Meeting Minutes

I'm pleased to announce that the New Kids on the Block Concert Committee had a very productive meeting today!! But first, I need to give some background. Then, I can share the exciting news.

Last summer, someone mentioned the New Kids were getting back together. Then it was mentioned how the concert would be fun. Albeit shyly. The idea snowballed. One by one, we came out of our boy band closets and admitted we'd like to go to the concert. October seemed like a year away, but we made the commitment. We started to get together after work to hash out the details over drinks. I dubbed these sessions "concert committee meetings".
After the concert, the committee got together for lunch one payday weekend at a steakhouse to drool over slabs of hunky beef. Both bovine and human. Kelley doled out the copies of pics from the concert and we tittered and giggled all over again and relived the details.

Early this month, Cori suggested that the committee should meet up again at our favorite steakhouse, on the 31st (we got paid). Something magical happened. Fate happened. The planets aligned, and the heavens parted and angels sang. NKOTB announced it's 3rd leg of their tour!! The murmurings began, rumors spread, and hopes were lifted. After numerous emails and IM's, the committee unanimously agreed! We are all going to Winnipeg, Candada on April 9th to see them again! And this time nose bleed tickets are NOT an option! I think it's fate that the tickets went on sale the same day as our meeting. The boy band Gods wanted this to happen.
You can't really call us fanatical for seeing them twice. It's a different year, and a different country, so it's totally justified and not crazy at all.

Pregnant women crave (blogs about) ice cream

This one goes out to preggo A Fuss, who demands another blog from me. And because I need to justify buying 2 types of ice cream, I will use "blog research" as my justification.

In the photo, you will see the two types of ice cream I purchased. Along with a random porcelain flamingo. Who doesn't keep mid-century porcelain flamingos in their kitchen? And those wine bottles are future craft projects. And that kitchen timer was supposed to be cool and retro, because I don't have a timer on my stove. There's nothing cool about it not always ringing when the time is up. *&^%$$#@*!!! But I digress.....onto the research.

Ben & Jerry's Chocolate Fudge Brownie: tasted just like that. Very chocolatey, fudgey, and the brownies were awesome! A very rich flavor, and smooth ice cream. Full bodied, if you will. It's perfect for those "give me chocolate and no one gets hurt" days. I don't remember how much it cost. Over priced, I'm assuming. Side note, Tigger goes crazy when I break it open.

Kemp's Peanut Butter Cup Brownie: Smooth flavor, not over powering. The small peanut butter cups were just the right size, and there is peanut butter swirled throughout the ice cream. YUM. The brownies seemed unnecessary. They didn't taste very good, were small pieces, and just seemed "redundant"? That word comes to mind because while I was eating it, I was watching the British show "The Office" and the first episode is about redundancies, and people possibly being fired, and it's really a good show. I love British comedies. For some reason, they seem much funnier than us. I'm sure if Tigger were in the room, he'd go crazy when I open the carton. He goes crazy when I open a wine bottle. I don't remember how much it cost, either. Probably almost as much as the smaller Ben & Jerry's.

So, there you have it. A big mess of ramblings, and now you know why this blog is titled "Randumb". "Stream of conscience thoughts by Sarah that do not connect" was too long.

Ben & Jerry Defense

Tonight I went to the store to buy ice cream. I was going to go to DQ, but it was f-f-f-f-reeeezing out, and I thought I should go straight home. The call of the craving was too strong, so I stopped at the store. I grabbed Ben & Jerry's Chocolate Brownie Fudge, and decided to check out the other options. I found Peanut Butter Cup Brownie in another brand. I grabbed that. I started to reach for the B&J's to put it back....and then a little voice inside said, "Nah...keep both!" So....how do I justify this???

1) PMS is coming
2) Blog research. I need to try both and write reviews and judge them

The cats were all over me when I cracked the B&J's. I about had A Fuss sized hissy fit when they were closing in on me. (sorry, inside joke) Don't mess with a girl and her ice cream!

"and then the lobsta sez.....

...Bless ya, kid!" (cue laugh track) NO!! A four year old sneezing on the lobster tank at Red Lobster is NOT funny!! But that is where our story begins, sadly.

