Hindsight

Eighty Four Degrees and Counting

2011-06-19T11:00:00.001-06:00

The sun is shining. Right now. The sun. Shining.

To some of you, this may not be a big deal. To Portlanders, this is a HUGEFREAKINGDEAL. We spend all year trudging through puddles, wringing our clothes out when we get home, and grumbling about the lack of vitamin D in our systems. And we do it all for those rare occasions when this fair city shakes the rain water off and explodes in serious awesome...ness.

It's 84 degrees today and the people in this town are bursting at the seems with joy. Every radio station seems to be playing only songs with the words sun, sunshine, or some variation of the two. Roommate and I headed to Sauvie Island; it's only a short bridge away, but feels like you've crossed into some sort of Anne Shirley alternate universe.

There's berry picking, gravel roads, endless expanses of fields and farms, and a nice little beach along the Columbia River. It's not exactly the blue waters/ sandy white beaches one might expect-- it's more like damp sand and straw nestled next to a murky river-- but it definitely has it's own charm. Trust me. And, to entice you more, one of the beaches is a naked beach. Naughty bits danglin' all over the place.

Roommate and I laid out in that sun all day. We read, sipped on cheap bear, and at snacks. Nothing could've been more perfect. She got a nasty burn on her lower back and the back of my legs turned a lovely shade of lobster. But our Vitamin D levels were replenished and it would take a lot more to take us off that high.

The entire weekend turned out to be warm. It was fun to see everyone stumbling out of their houses, bleary eyed and pale, shaking off the winder dust and walking into the warmth of summer.

Of course it's already raining here again, but at least we now have hope that 84 degrees can happen again.

Intimate Conversations

2011-06-16T11:00:00.001-06:00

When I see Barcelona play live, it's like I'm intimately conversing with a a deeply important someone. That means no interrupting or even looking my way while we're having our tete a tete. Because I most likely have my hand laid upon my chest and a quiet look of admiration on my face. I'd rather not have you notice that. Thanks.

Here's a great cover they do of Across the Universe:

Never a Bride, Never a Bridesmaid

2011-06-06T13:11:00.001-06:00

I have this friend from my childhood. Her name is Caroline; we met when were three and spent our childhood and pre teen years together. We read American Girl Magazine together, threw a baby shower for our news dolls (and required everyone to bring a tangible gift-- which they did), and planned our wedding days together. We obsessed over boys, held each other after romantic disappointments, and wrote screen plays to chronicle our adolescent love lives. Thank goodness no copies of those remain.

It was around age 14 that Caroline met someone else. A new girl named Amanda that went to her school. She was louder, blonder, and richer than I was. I hate to say it, but that made a difference in our friendship. Caroline's family was pretty well off and we just didn't speak the same language in that sense. And I guess that starts to make more and more of a difference the older you get. Pretty soon I was pushed away-- the girl that went to public school-- in favor of the her fellow private school mate who also had a big house down the street in their gated community.

We still went to the same church though, and got together every once in a while. When we did, it was like being 10 years old again, America Girl Magazine and all. In my mind, every reencounter with what once was a wonderful friendship would lead to a rekindling. I'm not sure what it meant in Caroline's eyes, but it was never what I hoped.

I have a boundary problem, I've learned. I generally invest way too much in people that don't give much in return. I think Caroline was the beginning of that pattern. I wasn't aware that it was a problem until I received a text in August that she was engaged. I was thrilled, of course. She was my best friend growing up and in many ways, I still thought of her that way. I had even talked her through the beginnings of her relationship with Adam and was immeasurably happy to see how far their love had grown.

Then her list of bridesmaids came out. I was not on that list. I tried to explain it away by thinking perhaps she was having a small wedding (she has 8 attendants) or that it would be too difficult with me out of state (one bridesmaid is in Thailand, another in France, and another in Poland). I was hurt, to say the least. But I shook it off, trying to remember that it was her wedding and I shouldn't let my baggage get in the way of my happiness for her.

So, in an attempt to turn a crappy situation into an awesome one, I invited by heterosexual life partner, Katherine, to be my date, after getting confirmation from Caroline that I'd be receiving a plus one. But after I RSVP'd for us, I received an email from Caroline saying they'd "overbooked" the wedding and I wouldn't be able to bring Katherine. Shortly there after I read a blog post by Amanda's mom about Caroline and Amanda's wonderful friendship and how they have stuck with each other from their American Girl days to their joint engagements. I was flooded with emotion.

All of it was the linch pin for me. Truths came crashing down on me- if Katherine had been a boy, she would not have been disinvited (an issue in and of itself), I should have been asked to be in the wedding, or at least I deserved an explanation. More than anything, I realized that I cared for Caroline in a way that would never be reciprocated. So I started to wonder why I should put in time and resources to celebrate someone that apparently finds me rather inconsequential.

I talked to my mom about it and she said mom things like "You and your life are much more interesting than Caroline" and "You have such wonderful friends and people in your life that love you-- don't let this one person hurt you like that." We came to the conclusion that there are aspects of our relationship that I value and memories I would never give up. And I am still so happy that she has fallen in love with a truly great man. So my parents will be my date and we will only go to the ceremony, after which I will go out dancing with Katherine.

Look at that, a mature response to a rather silly and juvenile situation. I must be growing or something. Well not quite. I started an embroidered pillow for the newlywed's that I have since decided to with hold. I have to get my passive aggression in where I can.

I think I'll repurpose the pillow-in-progress to look like something inspired by one of these from BlueClouds. Because Caroline would've hated them and I they're pretty well amazing. Maybe I'll give it to Katherine because she's such a wonderful friend.

Do you have any wedding snafus to share? Ever been slighted as a bridesmaid, or have any bridesmaid horror stories? As much as I love a good love story, I'm much more in the mood to hear about the dark side of wedded bliss.

Shelving an Obsession

2011-06-03T13:11:00.003-06:00

It's hard to say why I have such a love of stranger's pictures of bookshelves. It's possibly related to the fact that I have the crappiest bookshelf known to man, and that it hold less than half of my collection. And yes, I did say bookshelf, as in singular, as in I only have one. Blerg.

Anyway, I was excited to lean into my bookshelf lust with this lovely Flickr Group. Shelves and shelves galore full of wonderful, exciting, and inspirational stories. Love love love.

Here's some of my favorites:

maybe i have nothing to complain about and need to start working with what i've got.

What's your bookcase ideology? Because I know you have one. Do you organize alphabetically, by subject, or according to color? Do you have a library, a stack in the corner, or a book shelf made out of plywood in your closest (ehem, that's me). Are you a tidy or messy book keeper? Spill all your neurotic bookshelf stories. I'd love to hear them.

Getting My Opes On

2011-05-31T13:00:00.011-06:00

Here are a couple of things I am aware of:

This post is way past timely and you are probably sick of the tributes and tearful farewells at this point.
There are many other topics of more worth to write about than a talk show host.

But, as this is my blog, I get to write about what I want when I want. So there.

I'll love you forever if you keep reading :)

Oprah's gone. She's dunzo. No longer will she grace our television screens in the afternoons, making celebrities visibly uncomfortable or cry by asking the tough questions, and turning well mannered, middle aged women into blubbering, screaming idiots over cars and trips to Australia. Dammit I'm going to miss her.

In one of her farewell surprise shows, Dakota Fanning showed up with a group of young ladies known as the "Oprah Show Babies." It was one of my favorite moments of the show. That was me up there- the little girl that said Oprah taught her to love to read, the older girls that learned about taking care of themselves, forgiveness and coping with abuse. All of that was me. I am an Oprah Show baby.

"Your voice has been the soundtrack of our lives. Every milestone, every first, you were there." I often say Oprah is my t.v. mom. I was sort of a latch key kid-- I'd get home before everyone else and it'd just be me, the dog, and an empty house. For many years, mostly in Jr. High, I didn't like myself very much. I didn't feel safe, and when left alone in a house with nothing to do but sit in the silence, it got a little scary. So I'd turn on Oprah. She'd talk to me, tell me to take control of my destiny, tell me to honor my worth, and tell me what I should be asking for Christmas. Oprah would say everything I wished my own mother would've said to me. I love my mom, but we're just not big communicators in my family. But we're getting better. Oprah taught me to be a communicator.

As the years went on, the 4 pm time slot grew a little more difficult to catch as my school activities grew and my homework load strengthened. Even now, I wouldn't even say I watched her everyday, or even every week. So as the world prepared to say it's goodbyes to her, I started to wonder why I was having such an emotional response- why it was so sad to say goodbye to a woman I'd never met but felt knew me so deeply. Aside from suspicions that I might be insane, here's what I came up with:

I don't think any of us can deny that being a woman in this world and keeping a healthy view of ourselves is difficult. We are constantly surrounded by women that abandon their intelligence and self worth to obtain some sort of notoriety. Oprah, on the other hand, has shown us that intelligence, compassion and kindness are, in fact, qualities needed to achieve success. And she was there, everyday at 4 o'clock, sharing that message over and over and over again. It's difficult to say how much I appreciate and needed that.

I hadn't realized how much Oprah had impacted me and my outlook on life and the world until I sat down this week to think about her impending absence. Technically, she's in the business of entertainment and t.v. But I think it's deeper than that. Oprah is in the business of people. She learns people's stories and shares them with the world. The more I look at my own the life, I've realized this is the exact path I've decided to take. On paper, I want to be a psychologist that writes novels in her spare time. But what this really means is I want to sit down with people, learn where they're at in life, help them find redemption in their dark places. And I want to tell their stories. Actually, I want to help them tell their own stories. I believe in the power of narration, the empowering sense of sharing something personal with someone else. It's about faith and trust and acknowledging that you are significant enough to share things and to be heard. That's how we enter into community with each other. And without community, we'd all just be sad 13 year olds coming back from a difficult day of school to an empty house with no one to talk to but a lady on t.v.

So here's to Oprah. For keeping us company when we were lonely, teaching us to value ourselves, hold one another in compassion, and believe in the power of a story. Cheers!

How has Oprah impacted you and how are you coping with the void she's left in day time television?

Gang Violence and Estate Sales

2011-05-29T14:35:00.001-06:00

photo credit- weheartit

Back in September I moved into a sweet little house, with nice little roommates, cute little doo-dads painted on the walls, ~~and precious little neighbors~~. As it turns out, this awwdoorable house also sits in the middle of what seems to be a heightening gang "situation." Twice now I've found my self in a dark corner, clutching my knees to my chest, wondering if I should risk crawling to Emily's room across the hall to hide under the covers with her. I always wondered if I would be able to tell gun shots from a car backfiring. I am quite the expert these days. But what's life without a gang shooting here and there, amiright? At any rate, I'm too lazy to consider moving and if I wasn't, I'm stuck here until the lease is up in December. I also have my own bathroom and washer/dryer. This is unheard of in Portland and not something I'm willing to give up because of a little gang violence.

So, to feel better about my possible life threatening living situation, I decided to spruce up the old bed chamber a bit. Roommate Jackie and I perused some estate sales over the weekend. It's a dance, estate sale shopping. You have to know when to go, when to hold 'em and fold 'em, and when to jump on something before someone else snatches it out of your thrifty little fingers. As garage sale season starts to blessedly approach again, there's really only three things you need to know to have an effective shopping trip.

   Estate Sale Pro Tip #1- Most sales run Friday through Sunday. If you can, try to go the first day, right when it opens. You'll get to see all the goods before everyone else snatch it all up. But here's where you've got to start trusting your thrifty intuition- decide if whatever you've found is really worth the full price listed. Usually prices will drop 50% on the last day of the sale. So if it's not dripping in wet your pants, frenzy-inducing, vintage awesomeness, just let it sit there for a couple days. If it's still there when you go back on Sunday, you'll feel like it was meant to be and end up paying a lot less.

   Estate Sale Pro Tip #2- So you've found that macrame trivet, bedazzled parrot hanging wall art, and half empty bottle of vanilla extract (I have seen all of these personally at sales). And you waited until Sunday to purchase them, so they're ridiculously cheap-- but you're not done yet. You are estate sale shopping, you are in this to buy unnecessary trinkets for literally next to nothing. You. Mean. Business. But you're also kind of passive aggressive and non confrontational. If you've waited until the wee hours of a Sunday sale, all you have to do is mention a minor imperfection and the tired person working the cash register will give you a cheaper price. This is how I usually do it-- as I pass him or her my items to ring up I describe them as I go. "Here's a wripped parasol, a chipped tea cup, and a scarf with a hole in it." Of course you could also barter with them, but like I said, this is for the non confrontational, passive aggressive set. And now you've got a brand new (to you) half empty bottle of vanilla extract for not two dollars, not 1 dollar, but fifty cents. Go you!

   Estate Sale Pro Tip #3- Try, if you can, to find a balance between honoring the life that you are rummaging through and keeping an emotional distance. I struggle with this the most. I walk through the emptied rooms with life remnants scattered here and there after being fondled by any and all shmucks in off the street, myself included. All I can think about is this person- this person who doesn't live here any more, or just doesn't live at all. And I get sad. I get sad for the family that's having to grieve and get rid of everything that looks and smells and feels like this person that's not around anymore. I start to think about how a life all of the sudden is reduced to some bins of clothing and silly art they bought in the 80s-- how exposed they would feel if they knew strangers were parading through their house, judging and making assumptions based on the way they chose to decorate their life. I usually think myself into an existential crisis which promptly fades when I admire my finds in their new home-- my home. To avoid any and all existential crises, don't take the sale personally. Try to think, instead, of how their memories, stored in the nicks and the nacks, can allow them to live on alongside your new memories. And unless you're super into music boxes, don't open any up. They are alway creepy. Always.

And that's it! You're ready for summer, my dears. Go out, buy irrationally cheap furniture and picture frames, and kitchen utensils, and think about how you may or may not have brought home a haunted music box. But before you do, post your own garage/estate sale pro tips in the comments section. I'd love to hear them!

Since I'm shamelessly gratuitous, soon I'll post pictures of my room pre and post Operation Anti-Gang Violence Redecoration.

A Sheepish Hello Again

2011-05-16T23:03:00.002-06:00

A quite accurate (albeit skinnier) depiction of myself in Portland.

The last post I wrote went a little something like this: "Oh hey! I'm not dead. Just a bad blogger. But I'm back and ready to spew my thoughts over all you fine fine readers out there." That was eleven months ago. I'll just leave it at that.

I've been thinking a lot about this blog. Should I pick it back up? Delete it and start a new blog? Just delete it? And based on my blogging track record, I should really just do the latter. But, I live in an essentially foreign place now, and that's important. I moved to Portland nine months ago, not knowing anyone or what I wanted to do with my life. I know people now, but I'm still working on that last bit. And when I start to get homesick, I think about two things: Cheeseman Park and Hindsight.

Cheeseman was a park about three blocks from my apartment. It was perfect. Green and rough around the edges. There was really nothing like it in the spring. And as beautiful and lush as Portland is, I've yet to find anything quite like it here. I can't tell you how many time I rode my bike to Cheeseman, leaned back against my favorite tree, and let the inspiration of the place swirl up around me. And since I've yet to find a place like that in my new city, I've also been without that truly inspired feeling. And that brings me to the abandonment of Hindsight.

It's hard to keep up a pseudo-inspiration blog when you have nothing to pseudo-inspire with. But just the same, every time I'd start to reminisce about Cheeseman, I'd also start to think about Hindsight and the time I'd spent on my overstuffed arm chair in my attic bedroom, next to the window that over looked the ancient trees and neighbors. I would read about my blogging friends, type away about things that on the surface probably didn't matter a whole lot, but helped to create a sense of community and catharsis in my life. I miss all of that.

So I'm working on it. The sun has finally come out in this God forsaken town and the vitamin D has begun to work its magic. There are bike pub crawls, afternoons napping at the bluffs, and brunch outside on patios! If you have never lived in a primarily rainy climate, you have no idea just how influential sunlight and warm weather can be on... everything.

I feel like I have a real shot at this now. I won't be making any grand promises- like a once a week posting or really awesome give aways. And I certainly can't promise to continue blogging once the sun goes into hiding once again come August. But I want to restructure this, make into something worth reading. I love that bloggers are essentially "doing life" together. We're watching each other stumble and triumph, all the while encouraging one other and reveling in the book reccomendations and pretty pictures. I love all of this and I want to be a part of it again.

So here I am, coming back to you with my tail between my legs, hoping you'd be willing to give me one last shot. I can't say if it'll be award winning content, but I can say with some certainty that it'll be messy, honest and probably even a little entertaining. And I'd love to have you along.

Sarah's Not Dead... Yet

2010-06-20T22:49:00.002-06:00

{Photo by my wonderful friend Chris. If you need a photographer in the Denver area, you certainly need to give him a shout}

Oh hey! I'm not dead! Just a bad blogger. But I'm back and ready to spew my thoughts all over you fine fine readers out there.

I'm moving to Portland!! I'm ditching this popsicle stand known as Denver and making my way out west. So far, I'm a clustermuck of excitement, stress, anxiety, and pure ecstasy. The decision to move was pretty rash and hasn't be received well by some (most) of my family and friends; but there a fair few that have been extremely supportive, and for that I am very thankful.

