This just happened.

I left work after a nutso crazy busy day and I was standing on the corner waiting for the light to change.  Then I see a guy in a car with his window down saying something to me.  I paused the iPod and said, "What?"  He replied, "Can I buy you a drink?"  Being of a spontaneous nature as I am, I obliged and he parked and we met at a nearby restaurant.

He was visibly nervous and I asked if that was something he normally does, asking women out that are standing on the street corner.  He told me no.  We chatted for a few awkward minutes and then I was prompted to ask, "So, do you have a family?"  He sort of looked at me slightly taken aback and responded, "What do you mean?"

"Do you have a wife and kids?"

"Um, how did you know that?"  Really?  It's called intuition you mother fucker.  Us women have it and idiot men such as yourselves probably can't even spell it.

I responded, "Well I've got to make sure, you know."  And aren't I glad I did. 

I was not attracted to this man, but I am open to new experiences which is why I accepted his invitation for a drink in the first place.  However, having an affair, or whatever the fuck he was looking for is not a new experience I'm open to in the least.  I proceeded to ask him what his wife would think of him doing what he did and he answered the obvious answer; she would be quite put off.  So then I asked him why he did it, why he invited me to a drink on the street corner.  This was his literal reply, "Well, it's sort of like playing basketball", implying that it was something he did for kicks.  No, not it's not anything like playing basketball you son of a bitch.  If he's so "happily married" as he told me he was, then I have no desire for a "happy" marriage.   

I basically barraged him with questions about his family for the next ten minutes and then told him I was gonna head home.  I could tell he was ready to leave as well, not that I cared what this scum was wanting or not.

So, yeah, this just happened:  I got asked out by a married Jewish guy with three kids and his poor wifey waiting for him to come home.  Wowza.

And to finish it off, as I turned to walk home again to my apartment, I pushed play on the iPod and the very first lyrics I heard in the middle of the song I was jamming were, "Don't be sad, won't ever happen like this anymore"(thank you Julian Casablancas).  And with a shit eating grin on my face I strolled home.  I knew it would never happen like this anymore.   

Holiday leftovers.

PEPPERMINT ICE CREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAM!

Buzz cut.

It occurred to me in the wee hours of this morning that today was, eighteen years ago, the day I buzzed off my hair and began a journey that continues to this day.  I was something of a pissed off, wannabe rebel 16-year-old and after feeling frustrated with my long hair in my face and doing nothing for my "image", I shaved that shit off to a #3 with some borrowed clippers.  I remember my younger sister being there in the bathroom to help me, but she refused to do the first pass of the clippers.  Oh, the adrenaline!  

I had done a few semi-rebellious things to my hair in my younger years as an adolescent, but this entire buzzing of my whole head was taking it to the next level.  I don't recall the reaction of my friends and family being too extreme.  Nonetheless, there was a reaction. . . just as I was beckoning by doing something so radical to my own hair like that.  I didn't get in any trouble with the folks, they knew I was beyond their control at that point and I'm sure a buzz cut on their daughter wasn't of terrible concern.  What could they do?  It was already gone.  A few weeks later, I bought my first grocery store boxed hair color and lightened my hair as much as that cheap crap would do to my new do.

That was really the turning point for me in regards to, from that point on, I've never stopped messing around with hair.  And how fitting that my first haircut on myself was a clipper cut.  Destined to be a barber.  Not only did this soft-core-shocking event change the way I saw myself, literally and figuratively, I unknowingly put myself on the path to being a barber.  Because I wanted to keep my sick, punk rock hairdo fresh, I bought some cheap clippers at Walgreens.  And when I had my own clippers at home, plus two younger brothers, home haircuts in the bathroom ran rampant!  Much to the delight of my mother, I'm sure.  Later on down the road of my life, I would cut hair for guy friends in Vail, and eventually left Vail as a young adult to come to Denver to go to hair school. 

That silly buzz cut.  I wore it for at least a year and a half before growing it into a more normal cut.  Looking back, I have to admit that I knew at the time that shaving my head as a teenager would alter the course of my life in some way, it had to.  It's amazing to look back tonight on that evening eighteen(!!!)years ago when I looked at myself, looked at my sister, and ran those clippers across the top of my head.  

Growing pains.

"I've got an idea!" she said.  "I'll write on my blog every day for 100 consecutive days!  It'll be good for me!" she said.  "I'll be inspired and dedicated and zillions of good things will happen!" she said, "It will feel amazing!" 