Have you ever noticed how subdued the lobby of Red Lobster is? Is it the soothing sound of the running water in the lobster tank, or is it the impending doom of those sad, sad lobsters that makes everyone respectfully quiet? In the Olive Garden it's loud, and happy, and "Mangia!!" and people are excited to eat their fake Italian. Not so much at the land of fake seafood. Can you tell I'm a snob? I've tasted fresh Italian, fresh seafood, good steak. Red Lobster and Olive Garden? Psht. Bitch, please. (Sorry to my friend who LOVES Red Lobster. You can leave a nasty comment.)

We were seated and informed that our server with a first name that sounded more like a last name would be our "Seafood Expert." I stifled a scoff. An expert within the scope of the 4 types of seafood they offered at Red Lobster, I reminded myself. He served us with much flair and panache. Finally, somone who can pretend to love his job!! So refreshing.

The conversation in the booth behind us was lively, also. Heard all about someone's credit card fraud and police reporting issues, a near miss accident and situations like it (and the proper way to act when your life flashes before your eyes, apparently), and a stand off between a sherrif and an angry gun weilding shop owner. The owner had a permit to carry, and that's why he had the gun. Not sure if that was a justification??? Then they moved on to Vegas. I was hoping to hear mob stories, but no. Not sure what business or circles these people were in, but MUCH more exciting than my family.

Yes. I'm a mooch. I endure fake food and bad decor and mixed company for a free meal. If the parental units are going to pay, I won't push it. I did give them the $25 gift card to Red Lobster, so I kinda set myself up. Set myself up for nightmares about sad lobsters covered in mucus.

THIS IS IN THE BATHROOM STALL. WTF IS THAT LITLE INDENTATION ON THE RIGHT OF THE TRAY? FOR YOUR CIGARETTES? CAR KEYS? TAMPON? LOBSTER THAT YOU SNUCK OUT OF THE TANK BECAUSE YOU FELT BAD? (I HAD TO CONCENTRATE VERY HARD WHILE TAKING THIS PHOTO WITH MY CELL PHONE. I COULD SEE MYSELF DROPPING IT INTO THE TOILET WHILE TRYING TO HAVE SOMETHING ODD FOR MY BLOG)

A Hairballing Experience

Kelley was right. Friday night was a night begging to be blogged about. When you start blogging, you see life as yes or no. Yes, this would be a good blog, or no, this would not make it into a blog. Driving with Marcy to and from WalMart, and she slips and slides, almost rear ends a car, clips a snow bank, makes me carry her basket full of Dinty Moore stew and pot pies, and we end up yelling at each other? "YOU ARE A BLOG WAITING TO HAPPEN" was what I finally told her. So tonight was one of those nights.

A month ago, I coordinated a night out with a co-worker. There was an 80's coverband, "Hairball" playing at a large club. (The photo is their actual logo) So I sent a mass email inviting many people inside and outside of work to join us. On Monday I sent another email reminding them. A few backed out, a few couldn't make it, but a few actually dressed the 80's part! I saw a few of them, briefly. Most of my night was spent in the coat check line 3 times for 10-15 minutes per time. Or waiting for a waitress, or putting up with drunk girls in the bathroom. There was also the drunk girl that my sweater got caught on. She tried to rip my sweater thread from her. I gave her the finger and yelled at her. I thought I was disconnected from her. Oops..still stuck to her! Luckily she was drunk and didn't want to kick my ass. I'm all talk, anyway. I had visions of my loose knitted sweater having a huge hole in the sleeve, or a long run up my arm. I wore this sweater to my wedding dinner/reception, people!! It has sentimental value!! Whatev. Not a sweater to wear in a crowd. If only she had been a hot, single man......We lost the rest of the group right away.

The band was pretty good. Costumes, sounded like Van Halen, or Prince, or Poison. Bobbi was upset when the singer got "Talk Dirty to Me" wrong. We weren't drunk enough. That was the problem. The night was one big "I'm too old for this shit/I'm too sober for this shit". I just didn't feel like standing on the edge of the crowd, getting jostled, listening to songs I don't remember.

How you know you're too old (or sober) for this clubbing shit:
-You wear your winter coat into the bar. (When we were 21, we just ran quickly, and were too drunk to feel it)
-You don't think it makes sense to wait in line to get into the bar. (I guess when you're younger, it has some sort of elitist appeal. The longer the line, the better the time inside??)
-You wonder how those girls can stand in those shoes?!
-You wonder how those girls can be so thin??!!
-You'd rather pee outside than endure drunk girls in the bathroom.
-You wonder why the fucking music has to be so fucking loud. Doesn't anyone talk anymore??

