Calling your best friend and telling her you need her to come over, and with out the slightest hesitation she agrees.
Her dropping everything to come over and then, knowing you so well, can tell by the look on your face that you just want her to sit next to you for a long while until you feel like talking.
Once you finally realize that you want to talk and you want to leave the house, the first order of business must be showering - so she sits in the bathroom and talks to you while you shower.
sacrificing her entire day to stay your my side.
Your fiance giving you sound advice by singing songs from a musical.
oh yeah, and watching veronica mars and playing rock band with great great friends.
Monday, December 29, 2008
Calling your best friend and telling her you need her to come over, and with out the slightest hesitation she agrees.
Sunday, December 28, 2008
You never know it's coming, that's part of its evil attack mechanism. If you knew that depression was coming you could do something to stop it, preventative measures.
But when you can't make it go away - when depression stops being a nuisance in your life and your days actually start molding around it, adapting to it, you've let the creature find a warm comfortable home to leach off of, that's when you're in trouble.
So you try your best to keep face, you stay as busy as possible, like you're running running running away from it. If you stop for one minute then it will catch you. That's easy to do when you have so much stuff to do you can't afford to stop and breathe.
Or maybe it just feels that way. Maybe that's part of the monsters plan. To overwhelm you until you can't take it anymore and you snap and let it consume you completely.
You can't let that happen so don't stop running running running away from it.
You wonder how you're gonna handle life when bad things, actual bad things, happen to you - you know that this is a cake walk right now and you can't even keep this shit together. Bank accounts, bills, money money money money. Your brain doesn't grasp those concepts. What a cop out.
"I don't get it"
oh shut the fuck up and figure it out.
everyone else in the world can handle balancing their check books and paying bills on time and returning peoples phone calls and opening letters instead of just putting them on your dresser and not opening them and not opening them and not opening them for weeks in hopes that whatever they say - whatever at all - good or bad - will just be non existent if the letter remains closed.
You go to the funeral of an old friend and here it is, your opportunity to really let it out, to put your sadness into something concrete, and you stare blankly, you sit like a statue in the back of the church. It's the first time in weeks that you aren't crying because you're so numb you can't. You run out of the church as soon as the service is over so you can avoid all of the people you know that at one point not so long ago you would be thrilled to see under any circumstance, even such a sad occasion.
you're drowning and you really need it to be February already. or you really want to be a little kid again. or something.
Monday, December 22, 2008
Reading from a book in which they give an astrological prediction for every single birthday-
"Hey! Jeff! It says that people born on January 2nd are best suited for love with a cancer! I'm a cancer!"
"Yes you are. You'll always be the cancer of my life."
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
You know Dasher and Dancer and Prancer and Vixen? Comet? And Cupid? and Donner and Blitzen?
Aren't they just the biggest bunch of insecure ass holes you've ever heard of in your life? I mean, they're almost as bad as Heathers or the Plastics. I bet they did a lot of fucked up stuff to Rudolph just because he was different from them, a lot of stuff that never made it in the song.
So they torture this guy, and then as soon as Santa comes into play and decides that Rudolph serves a really good purpose (come on fucktards, don't you think he hired Ruddy in the first place for a reason??) then all of a sudden you just lllloooovvvveeeee hiiimmm?
Do you know how transparent you are? I'm not saying you should keep hating him, but really..."then how the reindeer loved him"? "and they shouted out with glee"?!?! Good God, you guys can't think for yourselves at all, can you? Most people don't go from hating someone to wanting to have them as their best man in one fucking verse of a two versed song.
I bet the only reason why you started picking on him in the first place was because Vixen made advances on him and Ruddy wasn't interested in sloppy eighths, so she got everyone else to hate him, too.
Vixens always starting shit.
Thursday, December 11, 2008
"Damn you Martin Luther King! You're messin' up my flow!"
-Brittany, on how MLK jr is hindering her ability to find a date to her very formal work function
your friends are out of their fucking minds.
you'd think with the billions of dollars he has, he would spring for some decent production value.
Posted by Sarah at 7:39 PM
Monday, December 8, 2008
While in the middle of a very severe breakdown the other day, Jeff suggested this comforting advice with both sincerity and seriousness-
"Why don't you go to the mall and sit on Santas lap? It would help, I'm sure."
Thanks for continually gluing me back together.
Friday, December 5, 2008
Alright kid-o's, we have go to get in sync here. Listen to me, when that quitin' bell rings we all want the same thing - an icy cold beer - but also, we all want to get home as fast as fucking possible but we are seriously not doing a good job at it, so lets establish some guidelines, shall we? Lets call them Rush Hour Rules of the Road:
The Rush Hour Rules of the Road:
1) If you do not need to be on any major highways, interstates, expressways, turnpikes or any other areas of heavy traffic between the hours of 4:30 and 6:30 DON'T.
2) If you have never been on a particular major highway, interstate, expressway, turnpike, or any other areas of heavy traffic DON'T TRY TO FIND YOUR WAY BETWEEN THE HOURS OF 4:30 AND 6:30.
If rules one or two apply to you, please stay home and discontinue reading. However, if you do not qualify for the above, continue on.
3) Breaks are not the only option for slowing down. Try taking your foot off the gas. This is highly effective and doesn't make the car behind you slam on his breaks causing the car behind him to slam on his breaks causing the car behind his to slam on his breaks. Look, unless you need to come to a sudden stop, or slow down drastically - DON'T TOUCH YOUR FUCKING BREAKS ON THE INTERSTATE YOU FUCKING ASS HOLES.
4) Don't drive past 50 cars waiting to get off at a particular exit so you can cut in front of them where the exit ventures from the road. First of all, why do you think you're so entitled? and 2nd of all, when you have to come to a complete stop to wait for traffic to move in the lane you want to cut in to...guess what happens to all the cars behind you? They all have to come to a complete stop behind you. There are enough of you dick wads on the road to block up entire lanes of traffic in trying to lane cut which means people block up the next lane of traffic to lane cut. WAIT YOUR TURN LIKE EVERYONE ELSE YOU IMPATIENT ASSHOLE
5) Drive at least the speed limit. I know that wording sounds wrong, what with "limit" implying that you shouldn't go beyond that, but listen to me 84 year old dude in the 1994 Oldsmobile cutlas, if you are not comfortable driving 75 miles an hour then retire already, or, see above if rules one and two apply.
6) Don't drive in the left lane, this is for passing. You know when you're driving along going 55 miles an hour in the left lane and it seems like every single car is coming behind you, getting right on your ass and the swerving around you while flicking you off? That's because every single car is doing that to you. If you're in the left lane and someone is coming up faster behind you, you get over BECAUSE THE LEFT LANE IS FOR PASSING YOU IGNORANT ASS HOLES. Yeah, I'm still talking to you old dude in the Olds'.
7) Oh my god, a car, on the side of the road, its not moving. DON'T SLOW DOWN TO LOOK AT IT.
8) Oh my god, a cop car, on the side of the road, writing a car a ticket. DON'T SLAM ON YOUR BREAKS! HE'S STANDING ON THE FUCKING SIDE OF THE ROAD, WRITING A TICKET TO SOMEONE ELSE! WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK HES GOING TO DO? CHASE YOU DOWN ON FOOT????
9) Hang up the phone. Just, put it down. Look man, I'm all for some cell phone drive time chat but not during rush hour traffic.
All it takes is one person to do one stupid thing and everyone else get backed up. Lets all do our part. Follow these rules and we'll all be happier.
Oh yeah, and if you could also not do the following:
Have your car break down
Get into a car accident
It would be appreciated.
Monday, December 1, 2008
Posted by Sarah at 3:55 PM
Sunday, November 23, 2008
First: Twilight was one of the worst movies I have ever seen
Second: Some part of me, and I don't know how dominant that part might be, wants to see it for a third, possibly fourth time.
and Third, I am unconditionally and irrevocably in love with Twilight.
Since I've gotten started with lists, I'm going to give you my top five giggle like a little girl moments because its was so cute moments of the movie, and then my top five scoff like a judgmental 23 year old watching a really awful movie moments. And then, no more talk about twilight.