Nearly seventy days in she said, "Damn, I sure wish I could think of something to write about.  This sort of sucks."  She even has a long list of things to write about that look boring as fuck every time she looks at them in hopes of sparking some creativity surrounding the related subjects.  The ideas come sporadically, but when it comes to actually creating, the ideas bore her.  She will have to force things sometimes, oftentimes.  She was right when she said that the second half of the personal challenge would be more difficult than the first; just like descending the peak is for her.  She knows the end is there, it is just not in sight.

She wants not only to be inspired to create, she desires to spread the inspiration to others, somehow, someway, with her random ramblings about the life of her.  She feels compelled to write, but about what?  And for what?  For herself, supposedly, that in some way may touch others.  For the feeling of achieving something she has never achieved.  She has lived an adventurous life, coming and going as like the change of seasons.  But she wants to learn how to stay put, to endure things that may not be so comfortable as the anonymity of being foreign, unknown, desconocida.  She is digging deep for the courage to do so.  

"Writing allows me to make my world that only exists in my mind seem real in a way." she says.  She will not give up, she doesn't know how.   

Bah humbug.

December 26 is one of my favorite days of the year because it means that the insanity is basically over and it's the furthest away we are going to be from next Christmas.  Hey kids, only 364 days left til Christmas!  Wahoo!  Now hopefully Americans will stop talking about how the shopping is going and about getting overly drunk at their company holiday party. 

Is anybody home?

It's not just Toby, I realize that I just miss Los Angeles in general.  Is it the winter time in Denver making me miss California?  Is it the fact that I never seem to be content where I am, always thinking that somewhere else will be more satisfying?  Is it my upcoming trip to LA?  I wish I had an answer. . .  What I do know is that I had something in Los Angeles that I have not had in any other place I've ever lived; a community.

When I landed in LA three years ago, I lived in a community/commune type living situation for the first year.  It was a phone call to a number that I found on Craigslist, and next thing I knew, I had a room in Venice, sight unseen, roommates unseen.  Upon arrival, I realized just how crazy it was to have committed to something like that, truly having no idea who these people were that I was to live with.  Like many things in my life I just went with it and made the best of it.  This initial experience of living in a commune proved to be one of the greatest blessings of my life as I had an instant group of like-minded friends in a city as huge and daunting and flaky as Los Angeles.

From the first six months at the crazy house in Venice, I moved onto a less nutso commune situation in a neighborhood called Mar Vista for another six months.  At this house I continued to meet and foster fantastic and unique friendships with very special individuals.  After my first year in LA, I decided I had enough of living with ten-plus other people and wanted a more "normal" situation.  I found a room in a large townhouse in Mar Vista.  A few months in, I had created yet another commune house with members from the other houses, this one being only five people. 

All three of these living situations had profound affects on my lifestyle, overall awareness and my consciousness on every level.  I met people and created bonds that will never be broken.  My life changed in innumerable ways because of the people I met in these communes and the things I learned from each of them.  There was always someone to talk with, go out with, cook with, and all of the folks I lived with in LA had something to offer within the community we were all a part of.  There was always someone there and we were all trying our best to live a better life.
  
I really miss that feeling of having my best friends at home.  I miss feeling inspired by the magic of what happens when thirteen "hippies" live together.  I miss being able to talk with someone who understands where I'm coming from when it comes to consciousness and spirituality, food(a big topic in a commune), relationships, friendships and any other conceivable topic.  I miss having a community around me.

Of course I know that this is possible anywhere in the world, Denver being high on that list of places where community can flourish.  But right now I live alone and that's what I miss the most; having someone at home to hang with, someone I genuinely am excited to see every day.  Shoot, I even miss having friends right down the street as I did in Los Angeles.  I feel quite isolated in Denver as I have neither of these.  

I've spent my entire adulthood trying to feel like I belong somewhere and I've literally gone to the ends of the earth in that search.  I know the age old battle for me is to find that contented nature within my own being.  However, in my life I have also found that inner journey is easier and more fruitful when it's supported by others on their own inner journeys.  I've never felt more like I belong anywhere than when I was surrounded by a conscious community, flaws and all. 

Barber don't buy no presents.

People keep asking me if I've finished all my shopping and I be like, "Ha ha, suckas!!"

Mystery.

I live alone so it really makes me wonder who comes into my apartment and leaves dirty dishes piling up in the sink.  

I cut myself.

