Wednesday, October 12, 2011
Saturday, October 8, 2011
How It Feels
Cristina: There's a club. The "Dead Dads" club. And you can't be in it until you're in it. You can try to understand, you can sympathize but until you feel that loss- My dad died when I was nine. George, I'm really sorry you had to join the club.
George: I. [pause] I don't know how to exist in a world where my dad doesn't.
Cristina: Yeah, that never really changes.
Grey's Anatomy, really hitting that one on the head right there.
This has been playing in my head for a week, and it kind of says it all.
It's been a really rough week and a day. For those that don't know, my dad passed away last Friday, September 30th. I don't know if it's appropriate to post here, but I just needed to put this video somewhere, and all other social media outlets are too crowded and just feel like I'm waving it under all my friends, and also all my "friends," noses.
I don't know if this is something I will ever come to terms with. My dad was a great man, and I have no idea what I'm going to do without him.
Tonight I also learned my grandmother is back in ICU. She had been previously, due to complications from blood clots and coumadin. She's a strong woman, and I so hope she pulls through this. I know it's selfish, but, god, I could really use a break right now. We all could.
I'm not one much for prayer, but I know my grandmother is, so any prayers and any good thoughts for her are much appreciated.
Thank you, to everyone who has been there. You'll never know how much it means to me.
I love you, Dad.
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
We Got Person-ali-tay!
Remember that TV show I was excited about? Featuring the ever-so-charming Zooey Deschanel?
And how I thought the main character behaved, from the preview, like my college roommate and I spliced our genes together to make a whole new person?
Well. My sister watched the TV show at her boyfriend's house, and apparently (because I KNOW he does not read this blog) he came to the conclusion that Zooey's character is me. From this specific part of the show (I can't remember if this was in the preview and, let's be honest, too lazy to check):
My only qualm with the show is that her roommates seem to want to make her more normal. And to that I say...
More normal?! Hah! I scoff! Why would anyone want to be "normal"? What a drab sounding word!
Seriously. Weird girls of the world unite!!
Sincerely,
Sarah Lastnameomittedbecausehellothisistheinternet
Fearless Leader of the Weird Girl's United Front!
And how I thought the main character behaved, from the preview, like my college roommate and I spliced our genes together to make a whole new person?
Well. My sister watched the TV show at her boyfriend's house, and apparently (because I KNOW he does not read this blog) he came to the conclusion that Zooey's character is me. From this specific part of the show (I can't remember if this was in the preview and, let's be honest, too lazy to check):
Not that I've ever done that (I haven't!), but I do a lot of other weird things (without shame!). I still don't think I am quite on par with the character of Jess, but hey, I am certainly content with the comparison.
Someday I'll take a picture of my faux-"flirty" face and post it for your enjoyment, but for now, trust, this is a pretty good approximation:
My only qualm with the show is that her roommates seem to want to make her more normal. And to that I say...
More normal?! Hah! I scoff! Why would anyone want to be "normal"? What a drab sounding word!
Seriously. Weird girls of the world unite!!
Sincerely,
Sarah Lastnameomittedbecausehellothisistheinternet
Fearless Leader of the Weird Girl's United Front!
Monday, September 12, 2011
Remembrance
I'm a day late, but I still feel compelled to revisit where I was ten years ago yesterday, on September 11, 2001.
It was maybe my second week of high school. I was a brand spanking new freshman, sitting in my World History class, with a teacher that had a twisted sense of humor and a ski pole he'd bring crashing down upon your desk should you be caught not paying attention.
We were discussing the Roman Empire. As we looked at a map of Italy, my teacher told us their geography made it difficult for others to attack and thus conquer them, aiding in their growth as an empire.
To the North, the Alps. To the South, East and West, they were surrounded by water. An attack by land or water would be a hard thing indeed, and as you may know, air was not exactly an option then.
He then likened their geographic safety to our own.
The United States of America, protected by water to the East and West, and Canada and Mexico to the North and South made it unlikely we'd ever experience a terror attack, even, he said, by airplane.
It was after those words that there was a knock on the door. It was the tenth grade English teacher. He asked my teacher to step outside where they conversed in hushed tones for a bit, and when my history teacher stepped back into the room he said, "There's been a terrorist attack."
We all laughed.
We thought he was kidding.
He had, as I mentioned, a twisted sense of humor, and what were the chances that just as he said we were safe...the unthinkable happened? It seemed far too eerie for it to be a coincidence. It had to be staged...
But it wasn't. It was real. We sombered up quickly, though the whole situation was hard to comprehend.
I remember going to the library during lunch and watching the news footage on television. There were some other students and a few teachers there. I knew what I was seeing on the screen was real, but it didn't feel real. How could someone do something so evil? How could anyones hate be so strong? Ten years later and it still doesn't feel real. It still doesn't make sense.
It was a confusing and scary time, even from 100 miles away.
And now, from 10 years away, I know it is a day I will never, ever forget.
It was maybe my second week of high school. I was a brand spanking new freshman, sitting in my World History class, with a teacher that had a twisted sense of humor and a ski pole he'd bring crashing down upon your desk should you be caught not paying attention.
We were discussing the Roman Empire. As we looked at a map of Italy, my teacher told us their geography made it difficult for others to attack and thus conquer them, aiding in their growth as an empire.
To the North, the Alps. To the South, East and West, they were surrounded by water. An attack by land or water would be a hard thing indeed, and as you may know, air was not exactly an option then.
He then likened their geographic safety to our own.
The United States of America, protected by water to the East and West, and Canada and Mexico to the North and South made it unlikely we'd ever experience a terror attack, even, he said, by airplane.
It was after those words that there was a knock on the door. It was the tenth grade English teacher. He asked my teacher to step outside where they conversed in hushed tones for a bit, and when my history teacher stepped back into the room he said, "There's been a terrorist attack."
We all laughed.
We thought he was kidding.
He had, as I mentioned, a twisted sense of humor, and what were the chances that just as he said we were safe...the unthinkable happened? It seemed far too eerie for it to be a coincidence. It had to be staged...
But it wasn't. It was real. We sombered up quickly, though the whole situation was hard to comprehend.
I remember going to the library during lunch and watching the news footage on television. There were some other students and a few teachers there. I knew what I was seeing on the screen was real, but it didn't feel real. How could someone do something so evil? How could anyones hate be so strong? Ten years later and it still doesn't feel real. It still doesn't make sense.
It was a confusing and scary time, even from 100 miles away.
And now, from 10 years away, I know it is a day I will never, ever forget.
Friday, September 9, 2011
Falling Apart: I'm Doing It
Today I am falling apart.
Or, maybe, it isn't really today that I am, I actually think I've been falling apart for the last week, and today just seems the culmination of the gradual apart falling-ness.
I believe I have mentioned before that I wear compression stockings everyday. If I haven't, well, now you know. I am an old woman. That I know I've told you. But anyway, said compression thigh highs have crapped out on me. As in, their little plastic sticky bands that are supposed to hold them up around my thigh, have snuffed it, and fall most awkwardly in a pool of hosiery around my ankles. Often, in public. Why yes, I have had to hide behind a display of noodles at the grocery store in order to "stealthily" remove the offending garment mid-shop. I have also had to do this at work, only there weren't any noodle displays, so I just tried to walk swiftly to the bathroom with my legs locked together so the stockings wouldn't fall any farther. You can imagine this was quite a show of public awkwardness, even for me.
Well! Lucky me! I remembered I had a garter belt I had bought my junior year of high school for prom, because I wanted to feel sexy. They are bright, fire engine red. So now? I wear them under all of my work clothes. Which means you can usually see the garter clasps mid-thigh through my pants, especially when I'm sitting down.
I am now, officially, an even older old lady.
Then, this past Sunday, I reached down to scratch my leg after showering, shaving and moisturizing, to find the lower half of both my legs covered in huge welts. I had done nothing differently than normal, and was a bit shocked...three hours later when they were still alarmingly there (but hadn't spread or gotten worse), I became convinced I had some sort of Grey's Anatomy-grade flesh eating virus. I put aloe on before bed, and magically, the next day, they were almost completely gone. I guess it wasn't a flesh eating virus. However, I still believe it is a very good indication of my completely falling apart. Just another step in the process...
And today, thus far, as it is only 9:18am, I am a complete disaster. I attempted to make my friend's Chocolate Salami recipe for my boss's goodbye pot luck today. My friend had made it, it was DELICIOUS, and so she gave me the recipe. This whole incident is the reason why I usually try and resign myself to cooking, and not baking or anything remotely similar.
For those that don't know, you basically mix up this chocolate and cookie batter, form it into long log, or salami-like shapes, wrap them in parchment paper and refrigerate them for at least four hours. Then you slice them, and they come out looking like little delicious chocolate slices of salami. Good right?? Right.
Last night I prepared everything, successfully made the batter type mixture, and wondered, "Gee, why is it still kind of liquidy? I guess I'll put it in the fridge for a while and THEN try to make the salami shape." Only this didn't work so well. Slopping the batter onto the parchment paper, I quickly had to try and wrap up the paper so the salami mix didn't go everywhere. It was messy. Then this morning, after refrigerating them all night, I wake to find they are still suuuuper mushy. Not one to accept defeat or having to make a pit stop at the grocery store for a veggie platter on the way to work, I decide to scrape all of the chocolaty, mushy, batter-y mess into a bowl, and dump an excessive amount of cocoa powder on it to try and make it become a liiiittle, eensy, teensy, tiny bit more like a dough. I say 'liiiitle, eensy, teensy, tiny' bit more like a dough, because after adding essentially the entire contents of the cocoa powder package into the mixture, it still was a sticky mush mess. But...sliiightly more moldable. So I took to forming the logs, which, let me tell you, look a lot like a substance you do not often like your food resembling, rolled them in confectioners sugar (so this time they wouldn't stick to the parchment paper), rolled them up tight (ALL before work, while still managing to get myself dressed and ready and here on TIME thankyouverymuch), and have since stuck them in the freezer here at work.
Let me tell you, these babies better work this time, or you will find me this afternoon in a brown, sugary mess on the floor of the cafeteria, sobbing, and stuffing my face with my Frankenstein of a chocolate salami creation.
No joke.
Then, after work? I am supposed to be attending a co-worker's sister's wake. Beyond feeling absolutely terrible for her loss (I can't even imagine losing my sister), I am a nervous wreck about having to potentially go down a receiving line. I do not know why the Catholics devised this little bit of torture, and maybe it is helpful for those in the receiving line (and really I do hope so), but I feel like an idiot parrot saying "I'm so-and-so's friend/coworker/classmate and I am so sorry for your loss" over and over and over again. Because they are never small families. Never.
Seriously, I feel like I am hopped up on adrenaline already, in a nervous anticipation for having to meet her whole family and awkwardly shake their hands, while repeating my scripted chorus ad infinitum. Because goodness knows, if I stray from the script and try and get creative, I will say something so preposterously idiotic, her whole family will think I am slow and, possibly, even an insensitive jerk face. I am just that awkward in social situations, especially ones that are intensely emotional.
And after the day I have been having so far, I am fairly certain I should not be allowed near grieving people.
So. I am hoping that the adrenaline from this mornings rushed preparations wears off, and I can get my head on a bit less crooked (trust me, straight is never going to happen), so that I can be a tad more graceful at the wake, and have some form of tact at the ready. Because I want to show this woman support, I feel awful for the loss of her sister and best friend, and would love my mind not to interfere with the sincere emotion.
Anyway. Later, when I cut up the Chocolate Salami, I plan on taking a picture, for better or worse, so you can see the creation in all it's whatever-ness. Wish me luck!
Oh! and! The preview for the show "New Girl" is hiiiiilarious! I'll post the video preview for it here and hopefully it works for all! I died. Not only is she super awkward (yes, it is Miss Zooey Deschanel!) but she totally reminds me and of my college roommate and myself. Like if we melded into one person. (we would totally make a really awesome melded person). For instance, we first bonded over butt-jousting, inspired by bees. It's like real jousting, but with spikes on your derriere. And also, well, I talk to myself profusely, and Zooey's character sings theme songs to herself, and my "flirty face" is an abomination to all that is seductive, so obviously the connection is clear.
Or, maybe, it isn't really today that I am, I actually think I've been falling apart for the last week, and today just seems the culmination of the gradual apart falling-ness.
I believe I have mentioned before that I wear compression stockings everyday. If I haven't, well, now you know. I am an old woman. That I know I've told you. But anyway, said compression thigh highs have crapped out on me. As in, their little plastic sticky bands that are supposed to hold them up around my thigh, have snuffed it, and fall most awkwardly in a pool of hosiery around my ankles. Often, in public. Why yes, I have had to hide behind a display of noodles at the grocery store in order to "stealthily" remove the offending garment mid-shop. I have also had to do this at work, only there weren't any noodle displays, so I just tried to walk swiftly to the bathroom with my legs locked together so the stockings wouldn't fall any farther. You can imagine this was quite a show of public awkwardness, even for me.
Well! Lucky me! I remembered I had a garter belt I had bought my junior year of high school for prom, because I wanted to feel sexy. They are bright, fire engine red. So now? I wear them under all of my work clothes. Which means you can usually see the garter clasps mid-thigh through my pants, especially when I'm sitting down.
I am now, officially, an even older old lady.
Then, this past Sunday, I reached down to scratch my leg after showering, shaving and moisturizing, to find the lower half of both my legs covered in huge welts. I had done nothing differently than normal, and was a bit shocked...three hours later when they were still alarmingly there (but hadn't spread or gotten worse), I became convinced I had some sort of Grey's Anatomy-grade flesh eating virus. I put aloe on before bed, and magically, the next day, they were almost completely gone. I guess it wasn't a flesh eating virus. However, I still believe it is a very good indication of my completely falling apart. Just another step in the process...
And today, thus far, as it is only 9:18am, I am a complete disaster. I attempted to make my friend's Chocolate Salami recipe for my boss's goodbye pot luck today. My friend had made it, it was DELICIOUS, and so she gave me the recipe. This whole incident is the reason why I usually try and resign myself to cooking, and not baking or anything remotely similar.
For those that don't know, you basically mix up this chocolate and cookie batter, form it into long log, or salami-like shapes, wrap them in parchment paper and refrigerate them for at least four hours. Then you slice them, and they come out looking like little delicious chocolate slices of salami. Good right?? Right.
