Tuesday, December 30, 2014

Happy Update From the Sarie

It's been a while, and I need to update what-all is going on.

1) I've started my new job.  I like it.  It's super fun, the commute isn't as bad as I worried it might be, and it is making me smarter.  That said, I've lost a good bit of time (chalk up almost 2 hours/day to commuting, although I technically arrive at work at the same time that I used to do so), so I'm feeling tired.  That and the fact that I actually have to think during the day.  Combined, I'm tired.  But happier.  Also, it's New Orleans, and also, there is a bar IN THE OFFICE.  Win.

2)  Christmas (well, and before that, Thanksgiving) has come and gone.  It was the best Christmas I can ever remember.  I got some nice things, mostly gift cards and a (much needed, much desired) watch, but the kicker was watching the baby.  He was OVER THE MOON with his present from me.  So much so that I still get a little misty grin thinking about it.  I haven't ever seen him be so happy with one thing before, in all of my life.  I got him an iPod, which doesn't seem like that big of a deal to me, but to him, it is the world.  And he has been texting me, which is amazing, since he is both adorable and also in Georgia right now.  I enjoy staying current with the baby.

3)  My marathon is a no-go.  I have to work that weekend.  This was an enormous blow when I found out, but weeks have gone by and I am no longer that upset.  Truth is, that race was going to completely kick my ass.  Utterly.  So really, I'm better off this way.

That's pretty much my last several months in a nutshell.  Couple that with me finding my mother sharing a drink and a smoke with the Kirby salesman and the time she tried very hard to convince me that it would be okay for her to pick up a hitchhiker, you will see that she is the same as she ever was.

Hope all is well with all (both) of you.

Merry Christmas, Happy New Year, and by the way, there is a BAR IN MY OFFICE.  Just reminding you that.

Happy days!

Monday, November 3, 2014


I turned in my notice at my job last Friday.  On Halloween.  Haha.  Boo.  Fuck you.  Just kidding.  Sort of.

I got a new job, in New Orleans, with a little more money and a lot more responsibility and pretty much a whole lot to offer.

My problem is...  well...  these next two weeks, y'all.  How?  How do you survive the final two weeks, when the boss person is FURIOUS at you because you dared to disobey her commands showed what an ungrateful brat you are made her feel like you don't love her anymore.

That's the thing, I kind of have divorced my boss.

Mind you, it is the right thing to do, for lots and lots and lots of reasons, and I am super duper excited about the next phase in my life, but I cannot help but sit here and be miserable.  I don't want to be miserable!!!

So...  I think, in the end, that there is just one thing to do.  Practice saying, "I'm sorry, this is just too uncomfortable for me.  I would have liked to give two weeks' notice, but I'm going to go ahead and leave," and have a nice glass of wine on the regular.  Eventually one of two things will have happened.  I will either use what I practiced (trust your training!) or I will have survived two weeks.  Either way, same result.

Either way, new adventure.  Bring it on.

Tuesday, October 28, 2014


Three years ago yesterday, my ex-husband moved out of my house.

In the past three years, I also did this:

Run a half marathon
Signed up and began to train for a full marathon
Said goodbye to my favorite cat ever
Fell in love with two new cats
Bought a house and painted that bitch
Figured out that I am so very capable
Of anything
Been on exactly 2 dates
Figured out that I don't much care for dating
Taught a little boy how to ride a bike without training wheels
Read Harry Potters 1-3 to a little boy
Watched a little boy light up a stage
Watched a taller boy get his diploma
Watched a taller boy win a really hard fight
Watched a taller boy say he does to a beautiful girl
Sat in the company of a dozen teenagers who love me
Loved a dozen teenagers
Made music
Made friends
Drank tequila
Watched jeopardy
Ate some really fantastic food
Ate some absolutely god-awful food
Cooked some absolutely god-awful food
Paid my bills on time
Got a raise
Laughed a ton
Said goodbye to a good friend (Love you, Joebie.)
Dyed my hair
Lost 30 pounds
Put ten on again.  Then lost it again.  Then gained five and called it "stasis."
Sang karaoke.  And a gig.  Or three.
Got beaten at Trivial Pursuit.


Been a pretty damn good couple-few years.

Wednesday, September 3, 2014

Gossiper, with my mother. As per usual. Only with more vulgar language.

This weekend, I was sitting at a pool with my mother, my brother, his wife and a friend.  We got to talking, as we do, about people, you know, the gossip.

We got to talking about somebody in particular, who recently got married.  Oddly enough, that same person has become 1,000 times nicer to everybody.  We are shocked, pleased, and feel like talking about such things.

"I always said she just needed some D," said my brother.

"What?"  Said my mother.

"D.  She just needed some D," repeated my brother.

"D?  I don't know what you are saying," said my mother.  "I could understand 'S,' for sex, but "B?  D? I don't understand."

"DICK, MOM," my brother said, pretty loudly.  "I SAID SHE JUST NEEDED SOME DICK."

As the families sitting nearby looked over, I was reminded that I live in Louisiana, now, and they did exactly as they ought.  They smiled or even chuckled a little bit.

Also, I'm glad that person got some D and is now pleasant to be around.

Thursday, July 17, 2014

Black Poltergeist Home Owner

My very best bestie in the whole wide world is coming to visit this weekend.  Janetpalooza is imminent, and I am excited, and I am bouncing and starving.  I don't expect you to get that, so here's an asterisk and I will explain later on.  There's something else I need to tell you about right now.  So here:  *

When friends are coming, I generally like things to be neat, so I wanted to sweep and vacuum and what-all, but I've been putting it off because I've been sick and lazy but mostly sick.  So tonight I did do all those things I wanted to do, like clean the bathtubs and the floors and everything.

Anyway, so I got that all done, and then I did the whole ahhhhhhhhhhhTimeToSitOnTheCouch thing, and it was lovely.  Having forgotten that I need to stare intently at CNN and wonder at the fact that I LITERALLY DO NOT KNOW WHERE THINGS ARE IN EASTERN EUROPE AND THE MIDDLE EAST, and oooooh airplane shot down and ooooooooh war???? - wait, where was I?  Oh, yes.  I had momentarily forgotten all of that, so I figured, hey, Jeopardy!

I have lots of episodes.  I watched one last night from May 27.  MAY.  27.  I'm a little bit behind.

Julia is still winning, if that means anything to you.

Okay, so anyway, I sat on the couch, yarn nearby, and I turned on the DVR, and I saw this:

Now.  Let's discuss a few things here.

Thing One:  This was recorded at 9:17 a.m.  I was at work at 9:17 a.m.

Thing Two:  It got the whole episode.  35 minutes.

Thing Three:  BET.  The High Def one.  I did not even think I got that channel.  I've certainly never not once watched that channel.  I obviously don't have time, when I can't even watch my Jeopardy collection.

Thing Four:  Seriously.  38 episodes of Jeopardy.  Also, do you want to judge me for Return to Amish?  Yeah?  Fuck you.  Also, High School Musical is mine, not Caleb's.  I OWN MY CRAZY.

But seriously.  SERIOUSLY.  Moesha!!!

There is no sign of break-in.  I called Sam and asked if he stopped by my house today.  "No," he said, then he muttered "weirdo."  That might not really have happened but kind of it did.  Anyway, I told him what happened, what I found on the DVR, and he agreed that this was, indeed, really fucking weird.

I also texted my dad, the only other person in this town that has access to my house, as my mom is out of town.  He didn't come over, either.

So I called him and told him the deal.

"So no sign of break in?"  Right.  "Could you have accidentally set it up to tape?"  I guess I could have, but I seriously don't think that happened.

Katiebird thinks that my cat did it.  I'm inclined to agree.  Little Hitler likes Brandy.  But even that requires some serious coincidences.  He'd have to have already had it on the right channel.  He'd have to have hit this tiny button the the remote.  It's the smallest button on there.  I'm not sure...

In the end, my dad has decided I either have a black poltergeist or there is a message for me (from God, via Moesha) that I need to experience, so...

