After my unsolicited Lady GaGa outburst, I'm attempting to return to the original point of my blog, which is searching for a point to begin with. I must confess, even I was baffled by my urgency to defend her video. To all young ladies of this world, do not look to GaGa as a bastion of morality or example of success. I don't think she's laid any claim to the morality bit, but I imagine she fancies herself quite successful. I suppose by this world's standards, she would be correct. Might I suggest a more appropriate role model, though? By my standards, anyhow? Let us consider the likes of Temple Grandin or Condoleezza Rice. Or your mother.
Speaking of family members, my recent musings have turned to Gene Simmons. Bear with me; I promise I have a valid point this time. The last couple of Sunday nights, B and I have been entertained by the Simmons/Tweed household featured on Gene Simmons' Family Jewels. While it baffles me that Mr. Simmons refuses to marry Ms. Tweed, I am even more baffled by the fact that I love how their family seems to function. Sure, sure...we all love our parents and siblings...or we at least feel obligated to say so. But how often do we like them? More so, how often do we observe children respecting and (GASP!) enjoying their parents? Gene and Shannon have certainly not perpetuated the values and standards that I find paramount. Please do note that I'm no prideful prig. Jesus is just alright with me, though. Or maybe it's the other way around.
I have to admit, though, they may have done something right. Nick and Sophie Simmons, who are roughly twenty and eighteen, I believe, have shown their parents more respect than is typical amongst adult-aged children toward their parents. So what have these parents, who appear to "slightly" circumvent traditional morals and values, done right? (Should the unlikely happenstance occur that any member of the Simmons/Tweed clan begin to read my blog and, consequently, find such a question offensive, please note that I think you are all delightful. Worldly and delightful. That's my entirely unsolicited opinion.)
After having posed such a question, this is the point at which many would-be "suppressed" teenagers offer an exasperated countenance and ruefully exclaim, "Because they don't control their children!" Maybe, but I don't think it's true. I don't think Nick and Sophie would be so well behaved if Gene or Shannon didn't threaten to beat the living tar out of them every now and then. And, as far as I know, no media stories exist that narrate drunken, drug-abusing, sex-filled escapades or scandals in which their children are involved. So some criteria for good behavior in exchange for cars, apartments, clothing, and other items requiring parental financial backing must exist amongst the clan.
And my question remains: How did they accomplish this as parents? How were they strict and able to maintain a friendship-like bond with their children...while still being parents? Did they, in fact? I want to knooooowwwww! Because it looks awesome. Not to issue the appearance that I have bad relationships with my parents. I don't. In fact, I've never shopped with any other individual as much as I have with my mom. She's the female to whom I've always been closest. But they all seem to enjoy each other every single moment!
Sure, it's a "reality" show. I get that they act quite a bit. And don't get all verklempt when I say this because it will be a while before I attempt the conquest that is maternity wear, but I want to figure out how to achieve this. Hey, You! Experienced Parent knowingly rolling your eyes at my naive expectations, don't burst my bubble just yet. We have plenty of time to do that. It could happen....right?
One can hope that this will be my final post on anything celebrity, but as I said last time...fatuous wonderings...
Bis Bald,
Sarabeth
Monday, March 29, 2010
Thursday, March 25, 2010
Caught in a Bad Romance...with Lady GaGa
Verdict's in. After some serious contemplation and soul searching, I've decided...I loooooove the new music video from Lady GaGa featuring Beyonce. The one that MTV is suddenly too prudish to play. Which would matter if MTV actually aired music videos anymore. No, MTV prefers to present programs featuring the brilliant, shining beacons of hope for the burgeoning generation. "NO!" shout MTV execs. "We shan't air creative cinematography and truly exceptional choreography, as these women are scantily clad and are also gyrating in a suggestive nature! (ahem, when did this suddenly become an issue for you, MTV? Really?) "Nay! Instead, We shall perpetuate core family values by producing indubitable paragons of virtue and responsibility. Don't watch Lady GaGa. Watch 16 and Pregnant or Jersey Shore instead." Thanks MTV...you never fail to deliver.
So, yes, I love the "Telephone" music video. Am I bothered that our society has resigned itself to the female celebrity remaining more or less naked 75% of the time? Yes, immensely. I can't imagine the hardships of trying to rear children with any sort of proper respect for the opposite sex. The media overwhelms us with improper images, daily, and we're totally numb to them. Neither gender is to blame more than the other, though. We're all in this together, and we're all equally responsible. We allow ourselves to be objectified, and we objectify others. It's a truly deplorable situation. Alas, as Solomon wisely admonished, there's nothing new under the sun.
