Life As I Blow It: Tales of Love, Life & Sex . . . Not Necessarily in That Order

Life As I Blow It: Tales of Love, Life & Sex . . . Not Necessarily in That Order

Sarah Colonna

Language: English

Pages: 256

ISBN: 0345528379

Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub

In this wickedly funny and irreverent memoir, Chelsea Lately writer and comedian Sarah Colonna opens up about love, life, and pursuing her dreams . . . and then screwing it all up.
Sarah believes we all struggle to grow up. Sometimes we want to have fun, not take things too seriously, and have that fourth margarita. Other times we would like to get married, stay in, order Chinese food, and have a responsible, secure life.
From her formative years in small-town Arkansas to a later career of dates, drinks, and questionable day jobs, Colonna attempts to reconcile her responsible side with her fun-loving side. Sometimes this pans out, and sometimes she finds herself in Mexico handing out her phone number to anyone who calls her pretty. She moves to Los Angeles to pursue acting, but for years is forced to hone her bartending skills; she wants a serious boyfriend, but won’t give up nights at the bar with her friends. She tries to behave like an adult, but can’t seem to stop acting like a frat boy. In the end, she discovers that there doesn’t have to be just one or the other. And if there’s one thing Colonna has learned from her many missteps, it’s that hindsight is always 100 proof.

Includes a Foreword by Chelsea Handler

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Lucky Jim

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and After Lately and is by far the most popular person in the office. Everyone loves Sarah. She is my favorite and she will be yours, too. If I write any more, this will start to sound like a eulogy. We’ve come a long way from using our debit cards at Del Taco. We both only eat organic Mexican now; excluding every other Thursday, when Chuy has us over for brunch. CONTENTS Cover Title Page Copyright Epigraph SLOPPY SARAH: A FOREWORD by Chelsea Handler WHERE DO I START? HOW MANY

determined that I didn’t have a ton of room to be picky. I quickly announced to Dad and Shirley that I was moving up to Los Angeles. They pretended to be sad but I could see them immediately calculating what they’d be saving on booze and the phone bill alone. Since we only had the one bedroom, my dad gave Tilley and me a trundle bed, which is basically a fucked-up bunk bed. One bed fits right under the other to save space, then at night when you pull it out, voilà—you have two beds. It’s pretty

the cats being gone. That is—I was still going to blame Tilley. Defeated, we pulled into our parking spot. Tilley told me she was sure that Neil would understand, although she agreed that this was not going to help the sex situation. When we got to our front door, both of the cats were there. They were staring at us expectantly, with a look that said, “Open the door, assholes.” I couldn’t believe those little shits had come back! How did they even know where the apartment was? I quickly decided

it down so that when he approached me about it, he’d have ammunition. He was correct, I did go out too much, but keeping a journal of it wasn’t any better. “How about just saying ‘I think you go out too much’?” I asked him. “That would have been far more efficient.” I told him that there was no way we were dating anymore and hung up. I grabbed my stuff, went to my car, checked underneath for a bomb, and drove home. I was a little relieved because I knew he wasn’t the right guy for me in the

hopeful. For the most part, we lay around in hammocks all day and went to bars at night. It was fun, relaxing, and it got my mind off turning thirty, until one day when we went to rent a car and one of the guys working there asked if Tilley was my daughter. I wondered if Shirley’s plastic surgery suggestion was something I should start to consider. The final morning of our trip I woke up to the sound of the hotel phone ringing. Eyes still closed, I reached for it and put it to my ear. “Hello?”

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