Original post from alternate blog...I'm posting it here because it's sparked a little controversy. I've also posted one of the comments to said entry and my response. Enjoy...and discuss, if you wish.

Guess what, suckers? I have nothing good to say.

Haha...you kept reading! You kept reading!

A few observations:

1. People don't know how to use Evite or Myspace Event Invitations. Apparently, it's very difficult to click "yes" or "no". I'm guessing this is due to that extra click per day being inexplicably painful. Too painful, in fact, to allow someone to know if the people that they've invited to an event worth expending copious amounts of energy creating an internet invitation for what is to be a hella (yes, "hella") good time, will actually be showing up. It's not as if someone hasn't been guilty of not responding to invitations herself...Oh, she has...but now it's something that's affecting someone adversely, and in the name of hyposcrisy, someone's a little perturbed.

2. In light of the Virginia Tech shootings, it's remarkable how soccer moms from the suburbs are suddenly frightened of Ly Chung Ho that lives down the street...who until now made GREAT Asian food, but as of yesterday, "always seemed a little suspicious". Sheesh. Calm the hell down, people. Be sad and all, but don't hate the foreigners, figure out something about our ridiculously lax gun laws. Oh wait...you keep one of those in your little Upper Arlington cookie cutter home right next to your bed with the linens you purchased at full price from the Ralph Lauren store. Guns, that is. Not foreigners. I'm assuming soccer moms don't keep dirty foreigners in their nightstands.

3. What's with people who are completely delusional about their talents. Statement, not question.

4. All of my closest friends are deathly ill. I will take credit for this gladly.

5. I like pancakes.

6. I seriously, seriously, have the cutest dog EVER.The End.

Lost ME Boy
Alrighty Sarah... you do realize that even more stringent gun laws wouldn't have helped in this situation, don't you...or do you really believe what you said? To purchase a pistol, one must go through a seven day waiting period in which a background check can and is completed on the first day. The handgun laws make a person wait seven days, due to fact that a handgun is easy to conceal and a "Wannabe First Time Offender" would have to wait seven days to actually come to their sense before doing antyhing rash.

Now, to purchase any type of firearm, a background check is done before the firearm is sold. If a person has NO criminal record, or record of mental illness, they are sold the firearm. They will not sell a firearm to just anyone.

Now, if Little Johnny So-and-so has "Flipped his wig" and plans on doing soemthing crazy, can anyone truely stop him? If he's never done anything, prior, to prove that he is emotionally unbalanced, the sad answer is...."No".

If little Suzie Sweetheart just got dumped by her boyfriend and is emotionally unbalanced can she easily swerve into the oncoming traffic lane at 60 miles an hour and take out a family of four? Sadly..."Yes". Who could've stopped her? (And don't tell me it's not the same. You can kill plenty of people if you're willing to go down with 'em) Some people are just screwed-up and there isn't much we can do about it if we're not willing to lose a lot of our rights as well.

The real question is.."Why did NO ONE NOTICE that this individual was NOT emotionally balanced BEFORE all this happened?" Did his parents have NO CLUE? Friends, other family members, etc., etc. THAT'S WHAT IS CRAZY. Not one person knew ANYTHING in regards to the "Shooter's" state of mind. He was that detached from the world?

We live in a selfish society. It's all about "Getting mine", "What I want", etc. Taking away our rights will not change how people in today's society are treating , or not treating each other. Why don't we go there first.
Posted by Lost ME Boy on Tuesday, April 17, 2007 at 7:36 PM

Sarah

Right...it's the old, "Guns don't kill people...I do." Perfect.

I am guessing, however, that the death toll would have been a little lower had he used a knife. And, since we seem to be having some confusion, I'm talking about something small...not a light sabre, which we all know can kill masses of people, especially when combined with Jedi Mind Trick.

Here's the thing. Europeans are flabbergasted right now about America's obssesion with firearms. In Britain last year, only 46 deaths were because of guns. Forty six. In one YEAR. If I do my calculations correctly, our little Virginia Tech boy did 69% of that damage in just two hours. Here in Columbus, a small child was killed today due to a gun going off accidentally. Sure, people can kill people in any old way, but there aren't many weapons out there that can do the mass (and accidental...not too many people mistakenly slice their jugular while dicing onions) destruction that a gun can. I'm not saying people shouldn't have the right to purchase guns, but seven days and some paperwork is not a stringent enough precaution.