I'm quite a proficient at typing.  This evening proves to pose a challenge to me since the pointer finger of my left hand has two bandages on it; one covering the tip and one near the second knuckle.  Opening and closing super sharp scissors in extremely close proximity to one's hands thousands of times a day, every now and then the scissors cut more than hair.  And my cuts always come in pairs.  If I cut a finger once, I usually get it again that same day, if not the next.  

It sort of sucks, but it's really a hazard of cutting hair.  Think I'm being dramatic using the word "hazard"?  Think again.  I have had two friends cut themselves so badly while cutting hair that each of them required nine stitches and one of those lucky ladies hit a tendon.  Hazard is a soft term really when it comes to that kind of damage.  This means weeks of missed work as we are constantly in water, hair product, hair color, heated tools and not to mention the tiny hair clippings that could find their way into a cut that deep very easily.  Stitches in finger = no working.  

I'm knocking on wood as I type this:  I don't cut myself very frequently.  I have quite good practices with the shears and it's  only every few months that I get a bleeder.  But I do and have worked with hair stylists that cut themselves nearly every day.  I say, "damn", clearly something is off and their technique isn't working.  The mound of scar tissue that covers the second knuckle of their middle finger, or the inside of their hand between the pointer and middle finger is impressive.  

Clients will occasionally ask if we ever cut anyone.  Sure it has happened perhaps a time or two in our careers that an ear gets nicked, but not nearly as frequently as we cut ourselves which can happen a time or two in the same day.  As a barber I've come to realize that clients think the straight razor is the most dangerous thing in the barbershop.  They have visions in their heads of jugulars being sliced and losing a piece of their chin or lip.  Puhlease.  What do they think?  I'm shaving with a straight razor that weighs seventy pounds and that I'm blind?  The shears do far more damage and have drawn more blood than any straight razor could ever dream.  We are quite meticulous with the straight razor, but the shears are used a lot more aggressively, frequently, and quickly.  

It's a bummer, but it's part of the job; a job that I'm not trading in anytime soon as I'd rather cut my finger every few weeks or months by accident than want to cut my own throat from the misery of a job that I hate.    

Fat boy.

I really miss Toby Turich.

Toby on a plane.

Toby being lazy.

Toby sitting funny.

Toby laying funny.  Lazy fat boy!

Me and Toby having a moment in the driveway.

Toby passed out with a ball in his mouth.

Toby loving life.

Toby riding shotgun.

Toby being freaking adorable.

Toby showing off his beauty.

Toby eating watermelon.

Put another log on the fire.

Admittedly, I'm feeling a bit burnt out on writing.  Must. Reach. 100 days!

Fake pickup line.

Having been put on duty to find 100 male models for our hair show next month, I've gotten more numbers from extremely hot men in the past two weeks than I've gotten in the past two years combined.  I've got my "model goggles" on and am on the look out!  When I see someone that fits the bill, the approach goes something like this:

Me:  Hi, I'm Sarah the barber and I'm a National Educator with Floyd's Barbershops.  We have a big holiday party every year and we have a hair show during the party.  I'd love for you to come to our model call for the show.  Is that something you'd be interested in?

Potential model:  Um, (blah, blah, blah, yes, no, maybe, when is it?, etc).

Me:  Great!  Well if I could get your number and take a photo of you, then I'll be in touch with further information.  (potential models gives the digits and lets me snap a photo)

Easy as pie.  However, even though my phone is quickly filling up with phone numbers and photos of the hottest men that Denver has to offer, I intend to only contact these men for the show.  I've had a friend already suggest that I ask out one or two of the guys we've met in my model search.  I tell her that there's no way I'm going to take advantage of what I'm doing as it greatly reduces my credibility and professionalism.  Surprisingly enough, I do actually want to see all these men at our model call and am very excited to see the show we put together with these dapper gents.  Should sparks fly with any of them as we work together, then I suppose I'd be open to seeing it through.  Until then, I'll just enjoy how fun it is to approach the best looking man in the room and how easy it is to get his number.  Being a barber is THE BEST!    

Bipolar disorder.

