Come on - let's get into character.

The One With the 12 Library Days of Christmas

2011-12-24T12:23:00.014-05:00

What? It's been since September since I've written anything? Anything at all?

Yeah, I know.

But what better time than that which I am forced to work on Christmas Eve to update?

I don't even really have a good update, but I've been composing the 12 Library Days of Christmas in my head all day, and I was going to put it on Twitter, but then I decided I could illustrate it and everything here. Plus, I could make empty promises about how I swear I'm going to write more in the coming year and I could talk about how, one of these days, I'll tell you all about my new job, beginning in January, and the fact that I got married in November.

But I digress.

The 12 Days of Library Christmas

On the first day of Christmas, my patrons gave to me. . .

Working on Christmas Eve

On the second day of Christmas, my patrons gave to me. . .

Two massive fines

. . .and working on Christmas Eve

On the third day of Christmas, my patrons gave to me. . .

Three screaming kids

. . .two massive fines, and working on Christmas Eve

On the fourth day of Christmas, my patrons gave to me. . .

Four fighting thugs

. . .three screaming kids, two massive fines, and working on Christmas Eve

On the fifth day of Christmas, my patrons gave to me. . .

Fiiiive un-su-per-vised teens

. . .four fighting thugs, three screaming kids, two massive fines, and working on Christmas Eve

On the sixth day of Christmas, my patrons gave to me. . .

Six drunks a-snoring

. . .fiiiiive un-supervised teens, four fighting thugs, three screaming kids, two massive fines, and working on Christmas Eve

On the seventh day of Christmas, my patrons gave to me. . .

Seven stolen laptops

. . .six drunks a-snoring, fiiiiiive un-supervised teens, four fighting thugs, three screaming kids, two massive fines, and working on Christmas Eve

On the eighth day of Christmas, my patrons gave to me. . .

Eight nasty phone calls

. . .seven stolen laptops, six drunks a-snoring, fiiiiiive un-supervised teens, four fighting thugs, three screaming kids, two massive fines, and working on Christmas Eve

On the ninth day of Christmas, my patrons gave to me. . .

Nine lost USB drives

. . .eight nasty phone calls, seven stolen laptops, six drunks a-snoring, fiiiiiive unsupervised teens, four fighting thugs, three screaming kids, two massive fines, and working on Christmas Eve

On the tenth day of Christmas, my patrons gave to me. . .

Ten lying liars

. . .nine lost USB drives, eight nasty phone calls, seven stolen laptops, six drunks a-snoring, fiiiiive unsupervised teens, four fighting thugs, three screaming kids, two massive fines, and working on Christmas Eve

On the eleventh day of Christmas, my patrons gave to me. . .

Eleven ringing cellphones

. . .ten lying liars, nine lost USB drives, eight nasty phone calls, seven stolen laptops, six drunks a-snoring, fiiiiiive unsupervised teens, four fighting thugs, three screaming kids, two massive fines, and working on Christmas Eve.

On the twelfth day of Christmas, my patrons gave to me. . .

Twelve inane questions

. . .eleven ringing cellphones, ten lying liars, nine lost USB drives, eight nasty phone calls, seven stolen laptops, six drunks a-snoring, fiiiiiiiive unsupervised teens, four fighting thugs, three screaming kids, two massive fines, and working on Christmas Eve!

Merry Christmas and happy assorted other holidays to whatever readers I have left. I hope your presents are awesome, your carols are on-key, and your gingerbread houses are especially gingerbready.

Until I get my act together to write with more frequency. . .I bid you adieu and farewell. Merry Christmas, y'all!

The One With a (Mostly) Wordless Wednesday

2011-09-21T09:37:00.004-04:00

Some of these don't apply to libraries. Most of them do. (Click to enlarge.)

The One With the Insensitive Manager

2011-09-01T15:48:00.006-04:00

I did not complete my month-long picture project. I think you all probably guessed that would happen. Sorry. You shouldn't believe me. I lie, it seems.

D and I were at a grocery store near our house last night. It's a mid-price grocery store (WHY don't I live within walking distance of an Aldi's??), but we can walk there without much effort, so that's where we generally go.

We were checking out (ready to go home and have our Super-Healthy-Fruit-Veggie-Cheese-Wheat Thin Dinner Extravaganza) when I heard one of the night managers talking to the little bagger girl.

"If you don't stop eating so much sugar," he said, loudly, "you're going to get diabetes. You'll go blind in one eye, and one of your legs will have to be chopped off."

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Um, what?

Not only is that NOT HOW YOU GET DIABETES, but the type of diabetes that is more toward the lifestyle side of things is 90% of diabetics. The other lucky 10%, myself included, get it because, uh, our autoimmune systems spontaneously decide to say, "ATTACK THE PANCREAS!"

My immediate thought was to go over to the guy (who was a manager, of all people. Someone who should know better), grab him by his polo-shirt collar, throw him up against the wall and yell, "Why don't you SHUT YOUR WHORE MOUTH about things you KNOW NOTHING ABOUT, you effing DOUCHENOZZLE?!"

Then I figured, well, it's better to tell his manager. Because if I yell at him, HE will know he did something wrong, but he will likely not care. But if his manager is aware he did something wrong, she will speak to him, and possibly his co-workers would all be like, "Oooooh, you're in trooooubllllleeeeee."

Note: "Trouble" is a difficult word to elongate.)

D went up there and spoke to the manager in order to find out Douchenozzle's name, and then I gave her a call. She was very nice, very apologetic, and very horrified when I told her what they guy had said.

I sort of wanted to see him get fired, but that was just my bum pancreas talking.

I stayed irritated for hours after we left, and I was irritated when I woke up.

If you're diabetic, you're allowed to tell diabetic jokes. You're allowed to talk about how you could get your foot chopped off, or how you could go blind, or whatever. You're allowed to say things that are ridiculous and untrue about your own disease. Humor is a coping mechanism.

We diabetics (and I'm going to make this statement even smaller and say we Type 1s) deal with this bullshit every day. When I wake up, I'm strapped to an insulin pump. If I weren't strapped to a pump, I'd need to take injections. I have to stick my fingers multiple times daily. I have to count carbohydrates in what I eat to know how much insulin to take. Most people's pancreases do that for them. Mine decided it had a better job offer.

It would be like telling a cancer survivor a cancer joke. Or making one of those ubiquitous Dead Baby Jokes to someone who's had 5 miscarriages and is going through those hormone therapies. It's. . .not funny. You don't know what the hell you're talking about. As soon as you've had your blood sugar climb toward 600 because your pump isn't working or you wake up disoriented, having lost hours of your day due to low blood sugar you didn't even know you had, THEN you can talk about going blind and cutting your feet off.

There's a fine line, I think. On one of the blogs I read, the author made a diabetes-related joke that I actually thought was pretty funny. The deal there is, if you go to this particular blog, you need to prepare yourself for irreverance and possibly being insulted.

But I don't go to the grocery store thinking I'm going to be insulted and joked about.

And then I got to thinking. I was diagnosed in October of 1989. I was 4. I have to wonder how that guy would feel if he knew that a newly-diagnoses 4-year-old had heard what he said and spent the next week and a half crying every night before going to bed, maybe even IN bed, because she thinks she's going to go blind or lose one of her legs. How funny is THAT, Mr. Comedian?

It's people you don't know, it's people you do know. . .no one really knows how this effects people like me. My college best friend told a friend of his once that he was getting tired of how dramatic I was being about the whole diabetes thing, how I was doing stuff to get attention. (This was after I woke up at 4 in the afternoon, in the shower, not knowing how I'd gotten there or what else I'd done that day.) No one gets it, but that doesn't mean you have to air your ignorance in public.

I don't care about the parents of diabetics who get all up in arms offended about every little thing. I care about that little kid who may not quite realize yet that this is forever. It's not a death sentence, but they're taking it with them to the end. I have an aunt that died, most likely, from complications from Type 1. I'm on my 22nd anniversary this year and have thus far avoided the macular degeneration that generally begins around the 20th year. I'm grateful for that.

But I'd love to take Mr. DoucheComedian and put a small, ticking time bomb inside of him. He doesn't know when it's going to go off (if it goes off at all) and he doesn't know what'll happen when it does go off. . .how bad the damage will be or whatever. He just knows it's there, and there's nothing he can do about it.

And then I'll go make jokes about it. Not TO him, but near him, so he can go home and think about his bomb, and other people's perceptions of his bomb. I'd like him to have a bomb that is similar in name to another type of bomb, but to have few people know the difference, so they're constantly telling him how to deal with his bomb, and how he could have prevented his bomb, and the like. Like they know ANYTHING about his bomb.

OK, now I'm rambling, so I'll stop. I'm sorry.

Don't joke about or talk about things you literally know nothing about. It makes you look bad, and makes me not want to shop at your store anymore.

That's all.

The One With the Hurricane

2011-08-28T11:05:00.005-04:00

So, Hurricane Irene came and went. We're far enough inland in North Carolina that this was the extent of the damage done to the area where we live:

I love hurricanes. I don't like being IN them, but I love the build up, watching hurricane coverage all day, listening to the wind and rain, all that kind of thing.

Yesterday, while we watched the peripheral of the storm outside the window, I told D I felt like one of those people on the cop shows, the ones that, like, their mother was raped and produced them, so then they go after rapists?

Which, OK, is a TERRIBLE analogy if you don't know what I'm talking about. What I mean is, the people whose lives were affected by something, so that becomes a focal point of their lives from there on out.

Back in 1996, when Hurricane Fran came through North Carolina, my family and I were living in a house in kind of the country side of the city, in the woods, with lots of trees around. Prior to Fran coming through, Hurricane Bertha came through, and it had been raining for what seemed like weeks, so the ground was nice and squishy, and that was why so many trees ended up down.

We ended up with this 100-foot sycamore tree that knocked out part of our back deck and that came crashing through the kitchen bay window.

Trauma. I was a kid/am an adult that is fairly easily traumatized anyway, so that made this giant, scary impact on my life (at least as far as hurricanes are concerned) from then until now.

So it could potentially make sense that now, I'm kind of obsessed with hurricanes, while they're happening. I also know information that is kind of weird to have stored away, but it's there, because I've read so much about it.

Anyway, I woke up at 8 yesterday and spent the better part of the day watching out the window and watching news coverage. The beach area got hammered, but where we live barely saw anything. Which is simultaneously good and a little disappointing. Not saying I want bad things to happen, but they'd hyped this thing up so much, I expected at least a couple of missing shingles.

Additionally, I'm aware that I started the month-long-picture-a-day thing and lasted. . .one day. Since D didn't get home until 8 this morning, and is going to be sleeping all day, most likely, I'm going to make it my goal to get through the past month's pictures so that maybe I can finish out the month with the people who actually were meticulous and finished the project.

We'll see.

The One With the Photo Challenge: Day 1

2011-08-02T09:48:00.007-04:00

I know. I'm kind of notorious for starting projects on this blog and just kind of losing interest halfway through. It's kind of weird, actually, because in real life, I'm pretty good about seeing things through, but on my blog, I just. . .don't.

But I'm going to attempt this August Photo Challenge. Possibly, it will inspire me to post something every day. Possibly, it will be something else I will fail at and it will make me sad. We'll see!

The pictures will probably be taken with my cell phone camera, so I'll apologize for that in advance. Here's the list:

It's currently August 2, and as such, I'll post twice today. I know you're excited.

Day 1: Self-Portrait

The One Where the Internet is Ruining the World

2011-07-29T16:20:00.004-04:00

I'm fairly certain the Internet is what is causing the downfall of civilization as we know it.

That might be an odd thing for someone like me to say, considering I have a blog (a couple blogs, actually), I get most of my recipes online, I read news online, and I have a certain love affair with Google.

But watching people these days, just the way people are makes me feel like if not for the massive amount of online time and information you can find online, we'd be a lot better off.

I offer the following examples:

Example 1: Everyone is so damn hateful.

Granted, there have been mean people since the beginning of time. The Internet, however, and the anonymity offered therein, have made it almost impossible to consider our current culture as anything but a bunch of bullies.

I mostly blame the comment sections on news stories. Any Joe Shmo with computer access and an e-mail address (sometimes not even an e-mail address) can comment on anything. And most of the time, the comments aren't even relevant. A story about Amy Winehouse's death will have a, "SEE, DIS IS WHA HAPINS BECUZ OBBAMA'S DA PREZ." A story about Casey Anthony ~~and how she killed her daughter and got away with it~~ will have a, "Woohoo! WHAT A HOTTIE. I'd like to GET WITH THAT!" Any story in the world will have something about how Democrats/Republicans are the reason the country is in such bad shape.

People are able to be anonymous, so that makes them feel they have the right to say whatever they want.

I think in order to fix it, we need to require anyone who's going to post anything anywhere to include their photograph and home phone number. Then we'll see what people have to say.

Example 2: The Internet makes people think they know everything.

Blame Wikipedia. Blame WebMD. Everyone now thinks they know everything about everything. It doesn't make any difference that a lot of stuff is posted by people who also don't know anything about anything. Even now, people take things they see on the Internet as being the Gospel Truth.

People tell their doctors that the diagnosis is wrong, because they read on WebMD that it has to be something else. People get lame forwards of urban legends, and then suddenly, they're telling everyone and their mother that Oh my GOD, you guys, if you don't put your porch light on from 7:14 p.m. t0 8:57 p.m. next Wednesday, you are UN-AMERICAN.

And if you tell someone who learned something online that they're wrong? God save you.

Patron: I should be able to check out these books by using this iPhone app that has my library card barcode in it. I read it online.
Me: Well, unfortunately, we don't have the capabilities to. . .
Patron: But I READ IT ONLINE! YOU CAN DO IT!
Me: Yes, it IS technology that's currently available, but our county doesn't yet have the equipment that you need to be able to. . .
Patron: You are CLEARLY AN IDIOT. It said ONLINE that I can check out books WITH MY PHONE.

It doesn't matter that he read an article in the New York Times about how the New York Public Library is doing that now. He read it online, and that makes it fact. How dare you argue?

Which brings me to. . .

Example 3: The Internet is making everyone stupid.

Technology is a good thing. We've made amazing advances in the last 30 years to get us to where we are today. You can use your cell phone to make a dinner reservation, call your wife to tell her to meet you at the restaurant, and program your DVR to record the TV shows you'll miss while you're out to dinner. You can do all of that.

But you can't spell, and when you text your wife to remind her to wear the red dress you like so much to dinner, it comes out, "Wear ur RED DRESS 2 dinner."

I'm not entirely sure when it became acceptable to say "2" instead of "to" or "ur" instead of "your," but all it's going to do is cause kids to not be able to spell. All you need to do is glance at, let's say, a 7-year-old's text they're sending, and you can see it's already something of an epidemic.

(That is to say nothing of how young kids are when they get their own phone these days. If you want my opinion, if you're younger than 13, you have no need for a cell phone that does anything but call your parents, and maybe one other pre-programmed number. It's completely unnecessary. You don't need to text anyone. You don't need to call anyone. But that's just me.)

(My kids are going to HATE ME.)

No one cares about spelling and grammar anymore. No one cares they sound like a bunch of idiots, because most people are a bunch of idiots.

D was driving a bunch of 20-somethings home in the cab to a bar the other night, and one of them was giving the other a hard time for using "ur." Good for him. I want to be friends with that guy, maybe buy him a beer.

I'm just sad that it's now cool to be dumb. That's all there is to it. Dumbness is so mainstream, it's now the smart people, the people who use the proper versions of there, their or they're, and the people who take the extra half-second to spell out "your" that are the weird ones.

All of that being said, yeah. I'm convinced that the Internet and the fact that everyone has access to it is part of the reason we're in the shape we're in now. Unfortunately, I don't think it's going to get any better any time soon.

The One With North Carolina's New Law

2011-07-28T13:55:00.004-04:00

Anyone who caught my math error yesterday can now give a giant sigh of relief -- I actually DO know the difference between 80 and 90, but I do not

According to the Raleigh News & Observer, the North Carolina Senate has overturned the governor's veto of an abortion law.

North Carolina being, of course, in the Bible Belt of America, stuff like this and The Gays and. . .pretty much anything not having to do with the parts of the Bible that're usually in the spotlight are SERIOUS BUSINESS, YOU GUYS! I can't say I'm altogether surprised with this decision, but that doesn't mean I agree with it.

The new law states that women seeking abortions have to get ultrasounded, get state-mandated counseling, and wait 24 hours before actually getting one.

So, basically what's going on here, is that abortion isn't illegal, because the people voting don't want it to be, but what is instead going to happen is that anyone seeking to get a legal abortion is going to be ~~guilted~~ counseled, have to look at the ultrasound, and then wait anyway, so they can then ruminate on everything they've been told.

I think it's garbage.

The pro-law people are arguing that women "should have all the information available to them."

Yes, absolutely. They should. They should know exactly what it is they're doing, and should be offered all the information they need/want/whatever.

They should be offered all the information.

They should not have the information forced upon them.

What is the point of an ultrasound? The only thing this could possibly be for is to wave it in the woman's face and say, "SEE? It's a BABY!" There's no medical need to do that.

Counseling. . .that one's a little harder, but again, I think it's something that should be OFFERED, not FORCED. I would love to know what these "state-mandated" counseling sessions are going to look like.

Doctor: I see you're wanting an abortion.
Patient: Yes.
Doctor: Don't you know that's evil? Don't you know it's murder?
Patient: But I was raped by my brother and have always known that if I give birth, it'll kill me.
Doctor: But it's your BABY. You're going to KILL your BABY!

I think that, yeah, counseling should be OFFERED, both before and after the procedure, but that forcing someone into it is just making an already bad situation worse.

The 24-hour waiting period is. . .actually, I can sort of get behind that. Someone comes in, you offer (but don't force) the information on them, offer them counseling, and they can make an appointment to come in the next day. That could work, I guess. So we'll keep the 24-hour waiting period, but I think the rest is crap.

So what do you think? And I promise, if you disagree, I'm not going to be like, "RAWR!" I'd like to have someone that can logically and reasonably explain to me (without the use of morals and religion) why this is a good idea. Because last time I checked, government wasn't supposed to do things because of religion. And they certainly don't care about morality.

The One With the Fat Girlfriends

2011-07-27T13:28:00.003-04:00

I'd like to start off by letting everyone know that today is the 90th anniversary of insulin being a thing. On July 27, 1921, Charles Best and Frederick Banting did the stuff sciencey people do and made it possible for me to have not died for the last 22-ish years. So thanks to those guys.

I was at lunch today and watching. . .you know, I don't even know what the channel was. Fox News or CNN or something along those lines. One of the "breaking stories" was that askmen.com did a poll where they asked men all sorts of "explosively revealing" questions. You know, stuff like "Should men pay for dates?" and "Would you make your penis smaller if you could?" (What? Unsurprisingly, 0% of men would.)

The one that this lady was making such a big deal about was the question, "Would you dump your girlfriend if she got fat?"

I first need to explain this lady that was talking. She was. . .she seemed a little insane. You know the people that are just SO dramatic about everything they say? "I can't BE-LIEVE he'd SAY that! She was SO incredible!" Stuff like that?

She was one of those.

To visualize, she was this black lady, wearing a peach-colored shirt and matching lipstick that went so far over her natural lip line, she looked like 80% of her face was mouth.

So she's getting all worked up about the responses to this question. Apparently, 47% of men surveyed said yes, they would break up with their girlfriend if she got fat.

To be fair to men, this was less than half of the people who responded. Not much less than half, but still less.

So Mouthy McGob was going on and on about these results. She also had three "correspondents" whose opinions she was asking. Two of them were male and one was female.

I didn't get to hear the entirety of the conversation, but from what I did see, Mouthy was interrupting everyone, making sure that everyone knew she was SO APPALLED with the results. Everyone else was trying to be diplomatic, but she just wanted to make sure the whole viewing audience knew that SHE was OFFENDED.

(She wasn't a heavy woman, by the way. She was offended for women in general, I think, not just for the ones who have gained weight.)

So here's my question: What is so wrong with the guys answering the way they did? Is it a rule that you have to stay with someone even if you're not attracted to them?

One of the male "correspondents" said, "You know, I don't think that they're saying they'd break up with their girlfriend if they gained 10, 15 pounds. I think they're picturing major obesity."

One of the females said, "Generally, if a woman gains that much weight rapidly, there's something mental, or emotional going on. They should try to get to the root of it, and figure out what's actually wrong with HER, not just her body."

The Mouth was appalled with both of these points of view. "WHY wouldn't they STAY with their GIRLFRIENDS even if they'd REACHED OBESITY??? Even if you're TALKING about their MENTAL HEALTH, the REAL issue here is still WHAT THEY LOOK LIKE."

I kind of agree with both the man and woman who offered opinions, when they were actually able to get them out without being interrupted.

If you're not a man who is attracted to bigger ladies, why would someone expect you to be with one? That's not saying that women should diet like crazy and try to stay itty bitty because of some man's notion of beauty. That's saying, if for whatever reason, you're exclusively attracted to people with brown eyes, and your boyfriend goes out and has Eye Color Changing Surgery (I KNOW that's not a thing), knowing that that's what you like about him, he shouldn't be terribly surprised that you're less attracted to him.

I'm not saying someone's eye color should be the sole reason you're with them, but stuff like that, the people you're attracted to, is innate. It's just who you are.

I'd also have to go with the woman talking about the emotions leading to the weight gain. I don't think guys should immediately see his girlfriend gaining weight and say, "OMG! You're GROSS! We're BREAKING UP!" Gaining weight isn't an overnight thing. I think if a relationship is secure, you can say things like, "Hey, I've noticed X, Y, and Z. Everything OK?"

Maybe that's just me.

Also, at the bottom-most base of it, guys are visual creatures, and a lot of guys are really shallow, too. So there's that.

So what about you guys? Are you as appalled as Mouthy McGob about this? Are you unsurprised? Are you more concerned with whether Charles Best and Frederick Banting were severe hotties or not? (Hint: One was. One was. . .not so much.)

What do you think?

The One With Ten on Tuesday

2011-07-26T15:25:00.004-04:00

I know this is a cop-out of an entry, but seeing as to how I'm doing my best to stay on top of this blog (That's what she said?), sometimes, a cop-out it will have to be.

1. What color are your toenails painted?

They are this really incredible summery orange color ("Crushed") I bought a few weeks back. It's Sally Hanson's Hard as Nails X-Treme Wear line, so it's pretty badass, thanks for noticing.

2. What color are your fingernails painted?

Up until about 3 days ago, they were the same color as my toenails. I took the polish off, though, because my nails have a tendancy to turn yellow if I leave polish on them for too long. I haven't painted them again since I took the orange off.

