Category Archives: Notes to self

hi self

When you make your totally awesome potato soup, make sure you don’t throw in the contents of just any can that has a picture of coconuts on the front. A whole can of creme of coconut will make your soup inedible.

kthxbai.

because i figured it’s not your business, officer

So yesterday afternoon, I was driving home from Wal-Mart with my groceries. Went looking for lingerie, came home with groceries instead. Typical. Note to self: Target for lingerie, Wal-Mart for groceries.

Driving down a road that should have a 50 mph speed limit, I was going somewhere around 40-ish. I wasn’t really paying attention to my speed until I saw a police car parked next to a canal bridge, the nose of the car pointing right out to the street, which meant the officer must be lying in wait for speeders. I tapped my brakes slightly and then looked down at my speedometer. 37-ish. Which means I was probably going faster than that since I hit my brakes and then looked at the speedometer, duh, but that fact didn’t register with me until I was on my way home later. But 37-ish. Then I looked up for speed limit signs. THIRTY? ARE YOU KIDDING ME? IT’S A FOUR-WIDE-LANES ROAD! By this time I was passing the police car, so I didn’t hit my brakes any more, I just took my foot off the gas pedal until I got down to 35. I’m not one of those dufuses who sees a cop and starts going at or under the speed limit. I’ve had too many cops pass me for going too slow, so I stopped that madness long ago. I’ll go 5mph over if I’m being stalked by the brass. (I love calling it that. The brass. I got that from CSI. And y’all nodded your heads, because you watch CSI, too.) So I slowed and kept eating my Doritos (I was hungry and had eaten only two Larabars for lunch, so the Fiery Habanero Doritos didn’t make it out of the Wal-Mart parking lot), watching in the rearview mirror for the police stalker.

Aaaaaaand the police car turned onto the street from its parking spot next to the bridge and started following me. Fantastic. I kept looking at my speedometer, still hovering at 35-ish, and I was still not going to slow to 30, because any cop who will pull you over for going 35 will also pull you over for going 30 and is a complete jerkface. And I kept watching the rearview mirror. And the lights went on, and I pulled over onto a side street. Lovely.

I put the Doritos in the passenger floorboard so I wouldn’t look like a total pig. Who eats Doritos in the car? Out of the big bag? Or for breakfast at 8:30, for that matter? Not that I did that today. Ahem. I also took a look around to make sure everything was in order. Straightened my water bottle in the water bottle holder. Put the car in park. Turned off the car. Thought about how a ticket is not in our budget. But whatever, I like cops, they’re not paid enough, insert usual pleasantries here.

I was watching in the rearview mirror when the officer got out of her car. Ah lousy luck, she’s a girl. I say that, but the two previous times I’ve been pulled over by girl cops, I’ve not gotten tickets.

She got to the door and knocked on my window. From this point forward, my thoughts that were only in my head will be in italics. If it’s not in italics, I actually said it out loud.

