Finish? Yes.
Finish with dignity? No.
My original goal was just to finish the marathon. I told myself that would be good enough for me. Then the goal became finish with dignity, the more I though about what I was doing. I will start by saying, in my imagination, yesterday played out quit different and I wasn't in any way prepared for the mostly mental and somewhat physical journey.
Saturday night was exciting! I started laying out my gear early in the morning. I was completely organized down to the care package Brandon was to meet me with at mile 19. Brandon and I went to dinner, all was right with the world and I laid in bed all night daydreaming of winning the marathon and becoming an overnight sensation in the running world. Yes, I am delusional. For real, delusional.
My secret goal was 5:30:00 which would have put me at a 12 minute pace for the entire marathon, and that is what I trained to do. At the very least, 6 hours was acceptable in my book as not a failure.
At 4:00 a.m on Sunday I got out of bed and started my morning race routine. Spotless execution of all tasks! I was so excited I made myself nauseous. We took a secret way to the start line, as to avoid the traffic which was backed up from Washington Street to Old Town. I hear it backs up to Sea World and I am grateful for Brandon and myself that we didn't get stuck. I found my running group and we did a warm up and then it was off to the start line!
When you do a big enough race you are put into corrals based upon your estimated finish time. This is so the slower and inexperienced runners are not up with the elite racers. I was in corral 21. Ready to go! A woman sings the star spangled banner and I start to choke up, and think about how cool this was going to be. The start gun went off and 10 minutes later I crossed the start line (25,000 people)! Note, I made it a point to explain corrals. I spent the first five miles dodging walkers. Thanks to Team in Training, I can only imagine they tell their participants: "Screw the rules, the more inexperienced you are the closer you have to be to the start line." I dare anyone to prove me wrong on that. Period. Team in Training is easily the worst outfit known to man. It is a cult that teaches their participants to only help one another, only cheer for their own and take out everyone else.
I call this the tale of two races because it was entirely two different races. The first half. The second half. Guess which half was best?
The first 13 miles.
What a race! I was running the race of a lifetime. I was with the 5:30:00 pace setters. Solid execution! I felt fantastic! I started to convince myself that 5:30 wasn't a goal but an easy reality. Just settle into the stride and wait until the five hours pass. No Big Deal! There were the same old funny things happening along the course: costumes, a juggler, people peeing. Same old story! I took to running along the sidelines and giving high five's to spectators. If no one was cheering I was screaming: "Come on, I can't hear you!" On the approach to a child I did the same thing throughout the race "Come on buddy, I'm going to need five to keep going." Hand in the air, if a child was sitting, I waited. I stopped at every water station to hydrate, I cheered for every band. This was my race! I beat my La Jolla Half Marathon time, not by much, but I beat it and I was very proud. I was taking it all in. I felt that I was mentally prepared for the mind games you inevitably start to play with yourself at his type of event. I knew what to tell myself to block out the pain, I knew which songs on my IPod would keep me lifted. I didn't need it until:
Mile 17, or what we can refer to as the second half............ I started to feel a blister around 163, which is about mile 15. It felt like a bad blister, but nothing I couldn't run through. By mile 17 I was begging for Vaseline from the medical tent. Vaseline on, foot inspected, all good! By the time I hit mile 19, which was in front of our house and I saw Brandon, it was over. I had given up. Honestly, it's embarrassing but I really did. The pain was more than I could handle at that point and I knew there was still a long way to go. Brandon rode his bike along side me for a mile or two and then I asked him to go. I feel terrible because I can only imagine how worried he was. Miss Optimistic the night before: "If I'm not at mile 19 by 10:30 am, something is drastically wrong!" I got to mile 19 at 11:15 a.m. I just needed to be alone. I was still giving high fives to kids along the course only now I was crying. I'm sure their parents are thanking me for the "crazy, crying lady nightmares" their children are sure to have. Asking for high fives turned into a demand. I decided it was best to walk the majority of the mileage left and screw the time. The time was already long gone I couldn't even see the pace setter flag any longer. It was a ship in the distance I would never run fast enough to catch. Mile 19-23 are a blur of crying, cursing, talking myself out of quitting, warm water at the water stops and cheerleaders that were tired of cheering. It had already been a very long day for the volunteers. I must have been begging the right God for a miracle because literally out of now where, Julie jumped in front of me.....
"SARA! YOU LOOK GREAT! I"M SO PROUD OF YOU! Your doing it."
Crying turns to sobs............
I didn't even notice that Julie was scratched up. In her haste not to miss me she tripped and fell. That is how she came out of nowhere, she slid right past me and jumped up. Very sly, Julie!
"Julie, I can't do this any longer. It hurts so much and I want to quit. What is stopping me from quitting?"
"I AM!" She grabbed my hand, laced her fingers in mine and walked me in the remaining three miles. The last three miles took over an hour and she talked and told me funny stories the entire time I was sobbing and breathing heavy as if birth was imminent. I couldn't have been more miserable of a person. I couldn't even attempt to run at this point. My beautiful dancers feet had been replaced by bloody stumps and I can only pray they return to their former glory so I can face a pedicure. At mile 26 all of the coaches, bikes, non runners are stopped from entering M.C.R.D. Marines are standing at the gates to make sure non runners can't enter without going through security.
"O.k., this is where I drop you off!" Julie let go of my hand and hugged me. She is the bravest woman on earth for hugging me at that point, the smell alone. I became hysterical. I was that girl. I did run the remaining 200 yards to the finish line. Run is relative. It was more like a shuffle. Sobbing. Embarrassed. People stopped to cheer for me as I looked like I was going to commit suicide at the finish line. For one second after I crossed the line I sucked it up. I heard you all cheer as I knew you would have done and Brandon sigh in relief. I immediately demanded a medal put around my neck and I collapsed in a pile of orange rinds and banana peels by the slipper station. I begged the volunteers to throw me some sandals and then I was on my way home. Julie found me at the end. I believe she bartered a piece of chocolate for entry to see me finish. Julie walked me to the shuttles about 1/2 mile from the finish. She started her own trek the over three miles back to her car....... Finish time 6:35:00, Time at the half: 2:43:00
I'll win it next year. Thank you Julie.... Thank you Brandon........
Showing posts with label the list. Show all posts
Showing posts with label the list. Show all posts
Monday, June 4, 2007
Monday, May 7, 2007
Baby Jesus, please don't make me wear a girdle again
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.
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.
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.
Wednesday, November 15, 2006
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!
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?
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