Deep Thoughts...by Sarah Hadley

Aloha, I am Mr. Hand

2011-03-21T18:37:00.003-05:00

The only down side to blogging? You can't blog about work. The only downside to working? You can't blog....no, wait....there's definitely more than one downside to working....That, dear friends, is why I'm taking this public declaration! A public declaration of shiftlessness! I am LAZY. Not only am I lazy, but I would happily live my life as a listless beach bum, void of any real assets or acclaim. I just don't have the balls to do it. What is lazy? Who decides?? THE MAN. That's who. And who do we all work for? Yeah....you see where I'm going with this.

I've grown weary of THE MAN and his MANly ways. I'm not sure I ever really liked him...kinda like that frat guy you date in college, not because you have any real attraction to him but because he has muscles and spikey, bleach tipped hair and he drives a noisy truck and can shot-gun a beer with his other muscley, bleach tipped buddies who sit around high-fiving each other while they watch the X Games and try to impress you with their vast ESPN magazine collection. Yeah, I know - GROSS. But we all do it. We all (at some point) give into peer pressure and succumb to an ideal we never believed in. The only difference as we get older is that Frat Boy turns into Boss Man and we make ourselves feel better about it because we're taking home a paycheck at the end of the day instead VD (Editors Note: I do not speak from personal experience. Just sayin')

I'm ready to break up with THE MAN. I never really loved him; I hardly ever liked him. While he may offer some of his mistresses great fortune and opportunity, he ain't left me nothing but trouble. If life were the Playboy Mansion, THE MAN would be Hugh. Sure, there are plenty of girls on Hugh's short list, but there are far more trolling away in the guest house across the street. Why am I shacking up in the guest house with all these other suckers when I could be living the sweet life with Lazy?

I leave you with the immortal words of Jeff Spicoli...
All I Need Are Some Tasty Waves, A Cool Buzz, And I'm Fine. Sound Clip and Quote

Comparing Apples to Apples

2010-03-03T21:23:00.002-06:00

......freakin' Apples. If we're going to use past experiences as our guide, then I'm totally screwed. Not only am I screwed, but I can predict the exact moment that the screwing will commence: the moment I get on that plane and leave town. Why? Because the moment you leave town, the apples go bad (and not just apples....ALL fruit). And not just bad, but molding into a funk so unrecognisable that you don't see or hear from the apples for months.

The apples and I have fallen into a pretty good rythm; as good as it could be under the present circumstances...... but do you ever get that sinking feeling that the apples are moving on? Crappy feeling isn't it? Especially when you've finally come to grips with the fact that the apples are not only your favorite fruit, but a fruit you just can't live without. Most days the apples are Red Delicious, not abundant in flavor or substance but good, and wholesome and.....safe. Other days the apples are Granny Smith! The most delectable of all the apples, the Granny Smith is tart and sweet while still maintaining that mouth watering crunch! I love Granny Smith days! Then there are the Crab Apple days, nay, there are Crab Apple weeks-MONTHS! I hate the Crab Apples! Rotten to the core, they bruise and wilt until you want to throw them out.....but they're still your apples.

So what happens when you've come to this nice understanding with the apples? Can you now be completely honest with the apples and ask the apples important questions like who's that too tan, bleach blonde Jugs McGee I've been getting whiffs of? No. Sadly I don't think you can. So I sit here. Wondering. Wondering what the apples are doing, and wondering if Jugs is taking a big bite out of my Granny Smith..... it's not even my Granny Smith. But I call dibs.

Juice Cleanse: Day Uno

2009-12-28T22:40:00.002-06:00

I've been wanting to do a colon cleanse for some time. Scoff if you will, but I am a firm believer in keeping one's pipes flushed and see no harm or shame in speaking about it freely. Colon disease is deadly, and easily preventable with diligence and a little routine maintenance (hence the cleanse). So since I have the week off from work, I decided there was no better time than the present!

I knew enough about the options available to me me to know I had no idea what to choose, so I consulted the professionals at Well Body. She was a short, middle-aged woman who is probably 15 years old than she looks. She wore tastefully tattered light wash jeans, an olive green corduroy jacket, rust colored clogs and a kufi hat with coy fish stitched into the pattern. Her sunglasses covered a good portion of her tiny face (yes, she wore her sunglasses inside) and her brown hair was long, and set into those perfectly effortless hippie waves that I've always wanted and will never get. She danced around from topic to topic, touching on key points in between funny anecdotes all the while sprinkling beautiful bits of her vast knowledge over me. After browsing the shelves, we decided (or SHE decided; I agreed) that rather than a boxed cleanse involving pills, a more easy going natural approach was better for me. We spoke for a good 20 minutes on what I should do and the effects it will have. She advised what juices she would use and apologetically informed me that they'd had a juice run for the holidays and were currently out of what she was suggesting. No worries; I'd run by the store for supplies. I've always been a big fan of Well Body, and have shopped there off and on since I was a kid. I was so pleased at how helpful the woman was, even though I didn't end up buying anything (per her suggestion). Now that's true customer service right there. Needless to say, I will continue to be a Well Body customer.

So here's the breakdown: Tonight I choked down roughly 12oz of prune juice (no pulp per kufi hat's warning), and quickly chased it with some water, and a good tooth brushing. Tomorrow morning when I wake up I'm to drink the same amount of water, wait 30 minutes and repeat with more prune juice. Wait 30 minutes repeat with water and then move to an apple juice/water trade off every 30 minutes until bed time when I will suffer through the prune juice again....and that's it. Since I chose apple juice (I could've done orange juice, cranberry juice or any other that suited my palette) I am also allowed a sparing amount of actual apples throughout the day. I'm very excited about this apple development because otherwise I get all psychosomatic and lose it because I can't eat anything. This cycle only needs to last for three days, but can be extended if I so choose. It all seems very easy (a little too easy), but I fully trust this woman's advice, and I'm eager for the results!!

Since I do have the week off and I won't be taking up any time, ohhhh... I dunno....like -EATING, I'm sure I'll have plenty of time to blog about the horrors that await me.
Stay Tuned......

Kiss my Grits

2009-11-20T18:32:00.004-06:00

I'm watching Entertainment Tonight, a staple in my evening routine. I like ET because it's better than Wheel of Fortune, and I can sort of watch it in a half assed way. But I managed to catch the segment about Oprah making her grand announcement that she will end her show after 2011. Not a big deal, right? It's not like she's dying or anything. After interviewing audience members, they promptly cut to the footage of when they "broke the news" to Matt Damon. Really? I had no idea Matt Damon was so personally invested in the longevity of Oprah's talk show. They continued with footage 'behind the scenes' at the Victoria's Secret show where the models expressed their own feigned feelings about the announcement....... I'm trying to connect the dots, but keep coming up short. It was a weak attempt, even for ET.

So this got me thinking about celebrity and such, and the fact that celebrities probably care as much about what's going with other celebrities as I do about the running back for Tech. Who is the running back for Tech (WHAT is a running back?)? Exactly. Famous people don't really care about other famous people.

Example: I went to visit my parents in October, and was lucky enough to catch a flight from LBK to Dallas to Springfield. On said flight from Dallas to Springfield I had a pleasant surprise. The following is a conversation between my mother and I:

"Okay mom, there's somebody at my gate....but I can't say it so you're gonna have to guess"
" Oh! is it somebody famous!?"
"No"
"Is it somebody we know??"
"NO"
"...a politician!"
"NO!"
"Well *guffaw* I don't know Sarah!"
"I know, that's why you're going to guess! Okay....what's the second letter of my name?"
"A"
"Okay, and what's the first letter of my brothers' names?"
"M"
"....and a personal pronoun..."
"umm..... I!"
"And my initials..."
long pause..... "Amish? There's AMISH people at your gate?"
"Well no, they're Mennonites or something, but there's like 4 generations of them and they're everywhere and that's just not something you see everyday!"
".....okay...."
"Okay, so it's not that big of a deal I just felt like telling someone. But it's nobody we know"
"And it's not a politician"
"No, and it's nobody famous"
"Okay, well.... good talk"
"Okay, I'll see y'all in a little bit"
*END SCENE*

Not a remarkable conversation (albeit a typical one) between me and my mom, save for the fact that the moment I hung up the phone I looked up and saw Colin Powell walking up to my gate. Seriously?! Right after the above conversation, and Colin Powell is on my flight? NICE. He actually ended up sitting in front of me, which afforded me the luxury of craning my head to: see what his socks looked like, see what he was reading, check the time on his watch, observe his balding patterns, etc.

Once drink service began our lovely (did I say lovely? I meant obnoxious) flight attendant rushed through the front half of the plane so she could greet our famous passenger. She said the usual polite things while she poured his soda and then went into a long winded story about some old Super Bowl champ from the 70s that she had on one of her flights a few weeks prior. Mr. Powell was friendly and obliging, but you could tell he absolutely did not care. And why should he? He didn't even know who the guy was, and then it hit me. Famous people don't care about other famous people you've met. Your friends might, but other famous people don't. This is an important life lesson so take note. Her ear to ear cheese ball grin lasted about 2 nano seconds past Colin's seat, b/c she swiftly glared at me with a "whadya want" stare and a fed up swagger.

"Do you have any coffee" I asked with a pleasant smile.
"NO." she snapped.
"Oh, okay. I'll take a Coca-Cola Classic then"
"A wha?! COKE?" she asked irritably as she poured my glass, and did not extend the courtesy of leaving the can (like she had for CP)

......thanks Flo. Does ET know about you? Next time I'm flying Southwest.

Swingin' Time

2009-11-06T22:08:00.013-06:00

It's unseasonably warm both inside and outside. I've been sick this week which has only made me more charming and desirable. Most people like to be taken care of when they're sick. I like to be taken....taken seriously when I say leave me the *beep* alone. There's just something about feeling like junk in the trunk that makes the majority of human contact overwhelming and infuriating. And I wonder why I'm still single. Actually I don't wonder, I know. Because I'm a total bitch. Moving on.... here's some of what's been going on lately:

The fair came to town! Oh yeah, nothing quite like stuffing your face with greasy, deep fried food while simultaneously judging all the poor slobs that are fatter than you.

I bought beer. In Lubbock. At the grocery store....... oh yeah, and a Hershey bar...
We found this lovely gentleman setting up camp on our front porch...

...and swiftly shot it out of it's web with high powered wasp killer. Here's his corpse next to a peanut M&M for scale (he was gigantic).

The blessed Egg Nog hit the shelves on a crisp October day. I maintain that Kroger's is better than Gandy's but a girl will take what she can get.

I went to Vegas for work, and found some time to make some new friends! Stilts Man and I are getting married in the Spring...
...but Toby doesn't know. Shhhhh (also this pic isn't blurry, you're just seeing it through 'Vegas Vision')
Yep, it's been a good Fall. As we roll into Winter I have the peace of mind that comes with losing 5 pounds after the aforementioned sickness. Ahhhhh, sweet sickness.

2009-10-11T01:25:00.002-05:00

Sittin' here, eatin' some Ramen.... I attended Mylene's Quince tonight...

Aaaaaaaand that's about it right now.