SARAHK: I have to open the door.
GIRL COP: Ok. Your window doesn’t work?
SARAHK: No.
GIRL COP: Well, I pulled you over for going 41 in a 30.
SARAHK: Nuh-uh! Oh. My thing said 37, but that’s still speeding, so… ok. I was speeding. If you’re being technical.
GIRL COP [looking at me a little askance, not sure if I'm being ornery, which I'm not -- out loud]: I… probably clocked you before you saw me.
SARAHK [looking straight ahead, mouth closed]: I’m just gonna shut up now.
GIRL COP [glancing into the back seat]: Just coming home from the grocery store?
SARAHK: Oh. Yes. Would you like a bag of Doritos, officer? A nice red pear? Why is she asking about my groceries? Maybe she’s letting me know that she realizes I don’t want to sit with my frozen food for too long? It’s a friendly gesture? What? Or she notices I can’t afford to fix my car window and I shop at Wal-Mart for groceries? So I can’t afford a ticket? I hope she’s focused on that, because a ticket is not in the budget. Colonoscopy Friday has taken all the padding out of the budget this week.
GIRL COP: Can I see your driver’s license, registration, and proof of insurance?
SARAHK: Sure. Ok, purse. Opening driver’s license pocket. No gun there. Here’s my driver’s license. Glove box, no gun there, ok to open that. Here’s my registration. Opening driver’s license pocket of purse again… looking for insurance card… I know my insurance card is in here somewhere.
GIRL COP: Do you also have a cracked windshield? How long have you had that?
SARAHK [looking at the windshield, then her, then grinning]: Um… well… a rock hit it quite some time ago and it’s just been…
GIRL COP: You know, if you have insurance, full coverage, the insurance company will pay twice a year to replace your windshield.
SARAHK:Yes, well I dropped the comp coverage on my car a few months back… Oh, um, is it… illegal to drive with a cracked windshield?
GIRL COP [grinning!]: Yes. Plus it’s unsafe. If something hit you, then…
SARAHK: Yeah. [I made the motion of my head getting chopped off and thought about the big black semi that almost hit me on 2/26/2007.]
GIRL COP: Exactly.
SARAHK: Oh! Here’s the insurance card. [I handed her the card and then realized it was the one that starts in a few weeks right after I handed it to her.] Oh. I think I gave you the wrong card. [Looking for the current card...]
GIRL COP: Yes, this one isn’t effective yet and is for a Hyundai.
SARAHK: It doesn’t have both cars? I thought all the cards had both cars on there. [Now frantically looking for the current card.] Oh. Maybe the current card is in the other pocket. With my gun. Eek!
GIRL COP: I’ll tell you what I’m gonna do. I’m not going to give you a ticket for the speeding.
SARAHK: Thank you.
GIRL COP: But the insurance…
SARAHK: Actually, I might have the current card in this pocket of my purse. But there’s a gun in there.
GIRL COP: Okay…
SARAHK: So… I just didn’t want you to think I was pulling a gun on you if I open the pocket.
GIRL COP: Yeah, that would be good information to have. You probably should have told me you had that.
SARAHK: Well, it’s not your business, officer. I’m a law abiding citizen, I have a permit for it, I’m not going to use it on you, and unless there’s a chance you’re going to see it and think I’m possibly attacking you, I have no reason nor requirement to tell you about it. Oh. Well, I know I’m not required to tell you about it, so… [Note: I said this very politely and sheepishly. But my thoughts were not polite and sheepish.]
GIRL COP: Uh… Ok, well, go ahead and open the pocket, but don’t pull the gun out, ok? Is this the only gun you have in the car?
SARAHK: Ok. Yes, it is.
GIRL COP: I’m going to take the gun out and away, and then you can find your card. And then when we’re all done, I’ll give it back to you. Ok?
SARAHK: As long as you use proper gun safety, officer. Mmmhmm.

BTW, she looked nervous now. Like I was a shifty criminal. I mean, I did tell her about the gun. Maybe she thought it was booby-trapped. But it’s a revolver, a double-action one that was not cocked if she looked at the hammer. She was still friendly, though. I find that the girl cops in our town are (that’s twice I’ve been pulled over by girl cops in our town, and twice they’ve been very friendly, so statistically that’s 100%). She took the gun out of my purse and held onto it, pointing it down at the pavement.

SARAHK: I have a permit for that, by the way. Why is she not asking for my permit? The gun isn’t just in my car. It’s in my purse. I guess technically it’s in my car, I wasn’t carrying it outside the car, but it’s not in a separate, locked compartment in the car. It’s in a purse. I’m pretty sure I need a permit to have it like that. Why doesn’t she want my permit? Do you want to see it? Why am I volunteering stuff? Sarah, just shut up. She’ll ask for whatever she wants. Yep, here’s the insurance card. I thought there was a chance it might be in this pocket, but I didn’t want to open it, because I didn’t want you to think I was pulling a gun on you or something. Oh, just stop with the nervous talking thing, SarahK.

I handed her the insurance card, she said yes to the permit.

GIRL COP: Ok, I’m going to go back to my car, run your license and the serial number on the gun, and I’ll be back in a minute.
SARAHK: Ok. Where are you taking my precious Pop-Pop? I gave it to you so I wasn’t holding it while I was digging around it in my purse. I didn’t say you could have it.
GIRL COP: None of the windows roll down?
SARAHK: The passenger windows do, just the driver side window is broken.
GIRL COP: Ok, you can roll down the passenger window and I’ll come back on that side. That way you don’t have to sit here with your door open.
SARAHK: Ok, thanks. Especially since we’re on this unknown street in a semi-sketchy neighborhood, and you just took my gun away.

