I have to go into the crevasse

You know you've been in school too long...

...when you start considering new and drastic career moves, like opening a Krispy Kreme in Des Moines.

...when you call your mom while watching the playoffs to let her know that you think Lebron needs to learn how to self-soothe.

...if the very thought of going into another classroom and announcing your name, concentration and reason for taking the class makes you want to shove baby carrots up your nose.

...when you think washing your sheets and comforter is an acceptable reason to be late to class.

...if you dream of someday hanging things on your walls with something other than Blu-tack.

...if those things you dream of hanging on your walls are not posters or Chinese restaurant menus.

...when it seems perfectly acceptable to spend $50 on shoes rather than buying the $75 textbook for the class you're currently attending.

...if you have to stop yourself from scratching someone's eyes out when they say, "Well, six months isn't that long..."

...if the idea of the world ending in October pisses you off because that's before you graduate.

I swallowed a bug.

I am 26 years old and this is the first year I have ever done my own taxes.

Go ahead and judge.  It's probably fair.

I had every intention of doing them last year so my poor dad, who ends up doing all that stupid, necessary crap for me, would not have to mess with it.

And as you may assume, my road to Hell is pretty well paved with all manner of my good intentions.

So, this year, I decided to put on my big-girl pants, take some responsibility and do it myself.  I figured, if everyone else in the country manages to do this and survive, then I certainly can, too.

Mistake.

I have always been a person who gets, shall we say, easily frustrated.  These frustrations pop up generally when I don't understand something no matter how hard I try, or when something that should work correctly does not.

Typical scenarios that frustrate me

• Getting lost while driving
• Attempting any math above a 2nd grade level
• Spending $50+  to ship a box to a friend overseas and then having someone else ask, "Why didn't you just use a flat-rate box?"
• Buying an album off of iTunes, and only half of the songs actually downloaded
• Parallel parking
• When my printer spazzes out, prints the wrong pages of a paper that is due in 20 minutes, and uses up all the computer paper I had left

As you can see, many of these frustrations have to do with math and/or spatial skills (I am such a stereotype), and many have to do with technology.

For me, doing my taxes was a combination of both. 

The Federal taxes, though tedious, were easy enough.  In fact, I got pretty cocky for a few minutes because I just seemed to have all the answers.

Then came the state taxes.

Giant, fermented goat funk.

I recently acquired residency to the fine state of North Carolina in order to secure in-state tuition rates.  However, I have only been a resident for about 6 months.  So, to my home state of Indiana, I am still considered a "partial resident."  Basically, it boils down to the fact that I have taxes in both Indiana and North Carolina.

Suddenly, I was transported back to 5th grade and I was taking a giant math test, complete with word problems, critical thinking and basic algebra (yes, we did algebra in my 5th grade class).

I didn't understand the questions, I couldn't figure out which numbers went where and I couldn't remember a thing from my homework.  My heart was racing, my palms were sweaty and the room was getting increasingly stuffy.  I looked around at my classmates, their pencils racing across the page and realized that I was the only one who didn't get it.

Fortunately, I was able to snap myself back to reality.  I straightened myself in my chair, took a deep breath and thought to myself, "You are an adult.  You are mature, you are independent and you can do this, damn it!"

So, I did what any self-respecting, independent woman in my situation would do.

I called my dad.

In fact, I called him six times within a 2-hour period. 

Eventually, after crying, swearing and throwing things (and I am not exaggerating), I finished them. 

Did I do it correctly?  I have absolutely no freaking clue.  And at the moment, I could not give a happy rat's ass.

Did I learn something?  Why yes, yes I did.

H&R Block exists for a reason.

Also, part of being an adult is knowing when to admit you cannot or, more importantly, should not do something.  I should not be allowed to do my own taxes.  Hell, or anyone else's, for that matter.

I am reminded of something my mom has on the wall in her office at work that really accurately sums up the whole thing for me:

I am that pig.

What, like it's hard?

Sounds like a dirty word, doesn't it?

That's because it is.

I have been putting mine off with the expertise of a seasoned veteran of the American higher education system.

Now, if you're familiar with the process required to achieve government funded financial aid for learning purposes, you are aware of what it takes to fill out this blessed piece of paperwork.

