Tagged, I'm it!

Michael just tagged me in the Face Behind the Blog meme.

While I am into my anonymity (though I have been known to post some pictures of myself), I can be persuaded to post more than the one blurry picture of myself in the top right corner.

Here are the rules.

1. Post a short blog article that includes a photograph (or a series of photos) showing the face behind your blog. If you already show a photo somewhere on your site, then make your post more interesting by choosing a photo that’s not currently online.

2. Include links to other people who have displayed a photo.

3. Link back to the original post.

4. Tag as many others as you like.


So, here they are...and here I am.




Tagging: Patrick, Kerpupples, and Soledad.

Blogger Love!

While catching up on my favorite blogs this morning, I saw that I have been nominated by LeBlanc at A Natural Deficiency of Moral Fiber for the Thinking Blogger Award! Here I was thinking that my Monday was already glorious, with the stoppage of rain and all, and then this! I can barely stand it!

I am very glad that I am able to entertain you and your co-workers. If I can save just one person from an office-related boredom fatality...then my life has been worthwhile!

I am apparently supposed to nominate five bloggers that make me think or that entertain (I added that last part). I don't keep up with too many blogs...but, lucky me, I do keep up with some.

So, shall we get on with the nominating and tagging? I believe we shall.

Here's how this is supposed to go down. If you have been nominated:

1. If, and only if, you get tagged, write a post with links to 5 blogs that make you think,
2. Link to this post so that people can easily find the origin of this award, and
3. Optional: Proudly display the ‘Thinking Blogger Award’ with a link to the post that you wrote.

Sharing the blog love:

1. Kerpupples - Blogger, animal lover and only child. You'll love her too.

2. BB Logan - Ex co-worker, funny lady and musical diva. I miss her around the office but her blog keeps those memories alive. :)

3. The Genius - Fairly fresh faced to the blogger world, Mr. Gibb writes about a myriad of topics. Ever wonder what you would choose as your last meal? Or, where you would move if you were single? You will if you read his blog.

4. Mr. Write Now - Thoughts about dating and, more importantly, life - his words keep me reading.

5. Charming - Haven't caught up with her blog in awhile, but her thoughts on dating and singledom have kept me entertained and unproductive for hours.


Thank you to all above for letting me peer into various aspects of your lives.

Disney Princess

I make it a habit to not write about personal matters here, in public domain. But I feel the need to today. I went to a movie, Music and Lyrics, with my friend Abi last night.

To know how subversive this is, you must first know that it is my general rule to not patronize so called “Chick Flicks,” and haven’t done so in years. I find that they give young (and old) girls false hopes, dreams of romantic nights (and knights), and fantastical situations that could never take place in the “real world.”

Disney is one of the leaders helping to sell this image. They are like drug dealers…only they are supplying the world with a brand new crop of old maids who live alone reading romance novels with cats. The picture is drawn of some young, beautiful girl – ripe with innocence to the world and its inhabitants. Something goes terribly wrong, the plot thickens – enter in musical score that no one remembers – and in comes the prince/beast/beggar to save the damsel.

I don’t buy it.

For so long I have been single. Searching for the one man that doesn’t need me; rather, I search for the man that wants me. There is nothing sexy about desperation. There is nothing sexy about someone who simply can’t live without you…right? See, I think this where I had it all wrong.

I don’t want someone to feel nothing when I leave the room. I don’t want someone’s heart to not skip a beat when I come back in.

I want someone who wants (and needs) to spend time with me. Someone who is not apathetic to my existence.

I think “chick flicks” have it all right. Too long I have been subscribing to the way that guys want to love. Becoming a nonromantic (not saying that all guys are nonromantic…Lord knows this isn’t true). But I have come to find out that it’s just not me. I am a romantic.

I want you to live and breathe me. I want you to need me around…not all the time…let’s take this one step at a time, okay? Baby steps. Baby steps.

