MrsImpossible

I suck

2010-02-23T07:38:00.000-08:00

I guess I am not the best blogger ever to have existed.

I post infrequently, because I vacillate between not having anything interesting to say, and worrying that what I WANT to say might offend or reach the wrong ears. I have a feeling that the true Blog Mistresses of the Universe care not about such petty things.

I will try to be better.

My sister is moving from Washington DC next week with her hubby (thank goodness) and her three adorable children. (www.threeirishgirls.com)
She hasn't lived in my town for ten years, so the idea that our children can because better friends and close cousins is exciting. I told her that I am going to being her into my circle of friends who go out together in cleavagy shirts and drinks cocktails and she just kind of guffawed at me. Not her style, apparently.

In other news, my house is messy, I need to lose four to six pounds but can't seem to, there is a dragon lady in town who hates me for unknown, gross reasons (I'll share more later) and I am currently not wearing a bra.

Good times.

--Carolyn

Am I old?

2010-01-11T07:00:00.000-08:00

Am I? You can be honest.
I know that in ten years I will look back in disgust at my poor attitude towards the end of my 20's, but STILL. Do I look like this?

I said, be honest.
Do I have a perm and white hair and am just unaware?

Do I watch Wheel of Fortune with the volume turned way up and I just don't realize it?

This deep introspection regarding age probably has something to do with my birthday coming up this week. I used to love birthdays, reader. And I still do, as long as the specific age/number is not mentioned, a fact which is totally RETARDED and don't I know it!

I am hoping that as I get farther and farther away from my 20's, I will just accept it and move on.
I will NOT get botox and plastic surgery (as if I even had the funds) and start to look like some weird alien creature.

Such as:

I'd rather grow older with grace, like Meryl Streep or Helen Mirran or Diane Lane. Granted, those women all have good genes and beautiful faces to begin with, but one can dream. So shut up.

Love, Carolyn

Winter Optimism

2010-01-01T06:21:00.000-08:00

Today begins my Winter Cleaning Tour '10.
This past summer my sister and I became so frustrated with the state of our homes (with seven children between us) that we came up with a new idea. A revolutionary idea. We would come up with a cleaning schedule for our houses and send it to the other. Then for each room, we'd take a dreaded, horrible, embarrassing BEFORE photo and also send that to the other.
The we'd clean said room.
Thoroughly.
Exhaustingly.
Every nook, every cranny, every drawer, every surface, under every object.
When we were done (and we had to be done by the deadline we had agreed to) we would take an AFTER photo and send that via email to the other.
The motivation? IF for some reason we procrastinated and didn't finish the room by the scheduled and promised time, the other dastardly sister would post the dreaded BEFORE picture online. Or worse yet, send it to our mother, who assuredly would come over right away and roll up her sleeves and dig into the mess herself.

I am going to go out on a ledge and post one of my BEFORE (gulp) and AFTER photos for you to see.

I have decided on a kids' room BEFORE photo, because at least then I can blame the mess on my unsuspecting child, rather than on myself. (This is what happens when my children dump all their clothes out of their dressers. On a daily basis. Oh, how embarrassing. But I'm keeping it real, ya'll.)

AFTER! Whew. So much less embarrassing.

And it gives me a calm feeling in my soul.

It's time for that feeling again, starting today!

The Eve of Christmas

2009-12-24T06:53:00.000-08:00

Merry Christmas!
We have been busy the past couple days, watersliding and lazy-rivering and chasing after copious amounts of soaking wet children. Now we are back home (insert sigh of relief here) and have been pursuing more traditional holiday fare.
Such as:
the prime rib I made last night for dinner. Just because. It was delish, by the way.
Watching the snow fall outside. Gorgeous and fluffy.
Making Christmas cookies, bark, cinnamon rolls and other sweets whilst listening to carols wafting from the speakers.

Today we are heading over to my mom's house for a Christmas Eve dinner and general gaity.
Male Nurse works tomorrow morning (!!) so we have to squeeze a lot of the celebration into a short period of time.

And now, for your watching pleasure, a clip from one of my favorite holiday movies, The Bishop's Wife. Cary Grant plays an angel sent to earth to help a Bishop, who has been to busy to help people, and his wife remember why they love each other. In this scene, the angel and the wife have gone to the bishop's old church (the bishop was too busy) but none of the boys from the choir have showed up. Miraculously, they show up one by one and the song they sing is heavenly. One thing I like about this scene is that these boys were a real choir, and are singing live, not lip-synching. They seem very real, not 'acty'.

Enjoy!
CLICK HERE TO VIEW!

Oh, I didn't see you standing there.

2009-11-15T17:51:00.001-08:00

I know, I know. Please don't chastise. It has been FAR too long, my friends, FAR too long. Life has been busy. Days have been full. But now I am back, at least for now, to share with you the fascinating updates of my life.

First, Vivie. The other day I discovered clumps of freshly shorn hair on my living room chair. Apparently Vivienne got sick of her awkward-growing-out-the-bangs stage and decided to take matters (and scissors) into her own hands. I tried to even things out, but what can you do? There are clumps missing. Here is Vivie with a wig of mine on, and she looks like Rosanne Rossanadanna.

Then, today, I had a USO fundraiser show, in which I had to dress up and sing as Dorothy Lamour. A fun little side perk to my life---- and when I got home, the children were fascinated with my fake eyelashes, which I had just peeled off in front of gaping children. They each wanted to try them on, so I let them, and snapped a shot of each moment.

Here is Vivie-- obviously comfortable with her new glam look.

Next comes Clara-- who couldn't stop staring at how grown-up she looked!

Poor little Audrey didn't know what she was getting herself into.

And this is Elijahs' version of a "pretty lady." They apparently fold their hands and have large lips.

More to come, hopefully.
And may I add my sincere and hearty CONGRATS to Sarah in the light of their glorious news? Alright then, CONGRATS! They will make wonderful parents who will probably never put false eyelashes on their baby.

--Carolyn

The wonderful world of wanting

2009-11-12T13:31:00.000-08:00

.. has only begun to pervade my existence in this new and inconvenient way as of late. Of course, along with this pending baby business comes the part of pregnancy. And with pregnancy, some women are reported to display all manner of strange symptomology. Most of which seem mythical and fictional to those who have heard the tales but have yet to experience them firsthand. I found it hard to understand how a craving for something could be so pronounced... so loudly echoed within the silence of one's brain that there is just no mistaking the fact that your body is calling for one obscure food item or another. So far, it has been for me only vague whispers that frankly, could be easily dismissed or even ignored. Now, I have been instructed by more than a few that these 'cravings' are to be had for a purpose, and as a responsible mother-to-be, it is my duty to respect them for what they are and obey them, within reason of course. I am not allowed to humor just any and all whims mind you, but if the body is calling for something, or even is crying out in vehement avoidance of something, I should pay attention and heed my body's signals. Never did I imagine that they could be heard so clearly and so loudly as they were last night.

