Write, written, but not quite wrote

God’s honest truth and without provocation by me, people have been telling me for as long as I can remember to write a book. I don’t exactly know where their sentiments come from- perhaps they think I’m witty? Or perhaps they find my weird, perverse observations of the world entertaining? I’m just not entirely sure. But either way, I’ve let the idea marinate for a long time…and over the years, I’ve developed “ideas” for stories that I’ve kept hidden in the attic of my mind. And by ideas, I truly mean that- tendrils and wisps of things, characters…scenes…and dialogue that have neither continuity nor foundation. I would mention it to my husband from time to time, and finally he just flat out challenged me to “do something” with them. To “figure out” if writing is something I not only like to do, but can do.

I like a challenge. I don’t like to pass up a challenge. And I certainly don’t like to fail.

The fact of the matter is that I’ve actually BEEN a writer for most of my adult life; but the writing is technical, scientific, and by no means poetic. My job, the same job I’ve had for more than 10 years, is to write technically sound, legally defensible, scientific analyses for a variety of clients, predominantly federal agencies. If I needed to, I could probably develop a lengthy resumé for myself as a writer- and I’ve been published, again and again…albeit in the Federal Register, various small-town newspapers, pamphlets handed out at public meetings, and on websites hosted by my firm. Not exactly recognizable sources in the world of fiction writing, but true nonetheless. So I suppose if I’ve been published, then I am indeed an actual author, just not in the way my husband challenged me to be.

So, that’s what I’m going to tinker with…what I’ve BEEN tinkering with for some time now. I took a small workshop, have purchased books on creative writing, and am assembling resources that I need in order to research subjects that will play large roles in my stories (and I shall consider them stories until they morph into books, which may or may not happen).

In case you were wondering, I will not be sharing many details of my stories…I worry that they will lose their punch…and I’ll lose my excitement for them if I release too much of their zest. I may provide teasers, though…since teasing may or may not play a role in the story I’m currently…fleshing out…as we speak.

Wink, wink.

December 26th: National “Sick of this shit” day

I’m just going to say it: December 26th is a rotten day for a birthday. Yes, it’s mine and if it’s yours, I feel your pain. Every year I try and smile through the red and green “birthday” wrappings despite liquor store clerks checking my ID and saying “Yuck…that’s got to be a sucky birthday”. Yeah, dipshit, it is. Thanks for reminding me in April or whenever I’m shopping for gin. I try and convince myself “It’s such a festive time of year to have a birthday”, but you know what- that’s a load of bull.

There are benefits to it, though- grabbing great deals on Clearance Christmas items on birthday mornings, and…well, that might be it.

But above my own whinings, I’ve really come to realize that December 26th is truly the national holiday for “Sick of this shit!”. I heard it at least 3 times today on my annual Clearance Christmas scavenger hunt. And you know what? It’s so true! It’s like you get a pass for feeling sick of this shit…because even those of us that love and adore Christmas can get sick of this shit. And here are a few examples- I’ll be willing to bet a gift card from a store I never shop at that you feel the same way about something right now.

1) Christmas music. Now, truth be told I start listening to this stuff the moment the radio stations change over to nonstop play of jingling bells, Darlene Love, and crooners that say Christmas is blue. But I was in Target today, and “All I Want for Christmas is You” came on and some lady picking through the rolls of wrapping paper muttered “Mariah Carey again? I am SO SICK of this shit”.  Now, she was a bitchy lady to begin with who openly complained that Walmart had much cheaper paper and encouraged me to go there. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that I hadn’t been in a Walmart since ’06 and still suffer from flashbacks.

2) Ham. Same Target, different moment. Apparently, the very interesting biker lady that rang up my goods had ham for Christmas and she is totally over it. That’s all we talked about during my transaction- her ham and the fact that she had better not see another ham for a long time because, (and you guessed it), she is SICK OF THAT SHIT. Now, she didn’t enunciate the word “shit” entirely, but between her pent up anger towards the ham and the poorly drawn birds tatted up her neck, I think she did say it, albeit muffled. This was further confirmed by the big eyes and “You know what I’m sayin’?” she gave me when she handed over the receipt.

3) Guests and homeowners of guests. Ok, I don’t have hard evidence of it, but my guess is that if folks are staying at your home and have been for a few days now, you’re probably ready for them to leave. Perhaps it’s the long showers that use up the hot water, or the open cans of diet soda left strategically through your home, or the bandwidth they’re hoarding watching Netflix on  their iPads late at night. Are you sick of that shit? ‘Cuz I would be. Hell I’m sick of it and no one is staying in my home.