The highlight of the night was the girl at the ATM who kept saying "This isn't working! Why isn't this working?" Not sure if she thought the machine was broken or if her card was broken. But the screen clearly said "INSUFFICIENT FUNDS". A lot of those kids in that bar should've had that tattooed across their foreheads in reference to their intelligence.

BlogWho?

I don't like to categorize myself. Not that I'm trying to be all "Indie" and cool. I'm just equal opportunity. If someone were to ask what my style of dress was, or what music I listen to, or what food I like to eat, the answer is always the same: "A little of everything". Not even sure what group of friends in High School I belonged to. I'm afraid to ask at the next reunion.

I went to the BlogHer website the other morning, just to see what the fuss was about, and started to wonder what category this blog would fall under. (Sarahism: for the longest time, due to the color and font of BlogHer, I thought it was "Blocher". Made nooo sense. I feel somewhat better now that I know the real word.) I clicked on the drop down menu, and read the categories of blogs. I started to get "worried". There were so many that my blogs fall under. There was one easy one that I could cross off the list quickly, however. News and Politics is not my schtick. I tuned in to the inaguration just in the nick of time to see the big guy get sentanced. Just like American Idol. I tune in at the last minute to see the winner. BeautyHack: future blog about my hair experiments. Business and Career: I do have a lot of crafts waiting to be sold and complained about. Entertainment and Culture: Moi. Food and Drink: Wine, wine, a dry roast. Health and Wellness: See "Phat Ass" blog. Mommy and Life: Cats. Money and Personal Finance: I get paid, I spend it. Sex and Relationships: Love to complain about the absence and the dyfunction. Technology and Internet: Again, dysfunctional. See "&^%$##@#!!" blog.

There is one topic that I fall under if I were to pick from their list. "Life". Because "Random" isn't available.

How to waste a Sunday

Step 1: Sleep in until after 11am. (This step is necessary if you went to a party the night before, and then stayed up until 2:30am playing on Photofunia.com)
Step 2: Take roast out of freezer. You will need to run hot water on it to remove the pad thingy. Place roast in crockpot. Don't worry if roast doesn't fit. Shove the lid on top anyway. VERY IMPORTANT: TELL CAT TO STAY AWAY FROM ROAST. You may need to occasionally yell things like "What are you doing in there?! Here, kitty, kitty!"
Step 3: Play Mini-golf on facebook, curse Alex for introducing it to you, yell at laptop to scare cats and neighbors, keep playing so you win money to buy pink golf clubs for $500. Repeat Step 3 as needed.
Step 4: Call numerous stores looking for Wii Fit for mother, call mother back repeatedly, tell her all the stores are out of Wii Fit, and she should've called around before leaving the house, and freak out on her.
Step 5: After an hour of playing Mini-golf, multiple phone calls, trying to email a friend in between phone calls, and fighting cat off lap, check roast.
Step 6: TURN ON CROCKPOT. (%$#@*^!!!!)
Step 7: Do steps 1-6 to avoid mountain of laundry(and vacuuming, apparently).
Step 8: Blog about it.

Horrorscopes

It's freaky how "accurate" my horoscope via facebook has been lately. Kelley and I had a good laugh at "you've been a good friend, but maybe it's time to suggest professional help."

After fighting with my computer this morning, and the past three days, I finally got the plug-ins installed. What does my "horrorscope" say today? "Leo: You've got a big problem to solve today! It'll take a couple tries, but you'll get it right." I did get worried when two separate horoscopes in the same week suggested I mind my oral health. I'm hoping it's the same crackpot freelance horocsope writer that wrote those. I can just see some woman sitting in her kitchen, henna dyed hair, coffee mug with "First, God created Man. Then She laughed", ash tray full of butts, a worn out deck of Tarot cards, and 12 cats. The scary thing is that I think I've had bad breath this week.

A quick over view of Leo's: The most vital sign of the zodiac, Leos exude confidence. Stubborn yet impulsive. Showy, dramatic and sometimes vain. Sunny demeanor and love to be the center of attention. Like to be worshipped, though this may be unrealistic. Leos have a natural knack for improvising, but watch out: they can also be fantastic con artists. Damn. We're shallow. Madonna and Marcy are also Leo's. Need I say more?

*&$#@^%%*!!!!

