I'm going to get Sarah all tingly

Do you have those TV shows that you become slightly obsessed with? I'm talking like you love the music, the characters, the story lines, the intricacies of the plot that thicken throughout the season, the way in which characters change from being total creepos with no future to caring underdogs you can't help but root for. Welcome to my friday nights and "Friday Night Lights." Watch it, I promise you won't regret it.

I am also a tad in love with one of the stars. Obviously. I mean what girl in her 20's isn't in love with an actor on a show, cliche, I know. But let me tell you, my friend Heidi is definitely going to marry Chase Crawford. We compared their answers to his quiz in People and it's obvious they're meant to be. Now they just need to meet. Well, Zach Gilford is my Chase Crawford and he is a keeper.

Luckily, I have allies in my coworkers when it comes to my love for FNL. In order for you to understand, please take note of the photo. Yes, that is a published study guide to FNL seasons 1-mid 4. We have a Friday Night Lights Lunch Club and discuss topics, plots, characters, what we want to happen. You may think this sound a little odd, but the writer behind our study guide is absolutely hilarious. He adds his own little anecdotes and comments like calling the 17 year old daughter in the show "hottest jail bait on TV" and the mom the "most underrated MILF on TV".

Then, today, the writer came up to my office, and asked me if I wanted to watch the opening credits right now since I was going to miss the new episode tonight. Duh, of course I want to watch them. Following that, he announces to our coworkers that "I am going to get Sarah all tingly." We got a few stares and fly-catching mouths thrown our way and then one person came to investigate. After realizing what we were doing, he understood and also wanted to partake in the tingle fest.

Yogus Pocus

Oh how I have enjoyed my time at the ghetto downtown YMCA. I'm not trying to be snotty here, but lets be honest, walking up 4 flights of unairconditioned stairs is not a fun way to relax before heading into yoga class. I decided today that at least my muscles were already warmed up and ready to be streaaatched out. Switching gym venues was a little bit of a shocker for me. I went from going to one of the most innovative, open, clean and ginormous gyms in the state to an old historical building converted into apartments and a YMCA. Shocker may not even be the correct phrase, I mean a girl is supposed to enjoy that, right?

Whoa oh, sorry for getting off track here. Back to my yoga daze. I am trying out classes at different time with different instructors to see if I like some more than others and who is really worth my time. Or shall I say, worth the time of my not-so-sinewy-and-lengthy-YET hot bod. My first class was a yoga express over the lunch hour. I will say that although the Y is not as fancy dancy, it is so close I can go over lunch, which is awesome. So I hit up a yoga express and am immediately greeted by Tom*. Tom* is a regular in the class; about 5' 10", 50ish, balding, gold chain wearer, and the kind of guy who thinks he is the ring leader of the class but really doesn't know what the hell is going on. The intimidation game begins and Tom* asks me if this is my first time. I really wanted to tell him that "Oh no, this isn't my first time but I'm not slut or anything." Tehehe, welcome to my cynical mean spirit. You can learn to love it, my friends have and accept my inappropriate and occasionally rude comments. Tom* then delves into strenuous detail about how he knows all of the instructors and has been to all of their classes and tried out Frank's* Tuesday night class, but he didn't really like it because Frank* did all the same moves ALL THE TIME and he just got so bored because he was ready to advance and he just wasn't being challenged enough. Slow down Tommy Boy, I don't want you to get a hernia over this. Tom* has since been in 3 out of my 4 classes and had the nerve today to pretend like he didn't know me or recognize me! Rude, rude, rude.

On to my second class. This one was a doozy. The regular instructor was out and so she called in for reinforcements. Well, her reinforcements came in the form of a willoly 75 year old yoga guru. This lady was the shiznizz. She had been doing yoga since her 2 sons were little and she just really needed to get away from those two little buggers. Yoga was her escape, and from the sound of it she had to escape quite often. Hahaha, I think this is my future. Gerdie* was a total hipster. We had a very calm and relaxing class that was comprised of mostly stretching and relaxation poses. I was ready for a class full of sun salutations and planks and balance poses and ended up with a sitting class complete with stretches for your eyeballs. Yep, you can stretch and strengthen your eye muscles.

