Tuesday, May 14, 2013

Quarter Life Whatever

I've heard a lot about the famed "quarter life crisis" but never thought it would hit me right in the fucking face. I swear, I've been totally cool about where I am in life for the last however many years of my adult life. But then all of a sudden MOTHERFUCKING BOOM. You ready to start feeling shitty about your life? I left an anxiety attack on your front porch, you're welcome!

Feeling this way blows so hard. I feel like I'll be paying for the mistakes I made when I was between 18 and 22 for the rest of my life. Credit card debt, not finishing college, choosing the wrong jobs, ignoring adult things. At the time, I still felt like a kid, so I just did whatever the hell I wanted. Putting fun trips / clothes / Mcdonalds on my credit cards. Failing classes, ignoring credit callers, HAVIN' FUN Y'ALL. Dumb.

When I was a kid, I was always told that I could be whatever I wanted to be. That I could choose my Dream Job and be happy every day of my life. And I believed that shit. But there's a lot more to it than just, "What's your passion? What do you like to do? Then do that!" Because I'm pretty sure watching crappy television shows isn't a job option for me.

What if my Dream Job is only an option in New York City or Boston or Chicago? I'm all the way down here in Louisiana, and I don't know if I could leave my family and Andy's family behind for a chance of a shot at a job. Not to mention, Andy has a job here that pays our bills.

Being in this place super sucks because no one can say anything to make it better. No one can fix it, no one can correct the mistakes I made, no one can tell me what I'm supposed to do. But that's all I want. I just want someone who can tell me the right choices. I want someone who can predict the future for me or tell me what I'm good at, because right now, I'm feeling like I'm good at absolutely nothing.

I NEED AN ADULT TO MAKE THESE HARD DECISIONS FOR ME. Where can I find an adult? Because I know damn well it's not me.

It's especially hard on Andy, because I know he would do anything to make it better, but there's nothing he can do. I'm sure it's difficult for him to get that my anxiety and general lowness about life has nothing to do with our relationship.T hat's the one solid thing I have right now. I may be confused and scared and unsure about everything else, but Andy is the one thing I have that is concrete for me.

Which makes this anxiety even worse, because I want to be better for me AND for him. I don't want him to have to worry and stress with me, because he's like most men and just wants to solve, solve, solve. And unfortunately, there isn't a solution that someone else can choose for me. There's just me. And if things go wrong, if I've made the wrong choice - I only have myself to blame.

I have all of these questions: What do I want to do with my life? Have I affected anyone in a positive way? Am I good person? Why does it feel like everyone else has their shit together, while I'm floating off in space, doing nothing?

I see passion all around me. Passion for art or music or religion or science. And I feel like I have none of that. How do you find your passion? How do you know what you love? What if you try everything, and you realize that you have no passion?

The burden of this crisis lies 100% with me. I cannot blame anyone else for the path I've taken. I cannot change what I've done in the past. I can only look forward and trust myself. But the problem is, I don't trust myself at all.

Wednesday, April 10, 2013

Mardi Gras Is Never a Good Idea.

I'm pretty sure that I've forgotten how to write a blog post in the year and three months that I haven't written anything. Here goes nothing...

I've attempted Mardi Gras once before as an adult, and it didn't go well. I mean, it didn't go badly, it just didn't go at all on account of how we were like, "Fuck this cold; let's day drink at home." So now when people say, "Are you going to Mardi Gras this year?!", I say, "If by Mardi Gras, you mean staying home and getting shitfaced and showing my boobs for no reason because there aren't beads involved, then YES. Yes I am."

This year, however, a friend of mine rented a lot for the parade. And also their very own portapotty. But the most important thing included was THE FREE MOTHERFUCKING KEG, AMIRITE? So I said okay, sure, what's the worst that could happen?


It was still a few hours before the parade was going to reach us, and we had been throwing that keg beer back. See, the problem with drinking out of a keg is that you have no fucking clue how much you've been drinking. And so you drink more. And some more. And then you're like dancing to Ke$ha when you know you shouldn't be, because all of those moves look way better in the car.

I had to use the portapotty because of all the free! keg! beer!, so I headed on in. It was already dark at that point, so inside the portapotty was complete and total darkness. I was pretty drunk, so I did that whole wobble-wobble-balance routine you have to do when you're drunk and trying to go to the bathroom. Also, it was a portapotty so I was hovering and drunk and let me tell you, my thighs are not used to the kind of strength required for squatting over a toilet to avoid the germy germs.

I finished up and went to throw the toilet paper away, when I realized the worst. thing. ever.