I'm not discounting your notion that somebody should have caught that What's-His-Face was unbalanced long before anything awful happened. You're absolutely right on that count. It's one more instance of our society marginalizing those in serious need of help. But the gun thing...maybe it's because you're from Kentucky?

That was a JOKE. Don't shoot me

There's nothing quite like sitting in a Panera in the lovely city of Findlay, Ohio, while you struggle to keep your eyes open by browsing for quality on the interweb (there's not much) and listening to Spanish guitar music. Yes, I chose to listen to said music on my headphones. Bite me.

When I got to Panera, a VERY friendly clerk was ready to help me with my order. I got my usual (everything bagel with light cream cheese, thanks for asking) and my total came to:

"One hundred million dollars."

Oh, clever, Way Too Happy Man.

He went to prepare my bagel while I fished around for NOT one hundred million dollars, and when he returned:

"Your total comes to one hundred million dollars."

"I seem to be a little short," I commented, dryly.

"No, you seem to be about average height."

(Pause in which I ponder whether to laugh politely or punch this guy in the face.)

"Haha."

"That'll be three eighty-four?"

"Better."

"Okay!!" he replied, still cheerfully (WAY too cheerfully for the hour). "Enjoy yooourrr meal!"

I'm pretty sure a small growl escaped with my mumbled "thanks", but I passed it off as coughing.

NO ONE should be that happy in the morning. The Starbucks people are the same way. I think they're operating under the theory that "Happiness is contagious". Chicken pox are contagious, herpes are contagious...you might even say that bad ideas are contagious, but happiness is a choice. I choose to not be happy until after ten in the morning and three cups of bowel immobilizing sludge (a.k.a. coffee that I make).

I also choose to end this post forthwith. I need more coffee.

Fill in the Blank: Sarah is______ (psst..."awesome")

Apparently, I haven't been blogging enough. Well, people, do you remember how many times I've touted my own virtues? Have I not made it clear yet how very, very busy and important I am? How incredibly awesome I remain? Do you think that I just have hours and hours in my day to entertain you? I mean, I have things to do, namely, being awesome and not a little amazing. I also have laundry. And a dog. Seriously, the world can't really handle all my awesomeness, let alone myself. I have to schedule and prioritize. I don't have all hours in the day to not only remind my co-workers and friends how great I am, let alone you people who have nothing better to do than to read my drivel. I am...

...bored with myself. I'll stop now.

So today Lisa and I decided to brave the still unshoveled sidewalks and head over to Cafe Brioso for lunch (it was delicious...thanks for asking). On our way back we were (naturally) hit on by a stranger, who thought it was appropriate to start a conversation with us on the corner of High and Long, regardless of the fact that we were trying very hard to pretend to ignore him. After the light changed, we continued on our way, leaving him with our two extremely fake laughs and "please don't ever speak to us again" smiles.

We walked the next block talking ethics (yes, for real) and came up to High and Spring, and noticed that our little lighted "WALK" had been replaced with a flashing red "DON'T WALK", which we all know means, "CONTINUE WALKING, BUT A LITTLE FASTER NOW, WITH A RANDOM SKIP HERE AND THERE LIKE YOU HAVE TOURETTES". We were right at the opposite side when we heard traffic start up, and then the sound of feet pounding the pavement. I turned just in time to see our "friend" running pell-mell to beat the rush, and then, instead of braving the pile of hardened slush and grit like the rest of us normal people do, he decided it'd be a great idea to jump the arctic heap. He landed on the other side smack into the middle of a puddle...which I was standing next to.

You know, I was kind of considering dating his forty-year-old ass, but he ruined it then. He also ruined my pants, which I enjoyed almost as much as the time I had explosive diarrhea and profuse vomiting SIMULTANEOUSLY.

Okay. Off to do more of the awesome.

Will Work for Food. Or Shoes.

Somebody give me a job. Preferably something where I don't actually have to work very hard and I get to look pretty. Actually, if someone could arrange it so that I can keep up the public speaking and generally continue being the center of attention, I'd really appreciate it.

