Gaining Perspecitve

Ever noticed how something horrible can happen a world away...and "it sucks", "gosh that's terrible".

But if this event were to happen, say in your own country, it would occupy the minds and hearts of all citizens...thousands of newscasts...countless of hours of television...and journalist efforts devoted solely to what happened...

Big or Small.

Let's take, for example, the floods that are currently happening in India. Gosh, that sucks, doesn't it? Millions are marooned and the current death toll is over 1,000.

1,000!

But in Minneapolis, 4 people are dead and 20 are missing. Let's just assume for a moment that all of those 20 missing will turn up dead (that sounds callous, I'm sorry). Even still, that makes the death toll from a bridge collapse possibly 24 people.

24!

Can we gain a little perspective here?!

Technoriti is telling me that 170,529 people linked to this one article about the MN bridge collapse. That's just one article of the thousands that have been published, printed and reported.

One person, one, linked to the article from ABC World News about the floods that are currently killing thousands in India.

Me.

The bridge collapse is also mentioned three times in Technoriti's top searches.

But there's not one mention of the devastation in India, Bangladesh and Nepal.

Now, don't get me wrong. I feel for the families that have lost loved ones in the bridge collapse and I know the reason we obsess over needless tragedies such as this is for the simple fact that they are close to home.

And maybe those countries, so far away, don't seem real to some. But they are very real. Those 1,000+ people included in that death toll were mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters, and children...just like the ones in Minnesota.

Sometimes, I just feel that we, as Americans and as inhabitants to the world, need to gain a little perspective.

On Family

Family is a weird thing.

From birth, you’re placed into this unit of people and told to love them because they are your blood – and because family is all you really have in this world. These people, to whom you are inexplicably tied, come to your major life events, share your holidays, and perhaps, know your deepest family skeletons. They are people who you might not get along with, might not like and might not want to love. But for some reason, you do.

That being said, my mom’s mom and I were never close. She was always cold, brusque, and more than often, curt. She never read to me, never let me curl up on the couch with her and never cooked the dinners she knew I would like. She was vain, opinionated and always stubborn. I begged my parents to not leave me alone with her. It was always awkward and boring.

Though it may seem this way, my grandma has not passed away, at least not physically. She has Alzheimer’s and has slowly been slipping from my family’s grip for a little over two years.

The degenerative process didn’t start the way they say. Loosing keys, forgetting names, and places. She forgot weird things, like how to use the phone, the microwave and the oven. We would call her on the phone, talk for a bit and at some point, she would set the phone down, and walk off calling your name…trying to find you.

One hot, Alabama summer day, she trapped rambunctious children in her storage room. She said they were running through her yard, trampling her flowers and needed to be taught a lesson. At least that’s what she thought. My aunt rushed over to her house, ran from her car, swung open the storage room door and found not one child.

She would talk to you normally, then look to your side, and ask Fred what he thought, or ask you to take a look at Fred, look at him napping. Fred was my grandpa who died when I was in fourth grade. Being alone with her at this point was far from boring as it had been in my younger years, now it was just far too creepy.

The mind is a scary and wonderful thing.

Recently, she slipped into what can be likened to a coma-like state. She’s alive and doing all of the needed bodily functions on her own. But she rarely opens her eyes, she never sits up, and when she speaks, it is barely audible or understandable.

On the way to the beach last week, the Genius wanted to know the reasons behind my desire to see my grandma. What I came up with made me feel confused. I wanted to go and see her, but why?

Was it for me? Yeah. I’m not sure that I would be okay with myself having passed through the very town she was in, and not stopped. And honestly, there was a little part of me that was curious. Was she really as bad as my mom had said?

Was it for her? Sure. If there was any glimmer of hope that she was in there, somewhere in the depths of her mind, I wanted her to know that her family was there. Loving her, supporting her, and praying for her.

Because that’s what family does, that’s what we’re here for.

We may not get along and we may not have chosen the individuals that make up our unit, but this is who we have. The members of our families represent our pasts and our futures.

We are tied to these people as we are tied to no one else in this world. Sure, you can leave them…but they will always be there in your history and I can pretty much guarantee that you will always think of them, be it fondly or not.

My mom read my blog...

...you know, the one about decisions. Well, she had a few things to say, tried to post them but couldn't quite get the knack of posting a comment down...

Well, ladies and gentlemen, here is my mom's response to "Decisions". I have the best mom...ever (Hi, mom!).