The guy who went in before me put the lid of the porta potty down. So yeah. I peed all over the lid of the toilet. And yeah. It kind of got on my jeans without me realizing because I was so busy squatting and being drunk and trying to hurry. And I'm not talking a little splish splash, y'all. I'm talking NOTICEABLE PEE. ON MY JEANS. AT MARDI GRAS.


Then I proceeded to lean up against a truck for the rest of the night. I looked like one of those kids at the school dance, standing on the nerd wall. People were all, "Hey! Come look at these awesome floats!" and I'm like, "Oh, they look just beautiful from back here. I think I actually prefer the view from leaning against this truck, rather than the view that would require me to show you my PEE PANTS BECAUSE OMG THAT'S WHAT I WAS WEARING.

So. Gross.

Tuesday, January 10, 2012

Bachelorette Party - Or the Time I Puked for a Million Years and Saw a Penis Instead of Boobs (Gross)

This Friday, my best friend and I will be attempting our very first road trip, just the two of us. We've gone on plenty of road trips before but never just the two of us. I already have a ridiculously vagina-themed music selection ready (Ke$ha, Miley, Katy, Britney, Jenna Marbles). We'll be meeting up with Nugs, and this will be only the second time I have ever met a blogger in real life.

The last time we went to New Orleans (and the first time I ever met another blogger) was for my bachelorette party at the end of September. When I got in my sister's car to leave, she had two Dr. Peppers, a bag of combos, and a pack of cigarettes on my side of the car. We were fucking READY. We even taught Katelynn the dance we made up when we were younger to Sometimes I Run by Britney Spears.

On our first night in New Orleans, we were walking down Bourbon Street when a group of guys in town for a bachelor party saw me with my penis necklace and just started yelling, "BACHELORETTE PARTY YEAH!" so obviously we started yelling "BACHELOR PARTY YEAH!" back to them, and ta-da! A friendship was born.

We bounced from club to club, with me getting drunker and drunker and drunker and..... GUYS, OMG, I AM SO DRUNK LOL FOREVER LET'S SIT DOWN RIGHT HERE ON BOURBON STREET.

This is also the night I got to meet Mel aka Satan. It was very exciting, and I was nervousing a little about meeting someone random, but we all know what helps anxiety, right? MORE ALCOHOL!

I wish I could tell you guys more of what meeting a blogger was like, but my memory is a little fuzzy due to my being obliterated at that point in the night.

When we made it back to the hotel, I passed the fuck out.

The next morning, I woke up, took a shower, and gave myself a pat on the back for being an awesome drunky with no hangover.

And then I puked.

And puked again.

And puked some more.

For about five. goddamned. hours.

I pretty much just threw myself over the toilet and barfed like I was a supermodel. I cried into the toilet, told the toilet that I would never drink ever again, begged the toilet to make me stop feeling like a sorority girl after her first keg party, and even offered sexual relations in exchange for peace. To a toilet. Because that's how fucking awful I felt.

The rest of the girls went out to look at all the beautiful sights in New Orleans while I cried like a little bitch over how shitty I felt. They brought me back McDonalds, and after eating three fries, I felt much better.


WHAT THE FUCK. If I had fucking known it would only take a couple of fucking fries to make me feel better, I could have saved FIVE FUCKING HOURS of puking. #whitegirlproblems

After Pukefest '11, we went out on the town again, but this time, the thought of alcohol made me want to stab myself in the face. I had one or two drinks, but kept it classy and stayed sober.

Plus my BF bought me that pretty mask!
Halfway through the night, we decided to meet up with the bachelor party guys again because we realized that they had a balcony on Bourbon Street. Katelynn and I worked really, really hard to get girls to show us their boobs. Every time a hot girl walked by, we would yell, "HEY YOU! WITH THE BOOBS! SHOW THEM TO US!" Unfortunately, most girls just wanted beads for showing us cleavage. WTF. Bitches, that is not how this works. We did, however, have someone show us his schlong. It was... gross. And floppy.

When we couldn't get enough hot girls to show us their boobs, Katelynn went downstairs on a mission to recruit girls with questionable morals. Every time she got another one, we would all rejoice like our favorite team scored a game-winning touchdown. Highly entertaining.

This place was ridiculous. Fucking gorgeous.
My sisters even drank some, too (which they don't do that often, at least not in front of me). After throwing beads to slutty girls, we went to another club, where there were ho ho ho's everywhere, y'all. This is one of my favorite pictures from the whole trip, because you can just feel the judgment seeping out of our eyes.