Thankfully for me and everyone involved Denver has quite the inconsistency with its winter weather.  It was almost 70° today!  YES!  No jacket, on December 18.  This is a beautiful thing.  The weather two weeks ago was in the horrific negatives with snow and ice everywhere, and it was rough.  But today was like, perfect.  I'm hoping that the cold temps we had a couple weeks ago is the coldest it's gonna be all winter and that the rest of it will resemble something more winter-temperate, with a few days like today sprinkled in.  Makes winter much more survivable.  So though I whine and I cry about the cold, I am fully aware about how good we really do have in winter in Denver.  Most places get cold, stay cold, get gray and stay gray for months.  That's why if I'm gonna do winter anywhere in the world, it will only ever be in Denver where it's 70° at least one day each month for all the winter months, with tons of sun regardless of the temperature.  And since I'm so accustomed to inconsistency with myself(I am a woman after all) I can deal just fine with the winter here as it reflects myself in a lot of ways.  If winter can deal with me, I can deal with her.   

I'm in hot water.

I'm not a fan of getting wet.  I don't like water splashed on me, I don't like being rained on, I hate getting squirted with water.  One of my hugest issues when traveling is dealing with crappy, oftentimes mediocre, foreign showers.  I don't like swimming pools, lakes, or cold, dark ocean water(I'm actually quite fearful of it).  I'm not even much of a fan of getting in warm, clear ocean water. But, boy howdy, I make up for all of it by taking quite hot, long American showers.  God bless USA and our fantastic showers.  

Skills.

I'm good at writing.

America Junior.

Nearly ten years ago I received a traffic ticket in downtown Vancouver, BC for making a left turn onto a street during a time when it was posted to not turn left.  It was one of those signs that has a graphic indicating "no left turn" followed by what times of day it is not permitted to turn left.  I was confused, slightly lost, and it was pouring rain during rush hour; I took the fucking left turn.  

After I turned, I was immediately met by an officer standing in the middle of the street motioning me to pull over.  I obliged and had a brief discussion with the officer about why I turned left; mostly I was confused, stressed and clearly from out of town with my state of Colorado driver's license and vehicle registration.  He proceeded to write me a ticket for the infraction and, now slightly pissed along with the other range of emotions, I carried on my way.

I never paid that damn ticket, and I never will.  I will never pay a traffic ticket from another country when I don't necessarily plan on frequenting that country and continuing to break traffic laws.  I've since returned to Canada more than once(a country and culture I adore), and I've been conscious of this unpaid ticket.  You want to know why I have to be aware of it?  Because ten damn years later I still receive notices twice a year from some bureau in British Columbia of my unpaid fine!  There's got to be a statute of limitations in Canada and they need to realize they aren't getting my US dollars for the stupid traffic ticket.  They can't affect my driver's license in US and they can't affect any insurance I have here either.  Take that Canada.

So coming up on nearly ten years since that ticket, I'm curious if Canada will give one up to US and stop sending me notices of my fine.  At this point, they've probably spent more in postage and manpower to make me aware of it than the fine is even worth anyways.  Whether they do, or whether they don't, I'm keeping my money.  I'd rather spend it going to Canada and spending my money on tourism than paying a fine that will never, ever affect my driving record. 

Otherworldly.

A friend just posted on my Facebook wall that it snowed in Egypt for the first time in over one hundred years.  Yes people, that is the pyramids covered in snow.  Now I can't even go to the desert to get hot!  Fuck!  The world is certainly coming to an end.  But if what I was taught to believe will come true and the world will be "baptized by fire" when it ends, then I welcome such heat! 

Cold night, hot stew.

The only entertainment y'all gonna get tonight is a visual of me bundled up, riding my bike to a girlfriend's house in the freezin' ass cold and pigging out on some slow cooked, homemade beef stew!  I'm coming Elaine! 

X-ray vision.

I can see right through people.  I don't mean that I can literally see through people, that would be amazing!(and kind of gross since I'm grossed out by guts)  However, over the last two years I have been on a spiritual journey that has involved some powerful moments of enlightenment allowing me to see more and more the layers of life and how all is connected.  

Two years ago when I lived in LA, and after a very frustrating and disheartening experience, I came to the conclusion that I needed to finally turn the sights inward and look deep within myself as opposed to continuing to look towards the external world for my answers and my happiness.  I sought a guide/teacher to help me facilitate this and happened to have people in my life at that time that were already connected to these types of gurus.  I found a teacher and I dove in head first.

One of the first things that was brought to my attention during my initial meeting with the man that was my teacher is that I am extremely intuitive.  I'm like, "What?!".  To me an intuitive person was basically a psychic or a tarot card reader or a gypsy.  I really did not know what to think of this attribute of intuition within myself as I never saw myself as a psychic.  Sure, I could look back on my life and see a few big situations where I made decisions based on my heart or my gut feeling that later proved to be the right decisions.  I suppose this is intuitive, and I later came to realize that these decisions were most certainly unconscious intuition in action.

