What A Total Pratt: A CL Edition.

It has been so long, too long I think, since I have done a CL edition. I felt so inspired after reading this one though that I couldn't help but do my thing.

Where are the real girls at? Seriously. - m4w - 22 (Soldotna)

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Date: 2012-05-31, 12:29AM AKDT
Reply to: c9jr3-3043865838@pers.craigslist.org

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This is so weird. I am posting an ad on Craigslist to find girls. I mean really? I'm not some awkward person I'm actually quite the opposite. I'll show pictures because I don't care. I don't even live in anchorage. But i drive up all the time. I'm just tired of going out and seeing these girls that aren't even good looking. Or just weird or whatever. For instance, Im trying to dance with an actual cute girl and then there's her boyfriend who just starts acting really sad and angry. Then the rest of the girls around are just no good.

Ok so now it sounds like I go to the bars all the time. Not true. But I do like to have fun. Everyone says I'm crazy. Its great. Hahaha

So enough with that. I know there's random girls that read these but they think these guys are creepers and weird.

So if there's any real girls out there that are good looking feel free to reply. This has been a huge rant just because I don't want some elephant blowing up my phone. Everyone's going to be really sad about everything I'm saying but I'm just saying what everyone else is too afraid to say.

So no whales. Just saying.

I dont want a girlfriend. Especially one off Craigslist. But I mean think of how cool that would make me. Call me or text me or whatever and then this weekend we will go have fun.
I'm going to spell out my phone number because I guess that's cool.

Nine oh seven. Three nine four. Four nine oh seven.

Or you can email me and I'll just take alot longer to respond. Here's pictures of me with just randoms.

I'm actually an awesome guy. This makes me sound crazy though.

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Dear "Where The Girls At?", 

First of all in answer to your question I just want to point out that you live in Soldotna. I could be wrong but might it just be possible that the "girls" are not in Soldotna? 

My main reason for writing however isn't to discuss the Soldotna census but rather that I am worried about your sobriety; were you drunk when you posted this? I am not asking because you ended the title of your ad with a preposition but more because that would be the only thing to excuse this much dumb.

I became especially lost about mid way when you began spouting hatred for large animals. Maybe you have had a bad experience with elephants but sir, I must assure you that I have never known an elephant to blow up someone's phone. How silly!

Also I am appalled at your accusation that only awkward people post on CL. I mean really, sometimes a girl just has to sell her Pomapoos for $1,000 each. (A Pomapoo is a cross between a Poodle and a Pomeranian. Must I explain everything!?) That doesn't mean she is awkward, it means she is a crook. No one wants your stupid designer dog! But I digress.

Your post didn't make me sad at all really...mostly because I didn't understand where you were going. You kept saying blah blah, I am not crazy, blah blah, people on CL are all losers, I hate large ocean dwellers blah blah. Me thinks that thou doth protesteth too much if you know what I mean.

Oh, and just as a side note when people say, "you're so crazy" it is usually code for: You are the most obnoxious person I have ever spoken to but I am a nice and unsure about how you will retaliate so I will just giggle and say something harmless like 'you're so crazy.' It's not a funny compliment, I promise.

In conclusion, would you mind toning down the stupid? Your brand of annoying is making me wish I could make you put a dollar in the douche bag jar.

Happy to help!

Sara

You're not really a woman until...

I am vaguely sure that the punishment for all the crap we put our moms through is this:

Totally random, oddly spaced beard hairs that appear out of nowhere. One morning you just wake up and BAM there it is in all its manly glory. One very long hair on your chin that was most definitely not visible the night before is growing out of your chin like a mini version of Jack's magical beanstalk.

But you aren't yet a woman of substance until you are touching up your make up in your office and one wayward follicle puts you in such a panic that you begin to dig frantically for something, anything that will make it go away. You dump your purse out on your desk but are unable to find any device capable of plucking that lone beard hair. Until....

I know. It is truly tragic. But this isn't a carnival; what is a girl to do. Really.

The Journey

Since I have been unable to find the words I want to say lately...I will let someone else speak for me.

The Journey

One day you finally knew
what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you
kept shouting
their bad advice --
though the whole house
began to tremble
and you felt the old tug
at your ankles.
"Mend my life!"
each voice cried.
But you didn't stop.
You knew what you had to do,
though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations,
though their melancholy
was terrible.
It was already late
enough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen
branches and stones.
But little by little,
as you left their voices behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice
which you slowly
recognized as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do --
determined to save
the only life you could save.

~ Mary Oliver ~

Reason 1 of 10 why I am batshit crazy.

Today something horrible happened. Seriously horrible. I don't know what percentage of the female race has been party to this sort of catastrophe but recent polls done scientifically by me asking women in my office show that this has happened to 100% of women. With such a high victimization rate you would expect that someone would have talked about it, come to some sort of solution, SOMETHING.

Why, oh why does the the thigh rip out of your pants at the most inopportune moment so that you will be both embarrassed and distraught over your thigh skin showing through a rip in your pants. I mean really. Oh sure, it's no problem to have your inner thigh exposed to your clients. It is totally fine.

So there I was chatting and having a root beer float with the dear Realtors on the deck upstairs when a small gust of wind sent a napkin floating into the air. Unsuspecting of any sort of thread integrity problem I bent to retrieve it and the whole patio was just silent enough for me to hear the resounding tear. Of my pants. Awesome. No seriously, I like it.

I love that now there is a piece of masking tape scraping the crap out of my leg as a temporary fix to the permanent problem of my pants that are now junk.

