10 signs you may be failing at life.

10 signs you may be failing at life.

1) You put the milk in your bowl before the cereal.

2) You don’t drink the milk after you’ve eaten the cereal.

3) You spread peanut butter then jelly on the same slice of bread, then put another slice of bread on top. [The fuck? PB goes on one slice, jelly on the other, and then they’re sandwiched together… aka: the right way.]

4) You don’t like peanut butter. [You are excused if you are allergic.]

5) You drink decaf.

6) You listen to country music on purpose and enjoy it. [Don’t even tell me if you do this. I’m not sure I’ll get past it.]

7) You have a blog with so fucking many ads and pop-ups that it’s not even worth visiting. [*cough* most food bloggers *cough* note: go to the link… I promise it’s funny.]

8) Your ass shows when you wear shorts.

9) You’re go-to response when someone is having a shit day is ‘it could be worse‘. FY-fucking-I, it could also be better. Say that instead. The first one translates to ‘I don’t give a shit about your problems‘, while the second one gives hope. Which one do you think is helpful? [Hint: Not the first one.]

10) You don’t think this man is the sexiest thing ever. [If you swing that way, of course. I personally fucking run that way. Like, to him.]

I love you, Mr. Sexy Arms [face, beard, eyes, ass] Beach Guy.

Truly, it is okay if you commit any of the aforementioned atrocities [except the country music one]. I’ll try not to lose faith in humanity. Oh, wait, I don’t have any. Well shit.

p.s. — While I am not guilty of any of these particular sins, I’m still failing at life, so don’t feel bad if you saw yourself in any of them. I still love you. But the country music one… seriously, I don’t want to know.

p.p.s. — If you would like to know more about failing at life, just ask. I’m an expert.

©2021 what sandra thinks

Posted in life, list, writing | Tagged , , , , | 35 Comments

random things. #7

It has only been six days since my last post. I’m on a roll! It’s a pathetic roll, but it’s still a roll.

I’ll sleep when I’m dead.
This morning I woke up at 5 am and couldn’t get back to sleep. What the fuck is that? I read for a while, thinking that would help me doze off, but it didn’t work. Now I have a big fucking headache and no amount of coffee is fixing me.

Good news and bad news… about coffee.
It is fabulous that Butter Pecan is back at Dunkin’. It is not fabulous that the dude made a little bit of a mess of my iced coffee cup so that when I grabbed it for that first delicious sip as I pulled out of the drive-thru, it dribbled down my shirt… right over my right boob [there is no wrong boob]. Not a small dribble either—enough to soak through my shirt to my bra. It was fucking cold. And there I was… shoving napkins down my shirt while driving.

Is this bad?
It seems that I’ve got a regular afternoon snack [along with my pm dose of coffee, of course]. I didn’t even realize I had a pb pretzel habit until I started to freak out that my bag was almost empty and couldn’t imagine going a single day without these little nuggets of deliciousness. See Exhibit A.

[Exhibit A]

Did you know…?
When I write, my leading men eventually, at some point or other, call my female lead ‘honey‘. They may use other terms of endearment, too, but honey is always one of them. The reason is Coldplay or more specifically, Chris Martin. Something about the way he sings ‘honey‘ in the song A Rush of Blood to the Head makes me melt a little. [Fun fact: I don’t like actual honey.]

No one is calling me.
I used to use the intro music from Don’t Let It Break Your Heart [Coldplay] as my ringtone. I don’t anymore, but whenever I’m listening to music and that song comes on, I grab my phone to answer it. And then I feel like an idiot.

Don’t judge a book by it’s cover?
I do it all the time. I literally choose books to read based on their covers. Not all the time, but still. I guess maybe this is bad? But what I really think is that this proves the power of great design [and choosing the most luscious cover model]. See Exhibit B.

[Exhibit B]

How can I resist? 

I have a new dream.
I kind of want to write a book now [like, a real one, not just the messing around stuff I’ve already written] just so I can use this specimen of deliciousness on my cover. See Exhibit C. I guess I’d have to ask permission. Preferably in person. Up close and personal. While he’s shirtless. And maybe a little sweaty.