Last night I prepared everything, successfully made the batter type mixture, and wondered, "Gee, why is it still kind of liquidy? I guess I'll put it in the fridge for a while and THEN try to make the salami shape." Only this didn't work so well. Slopping the batter onto the parchment paper, I quickly had to try and wrap up the paper so the salami mix didn't go everywhere. It was messy. Then this morning, after refrigerating them all night, I wake to find they are still suuuuper mushy. Not one to accept defeat or having to make a pit stop at the grocery store for a veggie platter on the way to work, I decide to scrape all of the chocolaty, mushy, batter-y mess into a bowl, and dump an excessive amount of cocoa powder on it to try and make it become a liiiittle, eensy, teensy, tiny bit more like a dough. I say 'liiiitle, eensy, teensy, tiny' bit more like a dough, because after adding essentially the entire contents of the cocoa powder package into the mixture, it still was a sticky mush mess. But...sliiightly more moldable. So I took to forming the logs, which, let me tell you, look a lot like a substance you do not often like your food resembling, rolled them in confectioners sugar (so this time they wouldn't stick to the parchment paper), rolled them up tight (ALL before work, while still managing to get myself dressed and ready and here on TIME thankyouverymuch), and have since stuck them in the freezer here at work.
Let me tell you, these babies better work this time, or you will find me this afternoon in a brown, sugary mess on the floor of the cafeteria, sobbing, and stuffing my face with my Frankenstein of a chocolate salami creation.
No joke.
Then, after work? I am supposed to be attending a co-worker's sister's wake. Beyond feeling absolutely terrible for her loss (I can't even imagine losing my sister), I am a nervous wreck about having to potentially go down a receiving line. I do not know why the Catholics devised this little bit of torture, and maybe it is helpful for those in the receiving line (and really I do hope so), but I feel like an idiot parrot saying "I'm so-and-so's friend/coworker/classmate and I am so sorry for your loss" over and over and over again. Because they are never small families. Never.
Seriously, I feel like I am hopped up on adrenaline already, in a nervous anticipation for having to meet her whole family and awkwardly shake their hands, while repeating my scripted chorus ad infinitum. Because goodness knows, if I stray from the script and try and get creative, I will say something so preposterously idiotic, her whole family will think I am slow and, possibly, even an insensitive jerk face. I am just that awkward in social situations, especially ones that are intensely emotional.
And after the day I have been having so far, I am fairly certain I should not be allowed near grieving people.
So. I am hoping that the adrenaline from this mornings rushed preparations wears off, and I can get my head on a bit less crooked (trust me, straight is never going to happen), so that I can be a tad more graceful at the wake, and have some form of tact at the ready. Because I want to show this woman support, I feel awful for the loss of her sister and best friend, and would love my mind not to interfere with the sincere emotion.
Anyway. Later, when I cut up the Chocolate Salami, I plan on taking a picture, for better or worse, so you can see the creation in all it's whatever-ness. Wish me luck!
Oh! and! The preview for the show "New Girl" is hiiiiilarious! I'll post the video preview for it here and hopefully it works for all! I died. Not only is she super awkward (yes, it is Miss Zooey Deschanel!) but she totally reminds me and of my college roommate and myself. Like if we melded into one person. (we would totally make a really awesome melded person). For instance, we first bonded over butt-jousting, inspired by bees. It's like real jousting, but with spikes on your derriere. And also, well, I talk to myself profusely, and Zooey's character sings theme songs to herself, and my "flirty face" is an abomination to all that is seductive, so obviously the connection is clear.
And I will leave you with a quote I like, and the hope that I will update again VERY SOON:
"How to live a beautiful life: Stop living vicariously though others."
So true! Have a lovely weekend everyone!!
Friday, August 12, 2011
Why Thinking Things Through Is Never A Bad Idea
I did something...kind of silly yesterday. I'm now experiencing a little bit of what you might call, buyer's remorse. Mm.
So this woman I follow on the twitter, tweeted about thsis photographer on a website called kickstart. I guess you can create a sort of project venture idea ont he website, and ask for financial backers. If people like your idea, they donate money, and you can often even elect to have a sort of special "prize" that correlates to the amount you donated.
I watched the video this photographer put together, and thought, "Hey, that sounds cool!" And realized I could help support a fellow photographer! Well, alright, so I'm not yet a photographer, but the keyword here is "yet."
It excited me. The photographer's intended focus was on Lucha Libre wrestlers in Mexico. Again I thought, "That sounds neat!" And it does sound neat. However, I am less sure today that it is $20 worth of neat, as I was convinced it was yesterday. I'm one month behind on paying rent (yes, I live at home and pay rent - the glamour of my life isn't lost on me), and, hey, that's 20 bucks.
Granted, my donation will win me a small baseball card type of photo, and an original 4x5 print. I don't own any original photography prints, so I thought, "What a great way to start!" And the photographer in question is trying to raise $8,000 by next month. That's not a lot of time, and in the scheme of $8,000, $20 isn't really all that much. And he only had 3 backers when I saw the page. Of course, two of the three backers had donated a thousand dollars each. The third had donated a mere $20 like myself. So I felt like I was doing good in supporting art! But now...now I kind of wish I had either waited, when, say, I had finally paid rent (and my car insurance, and both of my student loans), or just donated, like, $5...because you could donate any amount down to $1.
Apparently, sometimes my heart gets a tad bit more generous than my brain and bullies it into submission. And then my poor wallet pretty much gets the shaft out of the deal.
I think I am going to have to instate a new shopping policy going forward: Wait a day, and if it still seems like a good idea tomorrow, then spend your hard earned money on whatever foolish thing has tickled your fancy.
I promise, waiting won't actually kill you. It might actually help you gain some perspective, and maybe even be the trick to remind you, "Oh, right, I'm saving up to buy my own dSLR, maybe I should redirect that twenty to my camera fund. Huh. Glad I thought of that!"
BEFORE you spend it on photos of Mexican wrestlers*.
*Which, I am sure, will be awesome. But...still. Mexican Wrestlers? Or my very own dSLR? I know, very difficult decision. *cough*
So this woman I follow on the twitter, tweeted about thsis photographer on a website called kickstart. I guess you can create a sort of project venture idea ont he website, and ask for financial backers. If people like your idea, they donate money, and you can often even elect to have a sort of special "prize" that correlates to the amount you donated.
I watched the video this photographer put together, and thought, "Hey, that sounds cool!" And realized I could help support a fellow photographer! Well, alright, so I'm not yet a photographer, but the keyword here is "yet."
It excited me. The photographer's intended focus was on Lucha Libre wrestlers in Mexico. Again I thought, "That sounds neat!" And it does sound neat. However, I am less sure today that it is $20 worth of neat, as I was convinced it was yesterday. I'm one month behind on paying rent (yes, I live at home and pay rent - the glamour of my life isn't lost on me), and, hey, that's 20 bucks.
Granted, my donation will win me a small baseball card type of photo, and an original 4x5 print. I don't own any original photography prints, so I thought, "What a great way to start!" And the photographer in question is trying to raise $8,000 by next month. That's not a lot of time, and in the scheme of $8,000, $20 isn't really all that much. And he only had 3 backers when I saw the page. Of course, two of the three backers had donated a thousand dollars each. The third had donated a mere $20 like myself. So I felt like I was doing good in supporting art! But now...now I kind of wish I had either waited, when, say, I had finally paid rent (and my car insurance, and both of my student loans), or just donated, like, $5...because you could donate any amount down to $1.
Apparently, sometimes my heart gets a tad bit more generous than my brain and bullies it into submission. And then my poor wallet pretty much gets the shaft out of the deal.
I think I am going to have to instate a new shopping policy going forward: Wait a day, and if it still seems like a good idea tomorrow, then spend your hard earned money on whatever foolish thing has tickled your fancy.
I promise, waiting won't actually kill you. It might actually help you gain some perspective, and maybe even be the trick to remind you, "Oh, right, I'm saving up to buy my own dSLR, maybe I should redirect that twenty to my camera fund. Huh. Glad I thought of that!"
BEFORE you spend it on photos of Mexican wrestlers*.
*Which, I am sure, will be awesome. But...still. Mexican Wrestlers? Or my very own dSLR? I know, very difficult decision. *cough*
Tuesday, August 9, 2011
Monkey On My Back
My new work schedule/duties and seriously cramping my style. And by style, I really mean procrastination. I figured I should be honest and not mince words, here. We're all friends, right?? Right. Now that that's settled...
Instead of working til 4:30pm as I usually do, I must now stay til 5pm. Waah, waaah, Sarah. Cry us a river! Alright, alright let's not get testy! I was somewhat spoiled, yes. I can admit it. And yes, it is only a half hour. But it really makes a difference in my after-work goings on. I miss 4:30! Instead, now, I sit at my desk and watch it fly by, like an all first class jet to paradise. And let's not discuss the rush hour traffic. I never realized just how important those 30 minutes are in beating home all of the crazy whack-o's out on the road! Driving home at 5pm literally feels like someone just dropped me into a den of starved lions. Needless to say, I am not a fan.
Otherwise, the amount of work I have? Leaves me pretty much feeling like this (yes, I WAS going to post it in here properly, but, alas, my browser here at work is SO out of date that nothing works properly, including blogger. So...enjoy that link! Sigh. I'll try and remember to fix it when I get home!) :
http://www.myeasytlcsystem.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/08/buried-under-pile-of-paper-original1.jpg
In other news, I attended my friend from high school's wedding on Saturday, and it was absolutely lovely! It was at this botanic gardens, in their orangery, which was completely made of glass and just dang gorgeous!
Highlights:
- Having my mom as my date (the only other girl I knew going was bringing hers as well so it seemed like a good choice!). We had a blast!
- Jumping onto a turtle statue in the middle of a long (and fairly deep) rectangular fountain for an impromptu photo shoot. (I was not the only one, and no, none of us got kicked out. phew!)
- The first song signalling everyone was allowed on the dance floor was Sir Mixalot's Baby Got Back, and the bride's mother ran out and dropped it like it was HOT. And it was. EPIC.
- The bride's father could get lower on the dance floor than me (maybe that was less highlight and more saddening when I realized older people are more limber than me? Sigh.)
I s'pose that's it for now? I feel it's been forever since I posted. Which is probably more like a week. But...you know, close enough. Maybe tomorrow I'll get caught up on reading my favorite blogs! Where there's a will there's a...pile of reports to file...probably...
Instead of working til 4:30pm as I usually do, I must now stay til 5pm. Waah, waaah, Sarah. Cry us a river! Alright, alright let's not get testy! I was somewhat spoiled, yes. I can admit it. And yes, it is only a half hour. But it really makes a difference in my after-work goings on. I miss 4:30! Instead, now, I sit at my desk and watch it fly by, like an all first class jet to paradise. And let's not discuss the rush hour traffic. I never realized just how important those 30 minutes are in beating home all of the crazy whack-o's out on the road! Driving home at 5pm literally feels like someone just dropped me into a den of starved lions. Needless to say, I am not a fan.
Otherwise, the amount of work I have? Leaves me pretty much feeling like this (yes, I WAS going to post it in here properly, but, alas, my browser here at work is SO out of date that nothing works properly, including blogger. So...enjoy that link! Sigh. I'll try and remember to fix it when I get home!) :
http://www.myeasytlcsystem.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/08/buried-under-pile-of-paper-original1.jpg
In other news, I attended my friend from high school's wedding on Saturday, and it was absolutely lovely! It was at this botanic gardens, in their orangery, which was completely made of glass and just dang gorgeous!
Highlights:
- Having my mom as my date (the only other girl I knew going was bringing hers as well so it seemed like a good choice!). We had a blast!
- Jumping onto a turtle statue in the middle of a long (and fairly deep) rectangular fountain for an impromptu photo shoot. (I was not the only one, and no, none of us got kicked out. phew!)
- The first song signalling everyone was allowed on the dance floor was Sir Mixalot's Baby Got Back, and the bride's mother ran out and dropped it like it was HOT. And it was. EPIC.
- The bride's father could get lower on the dance floor than me (maybe that was less highlight and more saddening when I realized older people are more limber than me? Sigh.)
I s'pose that's it for now? I feel it's been forever since I posted. Which is probably more like a week. But...you know, close enough. Maybe tomorrow I'll get caught up on reading my favorite blogs! Where there's a will there's a...pile of reports to file...probably...
Friday, August 5, 2011
Struck Me Just Right Today
“I feel that you should probably work for a couple years and figure out what you want to do [before college]. Like, if you were to go to college when you’re in your mid‑20s, after you’ve worked and things like that, you’ll put a lot more effort into the studies and things that you’re doing, because you’ll be focused on, ‘These are the things I want to do’ not, ‘These are the things I have to do,’” he says. “And if I wasn’t good at [flying], then I’d do something else. But I knew that this was something that I wanted to pursue, so I knew that I was going to put every effort into it.”
- "Joel Smith" from 100 Interviews
Yes! Yes exactly!
Don't get me wrong, I loved college. I made out like a bandit socially (seriously, not to brag, but I have great friends! I mean, they put up with me, and I don't know how they do that when I can't even put up with me sometimes), and the education was great, but...my drive was not. Which is a shame, at the price it cost me (and the resources available to me, had I taken more advantage of them). I absolutely approached it as something I had to do. I was away from home, with all these other young people, drinking for the first time ever, and just having a blast! The academics had to get done, but they weren't really what I'd prefer to be doing on any given day. And maybe that's typical...but I'm not so sure. Some of my friends were very driven in college. Or at least they appeared to be.
I really wish I could, academically, have a college "do-over!" now. Two years out, having a better idea of what I actually want to be doing. And putting all my effort into it. All my focus. I feel like I'd learn, and take away, so much more.
I suppose one could argue, "Well, that's what grad school is for!" But...I don't think I am on that level yet. I want a more solid foundation and base in what I am interested in now, before going off and trying to specialize in it. It's like skipping the training wheels and going right to the big, adult bike. At any rate, I'm not comfortable with that. Not when it costs so durn much.
So I'll make my way to what I'd like to be doing in my own way, and in my own time.
But, I absolutely agree with "Joel Smith's" sentiment. College would be much more fruitful, if not for everyone than for many, if we didn't go into it right after high school. If we had some time to think, and mature, and discover.
I would have approached my academic subject matter so very differently.
- "Joel Smith" from 100 Interviews
Yes! Yes exactly!
Don't get me wrong, I loved college. I made out like a bandit socially (seriously, not to brag, but I have great friends! I mean, they put up with me, and I don't know how they do that when I can't even put up with me sometimes), and the education was great, but...my drive was not. Which is a shame, at the price it cost me (and the resources available to me, had I taken more advantage of them). I absolutely approached it as something I had to do. I was away from home, with all these other young people, drinking for the first time ever, and just having a blast! The academics had to get done, but they weren't really what I'd prefer to be doing on any given day. And maybe that's typical...but I'm not so sure. Some of my friends were very driven in college. Or at least they appeared to be.
