Living in the Past

It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas . . .

Unless you’re in my kitchen, that is.  You see, in Sara’s Bistro the calendar hasn’t yet caught up to the rest of us.

In fact, it’s still on October.

If I had one of those traditional calendars where I could just flip to the next photograph of landscapes or puppies or naked babies sleeping in flowers, this might not be a problem. 

But my calendar is one of those types with numbered tiles that you have to dump out and shuffle around each new month.  It’s a lot more time consuming.  Especially when you add the fact that (ironically*) I need to find another calendar to figure out what day of the week the tiles should start on.

By the time I go through all of that . . . well, it’s easier just to blog about it.

* footnote:  Irony always trips me up.  So many people identify it incorrectly that I’m incapable of remembering how to use it right.  Pardon me if I’ve misused it here.  Someone should create a website where you can enter lines of text, press a button, and receive a confirmation whether your words were ironic or not.

Insert Post Here

I wrote a post this morning.  WordPress ate it.  I guess that’s their subtle way of telling me it sucked.

TLC’s What Not to Wear Is Going to Make Me Late for Work

I have a weakness for this show.  I don’t know exactly why, but I love it.  The problem is the effect it’s beginning to have on me.  

I used to be able to roll out of bed and be ready for work in a half hour (and, to be honest, twenty minutes of that was just the shower).  Now I stumble into the bathroom around quarter after seven, and over an hour later I’m still trying to get dressed. All morning I’m checking the line of my pants, trying on different shoes, mixing and matching textures . . . and in the end I never like the outfit I come up with anyway.   

In fact, usually the last thing I put on is exactly the same as the first thing.  Of course, the difference is that by then there’s no time for breakfast and I’m running out the door like a madwoman. 

Only I can put so much time and effort into being a fashion victim.

Omen

You have to wonder what kind of day lies in store when you wake up with “Every Rose Has Its Thorn” stuck in your head.

Amazing and Unbelievable Turning Points

People are always telling me, “Sara, have you read <insert name of best-selling book here>?  It will totally change your life!”  No offense, guys, but I have yet to read a book that has been so influential.  On the other hand, here are some things that have changed my life:

1. When I was a child, my younger sister snuck up behind me and put ants in my hair.  She told me that they were poisonous spiders and if they bit me, I’d die.  To this day I am deathly afraid of spiders.
2. I was a Catholic schoolgirl for five years.  I’ve been strangely attracted to men in kilts ever since.
3. I got an eye infection when I was sixteen and nearly went blind.  I told the eye doctor I was going to swear off contacts, to which he replied, “You shouldn’t do that.  If you wear glasses, you’ll never get a date.”  What a wonderful thing to say to an impressionable adolescent, sir!  (Yup, I have contacts in right now.)
4. When I was a preschooler, my mother used to give me candy to reward good behavior.  Of course, what she called “candies” were actually raisins.  Nowadays I’ll do just about anything for a bag of Raisinets.
5. I knocked out my two front teeth when I was six or seven because I knelt on a chair, slipped, and smashed my face into the kitchen table.  I still sit on chairs the wrong way, but now I have faster reflexes.
6. I discovered blogging and never again had a moment of spare time.

Sara, Bloggers. Bloggers, Sara.

I am twenty-six years old.  I live a life that is probably not very different than yours.  Most days I get up to an alarm clock.  I’m not a morning person.  Sleeping late is my favorite hobby.

I work in an office.  I’m an administrative assistant.  I like my job.  I like my days off better.

I rent a place in a nice suburban town.  I live alone.  Some days I enjoy the isolation quite a lot.  Other days, not so much.

I’m very shy.  I don’t have much of a social life.  I do have a boyfriend, Jack.  We’ve been together almost two years now.  I have come to decide that he is someone I could spend the rest of my life with.  Being that he is a man, I doubt that the same thought has yet crossed his mind.

Jack owns a small house near a lake.  He has an endless list of renovations he wants to do to it.  I help out when I can.  I paint his walls.  Twelve months later, he knocks them down.

I get annoyed by the same things that bother most people – traffic jams, grocery shopping, people that say “I’m well” instead “I’m good” just to assert intellectual superiority.  Even so, I smile a lot.  People find it charming.

I have a pretty typical life, I guess.  My mother keeps asking me if I’m happy.  I don’t know how to answer.  I say, “Sure.” 

I say, “Sure,” but I feel like I’m waiting for something.  Something to happen.  Something just around the corner. 

Hell if I know what.