So today was a Saturday, which means I go out to lunch with my sister then plan on going home but end up staying at her house all afternoon watching stupid TV shows. I can actually say I was ON MY WAY home when she called me and told me I got a package in the mail from my mom so I turned around. I have been looking forward to this package since my mom told me it existed last week- all she would say is that it was something "delightfully tacky from West Virginia" and it did not disappoint! Wrapped in plastic and tucked in a big envelope were three boxes of candy cigarettes with a note from my mom that said, "I thought these were illegal!" Awesome. Being the boring, uncool people we are, neither my sister or I have ever been smokers but our inner kids came out and we each "smoked" a candy cigarette with verve and gusto.
Tonight I went with my dad to Trinidad for dinner and to see the new "Die Hard" movie. Wonderful House was, well, wonderful, and "A Good Day to Die Hard" was full of profanity and bloody violence and was equally wonderful. For the record, my dad maintains that his favorite Die Hard was the second one ("Die Harder") and mine is the fourth, ("Live Free or Die Hard") but we both enjoyed number five very much.
Obviously yesterday was Friday, which means that I sleep til 11:42 or so, then head in town to have lunch with my sister and/or my Granny and either work after lunch or follow my sister to her place of work and keep her company for a while. The latter was the case yesterday and I spent a great part of the afternoon working on a "letter" to send to my mom and step-dad in West Virginia. I would say more but obviously they have not received this letter yet and I refuse to spoil it.
Really the only thing about yesterday that was out of the ordinary is that last night I went on Amazon.com and spent a portion of the Amazon gift card I received on Christmas on... wait for it!... a "Bazinga!" hoodie! AAhhhh! In case you do not know, "Bazinga!" is the word Sheldon Cooper from The Big Bang Theory uses when he makes a joke, followed by his lovably bizarre gasp-ish laughter. I have my sister and David to thank for turning me onto the show.
Continuing to recount the recent events of my life in a backwards fashion, last Saturday night I actually attended the annual Cowboy Ball out at the NRA which was definitely an experience for me because I am not a dancer, nor a cowboy. I was a little nervous and uncomfortable, especially when an old cowboy asked me to dance (I politely declined and literally ran away) but I discovered that I have quite a taste for vodka and cranberry juice.
The Wednesday before I had the not-so-small task of taking all three dogs and three cats in to the vet's to get shots, etc. Before you wave me away I would like to mention all three dogs are big (German Shepherd, Chocolate Labrador, and... uhhhh.. mutt) and all three cats are grown and mouthy. I had to make two trips.
1st. trip- all three dogs and Bill in the cat carrier. This was by far the most difficult load, in no small part because it is unbelievably hard to get one dog out at a time, snap on a leash, drag them into the vets office, get dragged back outside, only to transfer to another dog. Oh, and Pedro the German Shepherd was either ecstatically having the time of his life or was absolutely terrified and having conniptions and yelped all the way there and back and tried to squeeze out a window when I opened it to alleviate the feeling of claustrophobia. Oh yeah, and Otis peed all over the vet's office.
2nd trip- I stuffed both greys in the carrier together which was sort of difficult because of Bob's pudge. However, like I said before, this trip was much easier. I actually got to thinking when trapping cats to stuff in the carrier... is this how criminals feel about their victims? I mean, I felt a much larger sense of accomplishment trapping Bill because he was so hard to get. I think he sensed the carrier the moment I brought it inside and I could not convince him to hop down from his high shelf for anything- not food, not the notion of going outside, nothing! I had to literally drag him down and struggle to stuff him in the carrier. Contrastingly, the greys were pathetically easy to trick and trap. I called for them out on the front porch; they came and I shut the door behind them. I picked one up, stuffed the dazed cat in the carrier, repeated the action. They were locked in the carrier the before they knew what hit them! I gotta say, though, if I had to pick, I'd say Bob is the dumber of the two... his brain is like his tail- only half there.
I hope you all had a lovely Valentines day! If I had to pick, my favorite valentines were the surprise card in the mail from my mom and the "bouquet" of watermelon suckers my sister gave me! :)
Have a wonderful Presidents day!
Sarah
Saturday, February 16, 2013
Tuesday, January 15, 2013
Happy January 15th!
Today was my first day back at school. Technically one of my classes started yesterday but with the insane amount of snow that Raton got, I didn't make it.
To be honest, I've always hated first days at school. I get incredibly anxious and shy and I worry about getting to the right classroom at the right time and I always fret about what will happen if the teacher makes us divide into groups and I don't know anyone or what if the teacher sent out some sort of group-memo and I didn't get it and what if everyone else is brilliant at the subject being taught and I am clueless?!.. and so on and so on. Consequently, I tend to spend my first days at school with my ridiculously simple schedule in front of my nose and my anxieties about being the odd one out tend to come true as the result of sort of a self-fulfilling prophecy.
Over the years, my school anxiety has gotten a little better but I still experience it and today was no different. On the plus side, the first day of school is generally the only school day of the year when I wake up and do not have the desire nor the ability to go back to sleep. My first class was at 9:30 and I knew that I should plan for plenty of time to drive there due to the snow/road conditions and give myself time to get dressed and ready so I set my alarm for 8:00, thinking that I could follow my usual pattern of having my first alarm a little earlier than necessary so I could hit the snooze button. Didn't work today! When my alarm went off at 8:00 my eyes flew open and after lying there paralyzed for a few minutes I gave up and got ready. My dad had left our dogs inside the house so they could be in the heat for a little longer and right before I left I put them out in the garage. I got a good luck kiss from Otis and that made me feel a little better.
My first class, History of Western Civ, was located in the Berg Building which I am pretty familiar with but in a room I had never been in. When I first walked in, the first thing that came to my mind was, "Wow! This is what I always used to think college classrooms looked like!" In my years at TSJC I have sat at wooden tables and lab counters and desks with computers on top but never in a room like this one- the theatre-kind of setting with lines of chairs on raising levels that all look down on the main floor where the teacher stays. Because of TV and movies I had grown up imagining this to be how college was so it was sort of a small accomplishment.