I really wish I could, academically, have a college "do-over!" now. Two years out, having a better idea of what I actually want to be doing. And putting all my effort into it. All my focus. I feel like I'd learn, and take away, so much more.
I suppose one could argue, "Well, that's what grad school is for!" But...I don't think I am on that level yet. I want a more solid foundation and base in what I am interested in now, before going off and trying to specialize in it. It's like skipping the training wheels and going right to the big, adult bike. At any rate, I'm not comfortable with that. Not when it costs so durn much.
So I'll make my way to what I'd like to be doing in my own way, and in my own time.
But, I absolutely agree with "Joel Smith's" sentiment. College would be much more fruitful, if not for everyone than for many, if we didn't go into it right after high school. If we had some time to think, and mature, and discover.
I would have approached my academic subject matter so very differently.
Friday, July 29, 2011
Gap v2.0
Since I've gotten on this health kick, I've lost all the weight quitting the pill made me gain and then some. This is fine (I can't say I'm not pleased my old favorite jeans fit again, but weight loss really wasn't the goal, just being healthier was), except now most of my pants don't fit. I feel like Alice in Wonderland, only my clothes didn't make the magical journey with me.
Which has got me thinking. I need new pants. The new pants I'd really like are Gap's curvy jeans. The only problem is the price. Not only am I cheap, but I'm poor, compounding the former issue quite a bit. I've tried going to thrift stores like Saver's to find the perfect jean, but it's just so...skim or miss. You never really hit, or, at least, I never do. Mostly because I have several necessary requirements in purchasing pants/jeans:
1. They MUST come in "long." I am a tall chiquita, and "regular" length just doesn't cut it. Especially if they accidentally get dried in the dryer. All bets are off then. My favorite jeans have suddenly been transformed into some horrible joke of capris, that all other capris point and laugh at and make fun of. Which is very telling, because, capris? Really? They're usually the bad joke of the pants world and shouldn't be doin' no laughin'.
2. Curvy fit. Now that jeans makers actually acknowledge this is a real body shape, they're actually making jeans that GASP, fit me! I no longer have to constantly wear a belt, which pulls the top jean fabric in, giving my crotch a less-than-desired rumple effect. I was going to post a googled picture, but apparently "belted jeans awkward crotch" isn't an effective search term. Also, it's highly likely no one has ever posted such a picture to the interwebs, because hey, who wants people to know they have an awkward crotch?
Those are my main criterion. Gap, lovies that they are, tick both these off with style and dark washes. If ONLY they were more affordable for my sad, pathetic, vacant little wallet.
This is when it struck me.
A genius idea, which should be put into effect IMMEDIATELY.
Y'see, a while back I got up in arms over stores like Victoria's Secret, H&M, Macy's, and MORE that would cut up articles of clothing returned to them, just so no one else could have 'em. Now, I could understand VS doing this to underwear and bras 'cause that ish is nasty. But $70, never-been-worn sweatpants? What a mother effin' waste!! I was irate. And while I've never bought anything more than their "5 for $25!" underwear, I vowed never to do so again.
I thought, "Why in the world would these big brand stores cut up clothing and throw it out?? Why don't they put it back on the shelves? Why do they throw it out at ALL? If they aren't going to re-sell an item, they could at least DONATE it, damnit!!"
But, apparently, big chain stores are like the big, sobby babies of the retail playground. They'd rather break their favorite toy than let anyone else play with it. I may be going out on a limb here, but I'm thinking those karma points you'd get donating those "PINK" sweatpants to some sort of shelter would be well worth the $70 loss (it's not like your karma cup floweth over, if you know what I mean?).
Anyway! There is a solution, methinks, betwixt all this selfishness and hoarding. Why don't you big ol' chain stores open up your very own second hand shops?? C'mon now! It makes perfect sense! You don't donate clothing to Salvation Army because you don't want someone else to make money off your product, and you cut them up before throwing them out so people can't dumpster dive and wear your ish for free. But, if you have your own second hand store, you can re-sell returned items at a fraction of the cost, still make money off your own clothing, and not be such big huge ugly wasters!! Because seriously, I would SO shop there!
And look, it's not like by having a second hand shop people would stop buying your full price merchandise at your normal store fronts. Nay! Many people get freaked out by second hand clothing, and others have money to burn and are kind of obnoxious about status and brands and what have you, so see?? We all make out on this deal!
You don't lose - people will shop full price, and what you would've just chopped and tossed
will now bring in money too! And I win because THAT means I could actually afford a couple pairs of your regularly $50+ jeans! And I won't feel guilty about it! Probably!
Hurrah! So! Let's get this sucker moving, shall we? Mama needs new long curvy jeans and her eyes are set on you, baby!
You can thank me later.
Which has got me thinking. I need new pants. The new pants I'd really like are Gap's curvy jeans. The only problem is the price. Not only am I cheap, but I'm poor, compounding the former issue quite a bit. I've tried going to thrift stores like Saver's to find the perfect jean, but it's just so...skim or miss. You never really hit, or, at least, I never do. Mostly because I have several necessary requirements in purchasing pants/jeans:
1. They MUST come in "long." I am a tall chiquita, and "regular" length just doesn't cut it. Especially if they accidentally get dried in the dryer. All bets are off then. My favorite jeans have suddenly been transformed into some horrible joke of capris, that all other capris point and laugh at and make fun of. Which is very telling, because, capris? Really? They're usually the bad joke of the pants world and shouldn't be doin' no laughin'.
2. Curvy fit. Now that jeans makers actually acknowledge this is a real body shape, they're actually making jeans that GASP, fit me! I no longer have to constantly wear a belt, which pulls the top jean fabric in, giving my crotch a less-than-desired rumple effect. I was going to post a googled picture, but apparently "belted jeans awkward crotch" isn't an effective search term. Also, it's highly likely no one has ever posted such a picture to the interwebs, because hey, who wants people to know they have an awkward crotch?
Those are my main criterion. Gap, lovies that they are, tick both these off with style and dark washes. If ONLY they were more affordable for my sad, pathetic, vacant little wallet.
This is when it struck me.
A genius idea, which should be put into effect IMMEDIATELY.
Y'see, a while back I got up in arms over stores like Victoria's Secret, H&M, Macy's, and MORE that would cut up articles of clothing returned to them, just so no one else could have 'em. Now, I could understand VS doing this to underwear and bras 'cause that ish is nasty. But $70, never-been-worn sweatpants? What a mother effin' waste!! I was irate. And while I've never bought anything more than their "5 for $25!" underwear, I vowed never to do so again.
I thought, "Why in the world would these big brand stores cut up clothing and throw it out?? Why don't they put it back on the shelves? Why do they throw it out at ALL? If they aren't going to re-sell an item, they could at least DONATE it, damnit!!"
But, apparently, big chain stores are like the big, sobby babies of the retail playground. They'd rather break their favorite toy than let anyone else play with it. I may be going out on a limb here, but I'm thinking those karma points you'd get donating those "PINK" sweatpants to some sort of shelter would be well worth the $70 loss (it's not like your karma cup floweth over, if you know what I mean?).
Anyway! There is a solution, methinks, betwixt all this selfishness and hoarding. Why don't you big ol' chain stores open up your very own second hand shops?? C'mon now! It makes perfect sense! You don't donate clothing to Salvation Army because you don't want someone else to make money off your product, and you cut them up before throwing them out so people can't dumpster dive and wear your ish for free. But, if you have your own second hand store, you can re-sell returned items at a fraction of the cost, still make money off your own clothing, and not be such big huge ugly wasters!! Because seriously, I would SO shop there!
And look, it's not like by having a second hand shop people would stop buying your full price merchandise at your normal store fronts. Nay! Many people get freaked out by second hand clothing, and others have money to burn and are kind of obnoxious about status and brands and what have you, so see?? We all make out on this deal!
You don't lose - people will shop full price, and what you would've just chopped and tossed
will now bring in money too! And I win because THAT means I could actually afford a couple pairs of your regularly $50+ jeans! And I won't feel guilty about it! Probably!
Hurrah! So! Let's get this sucker moving, shall we? Mama needs new long curvy jeans and her eyes are set on you, baby!
You can thank me later.
Monday, July 25, 2011
And Now the Final Frame
Today's post is going to be a bit serious, so if you're not quite in the mood for it, I'd advise you skip this here blog for today.
After hearing about the tragedies in Oslo, and Amy Winehouse dying, I've gotten a bit introspective.
This year has a been a bit introspective overall, really, but these events brought a sort of new wave of it to the breakers of my mind.
When I learned that Amy Winehouse had died, I told my sister as she was straightening her hair to go to work. "Really? Amy Winehouse died?" she asked me. "Yeah, I think it's so sad," I said. Her reply? "It's sad, but it's not. She did it to herself."
I guess I don't really see how that makes it any less sad. She was a person. A living, breathing person. She had emotions and thoughts. She had flaws and troubles. She was an addict. And addiction isn't as simple as saying, "Hey, you! Don't you know drugs are bad? Stop doing them!" "Oh, you know what? You're right! I'll stop this instant!"
That's just not how it works. I read a really excellent article about Amy and addiction by Russell Brand (yep, I was surprised too). He says, "Addiction is a serious disease; it will end with jail, mental institutions or death [...] Whether this tragedy was preventable or not is now irrelevant. It is not preventable today. We have lost a beautiful and talented woman to this disease. Not all addicts have Amy's incredible talent. Or Kurt's or Jimi's or Janis's. Some people just get the affliction. All we can do is adapt the way we view this condition, not as a crime or a romantic affectation but as a disease that will kill."
I really enjoyed her music, and fell in love with her voice. And now she's a part of that famed "27 Club." And it is sad. Whether it's just one person, or many, as in Oslo. I can't even imagine the pain the people of Norway, and the victim's friends and families are feeling right now. I can't even bring myself to finish reading an article about it. Death is sad no matter the cause, no matter the number. I have not yet made peace with the fact that we all die, that we'll all have our last day here on earth. That there are no guarantees in life, save death.
My mother was reading the paper this weekend, and read aloud an obituary that was rather striking. A husband and wife passed away on the same day. One in the morning, and one that evening. As much as the song drives me batty (an ex used to play it, so of course it always reminds me of him), I couldn't help but think that "they followed each other into the dark." And, though I don't believe there is an afterlife, that maybe that isn't such a bad way to go.
I turned 24 in January, and have been a bit nervous this year. Anyone who knows me can probably tell you my mind often gets the better of me. I think too much, and it digs me in a bit of a mental hole at times. I can also be quite the nervous person, so all this can send me spinning, unfortunately.
A few years ago, two people I went to high school with, passed away at the age of 24. I wasn't really friends with either, though one I had always had a crush on, and who was a positive light in my freshman year, when I was having a rough time, and was being picked on by another junior boy. His passing especially effected me. Even writing this now, I'm tearing up a bit. One passed in January, and the other in December of the same year. It was an otherwise positive year, bookended with sadness.
As strange as it is to admit, I have been nervous because of this the whole year so far. In my neurotic mind, making it to 25 will mean I've some how made it. Like that will somehow exempt me from death until my old age. As if this is the climb to Everest, and 24 is the Khumbu Icefall, considered one of the most dangerous stages of the climb.
I know this to be ridiculous thinking. I really do. I reassure myself when the thought pops up. But I still have this general feeling I'm carrying around inside me that I just cannot wait to be 25, like that day will bring me relief. No one else I've known has passed away at this age before or since, so there hasn't been anything to reinforce my self-made superstition.
I know, in all honesty, that my last day could be at any time. 25. 27. 35. 77. Tomorrow. But my mind's latched onto this idea like a rabid pit bull, and just won't release it's grip.
I recently saw a photo slideshow on a website of fashionable septuagenarians. They each gave a little blurb about what it means to be fashionable, or how they've cultivated their style. They all generally said things I probably could've guessed, but one woman said something which has really stuck with me since. The echo of it resonates in my mind almost daily.
"'To age is a privilege."
And I couldn't agree more.
I can't say with certainty that I won't panic when I turn 30, like we are apparently supposed to do (if TV and movies are to be believed), but for now, I feel like some sort of magical perspective door has been opened, and I can view each passing year in a new light. How great it is to grow older! I hope I never take it for granted again.
After hearing about the tragedies in Oslo, and Amy Winehouse dying, I've gotten a bit introspective.
This year has a been a bit introspective overall, really, but these events brought a sort of new wave of it to the breakers of my mind.
When I learned that Amy Winehouse had died, I told my sister as she was straightening her hair to go to work. "Really? Amy Winehouse died?" she asked me. "Yeah, I think it's so sad," I said. Her reply? "It's sad, but it's not. She did it to herself."
I guess I don't really see how that makes it any less sad. She was a person. A living, breathing person. She had emotions and thoughts. She had flaws and troubles. She was an addict. And addiction isn't as simple as saying, "Hey, you! Don't you know drugs are bad? Stop doing them!" "Oh, you know what? You're right! I'll stop this instant!"
That's just not how it works. I read a really excellent article about Amy and addiction by Russell Brand (yep, I was surprised too). He says, "Addiction is a serious disease; it will end with jail, mental institutions or death [...] Whether this tragedy was preventable or not is now irrelevant. It is not preventable today. We have lost a beautiful and talented woman to this disease. Not all addicts have Amy's incredible talent. Or Kurt's or Jimi's or Janis's. Some people just get the affliction. All we can do is adapt the way we view this condition, not as a crime or a romantic affectation but as a disease that will kill."
I really enjoyed her music, and fell in love with her voice. And now she's a part of that famed "27 Club." And it is sad. Whether it's just one person, or many, as in Oslo. I can't even imagine the pain the people of Norway, and the victim's friends and families are feeling right now. I can't even bring myself to finish reading an article about it. Death is sad no matter the cause, no matter the number. I have not yet made peace with the fact that we all die, that we'll all have our last day here on earth. That there are no guarantees in life, save death.
My mother was reading the paper this weekend, and read aloud an obituary that was rather striking. A husband and wife passed away on the same day. One in the morning, and one that evening. As much as the song drives me batty (an ex used to play it, so of course it always reminds me of him), I couldn't help but think that "they followed each other into the dark." And, though I don't believe there is an afterlife, that maybe that isn't such a bad way to go.
I turned 24 in January, and have been a bit nervous this year. Anyone who knows me can probably tell you my mind often gets the better of me. I think too much, and it digs me in a bit of a mental hole at times. I can also be quite the nervous person, so all this can send me spinning, unfortunately.
A few years ago, two people I went to high school with, passed away at the age of 24. I wasn't really friends with either, though one I had always had a crush on, and who was a positive light in my freshman year, when I was having a rough time, and was being picked on by another junior boy. His passing especially effected me. Even writing this now, I'm tearing up a bit. One passed in January, and the other in December of the same year. It was an otherwise positive year, bookended with sadness.