I don't know a lot about computers. Very little. Your mom knows more than I do. So when I had to strip my laptop to factory settings and start fresh, it turned into a meltdown. I'm still in meltdown mode. I've had a rough night. Had a long day, and dealt with a man who apparently is having a PMS episode.

The other morning, I couldn't use my mouse pad on my laptop. I called the Ex, and he suggested support tech. Support tech determined it was not a part that needed to be replaced, so it must be a virus, and let's erase everything on my laptop and get it back to factory settings. OH, HAPPY DAY. Not an issue for someone who can reset everything. I am stupid about these things. The Ex bought the laptop, set up the laptop, and then mailed the laptop to me. All I had to do was turn it on, and start surfing. I lost all my pics, and documents that were saved. I also had all my future blogs saved. I thought I was lucky that I had saved the blogs on the blogspot.com website. Mixed blessing. I posted the Phat Ass blog, but it posted as the day it was written, not the day it was posted. And I've fucked around with the Adobe reader for a long time. So I can't read my fortune on my fortune cookie gadget or play Scrabble on facebook. After pushing numerous keys, shaking laptop, and swearing, I thought I had finally downloaded it. Nope. Guess not. I'm livid. Oh, and so I tried to cut and paste the Phat Ass text into Word.....it says Word is not working, and I should click the button, diagnose the problem, and close. Nothing happens when I do that, other than closing the window. I DON'T KNOW WHAT I'M DOING. I hate this. If I call the Ex, I'll just end up yelling at him.

My apartment is about 80 degrees, or warmer, so I'm hot and bothered in a bad way. I have radiators, and am on the second floor. If this were Chicago, I'd be freezing to death. I decided to crack a bottle of the infamous Wine of the Month, and saw that the cork was almost pushed all the way out. I guess that bottle froze. If I was a true wine snob, I would not drink it. It's not tasting horrible, so I'm drinking it anyway. Alcohol and heat could be part of my anger issues.

I realize this is not a funny blog, but it is a bitching blog. If you know me well, you know you get the sweet with the sour, and the funny with the dour. I will do nothing about the man with PMS. I did nothing wrong. I will try to stay strong and accept the fact that you can't always help the way people interpret what you say or how you act. I'm not responsible for his perceptions this time, and I will not explain myself and try to make him feel better.

"And I know it aches, and how your heart breaks
You can only take so much
Walk on
You've got to leave it behind"

...and then I started crying.

Last week was supposed to be my crappy week, and this week was supposed to be my start fresh week. Actually, last week was supposed to be my start fresh week, but it turned into my crappy week, so this week I'm starting over. Got all that?

"The Crimson Tide" showed up last Monday, so I decided to feel fat and sorry for myself and sleep in everyday. I now work at 1PM, so I have the luxury of doing that. I decided today was the day! I was going to get up, be productive, go to the gym, the Post Office, and the UPS station to finally get that damn wine!

OK, so I managed to sleep until 10, but was out of the house by 11. It snowed last night, and it was a balmy -11 below today, so the weather pissed me off right off the bat. The wind had been blowing hard and there were drifts and piles of snow everywhere to drive in and walk through. I hate that! I made it to the UPS station, expecting my damn wine to be frozen, and throwing a tantrum. What I didn't expect was the change in hours. That's right- they now open at 1PM. I had a sudden Tourettes outburst and literally said out loud, "Fuck, shit, damn!" (Yeah, I don't know either.) I trudged back to my car, started driving away....and then I started crying. I was listening to my "Elevation" CD by U2. Bono was singing to me that I was stuck in a moment, and this time will pass. I told him to fuck off.

I stopped by Jitters because I had a free drink (had to make my own illegal parking space), and figured if the espresso didn't cheer me up, I'd just have to stick my head in the snow. I then stopped at the Post Office (had to make yet another illegal parking space), stood in line for 5-10 minutes and tried hard not to scream. Of course the dude in front of me had to tell the crazy lady, who knew everyone in that tiny post office, that his wife was in the hospital and had been battling cancer, and something about her stem cell. I felt guilty, and wondered silently what Michael J. Fox was up to, and how the whole stem cell research battle was coming along, and why politicians have to be assholes, and if I would last another 30 seconds without having another Tourettes outburst. I then finally mailed my divorce papers.