3. What is your favorite brand of nail polish?

I'm uncertain as to why the first three questions are all nail polish related, but the Hard as Nails X-Treme wear stays on forever and looks awesome, so I'm going to go with that. I need to get more colors before the summer ends/Target raises the price/they get rid of them to spite me.

4. As the norm, do you DIY your nails or get mani/pedis?

I've never had a "pedi" and the last time I had a "mani," I was about 10.

5. Have you ever had a gel mani? Do you recommend it?

No and, as a result, no.

6. What is the last movie you watched on television? (TV, Redbox, Netflix, etc.)

I watched "Cars" about a week ago, but that was on DVD, not any of the aforementioneds. We've got Netflix, but we get mostly TV shows. The last episode of a TV show I watched from Netflix was from Season 5, I believe, of Dawson's Creek.

7. What is the last movie you watched in the theatre?

The Social Network. See how often I get out and to the movies? I saw The Social Network on October 5, 2010.

8. Is there a movie that everyone talks about as being a classic that you've never seen?

Most of the movies people talk about as being classics, I've never seen. I've never seen any of the Godfather movies. I've never seen Citizen Kane. Those are the only ones I can think of right offhand.

9. What is your favorite movie soundtrack?

"Chicago"

10. Have you ever seen a movie and thought it was better than the book it was based on?

"The Devil Wears Prada" is an excellent movie, and a terrible book. On the flip side of that, if you're interested, "The Time Traveller's Wife" is one of my favorite books and the movie was one of the most terrible movies I've seen in life.

The One With Captain Novolin

2011-07-26T00:00:00.005-04:00

I'm noticing that a lot of my posts from K's visit involve my Super Nintendo in some form or another. I think I'm OK with that. SNES needs some love.

So, you all know I'm a big flaming diabetic, right? How even though I have this giant disease, I usually avoid talking about it?

A month and a half or so ago, my insulin pump went haywire, and it made me do some serious re-evaluating of my life. Since then, I've been Super 'Betes Girl, keeping my blood sugar where it needs to be, and realizing that just because I don't talk about it, that doesn't make it any less real or any less serious. (In case you forget, I'm a Type 1, insulin-dependent diabetic. . .none of this Type 2 control-with-diet-and-exercise stuff.)

The other day, I was standing at the sink, and, unbeknownst to me, the 42-inch tubing I'm using currently got wrapped around the handle of the cabinet in front of me. As I went to walk away, the tube got pulled, pulling the pump out of my pocket, and making it clatter on the floor. I yelled a G-rated word (since I was watching K), and she asked what had happened.

"My pump fell on the floor," I said.

"What's a pump?" she asked.

A teaching moment!

In language a 7-year-old could understand, I told her that in your body, you've got something called a pancreas. The pancreas makes insulin, which is something your body needs to use the food you eat to give you energy. If you don't have insulin, you get very sick. My pancreas doesn't work right, so I have to give myself insulin. The pump I have here acts like a pancreas, giving me insulin throughout the day so I don't get sick.

K nodded. I could tell I'd sort of lost her, but she said, "Oh, OK."

Teaching moment, shmeaching moment.

So about three days ago, she is, again, playing the Super Nintendo. She pulls out a game and says, "What's this?"

"This" was. . .Captain Novolin.

For those of you not in the know (which I'm guessing is. . .most of you), Captain Novolin is a game that I received when I was 8 or 9. The graphics are pretty bad, the evil dudes are disguised as sugary snacks (jumpin' killer jelly donuts, Batman!) and are difficult to kill, but it's still one of the best. games. EVER.

Captain Novolin is a diabetic superhero. Throughout the game, you have to make sure he follows the meal plan his doctor gave him, so his blood sugar doesn't go too high or too low.

It sounds like a drag, I'm aware. But it's actually fairly awesome. My parents gave it to me and I've played it ever since.

Using this as another Teaching Moment, I tried to make the game sound awesome, to entice K into playing.

"That's Captain Novolin!" I said in my best "this is going to be AWESOME!" voice. "He's a superhero who's diabetic, like me!"

She looked dubious.

But then she stuck the game in the console and powered it up.

I walked her through the beginning of the game, showing her how to "give an insulin injection," explaining how to eat the proper balance of foods at meals, and how to "check your blood sugar."

She started to play and, since it's not an especially well-made or easy-to-figure-out game, she got frustrated quickly. I was afraid I'd lose my TM, so I said, "Hey! Do you want me to play through and show you how to do it?" She said yes, so I spent the next few minutes all excited about insulin shots and proper diets.

And believe it or not, she is ALL INTO IT now. I'll be in the kitchen and hear, "Aw, man! I accidentally ate an extra apple! Now my blood sugar's going to be high!" It's a beautiful thing.

Does she understand the minute details of the 'betes? No, probably not. But I feel like we've had a Moment. And that's awesome.

Unfortunately, the game is having some issues I've never had with it before. The screen is randomly messing up, and preventing the continuing of playing. I looked for a new one on both Amazon and eBay, and I can't find it for less than $25. So if any of you out there in blog land see a copy of Captain Novolin anywhere for less than that, I'd appreciate you letting me know.

Maybe whenever I have kids, I can use the good Captain to help me teach them about the 'betes, too.

Edit: Holy crap, you guys. When the game first came out, it cost $59.95. My parents were badass! I'd still like to find it for less than $25, though. . .

The One With the Yearbooks

2011-07-24T00:00:00.001-04:00

K brought her Nintendo Wii along with her for her two-week visit, and I am quite pleased and satisfied to say that it's still tucked away in the bag she brought it in. She's been playing, basically non-stop, my old circa 1993 Super Nintendo. It makes me proud.

One of the games she especially loves is Mario Paint. You can't play it with the controllers -- you have to use the mouse that came with the game. It also has a mousepad that goes with it, but I've misplaced that somewhere back at my dad's house. I still have it, but I haven't made the effort to track it down. As such, when you play the game, you have to have some kind of flat surface to put the mouse on. A couple of nights ago, I noticed that K had pulled one of my old yearbooks off the shelf to use as the mousepad.

When she'd finished playing, I picked up the yearbook and told her that it was my 2nd grade yearbook. She's going into 2nd grade this year, so that piqued her interest. She looked up my picture and told me how cute I was.

Then she proceeded to through all my yearbooks, looking for my picture, and making commentary on and asking things about stuff I'd written in the books.

"Why does this girl have her face colored in?"
"Because she was mean to me."
"I have a friend that's mean to me."
"If she's mean to you, why is she your friend?"
"Well, she used to do this every time I looked at her." (Rolls her eyes and puts on bitchface.)
"Does she still do it?"
"No. We're friends now."

The politics of 1st graders.

"Why did you put checkmarks beside these people?"
"Those were my friends."
"I have lots of friends."

Then I showed her my elementary school boyfriend (my longest-term relationship to date, lasting from kindergarten until 4th grade, when I left to go to a different school). He just got married, incidentally.

"Cute," K said.

She shuffled through the yearbooks for a while longer until she got to high school.

"Why do three of these say 'high school' on them?"
"Because I was at that high school for three years. I was at a different school for 9th grade."
"Four years?"
"Yeah. High school lasts four years."
"No it doesn't."
"Yeah it does."
"I won't be in high school for four years."
"I bet you will."

She told me I was pretty in all of my high school pictures. (Why can't EVERYONE look at people like kids do?)

Then I said, "Hey, I'll show you my boyfriend from 11th grade." I paged through the Junior class until I came to his picture. I pointed it out to her.

She didn't say anything. She just laughed. I'm not sure why, but she just laughed.

And that's why we get along.

The One With the Picky Eater and the Cake

2011-07-22T13:25:00.011-04:00

K is a picky eater.

She doesn't like to try new things, and if you ask her if she wants to experience something new, usually, she'll say no. Generally, if you cajole her into trying something new, whether she likes it or not, she'll make this face, to prove a point:

She also doesn't like frosting. This actually isn't so unbelievable, because most frostings on store-bought cakes and cupcakes are teeth-vibratingly sweet. She's very adamant about the fact that she doesn't like frosting.

I was watching K last night while D was out working, and I told her I had to make a Big Gay Cake for my Big Gay Book club. (Well, actually, I just told her it was for my book club.), and she was watching me make the cake, sad that she couldn't have any of it until after the meeting.

I finished the cake part, and said, "OK, now I have to make the frosting." (Side Note: Boxed cake mixes and canned frostings are not allowed in my kitchen unless they're being used in a recipe for something else entirely.) She made the face like she'd eaten something terrible and said, "I don't like frosting!" and I said, "Good thing the cake's not for you." She blinked at me and ran off, singing/chanting with her face all colors of the rainbow, having literally stuck her face in the bowls to lick the remnants of cake batter.

She'd been licking the bowls, spatulas, and beaters and was already pretty hopped up on sugar, so she was literally bouncing around the apartment, making up songs about whatever was going on. ("Sarah's making a cake! La la la la la!! It's got lots of colors!!! La la la la la!!!! I'm going to play Super Nintendo now!!!!! La la la la la!!!!!!)

I mixed the buttercream frosting and she bounced back in, and just watched, eyeing the frosting suspiciously.

She inched closer to it, eyed it, and said, "Me try?" (Yes, she's 7. I'm not sure where the baby talk she occasionally lapses into comes from.) I said she could, and she stuck her finger into the bowl. After she tried it, it was like she had discovered a whole new world.

A whole new sugar-laden world.

Seems she didn't like frosting because she'd never had the good stuff.

Now she's all excited for me to get home from book club, because she wants a full piece (not just bits and pieces) of cake.

Also, this is what I found on our grocery list this morning:

Also, here is the cake, before and after frosting (I'll have a picture of it sliced after book club tonight):

The One Where I Don't Have to Compromise

2011-07-20T15:55:00.002-04:00

Yes, it's been months. Yes, I'm sorry. No, I don't have a long, substantial entry. Just an observation.

K has been here for the last 8 days, and will be here for the next 6. She has been. . .7 a lot of the time. That is to say, wholly disagreeable.

"Do you want to go to the store with me?"
"No, I don't want to."

"Do you want to have pizza for dinner?"
"No, I don't want to."

"Do you want to check out some library books?"
"No, I don't want to."

Besides that, it's been fine.

The thing that I discovered last night, though, is the little-known secret of parenting, step- or otherwise. With kids, you don't have to compromise, and it's glorious.

Say you're riding along in a car with an adult, whether your partner or otherwise, and they say, "I don't like this song." You would most likely feel compelled to compromise, to find something different that you can both agree on.

With kids, though, you're in charge. Unless you're doing something patently offensive, you can pretty much do whatever you feel like.

I worked the night shift at the library last night, and didn't get off until 9. D decided to go out and work, and so I had to bring K home with me from work. I'd been looking forward to getting back to my audio book on the way home (since it's about a half hour drive, I have plenty of time to listen to audio books) and didn't think I needed to deviate from that plan just because I suddenly had K in the car.

We're riding along for about 10 minutes, and she pipes up from the back, "I don't like this."

"Well," I said, "it's the book I'm listening to right now."

I didn't need to explain. I didn't need to compromise. That was the book I was listening to. Period.

There were no further complaints.

It was awesome.

The One with a Wordless Wednesday

2011-04-20T09:48:00.001-04:00

Happy Wednesday!

The One With a Picture

2011-04-16T11:24:00.004-04:00

It's Saturday. It's Saturday and I'm working and don't have any interesting stories, but I do have a picture I found on my phone.

Here it is. Take that, hipsters!

The One With Offensive People Reading Books

2011-04-14T08:00:00.003-04:00

My apologies to those of you who read this blog in a reader. The html etc. in my last post was messed up in an epic sort of way. I think I got it figured out.

Also, I just realized that, even though they were about a month apart, I began the post before this one and the one before that by talking about how much I love books. Sorry to be repetitive.

When we last met, I told you about offensive books that may or may not actually be offensive. Today is kind of along the same lines, but the offensiveness of the next book in question is more ambiguous. At least, it is to me.

Have you ever had one of those conversations with people that, you THINK you know the other person's opinion on something, but then it turns out you're WAY wrong

Par example, you're talking to someone about American Idol (which. . .I DO NOT WATCH), and the person you're talking to says, "Can you believe the shaggy haired guy?"

Now, their tone of voice leads you to believe that they share your opinion on the shaggy haired guy: that he's the most dreamy, talented man to ever stand behind a microphone. (Note: If there are currently any shaggy haired guys on American Idol, that is just a coincidence. I do not watch.) So you nod emphatically.

Then the other person continues by saying, "Seriously. Don't you have to have some TALENT and SEX APPEAL to be on these shows?"

Whoops.

Had you opened your mouth, the conversation would have ended quite differently, perhaps with a fistfight. Instead, your friend thinks you agree on something, and you know for sure your friend has lousy taste in men.

I think you know the types of conversations I mean. I had one of those today.

This lady and I were discussing banned books, and she said, "Oh, we banned a book once."

I THOUGHT she meant this particular library branch. That someone had complained, and they had removed a book because of it.

"Oh yeah?" I asked, wittily.

"Yeah," she said. "It was this book. . .I think it was called 'Two Princes.' It was about this prince trying to find a princess, but he couldn't find one he liked, and he ended up with another prince. A man."

"Oh," I said, rolling my eyes in a knowing manner. "That's ridiculous." My eyeroll was meant to convey that I, too, thought it was ridiculous that they would ban a book for something as innocuous as a gay king. The misunderstanding of the conversation went both ways, however, as I learned when she continued with, "I know. Can you believe it? A gay king. In a children's book! Once I figured out what was going to happen, I stopped reading the book to my grandchildren immediately!"

Oh.

This lady wasn't offended that a book about gay princes had been removed from the library. She was offended there was a book about gay princes written.

"I collected all of them from this library and shipped them off to other branches," she said as she walked away, basking in her own smugness.

. . . . . . .

Apparently, it's in vogue now to promote small-mindedness and lifestyles different than your own. Excellent.

Incidentally, the book she was talking about is King and King by Linda de Haan.

Unfortunately, it looks like that lady won, because we have no copies in the system. But along with the bad, there is some good. The absolute cutest book I think I've seen in life is called "Where's Walrus?" by Stephen Savage. (I'd post a picture, but Blogger is giving me fits today, so you should just click on it to give it a look.) It's about this walrus that escapes from the zoo and hides from the zookeepper by putting on different hats and taking on different jobs. The book has no words, just pictures, but it's awesome. Kind of makes me want to go have a kid so I'd have an excuse to buy it. Maybe next time I'll find something other than books to talk about.

Then Again, Maybe I Won't.

The One With the Offensive Books

2011-04-13T10:45:00.006-04:00

I love books.

I think anyone who knows me knows how I feel about books in general, libraries, reading, etc. Love it.

So today, when one of my new co-workers brought up two books that had been "challenged" in the system by people who wanted them removed, I was interested in what other people find offensive.

Book #1 was "It's a Book" by Lane Smith.

The premise of the book is that this monkey is reading a book, and this donkey (introduced in the first couple of pages, actually, as a "jackass") doesn't get that in order to read a book, you don't need all kinds of electronic gadgets.

"How do you scroll down?" asks the donkey.

The monkey replies, "I don't. I turn the page. It's a book."

"Can you make the characters fight?" asks the donkey.

Again, the monkey replies, "No. It's a book."

And on and on. Finally, at the end of the book, the monkey passes over his book to the donkey and then heads out to the library to get another one. "Don't worry!" the donkey calls out. "I'll charge it when I'm done!"

At this point, the mouse that lives under the monkey's hat says, "You don't need to. . ."

And when you turn the page, he finishes his sentence: ". . .it's a book, jackass!"

I laughed when I read that. It was a very funny, very cute, well-illustrated book. The problem? It is categorized in our Easy Reader, picture book section. Call me old-fashioned, call me too PC, say whatever you want, but I agree with whichever patron is it that brought this to our attention.

Can you imagine being up in front of a group of small elementary school-aged kids (and their parents!) and reading this out loud? Admittedly, if you're super-vigilant about what your kids read and you want to avoid profanity (even though yes, I KNOW "jackass" is another word for "donkey." I know this. But the double entendre is clearly intentional), then you should be screening the books beforehand. Sometimes, though, you just can't do that.

My vote on this one? Keep the book in the system (because it really is good), but put it in Juvenile Fiction, or even Adult Humor. Most of the story would go over young kids' heads anyway. (What little kid knows what a blog is? Or Twitter?)

Book #2 was "The Polar Bears Are Hungry" by Carol Carrick.

The story is about a mother polar bear and her cubs looking for hard-to-find food and ending up trying to break into a house to get food, being brought to "bear jail" and then being re-released into the wild. The pictures are beautiful. There is a vague liberal global warming agenda, but while it would be pretty obvious to astute parents, unless a parent wanted to say, "And all this is happening because of X, Y, and Z," kids wouldn't get it. How frightening the book would be would, in all actuality, depend on the tone of voice of the adult reading it.

The person who complained said there were pictures of bears viciously eating seals (not true. It just mentioned the bear was hunting seals. Which. . .they do.); that they "drugged" the bears and sent them to "jail" (true, but not as frightening as the lady made it out to be); and she said that it was "propegating" the "theory" of global warming, which is SO UNTRUE, because everyone smart knows that the Earth has, throughout the years, goes through periods of extreme heat and extreme cold.

I'd like to pause a moment here and comment that, um, did she not just disprove herself? She said the Earth isn't any hotter than it was 20 years ago, but then she goes on to say that the Earth continually gets hotter and colder.

Um?

She suggested that we get rid of every copy of that book in our system and send them back to the publisher, and that we then buy books about the REAL eating habits and habitats of polar bears. Which, I'm pretty sure this book has all of those things.

I guess some people just need to complain and be indignant.

One of my co-workers suggested maybe she just wants us to have copies of books about how polar bears hang out at the North Pole, where it's always frigid, with Santa and his elves.

That made me laugh.

If I haven't bored you enough yet, more about books in my next post, including offensively gay books and the cutest book I've ever read.

So what do you guys think? Should we ban profanity and books about the natural life cycle?

The One Where HarperCollins Hates Libraries

2011-03-23T20:19:00.006-04:00

Sorry for the hiatus, y'all. Lots going on, not feeling like talking about most of it.

There comes a time in everyone's life, I think, where you realize that big companies, with their millions of dollars of income every year, are really just out to screw you. I've already said my piece about insurance companies, but now I have a new company upon which to unleash my (completely justified!) bile: HarperCollins.

Most of you know I work in a library. I refer to myself as a librarian even though I haven't found the money to go back for my degree to make it official. But here's one thing I don't need a degree for: I love books. I love books as much as I love food, and you guys know that's a LOT.

When e-Books started being a thing, I worried. I worried that the printed book was going to go out of style in a few years, and I worried that I'd be forced to get an e-Reader just to read the books I love so much.

My house is full of books. There are books everywhere. I'm always reading. Books and reading and all that are all very important aspects of my life.

(I know I'm jumping around here, but I'm getting to the point.)

HarperCollins has decided that they are going to limit the number of times they are going to let libraries check out e-books. I've linked to the letter they posted, but the basic gist of it is that libraries may purchase e-books for check out, but they can only be checked out 26 times. HarperCollins has decided that after these 26 times are used up, the libraries must purchase the books again.

This is. . .infuriating to me. If libraries made a habit of buying books that would only last until they were checked out 26 times, we'd have nothing. We'd have no books on the shelves, and the point of libraries would be moot. HarperCollins is just going for the money. They don't care about getting the books out. They don't care about people reading. They care about the money.

If you go here, you can read a very eloquent open letter to HarperCollins that says everything I'd love to say here, but for some reason, am missing the words to say.

The writer of HarperCollins' "open letter to librarians" said, "Twenty-six circulations can provide a year of availability for titles with the highest demand, and much longer for other titles and core backlist."

Any book that lasts just a year? Has no room in a library. And if e-readers are the wake of the future and all that, why would you make it so hard for someone to get books on it? Why are you punishing people who maybe don't like holding books, but who like reading? (Like people who, up until this point, maybe used audio books.)

It seems that many libraries are boycotting HarperCollins or HarperCollins' e-books or whatever. I've got a whole list of things I'm boycotting, so maybe we just need to add HarperCollins to that list.

I'm not suggesting they give unlimited views for one price forever, but 26 views? Ridiculous.

What do you think? I think HarperCollins is all about how much money the can eke out of libraries who already are having to cut their budgets way, way down, and who just want to provide an inexpensive service to their patrons. I'm not saying we should get anything for free. But be reasonable, HarperCollins. All you're doing is pissing off the people who use you the most.

The One With the Craigslist Postings

2011-03-02T18:43:00.003-05:00

I kind of love craigslist. I've sold things on there, and although I've never actually purchased anything from the site, we did get our IKEA loveseat from there, free. It has a rip in the cushion, but if you flip the cushion over, it looks fine.

A few months back (actually, more than a year ago), D was looking for some freelance stuff on craigslist. Cary is a town not too terribly far from where we were living at the time, so when he came across this ad, he had to respond:

Need pro quality pics of "guys standing still"

I am lead singer of a hard rock band in the Raleigh/Durham/Chapel Hill area, and we are looking to hire a professional photographer to take pics for our upcoming first cd. We are planning on hitting the scene hard, playing all the major rock venues in the area, and eventually getting our album in the hands of the top record producers in LA.

But first, before we can do this, we need to have some hard-edged images taken of us to put in our album, fliers, and posters. We have looked at many photographs of the most successful local bands, and have found that they all have really cool pics of all the band members standing still, looking badass into the camera. Usually the most important member of the band is up front (the lead singer, which is "I") and usually the least important person, being the drummer, in the back. I wouldnt mind having a few hot chicks in it too, but as long as you cant see their faces bc most of them are a little busted in the face.

Since only a few of us are tatted out, either the photographer could photoshop some hardcore tats on our chests and forearms, or they could use body parts from other "less successful" bands that they have already shot. Its ok to have one or two of us sitting on the ground, or in a really cool old chair (this could be a great idea for our band bc our bassist is a lanky tall odd looking ginger dude ). We are all in our mid to late thirties, so being able to do age-reducing photoshop on us, add a little hair to one or two of us, and give us cool emo-style doos (possible a cool Adam Lambert-esque style hairdo would make me look edgy and relevent), is a must.

As for location, it is up to the photographer. Just really want to emphasize we need it to look badass! So run down environment (Cant be at any of our houses bc we live in apartments in Cary), rugged/vintage look, but most importantly, they REALLY REALLY need to have us standing up, looking straight into the camera. Hot band chicks in it, a nice plus - NO FATTIES.

