Daniel Boone was a shit

I hate where I live.  I hate it a lot.

I have been residing in this mountain paradise for a year and a half.  The first two days were charming.  The next year wore me down.  The last 6 months have been repeatedly stabbing me in the pancreas with a salad fork.  And not in a fun way.

Perhaps you have been in a similar situation, or maybe you're experiencing it right now.  As I am in a program designed to whip me into shape so I may aspire to be the spitting image of a real, live therapist, let me help those of you who may be struggling to understand and overcome your situation.

Step #1: Identifying Emotions

It's entirely possible you're having trouble pinpointing whether or not you hate where you live.  Allow me to help clarify this for you with the following questionnaire:

1. Do you like to pretend you live somewhere better?  San Diego?  Miami?  Duluth? 
2. Are you curling up in the fetal position on your bathroom floor more than usual?
3. Have you lashed out at local law enforcement for "being on a power trip?"
4. Do you find yourself arguing with inanimate objects, such as traffic or wind?
5. Are you engaging in long talks with yourself more than live persons?  Do you use accents?  Are there characters?  If you're choosing a Russian persona, have you decided your name is Natasha, you're blonde and you combat self-esteem issues by attending Jazzercise classes?
6. Have you had fantasies of fashioning a giant meat thermometer out of  recycled coffee stirrers and repeatedly jamming it into the next person who expresses disbelief at your distaste for hiking, outdoor activities and nature in general?

If you answered "yes" to #1, 2, 3, 4 or 6, you hate where you live and you're pretty angry about it.

(#5 was a trick.  Do not mock Natasha.  It will mean big trouble for moose and squirrel.)

Step #2: Expressing Anger in a Healthy Fashion (The Dos and Don'ts of Going Apeshit)

Now that you know you hate where you live and you're somewhat bent out of shape about it, you may be thinking, "Help me, Sara!  I need healthy outlets to express my uncontrollable stabbiness!"

I hear you.

Let's go over some healthy, and maybe some not so healthy, ways of channeling your hatefulness.

DO take extra time to breathe, meditate or pray.  And if you get sleepy, turn it into a nap.

DO NOT assault your co-worker's potted ivy plant because it "got all up in my space!"

DO focus on the positives of being crabby.  People will probably stop asking you for favors.

DO NOT pass on free food in the break room at work just because you don't want to associate with people.  Fix your plate, do not engage with anyone and head back to your office.  They'll assume you're really busy.

DO express your struggles with your boss so he/she knows what you're dealing with.

DO NOT expect your boss to care.

DO show empathy for others, as you would appreciate that same empathy from another.

DO NOT throw a full blown temper tantrum when coming home from your internship because the road that connects to the street where you live is currently blocked off by the Fuzz due to a giant fire further on up the mountain that is threatening to spread because of the 50 mph. wind gusts.  This has the potential to make you appear just a tiny bit selfish and/or psychotic.

Step #3: Utilizing Self-Soothing Techniques

The third and final step is to employ any strategy that helps you feel better about the fact that you live in a crowded, ass-backward little town that seems to have something against Coke products and any business that stays open later than 6pm on a weekend.

Not sure what you can do to help yourself?  Scan the following list for helpful hints and suggestions when feeling stuck or like you want to punt bunnies.

• If your town is super crunchy, boycott granola.  It's the principle, damn it.
• Draw a picture of your spirit animal.  Now, tell that spirit animal to get you a burrito.
• Fill up your gas tank, put some air in your tires and clean your windshield.  Seriously, this works.  I did it today and I felt super capable and accomplished.
• Talk to that one friend who lets you say incredibly mean, self-centered and inappropriate things without judging you.
• Get the Final Jeopardy question right.  Sometimes you have to be smart to do this one, but not always.  And if it happens, it's totally worth it.
• Call your parents and remind them that you hate where you live.  It's possible they forgot as it has probably been 17 minutes since last you told them.
• Think about showering, then decide against it in favor of writing a cathartic blog post.