Girl Cop went away for a while, and I sat, sat, sat… Girl Cop finally came back, passenger side.

GIRL COP: Ok, here’s your license, registration, insurance back.
SARAHK: Thanks. Where’s my Pop-Pop? There it is. I see it. The finish had better not be marred! ;-)
GIRL COP: Ok, I’m going to put this on the floorboard here, and after I clear you, you can pick it up and put it back in your purse. Are you law enforcement?
SARAHK: No.

Am I law enforcement? Don’t you think I would have mentioned that? I guess not if I was undercover or something, but why the question? I wonder if she asked that because I didn’t volunteer the fact that I had a weapon? Before I took my concealed carry class, I had always heard from my Texas carrying friends that if you’re pulled over, you present your driver’s license and your concealed weapons permit to the officer. But when I took my class, the instructor, who was excellent, told us that it is not a requirement to tell an officer in a routine traffic stop if you have a weapon. And the Florida Statutes just state that you have to present your license to the officer if the officer demands to see it (so I was being nice when I volunteered my permit):

The licensee must carry the license, together with valid identification, at all times in which the licensee is in actual possession of a concealed weapon or firearm and must display both the license and proper identification upon demand by a law enforcement officer.

– F.S. 790.06 (1)

GIRL COP: Ok, well in the future, we need to know. Because if we’re sitting there with someone with a loaded firearm, that’s information we need to have. [Still friendly.]
SARAHK: Yes, you’re right. I’m sorry, I should have told you up front. Not your business. You only need to know that I have a gun if I’m planning to use it on you or have a mental condition that would cause me to snap and start waving it in your face for no reason, such as having PMS. ;-) So what’s the problem. If I were a criminal, my telling you about the gun wouldn’t help you anyway, because I would probably tell you about it when I was about to try to use it on you. I only told you just now for my own protection, not yours. My telling you only helps you to know that a law-abiding citizen who is not planning to harm you is carrying a weapon. I just didn’t think about it until I was looking for the insurance card. Which is true.
GIRL COP: No problem. Take care. Slow down driving home.
SARAHK: Ok. Sorry about that. The fast driving, not the concealing of the gun. It’s not your business. I shouldn’t even be required to have a permit to carry one. But that’s another blog post about inalienable rights.

She was nice, though, so when I was thinking in italics in my head, I wasn’t thinking with my acidic sarcastic tone. I was using my polite sarcastic debate tone. So if y’all read that in the acid tone, you need to go back and read it again.

When I called Frank on the way home, driving 35-ish, I told him I can’t wait for him to draw a comic of the incident. :-D

clothe thyself

Dear Self, Next time you decide to spend 2 hours dusting, make sure you’re in long sleeves, long pants, socks, and a mask over your face. You are off-the-charts allergic to dust mites. Dust mites make you itch and close off your throat.

laundry baskets keep falling on my head

Dear Self,

It hurts when laundry baskets whack you on the back of the head, so maybe don’t leave them on the back of the couch while you check your email.

Also, never ever try to feed half a brisket down the garbage disposal. Even running hot water, you will lose the battle and not have use of your sink for about a day while the Drano works its magic.

Love,

Self

really tired

massage… i had my massage yesterday morning, and it was good. my shoulders were tight. i told Vickie that i was probably going to move to a 3 week schedule instead of every 2 weeks, because i can’t really justify going so often. of course, that was right before she got to my shoulders and i couldn’t believe how bad they were. then we went to the calendar, and it was going to be 3.5 weeks before she could get me in on the new schedule, so i went for 2.5 weeks instead. 3.5 weeks is an awful long time.. oh well, i tried, right?

cleanliness is next to friendliness… so we were having guests today. so i cleaned for a long time yesterday. and Frank was sweet enough to go pick up the Indian food so i could keep cleaning. i’ll tell ya, it’s really nice having vacuumed floors. there’s just something calming about that. growing up, my mom had us on a schedule. Mon-Wed-Fri were vacuum days. i’m thinking since there are zero kids but 2 cats here, i’ll go for Tues-Fri and get on a schedule… dusting is great too. well, the dusting itself is horrible, because i’m severely allergic to dust mites and the dust masks that i bought once made my face itch. i dusted the livingroom fan and all the furniture in the common areas. it’s nice. i also rearranged a lot of decorations and pulled some out of the closet that have just been begging to come out. and i got our 3D cube from the cruise mounted in the livingroom. i can’t stop looking at it!

