Jamie Sanders

Sundays are kickass. Kickass plain and simple. But sometimes, as I lay in my bed, hungover from the responsibilities of the week and the wine from the weekend, I can get a little doomsday on my favorite day to be solitaire. After much thought (and the obvious realization that I’m not going to die alone) I have determined that there are four ways to solve the occasional Sunday sadness:

1. Move back in with my Mom each Sunday. Do you remember when you were sick and your mom would carry all your pillows and blankets down to the couch to have a movie marathon? And she’d bring you medicine and your favorite foods and tend to your every need? There’s nothing better than the feeling of being taken care of by someone who loves you unconditionally.
2. Get a dog. Whenever I’m feeling lonely all I want is to cuddle with a dog. Maybe a Boston Terrier or something smallish so he could jump into bed with me and nap away the afternoon. I imagine he’d like to wrestle in the park and he’d enjoy when I read aloud to him. And like any good companion he would indulge me in my desire need to eat bacon for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.
3. Find a boyfriend. The kind that would want to spend all day hanging out, getting coffee, and watching bad movies. He’d be content to avoid the world for the day unless we were feeling oddly ambitious and ventured across town for a boozy brunch and a walk along the river.
4. Acquire a butler. Should I not be able to do any of the above, I’d at least like to get a butler to run out and get me coffee when I’m struggling too badly to put on an acceptable outfit for leaving the couch. That’s love too, right?

Sleep-deprived female seeks sturdy umbrella for a dreary walk to work. Please be capable of withstanding the wind and not too big because I hate when people run into you with umbrellas wide enough for the Von Trapp family. Also seeking a large cup of coffee post-walk. Should be strong enough to get me through the morning onslaught of meetings and rich enough to defrost me after the torrent of weather I experienced this morning. Preference will be given to bottomless cups or coffee or those that can be administered via I.V.

Should you fit either description, please meet me at my house tomorrow at 8:45 am. Looking forward to meeting you.

On Thursday night I went to my first book club ever. I’m honestly surprised I hadn’t joined one already but ya know, I’m too busy reading books on cancer biology to read something anyone else would be interested in. Anyway, I’ll skip the part where we talked about a book that none of us enjoyed and I barely read because it was more poorly written than some of our wrestling cheers in high school (wrestle, wrestle, twist him like a pretzel) and I’ll just tell you what I learned:

• Trader Joe’s has some pretty kickass taquitos
• New York weather sucks
• Nine bottles of wine is the amount necessary to cover a 300 page book
• Everybody has a depressing engagement/marriage story
• Stay single forever (see above bullet)
• I’m wearing the wrong size bra (don’t ask, it may send me into hysterics)
• Everyone is obsessed with Charlie Sheen right now
• Finding a book that everyone enjoys is virtually impossible so when it’s my turn I’m going to pick something nerdy that undoubtedly no one will read except Christine. I’m fine with that

ireadintothings:

As sexy as Bruno Mars is, if someone said that shit to me about catching grenades, throwing his hands on blades, and jumping in front of trains… I’d be like, sweetheart, we need to seriously reconsider this relationship. All of those things are completely unnecessary. I go out of my way to avoid situations where any of those things are required, let alone, preferred. I’d much rather have you hang out with me, among other things, in a capacity where all your limbs and organs are intact, perhaps after seeing a psychologist. We could go to couple’s counseling if you are more comfortable with that, but what you just said… that shit is too intense. You need to take it down a notch.