Some dance to remember; some dance to forget

The End

2009-11-09T15:50:00.000-08:00

It's actually quite sad. . .that I abandoned this blog where this is the 99th post. I feel like I could have had an epic 100th entry or something. Instead, I'm leaving it at 99. Closing this chapter of my life.

However! If you're looking for new chapters for a new story. . .walk this way: http://letsgetincharacter.blogspot.com

2009-04-06T08:50:00.001-07:00

Here's a thought, just in case you're wondering.

Saying "I'm saying this to you as your friend" doesn't mean a damn thing if I didn't ask you for your opinion in the first place. How about that? Also, you're kind of not my friend.

And saying "since we know each other better now, I'm not going to say 'oh, yeah, I understand' like I did in the beginning" just makes me not want to hear what you're saying, because you obviously were lying to me to begin with.

Why is it so hard for people to just tell the fucking truth?

The last thing I remember, I was running for the door. I had to find the passage back to the place I was before. . .

2009-03-26T15:35:00.001-07:00

I'm going to start this entry before I go to Carrie's for dinner, and I'll finish it later, because, according to the little thing at the top of this page, there is a "scheduled outage at 4 p.m. PDT" today. I think that means Pacific time, and if that's the case, that's 7 p.m. Here Time. Which means in 20 minutes.

According to my Dashboard, March 15 was the last time I updated, and I'd mentioned a job interview. That interview went well, and I'm now a writer/ad rep for a homeowner's magazine here in town. Unfortunately, the economy being the way it is, they don't want to hire me full time, just to have to turn around and say, "Yeah, Sarah, we're tanking. We need to renegotiate." So as it stands, I get paid by the article, I get a commission for sales made, and I get paid by the hour for any other work I do there. It's not stable, but it's something, and it's not only in publishing, but in magazines. It's definitely a first step toward. . .something. I also have other little side projects that hopefully pan out for me (MK snagged me a freelancing job writing an article for a magazine, which is awesome. Get my work out of the papers and into the rags. Again, a good start.)

I've also had several long and treacherous interviews with Best Buy, which I won't get into, but it's, at this point, pretty much a 50/50 shot I'll get a job.

For those of you that have heard me complain about this already, I apologize, but since the event is tonight (as we speak, actually), this will be the last you'll hear of it. At least until next year. but maybe by next year, I'll be able to afford to attend on my own accord.

There's this event that's held here yearly that is basically a restaurant competition. All these restaurants get together and compete for prizes, and attendees basically walk around, eating all this incredible food and drinking to their heart's content. I went last year because I was reporting on the story. I didn't actually realize what a big deal the thing was until I ran into Dennis (who was photographing the event) on my way out that night and he said something to the effect of, "You're not wearing that, are you?" So I ran home and got all gussied up. The place it was held last year was yards nicer than the place they're having it this year, and it was one of my favorite nights ever (minus a minor tift I found myself having that night). I've been looking forward to this thing since I left the event last year. I even had a dress for it. It was a dress that I bought, having nowhere to wear it, and when I pointed this fact out to MK, he said, "You can wear it to this year's event!"

This was, of course, before my involuntary termination. And now I still have this gorgeous dress hanging in my closet and I will, most likely, never have anywhere to wear it.

So, literally. Looking forward to it all year. And then, a month and a half before it happens, I'm canned. I've been really, really bitter about it for the last few weeks, and when I walked by the place this afternoon (I was going for a walk because I feel utterly lethargic these days) it smelled so fucking good, and all these people were going in, all dressed up, and I got. . .sad. Not angry, but sad. It was a combination of still being sore about the firing, and having looked forward to it for so long and then having it taken away, but it was also. . .the Chamber of Commerce puts this event on, and it's one of those things all the People You Want To Know attend. When I was working at the paper, I could go to these events, no questions asked, and feel like I was important. Like I belonged around these people. But clearly, I don't. And I'm not too proud to admit how shallow I am in that respect. I like to feel like I belong around important people. I've learned in the last few weeks that I can pretty much have a conversation with anyone, and I think, at least last year, I mingled well with these people. And now? If I turned up at the door of the venue right now, they'd summarily show my the door. Me in my black sweater and jeans and one pink lacey glove. With my black nail polish and my Converse sneakers.

That's what it is, you know? When I was working there, I felt like I belonged in this town. And now I don't. Now I'm, really, no one. I went from, in Vi's words, being a minor celebrity to being. . .that girl in the dirty Converses and tattered jeans. And I really hate myself for caring, but I do. Because I'd gotten used to it.

Back after dinner.

OK, lies. Back the next day. I don't even remember what else I was going to talk about. I've got a meeting today with a guy I'm writing an article for and, hopefully, next week some of these people I'm trying to sell to will get back to me.

And if that's what you have in mind, yeah, that's what you're all about, good luck movin' up because I'm movin' out.

2009-03-15T10:10:00.000-07:00

I feel compelled to clarify because it's getting frustrating how many times people ask. I'm not. . .let's put it this way. Just because I wish a tree would fall on me doesn't mean I'm going to start dating a lumberjack. Make sense?

It's amazing to me how many new things I can find to organize in my apartment. I got so excited yesterday, during helping Carrie and Frank clean out their house, because I found a cord that looked like it would fit my camera exactly. The battery of this camera doesn't come out, so you have to plug it up to the computer. I've almost bought a new cord on eBay three different times now, but I keep thinking, no, as soon as you buy one, you're going to find your old one, and then you're going to be pissed. So when I found this cord, I was thrilled beyond all belief. Finally, I said to myself, you will be able to videotape the thoughts you feel you should share with the world, because blogging just isn't enough. The world needs to see you in technicolor motion!

Just now, when I retrieved the cord from the car, I discovered that no, it does not fit. It's ever so slightly too big. So I'm still camera-with-microphone-less. And that makes me sad.

I have also discovered, for those of you keeping track, a new allergy. Along with dust, pollen, most cats and some dogs, add "feather pillows" to the list. I'd taken two from Carrie and Frank's, and couldn't figure out why my throat was closing up and I was sneezing all over everything. Removing the pillows from my room and, ultimately, my house cleared up the problem nicely.

I took out my spring and summer clothes today. I left a couple of sweaters in my closet, in case we have another weird and random frigid cold snap, along with a hoodie or two and my lighter jackets. But generally, the lighter stuff, I can layer if I need to. Or wear a jacket. I got rid of some stuff (it's going to the yard sale) and was pleasantly surprised to find that some of my clothes, dresses especially, fit me better than they did last year. Some of it was too big, and I just went ahead and got rid of it. I was also pleasantly surprised to find three pairs of shoes in the container. They're all sandal-y wedges, so that's probably why I'd put them up for the winter. You don't want to be tromping through five inches of snow in sandal-y wedges.

So, I made a recipe today that I've been wanting to try for months called Chicken Loredo. It was. . .I don't want to say I was disappointed, but I kind of was. Don't get me wrong; it's delicious. But something about the way it looked really bothered me. I had in mind more of a casserole-solidity to it, but it's more like a spread. Like, I could see putting it over chips and calling it Chicken Loredo Nachos, which is what I may end up doing. I did my usual thing of substituting things to make it (in my opinion, of course) better. I traded Velveeta for Pepperjack Velveeta and pinto beans for black beans, both because I don't really like pinto beans and also because I had a can of black beans in my cabinet. A can of frijoles negros, if you will. Because that sounds sexier than "black beans."

Anyway, if you're looking for a way to clear your sinuses, I would highly recommend the Pepperjack Velveeta. It almost killed me. And by that, I mean it was amazing. This dish has quite a bit of kick to it, between that and the tomatoes with chilis and. . .there's something else that makes it kicky, but I can't remember what it was. But yes. It had that kind of heat to it I like in dishes, the kind that makes you take a swig of water after every other bite, but that keeps you eating it. But I definitely think I'm going to get some tortilla chips to eat with this stuff. Also, something that bothered me about it was the fact that the cheese wasn't evenly melted. You're supposed to cut the Velveeta into "thick chunks," but all that happens there is that you get chunks of cheese. Or, "cheese." It's just not aesthetically pleasing. But now I have another. . .4 meals or so this week.

Got a job interview Tuesday. Not going to go too much into it, but it's there.

She walks to the mailbox each morning at 9; every day she's thinking she's one day behind. (At least when it comes to the mail.)

2009-03-14T20:07:00.000-07:00

I've come to the conclusion that getting fired is very much akin to going through a break-up with someone you were very much in love with, but who then devastated you for no good reason.

In the beginning, you cry. You cry a lot. You cry until you realize you've been so depressed, you haven't changed clothes, or even showered, for like three days.

Then, that passes. And you get mad. Really, really mad. How dare they break up with you? How dare they fire you quasi-unexpectedly? You gave the best years of your life to that relationship and the best hours of your week to that job. How DARE they?

Then you start telling everyone that you're better off without your ex. Or that job you got fired from. "I'm better than them," you say. "I'm so much happier without them. They were holding me back. I'm going to be a rock star and find a new boyfriend/girlfriend/job really soon, because anyone would be lucky to have me." And you start thinking about all the things you can do now that you have some spare time on your hands. "I can learn French! I can take up painting! I can read more books!"

Then you start to get a little depressed because you have no new prospects. Your Match.com profile (or your resume) is going unread. And you have to sit around and listen to your friends bitch about their love lives (or how much they have to work) and you're thinking, "At least you HAVE SOMEONE!" ("At least you HAVE A JOB!")

And then the day comes when you run into your ex's friends. They ask how you're doing, and you put on a gigantic smile and say great, you couldn't be better, you're actually seeing someone. Or, in the alternate scenario, you get a facebook message from a former co-worker asking how things are panning out for you because "inquiring minds want to know." Well I'll tell you, sweet cheeks, if inquiring minds want to know, they can ask me themselves. When I finally get around to answering that message, I can assure you all, it will be sunshine and roses.

So then, a month or so goes by, and you're feeling better. You're ready to put yourself back together, to pick yourself up after your humiliating dumping. You're seeing other people. Nothing serious, but you're putting yourself back out there. And then one day, out of nowhere, you're at the store, and you run into them. You thought you were ready for it, but you're not. And you realize just how much you miss them. You know they weren't good for you, you know your future is better off without them, but you still miss them. Mine came in the form of a massage therapist I know putting a page on facebook so you could become her "fan." When I was looking at her pictures, I saw that she had one up of the story I wrote for her, the cover of that issue, and on the picture of her actually massaging someone, I saw she had the story and the cover framed and on the wall. That was me. That was all me. Vi wanted to throw her into the Business section of the paper, a little 7 to 10 inch story, but I took her and made her a page-long story and gave her the cover.

I was on my way to becoming a superstar. And then it was gone. And now I'm. . .I'm pretty much nothing. And I'm feeling like pretty much nothing.

I had coffee with MK the other day, and we were talking about business cards. He asked me, "What would you put on a business card for yourself?" and I couldn't think of a damn thing. Even though you're not supposed to define yourself by your career, I did. I was the Editor. That was what I did, that's who I was. And that was taken from me, and I feel like I have absolutely nothing to offer anymore. I don't do anything. No one wants me for anything.

There was more I was going to say, but I'm tired, and I'm going to go to bed. I'm on the brink right now. A brink of a serious depression that is going to take me months to pull myself out of. I recognize being on this particular brink, because I've been here many times before. And I know once I go over the edge, it's going to be a bitch to get away from. It always is. But I don't have anything right now. And the things I do have aren't even really mine. This girl I know, who also has been having a rough time recently, said that sometimes, she just wishes a tree would fall on her. I completely understand this.

I have been, for the better part of the evening, cataloging, in my head, a list of my epic failures over the years. I really don't have a lot to show at this point. I can't even interview for Best Buy correctly.

One thing I have discovered I'm good at, though, is hiding the fact that I occasionally wish for that tree to fall. I'm amazed at how many people have commented on how well I'm handling everything and how great my attitude is. That, my friends, is talent at its finest.

Let freedom ring. Let the white dove sing. Let the whole world know that today is a day of reckoning. Let the weak be strong; let the right be wrong.

2009-03-09T15:13:00.000-07:00

There's been quite a lot going on, but I haven't had the desire to sit down and write it out. But here I am now.

The weather? Has been gorgeous. Freaking gorgeous. I've been going up to Lake J and walking around it (2.5 miles according to Allison) and generally enjoying the outdoors.

I've been cooking a lot (since I can't afford to go out to eat, you know) and I've made up some kickass recipes. One of them stemmed from attempting to replicate this pasta dish I used to get all the time in college. I couldn't make it taste exactly like that, but I would argue that mine is better. The first time I made it, I made it with spaghetti noodles. It was good, but I thought it might be better with smaller noodles, like macaroni. I was on the phone with MK when I made this observation and he, sweetheart he is, brought me macaroni he had frozen. I took a picture of the macaronisicle, because it made me laugh when I opened it. I managed to make the noodles mushy (I HATE when I do that, mainly because I pride myself on my al dente noodles), but it was still an awesome recipe. If I actually measured things when I cooked them, I'd share it. As it stands, though, every time I make it, it's probably a different ration of ingredients. But MK's macaroni noodles really did save my recipe.

I have to say. . .a rough as things have been, every now and again, I have an "everything's going to be OK" moment. I got an e-mail from a woman I work with within the Girl Scouts (or, who I will work with again once I get my act together and make it to another meeting) telling me about a job opening at the hospital (it's part-time). I told her I'd look into it and ended up applying. She e-mailed me later and said if I was really interested, she'd mention how awesome I am to the woman who, apparently, is conducting the hiring. So, awesome. I don't know, you know, that I'd get it, but it's nice knowing that there are people out there looking out for me.

I also have an interview at Best Buy tomorrow, which could potentially also be part-time. So really, if I had the fortune to get both of them, two part-time jobs is kind of like a full-time job, right? And even with one part-time job, that's better than none job. So I'm looking forward to (and keeping my fingers crossed for) something good to happen there. I actually think it might be coolish to work at Best Buy. Although I must say, I've decided that if someone from the paper comes in to interview people for the Grand Opening (which will be in mid-April), I absolutely will not talk to them. Karen pointed out it's a conflict of interest. Sarah points out that I don't want to help those people at all. Call me bitchy, but I've been called worse, so whatever.

Some of my money problems have been aided, and I also found out that I owe the government less than $300, rather than the $500 I originally thought I owed. Turns out, the interest I've paid on my student loans had an impact on the amount. That's just federal I owe. Initially, it showed I owed $22 to the state, but now, I'll get back $44. And that's, like, two tanks of gas. So there you go.

It's weird that the weather has been so ridiculously nice when, like, a week ago, it was freezing and snowing. I don't know if it's just North Carolina weather, which is known to be erratic, or if this is happening all over the place. I feel like I've heard from people in other parts of the country that it's happening everywhere. It's just odd to me that a week or so ago, there were Icicles That Could Kill a Man (pictured at right.)

I guess that's it for now. In short, things aren't stellar, but they could be much, much worse.

I'm so tired. Come on, look me in my bloodshot eyes. (The clouds are all on fire.)

2009-03-02T14:38:00.000-08:00

I don't like snow. I have to say that straight up. I don't understand people wanting to go out and play in it (unless, of course, you have a sled). It's pretty, sure, and you can get some good photos in it, but otherwise, I have no use for snow.

Yesterday (Sunday), I woke up at about 10:30 and saw it was gross and gray and snowing, so I went back to bed. When I finally got up, 1:30-ish, it looked like a snow bomb had exploded outside my window. And it did not stop. I went out to take some pictures, but about froze my ass off, so came back in.

Oh! I almost forgot. I have to credit my favorite twin Karen for turning me on to the next person whose babies I am going to have ALL of. David Cook? Is my new lover. I'll say, I have never watched a season of American Idol. I've only actually watched one episode (not counting auditions. . .I've seen 2 or 3 of those) all the way through, and that was when it was Clay vs. Rueben. Literally, the next day at school, all the black kids were up in the white kids' faces because a black guy won. Yes, that was the joy of Millbrook High School. Also, I would, if I were those guys, be kind of embarassed I was watching American Idol. But that's just me.

Anyway, Karen, I have known for some time, was rather fond of David Cook. I'd never heard him perform, but I'd seen him, thought he was cute enough, whatever.

Then last night, she sent me a clip of him singing. And I was. . .mesmorized. For reals. He's got the kind of voice that you really just want to have sex with. And then as I went further through the YouTube David Cook archives, I found that he sang some awesome songs. . .awesomely! "I Don't Want To Miss a Thing"! "Music of the Night"! "Living on a Prayer"! He also touches the microphone like he wants to have ITS babies, and it's. . .generally, it's just the hottest thing ever. So David Cook is my new lover, if you were wondering. By the by, Nick disagrees with the level of attractiveness Karen and I have bestowed upon David Cook. Nick, incidentally, is wrong.

Today, I had a meeting at 9. Didn't get up until 8:30, and then when I went out to my car, I found it was frozen shut. Jenn called and rescheduled the meeting until tomorrow, but I still had errands to run, so I had to go in and get a big bowl of hot water to pour over the door frame to get it open. Went to CVS. Discovered they'd only let me get one bottle of insulin, because I'd just refilled the prescription. Since my insurance runs out Wednesday, that was awesome. Got some food from Wal-Mart. Came home. Did dishes. Made lunch, which, by the way, was awesome. I stole the "recipe" from a guy I knew in college. Basically, I made a much cheaper version of the Arby's roast beef and swiss melt. It was awesome and I can have more than one for just a little more than the cost of one value meal.

I've been cooking more recently, out of necessity more than anything, since I can't really afford to go out anymore. I'd forgotten how much I liked cooking.

Then I started cleaning (again) and organizing (some more). You'd be surprised how many different ways you can organize closets. I redid my actual closet, the shoe closet, and some other shelves and stuff. I also realized that I have what I suspect is frostbite on my right wrist. It's this random red area that is just about the amount of skin that would have been between my glove and my jacket sleeve while I was trying to get my stupid car open. It actually looks a little like a hickey. Granted, I haven't had one of those in. . .Good Lord, 8, 9 years?, but I remember what they look like. It's my little wrist hickey, given to me by making out with the freezing, freezing cold.

Anyway, as I was putting my stacks of newspapers into "storage" (a Rubbermaid container), I got the Unemployment Blues. I'd just gotten an e-mail telling me that I had to send a sheet to the unemployment office, specifying EXACTLY why I'd been fired, so they can decide if I ACTUALLY get the benefits they've already said I can have. Then I got really. . .depressed, thinking about how on Wednesday, it will have been a month, and how I am going to have to explain why I got fired to future employers, which is exhausting, actually, trying to come up with a fancy way of saying it, and then I realized that no one would have ever done for me what I did to get fired and I just got really sad.

And then, and then.

OK, so there's a reporter at the paper that I wouldn't trust with anything. At all. Ever. I only ever told her about things after everyone else already knew. She seemed to think, for some reason, that I would confide things in her. This is false. Then there's this other reporter that left the paper in. . .May, I believe, to travel around the world with his wife. He's a tool. A complete and total, arrogant tool. Can't stand the guy. I'll call the girl K and the guy J. Because I'm not really trying to hide identities.

I'd noticed a few weeks ago, K had written on J's wall the following: "Hey there! How's world traveling? Are you guys still in Australia? I heard about the fires down there and hope you guys are safe. Same things going on here at the paper, just with fewer people."

Now, knowing K, I know that the only reason she said this was to get J to ask her who was gone and why. And she succeeded. His message to her read: "Things are pretty good. We are on an Indonesian island called Sulawesi ... used to be called Celebes. We heard about the fires too and were glad we were not there. The fires in Australia can be really bad. What happened to all the people at the paper. Who is gone? Sorry it took me so long to write you ... we were off the grid for a while. -J" K got what she wanted.

Her next note: "Let's see...Dennis was laid off and Sarah got fired for trying to save his job. So now we have me, Beth, Vicki and Jeff (designer/reporter) in the news room, with Carol part time at lifestyles and Chuck. It gets pretty quiet in the newsroom! LOL Glad to hear you guys are enjoying your journeys. I've pretty much proofed all of your updates and you guys are having a great time."

Fair enough. J's response?

"Dennis laid off = good news IMO. But Sarah went down in flames with him? That is SALACIOUS NEWSROOM SCANDAL!!! But now no photog? Bad times."

OK, first of all? I didn't realize J had beef with Dennis. Secondly? (Oh, by the way, for those of you unaware, and definition of salacious is " lustful or lecherous.") I, apparently, sacrificed MY ENTIRE CAREER in a salacious manner. Had nothing to do with the fact that I thought what the higher-ups were doing was stupid and ludicrous. No, no. I did it solely because I was trying to get laid.

That burned me more than I can even tell you. It's insulting above anything else. And do you think K defended me? Of course she didn't. She's all nice to me when she sees me about town and she talks to me on facebook or whatever, but whatEVER. There's a reason I didn't ever tell her things.

The only good thing that came out of this was that Karen and I decided to use the word "salacious" as much as is humanly possible in away messages and statuses. So right now, my friends, I am headed to a salacious dinner with Carrie, Frank, and Caleb.

I know what you are (what you are, Baby.)

2009-02-27T18:40:00.000-08:00

I? Am in a fantastic mood. Occasionally, I have a day where I'm able to forget that I'm unemployed and 10 seconds away from welfare, and I'm able to enjoy the finer things in life. I'll make a legit entry, and then I have another one of those iPod list survey things, this one telling the story of my life. I know you're excited. But Nick liked the last one, so I'm going to do another one. Also, I like them, so that's good enough reason.

Most of you know the saga of the crazy woman downstairs. How she's fucking insane and. . .well, crazy. And hateful. So yesterday, I was washing dishes, and my phone rings. It's my landlady, and I'm thinking, crap. Because getting a call from your landlady is never a good thing. Except this time, it was.

"Hi, Sarah," she says, "I have good news for you."
"Oh?" says I.
"Yes. Your downstairs neighbor is moving out."

You guys? I almost danced a dance of joy right there in the middle of my kitchen.

So the conversation goes on, and she says, "Yeah, I ran into David (my across the hall neighbor) at Big Lots the other day, and when he told me about the police thing, I said, 'My goodness, I'm going to have to ask her to leave."

". . .police thing?" I asked. "What police thing?"

"Oh my God," she said. "You didn't know?"

I didn't.

Apparently, Sunday, when I went to Rhonda's house to work on the Taste of Chocolate cookbook, Crazy Lady had called the police to complain about all the noise her upstairs neighbor was making. For one thing, according to the town's Noise Ordinance, I am allowed to be obnoxious and loud until 9 p.m. She called them sometime between 6 and 7. Now, I'm not loud and obnoxious anyway. But the fact of the matter is. . .I wasn't even here. So when the police came up and knocked on my door, Across-the-Hall-David comes out to find out what's going on, and that's how my landlady found out about it.

She called the police on her neighbor that wasn't even home. How. . .how completely GLORIOUS is that? It's beautiful. Poetry, even.

So yes. She will be gone by the first of April. And what a happy, joyous occasion that will be. Fabulous in every way possible. You guys don't even know. I will no longer have to live in fear of walking through my kitchen.

Oh, and it turns out that when Crazy Lady called the landlady to let her know she was going to be moving, she complained about all the noise I make because, and I quote, "She's always walking around up there."

. . . . . .

Because I'm walking around. In my home.

But no matter. In approximately 32 days, I will be Crazy Lady free. And it will be a joyous occasion and there will be celebrating throughout the land.

I don't really have a lot else to say. Oh, except that today marks one year of momentous occasion. And that's awesome.

On to the survey!

The soundtrack of my life:

Opening Credits:
"Hey" - The Movielife

Waking Up:
"Ever Fallen In Love?" - The Buzzcocks

First Day at School:
"I Want It That Way" - Backstreet Boys

Falling in Love:
"Stay Pretty" - Farewell (hahaha. For some reason, that's awesome.)

Losing Virginity:
"It Hasn't Happened Yet" - William Shatner (Oh. My. God. You guys? Best thing EVER!)

Fight Song:
"You Can Be As Loud As the Hell You Want (When You're Makin' Love)" - Avenue Q soundtrack (Admittedly, this would have been better for the one before, but I guess this is the makeup sex.)

Breaking Up:
"Good Intentions" - Toad the Wet Sprocket

Prom:
"Everything's Just Wonderful" - Lily Allen (Prom actually sucked, both times. Well, the dance part. Before and after was fun.)

Life:
"Haunted" - Kelly Clarkson

Mental Breakdown:
"Don't Go Breaking My Heart" - Elton John and Kiki Dee

Driving:
"Standing Still" - Jewel (Well, that just doesn't make sense at all.)

Flashback:
"Better Off" - Ashlee Simpson

Getting Back Together:
"I Won't Stand In Line" - Reba McEntire

Wedding:
"When I Think About Cheatin'" - Gretchen Wilson (Aww, unfortunate.)

Birth of Child:
"You Are So Last Summer" - Taking Back Sunday

Final Battle:
"Bitch" - Meredith Brooks

Death Scene:
"Zoot Suit Riot" - Cherry Poppin' Daddies (Apparently, it's death by swing dancing.)

Funeral Song:
"Come Back to Me" - Plain White Ts

End Credits:
"Never Had a Dream Come True" - S Club 7

My resistance ain't that strong. My mind keeps recreating a life with you alone. And I'm tired of pretending I don't love you anymore.

2009-02-25T19:13:00.000-08:00

So, during the first couple weeks of my unemployment, I was literally so depressed I didn't want to listen to music. I don't know why, but I just didn't. And if you know me (or even if you just notice that every one of my entries is song lyrics), you know that's really out of character.

Today, I cleaned my kitchen, did dishes, organized my food cabinet, cooked dinner, ate dinner, and washed more dishes while listening to my Ipod with my awesome headphones. And that made me want to do one of those survey things that tells the story of your life by your Ipod put on random. So I did that. Here is my life in iPod shuffle.

1. IF SOMEONE SAYS "IS THIS OKAY" YOU SAY?
"Let's Take a Ride" -Justin Timberlake (This cracked me up, because I, of course, read it as really dirty. But I guess it could just mean that I wanted to take a road trip.)

2. WHAT WOULD BEST DESCRIBE YOUR PERSONALITY?
"Broken" -Seether (That. . .might be the saddest thing ever.)

3. WHAT DO YOU LIKE IN A GUY/GIRL?
"Rock and Roll Party Queen" - 'Grease' soundtrack. (Right on.)

4. HOW DO YOU FEEL TODAY?
"Jessie's Girl" - Rick Springfield. (I'm not sure if this means that I'm in love with someone who's with someone else or if I'm supposed to BE Jessie's girl, in which case, someone is in love with ME and they think they can't have me. Or something.)

5. WHAT IS YOUR LIFE'S PURPOSE?
"Limp" - Fiona Apple (Oh, God. I'm going to be a cripple. . .)

6. WHAT IS YOUR MOTTO?
"Wanted Dead or Alive" - Bon Jovi

7. WHAT DO YOUR FRIENDS THINK OF YOU?
"To Be Myself Completely" - Belle & Sebastian (I guess this is a good thing.)

8. WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR PARENTS?
"We're Going to Be Friends" - The White Stripes

9. WHAT DO YOU THINK ABOUT VERY OFTEN?
"My Immortal" - Evanescence (I'm not sure what this means, but it sounds deep.)

10. WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR FIRST LOVE?
"Somebody Told Me" - The Killers (So he's a. . .transsexual person? A cross-dresser? Yikes.)

11. WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR BEST FRIEND?
"Losing at Life" - Classic Case (Oh my God, that's not true! He WINS at life!)

12. WHAT DO YOU THINK OF THE PERSON YOU LIKE?
"Scream If You Wanna Go Faster" - Geri Halliwell (I'm. . .not touching this one.)

16. WHAT DO YOUR PARENTS THINK OF YOU?
"Polite" - Mute Math

17. WHAT WILL YOU DANCE TO AT YOUR WEDDING?
"Shiver" - Maroon 5

18. WHAT WILL THEY PLAY AT YOUR FUNERAL?
"Hate (I Really Don't Like You)" - Plain White Ts (Unfortunate, really.)

19. WHAT IS YOUR HOBBY/INTEREST?
"Dreaming of You" - The Coral (It's true.)

20. WHAT IS YOUR BIGGEST SECRET?
"Beautiful" - Christina Aguilera (It's no secret. Everyone knows.)

21. WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR FRIENDS?
"Boys" - Ashlee Simpson (Generally, yes.)

22. WHAT'S THE WORST THING THAT COULD HAPPEN?
"Don't You Forget About Me" - Simple Minds

23. HOW WILL YOU DIE?
"Miserable at Best" - Mayday Parade (That's the most depressing thing I have ever heard.)

24. DOES ANYONE LIKE YOU?
"Hopelessly Devoted To You" - 'Grease' soundtrack (Sweet.

25. IF YOU COULD GO BACK IN TIME, WHAT WOULD YOU CHANGE?
"Chills" - Ben Lee (I would. . .spend less time cold?)

26. WHAT HURTS RIGHT NOW?
"Giving Up On Love" - The Ataris

Well, that was fun. I'm exhausted for some reason, and I actually have to get up at a certain time tomorrow, so I'll be off.

When they can't find you, I'm sure I'll be the one they blame, but they can't prove anything, Miss California.

2009-02-22T20:31:00.000-08:00

So, my sister is basically the coolest person I know. We didn't get along when I was in high school (because, let's face it, I was pretty hateful toward her) but after I left for college and she became a teenager and all that, I realized that if I were still in high school, she'd be the kind of person I'd want to hang out with.

This snippet of conversation is why:

Sarah: Yeah. What I would like to happen is for me to get the SMT job, and so if I run into Vi at the grocery store, I can be like, "Oh, me? Yeah, I'm the editor of two publications. Peace out." "Thank you for firing me and stressing out your entire newsroom so I could go on to much bigger and better things. "

Katie: haha you should rethink the exit. maybe throw some sort of liquid in her face and then be like (our last name) out!

S: YES! I like that. (our last name) out.

K: and do that hand move where you make a sideways peace sign and move it downward violently

S: Awesome. Or, I could just punch her in her face.

K: haha, that could work

S: I like that option.

K: maybe you could do some sort of combination of all of the above? haha

S: "Peace out. (our last name) out!" (liquid throw) (punch).

K: hahaha awesome

S: I now have a game plan.

K: an A+ game plan at that

So yeah. Katie is pretty much more awesome than anyone else I know.

I was oddly productive today, for a Sunday. I spent the morning writing freelance articles about cell phones and the afternoon editing cookbook entries. I don't know if I mentioned that I'm on the committee for this event that takes place around here called the Taste of Chocolate. We're putting together a cookbook and we went through this company that lets you enter them online. As I'm sure you can imagine, people who don't (or didn't) do words for a living might not live up to the standards for publication, so there was some work to be done. But all 150 recipes are finished.

I then went through my recipe file, looking for something relatively inexpensive to make for dinner (since, you know, no income) and I decided on "Zesty Beef-Stuffed Peppers" and "Ranch Smashed Potatoes." Went to the cheapo grocery store to get most of the stuff and then Wal-Mart for the rest. Literally as I'm walking out the door to get my food, my phone rings, and it's one of the people from the TOC committee, saying something about meeting at 7 to finish the cookbook. I was like, ". . ." because I don't remember ever agreeing to this, but considering my general state of mind for the last three weeks or so, it's entirely possible I agreed to it and just forgot. So I went over to her house at 7 and actually had a fun time working on the cookbook. We got everything together and managed to throw both of our names in as chair (her) and co-chair (me). So my name will be printed at least 6 times (including recipes submitted) in at least 400 books. For posterity, or something.

I did, incidentally, get the food for my awesome meal, but I'm going to have to wait until tomorrow to actually make it, since I didn't have the time this evening.

What else?

I have a meeting tomorrow morning with some people. I'm being intentionally vague, because I just don't really want to get into it right now, for whatever reason. It's a good meeting, but I just want to keep the good to myself for now.

I guess that's it.

I always feel like, somebody's watching me.

2009-02-14T11:25:00.000-08:00

I should make a real entry, and I will, one of these days, but instead of talking about how much not having a job sucks and how much more Valentine's Day sucks, I'm going to fill out a survey thing I found on facebook.

Fill this out about your SENIOR year of high school! The longer ago it was, the more fun the answers will be!!

1. Did you date someone from your school?
Senior year? Yes. Richard.

2. Did you marry someone from your high school?
Ha! No. I would not marry anyone I went to high school with.

3. Did you car pool to school?
My mom drove me to school, and on the days I didn't have marching band, Jason would drive me home or to work.

4. What kind of car did you have?
I did not have a car. I drove my mother's car when I was allowed.

5. What kind of car do you have now?
What does this have to do with senior year? I have a '97 Honda CRV that I'm suspicious is on its last leg.

6. It's Friday night...where were you?
In the fall, marching band practice/football games. The rest of the time, I went out with Richard a lot. . .when I wasn't grounded.

