Sometimes I cannot convince even myself that I am related to my father (or that is who they tell me he is at least. I sometimes cannot fathom how someone can have four daughters, two wives and three sister and STILL NOT GET IT.

When I say "get it" I am not referring to "getting it on" that is another story entirely, and I will not even begin to describe some of the ribald jokes that occur at our dinner table with a increasing frequency. But, I digress.

So, I very kindly asked my father, well, it was closer to begging and pleading, to prehaps shorten the visit of the suitor who happens to be almost twice my age. He began coming up with lines he would say to him, but they all fell closely to the theme of "SARAH IS SCARED OF YOU" which is not the message I wanted to convey and I could do that quite nicely on my own.

All of the females present at the breakfast table were trying to help him understand how to nicely, nicely talk to this guy. I think all girls were either very mean to him or jumped at... Anyway. He was scarred for life.

I was just informed by someone if I were in a debate, they would put their money on me.

Sniffle.

I told them they were most definately the only one.

Today, I have discovered why men tried to keep women out of the workplace for such a long time. And I don't blame them. Not one bit.

Women are the most indesicive creatures, if they make a decision, they have to re-make it approximentlly eighteen times. I have been shuffled, reshuffled and then replaced from pillar to post, all day long.

Keep women out of the workplace and make it a stress free life. End of story.

By the way, in case you didn't notice, I cannot spell worth crap today.

I believe, the most appropriate attire for today would be a fuzzy coat, long ears and a cute pettable tail. Not because I want to be a play-boy bunny (I have thought of it) but because Stephanie and I are on a all fruits and veggies diet with water only.

Day One: Two apples, a kiwi, sliced green peppers and mushrooms dipped in seaweed flakes.

Yes, I am going off the deep end and cannot believe myself. But when you are desperate you are desperate.


On a happier note, I got flowers, again!

I have never been terribly fond of Ruth Ann Miner, the illustrious good ole gal govener of Delaware, but today brought me severe consternation and alarm as I was listening to a radio ad touting her.

Granted, no one likes election time radio ads, but if we have to listen to them, they might as well be good. I do not know who her campaign advisor is, they are either on crack or should revert to their former day job as caberet singer. Never, in my short little life have I heard such wretched campaign ads.

Everyone who knows anything about marketing knows you must stay upbeat and positive. Her entire ad stated the quotes which she "had not said" which Bill Lee claims she did say, and what the truth was according to her.

WHAT ARE THEY THINKING? Giving word for word quotes from opposition, on THEIR precious airtime?? It gives the Bill Lee's statements validity to even acknowledge them! Furthermore, it made Ruth Ann look like a even bigger, fatter and more bumbling idiot, because Bill Lee's statements were much closer to the truth than Ruth Ann's.

Do they not realize they need to be showcasing and highlighting everything wonderful she has done for the past two terms? Or term? WELL, MAYBE THEY CAN'T BECAUSE SHE HAS DONE NOTHING GOOD! Did I ever tell you about her plan to stop domestic abuse? I kid you not, I did not make this up, I read it in the paper. Ruth Ann's proactive plan is to train all cosmotoligist's in domestic abuse counseling under the reasoning that everyone talks to their hairdressers. Rather than pointing out the rather obvious flaws, I will simply make the statement that I never talk to my stylist except to grunt commands, I am otherwise buried in a chick-slick.

To WHAT IS THIS WORLD COMING?

This morning, I was informed that my attendance will be expected at the office Christmas party, which leaves me with the timeless problem of having no one to bring. Which whittle my options down to a: bring Fred and watch him dance half-drunk on the bar. Problem being; they will not serve alcohol to minor's so that eliminates the entertaining dance.

B: bringing a random bum of the street. Problem being; I am sure my office mates will try and strike up conversation, which could prove challenging. Besides, they love hearing the details of my love life (or lack thereof, seeings as I am the only single one in the office) and will most certainly want to know our most romantic story.

C: bring my sister. Problem being; they might think I am a incestious lesbian, which is not exactly the image I was looking to cultivate.

D: going alone. SEE PROBLEM IN B. I AM THE ONLY SINGLE PERSON IN MY OFFICE. Or not.

