A quest to make sense of it all. Or a sense to make a quest of it all.

Sunday, January 31, 2010

Fun with Texting.

Sarah: Ok, that's it. As of tomorrow, I'm saving up for botox.
Brandon: I don't think I want botox.
S: ....you should reconsider.
B: well my eyes just get puffy sometimes. i don't have the big wrinkle problems you have.
S: yeah. you should save for lipo instead.
(10 minutes later)
B: i would do wonderfully following in the steps of Patch Adams
S: get an eyepatch, man.
B: huh?
S: wear the eyepatch. the funky, funky eyepatch.
B: no idea
S: nothing. why do you say this about patch adams?
B: i think i would be good at helping
S: word. you can help me clean out my car tomorrow.
B: i mean as a doctor
S: you have to have a certificate or something for that
B: its my calling
S: then why did you get an art degree?
B: we're gonna have to talk later. when you're not a bitch.

Ok, so this is the only REAL brawl I've had. (Repost from 6-11-07)

I've taken to dining out pretty much every night. I had been using this as a good excuse not to clean my kitchen, figuring that if no one ever prepared or ate food there, and there were no dirty dishes, that it would just remain in a clean state (Montana, maybe). I figured incorrectly. As is natural law, if something nasty is going to happen in your house, there must be company there to see it. Now granted, the company that night was Brandon and I'm pretty well past the point of being able to be embarassed in front of him. BUT. We decided to make some late-night coffee. We innocently entered the kitchen anticipating the aroma of fresh-brewing java. I casually ground the beans, measured them into a filter, poured distilled water into the carafe. I opened the compartment that holds the filter, and immediately slammed it shut. Was that a....no, no. Brandon paused in whatever story he was telling, sensing the sudden turning of mood. I cautiously leaned forward, opened the compartment just a crack....and slammed it shut with a bloodcurdling scream. It was. It was a cockroach, the biggest I had ever seen (though I admit, I've not seen many). I stood there, shuddering and stammering. Brandon, very confused, looked into the compartment and reacted similarly. I was overcome with total revulsion, but as I stood there quivering, my disgust slowly turned to something else: RAGE. This was my turf. How dare he?? How dare this audacious insect come into my kitchen just like that? I know that people say that when you see a roach it means there's like 4 million more lurking, but I'm not buying that. This was a renegade, and not a bright one. Probably forced out of the tribe for being a dullard. There was nothing lying about to entice him or any of his kind into my house. Steeling myself, I opened the compartment again. He idled there, regarding me with an appraising eye, sizing me up. Time stood still. His antennae flicked. I squinted, channeling Clint Eastwood. He probably did, too. A tumbleweed rolled by and into my pantry. We waited for each other to make the first move. He started to kick a leg out to run, but something, perhaps my cool posturing, made him hesitate. He knew he'd messed up. I seized the moment. With an adrenaline-laced yowl of fear and triumph, I shot forward, slamming the compartment shut again. Hurriedly, I poured the water into the back of the machine and turned it on. Within a few moments, scalding water began to drip into the carafe. Victory was mine.

I threw the whole coffee pot away.

Friday, January 29, 2010

Decision. * (Alt. title: The heart of the matter.)

It has recently come to my attention that it bothers the manfriend when I talk to other guys, particularly BC.

To this I have to say:

1) He is just a friend. A married one. One that I see, like, twice a year and he's on a stage. We've got a great connection, but it ain't that kind of connection. Our communication is all stupid text, and youd probably be bored if you saw it, not jealous.

2) I'm into you but if you're not going to stake a claim, I'm not going to stop talking to people. No commitment, remember? But if you want the truth, here it is: I want nothing more than to be yours. So stake a claim already. Or shut up.

Thursday, January 28, 2010

Pictures, since all my adjectives are in the shop.

My current obsession.
....no, I don't have any regrets.

How I'm dealing.

What I can't stop listening to.

My current relationship.

What I'm watching tonight.

The book the nice young Asst. District Attorney just walked up to my window to return. Forgot I loaned it to him. Sweet! Thanks, Arch.
What I had for breakfast.
Damn, this girl gets me.
What I wanted for breakfast.
I do enjoy finding friendship in unexpected places.

