See Sarah...

Silly me. I think I let my swollen eye get the best of me…it’s completely healed now!  Actually, it was pretty much healed the day after my most recent blog post, so I didn’t even get a chance to take a photo of my eye and post it on here…sorry about that. 

I think it’s pretty clear that I got ahead of myself a bit. My apologies. Oh well, good news is that my precious left eyelid is back to normal size, color and function. Which means that I no longer look literally half-Asian with one eye nearly swollen shut and the other full size. Now I look like I normally do: racially ambiguous. Even though I am actually half-Asian.  I’m pretty jazzed about it.

Remember when I said I loved you, summer?  I stand by that statement, but I have one qualm with you.  Bugs.  Goodness, gracious, do I HATE bugs.  And summer seems to bring out all the bugs, which means I get tons of very annoying bug bites. And it pisses me off.  Especially today. Because as of now my left eye has swelled up to the size of Texas.  I may be exaggerating the size that a bit, but I’m not lying about the swelling.  I am swollen.  My left eye is making me look like Quasimodo.  No fun at all. 

I noticed it yesterday morning when I woke up and my left eye felt a bit heavy.  When I checked it out in the mirror, I saw a small bite slightly above my left eyelid and it was pretty swollen, but it didn’t look ridiculous or anything.  Not like it does now.  I was fine for most of yesterday, just a bit swollen but not really obvious unless you looked at my face for several seconds and really focused on my eye.  But man, it’s obvious now.  I was so puffy this morning, I lost the crease in my left eye.  I have it back now, but it looks very weird and unusual to put it kindly.  I plan on taking a picture of it later and posting it on here so you can see it.  I just hope the swelling goes down soon…I feel like I look like a mutant. 

I’m planning on trying different methods to decrease the swelling so I don’t continue to look like I have Elephantitis in my face.  I’ve heard that making a paste out of baking soda and apple cider vinegar, then leaving on the infected area is an effective natural remedy.  Or I can wipe white vinegar over the swollen area, or just put a baking soda-water paste on it.  I should probably take an aspirin too at some point.  Gah, I just want it to go away right now without any sort of treatment.  Ha, yeah right.  Anyway, I’ll keep you posted on how it’s going.  Pictures to come later…

So it’s the dead of summer, and I’m a sweaty, sticky, hot mess…but am I loving it?  Hell yes!!

Okay, I may have stolen part of that from a Cobra Starship song, but it’s true. I’ve been enjoying the hot weather a lot lately, which explains my absence from blogging. I’ve been tanning, jogging, walking, pretty much just enjoying the fact that summer lets you spend time outside…unlike winter.  Ugh, remember winter?  That bitchy, frigid 5 months we had of hunkering down inside while the world was covered in that bitter, relentless substance we like to call snow and the temperatures plummeted to unheard of numbers.  And that one day it was colder in Omaha than in Moscow.  Yeah, remember that?  To all you people out there complaining about the hot weather, I’m resisting the urge to tell you to kiss off.  Sorry, not trying to be mean, but give me this hot and humid weather over that bitterly cold winter we had any day.  That’s right, I said it: I’ll take the heat over the cold ANY DAY. Ha. So there. 

For those of you who say you prefer the cold, remember those awful blizzards we had this past winter that stranded you?  Especially the one that hit us right around Christmas and made traveling all but impossible, ruining the holiday for A LOT of people.  Remember the record snowfall? Remember how you almost suffered frostbite after shoveling your way out of your driveway for the zillionth time?  Remember how your car was stuck in the snow?  Remember how the snow plows took forever to plow all the streets (and some didn’t even get plowed) Remember??!! 

Yes, I’ll admit the heat can get very uncomfortable.  In my duplex, there is virtually no ventilation upstairs, so it gets uncomfortably stuffy and hot in my bedroom. But it’s okay b/c I have an AC window unit. Of course, I understand, hardly anyone likes the feeling of being sweaty the moment they wake up, or that intense steam of heat you feel when you climb into your car that has been baking in the sun with the windows closed most of the day…I know, that’s not a pleasant feeling.  But you know what? I’ll take it over that feeling of always being cold in the winter, and that dreadful, mind-numbing cold you can’t avoid the moment you step outside to warm up your car on a winter morning. That’s another good thing about the summer: you don’t have to warm up your car! 