Oh how I've missed you, personal blogosphere

2009-09-26T14:35:00.002-05:00

It's been a lo-ong December and there's reason to believe maybe this year will be better than the last.... okay so it's not December, but Summer. Or at least it was? Who knew the last few months could be so hectic! I finally got my sweet self moved across town. It's amazing what some subtle roommate peer pressure can do in the way of getting unpacked and organized. I only lack a few kitchen boxes which have been indefinitely moved to the garage. Jacqueline's kitchen is far superior to anything I ever established, and has not yet experienced the painful aftermath of hard water. Needless to say, the few foggy bar glasses I unpacked went directly to an unused cabinet never to see the light of day...

I've been traveling for work which has been an exhausting and exciting ride! July was a surprisingly cooled Atlanta, August was a hot and crowded New York City, and September saw me to Las Vegas: my new favorite place. I've always loved the beach and the mountains. The LV mountains are kind of imposter mountains, but they're lovely none the less, and the attitude there is that of a Spring Break destination with loose money (instead of loose, bouncy coeds) and more clothing (usually). I had to laugh when our cab driver was explaining how to "spot" hookers on the strip after we naively admitted we hadn't seen any. He said "If you see a girl in a tight dress, high heels, with a cell phone glued to her ear... that's a hooker" I mused "Oh, see back home we just call those Tech students"

Things are starting to calm down a bit, which has afforded me more time to run the company blog (www.stephenjosephgifts.wordpress.com), Facebook and Twitter page. I try to juggle the three of these while still fulfilling all of my office duties. It's not been easy, but I'm enjoying it. Sadly, the side effect is that I really have no desire to update here after I'm done.... but, it's not "Deep Thoughts" fault so I decided I could show it some love whilst waiting for Derek to come over!

The South Plains Fair is in town, and with it comes the yearly ritual of stuffing our faces with anything and everything that crosses our path! It's a long standing tradition dating back a good 10 years. Today Sydney has come in from San Antonio and Derek has driven from Dallas to enjoy all the fair has to offer. The excitement of corn dogs, funnel cakes, caramel apples, fried pies, cheese on a stick, curly taters, turkey legs, cotton candy, fajitas, pizza, and corn on the cob is almost too much to stand! I plan on taking many pictures with the hand-me-down digital camera Jacqueline has generously lent to me. I hope this Saturday finds you all well; I'll eat a corn dog for ya!

Mr. Mercury

2009-09-07T19:50:00.001-05:00

I'm lacking inspiration, but sometimes things are better left to the professionals.

Who needs a house out in Hackensack? Is that what you get for your money?

2009-07-31T19:06:00.005-05:00

This will be my last blog from my apartment. As some of you know I have been "moving" for the last few months after it was decided in late spring that I would be moving into a house across town with a coworker rather than renewing my lease. Today is my last day here.

It is always bittersweet to leave a home. I sit here on the floor in a totally empty loft (and if you saw it before you'd be shocked at the size; all of my crap severely dwarfed the place). My green paint is still on the walls; the apartment office found the task of providing me the correct shade to paint it back to be a difficult and insurmountable one. The carpets are freshly steamed, because I am a firm believer in leaving no reason for your landlord to not return atleast a large portion of your deposit. The thud of the hammers from the carpet guys next door is impossible to ignore. Shadows from the 6 foot weeds that more resemble small trees spy through the discolored mini blinds. I was fond of this apartment at times.

But as I sit here I try to remind myself of all the struggles and hardships I encountered whilst living here. Not to depress myself, no, but to remember how lucky I am to be moving on. I have always been one to dwell on the past, and nowhere here to escape it. There have been small highs followed by crushing lows. Pleasant triumphs were had only to be met by suffocating defeat. I can not in my right mind be sad to see this place go. The character of the loft is immense, but it's not enough to redeem the mental, emotional and often physical pain I felt here. Perhaps the joys of living alone were lost on me. There was too much time. Too much time to sit and dwell; too much time to agonize over all things big and small; too much time to feel depressed, alone and forgotten; to much time to wallow in self pity and hatred; too much drinking; to much shopping; too much TV; too much sleeping; too much not living my life to the fullest. I mean I'm not a slug or anything, but I can honestly admit now what I've known for quite some time which is I let myself be a lesser version of me here, alone, away from the truth in love.

So I'm about to close my laptop, pack up my car with the last tiny load and hit the ground running (not literally... we all know how much I hate to run). Somerset Square can kiss my ass.

Sarah's Summer: Cliffnotes Edition

2009-07-18T14:58:00.005-05:00

Holy Moly.

Sooo what has Sarah been up to lately? Traveling. A lot...... well atleast a lot for me. Things have been busy since the Big Lebowski Birthday -

Little Lebowski Urban Achiever (Monica), The Dude (Me), and Maude Lebowski sans robe (Carcie) enjoying some "caucasians"

and if you missed that then you're a sucka (and most of you did miss it). Family was in town, Sarah was moving her happy self clear across town, parties were happening; it was nuts.

Next was a short albeit busy week at work then it was off to the mountains for some R&R. But before I could leave I had to haul all my clothes, makeup, etc (y'know the things I need to go out in public) to the new casa... we'll get to that in a little bit. So after work I load up the Focus and head out into the clear blue yonder to the beautiful mountains of NM. I arrived late Thursday night and quickly settled in for a "relaxing" weekend in the mountains (with a mountain of things piling up at home). We ate, we gambled, and I finally met the lovely Eric. I enjoyed the treat of a supreme pizza at his establishment Cafe Rio. Good food, good people, good place. Right on.

I said my goodbyes to the view and made it back to Texas by 8pm. Just enough time to unpack, wash and repack (the reason I needed everything in one place): My flight was leaving for Atlanta in 34 hours. Toss in another busy day at the office and an evening filled with prep for a weekend of more work (in dress clothes) and Sarah had her hands full. I squeezed in two hours of sleep before my 4am wake up time and I was off to the Peach State! We landed around noon Atlanta time, took the Marta to our hotel downtown, then promptly speed walked to Gibney's for some turkey burgers and the best Diet Coke I've had in recent memory. Next was booth set up at the Americasmart until 8 o'clock. Ugh. I love traveling for work, but the exhaustion was already setting in and the show hadn't even started yet. Some General Tsu's chicken at Hsu's helped ease my pain and it was home to the Marriot Marquis for some sleep.

Shows go a lil' something like this: wake up at 6:30, meet at 8:15, scarf down breakfast and head to the booth. Sell, sell, sell, sell, sell, lunch from Lassiter's, sell, sell, sell, sell, eat at a fancy high priced Atlanta hot spot, head home, repeat. Good times, but very tiring. I flew home Monday only to discover my good friend Andrew was in town. Scratch the 10 o'clock bedtime, and head to a softball game with him and Connor. Drop the boys off at the Library for some drinks and then I finally made it in bed just before midnight. What's the point in sleep now? I was running on auto pilot, a feeling I remembered all too well from my restaurant/retail days and a feeling I realized perhaps I was getting a little too old for. Even coffee couldn't revive me; it was just keeping the status quo: awake.

I struggled (and I do mean struggled) through the hectic work week. It's nice to get out of the office and have a chance to work with our customers in person... that is until I have to come back to the office and work the other end of the business: order entry. I very much like my desk job as well, but it's kind of like TP'ing your own house: You have fun making the mess, but you still have to clean it up. The loooong week ended with a celebration! A coworker, Carcie has the same b-day as Harry Potter so what better way to celebrate than with an HP themed party! We all dressed up, had HP inspired treats such as butter beer, pumpkin pasties, polyjuice potion punch, etc. I dressed as Dobby, Carcie was Tonx, Jacq was Dumbledore (complete with a three foot wizards hat made from poster board) to name a few. Aaron actually shaved his whole head (eye brows included) and came as Voldemort. We filed into the theatre much to the delight (they were delighted to sit there and make fun of us) of our fellow theatre goers and enjoyed the Half Blood Prince.

So here we are today. I still haven't moved out of my apartment, I've got a laundry list of things to do to get there and the clock is ticking on the time I still have left with my Bro's truck. I hope everyone else is having a more relaxing summer. Things have been nuts-o but good! I'll be back to my usual updating once I get settled. In the meantime I'm getting paid to blog! You can check out our companies new (and I do mean very new... I have very limited time to work on it so it's a work in progress) blog at http://www.stephenjosephgifts.wordpress.com/

Peace out!

Here Piggy Piggy Piggy!!

2009-06-18T21:18:00.002-05:00

As I listened to the sausage sizzle and pop in the skillet tonight a memory came to me...A few years ago I became a vegetarian (only for a short while) in the hopes of reaching some sort of enlightenment. While the pledge didn't stick, the enlightenment did. I watched while the sausage patty browned; a key ingredient in my dinner of breakfast. I melted some cheese atop said sausage as it rested in the safe confines of a toasted English Muffin. Add a lightly scrambled egg and the sandwich was complete. I'm always surprised by myself when I eat pork, and I've already eaten it 3 times this week. While this is certainly more than I usually partake in, my mind always does a few flips when I touch the pig to my lips.

You see, the thing that prompted me to kiss off the meat was the following article in Rolling Stone. It outlines in detail the depravity of the Pork Industry. I had been contemplating becoming a vegetarian for quite some time, but after reading this I was so completely disturbed I couldn't ignore it anymore. I firmly believe in the responsible use of animals for our nourishment, shelter and well being. It is our God given blessing (Genesis 1:26). Clearly these Pig Farmers didn't get the memo. I still eat meat, and ironically pork in all it's many forms is one of my favorites (sausage? good. ham? good. bacon? good!). I don't know if that makes me a hypocrite or not. Either way I feel people should be informed about what they're eating.

Please don't be discouraged by the length of this article; you will NOT regret reading it. Be enlightened...

http://www.rollingstone.com/politics/story/12840743/porks_dirty_secret_the_nations_top_hog_producer_is_also_one_of_americas_worst_polluters

I should change the name from "Deep Thoughts" to "Random Crap"

2009-06-17T22:46:00.006-05:00

And heeere weeeee GO.

I had the Beach Boys Christmas music stuck in my head ALL DAY. What's up with that? I think the BB's were on the radio on the way back from lunch. I ate Digiorno's stuffed crust. Y.U.M.

After a series of other delightful events I ventured to CVS with Monica so she could get tampons. That's right, I'm callin' her out. And really? There's nothing to be called out on. It happens. I don't want to play the crazy feminazi card, but why do we have to pay for tampons? It seems unethical... but I guess we have to pay for food and water also so whatever. And Monica doesn't even have Internet access so the odds of her reading this are slim. And if you are reading this Mon, I owe you the next three restaurant picks and a bloody mary. For you. Not for me. Those things are foul. So we're browsing the candy aisle when I spot some Sour Patch watermelons. Speaking of yum, so in a moment of weakness I picked up a bag.... turned it over, and checked the calorie count. 140! How many servings? 6!! What the fetch?! That's, like 2 billion calories. Unacceptable. So as we're checking out I'm telling Monica about this and the check out girl is scowling at me. She actually appeared to be going out of her way to look up at me and frown. As we were walking out I mentioned something to Mon about this and she said "Maybe it's because we're skinny so she just thought you were a bitch for talking about it"

A: I am no skinny bitch
B: if I'm gonna get busted it is NOT going to be by a guy like that...