Veterans' Day yesterday heralded a rare occasion in our household, wherein both my husband and I both had the same day off. Usually this pleasure is reserved for only the most major of holiday, and it is rare that we should both be together on a weekday in the sunlight hours. So, seeing as we have just accumulated a burgeoning list of 'to do's' around the house, we decided to take full advantage of this extra day and get some prep work done on our house so we can do some major painting this weekend. And as you may well be aware, prep work can sometimes be far more laborious than the actual act of painting itself! All that crouching and taping and scraping and tarping and plate-removing and furniture moving and blah blah blah. It's a horrid job which I despise, but alas, we tackled the task with aplomb and accomplished our goals for the day. I even have sore butt muscles from crawling around on the floor on my hands and knees and scaling the ladder a few times. Yay, butt! Anyway, we were feeling proud of our efforts as we settled in for the evening to relax a bit and enjoy dinner and whatnot. We frittered away the remainder of the evening until around 9 or 9:30, wherein my hormone-ridden body was to give me my first really clear crave experience. I knew all at once and in an instant that I was DESTINED to have a warm chocolate chip cookie in my mouf that night, nomatter what happened. I was not given a choice in this matter, as my brain was sending signals so loud and clear that I basically just opened my mouth and words came tumbling out... those which echoed off the walls and bounced back to my ears and were practically a surprise when I heard them. "I'm going to make chocolate chip cookies now. I must have them. Now. " Joe looked at me as he pleaded to make me understand the weariness in my own body.. as if he knew full well that indeed, I was too tired to go and start this mess, and I damn well should know this without him having to tell me. I mean, do you know how ridiculous that sounds coming from another person? "Oh, you shouldn't. You're really too tired to do that now, dear." And the strange part is, he'd be exactly right. Now I'm not sure who exactly has control of my brain, my body or my words anymore, given that none of the opinions about me are really coming from me anymore. It's either my pregnant self, or other people who know me well and are overriding my irrationality for my own well-being, God bless them. But nonetheless, I trudge on, listening to most anything and believing it. Including the demand from my inner core to get my ass into the kitchen and start baking, sore butt or not.

Long story short (too late!), I did. I baked. I lined sheets with parchment, readjusted oven racks, softened butter, dug bags of stuff out of the back of shelves and carefull measured and leveled, sifted and stirred, measured by teaspoons and timed them like a pro. Good God, tired or not, I'm still going to do it right. Or else, why bother! (thanks, Mom) As I was finishing putting everything away, getting the kitchen back in order, letting the cookies cool in neat little rows on their assigned cooling racks, turning off the glaring overhead lights I had on to work, ect ect., I sidled up to the counter to take my first rewarding bite. That bite of cookie that imparts the initial essence of what makes fresh cookies so great. A little crisp, a warm soft center, melted chocolate that pervades your tongue with warm sweetness, the decadance and simplicity of it all. Yes, I took taht first bite... and nearly horked all over my kitchen. No, there wasn't a thing wrong with my classic little cookies. It was a cruel trick of nature, planted squarely on the unsuspecting pregnant idiot. The one where your brain tells you that you really reaaaaally need something, until you have it and try to eat/drink it. And then the tables turn and you are faced with the cruel reality that it was all a Toll House Hoax. The cruelty of it all is almost too much to bear. Poor, poor me.

~Sarah

So long and far away

2009-11-10T07:03:00.000-08:00

...was the time since I last wrote something here. But I am here to do a couple of things. One of which is, to make myself determined to return to the keyboard more regularly and utilize this outlet for a few of my meaningless thoughts on things. Hey, it's good for me and is basically harmless, as I don't believe anyone but perhaps a teensy handful of people (maybe.. one or two?) actually read this blog anyway. Unless of course there are lurking thousands of folks voyeuristically peering into Carolyn's and my own little world of nonsense. How would we know? People don't generally comment on anything. Which actually works to everyone's advantage. It keeps me with a sense of security that this is practically a private diary, and that I have no standard to uphold wherein I oversensor myself due to desperate fear of offending someone or revealing too much of myself. Also something I ought to overcome, don't you think? It rather implies that I am insecure in myself and my beliefs, which is the sign of a weak character. And that's the last thing I want to be thought of as, for heaven's sake! Goodness no, this lass is stalwart! (meh.) The other is to use this forum to track my ideas and fleeting moments on a rather big development where, let's face it, only those presumably with an 'in' on this info could really see it in the first place. Cause here's what.. this girl is pregnant. That's right, me and the hubby are about 8 weeks into baby-making land, and the amount of babywhitenoise between my ears is deafening. It needs to come OUT. And God knows, facebook is no place for that. My lower-level management's sister-in-laws daughter's babysitter's phlebotomist doesn't need to know these things. I think in fact that a major resource to a woman like me - on my way to being a first time mom, God-willing, and no spring chicken! - are her mommy friends. Of which I have a good handful. In fact, every single one of my closest friends are mothers, and if they have not been tapped completely by my questioning, they soon will be. My coblogger is essentially a proffessional in fact, and I trust her opinion explicitly. Between my close family and friends, I am witness to the rearing and care of over 20 children at any given time, and have heard and seen so much of their lives. They and their parents have been laden such joys, triumphs, pains, heartaches, laughs, love and the utmost of the complete range of emotions. I am so frightened yet to eager to venture into their world .. the world of being a parent. (apparent?) My husband and I have a long road ahead of us, and to this day, I am still not entirely open with revealing to most people that I am even pregnant, being that we are still amid first trimester risks. But for the life of me, and probably even moreso for the life IN me, I cannot remain silent on all fronts. This news is too big and too wonderful not to express somehow. Not to mention, the sickness is too debilitating not to complain about either. I have rights, dammit.

Here's the whatwhat.... I'm 8 weeks gestation, which is in my case, about 7 weeks pregnant (or so). I had an early ultrasound due to a little scare earlier on, and was blessed to witness everything just as it should be. Including witnessing for the first time a fluttering heartbeat. My God in heaven, how magnificent a moment. How I was able to maintain myself was a miracle too. I think had I not been alone, due to a last minute problem with Joe's works schedule, I would have been a complete mess. But I knew I had to hold it together, walk out of there and finish my day and drive home with nothing but the radio. The first pair of living eyes I met after that experience... was our dog. And even the familiar warmth of her happy-dog look when I walked in the door was enough to let me release my joy to bounce off the walls of our empty house. I was able to savour the joy within the peace of my own heart before I shared it with my husband, which also was a magical moment. I think maybe that's one of the blessings of being a mother. That you can reserve that moment and savour it and let your soul embrace the wonder of it in a most indulgent way. I still cannot believe that this is actually happening to us, and moreso, within myself. I am eager for more moments like this, with each new development, feeling, discovery. It may be so that I cannot eat or sleep, that I am uncomfortable all night and irrationally crazy at any given moment, that I am nauseous almost constantly and forever weary... I am committed to suffer this happily and be grateful for each day that passes that I am allowed to continue down this path to motherhood. And tho maintaining a happy heart thru those challenges would seem difficult, I assure you, for me.. it isn't.

~Sarah

Rad.

2009-10-07T11:49:00.000-07:00

How long has it been?

