The Grannies of SoHo Series: “Gimme two slices to go!” Granny
Sarah’s Not-So-Sexy Advice: Serious Texting & Setting My Phone On Fire
Serious matters should be discussed, not texted.
Do not text about serious shit. I cannot stress this enough. It’s not personal enough. Try your best to meet someone. Call at the very least. Texting is so passive and can often lead to confusion, miscommunication, and the RUINING OF THINGS.
This guy I had a fleeting thing with that never really came to fruition texted me the other week about how I’d dropped off the face of the planet, and how he missed me. And while it’s all nice stuff he’s saying- well, it’s still fucking weird. You know, and I admit that I went along with it. Because once it starts, and you’re discussing some serious crap through text messages, well- it’s a fucking trap. There’s no calling someone and finishing the conversation. That ship has sailed. You’re stuck texting away till the dust has settled, which takes WAY too long because you accomplish what would have been the equivalent of 3-5 minutes worth of actual conversation in about, oh… I don’t know- AN HOUR?
Having a lengthy back-and-forth via text about my relationship or some other personal matter is the kind of thing that makes me lose faith in mankind. It also makes me want to set my phone on fire. And break stuff. And all of that is bad! Not to mention how awkward it is the next time you see the person, and it’s like it NEVER HAPPENED. Because, you know, it really didn’t! It’s a total fucking copout to handle an issue you have by texting someone about it. And you SHOULD feel ashamed and stupid. GROW UP. Also, remember you’re a HUMAN. And the person you’re texting is also A HUMAN. ACT LIKE ONE.
Multi-tasker with a DEATHWISH!
Some idiot driver in Hampshire was fined yesterday for driving while, get ready for it: drinking coffee, writing down answers to a radio quiz AND using his laptop. I mean, I guess I would have been impressed if he were also doing something cool and REALLY difficult- like putting together a Lego castle or solving one of those metal brain teaser thingies my dad used to put in my Christmas stocking. Next time!
What will they think of next?!
Instead of calling it Dip’n Chick’n, Popeye’s should just cut to the chase and call it something like Look’n Puke.
Sarah’s Not-So-Sexy Advice: It’s your birthday!… Already?! GREAT.
Ever start seeing/dating someone and you ask when their birthday is and they’re like, “Next week!” or “Tomorrow!” THE WORST. Oh, man. What are you supposed to do with that information? It’s too early to make a big deal. But it’s also rude not to do anything. To help people in this predicament, I’ve made a list of guidelines!
What TO do:
-Wish them “Happy Birthday!” with your voice. By that, I mean you should make it a point to CALL them, especially if you’re not going to SEE them. In addition, you can post on their Facebook wall OR text them while you’re at work. And if you do- keep it simple, folks! No longwinded or overtly affectionate Facebook posts. “Happy Bithday!” is just enough to say you care without saying, “YOU’RE MINE AND ONLY MINE.”
-Buy ‘em food.
-Buy ‘em booze.
-Get ‘em drunk.
-Fuck the living crap out of them and do whatever the nastiest shit is you’re willing to do in order to make them happy. It’s their birthday, after all!
What NOT to do:
-DO NOT buy them a card.
-DO NOT buy them a non-perishable gift, i.e. anything besides food or booze.
-DO NOT plan a surprise party for them.
-DO NOT be offended if they already have something planned and there’s not enough tickets or space in the car or whatever to bring you along. You weren’t planned for. It doesn’t mean you’re not special.
"Guess Who's Getting Fired Next?!" YOUR BOSS!
Oh, Iowa… who will you offend next? Apparently, the latest victims are former employees of an Iowa-based convenience store chain, QC MART. Catchy name! Their douchebag boss created some stupid contest in which the employee who could correctly guess the next cashier to be shit-canned would win an epic TEN DOLLARS. They all quit immediately and filed for unemployment AND took that crazy bitch to court when she contested- AND WON. Good for them! They all went and got themselves Quit-Canned Mart!
Sarah’s Not-So-Sexy Advice: Mystery Bruises & Bite Marks
Ah, yes. You’re at work and someone points out a bruise you’re clearly not aware of having. You try and process events from the past few days, searching your brain for details. Did you fall on the sidewalk at some point when you were drunk? Do sidewalks sometimes resemble the shape of a set of human teeth? No? WHAT COULD IT BE?
I’ve gone days without noticing that kind of shit. It’s not until I’ve worn a dress with a low-cut back and a coworker notices scratch marks and asks if my cat is responsible till I’m fully aware. My cat? Really? Only if by cat you mean the weird nerdy dude I got drunk with last night at some Williamsburg bar I can’t remember the name of.
Bite marks, and scratches and bruises, oh my!
Moderate sexual injuries of this kind are likely a cause of one of the following:
1. you got really fucking wasted
2. it’s one of those ‘first time having sex with someone that’s been a long time coming’ situations (booze optional)
3. you, the person you banged, or both of you are sexual miscreants!
4. you banged a Jewish girl (they get freaky, y’all. for real.)
I’m definitely a fan of biting, to varying degrees. Scratching is sometimes okay, but that shit can scar- take it easy, people! And as far as ‘creative terrain’ fucking is concerned, i.e. doing it in weird locations- well, just expect your shit to get all fucked up. Prepare to appear to have been raped. I’m just saying, I had sex on a roof once and I looked like a dirty hooker for about two weeks after the fact. I mean, I just used it as an excuse to brag about how sexy and awesome I am to my friends. But I also had to wear leggings in the deep heat of summer when my mom came to visit. I told her I was really into sweating a lot and wearing leggings- I think she bought it.
Hickeys are really the worst. Not only because they’re called hickeys, which just sounds gross to begin with, but because they’re always on on your neck- on display for the whole fucking world to see. If it were anywhere else, you could just call it a bruise. For the record, having some big-ass disgusting looking hickey on your neck is like saying, “I recently had sex with an idiot, and I’m also an idiot!” Congratulations! Now everybody knows!
