Tuesday, August 31, 2010

The One In Which I Meet My Aunt.

Don't you love when you're reading blogs at work and commenting away like a motherfucking ninja commenter and later you forgot that you had left all these magical comments all over the blogosphere and then you see a comment you left last week comparing queefing to burping after a really big meal because queefing is *actually* a compliment from your vagina, I think.

That started off as a question and became a statement. Don't ask. Just move along.

Also, can someone please explain to me why the word vagina ends up in every single one of my posts somehow? I swear I don't plan it this way.

But speaking of vagina...

When I was in 8th grade, ALL my friends had their periods already. They would go have secret grown up vagina talk in the bathroom in between classes, and I was stuck with a stupid loser not-bleedy vagina. Obviously, I lied and said I had started my period, too, because duh! Ohmygodsoembarassing!

And then one day..... I became a woman (so my mother said).

It was a game day, and I was on danceline which meant I had to put on my pretty sparkly uniform and dance at the pep ralley. We danced a kick routine that day. Which means that we kicked our legs way up in the air. Which means that people in the audience could see the general crotchal region. Can you see where this is heading or do I need to do a little more foreshadowing?

*This is the outfit I'm talking about. I'm the awkward dork on the right. Make note of my fatness next to my skinny, adorable middle school best friend.*

When we were performing, I was thinking, "Hmm... my vagina feels kind of soggy. I wonder if this is normal?" Guess what? IT'S FUCKING NOT, BITCH. It means you started your womanly time, and now it's time to haul ass to the ladies' (first to name the movie wins a prize) and put a goddamn diaper pad on.

Unfortunately, future hawt awesome hilarious Sara couldn't communicate with pre-pubescent 8th grade bleedy vagina Sara. Which means that pre-pubescent 8th grade bleedy vagina Sara was stuck with the whole goddamn school seeing her bleedy crotch because those danceline uniforms did NOT leave a lot to the imagination in the crotchal region, yaknowwhatimsayin?

Not only did I flash the entire fucking 8th grade my bleeding cootch, I also had to wear that uniform to the football game that night. And I had to wear pantyhose with that uniform. I'm sure the women see the problem at this point, but I'll explain for the men.

Most girls don't start wearing tampons on their very first period. You have to start at bulky diaper pads that make you feel like you're smuggling pillows in your panties. Bulky diaper pad that makes you feel like you're smuggling pillows in your panties + Pantyhose = DISASTERVILLE. Which resulted in vagina blood being all up on my pantyhose AND my danceline uniform.

And I had to go through this shit on a WEEKLY basis because I couldn't wear tampons until I was in high school. And stop giving me those judgy eyes because putting a tampon in is way fucking harder than it sounds, especially when you're in 8th grade. And sometimes, I've heard from other people, not me, just other people, that occasionally some people will accidentally put the cardboard part that goes around the tampon INSIDE THE VAGINA.


But like I said, I'm absolutely not talking about me because hello? I'm super smart and intelligent and can read directions like a mofo even if the directions are not very clear or concise and I DO NOT UNDERSTAND THE PICTURE OF THE VAGINA ON THE SIDE OF YOU, BOX. THAT DOES NOT LOOK LIKE MY VAGINA.

Don't worry; I totes figured out the tampon thing and rock them like a pro now.

(Okay, so it was actually me that put the cardboard part in my vagina. I know, I know. You're shocked, right?)

(Don't ever try that at home. I'm not sure if it's possible for the inside of a vagina to bruise, but I'm pretty mine was bruised like a bitch. Weak ass vagina.)

(Where the fuck is my vagina word counter? You need to get on top of this, ASAP.)

Um, the end?

Friday, August 27, 2010

Alligator Tastes Like Chicken. And Also Like Alligator.

So school started this week -- which means that I am officially LSU's bitch and can no longer give my blog the lovin' it normally gets. Let Down City, Population: 1. Also, my English teacher requires us to start a personal blog and write about whatever we want for grades. What do you think the possibility of Sara Swears a Lot getting an A for effort is? The school blog will be incredibly boring, but I guess I'll get some practice at writing about things that don't involve shit, dick, or vag. (That last sentence was painful to write.)

