My cat and dog never fight-but my brother and I do!

One time my brother hit me over the head with a guitar. True story.

One time I tackled him to the ground with brute force and beat the bejesus out of him for spending my babysitting money on candy at the stop-in store.

We have called each other the worst names and told each other the deepest confidences.

We fought over everything! The remote to the TV, the telephone, the computer, the last soda. If it was a hot commodity it was a fight.

Sometimes we got sent to our respective rooms but more often we vowed that we wouldn't tell Mom and Dad and they were never the wiser for our misbehavior.

Even now that we are adults we still fight. The themes are a little more serious than who gets to be on msn first. My dissaproval of how he is living his life wars with his annoyance with me for speaking my mind, my easy tempered and organized life is in direct conflict with his unguided, carefree spirit. However, there is one thing that will always be the truth, that he could never change, that no one could change: He is one of the few people in the world that I would be there for no matter what the circumstance.

No matter what happens my brother has a title no one else will ever have. He is my only sibling, the greatest tie to my childhood. Even when he infuriates me, makes the worst decisions, and I want to knock him upside his little head, I love him.

He has been making me laugh my whole life and I am thankful that he is my brother.

Here is to all the siblings out there!

Indublious! :o)

Diamond Dance

Last night I attended the annual company gala. The theme was something like "Celebration of Diamonds". I was able to see a lot of people who I haven't gotten to spend time with since I left the Anchorage office and it's always nice to see people we do business with everyday kicking back, relaxing, and dancing.

I won't spend as much time as I would like to on some peoples' wardrobe choices because there are some things that should always be left unsaid. But what I will say is, "wow."

What I will reflect on is my day.

I got my eyebrows waxed (finally.) and I got my hairs did (finger waves!) and dropped Bailey off at Joe's house (our house?) My showing up there resulted in a shit show of an argument because I didn't call and tell him I was on my way....even though he knew I was coming. Awesome.

I know that is not what the fight was actually about but that is part of what irritates me. Why don't you just tell me what your pissed about? That way we can skip the BS and find a solution.

It makes my heart hurt. I am really not an Ice Queen.

Then I had a wardrobe fail with my thigh highs having a huge run in them and had to buy new ones at Fred Meyer. Have you ever tried to put on hose in your car? What a pain!

The gala was really fun. Platinum Jaxx was sweaty and gross and packed. I really liked my shoes until I was sure my feet were going to fall off. I laughed a lot. Got to hang out with some amazing girls. Clocked in back home at 4 o' clock in the A.M. How could a girl ask for more?

Well, I could probably but I think that might be selfish.

Sorry today's entry is not happy. Or sad. Or particularly entertaining. It's the best I can do on a messed up sleep schedule and cold medicine.

I hope everyone has a good week!

I Judge Myself on the Cleanliness of my House.

Those who know me well know that I have a total obsession with that show Hoarders on A&E. It always makes me feel a range of emotion-empathetic and annoyed, happy and sad-I just do not understand. I am the anti-pack rat so much that I sometimes regret throwing something away. I do not keep greeting cards unless they are particularly sentimental and all of my memories fit into a 2'x4' Lane Bryant hope chest that my Grandma Schmidt gave me for a graduation present. The little box holds all my memories of childhood: my journals dating back to sixth grade when I "loved" boys I never actually spoke to, yearbooks, cards, notes, planners, a brown jacket with torn elbows and frayed edges that I practically lived in my junior/senior year, a Barbie balloon from my 15th birthday at the lake, and pictures. I wouldn't get rid of these things for all the hot chocolate lava cake in the world. I also wouldn't get attached to garbage.

My friends also know that I have a 30 minute rule. The 30 minute rule is this: My house is never dirtier than I can get cleaned in 30 minutes. If someone calls and says, "Is it okay if we stop by?" I always want to be able to say yes without a worry that I will be embarrassed by the condition of my house.

The truth is, I always want my home to be warm and welcoming. Nothing says I have walls up to me than a dirty house. I think that my attitude about house cleanliness comes from the fear that I will be perceived as unwelcoming.