We will discuss compensation when you contact us with your ideas, rates, and availability. We are under a limited budget, but when we get our album in the hands of the big LA execs, this will be a great way for a local talented artist to get their foot in the door, not to mention, become our official photographer.

BTW, our band is called ..... DEAD HORSE, the album is called ..... BEAT A DEAD HORSE
PLEASE INCLUDE A LINK TO YOUR WEBSITE OR SOMEWHERE IN WHICH THE GUYS AND I CAN SEE EXAMPLES OF YOUR WORK AND MAKE SURE THEY HAVE THE REQUIRED AMOUNT OF BADASS WE ARE LOOKING FOR

Um. . .this might be the most awesome thing I've read in the history of life. All of the spelling and punctuation is from the original posting, which I have saved in my e-mail for an occasion such as this. There's nothing not awesome about this, from the fact that they want tattoos photoshopped on them to the fact that the drummer is a tall, weird-looking ginger dude to the fact that they want hot chicks, but none that are busted in the face.

Interesting fact: To this day, I use the expression "busted in the face" solely due to this posting.

So there's that.

Then there's another one I found a couple days ago that just made me laugh.

Looking for an experienced Mexican lady

Looking for an experienced Mexican lady who can cook Mexican food and also hot dogs, french fries, hamburgers etc in a grocery grill near Oxford.
Need someone who is hardworking, honest, clean and dependable.
Part time hours available leading to Full-time.

I don't even really know what to say about this one. I'm not sure what kind of experience they want in their Mexican lady, but I hope they find it.

So what about you guys? Any craigslist weirdness you've come across?

The One With the Crying

2011-03-01T16:15:00.002-05:00

I have a really embarrassing problem.

I cry. Like, a lot.

I've done it since I was a kid, and it made my parents nuts.

"Sarah. . .STOP crying," was pretty much something I heard all the time. It wasn't like I was doing it on purpose, though, and I know this because the trait has ~~stalked~~ followed me into adulthood.

I cried when I was having a bad day. I cried when I was frustrated. I cried when I thought someone might possibly be looking at me wrong. I cried for no real good reason at all.

This has also frustrated people I've dated, who I've fought with. I'll get into some kind of impassioned discussion, or a fight, and I'd cry. Not because I was sad, and not because I was upset. . .it's just because, for whatever reason, when I'm put into stressful situations, I'll cry, even if there's no cause for tears.

This took D a while to get used to, I think. Because if there's even the first hint of unpleasant conversation, I'll cry. And then I get frustrated that I'm crying, and that makes me cry more. And it's all downhill from there. Even once I calm down, if a conversation along the same lines is begun too soon after I manage to finish crying, I'll start again.

The reason this is so frustrating is actually kind of three-fold. One, once I start, it's really hard to stop, and that makes conversation pretty much impossible.

Two, it accomplishes nothing, and I just look like one of those people who cries to get their way. I've been pulled over by cops a few times, and let me tell you this: I've cried every time, and I've gotten a ticket every time. So it's not like it helps me. If I were doing it on purpose, I would have stopped by now, because it does not work.

Third, it just makes me look pathetic. This is kind of an offshoot of number two, but really, I just look pathetic, like I'm crying to try to get my way. I'm NOT. It just happens.

I called my insulin pump supply company this morning, because I'm almost out of supplies. The back story here is that I called their financial assistance people almost a month ago, and it's been one giant game of phone tag since then. When I finally got someone on the phone, he told me that because I'm employed part-time, they couldn't help me. Predictably, I cried.

I called today to order some and see if they'd let me pay for half a box today and half of it on my next payday. (The back story HERE is that I can only afford one box of 24 tube things at a time, at about $140 per box. However, those people with no insurance, like myself, have to pay for them upfront. They won't bill you later for it.)

Unfortunately, I don't HAVE $140 to spend on pump supplies right now. I have rent money and half a box of supplies money, but that's about it.

So I called and asked, and the lady was like, "No. We can't do that."

So, of course, I cried. But I at least asked to speak to her supervisor. Not because of her, but I figured someone higher than her might be able to help me.

I was on hold for a little while, and managed to regain my composure while I was waiting for her to pick up.

When she did pick up, I immediately started to cry again. It's SO. EMBARRASSING. It's embarrassing, and I wish I knew how to stop it.

(If you're wondering the ending to this story, she did allow me to do the pay half now, pay half later thing. But now I have this fear that, on my account, they've made a note that says, "Cries. A LOT.")

So that's the story. I've done it my whole life, and I want to know how to stop. Because it's annoying. And embarrassing.

Thoughts?

The One Where I'm Angry and a Little Political

2011-02-26T22:11:00.003-05:00

I don't generally discuss politics here, first of all, because I don't pay attention to it and therefore don't want to sound ignorant, talking about things I know nothing about. Secondly, because a lot of times, it's just unpleasant.

But here's the thing.

Our government here is doing such a bang-up job of screwing everyone over, I feel compelled to talk about it.

The first thing on the list: Old, fat, white men screwing with women's reproductive system.

In Georgia, Rep. Bobby Franklin has (re!) introduced a bill to make it a felony to have a miscarriage if the mother can't prove that there was no "human involvement." The miscarriage would be re-defined as "pre-natal murder" unless the woman can prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that no outside source had anything to do with it.

OK, Rep. Franklin ~~you pretentious bastard~~. Are you aware that between 10 and 15 percent of pregnancies can end in a miscarriage? Are you aware that there are many, many more than even that that take place before a woman is even pregnant? Oftentimes (not always, but often), the body miscarries a pregnancy because there is something terribly wrong with the fetus. The baby wouldn't have made it anyway, so it's nature's way of taking care of those types of things.

What if an unsuspectingly pregnant woman is, say, 3 weeks pregnant. Let's say she goes out and has a glass of wine. Say she then, a week later, miscarries the pregnancy she didn't know she had. She feels weird, so she goes to the doctor, and then doctor's like, "Oh, BTW. You were pregnant."

Is that her fault? Would Rep. ~~Douchebag~~ Franklin's bill say that because she had that glass of wine, and it COULD HAVE caused a miscarriage, she's to blame? What if it would have terminated itself anyway? How could you possibly know?

What infuriates me about this is that it's a man proposing this bill. A man that will never, not even once in his life, know what it's like to lose a pregnancy, a child you were waiting for and hoping for that, for whatever reason, just wasn't meant to carry to term. You could argue that maybe his wife could experience that (except I don't think he's married. . .I couldn't find that anywhere) but he himself will never have to go through that.

For even suggesting this should be a thing, for even putting it out there for people to have to look at and think about, Rep. ~~Assface~~ Franklin should be kicked out of politics and never allowed to return.

Admittedly, yes. There are people who do really, really dumb stuff when they're pregnant. People who go through with the pregnancy, but go out and knock back a few at the bar every night, people who do hard drugs, people who continue to smoke through their pregnancy. THOSE are the people that need going after. The people who don't? Those people who just go about their day and, for whatever reason, have their bodies turn against them.

Next: The potential cutting of of funding for Planned Parenthood.

I'm sure this subject has been all over the blog world, and all over everywhere, but I have been avoiding it. I've been avoiding it because I find it so hard to accept that people are just so damn ignorant.

It's the anti-abortion people who are all up into this bill. (Note: I don't have a real, honest-to-God opinion on the subject. Not like Justin Bieber, who feels abortion is wrong, even in cases of rape, because "everything happens for a reason." I think that, if you don't want kids, you need to do everything in your power to avoid conceiving them, but that in some cases, yeah, abortion is the option you might need to take. Doesn't mean I'd run out and get one myself, but I (unlike the Biebs) know that I can't have a legit opinion on something I don't have any experience with. (Another note: He does say at the end of that interview that he doesn't know about it, so he can't really talk about it, but that was after he made his ridiculous comments. If he knows he doesn't know anything about it, he should probably, you know, not say anything about it. But I digress.)

Anyway, the fact is, only about 3% of what PP does is abortion-related, and none of that (by law) is funded by government money. So you're not actually cutting down on any abortions paid for by the government at all if you get rid of PP. You're getting rid of pap smears, mammograms ,STD testing, birth control options, cancer screenings. . .basically a lot of the things that low-income people need to keep themselves reproductively and breastily healthy.

They're basically voting to get rid of all of the pregnancy prevention options PP offers. So that will account for more unwanted pregnancies which will lead to. . .yeah. MORE abortions. And probably unsafe ones. Because if these women have nowhere to go, and they're desperate, my guess is that they're going to do whatever they have to to stop the pregnancy. So then you're just going to have a lot of ill women and some really messed up kids running around. And a lot of them will, most likely, need government funding anyway because they weren't ready to have a kid, especially not a kid with special needs (due to the ill-fated pregnancy termination attempts) and. . .do you see where I'm going with this?

We do not live in a Christian nation. This is a fact. Our Founding Fathers were not all God-fearing Christians as we often portray them. We're allowing the fundamentalism of a religion, not a national religion, but just a big one, make laws. Doesn't seem fair to me. Also doesn't seem fair to me that all of the pregnancies that could have been avoided if people had proper care that resulted in unwanted children will result in. . .children who are unwanted, and treated as such.

I'm getting ranty and stabby right now, so I'm going to stop.

What I would like to do is to ask the gentlemen (and ladies!) in Washington and the people in Georgia to please keep their agendas and hands off of my ovaries.

Thank you.

The One With the Florists

2011-02-17T18:48:00.002-05:00

I got another anonymous comment the other day. On the entry about My First Flamer, Mr. or Ms. (my money's on Ms.) Anonymous eloquently said, "This is so dumb."

I'm not sure if the entry was considered dumb or the comment I was writing about was dumb. Either way, I thought to myself, "Self, why put up with it? Why give anonymous jerks the opportunity to be anonymous jerks?" So I took the anonymous comment option off.

Moving on.

I have a story after which I'll ask a question. A question about loyalty. I'd be interested to know other people's opinions.

D and I have a friend, who I'll call Dave. Dave owns a flower shop in a small town. Dave was in a car accident a couple years ago, leaving him paralyzed from (I believe) the neck down. He worked his way toward being completely self-reliant, being able to walk, and still being able to run his shop. He's a friend, but he's also one of D's clients, for whom D has done some signage and some business cards.

Apparently, about a year ago, Dave had a woman working with him (we'll call her Fran) who approached him about selling outdoor plants. Dave doesn't sell outdoor plants, and doesn't know anything about selling outdoor plants, so he let her set up shop outside his shop, sell her plants, and keep all the money from it. He also taught her everything he knows about indoor flowers: making bouquets, the care and keeping of flowers, arrangements, stuff like that.

After she stopped working for him, a few months passed, and she came back, asking if she could rent Dave's shop. Dave's response was, basically, "Um. . .NO!?" So then she tells him that she's renting a shop of her own. . .directly across the street. This woman opened a florist shop across the street from the florist shop that had taught her how to BE a florist.

Pretty bitchy, right?

So here comes the morally sketchy part of it. At least, the morally sketchy part of it that has something to do with me.

I was in the neighborhood of Dave's shop earlier today (having just had a nannying interview) (stop laughing), and so I stopped by to see if the signs D had done for him pre-Valentine's Day had helped generate any business. Dave wasn't there because he was out doing a delivery, so I told the girl behind the counter to tell him I'd stopped by.

As I'm driving away, I look at the new florist across the street and decide (because I'm by myself and bored) to do some reconnaissance. I walk into the shop (which is pretty bare, but cheerful-looking enough) and Fran's there. She and I are the only ones in the shop.

She asks if she can help me, and I do not lie. I tell her I'm getting married at some point and was stopping by florists today. (This is true. I'm getting married. . .some day, and I HAD stopped by a florist prior to stopping by HER florist shop, so no lies here.)

She immediately starts telling me that she hasn't done MANY weddings, but that she has done a few, and gives me some ideas. She asks me questions like how many people, how many family members, what colors, and so on.

And I find myself. . .really liking her. To the point where, when she admitted she didn't have a Web site, I almost told her my fiance does sites and she should give him a call. But then I thought, maybe not the best idea, since he does a lot of work for Dave.

Also, this trip had the added effect of making me really, really want a real wedding. Not a big one, but a wedding nonetheless. But I know that if we wait to get married until we can afford a real wedding, it'll be ANOTHER year, maybe more, that we'll stay in Engaged Limbo, and I'll risk becoming like Pam Beesly on "The Office." So that's frustrating. Wanting that day, but not being able to afford it in the least.

But my question is this: How crappy would it be, knowing the story and knowing what happened, to do business with her, either by buying flowers for my ~~fictional~~ wedding or by recommending her to D? What she did was pretty underhanded, but she seems to like doing what she's doing.

I don't know, but I'm feeling morally ambiguous.

The One With Traffic Court

2011-02-02T12:38:00.002-05:00

Happy February, everyone! I finally took all of my Christmas decorations down today, and the living room is looking bright and cheerful and decidedly not Christmasy.

You guys? I have a confession to make. Back in December, I got a ticket. Not for speeding (stop pretending to be shocked), but because my tag was expired. I'd had my inspection done, but the tag wasn't up to date. It cost less than $50 to do, but every month, it literally came down to "Am I going to buy insulin this month, or am I going to update my tag?" After I got the ticket, D paid for the tag for me. So now I'm good until July.

So anyway, I got this ticket back in December and I had to wait until yesterday for my court date. I've gotten tickets before. Not including this last one (which wasn't actually a ticket, per se, but a citation), I've had 3 tickets. My very first one was for making a right on red when the sign said not to, and the other ones were speeding tickets. (For some reason, I don't ever remember to slow down a little around the holidays when the cops are out in FULL FORCE.)

Any time I've gotten a ticket in the past, I've just paid it and the court costs. The first one, I got an hour and a half from home, the second was about two and a half hours from home, and the third was about an hour from home. It was better for me to just pay them, because I was working full time at the time and didn't have the time to drive to the county where I got the ticket to appeal it. And I haven't, until December, had a ticket since 2009.

Since I'm not working full time currently, I had the time to go to court yesterday. The ticket said to be at the courthouse at 7:45 (A.M.!!), so we set out about half an hour before that and, blessedly, made it on time.

Up until this point, I'd been freaking out. Whenever I get pulled over, I cry. Not because I think it'll help my case, but because I can't help it. I cry when I get the least bit stressed out, not because I'm sad or upset, but just because that's what happens. And believe me, it does not endear me to anyone. (Clearly, considering my ticket history.) I was worried I'd get up in front of a judge and be like, "I. . .um. . .I wanted to see if I could. . .get. . .mercy of the court?" and then I'd cry.

I'd cry while explaining why I hadn't done it, I'd cry while explaining that I'd had it done the next day because someone had paid for it for me, and I'd cry when they told me to stop crying.

So I dressed professionally, trying not to look like someone that did stuff like this all the time. I looked it up online, trying to figure out what was going to happen, trying to prepare myself to be cuffed and thrown to the ground if I didn't answer a question properly. I put a book in my bag in case I was waiting a long time. (Granted, I don't think pulling out a book in court would have been the smartest thing I'd ever done, but I like to be prepared.) I also put a granola bar in my bag in case it took a long time and my blood sugar went low.

I'm pretty much freaking out on the trip over there, and going through the security station didn't help. The wand beeped on me (like it always does) and I explained to the guard that it was an insulin pump. Nothing else made it go off, but I had a Sarah Moment when I couldn't get the belt on my jacket untied because I was wearing gloves. Then I tried taking one of the gloves off, but apparently, it's also difficult to untie a belt with one free hand.

Then I got in line.

There was a line of about 25 people in front of me when I got there. I checked in and got in line behind this guy who was probably 3 or 4 years younger then me, dressed to the nines in a suit and tie. He looked nervous. I knew the feeling.

I watched people get their name called and go up to the DA and get directed into a courtroom. Some other people got a court date of March 1 when they had to come back, and I was trying to figure out the rhyme and reason behind the people who got sent into the courtroom and the people who had to come back next month.

Finally, it was my turn (and actually, I say finally, but this whole process probably took 10 to 15 minutes). I gave my citation to the DA with visions of crying in front of judges and trying to explain myself to mean-looking police officers. He asked if I had proof of getting the tag updated. I handed that to him.

Then he said, "OK, charges have been dismissed. Have a wonderful day."

Wait.

What?

No court? No judge? No sloppily running mascara rolling down my face? Nothing going on my permanent record and having potential employers say, "Oh, I see you didn't update your license plate at the end of 2010. Sorry. Next!"

That was it.

I walked out into downtown and called D to tell him I was done.

And instead of going to jail, we went to McDonald's.

And that's my story. I guess I'm now an ex-con. I should go get a tattoo of barbed wire around my arm.

The One With My First Flamer

2011-01-28T12:25:00.001-05:00

I woke up this morning to a guy (I'm assuming) painting the outside of the front window to our apartment building. That window happens to lead into the bedroom, so whenever they're doing work out there, I can hear it first thing.

They actually replaced all the (rotting) wood around the window a couple months ago, and left it looking all cracked and awful, so it was nice to ~~see~~ hear that they were finally fixing it. I looked toward the window and saw the silhouette of a man holding a paintbrush, so I'm hoping that's what was going on.

That wasn't the weird thing, though. He had a little radio out there, and I'm not 100% on what he was listening to, but it sounded like fairies. You know, the windchimes and tiny bells sound of a fairy flying. Search as I might, I couldn't find anything on YouTube that sounded like this music. It was very relaxing, very zen, and a little weird.

The only thing weirder is what happened a few minutes later, when it sounded like the workers outside started having a Mexican fiesta/rumble. You know the stereotypical "eye-yi-yi-yi!" shouts that you hear sometimes? THEY WERE DOING THAT! And it sounded like they were dancing around.

I just don't know.

So the actual point of today's entry is that I got my first flamer, and I'm oddly excited about it. (Note: I mean 'flamer' in the 'causing trouble on the Internet' sort of way. Not the homosexual way. I'm well versed in the gays, thanks.)

If you will recall my entry on the day I discovered that I had proof that Justin Bieber is Satan, I had a very convincing argument. And the people who responded seemed to understand exactly what I was saying.

One person who posted a comment, very cleverly named "Anonymous," disagreed. I'd like to explain that I don't mind detracting opinions, and if you write a comment disagreeing with something I've said, I'll still post it. I do, however, have a problem with anonymous comments. If you have an opinion, you need to stand behind your opinion. The Internet makes it ENTIRELY too easy to be a coward. So that's why, instead of putting the comment through, I put it here instead.

Yesterday, at 4:03 PM, Anonymous said: Shut the hell up guys!!!!!!!!!! Theres nothing wrong with that Kid Hes nice and very sweet hes trying to live him dream is there anything wrong with that i think not!!! STUPIDD!!!! dont Judge him you dont even know him Hoee!! You guys are all just jealous of him be nice!!!!!!

I could do what I did to an ex-boyfriend of mine's really nasty note and correct all the punctuation and grammatical errors with red ink and return it, but I won't do that. Instead, I'll focus on the fact that we (the non-Biebites) are being told that we don't know him, so we can't have an opinion.

For one, I'm going to go out on a limb and assume that whomever wrote this haunting missive also doesn't know The Bieb. That she (I'm assuming it's a she) doesn't KNOW that he's nice and very sweet. And while I'll GIVE her the fact that he's living his dream and that no, there's nothing in the world wrong with that, I WOULD argue that I'm (we're) not judging him, per se. Judging someone and thinking someone is a talentless monkey are two different things.

While I do admit to liking that one song, the rest of his stuff, in my ALWAYS humble opinion, is crap. My opinion. Not judging. Just my personal taste.

My next to last comment is that I have NEVER understood why, when people don't like someone, or think they look like a lesbian and sound like a 12-year-old girl, people say they're jealous. Am I jealous that he's a world-famous singer? No. I don't want to be a world-famous singer. Am I jealous that he has the love and adoration of a million 12-year-old girls AND their 40-year-old mothers? No. That's super creepy. I'm not jealous of him, even a little. I do not like him. Period. Anything I've ever heard about him annoys me.

It's like Matthew McCaughnahay or HOWEVER YOU SPELL IT. I don't like him because he comes across as smug and douchey and completely untalented. Does this mean I'm jealous? No. He's just not someone I would want to be around.

And finally, I don't think ever in my life has someone, in all seriousness, called me a hoe.

Actually, in all fairness, she called me a HOEE. I'm ASSUMING she meant a ho. So rather than a farm implement, I think this is what she was trying to convey:

That's not right either?

Oh, I get it. I'm someone who has sex with lots and lots of men because I don't (with the exception of one song) like the "musical" "stylings" of BeelzeBieb. Gotcha. I'll let D know. It'll make him sad.

So there it is. My first Anonymous hate mail. (Or, hate comment). It was kind of awesome. Thanks, Anonymous.

And everyone else, take heed of Ms. Anonymous' words: be nice!!!!!!

Also, watch this, because it will make your collective ovaries explode (even for you men):

Baby's First Audition from alex on Vimeo.

The One With the Avocados

2011-01-27T11:23:00.002-05:00

Good morning/early afternoon/whatever, y'all.

I've been super busy doing not a whole lot. On the plus side, one of D's new clients is a bar owner, so I have had more than my fill of beer and bar food over the last couple of days. Please don't tell my endocrinologist. Or my mother.

Speaking of food (you like what I did there?), I was talking to my cousin, Carrie, this morning, and we had a conversation that led to some Google searches, which ultimately led to a downward spiral of shame.

She starts the conversation innocuously enough, with "random question."

The question goes like this: "So I'm reading on this Web site about uses for avocado. I originally wanted to see if you can eat the pit. People always throw it out, but it's soft and malleable like the flesh, so why can't you eat it? Anyway. I came across this site that has various other uses for avocado and saw this -- Foot and Hand Massage. With your partner, share the luxury of a relaxing massage. If you both have sex in mind, don't stop with the hands and feet"

That led into a discussion of whether or not that was gross. Carrie conceded that a hand and foot massage might be OK, but that was the end of it. I said, if something touches my feet, I don't want it touching ANYWHERE ELSE. I also have texture issues with touching things with my hands, so I don't think I'd like that either. So feet would be it.

This got me thinking. So, as you do, I went to Google and typed in "Sex with Food."

(At this point, you're probably thinking, "Sarah, will you NEVER LEARN?" The answer to that is probably "No. No I will not.")

The first thing that popped up (that's what she said?) was on the Web site TheFrisky.com, which I have heard of before, but do not frequent. In a column entitled "Doin' It With Dr. V," someone writes in and asks, basically, that since she got all hot and bothered while her boyfriend was cutting up peppers, and then he touched her in the delicate lady area, could this cause bad things to happen?