After that class with Gerdie* she asked me if I liked it and what I thought. I told her it was perfect for a Tuesday evening after a busy start to the week. Now, we start the Yogus Pocus. Ok, so maybe it's my fault from the beginning, but I really thought I would get a straight answer! I told Gerdie that sometimes during yoga I get cramps in my right calf and the bottoms of my feet. I told her I stretch before and after working out, I eat at least 1 banana a day, I go through a ton of water and I get enough protein. She then asked me if I take any vitamins. Well yeah, I take a women's one a day, a calcium pill, a vitamin D. Pretty basic. Apparently, I need to be asking my body what it wants. You heard right, I need to literally ASK my body what it wants. For example; when Gerdie fills her pill case for the week, she holds the bottle of vitamins to her stomach and says out loud, "Do you need this."

Excuse me, what?

Yes, she really does this and suggested I do the same. She said that she changes her diet and vitamins all the time based on what her body tells her it needs. So I ask her how you know what your body says in response. she said you just know. I don't know about you, but the only time my body talks to me is when I need to make a trip to Stall 3.

I will continue my yoga journey and I'm sure will have more fun stories from Tom* and Gerdie*.

*Real name confidential due to possible embarassment, oh and privacy I guess.

Backpacking Transient Gawker

So I just recently joined the Lincoln YMCA's and not that I get freaked out by people watching me, I mean obviously I get that a lot...have you seen me? Oh sorry, my ego reared its gorgeous head for a second. But seriously, when you workout do you like people watching you? It's weird, right? I can see your head shaking in agreement. Yep, it's weird. It's awkward, it makes me feel like I'm in college all over again with all of the sloots working out at the rec in hopes that one of the meat shakes pumping weights that are far too heavy for their puny arms to show some interest in them and maybe just maybe ask them to the next big kegger. Please don't misinterpret my judgementalness as pegging me for a girl who didn't go to keggers. This sassafrass went to her fair share of keggers and was even given the great honor to tap a keg once. That's right, once. Apparently, nothing I learned in my college courses had prepared me for that test and my tapping privileges were taken away. After that I had to find other things to tap.  

So back to my fishbowl experience. Where was I? Oh yes, I had just joined the Y. The downtown YMCA is situated on a busy downtown corner also home to a city bus stop, an Embassy Suites Hotel, an apartment building, a movie theater and a restaurant. There is a fair amount of peeps passing by throughout the day. It is actually the perfect habitat for me because it fulfills my love of people watching. Some of my other favorite venues include airports, grocery stores, coffee shops and fun local musical events (the oddities thrive in these situations). This particular day, I was definitely the observee of another people-watcher.

Here I am minding my own biz nass workin it out on the elliptical gettin' my sweat on and loving my endorphins ragin' throughout the bod when a local transient walks by. I think nothing of it. Transients are frequent passersby on the corner and it's nothing I haven't seen before. There are some very polite local street inhabitants who wish you a blessed day and just say hello as you walk by. This guy on the other hand, was more of the taunting, rude, bored-with-his-days-spent-on-the-streets type of transient. As he was almost past me, he stopped motioned to his other not-so-well-off bud and then stared right at me. Then, he started acting as if he was on an elliptical and had this goofy look on his face and kept throwing his head back as if I were the one exaggeratingly tossing my hair in the indoor fan wind. I have to admit, it was quite hilarious. Please be picturing this homeless backpack wearing man taunting a poor twenty-something who is just trying to tone up a little bit. I ignored him as best as I could until he finally gave up and went on his merry way. Did I mention that was my first day working out at my new gym. Yep, and everyday since I elliptical or run in anticipation that I will once again be taunted by one of the local transients.

I guess at the end of the day I just have to tell my self, damn girl, even though you are gawked at as if you were a fish in a bowl put on display at least you look good.

The Golfing Gods

Well, ladies and gents I have known for many years that golf is a sport that uses many skills. Patience. Needed for those times in which you have an uphill lie, are still 200 yards out and after hitting it two times only to dribble forward about 50 yards, you still need to hit the sweet spot up to that blasted flag stick. Strength. Necessary to get through 18 holes of stop and go, hit, chip and putt. Not to mention the muscles needed to lug that bag around. Balance. Remember that time you had to stand on a wet rock that was covered in slippery moss while keeping your other foot grounded in that prairie grass? Mental sharpness. This is a tough one. Even after you triple bogey that hellish hole, you need to be able to focus, get back in the game, "man up" as Zoe would say and par this next hole. STAT. Finally, a very important skill that one must absolutely posses: the ability to sweet talk the Golfing Gods. Forget about them? My father has been telling me about these illustrious characters for ages, but it really wasn't until today that I truly understood their wrath and their forgiveness. Start getting down on yourself and let your frustrated attitude turn to club throwing and swearing and you just wait, they'll stick it to ya. Keep your cool and think through your shots (and maybe promise a little something in return) and they will reward you. Now, you don't have to be a long ball hitter like the Lama to receive grace from the Golfing Gods. Although, it would help if you could just whack one and be a big hitter like the Lama, 12th son of the Lama, that is. But on this fine Saturday morning, the Golfing Gods looked down on me and sent me a small miracle.

