24

On the brink of midnight at the edge of the world it is tomorrow everywhere but here. I wonder what will happen when the clock strikes 12. I sit with my back to my headboard. Two of my oldest friends sit at the bottom of my bed. Legs crossed, we wait out the minutes to a new day. I cherish this moment. What a blessing it is to have great friends. It feels a little bit like high school again. Sitting in a circle in my room laughing about life. Things are different now. There is a toddler who won't fall asleep watching Hercules in the living room. We don't go home to our parent's house but to our own homes, families, boyfriends, husbands, kids. But in this moment it is easy to feel 16 again. I wouldn't want to do high school over again. However, to feel naive and forget the world in the last minutes before a birthday is nice. It's actually nice that while things change every day some things never do.

I didn't think I would feel differently but that night I would meet my dreams older and hopefully wiser. I still feel 23. But I do feel different. Even I know that seconds can change people. These 12 uneventful seconds did not make me 16 again but it made me see my life in a new way. It is my birthday wish that every year that I am blessed with I will remember turning 24. Remember that no matter how life changes that I should always take the good with the bad and when the clock strikes 12 on the 12th of June in the land of the midnight sun that I will know how blessed I am. Just to live.

Afterall, without the bad the good isn't nearly as sweet.

I hope that I have conveyed more than nonsense in this post. I hope you find in yourself what I am finding in myself every day. I hope you cherish your friendships, your familes, and your days.

Sara

"I tell people I am training for a marathon when I am really sitting on my couch watching Jersey Shore"

I love Post Secret. It coddles the part of me that not many people will ever know. The lonely part, the misunderstood part, the confused part. But most of all it makes me feel connected to humanity in a way that few things could because it speaks to my scared part. I am not the only one who doesn't want to tell anyone about a thought or event for fear of being judged or because it's too personal.

For those of you who don't know what Post Secret is check it out at wwww.postsecret.com. Basically it is a nationwide community art project where you write a secret on a post card and send it to a guy in Maryland who posts them in books, on the Internet, and speaks at universities throughout the country. They come in all varieties: sad, funny, ridiculous, disturbing, terrifying.

The title of today's entry was stolen from one of last week's "Sunday Secrets". It made me laugh. We have all told a lie before to make it seem as if we are being more productive than we actually are. At least I think we do. I have. And I feel connected to this person because so have they. It makes you feel a little less alone in the world.

So, in light of my proclamation of Post Secret adoration; here are some of my own secrets.

I pilfer post-it notes from work. Not whole tablets or anything-I'm not a thief but I probably use 7 or 8 sheets a week. I write the mean things I think but do not say on them and then I throw them away. If the cleaning lady ever had the notion to dig through my trash she may find out that I am not very ladylike.

I despise Lima beans. They are a sick and foul tasting bean.

I hate the word 'moist'.

I fear that people see me as a weak person.

:o) And I sent one into Post Secret anonymously. Maybe you will see it someday...the beautiful thing is that sending it has allowed me to let go.

A Semicolon Kind of Life.

Just when you were depressed because you thought I would never write again; I am back to dazzle you with my...wits.

For anyone who doesn't know, I stole "dazzle you with my...wits" from Julia Stiles a la one of my most favorite films of all time, "10 Things I Hate About You" circa 1999. Now, Heath Ledger may have died but he lives on in my heart as Patrick Verona. It's okay Julia. I hate his combat boots too.

Are you wondering what I am talking about? The truth is, I was just trying to give you some insight into my completely non lateral thought processes. I swear on my flameless, wickless scentsy candle that I had the following four thoughts in a succession the other day; I love Erika, it's a nice day, monarch butterflies, I lose.

I mean really, how is a girl supposed to get anything done when her mind is in a million places at once? I remember the routing numbers for every bank in Alaska. but I cannot, without exception, remember where I parked my car. I have also developed a habit of misusing semicolons. Basically you are supposed to use a semicolon when connecting loosely related thoughts and a comma is not strong enough. For instance:

Incorrect: The cow is brown, it is also old.
Correct: The cow is brown; it is also old.