Top 5 best moments:
5. Charlie. Way to pull through and be the only decent actor in the movie, and to be pretty interesting to watch. I wanted more of you, and your 'stach. Especially considering how much your character sucks in the book.
4. After Bella realizes what Edward is, she walks past him at school into the abyss and he obediently follows. No words necessary.
3. Edward and Bella arrive at school together for the first time, everyone stares, so he puts his arm around her and says "I'm going to hell anyway"
2. Edward saves Bella from a group of sadistic frat boys and asks he to say something to distract her "You should put your seat belt on. What?! You should put your seat belt on!"
1. The first kiss "I've always wanted to try one thing - don't move."
Top 5 worst moments:
5. Pretty much the entire movie
4. Bella digging up a tiny cactus and planting it before she leaves Arizona. Getting on a plane, flying to forks, getting into her dads car, getting to her house, and she is still holding the cactus. First scene of the movie - first true indication that it was gonna be worse then I expected.
3. Any scene with Alice. I imagine that casting went something like this "Hey! Lets cast a robot as everyones hands down favorite character and then, when we find out what terrible actors robots are, lets cut all of her scenes!"
2. Edwards face as he sucks the venom out of Bella's arm.
1. Kristen Stewarts "acting" which includes all of the following and nothing more: head shakings/convulsions, rapid fire eyelash fluttering, only looking down at the ground, deep exhales after every three words.
Honorable mentions are awarded to the writers who decided to leave out all of the vampire origin stories which I was really looking forward to seeing on film, who left out Jaspers power which I was really interested to see how they would adapt to film, and Billy Black threatening Bella for being with Edward. In lieu of these interesting scenes they opted for 2 straight hours of deep exhales from Kristen Stewart.
Also, the guy who plays Jasper and that constipated face he makes through the entire movie.
Ok, no more talk of Twilight, promise! But...pictures... (these are in backwards chronological order, blogger wont let me fix it)
drinks before the movie the second night (possibly why i liked it a little more the 2nd time around)
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
Have already purchaced tickets to go see the midnight showing of Twilight on Thursday night as well as a showing on Friday night with
Sunday, November 16, 2008
Well, well, well. If it isn't that time of year again...
In the past few days I have found myself giving my Thanksgiving-middle child rant to a lot of people. Last night when I watched Brittany decorate her black christmas tree, the line was drawn. While her tree is extremely bad ass, IT ISN'T TIME FOR IT YET. Shame on you, shame on all of you who are even thinking of decorating for Christmas before Thanksgiving.
In leu of writing yet another rant, I'm just going to refrence you back to a post I wrote last year.
Here's the jist:
"Do you know how badly Thanksgivings feelings have been hurt? I mean, he's the middle child which is hard enough for anybody, but then theres all the other things. No one puts out thanksgiving deorations, or gives thanksgiving presents or thanksgiving candy to children in thanksgiving cotumes. Thanksgiving really has only got two things; family and food. But, Christmas does that, too. Thanksgiving tries to stay calm about the whole situation, trying to think about all the things he greatful for. The wonderful bounty of food that is brought forth, uniting families in laughter and happiness. He even thinks he was put in the middle for a reason - to let everyone take a rest between his older and younger siblings events. Usually, this is enough to keep him from feeling like the blacksheep of the family, but recently, it's been harder and harder to keep this positive attitude, but this year? This year Chritsmas has crossed the line!Halloween excitment grew for a month. Houses were decorated, parties were thrown. Thanksgiving waited paitinently and now it's his month. Christmas, you're already the prettiest and most adored holiday, so just back off for a few weeks! Your time will come, it always does!
How would you like it if we started sending valentines and dying easter eggs in december?
Didn't think so."
So please, be good for goodness sakes. Give Thanksgiving a chance.
Thursday, November 13, 2008
Ever since I learned you could potty train a cat I knew as soon as I got a new precious little feline I wouldn't waste anytime introducing her to this convenient (for me, anyway) way of life.
Cats are smart, and more importantly don't like to piss and shit anywhere that isn't where they always piss and shit. Cats are clean and understand that their droppings are not.
The basic steps I was trying to follow, based on my memory or what I had read YEARS ago went like this-
Put a pan on top of the toilet so the cat knows to get on top of the toilet to potty
Once comfortable with that, open the toilet and balance the pan on the toilet seat so the cat came become aware of boundaries with the hole.
Slowly over time begin cutting a hole at the bottom center of the pan, progressively making it larger and larger while at the same time reducing the amount of kitty litter.
Once the hole is as large as the toilet opening, remove the pan and, VOILA!
Potty trained cat.
Ok, so Admiral Pixy Dust, my dear sweet kitten, takes to jumping up on the toilet right away, and once I place it on the open toilet it's like she never knew any better.
But then I got to thinking...if I start cutting holes in the middle of the pan, its just gonna collapse on itself, not to mention the kitty litter that would fall into the toilet.
Plus, every once and a while she would topple over in the box which was always a set back.
So I looked online and found a similar solution but with a bowl.
You place a bowl in the toilet and gradually reduce the amount of kitty litter, mean while, every time you see her potty, influence her feet on to the rim of the toilet until she gets the idea. Then, slowly fill the bowl with water, remove bowl and, VOILA!
Potty trained cat.
This has failed.
Not for a lack of trying. Or ability on Pixies behalf.
It is, and believe me when I say this, impossible to find a bowl that is both the EXACT size of your toilet and sturdy enough to hold a cat. I finally found a bowl that, with the use of handles over the rim, I thought would be fine. And it is fine, as long as she isn't sitting in it. Or scratching in it. Or moving too much. Because if it is then it topsides into the toilet.
Not to mention that I have never EVER caught her in the act of going to the bathroom to help show her how she should be.
So in the past few days she has, understandably, HAD. IT.
She can't take it anymore. She won't get back on the toilet. She's done. She's taking to peeing in beds, both human and dog, and pooping in the corner right next to the toilet.
So, this morning I decided that I hadn't given up but we had to start over. I thought going pack to the last successful point and reevaluating would be a good idea. So I put her pan with litter back on top of the toilet.
20 minutes ago, the thing capsized completely upside down.
I just ordered this.
By the way, all of this is 97.2% because of how amazingly lazy I am.
the other 2.8% is because of how unbelievably foul the things that come out of her butt are.
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
Some bands I'm getting to know in a personal way and totally diggin' every minute of our blossoming love affairs-
Monday, November 10, 2008
Hi. My name is Sarah and I'm a Twilightaholic.
I haven't been sober since I started reading them back in July, I've only been keeping it a secret from all of you out here in blog world.
It's really becoming a problem. My fiance can't stand it. They are really some god awful pieces of literature. And yet my thoughts are constantly consumed with those of the dear sweet edward cullen and all of the things I would do if I were a vampire.
I went to lunch with Brittany today and we talked about Twilight the entire time.
We talked about how all of the characters in the book suck.
We talked about how the books...um...kinda suck.
How the writing is terrible. Stop saying incredulous and nudger all the time Stepenie Meyer.
We talked about how winy and annoying Bella is.
How only someone mentally unstable wouldn't be able to move on when their high school boyfriend of like 3 months left them and then another great guy was in love her and she treats him like shit.
FUCKING RENESME. Whatever editor let Stephenie Meyer name a character RENESME needs to be fired. Black listed.
Breaking Dawn is more like a ten year old girl with no imagination wrote it then the same person who wrote Twilight.
We talked about how we can not wait for the movie to come out.
We discussed whether or not we should wear vampire fangs to the premiere. Not because of how unbelievably nerdy it is but because these vampires don't have fangs and we can't decide if its insulting or in honor.
We exchanged music that we have heard since reading the Twilight series and are convinced that it has to be about Twilight. Seriously, these bands wrote songs about Twilight whether they'll admit it or not.
We talked about how we're going to the Borders Twilght party on Saturday.
Well, it feels good to get that off of my chest.
Me on halloween...clearly i thought the fangs were a good idea, and, yes, thats a shirt with the cullen family crest on it.