7. What clubs were you in?
Marching band, regular band (even though it was a class, it was more like a cult), and French club. I was Vice President senior year which meant. . .well, nothing, really. But it was something I could put on my college applications.

8. What kind of job did you have in high school?
I worked at one of the public libraries.

9. What kind of job do you do now?
None. I have none job. Again, what does this have to do with senior year?

11. Were you considered a flirt?
That's a source of contention. I was friends with guys, mainly, and people would tell me I flirted with them, but it's just the way I was/am. So I don't really know.

12. Were you in band, orchestra, or choir?
I've already mentioned that. . .7,000 times. Marching band Wind Ensemble. Not to be confused with concert band.

13. Were you a nerd?
Basically.

14. Did you get suspended or expelled?
No. I was called to the principle's office after this girl threatened to kill me, but other than that, no.

15. Can you sing the fight song?
I don't remember the fight song. We played it every time the football team made a touchdown, but I seem to remember faking my way through most of that, and I never knew the words.

16. Who was/were your favorite teacher(s)?
Mr. Holleman. I freaking loved Mr. Holleman. I still remember things he told us in that class to this day.

17. Where did you sit during lunch?
In the band room, unless I went off-campus.

18. What was your school's full name?
Millbrook High School.

19. When did you graduate?
2003

20. What was your school mascot?
We were the wildcats. *reowr*

21. If you could go back and do it again, would you?
Compared to where I am right now in my life? Hell yes. I had no idea.

22. Did you have fun at Prom?
It wasn't bad. Senior year, I don't think I danced at all, because it was all hip-hop, rap music you can't really dance to anyway. Afterward, we went bowling, which was awesome.

23. Do you still talk to the person you went to Prom with?
Occasionally.

24. Are you planning on going to your next reunion?
Probably not. They had a 5-year last year and I didn't go, because as I put it to anyone who asked, I haven't been out of high school long enough to forget why I couldn't stand most of the people who would, inevitably, be at that reunion. They made a facebook group for it, and everyone who confirmed were the people who were popular, and who are probably still trying to hold on to their high school glory days. So no, I probably won't go to the 10-year.

25. Do you still talk to people from school?
A couple. No more than 5.

2009-02-10T11:19:00.001-08:00

I think I'm going to go back to Raleigh now.

2009-02-05T06:17:00.000-08:00

For those of you not aware, I'll bring you up to speed.

They fired me yesterday. So the people saying, "Well, at least YOU still have your job," are wrong.

So I'm currently in Raleigh, taking a couple of days, and I find it really interesting how people, my friends and otherwise, have treated me over the last 24 hours. I sent an e-mail to my freelancers, letting them know, and they have all e-mailed me and said how horrible it was, and asked if there was anything they could do for me. Same goes for a couple of friends I have in the community.

As far as my friends, my "friends" at work wouldn't make eye contact with me, except for one, who I've always liked. She also sent me a facebook message. Nick called me back after my initial call to him and I ended up stopping by his house on the way home. Some didn't let the news permeate their day to day existence much, and some have been surprisingly silent on the subject. I think it's those that bother me the most.

Anyway, I'll be here for a couple days, and then we'll figure it out from there.

I always do, don't I?

I killed the lights (pure satisfaction) I killed the lights (lights, camera, action)

2009-02-03T18:29:00.000-08:00

I'm updating so people don't think I've jumped out a window.

I think I'm going to take a blogging break because I am so entirely messed up right now, mentally, emotionally, every kind of -ally, and I don't feel like writing and having to pretend I don't feel like I do.

I need to find a new job and get away from this place. If anyone knows of anything, I'd be more than happy to look into it. I can't, in good conscience, work for people like this.

They have, unnecessarily and stupidly, laid off my best friend in the office. I now officially have no one I can talk to, no one I can trust, and no one to look forward to seeing on a daily basis. I get the impression NJ thinks he's going to step up and fill that space, but I've got some news: That space can not be filled. Period.

I can't stop thinking about what this is going to mean for his family. For his work in general. The upper management where I work are incompetent, and I don't care that I'm saying it. Fire me. Go ahead. I have a feeling you already know how I feel about you, so it's not like it's a secret.

I did everything humanly possible and in my power to help the job-losing not to take place, and it didn't work. I feel like I failed so completely and utterly, even though he told me it's better that he doesn't have to work here anymore, because something better is on the horizon. Or something. I can't help but think that something better on the horizon doesn't help buy food. Or pay rent. Or pay the heat bill. I can't help, and it makes me so devastatingly sad. I have cried more in the last 5 days that I have in a lot of my life. This in concordance with PMSing has effectively depleted my tear ducts. And yet, somehow, they're still functioning. Right now.

"But you tried," people say. "You did everything you could have done. It wasn't your fault. It's the economy/bad management practices/the end of the road/etc. At least you didn't lose YOUR job."

That doesn't make me feel any better. Especially the last one. Why the hell would it make me feel better that I have a job when one of my top 3 favorite people in the entire world no longer has one? WHY should that make me FEEL BETTER? I don't understand that mentality. I don't. And I wish people would stop saying that to me. STOP SAYING THAT.

I'm going to share something here that is probably entirely too much information and something that a lot of people don't know about me, but that I'm writing about because it's my fucking blog and if makes you uncomfortable, you can stop reading. It will also maybe help explain where my head is right now.

There was a period of time, during high school and college, where I was a. . .let me look up the term on Wikipedia so I can give it a generic name. A self-injurer. That's it. I won't share my particular form of "self-injuring" here (I had two, actually, and one I still struggle with, but it's more of a compulsive thing than the other one, so I don't really consider it "injuring." I'm being intentionally vague.)

Anyway, the last time I had a problem with it (an episode, if you will), was my junior year of college. It became noticeable to this girl I had a date with (a date I, incidentally, ended up never going on. Long story I'll share if you want, but I don't feel the need to write about it here). She called me on it, and I thought I hid it better than I apparently did, and that's why I stopped. Because I didn't want to have to answer questions.

So last night, I hit a really low point. I mean low. I was talking to Nick, and I have a feeling I may have given him reason to believe I'd need someone to come up and stay with me so I didn't. . .do whatever it was I sounded like I was going to do. I was in the depths, emotionally, mentally, even physically. I felt ill. And I wanted to revert back to my old habit.

I'm going to explain here, as clinically as I can, as to not sound like I've lost it. Because I haven't. Not yet, at least. I'm just explaining. I'm fine right now, as far as all this stuff goes.

For people who are on the outside of "self-injury," it's easy to say, "Man, that's crazy. You must be crazy. Why would you do such a thing?" Because they don't get it. Through all the different ways people cause harm to themselves, whether it be drinking too much, drug use, eating disorders, cutting, burning, compulsive skin picking, hair pulling, whatever, there is a very easy explanation for it. I mean, obviously, you get your people who do it for attention. But for everyone else, it's because, at least in my experience, physical experiences are tangible.

People can't control their heart hurting because of a breakup. But they can control picking off a scabbed over injury. People can't control how their head feels when they're depressed. But they can control whether or not the keep down food they've eaten or the amount they eat. Sometimes, the depression in your head is so much, you feel like there's nowhere else for the intensity of the feelings to go. But if you were to intentionally cut your skin, it's another outlet and the pain can be diverted somewhere else, from emotional to physical.

Obviously, I don't have experience with all of these. But I'm guessing that they're all very similar, interconnected, and they all have the same basic end result.

What I'm incredibly proud of at this point is that I didn't give in. I thought, "Sarah, no. That? Will get you nowhere. It will do absolutely no good. You're still going to feel just as crappy in the head. Don't go down that road again."

And I didn't. I thought a good diversion would be alcohol. But I didn't go down that road, either. All in all, I'm thinking maybe I'm stronger than I thought I was. But that doesn't change the fact that I'm in a place right now when I even considered it.

I don't know why, exactly, I'm in the place I'm in right now. I know bits and pieces of it, but there's more to it. But what I do know is that while I'm going through this, wherever it takes me, I've got at least one person who I know beyond a shadow of a doubt will be there for me if I need it. Everyone's got their stuff, and I know that he's got stuff in his own life that's hard on him, maybe even stuff that feels impossible, but every time I've had moments in my life like this, whenever I've begun to seriously question my own sanity, it seems like my friends always. . .well, in my experience, they either avoid me or later, they bring it up again and use it against me. And I know he won't do that.

I love you. I love you so much, you don't even know. Maybe because I don't tell you. Maybe I should.

Please don't comment on this entry. This one doesn't need them.

Maybe I'll be back soon. Maybe I won't. We'll see.

But I do love you.

We're going down, down in an earlier round, and Sugar, we're going down swinging. . .

2009-01-30T19:54:00.000-08:00

Today was an eye-opening day.

I was going to go into extreme detail here, but I've decided not to. The long and the short of it is, I'm in for, not exaggeration, one of the biggest fights of my life. I don't know how it's going to end, but the stakes? They're high. I'm. . .vaguely concerned that my job could be at stake here, but if it works, even if my job is some of the collateral damage here, it'll be worth it. Entirely worth it.

What I have done this evening, in essence, is set into motion something that may or may not get me to my ultimate goal. It's also entirely possible it will get me. . .sent to the poverty line, but sometimes in life, you have to decide what is and is not worth the risk. And this particular cause, I feel very strongly about.

I've been fighting with God a lot recently. That sounds kind of weird, but I've had a lot of really weird/bad/frightening/worrisome things happening to me recently, and I just wanted to know why.

Most people who know me think that I don't believe in God. That's actually not true at all. I believe very much that God, in some form or another, is there. It's the whole Jesus thing I don't really buy. I guess I am, in essence, kind of Jewish. I've said that before. I have a very real fear of God, in whatever form he's in. What I don't believe in is the whole construction of God that Christianity has made. It doesn't make sense to me.

What I'm saying here is that I believe in. . .something. I also believe that when we die, we aren't necessarily just dead and gone. I feel like there's something left behind. It's that particular belief that keeps me from feeling like I'm crazy when I talk to my aunt, who died in 2006.

That has a legit correlation with what I was talking about, because my point is that talking to God, to me, is like talking to my aunt. I have no real proof that God's there or that any part of my aunt is there, but I still feel like someone's listening to me when I'm talking.

OK. Upon looking back on this, I may sound like I've lost a couple of my marbles, and that nothing I'm saying has to do with anything. Aside from an insight into my beliefs, religious and otherwise, I'm going to say that if you're the praying kind, I could use it in the next couple of days. One of the most important people in my life needs it, too. I am legitimately afraid I could become unemployed by this time next week, and if you're not the praying kind, just think about me occasionally, OK? Also my person. He definitely needs it, and I could potentially need it.

I'm scared, but I'm ready to take whatever consequences might come from my actions.

Thanks, guys. Sorry I haven't made a lot of sense.

It felt so wrong, it felt so right (don't mean I'm in love tonight. . .)

2009-01-29T21:29:00.000-08:00

Been a few days. I've been. . .monstrously busy at work, and then I get home and I think to myself, "Self, you should blog." And Self says to me, "But Sarah, wouldn't it make more sense to have a glass of wine and watch Friends?" And then I realize how practical I am.

But really and truly, I've been working really hard. And I've also been going to the gym! Which, you know, is kind of an uphill battle for me. I'm always glad I went when I go, but it's the getting there part that's so tough. I went both Monday and Wednesday, and if I go tomorrow, I can make it into kind of a 3-4 times a week thing, and that'll be good. (I say 3-4 because I can go on a weekend day, too. I just won't be doing it Saturday because I have plans for. . .most of the day.)

Saturday, Carol and I are going to go to the Biltmore and drink. They have a winery there, and she and I both have passes, so we're not actually paying anything. It's a win-win-(win), in all actuality. Then there's this poetry reading thing at a bookstore in Asheville that I put in the calendar that seemed like it could be interesting, so I'm going to go to that.

Then Sunday, I'll probably put in a few hours at work (so this Monday isn't like last Monday), and then either go to the party one of the guys at work is having for the Super Bowl or go to Carrie and Frank's church for what sounds like an ungodly amount of chicken wings. We'll see. I think everything'll depend on what time things start.

It was. . .brought to my attention today that I'm becoming one of those friends that pop up in your buddy list, and you hope they don't talk to you. (No, it wasn't actually said like that. Because that would be horrible.) But I realize that there are certain problems that certain people get to hear about. You know, like, one person is the "oh my God, I have no money" friend, and one person is the "relationship issues" friend, and one person is the friend with whom I only discuss superficial things and one person gets all of my family drama. . .that kind of thing. I do have a couple instances where those things overlap, and a person or two gets more than one, but I feel like I'm subconsciously doing that so I don't overload any one person with everything so it doesn't happen that they don't like me anymore. It also prevents people from getting too close, you know? Because. . .well, that's just how I am.

So! I'm going to go back to zero. It's entirely possible that problems are better left unsaid, and that if I want to bitch about something, I should. . .actually, I don't know. I'd say "blog about it," but I don't want this to become "Oh, Sarah has woes!" any more than it already has. Maybe I'll go back to the livejournal and put them all on "for my eyes only" or whatever that category is called. I think that's actually what I'm going to do. That way, I get the writing about it out, and people don't have to listen to me. Again, win-win(win).

I don't know if anyone's seen the movie "Proof," but it's based on a play that I've decided to try out for. There are two female characters, and I'd love to get either one. Obviously, I want to lead (who wouldn't?), but I'd like the part of the sister, too. She has a similar personality type to me, and she has fewer lines, which would say possibly that work wouldn't get SO much in the way. We'll see. I know better than to go into it saying, "Oh, yeah. I'm a shoe-in. I'm SO going to get either parts." We have a lot of talent around here and the shows at this theatre are usually really good. But we'll see.

This week's issue of my publication is going to be centered around Girl Scout cookies, which I think has the potential for some really cool centerspread art. Although, come to think of it, maybe I shouldn't go to Super Bowl parties and. . .no. I'm going to cut myself off there mid-sentence. I am limiting myself to three hours on Sunday. That's it. I'll go in 1-ish, leave 4-ish, and be done with it. Last weekend, when I didn't go in at all, aside from causing a minor meltdown Monday, it was wonderful. I'd forgotten what weekends were like. They're there for a reason, which is to prevent you from burning out, which I feel I am dangerously close to doing. Maybe I'll take a personal day next week.

Actually, that sounds like a really good idea. I won't have taken any in January. I have 5 personal and 10 vacation days, so that's 15 (obviously). Maybe I just need a real day off. And maybe I'll take one. That's what they're there for, right?

Going to go attempt to sleep. I'd slept for, like, 3 nights in a row without any help, and then I had a night of tossing and turning, so I started with the PM pills again. I got home too late to take them this evening (I got home at 11:30 after a basketball game with Carrie and then a few minutes hanging out at her house) and since the pills take about an hour to kick in for me and you're supposed to get 8 hours or so of sleep after taking them, I don't like to take them too late.

Also, they've been giving me really weird, really scary dreams. So I'm thinking it's time to lay off of them anyway.

Hey, kid. Good morning. You look like an angel. I don't remember when we fell asleep. Better get up, kid. Cathy is waiting. . .

2009-01-23T20:50:00.001-08:00

Went to a high school basketball game tonight. We lost by one point, and that was. . .well, even I was screaming by the end of the game.

There was a guy behind me that. . .apparently, I always end up sitting in front of (or standing beside at football games) the loudest, most annoying redneck in the bunch. This guy was literally screaming the en. tire. time. It was physically hurting my ears. He was yelling at the boys, yelling at the refs, yelling at. . .everyone. I had my finger plugging up my right ear for most of the game. So I was really freaking sick of him screaming in my ear, and at one particular point, he yelled really loudly, and I yelled, too. I don't remember what I said, but it was indicative of me not being pleased with my ear being yelled in. This guy puts his hand on my shoulder (False, sir. Do not touch me. I do not like being touched.) and says, "Sorry about your ear, Darlin'. But this is why you pay the money to see the game, Baby."

First of all, no. I do not spend money to see basketball games to yell at the refs. (I actually don't spend money to see them at all, because I have a press pass.) Secondly, if you have never had a conversation with me and do not know my name, do. Not. call me Baby. I am not your baby. You have not earned the right to call me by anything except my name.

Up until the point I was a. . .junior in high school, I hated it when ANYONE called me Baby or any derivative thereof. Baby, Babe, Babydoll, whatever. I hated it. I hated it with a fiery vengeance. And because I was friends with a bunch of douchebags, as soon as my guy friends found that out, that's what they called me. My name ceased being Sarah and I was from that point on known as Baby.

As in, walking down the hall, "Hey, Baby! You have the Algebra notes?" "Where do you want to go to lunch today, Baby?" "That history test is a killer, Baby!"

You get the picture.

They did it so much, I just got accustomed to it. And by the time I started dating Richard junior year and that's how he generally referred to me, I found I rather liked it. It's affectionate and cute, I think.

However. I was not dating this redneck behind me. So it irked me that he touched me (strike one) and then called me by a cutesy nickname.

I need to go to the rec center tomorrow. I really need to. I just. . .it's hard to motivate myself. Especially when I have a house that badly needs to be cleaned and work that badly needs to be done. (Because of Christmas Sunday. Yes, Christmas. No, I don't want to talk about it.)

I also really need to write. I've got this novel in my head. It's an entire story, from beginning to end, but I don't have the time to sit down and write it. I don't have the time and ENERGY to sit down and write it. But I want to. I need to get it down.

I'm going to see The Last 5 Years tomorrow. I'm going by myself which. . .sucks a little, but I really want to see it, so it's OK. I'd asked MK to come with me, but he already had something else he was doing. And I can't go Sunday, because of Christmas. I listened to the soundtrack on the way to the basketball game and I cried the entire way.

Remember the thing I wrote about how, when I was younger, I used to watch the saddest part of "Follow That Bird," and just cry and cry? And my mother worried she was raising a masochist? These days, I keep doing that to myself. I'm especially bad for it watching Grey's Anatomy and listening to The Last 5 Years soundtrack. I've been really emotional lately for. . .a myriad of reasons, really.

Actually, I'm wondering if I should even go to the show. I love it, but I'll be there alone, and I'll probably cry through the show and all the way home, and most likely when I get home, too. I don't know if I need to do that to myself at this particular point in time.

I have. . .a lot of stuff going on at the moment. I'm not talking about it because I just don't even know myself where I am in it all. (No, that's not true. I talked to KentuckyNicholas the other night because I was about to lose my mind and I needed to talk to SOMEONE who wasn't involved in the problems I'm having and who was a completely unbiased point of view. It made me feel better to talk about it, but I didn't actually come to any grand conclusions, which led to the first part of my day being really sad.

As for now, though, I'm going to finish watching "Halloween" and go to bed. And try to sleep. Which actually probably won't happen.

I should add that it's at the part of the movie that the two characters just had, apparently, a lot of sex, and that just brings to light the fact that I'm going to be. . .well, I'm probably going to be spending my Friday nights exactly like I am right now, alone watching other people get it on in scary movies, indefinitely. That's. . .it's just a little sad to me is all.

I guess it's some consolation that everyone who gets lucky in this movie is killed.

Been alone since you were 21. You haven't laughed since January. You try and make like this is so much fun, but we know it to be quite contrary.

2009-01-22T08:35:00.000-08:00

I have been working. my. ASS OFF this week, and I've been doing a good job. I wrote a front page story about a stupid blood drive that I think turned out better than expected. I laid out the Lifestyles pages on Tuesday because Jeff made it sound like he was covered in 900 things he had to do, and I was trying to be helpful.

The next day, Vi come in here and tells me she had given him that much to do because she notices that he spends a lot of time doing nothing and screwing around. She said I was "enabling him."

Well excuse the fuck out of me. I guess I'm just going to not try to be helpful anymore. Otherwise known as "stop offering to do things for people because they are most likely trying to take advantage of me, and I let them, because I"m an idiot."

He also let her think he'd done the pages. It wasn't until I said something about how I couldn't proof them because I'd done them that she realized what I'd been doing all day. When I mentioned it to Jeff, he said something to the effect of, "Of course I told her I'd done it." Or something like that. And that burned me.

That, of course, is why I made sure that she knew I'd done it. Because I might be a little too trusting, but I'm not stupid.

It's like in high school. I was dating Richard, and he'd come over to hang out for the day. He got a phone call, which he took outside, and then came back in and told me that it was his father who had called, and his father needed him to come home and "help him move his office."

I should note here that Richard lied to me on a fairly regular basis, so I knew what to look for. What I said, though, was, "OK, baby. Tell your dad I said hi." He left. I waited a few hours, then called his house. His mom answered, and I said, "Hey, (whatever her name was. I don't remember). Is Richard there?" She said, "Hi, Sarah. I. . .thought he was with you." And I said, "Oh, no. He left a couple of hours ago, because he said (his dad's name) needed help moving his office. I was just wondering if they'd gotten back yet." She paused and said, "No. He hasn't gotten back yet. Would you like me to have him call you?" I said, "No. I don't actually, but thanks!"

Later that night, he did end up calling me, and it turns out I'd gotten him into huge trouble with his parents. Which . . . was the point, obviously. I asked him why he'd lied to me, and he said he didn't know.

All that to say, if you're going to pull something like that on me, I'm going to make good and sure you're found out. You might screw me over, but I'll make sure you screw yourself over as well. Maybe that sounds vindictive, but I like to think of it as a "reap what you sow" kind of circumstance.

Also, Vi comes into my office this morning and tells me that "no one else" is available to go to this boring-sounding business meeting this evening, and that I need to cover it. I'd been planning on writing the freelance articles I do on the side so I can afford to eat due to the paltry salary I receive here tonight, but now, I get to take notes on a business meeting. YAY!

I need to go see The Last 5 Years at some point this weekend. Maybe I'll go Saturday? I just can't let what I would probably consider my favorite show ever to come and go without seeing it, even if it is just being put on by a smallish college. I listened to the soundtrack for an entire day last week, and I was thoroughly depressed by it. I love it, but it's sad.

It's kind of like how I keep watching those two episodes of Grey's Anatomy that make me cry every time. Maybe I'm a masochist. Maybe I'm a control freak and, rather than letting completely outside circumstances make me cry, I put myself into a situation where I know I'll cry, but I kind of have control over it. I don't. . .actually know.

I had a whole other thing I was going to go into, but instead, I'm going to go have lunch.

Could it be you? I've been searching so hard to find. (Tell me how could I have been so blind.)

2009-01-19T16:08:00.000-08:00

So in general, this day was one made of suck.

I was relatively pleased with my publication today. I wrote a story about a massage place that I'm considering going to. I've never had a real massage, and I feel like I desperately need one. She's got a $15 discount going on because of Valentine's Day, and I might actually be able to afford it with the $15 off. I'll be getting paid Friday, and I'll have another pay day before Feb. 14, so if I put half of the cost in the bank this Friday and then the other half in next Friday, I can probably afford it by the time the week of the 14th rolls around.

I was just. . .I was in the same funk today that I was in last night. People were. . .I don't want to say they were picking on me, because that sounds like I'm 5, but they were. NewJeff was working my nerves in a particularly annoying manner.

There was. . .something I was looking forward to all day, that I anticipated getting at the end of the workday, and I didn't. That. . .you know when you're really looking forward to something, and then it ends up not panning out or whatever, and it just. . .I can't really describe it. It made me a lot sadder than it should have. It would have helped my mood exponentially. But you know. Can't always get what you want. And I can deal with it like a big girl.

So I drive home and, thanks to the snow and the slick roads, I end up sliding right before I get to my house, and I hit a light pole. I was able to turn the wheel so I didn't hit it dead on, but I was sliding at a fairly good clip when I hit it. I heard a loud bang as the side of my car hit it, but as far as I can tell, I didn't do any damage. And, I mean, I'm OK and everything. It was just. . .it was annoying more than anything. And I hit the thing and said, "Of course. Of. Course."

I get inside and think, no, I'm not going to have mac and cheese like I'd originally planned. I decided to make breakfast for dinner. I knew I had either pancakes or waffles in my freezer (which, incidentally, I had both) and I'd just bought some eggs and shredded cheese.

Incidentally, I bought the eggs because I told MK I had eggs in my fridge, but they were sell by August something, and he said, "Well, what if you get drunk one night and decide you want eggs? You'll die."

I told him at the time that, for one, I never make eggs when I'm drunk. Also, I've never been drunk enough to make eggs with really old eggs.

Regardless, after that conversation, I threw out the old eggs and bought some new ones. When I went to get some eggs to make my patented Awesome Cheesy Scrambled Eggs, I opened the carton and made a startling revelation. The bag I dropped taking my groceries out of the car on Saturday? Of course, contained the eggs. Three of them had broken, and I broke another one trying to get it unstuck from the carton. I started out with a dozen eggs, and ended up with 8 I was able to use. I won't repeat what I said at that point. It wasn't very ladylike.

The upshot of this, however, is that I did make my Awesome Cheesy Scrambled Eggs (made with my secret ingredient that I think only Nick knows about. And no. The secret ingredient is not cheese.), along with mini pancakes complete with sliced strawberries (the last of the ones I bought the other day) and honey. And wine. I'm aware that wine is not typically what one eats with breakfast, but after this day? I think I deserved it. The only thing that would have made the meal complete would have been if I'd had sausage. I do love sausage.

Now, I'm just waiting for Gossip Girl to come on. I'm hoping that sleep comes more easily this evening than it did last night, because I tossed and turned for hours, even with the aid of Faux Tylenol PM. I'm worried that it's not having the proper effect anymore, and that I'm just going to be screwed when it comes to taking things to help me sleep. I refuse to take. . .what is it? Ambien? Because people walk (and drive!) in their sleep while on that, and I would be the person that would happen to.

I think I'm actually going to have a salad now. Again, doesn't go with breakfast, but I'm still hungry.

I don't want to wait for our lives to be over. I want to know right now what could it be.

2009-01-18T18:46:00.000-08:00

I am in such a funk.

I was in a normal mood this morning. I talked to Karen for a while. I watched the two-part episode of Grey's Anatomy that never fails to make me cry (and cried). I had two giant cups of coffee. And then I went to work.

The mood didn't really hit me at work, either. I got the calendar pages done, which are my most hated pages in the thing. Dennis came in with Kelly, and while I probably should have kept working, I played with her instead. That was my own fault, but she's just a fun kid, and I am almost incapable of telling her no, I'm working and I can't play with you right now. Because it's. . .it's an amazing thing when you've got this person, even a little person, constantly telling you that they love you, and that they like playing with you. . .that you're cool? I don't know. Maybe it sounds really pathetic that I like getting validation from someone 20 years younger than me, but. . .I can't explain it. I guess it's that kids don't lie. I mean, if they have no reason to. If you catch them doing something they shouldn't be doing, they'll lie, but they won't walk up to you and say, "Hey. I like you," if they don't, like adults will. It's the little things in life.

I'm sorry. I'm just in a really weird mood.

MK called me when I was about to leave work and could tell I was in a funk. To cheer me up, he read me this kiddie book called "Silly Sara," and it was. . .really, really cute. Not the book itself, but that he read it. I don't know. It made me smile, and I think that's what he was going for. I looked the book up on Amazon.com when I got home, and it looks cute (I liked the drawings.) See what I mean about the little things in life?

I'm dreading going into work tomorrow. Not because I have an overwhelming amount of work to do. I can handle the work. I just. . .it's a funk! I wish I could blame it on "that time of the month," but that was last week. I have nothing to blame it on except not wanting to do anything but stay in bed, curled up with. . .a person, napping and watching stupid TV. That's what I want to do right now. I've got the bed, I've got the stupid TV, but I'm alone. I'm always alone.

I had a woman come in for an interview the other day and she has a massage place, and even though I think it's vaguely overpriced, I'm thinking of calling her and making an appointment. I've been so tense recently, and not for any good reason. My job isn't stressing me out like it used to, my boss generally leaves me alone (except for the moments she makes me want to throw myself out the window) and. . .I don't know. I'm going into one of those places where I want a change. Usually, I do something to my hair when I get in these moods, but I don't have enough of it left to do anything to it.

I think I'm lonely today. Maybe that's what it is.

I'm going to stop being a bummer, because this entry has been nothing but a woe is me. I'll try to be in better spirits before I write again.

My body is callin' out for you, bad boy. I get the feeling that I just want to be with ya.

2009-01-17T18:02:00.001-08:00

I have several different stories I could start this post out with, but I feel absolutely compelled to share what I've been doing for the last 20 minutes or so.

I'm warning you now, this is going to be long. Don't start reading if you're going to be easily bored or if you don't want to hear about the weird, scary things diabetes does to me.

Every now and again, I check craigslist for freelance work. I realized that I go to the same post areas every time I go (art/media/design, part-time, education, wanted, creative, and writing) and I'd never really paid much mind to anything else on the site.

Well.

I went into the "personals" section, and I have been through a few pages on misc. romance, casual encounters, missed connections, rants and raves, women seeking women, and women seeking men. (Honestly, I'm a little afraid of the men seeking men and men seeking women sections. I'm not entirely sure why, but I feel like I'd be scandalized and horrified by what I'd find. I'm already a little scandalized and horrified by what I HAVE found.)

The casual encounters section, by far, is the most interesting. I just don't understand the. . .the concept, really, of posting on here, looking for sex, whether it's a one time thing, a recurring event, whatever. I suppose one could argue that it's very similar to online dating (which, as you all know, has NOT been something that worked out for me). But. . .I don't know, man. I can't see putting up an ad saying something like, "Hey! Want to have sex? Send me a picture!" I guess if I were desperate (and unafraid) I might consider something like that, but I can't see EVER being that desperate. I've been holding out for. . .24 years, so I think that my desperation has probably plateaued, and I never EVER got the urge to ask strangers to service me.

The funny thing about these is that I'm generally looking at the ones from my county and there are a. . .surprising amount of people looking for gay hookups. I mean, I know there have to be gay people around here, but you just don't really hear from them. I guess that's why they're looking on craigslist. I have also seen. . .more penises than I'd care to admit. If I were into porn, I could just get it here. There was also a woman who posted pictures of herself. . .servicing a gentleman caller, and I KNOW I've seen that woman before, but I just don't remember where. If I ever see her again, I'm probably going to laugh. In Raleigh, I could see posting pictures of yourself or your junk, because it's unlikely that any random person would see you and run into you on the street and recognize you. But this is a small town. It is a conglomeration of small towns, and I would never do something like that, not only because I'm not into that kind of thing, but SOMEONE would be bound to recognize me. Especially considering my job.

Anyway, some of my favorites from my town thus far have been the "Cop looking for a good time" who said, "hey guys! hot average build white male, 6 ft tall brown eyes black hair. 6 to 7 inches cut. cop in training so im fairly good shape, looking for guys in the the 20's near (my town) to have a good time tonight. im straight but curious. hit me up!" Then there's "Hey, let's relax together" and it says "HI. One of my biggest fantasies is getting up with a friend, laying him down, and slowly stripping him as I give him a massage, making sure to hit all the most tense areas with some oral techniques. I don't expect anything in return. Think you might be that friend I'm looking for? If so, hit me up and we'll make it happen." That was also in my town. All I'm saying, I guess, is that I dated Richard for a year and a half and didn't sleep with him, so I don't understand the concept of advertising for some random person.

So my day.

My alarm went off at 10:30. MK called me at 10:45. I lounged in bed until 11:30 or so, chit-chatting. I decided not to be entirely lazy today, so I got ready to go to the rec center. My shower still wasn't working, so I took all my shower stuff with me to just take a shower there. It made sense.

I ellipticaled, "ran," and machined for 45 minutes or so. I feel like such a loser when I hear people like my friend Carol say, "Yeah, I was at the Y for 2 hours." I'm thinking. . .what the hell do you do for 2 hours? I'm saying an hour tops. Maybe because I'm. . .not the gym-going type? I don't know. So after all that, I go get a shower. I had, in fact, forgotten what it was like to take a public place shower. I felt like I was either at camp or in college again. It was not an altogether pleasant feeling.

So after the shower, I had one of my "episodes." I have two kinds of these. The first one I haven't had since I left Raleigh (thank God), but it's when my blood sugar goes dangerously low overnight, and I don't wake up unless woken up. The last time this happened to me, I was hours late for work because my blood sugar had gone so low, my alarm didn't wake me up. My dad always left before I did, so he didn't think anything of the fact that I wasn't up when he left. My mom called me like 5 times before the phone woke me up and I answered. My job had called me, my temp agency had called me. . .none of it woke me up. When I was finally roused from my being passed out (there's a fine line, I've found, between being asleep and being passed out.) my blood sugar was, like, 20. Luckily, this hasn't happened since I've lived here. I'm super careful to eat something before I go to bed so it DOESN'T happen, but I'm continually scared that it's going to happen, and no one's going to realize that I'm. . .essentially passed out. And then I will die. And no one will know.

But anyway.

