person, which does not work well because where I work I face the wall, so when I don't hear someone coming up behind me, they scare the living daylights out of me, and then they laugh and I get all embarrassed.


Last week, I was on this Craigslist kick.  Have you used this website?  I am convinced that you could find ANYTHING on it.  I was looking for a couple of tennis rackets so that Peter and could enjoy the summer weather that we've had about 3 days of (Happy Summer Solstice, by the way.  Longest day of the year.  Guess what.  It's torrential downpouring up here in the north woods today.  Boooooo) by getting all athletic and playing tennis.  Note: I have not played tennis since second grade.  I found two tennis rackets.  A man's and a woman's.  Perfect!  $25 for the pair.  Gently used.  Hooray!  


I emailed the link on the top of the page.  Got an email back asking when I wanted to come look at the rackets.  Emailed back saying Wednesday after I was done with work would be great.  Got an email with an address, phone number, and "my name is Tammy."  Alright.


Wednesday after work, I got into my car, plugged in the GPS, and away I went on the fourth step of becoming an athlete (Step 1: thinking about it.  Step 2: Craigslist.  Step 3: Contact.  Step 4: the pick-up.). 


As I was driving... I started getting nervous.  And really starting psyching myself out.  


Did I tell anyone that I was going to pick up the rackets today??
What am I supposed to do if something happens to me?
I don't know this area very well...
Will Peter start to worry if I don't answer my phone later?  
Will he call the police?
SHOOT, I should have told him the address that I'm going to in case he has to call the police.
I hope I'm not on the nightly news.
WHERE AM I EVEN GOING??  


My hands were getting reaaaaaaaaaaal sweaty.  Right before I pulled into the driveway of a quaint little house with a really pretty garden out front, I decided that even if the damn rackets had huge HOLES in them, I was going to buy them.  Because I didn't want a confrontation.  Or to get like, slashed if I said I didn't want them, which at this point, I DIDN'T want them.


It was raining outside when I pulled up.  Just like the horror films where something really bad is going to happen.  


When I got out of my car, I heard about 534 3 dogs barking inside.  Greaaaaaaaaat.  We all know how I feel about dogs...  I hurried to the door.  And it opened.  And I almost bolted because I was so fricking scared because I had convinced myself that I was about to meet the Oconto Falls Craigslist Killer.


Then I saw Tammy.  Nurse Tammy.  Young, pretty nurse Tammy.  She asked if I wanted to see the rackets.  I said yes, took one step inside the door, and waited.  She brought the tennis rackets.  I handed her the money - didn't even open the zippered cases that were covering the strings.  


Tammy: "... Do you want to make sure they're ok?"

Sara: [in my head] Is this a trap?  When I take my eyes off of her is she going to pull out a gun?  Whack me over the head with the vase sitting on the table that is just an arm's length away?


Sara: [out loud] Suuuuuuuuuuure. *half-unzips zippers* THEYLOOKGREAT.THANKSBYE.


And I left.  And then I called Peter.


Peter: Hey Sar.


Sara: Hey, I just wanted to let you know that I'm ok.


Peter: ... Wait... What?  Did something happen?  


Sara: I just picked up the tennis rackets from the Craigslist lady.  And she wasn't a killer or anything, she was actually really nice.  I was really scared.  Like REALLY scared.


Peter: ... ummm... I'm glad you're ok?


Sara: Yeah.  Me too.


Not that I ever over-react or anything.  


And Peter's DEFINITELY not used to me over-reacting.  


Ever.


By the way.  We played tennis on Saturday with our friends Brooke and Travis.  


Conversation after tennis - 


Sara: My arm hurts.  My legs hurt.  I'm hot.  


Peter: ... Really?

Sara: WELL I HAVEN'T PLAYED TENNIS SINCE SECOND GRADE.  GIVE ME A BREAK.


Peter: You know, Sar, I was actually pretty impressed with your tennis skills.