I want someone who is not afraid to make fun of himself. I can go ahead and tell you that you’re not perfect. And I can go ahead and burst your bubble that I won’t be either. I’m so far from that. I am not a Disney Princess with perfectly coiffed hair and a melodic voice. Okay, that’s a lie…I do have those things…but I don’t have a size 20 waist…and I don’t have a tail either…but hopefully you view that as a plus…

I laugh inappropriately, especially when I am nervous.
I detest public speaking with a vengeance.
Sometimes I snort when I laugh…but it’s quite rare.
I laugh constantly at my own jokes…and often, I am the only one laughing.
I have weird dietary concerns.
I am allergic to detergent.
I’m bad about calling people back.
I’m bad about calling people in general.
I don’t often say what I am really feeling.
I like designer things…and am somewhat materialistic.
I smell everything. All the time.
I’m loyal to a fault.
I always put on a happy face…no matter what.

I want you to show me the world…shining, shimmering, splendid. (Aladdin reference, anyone? Anyone?)

I want you to giddily explain to your friends that you’ve met the girl of your dreams and not care when they make fun of you…because you know deep down…they’re all just jealous.

But most of all, I want you to try. Try to win my affection. Don’t assume you have it. And don’t be settled on the fact that just because you do, it can’t be taken away.

I want you to make me laugh and make me cry. It’s okay. Without these emotions we really cease to truly exist.

I want you to hear a song on the radio and think to yourself how perfectly those lyrics pen the words that describe the way you feel at that exact moment.

I want you to dream about me at night. I want you to be afraid to say those three important words, but you do anyway.

I want you to not mind driving to where I live, because you know it will be worth it when you get here. I want you to come and see me when I am sick/depressed/stressed…and bring something over to make me smile.

I want you to reach for my hand and hold it tight. Hold it like you don’t want to let it go.

I want you to respect my need for space. I’m an only child…I had lots and lots of space…and time by myself growing up.

Forget apathy. Forget repressed emotions. Forget the should haves and the wanted tos.

Sweep me off my feet – I won’t settle for anything less…

So, ladies and gentlemen…here’s to passion. Here’s to mad love. Here’s to not giving up until you find it.

Cute Overload? Oh Yeah...

Cute Overload

Apparently, this person scours the internet looking for all things cute. I think she/he has succeeded, don't you? Go on there, peruse...make your teeth ache from all the sweetness...

Changes!

You may have noticed somethings are different around these parts...you may not have.

Either way...

The changes were made!

It's kind of like a facelift. Only without the scalpels, investment, pain, and healing time.

Hope you like it like a muskrat loves plum goodies!

Getting to Know Me

I think I’m hard to get to know. I don’t set out to be mysterious and when people tell me that I am, I laugh it off thinking they must be kidding. I feel that I am an open book on most occasions. But I’ve heard this so much recently that I’m starting to believe it. Maybe I am hard to know…maybe I’ve got walls that don’t come tumbling down so easily.

Isn’t that okay though?

Why do people feel the need to be so available? Put themselves so out there to the world? I’m laughing right now, because isn’t that what we bloggers do? We put our lives, loves, dreams all on the internet for everyone to see. But is it real? Is what I type and what you read about me, is that really me? Or is it what I want you to know of me? I choose to think that there is more depth to me than what I write in the entries on this blog address.

Someone asked me this weekend why I don’t divulge myself readily. I laughed it off and said something smart like “Oh, does my mysteriousness turn you on?” But he wasn’t laughing. He was serious. “Really, I’ve known you for a long time, but I don’t feel like I know you. Really know you. Why is that? Why don’t you talk about yourself?”

I don’t talk about myself because I think that if people wanted to know they would ask. Do you want to know what my dreams are for my life? Do you want to know what I would do if I had the courage? Do you want to know what my favorite number is? How about my favorite spice?

Ask me.

I’m not going to just tell you all of these “me” secrets when I don’t know what you came looking to uncover. If everyone knew all of these things, it wouldn’t make it special when you knew. Would it?

Now you need to ask yourself,

How deep do you want to go? How much do you want to know?

Realizations

Have you ever gotten back from something, let’s say a date – you think you look fantastic. I mean, you did a mere four hours ago. Before the dinner and the drinks…you looked, dare I say, attractive!