For whatever reason, the class had somehow segregated itself to mostly guys on one side, girls on the other. While walking up to my seat (I carefully considered my seating choices and ended up with a seat about halfway up and over to the side- not quite next to anyone but not far enough away that it would seem weird) I glanced at the other students and observed that most of the guys looked really young. It later developed that most of the gentlemen were actually high school students.
The teacher was an older man with a white beard wearing a Hawaiian shirt. He was straightforward and funny and I liked him at once. While going through the syllabus, he read what he thought needed to be said and scrolled through the rest, muttering, "Bullshit, bullshit, bullshit.." Later, one of my fears came true when he had us divide into teams but I was lucky to be seated next to several other young women who didn't seem to know anyone either.
He had us pick names for our groups and then write the name and members on a pad of paper being passed around. When it got back to him, he glanced over the names and was perplexed at one. It was something like ANUKP. He tried to pronounce it and a large group of high school boys started giggling. One squeaked, "You're a dude with a beard! You should be smart enough to pronounce it!" More giggling. "Say it like An-uh-kuh-p!" The teacher flatly repeated "An-uh-kuh-p" and the boys guffawed some more. Finally one of them told us all what it was an acronym of- something dumb ending with Unicorns Kill People. The teacher raised an eyebrow. "You guys don't go on many dates, do you?" The boys turned red and the rest of us laughed.
I was a little worried about my second class, Intro to Environmental Science, mainly because it's located in the Davis building, and every class I've had in that building has been.. challenging to say the least. But the teacher was very nice and I think it'll be a good class.
Finally, I had Digital Photography, which consists of the teacher, me and one other. I'm not at all worried about that class because I love photography and I'm sure I'll do pretty well.
I'd go on to talk more about my day but it's getting late and my day was pretty boring and already I feel like I've gone on and on!
Sometime soon I'll post another blog about... The Amazing Kreskin! See, you're already hooked!
Haha!
Sarah
To be honest, I've always hated first days at school. I get incredibly anxious and shy and I worry about getting to the right classroom at the right time and I always fret about what will happen if the teacher makes us divide into groups and I don't know anyone or what if the teacher sent out some sort of group-memo and I didn't get it and what if everyone else is brilliant at the subject being taught and I am clueless?!.. and so on and so on. Consequently, I tend to spend my first days at school with my ridiculously simple schedule in front of my nose and my anxieties about being the odd one out tend to come true as the result of sort of a self-fulfilling prophecy.
Over the years, my school anxiety has gotten a little better but I still experience it and today was no different. On the plus side, the first day of school is generally the only school day of the year when I wake up and do not have the desire nor the ability to go back to sleep. My first class was at 9:30 and I knew that I should plan for plenty of time to drive there due to the snow/road conditions and give myself time to get dressed and ready so I set my alarm for 8:00, thinking that I could follow my usual pattern of having my first alarm a little earlier than necessary so I could hit the snooze button. Didn't work today! When my alarm went off at 8:00 my eyes flew open and after lying there paralyzed for a few minutes I gave up and got ready. My dad had left our dogs inside the house so they could be in the heat for a little longer and right before I left I put them out in the garage. I got a good luck kiss from Otis and that made me feel a little better.
My first class, History of Western Civ, was located in the Berg Building which I am pretty familiar with but in a room I had never been in. When I first walked in, the first thing that came to my mind was, "Wow! This is what I always used to think college classrooms looked like!" In my years at TSJC I have sat at wooden tables and lab counters and desks with computers on top but never in a room like this one- the theatre-kind of setting with lines of chairs on raising levels that all look down on the main floor where the teacher stays. Because of TV and movies I had grown up imagining this to be how college was so it was sort of a small accomplishment.
For whatever reason, the class had somehow segregated itself to mostly guys on one side, girls on the other. While walking up to my seat (I carefully considered my seating choices and ended up with a seat about halfway up and over to the side- not quite next to anyone but not far enough away that it would seem weird) I glanced at the other students and observed that most of the guys looked really young. It later developed that most of the gentlemen were actually high school students.
The teacher was an older man with a white beard wearing a Hawaiian shirt. He was straightforward and funny and I liked him at once. While going through the syllabus, he read what he thought needed to be said and scrolled through the rest, muttering, "Bullshit, bullshit, bullshit.." Later, one of my fears came true when he had us divide into teams but I was lucky to be seated next to several other young women who didn't seem to know anyone either.
He had us pick names for our groups and then write the name and members on a pad of paper being passed around. When it got back to him, he glanced over the names and was perplexed at one. It was something like ANUKP. He tried to pronounce it and a large group of high school boys started giggling. One squeaked, "You're a dude with a beard! You should be smart enough to pronounce it!" More giggling. "Say it like An-uh-kuh-p!" The teacher flatly repeated "An-uh-kuh-p" and the boys guffawed some more. Finally one of them told us all what it was an acronym of- something dumb ending with Unicorns Kill People. The teacher raised an eyebrow. "You guys don't go on many dates, do you?" The boys turned red and the rest of us laughed.
I was a little worried about my second class, Intro to Environmental Science, mainly because it's located in the Davis building, and every class I've had in that building has been.. challenging to say the least. But the teacher was very nice and I think it'll be a good class.
Finally, I had Digital Photography, which consists of the teacher, me and one other. I'm not at all worried about that class because I love photography and I'm sure I'll do pretty well.
I'd go on to talk more about my day but it's getting late and my day was pretty boring and already I feel like I've gone on and on!
Sometime soon I'll post another blog about... The Amazing Kreskin! See, you're already hooked!
Haha!
Sarah
Sunday, January 6, 2013
Once upon a time there was a scorpion...
It's a brand new year! Well, not "brand new" exactly. It's already a week old. Like, if the year 2013 were a DVD purchased on New Year's Eve at 11:59 pm, "brand new" would be sealed in clear plastic with those horrible stickers on the opening edges of the DVD box, you know, the ones that read the movie's title and either have to be cut or peeled off to open the box. "Brand new" might even be in the bottom of the plastic Walmart bag with the receipt, spare change, and Chapstick that you bought on impulse while waiting in line to check out. No, 2013 is not brand new. At a week old, 2013 is sitting open next to the TV, freed from it's clear plastic prison. 2013 has been watched and, as the novelty of the new year has worn off, may be collecting dust. Depending on how rough you were bringing in the new year, it may have little scratches on the surface.