Anyway, having said that, I LOOOOOVE the video! Don't watch it if you are upset by suggestive dancing and scantily clad women. I neither question nor blame you. But the cinematography and choreography are smashing! And really, the costumes and visuals are brilliant. I love the nod to Kill Bill: Vol 1.
Here's my problem...I want it to be some obscure short film presented at an independent festival. Thataway, my indie integrity can remain intact. I like my slight indie snobbery. (Not by which I take pleasure in judging others. By all means listen to what you want) I went to UNT for crying out loud. I like weird dark horses in the film, music, fashion industries. And not because it's different, and not because I'm some "hipster poser that just wants to sound cool" if you will. Because I really enjoy experiencing new points of view and personal translations. This is why Tim Burton, Sophia Coppola, and Quentin Tarantino, to name a few, have excelled in their genre and ,likewise, have received scathing critiques. They're presenting offbeat art in an art form that mainly supports the predictable. And predictable has it's place; I don't know what is more predictable than Lord of the Rings, and that was a veritable powerhouse of amazing artistry.
So from Lord of the Rings back to Lady GaGa...what am I talking about? The point is, why is MTV afeared that GaGa's "Telephone" video will tarnish their already less than sterling reputation? I don't think they are. They needed some publicity so they're picking on the weird kid, who has a contract with a mainstream label but insists on doing things differently. And, yes, I do agree. The near-nudity, the I'm-working-too-hard-to-shock-you-foul language, and lewd behavior are not original aspects to her, otherwise, innovatory videos. Those unprincipled gems, we could all live without them. If Lady GaGa could divorce herself from these tired, repetitious gimmicks...why, I think she'd have something going for herself.
I have no idea how that all fits into my blog regarding my quest for the "The Plan", but such are the fatuous wanderings of my mind.
Bis Bald,
Sarabeth
So, yes, I love the "Telephone" music video. Am I bothered that our society has resigned itself to the female celebrity remaining more or less naked 75% of the time? Yes, immensely. I can't imagine the hardships of trying to rear children with any sort of proper respect for the opposite sex. The media overwhelms us with improper images, daily, and we're totally numb to them. Neither gender is to blame more than the other, though. We're all in this together, and we're all equally responsible. We allow ourselves to be objectified, and we objectify others. It's a truly deplorable situation. Alas, as Solomon wisely admonished, there's nothing new under the sun.
Anyway, having said that, I LOOOOOVE the video! Don't watch it if you are upset by suggestive dancing and scantily clad women. I neither question nor blame you. But the cinematography and choreography are smashing! And really, the costumes and visuals are brilliant. I love the nod to Kill Bill: Vol 1.
Here's my problem...I want it to be some obscure short film presented at an independent festival. Thataway, my indie integrity can remain intact. I like my slight indie snobbery. (Not by which I take pleasure in judging others. By all means listen to what you want) I went to UNT for crying out loud. I like weird dark horses in the film, music, fashion industries. And not because it's different, and not because I'm some "hipster poser that just wants to sound cool" if you will. Because I really enjoy experiencing new points of view and personal translations. This is why Tim Burton, Sophia Coppola, and Quentin Tarantino, to name a few, have excelled in their genre and ,likewise, have received scathing critiques. They're presenting offbeat art in an art form that mainly supports the predictable. And predictable has it's place; I don't know what is more predictable than Lord of the Rings, and that was a veritable powerhouse of amazing artistry.
So from Lord of the Rings back to Lady GaGa...what am I talking about? The point is, why is MTV afeared that GaGa's "Telephone" video will tarnish their already less than sterling reputation? I don't think they are. They needed some publicity so they're picking on the weird kid, who has a contract with a mainstream label but insists on doing things differently. And, yes, I do agree. The near-nudity, the I'm-working-too-hard-to-shock-you-foul language, and lewd behavior are not original aspects to her, otherwise, innovatory videos. Those unprincipled gems, we could all live without them. If Lady GaGa could divorce herself from these tired, repetitious gimmicks...why, I think she'd have something going for herself.
I have no idea how that all fits into my blog regarding my quest for the "The Plan", but such are the fatuous wanderings of my mind.