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
America, I am proud of you. Proud of us.
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
Dear Asshole(s) who stole my Obama sign out of my front yard,
I know these are shitty pictures, but let the red arrows be your guide. Especially for that fucking billboard my neighbor has.
Monday, October 20, 2008
Baseball season just last year when people would walk around the beach handing out tickets for - do I dare say begging - people to attend a Devil Rays game.
So we drop the devil and go to the world series. Some might say God had something to do with this.
I don't say that, but I see where the connection can be made.
Me, Joanna, T-Pai, Jana, Mary and some guy wanting in our picture
They kept putting the five of us on the jumbo-tron so often that by the 4th inning, people were leaving their seats to come and find where we were sitting, just so they could be on the jumbo-tron, too. I want to be clear that I'm not trying to brag about being on the jumbo-tron constantly that day, but illustrating the point of how few people were there.
Saturday, September 27, 2008
My parents were playing pool and my mom said
"hey sarah, go get your cat out from under your bed so she can play out here"
and i said
"she's probably hiding from the sound of the balls slapping together."
I was instantly stunned that those words actually left my mouth and a millisecond before i burst out into laughter my sister, who was walking through the room, paused and said
"thats what she said"
i fell to the floor and laughed til I cried.
Posted by Sarah at 9:36 PM
Friday, September 5, 2008
Thursday, September 4, 2008
When I was a kid my parents bought a family pack gym membership to the Y and for some reason, they've never gotten rid of it. So, when ever I have enough time to fit in anything resembling exercise, I head on over to the good ol' neighbor hood YMCA.
Ever since college I have worked out in gym's. Real gyms. Gym's where you feel bad about yourself, gyms where people dress up and put on full faces of makeup to make you feel bad about yourself. I usually find the Y to be a much welcomed change, even if what they have to offer in terms of equipment and space is limited, the people are real. No one cares what you're doing. No one cares what you look like. Get sweaty and gross in peace. No one is even paying attention to you...
There is a man in Tampa who must be grossly unaware of the fact that I see him every time I go to the gym. This is a personal letter to him:
Dear man at the Y who wears khakis with a belt, a polo and penny loafers,
First of all, this is not appropriate work out attire. I do know from looking around the room that all of you old people (more on that in a moment) think that "gym clothes" are the same thing as "gardening clothes" or "clothes to go grocery shopping in" or "clothes to see my grandsons flute recital in", and that's fine. You look like a fool, but whatever. That's your prerogative. Penny Loafers, though? You are not fooling anyone.
You know what else doesn't fool people? And listen closely because this is really my point here, people don't think you're working your inner thighs just because you're sitting on the leg adducter machine. People aren't dooped into thinking you're shaping your delts because you're sitting on the rowing machine. No one believes you're getting a great cardiac workout because you turned the treadmill on and stand with your feet on either sides of the rolling tread. I actually watched you turn the speed up and hike up the incline!! And just stand there!!
I probably wouldn't notice you except that you are always at the gym when I am at the gym. I don't have a set gym schedule, in fact, it's down right random. This leads me to believe that you live there. Or at least spend all of your time their during normal business hours.
But even this probably wouldn't be enough for me to notice you but it really feels like, and I hope this doesn't come off sounding paranoid or anything, but it really feels like you read my mind, find out exactly what course of action I'm going to take in the gym and then make your move planting yourself on the exact machine I want to be on. Sitting. Or standing. Or whatever the starting position may be. But not exercising.
You don't ever notice me because you stare at your...well...I could really use your help here. You stare at something small and electronic the entire time, pushing buttons and twiddling your thumbs. It's not any kind of music player because there aren't head phones, but it's not a phone either and I think you're too old for texting even if it was. Whatever it is you constantly stare at it and push it's buttons. And I constantly stare at you, willing you off of the freakin' lat lift, and you know what? You push my buttons also.
I've come up with two reasons for your actions- 1) you think that just by being in the gym and moving from machine to machine you're probably getting more out of it then sitting at home watching Murder She Wrote or 2) your wife via your doctor is demanding that you workout so you move from machine to machine so you don't have to lie to her.
So I have two solutions for you- 1) go sit on the chairs in the f-ing lobby. You'll get as much exercise there as you will sitting in the actual gym room or 2) Fucking exercise. No one gets mad at people who are actually using the machines they want to use.
Thanks for your time,
Now for everyone else...when did the YMCA become a geriatric center? On average, and this is very scientific, I see about 6 walkers. I would probably see less walkers at an actual geriatric center. I'm not at all annoyed by this. Please don't get me wrong. I find it absolutely adorable to see 80 year old men on the elliptical with their canes hooked to the handle bar and their socks pulled up to their shins. Old men and their high socks...oh me. Tickles me pink inside.
Friday, August 22, 2008
I am always so perplexed when people pronounce words incorrectly. I understand that if you read a word off of a page then you might say it wrong, especially if you've never heard the word before. But there are certain words that are part of our common vinacular and yet people still say them wrong. It's like they're refusing to hear the way every other person on earth says these words. LALALALA, I CAN'T HEAR YOU SAYING THINGS CORRECTLY! I WILL SAY THINGS HOW I WANT TO! NO MATTER WHAT! LALALOODYLOO!
Here are a few words that are currently bothering me:
Massage: muh-sahzh, not muh-sa-jah.
Height: hahyt not hahythe. There is no TH. Where are you pulling that th sound out of??
Spa: Spa not Spal. Ok. this is something I've only heard one person say but she says it every day and it drives me crazy because...spal? I guess refer to above but instead of wondering where the TH came from, wonder where the L came from. But really wonder. I understand how you can be a little dyslexic with the "ht" in height...but Spal?
Pillow: pil-oh not Pell-oh
Also, names. Some names can be pronounced in a variety of ways. However, if someone introduces you in a certain way, that is what you call them. When this person is in your class and you hear people call her name all day long, you hear people say "Hey, And-ree-ah" all day long, you do not have the right to continually refer to her as "On-dray-uh".
And now for the true debate:
"koo-pon" or "kyoo-pon"
According to dictionary.com, either way is acceptable. I'm a koo-pon girl. What about you?
Thursday, August 21, 2008
I saw this picture
and thought it was a man being pierced through the chest with a spear. What does this say about me?
*Look Megan, pictures. My blog is as good as Joannas.
Posted by Sarah at 6:09 PM
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
I was up at 6am, at the gym by 6:45, worked out til 8!
Went to school all day pumped up with energy!
And now look...look at me here...I'm actually writing in my blog!!
This is exciting, and a brand new day...but that's not why I'm here. Why am I here? Simply to tell you about a new teacher we got today. We started the massage portion of our schooling, thus gaining ourselves a new teacher.
Lets call him "William".
He's a bald gay man whose mother is German...full fledged German, not "my great grandparents are German", and his dad is Irish, of the same, real, legitimate Irish category.
He was born and raised in Columbia, Venezuela.
His native language is Spanish.
He speaks perfect English with an American accent and only the slightest tinge of a gay lisp. I would've guessed he was from Kansas if put on the spot.
This is so perplexing to me. He has so many influences, he might literally be the most foreign, exotic person I know. An Irish-German Spaniard? Living in America!
The weirdest part to me was when I asked him why he didn't have an accent, because, yeah, I ask people shit like that, he seemed a little taken a back. Like no one had wondered why he had no no no no no accent.
His answer was "I guess because we always spoke English at home?"
Or maybe, when you speak English growing up around The Irish, Ze Germans, and El Spaniards you end up with an accent that sounds mostly American with the slightest tinge of a gay lisp. Like when you mix all those liquors together and light it on fire and it taste just like a Dr. Pepper. After you've had a few shots of tequilla.
Think any one's ever conducted studies?
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
When Katrina hit in 2005, the public and media gave the residence of New Orleans a whole buttload of crap for not evacuating. So much of the country was outraged that thousands of people would stay put, despite the warnings to leave.
Those outraged people did not live in areas of high hurricaine impact.
I have lived 22 of my 23 years in either or Tampa or Tallahassee where hurricaines happen.