Here I am, just made par on the 10th hole and am stuck up on a downhill lie trying to hit over water and get up on the green. I pull out the winning club, leaving myself a little room for error, set up perfectly to address my natural draw left, take a breath and whack it. Chunk. There it goes! It's flying, it's up in the air. It's slowing down, oh crap. Shoot it's not going to make it!!! Clack! My darn golf ball smacks a rock guarding the pond. It hits it perfectly. The bounce given by the rock angles my ball directly at the pin. It flies about 40 yards getting closer and closer to the inches-wide cup that plagues our dreams. It hits the green and gently rolls up the slant to about 8 feet from the hole. People, we have just witnessed a miracle. The group of dudes behind us start whooping and cheering, I take a bow, still unsure of what exactly happened and my dad and brother holler in excitement coupled with a lot of amazement. I have never seen anything like it and probably never will again, but man, was that sweet. That rock was created to perfection just waiting for little 'ole me to haul off and chunk one heading for the water. It has been waiting for the perfect moment to give a girl a break help her send the ball to his home. The Golfing Gods were smiling down on me and my brother later thanked them by sending 2 sacrificial balls out of bounds. Sorry, Paul.

The legendary hole. Note rocks on the left side and red flag stick on the right.

Golf is a game that can send you on the highest of highs putting a smile on your face and a skip in your step only to bring you down so low you can see grown men cry and those sophisticated "gentlemen" lob their club as if it were a javelin heading straight for his own broken heart. It takes wit and skill, patience and toughness. But most of all, it takes a crazy obsessed looney tune who likes having their emotions toyed with. Exhibit A.

Movie Dates

While living at home this past winter, it was a regular event for my parents and I to go to the movies. There is more to do in good 'ole Columbus than go to the movies, but really, I don't think hanging out in bars and bowling would add anything of great significance to my repertoire. I have to uphold my reputation, you know. We have an exact way of planning our movie dates and my dad doesn't take well to change. He has told us that at his age (chuckle chuckle, he's 56 trapped in a 35 year old body) he has the ability to be stubborn and hard-headed. Sometimes I have to remind him that he has always been this way, it hasn't just started because he's getting older. Ilovemydad. Ok, so here's the rundown: We scope out the movie selection in the Columbus Telegram because even though my mom has the capability to flip on her iTouch and see what movies are playing in like 2 secs flat, Dad likes to stick to what he knows and dig through the trash in order to find the page of the paper that lists the movie times. Calling is second choice, but it's all recorded and a little annoying to sit there and listen to blah blah blah blah. Once we decide on which movie we are actually going to see, which includes a whole different planning process, we find out the movie time and plan accordingly. What do we need? 1. Blankets. Yes, blankets. My dad has a new habit of bringing his "Indian Blanket" to the movie theater. In reference to its name: my Aunt Mary made my dad this fleece blanket that has a pattern with a Native American (for the PCers out there) vibe on it. So, he calls it his Indian Blanket, duh. 2. CONCESSIONS. Let me preface this by saying that when my brother and I were little we never got snacks at the movie theater. Mom and Dad always told us they were too expensive and we didn't need the candy. You know what, I really just love Sour Patch Kids so I would really just appreciate if you would buy me a box! But no, our pleas gave way to no avail and we were stuck without snacks. Now, we can't even get out of the house before Randy exclaims, "Yes! I am getting concessions! We need to get there early so I can wait through the line and not miss the beginning of the movie." He loves him some concessions. A large popcorn and a large diet soda. He does always share, gearing up with 2 straws, a small bucket to transfer popcorn and plenty of napkins.

One of our most recent visits to the Centre 6 Theaters included me watching my dad as he walked into a dark theater (after waiting in line for his concessions) looking for me. I told him I would sit toward the back/center in the aisle seat. I did as I told him and mind you, it wasn't a full theater at all, he could not find me. I see him walk in slurping on his pop and holding his golden buttery goodness and run right into the back of some seats. he wobbles for a second but regains his balance and heads straight down the left side aisle. I gently yell out, "Dad!" "Randy!" Nothing. I get up out of my seat and go get him. "Oh, Lizabeth! I didn't even see you." I know Dad, that's why I came and got you.

