Saradactyl.com

Happiness Is

Funny Phone Conversations
Me: Thank-you for calling MBS, my name is Sara. May I start with your phone number please?
Caller: Did you ask for my PHONE number or my FILE number?
Me: Um. Phone number. Why would I ask for a file number?
Caller: *laughing* Ah, southerners and their accents.
Me: *smiling politely* Ah, callers and their stupid questions. Now about that phone number....

Name Clubs
I talked to another woman whose name was also Sarah (spelled the not-quite-so-cool way), who was calling to verify benefits for a patient named Sarah. I laughed and told her we should all start a club, of which I should be president since I was the only one who didn't have a tacky H at the end of her name. The caller laughed and consented, stating that I was indeed wise and worthy of such an appointment.

Sisters Who Don't Know How Awesome They Really Are
I love my sisters. Both of them. Emily has an awesome job at a Tea House where she gets to dress up in Victorian garb and serve tea and crumpets all day. Seriously - it's the best gig on the planet. But c'mon. Beyond that - she's just friggin awesome. She knows she's awesome, and she owns it... and I say go on a head girl wid your bad self. *z-snap*

Now, Molly. MOLLY is the one who I don't think realizes how awesome she really is. Just the other day on her blog she was lamenting that she wasn't witty or funny. I contend that all of those things she WANTS to be (witty, funny, quick, smart, hilarious, poignant) she already IS. It makes me sad that people tend to gloss over her.... I mean, after all she IS kind of a BIG DEAL. But I think that's the delicious tragedy of being the youngest sibling. One day you're not noticed. But the next day? You're famous and plastered all over billboards. Not saying that would necessarily happen or that Molly would necessarily WANT it to happen. It's just that often times teenage angst is the point in which the raging storms of our development are at their worst - but soon begin to taper off.... and after it's cleared, it becomes obvious that all of that storm water has made the ground of our souls soft and ready for planting. It's a season, Wogster. And one day you'll see what the rest of us already know: You ARE smart and witty and hilarious and poignant. God has given you some AMAZING gifts that are Just Molly's. Not Sara's or Emily's or anyone else's. You are uniquely and beautifully and awesomely YOU.

Candy Coated Milk Chocolate Pieces
'nuff said.

Leap Years
One of my friends (and please forgive me - I can't remember who [*edited below]) said that the 29th of February is like a day in which NONE of your actions really count since it's not a REAL day. I like that theory. I mean really - a leap year? Craziness. It's like a pseudo-invisible day that has dwelt between two pages that were accidentally GLUED together in the annals of time - and every four years or so, we peeeeel back the page and act surprised when an extra day LEAPS off of the page. Heh. So, on this day - do something that you would normally regret. These types of actions are encouraged seeing as how they won't really count.

FLEX FRIDAYS!
I worked extra hours this week so that I could leave early from work today. So. Excited. I love short days. They truly truly make me happy.

New Glasses
Going to get new frames and lenses so that I can actually SEEEE again!! Did I tell y'all that my vision is now at 20/400 or something crazy? I can't see the big E. I mean. I KNOW it's an E. But it just looks like a big ink blot to me. Now, the GOOD news is that I can see 20/15 (better than perfect) WITH glasses. So, that rocks. Not quite so rockin'? Glaucoma. That's right boys and girls! Glaucoma. High pressure in the 'balls+nerve damage=apparent early stages of glaucoma. So, I'm going to see a man about horse in a couple of weeks... do some field tests to see how bad off it is, and if I need to start treating it at this point. Good times. Good times.

Coconut Lime Verbena Body Lotion
It kinda makes me smell like the beach, AND a margarita.

Seriously?

If that's not happiness, my friends - I don't know what is.

*said friend was DANA of ThinkPinkDana.com fame. She's so pretty. And smart. And wwwwitty! We're gonna need a bigger dot com. **dangling brown nose**

Political Affiliation

No choices. NO CHOICES. NO. CHOICES. (whispers: el no choice) What happened? Where did we go wrong as a political system that there are absolutely no choices of really GOOD qualified presidential candidates??? I'll be the first to admit that I am excited to get some fresh people in the White House. I'm a big fan of La Bush, but sometimes you need to shake things up a little bit. Move the furniture around, dust the top of your door frames, open up the windows and let that thing air the-freak-out. Y'knowwhaI'msayin?