...wait, no that's Abe Froman. At any rate - MAYBE if that checker girl (who's was workin' what her mama gave her) spent a little less time giving me dirty looks and a little more time counting calories we wouldn't've had our unpleasant little run-in. That is all, you can now all lower your opinion of me.

Saturday List of Things To Do:

2009-05-30T13:00:00.002-05:00

#1 digest the sausage/egg/cheese English Muffin I just (prepared and) ate
#2 lose 20 pounds
#3 get money order from United and pay rent/H20 bill
#4 pack and move my junk
#5 maybe finish watching 'I Still Know What You Did Last Summer'
#6 kill myself for wanting to watch ISKWYDLS
#7 take Emmy to the park to chase some ducks (but not the big ones with red beaks, they're aggressive)
#8 go shopping
#9 earn enough money to do said shopping
#10 go out and find a husband
#11 dump husband because he doesn't like I Still Know What You Did Last Summer
#12 go to bed early

Yes, it's going to be a busy day. I think I can manage.

That's Amore!

2009-05-20T21:22:00.002-05:00

I like Clipper Ships... wait, no that's Little Man Tate. I like PIZZA. Do you? There's not much you could do to a pizza that I wouldn't approve of.

Just thought I'd share.

NOM!NOM!NOM!

...maybe they were driving to Russia...

2009-05-19T22:46:00.005-05:00

Today on my way back to the office from my lunch break I passed a car with this sticker on the back window...

...which was funny on so many different levels. I'll leave you to write your own punch lines.

Homicide is in this year

2009-05-17T21:32:00.003-05:00

Let's take it back a few months...

It was September (or maybe August?) and the office had all participated in Race for the Cure. When you sign up you receive a t-shirt. The shirt is generally low quality and busy as heck so we (being in the t-shirt designing and printing business) chose to make one of our own. It was very simple and black (the provided shirts were white). Now I don't typically love black t-shirts b/c they get all linty and faded and they always feel different than other color shirts, but it's all good. Our black shirts looked pretty sharp in a sea full of white and pink. I kicked it up another notch by wearing black leggings and black shorts. Mind you I wasn't trying to be all Johnny Cash... the shorts were a recent purchase from walmart (imitating the sorority favorite nike shorts) and the tights-well the tights were to conceal my not so sexy, non summery legs (read: pale and chubby). No one seemed to notice my monochromatic ensemble, until later.

If you've ever raced for the cure then you know that the cure can only be raced for at an ungodly hour of the morning. If you're thinking of curing cancer please be forwarned that any efforts made past 9 o'clock am will be null and void. So I made it back to my casa around sunrise (okay, it was slightly after sunrise... but still). So after I watched Clue to wind down:

I skipped on over to the mall for a little shopping. Being the lazy Saturday kinda girl that I am, I opted to stay in my race gear. I made my obligatory stop at The Candy Wrapper for a few delicious candy treats. Every time I visit the c-dub it becomes more and more obvious that I am getting older. I know this must come as a shock. The average age of the employees is about 17, so naturally I have all sorts of fun chatting about Twilight and gossiping about celebs, etc. It turns out I have lots of things in common with High School girls (a quality that would have been useful when I was actually in high school). Alex was working that morning. Alex is a red head that stays "true to her roots" (pardon the pun). In all her fiestyness and excitement she commented on my outfit. "Man you're all murdered out!"

Ex-squeeze me? Baking powder? What does this mean? Apparently, when one is wearing all black it is refered to as being "murdered out". This is where my oldness kicks in, because that's just dumb. Who says stuff like that? Who even comes up with that? Is that because murderers wear all black? If anybody fit that profile I would say it would be a cat burglar... in which case I'd be "burgled out"

Or maybe "mimed out"?

How about I go to work tomorrow all "Snape'd out"

Or hit the club this weekend all "Beyonce'd out"?

Because it's dumb. That's why. C'mon kids, you gotta do better than that...

"Kathy, I'm lost," I said, though I knew she was sleeping

2009-05-10T00:50:00.002-05:00

Even my dog doesn't like me anymore. She's chewing her raw hides, the very same raw hides I might add that have been sitting neglected around the upstairs for months. She's suddenly interested in them again. Or perhaps she'd rather be doing anything than hanging out with me. We had a great game of Dirty Bitch, which consists of me hiding on the stairs and "goosing" her (as I call her a dirty bitch, and old lady, and stinky butt... and things like that) until she gets scared and gives up. Except she didn't get scared tonight, she just got mad... and then got even. So maybe I used up all my cool points on that because I have now become the pariah of the household.

I spent the day eating and seeing friends. I woke up, ate a small turkey sandwich (of the mapley, peppery persuasion) and chugged a Diet DP. Then I met Sarah T for lunch at Baker Bro's (somewhere neither of us had been before). We had a good 3 hour long chat before she had to head out of dodge. After a peaceful tanning session I rolled my old bones back home, where I decided I should bake some cookies. Chocolate chunk pecan was the winner (paired with some Flamin' Hot Fritos... because if there are FHF anywhere in a 5 mile radius I will hunt them down and introduce them to their maker). Not too long after that I met up with Jacq, Glen and Susie, and Brandon at Caprock Cafe for a cheeseburger in paradise. Now please make a note that I really wasn't that hungry, but Jacq had never been to Caprock and I'm never one to pass up an opportunity for a delectable cheeseburger. Tack on a few beers and I was pushing max cap. Next was Roller Derby, and what Bout is complete without a gigantic beer? I partook. Then of course we topped off the night with an after party at Wookiee's mom's house. I felt the need to finish off the day with some veggies, snack crackers, homemade pico and chips, sweet tea, orange balls and a heaping bowl of grits. I will be full for days. This is like Thanksgiving full, and there's just no coming back from that. Yes it was a good day, filled with good friends, good food and good TV. Even after a day like today I am still unsettled. Sometimes even when love and acceptance wash over you in abundance there are still pieces missing.

Example: I love mint chocolate chip ice cream, but no matter how good that ice cream is, if the chips are missing it's not the same. All the positive things fall away to the sides, because the thing you really wanted isn't there. Today was a missing chip day. And even though there are better chips out there (chips that understand and can appreciate the importance of being the chips in the mint chocolate and respect the mint chocolate and it's feelings) I still miss my chips. Chips got tired of me, just like Emmy..... damn dogs.

It's a long way to the top

2009-04-30T21:46:00.002-05:00

Inspired by those ever present Top 5 thingys on Facebook I decided to concoct a list of all the bands I've seen live. I have a nice little cd case with all my old ticket stubs, but sadly it is one of the few things I have already packed so this one's gonna have to roll off the ol' memory. In the most concise order I can think of:

ZZTop
Jackyl
George Thorogood
ZZTop (again)
Lynyrd Skynyrd
ZZTop (3rd times the charm)
Joan Jett and the Blackhearts
Def Leppard
Skid Row
Ted Nugent
KISS
Pearl Jam
Creed
Collective Soul
Coal Chamber
Slip Knot
Britney Spears
Nikka Costa
Aerosmith
Cheap Trick
Metallica
Limp Bizkit
Deftones
Linkin Park
Godsmack
Metallica (again)
Schwayze
ZZTop (yes, a fourth time)
Pat Green
The Doobie Brothers
Tom Petty
Jackson Browne
Van Halen

And a hand full of others that aren't worth remembering or mentioning. Good times.

Random thread on a Fry Day night

2009-04-24T21:57:00.006-05:00

This chair has been broken for years. Why haven't I bought a new one? Because I'm cheap - no, not cheap, maybe just lazy? I'm searching for a good word for 'easy to please', but all I'm getting are Coldplay lyrics. I like Coldplay, if I listened to new music more often they would be in the front running for favorite. As it were I'm listening to the Traveling Wilburys and drinking some whiskey and diet dr. pepper. I don't necessarily like whiskey, but I have what is basically a full bottle of Seagram's resting in my freezer. It's original purpose was for hot tottis while I was battling a particularly nasty case of the sniffles a few months back. The totti managed me through a Josh Abbott concert. I must've had too many considering the only way to make it through anything of the Texas Country persuasion is to be blind drunk. I wasn't there for the music though, I was there for the company. Coincidentally, the whiskey lasted longer than the relationship - not that that's really any indication. I'm about as good with dating as I am in replacing broken chairs...or drinking whiskey. What makes it better? Ice cream. Speaking of ice cream, I polished off a pint of Blue Bell Mint Chocolate Chip today on my lunch hour. The secret to a good MCC, is the chips. Because really, the actual ice cream portion is just bright green nonsense, but the chips... the chips are where the magic is, and Blue Bell has put a spell on me. I'd like some more, but a full trip to Wal-Mart does not appeal to me (or the 8 oz of Diet DP and whiskey in my system), and Dairy Queen is already closed. Why do they close so early? Is it a budgeting issue? For those of you in Lubbock, you might recall a few years ago (I think it was more like 10, but whatevs) the majority of the DQs in town turned to McDonalds. I suppose this was the proverbial writing on the wall... tell it to my dipped cone. And speaking of Dairy Queen, surely you've all heard the story of the time we loaded up in the family wagon and took a trip to the ol' Texas Stop Sign. I was about 4, and my favorite treat was a Dilly Bar. Now see, there's the Dilly Bar on the stick, and then there's that weird Dilly Bar patty thing in a little wax paper bag. I didn't like that one, I wanted my Dilly Bar on a stick, damnit. Even at the tender age of 4 I didn't trust the woman working the window to get my order right, so I took it upon myself to specify. I leaned over my mom's shoulder and shouted into the pick up window, "I want a Dilly Bar on a dick!" Ahhh yes. It seems I had my priorities sorted out even then. Now this is me, being the bigger person... I think. I'm trying to do the opposite of what usually happens in these situations, so it stands to reason that I am making a good decision. Just call me thirty, flirty and thriving - except I'm not thirty. That's you. Have fun with that.

Billy don't eat a hero!

2009-04-21T22:17:00.002-05:00

I stumbled across this amusing article about the worst drive-thru foods you can eat. Now I tend to consider myself a fairly healthy eater. Please don't misunderstand, I can shovel in the junk like the rest of them, but as far as overall education goes I'd like to think I'm ahead of the curve (or at least keeping up with the pack). So some of these things didn't come as a surprise to me. It doesn't take a dietary wunderkind to know that 2+2=4, or in this case deep fried+ranch= big fat ass. So have a looksy! I was keeping my fingers crossed that none of my favorites made the list, and I was pleased to discover that I don't even order most of the offenders.

Be enlightened:

http://health.yahoo.com/experts/eatthis/30464/the-worst-drive-thru-foods-in-america-and-what-to-eat-instead/

Sadie, Sadie, Married Lady

2009-04-11T17:11:00.003-05:00

Houston is a magical place. Before this weekend I'd only ventured to the city once. It was 2004, and I was on tour with a friends band - the infamous tour that I quit school for. Naturally other big things factored in, but the tour was the proverbial straw. This time I'm here for the joyous celebration of my cousin Brad's nuptials at the Houston Zoo.

We pulled into town yesterday evening, just in time to make the pre-wedding crawfish boil at Little Woodrow's, a delightful back yard patio type of joint with plenty of charm to go around. We had the entire back patio reserved, and it was stuffed to the gills with family, friends, beer and crawfish. As if this wasn't good enough, God also saw it fit to send a wonderful man selling homemade tamales to the party. I grabbed 3dz/$20 for the table and the feast was in full swing. I'd never had the pleasure of eating crawfish in their purest form, but the N'awlins side of my family gave me a brief, but thorough tutorial. I was totally grossed out, and completely in love. They're so wrong they're right. Much fun was had by all.

