tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-41635754303253461702024-03-05T01:59:21.731-08:00Snarky & SingleAudhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01182203478197462675noreply@blogger.comBlogger21125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4163575430325346170.post-16802844660262908252013-04-02T10:26:00.000-07:002013-04-02T12:38:59.554-07:00Sara's Dateline Rules.Ok folks, it's been a bit, but not for lack of things going on. I am just too good for my own blog these days.... sorry blog, ear muffs. <br />
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I wanted to talk about something serious. Stop laughing, I'm serious! Its about getting kidnapped. I know....shit just got real. So basically in my endeavours along with my friends, there is dating activity. Along with dating strangers, comes dangers. And there is no more of a paranoid person then myself to have on your team, since I appointed myself super sleuth of my friendship circle. That is a prestigious honor by the way, don't mock it. I even have my own outfit, it looks something like this:<br />
<img height="200" id="il_fi" src="https://twimg0-a.akamaihd.net/profile_images/2371204170/d7a5bv77plcq4emvci61.png" style="padding-bottom: 8px; padding-right: 8px; padding-top: 8px;" width="160" /><br />
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As self appointed super sleuth, it is my job to watch way to many shows on the ID channel related to murders, sociopaths, kidnapping and crime in general. You call them nightmares, I call them dreams. <br />
I digress, the point is, as my ladies continue to peruse the dating scene I have over time developed rules that are a requirement to making sure your bones won't be made into wind chimes. I call them my Dateline rules, as in, the rules you need to follow so you don't end up on Dateline. Call me crazy, or whatever you want, but at least you will still be able to call me because you won't be dead. (Its a thankless job, but someones got to do it.).<br />
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<u>Rule number 1</u>: <br />
Always attempt to pre-stalk your date online. You never know, his arrest record may pop up and save you a 911 phone call. If his facebook photo of him with his wife and children show up in your search you can thank me later. But don't be one of those that gets all cray cray memorizing your date's college major, pet's name, and last twitter update....too much. <br />
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<u>Rule number 2</u>: <br />
If they live in another state, you aren't going to meet them for a date. Ever. Not because you can't go there to meet them, but it's against Dateline rules. Do you really think that in the entire state of NY that he couldn't find a girl to go out with, and that you are his dream girl??? You are not. What you are is catfished, away from your friends and family and help. Wind chimes. <br />
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<u>Rule number 3</u>:<br />
Tell a friend, or friends everything you know. Like what? Like your date's phone number, description of what they look like, first and last name, where you are going to meet and what time it is happening. Sound a little too much?? Well I'm not done. If you can forward a picture to me, you are really on your game. Whats that?? You don't know their last name?? Wind chimes. <br />
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This seems simple, but Dateline rules apply to lots of scenarios. For example, buying things on Craigslist and meeting people to pick them up, etc. I must warn you, however, even Dateline rules can go wrong. Just recently my good friend Audrey went to do this very activity. She followed all the rules and sent me every last bit of information she could. And then..... the unthinkable. Her phone died. Now- I am not one to mess with, I created these damn rules, and I WILL call the cops. I gave her approx 30 min to contact me or else I would get all Liam Neeson on her ass and start tracking her myself. Luckily, she received my series of frantic messaging before I did anything drastic. Lesson learned- charge phone first.<br />
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Now these rules have hashtags, and side notes and even branches of more rules, but I hope you can figure them out. If you or one of your friends wishes to apply for super sleuth status, please submit your applications to me via email. There is a training process, you don't get this paranoid overnight. <br />
<br />Sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12854725643001083576noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4163575430325346170.post-4687511990696591412012-09-06T13:28:00.002-07:002012-09-06T13:28:52.862-07:00Four score and 7 years ago...It happened. I found someone who enjoys my insanity as much as I enjoy theirs..... I know wait for massive explosion or possible baby to fall from the sky and purple elephants to fly over your head. I realize that throughout this journey I have gone through many stages of a very unpredictable life. And we all know unpredictable for me means fun reading for you. But what happens when the dating stories stop?? Am I even still allowed to write on this blog? <br /><br />Ummmm seriously? Shame on you. That's your answer.<br /><br />To be clear the dating stories don't stop they are just consistently with one asshole who is willing to put up with my nonsense, and is well aware he may end up in said blog. So if anything it just provides me with more ammo and my snarkiness.... well, that is permanent :) To show the same compassion as I did for all the other blokes that ended up on this blog, I will kindly refer to this one as 'It took you long enough'. Kidding. He will go by the name shellfish. We'll get there... <br /><br />Brief background: Shellfish and I have been friends for quite some time and although we had a brief time apart, oh say 7 years, you can't shake a solid friendship. Sadly, we are both boring enough that we were able to pick up right where we left off and that is the end of that snoozefest story. Anyhow, it's hard to date someone without actually getting to go out on dates. Oops, I almost forgot, Shellfish lives in Kansas. I know... I said the same thing, but he has slowly been winning me over with stories of food. (Obviously he started reading the beginning of this blog and the jig is up) Anywhoooo he came for a visit this month and we decided to make up for lost time. There were way to many ridiculous outings to share from just this one weekend, but I'll stick to the one that got him his name.<br /><br />So why shellfish? Well I recently learned that my loverboy has an allergy to shrimp. A bad one. Which I can only assume means other shellfish, so the first thing on our agenda while he was here was to go eat some good old Maryland crabs :) After arriving in Annapolis, we went to Cantlers for some yummy all you can eat. Midway through stuffing out faces, I looked up and asked him, "Did you bring your epipen?"..... Response: "I was just thinking that,..... nope." Well what do you know?! This meal just got a little interesting. After indicating to me that his tongue was a little itchy, I felt the need to check on him every 10 minutes to make sure his face wasn't swelling up like Will Smith in Hitch. While we made it through the meal without needing to stab him in the leg (not that we could have because that bozo left his pen at the house), the true highlight of this story is that he insisted on continuing, and did so for about 2-3 hours eating crabs with me with a shellfish allergy. I'd like to think it was because of the company, but lets be honest with ourselves.... who can beat Md crabs? Either I have found my food soul mate, who sacrifices all for a good meal, or I have fallen for a big stupid idiot who is completely reckless about his own health and wants to end up like this:<br />
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Sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12854725643001083576noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4163575430325346170.post-16748806693864029182012-07-09T11:35:00.000-07:002012-07-09T11:46:33.660-07:00Its All Fun and Games Until Someone Gets Pat on the Butt.So I realize I should space these out some, but who cares when you have this much ammo. So I'm not sure where I should begin, this is sort of a combo blog. As you know I am online dating, but have not stopped trying to meet people out and about like normal social people do. Neither has proved to be a success and for reasons I will share with you here. (This might seem lengthy but totally worth it)<br />
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First up. Rock and Roll Hotel. While I love this place I have managed to meet some real strange cookies in this bar. Just a couple weeks ago I was there and exchanged phone numbers with an attractive (problem #1.... I know, you'd think being attractive is not a problem, but it is when they know it.) young man, who I had little conversation with (problem #2). I don't care about giving out my number because well I can just ignore you later, it is an easy way to end conversation if you ask me. So anyhow, long story short, this euro pro basketball player (I know I scoffed to, no one cares about Italy's basketball team) ended up being a total pushy creeper that tried to get me to meet him at his house. Obviously I didn't want to get cut into pieces so I declined and he threw an adult temper tantrum complete with "Lose my number, have a nice day." Then two seconds later a phone call I didn't answer and a text.. "call me baby." I won't go into all the reasons this is crazy to me, but lets just say there won't be any save the dates going out.<br />