Skipping Christmas anyone?

How do you even begin to describe the state of The Pit.

First, take the wardrobe of three high-maintinence girls in various states of cleanliness, fling them across the room, draped on lamps, heaped on beds and scattered everywhere. Toss in eighty-odd pairs of shoes, hidden in the snarls of clothing, laid out carefully to shish-kabob your feet. Add enough make-up to showcase the entire first female regiment of the Army. Then shake this up, really, really hard. Make it ten times worse and you might have an inkling of what our room looks like.

Last night, we girls braved all this in the quest of order, organization and the priviledge of actually being able to find our clothes. While complete order was not restored, it was rather amusing to watch us clean out our closet and take a trip down memory lane.

Paticularly great highlights of the time capsule:

A cd labeled "Love Songs." At this paticular point in our lives, we were very love-deprived. So it is filled with psudo-love songs, sad songs and everything else but the real thing. We were trying!

Pictures from back when... we had bad hair, couldn't dress and thought CI's were social events. We cringed, thought about burning them, but instead plastered them to our "wall of shame."

Barrel Racing Trophy. Ask Joy.

Two hundred and three mouse chewed tootsie rolls from bus visitations back when. No wonder the mice are so fat, happy and flourishing.

A stuffed rabbit leg. Again, ask Joy.


If you could have only been there! We laughed, we cried and we were truly moved. And, of course, I had an allergy attack from all the dust. What fun.

I have just been informed from the women in the office that my hair is a direct meter of how much sleep I got the night before. Well rested nights produce elaborate time consuming hair-styles and wee hours of sleep procure cute, but simple styles.

I guess it makes sense, I just never thought about it.

There is nothing, absolutely nothing, like starting off your Monday with the knowledge that after work you get to take a test which you are terribly afraid of failing, your hair happens to look like a scummy news anchor-person's hair, you get to hear the gory details of a co-worker's colonoscopy and your breakfast consists of cheese, crackers and really weak, gross coffee.

Here's to Monday's!

I have, once again, lost my wallet. I feel like such an idiot. And there is nothing in the world I can do about it. Actually, I think it might have been stolen, because I have looked everywhere.


Twice, in the last month, I have been referred to as a "player." ME! A PLAYER!! Does anyone else find this as amusing as me??


And, I was asked out with the promise of shoe shopping. Is that not bribery?

Let it be known, I have the coolest siblings, bar none.

If you think you can beat them, let me know. But first, you have to tell me how on earth you plan on taking over the world.

Then, make me laugh. Then, sing "Alleliua" in four-part harmony like the Slabaugh-Von-Trapps. Then, talk about topical map underwear.

Anyway. Try it, I dare you.

The past few days have been more than discouraging and depressing. On more than one occasion I have availed myself of the opportunity to dissolve into tears onto the appropriate shoulder. I was considering posting something sad and how my life has started to unravel around the edges, but then it dawned on me just how blessed and fortunate I am.

My life is filled with people that care about me, listen to me cry and try and make my life easier in general. If it were not for these people, it would be a lonely, lonely and sad world.

You know who you are. Those of you that call me up, talk to me, pray for me and everything else. The tear-soaked shoulders. And the midnight coversations.

Thank you.

There is nothing like the feeling of getting what you thought you wanted only to have it snatched away, by someone you despise nonetheless.

Alas! This week has been less than stellar, I think I will just go curl up for a good cry. Damn! I am at work, I can't.

Dictionary.com defines courage as: That quality of mind which enables one to encounter danger and difficulties with firmness, or without fear, or fainting of heart; valor; boldness; resolution.

I would like to give a tribute to people who sacrifice themselves for better causes, for bigger dreams and to generally help themself become a greater person even when it is painful. I have talked before of my appreciation for admirable people, men and women who sacrifice their lives for their country and the freedoms we enjoy, people who dedicate themselves to a cause and the general acts of selfless courage and bravery that occur every day.

But what is often overlooked, are the individuals who make personal sacrifices because they are so determined to achieve goals and dreams, these are not achievements for themselves and their personal glory, but these are hopes and plans to help others. And it is in their quest to help others that they sacrifice personal pleasure for greater rewards.

