Category Archives: vanity

Possibly Younger Than 15.

Posted on by
5

I didn’t ask the flight attendant how old she thought I was when she replied, “Oh, you’re MUCH older than you look.” I said nothing. I’m used to being told that I look super young. I get it all-day-every-day at the hospital.

She was asking because she wanted Zack and me to move to the emergency exit rows to take the place of two people who didn’t want to be responsible for saving lives. I’m not sure how she decided to ask us, but she asked the right people. That’s totally my gig. We moved to the emergency exit rows, no questions asked.

Later, two more people moved into the emergency exit row right behind us. A mother and a daughter. The flight attendant started her schpeil, and then stopped dead in her tracks.
“Wait, how old are you?” She was asking the daughter.
The daughter said, “14.”
“I’m sorry, you can’t sit here, then,” said the flight attendant. “You have to be 15 to sit on the emergency exit rows. That’s a federal regulation. I’ll have to ask you to move back to your previous seats.”

Zack and I looked at each other at the same time and said, “FIFTEEN?” remembering that the flight attendant had asked me that very same question. I guess when she said that I was “MUCH” older than I looked, she was implying that she thought I was borderline for being able to sit on the emergency exit row. She thought I was maybe not yet 15 years old.

On Running En Pointe

Posted on by
11

It’s not been pretty, but I think I can officially claim that I’m back in the workout grove. (Ish.)

Remember a million years ago when Zack and I got our barefoot shoes and we were going to revolutionize our lives and do the Couch-2-5K and all that? Well, Zack revolutionized his life. I did day 1 and then almost died every time I had to walk for the next two weeks.

At first, I thought I was the world’s biggest wuss. I was dying as a result of our run and Zack was not. It’s not like he’s got any experience running in these stupid barefoot shoes, you know? So I thought that (for once!) we were going to be EVEN STEVEN. I thought we were going to have a learning curve that we could straighten out together! It was going to rule. Until it didn’t rule. And then it was THE WORST. I knew my calves were weak sauce but GAH. I didn’t even know the pain that could be felt on the backside of one’s legs. I know now.

After 2 weeks passed and the pain, especially in my left calf, was not going away, I decided that there was something bad wrong. Clearly a.) I was dealing with some sort of an injury, as evidenced by the sharp shooting pains, and b.) I was doin’ it wrong.

Apparently, barefoot running’s constant preaching about abandoning the heel-strike does not (NOT) mean that you should pretend you are a ballerina running the first day of C-2-5K en pointe.

This photo does not depict proper barefoot running body mechanics.

I’ve been using my 5fingers since then, but mostly only to take Scout on walks and/or embarrass myself in social situations. Neither of those activities hurt my calves.

But then, over the weekend, everything changed. Zack bought us tickets to Hawaii. We’re going in August (and our house won’t be empty, robbers, so back off) to celebrate my graduation from nursing school. Going to Hawaii in August means that I need to come to grips with reality and finally deal with the fact that the only way I’m ever going to look like an airbrushed movie star supermodel (I have realistic expectations) is if I, you know, actually DO SOMETHING ACTIVE. And wearing the 5fingers around the house and being like, “AREN’T THESE WEIRD?” isn’t exactly melting off the pounds, you know?

So yesterday, I did some yoga in the hottest room in our house. Today, I took Scout for a walk, and I ran a little bit. I probably just ran about 1/2 a mile of the 2 mile walk (which I completed in 26 minutes, so we were booking it when we were walking, I am totally 90 years old and a power-walker, shutup) and my calves aren’t screaming bloody murder! I assume the reason my calves don’t hate me right now is because I didn’t run the entire half-mile on my tippy-toes like I did last time. That probably helped. Anyway. If you’re counting, that’s TWO DAYS IN A ROW. Practically a HABIT. If I can just keep this up for the next 90-or-so days, I’m TOTALLY going to look like one of those 19 year old babes trying out for SYTYCD this season. TOTALLY.

Oh, I Forgot To Tell Y’all…

Posted on by
7

The other day I drank a Coke.