Bis Bald,
Sarabeth
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
Things Worse Than Tough Asparagus…
Many thanks to my hysterical friend, Theresa, for my new metaphor! Last night, over some divinely fried and perfectly tender asparagus, Theresa and I were discussing how disappointing and aggravating it is to bite into tough, stringy asparagus…especially after dropping too much money for the bunch.
I am not a morning person. Upon arriving at my office, I was inundated with things that I find to be worse than tough asparagus…not that it was a difficult challenge, i.e. I’m not a morning person.
Thing #1: New Work Trousers. I gladly spent lots of money on new work trousers whilst in Dallas last week. B was doped up on pain meds and feeling guilty that I was going to have to drive him back to B/CS at the crack of dawn that next morning to see our dentist…because of our stupid DHMO…and don’t even get me started on how much worse DHMO’s are than tough asparagus…so I figured it was perfect timing to spend some of his hard earned money. I was right. But here’s where it’s aggravating. You know I’ve been complaining about gaining weight since getting married? Well, now I’m very happy with the way my new pants look on me. Not to mention the two new pairs of Lucky jeans I talked him into after the St. Paddy’s Day Parade we attended the Saturday before …thank you patron saint of green beer. Gee, B sounds like a lush, right? He’s not. But I do like all of my new pants, and now if I use the exercise bike we purchased at the beginning of the month…what if they stop fitting?! You ask, “Sarabeth, what woman in her ever-lovin’ mind would be concerned about losing weight?” Well if you’re asking me this, I say you are either a man who can easily fit into any measurement x measurement, standard pair of paints, or you’re a twig of a woman with a steady, fast metabolism, or you’re rich. Any woman, who has any hint of curves, knows how ridiculously difficult and expensive it can be to find the appropriate style and fit of trousers or jeans. The fit has to be somewhere between “12-year-old boy fit with your womanly rear hanging out” and “matronly, high-waisted on your way to pick up your kids from soccer…with log-leg to boot” Hard to achieve…but when you do…you’re overwhelmed with rapture. At least I am. So if I use said exercise bike, I may risk losing my newly acquired perfect fit. Oh, the drama and far-reaching trauma of pants!
Thing#2: People seem to want to talk to me...before 12pm...
Bis Bald,
Sarabeth
I am not a morning person. Upon arriving at my office, I was inundated with things that I find to be worse than tough asparagus…not that it was a difficult challenge, i.e. I’m not a morning person.
Thing #1: New Work Trousers. I gladly spent lots of money on new work trousers whilst in Dallas last week. B was doped up on pain meds and feeling guilty that I was going to have to drive him back to B/CS at the crack of dawn that next morning to see our dentist…because of our stupid DHMO…and don’t even get me started on how much worse DHMO’s are than tough asparagus…so I figured it was perfect timing to spend some of his hard earned money. I was right. But here’s where it’s aggravating. You know I’ve been complaining about gaining weight since getting married? Well, now I’m very happy with the way my new pants look on me. Not to mention the two new pairs of Lucky jeans I talked him into after the St. Paddy’s Day Parade we attended the Saturday before …thank you patron saint of green beer. Gee, B sounds like a lush, right? He’s not. But I do like all of my new pants, and now if I use the exercise bike we purchased at the beginning of the month…what if they stop fitting?! You ask, “Sarabeth, what woman in her ever-lovin’ mind would be concerned about losing weight?” Well if you’re asking me this, I say you are either a man who can easily fit into any measurement x measurement, standard pair of paints, or you’re a twig of a woman with a steady, fast metabolism, or you’re rich. Any woman, who has any hint of curves, knows how ridiculously difficult and expensive it can be to find the appropriate style and fit of trousers or jeans. The fit has to be somewhere between “12-year-old boy fit with your womanly rear hanging out” and “matronly, high-waisted on your way to pick up your kids from soccer…with log-leg to boot” Hard to achieve…but when you do…you’re overwhelmed with rapture. At least I am. So if I use said exercise bike, I may risk losing my newly acquired perfect fit. Oh, the drama and far-reaching trauma of pants!
Thing#2: People seem to want to talk to me...before 12pm...
Bis Bald,
Sarabeth
Friday, March 19, 2010
2 Days of Walmart and the Dentist...
...equal the 4th rack of hell. I apologize to my readers, who may possess a more delicate vocabulary...but there's simply no other way to describe such experiences.