Yikes.

The answer was basically, as long as nothing's burning, you should be OK. But then she also went into the types of foods that WOULD be OK to use, and ways to be careful about it. So that's cool.

Next, Google gave me a page at askmen.com. The title? "Food For Sex" This one starts out talking about the movie "9 1/2 Weeks" (obvs) and continued on to discuss ice, whipped cream, and chocolate.

Now, I'm not a huge food-with-sex connoisseur (read: never ever), but this article is kind of. . .obvious, isn't it? I've read enough Cosmo to have heard this stuff 9,000 times. So while I commend The Frisky for telling people how to be safe, etc., I have to kind of give Ask Men a fail. Because. . .really.

The next one was a Google image gallery that had the famous triple-X in the address, so I left that one alone.

There were a couple more that I skimmed over, but I think that, since I only wanted to highlight 3, I'll leave off with my favorite one. A blog at the "Houston Press" talked about the top 10 best food and sex scenes in movies. I didn't watch them (would have possibly been a little awkward explaining to D what I was doing. "I'm watching food sex scenes." ". . .why?" "For my READERS!") but every clip includes a synopsis of what the scene was about, and the foods necessary to pull them off. Cool.

So what do you all think? Food and sex: Awesome and Awesome or Weird and Messy?

The One Where I Can Prove Justin Bieber is Satan

2011-01-08T00:42:00.000-05:00

So, you guys love me, right? And you would never, ever judge me for a small indiscretion? Or even a large indiscretion?

I have a confession to make.

I mentioned in my last post that my brother gave me an iTunes gift card for Christmas. This? Was exciting. I haven't had any new music on my iPod in. . .maybe years. Since 2008, probably. I had 2,638 songs on it prior to the gift card, so it's not like I was hurting for stuff to listen to, but I wanted some of the newer stuff.

Now. . .I have artists that I love, that I like, that I tolerate, that I dislike, that I hate, and artists that I dislike, but for some reason, whose music is so damn catchy I can't help but like it.

Examples of this last category include but are not limited to Ke$ha and Eminem.

And. . .I'm going to make the confession, you guys, and I hope and pray you don't think any less of me, and if you do, I'll send you some baked goods to convince you that I'm not, in fact, a terrible person going to some circle of Hell.

I need to clarify this because there is, in fact, a difference between liking an artist and liking their music. Karen (who often helps me justify ~~bad decisions~~ lapses in judgement), when I told her of my indiscretion, said, "No, it's cool. There's a BIG DIFFERENCE between liking an artist and liking an artist's music." She also pointed out the fact that Justin Bieber likely had NOTHING to do with the actual composition of the song in question (which I'm getting to). . .other people did that for him. He just took his lesbian haircut and sang it.

So thank you, Karen. You've made me feel better about the horrible thing I've done.

And that horrible thing was to download Justin Bieber's first single.

Hear me out.

It's catchy. It's really, really catchy. And yeah, it's dumb, and yeah, Justin Bieber needs to be slapped, but it's got Ludicrous in the middle rapping "She woke me up daily/don't need no Staaah-buuuucks!" And that sort of makes it awesome. And, if it's any consolation, I can't even stand to listen to any of his other songs. I switch them off when they come on the radio. This is the only one that doesn't make me feel vomitous and stabby.

So I downloaded it. I downloaded it, and I've been listening to it on the car on my way to work. This, of course, compounds my fear of driving in that I'm afraid that something horrible will happen, and I'll have a wreck, and I'll be mangled by the side of the road with Justin Bieber blasting out of my stereo.

ANYway, this is all beside the point. the point is, I had a $25 gift card, and I'd bought a couple of songs already at this point. When I bought the Justin Bieber song, and I wish I had taken a screenshot of this, but once that transaction happened, I had $16.66 left on the card.

$16.66.

So basically all I'm saying is that Justin Bieber is Satan. Or, at the very least, the Antichrist.

Don't judge me.

So what about you? What's your guilty pleasure entertainment?

The One With an Unintended Hiatus

2011-01-06T10:54:00.006-05:00

Merry Christmas! ~~12 days late~~

Happy New Year! ~~almost a week late~~

Wow. I am way, way behind. I'm happy to see that my 21 people are still here and haven't yet abandoned me for being so incredibly remiss. Thanks, guys!

I also want to thank the people who let me know that they would, in fact, eat something from someone they didn't know. I didn't have enough people in the time before Christmas actually rolled around, so I'll keep it in mind in case I want to do some kind of giveaway in the future.

I'd like to "formally" announce my other blog, my new-ish food blog. I actually (with the help of D) started it back in December, but kind of dropped the ball, as I did with this one, but I will be doing my absolute best to keep it updated and awesome, so I can move on, eventually, to my intended full-time food career. You can check it out at www.shelikestobake.com. Once I get into the swing of things, it'll be updated more often. ~~I promise.~~

D gave me a video recorder for Christmas for the express reason of getting further into video blogging. I took some video of the ridiculous amount of snow that we got, but I'm going to have to figure out a way to remove the audio before I put it up. Because I was rambling like an idiot ~~moreso than usual~~ and no one wants to hear that. I also did a video blog from downtown Raleigh during the New Year's Eve celebration, so I'll put that up too, in the future. (By "in the future" I mean "as soon as D has time to help me, because I am fairly technologically illiterate.)

In other news, I ran a mile yesterday on the treadmill. This wasn't a New Year's resolution. I go to the gym occasionally, and yesterday I was feeling particularly sloth-like.

via hyperbole and a half

So I'm running along, feeling like I may or may not die while a skinny Asian girl runs along beside me like it's NOTHING and "Down Home with the Neelys" plays on the TV. I'd like to make it a mile. I'm gunning for a mile. At .80, I feeling like I'm just going to keel over. I think, no, Sarah, you've baked and subsequently eaten SO MUCH these past few weeks, you are going to RUN THIS DAMN MILE.

For Christmas, my brother gave me an iTunes gift card, and I've downloaded a few new songs onto my iPod as a result. One of these songs gave me the wherewithal to get through that mile. It was this one:

Say what you will about her, but this song is awesome.

I've got more stories to tell, but I'll save them for later, possibly preventing another month-long hiatus.

The One With My Orthodontist

2010-12-09T10:36:00.006-05:00

Those of you who follow me on Twitter probably saw last night a minor questioning of self when I ran into my childhood orthodontist at the library checkout line.

I'm sitting there, minding my own business, probably reading blogs or checking my e-mail or something, and a woman walks up and hands me a book and her card. I scanned her card, not looking at the name (because I rarely do, except in cases where the name catches my attention, such as the family with the last name Buttz or someone with a crazy first name like Kjamashonda, pronounced "Jane").

The book she was checking out was "Eats Shoots & Leaves" by Lynne Truss. It's a book about punctuation and the proper use of it.

(If you haven't heard it, the title comes from this joke where a panda walks into a bar, sits down, has a couple beers, and then orders dinner. His dinner comes, he eats it, and it's a fairly routine visit. Then he stands up, takes out a pistol, and fires three shots into the air. The manager comes running out and says, "What the hell are you doing?" The panda looks at him and says, "I'm a panda. Look it up." The manager goes to the computer in the back and looks up "panda." The entry says, "Panda - a black and white bearlike mammal found mostly in China. Eats shoots and leaves.")

So ANYWAY, I told the lady that it's a really good book, and one I own. She kind of looks at me and says, "Are you Sarah?"

Since I wear my nametag hanging out of my pants pocket, she wouldn't have been able to see it, so she must have actually known me. I said, "Yes?" (as if I weren't certain) and she says, "Do you recognize me?"

(Sidenote: I HATE when people ask me that! Clearly, I do not recognize you, because if I DID, then I would say something like, "HEY! Person I recognize! I haven't seen you forever!")

I tell her I do not, and then she tells me, "Your orthodontist?" and I'm all, "OMG! Hi!"

I'm wondering how often, as an orthodontist, when you run into former patients, they smile really widely to show you that their teeth still look as good as they did last time they saw you.

I may have done that.

via sodahead

She then asked me how my parents are. Not feeling the need to go into the fact that they've gotten divorced since last time I was there, I just said they were fine. (They are.) Then she asked about my sister, who was also a patient of hers (Thinking back on it, she probably KNEW my parents had gotten divorced, since my sister was a patient there, too, and it would have been after that.) I told her she was fine, in college, etc.

And she was all, "You majored in English, right? Remind me where you went to school." I did, but was all, "WTF?" that she knew about the English thing. (Again, probably because my sister was a patient when I was in school, I think.)

Anyway, it was CRAZY that she remembered me, considering I was a patient of hers for approximately a year. I had the braces for 10 months, and then I had a retainer that probably got checked a time or two. But approximately a year.

THEN I started worrying. 12 was my most awkward and hideous year. I was Not Cute when I was 12. I went to her when I was 12. WHY DID SHE RECOGNIZE ME?

(Side note: I put "awkward teenager" into Google Images to find a good illustration here, and about 80% of the pictures that popped up were Michael Cera. Michael, FIND A NEW CHARACTER TO PLAY!)

That's actually the end of the story. There's not real big wrap-up or conclusion. Just me, thinking I grew into my giant ears and awkwardly big teeth only to be immediately recognized by the orthodontist that saw me at my most unfortunate-looking.

I'll end with a question: I have two packages to send out to people I've never met in real life, but who I have met online, and they are going to involve baked yummies. What I wanted to do was have a "giveaway" here (because, you know, I've ALWAYS wanted to do that, but I don't have people giving me things to give away), giving away a third package. But then I wondered, would people want things that someone they'd never met had made?

Granted, if you eat at restaurants and whatever, you don't know who's making your food. But I think you know what I mean.

My question is this: If I offered that kind of thing, would anyone enter? Or would I just have people I know entering, leaving me feeling sad and destitute? I'll tell you, I'm a very clean baker, and I don't lick the utensils (at least I don't when I'm making things for other people. If it's just me and D? I'm ALL OVER IT!)

Let me know, so I can get this show on the road.

Or, if I just get people I know telling me they'd enter, then I'll just make it for someone I know. Either way.

The One With 5 Things I Do Not Understand

2010-12-08T10:17:00.002-05:00

1. Why anyone gives two flips what Kathy Griffin says. (Maybe I should change this to "Why Kathy Griffin is famous in the first place.")

2. Why, the day after Elizabeth Edwards dies, on Yahoo!'s "Trending Now" sidebar, "Cancer treatment" is currently number 7, but "Ashlee Simpson" is number 1. Apparently, Ashlee is either A) "urging her sister, Jessica, to start a family" or B) "planning to have another baby to get some attention."

This woman (who I, actually, personally, didn't have a hugely high opinion of, but it always sucks a big one when someone can't beat cancer) who is known for being a successful lawyer, a successful advocate, a not-so-successful politician's wife, and the writer of two widely read books, dies after a long, grueling battle with cancer, and the number one trending topic on this site is the Simpson sisters and their respective uteruses. (Uterri?)

3. Why shows like "Wonderfalls" are yanked after one season, but shows like "Two and a Half Men," which has its moments but is generally sophomoric humor, soldier on.

4. Why people think I believe them when they tell me either that they're going to pay their fines next time they're in the library, or how they're 100% certain they returned that book that's been missing since 2006.

5. Why Christmas is almost here, and I have no money to buy anyone anything. (This one, I may actually be able to answer. It's got something to do with working only one part-time job. A job I love, by the way, but still only a part-time one.)

The One With a French Friday: Cocktail Nuts

2010-12-03T18:26:00.013-05:00

I'll go ahead and make it known that every joke, pun, and bad innuendo that could possibly be made about "nuts" has already been made, either by D or by myself, so anything I say within this entry that could possibly have "That's what she said!" after it, consider it already there.

When I made the last update I made, I commented about how I needed to get back into the swing of French Fridays with Dorie. After I finished that entry, I was going about my merry way when I thought, "Um, Sarah? TODAY is Friday." So I went through the list of Things to be Made and pulled out the easiest one: Sweet and Spicy Cocktail Nuts.

Here are the ingredients:

Sugar, salt, chili powder, cinnamon, cayenne pepper, egg white, and nuts. Dorie suggests using perhaps a mix of nuts, but seeing as to how I'm very particular about which ones I'll eat, I went with a combination of peanuts (because who doesn't love peanuts?) (besides those people who are allergic to them) and walnuts, which I had in the freezer, waiting for just such an occasion.

First, you mix together the dry ingredients.

Then you beat the egg white and mix it with the nuts.

Then you add the spice mix. . .

And mix all THAT together.

I should mention here that I was having a tough time with some of these pictures, because I wanted an over-the-bowl shot, but while I'm already tall, I'm not QUITE tall enough to pull that off. It was at this point D built me a little step stool out of two 12-packs of Diet Coke and a large wooden cutting board.

Awesome.

I have to admit here that I didn't follow Dorie's directions exactly. She was all talking about how you needed to take each nut piece out of the bowl individually, "let the excess egg white drip back into the bowl," and separate everything "as best you can."

I saw no excess egg white. Everything seemed to be pretty well mixed, and I didn't have the patience of take each individual one out of the bowl and place it on the pan.

So I just kind of dumped everything onto the cookie sheet and spread it out.

Into the oven they went.

When I pulled them out of the oven, I saw why Dorie had indicated that they needed to be separated. What I had was kind of like a peanut brittle textured creation.

But you know what?

I kind of preferred it that way.

It was DELICIOUS.

I feel like you could break it into chunks and sell it as some kind of holiday gift basket item.

So, so good.

Chalk up another FFwD win for Sarah!

The One Where I Have a French Friday Disaster

2010-12-03T12:24:00.008-05:00

Sorry I've been ignoring you. I kind of feel like one of those parents who go on business trips all the time and then bring back lots of little trinkets and sometimes food to make up for the fact that they just Were Not There.

Unfortunately, I do not have anything with which to bribe you and to apologize for the fact that I've been a lax ~~parent~~ blogger, but I can update you on things that have been going on.

I attempted to make my FFwD recipe for my mom's side of the family's Thanksgiving, which is held the Sunday before Real Thanksgiving.

I've had a few recipe disasters in my day, but none like this one.

I had everything ready. My greased casserole dish held sliced potatoes (all sliced with my new-to-me Cuisinart, which, I'm convinced, could chop ANYTHING), fresh-ish herbs, garlic-infused cream, and a couple of other things. It was lovely.

I did what Dorie told me to do, and that is to put a piece of parchment paper on a cookie sheet and put the casserole dish on top of that, just in case anything spilled. If something spilled, you don't want it going into the bottom of your oven.

Indeed.

The thing about parchment paper is, NOTHING sticks to it. When I made my parents a moose cake for their anniversary, and I tried to tape parchment paper to an outline of moose antlers so I could use melted chocolate to fashion the antlers, the tape wouldn't even stick to it.

Keep this in mind.

So I'm in a hurry when I'm putting this thing in the oven. I'm in a hurry because we have to leave in 45 minutes, and this stuff needs to bake for an hour. 15 minutes won't make THAT much of a difference, was my rationale.

For whatever reason, I chose to pick up this parchment paper-lined cookie sheet containing my potato thing with one hand. Now, when you pick up a rectangular pan with one hand, it's going to tilt a little to the other side where you (for whatever reason) have no hand. This happened. What also happened, thanks to the parchment paper, was that as I went to put the thing in the oven, the entire dish slid off the sheet and exploded at the bottom of my oven.

The dish didn't explode (thanks, Pyrex!) but everything in it did. It was a fountain of potato, cheese, and garlic-infused cream. So I cursed, grabbed the glass dish out of the bottom of the oven, turned off the oven and then did what any good chef would do.

I freaked out and cried.

D was in the kitchen when all of this was going on, so when I started freaking out, saying, "What do I do? I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO DO!", he was all, "Just leave. I'll take care of it." I tried for another second to figure out how to fix it, and he was all, "Sarah. Leave."

So I did. I went into the bedroom and cried some more. And then I thought, "I should take pictures of what's going on so I can write about it!" But then I thought that taking pictures while D was fixing my epic, epic error might be considered bad form. So I did not.

Needless to say, this dish did not go to Thanksgiving with us. An apple cake did, though.

This was not the end of the potatoes, though.

D somehow saved a lot of the ingredients in my erstwhile potato dish. They sat in the fridge for a while, and then, the other day, I decided to give it another go.

Rather than carefully infusing the new cream with garlic, I whisked it with onion powder. The recipe said to fill the cream to the edge, and if there wasn't enough, to add milk. I did just that. Then into the oven it went.

This is what happened:

. . .um?

I should note that there were some other potatoes in the dish (it didn't bake as empty as it looks), but I'd taken them out to try them, before discovering the sea of cream in which these things were swimming.

Maybe it's because the potatoes sat in the fridge for a while. Maybe it was the milk. Maybe it was the cream. I don't really know. What I do know is that this dish ended up being an epic fail.

I didn't do the last week of November's FFwD (I forgot, plus we were out of town), but hopefully, I'll catch up soon. I also have other things to write about, but I've been overwhelmed with my new Web site project, I've just kind of shut down, bloggily. I'll get it all figured out one of these days.

And, just so you don't think I'm a total failure, I'll show you my blueberry-cranberry pie I invented:

A little on the sweet side, but D said it was "the best berry pie [he'd] ever had." And he's got Southern grandmas, so I think that's saying something.

If you wonder -- My new blog/Web site venture is going to be baking-centric, so while I'll still be talking about non-baking food here, when the spirit moves me, my baking stuff will be moved to its own site shortly. I'll be sure to post the address for that for those who are interested.

The One Where I Try To Learn Spanish

2010-11-19T09:53:00.008-05:00

I know it's Friday, and I know I'm missing (again!) my FFwD, but my excuse this week is that I'm actually making this dish on Sunday (or, tomorrow FOR Sunday) because my mother's side of the family does Thanksgiving the Sunday before actual Thanksgiving, so I'm going to make it and bring it for lunch Sunday.

Also, I just discovered that this blog passed its year-old mark without any kind of anything. So here's a mini party to celebrate keeping this thing going for a year and 10 days with some kind of regularity:

As some of you may or may not know, I've got a background in taking French classes. That's not to say I speak French, but I have a background in taking classes. I took 3 years in high school, and then a total of 4 semesters in college. (Actually, I was signed up for classes 6 semesters in college, but I dropped it twice.)

As much as I love the language, I'm not good at LEARNING languages, as it turns out.

Despite this, when I was at the library the other day, I picked up a CD set, promising to teach me beginning Spanish quickly.

Yes, Spanish. French is awesome, but Spanish is the language that's taking over the country, so Spanish it was.

I popped the first CD into my car player, and listened to a pleasant-sounding man tell me to listen to a conversation between a (North) American man and a Hispanic woman.

So far, so good.

I caught a few of the words, and thus felt pretty proud of myself. Then, the guy started explaining what they were saying, and asking me to repeat things.

The first thing that threw me off was the use of (and if I butcher spellings, please forgive me) Castilano for "Spanish" instead of "Espanol," which everyone knows. I've been getting that confused with "entiende" which is the word for "understand."

So when the guy tells me to say "I do not understand Spanish" (a true statement, by the by), about half the time, I'll say, "No castilende Espanol." I don't even know if "castilende" is a real word, but I keep using it.

The man continues.

"Say, 'Hello, sir. Do you understand English?'"

I respond.

"Bonjour, monsieur. . .crap, no. That's French. Hola. . .Hola, Senor, entien--"

And then about halfway through the fixed sentence, he interrupts me to tell me how I SHOULD have said it. Gracias, Senor.

Then I realize that there seems to be some sexual tension between the Norde Americano man and the Hispanic woman.

"Hola, Senorita," he says. "Como estas usted?"

The narrator explained that this means, "How are you doing?" (Muy bien.) But thanks to the sexual tension I feel between these two people (who don't have names, by the way, so I've taken to calling them Gregor and Maria), I take it more as a Joey Tribbiani, "How YOU doin'?"

Since I'm by myself in the car, taking these lessons, I'm talking out loud. To myself. I always am afraid that people driving by are going to think I'm either A) Crazy or B) Saying nasty things to them. I haven't gotten run off the road yet, so I'm good to go. Conversations usually go something like this:

Narrator: Say "How are you doing, ma'am?"

Me: "Como estas usted, madam? Crap, no. Como estas usted, senora. How YOU doin'?"

Narrator: Tell the young woman good morning, and that you do not understand Spanish.

Me: "Buenas noches. . .no. Diaz. Buenos dias, mademoiselle. Crap. Senorita. No casilende Espanol."

Narrator: "Buenos diaz, senorita. No entiendo Castillano."

Me: SONOFABITCH!

Narrator: Tell the young woman you are North American, and that you only speak a little Spanish.

Me: Why don't YOU tell ME why the word for the Queen's Spanish and the word for "understand" are SO DAMN SIMILAR and you taught them in the SAME LESSON?

Narrator: "Soy Norde Americano/Americana. Hablo Castillano un poco."

Me: "Soy Norde Americana. Hablo Espanol un poco."

At this point, I'm not certain why I'm arguing with a recorded narrator. So when he tells me to ask the woman how she is and if she speaks English again, I end it with a. . .

"How YOU doin'?"

Then I turned on the radio.

That's about where my lesson ended last night.

Buenos tardes.

The One With My First Video Blog

2010-11-16T18:18:00.002-05:00

I did my first video blog today. It's quite rudimentary, as I've never done one of these before, and I'm still figuring a lot out, but it was kind of fun.

Enjoy. (And be gentle!) :)

(Also, my face looks kind of weird in the screen shot here. I promise, my face doesn't always look like that!)

The One Where I'm Late with Friday

2010-11-13T22:14:00.002-05:00

I've had an awesome weekend and due to this, I have not yet posted my newest FFwD. I'll do my best to get to that tomorrow. I'm sure you all understand.

I hope everyone's been having an awesome weekend and has been spending time with people they love like I've been doing!

The One With The Girl Who Distracted Me From Writing

2010-11-09T15:36:00.003-05:00

I've fallen drastically, desperately behind my NaNoWriMo numbers. I'm approximately a week behind, and with this kind of project, it's really hard to catch up.

I'm also working on another project. . .a food blog, so I can keep this one for my day-to-day, and that one for food-related things. Once I have a spare few dollars, I'll buy the domain name I want, and then I'll be in business. So if you're not so much interested in food, you can read that one instead. If you're not so much interested in me, you can read that one. Win-win.

(Although, come to think of it, I don't think that you'd be reading this if you didn't have at least SOME interest in me. But I think you know what I mean.)