tricksy Pereiras… Jim & Rachel called just as i finished mopping the kitchen (no sense doing that last night, would have been un-mopped by morning). they told Frank they were lost, and i thought yay! i can shower before they get here! (i was stinky and sweaty and dusty.) so then the doorbell rang while Frank was still on the phone, and the liars were at the door. i grabbed the karaoke machine from Rachel, tossed her tiara at her, and said, “bye! nice to see you!” and slammed the door in their faces. suckers! they broke a window to get back inside, so the joke was on us. i’m charging them for the window, though. then Rachel insisted on the full tour, even though i told her she was only allowed in the common areas. she pretty much just waltzed right on into our bedroom. i sent the boys to the store for oyster stew ingredients, and i showered while Rachel stole all our credit card information and searched the couch cushions for loose change.

note to self… yeah. so last time i made oyster stew, i used a pint of fat-free half and half and a pint of regular H&H. couldn’t tell any difference, so this time, i had Frank get all fat-free H&H. after i’d done everything except add the oysters, i tested it. oh wow, who poured a cup of sugar in my stew? it was awful. tasted like dessert. Dear Self, if it calls for half and half… and speaking of dessert, i wanted to make some, so i looked up my grandma’s recipe for Texas Millionheir Pie, and Rachel and i went to the store for the ingredients, plus real half and half.

better… the miscreants (Jim, Rachel, and Frank) played the karaoke game and the bongos game while i cooked Stew 2.0. i could hear lots of laughter from the livingroom, so i told Frank he was allowing our guests too much fun and should make them do calisthenics. Stew 2.0 was way better, and after stew we had the pie. it’s the first time i made it, and it tasted just like it’s supposed to, so yay. while we ate on TV trays, since we don’t eat at the table and neither do our guests, we watched DVR’d eps of The Office and Numb3rs. then our guests left, giving us some excuse about picking up Jim’s daughter.

nappy… we fell right into bed, at 5:30 or so, because we both needed naps. about 15 minutes later, Rachel called and said that Jim couldn’t pick up his daughter tonight, so would we like to meet them for a movie. it was a great conversation, because a sleeping Frank answered the phone. (paraphrased.)

FRANK: hello????
RACHEL: hey! Jim can’t pick up Rachel. do y’all want to see a movie in Melbourne?
FRANK: do we want to see a movie?? no, we don’t want to see a movie.
RACHEL: …
FRANK: …
RACHEL: did i wake you???
FRANK: yeah, we’re taking a nap.
SARAHK: tell them they’re welcome to come back over.
FRANK: you’re welcome to come back over.
RACHEL: (talking to Jim)
RACHEL: no, that’s ok. we’ll talk to you later!

the queen of perk… after our nap, i opened our card from our new friends, Martha & Hank from the cruise. she sent pictures and a fun and sweet card. we adore these people. i can’t wait to send snail mail back. she’s our first 39¢ stamp, too!

and that’s that.

volume XV

dear self,

headphones will not fit on your head if you’ve got a towel wrapped around it. don’t try.

how ’bout that. whole volume full of one note. go Stars.

volume XIV

hiya, self. i guess you’ve started being a Goofy Head a lot more often now, because i’m getting to write you notes so soon after the last volume! well done, dummy!

1. self, it would have been a good idea to fix that window on the Explorer once you heard that we’d be getting snow last night. well, Miss Smartypants, the last two times they forecasted snow here, they were three days early! i thought we’d be in Fort Worth by then! good point, self. nonetheless, there are two inches on the ground, and i wonder how many in the car. nice job.

2. hey genius, don’t take a Coke to bed with you unless you’re quite sure you can stay awake to finish it. not fun to wake up covered in syrup-water and have the bebe yelling at you. and you were in your cute jammies!!

3. um, self, that boyfriend of yours? never accept an unknown package from him and take it through the airport. don’t worry. lesson learned.

4. self, i keep hearing you’re moving out of Texas. to the beach. we need to talk. i’m on your side, really. but he’s such a good kisser! point taken.