As strange as it is to admit, I have been nervous because of this the whole year so far. In my neurotic mind, making it to 25 will mean I've some how made it. Like that will somehow exempt me from death until my old age. As if this is the climb to Everest, and 24 is the Khumbu Icefall, considered one of the most dangerous stages of the climb.
I know this to be ridiculous thinking. I really do. I reassure myself when the thought pops up. But I still have this general feeling I'm carrying around inside me that I just cannot wait to be 25, like that day will bring me relief. No one else I've known has passed away at this age before or since, so there hasn't been anything to reinforce my self-made superstition.
I know, in all honesty, that my last day could be at any time. 25. 27. 35. 77. Tomorrow. But my mind's latched onto this idea like a rabid pit bull, and just won't release it's grip.
I recently saw a photo slideshow on a website of fashionable septuagenarians. They each gave a little blurb about what it means to be fashionable, or how they've cultivated their style. They all generally said things I probably could've guessed, but one woman said something which has really stuck with me since. The echo of it resonates in my mind almost daily.
"'To age is a privilege."
And I couldn't agree more.
I can't say with certainty that I won't panic when I turn 30, like we are apparently supposed to do (if TV and movies are to be believed), but for now, I feel like some sort of magical perspective door has been opened, and I can view each passing year in a new light. How great it is to grow older! I hope I never take it for granted again.
Amy Winehouse - Love is a Losing Game. One of my favorite songs, and I can't quite seem to get out of my head at the moment.
Friday, July 22, 2011
Jehovah! There, I said it!
So, uh, It's been a while, huh? See, you know, the thing is, at work here, we've lost two people. Well, we didn't lose them, so much as they left. That'd be really strange right? I mean this building is pretty big, but I don't think it's big enough to actually lose people. Though you could totally have a rockin' game of hide and seek. Especially, like, if not everyone's key card can get into a certain part of the building as yours can, then you'd probably most definitely win. I don't know why we've never done that actually? We've played games like "find the pipette," and "pin the other-sciencey-pointy-instrument-I-can't-remember-the-name-of-because-I-am-decidedly-un-sciencey on the target." So why not "find the people"? Maybe it dounds too close to "find the bodies" and that could give people the wrong idea. Also, if it was during work hours, it could be really awkward if you're hiding under someone's desk while they're still working. Especially if they forgot and then crossed their legs and kicked you in the nose. I don't think I'd like that game anymore. Hmm.
Anyway, I was going to post a couple times, but I realized they weren't so much nice posts, as me arguing at you, dear reader. Yes, at you. Not with you, or to you. Just at. And who wants that? I thought it was safe to say it probably wasn't any of you. However, should you like me to one sidedly express my newly found and articulated opinion at you like I'm some sort of vertical wind tunnel and you're an indoor sky diver, just gimme a holler and I'll be your girl!
I was actually going to try and go from here and shape this up into a real post, but my liesurely morning at work has given way to a Monty Python's stoning worth of work. Which, as you can imagine, is quite a lot.
So, that's it! The end!
Ta!
Update: It has recently come to my attention that I do not know the alphabet. Not only did I sing it incorrectly to a three year old (although, to be fair, it was the part that comes after all the letters I screwed up), but also, just now, in putting the stoning load of reports I have in alphabetical order, I put the 'R's aaaall the way after 'T' and 'W' before 'V.' I have officially failed English. Forever. I am shamed.
Update Take 2: I've also just learned I am not a competant skirt wearer. I haven't worn a skirt to work in nearly two years, but it's so daggum got outside I made the lack-of-effort today. Lo-and-behold I've been wearing it backwards all day. Life - 2; Sarah - 0.
Anyway, I was going to post a couple times, but I realized they weren't so much nice posts, as me arguing at you, dear reader. Yes, at you. Not with you, or to you. Just at. And who wants that? I thought it was safe to say it probably wasn't any of you. However, should you like me to one sidedly express my newly found and articulated opinion at you like I'm some sort of vertical wind tunnel and you're an indoor sky diver, just gimme a holler and I'll be your girl!
I was actually going to try and go from here and shape this up into a real post, but my liesurely morning at work has given way to a Monty Python's stoning worth of work. Which, as you can imagine, is quite a lot.
So, that's it! The end!
Ta!
Update: It has recently come to my attention that I do not know the alphabet. Not only did I sing it incorrectly to a three year old (although, to be fair, it was the part that comes after all the letters I screwed up), but also, just now, in putting the stoning load of reports I have in alphabetical order, I put the 'R's aaaall the way after 'T' and 'W' before 'V.' I have officially failed English. Forever. I am shamed.
Update Take 2: I've also just learned I am not a competant skirt wearer. I haven't worn a skirt to work in nearly two years, but it's so daggum got outside I made the lack-of-effort today. Lo-and-behold I've been wearing it backwards all day. Life - 2; Sarah - 0.
Friday, July 8, 2011
Hi, I'm Sarah, And I'm a Jessie J Addict
I am seriously and all encompassingly obsessed with Jessie J's music. As such, posting another video of her singing, "Who's Laughing Now," is pretty much unavoidable, and par for the course. Hopefully you'll enjoy it least one fifth as much as I do, since I'm sort of, kind of force feeding you her music. But I swear, it's a really really good one!:
Thursday, July 7, 2011
The Lion and The Unicorn Were Fighting For The Crown
I have some things to discuss today. Yes. I know this may shock you, being that it is my third post this week, but hold onto your shorts, because here we go:
1. A mouse ate all my nuts. A mouse ate all my nuts at WORK. In an OFFICE BUILDING. No one is safe. Especially not if you're an unopened bag of pistachios, or full baggie of almonds (which I had spent several days and a bit of effort soaking and drying):
![]()
Now what am I going to snack on??
2. Going to the bathroom at work. It's like a hidden, mini-social interaction minefield. Let's say you walk into the bathroom with, or right behind/in front of someone you know. You exchange pleasantries and then get on with the business you came to do. But what if, what if they continue talking to you from within the sacred privacy confines of the stall?? And what if you aren't the only people in there? What can you even talk about with someone while they're eliminating? What are the appropriate conversation topics in that scenario? "Wow, that's yellow today!" or "How about that conference call, eh?" No. You cannot change the fact that both of you are squatting and peeing or lord know what else, by the forced formality of talking about work. Just because they're both 'business' doesn't mean they belong together. And what if, GASP, one of you let's out a honker of a gas effusion?? SOEMBARRASINGPLEASELETMEDIENOW! I fully believe all communication should cease when one enters the four walls of bathroom serenity. It's like a church. Or library. Only very different.
Then, what happens when you're at the sink with someone, washing your hands? If you know them, they strike up some small talk with you. My problem here is where does one look when responding? Do I turn slightly and look directly at the person? Or do I talk to their reflection? I always get the answer wrong. I turn and talk to the person, and they continue to talk to my reflection, thus, neither of us ends up making eye contact making the whole ordeal rather awkward. More awkward than small talk is usually, which is really saying something.
3. I have decided to be less of an old lady. It will be a challenge no doubt, but one worth fighting for. For instance, my friend texted me saying her friends are going to a hibachi place tonight and would I like to come?
Instant old lady reaction: "What?! But I have to pack tonight! I'm going to the Cape tomorrow night, so I need my sleep, and to pack, and who has time for that nonsense?!"
Secondary young person seedling reaction: "Ooh, I love this friend, and foood, I love food! I like people! Let's meet new people! You can do both! Come oooon! Let's have fun!"
Then old-lady me scowled her wrinkly face at young-person seedling me, and went, "Humph!" in a resigned sort of fashion. And young seedling me did a happy dance.
I must water and nourish young-person seedling me, so that she may grow and blossom, and old-lady me will shrivel up and blow away in the wind! Of course, old-lady me won't go without a fight. She's cantankerous that way. And also throws a mean cane punch.
![]()
Or, in my case, the blue-hair and the partyer
1. A mouse ate all my nuts. A mouse ate all my nuts at WORK. In an OFFICE BUILDING. No one is safe. Especially not if you're an unopened bag of pistachios, or full baggie of almonds (which I had spent several days and a bit of effort soaking and drying):
Now what am I going to snack on??
2. Going to the bathroom at work. It's like a hidden, mini-social interaction minefield. Let's say you walk into the bathroom with, or right behind/in front of someone you know. You exchange pleasantries and then get on with the business you came to do. But what if, what if they continue talking to you from within the sacred privacy confines of the stall?? And what if you aren't the only people in there? What can you even talk about with someone while they're eliminating? What are the appropriate conversation topics in that scenario? "Wow, that's yellow today!" or "How about that conference call, eh?" No. You cannot change the fact that both of you are squatting and peeing or lord know what else, by the forced formality of talking about work. Just because they're both 'business' doesn't mean they belong together. And what if, GASP, one of you let's out a honker of a gas effusion?? SOEMBARRASINGPLEASELETMEDIENOW! I fully believe all communication should cease when one enters the four walls of bathroom serenity. It's like a church. Or library. Only very different.
Then, what happens when you're at the sink with someone, washing your hands? If you know them, they strike up some small talk with you. My problem here is where does one look when responding? Do I turn slightly and look directly at the person? Or do I talk to their reflection? I always get the answer wrong. I turn and talk to the person, and they continue to talk to my reflection, thus, neither of us ends up making eye contact making the whole ordeal rather awkward. More awkward than small talk is usually, which is really saying something.
3. I have decided to be less of an old lady. It will be a challenge no doubt, but one worth fighting for. For instance, my friend texted me saying her friends are going to a hibachi place tonight and would I like to come?
Instant old lady reaction: "What?! But I have to pack tonight! I'm going to the Cape tomorrow night, so I need my sleep, and to pack, and who has time for that nonsense?!"
Secondary young person seedling reaction: "Ooh, I love this friend, and foood, I love food! I like people! Let's meet new people! You can do both! Come oooon! Let's have fun!"
Then old-lady me scowled her wrinkly face at young-person seedling me, and went, "Humph!" in a resigned sort of fashion. And young seedling me did a happy dance.
I must water and nourish young-person seedling me, so that she may grow and blossom, and old-lady me will shrivel up and blow away in the wind! Of course, old-lady me won't go without a fight. She's cantankerous that way. And also throws a mean cane punch.
Or, in my case, the blue-hair and the partyer
Wednesday, July 6, 2011
Hair Raising Experiences
As part of my "going natural" campaign of sorts, I've been using natural shampoo and conditioner. This, however, doesn't jive well with hard water. In fact, it generally leaves my hair looking, and feeling, like this:
![]()
Proof of Robert Smith of the Cure's life long battle with hard water
When all I really want is for my hair to look like, oh, I don't know, this?:
![]()
I've been doing some research, and it appears my best line of defense will be purchasing a water softener/filter for my shower head.
Of course, this means I must spend money. This displeases me. Especially since, as I'm living at home, if the water filter screws up my mom's hair, well, sionara water softener! Understandable, but a total bummer, assuming the darn thing even works.
But I've pretty much made up my mind to buy one. I'll just be biding my time until my next paycheck, and perhaps when my mother returns from Vegas to just...double check with her. (Yes, my mom in currently in Las Vegas! I know, completely unfair right? While I'm stuck here in this dim, converted maintenance closet...ahem...). I'll let you know if it takes my hair from this:
![]()
Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice!
![]()
Shampoo, meet Robert Pattinson. Robet Pattinson, Shampoo.
![]()
To...hopefully, please-god-oh-please!, this:
![]()
Sigh.
When all I really want is for my hair to look like, oh, I don't know, this?:
I don't think I'm asking too much
I've been doing some research, and it appears my best line of defense will be purchasing a water softener/filter for my shower head.
Of course, this means I must spend money. This displeases me. Especially since, as I'm living at home, if the water filter screws up my mom's hair, well, sionara water softener! Understandable, but a total bummer, assuming the darn thing even works.
But I've pretty much made up my mind to buy one. I'll just be biding my time until my next paycheck, and perhaps when my mother returns from Vegas to just...double check with her. (Yes, my mom in currently in Las Vegas! I know, completely unfair right? While I'm stuck here in this dim, converted maintenance closet...ahem...). I'll let you know if it takes my hair from this:
Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice!
Shampoo, meet Robert Pattinson. Robet Pattinson, Shampoo.
The Flinstones didn't have to worry about hard water
To...hopefully, please-god-oh-please!, this:
Sigh.
Tuesday, July 5, 2011
If I Was A Blade I'd Shave You Smooth
After being all nervous about my long weekend away, I am pleased to report back it was an absolutely fantastic weekend, and the only thing I should've been afraid of is this ridiculous sunburn I now have on my legs!
I also learned I am completely off my partying game. I need to go back to college and re-learn this skill. Both nights I was practically comotose by midnight. It was a little pathetic, actually.
![]()
Me, though instead of clumsy, I'm just asleep
My body is so accustomed to being in bed by 10pm every night (yep, even on most weekends), that it literally just starts shutting down regardless of my wishes. And then it makes me cranky because it's being such a stubborn whiny baby, but does it care that I want to stay up and have fun? No, no it doesn't. It better get on my page because we're doing it again this weekend, Body! Hoorah!
So. There was much sun, much sand, and much fun! I missed my lovely friends. I wish we could do this every weekend. It'd be for my own good. I need to re-train my body that sometimes it has to operate on less than 8 hours of sleep, and it had better like it, damnit!
So this weekend I'll be heading back down the Cape, and I can't wait! This time I will try to drink more coffee for a boost, and keep moving so my body doesn't slip into a physical coma again. You have no idea how inconvenient coma's are. It's unbearable.
Now I think I shall leave you with the songs I have been obsessively listening to on repeat!
Jessie J - Price Tag ft. B.o.B.
Jessie J - Do It Like A Dude
Jessie J - Nobody's Perfect (are you sensing a pattern?)
And, finally, Grace Potter and the Nocturnals - Paris (Ooh La La)
There you have it! My ear-gasmic aural candy! I hope you enjoy!
I also learned I am completely off my partying game. I need to go back to college and re-learn this skill. Both nights I was practically comotose by midnight. It was a little pathetic, actually.
My body is so accustomed to being in bed by 10pm every night (yep, even on most weekends), that it literally just starts shutting down regardless of my wishes. And then it makes me cranky because it's being such a stubborn whiny baby, but does it care that I want to stay up and have fun? No, no it doesn't. It better get on my page because we're doing it again this weekend, Body! Hoorah!
So. There was much sun, much sand, and much fun! I missed my lovely friends. I wish we could do this every weekend. It'd be for my own good. I need to re-train my body that sometimes it has to operate on less than 8 hours of sleep, and it had better like it, damnit!