I'm going to go watch Moesha.  I'll let you know.

And if another thing records, I'll know it's the real deal.  I've got guests.  They coming fo' me, 'lizabeth!

* Years and years ago, before cell phones, I was going to visit Janie or she was coming to visit me, back when we lived 4 hours apart, and anyway, so she had left me a voice mail at work.  I had a post it in front of me, as one does, where I took a note while I listened to the message:

"Hi!  I'm so excited!  I can't wait to get off work so we can get together.  I'm totally bouncing off the walls!!  Also, I'm STARVING so let's plan to eat..."

I wrote:  "Janet - bouncing & starving"

And a trend was born.

Here we are, a good solid, what, 15?  17???  years later, and I'm here, watching Moesha, and bouncing and starving!

Saturday, June 14, 2014

Traffic violator.

I got pulled over today.

It wasn't terribly dramatic, but I truly had a "what the fuck did I DO" moment.  You see, we were jamming to- I kind you not- Vacation Bible School music, so I figured I must've been speeding.

But no.

I had just turned left onto a road, a road with a light, but no turn signal.  As one does, on the green light, I pulled halfway into the intersection- signal on- an waited for a gap in the traffic so I could turn left.  

No gap came, and, again, we were jamming, so maybe I was a second late in proceeding through the turn under red.

At any rate, that's what I was pulled for, for running a red light.

I'm due for a ticket, but even as the cop told me to step out of the car (!), I figured this one was worth fighting.

I handed him my license and insurance card and registration, and smiled ruefully to myself.  Well, hey, thought I.  I just dropped $200 at the vet for annuals for my furries.  Whatever, I will figure this out.

Then the cop came back to me, handed me my shit, told me to be more careful, and drove off.

No ticket.  Fucking SCORE!

But really.  Doesn't everybody pull half early through the intersection on a left turn without an arrow?

Monday, June 2, 2014

Pooper. It is what it is.

This weekend, the baby and I drove to Baton Rouge to watch my nephew's dance recital.  Which rocked.

Before the recital, C said he needed to go to the bathroom.  I told him ok, and off he went.

Moments later, the littlest nephew said HE needed to go potty, so I said, "come on.  Nanny'll take you."  And I did.

(While in the potty, baby k asked if I was pooping, kinda loudly, and then he wanted to look for himself.  Awesome.)

We came out of the bathroom and found my brother, who was laughing, with C.  

"Caleb asked where you were. I told him you were still in the potty, that you must have needed to poop."

"'Thats all she can do,' Caleb said.  'She's a girl, and girls can only go number two.'"

My brother tried to set C straight but he and I both laughed about this for a good long while.

It makes sense, if you think about it.  I do have to sit.

But I don't always have to shit.


Tuesday, May 27, 2014

Birthday Girl

Today is my 39th birthday.

I've had the most kick-ass weekend, with like a little taste of all of my favorite things, well, except a visit from you- but everything else.

As I write this, I'm sitting in this gorgeous New Orleans church (St. Charles Ave. Presbyterian, if you find yourself nearby and need a church), where my dad's chorale group will be performing soon.

A little aside- the director and conductress of this chorale ensemble recognized me at a concert last year.  "I know you," she said.  "We went to LSU together!"  I left LSU in 1993.  Something like 20,000 students go there.  Granted, we were both music majors, but still.  !.  The next thing she did was offer me a spot in the ensemble.  Bless her heart.  The past 20 years have featured a LOT of cigarettes...  Pretty sure she wouldn't want me if she knew how I sound now!

I tend to celebrate my birthday for days- a week even.  This year has been no exception.  I started out on Friday, which I took off from work, so that the baby would see this when he got home from school (on his last ever day of 2nd grade ohmygawwwwwww):
Total kickass mom win.

Friday night, we were lazy and did nothing, but it was nice.

Saturday, I took El NiƱo and two of his good friends to the beach.  This is them:
Dear beach:  I love you.  Always, Sarah

When we got home, we cleaned up some and went to my folks house for a while, then came home because friends were coming over for trivia night.  Friends who kick ass at trivia, mind you.

Sunday, we had a great church service, then went for a sail, then drank beer and watched little kids swim.  We stopped to eat, then did that some more.  It was awesome.

Today is the actual birthday.  I snoozed a little until I realized my gd baby kitten didn't wake up in a timely fashion so he had an accident.  In my bed.  In which I was lying.  Eff that.

Got dressed, then we went for a boat ride, followed by more swimming.  I went home and relaxed a bit, and now I'm at this concert, after which my dad said he would take me out to eat fancy.  In New Orleans.

I like chorale music but I can't freaking wait for this concert to be over so I can go eat.  Can't.  Freaking.  Wait.  My date- my dad- is in a tux.  FuckinA.

I hope y'all had a good weekend.  God knows I did.  I'm a lucky girl.  A lucky birthday girl!

Thursday, May 8, 2014

Pee and Mother's Day

So remember last week, the poop incident?

That's a preface.

At work, I wear a badge on a landyard around my neck.  That badge has a key card in it, so that I can get through locked doors.  Magic.

On Tuesday, we had Big Accounting here to work with us on a new process.  That's fine and dandy, I get it, and so forth.  While she was here, as our Big Accountant of the day was a lady, I had to go make a tinkle (shut up), so I did.  While sitting on the commode, my lanyard twisted around, and there was a plop...

when my key card slid into the toilet.


I figured, okay, I can deal with this, but first, let me stand up and fix my britches and what-all.

Only we have self-flushing toilets.  So the minute I shifted my weight, the toilet flushed.

So I go, "nonononononono" and had no choice but to fully immerse my hand in pee to grab the card before it was sucked into the plumbing.

Immersion.  In.  Pee.

It's been a week of waste products, folks.

In other news, with the pending Mother's Day, it's been decided that the boys will get me a (free) kitten.  Which I think sounds like a good plan.  Although I dearly, tremendously adore my girl cat, she's a total bitch and this might mellow her out some.  Maybe.  Or else, she might eat a kitten.  One thing or the other.

In the process, I've been searching for a freebie that is a cutie.  Note, I am fine with paying a little adoption fee, especially if that means the new baby will be neutered and chipped and de-wormed and shot.

At first, I really wanted this baby:

Because, Ohhhh MAH GAH, right?  Right.

But he has already been taken to a new home.  Sad, frownie face.

So today, I started looking at the shelter (nothing, seriously, nothing, but they said they will have kittens tomorrow), and then I called our vet, who has a couple of babies.


Oh.  Mah.  GAHHHHH.

He's cute, but I would never pick a black and white cat.  I'm used to special kitties with fancy colors.  All black, say, or siamese-ish, like Rosie.

But still, look at his face!  And his smile (which was accompanied by constant MEW MEW MEW MEW MEW MEW MEW) (which I swear is precious since Rosie pretty much never cries, ever.)

Also, he looks like Edgar Allan Poe, thus making it easy to name him:

We will go look again tomorrow.  If I get one from the pound, it will be cheaper because the free babies at the vet come with nothing but one free set of shots.  So that's not totally awesome.  And he still has his little 'nads.

But one way or the other, it looks like we are getting another boy around the house.  Doodle will be happy, because he will no longer be gender-outnumbered.

I love kittens.

Happy Mother's Day!

Thursday, May 1, 2014

Don't You Poop On Me...

I like dogs.  I really do.  Like 'em.  Loves 'em.

But I don't have one, which is why this is particularly disturbing.

Let's start like this.  For the last few days, I have occasionally caught a whiff of eau-de-poop in my bedroom, but I checked for cat poop in the bathtub (happens) and all was clear.  Couldn't spot any logical culprit, so I didn't worry too much about it.  Besides, last weekend, I drank a whole pot of Raspberry Coffee, and I'm allergic to raspberries, so it was a quick weight-loss (and water-loss) scheme for me.  But it was good.  So there.