Wait, what was my point?
Oh yeah! We're in 2013 now. I had to address the "new" thing because this is the first blog I've written this year. Anyway.
I don't really have anything specific to say or tell you, but I haven't written a blog in a while and I felt like it. Let's see..hmmm, hmmm, hmmm.
Oh, okay! I am going to tell you the story of the time I got stung on the foot by a scorpion!
Once upon a time...
No, I'm totally kidding. About the "Once upon a time thing", anyway. I did get stung, and I'll tell you about it as soon as I can stop getting distracted.
ANYWAY!
On the evening of July 24th, 2012 (I know cuz I just looked at my Twitter) I was sitting on the couch in the living room of the house I live in with my dad, watching TV. I have my own little special spot on the couch that I always sit- there's this permanent indent there now. Well, to be honest, it's not just my spot- I kind of share it with my cat Betty. We both sit there when we're alone on the couch and when we're both there we compromise by having her sit on my lap. Damn it! I'm getting distracted again!
Anyway, on that particular night I was watching TV alone since my dad had already gone up to bed. I had to get up to go do something and swung my feet off the couch. I suddenly felt a sharp pain on the side of my right foot. I jerked it back and looked at it because I figured I had set it down on a goathead (a kind of little thorn-like thing that can be found all over New Mexico) but there was nothing there, even though my foot still had this sharp, lingering pain. So I looked down at the floor where my foot had hit and saw nothing... except a huge scorpion wandering across the rug. The next few minutes are kind of a blur to me because I think I went into maximum panic mode. However, I know I went with my first instinct, which was to retract all of my limbs in as close as possible to my body and watch in breathless horror as the (probably equally terrified, as he had almost been squished) scorpion crept away from me. I stayed this way until he crawled out of sight- it was at this point that I realized I should have squished or captured him, but in my panic I did not care. I ran up the stairs two at a time and arrived breathless to my dad's room where he was lying on his bed watching baseball.
"DAD! I just got stung by a scorpion!" I choked out. "I-i-i-it was under my foot I stepped on it and stings and it's under the couch what if it stings the dogs and I should have caught it but what do I do---"
"Wait!" he calmly cut into my senseless muttering. "What?"
I repeated myself more slowly and we looked at my foot. It still stung and there was a small bump that was pretty red but other than that I was fine. Well, physically.
He asked me how big the scorpion was and I tried to think back. In my memory the scorpion was roughly the size of a small cat but I doubted that was accurate. "About two inches long" was what I finally came up with.
He had me sit next to him for a few minutes just in case I went into anaphylactic shock or something. I didn't, and used the time to text my mom and sister.
It was during this that I observed just how differently the two sexes can react to trauma. I texted my mom and sister- "I just got stung by a scorpion!!!" and the reactions I got were "Oh my god! Are you okay?" "What happened?! Are you gonna be alright?"
Meanwhile, my dad serenely watched baseball.
After a few minutes, it became quite obvious that I wasn't about to suffer a fatal allergic reaction. Eyes still aimed at the TV, my dad asked in a casual voice, "So... are you sure it was a scorpion?"
"Yes," I replied curtly.
He chuckled. "Well, we better go look for it."
We looked for a while, and of course it was no where to be found. Well, when I say "we", I mean he did most of the searching and lifting the couches up while I trailed behind him stepping gingerly.
Really, the whole thing was rather anti-climactic but it was an experience nonetheless. It's funny- in many aspects of my life I feel that I am grown-up and I can be strong and tough but something about arachnids makes me act and feel about 5 years old.
Happy "new" year!
Sarah
Wait, what was my point?
Oh yeah! We're in 2013 now. I had to address the "new" thing because this is the first blog I've written this year. Anyway.
I don't really have anything specific to say or tell you, but I haven't written a blog in a while and I felt like it. Let's see..hmmm, hmmm, hmmm.
Oh, okay! I am going to tell you the story of the time I got stung on the foot by a scorpion!
Once upon a time...
No, I'm totally kidding. About the "Once upon a time thing", anyway. I did get stung, and I'll tell you about it as soon as I can stop getting distracted.
ANYWAY!
On the evening of July 24th, 2012 (I know cuz I just looked at my Twitter) I was sitting on the couch in the living room of the house I live in with my dad, watching TV. I have my own little special spot on the couch that I always sit- there's this permanent indent there now. Well, to be honest, it's not just my spot- I kind of share it with my cat Betty. We both sit there when we're alone on the couch and when we're both there we compromise by having her sit on my lap. Damn it! I'm getting distracted again!
Anyway, on that particular night I was watching TV alone since my dad had already gone up to bed. I had to get up to go do something and swung my feet off the couch. I suddenly felt a sharp pain on the side of my right foot. I jerked it back and looked at it because I figured I had set it down on a goathead (a kind of little thorn-like thing that can be found all over New Mexico) but there was nothing there, even though my foot still had this sharp, lingering pain. So I looked down at the floor where my foot had hit and saw nothing... except a huge scorpion wandering across the rug. The next few minutes are kind of a blur to me because I think I went into maximum panic mode. However, I know I went with my first instinct, which was to retract all of my limbs in as close as possible to my body and watch in breathless horror as the (probably equally terrified, as he had almost been squished) scorpion crept away from me. I stayed this way until he crawled out of sight- it was at this point that I realized I should have squished or captured him, but in my panic I did not care. I ran up the stairs two at a time and arrived breathless to my dad's room where he was lying on his bed watching baseball.
"DAD! I just got stung by a scorpion!" I choked out. "I-i-i-it was under my foot I stepped on it and stings and it's under the couch what if it stings the dogs and I should have caught it but what do I do---"
"Wait!" he calmly cut into my senseless muttering. "What?"
