I worked briefly at Wells Fargo before embarking on my career at Smith Barney. I got the tip on a receptionist job in the Downtown branch from my boss at Wells Fargo. Her daughter, Lisa, worked in that office. My interview was nothing short of a complete nervous breakdown:
I was dressed in the only suit I could afford at the time, purchased from Sears. It was machine washable, couldn't afford dry cleaning. Black and brown polyester, with shoulder pads! I believe the skirt covered my ass, but I'm sure just barely. I didn't have an attache so I carried my resume in a manila folder. I also didn't have a purse so all of my crap was also shoved in the manila folder, think: keys, wallet, sunglasses. You get the picture.
This was my first driving experience downtown so you can imagine my excitement in trying to maneuver around. I was armed with directions and 15 minutes late. Needless to say I was panicked and I parked at what I thought was the office, 401 4th Street (Dicks Last Resort, hardly a Smith Barney). I figured I was at the wrong place so I used a payphone to speak to my interviewer, Debbie Lucus:
" Mrs. Lucus,I'm sorry I'm late but I'm lost. I'm at Dick's Last Resort and I don't know where to go."
"Look up, do you see the building that has Wells Fargo on it?" go figure.
"yes."
"That's us. We're on the 23rd floor. See you soon"
I hung up the payphone and started to walk/run towards the building which didn't look that far away. (20 blocks) I noticed a creepy man start to walk the same time I did so I crossed the street, then he crossed the street. I crossed the street and turned back to the car, which is where I sat until the coast was cleared. As minutes ticked by, I kept walking towards the office, the closer I got the more horrifying things started to happen to me. I believe Horton Plaza is the hotbed of all that is evil downtown because this is where most of the carnage took place. By the time I reached Horton Plaza I was beyond panicked, being about 30 minutes late and sweaty from run/walking 20 blocks. As I stood at a crosswalk I didn't notice the large white van pull up to the stop light as I was juggling my wallet, trying not to wrinkle my resume and not drop my keys. When the crosswalk light turned green I began to walk across the street, as I crossed the front of the white raper van a man leaned out of the drivers side window and yelled:
"excuse me ma'am you dropped something...."
Naturally, I'm juggling a bunch of shit. This only took 30 seconds but imagine in in slow motion...
I turned around in the middle of the crosswalk looked down, didn't see anything and then looked up at the van. The man hanging out of the van had his face painted like a clown and was giant holding a horn.
"You dropped your SMILE!!" Toot- toot-toot
I've never run so fast in my life. I started to cry, which now seems to be a theme. I was running so fast that a few seconds later I was in Horton Plaza and 2 blocks to the office which for me was safety. As I was running through Horton Plaza a Hare Krishna tried to hand me a pamphlet.
"NO!" I brushed him off, not breaking my stride..
"Karma will get you......." Now ain't that a bitch? Who says that to someone else? Nice Hare Krishna! Nice hex asshole! Welcome to THE LIST clown boy and Hare Krishna, you've been bumped to the top!
I finally made it to the office a disheveled mess. I had obviously been crying, I was sweating and you can imagine the state of my resume. Debbie, so kindly came to get me....
"Sara, I'm glad you made it. I'm sorry you had trouble finding us." We got to her office and she asked how my day had been thus far.
" I'm having a really shitty day." I really did say shitty. At that point, I figured I had nothing to loose I was already 45 minutes late, I wasn't going to get the job anyway. I proceeded to tell Debbie about all that happened on my little journey. I even think I started crying (it was the clown). We ended my interview with her offering to give me a ride to my car.
"I'm really worried about you. I'm sorry you had such a hard time."
"Thank you for your time.... Sorry again I was late."
I immediately went to my friend Erin's house to discuss the dirty details, exclaiming to her that I was most likely blackballed from all financial firms from that day forward. We laughed about it well into the evening. When I got home I had a message from Debbie Lucus offering my the job. To this day, I know I got the job because I said "shitty". That takes guts!
I was the only applicant.
8 1/2 years later......
One of the brokers I work with called me a clown, not more than a few weeks ago. He meant it in the Joe Pesci way ( "Am I a clown? Am I here to amuse you?") I started to cry. I think I might have a phobia.