Also, I went to a Cajun restaurant last night and ate alligator. And bought a ton of postcards. And they're hilarious. If you want one, you should email me because I really love sending postcards. If you don't want one, then fuck you. I didn't want to send you one anyways.

Plus I bought two extra Louisiana-fied presents while I was there and have to decide who should get them. Don't get all excited in the pants; they aren't that great.

I'm going to try to do a blog series with this "seven things" business, but only because Aly asked me to do it, and I worship her writing skillz (yep, that's a z) and would do anything she asked me to do. If you don't know what I'm talking about, check hers out. And I'm going to need ideas from y'all for what to do my seven things series on. I would do some serious shit, but I have a feeling that might get boring quick. So give me some ideas, bums!

I'm keeping it short since it's Friday. Everybody get drunk tonight. And record yourself. But not during sex. Because that shit always comes back to haunt you. Like when you have friends over and somebody turns on the TV, but oh wait, it hasn't been changed back to the "Cable Box" setting and ohmyfuckinggod who are these two people paused in mid-hump on the TV and is that girl related to Kim Kardashian because LOOK AT THE SIZE OF THAT ASS, cue uncomfortable silence and lots of fumbling to turn the TV off.

Wait, what?

Anystupidbitchesneedtostoptalkingaboutmyfatassway, happy weekending, y'all.

Friday, August 20, 2010

Winner Winner, Chicken Dinner! - UPDATED!

Okay, so you probably know by now that I NEVER get anything done when I say I'm going to and I suck at life yada, yada, yada, get over it.

So the contest was fucking ah-maz-ing. I knew you guys were incredible, but DAMN. You really came through, and y'all are fucking disgusting. I had some favorites, but I let Andy choose all on his own. And can you guess which one he chose as the winner? I highly doubt you'll be surprised, kiddos.

The winner of the supah sexy Chippendale calendar goes to...........

Abasee at Abesement of Me! Her entry was awesome and horrible and I FUCKING TOLD YOU SO, ANDY and well, here it is:

When I was 18 I was dating my future husband and we were hanging out at his apartment. We had been fooling around for a while and decided to get freaky. So he turned me over doggy style and began licking my vag and ass and next thing I know he's got a finger in the rear door. I'm liking the action so I roll with it, and getting close to that O moment. He pulls out a toy and plunges it in my ass, and because I'm not prepared I clench up at the same time. Suddenly the room is very quiet - too quiet. I turn my head to see what had happened and he is COVERED with my poo, all over his face, in his hair, all over the bed. I am shocked, horrified, and wondering what to do when he burst out laughing. We both laughed hysterically for few minutes, then got into the shower to clean ourselves off. Then we finished that freaky shit and took another shower. Yeah baby!
SHIT ON YOUR DICK EXISTS, Y'ALL. Don't ever say I never gave you anything.

So congratulations, girlfriend! (I couldn't find your email to let you know so send me one at tatorhead328 at yahoo dot com so I can get your address.)

I should really do contests more often. I had no clue so many grossies read this blog. Thanks for putting my story to shame.

Also, yeah, I did change my picture and yeah, it is a mirror/camera phone picture and it is a lot like a high schooler's facebook picture but can you please stop pointing all that out because I was tired of looking at that picture of me looking all grossed out with the child's cup at Raising Cane's because COME ON CHICKEN RESTAURANT, adults order the children's meal, too, okay? Stopjudgingme. And that picture is awesome because it's hippie-style and also, I'm doing motherfucking DUCK FACE which can never go wrong. So you're welcome.

It's Friday. I'm gettin' drunk tonight. So that is all.

UPDATE:  Best. Comment. Ever.

Yo, I'm really happy for you, Abasee, and I'm gonna let you finish. But, yo. Aggy had one of the greatest accidental-Nazi-fucking stories of ALL TIME...

Thank you, BabyJesus.

Thursday, August 19, 2010

Everybody! Come and See How Good I Look!

Okay, so I'm totally going to announce the contest winner tomorrow, swearsies. For now, watch this video of me WINNING in Vegas on the huge ass slot machine. Also, note the many rude people walking right in front of the camera. Bitches.