I'll be honest with you, but more importantly with myself, I have been somewhat wishy-washy with my commitment to a spiritual practice throughout the past two years.  I begin to see results and then for whatever reason, I lose motivation.  That being said, I renewed my commitment in September after struggling with a dark bout of depression over the summer and recognized that I had to change up something or I was going to off myself.  I began to meditate every day again, I examined the relationships in my life seeing which ones were nurturing, I took more time for myself, etc.  I began to notice a difference almost immediately and was grateful that the cloud was lifting.  I also knew that I could not stray in the least or things could easily take a turn for the worse.  All of it has paid off significantly in the past months.

I have always had a keen nature with people and personalities.  In the last few months, I have noticed a significantly elevated ability to know a lot about someone from just a few pieces of information, or from a brief interaction.  I feel like with just a small amount of information, I can pinpoint things deep inside of someone that they have likely never known about themselves, or haven't wanted anyone to know about.  I can read someone's energy almost immediately upon meeting or seeing them.  One of the biggest changes I've noticed lately is that I am beginning to see people as much more than just packaging; more than just brown hair and green eyes, for example.  I see childhood pain, fears, dreams, strengths, insecurities, ego, sexual dysfunction and a host of other factors that make up a person.  I am seeing the aura of a person, and it's powerful and freaky at the same time.  It's as though my intake valve has been unclogged.  I'm receiving what feels like an overflow of information, when I'm really seeing what's been there all along but was stuck behind the clogged information entryway.

Call me cuckoo, I don't care.  I know what I see is real and that I'm not just making stuff up about strangers and situations.  One thing my teacher always told me was to never ever doubt my intuition, for it is never wrong.  Even if what I'm seeing is only true to me, it is still true.  Oftentimes, I come to find that what I see and feel about a person is 100% correct.  Occasionally I do begin to doubt what I'm seeing and feeling about a person or situation, but then I remind myself that I am focused, committed, and on the right path, so what is coming to me is from a correct source and not something I'm making up in order to justify behavior in which I should not be involved.

Sounds fun, huh?  Being able to read so much about someone.  Sometimes I wish I didn't know so much.  It's a blessing and something of a curse all at the same time.  I appreciate the intuitions, but I also see so much more than the person sees themselves.  God forbid I say anything I know about them and trigger the insecurities I so clearly see as well.  Scares the shit out of people that I know so much about them and have the confidence to say it.  Plenty of folks have run the other way. 

This is a gift that I'm still learning a lot about and a gift that is in its initial phases of blossoming.  I will continue on my path, meditating and examining the inner workings of my being while remaining open to new information, new habits, new patterns.  Even this one hundred day writing challenge was an intuitive venture.  I'd love to hone my intuition to be able to change lives and help people.  Time, intention, action.  As I go along, don't be surprised if I just blurt something out that seems to come from nowhere, I'm also learning to find my voice.                

Manly men.

Of all the fragilest things in existence, of all the things that need coddled and babied on every level possible, there is the "mighty" male ego.  Now before you go getting all hurt over this since I even mentioned it, and I can tell you are already about get butt hurt(god forbid I hurt your precious ego), relax and hear me out.  I have a special perspective on this specific subject as I have chosen, as a woman, to work exclusively with men in my career, and boy oh boy does that make for a side of men that they rarely show.  I have also traveled the world and seen the male ego in action in multiple cultures and situations.  Not to mention I have dated practically millions of men, and have many close men friends.

You silly boys, from what I have seen your egos convince you that what's important in being a man involves muscles, cock size, aggressiveness, banging tons of chicks, number of drinks one can consume and a host of other shallow things.  Don't get me wrong, the external appearance of a man makes a difference in his manliness; as a barber I will never deny that.  But it's simply the packaging, this is where behavior and lifestyle is what makes all the difference in who is a man and who is simply a grown boy.  The precious ego says that the more women you can be with or at least attract attention from makes you more and more manly.  News alert, you are a man whether women are around or not and their presence or attention only signifies that you are attractive for breeding.  How long those women stick around determines more about your manliness since a real man will have to work to keep a good woman around.  If you aren't willing to do a lil work to woo a woman into sticking around, then how boyish is that?  Seriously..  It's not about how great you think you are, it's about how great you are. 