It happened once in college, senior year. I went to bed at midnight and didn't wake up again until 5:30 the next day. When I came out of it, I was actually getting out of the shower. I don't remember getting INTO the shower, so that was particularly scary. I also missed a fraternity meeting, but when I explained what had happened, it was excused. But really? I took an entire freaking shower, and washed my hair without being conscious of it. I think the only reason I came out of it was because I had (thankfully) detached my insulin pump before getting in the shower, so that probably helped my blood sugar to rise.

It's like being in a daze. You really feel like you've lost hours of your life, because you have. I lost that entire Sunday. And I don't know why it happens.

The kind I had today is ever so slightly less scary, but still vaguely terrifying. What happens is, I feel like I'm getting overheated, and I start to black out. Like, I can see blackness creeping in from the corners of my eyes, and if I don't sit down, it's entirely possible that I'll hit the floor. It seems like this happens to me most often when I'm in the shower, and I hypothesize that it has something to do with the hot water. Probably the reason diabetics aren't supposed to get into hot tubs and saunas (I did hit the floor in a sauna once. That's actually kind of gross, but it happened. I never again ignored that sign that said diabetics should not use the sauna.) The last time this happened to me, I was in the shower, but I was at home, so it wasn't so bad. I just laid on my little sofa until the overpowering blackness went away. The time before that, it happened in the newsroom. If I remember correctly, Dennis and Kim were there, and I may have worried them a little. The time before THAT was actually at graduation. I was walking toward my seat and I literally could not see where I was walking, because. . . I couldn't see. There was literally blackness closing over my eyes, and it was all I could do to walk straight. And I was wearing heels. I had to sit down when I got to my seat, despite the fact that everyone else was still standing. That was really scary, because there was the potential for me to pass out in front of thousands of people. I didn't, luckily.

So today, I got through the shower, and decided to get dressed in the stall, because there were children running around the changing area, and I felt creepy walking out in a towel. I managed to get my shirt on before I got really, really dizzy. The overheated dizzy that goes along with one of these "episodes." Luckily, the shower was one of those with. . .there's the shower, and there's a curtain in front of it, and then there's a little area with a bench-looking thing, and a curtain in front of THAT as well. I wrapped my towel around my waist and sat down on that bench thing, putting my head on my knees. I felt like the room was spinning, and I was honestly afraid I was about to pass out. I didn't know where to go for help because, for one, I'm wearing a shirt and a towel, and for another, I couldn't stand up without feeling like I was going to fall down. I could feel the blackness creeping over my eyes, and I would be DAMNED if I was going to pass out in a public shower.

So I sat there for. . .however long (The entirety of this story took place between 1:08 and 1:53. I know this because when I put my insulin pump back in, having taken it off to take the shower, it was suspended at 1:08 and when I unsuspended it, it was 1:53.) I felt a little better, and decided to try to make it out to the changing area/locker room. I didn't attempt to put my jeans on, because I didn't want to overexert myself. I made it. . .to the bench about 5 steps outside the shower before I had to sit down again. Again, I had to put my head on my knees. I was seriously overheated, and I couldn't walk straight. After an undetermined amount of time, I decided to try again. This time, I made it to where the bathroom stalls were (about 25 paces away), and I had to make the choice again to either sit down or fall down. I chose to sit down. Unfortunately, I chose to sit down in a stall where someone had, for some reason completely unbeknownst to me, thrown a really, really dirty diaper away in those little things intended to throw away feminine hygiene product wrappers. Thanks to this, I gagged every time I tried to take a deep breath to clear my head. I tried putting the towel around my just-washed hair over my face so I could breathe, but the smell of the flower shampoo I'd used made me even more dizzy. It was a lose-lose. Really, a true comedy of errors. If it weren't so utterly terrifying, it would have been. . .a little funny. I'm sure I'll find it at least mildly humorous one of these days.

So I'm sitting there, really thinking I'm going to either A) die, B) pass out, or C) pass out, catch some gross disease from a bathroom floor, and then die. I put my head between my knees, trying to breathe and not gag or get dizzy, and I notice something very odd. I don't know if this has happened to me every time I've had one of these "episodes," but my feet were. . .purple. They were swollen and purple and you could see every cute shoe-induced scar I've got on them. Also the scar from the removal of the tumor thing. Every little imperfection on my feet was very pronounced, but what really concerned me was the color. They were honest to God purple, with weird white spots along the arches. I'm wondering if this could give me some insight into why this happens, or what exactly is happening when this happens. But they were gross-looking. I mean, more gross-looking than feet usually are.

After what had to have been 25 minutes or so, I was finally able to get up, get my jeans on, and walk out to where my locker was. I got my stuff together VERY slowly, didn't bother to dry my hair (like I needed more heat pointed straight at my head), and left. When I walked outside, the sun seemed oddly bright. It hurt my eyes. This may have been thanks to the "episode." I sat in my car for a while before leaving, not wanting to, you know, pass out behind the wheel. I felt better by this point, though, so after returning Carol's message she'd left, I headed out to get groceries.

I now have legit groceries in my house, and I will be bringing my lunch EVERY DAY this week (except Tuesday, where I'm going to a luncheon. Not just a lunch. A luncheon. I'm going to have to be "business professional" that day. And I will be lunching on quiche.) And I have dinner, probably, too. Unless I get the urge to go out for dinner one night or something.

Then I met up with Carol, and we walked Main Street a little while (in the FREAKING cold), went to a little store I'd told her about, and then went to a little bookstore where we had awesome, AWESOME tea. Then she went to an engagement dinner she had tonight, and I went to Zaxby's (because they have my boneless wing meal back again. LOVE!) and then to Wal-Mart, because I was having this mad cherry pie craving like you would not BELIEVE. So I got a cherry pie.

And now, here I am, looking at the freaks on craigslist. I also got to talk to Karen, which was cool. We were able to catch up (since we hadn't talked in a while) and all is good in the world. I've had 2 glasses of wine, and it's about bed time for me.

It's been snowing this evening, and I'm hoping the roads aren't horrible so I can go into work tomorrow and not have to work a crazy day Monday.

Oh, and if you're wondering? My shower is working again. So that's good at least.

Mr. Photographer, I think I'm ready for my close up tonight. (Make sure you catch me from my good side. Pick one.)

2009-01-16T13:09:00.000-08:00

I want someone to remind me, come this summer when I'm complaining about the heat, of today, Jan. 16, 2009, when I woke up, walked out of my nice, warm room into my den, and could see my breath in the air. I still maintain that I'd rather be cold than hot (my rationale being, you can always put on more clothes, but there's only so much you can take off) but my GOD, it's cold.

Apparently, my pipes are frozen or a pipe is frozen or something, because when I turned on the shower this morning (hoping for a brief reprieve from the cold by the way of a really, REALLY hot shower), a few drops of freezing cold water dripped out. . .and that was it. I said. . .well, what I said wasn't particularly lady-like, but then I realized that every other source of water in my apartment worked just fine (bathroom sink, toilet, kitchen sink) but it was just that one. Of course. If it's not functioning by the time I get home tonight, I'll probably have to see if I can take a shower at Carrie's. But that was just annoying.

And then! I'd almost forgotten about this, but I was really glad today that my epic, extreme fear of birds, which has since been basically dissuaded, isn't as bad as it used to be, because while I was locking the door to my apartment, I heard a faint rustling at the bottom of the Stairway of Doom. My first thought was, "Great. Crazy Lady's outside, and I'm going to have to talk to her/be yelled at by her/have her tell me how I'm the noisiest tenant ever/etc. I'm not in the mood for this."

So I started down the stairs and stopped when I realized there was a bird sitting on the very bottom stair, giving me a "You lookin' at me?" kind of look. Seriously, it looked pissed. The door was closed, so the best I can figure is that my neighbor inadvertently let the bird in last night when he came in and closed the door behind him.

I'm having this stand-off with this bird. It's looking at me, I'm looking at it. I take a step down the stairs, and he FREAKS OUT, flapping and flying everywhere. I'm reminded of why I was so afraid of birds. He lands on the door frame (I'm still not sure how he was holding on, actually) and stands there looking at me again. I take another step, and he freaks out again. I duck and cover, because I don't care what you say, I remain convinced that it is possible for a bird to decide to attack a person.

I finally decide that going to work is a good option for the day, man up, duck and cover, and take the rest of the stairs. Quickly. Bird FREAKS OUT and flies past my head, up the stairs, as I take a flying leap out the door. I left the door open so he could get out, though. I just hope he didn't scare the bejeezus out of my neighbor.

I have not gotten nearly enough work done today, which is why I'll probably be here for another hour or so. Friday is the day I should get the most done, but I just wasn't feeling it today. I'll come in either tomorrow or Sunday (probably Sunday, so I have some company) and then finish everything on Monday (deadline day). I hate how lame my cover stories have been here recently, but I've got a cool Girl Scout cookie one coming up in a couple weeks, and when the spring and summer months finally hit, I'll have events to put on the front.

Coming up, I also have the bridal tab (March), Home and Garden (April), Graduation (June) and Choose to Refuse in August. I've never been much for looking in the long-term, but I got the schedule yesterday, and I know if I don't start thinking about them now, I won't remember, and the deadlines will sneak up on me.

OK, so I'm home now after, like, 7 hours. Carrie and I went to IHOP for dinner, and I actually ended up bringing the copy of my publication with the column I wrote about that IHOP and giving it to the manager. As it turned out, a couple that was there at the same time Carrie and I were had told the manager about the article. It's amazing how stuff like that happens. I, occasionally, love my job.

Some stuff has been going on recently that has brought me, in a rather violent fashion, into remembering aspects of my childhood that I hadn't thought about, hadn't cared to think about, for quite some time. (That sounds more dramatic than I needed it to. I'm not talking about any kind of weird abuse or anything in my past. There was none. I'm talking more on an emotional level.) I've thought about stuff and remembered things and actually, that in combination with that short story I found the other night, has made me write again. Fiction, I mean. I started writing another short the other night, and it's a lot slower goings than writing used to be for me, but that's because fiction hasn't been something I've been focusing on, I think. I may put it up after I finish it. Possibly.

It's 8 degrees outside right now. And, incidentally, my shower is still not working. I'm going to have to go elsewhere for my shower tomorrow. Probably to Carrie's.

I'm going to head to bed.

I'll be there for you (when the rain starts to fall)

2009-01-12T20:18:00.000-08:00

I went to this writing Web site I used to be a member of, years ago this evening. Back in the day, I was a "preferred member," of the site. I had a portfolio of a couple dozen short stories that people told me were really good, they got 4- and 5-star ratings consistently, and they were probably decent.

I let the site lapse for a year or two, and when I returned in 2005, I found that my portfolio had been deleted. I, of course, typed these stories straight into the site, and I have no record of them anywhere.

When I returned back then, in 2005, I wrote three things. Upon signing in this evening, I found that they're still there. The three things I wrote four years ago. I was 20 years old, a sophomore in college, writing short stories because that's what I wanted to do with my life. I wanted to be a writer.

Now, four years later, I find these stories again, and I wonder where it all went. Where did the ideas for short stories go? Where did that drive go that I used to have, when I wrote short stories all the time? Now I try to write long, involved novellas that I lose steam on halfway (or a quarter of the way) through that never go anywhere. Maybe my short stories weren't Pulitzer Prize-winning, and maybe I was writing about things I had no idea about, but they were mine.

I'm going to put the shorter of the two on here. I don't know where the idea for this came from. I'm going to put it straight in as-is, so there may be typos or whatever. But when I read this, I wondered where this person went.

I don't think I'm going to leave a note.

That's what everyone does, you know? Whenever someone kills themselves, there's usually a note. It tells whoever is unlucky enough to find the body why they did it, who they're blaming, and sometimes what is supposed to happen to their stuff. "Give all my money to charity" or "I want my sister Joyce to have my puppy" or even "I leave you all with the guilt of knowing that you drove me to this."

No, definitely no note. I don't think that anyone would really understand it. A note would make things worse.

You're probably asking yourself at this point why I would do it. Why a pretty, popular 18-year-old cheerleader would be sitting at a table with a bottle of vodka and ten codeine pills in front of her.

You want the truth?

Truth is, I'm bored. I'm just tired of living.

I'm not depressed. I've never been raped, beaten, treated badly, or even dumped. I just don't feel like there's anything left for me to do.

One pill. A swig of the vodka.

I'm supposed to graduate next month. And then do what? Go to college. I got a full ride to the State college for cheerleading. I didn't even know schools did that. But there she was, that cheering scout wearing way too much eyeshadow (it was blue for Chrissakes) and that big, blonde hair teased within an inch of its life. That was probably the style back when she was a cheerleader. In the 60's.

So my college is paid for. But I don't actually want to go to college. Try telling my mom that.

"For God's sake, Trinity. You'll never meet a man if you don't go to college."

She doesn't care what I do, really. And I'm not saying that in a, "Oh, my parents don't love me, guess I'll kill myself" sort of way. I just mean that she really doesn't care what I do. I've been drinking since I was 14. I've been smoking since I could drive. I got a car for my 16th birthday. I've been fucking guys, sometimes in mom and dad's bed, for. . .How many years? I've lost track.

I've basically got the parents that are every high schooler's wet dream. They sign the report cards, come to the games when I'm cheering. . .do all the good parent stuff. Mom even makes my lunches. Usually bologna, or peanut butter and strawberry jelly. Sometimes she'll make nachos. I bet you didn't know they were good cold.

Pill number two. Two shots.

Seriously, though. I'm done. There's nothing left for me. Seems to me that dying is the only way to erase the boredom. I'm never going to go anywhere. Never going to do anything.

It's not like I'm Natalie Keys. She's known since she was, like, 5 that she wanted to be a doctor. Got a scholarship to fucking Princeton. She turned down offers from Yale and Duke University in North Carolina. That girl's going places.

It's not like I'm Radeesha Jones. She wants to be the next Oprah. She's been hosting our school's gay little morning talk show that lasts maybe 15 minutes since we were freshmen. She's got the look and the personality for it. All she needs is the millions.

It's not even like I'm Jenny Figler. She had to drop out in January because she had her kid, Emily. Beautiful baby girl. I went to her baby shower and gave her a pink blanket, made out of the softest fleece I'd ever felt. She's living with her boyfriend, this guy she met over the internet named Ted. They're getting married in the fall. She says this is all she's ever wanted. To be a young mother and to get married.

I've never wanted anything like that. I've never wanted. . .anything.

Pills three and four. Two more shots.

I guess it's a good thing mom had these painkillers left over from her knee surgery. Because otherwise, it would have been a bitch to find something that worked. We don't keep any kid of medication in the house, except for aspirin. And I wasn't going to use a gun. Too nasty. And I wouldn't hang myself. Too dramatic. I'm just gonna fade away.

That's what I'd do anyway, you know. Fade away. Once I got to college? Just fade away. Sure, I'd be a cheerleader. But what would I do once there was nothing to cheer for? Once all the uniforms were all hung up, and I had just my academics to look forward to.

I don't want to do anything. I don't want to be anything.

I'm kind of a waste of space. Shit, I'm getting dizzy.

Five, six, seven. One, two, three.

I've never actually liked the taste of vodka. Nasty stuff. Tastes like rubbing alcohol. But that's what people are drinking these days, I guess.

I wonder if I'm dying now. It sure feels like it. It's like my eyelids are twitching, and there's this weird roaring in my ears.

It sounds like that time I almost drowned at the beach when I was 4. All I can remember about that was trying to cry, but instead, getting a mouthful of salty water. I think i swallowed a little fish. But that sound. I could never forget that sound. It was like everything was caving in on me.

This is all I have left.

Eight, nine, ten. One big gulp.

I certainly feel like I'm dying now. I've never been so dizzy in my life. Even when I fell off of that pyramid. Sydney wanted to be on the top, but I insisted. I guess she'll be able to be on the top now.

Maybe I should have written a note. I hope someone takes care of my fish. And that someone knows how valuable my CD collection is.

But most of all, I hope they know I wasn't unhappy. Not really.

I was just bored.

And now I'm just tired.

So I'm going to lay my head down on the table.

Good night.

So there's that. It's. . .it's kind of morbid, and it's cynical and it's. . .how I used to write. Why can't I still do that? Sure, it's angsty, but it was. . .I don't know.

I'm not even entirely sure why I'm putting this here. I don't tend to like to share my fiction writing.

I don't know. I miss fiction.

I'm not here for your entertainment. You don't really want to mess with me tonight. Just stop and take a second.

2009-01-08T07:12:00.001-08:00

Another day, another dollar.

I did actually sleep last night, thanks to a couple glasses of wine and one off-brand Tylenol PM. (I only took one because I didn't want to pull a Heath Ledger combining it with the wine.)

Last night, I left work early (well, no. Early for me. I left at 5:30.) The snow was pouring down in such a way that I couldn't see five feet in front of me, so I was driving at a crawl. I get home, hang up the phone from the call I was on, and decide that I'm going to make myself dinner, wash a couple of dishes (because they're gross) and have some wine. And watch Friends. Sounds lovely.

So I did. I made pasta salad (a little too much mayo, but still edible), washed plates (the cups, bowls, Tupperware and utensils will come later), and finished off the bottle of wine Nick and I had begun the night before. There were like two glasses left. If you know me, you know I tend to have a very low alcohol tolerance, so I was feeling pretty good after those two glasses. During this time, MK called, so we talked for 20 minutes or so. Then I settled in to watch TV on a freakishly cold night. Some might think that sounds like a pathetic evening (and by some, I mean NewJeff, who called me and told me as much), but I thoroughly enjoyed myself. And I only sent one sad "Come back!" message to Nick.

I don't know if I mentioned how excited I was about my issue of my publication this week, but it, literally, turned out perfectly. There is nothing I would change. It is perfection, and if I were a TV show like Seinfeld, I would quit right now. Because it isn't going to get any better than this.

No, that sounds pessimistic. I don't mean it like that. I just mean that I had this vision of what I wanted, and that vision was printed and distributed throughout the county. I'm especially excited because I designed the centerspread myself. Well, no. Dennis helped me with Photoshop, because I'm unable to do that myself, since I know nothing about it, and after he put the individual pieces in for me and showed me how to work it, THEN I did it myself.

I have to, right now, say that when it comes to helping me with things I need, design and photo-wise, I could not ask for two better people to work with than NewJeff and Dennis. Between the two of them, they make me look good. Seriously. Out of the. . .however many issues I've done so far, there's only been one cover I wasn't crazy about, and that was the first one. But I was too stressed out and behind deadline that I wasn't going to worry about it. Since then, though, I've had no complaints. And thanks to Dennis, I now know a little bit about Photoshop and I can start designing and implementing my own centerspreads. So thanks, guys. Even though I know at least one of you doesn't know this blog is here.

I wonder, wonder why the wonder falls. I wonder why the wonder falls on me.

2009-01-07T00:49:00.000-08:00

3:49 a.m, and I am shown, once again, that being up all night with no sleep (because I didn't take the proper drugs because of the wine I consumed) is not as glamorous and as rock star-like as one might initially think. In this case, though, I blame a combination of not taking the proper sleep aid and being stressed out about. . .things I don't need to be stressed out about. I'm expecting a phone call today that I'm dreading. I'm dreading it because, while it could, in fact, be a simple, innocuous phone call, I have the sneaking suspicion there's going to be more to it than that. Call me paranoid, but I'm just not up to exchanging pleasantries with someone I know would probably give me a good, swift roundhouse kick to the jaw if given the opportunity.

Nick's been here since Sunday evening, which has been nice. Occasionally, I'm reminded of life outside of work, and someone being here helps. I had yesterday (Tuesday) off (since I used my last 2008 vacation day to accomplish that) and we went to Asheville to hang out. After an IHOP run (the same IHOP I went to New Year's Day. Yes, I know. But he paid! So I didn't feel guilty!), and then we went to Target (which we don't have where I live) and the mall.

Let me tell you: The mall? Dangerous place to be right after the holidays. Everyone is having sales, and they're good sales, and sales tend to make me think I need things I really don't need. However, I only made purchases from two stores, two stores that are usually relatively on the pricey side (Bath and Body Works and Victoria's Secret) and since they were both having their semi-annual sales, I was able to spend much less on what I bought than I would have otherwise. And that will be the last of Sarah-purchases for a while, because I need to get my bank account back where it should be, rather than in the scary place in which it currently resides.

I have an incredibly busy day ahead of me, and that's partially why I'm so pissed I'm not getting any sleep. I have a phone interview sometime this morning, I have the phone call that could potentially not end well, and I have a lunch thing with two women who want me to write an article (two articles, actually, one for the actually paper and one for my publication) about their organization.

You know, I have to say. . . one of the hardest things about being in this business is realizing that sometimes, people don't actually like you, but they're really, really nice to you to get things they want. There have been instances where people have been super nice to me, and then once they've gotten what they've wanted, I don't ever hear from them. There are, of course, flip sides to that: people who are nice to me AFTER I've done something nice for them, and that's fine. One of the women from one of the animal shelters in town has never been anything but nice to me, and when she asks me to do something, if I can't do it right away, or if I can't fit it in, she doesn't get indignant or anything like that. And she still e-mails me to see how my holidays were, or to comment on something she saw I wrote in the paper.

But then there are the other people. The people who remind me why I need to keep personal and business as two entirely seperate entities. (Which, incidentally, I'm usually pretty good at doing. I'm friends with people at work, but if I need something that I'm not getting, I don't let the friendship aspect get in the way of, "Hey, dude. I need this." Like NewJeff, for instance. I went to see his band on New Year's Eve, but if I don't like something he's done on one of my covers, I'll say, "Well, actually, what I had in mind was more like this." I'm not worried about offending him on a "friends" level, because it's entirely business. Just because I don't like the color of the font he used doesn't mean I'm going to say no when he asks me if I want to walk down to the gas station for a Coke.)

The people I'm talking about were the people I worked with during the Make-A-Wish motorcycle rally thing. I know I wrote about that back in. . .September? It was a two-part entry, I remember that. But up until that point, these people were pretty much falling all over themselves to be nice to me, to get me to get-togethers (get-togethers which I later found out were kind of expected to have been part of some kind of article). I got a call from one of the people a couple of weeks ago from one of the people who told me about a Make-A-Wish event happening. . .I believe it was that evening. I was asked if I'd be able to attend because "they'd love to have me." And then it was added, as if as an afterthought, "Oh, and if you could write something up for Monday's paper, that'd be good, too."

Up until that point right there, I'd been planning to go. Not for work, but just to go. But after that? I did not attend. If you want me to go somewhere to write a story for you, then you need to say, "Hey, Sarah, there's this event, and I wondered if you could do a write up for us." Don't pretend you actually want me as a person there and then throw in an "Oh, by the way." That just makes me angry.

The women I mentioned I'm meeting later today? One of them (Jan) called me last week and said, "Sarah, I wondered if we would be able to have a lunch meeting next week so we can discuss an article about the Guild's upcoming membership meeting." Very straightforward. I knew what was being asked of me and, as a journalist, that's my job. Since I like her, I offered to do the two stories, one about the upcoming meeting for my publication, and one for the Lifestyles section after the meeting happened. (The Lifestyles section tends to be a more after-the-fact kind of thing.) And I don't mind doing that in the least, because she was straightforward with me about what she was asking.

Another person (and I'm sorry I'm ranting about this. . .I'm just kind of on a roll and I'm incredibly irritated that I'm awake.) that has done something similar was another person involved with the M-A-W thing. I've mentioned her before, the editor from California, who, after I'd mentioned our photographer covering the event, was saying, oh, yeah, I could get this for you to do, and that, and the other thing, and then once I introduced her to Dennis, guess how many times I've heard from her. Once. She e-mailed me to ask if Dennis had gotten her e-mail about the pictures she wanted to use for her magazine of the event. The free publicity. (No that's not entirely fair. I don't actually know if it was free publicity. I haven't asked him if she paid for the pictures or not, so I can't say that definitively.)

Point being, she's been in fairly constant contact with him (the person who had what she REALLY wanted) and I'm not too proud to say I'm irritated and. . .whatever, that after saying all this stuff, the only real use she had for me was to get a really good photographer for photos for her magazine.

Maybe I'm petty. All I'm saying is, if the only use for me you have is getting to someone else, just say, "Hey, thanks for his card. Can you introduce me to him tomorrow?" Period. I'll say sure (since it is, of course, a business transaction) and that'll be the end of it. If Dennis had been there the night I met the woman, I have a feeling we wouldn't have exchanged more than pleasantries.

I swear I'm not going around thinking about this all the time. It's just something that's there, and when I started talking about it, I felt the need to finish, and I won't mention it again. Probably.

I'm sure I'm going to be a joy and a pleasure to be around when I get into work. I'm going to try not to let me lack of sleep get in the way of me getting done what needs to get done. And then I'm going to take some serious sleep medication tonight, and maybe my sleep schedule will get back on track. Or. . .as close to being on track as it ever was.

I think I've already lost you. I think you're already gone. I think I'm finally scared now. You think I'm weak; I think you're wrong.

2009-01-04T10:08:00.001-08:00

I feel like I've been very productive today, and I've only been out of bed for, like, 5 minutes when I went to get cereal. And a diet Mountain Dew. The breakfast of champions.

This is a Sunday that I'm actually not going into work, which is an abnormal occurrence to say the least. I did, however, get work done, as I sent e-mails to people about future issues I'm planning. (Girl Scout cookie season and the fact that I hear tell that MTV's Made will be filming at a local high school.) I think those would both be interesting, even though that doesn't really help me with next week's issue, for which I have. . .nothing, pretty much. One of the ad reps downstairs suggested getting with local gyms and exercise places for those people who made the inevitable "lose weight" New Year's resolution, so I may do that. Of course, I'm well aware that the only reason she suggested that was because she wants her gym, which also happens to be an advertiser, featured, but that's ok. Advertisers = Money and Money = Sarah having a job. So I'm OK with all that.

Oh, Girl Scout cookies. If anyone out there wants to completely secure their place on Sarah's List of People Who Rock, you could give me Girl Scout cookies. Samoas are my first choice (Oh, Samoas, how I love you) and Tagalongs are my second (because the combination of peanut butter and chocolate was invented by someone who knew what they were doing.) I feel like they've renamed the cookies for some reason (I wrote an article about them last year, and I feel like I remember that.) but, for the uninitiated among you, Samoas are the ones with the coconut and Tagalongs are the chocolate and peanut butter ones. (Duh.) I always have to keep my Girl Scout cookies in the freezer, because then I forget they're there, and I don't eat the entire box. Because I'm almost certain Girl Scout cookies are laced with crack.

So other than that, I've been working on MK's Christmas present (Yes. I'm still working on it. And yes, I'm OK with that.) which is going to be super cool, and I'm thinking about cleaning, because Nick's coming up later this evening. Not that I think I have to impress Nick, but it's nice to have a clean(ish) house when you have company.

There's really nothing else of interest happening in my life at the moment. I don't know. It's oddly calm. Honestly, I kind of hate when that happens, because that, almost inevitably, means something's brewing. That something's going to happen and turn everything upside down. I'm trying to remain optimistic, though, and just think that maybe I'll be allowed to be calm and happy for a while.

Athough, you know, I feel that I need a project. I need something outside of work to do. And if that something could raise me some extra funds, that would be fab. Because I'm. . .a little behind.

But I'm not going to think about that right now, because I can't actually do anything about it, seeing as to how no one will hire me part-time. You know that old saying about how, if you do what you love, the money will follow? That's crap. Do not believe that saying. You can be doing something you love and still be living barely above the poverty line. I'm just sayin'.

So there's a short update, I guess. I really am going to try to update more, but I'm not going to make it a "resolution" because I never keep those.

Superstar, where you from? How's it goin'? I know you got a clue what you doin'.

2009-01-01T15:10:00.000-08:00

And we're back for part 2 of the story. After a day of reading "The Secret Diary of a Call Girl" (pretty good. Not Pulitzer-worthy, but I don't regret the amount of time I have an will continue to put into it), watching Iron Chef America, napping and talking to MK, I'm feeling good. Usually, when I spend a day doing nothing productive, I feel guilty about it, but not today. Today, the only negative is that my back kind of hurts from sitting in bed as long as I have. But hey, at least I got dressed!

OK, so back to last night. After the Convict said he felt like we were talking about him (We were.) and NewJeff said we weren't (He lied.) we got our complimentary (kind of gross) champagne, and went back out to the main area of the place to wait for midnight. While waiting for midnight to strike, I see, out of the corner of my eye, Convict just WATCHING me. Creepy. Severely creepy. Midnight strikes, there is general merriment (I didn't mention before, and it should be noted, that watching middle-aged people dance drunkenly and grope each other on the dance floor is. . .kind of fun. It would have been better if I'd had someone to watch them with me, but being someone who likes to people watch, I thoroughly enjoyed that part of the evening. But seriously? These people were basically getting it on on the dance floor.) I was toasted by Katia (which made me think maybe her disliking me was all in my head) and toasted from across the room by this woman who later came over and hit on me.

Everyone made the rounds, toasting everyone, saying happy new year, rocking out to the music, etc. The woman came over and hit on me, one of the guys in the band who remembered me from when I dropped NewJeff off at rehearsal once came over and said hi. . .I was a lot less awkward at that point, but I also know that I was about ready to go. I stayed for a couple songs, and then headed out, as I was picking Carrie up from a church function.

I head out the door, say goodnight to the guy at the door I'd talked to when I came in, and started to head to my car. I heard the door close behind me, and, as I was walking down the stairs, I heard the door open again and footsteps behind me. I keep walking, but not toward my own car. I had a feeling I knew who was behind me, and I didn't want him knowing which car was mine. So I stopped at this random car and pulled on my gloves (this is quasi-important later) as Convict walks up to me. "You leaving?" he asks. "Yep," I said, pulling my keys out of my purse and putting them in my pocket. At the same time I put the keys in my pocket, I pull my cell phone out and transfer it to my other, empty pocket. I flipped the phone open inside my coat pocket and, through the amazing power of texting all the time, managed to text "911" (I am, upon further consideration, really glad I knew how many presses of the "1" button it took to actually get a number one, rather than punctuation [13, if you're interested] because there was a distinct possibility that the message could have read "9]]" and I probably would have had people thinking I was just drunk texting.) to the last person I'd sent a message to. (So really, any of you that I was texting last night could have received that message, and I wonder if everything would have turned out the same way.)

He started asking me if he could have my phone number so he could take me out, and I told him, no, no, I'm actually married. (He wouldn't have been able to confirm whether or not I was wearing a ring when I talked to him the first time because I was holding a plate in my left hand and it obstructed the view of my fingers. This time, since I'd put on my gloves, he couldn't tell then, either.) I said my husband wouldn't appreciate it, but he seemed nice, etc. He started to say something else, stepping closer to me, making me painfully aware that there was absolutely no one outside, and the music was so loud inside that if I screamed, no one would even hear me, when my phone rang. My text message, it seems, served its purpose. I said, "Oh, there he is now," and answered with a chipper, "Hey, sweetie, I was just talking about you." Never mind that I've never in my life called someone I was involved with "sweetie," but it seemed like something you'd call a husband. I don't know. I've never had one. My savior on the other end asked me if I was OK, and I said, "Yeah, yeah, I'm leaving right now. I'm just having a conversation with a gentleman in the parking lot." She said, "Are you OK? Is everything alright?" and I said, "Yes. I was actually hoping you'd call, because I wanted to ask you if you wanted me to pick anything up on the way home." (Never mind it was like 1 a.m. and nowhere would be open.)

The conversation went on like that for another couple of minutes, and Convict was still standing there. I was beginning to wonder how long I was going to have to stand there in the cold, talking to my "husband," leaning against some random person's car, before he'd leave. Lucky for me, people started coming out of the bar, and Convict lost interest and wandered back inside. I hung up from my call, promising I'd tell her what happened later, and kind of sprinted to my car, locking the doors behind me and tearing out of the parking lot ASAP.

So that? Is how my evening ended.

And I have to make a note here: If you are someone who knows the story of what happened last night, and when you see me, you give me an uncomfortably firm handshake and an uncomfortable hug, imitating what Convict did, even though I don't realize it until after you do it, that? Is a dick move. And so incredibly immature and rude, I can't even really explain it. Period.

I am now going to venture out and go to Asheville right now. Because I'm craving IHOP, and it's going to be my last hurrah before I make good on my decision (not resolution. Decision.) to cook more.

Oh, but before I go. . .I am completely and utterly obsessed with this song right now:

Say what you will about Britney Spears, but not only is she hot, she performs a damn catchy song. It doesn't hurt that this has become the theme song for the very sexy Chuck Bass (On Gossip Girl) and that YouTube has several videos with clips from the show between him and Blair Waldorf (another hot one) that are awesome.

Yes, I'm lusting after characters on a TV show. What of it?

Incidentally, Nick sent me this video because he wanted me to see how attractive the main man is, but I spent the entire video watching Britney. Something about a girl who changes identities by changing her hair. It's hot.