Now that I have moved, I thoroughly miss our movie dates and not just because he always paid. Dad told me he hasn't seen many recently either, so whenever I get home we always try to find time to squeeze in a movie date. Although now that it's summer, I'm lucky if I can get him off of the golf course for 2 hours in a day.

Unnecessary Stool Sample

Rubber gloves and disinfectant were the main courses for my lovely Saturday evening. And no, it does not include whatever perverse things you are thinking right now, although Lord knows I wish it did. No, no, I spent the beginning of my night cleaning shit off of a bathroom stall. Notice I did not just say toilet. No, no, it was everywhere. It was as if an explosion went off in the pot and then the repercussions were so great that it shot up onto the walls, ricochet down to the floor, and piled up on the back of the stool. It was horrendous. It was disgusting. It was inexcusable. It was downright nasty. And I had to clean it up.

Before "the incident" I was just minding my own business talking with guests and being the gracious hostess that I am when my male colleague came over and said, "Uh...hey Sarah. There is a 'mess' in the ladies restroom that you need to go clean up." I'm sorry, what? So, of course I'm the only female working and the duty of fecal matter falls on me. Literally, fecal matter was basically falling on me. He did not know the extent of the situation and when I asked what kind of mess his reply was "I don't know, they wouldn't tell me and I don't think I want to know." 

I enter the bathroom with high hopes of the mess consisting of paper towels spilled all over the floor. Maybe even a candle knocked over or a glass vase broken. No such luck for this sassafrass. I will spend the next 20 minutes on my hands and knees (and not in a fun dirty kind of way) cleaning smelly, nasty, brown, runny poop. Thank my stars that I had the 2 pairs of rubber gloves that served as the only barrier between my own flesh and the secretions of another. I gagged, I held my breath and I breathed only through my mouth. The worst part, you ask? It was starting to crust over which made for a more difficult scrub and for me to really put some elbow grease in it.

I felt dirty the rest of the night (6 hours) and could hardly stand to smell any food. I mean seriously, if you are the culprit of an unstoppable action such as pooping your pants and you barely get your pants down before firing one off prior to hitting the seat; man up and go tell someone. Don't just leave it there to crust up and gross others out. I know you may be embarrassed that you almost shit your pants and instead shit the stall but we have all been there. When I drink more than 2 cups off coffee I know that there better be a bathroom nearby. After a night spent with the beer flowing, I need to know there is a toilet waiting when I wake up. When I eat my favorite black bean soup for lunch, you better believe I plan where I will be in the next hour because it better be near a john. So, come on, Lady. Get it together, grow a pair and tell someone you shit your pants. Or at least attempt to clean it up yourself. We don't want your stool sample.

Speaking of stool....welp, see ya later!

Columns

Life comes and goes and while we are here, I figure I might as well make the most of it. There is a set of columns on the campus of the University of Nebraska Lincoln that were the original columns on campus that gated it off from the rest of the city. They now stand near Memorial Stadium holding tribute to the U's beginning. Legend has it that if a girl graduates without ever being kissed, the columns will crumble and fall. A little dramatic, huh? Well, they are still standing tall so at least I know that I live in a place that doesn't lack opportunities for me ;) So I've got that going for me...which is nice.

I relate those columns to some of the beginnings in my life that help me along. My mom and dad, my brother, my education, my stubbornness and my friends.  Throughout my short life I have gone through different phases. I know that I have not had it hard. I have loving parents, a fantastic brother and a great family. I have friends who love and support me and I have never wanted for much. But even though my "charmed life" as my dad calls it seems to be intact, I was definitely questioning it for a while. I graduated college at the worst possible time in the 21st century. There were no jobs and very little hope.

I was living at home when I got a phone call from a former colleague at the University. She was offering me a job and asked if I could be in Lincoln the next day. Hallelujah! I'm pretty sure my skin was glowing, my hair was shinier and I had an unmistakeable bounce in my step. I felt like I was on air floating so high that nothing could ever bring me down. I have been working for the last 4 months and finally feel like I have a place. I cannot even begin to tell you how lucky I feel. I love what I do and it only makes it better that my coworkers are fabulous. We are always on the move, making changes, adding new programs and trying new things. This week, we are serving ice cream to incoming students in the afternoon. The best part of that: we get to eat the ice cream. Awesome. Who knows what next week will bring.

When I go on my daily runs you wouldn't believe what I see. Memorial stadium flanked with the Champions Club, campus and a longstanding tradition of excellence and glory. What is written on the side of the stadium: In the deed the glory. As I make my way through campus I see students and professors each with an agenda: to learn and to teach. This institution stands for so much and there is so much I want to give back. I round out my run with a stop at the columns. The place where it all began and as I stand there reveling in what has been before me I sigh with gratitude and elation for what is still to come. With perseverance, love, hard work and a lot of prayers, my columns have stood tall and have not crumbled, indeed the glory.

