From the end of February until now, I’ve lost most (all) of my traffic.
Does anyone know what the hell happened?
PS: mason jar salads are disgusting and I can’t make anything out of an old skid.
It was the worst day of my life.
There was no smell of coffee greeting me at the top of the stairs.
There was no coffee waiting for me on the table.
In the kitchen, there was no coffee brewing, there was no coffee at all.
The darkest, saddest and coldest day of my life.
The day after my husband moved out.
I sat on the couch, confused, alone and devastated.
What would I do?
How would this work now?
How would I ever get past the heartbreak and the loss?
The pain and sadness overwhelmed me. It was almost too much. I fought back tears as I looked around the lonely, cold room.
The solution came to me as I sat there crying.
Go and buy yourself a coffee. Go and buy yourself a coffee.
Good. As. New.
Every day I stand at my mirror. I don’t have anxiety, I’m fine. Flips hair, I am just fine.
Every day I get in my car. I’m fine, I am just fine.
Is that a snowflake? My stomach tightens.
Does that car want over here? My mouth gets dry.
Does that truck see me? My heart pounds.
Every day I get to my office. I’m fine, I am just fine.
Is my boss mad at me, he looks mad. I start sweating.
Is my coworker going to even talk to me today? I feel shaky.
Will I screw up? I want to cry.
I’m fine, I am just fine.
#ThisIsWhatAnxietyFeelsLike – the hashtag heard around the world.
PS Do you want to participate? Tweet using the hashtag #ThisIsWhatAnxietyFeelsLike or follow Sarah Fader on Twitter to see what others are saying!
So I bought this “cute” orange dress and learned some of my friends think it’s fugly. They were with me when I bought it and said nothing at the time.
They created signs, hats and costumes to protest my wearing of the dress. They littered the streets, looted businesses and shattered windows. They signed petitions, they whined and found safe spaces. They gathered by the thousands; burning flags, attacking police while chanting “Not My Dress.”
They went on twitter and facebook and name-called each other day and night. One group made the dress sound “cute”, another called it “slutty”. Do I impose a 90 day ban on wearing the dress to prove a point? Do I go to a higher authority for a ruling on the dress?
Sigh, life is way more than my dress. If I like a dress, I will wear it proudly, don’t be mad bro. Should we remain friends? It’s up to you however it is just a dress. No dress should come between friends. Did I choose my friends because of their clothes? No. That ass? Yes.
P.S. Are you supposed to be in this bathroom? Let me see your genitals. Hmmm, what precisely is that? (Man, I so miss last year.)
1. You forgot him. You forgot all the cute notes he used to leave you. You forgot the reasons you fell in love with him. You forgot him and I gave him a blowjob.
2. You stopped making him laugh. You don’t tell him the silly thing that happened at the store, you don’t tell him about your goofy antics. You just stopped but I gave him a blowjob.
3. You don’t ask about him. You don’t ask about his silly antics, you don’t engage in any conversation at all. You just don’t ask but I gave him a blowjob.
4. You put your children first. You give them all your time, your affection and your love. You are so busy with them that he has become secondary. Why isn’t HE first, how did you get these kids again? The guy just wants a blowjob.
5. You effin let yourself go. Really, change the stained shirt and track pants. Throw them away. Brush your hair and make an effort to look as pretty as you were when he fell in love with you. I look fantastic while giving him a blowjob.
6. He bought you the pajamas as a joke, you weren’t meant to wear them night and day. Take them off and maybe wash them. Ok, really, just give the man a blowjob.
7. You stopped ripping his clothes off. You stopped touching him. You stopped the blowjobs, I started them up again, he loves me.
Now that you all hate my guts. I’m not sleeping with your husband, are you?
News out of the North Pole suggests that Santa is writing letters to your children to apologize for running out of the “Hatchimal.” This comes as a great disappointment as I bought all the Hatchimals to teach your little brats a lesson.
I spoke to Santa, I told him that children were running rampant, becoming too demanding and in truth, becoming little pieces of shit. He agreed.
As I recall, the song goes “He knows if you’ve been bad or good, so be good for goodness sake.”
What happened to that, anyway?
When did we start apologizing to children for disappointing them? It’s a toy. How many times did you miss out on the toy you wanted? Remember the bike you wanted? You didn’t get it, you became a better person. You didn’t throw a tantrum and expect a f*cking apology from Santa, did you?
Why are children in charge? What the hell happened here?
PS If Santa is writing letters of apology, maybe he can send one to the children who asked for a cure for their cancer. Maybe the ones who asked for their parents to come back from war. Maybe the ones who asked for the grandparents to not be sick anymore. Maybe the ones who wanted a simple box of friggin crayons. Maybe Santa could apologize to these guys first and your disappointed snowflakes can wait till next year.
Oh you know me, just over here being different 🙂
His heart burst when she touched his hand.
She was magic, that’s the only explanation. He remembered the sparkle in her eyes, the blush on her cheek as she kissed him goodnight.
The longing overwhelmed him when he drew her portrait in charcoal. Night after night he worked the piece, it would be perfect, it would be beautiful, it would be her.
He was just fifteen when this enchantress came to him. She overwhelmed him, she intoxicated him, she said hello.
The words that would forever change the life of a boy, now a man, a man who hungered for this beauty, her soul, her heart, her.
It was a meeting of the soul, a destiny that was beyond explanation.
The stories talk of love, of fairy tales, of soulmates.
They talk of first dates, first kisses, first dances.
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1. I’m an idiot
2. I don’t like poking holes in my children
3. Needles are scary
4. I like when my kids get sick and almost die
5. I like wheelchairs
6. It’s funny watching my children suffer
7. I like getting other people really sick
8. I want everyone to get sick and die
9. I don’t give a shit about you or your children
Yep, all true. All of this is true. Well, except I DID vaccinate my children, look at them walking around all alive and shit, it’s awesome.
PS if you don’t vaccinate your children I’d like to know why.
Edited to add: I do not mean vaccines for chicken pox, HPV or the flu. These are voluntary and you should use caution before making those decisions.
These words stopped me in my tracks and I just stared with disbelief at the person who said them.
You’re a f*cking bitch, I said, as it took everything I had not to jump the fence and smash her face in.
I stood there numb as the words to a new blog post about body shaming started writing itself in my head.
Here’s why, for twelve years I heard:
So, do you have to go throw up now?
A skinny thing like you can’t possibly finish that.
I’m worried you are anorexic.
So you just never gain weight? You must be ill with something.
In a few months, it went from how skinny I was, to how fat I was.
I guess the whole point of this blog post is maybe it’s time people shut the hell up. You don’t know why I was so thin, you don’t know why I’m so fat. I don’t know why you’re an ugly, hateful bitch but I didn’t bring that up, did I?
PS, my ass has never looked better.