For Sierra

Many of you will recall a previous entry in which i detailed the hilarious hijinks of Sierra and I going to the vet.


I'm very sad to report that our beloved Sierra passed away early this morning.

I was never much of a dog person. Raised mostly around cats, I felt like dogs were unpredictable and potentially mean. Sierra was the dog who would rid me of that opinion, forever.

I remember the first night I met Sierra. I was sitting at my fiance's computer desk while he was looking through his DVD's, and I saw his door crack open a few inches. Suddenly, a long snout was poking into the room.

"Hi, Sierra!" Matt said. "Come meet Sarah!" She stood in the hallway, unmoving. I guess she was as unsure of me as I was of her.

"What...what is that?" I asked.

"It's a Collie." Matt said.

"It's ...big!" I said.

Matt laughed. "She's actually fairly petite for a Collie."

I stared at Sierra. Sierra towered over me. (Okay, maybe it's a bit of an exaggeration. But to me, she was a tall, tall dog!)

And with that, we left. The next time I saw her, she came right over and rested her head in my lap. And my heart melted a little bit.

Over time, it became evident that Sierra was the sweetest, most loving dog ever. She pretty much loved you right away, no matter what.

I learned that when she took walks, she didn't walk in a straight line. I'm not talking about the typical dog sniffing from tree to tree. She walked in a serpentine pattern, which I still presume was to avoid giving terrorists a clear shot. She was street smart that way.

She loved the outdoors. She especially loved her mudhole, and Matt's mom's columbines. But the girl didn't underestimate the value of a cozy sleeping bag at the end of the night.




She charmed the crowd at my engagement party. She was easily the most complimented aspect of the day! She also suffered silently through many humiliations brought on by her own family. (As do we all!)


And though she was very sweet and well behaved, she also had a mischievous streak to her. She'd happily prance outside for a walk, but when it was time to come in, she'd look at the porch step, then back at you. Then back at the porch step. Then back at you.

In the backyard, if you called her, she'd wait until you walked over to her, and reluctantly, and sloooowly get up. At the dog park, she'd run to the far end, making you hike all the way over to get her.

Last week, in Forest Falls, she sweet-talked my mom into an entire piece of cheese.

And let's not leave out her tendency to steal cars for a joyride. This was taken upon finding out she had stolen Margaret's car. Who knew she could even drive stick?


Last night, Matt's mom Nancy called and said that it wasn't looking good for Sierra. She had a nasty bout of pneumonia, and her fever was spiking. Nancy had arranged for us to be able to go visit Sierra at the emergency animal hospital after Matt got off of work.

We were told we couldn't touch her, because she needed to stay in her oxygen cage, and also not to visit for too long, because she got too excited and it winded her.

As we approached the cage, she snoozed peacefully. Matt grabbed my hand as Sierra lifted her head.

"Hi, Collie-Girl." I said. "I'm sorry you don't feel well."

She opened her eyes, one drooping with sleep. She looked just like Matt.

"Hey, girl." Matt said.

We both stood with lumps in our throats. Sierra lowered her head. The vet tech was answering questions we had about temp and how she was doing in general. Sierra lifted her head again, and smiled.

"It's okay, girl." I said. "You can go back to sleep now."

"Get some rest, Collie Girl." Matt said.

We both said goodbye and left, much to the chagrin of the dachshund who was getting fastened into a cone of shame. I think he was hoping for witnesses.

It was such a great privilege to know and love Sierra. RIP, Girl. We love you!

"We give dogs time we can spare, space we can spare, and love we can spare. And in return, dogs give us their all. It's the best deal man has ever made." - F. Facklam

Holiday Greetings

Dear Santa,

I have been as good as can reasonably be expected under the circumstances afforded to me. The fact that I haven't killed anyone yet this year should be noted, as well as the fact that I have donated to every gosh darned salvation army bucket I have come across (even the one I walked into).

Santa, as I'm sure you're aware, the economy sucks. I wish I could sugarcoat it for you, big guy, but you and I both know that a spoonful of sugar doesn't help much with that bitter pill. So, I'm only going to ask for a few reasonable things.

1. A Pony.





I've asked for one every year since I was 3, and nothing. It's getting a bit old, Santa, that you refuse to acquiesce to my demands. Besides, I would name him Tony, so that his name rhymes with what he is.

2. A job.



(Image courtesy toothpastefordinner.com)
I know I'm good at what I do, but please. I just want a real person job with benefits. I really miss going to the doctor, and I don't want to have to wait until after I'm married to do this. Do you know how hard it is to sit in the lobby of the free clinic for 5 hours on a Wednesday, Santa? Do you?? I really don't think you do, because then you'd know that even with an appointment, you're not going in anywhere near your scheduled time. Unless you show up late, then they called you at your precise appointment time. Also, they won't change the channel away from MTV, and I really really really don't care who America's Next Best Dance Crew is. They all suck. Plus, I'm tired of being hit on by guys who are there to get a herpes medication refill.

3. For the Government to Pull Their Heads Out of Their Arses.


If I hear the word "fillibuster" ONE MORE TIME. Plus, they totally "booed" when they were told they'd have to work this week. Oh, boo hoo! They, like so many other Americans, are being asked to do their job. To finish what they started. To make a frickin' decision. There are tons of unemployed Americans who would be thrilled to do the job for a week, to make a little money for the holidays. Also, they keep voting down important issues just to prove a point to each other. I think the point they're trying to prove is "I'm a bigger, more stubborn idiot than you are!" Seriously, they're voting down the decision to give the 9/11 first responders and volunteers health care coverage? Are they out of their minds? These are the guys who came to help and stayed until the job was done. They continue to do their jobs. And the congress is treating them as if they were nuisances. One would think, Santa, and I'm sure you agree, that now is the time when they should be proving to the American people that they deserve to keep their jobs.

4. Johnny Depp. Enough said.



5. If you could bring back that "all berries Cap'n Crunch" cereal, that would be great.


It's delicious, and a part of a complete breakfast.

I'd like to wish each and every one of my blog readers a Happy Enough HoliDon't. I'll end with the best christmas quote I know:

"Where do you think you're going? Nobody's leaving. Nobody's walking out on this fun, old-fashioned family Christmas. No, no. We're all in this together. This is a full-blown, four-alarm holiday emergency here. We're gonna press on, and we're gonna have the hap, hap, happiest Christmas since Bing Crosby tap-danced with Danny fucking Kaye. And when Santa squeezes his fat white ass down that chimney tonight, he's gonna find the jolliest bunch of assholes this side of the nuthouse. " - Clark Griswold, National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation

Adult Content!

ha, you pervs. bet you thought this was gonna be a sexy entry...

nay, good friends. this is my BIRTHDAY BLOG!!!!

see, today i am 27. i mean, just look at that number. 27. this means, of course, that i am officially in my late twenties. excuse me while i go heave quietly in a corner and mourn my youth.

being an official Adult means all sorts of fun things. it means that it is officially time for me to act like a Boring Grown Up!

for example:
1) Young Sarah would bounce out of bed, then remember she has an arthritic right knee that clicks and grinds, as well as a crick in her neck from sleeping (!!!) and what she affectionately refers to as her "pop hip." (see music and lyrics for reference on the "pop hip.")

whereas, Adult Sarah gets out of bed, trips over her own feet, then remembers she has an arthritic knee, a crick in her neck, and a pop hip, in addition to possibly being dead. responsibly, she takes her own pulse. still alive...but just barely.

