What I Learned in San Diego

April 25, 2012 at 10:10 am | Posted in Family, Home Ownership | 2 Comments
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Nota Bene: If you have a weak tummy, skip to the second paragraph. 

When I last blogged, I was sitting in the airport terminal after having tossed my cookies on the Logan Express.  My Mo’s guess (that it was a result of taking ‘roids on an empty stomach) may have worked for that first instance, but the rest of the flight will need further explanation because I ralphed the entire way.  Seated between a very proper gentleman and a 15-year-old boy, I was that girl in the middle seat who got sick over and over and over again.  The one who used every barf bag within a two-row radius, and who grossed herself out, along with most of my fellow passengers, on the flight now known as The Great Disgust of 2012.  I arrived in San Diego exhausted, ill, slightly dehydrated and thrilled to see my besty, even in the state I was in.

Anywhoodles, what I really wanted to talk about today is the surprising insight I had about my parents while visiting Rhymes-with-Tzarina.  Tzarina and I did not make any plans for our visit (other than attending a Padres game).  We hung out, watched silly TV, ran errands, walked her dog and did some apartment decorating.  And then it hit me…

I finally get it!

One night Tzarina was making dinner and I started cleaning her refrigerator door handles (of all things – weird, I know).  She gave me that look – I know because I give it to people, too – the one that says “please don’t judge me; I know I’m not perfect.”  And this realization hit me like a hipster on the latest iGadget: when my parents visit and My Mo cleans my counters or puts away dishes or brings groceries or does whatever she does, when RWFOTB works on my jungle of a yard or makes suggestions about future home improvement projects, it has nothing to do with my inadequacies (of which I have many, though they would certainly contradict that statement in the public domain) and everything to do with how much they love and want to care for me.

What I was doing had nothing to do with critiquing Tzarina (who is amazing) or her refrigerator door handles (which were fine before I even touched them), and everything to do with demonstrating my affection for someone who is the closest thing I have to a sister.

I traveled across the contiguous United States and felt closer to my parents – and that’s what family is all about. 

And because I rarely write anything too saccharine, I’ll bookend this blog with the ridiculousness of my journey home.  Waiting to board the red-eye back to Beantown (cough cough never again cough cough), I noticed the fella standing in front of me was none other than the very proper gentleman who was unfortunate enough to have had to sit next to me en route to SoCal.  He did a double take when he saw me, and, in the most polite way he could, said:

“I hope you’re feeling better… what row are you in on this flight??”

Awkward, people.  Very, very awkward. 

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Photo Phriday: Happy Hallow-August?

August 26, 2011 at 10:14 am | Posted in Photo Phriday | Leave a comment
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It’s no secret that consumer goods companies have been hyping holidays early to try to increase how much we hardworking American citizens spend, but, as our intrepid reporter Rhymes-With-Tzarina discovered, this trend is getting a little “frightening!”

When perusing the aisles in her local grocery earlier this week (aka the dog days of summer), MOH Tzarina stumbled upon this display:

Boo! It's August?

We’re pushing Halloween candy in August??  Really?  I’m appalled.

(Truth be told, I’d eat the candy any time of year – but that’s hardly the point.  Focus, dear reader(s) – we’re being bamboozled!)

~Sarah

Photo Phriday: Celebrate Good Times, Come On!

March 11, 2011 at 11:43 am | Posted in Photo Phriday | 6 Comments
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Today’s Photo Phriday image was submitted by my gal pal, Rhymes-With-Tzarina (aka MOH), who was recently walking along the shore in beautiful San Diego (ask Ron Burgundy if you want to know what the name means) when she spotted this “interesting” congratulatory message scrawled in the sand:

Congratulations?

 

Tzarina, I have no idea how to respond to this. Part of me wants to giggle like a nervous school girl as I break into a blush and find myself unable to meet anyone’s gaze.

Part of me wants to roll my eyes and say, in the most crotchety voice I can muster: “Oy: kids these days have no respect!”

And a tiny part of me is a little jealous of Chelsea. I mean, where was my sand-message-of-accomplishment? Where was my inappropriate congratulations missive? Why wasn’t I welcomed so warmly into the tribe of women? (And since my parents and my in-laws read this blog, I should clarify that this message would have been appropriate *only* the morning after I was married… Andrew and I had a two bedroom place before we got hitched so we could remain pure as the freshly fallen snow. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it).

Anywhoodles, congratulations, Chelsea Brookmeyer. And thanks to your beach-messaging friends, our readers all around the world are in on your little milestone.

You’re welcome 😉

~Sarah

I Quit – Part Deux

November 11, 2010 at 2:49 pm | Posted in Around Boston, Office Humor | 7 Comments
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Today was supposed to be the big day.  I was going to put myself on a pedestal, hop on my high horse, triumphantly enter my office and inform my colleagues (who I may or may not have planned to refer to as “chumps”) that they would no longer have the pleasure of my sparkling wit and enviable companionship.  I was gonna tell them that they could take my “salary” and (mom, please don’t read this part) shove it.  Because I didn’t need them anymore!  I’d make some noise, flip some birds and burn some bridges.

 

Yeah... It's gonna be like that...

You see, I was planning to win the lottery last night.  Tzarina and I had it all figured out.  But like so many of our best-laid plans, something went horribly wrong.

 

Tzarina told me that, from where she stood in the future (aka being in Japan where she’s a day ahead of me), she was certain the winning PowerBall number had an 8 in it.  So I bought a ticket with the number 8 in it.  And the winning numbers drawn included an 8… just not where I put it, or surrounded by the other numbers I chose.

In other words, I did not win the PowerBall drawing.  And this morning I could not quit my job.  Or mouth off to my colleagues.  Or lay to rest my financial concerns.

I’m depressed and disappointed.  And I’m even poorer than I was yesterday before I bought the PowerBall ticket.  And I intend to blame some idiotic butterfly in Africa for screwing me over.  Jerk.

~Sarah

 

P.S. A special note to my colleagues reading this post: Just kidding!!  You know I’d never ever leave you… not even for a better paying gig that didn’t include a horrendous commute… He. He. He.  This is awkward…

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