Not pictured: The man who went right before me who spent $20 trying to win. He looked pretty fucking pissed when I won on my second spin.

PS - Don't I look like a professional gambler?

PSS - More videos to come. They're not sex tapes but still pretty fun.

Tuesday, August 17, 2010

I Shit You Not

I have sosososo much stuff to put on this blog that I haven't gotten around to because I've been busy with work and getting ready for school and okay, fine, I'm on my fucking period, and I don't really feel like being charming, okay? Good enough? Good.

But yeah. I have some sexciting shit to post like a PSA about a stupid hotel in Vegas and a video of me humping my blow-up sex dolls I got in the mail last week. Also, I'm thinking of putting the plastic dildo that came with it under Andy's pillow tonight because that's some kind of awesome, right?

I've been pretty swamped at work lately which means at 5:00 I'm ready to go by sprinting out the motherfucking door of this office, leaping in my car, and roaring out of the parking lot like I'm driving the fucking Batmobile. Which is exactly what I was doing last week because everyone knows Mondays Tuesdays Wednesdays every work day suck balls.

I pulled into my driveway twenty minutes later and immediately felt calmer. Just being home makes my stress levels go way down because I know that I can spend the next seven hours sitting my fat ass on the couch watching reruns of It's Always Sunny and South Park.

So after checking the mail, I made my way to my front door. I was reading an awesome fucking postcard and laughing while I put my key in the lock and pushed the door open.


The smell of shit hit me in the face so hard that I gagged on the air. And then I immediately turned back around and closed the door. Because obviously I was going to wait until Andy got home, pretend that I had just pulled up, and somehow force him to go in the house before me. Because the rule in my house is whoever finds the shit cleans the shit up. (Yeah, this has also caused us to have wars in which we both just step over the poop for a few hours until Andy someone says, "Really? Are you seriously going to keep walking over that poop, pretending you don't see it just so I have to clean it up? This is like the tenth time today that you've walked RIGHT over it. This is disgusting.")

So when Andy pulled up three minutes later, I was just getting out of my car and all, "Oh, hi. Wow. Totally random that we got here at the same time, huh? That pretty much never happens. What a coincedence!" And Andy was all, "What the fuck are you trying to hide, Sara?" And I was all, "Ha, ha, ha, oh, you. You sweet, beautiful, charming fiancee of mine. Don't be silly!" And he was all, "There's shit in the house, isn't there?"

He knows me so well.

So I guess that after five minutes of not smelling the putrid scent of twosies in the air, I had forgotten how bad it was. And when we opened the door to go in the second time, I started gagging so I had to go *back* outside in order to not throw up. Which is when I hear Andy inside sounding like Chewbacca or something because he's not really forming coherent sentences but occasionally I think I hear something resembling the words fuck, bitch, and wearesosellingthisgoddamndog.

Which obviously gets the best of my curiosity. So I plugged my nose and headed in to see what was making Andy go all Mel Gibson on Penny Lane. When I peeked around the corner into the room where we keep the dogs, I saw Penny Lane.

Covered. In. Shit.

I mean, it was everywhere. It was caked on her feet, her legs, her belly, her tail, and the top of her motherfucking HEAD, y'all. The bottom of her cage was completely brown, the shit smeared on the floor like she had been finger painting with it.

Which would seem pretty bad. But alone, that story is nothing. Because Penny decided to shit in her kennel again EVERY GODDAMN DAY for four days in a row. So for four days in a row, I got to come home from work to the smells of Miss Penny Lane. So yeah, last week was a really great week for me.

*Insert appropriate segueway

I just realized yesterday that I have never posted on my blog how I came up with the blog name Sara Swears a Lot. I posted it on 20sb, but if you haven't seen it, enjoy:

I came up with the blog name Sara Swears a Lot because of my best friend in high school (and still today), Katelynn. We were on danceline together which meant we were required to sit together at the football games. We were also required to do the cheers with the cheerleaders when we weren't dancing.

Katelynn and I were obviously way fucking cooler than any of the other prima donnas on danceline because we always found ways to get out of practice, games, cheering, whateverelsetheseniorgirlswantedustodo. I don't take well to someone one year older than me bossing me around just because she can, thankyouverymuch.

