Hey, it's okay Tuesdays

I hope you all enjoyed a prosperous and plentiful Druid Winter Solstice Light Festival.  My gift to you all is the gift of blog, for it has been brought to my attention that I've been sucking something fierce at that.  Now, in the holiday tradition of Amber at Airing My Dirty Laundry..., I give you validation.



Hey, it's okay...


...if you once bought unfrosted Pop-Tarts in an attempt to be "healthy."

...if, when you were 16 years old, you slept on the couch because you were convinced a tiny woodland creature was living in your headboard.

...to love Muppets.

...to hate puppets.

...if the highlights of your upcoming semester include a Spring Break trip to Seattle to see your brother, popping over to San Diego for a conference (and to frolic with SurferWife) and your dearest redheaded, Mormon tater tot, Lisa, returning to the U.S. from her mission in Finland.

...if you are damn near positive the scanner just growled at you.

...if you yelled a few choice phrases (such as "Butterfly nuggets!" and "Mrs. Clause's holiday wafers!") after dropping and shattering one of your parents' Christmas plates.

...if your dad walked past you and commented, "Your blog is old," to which you respectfully replied, "You are."

...if an adequate supply of doughnuts and cupcakes has become your most vital criteria for selecting a future city of semi-permanent residence.

...to not appreciate it when someone starts a sentence with, "I'm not complaining, but..."  Yes, you are.  Either own it or shut your hole.

...if Hoda Kotb taught you that you like Flo Rida.

...if you only got 4 hours of sleep last night because you couldn't stop wondering what the difference really is between grape, cherry and plum tomatoes.

...if the only reason you can pick Reggie Bush out of a lineup is thanks to Kim Kardashian.

...if you judged the hell out of the woman at the Chinese restaurant last night whom you overheard ask the waitress, "Do you have any ramen?"

...to love Harry Connick, Jr. so much, you wish you could buy him a fish sandwich.

...to have similar feelings for DVR.

Ode to The Man

My dad and I have a lot in common.

We share a dry, often dark, sense of humor.

Neither of us can see things that are right in front of our faces, whether it be the milk in the fridge or the thing we have set on fire in the kitchen.

Both of us use similar strings of profanity when driving, in physical pain or watching the Cubs.

It is entirely possible that in certain situations, we can be equally anal retentive and/or stubborn.  (Just so you know, my mom is nodding so emphatically right now that she has probably hurt herself.)

We both have a serious appreciation and affinity of breakfast foods.

And we also have a similar taste for offbeat gift-giving.

This is what he gave me for Christmas:

And this is what I gave him for his birthday:

Thank you for teaching me to like dark beer, strong coffee and dry red red wine.  Thank you for teaching me about timing belts, gun safety and baseball.  Thank you for killing bugs in the middle of the night, thank you for making me milkshakes and thank you for not hanging up on me when I insist on calling you from 800 miles away to yell at you about how I'm having a problem with my car.




I love you!  Happy Father's Day!

April means target practice

Dye eggs with Mama?  Check.

Attend church?  Check.

Go to the gun range with Dad?  Check.

Dinner with the family?  Check.

Get reacquainted with Target?  Check.

I'll let the pictures speak for themselves.

 She was pretty proud of this.

I have a gift.  Clearly.

Praise the Lord and pass the ammunition.

I'll bet you thought I was joking...

Sonya, the love of my life, was home for Easter.

We went to Steak 'n Shake to celebrate.

God help me, I do love Target.  And wine.

I have since returned to the town that is hosting my higher education.

Consequently... does anyone else know who Sheila E is?  I was trying to explain it to some of the people in my program who had never heard of her.

It would've been more productive to rip off my own arm and then beat myself to death with it.

The Ghost of Thanksgivings Past

Yesterday's Thanksgiving was pretty standard by our family's "Bat Shit Loony Scale", so there's not much to tell.

However, I was recently reminded of a Thanksgiving that took place long ago.

