I look straight out of a sci-fi movie...in a non-flattering way

I woke up this morning to half of my new Mexican colour on my white sheets and comforter. My face, feet and hands, though, have gotten even darker. I washed my face with an exfoliating soap and it seems to have lightened things up, but my hands and feet are apparently going to remain 10 times darker than the rest of my body. Unless they, too, leave their traces over every article of fabric I touch. I've turned into an inkpad. I just noticed my keyboard has bits of spray tan on it...unless it's from the oreos and milk I ate in the light of my computer monitor last night.

Oh well. Hopefully it'll all fade in a couple days. I'm just glad I tried this out a week before the wedding. I guess I'll just have to resort to the traditional way of tanning. Anyone have any tanning accelerator I can borrow?

Pale to Mexican in 10 minutes

Growing up, my summers were filled with camping trips on Chinook Pass and boating excursions on the Snake and Columbia Rivers, as well as daily swimming practices for the local swim team. All of this time in the sun helped my skin to tan, and occasionally burn, many times over come Labor Day. In high school, I followed in the path of my dad and brothers by lifeguarding; eight hours a day, six days a week of sitting out in the sun made me darker than some of my Mexican friends.

Of course, every winter I'd revert back to my pastiness and never notice the difference.

After working the past couple summers in indoor jobs, I apparently haven't gotten the same colour that I used to, because it has come to my attention over the course of the past year that other people think I'm very light skinned.

This doesn't bother me for two reasons:

1. Since I've already had four moles removed and two have been deemed pre-cancerous, I've become much more careful with my skin.

2. A guy I dated for 2 1/2 years repeatedly told me that he was more attracted to pale girls and was actually disappointed one summer when I started to visit tanning salons in search of a darker me.

However, considering that I'm a bridesmaid in my brother's wedding next Saturday, I decided that I'd look dreadful if I didn't get some colour on my body, as the dress I'll be wearing is this Pepto Bismal pink, which makes me look even more ghostlike than normal. And then people will wonder what that blinding light in the wedding photos is. And I will have to say "my friends, that glowing orb wearing a dress is yours truly."

So what did I do about this?

I decided to strip nekkid in front of a random employee at a salon in Grandview and allowed her to spray tanning solution all over my body. Yes, nekkid and yes, all over my body. Was it worth it? We'll find out soon enough, as it takes a couple hours to completely darken. But my arms are already a light Mexican colour. If it's not dark enough, the girl at the shop said she could make me Indian next week.

Game Night is on!

When I was in elementary school, I joined the AAU basketball team because a friend played. I was such a horrible player; I didn't even understand the rules of the game until some years later. I also played softball in 6th and 7th grade, after years on the Parks & Rec t-ball and softball teams, and made the "B" squad, though I wasn't too coordinated with catching the ball. I tried out for volleyball and, much to my dismay, was sent to the "you-suck-but-we-have-to-let-you-play-because-this-is-middle-school" intramural team.

With that said, it's safe to say that I'm not one for physical sports. Well, scratch that. I like playing kickball and I love to swim. But I'm not very competitive while participating, probably because I just don't want to lose, or worse yet, confirm my depressing thoughts that I'm a loser. My enthusiasm is always in the game; the accompanying skills, however, are quite often absent.

Yet anyone who's every played a board game with me will tell you that I am a really competitive player. I absolutely love board games and feel really confident with my abilities to leave others in my dust as I race to the finish. My favourites are Clue Master Detective, Hotels (one surprisingly no one has ever heard of but me) and The Game of Life.

While I'm not one for cheating, in the past I've been known to "accidently" bump the board, and with pieces flying everywhere, this makes recovery and continuation of the game nearly impossible. Granted, this was back in high school. As I said, I'm really competitive. But I've matured a great deal since then, really!

Last night, a friend from work brought her boyfriend over and the three of us swam for awhile in the pool and then came inside and played Clue and The Game of Life (their choices!). We had a great time and all three of us were really into it. I was secretly grinning when, in Clue, after making his final accusation and discovering he was wrong, he was visibly pissed at Megan for a slight misunderstanding of who held the card for Sgt. Gray.

Timmy and I were collecting money left and right during The Game of Life, and both took great delight that Megan had to take a loan out to buy her house and made the lowest salary possible by the end of the game. By the end, she turned it around, and we got to laugh at Timmy for losing.

Finally I have a couple friends that not only understand my cutthroat attitude with board games, but enjoy beating each other down with little cars and pawns!

Who would've known we'd run into bike protesters?

While I was sitting in the Park-and-Ride lot waiting for my friend Ingrid this morning, guess who decided to stare me down!