"First and foremost, in this life, the only life we will have, I want you to be incredibly happy, self fulfilled, motivated, assured of your decisions, creative, and, believe that no matter which route you chose, as long as you are happy, that I will be completely happy. And, that will be because you have found yourself and are satisfied within yourself. After all, that is what happiness is. It's not how much money you make, but, if you are happy in doing what you do in life and with the money you make can you do the things that bring you happiness. It's a blend.

And, as to having children...that is absolutely personal. Not everyone can be a mother, or do a good job at it, or even want to be. I don't believe when I was in my teens Iwas ever even asked that question or even considered whether or not I did or did not want to be a mother...I just was. It was just there, maybe, even expected. I don't know, I just never really thought about it. However, later, I did. I wanted to be a mother...it was a choice, a decision. I know I made the right choice...because you are here. And, oh, how I love you. But, I will assuredly not be disappointed if you choose not to have children in any fashion..that is your choice. I love you just the way you are. With or without grandchildren. That is truly how I feel.

And, if you were a barrista... were happy, taught yoga , lived your dream, were safe, and I could be a part of your life that would make me complete. That is truly how I feel. I want you to feel free to be you. That is why I value education so much. It helps you to see "outside the box"; to find out what is in this huge wonderful world that I have no clue of; to teach me new and wonderful things....we are never too old to learn, to create, to change...never.

I am happy that you found role models that establish interesting concepts to be included in the person you are...just me would have never been enough. I knew from an early age that you were going to be and are gifted and that I could only go so far with what I knew. You know so much and are growing smarter every day...and, I hope to learn as much as I can from you. I do believe we will always learn from one another. Maybe in different ways. I have been many places in my lifetime...and learned a lot from just living...that you can't get from a book. And, you have been places I have not been....so, we both learn. Everyday."

Decisions

I caught up with my friend Tiffany last night and we talked about many of the issues that concern (see also - bother) us on a regular basis.

As women, we are stuck in very difficult situations. We are forced, rather encouraged, to consider so many different and conflicting influences before making decisions that concern our lives. The key word there is our lives. The decisions that I choose are mine and mine only. At least at this juncture…

Whatever we, as women, choose to do is met by scrutiny, admonishment and scorn by one side or another. If I choose to get married, I am subscribing to archaic rules and values. Wasn’t I aware that women could make it solo? Perhaps I was, but didn’t want to go it alone…perhaps I wanted someone to share it with a long the way. And if I don’t want to get married, well, then naturally I am a career-ambitious bitch who doesn’t value family or family values.

Then there is the issue of children. Do I want them? Does he? If I decide I don’t want them and he does, is that a deal breaker? I tested the waters the other night while having dinner with my mom and dad.

“I don’t think I want to have kids,” I said to my mom.

“Sure you do, sweetheart! You’ve always wanted kids!”

“Yeah, I did. But I was younger then. Maybe I’m just not cut out for them. What if I’m a bad mom? And isn’t the world already populated enough?”

“Sarah, you’ll want kids when the time comes. You’re just in a phase right now.”

Yeah…that’s it, I’m in a phase. I think what she meant was, “Sarah, you’ll want to have kids…because I want you to have kids…and I’m your mother and mother knows best…”

Perhaps.

I don’t know. It sometimes just seems that no matter what side I choose, someone winds up disappointed. And I wonder, why can’t people just back out or pitch in and just make the decisions for me.

It would be a lot easier.

Sometimes I long for a simpler time. When there was only one car, a Ford, and it only came in one color, black. A time when women got married and had children early and they were “happy”…at least on the surface.

But I think they were happy. I think, maybe they didn’t know any different…maybe they didn’t know they were unhappy. Being married and having kids was what they were supposed to do and that was supposed to make them happy. They didn’t have a choice. The grass can’t be greener on the other side if another side doesn’t exist, right?

These days women actually have to figure out what makes them happy amid swirls of dissension. Thanks, women’s lib! Thanks a lot.

And this makes me think about my job and what I do, toiling day in and day out over what really are absolute frivolities.

I work to have money because I am scared to be poor. I work five days a week so that I have money to do something on the two days that I have off. I am working to contribute to the “system” because that is what I am supposed to do…this is what is supposedly good and respectful.

So then I think, what I really want to do is finish my degree, move to Seattle, work in a coffee shop and be a yoga instructor.

But I’m told I am too educated for that now. Silly me, here I was thinking that getting a Master’s degree would open up more doors.

I don’t want to be “wealthy”, I just want to have enough money to do the things that I want to do…to afford the things I want to afford. That’s it. I want to be comfortable and happy. I don’t think that’s too much to ask for, really.