I feel like my life is a little bit like a semicolon. Just a lot of loosely related thoughts and events strung together with a sense of duty, responsibility, and love acting as the semicolon. If the semicolon=joy then we would have a lifetime of loosely related days held together by happiness.

;

I am serious though, if we ever have a woman president, I hope she is nothing like me because somehow the president thinking I love the first man, it's raining, healthcare debate, I want to learn how to make homemade pasta disturbs me.

Until next time; have a semicolon=joy kind of day!

Sara

Selectively Classy

I must tell you a secret about my mother. She is secretly a snob like me but is real nice about it. Do you know that she does not like to pour juice out of a plastic pitcher? True story. So for Mother's Day I got her a beautiful glass juice pitcher. Then, the other day I see her eating her cheerios out of a plastic measuring bowl. Haha, now that is class. I of course teased her about it endlessly and she will most likely kill me when she reads this. But I am her flesh and blood daughter so she will still be my biggest fan. It's pretty much a requirement.

Anyway, the above event made me realize that most all women participate in some form of "class juggle". Some days we get it and others we drop every pin to the ground.

I stand there in a pair of heels, gray slacks, and a white sweater looking put together if I do say so myself and the words, "blow it out your ass" come out of my mouth. I mean really; leave it to me to put the "ass" in "class." I can dress up, decorate really cute, be professional, act sweet, do my hair  but the swearing like a fucking sailor is so bad. I try really hard to just, you know, not but I am totally cursed by stress induced word vomit. Plus, for some reason, it's sometimes so much funnier with a swear.

Why do women put on makeup and do their nails and then go to the store in a shirt with a picture of their dog appliqued to the front? Let us be real: your $500 coach bag does not cover up that you look like you haven't washed your hair since the turn of the century. These are examples of selective class.
Next time I choose a naughty word over something with a little more charm I will remember that we all have a little selective class in us and just try to do better the next time I open my mouth.

Until tomorrow, blow it out your ass.

Sara

I do best with less sleep?

Fair warning: If you are looking for laughs, start with yesterday's post.

For those that still remain the following words are written as "breaking up is hard to do and other cliches" type stuff.

When I am sitting in a mediation room: me, him, and a mediator and the last 5 months of mind altering absurdity is coming to a head, all I could think of was being in Ireland. I have never been but as he was divulging intimate details about our relationship to a complete stranger I was in a pub drinking a beer.The door was open, the breeze was fresh, and the band was great. I frequent this place. I conjure it in the worst moments. A Gerard Butler a la PS I Love You type approaches me and I instantly know this is the man I am going to spend my life with.

Except I am not in Ireland. My eyes are staring out of focus at a brochure titled "Divorcing with Dignity". The table is obnoxiously wobbly. I wonder how long he has been talking. I wonder how we got here. I am not sitting with Gerard but with an ex boyfriend who is growing a strange, very thin mustache.

The illusion is shattered.

I don't want to fight. I want to be done. We make agreements. He asks "What about couple counseling?" I laugh hysterically. He takes it back. I just can't do it anymore. He doesn't uphold any of the agreements. He doesn't ever do anything. I cannot say I am surprised; isn't that why I broke up with him in the first place? He says what he knows will get to me.

After too much sugar, way too much caffeine, and far too many tears I know what I have to do. I have to do whatever I can to get him completely out of my life. For all the women out there who have wanted to leave but couldn't, didn't, haven't but should I have this to say: The leaving is messy, the ending is imperfect, and the result is being able to find true happiness. In yourself.

Mary Kate and Ashley Olsen in their movie It Takes Two said it well, "I want that can't eat, can't sleep, reach for the stars over the fence, world series kind of love."