5. self, you should probably resume packing. just sayin’.

go Stars. waaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhh. go Cowboys. waaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhh. go Mavs? yeah, ok.

volume XIII b

hi, self. a few notes for you…

self, it’s probably not a good idea to marvel over the temporary inflation of your boobies while sitting in your cubicle at the office. it tends to shoot people’s wheels off when they see you looking down and holding onto your chest.

while we’re on the subject, self, maybe those anti-inflammatories you take for your back would help your front.

self, i’m thinking Cheetos and Hershey w/ Almonds chocolate bar are not a healthy breakfast. but i had a Coca-Cola, too! and chocolate is full of antioxidants. and fat suppressants. oh, ok, carry on, then.

hey self, it’s time we got us one of those punchy-kicky bag thingies so we can get in shape.

self, it’s probably not a good idea to be punching and kicking things while your back is all hosed up. maybe you should do some kind of sissy workout like synchronized tv-watching. or metaphysical daydream exercise.

oh, before i forget, self, you should get glasses, even if only for shooting range purposes. Frank probably doesn’t enjoy having to tell you after each shot how you did. plus, if the tv is blurry, you won’t be able to get proper exercise.

ta, self! back to work…

go Stars Amarillo Gorillas. that’s just not right. ::shakes fist at hockey gods::

for a later volume…

of notes to self…

dear self, never brush your hair neckid. hurt boobies.

volume XII

hiya, self! long time no notes! yer lookin’ good, nice to see you finally have some color on your scarily white self. me? oh, fine, thanks. enough with the pleasantries, i have notes! notes, i say!

self, never take driving directions from a senior manager; “park at the rose bushes” is not exactly precise. only take directions from someone who says things like “park at the administration offices” or “park at the library”.

self, i think you should always be prepared. and by “prepared”, i mean “keep a gas mask in your car”. that way, if you’re sent to a podunk Texas town to audit for the first time, you’ll have that gas mask handy in the event THE ENTIRE TOWN REEKS OF SULFUR. man, i hope i don’t go to hell, because brimstone sure stinks. and it’s hot there.

yeah, self, i’d like to ask that you watch where you’re going. you get far too many deep, massive, purple bruises, and it hurts you/me when we gets them. gollum!

say, self, i like that thing you did last night where you picked up a non-fiction book instead of a novel; you haven’t done that since Mr. Metcalf made you read Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee in AP History class.anyway, we needed the sleep, so kudos, bebe. [apologies to Michelle Malkin... i did make it through four pages of the intro, surely a new record for me reading non-fic while dreadfully sleepy... and today at lunch i read another few pages of the intro and all of chapter 1! btw, i think it's misleading to call it an "intro" when it's 23xxiii pages long (xxxv if you include the note to readers)... i'm expecting an intro to say something like "hey, thanks for reading my book. everything after this here introduction is part of my book. the introduction is my way of introducing you to my book. without further ado... "introducing... MY BOOK!! HOORAY!" just sayin'.]

um, self, the weeds in the front and back yards aren’t going to eat themselves. k?

speaking of that, self, just because your backyard grass is a luscious green color when it’s two feet tall, don’t expect it to be so green after you cut it. for some reason, sunlight doesn’t penetrate down to the base of that tall stuff. who knew?

self, i’ll try to remind you next year, but in case i don’t, when it’s time to plant the tomatoes again, plant more than two bushes. “fried green tomato” just isn’t as filling as “fried green tomatoes”.

self, don’t let that biker Pappy laugh at you when you ask if you’re supposed to sit back on the motorcycle. so what if it has a back rest? i say it was a valid question.

listen, self, i know you have this innate tendency to lose keys, sorry, hide keys from yourself. but i’m thinking the back yard, which is outside your house, is not the best place to hide the keys that open all the doors to your house. call me crazy.

self, this is not so much a note as a warning… when you’re in Fort Worth this weekend, stay away from the Kia dealership. far away. you have that car-buying look in your eye.

self, next time someone asks, “are you married? kids? all that?” just smile your head and nod. or nod your head and smile. or say no, and receive the dreaded response of “shazam! holy bat droppings, SarahK! you’re STILLLLLL SINGLE????? what, do you have six belly buttons or a severe case of athlete’s foot? or are you just plain mean?!? to the bat cave! i’ll find you a suitable mate for sure! i mean, yeah, he avoids all direct sunlight, but don’t worry, he only bites a little, and it hardly ever scars! here, SarahK, meet my friend LeStat!”



