In Real Life

When You Know, You Know. You Know?

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Bitch, please.

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Sarah’s Taxi Service

As you may know, I am 20.85ish years old, and my (real) 21st birthday is right around the corner. I’d like to cordially invite all of you to celebrate with me, because today I found out that ….

I am allowed to have one drink, as per my doctor.

So if you’d like to suggest 1 deliciously potent drink to pleasure me, by all means, send your suggestions.

Aside from my 21st birthday, I probably won’t be doing much drinking (which really pisses me off considering that I didn’t drink in high school and have NEVER done much drinking and I was just about to get white girl wasted…..damnit)

BUT ANYWAY.

I’d like to offer a service to you all… fo free, because I know that drunk driving happens much more often than it should. If you are ever in need of a ride because you are trashy drunk, tipsy taxi isn’t answering your call, it’s “freezing balls” and you’re thinking about driving, then I am probably willing to help you. Just call me or text me. I am a kind soul and I don’t ever want my friends getting hurt. 

Terms&Conditions: The drunk-ass may not call between the hours of 2:30 am and 5:00 am. The drunk-ass may not be hated by Sarah Johnson or her associates. The drunk-ass may not expect Sarah Johnson to look cute, especially past regular business hours. The drunk-ass may not make ridiculous requests for food, multiple rides or rides for his/her associates. The drunk-ass may not throw up in Sarah Johnson’s car. The drunk-ass will be rewarded if he or she travels with puppies or kitties. Certain exceptions will be made for Sarah Johnson’s lovely roommates, beautiful best friend and Michael Wang who has picked Sarah Johnson’s drunk-ass up before.

*This offer is not good to those who are concurrently high.

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Teacups and Dinosaurs

I can’t think of a title for this blog post, and honestly, it’s probably not worth my time to sit around and try to think of something creative. I’m just going to ramble.

I’ve shared the story of my crazy health with a lot of you, however, I silenced myself once my neurologist had “no more ideas” on how to help me. Kind of depressing, right? Well, that’s how I felt. I reached the point where I couldn’t talk about how I was feeling, or even think about it, without crying. Not exactly normal for a girl who is constantly smiling and giggling. And that’s when I realized that shit was getting real.

But before I get into that, I’d like to discuss another matter. Approximately 2 years ago, I met a boy at a club (an 18 and up club, sooo romantical) in downtown San Diego. He impressed me from the start (with his dancing skills) and my sister and I both adored him. And I’m gonna call him out on this because the story wouldn’t be complete without it— but he told me he loved me about 1 year into our friendship. And I thought he was crazy. And then he left for Afghanistan. 

You can’t doubt feelings when you feel them. As far as I’m concerned, if you feel it, it’s real. When my doctor doubted me, I thought to myself, “Wait, does my face actually hurt every day, or am I just making this up?” And that caused me to have major anxiety. I didn’t believe that I was in pain because someone else told me that I probably wasn’t. How is that fair? When Ben told me he loved me, I denied it because we were just friends, when I knew, from the first day, that we were “destined” to be more.

My life is so flippin freakin on track right now. I went to a new neurologist and I am now taking medicine that is ACTUALLY working. Sure, I have turned into a 20 year old grandma—I carry a pillbox around, my hands and legs shake and I sleep for like 12 hours a day—  but the positives surely outweigh the negatives (like not being able to drink when I turn 21…. tear.) It’s hard to explain to someone who hasn’t been through something like this, but when you can finally manage your pain, THAT is something to celebrate.

If we’re celebrating, I’d also like to celebrate the fact that I have the most amazing boyfriend who would literally do anything for me. I didn’t know boy species of that sort existed????? I don’t consider myself lucky, because I know I am lucky. And I’m in love (barf if you want.)

So this whole blog is just me saying, cheer up buttercup teacup! Dinosaurs died but people haven’t died yet, and the sun will come out tomorrow. And that, my friends, is how you tie in your title to your conclusion paragraph.

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Fake Relationships

There’s a lot of things I don’t understand about Facebook— like why people have 1000 friends (I don’t know WHY or HOW you like that many people), or why people write stupid statuses like “Good day;)” (because I don’t know if the winky face means you did something dirty or if you meant to put a regular smiley but you messed up, and also why can’t you write something more interesting!?!) or why some people are on Facebook chat all day (but really they’re not when you try to talk to them, you guys are such tricksters!….unless maybe they are online but they just don’t want to talk to me….), or why some people comment “You look so beautiful!” on a picture (when clearly that person does not, and it’s a girl writing it and they secretly hate the other girl and talk shit about her all the time but then act like a fake bitch online…AH, but I won’t get into that.)

Aside from the aforementioned scenarios, I really don’t understand the following:

“Girl X is in a relationship with Girl Y.”

It’s totally cool if you’re a lesbian and all, but I’m pretty sure that most of the girls who have this shit listed are not lesbians. So, to all those girls:

1. I don’t think you should act like you’re something that you’re not, unless you really want lesbians getting at you (which they won’t, because they’re not dumb and they’re probably insulted that you’re all up in their grill.)