But yes. Ever since I ripped this CD from Ashley, I've been playing this song pretty much non-stop on my iPod (for which I now have awesome, AWESOME headphones I'll have to talk about later.)

Pancake time!

And thunder so loud from a black thundercloud. A natural disaster I know nothing about; tell me why (why) haven't I heard from you?

2009-01-01T11:07:00.001-08:00

Happy 2009, everyone. Hope everyone had a great evening and that there are no raging hangovers.

I ended up having an OK time last night. It wasn't the best New Year's Eve I've ever had, but it was better, honestly, than I expected. For most of it, it was, I'm not going to lie, incredibly uncomfortable. Mainly because I don't do well in crowds, and I especially don't do well in crowds where I don't know anyone (or, in this case, I know few people. The only people I knew were NewJeff and his wife, Katia.)

I got there at about quarter 'til 10 and called Ashley to talk to her until I wasn't early. (NewJeff had told me to be there at 10.) I went in and sat at the table where NewJeff was sitting until the band started and where his wife was sitting. I feel a little bit of. . .something from his wife. I kind of get the impression she doesn't like me, but since I've never actually done anything to her, I just have to assume that either she's just not a person that is genial to people she doesn't know well, or I'm just paranoid. Maybe it's a combination of the two.

Anyway, they started playing around 10:15, and over the next hour and a half, I listened to the music (awkwardly, I might add) and texted Ashley and MK. Truly, I was so far out of my element, I was wondering if the entire evening was just going to be incredibly awkward for me. At about 20 'til 12, the band stopped playing and there was a random buffet. Score. NewJeff came down and was talking to me, so I felt exponentially more comfortable (not that NewJeff makes me feel more comfortable in general, but the fact that I had someone to talk to that didn't involve small talk was good.) He was fighting about something with his wife, so that was awkward, but I was so relieved to have someone to talk to, and that particular level of awkward was so much less than the level of awkward I was feeling prior, it was a welcome change.

So I'm standing there and this guy comes up to me. He was looking rough. Very, very rough. He holds out his hand and says, "We haven't met. I'm _______." I don't remember his name. He didn't look like he was mentally all there. But he had an uncomfortably firm handshake. . .it was like, I was well aware of the fact that if he wanted to, this man could probably break my hand without thinking twice about it. Then he kissed my hand, during which time I literally had to hold back a shiver of revulsion. Like. . .it was SO UNCOMFORTABLE. He finally lets go, and I take a step back. It occurs to me now that I probably should have given him a fake name, but I am in situations like this so infrequently, it didn't even occur to me. However, Sarah is a common enough name that I don't think it was a big deal.

He starts talking to me about how he's never seen me there before, and he hopes that 2009 is better than 2008 was. I said something like, "Yeah, it was a rough year for me, too," you know, trying to make small talk with this man who made me so uncomfortable, I wanted to run away screaming and take a scalding shower to get the fact that he kissed my hand off of me. But I also got the impression that if I were rude, or if I made it obvious he was making me uncomfortable, I would probably regret it somehow.

Then he says to me, "Yeah, well, I was in prison this year."

Yikes.

I said, "Oh. Well, that WOULD make for a bad year." This is a prime example of both me talking too much when I get uncomfortable and me saying probably the wrong thing at the wrong time.

He continues with, "It was a little thing. I didn't kill nobody. Didn't rape nobody." And as he's saying this, he's stepping closer to me and I'm fighting the urge to run away.

During this time, I'd forgotten NewJeff was standing behind me. But he was, watching the entire exchange. The Convict gestured toward NewJeff and said, "Is this your boyfriend?"

Now, if I were smart, and if I were used to creepy guys hitting on me, I would have said yes. However, I'm so used to denying involvement with NewJeff (I can't remember if I mentioned in here how everyone at work thinks he and I have something going on, but they do. I have said, "No. There is NOTHING GOING ON," so many times, it's really just become second nature.) that I immediately said, "No! No, he's not my boyfriend."

Stupid, stupid Sarah.

He said something I don't remember, and said it was nice to meet me. And then he hugged me. I could feel my gag reflex acting up, but he was surprisingly strong for someone so short. Again, I felt like if I legitimately tried to struggle to get away, I wouldn't be able to. He tried to kiss my face but I twisted my head so he couldn't get to me, and he finally let go. I (again, talking too much and talking nervously) said something to the effect of, "Oh, wow. I'm not really a hugging person." He walked away.

NewJeff (who, if you'll remember, was standing right behind me the entire time) comes up and says something like, "You know, if, in a situation like that, you need me to be your boyfriend, that's fine."

I didn't think about this until later, but when I did think about it, I. . .got mad. Jeff just stood there and watched this entire exchange. I mean, when the guy who we suspect may have been slightly stalking Carrie was in her office, I went into her office and stood there while he talked to her, because I could tell she was a little freaked out. Jeff just stood there. (When I told Carrie about this later, she said, "Well. . .he's Jeff." Legit. But that doesn't mean that I wasn't still angry about it.)

Anyway, Jeff then proceeds to tell me that the guy had gotten out of prison three months ago for "involuntary manslaughter." He'd been in for like 6 years, apparently. Now, I don't know a whole lot about the justice system, but I so know that sometimes, you can plead down. So it's entirely possible that he killed someone on purpose but was sentenced to a lesser sentence or something. I don't know how he got there, but the point was, he was there.

The guy kept looking at me, and as Jeff is saying something to the effect of, yeah, you should stay away from that guy, the guy walks by again and says something to the effect of, "Seems like everyone's talking about me." And Jeff says, no, man, we're not talking about you. And he kept WATCHING me.

I am actually going to go take a nap right now (because sitting in bed all day and watching Iron Chef America is truly exhausting) and I'll finish the story later.

One last thing I'll throw in that has nothing to do with anything: I randomly found out today that the Reba McEntire song "She Thinks His Name Was John," is about a woman that got AIDS from a one-night stand. I. . .had no idea. I've been listening to that song, literally, since I was about 9, and I always thought it was just a song about a woman who slept with a guy the one time, and fell in love with him but never saw him again. I could never figure out why she was making such a big deal out of it, and why she couldn't have a marriage or kids after that one night. I really thought that it was because she became so attached to him after that one night, she became obsessed and went crazy. I didn't realize how off-the-mark I was. Wow. It's weird when you find things out like that, that completely change your perception of something that you didn't realize you had a perception of in the first place. Crazy.

Interjections! Show excitement! And emotion!

2008-12-31T15:45:00.000-08:00

The last post of 2008, you guys. I'll try to avoid being overly "OMG, it's the end of the year! I'm going to get sentimental!"

I haven't written in a while, and a lot of stuff has been going on, but I'm not going to try to recount everything. I've been ludicrously happy here recently, and it's been nice.

It's New Year's Eve and I'll be going to Bryson City tonight to hear NewJeff's band. I'm not. . .honestly, I'm not thrilled about it, but I'm not going to sit at home by myself on New Year's Eve, a night when I tend to be a little overly emotional anyway (because it's usually a "Oh my GOD, it's been another year, and I'm STILL alone!" I'm not actually alone, but physically, I would be alone this evening.) I had New Year's plans, which I'd made. . .a month and a half/two months ago, but they were canceled last week. Now, I'm not going to lie. . .I'm still pissed about that. I've been good, especially recently, about not holding onto things that don't really matter, that I KNOW don't really matter, but this? I continue to be beyond pissed about this. Because this'll be the first New Year's in. . .well, since freshman year of high school, that I don't have someone to hang out with (or a group of people to hang out with.)

When I called NewJeff to get directions to the place, he mentioned how sad it is that I'm going by myself. Thank you, Jeff. I wasn't already aware of how pathetic it is. I really needed you to remind me. Much obliged.

However, the alternative is sitting at home alone, feeling really sorry for myself, and I refuse to do that. So I will look cute, I will go to Bryson City, and I will be sociable.

I honestly can't believe it's the end of the year. More has happened in the past year than I think has happened to me in the entirety of my life. I won't list it all, but just believe me when I say that this year was. . .eventful, to say the least. I don't profess to know what 2009 is going to bring, but I hope it's. . .you know, I don't want to say "better," because this past year wasn't bad, per se. A lot of crappy things happened, but it wasn't, in its entirety, a bad year.

Now that I've started this entry, I feel like I don't have as much to say as I thought I did. Maybe I felt guilty for not updating for a long period of time. I don't know. It seems like I start out having tons to say and then I lose steam.

Anyway, everyone have a happy New Year's Eve, be safe, and I'll catch everyone in 2009.

I take my pills. The babies cry. All I hear is what's playing through the in-flight radio.

2008-12-18T09:15:00.000-08:00

So I'm not going to be able to put "Sarah - award-winning writer" on my resume anytime soon. The results from the NC Press Association came in today and I didn't win anything.

However, Dennis won two different awards, and as the person that was after him saying, "You're entering, right? What are you entering? Have you picked what you're entering yet?," I'm really, really excited that he won. I knew he would, because he's really good at what he does. I really and truly can not put into words how happy I am he won, because I don't think he gets enough credit, at least around here, for all the hard work he puts in and how amazing his stuff really is.

Because of this, I'm in a weird situation at the moment. I'm so happy that he won. . .but I am, in fact, devastated that I didn't. It might sound stupid, but this was. . .I needed this. I needed something to prove to my boss that I am, in fact, not worthless in this job. I get the feeling every now and then that she doesn't think I can do anything right, and winning something, ANYTHING, would have shown that, yes, I am good at what I do. Other people think I'm good at what I do. I could have brought the letter home at Christmas and said, "Look! I'm awesome!" I had all but convinced myself I'd already won, because I thought my stuff was really good. I entered my gay article, my Make-A-Wish article and. . .something else I don't remember. And I thought they were good!

One might argue that some people around here thought they were good, too, but honestly? Some of the stuff people around this town think is "good" is. . .pretty bad. So now I'm really concerned that I'm one of those writers that is good. . .to people in Western North Carolina. That I'm right on par with the people that I don't think are very good at all.

I have this one writer (had, I guess, this one writer) that is incredibly popular with people around here. I don't think she's funny at all. I'm afraid I'm that kind of writer. That people without. . .I don't want to be insulting to people around here, because not everyone is unintelligent by any stretch of the imagination, but. . .a lot of the people around here have been here their entire lives. Small town living is all they know and sometimes, that means they haven't. . .ever experienced anything outside of their own bubble.

I'm unable to relay what I'm trying to mean. All I'm saying is that I wish I were good enough that people outside of this area thought I was, too.

I really needed this, is all I'm saying. I have been, effectively, knocked down a few pegs. Maybe I deserved that.

However, I get the feeling that Dennis needed it more, so that's good. I feel I'm growing as a person because I'm honestly, really and truly not jealous that he won. I'm not angry he won. I wish I were, actually, because I would rather be angry than incredibly sad. But he deserves it. Both of them. And I don't want to take away from that.

There's the update. I'm going to go back to work. Just regular work, though. Not award-winning work.

How they dance in the courtyard, sweet summer sweat. Some dance to remember; some dance to forget.

2008-12-16T01:22:00.000-08:00

It is currently. . .4:22 a.m. I've been lying in bed for the last hour, trying to talk myself into falling asleep, and, clearly, I did not accomplish that particular goal. I decided that getting up, turning on infomercials, blogging and finishing my freelancing projects would be more effective and time-effective than lying in bed, being really pissed off that I couldn't sleep.

Luckily, one of my absolute favorite infomercials is on: For Jack Lalanne's Power Juicer. I. . .really want this juicer. For only four payments of $49.95! It's backed by the Good Housekeeping Seal of Approval! It comes with more than 60 recipes (a $25 deal for free). If you call right now, they'll make one of the payments FOR you! That's only three payments of $49.95. But wait! Fitness phenomenon Jack Lalanne wants to celebrate his birthday by taking AN AMAZING $50 dollars off! That's like paying only TWO PAYMENTS of $49.95. Hell to the yeah. I've wanted this thing, seriously, since I first saw the infomercials about a month or so ago when Carrie and I had a sleepover of sorts, where we talked about things girls talk about, ate Doritoes, drank wine, and saw the commercial for this fabulous juicer.

Really, the only infomercial that's even remotely as good is the one for those knives. I don't know the specifics of them, but you get, like 5,000 kinds of knives that can all cut through an aluminum can (and really? I know I often get the urge to cut aluminum cans in half. So these knives are pretty much essential to my everyday life.)

So the reason I'm not sleeping is because I've been trying to not take Tylenol PM. I was afraid I was going to get addicted to it or something. As it turns out, the only thing I'm really addicted to is sleep, and now I'm not getting that. Oh yeah, and crack cocaine.

No, I'm kidding. About the crack cocaine. Not the sleep.

But I really can't sleep without something to help me along. If I drink wine before I go to bed, I can GET to sleep, but I can't STAY asleep. If I just bring myself to the absolute brink of exhaustion, I can sometimes fall asleep, but, again, I can't stay asleep. And with the Tylenol PM, 9 out of 10 nights, I can fall and stay asleep.

So what's been going on with Sarah? I've been working all the time, which is nothing new, but I've also been. . .really, really happy. Like, almost ridiculously so. It's something that you can't really exhibit at work, because then you have to contend with really annoying questions, but I'm smiling a lot more. Yesterday (Monday, my production day), I was a little stressed out when I went into work (I'll get into why in a second), but it was OK. Like. . .I didn't cry, which is my usual fallback, and I just kept plugging along. And I finished by 5! One of these days, I'll finish by 4. And maybe one day, I'll meet my 2 o'clock deadline. (Oh, don't look at me like that. The guy in prepress who does the pages doesn't come in until at LEAST 3.)

So the reason I was stressed out. Friday, Vi says to me, "Sarah, can you come into my office? We need to talk about the freelancing."

At this point, I freaked out because, as I mentioned, I've been writing freelance articles, and the first thing I thought was that she'd found out, and I wasn't allowed to do that, and I was in trouble.

(I mean, I know that pretty much everyone does it. Freelances, that is. But that's where my mind immediately went.)

As it turns out, they have cut. . .all of my funding for my publication, meaning I can't pay anyone to write for me anymore. I have a little network of freelancers, three of which were paid. The rest do it because they like to/to get their name out there/whatever. Some of them used to be paid, but stayed on after Carrie told them she couldn't pay them anymore. I was hoping that these three (The Big 3, if you will) would do the same. Or, at least one of them would do the same.

So I let the three of them know what was up. One of them wrote a "humor" column twice a month and got paid $50 a pop for them. I. . .think she was entirely overpaid, but she was popular within the county and had been doing it pretty much since the beginning, so I guess they consider her worth it. I was told to tell her that she could either do one a month for the usual $50 or, if she still wanted to do two, it would have to be cut back to $25 a month. Yes, that kind of sucks, but if you really like doing something. . .well, I'll come back to that.

One of them got paid $25 for 250 word columns and $35 for 350 word columns. Again, I felt she was overpaid, because honestly? I could write the same thing in a short amount of time. (And now, I probably will have to.)

The last one, I'm not actually sure what she got paid, because she sometimes would write things just because she wanted to and only charged for the bigger ones. She was my favorite. Not just because she's the nicest of the three, but because her work. . .ethic?. . .makes more sense to me. Charge for the bigger articles (which were always really good) and write smaller ones because you want to.

The first person I heard back from was the column-writer. Literally, I cringed when I saw the e-mail from her, because, from what I remember from Carrie talking about dealing with her, I just didn't feel like it would end well.

It didn't, really.

She was kind of bitchy about the "buy-one-get-one-free" deal and said she "couldn't deal with this right now" because she was flying. . .somewhere to do some kid's show or something. She said she'd deal with it when she got back. I'm. . .guessing that's going to be a no. She said she probably wouldn't be writing for me at all anymore.

The second one wrote me back and said she wouldn't be contributing anymore. She also told me that she would cancel the two interviews she already had lined up (which is what put me in a lurch yesterday) and for me to let her know when I could pay her again. That. . .kind of pissed me off. On the one hand, I get it, kind of. On the other hand, that was a commitment she'd already made, and she ended up really screwing me.

When talking about this situation, I've told people that, in college, I worked for my college paper, and I have no idea how much I got paid to do it. I did get paid, and it wasn't a lot, but I didn't really care. I would have done it for free, because I loved doing it. Especially senior year, when I was writing my columns. I LOVED it. So I don't entirely understand why people aren't willing to at least work with me. Maybe not write articles that are as long. Maybe not write them as often. If the guy I freelance for found himself in the same situation and he said he couldn't pay me for what I was doing (which is X-number of 500-word articles), I'd say, well, if you cut the word number down, I'll still do them sometimes.

It's a little different, because he has several writers working for him, but you get the gist.

The last woman said if she had ideas or stories every now and then, she'd still send them to me. And this is why she's my favorite. She gets what I tried to explain above. She likes doing it.

So that's where I am right now. Hopefully, one of these days, the economy will turn around and people will have jobs again and will pay for their advertising (why they don't collect money BEFORE running the ad, I'll never understand) and I can pay the freelancers for their word. And I can tell you one thing: if I'm still in charge when that happens, I will first pay the people who have been writing for me for free. Because they're going to be the ones that help me through.

Oh, speaking of. Those of you who remember my past conundrum, of needing to interview the person who hates me more than probably anyone else in the county in order to write a center story? Carrie offered to write that story for me. So win-win-win, because I get the person that I feel would be the most instrumental to my story without actually having to speak to her, Carrie gets to write a center story (which. . .I'm assuming she wants to do, since she volunteered to do it), and the woman that hates me gets recognized for her work. Also, I get to be the bigger person (kind of) for including her. So, really, win-win-win-win. Wins all around.

I'm getting a vacation next week! I'll have the entire week off! Of course, that means I'm going to be working my ass off next week to get the publication finished early (early as in. . .Friday), but then I'm going to be not at work for an entire week. I'm not sure I'll really know what to do with myself. But it's not going to be work. I will absolutely NOT be answering any calls that come from the office. None. And if Vi calls me and leaves a message, I will listen to it Friday, when I come back.

Nick's coming home this week! He will be flying in Saturday. I was originally planning to go to the airport when he came in, when I thought he was coming Sunday, but as it turns out, his flight isn't expected until 10:45 p.m. Saturday, and planes are usually late, aren't they? Then he's probably going to sleep through Sunday. So. . .I don't actually know when I'll see him. But he'll be home.

So it's after 5 now. I'm going to go finish an article and maybe get like an hour of sleep.

UPDATE: It is currently 7:42 a.m., the sun is up, and I have written my final two articles so I don't have to worry about them mid-day like I'd intended to. I never went back to sleep. I also had a minor nervous breakdown because I couldn't find one of the articles I'd written, and I thought I was going to have to rewrite it. Damn you, Montpellier, France, for saving to the "My Templates" part of the computer. I'm thinking, while I'm up, I'm going to go get a biscuit for breakfast. I also anticipate being really loopy all day.

Layla. You've got me on my knees (Layla). I'm begging darling please (Layla).

2008-12-11T19:19:00.000-08:00

Basically? Today was the best day ever.

I know that's kind of a dramatic change from last time I posted, but fact: I was in a good mood all day.

(Before I start in on all that, I want to say that my cousin's husband family is having a difficult time right now and if you're into the whole praying thing, they could probably use it. Also, Dennis' daughter is having surgery tomorrow [don't worry, nothing's wrong], and if you could keep her in your thoughts, too, that'd be cool.)

So anyway, I woke up this morning, and I was just in the best mood. It's been raining for the last few days, and I've been trying to brighten things up a little bit by wearing bright tights. Yesterday's were fuschia (magenta?), and today's were purple. And I blew out my hair, and, thanks to the humidity/rain, it did this cool flipped out thing that I got compliments on all day long. Now I just need to figure out how to make it do that when it's not raining, and I'll be good to go.

Also, I don't hate my hair anymore. I still loathe the bangs, and I will never concede on that, but now that it's not flat-ironed to my head, I think it's actually kind of cute. I'm dealing with the bangs by either spraying them back or wearing headbands.

Anyway, work was good today, Vi was in a rare good mood (she's actually likable when she chooses good moods!) and it was. . .just happy.

Looking back on it, I can't even tell you why today was so good. It just was. I had a really, really good day.

I'm not sure what I'm doing this weekend, but I don't have concrete plans.

I was going to write a big, long entry, but I took my sleep drugs already, and I'm on my way out.

Another one bites the dust.

2008-12-04T08:45:00.000-08:00

When I get especially bored with my life, I usually end up doing something to my hair. It usually entails cutting off a great deal of hair, changing it to a different color, whatever.

So yesterday, I had an appointment in Asheville to get this haircut that I loved that I found, actually, on the salon's Web site. It was a great deal shorter, with punky, choppy bangs, and I thought, "That's it. That's exactly what my life needs right now. I need a badass haircut."

I went to get said badass haircut and ended up with. . .imagine, if you will, Catherine Zeta-Jones in Chicago, mixed with a guy (any guy), mixed with Suri Cruise. I have literal Suri Cruise bangs. People keep telling me that I shouldn't hate it but, you know what? I do. I hate it severely.

I'm. . .not pretty anymore. I've never been, you know, the girl that walks into the room and every head turns, but I have never been offensive-looking (save those years between 12 and 14, but everyone has awkward phases.) Now? I look in the mirror and just want to cry. There is nothing feminine about me anymore. I'm not pretty, I'm not cute, I'm just. . .really, really unfortunate-looking.

So much for a happy blog post, because I feel the need to mention that I'm ridiculously lonely, too. In this office at the end of the hall, I never see anyone. People used to stop at my dek to talk to me when I was at the top of the stairs, because I was right there, and now that I'm in this office, I see a lot less of people I'd like to see more of. It's just more out of the way to come talk to me now.

I'm just unhappy today. I guess that's all I really have to say.

Without your love, I'd be nowhere at all, oh, what would I do? (If not for you.)

2008-11-29T07:48:00.001-08:00

I'm loving that this laptop is picking up a random wireless signal from. . .somewhere, so I don't have to plug it up at the moment.

I'm debating on whether or not to go into work today. I'll probably just go in tomorrow and get a lot finished. I have two columns to definitely write (the food column and the Last Word) and there are a couple of other ideas I have that I might get started on. But I don't know.

I was reading my news feed from the N&O, and I came across this story:

As store worker died, shoppers kept on
By Colleen Long, The Associated Press

NEW YORK - A Wal-Mart worker was killed Friday when "out-of-control" shoppers desperate for bargains broke down the doors at a 5 a.m. sale.
Other workers were trampled as they tried to rescue the man, and customers shouted angrily and kept shopping when store officials said they were closing because of the death, police and witnesses said.

At least four other people, including a woman who was eight months pregnant, were taken to hospitals for observation or minor injuries, and the store in Valley Stream on Long Island closed for several hours before reopening.

Nassau County police said about 2,000 people were gathered outside the store's doors at a mall about 20 miles east of Manhattan. The impatient crowd knocked the man, identified by police as Jdimytai Damour of Queens, to the ground as he opened the doors, leaving a metal portion of the frame crumpled like an accordion.

"This crowd was out of control," said Nassau police spokesman Lt. Michael Fleming. He described the scene as "utter chaos."

Dozens of store employees trying to fight their way out to help Damour were also trampled by the crowd, Fleming said.

Items on sale at the store included a Samsung 50-inch Plasma HDTV for $798, a Bissel Compact Upright Vacuum for $28, a Samsung 10.2 megapixel digital camera for $69, and DVDs such as "The Incredible Hulk" for $9.

Damour, 34, was taken to a hospital, where he was pronounced dead about 6 a.m., police said. The exact cause of death has not been determined.

A 28-year-old pregnant woman was taken to a hospital, where she and the baby were reported to be OK, said police Sgt. Anthony Repalone.

Police said criminal charges were possible in the case, but Fleming said it would be difficult to identify individual shoppers. Authorities were reviewing surveillance video.

Wal-Mart Stores Inc., based in Bentonville, Ark., called the incident a "tragic situation" and said the employee came from a temporary agency and was doing maintenance work. It said it tried to prepare for the crowd by adding staffers and outside security workers, putting up barricades and consulting police.

"Despite all of our precautions, this unfortunate event occurred," senior Vice President Hank Mullany said in a statement.

Kimberly Cribbs, who witnessed the stampede, said shoppers were acting like "savages."

"When they were saying they had to leave, that an employee got killed, people were yelling 'I've been on line since yesterday morning,' " she said. "They kept shopping."

That? Is ridiculous. I mean, I like getting good deals as much as the next person, but I've never really understood the whole thing with day after Thanksgiving shopping. Maybe stores shouldn't have things be so ridiculously overpriced throughout the year, and then it wouldn't be such a big deal when prices are where they put them that Friday. I mean. . .starting a sale at 5 a.m.? Really? Why? When I was having lunch with Jan yesterday, we were talking about that, and I said, "You know, there are precious few things in life that would get me out of bed at 5 a.m. Actually. . .you'd have to get out of bed long before 5. The sale actually starts at 5. No thanks.

I did go to Wal-Mart yesterday, but it wasn't until, like, 7 at night. I had a sweater to return and I bought picture frames. I got all that done, and no one died.

People have weird priorities. Especially now when we're in a recession, or whatever it is we're in at the moment. Instead of buying TVs, how about paying off your credit cards? Or making sure you can make rent this month? Just a thought.

A weekly publication I love (and I think they very loosely call it a "magazine." I suppose it's as much a magazine as mine is.) is Skirt! Magazine. I picked up a copy in Greensboro Thursday, and I've been looking through it, looking for ideas to borrow and/or steal. This little box that always on the front cover says, "Skirt! is all about women. . .their work, play, families, creativity, style, health and wealth, bodies and souls. Skirt! is an attitude. . .spirited, independent, outspoken, serious, playful and irreverent, sometimes controversial, always passionate."

That? Is the kind of publication I want to work for. I mean, I love that I'm the editor of my own publication, but honestly? My hands are tied on a lot of subjects. I'm not allowed to put in reviews of restaurants if there's anything negative said in them. Nothing controversial. Kind of. . .mountain white bread, truth be told. I want something else. I'll do this until I learn everything about it, and add my own touches to it, but I need something bigger, you know? I'm aware that if I want anything bigger, I won't be able to live in this town forever, which. . .sucks in a way. I really do like it here. But there's more out there I need to get to eventually, and there are a lot of things here I need to get away from.

Speaking of things to get away from, I had to go downstairs to Angie and Kristina and make sure that my name was taken off the template for the Obits and the Life sections, because Vi did those for Wednesday's paper, and one headline said something about how an author was going to 'ahare' their book and another said that a couple was going to hold an anniversary 'recpetion.' Now. . .I know people make mistakes, but spell check would have caught that. Ahare and recpetion are not words, and spell check knows that. It's frustrating to have an editor that would clearly rather be a reporter, that doesn't care enough to run spell check. I run spell check over EVERYTHING I do. I mean, I understand if you accidentally type "their" instead of "there," and a proofreader would catch that, if my company would stop being so cheap and hire one, but misspelling things in HEADLINES is why people make fun of us. And it's, 9 times out of 10, because of Vi.

We ran a story a few months ago that said something about 'duel farmer's markets.' Perhaps if the veggie-growers were out there with swords screaming, "En garde!," that would make sense. However, what Vi was going for was that there were two farmer's markets. Dual farmer's markets.

Basically, we all look like a bunch of idiots a bunch of the time.

But I made sure my name was taken off that template, because it looked like I was the one that made those egregious errors. False. I would not misspell "reception." And if I mistyped it? It would be caught when I ran spell check. I'm just sayin'.

I need to ask Dennis to take a new mug shot of me. NewJeff said the one I have in the system made me 'look like I weighed 300 pounds,' and while I know that I shouldn't let what people say bother me, when someone tells me I look fat, I take that particular insult very, very personally. See, one side of my family is all incredibly obese, and I'm terrifie that I'm going to end up like that. I'm not a small girl by any means (it's hard to even pretend to be petite when you tower over most girls), but I'm not going to let myself get to the point where that side of the family is. I will not. So a new mug shot it is, since NewJeff has given me a gigantic complex about the entire thing.

So while I'm aware I shouldn't let what people say bother me, I am, in fact, overly sensitive. I can just ignore it better about some things than others.

Was it something I said to make you turn away, to make you walk out and leave me cold?

2008-11-28T19:30:00.000-08:00

I am sitting in the parking lot of a Wal-Mart writing this. Not the new Super Wal-Mart in my town, but the old super Wal-Mart a few towns over. I’ve been avoiding writing for the last few days, partially because I’ve been busy with baby sister in town, but also because my head has been in a really weird place, and I didn’t want to concern people. (After finishing this, I would recommend you not read the rest if you’re feeling a bit down, or even if you’re really happy. It kind of got depressing at the end.)

I’m debating on whether I want to start with the potentially concern-causing thing or with the things that are happier/don’t matter as much/are of no real consequence to my life as a general whole.

I guess we’ll start with the lighter things.

Today’s outfit? Fab. My mom’s friend, Susie, gets rid of clothes fairly frequently, and a lot of times, a lot of them go to me. Today’s combination was my brown heels, literally the most comfortable heels I own. I bought them on a whim a year or two ago when I went shopping in Chapel Hill with Nick and his mom. I didn’t wear them much when I first bought them, because I didn’t own much in the way of brown clothing, but since stocking up on my shades of brown, I’ve been able to wear them more frequently. They are ridiculously comfortable, though. I could walk around in these things all day and not even notice that I was wearing heels. Those were paired with my light blue, wide-legged jeans (thanks to Goody’s, a place I’ve finally found jeans that look good on me. They’re a bit long, because regulars are too short and longs are too long, but if I wear heels with them, they’re fine. A peach tank top, courtesy of Susie and this brown courdoroy jacket, also courtesy of Susie. When I pulled this thing out of the box, I was already thinking of all the outfits I could work around it. I initially had it paired with another Susie shirt, a sleeveless white shirt with crazy brown and yellow pattered. . .flowers, I believe, but I didn’t know if I wanted to go quite that crazy today, so peach it was. I felt really good in this outfit, and that’s what counts, I guess. And since I’ve devoted an entire paragraph to it, I think that should be about the end of it.

Thanksgiving was. . .the usual family affair. Depressing. I drove 6 hours round-trip yesterday, and you’d think that after that, I’d be sick of driving, but here I am, a few towns away, typing. Tonight’s driving jag had a purpose, though. I needed to get away.

Katie was here from Sunday until yesterday, and it was. . .awesome. I never get to see her, and it was really great having her stay for a few days. We went to Asheville Wednesday (since I’d worked all day Saturday, I took Wednesday off) and she came to work with me the other days. I felt guilty, dragging her into work, but she had her laptop, so she was plenty amused. She also liked the little coffee place near work, and went there for breakfast both days she was there. (Incidentally, that place makes a mean pancake. I had no idea they even made pancakes. Trust Katie to find pancakes where there appear to be none.)

It was sad at work today, because I was the only person on the second floor. The newsroom was deserted, it being the day after Thanksgiving and all, except when Chuck came in for an hour or so, and Dennis made a brief appearance. It’s starting to slowly sink in how on my own I am now that Carrie’s gone. It was hidden this week, because Katie was here, but today, I was all alone upstairs and it was just. . .kind of heartbreakingly sad.

I was rescued at 11 or so when this woman, Jan, who I write articles for occasionally, picked me up to take me to this place in the next town over to interview this artist about Christmas ornaments. She also bought me lunch, which was awesome. We went to this seafood place that I’d heard good things about. I. . .have never trusted seafood in the mountains, but I think my mind has been changed after this place. It was delicious. I tried not to think about how far away we are from the actual ocean. My sandwich was wonderful, though, and it was surprisingly inexpensive. Jan paid today, but I mean on the whole, it was surprisingly inexpensive.

After my family Thanksgiving gala, I went into downtown Greensboro and took photos for an hour or so. Remember how I was talking, a month or so ago, about the two great loves of my life, Raleigh and the town in which I currently reside? Greensboro is that hot, young thing that I had an illicit affair with when Raleigh and I were on the outs. I’d forgotten how much I loved taking pictures in downtown Greensboro. I was alone, but it was ok. Once I stop being lazy and get up and get my card reader, I'll put some of those pictures on here.

Downtown Greensboro made me forget how altogether sad I am these days. There’s the occasional bright spot, of course, like my new office, and the times I get to see MK and seeing Katie, but I’m just not feeling altogether whole, and I’m not sure why. But in Greensboro? I was thrilled. I was so happy to be there, photographing the place I lived for 4 years. The last time I photographed downtown, it was in black and white (and then Wal-Mart messed up my film, so it was also in sepia), but this is the first time I’d photographed it in color. It was amazing, really. All the light and the reflections. . .I miss that place sometimes. I actually printed out some of the pictures and I’m going to put them up in my office. I should go into downtown Raleigh next time I’m there, see if I feel the same things there as I do in Greensboro. I’ve lived here for so long that I forget that there places outside of here I can go and take photos. It helped that downtown was basically deserted, it being Thanksgiving, so I could just be alone with the city. I don’t know if you’ve ever felt what it’s like, being alone with a place you love, but it got me through the rest of that day, and I wasn’t sad on the way home, as I expected to be.