Yup! One of those sage rats again! I parked my car, casually looked up and about eight feet from my car stood this little guy. He stared at me for a good three or four minutes (seriously) in the same standing position before deciding to go on about his business and crouch down to eat something. He continued to munch on food until Ingrid showed up about ten minutes later and then disappeared.

Ingrid and I went on our 16-mile bike ride, this time from Grandview to Prosser and back. Once we got to Prosser, we ate really unhealthy breakfast at a national fast food chain off the freeway, after being scolded by a random woman while chaining up our bikes.

After our breakfast, we went in search of a OutWest Pet Grooming so I could buy some Greenies for my dogs. Just as we got to the store, crossing the intersection is a house.

No really. A house. Being pulled by a semi. Down the road. I thought that only happened in childrens' books. I mean, I've seen single and double-wide manufactured homes going down the freeway, but never a whole house.



Hmmm...I wonder if you could ship an entire house cross-country. It would save on packing and boxes. But what would happen to the basement?

Somber

I don't feel writing anything resembling wittiness would be appropriate today, as 21 June marks one year since my lovely cousin passed away. Russell was my most favourite cousin and, as he was several years younger than me, I felt like he was more of a little brother than a cousin.

His home life was rough on him (his dad a drug user and absolutely horrible father and his mother doing the best she could); he was overweight and, being partly raised by our grandparents, our maternal grandfather had the prime opportunity to ridicule him constantly. From a young age, he was put at a disadvantage.

The last time I talked with him, I was really rude. The was some reason, but it all seems so petty now. I was supposed to see him that final weekend, but having chosen last minute not to take the 12-hour round-trip drive to attend another cousin's wedding (from my dad's side of the family) in Olympia, I missed my chance to see him. My parents visited with him, though, when they stayed with my mother's parents after the wedding. My dad said that he looked well and talked brightly of his college prospects.

His mother, my aunt, thinks he had fabricated having symptoms of ADHD so he could get the same prescription a fellow classmate had used. The classmate had lost some weight while using the drug.

Russell was in bed when he was discovered, by his younger sister's baby-sitter, after she hadn't seen or heard from him all morning. He had died of an apparent Adderall overdose. He was only eighteen.

My dad called me as soon as he heard the news. I have never wept before or since like I did that evening; many of the capillaries in my eyelids burst from being under such stress. I sobbed uncontrollably for hours on the floor of my bathroom. Thinking it was a suicide, I blamed myself for not being more available to him. Realizing it had to be an accident has helped me cope.

I miss him so much. I will never stop missing him. You hear that, Russell? Never.


As a serious and respected blogger over the age of 16, I've taken a silent oath to refrain from posting song lyrics; however, just this once, I'm allowing an exemption. It won't happen again.

Occured to me the other day
You've been gone now a couple years
Well, I guess it takes while
For someone to really disappear

And I remember where I was
When the word came about you
It was a day much like today
The sky was bright, and wide, and blue

And I wonder where you are
And if the pain ends when you die
And I wonder if there was
Some better way to say goodbye

Today my heart is big and sore
It's tryin' to push right through my skin
Won't see you anymore
I guess that's finally sinkin' in

'Cause you can't make somebody see
By the simple words you say
All their beauty from within
Sometimes they just look away

And I wonder where you are
And if the pain ends when you die
And I wonder if there was
Some better way to say goodbye
Some better way to say goodbye

-Patty Griffin, "Goodbye"

I'll believe it when I see it, except in Bollywood!

Any of my friends will tell you that I despise musicals. I think it's absolutely ridiculous that the two gangs "fight" by singing and dancing in West Side Story. I can't get into guys hopping on cars and singing about "Summer Lovin'" in Grease. I don't buy that such macho guys would do that. I'm sorry. I just can't do it.

But I love love love Bollywood films! Granted, I've only seen a couple. I went in not knowing if I'd like the style, but while watching the first one, I really enjoyed it!

Maybe deep down I accept that Indian culture really permits, nay, encourages random bursts of singing and dancing. That, if I were to travel to Bombay, I'd actually experience a musical right before my eyes dancing down the street. Unseen speakers would blast beautiful musical accompaniment and perhaps backing vocals and the people in line at the shops would begin choreographed routines, lip-syncing and dancing all around me in a sea of happiness, saris and billowy outdated pants.

This is almost as bad as believing Clark Kent and Superman look completely different!

I just finished watching Fire in the Sky. Wow. That's all I can seem to say about it.

While I don't think it'll be giving me nightmares (except the creepy claustrophobic scene with the piece of metal coming down towards his eye), I was rightly freaked out.