Anyway, so this morning, I got dressed and came to work, where I sat at my computer for a little while, doing worky things, then I got up, and got myself some coffee.  Then I came back to my desk and sat down again for a little while, then I got up and decided to get more coffee.  I didn't even realize that there was an inch or so of coffee still in my cup, which I swung around like a drunk college kid with a party cup full of pink champagne (true story), resulting in a significant splash of coffee on the leg of my pants and on my foot.


So I got to the kitchen and I pulled some paper towels to mop up my foot area, when I noticed a bunch of mud on the side of my shoe, which is weird, since it hasn't been raining.

And even weirder, it wasn't mud.

After much yelling of "EW," and a good scrub of the shoe in question, in the bathroom, it looked like everything was going to be okay.

So I proceeded with my day, and then, maybe an hour or so later, I kind of realized my chair had something on it...

which was poop.


(I tend to fold my leg under me while I sit.)

And this means, there was poop...

On my butt.


Let me repeat - I do not have a dog.  This is unfair, truly.

I still don't know what the source of the dog poop was.  It's been remedied, but I'm still smelling phantom poop, and I really cannot wait to change out of my pants.

I keep telling myself that, if this is the worst thing that happens today, then it's a good day, but still.  Poop.  On.  Me.  Argh.

Monday, April 21, 2014

Go Boston.

The Boston Marathon is happening right now.  I'm such a nerd, I keep frantically clicking "refresh" for minute-by-minute coverage.

I used to wonder how my brother could watch the Tour de France.  How is watching people riding bikes exciting?

I bet there are a whole bunch of people who could not fathom watching a marathon, but I would pay real dollars to be able to watch live coverage.  Here's what I'd be watching:

1) Form- I know I'm not a natural athlete, so if I could just stare at these folks for an hour and change, straight, and figure out what I could do to be more like them, that would rock.

2) Clothes- let's face it, running garb is adorable.  

3) Signs on the side- dudes, the signs.  Always ready to make you laugh, when you are running.

4) Heart- bottom line, you are going to see some sweat.  Some blood.  And I'm going to guess that, this year, there will be some tears.

I'd be crying, if I were at the finish line.

Please note, I would definitely not hesitate to be at the finish line. 

Boston Strong.

Go Meb.  Go Shalane.  

Go Boston.

Monday, April 14, 2014

Tales From The Courthouse

It's very late, and I'm writing this on my phone, so y'all gonna hafta forgive typos and shitty grammar and whatall.

I spent the day in court, child support court, because my state handles my child support case, which I think is pretty awesome of them. 

They usually, I'm gathering, encounter some of society's rarest specimens of The Crazy, and they have a tendency to be, well, fucking mean, but I understand where they are coming from.  The crazy, I tell you.  So high.

Today was different in that they were really very nice to me, this after waiting for NINE HOURS to be called from the anteroom into the chamber.

But it's the anteroom that deserves a blog post.

My mother, god bless her amazing soul, came with me, as she usually does, to offer moral support and snarky commentary and, also, so she can make friends with strangers, as this is muchly her favorite thing to do.  After driving me to the town where court is, about 30 miles away, she parked her very badass little Volvo, and we started to walk into the courtroom.  We both quickly noticed that she was hobbling, and so she stopped in the plainly marked "do not walk on" grass, to look at her shoes.  The tops of the shoes were fine, cute, even, a birkenstockish, bohemian basket-weave mule, with a strap around the ankle.  I also want to note that she's finally learned not to wear pantyhose with this kind of shoe.  Atta girl, Cathy!!

The bottom of her shoes, where normally one has an inch or so of sole, consisted of rocks jammed into loose styrofoam. 

Really.  Rocks.

Which fell out, taking chunks of black shoe bottom, as she walked.  Into the courthouse.

And oh, we laughed.  

Hansel and Gretel need a lesson from my mom, because, 9 hours later, her path through the courthouse was clearly marked.

Note:  she said they didn't hurt, but I offered to swap shoes with her, and I also suggested she run to the Walmart and get some new shoes.  But she didn't.  Forty bucks says she will put these shoes, now pretty much completely bottomless, into her closet, and six months from now we will have this exact same experience again.

Please God, let me be just like my mama when I grow up.

Next, let's talk about the anteroom.  The majority of folks waiting were individuals, sometimes with a buddy, who were formerly matched to somebody else who sat across the room and refused to look at them.  This makes a fun game, usually fairly predictable, but sometimes downright shocking.  "Oh SHE goes with HIM??" You think.  "Good for her for upgrading, that new guy is much better looking," and the like.

There was one couple near me who provided nonstop entertainment for me for over an hour.  He was still sooooo into her, and he was trying to convince her to plea down his support amount.  She smiled prettily and said, all super ghetto-voiced, "I gave you the bess gif you will evuh have, a precious chile, so you can just stop right theyuh."  And he DID.  I was like, well, go 'head, honey bunches. While I took notes.  

Well not really, but for sure in my head.

There was another girl who was really twitchy and wanted to talk?  To everybody?  And ask questions?  With everything she said?  Only then? She would prove, like, how she was super duper smart?  Especially about how her kid needed to be spanked?  And how pitbulls are awesome?

And the whole time she was questioning people, she was undoing and re-doing a sloppy bun in her hair, the kind you make with a pony tail holder, and she always left a straggly piece out that she twirled on her finger.  By 3 this afternoon, it looked like a dreadlock sticking out of a donut.

There was Sweater Set Lady, for whom I felt very bad, as she was the last to go before me- and I was dead last- and came out in tears.  Get this- I offered to hug her (by then, we were friends, I could tell you where her kid goes to school, what grade he's in, where she works...). I.  Offered.  To.  Hug.  A.  Stranger.

Mercifully, she declined.

There was Tiny Baby (also the name of my favorite doll when I was a child of no imagination who named her babies literal things like tiny baby, tall baby, sick baby- her hair kept falling out, and dolly), who was maybe 4'10" and had yellow curls to her ass, who, at 2pm said, "fuck this shit" and curled up across three chairs for nappy time.  The tiny baby of my childhood's eyes ALSO closed when you laid her down.  Weird.

There was the saddest old, and deaf, and rather forgetful man, in a wheelchair, who came out of the area where divorces are filed.  What appeared to be his grandson pushed his chair, and frequently, the old man started carrying on about not being sure what was going on, what happened in there, and why, after loving her for 65 years, was this happening.

(I think it was about her giving money to indulged grandkids, and him not being happy about it, but she gets to keep the car...). (Also, this guy had the makings of a good second husband for me, until he said, about one of the indulged kids, "he's a real drunk, I tell you, a regular old drunk," and I knew he was out.)

It was one of those surreal, strange days, where you kinda think, this isn't real life.

But it is, I have proof, there is a track of bits of my mom's shoes that finally, eventually, led back to her car.

Friday, March 28, 2014

Product Placer

Just spent a half hour there, drinking that (amazing) beer.

I just have the best life.  That is all.

Thursday, March 27, 2014

Censored Facebook User

I have a mean Aunt.  Maybe everybody does, but mine, well...  She is something.

She came over to my house on Sunday, and it would have been wise to enjoy an Ativan, but I didn't, and instead I listened to her tell me things like, oh, I shouldn't paint the floor of my patio red, I should paint it blue.  And that she doesn't like my Our Ladies of Guadalupe (which she calls The Blessed Mother.)

This entire time, I'm trying to explain to my mother how I will not be putting corn out to feed squirrels (I mean, seriously!), and then my dear old auntie starts to fuss at me about something I put on Facebook.

Namely, that I look like Eleanor Roosevelt.

Which is true, both that I said that once, forever ago, and, that I do.  She agreed that I look like Eleanor, she just thought it was wrong of me to say so on Facebook.

Now come on.  

There are lots of things I don't put on Facebook.  My drinks of choice, how my ex-husband doesn't pay child support, when I would rather be home than at work*.

Eleanor?  THAT is what she is going to bitch about??  

Imagine what she would say if I put anything down about my Aunt.

*pretty much always.

Monday, March 24, 2014

Post Party Depression

First off, the party was awesome.  I had 40 people in my home, and I'm pretty sure that everybody had fun, and oh, glory, there was food (SO MUCH FOOD) and drinkies (SO MANY DRINKIES) and there is a lot left over.