I was able to go back to the UPS station and get the damn wine. I brought it into work, for fear of it freezing in my car. After my shift, I got into my cold car and thought, "I'm gonna have some wine when I get home!" That's when I realized I had left the damn wine back at my desk. I have a "no wine left behind" policy, so of course I had to go back upstairs for it.

Ah...the moment we've all been waiting for! I opened the box, and was happy to see three bottles there. When I signed up for the wine of the month club, I got a third bottle of my choice for free. This wouldn't be my life or a blog if something wasn't sadly, horribly, funnily wrong, right? I got the wine varietal that I had requested, all right. Three damn bottles of it!!! What is the point of joining a wine of the month club if you don't get a variety??!! I have nothing more to say.

Phat Ass

That’s the goal, anyway. I’ve decided it’s time (for the umpteenth time) to lose some chubbiness. Right now I just feel like a Fat Ass. I’ve let my self go. Go wide. So once again I’m getting back on the treadmill of torture, and will attempt to infuse my diet with foods that actually come from the earth.

I blame my weight gain on simple reasons: #1) We’re not in our 20’s anymore, Toto #2) Marriage* #3) Pity Party/Cubicle Life/Self-Indulgence. #1) I enjoy being in my 30’s, but long for the metabolism of my 20’s. I see those young, skinny girls, and I think, “Live it up, you tramps! Your day will come!” Sometimes I think it out loud. #2) Dating usually involves going out to eat. When you get married, your entertainment is going out to eat. #3) When you separate, you tend to bring food to your own pity party. Then you work in a “cubicle farm” and you tend to eat to break up the monotony of the job. If your brain isn’t being stimulated, your taste buds might as well be. There seem to be a lot of potlucks, and treats, and our vending machines take credit cards now, and Chinese is ordered by a group at least once a week and I just can’t say “No” to any of it. The afore mentioned reasons have left me chubby. The heaviest I’ve ever been. I’m not saying I’m obese, but do you have to be obese before you do something about your weight? I’m not 5 months pregnant, and I’m tired of looking like it.

I’ve started all of my past diets and workout routines with full blown enthusiasm (delusion) and 95.7% commitment. The newness quickly wears off, and the routine wears thin. I eventually go back to my slothen way of life. This time I just want to make exercising a part of my life, and eat better more often, and eat crap less often. Sounds simple, right? I’m not ready to delete Papa John’s from my speed dial, however.

I’m also trying to get healthy because I’ve seen the effects of poor health on the elderly. I don’t want to be the withered, bent over hag that doesn’t know her skirt is tucked into her pantyhose, or that her wig is on backwards. I want to be the hag who wears her lipstick a little too bright, her jewelry a little too flashy, and reads the Enquirer because it’s all true.


*note to self for future relationships: more sex, less take out

Marcy

Marcy, Marcy, Marcy…..be careful what you ask for…you just might get it. My dear friend, Marcy, read my first blog and asked “When will I be mentioned in one of your blogs?” Muhahahaha…..I do hope this blog does her justice. Don’t hold your breath. Where to begin, though??

Marcy is somewhat of a local celebrity, much to her chagrin. When you are a little person in a town with maybe 2 or 3 little people, you tend to be remembered. People ask you stupid questions, and say stupid things to you. She hates the question “Do you know the Roloff’s?” (The famous family on TLC’s Little People, Big World) I think she should just say “Why don’t you rolloff??” She knows of them, has never met them. She was once in a dressing room, trying on a pair of jeans. The helpful sales woman looked at her and the extra 2 feet of leg fabric and politely informed Marcy that she would have to get them shortened. Marcy replied with the obvious “I know”, and the poor woman quickly realized her stupidity, and felt embarrassed. If I had been there I would’ve said, “Oh, she’ll just roll them up”. Or, “She usually wears high heels. This length will be fine with heels.” Children love Marcy. They light up when they see her. I told her she should dress up like Santa. That would blow their minds! An old drunk dude at the VFW really loved her, too. He was also lit up, but in a different way.

Marcy tends to be on the conservative side, and doesn’t usually stray from her comfort zone. She’s traveled, and leads a full life, but hasn’t lived in a city bigger than Fargo, and is from a small Minnesota town. These traits mean she doesn’t always know what I’m talking about. I was telling her how my jeans don’t fit anymore, and then I joined a gym, and later I mentioned that the gym is next to Gloria Jean’s. “That’s funny, your gym is next to a jean store!” No, Marcy. Gloria sells coffee, not denim. “What kind of name is that? How was I supposed to know they sold coffee?!“ By the way, Starbucks is also a coffee shop. I realize the name is misleading and seemingly random. How dare they?