What also freaks me out is the fact that Robert Patrick was in this movie. I noticed his name on the Netflix envelope and couldn't place the name. I watched the whole movie and still couldn't place the name with any of the faces. Until I looked it up on good ol' imdb.com.




This is Robert Patrick. With those dreamy eyes, shaggy hair and down home style.




To my shock and horror, this is also Robert Patrick.This Robert Patrick is the man that haunted my dreams for a week when I was eight, after I watched Terminator 2: Judgment Day. This is the Robert Patrick I've been scared shitless of for the past fourteen years.What's even more conflicting is that the movies were made a mere two years apart!

I am so confused about how I feel right now.

Just call me Snippy Sara

It could be the fact that I currently live with my parents and don't have to worry about rent. It could also be that, since my dad is paying me $20 a week to mow our ocean of a lawn, I don't have to worry about being broke. Regardless of the reason, I've come to the point in my life that I just don't give a fuck if I get fired. Sure, I can customer-service the hell out of someone, but I really just don't care sometimes.

Tonight, we sold out (well, not really...when a movie theatre "sells out" of a particular show, there really are between 15 and 40 seats left. it's totally a misnomer) of our 7.05p Fast and the Furious show. I promptly put up a "sold out" sign, in full view of the next person in line. He had to have seen me put it up and press down on the tape. Because he didn't seem blind when he proceeded to walk up to the counter and ask for two tickets to Fast and the Furious. He even acted shocked when I told him we had just sold out. "Really?" he questioned. Without a word, I pointed right next to his head at the sign I had, not thirty seconds earlier, posted that clearly stated such information.

Later, a girl walked up and asked for four tickets. Actually, it was more like:
Girl:"Me, her, him and her...?"
My response: *stares at her for a good ten seconds*
Girl: *stares back at me*
Me: and WHICH movie did you want to see?

And last night, a guy and girl came up to the ticket counter and, seeing the poster advertising pre-sale tickets for Superman Returns, said "two tickets for Superman," then quickly said "naw, jus' playin'. Two for The Omen". This statement seemed incredibly hilarious to the two. With an annoyed look, I said "Why was that funny?" to which he replied "Just shut up and give me my tickets." I asked him for his ID (they barely looked 17) and then stated "Please don't talk to me like that. I just wanted to know why that was funny. Honestly, I don't get it." After squabbling with me about how I was the one that "started it", I handed him his tickets with a big smile and gave him a "thank you" dripping with sarcasm.

Of course, after reading these examples, they sound watered down. But my writing on the topic could be stifled by my wearing of pajamas at the moment. I think a lot of the anger I develop over the course of a shift might actually come from the disgust of wearing a horrendous uniform and the stupid people just make it worse.

Face, Meet Fist (and its friend Glass)

You know the type of people that think their own jokes are incredibly hilarious? (I'm not talking about you, A) The kind that think they are amazingly clever and original? Those are the kind of people that annoy me most while I'm at work.

Sure, there are the folks that come up to the booth asking for two tickets and really mean "one adult and two children".

There's the guy that, after peering through the glass for a good five minutes looking at our marquees, walks up and asks how much the ticket prices are, oblivious to the fact that the sign stating such information is clearly displayed on the wall just over my right shoulder.

What really irks me, though, is the forty-five year old man that saunters up to the counter with his wife and says "two seniors for Cars, please," knowing full well that the senior price is for those aged at least 65. Of course, this is followed by a head-tilting laugh/knee slap on his part, with him thinking how clever he must be. Because he must be the first and only person to have ever done that.

Meanwhile, I'm stone-faced on my side of the glass, moments away from shoving my fist through the glass and punching him in the face.

I kid you not, this happens at least once on most shifts. Equally as often is the same senario, yet the man asks for two child tickets. Also interesting to note is that the offender is always a white male and an incredible douchebag.

I'd rather eat Tic Tacs for a day than monkey chow for a week, that's for sure

When I was in high school, I thought it was so incredibly absurd that Tic Tacs had nutrition labels "based on a 2,000 calorie diet", I decided to calculate how many boxes I'd need to eat in a day (only eating Tic Tacs, mind you) and follow the course. This wasn't an attempt to lose weight, although it should have been, considering that I was quite the heifer back then. It was more about proving the stupidity of Tic Tac nutrition labels.

After consuming over 7 containers of Tic Tacs (the light and dark green ones were my favourite), I had such terrible heartburn that I was forced to consider the fact that I might be the idiot in this case.