So we have Senator John McCai..zzzzzzzzz.
And then there's Senator Hillary 666 Clinton.
Oh, let's not forget about Barack Hussein Obama Yo Mama.

I SUPPOSE John McCain would be the lesser of the evils, but to be honest - he scares me almost as much as the other two. *shudders* So, with all the political fervor, unrest, and indifference waging within my red republican soul - it's nice to know we have an alternative:

 

I saw this bumper sticker on the back of a pickup truck (that also had a Batman decal, a peace symbol, and a smiley face) on the way home from work yesterday, and literrrrrrally wet myself. When I got home, I Googled it, and found out this is NOT a new thing... evidently "Republicans for Voldemort" has been a resounding theme amongst the libs for the past four years. So, yes I understand that it's really a liberal stab at evil diabolical conservatives, but it totally took me by surprise - making me laugh and laugh. I mean sure - what the hell, if you're gonna go evil? LET'S GO ALL THE WAY. Voldemort does evil right. No hidden agenda, and he's not sneaky about his intentions. NO. A very STRONG platform of pro-snake; pro school vouchers (sure only for the pure bloods, but let's not debate semantics); and a VERY consistent track record of ethnic cleansing. *big smile / thumbs up* Got my vote!

Now, I know that ethnic cleansing is a very serious issue, and I would not DARE jest about it or the prejudices that plague our society. But really. REALLY? The delicious ludicrousness of it all is SO stinkin hilarious. Am I offended that someone would think conservatives embody the characteristics of an evil maniacal wizard? Yeah, of course. Does that negate the fact that it is so stinkin' hilarious? Nope.

(whispers: I kind of want one.)

21 Day Challenge

O, I LOVE a good challenge. IcancountononefingerhowmanyI'veactuallycompleted [deep breath] but maybe this is my time! Stacey blogged today about participating in the 21 Day Challenge by 2 P's, and after checking it out? I'm thinking - dude. I should totally do that. Like Stacey, I'm kinda STUCK wondering what habit I should make or break in the 21 days. *laughs maniacally* There. Are. Just. So. Many. To. Choose. From.

21 days of.... not leaving any clothes on the floor or chair?
21 days of.... packing healthy meals for me to eat at work?
21 days of.... taking SOME kind of photograph?
21 days of.... blogging?
21 days of.... artistic pursuits?
21 days of.... making my bed?
21 days of.... no sugar?
21 days of.... memorizing scripture?
21 days of.... writing real letters to friends?
21 days of.... compiling 21 chapters for my book?
21 days of.... folding myunderwear?
21 days of.... reading War and Peace?

Seriously. SERIOUSLY? I could go on. But I won't. If you had a chocie, or are participating in the challenge (which starts in 3 days, by the way) - what habit would you (are you?) make (making?) or break (breaking?)  in 21 days?

Brilliantly... er, hopelessly flawed?

I spent some time yesterday reading through some of Nattie's blog archives. If it wasn't in a typed format, I could almost picture that she had drawn little doodles about her personality types, sketched pictures of herself... of her kids; shared bits and pieces of thoughts and ideas that would be sort of haphazardly inked on graph paper - no real rhyme or reason. Each individual piece seeming somewhat insignificant and awkward. But the whole? Wow. The Whole. The slow unfolding of each thought... the painful vulnerability of the account of the events of her life... the grace that links them all together. With her gone, it is a breathtaking tapestry that I can log-on to and study in fine detail any time I want to. A small piece of her finite-being left to tide us over until we can hang out together in Glory.

Anyway. Going through those archives prompted me to go through mine. Why didn't y'all tell me I'm such a whiny-ass punk? Ohhhh sure, there are moments every now and then when I have a glimmer of clarity, and what I WANT to say is actually communicated without my words getting in the way. I love it when that happens.

