Retreat to move forward

102 days.

I have 102 days left of school.

Then, and only then, can I move away from Boone, get a place by myself, adopt a small that doesn't judge me when I finish an entire pan of cinnamon rolls in one sitting and strive to convince my neighbors that my tendency to yell at inanimate objects is part of my quirk, not my peyote habit.

I have been trying like mad to be like Ella and "accentuate the positive" the last few weeks.  As much as I love Ella, that mess is starting to wear thin.

So, since I've been the suckiest blogger since, well...you know, that one blogger who really sucks, I will attempt to blog every single day from here to the end of the semester.

I'm not really sure what that will do, but it seems a lot easier than going to a pilates class or selling my plasma (which, incidentally, America still doesn't want).

I've decided to follow in the steps of the incomparable Rachel Green and become my own windkeeper.

"How can you expect me to grow when you won't let me blow?"

Good point.

Part of my growth process will involve getting out of this town on the regular.  For example, this weekend I'm going down to Florida to see Lisa, The Blonde Blogette, so we can bask in each other's radiance and honor the memory of Walt Disney by wearing funny hats and spinning in teacups.

In the meantime, I'm going to enjoy every moment and seize every opportunity in an attempt to make the most of my days here.

I've already begun by creating this awesome rubber band ball! 

Oh, shut up.  Like you don't wish you had a rubber band ball.

And yes, that's my Pillow Pet in the background...

Dear Buddha, please bring me a pony and a plastic rocket...

So this one time, I was in grad school and my life exploded.

But before that crap happened, I went on Spring Break.

Now, I had every intention of going to Daytona Beach to drink excessively, spend too much time on the beach without sunscreen, get food poisoning and vomit in my hair, but then I thought, "How would that be different from last year?"

In order to feed my need for novelty, I decided I must journey somewhere completely different from all of that.  I opted for charm, seafood, quirk, greenery and Asians.  Now, I know what you're all thinking and no, I did not go to Fresno.

I gathered my junk, packed a bag and headed to the Pacific Northwest to visit my brother in Seattle.

Let me tell you what, they have some things out there.  So many things, in fact, that I will need to narrow this mess down in little sections and pictures.

The food

You guys, this cupcake had bacon on it.

I knew this gelato would be good for three reasons: 1) It was recommended to me by a sassy, little sunflower 2) It came from a store called the Fainting Goat 3) You guys, it's gelato.

You know, I had been waiting for a sign...

The quirk

This is Seattle's bridge troll.  I named him Carl.  He seemed sad.

Giant mushrooms.  Don't ask why, but it works.

You guys might not know this, but this is really tall.

The childhood tribute

Sam and I grew up watching Northern Exposure.  Though it's set in Alaska (spoiler alert!), it was actually filmed right here in Roslyn, Washington.

I found Dr. Fleischman!

The people

This is a combination of neat things.  This is my brother, Sam, whom I like very much.  This is his burrito, which he liked very much.

Incidentally, I also had the distinct pleasure of meeting Christina from Too Pretty For This for a fancy lunch date of latkes and magic.  I don't have a picture of this blessed event, and sometimes I manage to convince myself that it never really happened.  But the tingly feeling I get in my pancrease when I think about it assures me that it did.

Christina is lovely and generous and quirky and most importantly, has fabulous taste in food.  She has a good beat and she's easy to dance to.  Also, as we were swapping tales and adventures, I learned she is quite handy with automechanics.  So, you know, we have that in common.

After this excursion, Seattle became a new favorite.  I navigated the bus system fairly well, the people were really friendly, there was wine and coffee on every block and when we went to the Pike Place Market, nobody tried to make me catch a dead fish (dealbreaker).

Plus, I learned the difference between a lock and a loch, which, you know, will be important when I go back for that PhD.

Hey, It's Okay Tuesdays

Tuesdays are for winners.

Just ask Amber at Airing My Dirty Laundry, One Sock at a Time.


Hey, it's okay...


...if you really hate those damn Lipton Iced Tea commercials with the talking fish.