And this whole thing about cock size.  I understand that the size of a penis is a popular topic, especially amongst us women, and is an important factor to nearly every adult on earth, man and woman.  But again it does not determine ones level of manliness.  The cock does not make the man, in fact, it's the opposite.  It's easier and funner and better to get off when there is true genuine emotion behind any love making vs. simply the size of the member involved in said love making.  The mind is in fact the most powerful sex organ and if your mind is so consumed by your ego because of your dick size, there is no way it will ever be able to connect to the sexual energy of another's mind and really get off.

It can be discouraging to me sometimes to see a man's ego completely consume the fantastic being he could be in such a tremendous ego's place.  I feel blessed to have gained the power and intuition to see past it, oftentimes the emotional damage and insecurities that cause it, and sometimes be able to tap into that.  I have spent lots of time with men in one of their weakest aspects, their grooming.  The vulnerability they have in a haircut or grooming situation and the physical proximity involved to perform these services is something which most men don't share with the majority of the people they come in contact with every day.  Mix that with my intense nature and the ego breaks down in a matter of seconds.  You can't fool me with that surface covering bullshit.

The male ego in one of humanity's most destructive forces and is responsible for the greatest damage ever inflicted on this earth.  This ego has started innumerable wars, beaten down and abused millions and millions of women, robbed, killed, etc, etc, etc.  It's not the men, it's the awful ego that has been bred into them and that we as a species have allowed to proliferate, uncontrolled and unchecked.  Men who are conscious of their ego and are able to overcome it or manage it are the best men in all of humanity.  These men can see the separation between who they really are and what an ego truly is; something created and not anything that determines their worth in any way.  Sounds simple, but it is a difficult and powerful journey for any man that has taken it on since we have convinced men that they are their ego.  Also, separating from their ego tends to be the most worthwhile thing a man can do.    

A real man is able to put his ego aside to understand another, be it a friend, lover, family member or co-worker.  A real man is able to see his ego as separate from himself and thus be a more influential man for it.  A real man is able to commit on any level; to himself, to a woman, to a job, to a healthy way of life, and to his own truth.  Sure men have caused some serious ruckus in their time, men have also achieved the heights of greatness.  Men have provided for women, children and even other men for thousands of years, throughout mankind's existence.  Men have carried their wounded brothers out of the wars they fight and have stayed by the side of a dying parent.  Men have explored the world and discovered life changing inventions.  Men have built entire civilizations and then torn them down to build more.  Men have entertained the world from music to sports to endless amounts of art produced by their manly minds and hands.  Men have sacrificed themselves for numerous good causes, the most noble being to protect women and family.  Men are the reason that women have been able to do what we do best, to flourish in our femininity.  Real men possess genuine qualities of compassion, love, understanding, nurturing, strength, patience, endurance, protection and drive; none of these words fitting into any definition of ego.

**Thank you to all the real men, whether I know you or not, who have me believe 100% in humanity as a whole.  You are a true blessing to this planet and we have never needed you so bad.

Snooze button.

Recently my brother was sick with strep throat, and when he recovered he came over to hang out.  I asked how he was feeling and he proceeded to tell me his program of recovery.  He mentioned that one of the nights he slept for what he described as "a Sarah, I slept for one Sarah".  With this term, "a Sarah", he was describing a period of sleep consisting of fourteen hours of sleep.  Ahh, he knows me so well.  I do love me some sleeping.  My mom tells me that I was the best sleeping baby beginning to sleep through the night at three weeks old, sleeping for twelve hours a night, with two three-hour-long naps in the day. Do the math.  I was awake for six hours a day.  Heaven.  I was probably a cat in a former life.  I was even born a week late, via c-section, cause you know what, I wanted to sleep in in there too; dark, warm, quiet, no responsibility. 

I was also recently ill and slept for quite a few "Sarahs"; some on the couch, some in the bed, some a combination of both couch and bed.  Whether sick or not however, I will sleep for as many damn hours as I can.  When I lived in Bogotá, I was so bored and couldn't be outside due to safety issues after 10pm, that I found myself sleeping about twelve hours a night and oftentimes taking a long nap in the afternoon.  Honestly, and don't tell anyone I said this, it was a bit too much.

It takes me about an hour and change to get out of bed in the morning as well and I have to set my alarms(yes, I need multiple alarms)to allow for this buffer zone between actually waking up and actually getting up.  Where this excessive need for sleep comes from I could honestly care less.  I would rather be someone that sleeps extra instead of not enough and my heart aches for those with true insomnia.  I would die, I would rather die since death is permanent sleep.  I really only wake up in the morning so that it's just that much closer to when I get to go back to sleep.  Nighty night.     