There’s just something so therapeutic and cleansing about the heat…it’s hard to explain other than just saying I like it, but I’ll give it a whirl.  It’s like a cleansing feeling, almost cathartic, like I’m able to withstand the intense heat, just sweat it out, almost akin to sitting in a sauna, the pores of my skin purging all those nasty toxins out of my body. 

And come on, you have to admit, the heat is just so much more convenient than the cold.  Feeling hot? Go inside, turn on the AC and cool off. And if you’re driving in the heat, just turn down the AC in your car.  But in the cold of winter, you have so much more to worry about.  You could slip on a patch of ice while driving—or walking for that matter—and get into an accident.  That happens all the time, some driver loses control on a patch of ice or visibility is very low due to heavy snowfall, and they’re done for.  But have you ever heard of someone crashing into a heat wave while driving because it was so hot? I didn’t think so. 

So thank you very much, summer. For the heat, the stifling humidity, the thunderstorms—everything!  I absolutely, positively love every single second of it. Oh, and one little thing, summer: if you could talk to winter and have her be a bit less bitchy and frigid this year, maybe cut down on the snow fall, get rid of the sub-zero windchill and do away with that pesky ice, that would be grand. Thanks!

So there’s this website…and oh…my…god…

If you love cats or cute boys—or both!—do yourself a favor and check it out. 

Best. Website. Ever.

http://cuteboyswithcats.tumblr.com/

For those of you unaware, my mom is a hottie.  And I’m not saying that just because she’s my mom.  I’ve always heard that compliment from everyone: friends, family members, even strangers.  She’s a cute yet striking, petite Filipino woman who used to be a hula dancer in Hawaii.  You can even find old photos of her dancing at luaus during the ’70s and ’80s in old travel books about Hawaii, looking exotically gorgeous of course. I’m not kidding.  She’s a hard act to follow. I’m accustomed to hearing glowing compliments about her. When people say, “Wow, your mom is so pretty!” I usually just chuckle, and say, “She sure is.  Thanks!”  I’ve heard it all: she’s gorgeous, beautiful, pretty…the list goes on.  

But it was a recent comment from my best friend Karen’s brother that caught me off guard.  Here’s a paraphrased and somewhat censored version of what Karen told me was said:

Karen’s brother: “So what are you up to tonight?”

Karen: “Not much.  Just going to hang out with Sarah for a bit.”

Karen’s brother: “Who’s Sarah?”

Karen: “Don’t you remember her? We used to live in the same apartment building with her when we were kids. She lived next door to us.  Her mom is Prima.”

Karen’s brother: “Wait, Prima?  That lady who works at Wal-Mart?”

Karen: “Yeah, she’s Sarah’s mom.”

Karen’s brother: “She’s f****** hot.”

Karen. “Wait…what?!”

Karen’s brother: “She’s f****** hot.”

Karen: “Sarah’s mom?  You’re talking about Prima?”

Karen’s brother: “Yeah.”

Karen: “But she’s older than you.  She’s Sarah’s mom.”

Karen’s brother: “I don’t care.  She’s f****** hot!” 

Of all the lovely compliments my mom has received, this is definitely a first-time use of “effin’ hot,” at least that I’ve heard.  I’ll admit, I was a little shocked when Karen told me, though I did have a good laugh.  My mom is an attractive woman, this I know.  But hot?  I guess I only figured that word was used to describe women like Carmen Electra or Megan Fox.  But my mom?  Hot? Really?!  I guess so…I’m not a guy so I don’t see women that way…but okay…I can get on board with that.  I accept it: my mom is indeed hot. 

Yes, that’s me, Sarah Smith, daughter of THE hot mama. 

I’ve been thinking in numbers lately…which is so weird because I’ve always hated math.

10 candy whoppers I’ve eaten since opening my laptop.

9 inches: How much wider I wish my driveway were.  I can’t tell you how many times I’ve almost taken off my car door slamming it into the neighbor’s curb.  

8: Hours of sleep I had Saturday night.  Lovely!

7 months since I’ve balanced my checkbook manually.  Now I just check my balance on the phone.  That’s still being financially responsible, right?

6 days: How often I’d like to work out each week this spring and summer. Currently averaging 4 to 5 days.

5: Number of Rice Krispy bars I ate at the BBQ my roommate and I had this weekend…shame on me.