It’s upon your arrival home, after the kisses goodnight and the fake goodbye’s that lead to more kisses goodnight, when you saunter your hot self to the hall mirror and realize…Oh God! I look like I’ve been dancing in the rain…and not hot dancing in the rain mind you. My eye makeup is everywhere…my cheeks are flushed pink…damn my frizzy hair and damn the humidity! Crap. I wouldn’t go out with me. And he’s gone now so there is no redeeming oneself.

I hope what “they” say is true. Confidence is everything. Because if it is, ladies and gentlemen, I had boat loads of it before staring myself down in the mirror.

Perhaps it is like that Seinfeld episode about the girl that Jerry dates that only looks good in certain lights so he takes her to the same restaurant all the time. Perhaps I am that girl. Let’s hope that one of the lights that I look good in includes the hall light in the breezeway outside my condo.

For the love of everything that is good and holy in this world, say this is so.

Reason for Standing Still

I am always looking for something, anything. Something that piques my interest. Anything that sparks my curiosity.

I have discovered that I have a disease.

This disease, which particularly attacks one or both parties in a relationship, can also be seen in the collegiate setting and is exhibited by such symptoms as transferring colleges and changing majors. Research shows that this “Grass is Always Greener on the Other Side” disease can be cured. Wanderlusts can be tamed. Wild hearts can be broken. However, because of this disease’s frequent and persistent mutation upon entering the host, researchers have yet to pinpoint the exact treatment method that would be successful for all patients.

What are my symptoms?

I’ve got the college thing well behind me...though, according to my calendar, grad school is quickly approaching. This isn’t to say that I didn’t switch majors five times. You think I’m kidding? I started off Music Business, switched to Nursing, then to Psychology, back to Music Business and then settled on Marketing. I also transferred colleges twice. Belmont to UTK and then back to Belmont.

My relationships are not a pretty picture of health either. If I am not in a relationship, I want to be. I want safety, security, good times and bad, sickness and health. You know, the whole shebang. If I am in said “relationship,” I can’t breathe. I find myself attracted to others, craving the freedom I once had and threw away without even a look back. What was I thinking?!

Granted, I have not been in a “relationship” in a long time...we’re talking ‘02, people, ’02! But I have dated, currently date, will date. I’m not in a lack of POIs (Potentials of Interest).

I am just looking for someone or something to give me a reason for standing still.

Is it really possible, standing still? Doesn’t life seem like it’s just one thing after the other after the other? When you were in Elementary school, you couldn’t wait to be in Middle school. Those kids were so cool. When you were in Middle school, you could almost taste how cool you would be…if only you were in High school. When you were in High school, college kids knew it all. They’d been there…and they’d lived to tell about it. Then it’s making the Dean’s list. And graduating. And getting that first “real” job. And then there’s that promotion you’ve been wanting...don’t forget about that. And grad school. And “when I meet the one.” And “when we get married.” And “when we buy our house.” And “when we start a family.” And “when the kids leave.” And “when we retire.”

And then you die.

There’s always something keeping us moving. Something pushing us forward. So is it really possible for someone or something to give me a reason for standing still? Maybe this reason is only supposed to keep me sane for a brief moment. Maybe this reason has been placed in my life to remind me to stand still.

To stop.

To stop chattering about the “what if’s” and “when’s” and just live.

And just breathe.

Dumpster Diving

(The dumpster at my place is like this one...but it has a door...that locks. This will be important later in the story.)

~*~

Wednesday night, I drove home from playing sand volleyball with some friends – friends like Abi (see Abi…here’s a mention) and DP.

I decided that it was time that I clean up around my condo. Take out some trash. Wash some clothes. I put a load of dirties in the washing machine and began gathering trash.

I can’t tell you how very much I hate the advertisements that come in the mail. These envelopes marked “URGENT!” and “You’ve been pre-approved!” fill up my tiny mailbox and then my trash can. I have no intentions to send off for any of these things. Does anyone? The sales brochures bother me too. I refuse to go to sale. I’ve never been to your store. And no, I have not seen the people on this postcard. Why must I wade through all this crap?!

I rid my place of trash, lock the door, head down the multiple flights of stairs and over to the dumpster. We have two places to deposit our trash now…I know…we’re upscale. I decided to go to the one closer but up a hill. The other one is further away but neither up hill nor down.

