Growing Pains

It’s time.

With the Stove’s arrival, it’s time.

It’s time to branch out and start a new blog.

Baby Banana isn’t going anywhere but now there is a new venue for all things Marci bakes.

Ready?

Mmm…BAKED! is the internet’s newest destination for all things oven-made.

Check it out.

Teabagging and the like

C’mon. You know there is no way I could let this one pass by without comment. So I’ll keep it short because all the hilarity has been said (can I just say that I love Anderson Cooper), I just need to repeat and expand on some asides that you may not have heard just yet.

Seeing as how our lovely friends at Fox News have so cleverly dubbed this anti-tax movement “Teabagging” (you know, like after the Boston Tea Party where early Americans protested government taxing, see it’s funny and relevant!).  Some have wondered what other movements could come from the Republican Party in the coming years.

– Obama opponents will summon public outrage against the administration’s efforts to legalize unauthorized immigrant workers, aka The Dirty Sanchez Campaign.

– For the 2010 election cycle, where 36 seats in the Seneate will be contested, the GOP will call for Operation Donkey Punch.

– Citing burdens on American business, those who feel sustainability is bunk will invoke the Tossed Salad movement in protest to Michelle Obama’s Victory Garden.

– In a bid to push House Minority Leader,  John Boehner (R-OH) into a Majority roll the GOP will launch the Cleavland Steamer Offensive.

In case you were wondering…

When sitting with a loved one in the ICU, while a large team of medical doctors have not been able to produce a diagnosis for the reasons the loved one needs to be in the ICU, the last thing you want to see pop up on the in-room television is House.   At first, you might be able to joke about it–being a humorous family and all–but when it starts hitting too close to home what with all the mentions of “lupus” and “auto-immune diseases” you’ll find yourself itching to turn it off.

Change is here

Yup. Change is here in the form of millions of tourists converging on the nation’s capitol, for that is certainly a change from our normal, run-of-the-mill winter weekend here. The gossip sites, Twitter, the news, the talk shows all have eyes for D.C.  It’s exciting and…it’s making me sick. I don’t know what it is about me that makes me turn away anytime mobs of people get excited about something, it’s like they leech the excitement right out of me to use for themselves.

I am excited for the Inauguration. I can easily say it’s the only one I’ve ever looked forward to or just plum had feelings about in any sort of  way.  But the thought of sitting in traffic, stuffing hand warmers in my gloves and trying to find comfort, warmth and hope in the midst of thousands upon thousands of people makes me cringe–I mean it’s not quite vomit-worthy, I can still see how it might be fun, sort of.  But I have enough of a hard time dealing with Metro’s ineptitude’s on the average Wednesday’s rush hour I can’t imagine how hard I would come unglued on a day like tomorrow.

It’s not just about my pessimism. At least I think it’s not. It’s the hype. I can’t stand hype. Hype generally makes me hate and I don’t want to hate this, it’s too monumentally amazing to even approach bearing ill-willed feelings towards it.  So I will (as I have all weekend — that is no taking advantage of star-studded night clubs, extended boozing hours, free concerts) refrain from partaking. I have read the articles on DCist, WaPo, ET, pic.2009 amongst others, I have watched more news than I care to admit, and I have enjoyed witnessing it from afar. I do have reservations about not taking advantage of my proximity to it all and not witnessing history live, but my fear of clouding it with stress and anger will keep my on my sofa, clad in pjs, eating cereal and peanut butter sandwiches.  I will be content to just live it.

Banana the Grouch

Heading to San Francisco I had a nagging feeling of dread. Dread over the race. Am I ready? Will I forget to pack something? What was I thinking when I settled on this race with all of its hills? Why didn’t I do more hill training? Dread over traveling. Why didn’t I book direct again? Have I ever been to the Philly airport, I mean do I even have enough time to change planes during the layover? Shit, how do I even get from the San Fran airport to the friggin hotel?

Some things went encouragingly well. Best buddy, Buggie, gave me a ride to DCA. Getting a ride is always nice—gives one a sense of being missed, loved. But the airport was packed and the counter lines inside were atrocious, not much better were the more expensive sky cap lines outside. Waiting and standing in line puts me on edge and makes me fidgety and cranky. I didn’t want to be cranky, but the dread and the cranky went well together so there I was, trying to force smiles to security agents and TSA personnel so as not to make a complete ass of myself.