Tuesday, November 21, 2006
Thursday, November 16, 2006
Dubious and Rudy
I have two cats. I plan to complain about them a lot on this blog. Be prepared. I thought cats only lived for like 8 years.
I'm an idiot.
Rudy is the cat that doesn't scratch anything but meows incessantly, unless asleep, so we whisper all day. He is the tabby or in lay terms brown.
Dubious is the black cat. She has devoured our couch, carpet, curtains and anything else in her way. She hates people.
Wednesday, November 15, 2006
Only five miles to Hell. I know, I've been there.
It is no secret, I'm running a half marathon in April. If your wondering why, it is also the same reason I'd like to summit Everest or go to Easter Island or perfect the keg stand. Just because I want to... No particular reason, it sounds fun. On Friday night I received a copy of Her Sports and Fitness in the mail. I really like this magazine as it always has articles that pertain to want I'm currently doing. Magic? I think so.
On this month's cover is a man- bodied woman and the following banners:
Knock out abs! ( yes, please)
Organic, worth the splurge? ( you tell me!)
Then, shining from the page as if it were the chosen article itself :
Half Marathon Made Easy ( Sweet Jesus, I've hit the jackpot! )
Quickly, quickly I turn to page 54. It has a running plan that includes: run two minutes, walk one minute.
(I can do that! 21 week training program! I have just enough time!)
I can hardly contain my excitement!
(I'm really going to run a half marathon and look beautiful while doing it and everyone will be jealous!!! Moo- Haw haw!! Watch out veteran runners I have the easy plan complete with veteran and beginners column.)
Naturally I choose the beginners column. Week 1- run 5 miles.
(Five Miles. Easy.) My longest running venture to date was a 5 K last October.
Saturday
I gave up the smokes (day 53), and the booze because I can't have the smokes so I've turned my wretched addictive personality to coffee... How I love you coffee... Dunkin Donuts Coffee to be exact. With three cups of coffee in my belly and a handful of crackers I start dressing for my five mile trek to stardom.
Ipod. Check!
Knee Brace. Check!
Heart Monitor. Check!
Pedometer. Check!
Favorite running shoes. Check!
New ultra cool running hat (thanks Jules). Check!
I've got five pounds of crap on and I'm ready to go... It's 12:15 p.m. I'm tired of running around the bay so I start by running around the neighborhood. Two minutes run, one minute walk. (Easy is right!) I get tired of running around the neighborhood so I start running down Crown Point Drive towards Sea World. The side walk runs out at Sea World so I turned around and ran back to the Bay. (stopped for two minutes to look at stingray from atop the bridge, didn't now anything lived in the Bay)
Look at pedometer.
(1.5 miles? There is no f'in way! I hate two minutes run and one minute walk and I hate the last guy that ran by and stared at my boobs. I really hate you! I might turn around a try to catch you and tell you how much I hate you right now!)
I ran down to the Bay. The great part of running at the Bay is every 1/4 mile is spray painted so you know how far you've gone. Please, for god sake do not reply and ask why I just didn't do this in the first place. The reason is because I'm dumb. Why would I go for a five mile first time run on a stomach full of coffee? WHY? I start at the 3/4 mile marker.
One mile. Bahia Hotel 1.5 miles.
(I'm finding my pace! I love you two minutes run and one minute walk, I really love you!)
This is about the time it starts to get ugly. Don't let any children read the horror that is about to unfold: I'm running toward Mission Beach I'm at 1.75 miles per the marker. 3.25 total. I decide to make it to Santa Clara which is about 2 miles. Then turn around and head for home. Unfortunately my threshold for pain is gone, I'm thirsty, tired and all I can think is just don't quit. I start to cry. I have to stop. I get off the sidewalk and cry for my one minute walk break. Then I lay on a grassy patch and pretend to stretch whilst crying. Lucky for me I look as though I have been running for days so no one stops to check that I'm OK. Obviously, I know what I'm doing with all my gadgets. My next mood swings starts a little something like this:
(OK Stop crying and start running. You only have to run for two minutes. It's not that tough. Only 2 miles to home. Once the pedometer hits five miles, you can walk. Easy Street!)
I do a little less than half a mile before I can't run two minutes, I cut it to one minute run two minutes walk.
(Feel-in Good! 1.5 miles to go.)