So this weekend I'll be heading back down the Cape, and I can't wait! This time I will try to drink more coffee for a boost, and keep moving so my body doesn't slip into a physical coma again. You have no idea how inconvenient coma's are. It's unbearable.
Now I think I shall leave you with the songs I have been obsessively listening to on repeat!
Jessie J - Price Tag ft. B.o.B.
Jessie J - Do It Like A Dude
Jessie J - Nobody's Perfect (are you sensing a pattern?)
And, finally, Grace Potter and the Nocturnals - Paris (Ooh La La)
There you have it! My ear-gasmic aural candy! I hope you enjoy!
Wednesday, June 29, 2011
The Way I Are
It feels like it's been forever since I've been on here! I'd like to report back with news of a fancy-free and funtastic vacation or other odd and strangely hilarious happenings, but alas, I'm tapped.
Since most of my recent posts seem to have revolved around healthy-crunchy gobbledegook, all in the vain attempt to make my skin a masterful work of art and not the textured red stucco it has been as of late, I feel the need to update you on my diet's progress.
There hasn't been any.
That's it in a nutshell. My face is still a little too vibrant and bumpalicious for my taste, and there isn't really any end in sight.
In fact, from what I can gather, since this is most likely hormonal acne (as it's root was coming off the birth control pill), I pretty much have the option of waiting it out. Diet isn't going to be much of a help, nor is slathering my face in chemicals (which I refuse to do anyway), as it's all internal, baby.
I will say my body overall has truly enjoyed this diet. I feel more energetic, sharper, just...better. Now when I indulge in something on my "avoid" list I can feel it right after. I feel super full and bloated (such an unfortunate 'b' word). Sometimes I feel sluggish the next day, and a bit cloudy in my cranial zone. So I do think what I'm doing is generally beneficial, but it can be hard to stick to my veggie guns when presented with juicy steak, wrapped in bacon, and covered in some sort of melty-cheesy goodness. It's disheartening is all. While this has never been about deprivation (that ish is crazy, y'all), and I've definitely eaten that which I mostly try to avoid, this realization kind of makes me want to gorge on gluten filled bread, sugar stuffed cookies and cakes and all manner of pies, make spaghetti and drink that damn tomato sauce, because, clearly, it won't make a lick of difference for my face.
But...I won't. My body feels good, better than it ever has, and so I'm willing to stick it out for my overall well being (minus the occasional loaf of Italian bread). (and bottle of wine). I have come to some conclusions though:
1. While bad hair days may be hidden with updo's and hats, bad face days are open for anyone to see.
2. Wearing a bag over one's head is not really an option, despite the common turn of phrase.
3. In times of need, one may repeat in one's head ad infinitum, "I am Angelina Jolie. I AM ANGELINA JOLIE," and one will feel mildly more confident in oneself. This is good.
4. To NEVER go on that horrible little devil pill, ever again. I mean it. If I could go back in time I would, and I'd slap my barely blemished face silly for even considering it. Then I'd slap my doctor's face for not painting a full and complete picture for my impressionable, "dr.'s-can-do-no-wrong," self. And then I'd eat a lot of chocolate, because, hey, why not?
For this upcoming weekend though, I'm having a bit of a quandary. As you may or may not be aware, dear reader, it's the Fourth of July this weekend. That's when we Americans pig-out on grilled meats from each and every corner of the animal kingdom, leaving no animal carcass unturned, in celebration of when we emancipated ourselves from British tyranny (which is somewhat sad, considering that if we hadn't, I'd have a spectacularly awesome accent right now). A sort of "Who's the top of the food chain NOW, huh?!" demonstration. At least, I'm pretty sure that's why we do it. I could be wrong.
![]()
Anyway! This weekend I will be travelling to a friends house, down the Cape, where many of our other friends will gather for our yearly meat-consuming-demonstration, only this time...I don't really eat meat. It has me feeling a bit un-American on this great holiday of ours. And as most of my friends are unaware of my strange new eating habits, I am less than enthused to enlighten them.
There's already talk of combining our monies so as to afford us the most amount of meat. Alright, so maaaybe other food products were included in that discussion (some of which I should be avoiding too). All of the food mentioned, actually, sounded mouth-wateringly good. I want to say yes. I'm pretty sure everyone else will be saying yes (and we all know the gravitational pull of peer-pressure is greater than that of the sun). But...I feel like a prissy, high-maintenance arse picking and choosing what I'll help pay for. And this wonderful fellow essentially offered to cook most of the food (at least it appeared that way in the email), and if I do pitch in, there I'll be, saying, "Ooh, yeeeeeaah, can we boil another pot of water? I want this pesto but gosh, gee, yeah, I'm not eating gluten, sorrry...but I have this gluten free pasta, so could you move over and I'll just cook it right up? Greeeat, thaaaanks. I'm not in your way am I??" That may have been dramatized a TAD, but I'm going to go ahead and assume you know what I mean.
I don't want to be difficult. Or needy. But, apparently, I am. I am one of those people I never thought I'd be - not that they're bad people. But I am them now. (Which is how I know they're good people. ahem).
Another option? Make all of my own food this weekend. Which is fine - I really don't mind cooking! I like it actually. I just feel like breaking from everyones daily menu will seem like I'm saying, "Your food sucks. I hate it and won't eat it. I am better than your food. Ha ha ha ha!" And...I'm not. I LOVE your food. I would like to make sweet masticating love with your food! I've just made a decision about my eating, and as hard as it has been, I want to try and see it through.
My game plan before had been to go into the weekend, not mention my flexi-vega-tarianism (translation: I eat mostly veggies, many/most of which are raw, with a side of cooked food, and a splash of meat/animal byproducts here and there) unless it came up, and work my way around the food, eating what I could. Now, I think I will be more direct. This lifestyle is a choice I have made, and there is no sense acting like I'm ashamed of it. I'm definitely going to bring some food (I want to contribute!) - probably a bunch of salad stuff, maybe make some quinoa, etc - and then pitch in for some of the other food too. And, when necessary, I'll stick my veggie-lovin' behind in the kitchen and modify the meals for myself as I need to. Even if It is the most potentially obnoxious thing ever.
I know my friends will accept me anyway, no matter how much of a hassle-faced baboon I am, because they're my friends. They wouldn't be if they weren't good people, so I think it's safe to say I'm putting the cart before the horse on this issue, and letting my addled brain get the better of me.
It's going to be a fabulous weekend, even if it is mostly meatless (mostly, because I'm dead set on having a tequila steak fajita. Thank you, Mysterious-Friend, whom I haven't the brain power to concoct a nickname for!). I cannot wait to see all my friends (many of whom I haven't seen since October), and go to the BEACH! Yeah baby! Sand, sun, and fun! Maybe it'll convince my face to lighten up and relax a bit, too.
Here's hoping anyway!
All I can do is "keep calm and carry on," as they say! Or don't say, but almost printed up on posters that one time.
Have a fantastic weekend!!
Since most of my recent posts seem to have revolved around healthy-crunchy gobbledegook, all in the vain attempt to make my skin a masterful work of art and not the textured red stucco it has been as of late, I feel the need to update you on my diet's progress.
There hasn't been any.
That's it in a nutshell. My face is still a little too vibrant and bumpalicious for my taste, and there isn't really any end in sight.
In fact, from what I can gather, since this is most likely hormonal acne (as it's root was coming off the birth control pill), I pretty much have the option of waiting it out. Diet isn't going to be much of a help, nor is slathering my face in chemicals (which I refuse to do anyway), as it's all internal, baby.
I will say my body overall has truly enjoyed this diet. I feel more energetic, sharper, just...better. Now when I indulge in something on my "avoid" list I can feel it right after. I feel super full and bloated (such an unfortunate 'b' word). Sometimes I feel sluggish the next day, and a bit cloudy in my cranial zone. So I do think what I'm doing is generally beneficial, but it can be hard to stick to my veggie guns when presented with juicy steak, wrapped in bacon, and covered in some sort of melty-cheesy goodness. It's disheartening is all. While this has never been about deprivation (that ish is crazy, y'all), and I've definitely eaten that which I mostly try to avoid, this realization kind of makes me want to gorge on gluten filled bread, sugar stuffed cookies and cakes and all manner of pies, make spaghetti and drink that damn tomato sauce, because, clearly, it won't make a lick of difference for my face.
But...I won't. My body feels good, better than it ever has, and so I'm willing to stick it out for my overall well being (minus the occasional loaf of Italian bread). (and bottle of wine). I have come to some conclusions though:
1. While bad hair days may be hidden with updo's and hats, bad face days are open for anyone to see.
2. Wearing a bag over one's head is not really an option, despite the common turn of phrase.
3. In times of need, one may repeat in one's head ad infinitum, "I am Angelina Jolie. I AM ANGELINA JOLIE," and one will feel mildly more confident in oneself. This is good.
4. To NEVER go on that horrible little devil pill, ever again. I mean it. If I could go back in time I would, and I'd slap my barely blemished face silly for even considering it. Then I'd slap my doctor's face for not painting a full and complete picture for my impressionable, "dr.'s-can-do-no-wrong," self. And then I'd eat a lot of chocolate, because, hey, why not?
For this upcoming weekend though, I'm having a bit of a quandary. As you may or may not be aware, dear reader, it's the Fourth of July this weekend. That's when we Americans pig-out on grilled meats from each and every corner of the animal kingdom, leaving no animal carcass unturned, in celebration of when we emancipated ourselves from British tyranny (which is somewhat sad, considering that if we hadn't, I'd have a spectacularly awesome accent right now). A sort of "Who's the top of the food chain NOW, huh?!" demonstration. At least, I'm pretty sure that's why we do it. I could be wrong.
Cape Cod, raising a fist to England, as if to say, "And don't come back now, y'hear??" Or something.
Anyway! This weekend I will be travelling to a friends house, down the Cape, where many of our other friends will gather for our yearly meat-consuming-demonstration, only this time...I don't really eat meat. It has me feeling a bit un-American on this great holiday of ours. And as most of my friends are unaware of my strange new eating habits, I am less than enthused to enlighten them.
There's already talk of combining our monies so as to afford us the most amount of meat. Alright, so maaaybe other food products were included in that discussion (some of which I should be avoiding too). All of the food mentioned, actually, sounded mouth-wateringly good. I want to say yes. I'm pretty sure everyone else will be saying yes (and we all know the gravitational pull of peer-pressure is greater than that of the sun). But...I feel like a prissy, high-maintenance arse picking and choosing what I'll help pay for. And this wonderful fellow essentially offered to cook most of the food (at least it appeared that way in the email), and if I do pitch in, there I'll be, saying, "Ooh, yeeeeeaah, can we boil another pot of water? I want this pesto but gosh, gee, yeah, I'm not eating gluten, sorrry...but I have this gluten free pasta, so could you move over and I'll just cook it right up? Greeeat, thaaaanks. I'm not in your way am I??" That may have been dramatized a TAD, but I'm going to go ahead and assume you know what I mean.
I don't want to be difficult. Or needy. But, apparently, I am. I am one of those people I never thought I'd be - not that they're bad people. But I am them now. (Which is how I know they're good people. ahem).
Another option? Make all of my own food this weekend. Which is fine - I really don't mind cooking! I like it actually. I just feel like breaking from everyones daily menu will seem like I'm saying, "Your food sucks. I hate it and won't eat it. I am better than your food. Ha ha ha ha!" And...I'm not. I LOVE your food. I would like to make sweet masticating love with your food! I've just made a decision about my eating, and as hard as it has been, I want to try and see it through.
My game plan before had been to go into the weekend, not mention my flexi-vega-tarianism (translation: I eat mostly veggies, many/most of which are raw, with a side of cooked food, and a splash of meat/animal byproducts here and there) unless it came up, and work my way around the food, eating what I could. Now, I think I will be more direct. This lifestyle is a choice I have made, and there is no sense acting like I'm ashamed of it. I'm definitely going to bring some food (I want to contribute!) - probably a bunch of salad stuff, maybe make some quinoa, etc - and then pitch in for some of the other food too. And, when necessary, I'll stick my veggie-lovin' behind in the kitchen and modify the meals for myself as I need to. Even if It is the most potentially obnoxious thing ever.
I know my friends will accept me anyway, no matter how much of a hassle-faced baboon I am, because they're my friends. They wouldn't be if they weren't good people, so I think it's safe to say I'm putting the cart before the horse on this issue, and letting my addled brain get the better of me.
It's going to be a fabulous weekend, even if it is mostly meatless (mostly, because I'm dead set on having a tequila steak fajita. Thank you, Mysterious-Friend, whom I haven't the brain power to concoct a nickname for!). I cannot wait to see all my friends (many of whom I haven't seen since October), and go to the BEACH! Yeah baby! Sand, sun, and fun! Maybe it'll convince my face to lighten up and relax a bit, too.
Here's hoping anyway!
All I can do is "keep calm and carry on," as they say! Or don't say, but almost printed up on posters that one time.
Have a fantastic weekend!!
Monday, June 13, 2011
Crazy Sexy Lifestyle!
Today is Monday. Which makes it on principle a terrible day to stop drinking coffee. The gloomy day, less than 8 hours of sleep, and frigid temperature aren't exactly making it a breeze of a transition, either.
But damnit, I'm trying.
I've been making my way through Kris Carr's, Crazy Sexy Diet, and am loving it quite a lot. I don't fancy the name of the book, though - in part. I'm all for being crazy and sexy! It's just that the word "diet" is synonymous with "weight loss," and that isn't really my goal. It's to be healthier. I find it unfortunate that so many people equate weight with health (though weight can impact health) to the point that everyone's nearly fat phobic. But I digress!
In Carr's book, she talks about caffeine in relation to health so convincingly she's managed to get me to abstain from my regular morning cup o' joe. I will still drink coffee on occasion - I love it so very, very, very much! - but I think taking it out of my daily routine will be beneficial. Well, hopefully. It may be beneficial to my health, though there's little in the book to explain how it may effect the health of those around me.
Just no one give me any sharp objects for the next couple weeks and I think we may all make it through this alive!
But damnit, I'm trying.
I've been making my way through Kris Carr's, Crazy Sexy Diet, and am loving it quite a lot. I don't fancy the name of the book, though - in part. I'm all for being crazy and sexy! It's just that the word "diet" is synonymous with "weight loss," and that isn't really my goal. It's to be healthier. I find it unfortunate that so many people equate weight with health (though weight can impact health) to the point that everyone's nearly fat phobic. But I digress!
In Carr's book, she talks about caffeine in relation to health so convincingly she's managed to get me to abstain from my regular morning cup o' joe. I will still drink coffee on occasion - I love it so very, very, very much! - but I think taking it out of my daily routine will be beneficial. Well, hopefully. It may be beneficial to my health, though there's little in the book to explain how it may effect the health of those around me.