[Exhibit C]

Ahh… Mr. Sexy Arms [face, beard, eyes, ass*] Beach Guy…

*Please note that I’ve switched to the uncropped version of this photo, resulting in the addition of  ‘ass’ to his list of sexy features. I really am going to have to start calling him Mr. Fuck Me. He has fuck-me eyes. Hmm… I think I know what my book will be about…

See you soon. I promise. Or maybe that’s a threat?

p.s. — Sometimes I’m mildly concerned about my man-crazy tendencies. Is there something wrong with me? Well, yes, lots of things, but I mean because of this particular obsession. I have a sexy male model as the wallpaper on my phone and on my laptop. I have a folder on my laptop called ‘Men’. It has about 400 files in it. Maybe I could claim them as writing inspiration. Let me provide an example because that’s just the kind of generous, giving soul I am. *looks through nearly 400 pictures… spends a half hour trying to choose one*

Oh, the sacrifices I make for you. I must be a saint.


©2021 what sandra thinks

Posted in life, random, series, writing | Tagged , , , , , , | 37 Comments


They will never truly understand me. They will never take me seriously. They will forever think I’m just looking for attention or blowing things out of proportion or that I’m dramatic or lazy or weak or all of the above.

And there is nothing I can do to change that.

This is why people like me suffer in silence. It’s why I sometimes don’t bother talking at all.

What’s the point when no one is going to understand?

What’s the point when they’re just going to tell me to snap out of it or to just do something about it?

What’s the point when they’re just going to tell me I must not want it bad enough.

What’s the point when they don’t know how to deal with me so rather than ask what I need, they just ignore me?

Fuck off.

They don’t understand.

They have no idea how frustrating it is to want something desperately but be incapable of doing a fucking thing about it—not to try and fail, but to not even *be able* to try.

I’m not just lazy and I do want it bad enough.

Fuck off.

They have no idea how painful it is to watch how easy things are for others when even the simplest things are akin to moving mountains for me.

They have no idea how it feels to be right there yet not even be acknowledged.

They have no idea how lonely it is when you’re someone like me. How lonely it is in my head. It’s so god damn crowded in there, but so fucking lonely. Even when they’re all around me, I’m lonely as fuck.

They have no idea.

Fuck off.

When I say I can’t do something, that means I literally cannot do it. It doesn’t mean I choose not to. It means it’s not a choice for me at all. It just is.

They dismiss me, act like they don’t think my issues are real. They push me aside as though I’m just not worth it. They’re probably right.

I’m not like them. I’m not normal.

I fucking know I’m not normal.

Fuck off.

This… all of this… is why I’m always on the sidelines, never truly involved in what’s going on. I’m separate from them. I don’t fit in.

When I try to talk to them about it, they ignore me. I know they don’t intend to be cruel. I know they just don’t know how to deal with me. But that doesn’t make it hurt any less.

They don’t understand.

They never will.

It’s why I keep it to myself most of the time [and when I don’t keep it to myself, I regret not keeping it to myself]. It’s why I don’t feel a part of anything. It’s why I’m on my own. Always alone. Always lonely.

So fucking lonely.

p.s. — I need you, Mr. Sexy Arms [face, beard, eyes] Beach Guy. But you won’t understand me either. It’s okay. I love you anyway. 

[And Mr. Sexy Arms [face, beard, eyes] Beach Guy needs a new name. The current one is too long. And I’m not just going to call him Mike even if that is his real name. I guess I’ll think on this. I could call him Mr. Fuck Me since that’s what I’m thinking every time I look at him. But maybe that’s too… um… blunt? shocking? Hmm.]

©2021 what sandra thinks

Posted in anxiety, depression, life, writing | Tagged , , , , | 21 Comments

afterthoughts: my favorites #atozchallenge

My favorites.
This is not my favorite part of the challenge. First off, ‘reflection‘ is kind of cheesy. But maybe that’s just me. I like to call it [and did call it], afterthoughts. I also don’t love this part because my memory sucks so I can barely remember what the fuck went on this month. But I’ll try to think back on it and offer some [hopefully] witty commentary so this post isn’t boring as hell.

