Life As I Know It

It would suck to be born ugly and poor. Only the really rich can fix that.

Every Christmas when its time to get the tree, my mom sings her take on the Ying Yang Twins song 3, 6, 9 by singing, “3, 6, 9 its Christmas tree time!”

I recently discovered I’m a pretty good lip-syncer and may want to go pro. If my boo, Britney can do it, I can too!

If you’re wearing a santa hat, epesh at the club/bar, don’t even think about talking to me. Because I will ignore you so hard.

Black Swan was so intense/freaky/amazing. Natalie better win best actress.

I like my leftovers cold.

If I just met you and don’t respond to your endless texting, it means I’m not interested. Get a fucking clue dude! Or you’ll receive a not so nice message telling you stop. K thankzzzz.

Brought wine into the theatre when I saw Love and Other Drugs. Good thing I did because I saw Anne Hathaway’s tits too many times for me to enjoy it sober.

I thought hanging out at a mall was so 1995. Apparently its the place to be on a Saturday afternoon to holler at girls riding the escalator.

Spent a few afternoons at Starbucks being a young hipster with her Macbook and latte.

Boys suck at baking.

I would’ve rather worn leggings as pants and Uggs for an entire year than work on finals. Thats saying a lot because I really really despise both of them with a fiery passion.

“Every pole is a stripper pole.” – classmate H.

Britney Spears is coming out with a new album in March. Pause for my excited dance.

“You’re the help, you do not touch me.” – my mother.

My boss told a litter girl she couldn’t eat her ice cream in our store (duh) and the look on the little girls face was priceless. I loved it.

Don’t forget ladies, happiness is only a hair flip away.

You’re at a club. Change into something other than sweat pants. I know you own a pair of jeans.

I told my new teacher that she can call me Sara Boo in order to remember which Sara/h I am out of the 4 in my class.

Sucks that your girlfriend is ugly.

Legit saw a girl at a bar with toilet paper stuck to her heal.

My roommates drunk ass friend barged into my room thinking it was my roommates room, turned on my lights, woke me up at 2am and used my bathroom. Fucking college.

A really good way for me to not to be impressed by you is to text me, “wuts gud?”

“I just wanna look good enough to get some tonight.” – best friend M.

My gingerbread men are chocolate dipped:

Full of Thanks For…

Late nights filled with laughter & pancakes with my girls.

Bike rides at twilight.

Cute little boys in hats and presh old men in crew neck sweaters.

Being a woman.

Chipotle chicken burrito bowls with guac.

Mascara & chapstick. Otherwise I’d look like an infant with crusty lips.

Diva moments.

The smell of new shoes in my closet.

The city of Chicago.

Day trips into the mountains/desert armed with a camera and a BFF.

People who don’t dress well. You make me laugh even on the worst of days.

Ex boyfriends who date unfortunate girls after me.

Awkward moments when you run into people you haven’t seen in a really long time. You’re not sure whether to say hello or turn around and act like you never saw them. Happens to me every time I go home to Chicago, and I absolutely love it.

My mother. She’s my bff for life and always has been.

Advent calendars. You are garunteed a piece of chocolate everyday of December. How could I not love that?

Facebook stalking.

Orlando Bloom. Even though he is know married to that beautiful trick of a model, I know he’ll still call me one day.

Only one more semester of college.

Rain boots.

Travel size deodorant.

Hotties with bodies.

Breaking in newly fallen snow.

Bubble baths with my rubber duckies.

Here I Am.

I’m horrible at math but I know how to subtract really well because of having to calculate my purchases from my bank account.

“I hate working for the general public.” – close friend S.

Nostalgic of my childhood with the Mad Labs app on the iPhone.  “There is another building where a spotted African dog with big tits is so fast it can out run a Sasquatch.”

Shorts and Uggs should not be worn in combination. EVER. I beg you ladies, please stop.

You know you’re broke when mornings are spent going through magazines looking for fragrance adds with the folded sample attached to rub on yourself.

Got spit on by a rapper at a hiphop club. Nast.

Some chic was dancing all up on us at the club so I hair whipped really big to smack her with my curls.

Spent my early Saturday morning elbowing tricks at H&M for Lanvin dresses for my mother. They were too expensive for me but so worth the lack of sleep and death stares to a screaming child from my mother.