2.) Young Sarah would put off her homework in order to eat dinner, figuring that 15 minutes will be more than enough time to complete her research paper after watching the big bang theory.

whereas, Adult Sarah eats dinner WHILE she does her homework, because multitasking is a totally Grown Up thing to do. upon sitting down, Adult Sarah absentmindedly rests her elbow upon her spoon, thereby showering her face with rice and teriyaki sauce. she proceeds to laugh so hard she gives herself hiccups and knocks everything off of the left side of her desk, sending her roommate into a terrified frenzy. sorry, rob.

3. Young Sarah would get annoyed with the salvation army bell ringers since she already donated at the last four stores, and try to figure out alternate entrances into stores so she doesn't have to deal with the judgmental looks.

whereas, Adult Sarah realizes that this particular bell ringer has no idea whether she's donated before or not, and what could a handful of change from the bottom of her purse hurt? feeling good about donating to the salvation army, she smiles cheerily at the bell ringer and drops the change in, wishing him a happy holiday season. then, Totally Grown Up Sarah walks straight into the sign attached to the bucket. ouch.

4. Young Sarah would be lazy about harvesting the tangerines from the tree in the backyard, and try to pay her tall roommates to do it.

whereas, Adult Sarah has Adult Bills and can't afford to pay anyone off. so she puts on her big girl pants and marches outside, where she gets her hair stuck in the branches of the evil tree. rather than call out for help, she figures that since she's stuck, she may as well make herself useful, and therefor picks a whole grocery bag full of tangerines, which she will commence selling on the freeway off ramp to make money to pay her tall roommates to get themselves stuck instead.

happy birthday to me!!! i'm now gonna do a celebratory shot of metamucil and gin. goodnight, cleveland!

Shocking Sarah News

okay, it's not actually shocking. it's 5 am and i can't sleep. i actually haven't been to bed yet. i waited up to see if my fiance and roommate would come home from clubbing in hollyweird in one piece, and was never quite able to doze off. and, in my personal experience, it's better to get up and DO something when you can't sleep, rather than lay there and think about why you can't sleep, and visualize murdering the person next to you who is blissfully and ignorantly sawing logs.

where was i?

oh yes.

so i decided to do a quick writing prompt that i found in a friend's blog, instead.

it's a thinker, folks.

"Show the most recent picture of you and list 15 random things about yourself."

okay, most recent picture:



there. my dirty secret is out. i'd pretend i'm all embarrassed by this photo, but since i spent a good few minutes making it earlier and it is currently my facebook profile picture, i'll just say this:

i regret nothing.

now for the 15 random facts:

1. it's raining like a mofo outside right now. some might say it's reminiscent of a cow pissing on a flat rock. but then, not everyone can have the eloquence of my father.

2. i love weird socks. toe socks are my favorite, with stripedy socks coming in a close second. third, would be my candy corn socks. i have 4 different pair, and i am legitimately torn over which pair to wear each day.

3. i have had my facebook language set to "english: pirate" for the past two years. the only time it gets in the way is when a friend asks how to access something and i have to tell them to go into "yer ship's plank."

4. i am a horrible wine drinker. i like all the wrong kinds of wine that most wine snobs (winers? wineys? winos?) turn their noses up at (though i do stop short at arbor mist and wine in a box. which i'm told can be lovely, so really, it's probably just a matter of time.) but next time you eat something spicy, try a moscato. this is especially good with curry.

5. i just finished downloading "ice ice baby" and "mmm mmm mmm mmm". 90's kid all the way!

6. i am currently the owner (along with the fiance, of course) of a singing fish, an inflatable moose head, and a can of spring snakes. also, we have a giant leopard print rug. because we like to keep it klassy.

7. i have 8 tattoos.

8. and i want more.

9. i hate crowds. i really, really hate them. there usually comes a point where, if i am surrounded by enough people, i will just stop and cover my face and yell for my fiance until he comes to get me.

10. i have had many people close to me pass away. and while this is really sad, i am so, so lucky that our paths crossed for the brief time i had them in my life. i am a better person for it.

11. movies i could watch over and over again include: almost famous, the kevin smith jersey series, practical magic, wizard of oz, and zombieland.

12. after i finish doing this, i'm going to go bake a cake. because what else do you do at 5:30am when you're up?

13. when i was little, i got in a pretty bad bike accident. to this day, it severely affects me to see other people fall off their bike or hit their head. i was watching 19 duggars and counting the other day and their little girl fell off her bike, tumbled down a hill, and gashed her face up. i almost threw up. i have no idea how my future children will ever be allowed to ride a bike.

14. i like every kind of music. it's just as common to find me watching the CMA's as it is to find me watching the Grammy's or the AMA's.

15. i don't like pizza. for some reason, this horrifies people. i think i just served it so many times over the years to the elementary kids i worked with that i am now offended by the smell.

there now. don't you feel so much closer to me, having read that?

now if you'll excuse me, there's a cake to bake. and maybe then i'll be tired enough to squeeze a nap in.

Let's Hear It For The Boys

i live with three boys. not bad, amirightladies? *wink*

okay, it's not THAT kind of living situation. my fiance and i share a 3 bedroom house with two other boys. one is very tall, and i have known him for many years. the other is almost as tall, and is fresh outta the military. they both love their units very much:




why? what did you think i was talking about?

living with boys has it's ups and downs. one of the downs is that they are considerably louder than a girl. even your most nerdy, geeky, hacker of a boy comes with his very own set of sounds and none of them are quiet. it's like an episode of the Batman TV series in here.


some examples of sounds are:

"BOOM!"
"AHAHAHAHAHA...I GOT YOU SUCKA!"
"YOU ASS!"
"DAMN IT, *INSERTNAMEHERE*"
"BIFF!"

okay, i made that last one up. but seriously. it could very well happen.



ha. ok, i'm done now.

there's a lot of pausing at shows called "best bra ever!" on the home shopping network.

(if this isn't the best bra ever, i'm not sure what is.)

not one of them will let me help with their games. and i am very, very helpful.

but there's also some really cool things about living with boys:

someone always opens the jars for you.

someone tall always reaches the tall things for you, though this is usually done after they watch you jump up and down and try to climb on the counter for it first.

someone takes the lead on minor household repairs.

there's always someone to throw to the jehovah's witnesses who come to the door. ("my hair isn't done, could you get that?")

you never, ever feel bad about snoring. because let's be honest, who makes worse sounds while they sleep?

plus, they will always, no questions asked, help me make a fort. and that, ladies, is the best quality one can find in a man.

