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.)