It is out of tradition that I post something significant whenever my sister decides to break up with a boyfriend, but this is far more than a boyfriend-schmuck-ass bashing post, this is a tribute to my lovely sister who has chosen the greater and bigger rewards than having a temporal boyfriend.

While he is a very nice guy, sort of, even occasionally sending her very ugly flowers, he is not the best thing she could have and he is hindering her. Instead of getting hung up, weighed down and distracted by a temporal distraction, she has chosen the higher road. Knowing that if she did not, her plans of changing the world, impacting young people and touching lives would be much dampered.

So, here is a toast to Joy! The brave, the fearless and the dedicated sister who realized life is bigger than a boyfriend and chose people over a person.

HAH! As you read this post, you are hoping to hear the latest juicy updates of my lovelife, which let me tell you now, is actually quite non-existant.

Anyway. You are about to be gravely dissappointed my friends.

The point of this post is to say with much glee and happiness that I was able to get a certain friend of mine and Mr. West-Point together. Sort of. At least to the point that Mr. thinks that the aforementioned friend is absolutely, incredibly wonderful. I called him today seeking and update as to whether or not he had finially had the gumption to call her and he had! And life is beautiful.


Well, minus the fact taht every year around thist ime I go through I-Want-A-Boyfriend-Syndrome which I am valiently trying to fight off. Or something. Anyway.


I have no other news except I promise to post about the fashion show when I am feeling witty.

Oh yes! I got out of my ticket with a hefty fine and several points. All I wanted was that my license not be taken away. Thank God! And my prayers (and that of several others) were answered.

In my lifetime I have been asked if allot of me is fake.

People used to ask me if my voice was real, if I really talked like that, etc. I am constantly asked if I have fake eyelashes. Do I wear contacts to make my eyes this green? Have I ever had plastic surgery to enhance my smile, jaw, whatever.

But today, is monumental in that I was asked, are your boobs fake? NO! I repeat NO! I have worked very hard for boobs this big, I eat allot and purposely refuse to exercise. And when I was younger I religiously did the boob enhancing exercises. I repeat they are one hundred percent genuine. End of story. I am insulted. Are they overly perky?



I cannot believe I just posted that. A true but scary story.

For the first time, I have found something distasteful in regards to shoes.

A woman at work saw by aforementioned beautiful birthday flowers, and asked me how old I had turned, to which I replied rather truthfully, eighteen.

Her eyes widened in horror and disgust and she remarked "I have shoes older than you."

I wanted to say, but only though, "Honey, any shoes that are older than me should most likely be burned on the spot. I wouldn't advertise that you have committed such a crime against fashion, but far worse, against the name of shoes!"

Anyway.

I got my eyebrows waxed over lunch. I had to choose food over beauty. Beauty won. Hands down. I was told I have perfectly shaped brows. Scary. I would not want to see unperfectly shaped brows, that would be very, very scary. I was inspired to get my brows done after looking at pictures from my birthday. Terrifying. They had a striking similarity to four years ago when I didn't pluck them.

I have never really understood my personal loathing for animals, I thought it might be a little quirk of my DNA. I thought of this as my personal cross to bear, not liking animals that is, not the tweaked DNA, though I do have it. You know how terrible it is to tell people you do not like fluffy kitties and slobbering puppies? The aversion to cats can be explained away to allergies... but to passionately hate dogs for no apparent reason is viewed as just cruel.

Today has been a day of revelation and discovery, it dawned on me that all animals that we have owned as a family, have been a constant source of friction. Not the happy-go-lucky creatures you read about in books, but every hamster, parrot, dog, cat or other domesticated creature has at some point in it's sheltered life been fodder for some sort of family altrication. OH HOW I HATE THEE!

Why are animals such a big deal? Yes, they are annoying, but why must we constantly fight about them? And then I almost feel a smidgen of pity for the beasts whose gets to endure the pent up anger towards the owners. Ah! Sucks to be them.

Anyway. This post does not make sense, but, in short, animals are far more EMOTIONAL trouble than they are worth. Vote Bush for president, euthanasia for all animals! Just kidding.

You all must be getting tired of me talking about my birthday, this is my last post regarding it. I swear. Well, that is I do not think of anything else to say...