I look up to my philosophy professor from Belmont. She never told us much about her personal life, so what I know about her, I have pieced together to make my ideal Dr. O.

She is in her 40’s or 50’s, never married but had, in her life, encountered and possessed many loves. She has no children and this sometimes creates a void, but she knows that if she truly wanted a child, she could have one.

She has a fantastic body, one that has not by spoiled by age and unhappiness. Life hasn’t gotten the best of her, her spirit or her body.

Which is more than I can say for people half her age.

She has fabulous salt and pepper hair and doesn’t attempt to hide it with colorings and dyes. She expects people to understand and accept her for who she is…not for the person she used to be or wish she would become.

Dr. O taught me that the important questions in life, the questions worth asking, are the ones you can’t answer. The questions that dig deep into your soul and, upon investigating, allow you to discover who you truly are.

For some reason, to me, she embodied both the conservative and the modern view of women. Somehow she was able to reconcile them both…in theory and in practice.

I think what made that possible is that she had found who she was, who she wasn’t and, in turn, was infinitely happy.

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.

Three Thanks

After a long and restful weekend, I awoke semi-refreshed for Monday's arduous task of seeing the doctor at 8:15 am.

If you are unaware, I have been on crutches and in an air cast for the past six or so weeks due to a broken bone in my foot.

See, I was riding a horse in the surf along the shores of the Gulf Coast when Tipper, my horse, got spooked by a rogue crab. Poor Tipper is deathly afraid of those unpredictable beasts and she bucked me off and into the water.

When I emerged from the surf, covered in seaweed and dangling crabs, Tipper was no where to be seen. The pain from the pinching crabs was too intense to notice the shattered a bone in my left foot. I proceeded to run down the beach frantically calling for my horse but she was no where to be found.

Forlorn, I walked back to my house wondering what could have befallen my beautiful Paso Fino. And there she was.

Kneeling in a bed of protected sea grass, Tipper looked up at me with her beautiful coal black eyes. Blinking through the tears at her safe return, I began to feel the pain of my shattered bones.

At this moment, the clouds began to darken and the winds picked up steam. The gusts of hurricane force winds and driving rain were not enough to detour Tipper from carrying my weak body to seek medical assistance. She found a strapping (and barely clothed) lifeguard just finishing his shift in the stand. He carried me piggy back to his home, warmed me by the fire with sub-zero convective warming blankets, and bandaged my foot with skin traction bandaging.

Ahh, but that was six (plus) weeks ago. Come to find out, all the lifeguard's efforts to save my foot were in vain. It has been diagnosed with avascular necrosis and will have to be amputated.

So, along with my Monday thanks -

1. Imagination - Love it. Need it. Life is so much, well...less boring with imagination.
2. Celine Dion - There's nothing better for a road trip than Celine Dion riding shot gun.
3. Kissing - Love it. Need it. Life is so much, well...less stagnate with kissing.

Here's to the joy of Christmas!

I came home Friday night, content to put on my lounge pants, crank up the holiday jazz mix I bought last year, burn the green variety of holiday candle (you know – smells like pine), and finish decorating for Christmas. Abi and I went to see Stranger Than Fiction and I thought it was creative and morosely funny. It turned out to be more dark comedy than I had originally expected.

So, I got home. Turned the Christmas tree lights on. Lit my candles. I made my way into my bedroom to put on my pink Victoria’s Secret lounge pants. These are great pants…but you can wear them for a short period of time and they start to bag in the butt and the knees. Even though I live alone, I still like to be presentable, you know…for Mr. Darcy. But these were the pants that were calling for me the loudest from their wooden prison, deep within my lingerie chest.

I went back into the kitchen/dining/living room to begin and end the decoration for Christmas 2006.

I saw him then.

A little grey and white fuzzy head sticking out of my Parisian’s handle bag from last night’s shopping extravaganza. Mr. Darcy leapt at me from his clever hiding place, expecting to scare me. Cats are funny like that. Have you noticed that? Their thinking is, “If I can’t see you, you must not be able to see me. Therefore, I will avert one eye while keeping the other in plain site.”

He dives back into the bag making as much commotion as entirely possible. We’re playing a game, he and I. The interesting thing is that he couldn’t care less whether I was playing along or not.

I wish life were this simple. Joy from a bag. I mean, I get joy from bags now…but it’s because they are filled with the wondrous gifts that I have purchased.