I get it, why people throw parties.

I will never* have to buy alcohol again.

My friends all rock and brought me presents and they all seemed to have fun.  It was nice to have them all there, to look around and think, "these people?  They like me.  That's a good time."  But then, later on, I was glad when they all left and my mom helped me to load the dishwasher and put things into tupperwares and stuff.

It was a good party, and I'm pretty sure that I haven't thrown a party (other than a birthday party for the baby) in my own home, since New Year's Eve 1998.  I thought it was 99, but then I remembered that we played "1999" on repeat and that I had to work Y2K in 1999, so it was definitely 1998.  Oh, good times.

Anyway, I'm also glad it is over.  I haven't fully recovered yet, and I also haven't vacuumed the floors, so it's time, now, to get back to normal.

In other news, I had a dream where the artist formerly known as my husband had told his sisters and mom that he was paying child support (he's not) and they found out he wasn't and got all sorts of mad at him, and in the meantime, I took my kids and two of his cousins for a turkey dinner for Thanksgiving, at the Holiday Inn, using the $57 I found in a pocket while doing laundry.

So that was weird.

In other, other news, I think the floor of La Hacienda is getting painted today, and I'm excited to see what it looks like.  I also hope my kid hauled my lawn mower to the lawn mower fix it shop today.  Good, exciting times, here.

And we sang a gig on Saturday and it went okay.  So there's that.

Lord, I'm boring.  Here's something fun.


Because cats that look like Hitler are funny, indeed.

*by "never," I mean, "until the summertime, or three months.  Whichever comes first.

Thursday, March 20, 2014

Party Host

I'm throwing a party.

I don't do this, the throwing of parties.  If I DO decide to get my friends together in one place, I usually choose a place that is away from where I live.  Caretta's.  Or Copelands.  Someplace with alcohol and somebody else who can clean up afterwards.

This is a "There Goes the Neighborhood" party.  Aka, a Sarah-Moved-In-And-Really-She's-Quiet-And-Well-Behaved-But-We-Like-To-Pretend-We-Are-Rowdy party.

I've invited everybody that I know that lives within 100 miles of my home.

I keep squashing the little voice inside my head that says, "hey, your house?  not that awesome."

It is too.  It's fucking great.  It might be little and old and goofy looking (especially on the outside).  It might be not new and fancy and have hardwood floors.  But it IS clean, sweet, and very, very Sarah.  It has fresh paint and touches of red and granite countertops and a goddamn HACIENDA, so beat that.


And if you don't like it, well that's all right.  Nobody else HAS to like my home, just so long as I do, and so long as the baby does.  And we do.  We like it fine.

So there's that.  A party.

It starts at 7:00 (tomorrow), and so I hope that it's clear that I'm not providing actual supper-type food.  I'm going to have munchies, and I'm going to have drinkies.  And music.  That's pretty much all I am doing.  Munchies and drinkies and musicies.  Anything else will have to spontaneously happen, or somebody else will have to plan it.  No pin-the-mustache-on-the-bandito.  No dancing.  Maybe dancing.  We'll see.

I'm nervous, but I'm excited, too, if that makes any sense.  Why is it so intimidating to invite people into your home?  Nobody judges homes, right?  I mean, maybe if it isn't clean or if it smells like cat pee, but otherwise?  Shit, now I'm feeling insecure.  I have a cat.  I know the house is clean but what if it smells like cat pee...

Anyway, the good side of it is this. I'm taking tomorrow off, so I get to have a special extry long weekend, like extra-crispy, and the baby just happened to be off school tomorrow (not part of the original (recipe) plan), so that's good.  Good for my mom, who doesn't have to keep him.  Good for him, who gets to wear pajamas most of the day.  Good for me, in theory, who gets extra time with the baby, although I have lots and lots of things I want to do tomorrow, some of which involves coffee and alone time with Dexter*, but it's all good.

I'm having a party.  People are coming.  It's going to be fun.  Or not.  But who cares.

There will be drinkies.

And possibly dancing.

You should come.

Tuesday, March 18, 2014


Oh, my God.  I nailed it.  I FINALLY figured out why the new sales manager is driving me so batshit crazy.

He just called his wife back, ostensibly having missed a call from her.

"you RANNNNNG," he said, a la Lurch from the Addams Family.


And we all know how that worked out.

Mystery, solved.  Now I'm off to find a missing airplane.  Obvs, I am on a roll.

Monday, March 17, 2014

Jeopardy Watcher

Tonight, I watched three dvr'ed episodes of Jeopardy.  One of the categories was announced for Double Jeopardy, by Alex, just as I switched to "play," from "fast forward" (having skipped the commercials.)

A-freaking rivers.

Or, African.

God, I love Jeopardy.  That's all.  

Wednesday, March 12, 2014

Grown-ass Man

Goddamn Lent is killing me, smalls.  I gave up negativity, and you know, I might as well have given up, I don't know, smoking, or drinking wine, for all the ability I have to stick to it.  Week one went well until a blow-up at work, more of which I will feed you in a minute, but this week is balls.  I don't know what my problem is.  But balls, I tell you.

The thing at work was as follows, and it doesn't translate to paper well, because it sounds so fucking STUPID, but we'll give it a whirl, anyway.  I may or may not need to preface this with the following fact:

I'm not a hugger.  I have strong need for people to respect my personal space.  I have three (yes, three) bottles of hand sanitizer on my desk.  I don't hug.  I barely high-five.

Okay.  So let's give you a little back story.  We hired a new sales person about six months ago, and I am having a tough time being friends with him, some of which stems from the fact that his predecessor is a freaking amazing person, and he is... not.

But really, he's fucking irritating.  He doesn't do a great job at his job, and he doesn't take accountability, which is REALLY the thing that makes me nutso.  He gets his panties all up in a wad and says things like, "I'm a grown-ass man."  That's a quote, folks.  You know what makes you sound NOT like a grown man?  Calling yourself a "grown-ass man."

Anyway, one of his favorite things to do is to pester people.  Like most grown-ass men, he doesn't know what he can get away with it, and when he needs to not, like, say, when a client is here.  Or ever, when it comes to pestering me, if said pestering involves touching me or otherwise invading my personal space.

Weeks ago, he started doing some magic evil thing where he buzzes his fingers really close to my ear, and it sounds like a mosquito in my ear.  He's done this several times, once leading me to losing my absolute total shit and beating my fists on his arm, saying DON'T DO THAT over and over again.  Good times.

On Friday, we were in a casual meeting, with four or five of us sitting at the table, discussing shit.  And he did that buzz thing to me.  I said (and I swear to God, I used my polite voice):  "Would you please not do that.  Seriously?  I need you to respect my space."

He lost his mind, blew up at me - and everybody, really - right there in the meeting, fussing at all of us.

My boss went and had a Big Talk with him, telling him that I will never, ever respond in the positive when someone invades my personal space, and blah blah blah.  After I cooled off, I went into his office.  "Can we talk?" I said.  "I'm sorry for fussing at you in front of everyone.  That was unprofessional of me.  That being siad, I have asked you to not do that before..." and on and on.

He apologized, and said (yes, I quote), "Look, I don't care if anybody here is my friend or whatever.  I'm a grown ass man and I can handle it."  I made nicey noises like, "well I do care, I want to be friends, but I need you to respect my boundaries" and what-all.

And that was that, and we are ok, but then...

I spent the whole weekend thinking about all the things he SHOULD HAVE said.  Things like this:

1) "It's never okay for me to invade someone else's personal space at work.  I should have know that, being that I am a grown-ass man."
2) "I'm sorry I created a hostile work environment for you.  It's wrong of me and I won't do it again.  I am a grown-ass man and I should have known better."
3) "You are the greatest person I have ever known, and I could not respect you more.  Being a grown-ass man, I still aim to strive to be more like you in every aspect of my life."


Let's find the positive.  I think I can safely say that, if that tool gets in my personal space again, I can both beat the shit out of him and threaten lawsuit.  Because, I, too?