And more so than that? Hurricaines that are predicted to happen and dont.
Yesterday there was substantial manditory evacuations for Tampa Bay...any one who lived in low lying areas, anyone who lived near any kind of water, any one in a mobile home...manditory.
Schools were cancelled in 5 counties in the Tampa Bay area.
The forecast for today (based on my keen ability to look out windows)? Sunny. And a little wind.
Hurricaines are not something to be taken lightly, they can cause a lot of pain and distruction. It's great that we can see them coming, but just because they're heading in a certain direction doesn't mean they stay that way. Forecasters know this yet they continue to drum up fear and anxiety in people.
Honestly, I could have gotten a sunburn yesterday if I spent it outside. And yet, on the national news chanels, they kept telling me how it was terrible outside, just the begining of something awful.
And today, too. I just turned on the news and checked weather.com and they both told me that right now, in my zip code, we're having torential down pours.
Even though Faye hit Ft. Myers and the projected path now is essentially all of florida except Tampa Bay.
Are they trying to convince people that they aren't complete idiots?
I imagine some old woman sitting inside her laundry room with her daughter yelling at her that shes fine, she can come out, but keeping strong to her convictions that "the weather man tells me its real bad out there! real bad!"
Monday, August 18, 2008
Yesterday I went to the funeral of a girl whom I have know since we were five, and whom I was quite close with in our teenage years.
She was strikingly beautiful and a wonderful singer. She was religious in ways I could never comprehend, her God was not one that I could even consider let alone know. Her life was hard but her faith guided her steadfast. She was kind and caring. But more than anything she was a wealth of wisdom that was more than anyone our age possessed. Between her unwavering beliefs and her worldly notions, she always seemed just out of reach to me. A treat on a high shelf that I would never quite be able to get to.
I remember the first time she spent the night at my house, we were seven. She couldn't comprehend how I could sleep with my closet light on, how I would be afraid of the dark. I was angry because, what's not to get? Even then she wasn't just fearless but lacked any notion of childlike dread. She convinced me that just this one time, I would be safe because she would be next to me, which meant nothing else could be.
As her adult life began unfolding she decided on her dreams and took hold of the reigns. Instead of making plans for someday, she made plans for today. In her short life she visited 7% of the world, including most of Europe, Australia and lots of Asia. She backpacked through eastern Asia for 6 1/2 weeks by herself. She had a passion to see the world, to know people, to learn about everyone she could meet and to help them in any way she knew how.
And on Monday night, she wrote her mom an e-mail telling her that her back hurt so bad she was afraid to go to bed.
But she did.
At her service her aunt explained that her heart was too big for her body to contain, and that's why it stopped.
Is it possible that she knew somehow, consciously or subconsciously, that she would live a short life and that she had to live it to the brink?
I've been wondering this for a while.
A friend of mine lost her daughter to a brain tumor at the age of nine. This little girl was not bothered by the issues that plague most little kids, she didn't cry when she didn't get the toy she wanted, she didn't pout when things didn't go her way. She was kind, and loving and could never grasp why anyone would ever be mad at anyone for any reason because there is too much goodness in the world, too many reasons to be happy. She seemed more in tune with emotions and had words of wisdom that couldn't have possibly come from her own experiences.
She would also constantly ask her mother "how old will you be when I die?"
At the time, these questions just seemed bizarre and macabre. But in hindsight...
I asked my friend once if she thought her daughter knew she only had a short life to live and that's why she jammed so much happiness into it.
"I hope not", she replied. "I could never be ok with the notion that my daughter always knew she would die"
But for me? I find it comforting. At least that if they somehow knew, even if it was within the depths of their souls that they could only hear as faint whisper, they were made aware of their untimely doom and given the opportunity to seize what brief time they had.
The other thought I've had racing through my head is one that we all have when faced with death in whatever capacity.
When you die, what will people say about you? Will you be happy with your story when the last chapter is written?
If I were to die tomorrow I'm confident that people would talk about my humor, my independence, my desire to go gently against the grain. Doing what I did because it made me happy, not because I was supposed to do it. But mostly, that I loved fiercely and cherished the ones I loved explicitly.
It forced me to acknowledge that I am happy with myself, my life.
What will people say at your eulogy? Tell me with explicit truth, don't be afraid of coming across cocky or arrogant, what are the things people will remember about you?
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
For about a year now I have preempted every holiday, vacation, or anything that could possibly be taken as celebratory with this statement for Jeff-
"Do not ask me to marry you. I'm not ready yet."
Understandably fed-up, Jeff eventually told me, "ya know what? You have to ask me. Since you're the one who isn't ready, you ask me when you're ready."
So on Saturday night, I did.
and he said yes.
he also said he was joking about me asking him, but I asked him. I'm never one to do things by the books, anyway.
He had a really really old crappy lap top so I bought him a new one and wrote on the wall paper - "Jeff, will you marry me?"
Sunday, August 3, 2008
I just accidentally stole a pair of shoes from Target. I was purchasing several things including a top, a pair of shoes, some food and scrap booking items. I was shooting the shit with the cashier, talking about the shirt I just bought, how she loves it and wears it all the time, paid the 30 dollars and walked out to my car.
"Wow," I thought to myself. "I never go into Target and spend 30 dollars. That's got to be a first. I can't think of a single time I've ever done that because usually I get trapped in all of the awesomeness that is Target and spend...wait...these shoes alone were 30 dollars."
Checked my receipt and sure enough - no shoes.
But wait people! As I sat here writing this I started thinking about the receipt and how it still didn't add up. She didn't charge me for a 15 dollar pack of scrap booking paper either.
At first I thought it might have been an accident, but it can't be. She couldn't have forgotten to ring up a pair of shoes and a big ass pack of paper but remembered to put them in a bag.
So, my ethical and moral alarms are ringing. Faintly. But they are ringing and I try not to ignore those. So, I sat for a second and thought if I should go back and pay for the shoes. (And now, the paper). I didn't. I don't really have the money to spend on them but I did make the decision to buy them anyway, and I was too busy chatting it up to realize that the amount she had told me to pay was less than half of what I was purchasing. It's not like she told me 30 dollars, and I thought to myself "that's not right, but I better not say anything at all". She said 30 dollars and I said "here is a 20 and here is a 10, good day ma'lady". (I'm paraphrasing).
So is this stealing if it's an accident?
Do you think check out lady, who's name tag read was "new team worker" or something like that, did it on purpose?
Should I even be torn over 45 dollars of merchandise that Target won't be receiving?
Thoughts, people. Thoughts.
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
Ok, so when I said that moving to Tampa and starting school wouldn't change anything about my blog except maybe the topic matter I failed to consider two things.
1) My day goes like this -
- wake up
- get dressed
- go to school
- get very stressed
- drive home in terrible traffic
- attempt to de-stress
- go to bed
- wash, rinse, repeat
2) because that is my day, I don't really have time for anything interesting to happen to me and I don't have time to write, but I also have nothing to write about. I mean, I shouldn't be apologizing for not writing in my blog but I really like my blog. And I really like the blogs I used to read on a regular basis and now I feel like I'm so far behind I just don't even know how to catch up.
Anyway...so Joanna told me just to "do one of those rants that you do"
Ok, fine. Here's a rant for you.
Why are so many celebrities having twins these days? This seems like a major conspiracy. Seriously. 1.9% of the worlds population are twins. And of that population, only 8% of those are identical twins (.2% of the world population). So doesn't it seem suspicious that Julia Roberts, Marcia Cross, Patrick Dempsy, P-Diddy, Dianna Krall, Nancy Grace, Genna Davis, Dennis Quaid, Jennifer Lopez, Angelina Jolie and now Rebecca Romijn (along with some other b-list celebrities who I either didn't know who they were or didn't feel like they were worth noting) all have or are having twins...only since 2004!
Ok, lets say that you knew 20 different people of different ages, ethnicity's and backgrounds and then 11 of them (not including couples...just one person) gets pregnant with twins in a 4 year time span. That's insane, and nearly statistically impossible. I don't know anything about statistics but I'm sure it has to be some kind of impossibility.