Today, in the interest of killing some time, the family rendezvoused at The Cheesecake Factory before doing some shopping at the Galleria. After dining on Chicken and Biscuits and Lemoncello Tort, we hit the second floor. Christi and mom bought shoes, I bought some Godiva and dad bought a Puma hat. In the midst of shoe shopping we made our way into Payless; dad went next door to Borders. It wasn't 20 seconds after we walked into the store that I saw him: Black suit, loooong blonde beard and a dread locked skull cap. He was a sharp dressed man, he was Billy Gibbons. I actually didn't think it was really him at first, but that didn't stop me from running (yes, I ran) over to Borders to tell my dad. For those of you not in the know, my father is in love with ZZTop. We have seen them 4 times in concert as a family, he has a poster hanging in his office and he has a replica keychain. My dad bravely approached him and asked for a picture, Billy obliged. My father can now die happy.

And a big shout out goes to Wifi, Godiva and The Deadliest Catch for making this peaceful afternoon possible. Fun pics coming soon!

S-A, T-U-R, D-A-Y....BITES!

2009-04-05T20:22:00.003-05:00

Saturday really didn't go so well for me, but in the interest of 'keepin' on the sunny side' I've decided to weed out a few positive things that happened...

Pro: I caught a rerun of Dead Like Me (which doesn't usually appear in syndication)
Con: I woke up late, and missed Degrassi

Pro: I got my hair done
Con: As a result of my unwise decision to dye my hair red, I was forced to go brunette instead of blonde which is what my heart was set on.

Pro: The brown is very rich and beautiful...
Con:... but it's not blonde
Double Con: I missed a call that I REALLY. DID. NOT. want to miss

Pro: I picked up some chick-fil-a after the salon
Con: Some old bag busted my tail light in the parking lot and chose to ignore it and drive off...
Double Con: I then chose to return the call I missed.... and leave a ticky-tack message (Boo!)

Pro: I managed an awesome nap on the couch
Con: I woke up too late to go tan

Pro: I picked up some Raising Cane's
Double Pro: And I caught up on Lost and CSI whilst eating said Cane's

All in all the day was not my worst, not even in the top five - BUT it was definitely a Monday. Maybe that means my Monday will feel like the weekend =)

"...but you don't even have kids!"

2009-03-14T21:46:00.006-05:00

This phrase was recently said to me not once, but twice. Twice negating the value of my time.

When do you wake up in the morning? I wake up around 6:45, allowing me time to eat breakfast, check my email (and by email I mean facebook) and get pretty for the day. 6:45, which was fifteen minutes after the suggested meet time. I don't think so. It was assumed I'd be up for the early morning task, which was met with a big fat "Heck no!" from me.

"But you don't even have kids"

That's right. I also don't have influenza, rickets, a mold infestation or a host of other things that might make it difficult for me to get up and out of the house at such an ungodly hour. I don't have kids, but what does that have to do with anything? If I have children I have a legitimate reason to wake up at 5:30 in the AM, but if I don't have kids I don't have a legitimate reason to not get up at 5:30 in the AM.... As I struggled to wrap my brain around what this meant I couldn't reach any sort of logical conclusion. I can only guess it is because people who have children feel very validated by their ability to reproduce. A validation that supercedes anything I might have going on in my life.

So I've decided I need to fabricate some reasons for the future as to why I will not be able to meet my coworkers 2 hours before the work day begins...

... because my religion forbids me to drive before sunrise...
... because my inner city outreach program requires me to hand out coffee until 7:45...
... because I'll be too busy punching you and your kids in the face...
... because I'm memorizing New Moon word for word, which constitutes at least an hour of heavy reading every morning...
... because my dog ate my homework...
... and your kid...
... and just because it's called a "quick getaway" doesn't mean it doesn't take time to plan...

If you've experienced any sort of discrimination due to the fact that you are not a mother or father feel free to use any or all of these excuses against your critics. After all, the best use of your time is what you decide, and that should be apparent to us all.

I want...

2009-03-04T22:42:00.004-06:00

- Equality
- One of those California Pizza Kitchen personal sized Sicilian pizzas sitting in my freezer
- For Emmy to brush her own stanky teeth
- To figure out something to wear tomorrow
- To wake up in my parents house to the smell of coffee and the sound of Winston barking while Tim & Nan talk over each other
- some gumbo
- For the couch sized pile of laundry sitting next to me to wash and fold itself
- A kinder disposition
- More focus at work
- To move to a respectable dwelling and...
- Some sense of organization when it comes to that dwelling
- You to have a good day
- A margarita on the rocks/patio/beach
- A family of my own someday
- About a dozen Cadbury Eggs.... self control, self control, self control....
- To be blonde again
- This to last a very, very long time....

Wham That Lamb!

2009-02-18T21:16:00.002-06:00

So I was scrolling through my past blogs and realized there has been no fluidity to my blog "labels". Generally people categorize their blogs, whether it be "gossip" or "work" or "relationships" .....my labels are as random and meaningless as my blogs. They are floating freely in the cosmos. In an attempt to bring some sort of balance and purpose to my blog I have chosen to revisit said labels, and expand on each one. My first choice is "Lost Childhood Memories".

When I was younger I had a thing for stuffed animals. No, not like "a thing", but in true young girl fashion I thought stuffed animals were the end all, be all of cool. I had an endless stash of plush which was dominated by my comprehensive Pound Puppy collection. Something you should know about my Pound Puppies is that they all had names, voices and specific rolls. They were a family, but not just any family - they were the McPuppies. We (my brothers and I) developed this name after the beloved Marty McFly of Back to the Future, so of course there was his stuffed doppelganger Marty McPuppy. With the character profiles in place we were primed to play "dolls" with my "Loveable, Huggable Puppies who need a home"

The fun was not limited to those of the puppy persuasion though. There were others that joined in on the action, first and foremost a pair of stuffed, bean-bag sheep that had a Laurel & Hardy thing going on. They spoke in an incoherent dribble of "Bah bah-bah bah, BAH-BAAAAAH!!" You think I'm kidding.... I'm not. And all the animals lived in the happy existence that we made for them, working at McPuppies (that's right, they owned a restaurant) and just being cool. There were slow times, and in these slow times the puppies yearned for something more. We obliged. So we devised a game show for the pups to play. The game show was called "Wham That Lamb!" and went a little something like this:

The two lambs (one was named Lamby, and I'm not positive but I think they both might have been named Lamby) were hung by shoelaces in my brother's closet. We then rubber banded mouse traps to a board and propped the board against the back wall of the closet. The stage was set, and all we needed were some participants from the audience. Bruiser, Marty, Biff, Whopper, they all took turns answering "questions" from the host, and if they answered correctly (which they always did; my pound puppies were no fools) then the host/audience (my brothers and I) would all scream "WHAM! THAT! LAMB!" and the player would hit the hanging lamb as hard as they could, launching Lamby and/or Lamby toward the mousetrap. If the trap was sprung, and an appendage was caught in the trap the contestant would win! If the trap was not sprung.... we would just keep trying until it was. And thus "Wham That Lamb" was born, and the three of us discovered another way to misspend our youth.

Thanks mom and dad.

9 times (in the voice of Ed Rooney)

2009-02-14T21:57:00.002-06:00

This was the ninth Valentine's season I have worked at the Candy Wrapper. Ninth. I'll spare you all the grim details of enduring this manic holiday in a 10x30 fluorescently lit box, mostly because I've already recounted it with most of you. You can't fully appreciate how intense it gets unless you've worked it. If you've ever waited tables on a game day you have a small idea of the horror.

Every year is a little different; every anxiety attack slightly more alarming. Just kidding... kind of. Valentine's hasn't given me an anxiety attack in, ohhh at least 3 years. But seriously folks, it's good to be on this side of the nervous breakdown. Especially when I got to work with such a lovely bunch of high school girls.

So, as another Valentine's Day comes to a close I am resting easy. There were no tears, no under the breath expletives, no freak outs, no weeping in the fetal position on the bathroom floor, no shaking caused by exhaustion or loss of faculties due to hunger..... at least not by me, save for the expletives.

Until next year V-Day...

And I? I took the one less traveled by.

2009-02-02T21:48:00.002-06:00

Oh, how the roads of living wind us mercilessly about. Turning through cities almost untraveled only to arrive at a familiar end. I can't help but wonder as I travel the roads, arms outstretched like a childish airplane, where they will be taking me next. Yes, I wonder....

I was walking a trail eleven months further along in the year two thousand and eight when I found myself rinsing hair color out of my newly blond locks. Blond matched this journey perfectly, but it seemed fate, or inertia or some... thing had a different idea. The warm water touched my head with a familiar comfort. Primarily the wonderful sensation of clean, but secondly a firm reminder of home, of routine, of - blond. Water pooled into the dye for a brief second before running down my back, into the tub, down the drain... goodbye... I stepped forward, perhaps in some tiny moment of precognisance, only to feel a sharp thud between my shoulder blades. I realized before I had fully revolved what had happened...

Yes. In a true Cosmo Kramer moment the shower head tore away from the pipes leaving me defenseless against the overwhelming water pressure. Unable to divert the violent stream (after all, a primary function of a shower head is to direct the flow of the water. No head, no direction) I pressed my body against the shower wall, scarcely avoiding my foe. My hand darted with stealth like precision to cut off the water supply. I was safe - for now.

It was here my journey took a sharp turn. Imagine me, meandering somewhat carelessly down a dirt path, my blonde hair lightly wafting behind me in a breeze. Then I am stopped by a sudden shift in the path. I pivot on my heels and face my body down the long, inescapably straight highway laid out before me. I pause briefly considering my options, but there are no options. In a very cruel turn of events I am faced with one and only one choice. My eyes fix on what awaits me, never straining for I already know of what I will see. The festering cesspool that is Wal-Mart on a saturday afternoon. Seriously life? Was this turn really necessary?

It was poetic I suppose that I already knew where the shower heads were located. Not because I'd bought one before, but because years before during sleepless nights (sleeplessness caused by some other woe of a young woman) I had wandered the aisles looking for something to spend my money on. Something that, for however short a time would bring me solace. I clearly had not found that before on the shower head aisle, but today I would. I speedwalked around old women in motorized buggies, and dodged single mothers, cowboys and shoplifters. I grumbled and cursed under my breath (not very far under) at my present circumstances: wet hair, splotchy skin, and the noticeable smell of Nice 'n Easy. People stared, not that it was tricky to figure out my situation. They watched with annoyed wonder, as if I was somehow bothering them. Because, afterall the greatest burden of this entire situation was the inconvenience I placed on the unsuspecting people of Wal-Mart. And then the coup de grâce.... with the hostility growing ever heavier in the air I, in one fatal blow shattered the patience of all those around me when I, ever so graciously, pardoned my way across the check out lane to the register next to me and grabbed *gasp* the daily newspaper. That was it. I had pressed my luck once too many. I sought sanctuary with the cashier, fumbling to complete the transaction but not even she offered an olive branch as I had commited the unforgivable sin of reading current events... in her check out line no less.