dead air… bye, self. go Stars.

volume XI

hey, self. not much time to talk, so here are some quick jots for you…

1. never move again.
2. if you do move, hire someone to pack your stuff, or you should enter the military; i hear they have folks pack and move you.
3. try to schedule hacking coughs and chest infections during your chorale hiatus.
4. chest infections are bad for solos, but you’re good at faking it; the director didn’t seem to notice. yay self!
5. it’s cold in here; please turn the temperature back up.
6. i love ice cream.
7. and jalapenos.
8. they should make jalapeno flavored ice cream.
9. it’s texas, people would buy it here; after all, they buy jalapeno jelly and peanut brittle. how ’bout it, Ben & Jerry, you mean hippies?
10. rumor has it you tend to flip out a lot; stop that.
11. the hornets’ nest in your storage room is really holding up the packing thing. please do something about it.
12. and since all your hiking gear is in there, be sure to check your tent before you lie in it; and it’s good you have several first-aid kits, Little Miss Overprepared.
13. is it really necessary to have that many hot guy pics on the wall? do you know how sore my thumbs are from taking the tacks down?
14. say, speaking of that, remember that trick we learned on CSI about covering nail holes with toothpaste? don’t forget that, we need the deposit back.
15. um, everyone’s coming over to pack the truck tomorrow night. since we’re not moving until Sunday, where are we intending to sleep tomorrow night and Saturday night?
16. don’t forget the kitties.
17. the shape the apartment’s in right now… never speak of it again and block it from your memory.
18. don’t forget. get Juan back for that evil trick he pulled. he must suffer.

that’s all for now. i never thought i’d be saying this before the end of May, but … Go … Rangers? yeah. Go Rangers.

volume X

hi, self. not a whole lotta time for small talk and such, since we’re moving this week and have lots of packing to do, etc. just some stuff to discuss…

1. self, interviewing on 3.5 hours of sleep — not a good idea. you tend to get really open, and, being the kind of person you are who hates liars and finds it quite impossible to lie yourself, you just answer all those questions truthfully without actually effectively evading the questions. so answers to questions such as, “what is blogging?” (see note 2) tend to be followed by, “well, then you’ll have to give us your blog address so we can check it out…”, and while you are way cute in interviews and can make “uh, i don’t THINK so” sound like “ah, hahaha! i’m so cute! haha! no, i couldn’t tell you! that’s where i tell all my secrets! i’m distracting you with my cuteness right now! hahaha!”, the awkward silence that follows is, well, awkward.
Read more »

volume IX

hey there, self! i know i’ve been remiss in noting you of late, but it’s only because i don’t love you anymore. what? oh, just kidding! LOL. SarahK, you are sooooo weird. tell me something i don’t know. um, you don’t know where you’re moving to; i could tell you, but then i’d have to kill you. and since i now know you’re a psycho (see picture at left), i believe you. my head is spinning now; you’re soooo confusing me. ok, i’ll stop. thank you. what a freak we are. anyway, i have some pointers for you…

1. dear self, always unplug the vacuum cleaner when you’re done using it.

2. self, remember when we had the talk about sticking your fingers in your eyes after using Ben-Gay? the same applies when eating jalapenos. k?
Read more »

volume VIII

hey, self. just a quick note or two, since you sometimes need written rules to keep you in line.

1. self, you are not allowed to go shopping while doped up on vicodin. in case you’re not sure what i mean, i’ll repeat: shopping within 3 hours of taking pain meds is forbidden. first off, you have trouble staying awake and on your feet after taking your meds, which makes you hazardous with a shopping cart. second, you have no control over your DVD purchases when you’re loopy. i thought you learned your lesson after you went to rent 2 movies and came home with 2 rentals and 6 purchases last saturday. but self, you apparently forget stuff like that when doped.

ok, so i guess i only had one note for you tonight, self. don’t worry, when you’re not exhausted and loopy, there will be another volume. i’m sure i have much to say to you.

good day, ma’am.
go stars.

volume VII

hiya, self! yer lookin’ good, if i do say so myself. i was just taking a break from some work and thought we could chat for a minute. ok, not really. i talk — er, type — you listen read.