I'm Sad (And It Sucks)

This was my grandma Betty Lou's chair. This is where she liked to spend most of her last days, out on her patio, surrounded by plants, windchimes, hand decorated birdhouses, gurgling water from the small pond behind her, and hoards of people who loved her.

people who LOVE her, i should say. because after all, how do you stop loving someone just because they're gone?

i wish this was one of my funnier entries, about ninja kicking serial killers in my shower, or getting kicked out of someplace because of my quick temper and loud mouth.

but it's not.

my grandma died. and i'm sad. and it sucks.

betty lou was my mom's stepmom. we always just called her betty lou or betty, since we had an overabundance of grandparents. and names really don't matter in the grand scheme of things.

what matters is the way she always talked to and treated my brother and i like we were important. we weren't step-anythings to betty. there were always fun, kid friendly activities planned so that we could have FUN.

what matters is how she used to make mickey mouse pancakes, and bacon in the microwave, which is a skill that still baffles me to this day.

what matters is how she used to let us sit in the "middle front" of the cadillac, and push all the buttons on the console. being the mini-trekker that i was, i loved pretending i was controlling the USS Enterprise. I'm sure this drove my papa crazy.

what matters is how full of LIFE she was. she had interesting stories and anecdotes. she was so spunky and fun loving! we would go whale watching and to old town san diego and to ensanada and even if she didn't partake of a particular activity, she was there actively cheering you on, and taking pictures.

what matters is how she would start to hum a tune, and my papa would chime in, humming the base line.

what matters is how huge her heart was. it didn't matter who you were, you were family. and you were welcome. and did you want to come to the zoo?

after she passed last weekend, i heard my papa refer to her on the phone as "something special." in a way, this sums her up nicely, and in a way, it doesn't really at all. it's almost too vague, but if you were to get specific, you could write a novel that dickens would say was too long.

she was strong, vibrant, and colorful. she was also sweet, loving, and warm.

and i'm sad and it sucks that she won't be at my wedding. she was one of the few who wouldn't roll her eyes to hear of my plans.

and i'm sad and it sucks that i have to go shopping for funeral clothes.

and i'm sad and it sucks that i am once again intimately familiar with the sound of my own soul screaming.

that patio didn't seem to sparkle in the sun the same way it did before she passed. and i'm sad. and it sucks.

Your Health Care Professionals

~this blog post deals with nursing students. i've met great nurses in my life, but i'm afraid of what's coming up.~


i've been trying to get into nursing school for a while now. currently, i am finishing up the recommended prerequisites and hope to be a licensed CNA before applying. though i was slated to take the CNA courses this semester, a family situation occurred, and let's just say my family comes first, and i need to be available to deal with things as they happen.

so even though i'm no longer in the CNA courses, i'm still trying to get through the other recommended courses. in particular, medical terminology.

from the beginning, i've predicted this course would be a cakewalk.* not only am i good at learning other languages (just not speaking them, n'est-ce pas, madame marissael?), but i was previously employed as a medical biller. in order to do this, i took a course at the local adult school that included rigorous medical terminology training.

i walked in on the first day of my course, and quickly discovered that many of my classmates, probably around 95 percent, are nursing students who are within one semester of getting their R.N. but i didn't let it intimidate me! (yes, i did. i'm totally lying. these people are where i want to BE.)

as nursing students, they had not only come prepared with the books and scantrons etc. on the first day, which is unheard of**, they had also done the first chapter's homework from the back of the book. many were talking about how they had also loaded the cd rom and practiced a bit before class on their laptops.

slowly and methodically, the teacher began going over terms. i didn't have my book, so i sat back and took notes as we went, trying not to look like such a n00b.

teacher: if hema means blood, and ologist is someone who specializes in a particular field of study, then a hematologist is...

girl next to me: someone who studies tomatoes!

me: what the hell?

total truth: this chick was serious. she really thought a hematologist studied tomatoes. she wasn't joking or being a smart ass. this chick was a medical assistant who was one semester away from graduating.

maybe it was a fluke, though.

teacher: if someone had an ovarian cyst, the specialist they would see would be:

dude in back of the class: A NEUROLOGIST!

me: oh, for the love of...

a neurologist? a NEUROLOGIST?!

teacher: what is the best place, in terms of accessibility and pain for the patient, to get blood?

girl across the room: the neck!

me: *facepalm*

i, meanwhile, was at this point just sitting back with my arms crossed, saying the correct answers (not to toot my own horn***) and just taking in all the stupid.

teacher: i'll give you a hint - only certain people have ovaries. who has ovaries?

guy in back of the class: males!

me: *headdesk*

also, these people also believe that if you have a deep neck laceration, you have to tie a tourniquet around the neck to stop the bleeding. because, hell, who needs to breathe?

also? an ectopic pregnancy can totally be carried out in the fallopian tube. and radio techs can diagnose and treat things they see in x-rays.

yowza.

i'm just saying, you might not want to go to the hospitals, if you can avoid it, judging by the people who are soon to be in charge of your health and well-being.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


*-cakewalks are not, contrary to popular belief, easy. they are tricky and deceitful and i almost never win a cake which is a huge huge tragedy.

**-truly unheard of. generally, at community college, if we show up with a pencil, we're an A student. usually we just have a shirt and maybe some pants and a donut.

***-i'm completely tooting my own horn here. toot toot toot, motherfuckers.





or give him death. personally, i'd choose death...

I've Been Kicked Out Of Nicer Places Than This!

select people have been made aware of the fact that i tend to, through absolutely no fault of my own, get asked to vacate the premises. of anywhere. immediately.

and i do want to make sure that you know: THIS IS THROUGH NO FAULT OF MY OWN.

...mostly.

the most notable fact about me, i think, is the fact that i am no longer welcome in our local post office. in order to understand my plight, i must take you on a strange journey...



no, not that journey.


not that one either. honestly, will you try to keep up?

okay. picture it: los angeles, a few years ago. once a month or so, i'd get a letter or a postcard that appeared to have been eaten by some postal machine. "not their fault", i would think. "could happen to anyone." the incidences started increasing in frequency. once a week. and then. AND THEN.

one day, my package looked like this.

i was peeved. not only did they ruin my friend erin's wedding invitation, they ruined my package as well. *pause to snicker for the word "package"*

i decided to go in, as i needed to mail the rsvp for the wedding and had no stamps. i also took the package with me, for proof.

the visit didn't start off well. for one thing, every employee in the local post office looks like an extra from the movie "men in black."

and for another? i was the only person in line, and each postal worker was gabbing away at the counter with the customer that had come in before me.

"not a huge deal," thought i. "i'll wait it out."

5 minutes later, i was mildly annoyed.

15 minutes later, i was angry.

by a half an hour later, with me just STANDING THERE, i looked like this:


finally, i heard No Neck Postal worker utter the magical phrase: "okay, then. see you later!"

seeing my opportunity, i ran up to the counter.

No Neck looked at me, and so did the customer.