The other strange thing is that I know when I state of mind is deteriorating by the condition of my house. When I am stressed or extremely sad I let everything go to shit. I stop following the rule. When I am happy I will do dishes with bells on and clean light switches and base boards. I know I am not a hoarder but I can relate to that feeling of needing stuff around me to feel calm sometimes. This is why I try to be diligent to find a happy medium between messy and compulsive. I am starting to truly recognize things in myself-my strengths and weaknesses. I think that this is the most important step in being a happy, balanced person.

Until Tomorrow,

Sara

True Love and Other Fables.

At times, if you haven’t noticed, I can be quite the pessimist. I am a positive person. I am cheery and happy and (I think) fun to be around. I love to laugh and I don’t take life too seriously. But when it does come to seriousness, especially in matters of the heart, I am totally jaded.

I don’t believe in soul mates. Isn’t that so unromantic and practical?

I think that there are too many people in the world for there to be ONE person who can love you for you until death do you part. There are 6 billion people in the world. SIX BILLION! And you are going to tell me only one of them is my true mate? I just don’t buy it! Let’s face it: relationships are work. We women are brought up watching Cinderella, Aladdin, and Snow White but the fact remains that these are just stories. Fables. Myths. I don’t anticipate that there will be a prince on a white horse climbing up my hair anytime soon nor do I want him to. How uncomfortable that would be and then when he gets in the tower what then. You have not showered, you have 23 years of bed head, and no makeup. So not cool.

Then he ends up disappointed because he couldn’t see that you had a few stray beard hairs with no tweezers or mirror to pluck them and your breath is just awful. And you are disappointed because his uniform made him look buff but really he is just chubby and he wants you to cook for him and darn his socks.

You know, I do not want to die alone and I am just secretly counting the days until I end up with someone that I really want to be with and have a family but I am not looking forward to everything that goes with it. I do not want to be with someone who I actually have to tell to not wear a skull t-shirt to a little girl’s first birthday. I do not want to be with someone who lies. I do not want to clean up your socks. I do not want you to tell me what to do. I do not want to feel like I have to check in with you.

But wait...that's not completely true.

I want to be with someone who I want to do things for; for no other reason than it brings him joy or comfort. I know that a life long marriage is not built on love alone. I know that it is not always peaches. I know too that I want to be happy. I think there are probably a few guys out there that I would be compatible with but I truly believe that with mutual commitment, respect, trust, and love a person could find many people that they would want to spend their life with.

I am not waiting for the one. I am waiting for the one who I will love-and who will love me back. The one I am willing to make a life long commitment to do things for-because whoever I choose to marry-he will be my true love. I will choose him not because of some vague Hollywood conception of "the one" but because I love him and I choose to share my life with him.

Love Always,

Sara

Last Bite-itus: A Chromosomal Affliction of the Double X

I just got home from a bridal shower that my office threw for a coworker (and friend!) who is leaving the company to be with her new husband in a small town in the frozen north. I hope her day was as fabulous as she is. But as I sit I reflect on the day and watch the cursor blink I remember what I wanted to write about today.

Last Bite-itus.

A few years ago now a friend and I were at Applebees having a girls' night dinner. We decided after our meal that we would share a dessert. We of course chose that giant delicious lava cake thing with the chocholate and icecream and hot fudge. As the cake began to grow closer to its demise my subconscience began to warn me. "Stop," it said. "Danger." We ate until only one bite remained. And then we both put our spoons down and looked at each other. There was still a sizable morsel on the plate but we just locked eyes almost questioningly; wondering who might take the last bite. Finally my friend said to me, "Why do women always do this with the last bite!?" And just as we were discussing the probabilities of the nature versus nurture elements of her question the waiter swooped in and took the plate. We of course started to laugh as a somewhat bewildered Applebees employee carried the evidence of our curse to the kitchen.

What is it about women that makes us push away the plate and offer the last bit to the other person? My ever positive friend says it's in our nature to give nourishment to others and it goes against our nature to take the last of something. I think I probably agree with her. But then, it's not a curse then is it? It is part of the beautiful gift of being a woman.

A more pessimistic person might say that it's something in society that makes us do this. It is not socially acceptable to take the last bit. We don't want to appear selfish. We don't want to take more than our share.