Needless to say, "the plan" for my first Spring Break since my undergrad career at UNT did NOT involve two days of Walmart and the Dentist. Although, I will say, if you've been searching everywhere for the exact yet affordable shade of purple eyeshadow, be sure to check out Revlon's Violet Starlet. It's taken me years to find. That's what you do when you wait for your husband's meds to be filled, while he's passed out in the car...in a not so endearing manner. Such is the paramount upside to this story. Well, that and B's current state of "not being in utter pain." I can't blame B, though...which is annoying. He'd been so busy excelling at his business that he managed to neglect a tooth pain that had been plaguing him for quite a while. So naturally it manifested in a full blown "Lord, take me now" kind of pain last Saturday evening. So follows our dramatic descent into the world of affliction and dentistry.
B and I had enjoyed a lovely St. Paddy's Day Parade on Greenville in Dallas and had managed to meet up with my beloved and fantastic (Ladies, if you're looking for an off the hook, Christian, successful, talented, jazz pianist, handsome, all around amazing, and going to kill me for dropping this line) friend named Matthew. After hanging with Matthew for a bit...and watching him get hit on...Ladies, I'm serious here...He's a hot commodity...and going to kill me even more now...B and I moved on to West Village to see The Last Station. It was fantastic and indie and weird and stuff, and I so loved being back to my Big D sort of events...but apparently Mr. Lacy was suffering quite a bit...although he was quite taken with James McAvoy's performance. He became even more impressed when I informed him that this was, in fact, Mr. Tumnus from The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe.
I did notice how expressive B seemed in church that Sunday at New Life Church in Denton. Don't get me wrong, he has no problem visibly expressing his love for the Lord, but he later told me that he was having particularly NO problem expressing his reverence during that particular service. ( To all new friends: I was brought up in a very reverent, yet spiritually expressive, non-denominational sort of worship. We're not waving snakes at anyone, but you'd have to be rolling naked in the aisles to shock me.)So...apparently the painkillers my mom had given him were taking effect. Nonetheless, at 7:00am Tuesday morning, there was I driving, nay...attempting not to fall asleep as B and I traveled back to B/CS in order to meet up with our dentist. Explanation for irrational maneuver: We have a blasted DHMO, which dictates that we may see only one dentist...because how often does one have an emergency tooth situation...leave it to me or my husband when out of town.
We weren't planing on returning to B/CS until Wednesday. Fortunately, our dentist is Johny on the spot and managed to schedule B in on Tuesday early afternoon. This planning, of course, occurred after a totally unnecessary appointment with a dentist in Carrollton...thanks, y'all.
B got his oral surgery, and I got my purple eyeshadow after hours of waiting on the Walmart pharmacy...two days in a row. Whether or not this is a fair trade is up to you. Okay, I'm being overly dramatic for the sake of the written word. I am so relieved that B is out of pain now. I hated how badly he felt...if anyone has had tooth pain...it's BAAAAAADDDD! One really should receive a month's worth of roofies for such an ailment. Such a trade was not a trade at all. It was the least I could do.
What's certainly not fair, but unfortunately part of many peoples' lives, is how sick family members can become with such little notice. We found out right after B's surgery on Tuesday that his uncle Randy is very ill with pneumonia and in ICU. It's the worst case his doctors have seen, and we hope that you will keep him in your prayers. He's certainly fighting it, but he needs our prayers. Please remember him for us and for his children. Life is so precious and can be threatened in a moment. But we know that our Lord is in control. He will never fail us!
God Bless you, Randy Squiers.
Bis Bald,
Sarabeth
Needless to say, "the plan" for my first Spring Break since my undergrad career at UNT did NOT involve two days of Walmart and the Dentist. Although, I will say, if you've been searching everywhere for the exact yet affordable shade of purple eyeshadow, be sure to check out Revlon's Violet Starlet. It's taken me years to find. That's what you do when you wait for your husband's meds to be filled, while he's passed out in the car...in a not so endearing manner. Such is the paramount upside to this story. Well, that and B's current state of "not being in utter pain." I can't blame B, though...which is annoying. He'd been so busy excelling at his business that he managed to neglect a tooth pain that had been plaguing him for quite a while. So naturally it manifested in a full blown "Lord, take me now" kind of pain last Saturday evening. So follows our dramatic descent into the world of affliction and dentistry.
B and I had enjoyed a lovely St. Paddy's Day Parade on Greenville in Dallas and had managed to meet up with my beloved and fantastic (Ladies, if you're looking for an off the hook, Christian, successful, talented, jazz pianist, handsome, all around amazing, and going to kill me for dropping this line) friend named Matthew. After hanging with Matthew for a bit...and watching him get hit on...Ladies, I'm serious here...He's a hot commodity...and going to kill me even more now...B and I moved on to West Village to see The Last Station. It was fantastic and indie and weird and stuff, and I so loved being back to my Big D sort of events...but apparently Mr. Lacy was suffering quite a bit...although he was quite taken with James McAvoy's performance. He became even more impressed when I informed him that this was, in fact, Mr. Tumnus from The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe.