It is at this very moment my entire world, which is very fragile at the moment, crashes. A girl I will only refer to as "gazelle" easily runs it by. She passed me once before but I was so delirious I didn't notice much about her. I start to cry again. I really want to shout "Whore" But I don't even know if I can make words right now. I use this anger to kick every piece of me that's giggling into high gear and I pass her all the while think. "Can't beat me. I might look like an animal right now, but I'm a hot little wifey. So you just take that."
I didn't see Gazelle after that, she must have gotten off of the track or maybe she was so upset by how bad I dusted her, she just decided to leave. I choose to think the later.
Heading home! Feeling like death. Blisters on the bottom and arches of my feet. Check pedometer.
4.1 miles
(Not possible!!) I walk the 300 feet home. A mere shell of myself before my run to stardom began. I Rambo kick in the door and start to take off my gear. Brandon peaks out from the kitchen.
" Do you know how long you've been gone? Two hours. How far did you run?"
"4.1 miles, but it can be right. I'm really hurting and there is no possible way it took me two hours to run four miles. I just might shoot myself."
Monday
Still angered over the 4.1 miles crisis and running for two hours, Brandon charts my course.
8.5 miles total. Thank you Weight Watchers for having a total piece of crap pedometer! In your face half marathon! In your face Gazelle!
My body has started to seize and this is now an entirely too long of an email. Just thought it was pretty funny and I'm very proud of myself!
I totally got to see a stingray!
On this month's cover is a man- bodied woman and the following banners:
Knock out abs! ( yes, please)
Organic, worth the splurge? ( you tell me!)
Then, shining from the page as if it were the chosen article itself :
Half Marathon Made Easy ( Sweet Jesus, I've hit the jackpot! )
Quickly, quickly I turn to page 54. It has a running plan that includes: run two minutes, walk one minute.
(I can do that! 21 week training program! I have just enough time!)
I can hardly contain my excitement!
(I'm really going to run a half marathon and look beautiful while doing it and everyone will be jealous!!! Moo- Haw haw!! Watch out veteran runners I have the easy plan complete with veteran and beginners column.)
Naturally I choose the beginners column. Week 1- run 5 miles.
(Five Miles. Easy.) My longest running venture to date was a 5 K last October.
Saturday
I gave up the smokes (day 53), and the booze because I can't have the smokes so I've turned my wretched addictive personality to coffee... How I love you coffee... Dunkin Donuts Coffee to be exact. With three cups of coffee in my belly and a handful of crackers I start dressing for my five mile trek to stardom.
Ipod. Check!
Knee Brace. Check!
Heart Monitor. Check!
Pedometer. Check!
Favorite running shoes. Check!
New ultra cool running hat (thanks Jules). Check!
I've got five pounds of crap on and I'm ready to go... It's 12:15 p.m. I'm tired of running around the bay so I start by running around the neighborhood. Two minutes run, one minute walk. (Easy is right!) I get tired of running around the neighborhood so I start running down Crown Point Drive towards Sea World. The side walk runs out at Sea World so I turned around and ran back to the Bay. (stopped for two minutes to look at stingray from atop the bridge, didn't now anything lived in the Bay)
Look at pedometer.
(1.5 miles? There is no f'in way! I hate two minutes run and one minute walk and I hate the last guy that ran by and stared at my boobs. I really hate you! I might turn around a try to catch you and tell you how much I hate you right now!)
I ran down to the Bay. The great part of running at the Bay is every 1/4 mile is spray painted so you know how far you've gone. Please, for god sake do not reply and ask why I just didn't do this in the first place. The reason is because I'm dumb. Why would I go for a five mile first time run on a stomach full of coffee? WHY? I start at the 3/4 mile marker.
One mile. Bahia Hotel 1.5 miles.
(I'm finding my pace! I love you two minutes run and one minute walk, I really love you!)
This is about the time it starts to get ugly. Don't let any children read the horror that is about to unfold: I'm running toward Mission Beach I'm at 1.75 miles per the marker. 3.25 total. I decide to make it to Santa Clara which is about 2 miles. Then turn around and head for home. Unfortunately my threshold for pain is gone, I'm thirsty, tired and all I can think is just don't quit. I start to cry. I have to stop. I get off the sidewalk and cry for my one minute walk break. Then I lay on a grassy patch and pretend to stretch whilst crying. Lucky for me I look as though I have been running for days so no one stops to check that I'm OK. Obviously, I know what I'm doing with all my gadgets. My next mood swings starts a little something like this:
(OK Stop crying and start running. You only have to run for two minutes. It's not that tough. Only 2 miles to home. Once the pedometer hits five miles, you can walk. Easy Street!)
