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.