The fence around the dumpster has two ways of entry and from my last dumping experience I remembered to use the side door. I unlock the latch and realize that the dumpster has been turned around so that I have to actually walk in to get my trash into the bin.

Gross.

There’s crap everywhere. Literally…crap. Does everyone around here have animals? Ewww! And someone definitely through away rotten meat! Ugh! It smells like something died in there!

It’s then that it happens. The door shuts behind me – and locks. I turn around slowly…delaying the inevitable. Praying to Lord Jesus that what I think just happened…didn’t actually happen.

Ohh…it did.

Oh MY GOSH!!! I’m locked in the dumpster!!! With crap everywhere!! If I scream, who will hear my cries of terror…the dumpster is in the middle of nowhere! (Really safe and convenient).

I panic…Who wouldn’t?!

I start banging on the walls – screaming though I know it is futile. I think about climbing the walls and jumping over the fence…but the walls have no where to put my feet. The only option would be to climb in the dumpster, stand on the ledge and jump over. I guess in the face of the alternative…being stuck in the dumpster overnight…wading around in stinky excrement wasn’t that bad of a choice.

I scream again…one last-ditch effort.

Nothing.

All in all, about 7 minutes passed.

It’s then that I see it.

An internal release button. It says “Press.” So I do. I press the button.

The lock releases and I am free.

Free from excrement, free from rotten meat, free from foraging animals during the night that plan on eating fresh meat (me) in lieu of the spoiled.

I walk out, pushing the door aside, smiling at my luck. I look up and over and realize that there is a man cooking out on his porch. He’s been witness to the entire affair. The screaming, the kicking, the panic. Oh damn my luck!

He smiles down…I wincingly smile back. We don’t say anything. I just walk back to my place, praying I don’t smell.

Collecting Freckles

Saturday morning. I wake up refreshed, rejuvenated and sans sleep marks. Slowly, ever so slowly, I stretch the muscles that have been lying dormant for the last few glorious hours.

Mr. Darcy lunges at the moving objects under the sheets that have sparked his curiosity. Like the natural predator that he is, he has been awake for hours, just waiting. Waiting for something to move.

I think about the day and what I have in store. A small smile of satisfaction sweeps across my face. There is so much to do. The piles of laundry on the floor need to be washed. The mounds of clothes on the floor need to be folded and hung. Counters cleaned. Dishes washed. Floors vacuumed.

But that’s not why I’m smiling.

“Why,” you ask, “are you smiling then?”

Secretly, I know none of those things will be done. Not today. Today is devoted to one thing.

Collecting freckles.

I make my way to the edge of the bed, sit up and stretch again. Sometimes, you just can’t stretch enough.

As I walk to the closet, I narrowly miss an altercation with the lion sitting on a pile of dresses. He looks up, peeved at the near death experience, squints his eyes, pins back his ears. The lion is hungry. Not to be the meal of choice, I divert my attentions to the kitchen instead.

Darcy races me there. He wins every time.

Back to the closet. My bathing suit is on the floor, where the rest of my closet is. Pick it up. Put it on. Tie it securely. Double knots.

Sunscreen is key. SPF 30. SPF 45 for the face and neck. No skin cancer here. Just freckles.

I get my bag together.

Magazine? Check.
Book? Check.
Water? Check.
Towel? Check.

I tie my hair back with a scarf. There’s no need to be fancy.

Walking out the door, I send my love to the little lion stalking me from behind the couch. I make my way to the pool.

Sitting in my lounge chair, I close my eyes and imagine the wind blowing my hair smells like salt. The moisture in the air is hung heavy with sea spray. I can hear the ocean roar when a car passes. When a little boy laughs, I imagine it’s his first time to the ocean and he has been knocked to his knees by an incoming wave. In my daydream, he gets up, squealing excitedly, and runs up to the arms of his dad who is further away from the water’s edge.

Like an outdoor sauna, I can feel my body relaxing with the heat. The ocean looks so inviting from here by the shore.

I dive in. Cool water shocking my body’s senses. Come up. Catch my breath. Avoid the large pink float heading my way. It was a close call. I get out. Walk back over to my lounge chair…try to decide whether it’s time to lay on my stomach. Saturday’s big decision.

