Stomaching 'Sex'

I had a life breakthrough this week - I went to a movie by myself. I had previously learned to eat at a restaurant by myself, go on museum tours alone and handle most travel situations solo. Movies, though, were the thing I could never conquer. When I see someone alone at a movie, I feel compelled to sit with them. I wonder why they are there alone, if they are sad, and if they also do everything else alone.

But this week I found myself stranded at a mall for almost six hours so I conquered my fear, and went to "Sex and the City" sans date. It's an ironic choice considering my most memorable episode of the show was about how we carry around "armor" to ensure no one thinks we are alone in life, but just in the present situation.

The hard part ended up not being sitting with my legs draped across the empty seat next to me, but instead swallowing the message the movie portrayed. I could handle the forgiving of infidelity in Miranda's marriage and Samantha's decision she'd rather be single than in a relationship. They stayed true to themselves and didn't make any decisions without consequences.

It was the main storyline, Carrie and Big's, that I could not stomach. The entire TV series revolved around the romance and inevitable breakup of Big and Carrie. Big can't commit. He is self-involved. And in the movie, he commits his worst sin - abandoning his bride on her wedding day because he's not really into the big wedding idea. She beats him with her bouquet, mourns him for six months. And, of course, gets back together with him and marries him at City Hall, which is what he wanted.

Message to girls: Abandon your dreams for your man. Love isn't logical and it shouldn't be so just follow your heart no matter how much he has hurt you. Past behavior doesn't indicate future expectations.

And we wonder why marriages fail. Why women stay with abusive husbands. Why they abandon all expectations and standards in order to make their relationship work. I guess a huge closet filled with designer shoes and a Fifth Avenue penthouse is enough for the movies.

It will never be enough for me.

Normalcy

My mind has been in overdrive lately. Every time I felt myself getting a much-needed grip, I fell back into a very unnecessary, dizzying slip.

This week I got a chance to get away. To sleep in a bed that wasn't mine. To sit in a room that wasn't surrounded with reminders of what I should be doing instead. To explore areas with incredible sights, smells and a overwhelming sense of calm. To just laugh, talk about nothing and eat a lot of things that aren't good for me.

Sometimes I wonder if we have those weights on our chest or the lump in our throat in order to experience the incredible feeling that comes when you finally achieve peace. The way it feels to breathe deep and giggle freely. To know that you are being yourself and in fact, there isn't something wrong with you, you just needed to get away for a day or two from the pressure cooker of life.

On being saved

I had a bad day today. I remember on past bad days thinking of the significant people in my life and just willing them silently through tears to come save me. Just come over, come sit with me, hold my hand, make me eat dinner, give me a hug that lasts longer than a minute, tell me it's going to be OK and really mean it. And do all that without sucking away my pride.

I remember wishing it, hoping, but knowing it wouldn't happen. Not because these people didn't care, they just had other commitments, other priorities.

Today when I texted Lampshade at work to tell him of my rather unfortunate day, he called. Four times until I answered. Through tears, I told him the details. He wanted to fix it as unfixable as it was. Shortly later, I got a voicemail. "I am on my way home." To save me.

There was nothing he could do from home to fix it. Except sit on the couch with me. Hold my hand. Order me Chinese food so that I refueled after the tears zapped my strength. Gave me a hug that lasted for hours, not minutes. Told me it was going to be OK and meant it because he was the one who was going to be there if it did all fall apart.

And did all that in a way that not only salvaged my pride but empowered me.

It's 3:30 a.m. The tears that are stinging in my eyes are a little about the events of my day and a lot about the overwhelming love and gratefulness I have for the one that holds my hand in solidarity even as he sleeps.

Convincing paranoia

So I have this lump in my neck, right below my hairline on the left side of my spine. It hurts to touch it and I almost throw up from the pain if someone massages it. I've had severe tension in my neck and shoulders for the last month. I got a pretty deep massage last week that was painful but helped for..a day.

This weekend I convinced myself that this lump is most definitely cancer - probably lymphoma despite the WebMD articles suggesting if it were a tumor, it'd be hard, immobile and not tender. Mine is movable and tender, and most likely just a swollen lymph node.

