Yet another personal letter, this time to a thief:

Dear Asshole(s) who stole my Obama sign out of my front yard,

Fuck you. We live in a democracy and I'm aloud to support candidates on my own property, and also? I paid for that sign. I can see why you might be so threatened by the measly Obama sign in our mostly white, upper class neighborhood of Carrolwood where Obama is a huge danger to your way of life. My sign is likely to persuade the thousands upon thousands of people who drive down our col-de-saq every day to suddenly change their minds and vote for Obama. Very likely. And if that happened? Holy shit! If your taxes go up to a reasonable and responsible amount instead of being cut because you make over 250,000 a year, you might just be aiding the economy and people who are worse off than you - and our country might actually get out of this shit hole cesspool we've belly flopped in to...we just wouldn't want that now, would we?

Or maybe you just didn't think my sign fit in with the rest of the decor. This is the view from my front yard. Honest to god. No joke. only 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.

So, go to hell. We live in a democracy and what I am doing is voicing my opinion as an American, what you are doing is immature and illegal. Because did I mention I paid for that sign?

-Sarah

P.S. I just went online and bought several more signs and had them rushed delivered even though I can't really afford that right now. Both for me and my one other lowly neighbor who had her Obama sign stolen as well. So, keep stealing, I'll keep putting signs out.

Something about hell and freezing and improbabilities and such...

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.

Michael Scott would be so proud

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.

You be Sarah Palin, I'll be her 17 year old Daughter...

fantastic.

Mental Exercise in Restraint

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...

...until now...

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,
-Sarah

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.

A Lesson in Pernunciation

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?

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.