I do a little less than half a mile before I can't run two minutes, I cut it to one minute run two minutes walk.
(Feel-in Good! 1.5 miles to go.)
It is at this very moment my entire world, which is very fragile at the moment, crashes. A girl I will only refer to as "gazelle" easily runs it by. She passed me once before but I was so delirious I didn't notice much about her. I start to cry again. I really want to shout "Whore" But I don't even know if I can make words right now. I use this anger to kick every piece of me that's giggling into high gear and I pass her all the while think. "Can't beat me. I might look like an animal right now, but I'm a hot little wifey. So you just take that."
I didn't see Gazelle after that, she must have gotten off of the track or maybe she was so upset by how bad I dusted her, she just decided to leave. I choose to think the later.
Heading home! Feeling like death. Blisters on the bottom and arches of my feet. Check pedometer.
4.1 miles
(Not possible!!) I walk the 300 feet home. A mere shell of myself before my run to stardom began. I Rambo kick in the door and start to take off my gear. Brandon peaks out from the kitchen.
" Do you know how long you've been gone? Two hours. How far did you run?"
"4.1 miles, but it can be right. I'm really hurting and there is no possible way it took me two hours to run four miles. I just might shoot myself."
Monday
Still angered over the 4.1 miles crisis and running for two hours, Brandon charts my course.
8.5 miles total. Thank you Weight Watchers for having a total piece of crap pedometer! In your face half marathon! In your face Gazelle!
My body has started to seize and this is now an entirely too long of an email. Just thought it was pretty funny and I'm very proud of myself!
I totally got to see a stingray!
The things I didn't know before, I do.
The best part of being married to Brandon is that everyday I find out something new. For example last weekend to battle my raging hangover I suggested breakfast at IHOP. Yes, I consistanly bitch about the weight I've gained since the wedding, but this was a hangover. The kind of hangover that makes you barf at the taste of your own hangover breath. This was serious.
Before breakfast came, that magic time between empty barfy stomach and the ease of grease, Brandon could tell I was struggling so he asked if I had any good scar stories.
"Nope, no good scars, I'm to scared to get scars. What about you ?"
Good thing I asked. He was desperatly looking at me as if my crappy scars don't matter and only he can be the scar master in this family. To which I say fine, SCAR MASTER IS YOURS.
"See this, (holds out index finger) I got this scar (which just looks like a crease in his finger, but I buy it. Believe me no one else would brag about this) from breaking a beer bottle over my head in school"
By school he means UC Davis, which is where Brandon went to torture the staff and students alike for 5 years.
(Disgusted) "Brandon, why would you break a beer bottle over your head?"
"I don't know, but I ran all the way home with it wrapped in a towel. It was really bleeding."
"What kind of beer?" (As if this actually matters)
"Actually it was an Alize bottle"
"That makes this story worse, don't tell people about tha!t." (Who the hell brought Alize to the frat party. Ghetto Sacramento asshole.)
"I didn't drink any."
" HUMMM, O.K."
Our breakfast continued very nicely. But I swear everytime I get mad at Brandon for something. I just think of what he must have looked like while breaking an Alize bottle over his head and then promptly running out of a party. I can't stop laughing. I also don't know if I'm sad I didn't know him in school or if I'm really happy I didn't know him then.
Thank you sweetheart for making my hangover breakfast better.
Day 14 and the West Nile VIrus
Day 14 and my two month- a- versary, I can hardly contain my excitement.
What is day 14, you ask? 14 days without a cigarette. One day for every year I've smoked, no less. I can almost even swear it hasn't been that hard. I think I've quit harder things before. Maybe that's the Nicorette talking? Seriously, it's been relatively easy. I don't even want it anymore. What I want is to kick Brandon's ass in another race. That has proved to be all the motivator I need. Let's get real here, it's the only sport I'll ever beat him at. ( For the time being) Our competitive household will probably be Olympic medalists before we're done trying to be better than one another in sports. Healthy.