2009-10-06T05:56:00.000-07:00

I must apologize. It has been so long since I have written anything-- my life has been on the level of crazy-insane-busy the past month or so-- and I can barely carve out enough time at this exact moment to even feebly type these few sentences. And yet...I ....will struggle....on! I am starting to feel like the woman in my blog picture looks. Eek.

In local news: the Vikings won the big game, hardy-har-hardy-har-har. I am glad I can remain unashamed.

Theater has been interesting. I will have to write an entire blog devoted entirely to the auditions and rehearsals and callbacks and debacles that have been occuring, one right after the other. I will simply state at this moment that I continue to be extremely annoyed at grown-a** women who like to be immature and petty. That's all I'm a'sayin' for now. You'll have to be patient.

We went to the Apple Fest last week, which is a lovely and apple-y tradition in our household. It's nothing but eating carameled, fried, dipped, bratwursted, candied and raw apples, whilst perusing folksey art and walking up and down the docks of Bayfield Wisconsin. It's a good time. Photos to come.

I must get going. I have much to do today. As the French say, Le Sigh.

wish me luck.

2009-09-24T14:23:00.000-07:00

... for tonight, out of sheer curiosity, I enter willfully into a culinary adventure. I have yet to blog here about my love of cooking, and trying new recipes, tools and techniques. Nor have I discussed my ongoing trials (and errors) with the South Beach diet. And do not attempt to preach to me about the pros and cons of this diet. I have heard them all and entered into it's techniques with full knowledge and consent, and continue to do so until I have decided to quit. Anyhoozle, tonight I am venturing into new territory with 2 new recipies to try. One for me, and one to share. Happenstance has provided this girl with an abundance of cherry tomatoes freshly picked from a small home-grown garden. I have decided, along with another very generous and caring coworker, to make use of the harvest and turn them into little bite-sized tomatoe poppers. We are going to fill them with deliciousness and stun our coworkers with our culinary prowess. Imagine blt, goat cheese, and creamy shrimp-filled cherry tomatoes staring at you upon your arrival to work, generously assembled by the most nimble and ginger cook's fingers. (In fact, maybe those should be our cooking nicknames... 'Nimble' and 'Ginger'.) So shall be the delights of the people with whom we work, as of tomorrow morning. I shall also venture to cook one other recipe. One that I will not impede upon my coworkers to try. One that the husband is not likely to even attempt to eat. Yes, it sounds gross. They may well BE gross. But curiosity, along with the desperate need to experience a low-guilt brownie with near hysterical origins, will drive me to make some black bean brownies. Oh, the lengths we will go to to avoid the evils of bleached flour and 'bad' carbs. I may just end up grossing myself out, and wasting a perfectly nice can of black beans in the process. Updates tomorrow!

~Sarah

Hero disappoints. Film at eleven.

2009-09-22T07:16:00.000-07:00

.. my brain said this morning, as I read the blurb about poor Martha. Let's just say that despite her former sour attitude, her stiff demeanor and abhorrence for the imperfect, her lust for power and control and the legal problems that resulted, her enviable success, and the fact that it can just be so popular to dislike her, I do and always have loved Martha Stewart. I have endured endless ridicule from friends and loved ones (not mom, of course) for my interest in reading everything she writes. And still, I linger at her shrines. I liked her way back when, before she learned to laugh at her self and smile on occassion. Before she learned that being pleasant and real makes people like you more, not view you as weak and vulnerable. Before she had guests like Snoop Dog on her show. Before her daughter - who I am equally fascinated with, but fearful of - began capitalizing on a culture that loves to poke fun at some of Martha's more extreme experiments. I watched her go to trial and go to prison and be released. And continue to feed a booming career that just cannot seem to fail. I have weathered ridicule of the most likely suspect... friends snidely saying, 'okay, MARTHA' and had a hard time not taking it as a complement. I call uncle when it comes to the finer points of her tutoring, such as how to store linens, or trimming certain shrubbery by nearly week-specific groups of time. I don't assume to come close to her standards when it comes to.. everything... but it is my right to enjoy what she teaches, and listen when she preaches. I retain her periodicals for years and refer back to them often. My heart skips when her products appear in more and more stores, and I always take the time to check it all out. And maybe wait for it to go on clearance so I can buy a bunch of it. I have 2 of her cookbooks, have tried dozens and dozens of her recipes and craft ideas. I was Martha when Martha wasn't cool, and I'm not ashamed to admit it. She inspires me.

But here's where it gets messy. Today, I read that my darling Martha who I fully realize is not perfect (that hurt) walked out during intermission at a broadway show. She apparently went to see Hair, wherein the brief summation of act I regales a whole mess of naked jiggly bits waving askew. I understand the artistic relevance to this particular naked event, and I also understand that it is brief and not nearly as shocking as some make it out to be. It is relevant to the point of the show, and illustrates a sign of the times in question. And the fact that my favorite brilliant homemaking genious could not accept WHY it was not abhorrent creates a clash between two very pertinent themes in my lifestyle. She stated before her brisk departure that she was 'having a meltdown', and left. I must say, my heart wept. The fact that she could not tolerate this brief show of fruits-and-nuts kind of disappointed me and made me question just how far she has come. Martha, you CAN'T not appreciate theater. My heart can't take it. This is as sad and unfortunate as Mickey Rourke's face. You can handle a nipple slip - I know you can! Martha, don't look so concerned.

Here, let's try this again. We need to bridge the gap between 2 of my most sacred loves. You need to get back on that theater horse and try again. I've bought you some tickets to Equus... I'm quite certain that given another try, my two loves can go together just like .. well...

~Sarah

Girls' Trip Photos

2009-09-18T15:44:00.000-07:00

Because I promised!

The LADIES

Molly welcomes me with open arms.

Our marble BAWTH-room The red fainting chaise in our room

Me, striking a pose.

The bread basket when it arrives! It overflowed, just like my heart!

My meal. Filet Mignon! Chocolate Mousse!

Onion soup, as the french call it! Caesar salad!

Shoppin' and droppin'

OUR BREAKFAST.

More of our breakfast. Jealous?

Quiche Heaven.

And she didn't even speak french.

