The End

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

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. . .

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.

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.)

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.

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.)

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.