Cause that’s how I like to start my weekend.

Sincerely,

Sally B.

• I am sick and damn tired of you fools being uninformed.
• If you want to see a woman go straight bananas, try to make me eat a Brussel sprout. You’ll walk over, but you’re limping back.
• I am a pen hoarder. Like, go ahead and get A&E on the phone. [WARNING TO WOULD-BE LENDERS: If I like it, I’m taking it.]
• I’m vicious and I fight dirty. I once chucked an air hockey paddle at The Middle’s head after she beat me. I can’t help it that I’m strong. If she loved me, she would have thrown the game.
• When your grammar sucks, I’m judging you.
• On a road trip, if there’s a Starbucks at least 25 miles off the route, we’re stopping. I don’t give two shits if I’m still drinking the last one, I’m getting a damn latte.
• Apparently, I unconsciously point with my middle finger. Get over yourself. I’m not slyly flipping you off. Trust me, if I was going to tell you to fuck off, I’d just say, “Hey, dip shit. Go fuck yourself. And keep the change.”
• I have inappropriate responses to emotional social situations. While everyone else cries during The Notebook or Steel Magnolias, I burst into awkward guffaws. It becomes a problem at darkly lit fundraisers for cancer survivors.
• I will stab you in the face with a fork before I’ll watch a wolf chase a white bunny across the Alaskan tundra, but that starving kid on the Sigourney Weaver Feed Africa commercials won’t get my 9 cents a day to feed his 5 brothers. He’s 7. Time to be a man.
• I get into stage 5 altercations with my boss over celeb style/ fashion/ parenting/ addictions/ hygiene. Like, yelling, screaming bitch fits. It’s his own fault if he cries because says things like, “As if!” So he’s asking for it.
• If you hear Aretha Franklin or B.B. King at 4,000 decibels ENTER AT YOUR OWN RISK because I’m working myself off a ledge somewhere in Bluesville.

Sincerely,

Sally B.

I am a good friend.

I probably had a case of the Monday’s, but then I took another look at this family portrait that hangs in the hallway of my friend Lisa’s parents’ house and I …BAHAHAHAHA!

Monday’s gone.

Sincerely,

Sally B.

I generally reject any form of self control, which is why I never get through a Lenten season without bum rushing whatever it was I moronically decided to try and withhold from myself for more than a month. I like to start by saying I’m giving up something held in high esteem, like:

• green vegetables
• yoga
• Scotch
• professional wrestling
• Wednesdays

But then I guilt myself into taking it seriously. Next thing I know, I’m riding around on my high horse, denouncing my only hobbies:

• profanity
• booze
• fried foods
• laziness*

And that only lasts about two days. So this year, I gave up arugula. Then I punched myself in the eye and gave up refined sugar. I couldn’t say for sure if this is what Christ had in mind after 40 days and nights of temptation in the desert, but it sure does feel like how it’s supposed to go.

I think it’s working out pretty well. I’ve had six Cokes this week.

Sincerely,

Sally B.

*the trifecta of effing around on the Internet, not working out and sleeping in

• Foremost, it’s distracting. Not in a good way.
• I know it’s weird, but you ARE the only one who can hear the music through those ear buds.
• I’m trying to enjoy my mid-morning beverage, lunch, rare silence, Internet browsing, but I can’t. BECAUSE ALL I HEAR IS YOUR VOICE.
• This is an OFFICE. We do work here. Sort of. Anyway, this is NOT a playground. Go sit by yourself outside if you want to hum/ yodel/ throat growl.
• Let’s pretend I’m Simon Cowell. It’s definitely a no for me. You aren’t getting that yellow piece of paper. Go home. Sorry. But not really.
• Somewhere, Emily Post is rolling over in her grave. Vicious rolling. Angry rolling.
• I can’t even understand you… is that Farsi? ARE YOU SINGING IN FARSI? Jesus.
• The walls in this place are like papyrus. I can basically see through them… so I can hear you right down the hall, NO PROBLEM.
• Did someone tell you you sound nice? Pretty? That you could be the next Taylor Swift? Ok. Well, they lied.
• We all hear it, but no one wants to be the asshole that crushes your spirit. So that’s where I come in.

If this hurts you, toughen up. You’ll need thick skin with a voice like that.

Sincerely,

Sally B.

I am terrible at secrets. And I’m the world’s worst liar. I literally lack the ability to tell a lie - big or small - and have any single soul believe it. Lying comes so unnaturally to me that when I’m forced to fake it I contort my face, spit when I talk and bite my lower lip until it swells. Which only makes me look like Micky Rourke’s daughter. So, last week, I was more than proud of myself that I never spilled the beans that my cousins were throwing my aunt and uncle a surprise dinner for their 50th wedding anniversary where mom, dad and I were making an out-of-town appearance.

Oh, sure, I had ample opportunity to really fudge the whole deal. But, 50 years is a long time and I wanted it to be special. Plus, I was something like 89.7 percent certain my cousin Ashely would toss my ass into the Gulf. at night. if I blew it. And I knew that would be unpleasant and the water would probably be cold. So I worked hard all week, stretching my storytelling, tall tale muscles, telling little white lies. Because success is 10 percent inspiration and 90 percent perspiration. It was time to trim the fat.

I told my boss I liked his tie. Wrong!

I said yes when my mother asked if I was eating enough fruits and vegetables. False!

I said I was at the gym when I got called out for not returning a phone call. Untruth!

And it payed off. On Friday, we celebrated their 18,250 days of marriage. Of being a family. And they were surprised.

Family is a funny thing. I can’t say for sure what makes a family, but maybe they all start the same way. Maybe you become a family the moment you decide to love each other. The moment you realize your story has a beginning, and soon it will have a middle, but that it may never actually come to an end. And theirs is a funny little story with humble beginnings: Catholic boy meets Baptist girl. Girl’s mother forbids their relationship. They run away to Georgia and secretly marry. Boy joins the Army. They write to each other for months. Girl’s mother finds their secret letters. Boy and girl are outed but finally able to be a real family. They marry and have two lovely children. A boy and a girl. And live happily ever after.

No? *That’s not how it went? Are you sure? You can’t be. I’m a liar, and I’ve been practicing.

Sincerely,

Sally B.

*That’s absolutely how it went. I told you I suck at this.

AGAIN?! Again.

That’s it. I’m about sick and tired of this.

Sincerely,

Sally B.

“Poison & Wine” - The Civil Wars [Live at Eddie’s Attic, Atlanta, Ga.]

Oh, hello, I thought you might like to slit your wrists tonight. No?

Sincerely,

Sally B.

Just a reminder: Today is stupid.

Sincerely,

Sally B.

“Love is the thing, you know.”

I guess I got a pretty good thing going with those two baby girls that just showed up out of nowhere right after me.

Sincerely,

Sally B.

Good news: I still have my ovaries.

Bad news: We ate all the s’mores.

Sincerely,

Sally B.