2009-09-16T14:30:00.000-07:00

I could tell. Just by listening to her breathe, in her astoundingly average way. This woman, hell-bent on destroying my gift shop experience, and her insipid comments and inclement pauses plague me still. Envision a nearly perfect hotel experience. It was intriguingly European, and accomodatingly in accordance with ettiquette and poise. From the drive up the front entryway, through the glass doors and beyond the cordial yet unintrusive greeting from the doorman, complete with coat tails and tie. Through a burgeoning lobby whose ceiling stretched to the heavens with smooth and sleek grace, hung with peacefully minimal light installations that doubled as artistic expressionism. We floated across the suspended walkway carrying our stylish totes, and superfreak-danced down our hallway with glee when no one could see. Upon unlocking the door to our assigned room, we were greeted with a wonderfully inviting and lush environment. A plush red velvet chaise, in case we felt the need to faint. Beds adorned with the aforementioned most heavenly bedding known to man (we are talking down feathers below and above. Surrounded by a million teensy fluffs enrobed in egyptian white cotton, ready to envelope weary shoppers and escort them to a wondrous dreamland.), a large, modern, sleek and entirely well-lit marble bathroom that all 3 of us could apply sparkly lip gloss in, oversized headboards in neutral shades that made you lose that twinge of guilt for slipping into bed between shopping trips, french soaps and terry robes ready and waiting, and so much more. We felt it would be practically required of us to obscure some kind of hauty sweet cordial to mull in our real-glass glasses in this place. So duh, we did that too. We were girls playing princess, and we totally believed every minute of it. And so, the 3 superfreaks decided that they should explore their royal kingdom but a bit more, and see what they could see. Perhaps they might abandon their lush quarters for the time being, and grace another fine area with their presence? Shall we say, the bar perhaps? Find and savour another flavour? So away they went, and sipped spirits in the towering heart of the hotel, observing passers-by and wondering from whence they came. And as princesses and divas are wont to do, we found a little gift shop that we just HAD to explore. There was shopping to be had, and we were just the sort to do it. After all, it was the purpose of our journey, was it not? So we skipped into the closet-sized shop and perused the goods. Having each had a cocktail or two, we had grown exceedingly giggly and perhaps at least on my account, sassy. We looked and laughed and made jokes about everything they had, all the while the clerk seemed to glare and sigh and ignore our wildly-hilarious conversation. Clearly she was of below-average intelligence, lest she would have found almost everything I said completely revolutionary. (okay, I kid.) But she was indeed a curmudgeon that kind of pissed in my proverbial shopping cheerios, so to speak. Not that I was about to let her destroy the glorious time I was having with mah' girls, but I still begrudged her for even trying to. I made a comment about some neckties that were for sale, and she finally felt the need to acknowledge our presence by stating 'those are a very good price, you know'. I thought to myself, 'Oh, hello there! You, who has been ignoring us for 15 minutes and couldn't muster a greeting when we entered your snob-store full of 8 dollar snickers. Snickers are NOTEVENFRENCH, woman. Isn't this supposed to be a profoundly french hotel? I see you have 'bonjour' engraved on almost everything, so at least you are trying. All your stuffed dogs are poodles, aren't they? I see you sell cheese cutting boards, oui oui. Oh, and little paper boxes with eiffel towers on them. Touche! But ties? You're going to school ME on the price of TIES?! Me, who's husband is a BANKER and I have been buying ties for EONS for him without your coaching or consent or lessons on how much ties cost? SHADDAP, you. .. .. not-even-french woman.' So as I'm thinking all of that, I simply say 'Yes, they are an 'o.k' deal I suppose'. And she shoots back, all nasally and not even with a french accent or anything because she's a big stupid poseur 'YES, THEY ARE.'

Women who work in little gift shops in awesome french hotels who have no good reason to act like snobby french women unless they actually ARE snobby french women, in which case I would totally let her get away with it and actually be impressed, ... suck.

Other than that, I had the most awesome weekend, ever ever ever ever. My girls rock, and we had a blast.

~Sarah

To be sick or not to be sick

2009-09-15T14:03:00.000-07:00

Oh, hi. It's me again. Nice to see you. What's that you say? You were starting to miss the boring details of my boring life? I'm so sorry! Let me remedy that right away.

First off, I had the most delicious time in Minneapolis with two of my besties, Queen Sarah and Mistress Molly. We stayed at an awesome hotel, whose bedding I literally wanted to steal (why officer, I am just 36 months pregnant, hence the huge feather comforter sized belly I have). I might never have another sleep issue if I had sheets and feather beds and feather pillows and feather comforters like I had for that one glorious night. It's kind of sad really, because my own poor bed will never be able to live up to my high expectations now. In fact, I came home and verbally abused my sheets until they cried.

My friends and I literally shopped till we dropped at the Mall of America, or the MOA, as we Minnesotans call it. We almost went MIA at the MOA. I spent way too much money on "Christmas presents" for "other people".

We bought a bottle of lemoncello and sipped it, girlishly, on ice, as we laid in the afore-stated glorious bedding and watched a scary movie (which was not girlish at all, especially the decidedly un-feminine extended rape scene. *shudder*).

(As a side note, I WILL be posting the photos from our little trip as soon as I can. Keep an eye out.)

In other news, I am trying not to get sick. Rather, I am trying not to get sickER than I am. It always follows that if I have an important audition (I do) or a show in which I am singing (I do) then my throat closes and my chest hurts and my nose clogs. It's all weird psychosomatic crap that probably means I am mentally ill, as well as physically.

Finally, I smell dang good, thanks to my overzealous purchases at Lush. Jealous?

≈Carolyn

What I Should be Doing

2009-09-11T13:38:00.000-07:00

There are so many things, other than blog posting, that I should be doing right now.

Such as:
*packing for the girls' shopping trip I am embarking on tomorrow morning. Yay, shopping! Yay, fancy-schmancy hotel! Yay, girl talk!
Yay, spending...money...that....I. Don't have.
Sigh.

*folding one of the fourteen loads of laundry that are all currently staring at me in judgement.

*practicing my audition pieces for an upcoming show (more on that later).

*slathering Manuka honey and a chopped up teaspoon of fresh garlic on toast and eating it. Mostly because of the supposed miraculous, healing powers of both of those particular foods, and because I can feel a chest cold coming on.

*scrubbing the carpet stains on hands and knees.

*going to the bathroom (I gotta pee!)

*posting comments to both of Sarah's most recent, and may I say, brilliant blog entries.

*Playing with the new pups, whom I fear is already not getting enough human attention.

*Okay, seriously, I have to pee.

-Carolyn

Sweet Cuddly Fluffy Puffs...

2009-09-11T06:26:00.000-07:00

... is not the answer I got this morning, when standing in our driveway next to our vehicles. My husband and I had just stepped out into the damp foggy morning air, ready to depart in tandem to work as usual. Not unlike how all the husbands leave for work at the same time every morning in their similar-yet-different pastel-hued cars from their cotton candy homes in Edward Scissorhands. We leave at the same time every day, which must look either inamorably cheesy or completely adorable to all of our senior citizen neighbors. We use these brief moments to tag-team corral and distract the dog so we can get out the door, and to exchange a second or two's worth of vital daily information with one another. Usually things like "I'm in my office all day, call me." or "I've got meetings this afternoon, so you won't be able to reach me after 2pm." Usually on a day like today, we have been saying all those things all week long, and reserve comments like "Whew! We made it to another Friday!" for today, like the most cliched office workers say on their way down the halls to their cubicles and desks. Like I said, most people are made of 98% water or whatever, but I think we are at least 37% cheese most of the time. We say these things almost every week, and MEAN them. *sigh* Anyway, back on topic. So, we're in the driveway, and I decide to change it up. You know, because I'm wacky like that. Think BIG. I throw hubby a random "So what should I blog about today?" And he responds, without missing a beat... "Sharks!"

Here's about all I have to say about these guys today...