I repeated myself more slowly and we looked at my foot. It still stung and there was a small bump that was pretty red but other than that I was fine. Well, physically.
He asked me how big the scorpion was and I tried to think back. In my memory the scorpion was roughly the size of a small cat but I doubted that was accurate. "About two inches long" was what I finally came up with.
He had me sit next to him for a few minutes just in case I went into anaphylactic shock or something. I didn't, and used the time to text my mom and sister.
It was during this that I observed just how differently the two sexes can react to trauma. I texted my mom and sister- "I just got stung by a scorpion!!!" and the reactions I got were "Oh my god! Are you okay?" "What happened?! Are you gonna be alright?"
Meanwhile, my dad serenely watched baseball.
After a few minutes, it became quite obvious that I wasn't about to suffer a fatal allergic reaction. Eyes still aimed at the TV, my dad asked in a casual voice, "So... are you sure it was a scorpion?"
"Yes," I replied curtly.
He chuckled. "Well, we better go look for it."
We looked for a while, and of course it was no where to be found. Well, when I say "we", I mean he did most of the searching and lifting the couches up while I trailed behind him stepping gingerly.
Really, the whole thing was rather anti-climactic but it was an experience nonetheless. It's funny- in many aspects of my life I feel that I am grown-up and I can be strong and tough but something about arachnids makes me act and feel about 5 years old.
Happy "new" year!
Sarah
Monday, December 24, 2012
My Letter to Santa
Christmas Eve, 2012
Dear, dear, DEAR Santa Claus:
I realize I'm a little late with this, but I figure by now you must be tech-savvy enough to have an Internet-capable cell phone and you probably get bored while flying over oceans and large stretches of bare land so I figured I'd give it a shot anyway.
I admit that a few weeks ago I wrote a short list of materialistic items and gave it to desperate family members who had no idea what to give me for Christmas and, to be honest, I expect to get quite a bit of it tomorrow. So for you, Santa, I have compiled the following list of items not so easily given- things I want desperately but that cannot be purchased at Walmart or Amazon.com.
The list is as follows:
- Excellent health for me, especially when it comes to my stomach. If it's not asking too much, Santa, I would very much like to never experience nausea and/or stomach pain again
- Excellent health for my loved ones, namely relief from arthritis and a painful knee replacement
- The invention of a new kind of hair dye- the ones I buy always say "permanent" on the box, but it's not true. In fact, it would be awesome if it could just come out of my head the colors I desire- I love my colorful hair but sometimes I get really tired of dyeing it
- In the coming year, I would love to get a whole lot of snow and rain and any kind of moisture- anything to prevent fires
- I would love a vitamin that I could take that would naturally make me better at math. That and a vaccine against procrastination
- I would like a little help with not being so clumsy- that way maybe I could quit dropping my phone and stop getting mysterious bruises and not rip half my finger nails off
- I'd like a car that never needs to be refueled with gasoline and a printer that never needs new ink cartridges and a camera that never needs to be recharged
- I'd like for me and all of my loved ones to have a great year in 2013, in New Mexico, Colorado, Oklahoma and West Virginia
Of course, I know how this whole thing works- you only get what you want if you've been good all year. Well, I can't honestly swear to that...
- I've been a pretty law-abiding citizen this year but I've never been much of a law-breaker so that doesn't really count.
- I almost always save part of my meals to give to my dog, but that doesn't really count because I love her to death and don't mind, plus she sleeps with me and I fear retaliation.
- When my dad had his knee surgery earlier this year, I was pretty good at taking care of him and while he couldn't move at all I took care of all the household chores but that doesn't really count either because my dad has always taken great care of me and he works really hard at household chores all the time. If anything, I realized how lazy I usually am.
Suffice it to say, Mr. Claus, that I have been average this year. To sum it up, I guess perfect means 100% and awful means 0% so average would be 50%, right? So if you would cough up 50% of the items I asked for, I would be very happy.
Thanks, Santa! On behalf of my dog, I would like to wish you a very Merry Tiss-mas.
Sarah
Friday, December 14, 2012
Iiiiiit's Beeeginning to loook a lot likeee CHRISTMAS
It's funny how when school suddenly ends, you find yourself with all this extra time you never knew existed. I am done with school for the semester/year and I'm way happy about this. And, tomorrow night will be the very last performance of Miracle on 34th Street and after that, I'm going to have more free time than I know what to do with!
Today I killed some of my free time by going to lunch with my mom, Granny, and sister at KBobs and then I went back with my sister to her place of work to decorate for the holidays! She works as a secretary at Robin Blair's office and her Fridays are typically a bit slower than the rest of the week so today seemed like a great day to make the office more Christmas-y.
My sister, Emmy, had brought some extra Christmas ornaments from home and had dug a tiny Christmas tree (complete with a tiny string of lights and a few ornaments!) and a very old string of lights (the price sticker on the box reads "Coast-to-Coast"!) out from the depths of a back closet. We set the tiny tree out in the waiting room on a small table and plugged in it's tiny string of lights and then we ran the Coast-to-Coast string of lights along the top of her desk, where they sit blinking in strange patterns. Pleased with our handiwork, we decided to spread Christmas cheer further back in the building and proceeded to cover a large plant in Mr. Blair's office with small, red ornaments. Mr. Blair was not there at the time, so he will have a surprise in his office on Monday morning.
After that, Emmy got kind of busy with office work but I continued to decorate. Emmy had brought a bunch of huge, really cool ornaments in from home and I wasn't about to let them go to waste. The building has the kind of ceilings that are made of uniform panels of porous board with metal in between, you know, often seen in public schools? Anyway, this kind of ceiling is great for hanging things from the metal- you can kind of tuck it up under the board and it stays put, perfect for Emmy's ornaments! However, I quickly ran into problems. Both Emmy and I are on the short side so neither of us could get anywhere near the ceiling on our own. Thanks to my mom's counsel (she used to work there) we found a step stool buried in a corner. I excitedly dragged it from it's hiding place and clambered up-- only to find I was still about three inches short. However, Emmy found a huge, ancient dictionary that did the trick. As she worked, Emmy looked on in amusement and worry as I precariously hung ornaments from the ceiling. Looking back, it was sort of a ridiculous situation, but I must say, the end result was fabulous!