Sara:  Finally.  FINALLY.  After almost THREE YEARS of dating I have FINALLY managed to impress you.


Peter: *annoyed face*


Sara: You need to keep trying.


Peter: *even more annoyed face*

Best Dad in the World.

If I were to ever rank the people in my life (which I NEVER would), my dad would appear in the top five.  I refuse to disclose who else would be in the top 5, because I don't want to make anyone upset (my mom would be in the top five too).  


Last night, I called my parents' house to make my car ride go a little faster.  When Mom answers the phone, she gets upset when I don't have anything to say.  Thankfully, Dad answered the phone this time.


Dad: HE-llo.


Sara: Daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaad.


Dad: Wait... Is this Jenna? *please note that my parents have caller ID, and the name "Sara" appears on the phone when I call*


Sara: No, Dad, it's Sar!


Dad: Oh, Jenna always does that daaaaaaaaaaaad stuff when she calls to, so I just never know.  Hi!  MAN.  What a DAY.


My father then goes on to tell me all about his day and how busy he is.  Every couple of minutes, he says something to someone in the kitchen.  I hardly say anything this whole time, but I am laughing a lot at my dad.  


Dad: Hey, Sar, I'm really sorry to cut you off, but I have a piece of chicken in my hand, and we're eating dinner, and I don't have a plate, and your mom is yelling at me, and every time I try to fix the problem of having no plate, you start talking again, and I've got this chicken in my hand and no plate. 


Sara: Dad, I haven't said anything this whole time!

Dad: Well, I'll tell you what, how about I call you back after I get this chicken situation figured out.  What'd you call for anyway?

Sara: I called to hear about your life, and now I'm getting dinner, so I'll talk to you tomorrow.


When Jenna told us that she was pregnant, we sat in the living room talking about how excited we all were, and how holy baby!  We can't believe she's having a baby!!


Sara: Dad, what are you going to have the baby call you?  


Dad: ... The baby shall call me "grandfather".  All the time.  'Sonny, get me a glass of milk.'  'Yes, Grandfather.'


Sara: Dad.  You're having a grandchild, not a slave.

Dad:  ONLY GRANDFATHER.


A lot of people have told me that I have the "gift of gab".  Give me a rock, and I can have a conversation with it.  Give me a microphone, and I am very, very happy.  Give me an audience, and I'm even happier.  I get this gift from my father.  When I was younger and we would go somewhere, I HATED that it took my dad SO LONG to get out of the place, because he would talk to EVERYONE.  And then, JUST as we're about to get into the car, he would see someone that he met once five years ago and hadn't seen them since and talk to THEM too.


I realize now that I am the exact same way.  I can't help it.  I like talking to people.  And it's in my genes.  Blame science, not me.


My dad is about one of the funniest people I know.  He is also one of the most fair.  Growing up with six siblings, there was pretty much constant fighting in the house.  My poor mother had to deal with it the majority of the time, because Dad would be working outside.  But when something big happened... Dad dealt with it.  And we. were. scared.  We would BEG my mom NOT TO TELL DAD.  Sometimes she didn't.  But when she did, it meant big trouble.


When we got in trouble with my dad, he hardly ever would actually punish us.  The disappointment and the stern talks were enough for all 7 of us to cry and swear that it would never happen again.  It really, really sucked.


When I moved back to this wonderful country of ours in August, my parents were nice enough to give me a job on their farm so that I could save some money while I looked for a full-time job.  For four months, I worked with my dad outside every day.  Sometimes, I hated the work.  Absolutely despised it.  But I didn't mind it as much when I was working side by side with my dad.  Over those four months, my dad became one of my closest friends and confidants.  


Last fall, Peter and I got into a big fight, mostly because we were both having a hard time only seeing each other on weekends, and we were getting fed up with living at least 3 hours apart for the entire 2 years we had been dating.  The morning after we had this fight, I had to go out to the barn and feed calves.  I was being really impatient, and was getting really upset about stupid things, and my dad noticed.   