For those of you who don’t remember, I used to be addicted to Coca-Cola Classic. I was super addicted. I drank about 4 Cokes a day, minimum, and I loooooved them. I tried to quit a billion times and was never successful until my doctor told me that if I stopped drinking caffeine, that my (murderous, spiteful) cramps would probably ease up. I was willing to do anything to stop the (murderous, spiteful) cramps. Even give up Cokes.

I haven’t had a Coke in years. I think I’m going on 3 years? It’s been a long time. I quit drinking them cold-turkey and the only time I’ve had a drink of Coke since then was one time when I was trying to fend off choking to death.

Anyway, while I was being a valet the other day, I got some food from this little vendor that the valet company hired to hang out in the parking lot so that we would have a place where we could buy lunch. I ordered lunch from them and then asked what kind of drinks they had. They had a.) Dr. Pepper, b.) Strawberry soda, and c.) Coca-Cola Classic. Ew, ew, and uuuugh. I immediately had flashbacks to almost choking to death, and decided that regardless of my Coke record, I needed to be prepared in case of an emergency. So I bought a Coke. At some point, my barbecue sandwich got all wadded up in my throat, so I took a big ol’ swig of the Coke, bracing myself for feelings of love and addiction to come rushing back to me.

And y’all, they didn’t come back. Cokes are pretty gross.

Aw, HAIL NO: How SarahThe Prepares for Severe Weather

Posted on by
6

So about 3,500 massive storms rolled through the DFW tonight, spitting out boat loads of baseball-sided hail and funnel clouds as it swept across North Texas. I saw the wind pick up outside as the storm approached, but I didn’t think much of it. The weather has been weird lately. It’s springtime in Texas. This is how we do.

Knowing that I’m not the kind of person who watches live TV (especially since we only get one channel due to the [in]effectiveness of DTV) or pays attention to silly things like severe weather warnings, Zack called me to tell me that I was about to get Toto’ed if I didn’t hunker down.

Now, I hate to brag, but I’m kind of a vet-pro when it comes to tornadoes. I lived in Lancaster in 1994 when an F4 tornado (and a few of its buddies) swept through the town leaving a 6-mile long path of destruction. Living through those tornadoes has given me a false feeling of “I GOT THIS” about storms. I don’t worry about them.

What I do worry about, however, is hail. I used to not be bothered by hail, but that was before I a.) owned a vehicle that I pay for out of my own pocket(sies) and/or b.) lived at a house where I do not have regular access to any kind of covered parking. So when Zack told me that baseball sized hail and tornadoes were on their way to come see me, I did what any normal human would do. I ran outside to try to figure out how I was going to protect My Precious from getting injured. Don’t worry! It was safe! It wasn’t hailing yet! I only had to brave 60 m.p.h. wind gusts, and that was totally worth it.

At first, I tried to park my car really close to the east side  of the house so that the wind would mostly carry the hail past my car. Then I decided that wasn’t good enough. I had no choice but to try to fit the Jetta into our teeny, 1-car garage which is mostly used to store extra furniture, camping gear, and (not one, but TWO) broken-down washer/dryer combos.

You should have seen me. I was She-Ra, Princess of Power, and also, of Garage Rearranging. There was no stopping me. One minute I had a garage full of junk in which no human could ever park their car. And the next minute? A sweet, sweet victory. I had a garage full of junk in which one human could park 2/3rds of her car.

Hail yes. This storm ain't got nothin' on me and my garage-rearranging skillz.

Just in case you were wondering, a lot of the Dallas-Fort Worth area got some pretty severe hail. We got about 14 seconds of pea-sized hail and a lot of wind. So glad that I heaved around billions of awkward and heavy garage-type items as if my life depended on it, only to protect myself against a teeny bit of frozen sky-spit. Le Sigh.

Behavioral Interviewing

Posted on by
2

Today’s assignment in my online management class was to have someone interview you with behavioral interviewing questions, film it, and upload that on youtube. Consequently, today I remembered how incredibly uncomfortable it is to watch yourself talk on a video. The Sarah that you all see every day is VERY different than the Sarah that exists in my mind.

Is anyone ever NOT surprised by how their voice sounds on a recording or by how they look on a video?

Lessons Learned Whilst Shuttling Rich People Around in an Escalade During a Golf Tournament

Posted on by
6

1.) It’s really hard to make small talk with people who are obsessed with golf if you don’t like and/or know anything (at all!) about golf.