If you are unfamiliar, I'd like to help you.  Here are my steps for successfully completing your next FAFSA: 

• Wait until the deadline has passed by at least a week.
• Start this process in the morning.  This provides you with a greater chance of ruining your entire day.
• Don't even think about sitting down to the computer unless you have your tax returns, driver's license, 3 credit card statements, a fresh urine sample and a box of Munchkins within arm's reach.
• Start swearing profusely.  You're going to do it eventually so you may as well do it right.
• Enter your name.
• SAVE!
• Wipe the sweat off your brow and press on.
• Enter 17 more pages of personal information you've only told your priest or your cat.
• SAVE!
• It helps to call your dad several times throughout the process to announce, "This is hard!"
• Finish up my submitting the form and praying to the gods of FAFSA that they'll still process the paperwork despite your tardiness.
• Congratulate yourself on a job well done!

Now, don't get comfortable, because assuming  your FAFSA goes through without a hitch (and it won't), next you get to deal with a nameless, faceless corporation who will insist you sign over your first born and a bag of Fritos in exchange for money to attend school.

This can come in many forms, but if you're super lucky, you'll get to deal with one of the most hateful, degrading organizations in the history of evil:  Sallie Mae.

The only tips I have for you regarding that bitch would be to call a Sallie Mae customer service rep, forget that this person has feelings and do your best to make them cry.

Good luck!

Does this mean I'm a yuppie?

Well, I must be a grown up.

I know this for two reasons.

The first reason is that I am going to a  conference this weekend.  I am excited about this conference for the following reasons:

• It makes me feel like a professional.  Or like I have hope of becoming a professional something.
• It's all about sex, which is a lot more interesting than a lot of conferences.
• I GET TO WEAR HEELS!

Given that I live all up in the mountains, I go back and forth between my snow boots, my rain boots and my tennis shoes.  I wouldn't dare wear any shoe with more than a 1/2 inch heel because I would face plant and I would die with no teeth.

This conference is in the Piedmont (for non-NCers, this means in the flatter, warmer part), so I get to put on my fancy shoes that haven't seen any action for months.  Poor things.

The other reason I am a grown up is that I am the featured blogger at SFTC!

 

Kelly is a rare gem.  You don't just go to the store and git her.  You gotta look for her.  And once you find her, you throw elbows and bite people to keep her. 

Too graphic?

I think she'd like it.

Anyway, if you're not already following Kelly, I question your judgment because not only is she far more consistent than I am, she's pretty damn funny.  And not a little twisted.

I wish everyone a pleasant Friday and I hope you will think of me as you put on your shoes.  Even the dudes.

P.S. I just learned there is a Target near my hotel.  BEST CONFERENCE EVER.

Who's got two thumbs, speaks limited French and is 25 today? This moi!

That's right, punks.  It really happened.

From now on, when you're describing me to your friends, you'll say, "You know, Sara.  Brown hair, short, mid-twenties, really hates mayonnaise?"  And the other person will say, "Oh, right!  Yeah, she really does hate mayo..."

That's right.  I do.

And yes, today I turned 25 years old.

In response to this madness, I have decided that this will be my year.

Mind you, I'm not quite sure what that means just yet, but I've decided to own it nonetheless.  Allow me to show you my life's progression:

• 22 years old - graduated college
• 23 years old - moved to China, the Netherlands, and back to Indiana
• 24 years old - started grad school and bought a car
  
• 25 years old - graduate early, marry a lumberjack and adopt a family of hedgehogs
  

Seems logical, right?

Now, I know this isn't really going to happen.  Early graduation?  Pfft, come on!  Not only will I not graduate early, but I'm pretty sure I will never graduate.  In fact, it's possible that I died a long time ago and it turns out that Boone is my own personal Hell.  Hard to say.

Anyway, I think good things should happen to me this year.  As Christina has taught me, I am far too pretty for a lot of the junk that happened during the 24s.  And damned if that girl isn't right!

I feel like it's okay if 26 blows furry monkey nuggets as long as 25 gives me something I can work with.

I think this little snippet from Scrubs best depicts how I feel about turning 25:

JD: Time to take the G-R off my gratitude and give that old bastard some attitude, JD style!
Carla: His office is that way.
JD: I know, I have to go throw up first.

I'm a big kid now.

You know what sucks?

(Yours is a question with many possible answers.)