Now I need to start an offering for my new charity, "The fat girls' foundation for fraying knickers". Imagine donating to that with your PFD. Pick. Click. Give! I know I would. I feel you sisters, I feel you.

I mean my phone is a computer and denim still wears out. I need more my pants to be more scientific. Much more scientific and borg-y.

Welcome to my life fraught with sadness. Welcome to the denim disaster diaries. Any condolence would be deeply appreciated,.

Things I have anxiety over that I shouldn't. Part 2: items 4-8

This is mostly a blog with my appearance based anxieties.

4.) The zombie apocalypse. I mean, everyone is talking about it. If I am honest with myself I can admit that I am way to out of shape to outrun the blood seeking undead. I once had a dream that I was at the office by myself and I was walking through the back door where we store all the boxes of old files and zombies started climbing out of the old cubicles and over the boxes and I had to run away. And this was terrifying because it meant that I will probably be killed by zombies.

5.) Everyone hates me. This is basically impossible. I have a gigantic family that is basically required to love me. I am a friendly, social, kind, and fairly introspective person. The likelihood of everyone hating me is zero. However, here we are.

6.) Developing cankles.

7.) Not knowing where to find something at the store. I once had to ask nice, attractive young gentleman if he could point me in the direction of the lard. Can you imagine what a laugh he got later that the fat...errr voluptuous chick at the store asked where the lard was? It scarred me for life.

8.) That I will be on an episode of Maury called 'I am big, sexy, and I know it". And I am sitting on the couch in too revealing lingerie with my name on the bottom of the screen with a caption that says, "I gots it and I flaunts it." Oh my.

Today.

My day began with The Invitation. My cousin posted a hard to read portion of it to my Facebook page but I recognized it immediately as the Oriah poem that I once vowed to live by. So much has happened since I first read those words. So many days have passed since I picked up the book at Barnes and Noble. One small book with a sunflower on the cover. It was on sale and I bought it because it matched my decor of all reasons. Typical Sara move really. I buy into something for the outside and am fundamentally changed by the heart of it all. 


"I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself; if you can bear the accusation of betrayal and not betray your own soul."


I feel like if I treat this wonderful work as a to do list that it defeats the purpose of the words themselves and only serves to confirm my need to check things off a list rather than LIVE. But I feel if I don't treat it as a to do list that I will somehow miss part of it and end up in a mess. And then I know that the mess is part of it. What kind of woman am I at the end of the mess is what is important. Not that we create messes just to clean them so we have something to do. But I want to be the kind of person who can "live with failure...and still stand on the edge of the lake and shout to the silver of the full moon, "YES!"


Every day I put a new quote on the marker board on the fridge. A few days ago the quote of the day was, "Do that which you are most afraid." Yesterday was, "Advice is what you ask for when you know the answer but wish you didn't."


The universe is urging me to step toward something and didn't I say myself, "Go. Don't ask why. Ask what." I am not yet ready to reveal my thoughts or plans for fear (yes fear) of feeling obligated to do something I wasn't meant to do because I had a day filled with things that cannot merely be coincidence. 


Especially when five minutes after I vocalized what I was thinking of doing I began to retract and make excuses as to why it is impossible. I said, "I have a life here." And my kindred spirit, like a good friend should, responded by asking me, "what is life?" It is such a good question. 


And as my day began it ends with The Invitation. I wonder whether or not I am truly ready to accept it.

It doesn't interest me what you do for a living I want to know what you ache for and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart's longing. It doesn't interest me how old you are I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love for your dreams for the adventure of being alive. It doesn't interest me what planets are squaring your moon... I want to know if you have touched the center of your own sorrow if you have been opened by life's betrayals or have become shrivelled and closed from fear of further pain. I want to know if you can sit with pain mine or your own without moving to hide it or fade it or fix it. I want to know if you can be with joy mine or your own if you can dance with wildness and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes without cautioning us to be careful be realistic to remember the limitations of being human. It doesn't interest me if the story you are telling me is true. I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself. If you can bear the accusation of betrayal and not betray your own soul. If you can be faithless and therefore trustworthy. I want to know if you can see Beauty even when it is not pretty every day. And if you can source your own life from its presence. I want to know if you can live with failure yours and mine and still stand on the edge of the lake and shout to the silver of the full moon, "Yes." It doesn't interest me to know where you live or how much money you have. I want to know if you can get up after a night of grief and despair weary and bruised to the bone and do what needs to be done to feed the children. It doesn't interest me who you know or how you came to be here. I want to know if you will stand in the center of the fire with me and not shrink back. It doesn't interest me where or what or with whom you have studied. I want to know what sustains you from the inside when all else falls away. I want to know if you can be alone with yourself and if you truly like the company you keep in the empty moments.

Since when did I become a ma'am?

Somewhere in your mid-twenties you are bound to have a fairly serious quarter life crisis. This happens when you start asking the questions that you have been either too drunk or too dumbfounded by adulthood to ask yourself. Mainly: What am I doing, what am I doing, what, what, what am I doing?

And all because people started calling me ma'am. From ma'am on it is really just a straight path to 30. I am not in the know and am pretty sure I sound like the mom on Modern Family when I exclaim that something I found on Facebook is "Totes Adorbs". Some part of me is so proud to have achieved the car, home, and maturity level to be called ma'am but mostly I am quasi-horrified that I now refer to 18 year old adults as "kids".

I have no real clue where the last 7 years have gone and know that the next 7 and the next will go by just as fast. I am trying to enjoy every stage of my life. Instead of being eager to get to the next stage I am going to try to enjoy becoming "ma'am" and be excited for the next chapter.

Life is an adventure and that doesn't even begin to cover it.

Until next time, stay happy.

Sara