It all comes down to the shoes, pt. 2

Remember how I said new shoes would make my life better? How they would affect my outward appearance, help me get ahead in life and magically get me a promotion? That was a joke. Shoes don’t have those kinds of magical powers. However…

I just got a promotion. I’m now the managing editor at my company.

It’s possible that this promotion was the result of good fortune. Or a few lucky occurrences. Or some old-fashioned hard work. But I’m going with the magic shoes. New shoes, I will never doubt your powers again.

Hot

Wow, is Chris a lucky guy or what?

Some random observations from the past few days

After spending two weeks house/dog sitting and eating nothing but junk food, I gained three pounds. Shocking.

I did the cycling portion of a triathalon relay with my mom on Sunday in the pouring rain. I got soaked. In fact, two days later, my shoes are still not dry. Anyone know how to dry out gym shoes? Anyway, I did 14 miles in 53 minutes. You'd think that in a torrential downpour, I would have cycled a little faster than that. Oh well.

After the triathalon and a bridal shower that afternoon, I went to Dave's Sunday night to watch a professional wrestling pay-per-view. (Never thought I'd type "triathalon" "bridal shower" and "professional wrestling" in one sentence). It's been a few years since I've watched pro wrestling, and now I'm bummed that I've missed so much. How could I have forgotten about the drama? The amazing costumes? The baseball bats wrapped in barbed wire?

The Cubs lost as predicted last night. But on the bright side, I got to hang out with my buddy Candace, who I haven't seen in almost a year. Here's a little bit of Sarah history: I met Candace while working at Super Crown Books, where I also met Dave, and I got the job there through my friend Kyle, who is now married to HollyRhea. Got that?

I just saw Brett Favre at the mall. He was there promoting Sensodyne. I was surprised to notice that he has really tan legs, but in an orange-Oompa-Loompa-Jessica-Simpson-fake-tan sort of way. I was also surprised to notice that he's kind of a small guy. It sort of made me feel bad for the way he got crushed by the Bears defense last year, but then I realized that this guy uses fake tanner, so he totally deserved it.

At least it's baseball

Anyone want to join me and Chris tonight to watch the Cubs get beat by the Brewers? We bought tickets for tonight's game back in the spring when they went on sale, and then we kind of forgot about them. Anyway, if you're interested, let me know.

Blah

I am feeling blah. I want to nap. No wait ... first, I want to have a few 7&7s, then I want to nap. Then I want to take a week or two off work. And during those two weeks, I want to do nothing. No working from home. No wedding planning. No housework. Nothing. Maybe go to the gym, and the pool. I really want to go swimming. But I want to kick everyone else out of the immediate area so I don't have to be seen in a bathing suit in public. Then a soak in a hot tub would be nice. And a few more 7&7s. Then maybe another nap.

Then, after a day of swimming and soaking and drinking and doing nothing, I want to go out to dinner. And then go to some club and see some band. Then I want to go home and pass out.

And repeat. Everyday. For at least two weeks. Maybe longer.

I see none of these things happening in the near future. So I'll just keep on feeling....blah.

Helsinki Calling

Ever been having a perfectly normal conversation with your parents about Craigslist, when suddenly your dad mentions that, oh by the way, they're thinking about moving for Scandinavia for a few years? Because I have.

Turns out my dad might have the option of transferring to Europe for a couple years. However, most of the opportunities through his company are in places like Finland and Norway. If they decide to go, which could be as early as January, Chris and I would move to my parents' house in the burbs until they get back. And my childhood home, with its giant kitchen, fenced-in backyard and multiple bathrooms, would solve our housing woes for a few years.

But still, Scandinavia?

Being alone is bad for my health

I’ve never been one of those people that had to be with someone, or one of those girls who totally changed once she got a boyfriend. When I was single (oh my, it’s been four years since I was last unattached), I was perfectly happy. And since I’ve been with Chris, I feel like I’m still me. I don’t feel like I’ve changed all that much. However, I recently realized that while living with Chris for the past few years, I’ve fallen into some habits … some healthy habits.

For the past week I’ve been house/dog sitting for my aunt and uncle. Meanwhile Chris has been at home taking care of Rosie. So, for the past week, we haven’t seen each other. When I first agreed to house/dog sit, both Chris and I were looking forward to a little vacation away from each other. It’s not that we don’t get along. But rather, occasionally it’s nice to be alone for a while, you know?

