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!