Let me tell you how much I HATE looking for a job. It's not that I don't like interviewing (I actually love it...it's a good way for me to utilize my buckets full of charm and charisma that I was so blessed with at birth. Oh yeah, and I'm soooo likeable.) But I HATE tailoring my resume for every job, I hate tweaking my cover letters, I hate searching for names of people and researching companies...because dammit, I like to do things RIGHT, and doing things RIGHT requires extra time and effort, whether that's in job hunting or cleaning or being awesome. Mostly in being awesome.

So yeah, I'm doing a bit of networking here to my tens of fans...gimme a job. I don't have any particular skills, really, except that--in all humility--I'm really, really good at speaking in front of people. I also make a mean pot of coffee. I enjoy wearing mildly slutty office attire as well.

WARNING: THIS POST MAY CONTAIN ONE OR ALL OF THE FOLLOWING--
1. SWEARING
2. INAPPROPRIATENESS
3. TMI
4. KITTENS

CONTINUE READING AT YOUR OWN RISK.

I'm not sure what it is with "loud talkers" that they think that everything in life must be uttered at an ear-shattering decibel. One of my patients at the orthodontist office was a loud talker AND had Aspbergers, so when he said, "This radio station's for pussies!", it sort of reverberated throughout the open clinic. Nice. Some people's voices just carry more than others, I guess. In college, we always labeled them "Loud Guy". "Oh, So-and-so, he's 'Loud Guy'."

My pharmacist is a "Loud Guy".

I know he's a Loud Guy because I'm one of those really awesome people that gets to see my pharmacist WAY more than the average person, due to the fact that my tonsils are hard-core partiers with sundry bacteria and whatnot. They're the Lindsay Lohan of my body. About every six weeks, they hold a kegger with every germ in the neighborhood. (It's nice to know that they're not bigoted in any way. Jesus would be proud of how accepting they are, really.) Yes, so my overly-friendly tonsils cause me to drag my ass into CVS quite regularly, and my pharmacist just peers at me over the top of his glasses and fills my prescription. This is after he asks, for the seventeenth time, "HAVE YOU HAD A PRESCRIPTION WITH US BEFORE?"

To which I'd like to reply, just as loudly, "YES, DUMB ASS. YOU SEE ME ALL THE TIME. AND WHY ARE YOU PEERING? QUIT PEERING. THIS MAKES ME DOUBT YOUR ABILITY TO COUNT PILLS. ESPECIALLY YOUR ABILITY TO COUNT THE RIGHT PILLS." (What I really say, though, is, "Yes".)

"OKAY," he'll say, "IT'LL BE FIFTEEN MINUTES." At which point, I'll tool around CVS looking at magazines and buying make-up I don't need while I wait.

So then, about a month ago, I began having some, uh, "issues"...you know, down there. And not my throat or esophagus "down there", but down there down there. I thought I could ignore it, thinking maybe I'd switched to a soap that down there didn't like, but it never really cleared up, and last week, I found myself at the doctor's, you know, the down there doctor (hence the italics), and it turns out that my good girl is just a drama queen and doesn't like change, and "here's a 'scrip that'll clear that up in no time." And by "clear up", I don't mean anything disgusting. I was just using the phrase as a way to describe...never mind.

ANYWAY, I go to visit my favorite loud-talking pharmacist. I hand him my prescription, and then watch as he walks aimlessly 'round and 'round a shelving unit full of creams and salves (Hmmm...I wonder what "Anal Gesic" is for...) looking for my needed medicine. After five minutes on this circuit, during which time I was sure if he peered less I would have been checked out by now, he tells me, "WE DON'T HAVE THAT IN STOCK."

"Oh," I reply. "Can I get it at another CVS?"

"YEAH. THE ONE IN GAHANNA SHOULD HAVE IT."

"Alright," I sigh, thinking of driving through four o'clock traffic to the neighboring suburb. "Could you maybe call and check to be sure they have it before I drive there?"

"SURE." He got on the horn.