Summer Sweetness

    How beautiful is this? A shot of the welcome gates at Rosenblatt.

My Big Brother Graduates!

For the last 2 years, my brother has been a dedicated boyfriend/husband, brother, son, professional, friend and graduate student. You can't even imagine how much time he has dedicated to furthering himself by pursuing his Master's degree. He didn't take lunch breaks. He studied. He didn't go out with his friends. He studied. He didn't go on family trips. He studied. Well, this weekend my sister-in-law got her husband back! He has graduated on Father's Day weekend and is off and running with a new super awesome job. We are all so proud of him and this great accomplishment. Now he can have his life back. Good thing, the baby is coming in a short 2 months!

Embrace the Little Things in Life

On a fairly regular basis I take advantage of the small pleasures in life that I enjoy. I know that everyone doesn't have the ability to buy a new pair of shoes on a whim. Oh, how I love to buy new shoes. The thrill of looking for the perfect set, the colors that pop out at you tempting you to "pick me!" "pick me!" Finding the exact pair that will complement that top that has felt so forgotten all of these years. And oh, the display shoes! I'm pretty sure that I have magical feet because I can slip on all of the display shoes and they fit my feet. I don't have to forage through the boxes looking for my size, it's always just...there.

Yes, the simple things in life. Shaken iced green tea from Starbucks (one pump sweetener and a hint of non fat milk), a smile from a stranger on the street, my green Nalgene bottle I couldn't live without, and most importantly, the strength and health I have. Be thankful for these things.

Other things to be thankful for: Chocolate and candy, pearl earrings, allergy pills, online television, swimming pools in your backyard...SPF, fabulous friends, a loving family and....ice cream.

Take this moment to glance back at the first and last things I wrote on that list. Chocolate and candy and ice cream. By the looks of my list you can tell that it is a hot summer in Nebraska. I mean really, allergy pills?! Yes, people! I have really bad allergies, ok? And it doesn't help that I try to spend all of my time outside running or swimming and if I'm not doing that I'm buying and arranging flowers. I take the blame, I'm definitely not helping my cause. Anyway, sorry about that tangent. Ok, candy and ice cream.

So over my lunch hour today I took a nice stroll downtown to grab a Starbucks iced tea and stop at the bank. As I was enjoying my jaunt checking out the scenery, watching all of the incoming freshman students tour campus and the downtown professionals eating their lunches outside I thought to myself how it really is the minor things in life you need to embrace and enjoy to make the journey worth it.

As I'm finishing up at the teller line and about ready to turn around and walk out, a little girl practically ran right smack into me. "Um, um...(she started to say to the teller) can I have the bowl? The big bowl, the really big one over there that has all of the candy in it? Please, please, please?" The teller looked so confused and surprised she stood motionless for a second staring at the tiny girl standing on her tip toes while resting her chin on the counter. This little girl knew what she wanted, where she could find it and who to ask for it. She was embracing the little things. The things that come for free and bring happiness to those around them. I walked away with a big grin on my face and laughter in my stomach picturing the anxiety and anxious need that little girl had for that dang candy.

Later on in the day, I was about to hit my 2:30 dead zone. I really feel like the American work environment needs to take a note from other cultures that embrace the afternoon siesta. Man, wouldn't that be great? I have been trying to cut down on the amount of coffee I consume (hence the addiction to green tea) in order to detoxify my body and clean out my system (I need to stop reading online articles, they are feeding me all of this liberal nonsense) but really miss that kick in the afternoon the caffeine supplied me. Today, it was a little thing in life that has gotten me through the afternoon. Ice Cream. Ice cream, ice cream, ice cream. Any flavor, any toppings, any time. On any given day, no matter the temperature (even in the dead of winter, ice cream can still warm the soul) there is a good chance you could find me at my favorite local ice creamery. My favorite kind of ice cream: Cornbread and honey. I will buy it by the gallon.

We have a marketing gig going on at work for the next month in which we are offering free ice cream to incoming students after their long orientation day. Bonus: staff gets to enjoy this ice cream as well. Remember, it's the little things in life. This is pretty much going to be the best thing every, except for my bikini-ready body.

Good thing I bought a cute onesie this year.