My launch date is July 16th. I should be in the Pacific Northwest by July 18th and settled in with my 80 year old great-uncle Tony and his spunky wife of 4 years, Auntie Kathy. When they offered to let me stay with them, Auntie Kathy's exact words were, "You can stay as long as you like... not permanently. But as long as you like." Other than my silvered haired roommates, I have no friends in the area and that is oddly liberating and exciting to me. I can start over, get out of these bad habits I've set for myself and figure out how to do this "life" thing everyone's always talking about.

Oh! Did I mention Powell's?? The largest independent bookstore in America? Yeah. You'll have a book-gasm within minutes of stepping through the front doors, especially when the cashier tells you there's no sales tax in Portland.

My list of things to do over the next four weeks has been growing; it seems that things are being added faster than they are being checked off. But over the past few days I've gotten rid of nearly all of my clothes, traded them in at consignment stores for higher end items that will last longer and keep me dry during the rainy months, which I'm told are January through December.

I also cleaned out every hiding spot I've created in my apartment. There's the nook between the bookcase and the window where important papers go to die; the drawers in my desk that have become a graveyard for old (and ugly) stationary and over-sized thumb tacks I apparently thought would be a wise purchase at the time; under my bed where the over-sized bags I think I needed to make me a better and trendier student and writer have found their permanent resiting place; and, most frighteningly, "The Linoleum Room." The Linoleum room is a spare room that came with our apartment. It has a drain in the middle of the linoleum floor (hence the name), a sink, awkward and unusable shelves, and windows that lead to the fire escape, that have been painted shut. When we moved in, we slid all our odds and ends that didn't have an immediate home into The Linoleum Room with wonderful intentions to sort through them later. Then we made the mistake of hanging up a curtain in the doorway so you wouldn't be able to see the mess. A year and half later, the odds and ends are still there, with many more additions that have settled in quite nicely.

Yesterday, in 90 degree heat (and with painted shut windows), I forced my way through the boxes and boxes of unused decorations, birthday card, board games, cleaning products, and miscellaneous mementos. My mantra: "Do I really want to pack this?" And if there was still some hesitancy: "Will this fit in my Honda Accord?" The answer was usually always a resounding NO and the Good Will on Broadway is now fully stocked with all the junk I've collected since I moved out of my parent's house 5 years ago.

I looked around The Linoleum Room, with linoleum floors now actually visible and my brain somehow felt so much lighter. Then I turned to my closets, opened the door and examined the few articles that survived the purge. My shoulders didn't feel quite as heavy as they did a few days earlier. Even though I'll be going to Portland with nothing but some picture frames and my books, and will most likely be that girl that wears the same outfits every week, I feel so liberated. All that "stuff" was anchoring me, holding me back. And it really was just "stuff." None of it meant anything important, none of it was hand made or given to me out of love or importance. It was plastic and cheap and making me feel toxic without even knowing it.

As a creative individual, de-cluttering the mind is so important; you have to push away the clutter to let the inspiration trickle in. Creating a clutter-free environment is a huge part of that. I'm a big believer that the space you make around you is a reflection of what's going on in your mind. I've proven that fact in my own life time and time again- when I'm distracted or depressed or stressed, the environment around me starts to mirror that with piles and messes and acclimation in general.

Handing bag after bag to the employees at Good Will and looking back at my empty car and thinking about that empty Linoleum Room, I could feel my mind open up a bit. I didn't feel so weighted down and the task of packing up a Honda Accord didn't feel so daunting. Getting to check that off my list was HUGE and now I'm wondering what to do for the next four weeks before I leave.

Up next: Plan a going away party (for myself because no one else will do it. Harrumph!) and hoping that my drunken hipster friends will mesh nicely with my conservative and very anti-hipster family members. I shall report back with hopefully only mildly disastrous details.

PS- Hope you all are well and enjoying your summers! I'm tyring to catch up with all your blogs will be commenting soon. I've missed you!

Alison Armstrong

2010-04-24T07:45:00.006-06:00

A friend of mine turned me on to this artist a few days ago. I absolutely love her. When he said it was "kind of 50's pop art," I was skeptical. I feel like the genre is really hit or miss with me; but I was blown away when I visited her website. Definitely a hit. When you go to her site, make sure you check out her process. At first glance she looks like to be a graphic designer but there's so much more to it than that.

These pictures don't do her justice; the colors on the website are stunning. "City" is my favorite. Which ones do you like? One lucky commenter gets one for free.
Just kidding. I can't even afford the prints, but I would like to know which ones strike your fancy.

If it wasn't $800, it'd be perfect for a laundry room.

This needs to be in my house immediately.

The colors! The wings! I might cry.

Looking in to the Past

2010-04-15T17:01:00.000-06:00

Stumbled upon this little gem a few days ago.

"25 photos that compare past snapshots of buildings, locations, structures, and people with the present day scene. Below are some of our favorites picked out from the hundreds of photos in the Looking Into the Past Flickr group by Jason Powell."

Here are some of my favorites:

All for the Love of Harry

2010-04-10T16:51:00.002-06:00

{i imagine this is what my mind looks like. found here}

For the past three days I've been noticing a remarkable amount of tweed jackets, dark rimmed glasses and laptop bags being toted around near our convention center downtown. I didn't think much of it other than to steal some second glances at the dashing young men in their corduroy pants.

Turns out they're all hear for the AWP Conference- The Association of Writers and Writing Programs. I found out today- the last day of the conference. Why didn't I know about this? Why wasn't there some heads up from one of my creative writing professors. I'd like to think that's what they're here for but perhaps I'm mistaken- perhaps my tuition dollars should instead go to them ignoring my emails and not giving me back my portfolios; because that's been my experience thus far.

I am beyond frustrated right now. The conference is in a different region of the US every year; it will never be this accessible again. I was looking at the event list and had to click away before I really started to get upset. Instead of listening how to make the most of a creative writing degree, market myself efficiently, and workshop pieces relating to the "fantastic" I'm sitting in a cafe about a block away from the lucky bastards that do. Currently, I'm taking notes on how to read a topographical map. The very thought is so infuriating. I am stressed out, not writing, and completely bogged down by assignments and papers that will never ever get me to where I want to be in life.

It's enough to make me drop out of school again. But my parents said if I graduate they'll take me to Harry Potter World. So... obviously I'm staying.

PS- Literally the moment I put the last period on this post this the power went. Meaning I had no access to the internet and no way to continue to do my bloody homework. The only thing left for me to do- write write write. Thanks universe!

The Prodigal Creative

2010-04-03T18:00:00.003-06:00

I've been thinking a lot about fear lately. Why am I so afraid to go after the things I want? I want to write- I want to be a writer. I want to do journal therapy too, I really do, but it almost become a purposeful distraction for me- it's okay if I never write anything of consequence, I'll just teach people to do it instead. In all honesty, about 90% of my day is spent fighting off something strong and hungry in my belly screaming for me to write.

A person has come into my life recently that is forcing my brain to reconnect with its former creative self- where symbols and metaphors are okay to use in the course of a conversation. It's uncomfortable, I won't lie. I feel silly and cheesy and not myself most of the time. We're pen pals essentially and I'm not used to turning a chat about my day into something poetic- be he does and it's authentic and beautiful. I've started to mimic his lead- using my own words and style. I've missed these words and the order in which I place them. My rhetoric, my panache. This person is pulling it out of me again and I'm just now realizing that perhaps his entrance into my life isn't a random coincidence- I'm thinking it is very much intentional. My brain is being forced to engage in ways that it hasn't in a very long time. It's not about "hey how are you, where did you grow up." It's about "what did you see, where did you go, who and what did you connect with that made you feel , if only for a moment, alive. Not in a breathe in breathe out sort of way- in a way that makes you truly aware of your existence in that moment."

This is what he told me "So my new friend Sarah (which by the way is a lovely name) I want to stress on the importance of writing. Submit your writing to all the places you can, knock on all the doors until your knuckles are bloody, and write until your notebooks are so colorful that when people read them their jaws drop wide with amazement. " I think I need more colored pens.

Last night, as I wrote to him, I remembered what I love so much about writing- the challenge of finding a way to say something that's been said a million times and understood by everyone- in a way no one has ever said it before. That made me feel something- in that completely aware of my fingers and heartbeat sort of way.

I've been in a slump lately and I couldn't figure out why- the weather, school, money woes, etc etc. I tried getting more vitamin D and completely ignored my school work. Nothing was working. Until last night when I finally tapped that right side of brain that was gathering dust. Today I'm feeling more inspired That familiar catch in my chest when Hoppipola comes on my iPod and I feel like I could grasp the whole world with the tip of my pen and still have room and love enough to lie in the grass and let the little bugs explore my skin.

I'm afraid I'm not making much sense now. And the only way I can explain it is that I feel alive again- connected and in tune with my mind. At least a little bit. And at least more than yesterday. And certainly more than the day before. I feel the electric buzz of creation in my brain. And all it took was returning to the thing I love.

Finally

2010-03-02T17:21:00.000-07:00

Finally this project I've been hinting at has come to fruition!

Shake the Dust is a blog my two dear friends and I have started to make this year mean more than they have in the past. I got the idea when I realized how many people would raise their glasses to the new year in hopes of something better. So instead of hoping for the best this year, I decided to do something about it and make a list. To really take the time to do the things I've wanted to delve into the parts of my life that have been gathering dust for quite some time. That's where the name comes from. I'm shaking the dust off my life and seeking out new adventures.

Our lists may not be extravagant but they're intentional. The goal of the blog is to experience, grow, and learn lessons to be shared with the rest of the world. I hope you'll join us!

Shake the Dust.

Spring On the Brain

2010-02-21T12:59:00.000-07:00

These go well with the bit I posted last week about the book planters. *Sigh* I miss green things. Everything is white and gray and cold. The Spring equinox is in about a month! My shoulders would like to greet the world again.

You can purchase these fantastic little bookmarks here.

Anaïs Nin

2010-02-19T12:16:00.004-07:00

I've never read Anaïs Nin but I've heard so much about her; the crazy, the beautiful and the amazing spirit. I've been considering lately getting into some of her journals. I'm just not sure where to start. Chronologically? Or should I dive right into the thick of it and start with Incest where she describes in graphic detail her relationship with her father. Yikes.

She's so fascinating to me. Her life, although broken and messy, is one of experience and love, and I think that's all we can really ask for sometimes. She was well traveled, educated, and romanced with some of the most fabulous writers of the time. Not to mention she's absolutely gorgeous. I've been reading some of her quotes and her writing is absolutely beautiful. There's no way I can avoid this any longer. I'm off to the library.

A leaf fluttered in through the window this morning, as if supported by the rays of the sun, a bird settled on the fire escape, joy in the task of coffee, joy accompanied me as I walked.

And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom

Do not seek the because - in love there is no because, no reason, no explanation, no solutions.

Each friend represents a world in us, a world not born until they arrive, and it is only by this meeting that a new world is born.

I, with a deeper instinct, choose a man who compels my strength, who makes enormous demands on me, who does not doubt my courage or my toughness, who does not believe me naive or innocent, who has the courage to treat me like a woman.

If you do not breathe through writing, if you do not cry out in writing, or sing in writing, then don't write, because our culture has no use for it.

Life is truly known only to those who suffer, lose, endure adversity and stumble from defeat to defeat.

Love never dies a natural death. It dies because we don't know how to replenish it's source. It dies of blindness and errors and betrayals. It dies of illness and wounds; it dies of weariness, of witherings, of tarnishings.

People living deeply have no fear of death.

There are many ways to be free. One of them is to transcend reality by imagination, as I try to do.

Throw your dreams into space like a kite, and you do not know what it will bring back, a new life, a new friend, a new love, a new country.

Solace My Game, Solace My Game

2010-02-17T23:44:00.001-07:00

{found here}

It's been a lovely and reflective Ash Wednesday. My first actually. Learned a lot and let go of even more. I feel light tonight; in every sense of that word.

There's a lot of religious traditions I don't like. But Ash Wednesday, I like. It's about admitting your imperfections, your brokenness, and finding hope against all odds.

For Lent I will be drinking only water and donating the money I save to a group that builds wells in Uganda. If you want to join, click here.

And this song has been on repeat for at least an hour. It's got me all a quiver and electric.

The Fresh Air Revives Me, Fairfax

2010-02-14T13:13:00.000-07:00

Spring is coming soon and this is exactly what I plan on doing with it. Now off to a used bookstore to make these suckers myself.

I will most likely get frustrated and end buying some. If that sounds like you as well, you can order them here somehow, but it's in a different language. Good luck!

I Can't Believe I'm Doing This

2010-02-12T14:48:00.000-07:00

Ok, so I know I've been plugging an upcoming project and that's still in the works. It involves three creative girls who have a hard time agreeing on certain aspects of a blog, haha. But it's getting there!

BUT, to satiate you deep desire for new and hilarious blogs, my dear friend Genevieve and I have started Less Than Three. We've both signed up for three months of Match.com's services. Oh my, there's a lot to be said for that site. So many crazies in one place. Lots of sweet people too. We're not doing this to make fun of or intentionally lead anyone on. Basically, as long as someone isn't obviously a "no" or sociopath, we're going to go out with them (at least I am, Genevieve might flake and only stick to the handsome ones).

It'll be eye opening, it'll be fun and it'll be a kick in the pants to read about. Hope you'll join us!

Ef You Subconscious

2010-02-07T10:51:00.007-07:00

{here}

The following is a conversation I had with my subconscious.

Me- You have got give me a break here. I have issues, I get it. And I promise, when I get a minute I'll work on those during waking hours. But when I sleep I'd really like to escape those dark, twisty and dysfunctional problems.

Subconscious (speaks in elitist, sarcastic british accent)- Sarah dear, I assure you I have no idea what you're talking about.

Me- Having me dream five nights in a row about a boy I'm trying desperately not to obsess over was obnoxious.

Subconscious- Well I'm sorry. I was under the impression you liked this boy, that you spent your waking hours day dreaming about what it would be like if he were to fall in love with you. Was I mistaken?

Me- Well, no. But I'm busy, ok? I don't have time for crushes. Especially if the crush is going to be on a boy who never says what he means and generally doesn't look twice at me. Having me dream about us being in a cuddly, happy relationship with a hilarious pug that giggles is just cruel.

Subconscious- Oh yes, I remember that pug bit. I thought that was quite creative. I assumed you would enjoy it.

Me- I didn't, ok?

Subconscious- Fine, Sarah, but when you pleaded to stop dreaming about him, didn't I accommodate you?

Me- Well yeah, but instead of a nice flying dream or something about Mr. Darcy, like you used to do, you pulled out the one thing that you knew would really hurt me.

Subconscious- As far as hurting you, Sarah, I really have NO idea what you're talking about. I simply changed subject matter, as per your request. You never specified who you would have preferred.

Me- Mr. Long Distance, subconscious. You know, the guy that I'm not allowed to talk about anymore? The guy that I absolutely do not think of. Did you decide to rub his oh-so-handsome face into the deep synapses of my brain to be a pain in my ass?

Subconscious- Now Sarah, no reason to become uncivil. What exactly did you dream that made you upset?

Me- Let's start with Tuesday night. When I was at church and the entire lobby was filled with every single one of his friends.

Subconscious- You have to admit, you were rather happy to see his brother walk in, weren't you?

Me- I was, until I saw LD standing right behind him, absolutely refusing to look at me. My favorite part was when his brother turned to him and asked if he'd say hello. He looked to the ceiling, turned his head, and said no. That was followed by me coloring with some little kid in the church nursery. I'm sure Freud would have a field day with that one.

Subconscious- And do you think Freud would say about that?

Me- ... that he made me feel childish and unworthy of his attention.

Subconscious- Hm. Very interesting.

Me- Don't try to analyze me. You are me so... just stop.

Subconscious- Are we done yet? I feel as if your getting a bit irrational.

Me- Oh no. I'm just getting started. You could've stopped there. But you didn't. Thursday night you made me sit down with his current girlfriend and have a lovely, and lengthy little chat. I can't remember exactly what was said, but that didn't matter to you did it?

Subconscious- No, it absolutely did not. I wanted you to remember how it felt. So please tell me, how did it feel?

Me- I remember liking her. Genuinely liking her. I don't want to like this girl. I want to hate her with every fiber of my being and assume that she is a smarmy, over bearing, crazy woman who has him in her clutches unwillingly. But now that this is the only impression I have of her, it's been impossible to shake. Thanks for that.

Subconscious- You're welcome darling. Are we finished?

Me- You know there's more. I remember wanting so badly to come off as awesome. My interior dialogue was loud and rambling. "Stay cool, Sarah. She needs to know you're mature and above her. She's asking for advice. Be a sage. She'll be intimidated. Show off your extensive knowledge of the world and how it works.... oh crap. No, that was bad. Why are you saying that? Shut up. Just shut up. I think she's pitying you now. Oh no. Yep, you're an idiot. Congratulations. She won." What was the POINT of that? Couldn't you have let me operating under the wonderful assumption that I am far prettier, funnier, and awesomer?