The magazine titles call to me:

“His Body (A User’s Manual)”

“7 Ways to Outsmart a Rapist”

“Feel Sexier Naked – 4 Steps to Total Body Confidence”

“Don’t Bend Over Backward for Him”

Sure, nothing like reading informative and useful literature. I open up my girl-porn and learn ways to tantalize men and the shocking confessions of women whose men are beyond hooked to you know what from behind. I can feel myself growing more and more intelligent as the pages turn. I also have a strange desire to purchase a Louis Vuitton bag.

Subliminal propaganda at its best.

Saturday at its best.

Collecting freckles at its best.

Letter to my friend Brittany...

Okay - I of course, think this letter that I wrote is hilarious. Well, she did too. First off, you probably won't. It's chock full of inside jokes. Chock full I tell you. Second, if you read it in its entireity, you will gain a greater understanding for my sense of humor and personality.

Love it. Hate it. Read it.

Brittany,

Well, mere words cannot express the deep void that you are going to leave in my life…

Who am I kidding??

That shouldn’t be the start of my letter…It should start more like…let’s see here…

Brit,

Girl! Why you be leavin’ me all up in this joint by mahsulf? That just ain’t coul!

Okay…maybe not that way either.

Look what you’re doing to me…I don’t even know who I am anymore. Sappy romantic friend? Gangsta goddess? I’ll just sit here and sing the songs that remind me of the good times - the songs that remind me of the better times. Tubthumper anyone??

I think that I am going to start this off again. Let’s take a trip down memory lane, shall we?

~~**~~**~~**~~DREAM SEQUENCE~~**~~**~~**~~**

1^st class for me back at Belmont. 1^st class for you at Belmont. You? Montana…Me? Well, Tennessee. Ours was an unlikely friendship, but we shared a bond that we didn’t know about. That bond?

American Eagle Outfitters.

We took a test that day and you sat behind me and sniffled the whole freakin’ time. I hated you for that. God blessed me with sonar hearing – that’s right – like dolphins. I hate people who make a lot of noise…or people who talk incessantly. Like I said – an unlikely friendship.

Until one day, I was at work and Sniffle Girl came in to shop. The bond was formed. Like typical girls, I recall the conversation going something like this:

“Hey you’re the girl from my Recording Industry Technology class…Tappan’s class?”

“Yeah! That’s me…Oh my gosh you work here!? I love American Eagle!”

“You like American Eagle? I like American Eagle! What else have you done today?”

“Well, I went and had coffee at Starbucks.”

“Oh my gosh! I like Starbucks too! Which one?”

“The one in Coolsprings. I live in Franklin. It’s so far away from everything and everyone.”

“Shut up! You live in Franklin!? I live like 2 seconds away in Brentwood. It’s like, we have so much in common!”

Okay, maybe it wasn’t that bad, but it was close. But I owe and am indebted to AE for our friendship.

~~**~~**~~**~~END DREAM SEQUENCE~~**~~**~~**~~

Some of the funniest times I’ve had, have been with you. You have the trait that I admire and covet most – humor. You make me laugh all the time and recently, made me cry. But I’m a wuss anyway. Stupid birth control…makin’ me cry at everything. No – I can’t blame it on that. I’m just sad that you’re leaving…sans birth control or with.

“The Ketchup Has Something to Say to You…”

Ohhh – one of my first times cooking in our little apartment kitchen. The Hamburger Incident. Who knew that hamburger meat was supposed to be mushed all up together? I didn’t! So, we ate worm burgers. But not before I called you into the kitchen because the ketchup had something to say to you. Upon viewing the meat worm, you freaked and threw it outside. I’m sure Jonah and Dave thought we were bizarre.

“Fly Infestation”

We weren’t dirty, I swear! Our apartment was just infested with flies. Hundreds of them. Maybe even thousands. Okay, not thousands. Most of them died from starvation (see, we weren’t dirty) but there were lucky handfuls of the little crappers that got mercilessly murdered by anything we could get our hands on.

“I Love Drugs!”