The beginning of the alphabet was so much easier than the end. Plus, I had written posts for A through G before April even began. I managed to stay a couple of days ahead for most of the alphabet… until closer to the end. At that point, I was scrambling. But let’s move on.

My favorite letter/post:
Obviously, that would be p/part of a man’s body. Obviously. I don’t think I’ve ever enjoyed writing a post more. Especially the research. That was a damn good day. Plus, that post introduced Mr. Sexy Arms [face, beard, eyes] Beach Guy who has been with us ever since. And maybe will be forever?

Hmm… during last year’s A-to-Z, I introduced the p.s. which I’ve kept since. This year, maybe it’ll be Mr. Sexy Arms [face, beard, eyes] Beach Guy. Even his nose is sexy. What is that about? He’s like a god. Sorry… distracted.

What do you think? Should he be in every post going forward? We’ll see. I was going to say he might not always fit in, but I think I can find a place for him in any situation.


I also liked the music ones—c/coldplay songs, l/lyrics, s/songs to sing. And I liked the ones that I thought were funny. I can’t remember which ones they were, but I know I laughed at myself. Not that that’s out of the ordinary.

My least favorite letter/post:
This is not an easy choice like my favorite letter was. A few letters left me less than thrilled with my posts. B/books made me super anxious, but I did like writing that post. But then I got all paranoid and crazy over it. The letters that made me desperate for a topic were not favorites—f/fads, i/invention, j/job, and maybe u/uncle (but I think I made this one fun), w/weather, x/x-cuse (not even a real word), z/zoo (too predictible).

I feel like I should have some big revelation to add to this post, but I’ve got nothing.

I hope anyone who read any of my April posts enjoyed them. I hope if you already knew me, you were happy to see me posting again. I hope if you didn’t already know me, you aren’t horrified and running the hell away.

The truth is, I’ve had a lot of heavy personal shit going on over the last month. And it’s ongoing. Writing these posts got me out of my head for a small part of each day. But I hope my troubles didn’t taint my posts. Don’t get me wrong—I write about my personal shit all the time, including posting it here, but that’s not what April was supposed to be about. Fuck, maybe that’s what May is going to be about. Apologies in advance.

•  •  •

I was going to include a link to each letter, but I’m way too lazy for that [and I already linked a bunch of them above anyway]. Instead, you can click a-to-z challenge/a-to-z challenge 2021 in the top menu or just click here and you will be taken to the posts. In reverse order. Here’s a list [without links because, again, lazy] to remind you of my brilliant a-to-z topics.

a: my favorite actors.
b: my favorite books.
c: my favorite coldplay songs.
d: my favorite desserts.
e: my favorite escape.
f: my favorite fads.
g: my favorite guilty pleasures.
h: my favorite holidays.
i: my favorite invention.
j: my favorite job.
k: my favorite kiss.
l: my favorite lyrics.
m: my favorite memory.
n: my favorite neighbor.
o: my favorite obscenity.
p: my favorite part of a man’s body.
q: my favorite quotes.
q: my favorite quotes (answered).
r: my favorite roommate.
s: my favorite songs to sing.
t: my favorite things.
u: my favorite uncle and other u’s.
v: my favorite vacation.
w: my favorite weather.
x: my favorite x-cuse.
y: my favorite year.
z: my favorite zoo.

This is the sixth year I’ve done the a-to-z challenge. I’ve managed to complete it every time, even the year I lost my fucking mind and did two themes. Yeah, two posts a day. I don’t know what the fuck I was thinking.

Even at times when I was barely blogging, I’ve managed to resurface for April. [This year, I also reappeared for the March 31-questions challenge… bonus!] Hopefully, it won’t be a year until I start posting again. I have every intention of sticking around, even if I only show up once a week. But the road and hell and good intentions and all that…

At least I’m a winner at something.