Subconscious- No, I'm afraid I couldn't, mostly because "awesomer" is not a real word. And if you can't understand why I won't let you go around blindly convincing yourself of something that may not be true, you certainly need a few more REM sessions with her. Wouldn't that be fun? Alright, well if that's all I should be going, I have a few ideas to develop for you tonight.

Me- That was a snippet of the transgressions I'm holding against you, subconscious. Every night I have dreams like that. I honestly don't know what I'm supposed to be taking away from this, because I assure you I've moved on from him.

Subconscious- Yes, dear. I've heard you tell yourself, ourselves, that many times over. So please, tell me what you think I was trying to tell you then.

Me- That because of all the stuff he has going on in his life, he wouldn't be troubling himself if she wasn't worth it? Sure, ok.

Subconscious- And what do you thin that says about you?

Me- That obviously I wasn't worth it. Well... yeah fine.

Subconscious- There's more here, Sarah, and you know it.

Me- That my biggest fear is running into him and that I'll probably throw up on his shoes and crumple into the fetal position if I ever did. And that if he ever called and said he'd like to give it another try I'd say "yes of course!" and never ask for an apology or explination and would finally feel happy.

Oh...

Subconscious- Yes, I dare say are you completely over him. *rolls eyes*

Subconscious- 1

Sarah- 0

Outlooks

2010-01-29T10:38:00.007-07:00

Oh no, another prolonged absence from the blogging world. I'm seriously hoping this won't become a trend because one of my goals for the year is to really grow this blog and commit to it.

I've been thinking a lot about what I want this should look like, this little place where I go to spill my beans. What do I want it to be about and where do I think it ought to go. In a really simplified essence, all I want is an audience and quality content to give to them. I suppose you could construe "wanting an audience" as being a bit self involved and nihilistic. But let's be honest here, not many of us have blogs for totally selfless purposes. No one wants what they have to say go unheard.

So there you have it, my two end goals:

1) Audience

2) Quality content

But I also want to gear myself towards a better theme and concept. I named the blog "Hindsight" in a bit of a passive move many years ago, before I even wrote in it regularly. But I haven't been able to bring myself to change it. There's so much that can be found in Hindsight. Knowledge, regret, humor, the list goes on. But here's where you guys come in. Since you're the ones reading and commenting, what do you want to see from me? Do you want more pictures, more socially and globally aware posts (something I'd like to add more of this year), inspiration blogging, creative pieces I've written, sniveling boy drama (I don't really have time for boys, but if you want it, I can make some up). Let me know what you want to see, what you're interested. I want to research the world for you. Tell me where I should sail off to...

PS- I'll probably only be posting once a week for a while with school and all. What are your thoughts on that? Keeps you hanging and wanting? Or makes the blog forgettable?

PPS- A new project is coming up very VERY soon and I'm so excited to share it with you all. It's something that's really going to make this year something special.

{photo found here}

Shake the Dust

2010-01-14T15:11:00.005-07:00

Heavy and Light started a year ago after the death of Casey Calvert from Hawthorne Heights. It's a concert put on by To Write Love on Her Arms who's aim is to bring awareness and support to those suffering from addiction, depression and self injury.

This is a video of Anis Mojgani, two time National Slam Poetry champion, from Heavy and Light.

Anis Mojgani performs Shake the Dust at HEAVY AND LIGHT. from To Write Love on Her Arms. on Vimeo.

This has inspired me so much on many different levels. I've been hearing so much about the pain in Haiti as well as the great sense of community that has arisen out of the tragedy. That coupled with these really encouraging and affirming videos from Heavy and Light has made my heart feel like it might explode at any moment.

I promise not to bug you too much with this, but as I read more from my friends in Haiti and how very much they need help, I have to ask you to please consider donating to Heartline by clicking the paypal button below or the link on the side of the page.

"So grab this world by its clothes pin and shake it out again and again. And jump on top and take it for a spin. And when you hop off, shake it again. For this is yours... Walk into it, breathe it in, let it crash through the halls of your arms like millions of years and millions of poets coursing like blood, pumping and pushing, making you live, shaking the dust. When the world comes knocking at your front door, clutch the knob tightly and open on up. And run forward into its widespread, greeting arms with your hands in front of you, finger tips trembling though they may be."

Very Important- Please Read!

2010-01-12T21:10:00.013-07:00

In April of 2009 I spent a little more than a week in Haiti. The country is very dear to my heart and I miss it very much.

Today a 7.2 earthquake hit Haiti. There were twitter posts from a group called Hands and Feet Project that said they actually saw the mountain crack down the middle. People are crying out in the streets and under the collapsed hospital. The city of Port au Prince is in chaos and the palace is destroyed. To Haitians, that means there is no more government.

I made many friends and held many little hands during my visit to Heartline and thank God they are all OK. They are sleeping outside tonight because of aftershocks and structural damage to buildings that wouldn't exactly live up to standard US building codes in the first place.

The needs to be met are still unclear and the midwives and program directors are still in the midst of chaos, but one thing I am sure of is the need for money. Their security walls, which are 100% necessary in Haiti (along with a guard armed with a semi automatic weapon) all fell at the women's center, both orphanages and all the homes of those working for Heartline. That's just the start. When the shock of this disaster has worn off (and their internet is back up) I'm sure we'll hear the full extent of the damage. But a quick image search on google is eye opening enough.

In lieu of what's happened, I've added a PayPal account button. All money donated will go straight to Heartline.

See You when We Sleep

2010-01-12T10:26:00.000-07:00

I dreamt about Mr. Long Distance last night. It's been a long time since that's happened. I was throwing a party in my basement. The particulars are a little hazy but I remember a DJ, disco balls and flashing lights. LD came in with a friend and his girlfriend. She was really trashy so at least my subconscious afforded me that much. She had that super long faded brown hair that was in desperate need of a hydrating treatment and shorty short dress that disagreed with her thighs immensely.

At the end of the party Roommate and I were cleaning up and she said he had stayed and was asleep in the chair. The one lone chair in the middle of the basement. It was brown corduroy with a bit of a wing back and a skirt around the bottom. Something your grandmother may rock herself to sleep in every afternoon after lunch and she watches her stories.

He was indeed passed out, curled in a little ball, his head propped up a little with his fist and his face in a bit of a dreamlike pout. I brought him over a blanket ands started unfolding it. My hand reached for his hair and as I ran my fingers through it, I began to weep. He woke up, looked at me blankly and said he had a phone interview soon. I nodded, left him with the blanket and went to my room.

Would you suggest I seek therapy if I said this was just as comforting as it was depressing?

Sparkle

2010-01-10T11:11:00.001-07:00

She loved that on more than one occasion she'd roll over and find a well worn book to be her bed fellow. It truly made her happy to feel the raised markings on a notebook full of her own handwriting. She found it endearing that she often discovered pens in curious places around her room, in tissue boxes for instance. Think of that, to find yourself endearing! The truth is that she loved her identity her books and her writing. She loved what her spirit was growing into those days, something feathery that shone when the sun hit it just right. Despite the frozen ground beneath her feet and the ever persistent grey sky above her, she couldn't help but feel as if rays of light might burst through her at any moment. She held on to those warm feeling as close as she could because she knew they never lasted long.

Obsessing

2010-01-09T08:30:00.001-07:00

I'm on a classic literature kick. Once I finished Pride and Prejudice I couldn't stop saying "thither" and "Daawwcy" all British-like. I'm alternating Austen with the Brontes (sorry, I cannot, for the life of me, figure out how to put those two dots on top of the E). I'm currently getting to know a young woman by the name of Eyre. It's amazing how the differences in their styles so clearly show the great differences in these young women's lives.

Despite being nearly destitute, I was walking past a bookstore the other day and popped in for a quick look and perhaps a bargain purchase or two. I came out with these. I know you've all seen the pictures by now. They've finally found a prize spot on my book shelf. I don't even remember enjoying the Scarlet Letter the first time I read it, but how could I not buy it?

I dare say Miss Austen is giving me false hopes for ever finding a chivalrous man with whom I can make love, as they meant in their time. If he is not a tragically flawed, socially inept, despicable man with genuine intentions, a quiet sense of responsibility, noble air and gentle yet serious way of loving (not to mention an awesome house and loads of money), I simply cannot bring myself to give him a second look. PS, have you seen this movie? It's three hours long but I loved every moment. It's clever and hilarious. If you have instant watch on Netflix, stop what you're doing and go watch it. If not, let me know. You can borrow my copy.

This trailer is a bit dodgy. If you want to watch a better one click here.

Narrative

2010-01-08T08:41:00.008-07:00

{here}

She clamored to remember that wretched feeling. That crumpled over, hands tight around her middle, crying in the fetal position on the bathroom tile feeling. But it wouldn't come back. Just a few days ago she could call upon it with nothing more than a forced recollection of the way his hands or his hair felt. Try as she might, not even the love poems he wrote her could make her heart feel like it was being violently ripped apart anymore. That pain was comfortable and familiar and she longed for it. Hurting that way meant she could still keep him a part of her life in a small, dysfunctional manner. But a new face kept forcing its way into her mind and the corners of her mouth would lift themselves up a little. Instead of a violent ripping in her chest, something more pleasant yet equally uncomfortable arouse. It was like a sparrow's wings flapping about and her fingers felt electric. That scared her enough to resolve to never think of him again. Happiness, however, is difficult to control sometimes.

New Happy Year

2010-01-05T16:37:00.011-07:00

Hello my pretties. You all look so lovely in the glow of a new decade. I realize I'm five days late in this, but I was in North Carolina to celebrate the new year with my sister and have been attempting to recover ever since (not necessarily from hungover-ness, but more from too-much-family-ness). I'd like to take you all (if for no one's benefit but my own) on a guided tour down my life in last year of the first decade of the second millennium.

1.) 2009 was a really memorable year for me, possibly in a not so good way. I hate to say it but I owe that mostly to Mr. Long Distance. I'd really like to say he was nothing more than small discomfort for a month or so. But I think you can look back at all his tags and know that he was much much more than that. He is how I started the year (literally. He was my New Year's kiss), and even though I've had this blog for longer, that's really the post that started my true blog journey. So maybe I should thank him for that. Or maybe not.

It should go without saying that a goal for 2010... actually I think resolution is appropriate here (despite my annoyance with resolutions). I resolve to let this go, to allow myself think of him less and less every day and be ok with that, to look into the faces of other kind men and not think about him and that he made feel rotten, literally. Roommate has suggested we retire his name completely. She's a very smart lady.

2.) I moved in with this crazy lady (on the left). I've never seen myself living successfully with a roommate but this girl has put up with me marvelously from day one. We butt heads sometimes. I annoy her from time to time and she returns the favor, but when it comes down to it I am so lucky to be cohabitating with her. We've gotten so close that 90% of the time when we're out together people think we're a couple. We're totally ok with that. I'm looking forward to 2010 with her. We have some exciting new ideas that I can barely keep a secret anymore. Look for that in the next few weeks (or months depending on how busy we are).

3.) I spent nine very difficult yet very blessed days in Haiti. I worked with an organization called Heartline Ministries that changed the way I look at the world, religion and the necessity of faith in seemingly hopeless situations. I desperately want to go back but since I've yet to be able to put a dollar into savings since 2008 it doesn't look as if it will be happening anytime soon.

4.) I finished the Harry Potter series for the first time. Is there anything more to say really? You all get what an accomplishment this is. I'm truly obsessed with the wizarding world... and Ron Weasley. So much so my dear friend SP made me a shirt for Christmas that said "I love Gingers."

5.) I gave up social networking for the summer. The best decision I've ever made. I may do it again this year.

6.) I turned 22. That was anticlimactic.

7.) I began my path in gaining a degree in creative writing. It was my first real semester back on campus after taking a year off. I was challenged, to be sure. Sir Elliot tried to wear me down but in the end I came out his class with an A and still wanting to be a writer, more so than ever. Maybe he wasn't such a bad teacher after all? Nah. Here a post that I often look back on and laugh at, though I was pretty miserable in the moment.

8.) I decided to live a good story.

9.) I met a lovely new boy who, in all likelihood, is very much infatuated with one of my best friends. Oomph. (I suppose more on this later).

*the boy in the photograph is not the boy i'm referring to. but he is nice to look at, no?

10.) In about 6 months I will most likely be living in Austin.

Not a shabby year all together I'd say! Thank you all for sharing in it with me. I'm excited to really devote my self even further to the concept of this blog and potentially others soon! Here's to 2010 and the endless opportunities that await us!

Joyeaux Noel

2009-12-25T08:49:00.008-07:00

Currently I'm sitting on my parents couch in my pajamas, playing with the string of pearls my mom got me, which may or may not be real but I don't care because they're beautiful. I'm watching Sleepless in Seattle and eating red and green M&Ms. Later we're heading over to Nonnie's house for white elephant gifts and laughs. Hope you all are having a wonderful holiday and that Santa was good to you this year. Here are some lovely images to help you celebrate this day of peace. The last is a video Jason Mraz made a few years ago. He really got to the core of what Christmas should be: a season of giving and that means forgiveness.

Oh dear. Why didn't I think to decorate my tree in my brown body suite? Oh well. Next year I suppose.

Happy Holidayz from Jason Mraz & The Voices of Prayze from Jason Mraz on Vimeo.

{Photos from here and weheartit}

A Lovely Habit

2009-12-22T16:50:00.007-07:00

I have this habit, and I'm quite sure I'm not alone in this. When I fall deep into a book, I always read right before bed. When my eyelids start to get heavy and I have to read sentences three times just to remember what's going on, it's like somebody's got me tight around the waist and I'm clenching as hard as I can to cover of the book. They're yanking me away when all I want to do is sit and chat with those printed names that are more like friends than characters. But eventually I give in to those persistent arms around my waist and fall asleep. It's here that the habit begins. Once those heavy eyelids get the better of me, I start to dream about whatever it is I'm reading.

When I was reading Harry Potter this proved to be a little scary at times. Voldemort and Draco were always after me and I generally had something very important I needed to do (to save the wizarding world, naturally) and yet never quite knew what that something was.

But now, oh thank heavens, I'm reading Pride and Prejudice. I've read it before but for some reason this time I am seriously enthralled. I think I "poo poo'ed" it the first time because Mr. Long Distance and I had just called it quits and I was questioning the existence of any type of love, especially a love like Elizabeth Bennet's and Mr. Darcy's, or even Jane and Bingly's for that matter. But now I'm positively obsessed with those two. It's messy and they're on the surface totally wrong for each other but oh how they love each other and in the end that's all they need. I'd much rather distract myself with their relationship than worry about one of my own. I've decided living vicariously through books will by my life's new path, when it comes to love anyway. It's so much easier, wouldn't you say?

{photo from here}

Let Me Tell You a Story

2009-12-20T19:56:00.003-07:00

There once was a young woman, with fair enough features and a love affair with writing. She decided to try her hand at html and the internet and started her very own blog. She named it Hindsight because she found comfort and solace in being able to recount embarrassing and sometime painful moments in her life for a group of encouraging fellow bloggers. As her "followers" grew, her admiration for the blog grew as well. (And she would like to add how much she detests the term "followers." She is not the leader of a cult). Finally she had found an audience, albeit small. She was ever so thankful for those who visited her humble area of self expression.

But, as this young woman well knows and I'm sure you do as well, no story worth its salt is without conflict. Deadlines arouse, plane tickets for quick trips were purchased, and viruses and bacterial infections plagued her poor, defenseless body. She was left with aches, fevers and ears so full of fluid she could only sit quietly in restaurants, with all their background noise, and nod politely while everyone enjoyed lively conversation. And it was because of those ghastly distractions that her blog fell by the way side. Embarrassingly, she was hardly even able to read her dear friends' posts. The less she wrote and read, the less she thought about that virtual world she had created and the harder it was to bring herself to post again.

This particular young woman, however, isn't one to be defeated by finals, distractions, exhaustion, illness, or even the evil Sir Eliot. She rose above adversity (and got an A in Creative Writing by the way), pulled herself up by her high heels and sat down once again to type a cheerful greeting and regret of her prolonged absence to all of her beloved blogosphere friends.

She promises to visit more regularly, post lovely stories and insights into her sometime humdrum, sometimes exciting life and to update all of her friends of her goings-on. But not tonight, dear reader. Tonight, Elizabeth Bennet and Mr. Darcy are drawing our young woman's attentions elsewhere. And at that I, and our young woman, bid you adieu.

Lived-In Skin

2009-11-29T11:55:00.005-07:00

Candles blown out,

celebration over.

Two strong and calloused

hands push you from behind, hard.

You’re flung over the edge of Carelessness

into a crevasse of Responsibility.

You look around at the scene,

depressing and real,

at the world they’ve given you.

Your small arms tremble under the weight

of war and disease, hunger and debt.

It smells of garbage and depression.

Dry lips mouth the same questions:

What will you do and how will you do it?

Tongues wag like excited dogs,

waiting to pounce on your irresponsibility

or live vicariously through your lucky chances.

With a chin in the air, you’ll tell them of

summer nights in Barcelona, balmy and tepid.

A man named Frederiko who rolls his R’s

with lips the color of babies. He gives you

roses that look like blood

and calls you bonita.