4 days left in April.  And it’s currently 40 degrees in Omaha.  It better warm the hell up soon.

3 pounds: what I’d like to lose from my ass

2: Number of cats I’d like to have someday…yes, I’m a future cat lady.

1 month until my 25th birthday.  Until I turn a quarter of a century.  Until I can no longer fit into the 18-24 age box on forms and surveys.  Dear God…

Dear interstate drivers: 

F*** off. And I mean it. Look, I get it. Yesterday was a tough travel day.  It was Easter and a lot of you had to rush home to work Monday.  I did too.  But that sure as hell doesn’t excuse potentially lethal driving. 

You know what’s dangerous?  Driving almost bumper-to-bumper at 75 mph. Tailing the car in front of you isn’t going to get you home any faster.  Really.  Excuse me if I refuse to be part of your highway-conga-line-of-death.  You can give me as many dirty looks as you want.  I’m not moving any faster.  I can just envision it: someone brakes and an entire chain of too-fast, too-close cars crash into each other.

Call me crazy, but I like to maintain a safe distance from the vehicle in front of me in case of sudden stops or a deer runs onto the road (it happens) or any other unexpected event.  You can even pass me, but I guarantee you will get stuck behind another “slow” driver. It’s a little ridiculous if I’m going 70 and you’re passing me at 85.  The speed limit is 75.  Adhere to it.

I’m sure you have driven past several interstate accidents like I have. I would venture to say a good chunk of those were at least partly caused by people driving too fast.  Like you guys.  Do you really want to end up like that?  One of those unfortunate accidents that other motorists drive by and shake their heads at, just so you could get to your destination 20 minutes sooner?  I mean really. 

So the next time you feel yourself tensing as you pull behind a “slow driver,” take a deep breath.  Unclench your jaw.  Ease your death grip on the steering wheel. Think of relaxing things like massages and meadows and tranquil beaches.  That’s it…deep breaths…aahh…

Sincerely,

Sarah the overly cautious driver

Exciting news: a freelance article I wrote has been published! Weee! It was for the spring edition of the alumni magazine at my alma mater. If you’re interested, feel free to read it (it’s on page 31):

http://www.creightonmagazine.org/files/spring_2010/creightonspring2010.pdf

I know it’s not as exciting as winning the lottery or finishing a marathon, but to me it’s kind of a big deal. I’ve been working at this freelance writing thing for the past several months, and it’s a really, really tough field to break into. Trying to make a living from writing is incredibly hard. So many people want to do it, and so many people are good at it. For most, it takes years of hard work and undying persistence to make it to the point where you can even supplement your income on writing, let alone fully support yourself by doing only that. Plus, I’m only a few years out of college and still have a lot to learn about the writing profession. But you know what? It’s been really fun. I so enjoy submitting pitches, thinking of interesting topics and writing about them, even if they get rejected. I’m really lucky to have a full-time job with benefits and enough income to support myself. But I don’t want to just rely on that. I would absolutely LOVE it if I could earn a sufficient pay check writing about interesting topics (kind of like how I write my blog, but that gig is currently unpaid, haha). I’m happy that I’m making progress, but I’ve still got a long way to go.

You know how St. Patrick’s Day is an excuse for most people to binge drink and fall into a drunken stupor?  That’s all well and good, albeit a tad dangerous, but for me it’s just another day.  I honestly didn’t realize until last night that today was St. Patrick’s Day.  Seriously.  So what did I do to celebrate?  Absolutely nothing.  And it was grand. 

Instead of going to some insanely sweaty, crowded bar where I could trade body soil with a few hundred strangers, I opted for something more tame and sanitary: dinner with an old friend. And I had a great time, maybe even better than many St. Patrick’s Day enthusiasts.  No, I didn’t get drunk or bar brawl or stumble to my car.  Nope.  I ate delicious Indian food and arrived home at 9 p.m.  Boring and uneventful? Maybe.  Safe and satisfying? Absolutely.  So I missed a night of awful loud music and obnoxious drunks.  Oh well.  I look on the bright side: no hangover tomorrow, no waking up next to someone I don’t remember meeting.  Score!  Still think I missed out by foregoing the bar scene?  Understandable.  But talk to me tomorrow morning when you’re popping Aspirin like Skittles and I’m awake, alert and feeling rested. 