If you want a really good laugh, just watch me try to pull her up into my Ford Escape! We can’t get in and out of it too often in a short time period. The more times she gets in and out of it, the more tired she gets, and the harder we laugh, and it takes longer and longer to get her in. I need to look into installing a running board on the passenger side. I wonder if I can get a discount if I just buy one? She refuses to use a mini-trampoline. Can you say “buzz kill?’ (I’ll explain the definition of that later, Marcy)

A couple other “Marcy-isms”:
“I might be old, but I don’t need glasses!” Um, Marcy? You wear CONTACTS. So technically, yes, you do.
Marcy hates walking ‘all the way to the elevator’ in her apartment building, from her car. So she chooses to walk up 3 flights of stairs. Not a big deal, good exercise. A big deal when you are about three feet tall and carrying 2 bags of groceries and a gallon of milk, or a family sized portion of Mint Chocolate Chip ice cream that you had to walk all over Cash Wise looking for an associate to get it off the top shelf for you.

Don’t worry, though. I do nice things for her to balance out all the making fun of her, and taking advantage of her handicap parking privileges. A couple of times I’ve taken out her garbage so she didn’t have to haul it down three flights of stairs and climb a step stool just to reach the dumpster. And I have hemmed a lot of shirts for her. But not her pants. She just rolls those up.

Wineaux

“Wineaux, Wineaux? Wherefore art thou Wineaux? It is I, Sarah. A woman who’s thirst can no longer be sated by Beringer and Yellow Tail. (actor spats on ground dramatically) Bring forth your gifts from that exotic land, Napa Valley!”

At the end of November, I went to a Wine Shop at Home party. The ratio was 3 to 6. Three woman, six bottles of wine. I’m sure you can figure out how that party ended. That’s right. A New Kids on the Block DVD and I joined the Wine of the Month Club.

It’s turning out to be “Wine Whenever the Hell You Get It Club”. The first shipment should have been delivered in mid-December. It sat on the UPS truck for two days while Mother Nature laughed, and she made sure those two days were -32 below. I was told the bottles froze. I hope the driver that passed out after drinking my three bottles froze to the floor of his truck.

The re-shipment is supposed to arrive today. Here I sit, anxiously awaiting the adult female version of Santa Claus. You’ve all been there. You don’t know when it will arrive, so you don’t know how to spend your morning. Do you shower? Go to the bathroom? Does the driver care what your hair looks like? Should you have purchased that new robe on the ‘Macy’s 27 Hour After Christmas Sale’? I think the question that matters most is: “Was that loud banging sound I heard this morning my wine tumbling down the back stairwell?” Who cares if it was the driver falling. As long as my wine crate fell on top of him, safely.

Hell hath no fury like a woman waiting!

facebook

This site is sucking the life out of me. That’s ironic, because it kind of archives and tracks your life, interests and friends. What did we do before it was invented? After numerous quizzes, I now know I have the brain power of a chimp, I speak with a Midwestern accent, and Edward Cullen is my Twilight guy. I have yet to find a “what’s the meaning of life?” quiz. I’m afraid all results would be “facebook”. I’m spending a lot of time with my laptop on my lap, and the modem plugged into the right side. I fear I will get cancer in my right knee. I should think about moving the modem to the left side.

You never know who you will find on facebook. Sometimes I even invite strangers to look me up. (Kelley: “What are they going to do, Sarah? Search under ‘Drunk Girl at St. Paul Hilton?‘”) Facebook has been a great way for me to keep up with friends and family. I love seeing their photos, and writing sarcastic comments on their walls. (Usually when drunk, but that’s more of an exception, not a rule.) I’m sure they enjoy keeping up with my exciting life. Just the other day, I notified all of them that I am a fan of chocolate cake, red wine, and Cadburry mini eggs. I felt redeemed when Alex also became a fan of mini eggs. I felt as though I had “paid it forward”. I love sifting through/joining the pointless, random groups. “I love the Great Gatsby, Wine Shop at Home, I love my cat but hate cleaning up it’s barf, Twilight is not real, get over it, I hate washing dishes by hand (because I do!!), Uff da! Is the shit”. None of these compare to the pride I felt when I joined “Fargo: The fifth drunkest city in the nation”. The Admins sent me a Christmas e-card this year, and mailed out my updated membership card. It was laminated and everything. I thought that was a nice touch.