...if you have a giant hissy over a bug on the floor, and yet you've named the daddy long legs in the bathroom.

...to mouth the words to "Colors of the Wind" from Disney's Pocahontas in an overly-dramatic, tormented, teen angsty sort of way.

...to tell the brand new scanner at work to "shut up and take it."

...if your drive through Kentucky felt incomplete because at no point did you have to tell Lexington to "suck it."

...to eat shark at the end of Shark Week.  (Okay, that might not really be okay, but I did it.)

...if you tried to sell your clothing to a consignment shop and they DIDN'T WANT ANY OF IT.

...if the three things you missed about your current living space are 1) your shower, 2) your bed and 3) your friends.  In that order.

...to eat hash browns off the kitchen floor.

Oh hey... from before.

I think I have successfully established that I like to move and have issues with longterm commitment.

I know that's not necessarily an attractive quality to a lot of people, but I'm oddly proud of it.  Go fig.

Anyway, I've got one more year of grad school.  Naturally, I'm already scouting out potential locations which I may call my future home. 

I have already ruled out many places based on extensive research and several important, highly influential factors:

• St. Louis - I hate the Cardinals.
• Atlanta, Chicago and DC - My road rage needs no further provocation.
• Hawaii - I really don't like coconut.
• Kentucky - Do I really need to get into that again?
  
• The American Southwest - Raise your hand if you think this is a good idea.  I dare you.

This has pretty much whittled me down to a few key places.  Mind you, they're only general musings, but I do so love to muse.

In the South we have:

• Wilmington, NC - They have a beach.
• Savannah - They have a beach.
• Charleston, SC - They have a beach.
• Austin - For funsies

This is my attempt to be open-minded and give the South my best shot.  Plus, I figure while I live down here, I may as well visit some of these places anyway.  I already wanted to see Savannah and Charleston but then Salt and Allyson made them seem even fancier with their freaky churches and bedazzled penises.

In the North, we have:

• Boston - Awesome accents and baseball fanaticism
• Ann Arbor, MI - I'd finally get to live in a mitten!
• Toronto, ON - If the Winter Olympics opening ceremony didn't make you want to be at least a little Canadian, then I don't know how to help you.
  
• Seattle - My brother lives there.  And so does coffee.
• San Diego - Weather, bloggers and a bitchin' zoo

As it turns out, there are a crap ton of bloggers living in Southern California (I refuse to call it SoCal) and I would love to meet so many of them/you.  One of whom is my beloved blogsbian, SurferWife.  I have already frightened her plenty with the prospect of showing up on her front doorstep with a sleeping bag in one hand and our love fern in the other.  She pretends she's cool with it, but I think she's already changed the locks and hidden the hummus.

Over the next 12 months, my plan is to use a substantial amount of my financial aid money to gallavant across the country and visit as many of these places as possible.  Besides, how often to I get the opportunity to gallavant?  Not as often as you'd think.

However, I do frolic like a champ.

Haters to the left

Dear Lexington, Kentucky,

I hate you.

I'm pretty sure I made that clear last Sunday when I spent an hour within your toxic city limits and cursed you within an inch of your existence.

Now, it's no secret that the state laying claim to you is not one of my favorites.  In fact, I blame Kentucky for many of the things I find to be wrong with this world (fat-free cheese, stryrofoam, Tom Cruise, etc.).

It all started when I first learned you were known as the Bluegrass state.  Having lived in a few different countries and never actually having seen blue grass, I was intrigued.

I remember when our family took a road trip that involved passing through your borders.  At one point, we had to stop and fill  up the ol' family truckster. 

I got out of the car, saw a small patch of grass and ran to it.  Oh, to see the magic and mystery of grass that is actually-

Now, wait a damn minute.

That's right.  Your grass is green, you big phony!

It was all downhill from there.

But Lexington, you earned a special place on my Shit List, right next to Kathy Griffin and the Dutch.

