I can't wait to take you home, fingers through your hair, kisses on your back, scratch me with your nails.

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.

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.

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.