I think that my dad knew why I was so upset, but he asked anyways.  I completely broke down at 4:30 in the morning in the barn with my dad and told him everything.  How I didn't know what to do, and how it was just awful, and Peter and I were both so frustrated, and I just UGH didn't know how to fix it.  My dad stood in the barn and just listened to me.  He let me cry and yell and stomp my foot like a child.  When I was done, he didn't offer me any advice.  He looked at me and said, "Let me just give you a hug."  And that was it.  And it made me feel so much better.


The next day, we were in the tool shed, and my dad brought up the fight Peter and I had.  "Sar, I hate to bring this up again, but I know that everything will work out.  You and Peter both have good heads on your shoulders, and you'll figure it out.  I know it."  Later that day I told my mom how great my dad is.  She nodded her head and said, "I know.  He really is."


When I have exciting news, my dad is one of the first people that I call.  He's also one of the first people I call when I am faced with a tough decision, had a rough day, or have a dumb story to tell.  For how much he talks, my dad is an amazing listener.  I really, really miss working with my dad every day.


I started reading Tina Fey's biography.  She is fricking hilarious.  Her book has this whole chapter where she talks about her dad.  The good, the bad, and the funny.  You know, if I were ever going to write a biography, I would write a whole chapter about my dad, too.  


Because he deserves a whole chapter.


Happy Father's Day, to the best dad in the world.

English sucks.

A lot of people ask me if I'm fluent in Spanish.

No.  So leave me alone and stop asking.  

But I know enough Spanish to know that English sucks.  I especially know that English sucks because I was an 8th grade "English teacher" for a short time of my life.  By English teacher, I mean crowd controller, or zookeeper.  Whichever you prefer.

Back to English sucking.

Take the word "let" for example.  YOU try explaining this word to someone who can't understand English.  I'll even LET you describe it in English!  Here's your homework: come up with a GOOD explanation for what the word "let" means in each of the following examples.

• Let's go to the movies.
• Let me into your house!!!
• Let that be a lesson to you.
• Let down your hair.
• Let the dog out.

See what I mean?


Or how about the phenomenon known as the letter "g".


The letter "g" makes the sound "guh".  Like the word "gulp".  Except, when the letter "g" is next to the letter "h", then it makes a sound like the letter "f".  Like the word "laugh".  Or "tough".  BUT that rule doesn't apply to the word "ghetto".


Sigh.  Oh, and in the word "sigh", where the letter "g" is silent.


THAT was fun!!


One thing that I love about Spanish, is that it's one of the romance languages.  That means that they have a lot of different ways to say things that English only has one way of saying.  In Spanish, when you're in love with someone, there are so many different ways to put it.  But they would sound just DUMB in English.  


Peter is my boyfriend.  In English, I call him "boyfriend" and that's it.  Done.  Boyfriend.  BORING.  If you break down the word, it is friend who is a boy.  Oh how fun and exciting and meaningful.


But in SPANISH, which is AWESOME, there isn't just the word "boyfriend".  They have these amazing ways of telling the world that they are devoted to someone, and they are SERIOUS about it.  Translations being: my love, my heart, my soul, my life, love of my life, and lover.  Now, I KNOW that in English I could be saying all of these things.  But really... Think about how THAT would go.


Sara: Peter, my soul, pass me the salt.


Mmmhmmm not happening.  It just sounds so much better in Spanish.


So anyways, English sucks because whenever I say things like "love of my life" to Peter, he gives me the look that says "I know you're going to ask me for something, but since you're prefacing it with 'love of my life' I'm not going to give it to you."


Stupid English.


Here is a poster that I had to make while I was a teacher about language.

And here is a picture of a poster that was in the school that I taught at.  And NO, you jerks, it is NOT one of my students' work.

What a life.