But, you might say, just because they're all famous, that doesn't mean they know each other so comparing them to a group of people that you know (assuming that they know each other, as well) doesn't work. Ok, so lets say there is this office building, all of these people work for the same company. This company's name is Hollywood. And then, bam- twins. Bam - twins. Bam - twins. Maybe it's something they're putting in the office water cooler.
It's like babies used to be the cool accessory and now 2 babies at one time are the new accessory and with unlimited funds and the best fertility doctors in sunny California...your dream of giving birth to adorable best friends can now be yours! Don't go the Britney Spears route, popping them out an entire 10 months apart! Let us create them for you in a dish and stick them in your uterus, whether you're having trouble conceiving or not! Twins, way better than just one! And think about the press you'll get!
Monday, July 14, 2008
TRAVEL WITH RAUNCHY LEONCIE TO EXOTIC PLACES.RELAX AND HAVE STRESSLESS,RAUNCHY FUN
Posted by Sarah at 3:40 PM
Saturday, July 12, 2008
I'm wondering why I neglected to consider the possibilities of horribleness that would ensue when 13 women are put in a room for 8 hours a day, 5 days in a row. I guess I thought because I'm a more mature person that everyone else should follow suit. I mean, hello people, I've reached a reasonable maturity level...so...I mean, catch up here!
But holy goodness the cattiness, the 2 facedness, the talking behind peoples back and then the talking about the person who was talking behind the back. And I wish I could say that it stayed amongst the student. Nu uh, the educators are playing this game too. There are simply not enough people in the class to be ostracising yourself by the third week!
This is worse than sorority drama...but I would imagine it's because I didn't have to sit in a small room with a dozen of my sorority sisters for such long periods of time day after day, I'm sure under those circumstances the notch would be raised to unfathomable heights.
But anyway, we literally had to write down every thing we liked and disliked about every other person in the class. See what I mean, the teachers instigate this.
Is it February yet?
Posted by Sarah at 6:16 PM
Tuesday, July 8, 2008
My mom had a hair appointment today at 2pm.
It's 8:45...shes still there.
This better be the most amazing hair cut of all time, because...whoa.
Posted by Sarah at 8:44 PM
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
Every where I go, I see a billion mattress stores. I see 10 mattress commercials in a half hour television show. I hear catchy mattress jingles on the radio.
Mattress Firm, Mattress Giant, Mattress One, Sleep Number, Temperpedic...and that doesn't even count department stores and furniture stores that devote entire departments to the sales of mattresses.
Of course there are other things that I'm used to seeing en masse; fast food restaurants, gas stations, drug stores, but these stores all sale things that we buy on a fairly regular basis.
How often do people buy mattresses?
Of all of the people that I know closely enough to have intimate knowledge of their mattresses, I can say with some certainty that my parents were the last people I know to buy brand new mattresses...and that was five years ago. In fact, its common place, at least among the people I know, for them to have 10 to 20 year old mattresses. I think that's disgusting, and terribly uncomfortable but not everyone is as much of a princess as I am. I can also say with confidence that people will go out of their way to not buy a mattress. For instance, my dad who has been sleeping on an inflatable bed for the past year and a half (I know, this seems terribly contradictory to the fact that my parents have a nice, newish bed but I've never explained how my dad works in Memphis and flies home to Tampa every weekend - hence, the inflata-bed)
Seriously. Can you think of anything one might buy less often than a mattress? A car maybe? A house? Even those are debatable.
How do mattress stores sustain themselves? In Tampa alone there are 25 Mattress Firms. If you combined all of the stores in all of the city that sell mattresses, 25 seems like too many. 25 stores of just one of the chains? What am I missing here?
Who is buying all of these damn mattresses?!?!
Sunday, June 22, 2008
My birthdays suck. I can tell you a story about every one of my birthdays starting when I was 3 and my mom forgot to bring me to my own birthday party up until the crescendo at age 20 when my parents and brother and sister went on a family vacation and didn't even bother to tell me about it, let alone invite me and then the guy I thought I was dating through a "Fuck You Sarah" Party...all on my birthday. Also, see this story.
Seriously, I can make people cry by the end.
Birthday 21 was awesome. birthday 22 wasn't great, but it wasn't terrible, but they both still were extremely anxiety laced. How, I flooded my mind, will karma rear its ugly head and make this years birthday worse than last? So no matter how hard I tried to convince myself that it was just another stupid day that if I ignore will go away quickly, my birthdays have been, for a very long time, emotionally wrenching.
I went to bed last night, exhausted from my first week of school and at peace, hardly even thinking about my birthday.
I woke up this morning with no expectations, no fears that I would be let down. I just was.
Sure, I don't really have that "I'm so excited it's my birthday! Yay! Yay! Why can't the waitress notice that it's my birthday and ask me about it?!?! Yay! Birthday!" feeling, but that's a good thing. It's part of why I'm not anxious or having a bad day...I have finally let go of my birthday. For good and bad. It feels like nothing and for that I am grateful.
Posted by Sarah at 5:30 PM
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
First day of class today. It was, ya know, first day. Orientation type stuff, these are the rules type stuff, also, I'm pretty sure you guys are all 12 so lets do busy work and go over the mission statement 20 times because I'm not sure if you can really comprehend the mission statement of a salon academy type stuff.
Tomorrow should be better because today was sitting in a big classroom with everyone who started every program today and tomorrow will start the actual classes with just the spa therapy group (all 13 or us!) and we get all of our tools and lotions and goodies and wee! It's like Christmas tomorrow! Or, my birthday, because...ya know...my birthdays on Sunday! Yay! Text books! It's just what I wanted!!!
So, when I was driving home in the middle of rush hour traffic, sitting at the intersection for International Plaza (the big hoity toity to-do mall in Tampa) I was about to drive at the newly turned green light when I noticed an unmarked, out dated cop car was driving across the intersection. Now, it's not to weird to see old unmarked crown vics because when the police are done with them, they will auction them off. This one, however, was peculiar because it had lights and sirens on the top...and they were on.
So, he takes off and stops in the middle of the intersection to let the following items leave International Plaza without having to sit at the red light:
One (1) big chartered bus with no markings other than an orange streak
Seven (7) white "child molester" van with padlocks on the back doors.
All of these cars were unmarked.
They got to the next intersection and when faced with a red light they all stopped and waited.
If this were a work of art I would label it: Sketchy; Personified.
Saturday, June 14, 2008
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
In Atlanta now, finishing out the last leg of my road trip before I move permanently to Tampa and start school next week. I promise then that I'll be back in full force.
Memphis was great and included all of the ridiculous Memphisey things you'd expect like an over abundance of bbq, ducks in the middle of fancy down town hotels, bbq, Graceland, sweet southern hospitality, barbecue, beautiful weather and is now a bad time to mention that I really don't like barbecue and would be grateful if you ST OPED TAKING ME TO BBQ RESTAURANT BECAUSE I'M NOT GOING TO SUDDENLY LIKE IT JUST BECAUSE I'M IN MEMPHIS.
So yesterday Jeff and I were driving through Mississippi on our way from Tennessee to Georgia. Now, I love to break stereotypes. I like to blow peoples minds when I don't fit in the mold they've tried to put me in and, I am always hoping that people and things will surprise me when they turn out to be different then they are perceived.
I really had these hopes for Mississippi when we stopPed in a place called Peppertown to get gas. Peppertown instantly struck me as dirty and old and I was disappointed when we pulled in the only gas station and the mini mart, or, as it was called, the Minit Mart, was very very tiny and I was hungry so I didn't actually think they would have much for me to choose from. It was only slightly bigger than say, a baseball concession stand. I walk inside and holy crap, it was an entire grocery store. It was no Publix, but it was probably 5 times the size I actually thought it was. It had bananas and onions affectionately labeled "The Produce Department" and had deli meat in a cooler as well as buggies. I'm pretty sure those three features are what push an institution from convenience store to grocery store.
Anyways, the entire population* of Peppertown was in the Minit Mart, either as an employee, customer or loiter. Over at the only checkout counter the cute little cashier girl was fighting with an older woman.