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Then just the other night I spent the night dancing with a total nerd/slightly douche gentleman, because I was bored, and even though I wasn't interested in him I thought he was harmless and relatively sweet. He did at one point puppeteer my arms whilst dancing alla John Travolta Saturday Night Fever... I know. Then the end of the night rolled around and he asked me to dance with him again before we all left. When we finished he said nice meeting you, grabbed my shoulders and flipped me in the opposite direction of him and then with a little shove off said, "on your way.." and then patted me on the ass. I wanted to be offended since I wasn't interested and how dare he pat me on the ass and turn me away! But it was just to damn funny. In the moment though I thought of turning around and punching him in the face. That's right.... we PG girls don't slap, I would have just clocked you one in the eye for being that rude. Thank goodness I was so speechless that I walked out and took my aggression out on the bouncer by reenacting what I will now refer to as the butt patting incident of 2012. <br />
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So perhaps online dating isn't so bad? All of these regular weirdos at the bar are clearly just as ridiculous. Well then I got this email today from who I am sure is a lovely young gentleman. PS. this is totally real, I am simply copy and pasting:<br />
"Hey how are you doing today? I have a question for you. How do you feel about me entertaining you by Me giving You a nice fun free strip show? And trust me its only entertainment, I don't want you thinking that I'm looking for sex."<br />
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Of course you aren't looking for sex, I always assume the best way to get to know someone in a non sexual manor is to get a strip tease. What else is that for? I mean, when is the last time that someone taking their clothes off to music slowly and sensually ended in sex? Mine always end in a hearty meal, usually some high fives followed by a game of rock paper scissors and some good old conversation. Thanks for the clarity buddy.Sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12854725643001083576noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4163575430325346170.post-51736228167686035052012-07-05T10:27:00.001-07:002012-07-05T10:27:19.697-07:00Still Burping Up Last Nights Dinner.Gross right? What does this have to do with dating? Nothing. Well sort of, follow me if you will.... <br /><br />I have been dating now for a bit which means over the course of several months I've exchanged phone numbers, emails and high fives with several <strike>gentlemen </strike> guys in the DMV. Some have been a few dates and it didn't work out, others just didn't work out. Either way, the key term to take away from these statements is.... didn't work out.<br /><br />Now with that in mind I return to my blog title. Food is delicious, but have you ever had that lasting indigestion, where you burp hours later (maybe even a day because you are dysfunctional) and you can taste your previous meal?? Its not a good taste, because you were finished with your meal and well frankly, nothing tastes that good the second time around especially not in gaseous form. Well recently I have been contacted by some old dates..... you see where I'm going with this? <br /><br />Look I hate to sound mean, but yes I am comparing being contacted by and old date that I didn't like to a smelly old burp. You know when it happens you were slightly reminded of the delicious meal you had, then the bad taste creeps in your mouth and your face turns sour....<br />
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Yep, that's about right. So the first was a very sweet gentleman who took me to a very nice restaurant (perhaps a little too classy for this gal) but I just wasn't feeling it. Unlike others, I had the common courtesy to tell him that, even though it was painfully awkward and one sided apparently... me being the side. Months later he emails me in a friendly tone, so I wrote back, like the dip shit I am. He quickly turned it back towards romantic and I bolted. Ugh... how do I not see these things coming??<br />
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The next couple were just plain silly. One I didn't even make it out on a date with because he sounded so creepy via text, that I politely cancelled. He then decided to try for round 2 recently...burnt. Nope. Do not pass go do not collect 200 dollars. Dude, you tried to get me to meet you at a hotel?! When I told you to fall off a cliff, what in the world made you think this was going to go in a different direction? Clearly I didn't respond... I wised up this time around, it only took my potential kidnapping to do so. The last one well, I can't say too much about, but we had zero in common, and yet somehow he still wants to get together. Gee, I wonder what for? Hmm lets see, we have nothing to talk about sooooo, yeah. Get real. <br />
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Come on guys! Lets get realistic here, you options aren't so bleak that you are turning yourself into a man whore or a stalker are they?! BUrrrrp......Sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12854725643001083576noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4163575430325346170.post-53643367985144744002012-04-10T11:27:00.004-07:002012-04-10T11:42:26.757-07:00Pinocchio ain't got nothin on me.I told my first lie to myself in a long time......<br /><br />Yesterday I went home and I got this adorable amount of attention from my puppy then she sort of fell asleep and looked back at me like this:<br /><br /><p><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 374px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 291px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5729841725057051938" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgadwba9NT_UionSwFarHLhJVOJVHBakT7RcVe2nooEUSdwSWrzCjwTPg0AdHBM5_wmw9iHUoFQ55gQjz2dgchJryVTQoIBiw6moGU15WjCkDuQaRQkCrGhdXMaG7huVT7d2OuKkbAYHB0X/s200/ollie.jpg" /><br />And then it happened. I said to myself... "Who needs a significant other when you have love like this to come home to??"<br /><br />I do. And so do you. This is the wrong thing to say and the first step in becoming a cat lady. Stay away from cute puppies or kitty cats when you are feeling weak!!! They convince you that this obnoxious dating to find a significant other isn't important! But IT IS.<br /><br />Unless you are one of those weirdos that should be in jail for lovin on your animals the way a human being shouldn't.... stop telling this lie to yourself. Don't worry, I immediately slapped myself in the face after saying that and did some P90x. It won't happen again.<br /><br /></p>Sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12854725643001083576noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4163575430325346170.post-47823500305086819812012-04-05T10:49:00.007-07:002012-04-05T13:12:34.637-07:00The Heightened Truth About Dating<div align="left">Well hello again.... fancy meeting you here.... do you realize I'm only an inch taller than you?<br /><br />Ok, so it doesn't start like that... let me back up. If I knew all along that going into this dating game that my height was going to be the issue, well hell, I wouldn't have bothered with Weight Watchers! I certainly can't shrink myself.<br /><br />This is a small rant about dating.... hello welcome to our blog, have we met? Continuing... Not only do you have to worry that once you are in your late 20's men that want to date you are already in their 40's. Yep. yeah late 40's bitches. The men that are your age are looking for 20 year olds! Not 20 something year olds, 20 year olds. Then once you make it to someone who doesn't fall into that category you have to wonder if you are the right body type. Now see this one is the one I thought would be the most difficult to handle having just slimmed down (trust me it hasn't been a day at the parade). Did you say you wanted athletic and toned or did you mean skin and bones??? I prefer to pick 'about average' in this category, as to set zero standards for what I'm going to look like. I mean really, what is more descriptive than the word 'average'?</div><br /><div align="left">So if you manage to steer clear of all these issues, then you may or may not run into the whammy that has thrown me for a loop. Your height. Whats that?? Your 5'5"?? Perfect. 5'8"?? Wonderful I'm sure!! 5'11"??? Whoa whoa wait a minute. Hold it right there. Do you know how tall you are? This is the stage of the game that works like a carnival in reverse. Remember all that time you waited to be 'this tall to ride this ride'?? Now you should be glad you are standing under that thin line... Who would have thought that height would be the issue? Certainly not I.<br /><br />Well rude awakening number 47. It does! In the last two conversations I've had with people online I got "Do you care that we are the exact same height?" (Well no but obviously you do....) and then the more recent.... "I'm only two inches taller than you, is that a problem?" Ahem... lets be clear.... problems: Third eyeball, lives with mom, hairy butt, smokes crack, small stint in a prostitution ring... ALL PROBLEMS. You wanna know what isn't on that list?? I think you get the point.