Wedding Karaoke = Bad Decision

The proposal has happened. The screaming has subsided and the rigorous, stressful and up-all-night planning has begun. Da da dum dum....it's wedding season! After playing a part in several weddings whether it be standing up for one of my best friends, supporting my big brother, cutting cake or manning the guest book I have to say, the role of wedding coordinator has definitely been the most interesting.

I have come to realize that all brides try to out do any other bride they know of, especially if they run in the same circle. Case in point: I know a girl who said, and I quote "My ring kind of looks like hers, but MINE was shipped to Europe because there was a special diamond there waiting to be placed in the setting that my fiance designed himself." My thought: No.One.Cares.

Weddings have turned into these lavish affairs that are meant to do what? Impress people? Make others jealous? Personally, when I get hitched (there's a line boys, so start taking numbers)I want my friends and family there to help my husband and I celebrate the beginning of our life together. Yes, the flowers will be amazing (I kind of have a thing with flowers). And yes, the food will be delicious. I go to weddings to eat good free food, not crappy free food. Ok, ok, and I guess a little extra moolah will be spent on the cake. But lets be honest, dry crumbly cake covered in gross sugary frosting is simply not worth the calories or the extensive effort of the cake cutters. So, all in all, my wedding is not going to be out of the ordinary, outrageous or gigantic.

Then, there are those who would disagree with me. "I want something DIFFERENT!" " I want people to remember MY day!" Ladies (and gentlemen) think carefully before choosing something "different".

You may want to think twice about that karaoke DJ you think is such a fabulous idea and different from what any of your friends did at their wedding. Don't get me wrong, I love me a good karaoke bar. Yeah, I love it when I'm drunk, with my friends and know that when I'm belting out a Miranda Lambert song, I totally sound better than her. Take a que from me, folks, save it for the bar.

Well, I was working a wedding the other weekend and the couple (very nice people) hired a DJ who offered karaoke. Dammit. I knew this was going to happen. After the party got started, food was inhaled, cake was cut, gifts were loaded into the cars and the mature crowd was thinning out, the Deej started setting up a "special area". I was informed by a coworker and I made a beeline to the door. I needed to wait this one out in an area totally isolated from that disastrous noise that was excruciatingly painful to listen to. I found solace in a lovely bench outside.

The breeze was cool, the air was fresh, the stars were bright and the football stadium shined radiantly in the moonlight (Dear football season, please hurry up). All of a sudden I was yanked out of my peaceful state and thrown back into the reception to encounter, "The Duet".

Yes, I titled these performers. They were something else. I don't think "incredible" is quite the right word, nor is "spectacular" or even "good". And most definitely not "compatible". No, this couple requires a different word and I'm going to go with a pretty standard one..."weird". To paint a picture in your mind, think about a tall Caucasian man holding a microphone in one hand and wearing his heart on his sleeve. He's middle aged and wants to dedicate a ballad to his lovely wife. Her favorite movie is "Ghost". What better song than "Unchained Melody" by the Righteous Brothers?

And the performance begins...as the vocalist is hungering for her touch and needing her love he feels a real touch. What is this? Another vocalist steps in. A duet? you ask. Yes, but the duet-ee is not the wife. It is an Oscar-from-The-Office look-a-like. Now, your eyes are taking in a tall Caucasian male and a squat Latino singing side by side, pouring out their hearts and souls into the great beyond and you feel...confused. That's how I felt anyway. Very, very confused.

As they were Godspeeding their love for the last time, my giggles started to subside and reality set in. The reason this oddity even happened was because in some bleak corner of the bride and groom's minds they had the brilliant thought that karaoke would be fantastic and super fun at their wedding reception. Please, God, never let me witness such a disturbingly funny sight again, I don't know if I could handle it a second time around.

Taboo.

Taboo.

T+A+Boo. What does this elusive word mean to you? One of my favorite pastimes is dissecting words, numbers, pictures, ideas, text messages and facial expressions to decipher the thoughts tumbling around in one’s head and the possible motivation behind the decisions they make. You may be thinking right now that I seem slightly crazy and maybe a tad neurotic. You may also be right. I am self-diagnosed lactose intolerant, after all. While I am most definitely not a left-brained thinker, hence my lack of analytical thinking and aversion to anything math or science, my top strength (according to Strengths Finder) is strategic. That’s me alright, always the strategist figuring out a right-brained way to go about accomplishing my missions. So when I think about the word taboo, I don’t look back into Latin origins or come up with an intricate super confusing formula to make myself feel superior. I simply take the word apart. T and A and Boo. Say it quickly now, “T n A, Boo.” That’s better. Tits and Ass, Boo.