"excuse me, miss? you're being rude and interrupting this customer."

i felt my face flush. "i'm sorry!" i explained. "i thought i heard you wrap up your transaction." i began walking away.

"well, i didn't wrap up my transaction. you can't just come charging up here because you're in a hurry."

i tried to hold my tongue.

"i'm very sorry. i must have misheard you. i'll go back to the line." i continued my walk of shame, not wanting to meet the eyes of the two other customers who had, of course, walked in to witness this.

"miss, you CANNOT just WALK UP to the COUNTER without BEING CALLED." he snidley called out.

i turned around.

"i KNOW that." i mimicked. "i ALREADY APOLOGIZED. twice. it was an honest mistake, i'm hard of hearing and i simply misheard you! i've walked back to the line! i don't know what more you want me to do! shall i wait for you to bend over so i can properly kiss your rear some more?"


the whole office went silent. No Neck looked at me and snarled, "since you're in SUCH a HURRY, what can i DO for you?"

at this point, i had had it. i was near frustrated tears. "you can get me your manager."

he snickered, as did the lady next to him. who just happened to be wearing a manager's name tag.

i exploded: "I'M REALLY GLAD YOU ALL THINK THIS IS SO FUNNY. I'VE BEEN WAITING IN THAT GOD DAMN LINE FOR OVER A HALF AN HOUR TO BUY SOME STUPID STAMPS. I MISHEARD ONE THING, AND YOU DECIDED TO SHAME ME FOR IT. I'M SOOOOO SORRY I'M DEAF IN ONE EAR. I'M SOOOOO SORRY THAT MY WAITING IN LINE PATIENTLY FOR A FRICKING ETERNITY HAS INTERRUPTED YOUR CONVERSATION!"

his jaw dropped.

i felt a tap on my shoulder, and i whirled around: "WHAT?!?!?!"

and there i was, face to face, with sheriff lopez.

"ma'am, if you don't calm down, we're going to have to ask you to leave."

i was steaming. i had been treated like a second rate citizen, and i was getting punished for it.

i continued spewing verbal hatred, which was beginning to sound alarmingly christian bale-esque: "OH GOOD, TAKE HIS SIDE!" i shrieked. "LOOK WHAT THEY DO TO MY PACKAGES! LOOK WHAT THEY DO TO MY ENVELOPES! LOOK AT WHAT THEY DEEM ACCEPTABLE IN THE FIELD OF MAIL CARRYING!"

i then proceeded to throw the envelope as well as the package across the counter, toward the worker.

"WHY IN THE BLUE BLOODY FUCK DOES IT LOOK LIKE A HOBO HAS BEEN SLEEPING, PISSING, AND COOKING METH ON MY PACKAGES?????!!"

sheriff lopez stepped in. "miss, at this point, you've assaulted a postal employee. we're going to have to ask you to leave and not return to this location.

i glared.

"YOU'LL NEVER TAKE ME ALIVE, COPPER!" i yelled as i shook my fist and exited the post office.

"excuse me, ma'am?" i heard.

"NOW WHAT?!" i growled.


"...do you want to buy some girl scout cookies?" she bit her quivering lip.

"oh, honey," i said. "i'll take ten boxes."

Crazy Cat Lady Takes The Collie To The Vet

this is sierra. sierra is my collie-in-law. she's an exceptionally sweet dog, who's content to lay outside in the grassy shade all day. sierra lives a relatively quiet life...or at least she did. until the incident.

my in-laws were leaving town for a week or so. when they asked if we would dog-sit, i was looking forward to it. despite being a self proclaimed crazy cat lady, i knew sierra to be sweet and obedient. the hardest thing i would have to do was bring her inside for the evening. piece of cake!

until...the incident.

in true pet form, once sierra became aware of the fact that her family was leaving, she started limping. she's 10, so we expected some form of arthritis. but she was really having trouble walking around. so, my in-laws left us a few blank checks and a credit card (look for upcoming blog update, "sarah and matt go to cabo and laugh at his parents") in case we needed to take her to the vet. our theory was, if she didn't get better in a few days, we'd take her to the vet.

matt and i debated whether or not she was doing better, ending with a discussion that naturally, i won.

the only problem is...he had to work. which meant, me, sarah, the crazy cat lady of lomita, had to take a dog to the vet. not just a dog, a BIG DOG. which, when you own a 10 pound cat, anything bigger than a yorkie is a BIG DOG.

matt made the appointment and asked if i could handle it. "sure, no problem!" i said. "sierra and i like each other! she's a good dog! shouldn't be too hard."

as her appointment time got closer, i started to realize a few key things.

1. sierra had never been in my car.
2. i have a small car.
3. sierra would have to ride in my small car.
4. i am allergic to dogs.

okay, no big deal. i cleared out the backseat. it looked like it would be too narrow for her to lay down on, so i had a brilliant stroke of genius. i laid my passenger seat alllll the way back. that way, she could hang out there, and it would be plenty big enough for a BIG DOG to ride in.

i showed up at the house, and grabbed her leash. i went into the backyard, keeping my voice light and cheery, to give us both confidence.

me: sierra! want to go for a car ride?

the collie got up slowly, and walked over, excited to see her leash. i clipped it on. "this is sooo easy." i thought.

"okay, let's go the the car." sierra looked around for matt. "no, matt's not here, kiddo. it's just you and me." i said.

the collie looked at me.
i looked at the collie.

"i know." i said. "but today i'm all you've got, so we have to make this work."

i led her to the car. i opened the passenger door, so she could climb into the reclined seat.

the collie looked at me.
i looked at the collie.

"come on, sierra!" i said. "let's take a ride!"

no dice.

okay, i thought. my sister in law carried her home once, how heavy could she be? so i reached around the collie. she stiffened. i heaved her into the car.

the collie looked at me.
i looked at the collie.

"well...okay." i said. neither one of us was very happy, but away we went.

i got in the drivers side and turned to look at sierra. but there was no sierra. "collie girl?" i asked.

she had jumped out of the passenger seat onto the floor behind my seat, and was hanging half on and half off of the backseat.

"oh, for heaven's sake." i said. "fine. you want to ride back there? here, i'll put the seat back up and give you more room."

the whole ride over, she nervously tried to arrange herself in the backseat.

i kept trying to talk her into sitting still, but we both knew that wasn't going to happen.

finally, she got herself adjusted....just as i made the turn into the parking lot at the vet.

i went around to the back to open the door for her. i held her leash.

i looked at the collie.
the collie looked at the ground.
the collie looked at me.

"heave ho, huh?" i asked. "well, come on!"

i lifted the collie out of the car, deducing that my sister in law must be a secret bodybuilder.

we walked into the vet's office. as i approached the counter, i felt a huge tug coming from the leash that spun me in my place. sierra had had enough, and was trying to get out the front door.

i turned back around, and explained who i was. and by "explained who i was", i mean that i rambled on and on for ten minutes about how i was just the daughter in law and this was my first time bringing a dog to the vet and my mother in law left me some checks and she should have called and set it all up.

they handed me forms to fill out.

skin? um....it's under the fur.
coat? no thanks, it's summer.
food? she has some.
what kind of food? ooh! i know this! crunchy.

meanwhile, sierra was trying to use her beauty to bribe her way out of the office. i filled out the paperwork as best as i could. i sat down, and sierra walked over and rested her head in my lap.