<br /></div><br /><div align="left"></div><br /><div align="left">Me and my future husband. </div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 178px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5728011605028409378" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh3bs0rthlkc2yazhIQ8V7Xae3r2mQCqRhrdz2l5Zs6-FZTq4AVIkOjXRfS0c3ban-tBE2vz6E_ENnYDH9JQK8y1wvE44EHjpsRm5pWbeebhiEkaBsE80rOZpN7FpwkzmS04Akh3-c1fnD/s200/tall_woman_and_man_1.jpg" /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div>Sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12854725643001083576noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4163575430325346170.post-50457733499683850592012-03-05T07:35:00.007-08:002012-03-05T08:27:45.923-08:00It's not unusual....Okay- so it's been a minute since we have posted on this blog and that is for many reasons none of which are exciting enough to discuss. Instead lets do a little recapping for things that you may have missed during this gap.<br /><br />First off, I recently told you a story about me getting sloppy and perhaps the victim of a little person molestation. The truth is, I re-read that story several times and decided to take a step back from this blog. I couldn't tell if it was hilarious or just plain sad. Haha. Okay maybe a little of both. To your delight and to my horror, nothing has changed much since then.<br /><br />I went to NYC with friends a month ago. Much like Vegas, I usually choose to keep what happens there a secret since I and others usually act a fool and then we piece our previous night together collectively the next morning. This trip was right in line with that outline. I managed to pick up a straight man at a gay bar, a "doctor" none the less. I use the term "doctor" loosely since I did not see his medical license and frankly because it was brought up so many times during the evening that I can't remember much else about him. Like for example... his name.... anyhow, he danced like a bad version of Carlton from Fresh CARL!!! That was his name, CARL!!! Sorry- like a bad version of Carlton from Fresh Prince of Bel Air. We obviously decided to call him that for the remainder of the evening. He really wore out his welcome when he tried to stand between me and Ramon during our rendition of Beyonce's 'Love on Top'. Since he didn't really get the hint that I wouldn't be leaving with him, I had to spell it out slowly.... Dear Carlton, I will only be leaving this club with the 7 men I showed up here with.... none of which want to see me with my clothes off. Sincerely, Getting Smothered.<br /><br />I haven't gone on many online dates recently, and since the last set of text messages I got from one guy which ranged anywhere from wanting to get snowed in with me, taking care of me while I was sick, and attempting to get me to meet him at a hotel all before we even met, I have canceled my subscription to creeperdate.com and have decided to give the dating thing a little break. Or at least leave it up to fate and see where that lands me. (Which I am well aware landed me no where before but shut your face I am in the middle of trying to be optimistic).<br /><br />Of course I can't share EVERYTHING, so I won't :) I have no clue whats on the horizon, but I am already planning my big vaca for this birthday year and its gonna be a good one! Stay tuned...Sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12854725643001083576noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4163575430325346170.post-32569146967839834062012-01-10T10:33:00.000-08:002012-01-12T12:26:00.023-08:00You mess with the bull.... you'll get the horns.Sooooo we meet again. I would like to first point out that since this is still a blog about weight loss journeys, I have hit my goal! Yes this could be considered private information, but as Audrey stated in a previous blog, we are going to be proud when we hit our goals and want the world to celebrate it. Or at least get some damn fireworks from a small crowd during a WW meeting. So without stating my current weight I will just say that I have lost 34 pounds and couldn't be happier. I worked my ass off for that, so you are lucky I didn't also buy a small billboard over 495 with bright lights and kittens. (I'm not sure why I said kittens, but they are cute a draw attention so I suppose they could still serve a purpose)<br /><br /><div>I digress, since I can't get enough of these amazing dates I have been on, I agreed to go on a couple more. If you haven't noticed, I only write about the ones that one day won't get me in trouble in case I meet someone I really like, so I am only going to talk about one man, and one man only during this blog. Bull horns.<br /><br />Bull horns has by far been my most ridiculous yet most comically satisfying date thus far. For those who know I was going on this date, this would be the nerdy scientist (for the record, that is how he described himself.... which wasn't a lie, he was a borderline genius...I should have known then). I'll begin: So I agreed to meet bull horns at an Asian fusion restaurant downtown at around 7pm. I first walk in to the lobby and see an attractive man waiting and looking vaguely like the photos for bull horns..... but apparently not him. Damn. Then, the door opens and he arrives..... wowzers. </div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc8GFUSa_7jPgYm6znGglkM9X_3-LDaGHpMSFTCueOYz9IEeV6Di45fbhvOJFVuEO1NdeHC8zcKE-5fDcDtuLzObk9e7M3_00tl5Qs8QXfxXlNUurgJX5RKBb5jNAQxUrM7HLikH5gkwmW/s1600/nerd.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 191px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 217px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5696076954605981138" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc8GFUSa_7jPgYm6znGglkM9X_3-LDaGHpMSFTCueOYz9IEeV6Di45fbhvOJFVuEO1NdeHC8zcKE-5fDcDtuLzObk9e7M3_00tl5Qs8QXfxXlNUurgJX5RKBb5jNAQxUrM7HLikH5gkwmW/s200/nerd.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div>OK that's not really him, but Bull horns, your photos are a little misleading.... I'm just saying. It may make me an asshole, but it wouldn't be the first time someone called me that. Anyhow, I reach out to shake his hand and say hello.... he awkwardly reaches back and some how misses my grip and we end up grasping on to each others thumbs in a weird interaction I'd like to forget. It felt like my hand just got to second base with his and didn't like it, so I quickly turned to the host to follow him to our seat. Let the games begin...</div><br /><div>So we sat down and grabbed the menu and began to ponder our dinner choice in what I can only describe as the longest 10 minutes of my life. Dead silence. I thought, hmmm I might have to carry this convo so I better think of a good start. But I've got nothing.... ok wait, it was just NYE- ask him about that. "How was your NYE?" and then it happened. You may have been wondering why his nickname is what it is... He proceeds to lift up his hands and threw out the heavy metal bull horn hand gesture and say "kick ass." Not a big deal right???? Well multiply that hand gesture and that response by about 16, and that would be about how many times this happened during dinner which only encouraged me to stop saying things that were so "kick ass." </div><br /><br /><div>After a single hour of one sided conversation and a slip in a story where Bull horns actually referred to me as 'hot chick' to my face, I was about done. The fumes from his hair gel were starting to get to me, and the fact that his teeth were so pointy I was beginning to think there was some truth to this vampire stuff everyone is so addicted to. At the end of this date I thought man I am being rather harsh... Bull horns might just be nervous, and even though I know this isn't going anywhere, I should give him a break. I will remind you that although these thoughts are going through my head, and am on nothing but my best behavior except for a small giggle I let slip after bull horn gesture #12.<br /><br />So we are exiting the restaurant and I give him a hug goodbye. "It was really nice to meet you," I said. "It was really nice to meet you too Sara," Bull horns replied. Only I wish that was all he had done, instead that reply was coupled with a long and obvious glare from my face all the way to my toes, and then back up to my face.... then maybe back down again to my thighs and oh wait there are my eyes! Gross.... you almost had me Bull horns.... you almost had me.</div>Sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12854725643001083576noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4163575430325346170.post-56396406138483574712011-12-30T11:23:00.000-08:002012-01-10T07:45:42.012-08:00What to you get when you mix....A baby, a Yale graduate and an ex-marine dog trainer together? My most recent dating history. Well not all of it but at least the ones I am willing to share for now.<br /><br />If you are catching up from my previous blog about my dating endeavours you will notice that I have some updates and fresh nicknames. First, gobble gobble is history we only spoke briefly but as I mentioned to a friend, sometimes I get carried away and don't even know what I am saying anymore so when I asked if he caught any of his family members on fire while frying their Thanksgiving turkey, he passed on further conversation. I don't blame him.