So here’s a question for you. I got the idea for a future issue of my mag to do a feature on scrapbooking. It’s the holidays, and people take a lot of photos, and I happen to know that there are several places that do classes and sell supplies. . .things like that. The problem I have is that the person that I’ve mentioned before that hates me? The one person that would probably have me “taken care of” if she could? That’s what she does. She’s actually quite good. . .I’ve seen her Web site and the stuff she does, and it’s good. Under other circumstances, I’d call her first to interview her about this stuff. My dilemma is this — I can’t snub her. For one, because, as I mentioned, she’s good. Also, because that would probably make the situation worse than it already is. On the other hand, I absolutely, staunchly refuse to ask her to come to my office so I can talk to her. I won’t do it. I know that business is business and personal issues are personal, but I think if you knew the depth of her hatred for me, you’d agree that her being in my office is not something that needs to happen. So I don’t know what to do from here. It won’t be for a couple weeks until I need this centerspread, but I need to figure out what to do now. I could give the assignment to one of my freelancers, but I’d really rather write it myself, for one, because it’s a relatively interesting subject matter, and also, the more I write, the less I have to pay the freelancers. And cheap is good. So I’m at a loss here. It may end up that I just don’t do the feature, since I don’t know how to go about this situation, but that seems kind of a shame.

At Thanksgiving dinner yesterday, my aunt got onto the subject of my love life (or lack thereof.) “Sarah,” she says, “what’s happening in the old love life these days?” I muttered something about not having time, there not really being anyone nearby, etc. She says, “Ah ha! There must be a new guy if she’s not willing to talk.” “No,” I say, “there is most definitively not a new guy.” “Then you must be involved with an old guy,” she says. “What happened to the one from last year?” I know who she’s talking about, but I say, “I wasn’t seeing anyone at this time last year,” True. It was Easter she was thinking of, but I wasn’t about to correct her. She turns to Katie, “How about it, Katie?” she says, “I’m certain you know everything.” Katie, who, in fact, knows nothing more than what she observes, gives a half-smile and shakes her head, saying nothing. (I knew there was a reason I love her.) My aunt finally gives up, but that got me to thinking, “My God. I have never brought anyone home for the holidays.” My step-cousin (or whatever) has brought his parade of girlfriends to the dinners, but I’ve never had anyone. And that makes me. . .incredibly sad. But I decide not to dwell on it.

I continued thinking about this today. I was sitting in my office, alone, and thinking that, really and truly, if I were to keel over at home, it would be a while before anyone noticed. Suppose I kicked it during lunch on a Friday. If I didn’t come back to work, they’d just assume I’d gone home for the day. I don’t normally see people on Saturday, and if it wasn’t my Sunday to work, it would be Monday before anyone even thought anything weird was going on. Maybe someone would notice when I didn’t show up for the 8:30 meeting that starts at 9:15, but they’d try to call me and go on with the meeting. Maybe around lunch, someone would get vaguely concerned.

This particular timeline I’m gleaning from what happened when McHotpants didn’t show up for a staff meeting. We just had the meeting, and then at around 11:30 or 12, Vi sent me out to his house, since he wasn’t answering his phone. I ended up getting a hold of him on the way to his house (he slept through his alarm and, apparently, the 5,000 phone calls that morning) and nothing was wrong, but still. It was noon before we knew for sure what was going on. If I keeled over at noon on Friday, and it was noon Monday before anyone noticed anything was amiss. . .that’s like 3 days. It kind of puts things into perspective, and shows you where you stand in life. I need a roommate. Or a boyfriend.

As I was sitting my office, the lights out, after Karen had gotten offline and before I started talking to Nick, I was just thinking about my own mortality. A little morbid, sure, but I was alone in a cold, dark office. What else do you think about? I went through the whole scenario, the noon Friday to noon Monday scenario, and then I climbed up onto the roof.

That might sound weird, but actually, the last time I had a minor panic attack about something completely unrelated, I went up to the roof and it gave me clarity. Literally, I stood there for a while, and suddenly, everything was put into perspective for me, and I felt better.

It was oddly quiet today for being Black Friday, and I just stood there for a little while, looking down onto Main Street. I was far enough away from the edge that I wasn’t in any danger of falling off, but I found myself thinking, “What if?” That’s it. What if? What would happen? If I were to fall off that roof, what would happen? I’m not married, I don’t have any kids. . .what would happen to the things I owned? What would my obituary say? Having worked in the obituaries for over a year, I’ve seen a lot of variety in what those things say. But what would mine say? No one there knows me, really knows me, so a lot of the things that people say in their loved ones’ obituaries, “He loved hunting, fishing, crossword puzzles, church and his grandchildren,” wouldn’t be relevant. What would the people I spend the most time with really be able to say about me? “She was a decent writer, took decent photographs, loved Diet Coke and talked about her sister a lot”? I mean, Carrie’s family, she knows me, and I guess they call the parents in situations like that, but that had me really concerned. That no one would know what to put in my obituary. That I would just be another, “Oh, wow, 24. She died awfully young.”

And I’ve always wondered how people who don’t live where you died would find out. I have friends in South Carolina, Raleigh, Greensboro, Asheville, Chapel Hill, Fayetteville, Pennsylvania, Manchester (at the moment). How do they know? Do those left behind think to call these people? How would people know? Would they just start to wonder when you don’t answer your phone for a while? Are you supposed to leave a list of people you want notified? How does it WORK?

I think I’m too young to be thinking about things like this, and I know it sounds really, awfully morbid, but I don’t want people to worry about me. I’m not going to jump off the roof. I promise. These are just the things I think about when I’m alone. And I’m alone a lot. I think a lot of people think about stuff like this. . .it’s just that not many people talk about it. And I’m talking about it because I don’t want it just bouncing around in my head.

Sorry, y’all. I just have a lot on my mind these days. And I’m just unhappy. The holidays do that to me, especially over the last two years. The aunt I was closest to died Christmas Eve day, you know. My senior year of college. That was a rough year. My uncle, her brother, my father’s brother, had died three months prior. And the last time I talked to her, I was telling her that no, I couldn’t take her and my grandmother Christmas shopping. I really, really didn’t want to, and somehow, something came up so I honestly couldn’t. But that was the last time I talked to her. When I told her no, I couldn’t help them out. I’d done it the weekend before and I was going to be damned if I was going to do it again.

And that’s the last time I’ll ever talk to her. I was being a selfish bitch in the last conversation I had with her. The next time I saw her was at the wake.

I’m going to stop here. I’m sorry this was so depressing.

If I go crazy, then will you still call me Superman? If I'm alive and well, will you be there a-holding my hand?

2008-11-22T06:40:00.000-08:00

So long since my last post (like a week). So much to tell (like a lot). I'm probably going to forget something or leave something out, but I'll do my very best.

First of all, I started my new job yesterday. I, admittedly, got off to a rocky start, but it had nothing to do with the job I'm going to be doing, but the job that I was doing before. I don't feel like going into the inane details, but suffice it to say that we need better management.

I LOVE having an office. I've only been in there for a day, but it's. . .kind of amazing. I like having a place to pace around (as I do when I'm thinking), I like having a whiteboard where I can make notes, I love my big desk and I love having a door I can close. I haven't closed it yet, but I could if I wanted to. I also took the microwave from my old desk, since it had been Allison that brought that in and Allison is no longer there. Come Sunday, I'll have a fridge in there as well (random fact about me. Whenever I write out "fridge," it's because I truly have no idea how to spell the entire, spelled-out word, and I don't want to look dumb or take the effort to figure it out) because the one I had in college is at my grandparents' house, and I will, in fact, be in Greensboro Sunday for my mom's side of the family's Thanksgiving soiree. (I can spell things like soiree properly, but I can't spell the entirety of fridge.)

I have written my first Last Word. The Last Word is a column at the end of the publication that is normally humor-based or whatever. Carrie wrote her last Last Word last week with her Thanksgiving issue of the mag (in keeping with my "anonymity," I'm just going to refer to it as the mag. I'm aware it's not a real magazine, but I think I'm allowed.) which, in my opinion, was one of her best issues to date. It's right up there with Folkmoot and last year's gift guide.

Anyway, I'm going to put the Last Word here, to give you a preview, since it won't actually come out until Tuesday. Karen's already seen it, but the rest of you can be surprised:

I was having a conversation with some of my colleagues the other day and we started talking about what you don’t know about people. One reporter, Kim, said that when you fill out a survey on one of those social networking sites, like Facebook or MySpace, one question typically asked is, “What’s one thing people don’t know about you?” Kim said this was a dumb question, because, “There’s probably a reason you haven’t told people some things.”
I thought about that for a second and said, “Well, things people don’t know about you aren’t necessarily secrets. They’re just things you don’t think to mention.” The example I gave was that I don’t really like Oreos without peanut butter on them. It’s not something I’m ashamed of; it’s just something that doesn’t come up often. Incidentally, a couple weeks ago, one of my favorite people, not actually knowing my preference, presented me with an Oreo that had peanut butter cream in the middle instead of regular cream. The question here is, how had I gone this long without knowing such a thing existed?
Anyway, I decided that, as the new mag editor, I would share with all of you, the readers, some things you probably don’t know about me. It’s a bonding experience. We’re going to be, in one form or another, in each other’s lives at least once a week, pretty much indefinitely. After this, if you see me walking down Main Street, you can turn to whomever you’re with and say, “Hey, did you know she [enter name of fact here]?” If they read the mag (and hopefully, they do), they’ll tell you they already knew. If they don’t, you will have given them a completely useless nugget of knowledge they will most likely remember, even though they’re not sure why. Some of these, those closest to me would know, but I feel, again, that we’re bonding here, so I’ll share them with you as well.
Let’s begin.
There are two movies that will cause me to tear up every time I see them: Armageddon and Sesame Street’s “Follow That Bird.” I think Armageddon is understandable. It’s at that one part where Bruce Willis and his excess of testosterone are about to save the day and he’s saying goodbye to Liv Tyler? I tear up every time. It just happens. Follow That Bird, on the other hand, is an interesting story. Apparently, when I was 2 or so, I would watch the movie over and over, paying most attention to the part of the movie where Big Bird, who has been kidnapped and painted blue, is forced to sing this incredibly sad song about why he’s so blue (figuratively). My mom worried about masochistic tendencies in her daughter because I seemed to watch it just so I could watch that part and cry. Cut to 17 years later. I’m 19 and home after my first year of college. I’d recently discovered Netflix and had rented Follow That Bird, just for kicks, and to laugh at 2-year-old Sarah and how overly sensitive she was. Imagine my horror when, at that part of the film, I felt my eyes well up. I definitely cried through the entire song. Thinking it was a fluke, I went to the part of the DVD that just showed the songs and watched it again. I swear it was some kind of Pavlovian thing, because the tears started up. I have, in fact, not watched it since.
The sound that I almost literally cannot stand to be around is the sound of packing tape or duct tape being either ripped off the roll or off a box. Before I moved here, I worked for Pepsi in Raleigh. I sat in a cubicle in the middle of the room and the IT shared a cube wall with me. I never knew this guy’s name, but apparently a big part of his job was to put packing tape onto or rip packing tape off of boxes. He would begin at approximately 11:30 a.m. and rip tape until 3:30 or 4 in the afternoon. The sound almost drove me out of my mind. I had to start bringing in my iPod and put it up to an ear-shattering volume to cover the sound that made me want to jump out of my skin. Have you ever gotten so intensely agitated about something that it made you feel itchy? That was me at Pepsi. More recently, it was when my work friend Aron was making his Halloween costume that he learned about my tape aversion. His costume this year was “Duct Tape Man,” which, obviously, required the use of duct tape. Lots and lots of duct tape. After about half an hour into the construction of the costume, I said to Aron in what I hoped was a conversational tone of voice, “Did you know that the sound of duct tape being ripped off the roll is one thing that kind of makes me a little crazy?” Apparently, the tone wasn’t as conversational as I might have hoped, because Aron looked at me with something resembling fear on his face. Since Halloween was the following evening, he had to finish the costume, so I ignored it the best I could. Incidentally, we are still friends and I managed to not tear out all my hair.
I really, really wish I could speak French fluently. This might not seem like such a weird thing. There are plenty of people who wish they could speak a foreign language. I guess the weird part about it is that I‘m unable to do it, seeing as to how I took three years of French in high school and, collectively, four semesters of French in college. The four semesters in college were a requirement, although to this day I’m not certain why you need two years of a foreign language to get a degree in English. But despite five years of French classes and three half-semesters where I dropped midway through because I realized at the rate I was going, I would kill my GPA if I continued, I still have the most rudimentary grasp of conversational French. I can read it sometimes and I have a few choice phrases I can understand and speak, but in general, it’s an epic failure. As a result, I sound like someone really pretentious when I randomly drop the French words I do know into conversation (i.e. “Would tu aimer to go to déjeuner at Nick and Nate’s avec moi?”) I would, however, love to be able to bust out entire, correct, sentences in French. It’s a dream of mine, really. But despite my best efforts and my GPA, ultimately, being knocked down to just below 3.0, I can’t do it and so, for now, people will have to deal with hearing things like, “J’adore what you’ve done with your cheveux.”
So there you go. Three things about me that you most likely didn’t know, and might not have even cared to know. But now that I’ve shared, I’d like to ask you to share, too. I want to know what you want to read in the mag. I’d love to hear your ideas for things you’d like to see more of, things you’d like to see less of and what I can do to make your reading experience as enjoyable as it could possibly be. You can e-mail me at [my work e-mail] with anything you’d like to say. You can even come by my office to chat. If you do this, though, I’d like to ask that you bring Oreos. Also, peanut butter.

So there it is. My first offering as BigShot Editor. I'm rather proud of it. I miss writing columns. I got to do it weekly in college.

What else? I know there's more.

Oh! I've discovered a clothing brand that J'adore. At Target, they have this brand called Converse One Star. Since it's the Converse brand, it's ridiculously expensive. However, if you wait for things to go on sale and clearance, it's palpable. The only thing is, their sizes are kind of weird. I got a white shirt there a few weeks ago that was a medium, the long-sleeved polo I've got on today is a large, and a tank top I bought there is a small. So. . .I'm not sure about that. I think they tend to run big, because the shirt I've got on today could probably stand to be a size smaller. But even though I don't like everything in the collection, the basis of it is exactly my casual style. (My casual style and my "professional" style are kind of two different things.)

You know those weird, random things that you remember that you really have to reason to remember ever? Rod Stewart's "Forever Young" just came on my Pandora radio, and I was reminded of a time in. . .it was either 8th or 9th grade, because I was in Latin class and those were the only two years I took Latin (due to having been forced by the school, not due to any kind of burning desire to learn dead languages), but we were, for some reason, playing charades, and my teacher, Mr. Walker (who also taught English one year, I believe), was up and was trying to act out a song title, and couldn't het anyone to guess it and finally began frntically pointing at this one girl, Stephanie Young, and as soon as he pointed to her, I KNEW what he was trying to get at but, for whatever reason, decided not to say anything. No one ever figured it out. And if I would have been like, "I figured it out," either people wouldn't have believed me, or they would have wondered why, if I knew it, I didn't say anything. That, in fact, is an excellent question. I really don't know.

I'm wicked excited that Katie is coming to stay with me tomorrow. It took us forEVER to convince our mother to let her come up, but we did prevail. It didn't help when my town was all over the news because of a flasher who decided to flash people ON MY STREET. Like, literally. On my street. I told my mother that he was only flashing men (true), but she still was hesitant. I'm saying, it's ok for me to live near Flashy McJunkerstein, but not Katie? I don't know. (Also, I think it's mildly funny that my spellcheck didn't pick up "McJunkerstein.") So when I go to Greensboro tomorrow for "Thanksgiving," I'll bring her back with me, and she'll stay here until Thursday, when we go BACK to Greensboro for Actual!Thanksgiving, and I'll drop her off with my father.

Another reason my mother gave for her trepidation for letting Katie come up was that Katie, "Isn't used to living the same lifestyle I do." . . .Really? I can tell you with absolute certainty that Katie goes out more often than I do. If I come home past 8 or 9, it's either because I'm at Carrie's, I'm still at work, or I'm out randomly driving around. I kind of wish I were living the life my mother seems to think I am.

Nick'll be back in. . .29 days. One more month. His family is going to see him this week and they're spending Thanksgiving in Paris. My question is, why am I not spending Thanksgiving in Paris? I think that's a valid question. It would make sense, really. As in, "I am THANKFUL that I'm in Paris!" Whatever. I'm sure he's aware that he needs to being me presents. If any of you are wondering, and I know you are, I have, in fact, picked the outfit that I'm going to wear when I see Nick again. I have to look fabulous, obviously, and I have just the thing.

And finally, ANTM. My poor Analeigh made it to the Top 3 and then lost out in being in the Top 2 by being beaten by weird, manly McKey and always-looks-like-she's-going-to-cry Samantha. Ultimately, as I predicted, McKey won. Homegirl is. . .not cute. Not pretty. She looks like a mannish duck. Maybe that's what the modeling industry is into these days, but if I were a designer, I wouldn't want my dresses worn by a man. But at least the cycle is over. Hopefully, I won't get sucked into the next cycle. My nerves can't take it.

Off to work and errands.

Please don't leave, stay in bed (touch my body instead). Gonna make you feel it. Can you still feel it?

2008-11-13T20:58:00.000-08:00

So, this day was. . .interesting. I colored my hair last night, and it. . .didn't turn out the way I wanted it to. It's kind of black now. I looked in the mirror this morning and thought, super. I look like Morticia Addams. Then I put on the outfit I'd planned on, and when I pulled on the boots (mid-calf, high heeled black boots) I realized right then that I could never wear those boots ever again, because I truly looked like a vampire hooker. I have a feeling if I didn't have the black hair, I'd just look like a regular hooker. So the boots have to go. Not the ones I wear on usually at least a bi-weekly basis, but a pair that I don't think I've worn since college.

Anyway, I went to a salon near my house and they told me that it would, in fact, be a long an arduous (and more expensive than I want to think about) process, but they might be able to help me. I'm a little concerned that the process is going to turn my hair to straw. Most people at work didn't think it was awful (they actually said it looked fine), but the way I figure it, if I let it grow out, I'll just have to keep recoloring the roots a color that I hate. I swear I'm never going to touch my hair again. Until I start going gray.

So work was whatever, we've survived without Vi. It's. . .so nice when she's not there. We're not being micro-managed within an inch of our lives. Now she's coming back and we're all going to get a dressing down about. . .whatever she can come up with. And I'm going to have to train that woman I don't like for my job.

After work, I had a conversation that put me into one of those "oh my God, I need to drive and sing" moods. And then. . .I needed a cheeseburger. I'm not a big beef eater, and I don't eat hamburgers very often, but occasionally, I have a hankering, and I had one of those this evening. Since I was going to be driving anyway, I thought, "Why not Burger King? In Asheville?"

Little-known fact about me: Burger King is basically the only fast-food burger I'll eat. If there's absolutely nothing else around, I'll eat something else, but Burger King is the way to go.

So one double cheeseburger later, I was still driving (and it was really foggy. I probably wouldn't have driven as far as I did had I known how foggy it was) and listening to Maroon 5. Probably not the best band, considering, but whatever.

I'm rambling.

Ok, I'm going to stop rambling. And I leave you with this: if you ever get the urge to buy me a "Because you're awesome" gift or a "Because you work too hard for too little pay and deserve something awesome in your life," I would recommend this site. Pretty much any of those would make me happy.

I'll write more when I'm not rambling.

I was so high I did not recognize the fire burning in her eyes, the chaos that controlled my mind.

2008-11-12T15:27:00.000-08:00

In honor of tonight's episode of America's Next Top Model (during which I can only PRAY that effing Marjorie gets the boot), I'm posting a video my sister, Katie, her best friend, Meghan, and Meghan's brother, Ryan, made. They made this a few months ago, but it cracks me up every single time I see it. My sister is the "Russian Girl."

Tell her about it, tell her everything you feel. Give her every reason to accept that you're for real.

2008-11-11T20:43:00.000-08:00

I discovered this evening that for the past 24 years, men have been holding out on me.

No. . .not like that.

I was looking for a plain white T-shirt to wear under a shirt I'm wearing tomorrow. I kept finding all these girl shirts with weird buttons on the sleeves or ridiculously high prices. Then I found them: men's undershirts.

I know a lot of guys wear them under, like, button-down shirts, but I'm not entirely sure why. That is, I wasn't sure why. Now I know.

Because they are ridiculously comfortable. Seriously. Luckily, they come in a pack of two, so I have an extra one to wear to bed. Which I am currently doing. It's soft and comfortable and wonderful. I only wish I'd gotten them in small instead of medium, because I have a feeling that under tomorrow's shirt, it's going to be a little big. But still. Best three bucks I even spent.

After I left work this evening, I did something I haven't done in a while: I drove through three different counties. I just wanted to drive, and to think about things. I cranked the music and sang along and thought.

One conclusion I came to is that I absolutely will go to the company Christmas party even though the Person Who Hates me will be there. I'm going to put on my awesome black and white polka-dotted dress, my snazzy red heels, and bring my cousin as my date and it will be awesome. Yes. Period.

I was going to color my hair tonight, but I just got back like 45 minutes ago (11:15-ish) and I didn't want to invoke the wrath of my insane neighbor. So I'll just wear a hat tomorrow and color it tomorrow night. I hate that my roots grow so fast, because I have to do this often, and it's the biggest pain. However, it's less of a pain than hating my natural hair color. I wouldn't be so incredibly self-conscious about it except one of the reporters feels the need to point out when my roots are growing in. I'm aware I shouldn't let that bother me, but it does. What I really, really want is to put a bright color in along with the dark brown. Like. . .red or pink or something. However, I feel like I'm past the age where that's acceptable. I have to be "professional" now.

But dark brown hair would be perfect with pink highlights! I'm so mad I missed this stage of rebellion. Instead, I got my cartiledge pierced.

This guy I know, Mike, said I should get different colored highlights in my hair. He thought it would look cool, but it sounds like entirely too much effort. I just really want red. Not the kind of red my hair is now, but Crayola red. How awesome would that be?

Also, if I had a technicolor color in my hair, it might not match everything.

You spin me right round, baby, right round like a record baby, right round round round round.

2008-11-09T15:09:00.000-08:00

I feel that, in general, the readers I have are fairly non-judgmental. The people that I know come here regularly, Karen, Nick, Ashley, Carrie, I know that I don't actually have to explain myself to, but for some reason, I always feel like I need to. The stuff I'm about to talk about, I feel the need to say prior, "You guys know I don't mean it like this, right?" for some reason.

Maybe because I'm aware this is a very public blog site, and I have delusions that someone is going to come across it, care enough to read it, and think I'm an awful person. Which, generally, I am not. But I want people to know that I'm. . .not a bad person? I don't know. I'm dealing with things and emotions right now that are kind of weird for me, and since I don't know what I'm dealing with I, in effect, don't know if I'm dealing with them PROPERLY.

Also, I started this blog with the intent of it just being somewhere I could talk about the weirdness in my life and how things were going at work, and it has turned into an actual, introspective. . .diary, a journal if you will, where I actually deal with those damned things called feelings. I don't know how I feel about that. Maybe I should get back to just general, "This happened, this happened, haha, isn't that funny?" But maybe then I wouldn't write as much. Maybe I'm overthinking it, like I do everything else, and it doesn't actually matter to anyone except me.

I don't really know.

So this day.

It's 6:51, and I'm still at work. I'm supposed to be in Asheville at Carol's birthday dinner, which started at 6. After that, they're going to her boyfriend's brewery for a few drinks or whatever, and I told her I'd catch up with them then, but the fact of the matter is, I'm still here.

The question then comes into play, "Sarah, why are you still there?"

I'm still here because, even though I may be one of the only ones, I, for whatever reason, care about putting out a paper that doesn't completely blow. Vi's out of town this week, and so I'm literally the only person that is here to look at what NewJeff's done and to make sure that it and the sports pages are done right. Vi doesn't give the front this much attention, so why should I?

Because I'm a perfectionist that cares way too much about an organization that doesn't give a damn about me, that's why.

So I had to do Randy's obituary today. I didn't think I would have to, because, from what I understand, it turns out they're not entirely sure why killed him. I believe they're thinking aneurisym (or however you spell it). It was. . .it was rough. Chuck helped write it, and I put it at the top of the page, with a picture. They're not having a funeral, just a visitation on Wednesday. I'll probably see if MK would like me to go. . .not necessarily with him, but for him, I guess, but I have all ideas that he'll not be going alone, so he should be fine. I'm. . .more than slightly concerned about him, but I can't really do anything.

It's 8 now, and I'm finally heading to Asheville. I. . .don't really want to go, but I'd be disappointed if someone said they were coming to see me and didn't because of stupid work, so off I go.

I'll give you more of those "feelings" everyone's so keen on me talking about later. I'm worn out, though, and it's an emotional and physical worn out, so I'm going to have to put my party face on.

EDITED: Carol called me and said things would be winding down by the time I got there, so we could hang out and have a make-up birthday later. I'm. . .kind of sad, actually, even though I'm tired, because I was looking forward to not thinking about anything for a while. So, no Asheville for Sarah.

I'm going to go get some coffee ice cream, which I have recently discovered I love, and go blog some more at home. Sorry for the outpouring, y'all.

This love has taken its toll on me. She said goodbye, too many times before.

2008-11-08T11:30:00.000-08:00

Another day. I spoke to MK this morning, and he sounds down, obviously, but he's generally ok. That conversation was utterly and absolutely heartbreaking, because I can't do anything. I can't help and I can't fix anything. All I can do is be here, and I think he knows I am.

I read what I wrote last night and, while it's fairly obvious I wasn't writing like I normally do (thanks to the wine), I meant everything I wrote, and it stands.

I'm going with Carrie to a play tonight. I. . .actually have no idea what the play is. I think it's the last one of the season, though. Pretty much all day, I've been doing nothing, aside from worrying. As I do.

I feel like I should write, but I don't have anything to say. Last night was entirely surreal and sad and weird, and I don't feel everything is entirely back to normal. I know I'm, inevitably, going to be putting Randy's obituary in the paper, and I'm not looking forward to that. I feel like I should go to the funeral, too, whenever that is.

As a side note, I'd like to mention how amazingly awesome my Twin is. Karen and I talk. . .most days, and for someone that I've never met, it's cool how we kind of get each other. I talked to her this morning after I talked to MK, and she gets it.

Also as another side note, I think one of the best movies ever made is Legally Blonde. I may have mentioned this before, but whenever I see that it's on, I have to watch it, no matter where in the movie I'm starting. It's a happy movie. It's one of those movies that looks like it would be stupid, but is actually cute and endearing. Reese Withspoon is amazing in it. I was actually thinking about it this morning, because I own it and I was thinking I needed a happy movie today, and I saw on the channel channel that it was on. So that's what I'm watching now and will probably continue watching until I leave.

Sorry for the lame entry. Would a video of an awesome song help?

I lost a friend. Somewhere along in the bitterness. But I would have stayed up with you all night, had I known how to save a life.

2008-11-07T21:52:00.000-08:00

I need to start this entry out with a disclaimer.

One thing that is a pet peeve of mine is when someone dies and people who only marginally and exponentially knew the person act like they've just lost someone very close to them. It's like they feel that they'll get some kind of attention if they were really close with the person. I'm not trying to do that. I'm cataloging things as they happened this evening, no exaggeration, no pretending like I am something I'm not.

Another thing I should disclaimer here is that this is not a happy entry. It's beyond even some of my more emo entries, but I need to write this out, and I know that not many people read this anyway, so it's not like I'm broadcasting to a wide range of people.

One of our sports writers, Randy, died tonight.

I should start from the beginning, because there's a lot of details to the story that won't make sense unless they're implicitly stated. I'm also making my way through a bottle of wine right now, so I'm hoping I remain understandable. (And yes, for those keeping score at home, I am keeping track of my blood sugar and adjusting my insulin accordingly.)

I left work this evening (last night? I don't even know what time it is at this point.) later, because I was talking to Dennis and NewJeff about. . .nothing important. We were just chatting, but then I had to leave and get going, because I was intending to go to the PHS game, as I'd previously mentioned. They won, something like 50- or 60- something to 0. Also kind of not the point.

I saw my ex at the game, so we chatted some. We talked about Desperate Housewives. I had to park far away in Murderville, U.S.A., because I didn't know that press could park right up behind the stadium. He was parked considerably closer than I was, so he offered to drive me to my car, since it was chilly and raining.

After the game, we hung around a little, he talked to people he knew, he bought me a hot dog, I said hi to Chuck (the sports writer), and I was freezing, so we got in the car and he cranked up the heat. We sat for a few minutes, chatting, while we waited for the mob to subside.

At one point in the conversation, I got this really, really unsettling case of deja vu. It happens sometimes, that I dream things and they happen, but this time, it felt like something really bad was going to happen. However, usually when I get that feeling, it's nothing, so I let it go. I did mention to my ex that I felt the weird deja vu, and he said that he'd felt the same thing twice since we'd been sitting in the car.

So finally, we're able to get out, and he drives me up to where my car is. We're sitting there, having a quasi-serious conversation, and we hear sirens. It doesn't seem so odd, except that they end up driving right past where we were sitting. He said he got a bad feeling about someone he knew that had been at the game, so he started up the car and followed the ambulance and the fire truck that had sped by.

We followed them back past the school and down this long, dark road that led to the high school (I think that's where we were. It was dark and hard to tell. I was discombobulated and wasn't sure where we were. I also was having a panicky version of deja vu and was trying to not go hysterical, so I don't even really remember much of that ride.)

We pulled up to the school, whichever school it was, and there are people gathered around and several emergency vehicles. My. . .I'm going to start calling him MK, ok? My Kiwi. It's easier than "my ex," and I'm feeling particularly. . .whatever tonight. This morning. Whatever. So MK.

MK hops out of the car and goes over to where the crowd is. I stay in the car, for one, because he left it running, and I took that as a hint I should stay in the car. For another. . .I didn't want to know, you know? If something gruesome had happened, I didn't think I could handle it. Also. . .I'd dreamed this. In the dream, I didn't know what was going on, but it was the same scenario, and that terrified me, because even though I didn't remember what had happened in the dream, I knew it was bad.

I sat in the car. . .maybe 20 minutes? Half an hour? It felt like forever. MK finally comes back and tells me that Randy's had a heart attack. He'd had it, apparently, while driving, and had hit this little guard building at the school. MK and Randy had been friends forever. They'd known each other forever. MK started driving again.

As he jetted down the road, MK told me he was going to go to the local hospital, because that's where they were taking Randy. At this point, I didn't know if that meant he was going right then and I'd have to find some way to get my car later, or if he was going to take me by my car first. I didn't really care.

As it turned out, he was taking me to my car first. He said, "I'm going to make sure you can start your car and then I'm going to get to the hospital as fast as I can." I couldn't do anything except nod. He stopped, and I scrambled to get out of the car. I actually banged my hip on the car as I got out, and it went numb for a second, and I was thinking, oh, man, I'm not going to be able to drive. Obviously, it turned out OK. I have a bruise, but not a problem at all. He told me that he would wait until I started my car, to make sure I could get it started, and I wanted to say, "No, just go. Get to the hospital," but I didn't want an argument and I knew he'd wait anyway. He told me to be careful and I said, "No. YOU be careful," and I got into my car as fast as I could, started it, and waved him on. He screeched away.

I made a split-second decision to follow him and go to the hospital as well.

Now, I did know Randy. We weren't friends and I'd only spoken to him a couple dozen times, but he was always nice to me when he came into the office, he always said hi to me, and Chuck seemed to like him. I'm sure if I'd known him better as a person, rather than just someone who came in occasionally, I would have liked him. I liked what I knew of him.

But that's not why I went to the hospital.

I went to the hospital because I had a feeling it wasn't going to be good, and I wanted to be there for MK. I know he would do the same for me. He would. I had to be there.

So I break more than a few traffic laws trying to keep up with MK, because I didn't know exactly where to go to get to the emergency room at the hospital. As it turned out, I could have easily figured it out, but I didn't know that at the time. I never went over 65 mph, and I didn't technically run any red lights. What I ended up doing was making a right on red and then another right onto the road I'd initially been on. See? Even in the face of emergency and mild panic, I still follow most of the laws.

But I made it, not too terribly long after MK got there (I got turned around in the parking lot behind the hospital) and when I walked up to where MK was, crouching against the wall outside the hospital, he told me, basically, that it didn't look good.

I don't know how long we were there before it was made known that Randy didn't make it. After the guy came out and said that, MK walked away. I figured he wanted to be alone, so I waited until he came back.