I'm not sure what I was thinking. Maybe I thought he wouldn't be quite so loud on the phone, or maybe I thought he'd just give them the name of the medicine I needed. Maybe I thought...I don't know what I thought, but I still didn't expect:

"HELLO, THIS IS SO-AND-SO FROM STELZER ROAD. (pause). DO YOU HAVE SUCH-AND-SUCH VAGINAL CREAM?"

Oh dear God.

I actually laughed out loud. I wasn't even embarrassed because it was so darn funny that now not only did everyone in the store know what medicine I needed, they knew roughly why. I mean, if you say something like, "DO YOU HAVE AMOXICILLIN?" that's a hard one to place. You may have any number of things wrong with you. But yell "VAGINAL CREAM" and there's something very obviously goin' on with your no-no. Nobody uses vaginal cream for their face. Or for the flu. Or for a sinus infection. Yep...no mistaking that one. The only way it could have been worse is if I was a guy and my friendly pharmacist asked for "VIAGRA", because that word erases any question you might have about why that person needs that particular drug.

Ah, well, hmm. And now YOU all know what medicine I needed. This is far worse than Loud Guy. I am now "TMI Girl". Great. Well! I think that's enough over-exposure for you all today...

At least I wasn't rambling about coffee...

If someone could please figure out a way to get coffee through an IV drip, it would be much appreciated. Appreciation will be shown through me NOT BEING SUCH A LAME ASS.

Today, at Large Multi-National Corporation, my boss came up to me to tell me that I did a recent project completely wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong. We looked together at the project I had e-mailed him and I sat there, dumbfounded, wondering why it looked so funny. So, he asked me to re-do the whole thing, and the whole time, I'm thinking, "I KNOW I did that right! I did exactly what he asked!" He sent me an exact example of what he wanted to see, and I kept looking at that and the project I sent him, and still remained clueless.

A good ten minutes later, through my sleepy stupor, I realized that I had just sent him the wrong attachment. THE COMPLETELY AND TOTALLY WRONG ATTACHMENT.

I think there is something wrong with my brain. And with my body. I can't even somewhat function without coffee in the morning. I read a nutrition book recently that told me that coffee, for my body type, is a like a street drug. Whatever. Just because I can't live without it, and just because I'm a nicer and better person with it (and a really horrible one without) and just because it only works for fifteen minutes and then I crash, causing me to need four and five cups a day at least...whatever. Doctors don't know anything.

Ugh, this has turned into one of those, "All about me boring blogs that goes on and on about inane things at work and in my life that you could care less about". I sincerely apologize.

I'll drink some more coffee and try again later.

When you're crying:

An okay friend will pat your hand.

A good friend will hug you.

A great friend will punch you on the shoulder and yell, "Hey! Stop that!"

Here's to great friends:
And yes, this picture's from Halloween, ya bastards.

Congratulations, fellow bloggers. We are officially completely self-absorbed.

In other news, Lisa and I just got back from the most boring lunch ever...with each other. Rather than give you a play by play (which I'm sure you can't wait to hear since I've already dubbed it "the most boring lunch ever"), I'm going to write a short one-act chronicling our experience.

Loose Change: a One Act Play Inspired by Actual Events
By: Sarah

(The stage is set stage center with a small table for two. Stage left is a mock conveyor belt scattered with used trays. Everything, including table, chairs and any props are painted a dull gray to represent the mind-numbing aura of a large Multi-National Corporation. Even though they are alone, both actors should pretend they are surrounded by other tables and chairs, as well as throngs of people in this "cafeteria" setting. Sarah, an extremely attractive woman in her late twenties, enters upstage left carrying a tray of food, and looks around to find a place to sit. She spies the table and seats herself and begins eating. Lisa, another attractive woman in her mid-twenties, enters several seconds later also from stage left and looks around as if trying to find someone. Sarah waves her hand, and Lisa joins her at the table and also begins to eat.)