There’s been a noticeable absence in my blogging…my apologies.  But there’s a good reason for it: my grandmother passed away about a month-and-a-half ago.  I know I’m digressing a bit from the usual tone of my blog, which has been about writing my way out of unemployment (which I did!) and just general goings-on in my life that I think are interesting for people to read.  So writing about my grandma dying is admittedly kind of a downer.  But writing about all sorts of things in my life seems to help me cope, especially when bad things happen.  Call it theraputic, if you will.  I guess that’s why I’m a writer.

My grandma was diagnosed with leukemia last summer and was undergoing treatment.  She seemed to be handling chemotherapy well, but a few months ago her cancer had progressed and she decided she didn’t want to continue with more aggressive treatment.  Hearing that was devastating, but I completely respected her decision.  She was 74 years old, and had been through a lot in her life.  She raised her own chidren after a divorce, remarried, helped raise her step-children, and had another baby.  Being a compassionate and loving mother, grandmother and great-grandmother was so important to her.  She did a hell of a job at it. She was at peace at the end of her life and relied heavily on her faith.  Although I’m not a particularly religious person, I admired how much she called on her spirituality in her last days.

The thing that really touched me: though she was in unimaginable pain, she never complained. Even the times she was in such pain that she couldn’t help but cry out, she always said, “God, forgive me.” And when we would visit her hospital room, she would never talk about how bad she felt; she always asked about us. Her selflessness blew me away.  I only hope that some day, I can possess a fraction of the character she showed during her last days.

Although watching my grandma slowly decline day after day until she passed was the hardest thing I’ve experienced, knowing that she wasn’t hurting anymore was a comfort.  I know that sounds cliche, but it’s true.  She was able to die on her own terms: at peace and in the presence of family. And she said good-bye to all of her kids, grandkids, great-grandkids and relatives, which is something not many people can do before they pass.

I cried so much the day she died, and for days after that.  She meant—and still means—so much to me.  Things are just so surreal without her here anymore.  It sounds ridiculous, but I thought she would be around for awhile.  She was active, healthy and happy.  But I guess nothing happens like you expect.  There are still moments when the sadness sneaks up on me and I cry uncontrollably. I can’t help it. But all I can really do is let myself grieve slowly, one day at a time.  It helps to think of happy moments with her, and there are so many.  So here’s to you, grandma.  Love you so much, miss you always.  <3

The recent inclement weather has posed a number of driving dangers, and I’ve been without my best defense against them: my beloved car horn.

A couple months ago, before we started getting end-of-the-world winter weather, I noticed my car horn wasn’t working.  Some rude driver cut me off, and naturally, I pounded on the middle of my steering wheel to let him/her know this was a majorly prickish move (my apologies for the language, but it’s REALLY annoying when people do that).  To my disappointment, no sound followed. 

It’s okay, I thought to myself. Not a big deal.  I can do without a horn for awhile. 

Wrong.  Oh, how I miss it. 

I can’t tell you how many times some idiot has misjudged the amount of snow and ice on the road, drove way too fast and almost hit me.  You would think driving slowly and cautiously would be a given when we’ve had two big winter storms and the streets are just now becoming navigable again.  Wrong.  And now I don’t even have my horn to passive-aggressively scold them for their poor driving. 

Am I under some illusion that honking will make them better, more cautious drivers?  Or roll down their window and say, “Geez, that was really inconsiderate of me to almost run into you. I’m really sorry, miss. I’ll definitely slow down and be more careful.”  Ha.  Absolutely not.

But I do miss being able to be that bitchy driver who lays on the horn whenever an overconfident jackass decides he (and yes, it’s usually been a “he” in my recent experience) can drive as wrecklessly as he wants when the roads are slick.  So until I have the time (aka funds) to fix my tragically broken horn, you careless drivers are in luck.  But when I do get it fixed…oh, you don’t even wanna know what’s going to happen.  Watch out, the horn wench is coming after you!

When you ask people what their idea of hell on earth is, answers vary. Maybe it’s watching a football game (hate it!).  If you’re a dude, it could be awkwardly standing alone in Victoria’s Secret as your girlfriend tries on unmentionables (P.S.—I always feel sorry for you guys when I see you.  Shame on your girlfriends for making you endure that).  My own personal hell? Enduring this godforsaken weather for the past month. 