This first two months of marriage has been a blast. It's so fun having your buddy around all the time. (creepy) Since it was my two month-a-versary today and because I was home ill, I decided to go to the Social Security office to change my name. First of all, what a spectacular place, the SS office. I've been to more exciting and cheerier funerals. After an hour my number was called, I presented my paperwork and the clerk told me my new name:
"wasn't going to work" (exact words).
"what's wrong with it?" (imagine my sarcasm and attitude after an hour wait. All I needed was for this guy to snap his fingers when he said it just didn't work)
"to long. Oh wait, your first name is Sara-Ann right?"
( This was when I busted out my very impressive "oh hell no" look)
"NO"
"well, we have Sara-Ann T. Jones If you want to make your maiden name your middle name and Ann and T. are your middle names, that is to many." ( Sara Ann T. Jones Ratliff)
I promise, for only one second I thought about Sara-Ann. She must be southern. I bet she cooks grits and wears an apron too. No thank you.
" Just drop the T."
" So your name will be Sara Ann Jones Ratliff?"
"yep." (insert any dramatic sigh here)
I'm being dramatic, but I really miss the T. The T. really gave Sara Jones some zing! Social Security is now on my list. The list is getting long.
So I've been home for two days sick. Lame. I can't watch Montel anymore because I don't care that people don't know who their Babby Daddy is. Angelina Jolie has a Babby Daddy, it can't be that bad. I went to the doctor on Wednesday night. I self diagnosed West Nile Virus earlier in the day, which only put my mild cold into a major downward spiral. I thought I might die.
Such a sweet family practitioner examined me. Brandon came in the room with me, which I thought was very nice. She asked my symptoms: Nausea, Diarrhea, Aches, Headache, Exhaustion followed by insomnia.
" I think I might have West Nile Virus." ( I can't even believe I was able to look her in the eye and not laugh. Brandon however started laughing)
She said: " It's a possibility. Can you move your head to the right and left? ( I complied) If you had West Nile you wouldn't be able to do that, but if you want to find out I can send you to the lab for a spinal tap."
"maybe later, if I get worse."
"Could you be pregnant?" (STOP THE PRESSES!)
At the same time I say " Oh god no." Brandon blurts out "Not Yet!"
The look of utter disappointment at our lack of communication fills the room. I shoot Brandon a look.
"Are you taking pre-natal vitamins?"
"NO!"
" You should. Your (looks at my chart) 29? Your peek fertility years are between 23 and 24." ( Should I be offended?)
Now I really think I'm going to throw up. Not only do I obviously have West Nile Virus but I'm drying up!
"I think you have Viral Syndrome, which is flu without the fever. Your on bed rest for two days. You should really take the vitamins"
Is viral syndrome physical or mental?
Back to today. I went to Target after Social Security, tired of being at home and I felt like I needed to buy something truly crappy to make myself feel better. I grabbed a cart and went down every aisle. When I got to the vitamin aisle I broke into a cold sweat. I called Brandon to make one last plea about the vitamins. He has gotten very good at tuning out the drama queen. (curses!)
Maternal Sara kicked in and I couldn't figure out which of the three different brands I should get. I bought all three. I will report on the effects of each.
So I've completely caved.
To leave you without any doubts... I'm not pregnant. I'm not going to be pregnant any time soon. Even better, I got a sweet Bon Jovi shirt at Target. Don't be jealous!
What is day 14, you ask? 14 days without a cigarette. One day for every year I've smoked, no less. I can almost even swear it hasn't been that hard. I think I've quit harder things before. Maybe that's the Nicorette talking? Seriously, it's been relatively easy. I don't even want it anymore. What I want is to kick Brandon's ass in another race. That has proved to be all the motivator I need. Let's get real here, it's the only sport I'll ever beat him at. ( For the time being) Our competitive household will probably be Olympic medalists before we're done trying to be better than one another in sports. Healthy.
This first two months of marriage has been a blast. It's so fun having your buddy around all the time. (creepy) Since it was my two month-a-versary today and because I was home ill, I decided to go to the Social Security office to change my name. First of all, what a spectacular place, the SS office. I've been to more exciting and cheerier funerals. After an hour my number was called, I presented my paperwork and the clerk told me my new name:
"wasn't going to work" (exact words).