I ran as fast as I could out of the gates of hell, down the long, stretching highway I had weathered. I ran as fast as my feet could carry me until in a startling instant I was back on my path. I took a moment to stop my dizzying mind. The loops and curls of the day had proven too much for me and my newly blonde hair that didn't seem to sparkle quite as brightly now. I didn't like the direction I had chosen. A direction that earlier had seemed so unavoidable, but now in the afterglow of my misery seemed so carelessly unnecessary.

Cautiously I faced myself forward, brushed my yellow hair behind my shoudlers, and kept walking.

Greetings from the dark side

2009-01-24T15:46:00.003-06:00

Hello blog-o-sphere!!!

I apologize for my extended absence. Forget about the great crash of '29, let's talk about the great crash of '08. I'm speaking of course about my computer. Yes, after so many semi-faithful years my desktop has bit the big one.

I'm so anxious to get back and talk about all the ridiculous goings-on of my absurd life. Hopefully my tax return will prove large enough to purchase a fancy schmancy new desk top (or dare I say... a laptop...).

Until then peeps!

My inadvertent John Voight-a-thon

2008-12-01T21:06:00.002-06:00

They say good things come in three's (or is it bad things?). Perhaps that explains how I found myself nestled into the third installment of a weekend long John Voight Trilogy. I know what you're thinking "Sarah, with all the wonderful movies Mr. Voight has given us how could you choose just three?!" Well the answer is I didn't choose them, they chose me.

Yesterday I was watching my Netflix. After polishing off Shrek: the Third I moved on to Bratz: the movie. Can it, all of you. This brings us to act one of our J.V. saga. Although he only had a small supporting roll (with an inexplicable prosthetic nose) he did not disappoint. Whilst I was watching this great cinematic accomplishment I received an invite to see 4 Christmases at the movie theatre. I was excited to see this fine holiday flick, but I was even more delighted to discover Reese Witherspoon's father was played by none other than *drumroll* JOHN VOIGHT! Twice in one day? Christmas had come early!

The two events individually meant nothing, it wasn't until tonight that the trifecta was complete. I decided to toss in a movie for some background noise. Having recently purchased National Treasure 2 I thought this would be a nice choice. The previews didn't even run their course before I realized what I'd done - that's right. John Voight... you omnipresent bastard. As my findings began to soak in I experienced a whole 'nother kind of enlightenment....

Jack Skellington danced before me, his big black eyes staring through the tube....

As I glossed over the preview I was flooded with memories of the first time I saw The Nightmare Before Christmas. I was 10, and I had just been released from the hospital (true story, although it does add a nice dramatic effect). In the children's hospital patients are allowed to choose their menu in an effort to make things just a little more exciting. Unsure of what to order I turned to my mom for guidance. Chicken strips or meatloaf? Jello or ice cream? There were plenty of acceptable options, but one I didn't recognize. I asked my mom what "chicken teriyaki" was. All of the sudden the room grew dim and a spotlight beamed down over my mother. It's as if God himself were describing this delectable dish..... the brown rice was nestled all warm in it's sauce while visions of snap peas danced in my head...That's sounds good. I'll have that. I grabbed my orange crayon and drew a thick circle around the words. Crayola approved, and so did I.

The next day I was released... without warning, and without my chicken teriyaki. At this point I should've been happy I was going home, but all I could think about was my taste of the Orient lost. That weekend my mom, being the grand mother that she is, allowed me to venture out of the house. Still fragile and worn by my two-week stay in the hospital, Nan and I went to Movies 16 to see The Nightmare Before Christmas, but first we grabbed some lunch. There was a new restaurant in the mall called "Mandarin Express". It was there I tasted my first chicken teriyaki; it was there my love for fine Asian cuisine was born.

...Jack Skellington danced before me, his big black eyes staring through the tube... What did it all mean? Was it Tim Burton that lead me to one of the great loves of my life, or was it my mother who lead me to John Voight? It all flowed together in a David Lynch-ian sort of way, and it tasted good.

The road goes on forever and the - sunshine never ends?

2008-11-06T22:33:00.004-06:00

It's not easy being green, or so Kermit thought. Well that may be, but for me it's not easy being nice. My natural (or nurtural) inclination is rather negative and biting, but I try to always take into account how blessed I am. Every reaction is a choice. I can choose to be positive or negative, and then I tie on my rainbow apron and bake sprinkle joy cupcakes for all my talking animal friends =)

But seriously kids, it's hard to keep what I like to refer to as the "Sunshine Tank" running on full. Do you ever have those days when it feels like somebody syphoned your sunshine tank? I know I do. Today was one of those days.

All we can do is eat another sprinkle joy cupcake and keep on trucking. Just don't miss your chances to fill up.

Just for that, I'm changing both of the TVs to Dr. 90210

2008-11-05T22:16:00.004-06:00

Gym story #398.5

This lady straight up took my treadmill tonight at the gym. It was a little crowded tonight at the ol' B. Works so I didn't get my usual treadmill, but I adjusted and chose one further down the way. One of the greatest things I enjoy at the gym is the cable. So rather than parking myself in front of one of the many tvs featuring C-SPAN or ESPN, I borrow a remote and choose something shallow, like The Real World or Kimora Lee Simmons: Life in the Fab Lane. So I find my treadmill and am immediately faced with the task of "saving" it. Luckily gym math is universal:

Water Bottle+Magazine=Reserved

Universal, or so I thought. I quickly bounce over to the front desk for a remote, and when I come back - there she is. I was gone for literally 10 seconds, tops. She had to see me marking my territory with said water bottle and back issue of Entrepreneur magazine (swiped from the rack). So what was she doing?! She was gettin' her work out on..... on MY treadmill. I saw my magazine tossed on the floor behind her and my water bottle sitting next - wait. That wasn't my water bottle! Mine was still in the little cup holder thingy. Could this lady be any more blatant with her hostile takeover of my treadmill? I think not. I had to reach around her and take it out myself.

Nothing. She did nothing. She didn't even flinch. No apology, no embarrassed expression. She was just running. Running with her short hair, and her Nike shorts and her iPod arm band thing, and her old, but not as old as it should look b/c she works out all of the time b/c she's married to her career and probably doesn't have any friends skin. Bleck!

She can have the treadmill, I'll keep my youth... and my friends... and my manners. Hmph.

He ain't heavy, he's my brother

2008-11-03T20:25:00.003-06:00

It occurred to me tonight as I watched the intro to the Saturday Night Live Presidential Bash that I knew John McCain. And not just knew him as a Presidential candidate, but knew him. I then realized it was because he is a perfect hybrid of my father (pictured below with the family hound)...

... and my old Superintendent Peter Dahlstrom (sadly this was the best picture I could find of ol' Peter, but if you know him you'll understand)

Is this possible? Maybe my dad and Mr. Dahlstrom are long lost brothers, and McCain is their freakazoid triplet or something. Probably not though

GO VOTE!

Ohhhh, Wham Bam Thank You Maam

2008-10-21T21:39:00.004-05:00

Early voting began yesterday in Texas and I insist that you vote. I don't even care who you vote for, my political passions don't run that deep. The thing I care about is that we all realize what others have been through so that we have this opportunity; more specifically, I'm talking about women.

To make a long story short, a lot... A LOT of seriously hard core ladies worked long and hard to earn us (women) the right to vote and to be heard. Some women have bought into the lie that our vote doesn't really matter. If someone was voting on what you should name your child, or how you should cut your hair, or what man you should marry then wouldn't you want to give your opinion? Would your vote count then?

Susie B. didn't work her whole life so that we could "forget" to vote, or be too lazy to register ourselves. Our opinion, whether it be deeply informed or mildly misguided, matters. We all make a difference. ALL OF US.

So let us (women) celebrate our 88th year of voting!!! Vote now, and take your place in our Country's history.

My jeans are haunted

2008-10-19T00:35:00.002-05:00

I bought a nice pair of jeans at American Eagle a few months back. I had finally come to grips with the fact that I couldn't squeeze myself into my size 8s and still maintain a professional look, so I took the plunge and spent $50 and some change on a pair of dark wash beauties. While I wasn't too keen on the size of them, they were working well with what they had (me).

Now, I am under the impression (because Oprah and all the fashion magazines have told me so) that dark wash jeans look fancier, thus making them a prime candidate for work week circulation. I figured I could starch them and maybe give-em-a-lil crease down the front and be good to go. No one will wonder why Sarah has been wearing jeans all week to work, they'll just ask themselves how she manages to look so effortlessly striking... this was my plan anyways.

It didn't take but a few days to realize something was - off. I wore them fresh from the store (because that's one wear minus a wash, which by my calculations puts me ahead of the laundry game). After their first wash and dry I left them crumpled in a basket for a little while (so they can mingle with my mismatched socks, wal-mart panties and Old Navy 2 for $10 tee's) before I liberated them for a pressing. I cranked the iron up to "melt your hands with the steam" which is one notch up from "burn your house down" and went to town with my spray starch to ensure a crisp, clean look for the office. Perfect. Or so I thought...

The next morning I noticed an unsightly wrinkle along the backside of the leg. Hmmm, no worries. The hanger must have mussed them up. I gave them a good steam and laid them back out. I went to put them on.... still wrinkled. Huh? So I ironed them again..... no luck. I turned them wrong side out - wrinkled. I actually set the iron on the garment for as long as I thought I could get away with..... WRINKLED. I tried to put it out of my mind, but everytime I go to wear the jeans, there it is mocking me. I have washed, ironed and starched these jeans several times since, but that one spot will. not. stay. ironed.

There is only one explanation: my jeans are haunted. Apparently my $50 bought me a pair of jeans and a wrinkle ghost. If anyone knows of a good exorcist, I'm in the market.

Billy likes Bueno

2008-09-24T20:33:00.003-05:00

Years ago a friend of mine introduced me to the term "Billy". The origins of the word are unclear (perhaps she can clarify) but the message remains true. I saw "Billy" this weekend at the Taco Bueno in Weatherford as he drove away in his 20 year old muscle car while 'Danger Zone' played from his tape deck and the fuzzy dice dangled from his rear view. I was inspired to share with you some of "Billy's" finer attributes.

In no particular order...

You Might Be A Billy If:

-You grunt excessively while lifting weights.

-You own one or more gold chain necklaces

-You drive any model of Mustang GT (especially models dating from the late 80s or early 90s)

-You have a tribal band tattoo

-You list James Hetfield, Trent Reznor, Fred Durst, and the like as your 'Hero', 'Inspiration' or 'People I'd Like to Meet'

-You wear a wife beater and faux leather jacket in 90 degree weather

-You wear a wife beater and faux leather jacket in 70 degree weather

-You wear a wife beater and faux leather jacket in 50 degree weather

-You shape your sideburns...

-...You still have sideburns...

-...You don't understand why sideburns are included on this list...

And the list goes on and on. I urge to concoct your own list of "Billy"isms so that you may more easily spot a Billy in your community.

This is Billy

Vintage Billy

Ultimate Billy

Sex, Lies and Videotape or The Legend of Zelda

2008-09-16T22:15:00.003-05:00

We've all played The Legend of Zelda, a game made popular in the late 80s by the wonderful people of Nintendo. It occured to me over the weekend (somewhere between the 4th and 7th hour of playing Zelda) that this was no child's game. In fact, it's filled with all sorts of evil and negative examples. Allow me to elaborate:

When we begin the game Link is a fugitive, wanted for the kidnapping of the princess. The storyline operates under the impression that Link is in fact innocent. Right. Tell it to the judge.

