Wednesday, March 26, 2008

Your Eyeballs are like Diamonds - A Poem.

Your eyeballs are like diamonds;
they probably cost a lot.
And if I tried to steal 'em,
I'd most likely get caught.

But you know, I'd think it's worth it
if for just one day
I could stare into your eyeballs
and daydream the time away.

But well, without eyes you couldn't see
and I'd feel pretty bad
if I knew it was all because
I wanted something I don't have.

So I guess you can keep them eyeballs,
and I'll look but I won't touch.
Because without those big blue eyeballs
I don't think I'd love you as much.

Creative Commons License
Your Eyeballs Are Like Diamonds by Sarah E. Thomas is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.

Friday, March 14, 2008

I Call It "The Fat Boy"

I need to preface this by saying that I have absolutely no idea what this thing is or what purpose it serves. I just know that every time I drive by it, it makes me smile. 

Perhaps it's my appreciation for it's incredibly wide base...or the fact that it seems to have something resembling a mailbox protruding from the top... I'm really not sure. I doubt it's a mailbox. I mean, what mailman really wants to climb a mountain to deliver the mail?

Granted it's not really a mountain, but still. I'm not sure how you'd reach it. I've been trying to figure out what it does ever since I first saw it. I've yet to have any actual success with that. *shrug*

Any ideas?

Fifteen Minutes of Shame

I won't call this post a shameless plug - I swear it's not like that, guys. But I have an interesting story. Well, at least I think it's interesting. I suppose to each his own and all that jazz, but anyway, I'll get it all out and you can decide for yourself. Isn't freedom of speech just awesome? :)

Seriously though. So here's the deal. I Facebook a lot. I mean a lot a lot. Probably more than I should, arguably more than is healthy. Earlier in my Fbook life I created a number of groups. At this point, I'm going to go out on a limb and say that there is probably ALREADY a FB group for oh, I don't know, EVERYTHING UNDER THE SUN. However, some of the groups I made actually 'took off'. The group that I am currently referring to is called simply 'Book Lovers' (Alright, I suppose this could be considered a shameless plug, but that's neither here nor there).

Moving on - occasionally I will get emails from people concerning the group. You know, like "Would you post a link to my group here?", "I made this application concerning favorite books and stuff, can you tell your group about it?", et cetera. You get the idea. And I'm totally fine with that. Not quite sure why they won't just join the group...but really, ain't none o' my business. In a manner of speaking.

Well not too long ago, actually February 11 to be exact, I get an email from a woman who introduces herself as Ashley, and she's emailing me in regards to an author named Lisa Daily. Up until this point I've been receiving emails from people concerning themselves, so it stuck out to me a little that she said she spoke for, or with, the author. Anyway, to continue - she told me about Lisa's new novel (Fifteen Minutes of Shame, in stores March 25th! And yes, I'm promoting. Guilty as charged!) and asked if I would be willing to post a photo of the book cover in my group on the day of the books release. I say I'd be happy to. Of course. I mean, no skin off my back. Cool's cool, so I double check that she wants it up the day of the release, not earlier, and since I'm an incredibly generous person *snort*, I let her know that I've gone ahead and posted a link to Lisa's website in the group as well. 

Real quick I want to take the opportunity to make it known that my 'snort' wasn't meant to say 'I totally lied', so much as to say that my self appreciating 'I'm so generous' comment was deserving of a contradicting self DEpreciating *snort*. 

Once again, moving right along...So, I got an email back saying that Ashley thought posting the picture a couple of days early might help build momentum. Hey, no big. Happy to help. So I'm gonna post a picture to the group a few days early, and everyone's happy. End of story. Right?

Hah! Got you! Trick question! Of course it's not the end of the story. Then it would be completely mundane.
After that I get another email from Ashley. She says that she spoke to Lisa and is passing on a "Thanks so much for helping!" message, and that she wants to send me a copy to review. I'm thinking...sweet! You wanna send me the book before it releases just because I'm putting up a picture in my FB group? I'm there!

I'm admittedly a little skeptical because while the email address seems really legit, you never know. But I decide to go for it because it all seemed really professional so far. No reason to believe it won't continue to be. So I respond with a hearty (and honest) thanks! And, of course, my mailing address.