"awwww...." i said, just as we were called in.

"first we have to weigh her!" chirped the chipper vet assistant. "just have her stand here on the scale."

i looked at sierra.
i looked at the scale.
sierra looked at the scale.

i tried to lead her onto the scale. she walked across it and stood with her front paws on the ground. "let's back up!" said the oh so happy assistant.

"back up, sierra!" she said again.

we were greeted with the same stony stare.

we finally managed to convince sierra to stand on the scale, and they got her weight. we were led in to a small exam room and told to wait.

i was feeling restless, so i started reading brochures about parasites and vaccinations. i took a picture with my phone camera of the no cell phones sign. i started to diagnose myself with feline leukemia when the vet came in the room.

"well hey there sierra! where's your mom today?"

i began the same ranting ramble that i performed for the assistants at the check in desk.

the vet started feeling sierra up.

"okay," he said, "let's get her temperature."

the assistant came in with these:




and i turned pale and saw spots. sierra had no idea what she was in for until it was too late. below is a representation of what she looked like at the moment of entry:



it was like this, but you could hear her soul screaming. or maybe that was just me.

after an awkward minute of me staring at the wall and yoga breathing while sierra gently tilted her hips to the left until they almost reached the floor in an effort to get away from the lubed thermometer, the vet came back in.

"okay. let's all take some x-rays!" he said.

relieved, i stood up and grabbed my purse.

"um, not you." he laughed. "just the dog."

after they left, i bitterly sat and texted people. why am i not good enough for an x-ray?? maybe i'm bored and want one! geez! you don't just go using language like "ALL" and then not include someone! rude.

they brought her back in, and sent us off with a new bottle of pills.

we performed the car ritual backwards (and me in high heels --call me ginger!) and sierra got to go back home to her breezy backyard.

The Electric Clog Incident:

or: why I am a one-woman death machine.

by sarah.

thursday was just one of those days. nothing seemed to be going right. i overslept to the point that it made me cranky, i couldn't find my left shoe. also, i'm almost out of hair product.

you know. those days.

the afternoon ran pretty smoothly, until i got home from visiting my dad. the sink had clogged up, and my friends, drain-o wasn't cutting it. we tried hot water. we tried sitting and ignoring it. nada. it was just me, my tall roommate, my alabama roommate, three cats, and one very nasty clogged sink.

in what ended up being a battle of epic proportions, we managed to tear the sink apart, use all of our junk towels, and spread a fine puddle of chemical and smut filled water around the kitchen.

it was an hours long project that was only ended by the purchase of an augger, which is clearly and blatantly a name someone made up for the drain snakey thing.

life was looking up by the time we finished. we had finally dried off the floor of the kitchen and the cupboard underneath the sink, and the dishes were being run through the dishwasher. we felt productive and handy.

now, i think we can all agree that i am a very sane and logical person who is no good at segues. and like any sane and logical person, sometimes i need to answer the call of nature. (see, i told you i was no good at segues.)

i was sitting there, minding my own business, when suddenly, all five of the lightbulbs above the bathroom mirror blinked off. i could still see light under the door, so like any sane and logical person, i stood, composed myself, and took a deep breath. for i, sarah, the sane and logical, knew exactly what had caused this mysterious blackout in the bathroom...

"a blown fuse?" you ask?

no, kind and gentle stranger.

it was clearly A SERIAL KILLER IN MY SHOWER.





i flung open the shower door. no effing way was this serial killer going to kill me IN MY OWN BATHROOM. that's just rude, you know?

so i did the next logical thing...

i let my ninja instincts take over.


this is a rough approximation of what i transformed into.

slamming open the shower doors, i held my hands in what can only be described as a "karate chop" position. "HI-YAH!" i bellowed, as i let loose with a mind numbingly awesome demonstration of "skillz."

it looked a little like this:



only much more fearsome and NINJESQUE.

dashitall, my serial killer friend had gotten away...

"sarah, aren't you embarrassed that you karate chopped and kicked at nothing?" you may be asking.

the answer is no, foolish mortal, i'm not. because even if i DO ever get attacked by a serial killer, at least i know i'll go down with a fight. (or looking completely, totally, batshit crazy.)

NEXT TIME, WE DANCE, SERIAL KILLER. NEXT TIME.

(please play the video below, and join me as we rejoice in my kicking the ass of a serial killer.)

Crock of Love

dear crockpot,

from the beginning, it's been magic. the heat we create, the chemistry...

remember the barbequed chicken i made? so sassy and sweet...like you.

and the mac n cheese? so warm and comforting...like you.

and the pulled pork? so meaty and shredded...like...well, like a juicehead.

but i digress.

crockpot, since you came into my life, i have had time to not only cook dinner, but to update my blog, and unpack boxes! i can do laundry, and i can feed three growing boys ranging in ages from 22 - 30!

remember when we went to that little cabin in the woods, and found the sweetest tree swing, and i showed you how i could rotate my head completely to the back, a la linda blair? thank god that lumberjack was there to take our picture!




and then, when we went to that nude beach on spring break in college? i did that head thing again. that lifeguard thought you were such a hoot!

watch those hands, mr.!!


we've been inseparable since the day we moved in together:



oh crockpot, you so crazy. i want to have your crock-babies.


(pics were helpfully edited by my fiance matt, because i sat down to do it, and his computer was like, "bitch please." and i was like, "who are you calling a bitch, bitch?" and it said "you!" and i was all, "oh. well then." and then i cried so matt helped the end by sarah.)

A Facebook Fantasy

okay, facebook. listen.

i like you. i more than like you. i less than three you.

but for serious. STOP RECOMMENDING FRIENDS FOR ME.

it's just creepy! it's not like you recommend people that i actually know and love. no no. you recommend people that i sometimes don't even know exist! and would never need to! or people that i know exist, but i stay far, far away from!

but let's just pretend, facebook, that you're being helpful.

let's just say that, okay, in this dreamland we will call "facebookflufffluffcottoncandyville", i friend request them and they say okay. here is how my first post on their wall would go:

hello, friend from kindergarten! long time no see! do you still eat paste? boogers? how 'bout paper? remember when you skinned your knee? yeah, those were awesome times. i bet not much has changed!

hello, stalker ex boyfriend! long time no see! ah, who am i kidding?! you were tapping on my window a couple of weeks ago! is it cold in the bushes? do you ever get bored and think of maybe getting a hobby, or a new girlfriend? better run...you're about to call my cell phone 19 times in a row. it IS 3am, after all!

hello, psycho bitch from high school who made my life a living hell! how's it going? i'll bet you're on your 13th drink of the night. i don't know which was funnier, spreading the rumor that i lost my virginity in history class during second period, or the time you stole the candy bars i was selling for drill team, just to get a laugh! oh, how i chuckled! but don't worry, water under the bridge. nice kids, btw. do they all have the same dad?

hello, guy i went on three dates with and hooked up with a couple times! nice to see you? still have that suspicious looking mole on your neck that needs to be checked out? how's...um...i never met your family, so um...do you have a family? are they well? still kickin'?

really facebook, do you want the chaos that would ensue here?

i didn't think so.

now go shut your bitch ass face.