I didn't end up puking the second night, but I did end up with a shitload of beads. It was one of the most fun weekends I've ever had, even if it was a projectile vomit-y kind of weekend. I love my sisters SOSOMUCH for planning it for me. <3 We really are the hottest sisters around.


Like I said, I'll be in New Orleans this weekend, so if anyone else will be in town, you should probably let me know so we can be drunken fools together. 

If you have any recommendations for super fun shit to do there, I would love you forever if you told me in the comments.

Even though I've been neglecting Sara Swears a Lot entirely too much, I was nominated for some awards on 20sb! They have Bootleg awards every year, and winners are chosen by members of 20sb themselves. Last year, I got Blogger I'd Most Like to Have a Drink With, which made me SO, SO HAPPY. That's probably the most awesome category there is, because I would have a drink with every single person on the Internet if I could, because I love you all so much. (Except for the people who use literally incorrectly. I will not have a drink with you, assholes.)

In other exciting news, Childhood Trauma won best group blog uncontested! I know I talk about it non-stop, but CT really is one of my favorite things in the whole world. I adore the girls I write reviews with, and the Wakefield twins are like my best friends, even though I hate those bitches. So thank you so much to everyone who voted for us! :)

Now when the fuck can we all get together and make the universe explode?

Thursday, December 22, 2011

It's a Very Sweet Valley Christmas

Nothing much ever happens in BloggyLand around Christmas. It's mostly a lot of refreshing pages, watching the same video over and over, and knocking your skull into a wall because the Internet has officially died. I swear, I have looked at every single corner of the Internet this past week, and THERE IS NOTHING LEFT.

Since I'm bored as shit, I figure some of you might be bored as shit, too. Which is why you should read the Snark Squad's recaps of the most insanely amazing Sweet Valley miniseries to ever grace us with its presence. There are seven books, and seven recaps, so you can waste your entire day at work reading about Jessica and Elizabeth Wakefield. Even if you've never heard of Sweet Valley, I can guarantee you that this series is worth it. Clickety click here to get started.

So Merry Christmas everyone! I hope your last few days at work don't make you stab yourself in the face too many times!

Wednesday, December 14, 2011

My Christmas Tree Didn't Almost Make Me Get a Divorce This Time!

My blog has been awfully lonely lately, because apparently all of my thoughts for the last month have been in 140 characters or less which doesn't really make the best blog post and also makes me feel like a pretty unintelligent person. But I have ALL. THIS. ENERGY. on account of lots of Starbucks and also because I'm snorting lines of Christmas like a baller, son. (I had to message Lorraine to make sure that's how baller was spelled. She said that's how she spells it, and if two people on the Internet say something is true, it automatically becomes true. Baller it is.)

Speaking of baller, I finally got my Christmas tree put up. And it wasn't anywhere near as tragic as last year's Christmas tree dramz.

The spray bottle is for giving the cat a big FUCK NO when she tries to climb the tree.

Andy was being all Christmascroogey for a minute there, but once we got the Christmas tree, he stopped complaining about all the "damn Christmas music" and "freakin' Christmas decorations" everywhere. We decided to go to Toys R Us and get two presents for Toys for Tots: one for a girl and one for a boy. Andy declared that his present would be better because boy toys are cooler, and I was all UM. LOL, NO, because girls have dress up things and dolls and pretend makeup and motherfuckin' Barbie, who runs the entire country. (No shit, you guys. She's a police officer, a teacher, a doctor, a streetwalker. Bitch is busy.)

But then we went in the toy store. I will admit defeat when I have to, y'all. BOY TOYS ARE SO FUCKING COOL OMG. They have fucking dinosaurs with robot guns on their backs, remote controlled sharks that will eat your face off, and army men battlefields all over the place. When we walked down the aisle with the full-size G. I. Joes, Andy kept saying, "Oh my God! My Army men would love this!" and "Sara, you have got to come over here immediately to see this Lego set" and "WE NEED TO HAVE A KID."

All the parents shopping for their kids looked frazzled, miserable, and exhausted. We, however, were having the time of our lives, playing with all of the toys and SQUEEEE'ing over things we didn't have when we were kids. I had to tell Andy to stop talking shit about the slutty off-brand Barbies, and he had to tell me that army men don't need to have a whole life story before they die in battle and when they finally do die, please stop making it so overdramatic.

We both eventually picked our toys out and met up in the middle aisle.

When I said that Joe was pretty sexy, Andy told me to stop hitting on his army man.