•  •  •  •  •

Maybe next year I’ll challenge myself to find a hot guy for every letter of the alphabet. Hmm. Lusting from A to Z? I’m going to have to write this shit down. I’ll never remember it next year. Perhaps to remind myself, I’ll hang copies of this picture all over my home—the fine specimen I would choose for m:

Wow… twice in one post. I should get on this guy’s PR team. 

p.s. — I just thought of another possible theme for next year, although I kind of did it along with this year’s. Instead of ‘my favorites’, I could do ‘shit I hate’. But I’d need a way better title. Maybe I’m fucked up [or ‘I’m definitely fucked up’], but the thought of starting every post with ‘I hate …’ is very appealing to me. 

p.p.s. — Thank you for reading my ridiculous posts. It means a lot that you’re here. And I’m not just saying that. This is the only place I feel a little less lonely.

©2021 what sandra thinks

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z: my favorite zoo. #atozchallenge

My favorite zoo.
I thought of writing about the San Diego Zoo because it’s famous, but it’s not my favorite. Maybe it was the circumstances of my visit—the company, the heatwave. It wasn’t as pleasant as I’d hoped.

My favorite zoo is a small one in Maine. When I was a kid, my parents brought me to York’s Wild Kingdom, and [many] years later, I brought my own kids. I guess you could say I have a sentimental attachment to this place. It’s just so charming. Like me!

My kids are too old to enjoy it now, but when they were younger, they loved it. They especially enjoyed seeing the lions, tigers, and bears [oh, my]. No really, those were their favorites. [I love bears, just in case you were wondering.] Wait… were there bears there? Or am I thinking of a different zoo? Fuck if I know. My memory sucks.

The place is beautiful in a very subtle sort of way. Not all fancy or flashy. Just naturally beautiful. I’m sure much of the park is the same as it was when I was a child.

So pretty.

I might have enjoyed this butterfly thing more if I didn’t have a fear of flying creatures. My kids made me go in… it was this tent and the butterflies were just flying all over the place. Landing on people and everything. It was horrific.

There’s also a small amusement park with rides for the kids… and a few for adults. But it’s all about the kids, really. *Sigh* I miss when my kids were young.

This post wouldn’t be complete without mentioning the London Zoo. I was 20 when I spent semester [and then some] in London. I’m not sure what made me want to go to the zoo, but I do remember that my roomies weren’t interested so I went alone. I went to Highgate Cemetery alone, too, but that’s another story.

Oh crap! I should have done my favorite cemetery for c! Damn.

•  •  •  •  •

Maybe next year I’ll challenge myself to find a hot guy for every letter of the alphabet. Below, we have the fine specimen I would choose for m.

Hmm. Lusting from A to Z? I’m going to have to write this shit down. I’ll never remember this next year. Perhaps to remind myself, I’ll hang copies of this picture all over my home. 

p.s. — I don’t really particularly dislike any zoos [and I’ve been to quite a few as my kids *loved* going to see animals when they were younger], but I cannot deal with the bats, birds, the aforementioned butterflies, or anything else that flies. Or big fuzzy spiders. No. Those are the creatures of nightmares. 

©2021 what sandra thinks

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y: my favorite year. #atozchallenge

My favorite year.
I gave this a lot of thought. Too much, in fact. How do I know it was too much? Because I brought myself to tears while mulling it over.

I decided to only consider years post-college… so ages 21 to today [nope, not giving up my age… I prefer everyone see me as 29 forever].

If I had considered my earlier years, I would have ended up writing about my childhood again because I really do believe those years were my favorites. Even my high school years were good. I loved school [I know, freak].

But I thought in the interest of pretending to be an adult, I’d pick my favorite year since I graduated college. And that year was… the year I was 25.

Things were pretty damn good that year. Of course, me being me, I didn’t realize how good they were at the time. I only truly see it now. Hindsight and all that.

I had friends. A few really good ones. Sure, one of them turned on me later, one of them moved far far away, one of them left the company for which we both worked and then moved far far away, and one of them was my boyfriend—the ‘one that got away‘ who, obviously, I am no longer with.

I liked my job. It wasn’t some fantastic dream job or even a stop on my amazing career path, but that’s mostly because I didn’t [and don’t] know what my dream job or my career path are. But I enjoyed what I was doing, I learned a lot, it was a pleasant place to work, I liked [most of] my coworkers, and my boss was hilarious.