He quickly sets out on his journey to "save" the princess, who I'm assuming at this point is his girlfriend. No specifics are ever mentioned about their romance, but I think it's implied. The only problem is Princess Zelda is hidden somewhere in Hyrule under lock and key. Link has no idea where to find her or how to contact her. Some people call this the "Witness Protection Program".

Blinded by rage, and driven by his insane love for the princess Link sets out on a killing spree. Other characters in the game will contact Link "telepathically" but in all seriousness I think he's just schizophrenic. Throughout the game he murders dozens of (security) guards and countless creatures native to the land. As he takes their lives he also strips them of their rupees and other possessions. On several occasions he has eaten the hearts of his victims, and has been known to rummage pockets until he finds bombs and arrows. It appears that Link is now a master of explosives as well.

As the game progresses Link's twisted desires sink even deeper. He quickly grows tired of cannibalizing his prey, the kill no longer whetting his appetite. We are then introduced to a handful of sorcerers and wizards who offer Link advancement in return for payment. He obliges and falls deeper into the Occult.

Link remains passionate in his search for Zelda, terrorizing known associates in an attempt to see her once again. The game calls these associates "Dungeon Bosses" but the word "Dungeon" and "Mob" can easily be interchangeable. He knocks off these thugs one by one pausing only to burglarize homes and demolish the landscape.

How could we have been so blind? It appears Link is nothing but a common thug. If you don't believe me then consider this: Some 73% of serial killers are white males with a history of animal abuse and mental illness. I rest my case.

BACK BY POPULAR DEMAND

2008-09-09T18:04:00.002-05:00

And by "popular demand" I mean the one anonymous comment inquiring to where I have been. Thank you anonymous. Your identity matters not, for your sentiment is enough to prove my infinite awesomeness. SO, while I wait for my veggie dip to do it's thing in the fridge I'll enlighten you with some of my recent goings-on.

A coworker of mine recently joined the Junior League of Lubbock. She (in true Jr. Leaguer fashion) invited me to attend the first meeting of the season and enjoy pre-meeting margaritas. I obliged, partly b/c I enjoy this coworker... mostly because I heard the word "margarita". I had my opinions about the Jr. League just like everyone else, so I was excited to sit back and enjoy the night under the seductive influence of my Sangria Swirl. After drinks we headed to "headquarters" for the meeting. I'll skip all the boring details, but ultimately the whole scene was pretty cool. There is the fair share of 'ladies who lunch" but there were also a lot of normal women. Some women so normal even I thought to myself "She's in the Jr. League?" Yes I know, I'm a snob... I'll fit right in. Not to mention the fact they provided beer (pitchers in fact) nachos, brownies and other junky goodies at the meeting. Toss in some door prizes and some fancy women with potentially hunky sons and I'm sold. Where has the Jr. League been all of my life?

In other news, today at work I was calling customers with back orders and encouraging them to add to the shipment. I called a customer in Florida. For those of you who weren't made aware, Florida hates me. The entire state, they all hate me and wish I were dead. So I call this company and listen to the message header for my contact name: Joann Shorum. After cycling through all the names I opt to transfer to the receptionist where I'm transferred to an unfriendly women named Blanca:

Me: Yes, may I speak with Joann Shorum Please?
Blanca: Uhh ...(frustrated sigh)... She died a couple of years ago.
Me: Oh! ....ummm, I am SO sorry..... I'll update our records.

Thanks Florida! You've been great.

You're gonna need a bigger boat...

2008-08-29T20:51:00.002-05:00

I distinctly remember this scene from Jaws scaring the crap out of me when I was a wee lass. It still holds true. Tonight as I was watching Jaws (one of my all time favorites) I prepared myself for the scare and still choked on my Double Dave's. Take a look, the money shot's at 2:44.

...Bachelor dandies, Drinkers of brandies, What do I know of those...

2008-08-20T23:46:00.002-05:00

Just a lil something to keep you warm tonight.

Important Life Lessons, brought to you by Ferris.

2008-08-18T21:59:00.002-05:00

Make the most of your life
The question isn't "what are we going to do," the question is "what aren't we going to do?"

Life is all about your perspective
Sloane: The city looks so peaceful from up here.
Ferris: Anything is peaceful from one thousand, three hundred and fifty-three feet.
Cameron: I think I see my dad.

Always believe in yourself
-Ism's in my opinion are not good. A person should not believe in an -ism, he should believe in himself. I quote John Lennon, "I don't believe in The Beatles, I just believe in me." Good point there. After all, he was the walrus. I could be the walrus. I'd still have to bum rides off people.

Eight perfectly good dollars - wasted!

2008-08-16T22:39:00.003-05:00

Do not see Kiefer Sutherland's new film 'Mirrors'. If you'd like a more detailed explanation then allow me to elaborate.

***** WARNING!! MAY CONTAIN SPOILERS *****

Do not see Kiefer Sutherland's new film 'Mirrors'!! That is all.

A Priest, a Rabbi and a Moose walk into a bar...

2008-08-11T23:32:00.002-05:00

I have turned into a punch line. I don't really know when or how it happened, but I am a joke.

I try not to take myself too seriously. What's the point? We all fall and have to get back up. We're all weird and akward. We all search for someone or something to make us whole. We might as well have a lighthearted attitude about it, right? The trouble is when I am being serious, and wish to be taken that way, nobody gets the joke.

I know I'm weird, but I don't mind. Everyone else is weird too, but most of us are polite enough to keep it to ourselves. We wouldn't want to call the Kettle black, now would we? It has long been my understanding that "normal" people are often boring people, and within the realm of "not boring" people are many levels of peculiarity. I unknowingly crossed over into Normalville, and let me tell you -- they don't make it easy. It is a dimension as vast as space and as timeless as infinity. It is the middle ground between lame and old, between science and superstition, and it lies between the pit of man's fears and the summit of his social knowledge. This is the dimension of squares. It is an area which we call the Twilight Zone.

I so desperately want to stand out in a positive way, not because I'm the weird girl. I try to be normal around them. It is exhausting. I don't like it. I decided it better long ago to just be myself..... but myself seems to be the butt of all the jokes lately. Perhaps I'm just being too sensitive. Maybe I'll let it all out with a good cry, b/c nothing goes better with Punch Line than her good friend, Drama Queen.

A Few Words from Eric...

2008-08-06T18:05:00.005-05:00

Eric is the proprietor of Cafe Rio in Ruidoso. I've had the privilege of sampling his cooking a time or two, and basking in it's gut busting deliciousness. Think of Cafe Rio as the New Mexico equivalent to One Guy's (for all you locals out there). In my previous post I asked for everyone to share what their favorite sweet treat was. Eric took the challenge by the horns and responded with the words below. They offer a whimsical glimpse into the Americana we all hold in our core, and exemplify the great importance of family and tradition. With his permission I've posted his words as a follow up. Here is what he had to say:

Over the years I've gone from being a sweet fiend to not really having that much of a sweet tooth. When I was a kid I loved Banana Flips, a processed confection made with so much sugar in the crème filling that they crunched, and through high school raspberry Zingers were often lunch, at least until I started working and had money for food and Galaga. In the army, after a seven-mile run, nothing recharged the batteries like a pack of raspberry jelly filled and powdered sugar covered doughnuts along with a quart of chocolate milk and a Marlboro. Following this diet I had an enviably low amount of body fat and was able to run for hours.

At some point in the past few years I have somehow lost this love of sweets except for two days of the year: Thanksgiving and Christmas. On those two days (of which Thanksgiving is my favorite, hands down) I almost always bake pies, they are nearly always custard pies, and there are always at least two of four old standbys: chocolate, coconut crème, butterscotch and buttermilk. The wife of a friend made the buttermilk pie years ago; I got the recipe from her not long before she committed suicide. Every time I see buttermilk pie on a menu I try it and I’m happy to say that my friend’s has never been bested and I think she would approve of mine. The butterscotch is the newest; I started making it maybe ten years ago, as my then wife loves all things butterscotch. Two years after our divorce I was able make and enjoy it again. The chocolate and the coconut crème go way, way back. From the time I was a little boy, my mom and grandma would make these pies. They were slightly different but equally good. The only problem I had with grandma’s was that she put meringue on her pies, while mom left hers bare so we could add Cool Whip. Grandpa called meringue “calf slobbers” and from the time I was small I hated it and would scrape it off my slices of otherwise wonderful pie.

When I first married, my mom gave us the Better Homes and Gardens cookbook, you know, the one with the red and white checkerboard pattern on it, it used to come with a fondue set at every wedding. Might still, I try to stay away from such affairs these days.

Being in Germany, and not having been home for over two years, I had missed out on four holidays worth of my favorite pies and decided that since I now had the recipes (my mom and grandma, at least to my knowledge at that time, had never used any cookbook but the BH&G), I could now make my own pies. And I did, and they weren’t the same. They were close, but different.

Over the years I continued to make them, changing only my crust recipe, and always thought they just tasted…different, good, but not as.In 1999 my grandma had a stroke and died within a few days. Grandpa followed her four years later. During the time between arriving home after grandpa died and his funereal there was the miserable chore of going through…stuff. My dad and his siblings had already secured photos and papers, now, as oldest grandchild, it was my turn. I have to admit that though I hated it, wishing with all my heart I wasn’t going through this house that I once loved to visit, but now hated to be in, I experienced a tiny thrill at what I found. I took only an old black Stetson, my grandpa’s worn out leather wallet that I had given him for Christmas a decade or more before, his pocket knife and a pair of cockroach killer cowboy boots (so called because of the wearer’s ability to get into a corner with the pointy toes to dispatch any varmints). From the kitchen I took a percolator, an ancient boning knife, a cast iron skillet, and the crown jewel, grandma’s own copy of the Better Homes and Gardens cookbook, its pages falling out and filled with her own handwritten recipes and those cut from magazines or torn from can labels. Later, my dad insisted that I take a microwave and a chainsaw that I didn’t really want, but that I would “be able to use.” The microwave, yeah, the chainsaw, not so much.

For years my mom had greeted my insistence that my pies just weren’t as good as I remembered hers and my grandma’s with mild (and I have to say, seemingly feigned) consternation. She doesn’t want mine to be as good, I often thought, and just let it go. But there in the pages of my grandma’s cookbook was the answer. The Thanksgiving after grandpa’s death I decided to use grandma’s cookbook. Thus far, I had only glanced through it, now I really looked, at the colorized pictures of 1950s haute cuisine like pineapple ham, then at the recipes, and then I knew why our pies were all different, mine drastically so. Grandma’s book called for an entire hen house worth of eggs in its custard pies, my mom’s (I confirmed later) a few less, and my “modern and healthy” ‘80s model uses the fewest of all. “Not as rich,” I remember telling my mom.“Hmmmmm,” she would respond. Yeah.

I still bake at least some combination of two of these four pies at the holidays, though last year I thoroughly enjoyed letting a local BBQ joint cook our Christmas dinner, and I now use Grandma’s recipes every time, and, in spite of now rarely eating sweets, I will still eat coconut crème or chocolate pie until I am sick to my stomach, and the leftovers ‘til they are no more.