Thursday, January 21, 2010

Take a load off Fanny.

I've given in. I'm broke, I'm trying to go back to school, my brakes are bad, and I can no longer resist my parents' hounding for me to move back in with them. It really, really sucks to give up my duplex. But it's just too hard financially right now. No, this is better. I'll move back in with them for awhile, get my debt paid off, save some money, start a hope chest or something. I hae no idea how long I'll stay there. But I'll have the upstairs to myself, so I think I'll move my living room furniture up there as well, make sort of a suite out of it. Then I'll just kick back and enjoy the free rent, cable, internet, etc.


This blows hard. But at least I won't have to borrow money from Michael (or anyone else). It seriously stung to tell him I'd accept it.

In other news, there's a tornado watch over Corinth and I'm going out for sushi later.

Tuesday, January 19, 2010

More than I probably deserve.

And then a solution presents itself.

If he's trying to make me fall in love with him, it's working. And not because of the money. Because of his awesome heart. I also love that he's making this money a loan and not a gift, because despite my sad predicament, I am a proud woman and it would kill me to just take a gift that big.


Once upon a time you dressed so fine
You threw the bums a dime in your prime, didn't you ?
People'd call, say, "Beware doll, you're bound to fall"
You thought they were all kiddin' you
You used to laugh about
Everybody that was hangin' out
Now you don't talk so loud
Now you don't seem so proud
About having to be scrounging for your next meal. -Bob Dylan, Like A Rolling Stone

A visit to the doctor yesterday revealed that I have lost a whoppin' 28 lbs since I got my own place. That's about 7 weeks, not bad. Especially when one factors in the holidays. It's been accomplished (mostly) healthily and I'm eager to see how much faster it'll come off once I start going back to the gym...which will be tonight, dammit. Last night I laid down to take a half-hour nap and didn't wake up til nearly 10, which had me texting with BC, blasting Lucero way too loudly for a duplex on a Monday night, and cleaning my house. So now that I don't have the excuse of needing to clean, I'm going back to the gym. Hell, excuses. See what kind of braces we put on our brains when we listen to what our culture has to say about exercise? I don't mind working out. In fact, I really enjoy it, especially running. But when I get busy/laid/bereaved/sick over a couple weeks, I start saying things like, "Oh no, gotta go work out blahblahblah". Pssh. I'm totally looking forward to it. Also need to get my pale tail back in the tanning bed. January's half over. Spring is almost here! Skirts! Dresses! Heels!

None of which I can afford. This divorce has really taken its toll on my budget. I've never thought of myself as a materialistic girl. I still don't. But I do like to be able to pay my bills on time and eat. I've been generally living on milk and tangerines, and while I'm ok with that, I would like more options. But the important thing is that I am paying the bills.

Yard sale?

Ugh. I refuse to feel sorry for myself. I'll think of something. Always do.

Sunday, January 17, 2010


She's easy
to see right through
she'll lose that wedding band
when she kicks off her boots
oh, but she's not to blame
it's that danged last name
he's done it to her again
so she's easy....to see right through- Branded, She's Easy

Sooo....Friday night. I'm sitting at the house with a beer, texting with Michael and thinking I'm in for a relaxing, eventless evening. Which is fine, because if you've been paying attention, you know I probably need a night at the house by myself.

Not in the cards.

No, ___ called me and asked me to go to the bar with her. See, her ex is in this local band and he had invited her to come see the show. She didn't want to go by herself and knew how I feel about live music, so she called. What an experience that was! This place couldn't figure out if it wanted to be a biker bar or a dance club. It went for both. I had a lot of beer and a lot of fun. After a few hours, I went home and started to settle in with a text conversation about Bruce Campbell and folk music, when I was reminded (via text. my world is nothing but text now.) that I had told a friend I would meet him for late night waffles when he got off work at 1:00 a.m. This is a really sweet guy, but I have zero attraction to him and I just like being around him in a friendly way. He had asked me out a long time ago before he found out I was married, and when I told him I was indeed taken, he was so embaraassed, he didn't talk to me for a month. He's painfully shy and awkward, and it took a lot of nerve for him to talk to me in the first place. So when we started talking a little bit afte he found out I was getting a divorce, I thought it would be fine to hang out and that and he wouldn't bring all that up.