After waiting a little while longer, there was nothing else to be done. Family was coming, there were several other people there. . .there was nothing I could have done. MK told me he was going to leave, and I told him I'd walk down to his car with him. I did all I could possibly do -- I hugged him. I held on as long as he wanted me to, and told him to be careful on his way home. He said he'd call me tomorrow (today?) I don't expect him to remember that. I'll probably call him, though, to make sure he's OK. What I wanted to say was, "MK, I love you," but I knew that it wouldn't come out the way I wanted it to, and I didn't want to. . .do whatever that would have done. So I just kept my mouth shut and left.

I got to my house, but drove past it, because I didn't want to go in. Then Ashley called me. And I lost it.

I'm usually pretty good about not being overly emotional when it actually counts. I can hold it together to give other people support when they need it, but afterward, I lose it. And lost it I did.

I told her what happened, and cried and cried. The stress, the incredible emotion I knew MK was feeling, everything. . .I told her I wasn't trying to be one of those people that acted all uppity when someone they barely knew died, but it was. . .it was MK. I went to that hospital to be there for him if he needed me, and it hurt so much to see him like that. I wanted to make everything go away, to make it all better for him, but I couldn't. There's nothing I could or can do, and that just completely tore me up from the inside.

Kiwi, I don't know if you ever frequent my little corner of the Internet, if you used to and then didn't because I stopped writing or if you ever did, but I want you to know that I love you. I don't care if I'm not supposed to, or if I'm not supposed to say it or whatever. Maybe you don't love me the way I love you, but I know you at least care about me, and I want you to know that I'd do anything for you. Absolutely anything. I love you in a way that, really and truly, I've never loved anyone in my life. I'd tell you that straight up, but I don't think you'd. . .appreciate hearing it. But if I can do anything for you, I would. After everything that happened tonight, I know how precious life is. You even said that to me when I got to the hospital. "Sarah," you said, "you just never know. Life's so short."

And it is. And I'm sorry you had to go through this. So, incredibly sorry. I'm here if you need me. I want you to know that.

And I've finished my bottle of wine now and I'm going to go to bed. So goodnight, everyone. Goodnight, and I'd encourage you to tell the people you love that you love them. Because you don't ever know. I'm going to call my parents tomorrow and make sure everything's OK back home, and maybe one day, I'll actually tell MK what I'm feeling.

But probably not.

Please put the doctor on the phone, 'cause I'm not making any sense. (Blame everyone but me for this mess.)

2008-11-06T19:54:00.000-08:00

So I got this haircut yesterday.

I have desperately needed a haircut for. . .probably more than a year. It was frizzy and unruly and ridiculous. Carrie had told me about this place near where Wal-Mart used to be. Since we just got a new Super Wal-Mart, the shopping center where the old Wal-Mart used to be is still there, but with considerably less traffic.

I went to this place and, when I walked in, it kind of smelled like someone had been smoking in there. Ok, not a big deal. I gave the lady my name (I was the only person there) and sat down in one of the chairs.

About 30 seconds later, this guy, this true mountain man complete with denim and flannel vest, baseball cap and awesome pornstache, calls my name and brings me back to the chair. When I had first walked in, I thought he and this other guy in there were maintenance men. Then I thought he was just going to, I don't know, bring me back to the chair before the person who was actually going to cut my hair came over.

False.

This guy, who I think is somehow related to Larry the Cable Guy because the resemblance was UNCANNY, was the one who was going to cut my hair. Truly, the only difference between Larry the Cable Guy and my hairdresser was the pornstache and lack of a goatee on the hairdresser. The pornstache, though, was truly a work of art.

Now, at this point, I'm a little apprehensive. This guy, who looked like he was getting ready to go out and. . .I don't know, chop logs or shoot bears or skin deer for fun, was going to cut my hair. Honestly? I kept expecting that it was a joke. I was waiting for one of the women to come over, laugh, and say that her name was Shirley, and she'd be my hairdresser.

It was then that I made a decision. I could have asked for someone else, but then I thought, you know, that would be kind of bitchy. It's just hair. Since I was only asking for a couple inches trimmed off, there were only so many ways the haircut could go wrong. Besides, it would grow back if anything tragic happened to it. And besides, the experience would give me more material for my eventual novel and, at the very least, something to blog about.

Nope. This guy put the plastic cape thing around my neck and pulled my hair back. He was. . .surprisingly gentle with my hair. Now that I think about it, I did find that interesting. Looking at him, you'd have expected him to grab a handful of hair and yank it back. But actually, he was very careful. He told me he wished he had my hair (meaning, thick, and a lot of it) because he was losing his. Then he explained that he'd be wetting my hair down and combing it out so it could be ready to cut. Then he asked me if I wanted it all one length or if I wanted it layered. Then he asked me about my bangs and I told him I was growing them out after a disastrous haircut two years ago.

The whole thing, really and truly, was so incredibly bizarre and surreal that I honestly thought it was some kind of elaborate practical joke.

But I showed him how much I wanted cut off (about two inches, and trust me, I have so much hair, it's not even noticeable) and he started trimming. We talked about politics, what I do for a living, how I like living here and how nice the weather was yesterday. He was. . .kind of awesome.

I said something about how annoying it was that my hair gets so frizzy, and he told me that, since I color it, that's a common problem, but a good way to help combat that is with a good leave-in conditioner. Then we talked about conditioner for a while.

Now, I have had my hair cut by men before. I had this hairdresser, who I believe was named Vince, back in Raleigh that worked at the Great Clips near my house, and I would always request him, because he always did a wonderful job. He was also the stereotypical kind of guy that you'd expect to do hair. I'm not being gayist here, but it's true - typically, men who do hair are gay. But the guy last night? If he was gay, there was nothing stereotypical about him at all, except for the hairdressing thing. He really looked like the kind of guy that wore flannel year-round and had raw rabbit meat from a rabbit he'd skinned that morning for breakfast, along with. . .I don't know. . .deer urine or something.

But I left that place with exactly what I'd asked for - 2 inches of my hair cut off - which is so rare. I don't remember the last time I went to get my hair cut and actually got what I asked for. I'm not sure I'd go back there, but it was kind of an amazing experience.

Tomorrow is the last official home game for both high school football teams, and I'm going to the one that I'd most like to see win. Between the two teams, the one I'm going to go see even though it's in the next town over is the non-snobby team. The other one, everyone in that school, teachers and students alike, seem to have this weird sense of entitlement.

Carrie's leaving on the 21st and I realized today that I'm. . .not going to really have anyone to talk to at work anymore, t have lunch with. I mean, I have people I'm friendly with, and people I'd. . .consider friends, but you know how things are sometimes? When they're complicated? It's like that.

Plus, and this is one of the things that drives me the most up the wall, but that office? Is so freaking juvenile. There's one person younger than me in that place (she's 22. With two kids. She's engaged.), then me, then Carrie, and then a couple people downstairs are in their 20s, but upper 20s. One of them is married and the other is getting married. I'm the only person there in my 20s not in a relationship, so I can't really relate to most of the other people. Upstairs, the person closest to my age is 6 years older than me.

I guess I got off the "juvenile" part of it, but it's like I told Aron (one of the guys downstairs) yesterday - in that place, it's like I never left high school. The cliques are there, the cattiness is there, the immaturity is there. . .I can't stand it. I'm sorry, but being mean to me to be "funny," isn't. It's stupid. And it hurts my feelings.

It's at times like this that I really wish I could talk to you like I used to. I miss that and I could really use it right now.

This feeling's like no other. I want you to know that I've never had someone that knows me like you do. (The way you do.)

2008-11-05T09:57:00.000-08:00

Ladies, gentlemen and assorted others, I apologize with the profuse apologeticness of a thousand people who are really, really sorry for my lack of updating as of late. I keep meaning to but just. . .don't. There's been a lot going on, and some of it isn't anything I really feel like talking about, so I feel it's better to not blog at all than to blog depressingly.

It may, however, have cost me the few readers I have. Come back! I still love you!

So let's start with the election.

Obama won. Duh. What's funny to me, though, is that North Carolina, as of 1:07 p.m. Wednesday, Nov. 5, STILL hasn't gone either way. We are the 2008 version of the 2000 Florida. it doesn't really matter which way we go, because the election's been called, but if we end up going Democratic, that'll be the first time in. . .30, 40 something years that that's happened, and that's pretty much a milestone, no matter which way you voted.

Facebook, to me, has been the funniest part of the election. The people who voted Obama are FREAKING OUT in their status massages and the people who voted McCain are all really angry and saying America's going to hell in a handbasket.

Me? I'm just glad the whole thing is over. No more political ads, no more fliers in my mailbox. . .we're done. I did vote, if you're wondering. I didn't actually like either candidate, but I did vote for one of them. Not that a vote matters, mind you, since we still have the ridiculously outdated Electoral College in place, but still. It's nice to pretend, if even for a moment, that your opinion matters, even if you're like me and your opinion is kind of wishy-washy.

McCain, in my opinion, gave one hell of a concession speech. He seemed like a completely different person than he's been for the last. . .however God-awful long we've been in this election process. I have a feeling if he'd showed that side of himself, rather than the smug, condescending, Emperor Palpatine asshat he's been, we might have woken up to different headlines this morning.

Actually, I told Dennis last night (because everyone was at the office really late, working to get the election edition of the paper out this morning) [also, I accidentally typed "erection edition" of the paper, and I'm pretty sure that we wouldn't be able to get away with that. Whatever that may actually be.] that Obama people really, really bug me. Not all of them, obviously, but the loud ones. They're all so. . .I don't remember the word I used to describe them, but. . .maybe arrogant? I don't know. I have, as a general rule, and I know this doesn't apply to everyone, noticed that extremely liberal people tend to be more arrogant and extremely conservative people tend to be more smug. I think the lesson here is that middle-of-the-road-wishy-washy is the way to be. At least in this instance.

I'd also comment on the douchiness of those people at McCain's concession speech who were booing Obama, but I feel I've talked enough politics. It'll be interesting to see what the next four years will bring. I have a feeling it'll bring a Palin run for the presidency in 2012.

Good Lord, I'll be pushing 30 in 2012. Jeez.

Ok, so now important things. America's Next Top Model. It's on tonight, and I hope against all hope it's better than last week's episode, because last week's episode was more boring than Mayor Boring McBoringstein of Boringville. They're down to 5 girls now, who are still on the road towards becoming America's Next Top Model.

They are, from my least favorite to the one I hope wins:

5. Marjorie
Dear sweet Jesus, why is this girl still on my TV screen? She's Not. Cute. She's awkward, she's self-deprecating, she's NOT CUTE, she keeps pulling her "Oh, I'm foreign and that's why I'm this way and blah blah blah SHUT UP, MARJORIE! This is America's Next Top Model, honeycakes. Not the "Foreigners Coming to America to Model and Complaining Because 'No One Understands Them' Because They Moved to America When They Were 7" competition. Shut. Up. Every time Marjorie is on the screen, I want to cry. If she wins this thing, I will personally hunt down Ms. Tyra Banks, punch her first in the face and then in the back of her weave, and tell her that her level of fierceness has gone down by a multiple of 10. Period.

4. Elina
Ok, ok. I know that Elina, at the beginning of this competition, was one of my favorites. Not anymore. She has become super-creepy, really annoying and obnoxious beyond all reason. Sure, she takes good photos, but she's. . .she is opinionated to the point of being pushy and in-your-face, and she has suddenly latched onto whatever her nationality is (a nationality I'm pretty sure we hadn't even heard about before a couple of weeks ago) as an excuse as to why "no one understands her." She's, apparently, Eastern European or something, and I'll give her the same speech I gave Marjorie: You're in America. You're in a competition with the word "America" in the title. Stop whining about being foreign. You're pretty enough, but obnoxious as hell. You and Marjorie can both go home. Also, she was in the bottom 2 for two weeks in a row. It's time, Elina.

3. Samantha
Samantha is just kind of annoying, but not in the kind of way that elicits real hatred, such as how I feel about fracking Marjorie. I think Samantha is an idiot, but no one ever said models were supposed to be smart. She has a bit of pig face going on as well, which I don't find attractive at all. If it came down to idiot Marjorie, Elina and Samantha, I'd have to go for Samantha, but she's not interesting (or pretty) enough to be the winner of this competition. I do think that "uninteresting" is probably the best descriptor I can come up with for her. There's nothing special about her. To me, she always kind of looks like she's on the verge of tears.

2. McKey
Now, McKey, I think is kind of hideous, and she looks like a man. If we're talking about looks, McKey would definitely be 5/5 for me. But she doesn't have enough annoying characteristics for me to truly dislike her. She's vaguely interesting, I guess, and 100 times better than Elina and INFINITELY better than Idiot Marjorie. I think McKey was much more attractive before they gave her her makeover, but what can you do? Now she. . .definitely looks like a man, but if my girl didn't win, McKey wouldn't be an absolutely awful alternative. I kind of, for whatever reason, actually get the feeling she wins this thing. But time will tell.

1. Analeigh
This? Is my GIRL. She first caught my attention because her huge peace sign necklace reminded me of my sister, but throughout the entire competition, she's been awesome. She had the best commercial when they did them the other week, she seems genuinely sweet and likable (until the inevitable "Analeigh is not what she seems!" episode) and she's really, really pretty. I'm just absolutely in love with Analeigh and, even though I have a feeling she's not going to take the entire thing, I hope she at least makes is to the top 3. If either Elina or Idiot Marjorie (ESPECIALLY Idiot Marjorie) makes it over her, this show and I will be done.

So we'll see what happens tonight.

Next time, I'll write about going through resumes, my new job, High School Musical 3, and my new and improved 'diabeetus.'

It's been awhile since I've seen the way the candles light your face. And it's been awhile, but I can still remember just the way you taste.

2008-10-27T14:31:00.000-07:00

I've got that song by Staind "It's Been Awhile" stuck in my head, and I can't find it anywhere to listen to it (there's no video for it that I could find, or else I'd put it here) and I'm half considering downloading it as a ringtone so I can hear it. Is that sad? It might be sad.

The ringtone site I found, www.myxer.com, is kind of the most amazing thing ever. I don't know if I've mentioned it before, but that's where I've been getting all of my ringtones, since I can no longer make my own.

It's been a week or so since I've updated. I'm sure a lot of stuff has happened that I'm going to forget to write about but really? I'm OK with that.

Last night, I went to hear Sarah Palin speak in Asheville. Let me tell you. . .there are some CRAZY Republicans out there. I went to rallies for both Bill and Hillary Clinton, and I don't think either one was as crazy intense as the one yesterday. I got there at 3-ish and didn't leave until 9:30. On the plus side, I more than made up the hours I lost by leaving work early Friday (I was sick). I really enjoyed the rally, and I don't think that trying to describe it will do it justice. There was an insane energy in the room and everyone was just so. . .pumped.

The thing of it is, I have to write the article about the event. Since we're not a daily paper, it's not coming out until Wednesday. I think it would have been better had we gotten it out for today's paper, but I'm not the editor and it's not my call. But I'm. . .more stressed out about this article than I usually am about things I write, because, from what I understand, it's a Big Freaking Deal. I was told that the publisher asked about it, and then the general manager asked me about it this afternoon. . .and I know for a fact that Vi doesn't want it on there (staunch Democrat that she is) and. . .I don't know. I just feel like, considering politics is a major thing around these parts, I could, even if I write it from an entirely journalistic and professional viewpoint, get a lot of crap from it in the letters to the editor section. I'm not new to journalistic controversy (see: friends and family of gays support group article), but. . .I mean, this election is big news. Huge stuff. The Republicans have realized that North Carolina isn't necessarily the landslide state that it's been since, what? 1976? And I just feel like there's a lot riding on this article. Maybe I'm overreacting, but that's how I feel about it. And that's why I've got this huge mental block toward writing it. Most unfortunately, it's due bright and early tomorrow morning, so I've got to get to it.

After a discussion I had today, I think, really and truly, that "gorgeous" is one of my favorite adjectives, just because I don't hear it often. People are all the time saying things are "awesome" or "pretty" or even "beautiful," but you don't often hear someone call something (or someone) "gorgeous."

I think part of my affinity toward that word comes from my ex, who used to say I (or whatever I happened to be wearing at the time) was gorgeous, and I'd never been involved with anyone who used that particular word. (Of course, my two "serious" relationships were in high school where guys are basically incapable of coming up with anything better than "hot.")

So here's the real news, and I can talk about it now, since it's official. Carrie got a new job over at WCU, and she's going to be giving her notice at some point this week. Yay for her, because she's getting out of the hellish office in which we work.

How does this affect Sarah? I'm going to try to take over her old job. She's the editor for the weekly arts and entertainment supplement the paper puts out. It's like. . .not quite a magazine, but on the way there. Plus, I'd get an office, which would be awesome, as I could close the door.

I'm pretty psyched about it, but I'll talk about it more if it becomes official.

I just wanna break you down so badly, while I trip over everything you say. I just wanna break you down so badly, in the worst way.

2008-10-20T09:11:00.000-07:00

Pet Peeve of the Day: When you tell someone you're afraid of something, and they either make fun of you or tell you you're dumb for being afraid of whatever it is.

Example 1: When I was in high school and into college, I was deathly afraid of birds. They still creep me out, but I'm not as actively afraid of them as I used to be. (And no, before you ask, it wasn't because I saw Hitchcock's "The Birds." I saw that my sophomore year and it actually wasn't nearly as frightening as I'd anticipated. They're just creepy.)

So my friends thought the fear was really, really funny, and they'd point out birds whenever they saw them, or make fun of me for being afraid of them. One friend who will remain nameless (you know who you are) would constantly, constantly berate me for the fear. He'd say, "What are they going to do?" and I'd say, "They could peck me to death," and he would roll his eyes and tell me how dumb I was being.

My whole thing here is that, just because YOU are not afraid of something doesn't mean it's not a legitimate fear for someone else. (The same friend, whenever I'd say anything about being afraid of the dark, would say, "You're not afraid of the dark. You're afraid of what's IN the dark." And I don't mind telling you that I resent him a little bit to this day for that, because by saying that, he's trivializing the very real fear of being in darkness that I have.)

Like, I have a friend that's afraid of clowns, which, to be fair, are kind of creepy. I, personally, am not afraid of clowns, but that doesn't mean I can't appreciate the fact that she is. I wouldn't take her to a circus, for example. That's just mean. I don't necessarily understand the fear, but I can appreciate that it's there. So to all of my friends who made fun of me during the bird stage, you're kind of jerks.

The reason for this small tangent is that there was a woman in here a few minutes ago, about an article for this after school program some high school football players visited.

What you have to understand, if you haven't figured this out already, is that high school football is like a religion around here. That much was evident from the attendance at the County Clash this year. These people live, breathe and eat football. Did you ever see Varsity Blues? It's exactly like that, complete with James van der Beek's really, really bad accent.

So, this team went to visit these kids, and I'm putting in an article about it. The woman was very, very, VERY insistent that this article and the article about their rival football team doing something similar were NOT in the same edition of the paper. I said, "Well, you know, I can't really guarantee that," meaning, if the person from the other school ever gets back to me about the names for the cutline, I'll run it. She looked me dead in the face and said, "Then you need to let me know who I need to talk to to ensure that. does. not. happen. I'll go to the top if I need to. These kids have worked too long and too hard to have their pictures printed next to [the other team's] pictures. That will. not. happen."

I was stunned. I had nothing to say (which is fairly rare for me) and I stuttered a lot. Carrie said she could hear my nervous laughter from her office.

Then the woman said, "Besides, we sent ours in FAR before [the other school] did."

I looked in my e-mail and said, "Well, actually, they sent it in the day before you guys did."

That, in retrospect, probably wasn't the smartest thing I've ever said. It was true, though! The other school HAD sent their thing in the day before. She gave me a very frightening look and, I swear to God, I thought she was going to hit me.

Eventually, she left, etc.

So I went into the newsroom and told Vi about the exchange, and I told her I was scared of the lady. Vi laughs at me, mockingly, and says. . .well, I can't remember her exact words, but the basic gist was that I was dumb for being afraid of the woman.

Where, exactly, does she get off telling me what I am and am not allowed to feel? I was genuinely afraid of this woman. I was afraid she was going to lash out and hit me (she really was getting that worked up) or that she'd go down and talk to the general manager and get me into some kind of trouble (his kids go to the same school the woman was representing, so I'd lose no matter what). Legitimate fears. But she's telling me I'm dumb.

I think not understanding someone's fears is one thing, but I think ridiculing people for them is something else entirely. I'm sorry I'm over-emotional and easily excitable. I actually, all things considered, usually hide that pretty well. This job makes me cry often, but in day to day life, I hold things in pretty well. So no, Vi, you don't get to tell me what I am and am not allowed to feel. Sorry.

Also, I had plans Friday and, when I mentioned that to her, she said, "Do you have a date?!"

Good God ALMIGHTY. If that woman asks me one more time whether I have a date or not, I'm going to BLOW A GASKET.

ALSO, and I don't mean for this to be a Vi bitch fest, but it just so happens it's one of those days. We had our "8:30" meeting this morning, since it's Monday. The "8:30" meeting is set to begin at 8:30, and everyone get ripped a new one if they're not here by 8:30, but they typically don't begin until some time between 9 and 9:30. The one time I got here exactly at 8:30, rather than earlier, was the one time they started a couple minutes early. Seriously.

So we're in this meeting and Vi was telling us that we don't have anything else to worry about in regards to staff cuts, because they're cut down the newsroom as much as they possibly can, and everyone else is fine.

Well, that I don't believe, incidentally, because the GM lies. But that's another story entirely.

Anyway, she starts going on and on about how we need to fix things up, we need to work together, and "now that we have a smaller paper and more time on our hands," and so on. She asked for any comments or ideas about how we might be able to work things better.

I spoke up and said that I'm not entirely sure where she's getting the notion that we have more spare time now, that actually, my personal workload and Carrie's workload both have increased since McHotpants was let go.

To give you an idea of what my Tuesdays look like, I'll give you my list of things I do. As the Religion Editor, it's my job to get the religion section out. I need to find things to put in it, format the things I get, write things if need be, layout the page, etc. I do everything. That's two pages.

Then it's on to the Lifestyles pages, where I do everything I do for the Religion section, except there's usually more writing and more e-mails to process. That's at least three pages.

Then there are the obits. I format those, put them in AP style, and lay them out. At least one page.

Then there's anything else Vi decides to throw my way. So, on any given Tuesday, that is at LEAST 6 pages I'm guaranteed.

And since, despite cutting back on pages, they're not going to get rid of Lifestyles, Obits, and Religion, my workload is, effectively, not changed at all.

Then she tried to argue with me that I was wrong.

I don't feel like recounting the entire discussion, but I found out later that Carrie was afraid I was going to snap my pen in half. The woman will NOT LISTEN. She doesn't need to be managing anyone.

I'm getting angry again, so I'm going to stop talking about it.

Here's a question for you. A rhetorical question, really, but a question nonetheless. Why is it that people (and by people, I mean me) get jealous when someone they're into talks to someone else? Whether it's because the person is into the person they're talking to or not, it doesn't really matter. It's that tight feeling in your stomach where you're like, "Me! Talk to me! Pay attention to me!" Even though you know it's dumb and whatever?

That was maybe the most unintelligent paragraph ever, but I think you know what I mean. Point being, jealousy is not a good color on anyone. And I hate that it matches so much of my wardrobe.

It's not over tonight. Just give me one more chance to make it right. I may not make it through the night; I won't go home without you.

2008-10-19T17:18:00.000-07:00

I've had a highly lazy and. . .introspective Sunday. I won't even admit what time it was when I finally got out of bed. I was awake, but with my rigged up laptop, I didn't actually have to get UP except to eat.

When I finally dragged myself out of bed, I found myself in the same weird, weird mood that I've been in for the last couple of days. Something's off, and I'm not entirely certain what it is. I was just down. Way down.

And then I started thinking about the widow of the trooper that was killed, the baby that just died, and I started feeling guilty for being down. I don't have any real reason for it, you know? No one's died. This girl (who, as it turns out, is actually my age) has just lost just about everything. I haven't lost anything. Nothing real anyway. I don't have any right to feel sorry for myself, but I still do.

So today, I found myself going for a drive. Usually, I go to Asheville, but something was pulling me in the opposite direction today. I went west, and ended up in Bryson City.

I'm guessing that few people who read here know anything about Bryson City. It's a little town (I learned today that it was a town, by a sign that said "Welcome to the town of Bryson City." Wouldn't it make more sense for them to have named it Bryson Town? Or just Bryson? But I digress.) I think their main thing is the train station. The Great Smoky Mountain Railroad used to have two depots, one in Dillsboro and one in Bryson City. I worked in the Dillsboro depot last holiday season, but they shut that one down.

Anyway, I'd only been in Bryson City once before, and it was in the evening/at night, so I'd never really seen it. But I learned today that it's really, really cute. It's like the downtown of my town, but bigger.

I think, without really thinking about it, I was trying to go to a place that had nothing but good connotations for me. Everywhere around here, I can find something negative or unpleasant about, and Bryson City, since I've only been there the one time, had happy memories for me. I was there 8 or 9 months ago, back when everything seemed a little less sad and a lot less complicated.

I remember it was cold. Really, really cold. I think it was mid-March, early April when I was there, and it was the kind of cold that you feel like you're never going to get warm from. But it was ok. Because everything was kind of wonderful back then. Life was. . .good. And I was happy. Really happy. I don't ever remember that kind of happiness prior to or since that time.

But that's what I needed today. I needed to remember that happy time and I needed to look forward to a time when I'll be that happy again.

Wow, sorry to get all emo on y'all. I had a month or so like this back in June, and then again in August. I'm just kind of down. I'll be fine.

My county is under a freeze warning. I was trying to hold out bringing out the space heater until November, but I may not make that.

The room was silent, as we all tried so hard to remember the way it feels to be alive. (The day that he first met her.)

2008-10-18T18:40:00.000-07:00

The wretched computer dilemma has been fixed. Somewhat.

I was talking about the fact that my PC is ghettoly screwed up the other day at work, and someone suggested I just hook up an Ethernet cable to the laptop. I just so happen to have an Ethernet cable from college that I kept for whatever reason, and it's ridiculously long. As such, it can reach both to my couch and to my bed. It's not as good as wireless Internet, but I still don't have to sit at my desk and/or have a screwed up computer. I'll see if my father can do something to the PC next time I'm in Raleigh, but until then, I can sit on my couch and use the computer!

I went to Asheville last night and stayed over with Carol. Her friend Monica was there, too, and we went out to this Italian place for dinner. Afterwards, we went back to Carol's and watched Halloween. Every time I watch that movie, I forget how scary it is. It has a lot to do with the music, I think.

Along that same vein, if you haven't seen Halloween III and you're a fan of really bad movies, I highly recommend it. Halloween II picks up right after Halloween, but Halloween III has nothing to do with anything. No Michael Myers, no Dr. Loomis. . .it's about these masks that have been. . .possessed or something to kill every kid who wears it after hearing this weird Halloween jingle. . .I don't know. All I know is that it's amazing, and when Halloween IV came out, it pretended neither II or III had happened.

Anyway, I'm thinking that I need to go to a doctor or something about this sleep issue. I didn't take anything to help me sleep last night, since I didn't know when I left work yesterday that I was going to be staying with Carol, and I probably got 3 hours of sleep. The rest was just me lying there, singing the little songs they taught us in Christian school in my head, trying to fall asleep.

Today, the three of us went to what I believe to be the best breakfast place ever. It's a place called the Over Easy Cafe. It was. . .healthy food. They had vegan and vegetarian options, and I think I read on the menu that it's all local and organic or something. Regardless, it was AMAZING. I had a Greek omelette (sans olives, obviously) made from, apparently, local eggs, spinach, feta cheese, tomatoes and onions. They also have really, really good coffee. I want to go back (probably next time Katie's here. I want to take her there because it sounds like the kind of place she would like.) and get the long-sleeved black T-shirt I saw on the wall this morning.

Then we walked all around, shopping-ish. We didn't really buy much (I got new tights) and then we went to this bar and had a beer.

I came back home and went to the Apple Festival which I'd been looking forward to for a year - a year ago, I was here, looking for an apartment before I started working, and I was here the day the festival was going on, but we didn't stop. I was. . .honestly? a little disappointed. I don't know why. It's possible I was just feeling lonely today. Because I was.

Oh, I went over to Aron and Amy's Thursday night (missing both The Office and Grey's Anatomy to be sociable. I don't regret it.) Emily from work and her fiance (Josh?) were there, too, and we played Scatagories. I like playing games with people who don't take the rules too seriously. Sometimes you play games with people who make sure that everything is by the book. With this crowd, we counted pretty much all answers (Example: The letter was A and the category was "Things that jump/bounce." I said "Aerosmith."

Anyway, it was cool.

So, I'm really into Maroon 5 these days. I've loved them since their first album came out, but I've been listening to them a lot here recently. Tonight, I finally bought their second album. I'd downloaded most of the songs on it, but I decided to go ahead and buy it. I'm glad I did, because not only did I get the album, but there were 3 or 4 bonus songs on it, and it came with a DVD. . .all for less than 10 bucks. I'm excited.

Only Maroon 5 could write a song about killing your significant other's lover and have it make you want to round up the person of your choosing and take them for an afternoon rendezvous.

Maroon 5 music has been the cause of several debates between Nick and myself. I find Maroon 5 music all incredibly. . .sexual, I guess. I refer to it as "baby makin' music." Nick thinks it's too fast. I say it doesn't matter.

Two of the other discussions we've had both involve the song Kiwi. Kiwi is one of my absolute favorite Maroon 5 songs, but it is, admittedly, pretty dirty if you listen to it.

Anyway, there's this part of the song. . .I guess it's the refrain? The bridge? I don't know. But it really bothers Nick because it doesn't rhyme. I say, it's the best part of the song. It goes, "I can't wait to take you home/Fingers through your hair/Kisses on your back/Scratch me with your nails." Et cetera and so on. Really? Does it matter that that doesn't rhyme?

The second discussion we've had about the song is the line that begins, "Lipstick smeared all over your face. . ." One day while we were listening to it, Nick says, "That does not sound sexy at all. It sounds sticky and messy."

I beg to differ.

But anyway. Point being, Maroon 5 is what I'm into right now.

Also, I bought Nyquil at Wal-Mart tonight, and I was carded. . .so they could make sure I was at least 18. I suppose when I'm 34, I'll wish for the time that people carded me.

And that's all I have for now. I'm in a really weird mood.

Don't let your life pass you by. Weep not for the memories.

2008-10-17T10:21:00.000-07:00

I have some not-so-happy news that. . .well, it's not that I feel people that read this need to know, but that kind of ends a saga that began a few months ago, and I wanted to share it.

Remember the trooper that was killed back in June, by a guy he'd stopped because he had. . .I don't know, an unregistered trailer or something? The guy whose son had been born a ridiculous amount premature? Well, the baby died this morning, after having had several operations and being in the hospital since he was born and everything. I can't even imagine. I'm not sure how old the mother is, but I seem to recall that she's younger than me. She has lost both her husband of less than a year and her baby who was less than a year old in the span of 5 months. So, for those of you who are into the whole praying thing, that woman could probably stand it. And for everyone else, just take a second, and think about what you've got, you know? Because you just never know.

I hope you know (I hope you know) that this has nothing to do with you. It's personal, myself and I, we've got some straightenin' out to do.

2008-10-15T15:01:00.001-07:00

Free ringtones are, maybe, one of the best things to ever happen to the world. I changed the personalized ringtones for several of my contacts. The ones I downloaded were "Breath" by Breaking Benjamin, "I Kissed a Girl" by Katy Perry (yeah, yeah. I know.) and the theme to The Office. "Breath" was downloaded for one specific person, but the other two have several recipients. Now people just need to call me so I can hear them.

I only worked 2 1/2 hours today, because I was about at my 40-hour cap. After I got off of work, I went for a drive down the Parkway and took some fall pictures for publication. It was pretty nice, not being concerned with a whole lot, and just driving. I hate how much gas costs, but you know? Driving calms me. It gives me an opportunity to roll the windows down, blast whatever music I'm in the mood for, and not really think about a whole lot, except for trying to stay somewhat close to the speed limit. (One of my friends was in the car with me the other day and he said he loved my "Richard Petty style of driving." So there you go.) Some of the parkway pictures are on my facebook, if you're one of my friends. If not. . .well, sorry, I guess.

Tomorrow is Thursday, which means another production day. Which means another day of trying to please everyone and succeeding only about 75% of the time. I had it out with Vi today (well, no. "Had it out" sounds so harsh. I had a discussion with Vi today about people sending things and them not getting in. What kills me, really kills me, is that people will flat out LIE about me not getting back with them. They'll say, "Oh, I've called her 5 times and sent 10 e-mails, and she never got back with me." Lies. Then they'll go to the general manager because their WEDDING ANNOUNCEMENT wasn't printed on the exact day they wanted it printed. Well, I'm so very sorry that I wasn't able to follow YOUR timeline, because, obviously, YOU are the ONLY person in this county that matters. I don't have 12 other announcements that need to get in, so please, by all means, let me make you my number one priority. You and you alone, because I don't have anyone else breathing down my neck at the moment. May I get you a beverage? A pair of slippers? You are, after all, the only person who matters.