Part of the reason I've fallen so far behind on my writing is because I've been reading. I started the "Millennium Trilogy" a while back, and have finally gotten to the third book. It took me a while to read the first, ("The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo") and I finished the second one ("The Girl Who Played with Fire") yesterday. Today, I started "The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet's Nest," and once I finish this one, I'm not 100% sure what I'm going to do with myself. Write, maybe.

The second book had a weird effect on me, actually. It was a really good book. . .but I wanted it to end. I wanted to be finished with it so I could start on the last one. It was good, but I think probably about 100 pages could be cut from it.

Let's see, what else has been distracting me from what I need to be doing?

Food Network. I've been addicted to "The Next Iron Chef" for the last few weeks. It's pretty obvious who's going to win (I HATE when shows make it so obvious who's going to win. . .especially when said person has ALREADY HAD a show on the network) but my favorite guy is still in the running. D accused me of having a new boyfriend, and he may or may not be right. This guy is awesome and badass. Also, he made a dessert last week inspired by his girlfriend's favorite sweets (Aww!) and made his grandmother's potato recipe for one of the challenges. (AWWW!!!) I also looked up his restaurant in New York, and checked out the menu. Super-delicious sounding. Also super expensive.

Speaking of delicious food in New York. . .I don't know if any of my readers are in the Manhattan area, but has anyone ever been to the Antique Garage in SoHo? Apparently, they use word-of-mouth for their advertising, so I'm guessing there wouldn't be any billboards or anything.

I went up to New York last year (two years ago?) with a friend of mine and his dad, because he was checking out NYU. We randomly came across this run-down looking, really pricey restaurant and had dinner there. Since that day, I've wanted to be on that Food Network show, "The Best Thing I Ever Ate," because the dinner I had that night. . .I haven't been able to get it out of my head. I had this thing called the Shrimp Casserole. I'm aware that the word "casserole" brings to mind a heavy thing with maybe cheese and breadcrumbs and stuff like that, but this was like nothing I've ever had. It was light and flavorful and I may or may not be having a foodgasm right now thinking about it. The most incredible thing I've ever put in my mouth. (That's what she said.)

Anyway, I thought of that again today and told D that sometime within the next year, I need to get back to New York and have this thing again, $24 price tag be damned.

(I'm a little worried about starting a food blog. I feel like 75% of my life is taken up by eating, thinking about, and making food, so I'm not going to have anything else to talk about here.)

So what about all of you out there? What's the best thing you've ever eaten?

The One With a French Friday: Roast Chicken

2010-11-05T21:03:00.013-04:00

Warning: If you are a militant vegetarian or just incredibly squeamish, you may want to skip this entry. I'm just saying.

Also! I'd like to thank people who've been leaving me comments. I'm not sure how to deal with them, and I want to explain this so people don't think I'm ignoring them.

I read them all (obvs, since I have to approve them), but I don't always respond to them because I'm not sure if people come back to read the responses. So if you've left me a comment and come back to see if I've responded, and I haven't, please don't think I'm a jerk. I just don't know the proper etiquette.

On to French Friday!

Full disclosure: I'm a baker above all else. I love cooking, and I love preparing meals, but baking is where it's at for me. As a result of this, I have never in my life (until this project was completed) cooked a whole chicken. I've eaten many chicken nuggets, and I've handled cutlets of chicken and stuff like that, but a whole chicken, all pieces intact? Never before.

That was until I came into contact with Clyde.

Yes. I named my chicken. I had to. Because otherwise, I never would have gotten through the horrifying, horrifying experience of cooking this whole freaking chicken.

The recipe name is Roast Chicken for Les Paresseux. This translates into "Roast Chicken for Lazy People." So, in other words, ideal for me.

Here are the players:

I'd like to apologize now for the lesser quality photos in this entry. . .D was out working when I did this project, and all I had was my camera phone. Which is a fine little phone, but just not as good as usual.

There's a weird thing in this recipe. Dorie says that if you put a piece of bread in the bottom of your pan, and then put the chicken and everything on top of it, you'll have a lovely treat when all is said and done. And who am I to argue with Dorie?

That's actually two slices of bread. My rationale here was that if it was that great, I'd like to have one for D when he got home. (That didn't quite work out like I'd planned. Read on.)

I chopped up the veggies. . .

And then there was the garlic. . .the recipe said to chop the head in half, horizontally, and to leave it unpeeled. Even though I'm all about not arguing with Dorie, that didn't make sense to me. I don't want papery things in my chicken. So I compromised and took the outer papery skin off and put half the pieces in the chicken, as directed, and half of them around it.

So then we get to the chicken. Now, mind you, I have, as I mentioned, never in my life done this before. I was under the impression that all of the organs would be collected for me in a little bag, and all I'd have to do is stick my hand up this poor chicken's ass (Sorry, Clyde) and pull out a paper bag.

As a side note, I feel that this picture below looks like a bulldog. A one-eyed bulldog. D said it looked like something more obscene. You be the judge.

This was not so. As I found out later, they only do that for turkeys. Not for poor chickens.

So what does this mean? It means I have to stick my hand all up IN this chicken and get all of its innards out. This means that I stuck my hand up in there to feel around, got nauseous, and had to put on rubber gloves in order to finish the task at hand.

(Um, yes. I'm wearing a shirt. It's a tank top.)

I'm scrounging around in poor Clyde to get all the organs out. I think I've got them all, so I stand him up (as you do). . .and his liver fell out, giving it the distinct impression that this chicken had just taken a crap in my kitchen sink.

I dropped him back on the plate like he was a. . .chicken that had just taken a crap in my kitchen sink. At about this point, I was ready to give up and wait for D to get home and take care of this disaster for me. (That's what guys do, right?) But then I thought, no, Sarah, this is YOUR French Friday and YOU will stick your hand into that chicken's inner cavity and remove all of the things that used to be life-sustaining organs before it just became a chicken on a plate from Valentine's Day in your sink.

So I did.

When all was said and done. . .

I had a liver, a gizzard, a heart, two kidneys and. . .two necks.

Two necks??

Clyde was a freak of nature.

Next came the trial and error of trying to get this damn chicken into the pot.

It was done and done with finesse.

He went into the oven. Then the veggie were added. An hour and a half later, Clyde emerged a new ~~man~~ chicken.

Niiiiiice.

(Um, I know he looks discolored and not fully cooked, but that's the light, not Clyde.)

The chicken was moist, and tender, and freaking DELICIOUS. And I survived it. Oh, and D loved it, too. He said it was excellent.

Oh, and as for the bread? What ended up happening there is because I stacked two pieces on top of each other, one side of it was soggy and chicken juice-ladden, and the other was crispy and gorgeous, with the consistency of light melba toast. I was put off by the soggy side, but I decided to taste it (because, hey, I'd already had my hand up a chicken that day) and it was amazing. I was going to eat half of it and see if D would be willing to try it when he came home, but half became 3/4, and then it was gone.

Gone, like Clyde's dignity.

There's the story of my first chicken-cooking experience. I survived it. Clyde. . .well, he didn't survive it, but he WAS delicious. And I'll be back next week for another installment of French Fridays with Dorie!

The One With My Birthday

2010-11-03T14:47:00.007-04:00

Saturday was my birthday. It was also the JDRF Walk-a-thon. We got up. . .7-ish and then promptly went back to sleep. Got up again about 8:15. Registration started at 8 and the actual walk didn't start until 10:30, so we weren't late or anything. By the time we got there, the crowd had died down a bit, and registration didn't take long.

Apparently, there were about 7,000 people there. I, personally, didn't reach the goal I'd set for donations, but with that many people, I'd be willing to bet the foundation made quite a bit of money.

We walked 2 miles, with music along the way, and then were provided Jersey Mike's for lunch. The weather? Perfect. All in all, an awesome event. I also saw one of my teachers from high school who had a baby like a month ago. Cutest. Baby. EVER!

We then went home and rested briefly before going to Mom's house to have dinner with the fam. we went downtown to Hi5. Everything on the menu is $5, so it's a good place if you don't have a ton to spend. Mom and Johnny had never been there before, Katie was the one who introduced me to it, and D and I used to go weekly, at least. (Before the, you know, no money thing happened.)

After dinner, it was back to Mom's. She hadn't taken her daily walk yet, so we waited for her (Read: we took naps) until she got back. And then it was time for cake.

Let me tell you about this cake. You know how I make a lot of cakes, right? How baking is kind of my thing? For my birthday, D made me this cake that blew me and everyone else away. Check it out:

Holy crap, you guys. It's a cake! And a stack of books! How effing awesome is that? He made the entire thing from scratch (except, you know, a cake mix.) Made the fondant, built it so it stayed. . .and it was delicious. So awesome, awesome, AWESOME cake.

Then, presents! Money from the parentals, and Katie gave me these:

She made that plate. Or, designed it.

Also, D gave me a kitchen apron that I can't seem to get a good picture of. . .it's black, and has a little V-neck and is pinstriped. I'm sure it will be making an appearance in future posts.

After we left Mom's, we stopped by Dad's to give him a book of cake and to hang out for a while. It was during this time that we watched the "Rocky Horror Picture Show" version of Glee. I've never seen RHPS, but I've had songs from it stuck in my head SINCE Saturday. ("Toucha, Toucha, Toucha, Touch Me," "Dammit, Janet," and the Time Warp song are the ones that have been stuck there.) I've heard from many people that they didn't like the episode because of the "sanitized" changes that were made to lyrics, but having never seen the show, none of it bothered me.

Since then, I've had a Lady Doctor appointment (thanks to an irregular Pap) that has set me back $500 that's going to take me 20 years to pay off. (Thanks, no insurance.) And I still love my job.

Also, I've prepared a whole chicken for the first time. It was horrifying, but if I tell you anymore, it'll ruin this week's French Friday entry.

Oh! And I'm also taking part in National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo), the point of which is to write a 50,000-word novel in 30 days. I'm up to speed so far, but it's only day 3. We'll see.

The One With a French Friday: Apple Cake

2010-10-29T00:00:00.000-04:00

via FFwD

I know I've missed the last few French Fridays, but I'm back with baking! A dessert! My FAVORITE!

The title of this recipe is Marie-Hélène's Apple Cake. The recipe can be found here. Yes, please.

I'll go ahead and tell you how this ends. The cake was FABULOUS. D described it as "elegant" and I'm fairly certain nothing I've made in my entire life has been described that way. But the cake was great. I did have to make a couple of adjustments, as the recipe called for an 8" springform pan, and I only have a 9" pan. I took the ingredients and added half. Like. . .if it called for a cup of flour, I added a cup and a half. The only thing it changed was the baking time, which about made me CRAZY.

That's what I get for starting a project like this at 11 at night.

Onward!

The ingredients:

Yes, that's rum. Yes, I used the whole bottle.

The recipe calls for 4 different kinds of apples. I made a trip out to the Farmer's Market to get said apples. I mention this because I had to drive on I-40 East, a stretch of highway that terrifies me to the very soul of my being, to get to said Farmer's Market. I did it all for you, Fellow French Fridayers. All for you. But these apples are all of different varieties. (And yes, I'm aware that there are 5 apples here, and not 4. Since I one-and-a-halfed the ingredients, I threw in a rogue apple that was left over from a bag of apples we'd bought earlier. I felt sorry for it.)

I was instructed to "generously" butter a springform pan and put it on a parchment-lined baking sheet. Dorie sure does love her parchment paper. . .I'd never used it before embarking on this project. My apples are peering at the pan in the background, beginning to get nervous.

Dry ingredient mix-up:

The next image may shock you. I apologize if you feel it is inappropriate. It's what I call Nekkid Apples.

And then it just gets more obscene.

Oh, jeez.

It's OK. You can look now. It's all over.

Wet ingredients combined. . .gratuitous egg shot!

Mixing everything (except the apples. . .) together:

Now, here, Dorie is very specific. She says, "Switch to a rubber spatula and fold in the apples." And who am I to argue with Miss Greenspan?

Apples folded in. . .

Everything poured into the pan. . .

And into the oven. The recipe said 50 to 60 minutes, but mine took longer. Closer to 75 or 80. I was tired, and not amused.

D actually took that photo, and when I saw it today, I was like, wow. I look SO SAD.

Fear not, sad Sarah. Because the cake is now out of the oven!

And then it's out of the pan.

Pretty!

And delicious.

FYI: This cake is less than 24 hours old, and it's already 2/3 gone. You do the math.

I'm not sure what next week's FFwD recipe will be, but maybe I'll be back for it. Enjoy!

The One With the Pronunciation

2010-10-27T15:47:00.002-04:00

Sometimes I wonder about regional dialect and pronunciation.

This exchange just took place between D and myself:

Setting: D is working on a business card for a client.

D: I don't understand why people put "phone" next to a number.

Me: What do you mean?

D: Right here. Before the phone number on the card, they want the word "phone." I don't get that.

Me: I think it's to differentiate from 'fax.'

D: Well, the fact is, it's a phone number.

I had to think about this for a second or two, because that comment made no sense to me. And then I figured it out.

Me: No. Fax. Like fax number. Not facts. Not like 'facts of life.'

But even as I said it, I realized that the two words sounded EXACTLY the same coming out of my mouth.

There's another word that I do that to, but I can't remember it right offhand. I also pronounce "photographer" like "phatographer."

I wonder where we learn to pronounce things. I was born up North, but have lived in North Carolina since I was 4. However, I call the oblong things you put on top of ice cream "jimmies" instead of calling them "sprinkles." As a result, D has taken to calling them that, too. But that's a Northernism. Also, if I have an item (let's say a cake) that I want to transport to another locale, I say I'm going to "bring the cake to Mom's." This makes D a little crazy, because the correct phrasing would be "I'm going to take the cake to Mom's." But he also told me that saying you're going to "bring" something somewhere is found primarily in Northern dialect, which I find interesting.

So, if you're trying to get a feel for what I sound like when I actually talk, just imagine "facts" and "fax" sounding like exactly the same word.

What about you? What words or phrases do YOU mispronounce? Do you, too, refuse to change them?

The One Where I Am Maybe Unnecessarily Hateful

2010-10-25T22:24:00.006-04:00

I have figured out what I'm going to do with my life.

I am going to continue working at the library, because obviously, it's a badass job, and come summer, I'm going to enroll in the technical college here and get my Associate's in Baking and Pastry Arts.

Sarah's gonna be a pastry chef, y'all.

I've been saying this for. . .a while now, but I'm putting it into black and white on October 25, 2010, so that in a few months, if I haven't said anything else about it, you can be like, "Um, Sarah? Lies."

The main thing I need to figure out is the money. Clearly, I have none. I need to go by the school and find out about financial aid, etc. But I'm DOING IT.

Today at work, people were working my nerves. This happened yesterday, too, but today could have had something to do with the fact that my boss brought in this bundt cake for the birthdays in October, one of which is mine.

(By the way, while I'm thinking about it. . .I'll be doing a French Fridays with Dorie this week! I know I've been remiss since that first week, but my excuse is that the things chosen for weeks were, A) something I didn't want to eat or B) something with expensive ingredients I could not afford at the time. But since this week's recipe is a cake [Awww, yeah!] and all I need to purchase is apples, we're on for Friday.)

(OH! Another by-the-way, speaking of baking, Katie's 19th birthday was on Friday, and when I'd asked her what kind of cake she wanted, she said she wanted a dinosaur-themed cake. So this was her cake, enjoyed by my family last Saturday:

I KNOW, RIGHT?! Awesome. Also, in case you were wondering, and I know you were, those are indeed milk chocolate rocks at the bottom. WIN!)

OK, where was I? Ah yes. The October Birthdays Bundt Cake. I got super busy at work this evening, and by the time I got to the back to enjoy some of the cake, it was gone.

GONE.

My name was one of the ones on the little October Birthdays sign, and I didn't get any cake.

So that bothered me. Maybe you'll say it bothered me more than it should have, but then I'd tell you to SHUT YOUR WHORE MOUTH. It bothered me. So I was a bit moody.

What I should explain about the library is that different librarians deal with different Problem Patrons (PPs) differently. If a PP doesn't have their library card, some librarians will ask them for their name, others will ask for their photo ID, and still others will give them kind of a hard time while asking for their name AND ID. (I ask for a driver's license, if you're wondering.) Stuff like that. There are guidelines in place, yes, but if you mess with the wrong librarian on the wrong day, it's going to be a lot different than if you are sincerely apologetic for leaving your card at home and are nice, and you do not think we OWE you something.

So this kid comes up to me and has like $38 of fines on his card because two of his books are "long overdue" and when that happens, the system adds in the price it would cost to replace the book. He asked me how many books he could check out on his card. I said there's no limit, and he was like, "No, THIS card."

After I saw the fines, I explained to him that the system said I should not let him check them out, due to the fines, but how many he could check out would really depend on which librarian he got. I let him check one out. Nice, right?

Then. This lady waddles up to the desk. I say waddles not because I'm being mean or cruel or whatever, but she was one of those ladies that is approximately as wide as she is tall.

She hands me her card, all surly. I scanned it, and she had $48 dollars of combined fines and lost books dating back to 2008.

I say, "Um, this card has $10 of fines on it, and $38 dollars of book replacement charges."

(There's also a note in the system indicating she is "aware" of the charges.)

She glares at me and says, "Yeah?"

I said, "The system is indicating that you need to clear some of those fines before you can check out anymore books."

She glared at me again. "I ain't got no money with me."

(I'm thinking, "You've had two years to have some money with you.")

I said, "Well, I'm not able to check anything out until some of these fines are cleared."

Now. . .this is not ENTIRELY true. I have the ability to override the system message and check stuff out despite the fines. But this woman's attitude rubbed me entirely the wrong way. If you're going to use a place that has rules, you need to FOLLOW THE DAMN RULES.

She looked at me, confused and irritated, and didn't say anything. I'm guessing this is the part where, in the past, people have said to her, "Oh, OK. I'll take care of it for you this time. Just make sure you bring the money next time you come in!"

Clearly, she had never gotten into Sarah's checkout line.

She just stood there, staring at me.

"You could have a friend check them out for you," I offered.

She shook her head and stared at me.

"Well," I said, "once you get those fines taken care of, you'll be back on track."

She stared at me for another 30 seconds and walked away.

I wondered if I'd been unnecessarily mean. But maybe not. If she'd been nicer to me, it would have been a completely different story. But if you're going to be rude to me, I'm not going to go out of my way for you.

Another problem we have at the library is people leaving. Or rather, not leaving. We close at 9 Monday through Thursday and at 8:45, a message is given over the loudspeaker, indicating we will be closing in 15 minutes. Then another warning is given at 5 'til. Then one says, "The library is closed." Generally, people will wait until the 5-minute warning or the actual "We're closed" message to try to check out their books. At that point, the self-checkouts have been closed down, and I'm forced to do their transactions.

Tonight, though, I'd just HAD ENOUGH. I saw this lady browsing books in the self-help section (!!!) and when the security guard announced, "The library is now closed!", she then started to make her way to the desk. I, however, as soon as I heard the announcement, powered down the computer and went about making arrangements to leave as soon as we got the "All clear!"

She comes over and says she wants to check out, and I say, "Oh. . .I just turned off the computer ~~because the damn library is closed~~."

To her credit, she says, "Oh, OK. I'll come back tomorrow."

But then the lady who was at the desk with me who is. . .SUCH a people-pleaser, one of those that wants everyone to like her, you know?, says, "Oh, I'll just turn this one back on," and I want to say, "NO! If you do that, they will NEVER LEARN!"

As it turns out, the desk at the back had not powered down their computers yet, so she checked out there.

Am I wrong to do what I did? Am I wrong to be so frustrated with these people? Is society, as a whole, just getting more and more dumb?

Maybe.

The One Where I Lose My Insurance

2010-10-21T15:08:00.002-04:00

Note: I'm not looking for sympathy. I'm also not looking for ridicule (those of you who should know better than to use the same IP address all the time.) I'm just telling the story here, the way it happened.

I have never in my life understood insurance. I understand the purpose of it and how it works and yes, I understand that it's a business, but I don't understand why insurance companies can be so damn cold when it comes to helping people not die.

I had Blue Cross/Blue Shield of North Carolina, and I'll tell you. . .when I called to try to get my situation worked out, the guy I talked to, whose name I desperately wish I could remember, was really nice, but ultimately, BCBSNC doesn't care.

(Again. I UNDERSTAND that it's a business. That's what D keeps telling me. "They don't HAVE to help. They're a business." I get that. But while you're sitting there with your nice insurance industry job and benefits, there are a ton of people out there who need help, and you just don't care.)

The main thing that gets me here is the Pre-Existing Condition clause. Yeah, I've got The Diabeetus. Have for 21 years now. Not my fault. Not anyone's fault, but I don't feel like it's fair to make me pay hundreds of dollars more because of it. The coverage I was paying for? Cost me $400 a month. That's what I paid in rent when I was living in the mountains. Because of that and prior diagnoses of depression, mixed in with some anti-depressants (which, God only knows I wish I had access to at this point in my life), I'm a gold mine for insurance companies.

Apparently, I lost my coverage at the end of August, due to being behind on payments. That, obviously, is my own fault. I chose to have a little bit of extra money in the bank "just in case" (which was awesome to have when it came to paying rent last month) rather than paying the premium. My own fault. Not trying to blame anyone for that.

My question is, why does it have to be SO DAMN HARD to stay healthy? We're America for God's sake. We're supposed to have all these opportunities and all that bullshit here, but instead, what we have, is a medical system that can only be paid for if you've got insurance through your job or if you have a lot of money to buy your own.

Which I do not.

I keep getting off track. Apparently, I lost all coverage August 31st, and the insurance company didn't feel the need to tell me that. They didn't feel the need to be like, "Hey, you're not going to be covered after this date." I'm not even asking that they gave me an opportunity to do something about it. That would have been nice, but it's my own fault the coverage expired. All I'm asking for is a form letter saying, "Hey, we're not covering you anymore."

Because then I wouldn't have gone to the two doctors I did, and then I wouldn't owe the almost $300 that I now owe.

Again, I digress.

The problem I have here is that, when I called the company to figure out what the hell was going on (Oh, I found out about this when I sent D to the pharmacy to pick up my insulin for me, and they were like, um, you're not covered. So instead of paying $35 for two bottles, which would last me a month, I instead, over the phone, crying to a pharmacist, payed $123 for one bottle.) the guy I talked to was nice. I cried again (this is not a sympathy ploy. I just have a very loose grasp on the crying mechanism in my head. I cry a lot, not only when I'm upset, but also when I'm angry, frustrated, whatever. My emotions manifest themselves in sloppy tears.) and he was nice about it.

