Jelly Belly Belly

I could be plugging along eating jelly beans...pear, buttered popcorn, root beer, lemon, coffee, pina colada...

and then - like suddenly falling off a cliff...CHERRY. Medicine Cherry. Nasty, disgusting, fresh with your momma Cherry. Dirty foul-mouthed platinum blonde hooker Cherry. Bitchslap Cherry.

I run for water, soda, anything to cut that taste - I roll on the floor, stop drop and roll, still it invades my senses - CHERRY CHERRY CHERRY, ungulfed in that nasty taste until I faint in horror.

When I come to, I begin again... strawberry, mandarin orange, vanilla bean, coconut, lemon-lime...

and then WATERMELON. Sickly sweet gritty gag-reflex Watermelon. Car Salesman Watermelon. Carpet-licking Watermelon.

Gag, choke, what's the universal sign for choking? too late...then ...whoops, there she goes fainting again.

Too much unconsciousness. THAT's why I don't eat Jelly Beans.

Go Go Gadget Flute

See, if they let me play like THIS in band, I might have kept up with my flute lessons.



Wowsers.

Brown paper packages tied up with string....

There are a few things in this world that just by seeing them...they make me smile. Here are a few of my favorite things.

Cats in sailor hats. Always Funny.









This photo of my friend Bill.
























The cast of Manimal.



















Drive thru Baskin Robbins where a single man in a convertible gets a triple scoop cone and is allowed to continue driving while eating it.























Harry Potter sexy costumes.

























People that put a lot of effort into odd things.

















Night Court.














Pastrami on Rye from Canters Deli.












This cute guy from match.com that I should have emailed but didn't.
















Ferris in the Shower



















The OK GO Treadmill Video.











Bitter valentine hearts








And last, but certainly not least...MacGyver.

NonCafSoyhalfsugarfreeNoCalNoWhip Coffee

So, not to get all girly, but I am on a diet, and I'm trying to only eat sugar-free or reduced calorie things.

I always order a coffee at starbucks, and I get non-fat and sugar free. Today I was super hungry, so I also got a piece of sugar free banana bread.

I get back to my office to find that the coffee tastes more 'milky' and sure enough, per their scribblings on the side, it's FULL fat. I open my bread, and see that it's the FULL calorie banana bread.

Now, yes, I can hear you all now - I shouldn't be getting coffee and bread at all or going to starbucks at all if I'm on a diet, and I agree with you. Blah blah blah, you're all right, I'm wrong, get off my back.

That being said, I can only assume by their sabotage of my diet efforts that Starbucks Corp wants me to have a badonkadonk butt. And muffin top. At the SAME TIME.

So I called Starbucks Corp in Seattle, and here's the transcript of our converation. I spoke with their receptionist, John.

SB: Starbucks Corporation, how can I direct your call?

ME: I'd like to talk to someone about getting fat.

SB: Excuse me?

ME: Fat. You're trying to make me fat.

SB: Is this Sara?

ME: Yes.

SB: Hey girl. You're looking fine.

ME: huh?

SB: That's what I'm talkin' bout. Yeah...mmmm....

ME: Ok, You're weirding me out.

SB: You like that huh. Bad Girl. Bad girl with a muffin top. Yeah.

ME: Ew.

SB: You need more stuff to hold on to, if you know what I mean...

ME: I have no idea...

SB: You like that milky coffee today? I know you did. Mmmm...

ME: I don't think I can keep talking to you.

SB: I'm off at 5, Call me later.

ME: ok.

So I called later, and I won't be posting that transcript.

I'm heading to Starbucks this morning for another full fat latte. Maybe a donut. Or two.

Guy Love

In honor of Valentine's Day. May all your love affairs be as harmonizing and innuendo-filled.

The Gulf Between

Way back when I was in high school, a select few activist students planned a walk out to protest the recent gulf war.

I think we all thought it was a good idea, but weren't sure about the conscequences.

The day came, and the teachers were aware. However, the school made a formal announcement over loudspeakers, prohibiting students from leaving, and making it clear that faculty were not to encourage us in any way. As fearful seniors on the cusp of college, we were paralyzed for our own futures enough to let it sway us into attending class instead.

My parents, who took me to a nuclear protest at the age of 2 years old, would have avidly supported any said walk out, I was sure...but I didnt tell them none the less, nor did I plan on defying the all powerful prinicpal. It was the fear.

As we sheepishly sat in Physics and the bell rang, my teacher stood up in front of the class and said...

" I cannot condone the walk out. I have been told to do so would cause me to lose my job. However..."

He paused for dramatic effect...

"...My brother went to Vietnam."

He looked to the ceiling.

"And my brother died. And I didn't do anything."

To stunned silence, he covered his eyes with one hand, and flashed a peace sign with the other.