I keep seeing on the news how they are now swarming all over Cape Cod, which apparently is odd and uncommon. Of course, thanks to Jaws, I am apparently under the impression that these things are always swimmin' around that area. I also believe that there are blimey sea captains like Quint lumbering around on their shoddy dingies, singy salty tunes and making devilish, defiant, clenched grins in these sharks' faces when they keep sinking their barrells. So you can see what kind of reality I choose to live in. But here's the truth of the matter. I am utterly fascinated and drawn to watch these animals. I love being frightened thinking about how there are still forces of nature out there that make us small and vulnerable and threaten our lives, especially from the safety of the mainland of course. (Let's not talk about Sturgeon while I am swimming in our lakes tho, okay?) I relate to Tracy Jordon saying 'Always live your life like it's Shark Week' and applaud his wisdom. And rest assured, were I rich beyond belief, and able to travel East and buy a yacht and bob amonst the chilly waters of Cape Cod in the forseeable future, I would be the first girl to go and buy about 50 t-bones and venture to sea to do some up-close and personal shark watching. Of course, not without my own personal Quint-and-rifle security combo.

~Sarah

At least for today...

2009-09-10T07:28:00.000-07:00

... I am grateful for the distance between myself and the pasttime of a lifetime. It has brought me back into civilization from beyond the fray, it has enlightened and taught me, it has introduced me to an array of new ideas and ways of thinking and seeing art and emotion. It has let me explore dark and uncharted territories my psyche that before were deemed dangerous. It has lifted me up to places of such joy and relief. It has been the guide on fantastic journies from which I never wanted to return. I have learned, through it, to love others with a new kind of love. I have shared deep emotion and connection with those who were before but strangers to me. I have expanded my horizons and become wiser and happier, more complete and whole. I have felt the sting of being alone and at once amongst hundreds of supporters, and the whimsical dichotomy that exists between the two all at once. I have laughed and cried, been bored and over worked, overindulged and self-involved and subjectively selfless at the same time. I have felt utter terror and fear, and jubilation in it and it's due process. I have been given the gift of many good friends, and also, my soul mate. Were it a spiritual and emotional lender, I would be endebted for eternity. I am passionately in love with it, and crave it at times like a drug. My heart and my brain ache for it. But once in a great while, when the waters are muddied with the soil of corruption, of ill-will and greed, of contempt and hatred, you have to let the murk stay where it is. To let the waters run a while, until they clear and become fresh again and can be a sense of renewal for those who wade in them. It's a bittersweet step away from the banks, even if you know it is only temporary. You still want to taste it on your lips, even tho you know that it may promise, for now, to be acrid. Still, the lack thereof will only help your appreciation for the next swim grow and become more relevant. It's still a sad day when I am forced to explain 'I'm just taking a break, for now.' But I will stand back and wait until the time is right for me to approach the wake, ready to step in again. I only wish that those who are driven to sully something that is so cleansing and wonderful were more able to see how we might all appreciate the absence of their contribution.

~Sarah

Jumpin' Jalopy!

2009-09-09T11:32:00.000-07:00

or 'The Trouble With Tauri'

So I ask you... if... if... IF you just had your car at the shop, right? So like, your car is all old and stuff. I mean, it doesn't look like a total hunk of crap, but it's no spring chicken, okay? And like, okay, you need to um, be responsible and be like totally in charge of getting some dear friends safely to a primo awesome, superbly planned, wicked exciting, much-needed 36-hour shopping and goss getaway that's in a luxury palace hotel, okay? So, yeah, your'e all totally stoked and have been making schematics in your head on how all of you can hit all your fave shopping hotspots within the allotted time, okay, and also reserve the evening for like, sitting in the hotel and and pretending we're all rich and stuff and like, we OWN the hotel collectively, because we're business executive jetsetters with bottomless trust funds and we never lose sleep over cash and we wear fancy hats and shoes and rings all the time, and pay people to train our dogs and make our dinners and weed our gardens, and we have jobs but we don't really have to work, we just own stuff and it gets us rich and we just travel to our hotels that we OWN, right, and we get free drinks delivered to our rooms and stuff and people know who we are and are in awe of us but don't bug us for money or anything, and we get together and just laugh and laugh and revel in our success and free-will to travel about and lounge and shop, okay? So like, you NEED to get your friends there safely and stuff, and so you totally are like 'okay, my brakes are super bad. They have sucked for like, months, seriouslyomgorly. Orly? Orly! So like, this is totally the time to get them all replaced and stuff' to yourself. So like, you do, right? You totally bite the bullet and tell yourself 'I shoulda done it way away way long time ago. Yeah.' And so you like, do. And then you pick up your car and drive it home after work and are all smug in your properly-working car, right? And every other car you drive past for those 3 blocks, you're sneering and laughing behind the lenses of your super rad sunglasses at all the other cars thinking 'Ha! I'm mega-responsible, right? RIGHT? My brakes are SO brander newer than YOURS are right now! HA and HA.' And then you get home and you're like all 'Aaaah.. I can relax in my responsibilitiness right now. Yup' And then you drink wine and stuff and go to bed, and then get up and get ready for work and wish you didn't drink that wine, and feed the dog and go out the door and get in your car for work, right? And then you like, turn the key, or whatever, adn like........ FRICKWHATWHOTHOWINTHESAMHILLWTFISMYCARTOTALLYNOTWORKINGRIGHTNOW

ANDJUSTMAKINGCLICKINGNOISESANDWHOSHOULDIKILLABOUTTHISOKAY???

So, I ask you..... did I like, TOTALLY make the wrong move when the first thing I did was march right back into the house and like, call the shop that my car was at yesterday and like ask the dude 'hey, DUDE? Did you totally knock some crap loose in my car, because it's totally not working today.' Because he, like, totally didn't think I had the right to ask him that.

Totally.

~Sarah

Carolyn-inspired

2009-09-08T09:31:00.000-07:00

And oh, how I wish I had a current pic uploaded my dear nephew, and one of my godchildren to accompany this brief moment in history I am about share. Picture this - at church, in our Sunday bestest. Adoring a freshly baptised, darling baby boy. Nary a pagan in sight. Basking in the glow, and just feeling like a particularly fresh and lovely family, hangin' in the pews while some people take pictures. Milling about, maybe 20 of us or so, including some extended family who came along for the waterworks. My nephew, William, 3 years old and one of the happiest, smiliest children I have ever met, no joke. Struts up to the priest, slaps on a huge grin, waves his hand gingerly in cordial greeting, and shouts 'Hi, Jesus!' This singular moment has brought me to tears with laughter like, 4 times now upon recalling it, and still counting. Of course, Father Jim - not wanting to dash the hopes of a jubilant youngster, and knowing that explaining the error in his statement would take long and delicate moments of discussion - he simply smiled, tried his hardest to contain his giggles, paused for a moment and gave him a big 'thumbs-up'. BEST. RESPONSE. EVER.

~Sarah

Party Post numero dos

2009-09-08T09:22:00.000-07:00

Party Post #2

It's totally time to party post again, kids. Carolyn and Sarah have rowed their boat ashore, hallelujah, to share another chat about the world and it's inhabitants. You are SO waiting to hear the answers, aren't you? Let us begin!