Let me preface this rant by assuring you that I’m not trying to sound whiny or out of touch.  Although, let’s face it, anytime someone starts complaining about the weather like they’re being assaulted, it’s only reasonable to think, “Jesus, what a f****** brat.” So I’ll try not to do that.

First of all, I know I have it pretty good. Even considering the near record-setting temperatures and snow fall we’ve had this winter, things are going well for me. I’m not starving in a North Korean prison or being human trafficked.  I’m just a tad irritated. But, I don’t know, for some reason, I feel this bitter resentment coming on the moment I walk out my front door and feel the sharp—dare I say bitchy?—cold of winter slice right through my layers of sweater, jacket, coat, jeans, sweatpants, scarf and snow boots. Then there’s the joy of warming up your car, hearing that low-moaning wheeze of an engine that would rather die than attempt to start when the wind chill is almost -15.  Plus all the fabulous scraping and shoveling, and feeling your fingers and toes quickly numb each minute spent outside…god, it’s depressing. 

Of course, I know some places have it way worse.  Omaha is actually getting a bit of a reprieve right now.  This week so far it has climbed to a surprisingly comfortable 20 degrees (it’s amazing how warm you feel when you’ve been out in what feels like subzero temps).  And my pal Katie has been holding her own in North Dakota for an impressive three years.  I’ve heard/read her stories about those winters, and I have no problem admitting that I wouldn’t last a month there.  I’d probably just give up after digging my car out of a snow drift for the zillionth time, assume the fetal position and find comfort in the fact that after I froze to death, at least I wouldn’t have to deal with all that snow anymore.  Yeah, I’m kind of a cry baby like that. 

My point is, this weather blows.  Big time.  We’re supposed to get another snow storm in a couple weeks and one more in February.  Good god.  I guess all I’m trying to do is relieve some frustration by blogging about it.  Okay, so maybe my goal of not sounding so whiny didn’t work out.  But it was warmer in Moscow last week than Omaha.  I’m not kidding.  I’ll blame my bad attitude on that.

Have you ever tripped up your words while speaking?  Silly question.  Of course you have.  Everyone has.  But maybe I’m the only person who feels just as embarrassed stumbling when I speak as I would walking naked in public.  Weird, huh?  The other day at a McDonald’s drive-thru, I slipped up:

Casher: (after handing me my food) “Thank you, have a nice day!”

Me: “Thanks, you tay!”

You “tay?”  WTF?! I meant to say “you too!” or “okay,” but for some reason I mushed the two together and managed to spit out “you tay.”  I know it’s not that big a deal because I was in my car alone so no one but the cashier heard me.  And it was the lunch rush so she was probably too busy to even notice.  But for some reason I blushed and my eyes got really squinty, something that happens when I get embarrassed.  Still though.  Kinda mortifying.  “You tay.”  Wow.  Way to go me.

I finally received the most amazing bracelets from my stylishly talented good pal Chris.  They are SO beautiful: chunky, black-and-gold, made of shiny resin. They’re from the Marc Jacobs Special Items store in Boston.  The best part: even though they didn’t cost as much as regular Marc Jacobs designer jewelry, I can technically say that I own designer bracelets. Hooray! For as unfashion-savvy as I am and for the limited budget I live on, that’s a pretty big deal.

Needless to say, my boyfriend’s reaction to this wasn’t nearly as ecstatic as mine. It was lukewarm at best.

Me: “Aaaaahhh, they’re soooo beautiful, you should see them!”

Alex: (Blank expression) “Oh. That’s nice.”

I should know better by now.  No straight guy, especially Alex, will ever be able to appreciate these bracelets.  Oh well.

I was doing so well…and still kind of am…but I can’t stop the bad cravings!  Of course, I’m talking about junk food.  The past week I’ve been eating really healthy foods—lettuce wraps, salads, fresh fruit, no red meat, nothing fried—but I have to admit, I wish I could be eating the GOOD stuff, like chili dogs, french fries, chicken strips, etc.  In my attempt to be healthier, I’ve been doing fairly well, but I have a feeling I’m going to break down soon…and run to McDonald’s at 10 p.m. for a Big Mac because all the green, leafy, health food is driving me nuts!  It’s going to happen…pretty soon…I can feel it coming.  Let’s see how long I can hold on…