Lisa: You got a salad?
Sarah: Yeah!
Lisa: (snidely) Why? Are you trying to be healthy?
Sarah: (cheerily) No. I actually just really wanted one!
Lisa: Oh. I didn't.
(silence ensues for a full five minutes as Sarah and Lisa eat and "observe" their surroundings. Actually, Lisa does no such thing, but focuses on her food like it's the last supper.)
Sarah: (seeing Lisa's clean plate) Whoah. Someone was hungry.
Lisa: Yeah.
(pause)
Sarah: (indicating salad) I love spinach!
Lisa: Me too! But I don't like it cooked. It gets all mushy.
Sarah: Well, I like it in things. Like pasta.
Lisa: Maybe that's why I don't like brownies.
Sarah: (disbelieving) You don't like brownies?
Lisa: I don't like the texture.
Sarah: Oh. You're weird.
(another five minutes of silence)
Lisa: When do you want to leave today?
Sarah: I dunno. Whenever.
Lisa: I need to take a nap before the big game.
Sarah: Yeah. I need to re-shower.
Lisa: Me too.
(silence)
Lisa: This is awful.
Sarah: I know.
Lisa: It's like a bad blind date.
Sarah: (changing subject) Everybody's wearing red for the game.
Lisa: Cuuute.
(silence)
Sarah: I'd rather be working than sitting here like this.
Lisa: (incredulous) But you'd rather have your teeth pulled out than do actual work.
Sarah: (blandly) I'd rather be working than sitting here like this.
Lisa: (laughs) Let's go.
(silence as the pair gather up their trays and head for the exit stage left. They set down their trays on conveyor belt and continue walking for the exit)
Sarah: (thoughtfully) I don't like nickels.
Lisa: I don't think anything lower than a quarter should exist. It's ridiculous.
Sarah: Ooooh, but I love dimes! They're little!
Lisa: Me too!
(Both women look at each other for a second, then burst into laughter at the new low their conversation has sunk to.)
Sarah: I'll see you after work. (exits upstage left)
Lisa: Yeah. Bye. (exits downstage left)
(Lights down.)

Perverts and Parapalegics...

...can often be the same thing.

WARNING: THIS POST WILL PROBABLY BROACH ON "UN-PC" SEVERAL TIMES. CONTINUE READING AT YOUR OWN RISK OF BEING HORRIBLY OFFENDED.

So, the other day I had to go into Large Grocery Store Chain to get a money order (I just never re-ordered any checks. I am lazy and ridiculous. I'll admit it.). I go to get in line at customer service, and just ahead of me is an older man in a wheelchair who is accompanied his mother (I assume). She turns from the main line and joins the line for cigarettes (uhh, not a good idea, lady. Your son is carrying a rather large oxygen tank), so I ask the son politely if he's waiting in line.

"Excuse me. (smile) Are you waiting?"

"Nah, buh ah way ehmean way wi you."

I paused, then kind of giggled, because OBVIOUSLY he had said, "No, but I'll wait if it means I can wait with you."

*****OH MY GOSH. That was horrible. I just phonetically wrote out the speech of a disabled person. I can feel the flames now. Okay, from here on out, I'll just write what he said, and you can IMAGINE with me that it was all very hard to understand. Moving on...******

"Okay," I said. "Thank you."

I turn around to wait, but I quickly figured out he wasn't kidding about waiting with me as he began inching his chair closer to me.

"I like your red hair," he said. "It's beautiful."

"Thank you," I replied, blushing a little.

"I love red hair," he continued. "Is it natural?"

I laughed. "Actually, no."

"I still really like it. It's really nice," he said again, as he continued to move himself closer to me. By now, the closeness was definitely in my 18 inches of personal space, so I scooched forward in line a little more and pretended to be engrossed in the sign that lists the plethora of shitty in-store services.

"You know what I don't like?" (inch, inch)

"Whoah, Pal!" I say somewhat jokingly, "You said I could get in line in front of you! Are you trying to cut me off?" (BIG, somewhat fake smile)

"You know what I don't like?" he said again.

This time I pretended like he said something witty, and I smiled and nodded. I KNOW, I KNOW...very insulting and awful, and I did it anyway. But apparently, it wasn't enough of a deterrent, and--

"You know what I don't like?"

I sighed, "What don't you like?"

This was a mistake. My response incited him to again invade my personal space, and now I was getting really uncomfortable. I looked around for his mom, but she was gone. I looked and saw there was one more person in line in front of me, and I desperately wondered how I was going to politely extract myself from this situation. I scooched forward some more, trying to avoid not only my "friend", but also grazing the guy's ass in front of me. This was no easy task.