We sat still as stones.

"That means GO!" he said.

We, one by one, got up and left.

When the rest of the classes saw the crowd outside through the windows, they gathered up their courage and joined us. The entire school walked out.

We protested all day past the end of classes. We made picket signs with cheerleader paint that said "MAKE LOVE NOT WAR!" They said "NO DRAFT" and "HONK FOR PEACE." We held hands, made up songs, and chanted "Hell no, we wont go!" We stood on the Main Street corners and waved at cars, amazed and cheering every time one of those cars honked for peace. They were us, we were them, the generation divide overcome.

But at the end of the day, nobody really cared. Nobody got in trouble. Nothing was really done. The war in the gulf still went on, and we didn't stop it. But I guess we sort of felt better that we did something, instead of nothing.

I never told my parents that I walked out of school. I assume they read it in the paper like everyone else. I assume they were proud.

As were all the teachers. As school let out, all of our professors drove past, and every single one honked for peace.

But our physics teacher honked the loudest.

Lust in Space

On the subject of the female astronaut who attacked her rival for the affection of Mr. Two-timing Shuttle Captain and is on trial for attempted murder -

- My 60 year old male co-worker said 'you'd think someone of that background and intellegence would have more sense.' I paused and realized I thought that *he* would have more sense.

Newsbobbleheads on those plague-like TV channels keep commenting on the travesty of someone so tested, so psychologically evaluated...how is it possible that this person was afflicted? How did this woman, who was run the gamut of stress tests, physical and mental - how did she lose her mind?

Easy.

Love makes you insane.

Really, I don't see why this is news to people.

Love doesn't hold back for intellect, race, or creed. It doesnt matter how strong your brain is. It doesnt notice that you've passed the cyclotron 5G test. It pays no attention to the mission patch on your shoulder. It doesn't matter to what depths your soul has been sold, bought or processed a la 'Say Anything'...when 'love' takes over, it takes over like a disease, rendering the most solid faculties into romantic mush.

Call me a romantic or a cynic. They're both true.

Yes, cross country driving diaper wearing homicidial maniacs are an exception...but you see where I'm coming from. No matter how much you ridicule her - bottom line is, she was obsessed with someone. Is she a freak for the diaper stuff? Yes. Should we ridicule her for loving this guy? No. We should pity her. I don't normally find myself in the position of supporting stalkers, but I do think people need to realize the insanity to which emotion will drive you.

I actually hung my head in disavowment of the work discussion, as I didn't want to be forced to stand up as a representative of the stalker genre. But inside, I was screaming 'don't laugh at her - that poor woman! Driven to an insane action by love! Don't you get it?'

I mean seriously...would I avow my love for someone and follow them around like a puppy? Yes. Would I actually track down and hurt someone who didnt love me? No.

So I want you all to think of this astronaut in love, in space, and see her float around helplessly as her mental prowess slowly turns into a bowl of oatmeal. And pity her.

Because in space, no-one can hear you cry.

Occam's Razr

I'm sure you all know Occam's Razor is a logic theory that states that 'the simplest theory is often the truth'. In Latin,

entia non sunt multiplicanda praeter necessitatem,

which translates to:

entities should not be multiplied beyond necessity.

More simply, the theory that uses fewest assumptions is correct.

So when I'm trying to figure out why a guy who asked for my number, and professed to like me didn't call me, I turn to the logic of Occam.

He wasn't laid up in the hospital after a horriffic car crash involving Brandy where he lost his memory and forgot he met me. He didn't win the lottery, get seduced by a golddigger model who turned out to be a man, and after setting fire to himself in horror, realized he burned up my phone number. He didn't wash his jacket, rendering the number impossible to read, spend years searching for me in vain, only to jump on his sword in agony at realizing he lost the love of his life.

And when he puts the number into his cell - you KNOW all those 'lost the paper' explanations go out the window.

As the Sex in the City cliche goes..."He's just not that into you." Blast that Ron Livingston for being so cute and so right at the same time.

A similar, yet different approach comes from Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, who in character as Sherlock Holmes says, "When we eliminate the impossible, whatever is left, however improbable, is the truth."

So when I eliminate the above Brandy-car-crash laden ideas, the only answer is that he doesn't like me. And yes, that's INSANELY IMPROBABLE, but Holmes is right. It's the truth.

Thomas Aquinas made this argument in the 13th century, writing, "If a thing can be done adequately by means of one, it is superfluous to do it by means of several; for we observe that nature does not employ two instruments where one suffices."

So here's my final thought...Life is adequate with one (me). Adding a boy to my life would make it superfluous. But oh, how nice it is to be sometimes superfluous.

Clearly, a Aquinas, Doyle and Occam are smarter men than I when it comes to calling their female friends. Maybe they had better cell phones in the 13th century.