Wouldn't it be nice?

Wouldn't it be nice if the whole "man in a can" thing from the tv show "the tick" was a reality?

for those not familiar with the tick, it goes a little something like this: you pop open a can, and a man pops out. he can't speak. he just does exactly what he's told to do for thirty minutes. after that, he turns into potpourri!

can't beat that.

today was one of those just ludicrous days. it was a day that started out with me oversleeping and skipping breakfast to go meet a social worker at the home of the man i take care of. he, of course, was about 15 minutes late. meaning that technically, i could have snarfed a donut or a bowl of cereal, but had i taken that chance, he would have been there on time. or early.

listen, don't ask me to explain it, it's science. or math. or PHYSICS.

pretty sure it's physics.

as i was driving the gentleman i take care of, i noticed that his car smelled strongly of gasoline. like, the way my brother's bug used to when i was younger. i didn't know if this was bad or not, so i waited until we got to the shopping plaza and called my fiance.

do you think guys like getting phone calls that go, "hi honey, nothing serious, but if the car smells like gasoline, should i be driving it?"

then this guy lets it drop that he's having a lot of pain in his big toe. he'd like to know if i can take a look at it.

dude.

DO NOT WANT.

but i did, and boy howdy does he have one hell of an ingrown toenail. i did what i could with it and told him if it wasn't better in a week, i'd make an appointment for him to see the doctor. he turned pale.

i don't blame him, i'm not a huge fan of doctors myself.

stuff i am a huge fan of:

1. charlie, the cat who currently has his claws in my hip and is squeaking at me.
2. johnny depp. mmmmmmmm........
3.

wait, what was i saying?

Body by See's

as a woman, it probably comes as no surprise that there are things i would like to change about myself. my waistline could use some work. my hair gets frizzy for no reason. i have a crooked smile, and it's not "katie couric" cute, either.

i have toes that curl up at the ends, like elf feet. my shoes always end up misshapen because of this. i am pale as pale can be, burning to a crisp lobster red, flakingly peeling, then going right back to pasty potato white.

recently, my mom and my aunt ginny were exchanging quips on things they'd like to change. things like weight, chins, eyes, etc. and i felt so outraged on their behalf! how could they not see themselves how i, and i'm sure all of their friends, see them?

my aunt ginny, who's fiery hair matches her fiery determination? who supported herself and her daughter, my best friend, as a single parent, working long hours as a nurse? as an oncology nurse, one of the best in her field, who is there for patients when all hope is gone? she is someone i can count on for just about anything. i can safely say if i ever got arrested at a protest, she would either come bail me out or be sitting next to me saying, "woo, that was fun!" she is warm and funny, and kind and smart.

and my mom! my mom who was always "the hot mom" to my male friends (thanks for that, guys.) my mom who taught me that margaritas are best when accompanied by a sidecar of midori (and NO SALT), with hair that is as curly as she is creative. my mom, my fellow easter bunny, who taught me how to do a timestep! my mom, who would love for me to drag not only my close friends up to her house, but anyone i happen to pass along the way. mom, of the ten minute walks up her mountain that require you to be airlifted back down due to lack of oxygen!

i haven't always been able to appreciate the inner more than the outer shell, especially when it comes to myself. but having gone through cervical cancer really made me re-examine life, and the way i live it.

it's okay that my hair is frizzy and crazy, because my personality is kind of frizzy and crazy. once, my head looked like this:

i still have that first clump of hair that fell out during my treatments. i was so scared that it wouldn't grow back! and since it did, who cares that it's frizzy? at least i don't look like i lost a fight with the razor anymore.

my oncologist at the time used to very bluntly tell me that at least the hair i had left wasn't in a coffin somewhere. yeowch. thanks, dr. j. way to steal my emoness right out from under me!

i could go on and on about how i appreciate my body so much more now, because it chose life for me. and how everyone should appreciate their body and blah blah blah, but that's not really the point of this post.

the point is to say, yeah, we've all been there. i've been unhappy with my body image, and still struggle with it.

but maybe the next time you feel that way, you should consult someone like your daughter, or niece, or best friend, or husband or wife or housecat, and ask their opinion.

i bet they think you're beautiful for things other than your physical appearance.

now feed the cat.

Winston and Me

i live on a relatively quiet block, with relatively quiet neighbors. we all look out for one another, and we all smile when we pass each other on the street. we all sort of know one another's business, and we definitely take note when something is out of place. after the last big earthquake, my dad went and knocked on the doors of our neighbors, asking if they needed help. rare, in my little suburban LA area. yes, it really is a quintessential quiet small town neighborhood....except, that is, for winston.

"who is winston?" you might be asking. "is he a new annoying neighbor?" well, in a sense, yes he is! winston is the world's fattest, most annoying chihuahua and he lives in the house behind mine. the problem is that half the time, winston is left to roam free. and winston is DECEPTIVELY EVIL.

below is a picture of a similar chihuahua that i have helpfully added distinguishing characteristics to in order to make it look more like winston. these include his black spots, horns, and pitchfork. oh, and a nice little hitler 'stache.

say hello to the bane of my existence, won't you?

you see, pictures don't lie. and as you can tell from this completely honest depiction, winston barks. continually. for hours at a time. all in the same tone. over. and. over. again.

me: SHUT UP, WINSTON!

winston: woof! woof! woof! woof! woof! woof! woof! wooof!

translation: HA HA HA I WILL NEVER LET YOU SLEEP NOT IN A MILLION YEARS I DO NOT EVEN CARE IF YOU ARE DYING HA HA HA HA I AM EVIL DOG HA HA HA HA HAVE YOU SEEN MY LAST TWINKIE

as if that wasn't bad enough, winston LOVES to look at your car. he looks at your car very closely. especially when you are trying to back out of the driveway.

you get in the car. start it up. notice the nfl football sized chihuahua in the rearview mirror. you edge slightly backward. no winston. you get out, and ask him nicely to move.

me: winston, time to go home now!

winston: WOOF! WOOF! WOOF! (translation: hell no.)

me: thank you winston, i'm sure you would have been a great drug sniffing dog, but if you could just MOVE

winston: WOOF! WOOF! WOOF! (translation: feed me or i'm staying!)

me: winston you little beefy asshole! move or die!

winston: WOOF! WOOF! WOOF! (translation: suck it.)

so you end up just maneuvering around this gluttonous lump on legs with a napoleon complex, only to have him calmly walk to the side as soon as you are clear.

what. a. douche.

now, i don't want to come across as a mean, vile, animal hating person. i desperately try to adopt any stray critter that comes my way, much to the chagrin of my friends and family. and i've tried to love winston, i really have.

except that he's a douchey dog.

so, i have only one option.

deportation.

so long, suckaduck!