Saturday night drinking game: drink every time you see someone tragic. You’ll be wasted very quickly. Trust.

My nail tech got fired for baking weed brownies. Cool? My nails don’t think so.

Got caught lip syncing to a Lady Gaga song as I was waiting for the elevator. I swear I saw the cute guy giggle. It was an awkward ride down.

Currently accepting sugar daddy applications. Please email them to DesperateForASugaDaddy@ineedmoney.com.

Spent class at the bar of a restaurant with my classmates and teacher discussing photography and art over happy hour drinks and food. Sometimes it pays off to be an art student.

Talking about past relationship songs with best friend M. She said listening to them “Brings tears to my eyes and resentment to my soul”.

The number on the top of the Cash Cab is 7N78. I spent all summer in NYC praying I’d hail it and win big money.

Growing up playing Scrabble finally payed off. I beat a friend by 109 points. There may be hope for me in this world.

A Girl Can Dream.

In another life I’d…

…have six European buff half naked man servants to service my every need…
1. Ralph: The driver of my super luxurious black Aston Martin.
2. Stefano: The cook who makes healthy yet delish meals and always has an iced non fat latte ready for me round the clock because I’m addicted to coffee and it tastes better than water.
3. Franz: A fabulous gay man to do my hair, makeup, nails and to consult me on my outfits for all and every occasion.
4. Walter: Who cleans my entire house and keeps it sparkling so I won’t ever have to touch a single cleaning product or sponge.
5. Scotty: Who does my laundry and picks up my dry cleaning and freshly pressed gowns.
6. Bernard: Whose only job is to tell me I’m a fierce betch.

…have an obscene amount of…
1. Birkin bags.
2. Christian Louboutin shoes.
3. Cuddly precious kittens.
4. Anything and everything you could think of thats delish that can be eaten and covered in chocolate.
5. Photography equipment that me and my friends can use for our epic photo adventures around the world.
6. King sized beds with satin sheets on my private jet named Air Boo.
7. Hot foreign men’s phone numbers.
8. Beach front properties on several coasts around the world.
9. Bottles and bottles of expensive Pinot Grigio.
10. Hilarious and entertaning tweets about my fabulous life on my twitter account named YoureJealObvz.
11. “Friends” on facebook who are jealous of me.
12. Fun and interesting things I find from my exotic travels to fill the walls and rooms of my many houses.
13. Plates of fresh baked cookies. The ones that are still warm and soft in the middle.

And So It Is.

Baths and naps are my daily saviors. Without them I crumble into a cranky hot mess.

I can’t handle the opening credits to Dexter. The combo of sounds and visuals erks me and I skip it when I watch the episodes online.

Having full frontal bangs allows for me to forget a day of tweezing my eye brows and no one noticing. Win.

I’m just gonna say it… Don’t you love it when your ex dates someone not so attractive after you? Come on, I know you do, don’t lie.

Sixteen more credit and I’m done with college. EEEEEEEEEEE!

Stop looking at me weird when I roll up my right pant leg. I’m either on my bike or about to ride it. It’s for the safety of not getting your pants stuck in your bike and having to stop in the middle of campus and try to yank your pants out by furiously shaking your leg and then ripping them in the process. Just me? Cool.

I wrote you off as a fail of a friend awhile ago and you have yet to prove me wrong.

Is it really that hard to understand the word trim? You’d think that if you are a liscened hair stylist, one of the basics, is how to do a bang trim, right? Well, apparently it’s not. How do you cut my bangs EXACTLY how I want them a few weeks ago and then COMPLETELY fuck them up weeks later when I ask for a simple trim? Why would you go from thick, blunt straight across bangs to thin, wispy bangs? THAT DOES NOT EQUAL A TRIM. Either get your ears fixed or rethink your life and find a new career.

Thank god hair grows, otherwise I’d unleash my mother on you: “Well, give me her home address, where she parks her car when she’s at work, the names and schools of her children.  Houses can burn, cars can burn, children can disappear.”

Britney Spears blasting in my room is a great way that I calm myself from my rage.

Just because the new high in AZ is 72 degrees doesn’t mean you can wear gloves out and about.

Don’t think I won’t call your ass out for texting me at midnight looking to hangout. Thats a booty call, technically a booty text, and it ain’t gonna work on me boo.