Sarah: Hey Carolyn. What's going on then?

Carolyn: Oh, you know. A typical day, including chores that are not getting done and showers that aren't being taken. By me.

Sarah: "Whot whot?" (bends elbows and struts)

Carolyn: "Cheerio! Whot?"

Hence the dangers of party posts because we are bound to insert all sorts of inane little inside jokes that no one would ever understand but us. Not that it matters because no one reads this blog anyway.

Sarah: Damn you, correct statement. So I bought this lint roller on clearance at Target. It's supposed to smell like Bounce fabric softener and it totally doesn't. Should I call management? Would you?

Carolyn: That is just unacceptable. Did you ever think that perhaps it was on clearance because it doesn't smell like Bounce? You didn't write what it does smell like, by the way. That would personally determine my own course of action. If it smells like a diluted strain of Bounce, then huffily complain to yourself and move on. If it smells like....a mens room urinal cake, or, say, rotting liver dipped in poo, then I say RETURN THAT SUCKER AND HAVE A TANTRUM.

Sarah: Buyer beware, most certainly at the clearance rack. And yes, it smells exactly like a diluted strain of bounce... you totally bought one, didn't you? And on to topics of greater interest.. What's the last cookie from Martha's cookie book you've tried? Would you recommend it?

Carolyn: Thank you for pointing out how domestic I am. I am really too, TOO modest to say such things about myself.

The last MS cookie I made was the 'Surprise Cookie'. A chewy chocolate cookie with a delish ganache frosting on top. When you bite into the cookie: marshmallow.

It actually wasn't as good as it sounds.

Let me clarify, it would be better without the marshmallow. I can generally do without MM, even in s'mores, which is sacrilege.

(Sarah totally judges Carolyn for not making her marshmallows from scratch.)

Sarah: String theory? Dark Matter? The Large Hadron Collider?

Carolyn: String cheese, Dark chocolate and The Large Stomach Roll.

Sarah: I totally cannot believe that I am able to get excited about fall arriving - which it IS - even tho we didn't really get a summer. Isn't that crazy? I could see my breath this morning, and I basked in it.

Carolyn: Which is why we are besteses. Because fall makes my heart sing. Clothes that don't show my ugly white legs and untoned arms! A house filled with the smell of baking apples and spices! The fiery orange leaves on the tree in my front yard! Kids in school!

Sarah: The people shopping for horns of plenty to adorn their harvest tables.... at Walmart... wearing shirts that say.... 'While you were reading this, I farted.' Aaaah yes, fall indeed.

The trouble with Vivie.

2009-09-08T08:50:00.000-07:00

My daughter, Vivienne, is a handful. She draws on everything, gets into everything, literally EVERYTHING that she is not supposed to, and is extremely strong willed and stubborn. The trouble is, she's so dang cute.
She has an amazing imagination (her most recent alter-ego is a dog named "Staniel". Staniel has "plucky paws", whatever that means. But it's cute!) that seems to make up for all the poop-drawings and shredded library books.

My mom's blog post says it all: http://www.justjulieb.com/kidquips-2/

The state of the fair.

2009-09-06T16:32:00.000-07:00

We all piled into our stinky van and went to the state fair last week. I'm not sure if you are aware of this, dear readers, but Minnesota has one of the best state fairs in the nation. It's BY FAR the best state fair in the state.

My family and I find ourselves making our way to St Paul every year, in spite of heat, or rain, or lack of funds, because it's a fun tradition to have (especially when you have kids, I suppose) and because the food is a greasy pit of deliciousness, and because I like to people-watch.

People-watching can have it's own dangers (as opposed to the dangers of cheese curds. Oh, LAWD, if have not had them, beware. They are so good they will haunt your dreams) because you are forced to come face to face with your own possible fate. It's like looking in a circus mirror, and seeing 'there but for the grace of God go I'. I admit it. I am judgmental. I look at the 300 pound woman walking around in a halter and bikini bottoms and I judge. I look at the parents of the bratty, screaming, greasy children and I judge. I look at the man with the t-shirt that says "If you think my attitude stinks, you should smell my finger" AND I JUDGE. Oh, boy, do I judge that guy.

But I also see sweet things and sweet people- like the old couple in the matching red and khaki outfits and visors, strolling hand in hand, as if they've done it for fifty years. Which in actuality, they probably have. I see the mother pushing her disabled child's wheelchair through the throng, the heat and weight of the task making her face shine with sweat. I see people with Democratic election buttons chatting happily with the Republican button peeps. Most importantly, I see the smiles on my own children's faces. I see my youngest lay her head down on the flank of a sleeping cow and coo, and I see my kids delight in their third donut of the day. I get to sit next to my daughter Vivienne as we ride though 'Ye Olde Mill' in pitch blackness, and I feel her take my hand in hers as she leans over and whispers "I can't see you, mommy. But I can feel you."

And all those things are worth every penny, every pound, every bead of sweat.

≈Carolyn

Party Post #1

2009-09-03T11:59:00.000-07:00

Hello, friends! It's time for the first ever party post, in which both Sarah and I contribute our interesting and original thoughts at the same time. Look out, world. This might be a little too much fabulousness for ya'll to handle. Shall we begin? Mmkay.

Carolyn: Hi Sarah.

Sarah: Hey, whats up, legs?

Carolyn: Not much, arms. OK, that did not work. Anyhoo, how are you today?

Sarah: I'm thinking about taking a hit out on the makers of the second SATC movie so we can all stop being tortured. Other than that, I'm good.

Carolyn: What, is there another SATC movie being made? I hadn't heard.
So. I heard you can not fold fitted sheets properly. Do you think this keeps you from being a good wife and/or human being?

Sarah: It's absolutely true, and complete black spot on my pride and decency. Although I totally bet that NOBODY can, except for my mom.

Carolyn: Your mom can go to heck. I crumple them up in a ball and throw them in the back of my closet. So, what's the deal with Diet Coke with Lime? Gross.

Sarah: Holy sweet meatballs, I totally just drank one.

Carolyn: Shutyourface.

Sarah: We must have just had a psychic connection. Except obviously, what I consider delicious and refreshing makes you hnarf. Of course, these comments of mine are coming from a seriously deprived and crazed sense of taste. South Beach Phase I has nearly killed me, but I'm hanging in there. Today, that diet coke with lime was manna from heaven for my mouth. I cried when it was all gone.

Carolyn: I am impressed with your will power. Whenever I tell myself NOt to eat something, within 30 seconds I end up in a dark closet, stuffing my face with said-food with a guilty, greasy and/or chocolatey look on my face. Speaking of chocolate, when are our puppies going to play together, and will your dog be a bad influence on mine?

Sarah: I think it goes without saying that my dog will completely wreak havoc on every single good habit and trait she has. Like the kid on the block that everyone's moms instruct the children to stay away from because 'her mother has vodka and bridge mix for lunch!' Speaking of which, I totally wish that's what I had for lunch.