Just no one give me any sharp objects for the next couple weeks and I think we may all make it through this alive!
Wednesday, June 8, 2011
I Think Anger Management Might Be The Next Step: Self Important Jackals Shouldn't Be Given A License
Can someone tell me, is there a full moon on the horizon? Because everyone on the road is driving like they're bloody bonkers today.
Furthering my dislike of everyone else allowed a license besides myself: An 18-wheeler was waiting on an off ramp to merge with the traffic I was a part of. The speed limit on said road is 45mph. Obviously I was doing 50. Seriously, I don't know what 100ft looks like because I am terrible at spatial relationships and judgments, but I HAD to be only like 100ft away from this honkin' huge 18-wheeler when he decides to "gun" it and PULL OUT IN FRONT OF ME. If any of you are familiar with 18-wheelers, you will know that 'gunning it' for an 18-wheeler is not dissimilar to a cheetah with it's legs tied together, frozen in a block of ice. I, per usual, was too shocked that anyone could be so idiotic, and fully focused on trying to stop my car before becoming crushed and wedged under this slow and foolish beast, that I completely forgot to honk my horn. For shame! I hate when that happens!
This foolhardy driver then apparently forgets he has brakes and that there are laws about speed limits, because the limit immediately drops to 35mph and he HAS to be doing 50, as I'm zipping along at 40mph and he's boogied way way far ahead of me! Guess that cheetah thawed out and chewed through his restraints. It was insane! Often there are cops on that road and I was hoping beyond hope that he would be pulled over. Alas, that didn't happen. I DID write down his license plate #, though, and am considering writing to the truck company about his shitastic driving! I just hate getting people in trouble...but seriously, his driving could end up getting someone with far less superior reaction times hurt.
Then? - oh, you thought this was over? - then we get to a light. The 18-wheeler is still in front of me, and there's another woman behind me. Right before the light is a road to the left. However, it is illegal to make a left hand turn onto that road. There are signs and everything. There's even a little traffic island that you have to maneuver around to make the left. But this woman? She's actually exempt from the laws everyday laymen like ourselves are slave to. That little traffic island? 'm not even near it, the truck is. And this woman is behind me. And we're at a complete stop at a traffic light. SO SHE GETS IN THE OPPOSITE LANE WITH ONCOMING TRAFFIC. She has to drive at least 100ft, and almost collides with a jeep. What the hell people?!
I also wrote down her license plate number. Not that there's much I could do with it, methinks. I can't believe anyone thinks they are that damn above the law, that their time is that important that they'll do something as stupid as that. If you had hit that jeep and and killed that driver, would you still think you and your time were worth more than anyone else's?? Drives me absolutely bonkers. I never feel such blinding rage as when I am driving. I never want to cause others physical harm (I even have trouble watching it in movies I dislike it so much), but the way people drive makes me seriously want to punch them in their faces.
Wake up!! You are not any more important than anyone else on the road. Whatever you have to do today is not more important that what anyone else has to do today. If it were, you'd be in a helicopter, bypassing ground traffic, or have flashing lights and sirens. Sometimes I try and rationalize and say, "Well, maybe that person's relative is in the hospital and they're rushing to see them." But sometimes, I just get the feeling that isn't true. And will it really help that person in the hospital if you get yourself killed driving like that to see them? Maybe it's just me, but I really don't think it will help anyone.
Please, for the love of all that is wonderful and chocolaty, could we all just respect the rules of the road AND each other out there? I promise, it's not that hard, and you won't even miss those 5 seconds it takes to be safe.
Furthering my dislike of everyone else allowed a license besides myself: An 18-wheeler was waiting on an off ramp to merge with the traffic I was a part of. The speed limit on said road is 45mph. Obviously I was doing 50. Seriously, I don't know what 100ft looks like because I am terrible at spatial relationships and judgments, but I HAD to be only like 100ft away from this honkin' huge 18-wheeler when he decides to "gun" it and PULL OUT IN FRONT OF ME. If any of you are familiar with 18-wheelers, you will know that 'gunning it' for an 18-wheeler is not dissimilar to a cheetah with it's legs tied together, frozen in a block of ice. I, per usual, was too shocked that anyone could be so idiotic, and fully focused on trying to stop my car before becoming crushed and wedged under this slow and foolish beast, that I completely forgot to honk my horn. For shame! I hate when that happens!
This foolhardy driver then apparently forgets he has brakes and that there are laws about speed limits, because the limit immediately drops to 35mph and he HAS to be doing 50, as I'm zipping along at 40mph and he's boogied way way far ahead of me! Guess that cheetah thawed out and chewed through his restraints. It was insane! Often there are cops on that road and I was hoping beyond hope that he would be pulled over. Alas, that didn't happen. I DID write down his license plate #, though, and am considering writing to the truck company about his shitastic driving! I just hate getting people in trouble...but seriously, his driving could end up getting someone with far less superior reaction times hurt.
Then? - oh, you thought this was over? - then we get to a light. The 18-wheeler is still in front of me, and there's another woman behind me. Right before the light is a road to the left. However, it is illegal to make a left hand turn onto that road. There are signs and everything. There's even a little traffic island that you have to maneuver around to make the left. But this woman? She's actually exempt from the laws everyday laymen like ourselves are slave to. That little traffic island? 'm not even near it, the truck is. And this woman is behind me. And we're at a complete stop at a traffic light. SO SHE GETS IN THE OPPOSITE LANE WITH ONCOMING TRAFFIC. She has to drive at least 100ft, and almost collides with a jeep. What the hell people?!
I also wrote down her license plate number. Not that there's much I could do with it, methinks. I can't believe anyone thinks they are that damn above the law, that their time is that important that they'll do something as stupid as that. If you had hit that jeep and and killed that driver, would you still think you and your time were worth more than anyone else's?? Drives me absolutely bonkers. I never feel such blinding rage as when I am driving. I never want to cause others physical harm (I even have trouble watching it in movies I dislike it so much), but the way people drive makes me seriously want to punch them in their faces.
Wake up!! You are not any more important than anyone else on the road. Whatever you have to do today is not more important that what anyone else has to do today. If it were, you'd be in a helicopter, bypassing ground traffic, or have flashing lights and sirens. Sometimes I try and rationalize and say, "Well, maybe that person's relative is in the hospital and they're rushing to see them." But sometimes, I just get the feeling that isn't true. And will it really help that person in the hospital if you get yourself killed driving like that to see them? Maybe it's just me, but I really don't think it will help anyone.
Please, for the love of all that is wonderful and chocolaty, could we all just respect the rules of the road AND each other out there? I promise, it's not that hard, and you won't even miss those 5 seconds it takes to be safe.
Tuesday, June 7, 2011
Sarah in Dreamland. Again.
The other night I had a strange dream with cute-guy-from-work in it. We were studying to be lawyers - actually, he may have already been a lawyer and I was studying, along with this other very annoying girl. Fairly reminiscent of Legally Blonde, without the pink wardrobe and toy dog.
Anyway, I was pretty sure studying to be a lawyer was the completely wrong choice for me, and was having a bit of an existential crisis. Especially because cute-guy-from-work-and-part-time-dream-lawyer was warming up to me very nicely and he was, well, cute.
As with many of my dreams, there was also an awkward bathroom sequence. I forget the details, but I think they had put a stall into a old phone booth and you could see in through the glass. I'm pretty sure cute-guy-from-work-yadda-yadda also continued talking to me through said glass. Lovely!
I mean, it's not like I have much dignity left in the dream world (or real world, for that matter) anyway, so, what's an awkward bathroom experience with a cute lawyer who I also happen to work with in real life?
Then I woke up.
Kind of anti-climactic, no?
Yeah, it is. But it's all I've got for the moment!
Anyway, I was pretty sure studying to be a lawyer was the completely wrong choice for me, and was having a bit of an existential crisis. Especially because cute-guy-from-work-and-part-time-dream-lawyer was warming up to me very nicely and he was, well, cute.
As with many of my dreams, there was also an awkward bathroom sequence. I forget the details, but I think they had put a stall into a old phone booth and you could see in through the glass. I'm pretty sure cute-guy-from-work-yadda-yadda also continued talking to me through said glass. Lovely!
I mean, it's not like I have much dignity left in the dream world (or real world, for that matter) anyway, so, what's an awkward bathroom experience with a cute lawyer who I also happen to work with in real life?
Then I woke up.
Kind of anti-climactic, no?
Yeah, it is. But it's all I've got for the moment!
Thursday, June 2, 2011
Road Rages
I can say for certain that my mouth is never filthier than when driving. I scream and curse and insult like no one's business. And while I readily admit I am far (very, very, very far) from a perfect driver myself, something happens to me when I get behind the wheel wherein I lose all my compassion, empathy and understanding. Unless of course you are roadkill. Then I grab my heart and say "I am so, so sorry little animal." Yes. I actually do that.
Here is a brief and, most likely, incomplete list of things that make me wish other drivers had to wear zap collars and I got to control the remote:
People who brake before turning on their directional.
People who don't use their directional at all.
People who, while speeding right along, change lanes suddenly because they're too awesome to brake, leaving you, the person behind them, barely any time to brake yourself because YOU HAD NO WARNING and the cars in front of you are at a complete stop. Win. (not.)
People that don't have their lights on when it is dawn, dusk, or dark out, or when there is inclement weather. Dude, I know you think you're the center of the world and everyone is looking at you in your fancy blends-with-everything beamer, but actually, we're not. And we can't freaking see you!
People who Jersey Merge (a.k.a. cross all three lanes of busy highway traffic in one fell swoop).
Especially people who Jersey Merge from an on-ramp to the fast lane, trying to beat an 18-wheeler but not thinking that perhaps there is a person in the fast lane on the other side of the 18-wheeler, who is, as the lane suggests, going fast and you may collide with due to your asininity.
People who go slow in the fast lane.
Tailgaters. (this one might annoy me the most, actually.)
People who don't speed up on the on-ramp to merge with highway traffic.
People who brake for absolutely no apparent reason.
People who fail to understand that merging is like a zipper. A zipper, people!
So, there you have it. Often, after cussing out everyone in the cars around me with unnecessary vitriol, I arrive at my destination, get out of the car and think, "That may have actually been a little excessive." It's likely that if I ever see you on the road I will lose my ish at you too (though you'd never know - I'm not a fan of certain hand gestures, or yelling with the windows down), but take heart! It really isn't personal. And I'll like pull a foll-ass move myself, which you can lord over me later. Though, I'd really appreciate it if you didn't. I have an ego to feed, after all.
Here is a brief and, most likely, incomplete list of things that make me wish other drivers had to wear zap collars and I got to control the remote:
People who brake before turning on their directional.
People who don't use their directional at all.
People who, while speeding right along, change lanes suddenly because they're too awesome to brake, leaving you, the person behind them, barely any time to brake yourself because YOU HAD NO WARNING and the cars in front of you are at a complete stop. Win. (not.)
People that don't have their lights on when it is dawn, dusk, or dark out, or when there is inclement weather. Dude, I know you think you're the center of the world and everyone is looking at you in your fancy blends-with-everything beamer, but actually, we're not. And we can't freaking see you!
People who Jersey Merge (a.k.a. cross all three lanes of busy highway traffic in one fell swoop).
Especially people who Jersey Merge from an on-ramp to the fast lane, trying to beat an 18-wheeler but not thinking that perhaps there is a person in the fast lane on the other side of the 18-wheeler, who is, as the lane suggests, going fast and you may collide with due to your asininity.
People who go slow in the fast lane.
Tailgaters. (this one might annoy me the most, actually.)
People who don't speed up on the on-ramp to merge with highway traffic.
People who brake for absolutely no apparent reason.
People who fail to understand that merging is like a zipper. A zipper, people!
See how well that works?!
So, there you have it. Often, after cussing out everyone in the cars around me with unnecessary vitriol, I arrive at my destination, get out of the car and think, "That may have actually been a little excessive." It's likely that if I ever see you on the road I will lose my ish at you too (though you'd never know - I'm not a fan of certain hand gestures, or yelling with the windows down), but take heart! It really isn't personal. And I'll like pull a foll-ass move myself, which you can lord over me later. Though, I'd really appreciate it if you didn't. I have an ego to feed, after all.
Thursday, May 26, 2011
At Least I’m Getting Paid For This
It’s been three weeks since I went to D.C. and I have yet to write a word about it. I haven’t uploaded my picture’s either. Whoopsies!
Seeing as the internet is down at work (meaning I can’t do my work OR procrastinate), and we don’t have solitaire installed on our computers, I thought now might be a good time to tell you a bit about my journey!
My friends Oxana and LiveFree and I got there on Thursday night, took a cab to our hotel, and suddenly realized we were about two blocks from the Capitol Building. We even had a peek (I wouldn’t exactly call it a view…) of the Washington Monument from our hotel room!
We got comfy, unpacked, and then headed out for a little night tour of the Capital Building. We didn’t last very long before we went back to bed for our nightly snooze.
“I’m so bright and shiny!”
The next day we went to Starbucks for breakfast, where we met some of the local wild life. A little bird was full of cheek, and tried to steal my croissant out of my hand, after I had already given him two pieces.
We walked to the Capitol building, checked it out in the daylight, then perused the exhibits at the American History Museum. It was really quite cool in there. I loved seeing the dresses of all the first ladies, Julia Child’s kitchen, and of course, my favorite of all…Kermit the frog.
I love him. Jim Henson made the first Kermit out of his mother’s Summer Coat and a ping pong ball. Creativity out the wazoo!
Next was the cavernous National Gallery of Art, the East wing. Holy damn. SO MANY ROOMS. You try and stick to a sort of game plan in seeing it all, but you can’t. Eventually the room after endless room wears you down and you get lost and start thinking crazy thoughts, like, “If I never make it out of her is canvas edible??” So we didn’t really finish that gallery. We did see the sculpture garden outside, which was really beautiful and serene. You know. Besides the other tourists.
That night we met up with my friend TubaDude for dinner at this cool pub place called The Dubliner. We sat outside until it started to sprinkle rain and we all retreated to the indoors. The atmosphere was very nice, as was the food. Though I did have to use a knife to eat my French onion soup. That damn cheese Gandalf-ed me!
Then he brought us to this bookstore/restaurant/bar called Busboys and Poets. It was fantastic! We had a few drinks and some appetizers (we were still stuffed from the Dubliner) and made friends with our waiter, Ali. No really. We shook hands, learned about his life (he’s going to Georgetown, is from “New York,” and it was his third day working at the restaurant), he pulled up a chair and would join us for a couple minutes here and there. We ended up staying there for 3 or 4 hours, until we finally had to leave.