Back in the magical year of 1998, my dad was working the night shift for a railroad company.  The Wednesday night/early Thursday morning of Thanksgiving was no exception.

My family that resides primarily in southeast Indiana invited us down for the holiday.

After explaining my dad's schedule and giving our best ETA to them, we agreed to be there by, let's say... 3pm.

So, after getting a highly inadequate amount of sleep, my dad drove us down to Liberty, Indiana.

For those of you poorly acquainted with Indiana trivia, Liberty hosts a whopping 2,000 people, is very agricultural (heavy on the corn and pigs) and one could actually walk to the Indiana/Ohio border in  less than 20 min., should one become that bored (I've done it twice).

We made the 3-hour drive to this magical haven, comforted only by the promise of turkey, butter-soaked mashed potatoes and slightly burned pumpkin pie.

As we entered my grandmother's house, we saw our entire extended family on my dad's side seated at the dining room table.

Given that I was 13 or 14 years old at the time, and therefore starving, I remember thinking, "Weird.  They're just sitting here waiting on us?"

Upon further inspection, I saw that the plates had been used, silverware was dirty and the turkey was good and carved.

They. Had. Already. Eaten.
 .
At the time, I couldn't see past my own hunger and frustration at being made to eat a light lunch and sit in the car for three hours so we could drive to BFE to eat their leftovers.

Looking back, my poor dad did all this on a crappy 4 hours of sleep and complained a lot less than I did.

Getting back to my righteous indignation, we were warmly welcomed and invited to the table.  I remember being told, "There is plenty for you guys!  We made sure to leave you some!"

It turns out that "some" meant a little dry turkey (ugh), green bean casserole (cack) and sugar cream pie (vom).

Mashed potatoes?  Gone.
Corn?  Eaten.
Rolls?  Depleted.
Deviled eggs? Hoovered.
Stuffing?  Ruminated.
Pumpkin pie?  Wolfed.

That night, we stopped at a Burger King off I-65, and let me tell you, that double cheeseburger more than adequately filled the void of Thanksgiving.

Plus, I was too young to drink.

**This post was inspired by Kelly's story at Speaking From The Crib.

Wait, isn't North like... up?

I like to drive. Unfortunately, I have no sense of direction. When I travel to other states/cities/neighborhoods/rooms in my house, I tend to get lost.

This is an example of a cell phone conversation I might have with my dad whilst driving in a circle (otherwise known as I-465 around Indianapolis):

Sara: Dad?
Dad: Yeah?
Sara: Where am I??
Dad: Uhhh, I don't know. What road are you on?
Sara: I-465?
Dad: Are you East or West bound?
Sara: You know I don't know those words!!
Dad: Well, honey, I don't really know how to help you.
Sara: But- but- but- there's a McDonald's and a K-Mart on the right. So, that's got to be close, right?
Dad: Close to what?
Sara: The Interstate!
Dad: I thought you were already on I-465...
Sara: I am!!
Dad: Then if you're on the interstate, why are you looking for the interstate?
Sara: Because I need to get home!
Dad: Look, honey, if you can't tell me where you are, then, well, I don't know where you are!
Sara: Okay, well, I think I just passed Lebanon... wait, there's a tree...
Dad: South or North bound?
Sara: We have talked about this! I don't know what those words mean!
Dad: (Near the end of his rope) Well, honey, then I can't help you.
Sara: Oh wait, I found it. Thanks, bye!

A Father's Day List

And now, I would like to provide a list as to not only why I love my Dad, but why I like him.

1. I have several friends who think he looks like Richard Dreyfus.
2. He wears a very recognizable Indiana Jones style hat so his head doesn't get burned.
3. He likes to teach himself colorful phrases in Mandarin.
4. He eats slower than anyone I know.
5. Sometimes, he'll take my car and fill up the tank... just because.
6. One of his favorite movies is Funny Girl.
7. When I come home, the radio in the garage, the TV in the kitchen and the radio in the dining room will all be on... and he will be nowhere in sight.
8. His favorite Charlie's Angels cast member is Kate Jackson.
9. He taught me how to love and hate the Cubs at the same time.
10. He laughs through the first 45 minutes of Full Metal Jacket.

