New Happy Year

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

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

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

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

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

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

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!

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

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

{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.