These days, I am much more likely to crave salted snacks, chips, I do love trail mix with a little bit of chocolate in it, in fact, I really do enjoy that salty-sweet combination, as well as spicy-sweet. My friends, Caz and Jerod picked up some apricot-habanero jelly at the Tularosa farmer’s market last weekend that was fantastic. But if I do find myself at home, late at night, craving something sweet, I almost always make a PB&J, or have a couple spoonfuls out of whatever ice cream carton the kids have in the freezer. Half a package of Nutter Butters also makes a fine snack.

Oh, though I don’t make it often for my pies, if someone else feels like putting calf slobbers on a pie I don’t slide it off anymore.

I like candy when it's wrapped in a sweater.

2008-08-03T23:47:00.002-05:00

Like a werewolf in the full moon light, I am succumbing to the call.... of chocolate. I can not, will not resist. I'm two shakes shy of bolting out the door to make a midnight wal-mart run. I prefer twix, but when I get to this point I'll take anything I can get my grubby little paws on.

So my question tonight is what is your favorite sugary treat? Is it chocolate like me? Or perhaps you're a pie/cobbler fan. Does a warm batch of cookies suit your fancy, or do you turn to the sweet comfort of hard candy? Let me know peeps. This world is to cold for a sugar addict to travel alone. Let's keep each other warm.

4 8 15 16 23 42

2008-08-02T00:10:00.005-05:00

A little over 8 weeks ago my brother Mark gave me an ultimatum. Either start watching Lost, or be excommunicated from the family. FOREVER. I believe his words were "I could forgive you, Sarah. I'm just not sure God could."

Fine.

He has been prompting me to watch for years, and since it is summer and there hasn't been much on since the writer's strike I obliged.

I started watching LOST 56 days ago. There are 83 episodes in the first 4 seasons. With each episode running roughly 43 minutes that's approx. 3600 minutes of Lost. That's an average of 64 minutes per day.

In true Lost fashion, I'll leave you to ponder those numbers.

An Ode to Working Late:

2008-07-31T17:57:00.004-05:00

I've realized that anything and everything can be avoided or excused by working late. I came to this realization in the last few weeks b/c I have indeed been working late. How can you be expected to carry out your personal day to day work when you put in so many hours at the office? Right? Right.

Working late allows you to engage in several levels of irresponsibility that might otherwise be frowned upon. Just add the phrase "since I worked so late today" to the end of any sentence and be amazed as people's faces go from cynical to sympathetic. I'll give you a few examples:

"I didn't get around to washing the dishes, since I worked so late today"

That's alright! You don't worry about those smelly ol' dishes. You probably didn't even have time to use a dish seeing as how you worked so late!

"I didn't make it to the gym, since I worked so late today"

Sat around on the couch instead of hitting up that kickboxing class? Don't worry about it! You worked off your lunch by running back and forth to the accounting department. Besides, Diet Coke and Starburst don't have that many calories anyway.

"I'm sorry I never called you back...since I worked so late today..."

This one's a little trickier. I recommend adding a pause before you throw in the chosen phrase to add a dramatic effect. Throw up your hands and shake your head in bewilderment while you lower the bomb. This way people won't consider you a bad friend or a workaholic! They'll simply think you stayed so late at work that you temporarily lost all control of your faculties. You were lucky to even make it home, much less call to chat with them.

So next time you're in a sticky situation try it out! Let the laziness begin!

2 bones for an avacado?

2008-07-29T18:26:00.002-05:00

I just went to the store and got the shtuff to make some delicious sandwiches.

mmmmmmm. sandwicheeeeeeeeeees.

Doctor, ain't there nothin' I can take, I said Doctor, to relieve this bellyache?

2008-07-13T14:27:00.005-05:00

I write to you a damaged woman. I will use my nine good fingers to explain:

Wednesday night I received a coconut. Eager to enjoy my snack I promptly went to work on it. The nut had already been removed from it's outer crust (see diagram) in traditional grocery store fashion. It was up to me to do the rest. First I drilled a hole into one of the coconut's "eyes" to drain the milk. My drill and I were both pretty excited (the drill doesn't see much action these days). Then I used my brute force to break the subject into several medium sized pieces. The next step was to cut the meat from the softer inner shell, but this would have to wait until tomorrow.

Which brings us to Thursday. Never being one to rise early enough for excessive tasks to be completed before work, I chose my lunch hour as the prime time for coconut meat removal. Unfortunately to explain my lengthy bouts of bad luck with knives and extreme heat would just take too long, so you'll just have to trust me. I knew I would have to move quickly and with great purpose. The longer you meddle with things like knives the greater opportunity for disaster. I grabbed the largest knife I owned. Now I know what you're thinking because I was thinking it too, but the large knife was absolutely necessary. You can't ask a boy to do a man's job. The events that followed were disastrous..... and typical.

I had made it down to the last piece. Maybe it was the sound of Tina Knowles voice in the background, maybe it was the Accident Prone gods smiting me. I dug the knife into the meat and applied full force to ensure a clean cut. Then the coconut buckled landing my left middle finger straight in the path of the blade. I dropped the knife and looked at my finger in disbelief, screaming at a level that was totally unnecessary (see video).

I was able to catch a glimpse of my finger nail hanging off just before my hand was encased in blood. I frantically and aimlessly wandered about the house for a moment, wondering what to do. I then realized I had no choice. I had to drive myself to the ER.

Now I don't mind being single, and I like living on my own. However, when a twenty-five year old, single gal has to do something like drive herself to the emergency room it can be quite traumatizing. When things like that start happening I'm pretty sure you get a complimentary membership to E-Harmony.com and 10 cats are delivered to your house within the next 24 hours. There's just no coming back from something like that.

So I'm speeding down 4th, calling work with one hand, bleeding with the other (I'm a good knee driver). I jog into the emergency room holding up my bloody hand (loosely wrapped in a lime green hand towel) like the Olympic Torch as if to say, "Here it is! Here's my quick ticket into this place!" Of course, this didn't happen. First the nurse had to order her steak fingers basket for lunch, THEN I got to see the Doctor.

I did eventually see a nice lady doctor (not a lady doctor... a lady doctor) who glued the hanging stump back onto the rest of me. They tell me there's no reason why my finger won't go on to have a perfectly happy and healthy life. Sadly I don't own a digital camera, so any actual sitings of the finger will have to happen in person. But it does look something like this:

Okay, not really. But it is pretty gross.

Monday Night Smack Down (Tuesday Edition)!

2008-07-08T22:59:00.002-05:00

Tonight's Smack Down is between the great Warren Zevon and the not so great Kid Rock.

It has long been a petpeeve of mine when struggling (or not) artists take a slightly lesser known classic and whore it out just to make a dime. Take Kid Rock's recent taste of success with "All Summer Long". By sampling Zevon's hit "Werewolves of London" and poorly referencing Lynyrd Skynyrd's timeless "Sweet Home Alabama", Kid earns his place as a two time offender. Perhaps someone's bank account needs a little beefing up. It seems that pride wasn't the only thing Mr. Rock lost in his divorce from Pammy.

But don't let me decide for you!! Take a gander at the clips and decide for yourself. I will award KR a few points for the righteous party boat featured 1:06 in (I give credit where credit's due) but Lynyrd Skynyrd takes the ultimate prize with the sexy crowd footage ;)

*Warren Zevon's 'Werewolves of London'

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nhSc8qVMjKM

*Kid Rock's 'All Summer Long'

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uwIGZLjugKA

*Lynyrd Skynyrd's 'Sweet Home Alabama'

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RHsDa9_HSlA

In the AM

2008-07-06T11:59:00.004-05:00

This is how I feel some mornings...

Another year older, another guy wiser.

2008-07-03T21:55:00.003-05:00

Forgive me for my neglect. It was never intentional.

In recent news, I turned 25. I am now 1/4 of the way toward my goal of living to see 100. In reaching this milestone of a birthday I have attempted to do some soul searching of sorts. Of course I'm always attempting to soul search, but a birthday gave me a legit reason to do so. In the grand tradition of searching ones soul, I decided to buy a book. Through the course of wading thigh deep through my soul I have finally decided to come to grips with my situation with Apples.

Apples is just not that into me.

It's alright, I can embrace this. After all, I am 25 now and living with the false hope of a Happily Ever Apple isn't doing anyone a lick of good. So I swiftly settled on the book of the similar title "He's Just Not That Into You". Aside from selling millions this book is supposedly a jolly read on top of a good gut check. After casually looking (that's a dirty lie, I tirelessly scavenged) around Walmart and Target I came up empty handed. It was time to consult the professionals: Barnes and Noble. So Wednesday, after an exhausting session of kickboxing, I hit the hip book store to purchase my new view on dating and relationships. I knew they would have it, they have everything.... and this was a best seller!

As I walked in I briskly scanned over the displays down the middle aisle. Ahhh yes, the coveted middle aisle display. Where all the popular books with hip, colorful jackets sit. It's like the cafeteria at school. You have your New Arrivals greeting you like president of the student council while the New Fiction and New in Paperback arm wrestle at the jocks table. The Bargain Books cheat off of the Bestsellers' homework while the Children's Books furiously text away in the back corner. And then there's that new kid, Beach Reads. Not really sure about that guy. I looked everywhere. EVERYWHERE.

I even slowly skulked past the help desk hoping the hidden location of my book might somehow be transfered through osmosis. I could've asked an employee where to find it, but the only thing more ridiculous (and by ridiculous I mean sad and pathetic) than me asking a book to explain my relationships to me was asking someone to help me find the book.

Nothing. Where could it be? I had exhausted all possible locations......... except......... the Self Help Section (cue lightning and shattering glass). Hmmph! I smuggly "wandered" through the aisles just "casually" letting my eyes "glance" at the covers. Way of the Peaceful Warrior: A Book that Changes Lives and Just Who Will You Be?: Big Question, Little Book, Answer Within constructively judged me as I walked by. All of these books, but not mine.

I finally gave up and went home. Perhaps I'm not meant to read the book. I ate an orange in the car.......... that Orange was definitely into me.

Monday Night Smack Down!

2008-06-09T22:17:00.003-05:00

It has recently been brought to my attention that Ashley Tisdale has redone Rick Astley's timeless hit "Never Gonna Give You Up". It seemed like a good idea, and although it picks up at the chorus the music's a little too menacing for this hopefull tune. Not to mention the poppy, pre-fab beat that sounds like it came from my brother Matthew's old Casio:

Maybe it's an omage to the original's Era; maybe it just sucks. But don't let me turn you off the Tiz...decide for yourself...

Ashley's Version
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_ceukjOzxZM

Rick's Version (pop-up video version for extra awesomeness)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3HrSN7176XI

Deep Thoughts......from John Tesh!

2008-06-04T18:46:00.003-05:00

~SIGNS YOUR MARRIAGE WILL LAST~

Depending on which “study” you believe, the secret may be to make a lot of money, have more sons than daughters, and NOT live in Oklahoma – which has the highest divorce rate in North America! Not exactly advice that applies to everyone, right? So with help from the Wall Street Journal, which analyzed hundreds of studies, here are four truisms that work for ALL long lasting marriages.