As Lampshade and I drove home after dinner at his grandparents house, I am quiet because in my head I am imagining my cancer diagnosis - the doctor telling me the news, the long walk to my car, the tearful phone calls to come. Then telling him I have cancer and only have a few months to live. And then imagining that I wouldn't get to spend a long, fulfilling life with him buying a house, having babies, traveling and loving.

So when he looks over to my side of the car and see tears rolling down my cheeks, I then have to explain the reason for my tears is my overactive imagination and perhaps an intense case of paranoia that I only have a month to live, followed by "Do you think I am crazy?"

We both know that he thinks I am insane and perhaps need a more constructive creative outlet. We'll find out who is right at my doctor's appointment tomorrow.

Delayed appreciation

I never really fully appreciated Kansas weather.

I did today when it was snowing on my way to work and I read this: "Heavy snow warning for most of central Minnesota and west central Wisconsin Monday and Monday night...some areas could get 6-9" of snow."

It's pushing 60 in Manhattan, Kansas right now and I am going through a HEAVY SNOW WARNING. Baseball starts today. I did my spring cleaning this weekend.

I just want to pack up my sweaters, damnit.

Growing pains

When I was in sixth grade, I would wake up in the middle of the night crying because my calves ached so badly. My mom would run to my bedside, and massage my legs til I fell asleep again. I couldn't run as fast as I used to at summer camp because my muscles would twitch and throb. When I finally went to a doctor, we figured out it was simply growing pains. According to kidshealth.org:

"Although growing pains often point to no serious illness, they can be upsetting to a child - or a parent... Support and reassurance that growing pains will pass as children grow up can help them relax."

Though I no longer get throbbing pains in my legs, I still experience growing pains that are both upsetting to me and my parents, just as the pains were 14 years ago. Though I am definitely my parents' child, I'm also a product of society, my political and religious beliefs, my friends and most significantly, my own life experiences.

Sometimes I make decisions that aren't in line with the life my parents would have chosen me to lead. It's not because I don't love them or respect who they have shaped me into being. It just means I have experienced life in a different way. One that includes text messaging, inevitable financial debt, a world where traditional dinner-and-a-movie dating no longer exists, the expectations of being a strong, independent woman while still being gentle, caring and motherly.

It doesn't change who I am at the core. Rather, it shows my intensity, ability to love with great depth, confidence in my future and logical approach to life.

And what I ask from then is simply the freedom to be myself, to make the decisions - good or bad - that we all desire to make for ourselves and the understanding that it's nothing personal, but truly the act of being me.

The Big Apple

I'm not sure why I love New York City so much.

It's certainly not the thick, polluted air, the smell of garbage on the streets wafting from mounds of black garbage bags tossed at the edge of the sidewalk or the ever-present fear of terrorism, crime and corruption.

It has more to do with the click of a hurried woman's heels against the pavement as she walks down Fifth Avenue with an armful of colored bags with rope handles. It's the surge of business men carrying leather briefcases and talking on their Blackberrys who cross a full minute before the crosswalk flashes permission to cross. It's gazing into a restaurant window to see a group of gay men enjoying appletinis and laughing uproariously. It's the dog parks as the only oasis in the concrete playground and the peace that envelopes you when you reach the southern edge of Central Park.

It awakens in me a hurried, energetic spirit that often lies dormant in the depression of a Minnesota winter.

I'm on the plane, 45 minutes from landing at LaGuardia. I'm tired, stressed and a little lonely. But all I can think about is the rush I will feel in the back of a yellow cab heading to Midtown. Looking up to be surrounded by people and buildings and feeling that jolt of exhilaration as the hotel bell hop, complete with a top hat, greets me: "Welcome to New York, miss."

My neighbors are rude and stalk me

The condo has two 24-hour guest spots, and then a parking lot full of parking for restaurants and 2-hour guest parking. This is a ridiculous setup considering the hundreds of people that live in the complex most definitely have more than two guests with cars at a time who might want to stay more than two hours.

Lampshade pays for a spot in the garage, which I get to use when he travels. Otherwise I alternate between using one of the 24-hour spots which are ALWAYS open and the street a block away. I only park in the condo spot when I am carrying groceries, it's super cold or it's going to snow and the street is off limits. Granted, this has been the majority of days lately but last week Lampshade left, and Sarah gained a warm garage spot.