1a.) I know so little about golf that I accidentally charmed the Titleist rep this afternoon. I asked what his job was, and he said he gave pros free stuff. I said, “Like, golf balls?” He said, “Yes, among other things, I give them golf balls.” I said, “I assumed as much, because your shirt says ‘Titleist,’ and even though I don’t know ANYTHING about golf, I do happen to know that Titleist makes golf balls.” He said, “We work very hard to make that happen, so, thank you.” I said, “I’m not sure why I know that. I can’t think of any other company who makes golf balls. Why do I know that Titleist makes golf balls?” (I really said that out loud. I may talk too much.) He said, “Really?” I said, “No. I can’t think of a single one.” He said, “Nike.” I said, “Nike makes golf balls?” He said, “GOOD ANSWER.” I wasn’t trying to suck up, though. I really had no idea that Nike made golf balls.

1b.) 1a is an example of me being ignorant about golf working out for the best. That was juuuust about the only time that worked for my benefit the entire day. Not that the rest of the day was bad, it’s just that I couldn’t charm people with my endless depth of knowledge, and y’all know how I LOVE to charm people with my endless depths of knowledge.

2.) Driving an Escalade all day makes you feel like a P-I-M-P PIMP. Even if it’s not yours.

3.) Driving an Escalade that is worth (and this is a literal figure, the sticker was still in the car) $83,000 dollars is just ever so slightly SUPER FRIGHTENING. Well, at first, anyway. Then you get over how freaky it is that the car you’re driving cost 1.65 times as much as the HOUSE YOU GREW UP IN, and you just start feeling like a P-I-M-P PIMP again.

4.) The awesomeness of the Escalade mostly made up for my knowledge deficits noted in point #1. Mostly, people just gawked at the leather with the wood grain*. What, What.

5.) No matter how awesomely cush your job (driving around in an Escalade shuttling rich people to and from their cars) seems, after 15.5 hours of it, (especially 15.5 hours that started at 5 o’clock in the morning) you’re going to want a margarita and a nap. I promise.

*Pop Culture Reference @ 3:40 in this video.

On Being a Type Two

Posted on by
15

I am a Type Two on the Enneagram. Do y’all know what the Enneagram is? If you don’t, there’s no reason to be embarrassed about it. I have grown up totally immersed in personality-test culture, and up until last year, I would have taken one look at the thing and dismissed it as satanic. It totally looks like something that would be drawn on the floor in an episode of Charmed, right?

Anyway, after I figured out that the Enneagram was really just a way to visually depict the Myers-Briggs personalities (of which I am an ENFJ) and their interconnectedness, I read all the descriptions of the different numbers and decided that I was probably a two. I studied up on the chart for one afternoon and then I never looked at it again until today.

Today, my brother-in-law posted a link to an article which referenced the Enneagram. The picture of the Enneagram they used actually had the Myers-Briggs types grouped together by their respective numbers. So I had validation! Yes! I really am a 2! Except, since I hadn’t looked at the description of a 2 in over a year, I had to google it to remember what that actually meant.

As if I didn’t know. As if I couldn’t have just told myself, “Self, this is what you are like!” And then I wouldn’t have had to look it up!

But I didn’t tell myself that. Partly, I didn’t tell myself that because I didn’t think of it until just now. Mostly, though, I didn’t not look it up (double negative!) because it’s awesomely fun to read about yourself in these personality things. Reading the descriptions always leave me with this sense of belonging. Like, I have a TYPE. I am NORMAL! (Er, normal for a Type 2/ENFJ, anyway. Which… we’re kind of weird. But, whatever.) Also, reading these things feels a little bit like emotional exhibitionism. (Perhaps it’s redundant to say this since I’m a blogger, but clearly, I find [moderate/some kinds of] emotional exhibitionism to be a fun and enjoyable thing. If I really think about how well these personality types have me dialed for too long, I can get all, “Duuuuude, how are they inside my miiiinnndddd?”