I sure have always known how to make an idiot of myself. One time in particular was when I was getting my prescription sinus medication out of my car, which was parked to the side of Jonah and Dave’s apartment. I ran out in my short PJ shorts skipping and dancing to the music playing in my head – unfortunately, singing the lyrics out loud. “I love drugs! I love drugs! Drugs make me feel on TOP of the WORLD…” only to hear snickering (okay it was all out laughter)…look up and see a porch full of guys staring. Uber embarrassing.

“You Make My Tongue Tingle”

…or something like that…You know the time…when we gave Dave a secret admirer? Haha – and he thought it was real. Such an oblivious guy. J That was right near your birthday because remember the Sponge Bob streamers I put up in the kitchen – and then they went on Dave’s car from his secret admirer…and he still didn’t get it. Haha – “You look just like Justin Timberlake!”

“911? A Man Has Fallen! Yes! Fallen Down the Stairs!”

This one really doesn’t even need explaining. We’ll just leave this one to the memories because

only those can help us recall The Indian Midget and the embarrassment that he must have felt as he slinked off to the corner. Haha. And me, trying not to laugh…being mortified at myself…and you, looking at me, and with your eyes, begging me not to laugh. HAHA! And the InfoDesk guy, disgustedly saying “Well, this day just keeps getting better and better” and then on the intercom, “Service Manager, dial 222. Service Manager, 222.”

Starbucks

I mean, how much freakin’ Starbucks have we consumed during the course of our friendship. I would hate to know. I think it might scare me.

“Leukemia is not funny.”

But, it is if it’s in Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants! So, that lady in front of us hated me. But, she has to admit, it was funny…until the girl died. Or, how about the girl from Gimore Girls, frustrated at life and at being prude, just stripping off her clothes and jumping into the lake.

Yeah, like that would happen.

In Orange - A box with long legs

In Pink – Boobs, an imploded waistline, short legs and huge hips.

What’s life if you can’t make fun of how you look with Play Dough??? What’s even better is when you put the picture on the door to your apartment for everyone to see!

Who Knew Plucking Your Eyebrows Was Dangerous?!

Now we both do! And you didn’t even wake up when I fell off the sink…hit my head on the door knob…then on the toilet and proceeded to knock myself unconscious. Or, when my mom came over in the pouring rain and stayed with me through the night so that I wouldn’t die.

Hitchhiker’s Thumbs are Hilarious!

Or at least we think so! And now we know that we both have them…all because of sitting at our kitchen island and “throwing thumbs” for a good 15 minutes.

Tuna

I mean really. How much tuna did we eat while we lived together?! A LOT! Tuna and Starbucks…Yum!

Strum, strum, strum on the guitar…AKFJKG ASKLSDFHL

That’s my impression of Dan assaulting your guitar. P.S. did you know he is nominated to be Homecoming King this year? Yeah, he is.

“It Was Just a Little Cocaine on the Gums!”

Oh Austin. The phone call that should have been the clue to not tell him where we lived. As he sat outside someone else’s apartment, banging on the door, yelling for me to come out. When he finally did make it over, that’s when the real fun began. I believe memorable quotes were – “And then I projectile vomited.” “Cocaine on the gums.” “She had it pierced…if you know what I mean.” There were more…and then there was something about Austin moving in with me and

you moving in with his three other male roommates. It’s a good thing that roomie situation didn’t work out…

Brit – There are so many more memories that I have stored up in here. I just don’t have the time to put them all down on paper. We’ve gone through such a pivotal part of our lives together and I couldn’t be happier that I got to spend it and share it with you.

I’m sad that you’re leaving, and I feel that it is a selfish way to be, so I also want you to be happy. I know that you are close to your family, and at this new stage in life, it’s good to be near them. I’ll hope in the back of my heart that maybe you’ll miss Nashville and your friends enough

to come back here. If you don’t though, we will always be close. Always. Do you see that I am not giving you an alternative here??

I love you so much! Have fun in Montana – meet lots of cowboys and real men for me! Be sad for me being in Nashville with all these musician metro-sexuals. J

We’ll see each other soon…we can meet in the middle of the country or something…and I’ve always wanted to go to Montana!

Until then…email me, call me, write me, join MySpace.

-Sarah