He told me that what he'd try to do for me was to see if I could pay $800 by the end of October (this was about a week ago, so I had about 3 weeks to somehow pull this off), and then I'd be caught up and could continue coverage. The problem was that, for one, I didn't know where I was going to come up with $800, and for another, I'd still have to pay the rest of how far behind I was (a total of about $1,130) and still make a payment for November.

I didn't care. I was desperate, and I was sure that somehow, some way, I could pull all this money together. I'd bake dozens and dozens of cupcakes and sell them to unsuspecting strangers. I'd help D do his selling. I'd ask for help from Mom. Whatever. I'd do it.

So I'm feeling cautiously optimistic, thinking, as I sometimes do, that everything's going to work out for me, and that I'll be OK. That I'll pull through.

The guy puts me on hold for about 10 minutes while he "talks to someone" about it. His supervisor? I don't know. For all I know he went and took a pee and got a donut. Hopefully not at the same time.

He comes back and tells me that "he" (whomever he "spoke" to) is concerned about me making payments (as he has a right to be) and that the only way I can fix this debacle is to send, by overnight mail, $800 that day.

Wait, what?

I was scheming and planning how to get $800 in about two and a half weeks, and I was half convinced I'd be able to pull it off. But now I needed $800 in less than 24 hours.

That wasn't going to happen.

I cried some more, told him thanks for his help, ~~asked him to tell his company to go eff themselves~~ and hung up.

And cried some more.

And then added up the expenses in my head. $240 a month in insulin is less than the insurance itself would have cost. But when you throw in my insulin pump supplies (about $700 per order, every 3 months or so) and my dreams of a new pump to replace mine that is 7 years old (um, thousands upon thousands), I'm pretty much screwed.

My therapist (who, incidentally, I can't afford to see anymore) suggested I try to get on Medicare (or is it Medicaid? I always get the two mixed up. The one not for old people.) but warned me that it was going to be really difficult, "because I'm white." She did say it would be better since I'm a woman, and would be EVEN BETTER if I were pregnant.

That? Is screwed up, you guys. Screwed. Up. These illegals are swarming in and getting free healthcare, free this, free that, and me, an American-born citizen that just happens to be in some hard times right now, like so many of us are, might not qualify because I'm an American-born citizen that just happens to be in some hard times right now. There is NOTHING right about that.

Nothing.

So we'll see what happens from here. But for now, I'm not completely broke, but teetering, unable to get a new insulin pump before mine dies, paying a week's pay for the medication I need, not even mentioning anything else I might need. . .

God bless America and our laws and systems.

The One With the 5-Year-Old's Question

2010-10-20T23:09:00.003-04:00

Working in a library, I come into contact with a lot of kids. Quiet kids, loud kids, sweet kids, obnoxious kids. . .they're everywhere, these kids. My least favorite are the ones who scream and scream and scream when their parents have repeatedly told them to STFU. (These kids differ from the ones whose parents just let them run wild and ignore them. When this is the case, it's 25% disdain for the kid and 75% for the parent. But if they're ignoring their instructions? I can't stand those kids.)

Then there are kids like the 6- or 7-year-old boy who brought his own library card (signed in his own handwriting) and his books to the front desk all by himself to check out his books. I love kids like that, because they're so excited, and so polite, and very nice.

Today, though, I came across a kid who turned out to be perfectly fine (his brother, on the other hand, I wanted to slap, as he was screaming and crying and trying to twist out of his mother's grasp while yelling, "I'M NOT MISBEHAVING! I AM BEHAVING! I AM NOT MISBEHAVING!!!." Um, yes you are.) but who I swear took 10 years off my life.

Anyway, this kid is quietly standing beside his mother and horrible brother, just hanging out. He was about 5. I finish checking his mother's books out, and she turns with her younger, horrible Hell Beast to leave. The kid walks up to the counter (which, by him standing on his toes and stretching his neck out, he was just barely able to see over) and says to me, "Can I tell you something?"

My stomach Hit. The. Floor. There was no real reason for it, but I imagined it ending horribly. I expected him to say something like:

A) "Daddy says that Barack Obama is a Goddamn Communist Prick who is driving the economy into the ground. What does 'economy' mean?"

B) "Mommy drinks out of a big bottle every night until she falls asleep on the floor. When she falls asleep, me and my brother eat pie filling with a spork. Also, I like to play with matches. They're pretty."

C) "Mommy and Daddy yell at each other a lot."

D) "You've got a big black thing stuck in your teeth. What's that?"

E) "I just found out where babies come from! Wanna hear? Mommy says every lady has a vagina. Do YOU have a vagina?"

I panicked briefly, but said, "Sure. What do you want to tell me?"

He blinked his big, blue eyes at me, thought for a second, and said:

"What's that box of rubber bands for?"

I hope I didn't audibly breathe a sigh of relief, because I felt like I let out a giant breath I'd been holding. I wasn't going to have to hear something horrible, or get social services involved, or anything like that. I DID want to slap his mother and say, "You need to teach your kid that 'telling someone something' and 'asking someone a question' are NOT THE SAME THING, and you just FREAKED ME OUT."

But it was just an innocuous question that I knew exactly how to respond to.

(If you're wondering, when you have a book on hold, we put a piece of paper with your name on it on the side and rubber band it to the book. Once the person picks up their book, there's a container for them to drop the rubber bands in so we can reuse them.)

I'm just damn grateful that I didn't have to hear about his mother's vagina.

The One Hundredth

2010-10-18T11:41:00.004-04:00

It's been like two weeks since I've been here (actively writing, at least) and there's not a lot I can say about it, really, except that I haven't had a lot to talk about that people would want to hear about.

I used to have an "online diary" (they weren't called blogs back in the day) back in high school/college/whatever and it was emo-tastic. If I was fighting with someone, I wrote about it (subtly, passive-aggressively, obvs). If I was being all unrequited about a non-relationship, I wrote about it. If I had a bad day, I wrote about it. It was all there, in black and white (and purple) for the entire world to see.

I just went back, actually, and looked at that old journal. I did want to share this one entry I made. I've changed names (because OBVIOUSLY), but everything else is still the same. It was a letter to my boss at the time:

Dear Boss,

I understand that you're older and sometimes don't get references that other people get. I can understand why, that time you told me I could take a laptop to a press conference and write the story on the way home, you didn't understand why Carrie laughed when you said I could "whip it out" on the way home. I get that. I get why you don't know what "the shocker" is. I get that, too.

But, dear Boss, the expression is "chewed out." If you do something wrong, someone might "chew you out" for it.

That is why I would recommend never, ever repeating what you said to me today, which is that, because of the High School Letter Incident, that you would be "eaten out by the school system superintendent guy."

I'm just sayin'.

Love,
Sarah

OK, THAT was funny. I remember that, too.

But the entry immediately following that was about how going out to dinner with two couples sucked. (I was, clearly, single at the time.) And then there was a survey. And then there was a direction to my newest blog (the one before this one), because I was trying to get away from the desperately depressing downer of an "online diary" I was keeping.

I KNOW that you don't want to hear about it, and the reason I don't recount everything negative that happens is because, one, I don't want everyone knowing. I think that's simple enough. There are a lot of wonderful people that come and read, and I love you all for it. But there are also people who are just trying to keep tabs on me, to know things about me, so they can, potentially, use it against me in the future. (You guys? If you want to stay more hidden, use a computer with a different IP address. Just FYI.)

I also know that when there are blogs that are all doom and gloom, you lose interest. Personally, I've lost a total of 3 readers along the way, and that always happens after I write something about bad things going on. So I pretty much know my audience.

But on this, my 100th posting, I just wanted to say that I'm still here. I'm still here and I'm trying to get back on track. I love my job, and I have a birthday coming up, and we'll just see how it goes.

Cheers. Here's to 100 more.

The One With Ants and "The Social Network"

2010-10-06T16:14:00.006-04:00

via Google Images

We have carpenter ants outside our back door. They are slowly, methodically, pulling all the little bits of the foundation out from under the apartment building. And I'm pretty sure this means that at some point in the next 6 months, the building is going to collapse.

I went on a crazy ant-spray yielding spree earlier today, and when I sprayed down the ones hanging out outside my door, this SWARM of them came out of this hole in the foundation. SWARMS. Like. . .my worst nightmare kind of swarming.

I know that ants in and of themselves are not scary creatures. They're not. But when hundreds of them are SWARMING OUT OF YOUR WALL, I feel the same way about them that I feel about birds. Don't even get me going on birds.

Ants slowly killing the foundation of my apartment building

After the massacre

What's actually going on in that second picture is that I'd sprayed the crap out of the ants pouring out of the foundation and, I don't know if you can see them or not, but the ants that survived are picking through the survivors. Either looking for loved ones, or looking for a snack. You can never be certain.

D and I went to see "The Social Network" last night, with free movie tickets we'd received for trying out the church we're currently attending. (No, I don't really like church. Yes, I like movies and yes, I like the fact that the church has a bucket of Diet Cokes for my perusal every Sunday morning. It's a give and take, pros and cons kind of situation.)

Over my Giant Heart Attack-sized popcorn, we watched the story of Mark Zuckurberg (I may or may not have spelled that right), the inventor of Facebook, and the world's youngest millionaire (also known as Sarah's New BFF.)

The movie itself was really good, actually. A friend of mine said he'd never see the movie because, ". . .it's about FACEBOOK." I would say that this is not a great reason to not check it out. It kind of portrays people my age as. . .really crappy, entitled people, but we kind of are, so I can't fault the movie for that.

The dialogue (did I spell THAT right?) was snappy and great, and the story was seriously interesting. I don't know how much of the story is true, but there was no point during this movie that I looked at my phone to see what time it was. It kept my interest, and the guy who played Mark was fantastic. He's got elitist (SPELLING?) apathy down to a science. (That doesn't sound like a compliment, but it is.)

There were a couple of issues I had with the movie as well. For me, the ending was way too abrupt. It kind of came out of nowhere, during a time I thought there was more that could have been said. It did give updates on what people who were in the story are doing now, and how things were resolved, so that was good, but I didn't like how abruptly the credits were rolling.

My second (of two) issues is with Justin Timberlake. Not JT himself (Love him. Added him to my List of 5.) or his acting (which isn't perfect, but I think he's got a solid film career ahead of him.) It was the fact that. . .they cast Justin Timberlake. I think he, as a celebrity, was too big for this film, especially considering it was (allegedly) a true story.

I say this because he played the creator of Napster, who is a 7% share owner of Facebook. But what I found myself thinking to myself was, "Oh, wow. Justin Timberlake is a part owner of Facebook!"

Well, no. He's not. But since he was playing the character who IS part owner, Justin Timberlake's celebrity overshadowed the role he was playing. I think if this were not at all a true story, it wouldn't have been a big deal. But I kept having to remind myself that Justin Timberlake did not invent Napster and has nothing to do with Facebook.

All in all, a movie I'd recommend. 3 out of 4 stars.

Just remember that Justin Timberlake does not own any part of Facebook, nor did he invent Napster.

The One With the Sex Pills

2010-10-03T17:30:00.007-04:00

OK, guys. It’s time for full disclosure. If you’re not into TMI, of the lady parts nature, or, more specifically, MY lady parts, then you should probably avoid this entry. Go here instead.

Still with me? Good.

In my life, there is sometimes sex. I know that it’s something that I have only touched on (hee!) briefly and with the utmost of vagueness, but I’m going to go ahead and say that I am an adult and that I have been known to take part in adult-like premarital relations.*

I bring this up partially because it has to do with the story I have to tell, but also because I’m working, ever so slowly, at being more. . .open, I guess, whilst writing. There are bloggers out there that will tell you each and every time they and whomever get busy. (Hint: I am not one of those bloggers.) And then there are some bloggers that pretend they don’t know what sex means. (Hint: I am not one of those bloggers either.) I’m trying to reach some kind of happy medium with what I write about, and this, I feel, is the first step. Sometimes, there’s sex.

The problem with this, I discovered, is that the aforementioned sex sometimes causes problems for some people. For some people (not me!), it’s STDs. For others, it’s an unintended pregnancy (again, not me!). And for still others, it’s a nasty little thing called a Urinary Tract Infection. (Bingo.)

As you all know, I’ve not been involved with The Sex for all that long. I’m a relative newbie. So after the first couple of. . .encounters, when I found that I was MISERABLE-feeling in the bladder area, thanks to Cosmo (the one useful thing Cosmo has done for me. . .self-diagnosing a UTI), I immediately knew that the problem was. I went to one of those urgent care clinics (Dad refers to them as Doc-In-A-Box), and they gave me an antibiotic and sent me on my merry way.

A while later, it was back. (I’ll mention here that there was no reason, legal or otherwise, why I shouldn’t have been having sex, and lots of it, at the time. I wasn’t because my partner, and I think you all know who that was, but I’m not going to explicitly state, because OBVIOUSLY, was out of town a lot.) So every time I’d see him, I’d end up with this issue. It was causing me no end of grief and costing me more money than I had to spend on a lady parts issue. I enjoyed The Sex, but how worth it was it, REALLY?

When I’d gone the first time, the DIAB had told me that it’s a good thing I hadn’t waited any longer, because it could cause kidney issues.

Back the truck up. KIDNEY issues? Suddenly, I was having horrible back pain and was convinced that my kidneys were going to fall out and I was going to die of some sort of diseased kidney issue.

So every time I had the problem after that, I became CONVINCED that my back was killing me, and that it was because my kidney juice was leaking out into the rest of my body and I was going to die.

(Um, the back problems may or may not have had something to do with the fact that I was still living at Dad’s and did not have a bed there, resulting in me pretty much sleeping on the floor on top of a fully deflated blow-up bed. But it was KIDNEY PROBLEMS!)

Cutting to the end of the story, I eventually made an appointment with a urologist and she gave me a mild antibiotic to take after every. . .sexing. Kind of a pain in the ass, but much better than a pain in the bladder.

The problem that I have had with said antibiotic has nothing to do with the antibiotic itself, but with the package it came in. Here's a picture:

The problem I have with this is that. . .um. . .I have a prescription bottle that says "intercourse."

Intercourse is one of those words like "moist" or "panties" or "lover." It should just never be used by anyone, ever.

So, in the course of the year I've had this prescription, I've been suffering the indignities of everyone at the pharmacy knowing EXACTLY why I'm taking these pills. There was one time, this kid (he looked younger than me and he was a punk. A kid.) who glanced at the instructions, legitimately laughed, asked if there was anything else he could help me with, and then said in this TONE, "Have a. . .good evening." (I should note, D was with me at the time. That couldn't have helped.)

I felt super-uncomfortable with that guy, and with a couple of other people who've filled it. It's like. . .there are several medications you can get, and it doesn't clarify WHY you're getting it on the package. But this one? Yep. It's due to The Sex.

So I had to call the urologist last week because my prescription had expired. (This is because when they were prescribed, I was to take one. . .immediately afterwards and then one 12 hours later, as indicated on the original bottle. I figured out that I only needed the one. . .immediately afterwards, and I was OK. So I had a surplus.) My old NP wasn't there anymore, but a new doctor was willing to refill it over the phone.

I went to pick it up, and was met with this:

Instead of "intercourse" in 10-pt. font, now it's up to at LEAST 14. There's NO QUESTION about what's in that bottle. People probably think I have herpes or something. And I want to say to the pharmacist, "It's because of UTIs! I'm diabetic, and we're very susceptible to UTIs! I'm AN ADULT!"

I think the new urologist and I need to have a chat. I need to, between now and the next appointment, think of a better way to phrase that, and ask him to put THAT on the label.

I know it's not just me. I showed D the bottle, and he laughed. Out loud.

HEY, TARGET PHARMACY! I HAVE TO TAKE SEX PILLS!

Awesome.

*Sorry, Mom

The One With a French Friday: Gougères

2010-10-01T23:57:00.000-04:00

via FFwD

Today marks the beginning of something I'm super excited about. I've joined this. . .group of people who are members of French Fridays with Dorie. Basically what happens is that everyone in the group cooks the same thing out of the same cookbook (in this case, "Around My French Table" by Dorie Greenspan) and then blogs about it and posts their posting in a giant list of Who Did It.

Blogging? Food? Being a part of a group whose members I never actually have to meet face to face?

I'm in.

The first recipe was actually chosen by Dorie Greenspan herself, and was super easy to make. This is good, because it did not deter me from making future things. (I should note that I will not be participating every week. Some foods are way too expensive for me. Some foods I will not eat. Mushrooms are the devil.)

This week, the recipe was for gougères, which is this little cheese biscuit thing. Very light and fluffy on the inside. (Warning: This entry is photo-heavy, as D was nice enough to let me use his camera, and as a result, I went crazy with it.

Here are the ingredients:

Milk, water, butter, salt, flour, eggs, and cheese. Pretty easy, right?

Yes, actually.

Mmmm. . .cheese.

I went in to see D whilst the oven was preheating and everything was coming together.

"Say hi, D!"

Hello, everyone out there in French Fridays with Dorie land!

"Is there anything else you'd like to say?"

I'm going to keep smiling, but you'd better be careful with my camera!

He was in the midst of working on his podcast, hence the reading glasses. He doesn't wear them all the time, but is. . .really, really hot when he does. He reminds me of a college professor. You know, all, "Hey, Professor HotBod, I could really use some extra credit. How about I come by your office after class so you can give me some hands-on instruction?" And then you stop by the office, and he's all, "Hey, I'm so glad you could make it. I was just working on my podcast. Why don't you sit right here beside me and we can discuss chemistry."

I'm sorry, what?

Oh, yeah. Gougères.

Next, I spread parchment paper on my cookie sheets. And by "cookie sheets," I mean micro-baking pan and broiler pan. Don't judge me. I'm quasi-unemployed.

Next, the milk, water, butter, and salt are put into a pan. . .

. . .and brought to a rapid boil.

I had to include the above picture, because I was so busy trying to get an awesome picture of the boiling mixture, I almost burned it. And then that would have been a sad day in Whoville.

You're not putting my camera in peril, are you?

No, of course not ~~you hot professor-looking guy~~.

Is it hot in here, or is it just my gougères?

Then you add the flour and it turns into a lovely dough.

Uh. . .a dough, at least.

At this point, you put in the eggs. Now, keep in mind here, I'm making these things and taking the photos simultaneously, with someone else's camera. I'm taking pictures and running back and forth with the camera so I can leave it on the dining room table, lest some horrible gougères-related something were to take place.

I really wanted an "egg-dropping-into-the-bowl" shot. I had 5 opportunities to make that happen. I got it in 2.

Eggcellent.

All the eggs are added in, and then you put in the cheese. Note the chunks of cheese melted together. Remember the photo at the beginning of all the ingredients? The bowl of cheese stayed in that EXACT SPOT whilst the oven was pre-heating.

Needless to say, I did not major in rocket science in college.

Mix everything up and put it in nice, neat rows on your ~~boiler pan~~ cookie sheets.

Stick them in the oven. . .get impatient. . .

And then, oh my God, they're finished and out of the oven.

Um, it looks a bit like a fried egg here, but trust me. They're gorgeous.

So there you go. Gougères a la Sarah. They were light and fluffy and everything I ever imagined a gougère could be. Next time, I might use a more exotic cheese. But they were pretty awesome.

(D liked them, too!)

Awesome.

(Also, I still made it on Friday with 3 minutes to spare!!)

The One Where I'm Not Working Full-Time

2010-09-29T13:18:00.004-04:00

Note: I would like to add two alternates to my List of 5. Matthew Morrison and Justin Timberlake. Thanks.

So last Wednesday was my last day of full-time pseudo-employment. Thank you (THANK YOU!) to the people who left comments, wishing me luck and such. I felt. . .I don't want to say "loved,"

because that's a wee bit dramatic, but I really, really appreciated it. So thank you.

Since Wednesday, I've been. . .admittedly really, really worried about money, because, like when I lost my job in 2009, I had a lot brighter outlook on how soon I could work things out than it turned out to actually be. (That's an awkward sentence. I think you know what I mean, though.)

I have, however, cleaned pretty much the entire apartment, including throwing out a bunch of trash and bringing 3 bags of stuff to Goodwill.

I also made a cake on Sunday. I'd never made a layer cake before, so I used a box mix to practice on. It actually turned out really well. I made two layers of white cake and frosted it with chocolate (also out of a box. Or can.) I also decorated it with this can of yellow frosting D bought me a while back.

It turned out really well. It's almost completely gone, as D came home and had a couple big slices (he was a fan) and I'd eaten pretty much half of the thing since Sunday (thanks, PMS!). D's birthday is coming up soon, so I'll be making another one in the coming days.

I love my library job. Love. It. I worked a full day Saturday and the 8 hours there passed in about half the time that 8 hours passed in my old job. (Not. . .literally, obviously.) I'm going to be working another full day Friday, so that's cool. I've had only one really hateful person I've helped, and on Saturday, we had a guy that was flashing his junk to people in the parking lot, but other than that, it's been basically smooth sailing.

And finally, I bought a dress to get married in! It's not a. . .wedding dress, per se, but it is the dress that I am going to wear when we finally make it legal. I bought it at Goodwill, and I strongly suspect it was, in a former life, someone's bridesmaid's dress. I can't post a picture of it (because I might be getting married in green instead of white, but I still think the guy shouldn't see it prior to the wedding day) but it's like. . .it's what I imagine Tinkerbell's much more conservative sister might wear.

When I brought it to the register, the lady at the counter, who had a Fran Drescher voice and an Amy Winehouse bouffant, was like, "This. . .isn't for a Halloween costume, is it?" I told her it wasn't, and she was visibly relieved.

"I've been worried someone would buy this for a Halloween costume," she told me. "And it's just so pretty."

I told her I was wearing it to get married, and she said, "Oh, HONEY!" and was so excited. She then told me how practical I am, and wished me well.

And that made my afternoon.

Also, side note? It's been raining since D left on Sunday. I'd like to think that now that he's home, it's going to stop.

The One Where I Quit My Job

2010-09-21T10:26:00.005-04:00

You all know I have a part-time job at a library. A part-time job that I love and that keeps me from jumping off tall buildings when the time at my full-time job gets to be Way Too Much.

A couple weeks ago, one of the librarians there called me and told me there was a Library Assistant position open, and they wanted me to take it. I was like, "OMG!"

Then came the kicker: it was only part-time, but part-time to the tune of 20 hours a week. So if I kept my day job, I'd be working 60-hour weeks.

I have no problem with working hard. I've DONE 60-hour weeks (Hello, newspaper!). But when I was working 40 hours a week and then an additional 10.5 - 14 at the library, I had to drop one of the days at the library, because it was just too much. Too much physically, mentally, and relationshipally.