Last night, we get a letter from the association including the following:

"It has been viewed and reported in more than one occasion that the above-listed vehicles have bene parking in the Guest Condo parking spot on a consistent/daily basis. It has been reported that the Mazda was parked the guest parking spot last evening. It has been reported that both the Mazda and the Camry listed above will be parked in the guest parking or the assigned garage stall of #99."

We're in the wrong because we are abusing the system of the guest spot, however I am extremely disturbed that someone is documenting where our cars are located. Correction, IT TOTALLY FREAKS ME OUT. Who cares enough to not only document this consistently but then report it to the association repeatedly?

Don't worry, stalker friend, I am parked on the street. Put away your binoculars and get a life.

Diets are bogus

I am not on a diet, more like a "I have to wear a swimsuit in three months" exercise plan. I was running an hour about five days a week and then Lampshade (as the boy would now like to be referred to, even though he never reads this blog) broke his foot while trying to scare me as I came out of the bathroom. Motivation shot.

I have lost about five pounds since October just with running but trying ever so slightly to eat more things that are red, orange and green. Last night, though, I had two pieces of lasagna, red wine, several pieces of bread and salad. And, I haven't run in about three weeks.

This morning I weighed what I weighed my freshman year in college - the lowest in seven years.

Clearly, lack of exercise and eating enough for three people is the best route.

My parents met at Northern Illinois University in DeKalb, Illinois. It's halfway between each of their hometowns. My dad was the front desk worker at my mom's dorm. My dad worked in a lab at the Geography Building. My mom took classes in the Education Building.

When we travel to Illinois as a family, we drive through DeKalb each time - my mom and dad recounting the stories from college, their engagement life and scraping by on such little cash. They point to buildings where they attended classes, the library where they studied and the bus stop where they waited, huddled against each other in the cold.

This morning, NIU is a much different place. Instead of dreams of graduation, excitement of the weekend's basketball game or stupid decisions at frat parties, it's filled with horror and fear.

My mom said on the phone last night, "I don't understand. This kind of thing never happened when we were in college."

I don't understand either.


"What broke in a man when he could bring himself to kill another?" ~Alan Paton

Real love

Much to Hallmark's dismay, love doesn't come in pre-printed red and pink cards, expensive chocolates in expensive foil boxes or carefully selected yet overpriced roses.

When I was 5, I thought love was when my dad left for a business trip and he gave my mom a "TV kiss" as I called it. I'd beg for them to kiss that way and then hide my face in disgust as they kissed passionately.

When I was 10, I thought love was born in the cheap metal hearts you could have engraved at the school carnival with things like Joe + Jane = *heart* This would no doubt start a fight with Mike who really was fourth-grade love with Jane and who in return would throw Joe in the school jail until someone used three tickets to bail him out.

When I was 15, love was confusing. Was it in the couples who were already having sex or the big dramatic displays of "Love, Tommy" written in the trivial notes on lined paper folded into impressive shapes so as to be easily slipped in the receiver's backpack?

When I was 20, I thought I knew what love was. I thought love was ignoring crazy habits or picking out the perfect presents.

When I was 25, I found out what real love was. It's not just accepting idiosyncrasies, but loving them. It's not about presents but the small things, done daily. It's about wanting to be a better person even though you're loved exactly the way you are.

Why I Voted for Obama

I participated in a caucus primary for the first time last night. It was an overwhelming turnout, almost 200,000 in Minnesota they say.

I cast my ballot for Obama because after listening to him speak at a rally here Saturday, more than once I was choked up with tears. In my lifetime, no politician has brought me to tears, at least ones of joy and hope. After eight years of lies about the war, the stripping of individual rights, wiretapping, the acceptance of torture and the degradation of what it means to be American, I am ready for something new. It was during the Bush presidency that I stopped saying the pledge of allegiance because I can't imagine dedicating myself to a country in such a state of despair and misdirection.

Yet, Obama makes me want to believe again. And though it's his mass appeal, his inspirational message of hope, his uniting vision and his powerful public speaking that first attracted me to his camp, it's his policies that kept me in.

His health care plan bridges the gap between the current system and the eventual universal health care system. He is committed to a reduction in troops in Iraq. His charm and uniting attitude will bridge the gaps between the aisles in Congress. Though he might not have experience as part of a Clinton-like political machine, his idealism and direction are what we need.