"what's wrong with it?" (imagine my sarcasm and attitude after an hour wait. All I needed was for this guy to snap his fingers when he said it just didn't work)
"to long. Oh wait, your first name is Sara-Ann right?"
( This was when I busted out my very impressive "oh hell no" look)
"NO"
"well, we have Sara-Ann T. Jones If you want to make your maiden name your middle name and Ann and T. are your middle names, that is to many." ( Sara Ann T. Jones Ratliff)
I promise, for only one second I thought about Sara-Ann. She must be southern. I bet she cooks grits and wears an apron too. No thank you.
" Just drop the T."
" So your name will be Sara Ann Jones Ratliff?"
"yep." (insert any dramatic sigh here)
I'm being dramatic, but I really miss the T. The T. really gave Sara Jones some zing! Social Security is now on my list. The list is getting long.
So I've been home for two days sick. Lame. I can't watch Montel anymore because I don't care that people don't know who their Babby Daddy is. Angelina Jolie has a Babby Daddy, it can't be that bad. I went to the doctor on Wednesday night. I self diagnosed West Nile Virus earlier in the day, which only put my mild cold into a major downward spiral. I thought I might die.
Such a sweet family practitioner examined me. Brandon came in the room with me, which I thought was very nice. She asked my symptoms: Nausea, Diarrhea, Aches, Headache, Exhaustion followed by insomnia.
" I think I might have West Nile Virus." ( I can't even believe I was able to look her in the eye and not laugh. Brandon however started laughing)
She said: " It's a possibility. Can you move your head to the right and left? ( I complied) If you had West Nile you wouldn't be able to do that, but if you want to find out I can send you to the lab for a spinal tap."
"maybe later, if I get worse."
"Could you be pregnant?" (STOP THE PRESSES!)
At the same time I say " Oh god no." Brandon blurts out "Not Yet!"
The look of utter disappointment at our lack of communication fills the room. I shoot Brandon a look.
"Are you taking pre-natal vitamins?"
"NO!"
" You should. Your (looks at my chart) 29? Your peek fertility years are between 23 and 24." ( Should I be offended?)
Now I really think I'm going to throw up. Not only do I obviously have West Nile Virus but I'm drying up!
"I think you have Viral Syndrome, which is flu without the fever. Your on bed rest for two days. You should really take the vitamins"
Is viral syndrome physical or mental?
Back to today. I went to Target after Social Security, tired of being at home and I felt like I needed to buy something truly crappy to make myself feel better. I grabbed a cart and went down every aisle. When I got to the vitamin aisle I broke into a cold sweat. I called Brandon to make one last plea about the vitamins. He has gotten very good at tuning out the drama queen. (curses!)
Maternal Sara kicked in and I couldn't figure out which of the three different brands I should get. I bought all three. I will report on the effects of each.
So I've completely caved.
To leave you without any doubts... I'm not pregnant. I'm not going to be pregnant any time soon. Even better, I got a sweet Bon Jovi shirt at Target. Don't be jealous!
sap-o-meter straight to ten
I made a very solemn promise to myself that I wouldn't bug all of you with a blog every time I convinced myself that I was ambulatory, but I have actually received requests for more stories of pain and suffering.....
On the eve of what is my second race, (5K Breast Cancer Race) I reflected during my training run today. I'm up to about 4.5 miles. The first 1.5 are like torture but after that it's as if the god Hermes himself, sends down a pair of his winged shoes and I take off. If he'd like to attach a handbag to that, I wouldn't stick my nose up.
I noticed a woman, this is no joke and no exaggeration involved , I swear: not a day over 65, missed the last few hair appointments, boobies to her knees, sporting a neon pink shirt proudly expressing the fact that she is a "GOOD KISSER". It took everything I had not to yell out, "me too" or "prove it" as I ran past. I believe if you advertise it, you had better be. Lots of mommies with strollers. No Gazelle in sight. I think I may have scared her off with my running prowess.