Wrong. I walked into that Waffle House at 1:30 in the morning with nothing on my mind but bass lines and a pecan waffle. It was dropped on me that he was so happy I went on this "date", and yes, he used that word. *sigh* I told him I thought we were just friends, hanging out, and reminded him that my divorce has been filed but isn't final yet (like it's stopped me from seeing Michael...I'm a terrible person). He got jumpy and red, and thanked me again for going on a date with him and told me I looked pretty... and started yammering about his dogs and football and since I couldnt get a word in anyway, I concentrated on devouring my waffle and answering texts. Yes, I'm a jerk. But he shouldn't have sprung that on me and then disregarded what I had to say about it.

When this was finally over, I got back to the house, had a little more to drink, and texted into the night. The conversation devolved into general stupidity about...not much, but there was a lot of talk about horror movies. I just hate how I I have no control over my thumbs after I drink and I just blurt out in text whatever idiocy is on my mind..and there's always plenty to be shared.

I did not dye my hair yesterday. I did:
-eat Chinese food in hopes of curing my hangover
-ok, really, I ate the Chinese food because it's DELICIOUS
-watch District 9 and Halloween 2...which brought back my nausea.
-walk around next to Brandon at Walmart, in a zombified state, while he peppily talked about shoes and a wedding planning business he wants us to start. Really.
-bathe and re-makeup
-get bored and do my hair in a big Gibson Girl updo, which I then took a nap on and decided it looked better messy and so wore it to the catfish restaurant
-where I ate two whole fish
-and some hushpuppies
-impatiently snapped at Brandon, "I don't give a shit!" when he tried to make me care what movie to get at the Redbox
-which prompted a fight about him judging me for having gotten myself involved with two married men lately, and me reminding him that one is in the process of a divorce and the other is a happy newlywed and that was a stupid assumption that because I'm texting someone, I'm intending to knock boots. Dammit.
-we made up, though.
-but it still bothered me. I love you, Brandon, but you don't need to be throwing any stones here. There is absolutely zilch going on with BC and I don't need you dirtying up a nice friendship with your off-base assumptions.
-I think I'm about over it now, for real.
-and I continued talking to him anyway. *sticks tongue out*
-and had no qualms about stealing the covers last night. You judge me, I hog the blankets.

I did get some writing done this weekend. That bluegrass cover of Dy'er Mak'er that's been stuck in my head for years has finally made its way onto paper the way I pictured it in my head. I've always thought it belonged in some sweetly awkward love scene. Something a little uncomfortable, like a young woman with a much older man, or maybe first time girl-on-girl. Something like that. Anyway, I finally got the scene written, and it's a doozy. Maybe someday it'll actually get filmed.

Now I'm about to jump in the shower and head to Michael's. Cant wait to see him. I've really missed him this weekend, as he's been on a fishing trip with his buddies. From what I hear, he just got drunk and caught a lot of fish. Sounds like a great time. Can't wait to hear all about it and see the pictures! Maybe I can actually relax tonight. I can't say he makes me stop thinking, but he always eases my mind.

Wednesday, January 13, 2010

Hedwig - Origin of Love

Passing thoughts.

After going out with the W-forest girls and having what amounted to a wake, I sat up and texted Michael, who is kind enough to not hold it against me that I was unleashing my stream of conscious dumbassedness on his unsuspecting phone 'round midnight. He's da bomb.

In other news, American Aquarium is at home for the week before setting out on their next tour. They'll be coming around this area in February, and I am stoked. I've been talking with Bill quite a bit and I'm really looking forward to seeing him/them.

Well the railroad sings a sad love song
and the rain outside just sings along
and we all dance for the lonely.
Over that hill, the sun's waitin for me
up in Johnson City, Tennessee
we got a show tomorrow in Nashville.
So I tried to call you on my telephone
but your answering machine told me you aint home
Baby girl, when you gonna realize
that you can't wash away all your pain
with your dirty wine and cheap champagne?
You're just dancin for the lonely.
And goddamn this city
to hell with the cold dark nights
and my God, you look so pretty
under those city lights.