<br /><br />Winter sports (formerly known as Lassie) is also gone. This one is more of a sad case. I actually liked winter sports, he was extremely handsome, seemed to have his life together and was nice to talk to. However, somewhere between not answering all my questions and when I tried to look up his facebook and found it photoless, I convinced myself he was married with children and didn't want to get chopped up into little pieces so I abruptly stopped talking. Yep just never answered again.... I know, this is probably how people get complexes.<br /><br />Yale (formerly snowmaggedon) and I actually made it out for drinks. I was a little worried about this one as I know where my smarts start and finish, and they never finished at Yale University as his did. So after being convinced by several friends to just go with it, I did... and well, it went something like this. Yale shows up a little late in a 3 piece suit and a fabric tie. Its Friday did I mention? I tried to make light of the idea that casual Fridays were a regular practice in my office hence my attire, but then realized I wasn't the one out of place at The Big Hunt, so I let it go. When he got around to asking me what I did after he mentioned his extensive background in education, I spoke about the non profit I work for. And then he pulled out a chart that looked like this:<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcYA3nXg817OJa2MWs3uhZCJ29gut-RZQhMk45Fsd7HzEdCUz7y3XEozwb7xIvCousSs_4e_8hsY4tIIUK4RBLwV0kEmfmLa7-spsAbyGPrOQzOWoyZDY9-hEpq4MZYILl_nEYMaEWtPv4/s1600/redandblue.gif"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 232px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 156px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5692007527301968674" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcYA3nXg817OJa2MWs3uhZCJ29gut-RZQhMk45Fsd7HzEdCUz7y3XEozwb7xIvCousSs_4e_8hsY4tIIUK4RBLwV0kEmfmLa7-spsAbyGPrOQzOWoyZDY9-hEpq4MZYILl_nEYMaEWtPv4/s200/redandblue.gif" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Kidding. But he might as well, because he started quizzing me on percentages in the red and blue states because it was "acceptable since we live in DC." Is it? It doesn't matter, I didn't have the answers to most, so I made up a lot of stuff. If they gave A's in bullshitting, I would have been on the Dean's list. Needless to say after a rousing conversation about teen pregnancy, I told him to just go to my home town of P.G. county to get real facts and then we could be done with this conversation.... ok kidding again but that is what I was thinking. Anyways, I think my eyes began to cross as he was talking because his fabric tie started to look like it was becoming 3-D and jumping out at me. Time to go.<br /><br />So Yale is gone. I ended up going out with China as well- I hadn't mentioned him because he popped up out of no where and we actually went on a couple dates. Then after admitting that I had lost some weight on an earlier date, this jabroni actually tells me some story of his neighbors childhood as a fat kid and I nearly punched him in the eyeball. Are you dense? Never.... never make fun of a fat person to a former chub. There were many other things that went wrong after the second outing, but I think you get the point.<br /><br />I felt a renewal of energy this week and began conversations with a few new people. But all of the sudden this baby used the IM function and totally caught me off guard. After asking me if I thought age mattered, I said sort of since he was 5 years my junior, but I suppose it was really about the maturity level. He asked if we could chat some and see where it went. I agreed but was immediately regretful once I looked at his profile.... I interrupted his typing..."Ahem, I'm really sorry, I know I said we could chat some but I just looked at your profile and not only am I 5 years older than you, but you live an hour away and you are 2 inches shorter than me. This doesn't have a shot in hell." And then I immediately logged off. Between you and me, as most women would say, it was the 2 inches that mattered the most.<br /><br />So what have I learned so far? Nothing.Sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12854725643001083576noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4163575430325346170.post-2989942528592386762011-12-07T09:00:00.000-08:002011-12-07T09:46:53.477-08:00The United NationsThat's what my 'dating' life is looking like right about now. I am not sure if it is that I don't have a type, or that I am so indifferent that I talk to everyone. I can at least say that I may be getting closer to world peace. All I need now is a Native American and maybe a Jew. <br /><div><br /><div><br /><div></div><br /><div>It looks a little something like this:<img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 243px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 209px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5683442413487585538" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUDu3g-feLusfqwCRoGSVY-P25JrNVPjS2RjFurPCsJN3ewOZ5kVtyGfD5agsi_mF_QjnOSKaJCoiRodA1BdiACnmXa5IxvXLaW9-oT4iFHaGMQ5uEjHVxtWXttbGFYAcpe6GXsn70ousk/s200/men.jpg" />So part of this blog is supposed to be about being single. UGH... even the word leaves a bad taste in my mouth. To be fair, it isn't all bad- I quite often listen to some stories by my coupled friends, who for the sake of me keeping those friendships shall remain nameless, that make me happy that I don't have to go through some of the woes of being connected to a better... or worse... halve.<br /><br />In any case, to be completely open minded and frankly to get my new body out on the market as quickly as possible before I decide to let myself go again, I am trying online dating. Hmm... I know what you are thinking.... online dating?? Aren't there a bunch of creepies on there??? Yes. There are. I have spoken with a few of them, blocked some others, and took out restraining orders on the rest. Kidding.... sort of. But for your information, there are creepies everywhere. Can I get an AMEN from my small population of still single friends out there???? Anybody? Yes? No?... ok anyhow, there are because I have also met them. So why not rip the band aid off quickly and meet them all at once?<br /><br />So I have been on a few dates, they were less then stellar to say the least. I have a tendency to nickname my potential mates, and so far Craigslist, Bruce and Bear Grils have all been big fat let downs. Something about being able to club a rabbit really never appealed to me. I am currently speaking with a few people right now, which could backfire since I usually can't remember what I said to someone 5 minutes ago let alone to several people over a span of a couple days. Thank goodness this website provides some sort of history of communication to remind me what foolishness I have said to these poor strangers.<br /><br />On deck Lassie, Gobble Gobble, The winker, and Snowpocalypse. I believe the word may have gotten out that I am trying to have a social life beyond my social circle and some coworkers of mine have eluded to possible dates for me. Just yesterday our HR manager asked me out of her side eye.... "so whats your type?" (as to say is quietly some how made it less desperate for me) I responded with, "men." She giggled even though I was serious and said that there was a man in her neighborhood that jogs by her w/ his dog all the time and she thought he was very handsome. I responded with a dead stare and she then said "I'll take care of it." I am not sure what that means but if this is the criteria for setting me up, I'm screwed. Does she know this man??? Nope. Just thought he looked handsome. Serial killer? Could be- but definitely handsome. At least he has that going for him.<br /><br />Lord. Buckle up and stay tuned! </div></div></div>Sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12854725643001083576noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4163575430325346170.post-2744392838365902312011-11-28T08:05:00.000-08:002011-11-28T11:16:06.053-08:00I always knew Pikachu looked a little heavy set....<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxa3c5EDIJswWX7ICHn9Nv5XRNutSxMmbZOYmT6Gi932jFLj6xnqPQMqOUv-e5LlJRH4zfCIM62EaydJ2AecJGPmm-XiOfrdeWNgWP-u6WSCbbft77_dPVJ3S0W3zR1kJ6kC7GIXq6s2a6/s1600/Pikachu.gif"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 102px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 125px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5680084638188950306" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxa3c5EDIJswWX7ICHn9Nv5XRNutSxMmbZOYmT6Gi932jFLj6xnqPQMqOUv-e5LlJRH4zfCIM62EaydJ2AecJGPmm-XiOfrdeWNgWP-u6WSCbbft77_dPVJ3S0W3zR1kJ6kC7GIXq6s2a6/s200/Pikachu.gif" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div>For some of you, this name is synonymous with the little yellow pokemon cartoon character from the late 90's?? Maybe 2000's but I have no idea because I didn't watch it. However Pikachu for me, is actually the name a woman in my WW meeting continues to write on her name tag. Yes, I said woman.... probably in her 40's or 50's. Anyhow, I wouldn't have anything to say about Pikachu if she wouldn't stop interrupting the meeting to mention that she is a giant alcoholic. Now... some of you may be going "aww.... that's sad." Stop it. Pikachu wants you to know that no one poured liquor down her throat and it was a choice and so is eating bad food. (Tell that to the women who sleep eat in the middle of the night only to wake up find that downed a who cake out of their fridge and didn't even get to enjoy it!) I digress....