Tell them of air that tastes like curry

and dark eyes that search parts of

you you didn’t know were there.

Little brown hands in yours

lead you through a land of plenty,

a land of poverty.

You will be bold in dark places.

Tell them of festivals in the mud.

Hippies dance, the music their only partner,

shirtless, their pink and green peace beads jump happily on

their exposed chests while the rain makes

happy trails down their leather-brown and lived-in skin.

That’s what you’ll tell them,

you want skin that’s been lived in.

{photo here}

A True American Thanksgiving

2009-11-27T10:59:00.006-07:00

I would love to post some sentimental photograph of my grandmother in her younger days mixing up yams and pouring gravy over mashed potatoes. And I'd love to goosh over how thankful I am for my family and the love and support they offer and what a happy Thanksgiving it was yesterday.

But a happy and drama free Thanksgiving? That's just not American.

It started with my grandmother talking about the gays. Then my grandpa started in on the blacks and how it's unfair that if "one of them" kills "one of us" as gang initiation it's not a hate crime. Yeah, I'll let you think on that for a while. Oh! And let's not forget health care. I heard a lovely one-side conversation with "facts" pretty much generated from Fox News and a discussion about liberals which included that "them" and "us" language. Me being the "them."

I've been a vegetarian for almost two years and I decided this year I would not be forced to eat only side dishes. One person can eat only so much starches in one day. So I cooked my own tofurky, wrapped it up in a basket and brought it over, hoping my grandmother wouldn't kick me out the minute she smelled the soy beans. Soy beans are the fuel of liberals, after all. When I told my grandmother I was adopting a vegan lifestyle two years agoshe looked at me very seriously and said that it was a religion. An evil one. She's lightened up a little bit when I decided to eat dairy again. I'm pretty sure she thinks I only worship the devil sometimes now.

Everyone else tried the tofurky and actually liked it! Even my dad and Uncle Jim who are the biggest carnivores you'll ever meet, admitted it "wasn't bad." Uncle Jim followed that up with "but let's not go crazy here, nobody's converting today." Still, it felt like I had won a small victory. All that was left was to get Grandma to try a bite. It would be like she was telling me she loved me... for the first time (seriously). But she didn't and I had to sit through a lecture on how the liberal education system had brainwashed me into idealizing animals and that growing up on the farm they only ate meat soaked in lard and that if I'm half as healthy as she is now she'll be surprised. Yada yada yada.

The remainder of the evening was spent silent, on my part. On the way home I tried to find something encouraging about the situation. Two years ago, if she had done the same thing I would've been crushed, crying in the dark with a blanket over my head. This year though I almost felt empowered, but sad for HER. I realized that this woman has now idea what joy is and what it means to find joy in your life through your love of others. She's never going to have a true relationship with me, or anyone else in her life, because she doesn't know what unconditional love is.

So what am I thankful for? For the people in my life that love me despite (or because) of my hippy dippy, tofu eating, Obama voting ways.

Keep it Classy

2009-11-23T15:32:00.006-07:00

It was Thursday night. My friends and I had gathered at Beatrice and Woodsley for a very merry Unbirthday Party. The restaurant was perfect with it's aspen trees wrapped in yarn and bathrooms with hidden doors. When you pulled the lever to turn on the water, it trickled down a cascading line of silver beads. This place was seriously whimsical. Their cocktails where potent, even during the happy hour, and I had my fair share (which led to me singeing the sides of a 10 dollar bill and telling everyone it looked like it had survived the civil war, followed by hysterical laughter only on my part).

Later, we ventured to the Shag Lounge. A hipster watering hole only popular on Thursday and Sunday nights (because hipsters are far too evolved to be held down by the confines of traditional Friday and Saturday night goings-on). Mr. Nice Guy and his brother showed up. I was decently buzzed, probably a little beyond that actually. Just enough to be brave. I was impressing even myself. We were dancing but I wasn't stepping over any boundaries because I still wasn't sure if my feelings were reciprocated. We were talking and laughing and taking pictures together. My friends watched in the background, giggling at my smooth advances on this boy who, at this rate, I would surly be winning over later in the night.

I later knocked a drink out of my friends hand. I bought her a shot to apologize. And then another, and another. All whiskey. We joined our group on the dance floor. My dancing was getting a little more wild and... well sloppy. I decided that Mr. Nice Guy should, no NEEDED to, know how to do my patented dance move (usually reserved for dance parties in my living room with girlfriend and wine shooters), "Wash the Body." Basically it involves me violently running my hands in circles all over my body. It also involves some hip action and knee bounces that at the time felt So You Think You Can Dance worthy, but in reality... I don't want to think about it. He was generous enough, but his back was turned to me more and more after that.

Later, the girls decided to go the bath room, I headed to the secret corner where I had hidden my purse behind a chair. The journey to the purse involved me tripping at least four times. Not just little scuffs, but full out biffs. Knees bent, hands on the floor. Bad combination in a short skirt. It certainly wasn't my classiest moment.

Mr. Nice Guy is fairly straight laced and I haven't really heard from him since.

Fail.

PS- I recently heard he plans to join the Israeli Army.

Of course he does.

{photo from here}

I Missed You!

2009-11-13T10:13:00.007-07:00

Hello friends! It's been ages, I know. Life has been a little crazy: school, work, possibly moving to a new state, and a new crush. All my spare time has been thrown towards a short story I'd like to turn in for my creative writing class. But I'm hoping this week will slow down a bit and I'll be able to re-enter the world of blogging. I've been lurking lately, but I have a lot to catch up on. After I turn in a paper today that'll be my first priority.

So, here's what's been going on in the world of Sarah:

Sir Eliot: Yesterday I had a one on one conference with Sir Eliot and, surprise! I did not want to lay face down in frost bitten grass and curse the moment I decided to pursue writing. He was actually fairly encouraging and genuinely happy to hear I was a creative writing major. I told myself I didn't need his approval to feel validated, but I'll be honest, it felt pretty damn good.

Music: I went to a Hanson concert last week. And OHMUGAWSH. It was amazing. Yes, I'm talking about these guys. They are actually really talented musicians these days. Here's one of their more recent songs:

Also, I'm digging Sherwood's new album, QU. It took me a while, but now I can't stop listening to it. I suggest you do the same.

A New Plan: Recently I read a post on Elise's blog about her new, fabulous plan for 2010. It got me thinking. This whole "live in the moment" experiment I've been trying lately is simply boring. I know, I know, all the yogis and Dali Lamas say that the present is a gift and that we should bask in it. But making plans for the future is just too much fun.

So Elise's blog got me thinking I need a new plan. But that's about as far as I got as life decided to stand in the limelight for a while. And then it was Halloween. What a waste of my time. I spent months sewing this dress that didn't come out like I wanted, my friends were being weird, the parties we went to were lame. I climbed into my bed around 3, completely sober, thinking that I am not living a good story. That's my new experiment, the way I'm going to make my "present" worth something. But more on that on day, I'm still working out the kinks.

The Monday after Halloween weekend, my boss looked at me very seriously and said they were thinking about moving to Austin, and would I come along. I think she was hoping I would be the voice of reason and say no and then list all the logical reasons why they shouldn't move either. But I didn't. I mean part of me wanted to, but that part was very quiet and new better than to speak up. The reckless part of me, that usually gets me into the most fun/trouble said "Yes!"

That was my inciting incident. Technically an inciting incident is this:

"The inciting incident is a plot element and arrives near the beginning of the drama. It can be long or short and connects the situation that the characters find themselves at the beginning or before the play begins to the end of the play. It begins the action and also sets up the main question (Motivating Question) that the audience wants the play to answer. The focus, therefore, is both on the character and audience suspense."

If I am going to live my life like a well loved novel, this is my chance to get it started. It's the start of my drama, a young girl moving to a new state where she hardly knows anyone, pursuing her dream and not knowing where it will take her. I'll be one step closer to finding the answer to that "motivating question." Why am I on this Earth and what am I supposed to be doing?

Austin is an amazing art town with creative types running around everywhere. Seems like I'll fit in well. If any of you lovely readers are from Austin, have any tips? I hear the college campus there has a turtle pond. I'm hoping this turns out to be as awesome as it sounds.

It's not for sure yet, but I feel like it's a very VERY good possibility. But told tell anybody. It's totally top secret for now ;)

A New Leading Man (maybe): And because every good story has a bit of conflict in it (ok, a LOT of conflict), my first hurdle has appeared. There is this boy, let's call him Mr. Nice Guy. He's a friend of a friend and we met a few years ago when we were both in the music program. Back then I was a little out of control when it came to the opposite sex. I mean, I'm still a little nutty, but it's nothing compared to then. Somehow I acquired his number and would invite him to random outings. He worked at the Starbucks by my house and I would go in when I knew he was working. He saw through it all, of course. Disastrous is really the only word for it all. So I'm trying to be the polar opposite of that. So far I haven't stalked him at all so I'm already improving from last time.

I hadn't seen him in at least a year and a half and had pretty much forgotten about him. A few weeks ago, though, I ran into him at a friend's birthday party. He looked completely different. I mean, he was attractive back then, total hipster and definitely what I was into back in the day. But now he's shaved the scraggily beard and cut off the fashionable mullet. Definitely what I'm into these days. The one resounding thing I've heard about him from mutual friends is what an incredibly nice guy he is. I've even asked my most cynical friends who don't like ANYBODY what they think of him. Yep, even they think he's amazing.

We hung out a bit last night with a group of friends. My chest cavity hurts now. I so do not want to have a crush on this guy. Because I don't crush, I obsess. And I told myself that after Mr. Long Distance I would take a leave of absence from the dating world to recuperate.

And let's just say for all intensive purposes something did conjure up between us. I may be in a different state as soon as August. Bad timing, universe. Terrible timing.

{image from here and here}

I Have a One on One Meeting with Sir Eliot Tomorrow

2009-11-11T21:43:00.004-07:00

I think we all know how this is going to go.

PS- Sorry I've been so lame with posting and commenting lately. Lots and LOTS to do and even more to catch you all up on. Hopefully this weekend, because I miss you. I really do.

I Dream of Malls and Death

2009-11-06T14:25:00.002-07:00

{here}

I Dream of Malls and Death

I hopped out of the van with AJ and the baby. The scene was explosive and confusing. Football players on the west side of the lawn, along with cheerleaders using sex to help the team win the game. On the east side was a concert. Right brained kids in tight pants and scarves jumping around like five year olds after too much candy, and a considerably cooler guy on stage running around, screaming things into a microphone and pointing out girls he’d like to make his “muse” after the show.

We went into the shopping mall who’s south entryway opened up to the madness on the great lawn. It looked like Black Friday or two days before Christmas in there. People bustled about, in generally good spirits. Because when you’re buying new stuff, you’re reinventing who you are for a minute.

Soon my roommate Elijah joined us on our walk around the mall. He was a welcome sight, with his handsome features and messy dreadlocks, tanned skin from outdoor adventures and jeans ripped at the knee.

Before I knew what happened, Elijah and I were separated from AJ and the baby. Once he had joined us, I hardly even noticed they were with us. But AJ had driven so we decided to split up to find them. I went out the wrong exit and ended up in what looked like an office building. Fake wood doors with gold name plates pasted on them flashed passed me as I ran towards an exit. That familiar feeling of panic stretched through my lungs. It was like being back stage at the circus, dreary and depressing.

I finally got out to the great lawn again. Some football team in blue and red had won whatever championship they were playing for and fireworks were exploding because of it. I walked passed two girls talking on their cell phones. One girl was talking about a tall telephone line that just fallen down. It was a big deal because of how tall it was. She suspected a lot of damage had been done because of it. The people on the football field hadn’t seemed to notice.

Then I heard AJ, like she was on the phone and I was a neighbor who’s line had gotten crossed with hers and could listen in. She was saying that Elijah and the baby were dead, that the telephone line had gotten Elijah and she had to drive her dead family home. Horrified I started to walk faster. AJ’s voice had dissipated and all I could think to do was run to the back of the mall. I saw her purple mini van driving on the grass towards me. I slowed and didn’t know what else to do but cry. My bottom lip and chin crumpled up in that involuntary way and I saw her face contort too. She shook her head. I walked up to the van and opened the front door. I saw a car seat and next to it was Elijah. He looked like he was asleep and still just as beautiful as he was in life. No scaring, no blood. His skin was a milky version of what it once was, like when you go to a viewing and the person in the casket looks like a wax figure. I started to cry harder and as AJ started to tell me what happened all I could say was “no” over and over and over again. Like it would change something about the dead body sitting rigid yet peaceful in the back seat. I can’t remember what else she said, my ears started humming and before she could tell me about the baby, the one I barely felt I knew but couldn’t bare to hear was dead, I started shouting “WAKE UP WAKE UP WAKE UP!”

I was in my bed, pressed up against the wall with sheets twisted around my head while tears, hot and mournful, still spilled from eyes. I sat up and looked out my window, it was still dark but already morning. I wanted to run downstairs to see him, hug him, or just touch his dark arm. But how do you tell someone you just saw them die? I laid in bed thinking that more sleep was an impossibility and contemplating this newfound intense affection I had for the boy that lived down stairs, the kind you feel when someone you thought you lost forever comes back. A prodigal affection. How thankful I was that his organs were still warm and vital and that his hands were still cracked and dirty with life.

Writing Against a Brick Wall

2009-10-26T15:34:00.005-06:00

{here}

Ok my beautiful little writer friends. I need your sage advice. I've been working on this coming of age story for my creative writing class. When I first thought of the idea I was so excited to get started. The idea just walked up and introduced itself to me. I didn't have to sit and ponder and smoke a carton cigarettes and drink a box of wine to work up the courage to tackle it to the ground. I was simply sitting on the light rail, a name popped in my head, then a street sign I had passed earlier with the city she lives in and then it all came naturally from there. Sir Elliot even like the idea when I pitched to him later that day in class.

It was all too perfect. Writing isn't supposed to be that painless! It's supposed to pull you apart inside, trying to find the perfect subject, the perfect heroine, the perfect words to say something that matters to show the world how much you love it.

Well now the pulling apart has begun. I feel like I writing against a brick wall, or a really strong wind blowing against me. The words are forced and I have no idea where I should be going with the story, and I'm only 1000 words in. Have you ever just known, deep down that what you're writing is complete crap? And I'm not trying to get down on myself so you all can tell me how great I am. I'm serious. This stuff I was typing out was complete and utter crap.

So I guess it's a form of writers block. But it's more like the god of creativity has his massive hand pressed against my forehead as I try so hard to walk forward, swinging my fists as I go, and getting no where.

Have any of you felt like this? And how do you get passed it? Any writing exercises or magic voodoo you can recommend? I really don't want to abandon the idea, just the crappy writing that seems to ooze from my fingers these days.

New Music Monday: I'm Being Lame

2009-10-19T16:05:00.003-06:00

Oh shit. It's Monday. I'm supposed to suggest something musical for you, because my taste in music is clearly superior to anyone else's (for the record I'm jamming to Battlefield by Jordin Sparks right now. Irony?) But, much to your dismay I'm sure, I have a test to study for and I can hardly keep my eyes open as it is. So you're just going to have to get by with this:

A Chihuahua named Michael Angelo

2009-10-15T20:40:00.004-06:00

That is a pretty accurate description of how I feel after my creative writing class every day. Found it here.

Any advice as to how one would write a coming of age story in 550 words or less? I'd like to go all Holden Caulfield on this assignment, but not in 550 words less. I don't even know where to start with this. I came up with this beginning in class today, but Sir Eliot wasn't amused.

"The first time I heard Heartbreak World by Matt Nathanson, I was watching a train go by, wondering if I should climb aboard or throw myself under it. I'm pretty sure God decided to talk to me that day."

It needs work, obviously. But I didn't think it was quite as wretched as Sir Eliot did.

I so do not want to suck up to this guy, but turns out he was the fiction editor for some fancy shmancy literary magazine and he's got contact info and clout... for the right student of course. All this time I thought he was just some washed up poet and I never hid my eye rolls and heavy sighs. And now he literally detests me and anything I write. Today he was seriously offended that I suggested we name the chihuahua (for a writing exercise) Michael Angelo (yes I know it's spelled wrong. It's part of the silliness). I mean, come on, that's funny. Right?

You Got It, or, The Words To End A Love Story

2009-10-14T16:47:00.004-06:00

Oh I so do not want to write this. But, dear readers, I’ve promised the end, now I guess I have to deliver. And maybe it’ll be cathartic. Whatever.

Mr. Long Distance and I “broke up” in April. I use quotations because I suppose we were never officially together in the first place. It was that conversation that started the decline, when I decided I’d ask him how he’d feel about making me an honest woman and start referring to me as his girlfriend. He said he didn’t feel like we should broadcast our relationship like that, since we lived so far apart. Looking back it reminds me of that scene in A Walk to Remember where Mandy Moore says to Shane West “so you want to be secret friends” and then slams the door.

But I did slam some doors I suppose. My subconscious took over when I started to repeatedly say “it’s fine! It’s much better this way.” Despite my desperate attempts to convince myself this was true I was building walls all over the place. And thus started the vicious cycle. I withdrew, he withdrew, I withdrew more because he withdrew, and on and on.