Lately though, I've felt this mounting pressure to only write things "worth" writing about, and only sharing those brief insights of brilliantly flawed revelations. That's why I haven't been around much lately, because I haven't had any brief (or otherwise) insights of brilliantly flawed revelations. I have been quick (and possibly wrong?) to believe it wasn't worth my time (or yours) to tell you about how I painted my fingernails black this week, and it's made me feel all cool and confident. Or that I ran into this guy today that I've been secretly harboring a crush for and he seems to be content with just knowing my name. Or how my Godson will be celebrating his 1 year anniversary of life on this planet on the  28th, and I couldn't be prouder of him or his Mama. Or how I typically wear a size 8 shoe, and the 7 1/2's that I'm wearing are WAY too big, but that I think it's not really that my feet have become smaller - rather it's a CONSPIRACY mounted by the shoe companies around the world to label bigger shoes with smaller sizes so as to TRICK consumers into a false sense of CONFIDENCE so as to boost sales, and rob us all blind. BLIND!

Ah, the minutia. See what you've been missing out on? I've weighed too heavily my choice of "To blog, or not to blog?" Over-thinking has always been my biggest foe, and I feel that it has done me a disservice by tricking me into believing that the MAJOR things are some how more important than the minors. Truth is, my life consists of a whole BUNCH of minors, and maybe one day I'll look back and see that it was all culminating into something MAJOR.

*shrugs* Who knows?

Basically what I'm trying to say is: "Dear Sara, yes - you're flawed. HOPELESSLY so. Embrace it. Give it milk and cookies and send it off to bed. It IS actually acceptable for you to write about the small stuff. Ok? So get over yourself."

The End.

Not the Athletic Type

I love this time of year when winter is laboring to deliver spring. It is practically GLOWING with promises of a bouncing new season filled with infancy and tender shoots peeking from beneath their upside down bulbs. I'm very particular about what seasons I choose to accept. I shun winter, and hate summer - but early spring, and early fall? I love. (whispers: love) Now, if you have been hanging around here long, you know that within in the next 34-62 days I will, at some point or another, declare a NAKED ROLLING AROUND IN THE GRASS DAY! Ah, those glorious days that just make you want to strip bare and soak up the glorious SPLENDOR of it all! (consequently, I'm a big proponent of Free Range Clam. Just sayin'.) Now, the seasons inevitably become thick with sameness. Same light. Same trees. Same colors. Same mercury. Same. Same. Same. Just when you think you can't stand the seeing that same branch of brown for ONE MORE DAY - it bursts forth with purple blooms and red buds. I love that.

Anyway. As a child I remember  wanting to be outside, but being unwilling to subject myself to the oppressive North Carolina humidity. Basically the extent of my outdoor activity consisted either of going to the mailbox, or lumbering out to meet the ice cream truck. Mostly I did my best to avoid the heat. I remember my mother pulling the curtains closed on the front window in an attempt to block some of the blazing heat from that summer sun. I would plaster myself against the cool rust colored carpet and strrrretch my fingers and toes - WILLING my body to be flat, cool and floor-like. Mostly the floor just plastered itself to me: bits of fuzz and lent clinging to my sticky skin. I would eat popsicles and watch Mister Rogers's Neighborhood - balking at the requests of my friends to come outside and play. "Psht. Y'all fools crazy."

Oh, but I did SO enjoy my extra-curricular activities. I thrived with wild pursuits of my niches and talents. Ballet, basketball, tap dance, baton twirling. Of course, never really following through with ANY of them, as I turned out to be mediocre and talentless in most of those fields. Probably the most MEMORABLE pursuit was soccer. I remember at SOME point in my early childhood development being signed up for soccer at the local parks and recreation center. I was maybe.... 6 or 7? Seriously? TOTAL. TRAIN WRECK. I arrived at my first practice - plump, red faced, with shorts riding up my crotch.  Everyone's parents sat in the bleachers, watching their children interact and bounce around playfully with the kid-sized soccer balls. It was time for our first run - being introduced to the various positions and goal (ha, pun) of the game. Ultimately, as children playing soccer tend to do, we all said "SCREW YOUR POSITIONS!!" and just ran wildly around the field in a gigantic herd, kicking the ball aimlessly toward imaginary goals of great height and far far distances.  The name of the game was  "Kick Lest I Be Kicked".  Ah, the story of my life. But I digress...........