Today I stumbled across a website of a similar, if more disgusting, venture. Adam Scott, of The Last Angry Young Man, decided he'd try eating monkey chow for a week to save money on food and time on preparation and cleaning. Video diary links are posted on the blog as well.

Good luck, Monkey Man. Good luck. At least you're trying an experiment with a product you don't normally consume. My esophagus burns just thinking of eating Tic Tacs.

A Blog Worth Mentioning

This is my politeness-with-strangers problem, to the 10th degree, in male form. Reminds me of a certain ex-roommate of mine, who, by the way, still hasn't paid me for wrecking my car and for the last month of rent. What a jerkface.

I'm bored and am sick of working. Here are some free samples. Enjoy.

• Head & Shoulders
• Dove deodorant
• Post-Its
• Degree deodorant
• Dove Calming Night body wash
• condoms
• Aquafresh Extreme Clean
• Aquafresh White & Shine
• Schick Quattro for Women
• Dentyne (a whole pack)
• Olay Total Effects Night Firming Cream
• Playtex samples
• Downy Plus Whitening

thanks to udandi for alerting me to some of these!

Early Mornings

The past couple mornings, I've woken up between 5.30a and 6.30a, coherent enough to go get breakfast and not fall asleep eating it. I'll be awake enough to check my email, read the news, watch an episode or two of Rescue Me or even post a blog. And then, I crash. I'm only able to stay up for an hour or two and then I just drain. I hit a wall and fall asleep for another three hours or so. I've fallen asleep while watching an episode of Cold Case Files, woken up two hours later with the tv playing yet another episode, and getting confused from the (very) different storylines.

Speaking of which, I'm starting to fall asleep. Must. Lay. Down. Now.

Worth it's Weight in Pretty Paper

I don't understand people sometimes. Actually, scratch that. I don't understand some people most of the time. For instance, I don't get parents who send their five and six year olds to the movies and don't attend with them. I don't get the parents who bring their little children to see scary, rated "R" movies. And I really don't understand parents (or anyone, for that matter), paying $8 a person to see a movie that started a half hour ago.

I don't get you people. If I want to see a movie, that $8 is paying for the whole thing. I don't have eight bucks to spend on a movie that I'll most likely not be able to completely enjoy because I didn't catch the first scenes. I'd rather wait until the next showing. See the previews maybe.

Only twice have I walked into a theatre just after the movie started. Those movies were Poseidon and The Da Vinci Code. The former was just because we skipped Stick It (don't judge) and with the latter, I had already read the book. And both of those times, I got in free.

I have a hard enough time watching movies on tv of which I miss more than a couple minutes. Which is why I still haven't seen ¡Three Amigos! in its entirety.

[Edit] I just realised the title to this blog makes no sense with regards to the subject. I thought it did when I typed it, but upon further inspection, I (a) am too lazy to think of a new title and (b) really don't care.

It's all about respect

This shirt reminds me of the time OL came to see me when I lived in Spokane. She and I had been apart for quite awhile and had never met my boyfriend (now ex), so the two of us met up with A at the Old Spaghetti Factory. After a nice getting-to-know-you dinner, the three of us piled into my Neon and gave A a lift to his car.

I will drive round and round city blocks looking for a metered parking space just so I don't have to pay $8 to park in a lot for two hours. But A has this thing about not paying for parking -- at all. He parks at gas stations and customer-only lots, many of which have clearly posted signs warning all of the wrath to come from parking in a restricted area. Maybe he just thinks that he can pay the fine with a credit card and be done with it.

When we arrived at the local diner just down the street (beware of Molly's Restaurant -- they mean business), his car was nowhere to be found. It took us a couple moments to realise it had been towed.

But I guess those fucking assholes were just doing their jobs.


I would hate to work at a towing company. Those guys don't get any respect. And that's what I'm all about. Which is why I work in the box office at a cinema, wearing a god-awful vest and bow tie.

A Stupid and Simple Plan

I can add to this comic from xkcd. At first I didn't mind Simple Plan.

Then my flatmate played "Perfect" every single morning, as soon as she woke up until she walked out the door (and left it on repeat when she took a shower).

From then on, I've wanted to punch someone in the face every time I hear their music.

I Honestly Don't Get It Part II

Once again, I found something written somewhere that I can't figure out.


This tee, found at Busted Tees, has the description "This is our impersonation of anybody who sees your shirt: Hey what's a... Ohhh! Hahaha! Where can I get one! SERIOUSLY! GIMME THE LINK OF THE STORE!"


I usually think I'm pretty good at these word puzzles, but I have no idea what this means. Anyone? Once again, I hope it's not incredibly obvious!