Turns out, we'd picked out the perfect couple! We decided that G. I. Joe is actually the prince in disguise. See, he wants to fight for his country, but if anyone knew who he was, they'd blast his face off in a heartbeat. So he stays undercover, all the while dreaming of the day when he can finally come home and be with Blair Barbie forever. I mean, look at her. She's hawt. Also, she comes with a slutty schoolgirl outfit.

Now could one of my friends / siblings / acquaintances please hurry up and have a freaking baby so me and Andy can play with all of these toys for real?!

G. I. Andy & Sara Barbie

Oh! Also! I made a Best Of page, mainly because I wanted to make sure my Snuggie GIF never dies. Ch-ch-check it out! 

Tuesday, November 22, 2011


Granddaddy first met my grandma at her job. She worked with her best friend at a little store in Mississippi. Granddaddy's friend had seen Grandma before and was interested, because she was a beautiful woman. He sent my grandfather in to the store to set up a date between the two of them. My granddad was supposed to ask her best friend out and make it a double date.

But because Granddaddy is so awesome, he decided that he wanted Grandma for himself. So when he went in, he asked her if she'd like to go drive with him and got her best friend to agree to go out with his own best friend instead.

They went driving that night after my grandma left work because "that's what we did back then!" my grandma always says. They immediately liked each other and went out every night for the rest of the week. At the end of that week, my granddad had to leave because he was in the military and had received orders. 

While he was gone, they exchanged letters constantly. Over the course of a few months, they fell in love via the written word. When he returned home, he immediately went to see her and asked her to marry him. She said yes, and before you know it, they were at a justice of the peace, signing legal documents and becoming husband and wife.

50+ years later, they were still married. After two daughters, serving in Vietnam, six grandchildren, and one great grandchild, my granddaddy passed away.

The day before he passed, he wasn't having an easy time. He was in and out, there and not there, lucid and gone. My grandma was sitting in front of him, holding his hands, and talking to him. He kept saying, "Mama... Mama..." again and again. "Is Mama home?" he asked his wife. "Yes, James, she is," my grandma replied, not wanting to clarify that his mother was in her heavenly home. "Beautiful eyes, Mama," he said, as if he were talking to his deceased mother. "Mama's home... and I'm going home," he told her.

Later that night, he was being put in bed by his nurses. As they were getting him ready, he requested that they send his wife in to tuck him in. "She knows how to do it," he told them. She put him in bed, and that was the last moment they had together. 

The next day, he passed away.

I know that he didn't die alone, because his mother came to get him and take him with her. I don't think he was scared at all. I think he was ready to be with his mother and brother in Heaven at last.

At the funeral, everyone spoke of how my grandfather was one of the funniest people they ever met. Even when he could barely walk, he still made it to church, he still made fun of people, and he still found ways to drive my grandma crazy.

He was a skilled carpenter who could make any animal I requested. He was a war veteran, who had accomplished so much in his 20+ years in the military. He grew up a poor boy on a farm and built an entire life with his family, thanks to hard work and dedication. You never knew if a story he was telling was true or not, but I always liked to believe they were.

He once told us about the time he hitched a ride with a neighbor on the way back from town. He rode in the back of the truck with his friend and noticed that there were bags and bags of fruit inside. The man driving the truck was very poor and had bought the fruit for his eleven children for Christmas. He stopped at a "friend's" house (so my granddad says), and the friend was not his wife. While the man was inside, my granddaddy and his friend ate every piece of fruit in the back of that truck and took off.

He thought that story was hilarious. "He shouldn't have been messin' around on his wife!" he always said.

We saw him one last time in the casket before they closed the top and brought him to the burial site. A beautiful American flag was draped over the top and the U. S. Air Force medallion was on the side. The honor guards marched out, folded the flag into a perfect triangle, and stood at attention during the playing of Taps. After the last note, the guard turned toward my grandmother, presented her with the flag, and saluted her in honor of her husband and all that he had done for our country.

"This body is not James," said the preacher afterwards. "This is simply the body that James lived in while he was here. James is in our hearts, he's in our souls, he's in our memory. Every time you remember him, he lives on."

Granddaddy, you were one amazing person, and Heaven is lucky to have you. 

But maybe you should try not to laugh so much when you're telling God that story about stealing the fruit, okay?

Thursday, November 10, 2011

Holy Shit, Please Don't Fall Down Those Stairs.

This is a picture heavy post! You've been warned...

The day of the wedding itself was actually a lot less stressful than I anticipated. The night before, I slept at my mom's house and had a slumber party with my sister. We ate a shitload of chocolate, watched Ever After (and quoted every line), and fell asleep pretty early. The next morning when I woke up, the nerves still hadn't quite kicked in yet.