Had just enough time, due to a delay, to grab some grub and a bottle of water. Just as i was paying an urgent overhead message made me hurry from California Tortilla to the gate. Realized at that moment that I’ve never flown out of gate 35A. Gate 35A is downstairs and when urged to go down the escalators after giving up my boarding pass, there was another line—and no plane. No, apparently when flying to Philly one must take a bus onto the tarmac to a turboprop jet. So we stood in line, and stood in line some more and some more for good measure I guess. Finally we were allowed to board a very crowded airport shuttle, just so that we could wait again—this time for a plane to move out of our way. Have I mentioned yet how much I hate waiting? Yeah. So at least it was a quick flight, like quicker than a shuttle to New York…so my spirits lifted a bit. But trying to find out where I was supposed to be upon landing quickly dampened them. There were no available agents to help direct passengers; the first departure board I stopped at didn’t even have my flight on it. When I found it finally, it said “SFO GATE B9”. Since I was in terminal F, I guessed that was far. I stumbled across a place where they were boarding people onto another one of those airport shuttles, I asked where they were going and a man with earplugs in his ears said, “BCD” which sounded more like “Ehbeashheeshday”. I got on and hoped for the best. Wasn’t too long before they let us off, and as I made my way down through the terminals I finally found Gate B and they wound through the terminal for a good long time before I get to B9. The jetway is totally crammed, so I hang back (why stand in unnecessary lines when I hate them, ya know?). The gate agents then start calling peoples names up to the counter, so I move up since it seems like they are closing the flight. I am standing right there, hanging back a bit but there, ready to give them my boarding pass. I step up just as she finishes with this one woman and instead of taking my boarding pass the agent follows behind the woman to and closes the door to the jetway. !!! Uh, hello, I need to get on that flight? The other gate agent tells me that I missed it. I protest, I am here! There is the plane! We belong together! She ignores me.

After a long period of waiting (fun!), I find out that they bumped me 30 minutes ago—not really caring that I was actually in the airport making my way from a connecting flight. I did get a travel voucher out of it, but still. I have never been bumped! My annoyance was eased when she got me on the next (oversold) flight out, just an hour later and of course that free ticket. Still trying not to embrace my grumpiness, I make due and knock out some work and figure out how to get to the hotel once I land. The plane ends up being late, of course, but I stay in the gate area and make sure I get on as soon as humanly possible. I am in the last row of the airplane, in the middle seat, flying for the next 5.5 hours. Joy. My seatmate on the aisle turns out to be a grossly oversized man missing many basic manners. Manners such as closing his mouth when chewing, and not knowing to keep his fat ass arm off the arm rest (I am in the middle!), and not picking his crap up off the floor when others are trying to get in/out of the row so now thusly we are tripping onto our faces just trying to get to the damn bathroom.

It’s 9pm at home right now, I still have 45 freaking minutes on this plane and I don’t know if I can stay sane for all of them. The dread has turned to frustration that is slowly seeping into anger. This is supposed to be a fun trip—yay Cali, yay marathon, yay running partner Lindsey who is already there (bitch), yay two days off of work. Ugh. I hope it gets better.

diversions

After a very rough Friday (one could argue it’s been rough for longer than just this past Friday, but Friday was ugly), I spent the weekend ignoring the phone, sleeping too much and holed up on the sofa in my pj’s and some very unwashed hair.  Emerging from myself, I hit a 10-mile run this morning, saw my dentist and went in for an abbreviated day at work.  Things were looking good. But work is tough. I feel desperate there. I itch to leave.  Emotions squeeze my chest and paralyze my thoughts.  Sucks that I have a major conference in just a month.  I am trying to push through it and make some needed progress at work, but I just couldn’t spend more than 6 hours there today.

I need some diversions, not that I don’t have them already. My friends have been amazing in keeping me sane. I am playing fantasy football this year (as Melons in Motion), although some could argue that I am not “playing” so much as I am losing.  I have a marathon in a week (in San Fran!). My place could use a serious scrubbing. I still need to find a stove, like now! So there are things to do, I am just barely doing them. I’ve been paying my bills late, which is SO not like me.  I just can’t get her out of the front of my brain. I suppose things means I am human.