Sometimes, I remember the most random things that I've done.

This one time when I was walking down a hill in Madison in the middle of winter and there was ice everywhere, I slipped.  Instead of being cool and calm about it, I screamed.  And instead of regaining my balance, I grabbed on to the stranger that was walking right next to me, and almost brought him down too.  Since it's a big campus, I figured I'd never see him again.  Guess who was sitting right across from me in my last class of the day. 

The end.

This one time, I was "running" to class because I was really late, and to get to this one building on campus, you had to run up a bunch of stairs.  My feet and my brain weren't on quite the same page, because I was skipping every other step, and then when I was almost to the top, my toe caught on the step.  I fell.  And my backpack was full of books?  So it slid up and over my head, and then I fell more.  When I stood up, everyone was staring at me, and I had blood on my hands and knees where they got scraped.  I went to class anyways.

The end.

This one time, when Peter and I first started dating, I came up to St. Norbert to visit him.  He had to do some Habitat for Humanity during the afternoon when I was there, so I hung out with my friend Kelly.  I accidentally forgot the key-card Peter gave me to get into his building, so I got locked out.  Then, I realized that I couldn't call him, because my phone fell out of my pocket and was in Kelly's car.  I had to wait outside until someone else was going into Peter's dorm so that I could follow them into the building.  Except no one came for 45 minutes, and it was November, so it was really cold outside, and I didn't have a coat on.  When I finally got in and was in his dorm, I used his dorm room phone, and called my friend Daniel, whose number I remembered, and Daniel called my friend Michelle, who called my friend Laura, who called Kelly to tell her that my phone was in her car.  I was kind of crying the whole time because Peter wasn't going to be back for a long time, and I was really cold, and Peter didn't have a tv in his room, so I just had to sit on his bed and cry because I was lonely.

The end.

This one time, I went to my friend's grandparents' house on the fourth of July to do fireworks, and they do the big fireworks that are one step down from being illegal.  Well, one of the fireworks fell over after it was lit, so it was shooting all over the place, and everyone started running towards the house.  When everything was ok, my throat hurt really bad, and I told my friend that I didn't know why my throat hurt, and she said it was because I was screaming like a maniac the whole time.  I didn't remember.

The end.

In fifth grade I lost the spelling bee because I couldn't spell the word "environment".  Then in sixth grade, I really wanted to win, but I couldn't spell the word "fictitious", which I still can't spell because spell-check just underlined it red for me, but I fixed it.

I'd really like to win a spelling bee.

Heat wave

I am not one to complain about heat.  I love warm weather.  It's one of my top 25 favorite things.  However.  I will complain about the heat in certain situations when my skin should not feel like it is going to melt off.  Like when I am trying to fall asleep.  Or when I am waiting in line for a sno-cone.

Remember how the air conditioning is broken on my car?  Welllll, I don't know if you remember THIS one, but yesterday it was like 90 degrees with 462% humidity.  

And Peter and I drove down to Lake Geneva.

So now I present to you the pros and cons of having no AC in my car!

PRO: Wherever I go, I arrive with the chic "windblown" hair look that you see so often on America's Next Top Model.
CON: I can't pull off the "windblown" hair look, so I end up looking really disheveled and like I didn't run a brush through my hair for a week.

PRO: I get to take in the sweet scents of summer, including but not limited to freshly mown grass, freshly cut hay, and the smell of pavement after it rains.
CON: I pass a pig farm on my way to and from work.


PRO: I get to listen to my music really loudly without looking like a poser, because I legit can't hear it when I'm driving.
CON: I look like a poser anyways, because people don't KNOW my AC is broken, so they thing I just want them all to hear my music of choice (most recently Lady Gaga's new album).


PRO: When Peter is talking I can pretend like I can't hear him, because the wind is soooooo loud in my ears.
CON: When Peter is talking, I really can't hear him, and then when I ask him what he said, and he goes, "Nevermind" which drives me CRAZY.