I use to sign off at the end of my xanga (like a live journal and kind of my first blog back in high school) posts with “you know you love me”. I was on the Gossip Girl train way before y’all. Get it right.

Karma will find you. XOXO.

Time & Age

You’re 35, I’m 21. Do the math. It equals, HELL NO.

“Oh honey, don’t worry about being old, worry about being ugly” – My Mother

If you’re over the age of 14, why are you still riding around on a Razor scooter? It’s kind of embarrassing.

In my elder years I want an endless supply of white wine, cheese and hot men cleaning my house/pool/garden in tighty-whiteies.

Being able to purchase my own wine and then sneaking it into a movie theater is a fabulous example of my twenty-oneness.

Willow Smith you are totz a fierce diva:

I will always remember the things we said and did when we were young and in love.

I recently went through old boxes in my parents garage and upon digging through a box, found a HUGE living cockroach only inches from my hand. Fuck naaaah, those shits are nast.

Two reasons that show I’m slowing becoming my mother: She bought the exact same dress as me but in a different color. I love anything NPR.

I can’t wait to buy my daughter her first Barbie. Wait, scratch that, I can wait. Ain’t nobody getting preggers anytime soon. Thanks to birth control pills and/or the fact I’m not getting any. Whatevzzzzzz.

Time has passed and you’re still an unfortunate ho. Thats called KARMA, bitch.

It’s Halloween time again. In the world of college girls, you know what that means, “YAY! I FINALLY GET TO DRESS LIKE A BIG SLUTTY ______ AND NO ONE WILL JUDGE ME.” I will judge you.

I still love ya boo boo:

Lindsay Lohan forever.

You were a complete douche. Time passed. I may have been a bitch, but you surely deserved it. Time passed again. I’m over it. Now, lets be friends on facebook and stalk each other to see which one is hotter.

I love it when my mother gets angry at other people’s children in public places. The look in her eyes is of pure evil.

“We had some good times this year, but lets be honest, I was high for most of it”. – a quote from my high school yearbook from close friend L.

“Hey, remember that time we decided to kiss anywhere except the mouth.” – Regina Spektor.

Some things never change. I’m still a chub cheeked diva:

Me, around age 7.

No matter how old I am, I have and always will love the feeling I get when my bare feet hit the warm sand and squishes through my toes. The feeling of your eyes on me. The feeling of the air against my skin as I swing higher and higher. The feeling of knowing you look damn good and reppin it to your full potential.

A long time ago, in a city far far away, we were all young, happy and free.

Just a Thought

Dear ladies, Stop wearing leggings as pants. Also, stop wearing heals on campus. STOP. You know why. Thaaaaaaaaaaaaaanks. Love, me.

Because of my non-driver-ness, I’m on my last pack of ramen and only two eggs.

Was asked why I always wear black. To quote my mother on the same topic, “It’s the color of my people”. I do wear a lot of black and I look good in black. Get over it and stop asking stupid questions.

Speaking of black, a few weeks ago I told a black man (that I don’t know very well) that I was actually/legitly black and from Africa. I was completely sober and said it with a completely straight face.

Best insult to say but not to seem like a hateful bitch: “You look really tired”.

Cleaning my room was one of most productive tasks that I accomplished this week.

One of my many life goals: To ride an elephant. (Just like this, obvz.)

I miss snow. It makes me look tan.

I have had a crush on this guy for almost three years now and it took me two years to friend him on facebook and its been about six months and I’m still “awaiting friend conformation”. Damn.

In honor of this delightful autumn weather in Arizona this week (under 90 degrees), I purchased two new pairs of boots. Now mom, they are cheap and will last me the entire winter. I wore my last year’s everyday boots down to the core so don’t fret.

Riding a bike in a dress is a lot more stressful than people realize. Bow down boys.

Mad Men makes me la la.

I hate it when you get to class and the chair you sit in is warm. Gross.

I have two watches that I rarely ever wear. But I really want this one.

Excited to move back to Chicago this summer and possibly have my own apartment in the city. No more roommates who don’t understand the concept of a dishwasher machine.

 

Random Thoughts of the Week

Why did I choose to go to school in a desert for four years of my life!? Its still in the 90s and I want to cry every day I wake up and have to say no to the boots, scarves and sweaters gathering dust in my closet. I MISS AUTUMN.