<br /><br />So at first I found Pikachu endearing, she mention her drinking problem once or twice but said she was in AA and it was under control. Good for you! Drinking.. check..... weight control... check.... you are on a roll sister! However, it wasn't until this last outburst that it has occurred to me that she may or may not be drunk during our meetings. Please for a moment try to imagine the wicked witch of the west. No, I am not insulting her looks, I want you to think of her voice, slightly crackly and the tone and volume sort of go up and down at weird times. Anyhow, this is Pikachu's voice, only much sllllooooowwweeerrrrr. She is always rather disheveled looking, and sometimes wanders around the meeting before it starts talking to herself. </div><br /><br /><div></div><br /><div>Has she fallen off the wagon??? I mean I know weight gain is tricky and frankly sometimes food is addictive, but have we really gotten to the point where we are likening our food cravings to binge drinking??? I wasn't ready to go there, but I like your style Pikachu. If you could get your random outbursts in check we might be on the same page. And well lets be honest, if I didn't have you to come in a return food you have purchased simply because you didn't like the taste, or try to offer me some after you have already opened it, hell I'm not sure who I would look forward to seeing every meeting.<br /><br />So thank you Pikachu, on or off the wagon, you are just the right amount of bat shit crazy I need on a Saturday morning. </div>Sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12854725643001083576noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4163575430325346170.post-13850388767108971692011-10-04T06:31:00.001-07:002011-10-04T06:45:24.404-07:00A Winter Without FatSo not that I am complaining because obviously I am feeling great these days, but it has occurred to me that I as we say goodbye to these blissful warm summer days and roll into fall that the weather is starting to get a bit chilly.<br /><br />Now I should be clear and say that my favorite season is fall. At least.... it has been. The changing of the season is one I have always looked forward to. However, recently I have realized that this season will be different than several seasons past..... I don't have my fat.<br /><br />Why is this a problem you ask??? Well for one, my fat kept me warm. While all you skinny minnie's were strutting around in your stylish coats and fashionable scarves, I was waltzing around in my big ass north face fleece, getting rather warm underneath because I was a human incubator.<br /><br />So not only has my condo not turned on the water heaters yet so I am walking around in my own house with six sweaters on a four pairs of pants..... its not even technically winter yet!!! If this is what I have to look forward to in the upcoming months in my now completely ridiculous looking over sized north face fleece that lets all the cold air up the bottom because I have no fat to keep it out and I am to cheap to continue buying "transition" clothes, I am going to be miserable!!<br /><br />Therefore I am going to say the thing you aren't suppose to say when you are loosing weight. I miss my fat. Its official. You can say "Sara quit your complaining!" and I will say "BRRRRRR I can't talk because I am a human popsicle!"<br /><br />Is it time for Popeye's yet?Sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12854725643001083576noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4163575430325346170.post-68745007556729613372011-09-03T15:18:00.000-07:002011-09-03T16:51:17.668-07:00Taco HellHelllooooo everyone- It has been awhile because Audrey and I have been working our tushies off and haven't had a chance to blog. I mean it, literally... tushies = gone.
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<br />Well sort of. They are still there but look much smaller than their original size. I digress, anyhow Audrey and I had a great weigh in so we thought it would be a great idea to ruin it by eating whatever we felt like. Okay so maybe that wasn't our original motive, in fact we started off fine, but somewhere down the line things went awry.
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<br />After making some mistakes at Ruby Tuesday's for lunch we decided that we wanted Taco Bell for dinner. Now I haven't had Taco Bell in like a year or longer, the same goes for Audrey- so this pretty much had regret written all over it.
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<br />Reaching that counter was like reaching the finish line of a marathon. Now... to order. It was like riding a bicycle, I tossed out my selection like I had been ordering taco bell my whole life. Maybe because I had been, but whatever. To get the full picture of our experience, you must stop reading this blog and sit in silence for 15 minutes. This 15 minutes represents the silence that took place once we started eating.
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<br />I had nothing to say to Audrey, I was too busy shoving my face full of beefy glory. (I know what that sounded like, and I just don't care) I did pause once to look up at Audrey who then asked me how I was doing because I began to sweat and was breathing heavy. Upon realizing this I began to laugh uncontrollably and just repeat, "I am definitely going to vomit." To which Audrey replied, "Can I unbutton my pants?" Me: "Can people see your buttons?" Audrey: "No." Me: "Then go for it." It continued to go downhill from there. Audrey?
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<br />Audrey here. I'm in a blackout food coma right now and Sara is forcing me to blog. Seriously, I know we went to Taco Bell and I know I enjoyed it but seriously, right now the the beefy, beany, cheesy Taco Belly goodness has me all kinds of messed up.
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<br />To continue Sara's story. I look across the table and Sara looks like she might be ill but at the same time continues to soldier on and finish her meal. At this point I have demolished the smorgasbord of the food I ordered. I'm pretty sure I also blacked out and inhaled my food while we were there because I felt like there was a tray of food and then I came too and there I was dragging my finger across the Nacho Supreme tray licking off the last bit of nacho cheese with a trayful of used napkins and taco wrappers. All the while Sara is scraping the last bit of cheese out of her container with a spork. Don't judge us bitches.
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<br />Because this was a Chicken Bell, at some point Sara and I decided to take a second out of our low moment at Taco Bell to discuss the pros and cons of Popeyes and KFC and which was better. I believe the line from Sara was "I don't want to be friends with anyone who likes KFC." Me: "Really? Because I like KFC's sides better." Seriously, we will always be fat kids.
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<br />So at this point Sara is now looking a little green and using the rest of her napkins to wipe the sweat off her forehead and looks down at her tray and says "I need this to be gone." At which point Sara then promptly gets up, throws away her trash and walks out. By the time I reach the car, Sara is in the car with the door half open and with the air conditioning on full blast. I on other hand am seriously challenged getting to the car and nearly eat shit to which Sara yells at me "Stop making me laugh I am not out of the vomit zone yet!"
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<br />I'm seriously concerned that Sara is about to vom on her steering wheel to which I tell her: "If vomit comes spewing out of your mouth right now I am going to be soo disgusted." All I can think of is all of this is so ridiculous that it needs to be documented in photos. To which I ask Sara as she is now sitting half passed out with her pants unbuttoned in the car "Can I take a picture of you right now?" And thus I did. Check out below. You can see the aftermath of our Taco Bell Barf-Fest (and yes that is what I named this meal in my WW tracker.)
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<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh24Qyeiariau-nngtFP3N7LNkYPlHuBW2Zzp0a5uDbqfdeiBP5Q9QLbCmHuypaGKgNw1NgLopMlwP176H9hlMNFmI1nZXqa5zNDZ-ESyVudKTzHfOkX3A4aUDgbqF7fgUCtPQ1fW3O-DgY/s1600/saravom.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 205px; height: 273px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh24Qyeiariau-nngtFP3N7LNkYPlHuBW2Zzp0a5uDbqfdeiBP5Q9QLbCmHuypaGKgNw1NgLopMlwP176H9hlMNFmI1nZXqa5zNDZ-ESyVudKTzHfOkX3A4aUDgbqF7fgUCtPQ1fW3O-DgY/s200/saravom.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5648281801721146130" border="0" /></a>
<br />This is Sara looking particularly ready to hurl.
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<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1QpD9k2JEfefa8tg65CK3YCfDYD459WcuvrCAfVDPLSpO0PKWhSUf2ZmkS0Rfu4Af4KwyXfsNK8o2TLEWGFNPbGqfqsD4VhIdo0xdquAQDfVOIQgkTKgcJKZAUW3Fv6PFqT28PxLE7Obs/s1600/sarapants.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1QpD9k2JEfefa8tg65CK3YCfDYD459WcuvrCAfVDPLSpO0PKWhSUf2ZmkS0Rfu4Af4KwyXfsNK8o2TLEWGFNPbGqfqsD4VhIdo0xdquAQDfVOIQgkTKgcJKZAUW3Fv6PFqT28PxLE7Obs/s200/sarapants.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5648282387719278370" border="0" /></a>
<br />Let's face it this picture needs no caption.