So I decided I was going to quit my day job. I was going to quit my day job, take the library job, and hopefully gather many people together who wanted me to do freelance-type things for them. That second part is still a work in progress.

Last Wednesday, the first boss I had (the one that DOESN'T dislike me), came in, and said, "OK, look, [New Boss] wants to hire someone more qualified for your position, so I didn't want you to feel weird when people started coming in and interviewing for your job. Don't tell her I told you."

. . . . .

Beg pardon? I've been in this position since April. New boss has been here about a month, and one of those weeks was a week of vacation. How is you starting here making me any less qualified for the job?

I decided at that moment to give my notice. I said, "Well, actually, that works out, because I have a new job, etc." And I said I'd stay until Friday (this coming), but then I decided, they're not doing ME any favors, I'm going to have Friday completely off.

I also said, "Since I still need to talk to [New Boss] about it, I'd appreciate you not saying anything to her."

So, she's asked me not to tell New Boss she told me all this, I asked her to not tell New Boss that I was going to give my notice.

New Boss walks in from lunch and Old Boss says, "Hey! I told Sarah that we were going to be hiring for her position, but it's OK, because she already has a new job!"

So I guess THAT'S all out in the open.

I've been training the girl taking my place today. Warning her about the ins and outs of this place, telling her what she needs to know, etc.

And now I'm embarking on a scary, scary, maybe not-well-funded journey into librariandom and freelancing.

I worked my first shift at the library last night. That's a story for another time, though. It was epic.

The One With My List of 5

2010-09-20T13:07:00.010-04:00

I'd like to say, first of all, HELLO! to my two newest followers.

(Not followers as in, they do everything I say without question, but followers as in, people following my blog.)

(Also, how awesome would that be? To have followers. Like Jesus does.)

(Not that I'm comparing myself to Jesus.)

(Even though that would be awesome, too.)

Every time I get new followers (and you can ask D. This actually happens.) I'm all, "They LIKE ME! The INTERNET LIKES ME!" And then I usually feel like making out with someone, and D's RIGHT THERE, so I'm all, "Let's make out!" and D's all, "Thank you, Internet!"

Or something like that.

Anyway.

Have you seen the episode of Friends with the List of 5? 5 celebrities you'd be allowed to sleep with, given the opportunity, no questions asked? D and I have. . .oddly frequent conversations about the List of 5.

Now, in the interest of full-disclosure, since I do have a penchant for the ladies, I actually get a List of 10 -- 5 dudes and 5 dudettes. I had to fight for this, but in the end, D saw my point. Sometimes he still insists he should also get 10, but for now, he gets his 5. But in the interest of keeping things hetero, I'm just talking about my List of 5 Dudes.

D knows most of these, so it's not at all awkward that I know he'll read this.

I should also note that. . .really and truly, I have no desire to ACTUALLY sleep with any of these people. Because I think that would be awkward. But those are the rules of the game.

Also. . .I have a friend that, toward the beginning of her relationship with her husband, said, "I'm so in love with (the guy) that I don't even LOOK at other guys anymore."

I did not say this at the time, but I'll say it now: That's crap. You never stop LOOKING. You stop acting upon things when you're with someone you want to be with, but just because you've found love (or whatever), that doesn't mean that you completely cease to notice that other people exist. You might even develop a harmless crush on someone. Doesn't mean you love your person any less. It just means you are human. So none of my 5 mean anything about the state of my relationship with D. It just means that there are some very, very pretty men out there in Hollywoodland, and I notice that they are pretty.

The top 2 are people who are always on my list. The rest rotate sometimes. That kind of defeats the purpose of a list, but WHATEVER.

So without ~~more rambling~~ further ado, Sarah's List of 5 (This week):

1. Billie Joe Armstrong

via Google Images

This guy here? Has been my boyfriend since roughly 2001. He's all dark haired, eye-linered, punk rock hotness. This is one of two guys that, when D sees them on TV, he goes, "Oh. There's your boyfriend." Yeah, he's obnoxiously political, but I feel like, as long as he doesn't talk? I'm good to go.

I also (kind of ironically) love that he and his wife have been together as long as they have. And also that one of their kids has the middle name "Danger." Homeboy can LITERALLY say, "Yeah, Danger is my middle name." Awesome.

2. Alec Baldwin

via Google Images

Yes, I realize this is an older picture, but it makes more sense, I think, if you start there. Alec Baldwin has something weirdly appealing about him, although I think a lot of it comes from his character on "30 Rock," which I LOVE. He's older man hot, and I'm into that. Obviously.

I said something about A.Bal to my father a while back, and I think he completely misses the point of the List of 5.

Me: I kind of love Alec Baldwin.

Dad: His politics are ridiculous. I hate him.

Me: I don't really care about his politics. I like his work.

Dad: He was a jerk to his daughter.

Me: I'm not looking to marry the guy or have any of his children so he can treat them badly as well! I'm talking about him being a good-looking guy. Also, he's a good actor.

Dad: Well, he's a jerk.

Me: You don't have to be a nice person to do your job. I've known a lot of jerk doctors, but they still do what needs to be done.

Dad: I hate Alec Baldwin.

So there's that. Point of that being, I guess, I should never invite A.Bal over to Dad's for dinner.

And speaking of hot older men:

3. Richard Gere

via Google Images

This guy's just got it going on. He's sensitive! He's snarky! He's a mother-effing SILVER FOX! (Did you SEE him in "Chicago"?) I love this guy. Incidentally, you know how when some people make certain faces, or look at you a certain way, they look like someone famous? D sometimes looks like Richard Gere. I'm just sayin'.

4. Nathan Fillion

via Google Images

This guy is adorable. He's never not cute, in anything he's ever been in. In the show "Castle"? Adorable. In "Desperate Housewives"? Adorable. In "Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along Blog"? Adorable AND funny. This guy's a win-win-win. He was added to my list around the time "Waitress" came out. Love this guy.

And finally. . .

5. Carrot Top

via Google Images

5. ~~Carrot Top~~ Demitri Martin

via Google Images

Demitri Martin, actually, is the third person that D consistently refers to as My Boyfriend, and I can't believe I almost forgot him. This guy? Is hysterical. Freaking hysterical. The kind of comedy that it takes you 2 seconds to realize why what he said is funny, but when you do, you laugh your ass off. Smart comedy.

Plus, um, he's hot. Like. . .super hot. Funny and hot. Nice.

So there's my 5, 3 of which remain consistent. So you guys tell me: who would YOUR 5 be?

The One Where Oprah May or May Not Be Satan

2010-09-17T14:27:00.005-04:00

First of all, my posting was featured on Mushroom Printing today! Yay!

I'd mentioned a while back that I was reading the Kitty Kelley biography of Oprah. I finished it last week, and, I have to say, I'm not the least bit surprised at what I read.

I have never liked Oprah. Ever. She had, basically, trashy TV, and then she tried to go all new-agey and "I'll help you help yourself" and while telling people they needed to be healthy, her own personal weight ballooned up and down, effectively making her a hypocrite. Plus, she puts HERSELF on the cover of all of her magazines. I know other people do that, too (Hello, Rachael Ray! Hi, Martha Stewart!), but Martha doesn't do it always, and Rachael is. . .Rachael.

Nothing about Oprah seems sincere, and yeah, she gives money to people and charities, but she also makes sure everyone KNOWS she's giving money to people and charities. She's all, "I know how you FEEL," when talking to poor/downtrodden/whatever people, but y'all? Oprah has not been poor in about 50 years, and she is most certainly NOT downtrodden. She always pulls the race card, but no one's going to say "Boo!" to Oprah.

The book, while not particularly well-written, was interesting and plenty salacious. Obviously, the things written in it are not un-true, because you know if they had been, Kitty Kelley would be sued for everything she's worth and the book would have been yanked off of bookshelves.

So the conclusion that I can come to is that Oprah is just as nasty as I always thought she was.

Then there's the point of this. Oprah's Book Club.

I'm one of those people that, when something I like gets really popular, I'm like, "Dude. . .no." Because what happens then is that people think you like it because of other people liking it, and not because you discovered it first.

I've read a couple of the books on Oprah's list, either not knowing they were on her list, or before they were on her list. Most of them were pretty good. (Except for "Eat, Pray, Love," but that is another post in and of itself.)

I got an e-mail from the library today with the heading "Somebody peeked in the Oprah box!" (which. . .FYI. . .THAT'S WHAT SHE SAID!) It was a link to an AP article about how the Associated Press had bought a copy of the book with the "Oprah's (effin') Book Club" sticker on it, so people already knew what the book was, even though it wasn't "announced" until today (Friday.)

The e-mail was talking about how many more copies of the book we'd need, etc.

Then a second e-mail came, talking (complaining) about how, logistically, it's always a nightmare when Oprah announces her books.

I went to the hold system at 2:27 p.m. to see how many holds had been put on the book. There were 330. Right now, at 3:42, there are 347. It'll break 400 by the end of the day, I promise.

This bugs me. Why are people such sheep? Why do so many people worship at the Church of Oprah? What makes her any more special than anyone else?

It bugs me because she KNOWS she has this effect. It bugs me because I don't understand why.

I, for one, will not be reading this book. Mainly because it sounds dumb to me. But also because Oprah recommended "Eat, Pray, Love" and we all know how THAT turned out.

All I'm really saying is that anyone with THAT MUCH mind control over THAT MANY people? Has to be evil.

EDIT: It's 3:46. There are now 350 holds.

The One Where I Boycott Things

2010-09-15T13:56:00.003-04:00

I'm all about making a statement. If I think something's unfair, I'll say, "Hey! That's not fair!"

Or if I think something's offensive, I'll be like, "Hey! That's offensive!"

Yesterday, D and I went to this Chinese place near here. We each got the lunch special, which was like $5. Then, thanks to hot mustard (mine) and General Tso's chicken (D's), we got thirsty. D went up to get a tea and maybe a Diet Coke, and the lady was all, "No debit card purchases under $5." And D's like, "I don't have cash, and we just spent a collective $10." And she's all, "No."

(I found out later that technically, stores aren't allowed to do that. They're supposed to take cards for any amount, and that if a store sets a minimum? That's not really allowed. Unfortunately, most credit card companies won't do anything about it, even if you complain.)

So D's pissed. Ultimately, he went to the Food Lion next door and bought two bottles of water, but I don't think we're going to be going back to that particular Chinese place.

That got me thinking about boycotting things. I have a few things I'm currently boycotting, and now I can add that place to the list. Following are my Things I'm Boycotting:

1) That Chinese Place

2) The Bruegger's Bagels in Wake Forest (This is because of terrible, terrible service, and the fact that it's full of rude, snotty people.)

3) Any movie containing Matthew McConaughey (Because OBVIOUSLY!)

4) The morning show "Bob and the Showgram" on one of the radio stations in town.

This one has more of a history. Bob is obnoxious. I can't stand him. His co-host, Mike, is obnoxious, and thinks he's awesome. He's not. They do stupid, stupid things on the show that insult my intelligence anyway. This one morning, they're talking about. . .something, I don't even remember, and the girl co-host, Kristin, was like, "Well, Bob, you think all women are prostitutes anyway." And Bob's all, "Yeah, that's true."

As soon as those words left his mouth, I flipped the station. I was really, really insulted by that, and I didn't even need to know his reason. D's like, "What was that for?" and I said, "I'm not listening to this show anymore. I'm boycotting it." And I have. I have not listened to the show since that day, which was probably in June or July.

I found out later that the reasoning behind that was that Bob feels women don't have sex ever except to gain something, whether immediately, or in the future. Coming from a man who, admittedly, has sex like once a month? Bob needs to SHUT HIS WHORE MOUTH. After finding out the explanation, I'm glad I stopped listening. It's such a popular show that it's not like one person not listening is going to make a difference, but it makes me feel better.

5) BP (I accidentally typed "BO." I guess I'm boycotting that, too.)

6) Family Guy

Now this one, I've never shared, but I'm doing it now. I was up visiting my cousin and her husband a few months back, and her husband (Frank) and I were watching Family Guy. Carrie'd already gone to bed.

In this particular episode, Stewie (the baby) fell down the stairs and was comatose from what was obviously a Traumatic Brain Injury. The entire episode, it was this joke that Brian (the dog) was trying to keep everyone from finding out what had happened. Through it all, the baby is not moving, not responding, etc.

At the end, the mother is backing out of the driveway, and the father, who has since realized the baby is brain-damaged, throws the baby under the car so it looks like the mother has damaged her baby by running over him. Then she's all, "Oh! We can cover this up!"

Some of you might remember my cousin, John, who was in a car accident last Christmas and who himself received a TBI. Unlike the cartoon character, John isn't going to be OK by the next episode. There is nothing at all funny about a kid with a brain injury.

So that's why I'm boycotting Family Guy. Because every time I am around John for extended periods of time, I'm weepy for a week afterwards. Because it's just not fair. At all.

I still have the FG DVDs I bought, but I need to get rid of them, I think. I've been watching what I recognize to be older episodes when I see them on TV, but I feel like that's a cop-out boycott. If I'm going to say I don't appreciate something, I should probably not appreciate it in its entirety.

So. . .if anyone needs the first two box sets of Family Guy DVDs. . .

The One With a Follow-Up on Fake Pregnancies

2010-09-14T16:11:00.004-04:00

I wasn't going to mention this because, as I told D, "I KNOW I was right. I don't need to tell everyone." But this? Is about so much more than me being right. It's been eating at me since it happened. Let me explain.

Remember the dramatic, over-sharing girl? I didn't say all this on that posting, because I was afraid of karma, but I told both my cousin Carrie (who knows this girl) and D that I knew, I just KNEW, that she would traumatically "lose" her (non-existent) "baby." JUST IN CASE I was wrong, I didn't want to put that out there in the blogosphere.

But last night? I found this was her facebook status: (I'd checked it with the sole purpose of finding out if she was still "pregnant," because even though there was no reason to worry about anything at all, she was going on and on about how "worried" she was something was wrong.)

"Okay so no more baby. Maybe it is for the best so we can both move on with our lives. :("

I call shenanigans. You'd be a little more upset than THAT if you lost a baby. She follows a comment someone left her up with "It is really hard but I know it is probably for the best. I feel like my child has just been ripped from my arms and there is nothing I can do about it but I also know that right now was not the best time for either one of us to have a baby. Maybe one day I will look back and be happy that things turned out the way they did but for right now I am very very sad and hurt."

I am not personally close with anyone who has lost a baby, but considering how many blogs I read, I've come across quite a few sites, dedicated to the memories of lost unborn babies. From what I understand, that? Is something you are not ever "happy" about. That burned me. Especially when one of her friends expressed sympathy, and said girl says, "Thanks. Next time I'm in NC, we will have to have lunch with those adorable babies!" (Her friend's babies.)

Think. . .you've just lost a kid. How anxious are you to get together with someone with healthy babies?

Her "baby's" "father"? Hasn't even mentioned it. He's just talking about how his new girlfriend is The One.

A mere 24 hours after "losing" her "baby" she says, "I'm planning on having a really productive day today! Wish me luck!"

People like this girl? And the ones that have faked cancer to get sympathy/money/a house paid for? Make me sick. I'm an attention whore. I'll admit that. But never, EVER would I attention whore make up something like this. Not only is it bad karma, but it's deceptively and unfairly tugging on people's heartstrings.

At least one person has said, "Well, there's a small chance that all this really did happen to her." OK. A small chance. Maybe 2%. But judging from her drama-laden background, I'm going to guess that, no. There was never a baby. I also take this from the fact that on Friday when she was "having trouble" with the "baby," the medical terminology and what she said was wrong didn't make any sense at all. None.

So for all the real mothers who have honestly lost a baby? And who have to go through life thinking about that? I give this girl a giant slap across her effing dramatic face. And she deserves more. But it's not worth my time.

The One Where I'm Socially Awkward Sometimes

2010-09-10T13:34:00.004-04:00

I am feeling more awkward at this moment than any human being has a right to feel.

First of all, I have some. . .aspects of my personality that I have, previously, thought could be attributed to being autistic. Then I did some research (Thanks, hypochondriac-ism!) and found out that it's a thing that's diagnosed in childhood, and not in adulthood. I, admittedly, don't know a whole lot about it, and it is the furthest thing from my mind to insult anyone who actually has to deal with things of this nature, but, you know, you don't know unless you ask. Or, in my case, research.

I just find that a lot of things that happen to me in social situations are largely unexplainable, unless the explanation is that I'm just really, really awkward. I mentioned this to my mother a while back, and said something like, "Well, that's just because I'm socially awkward," and she's all, "Um, no you're not."

I feel like she has No Idea.

I guess the difference is that I am (sometimes) able to curb the awkward, pretending like I'm super-comfortable in social situations, when, in fact, I'd honestly rather be at home, by myself or with D, making Candy Sushi, which I will, in fact, be doing tonight. I guess if there were something, legitimately, physically (or mentally?) wrong with me, I wouldn't be able to fake it.

A lot of the symptoms (granted, they show up in kids, but I don't have anything else to go on), fit me. Stuff like autistic (children) may: (and I got all this from here)

* Be overly sensitive in sight, hearing, touch, smell, or taste;

* Have unusual distress when routines are changed;

* May not respond to eye contact;

* Prefer to spend time alone, rather than with others;

* May find normal noises painful;

* May withdraw from physical contact because it is overstimulating or overwhelming;

* Gets stuck on a single topic or task;

* Has a short attention span;

* And so on.

I don't know. Obviously, I don't have this particular issue, but it WOULD explain weird behaviors sometimes, and would further explain why, in social situations, I find myself just not sure what to do or responding inappropriately. And then you throw in my OCD, and I find myself feeling uncomfortably, intensely horrible when I realize I've done something in a non-social normy kind of way. It tortures me.

If I DID have autism, it might also explain being unapproachable, which D mentioned today. That wasn't the first time I've heard that, but I think of myself as pretty friendly, especially at work, and it just kind of sucks that other people don't see me the same way I see me. But I really don't have any excuse except being. . .unapproachable, and apparently, unfriendly. (I'll get to that in a minute.)

Reminds me of about. . .12 years ago, I guess, when my mom's neighbors had their granddaughter over for a few days. She was my age, and I was introduced to her, and she and I hung out while she was there. The last day of her trip, we were sitting on the front stoop, and she was like, "You know, when I first saw you, you didn't look very interesting or very much fun. But you are!"

A compliment, ultimately, sure. But damn. I don't look very interesting, I don't look like very much fun, I'm not approachable, I'm intimidating, I'm not very pretty (thanks, guy in my Sociology class), and as a child, I had ears the size of small satellites. (OK, no one ACTUALLY ever said that to me, but I have photographic evidence, yo!) I do actually have a few friends here and here, and D's not someone I made up, so obviously, people like me a little sometimes. It's just. . .hard to acknowledge that you come across as so completely different than you think you do.

All this being said, I'm finally getting to the reason I feel so awkward right now.

Three people at work are leaving/have left this week and next. This one guy who, I wasn't FRIENDS with, per se, but with whom I had a healthy rapport was heading out. He stopped at the door and turned back to say bye to me. He comes up to my window, shakes me hand, and says, "Take care, Sarah."

And what do I say?

Nothing.

I do not respond whatsoever.

I half-smile at him and shake his hand, but no words come out of my mouth. No, "It's been nice knowing you!" or "Good luck at your new job!"

Nothing.

I stupid half-smile at him and then he turns and walks away, probably thinking to himself, "Wow! How unfriendly and unapproachable is SHE? Plus, her freaking ears stick out halfway from her head!"

And so now I'm sitting here, agonizing about it. I'm probably never going to see this guy again, but somehow, that makes it WORSE. Because now, any time he thinks of his last day here, he's going to be like, "Wow. . .she didn't even say bye!"

(Note: I, in all of my common sense, know that he probably will never think of that exchange again as long as he lives, but tell that to my stupid, stupid BRAIN!)

So after stewing in that for a few minutes, I did what any person in my position would do.

I went to the breakroom and cut myself a slice of his farewell cake.

What did you expect, really?

The One With Too Much Information

2010-09-08T11:00:00.000-04:00

I've mentioned, I'm sure, before my love/hate relationship with facebook. I love (or at least like a little) facebook because I hate (hate HATE) talking on the phone, and it allows me to have interaction with people like that girl I had lunch with that one time on a second grade field trip. Lifelong Friends, you know what I'm sayin'?

Recently, I went through a major clean-out of my facebook friends. I, at one point, had almost 600 "friends." Then I began realizing that a few of them were just people I flat out didn't like, a bunch of them were people I only knew peripherally, and the rest I used to care about, but now do not. Now, I think I have. . .200-ish? And these people fall into the following categories:

1) Family

2) People I actually like (some from Category 1 cross over into Category 2.)

3) People I keep on my list because I might one day need something (An example of this is the class president from high school. . .he sent out the invitation for the 5-year class reunion on facebook, so I'm certain he'll do the same thing for reunion years that I GIVE a crap about.)

. . .and finally

4) People whose lives are such a train wreck that I have to keep them on my list just for my fill of drama that I'm not involved in (some from Categories 1, 2, and 3 are also on this list.)

The people in Category 4 are those people that, despite leaving them on my list, I don't really understand. The people who put every. single. thing. that happens to them on facebook. The kind of people you have to take off your feed because if you don't, it looks like:

9:44 a.m. Sally McOvershare is in the bathroom.

9:53 a.m. Sally McOvershare just took the best crap of her life! LOLz!

10:01 a.m. Sally McOvershare can't decide what she wants for breakfast.

10:15 a.m. Sally McOvershare decided to have waffle and bacon for breakfast LOL!

10:32 a.m. Sally McOvershare is having the WORST CRAMPS EVER! PMS is THE WORST! Like this status if you agree!!!1!!!1!1!!1!1!!

Stuff like that.

What gets even more interesting, though, is when you get someone who feels like facebook is actually called dramabook, and they tell you more than you. . .ever cared to know about their personal life.

8:34 p.m. Kelsey von Info-Overload can't believe her baby's daddy isn't going to pay child support this month.

9:48 p.m. Kelsey von Info-Overload is sooooo mad that she can't have sex tonight!

10:03 p.m. Kelsey von Info-Overload is thinking of calling social services on her child's father! What kind of ass-jerk doesn't even come over when he says he's going to? I can't believe I ever had sex with that guy!

11:06 p.m. Kelsey von Info-Overload just talked to her son's father. We fought, but then decided to have sex. I may have forgotten to take my Pill today. OOOppps! LOL!

You know. . .stuff like that.