When I was little, I would play in my parents’ camcorder bag…that’s right, remember those? When the camcorders were so large, they had to be propped up on shoulders and stored in what looked like a carry-on luggage baggage. I would get in there, lay as flat and as still as possible and wait for people to start looking for me.

“Bill, where’s Sarah? Have you seen Sarah? Where could she be? This isn’t like her.”

I’d lay there for as long as I possibly could, dying to let everyone in on my secret.

Looking back on it, I am pretty sure my parents knew where I was the entire time. They would just play along. Like I do with Darcy.

But I want to be on the other side of the surprise, the tom foolery, again. I want to get enjoyment out of simple things. I think it is important, especially in this holiday season, to look at the world around us as though we have the eyes of a child and the innocence of youth.

When was the last time that you couldn’t sleep on Christmas Eve? I’d lie awake trying to remember all the things I had included in my letter to Santa at the North Pole. I remember straining so hard to hear Santa and his reindeer arrive at my house but eventually, exhaustion would take over and I would fall asleep.

My mom would cook constantly throughout the Christmas season. Gingerbread houses, peppermint bark, chocolate covered pretzels, red velvet cake, sugar cookies made in holiday shapes (but half a batch with no icing…because I don’t like icing). You name it, she made it. Christmas morning I was always instructed to remain upstairs while my parents “looked at what Santa brought me...to make sure it was right.” This seemed plausible. How nice of them! Then, they’d give me the queue and off I would go, dashing down the stairs to see what treasures were beyond the banister. I’m told a story, that one particular Christmas, I cried. I cried, proclaiming that Santa had given me too much. Obviously, there had been a mistake – he had given me someone else’s presents as well as my own! Apparently, it took my parents a while to calm me down that morning. Probably not the reaction they had expected.

I can’t wait to go through all of these things with my future children. To see the wonderment and joy they have as they experience everything for the first time. Don’t you wish that we could all keep that? Let’s all try to celebrate Christmas this year with these things in mind.

Here’s to the excitement of Christmas.

...Just Because

I realize that I’m getting older and I’m okay with that. I just don’t get bent out of shape about stuff like that. Because really, life is not measured by the number of breaths you take, but rather by the moments that take your, right?

Well, I’ve got a new appreciation for the older ladies and gents in my life now. The ones who take off a few years when someone asks their age. The ones who see a fellow mid-lifer and inquire softly, under their breath to me, “Do I look younger than her?”

I appreciate these people now…I appreciate and understand because I have watched the Bachelor. I remember when this show first came on TV so many years ago and I thought the ladies were so much older…and so much wiser and cooler. And now, staring at myself from the other side of the glass, I think… “I’m older than these ladies (though not by much)…and I’m certainly not cooler…wiser, yes…yes, I will give myself that.”

These ladies are my age if not younger and they are vying for this prince’s affections for him to fall in love with and marry them. Ladies, doesn’t this seem a little belittling? Demeaning? Behind the times, even? I certainly think it does.

But I’m not going to lie to you. I have watched and been entertained by two, maybe three episodes. What’s really entertaining though, is seeing the commercials and then the show…because they are always totally different.

Anyway, sorry. Back to what I was writing about.

I had a semi-out-of-body experience the other morning. I was driving to work. Listening to talk radio. Drinking a coffee with one hand and driving with the other. I had on my “big girl” clothes – a black pencil skirt, button down shirt and my fancy designer, favorite stilettos. It was then that I saw myself as I used to see people like me when I was 12 or 16 or 21…

She’s old.

I do old things. I’m older. I own my home, I own my car, I have a cat that is well nourished and plants that thrive. I work full-time, M-F, 8-5 and only miss work when I absolutely have to. I worry about retirement and savings and the future. And I am in grad school…which more often times than not makes me feel older too.

And I date. And when you date at this age, people feel better if they think you are serious about the person whom you are dating. For some reason, they need to know that you see a future…because otherwise…they think you are wasting your time. Or that your eggs are going to go bad. Or that I’m “not getting any younger.”

But then I think… “Slow down there! I’m only 24.” I mean, I know time flies at this age…but I just need a brake. I need a brake from the pressures of going older. I need to be young again. To take playtime seriously. To feel the cold, wet grass underneath my feet. To take the time to smell the sweet air of morning…because that is my favorite time of day. To wake up early and go to bed late…just because. To not worry about working out and staying fit. And eating right. And doing the most mature thing.