And then I sort of forget about it. For a couple of days I'm checking my porch every day, but my life has been rather hectic lately and my mail-yet-to-come dutifully retreated to the back burner to make room for whatever else I need to be focused on at the moment. Well, lo and behold, I for some reason think it necessary to check my porch today and what do I see?? This little (well, not too little) white envelope just staring up at me, not a care in the world. (Alright, that part I made up. I guess it could care about something - I'm just not sure what exactly that would be). Not really too exciting, just your standard package...envelope...thing - that is, except for the two stickers in the top lefthand corner. Yeah, that's just a little something I added after I got it...Anyway, I check the return address and it's from...what's that? A publishing company? Ooh-lala! Yes indeedy, Ashley came through! I received a copy of Fifteen Minutes of Shame a little over a week before it actually hits the shelves!

And not just the book, either. I got the whole nine yards! The book, a letter about it, and a little publicity book. Fancy fancy! Here's where I admit to feeling a little ego boost - "Yeah, there's this book I read, it's really good. What? You don't have it? Oh, that's right. It aint' out yet!

And just to let you know, I've already started reading the book and I love it. It's fun, not a difficult read but it's not meant to be. And it's a genre that I genuinely appreciate so already I recommend reading it. I'll get back to you if it's got an incredibly frustrating ending or something. ;)

And yes, I'm aware that I linked to her website like...seventy million times in this post - but hey, what the heck? Send me a free book and I'll promote your brains out! How'dya like them apples?!

For my final book promo, I give you 'the blurb'!

What happens when America's favorite TV dating expert finds out on national television that her husband is cheating? Darby Vaughn's fifteen minutes of fame quickly spin into fifteen minutes of shame: Not only is the most humiliating moment of her life splashed across every supermarket tabloid and celebrity gossip show, but also her reputation as America's love guru is shot.
Her fans are turning on her, her book sales have tanked, and her love life is fodder for light-night television. If Darby breaks her own zero-tolerance policy for cheaters and takes her philandering husband back, her career will be over. But if she sticks to her own rules, she'll lose the only man she's ever loved.

So, in closing - 
  • Networking. It pays. Or at least sends free gifts.
  • Check out Lisa's website
  • I hereby swear I will not promote anything I don't actually like. Scouts honor.

Thursday, March 13, 2008

The Do's and Don't...'s of Pumping Gas

So I'm a really big fan of unusual/random signs. Street signs, warning labels, fast food marquees. I love them - meaning that if I see a sign that I find amusing, I do everything in my power to get a photo of that sign. Be it funny wording, typos, missing letters, or whatever.
Just a little example; there is a church off of (I want to say) 287 that is called Overcoming Faith. Alright, I get that they mean overcoming like 'overwhelming' - or maybe even 'undeniable' - but to me it sounds more negative than anything else. Like it belongs in a list of things to be done in order to straighten out ones' life.

Don't worry, friends. You CAN prevail! Remember, believe in yourself - believe you can do it, and nothing is impossible. No one knows what you're capable of better than yourself. And just to help you out, here's a list of things that you can do to get the reconstruction of 'You' well on its way.

  • Overcoming Alocohol
  • Overcoming Addiction
  • Overcoming Faith

Anyway, it's not that I don't get what they're saying -- It's just that I think they chose the wrong wording. 
Maybe it's just me.

Anyway, since this isn't the sign I have a picture of for today, I'm gonna abandon that topic and move on.

This sign, the sign that you are about to see, is at the gas pumps at Brookshires in Midlothian. So in case you don't believe me, you're welcome to hunt it down yourself.

See if you can find it.

Ok, did you find it? Yeah, it's the last one. The punctuation is all wrong. 

Warning Sign:: "Don't overfill, Tank."
Tank:: "Yessir, you bet!"

*blank stare* Yeah, I don't know what's up with that either, guys. Looks like somebody (I'm not pointing fingers!) needs an editor! *raises eyebrows*

 And I have one more question...

In the process of pumping gas, how could you possibly have your face directed at the nozzle and simultaneously continue the actual pumping of the gas into your gas tank?

Some people must be far more talented than I am! :)

Tuesday, March 11, 2008

Ain't Custom, It's Natural!

So I seem to find myself up much later than I had ever planned or intended on and let me just tell you...I'm not honestly sure how it happens. But believe you me, it's definitely not thanks to boogie-ing. That's right! Boogie-ing is not happening for me right now. Ack! How could I? Anyway, I know I'm easily distracted - I mean anyone who knows me will tell you that. But I mean really. I'm going on four in the morning...and what am I doing? Sort of watching Project Runway, mostly sitting around, killing time...Time that doesn't need killing. No, what I really should be doing is getting my beauty sleep because Lord knows I need that more than anything.