If you successfully complete each step, you'll probably look something like this:



I mean, or not.  Whatever.

I hate it here.

Hey, It's Okay Tuesdays

I like to do this every now and then for a couple reasons:

1) It makes me feel better about myself.

2) Amber at Airing My Dirty Laundry... does it and I think she's swell.

3) I'm having trouble making coherent sentences, so the shorter the better.


Hey, it's okay...


...if you were out in the sun for 7 hours last Sunday and now your pasty ass is burned to shit.

...if it took 10 whole minutes and two friends to help you find your car in a parking lot.  Again.

...to be super excited your mama is coming to visit so you can show her everything you hate about your current town of residence.

...if your car went from making an endearing, high-pitched whine to a gut-wrenching, bowel moving grinding noise.

...to eat an enchilada for breakfast and a burrito for dinner.

...if you could actually feel your brain leaking out of your ears while you watched The Bounty Hunter.

...if your friend Consuela was kind enough to loan you her car while yours is in the shop... and then you promptly left her car keys on the 3rd floor of the T-comm building.

...to wish Cheesy Blasters were a real thing.

What? Sexy? You are, shut up.

Welcome, my little chinchillas!

If you are here from SITS, thank you for visiting on this momentous occasion.

For those of you non-SITS affiliated, I have the honor of being today's featured blogger.  In simpler terms, I'm important today and I invite you all to bask in my radiance.

Allow myself to introduce... myself.

I am a grad student in North Carolina but primarily hail from Indiana.  I like Thai food, pajamas, books, black coffee, Ella Fitzgerald and pie.

I'm generally good-natured and low-key, but I do fancy a good rant, accompanied by some less than exemplary behavior.  However, I have created rules for just such an event:

Throwing things always seems like a good idea at the time...

I also find it terribly cathartic to make confessions to the world wide interweb:


Time to come out of the non-gay closet!

And what would be the point of all this without a night at the theater?:


Oh, Mr. Bones, that's terrible!


In conclusion, I prefer to see the humor, irony or straight up stupidity in life.  If you're looking for inspirational messages or heartfelt anecdotes, I don't really get up into that cookie.

I do, however, have a tendency to swear.  In the spirit of SITS, however, I'm being good today.

You don't believe me?  See below.

Seriously.  Maybe you really should check your donkey door.

"I have two ears and a heart, don't I?"

I have a research paper that is due tomorrow.

I haven't started.

I have another paper and project due next Friday.

Haven't started on that either.

We talked about domestic violence and battering today in class.

My heart broke.

What is making all of this okay so that I'm currently able to function?

One word:

GENESIS.




I challenge you- nay! I dare you to listen to "Invisible Touch" without your toe tapping, your head bobbing and/or your heart filling with tree nymphs and pixie dust.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I must return to the land of confusion.

This is untoward! This is not toward!

Well, hell.

In about a week, I'm taking this dog and pony show on the road.

I'll be setting up shop in a complicated dichotomy of a town comprised of pot smoking, patchouli wearing, dreadlock sporting hippies as well as Bible beating, Nascar loving, small business hating Republicans.

It's too bad there isn't a middle-of-the-road student group called "Women Libbers Who Like to Shower".

I think that defines me pretty well.

There are some things to which, I know, I will adjust very nicely. For example, I already know I like minor league baseball, southern accents and Cheerwine.

There are other aspects, however, that might take an adjustment. For example, the general slower pace of the South.

Most people don't think of the Midwest as a fast-paced environment. Well, it's not. That's not the point!

The South just moves at a different rate of speed.

The news of my assistantship was supposed to come the first week in July. It came the first week in August.

A form was e-mailed to me 2 days before it was supposed to be filled out, signed by a physician and returned.

Everyone takes a little longer to return my phone calls and so far, deadlines seem like more of a suggestion than anything.