I'll tell you what sucks.

(That was short-lived.)

Decisions suck.

(Oh, is that all? Not war? Malaria? World hunger? Tyra Banks? Poor baby.)

I've always been pretty good at making decisions.

(Unless it involves something important. You know, like dinner.)

Generally, I will make my choice, whatever it may be, and then decide to live with it.

(One time, I totally chose a Psych rerun over Jeopardy's Tournament of Champions. It was hard, but I got through it.)

Lately, either decisions are getting harder or I'm getting dumber.

(..............................................)

I'll make a decision and then agonize over it until whatever I'm holding is in shreds.

(Let's hope it wasn't a guinea pig.)

However, I do choose to see the silver lining in all of this.

(Don't "glass half full" people make your ass twitch?)

Perhaps it'll be easier to decide on my dinner.

(Is that for here or to go?)

Okay, maybe not.

Time to put on my big-girl pants

(Click on the picture if you're tired of squinting.)

The next 30 days cannot go by quickly enough.

I'm involved in something that is sucking my will to live, and will continue to do so for another month.

This is unfortunate because no matter what good things come my way in the next few weeks, they will be completely overshadowed by this fermenting barrel of funk to which I'm committed.

In an attempt to be classy, I'm not going to name the specific barrel of funk.

In the meantime, I'm just trying to remember that while I'm doomed to fail in this venture, I'm determined to come out on top with a moral victory.

Just like the Green Bay... Mer-men.

Where are my big girl pants?

For the last 12 months, my poor parents have put up with quite a bit.




August 2007, I graduated from Indiana University with absolutely no plan of any kind. In October, I found a month-long TEFL course (teaching English as a foreign language) in Denver and decided that would be my new plan. After completing it and receiving my CELTA certificate (I'd be lying if I said I knew what that stands for), I announced that I would be traveling to Poland to begin my new teaching adventures. Perhaps a month later, I changed my mind and announced that I'd be going to China instead! So, in March 2008, I hopped a plane and headed to Qingdao to live with my super-neat friend, Sonya.



After three months of all sorts of tomfoolery in China, I decided it was the wrong time and wrong place to be there (and I was getting kicked out of the country anyway because of visa and Olympic details). So, back to Indiana! I spent the better part of the summer sitting on my parents' couch with my laptop, looking for TEFL jobs in Europe. I was getting close to giving up when one day, a friend from work put me in touch with someone named Kelly. Kelly was an au pair for a Dutch/American family in the Netherlands and was looking for someone to replace her when her time was up in September. After talking to Kelly at length and Skyping with her host mom, I decided I would take over for her as an au pair!



After only a month and a half in Holland, I decided I needed to get the frick out of that house or I'd be a mere shell of a woman in no time at all. For now, let's just say that the differences between this household and my own are infinite. So, I'm still in the Netherlands right now, with 5 days to go before I can get on that blessed plane and return to the magical land of Chick-Fil-A and economic recession and squirrels. Seriously, there are no squirrels here.

Things I will miss from the Netherlands:

1. Mars bars - if anyone can find those in the US, please tell me where!
2. Recycling/Environmental concern
3. Glaring at pedestrians and drivers for even thinking of getting in front of me on my bike
4. Cafes and year-round patio dining
5. Train travel
6. Pancakes, pie and poffertjes (tiny pancakes)
7. The cheese... oh God, the cheese
8. CNN

Things I will not miss from the Netherlands:

1. Crappy weather
2. Dutch "manners" (or lack thereof)
3. The stairs - my room is on the third floor
4. The smoking - everybody smokes here
5. Old people cutting in front of me at the grocery store
6. Grocery store cashiers rolling their eyes at me when I hand them a €50
7. Microwaving my bread when I want a sandwich
8. Sinterklaas and Black Pete (if you're a rather PC person like me, this aint your country)

So, once again, my parents will welcome me back with open arms. And I know the next time I spring another dumbass idea on them (which I will), they won't heave a sigh, groan or even roll their eyes at me... at least not on the outside. They might try to distract me with something shiny, but that's about it. I do think, however, that my next "plan" may lean toward the more mainstream as I'm actually quite tired of living my life in 3 month spurts. As a good friend would say, it's time for me to put on my big girl pants.

I'm coming home, Mama!