Carolyn: We are going on a road trip next week. Shall we listen to KC and the Sunshine Band the whole trip, or Neil Diamonds' 'Girl, You'll Be a Woman Soon' over and over?

Sarah: I think that whatever we listen to should fall within these guidelines: only instrumental, must include a lute, harp or zither, must have been released between 1978 and 1984, and must be played on repeat without interruption. I want to see if it's like putting bees in a jar and shaking it.

Carolyn: So, in other words, we should listen to our every-day, regular music? Done and done.
Thank you, Sarah.

Ever wonder what KRAZY looks like?

2009-08-31T16:54:00.000-07:00

It is she, herself, her own manic furriness... the dog.
Saffron Daffodil.

Shortly before she did something that inevitably made me swear at her.

~Sarah

A moment of silence, please.

2009-08-31T16:34:00.000-07:00

I'd like to take this moment just to say how *AHEM* natural Ms. Sarah looks with a baby in her arms. I am saying this totes casually. Like, picture me shrugging and chewing gum and looking bored. Because that's how little I care. Really.

≈Carolyn

Dog behavior, and other anomolies.

2009-08-31T13:33:00.000-07:00

My husband and I, tho we do not have children (yet!) are recent pet owners. As of approximately 3 1/2 months ago, we adopted and accepted into our home a miniature longhaired dachshund. I myself grew up with pets, mostly dogs, never more than one at a time, and sometimes not even until the dog lived out his natural lifespan. I recall having a cat named Tiger, who was much fun and very sweet. I don't remember tiger ever having been a kitten, and I sure don't remember Tiger dying, so from whence he came and to where he up-and-gone to, I have no idea. And clearly, I am afraid to know the truth, else I would have asked and easily recieved an answer from my obliging parents. I would rather continue believing that, tho I know the truth now about what can happen with pets, Tiger in particular just came to and fro from the ether, magically. I also remember a crazy kitten name Muffin, given to me as a gift from mom. She was grey and fuzzy, and often got into trouble. I recall not being able to find her on a couple of occassions, and when we found her some time after looking, she would be in the back of a drawer in a bureau that happened to be in front of the heater (she climbed up the open back of the drawers and into them.) or up the window-side of the curtains and up near the ceiling with her claws dug into mom's pink polished cotton drapes hanging on for dear life. She was wacky and fast and full of claws and sharp teeth, and I remember picking her up from the farm where she was born. And yes, she really WAS born on a lovely farm, not just those 'fake' farms that parents make up when they tell you that your old pet when to live on a farm so they could run free and frolic. I also remember bringing her BACK to the farm when her over-exuberance proved too much for my brother and parents to handle. I had probably lost a lot of blood at that point, but I was lucid enough to remember summoning the strength to cry and wail all the way home, nomatter how much they told me should would love to be back home again with her mommy cat and sibling kittens. We had a rabbit named Snuffy who grew to enourmous proportions in a cage in our basement, and shit out metric tons of taconite pellet turds that my poor brother had to contend with. He was cute and soft, but a whole lotta rabbit. My brother also had hermit crabs at one point, some kind of lizards, and a few genuinely interesing ecosystem-type arrangements. Even then, his bookiness would inspire him to re-create mini bio aquariums in his room, complete with aquatic plants, crustaceans, fishes, algae, mayfly nymphs, mosquito larvae, the works! (poor, brave mom.) We had store-bought fish a few times, with the usual results. And we had dogs.

It is amazing to me, I must point out, that thru that menagerie of animals listed above, mom still managed to keep an impeccably clean and gorgeous home. Never a whiff of animal, fish, fowl or otherwise, was present, and she was vigilant about letting us experience these additions to the household without compromising our health, neatness, or random animal infections. No child of hers was going to go to school with turtle-bourne salmonella on their crisp cottons! I think I just needed to point that out, as I review the list above, I picture a completely gross house and some kids whose clothes smell funky. Totally, not us. And if you've ever met my mom or seen her house, you already know that.

Anwhow, fast-forward thru the australian terrier terror who chewed up my face and the german shorthair pointer who chewed halfway thru one of the main supportive beams to our house and nearly killed us all, and we get to the era of dog triumph. We enter the weinie epoch, wherein I still reside, have found great joy, and have now inducted my spouse into. My cousins and my aunt were the first to get a dachsie, when they went to a breeder to get a pomeranian. The breeder specialised in both breeds, they caught their first glimpse ever of a dachsie puppy, and were totally sold that minute. I was quite young at that time, and recently dogless, and flipped over their cute new addition. By Christmastime, we too had one, and between myself, my cousin, my aunt, and my mom, we have had 7 dachsies now and loved them all like family. So it should come as no surprise that when we finally got our home (no more no-pet apartments for us!) that we would get a dog and that it would be a weinie. And more importantly even, that since my husband had never had a pet before and adored dogs anyway, it was time that he experience the joy for himself. The completely rewarding feeling of coming home to a grateful and gleeful face day after day, the unconditional love, the companionship, the humor, all of it.

And then we got..... her. The blonde menace, as she is affectionately called by me. Saffron. The cutest and most horrific anomoly since the dawn of weiner creation. She is incredibly bad and heart achingly good in the same actions. She is amazingly agile one moment, and Jerry Lewis the next. She tries to sleep on my mouth. MY. MOUTH. I'm not sure if she is really smart or completely mentally incompetent, but I am daily amazed and amused. I am most certainly confused by most of what she does, and what she is thinking, but admittedly, a lot of her actions are reminiscent of the breed. I have a question tho... one that plagues me night and day that I still ponder over. Saffy does this thing.... only to those she really adores. Namely, me and hubby, and mom and dad. And Lord help me, if someone can explain it to me, I will be eternally grateful to you. She likes to get as close to my face as possible, decide that she needs to suddenly 'greet' me with oodles of joy, bites my nose frantically (hard! she gets her bottom canines hooked up INTO my nostrils! It's HORRIFYING.) and yelp and cry and scream happy dog screams. It is the weirdest thing I have ever known a dog to do. I'm quite sure she loves me, and probably really likes doing this. She only does it when she's happy. But God help me if I understand the logic behind it.

~Sarah

I am a genius.

2009-08-29T10:28:00.001-07:00

I had the mother of all bad ideas today.

Male Nurse is away with E-boy and my eldest girl is with her Grandma, so (what a treat!) I only had two kids! A 1.5 year old and a 3 year old! Easy peasy!

So my brilliant plan was to take the two of them out to Perkins for lunch. A little girl-time, some pancakes, some coloring. Easy peasy!

On the grand scale of my all time bad ideas, this was right up there in between my asymmetrical Kate Gosselin hairstyle at age 14 and 'eating one more box of fruit snacks by myself can't hurt' phase. I quickly realized that without Male Nurse there, who is usually the one to take the screaming one year old into the bathroom while she calmed down, I was stuck at the table, forced to try and appease the unappeasable. Oh, and did I mention they got pancakes? With syrup? So, yeah. It was a real sticky good time.

I am now laying across my unmade bed, exhausted from all the fun that was to be had at Perkins.

≈Carolyn

All this and Heaven, too.