"I don't like people."

I cracked a smile...okay, this might be interesting. "You don't like people?" I repeated, smirking and raising an eyebrow.

"I don't like people's pubic hair."

Oh God.

He kept going. "I don't like people's pubic hair that doesn't match the hair on their head. I just wanted to know if you matched."

You know that rushing sound you get in your ears when you have NO FREAKING CLUE what to do in a certain situation? I got that. And suddenly, I forgot all the reprimands that I got as a kid from my mom "not to stare", and I forgot about being politically correct, and I saw this guy for what he was: a person. A person without a chair or a disability or a tank or a mom that has to help him in a grocery store, and I didn't feel sorry for him, and I didn't make excuses for his behavior. I simply pointed my finger in his face and said, "And now you've crossed the line."

Fortunately, the Fates smiled on me, and the timing for my turn immediately followed my reprimand. I hurried to the counter like a fat girl to cake (sorry, not ALL fat girls like cake. That was a horrible overgeneralization). He was still in the area when I left and tried to say goodbye to me, but I just walked out fuming.

For a second, I felt guilty for yelling at a person in a wheelchair, and then I felt dumb for feeling guilty. I don't care who you are, whether you've got one eye, or an extra toe, or were disfigured in freak curling iron accident. Rich or poor, diseased or healthy, that was a damn rude thing to say to a stranger. And I'm not standing idly by anymore and letting people push me around (see also: my night at the gas station with the drunk Mexicans). Do not get into my personal space. Do not casually comment on my pubic hair. Don't bring me crappy food in a restaurant and expect me to pay for it. I'll be nice if you're nice, and I'll continue being nice if you're somewhat annoying. If the situation calls for feisty Sarah to come out, however, come out she will.

An ih won be prehey.

I just got this in my inbox...what I thought was one of those generic forwards, but what turns out to be one of the greatest things to ever happen to me:

THIS IS A TOAST.... 2 US...
FOR THE MEN WHO HAVE US,
THE LOSERS WHO HAD US,
AND THE LUCKY PEOPLE WHO WILL MEET US!!

You have been hit. You have been considered One of the 10 prettiest
ladies on my friends list.

Once you have been hit, you have to hit 10 pretty ladies. If you get hit again you know you're really pretty. If you break the chain you'll have ugliness for 10 years. So hit 10 pretty ladies on your friends list and let them know they are pretty.

I re-sent it to myself ten times...this is the best morning EVER.

Happy New Year, bitches.

Let's do a little re-cap of my year. This is probably only interesting to me, but keep reading anyway.

January: I was cold.
February: Discovered Cinnamon Dolce Lattes at Starbucks. Sold soul to Devil to pay for them.
March: Came in like a lion. Left like a lion. I drank a lot of beer and coffee and didn't eat.
April: Moved into a new place, began eating again.
May: Played a hooker on stage.
June: Fell in love with my complex's pool. Tried to marry it, found this was illegal in all fifty states.
July: Began rehearsals for Pippin. Invited skin cancer into life by continuing sordid affair with pool.
August: Played over-zealous, over-sexed step-mother on stage. Wore cool flapper dress, not so cool hat.
September: My birthday. Forced everyone around me to celebrate it for the whole month by acting like total brat.
October: Halloween. Dressed like White Trash.
November: Played hyper-active Elf in murder/mystery dinner theatre. Ate inordinate amounts of green bean casserole.
December: Cursed live tree in living room for leaving needles ALL OVER APARTMENT, drove car on rock, ate Christmas cookie size of head.

And now that you've read that, here are my New Year's Resolutions:

1. Continue being the awesome.
2. Have better year than last year.
3. Train dog to bring me cell phone, remote control, beer and assorted snacks.
4. Never consciously diet. Ever.
5. Find Sugar Daddy. Have him pay all bills. Dump his ass immediately after. Use line, "It's not you, it's me."
6. Did I say yet, "continue being the awesome"?

Okay, no, I never actually make NYR's. I never do them. Ever. I feel as though everyone else around me should change anyway. There's no need for me to lose ten pounds if everyone else gains 20.

Wow. I'm doing so well already. And it's only three days in...