Serena on Gossip Girl wore a skort. Shorts that look like a skirt = skort. UM, WHAT?! Come on you Gossip Girl stylists, that one was a no and hopefully tomorrow night’s ep you’ll do better.

Saw the movie Catfish. Intense. What is even more intense is that its 100% real. I recommend going to see it. Also, look out for the male tramp stamp, hilarious. Also, also, makes me think about sexting people I’ve never met in real life. Not saying I have, just you know, for the future.

Someone needs to make a pill that makes me, slash lots of women, less of a bitch.

Two important requirements for taking me out, a car and a job. So, you can pick my non-driver-license-slash-lazyass up for our date for which you will be paying.

Don’t be a hateful ex-roommate and then stupidly have your shipping address to where you no longer live. I will through your package out.

I’m currently going for the Zooey Deschanel look for Fall 2010. Holla.

Don’t bike into a sprinklers spray range on the way to class. Unless, of course, you want to look like a wet ho.

Can’t forget the classics.

Turtles have sex too.

San Diego Zoo, 2010

Boys, Boys, Boys.

I just received and email from my mother on a friday night (a very special friday night that consisted of sweat pants and NRP podcasts) when the subject line read: “Thank God for Twitter”.

I opened it, thinking she was talking about something funny in the news about twitter that some crazy celeb tweeted about not wearing underwear and “accidentally” being photographed. The email read:

“I figured, either she’s dead or there’s a boy.

Neglected mother, :-{”

So, when I don’t respond to my mothers emails for a few days she think I’m dead or I have a new boy in my life. And will consult to my twitter page to find out when I last tweeted and take a deep breath out when she sees that I have indeed tweeted for several days straight, multiple times a day. Sorry for not responding quicker mama. (I’m lazy, you of all people know this.)

Some background info: I, Sara King, am indeed boycrazy. And have been for several years. And by several I mean, I had my first “boyfriend” in 5th grade, about 11 years ago. He dumped me by coming up to me in our elementary school hallway and saying these devastating words to my face, “Um, you’re dumped”. Since that horrifying day I have had my share of relationships with many different boys.

Boys in high school relationships where you come up with your future children names and plan every detail of your gigantic house together, to hookups, to college relationships. Of which, some are meaningful and fun and some are pretty much what I think dating a preteen would be like since boys never act the age they biologically are.

Real boy age = biological age – 10.

This is not a case of girl hating boy/s. Trust. Otherwise, why would I keep going back for more? Who really knows why girls/woman continuously get into relationships with boys. Any sometimes with boys we know going into are wrong for us and are just big douches. That my friends, is the question of life. I guess, its because we all want to find a person to grow old with and be able to call our best friend and soul mate, blah blah blah.

But oh geez, there are so many games that boys/girls and men/women play with each other. The biggest one is the telephone game. Anyone remember that game we played as children at camp where we sat in a circle and one person was elected to come up with a phrase? He or she would whisper something into the person’s ear sitting to the right of them, and then they would pass it on to the next person without being able to ask for the first person to repeat it. The object of the game was to see how far from the original saying was left and/or how far it had been changed? The adult version is the same except, there are just two players. The end result is either to confuse the shit out of the other player pr try to have the other person read your mind by saying the opposite.

“Nothing, nothing is wrong.”

When you are actually saying is,”EVERYTHING IS WRONG AND I HAVE A HUGE LIST OF THINGS THAT YOU DO OR DON’T DO THAT PISS ME OFF EVERYDAY.”

Um. Helloooooo! There IS a nicer way of saying truthful things to one another that will not confuse the other person. And if you think they should just be able to read your mind, you’re dumb because boys are dumb (thats a well none global fact) and barely even understand what their own brains are telling them what to do or say. They do tend to think with what is in their pants, and you surely can’t trust that. At least, not always.

Come on ladies! Sometimes we are to blame. Just strap on some steal toe boots (incase things get ugly) and say what you really mean. Even if it may hurt him, it will hurt him much MUCH less than finding out later you lied and expected his dumbass self to read your girly mind. Any boys! Be nice, sometimes us girls have a hard time telling you whats really on our mind. (Most of the time we are thinking what a stupid butt faced loser you are, but we love you anyways so we deal.)

So, there really isn’t a solution to the game. We are all just players (in the non slut/man-whore way). But remember, the truth will set you free.