"If you think you're so damn fancy then just move back to Tupalo!"
"I'm just sayin' that we've got a Walmart in Tupalo and ya'll are really missin' out!"
"Not everyone has the lllluuuuxxxxaaaarrryyyy of gettin' to go to Walmart whenever they damn well feel like so if you think you're better than us than you can just leave and never come back"
Everyone got behind the cashier and hooted at the fancy lady for being too hoity toity because she shops at Walmart of a regular basis.
Way to fall entirely into the Mississippi hick stereotype, Peppertown.
*Population of Peppertown, Miss: 17
Saturday, June 7, 2008
Yesterday my mom and I drove 13 hours from Tampa to Memphis with a twin bed and a lot of other stuff in the back seat. It felt like the beverley hill billies.
Some key points-
Puddles, my moms dog, made enemies with a guy on a motorcycle and a collection of orange flashing baracades.
I never knew that Birmimgham, Alabama was so beautiful. It reminded me of German mountain towns with nicer people.
About 100 miles or so outside of Birmimgham we saw a tin shack with "Willie's Boobie Trap Topless Bar".
My life is better now.
So, here I am with Jeff and my parents in Memphis. I'll let you know how bad ass Graceland is in a few days.
Wednesday, June 4, 2008
Sorry I've been absent.
I'm at my parents house so not much is happening, also, I don't have my computer so everything that is book marked and the like is hard to get to.
I guess thats it, theres really nothing to talk about...just...um...don't forget about me. I'll be back before long.
Joanna wrote this on her blog:
Just because you’re home in Tampa doesn’t mean you can slack off on your blogligations (see what I did there?). Playing in the pool and hanging out with Puddles do not count as meaningful activities to substitute
writing in your blog entertaining me.
I’m only doing this because I want to help you be the best
blogger person you can be.
PS - I just made carrot cake cupcakes with cream cheese frosting from (sort of) scratch. I also wore an apron, which makes me officially domestic, and also my favorite new oven mitt (thanks again!). Booya.
To that I say- fuck you, Joanna. If you don't care enough about the delicious yet nutritious berry themed 3 course meal I made you the other night to write about it in your blog then neither do I!
Just kidding, it was delicious and I'm pretty much the shit.
Posted by Sarah at 5:42 PM
Saturday, May 31, 2008
Friday, May 30, 2008
"Oh my god, Jeff! Look at this new shirt on Busted Tees! I'm about to cross the line of "Lost fan" to "Total Lost Geek" because I am so gonna buy it!"
"I don't get it"
"It says Drive Shaft, that's the name of Charlie's band"
"Which one is Charlie?"
"The one with the band? Called Drive Shaft?"
"Are you kidding me? Charlie, the guy from Lord of The Rings, the only rock star on the entire show"
"Sarah, everyone has names"
"I'm just saying, that doesn't help. They all have names on that show."
In college I got strep throat a lot. 4 or 5 times a year, 4 years in a row. Usually, people have their tonsils taken out when that's the case but I mean, whatever...I haven't.
So, I'm pretty familiar with how my body reacts to strep. I also know that when I was in college, every time I would go to the doctor for this they would give me 2 test; the 10 minute rapid strep test and the 24 hour culture. They would always explain to me that the if the 10 minute test comes back positive then it is in fact positive. However, it has a very high false negative rate so if it comes back negative, they do the 24 hour test just to be sure. I have never had a 10 minute test come back positive in all the times I've had strep throat.
With that being said, I went to the doctor yesterday morning with all the painful symptoms I have grown so accustomed to.
As the nurse is swiping my throat for the 10 minute test she tells me that yesterday she alone had 15 people who came in with strep throat symptoms but all of their test came back negative. 15 people!
"A few of them even had those white spots on the back of their throats, but their tests were still negative!"
Ok, I can see if 2 or 3 people come in with strep throat symptoms and it turns out they don't have it, but 15 people?? No way. No way in hell. And, I'm no doctor, but look, if you have white spots on your throat, you have strep.
So, she comes in, tells me the test is negative and the doctor will be right in.
He comes in, doesn't even look at my throat and says "test is negative, you probably just have the cold virus and your throat hurts."
"Well, could you do the 24 hour culture, please?"
"We don't do that here"
"But the 10 minute test often gives a false negative"
"I don't know about that"
"I do, and it does, see - here's my story..."
and I tell, him. I'm very careful to try and not hurt his ego because he immediately seemed to be on the offensive which really bothered me. I mean, he may be a doctor and knows a lot about medicine, but I'm me and I know a lot about me. And I also know that this test always gives me a false negative, this is not a personal attack against him. It has nothing to do with him. I wasn't asking for a second opinion, just a more reliable test.
He gets so ticked off, however, that he actually leaves the room and doesn't come back for five minutes. He comes back and tells me "ok, I find your story entertaining so I will write you a prescription for an antibiotic".
I decide to take the high road and interpret his comment as "I will entertain the idea that you might have strep" as opposed to "you're a fucking idiot and I want you out of here now so I will humor you with a script for drugs."
A friend of mine who is a nurse was appalled but not surprised. "It's not like you were self diagnosing yourself with a torn back muscle so you could con the doctor out of xanax, you wanted amoxicillin".
But here's the thing, this isn't the first time I've been in a situation like this. Unless it's a routine checkup to the gyno or something, I'm not gonna go to the doctor unless something is wrong and I'm either very concerned about it or I know I need prescription medication to take care of it. I don't want to waste my time or money or the doctors time unless I really feel like the doctor can help me. When I go to the doctor, I've done my research. I pay attention to my body. I know the difference between a normal kind of "this feels different" and a not normal "this feels different". So why is it that when I go to the doctors they treat me like I'm an a-hole? Because I'm prepared to give them a full run down of whats afflicting me? Because I know what tests don't work on me? Because I know myself better than they do?
I don't go on web-MD, type in my symptoms and come into the doctor and tell them that I have either a brain tumor or Alzheimer's because I've been having trouble finding my car keys lately. But I will look on web-MD to see if I can treat my symptoms from the comfort of my own home with out having to go to the doctors. (Ok, granted, I totally self diagnosed myself with strep, but that's different. I also self diagnose UTI's for the same reason. You just know.)
I will never stop being my own strongest advocate, and I'm sure I annoy the hell out of these doctors, but the moral is, a few hours after taking my first pill I stopped feeling like every swallow was a gulp of fire and I can feel myself getting better. I couldn't say for certainty that I had strep, but if I hadn't stated my case, I would still be in a lot of pain with a bag of cough drops and some liquid lidacaine, spreading strep to every one I came in contact with assuring them that it was just a cold, the doctor told me so.
Thursday, May 29, 2008
Yesterday was such a better day. Hell, even the night time after I wrote the last post was so much better. I guess I just needed to throw myself a little pity party so I could get back on with my life.
We saw Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull which I absolutely loved, despite all of it's "even for Indiana Jones this is ridiculous" ridiculousness. We went out to dinner and I ordered salmon (I hate fish) and ate half of it and was very proud of myself. I want to want to eat fish (got that?) and the salmon wasn't terrible. At one point in my life, I hated beer, but I drank it anyways and now I love beer. Why can't the same be true for fish?
Debbie Downer Jeff quickly reminded me that people don't have parties where the main point is to eat grouper, but so what. Dude quit trippin, you're ruinin' my high. (5 bucks if you know what thats from.)
I also might have made the whole "quitting my job" thing more dramatic then it actually was. My last day was supposed to be this coming Sunday...I just pushed up the date.
Yesterday I made a list of things to do, I got everything done on it. Jeff came home and I had made a delicious dinner of Lemon Thyme Chicken and Roasted Potatoes and then we laughed all night. Poking each other and joking and just laughing. Despite the fact that my head was pounding, and then my throat started burning and then...here I am at 6:30 in the morning, been up for 2 hours, waiting for the doctors office to open because I'm pretty sure I have strep throat and no amount of over the counter drugs I have in my cabinet, cloriseptic spray, throat lozenges, or hot salt water will make it stop even the slightest.