I'd rather elect a president with a idealistic hope for the future than one who has proven to be a divisive figure who is so beat down she fails to dream big.

Christmas shopping

I had my Christmas shopping done several weeks ago. Yesterday, though, the boy volunteered us to shop for his Adopt-A-Family kids that his company is adopting. I love doing stuff like this, unfortunately the Target gods were against us.

Granted, I shouldn't expect much from Target on basically the weekend before Christmas. But good lord. I started pushing the cart through toy aisles for maybe 30 seconds before I was ready to buy the kids some socks and call it good. We stared at V-Tech toys for about 15 minutes and then argued in the baseball equipment aisle for another 15 about how it's not ridiculous that a disadvantaged family would be happy with a $20 baseball glove even though it was going to fall apart in a year and wouldn't make little Victor into the next MVP.

So after getting the glove, some baseballs and bases, we only needed a nightlight. Just a $1 nightlight seems like an easy task. But, it's like rush hour on the Interstate on a Friday afternoon. People push their carts without looking or park them in the middle of the aisle to wander off to another area of the store blissfully unaware that I am plotting to steal all their purses to teach them a lesson. We looked in furniture, lamps, lightbulbs, kids bedding, toys, small electrics... everywhere for a nightlight. By then the boy is asking me why I keep snapping at him. Because I am. He keeps making jokes and I keep glaring at him like he has caused this mayhem and forced me to come here against my will.

We found the nightlight. Next to camping equipment. Because that's what I want to do when I am sleeping in a tent under the stars - plug in a nightlight.

And then the boy bought me a Dr. Pepper for my troubles, and the world was once again OK.

A Decade Earlier

Dear Sarah of 1997,

This your future you, 10 years later. You just started high school. It's December now so you've finally figured out where the stairwells go in that ridiculous old building they call the East Campus. Even though they gave you two lockers, you'll only use one. You'll take a reading appreciation class and skip entire sections of Jane Eyre yet get 100 extra credit points for reading it. You're going to have good friends this year. Enjoy that. Stop being so dramatic.

High school will be easy for you. You'll end up skipping a lot of class your senior year because you can't convince yourself to go to class when you keep acing tests. You should go to class anyway because in college you'll need that motivation.

You won't have a lot of girl friends. They'll come and go each year. Appreciate the things they bring into your life and let them go when they let you down. Listen to your mom when she says these girls won't be your bridesmaids.

When that dark-haired boy tries to break up with you because you're going to college, LET HIM. You're fighting for a relationship that is ultimately going to rock you to your core. Sometimes letting go saves you from years of recovering from a broken heart and anger I couldn't convince you now that you're capable of.

You're going to envelope yourself with journalism. It's your passion. But believe what's written on the ceiling of your college newspaper newsroom - "newspapers will always break your heart." You're going to experience a lot of heartache and hard lessons in the unfairness of life. Please, please, please keep a journal so you can remember what happened later on.

A few other things to remember:

- Don't lie to your parents. It's going to ruin your relationship with them for a few years. Whatever you think is worth losing trust, is not. Also, when they tell you you can't drive because you are crying hysterically, for the love of god, listen.

- I know you don't think your college GPA is important because that won't be on your newspaper resume. Resist that belief. You will want to go to graduate school in 10 years and you will want a time machine to kick your own ass when you have to turn in your applications.

- You are skinny and beautiful. You just don't know how to pull it all together yet. Stop skipping meals. It's so unnecessary.

- Don't just study abroad for a month. Do it for a year or at least a semester. You won't miss out on things, you'll gain the most life-changing experiences of your life.

- It won't be as you imagined when you were younger. After college you'll go through several jobs and several abusive bosses. You will cry in your car after work for weeks on end. But you will make it through it. You'll lose direction, gain confusion but will endure it all with grace.

- Stop spending your money on shit. You'll want it later and wish there was a 10-year return policy.

- Your future red Mustang is SO cool except when you are digging it out of Minnesota snow, or getting it stuck a the bottom of a driveway because it's rear wheel drive. Buy a Honda Civic instead especially if you can get a hybrid. Do you even know what that is?