Last Sunday, as I made my way from Indiana back to North Carolina, I noticed my gas gauge getting low.  It wasn't extreme, but I thought it sensible to stop, fill up the tank and then fill up my own tank at the same time.

I turned on to Man O War Blvd (couldn't make that up if I tried) and started in the general direction of the BP station.  Unfortunately, I came to an immediate halt as there was heavy construction on this main drag of yours that narrowed two lanes down to one.

It took me HALF AN HOUR to drive 3 miles.

Afterward, as I attempted to get to your Chipotle, I was instead forced to take a series of roads that led me nowhere near a delicious, overstuffed burrito.  As a matter of fact, I ended up in a Harley shop's parking lot where a cranky gentleman on a cell phone honked at me.  And not in the nice way.

In the end, I got so angry that I ended up at McDonald's, where I inhaled my nuggets whilst talking to my dad on the phone and using phrases like "Godforsaken city" and "hateful state."

I'm pretty sure the woman in the booth behind me did not want to be my Facebook friend.

If not for some of the super cool bloggers I've met who hail from Kentucky (and whom I pray have not stopped following me because of this tirade that YOU caused), I would completely write off your entire state.

In the end, Lexington, I just wanted to tell you that from now on, I will be stopping in Berea or Corbin to wet my whistle and pee like there's no tomorrow.

And you, my friend, may suck it.

Kindly blow it out your ass,

Sara Spelled Without an H

Achtung Italy

Today, I have the pleasure of hosting Kristin from Taming Insanity.

She's super neat and entertaining, so hunker down with a giant burrito because she's going to tell you a story.

(If anyone needs me, I'll be over at her place, sharing a different version of Mother's Day in the "Spelled Without an H" household.)

In high school we had to take a foreign language to graduate. Being the rebel that I am, I refused to take Spanish because everyone else took it. French seemed like it would be full of romantics which was clearly unacceptable. So I went with option #3: German.

I found I was surprisingly interested in the language and went on to take more classes in college. These included German Feminist Writing and German Poetry. Lest I sound like a brainiac let me clarify: there was only one teacher in college. We were at her mercy and learned whatever she chose to teach.

Our German Feminist Writing class was my least favorite. We primarily read short stories featuring women forced to overcome horrible men. Often, the class would devolve into a debate on whether a particular scene depicted a romantic gesture or rape. The class could never settle the argument. It's kind of ruined my idea of feminism. My idea of romance was already pretty low.

Even so, I had visions of taking Europe by storm. One day, I planned to live in Germany and eat chocolate all day. I would party so hard and comment on the many different types of sparrows.

One summer I went on a trip of southern Germany and Northern Italy with my mom, sister and a tour group. It was quite the whirlwind...we barely slept and visited 4 countries in 10 days. Ironically, my German did not serve me well while in Germany. It did, however, save me from wandering the streets of Venice for the rest of my life.

As teens who can finally drink are wont to do, when we hit Venice we immediately danced our way straight to the discotheque. Naturally, one of the group got wasted. Being wasted was the primary way to get yourself sent home early, so my sister and I determined we would smuggle him back to the hotel. Little did we know, Venice shuts down completely at night. To the point where even the storefronts close their displays. All landmarks are hidden. It takes tourist trap to a whole new level.

We walked for approximately forever before we determined we were officially lost and with a drunk guy. Then we started popping into every hotel we saw to see if we could get directions. Imagine our surprise when not one person in all of Venice spoke English.

I began to suspect they were lying to us during the following exchange:

Me: Does anyone speak English? We need directions.
Lady 1 (in German): What does she want?
Lady 2 (in German): She wants to know if we speak English.
Lady 1 (in German): Tell her no.
Me (in German, proudly): Wait! I can speak German too!! We need directions, please.

They very grudgingly explained how to get back to our hotel which we had passed two miles ago. We wandered back there while I tried to steer a drunk and maintain my composure. But, I was pretty sure I had just taken Europe by storm. My German skills thwarted Venetian scheming!

And to boot, I finished the trip without being romanced or raped.

Planes, trams and emergency landings

I don't know where I parked my car.