I love you, Dad! You're my other favorite!

"Chicago Cubs fans are 90% scar tissue." -- George F. Will

This weekend, I was given a gentle reminder as to why I don't live in Chicago.

Now, I don't want to start off directing my negativity toward Chicago or those who live there, because it is a lovely place and I have several good friends that have chosen to make it their home, and I respect the crap out of that.

That being said...

Here is my first issue: TRAFFIC

My dad and I went up for our annual Cubs game this past Saturday. On average, driving from Lafayette to Chicago (not during rush hour) is roughly three hours. I believe it took us somewhere around 4 1/2.

I don't know how many times we were brought to a dead stop on the Dan Ryan (we didn't take the Skyway because The Man has upped the tolls once again), but it was ridiculous. Everyone and their dentist was on the expressway with us, I'm pretty sure.

At one point, my dad said, "Life is too short to sit in traffic every day." Uhhhh, correct.

So, I realized that as I also loathe traffic, Chicago is probably out as a future city for me. It also rules out Atlanta, D.C. and pretty much any major city in California. I think I'm pretty much destined to be a small-town lady.

Anyway, we got to the game late and had to kick some twits out of our seats, as we do every year. We then sat down and proceeded to watch the Cubs tank and freeze our butts off.

This brings me to my second issue: WEATHER

Lafayette, a mere 3 hours south of Chicago, was 70 degrees when we left around 10:30am. Wrigley Field was 55 FLIPPING DEGREES.

Now, I know the lake front tends to be a little more brisk or breezy than even the west side of Chicago, but 55 degrees in June? Gross.

I was wearing jeans, a t-shirt and flip-flops and my teeth were chattering the whole time. It also rained for a good portion of the morning, making the day rather drizzly as well. I could barely drop four-letter words in the general direction of my team I was so cold.

So, in conclusion, traffic (both ways) was awful, the weather was foul, we missed the first 4 innings and the Cubs had a rather embarrassing loss at the hands of the Minnesota Twins (whose fans, by the way, are very polite!).




I think we had a great time!

My parents are swell

My parents have been in Michigan for the last few days. This afternoon, I received an e-mail from my mother that almost brought tears to my eyes. It was so moving, I thought I had best share it with all of you.


"...And guess where we stopped in Muskegon on the way home? Hint: It is a PIE COMPANY that is Grand. Got a little something in the back seat as a souvenir that has cherries and a crumb topping.....:-)"


God bless us! Everyone!

Personal revelation

This morning, while scraping the ever-loving snot out of my car windshield, I had an epiphany:

I am my father's daughter.

That may not sound like much to you (unless you had paternity issues when you were younger), but this really made me take pause.

What caused this moment of personal clarity, you ask? Fabulous query. Allow me to answer with an anecdote, followed by some examples.

This particular morning, I had to be at work at 7:30am to help set up for a conference. Knowing this, I woke up at 6am, thinking this would be enough time for me to have my coffee and get dressed. (Isn't it cute how I still don't understand this particular part about myself?)

Now, I was completely dressed and caffeinated by 7am. I was ahead of schedule, for crying out loud. So, rather than go outside and warm up my car to ensure prompt departure, I decided it was the perfect time to write and address two cards, naturally.

...but first, I couldn't find my address book, so I had to locate that. Then, I couldn't remember what I'd done with the stamps, so I had to retrace my steps to pinpoint their exact location. Last of all, I remembered I had cute return address labels, so I had to rifle through my room to figure out what I'd done with them. Finally, the cards were ready to go, so I put them outside for the mailman. And hey, by that time, it was 7:15am!

Given that it takes me about 10 minutes to warm up my car and scrape off all the ice, and about 10-15 minutes to get to work depending on traffic (and how many cop cars I see), leaving right at 7:15am would have been just fine. Unfortunately, I didn't start the defrosting process until 7:16am, which means I didn't leave the house until 7:24am, and then did not get to work until 7:37am.