In fun news, I am invoking my Minnesotan accent to aid in my Halloween costume this year. So I’ve been practicing saying, “Hi, I’m Sarah, pleased to meetcha.”

I miss…

…this

The seal has been broken

The seal was not just broken, but completely shattered the other night. Now I just have to wonder why exactly. I mean when it all went down I didn’t really have a thought in my head. Well, I suppose that’s a lie. I had so many thoughts up in there

 

workbirthdaypartytravelbeingshittytopeopleIlovetravelgodhowmanyflightsis
thatexactlyfiveconferencesinjusoverthreemonthsnottomentionthethreeothermeetings
cubsfangodandtripstochicagoshouldIstayathisplaceamIreallybeingadultaboutthis
mymompleasebeokandmysister’sweddingplansthetearswtfmoneymoneymoney
dirtrunningsleep

that is was more like white noise than an actual void. The flood started as a trickle, I suppose as most floods do. At work, feeling overwhelmed, being semi-shitty to a friend, feeling bad about asking for a favor here and there…and thar she blows. A spill over, a few small streams down the cheeks but easily contained when I stop to actually think about the frivolousness of them.

Then, on the Metro, a small wave that gradually builds until I can barely get through a phone call to Mom — my voice quivers so much I have to fess up, she can hear it for god’s sake. But for now, I feel better but oh so tired, like only tears can make you. Afraid of lying there awake for too long, alone with my thoughts, I lie in bed and read for too long instead. With heavy eyelids, I turn off the light only to feel the wave come again. This time stronger, crashing and overwhelming. And all I can think is “why?”.

Now don’t go getting all concerned, I am fine. Really.

Fears no tears

I haven’t cried.

Ok, there was a tear or two. You know, the trickle kind of tear where your face doesn’t contort and the tear just seems to spill over your eyelid and flow all prettily, yet sadly down your cheek? Yeah, I’ve had a couple of those and a few more well-up-only moments with none of that spill over. But, I haven’t cried. And I wonder why that is. Sometimes I am afraid it means that I’ve become cold, so closed off to emotion that I am essentially faking my boy-girl relationships. That way, when they inevitably end, I am no worse for the wear. Sometimes I just think that it’s all fine, it wasn’t love–it was fun, it was a learning experience, it was lovely, but there’s no reason to cry just because it’s run it’s course. Sometimes I just don’t know what to think.

I miss him. Sometimes more than others, but I do. It’s palpable. I think it hit me (well this is when the melancholy and tiny heartaches began anyway) as I was driving through Illinois. I was going to detour, have lunch, maybe have the parent’s drop me off in town, stay the weekend. I didn’t. I just drove through, right past Cellular, the Sears Tower, Lake Michigan and into Indiana. Or maybe it hit me while I was up in Minnesota, shopping with my mom and grandma, as it was this same event last year that I confessed to my family that I (gasp!) actually liked someone (a big deal, since I don’t tend to disclose my dating life with them unless I am ga-ga happy and tippy-toe twirly over it). I don’t know.

I don’t know what to think. Is there something wrong with me? Should I be glad I am not overly sad? I don’t know.

But I miss him.

Stuff

Sigh

I feel like I should be something other than what I am. Or feel something other than what I feel. Whatever it may be. If I am feeling happy, I think I shouldn’t be and I question it’s sincerity. If I feel sad or melancholy, I think that to be entirely too self-indulgent and I should get a clue and actually look at my life and be happy damnit. Then when I think these things, things that are incongruent with what I am feeling (whatever it may be), I just want to sigh.

Sigh

I had an amazing mid-week weekend, what with it being Buggie and America’s birthdays respectively. Bug and I played hooky and breakfasted and caught a movie and saw movie-screen sized cooter and had Blue Moon and smacked baseballs with baseball bats with Jen and ate ice cream and licorice and caught phrases and drank beers and took a zillion photos. No wonder we were so exhausted by the time the 4 of July rolled around. I am sure it had nothing to do with a 9am tailgate plan we initiated. But in case anyone might be wondering, breakfast stromboli is the greatest tailgate…nay…the plain old greatest food of all time.

Photo credit: Bug E. Bugger