Which brings us to April. We drove around my neighborhood both saying everything but the inevitable and obvious. He made excuses about the peace corps and something about sports and me not liking them, I told him I felt like I inconvenienced him whenever it was just the two of us and that he doesn’t seem to care much about my friends or my family despite the effort I put into his. He apologized and I said maybe I’d try out soccer (that was a lie). Then we sat in silence. Knowing that no matter how much soccer i attempted or how much quality time he tried to give me, there was no saving our situation. Then one of us finally said it, I can’t remember which one, but I think the words were “take some time off from each other,” or something ridiculously open ended like that. I think both of us were hoping that maybe in another time and place this could work, so “taking some time off” sounded better than “let’s break up.”

I dropped him off, went home and cried. And cried. Oh and then I cried some more. Then I stopped, ate some dinner, and he called me. He had just gotten back to South Dakota and... wanted to shoot the shit. I was confused and angry. I cut the conversation short and brooded about why he would want to pretend all was normal so soon. He wanted his cake and to eat it too. A few days later I got an email from him saying something about wanting to stay friends and that I’m one of his best friends. If I may offer you some advice, please, no matter how much you can’t stand not having that someone in your life, under no circumstances go this route. It may seem like the most comfortable way to break up with someone but when it comes down to it, it’s the most self destructive thing you can do. I spent the next few months pretending I was moving on, all the while keeping him in the back of my mind. Knowing that he was there felt safe and comfortable. If no one noticed me at a bar one night (or every night), it wouldn’t matter, because I knew that I had LD, even if the details weren’t the same. All of that is all well and good, as long as that other person stays single.

Ah, but the perfection of a self destructive relationship can’t last forever. Mr. Long Distance came for a visit in August. I met him for coffee at St. Marks. I had an iced chai and he had an iced coconut breve, his signature drink and disgusting, if you ask me. He greeted me like we saw each other just the other evening. He was so nonchalant it was sickening and disconcerting. I gave him a birthday present (a used copy of the poem The Sword and the Stone, his favorite movie), we talking for maybe 45 minutes and he left, leaving me with the impression I would be seeing him again during his visit. The only time I heard from him was a drunk text message and an description of how much fun he was having. The next thing I knew he was back home, uploading pictures of his trip. The last photo was one of him back in South Dakota next a beautiful girl with dark eyes. I know I’ve been a bit, oh what’s the word... paranoid about him and other girls in the past, but something in me just knew that this girl wasn’t like the others. And so, rather than be forced to watch their inevitable relationship progress, I decided to be proactive and remove him and the pain he was causing me.

I sent him a slightly vague email saying I would be deleting him from my facebook and myspace and to please respect the fact that I couldn’t have him in my life anymore. I even asked him to stop reading my blog. Obviously I have no way of knowing if he did that last bit, so if you’re still reading, HI CHARLES! Oh woops, first name slipped out there.

I told him that if he had any questions or anything he wanted to say to me, I wanted to hear it and that he should email me back. His response? “You got it.” I honestly wasn’t expecting him to respond at all, but those three words hurt more than not hearing anything. That’s what I mean to him, “you got it.” Or, in other words, absolutely nothing.

A few weeks later, while on vacation in Iowa I was trying to write my first poem due in my creative writing class. It had to be about a person and had to involve hands. My mind jumped straight to his hands, the way they felt in mine, smooth and brown. So, strictly for research purposes I hopped over to his myspace url which was so kindly still stored in my browser. And there they were, the very thing I didn’t want to see. Pictures of him and that girl. Kissing, hugging, laughing, happy. Happier than he ever looked with me. I don’t think I’ve ever felt like that before. Some weird combination of anger, despair, and self loathing. She was the antithesis to me. Athletic looking, dark skinned, dark hair, dark eyes, naturally beautiful. Like she rolled out of bed looking like a fucking volleyball goddess.

I have since come leaps and bounds from despair and self loathing, but the anger has been slow to leave. I can say that I don’t hate him anymore, but I’m not quite to the point of forgiveness. I think mostly because if I forgive him, I’ll have to let him go completely and I really don’t want to do that. It’s harder to stay angry though as the emotions are dwindling. He had every right to start dating again, and I sincerely don’t believe there was ever any overlap between the two of us. I just wish he could’ve told me about her. If he had been brave, he could’ve been honest when we had coffee and said there was someone he was interested in. I think I deserved that much, and had I heard it from him instead of myspace, I probably wouldn’t have lost weeks and weeks to sadness. I hate the way he made me feel about myself, or maybe that I let him make me feel that way, worthless and ugly through and through.

On a few weird notes, a few days after I sent him the email, Roommate showed me his facebook status. It said something like “looks like you deleted my from facebook and myspace. My virtual feelings are crushed. Let’s grow up.” Based on that and his response to the email, I’m wondering if he ever actually read it.

I also heard from my friend Gia that he would email or text her occasionally about me. One was right before he came to visit this last time. He asked if she saw me much anymore, she said not as much as she’d like and he responded “yeah, I feel the same.” He certainly didn’t show it while he was here. He also emailed her after I sent him the email saying I freaked out or something and if she knew anything about it. Apparently he was too afraid or passive aggressive to ask me himself. The only thing he could muster was “you got it.”

So there you have it, the saga is complete.

Fin.

If you want to follow the story from the beginning here are the posts in order:

In The Beginning

A New Year, A New Love, A New Loss

This is Not A Love Story, This is a Story About Love

PS- That was kind of cathartic

A Rare Moment of Personal Affirmation

2009-10-13T11:11:00.002-06:00

I love to write. I really do. This is one of those rare moments where my heart's nodding in agreement, that this isn't just what I do, it's what I love, and who I'll be for the rest of my life. And, for today at least, that's not the least bit scary. It's really exciting.

New Music Monday: Gregory Alan Isakov

2009-10-12T11:11:00.001-06:00

Today I present you with a local gem, Gregory Alan Isokov. He's very much reminiscent of Josh Ritter and the like. Love the name, love the voice, love the face.

Hope you're enjoying you Monday and that Mr. Isokov can make it a bit more cheerful.

Today

2009-10-11T14:35:00.010-06:00

Today, I would like to:

Eat This

{recipe here}

Read This

{here}

Watch This

{here}

Play in These

{here}

but instead

I'm doing this

{here}

C'est la vie.

Snowland

2009-10-10T09:20:00.008-06:00

This is what's happening outside my window currently. If I can get out of my obligations today and stay inside with some hot chocolate and Christmas music, I will definitely be ok with this. If I have to go outside though, I'll be pouting. Yep, like a 5 year old.

In other news, Sir Eliot gave me a compliment Thursday. I know I shouldn't crave his approval, but the fact that he's so horribly discouraging makes me pine for just one word of affirmation. Well I got it. He was reading a prose poem I'm working on (this proves that prose > than poetry, for me at least) and told me I had amazing imagery. Huzzah!

Right after that I hopped on the light rail to the Denver Center for the Performing Arts (school bag and all) and saw Wicked. It wasn't as good as the first time I saw it a few years ago but, come on, it's Wicked. Of course it's going to be amazing. Defying Gravity made me cry and I really wish they would reprise it at the end.

This time around I realized just how many themes and the extent of the social commentary it has. That paired with the hilarious dialogue, the costumes (oh my we were so close and we could see the detail. They were amazing!) and of course the incredible music, this has got to be one of the best musicals... ever. Yep, bold statement but I'm standing by it. Afterwards we went across the street to this restaurant called The Corner Office for dessert. All of the sudden my mom whispers "that's the wizard!" And sure enough, the wizard and the rest of the cast strolled in for drinks. We left them alone, despite my mother's protests, but it was still very cool to sit that close to the wizard.

Last night I saw Bright Star. It's about John Keats and his muse, Fanny Brawne. I really wanted to love this movie. I did love individual pieces. The costumes were amazing. The guy that played Keats, he could read me the phone book and I would swoon. There were some amazing scenes with wonderful acting. But as a whole, the story was lacking something and I'm not sure I know what it is. I think it just wasn't told very well. Characters weren't introduced to the audience properly and the rising action wasn't presented well. The climax though... yeah it's good. Despite it's shortcomings I definitely recommend it. The cinematography is absolutely gorgeous. Here's the trailer and some stills:

Very Recent Happenings

2009-10-09T00:49:00.002-06:00

Tonight I went to this.

It was fantastic.

And I had a brownie sundae with the cast afterwards.

Well, ok, they were just at the same restaurant, but still. The sundae was delicious.

Tomorrow I'm doing this.

I hope to share a sundae with a monkey.

Preferably at the same table.

It Finally Found Me

2009-10-07T17:17:00.003-06:00

Someone just threw up in the campus library.

Many times and very vocally.

I wanted to share with everyone so you'll understand

my absence

when I inevitably get effing swine flu.

Breathe in Deep and Be Inspired

2009-10-06T21:15:00.004-06:00

A few midwives that are friends of mine are living in Haiti right now and posting all sorts of pictures of births they're doing. Around May I seriously got to thinking about studying to become a midwife. I talked to my friend Lisa who just moved to Haiti, she gave me the number of a guru, I called her, set up some time to assist in pre natal visits at the end of August... and then summer came. I don't know what it was really, my summer wasn't particularly exciting, but I got distracted. I hardly thought about midwifery all summer, I didn't read the books I was supposed to and I totally blew off the guru when August came. I felt bad about blowing her off, but I figured if I hadn't thought about it all summer, it must not be that into the idea.

But looking at these pictures, seeing the work these strong, amazing and beautiful women are doing, the example they're setting for other women is seriously inspiring. And not inspiring in the way that makes me want to write a check or say a prayer. Inspiring in a way that makes my chest hurt because I'm not doing it.

For the past year I've been searching for ways to incorporate the only two things I really want in life:

Help people, especially abroad (Haiti, Africa, Eastern Europe)
Write

As I'm reading Donald Miller's book about living a story worth telling, he keeps saying that the essence of a story is a character that wants something and over comes obstacles to get it. Now that I know what I want, I'm just waiting for the obstacles. Specificity is the big one staring me down right now. How do I want to help people? Midwifery? Starting a non profit? Therapeutic writing programs? There are infinite possibilities, and daunting as it may be, there are worse obstacles to be faced with I suppose. And how will I incorporate writing? I have no plan right now and I feel like I'm biding my time until graduation. In essence, I'm not living a very good story.

Now that Mr. Long Distance has removed himself from my life and the distractions he brought with him, my new goal is to work on living a good story. Something someone might want to write down someday, or might mean something to someone when they close the back cover, tighten their grasp around the binding and put the pages to their nose. You know, the way you do when you know a story has changed where you're going and what you know about life. I want people to tighten their fingers around my life and hold it to their nose. Breathe in deep and feel inspired.

New Music Monday: Autumn and Pandora

2009-10-05T16:51:00.005-06:00

The leaves are turning amber, the kids are stomping on crunchy leaves (ok, so am I) and I'd really love a pair of boots that look a sweater. That being said, here is my Fall Pandora station which I love love LOVE. Just click here.

{photos from here and here}

Going To See This Fella Tonight

2009-10-02T14:30:00.005-06:00

Today is a good day. Much better than yesterday's ranting and ravings. My beautiful and wonderful roommate got us free tickets to see my author crush tonight, Donald Miller. He wrote Through Painted Deserts, Searching for God Knows What, and Blue Like Jazz. He pretty much changed my view on church, God, religion, all of it. He's a big part of the reason I'm not quite as bitter as I used to be about it all.

Anyway, I guess I'm just here to gloat and tell you all I get to stare into his big blue eyes for an hour or so and listen to him talk about how to live a story with telling, which is what his new book is about. I'm only a few chapters in but I'm already in love (erm, with the book. Not him. Yeah).

PS- I know it may be confusing that I talk about being a Christian and yet tend to curse like a sailor. I feel ya, it's a bit contradictory. This article helps. Possibly a topic for another post. We'll see.

May Be Pan Handling Soon

2009-10-01T15:55:00.006-06:00

Don't let that pretty picture of the skinny girl twirling in the sunlight deceive you. This is not going to be a cheerful post. Remember how I swore this blog would not turn into a black hole where all my frustrations and negativity would come to lay their sweet little heads? Yeah well fuck it. I'm in a bad mood... again.

But before we get into it, I'll hold up my end of the deal:

There ya go. I hope that made you all fuzzy inside because I'm quite sure those delicious and adorable/ridiculous cupcakes (and the fact that they are not right in front of me to help induce a sugar coma) are pissing me off even more. And that DRESS?? Good Lord it's beautiful. With taxes and shipping and it's more than $400. Where does Anthropologie get off charging that much for their shit? Granted it's beautiful shit, but can someone please explain to me what makes that dress, and it's serious lack of fabric, worth $400?

Speaking of money... Fuck this recession. Let me tell you a story.

My boss came home yesterday in a bit of a tizzy. She and her husband own their own business. I don't totally understand it but basically the go to foreclosed homes and perform evictions and clean out the houses for the banks. Maybe. I usually just nod my head and say "hmm" and "ah" when she talks about it. The one thing I DO understand is that they're barely holding their heads above water. A while ago she gave me my check and told me the next day that that if I cashed it, it would most likely bounce. That was a low point. After that little episode I heard less and less about money and business problems and assumed things were on the up and up. I mean, I'm the fucking babysitter, I'm supposed to be concerned about the glue supply and whether or not we have colored pasta for the macaroni necklaces we're making Tuesday. I wasn't going to go out of my way to hear how close I came to not getting a pay check on any given month.

So anyway, back to yesterday. My boss comes home and says "We can't pay our rent at the office so we're moving out and not telling the land lord." Raise your hand if you think that's an AWESOME idea! She may have the business degree and I may only be a lowly creative writing major, but I'm pretty sure this plan is going to back fire at some point. Backfire as in lawsuit. And if they can't pay their rent, how the hell are they going to afford a lawyer and a settlement?? I suppose they could just let their nanny go and save about $1000 a month.

Who would like to guess where they are relocating since they're backing out of their lease and not operating out of an office now? If you guessed their home, you'd be right! Yes, folks, my boss will be setting up an office in the living room and her husband and three other guys will be moving into the garage. The garage isn't such a big deal, as long as they stay out there and don't come in and mess with the kids. I'm foreseeing a lot of tears and interruptions. The living room situation, though, is absolutely NOT going to work. This house is tiny. Basically the only place those kids have to play is the living room. So my homework for the weekend is to figure out how to not be home as much as possible.

I was driving to school today and thinking, could I just let them go? Could I move on to a new family, with a steady job (do those exist these days?) and a normal living situation. I could let my bosses go. It would be sad, but I could. Adults are easy to move on from. But then those little faces started to pop up in my mind and I realized there is not way in hell I can quit. It would be like driving away from my own children. I've been with them for almost a year and even those they drive me effing batty, I love them more than I've loved anybody. It's so weird and I've never realized it until today when the thought of having to leave them, not see them everyday, left me crying on the freeway.

But all of that means nothing if their company goes bankrupt and they have to end up paying legal fees, oh and I'd be out of a job. Fuck this recession.

PS- When I left today, after getting a crash course in what my new life and schedule with the kids is going to be, my boss said "And you're going to have to start taking the trash out on Thursdays because we can't remember. We have to all start pitching in." Oh, sure, when I'm not making sure your kids aren't killing themselves, are culturally enriched and engaged, and well fed, vacuuming the nooks and crannies, cleaning the ever-destroyed kitchen, doing all of the laundry (yes even the adult's underwear and sexy time clothes), then I would LOVE to take out a trash can that is twice my size and in a spot where you have to cross treacherous terrain to get it out to the curb. Seriously, a line has to be drawn somewhere, right?

FuhRuhstrated

2009-09-30T12:35:00.004-06:00

I am feeling very frustrated with school right now. I have been taking general education credits for about 3 years now and I'm still not done. That's not to say there is no validity in a class on Race and Ethics or Social Psychology, but when it comes down to it, I don't have to time to do the work so I do the bare minimum to pass (sometimes I don't even have time for that) and then I forget all of the information I sort of learned over the semester.

The most frustrating bit about it all is that because I am so busy faking my way through these required classes, I'm not writing and I'm not reading. Typically the last thing I want to do when I happen to be on top of my homework (which never happens) is engage my brain some more to write something brilliant and best selling. So I end up turning on a movie or watching reality television, which in turn is leaving me completely uninspired and heavy. So fellow writers and artists out there: How do/did you balance school work, life and writing? Because I am failing miserably at it.