Am a grown-ass (wo)man.

Thursday, March 6, 2014

Lessons from Rocky - III & IV

The other night, I was clean worn out, due to having been to Bacchus the night before (because, fuck it, I live in Louisiana, my kids weren't in town, and it was time to party), and then having to work that day.  It was the night before a holiday, though, so I allowed myself to wander around in the twilight land of sooooo-sleepy-but-not-asleep, flipping through channels on the tv.

ROCKY II was on.  And it was just starting.

So I watched it, loving it so much, half rooting for Apollo, but just in general, being all enchanted.

And then they started with Rocky III.  I knew I wouldn't make it through that one, so I ran out to the living room and tuned up the DVR to record it, as well as Rocky IV.  I did NOT record Rocky V.  It sucked.

So the next day was Mardi Gras, and it is a holiday for us, and it was raining, cold and disgusting, so I didn't go down to any parades.  I cleaned my house, scrubbed the bathrooms and the floors, did all my laundry (which is to say, both loads).  And then I sat down on my couch to spend some time with the Itallian Stallion from Philadelphia.

Things I learned from Rocky III:
1.  Clubber Lang, aka Mr. T, really DID say "I pity the fool."  He was talking about Rocky.  Who's pitying whom, now, Clubber?  HUNH?

2.  Clubber Lang wore clip on feather hair extensions a long time before the hipster kids got ahold of them.
3.  I still want a feather hair extension but my hair is short so it would look weird.
4.  No way, in real life, would any Rocky fight not be called on a TKO.
5.  For that matter, why the fuck doesn't Rocky guard his face?  WHY?  That's Boxing 101, folks.

Things I learned from Rocky IV:
1.  Russians are all crazy blonde and icy-blue-eyed, and they want to kill us.  Because Americans are assholes.
2.  Rocky looks better with a beard, but I'm still not sure why anybody found this man attractive.

3.  Talia Shire is fine, but it's hard for me to understand why a mob boss family girl would hook up with a loser from Philly.
4.  "I Must Bldreak You" is my favorite line in the movie.


Note:  I recognize that I'm mixing media, here, but that's the way my brain works.  Also, I'm not at all sure how ol' Lando's name is supposed to be spelled, and I sure as shit am not looking it up.

Note:  All generalizations are, of course, ridiculous, and I happen to be madly in love with two small russians, one of whom is a blonde but who, I think, does not want to kill me.  Usually.

Seriously, what I want to note is how freaking Amer'ca Rocky movies are.  Oh, we are going to insinuate that Russians are evil, because it is 1987 and we have been thinking they are going to hit the red button any ol' day for 30 years?  That's cool, because we have a pet robot who can talk.  And who might or might not jerk off the loser Uncle Paulie.

(nice product placement, Baskin.)

WHAT.  THE.  FUCK, Amer'ca?  I hate how freaking sanctimonious we come across in that movie.  It's embarrassing.  I kinda wanna be like, hey guys?  This?  This is why they hate us.

Well, this and Rambo.

Sylvester Stallone single handedly cost America its reputation.

I jest.  But it sure didn't help.


And not just because of the amazi-crazy good Survivor Song Burning Heart, Rocky IV remains my favorite Rocky Movie.  I love the little guy beating out the giant.  I love Amer'ca beating the commies, I admit it.  I think maybe this movie helped spur on the fall of the iron curtain.  I love the lesbian-swimming-champion-wife-who-is-a-prized-athlete-herself-but-who-smokes (ALL EVIL PEOPLE SMOKE).

 I love Beard Rocky Running Up a Mountain.
I love Rocky.  And I learn stuff from it.

Wednesday, February 26, 2014

Thunderstorm Complainer

The weather today is SHHHIIIIIIIIITTTTTTYYYY, and I'm super exhausted, because it started last night.  At about 9:00, I'm like, "Oh, wonder what is that rumble sound I'm hearing," and the cat was acting like an alien, and then suddenly the sky fell out and a massive thunderstorm rolled through.

"This is nice," I thought.  I could hear the rain (falls, angry) on the tin roof, and I thought, how soothing, and I went to bed.

And then I went to sleep, but at around 10:00, with a crazy cat all up in my face, there was a whole nother round of KABOOOM and FLASH FLASH FLASH, and so I woke up.  As did I another hour later.  And one after that.

It was the lightening, primarily, which woke me up, rather than the thunder, which I find interesting.

But the end result is the same, which is to say, I'm a big fat tired sumbitch.

And my cat is afraid of thunder.

And I didn't run, because it was raining and disgusting.

But you know what?

There's always bacon.

Happy Wednesday.  Let's hope it gets a little drier.  And warmer.  And less sleepy.

Monday, February 24, 2014

Moral Questioner

This morning, while I was miserably trying to run my little two mile day-kicker-offer - which was a big suck today, and I can't tell you why, honestly, I just felt like crap, with legs made of lead, and you know what, that is FINE, I did it anyway - I encountered a moral dilemma.

Running down the road, I happened to glance down and notice a ten dollar bill in the street.

It was assuredly not mine.  I could use it, though.

Thoughts of Starbucks went through my head.

It's only $10.  Not $100.

What would you have done?

In retrospect, I kind of wish I had left it exactly where it was, on the street.  I think it probably belonged to a school-age kid who was on their way to school.  Probably some poor kid's lunch money for the week.

If I had left it in the street, maybe they would have seen it after school, retrieved their money.

Maybe I could have saved a kid from an ass-kicking.  Maybe saved a single mom from stressing out over lunch money.

By the time I really registered what I had encountered, the bill was in my hand, and I was moving forward (though not quickly, I assure you.)

I put it in the next mailbox.

What would you have done?

Friday, February 21, 2014

Celebrity Look Alike

Oh, my fucking god.  I am laughing so hard that I'm crying.  You put in a picture of you, then you tell this one website to go find out what celebrities you look like.  This is what I got:

Yes, internets, you saw it here.  I'm a fucking dead ringer.

Happy Friday.  I'm going to go and sing Respect, now...

Wednesday, February 19, 2014

College Enemy-Maker

I don't even know what to talk to you people person about.  I am So Boring.  So, I think I'll tell a college story, instead.

I was a sorority girl.  Shocking, I know, but I deliberately chose a crappy, smaller sorority, one that was known for partying and one that was, although I didn't know it, imminently in danger of losing its charter at the end of my freshman year.  Which it did.  We all went alum.  Me, I thought it was great, because I was drunk the whole year, and nobody brought me before standards, and I was knocked up by the end of the spring term but got to go alum before anybody could kick me out like they did to Penny, who got CAUGHT WITH A BOY IN HER ROOM.  Poor Penny.

Anyway, so I was a little tiny yankee in a gaggle of big-haired southern girls, all of whom were at least six months older than me.  Note:  I'm not really a yankee, but I went to high school in Connecticut, where I learned how to play lacross and field hockey, which are both stupid games, although the uniforms for field hockey involve a plaid skirt and knee-high socks.  That shit is cute.

Anyway, so there was ONE OTHER GIRL in the whole sorority who was also from New England.  Her name was Stacy, and I swear to God, I think she was probably the most fun in our sorority.  However, she hated me.  HATED ME.  It was visceral, and I think it was chemical, because I did not deserve her wrath, truly.  I wanted nothing more than to be as cool as Stacy was.  

In efforts to get her into Team Sarah, I tried to be witty and awesome.  One time, she mentioned that she had been out all night, the night before, dancing on the "beach," which is a strip of dirty sand between two of LSU's lakes.  I was young enough for that to have sounded AHMAZINGOHMGOSHAWESOME, so I tried to join the convo.  "I want to be like you.  All 'fuck the world - but use a condom.'"  In retrospect, I fully understand that she basically heard me call her a whore, but that is not at all what I meant.  I meant, I want to be free-spirited, to do what I want, to live life to the fullest...  but no.  Also, I was probably drunk.