The best driver in the world!

i really am, you guys. i always go the speed limit. ish.

i also always adjust my mirrors, put on my seatbelt, put in and turn on my bluetooth, and get myself comfy before i even turn on my engine.

i don't switch lanes to try to get ahead of traffic. i account for it and ride it out.

probably you think my car looks something like this while i am driving:

look at this chick. looking calmly at traffic ahead of her, her gps all plugged in and ready to go.

but really, something takes over when i drive. and i call this something, "the groove."

let's say i'm driving along, singing quietly along with rammestein. the song ends, and guess what? commercial! what a bummer.

but not so fast! i have an entire CAR FULL OF MIX CD'S. that i mixed for myself. because i am JUST THAT AWESOME.

i slip one in, and suddenly my drive goes from boring to OMGWTFBBQTHISCHICKRULEZLOL!

what's that? a motherfuckin' disco ball! and microphone! which i totally don't have and are in fact imaginary, and YES, i do use them!

and hello, GPS, back out my koolaid! this babe does not need your help getting lost!

yes, there are dance moves. there are winks. there is even the little "what's up?" nod to the driver that happens to glance at me being awesome.

i perform not for myself. i perform for the people, folks.

press play. you know you want to.

Marble That!

in one of our calmer moments this weekend, my fiance and i decided to pay a little visit to coldstone. we were delighted that it wasn't full of the usual teenaged hoodlums and thugs of south torrance! in fact, the only people in coldstone when we got there were two older women, mid 60's-ish, both dyed platinum blonde and having one hell of a time deciding what to get.

one lady had decided on something simple (coffee with brownies, or something). the other...not so much.

"do you have pistachio?" she asked. the coldstone funployee assured her they did. "oooohhhh...." she said, rolling her eyes upward.

"do you have fudge?" she asked. they did! "ooogghhhhhHHH!" she got a bit louder, but once again rolling her eyes upward.

our ice cream barista started making our ice cream.

"what's THAT??" the loud lady asked. "cotton candy with GUMMI BEARS??? that's so CUUUUUUTE!"

shocked, i did what all good fiancee's do. i pointed blatantly to matt. "it's his!" i announced quietly, gesturing to my left as my betrothed stood and glared at me.

she went back to the barista. "is the fudge hot?" she queried. the barista began to look strained. "no, ma'am, it's not hot. it's not cold, but it's not...not hot."

"WWOOOOOHHHHGHGHGHGHGHGHGHGH!" the lady growled, rapidly approaching megadeath and metallica death growl territory. "that sounds TERRIFIC! i'm coming back for breakfast!"

the baristas paled. i ordered.

suddenly, she was bellied up to the glass, pressing her face against it. "STRAWBERRIES! AND CARAMEL! AND...oh, i don't even know!" she pointed to us. "YOU! YOU TWO have THE MOST interesting taste!!!"

"um, actually, ma'am, this is one of their creations." i said meekly. "our strawberry blonde?"

she stared blankly.

she turned to the barista. "honey, can i get pistachio with the fudge marbled in?" the barista looked frightened. "i...do you mean you want it mixed in?"

the lady looked aghast. "they used to make a pistachio marble at 31 flavors! WOOWGHGHAHHHHHOOOOHHHH!" she rolled her eyes again. i did a quick search for signs of seizure, then focused my eyes solely on the floor so that she wouldn't see me laughing at matt's dropped jaw.

my stomach still hurts from laughing so hard!

Things That Bother Me

1. loud noises while eating - i really don't want to hear you masticate. REALLY. close your mouth, don't smack your lips, and dear lord, please don't make orgasmic noises while you eat. it's chicken.

2. it's not okay to ask to see the rest of my tattoos. maybe i don't feel like doing a whole inventory, or maybe they're located in a place that i can't show you right now.

3. don't automatically assume that just because i can't show you where a certain tattoo is, that it is placed somewhere...naughty. (and don't ask me, either!) i usually won't show you if i'm wearing a dress and my tattoo is located on my lower back. no, random person, i will not show you. wipe the smirk off your face.

4. i hate it when a guy asks you out, you tell him you're taken, and he responds with "what's that got to do with you and me?" um, dude? EVERYTHING. there is no "you and me." because there is "me and him." get it?

5. i also really hate it when i can't get the lint from the lint trap off in one sheet. man, that crap will bug me ALL DAY.

6. don't be a snob! people like the music they like, or they like the movies they like, or they believe whatever religion they believe. it's OKAY. people are different! and if you don't like the same thing, that's fine. it doesn't mean you have to belittle them for it.

7. i hate it when the peanut butter and the jelly get cross contaminated. but i refuse to use two knives. my life is so hard.

8. i hate rihanna's hair. you're not a cockatoo, dear, time for a trim.

9. moving. moving bugs me! i feel like i've been doing nothing but getting prepared for a move and i have NOTHING DONE. if i were donald trump, i'd have people to do it for me. well, that, and a kick ass head of hair. rowr.

Sometimes You Wanna Go Where Everybody Knows Your Name

my oma, she is the coolest.

she has a house that feels like it's own secluded world. my brother and i spent a great deal of time at her house when we were smaller and needed the fist of fury that is my oma. (insert sarcasm here.)

when we were sick, we always got to lay on the big couch with the softest blanket she had. she would set up a tv tray with ice water and a straw, a mug of chicken broth, some soda crackers, and the remote control. she would keep a cool compress on our heads and let us sleep and ingest mass quantities of mr. rogers' neighborhood.

there is a pool in her backyard that my papa designed. to date, i've never seen a similarly shaped pool. it has a springy diving board and it used to have a fort nearby, with bean bags and bee hives and an 8-track player. there is a fire pit, around which teenage me and my friends would gather after 8 hours of swimming to roast a few hot dogs and 'mallows.

there is a huge yard, where we had epic easter egg hunts. there were eggs filled with candy, eggs filled with money, foil wrapped rice krispie treats, and a basket for each of us. and as with every holiday, my oma would cook too much, we would eat too much, and we would all collapse in the living room for naps.

the yard is filled with flowers. there are hummingbird feeders, and they come in droves. my oma knows the name of each bird that graces her yard. there are squirrels, and growing up there were always at least 3 desert tortoises walking around. at the end of her yard is a cactus patch that we all call "the desert", because we are terribly creative that way.

inside my oma's house, there is green carpet that my brother picked out, and couches that she hoped weren't "too flowery" when she ordered them (they are COVERED in flowers). there are random magazine clippings of sayings and pictures that she likes. in the kitchen, there is an apple shaped cookie jar, of which i have never seen the inside. there is the piano that my mom used to practice on, and the wine bottle with the different colors of candle wax melted onto the outside. on the fireplace, there is an asian inspired fan and pussywillow branches.

here and there are paintings and drawings she has done, and even though she claims that they're not very good, they are stunning.

but the BEST part about my oma's house? is my oma.

she is quick of wit, and fast with neighborhood gossip (which i LOVE). she has nails that she would use to tickle us with when we were younger, and my mom and i both have my oma's hands. hope she doesn't need those anytime soon!

she is always more than happy to help out in any way she can. there have been more than a few times, in fact, where she has come to the rescue in a huge way.

i love that even at the ripe old age of 26, i am able to go to my oma's house and lose myself in an afternoon of magazines and conversation. we laugh and talk, and she'll dole out candy or cookies or multi-colored marshmallows. we laugh about family members and go through old things in her cupboards.

i'd say i lucked out hugely in the grandmother department.