I did notice how expressive B seemed in church that Sunday at New Life Church in Denton. Don't get me wrong, he has no problem visibly expressing his love for the Lord, but he later told me that he was having particularly NO problem expressing his reverence during that particular service. ( To all new friends: I was brought up in a very reverent, yet spiritually expressive, non-denominational sort of worship. We're not waving snakes at anyone, but you'd have to be rolling naked in the aisles to shock me.)So...apparently the painkillers my mom had given him were taking effect. Nonetheless, at 7:00am Tuesday morning, there was I driving, nay...attempting not to fall asleep as B and I traveled back to B/CS in order to meet up with our dentist. Explanation for irrational maneuver: We have a blasted DHMO, which dictates that we may see only one dentist...because how often does one have an emergency tooth situation...leave it to me or my husband when out of town.
We weren't planing on returning to B/CS until Wednesday. Fortunately, our dentist is Johny on the spot and managed to schedule B in on Tuesday early afternoon. This planning, of course, occurred after a totally unnecessary appointment with a dentist in Carrollton...thanks, y'all.
B got his oral surgery, and I got my purple eyeshadow after hours of waiting on the Walmart pharmacy...two days in a row. Whether or not this is a fair trade is up to you. Okay, I'm being overly dramatic for the sake of the written word. I am so relieved that B is out of pain now. I hated how badly he felt...if anyone has had tooth pain...it's BAAAAAADDDD! One really should receive a month's worth of roofies for such an ailment. Such a trade was not a trade at all. It was the least I could do.
What's certainly not fair, but unfortunately part of many peoples' lives, is how sick family members can become with such little notice. We found out right after B's surgery on Tuesday that his uncle Randy is very ill with pneumonia and in ICU. It's the worst case his doctors have seen, and we hope that you will keep him in your prayers. He's certainly fighting it, but he needs our prayers. Please remember him for us and for his children. Life is so precious and can be threatened in a moment. But we know that our Lord is in control. He will never fail us!
God Bless you, Randy Squiers.
Bis Bald,
Sarabeth
Friday, March 12, 2010
Disenchantment 101
HG TV has become a problem for me. Not dissimilar to the way Platinum Weddings and Say Yes to the Dress on TLC became problems about 8 months ago. Such programs build up one’s ambitions and expectations for life’s great moments so high that the deflation period is quite tedious.
My wedding was great, but circumstances just didn’t lead to my family and bridesmaids weeping as they arranged flowers in my hair. I wasn’t ushered seamlessly from ceremony to reception, and I can’t say that I remember the flavor of any of the menu items upon which it took months to decide. Nope. My mother’s wrist was broken so it was all she could do to get herself dressed. It was a sweltering August day, and to say that I was schvitzing in my 127 lb. dress would be quite an understatement. Upon arriving at the chapel, it seemed as if none of us knew what the heck was going on…despite the supposed rehearsal, and things were no less chaotic at the reception. Oh, and it rained. It rained all over us as we walked a long, uncovered path from the chapel to the Limo. Let me tell ya, there is nothing like a nice sauna visit before your wedding reception. It does wonders for your makeup and hair…if you prefer that they melt off before the party.
Again, I’m not complaining. I loved my wedding, and there are some great memories that I get to treasure that no one other bride will…like my new husband performing a song he had written for me. And my father answering, “My mother and I do” upon being asked by Pastor Jim, “Who gives this bride away to be married?” Seriously hysterical. And my sister pulling out sheets of paper when it was her turn to give the maid of honor toast, along with my brother MCing the wedding. All wonderful things. Oh! And a certain Larry Hooper imitating what a deaf Jason Mraz would sound like while singing our song as we danced our first married dance.
But TLC will not prepare you for the warfare that is the “wedding day”. Even if you are not a Bridezilla, relationships will be strained. It feels like payment to the wedding gods. You may have a husband, but your friendships must suffer…no matter how hard you try to circumvent the impending doom. And regardless of how much or how long you plan, details of the event will never occur in the manner for which you had hoped. TLC needs to consider launching a show based on honeymoons because the day after the wedding when you get to disappear with your new husband…that’s the best day of your life.