All I remember from 4:00 Thursday morning is that I was running late.  Horribly, painfully late.

The fact that I even made my first flight from Charlotte to JFK is a gift.  I caught that gnome of a plane only after making a dramatic dash through the terminal and a brisk little jaunt on the tarmac.

Our hobbit plane, however, ended up making an emergency landing in Norfolk due to the poor old gentleman on the flight that was having a stroke.

Once we got him safely to the EMTs waiting, we re-routed that mess and made it to New York an hour later.

The flight from New York to Tokyo wasn't bad.  For whatever reason, I couldn't sleep much.  So, instead I watched New Moon, Whip It and another movie that completely escapes me... so apparently, it was quite good.  I also watched an episode of 30 Rock, Parks and Recreation, CSI, The Mentalist, NCIS, Man vs. Food, and many more.

As a side note, let me just say that by the end of my traveling, I was intensely sick of thanking all the rich people for being rich.

"Thank you for choosing Delta!  We'd like to take a minute to thank our super shiny golden fancy members for flying with us.  We do appreciate your business and are so glad you have more money than the people we just sandwiched in the back.  Keep making money and thanks again!"

Don't get me wrong.  If I had the means, I'd be flying "business class" all the damn time.  However, I would be a little embarrassed to have someone spewing gratitude at me, knowing full well that the people behind me were wishing that my mimosa was infused with another person's bodily fluids.

The flight from Tokyo to Hong Kong was boring and I had a far greater desire to sleep.  Somewhere in the middle of unconsciousness and lucidity, I realized that I have no idea where I parked my car.  That should be fun when I get back.

While in line at immigration, I started to panic.  I thought perhaps I had read the information on Hong Kong incorrectly and that I was supposed to get a visa and that I'd spend 4 or 5 days in Airport Jail.

I always do this.  Even when I'm in line to check in for a domestic flight.  Suddenly, I think I got the time wrong, the date is wrong or I left my ID in the freezer next to the english muffins.

Luckily, I didn't need the visa (which I knew all along) and made my way to the most beautiful sight in the world.

Sonya Rae.

She was jumping and waving and then ran at me as soon as I was at a safe distance from other travelers.

We made a good American spectacle in a way that only Sonya can bring out in me.

She guided me in my jetlagged stupor to her wonderful hotel where she ordered me food and pet my head.

I'm going to be singing her praises all week until everyone wants to chuck, so grab your vomit bags and get used to it.

I am now sitting at her computer while she works and am happy that I'll have time to blog while all of this is still fresh in my mind grapes.

Now, as a gift to my host country, I am going to shower.

Back up, pervs

I think I need to clarify what I did last weekend, for many of you appeared confused.

Or just way too excited.

I am in a grad program to become a marriage and family therapist.  North Carolina had their state-wide conference and the subject matter just happened to be sex therapy.

This means sexual health, people.

Now, take a minute to grieve your loss of what you thought I was doing.

Go ahead.  I'll grab a Pop-Tart.









We cool?

Swell.

Anyway, the conference was absolutely brilliant.  I got to wear heals and scarves (which equals wicked hot, by the way), I had unlimited coffee at my disposal and I was served cake.  Twice.

I got to visit the local SuperTarget and pay my respects. 

Unfortunately, at that point I was so unbelievably uncomfortable due to the sheer quantity of food I had consumed that I could only wander the aisles in wonder for about 20 minutes before I needed to curl up in the fetal position next to a toilet and do yoga breathing.

It was most excellent.

On another note, I will be leaving for Hong Kong in approximately 32 hours.

I'll have a couple of scheduled posts, but I won't be back to play with you all for well over a week.

Don't judge me.

So, you may find yourself thinking, "Damn it, Sara!  Where are you?"

Allow me to refer you to some gorgeous pictures I located using the world wide interweb:

 

  

  

That, my friends, is one of my great weaknesss.

Food on a stick.

I'll be double-fisting octopus balls as I peruse the streets of Kowloon with Sonya.