1. self, sheets actually work better if you put them on the bed. fyi.

2. hey, self, you know that fuzz growing in the dishes in your sink? it’s not cotton.

response to self from self: thanks a lot, self. now bikermommy is going to know there are dishes in the sink. quick, do them before she calls!
response to self from self: you first!

3. selfie, your SUV gets about 16 miles to the gallon. it might get the whopping 19 that it’s supposed to get if you would empty it out some. you also might be able to have at least 1 passenger.

4. self, those new headache meds are pretty cool (’cause they’re red, and you look great in red), but i really prefer the woooooooo of the vicodin. really.

5. i notice you’re still sleeping with the closet light on. seriously, there are no monsters under the bed.

response to s from s: do the dishes and we can call maintenance to fix it.
response to s from s: any other suggestions?

6. um, self? cats are like plants; they need water. oh no! you’ve never had a plant that you didn’t kill. quick, minerva, nicole, to the swimming pool!

7. self, when we were driving to church this morning, you seem to have forgotten a very basic driving rule. red=stop.

8. ok, self. now that you’ve gotten not one but TWO tickets from TWO separate police departments for your tags being 4 months expired, it’s time to comply. get to the courthouse.

noted.

nah wily view with sum fun knee homonyms sew week an crack up two gather. bees wheat two thee kid deke hats, there’s wheat too ewe. hay, arse tar czar inn forth play sin thee west urn con friends noun, say condone lee twos ann hose a inn thee pus if ick!

ghost ours!

volume VI

hey, self! nice to see ya! i know it’s been a while, but you’ve been kind of busy, and you haven’t been that dumb lately. well, you have, but i thought i’d take it easy on you. i’m nice like that. so here we go.

1. self, when you want to preheat your george foreman grill, you should consider plugging it in rather than the coffee maker. just a suggestion.

2. self, i know that you’ve learned your lesson, but i must tell you anyway… next time you’re running, and your foot starts to hurt after several miles, you should stop running. continuing to run on the foot in an effort to make it stop hurting is a little bit, um… asinine. oh, and so is not training for a 10K.

3. say, self? say it with me… bed good. futon bad. bed not painful. futon hurts. bed has springs. futon has steel bars.

4. hey, self. ghostwit. LOL!!!

later, self! go stars.

volume V

howdy, self. good ta see ya. nice to see that you finally washed your hair. which brings me to my first note. 1. we always feel better when we’re clean. don’t forget that.

2. self, you know how you like to put cokes in the freezer to get them cold really fast? yeah. well, when you remove said cokes from the freezer, let’s be careful not to drop them. the words spew, sticky and great huge mess come to mind.

3. self, i keep mentioning the clean apartment thing to you, and so far it hasn’t worked. you’re probably tired of hearing it too. may i just say that it is not necessary to wait until you are completely out of silverware (including knives) to do the dishes.

4. i know you like to laugh, self, but could ya reign it in a little? cackling too much, too loud and too often makes your sides hurt really bad and makes the neighbors complain. i know. i understand. i hear what you’re saying. i know it’s not your fault that they have no joy in their lives. but it’s also not nice of you to rub it in.

5. won more thing before eye go. homonyms our really funny. yes, eye here watt your sane. eye dew no that our and are our knot exact homonyms, butt inn thee grate state of texas, they really sound exactly thee same. and eye think your bean a little picky. and just sew wee our clear, eye yam thee won righting thee notes, knot chew. goat ache a shower and quit you’re wining.

good mornin’ too ewe. ghost ours.

volume IV

wow, self, i sure do have to write you a lot of notes these days. i think i’m going to start leaving you stickies everywhere, like the ones you have all over the walls in your office that the partners hate.

self — when your legs start to look like your angora sweater, it’s time to shave them. don’t fear the razor.

ouch, self. you know that ankle bone thingy that sticks out on the inside of your ankle? IT REALLY HURTS WHEN YOU KICK IT WITH YOUR OTHER FOOT. please stop that.