The last show I went to, two drunk girls begged BJ to sing that one for them outside. He complied, and I watched. He stood on the curb and strummed his guitar and I was fascinated. He makes his life an open book through his songs, but I've never really talked to him, and I don't know him at all. He makes a lot of noise but I can't read him, except to know that whoever screwed him over did a bang-up job. And anyone within earshot can pick up on that.

People like the ones I've mentioned in this post are the reason I write, readers. When I can't understand something, I have to wrap words around it and through it until I've given it fictional flesh and can be satisfied with some kind of answer, even if its one that probably isn't accurate. I love never knowing where inspiration is going to come from.


I am tapped out, World. After work, I'm going home, popping a xanax, and taking down my Christmas tree. I'm only answering the phone for mom, Michael, and Brandon. And I am going to watch Hedwig. Again. And I might watch it again tomorrow and I don't need your approval for it.

Last time I saw you, we had just split in two.
You were looking at me.I was looking at you.
You had a way so familiar, but I could not recognize,
Cause you had blood on your face; I had blood in my eyes.
But I could swear by your expression
That the pain down in your soul
Was the same as the one down in mine.
That's the pain, cuts a straight line
Down through the heart;
We called it love. -Hedwig and the Angry Inch, Origin of Love

Monday, January 11, 2010


This started out as a post about the importance of friends one can rely on, and about knowing when its time to appreciate those friends but rely on yourself. The train of thought was cut by the news that someone who was becoming a good friend was murdered by her estranged husband last night.

(*A great deal of this post has been removed out of respect for Amanda Millsaps and her family. It's very personal, and the details are not mine to share. All I've left here are a few reflections about her.)

I can't go back in time. I can't ask her to stay with me or move back to McComb or...anything. I didn't and don't have the gift of prophecy. What I can do is go to her funeral and offer my condolences to her mother. I can buy flowers. I can mourn the loss of a truly kind soul. I can honor her memory by taking her advice and loving fully whenever God gives me the chance to, appreciating the people in my life, my family and friends and even the people who let me down. Will that hurt me? Undoubtedly. How beautiful, and what a gift.

Friday, January 08, 2010


WTF is with the commercial, guys?

Damn, I love flannel.

Wednesday, January 06, 2010

Better take some shelter and batten down some hatches, 'cause Hurricane Sarah's 'bout to blow through town.

The best thing about being sick is that glorious couple of hours whe you realize you're coming out of it. You can breathe a little deeper without coughing, smile easier, maybe nod your head to some mediocre song on the radio. (SERIOUSLY GAIL WHY CAN WE NOT PUT ON SOME CD'S IN HERE?? YOU'RE KILLING ME. I LOVE YOU BUT YOU'RE KILLING ME AND IM TYPING IN CAPS JUST IN CASE YOU GLANCE OVER MY SHOULDER. YOU KNOW YOU HATE 91.9 AS MUCH AS I DO. PLEEEEASE!) Your mind starts to sharpen and the ability to crack jokes that don't suck starts to come back...slowly. You still have to take it easy, though. The talent is still weak, like a kitten.

I have come up with absolutely nothing profound or hilarious over the duration of my illness. My attempts at writing longhand at the house have brought nothing but snickers from my notebook. But it's ok. The fever's gone, the cough is fading, and my personality is chomping at the bit to get out again. Thank God, because I am one dull invalid. My lungs are bruised but I'm ready to laugh again anyway.

P.S. I also have big dreams of productivity for tonight. I packed my gym bag on my lunch break with full intentions of actually going right after work. I will not be running, because I don't want to die tonight, but I can walk for awhile and piddle around in the weight room...and I can certainly tan. I also swept the kitchen and it's ready for the thorough hands-and-knees scrubbing I've been threatening for days. If I still feel froggy after all that, I may even hang up my clothes and drag in my armoire drawers from the car. Yeah. I am ready to rock it. All. Night. Long.