In any case, I know my mom never said to me, "Now Sara. When it gets to the last bite, don't eat it. Leave it stagnant and alone even if you are dying to eat it because if you have the last bite you will appear selfish to those around you. Oh dear, and when the waiter comes to take away the source of your inner turmoil, you will thank him! Isn't that lovely?"

Ever since that night I always seem to notice when women are leaving the last for someone else. It always makes me smile. It has become the favorite inside joke of my relationship with this friend and even though we poke fun at it whenever we eat a meal together it is there beneath the surface.

Next time you are out, check it out. What do you think; is it a blessing or a curse?

The Problem With Skinny Jeans is You're Not Skinny.

This is a public service announcement for all my fellow voluptuous vixens. The problem with skinny jeans is you are not skinny. It’s okay. It is. Yes you are beautiful. Yes you are fabulous. Yes you can still rock high heels and a pencil skirt. However; skinny jeans. Are. Not. Your. Friend.

Want to make your butt look even bigger? Get a pair. But if I see one more big girl looking like Conan O’Brien did in those jeggings I am going to die. Seriously die. Skinny jeans only look cute on models and celebrities who have massive amounts of cash and liposuction. I do not have massive amounts of cash, long legs, liposuction, or the waistline of a 5 year old so I do not reach for the SJs. I go bootcut. I am definitely not What Not to Wear’s Stacey but I want to say that if you have a desert animal between your legs ( I can’t even type it-it grosses me out that much) your pants are too tight.

Do you know who makes a fabulous jean in plus sizes? Silver. Torrid sells them and they are a little on the expensive side but they last forever, they are super cute, and you won’t have to dress up your fat roll with a pretty pink belt.

Also, if you are under 5’8” ish and you decide a pair of skinny jeans are for you do not, I repeat do not, wear them with flats. You look like you are in grade school.


If all else fails, I know you own a mirror. If you don't own a mirror I am not sure where you live but skinny jeans are the least of your problems.

Please get dressed! I judge you by what you wear to the store.

I wouldn’t want anyone to get the wrong idea about me but I feel the necessity to begin a new blog in total honesty.

My favorite pajama pants leave something to be desired in the fashion department. I leave my under garments on the bathroom floor when I am late to work. I rarely do the dishes right after dinner. I wait until the last possible moment to take out the trash. I hate to exercise. I actually enjoy reality TV. I never fold socks.

I do not under any circumstances suspect that I am not being judged. But while you are judging me I am also judging you. Judging has such a bad stigma but I don’t know that it’s necessarily a bad thing. If nobody judged anyone we would never accomplish anything or set standards. I get the whole-beauty is in the eye of the beholder, don’t judge a book by the cover-mess. I do. But tell me you don’t notice when a tween is standing there in a slinky tank top and a pair of shorts that double as undies, a vision of adolescent scantiness, and think, “My God. My mother would never have allowed me out of the house in that.”

When I am looking for crackers I do not want to see your secret parts. I know advertising is taking “sex sells” to a whole new level but until there are naked people on my box of cheerios I think you should save your pajamas and swimwear for the appropriately designated locations.

It just bothers me that for every person that appears in public attempting to act and behave like a civilized person there is a caveman in dirty sweatpants swearing at the cashier. Do not get me wrong, I have made the mid-night milk run with no makeup and my haphazard hair pulled into a ponytail but I wouldn’t go out to the mall in my boyfriend’s boxer shorts.

Don't want to be judged? Here is a hint; before you go out, get dressed. Especially if you are an adult. If you are 30 do not wear your superhero jammies to the supermarket. You will be perceived a certain way by your fellow citizens. You should care how you look. I am not a skinny girl by any stretch of the imagination but I care that my 'wobbly bits'  are well covered and that I am put together. The "if you got it, flaunt it" rule only makes the world more akward and gross. And if you don't got it, don't flaunt it. I think that about covers all the bases. As in, put clothes on before you leave the house. If you wear it to bed don't wear it out. I don't want to see your thong. I don't care that Family Guy is your favorite cartoon so you bought the pants in the beer can at the novelty store. I want you to look like an adult and I want you to make sure your children are dressed as well. Life is not a pajama party.

Okay, I am off the soapbox. Until next time, stay classy!