2009-08-28T12:30:00.001-07:00

Seriously, I want to know. Is there ever any point where grown women stop creating drama by fabricating lies and gossip? I mean, don't get me wrong, I like a juicy tidbit as much as the next gal. I'll even admit that one of my dear friends calls me 'Hedda', after the ye olde timey gossip maven of the 1940's. I like to keep abreast, I like to watch, I like to giggle. And I don't apologize for any of that....so let's just get that out of the way before I'm accused of being a prude. :)

HOWEVER, I have been dealing lately with a plethora of women who should be, like, SO over the idea of destroying another woman's reputation. What is this, Dynasty? One Life to Live? Should I get myself a dress with football player shoulder pads and a swimming pool so I can lounge by it? Please, grown women. Please. Be grown.

I have a theory. An unpopular theory, if it were to find it's way out to the masses. I have this crazy un-feminist idea that the small group of women who create the most drama and gossip are the same ones who have never had children. *hides her face and waits for rotten tomatoes*

I said it, OK??? I said it! And I am not taking it back!!!

The unfortunate connection that I find is this; sometimes when a woman chooses not to have children, the center of their world becomes...themselves. It's all about them, their needs, their importance, their opinions, blah, blah, blah.

Gossip is their baby, drama is their child.

That doesn't mean I think all childless women fall into that category, not by a long shot! However, it's an odd coincidence that all the women who are currently trying to wreak havoc in my life and the lives of my friends for their own petty reasons, all happen to be over a certain age, and childless, with no intention of changing that status. Make of it what you will! It's how I see it.

So does that mean I am the MOST caring, MOST wonderful, MOST unselfish women ever because I have several children?

Yes. It does.

≈Carolyn

Friday Laughs

2009-08-28T09:05:00.000-07:00

I'm not usually one for posting tons of links, but this is a new one I've never seen before today, and I am already enthralled.

http://www.peopleofwalmart.com/

Wowie wow wow.

~Sarah

the mundane is exhausting....

2009-08-28T06:08:00.000-07:00

... and we've made it to Friday. And I think I'm losing my marbles, if only slightly. I spent last evening catching up with an old friend from another time and place in my life, and it was marvelous. We had just reconnected online - NOT on facebook, thankyouverymuch - and for the first time in years I got to hear her voice and the story of what she's been up to since we last spoke. (I am not on facebook, myspace, twitter, or any of that other stuff... but that's another matter altogether to be discussed at another time.) Anyway, back to my friend. We had arranged to speak that night after dinner, and as expected, she rang and we stayed on the phone for almost 3 hours recounting old times and informing one another on huge gaps of storyline between then and now. It's amazing to have these kinds of talks with people, wherein you can reminisce about things that you barely remember, and with their help, wipe more of the smudge off of the looking glass in your mind, and remember them anew. And as expected, there are good and bad memories to discuss, perhaps some incorrect recollections - that would be ME, as my memory is horrendously bad - and some that I had forgotten completely and was glad to be reminded of. Much like looking into an old album and seeing a flood of images that incite all kinds of vivid feelings, except that you get to share it with someone, which is wonderful. We also got to regale one another with lots of new stories about all that has happened in more recent times, which I also enjoy. It's strange, to try and sum up a bunch of years into a simple and clear story in so many words or less... something like 'I moved out, I grew up, I met some people, I lived with a roommate, I lived alone, I threw some parties and had some fun, I did some shows, I met a guy, we hit if off, we got married, we bought a house, we bought a dog, and now we live 3 blocks from where you will incidentally be getting married next year. Can I come to your wedding?' And by a long shot, her story was way more interesting than my own, full of wonderfully romantic and beautiful things, and some pretty heart-wrenching things as well. We've both gone thru a lot of changes, and it's fascinating to observe and recognize how time has changes us both because of it, hopefully into better, wiser people. I could have spent the night doing some laundry, dusting my living room, going and visiting my husband while he worked his second job and supporting his efforts (love you, honey!), cutting the dogs nails, or any number of other productive things. I passed up an opportunity for some lovely cocktails, to go and hold my new nephew to whom we will be godparents to soon, and to meet up with some other friends after a show for some fun gossip chat. I made a choice instead to sit and devote my night to reconnecting someone who shared in a very tumultuous time in my life, and to hear her story and relish the telling of it. I think we both cried a little, and I KNOW we both laughed a lot, and I'm pretty sure I made the right choice yesterday. And guess what? The dust is still there.

Of course, the far less important but just as entertaining fact I'd also like to share is this ... I retain my right to be a huge nerdball, and rented both discs of a show called 'Ghost Adventures' and proceeded to scare myself into oblivion while I was home alone. I was close to cardiac arrest a couple of times, I swear to God. It was horrifying. I even gasped audibly and slapped my splayed palms over my gaping maw like a friggin lame cliche. It totally sucked and was awesome all at the same time. I love being scared like that, but I am obviously damaging my subconscious because I had nightmares all night long because of it. I am absolutely watching some more of it tonight.

~Sarah

A new outlet to shunt the pressures on my brain...

2009-08-27T13:54:00.000-07:00

... and it begins. On a dull and foggy Thursday, feeling the fall chill in the air premature to it's rightful season. The evisceration of our brains, evolving into this.. another blog about chicks and what they think and do and stuff. Complete with pictures from time to time.

Tonight you ask? Tonight I break in the new couch in our den (what? are we BEARS?) all by my lonesome while the husband works hard for the money, so I better treat him right.

More to come!

Sarah

I also have a pimple.

2009-08-27T13:08:00.001-07:00

This is me. Don't I look relaxed? Urbane? Satisfied with my Victorian, glove wearing, tea drinking, parasol toting self? I had just stopped off at my DEAH, DEAH friend Adeline's house (her husband is taking a drop too much of the brandy and she needs consoling) and I was surprised by the...artist who popped out of nowhere and ...painstakingly drew...a portrait.....ALRIGHT, fine. This is not me.

My life is not nearly that perfect and I don't usually wear that many feathers. In the daytime.

The truth is I have dirty, greasy hair right now and I also have stomach rolls. I'm not exactly sure how the two are related, except that I hate them both enough to complain about it but not nearly enough to get off my duff and do something about it.

That's me, in a nutshell.

Carolyn, mother of four, matron of a house I like to call "The Pit of Despair", wife to Male Nurse, purveyor of twelve dirty loads of laundry and a (kind-of) actress and singer on the side. On the very-very side.

Tonight my plans include getting a drink at a swanky bar in town with a dear friend. I may even have a martini. I told Male Nurse about my aren't-you-impressed-by-my-sex-and-the-cityness and he kind of laughed and said he couldn't believe I was going to "get drinks" when he can barely get me to take a sip of beer at home.

But when you've been knee deep in kiddy poop all day sometimes it's nice to have a reason to wash off the filth! My friends call to me. The girly drinks call to me (*Excuse the shoutout-- HEY SARAH!! WANNA COME???*) and I have no choice but to obey.

2009-08-01T17:22:00.000-07:00

COMING SOON!!!

Fabulous Fotos

2009-07-01T07:42:00.000-07:00