But I digress…back to HG TV. House Hunters and Property Virgins have set me up for a slight disenchantment once again. Brandon and I are currently in contract on a house…and it’s long and tedious…again! I mean, nothing’s happening. Nobody is documenting us as we discuss our likes and dislikes of different homes. Compellingly dramatic music does not play in the background as we call our lender to see if our financing will work out. And worst of all…when we do finally close…if we do in fact close…TLC will not have decorated a room of my new house in lieu of me. Nope, we’re just sittin’ around waiting to meet with our lender and hoping that our June closing date works out. It just feels too boring to be the fantastic process of home buying. Whatever. Maybe on June 4th, if I am handed keys to the house, maybe I’ll just bring my Zune with me so I can have some triumphant music playing in the background. At least they get that right at weddings. You get cool music playing as you exit the building after sealing the deal.
Happy Spring Break, Everyone!
Bis Bald,
Sarabeth
My wedding was great, but circumstances just didn’t lead to my family and bridesmaids weeping as they arranged flowers in my hair. I wasn’t ushered seamlessly from ceremony to reception, and I can’t say that I remember the flavor of any of the menu items upon which it took months to decide. Nope. My mother’s wrist was broken so it was all she could do to get herself dressed. It was a sweltering August day, and to say that I was schvitzing in my 127 lb. dress would be quite an understatement. Upon arriving at the chapel, it seemed as if none of us knew what the heck was going on…despite the supposed rehearsal, and things were no less chaotic at the reception. Oh, and it rained. It rained all over us as we walked a long, uncovered path from the chapel to the Limo. Let me tell ya, there is nothing like a nice sauna visit before your wedding reception. It does wonders for your makeup and hair…if you prefer that they melt off before the party.
Again, I’m not complaining. I loved my wedding, and there are some great memories that I get to treasure that no one other bride will…like my new husband performing a song he had written for me. And my father answering, “My mother and I do” upon being asked by Pastor Jim, “Who gives this bride away to be married?” Seriously hysterical. And my sister pulling out sheets of paper when it was her turn to give the maid of honor toast, along with my brother MCing the wedding. All wonderful things. Oh! And a certain Larry Hooper imitating what a deaf Jason Mraz would sound like while singing our song as we danced our first married dance.
But TLC will not prepare you for the warfare that is the “wedding day”. Even if you are not a Bridezilla, relationships will be strained. It feels like payment to the wedding gods. You may have a husband, but your friendships must suffer…no matter how hard you try to circumvent the impending doom. And regardless of how much or how long you plan, details of the event will never occur in the manner for which you had hoped. TLC needs to consider launching a show based on honeymoons because the day after the wedding when you get to disappear with your new husband…that’s the best day of your life.
But I digress…back to HG TV. House Hunters and Property Virgins have set me up for a slight disenchantment once again. Brandon and I are currently in contract on a house…and it’s long and tedious…again! I mean, nothing’s happening. Nobody is documenting us as we discuss our likes and dislikes of different homes. Compellingly dramatic music does not play in the background as we call our lender to see if our financing will work out. And worst of all…when we do finally close…if we do in fact close…TLC will not have decorated a room of my new house in lieu of me. Nope, we’re just sittin’ around waiting to meet with our lender and hoping that our June closing date works out. It just feels too boring to be the fantastic process of home buying. Whatever. Maybe on June 4th, if I am handed keys to the house, maybe I’ll just bring my Zune with me so I can have some triumphant music playing in the background. At least they get that right at weddings. You get cool music playing as you exit the building after sealing the deal.
Happy Spring Break, Everyone!
Bis Bald,
Sarabeth
Monday, March 8, 2010
In Another Life...
...I would not be an academic advisor. Don't misunderstand. I love my job; telling people what I think they should do is a dream come true. And to be honest, students are the only beings grateful for my opinion. I never see a wave of relief wash across Brandon's expression upon hearing what I think he should do. Quite opposite in fact.
But I still wouldn't be an advisor. In another life, my alter ego possesses a wildly bohemian, creative, romantic occupation. She gets to develop fantastical movie scenes with Tim Burton, write jokes with Catherine O'Hara, and learn Spanish from Pedro Almodóvar. Jenny Lewis and Zooey Deschanel hang out on the weekends to write songs and design dresses. And there's a good chance that she's just about as tatted up as Kat Von D.
