Please tell me your name is Sarah

Hi. I’m Sarah. Call me Sarah. Do not call me Ishmael. Because that is not my name, and it feels just a little bit too much like cultural appropriation. And I may have stolen that from Jennifer Lawson. Or possibly Moby Dick.

I am writing this, because we may be meeting for the first time at the conference named BlogHer ’14. But before we talk about that let me thank you for making it all the way here. If you like reading enough to actually look me up on my blog, I’m guessing that you also got that literary reference I just made. We’re so smart, me and you. But just a warning, my smartness does not actually include remembering your name, especially if I am tired, which is all the time.


All kinds of Sarahs. Just kidding. They are all me!

When some people become fatigued they get cranky, but I lose the capacity to recall proper nouns. This is when I start yelling “dog, get out of the kitchen” and “children, go to bed” at the end of a long day. Oh, and I am probably cranky, too.

What is your name? (Put it in the comments. Seriously. I have no idea what your name is.)

Secretly, I am hoping your name is Sarah, because I collect those. My dream, actually, is to have friends who are only named Sarah. That way, I’ll never forget their names, and they will never feel offended, except when I offend them by saying other things like women should have the same rights as men and the same pay.

Recently, I have been actively looking for people named Sarah so I can approach them about being friends. I’m getting superstitious about this. And I have even paid to meet people named Sarah, like funding this Kickstarter for Sara Benicasa because duh. And she also said it was gay and there would be cheesecake, so obviously I should be there.

So anyway, it’s nice to meet you, Sarah.

Let’s be friends on all the social media:

Me on Facebook
This blog on Facebook
This blog on Twitter
Me on Twitter

I also write for BluntMoms, The HuffPost, Village Q.

See you there!

(Don’t forget to add your name to the comments.)

Frankie the chihuahua gets a home and a name, spoiler alert, it’s Frankie

The first night with Frankie was an telling one — as is the first night with any new family member. I put her on a dog bed in our room, because in my experience, that the best place for dogs for a lot of reasons.

But this was not the best place for Frankie. At least not according to Frankie. The best place was right between my collar bone and my chin. And I don’t know if you’ve seen my neck. It’s pretty great. But I like to keep it to myself for my own enjoyment, especially at night.

So, I rolled Frankie into a tiny little ball and put her on the dog bed, then got into my side of bed and turned off the light. The second it was dark, I was attacked. This is your worse nightmare. I thought of all the horror movies I have never seen. Beasts, monsters, psychopaths, hockey players attacking as soon as you were horizontal, naked, blinded by the darkness and female. I panicked.

And then I realized it was Frankie. On my neck.

I picked her up and put her back on the dog bed. Turned out the light. She was back on my neck. I barely had time to turn out the light. I put her back on her bed. She was back on my neck. She was getting good at this. Bed. Neck. Bed. Neck. This was war.

I gave up.

For the next two nights Frankie slept on my neck. And it was kind of nice. For Frankie. And then we found out that our neighbor’s mother was searching for the perfect dog, because her’s had recently died and she adored dogs. We brought Frankie by for a visit. It was love at first sight. So we gave Frankie to her. And she gave Frankie the name Frankie. And the last I heard they were living happily-ever-after in some new outfits with a new purse, something I could have never could have given Frankie. That, and a permanent sleeping space on my neck.

Which brings me to my next point. Unlike dogs, once you decide to have children, it’s not a decision that you can take back. In fact, I think it might be the only decision you can’t take back. OK, besides suicide. But that’s different. Because it involves death. And this involves life. Nevermind, I can see how they are related.

But back to my original point of the Frankie story. I have found dogs to be a reasonable analogy for children, except that you can’t give a child away if it sleeps on your neck. Oh, except you can. It’s called adoption. But Frankie is the only dog that we got and then gave away. We kept all the others.

And some of them we had planned to get and others we had not. But we definitely wanted all of them. Just like kids. So more on that next time.

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