4) Cat vomit associated with Christmas decor. Believe it or not, not my house. I bet that’s what you were thinking. But nope, not me! Even though my mother tries not to swear in front of me (despite turning a newly-minted 37 today), I know that’s what is going through her head. Her cat, Lightning, loves faux and real pine needles, and vomits small piles of green needly bits throughout their home all season long. She called today to not only wish me a happy birthday but to say that waiting until January to take down Christmas decor was NOT happening because she was “sick of it”.  I happily punned that so was Lightning! Not funny, even on my birthday.

5) Eating. This is my “sick of this shit” story. After eating for sport all day yesterday (and really for the past 3 weeks of parties and get-togethers), I’m sick of eating. Birthday dinner be damned!

…and I’ll stop this post here in case you’re sick of this shit already! Merry merry!

Grief Relief

Normally, I lead a very charmed life. Things that weigh heavily on so many others- enough food to eat, making ends meet, finding a safe home- do not, thankfully, weigh on me.  But that’s not to say that I don’t face hardships, and have mercy, these last few weeks have been difficult. Most notably, we lost Maya- our dear, sweet, endearing little kitty. It happened in the most sudden and tragic of ways, and to make matters worse, I was away on business. My strong but sensitive husband, who had been adopted by Maya as her ultimate companion, was alone to handle the awful business of taking care of all matters after her passing. Grief and guilt consumed me in gulps and it’s been staggeringly difficult to recover from the shock. One week later, as we tentatively stood on the precipice of being “ok”, Jon’s uncle passed away after a long battle with cancer. Jon had reconnected with this side of his family only recently, after 15+ years of being incommunicado. So much time was lost, with little time to cultivate improved adult relationships that would help make up for a fractured past. We both felt chained to a heavy dark cloud that we couldn’t shake.

So we packed some bags and left. Now granted, these plans had been in the works for weeks. But I allowed myself to think that we were being spontaneous without the haste.

We drove south-ish. Southwest-ish, really. Cut through 4 states in 8 hours. We tried bbq shacks, bought candied pecans, and feared for our lives at a gas station that blared some song called “Take Jesus as Your Lawyer”. We ate fresh seafood, drank local beer, and listened to the Gulf crash onto the shore from our balcony for hours the first night. We didn’t care about calories but refused to throw out any plastic bottles so we could recycle them at home. I bought trinkets at an antique shop and we saw my coworker jogging around town one morning…which is ironic since we know only about a dozen folks in Pensacola. I’m also not completely at ease with seeing colleagues shirtless, but it wasn’t up to me. We watched a nervous marine drink diet coke while his buddies in uniform got drunk…with his bride-to-be and her ladies in waiting posed for pictures carrying parasols across the street. We got on the Navy base and didn’t get pulled over for speeding by MPs…hit the aviation museum and ran our fingertips along everything from antiquated WWI biplanes to sleek F/A-18s. We capped it all off at a huge bash celebrating our friends’ recent nuptials, drinking margaritas and moonshine. Jon met more of my colleagues and they in turn learned that he really did exist. We convinced Pensacolans to visit us in Greenville or rendezvous all together in Savannah. We don’t use “party” as a verb much anymore but we did that night, in the name of Grief Relief.

And when the last bottle of wine was emptied and the merriment slowed down, we realized that we had miraculously flung our dark cloud out to sea. Maya’s ashes and memories of Uncle Sig will be with us forever, and I know the last tears haven’t been shed. But we rediscovered joy in a weekend that bookended two sorrows, and the sunshine after the rain guided us home.

Scent of a Sarah

Fragrances and perfumes have a special, tender place in my heart (and pulse points) and I suspect that’ll never change. I’ve been anointing myself with various scents for as long as I can recollect. If you can believe it, I’m fairly certain that Love’s Rain Scent was my first beloved perfume- a small rollerball of sickeningly blue/green-colored fragrance that I re-applied as often as I could. I can also remember adoring Electric Youth by Debbie Gibson and something called Malibu Musk- let’s face it, if it was sold at Walgreens, I was a fan. My mom always wore Estee Lauder’s Beautiful or Oscar when she and my father would have evening plans, and I remember how luxurious she seemed in her long suede and fur coat (somehow more acceptable in 1983) with Oscar dabbed behind her ears.

In college, I began to move away from the floral-laden, ridiculously feminine scents that I strangely favored in high school. Quelques Fleurs and Anaïs Anaïs stayed in my childhood bedroom while I started an intoxicating love affair with CK One. My 19-year-old self was completely seduced by the notion of wearing a unisex fragrance, as if it were taboo. Experimentation, however you define it, is a benchmark of the college experience…and why not experiment with a scent marketed to both genders? Though, I’m not sure if any men ever wore CK One. I had also decided as a college coed that not only should I imbibe a lot, but I should also smell like a cocktail- hence going through a few bottles of Demeter’s Gin and Tonic (shocker). Nowadays I just drink them, and if I smell like one, it’s because I spilled some on my jeans or I spat out my drink mid-guffaw.