I got my nails did with my bridesmaids and then my best friend and I went to get our hurr did.

After getting our hair styled and makeup done, Katelynn started the drive to my mom's house to drop me off. Five minutes away, she turned down the music and said, "I could never have picked anyone better for you. I know Andy is your soul mate, and I'm so, so happy for you, best friend." We shared I love you's as we pulled into my driveway.

Cry count: 1

When I made it to my mom's house, it was time to put the dress on and head to the First Look. The First Look is when the bride and groom meet up before the wedding, take a few pictures, and then go their separate ways until the ceremony. We decided to do it because I didn't want to be a nervous wreck walking down the aisle, plus it provided way better picture opportunities than just taking some at the church.

After a mix-up of locations, we finally got to the spot. My photographer (JennFar Photography) came to my mom's car and told me she was going to go to Andy, have him turn in the opposite direction, and motion me to start walking their way.

I was so fucking nervous, y'all. It was like going on a first date all over again. My hands were sweaty, and I was trying to keep my face from looking weird, and I felt like my heels were clacking super loud, and I was worried that Andy wouldn't think I was OMG SO MUCH PRETTY HAPPENING, and eeeeeeek!

But then I made it to him.

And I wasn't scared at all anymore.

I forgot the photographer was there, forgot my mom was parked down the road, forgot we were standing mere yards away from the only gay club in town. It was just me and him, giggling and looking at each other and feeling like grown ups. "Are you nervous?" I asked him. "Kind of... are you?" "Not really, anymore." Feeling like a grown up and a nervous pre-teen all at the same time is such a weird feeling. "I love you, baby. But I have to be honest," I started, "I have sweat dripping down my leg right now, and it's grossing me out. Can we head to the church?"

We took one last picture, with a Zoolander theme. "Blue steel, baby!" I shouted.

We kissed one last time and headed to the church.

I had to sit at the church for two fucking hours before the wedding. UGH IT WAS FOREVER AND EVER AMEN. I watched my bridesmaids get ready, had my hurr fixed again, ate some cheese, smoked a cigarette, listened to music, HOLY SHIT, IT STILL ISN'T TIME?

Twenty minutes before the ceremony, my sisters said they had a surprise for me. They gave me a scrapbook, and I started flipping through.

The pages were filled with pictures of us as kids. My oldest sister reading to me when I was a baby, my other sister holding me and smiling proudly. Mixed in were notes of how happy they are for me, how much they love me, how they couldn't have asked for a better brother-in-law. The last page held a picture of us at my bachelorette party, all grown up. Buying cars, moving out, getting married. But wasn't it just yesterday that we were having sleepovers in my sister's room, talking about boys and quoting YouTube videos like it was our job?

Cry count: 2

Right before the wedding started, I felt the nerves kicking in. Everyone kept asking me if I was nervous yet, and I could only think YES, YES, OF COURSE I'M NERVOUS.

We all lined up to walk down the aisle. "I love you, best friend," Katelynn mouthed before she turned and prepared to step through the doors.

My oldest sister started to walk down the aisle first to an instrumental version of "Somewhere Over the Rainbow."

And then the music cut out.

She stood there awkwardly for a moment, trying to figure out what to do. She started walking back up the aisle backwards, and then the music started again. She hesitated with a "fucking seriously?" look before she resumed walking. The other girls followed behind her. The music was a little off, but I was too busy thinking about how embarrassing it would be if I fell down the stairs to realize it.

My dad and I stepped up to the doors after the flower girls had made it all the way down the aisle. We had a quick conversation about when we were supposed to start walking. "Now?" "I don't think so..." "What about now?" "I'm not sure..." "Is it time yet?" "Will they tell us?" "Should we know this already?" "Meh, fuck it, let's get this shit on the road."

We started walking, and my main concern was OMG DO NOT FALL DOWN THESE FUCKING STAIRS, FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS HOLY AND GOOD. Longest. Walk. Of my life, y'all.

I made it to the end of the aisle and smiled at Andy. He was sniffling already.

My dad did a reading. The officiant read our vows. Andy apologized halfway through for sniffling still. We exchanged rings and lit a unity candle. Andy said I almost broke his hand from squeezing so hard. It was over so quickly that I hardly even had time to notice that I was, you know, GETTING MARRIED.

And then we were officially husband and wife.

We signed some official documents, took some official pictures, and exhaled.

Introducing.......... Mr. and Mrs. Andrew Bee!

And then we headed to the reception.....

Which will be told at a later time. 

All pictures were taken by my very sweet, very awesome photographer, Jenn. Her Facebook page is here.