Anyway, not living with Chris for a week has meant that I’ve had to cook for myself. Generally, I’m not a bad cook, but Chris does most of the cooking. He enjoys cooking, and I enjoy eating, so it all works out. Typically, he makes me chicken or salmon, salad and vegetables.

Now, I should have used this week to learn to cook healthy things for myself. My aunt and uncle have a well-stocked house. I mean, they have every kind of food imaginable, and lots of it. They do all of their grocery shopping at Costco, so they buy everything in bulk. And by “bulk,” I mean they’ve got about 40 cans of tomatoes and 20 boxes of Nutri-Grain bars in their pantry, just to name a few items. So, with every possible ingredient at my disposal, what have I whipped up for dinner this week? Donuts and American cheese.

Everyday I get home from work starving, and I immediately scarf down a few donut gems and raid the awesome, plastic, American-cheese-dispenser thing they have. Then I eat dinner. My diet has gotten progressively worse over the past five days. This is what I’ve had for dinner for the past week:

Monday: Tuna salad sandwich. Three slices of American cheese.
Tuesday: Bowl of Frosted Flakes. Doritos. Two slices of American cheese.
Wednesday: Half a Home Run Inn frozen pizza. Two donut gems. Two slices of American cheese.
Thursday: Two donut gems. Three slices of American cheese. 7Up.

If you can believe it, I had a bit of a stomach ache Thursday night after my donut-cheese ritual, so I didn’t eat dinner and drank a 7Up instead.

On the other side of town, Chris hasn’t been doing much better. Apparently, he only likes to cook when he’s cooking for someone else. When he’s just cooking for himself, he reverts to bad habits as well. In fact, I’m pretty sure he had frozen pizza almost every night this week, but last night I think he made himself a sandwich. Good job, honey.

Thankfully, Chris will be joining me at my aunt and uncle’s next week, so hopefully we’ll start eating like normal again. But first, we have to make it though this Saturday when we have our wedding cake appointment. Because there’s no better way to reward yourself for a week of cheese, donut and pizza-eating than multiple slices of chocolate cake.

Let’s hope after all this, I still fit in my wedding dress.

Torture

Sometimes when I need a break from work, I search through Craigslist looking at condos. This is torture. We won’t be able to afford a condo for a while. In fact, I found this cool mortgage calculator online, and based on our income and debt load, we can afford either a) a closet in our neighborhood, or b) a spacious three-bedroom home in Crackville.

I love my current apartment. It’s got the sweet wall design. It’s in a great neighborhood. My neighbors are a little weird, but overall I’m pretty happy there. But sometimes squeezing me, Chris and our 100-pound Rottweiler into our one-bedroom apartment gets a little frustrating. Two bedrooms would be nice. Two bathrooms would be even nicer. Having a kitchen that Chris and I could both stand in at same time would be amazing. But such a place in our neighborhood (or any other neighborhood we’d want to live) in our price range doesn’t exist.

This apartment is actually the smallest one we’ve lived in. It’s also the most expensive. Chris and I have a habit of paying more in rent while losing space. Our first apartment in Syracuse was a huge two-flat. It had an in-eat kitchen, two bedrooms, a full dining room and living room, and free laundry. Our neighbors/landlords were a little crazy (the husband tried making himself wings out of an old tent in the basement. Seriously.) But the rent was dirt cheap and the apartment was beautiful, so we were happy.

But eventually we decided we wanted a dog, and the landlords wouldn’t allow pets. So we moved out of our sweet, cheap apartment and got a much smaller, more expensive apartment that allowed pets, all so we could get Rosie. But really, can you blame us?


But eventually, we decided that we wanted to be back in the Midwest. So, after spending a few months living with my parents, we found our current apartment. It’s half the size of our first place and more than twice the rent. And so, I spend my breaks looking at condos we can’t afford, at least not now. Someday we’ll be able to buy a place, and hopefully it’ll have a big kitchen, at least two bedrooms and maybe even a little yard for Rosie. But until then, I’ll just keep torturing myself.