Target Dog

i had to go back to target.

don't look at me like that. don't judge me! you don't know my life!

okay, so maybe most of you kind of do. but this was a sign. FROM GOD.

as i was driving, i saw a target dog. the dog from the ads. and it was walking IN THE DIRECTION OF TARGET.

so, of course, as a person of faith, i had to follow the target dog.

but i didn't buy anything! i walked around the entire store with a couple things from the dollar stand (strawberry plants, if you must know. and you must. know.) but never purchased them. i was too tired after walking the entire store looking at things we'll need for the new house to stand in line to purchase two things. i'll just get a pot and some dirt and seeds and grow my own damn strawberry plants, thank you very much.

hey, did y'all know that mr. clean makes more than just, well, mr. clean? he has magic erasers! and a magic eraser butterfly mop! i can't imagine a butterfly would sit still while you mop it, but then again, that mr. clean sure is a charmer.

also, i had no idea how many different options there were for shower caddies. it's mind bottling, yo. completely mind bottling. matt and i are now trying to come up with ways to incorporate a bathroom wastebasket with a pirate octopus on the front of it into a southwestern colored bathroom.

but just like my good friend tim gunn, we'll make it work. *snap*

The House That Built Me

my fiance, a couple of close friends, and myself are looking to move out together soon. one of the possibilities is my old childhood home.

it's strange to call it my "childhood" home because as children, my brother and i moved a lot. never drastically, it was 98 percent in the same city. we never changed schools, just addresses.

when i left that house, it was full of emotions. it was hard to be there, and it was hard not to be there. we'd had wonderful years in that house. my brother married the girl across the street from the big yellow house with the boat in front. we made and lost friends in the neighborhood. that house became the place our friends were always welcome, where many bomb threat days at narbonne were spent baking cookies instead of baking ourselves out on the football field. we filmed mockumentaries there. it was where i remember sitting with my friend manny at my dining room table, constructing a biome for enviro-sci and discussing religion and faith. there are hamsters buried in the backyard, and the lights are still strung up in the backyard from my high school graduation party.

my stepdad spent a year fighting cancer and the after effects of the treatment in the master bedroom, with our loyal cat barnaby by his side. that was the year i learned about accepting help from people. my sister in law's mom would leave homemade enchiladas and a marie callendar's pie for us on the porch, and her dad would come over and mow the lawn without telling us. other neighbors would leave notes or cards on the door, or come to ask how we were doing and if we needed help.

after i left, i didn't go back in for another couple of years or so due to renters who probably would have had a problem with me just waltzing in. not that i really wanted to. so much had happened, emotionally and physically, in that house that i just wanted to leave behind and forget. but you know, you can't really ever do that.

space is a funny thing, because going back into the house to look at it as a potential resident brought back some unexpected things. i didn't feel sad, or mad. i felt the energy of all the good times in that house. i felt happiness from parties and family gatherings, and from nights out in the backyard grilling. i felt excitement for prom and for my mom's wedding that we held in the backyard. i felt the closeness of thanksgivings, my entire huge bickering family all lined up for one peaceful meal that lasted all of fifteen minutes.

to see the house empty is a shame, because it has the potential to be such a place of love and togetherness. so even if we don't become the next tenants, i hope that whoever it is can understand the value of the house that built me. (thanks, miranda lambert, for the song.)

Let's Take A Trip, Shall We?

Just you. Just me. Just the only thing Sarah didn't buy at Target.

i walk into target with one thing in mind: face lotion. which is different from body lotion. because, you know, it goes on the face and all.

i grab a little red basket. perfect, since i'm not getting much. just some face lotion. and maybe some razor blades, i'm running low on those. yes. just those two items.

it couldn't hurt to cruise the dollar stand, though. last time i was there they had the cutest little "grow your own tomato" pots and even though i haven't used it, i still think it was completely worth the one dollar investment and ZOMG THEY HAVE FOAM SWORDS! i'd better take two. in case one gets broken while i'm foam sword jousting down maple st.

okay, two foam swords. and okay, two bags of cotton candy. because i've been wanting it for a while. so now i have two foam swords, two bags of cotton candy, and i'm headed toward the beauty section. for my face lotion. and razor blades.

i should cruise the clothing section, though. in case they have the clearance racks out. i once found this great raspberry colored trench coat on sale for 5 bucks and i still have it and i look really good in it and heyyyyyy, those jeans are cute! so they're not on clearance, but look! jeans! in the summer! i could always use another pair, right? yes. i should get these. into the basket they go.

speaking of my basket, this sucker is getting a little heavy, and i don't even have what i came for yet! which is...um...oh, face lotion! right. oh, damn, they've changed the packaging again. i like the kind in the little tub whose name rhymes with "shmolay." it can't be in the bottle, that's not cute. but it has to have sunscreen, because i'm whiter than matthew broderick. heh, that's pretty good. i'll have to remember that so i can blog it later. okay, face lotion. check.

razor blades. check. okay, doing good. only a couple of extra things. you know, since i'm here, i should really see if i can replace that eyeshadow that got ruined. which shade of black do i want? smoky? raven? lush coal? can coal be lush? hmmmmm. i'll get this one. and this mascara to go with it. i heard on the news once that mascara is only good for 6 months. what a rip-off!

matt is still trying on jeans, so i'll look at hair things. oh, you know, i'm almost out of shampoo and conditioner for color treated hair. i should pick some up. hey, this is cheaper than what i buy at the salon! look at me, SAVING MONEY! ha. people could LEARN FROM ME.

yoink. more dr. pepper lipsmacker. because one should always have an extra tube onhand. okay, necessities taken care of and oooh, is that that new concealer? in you go, little friend. geez, this basket is heavy. i think i'll go look for matt....in the book section.

oooh, this one looks good...of course, i do have a stack of books waiting for me to read at home. i should wait. i should really most definitely wait. look at my restraint! people could take a course that i teach on restraint! "restraint and target" i will call it, and ...

my heart skips a beat.

rock ballads! a whole cd full of them for 8.99! that's so cheap. you can't buy a cd for that on itunes, that's for sure. i can't pass this up.

oh, no. i'm out of room in my basket. how did this happen? wait. i know! all my BARGAINS are taking up too much room. ha. well, it's time to check out anyway.

swipe the card, beep beep, beep....ONE HUNDRED TWENTY BUCKS????

holy moly.

all i did was buy some face lotion...