Boo, a lovely pet name one of my besties and I refer to each other as. A simple, “hey Boo, how’s your day?” tends to paste a smile on my mug. In other situations, “Boo” is also used in reference to one’s significant other. Ok, so my bestie and I are not significant others; don’t get me wrong, if I swung that way I would totally tap that hottie, but…shoot got off track there. What was I saying? Oh, yes. Boo. Please refer to Jay-Z and Beyonce, Rihanna and Chris Brown (pre-DA) Lil Kim and who-the-hell-knows, or P.Diddy and his flavor of the week. You can always flip on E! News or surf over to TMZ, or hell, just look at the top songs downloaded on iTunes to hear how the term “Boo” is used by pretty much any top 40 artist. Most commonly, it is followed by something like “hop in my bed” or “take your clothes off” or “sweat drippin down my b**ls”. You get the idea. And then you throw in the T n A part and you are set for a riot of an evening.

Well, in my case, taboo has quite the significance. Would you consider it a social blunder if your best friend hooked up with your personal banker after she just opened up a checking account for you, got you a new credit card with a sweet max limit, made you a car loan and helped you finance that new house of yours? If you just answered yes, you have just classified their act as taboo.

Last weekend, I may have participated in a similar liaison that you may consider taboo. That is if you answered “yes” to the above question a social blunder, taboo, if you will. My job environment tends to throw me into situations in which I am surrounded by men. No, I am not a stripper or hostess. I plan events ranging from simple business lunches, sports banquets, educational seminars and leadership conferences to tail gates and lavish wedding receptions. You see where I’m coming from? It’s raining men…often quite literally. Throughout my career I have been very quiet and demure keeping to the side and hiding in the background only there to make sure the event is running smoothly and maybe to pin on some boutonnières. You wouldn’t believe how many people are afraid to pin on a damn flower. It’s not rocket science. Anyway, back to the story. On this particular weekend we had a two day event, maybe it was a wedding ceremony and reception, but if anyone asks, you didn’t hear it from me.

A strategy was forming and there was no stopping me now. The best man. Sure, when I first saw him on Friday night I thought he was funny, adorable, a snappy dresser, had dreamy eyes and supple pink lips. Whoa, someone slap me I’m starting to swoon. I left thinking nothing of it, ran a couple miles and killed myself on the stadium stairs before heading to bed for some much-needed sleep in prep for the long wedding Saturday.

Little did I know, best man was also a strategist. Saturday went by, flirty eyes here and there, slow smiles secretly passed between pinning on those aforementioned damned flowers and asking simply “are you lining us up for our entrance?” I had to resist. I was a professional for God’s sake!

As you have probably assumed by now, he was definitely on a mission and I was not putting up a fight. It was the first time I have given in to the suave I’m-hot-and-I-know-it guy. First time I’d participated in the wedding party flirtations, first time I gave my number to a member of the wedding party, first time I went out with the wedding party, and certainly the first time I snagged the best man. I swear I was drugged.

Mission accomplished, good sir. You snagged the wedding planner. Tell all your friends, tell your brother (the groom) and your family (all of who I met, by the way) and please, make sure to thank your new sister-in-law for choosing to work with me.

Unbeknownst to him, I have just told the whole world via the Internet of my accomplishment. Was it really his strategy and mission, or was it mine? Afterall, it was taboo. Tits and Ass and all, Boo.

Spinning Heads

In leiu of it being so long since my last entry, I decided today would be the perfect time to update my life blog. Well, lets see. I have moved, started a new job that I absolutely love, am experimenting with running, cooking up a storm and even catering a few events. I have also reverted back to one aspect of my college days...roommates. Now, keep in mind that I have lived in many different and even difficult arrangements that one may not picture me surviving in. Well, let me tell you; I can survive through the worst and come out on the better side even if it does include being punished for bringing boys upstairs, nearly killing a cat (RIP Jude), sleeping on an air mattress for 3 months, two summers in a row, and to put the cherry on top...a house full of 72 hormonally crazed, slightly catty and nearly neurotic sorority girls. God love 'em. I would tend to lump myself into a group of those elite who seem to keep their cool, see the good in what they have and when worst comes to worst, walk out of the room (...and bitch about it for weeks after to your best friend).

This brings us to my current story. After living by myself in a glorious 915 square foot second story apartment with my very own fireplace, balcony, kitchen and bathroom I have been thrust into a house with 2 boys. Ok, now don't you dare be thinking right now, "Oh, geez, what a baby she can't even live with boys?" I have lived with boys. Ohhhhh have I ever lived with boys. It couldn't get much worse than my brother's two friends who constantly nagged and irritated and teased me to no end while prancing around in their skivvies thinking they were making me extremely uncomfortable. Ha. If anyone should have been feeling awkward in that situation, it was them. Lord knows I may not have the perfect bod but you don't see me walking around in my delicates. 'Nuff said.