The other day, I found out the the University of California offers a degree in Viticulture! Why did I not know that I could get a degree in wine!?! I could have opened a bodega near Francis Ford Coppola's vineyard and talked screenplays with Sophia! But then I recalled my post-church conversation with Brandon and his friend Max regarding the image of San Francisco falling into a fault line in the ocean in the film 2012 and then having considered how close Napa is to San Fran, I immediately discontinued my contemplation on the subject.
Still, it does get old being the type A, straight-laced individual in this duo. I soooo want to be messy-laced many many times throughout the day. I don't think it's totally outside of my capabilities, though. Probably why I married B. To live vicariously through him as he develops his own design company and fosters his musical talent and range. I'd like to think that I may even work up enough gumption to someday perform with him. He's asked me to, but I don't want to be the token musician's wife displayed in all my glorious mediocrity so that people can say, "Awww. That's so cute!" No, sir. That, in fact, would not be cute. I need to learn an instrument soon. I do have a few hidden talents, but I don't know how long I can hold a crowd captive by performing the same two bars of Concerning Hobbits on the ocarina. Any takers?
Alas, my job description may never invoke romantic visions of artistic renderings or compel a person to cry, "Viva la vie boheme!" In the mean time, I'll continue to live voyeuristically through others, try to hone my creative writing skills via this blog, and take silent joy in the purple lily tattooed on the right side of my lower back. That was a tooth-grindingly painful method of proving my artistic side...but totally worth it. In fact, I think I've just signed myself up for another slightly more visible, probably just as painful, definitely just as permanent artistic expression. So as I sum it up, I advise you to go ahead and live "la vie boheme"...whilst also remaining a good steward of your finances, brushing your teeth twice a day, and most importantly, praying every chance you get and thanking the Lord for all His amazing blessings. Ask Him where you're going next, and what He wants you to do when you get there. That's The Plan for today.
Bis Bald,
Sarabeth
But I still wouldn't be an advisor. In another life, my alter ego possesses a wildly bohemian, creative, romantic occupation. She gets to develop fantastical movie scenes with Tim Burton, write jokes with Catherine O'Hara, and learn Spanish from Pedro Almodóvar. Jenny Lewis and Zooey Deschanel hang out on the weekends to write songs and design dresses. And there's a good chance that she's just about as tatted up as Kat Von D.
The other day, I found out the the University of California offers a degree in Viticulture! Why did I not know that I could get a degree in wine!?! I could have opened a bodega near Francis Ford Coppola's vineyard and talked screenplays with Sophia! But then I recalled my post-church conversation with Brandon and his friend Max regarding the image of San Francisco falling into a fault line in the ocean in the film 2012 and then having considered how close Napa is to San Fran, I immediately discontinued my contemplation on the subject.
Still, it does get old being the type A, straight-laced individual in this duo. I soooo want to be messy-laced many many times throughout the day. I don't think it's totally outside of my capabilities, though. Probably why I married B. To live vicariously through him as he develops his own design company and fosters his musical talent and range. I'd like to think that I may even work up enough gumption to someday perform with him. He's asked me to, but I don't want to be the token musician's wife displayed in all my glorious mediocrity so that people can say, "Awww. That's so cute!" No, sir. That, in fact, would not be cute. I need to learn an instrument soon. I do have a few hidden talents, but I don't know how long I can hold a crowd captive by performing the same two bars of Concerning Hobbits on the ocarina. Any takers?
Alas, my job description may never invoke romantic visions of artistic renderings or compel a person to cry, "Viva la vie boheme!" In the mean time, I'll continue to live voyeuristically through others, try to hone my creative writing skills via this blog, and take silent joy in the purple lily tattooed on the right side of my lower back. That was a tooth-grindingly painful method of proving my artistic side...but totally worth it. In fact, I think I've just signed myself up for another slightly more visible, probably just as painful, definitely just as permanent artistic expression. So as I sum it up, I advise you to go ahead and live "la vie boheme"...whilst also remaining a good steward of your finances, brushing your teeth twice a day, and most importantly, praying every chance you get and thanking the Lord for all His amazing blessings. Ask Him where you're going next, and what He wants you to do when you get there. That's The Plan for today.
Bis Bald,
Sarabeth
Friday, March 5, 2010
Who am I, and what am I doing here? Both good questions...
Please let me know should you happen to discover the answers to either question above before I do.