Damn Bowling Buddies. I’m addicted to it. After every game I think, “The next game could beat my high score.” (A 221, you go, girl!) I was so proud when I earned $500 in bowling bucks. I could finally purchase those trendy black Converse shoes for my avatar!! To play the game, I press and hold the right mouse button to pick up the ball. I then push my middle finger over the mouse pad on my laptop, and that throws the ball down the lane. I think it’s giving me carpal tunnel, tendonitis, and removing the finger print from my middle finger. Actually, missing a finger print might come in handy one day. I’ll keep playing. There’s a curious little button marked “SUPPORT”. I believe in three possibilities. #1: If you are experiencing technical difficulties, click it. #2: If you need tips and pointers for a better score, click it. (Stupid splits!! Grrrr…) #3: If I click it, a pop up window will open, and I will be instantly connected to a live chat session with a confident, well trained counselor who will oh so subtly draw me into an intervention and try to convince me that I don’t need play this game over and over, for an hour or more at a time. “A callous on my ‘driving finger’ just isn’t sexy” is a good reason to back off. I think possibilities two and three are probably projections. I’m afraid to find out.

The scent of divinity

Marcy drug me all over this afternoon. She had to run "a few errands". Such a miser, that girl. Toothpaste at Target, tomatoes at Cash Wise, Dinty Moore at WalMart....and the weather is total crap today. I think we got about 4 inches of snow?? On top of our 32. "Let it snow, let it snow....SOMEPLACE ELSE!!" That's what I think. So we're driving around in the snow, and we end up at Kmart. We soooo got hit on by the dorky/helpful associate. He went to look for her Tide that was on sale, and she had a coupon, so dammit I was determined to make this trip fruitful! He came back empty handed, and said, "Sorry...can we still be friends??" Marcy just said, "I'll think about it." I think I'm desperate, cuz I almost said, "Sure, what's your number?", but Marcy beat me to it. Whew. Dodged that bullet.

He was stocking those saint candles. I love them, they are so kitschy!! To my surprise, Kmart sells an entire line of saintly scents in various candles, scented oil, candle covers, a cross incense holder, and car air fresheners!! Do you know what the Virgin of Guadalupe smells like?? Floral. Very floral. And the "divine power"?? And the "heart of Jesus"?? I'm wondering if heaven smells like that. Like cheap incense. I was hoping it smelled like coffee beans or birthday cake.

Randomness that is Sarah

I’m not entirely sure why I’m starting a blog. I don’t even like the way it sounds. Blogs seem trendy. I don’t do trendy. I do, however email my friends multiple times a day, so I guess those feel like blogs..So why not make it official and share the randomness that is Sarah?

I don’t have an exciting life, so I won’t bore you with those details. No kids, so I can’t smother you with tidbits and cute stories you’d rather not hear. I have 2 cats. Tigger and Gatsby. I won’t tell you too many stories about them, either. Someday maybe I’ll share the accounts of how Gatsby set himself on fire 3 separate times. (We were close to #4 when he decided to chill next to the hot iron) But my poor parenting skills are not for this blog. I assumed cats were like plants, only the cats are more vocal about needing nourishment. My plants just silently wither and wilt in slow agony. But with cats, the owner is the one in agony. Why can’t they just let me sleep? What do they have against me being the one who is horizontal? Jealousy. That must be it.

I’ve always enjoyed writing. So much so that my friend Kelley and I took a creative writing class in high school together. We didn’t know what to expect. We certainly weren’t expecting that brooding young man to walk through the classroom door, late, of course. He had that “I’m indie/alternative and like to write poetry and be mysterious and wear dark clothing and keep to myself” look. She and I turned to each other with raised eyebrows and smirks on our faces. We knew what the other was thinking: “This class is looking up!” I believe he talked to me one time. It was on picture day. I was wearing my U2 Achtung Baby concert t-shirt. “You like U2, Sarah?” I’m sure I beamed at him with my braced teeth and uttered some positive response, unable to keep the conversation going. I was awkward in high school. Kelley was impressed. I also had horrible perm at that time. The day after I committed this unspeakable act, Kelley came over to try to help me undo the damage. We washed my hair over and over, trying to relax the poodle curls to no avail. I do blame her for starting me on the path of hair experiments. That’s another blog for another time.