However, as nice as all the aforementioned decorating was, there was one other adornment that was both Emmy's and my favorite: on the wall of the waiting room there is a huge pair of horns -ox, bull, yak, whatever- that now sport several bright, Christmasy ornaments (I call them hornaments) on each tip! The contrasting tough, masculine, intimidating horns and the bright, sparkly, girly ornaments is truly breathtaking.
At the end of the day, after admiring all of our decorations, Emmy and I stood together in the waiting room, staring up at the horns.
"It's very Christmas-in-New-Mexico," I said.
She cocked her head to the side, examining the hornaments. "Do you think it's too much?" she inquired.
There was silence for a brief moment, then we glanced at each other. "Nahhh," we said in unison.
It may seem strange, but today really put me in the Christmas spirit. I guess being so involved with school and the play and with all the unseasonably warm weather, it just didn't really seem like Christmas but now that I'm not so busy and with all the great snowy weather, I'm starting to enjoy this holiday time of year.
Plus, in about two days, I'll be twenty-one. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't at all excited. I don't really know why, though. I've never been much of a gambler and ever since the scarring experience of taking a swig of my mom's beer instead of my milk at age four or so, I've never been much of a drinker, but still. Just a big milestone, I guess.
Otis is doing her impatient-sighing thing again, so it must be bedtime. Good night!
Sarah
Today I killed some of my free time by going to lunch with my mom, Granny, and sister at KBobs and then I went back with my sister to her place of work to decorate for the holidays! She works as a secretary at Robin Blair's office and her Fridays are typically a bit slower than the rest of the week so today seemed like a great day to make the office more Christmas-y.
My sister, Emmy, had brought some extra Christmas ornaments from home and had dug a tiny Christmas tree (complete with a tiny string of lights and a few ornaments!) and a very old string of lights (the price sticker on the box reads "Coast-to-Coast"!) out from the depths of a back closet. We set the tiny tree out in the waiting room on a small table and plugged in it's tiny string of lights and then we ran the Coast-to-Coast string of lights along the top of her desk, where they sit blinking in strange patterns. Pleased with our handiwork, we decided to spread Christmas cheer further back in the building and proceeded to cover a large plant in Mr. Blair's office with small, red ornaments. Mr. Blair was not there at the time, so he will have a surprise in his office on Monday morning.
After that, Emmy got kind of busy with office work but I continued to decorate. Emmy had brought a bunch of huge, really cool ornaments in from home and I wasn't about to let them go to waste. The building has the kind of ceilings that are made of uniform panels of porous board with metal in between, you know, often seen in public schools? Anyway, this kind of ceiling is great for hanging things from the metal- you can kind of tuck it up under the board and it stays put, perfect for Emmy's ornaments! However, I quickly ran into problems. Both Emmy and I are on the short side so neither of us could get anywhere near the ceiling on our own. Thanks to my mom's counsel (she used to work there) we found a step stool buried in a corner. I excitedly dragged it from it's hiding place and clambered up-- only to find I was still about three inches short. However, Emmy found a huge, ancient dictionary that did the trick. As she worked, Emmy looked on in amusement and worry as I precariously hung ornaments from the ceiling. Looking back, it was sort of a ridiculous situation, but I must say, the end result was fabulous!
However, as nice as all the aforementioned decorating was, there was one other adornment that was both Emmy's and my favorite: on the wall of the waiting room there is a huge pair of horns -ox, bull, yak, whatever- that now sport several bright, Christmasy ornaments (I call them hornaments) on each tip! The contrasting tough, masculine, intimidating horns and the bright, sparkly, girly ornaments is truly breathtaking.
At the end of the day, after admiring all of our decorations, Emmy and I stood together in the waiting room, staring up at the horns.
"It's very Christmas-in-New-Mexico," I said.
She cocked her head to the side, examining the hornaments. "Do you think it's too much?" she inquired.
There was silence for a brief moment, then we glanced at each other. "Nahhh," we said in unison.
It may seem strange, but today really put me in the Christmas spirit. I guess being so involved with school and the play and with all the unseasonably warm weather, it just didn't really seem like Christmas but now that I'm not so busy and with all the great snowy weather, I'm starting to enjoy this holiday time of year.
Plus, in about two days, I'll be twenty-one. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't at all excited. I don't really know why, though. I've never been much of a gambler and ever since the scarring experience of taking a swig of my mom's beer instead of my milk at age four or so, I've never been much of a drinker, but still. Just a big milestone, I guess.
Otis is doing her impatient-sighing thing again, so it must be bedtime. Good night!
Sarah
Friday, December 7, 2012
Eight Random Thoughts
The following is a list --in no particular order-- of random thoughts and observations spinning around in my head at the moment.
1. At least 90% of my Abnormal Psychology classmates must be heavy smokers. You can always tell when that class is about to begin or just ended because the same big group of people will be huddled right outside the library doors taking desperate drags from their cigarettes. Once in that class we were doing group exercises and one of the guys in my group snuck out in the middle of our hour and fifteen minute class so he could run outside for a quick smoke.
2. It really is a "small world"! On Wednesday a piano tuner came from out of town to tune a couple pianos here in Raton. For my birthday present, my Granny lead the piano tuner up to my house and he tuned the piano up here. (It sounds great, Granny! Thank you again!) When he finshed, he headed back into town for some lunch and then to tune more pianos. I left shortly after he did and went to the Shuler. (I'm helping with Miracle on 34th Street and I had to paint parts of the stage in time for it to be dry by rehearsal time.) I arrived at the theatre and fruitlessly knocked on the front doors and office windows for a little while, getting more and more frustrated and embarassed by the minute. It was shortly after noon so Main Street was pretty thick with traffic and the sight of a lone girl with crazy hair desperately banging on the front door of an obviously closed business was attracting more attention that I would have liked. However, just as I was about to give up on the whole endeavor (either by storming off or breaking into tears, I'm not quite sure which) Mr. Billy Donati pulled up in a chariot resembling an old truck and let me into the building. It took some digging around in the left vomitory, but I found some old beat up paint brushes and a can of grey/black paint. I had just started painting when I heard voices out in the lobby. I glanced up from my work to see Mr. Fegan entering the the theatre, leading... the piano tuner! I'm actually really glad the timing worked out like it did- the piano being tuned was the large upright down in the pit and during all the Miracle on 34th Street music rehearsals had managed to get wedged way in the corner and it took a lot of work getting it out far enough that the tuner could actually open the top.