You heard me.

I feel a traipse coming on

I have commitment issues.

With geography.

As a therapist in training, I could probably dig into my patterns of behavior, emotional responses and life choices regarding my inability to stay in one place longer than 3 or 4 months at a time, and perhaps really uncover the source of my aversion to putting down roots and settling in to my surroundings.

I could...

...but that seems like a lot of work.

Instead, I will be a red-blooded American and blame it on my childhood.

My dad was in the Air Force until I was about 9 years old.  During those formative years, we moved 4 times.  Each time we had to pick up and leave for a new place, we gathered only what we could carry, stuffed it in our knapsacks and set off through the foothills of the snowy, majestic Alpine mountains.

Shut up, Julie Andrews, I'm telling it!  (Man... how do you solve a problem like Maria?)

Also, we traveled quite a bit while in these new places.  When we lived in England, my parents took full advantage.  For example, our vacations were often in Scotland, Wales and Ireland.  (*Note: My brother and I have both thrown up in every country in the United Kingdom.  And Ireland.)

When we lived in Germany, we visited France, Belgium, Austria, the Netherlands and a few other countries, all of which insist on putting mayonnaise on everything (blerg).

The point is, we moved and traveled a fair amount and I loved it.  Sure, it was hard to leave friends behind, but it was the life.  Nothing and no one was permanent and I always looked forward to wherever we might get to go next.

I think this is why I got me some real itchy feet right now.

Within the last two years, I have moved at least 7 times.

I have been in North Carolina for almost 5 months now, and I know I'm going to be here for another year and a half.

And, to be perfectly honest, I don't see it working out for us in the long run.  NC hates how anal retentive I am and I can't stand how NC can't seem to learn to put the cap back on the freakin' toothpaste!  I mean, how hard is it??  Son of a bitch!



Aren't you glad we didn't dig into any of those deeper, underlying issues?

That could've been graphic.

"Too few people understand a really good sandwich." -- James Beard

"Is anyone sitting here?"

I looked up from my delicious tomato, mozzarella and pesto sandwich at the guy interrupting my solitary reverie and then at the other empty chairs in the airport food court.  I looked back at him, shrugged and said, "Nah, go ahead," and turned back to my food.

"Okay, great.  There aren't a lot of places to sit and I couldn't tell if this one was taken."

I pulled the sandwich out of my mouth, glanced at the laptop case slung over the back of my chair and then at my purse right in front of me, only taking up the room in my immediate area.  "Nope, you're good."

I spent the next five minutes in culinary bliss as I reacquainted myself with my Caprese on a french baguette when-

"So, where are you headed?"

**With my mouth full, I took a look at this person who insisted on keeping me from my lunch.  He couldn't have been more than 19 and his faux hawk and black and purple checkered scarf taunted me while I struggled to chew.

"Indianapolis."

For the next five minutes, this chatty little upstart from Columbus, Ohio's School of Art and Design (shocking, I know) continued to ask me questions regarding where I'm from and what I'm doing there and then to make long, philosophical and insightful comments about my answers.

My favorite part of our interaction was when I told him what I'm studying in school and he responded with, "Wow.  I hope you don't party too hard!"

I wanted to say, "How old do you think I am, Potsie?", but it would have been rude and I knew he wouldn't get the reference.  So, instead I simply replied, "I don't really do that."

Eventually, because he made a lot of words, I was able to finish, though not enjoy, the rest of my sandwich.  I had plenty of time before my next flight, but I (none too subtly) checked the time on my phone and excused myself.

Even though I had another 3 hours before my flight, there was a Ben and Jerry's at the end of Concourse B that was calling my name.


In the spirit of the sandwich, I would be remiss if I didn't mention Keri at Sandwich 365.  She can tell you everything you ever wanted to know about the sandwich, and all the divinity that goes along with it.  So, go check it out because she makes the sandwich more fun that it already is.  I know, I didn't think it was possible either.




**Note to Future Husband- if you want a shot with me, don't interrupt me while I'm eating.