These particular boys are a slightly different story. It all started when I received a life changing phone call offering me the job of my dreams. And to move the next week. I had no place to live and not a moving truck in sight but I had heavenly karma and good luck on my side. My father has always told me that I lead a "charmed life". I like to think that everyone makes things happen for themself and I just happen to have made a lot of friends and some strong connections. Charm was on my side this time and some family friends' kids who happen to be right around my age just purchased a house and needed a 4th roommate. Perfect timing, right? Actually, yeah, it was perfect timing. I was in a pinch and needed a place to stay. They had a house equipped with my own bedroom, bathroom, living room, garage spot and even a pool in the back yard! What!! Too good to be true, right? Yep, you're right, definitely too good to be true.

So the last couple of months really haven't been that bad. Boys will be boys, I know that and I think that I have been an extremely awesome roommate. I do not bitch about their dirty friends who sleep on my counch. When I say dirty, I literally mean, dirty. Like he works in a dirty place and is covered with dirt and grease. And then he sleeps on my couch...without a sheet over it. I keep a spare bottle of Febreeze in my room for such special occasions. I clean up after them in the kitchen, cook them brownies and treats, pay all of my bills on time, take out the trash, amuse them by listening to their girl problems and stay out of their "man cave" upstairs. Did I mention that downstairs is the "girl cave" and is supposed to be reserved for myself and our girl roommate (whom I love dearly but she is gone for the summer, ahhh!!!). Well, yeah, it is. I know that my full size couch is more comfortable to sleep on than a halfie upstairs, but seriously, keep your dirty friends out of the clean girl zone. I may be coming off as a bit snooty and snobbish, but I really just like to be able to sit on a clean couch while enjoying some late night telly.

Fast forward to this morning. Monday...errrrrr. I was out of town for the weekend and wanted to extend my precious time off by driving home in the morning. I had to stop at home to change before heading to work and as I was driving into town I thought to myself, "Sarah, you can stick out living here for the rest of the summer. You can save up your pennies and dimes (since it is rather cost efficient) for that trip to Sweden you want to take in the spring. Sacrifices must be made." Then, I pulled into the garage. Smiled as I waltzed inside thinking of the Swedish adventure that awaited me and walked down to enter the girl cave. First thing I see: a case of beer sitting on my coffee table. Deep breath. Beer cans strewn on the window sill and next to the couch. Close my eyes. Enter my bedroom.

Holy Shit.

My bed has been knocked off of its risers. I cannot breathe. My lamp is knocked over. Fists clench. The bedside table is pushed against the wall. (it's called a bedside not a wallside for a reason) Bead of sweat drips down my forehead. My clothes are strewn around the room. Steam shoots out of my ears. Finally, the guilded framed picture of my best friends and I is knocked over. I catch my breath and release an unheard scream.

What.The.Fuck.

I'm pretty sure I blacked out and my head started spinning while I spewed green vomit in every direction. My head was a mess and I was fit to make my roommate's life a mess. Never have I been so angry, so fuming, so disrespected and so incredibly flabbergasted by the sheer stupidity of people. It was Monday morning for pete's sake. When did this happen? You would think that they at least would have attempted to clean this mess up!

I called my dear sweet mother and raged to ranted to her about my debacle. I have known for a while that I wanted to find a different living arrangement but this was seriously the last draw. I feel like I have been very patient, understanding and even a bit fun from time to time. Keeping in mind that some weeks I work over 75 hours, I would say I'm pretty laid back and let them have their fun without being their "mom". This was too much. I would rather live with those 72 hormonally enraged college girls again than stay in this place. To hell with the pool, to hell with the granite kitchen countertops and handy drawer cutting board (man I love that thing) I AM THREW! I AM OUTTA HERE! I AM FINISHED, KAPUT, ADIOS!!

Next week I start my search for an apartment. I actually started about 3 weeks ago (after hearing a tad more "intimate time" from one of the roommies than I cared for) and have a pretty good idea of where I want to go. Until then, I am staying the night at my Saint of a best friend's apartment until I cool down. I left a menacing note to the boys that they can stew on until I see them. I understand this is a passive agressive way to go about dealing with said situation, but I really just couldn't stand to be there another minute. Especially after thinking about what microorganisms could potentially be growing on my sheets.