Conservatives, Camelot and Coping

The feelings stirred up inside me. Like dust blown from....I dunno, something dusty - anything living in Lubbock. Use your imagination.

It was settled. Dormant. Then like an explosion, the ache swelled up inside me....

I'd spent the evening at my parents', doing laundry and catching up. Navigating through the confusing, conservative forest my parents dwell in over Bill O'Reilly. They engage in a level of politics that I've yet to achieve. They went pro years ago, and I'm little league at best. Nevertheless, my mom and I had a good chuckle like we always do. I was waiting for the last load to dry when she mentioned she'd read the chapter in 'Killing Kennedy' (written by, ahem, Bill O'Reilly. Are we sensing a theme?) about what Jackie'd said the day Jack was shot. I asked her to read a few sentences to me, a request she's obliged a hundred times before. Nan, the Librarian that she is, always has a book at the ready. Whether it be Dr. Seuss, or Stephen King - she's always primed. One hand, outreached to pull me into the proverbial wardrobe. There was a particular passage about Jackie holding JFK's head in her hands after he was shot, crying over her dead husband....

...and it happened. His face flashed into my mind. His face in my hands, and the devastation of losing someone you love. It swooped out of my mind as quickly as it had entered; like a spark it was gone, but the stirring remained. The feelings were swirling through my mind.  

What the fuck was that?

Where did that come from? I wasn't sure why, after lying still for so long, the tears bubbled up in my eyes...a death rattle.

I'd lived in the throws of death for longer than I'd like to admit. I'd paid for her sins, and the her before that. All the hers that had done him wrong haunted me on a daily basis. I tried to drown them out, but the echoes of the preacher's daughter, eye-fucking the camera with her crooked teeth and chola eyebrows were too noisy. Her stain was everywhere. All over him, all over the house. All over us. How many life sentences was I willing to serve? As many as it took. As many as it took to make things right. Right with us. An us I fought for tooth and nail. Although my nails are pretty tragic, so maybe that's how it all went sour. Have you seen my cuticles? Appalling. But in the end we were a big ol' Humpty Dumpty. And all the hours at the gym, and all the whiskey and cokes couldn't put us back together again.

So when those feeling stirred, I was more alarmed than anyone. For a second I lost my breath, and stared blankly at the curio cabinet. Shiny things. Mirrors. Get it together, Sarah. Those tears aren't your truth now. They're a lie. An allergy. An untimely bout of PMS.

What. The fuck. Was that.

That was love.
That was then, and this is now.
And now is pretty great, despite my ugly nails.

Day 2

Woke up (late). Walked to the bathroom. I look in the mirror, and there I am. I'm here. This is real. Today is really happening. Start moving. I grab the eye drops, and smear on some under eye goop. Hair. Gotta fix my hair. I fell asleep on it last night without so much as running a brush through it. Straighten a few choice pieces, and throw it back in a small, messy bun. It's finally long enough to do so, and I'm pleased for a brief moment. I set the towel on the already closed toilet seat to start my makeup. I manage a layer of foundation. Keep going. I swipe on some mascara, a departure from my typical eyeshadow/eyeliner/brow pencil routine. Get up. Get dressed. Move forward. I pack a small breakfast for looks. I have no appetite for it. Work is work. Busy and hectic with some laughs and curses sprinkled throughout. Coworker curses are my favorite. Means I'm not the only one, and for awhile I'm distracted. And grateful. I work late. Might as well. It's Monday, and the gym will be packed this early. I'd rather hide in the crowd. I spend the hour climbing away. Real Housewives. Repeat. My mind wanders.....

....wander home. Is there any soup? There's soup. Hot soup. I lose myself in the Bachelor. What a freaking train wreck. I love it. And for a moment, I'm pleased. Step out of the shower onto the bright red mat. Days over. I made it. All that praying must've helped. Two days down.

Aloha, I am Mr. Hand

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

......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

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

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

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.