No live organism can continue for long to exist sanely under conditions of absolute reality; even larks and katydids are supposed, by some, to dream. Hill House, not sane, stood by itself against the hills, holding darkness within; it had stood so for eighty years and might stand for eighty more. Within, walls continued upright, bricks met neatly, floors were firm, and doors were sensibly shut; silence lay steadily against the wood and stone of Hill House, and whatever walked there, walked alone. - The Haunting of Hill House, by Shirley Jackson

Words from a story that really introduced me to horror as entertainment and changed my life. When I was young, my mother and I watched The Haunting. This would be the 1963 version starring Claire Bloom and Julie Harris, not the 1999 CGI travesty. I had seen horror movies already; campy, gory fluff. Nothing that really shook me. This one did it. The one without blood or swearing or chainsaws. It was literally all smoke and mirrors. Sound effects, lighting, clever pacing and narration technique. No scene in a movie had ever scared me before, and then... Eleanor awakens thinking her mother is knocking on the wall, only to to remember she is in a different house and her mother is dead and what is that pounding? She runs, terrified, into Theo's room, where Theo is already calling for her and shivering uncontrollably on the bed. We never see what it is. We never see whats sniffing around the door or banging on the wall or scratching at the woodwork in the hallway. We never see anything throughout the movie. The horror is conveyed by sound and acting. It's successful as a scary movie, but upon further viewing, it is a complex character study. Eleanor is absolutely fascinating. She is a woman completely on the brink. One wonders would she have stayed sane had she not gone to Hill House? Would she have just clung on to some shrub on the slippery slope of her mind the rest of her life had the plotting malice of Hill House not found the cracks and gotten in? I don't know. Was there even that much plotting malice in Hill House? How much of it was indeed in Eleanor's mind? Not everything, certainly. Theo experienced some of it, and there was the terrifying scene where even skeptical Luke can't deny what's in front of him. But as far as her insistence that the house wants her, that Hugh Crane wants her, this could easily be her desperate need for love and acceptance just latching onto the house's history...or the house latching onto her desperation. Theo is certainly more psychically aware and gifted than Eleanor, and would thus be a greater boon to the place, but Theo is self-assured and confident. She has a very clear idea of who she is and her foundation won't be shaken by mental pokes and prods by ghosts.
“It’s Theo who’s wearing velvet, so I must be Eleanor in tweed.”
This line always spoke volumes to me. It wasn't until I watched the movie a few years later and read the novel that I realized Theo is a lesbian, and oh, did that complicate things. How much more interesting it makes the relationship between her and Eleanor, and the hostility she shows over Eleanor's attraction to Dr. Markway. It's this kind of character development that paved the way for future horror stories that would scare me and touch my heart, namely Bag of Bones and The Shining, both by my man Stephen King. My God, The Shining. I don't think any book has ever touched me in as deep a place as that one. Maybe The Red Tent or A Tree Grows In Brooklyn. But I digress. I'm just rambling here. Obviously. But that old black and white cinematic dinosaur has been on my mind lately, and I'm thinking it's time to try out my new popcorn maker and whip up some old fashioned cocoa. Snuggle into my beloved couch and let Robert Wise scare the daylights out of me. Mmmhmm.

Tuesday, January 05, 2010

Fun With Texting.

S: I think "wharf rat" is my new favorite phrase. ever.
B: "Wharf rat" is not a phrase, darling.
S: Then I'll make it one.
B: A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush, have you had a break today, archeologists do it in the dirt..phrases. wharf rat...not a phrase.
S: Ok not a phrase. You know what I meant. It's fun to say.
B: Is your head on good this morning?
S: You're a bitch today.
B: You're a mentally handicapped meth addict today.
S: ugh. nevermind.
B: The point is...that's a nickname, or an insult or, when separated by a comma, a direct order...but not a phrase lol
S: You're just tacking on the "lol" to soften the blow. I don't need your pity. Aaand I'm listening to Tom Petty and you just made me miss the best part of American Girl. Jerk.
B: it's not my fault your ears stop working when you text. just like when you're driving, you can hear the music just fine but don't hear me say "hey look at that house" until five minutes down the road.
S: Enough.
B: Enough what?
S: Enough of this abuse. I shant take it any longer.
B: Woman ye have nah sin the half of the abuse thats comin to ye.
B: Now that's abuse.
S: Abuse is what I did to your mom last night.
B: Ok that's good.
S: Unlike your mom. But she'll learn. She's smart, that one. Just gotta get her broke in.
B: I have to work.