On our way back to the metro, we saw a bunch of police cars surround this one big SUV at an intersection, then out of NOWHERE a helicopter appeared with is searchlight illuminating the street. A woman finally stepped out of the SUV, and just like that, the cop cars thinned and the helicopter vanished. I have absolutely no idea what happened, but I’m really glad it didn’t involve gunfire. I’m pretty sure I would’ve run, and that never looks good…
Saturday we ate breakfast at Union Station, then I think we went to the West building. It was smaller and MUCH more do-able. We saw it all, ate lunch in their cafeteria, then headed out to see the rest of the Mall, up close and personal.
We walked all the way to the Washington Monument, when we decided we needed a good stretch after over-working our legs so much. We relaxed on the grass, did some wacky yoga, when I promptly ripped a hole in the crotch of the only pair of pants I brought. Leave it to me…
You couldn’t really see the hole when I was up and walking, so we carried on to the World War II memorial. It’s quite gorgeous. I quite loved it, it was so…calm. It really made you reflect on the massiveness of the war and the lives lost.
I did take issue with one of the quotes they had chosen to etch into stone forever (it said, in so many words, that women were not people until they joined the war effort), but overall it’s one of my favorite memorials.
Onward to Lincoln! Actually, that’s not true. First the Korean War Memorial, then the Vietnam Memorial (which moves me every time), then the Lincoln Memorial.
We made it. Our legs were near to breaking off and we still managed to climb the perpetual steps to see honest Abe, sitting still and watching over all. It was fantastic. We were disappointed, however, because apparently the reflecting pool was leaking, so the entire thing was dug up, and under construction. The memorials were all still glorious, but the reflecting pool being a long, rectangular pile of dirt detracted just a little.
Then we walked to see the White House! It was spiffy. I waved hello to the Obama’s, and listened for a bit to a man protesting something outside the front. His relentless megaphone speeching reminded us of our stomachs, now in a near constant state of growl from lack of food. We were trying to find a restaurant to go to, and had one helluva time since most were closed. We found one, but apparently there had been a graduation that day and it was packed to the brim with families and students. So...we left and headed to find a metro station to head back to Union Station because we were all getting grouchy at that point. We finally made it back, got food, and HOUSED it. I don’t know if I have ever been that hungry before (I probably have, let’s be honest).
Oxana, had her friend RunStrong meet us there. After refueling and heading to our hotel for a quick pit stop, we all headed out as a group to see the memorials at night. Oh. Oh-ho-ho. How I wish I could think of the words to describe the pain my tootsies were in. Nothing can describe the swollen, throbbing mess of anguish attached to the bottom of my legs (which weren’t exactly free of malaise themselves). But, I’m hoping you have maybe gotten my gist, and can assume that more walking was quite a task.
Between the exhaustion and pain, I’m also fairly certain we completely lost our minds. We essentially acted a fool all the way from the Capitol Building, down to the Washington Monument where we met up with TubaDude again, right on til the Lincoln Memorial. Don’t get me wrong, it was beautiful, and absolutely worth it (I think I like all the monuments and memorials best at night!), but I do not know what we were thinking. We parted with the guys, and took a cab back to the hotel (THANK GOD), where I immediately iced my feet.
No. Really.
Then? Can you guess? Bed!
Sunday, we woke up, tried to find a breakfast place, failed, and decided we’d go eat at Eastern market where we were currently headed. We bought Metro tickets, waited 15 minutes for a train, then decided we’d be better off walking. Oi.
But we made it (it really wasn’t all THAT far), and I went to a little café with the third of our group, while Oxana got some shrimp and grits from a booth. I meant to get some for lunch, but was distracted by the falalfel!
We spent a couple hours there and I loved it! I also loved the neighborhood we walked through to get there in the historic district. I would like to live there, Lets make this happen, people!
Sadly, we did have to go, as this was our last day in the lovely District of Colombia, so we walked back, and laid on the grass for at least an hour outside the Capitol Building. It was glorious. I love taking the time in a new place to just sit and be there. People watching, and relaxing, are two of my favorite pastimes.
Then, cab ride to the airport, hour and a half flight (after being delayed an hour), and we were home at Logan Airport! As we walked away from the terminal, I looked down to see some grey mass on the ground. Hey, that looks like fabric! Hey, that looks like men’s boxer briefs…hey! That looks like LiveFree is about to step on them!
Me: “LiveFree, those are underwear! Don’t step on them!”
LiveFree: “What? Oh!”
Some random guy: “Look, there’s more!”
I look up to find this guy walking in front of us has sprung a clothing leak in his duffel back, and it’s dropping clothes like it’s a fountain.
Me: “Sir! Sir!!”
FountainBag: “Huh? Oh, no…”
Yes. Yes, ‘oh no.’ That sucks. I look back to see LiveFree kicking this poor man’s underwear along, to catch up with him, when I hear him say, “Uh, you…really don’t need to do that…”
We were so zonked that LiveFree thought it was a good idea to kick this random underwear, unidentifiable as clean or dirty, across the floor of a busy international airport. Hahahaha, she will never live that down, and it will always make me laugh. Strangely, that was one of the highlights of our trip. And I loved every second of it (the trip, not the underwear...)!
Well. Here’s some sad news, she says as she types to no one in a word document, I had hoped that by the time I finished this we’d have the internet back, but…guess what? We don’t! So I have finally written about my trip, but can’t share it with anyone. Damn. You guys must not be bummed. Mostly because you have no idea. But if you did? I bet you’d be bummed.
I am. Now what am I supposed to do??
This is my desk. Perhaps according to Salvador Dali. Or a deranged mental patient.
I have been sitting here for almost four whole hours. Doing nothing. This is my brain (I’d like you to know I spelled that ‘brian’ the first time). By Frida Kahlo.
That last drawing didn’t happen.Which is probably also an accurate depiction of my brain (or brian) right now. Nothing. is happening. No. synapses. firing. Help. please. won’t. make. it. out. alive.
We have since gotten the internet back, as you can probably tell. I'm fairly certain this post is poorly worded and bland and is definitely lacking some italics for emphasis, but I think we're lucky it even happened at all at this point.Til next time!
Seeing as the internet is down at work (meaning I can’t do my work OR procrastinate), and we don’t have solitaire installed on our computers, I thought now might be a good time to tell you a bit about my journey!
My friends Oxana and LiveFree and I got there on Thursday night, took a cab to our hotel, and suddenly realized we were about two blocks from the Capitol Building. We even had a peek (I wouldn’t exactly call it a view…) of the Washington Monument from our hotel room!
Our “view.”
We got comfy, unpacked, and then headed out for a little night tour of the Capital Building. We didn’t last very long before we went back to bed for our nightly snooze.
The next day we went to Starbucks for breakfast, where we met some of the local wild life. A little bird was full of cheek, and tried to steal my croissant out of my hand, after I had already given him two pieces.
Vicious
We walked to the Capitol building, checked it out in the daylight, then perused the exhibits at the American History Museum. It was really quite cool in there. I loved seeing the dresses of all the first ladies, Julia Child’s kitchen, and of course, my favorite of all…Kermit the frog.
How could you not love that face?
I love him. Jim Henson made the first Kermit out of his mother’s Summer Coat and a ping pong ball. Creativity out the wazoo!
Next was the cavernous National Gallery of Art, the East wing. Holy damn. SO MANY ROOMS. You try and stick to a sort of game plan in seeing it all, but you can’t. Eventually the room after endless room wears you down and you get lost and start thinking crazy thoughts, like, “If I never make it out of her is canvas edible??” So we didn’t really finish that gallery. We did see the sculpture garden outside, which was really beautiful and serene. You know. Besides the other tourists.
That night we met up with my friend TubaDude for dinner at this cool pub place called The Dubliner. We sat outside until it started to sprinkle rain and we all retreated to the indoors. The atmosphere was very nice, as was the food. Though I did have to use a knife to eat my French onion soup. That damn cheese Gandalf-ed me!
I'll knife and fork you!
Then he brought us to this bookstore/restaurant/bar called Busboys and Poets. It was fantastic! We had a few drinks and some appetizers (we were still stuffed from the Dubliner) and made friends with our waiter, Ali. No really. We shook hands, learned about his life (he’s going to Georgetown, is from “New York,” and it was his third day working at the restaurant), he pulled up a chair and would join us for a couple minutes here and there. We ended up staying there for 3 or 4 hours, until we finally had to leave.
On our way back to the metro, we saw a bunch of police cars surround this one big SUV at an intersection, then out of NOWHERE a helicopter appeared with is searchlight illuminating the street. A woman finally stepped out of the SUV, and just like that, the cop cars thinned and the helicopter vanished. I have absolutely no idea what happened, but I’m really glad it didn’t involve gunfire. I’m pretty sure I would’ve run, and that never looks good…
Saturday we ate breakfast at Union Station, then I think we went to the West building. It was smaller and MUCH more do-able. We saw it all, ate lunch in their cafeteria, then headed out to see the rest of the Mall, up close and personal.
We walked all the way to the Washington Monument, when we decided we needed a good stretch after over-working our legs so much. We relaxed on the grass, did some wacky yoga, when I promptly ripped a hole in the crotch of the only pair of pants I brought. Leave it to me…
You couldn’t really see the hole when I was up and walking, so we carried on to the World War II memorial. It’s quite gorgeous. I quite loved it, it was so…calm. It really made you reflect on the massiveness of the war and the lives lost.
I did take issue with one of the quotes they had chosen to etch into stone forever (it said, in so many words, that women were not people until they joined the war effort), but overall it’s one of my favorite memorials.
Onward to Lincoln! Actually, that’s not true. First the Korean War Memorial, then the Vietnam Memorial (which moves me every time), then the Lincoln Memorial.
We made it. Our legs were near to breaking off and we still managed to climb the perpetual steps to see honest Abe, sitting still and watching over all. It was fantastic. We were disappointed, however, because apparently the reflecting pool was leaking, so the entire thing was dug up, and under construction. The memorials were all still glorious, but the reflecting pool being a long, rectangular pile of dirt detracted just a little.
Then we walked to see the White House! It was spiffy. I waved hello to the Obama’s, and listened for a bit to a man protesting something outside the front. His relentless megaphone speeching reminded us of our stomachs, now in a near constant state of growl from lack of food. We were trying to find a restaurant to go to, and had one helluva time since most were closed. We found one, but apparently there had been a graduation that day and it was packed to the brim with families and students. So...we left and headed to find a metro station to head back to Union Station because we were all getting grouchy at that point. We finally made it back, got food, and HOUSED it. I don’t know if I have ever been that hungry before (I probably have, let’s be honest).
Oxana, had her friend RunStrong meet us there. After refueling and heading to our hotel for a quick pit stop, we all headed out as a group to see the memorials at night. Oh. Oh-ho-ho. How I wish I could think of the words to describe the pain my tootsies were in. Nothing can describe the swollen, throbbing mess of anguish attached to the bottom of my legs (which weren’t exactly free of malaise themselves). But, I’m hoping you have maybe gotten my gist, and can assume that more walking was quite a task.
Between the exhaustion and pain, I’m also fairly certain we completely lost our minds. We essentially acted a fool all the way from the Capitol Building, down to the Washington Monument where we met up with TubaDude again, right on til the Lincoln Memorial. Don’t get me wrong, it was beautiful, and absolutely worth it (I think I like all the monuments and memorials best at night!), but I do not know what we were thinking. We parted with the guys, and took a cab back to the hotel (THANK GOD), where I immediately iced my feet.
No. Really.
Foot spaaaaaah...
Then? Can you guess? Bed!
Sunday, we woke up, tried to find a breakfast place, failed, and decided we’d go eat at Eastern market where we were currently headed. We bought Metro tickets, waited 15 minutes for a train, then decided we’d be better off walking. Oi.
But we made it (it really wasn’t all THAT far), and I went to a little café with the third of our group, while Oxana got some shrimp and grits from a booth. I meant to get some for lunch, but was distracted by the falalfel!
We spent a couple hours there and I loved it! I also loved the neighborhood we walked through to get there in the historic district. I would like to live there, Lets make this happen, people!
Sadly, we did have to go, as this was our last day in the lovely District of Colombia, so we walked back, and laid on the grass for at least an hour outside the Capitol Building. It was glorious. I love taking the time in a new place to just sit and be there. People watching, and relaxing, are two of my favorite pastimes.
Then, cab ride to the airport, hour and a half flight (after being delayed an hour), and we were home at Logan Airport! As we walked away from the terminal, I looked down to see some grey mass on the ground. Hey, that looks like fabric! Hey, that looks like men’s boxer briefs…hey! That looks like LiveFree is about to step on them!
Me: “LiveFree, those are underwear! Don’t step on them!”
LiveFree: “What? Oh!”
Some random guy: “Look, there’s more!”
I look up to find this guy walking in front of us has sprung a clothing leak in his duffel back, and it’s dropping clothes like it’s a fountain.
Me: “Sir! Sir!!”
FountainBag: “Huh? Oh, no…”
Yes. Yes, ‘oh no.’ That sucks. I look back to see LiveFree kicking this poor man’s underwear along, to catch up with him, when I hear him say, “Uh, you…really don’t need to do that…”
We were so zonked that LiveFree thought it was a good idea to kick this random underwear, unidentifiable as clean or dirty, across the floor of a busy international airport. Hahahaha, she will never live that down, and it will always make me laugh. Strangely, that was one of the highlights of our trip. And I loved every second of it (the trip, not the underwear...)!
Well. Here’s some sad news, she says as she types to no one in a word document, I had hoped that by the time I finished this we’d have the internet back, but…guess what? We don’t! So I have finally written about my trip, but can’t share it with anyone. Damn. You guys must not be bummed. Mostly because you have no idea. But if you did? I bet you’d be bummed.
I am. Now what am I supposed to do??
This is my desk. Perhaps according to Salvador Dali. Or a deranged mental patient.
I must be on drugs
I have been sitting here for almost four whole hours. Doing nothing. This is my brain (I’d like you to know I spelled that ‘brian’ the first time). By Frida Kahlo.
That last drawing didn’t happen.Which is probably also an accurate depiction of my brain (or brian) right now. Nothing. is happening. No. synapses. firing. Help. please. won’t. make. it. out. alive.
We have since gotten the internet back, as you can probably tell. I'm fairly certain this post is poorly worded and bland and is definitely lacking some italics for emphasis, but I think we're lucky it even happened at all at this point.Til next time!
Friday, May 20, 2011
I Don't Think Blondie Had Any Idea What They Were Singing About, or Why 80s Music Can't Predict The Future: Rapture
So, some dude did some math of which I am skeptical (but which I cannot actually fact check for lack of biblical knowledge and basic math skills), and tomorrow may just be the end of the world.