2. I think it’s weird that you feel a need to be in a relationship, so you decided to list that you were either married, engaged, complicated with, or in a relationship with one of your girl friends, and I think it’s REALLY weird that you both decided that this was a good marketing tool.

3. I think it’s even weirder that some of you actually have boyfriends! Holla at yo man, girl.

4. Please notice that GIRLS ARE THE ONLY ONES DOING THIS. Which means it’s probably weird. Because if it was cool, guys would do it too.

5. It might have been funny for a bit, but if it stays up for awhile I think it’s awkward for everyone. 

6. If you’re really looking to pretend you’re in a relationship, you should probably just make a facebook account with a picture of a really hot guy and put that you’re in a relationship with that fake guy. Unless that’s just too damn crazy for you, fake relationship girl.

….Maybe it’s just me and the fact that I don’t understand girls, but I’m gonna become a freaking cat lady before I decide to list one of my very few girl [space] friends as my legitimate girlfriend.

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serial killers: a short list.

I’ve been adding to this idea for awhile, and I’ve finally narrowed it down to the best of the best: The following is a list of personality-types which I believe to be serial killers (or at least people who I never want to associate myself with.)

1. People who don’t have a sense of humor (or don’t understand humor.)

Because of the 3 scary movies I’ve watched in my lifetime, I’ve gathered that serial killers don’t have a sense of humor. Remember when Brick killed a man with a trident? Remember when you first watched Jenna Marbles do “the face”? Remember when Ross had unagi?….if you’re not laughing at key comedy moments, I assume it’s because you’re plotting my death.

2. People who don’t have manners.

Holding doors open for old people, smiling, saying polite “hello”s every once in awhile,— it’s all part of being a HUMAN BEING. If you don’t possess the basic common courtesies of human existence, it’s probably because you’re an alien, or because you’re a serial killer. 

3. People who don’t like animals.

Emotionless freaks= serial killers. 

*I will never change my mind about this. 

*It’s okay to not like babies, but puppies…really? You’re sick. 

4. People who incessantly watch scary movies.

This should be pretty easy to understand; clearly these people-types are just accumulating an array of serial killer ideas and methods.

5. People who like to eat healthy.

Just joking, I’m pretty sure you’re not gonna kill me, but I still think you’re weird.

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a serious moment, for once.

Before I begin, I want to preemptively state that I am not, in any way, writing this to make people feel sorry for me or to get attention. I’m writing this blog as a sort of self-therapy mechanism. I find that sometimes, you just need to get things out and then let them go.

 

I’ve written a “Note” on Facebook about this in the past, and the other day I mentioned it in my status—the disorder that I have (Trigeminal Neuralgia, although I specifically have Atypical Trigeminal Neuralgia) is nicknamed “suicide disease,” and me writing about this freaked some of you out. I apologize. Trigeminal Neuralgia is called suicide disease for one reason and one reason alone: The pain this disorder causes is so extreme, and so untouched by medication, that people kill themselves. I think this person’s account illustrates it beautifully. 

 

http://mrshappyhousewife.com/2009/10/the-suicide-disease.html

 

I’ve said this before and I’ll say it again— it is nearly impossible for me to describe the pain I am in when I am having a “bad brain day.” That’s what I like to call it, because honestly, people really think I am weird when I say “Sorry, I can’t hang out because my face really hurts.” Trigeminal Neuralgia is not comparable to a headache or a migraine. Every day of my life, my nose and cheeks throb. A small touch on the face can throw me into a tailspin— the kind where I want to curl up in a ball for days, stab myself (although I’m too sane for that) or do something else drastic. That’s the norm. On bad days, everything from the fibers that connect my teeth to my gums to the pierced holes in my ears hurt. If I’ve ever had this conversation with you, you’ve heard me say “It feels like someone put lava in my face and then beat me with a bat.” At times, it is unbearable and yet, I almost never mention it.

 

I try not to be annoying about this disorder, because I have to be mature and realize that no one could ever understand what another person is going through, I mean, I don’t know what it’s like to have cancer, but I assume it’s worse than this, and for that, I feel guilty.  I feel guilty knowing that other people are dealing with things much more tragic—death, depression, or a terminal illness. Those people have every right to complain, bitch and moan, cry, feel sad, and have others feel sad for them. However, on the same note, every once in awhile, I like to think that I have every right in the world to at least talk about this. 

 

Thus, the main reason I am writing this is because I want people to be able to understand. I’m also writing this because I want to thank a few people who make dealing with this a lot easier. My roommate, Janine, who has picked me up late at night when I wasn’t feeling well, who writes me get well soon cards and deals with my sudden emotional outbursts- you are the best roommate I could ask for. My best friends, Ericka and Linnea, give me support when I’m down. My mom, who thought I was completely faking this disorder until I went into my kitchen and started banging my head against our granite counter tops, who took care of me after my surgery and didn’t make me go to Christmas when I was feeling bad, who listens to the majority of my complaining and sends me weird turbans for my head- will never read this, but I do love her a lot. And everyone else who has expressed concern, it really means a lot. I am lucky to  know so many faithful and caring people.

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