There's this girl I know. . .I'll call her Pat. Pat has, in the last 2 years, broken up with her kids' father, her kids' father has gotten into a new relationship, she moved to Oklahoma to be with some guy, they broke up, her kids' father took the kids, which may or may not have been court-mandated, she moved again, she got into a relationship with this guy who finalized his divorce on July 13, they broke up because he's got a new girlfriend, and oh yeah, she's pregnant with his baby now, but she's decided to keep it.

What you may or may not be interested in knowing is that I haven't talked to this girl since approximately February of 2009. So how do I know all this?

Because she posts her entire life on facebook.

Every time she was mad at her Baby Daddy, it went on facebook. Their fights went on facebook. The fights they got in on facebook were then commented upon by their family members.

He posted, when he got divorced, "yay! i'm finally divorced!" This was the slew of comments that ensued (these are verbatim, so misspellings and egregious uses of punctuation and grammar are NOT because of me:

Girl 1: Really? OFicially??

Girl 2: what?! wow!!! it's about damn time too!!!

The Guy: yep i'm officially free. . .kinda :)

Girl 1: your not free by ANYYY means! and your both already planning new weddings?!? ya'll are nuts (I'd like to comment here that it makes me CRAZY when people spell y'all like that. CRAZY. Do people not know BASIC RULES OF CONTRACTIONS?!)

"Pat": We're not planning yet! he still can't get married for six months!

Girl 1: GOOD! I know your smitten but trust me...(GUY'S NAME)??! lmao. JK what day are you guys leaving me again?

"Pat": The 29th! We just packed up the kitchen!

Guy's Mom: You are far from Free! Every time you are around I become Broke!!! LOL

The Guy: ha ha love you mom :)

So, I mean. . .Not only is it bad spelling and punctuation. . .it's just too much information! Friends contributing to it, etc. Pat couldn't have just said, "haha, no, no wedding planning!" She had to get all specific.

The Guy is in a new relationship now anyway, after having broken up with Pat. . .on August 11, the new girlfriend was leaving little hearts on his status updates, at the same time Pat was, on August 18, they were all lovey dovey, and on August 29, New Girlfriend was saying what a great night they had together. So. . .somewhere in there.

My point is, I shouldn't KNOW ALL THIS. One might argue that I don't have to read it, and that's true, but it's really just my desire to see drama that doesn't involve me unfold. It's like celebrity gossip. Except celebrities? They just do things and people find out about it. With facebook, people do things NO ONE has to know about, but they feel the need to tell you about it anyway.

I realize this is getting all rambly, but one more thing I want to share. Facebook also brings out the idiot in already idiotic people. Pat updated (after she told everyone she was pregnant) saying, "I feel so horrible. I just wanna be able to eat a good size meal again!" and the guy who got her pregnant was all, "Lol sorry!!!"

My final thought is I KNOW why people do stuff like that. . .put their dirty laundry on facebook. Because they want the attention. In my opinion, this girl is a freaking idiot. She's a trainwreck anyway, and now she's bringing a new baby into that mess. But all her friends are all, "You're sooo brave!" "You're soooo heroic."

No. You guys? It takes no heroism to have sex without protection, and it take no bravery to have to deal with your mistakes. It's just something you DO. There are exceptions, obviously, but in this case? I have all ideas this was no accident, and now she's attention whoring it up.

The point of all this was, your dirty laundry should stay in the hamper.

The One With the Walk-a-thon Kickoff

2010-09-02T14:38:00.004-04:00

As most of you know (a few of you don't, I guess), I have Type 1 Diabetes. I'm fairly sure I've referenced this before, but I can't think of a particular entry in which I talked about it. So this one will be that.

I was diagnosed with diabetes in October of 1989. For those of you doing the math, this means that this October will be the 21st anniversary of the diagnosis. (Hey! My diabetes can legally drink!) I started out on 3 shots a day, then went down to 2, and then back up to 3 when, in 1999, I got my insulin pump. It's made stuff a lot easier, needless to say.

Type I diabetes is different than the diabetes you normally hear about in the news. The more "popular" type, Type 2, is (according to the Mayo Clinic Web site) known as adult-onset or noninsulin-dependent diabetes, and is a chronic condition that affects the way your body metabolizes sugar (glucose), your body's main source of fuel.

Type I (the type I have) is known as "juvenile-onset diabetes," since MOST of the time, it is diagnosed in young children. This isn't ALWAYS the case, however, as D as has a friend that I believe was in her 30's when she was diagnosed, and I heard today of someone who was 16. Still a child, yes, but diagnosed later than many.

Type I diabetes is a little more complicated than Type II and is much more rare. Of all of the diabetics in the world, less than 5% of those are afflicted with Type I. What Type I is, for those of you who wonder, is actually an autoimmune disease. That means that the immune system mistakes something that's supposed to be there (i.e. my pancreas and its insulin-producing beta cells) for something bad, and it attacks it. Hence, my pancreas doesn't do what it's supposed to.

D and I (we make up a "family team") went to the Team Captain's Lunch today for this year's Juvenile Diabetes Research Foundation walk-a-thon. We were served. . .I'm not quite sure what, but it involved chicken salad and pasta salad, and a bunch of leafy greens that cost probably more than I could afford for as many people as were there. Some people, including one of our local newscasters, gave presentations, and there were several points where I'm pretty sure some people did or almost did cry.

I don't really feel like I need to go into as much detail as I was going to about the lunch itself (although, fun tidbit, I did run into one of my favorite teachers from high school, who is apparently pregnant and due on Saturday. Awesome!) but I want to do that thing that some bloggers do that some other bloggers hate, but we do it anyway, because we're talking about a cause we believe in.

Our team goal is to raise $500. I'm 100% certain we can beat this (maybe even double it!), but obviously, D and I can't do it alone. I'm aware that not every hit on my blog is from a new person, but if every time someone clicked on my page, they donated $1 to the JDRF, I'd have almost $3,000 to give on the day of the walk, which is Saturday, October 30, 2010. This is, incidentally, also my 26th birthday. (Yes, I'm aware that I've referenced my own birthday in the last 2 updates I've made, but this has been completely unintentional. Sorry.)

I'm going to give you guys a link, and that's this one. If you find it within yourself to donate even a dollar toward this walk, I (and the millions of people suffering from Type I diabetes) would really, really appreciate it. If you're someone I know In Real Life, I will also be sending you an e-mail in the near future, so sorry to inundate you with info for this. I would just like to raise an eff-ton of money this year. Apparently, North Carolina raised $7 million for this last year. How badass is that?

I'm also going to be putting the link at the bottom of posts until Oct. 30 and, if I can figure out how, I'll put something on my sidebar. Don't worry. I won't let you forget. :)

And thank you, thank you, thank you!

The One With the Second Gay Book Club Meeting

2010-09-02T11:15:00.000-04:00

Had my second Gay Book Club meeting a couple weeks back and it was, as is to be expected, something worth making commentary on.

D and I got to the Busy Bee Cafe early. D's been carless for. . .a while now, so we pretty much have to either travel everywhere in a pack, or someone sits at home, unable to go anywhere except to the places of business within walking distance. This place was NOT within walking distance.

We'd been arguing about. . .something, I don't even remember, and we'd just grudgingly ended the argument, so we're sitting there, tersely, with our respective beers when Charles walks in, carrying his copy of the book, and a giant fruit tart.

Yeah, a giant fruit tart.

Turns out, when I'd RSVP'd for the October book club meeting, and I'd made reference to the fact that the meeting would take place the day before my birthday. Charles had mis-read what I'd said and thought that THAT day was the day before my birthday. So he brought me a celebratory fruit tart.

How awesome is that? Seriously. I've met this guy once, and he's bringing me birthday fruit tarts. Very sweet.

So we stand there for a few minutes, until 6:30, when we're supposed to start, and NO ONE ELSE has shown up. I introduce Charles to D, who is working on something for one of his clients, they make small talk, and then we decide that probably no one else is coming. Book club members be damned! We're going to sit and have a couple of beers, maybe some dinner, and we're going to talk about this book.

Now, if you'll recall, this is an LGBT book club. D, bless his heart, who is neither L, G, B, OR T (Just D), was all, "Hey. I'll join you!"

So he did.

We sat and talked some about the book (which I didn't like, Charles liked mostly, and D had not read) until this other guy showed up. I THINK his name was Derek. He was very proper. Nice enough. Just very proper.

We sat there, talking about the book, drinking beers, and eating hummus. The hummus was pretty good. Needed some more flavor, though.

(I'm realizing at this point that this story is not as interesting as I'd initially thought. Sorry.)

We ordered dinner. Charles had the "Hot" Ham Sandwich (ham with gouda, jalapenos, sweet potato paste stuff and arugula) which he said wasn't actually that hot. Derek(?) had a hamburger. He told the waitress, "When I say 'nothing but cheese' I mean I want nothing on it but cheese. No vegetables. No onions. No lettuce. Just. Cheese. Do you understand?"

Yikes.

D and I split a burger. The burger itself was really good. It was a "Tom & Jack" burger (with pepperjack cheese and fried green tomatoes). I wasn't too thrilled with the fried green tomatoes, but at least now I can say I've tried them.

And then there was the fruit tart.

My God, I love a fruit tart.

We stayed until 9:30 or 10, and then headed home (with the leftover fruit tart). D charmed the gay menz, and a good time was had by all.

Hopefully next time, when we read this book, there will be more people. It was fun with 4, though.

Also, I'm supposed to pick the book for November, and I haven't come up with anything yet. Any suggestions? (It doesn't have to be LGBT-centered, by the way.)

The One With Things to Buy

2010-09-01T13:15:00.001-04:00

In my Gmail account, I have 71 folders into which I place various e-mails.

This seems excessive, yes. But I have so many recipes I save, I need to separate them. Of those 71, 31 of them are directly food-related.

One of these folders, which I hadn't opened for a while prior to today, is called "Things to Buy." It is. . .exactly what it sounds like. Things I'd love to have but don't have the money for, or things I'd like to give as gifts, or things that are cool but that I'll likely NEVER own, or whatever.

I'd like to share some cool things here. I won't do all of them (since I have 26 things in the folder and that would get long and ~~more~~ tedious ~~than usual~~.) I guess I'm supposed to put some kind of disclaimer: I was not paid or given anything in return for putting these products here. They're just stuff I found on my own and thought were cool. Now, if a company wants to send me free stuff, I'll GLADLY take it. But that has not happened here.

Thing To Buy Number 1:

Exotic Earphones from Geek Stuff 4 U

How cute are these earphones? The Web site they're on lists the price in Yen, so it looks like an eff-ton of money, but it converts to like $20 a pair. Those are, in case you can't tell, a banana, sushi, a cat paw, and a bolt. I'd like to have either the sushi ones or the bolt ones. The downside is that the sushi ones have the potential of just looking like you have Gross Things in your ears, and the bolt one would make you look like Frankenstein's Monster. Which, actually, might be more of a pro than a con.

Thing To Buy Number 2:

Message-in-a-Cookie Cutters from Williams-Sonoma

These, I freaking LOVE. You can pretty much put any message you want into cookies. Besides the obvious "Happy Birthday" or "I Love You" cookies, you can do what I think many companies overlook: give sad cookies. It's kind of like Demitri Martin said: "Cake is the only food we write on. It’s always encouraging like, “Happy Birthday, Leo!” “Congratulations, Eric!” I feel like we’re missing an opportunity. I’m talking about negative cakes: “Surprise, You’re Adopted!” ‘Cause that’s when you want cake!"

I'm thinking this could be a whole new thing. Cookies for Sad Occasions. Cookies that say, "I'm leaving you. Goodbye." Or "I quit." Or something. When you're given a cookie this cute, you can only be so mad or so sad for long. Because then you can just eat cookies. The con, though, might be that I feel the letters might smoosh together during baking, and then you'll have someone saying, "I eavng ou? What?"

Thing To Buy #3:

The Recovery Bracelet from Femail Creations (Yes, I spelled this correctly.)

This? Is gorgeous. I love the shape and I love the colors. The point of it is to represent. . .well, I'll let the Web site description speak for itself:

"Each bracelet is handmade and individual and acts as a comforting reminder that recovery and renewal from anything is one step at a time. You begin with the white pearl which symbolizes the whole and healthy person. Next is the clasp, the point at which something breaks. It can be an accident, a health issue, a loss or an emotional crisis. From the clasp on the other side of the bracelet there is a progression of freshwater pearls growing in size and changing in color. Each pearl along the way represents a stepping-stone to recovery. The different colors represent the changing emotions, and new tasks accomplished in the process. The pearls continue to get bigger as healing takes place, ultimately reaching the bright white pearl where it started, signifying the return to full health."

Awesome. Apparently, the artist's brother was in a really bad accident a few years back, and this bracelet was made in his honor. It's like that quote from. . .Winston Churchill (?), "If you're going through Hell, keep on going."

How about two more?

Thing to Buy #4:

Gummi Bear 'Candelier' from Jellio: Fun. . .by Design

Um, a chandelier. Made of Gummi Bears. I don't think I ACTUALLY have to say anything else about this.

Thing to Buy #5:

Mini Rainboot Garden from FredFlare.com

I love rainboots. My own, personal pair of pink-lined, black-with-white-polka-dots pair was featured on the cover of the Home and Garden supplement of the newspaper I worked for. I sketched out what I wanted for the cover, and D took care of the photoshoot for me. It turned out awesomely.

That has nothing to do with this garden thing, but it's a great anecdote.

My point it, while boots are cute, mini boots are even cuter, and anything small enough to let me grow things even though I'm currently dwelling in an apartment? Awesome.

So there's my list. Go buy these things for yourself, go buy them for me. . .whatever. I just think more people need to own more Things of Awesome. You're welcome.

The One With a Letter to Cosmo

2010-08-27T16:23:00.005-04:00

Dear Cosmopolitan Magazine,

I got an e-mail from you today informing me that my subscription to your fine magazine (Also known as "you") only has "a few issues left." I'm guessing this means 5 to 6, since I haven't been a subscriber for THAT long.

I should note here that I did not pay for my Cosmo subscription. No, since I drink ungodly amounts of Diet Coke, I had amassed many Coke Rewards points, and I used 200 of them to subscribe. I'd been purchasing issues of your magazine for a while (the "on-again" part of my on-again, off-again relationship with Cosmo), and thought that the $5,093.94* I'd paid in Diet Coke might be about equal to a subscription.

I thought (even though I KNOW better) I'd be getting a magazine that has been around for decades, and which has helped countless** women through the trials and tribulations of life, sex, and everything else that comes with it. Being that it's been fewer than 3 years since I began on my journey of sexing, I thought that maybe, just maybe, Cosmo could help me catch up with my wiser, more sexually satisfied peers.***

The only thing that I've gathered from reading the "tips" Cosmo puts forth each month is that guys like girls who are into some weird stuff. You also say, every 3 issues or so, that jiggling a man's balls back and forth, as if shaking a pair of dice, is the quickest way to bring him to orgasmic bliss.

"Not so!" say several men I've inquired about this to and also a few articles and blog posts scattered about. It seems that treating your man's boys like you were employed by a Vegas casino is actually quite a BAD idea. Shame on you, Cosmo. Millions (?) of women are looking to you for advice, and you, in turn, are attempting to render their men infertile.

Your "Confessions" section? It's the same story, told over and over and over again! The men will always cheat on their significant other (rarely caught) and the women all either perform some kind of auditory bodily function, get their period, trip, or say the wrong thing in front of their "crush." Either that, or they're caught by their roommate/parents/boyfriend/girlfriend/etc. whilst in the throes. I feel like most of these "confessions" are made up. Yeah, sure you're "Lacy, 25, Columbia, SC." You're probably more like Edgar, 43, Columbia, SC.

The (next to) last thing I have to say involves the utter (apparent) laziness of your staff when it comes to cover stories. During 2009, there were two issues, approximately 5 months apart, that had the EXACT SAME "catchy" headline on them! I don't remember the specifics, but I know it had something to do with Foods That Will Make You Live Forever. Exact same wording. Even the cover art was similar! I can't remember the colors, but it was the same ones, just reversed! If the March issue was blue with orange letters, the August issue was orange with blue lettering. Do you not employ people to NOTICE things like this?****

But worse than all this, Cosmo, worse than the fake confessions and the terrible sex tips and the lazy editing, is one of your cover stories this month.

UNTAMED VA-JAY-JAYS

you proclaim.

Untamed va-jay-jays.

First of all, Cosmo, just because Oprah says something, that does not make it acceptable to USE, much less put on the cover of a national magazine.

Underneath the "catchy" title, it says "Guess Which Sexy Style Is Back."

I'm not. . .really sure. Because (and Cosmo, I hope I'm not stepping on your toes by assuming you took basic high school Biology), a "va-jay-jay" (or, you know, a VAGINA!) is INSIDE a woman's body. So I'm not entirely sure what you mean by an "untamed" vagina, unless you're referring to the campy horror movie, "Teeth," which portrays a girl whose vagina has teeth ("vagina dentata") and which bites off a man's ManBits whenever she has The Sex with them. Pretty good flick.

I'm guessing this isn't what you mean, though, and again, SHAME ON YOU for confusing people who, let's face it, are, by a high majority, not that intelligent anyway, by insinuating that a vagina is something that can somehow be. . .well, groomed (or not) much less tamed (or, you know, not.)

All of this, Cosmo, is why I will not be paying for your services anymore. I'd say you'd changed since the days I used to sneak into my mom's room and read her copy of Cosmo, even though she said it was far too old for me***** but actually, you have not. You're exactly the same. And that's where the problem is.

Love, kisses, and untamed va-jay-jays,

Sarah

*Estimated amount

**You COULD count them, but that would be a giant waste of time. Just estimate.

***They WERE more satisfied. I'm doing just fine, thankyouverymuch.

****Um, I'm a former editor looking for a job. CALL ME!

*****Sorry, Mom.

The One Where the Next Generation is Effed

2010-08-26T13:51:00.005-04:00

I read this article on CNN.com today called "Parents, do you know what these texts mean?" and it had the following examples of 'text speak':

"N2 2CB. WBU?" which means "I'm into hallucinogenics. What about you?" (Obviously, someone ON hallucinogenics came up with this.)

"WTG 4 a \%/" which means "Want to go for a drink?" (I actually figured this one out on my own. It was literally the only one for which I was able to do that.)

"%*@:-(" which means "Hung-over and got a headache." (To me, this one says, "Marge Simpson is having an especially bad hair day.")

"ctn pos. tdtm l8r k? :** :"" apparently means "Can't talk now. Parent over shoulder. Talk dirty to me later, OK? Returning the kiss." (WHAT? I'd heard of POS before [which, to me, will ALWAYS stand for Piece of Shit], and l8r I understand. But. . .I don't even know. I think this actually means "Sorry, my cat is currently walking across my keyboard.")

"No 420? Wiyp?" means "No weed? What is your problem?" (I got the 420 reference. But I don't understand the Wiyp? part of it. We KNOW what the problem is. No weed. [Excuse me. No 420.])

"LM4a~~#ZZZZZZ>" means "Let's meet for a joint." (I honestly don't get this one AT ALL. Can someone explain it to me?)

OK, OK. I get that teenagers (and. . .pre-teens) all use this nonsense and call it communication. What killed me was this part of the article:

Once you get the hang of the language, you can try your hand at translating a real message found by Susan Shankle and Barbara Melton, co-authors of the book "What in the World Are Your Kids Doing Online?"

The message reads:

"1 w45 50 j4ck3d up |457 n16h7. 1 5c0r3d 50m3 cr4ck 47 7h3 p4r7y 50 1'd h4v3 17 f0r 70n16h7 4nd 70m0rr0w, 4nd 7h3n J1mmy 700k 0ff w17h 17, 7h3 455h0|3! 1 4m 4|| j1773ry 4nd n33d 70 m337 up w17h y0u 70n16h7 4f73r my p4r3n75 7h1nk 1 4m 45|33p. c4n y0u m337 m3 47 b0j4n6|3'5 47 m1dn16h7 ju57 f0r 4 f3w m1nu735? 1 ju57 n33d 4 |177|3 4nd 1 c4n p4y y0u b4ck 0n m0nd4y, 1 pr0m153."

Oh my God. OH MY GOD, my EFFING BRAIN just EFFING EXPLODED.

Admittedly, when I was first reading through this, I actually got the basic gist of the message. Once you read it for long enough, you get the basic way it goes. But still.

For those of you who don't speak ~~idiot~~ 'text speak,' the message says this:

"I was so jacked up last night. I scored some crack at the party so I'd have it for tonight and tomorrow, and then Jimmy took off with it, the asshole! I am all jittery and need to meet up with you tonight after my parents think I am asleep. Can you meet me at Bojangle's at midnight just for a few minutes? I just need a little and I can pay you back on Monday, I promise."

My first question, I guess, is this: is it all the stoners who are into this kind of thing? Because the article focused on an awful lot of drug references.

Secondly. . .WHAT is HAPPENING to writing? And reading? And speaking? As a former English major (That's another question. . .once you graduate, are you still whatever your major was? Would I be an English major, or would I be a former English major?), I love words. I love writing them (properly) and reading them (properly). And the fact that all the technology ~~and really, really dumb teenagers~~ we have now is rendering all that useless? Is so, so sad to me. It's also vaguely "A Clockwork Orange."

I'm worried for the day, 50 years from now, when my grandkids are writing me thank you ~~texts~~ notes (please, dear God, please let people continue to write thank you notes.) and they something like:

y0, 6r4ndm4, 7h4nk5 f0r 7h3 5w3473r. 17 r0ck5!!! -71mmy

(Also, if I DO end up giving my grandchildren sweaters, they will be BADASS SWEATERS! With skulls and hookers on them.)

I really am just sad about the state of things nowadays. Even when I was in high school and editing my (then) boyfriend's papers, I was like, "Why can't people WRITE?" And now we're using numbers instead of letters and pictures of Marge Simpson after a night out on the town.

I'm aware I'm probably coming across as a cranky old broad, destined to sit on the porch with her cats and shake my cane at those damn kids who WON'T GET THE EFF OFF MY LAWN!, but really? I think you should have to meet a certain standard of writing before graduating high school, or you just won't be allowed to graduate. Same with college. (And I don't mean to leave out the people who don't finish high school, or don't finish college. For y'all, I say before you get any kind of job, you have to pass a test of some kind, and if you're unable to do that, you can be given some kind of class or something.

Everything's going downhill in my brain right now, because it's kind of late, but trust me. It all makes sense. Stop writing like morons. Because every time you illustrate sexual acts with random keyboard symbols and every time you WrYtE LyKe Dis, and every time you use numbers instead of letters, God kills a kitten. And then he blames you.