Anyway, she went hot-red in the face.  "WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY," she spat at me.  Terrified - mind you, I was little, very young, and drunk - and Stacy wasn't a tiny petite girl, although she was short.  She definitely could kick my ass - I go, "um... fuck... the world but... use a condom?  You know, because it's awesome..."  and she came at me.  Fists a'flying.

I'd have just taken my ass-kicking, but my Extremely Conservative Southern Baptist Naturally Curly-Haired Big Sis (and she brushed her curls into a fluff of frizz every day, god love her), uncharacteristically jumped in between us.  "YOU WILL LEAVE MY LIL SIS* ALONE," she shouted.  Pretty much everybody else in the room froze and stared, including me.  Including Stacy.  "SHE DIDN'T MEAN IT LIKE THAT AND NOBODY WILL BEAT UP MY LIL SIS*."

I mean, seriously.  Wendy got pissy if you turned the channel while she was watching Days.  She was a wimp.  She was the kind of person that we freaked out by forcing her to watch porn so we could all laugh at her responses to it.  Wendy was a homebody, and she was NOT the kind of person to get into a fight.  Me, maybe.  But not Wendy.

And just like that, the fight was over, thanks to my freaking hero, Wendy.  Stacy would have broken my nose.

I have fished Stacy out on Facebook (we are still very much not friends, although one of her besties is a girl I really like a lot and get along with well), and she owns a hair studio or some such, in a place like Michigan.  I mean, I think I win, Stacy.  I may be poor as a church mouse, but I don't ever have to wash anybody else's hair, and I use mah brayun fo' a livin'.  And I don't have to live in Michigan.  So there's that, too.

But I still just sit in awe, thinking about Wendy - a girl whose first email address was a french phrase that meant "Queen Wendy" or something equally nerdy - a girl whose first car was a mini-van, for Chrissake**, that's the girl that got my back.

But you know what I always say...  fuck the world.

But use a condom.

*Yes, we actually said "lil sis" and "big sis."  I have no idea why it didn't sound douchey to us back then.
** Yes, my first car was also, actually, a minivan.  shut the fuck up.

Monday, February 17, 2014

"Be blessed," she said.

What, what?  The baby is getting on the bus.  I KNOW.  I don't even know what to think about this.  He is a 7 (AND A HALF) and has never been on a school bus, well, except for field trips, in his life.  This morning, I think we were both a little anxious, standing on the corner.  The bus driver - and we'll circle back to this - was all cheerful and smiley as she showed him to his seat.  Then I went for a run.  Like a boss.  Because I can, and because, well, why not.  I wasn't late to work.  Four minutes is not late.

Let's talk about the bus driver.  This is the weirdest fucking thing ever.  When Sam was growing up - hell, when I was growing up, there was no telling who the bus driver was.  I'mma call her Mamie.  But seriously.  Our bus drivers were cranky old hags, some of whom chain smoked (I'm not 100% sure that last part is true, but it feels right).  For SURE Sam never knew a bus driver's name.

When I went to the school to fill out "we've moved!" paperwork and inquire about the school bus for the baby, they happily filled out paperwork for me, and handed me a yellow slip that said his bus number and where he catches the bus.  Then they told me to CALL THE BUS DRIVER to figure out details.  WHAT?

Let's recap:  they gave me the bus driver's personal cell phone number.  WHAT?

I called her.  She was sunshiney and rainbowy and adorable.  I want to hire her to be MY personal chauffer.  After we talked and she told me process, I was all, "well... thanks..." and she was all "OH MY GOODNESS YOU ARE SO WELCOME I'M HERE FOR YOU."  And then, when I said goodbye, she countered with "be blessed," I shit you not.

This morning she was heaping praise on my small child, and I went about my way to sweat off a couple of hundred calories and jump start my day.

It was totally fucking outstanding, except the part where the same garbage men were doing opposite circles and I had to pass them about three times, every time they gave me the sexy flirty eyes.  No thanks, bra.  I'm good.

So, to recap the weekend, we have the following:  first kids coming to play in the playroom with the baby, which is to say, kids that are not related- check.  first kids finding a snake in the backyard, but it "might have been a worm" - check.  Cable installed, taking a grand total of 8 hours and two technicians, one of whom I gave birth to over 20 years ago - check, except in the playroom, which has proven to be impossible to install cable into, for reasons I cannot explain.  Furniture purchased, assembled, sat upon - check.  The one remaining wall where I just didn't do a great job painting it the first time, touched up - check.  Bourbon and water drunk - check, except it smelled better than it tasted, and I bailed about 1/3 of the way through, but dayum, I felt like a grown up.  First night by myself in the house, as the baby spent the night with friends - check (likewise, first NO PANTS SATURDAY NIGHT- check.)

I skipped all the parades this weekend, but it was a great weekend, regardless.  I'm kind of loving my home.  Eventually I'll have the time to rake the front yard, but strides were made.  We have hand towels, people.  HAND TOWELS.

And I am pretty much being blessed.

Friday, February 14, 2014

In Support of Firemen Everywhere

I'd like to bitch about being alone for Valentine's Day, but I really can't make myself.  I'm fucking HAPPY, and that's maybe weird, because I swear, this is my favorite V-Day ever.  I'm getting cable today, y'all.  HAPPY DANCE MOMS TO ME.

I have (finally) had two days in a row where there has been nothing new broken in the house.  The last of the urgent paint needs has been addressed (this weekend, I'll touch up the few spots in my bathroom that are driving me crazy).  There's a range, and a dishwasher.  Cooking has been done.  Clothes have been laundered.  Boxes have been unpacked (though, let's don't get crazy, there are more awaiting me.)

I'm getting settled.  I know the house's noises.  The train is not too close, just close enough to sound cozy when it goes by.  There's a fire house at the entrance to the neighborhood, and we all know how I feel about firemen.


Yes.  We do.

Oh, my God.

Anyway, what?  What were we talking about????

The house.  The neighborhood.  I think we might bake something to bring to the firehouse.  Those poor boys are fucking hot hungry.

We need to go to the library.

We need to go to the post office, too.

And the bank.

I have errands to run, but I also want to start raking the front yard this weekend, and stuff.

It's the weirdest thing.  Everybody told me things would feel different if it were my own house, and I didn't really believe them.  How could it feel so different?  I am a long-term renter.  I've been renting for YEARS, and I live in my houses a long time (for a renter).  You know what the difference is?  Paint.  You know what else?  Planning.  I can't stop my happy little brain from making plans for the future of this house.  I know what wall I will eventually tear down.  I know what window will become a door.

I also know that La Hacienda will be getting a beer fridge, and soon, and that, my friends?  THAT is awesomeness.

Also, the baby will start to ride the school bus on Monday (!) (MY BABY ON A BUS!) (!!!), which will buy me a half hour every single morning, in which I can run.  It's time to get back into running.  I'm missing it, and my body misses it, and January is not too far in the future, and there's that 2 mile race in March, too...  it's time.

So that's the plan for the weekend.  There are parades tomorrow and Sunday, but I'm feeling very ambivalent about them.  I'm not sure what's wrong with me, usually I can't wait to get to the route, but this year, I'm distracted.

You know why?

Because it is different when it's yours.

Monday, February 10, 2014

Fat Naked Dancer Lady

Once upon a time, there was a girly girl who moved into her new house, last Friday (WHATWHAT?!).

It was a great, exhausting, craaaazy day, including a teary moment out by her car because that girl's aunt was being totally bitchy, but mostly just awesome.  That girl has the greatest friends in the whole world, and by "that girl," I mean, "me," and I do.  SO THERE.

Okay, so fast forward (aside:  so many places say "flash forward," now, and that's just dumb.), and you get to that evening, after I finally kicked everybody out, and had a few drinks, and I decided, well, yes.  I decided that I ought to take a jacuzzi.  Because I have a jacuzzi tub, now.  That's why.