3. I have been so accident prone lately! I know some people say you get clumsy when going through a big growth spurt but I sincerely doubt that's the case- I don't think I've grown an inch taller since about 4th grade. I remember when I was a lot younger it seemed that I would take after my mom in height- I towered above just about everybody in my classes at school! And then... I stopped growing and everybody else kept growing. Now I'm way short.. and thanks to this clumsy streak, covered in strange bruises.
4. Tomorrow is opening night for Miracle on 34th Street and I'm way nervous! To answer your question, no I don't have a lead acting role in the play. Actually, I don't have an acting role at all. I'm up in the light booth, running the.... SPOT LIGHT! It sounds so ridiculously easy- turn on, point at actor, follow actor, turn off. But somehow, I still found a way to have a hard time. I haven't yet been able to move the spotlight around without spasm-like jerking and even when I just aim it at an actor and they don't move, the spotlight still seems to bounce around. It's okay though, I'm sure I'll have it perfectly under control... just in time for the last performance of the season.
5. I've been kind of busy lately so I haven't had a whole lot of time for reading but the last new (to me) book that I read was "The Shining" by Stephen King. It was actually the first "scary" book I've ever read (except for "No Escape" by Madge Harrah, which is pretty intense when you're eight). I gotta say, it just really impressed me how someone can create that kind of horror and suspense with nothing but written words. I mean with a movie there are scary sounds and watching it on the screen can make it look like you're right there. But it takes a whole lot of talent to do that with words alone. I doubt I'll ever be a horror book author, but it's that caliber of writing that I aspire to, no matter what the subject.
6. It probably goes without saying that I've had, and will have, the songs from Miracle on 34th Street playing on repeat in my brain for what seems like many months.
7. So it's December 7th. Where the hell is the snow?
8. In case you didn't know, my dog sleeps with me. Of course, wording it that way makes it sound like I share my bed with her, when really, it seems like the other way around. It's totally her bed, complete with her blue stuffed lobster, Chester. Anyway, the point I'm making is that while I'm typing this on the computer, she's lying right next to my chair and every thirty seconds or so, she lets out an exasperated sigh that tells me only too clearly that it's past our bedtime. Oh, see? There was another sigh. I better take the hint.
Sarah
1. At least 90% of my Abnormal Psychology classmates must be heavy smokers. You can always tell when that class is about to begin or just ended because the same big group of people will be huddled right outside the library doors taking desperate drags from their cigarettes. Once in that class we were doing group exercises and one of the guys in my group snuck out in the middle of our hour and fifteen minute class so he could run outside for a quick smoke.
2. It really is a "small world"! On Wednesday a piano tuner came from out of town to tune a couple pianos here in Raton. For my birthday present, my Granny lead the piano tuner up to my house and he tuned the piano up here. (It sounds great, Granny! Thank you again!) When he finshed, he headed back into town for some lunch and then to tune more pianos. I left shortly after he did and went to the Shuler. (I'm helping with Miracle on 34th Street and I had to paint parts of the stage in time for it to be dry by rehearsal time.) I arrived at the theatre and fruitlessly knocked on the front doors and office windows for a little while, getting more and more frustrated and embarassed by the minute. It was shortly after noon so Main Street was pretty thick with traffic and the sight of a lone girl with crazy hair desperately banging on the front door of an obviously closed business was attracting more attention that I would have liked. However, just as I was about to give up on the whole endeavor (either by storming off or breaking into tears, I'm not quite sure which) Mr. Billy Donati pulled up in a chariot resembling an old truck and let me into the building. It took some digging around in the left vomitory, but I found some old beat up paint brushes and a can of grey/black paint. I had just started painting when I heard voices out in the lobby. I glanced up from my work to see Mr. Fegan entering the the theatre, leading... the piano tuner! I'm actually really glad the timing worked out like it did- the piano being tuned was the large upright down in the pit and during all the Miracle on 34th Street music rehearsals had managed to get wedged way in the corner and it took a lot of work getting it out far enough that the tuner could actually open the top.
3. I have been so accident prone lately! I know some people say you get clumsy when going through a big growth spurt but I sincerely doubt that's the case- I don't think I've grown an inch taller since about 4th grade. I remember when I was a lot younger it seemed that I would take after my mom in height- I towered above just about everybody in my classes at school! And then... I stopped growing and everybody else kept growing. Now I'm way short.. and thanks to this clumsy streak, covered in strange bruises.
4. Tomorrow is opening night for Miracle on 34th Street and I'm way nervous! To answer your question, no I don't have a lead acting role in the play. Actually, I don't have an acting role at all. I'm up in the light booth, running the.... SPOT LIGHT! It sounds so ridiculously easy- turn on, point at actor, follow actor, turn off. But somehow, I still found a way to have a hard time. I haven't yet been able to move the spotlight around without spasm-like jerking and even when I just aim it at an actor and they don't move, the spotlight still seems to bounce around. It's okay though, I'm sure I'll have it perfectly under control... just in time for the last performance of the season.
5. I've been kind of busy lately so I haven't had a whole lot of time for reading but the last new (to me) book that I read was "The Shining" by Stephen King. It was actually the first "scary" book I've ever read (except for "No Escape" by Madge Harrah, which is pretty intense when you're eight). I gotta say, it just really impressed me how someone can create that kind of horror and suspense with nothing but written words. I mean with a movie there are scary sounds and watching it on the screen can make it look like you're right there. But it takes a whole lot of talent to do that with words alone. I doubt I'll ever be a horror book author, but it's that caliber of writing that I aspire to, no matter what the subject.