Anyway.

Last night, after eating my lovely dinner, being lauded and praised by my lovely family and opening my lovely gifts, Dad said we were going to smoke cigars and talk about the meaning of life. So, I bundled up, thinking he was kidding and that we were going to have a nice, birthday-like chat. But alas! I was wrong! He indeed was quite serious and there we sat, as Dad tried to teach Sarah to blow smoke rings with his hand-rolled cigar from Honduras. I think he was slightly annoyed that I was far more fascinated with beating the ash of the end of the cigar than I was with actually smoking.

So. I can say that I smoked. And inhaled. And will never smoke again. Ever. It is disgusting. It stains your teeth. Ruins your skin. And makes you smell like a house a-fire. A house filled with musty books nonetheless. Oh how our family has changed!


Moving on! I just wanted to say thank you to everyone that made my brithday lovely with the cards, gifts and birthday greetings and wishes!

(I gave everyone at work thank you cards, and they were amazed! AMAZED!! WHAT HAS HAPPENED TO OUR MANNERS THAT WE ARE NOW AMAZED WHEN PROTOCOL IS FOLLOWED!!!!)

I just thought this was funny. Poetry, eh?


Your beauty is inspiring. Your beauty is the kind
that would inspire people to write poetry or
paint beautiful artwork with. People think your
absolutely gorgeous but you seem to think
differently sometimes. Guys daydream about you
but not just because of your lovely body but
because of your face. Your kind of beauty can
be characterized my flawlessness. Your so
beautiful that usually people can't stop
looking at you. You can be profound and really
understand people's emotions You're a work of
art inside and out.

If you have been following my blog at all, I am sure you have deduced at this point that I am given to moments of deep thought and what a few village idiot's might term profound revelation.

I have compiled a list of things that I am, at eighteen, legally allowed to do.

• I can get married without my parents permission and/or written consent
• I can obtain a hand gun license, but not actually buy the gun
• I can buy tobacco products of my choosing
• I can particpate in the lottery, gambling and other vices
• Pornography is now at my disposal
• I can join the military at my own free will
• I can vote for whom I wish to govern me as a constituant

Interestingly enough, these are either major decisions or major vices. As to the major decisions, that is a whole other arguement in itself, but to the vices, I simply pose the question is it right for the govenment to legislate morality?

The minimum drinking age is 21, why 21? And why drinking? Whenever I ask this question, people merely reply "because drinking is not only harmful to you, but endangers other's as well." Porn is just as harmful, maybe not as obviously, but it perpetuates and encourages sexual perversions and abuse, thus furthering our already molester-friendly enviroment. What is wrong with this picture? Does anyone else see the inconsistancy?

I just recieved the most beautiful boquet of flowers for my birthday. And I have them all day so I can show them off...

Just as a note, they are in a vase not a basket. Extra points for lack of basket. Joy and I are starting Basket Hater's Non-Anonymous. Whatever that is supposed to mean. Suffice to say baskets are better left for funerals.

Anyway. My birthday flowers are gorgeous. End of story.

There is nothing like the feeling of having old words thrown into your face. Ah! The humility of it all. It makes me contemplate between erasing my archives or just vomiting.

While eradicating my past posts looks very, very appealing, I cannot bring myself to do so, merely because looking back on my past blog posts reveals and reminds me of the depths of immaturity and lack of creativity that I have, at times more frequently than I would like to admit, sunken to.

Can I please put a disclaimer for anyone who decides to delve into my archives? Please look into the context and time frame of those posts. Some of us have matured in the past few months and we no longer feel that way, or even if we do, we would phrase it differently. Or so we would hope. (Why am I saying we?)

Anyway. I think I shall take up permanent residence under a rock. Or under my desk. Or in a third world country with no internet. Or I will just stop blogging.

Our family has never been terribly huge on the celebration of holiday's, we never have huge dinners or elaborate traditions, birthdays are equally low key... now that I think about it our family just doesn't do the huge celebration thing. The most excited we get is when we pack the whole kit and caboodle up and go to Granny's to stuff ourselves like piglets. Anyway.

