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.

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.

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.

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.

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!:

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

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 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.

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!