6. It probably goes without saying that I've had, and will have, the songs from Miracle on 34th Street playing on repeat in my brain for what seems like many months.
7. So it's December 7th. Where the hell is the snow?
8. In case you didn't know, my dog sleeps with me. Of course, wording it that way makes it sound like I share my bed with her, when really, it seems like the other way around. It's totally her bed, complete with her blue stuffed lobster, Chester. Anyway, the point I'm making is that while I'm typing this on the computer, she's lying right next to my chair and every thirty seconds or so, she lets out an exasperated sigh that tells me only too clearly that it's past our bedtime. Oh, see? There was another sigh. I better take the hint.
Sarah
Thursday, November 29, 2012
I'm Listening to Bagpipes!
For the past year or so, every month or six weeks I get these weird stomach problems that I hate more than anything. It's a process and no matter what I do, I can't figure out what triggers it or anyway to stop it. I've tried taking extra acid reducers (I already take some daily!), eating, not eating, and drinking different things including baking soda in water that I read somewhere is supposed to help sour stomachs. I've talked to a few different doctors and none of them can really tell what it is or what causes it.
It usually starts in the evening. Physically, I feel fine but I get a sour stomach which makes me burp up this terrible tasting stuff. It reminds me of rotten eggs! It's absolutely disgusting. Anyway, I usually go to bed like this: feeling okay but with the sour stomach. Then I'll wake up at three or so in the morning and have to run to the bathroom. I'll puke and puke and usually stay on the floor in front of the toilet in a kind of stupor until my dad comes to check on me and makes me go back to bed. Sometimes I'll be lucky and that will be the extent of it and sometimes I'll wake up a while later and go right back at it. The past few times have been the latter type of experience. A few months ago I actually got so sick I started seeing bits of blood in my vomit.
So, why exactly am I telling you all of this? Well, first, I feel like complaining. Second, this whole process happened to me this past Monday night/Tuesday morning and when I get sick like this I spend a lot of time staring into the toilet and thinking, thinking, thinking.
This particular time, I got thinking about fears. I remember when I was younger, I was absolutely terrified of throwing up. I mean, nobody really likes it; it's a horribly unpleasant experience and it's associated with feeling awful. But I absolutely dreaded it and when I had the stomach flu and felt terrible, I would do everything I possibly could to avoid actually throwing up.
A few years ago, I got put on a new medication that did not agree with my body at all. I can only guess I was allergic to it or something because the entire time I was on it, I was terribly sick to my stomach, vomiting close to every day. Eventually I got off of the medicine and went back to feeling normal but I definitely got something out of the experience. Puking all the time like that, I had had no choice but to face my fear! After that whole experience, I no longer was afraid of throwing up. Quite the contrary, actually. I learned that throwing up can provide a lot of relief. As horrible as throwing up is, usually afterwards I feel so much better just getting all sorts of awful stuff out of my system.
In high school, I took a Philosophy class taught by my step-dad, Leo. For the most part, it was really chaotic and we spent most of our time talking and arguing and I don't know that we got a whole lot of work done, but I really enjoyed it. I remember one day, we were talking about fears. Leo started on one side of the classroom and asked every student, if they were willing, to share their deepest fear. I was sitting on the opposite side of the classroom and got a few minutes to think about my answer.
Immediately, my mind jumped to spiders. That's kind of my automatic answer to when people ask what I'm afraid of because it's true. Spiders. Freak. Me. Out. I hate them! They just give me the creeps. I've never even had some terrible, traumatic experience with them. I was just born that way.
But I got to thinking. You know how sometimes you'll take quizzes or people will ask you, "What would you do for a million dollars? What would you do to save a life? What are your limits?" And the truth is, as much as I despise and fear spiders, there, absolutely, are circumstances under which I would endure any concocted torture involving arachnids.
It was following this train of thought that I realized what it is I'm most afraid of. By the time Leo got to me, I had my answer:
"I'm afraid of losing loved ones. I, myself, am not afraid to die. Not at all. But I'm terrified of having to live without the people I love."
If I could choose what to be afraid of, this would definitely not make the list. It's a nice idea and all but this kind of fear is the absolute worst to have because it is completely, 100% unavoidable. Take, for example, another one of my fears: sharks. Like spiders, I have this sort of irrational fear of them, but as long as I steer clear of swimming in the ocean, I should be fine. Not hard, considering I live hundreds of miles from any coast.
Loved ones dying, however, I can do nothing to prevent. And the longer I live, the more I'll lose. The longer I live, the more attached I will become to my loved ones and it will be harder and harder to lose them. This has already been proven true. When I was pretty young, I lost my great-grandmother and a few other adults I didn't know that well. I vaguely remember being sad to hear that they died and I kind of remember the funerals.
But when I was fifteen, I lost a dear friend in a car accident and it was horrible, for me and everyone else. Since I was older when it happened, I remember so many more details and the pain is still so sharp. I remember finding out and sobbing on the floor and I remember the funeral, seeing my friend in a coffin, only it didn't look like him at all and that was even more horrible.
Then earlier this year, in April, I woke up one morning to my phone ringing. My dad told me that my grandpa had been found in his gator on the side of the road, passed out. An ambulance had been called, my dad said, and he would call me as soon as he had any updates. I remember sitting on my bed then, just kind of numb. When my dad called back a little later, I think I knew what he was going to say before he said it, but I still remember his sharp intake of breath, his trembly voice, telling me that Grandpa had died. Even now, I remember going out to sit on our front steps, waiting for my sister to come and get me, and looking up at the sky. There wasn't a cloud in sight. At the time it seemed cruel, like the weather was mocking our pain, but looking back now it seems like more of a nice farewell gesture.
I guess it's possible that, like throwing up, this is a fear that I will face and face and finally become okay with, but I really doubt it, and in a way, I kind of hope not. That would be horrible. But I guess that the more people there are that I love and fear losing, the more people I'll have with me to help me cope.
And you thought of all this while gazing into the depths of a toilet bowl, did you, Sarah?