I know that in the next decade you're going to wonder if it all will ever come together. You're going to wonder if you'll ever find your soulmate, if you'll ever be excited on your way to work or if your parents will approve of it all.

Consider this letter a big hug to let you know it's going to be OK. You will be beautiful inside and out. You aren't going to figure out your career right away but your life will become bigger than what you do for money. You're not going to get married after college but you'll be grateful that you didn't.

You'll find someone that eliminates the trust issues you thought you had. You won't have to ask him how he feels because he always tells you. When you fight, you won't have that stomach ache worried he's reconsidering. This is how it's supposed to be.

So be brave, stop worrying, and never forget who you are.

Love, your future you.

How I Have Become a Housewife (without actually being a wife)

In the month I have not blogged, I have become a bonafide housewife. Considering I once was the opposite of such a description, this is quite a development.

First, I found a boyfriend with whom I unofficially live with. Unoffically meaning I still pay a large percentage of my nonexistant income to my landlord for an apartment I use to store my furniture, clothes I should probably give away and a place to pick up my mail once a week.

Next, I fell in love with this boy which compelled me to start doing things like make dinner, and not just heating up something from a box. Luckily, said boy is much more ambitious and happy in the kitchen than me. As the love grew, so did my desire to bake cookies for no reason.

Thirdly, I quit my job from hell giving me more time for housewifery. A good indication that you made the right decision in quitting your job is when you quit and you realize you are 500 pounds lighter and you quit contemplating running your car into ditches.

Without the job, there is a lot of time for things like laundry, loading and unloading the dishwasher, taking the dog for a walk, preparing dinner, driving two suburbs away to bring the boy the black tie he forgot before his business lunch and decorating the Charlie Brown Christmas tree.

I did find a new awesome job, however it means I get to work from home, which is no doubt going to lead to more domestic activity. The last two days, the boy has come home from work only to find me on the couch watching Rachel Ray's 30-Minute Meals.

What happens when I am stressssed with four s's

I start emailing people that don't have any clue what I am saying. Like "here are those jpegs you asked for?" They did not ask me for anything yet I am sending random crap to people because I can't keep track of who is asking me for what.

I start sleeping at my desk. However, it's rained 16 of the last 18 days here and it's dark by 2 p.m. Anyone would smack their forehead on their keyboard every other hour under those conditions anyway right?

I get really irritable. For example, "Sarah, are you there? I don't have much service." me: "God, yes. Just talk."

Running and eating cease to exist. One day this week I had a bagel, yogurt and some snap peas. For the whole day.

I start losing things. This morning it was pouring rain and I looked for a good 20 minutes for the two umbrellas I had yesterday. Didn't find them. My apartment is clean and is only 450 square feet. This is not possible. I also lost my keys but after 10 minutes I found them. Sitting on my couch. In plain sight.

When I leave work, it's dark and there is no rush hour traffic.

Rice part of Nobel Prize-winning group - Today's News

Rice part of Nobel Prize-winning group - Today's News

Happy

"Well," said Pooh, "what I like best," and then he had to stop and think. Because although eating honey was a very good thing to do, there was a moment just before you began to eat it which was better than when you were, but he didn't know what it was called. ~A.A. Milne

Deja vu

I am sitting in the same Starbucks where this happened.

Funny.

Also, there are bank robbers on the loose. Better run fast and extra intimidating in the morning.

Diamonds and pink

I don't know the names of diamond settings. Jo was talking about one today and I had to ask "um, is that a diamond?" I think a big diamond would be really annoying to have wear the rest of my life. You can't take it off but I would probably snag all my clothes or something. Or scratch my face. "What's that on your face?"... "Oh, just a bleeding reminder I am engaged/married."

I think I'd rather wear a white dress with lots of red accents on it rather than pure white. I'd rather just have long, curled hair than all tangled up in a tiara and flowers. I'd rather have ice cream cake than traditional wedding cake. I'd rather have a huge game of Cranium than the Dollar Dance. But I still want the dollars. There can be roses or tulips at my wedding, but under no circumstances will a carnation or daisy set foot in the church. Nor is the Macarena or Hokey Pokey allowed. The Electric Slide is OK.

I am high-maintenance. But not in the traditional girl kind of way. More in the "STOP TOUCHING MY FACE" way.