Psst. Want to hear a secret? No one, save your family, cares about your wedding. They'll see it in the paper, skim it to see if they know anyone involved, and then immediately forget about it. No one cares, you see. No. One. Cares.

But that's all I really need to say about that.

Also, apparently, despite Vi telling me over and over again that job security is not at all an issue for the people left, I found out today that our revenue is down $80,000. . .from last MONTH. Not last year. Last month. And I'm saying, if I don't find a new job, and SOON, it's entirely possible the entire damn thing will shut down, and I'll be out on my ass anyway. I might hate my job, but I enjoy getting a paycheck.

All that aside, I'll make the comment that it's always nice when someone notices you're not there, and lets you know they noticed. It's. . .nice. Especially when you don't always know what that particular person is thinking on any given day. That's all I'll say about that.

So I'm going to close out here, because I'm taking advantage of free coffee shop wireless, and it's truly freezing in here, especially considering I had an iced drink.

More whenever.

Don't want to be a fool for you. Just another player in your game for two. You may hate me, but it ain't no lie, baby, bye bye bye.

2008-10-15T07:32:00.000-07:00

I'm having a boy band-y kind of day today. Those of you who've known me for any extended period of time know about my proclivity toward boy bands. I love them. I don't care that they're polished, streamlined, entirely too pretty, only quasi-talented groups that can dance, sort of sing, and that don't usually write their own songs, but I don't really care. They personify my middle and high school years.

If you ask almost any female who "came of age," so to speak, in the 90's, they will most likely be able to tell you why *NSync is better than the Backstreet Boys (or vice versa) and you might even find that odd person who liked 98 Degrees better than either one. I remember in the late 90's, there were so many boy bands, they were almost all interchangeable, except the aforementioned *NSync and Backstreet Boys. They were the kings of the boy bands.

Anyway, that music (or "music") brings me back to a time when everything was so much easier. And they, oddly enough, have a song for everything. Got a girl problem with a woman who has been treated badly by every man she's ever been with, so she just won't give you a chance, even though you know the two of you are meant to be together?

Did a recent breakup drive you to the brink of insanity?

Were you wondering what happened to Gary Coleman and what would happen if you put every cheesy Christmas theme, warm sweaters, and skanky girls together on a day when Santa had the flu? Did you ever wonder who would save the day if Santa had the flu? You know you were.

It doesn't get any better than this, people.

I don't care for your fairy tale. You're so worried 'bout the maiden, but you know she's only waiting on the next best thing.

2008-10-13T11:44:00.000-07:00

A photo entry, for those of you who are into that kind of thing. I took all of these this past weekend.

What is this feeling taking over? Thinking no one could open the door. Surprise! It's time to feel what's real.

2008-10-13T07:12:00.000-07:00

Thanks to, again, the ghetto computer (I really do need to get that fixed), I’m writing this on my laptop and I’ll upload it tomorrow morning. So when I say “today,” that means Sunday, even though it’s going to say I wrote this on Monday. Not that that really matters, but I felt the need to explain that for some reason. Maybe to make sure the timeline is clear.

First and foremost, I want to say thank you to my fabulous, fabulous twin. We stared talking on AIM when I got to work a little after noon, and we were still talking when she noted the time at 8:15 (yes, I was still at work.) We weren’t talking the entire time, but I don’t know that there was a lot of downtime there. She’s basically awesome and we shared. We entertained each other, and it was awesome. So basically, she’s badass.

I swear I was going to go to church, or at least Sunday school, this morning, but I woke up after the rest of my whirlwind weekend, knowing that I was going to have to go into work, and I just couldn’t motivate myself. I haven’t even figured out entirely why I’m going to church, since I haven’t quite figured out what I believe yet. Maybe it’s for the community. But I was feeling like having kind of a chill day today, so I stayed in bed for quite a while and then went into work.

Ok, before I get into the work stuff, I have to make a comment. Reality TV has gotten so trash. Nothing but. I flipped on the TV to have some background noise while I was writing this and while I’m waiting for the sleep drugs to kick in, and there’s nothing on, so I settled on MTV. That was my first mistake. My second mistake was leaving it on once I realized that it was Paris Hilton’s My New BFF. She’s, apparently, looking for a new BFF, so she’s got all these fame whores living in this mansion while she chooses which one is going to be her new best friend. The challenge that’s on currently is for the group to “party like Paris.” She wants to see which one of these sad people can party the longest. The “Party Clock” is now on 10 hours. There’s this one contestant, Onch, who, as it turns out, is a dude. I had no idea. I thought it was a chick. And he got all mad when the guy he was dancing with at a club didn’t want to dance with him anymore when he realized he was grinding with a dude.

Onch started yelling about how the guy was homophobic and all this B.S. Um, really? If I were a straight dude, and I was dancing with what I thought was a girl, and it turned out it was another dude? You bet your ass I’d be like, “Bitch, please.” That’s not homophobia. That’s being tricked.

Anyway.

So I witnessed this evening what might be one of the scariest things I’ve ever experienced in my life, and it didn’t even directly affect me. I won’t name names about who was involved in this particular altercation, since it happened at work and. . .you know, I try to avoid stuff that can get me in trouble. Also, I never thought I'd be able to use my "fighters who fight" tag on blogger ever again, and this gives me a great opportunity.

So these two guys have been at odds for a few weeks now, although I’m not entirely certain as to why. There’s been this underlying tension that is, at times, really awkward.
So. . .I’ll just call him B, B is on the phone and is cursing and being really bitchy to someone. For some reason, I got the feeling it was the other guy (called A from here on out) and I expected A to call me, for whatever reason, after he and B got off the phone. Sure enough, about 10 seconds after B slams down his phone, my phone rings. It’s A, wondering if I knew why B was so pissed off. I had no idea, and A vented a little bit, which was cool, because I felt like B was being stupidly unreasonable.

The thing you have to understand about B is that, in general, he’s a good guy. As long as you do what he wants you to do. He has a short fuse. I’ve never made him angry or anything, though, because I know when to play the cute&innocent card. I play that card most times when I’m around him, and he never has a bad thing to say to or about me. As far as I know, I mean. It’s entirely possible he talks shit about me, but he hides it well.

Anyway, I hear that B is on the phone again, bitching about A. So I do what any good reporter would do and listen in. I’m admitting this now, because I really don’t feel that I’m in any danger of B coming across this. And if anyone that reads this would go and tell B what I’ve said, then they’ll get theirs eventually.

As it turns out, he’s on the phone with Vi. He’s bitching and complaining about A (none of what he was saying, incidentally, I felt had any merit. But that’s just me.) So after he got off the phone, I went and called A and told him why it was B was pissed at him. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: If people around this newspaper would just talk to and communicate with each other, I’d have very little to do.

So about an hour later, it’s approximately 8 p.m. I ask B to print out the pages he’s working on so I can edit them and then go home. He prints them, and I go back to the printer in the newsroom to retrieve them. The printer, as per usual, is giving me trouble, and the paper runs out. There are two sizes of paper: 8.5 x 11 and really long paper that we’re supposed to use to print out the proof pages. What had happened was that the long paper had run out and so the pages were printing on the short paper, which resulted in only 1/3 of the page or so had printed. So I started to go buzz Carrie (who was there) to ask her to ask B to reprint. Then I decided to go ahead and put more paper in the printer first, and then there was a paper jam, which caused a delay of a few seconds. Those seconds caused me to not hear what was going on down the hall.

When I finally did buzz Carrie, I said, “Hey, can you ask B to reprint?” She hesitated and said, “I guess I can buzz him and ask.” As it turns out, in the time I’d been in the newsroom, A had come back up and had shut the doors to B’s office.

As there was nothing I could really do until I got those pages, I went into Carrie’s office. I heard the beginning of the fight, and it started out with A saying something I couldn’t hear, because he was being, from what I could tell by his tone of voice, calm and rational.

But there was no questioning what B was saying, because he didn’t speak. He yelled. He wouldn’t let A get a word in edgewise. So in order to be heard, A had to yell, too. They were getting louder and louder, and I’m just standing in Carrie’s office, scared to move. We’re just kind of looking at each other, not knowing what to do. So finally, A leaves B’s office and starts walking down the stairs. I had my back to the door, so I didn’t see him leave, but I heard him, because they were still yelling at each other as A was walking down the stairs. Carrie and I, wearing, I’m sure, identical expressions, breathed a slight sigh of relief. I realized my heart was pounding and my hands were shaking. It was INTENSE. It was intense like nothing I’d ever experienced before in my life, and I almost drowned in the ocean once.

The relief, however, was short-lived, because A came back up the stairs saying, “No. I’m not finished yet.”

Both Carrie and I said, “Oh no.” I didn’t mean to say it out loud, and I’m pretty sure she didn’t either, but I think we pretty much said it in unison.

I will say this, though. When A came back up, it seemed he tried to bring the conversation back down to zero. He also closed the door, for which I was grateful.

But bringing it down to zero didn’t help, because B never even attempted to speak in a normal tone of voice. It wasn’t long before they were yelling again. Carrie kind of hid in the corner of her office, and I went back my desk, which is right outside of B’s office. Truth be told, the reason I went back out there was because I was really afraid that punches would be thrown. I fully expected B to up and knock A upside the head. I was afraid that it was going to come to a fight, and I wanted to be close enough to, if I heard something happen, get into the office and/or call downstairs, because Rodney was still there. Not that Rodney could do anything, because B is definitely bigger than Rodney, and I’m fairly sure A is, too, but I was just, as I do, thinking ahead, planning for every possibility.

I was terrified, though. Seriously, after everything was all over, I was shaking still. I was scared and that’s all there is to it.

A left and I went in and asked B for the pages again. He printed them and I, admittedly, did a half-assed job reading the pages, because I was freaked out and I wanted to get the hell out of there.

If Vi asks me about it, I’m going to tell her why I didn’t do a very good job. At first, I was going to mention something about it to her anyway, just letting her know that I was, in fact, terrified sitting at my own desk, but then I remembered that last time I was afraid of something at work and I was going to say something to someone (the general manager), I was chastised and called immature. I didn’t want that to happen again, so I won’t be saying anything about it, unless I’m asked. If I’m asked, I’m not going to lie. Because scary shouting matches are something that shouldn’t happen at work. I feel like if B had just kept his tongue and let A get a word in edgewise, they could have worked it out with probably half the number of uses of “fuck.” (There were several.)

So, in conclusion, tonight, I was more scared than I had been in a long time. Not because I thought that anything would happen to me, but I didn’t know what I would do if it came to violence. I had this whole plan in my head, but I know it wasn’t practical. I mean, trying to break up a fight between two guys, both who are bigger than you, one significantly so, wouldn’t have been a good idea.

Anyway, I’m going to catch some Seinfeld and then head to bed. There’s no staff meeting in the morning, so I don’t have to get up early. Whoo!

. . .you know I will obey, so please don't make me beg. For blood, sex, and booze you give me.

2008-10-11T19:57:00.000-07:00

Part 2. If you haven’t read part 1, you should, because things might not make sense otherwise.

I’d like to point out that it’s fine and dandy to have a good time when you’re out with your family, but if these people sitting across the restaurant don’t stop laughing like donkeys, I might be forced to hit all of them.

So this morning. The trusty old alarm goes off at 6:45, but I was already awake, since I hadn’t taken the aforementioned sleeping pills. I stopped for Burger King coffee and then went to the fairgrounds. On the way, I saw this really horrific-looking accident. Turns out, this 17-year-old kid had fallen asleep at the wheel and had flipped over the guardrail. It really didn’t look like anyone could have possibly survived that accident, but he turned out OK, so that’s good. There were things scattered across the road, I’m assuming they were car parts, but at the time, I was just thinking, “Oh man. I hope those aren’t body parts.” Luckily, though, the kid was OK.

We did setup, I had a lot more coffee, and it started to drizzle.

Have I mentioned what the fundraiser was? I can’t remember. It was a motorcycle rally, which seems to be popular around here. So the fact that it was cold and drizzling and foggy had the potential to be a big problem.

It was touch and go there for a while, but eventually, we did have riders show up. I want to say there were 30 or so which, all things considered, wasn’t bad for the first time an event takes place.

(FYI: Parents who bring children into restaurants and allow them to run rampant, screaming, deserve to have bamboo shoved under their fingernails.)

So Dennis, playing event photographer, comes over and asks me if I have gas in my car. I say no and he suggests I get some, since I, apparently, will be driving him while he shoots the motorcycles. Cool, right?

I go get gas and when I come back, everyone’s getting ready to head out. Dennis tells me, oh, yeah, you’re going to be in the front of everyone, and I’m going to sit in the back of your car and shoot out the window.

Say what?

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I led the pack. It was kind of cool, actually. And I only had a couple moments of, “Sarah? Sarah, slow down.” It wasn’t too much of a stretch, though, because it was so foggy on the parkway, I had a slight fear of catapulting both myself and Dennis to our deaths over the side of a mountain, but it all worked out fine.

The ride lasted an hour-ish. We came back to the site, had barbecue and door prizes and an in-general good time was had by all. I stayed a while to help break down tables and stuff, and then headed out. I’ll need to find out the exact logistics of the event, such as how much was made, etc., so I can write a follow-up article, but I feel like it went well.

I met more cool people after the actual ride was over, and I talked to people I'd met the previous night. This one guy, I think it was Teri that said, "You remember Sarah, right? From last night?" And he said, "Yeah. You were wearing the pink tights." (There they are again!) That made me laugh a little.

After that, it was no rest for the wary, as I still had to shoot an event downtown for Carrie to use for her picture page. At least, I think that’s what that photographs were for. Anyway, I’m kicking myself a little bit right now, because the lens on the camera I had to use has trouble with its auto-focus, and I was shooting quickly, so I have a couple pictures that would have been really good, but they’re not entirely in focus. Sad.

I actually walked to the event, because parking is impossible when they have events downtown. Along the way, I took some “fall photos” for Carrie for next week (she said something about using one for the cover.) However, Dennis told me that next weekend on the parkway would be a good time to shoot fall stuff, so I may hold out for that. I got this one, though, and I thought it was pretty cool. Welcome to WNC in the fall:
I got back from that around 4 this afternoon and promptly fell asleep, waking up again at 7:30. And here I am. McHotpants said he was going to call me so we could hang out, but he hasn’t, and he does this all the time, saying he’ll call and not, so I’m not even going to bother. I don’t need to chase people down to hang out with me. This isn’t my junior year of high school where I had to ask 4 guys to prom before one finally said yes. I do have my pride.

It’s weird, though, how the last two days have been so jam-packed, I’m feeling. . .not let down right now, but like I don’t have anything important to do. I have to work tomorrow, and I’m contemplating church. I really should go, because I didn’t go last week and I was trying to make it a habit. I wish I knew what the sermon was going to be. The last one I attended, two weeks ago, was about being single, and it did nothing but depress me, seriously. Girl Scouts are going to meet tomorrow, but I don’t know that I’ll be finished at work in time. I could, in theory, go into work tonight and get more finished, but honestly? The longer I have away from that place, the better.

And now, the moment you’ve all been waiting for, I’m going to start answering the questions left by my awesome readers. Seriously, you all rock. Especially Nick, who gave me a variety.

I'm going to start with Ashley's:

I would like to know your thoughts on why Friends is so addicting.

She's referring to the show, just so you're aware that she isn't using the improper subject-verb agreement. She's not asking why friends are addicting. She wants to know why Friends is addicting.

My thoughts on that are that, for one, most of the actors on that show are attractive. This because especially evident when Ashley and I played a Friends drinking game, and added our own twist to it, taking a drink every time we felt compelled to do any given character. I think, between the two of us, the only characters not done were Phoebe and Joey. Maybe she did Joey. I don't know.

Anyway, another reason is that I think, deep down, we all want our lives to be like that. I know that I, personally, don't have a group of five friends that I've known forever with whom I do everything. So It's an escapist-type thing. Not only do I not have five friends with whom I do everything, I don't have five friends that are as attractive as most of that particular group.

A third reason is that you don't really have to take the show too seriously. With a lot of the shows that are on now, you know, like the crime ones and whatnot, awful things happen to people. And while awful-ish things happen to characters on Friends (i.e., breakups, etc.), nothing like Law & Order: SVU happens. So it's a happy show.

Finally, that theme song is damn catchy. It always gets stuck in my head. It's not even that great of a song, but there you go.

I'll answer more questions in the coming entries.

I would like to, if anyone's at all curious, make a note that today, I was told by. . .someone important to me that they were fond of me. Normally, I don't get that told to me unless it's prompted, and it made me happy. Sometimes, I hate being so vague, and I hate not being able to go into detail about things, but, for one, you'd get really, really sick of hearing about it, especially if you know the circumstances behind it, and also, it's really just not a situation that I want to broadcast, you know? I'm sure you do.

Also, I don't know if people are aware of this, but I really, really hate when people I don't know use names like "baby" or "babe" in reference to me. It's like. . .dude, you don't know me. My first boyfriend used to call me baby because he knew I hated it, and my second boyfriend called me that, and I didn't mind it. Because he was allowed.

I learned recently that if you're called something along those lines, say, if someone calls you 'baby girl,' and it's someone of whom you are fond, it's cute. Even if they're not saying it in a "I want to make out with you" sort of way. Or maybe they are, I don't know. Regardless, the name was used in reference to me, and I liked it, even though I feel like I shouldn't have.

You know what else I like that I shouldn't? That stupid Katy Perry song, "I Kissed a Girl." Dear God, I hated that song so much when it first came out, first of all, because the song by the same name by Jill something came out in the 80's, and I felt like it was such a blatant ripoff. Another reason I didn't like it was because I feel like girls making out with girls, girls being "bisexual" is so overplayed these days, it's just irritating.

I've said this before, and I don't mean it to sound racist or whatever, but truly, whenever I hear the word "bisexual," I think of two Asian chicks making out with each other at a frat party with drunken football players cheering them on. I don't know why the girls are Asian in this picture in my head, but they always are. It's possible it's because I saw a lot of Asian "bisexuality" in college. Funny, they just liked the dudes when they were sober. I'm just sayin'.

So, when I was home last weekend, my sister was playing the song really loudly, and then she played it in the car on the way to the party, and it's so. catchy. I hate myself so hard for saying that, but it's true. Damn catchy stupid fake bisexual songs.

Anyway, here it is, if you really want to know:

If you watch it, you'll understand why I hate myself so much for this. But really? If it's not even a little stuck in your head, you're probably deaf.

Goodnight, everybody.

I'm in distress. Oh, mistress, I confess. So do it one more time. (These handcuffs are too tight.) Well. . .

2008-10-11T19:54:00.000-07:00

How awesome am I? So awesome, in fact, that I’m sitting in Zaxby’s writing this, because my computer at home is fucked.

That’s right, ladies and gentlemen. My computer isn’t “out of service,” “messed up,” or “a little screwed up.” It’s fucked.

Apparently, this particular Zaxby’s is the only place in the entirety of the county that doesn’t pick up wireless Internet, so I’m putting it in a word document and I’ll sit, sketchily, in the parking lot of something or other later and put it online. Maybe I’ll sit there a while, because I’d like to get online to talk to people. . .you’d be amazed how cut off I feel, not able to get online at home. (Note, much later: I found a hotel parking lot with wireless. Not sketchy at. all.)

So the last couple of days have been. . .”a whirlwind” feels like a really cliche phrase, but it’s the only one that seems quite right. I’ll start from the beginning — Friday.

Friday workday wasn’t particularly eventful in that I. . .don’t even really remember it. I mean, I’m sure I accomplished something, and I’m sure I went through the day with the usual sense of disconnect I feel at work, but other than that, it wasn’t anything special. Oh, except my outfit was kind of awesome. Black shirt, short khaki skirt, the black boots and bright pink tights. The tights are relevant later,

That reminds me. I’m not sure what Vi’s deal is at the moment, but she asks me. . .not daily, but at least two to three times a week about me going out on a date. Whenever I’m wearing anything relatively cute (which, if I may say so, is fairly often, in my opinion) she figures it’s because I have a date later. Maybe I just like to be cute. I hate almost every other aspect of that job, so why SHOULDN’T I look cute? I’ve mentioned picking out my outfit is a highlight of my day, so really? I don’t need a reason to look decent, I don’t think.

So the point of that is that I find myself in another one of those situations where I said something smart-assed, and she took it, grabbed on to it, and refuses to let go. I can’t remember if I talked about the guy that came into the office with the giant ego. Vi and I were talking about him after he left, and she said he was flirting with me. (Really, you can only take that with a grain of salt. I think she thinks everyone flirts with me.) And she said something like, well, what if he said he wanted to take you out to dinner? And I said something flippant like, “Well, I’d probably let him. I’m poor, man. All I have to eat in my fridge is eggs, apple juice and salad.” Which was only partially untrue at the time.

And now? She brings it up CONSTANTLY. “Well, you’re the one that said you’d let TheGuy take you out.” “You said you’d let TheGuy take you out, what about that?” On, and on and on and ON AND ON. My God. This is what I get for being a smart-ass. No, I would not go out with TheGuy. It was a joke. I was kidding. Please, please, PLEASE let it go.

So Friday, I was killing time after work because where I was going didn’t begin until 5:30. I was sitting in the newsroom, and NewJeff, Dennis, and Vi were still there. I said I was killing time, because I had somewhere to be at 5:30. For some reason, Vi takes this to mean I have a date. She asks me if I do, and I say, “Yeah. Hot date.” Because I’m SO TIRED of hearing about it. And she gets all excited, “You have a DATE?!” I hope she didn’t see me roll my eyes at her. But I said, “No, Vi. I do not have a date.”

Where I WAS going was to a little get-together prior to today’s Make-A-Wish event. They were just getting together people who’d had whatever to do with the event, and I was invited because I’d written that article. It was just a little finger food soiree and I was, honestly? A little apprehensive about it. I don’t do well in most social gatherings of that sort where I don’t know people that well. I was going to know people, but not well. The Make-A-Wish campaign coordinator, Dave, was going to be there, and the WNC regional director, Carolyn, was going to be there, and Rikki, the girl about whom I wrote the article, was going to be there, but other than that, I was going into this on my own. Another person from the paper was invited, but they weren’t able to make it due to prior commitments.

So I go, and it turns out to be AMAZING. Seriously? I have found people outside of work with whom I really connected. The Make-A-Wish people were amazing, and one woman in particular, Melanie, I talked to forever. We talked about all sorts of stuff, and I found myself actually telling her that I’m uncomfortable in settings like that, usually, because people often don’t take me seriously because of my age. She was just really, really cool. She told me throughout the conversation that she’d seen me across the porch, and she wanted to talk to me because she thought, “anyone who could rock pink tights had to be someone awesome.” (Told you the tights would come back. They’ll be back again, too.)

But I think I’ve found a new friend (outside of work!!) and I’m excited. I like my friends at work but, you know, you need some outside people, too.

I talked to Rikki for a while and really? It’s hard to believe she’s only 16. It’s kind of funny, because she’s got this elegance and poise about her that you don’t often see in people that age, but then she’ll say something that makes you go, “Wow. You’re so young.” She really is very cool, though.

I also found out that Carolyn wants to train me as a wish granter. Those are the people who actually meet with the kids that make the wishes and who make them happen. That? Kind of blew me away. I was expecting, you know, to help out with fundraisers or to do office stuff on the weekends, but no. For whatever reason, in the short time she’s known me, she’s decided that I’d be good at that. And I’m really excited about it. I’m excited about the entire thing, in case you haven’t noticed. I finally have something, as one of my friends put it, that’s “bigger than myself” with which to work. Because honestly? I can sit here and say, “Oh, poor me. I hate my job, I’m in debt up to my ears, and I can’t have the person I want the most,” but then you look at these kids having their wishes granted? And it’s a whole new ballgame. And I want to be a part of that.

Someone else I met last night was Teri, who works for Kawasaki, which was one of the sponsors of the event. She flew in from California for the event. Her mother lives here, so it wasn’t just randomly, “Oh, I’m going to go to WNC just for funsies,” but it was cool meeting her, too. She is the editor-in-chief of a motorcycle magazine and you know I’m always excited to meet people in the publishing industry. I mean, I liked her as a person, she was cool, but I knew I wanted to talk to her before I knew she was cool because she’s the EIC, and even though I know nothing about motorcycles, people in publishing are people in publishing. Believe me, y’all. I’ve got bigger things in my future than a hometown newspaper. I’m glad to be getting a start here, but I’ve got much, much bigger things coming my way one day. I really believe that.

After the get-together, I decided to go to a football game, since the stadium is literally a 5-minute walk from my house, and I flashed my press pass to get in. I love that. It was the home team’s homecoming, so, of course, they played a team they could beat. For whatever reason, I love football games. I texted Jason while I was there, since I haven’t talked to him since. . .well, I haven’t physically spoken to him since before I moved here, and that’ll be a year next month. The football game reminded me of him, since we did marching band together.

There was also this guy standing beside me who looked like every stereotypical hillbilly EVER and who kept spitting every 15 to 30 seconds. I’m assuming he was chewing tobacco. It was really hideous. So gross. If you’re going to have bad habits, which everyone does, at least you could have a bad habit that doesn’t involve saliva and spitting.

It turned out that my ex was there as well (I SWEAR, I’ll come up with a name for him one of these days. “My Ex” encompasses at least two other people, so I need something more characteristic.) Anyway, he gave me half a funnel cake, which was a welcome thing, since I hadn’t eaten, really eaten, since lunch. I’d had a little cup of wine and some cheese and crackers at the get-together, but I was really too keyed up to eat. And at the game, I was still really, really jazzed. I was so excited about everything. It was a wonderful feeling. Dennis was there shooting the game so I talked to him for a bit as well.

After I got home, approximately 10:30, I was too keyed up to even try to sleep, despite needing to get up at 6:45, so I went to Wal-Mart and called Ashley. I finally got to bed around 2. I’m still having really bad sleep problems, so I probably slept a total of 3 hours. The thing about the sleep issues is that I can function just fine on the little sleep I get for a couple of weeks, but then it all hits me at once, and I still can’t sleep, despite how exhausted I am. It’s frustrating that I continually have to take pills to help me sleep, but I’d rather that than being a bitch because I’m so tired and then, ultimately, crashing.

Since this entry is so long here (3 word document pages!), I’m going to cut the weekend in half, and I’ll get to today in the second entry.

I can't wait to take you home, fingers through your hair, kisses on your back, scratch me with your nails.

2008-10-08T10:25:00.000-07:00

So I've started writing on three or four different occasions, and I always get interrupted. I WILL finish this entry, damn it.

I also need to finish it because my computer at home has some kind of virus I need to get fixed, so it has the hardest time with any simple, medial computer task.

I'm back home, obviously, and I made a realization the other day, driving down one of Raleigh's busy roads. Raleigh can be compared, for me, to the love of your life that you lost for some reason. The one that got away, if you will. You know, a lot of people have that one person that they were madly, probably stupidly in love with, but that, for one reason or another, is no longer in their lives. But they still see that person occasionally, and every time they do, they remember exactly why they fell in love with them in the first place, and they're tempted with the what ifs. "What if we got back together?" "What if I/they just changed a little? We could make this work."

In my case, though, it's having that person that you see occasionally while you're actually happily in a relationship with someone else. I love my town. I love living in the mountains. But Raleigh is that sexy guy that you see every now and again and can't get out of your head for days afterward, even though you really are in love with who you're with at the moment. Raleigh is the person you find yourself thinking about while making out with the person you're with right then, who you really do love, but that doesn't have quite the excitement and passion of your previous relationship. I never got over Raleigh, you see. If I were to look back on living there, really look at it, I would remember why I wanted to get out of Raleigh in the first place. But I forget those things when I'm driving through the city, going more than the posted 35 that is present through most of the county I'm in now, with the windows down and a hundred other cars on the road. Raleigh is The One That Got Away, but with which I know I wouldn't be happy if we got back together.

No. Raleigh is that exciting, older married gentleman you met during your semester studying abroad in college that bought you things and took you out to expensive restaurants, but that you could never actually be with, because it wasn't practical. You still correspond occasionally and see him when he's on the odd business trip to the States, but you can't be together, because nothing about it would work out. He'd leave you eventually, for the next cute thing that came along. But you loved him.

Is it weird that I'm comparing a city to a relationship? It might be a little weird.

So, I have to say, yesterday was a high self-esteem day for me. I don't want to sound. . .braggy, I guess, but days like this are few and far between, so I figure I should document so one day, I can look back on it and say, "See? You were cute that day."

Despite the fact that I was coming back to a job I loathe after a fabulous four-day weekend in Raleigh, I thought, "I'm going to look cute today. I am determined to have my outfit match the mood I feel I should be in."

I don't know if you know this about me, but I love, love, LOVE clothes. I have entirely too many. Clothes and shoes. I know this is a very girl characteristic, but I'm ok with that. I like putting together outfits and, truly, the high point of many of my days is putting together an outfit that I love.

Yesterday's outfit was centered entirely around this pair of shoes I bought this weekend. I actually bought several new (to me) things at various Goodwills and thrift stores in Raleigh and Greensboro (Have I ever mentioned how much I love Plato's Closet? J'adore Plato's Closet.) I bought three pairs of shoes from a Raleigh Goodwill, one of which was a pair of Sketchers (my favorite shoe brand) boots that I got for $6. I don't know how much any of you know about Sketchers, but, essentially, $6 would pay for. . .maybe 1/4 of one of their pairs of sandals. It's ridiculous. Anyway, it was the shoes to the right.

I'd originally found them at a Kohl's in Raleigh, but they only had a size 6 1/2. By that point, though, I was a woman on a mission. I had to have these shoes. Luckily for me, on the way back home, I passed through Greensboro, and there are two Kohls' in Greensboro, and I was prepared to go to both of them in search of these shoes. Luckily, I found them in the first one, and while I would have preferred a 9 to a 9 1/2, the 9 1/2s fit as long as I stuff the toes. And they look amazing. I haven't felt this good about a pair of shoes in some time. I put them on and it was like. . .I don't know. I felt awesome.

That's a lot of power to give to a pair of shoes, but that's how I felt.

When I first saw them, I thought to myself, "You know, you have a shirt that will match those PERFECTLY." A purple V-necked Wal-Mart T-shirt went with the shoes and the outfit was topped off by this cute black skirt I have. I don't even remember where I got it. I want to say one of my mom's friends was getting rid of a bunch of clothes, and that's how I inherited it. Regardless, it's one of my favorites.

So I was feeling good yesterday, and I got several compliments, telling me of the awesomeisity of the outfit. When Carrie and I were coming back from a food event we were covering (more on that later), Carrie said, "You know. . .I don't want this to sound weird but. . .You've got really great legs. Those shoes make them look really good." That was basically awesome. My Ex used to tell me daily that I looked good and he'd compliment me all the time, but then that stopped and, to be honest, I've missed it. A lot. I like when people notice me, and God knows it doesn't happen often, so yesterday was a really good day for me, in that respect.

So the food thing. It was this event, a fundraiser for Habitat for Humanity, and it was a competition, with all kinds of yummy (sampleable!) food. I, for the first time in my life, had caviar. And I have to say, I'm not sure what I was expecting, but that wasn't it. It wasn't good and it wasn't bad. It was just there. It didn't taste like anything. I don't really understand why people pay so much money to eat, you know, fish eggs that don't taste like anything. They don't even taste like fish. It was literally like eating little nodules of nothing. Very disappointing.

I took pictures while I was there, but I'm not altogether pleased with them. I need to, for one, get a better camera to use, and I also need to learn more about how light works within photographs. I'm a decent photographer, but if I were to learn the hows and whys of light and things like that, I could be 100 percent better, I think.This cake, incidentally, looks delicious, but it wasn't very good. Not only did it have nuts and weirdness in it, it just didn't taste very good, in my opinion. It was pretty, though.

This guy at work is having a Halloween party that I'm considering attending. There are, however, two factors that I need to have figured out before saying I'll go. First of all, I need a costume of some sort. Nothing fancy, but I haven't dressed up for Halloween since. . .junior year of college? And I want something creative. Secondly, there's someone that could potentially be there that I need to find out if they're going to be there or not. You might say, "But Sarah, are you going to let one person ruin a potentially fun night for you?" Well, yes. Because if she and I are both there, it wouldn't be fun for me. Call me petty, call me immature (you wouldn't be the first) but being in the same room with this person makes me so supremely uncomfortable, it really wouldn't be any fun for me at all. Especially now, because she's being overly nice to me whenever she sees me, and I don't trust that. You don't go from threatening someone to being really nice to them without some kind of underlying motive. I just don't trust it and, therefore, I just go out of my way to not put myself in situations that will make me uncomfortable. Discomfort = not fun. I'll have to figure out a way to find out if they're going or not before I confirm or deny my attendance.