In a perfect world this is what I really want:

To meet and marry a man that I love, wears TOMS and drives a moped.
He'll be some fancy architect or own his own publishing company in London that's doing fabulously well despite the world's economy.
He'll make enough (but not too much) so that I can stay home. But don't worry, I'll learn how to cook and wear heels to make up for it (ouch, did I just set back feminism?)
Fine, in the name of progression, I'll become a part time yoga instructor.
I'll write eight hours a day everyday. But it won't be tedious or boring. It won't feel pointless. It will be like playing dress up and make believe.
I'll learn how to do awesome things like make jams and sew my own clothes. I'll make my own stationary, but not that cheesy crap suburban mothers get together and make while they drink wine coolers and play bunko. No, mine will look like this. I'll teach myself how to paint, and I'll be terrible at first but the husband will put my creations on the refridgerator any way.
Eventually I'll be so damn crafty I'll start making furniture and painting murals on all the walls in our house (all while writing 8 hours a day of course).
We'll have a second house in Portland, but we're giving people and find it ridiculous to have two houses so I'll spend my time (when I'm not writing or being a carpenter/seamstress/jam maker) to turn it into a sober living facility or refugee housing for African women effected by the war in Northern Uganda.

And there you go. My future in a nutshell. I'll have stop using the law of attraction to NOT get swine flu so I can focus my attention on those little (and totally realistic) nuggets above.

I'm not getting my hopes up. In fact, I actually foresee myself squandering my time for the next two years, maybe longer because I'll inevitably fail a few classes and then graduate completely burnt out and uninspired, never write anything, end up marrying some guy I can sort of tolerate, work at walmart and die unsatisfied.

That was a little dramatic, I'm sorry. I really don't want this blog to turn into something incredibly negative, which is what it has been lately. All of it seems to stem from school. I'm ready to have nationwide healthcare so I can drop out again and still have insurance.

Do you want to know the REAL reason I'm sticking it out until I graduate? Graduation ceremonies remind me of Harry Potter. I will be suggesting we walk to the HP Theme song rather that Pomp and Circumstance and some how rigs candles on fishing wire and hang them from the ceiling.

Moral of this blabbering- I'm sorry for all the negativity and complaining. Blogs are an easy place to vent frustration but that doesn't mean that's all I should use this for. I promise to upload a picture of a cupcake or something I can't afford from Anthropology real soon.

{photo from here}

New Music Monday: Oh Mercy

2009-09-28T11:11:00.002-06:00

Ok, I love these guys. I heard about them just last week and I'm probably a little late in the game compared to my Aussie friends. But never the less, I give you Oh Mercy. I only know three things about them:

The lead singer is increadibly dreamy in a completely average sort of way. His voice is beautiful and totally sounds like a girl's, just the way I like it. That may add to his attractiveness factor.
Frankie Magazine gives them their seal of approval
They are amazing.

The End.

Oh Mercy - Get You Back from Milefire on Vimeo.

Feels Like Winter Today

2009-09-23T19:32:00.003-06:00

I don’t want to go out there, where the wind blows my dress and there’s frost on the roofs. I can see it from these windows. The low roofs of the temporary classrooms all ablaze with that white stuff. Not quite snow, but not quite settled rain either. The sky is gray, so gray it seems like we skipped autumn completely. If I go out there my nose and cheeks will turn red and I’m wearing bronzer today. The two will mix like oil and water, showing everyone the mask I paste on every morning.

I want to stay here, drinking my earl gray tea wearing my scarlet pashmina, feeling too hipster for my own good, and looking out at the grey sky, thinking this must be what London’s like. There’s this song in my ears that makes me want to sing out loud, or run to the nearest piano. I know where there are some, they aren’t far. It would be too easy to disappear into one of those tiny rooms, just big enough for you and the piano, maybe a second lover if you want. But today it would be just me and that wooden box of soul. We could talk to each other for a while, the piano pounding notes on my heart, and me filling the walls with words that sound like winter.

But instead I’ll trudge along these sidewalks to a completely uninspiring class about power and wealth and the way we’ve twisted the world into a dollar sign. Then I’ll trudge home, alone and songless, until my shuffle finds a song that pleases my heart and the dark haze of an early winter seems magical and inspiring again.

Sir Eliot Can Suck It

2009-09-22T22:32:00.008-06:00

Today in my creative writing class I had my first workshop experience. I knew I would have to read my poem aloud and hear constructive criticism from the class on it. I knew I would freak out and turn red and probably hyperventilate a little. I believe Auraria campus sells alcohol on campus for just such occasions. And thank God they do. So I downed a few Hazed and Infused before heading off to class. Let's just say that while everyone in class was complaining about how freezing it is, I was warm and toasty and probably had jolly red cheeks. I'm not Irish but this tends to happen when I drink. And I can't breathe through my nose. But I digress.

Right as Sir Eliot comes in, I turn to the girl next to me and say "I need to go first so I don't lose my buzz!" As luck would have it, the prince of poetry choses me to go first without having to ask. I'm feeling quite hilarious and read my poem quite dramatically and sit back thinking I am so confident (and slightly drunk) that whatever they say is no big deal and I can handle it.

Nothing will kill your buzz more quickly than a creative writing workshop. It was dreadful. I felt like a complete failure. And I've decided there are a few reasons for this:

I am notoriously too hard on myself. My inner critic always gets the better of me and convinces me to give up because I have absolutely nothing to offer.
I am absolutely and irrevocably terrible at poetry. It is something I am simply not gifted in. Some people are born to write beautiful lyrics. Some people are born to paint wonderful and complex paintings. Some people are born to take stirring photographs. Some people are born to write elegant poetry. And some people are born to write thought provoking and entertaining prose. Of course there are countless instances where people overlap in these talents (I hate those people, for the record). I am NOT one of those people. I enjoy photography actually, but painting, lyrics, and poetry are something I wouldn't touch with a ten foot stick.
This class counts as a general education credit, which means people from varying majors are taking it to fulfill their graduation requirements. So why in God's name is Sir Eliot so brutal? Why would he say that a particular line made him want to pull his hair out or make feel like I should absolutely, positively never ever write EVER AGAIN?

I guess this blog post is my way of saying "Suck it Eliot." But for a minute I truly thought I would just give it all up, drop out of school and be a nanny for ever. That may have been the booze talking. But I did realize that I can't just give up every time I hear something that upsets me about my work. Not everyone is going to love what I have to say or how I say it. I absolutely believe that Eliot goes about the critiques the wrong way and that the rest of the class are a bunch of idiots that follow his lead, but they will not be last. And if I really want to get into this writing game then I'm going to have to suck it up and get used to it. I just cannot wait for this poetry unit to be over. Although since Eliot is a "published poet" (he never misses a chance to remind us of this) I haven't been able to find a prose section on the syllabus. So much for a CREATIVE WRITING class.

To top my night off. As I sat on the light rail on my way home, there was an extremely cute guy across the aisle from me. I made eye contact with him once and made some sort of strange jerky movement with my head I've never experienced before, and then awkwardly clunked my foot against the metal underneath the seat. For some reason he still decided he'd like to talk to me. Oh that was a bad idea on his part.

I was sitting there, brooding in my little world of inadequacies, contemplating how I could drop out of school and still have insurance, and parents that would speak to me. He leans across the aisle and asks what my tattoo on my foot says. He took me completely by surprise. I was thrown out of my heady world and into a social situation with a stranger. Uh oh. Watch out.

I explained to him it was my name in Hebrew and then explained why Sarah is a Hebrew name. He said "Well Sarah, my name is Jake. Nice to meet you." He put his hand out, I shook it and said "Hi, I'm Sarah... right, well... er, we already went through that." He was kind enough to over look that little faux pas but a guy behind him laughed. Then as the train got to where I needed to get off I said "Well, this is my ste ste ste... stop." I do not have a stutter. At least I didn't think I did until that moment. He shook my hand again and said "See ya later!" I said "Thanks." For what? I'm not sure, it just came out. And then by the time I got to the doors of the train they had already closed. They only thing I could think of was to push them with my index finger over and over again, praying the damn thing would open. In a strange turn of fortune, this worked. Though I'm sure I looked pretty pathetic doing it.

PS- I'm making a conscious/lazy choice not proofread this. Think of it as another way of telling Sir Eliot the Bastard to suck it.

{photo from here}

Sleeping At Last- New Music Monday

2009-09-21T16:35:00.004-06:00

New Music Monday Y'all!

Today, I have for your pretty little ears, the musical stylings of Sleeping at Last. Dear Lord they have beautiful lyrics. Every time I listen to them something new will pop out and stick in my mind. They are seriously poetic.

They have a new album out called Storyboards and it's streaming in it's entirety on PureVolume. I am listening to it as we speak... er, type. I love love LOVE their water color artwork. I hope you enjoy and let me know what you think!

Sunset Skies and the End of the World

2009-09-19T22:56:00.005-06:00

I missed the VMA’s the first time around, but I caught parts of it tonight. Don’t worry, I’m not going to sound off on Kanye. I think everyone else is doing a pretty good job at that. And anyway, it’s old news by now right?

As I watched Alicia Keys and Jay Z perform together I started thinking about the book I had just finished for my political science class called Hot, Flat and Crowded. In it, the author reveals some very real and very scary truths. Truths about what could happen to our country, our world, if we don’t seriously pay attention to global warming, global crowding and the implications of globalization.

By the end of the book I felt so helpless. So guilty! I finally understood those people that simply live for the after life, that look around them, scoff, and pray they be delivered sooner rather than later. I felt myself feeling the same way actually. I thought, “what is the point? We’ve dug ourselves into such a deep whole that it’s hard to imagine we will ever emerge on the other side, the green side." In all seriousness, I felt completely and utterly helpless.

And then, by watching MTV of all things, I realized that no matter what terrible things our world is facing, there are constants around us that make life worth living and experiencing. One of those is music. True music. Like Jay Z and Alicia Keys singing about New York and saying things like “let the lights inspire you.”

And that took me back to my kids. It’s hard to feel doomed when you look into their beautiful, hopeful faces. I picked them up one evening and Olivia looked up and said “Oh Sarah! It’s beautiful!”

“What is,” I asked?

“The lights!”

She was looking up at the sunset sky and marveling over the way the rusty street laps shined against it. I saw billions of electrons being wasted, carbon emissions bombing against our ozone layer, and the dirty trail of blood money the price of energy and oil leaves behind. She saw magic and beauty. And when I looked up again, this time through her eyes, I saw it too. It really was beautiful.

So I don't feel so helpless, so meaningless anymore. Even though this world really may be royally fucked, there is still enough beauty left to make every thing, every single thing, worth it. If I can still find inspiration from MTV, then there is something yet to be broken in the world. Art may never save the world but it certainly makes life easier, more enjoyable, and worth the shit we have to put up with.

Do we need a green revolution? Yeah, we really do. But quite possibly what we need more are hopeful faces looking up into a sunset sky, illuminated with magic and appreciative of the beauty.

Inside Scoop

2009-09-19T10:00:00.003-06:00

Those of you in LA probably already know this because Los Angelites always get to the trends first. BUT, I am here to tell you that Starbucks is now selling instant coffee. I just tried a cup and let me tell you, it's damn good. Not as good as in the store, but still. Wow. I mixed mine with Italian sweet cream and some hot chocolate mix (because I am way too much of wimp to even go near black coffee) and I am in hang over recovery heaven!

And in regards to that hang over. Last night someone called me a "conceited titty bitch" because I asked him to stop staring at my chest. He then proceeded to tell me he'd only stare at my chest if there was something to look at. And THEN he asked if we could go hang out at his place. I obviously said yes (not really). Can someone please remind me why I don't stay home reading books and drinking instant coffee? Denver is starting to feel a little tired.

This is Not a Love Story, This is a Story About Love

2009-09-18T08:42:00.003-06:00

Wouldn't you like to hear about my relationship problems some more? Oh good, I'm so glad!

We last left our characters (Me, being the easily wooed fair maiden and Mr. Long Distance being the well meaning, devastatingly handsome yet flawed non-hero) on New Years Eve. At midnight he grabbed my hand and kissed me. Our kiss, our new found love, brought in a new 365 days. In our minds it would last, and surpass, those days. We were infatuated. He left the next afternoon to go back to South Dakota. Both of us had no idea what we had gotten ourselves into. I had never had a long distance relationship before and he had only been in one before, and it was terribly unsuccessful. All we knew was how hard it was to fight back those feelings and how right it was when we just gave up and gave in to each other.

Long distance relationships are fun and exciting.... at first. We texted most of the time and talked on the phone the rest. There was always something to say, some mushy anecdote to send to the other person, and oh they never got old. I could've gotten a million "sending you a thousand air kisses watch out!" and never be satisfied. (Ok, yeah, looking back, most of it was over the top and cheesy, which also means it may not have been genuine, but I was so head over heels for this guy I didn't care. The cheesier the better. Our relationship was like Macaroni and Cheese). I would sometimes think about what a great story this would be if we ever had grand kids (yeah, mind jumped a head a little bit there. Don't judge me). He would send me letter with poems he wrote for me, and I would write him back with the most elegant prose I could muster.

I made plans to go to South Dakota three months after he left. At the time I booked the flight, I didn't really give it a second thought. I was that comfortable with him, and missed him that much. But when I told my friend SP (a fellow romantic, writer, and dreamer) about LD and the trip, she looked at me with something of disbelief, fear, and esteem.

"You mean, you're going to a state you've never been before and where you know no one but a guy you, honestly, barely know. Wow, you're gutsy!"

At the time I just poo-pooed her and said "Well yeah! It's going to be great and I miss him so much I just can't wait." I was so confident about it all, I was impressing even me.

Let's flash forward to about 3 days before I left.

I was freaking out. I absolutely did NOT want to go anymore.

When someone asked why I said "Because I'm going to a state I've never been before, where I know no one but a guy I, honestly, barely know! What am I doing?"

It finally hit me that I was taking a big leap. I knew that I really liked this guy, but I had only ever seen him in my state, basically on my terms, when I always had a way to leave if I needed one. Now I was going to a place where I would be powerless, with absolutely no control over anything. Not that I really thought I'd be in any danger. No, I like to think my intuition is a little better than that, but I would be meeting all of his family and best friends and South Dakota is a pretty wildernessy place. I am not a wildernessy girl. Not in the slightest.

So, before my flight took off, before I was even at the airport, I was in the middle of a full fledged anxiety attack that would literally carry me through the entire trip. I had my moments of calm, mostly while I was sleeping, which wasn't much, because, what if I snored or my mouth was open or *gasp* tooted in my sleep? It was way too much to enter into any sort of REM cycle.

And here in lies the main problem with our relationship, and yes, I will admit it was mostly my fault. I felt way too much for him, way too soon, that it led to constant anxiety attacks when I was around him. Anxiety has always been something I've desperately struggled with but I refuse to take medication until i can afford therapy to go along with it. Yes, I am being self destructive on principle, damn it. Anxiety attacks aren't like panic attacks which are quick, dramatic and totally visible and evident to everyone around you. Anxiety attacks are much more self-contained. I've gotten quite good at hiding them, only leaving the observer with the idea that I'm bitchy, closed off, and unemotional, when really I'm desperately trying to catch a breath and get my mind out of an anxious haze. It was because of this anxiety that I couldn't really partake in a real relationship with him. More often than not, when we were in the same state, we were silent. I would try so hard to think of something to say and never could, because my body was in survival mode. You know Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs? Yeah, breathing comes way before trying to make witty conversation with flirtatious undertones.

There was a moment, I can't remember which state we were in at the time, when we were sitting next to each other in his car and I just thought, "When is he going to realize that he is wasting his time with me? When is he going to realize that we have no business being together. I am nothing compared to him." It sounds so over the top, so pathetic, and not something I enjoy admitting, but it's where my mind was. So insecure that not even a million cheesy text messages about air kisses could change my mind.

If you couple my strong feelings for him with my extreme insecurities and the steady flow of new people ("best friends") I was supposed to meet and impress, you get a severely inhibited Sarah. Looking back, I'm surprised he put up with me as long as he did.

I did tell him once about how I was in a constant anxiety attack the entire time I was in South Dakota the first time, hoping that maybe he would be more in tune with it, that if he saw I was distant or shut off around his friends (or around him for that matter) he could understand and ask if I was ok. He never did, and I can't blame him for that. Who wants to coddle an anxiety ridden girl every time they go out? Like I said, I'm surprised he put up with me as long as he did.

This saga is coming to close. The end is coming next.

(I'm sorry that sounds so ominous)

{photo from here}

{side note: I hated 5oo Days of Summer and feel a little dirty for using that title, but it just fits}

Goodbye Summer

2009-09-16T11:11:00.000-06:00

{dreameveryday}

Baby, I Gotta Go

2009-09-15T11:11:00.001-06:00

I need to go on a vacation. I need to get out of this city. I love Denver but I need to see a new one for a while. I want to go alone.

I don't want to go to a secluded cabin in the middle of no where. I don't want peace and quite. That's probably the last thing I need, to sit alone in the woods thinking about how my life has felt like a crapshoot for the last month. No, I've done enough of that kind of pondering and now I want new people. New strangers. I want new architecture, street art and bookstores.

But I have $80 in my savings account and $100 in my checking to last me until October.

Where can I go for super cheap?

New Music Monday

2009-09-14T11:11:00.004-06:00

Hooray! First installment of New Music Monday.

This is Josh Ritter singing The Temptation of Adam. Oh how I love this song.

And here are the lyrics. What are your thoughts?