I also noticed I clench both of my hands. My right hand is always clenched like Bob Dole. I know you remember the hand with the pen. So help me if you send an email about how he is a war hero. I could possibly do better in a Presidential election too. It's OK, I'm a Republican, I can throw stones. My left hand is clutching my IPOD, which broke possibly due to my super human strength, like Charlton Heston with a rifle at an NRA rally. I fight the urge to raise my IPOD and spit "From my cold dead hands" almost every ten minutes. It makes me laugh, which is a change from stopping to cry. (See photo, notice hands, this is a photo from last year!)
Don't believe for one second that I'm Flo Jo, but now I can enjoy my time plunking away at the pavement.
I did almost start to cry today, (sap-o-meter straight to ten) when I saw two women obviously tired, walking, decked out in all of their Breast Cancer garb. The Breast Cancer three day is very soon and when my eyes were opened to these ladies I started to see more and more during my run today. Everyone out this morning was walking for Breast Cancer, a jogger in the mix every once in a while. I figured "my" ladies needed a boost so when I passed them I blurted out "Great job ladies, keep it up!" Not surprisingly they hollered back "Hey.... You too!" ( I raised my IPOD in the air. tee-hee)
Tonight before bed, do me a little favor. Pick a person with breasts to think about all day tomorrow. Send out good thoughts. (Men have breasts too.) Also send a special thought to my pal Chris. He's running for his mom and tomorrow will be a very hard day for him. His mom is an angel that watches over his children, so I'm told. I'm running for Patty Plumbleigh. She is the angel that makes the flowers bloom in spring. I always think of her in April. If you live in the Midwest or East you know what I'm talking about. She brings that little rush of joy when you notice your first spring flower, no more snow! I think of her often, powerful, considering I only met her a handful of times.
Enough sap for today. I'll write again soon with my post times. Last year I ran a 5K in 36 minutes... I hope to shave off some of that time.
Be good to your breasts. (Shout out to my favorite three day walker Bethany Zabrosky)
The Sports Bra Incident, I can't even make this stuff up.
First things first, language in this one is rated R. Delete this if you can't take a little B word.
When I tried to clasp my sports bra the other morning the clasp broke. It was metal. I think I corroded it from the amount of bleach I use on my whites. I love the smell of a bleachy white shirt. I like smelling bleach at work when I have a crisp white dress shirt on. Call me crazy, but don''t hate that I smell clean and lemon fresh.
The last time I bought a sports bra I slipped and fell in a puddle of urine. I swear to God. I wouldn't lie about that and don't think I'm bragging either. Brandon and I should be zillionaires right now, but I'm a wimp. The clerk at Walmart tried to tell me it was Mountain Dew but believe me when I say I can recognize the smell of piss. I still even bought the items in my cart, covered in urine. I waited in line. I must have looked mortified because a little boy came over to me, whilst I was rolling on the floor in pee and said, "Don't cry, someone else fell before you". Obviously this person was not wearing very absorbant clothing. Could they have been naked? Was this Walmart (Clairmont Mesa Blvd) where you shop naked and pee on the floor? Where was my memo? Walmart is on my list, and yes, those pee soaked clothes were discarded after we got home. (He still married me.)
Now that we have that out of the way, imagine my sheer and utter delight in knowing I had to go shopping for a sports bra. There is no fate worse than bra shopping other than bathing suit shopping. It shouldn't even have a great word pinned after it like "shopping". It should be called, "who wants to feel really shitty about their body today?" and the store would only carry bras, swimwear, lycra and chocolate cake. Armed with my purse and a whole helping full of self esteem I went to Macy's. I figured a department store would have what I was looking for, if Walmart carries it, surely Macy's has it. I found the lingerie department and went directly to the counter, no need to mess around. I asked the clerk- young girl- where the sports bras were located.
"What size are you?"
Keep in mind there is no one within 100 feet of us, but I lower my voice to almost inaudible. Only maybe a pigmy could here me. " 34F, but..."
She jumps backwards, rears her head back like the little devil that she is and screams, and I mean screams...... "WHOA!! I DIDN"T THINK THEY MADE THEM THAT BIG!" and starts to stare directly at my boobs!
Normal Sara would say "Bras or boobs you pigmy bitch?"
No, no that is what normal Sara would do. Normal Sara is however occupied, trying to keep her crazy psycho personality from pistol whipping the clerk with her fake Louis Vuitton bag. The magnitude of the war deep inside me must be showing by the way my face is contorting. It has been so long since I had to use my "Oh hell no look." (ask to see my drivers license). I'm just about to get the look on my face good and nasty when pigmy says: "I'll see what we have in back."
