What's On My Mind

I enjoy writing. Especially when I know my audience is you. You have told me that you've missed my writing and I'm flattered. The thing is, work is messing up my flow. I normally have a routine down. It's not in August though. Meetings, trainings (attending and giving) and the like make for a bumpy schedule. I'm taking time before bed tonight to write.

My favorite way to be on the laptop is to be on the floor or bed on my stomach. People tell me often that this is unusual, but I can be in this position typing for hours. I proved this in grad school. Now that the stomach isn't nearly as tender inside, it's possible for me to lay like this again and write. I just can't narrow my subject down.

Here's what's going on in my head, all of which I've wanted to write about:

• Will people believe that I'm trying to jinx our athletes with the silver star balloon (that floats along side the US flag balloon I bought for the Olympic Opening Ceremony cookout at my place tomorrow) ? They didn't have a gold already blown up and they looked great together. I told the girl at the shop I didn't want the "Proud to be an American" balloon she offered but was quick to add that it wasn't because I wasn't proud to be an American. There certainly are those moments though...

• Why don't people pick up their dog poo when everyone knows that the mounds of poo outside their apartment is from their dog and their lack of responsibility?

• There's a teacher who always wears gold nail polish. She has for years. Gold, metallic nail polish. She told me she does so because it goes with everything. I beg to differ. First off, her skin tone. It no matchy the gold tone. I'm just saying. I saw her today and she was wearing it again. I mean, she was still wearing it. Maybe she'll balance out my silver balloon with those nails.

• I love the way a dog's feet smell like Frito's. (By the way, Frito's was in spellcheck on Blogspot. I'd misspelled it fritos. My bad.)

• I was told at lunch the other day that maybe I should open up a sexiness coaching business named Sugartastic Sara Smooth's Sexiness Coaching. My eyes lit up. I wanted to blog about it and let my imagination run. I've been pondering all the funny possibilities of it when suddenly I realized that if there really were such a thing (and there probably is) I couldn't do it. I'd be so annoyed that the person didn't "get" it that I'd be ticked off all the time. Like the father of the man to whom I was once engaged told me, "Some people either "have it" in the sexy department and some people don't and never will." Unfortunately, his son did not. When we were kissing hot and heavy for the first time (me and the son, not the father, silly), I had to stop and ask him, "Do you have a tongue?" He said he did. I told him to Prove It! He told me he didn't like to French kiss, that it reminded him of lizards and such. I was 22 and hot, he was 30 and obviously repressed. Why did I not get up and walk away right then?

• I think I've lost more weight. I'm excited to have my next fill on Monday. I think eating is really going to start getting different after that one. Restriction cometh.

• Have you ever been having a one sided conversation with someone and the entire time they are speaking, you're saying in your head, "Shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up..."? Yeah, me too.

• When I ponder on Life Before Air-Conditioning in Texas, I consider that my family is from Texas from forever. I'm true blue Texan. Did the first of my family who came here stay because they were hearty, determined people, or because they were too poor to bolt the hell out of the God forsaken heat, or because they were too crazy to notice? Have me walk through a parking lot and I'm bitchin' like I'm on a death march in a Polish winter. How did they do it? Are mud huts with grass roofs really that much cooler? And no ice. No refrigerator. Just consider it, people. Makes no sense.
• I'd have made an awful Pioneer Woman. My husband would have shot me for whining in the summer. The entire summer I'd be talking that there has to be somewhere we could go where it wasn't so unbelievably hot in the summer. I'd not have my magic sweat pills so I'd have been damp 24/7 with probably a rash under my boobs--no bra and all. You've got to think about this from every angle. Cooking in this heat! Lordy! My standard answer to "What's for dinner?" would've been, "Pickles, bitch. I am not lighting a fire." He'd have killed me and buried me in the barn.