Saradactyl.com

Happiness Is

Funny Phone Conversations
Me: Thank-you for calling MBS, my name is Sara. May I start with your phone number please?
Caller: Did you ask for my PHONE number or my FILE number?
Me: Um. Phone number. Why would I ask for a file number?
Caller: *laughing* Ah, southerners and their accents.
Me: *smiling politely* Ah, callers and their stupid questions. Now about that phone number....

Name Clubs
I talked to another woman whose name was also Sarah (spelled the not-quite-so-cool way), who was calling to verify benefits for a patient named Sarah. I laughed and told her we should all start a club, of which I should be president since I was the only one who didn't have a tacky H at the end of her name. The caller laughed and consented, stating that I was indeed wise and worthy of such an appointment.

Sisters Who Don't Know How Awesome They Really Are
I love my sisters. Both of them. Emily has an awesome job at a Tea House where she gets to dress up in Victorian garb and serve tea and crumpets all day. Seriously - it's the best gig on the planet. But c'mon. Beyond that - she's just friggin awesome. She knows she's awesome, and she owns it... and I say go on a head girl wid your bad self. *z-snap*

Now, Molly. MOLLY is the one who I don't think realizes how awesome she really is. Just the other day on her blog she was lamenting that she wasn't witty or funny. I contend that all of those things she WANTS to be (witty, funny, quick, smart, hilarious, poignant) she already IS. It makes me sad that people tend to gloss over her.... I mean, after all she IS kind of a BIG DEAL. But I think that's the delicious tragedy of being the youngest sibling. One day you're not noticed. But the next day? You're famous and plastered all over billboards. Not saying that would necessarily happen or that Molly would necessarily WANT it to happen. It's just that often times teenage angst is the point in which the raging storms of our development are at their worst - but soon begin to taper off.... and after it's cleared, it becomes obvious that all of that storm water has made the ground of our souls soft and ready for planting. It's a season, Wogster. And one day you'll see what the rest of us already know: You ARE smart and witty and hilarious and poignant. God has given you some AMAZING gifts that are Just Molly's. Not Sara's or Emily's or anyone else's. You are uniquely and beautifully and awesomely YOU.

Candy Coated Milk Chocolate Pieces
'nuff said.

Leap Years
One of my friends (and please forgive me - I can't remember who [*edited below]) said that the 29th of February is like a day in which NONE of your actions really count since it's not a REAL day. I like that theory. I mean really - a leap year? Craziness. It's like a pseudo-invisible day that has dwelt between two pages that were accidentally GLUED together in the annals of time - and every four years or so, we peeeeel back the page and act surprised when an extra day LEAPS off of the page. Heh. So, on this day - do something that you would normally regret. These types of actions are encouraged seeing as how they won't really count.

FLEX FRIDAYS!
I worked extra hours this week so that I could leave early from work today. So. Excited. I love short days. They truly truly make me happy.

New Glasses
Going to get new frames and lenses so that I can actually SEEEE again!! Did I tell y'all that my vision is now at 20/400 or something crazy? I can't see the big E. I mean. I KNOW it's an E. But it just looks like a big ink blot to me. Now, the GOOD news is that I can see 20/15 (better than perfect) WITH glasses. So, that rocks. Not quite so rockin'? Glaucoma. That's right boys and girls! Glaucoma. High pressure in the 'balls+nerve damage=apparent early stages of glaucoma. So, I'm going to see a man about horse in a couple of weeks... do some field tests to see how bad off it is, and if I need to start treating it at this point. Good times. Good times.

Coconut Lime Verbena Body Lotion
It kinda makes me smell like the beach, AND a margarita.

Seriously?

If that's not happiness, my friends - I don't know what is.

*said friend was DANA of ThinkPinkDana.com fame. She's so pretty. And smart. And wwwwitty! We're gonna need a bigger dot com. **dangling brown nose**

Brilliantly... er, hopelessly flawed?

I spent some time yesterday reading through some of Nattie's blog archives. If it wasn't in a typed format, I could almost picture that she had drawn little doodles about her personality types, sketched pictures of herself... of her kids; shared bits and pieces of thoughts and ideas that would be sort of haphazardly inked on graph paper - no real rhyme or reason. Each individual piece seeming somewhat insignificant and awkward. But the whole? Wow. The Whole. The slow unfolding of each thought... the painful vulnerability of the account of the events of her life... the grace that links them all together. With her gone, it is a breathtaking tapestry that I can log-on to and study in fine detail any time I want to. A small piece of her finite-being left to tide us over until we can hang out together in Glory.

Anyway. Going through those archives prompted me to go through mine. Why didn't y'all tell me I'm such a whiny-ass punk? Ohhhh sure, there are moments every now and then when I have a glimmer of clarity, and what I WANT to say is actually communicated without my words getting in the way. I love it when that happens.