So I had cleaned the tub, and I got all nekkid and in the tub, and I had a beer next to me and tunes playing.  It was nice.  It's a very deep tub (though not a big fancy garden tub), and it took a long time for it to fill up enough for the jets to be covered, but once they were, I reached back to the button on the ledge and turned that puppy on.  Eyes closed, enjoy...

except only one of the neck jets was spraying, so I opened my eyes and simultaneously turned to see if I could fix it.


Black dirt and dirty-looking-crap.


And, best of all...


Fat nekkid girl flew, quite literally, only then, her fat body wasn't displacing water, so...

the jets weren't covered, so...

water went EVERYWHERE.

Let's recap:  nekkid fat white girl, jamming to Imagine Dragons, flying, roach, water everywhere, cat laughing, beer spilling, and a bathtub full of shit, after spending about 8 hours moving heavy crap.

I got the jets turned off.  I fished out the roach.  I drained and cleaned the tub.  I filled it up again, about three inches, so I could wash myself and my hair, all the while glancing uneasily at the back jets (where there was one roach, there could easily be another).  I got out of the tub promptly.  I filled it all the way up, added about a third of a bottle of bleach and turned on the jets again.  Let it run about 10 minutes, and talked myself out of NEEDING TO MOVE RIGHT THIS INSTANT.

House:  1.  Sarah:  0

Actually, it's like, House:  14, Sarah:  2, because every time I plug in ANYTHING, water pours out of it, and by "plug in," I mean, like "turn on (any sink)" or "connect (the fridge)."  And we haven't even gotten to installing the washing machine.  Gonna suck.

High five.  After it pours water on me, at least I can take a bath.  Do I dare run the jets?

Thursday, February 6, 2014

Oh Yeah it's Moooo-vin' Ti-yi-yi-yi-yi-am

Tomorrow is moving day.  I'm feeling odd about it.  Half of me is like, OHMYGODGETTHISOVERWITHALREADYFORCHRIST'SSAKE, and half of me is like, BUTWAITI'MSCAREDHOLDME.

It's happening, whether I am ready or not.  Get the fuck over it, already, homeskillet.

And that is all I really have to say right now.  Wish me luck.  Wish me home.

Sunday, February 2, 2014

Super Bowl MVP Who Eats Vaseline For Breakfast.

My brother always liked the Seahawks, and I was ambivalent about today's game, so it's all good.  Besides, I RAN EIGHT MILES TODAY WITH VIRTUALLY NO TRAINING AND I ROCKED, so really, I won the Super Bowl.

The race was a ton of fun, a half marathon split into a relay, where I had the first 8 miles and my friend Carrie had the back 5 and change.  I do wish I had had time to train right, but it was a blast.  In my 8, I passed 5 different bands, 2 cheerleading groups, and about 100 excellent and hilarious signs.  I liked, "Run now, wine later," and "high five for power."  I LOVED "This is the worst parade, ever."  I was on St. Charles.  So appropriate.

At the after-party, when we stood in the Longest Line Ever to board a shuttle back to the starting line, before which we had to walk a mile, and after which, we had to walk another mile, after running our asses off, but anyway...  While standing in this line, I made eye contact with a dude that looked familiar.  He had a "do-I-know..." face, too, and suddenly, we both yelled "HEY!" And I went over and hugged him.  It was a guy my gay and I refer to as "Hot Zack," a guy who was a manager in my department for years at ING, in Atlanta.  And I haven't seen him in almost five years, and it was awesome.  But, I was sweaty and disgusting, and half brain-dead, and so I said, "Welcome to New Orleans!" Then went my way.  Great reunion.  Jesus.

Oh, and note:  on a race, if somebody hands you a Popsicle stick with a smear of crap on the end, that is NOT A GEL.  THAT IS VASELINE.  When I told my mom the story of how I got a mouth full of Vaseline on the course, she said, "haven't I taught you to at least smell something before you put it in your mouth?"  In New Orleans.  Honestly, the Vaseline was probably one of the healthiest things I've ingested in New Orleans.  

The dude running next to me watched me stick it my mouth, remove it, and hold it for a minute with a "what-the-fuck" face.  "Vaseline?" He asked.  Yeppers

I put in another bajillion hours on the house yesterday, resulting in Much White Trim, and a bathroom that looks like this:

I didn't do a goddamn thing for the house today.  Not one goddamn thing.  I feel both guilty and exhilarated, but mostly just fucking tired.  I got up at 4:45.  Took a good nap, but, y'all...  4:45.  That's crazy.

We move on Friday.  It's on, y'all.  And I'm going back to bed.

Happy GroundhogRaceSuperBowl Day!

Friday, January 31, 2014

Six Snippets

Snippet #1:  I went to the eye doctor on Monday.  Just a regular check up, which is to say, I was out of contacts and it's been nearly two years since I saw him last.  HAHAH YOU CANNOT MAKE ME CHANGE MY CONTACTS IF I DON'T WANT TO.

Anyway, so my prescription is the same as last time, astigmatisms in both eyes, but the left eye's vision is pretty much fine, and the right eye's vision is a piece of shit.  I asked him if that seemed weird to him.  "Yes," he replied.  "I bet you were a forceps baby."

WHAT THE HELL?  I'd ask my mom, but the 70's were good times with the child-bearing-drugs, and I'm pretty sure that she remembers only rainbows and happy little pink frogs from my delivery.  So fuck it.

Snippet #2:  When you buy a house, especially a HUD house, you get what you get.  I've got a big ol' house that needed some work.  I've painted that bitch, a lot, actually, and I like painting, but I'm tired.  I've spackled.  I fixed a bullet hole (which is to say, my dad fixed a bullet hole.)  I've done a LOT of work in the one week I've owned that place, but every day, there's something new.  Oh, the paint is peeling?  Let's poke it.  New hole in the drywall.  Sinks leaking?  Let's cut a hole in the drywall.  New hole in the drywall.  Nobody REALLY wants a home phone jack on the wall in their kitchen, right?  New hole in the drywall.  After spending four days with a paint brush in my hand, I look forward to two more days of the same, this weekend, although I will be taking a break to run an 8 mile race (WHAT AM I THINKING HOLY SHIT I AM UNPREPARED) on Sunday.  At any rate, it's coming along, and I have two more weeks, and it's going to be fine.  Right?  RIGHT?

Snippet #3:  It got icy here, on Tuesday, and being well prepared, our parish closed the school district for Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday.  My boss followed suit, and I got an extra 2 1/2 days off, which absolutely rocked.  I needed that time to paint.  And paint I did, believe you me.  The kid was constantly watching for an opportunity to play in snow, an opportunity which never came.  It was cold.  There was ice.  There really wasn't enough snow to say "snow," and he was stuck inside.  He has been amazing, completely great, completely awesome, but I'd be willing to bet he is ready for this move to be over.

Snippet #5:  I'm getting a cold.  An ear infection, maybe.  It blows.  I'm taking drugs for it.  I need that shit to be gone.

Snippet #6:  I have watched a couple of episodes of this show where this one lady takes girls and helps them be made over into pageant superstars.  It's a cute show, and I'll be damned if one episode didn't make me cry like a little bitch.  Sarah needs to get a boyfriend.

Wednesday, January 22, 2014

Sarie Has a Dream House!

If I were to describe to you my dream house, this would not be it.  I'm not going to lie, I'm sitting here, right now, sighing as I look at my rental's fireplace, remembering how it would smell up the whole house with smoke and drive both children out of the family room...  oh, good times.

But in the end, my dream house actually would cost me, like, a half million dollars.  And I don't have that much money, and nobody is fool enough to lend me that much money, and I wouldn't be able to pay them back, anyway.  So what we have here is me, avoiding foreclosure.  Well in advance.

Barbie never had Chet the Repo Man, did she?  She so should have.  Although we all know that Day Barbie earned supplemental income from Night Barbie, if you get my drift.  Which is to say, Barbie was a whore.  I think I digress.

Here's the thing:  Dreams are stupid.  Reality fucking rocks.  My reality is that the house is mine, officially.  When I broke into it this evening, it was fine, because I was breaking into MY OWN HOUSE.  

Here are some pictures.  