Ah well, who needs to learn from ones actions for realio, anyway? Not me! I already know everything. Like I know that my staying up this late will result in once more waking up closer to noon than nine (which is the actual time I prefer to wake up by) and thus my lunch will happen at 3, and basically the end result will be staying up late again the next night! It's a vicious circle, but who am I to question nature?  

And anyway, it's not like I have anything to do*glances at clock, frowns* later today. And this time I'm not even being sarcastic. My only plan for today is to hopefully find time to get my headlight fixed. Oh, and my brake light, too, because why shouldn't they both go out at the same time? Kill two birds with one friggin' stone, am I right? And they're both on the same side, too! What are the odds? *slowly raises a skeptical eyebrow* I think my car secretly dislikes me because he (that's right, he) knows that I've been...well...sort of wanting a new car.  But that's a completely separate subject...And I'll be honest with you, I think my car could be listening in somehow...It's a big concern for me. Because I don't need anything else to go wrong with it. And I mean I really don't. But you know, as much as I sometimes want a new car...other times I think, we have had some very interesting times together...

*enter flashback sound effects....rrrright!*

Not too long ago...(Actually, I guess it's actually been a couple of years ago...anyway...) I was going to school at DBU. I had a morning class, chapel, and an hour in between that and my next class, which was great because UM  hello! Lunchtime! And then I had to go back for another class. So I'm on my way back from Target (where I think I bought a CD or something instead of lunch...) driving on i20 and a pigeon SWOOPS into my car. Look, I'm going about 75 miles an hour, and this thing comes from the side and I don't know, maybe it was unhappy with life, maybe it was looking the wrong way, whatever the case may be it ended its life on the passenger side of my car. In the middle of my door.

The very middle. 


Yeah, so in case you didn't get that, here's another.

So I'm just driving along, minding my own business and THUD! That little pigeon-bomber scared the LIVING CRAP out of me! So naturally I screamed, my eyes darting to my rearview only to grimace in horror as I see this poor little bird doing summersaults in the air in my cars' wake. 

Guys, I was traumatized. I started crying and shaking and feeling like I just murdered someone's child. To anyone who could have happened to see me in my car, I must have looked crazy. I had tears running down my face but I was in some sort of deluded state of shock, bordering on hysterics. Yes, that's right - I was laughing. One of those harried 'Did that seriously just happen?!' kind of laughs. 

Anyway, I pull into the parking lot, park, and sit there for a minute thinking, "OH. EM. GEE! Do I seriously want to step out of my car and see blood and guts on my door?!" Because of course I imagine like...half of the bird remaining embedded in my door...even though I totally saw the bird (yes, in it's entirety) flipping around as I sped away. I put it off for a little longer, and then heave a sigh and take the plunge. But guys, I'm not kidding - nothing really prepared me for what I saw. Again I remind you, I was expecting blood and guts. My rational mind was expecting a dent. I mean, that sucker hit me HARD. But I had no idea...
Look at this business! It's like the ghost-pigeon was STARING ME DOWN, as if to say, "You totally killed me. What was that about, yo?" The whole thing had so much incredible detail! I called my mom, still crying mind you, and told her that I hit a bird. I wasn't making a lot of sense because...yeah, the crying, so she was thinking I had a serious wreck or something, instead of a run-in with a suicidal pigeon.
When I finally calmed my silly self down and explained again, I tried to tell her, "Mom, a bird literally swoooped into my car and not only did it absolutely DIE, it also left a perfect...imprint of itself...on the door of my car. For realz."
She said she believed me but I knew I couldn't possibly be getting across what I was trying to. I mean, this thing was actually like...really pretty. I mean you can just see everything. The eyes, the beak, and in the larger pictures, even the tips of the wings. It was insane. The rest of the day while I was at school I kept thinking what if someone walks by and smudges it? I mean, it was too awesome. I wanted to show my parents. I was still feeling upset that I killed something. (This coming from a person who has cried over killing a cockroach. Hey, don't judge!) So I took some pictures with my phone, and my digital camera and drove home careful to avoid any sprinklers or puddles.
Neither of my parents could believe what it looked like. Frankly, neither could I. We all gathered around, offered up our oooh's and ahhh's respectively. Not to mention we all took multiple pictures with multiple cameras. Finally I went over to my friends house, and told/showed him my fancy new "car decal" and we proceeded to watch a movie.

Funny thing was, when his dad came home I asked him if he saw my bird. And his dad thought that I had actually went out, paid money, and got a custom bird painted on my car. In fact, I had to sort of insist that I hadn't. And that a bird had hit me. And left a mark. You know, a mark that looks just like the bird. What, that's never happened to you?