I want to throw a temper tantrum. Laugh until I physically can’t laugh anymore because my sides are streaming out in pain. I want to sneak into movies in the middle of the afternoon

And most of all I want to remember everyday how fast time goes…and that I am not guaranteed one more minute. And to act like a kid every once in a while…just because.

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.

Only child syndrome? Maybe.

Maybe it's because I am an only child. Maybe it's because I was/am spoiled. Maybe the fact that I live by myself is its manifestation and I’m destined to a life of cats, frozen dinners and weird smells.

But, I have a lot of pet peeves.

Some, I can control. Others, not so much. Some people and their "quirks" grate on my last ever-loving nerve.

** I was reading a recent post from Charming, but single and she shares one of my peeves:

"He also didn't leave a message, which is a huge pet peeve of mine. Unless you're a good friend or a family member, you leave a message. Because otherwise I can't know when it is best to call you back or what you want. Say you're calling to ask me out for a drink after work. How am I to know not to go straight home if you don't leave me a message? It's presumptuous to think I'm going to call back someone I do not know well if he or she can't be bothered to state the reason for his or her call.

So I didn't unblock him from my buddy list that night. Not because he didn't leave a voicemail. I didn't unblock him because I had a long day at work and wasn't feeling on top of my game. And because his lack of voicemail showed a lack of interest. (Also, did I mention that he cried on our second date?)"

Lack of a voice mail message definitely means to me, "I've got nothing important to say and, honestly, I’m kinda glad you didn’t answer. I was just calling to say hi." Just so you know, I may or may not call you back if you don't leave a message. I feel that I am under no obligation if you can’t make the effort to leave a message. Oh, and please keep it under 40 seconds. If you bumble around with your message for any longer than that, I’m just going to get annoyed.

** Also, in the same vein, do not call me on my cell phone while I am at work unless it’s an emergency or it’s around lunch. Texting during work hours is okay as it does not disturb and it gets what needs to be said out in the open – without me having to pick up a superfluous voicemail. Try: “Dinner? Ru Sans? 6:00?” Then I can respond via the same method and we are both not out time or the risk of being seen talking on a cell phone by the “corporate powers that be.” It’s a win-win.

** Chronically tardy people. This is just inconsiderate. By being late, you are essentially telling me that your time is more important than mine. I have some news for you, buddy; and this may come as a shock You may even want to sit down. It’s not. Your time is not more important than mine, and as soon as you realize this, I think we will both be a lot happier. Why tell me to be somewhere at a certain time…and then show up 30 minutes later? Why didn’t you call to let me know you were running late? Why do you think that because you are meeting me at my house, that I am offering you my permission to be late? I don’t recall this conversation.

** People who complain about things, while doing nothing to fix them. As an example, a person complaining about being overweight while eating a Snickers.

** People at the gym. You know the people. And so does Anna Fibee in her post about gym rats. However, my annoyances extend way beyond Anna’s. All the way to the ladies in the locker room. You know the women. They just got out of Senior Swim and are getting ready for a day of Fox News and grandchildren. But questions beg to be asked. Why are you naked? Why am I not? You are old and wrinkly…I am young and well, unwrinkly. There are changing rooms, you know. I was not sure if you were aware. Isn’t it bizarre how the ladies that should be confident in the locker room are the ones who remain clothed…and the ones who don’t care are the very ones that shed their clothing for a, shall we say, cooler alternative?

** People who instigate conflict. Why feel it is your job to make everyone feel awkward? Why do you want to argue? I am, quite possibly, the most non-confrontational person you will ever meet. If something bothers me, I like to hold it for a while, close to the vest. Think about it. Decide if it’s worth bringing up. I inherited a hot head from my dad and this is the way I have learned to avoid saying things I don’t mean or shouldn’t say. But you, Mr./Ms. Instigator, why is everything a battle? Why can’t you just take my opinion as just that, my opinion? I take your opinions to be yours and I don’t try and sway you my way. Can’t you give me the same courtesy? Don’t you know, you aren’t always right?

** People who feel the need to explain things in grotesque detail. Enough said.

** People who cut me off, mid-story, to tell one of their own. Apparently, it somehow relates. I just haven’t figured out how yet.

** Guys who wear women’s jeans. You know, designers are making men’s jeans tighter now? There’s no need for us to be wearing the same pants. Where does your member go? Are there lifelong medical implications for your member being shoved into women’s jeans? I’m sure there are. Or is your member just that small? Girls think about this, don’t think that we don’t. And the fact that you are only two sizes bigger than me freaks me out. Eat something for crying out loud. And stop looking at yourself in the mirror, your hair looks fine.

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