Oh, and for those keeping track, there are 22 more shopping days until my birthday. (Yes, I'm kidding. I said that to someone once, and they told me how greedy I was. It's a joke people. I do that occasionally.)

One of my friends had a job interview today, and I'm wishing them luck. Mainly because I could also benefit from the person receiving the job. That's all I'll say about it, but keep your fingers crossed for all involved, and I'll be sure to keep everyone updated. Because I know you're all dying to know.

Oh, and happy birthday to Steph! I think she reads this.

So that brings me to my final thought. I'm not entirely certain how many readers I have. As far as regular readers go, I know I have at least six. As far as occasional readers go, I have around four. So that's 10-ish. What I would like to do is to extend an invitation of sorts. Sometimes I don't update because I don't really have anything to say, so I'd like to ask y'all to give me things to say. About what would you like to know? I'd be happy to answer questions, give opinions, post pictures, whatever. I like knowing people read my little corner of the Internet, and if I am to ever reach my goal of Professional Blogger (wouldn't that be awesome?), I'd like to be interactive. So give it to me. (That's what she said.) If you're dying to see a picture of, say, what shoes I'm wearing today or if you have a question like, "Sarah, would you like to see me naked?" I'd like to hear it.

(Incidentally, I'd rather you didn't ask if I'd like to see you naked. Because for at least two people, the answer would be, "I already have," and that would just be awkward. To ease your minds, maybe a little, for one of those people, it's been at least. . .15 or 16 years since that occurred, and we're also related. Or maybe that just makes you really concerned. I'll stop.)

But yes. And if you don't want me to know you're reading, I'm pretty sure there's a way you can do that anonymously. Although why you wouldn't want me to know that, I'm not certain.

Ciao.

So go on and sleep darlin'. (Why don't you pretend we were just a dream?) It's cool, baby. It doesn't matter anyway.

2008-10-04T22:02:00.000-07:00

I've decided that being a sensitive person isn't fun at all. When I was younger, I used to cry at everything. EVERYthing. Someone would look at me funny, and I'd feel the tears well up. I don't know why this is, exactly, and I'm certain a psychiatrist would have a field day with me, what with that added to all the other issues I already have.

I've mentioned that recently, I've been feeling everything a lot more strongly than I used to. I feel like I'm reverting back to my childhood of everything making me cry. I don't actually cry, because I've become pretty good at holding it in when I feel it coming on (did you know that if you pinch the skin between your thumb and pointer finger when you feel yourself about to cry, it'll stop it? It's true.) But what happens instead is that I get this awful sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach, and it just doesn't go away. That's where the O part of my OCD comes into play. Most people think that having OCD just means that you have to have a certain number of things together or that you have to lock a door fourteen times or else you'll think something bad is going to happen or something like that. While that can be the case sometimes with some people, another aspect of it that gets overshadowed by the "compulsive" part of it is the obsessive part of it.

What happens is, I start thinking about something, and I can't stop thinking about it. I try, but I can't. I think about nothing else but that one thing and I just can't get it out of my head. People say, "Sarah, just stop obsessing over it," and I want to punch them in the face and say, "I CAN'T. Do you think I LIKE obsessing over things? I don't, but I can't stop it.

So the fact that I decorated Dennis' desk before I left and then his wife came in with even more balloons to an already ballooned desk Friday? That bothers me. I can't stop thinking about how much that bothers me. I wasn't trying to take anything away from whatever she was doing. I didn't even know balloons were going to be involved. I just always do the balloon thing for people's birthdays. And now I'm wishing I hadn't done the balloons, but if I hadn't, that would have been weird, and then I would have felt badly about NOT doing it, and THAT would have plagued my thoughts. I KNOW how dumb it is and I KNOW that it has nothing to do with any other aspect of my life, but I can't stop thinking about it. I think there's a wire crossed in my brain or something.

This diatribe has a purpose.

The reason I'm in Raleigh this weekend that I couldn't say before, just in case, is because my mom threw my Sdad a surprise 60th birthday party. The Sdad's birthday isn't actually until December, but that's what made it such a surprise.

My mother has literally been planning this party for more than a year. I believe the count was 13 months. She had more than 100 people say they were coming, she had enough food to feed an army, and she had this place rented from 6 to 11. People came from as far away as Maine. My sister had helped make mix CDs. All the makings of a basically awesome party.

As far as I'm concerned, it was a success. However, almost all the people left in mass exodus fashion by about 8:30. And there was all this food left over.

I'm not making a lot of sense, I don't think, but the basic gist is, I think my mom is really disappointed by how it turned out, and that is absolutely killing me, because I know how hard she worked on this party. I've felt pretty much on the verge of tears since most of the people left. I'm not sure actually why I haven't cried yet. I just feel really, really badly, even though a lot of people came.

I told her it was a good party and she said, "Yeah, until about 8:30." And

I can't talk about this anymore.

I had fun, but I know she was disappointed.

Oh, and I don't know if my brother has ever read this, I'm fairly certain he never has and never will, but Johnny, if you're reading this? You are a fucking ass. You left even before the exodus, having drunk how many beers? 10? 12? I don't care if you are a fucking Marine. You just wanted to go with your stupid, stupid friend and your skanky whore of a cousin to. . .wherever the fuck it is you went. You were late getting there, you didn't help at ALL with cleanup or anything. I'm pretty disgusted with you. And I don't care who knows it.

I miss Raleigh so much. I don't want to go home. It's going to kill me a little leaving on Monday.

I'm more unhappy right now than I realized I was. Sorry, y'all. I know I'm a downer. I tried to keep it upbeat, but maybe I should just stop blogging for a while, until I can get back to not talking about how unhappy I am all the time.

Sorry.

Why does it always rain on me? Even when the sun is shining, I can't avoid the lightning.

2008-10-03T18:19:00.001-07:00

Raleigh! Oh my God, how I've missed this place. I finally left home at like 11:30 after running a few errands which included but were not limited to depositing a check, paying my electric bill and going to the library.

At the library, I picked up some books on tape, because I've found that the time passes so much more quickly on the road when I'm listening to books on tape, rather than listening to music. I don't know. There are days when I just want to drive around, blasting music and singing along, and then there are long, long, 4 1/2 hour trips that just warrant a book on tape. I got through John Grisham's "The Firm" and started on a book by that guy who did that documentary called "Supersize me." "The Firm" was ok. Nothing to write home about, but not a waste of three hours, either. I ended that one just as I got to Greensboro, and I put in the other one after I left the used bookstore at which I stopped in Greensboro, where I bought a Sweet Valley High book (for 50 cents!!), a book by an author that I like, and season 1 of 30 Rock on DVD because I love (LOVE!!) Tina Fey.

So, I finished this book that I started a few months ago and finally picked up again. "We Need To Talk About Kevin" is a book that Nick had highly recommended and that I had bought. . .I want to say over the summer. Maybe in July? Yeah, because it was last time I was in the Piedmont. I started it and didn't like it at all. It was slow and draggy and fairly boring. However, I picked it up again last week and couldn't put it down. It really picked up after a while and I got completely sucked into it. I spent the better part of quite a few evenings this week reading it, and when I finally got to the end, I was disappointed it was over. It was one of those books that. . .it kind of feels like it grabs you by the soul. You feel it. I felt every emotion that the woman narrating was feeling, and I was emotionally exhausted by the time the book ended. There was one moment (I won't say what happened, in case anyone wants to read it), but I actually said, "Oh no!" and then I re-read the passage, hoping that I'd read it wrong the first time.

I would highly recommend it. Nick, I take back saying it was really boring. It gets so much better.

I've been reading a lot of things recently that I've felt. I read the autobiography of one of the women that was one of the founding members of the Make-A-Wish foundation. I cried while reading that book. I didn't like the woman's writing so much, but when she was talking about her son that died of cancer? It was so, so sad. And it made me more anxious to work for them as a volunteer. The regional director of the WNC Make-A-Wish branch is going to bring me papers so I can sign up next weekend. Next weekend is the motorcycle rally for Make-A-Wish, and the night before, there's going to be a meet and greet for people involved, where they'll meet Rikki, because she's the ride ambassador, and Carolyn (the director) invited me to come. Not as a reporter, but just to go. I'll be reporting on the rally that Saturday, and I'm pretty excited about it. I'm jumping into this Make-A-Wish stuff headfirst, because while I knew what Make-A-Wish was, I'd never met anyone involved with them or who had benefited from them, but now that I have, I realize that it's a really, really great organization.

The new guy at work, NewJeff, is, as it turns out, a welcome addition to the office. He's very cool, and his kid is an absolute doll. She's the same age as Dennis' kid, and it seems very, very odd that I've found two four-year-old kids that I don't disdain. Vera (NewJeff's kid) is ridiculously polite and she's just adorable.

I feel like I might not hate kids as much as I used to. Maybe it's just that I've run into a couple that aren't tragic and are relatively well-behaved, so I'm forgetting why exactly it is I don't like kids.

I think I'm going to end up that person that, one day, someone's going to say, "I love you," and I'm going to say, "Thank you." I find that when someone says something complimentary to me that normally would illicit some kind of response, I end up saying "thank you." And that, one of these days, is going to end up awkward.

I meant to take pictures of Dennis' desk to put them up here. I have a little ritual of putting balloons and streamers in people's desks and offices for their birthdays, and his birthday is Sunday, so I did the balloon thing Thursday before I left. It was pretty cool, because, thanks to my OCD, it was very symmetrical. Vi's birthday is next, so I'll have to figure out a color scheme for her. When it was Chuck's birthday, I did black balloons and streamers, because he turned 50. For Carrie's birthday, I did green and white, because I remembered that green was either her favorite or one of her favorite colors, and also because I felt that the white offset the green nicely. For Dennis, it was red and black. Black because it's going to be his 40th, and red because. . .well, a couple of reasons. I've never actually asked him which high school football team he prefers, but between the one with red and black for their colors and the one with gold and black for their colors, he seems to prefer the red and black one. Plus, he often wears red. So it seemed like a safe color combination.

I actually asked him, a month or so ago, what his favorite color was, for the purpose of picking balloons, but he never told me. I think it was a good guess, though. Carrie told me his wife brought in a lot of balloons, too, so that would have been an interesting thing to see. Balloonapalooza.

Also, I'll be really happy when this election is over, because I am sick. to. death. of these political commercials. I think I'm going to vote for myself. Truth be told, as far as experience goes, McCain and Biden need to get together. Because we'd have a president with experience, and then when he (inevitably) keels over, we'd still have someone with experience, and we could maybe get everything back on track.

Sarah Palin's "oh-gee-dontcha-know" hometown girl schtick is already getting old. I don't want to get too political right here right now, but she needs to get it together if McCain wins this thing. Because when he (inevitably) keels over, it's a scary, scary thought that someone who thinks that foreign policy has anything to do with being able to see Russia from her home state could potentially be in charge of everything.

I don't love you, I'm just passing the time. You could love me if I knew how to lie. But who could love me? I am out of my mind.

2008-10-01T08:02:00.000-07:00

So it’s October. In 29 days, I will be one year away from being old enough to rent a car without extra fees. Thus begins the birthday countdown. I don’t actually ever make a big thing of my birthday, but for some reason, I'm feeling like an attention whore these days, so I'm making people, at least those who come to this site, aware.

I really hate when people blog about things and are vague and when they don’t say exactly what it is they’re talking about, but in this case, since I’m not entirely certain who all reads this even on a semi-regular basis, I have to be careful, because I’m not in the business of ruining surprises, and if I were to talk about the situation directly, not only would I be a bitch surprise-ruiner, but I’d also have to delve more into my personal life than I care to in a public setting. Some people know, some people don’t, and I don’t need the ones who don’t to become the ones who do. Dig?

It’s amazing to me how five foot, one-ish inch of haircut I don’t understand can, without even speaking to me, remind me exactly of where my place is in the grand scheme of things. How, one day, you can feel like you’re cycling again, right back to the place you know you shouldn’t be in, but rather enjoy being in, and the next day, you understand that, you’re not welcome there.

How can I explain this better?

Ok, here we go. Say there’s a puppy. A puppy that you don’t own, but that you see every now and again and for which you throw a stick or a ball occasionally. You like the puppy, because the puppy’s fun, and the puppy gets you. But you’re well aware that the puppy isn’t yours and that at no point in your life will you ever own the puppy. You don’t actually WANT to own the puppy, because taking care of a puppy is something for which you don’t have the time or patience. You enjoy the time you have with the puppy, but you know that at the end of the day, the puppy’s going to go home with the owner who feeds it and takes care of it. And although you like to play with the puppy, you understand that it’s not. yours.

So the owner of the puppy is not a fan of yours. The owner feels that you’re trying to take the puppy away from its rightful home. You’re not, but if you tried to tell the owner that, the owner wouldn’t believe you, because of the period of time you've spent playing with the puppy. The owner probably is aware of how much you like the puppy. Your guess is that the puppy likes you just as much as you like it, but it wouldn’t tell its owner that, because, for one, puppies don’t talk, and for another, the owner would probably make it sleep out in the yard on cold nights or something. You don’t actually know what kind of relationship the puppy has with its owner, because while it seems to be a not-so-happy kind of relationship, the owner has said things that lead you to believe that maybe things aren't as they seem.

Anyway, now the owner has decided to buy the puppy a brand new, huge doghouse and is taking great pains to make sure that all of the puppy's little friends are aware that the owner is giving the puppy this house. And because of that, you feel a little discombobulated, and it's giving you a weird pain in your stomach that says, "Hey. Stay away from that puppy at all costs. You're going to get your ass kicked otherwise."

So starting today, you just need to tell yourself that no matter what, you need to stay far, far away from that puppy. You need to tell yourself that that puppies has rabies, and if you even get within a foot of it, it could bite you. And then you will die.

All I can really say is that I'm supremely glad that I'm going to be out of town this weekend. Because then, I don't have to make excuses.

Moving on.

Ok, there was a break of about half an hour, I'm back, and you know what? All of the bullshit in my life right now, involving dogs and their owners and past mistakes that you're never allowed to live down? It. Doesn't. Matter. There are bigger things in the world, and if a dog's owner wants to snipe at me, they can. I'll just know that I have a greater purpose in my life than to put up with whatever people who can't let the past be the past can dish out.

I should explain.

I've mentioned, more than once, the girl I interviewed for the Make-A-Wish article. Here's the YouTube video she's in, which I keep meaning to post:

So, the guy that was with her, another Make-A-Wish volunteer, came by to thank me again for the article I wrote. He's told Dennis that he was happy about the article and he told me over the phone the other day how much he liked it, but he stopped by again to tell me again how grateful he was and how much he liked it, and the Make-A-Wish people liked it, and the girl I interviewed liked it (he called her little Rikki, which made me laugh, actually.) He was so incredibly grateful that I really almost cried. Recently, there has been an influx of instances that have almost made me cry, and they haven't all been sad things. I've never been a happy crier, but for some reason, I've been more emotional than usual recently, and several things that are happy have made me tear up, if not just outright cry. While he was here, the guy told me that he's been passing out papers to all these people, to people within Make-A-Wish, to family, friends, and everything.

And I almost cried when he was telling me this. I'm such a putz.

So the point of all this is this: this is going to sound really weird, but I feel like there's a REASON I was the one Vi made do this story. I don't know why, but I have this really strong feeling that there's a reason, and I'd like to know what that reason is.

I've applied for a job at a non-profit in Asheville, and they're supposed to be getting with the "qualified" people by the end of this week, beginning of next. I need this to go through for me. I can't take much more of this. I just can't. I had this whole plan to be out by November, but that's not going to work out for me. I need something. Anything.

I've also been going to church. And it hasn't been struck by lightning. I'll talk more about that later, I guess.

Oh, and Girl Scouts started again, and I'm excited about all the stuff we're going to be doing this season. Good times.

Oh and I don't know. I don't know what he's after. But he's so beautiful. (Such a beautiful disaster.)

2008-09-30T15:04:00.000-07:00

I would like to make an observation. With very few exceptions, there are two things that can make most any guy hot. Either put him in a tux, or put a pair of glasses on him. I've only known two people in my entire life that were exceptions to this rule. A guy I knew in college broke the glasses rule, and this guy with whom I was in band in high school broke the tux rule. That was a sad day, really, when I realized the tux rule could be broken.

The glasses, I think, have more to do with the style. I think if the guy I knew wasn't wearing huge, honking Coke bottle glasses, it would have been ok.

I just wanted to make that observation, as it hit me upside the head today.

I remember the look in your eyes when I told you that this was goodbye. You were begging me, 'Not tonight. Not here. Not now.'

2008-09-29T12:11:00.001-07:00

Dennis just came through here talking about coffee, and it made me realize I haven't had caffeine all day. I was drinking apple juice in my coffee mug this morning (remember the Simply Apple juice?) and have had water in it since then. I had apple juice again at lunch and I'm poor, so I haven't bought groceries (Diet Coke among those) and. . .

I have to cut myself off here and say that after he came through talking about coffee, he kidnapped two of my coffee cups from my desk (I currently have, plus the two kidnapped ones, 6 coffee cups of varying sizes, on my desk. It's an addiction, really.)

Anyway, I hadn't been grocery shopping in a while, so I didn't have any Diet Coke at home, and I think the answer to why I've been sluggish all day long. Aside from the usual "I hate my job, it's sucking out my soul" aspect of the day. So I should seriously consider going to the grocery store and either picking up more coffee for the office (even though I'm pretty sure I bought the last batch) or getting some Diet Cokes for my house.

The day started out in a sucky manner. I came in to an e-mail from my boss (she e-mails passive-aggressive things fairly frequently), and she. . .

Oh, for any of you that are interested, I got the results of the "Where Did Dennis Take My Coffee Cups?" question. He took them and got coffee for both of us. Awesome. See? Just because this is a soul-sucking environment, there is still the occasional burst of Whoo!! Not everyone I work with sucks!!! Also, Carrie just told me that my Make-A-Wish article was awesome. Go me!

So you know, I don't even feel like talking about the passive-aggressive e-mail anymore. Because I just had a piece of cake (happy birthday, Aron!) and I have coffee and all is good in the world.

Let's talk about how I've lied to you about my ANTM recaps. I'm sorry, sorry, sorry. I know that there are a couple people who aren't watching the show and who are. . .not counting on my recaps, per se, but who otherwise wouldn't get the awesome commentary on the show. I'm sorry! I swear, I'll get these finished. Tonight. I will do at east one of the three on which I'm behind tonight.

So, when I went downstairs to get cake, someone asked Aron how old he is, and he said he was 25. I'd thought he was older than that, so I started to say, "I thought you were older than me." But that's not what I meant. I KNEW he was older than me, but what I was trying to say was that I thought the distance between my age and his age was greater. So then I tried, "I thought you were more older than me," but that doesn't seem right either. So how would you say that? "Aron, I thought that the number of years you have lived surpassed the number of years I've lived by a greater numeral." That sounds about right.

I'm going home this weekend!! That is to say, I'm going to Raleigh. I'm very excited about this prospect, as life around here is entirely too complicated and wretched (at work) and stressful. I'm leaving Friday morning and coming back at some point Monday, and I'm very, very excited. Beyond excited. Excited x 1,000. 4 days of. . .not here. And I get to see Katie. Katie's my sister, if you didn't know, and pretty much my favorite person ever. She's cool, which is odd for a 16-year-old. But hanging out with her is actually fun.

Ok, so I'll (hopefully) be back with an ANTM recap. I almost promise.

I'd rather sleep my whole life away than let you keep me from dreaming.

2008-09-25T20:21:00.000-07:00

Why yes, I am, in fact, sitting in the parking lot of a Holiday Inn in Asheville, picking up their wireless Internet signal. Why do you ask?

Seriously, that's what I'm doing.

"But Sarah," you might say (Yes. My actual name is Sarah. Deal with it. At this point, it would be a relief for someone at work to find this and fire me for something inappropriate I've said. Although, to be fair, I guess I've never actually said where I work. So there's that, at least. There's no proof. Kind of.)

"But Sarah," you would say, after being appalled that I interrupted your interrogation of me. "You don't live in Asheville. It's almost 11:30 p.m. What in the world are you doing that far from home at 11:30 p.m. on a Thursday night, when you have to work a full day tomorrow, starting with an interview ith a douchebag?"

Well, I'll tell you. When I'm angry, I drive. It's not a good habit, as it causes wear and tear on your car, and when you're living in the one part of the country that's freaking out about a "gas shortage" (perpetuated, incidentally, by the media telling everyone there might be a gas shortage and, as a result, causing everyone to rush out and get gas, perpetuating their own drama and crisis. Not that I think people around here are dumb. Even though I do.) I'm aware that I've wasted gas by driving out here with no real purpose except to steal Internet from Holiday Inn (Iz sittin' in your parking lot. Stealin' your Internetz.)

But the way I figure it, it's less self-destructive to drive around, no faster than you usually do, than it is to go drink yourself into a coma. Far less. And it probably costs around the same, truth be told. A night out at a bar and the trip from my house to Asheville is probably about the same.

Or, at least it was, before the Big Gas "Crisis" of 2008.

So why am I angry?

I don't really want to get too into detail, because, as I believe I mentioned at the very beginning of my time blogging here that I didn't want this to turn into my old livejournal, which was angstastic and emolicious. I didn't like that.

However.

Have you ever been so entirely starved for affection and attention that you took someone just being nice to you (which, apparently, you aren't entirely used to) and took it as them being interested in you, and so you, in turn, even though the person totally isn't your type and is a nice enough person, but just not for you, convince yourself that you're interested in because you just so. badly. want someone that's all your own, that you don't have to share, that can make you feel like the last person you were with did, except without all the crap and drama, and then you, through a couple of conversations with the aforementioned person, find out that they "like you as a friend, but not as anything more" (which, upon reflection, sounds so incredibly high school that you want to invite the person to the 5-year reunion your class is having this weekend that you are most assuredly not going to, because you haven't been away from these people long enough to forget why you disliked them in the first place) and you realize, after the conversation, that while your pride and self-esteem are incredibly, incredibly wounded and scarred, the worst thing about it isn't that you were, in essence, flat-out rejected, because you're actually ok with that, because, as you've realized, you weren't ACTUALLY interested in this guy, but that the worst thing is that it's yet someone else who doesn't want you, who you're not good enough for, who reminds you of the you you were in high school, the you you thought you'd left behind in college when you finally found real friends and a niche, which was promptly taken from you when you graduated and moved up to this wretched, wretched job where nothing you do is ever good enough, and you can't get away from the one person who broke your heart, possibly beyond all repair, even though you knew what you were getting into when you got involved and, truth be told, you can't blame him entirely, and you know that, and you hate the fact that he could possibly know how much he has turned your entire world upside down, even though you'd never say it to him, and you're certain he doesn't read your ramblings here and all you really want to do is get him out of your head, and certainly out of your heart, because you know how awful he is for you, but you just remember the beginning, when it was all good, before you started to feel like you were basically just a mid-life crisis, and you've even got people TELLING you you were just a mid-life crisis, and you just want that again, not with him, of course, (or. . .who are you trying to kid? He's the one you can't get out of your head) but someone, but you're relatively convinced you're going to live out the rest of your days as a spinster, because you can't even get someone you thought was interested in you to actually be interested in you, which is actually ok, because you would, in essence, be using him to get over the person that has wrecked so much havoc on your heart?

You have? Good. Me too.

And that's all I'm going to say about it.

Because really? That's not why I was mad in the first place. I was mad in the first place because I've got this story I'm supposed to be writing, and I'm fairly certain she's going to yank it and put a story about the new Wal-Mart on the front page instead, and I'm not willing to spend all this time and energy, busting my ass to do this awesome story, when I'm just going to end up angry tomorrow. But if it doesn't run Monday, I won't be able to use it to enter into this journalism competition, because everything you enter has to have run by Sept. 30, and we're a 3-times-a-week paper, so the next issue after Sept. 30 would be Oct. 1.

Rejected.

I may not actually enter the contest anyway. The only story I have that I wanted to enter is ok, but probably not award-winning.

Also, I should probably go home to my frigid, heatless apartment.

I swear I'll get my ANTM recaps at least up to the last episode this weekend. Or, I'll do my best.

And I'll be happier next time. Maybe. At trhe very least, I won't subject you to multiple angsty entries.

This isn't livejournal, after all.

So sacrifice yourself, and let me have what's left. I know that I can find the fire in your eyes. I'm going all the way. Get away (please).

2008-09-24T13:00:00.000-07:00

You guys?

I'm happy.

It has been so long since I've had an entire day during which I was happy for the entire day. Things didn't bother me, no one pissed me off, and I'm just generally happy to be alive. It's a wonderful, wonderful thing, and I wish that every day could be like this one.

I started out with an interview this morning. The girl I was interviewing had her wish granted from the Make-A-Wish Foundation. She has Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome which, without getting too technical (since I barely understand it myself) is a disorder that is genetic and causes easy bruising, joint "hypermobility" (meaning the joints are loose), skin that stretches easily and weakness of tissues. It also causes abnormalities in the proteins that help regulate the distribution of collagen in the tissues of the body.

It's all incredibly complicated sounding to me, and I feel like I'm not describing it very well, but I guess you can google or wikipedia it if you want to know the nitty gritty details.

Anyway, her wish was to live the life of a Cover Girl Model, so she was flown to New York, got to all this shopping, had a photo shoot, got makeup and stuff given to her, and has since been contacted to model for other things.

She was a very cool girl. She's probably the second coolest 16-year-old I've ever met. (The first, of course, being my sister.) She was a breeze to interview. She had a lot to say, which is so much better than the people that I interview who just kind of stare at me like I have two heads. She also told me that I was "upbeat and positive," so it was more "fun" to interview with me.

See, that's where having younger people doing the job I do comes in handy. Because I can relate to people like her, since I'm only 7 years older than she is, as opposed to the. . .37 or so years probably between her and Vi, the 18 or so years between her and Kim or even the 14 years between her and Beth.

(I started this entry yesterday (Wednesday) and my Thursday was, toward the end, craptastic, so I'm going to go ahead and end the entry here.)

Making love to a picture frame one more time tonight. You can tell by the lines in her smile something is not right.

2008-09-22T10:11:00.000-07:00

I love (LOVE!) fall weather. I walked outside this morning and needed a light jacket, and that just thrilled me to no end. I hate hot weather, so summers in North Carolina have always been dreadful. Kim pointed out, through the window of the conference room, this morning that the leaves are starting to change. So you know what that means.

Photographing!

It'll be a few more weeks before there's any significant change, though, so I'll just wait it out.

The only downside to the fall is that it means that before too, too long, I'm going to have to bust out the space heater, since my apartment is neither heated nor air conditioned. I've had the window in my bathroom perpetually opened for the last couple of months, but I almost froze this morning, so I had to close it. Maybe if I just wear layers around the house, I can avoid plugging in the heater and paying ridiculous electricity bills. Maybe by the time I actually need a lot of heat, I'll have moved to Asheville and will be in a centrally-heated and air conditioned apartment.

(Please?)

So, I have a Professor Friend from my college days that I keep in touch with and who I e-mail sometimes. I know he reads (or, at some time or another, read) my musings here, so he'll be getting this same spiel twice.

I'd e-mailed him telling him about my current situation, how I hate my life in this job, etc. He's been telling me for months now that what I need to do is go back to school, teach, etc. Following is my manifesto of why I will not be going back to school or teaching. I've said it before, but I have several very compelling reasons why that is not an option for me. (Actually, no. I should never say never. These are my reasons why I will not do this RIGHT NOW.)

#1. I don't want to teach
I think that's a pretty good reason in and of itself. Yes, I did, at one point, want to teach. The reason I have this (fairly useless) English degree is because I had a roommate my sophomore year of college (around that time when you're supposed to be choosing a major) that was in the Teaching Fellows program, and she suggested it. I'd recently decided to drop the Broadcasting and Cinema major (dropped because I found that in order to get the the concentration I really wanted [Media Writing], I'd have to take all these classes on lighting and sound and all that broadcasting stuff, and I just really didn't care for it.) and I needed something else. So I decided that being an English teacher made sense, for some reason. I also had a brief "I want to teach!" moment right after graduation, but that, I think, was due to people telling me for years I should do it and being unable to find a full-time job.

There are several reasons why that didn't stick, and why I ended up as a plain old English major. My college didn't even have any interesting concentrations within the English major. You know, journalism, creative writing, literature, etc.? If you were an English major, you were either going to teach or you studied literature. Which I did. Had there been a writing concentration, I would have opted for that, but as it stood, the only writing concentration was within the B&C major, and I've already been through that.

I know you should never choose a profession just for the money (obviously I didn't), but I know that teachers make not-so-good money for a lot of work. I'm doing that now, and maybe it's because the newspaper industry isn't my Dream Vocation, but I really can't see doing that. Getting paid not much for a lot of work. It's not like I've been dreaming my whole life of teaching. Maybe if I had, it would be a different story. But the only thing I've been dreaming of being my entire life is someone who is so important, they require their own assistant. You can definitely tell the teachers who want to be teaching and the ones who are doing it because they have to. Which brings me to my next point. . .

#2. I do not want to teach college kids
I was, in the very recent past, a college student, so I know how they are. Some of them are truly there because they want to learn, because they want to have a particular career, etc. Some of them (like me) are there because they don't think they're going to be able to get a job if they don't have a degree or they just don't know what else to do. And then some of them are there for the sole reason of partying and spending their parents' money. I know for a fact that many, many college freshmen fit into the second and third categories, and I also know that, as a grad student, those would be the ones I would be teaching. The freshman-level classes. I have no interest whatsoever in standing up in front of a bunch of idiots (because, really, that's what freshmen are. I don't care who you are; as a freshman, you're an idiot.) who are only there because they're fulfilling a General Education requirement. That, I feel, would be spirit-killing. I already have a job that does that, and I don't have to pay for it. Which brings me to point number 3. . .

#3. I'm in enough debt as it is
Grad school costs money. I don't care how much financial aid you can get. . .eventually, you're going to have to pay it off. I am currently up to my ears and the ears of several other really tall people in college debt. College, where I didn't actually want to go in the first place (the aforementioned not knowing what I wanted to do). I'm going to be paying for this for probably the rest of my life, and, due to mistaking bills for notices, my credit score has suffered as a result. Truly, I don't want to add thousands and thousands more dollars to my already substantial debt.

And, finally, #4

#4. I didn't like school
If I have to be honest, I'd have to say that I stopped liking school around my freshman year of high school. I just didn't like it. I didn't like going, and I didn't like learning (or "learning") things that would, no matter what they told you, have absolutely no bearing on the rest of your life. Chemistry? No. AP Statistics? No. AP Environmental Science? No. English, I always liked, because I'm an English-liking person. Band was cool up until my senior year when I figured out that it wasn't talent, but politics that ruled there. French? I was an epic failure at French, even though I love, love, LOVE the language and desperately wish I could speak it. And that was just high school.

Once I got to college, there were those damn General Education requirements you HAD to fulfill. Basically, you had to take classes from certain categories that those in command decided you had to be adept in to make you a more well-rounded person. Sure, there were electives, but those were few and far between. And then there were the major requirements. I'm still trying to figure out why, as an English major, I was required to take British Authors: Medieval to Neoclassical.

WHY is this required? All I want to do it write, man. I don't want to read poetry and analyze things. It all seems really pointless to me. I remember one requirement was ENG 303. . .something about literary criticism. WHY? All I know is that analyzing literature is maybe one of my least favorite school-related things to do EVER, and I had to take an entire class on it. Do I remember anything from that class? No, I do not. I remember how hard it was and how impossible the textbook was to understand. Why is this required of me as an English major? I have no idea. I think they assume that everyone in the English major, whether they know it or not, is going to teach, so they make you learn how to torture other people (your students) making them analyze what Fitzgerald meant by the green light at the end of the dock or why Scout was dressed as a ham. (It was a ham, wasn't it?)

Maybe Fitzgerald just really liked the color green and Lee was Jewish and not allowed to have ham, thus developing a fixation on it. I really don't know. But I don't see why it should matter.

Point being, I don't want to go back to school because it would most certainly require that I take a bunch of classes that I will find useless and pointless and uninteresting. Would I like to take some classes as a nearby college? Absolutely. I'd love to take some photography classes or writing classes, or maybe even a painting class. But do I want an entire, strict curriculum, telling me what I absolutely have to study in order to succeed as a (fill in the blank with a job title here)? No. No, I don't.

So there you have four very compelling reasons why, despite being stuck in a job I dislike, I will not be quitting in order to go back to school. I'm not going to put myself through that when, truly, I have no drive for it. I'm driven to succeed, and I want to make something of myself, but I don't know what that something is yet, and I don't want to force myself back into academia just to find that I've wasted time, money, and sanity on it.