The first sign your marriage will last: You take life’s big steps in the right order. Of the 57% of couples who DON’T get divorced in North America, most took the time to graduate from college before they got married. Then they waited until after the wedding to start having kids. However, the divorce rate climbs any time couples reach these milestones out of order.

Another sign your marriage will last: You’re both treated fairly on the job. Studies show that people who are overworked and underpaid often bring their job stress home with them. That stacks the deck against their marriage, because they argue more over things that have NOTHING to do with their relationship. So even if your job is to be a stay-at-home Mom, make sure there’s no resentment about it from either of you.

The 3rd sign a lasting marriage: You tie the knot before you sign a lease. Statistics show that couples who wait until after their vows to move in together last longer than couples who rush to cohabitate. Why? Researchers believe that people who live together before marriage place less value on lifelong monogamy.

A final sign your marriage will last: You share the wealth evenly. Stephanie Coontz, wrote the book Marriage: A History, and her research shows that couples who both have a job, yet share housework and child care evenly, have the lowest risk of divorce. It’s important that both partners are happy with that arrangement because working people will walk away from a marriage faster if they’re unhappy – since they believe they can leave and support themselves.

Chestnuts roasting on an open fire, Walnuts dying in the flood.

2008-05-31T15:05:00.005-05:00

Today we celebrate the life of an old friend.

It was almost twenty years ago that a rosy faced, six year old girl sat in class. With the supplies in front of her she was presented a task: to make a Christmas ornament. She cut with her safety scissors and glued with her Elmer's creating what was quite possibly the greatest Christmas ornament ever. She made Walnut Santa.

With his cotton ball beard and his Crayola eyes of bright blue (b/c everyone knows that Santa is a W.A.S.P.) Walnut Santa hung proudly on the tree, year after year.

After Christmas of 2006 Walnut Santa was wrapped tight in his paper towel and packed up for a year of rest. Sadly he was not given the chance to grace the tree in 2007 b/c Sarah's parents were too lazy to put up the tree.

Walnut Santa closed his eyes to a long winter's nap in 2006 and opened them to God in 2008. Sadly his life was cut short at the young age of 19 when he was destroyed by the flooding of Tim and Nan Hadley's baesement. We mourn the passing of our close friend, but celebrate the life he had. He brought joy to so many and sat proudly on the Hadley's Christmas tree for many years. He will be missed.

R.I.P. Walnut Santa

I Sing the Body Infected

2008-05-27T23:18:00.002-05:00

My finger is messed up. My right index finger to be more exact. Friday afternoon it started to hurt, y'know like when something pokes you under your nail? The only thing is that I don't recall anything poking me (that's what she said). I think it all really went south when I had my manicure on Saturday followed by a pool party with my niece. Now it's infected. Swollen, pussy, tender.....infected. They might have to take the finger (this is me being dramatic). Luckily I made a Doctor's appointment tomorrow for unrelated reasons. Two birds with one stone I suppose.

So if I am an amputee next time you see me please don't point and stare. You can stare, but pointing would just be a mocking cruelty.

It just got a little pitchy for me, Dawg.

2008-05-22T07:02:00.004-05:00

The finale of American Idol was last night. Almost one hundred million votes were cast....ONE HUNDRED MILLION. Hopefully I don't need to explain what's wrong with that situation.

But I will remind you about the time I had the PG13 dream about Simon Cowell. =)

UGH.

Insert Homoerotic Rap Lyrics Here

2008-05-19T18:41:00.003-05:00

Outing Hip-Hop
In a new memoir, a former MTV staffer dishes on the rap industry's persistent "down-low" culture. He doesn't name names, but it's a fascinating peek inside hip-hop's last taboo.

http://www.newsweek.com/id/137380

Sometimes you feel like a nut, sometimes you don't

2008-05-18T23:11:00.005-05:00

Let's talk about Apples.

Apples are great. I really like Apples. Over the years Apples have been seen in many different forms: Pied, Candied, Raw, Rotten. You name it and Apples have probably been there. In an attempt to make the Apple better, it has been paired with several things over the years. Perhaps one of the most significant is Peanut Butter...or so Peanut Butter would like to think.
Different dips have come and gone but peanut butter has always been there. Packed in lunches, presented at gatherings or just quietly enjoyed at home, Peanut Butter has been faithful. Now the history of the Apple is no secret. We've all heard the stories about the Lemon Juice and gossiped about the long term love affair with Caramel. Peanut Butter's heard it all......Peanut Butter doesn't care. Peanut Butter knows there's something different about Apple.

But that's all in the past. Let's fast forward to the now...... Fruit Dip. Yeah, we all know about Fruit Dip. It's creamy and delicious, how could any Apple resist? The coupling of Apple's tart, healthy goodness with the sinful sweetness of cream cheese and marshmallow creme is almost undeniable....... Fruit Dip. Peanut Butter's worst nightmare realized.

Peanut Butter is classic! Peanut butter and Apples go way back. They have history. So maybe Peanut Butter is a little chunkier than the blended mess that is Fruit Dip...... some people prefer Chunky to Smooth. Y'know, it's not like Peanut Butter doesn't have other successful venues to navigate. I mean there's always Jelly. But it's just not the same.......

Peanut Butter has a long shelf life. Let's all hope the Apples figure out what's good for 'em before it's too late.

This post is partly about Wal-Mart, so you might just want to hang yourself now.

2008-05-07T21:40:00.002-05:00

Wednesday nights is choir practice. Typically I don't eat dinner before I go (just a snack, or 2, or 5) so by the time it's over (8:30ish) I'm pretty hungry. This usually results in me stopping at the grocery store for some lovin'.

Well tonight I decided to take advantage of Wal-Mart's low low prices!! I'll skip over the things that consistently blow about Wal-Mart, b/c you've all been there and you already know.Tonight's visit was pleasant. I scammed on some guys with my "I'm so beautiful/fabulous I just drifted into this place" look; it was good. I made a vane attempt to play the "what are all these processed foods and where do I find my sprouts?" card, but that scenario flew out the window once I loaded the Blue Bell pint and Tia Rosa chips into the basket. Maybe next time. The trip was topped off nicely by the tall drink in the green shirt. He chatted on his cell phone (with his grandmother I presume) and carried a jug of milk (insert 'Milk, it does a body good' joke here)

Since I was at choir I recorded America's Next Top Model on my VCR. Now if you'll excuse me...

The 75 things every man should know how to do:

2008-05-06T17:58:00.001-05:00

This is fabulous. A must read for both sexes (don't worry it's not long.....or porn)

http://www.esquire.com/features/essential-skills-0508

I sing the body Electric, I celebrate the me yet to come

2008-05-05T21:58:00.002-05:00

So I just got back from the gym and I'm floating somewhere in that realm of caffeine headache and dillusion. Whenever I come to this place I start thinking how much I wished I looked like Heidi Klum (or atleast had her body) and then I convince myself that it's totally possible....I just have to do a few more crunches...... tomorrow. Somebody pass me a Diet Coke.

Bitch stole my silver snake skin bikini.

The follies of my youth

2008-05-04T16:01:00.000-05:00

I often compare the things kids do today to the things my brothers and I did when we were younger. It really is amazing how times have changed in just the last 20 years. I realize that I had a slightly unconventional upbringing. We weren't gypsies or anything (I wish), but by the time I, the third child, came along my parents were...let's just say...slightly more lax than maybe they should have been.

So today I give you a list. A list of things that were totally normal to me as a kid. Here, in no particular order, is a rundown of things that today would get me and my brothers taken away by CPS.

#1 Bike Riding. We used to ride our bikes everywhere....and I do mean everywhere. When I was about 8 or 9 we used to ride our bikes to the Dairy Queen on 19th and Frankford (we lived at 30th and Chicago) and play the memory game. We also used to ride to Putt Putt at 29th Drive and Brownfield and collect the golf balls that people had hit outside the course. Over the years we gathered a nice little collection. When I was ten I would leave my house at 11 in the morning (b/c I had to watch The Price is Right while I ate my cereal) and I wouldn't come back until dark. DARK! There was no cell phone, no low-jack....my parents just let me go.

#2 Hide and go SHOOT. Yes......shoot. I know parents today that won't even say the word "gun" around their kids, let alone let them have one for a toy. Our guns looked real and sounded real. There was a pretty large group of us within a 5 block radius that would get together and play hide and go seek....with guns. It worked a little bit more on the honor system, b/c in order to "tag" someone all you had to do was have good aim. Needless to say I "missed" my brothers quite a bit...or so they'd say.

#3 Playing on the roof. We got the ladder out and used the drain pipe/basketball goal to boost ourselves up on the roof. From there we would use--you guessed it--our guns to "shoot" passing cars. Are you kidding me? Why didn't we fall off and break something? It probably would've served us all right. I also seem to remember us throwing water grenades at anything we thought we could hit...including the neighboors dog......

#4 The next door neighboors dog! This thing was a beast. You know the dog in Sandlot? Yeah. This dog hated us almost as much as it's owner did. The husband was friendly, the wife.....not so much. To this day she still doesn't like my brother Matthew. That could have something to do with the way we treated her dog. I guess they thought it was a good idea to build it's house in the corner of our adjoining fence. We'd step foot in our backyard and that dog would hang halfway over the fence, mouth foaming, and scream at us. It was so much more than a bark....so much more. My brothers would throw rocks at it. I remember just standing, stairing at it. Silently mocking it. At one point my mother put me on a dairy free diet which provided me with little juice boxes of soy milk. I hated it, I wouldn't drink it. So what else are you gonna do with your sisters unused soy milk boxes? We shot them at the dog. We stuck the straw in the carton....and squeezed.

#5 Rated R movies. I have been to adult themed movies where parents have brought their children. Scoff! What are they thinking? Don't they know you're supposed to corrupt your kids in the privacy of your own home? When I was six my Papa babysat us. He quickly fell asleep in the recliner, and my brothers quickly took advantage of this situation. We watched Friday the 13th and it scared the six year old crap out of me. My closet light was burnt out that night, so I had to sleep in the dark. Terrifying. When I was not much older we watched The Terminator...the whole family sat down and watched The Terminator. My brothers teased me and told me Arnold was going to come kill me b/c my name was Sarah (they assured me that it didn't matter that our last name wasn't 'Connor'...he'd find me anyways) I was too young to make the distinction between Hollywood and real life. I lived in fear for months. Then there was the time that I begged Matthew to teach me how to braid my "My Little Pony"s hair. He agreed, but only if we could watch Commando. Commando is Rated R for strong violence, language and nudity...I couldn't have been more than 8. We watched Predator, regularly....perhaps my mother's judgement was skewed by her intense love for Arnold Schwarzenegger....

All things considered, I think we turned out pretty well.

Cross over children. All are welcome. All welcome.

2008-05-04T11:44:00.000-05:00

Hello Everyone!

I am pleased to debut my new blogging home! The days of MySpace blogging are (mostly....hopefully) OVAH!

Thanks to everyone who has been kind enough to actually read my blogs over the years. I hope you enjoy reading them as much as I enjoy writing them. I promise there is more to come, but for now I must follow the beat of my heart.....to the Flea Market.

The limonada and pan is calling my name. The "hot" merchandise needs a home and I've got a wad of ones in my purse that are begging to be spent on a bootlegged movie. So I'm off! I will see you all soon (I hope).