So yeah, it stayed there for awhile. I felt bad washing it off, but finally it had smudged and my car was pretty darn dirty, so I sucked it up and headed through the car wash...But I made sure to take as many pictures as I could. I mean, c'mon...wouldn't you? :)

Saturday, March 8, 2008

A Hazard of Life

This weekend has been one really hectic weekend, especially considering the lack of actual things to do. And if you're thinking I'm being over dramatic, I assure you I am not. I'm not exaggerating by 'busy'. In fact, were you in my shoes you might even call it crazy. Probably not. But you might. Who knows?

I'd give you a list, but I'll be honest...Just reading the list, things wouldn't seem so busy. In fact, truth be told the only thing really throwing me off (besides my current inability, or so it would seem, to go to bed before nearly three in the morning) is the lack of planning involved. Through no one person's fault things just haven't been going very smoothly. Being involved in a group of friends who all have jobs can mean that finding time where we can all get together can be rather... difficult. And when I say difficult, you should know that I really mean very nearly impossible. Couple that with not having definite times for everything and you've got yourself the kind of weekend where you feel more like you're on call.

This isn't always a bad thing. Don't get me wrong, I'm not dissing spontaneity or anything, so anyone who swears by it, never fear - I don't intend to get all up in your business. But sometimes it's very helpful to know when you're supposed to be...wherever it is you're supposed to be.  Especially if being late (or let's face it, not being there at all) makes you feel bad. Which is what I've been dealing with. I don't like being late, nor do I like being the last person to arrive at any given group function I find myself involved in. Unfortunately it would seem that being prompt or on time or whatever it is you call it can be nearly as impossible as getting everyone together. 

I'm not really sure where I'm going with this - other than that I wanted to babble. And haha joke's on you - this is my blog so I can babble if I want. :)

Anyway, as I have been on the topic of being on time I have to wrap this up. Work awaits and do you know what's worse than being late to a dinner reservation or a birthday party? Being late to work. Where your boss, unlike your friends (who are undoubtedly good natured and forgiving in their pointing-out-your-lateness), will be absolutely not pleased at your tardiness.

Until next time!

Friday, March 7, 2008


I was 8 years old when my parents and I made the fateful trip to Walmart. At eight I had hardly a care in the world save for what new toy might await me on this particular outing. Unfortunately for my parents, a new distraction stood guard over those fancy automatic-entrance doors. A distraction in the guise of a cardboard box, on the front of which was scrawled two glorious words:

Free Puppies

That's right. Free. And puppies. Two words that should never come together around me even now. I was and still am an animal lover, so naturally I had to look. You know, just look - like, it's no big deal mom and dad, I only wanna look at the cute lil' puppies.  So I looked, petted, made a lot of 'oh, so cute!' noises, and reluctantly was dragged away by my parents, who actually did have some shopping to do. The only problem was that then and there I had fallen in love. And I was determined (stubborn). The entire time we were in Walmart (which I hazard to guess was at least half an hour, maybe more) I pitched a royal fit. Not the angry stomping kind, which I was also well known for. No, instead I opted for crying, begging, pleading, and making deals. And finally it worked! So on the way out of the store we stopped at the miracle box again and picked a puppy.  I remember distinctly that we got the last male because as we were walking away I overheard a man asking if there were any boys left. To which the puppy-giver replied, "No, they took the last one."

On the drive home I held him most of the way. At first I almost didn't feel like I was allowed. Like somehow I was breaking any number of rules as I had never had my own puppy before. But he didn't like being on the floor of our van, and he kept whimpering and to be quite honest I just couldn't keep from picking him up. When we got him home he stayed in a box in my room. Well for the nights, of course. During the day we just played.
Anyway,  he loved being a lap dog. Even after he grew up, he still wanted to be right there, curled up and cozy. Of course at his full grown size it was mostly just his head that would fit, but that seemed to work for him.