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<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBaaBaBFZXiwZ5AH2jFZoyZu2erKgqorDKKxnF1PN3md4iOfiaGFfegETpOwTFo5GvDcisbzQAX1B0xMzFcshJvPGPlPe7TMedu0e3u0qgWqEZWBhQIB4M3BLzKBZsIM4Ud9gvnwW7VggX/s1600/mevomit"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBaaBaBFZXiwZ5AH2jFZoyZu2erKgqorDKKxnF1PN3md4iOfiaGFfegETpOwTFo5GvDcisbzQAX1B0xMzFcshJvPGPlPe7TMedu0e3u0qgWqEZWBhQIB4M3BLzKBZsIM4Ud9gvnwW7VggX/s200/mevomit" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5648282954963805298" border="0" /></a>
<br />And yes. My pants are unbuttoned.
<br />Sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12854725643001083576noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4163575430325346170.post-87354715957788092252011-07-25T12:33:00.000-07:002011-07-25T12:57:12.519-07:00The Accidental JogSo I will make this one short and sweet. If you don't want to die, don't jog in really hot weather. <br /><br />I don't ever follow my own rules, so here is how this one goes:<br /><br />I was trying to figure out a way to make my puppy tired because she always looks at me like this:<br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhit8Ep4nfd24DOjjund5ixiRVNfFaueX7ksi-n_fbGZyP6GFjQVjE-k55YmjwzYj8ceT2fKGsTarAEU0I7VcFz4tvIMKLaHPnDM5m6t5a55WGdetKv9ADr0PHrKyRxyYstPExXzldpJf-c/s1600/Olive2.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 168px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhit8Ep4nfd24DOjjund5ixiRVNfFaueX7ksi-n_fbGZyP6GFjQVjE-k55YmjwzYj8ceT2fKGsTarAEU0I7VcFz4tvIMKLaHPnDM5m6t5a55WGdetKv9ADr0PHrKyRxyYstPExXzldpJf-c/s200/Olive2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5633376076846797954" /></a><br /><br />And I wanted her <br />to look like this: <br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPJWeZTJOLJtwfhPPSkAXXNam67C0DHsvi2AclE3RsZeos2u6NZaTS7VYhXew3oAbzpJgRJ3fzNq8knOnPra_3GhZ5xb1s59MOkbMVWVWYsIMlbvfbFma2i63U3Kv9WnAoDKpCxp7PAJvY/s1600/Olive3.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 122px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPJWeZTJOLJtwfhPPSkAXXNam67C0DHsvi2AclE3RsZeos2u6NZaTS7VYhXew3oAbzpJgRJ3fzNq8knOnPra_3GhZ5xb1s59MOkbMVWVWYsIMlbvfbFma2i63U3Kv9WnAoDKpCxp7PAJvY/s200/Olive3.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5633376264892439394" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />In any case, that lead me outside on Saturday at 2pm right around the time you would consider frying an egg on your own car. So we started walking through the trails (I had geared up in workout clothes only to avoid getting my regular clothes sweaty) and in no time I realized Olive was not anywhere close to tired. <br /><br />And then something happened.... I started jogging. It wasn't on purpose but simply in an effort to tire my pup out quickly. And then I was jogging some more and before I knew it I was in a full blown work out. What was I thinking?!?! It was a gagillion degrees outside?!?! I wanted to punch myself but had zero energy to do so. By the time I started back home I was at the point of dehydration and considered licking a puddle. <br /><br />When my tingly body finally got back to my house I was looking rough. I happened to notice my face was a separate shade of red then the rest of my body and I felt like I could spontaneously combust. As you can see here, I was at the very least trying to remain positive:<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihOgM47KK1vrW705fTPuKbBJiygesYeFFtTRyioLUm4Q42QayaxTSLXEKwRtSb1DZ6inLaIdV_kVcHcISizoMDGEtkjkRqHMGsZg48dgUG6pxoANQd_T4XumL03HtY9lcjh818ThryTK0l/s1600/sweatysara.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihOgM47KK1vrW705fTPuKbBJiygesYeFFtTRyioLUm4Q42QayaxTSLXEKwRtSb1DZ6inLaIdV_kVcHcISizoMDGEtkjkRqHMGsZg48dgUG6pxoANQd_T4XumL03HtY9lcjh818ThryTK0l/s200/sweatysara.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5633378129341621682" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />What ended up happening was delirium set in.... I cannot recall much after this last photo, but I am pretty sure it involved me running around my house with no clothes on and taking the longest straight cold shower I had ever had:<br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqis2Ay_IbYyzOJDzhCiZjSKcfKDW3Mdj22jZ6ywEgEHqwfTl3Qsp9PrDXMck5O8owm2-dTv2o_amvDl2LyPiovARU9qwwEfSOQkwnAju3A3-kepD60eZLJjZmo0tLBTAubj1m5t1ovaNR/s1600/sweatysara2.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 156px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqis2Ay_IbYyzOJDzhCiZjSKcfKDW3Mdj22jZ6ywEgEHqwfTl3Qsp9PrDXMck5O8owm2-dTv2o_amvDl2LyPiovARU9qwwEfSOQkwnAju3A3-kepD60eZLJjZmo0tLBTAubj1m5t1ovaNR/s200/sweatysara2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5633378521950840546" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />So! Lesson learned.... it would have been easier to sniff a Sharpie a few times to reach that type of bodily malfunction.Sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12854725643001083576noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4163575430325346170.post-44824098228032875202011-07-06T10:25:00.000-07:002011-07-06T10:56:41.524-07:00Hot as Balls YogaI mean hot bikram yoga. Ok so thanks to living social I let my friend Meghan convince me to join her for the deal of a lifetime! 5 classes of hot bikram yoga for $25 smackers. <br /><br />Now for those of you that may not be familiar with this form of yoga, it is basically regular yoga in a room that is 105 degrees...... for 90 minutes. I'm not gonna lie, I failed to read that last part, so it was to my delight in an already hot room to find out I would be in there for over an hour. Yeesh. <br /><br />So I went out with some friends the night before and like a good girl, I avoided drinking. The truth was I was so paranoid I would keel over and die, so I wanted to make sure I didn't reak of booze when it happened. Coincidentally I had an asthma attack that very evening for the first time in perhaps a decade after battling it out on the dance floor with 3 guys who were egging me on. Due to my state of sober, I participated to keep myself amused only to immediately regret all the showing off I did approximately 5 minutes after it ended (this was after I had to convince the main character to put me down in his attempt to out do me by picking me up off the ground.... if we have met, you know that is a huge no no for me). <br /><br />In any case, I now had this lingering feeling that my asthma attack was Jesus's way of telling me to stay out of that hot room. I should listen to Him right? As I have done too many times before, I clearly did not take Jesus's sign to stay away and I participated anyhow. Ugh. <br /><br />So Meghan and I get in the room, and at first, not so bad... very smelly, but not bad. I will say though after about 10 minutes I was left wondering why we went in so soon, clearly we had another 10 minutes before it got started. Then we begin. I can say that the very first thing I did which was put my arms over my head, I began to get dizzy and started seeing spots. WTF?!?! How the hell was I gonna make it through 90 minutes if I can't put my arms over my head after 10! Good gracious, fortunately I bounced back and Meghan and I trucked along slowly. We certainly weren't any yoga masters and had to take pauses here and there, but us out of shape ladies managed to NOT exit the room and stick it out for the entire session. Amazeballs. Truthfully, I would have felt just as bad had I done no yoga at all and just sat there in that crazy room. <br /><br />I have never sweat that much in my life. My shins sweat, my toes and my forearms. Yeah.... all places you wouldn't think that would happen. I was one slippery beast after it was done. We took our red sweaty asses out to the lobby to chill and I pulled out a snack. Meghan promptly looked at me and asked if we could head to the car. Fine by me! I'm ready to get in the..... hooooaaahhhhh.....Meghan projectile vomits on the sidewalk. Oh shizzzz! Here it comes again... hoooaaahhhh.... in the grass. <br /><br />She looks back at me and hands me her things as she begins to stumble to the car. "Well I hope... hooooaaaahhhhh..... this doesn't deter you from ..... hoooaaaahhhh.... doing this with me again." <br /><br />No Meghan. It doesn't. :)Sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12854725643001083576noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4163575430325346170.post-3696446842969543992011-06-16T08:51:00.000-07:002011-06-16T09:58:06.067-07:00Plyo...medic!I am currently typing this blog while trying to stay as still as humanly possible. Any slight move to the left or right is not an option. Not. An. Option.