This could have been so easily avoided had I merely tried to be early, rather than on time. I do this almost every day and yet I learn nothing from it. What's that called? There's a word for that... oh yeah! Stupid.

It hit me whilst scraping ice as fast as humanly possible that this is almost exactly the kind of thing my dad does. He'll have to go somewhere, perhaps meeting someone for dinner, and will remember as he starts walking out the door that he needs to a) get his hat b) grab a bill to take to the post office c) take his pills d) write down a word in Chinese or e) all of the above.

It always amused me before, but now that I'm seeing the parallels in our behavior, it's a little scary. I used to be pretty punctual and now, I'm not terribly late, but it's usually about 5 minutes past the designated time.

I figured out part of the reason for my tardiness. I've decided that the time of departure and the time of arrival are pretty much interchangeable. I'm not sure when that happened or why, because I also don't like to rush things. I'd rather have an easy morning where I get to wake up, drink my coffee and read the paper for about ten minutes, take a shower, have plenty of time to choose what I wear, have a second cup of coffee and then leave with plenty of time to get to work.

I also don't think this problem could be fixed if I woke up earlier. As it is, my alarm is set for 6:30am. I snooze (5 min.) at least twice on a good day. It goes downhill from there. If I set my alarm to go off fifteen minutes earlier, I will remember this when I wake up and just hit snooze three more times than I normally would. PLUS, if I did manage to get up fifteen minutes earlier, I would manage to fill that time with more crap. I'm sure I'd suddenly decide to start a compost pile or go through my clothes to figure out what doesn't fit anymore.

The point of all of this is that it's always something. When I'm late, despite the fact that it is my fault, there's still a reason (usually someone that insists on going the exact speed limit and no more). To add to that, I've got the "late gene" passed down from my father. And hey, you really can't beat science.

"Sorry I'm late, but I left late."

(-I do not remember where I heard this, but I thought it was fantastic. If anyone knows, drop me a line so I can give proper credit where credit is due.)

Bored? Tired? Itchy? Have a hose shoved up your pooper!

I'm choosing to spew sunshine in order to muffle the Negative Nelly in me that is dying to get out.

I had a rather pissy, whiny blog mentally prepared and half-written, but I decided I did not want to put that kind of negative energy into the world. (I'll just save it for a day when I don't have the good sense to reign it in, and that day isn't too far, I fear). Instead, I'm attempting to bury said grouchiness by talking about happy, pleasant or amusing things. We'll see how long I can keep this up.

At the moment, I'm watching No Reservations. For those who do not frequent the Travel Channel (losers), it's a fantastic show with a cynical yet endearing host who travels to different locations, specifically looking for local fare and avoiding tourist traps. I adore this show and I would LOVE to have that as my day job (okay, I would love to have a job). Although with my luck, I'd get to visit many exotic locations such as Fresno, Branson and Duluth. Sounds magical, no? Scranton... here I come!

Another bright spot in my day involved a walk in the snow. While I hate driving in it, I like walking in it, provided I have appropriate footwear. I walked to a local business to drop off an application and I'm pretty sure that if I had totally bitten it and done a complete face plant, I would've still been very vomiting joy and wintery cheer. I needed to find the upside of 5 inches of snow because Lisa is so jealous of our frozen precipitation and I have chosen to honor that.

I have saved the best for last. My dad is having a colonoscopy tomorrow. Now, that probably doesn't seem like a happy or pleasant thing (especially not for my dad), but it is pretty darn amusing. This routine procedure will provide endless jokes and inappropriate dinner conversations for weeks to come. My mom and I will, of course, be at the hospital with him, but I doubt we'll be able to behave ourselves for long (similar to when we sit together at church and get the giggles). We'll have to excuse ourselves at some point, I'm sure.

