sarahntastic

I plan to catch up the ol’ blog in the coming weeks. Today is just a list of what’s been on my mind for the last year:

**How to find a built-in family when you’re not looking for one
**How to gain back 60 pounds you lost when you’re trying really hard to pretend it can’t happen to you
**How to suck it up and take a job you don’t want because, at 38, you finally have to be a grown up
**How to argue with a pre-teen, and win
**How to argue with a pre-teen, and lose

Oh, and so much more. Stay tuned.

Thanks to American Express for sponsoring my writing today about small businesses. American Express is presenting Small Business Saturday, a way to honor the local merchants who are the backbone of the economy, this Saturday, November 27. They’re offering statement credits to people who shop at small businesses, advertising for small-business owners, and donations to Girls Inc. for “Likes” of the Small Business Saturday page on Facebook. Join the celebration by clicking the “Like” button and then visiting the Facebook page to learn more about the program and read the terms and conditions that apply.

This time of year we are trying to balance family time, menus, school vacations, and work schedules. How do we also make sure to fit in our regular workouts? I know it’s hard for me to maintain an exercise routine without the stress of the holidays! Never fear, Words to Sweat By is here! This small business combines humor, fun, and motivation all in a hand-sewn towel. My favorite is “10 More Reps and the Cupcake is History.” The designer, Whimsical Walney, has created 12 different mantras. You are sure to find one to fit everyone on your gift list this year. And did I mention the towels are super-affordable at only $9.95 each? No more excuses! Get your shopping done this weekend!

The shop recently added eco-friendly, reusable snack bags, too.

Find my favorite small business, Words to Sweat By on Twitter, too.

I was selected for this sponsorship by the Clever Girls Collective, which endorses Blog With Integrity, as I do.

I am damaged and broken and weird and imperfect. I’ve been hurt, in ways I probably will never fully understand. And because of that I am always waiting for the other shoe to drop. For you to leave me. For you to turn and say it’s just not working out.

But I want you to know that I will never hurt you. Your heart is precious to me. I take the responsibility of caring for it, for you, seriously. You can trust me. Always. I’m not going anywhere. Ever.

Sponsored By

Cheerios® is giving you the chance to win a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, your ultimate family vacation. As part of a paid promotion for their “Do What You Love” Sweepstakes, Cheerios® is sponsoring my post today about what my ultimate family vacation would be. Read mine and Enter the Sweepstakes for a chance to actually win your own fantasy family trip or one of a bunch of other great prizes.

I dream of a family vacation that starts and ends in Ireland with my parents, my brothers, our partners, our children, my aunts, and my cousins. We would all carry the spirit of my sweet, kind, funny, redheaded grandmother who always dreamed of seeing her father’s country one day. I envision a caravan of funny, little European cars driving through the Irish countryside, all of us shivering (as native Californians might) and delighting in the green, lush wonder. We will see Joyce’s and Shaw’s Dublin. We will stay in country bed and breakfasts, soaking up stories from locals, eating glorious cheese and butter and bread and beer. My mother will buy more sweaters than a California winter will ever require, and my aunt and father will watch quietly and proudly as their children experience what their own parents always wanted for us. We will learn more about ourselves in this short time than we might have in all our years together rushing through our daily lives.

Ireland. Grandma. Dreams can come true.

Don’t forget to enter the “Do What You Love” Sweepstakes, for a chance to win your own ultimate family vacation. I was selected for this sponsorship by the Clever Girls Collective, which endorses Blog With Integrity, as I do.

I started this blog just over a year ago, a week before my 37th birthday, with an ode (if you can call a bitter, nasty piece of hate mail an “ode”) to my 36th year.

I still hate, hate, hate getting older.  I’m still unemployed.  I’m still confused about what I want to be when I grow up.

But I’ve gotten better, too, at understanding time charges ahead, no matter how much I hate that it does.  Don’t get me wrong – I’m thoroughly annoyed that I still feel like an awkward 12 year old rather than an awkward 38 year old.  But, well, what can I say?  At least 38 is a prettier number than 37.

I’d trade lots of shady-immoral-questionable things to be thin and without food issues.

I love one of my dogs a billion times more than the others.

Looking at shoes and jewelry reduces my blood pressure markedly.

I drink too much, and I like it.

I have the libido of a 16 year old boy.  Or a 37 year old woman.

I’m a mean fighter.

I could eat Jif Chunky every day and still never have enough.

I think I want a baby.

I lack patience for complaining.  That thing I do incessantly.

I am missing the gene for producing fake laughs.

I love so fast and hard, I am starting to wonder if I know what love is.