(But getting in trouble in high school is an entirely different post. Seriously, I could go on for days.)

So one Friday night, we were sitting in the bleachers at the football game. We were supposed to be cheering, but instead we decided to fuck off (as usual). Somehow the conversation turned to Barbies modeled after real-life people. We then realized that we wanted to make Barbies out of ourselves and would need some sort of "accessory" that Barbies always seem to have.

We decided that her doll would be Chlamydia Katelynn (we weren't intelligent enough to realize Chlamydia started with a C), and she would come with a stripper pole and some prescription medicine. (Also, I just googled chlamydia at work so I might be getting some weird looks from people in the next couple of days.)

And since I have had a filthy mouth since high school, we decided my doll would be Sara Swears A Lot and would come with a pullstring Barbie that said things like, "Fuck you, bitch!" and, "Goddamn it!" every time you pulled the string. Also, it would sometimes say those things without you even doing anything. Because Saras always end up saying inappropriate things at the most inconvenient times.

And I think my blog name has actually worked really well for me. It keeps the religious creepers away and invites the horrible, bad biker crowd to my little old blog, dontcha think?

Housekeeping at Sara Swears a Lot (The best happy endings in the business.)

*I never put an ending date on the giveaway for the Chippendale calendar because I'm disorganized like that and have never done a giveaway before. So the ending date is tomorrow night (Wednesday) at midnight. I've had a fucking blast reading these to Andy, and he already has five favorites. Clickity click here to enter. Good luck, perverts!

*If you want to be a part of my amazing, beautiful, coolestthingever living room decoration for all eternity, all you have to do is send me a postcard because that would be too much awesomeness to handle. So if you haven't already and want to help the cause, shoot me an email at tatorhead328 at yahoo dot com. I might send you nudey pictures back. Or a million dollars. But probably don't count on the million dollars.

Friday, August 6, 2010


Okay, so, where the fuck do I even begin here? Vegas involved the following:

- A dueling piano bar in which I got the guys to sing "What's Going On" by the Four Non Blondes because *everyone* loves that song when they're drunk. Also? They sang "Baby Got Back" and got multiple drunk women to shake their asses at the front of the bar during it.

- A helicopter flight over the strip with three women who I'm pretty sure were hookers. This also included a free glass of champagne. Which means that me and Andy *actually* drank about five glasses of free champagne... each. Which means that during the safety video from the 90s with a woman in high-waisted pleated shorts, we giggled. A lot. Like through the whole thing. Like so much that the fucking woman in front of us turned around and gave us a "shutthefuckup" look. Which made us giggle even more.

Also? I have videos to put up when I finally get over this goddamnwontgoaway jet lag. So stay tuned for that shit next week probably. Seriously, y'all, I am wiped the fuck out. As in, I don't even remember how I got to work because I probably slept the whole way here because not only am I jet lagged, but also I stayed up until 2 am watching It's Always Sunny and WHAT THE FUCK, Y'ALL why didn't anyone tell me how beautiful and perfect and the epitome of me this show is screw you guys.

Oh, and I do have a fabulous giveaway that will be posted next week, and yes, in fact, it does involve male nudity (almost).

Okay, so, I promise I will have shit done on Monday! Feel free to cuss me out if I don't.

Oh, and this is the beauty that I got to come home to last night.

The flowers courtesy of Andy. The dick courtesy of Nicole. Also, she sent me two stuffed basketballs that my puppies are in love with. Except that Penny Lane kind of puked on one so we kind of had to throw it away. Oh oh oh, and she sent me some blow up sex dolls which I will reveal in video/picture form later.

So since sofuckingmuch happened in Vegas, I'll start with telling you about Saturday because that was my favorite day.

Saturday consisted of a lot of walking. In heels. That were adorable by the way. But still. Also, I had blisters ALL. FUCKING. OVER. my feet. Also, there were a ton of assholes in Vegas on Saturday who never moved the fuck over when they were on sidewalks which required me to dive out of their way and into bushes multiple times while giving them my evil "fuckyougotohellihateyou" look that they didn't even catch because they were too busy being assholes who never moved the fuck over when they were on sidewalks.