I'll drink to that. Now if only I could find my PS I Love You -esque man phase 2 would be complete.

You're an Antonym for Clever.

As I turned off the TV and climbed into bed I pondered what would make this sunny Saturday even better. The answer, of course, is a quick jaunt over to the fruit bearing tree of humanity best known as craigslist.

This is a difficult ad to get through-but trust me, it's a gem:

Hook, line, sinker -25 East Anchorage

After long awaited return im back, and i seen a seagull today. Why is that important you ask and only one thing comes to mind, fishing season. As many people flock to the rivers and streams i would like to snag me something up myself. Im not like many other anglers, i dont like hooking into something huge but i still like a good fight. If you surface and splash like shamu ill cut the line in a heart beat, i like a nice fit fish and heard the ones under 130 taste alot better then the large "trophy" fish. Though i still want a "trophy" i want it to be something that i can mount but i could still take on out door adventurers. So if your the kinda fish i would find half way between crow creek pass and eagle river you might just be a good catch. Send out some "bait" (a picture) and ill see what my rod does.

Recovering nice guy


I have the following unanswered questions for our gentleman caller:

1.) Who was awaiting his return?
2.) Why doesn't he capitalize "i"?
3.) Why does he hate apostrophes and proper punctuation?
4.) Why does he put "bait" in quotations and then explain what he means in parentheses?
5.) Have his beautiful metaphoric abilities ever actually gotten him laid?
6.) Why did he have to mention his rod?
7.) Why does he want a fight; is he talking about rape?
8.) What is the likelihood of catching an ORCA in an Alaskan stream?
9.) Did anyone respond to this bullshit?

I am so confused. Will someone please email this idiot and tell him that if his ad actually gets him a date to please use a condom to avoid reproducing? This metaphor gets a D for dumb. This is one poster that should have paid attention in English class or watched the "School House Rock" a second time; aye Bill?

I'm super happy that he seen a seagull but my advice to this guy is to keep baiting...because that's the only action he is likely to get. Women are not fish. You are not clever.

Alright, that's enough cattiness for today. Until next time, get out doors and enjoy your "adventurers"!

Sara

You are not allowed to talk to me like that: Work place filters.

Everyone in this business knows that escrow is a big raucous, a sometimes catty mess, and always full of people in the "different" category. I am breaking my own rules with this entry: No writing about religion, work, or politics. But today I am rebelling. What are rules if they aren't meant to be broken anyway?

I sometimes feel like I am living in a "Where The Wild Things Are" world and it's fun to roar my terrible roar, gnash my terrible teeth, and do whatever it is with my claws...I don't remember. At any rate, there is a time and a place to be productive, to be silly, to be serious, to be catty. For instance, the appropriate time for venting about work is on the deck of a restaurant with a cheesy fry in one hand and a margarita in the other with a girlfriend/coworker who just spent the week in escrow hell with you; staying until 8, having too many smoke breaks, and wondering what is happening. And your coworker says, "Oh my God and that (insert name here). She wore those khakis and came to work looking all tore up from the floor up. Does she even wash her hair. I mean really." To which I respond, "I know right? Maybe she needs a raise so she can afford a clue."

I know. Totally not nice. But what is a little cattiness between friends? What bothers me is people with whom you have no relationship outside of work who feel like they are entitled to have an opinion about your personal life.

Today I was told by a coworker that a perfectly appropriate dress I was wearing was hideous. First of all, this person is a dude. Second of all, I do not hang out with this person outside of work. Thirdly, and lastly, WHAT? It hurt my feelings. It would be one thing for a manager or a friend to politely discourage future wearing of said dress...but  who do you think you are? Have you no filter? There is nothing wrong with said dress.

There are some things you are not allowed to say. Some people have no tact. Some people have no ability to discern the difference between a friend and a coworker. Sometimes, your coworkers are your friends. But sometimes your coworkers are your coworkers.

Time to learn the difference.

Sara