Lately though, I've felt this mounting pressure to only write things "worth" writing about, and only sharing those brief insights of brilliantly flawed revelations. That's why I haven't been around much lately, because I haven't had any brief (or otherwise) insights of brilliantly flawed revelations. I have been quick (and possibly wrong?) to believe it wasn't worth my time (or yours) to tell you about how I painted my fingernails black this week, and it's made me feel all cool and confident. Or that I ran into this guy today that I've been secretly harboring a crush for and he seems to be content with just knowing my name. Or how my Godson will be celebrating his 1 year anniversary of life on this planet on the  28th, and I couldn't be prouder of him or his Mama. Or how I typically wear a size 8 shoe, and the 7 1/2's that I'm wearing are WAY too big, but that I think it's not really that my feet have become smaller - rather it's a CONSPIRACY mounted by the shoe companies around the world to label bigger shoes with smaller sizes so as to TRICK consumers into a false sense of CONFIDENCE so as to boost sales, and rob us all blind. BLIND!

Ah, the minutia. See what you've been missing out on? I've weighed too heavily my choice of "To blog, or not to blog?" Over-thinking has always been my biggest foe, and I feel that it has done me a disservice by tricking me into believing that the MAJOR things are some how more important than the minors. Truth is, my life consists of a whole BUNCH of minors, and maybe one day I'll look back and see that it was all culminating into something MAJOR.

*shrugs* Who knows?

Basically what I'm trying to say is: "Dear Sara, yes - you're flawed. HOPELESSLY so. Embrace it. Give it milk and cookies and send it off to bed. It IS actually acceptable for you to write about the small stuff. Ok? So get over yourself."

The End.

Things I Don't Want to Forget

Names for Future Female Spawn:

• Kipperly


• Gray


• Monday

Best Conversation Ever
StephG: SHITTLE! Anybody watching the launch today!?!?!
Dana: we have lift-off of the space shuttle skidmark.....
StephG: Shuttle! SHUTTLE! I MEANT SHUTTLE!!!!!!!!

The Perfect Jeans
Today was the day I found The Perfect Jeans [for my body]. Finally. FINALLY! A pair of jeans that fits nicely in the boootay, sits higher on the waist, and makes my legs look 1,000 ft long. They are called "Denim Trousers" and I found them in the big girl section of Target. WHODDATHUNK?!

The Countdown Begins
There are only 7 Days, 14 hours, and 2 minutes left until I fly to Nashville, TN to hang out with some of my best girlfriends for the weekend!! Eeeep. (whispers: exciting)

Is there anything from this day, February 7th, 2008 - that you don't want to forget?

j o u r n a l i n g

I remember receiving the same gift from several of my girlfriends growing up - and the trend continued for several years. Yup - I had a collection of Barbies that would shame the store shelves at Walmart. I had an entire dresser drawer devoted entirely to Barbie, her mini-clothes and her infinite collection of shoes. It seemed like it was the fail-safe, last minute gift - how can you go wrong with a Barbie? Everyone could use an extra Barbie. Who wouldn't be thrilled by being able to add Malibu Barbie to their collection of scantily, bathing suit clad plastic figurines?

Well, me.

And as I grew older, the trend of getting virtually the same present from each person I knew? Continued. Yes... I graduated from receiving Barbies to receiving - *gulp* - writing journals. It's a trend that continues to this day! Now, I'm not one for being ungrateful - I'll take what I can get! But my bookshelf is running out of room. Journals on the mantel... journals in my hope chest... journals in my closet... journals in the BOTTOM of my closet... I trip over them on my way to the door... I've got them coming out my freakin' ears.

The REALLY bad part about all this? I haven't written in a single one. Granted, when I was younger I would scribble something on the first page, inscribe my name and the date on the cover - you know, do just enough damage to ruin it for a re-gift.

Writing in a journal takes somethin' special that I ain't got. Patience, maybe? A willingness to be introspective? Trusting? Or somethin'. It's not that I don't have a good example - my Mom writes in her journal nearly every day... she has several journals filled with her thoughts and prayers stored away in her room. *shrugs* Maybe I was ruined by being required to write in a journal every day and turn it in as a [public elementary] school assignment? Yeah, it kind of takes the fun out of writing something deep and secret if your teacher sprawls red ink all over your spelling and grammar errors.

All that considered? I reckon I'm just too dern lazy. Some nights? I'd just rather watch TV. Journaling takes time to think of something to write. It takes effort to hold that pen and all. *shakes head* Just too much work for me, I suppose!

The other night, though, I convinced Mom to buy me another writing journal. I know, you would think with all the ones I have sitting around in my room begging to be written in that the LAST thing I would need would be to BUY another one. But this one is cooler than the rest. It looks like a regular ole spiral bound notebook.... but the pages are really wide, the lines are dark, and it has gigantic pencils covering the front and back.

Cool.

But instead of writing about me, I've taken to writing a little something in the middle of the night. Whatever happens to come to mind - without thought of spelling, grammar, or cohesive sentences - it goes down on paper. I've actually come up with some pretty interesting topics, and have had a lot of fun stretching myself like that. I make no promises that this trend will continue, but for now? I'm impressed with my willingness to give it a try.

So, if you've already gotten me a journal for Christmas this year? Don't worry - I'm sure it'll make a GREAT addition to my collection. And if I really take a shining to it - I may actually take a pen to it. Shocking, I know.