<br /><br />How did I get this way you ask? One word. Plyometrics. <br /><br />So I have been working out with my sister every Monday, I conveniently chose to do the easiest work outs on her set of p90x dvds because I'm a wimp. And frankly, no real person should look like that instructor.... no one. <br /><br />So we normally work out our arms, abs or core which sounds like a lot but at this point several weeks in it has become bearable. So all during this process we have been discussing the plyometrics dvd that apparently no one wants to do with her since it is like Chuck Norris on crack. Lots of jumping, kicking, leaping... you name it. I however, like a total stupid idiot went a little crazy this past weekend due to a birthday party and felt the need to punish myself. I shot off the the text that would change my week forever "I think I'll join you for Plyo this week!" Duh dah duhhhhh.<br /><br />She pounced on me in no time, "Awwww Sheeyat dude, you in for trouble then." I mean this is my sister, we grew up together (thank you captain obvious) this couldn't be any worse than the time when we were kids and she ran to the recliner when I was chasing her and plopped down, threw her legs in the air as I was still running towards her, and kicked me right in the kisser. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmDgVzSLLVPSMWUpEKplFIQIbEpuSdzMigwRQaDjM0GOENwpLFzQVvSRjwRjDkQ4cOD2dAatN6PW8cRoDDkfR4DCEBCA19kZJeZ3f9LIzYRPYXpjHrmxrc-qJpP0zDWpJh_y-aKxImUVeR/s1600/kickedinface.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 149px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmDgVzSLLVPSMWUpEKplFIQIbEpuSdzMigwRQaDjM0GOENwpLFzQVvSRjwRjDkQ4cOD2dAatN6PW8cRoDDkfR4DCEBCA19kZJeZ3f9LIzYRPYXpjHrmxrc-qJpP0zDWpJh_y-aKxImUVeR/s200/kickedinface.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5618855025922670946" /></a><br /><br />Wrong.<br /><br /><br />So I went over there and we got started. The warm up finished and frankly I felt like I was finished too. But I continued. I am not sure at this point whether or not it was my need to keep up with my sister that provoked me to finish or that I actually was doing good, so I kept going. Maybe both, but either way I would regret it for the rest of the week. At one point I was kicking in the air and nearly fell over on to my sister and repaid her the favor from 2 decades earlier. After I "leaped" over the river several times and sweat went directly in to my mouth and eye ball, I was over it. For the record, neither of those things feels or tastes good. <br /><br />I opted not to lay still for to long for fear of not being able to get up and I can honestly say that after two days... the moral of this story is:<br />Call your sister and ask her to just kick you in the face. You would feel better by now.Sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12854725643001083576noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4163575430325346170.post-33573233897662305122011-06-08T05:58:00.000-07:002011-06-08T13:20:18.992-07:00Attack of the 40 year old man.Ok folks its been a tough one, so I have to write cautiously as to not to let my bitterness of not losing any weight in the last month spill over into my blog. Is it working?<br /><br />As I continue to jog regularly, with or without my lazy dog Olive (motivated only to run into Luigi again, see previous blog) I had a fun little encounter as I paused to put my hair up. All of the sudden I hear honking, and I look up and see two grown men sitting in a car they should have bought 20 years ago. <br /><br />Exhibit A:<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQVEVjBODLaRyVova6h0gmR_U2JDcqXMJfsSZGmy6TvEeA4ZNoO4GZTies6rxOSQwZ2ml35psFL47IzhMzSDcT9LRmUDDcWSOoe5-n56dFZiESnl8ndrXKhgk94e51_m56AlTGUrlu1dof/s1600/midlife-crisis-1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQVEVjBODLaRyVova6h0gmR_U2JDcqXMJfsSZGmy6TvEeA4ZNoO4GZTies6rxOSQwZ2ml35psFL47IzhMzSDcT9LRmUDDcWSOoe5-n56dFZiESnl8ndrXKhgk94e51_m56AlTGUrlu1dof/s200/midlife-crisis-1.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5615838080705931266" /></a><br /><br />Let me please set the tone: I jog in Sligo Creek Park, which for those who are unfamiliar is a quiet path that runs through my neighborhood. Any time there is street close enough to the path, you certainly would not need a horn to get someones attention because it is quieter than that section in the library where you aren't even allowed to breath. <br /><br />So to my confusion I look up startled, as clearly being short of breath had deprived oxygen to my brain at this point. They looked at me and began whistling and shouting. Yes. Whistling and shouting. Did I mention it was 10am on a Sunday? We are not in Ocean City, where are your manors?! So I dissolved the situation the only way I knew now. I quickly looked down at my dog and pointed at her, then with my best Oscar worthy performance I looked at her in shock and then back to the gentlemen in the tiny car, "Her?! I know she is quite the sexy beast isn't she!" My dog looked at me panting as usual with a face that can only be described as "are we done yet?", the men however were not amused at my antics and drove off at a speed which caused them to sound like their car was going to topple over the bridge as they took off. <br /><br />Lesson learned? Maybe in ten more pounds I will get someone 10 years younger. This isn't my first encounter with the 40 year old man. It is a species that is still foreign to me, and while I would like to consider one for sugar daddy purposes, I don't think that realistically I can maintain that sort of lifestyle (I'm pretty sure trophy wives don't get away with wearing their chuck taylor's on a regular basis). I do realize that eventually I will have to stop using the term "you are old enough to be my father" since that would be really gross at the age of ten, and start excepting the silver foxes of the world. <br /><br /><br />But not yet.Sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12854725643001083576noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4163575430325346170.post-34436156003575338172011-05-28T11:41:00.000-07:002011-05-28T12:25:02.689-07:00So now we give bravo stickers for gaining weight?!Its official. I have hit a wall. I knew at some point in this journey I was going to get angry at this system and I would boil over to the point of attempting to cut someone. That day is today. I had a feeling going into today's weigh in that I wasn't going to loose anything. But thats something we say to ourselves so that when we do loose weight we can be really excited. Except for when we don't loose anything. Ugh. I would like to point out that I am a very angry, hungry person who also recently quit a bad habit not related to food, so all in all am ready to kick a baby. <br /><br />So with that said having today's meeting be about adding exercise to your week made me even more heated. Add exercise??? Add exercise??? When?!?!?!?! I am working out almost every day you bastards!!! Ok sorry... I digress. At one point in the meeting we all talk about scale or non-scale victories and the leader acknowledges them with stupid stickers. (I will say when I am in a better mood I am happy to accept these stickers).<br /><br />So a girl raises her hand and give this long speech about how she had a cake decorator as a friend and had a cookout, blah blah blah, then "so I am proud cause I only gained .4 pounds!" Then everyone proceeds to clap. You can tell I have past the point of no return when "so we are giving bravo stickers for gaining weight now?" comes out of my mouth. I meant this isn't Weight Gainers lady. Harsh?? Sure. But you try doing zero exercise and eat negative one healthy foods and completely turn that around and be in a good mood when you loose zero. Ahhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!!!!<br /><br />Ok so to get out some of this aggression I decided to go for a a jog with my dog. Something happened!!! A very cute italian man jogged by me (shirtless of course) who I have seen before. We will call the shirtless runner Luigi, since I have no clue what his name actually is. I awkwardly oogle him since he put it out there and then, Luigi looks at me a smiles while jogging the other direction "hey i've seen you before." I laugh like a doof, "Yeah".... thats all that came out of my mouth. Since I took his statement to actually mean "I'd like to make out with you" I suppose I found it hard to reply. <br /><br />Its amazing what a very attractive shirtless man will do for the soul. In fact where the hell is that book?!?! Screw chicken soup.Sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12854725643001083576noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4163575430325346170.post-87891897507024756062011-05-24T11:20:00.000-07:002011-05-27T08:23:01.588-07:00Boogie Down the Pounds!