PRO: Who doesn't enjoy the fresh night breeze?
CON: It's scary driving in the dark when your windows are open, especially when something like a bug or something hits you in the temple and it feels like a small pebble.  Yes, that happened.  Good thing I didn't go down.


PRO: Who doesn't love the wind on their face in the summer??
CON: You know how your windshield gets all full of bugs when you drive?  That happens to my sunglasses.

Here's to hoping that Peter's dad can fix my car air conditioning.  

And that it's not going to end up costing me an entire paycheck to repair.

Sigh.

Mistakes I've (recently) made.

Hindsight's a bitch.


The convertible


On Saturday, my dear friend Steven Davis got married. To celebrate this joyous occasion, Peter's dad let us take the BMW convertible to the wedding. He drove from his house to my house with the top down. I don't know if you remember, but it was cloudy and rainy and not very warm on Saturday.


Scene: Peter arrives. Sara rushes out of the house as Peter is getting out of his car.


Peter: *over-dramatic sigh* Well. *sigh* I guess I should put the top up. *Stares at Sara before dramatically reaching for the lever to pull the top up*

Sara: *stare*

Peter: *stare*

Sara: *Sighhhhhhhhhhhh* Fiiiiiiiiiiiiiiine. We can ride to the church with the top down. Even though I'm in a dress. And even though my hair is so perfectly curled. And even though it is cold outside and looks like it's going to rain.

Peter: OK! *gets in the car smiling like an idiot.*


Two seconds down Mohawk Road, I realized that it was a MISTAKE. Because when we got to the church, my hair was SO knotted and tangled and my dress was wrinkled and I looked like a disaster. But Peter was happy, so that's all that matters... Right?


The car air conditioner


Last August I thought that maybe my car wasn't quite as cool as I would have liked in the hot summer sun. Since we've only had mmmm TWO warm days SINCE last August, I didn't REALLY realize that the air conditioning wasn't actually cold... At all...


Turns out that I should have probably had that looked at. Because when Peter and I were driving to Lake Geneva on Friday evening, I asked him if the AC was working, and he said yes... And then he said no when he stuck his hand out the window.


On Monday, it was HOT outside. And guess how long we were in the car. FOUR HOURS. So, my right arm is quite sunburned. The rest of my body remains pasty white.


Fail.


The dog post


Biggest mistake that I've made in a while... Writing that STUPID blog post about how I would maybe consider possibly THINKING about owning a dog in the far, far, FAR off future. Because now Peter goes around telling people that I "want" a dog, and if we go to someone's house and they have a Cavalier King Charles, he says, "Sar! They have the kind of dog that you want!!" And THEN he gets ALLLLL mad and huffy when I say, "NO. I do not 'want' this kind of dog. I do not 'want' ANY kind of dog. I do not 'like' this dog, or any other dog, either."


These little episodes usually end in him saying, "I KNOW you said you WANTED a dog" and me crossing my arms and saying, "You must use selective hearing when I talk about the fictitious dog Ruby."


This is what I say: Peter. I do not like dogs. You knew this when you started dating me. You CHOSE to still date me. I did not force you to date me. I do not WANT a dog. I do not like dogs. You are a dog person. I am not a dog person.  This is the one imperfection of our relationship.  If you get me a dog for my birthday, I will be soooooooooooooooo mad. I will not even pretend to be happy.


THIS is what Peter hears: Peter. I do not like dogs. You knew this when you started dating me. You CHOSE to still date me. I did not force you to date me. I do not WANT a dog. I do not like dogs. You are a dog person. I am not a dog person. This is the one imperfection of our relationship.  If you get me a dog for my birthday, I will be soooooooooooooooo mad. I will not even pretend to be happy.


Did I ever actually SAY that I WANTED a DOG?? EVER?????


Now I have to go back and edit read that post to make sure that I'm not contradicting myself here.


For the love.