Summit!

I have challenged myself to write one hundred posts in one hundred days, and haven't we all been having so much fun with it!  Today is the halfway point, the fiftieth post.  YES!  I look at it like climbing a mountain, except without the little gophers running about.  

Today I summited, I've reached the top.  Perhaps you're questioning why you think I've reached the top when I'm only halfway.  To me, the summit is only halfway, since we have to hike down as well.  For me, the hike down has always been the lesser enjoyable experience, jamming on the knees and having to be mindful not to twist an ankle, all the while exhausted from the climb.  Hiking up is pure burn and pain, but hiking down is a sick torture all of its own since all you wanna do is get to the car.  I imagine that the second half of this personal writing challenge is going to feel similar to the descent of a peak; exhausting in its own way, painful and seemingly never ending, but with a killer buzz and nap awaiting at the bottom.  

I also don't see myself as going back to where I was when I started this.  The need to do this challenge came from knowing for years that a part of my destiny is to write and if I want to manifest my destiny, I needed to start somewhere.  So though I begin my descent tomorrow after enjoying the view from the top today, I won't turn around to follow the same trail I hiked up.  I am taking a new trail, in a new direction, into a new valley where I will be surrounded by new peaks, thus new challenges and opportunities to grow.  There is no place I love more on earth than the mountains, whether literal or figurative and I'm going to take my time enjoying the buzz of reaching the summit tonight.

Fake ID.

Goddamnit I find social media in all its glory to be an absolute riot.  I have gone on and off with Facebook in my day, despising and loving it all at the same time, activating and deactivating.  I refuse Twitter and Instagram.  I've done some online dating, and may do some more in my life.  But WOWZA, what a fun time it can be to see the difference(or lack thereof)between what someone puts online and how they really are.  I suppose it's all just a reflection of what we think we really are, or what we wish we were, or total bullshit so that others can never know who we really are.  It's quite frustrating in this modern age to actually get to know someone for who they truly are since we hide behind so much technology; defaulting to texting instead of real conversation, using Facebook as a way to "get to know someone", and just plain lying about all of it.  I personally don't get too caught up in it much and keep people close to me whom have the ability to be their authentic selves.  Ironically, or maybe not ironically, it's these people who usually don't have much involvement in the cyber world of social media and instead choose to also maintain real relationships.  I'm not trying to preach or be self righteous, I've bullshitted on social media and that's why it takes one to know one.     

Thug life.

It doesn't matter how old and gray I ever get, I'll never stop loving rap music.  LOVE IT!  I'd quit all other music for rap. Oftentimes I crack up at some of the most ridiculous lyrics in rap songs, especially when written down and read by white people.  Enjoy some of my favorite lines from rap songs ever.  Really, the list could go on forever.  Rap is amazing!

"So this is what this is all about, huh, donuts?" - De la Soul

"I thought we had a chance lady.  No more, now that I'm sober, you ain't that fine." - Nate Dogg

"Cooking MCs like a pound of bacon." - Vanilla Ice

"And after we did it, she was walkin' with a limp. . . and she feel stupid cuz you know, I toot it then boot it." - YG

"I ain't talkin' about Playboy, cause silicon parts are made for toys." - Sir Mix-a-lot

"Packed a shank up in my socks when I started kindergarten." - Andre 3000

"I'm bad for your health, like puttin' a pistol up to your face and blastin' yourself." - Xzibit

"Cause all we need is feet, and roller skates." - De la Soul

"Plus nobody I know got killed in South Central LA, today was a good day." - Ice Cube

"I like to rhyme, I like my beats funky, I'm spunky, I like my oatmeal lumpy." - Digital Underground

"Gotta partner, ooo his mind sick, say he love this ol' coke strung out stripper bitch.  Why he so dumb?  I'm so pimp it's ridiculous." - Slimm Calhoun

"To the window, to the wall, 'til the sweat drip down my balls." - Lil John 

"I just wanna fuck you, no touchin' and rubbin', girl you got a husband who loves you, don't need you all in mine." - Devin the Dude

-"I know you like to think your shit don't stink, but lean a lil bit closer and see that roses really smell like poo-oo-oo." - Andre 3000

Pause and effect.

I'm totally addicted to the placebo effect.  It's the best effect they've got going.

Part two.