Again, I am skeptical. Hopefully that doesn't mean I am going to hell.
Despite the fact that my friends usually don't read my blog posts until several days after I originally post them (note: this is not a criticism, just relevant), I am going to publish this anyway, though, in the event of Rapture, they most likely won't see this at all.
Still, I'd like to say...so long, and thanks for all the fish!*
*If you're a Douglas Adams fan as I am, hopefully you'll get this reference. If not, well, too late, I guess, eh? Should Heaven have a library, I suggest you borrow the full Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy posthaste! And if nothing happens, welp, see you all Sunday!
Again, I am skeptical. Hopefully that doesn't mean I am going to hell.
Despite the fact that my friends usually don't read my blog posts until several days after I originally post them (note: this is not a criticism, just relevant), I am going to publish this anyway, though, in the event of Rapture, they most likely won't see this at all.
Still, I'd like to say...so long, and thanks for all the fish!*
*If you're a Douglas Adams fan as I am, hopefully you'll get this reference. If not, well, too late, I guess, eh? Should Heaven have a library, I suggest you borrow the full Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy posthaste! And if nothing happens, welp, see you all Sunday!
Wednesday, May 18, 2011
Why Cats Don't Meditate
This morning I tried to meditate.
I know I've been a bit frou-frou as of late, but in trying to find my direction in life (because, surprisingly, living at home and working as a temp doing data entry is not my desired direction), it only makes sense to clear my head and spend some quite time with myself to feel my way through.
So. I've written myself a basic framework for my day, which starts and ends with ten minutes of meditation. Today is the first day I'm trying to put this into play, and I've already found I may need to tweak a few things...
My plan was to wake up ten minutes earlier than usual and meditate straight away. My cat almost instantly expressed displeasure with this plan. Usually when I wake up I go to the bathroom and then immediately feed her. This morning I woke up and...sat there. With my eyes closed. While she, apparently, starved to death.
She kept coming over to me, and, having heard the old adage "you get more cat food with honey," she purred and rubbed herself on me and tried to push her face under my hands so I'd pet her. This was distracting and irresistible. So I'd pet her a couple times, then get back to it.
Once she saw this tactic was futile, she decided to resort to more...demonstrative measures? In order to prove to me just how terribly, awfully hungry she was, she would alternately lick my hand, and bite it, chewing on it like a can of Fancy Feast. She didn't break the skin, but she certainly got her point across.
Tomorrow I may have to get up, feed her, and then attempt my morning meditation. Not quite the calm transition from sleep to an active day as I had wanted, but better than losing my hand to my voracious kitty-cat's desperate jaws.
I know I've been a bit frou-frou as of late, but in trying to find my direction in life (because, surprisingly, living at home and working as a temp doing data entry is not my desired direction), it only makes sense to clear my head and spend some quite time with myself to feel my way through.
So. I've written myself a basic framework for my day, which starts and ends with ten minutes of meditation. Today is the first day I'm trying to put this into play, and I've already found I may need to tweak a few things...
My plan was to wake up ten minutes earlier than usual and meditate straight away. My cat almost instantly expressed displeasure with this plan. Usually when I wake up I go to the bathroom and then immediately feed her. This morning I woke up and...sat there. With my eyes closed. While she, apparently, starved to death.
She kept coming over to me, and, having heard the old adage "you get more cat food with honey," she purred and rubbed herself on me and tried to push her face under my hands so I'd pet her. This was distracting and irresistible. So I'd pet her a couple times, then get back to it.
Once she saw this tactic was futile, she decided to resort to more...demonstrative measures? In order to prove to me just how terribly, awfully hungry she was, she would alternately lick my hand, and bite it, chewing on it like a can of Fancy Feast. She didn't break the skin, but she certainly got her point across.
Tomorrow I may have to get up, feed her, and then attempt my morning meditation. Not quite the calm transition from sleep to an active day as I had wanted, but better than losing my hand to my voracious kitty-cat's desperate jaws.
Someone should get this drama-kitten an Agent!
Wednesday, May 11, 2011
Earth Cruncher: Hey! That'd Make a Good Cereal Name! or My Visit to a Naturopathic Doctor
I'm going to post about my wonderful adventures in the lovely District of Columbia, rest assured, but I haven't had time to upload, or, actually, download then upload my photos yet, so I'm holding out for a bit more.
I do want to discuss my trip last night to a Naturopathic Doctor. It's my first ever. I had no idea what to expect, really. Will I have to strip naked and wear a hospital johnny while she inspects my outward for signs of what's going on inward? Will she test my spit (I saw on her website that she does in fact do that)? Will she tell me all my vitamins are crap and to throw them out immediately? Will it be all talking? Am I doing everything wrong? Can she fix my terrible skin affliction?!?
Turns out we pretty much just talked, and she's really very nice. My vitamins are not all crap. She instructed me to start taking three new ones, and that eventually we'll get me a good multi-vitamin. I kept my clothes on the entire time, and though I expected her to ask me to wash my make-up off so she could get a good look at my facial issue, she didn't do that either. Which was fine by me, as then I would've had to walk through a shared waiting room full of patients, with all my solar flares blazing bright hot like the sun's surface.
What it has come down to is a change in diet. A big one. My diet is...okay, as it is, but there are some eliminations she'd like me to make. Oh, and of course, to actually start exercising. Which I did see coming. "The heck!" you say, "how did she know that was coming??" I'm just psychic, guys. That's all there is to it.
The eliminations I did not expect, however. Okay, okay, so, I'm a mediocre psychic. We can't get 'em all right!
Eliminations:
wheat
tomatoes
dairy
Gasp! Not my cheese!! My sun dried tomatoes?! BREAD?!?!
This is going to be some kind of challenge. She also recommended (but didn't write down on my "No-no!" list) cutting out pork. That wasn't really a problem, as I really don't each much of it. That is, until I remembered BACON is pork. And cried inside a little.
If I'm going to be honest, I do plan on indulging in all my not-haves every once in a while. A life without bacon is no life at all, and I refuse to not-live life. But, for the next month until our follow-up appointment, I am going to stick with her instructions quite strictly (along with continuing to not eat sugar). Hopefully it makes a difference with the uneven terrain of my visage. If it does, I will slowly attempt to eat said avoidables, and see what happens. If I break out, then I know it is worth giving them up. If my face still looks like loose gravel, then...I suppose I'll be back to discuss a new list of un-nommable-noms.
I am glad for a few things, though - she said she wasn't going to take away my wine (as long as I switch to organic - yay!!) or coffee (same and also yay!!), and she didn't even mention limiting red meat. I will probably try to do the last anyway, but more so because my mother wants me to buy the healthy-crunchy stuff I want and need and potentially just start making all my own food. Red, free-range meat is not exactly cheap, so chicken it is, then!
So, apparently I'm earthy-crunchy now? At least I don't wear birkenstocks, right?
This will never happen.
I do want to discuss my trip last night to a Naturopathic Doctor. It's my first ever. I had no idea what to expect, really. Will I have to strip naked and wear a hospital johnny while she inspects my outward for signs of what's going on inward? Will she test my spit (I saw on her website that she does in fact do that)? Will she tell me all my vitamins are crap and to throw them out immediately? Will it be all talking? Am I doing everything wrong? Can she fix my terrible skin affliction?!?
Turns out we pretty much just talked, and she's really very nice. My vitamins are not all crap. She instructed me to start taking three new ones, and that eventually we'll get me a good multi-vitamin. I kept my clothes on the entire time, and though I expected her to ask me to wash my make-up off so she could get a good look at my facial issue, she didn't do that either. Which was fine by me, as then I would've had to walk through a shared waiting room full of patients, with all my solar flares blazing bright hot like the sun's surface.
What it has come down to is a change in diet. A big one. My diet is...okay, as it is, but there are some eliminations she'd like me to make. Oh, and of course, to actually start exercising. Which I did see coming. "The heck!" you say, "how did she know that was coming??" I'm just psychic, guys. That's all there is to it.
The eliminations I did not expect, however. Okay, okay, so, I'm a mediocre psychic. We can't get 'em all right!
Eliminations:
wheat
tomatoes
dairy
Gasp! Not my cheese!! My sun dried tomatoes?! BREAD?!?!
This is going to be some kind of challenge. She also recommended (but didn't write down on my "No-no!" list) cutting out pork. That wasn't really a problem, as I really don't each much of it. That is, until I remembered BACON is pork. And cried inside a little.
If I'm going to be honest, I do plan on indulging in all my not-haves every once in a while. A life without bacon is no life at all, and I refuse to not-live life. But, for the next month until our follow-up appointment, I am going to stick with her instructions quite strictly (along with continuing to not eat sugar). Hopefully it makes a difference with the uneven terrain of my visage. If it does, I will slowly attempt to eat said avoidables, and see what happens. If I break out, then I know it is worth giving them up. If my face still looks like loose gravel, then...I suppose I'll be back to discuss a new list of un-nommable-noms.
I am glad for a few things, though - she said she wasn't going to take away my wine (as long as I switch to organic - yay!!) or coffee (same and also yay!!), and she didn't even mention limiting red meat. I will probably try to do the last anyway, but more so because my mother wants me to buy the healthy-crunchy stuff I want and need and potentially just start making all my own food. Red, free-range meat is not exactly cheap, so chicken it is, then!
So, apparently I'm earthy-crunchy now? At least I don't wear birkenstocks, right?
This will never happen.
This will especially never happen.
Tuesday, May 3, 2011
The One With The Never Ending NeverEnding Story References
So, you may have noticed that I'm trying to be more "natural," and live as chemical-free a life as possible. If I haven't mentioned it, then let me say now that at times it has been completely overwhelming.
I feel like Atreyu from the NeverEnding Story, wading through the Swamps of Sadness to see the ancient and wise Morla, only to have my faithful steed sink into the mushy-gushy mire and for Morla to sneeze weird swamp turtle boogers all over me while being completely unhelpful. If anyone followed that, ten cookies for you, good person!
So, as you can glean, it's been a process. One I have been flailing through at great speeds of failure. But! But! Glimmer of light! I'm heading to a naturopathic doctor next Tuesday, and hopefully she can guide me like Falkor to the Southern Oracle! (Oi with the NeverEnding Story references already!)
I am all a-twitter with hope that she will coax my skin into being skin again, instead of gnarly seborrhea, comedones, papules, pustules, and nodules. Yes. Sounds pretty, no?
I'm actually heading to D.C. this weekend with some friends, and, while excited, I am also terrified of the cameras they surely will bring. I usually jump at the chance to make the weirdest, I-didn't-know-you-could-do-that face possible to be captured digitally and live forever throughout the annals of time, but...alas, my self esteem has taken a hit (and my face looks like it did too. Of shrapnel). Still. I can't wait, as it's the first real trip I have taken with friends. I'm, like, totally an adult now, guys!
The three of us met in Italy, and we're going to D.C. during the Italian Festival, so that's just pretty much fate, isn't it? If Signor Clooney is there at the same time, I will faint. Actually, no, I won't, but I will yell, "Dov'e Signor Clooney?! George! Dov'e George!?" much to the displeasure of those around me. George Clooney was essentially the patron saint of our study abroad experience. Everywhere we went, there was George. Whether his playful gaze watched over us from a billboard on high, he peeked his cheeky visage out from between the pages of a foreign magazine, or we stumbled across some random establishment named "Cafe Clooney," George was always with us, guiding and protecting our passage.
So, if it just so happens you see a crazy girl on the news, ranting and raving in Italian about 'Signor Clooney,' with a face that looks like an IHOP waffle filled with strawberry syrup, chances are that's probably me.
I feel like Atreyu from the NeverEnding Story, wading through the Swamps of Sadness to see the ancient and wise Morla, only to have my faithful steed sink into the mushy-gushy mire and for Morla to sneeze weird swamp turtle boogers all over me while being completely unhelpful. If anyone followed that, ten cookies for you, good person!
Turtle bogeys. Ew.
So, as you can glean, it's been a process. One I have been flailing through at great speeds of failure. But! But! Glimmer of light! I'm heading to a naturopathic doctor next Tuesday, and hopefully she can guide me like Falkor to the Southern Oracle! (Oi with the NeverEnding Story references already!)
I am all a-twitter with hope that she will coax my skin into being skin again, instead of gnarly seborrhea, comedones, papules, pustules, and nodules. Yes. Sounds pretty, no?
I'm actually heading to D.C. this weekend with some friends, and, while excited, I am also terrified of the cameras they surely will bring. I usually jump at the chance to make the weirdest, I-didn't-know-you-could-do-that face possible to be captured digitally and live forever throughout the annals of time, but...alas, my self esteem has taken a hit (and my face looks like it did too. Of shrapnel). Still. I can't wait, as it's the first real trip I have taken with friends. I'm, like, totally an adult now, guys!
The three of us met in Italy, and we're going to D.C. during the Italian Festival, so that's just pretty much fate, isn't it? If Signor Clooney is there at the same time, I will faint. Actually, no, I won't, but I will yell, "Dov'e Signor Clooney?! George! Dov'e George!?" much to the displeasure of those around me. George Clooney was essentially the patron saint of our study abroad experience. Everywhere we went, there was George. Whether his playful gaze watched over us from a billboard on high, he peeked his cheeky visage out from between the pages of a foreign magazine, or we stumbled across some random establishment named "Cafe Clooney," George was always with us, guiding and protecting our passage.
So, if it just so happens you see a crazy girl on the news, ranting and raving in Italian about 'Signor Clooney,' with a face that looks like an IHOP waffle filled with strawberry syrup, chances are that's probably me.
This is my face. And don't you forget it.
Which, should that happen (and just to keep this post's title honest), I'll be placed in an Ivory Tower of my own, will believe the characters in my books are talking to me and start wishing on a grain of sand. Oh what fun it shall be!
The end!
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
Six Items or Less, Part 6: Hark The Herald Angels Sing, Glory To the Reborn Wardrobe
Today is the last day of Six Items or Less!!! After work, I will go home, run to my bedroom hurrah-ing with joy, rip off all my clothes, throw open my wardrobe and glory in the vastness of options, revel at the touch of fabrics my skin seems to have forgotten the feel of, exalt as the angels sing and heavenly light bullets shoot out of the majesty of my full and bursting closet, barely resisting the urge to throw all my clothes onto my bed and roll in them like I'm rich beyond words and they are my colossal fortune of green paper gold like I'm in some sort of strange movie about greed and lording my wealth over all the little poor people because I'm a right turdface, all whilst laughing maniacally!
I will bask in their beauty. And tomorrow...I will wear them. On me. And I will rejoice!
I will bask in their beauty. And tomorrow...I will wear them. On me. And I will rejoice!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