Yes! And so much more, like "What time is it, anyway? I wonder if Dad has been able to sleep with me retching in the background..", intermixed with random lyrics from the Shuler's production of "Miracle on 34th Street."
An update on my dad's cell phone, if you're interested:
He's getting better and better everyday! He is getting faster at texting and has successsfully learned to answer his calls. True, he uses an unclicked ACE pen to push the letters on his phone's keyboard instead of his finger, but progress is progress!
Man, these blogs take me really, really long to write! But in this case, it has afforded me the opportunity to be the first to wish you...
HAPPY ST. ANDREWS DAY!!
Sarah
It usually starts in the evening. Physically, I feel fine but I get a sour stomach which makes me burp up this terrible tasting stuff. It reminds me of rotten eggs! It's absolutely disgusting. Anyway, I usually go to bed like this: feeling okay but with the sour stomach. Then I'll wake up at three or so in the morning and have to run to the bathroom. I'll puke and puke and usually stay on the floor in front of the toilet in a kind of stupor until my dad comes to check on me and makes me go back to bed. Sometimes I'll be lucky and that will be the extent of it and sometimes I'll wake up a while later and go right back at it. The past few times have been the latter type of experience. A few months ago I actually got so sick I started seeing bits of blood in my vomit.
So, why exactly am I telling you all of this? Well, first, I feel like complaining. Second, this whole process happened to me this past Monday night/Tuesday morning and when I get sick like this I spend a lot of time staring into the toilet and thinking, thinking, thinking.
This particular time, I got thinking about fears. I remember when I was younger, I was absolutely terrified of throwing up. I mean, nobody really likes it; it's a horribly unpleasant experience and it's associated with feeling awful. But I absolutely dreaded it and when I had the stomach flu and felt terrible, I would do everything I possibly could to avoid actually throwing up.
A few years ago, I got put on a new medication that did not agree with my body at all. I can only guess I was allergic to it or something because the entire time I was on it, I was terribly sick to my stomach, vomiting close to every day. Eventually I got off of the medicine and went back to feeling normal but I definitely got something out of the experience. Puking all the time like that, I had had no choice but to face my fear! After that whole experience, I no longer was afraid of throwing up. Quite the contrary, actually. I learned that throwing up can provide a lot of relief. As horrible as throwing up is, usually afterwards I feel so much better just getting all sorts of awful stuff out of my system.
In high school, I took a Philosophy class taught by my step-dad, Leo. For the most part, it was really chaotic and we spent most of our time talking and arguing and I don't know that we got a whole lot of work done, but I really enjoyed it. I remember one day, we were talking about fears. Leo started on one side of the classroom and asked every student, if they were willing, to share their deepest fear. I was sitting on the opposite side of the classroom and got a few minutes to think about my answer.
Immediately, my mind jumped to spiders. That's kind of my automatic answer to when people ask what I'm afraid of because it's true. Spiders. Freak. Me. Out. I hate them! They just give me the creeps. I've never even had some terrible, traumatic experience with them. I was just born that way.
But I got to thinking. You know how sometimes you'll take quizzes or people will ask you, "What would you do for a million dollars? What would you do to save a life? What are your limits?" And the truth is, as much as I despise and fear spiders, there, absolutely, are circumstances under which I would endure any concocted torture involving arachnids.
It was following this train of thought that I realized what it is I'm most afraid of. By the time Leo got to me, I had my answer:
"I'm afraid of losing loved ones. I, myself, am not afraid to die. Not at all. But I'm terrified of having to live without the people I love."
If I could choose what to be afraid of, this would definitely not make the list. It's a nice idea and all but this kind of fear is the absolute worst to have because it is completely, 100% unavoidable. Take, for example, another one of my fears: sharks. Like spiders, I have this sort of irrational fear of them, but as long as I steer clear of swimming in the ocean, I should be fine. Not hard, considering I live hundreds of miles from any coast.
Loved ones dying, however, I can do nothing to prevent. And the longer I live, the more I'll lose. The longer I live, the more attached I will become to my loved ones and it will be harder and harder to lose them. This has already been proven true. When I was pretty young, I lost my great-grandmother and a few other adults I didn't know that well. I vaguely remember being sad to hear that they died and I kind of remember the funerals.
But when I was fifteen, I lost a dear friend in a car accident and it was horrible, for me and everyone else. Since I was older when it happened, I remember so many more details and the pain is still so sharp. I remember finding out and sobbing on the floor and I remember the funeral, seeing my friend in a coffin, only it didn't look like him at all and that was even more horrible.
Then earlier this year, in April, I woke up one morning to my phone ringing. My dad told me that my grandpa had been found in his gator on the side of the road, passed out. An ambulance had been called, my dad said, and he would call me as soon as he had any updates. I remember sitting on my bed then, just kind of numb. When my dad called back a little later, I think I knew what he was going to say before he said it, but I still remember his sharp intake of breath, his trembly voice, telling me that Grandpa had died. Even now, I remember going out to sit on our front steps, waiting for my sister to come and get me, and looking up at the sky. There wasn't a cloud in sight. At the time it seemed cruel, like the weather was mocking our pain, but looking back now it seems like more of a nice farewell gesture.
I guess it's possible that, like throwing up, this is a fear that I will face and face and finally become okay with, but I really doubt it, and in a way, I kind of hope not. That would be horrible. But I guess that the more people there are that I love and fear losing, the more people I'll have with me to help me cope.
And you thought of all this while gazing into the depths of a toilet bowl, did you, Sarah?
Yes! And so much more, like "What time is it, anyway? I wonder if Dad has been able to sleep with me retching in the background..", intermixed with random lyrics from the Shuler's production of "Miracle on 34th Street."
An update on my dad's cell phone, if you're interested:
He's getting better and better everyday! He is getting faster at texting and has successsfully learned to answer his calls. True, he uses an unclicked ACE pen to push the letters on his phone's keyboard instead of his finger, but progress is progress!
Man, these blogs take me really, really long to write! But in this case, it has afforded me the opportunity to be the first to wish you...
HAPPY ST. ANDREWS DAY!!
Sarah
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