If this was the Cold War we could keep each other warm
I said on the first occasion that I met Marie
We were crawling through the hatch that was the missile silo door
And I don't think that she really thought that much of me

I never had to learn to love her like I learned to love the Bomb
She just came along and started to ignore me
But as we waited for the Big One
I started singing her my songs
And I think she started feeling something for me

We passed the time with crosswords that she thought to bring inside
What five letters spell "apocalypse" she asked me
I won her over saying "W.W.I.I.I."
She smiled and we both knew that she'd misjudged me

Oh Marie it was so easy to fall in love with you
It felt almost like a home of sorts or something
And you would keep the warhead missile silo good as new
And I'd watch you with my thumb above the button

Then one night you found me in my army issue cot
And you told me of your flash of inspiration
You said fusion was the broken heart that's lonely's only thought
And all night long you drove me wild with your equations

Oh Marie do you remember all the time we used to take
We'd make our love and then ransack the rations
I think about you leaving now and the avalanche cascades
And my eyes get washed away in chain reactions

Oh Marie if you would stay then we could stick pins in the map
Of all the places where you thought that love would be found
But I would only need one pin to show where my heart's at
In a top secret location three hundred feet under the ground

We could hold each other close and stay up every night
Looking up into the dark like it's the night sky
And pretend this giant missile is an old oak tree instead
And carve our name in hearts into the warhead

Oh Marie there's something tells me things just won't work out above
That our love would live a half-life on the surface
So at night while you are sleeping
I hold you closer just because
As our time grows short I get a little nervous

I think about the Big One, W.W.I.I.I.
Would we ever really care the world had ended
You could hold me here forever like you're holding me tonight
I look at that great big red button and I'm tempted

ps- I wrote this at exactly 11:11AM. <3

A Letter to Lady Gaga and Kanye West

2009-09-13T22:21:00.002-06:00

Miss Gaga,

You are weird.

Lady Gaga - New Music - More Music Videos

Kanye,

You're an ass.

MTV Shows

Your's Truly,

Moi

Sunday Funday

2009-09-13T10:48:00.004-06:00

I've toyed with this idea in the past, a weekly installment featuring a new artist, song, or video. What do you think? I have some ideas building up for the first few weeks. No promises on them being so completely fresh you've never heard of a single one, but I can promise they'll be at least be talented and have a myspace page. I think I have pretty decent taste in music, or at least I know which guilty pleasures need to remain a secret.

I was a music business major for a while. It almost ruined my "everything" for music. My love, my passion, my everything. When you listen to a song and only see dollar signs, you start to get a little bitter. Or, at least I did. I have several friends that graduated the program that have no problem using art as a commodity. Not to say they shouldn't. It's only the was we can share what we create and earn enough revenue to keep creating. I just hope they do it well. Sitting in class with these innocent eyed students, proclaiming their love for the indie sector and denouncing the major labels, I think they just might.

But I digress. Moral of the blog, Mondays will be New Music Mondays. That title is totally overdone, I know, but I've been sitting here for an hour and it's the best I could come up with. Any other aliterated (my made up adjective from "alliteration") ideas are very much welcome.

Enjoy your Sunday you pretty things.

Loving This Song

2009-09-11T16:55:00.001-06:00

Today in America

2009-09-11T09:21:00.005-06:00

In those days,
we finally chose
to walk like giants
& hold the world
in arms grown strong with love
& there may be many things we forget
in the days to come,
but this will not be one of them.

StoryPeople

Sexually Delicious, Mentally Nutritious

2009-09-10T12:39:00.008-06:00

Last night we went to see the Killers at Red Rocks. Being able to go see shows there is one of the best things about living in Colorado. It's an outdoors amphitheater surrounded by beautiful red rocks that naturally create amazing acoustics. And it's absolutely beautiful, almost surreal even, watching bands rock out with these massive wonders of nature standing boldly beside and behind them.

And because we are so incredibly amazing and famous in Denver, our picture was featured on the front page of Metromix.com's (Denver's version of CitySearch) website today. Yes that's little ol' me in the red belt. Ok, we're really not that amazing. And famous? Yeah, not at all. We're just friends with the photographer.

The Killers were amazing. I haven't been to a big show like that in so long. I definitely prefer a more intimate setting, but sometimes it's just fun to have to the lights and the fog machines and the confetti. Oh yes, there was confetti.

The opening band was decent. They'd be better in a smaller venue though. They had two girls in the band "playing" guitar and keys. But they were clearly just there for the eye candy. The apathetic blonde (who's pants HAD to have been painted on) played about 5 notes on the keyboard and tapped the tambourine a couple of times, and the brunette was trying REALLY hard to focus on strumming the chords right. I love seeing chicks rock out, but only if they're talented. These girls were just nice to look at. However, their song Classy Girls, was amazing (they are to blame for the title of this post). Myspace!

My favorite moment of the show? Brandon Flowers started in on a cover of Can't Help Falling in Love, we saw the man sitting in front of us turn to face his girlfriend and dropped to one knee. She said yes immediately and with a nervous hand he put the ring on her finger. Despite my bitterness towards love lately, this made me cry, in a really really happy sort of way.

{photo from metromix but taken by thisguy}

A New Year, A New Love, A New Loss

2009-09-07T20:07:00.014-06:00

Here we go with the next twist in our little story about the demise of Mr. Long Distance and I. After my first post about it, I became a little conflicted about writing about all of this. I imagine people stumbling across my plot of writing soil to see only negativity and whining, when perhaps they'd rather see lovely stationary and pictures of puppies licking kittens. Now don't get me wrong, I love stationary and I have absolutely nothing against puppies, or kittens for that matter. But I just figure there's enough of those blogs out there. Inspiration blogs I guess they're called. I even subscribe to a good chunk of them. But since they've cornered the market I guess I'll try for a bit of inspiration of my own. Inspiration to see that beauty doesn't only lie in a photograph of a bookshelf from Anthropology, but also in the truth of a painful experience. I hope that you'll see that the recognition of one's experience in that of another can be just as inspiring.

Anyway, that being said, here's the next bit.

I ended with me asking LD if he'd go to my sister's wedding with me. He kindly agreed. I was still in denial about his feelings for me, and mine for him. I had just broken up with my last boyfriend and not totally feeling ready to start another relationship. About a month passed after I asked him. During that time I succeeded in finishing the master cleanse, which left me about 10 pounds lighter, huzzah! Nothing will help you get over an old flame (and on to the next) like losing that kind of poundage. I also found myself having to work harder and harder had supressing the feelings I knew I had for LD, especially when he told me he'd be staying for New Years. My imagination took me to magical places filled with glitter, ticking clocks, Dick Clark, and a lovely kiss at midnight. All of that I quickly pushed out of my minds eye as best I could and as often as I could though. I had no idea how he felt about me, after all. Despite the fact that this boy would be driving all the way from South Dakota to go to a wedding where he knew aboslutely no one, just for me. Red flags of infatuation all over the place. I just didn't want to convice myself of something that may not be there.

The day of the wedding (I was maid of honor) I had to go out into the crowd to give the groomsmen the ring when I spotted LD. I really wasn't even supposed to be out of the bridal room so I was a little flustered by all the "oohs," "ahhs," and hugs. But when I saw him, and the way he looked at me, everything stalled. I walked up to him, gave him a hug, and he whispered "you look wonderful." Butterflies exploded.

The ceremony went on without a hitch. I had him arranged to sit with my Dad's sisters during the ceremony, knowing they were a chatty bunch and would take good care of him, in hopes it wouldn't be that awkward for him. *Notice the difference in attitudes at the weddings. I truly went out of my way to make sure he was taken care of and comfortable. I'm not sure that could really be said on his part.*

After the ceremony we danced and danced and danced. We took some pretty hilarious pictures, especially the candid ones of us trying to figure out the electric slide. I had finally met someone who was as inept at doing line dances as I was. Be still my beating heart.

Afterwards he helped clean up a bit, which really was above and beyond. All these signs pointed towards him really have feelings for me, all of which I intentionally ignored. Him living in South Dakota had a lot to do with that. Deep down I knew that starting something with him wouldn't end well.

Later I walked him to his car, hands lingering in each other's a little longer than they might for platonic friends. I hugged him and he hugged me back, tight. There was something of a pent up energy both of us had. We both felt really strongly for the other person but neither was willing to admit it. The logistics were just bad and we both knew it. It wouldn't end well. It wouldn't end well.

A few days later it was New Years Eve. I had a bunch of parties lined up and several differen obligations, including LD. I had to go to my aunts, first and foremost. They are amazing, I would never turn down a party ivnitation from them. And then my two best friends had party invites we had to make apearences at. None of us were willing to give any up or go separate ways so we just ended up stressing each other out and not making it to most of them. We hardly made it to any, actually. LD's friends were having a party at their house too. I desperatlely wanted to make it to the midnight hour with him. It was getting harder and harder to push those glittery thoughts away. He actually said he'd go to my aunts with me, and possibly some of the other parties as well, as long as he could end up at his friends at some point. It was nearly impossibly to deny that he had feelings for me at that point.

After my aunts we went to a bar to meet up with some friends and friends. It was here that we both gave up all our hang ups, fears and insecurities. LD was feeling a little awkward around my friends, I could tell. I tried to pull him into the conversation the best I could, but when you get a bunch of girls that have known each other for years and years, it's hard to explain th einside jokes, it's hard to explain them all, let alone make them seem funny for anyone else.

Somewhere along the course of conversation, our hands met each other under the table and didn't let go until we had to stand up and the rest of the bar could see us. We were barely willing to acknowledge what was going on to each other, let alone the whole bar.

I was lucky enough to be able to spend the midnight hour with him. We went back to his friends house. They were having a party which was... well it wasn't what my friends and I were used. No one really talked to us (pattern?), LD was spread thin between them and us, and no one was really into the whole "New Years" thing. I personally love New Years. I love counting down and screaming and hugging and playing Auld Lang Syne in a way that makes me want to cry for all the memories I would be leaving along with the old year and for all the new memories yet to come in the 2009.

This group of people, though, not so much. No one counted, no ball was dropped, and I'm pretty sure we just made up an ambiguous time to count down. I didn't care though, because by the time our little group got to midnight, LD grabbed my hand, looked me in the eyes intently, drew me close and kissed me. Our first kiss was in the first moments of the new year. I couldn't think of anything more perfect.

It just goes to show even the most perfect of circumstances can lead to the most painful of endings. More on that later.

{photo found here}

In the Beginning

2009-09-06T21:58:00.008-06:00

Alright, I guess I promised to write something about what happened with Mr. Long Distance. Not that I imagine you all are checking in every day hoping that it's been posted, but I guess I promised myself more than anyone. I supposed I need to air this out before I forget the facts entirely. For a while I was really pissed off about the whole situation. Whoever said anger is unhealthy is full of it. It's been my experience that anger makes for more interesting writing. But tonight I'm just depressed about it. So I apologize if this is boring, weepy, and melodramatic. But anyway, here goes.

Mr. Long Distance and I met a few years ago, via the internet of all things. I started this group that wrote letters to our Colorado senators about the civil war in Uganda, asking them to help end it. I used a list of people that went to an event Invisible Children had in Denver to send out Myspace messages about the group, LD was one of them. He ended up adding me as a friend on myspace. I remember thinking he was way cute but that he had a girlfriend. "Oh well," I thought. "He lives in South Dakota any way, what exactly did I think was going to happen?" Flash forward a few months and he added me on facebook, still with the girlfriend I think. We never really talked but I added him anyway (I usually reserve facebook for people I actually know, his good looks must've made him the exception).

About a year went by (I may be royally making up this time line, but it's the best I can remember) and a boy I had been positively in love with (unrequited) had officially told me to screw off, my grandfather had died, and I started in on my quarter life crisis. I was in a pretty dark place. You can go back to my old old posts and see they're quite depressing. He would send me kind comments telling me I'm wonderful and to hang in there. It felt really nice to have a complete stranger in my corner when it seemed no one else was.

And then on a Sunday morning in April, I was sitting on my friend's porch swing, eating a saltine and drinking a sprite, trying to get rid of a hang over. I received a text message from facebook saying I had a message. It was LD saying he was going to be in town in a few weeks for a wedding and would I go with him. I may or may not have still been slightly drunk when I agreed to go with him, but the email was sent and I had two weeks to freak out over the whole situation. I finally met him the day before the wedding at a park with some his friends. My friend Gia came with me. They were all playing soccer and frisbee. Gia and I don't play anything that resembles a sport, especially with complete strangers. The whole situation was incredibly awkward and I couldn't wait to leave. I even made up some phony excuse as to why I couldn't go to sushi with them afterwards.

The next day was the wedding. He and his brother came to pick me up, about 20 minutes early, which meant no make up and wet hair. Awesome. He didn't seem to mind though and told me I looked beautiful. I hadn't really thought about it being a romantic date until then and I started to get really nervous. We got to the wedding and I was introduced to his friends who hardly talked to me. The ceremony was almost done when someone made the announcement asking that we stick to the seating chart. I leaned over to LD and said "Did you RSVP for me?" He leaned back and said "No but I talked to the groom about it yesterday. He's totally cool with it." Men obviously don't understand catering bills and seating charts.

During the reception I coward behind a corner while he asked the mother of the bride for another chair and place setting. I was terrified. You know how mothers of the bride can get. And she had reason to be mad. I wasn't the only crasher. Some other friends of the groom decided to show up unannounced as well. Our table was crowded, I'll leave it at that. Despite the amount of people at our table, conversation (for me anyway) was in short supply, something that would happen time and time again as our relationship progressed. But I'll talk more about that later. To tope it off, there was no dancing, no music other than the father of the groom playing the accordion and no alcohol. Yes, I crashed a dry wedding. FML.

I have a small anxiety problem. And by small, I mean most social situation make me short of breath. This particular social situation brought on a full fledged anxiety attack. Luckily I'm pretty good at hiding them and managed to get through the night. It was just so incredibly awkward. LD made pretty good conversation, but he was also there to be with his friends, so a good chunk of the night was spent trying to get someone to talk to me for more than a couple of minutes, and failing miserably. I finally gave up and sat in silence for a while, until it was time to go. LD invited me to go with him to his friends house. When I asked what they'd be doing he said "probably sit around, drink a little and play some music." Sounds like a decent time, if the people involved were at all friendly and open to new people. But, since they weren't any of those things, I made up a story about offending someone for not going to party and needing to leave. Gia was my saviour that night. When she showed up it was like all of that anxiety finally was diffused. Finally someone I knew, liked, and was willing to talk to me.

After I left LD that night, Gia and I went to a party with some friends. Ironically that was the night I started a relationship with a guy I had been interested in for about a month. That makes me sound like a total whore, but I honestly never really thought of the wedding as a romantic date. LD did send me an email later though asking if we could go on a date the next time he was in town. I told him to call me and "we'll take it from there." Essentially our entire relationship, romantic and otherwise, has been built on bad timing.

You're probably wondering why I ended up dating this guy when I had such an awful time with him. The truth is it was his friends more than anything. He was wonderful. He was accommodating and nice and I felt really comfortable around HIM. His friends were a different story. For the next year we would get together every once in a while when he was in town, just he and I, and it was great. We were both into activism and music, he made me laugh, and I liked the way he looked at me. I'm beginning to think that I'm much easier to get a long with the less you know about me. It's like the closer I get with people (with a few exceptions) the less we like each other.

So, when my boyfriend and I broke up a few months before my sister's wedding, I had to call in a favor to a boy in South Dakota. And that's when the real story begins. But it's late, and this has been enough of a trip down shitty memory lane.

{photo from here}

Feisty With a Drinking Problem

2009-09-02T00:04:00.004-06:00

Well it's been a while. School has been smacking my behind quite efficiently and I'm only like two or three weeks in. Today I got to experience my first "workshop" session in my creative writing class. Luckily none of my poems were chosen to be "workshopped" but I got to see how the process works.

Holy damn I am terrified.

The process starts with the poem being read by the author. One can only assume that this kind of on the spot embarrassment is meant to lower your defenses and make you a prime victim for the ten minutes of harsh critique that is to follow.

We spend about half a minute saying what we like about the poem. Someone will say something about a favorite line, the professor will disagree and then we're into the "fun stuff." He seamlessly transitions into the critique before you even know what hit you. He all of the sudden starts pulling out lines that you ferociously fucked up and telling you how much he hates them, and you by extension. And then the girl in the back starts to put in her two cents. But really they're the professor's two cents recycled because she's so clearly in love with this washed up poet who, everyday, looks like he just woke up from having the worst, gin invested, night of his life. She supports his views on rhyming (damn it, when did poems stop rhyming?) and agrees on ever criticism he has. Even that a beautiful line about a sisters' love being like intertwined fingers is a cliche and should be omitted, despite the resonance it inspired in the entire class. Idiots, the lot of them.

I was so looking forward to this class. My first real writing class. But now I know what I'm going to be spending the next two years doing, shrinking in the back of these classes while pretentious "writers" in dark rimmed glasses try to teach us how to bring our own self actualization and existentialism into our writing (without rhyming). And all the while I'll be wanting to be sitting under a tree writing stories that matter to people and have nothing to do with my effing self actualization.