I couldn't decide what I wanted to name him so we opted to make it a family event. All three of us came up with a few names and popped 'em in a hat. Then we drew to see what we'd go with. Naturally that didn't quite work. The first name we drew was Dad's idea. "Darth Vader". Which, especially looking back, I find particularly funny. But I just couldn't picture calling out "Come here Darth Vader!" Nor could I imagine shortening it to either Darth or Vader. In the end we decided on Cowboy because our little cutie was bow-legged. :)

He always wanted to be close to us. In fact, we ended up putting his doghouse really close to the back door because that's where he spent a lot of time. Well, unless he was indoors...which was far more frequent. When he was still a little puppy he couldn't even make it up the stairs out of our sunroom (which was a 'lower level' room, but only by like three stairs) but when he started getting bigger he realized he could, without help, make it onto our sofa. He liked to lean his head on the arm. Like one time my mom and I were sitting on the sofa watching TV (I want to say it was Gilmore Girls, but I could be mistaken) and Cowboy was laying on the floor. He got up and went to the backdoor, presumably wanting to go outside. I look at mom, she looks at me, and so I give in and get off my lazy behind to go let him out. No sooner had my seat seat before Cowboy was circling back around the sofa to get in my spot. Me and mom just about lost it. And I'm not gonna lie - it was pretty fantastic. Needless to say, we took many pictures.

Cowboy was 12 years old when he died. It was recent. February 25th he passed at the vet's office. I had gone to visit a friend when he got sick, and my mom texted me the next morning to tell me she was taking him to the vet. They put him on an IV and planned to run some blood tests. Apparently he perked up on the IV and went to sleep. And never woke up. Me and mom were eating at Chick-Fila when we got the call, and I just had to leave. I still can't believe he's gone. I grew up with him. He was my best friend. Even though I know he's gone, I still look for him. When our other dog Kelsi starts barking, I wait and listen for his bark. He always stayed in the laundry room and when I walk by I peek in expecting to see him sleeping in the corner.

We had him cremated because he was such a large dog, but one last time I pleaded with my parents for the sake of my dog. For some extra money they placed his ashes in a really nice cedar box. It even has a little plaque with his name on the top. And I keep his collar and leash in my room. It's still very raw for me, and I was actually hoping I'd be feeling better by now. We've always had pets, ever since I can remember. In fact, even now we still have another dog and two cats. But Cowboy was the first and only pet that really felt like all mine. Most of our other pets have been strays that showed up at our house, but Cowboy was ours specifically because of me, because I begged and begged that day at Walmart. I miss my best friend so much and it still hurts to think about.  I wanted this to be more organized but at this point I just really wanted to get some thoughts out and I feel like I've done that. I still have many more memories I could write, and hopefully I will soon. I think it's worth "putting down on paper", if you will, but I just don't think I can do it tonight.

I meant to do a better job of wrapping this up. I suppose in closing all I really want to say is that I think Cowboy is the best dog ever, and he will definitely hold a special place in my heart for as long as I live. 


My best friend closed his eyes last night,
As his head was in my hand.
The Doctors said he was in pain,
And it was hard for him to stand.

The thoughts that scurried through my head,
As I cradled him in my arms.
Were of his younger, puppy years,
And OH...his many charms.

Today, there was no gentle nudge
With an intense "I love you gaze",
Only a heart thats filled with tears
Remembering our joy filled days.

But an Angel just appeared to me,
And he said, "You should cry no more,
GOD also loves our canine friends,
HE's installed a 'doggy-door"!

Hello, my name is _____.

I believe I've walked into this unsure of what exactly my intentions are, and I do apologize. Believe me, I hate the thought of leading you on. I consider myself a kind, honest person. Not a sneak, not a cheater, not a liar. So please, don't ask me if I love you. I swear on every star in the sky I don't know the answer. But I know I'd like to find out. If only you'll give me the chance. I just need time. I'll figure this thing out. Oh please, just give me a chance...

Ah, glory be to being over dramatic. I must simply say, this is my first so-called blog. Yes, that's right - a virgin. Who knew?  So, having only recently given up my blog-ginity (Yes, alright - that wasn't funny.) I find myself as of yet unsure of how exactly I intend to use this, what I intend to post, or even if I'll want to tomorrow. I've been known to fool around with my Deadjournal a little, but we've had an on-again-off-again kind of relationship and frankly I need something steady.
That being said, I'm glad to be here and I look forward to a wonderful relationship. But please, let me tell you a little bit about myself. I like soft candle-lit dinners, whispering sweet nothings, and long walks on the beach. *clears throat*  Alright, that's not completely true. But I feel a sense of obligation to "introduce" myself. For the most part, it's just the boring basics. I'm 20, awaiting 21 and being able to call myself "legal" - a sacred right of passage, or so I'm told. I have an addictive personality. I'm a whore for Apple and Starbucks. I love almost all kinds of music. Books are good, too. I'm especially fond of Stephen King and William Bernhardt, but that's beside the point.

Alright, now it's just feeling too formal. Or maybe I'm just trying to hard. Whatever the case may be, I do know one thing. It's late. I'm tired. So I'm off to hunt some Zs.