Granted, I have never been a highly organized or structured person, but I am used to a slightly less relaxed attitude toward dates and time limits.

In fact, due to my procrastination and lackadaisical attitude toward due dates, I require that structured lifestyle to make sure I pay my cable bill or brush my teeth once in a while.

I'm sure it'll work itself out.

Of course there is also the concern that my new roommates/friends might make me try to, you know, like, love nature and whatnot.

I mean, I'll go on a short hike or get a little rowdy on the playground, but I'm not sleeping in a tent and spooning a bunch of squirrels, alright?

Well, I've still got a week to think about it.

In the words of Jack Donaghy from 30 Rock, "If I wanted to lick a hippie, I'd return Joan Baez's phone calls."

Attention, morning people!

Bring me a muffin in the morning and I will love you forever.

Do you hear me?

FOREVER.

(Warning: If you pair it with coffee, there may be gratuitous hand-holding.)

"Did you know that in the morning, they have food, TV, almost everything? It's pretty good."
-- Tracy Jordan, 30 Rock

Oh, Mr. Bones, that's terrible.

Yesterday, my mom and I went to a musical, sort of.

Okay, I need to preface this story with some background information.

My whole family is musically inclined in one way or another. We all sing, my dad plays organ and piano and my brother pretty much plays everything. We all like going to live shows and performances, although my dad tends to favor Gilbert and Sullivan while my brother prefers bands of which I've never heard.

So, when my mom told me she got tickets for the touring show of Ain't Misbehavin', I was pretty excited. I'd never seen it before and it featured Ruben Studdard, Frenchie Davis and Trenyce Cobbins from American Idol. What's not to like?

Anyway, my mom and I showed up to the theater last night, both ready to enjoy an evening of song, dance and general frivolity.

We both got settled in our seats, turned off our phones and opened our programs. I flipped to the listing of songs in each act.

My jaw dropped.

There were fifteen songs in the first Act. The conversation that followed between my mom and I probably sounded fairly normal to those sitting nearby, but for us, it had a completely different meaning:


What we said...

Sara: I didn't realize this show had so many songs.
Mom: Yeah, both acts look pretty long.
Sara: Isn't 30 Rock on at 9:30?
Mom: Oh, right. We're probably going to miss it.
Sara: Yeah, probably. Hey, I think we can move closer at intermission.
Mom: I'll bet you're right.

What we meant...

Sara: Oh, dear God. Did you realize how long this thing is?
Mom: I can't sit through this whole thing.
Sara: I am not missing 30 Rock.
Mom: Pfft, me neither!
Sara: Let's leave at half-time.
Mom: Two steps ahead of you.


What's funny is that it wasn't a bad show (well, what we saw of it). All the performers were quite good and easy to listen to. It wasn't that long, either. The first act was probably 45 minutes. It made no difference. Our attention spans were already shot.

Several times during the first act, one of us would lean over to the other and make a deep, philosophical observation about the show.

Mom: I was thinking about France for most of that song.
Sara: That's so weird because I was thinking about this French song I'm working on for my voice lessons!

...and then later...

Mom: Wanna get breakfast at Panera tomorrow?
Sara: Do I?!

...and then at half-time...

Sara: Maybe we should "walk around the lobby".
Mom: Good idea.

I would love to say that this is the first time something like this has ever happened (or that it will never happen again), but I'd be reserving my seat in Hades, right next to Pinocchio and Richard Nixon.

On a completely separate note, my good friend and fellow blogger, Lisa, has a brand new blog! It's called The Blonde Blogette and it's all about movies, music, pop culture and just about any other form of entertainment you can think of. She Facebooks, she Twitters, she blogs... she does it all!

On another, but final, completely separate note, it's disgustingly gorgeous outside. It's all I can do not to run outside and perform an interpretive ribbon dance to Miley Cyrus's "It's the Climb".

Oh, come on. You just wish you'd thought of it first.