I was not expecting that little rant to come out of my nimble fingers. But there you have it. I've been feeling a little fired up lately. "Fuck" is my new favorite word and I've been driven to drink quite frequently on my own. I've turned it into an art form actually. These can't be good signs. Oh and did I mention how lovely cigarettes are? Cloves actually. Mmm, Bali Hi.

A lot of this has to do with the fact that I haven't done anything especially fun and reckless in far too long. There is some definite steam that needs to be blown off (I recently found out that in the UK, to "blow off" means to fart. This makes me love the previous sentence all the more.) School is positively dreadful and Mr. Long Distance is doing his darnedest to give me an ulcer.

I want to share the saga with you all but I'm trying to muster the energy and the right words. How do you begin a story about a person that has you feeling like you're ruined for any other guy that's brave enough to come around?

My Attempt At Poetry

2009-08-23T08:05:00.002-06:00

I am terrible at writing poetry. Not the best way to tempt you to read what's coming, I know. It's more of a warning really. This is my first assignment for my creative writing class and I'd really love any feedback you have, including "this is the worst excuses for poetry I've ever read." I probably wouldn't disagree with you ;) I think it's pretty self explanitory, but essentially I wrote it last night after seeing pictures of Mr. Long Distance with a new girlfriend. More, non poetic thoughts on that later.

(Any thoughts on a different title? I'm not a fan of this one)

The Result of Masochistic Behavior

You see his soft brown hands hold her thin frame

Panic stretches your lungs tight like the skin of a drum

It’s one of those moments you think God’s playing tricks

But then you realize it’s true and if there’s any way you can fade away

You do

You saw this coming

It doesn’t stop you from finding yourself in the fetal position

Alone in the dark

Again alone in the dark

Flashes of his lips on yours, on hers, on yours again, and then hers

You crumple over

Wrenching in pain

You force your eyes open, taking in every piece of the scene

You want it to cut into you deep this time

Searing itself into your flesh and memory

So that maybe you’ll learn for once

That not even the bluest of eyes is worth this

So that maybe you won’t let it happen again

That song starts to play and you can smell him in your skin and on your sheets

Fire wouldn’t be strong enough

You will the tears to come as if his memory is inside of them

As if you can cry him away but

They

Won’t
Come

Your brain vibrates against your skull

Wanting so badly to scream

Wanting to yell at him words that sound like hate and rhyme with betrayal

Wanting to take back every word you ever wrote him

Every secret you ever let your pen disclose

Every piece of you you let him have

You want it back

Because he just threw it way

Making room for new merchandise

Your lungs forget what they are

With effort your chest rises up and down

You feel that anxious and angry thud against your ribs

And then you realize

It’s still there

It’s still working

A piece of you he wasn’t completely able to ruin

Tomorrow: Operation Americana

2009-08-19T22:05:00.003-06:00

Tomorrow I will be en route to the Iowa State Fair. Yes indeed, you read correctly. My big summer vacation is Des Moines for the fair. Hooray.

Here's what we will be doing:

1) Eating lots of fried things like hard boiled eggs (us vegetarians need protein), oreos, pb&js, and of course fried dough.

2) Kelly Clarkson concert (why the hell not)

3) Brooks and Dunn concert (ugggh)

4) Gawking at all the corn

5) Getting myself a nice, hardy farm hand.

Pictures soon to follow...

{glorious photo found here}

The Mourning of a Season

2009-08-19T16:10:00.004-06:00

Summer is almost over. I have mixed feelings about it all. I'm looking forward to fall and the smells of pumpkin and nutmeg, light weight sweaters and coffee shops. But I do love summer.

I love letting my toes out to breathe.

I like long days that never get cold.

I love being able to let my shoulders see the world.

I love being carefree.

I didn't nap under trees enough.

I want more chances to ride my bike through the city.

I love running with the kids at the park. It works better than wrinkle cream.

I need the sun to remind me what hope look likes.

I'm afraid of responsibility and the person it turns me into.

Now I'm bogged down with school and work, the threat of snow (I HATE snow) and the realization that I won't be able to write as much anymore. I'm afraid this passionate streak I've been on is going to fade away amongst the deadlines and tests.

Goal for the next 5 months: Balance productivity and creativity, always favoring creativity.

{the perfect summer photo above was found here}

She's Good With Her Hands

2009-08-18T16:52:00.004-06:00

I would like to take a moment and tell you all how my first day of school went.

I was prepared. I laid out my clothes the night before. I had all my school supplies packed in my new bag. I had my light rail route planned out. I had to work in the morning, but the kids were great all day. I left their house feeling confident and excited to embark on a new semester of academia.

I found my class easily enough, got a great seat somewhat towards the back but still in the middle so I wouldn't be tempted to drift in concentration (not that it takes a seating chart to keep me from day dreaming). A fairly cute guy even sat next to me. It had the makings of a great first day of school.

And then my political science professor decided we needed to learn how to... what it's like when... ok I'm not totally sure exactly what he was trying to teach us (I may have been daydreaming). Essentially we had to split up in groups and within those groups find one person that either needed a date, a job, or a raise. When said person was determined, the group would have to sell that person to the rest of the class, lobbying the fact that they needed it more than anyone else.

I'm not good in groups as it is. The mere mention of the word gets my heart beating faster and my hands go clammy. I don't participate in class, ESPECIALLY a political class. I was already out of my element. It was most likely this haze of awkwardness that leaves the next details a little difficult to remember. Suffice it to say that I suddenly found myself volunteered as desperately needing a date. And the cute boy sitting next me? He was asking me, pen and paper in hand, what exactly I like most about myself. I cooly replied "I think I'll need a class of wine and some soft music to answer that question." He did not think this was funny. Nor did he find any of my other jokes in the least bit entertaining.

I told him I'm a writer, I love to read and that I find myself fairly intelligent, though not pretentious. This is what he chose to relay to the class in an effort to "sell" me: "Well, she's cute. I mean, let's be honest. And she speaks French [I don't], and come on guys, that's pretty hot. She plays the piano, so she's good with her hands, if ya know what I mean." He then winked, I blushed and the class "ooh'd."

To top it off, when it came time to chose, I received one vote. I was in a group of 6. Of those 6, one person voted for me. FROM MY OWN GROUP! My self esteem has officially plummeted. Thanks Political Science 101!

When I told my mom the story of being sold in class, she replied the best way a mom can reply: "Well if they try to do it again, you tell them you're not interested in human trafficking."

{photo found here}

The Art of Letting Go isn't Always Pretty

2009-08-15T13:04:00.004-06:00

It's a hard thing realizing you need to let someone go. This, I'm sure, is not news to anyone. The only thing more difficult than that, is actually acting on it. The realization is the easy part, actually doing it... Well it's rough.

I just sent an email to Mr. Long Distance telling him a friendship between the two of us isn't possible anymore. The biggest regret I have is wishing the email was more beautifully written. I aired on the side of caution and gave him the facts and left out the prose.

I got the first glimpse of him in a possible budding romance through facebook. This time it's not speculation. I can tell. The signs of a crush are there. I felt like the wind was knocked out of me. I was doing so well all summer. I was feeling confident, spunky even. I got bangs (er... fringe) for God's sake! It was a whole new me. And then we had coffee. He didn't act the way I wanted him to. He wasn't thrilled to see me. He didn't call and want me to hang out with him and his friends, and I wasn't able to kindly refuse and tell him I had far more exciting plans with my far more exciting friends. And he did not confess his undying love for me, and I didn't get to gently explain to him that he and I were just not meant to be, followed by me walking off into the sunset, alone but not lonely.

No, none of those things happened, which sent me into a whirlwind of insecurity. Why? I have no idea. That is what therapists are for and I can't afford one. All I know now is that having him in my life, being able to see him live without me via social networking is not going to work for me.

I have no idea if this was the right choice. It was all very spontaneous. But it had to be. Another day, or even another hour could have changed my mind. I am the queen of second guessing.

Now I'm hitting refresh on my browser, waiting for his reply. I'm preparing myself for there to be none, but my imagination is sabotaging me again. Visions of undying love and walking off into the sunset are emerging again. How do you turn the damn thing off?

A Nostalgic Workout

2009-08-15T09:18:00.008-06:00

Hello everyone :) How's your weekend going? I'm spending mine at my parent's house helping my mom cook for my sister's going away party (she and her husband are moving to North Carolina. I'd be upset if she wasn't moving to such a great place to visit). So far it's been much more relaxing than last weekend which was fun, but packed.

Have you ever played Ghost in the Graveyard? I haven't played since I was about 11 when we were screaming so much we had the cops called. The neighbors thought a dog was being tortured. That gives you some idea of how high pitched my voice used to be (still is?) We decided we needed to bring the game back, got a good group of friends together (and one guy who thinks my name is Ginny Weasely. A story for another time) and went to Denver's biggest park and gave it a go. Let me just say, I don't have a competitive bone in my body. I don't play sports and I was cheerleader (don't judge me), that's about all the athleticism I have. But when it comes to ghost in the graveyard? Watch out! I was on fire. For the first time I felt the rush of competition. I was NOT going to be the ghost, so help me God. I seriously sprinted for 3 hours straight. After the game I couldn't stop. I wanted to see who could jump the farthest off the swing and who could spin the longest on the tire swing before they threw up. No one took these challenges. I haven't the slightest idea why. The next day every muscle in my body was mad at me. Even the arches of my feet were sore. My abs, my legs, my shoulders, everything. Let me just say, it's the best workout ever, because you don't even realize you're working.

A boy that I was absolutely head over heels for a few years ago showed up, to my surprise. He's married now I haven't really spent time with him since they tied the knot. It was awkward, especially she had thrown him out of the house for the night. Yeah.

Another guy that showed up looked and acted just like an old flame we all refer to as Mikey Brian. And another acted and looked like another past love. It was like the night of the resurrected ex boyfriend. Possible inspiration for a horror story. We'll see...

To top off this cluster f*** of old boyfriends, I had coffee with Mr. Long Distance the next day. But I found out he reads this, so that's all I'm going to say about that... For now anyway.

Because that is Meaningful and that is Generous and that is what Loving someone is

2009-08-12T07:50:00.002-06:00

Just saw this on Le Love. It pretty much speaks for itself. I won't muck it up with my own words...

My Little Budding Writer

2009-08-08T10:01:00.005-06:00

This is my little Oaklie. She's 18 months and clearly taking after her mommy and nanny (which is what she calls me since "Sarah" is too hard at this point). Her mom and I have started writing together so it monopolizes a lot of our conversation. She must be picking up on it. She pulled the notebook and pen out by herself, wrapped herself up in a blanket and started to "write." She's such a smart little munchkin, and with a smile like that, I'm sure she'll grow up to be the next great novelist of our time ;)

"I Like Your Bangs"*

2009-08-07T17:15:00.004-06:00

Well I did it. I realized I've been sporting the "low maintenance look" for long enough. With the school year starting and my aspirations high to really do well this semester, I decided I need a new look to match. And so, I got bangs. Bangs enhance your intelligence, didn't you know?

*Quote from Napoleon Dynamite. Haha.

How Have I Never Read This Before?

2009-08-05T22:00:00.005-06:00

Oh my word, I'm not even half way done but I love it already. It makes me want to drop everything and write a novel in one sitting. I thought it was going to be dark and twisty like all his other books. I've never actually read a Stephen King novel (but I HAVE stayed at the Stanley Hotel, where he was inspired to write The Shining. It's very creepy). This is so far removed what I imagine his others are like though. It's part memoir, part instructional. He has a really down to earth view on writing and gives wonderful advice like:

"... put your desk in the corner, and every time you sit down there to write, remind yourself why it isn't in the middle of the room. Life isn't a support-system for art. It's the other way around."

“Freedom of inquiry, freedom of discussion, and freedom of teaching - without these a university cannot exist”

2009-08-03T20:38:00.007-06:00

{found here}

I love school supplies. It's really unhealthy actually. I have piles and piles of barley full notebooks lying around. I tend to stop taking notes/actually going to class about half way through the semester. But, rather than reusing them term after term, I give into the desire for blank pages, unsharpened pencils and ball point pens.

I went to Target tonight to stock up, and had a hard time deciding between

the Hannah Montana/Zack Afron/ Twilig

ht paraphernalia. So instead I went for the way cute recycled collection. A little more pricey, but us college kids can swing it right? Well no, we can't, but never-the-less I went the eco friendly route this year. Hopefully the cast of HSM3 can forgive me.

I also got these today from Etsy. I almost bought a lunch box but refrained. After all these years I'm learning...

At least maybe I'll look smart and well prepared and that will transcend via mitosis into my brain cells keeping me motivated all semester long. See? I'm sounding intelligent already :)

Can I Be the Girl That You Met in the Coin Laundry

2009-07-29T21:33:00.006-06:00

Roommate is in Italy (I am beyond jealous), so I have been left to my own devices lately. Tonight I took a break from reading and writing. I've been doing loads of research for a novel I've decided to start. Eek! So, in reward for the ten whole pages I've been able to muster this week, I took the night off and watched Driving Lessons, staring Rupert Grint (Ron Weasley) who I now have an unhealthy obsession with. Am I too old for Tiger Beat posters on my bedroom walls? There is a rumor he is attending Colorado University in the fall, I need to investigate this further.

The film was fabulous. Mrs. Weasley (what is her name) also co-stars. It was absolutely what I needed after the gaping whole I've been left with after finishing the last Harry Potter.

I also ate egg plant parmesan and chocolate cake, residuals from my birthday weekend, which was fun but nothing to write home about. Ah the double edge sword of living the life of a recluse, but more on that another day.

I'm ending the night by recapping on my Artist Way activities and painting my nails while listening to this:

Oh, and I'm getting bangs on Friday. This could be a very big mistake. Updates soon.

{image found here}

You Are Never Truly Alone

2009-07-27T20:50:00.004-06:00

I have officially finished Harry Potter, and while I feel a little lost without Harry, Hermionie and Ron (oh, especially Ron) in my life every day, I will do my best to go on with life, and supply you once again with daily random blurbs of nothingness, and thank you so much for still reading :)

I've been working on a new story. If I may be so ambitious, a novel. So far it's four pages. I have a ways to go before it hits the "novel mark" but never the less, I'm very excited to be starting such a project.

This new surge in writing reminded me of a book I started a while ago that really never went anywhere. I don't think it ever will, the idea was really unorganized and rather immature to be honest with you, but I wrote a concluse, an epliogue if you will, that I re-read today and rather like it, so I thought I'd share:

"I argued with myself a great deal about telling you the way my story ends, or begins. It’s almost cliche, too perfect. But looking back at the stories I’ve read and have fallen in love with, happiness is always found at the end, but there is never resolution without sacrifice. It is true, though, that “everything’s good in the end. If it’s not good, it’s not the end.” I think we, as women, need to believe that there is a sliver lining and a light at the end of the tunnel when it comes to love. No, salvation will never be found in the arms of a man. I don’t want you to translate my happy ending as me saying you must have a man to be happy. Many of my happiest years were spent on my own, alone but not lonely, enjoying who I was and discovering the world. I now get to do that with Luke, discover the world through two sets of eyes, but I wouldn’t trade that time to myself for a thousand years with him. It sounds selfish but I say that because if I hadn’t had that time to discover who I truly was and what I truly stood for then I would never have been able to see in myself what Luke sees so clearly. I would never be able to be happy with the person I have become and the person Luke loves, and in return would not be able to be the partner that Luke deserves. Without accepting ourselves, the way we are, we cannot accept the love of others. And without being able to accept the love of others, we cannot love those that deserve our love the most.

So this is my disclaimer of sorts. Do not skip through these pages and see merely a fairy tale between a girl and the boy that saved her from a lonely and sad life. Instead, I hope you find a story of spirit, perseverance and self discovery that led to the realization that when you love who and what you are, you are never truly alone."

Pearls of Wisdom

2009-07-21T09:34:00.002-06:00

"Harry Potter is all about confronting fears, finding inner strength and doing what is right in the face of adversity… Twilight is about how important it is to have a boyfriend."

Found here

Sirius Neglect

2009-07-15T11:37:00.004-06:00

My apologies for being so absent as of late. I'm reading the Harry Potter series for the first time. My mind is in Hogwarts right now (I've dreamt about Voldemort and Harry every night since I started the second book) and I'm incapable of coming up with anything remotely interesting to say to you that doesn't involve an incantation or HP reference (i.e. the title), so I'll spare you. My life will hopefully return to normal in a few weeks.

The good life is inspired by love and guided by knowledge

2009-07-10T09:03:00.003-06:00

I just registered for classes! For most, this is a very non-exciting event, possibly met with groans for yet another stretch of being force-fed subjects that have nothing to do with your passions. But I haven't been in an actual classroom for about 2 years so I'm pretty excited. Of course the novelty is sure to wear off once the homework and papers start piling up, but I don't care. I'm just reveling in the excitement the prospect of new knowledge brings, and thinking about school supplies. Oh how I love school supplies!

{wonderful notebooks found here on Etsy}

There's a Place in Your Heart and I Know it is Love

2009-07-07T13:56:00.003-06:00

Nothing will make you cry quite like watching Michael Jackson's daughter speak of her love for her father and then immediately hearing your own four year old start singing We Are the World.