**Sidenote! If you happen to be a Dave Barry fan, I highly recommend you have a look at this as well:

http://www.miamiherald.com/opinion/columnists/story/427603.html

Okay, so I didn't exactly "spew sunshine" but I wasn't being hateful or bitchy, so I think this was a vast improvement. Plus, spewing sunshine isn't exactly my forte. Nonetheless, I hope this helps others to "accentuate the positive", if you will. I should really end this before I use anymore quotation marks.

P.S. I hate the new Geico commercials with the stack of money that has eyes. They're stupid and they make no sense. Sorry, but it had to be said.

Birthdays are better when you set stuff on fire

My dad is another year older, but as far as I can tell, very little has changed.

He still keeps the thermostat at the balmy temperature of 67 degrees. He still makes a lot of "old man noises" whenever standing up. And, he still thinks there is not nearly enough ZZ Top played on the radio.

To celebrate this momentous occasion, we built a fire in the living room, got out some African drums and sacrificed a live moose in honor of his being one year closer to getting the senior citizen discount at Wendy's.

After that, we went to a Japanese steakhouse for dinner (moose sacrificing rituals are much more tiresome than you would imagine).

We enjoyed some shrimp and steak (torn to bits and set on fire for out entertainment) and also some playful banter with our assigned chef.

He somehow managed to embarrass every single person at the table at some point during the evening.

He told the young couple at the end of the table (who had clearly just started dating) that they should get drunk and get married.
He asked our friend soft-spoken friend Marilyn if she spoke English because she wasn't talking.
He told my parents that since it was my dad's birthday, they should go home and work on a third child.
He made me blush by hitting on me the entire time. (I'm not going to pretend it wasn't an awesome self-esteem booster, because it was.)



Once we all moved past our respective mortification, we enjoyed the food and each other's company. I think the whole evening may best be summed up with the following exchange:


Chris Farley: Uh.. remember when you were in The Beatles? And, um, you did that album Abbey Road, and at the very end of the song, it would.. the song goes, "And in the end, the love you take is equal to the love you make"? You.. you remember that?
Paul McCartney: Yes.
Chris Farley: Uh.. is that true?

Do you smell what I smell?

Last night, round about 10:30pm, my mother and I were sitting on the couch, enjoying reruns of Gilmore Girls (that Lorelai is such a firecracker!) when all of a sudden, we looked at each other and wrinkled our noses in disgust.

"Um, is it just me or does it smell like butt in here?" I asked.
"Yeah, it smells like rotten eggs or sewage or something," my mom replied.

We proceeded to wander the house, sniffing the heating vents, the sinks, the cats (you never know) and even the toilet. The smell of festering wombat permeated our nostrils and made it difficult to really isolate the area. So, we stood outside in our pajamas in 28 degree weather for a good minute and a half to clear our nasal passages.

Upon our return, we assessed the damage and agreed that the foul odor was confined to the living room and and the neighboring room which we often refer to as the Holding Chamber. Swankier people might call it the foyer but swanky people we are not.

I immediately Googled "rotten egg smell" and was rewarded with several websites regarding our water system and a chemical called Hydrogen Sulfide (that's H2S for the nerds). Apparently it will only kill you when exposed to a concentrated dose for a prolonged period of time, so we found that to be very comforting.

Then, I remembered something I learned from an episode of Friends (thank you, Ross!). They add the "rotten egg smell" to natural gas so if there is a gas leak, you will be well aware and can run out of the house to vomit.

We decided to call my dad to see if he had any thoughts. He guessed that either one of the cats was having digestive problems or that it was a poltergeist. He was obviously very concerned.
"Okay, but if the house blows up, your Christmas presents go with it." Again, this did not bother him.

My mom and I decided it couldn't be natural gas because it wouldn't be confined to just the two rooms. To test this theory, I lit a candle. Since neither my mom nor I exploded or caught on fire, we decided we would be safe to go to bed.

In conclusion, sometimes your house just smells like a big, rotten llama for no reason. I do, however encourage you to investigate... just in case.

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!