“Customer assistance on the family planning aisle!!!” screeched the girl into the intercom when I told her I needed something from the locked-up, adult stuff case.  Only a select few, special, prone to thievery of condoms, preggo tests, and yeast medication CVS locations lock this shit down tight.  So those of us who are already wanting to die of embarrassment AND itching have to ask a 19 year old girl to open the case for us.

Now, let me just say that I am far more judgmental of yeast infections that you might be.  I know who and what has been down there, and I know it’s been nothing, or anyone, dirty.  Well, it’s been dirty, but you know, not dirty.  But the fact that no matter what I do, latex, and a man’s parts make my hoohah go ballistic.  Baking bread.  Making muffins.  You know.  A motherfucking yeast infection.  But this rational explanation doesn’t help when I have to buy medicine for a dirty cooter, you know?

I really wanted to ask for jumbo box of jumbo condoms when she opened the case.  At least this way 19 year old simply thinks I’m getting the sexing.  Now she just thinks I’m getting the sexing from random dirty dude.  Right?  Because that’s what I think when I see you buy monistat.

I didn’t want to get married the first or the second time I did so.  The first time I was trying to out-reverse psychology my parents.  I ended up married.  Sobbing and hyperventilating down the aisle, yet still ended up married at 19.  The second time was for pragmatic reasons that ultimately were for naught, yet there I was, married again.

Neither time did I think I was following through on a life-long desire to partner up with someone.  In fact, both times I knew very well the decisions would likely lead me to disaster of some sort.  I’m the person who desired love and commitment more than anyone I knew, even at a young age, but never, ever did I think that meant marriage.

I believe in long-term relationships.  I believe in fidelity and commitment and partnership and team work and building a family and sharing lives.  More than a lot of people I know, certainly.

I think it is unnatural for humans to spend long periods of our lives alone.

I think we are at our best when we live with and alongside someone we care for deeply, support faithfully, trust absolutely.  He is the person you are willing to get dressed in front of unabashedly.  He is the person you know you can puke in front of and in return he can do the same.  And then you are willing to clean up the sick and the poop and the snotty kleenex.  We know what the other wants to say, even when we can’t spit it out.  We know favorites:  food, perfume, magazines, literature, films, television.  Because this is how you are for someone you love.

And you might argue.  You might even fight hard and mean and tough once in a while.  But those times are rare.  Because you know that you cannot make it if this is how you are most of the time.  Because it is how things were before, and it never worked.  Because none of the others were the one.

None of this means I care to be married.  Certainly there are pragmatic reasons that might change my mind like getting health insurance and making end-of-life decisions.  But there are other ways to manage these things.

I believe in forever more, happily ever after, not wanting something good to end, ever.  But all of this does not mean marriage to me.  And frankly, I think I’ve used up my marriage tries.  I gladly give up any more to those who legally cannot marry but want to.

High school mostly sucked for me.  I was smart and sarcastic and too mature to relate to most of my peers.  I had a mom everyone knew as The One to Ask What Such-and-Such Means (dirty words, mostly), and a penchant for loving books more than anything else.  I had a really cool car thanks to having a really cool dad.  Everyone thought that 1966 Mustang  was amazing, but really I cared mostly about getting to school and work and One Step Beyond (see underage club, circa 1988, 1989 for definition) in it.  I liked having money; I liked reading in my room; and I liked a few close friends.  Mostly I wanted to grow up and get the fuck out of high school.

So then there was facebook.  I had no idea so many people were nosy, adding me just to see my pics, because really? Why else are you friending me, peeps I haven’t seen or heard from in nearly 20 years?  I mean, we didn’t jive back in 1987, we ain’t gonna jive now, knowhatI’msayin?  But it was sort of neat to see a few people grown up.  Via facebook, of course.  Even the locals.  There would be no actual meeting.  Why would we meet now when we couldn’t bear each other during high school?

Then the 20th reunion came along.  I didn’t want to go.  An old friend persuaded me to go.  I got drunk really early in the night.  Because I couldn’t bear the whole thing.  I don’t know why.  Most people were fascinated that I wasn’t married, didn’t have children.  I was some anomaly to be interviewed.  Unfortunately I was so far gone on vodka I had to tell myself to stay quiet to avoid embarrassing myself.  One dude grabbed my ass many times.  Women wanted to know what life was like without kids.  I wanted to get the fuck outta there.  Just like 20 years ago.

It was nice to see  a few people.  But after all is said and done, I could have done without.  20 years is really no time at all.  Everyone still looked like their 15 year old selves.

Adults with a weird history of weird awkwardness to the weirdth degree really need to meet again after 20 years?

I’m thinking no.