While shopping at Mervyn's yesterday I purchased a bodyshaper by Hanes or as I'm going to refer to it: GIRDLE. For those of you like Liz and Bridget who have no idea what I'm talking about, I will explain: It is a thick pantyhose material that starts at your knees and ends at your breasts. I thought my pants at work were fitting a bit tight, so I thought; what the hell for 18.00 bucks it has to work. On the drive home my imagination ran wild with thoughts of how I would look in my new girdle. Gorgeous, Fancy, Waif, Kate Moss will have nothing on my new body. Serious, I really thought this. I decided to save opening it until just before I put my suit pants on, really give myself the gift of a new body on Monday morning!
At 5:15 am I tore open the girdle packaging. When I pulled it out to inspect it, he Heavens parted and angels came down from heaven singing, it was just beautiful. Right leg in, Left leg in, pulling..... pulling..... Jumping.... Angry Tugging..... Praying Brandon doesn't wake up...... it's on!
NO NEW BODY!
$18.00 POORER!
Instead of a beautiful curvy new body, it was still my body, only shoved in a sausage casing! Have you ever cooked a sausage to long and the insides shoot out of the ends? Same rules apply here! Where are my curves? Curse you Hanes! Top of the list!
My pants don't fit any better but I decide to keep the girdle on as I have wasted precious morning minutes on putting it on, what could possibly go wrong?
Two cups of coffee. I have to pee.
Not many people know this, but at work I am the assistant to the assistant branch manager or better known as: Dwight Shroot. This makes me very susceptible to ridicule, no need to add the fact that my girdle has the possibility of rolling down my stomach with the force and tenacity of a projector screen when pulled and let go, which has terrified me into confiding in my two work buddies J and M. J= girl, M=boy. The three of us tell each other everything which I like and we sing and yell and try to make our office a little more unbearable for those around us. You can count on J and I to do a rendition of Total Eclipse of the Heart at any moment.
"M, J, I have a girdle on and I have to pee, what happens if my pants don't fit?
laughing...........
I think I'm going to try and stick it out as long as possible."
Two minutes later I walked past M's office utterly dejected.
He asks " Whats wrong with you?"
With tears in my eyes, I produce the girdle from behind my back, hold it high in the air, like a soldier with a flag in battle and exclaim for all to hear:
" Girdle: 1, Sara: nil!"
We went to lunch.
Monday, May 7, 2007
Wednesday, January 3, 2007
Top ten things that happened in 2006
Naturally, my wedding ruled so I refuse to put that on the list. It wouldn't be fair to the other awesome happenings:
10. New car. Say goodbye to the blue bomber folks. The blue 1992 Geo Storm has finally been laid to rest. After one round trip to Ohio with four people, no shocks and several car accidents it was time to shoot the perverbial horse. Hello JEEP!
9. Quitting smoking, it's this far down because it sucked so bad. Now it rules because I'm running and I really like running. (See all running blogs)
8. Courtney Smith catching the bouquet at my wedding (indeed to be the next married in 07) and proceeding to pulverise the $80.00 bunch of flowers within seconds whilst making another wedding guest take pictues of her modeling with it. Best wedding guest EVER!
7. Getting rid of all of the friends that treated me like shit and were incapable of being friends in 2006. See you later suckers! Good luck with AA Cindy.
6. Post wedding, near suicide deppression.
5. You know who you are number 5. Very insulting number 5!
4. Listening to Dubious the wonder kitty lick plastic bags all night, every night. We get to do the VONS Bag Round Up, sounds like fun. Kids, you can do it at home too!
3. The look on the Weight Watchers leaders' face when a 350 lb woman announced she completed the Rock and Roll Marathon and congratulated herself with In and Out Burger. Naturally the leader asked, " Didn't you feel like it wasn't worth it when you finished the burger?" To which the reply was, " It was totally worth every bite!" I love honesty. You should have seen the damage control at that meeting.
2. Realizing I have an immunity to Hepatitis. I gained this immunity by rolling around in piss at WalMart (see The Sports Bra Incident), getting pissed on the Trolly and having a hobo piss directly on my shoes. Yes, while on my feet. Remember I am only 5'3" fighting back is not worth risking my beautiful face. Plus now I have an immunity to hepatitis and West Nile!
1. The look on Brandons face when he opened the bathroom door and I was sitting in the bathtub crying because I was scared of stingrays at 3:00 a.m., on our honeymoon. We were leaving in a mere few hours to go on a very expensive boat tour of Stingray City and other beaches. $400.00. I went. I screamed. The pictures are terrifying.
Tuesday, November 21, 2006
Ever wonder how I got my glamorous job?
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.
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.
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!
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