um, self? we seem to have a problem. i previously mentioned said problem to you, and you did not listen. so as of today, you are completely out of clean undies. that includes the granny variety (which are not, btw, compatible w/ low-rise jeans, for future reference), the extremely uncomfortable crawly variety, the itchy variety and the looney-tunes character variety. in light of this development in the ongoing saga of your slobhood, i am putting my foot down. NO CSI OR IMing TONIGHT UNTIL YOU HAVE DONE AT LEAST 2 LOADS OF LAUNDRY. understood?
UPDATE: response to self from self — i am not a slob. i am a closet neat-freak. by closet, i mean you can’t tell that i’m a neat-freak by looking at my car, apartment or office. shh! it’ll be our little secret.

self, did you see that your other boyfriend mo (sweet, happy sigh) scored 2 goals last night? go stars!

ta for now.

volume III

self, i’m not sure how to say this. you’re kind of not smart sometimes. you have your t-mobile phone set up to text message you whenever you get an email so you know when it needs to be checked. this is good, efficient, quite handy. perhaps, though, you should disable that feature now and then. here’s an example of when to disable it: you realize that you have about 100 emails sitting in your “sent mail” folder on the mail server and you want to transfer them to your inbox so you will receive them in Outlook and be able to archive them. good idea if used appropriately. one thing to think about — when you transfer these to your inbox, you are going to receive 100 text messages on your phone. all at once. and said text messages will bog down your phone so much that you can’t hit that little “back” button and turn the sound off. which means that you are going to sit on your phone all morning so your client doesn’t hear those pretty little chimes in cadence over and over and over and over and over …..

while we’re on the subject, self, you should probably think about adding a text messaging plan to your phone. let’s see. 192 text messages at $.05 a pop … carry the one … $9.60. yeah i’m thinking the 300 messages for $2.99 might be a good thing to consider.

hey self, you only half-heartedly try to keep the kitty cat away from the water when you’re taking an epsom salt bath. i would suggest trying a little harder. see, i’m reading on the package here, and it says that taken internally, epsom salts work the same as milk of magnesia. i’m thinking that can’t be good for your litter control problem. i’m just sayin’.

love ya, self. go stars.

volume II

dear self, it is not a good idea to wear an angora sweater from american eagle the same day you wear your most uncomfortable shoes. while we’re on the subject, it’s generally not a good idea to wear the angora sweater, because it sheds everywhere. but anyway, self, when you wear your angora sweater, you always get fur in your eyes. and spend half the day poking yourself in the eye trying to get it out. now. when you wear your uncomfortable shoes, your feet always hurt really bad. and when your feet hurt really bad, you want to lather them in ben-gay when you get home. here’s the important part. AFTER YOU LATHER YOUR FEET WITH BEN-GAY, YOU CAN NO LONGER PICK RABBIT FUR OUT OF YOUR EYES. IT STINGS. BADLY. let’s just avoid the scenario altogether. k?

self, when navigating the path from the livingroom to the bedroom requires hurdling, pole-vaulting and pommel-horsing, it is time to clean.

hey, self, if you write something on your hand because it’s ultra-important and you don’t want to forget it, make sure you don’t wash it off five minutes later. just a little tip there.

more later. go stars.

volume I

1. dear self, when opening a jar from the refrigerator, if you’re basically in your skivvies, DO NOT brace the jar for leverage against your mostly naked torso. very cold. very shocking. very unfortunate.

2. say, self? when drinking from a coke can that is pretty light (in weight, not color), first listen to it and see if you can hear tiny bubbles exploding. if you can, it may be drinkable. if you can’t, pour it down the sink and open a new one. run away. don’t even test it to see if you can drink it. there is no worse taste than flat coke. except maybe milk. yes, milk definitely is the worst taste. unless it’s chocolate or over cereal.

3. my dearest self, your feet probably wouldn’t be so cold if you would put socks on them.

4. self, when someone asks you to come over to their house after church, first ask yourself, “self? is there a new episode of ALIAS on tonight?” BEFORE you answer their question. i mean, you would have said yes to your friend’s 62nd birthday party (or is it 48?) anyway, since you love your friend and all, but it would have been nice to know up front that you were sacrificing for them so you could feel good about yourself instead of feeling that twinge of regret at accepting the invitation before knowing that you were really going to be sacrificing.

5. self, sometimes your sentences are too long, and you don’t make much sense.

6. alrighty there, self. it’s that time again. even though you have 30 or so pair, you are almost out of clean undies. which means you are almost out of clean everything else. do some laundry, ya lazy bum.

that’s all for now, self. take care. go stars.