Despite this, this will be a good day. If I don't get put on antibiotics, you'll find me at the beach. If I do...you'll find me anxiously awaiting the 2 hour finale of the best season of Lost ever.
Yes people, I've really been waiting for this night for 2 weeks!
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
I woke up this morning in a panic. A panic attack to be exact. I was having a dream in which I was going crazy. Everything around me was constantly morphing and changing, I was doing the things I do in everyday life but nothing was working out like it was supposed to. No one else was noticing that everything was totally off, but everyone was noticing how I was screwing everything up. I was screaming at the tops of my lungs, begging everyone to help me, and all of my request were ignored, like I wasn't saying anything at all. This, of course, only emphasized the fact that it was me who was going crazy, not the world around me. I woke up when the panic attack transferred from a dream to real life.
It was a terrible way to start the day.
This after yesterday, where I had been up since 3:30 am, drank all day and had several embarrassing moments including running my mouth off about Jeff's mother, who I didn't realize was in ear shot, and the obligatory "Sarah has been drinking all day so its time for her to start crying" moment. I never reached a point yesterday where I was drunk, but it was enough to be one of those days where you swear off drinking.
The worst part about depression is that you don't see it coming. You don't say "oh, I'm gonna be so sad tomorrow that I'm not going to leave my house for fear of whats out there, so, I better take the proper precautionary measures now."
So, I did nothing today. Nothing except quiting my job so I wouldn't have to leave my house today. I opened my front door at 4pm. I had kept the windows closed all day and was under the impression that it was over cast and nasty. Imagine my surprise when I realized it was absolutely gorgeous. Breezy, cool, sunny. I was instantly overwhelmed with energy to ride my bike, so I went up stairs to change, where I then had the urge to go to the gym, so I thought I better seize this opportunity while my mind is still eager.
I got to the gym and it was so crowded. This is not my normal gym time. I am not a crowd person, especially on panic attack days. I get on the only available tread mill and look out onto the crowds. I see three sets of women, all around my age, working out with their friends, thats when it hit me how lonely I am for my girl friends. Someone to shoot the shit with at the gym, to come pry me out of the house when I won't leave it, or to bring over some movies and join me.
The amount of people was too high and my fleeting motivation was too low so I stayed at the gym for all of 20 minutes. As an after thought, I stepped on the scale on my way out, which I never do.
Holy shit. I weigh 25 pounds more than I did this time last year. I knew that I had put on weight, that my clothes don't fit me quite right, that I haven't been working out like I used to, that I keep constantly finding excuses to eat whatever the hell I feel like, that I looked like a swollen chipmunk in that picture I had seen of myself a few days ago, but holy shit. This is bad.
This whole day is bad.
Sunday, May 25, 2008
I ate so much candy last night that it actually hurts to brush my teeth.
Also, I just ate a grapefruit that tasted like celery.
I'm fairly certain that these two things are related.
Saturday, May 24, 2008
I'm not a big fan of underwear. I only wear any about 50% of the time. (this is a huuugggeee improvement from a few years back when I wore underwear 0% of the time). The only place that I always consistently wear any is to the gym. If I'm wearing shorts I don't want to give the unintentional crotch shot, and ya know, it helps absorb the ass sweat.
A few weeks ago I bought these amazing workout pants from target. They're 3/4 length and made of the softest cotton ever known to man. They have a really wide waist band that only have a drawstring, no elastic, so I can rest them ever so comfortably on my hips without the feeling that the elastic is ever so slowing sawing it's way into my ovaries.
On Wednesday I was getting dressed to go to the gym and saw these amazing pants, sitting ever so patiently in the drawer.
"Are you going to wear me today, Sarah?" the pants said to me
"Why yes, Mister pants, I believe I will. Let me just first find some underwear..."
"Oh please don't!" Mister Pants interrupted "I love you so much and I don't want anything to come between me and you. You would be so comfortable without any pesky underwear".
"Well, alright. Just this one time". And off to the gym we went.
Jump ahead 20 minutes to me on the stair master. Step after step after step until...oh...oh no. Oh crap. My pants had fallen down. The only thing keeping them from dropping to my ankles was the fact that one of my legs was bent in a stair stepping motion, thus keeping them from falling entirely. Apparently though, the lack of elastic, the loosely tied drawstring, and the already low sit, mixed with the lack of friction that underwear would have provided meant they came off easier than Tila Tequila's clothes.
I pulled them up quickly, ran to the bathroom to fix the drawstring and then went back to the main room. No one was looking at me, or laughing, or pointing, or telling some random stranger what had just happened (which may or may not have been what I would have done had I witnessed someones bare ass on the stair master) so, I don't think any one actually noticed.
It took about six years but the underwear gods have finally proved their point.
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
This is a notice that I, Sarah, will be relocating soon to Tampa.
Is this a new development?
No. This is something that I have been planning for some time but have waited to tell you about because, well, I don't know. (See: Lazy)
When will the move take place?
Middle of June
Why are you moving back to Tampa?
I will be going to spa therapy school to become a licenced esthetician and massage therapist. Think happy and zin like all of the time. Also, think popping black heads out of peoples faces and poking them incessantly with little instruments of torture while they wince in pain. If you are like me, these are happy and zin like thoughts.
Where will you be living?
Whoa there! Lets not get to personal here! I mean...yes...I will be living with my parents for 9 months.
Nine Months? Are you pregnant?
Seriously, people keep asking me this. I will continue to kick you.
If Jeff moving with you?
Won't you miss him?
Terribly, but it's part of the bigger plan, and we'll only be 3 hours away from each other.
What does this mean for me, your loyal reader?
Not much, there will be no rise in fees and there should only be a slight lapse in service while I relocate. The subject of my blogs might change focus slightly, possibly having more to do with my kooky mom or the fat lady with herpes who wanted me to wax her hoo hoo, but it's hard to say because, well, it hasn't happened yet.
Thank you for your support and understanding and we look forward to continuing our business with you for years to come!
Sunday, May 18, 2008
...and looking for something to tickle your funny bone, check out the comments on this post.
Saturday, May 17, 2008
A lot of us have certain words and phrases that we only use in front of certain people, be it your significant other, your best friend or your parents. They're usually inside jokes and they wouldn't go over well in mixed company. For instance, I often find myself trying not to refer to Jeff as Sweetums in front of other people, or, weirder yet, I often find myself trying not to call other people Sweetums.
So last night, our friends Jason and Kyzandrha invited us over for some beers and Indiana Jones. Now, Jason is one of those people who has a thousand gadgets and electronics, so when the movie wouldn't play we were all giving him a really hard time about it. So, while he was fidgeting with the remote, trying to make something happen, he says "Hey Kyzandrha, go and eject-ulate that for me".
The room became silent for .7 seconds before every person burst into hysterics. It became obvious that this is something they say to each other, as a joke between husband and wife, but Jason went and revealed it to the world, and now I have a new favorite word.
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
I had to close tonight at the restaurant, meaning I would be there long after we actually stopped letting people in.
When I came home I was sad to see Jeff asleep, but had expected that.
I opened the fridge to get fix myself a late night dinner and there was a plate with big, fat seedless red grapes, perfectly and ever so delicately hulled juicy red strawberries, and slices of colby jack cheese. All of this saran wrapped with a note taped to it that read "pour vous". (this, by the way, is french for "for you")
It was exactly what I wanted for dinner.
Sometimes I catch myself staring at him wondering how I ever got so lucky.
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
Going out to eat is a privilege. It is a break from the mundane and allows you to be waited on, having all of your reasonable request fulfilled while a meal is made specially for you so you don't have to dirty your kitchen, make the food or even stand up to get it. We bring it to you.
We want you to be happy with your dining experience.
We want you to leave with a full belly and a happy heart after experiencing a delicious meal and laughter with friends or family.
This can't always happen, but we'll always try.
Sometimes you're in a bad mood, so there's nothing we can do to satisfy you. Sometimes the restaurant is really busy and it might take 25 minutes for you to get your dinner. Sometimes your server will screw stuff up because they're human. Sometimes the kitchen will screw things up for the same reason. Sometimes you'll order incorrectly or order something and not like it.
