THE OPPONENT THOUGHT MY LEG WAS THE BALL...

Oh, oh oh...wait....hold it.

Sarah                World

-∞ -1                       ∞

I HATE MATH

I mean, sometimes.  Like today this is what my math professor said:

"Oh, shoot. I forgot to put those kinds of problems on the homework--and those problems are on the test. Here, let me teach you how to make up your own multivariable differential equation problems and then you can solve them on your own for practice."

Transaltion: "Let me teach you how to solve a problem backwards that you don't even know how to solve forwards. Then if you solve it forwards and your answers match...you'll be fine on the test."

At this point, I think I'm aiming a bit high when I hope for a D+ out of this course.

YOUR LUCKY NUMBER IS ... FIVE

There seems to be a recurring theme from this weekend...something about ordering foreign commodities (see post below this one) and screwing it all up.... for example:

The Boy Next Door and I ordered wayyyy too much chinese take out last weekend.
We didn't know what we were doing.

He got off the phone after hearing the total of the bill and said:

"Sarah, I think we ordered a lot of food."

Me: Oh crud.

Can you say LEFTOVERS FOR FIVE MEALS?!?

Mounds of sesame chicken.  Oopsie poopsie.

visual representation of our folly

Not to mention THE WORST fortune in the world came out of my cookie:

Your lucky number for this week is the number five.

Really. REALLY?

What kind of fortune is THAT?

Oh wait, five meals of leftovers. Riiiight.

MATH IN INDIA

RESTRICTED!  ONLY FOR SALE IN INDIA, BANGLADESH, NEPAL, PAKISTAN, SRI LANKA, & BHUTAN.

This was the warning printed on the front of the "international version"* of my differential equations textbook.  *A paperback version whose front cover doesn't even remotely resemble the bookstore's version

The package looked like a bomb on my doorstep.

It was shoddily wrapped--opened previously and resealed with yellow tape.

The book barely made it through customs, apparently.

Brand spankin' new from New Delhi, India

Well folks, that's what you get for being a cheapskate and buying your $120 retail price textbook for a mere $30 from a sketchy website...Pure contraband. 

FIRST DAY OF WINTER SEMESTER

goes like this:

10:00 class--canceled by professor

12:00 class--canceled by professor

1:30 class--Political Science 100 professor explains his bias against us "American Heritage Refugees" since the majority of the class enrolled in order to wimp out of the university GE requirement. 

I'd say the semester is going pretty well so far.

WHAT YOU SHOULD NEVER SAY AT THE DOORSTEP

I cannot resist sharing this story with you.
It was completely unintentional...
Don't judge.


It all started because of this little piece of metal:

sorry for the mirror image.  Photo Booth tends to do that.

ONE EVENING The boy next door dropped me off, and I couldn't unlock my door because my gloves that were keeping my hands warm {I know right? isn't that supposed to be his job?} made me extra clumsy.

Being the gentleman that we all know him to be, he offered to open my door for me.  P.S. LOVE the chivalry.

BND: "Which key is it?"

[admittedly, I wasn't thinking properly.]

Sarah: "Uh, the one that says 'DO NOT REPRODUCE'."

[the awkward silence ensued. That was error numero uno.]

BND: "Oh, you mean, "do not DUPLICATE'?" 

Sarah's thoughts: dang. I REALLY hope that wasn't a Freudian on my part. Smooth Sarah, smooth.

Sarah: "Whatever. Just stick it in."

[More awkward silence.  That was error numero dos]

Sarah's thoughts: CRAP. crapcrapcrap. Just stick the KEY in the LOCK.  Sarah, you IDIOT!"

[I look over to realize that BND is silently laughing. Of course, he can't keep it in forever]

BND: BWHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!

I am sure you can fill in the rest.  Needless to say there was a major laughing fit for a solid 6 minutes.

Moral of the story:

Know what the text on your keys actually says.

Never use vague pronouns like "it" after a Freudian.

And with that considered, you should be safe at your next doorstep scene.

HELLO MY NAME IS ( _____ )

People always guess my name wrong.  

The funny thing is, they always guess the same name: 

Jessica.

Should I analyze this for you?

Ok.

Jessica: #1 name for a baby girl in my birth year

Therefore, a bit overused and generic.

{Disclaimer: I'm not hatin' on Jessicas. 

Realize that only I can say this because "Sarah" 
was the #6 most popular name,

 thus almost as equally cliche. }

______________________________

I saw a high school friend on campus the other day.  It went something like this:

"Hey! Jessica, right?"

Nope.

"Wait, do you have a sister named Jessica?"

Nope.

Really. REALLY?! DO I REALLY LOOK LIKE A JESSICA??  A "GENERIC JESSICA"?

This is a huge insult, just so you know.  I don't care that he forgot my name. He could have picked any other name and I would have been much happier.


Or I guess I could give him the benefit of the doubt. Maybe I look like a "generic Sarah" and therefore Jessica isn't that far off.

Or maybe he truly forgot my name, but remembered the year I was born, and that he had read in a baby book somewhere that Jessica was the most popular name, thus deducing that his odds of guessing correctly would be greater.


I like to think the latter.

On second thought, no I don't.
That means he is a bit of a weirdo.

OOPS

Q and I are as close as they come.  We often get comments from strangers how we appear to be sisters.

Look what happened last sunday:

We didn't plan it.  Cross-my-fingers-hope-to-die-stick-a-needle-in-my-eye

AANND on Week #2 we didn't improve.  

Double whammy.

{I feel like we are posing for inmate (haha, we're ROOMmates) full-body-mug-shots. Guilty of some serious Fashion Crime}

Opinions? Sisters, no?

EPIC FAIL

I'm not quite the "domestic goddess" that I had hoped....

Translating my expression: What. The. H.

They are supposed to be candy corn cookies.

I'll let you be the judge....

BAD OMENS

You know it is a bad day 

when 

77.77% 

(or 7/9 = 0.7777) 

of your fruit snacks 

for breakfast 

are grape. 

Blech.

{I want to get in touch with the people responsible for the quality control statistics in the production line at General Mills©} 

A DAY IN THE LIFE OF SARAH

Expectation: I borrowed necessary objects of importance from Brigham Young University for top secret experiments in the bio lab with full authority.

Reality:  Today, I was paid to kife trays from the CougarEat which I used to collect dirt.  It is ok...it was all in the name of science.

Expectation: When the BioChambers malfunctioned today at work, I whipped out my toolbox and engineering skills to restore them to working order.  My boss gave me a raise.

Reality: I noticed they weren't working and promptly notified my professor so he could call technicians.

Expectation: I organized, weighed, and analyzed all 165 soil samples without labeling errors or contamination. 

Reality: I sneezed while holding a sample of dirt and all contents flew in various directions, mixed with other soils, and destroyed data for seven samples.  (Not including the sample that was scattered.)

Expectation: Because of my superhuman strength and cleverness, I was able to remove the tightly packed clay that was stuck in 2 ft-long test tubes with efficiency and ease.

Reality: Frustrated that wet clay was making a seal on the opening of the tube, I impatiently grabbed the nearest pokey-stick-like-tool to jab at the hardening clay--I chose the glass stirring rod-- which soon snapped in my left hand, gauged out a chunk of my skin so large that the doctor had nothing to "stitch together",  left me in shock with blurred vision, a diminished sense of hearing, a cold sweat, nausea, and a gauzed-wrapped finger the size of a small potato.