You bet your ass you'll go in back and while your at it send someone else back out. Of course pigmy returns with what can only be described as a bandeau. Please. Isn't Macys slogan "Way to shop"? I tend to agree, this was a real "way" to shop. Which "way" I don't know.
I refuse to return to Macy's and they are number 1,467,549 on the list, which is exactly the amount of money Brandon and I should sue Walmart and Macy's for in the name of my boobs. I will continue to wear a playtex 18 hour bra underneath a sportsbra for now. It is like fixing your bumper with bondo, but it works, better than any sports bra I might add. Brandon, don't act surprised when I spit on the TV during the Thanksgiving Day Parade. I hate parades anyway, but that parade is sanction by a store that only hires pigmy devils!
I got a new iPod! How was your day?
When I tried to clasp my sports bra the other morning the clasp broke. It was metal. I think I corroded it from the amount of bleach I use on my whites. I love the smell of a bleachy white shirt. I like smelling bleach at work when I have a crisp white dress shirt on. Call me crazy, but don''t hate that I smell clean and lemon fresh.
The last time I bought a sports bra I slipped and fell in a puddle of urine. I swear to God. I wouldn't lie about that and don't think I'm bragging either. Brandon and I should be zillionaires right now, but I'm a wimp. The clerk at Walmart tried to tell me it was Mountain Dew but believe me when I say I can recognize the smell of piss. I still even bought the items in my cart, covered in urine. I waited in line. I must have looked mortified because a little boy came over to me, whilst I was rolling on the floor in pee and said, "Don't cry, someone else fell before you". Obviously this person was not wearing very absorbant clothing. Could they have been naked? Was this Walmart (Clairmont Mesa Blvd) where you shop naked and pee on the floor? Where was my memo? Walmart is on my list, and yes, those pee soaked clothes were discarded after we got home. (He still married me.)
Now that we have that out of the way, imagine my sheer and utter delight in knowing I had to go shopping for a sports bra. There is no fate worse than bra shopping other than bathing suit shopping. It shouldn't even have a great word pinned after it like "shopping". It should be called, "who wants to feel really shitty about their body today?" and the store would only carry bras, swimwear, lycra and chocolate cake. Armed with my purse and a whole helping full of self esteem I went to Macy's. I figured a department store would have what I was looking for, if Walmart carries it, surely Macy's has it. I found the lingerie department and went directly to the counter, no need to mess around. I asked the clerk- young girl- where the sports bras were located.
"What size are you?"
Keep in mind there is no one within 100 feet of us, but I lower my voice to almost inaudible. Only maybe a pigmy could here me. " 34F, but..."
She jumps backwards, rears her head back like the little devil that she is and screams, and I mean screams...... "WHOA!! I DIDN"T THINK THEY MADE THEM THAT BIG!" and starts to stare directly at my boobs!
Normal Sara would say "Bras or boobs you pigmy bitch?"
No, no that is what normal Sara would do. Normal Sara is however occupied, trying to keep her crazy psycho personality from pistol whipping the clerk with her fake Louis Vuitton bag. The magnitude of the war deep inside me must be showing by the way my face is contorting. It has been so long since I had to use my "Oh hell no look." (ask to see my drivers license). I'm just about to get the look on my face good and nasty when pigmy says: "I'll see what we have in back."
You bet your ass you'll go in back and while your at it send someone else back out. Of course pigmy returns with what can only be described as a bandeau. Please. Isn't Macys slogan "Way to shop"? I tend to agree, this was a real "way" to shop. Which "way" I don't know.
I refuse to return to Macy's and they are number 1,467,549 on the list, which is exactly the amount of money Brandon and I should sue Walmart and Macy's for in the name of my boobs. I will continue to wear a playtex 18 hour bra underneath a sportsbra for now. It is like fixing your bumper with bondo, but it works, better than any sports bra I might add. Brandon, don't act surprised when I spit on the TV during the Thanksgiving Day Parade. I hate parades anyway, but that parade is sanction by a store that only hires pigmy devils!
I got a new iPod! How was your day?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