After about twenty minutes of me saying, "Slow down! My fucking feet are fucking killing me. Are we in the goddamn Olympics or something? UGHMYFEETOHMYGODKILLMENOWTHEYHURTSOBAD," Andy looked like he wanted to stab me in the face. Luckily, he loves blow jobs me so he didn't choke me like I'm sure he wanted to.

And now all I've told you about is the shitty stuff when actually most of it was AWESOME AWESOME AWESOME.

Like the fact that there was a slutty show put on in our hotel every hour with a bunch of half-naked people humping on stage. With tons of kids watching. Totally appropriate for an 8 year old. Hey, they gotta learn sometime, am I right?

Anyway, we saw a lot of shit while we were there, but the best thing BY FAR was the burlesque show we went to Saturday night. Which, by the way, was featured on VH1s 10 sexiest jobs in Vegas or something like that.

So I was already pretty drunk when we got there because heller? It's Vegas. Oh, and we tipped the doorman $10 and got MOTHERFUCKING VIP SEATS I KNOW, RIGHT?? We were right next to the stage! I'm pretty sure a boob grazed my face at one point! Can you really ask for more than a stripper burlesque dancer's breast on your cheek?

I think not.

Anynakedboobonmyface, the second we sat down, I saw four or five college-aged guys who were in the VIP section wearing suits and ties. "If they pull someone on stage, I bet you a blow job that they're going to pick one of those guys," I told Andy. "Well don't be mad if they drag me up there," he said with a scoff. (He actually had a twinge of hope twinkling in his eye. Bastard!)

After polishing off a few more expensive drinks during the show, I was pretty much drunk. Which meant there was a lot of whooping and hollering from my section of the audience. Um, what? No, of course it wasn't ME. That would be so embarassing. Stopjudgingme.

So after watching naked girls prance around on stage for 30 minutes, there was an intermission with a comedian I'd never heard of. And boy, did she like me and Andy or what.

I'm pretty sure everyone else in the audience was busy hiding boners so they didn't respond much to her first few jokes whereas me and Andy were drunk off our asses laughing at every-fucking-thing we heard. Which meant that when she went to make fun of the audience members, she went straight for us. (Louisiana is an easy target, y'all.)

She made fun of us for living in a trailer and whaddyaknow? We actually do! I think my favorite part was when Andy told her that he was an engineer, she asked him if he was a "plug shit in engineer" or a "choo choo engineer". When he responded with "plug shit in engineer", she said "Well, bring your fiancee on up here and let's see!" (Hello? Don't test me, lady. After six rumandcokes, you never know what I might do on a stage for tips.)

Then she said she had tickets to give away for a MALE. NUDEY. SHOW.

And guess who won them? That's right. ME. Did you really expect anything less from me, people?

After the show, we went to a club in the hotel we were staying at. Oh, and we got in FO FREE BITCHES. Cuz that's how we do. *brushing off the shoulder*

(Psst! Really we got in fo free because we asked them to charge it to our room except they couldn't so they just let us in because they felt sorry for our drunk asses apparently. Whoops!)

The club was super lame, unfortunately. There weren't even any naked chicks in there! I was bored before I even finished my drink. "Wanna find something else to do? This place blows!" I yelled in Andy's ear. "I just bought you that drink! And it was expensive! We're staying here at least until we finish these."

"Well do you want to go back to the room and ahem?" I said this time.

It only took about three seconds for Andy to set our drinks down and start walking out the door towards our suite.


Y'all, I think I need to see a burlesque show and get drunk a little more often because HELLOTHATSEXWASAWESOME.

AnyTMIway, I'll relay a few more stories later because I can smell food cooking for our work potluck, and I'm pretty sure I'm about to gain fifteen pounds.

Also, don't hate me for the lack of awesome in this post. I've had writer's block like a motherfucker since I got back from vacay. So stop giving me that look. Yes, YOU. Stop it.

Oh, and we were so busy being drunk and happy that we only took one picture the whole time. Here we are at Toby Keith's bar and grill:

See ya next week!

(Psst, don't my boobs look pretty big in that picture? I mean, like, bigger than normal? Like bigger than an A cup? Come on y'all, just lie and make me feel better, ok?)