I have extreme fond, almost coquettish memories of my 20s and routinely rated my dates on how they reacted to one of my signature fragrances of that time period. There were plenty of highlights and plenty of lowlifes…and ironically, probably a few highlifes and in term of haircolor, some lowlights as well. But aromatically, I pranced through my 20s wearing either Elizabeth Arden’s Spiced Green Tea or DK’s Cashmere Mist, depending on date expectations. My mental scorecard would be notched with who liked which and how they were categorized…and while the results are between me, myself, and I, it was an exciting experiment that I can re-live with a brisk walk through Macy’s beauty counter, nose twitching away.

My current decade has been a scent evolution, as I married a man who loves purchasing perfume for me- probably because it’s an easy gift, but I think he has ulterior motives as well (those kind of ulterior motives). Some of his (and my) favorite stand-outs include Dior Pure Poison, Basic Instinct (a short-lived Victoria’s Secret perfume), and DK’s Liquid Nude (a more recent infatuation that I’m nearly out of! Perish the thought.). So what am I wearing right now? I’m experimenting with boutique scents not purchase-able at your average box store…currently (literally RIGHT NOW) trying a new one on for size (Maya by Wiggle Perfume- found on Etsy). It’s gone over favorably thus far and only time will tell. But be rest assured that I’ll continue to play the fragrance field and will indulge in mini-love affairs again and again and again. At least I know I’ll always smell nice (or try to).

Speaking of which, what are you wearing right now?

Sarah’s List

You know what, if Craig and Angie can have lists, then F*** it, I want to have a list, too. But, in order to stand out and be different, my list will be completely useless to you and will solely consist of a few random things that I really like. This is one of the many side effects of personal blogs- a perpetual medium for pointless, non-thought-provoking rabbit holes for folks like me to fall into and look! I’ve dragged you with me.

So here are a few of my favorite things. Favorite things, today, mind you- I’m already thinking of what this list would contain tomorrow. Thinking ahead or ADD? And since I think everything should be grouped in odd numbers, I give you three of my favorite things.

1) Precor AMT. Now, looking at me, you wouldn’t think that I’d be spreading the gospel of a piece of cardio exercise equipment. But that’ll teach you not to judge a chubby girl! I live and die by this machine (http://www.precor.com/products/en/commercial/cardio/precor-products/amt) and think it is the cat’s pa-fucking-jamas. If your gym has them, give it a go.

2) The flight path between Pensacola and Charlotte. Now, before a big fat WTF pops up in your head, just roll with me on this for a sec. The abbreviation for the Pensacola airport is PNS. The abbreviation for the Charlotte airport is CLT. So a flight from Pensacola to Charlotte is PNS -> CLT. Shove a couple of vowels in there. NOW YOU GET IT, DON’T YOU?

3) Gin. People ask me all the time why I drink gin. Almost as if it’s not appropriate for me to drink it. I’ve heard all sorts of complaints: “You look more like a cosmo girl” or “Isn’t gin for old, lecherous uncles?”. Well here’s the skinny. I am a woman that works in a man’s world (not unlike most of my corporate sisters). But I work for an engineering firm and 99% of my clients are either military or energy/power companies. And while wining and dining may not necessarily be a job requirement, for all intents and purposes, it is a requirement. As a woman who tends to be hyper-aware of just about everything, I also know that there are two potential pitfalls of drinking a cosmo in a professional environment: (1) you won’t be taken seriously while drinking something pink, or (2) you’re a “good time” girl that might be interested in seeing the view from another’s hotel room (or whatever bullshit line they try). So, professional girls of the world, take a listen- learn to love a G & T or a V & T. Bonus points for ordering your third round secretly at the other end of the bar and making it a T only. They’ll never know.

And there you have it…what are your favorite things at this moment?

Muchas smooches-

S

Because I’m not vain enough…

One would think that having an active Facebook account, a renewed interest in Twitter, and a penchant for stealing the spotlight would be enough for me. But alas, my friends and frenemies, I need MORE PLATFORMS for my weirdness…my plays on words…pictures of sketchy shit that I find across the globe (or, well, at least the southeastern US)…and whatever I can come up with that garners some chuckles and guffaws. I don’t want to think of it as attention-whoring but being the married broad that I am, that’s my only whoring outlet.

I have absolutely no vision for this…no plans…no expectations. But I do know that I lead a colorful life that is bolstered by a tolerant (and handsome) husband and a cherry-picked group of provocative ladyfriends that I worship and adore. I hope I can capture the laughter, inappropriateness, raunch, moxie, and other scandalousness that I carry with me everyday, here in this blog. Welcome to the inside of my head and world…watch your step or you’ll trip on the crazy.