SignaturesI have an odd fascination with signing my name. Like. I love to sign my name. Seriously. It's weird. I like comparing one signature with the previous one. In my head, I say "sorry" to the poor chap that will be receiving the work Christmas card/2011 Calendar with my "ugly" signature. I mean, it will be hanging in his/her office for ALL of 2011.
"Dear Banker, I'm sorry that you didn't get the best signature out of me. No offense to you or anything. But, be sure to visit Banker Tom in Smalltown, Tx to see what the real deal looks like. Sincerely, < insert an even better signature of Sarah > (you're welcome)"
No, seriously... I thought about doing that. Or I thought about signing all of the cards "Decker"... seeing as how most of the time, even at work, my first name is irrelevant. I had the quick thought of me just dropping my first name all together and going all Madonna-esque on y'all. Alas, I dropped that notion, but not after some internal debate.
Ok, moving on now...
Haha... not the cold feet that you're probably thinking of. I mean, HELLO... I guarantee by the time I get to the alter I'll be skipping like a little 5 year old instead of pulling a runaway bride move. I digress. Cold Feet. I hate it when my feet are hot. Hate it. But more than anything, I hate it when my feet are hot at night. I'm constantly moving my feet from side to side throughout the night to find the cool spots in the sheets. This is where I feel sad for people that never sleep with top sheets... because they miss out on this goodness. Or maybe I'm the only person alive that knows about this secret. If so. You're welcome.
I'm pretty sure I've shared this with most of you. And for those of you that know me really well and have slept in the same room with me since college will know that I sleep with not one, but TWO fans. Ceiling fan and a tornado-type fan blowing right beside my bed. Two fans. 365 nights a year. It doesn't matter if it's freezing outside. Heck, it doesn't matter if the heat is out. Two fans. Two fans. Two fans.
Dear Future Husband, get ready. Love always, Decker... err I mean, Sarah
PreMature Stall Opener
Ok, this one may be TMI for a few... but whatever. I'm proud to say I'm a premature stall opener. When I'm in a pubilc bathroom, I often find myself opening the stall door before my pants are fully in tact. I mean, they are pulled up... but I'm probably in mid-button phase. Sorry if that makes you feel awkward Ms. Random Lady in the Bathroom. I just gotta get out of that stall!
Aka my new phrase. I've been saying it a lot here lately... and almost never after someone says "thank you". For instance:
In response to a possible prank that may or may not be played when I go home for Christmas...
"Our signature just needs to be a sign that says, 'You're Welcome.'"
Someone's day has gotten better after they spent some time with you and they may or may not be referring to that time? - You're welcome.
You're hometown football team wins State for the first time ever? - You're welcome.
Tell people they need to sign up on Skype and when they do? - You're welcome.
Ok, maybe not as funny written out. But it's funny in my head. And for that, and all of the other completely useless information stated above... you're welcome.