<div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#660000;">So in an effort to keep us motivated I decided that for a rainy day at Audrey's house I would pick up some workout dvd's since walking wasn't really an option. I had every intention of getting serious workout dvd's until I stumbled across this gem... Richard Simmon's Boogie Down the Pounds. The disco workout dvd. Jamming to 70's top musical hits. What. A. Find.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#660000;"><br /></span></div><div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 283px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJujCu7kgO6AgO6crzyWBeCVfFaYOpGnYj_L1oRxqkbRyecqzaBUVr1Roj3eV2B2MLNbCGdD_ZrGvPKO8sU2CYfC3nODpP9gDR8U-VuM5Og0V5H-aT4wMg3XCbueSau2rqPbC93pw7m2Y/s320/boogie.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5611165862735718850" /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#660000;"><br /><br />So I kept it a secret from Audrey since I wanted her to still be friends with me. Well I shouldn't have been so surprised to see how excited she was to participate... I mean, its Audrey. Duh.<br /><br />So we start the dvd and at first we are slightly confused, Richard stumbles across his friends on the street who just happened to be standing outside of this building, that they all happen to walk inside of that is pitch black, then the lights start to fade on and you see disco balls and then poof!!!! We are working out.<br /><br />Thats right... his friends didn't change clothes. Poof! working out. I'm talking full make up, some earrings, jeans or dress pants working out. How does one work out in such attire? We quickly realized that we were either really really in our element, or so far out of it we can't even see the element. On one hand this gave us both motivation that this workout will be easy. On the other hand, we just jazzed hands towards the tv and Richard told us how proud and happy he was we were there, so it could be a little bit of both.<br /><br />There isn't enough blog available to describe this workout. Thats all I can really say. I have a feeling Audrey would like to say a few words since she had such a fun time 'diva-ing' this dvd out. Audrey?<br /></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#6600CC;">O.M.G. Richard Simmons nearly killed me. When Sara revealed what her mysterious purchase was I was immediately excited. I thought "how can this NOT be fun?!"<br /><br />How wrong I was! I had no idea doing Richard's "showgirl" move or his disco dance would so throughly kick my ass. By the middle of the DVD (that's right it was DVD not a VHS!) all I could think was "Fuck you and your little shorts Richard Simmons." (vulgar language is completely appropriate for this occasion).<br /><br />If I been doing this by myself I would have quit during the boogie down the pounds version of Barry Manilow's Mandy but Sara made me finish it. Needless to say there was quite a bit of flailing happening on my part so I may have done more damage and good through my Richard Simmons work out as my back really hurt like a mother...</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#6600CC;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#6600CC;">Despite all this, there is a good chance Boogie Down the Pounds will happen again. Let's face it I'm a glutton for punishment... (and also our next post will be about our venture to a "Latin Heat" class that made Richard's work out look PRE-TTY good in comparison....)<br /></span><br /><br /><br /><br /></div></div>Sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12854725643001083576noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4163575430325346170.post-54860231061266779532011-05-13T10:43:00.000-07:002011-05-27T08:25:05.194-07:00Genes and Collard GreensWell hello everyone! <br /><br />Audrey and I have been off losing so much weight we didn't have time to blog :) Okay thats not the truth, but we have been loosing weight! Rather than jinx our amazeballs progress, we will keep those numbers a secret for now... Unless of course you've been within earshot of me as I have been broadcasting my numbers the minute I step off the scale.(Sorry to those who have been subject to my constant announcement, I am clearly just in shock).<br /><br />So I pondered whether or not I should try and catch you up on all the things that have happened since poor Audrey's pumpkin bread mishap. Instead I would rather just tell you about our most recent meeting. The meeting when things got real.... <br /><br />Yes, Audrey and I were aware that at some point during our chubby people AA meetings that someone, somewhere would stop making jokes about their need to eat poorly and in fact turn into debbie downers. Well.... it happened. I have to say I felt quite badly for the older woman who began to talk about her dislike of herself. But then.... like a ray of light someone interrupted. <br /><br />"I just tell people that I get my bottom from genes and collard greens." Thank you. Thank you slightly insensitive woman with a big mouth. You have pulled me out of the suction of sadness and reminded me that I need to work on some sort of rhyme for myself. Although, genes and Popeyes just doesn't have the same ring to it.Sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12854725643001083576noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4163575430325346170.post-68808803614885053842011-04-25T06:11:00.000-07:002011-04-25T06:59:29.951-07:00Fireworks.So it's been a rough week and Easter certainly didn't help. Audrey and I somehow managed to get up for our Saturday WW meeting after dancing around all night with Madonna and Lady Gaga impersonators for her birthday. I felt like I was living on the edge as my Saturday activities included getting up early to brush my teeth really well to try and impress my dentist (you know you do it too) for my 8:30am appointment with him then back to my AA meeting for chubby people at 10am. <br /><br />Early in the week I attempted to work out again which this time included swimming with my cousin, but due to my sprained ankle and her pregnancy we were somewhere in between flailing shark victim and floating 80 year old woman. <br /><br />So we sit through our regular meeting and at the end of every meeting there is a time for celebrating anyone's accomplishments on or off the scale. This is usually the time frame in which I dread. Not because you have to speak up but because they do this strange thing called fireworks. When someone has a really good weight loss week or they hit a goal and mention it during the meeting, the instructor usually turns to the group and says "what do you think, does this deserve fireworks?" In my head I'm thinking no you crazy B, we are inside a building... until I learned what it was and then I really wished that she had set off fireworks inside the building instead. <br /><br />Everyone in the group in unison goes "OOOOooooooo AAaaahhhhhhhh!" Yes. We ooo and aahhhh at people when they do well. Except it always feels fake like the person next to you is really thinking "Bitch I wish that were me I haven't eaten Popeyes in a week and a half!..... ahem I mean ooooooo ahhhhhhhhhh, congratulations!" (not pulling from personal thoughts or anything) I can't even bring myself to do it yet. (Although, I caught Audrey's mouth moving the last time... I can't decide whether to give her credit for participating, or make fun of her because that's what we do). <br /><br />I thought to myself, what if I just started ooooooing and ahhhhhhing at people when they told me things about themselves, or even a story maybe. For some reason I think this activity could get the crap kicked out of me, or possibly shanked. Think about it, if you came up to tell me about your day and how you just got laid off or something and then I went "OOooooo Aahhhhhhh." [Insert punch in the face right here].<br /><br />SOoooooo why in the lord's name is it acceptable at this meeting? Can't we just clap, what the hell happened to clapping? I personally think this group could use every activity point we can get so why not lift our hands up and clap them together to congratulate someone on their success? While I have yet to unravel this mystery, I intend on making it clear at next week's meeting that I refuse to firework someone, I will however let you know how it goes when I start doing it to my friends.Sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12854725643001083576noreply@blogger.com1