I lived in the best apartment I’ve ever had. That apartment is better than my current house. I loved the location, the charm, and the space. I loved the ‘extras‘—the front and back balconies, the window that was in the perfect spot to climb out and sit on the roof, the built-ins in the dining room, the pantry. Oh my god, the pantry. I still dream of it. I never should have moved out of that place.

I was more outgoing-ish. I went to bars and live shows and met up with people from work and with my radio station friends. I found the best frozen mudslide in the entire metro-Boston area. My coffee-shop-guy knew me by name. I even had traces of self-confidence!

And I was in great shape and had a killer wardrobe… and lots of great shoes.

Life is just not the same once you have kids. Where the fuck is my money? Or my time? Or my will to live?

I guess I was in a good place when I was 25. I was still content when I was 26 [or as content as one can be when one is me]. But then things started to crumble. I started to crumble. And I’ve been deteriorating ever since. Now, there’s not much left.

But what is left of me needs to go to the beach because my love is waiting for me…

…in my dreams.

p.s. — I wish I could pick a least favorite year—one that truly stands out as the worst—because that would imply that there was only one such terrible year. But the truth is that I’ve had a lot of bad years. At 28, I made some stupid decisions that shaped my life (and it’s not a good shape). 2020? Fuck no. 2021? Not looking much better. My confidence is at an all-time low—quite an achievement since I never had much to begin with. My life is a total mess. My world is falling apart. Most days, I’m not sure why I bother getting out of bed. 

©2021 what sandra thinks

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x: my favorite x-cuse. #atozchallenge

My favorite x-cuse.
I’m pretty sure this is the worst letter for this challenge. Nope, I’m sure. It’s the worst. You can tell because I totally cheated. Obviously excuse does not start with x, but fuck it. It’s almost midnight and I’ve been trying to come up with something for x all day today [today being the day before you’ll read this].

So… I’m going to give you my favorite excuses.

For when I’m late [especially for social events]:

When I don’t feel like working out [you know, most days]:

For when I fail during the A to Z challenge:

For when I go silent for hours, maybe days:

You knew he was coming.

p.s. — I consider this my biggest fail of the entire alphabet. I’ll pack it away in my giant bag of fails.

©2021 what sandra thinks

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w: my favorite weather. #atozchallenge

My favorite weather.
The obvious w’s would have been writer or word, but I feel that I already covered those with my favorite books and my favorite obscenity.

So this is what you get. I’ll try to make it exciting. But I will fail. [Yes, I know this because I am psychic.]

My favorite weather is sunny and breezy with temps from about 70° – 75°F. In my part of the world, that usually starts to happen right around now and lasts through June. You know, spring. Even temps up to about 80 are nice, but beyond that, I’m usually less than pleased.

Everything comes to life in the spring. It’s the most wonderful time of the year. Sorry Christmas.
By the way, this is not my house. But, damn, I wish it was.

Of course, sometimes we have cooler days and hotter days where they totally don’t belong. Take our last few days, for example: Saturday – mid-70s, nearing 80 [high for this time of year]. Sunday – not even 50 [low for this time of year]. Monday [as I write this] – mid-50s. One never really knows what’s coming. We even had a massive snowstorm in May one year. And 60s on Christmas. Probably signs of the impending apocalypse.

But… there’s definitely something to be said for sunny and hot. And that something is ‘shirtless hot guys‘. Mind you, I am not a fan of the oppressive 90s we get sometimes, which I refer to as ‘hell‘ in a completely literal sense, if one can mean ‘hell‘ in a literal sense since we don’t really know if it exists. But those oppressive temps mean I could have this fine shirtless specimen on the beach with me. Preferably with no one else on the beach.

Let’s face it… I would be fine on the beach with this guy in any weather. Even if he has to wear a shirt. I could always rip it off him later.

[I knew I could do it.]

p.s. — I used to like rain, but now I hate it. If there must be precipitation, I’d rather have snow. Rain is depressing. It truly affects my mood. It sucks. And dealing with umbrellas, puddles, mud, wet shopping carts? Ugh. Miserable. Honestly, I’d rather have to shovel snow.

©2021 what sandra thinks

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