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!