"How to use a Japanese toilet(February 2011)" is one of my blog entries that gets the most hits.  Today as I perused through old travel photos in search of inspiration for writing I came across these two gems(no pun intended).  We know how to use a Japanese toilet, but how do we clean up the mess?  Japanese toilet paper of course, in all its glory.  Self explanatory, ultra hilarious, and extremely useful.

 The people of Japan will certainly know exactly what number this toilet paper is for.  It's for number deux.  Or maybe they are simply stating the number of color choices contained in the package.  Blue for boys, pink for girls.

The Japanese have invented a lot of great stuff for the world, and likely because they never lose sight of their core goal.  Foreign toilet tissue called Core Goal?  Are you serious?  I've seen it all.

Secrets of survival.

In the coldest of all snaps that I have lived through in the last decade or so, I have finally discovered how to live with brutally cold weather.  I cannot allow the cold to touch me or get near me.  That's it.  I have to seal off 98% of my skin to the cold, and by many, many layers.  Only the eyes, nose, mouth and cheeks are exposed and even that can get rough in the single digit temps of today.  I cannot believe I'm saying it, but I quite enjoyed being outside today in Denver in the freezin' ass, fo' real cold.  I was so bundled up and separated from the frigid air that I was quite warm and comfy in my capsule of clothing.  There is a quality of newness with the cold and snow for me after being away for so long, and I find myself a bit enchanted with the weather of the last 24 hours.  But I am no fool about the weather and I know that the cold will get old if it wears on.  No bother.  For now, when I'm not toasty under a blanket at home, I seal myself off from it and get out to enjoy how beautiful and serene it looks when things get so cold and covered with perfect white snow.  

I heart NY.

There are few truly honest places on planet Earth that reflect the honesty of New York City.  Known for being honest to almost the point of rudeness, New Yorkers have earned a reputation for their brash and forward nature regarding any and every situation.  I feel at home there as I can ask for or say whatever I want and no one bats an eye over it.  God bless you New York for being so self-confident, real and to the point.

This warning on the subway train in the Big Apple is so New York.   About as plain as it can get.  Because I am a Spanish speaker I of course had to read the Spanish version of this same warning, found below on the left side of the sign.  It, somewhat ironically, is a very boring literal version of the same message translating into the equivalent of:  If you travel on the exterior parts of the train, you risk having a fatal accident.  Really?  That's it?  Boring!  And people think Spanish is so exciting.  I much prefer the very New York warning in English.  Wiped out - forever!  Ride inside.  Get there alive.  I've ridden subway trains all over the world and only in New York have I seen such a dramatic public service advisement.  Keepin' it real, real honest.  

The brown widow.

I lived in a large town home in Los Angeles and in front was a stairway leading to the entrance of the building.  The handrail for the stairway was flanked on the outside by a bit of grass and some bushes and trees.  One night when I rode up on my bike, arriving home from work, my headlight shone right onto a large spider that had built a web from the bush, over the handrail and out onto the bottom step.  Not only was the spider large, but it was sliver chrome shiny.  I had to inspect a little closer and as I looked nearer I saw the long legs were a khaki color alternating with dramatic dark brown joints.  All of this was topped off by an orange hourglass on the silver chrome abdomen.  Wowza, what a spider.  

I tripped out for a second and then ran inside to get my roommate Nick and be like, "Dude, you've got to check out this spider!"  Nick followed me outside where I used my bike headlight to show him where this giant majesty was and he was like, "Woah".  We decided to look up what kind of spider it could be and entered some of the descriptive features as search words on the trusty internet.  The spider that quickly came up under the description we gave was the brown widow.  What?  There's a brown widow?  Everyone knows about the black widow, but now brown too?  Oh and the information we read said she was more venomous than the black widow.  Fantastic.  There was a healthy and huge highly venomous spider right outside on the steps of the house.  Sure she only came out at night, but that's when no one would see her and someone's dog could get too close or something else.  She was far from any entrance to the place, but she was still there.

Nick and I contemplated catching her and keeping her in a jar feeding her the odd insect here and there, but ultimately that idea was deemed too crazy.  That huge brown widow had survived just fine on her own up that point without our interference, and there was never any problems with the spider reported besides.  It was best to leave her there to come and go from day to night, hiding in the safety of the bush by day and coming out to her web on the steps at night to hunt.  I saw her on and off the rest of the time I lived there, but she disappeared after a while, likely moving on to a safer place for her and everybody, not including the insects.   

Praiseworthy.

Never as long as I live in this life or others, will I ever get over this most epic of mullets.  Bogotá.