ANYWAY. At the bottom of this page I was reading, they were running through a list of famous people throughout history that have also been Type 2′ers. Here’s the list:

Famous 2s
Paula Abdul, Alan Alda, Tammy Faye Bakker, Brigitte Bardot, Harry Belafonte, Leo Buscaglia, Barbara Bush, Jimmy Carter, Casanova, Glenn Close, Bill Cosby, Barbara de Angelis, Princess Diana, Celine Dion, John Douglas, Faye Dunaway, Fairy Godmother, Mia Farrow, Betty Friedan, Kathie Lee Gifford, Danny Glover, Roosevelt Grier, Melanie Griffith, Leona Helmsley, Whitney Houston, Jesus Christ, Erica Jong, Sally Kellerman, Sally Kirkland, Diane Ladd, Monica Lewinsky, Jerry Lewis, James Lipton, John Lithgow, Jennifer Lopez, Susan Lucci, Madonna, Alma Mahler, Imelda Marcos, Florence Nightingale, Merlin Olsen, Yoko Ono, Suze Orman, Eva Peron, Priscilla Presley, Patsy Ramsey, Sally Jessy Raphael, Nancy Reagan, Della Reese, Lionel Ritchie, Mr. Rogers, Virginia Satir, Richard Simmons, Danielle Steel, Sally Struthers, Mother Teresa, Marlo Thomas, Richard Thomas, Jennifer Tilly, Tiny Tim, John Travolta, Ivana Trump, Desmond Tutu, Barbara Walters,  Lesley Ann Warren.

Here’s what my brain was doing while I was reading that list: “Paula Abdul!… Bush….Bill Cosby! … Princess Di…. These are pretty cool people, I guess… Fairy Godmother?! Can cartoons have personalities?… Whitney Hou… JESUS CHRIST? JESUS CHRIST AND I ARE BOTH TWO’S? SUHWEEET.”

That’s right, suckers. JC and I are both Two’s. I think we can say with some certainty that I definitely have the best personality ever if I have the same one as JESUS. Type Two For The Win!

The Season Before Summer

Posted on by
1

I did some online window shopping for bathing suits today, and the reality that summer is nearly here finally set in.

On one hand, awesome. That means the beginning of my last semester of nursing school. That means this craziness is almost over. The end, it is in sight.

On the other hand, though, yikes. I need to get back in the workout groove, y’all. Scantily clad pool-side lounging is nearly upon us. Time to resume the running routine.

On Casual Dress

Posted on by
Reply

I went to great lengths to pick out an appropriate outfit within public health nursing’s dress code compliance. This is not easy to do when your weight fluctuates with the tides and you tend to only buy clothes when you’re in … which ever tide-cycle is the fatter one. Not sure if that’s low tide or high tide. High tide, I guess?

Anyway. I picked out an outfit. I coordinated it with closed-toe, closed-heel shoes, which apparently aren’t really my style cause almost all my shoes are open toe. I guess I am really vain about my toes. Who knew.

Then I sat down to do my homework. This always starts with reading school emails. Today, school emails told me that tomorrow is a casual dress day because we’re gonna be gettin’ our craft on.

Screw casual dress and its untimely emails. I’m wearing my outfit. My time will not be wasted. Plus, I’m TOTALLY old enough to either not get glitter on my clothes, or totally rock it if I do.

On Buying Shorts as an Adult

Posted on by
10

Sarah1 and I went shopping today with a mission. That mission was to find a pair of shorts that I liked. I have this very specific pair of shorts in my mind. They’re sophisticated and awesome. They are the East Coast. They are The Hamptons. Hell, they might even be seersucker. It doesn’t get more Hamptons than seersucker.

Those shorts do not exist. And they certainly don’t exist at Old Navy. And here’s a little lesson for you: If you can’t find shorts classy enough (or, you know, fit-ty enough) at Old Navy, for the love of God, don’t go to American Eagle.

(In fact, if you’re reading this blog, and you’re also able to drink alcohol legally, don’t go to American Eagle. They’ve nothing for you. And if you do go to American Eagle, stick to the jewelry. Don’t go into the dressing room. It’s all bad. All. Bad.)

After 4 stores (FOUR!), I finally found a pair that fit me just like they were supposed to. They were the right length and the right size and the right color. I put them on. I looked in the mirror. I took them off. I walked out of the dressing room. I left the shorts behind because I realized that even if the shorts look good on the rack and fit well on the body, that doesn’t mean they LOOK good on the body.

I’m still holding out for the seersucker.