Dad has married the holiday guru. She is the queen of all things holiday, has decorations for every season, napkins, china, clothing, earrings... and toilet paper.

Yes. You read correctly, to celebrate the wonderfulness of my birthday, she brought home birthday toilet paper. Thus far, it has been mistaken for everthing from tissue paper to streamers. It is brightly colored with high concentrations of ink, which hopefully do not run. Upon exclaiming at the uniqueness of her present, she went on to inform us that she has halloween, thanksgiving, Christmas and valentines's toiletries.

Does anyone find this scary but me?

I think this is a definite sign of the times. Definintely.

I am not going to start this post by sounding like a old person "Christmas isn't like it used to be..." but this paticular post was brough to mind because as I sit here working, (in theory) at my desk, Christmas music came on the radio.

Now don't get me wrong, I am all about decking the halls, finding boughes of holly (or mistletoe) and randomly chortling fa-la-la-la-la. But please! This is October!

What I find to be the problem with this is that by the time Christmas rolls around, we are all more than happy to morph into drunken, leering elves at the office Christmas party. If we see red, green or any more of those "festive" metallics, we, in turn will become wreathes. When the blessed day arrives, if we hear one more jingle, smile at one more Santa, or hear one more damned carol, WE WILL GO OUT OF OUR FREAKING MINDS!!

I love Christmas, really. I just think that October is a little early to start the festivities. Really. Please be reasonable.



Ok. So maybe it wasn't a Christmas carol. Maybe the song only had the word Christmas in it.

That's bad enough. Isn't it?

Tomorrow is my birthday, I am teetering on the legal cusp of adulthood. It isn't that which bothers me, it is the thougth that my formative years are behind me. Yes, people change, but the vast majoring of the shaping and moulding of who I am as a person is over.

I could look back and wish I had done more, studied latin more diligently, practiced my calligraphy more often and stitched more hankies, but than the thought occurs to me, what is so terribly wrong with being who I am today? Not that I want to settle complacently and float along for the rest of my life, but the trials which I have endured are truly priceless.

I also remember how old eighteen seemed, how far in the distant future, how "together" my life would be, how mature I would be... but I digress. Besides, that is completely unorigonal, everyone thinks that about every birthday. With the exception of Fredd, he never thinks what is thought by normal people, but I am rambling again.

At the age of eighteen with the days of my youth behind me, what have I done to change society? What have I done to show gratefulness to my parents for their tender love and devotion? Is the world a better place because of my eighteen years of existance? Doubtful. But it is how I choose to make a difference in the lives of those around me for the next eighteen years that I can change. It is thanking my parents daily for all they have invested in me and never forgetting. It is trying valiently in everything I do to show a tiny bit of the love of Christ that has been given to me.


In other thoughts of being eighteen, the funny thing about it is that people suddenly view you as reponsible and mature, if someone askes me on Thursday what I am doing with my life and I rattle off my plan, it will sound normal and benign. Whereas if I told the same person that yesterday, their eyes would widen in the sheer wonder of being in the same room with such a "intelligent and incredible" person. Funny how a little number changes the way people look at you. I think if I were God, age would not even be mentioned. But if I were God than their would be no speed limits, no tourists and we would not have to sleep, so maybe it's a good thing I am not God.


There. I have posted my deep birthday thoughts so tomorrow will not be marred with depressing thoughts of responsibility and purpose. I will have a happy birthday and smoke cigars to my heart's content.

Just kidding.

Maybe.

Today as I sit at my desk, pondering the state of my sadly forlorn tummy and it's rumblings it brought to mind happy thoughts of my dear sister and her provisions.

Consistentely, Laura see's to it that I am fed. While that might sound rather odd or childish (and it is but you are not supposed to say so) if she did not make me eat, often I would skip meals or just forget. But she consistently cooks food that I like and makes sure that I have lunches that I like. Take today for instance, she sent her very delicious leftoevers from dinner with me. If it were up to me, I would have eaten a granola bar for lunch, if that. This morning she also saw to it that I ate my scrapple sandwich.

What can I say? She is a peach, she is single (sort of) and if you want to know more... email me. =)

Please check out Joy's very sweet post about, well, me!

http://jjoyful.blogspot.com