Now, this being my first attempt at team sports, and also the first time I was really made to run after anything other than the ice cream truck - I was in for a very rude awakening. I ran down the field just as faaaaaaast as my chubby little legs would take me. By the time I got to one end of the field, the gigantic herd of wild-eyed children were stampeding toward the OPPOSITE end of the field. Soooooooo I turned around and huffed and puffed in the OTHER direction trailing way behind. I was left in a cloud of dust and failure as I half-jogged-half-shuffled to catch up to my other teammates. After arriving about about mid-way down the field, I was struck by two things:



1. a piercing knife in my ribs that wanted me dead.
2. the herd of stupid athletic kids trampling each other to get to the OPPOSITE end of the field. Again.

I remember very distinctly turning to face the stands with wristless-arms, all red-faced and puffy - ERUPTING into torrent of hopeless tears of embarrassment, frustration, and possibly? A little heat exhaustion. My Mom took me off the field, and I never went back.

Definitely not the athletic type.

No, my achievements remained mostly in the artistic field. Drawing, taking pictures, writing weird stories about rocks gardens and abolitionists. Sitting for hours and dreaming about the little men inside the stoplights that controlled the traffic, and giving pretend autographs to passing street lights.  What an odd little childhood.

It's all of those things in my life that culminated into the person I am today. I still live by the motto: "Fat girls don't run." and gladly give an autograph to any street light who requests one. Ice cream trucks still make my heart go pitter pat, and I have a strong affinity for rust colored carpet. These oddly shaped patchwork fabrics, pieced and sewn together with a thread of grace that is stronger than that knife in my side, and my tendency to never follow through.

So when I find myself humiliated and standing there crying in the middle of a task that is WAY too big for me, I've learned not to chalk it up to another failure - but to count it all loss for the sake of knowing Him. And the joy of knowing Him far surpasses my fear of failure. Or worse yet - my fear of success.

"For I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor any other created thing, will be able to separate us from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord." Romans 8:38-39

Wordless Wednesday

Things I Don't Want to Forget

Names for Future Female Spawn:

• Kipperly


• Gray


• Monday

Best Conversation Ever
StephG: SHITTLE! Anybody watching the launch today!?!?!
Dana: we have lift-off of the space shuttle skidmark.....
StephG: Shuttle! SHUTTLE! I MEANT SHUTTLE!!!!!!!!

The Perfect Jeans
Today was the day I found The Perfect Jeans [for my body]. Finally. FINALLY! A pair of jeans that fits nicely in the boootay, sits higher on the waist, and makes my legs look 1,000 ft long. They are called "Denim Trousers" and I found them in the big girl section of Target. WHODDATHUNK?!

The Countdown Begins
There are only 7 Days, 14 hours, and 2 minutes left until I fly to Nashville, TN to hang out with some of my best girlfriends for the weekend!! Eeeep. (whispers: exciting)

Is there anything from this day, February 7th, 2008 - that you don't want to forget?

Current Events

Listening to: The Reminder - Feist
Thoroughly: enjoying it
On my: newly refurbished computer
Which has: been out of commission for 7'ish months
Due to: a severely damaged hard drive
Now have: 120 gb hard drive
On which: to frolic and play
Nine days: until I get to hug the necks of some of my very best friends
Peeing: my pants
I had forgotten: how sitting on the bed with my laptop makes my legs cramp
Need to: go to bed
YAW: N

The scarlet letter isn't black
Gotta know who's got your back
Because they're right in front of you
Because they're telling you the truth

So much present inside my present
inside my present so.... so much past
Inside my present inside my present
Inside my present so....
So.....

-Feist / "Past in Present"