This is Caleb's room:
Yeah, I have a shelf thingee all up in the corner in here, what-WHAT? 
Hall bathroom:
Floors are pretty.  Subway tile backsplash suits me fine, although it looks pretty nassssty.  The sink rocks, though.  And this room has a secret...
Behind the bathroom door, you find:
Oh my god, you guys, seriously.  This is my favorite thing in the whole house.  A built-in, in the bathroom, and see that panel?  You know what that is? A FUCKING BUILT-IN LAUNDRY HAMPER IS WHAT THAT IS.  Jealous?  YOU SHOULD BE.  IT'S AMAZING.
This here is my master bedroom.  Please note, the carpets are all being removed.  Tomorrow.  Not kidding, tomorrow.  Seriously.  Because they are horrifying.  My real estate agent looked into this room and said, "oh, here's where they did the murder."  I'm going to miss him:
Vanity in my bedroom, vanity in my bedroom, vanity in my bedroom!!!
You know who looks awesome in this room?  Or who would, if their seven year old kid was a wizard with an iphone camera?  Me.  That's who.  Whom.  Dammit, I can't even be cool without using correct grammar.
Sometimes, you look at something, and go, now why...  for example... why would someone put trim on the outside of a bathtub.  Yep.  My bathtub looks like a dining room wall.  The bottom half of a dining room wall.  On the other hand, that there's jets in that there tub!  God only knows if they work, but we gonna have a fine time finding out.  See the potty?  I can rest my wine glass on that.  Lord, I think I just overshared...
What you can't tell is that there is a small vanity light over a completely blank space between the toilet and the door, so over nothing, along with an arm-level plug.  Obvs, there used to be a "his" sink in this part of the bathroom, which is no longer there.  What WILL be in that space is either a cupboardy thingee or a big ol' basket o' towels.
What up, walk-in closet.  Not like the rental's "walk-ins," where you kind of have to shimmy in sideways to get to the back parts.  This one has rails on both sides, and guesswhatguesswhatguesswhat??!!
Shelving unit in the closet!  For my...  shelfy things.
This is a pretty room, and it has been decided that it will be the guest room.  The primary reason for this decision is that the window opens onto the screened-in-porch (hereafter known as "la hacienda"), and I figure, if I put the baby in there, I'll be out there knitting drinking wine and talking on the phone to my mom hosting posh fiestas with my loco friends, and we will be appropriately noisy (note:  I've already begun operation-friend-the-neighbor-chick), so I don't want to keep El Nino awake.  Also, I don't want this to be the playroom, because I don't want to hear all the kids making so much god damn noise.  Also, when my friends come visit, I expect them to be drinking on La Hacienda with me!
Your room is pretty close to ready for you to come visit.  Make it so!
Here we have the playroom.  "What the fuck is on the window," you asked?  It's a weird screen with bars built in.  I DO NOT KNOW WHY.  Bitch is coming down.  That's on the "short list."  This room is tiny but it will be awesome for playing Skylanders and acting out plays with finger puppets.  That's what he do, yo.
Or, we could leave the bars on, and make it hard for him to sneak out when he is a teenager!
On  to the family room.
 Note the door to La Hacienda out the back.  Also note, this light fixture is on the short list, too.  Also note, no fireplace (frowny face).  Also note, Vanna is doing a kick-ass job of selling this house!
I get to buy a rug!! YES INDEED.
La Hacienda!  Hola!  Ole!  Tengo Dos Ijos...
At first, I was like, gotta paint that green thing.  Now I'm like, gotta paint the concrete floor so it matches that green thing.  This is going to be the coolest porch ever- all Dia De La Muerta and shit.  
Vanna is just modeling La Hacienda for you:
We have a little strip of back yard.  Right now, it's growing holly as ground cover.  I had no idea that was even an option.  There are also some weird, semi-scary fluffy plant thingees at the base of that tree that may or may not rise from the ground and attack after dark.  Too much Zelda?  Maybe yes.
We don't need a back yard, because I'm a kid who never goes outside!
This is the eating place.  The house has a formal room that can't decide if it wants to be a living room or a dining room, so we are going to call it a living room, so we can stop hearing it bitch and whine.  That leaves this space for the food consumption, a breakfast room that is remarkably like ours in the rental, only with real tile and no linoleum, and fewer dead spiders.  SO FAR.
It's not a boob light!  It's got leaves, but no birds.  WE ARE SATISFIED.
Our kitchen is sucky.  BUT, those holes will be filled with Brand New Appliances, and there is a tile backsplash (GETTING FANCY ALL IN HERE), and the sink is awesome, and the faucet is awesome, and who really gives a shit, anyway, because it's not like I cook, nearly ever.
He looks like a tap dancer.  Also, the cabinets are those french white stained things that are so trendy on HGTV right now, so obvs, I'm moving to Canada, only I'm NOT because it's fucking COLD in Canada.
100% of this picture was to brag to Janie that I get a pantry.  Note, it's pretty nasty, with the old floor, some reddish death dirt, and crappy shelving, but my dad is good at cutting boards to shapes, and I will buy a SECOND rug, if that's what it takes.  It's a pantry.  I am content.
Note to self:  Kitchen gets late afternoon sunlight.
So.  Funny thing about the doors.  First, note the pretty floors.  Try and pretend there isn't an attractive boob right above your head, and notice the doors.  The big door is leaded glass, and I LOVE IT with a big squee girly kind of "can we be best friends and I'll braid your hair" kind of love.  LOVE.  The other door looks awful, it's a storm door, and I don't live in Canada (see above), so this is probably unnecessary, so there's about a 70% chance I will take it down, but...  it's so freaking cool.  It's kitchy, it's orange plastic, and I know, I know, your mamaw had one just like it in 1979, but dang...  It's mod, you know?  I just can't decide...
All in all, though, a nice, welcoming entry way.  Which also seems to get late afternoon sun.  Weird.
This is the formal living room (DECLARED SO AS OF RIGHT THIS VERY MINUTE.)  See that cut-out area, back behind Susanna Hoff?  (by the way, if you get that, I just love you so much I want to make out with you right now) Should I put a couch there, or make my dad build me built-ins.  Seriously, what do you think?  The door to your left (Susanna's right) leads to the kitchen, so I just have visions of having fancy grown-ups come over for coffee, and although we will likely sit in La Hacienda, it's possible that we might need fancy time, and this will be the fancy time room.  With coffee.  So it's totally awesome that the kitchen is right there.  Which does sort of make me think Dining Room, but I have declared it, so...
Hey oh, way, oh, oh wayyyyyoh way oh...
With every house we looked at, I tried to find something special about it, in case we bought it.  Something that would make him ADORE this house above all others.  The first offer, he was devastated because he lost a retaining pond behind the back yard and cannot, now, catch tadpoles.  AS IF HE WAS GOING TO CATCH TADPOLES.  But not kidding, devastated.  This house, I sold him the tree.  "That's your climbing tree," I told him.  I bet, by February, he is all the way up to the crook at the top of this picture.  Lucky kid.  I was stuck climbing apple trees, he's got his own live oak.
My mother said that, when she was a kid, she would climb trees and drop acorns and pine cones down on the chickens in the yard, playing Bombs Over Tokyo.  There are so many things I could say about that statement.  
So that's pretty much it.  As I mentioned, I met the neighbor, Nicole, who I hope will come and have a drink on La Hacienda every now and again.  Come to think of it, there isn't a gate on that side of the house, dammit.  She is going to have to come around or come through the house.  That's all right... anyway, I met her, because her brother parked his truck in my driveway tonight, when I needed to unload Round One of the Great Move of 2014.  They were super cool about it, though, and she has a little dog that's, I don't know, a Shih Tsu or something, and it's name is Gismo or Gonzo or something, and that's fine.  It's going to be weird to live directly next door to someone who is younger than 70 and doesn't (so it seems) beat his wife.  I hope we become friends.  On the other side, those people appear (see above) to have a boat, so they are nice people.  Boat people are nice people.

I'm ready to get the moving on the road.

Ready to have a drink on La Hacienda!