So Long Howie

Last week, I sold my baby. He was only 7 years old. He was a good baby. He only acted up a few times. He didn’t eat much. He was always willing to pitch in and lend a helping hand. But I needed the money, and I couldn’t afford daycare. So I sold him and traded him in for this:



I am a horrible mother.

Here’s a picture of my baby a few weeks before I sold him.



Poor little guy. I took him to the car wash and fed him expensive city gas and loved him and adored him. We spent some quality time together, which is something we hadn’t done in awhile. He had no idea I was just making him look nice before selling him.

Then last week, I took him on his favorite ride – the one from Chicago to Missouri. We sped along 55 and zoomed past Springfield and filled up just past the state line, just like we used to do. We flew down the foothills of the Ozarks and gasped for breath on the way back up. It was just like the good old days, and we sang along to Screeching Weasel and the Indigo Girls and Bob Dylan. And the whole time he had no idea that this would be our last trip, that he wouldn’t be with me for the ride back.

I’m so sorry baby.

I made sure I found Howie a good home in Kansas City, a place where he’ll fit in better. Up here, most trucks are commercial vehicles. But down in Missouri, Howie will be able to meet other non-commercial recreational vehicles. His new owner is going to take him on trips to the lake, where he’ll help transport a new jet ski. That’s the kind of stuff Howie was made for. I just know he’ll be happier down there. Plus, his new owner said he’s going to buy him some new shoes, something I hadn’t done since the day he was born.

Hear that baby? New shoes!

Because I know his new owner, I’ll be able to visit Howie whenever I’m in KC. And they might even make a trip back up I-70 and 55 again to visit me in Chicago. But I know it won’t be the same. I just hope Howie knows I’ll never forget him. I hope he knows that I cried when I sold him, that I miss him and often think back on the 81,000 miles we shared together. I’ll always remember how he helped me move from Chicago to Columbia, and back again, and from Chicago to Syracuse, and back again.

I’ll never forget the day I brought him home when he was only 11 miles old. I’ll never forget the times he carried my bike or carried my laundry or carried my friends. I’ll never forget the trip we took to Canada or the years we lived in New York or the adventures we had in between. Remember when we got stuck in the snow in my parking lot in Syracuse, and Matt had to push us out with his SUV? Remember when we transported Scott, Aaron, Phil and Jared (Chase’s favorite roommates) across town in the back, under the tarp, lying down? Remember how we made really sharp turns that trip?



Remember how I decided to name you after my grandpa for some reason? Remember when we took Roy’s old couch to the Salvation Army, and they rejected it, so we drove it all over Columbia until I talked Ross and Alex into taking it? Remember how we used to cruise around Syracuse looking for the next Eyesore of the Week, and we often got chased away by angry neighbors? Remember how you had a bench seat, which forced all my friends to sit as close to the front of the car as I did?

I’ll always remember our good times and even the bad ones (transmission going out at 45,000 miles, battery dying in drugstore parking lot, a whole lot of fishtailing during Upstate New York winters). But good times or bad, Howie will always be my first baby (I never actually owned Beluga).

I’ll always remember the way Howie’s tailgate sounds when it’s dropped, the way I’d breathe in the summer breeze through the rear-sliding window, the way I always felt like such a tough chick because I owned a truck.

So I hope Howie realizes I loved him and that it was only after a lot of soul searching that I decided to sell him. I hope he realizes that even though I will enjoy using the money I got for him to pay off some credit card debt, and I will love not having to pay car insurance bills, and that taking public transportation to work and not having to buy gas ever makes me unbelievably happy, that I will still miss him.

Howie, you were a good little truck. For seven years you were part of my identity, and that's not an easy thing to let go.

Happy trails.

London calling

Which country should you REALLY be living in?

The United Kingdom

You have pride in yourself and pride in your country. You believe that history and culture is an important factor to the future of your country, and that traditions and values should be upheld. You love your scones and tea, and reading soppy romance novels. The UK is where you should be...

Click Here to Take This Quiz
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I'm not surprised, but I was hoping to be an Aussie. And I totally don't read soppy romance novels.

Blogrolling my way into your heart

Considering two of my linked bloggers only post once a month (ahem Dave, Dan) and one of my other links completely disappeared (thanks a lot Ross), I've decided to update my blogroll.

So have a look or two, read some blogs, avoid some work, quickly minimize when your boss walks by, reopen, repeat.