These are the risks you take when you go out to eat at a restaurant.
With that being said, servers make about 3 dollars an hour on average. 3 dollars. And on average we work about 4 hours a shift. That's 12 dollars a shift that goes onto a paycheck. How could anyone possibly survive on this kind of money? Because of you, my dear friends. It's your tips that make up our salaries. We totally and completely depend on you. This is why we'll always try to give you a great experience.
What is deemed as an acceptable tip is 15 - 20%. Anything more is considered exemplary, anything less is considered insulting. I've even got an easy trick for you; say your bill is $27.54. Count one dollar for every 5 dollars, rounding down. A 5 dollar tip is acceptable for that size bill.
Most people know this, but let me throw in some examples so, if you happen to be in the following situations, you can feel prepared.
Children: Children are always welcome. They are precious and adorable. Also, their meals cost 3 dollars a plate, and most of that food, as well as the crayons and any bit of anything they can get their hands on ends up on the floor stomped deep into the carpet for your server to clean up after you leave. It is not expected that you clean up after your children at a restaurant. Again, this is one of the luxuries of eating out. However, you should tip at least 25% knowing that your server will be on the ground trying to dig up pieces of french fries and cracker crumbs out of the carpet so she can get sat again.
Insisting on Taking the Bill: "Hey, when you come back, go ahead and bring the check. I'm gonna pay for it all". I cringe when I hear these words. 70% of the time the person who has offered to pay has not realized that everyone ordered a meal costing at least 15 dollars, had a few beers, and did you forget about that appetizer you got? They offer to pay because they don't think 4 people can do that much damage. But then they get the bill for $84.63 and suddenly they go into panic mode. This is more than they expected to pay. To make up for it, they leave a 5 dollar tip. Don't offer to pay for the entire bill unless you can afford to leave an acceptable tip. The larger the party, the worse the percentage is for the servers.
Side note: 5 dollars is not an acceptable tip unless your bill is 25 dollars, get over this 5 dollar thing!
Discounts: You got a discount on your bill for whatever reason.
Tip for the amount that your bill would have been without the discount.
Not Leaving a good Tip for you Server because:
You had to wait long to be seated.
Your food wasn't good.
Your drink from the bar was wrong.
Your blind date is an ass hole.
You're an ass hole.
These things have nothing to do with your server, please do not take it out on her by way of her tip because whatever your mad about that had nothing to do with her, does not get rectified. Don't shoot the messenger, ya know?
Going out to eat is a privilege. If you can not commit at least 15% of your bill in tip form for your server, don't go out to eat. It's that simple.
And look, if your server calls you fat or tells your husband that he can do better than you or spits in your food or whatever; don't just leave them a shitty tip, tell their managers or punch them in the face. But we work our asses off to provide for you and all we ask in return is a reasonable tip. We even leave a little line on your credit card receipt for you to fill it out.
Saturday, May 10, 2008
It appears as though I lost my digital camera after the Radiohead concert on Tuesday night.
Posted by Sarah at 9:08 AM
Tuesday, May 6, 2008
I worked a double yesterday. In between the day shift and the night shift, a few of us decided to go get some margarita. I mean, hey, it was Cinco De Mayo. Sure we had to go back to work, but trust me, know one cares if we're bringing food to your table a little on the drunk side. Like I've mentioned before, my restaurant gives us alcohol during our preshift meetings on Tuesday mornings.
So the only Mexican restaurant in our general area is a very fancy high scale one who was having zero Cinco de Mayo celebrations including a complete lack of drink specials at 3pm. So, we ordered many 8 dollar margaritas. When we were done we asked for our checks and he handed us just one, telling us that everything was on that bill. We looked. We counted in our heads. Whispers ensued. We looked again. Yep, he only charged us for 2 margaritas, a 16 dollar tab! Between us we had had six margaritas and two glasses of wine.
yes, i just made that word up. It will hear on out be used to describe the wonder of free alcohol.
Work came and went when some more of us decided to get some drinks at Fridays after work. Jeff met us up there and the drinking ensued. Five margaritas, one martini, and six beers later, Fridays was closing and kicking us out. We asked for our bill and he handed it to us telling us that everything was on that bill.
1 blue moon
= 16 dollars!
Fantasticism to the max!
Ok, now that you've soaked up the fact that I went out drinking twice yesterday, lets move on and get to the bottom of this. Several free drinks from two different bars? Both tabs being 16 dollars? 16 is the magic number, it appears.
Do you think its because they knew we were servers so they knew we would hook them up? Or do they do it to everybody? Because, seriously, we left them both 100% tip.
Sunday, May 4, 2008
Maleah, my little sister, is a such a picky eater, her caliber of pickiness doesn't register on most scales. Her diet for that past 19 years has pretty much been pasta with parmesan cheese and broccoli with Parmesan cheese. This girl used to tell people she was allergic to chocolate when she was in preschool because she thought someone would force her to eat it.
Well, now that shes in her freshman year of college two things have happened - she has branched out and started eating slightly more diverse food, and, shes grocery shopping for herself.
(By slightly more diverse food, I mean salmon and sweet potatoes. And because she never cared much for anything other than pasta and broccoli and cheese she never paid attention in the grocery store to learn things from our mom about produce and the like.)
Twice now Maleah has bought a full salmon with everything still intact. Eyes? Bones? Yes. How the hell do you not notice that when you're picking it out at the store?
But my favorite story is this; She told me that she had no idea what she should be looking for in terms of picking out sweet potatoes in the produce section. She felt like a total armature and was certain that the other people around her could tell that she was a novice. So for a few weeks she would pick one up, feel it around in her hand, look at it, but only so the other grocery store patrons would think she knew what she was doing.
She finally decided to take a stand. You're probably thinking that she must have just asked someone what qualities she should be looking for for a really great sweet potato. No, of course not. She decided that she would make up her own criteria for her sweet potatoes. So whenever she went to pick some out, she was simply search for the ones that were the most phallic.
And she no longer felt like a fraud.
Saturday, May 3, 2008
I'm an NPR listener. Its on when I get into my car, we choose the radio over the TV in our house more often than not, 70% of my conversations start with "Ya know, I heard on the radio today that..." I love the unbiased news, the interesting people and the wealth of knowledge that they selflessly give to me.
But my absolute favorite show is This American Life. I actually won't listen to it on the weekends when it comes on. I get it on podcast and, along with buying old episodes to listen to, will only listen to them in the gym. This insures that I will work out for at least 1 hour because every show is so captivating to me that I will not stop working out because then I will have to stop listening.
So of course when I heard that they were doing a live broadcast in theaters nation wide on May 1st, I went home and instantly bought 2 tickets, even though the price was kind of ridiculous. 20 dollars a person is kinda high, but when your radio show comes on public radio and your TV show comes on Showtime, I guess 20 dollars a head is the middle ground.
The idea was to show some upcoming stories for the TV shows, perform some radio stories, show out takes, and answer fan mail. I didn't really know what to expect because I had never done anything like this before, but I will tell you that it went above and beyond any inclination of how I thought it might pan out.
The stories they played were phenomenal, like a 24 year old Iraqi man who wanted to get a better understanding of what Americans thought of the war, so he went from town to town (mostly in the south) propping up a booth in public places (ala- Lucy from Charlie Brown) that read "Talk to an Iraqi" and just waited for people to approach him. It was hilarious, enlightening, and dreadfully sad in the same breath.
Or a story that a man tells often about the time that he and his wife were walking in NYC and she thought Jackie Onassis was waving at her, so she waved back, only to realize that she was actually waving a cab. And also...that his wife swears he was never actually there when it happened...told by way of a cartoon. Nothing short of brilliant.
Ira Glass even explained that, yes, Tory Mallatia is in fact a real person.
There is really no point here except that This American Life is such great entertainment and if you haven't experienced the radio program, the TV show, or both, don't wait. So, Ladies and gentleman, without further adieu, Ira is waiting for you.