So, to begin, what's going on? After months of reading my (lovely and much more articulate than I) sister-in-law's blog, I decided I could use a medium by which to express my jumbled up thoughts, emotions, and experiences. Why you should care...ya got me? But after watching Julie & Julia, and envying my sister-in-law's wit...Rachel, I suppose you could say that I have decided to follow in your shoes.
Warning: If you have read Rachel's "Following in my Shoes", I can no promise (and I mean "no" not "not" because I like it when Ricky Gervais says "I can no promise..." or "I can no do...") the same consistency in humor, timeliness, or spelling. I am a wretched speller. I laud the day Internet Explorer provided the "new tab" option by which I am able to look up elementary words I should have remembered from 3rd grade without having to navigate away from my current project. I blame it on my German degree. You may blame it on whatever you'd like...just be kind when you see choice spellings, such as "neccessary". I mean, how am I supposed to work 8 hours a day, attempt to not live in squaller by occasionally picking up a broom, exercise for maybe 20 minutes so as to pretend I'm not slowly gaining weight after getting married, and also remember that "necessary" does not have a double "c" but does have a double "s". IMPOSSIBLE, I say!
So now that you've been properly warned...here we go:
I believe I am approaching this blog as a means of catharsis. I need to know if I'm crazy, or if I'm a fairly normal newly-wed, who has been removed from the city and transplanted in Bryan/College Station. A new community, a new career, new friends, a new church....and perhaps most baffling of all...I live with a boy!?! A boy I love dearly, but a boy nonetheless. A type B boy. Do you know that I am type A! I live with a boy...okay...he's a 34-year-old man...who leaves his dirty work clothes at the back door the minute he walks in the house, owns and plays a mouth harp, and likes to run around the house in his boxers performing his "Brandon Dance" (the feint of heart should never witness the Brandon Dance). This is surely enough to make one type A city-dweller crazy, right? I think I just answered my own question.
I live in perpetual pursuit of "The Plan". You know...God's amazing, grand plan for my life. In the mean time, it's often easy for me to miss the small miracles He places in my life daily. Miracles like: a gentle, kind, strong, hysterical, and most of all Godly husband, who loves me dearly and always does his best to take care of me. A mother, who has taught me the principles of being a Godly woman, and who has always been closer than a friend. A father, who works endlessly to provide for his family and would do just about anything at the drop of a hat. A brother and two sisters, who always make me laugh. The best in-laws I could have ever asked for. And, of course, a little puff-ball cavachon (Cavalier King Charles Spaniel x Bichon Frise) named Bella Bawk Ba Gawk (I'll explain later...but you know a certain "Brandon Dancer" was involved in the choosing of this name).
I would like to take the opportunity to focus more upon the daily blessings and less upon The Plan...whilst still complaining about not knowing what the heck The Plan is. Look, you can't expect me to be cured instantaneously (I spelled that one correctly!).
Preview of topics to come: *How to be an unpredictably insane wife and frighten your husband into silence: My first six months living with Brandon W. Lacy *Am I really nesting, or am I just antisocial? *You want me to advise you? Alright, here we go... *Do I want a Master's or a House? : Guess a girl can't have it all *How come watching my husband develop his culinary expertise while I sit in front of the TV does not make me feel like a "modern, independent woman"?: how to gain weight during the first six months of marriage. And many many more topics to come.
(Because Heide Klum has reserved "Auf Wiedersehen")
So, to begin, what's going on? After months of reading my (lovely and much more articulate than I) sister-in-law's blog, I decided I could use a medium by which to express my jumbled up thoughts, emotions, and experiences. Why you should care...ya got me? But after watching Julie & Julia, and envying my sister-in-law's wit...Rachel, I suppose you could say that I have decided to follow in your shoes.
Warning: If you have read Rachel's "Following in my Shoes", I can no promise (and I mean "no" not "not" because I like it when Ricky Gervais says "I can no promise..." or "I can no do...") the same consistency in humor, timeliness, or spelling. I am a wretched speller. I laud the day Internet Explorer provided the "new tab" option by which I am able to look up elementary words I should have remembered from 3rd grade without having to navigate away from my current project. I blame it on my German degree. You may blame it on whatever you'd like...just be kind when you see choice spellings, such as "neccessary". I mean, how am I supposed to work 8 hours a day, attempt to not live in squaller by occasionally picking up a broom, exercise for maybe 20 minutes so as to pretend I'm not slowly gaining weight after getting married, and also remember that "necessary" does not have a double "c" but does have a double "s". IMPOSSIBLE, I say!
So now that you've been properly warned...here we go:
I believe I am approaching this blog as a means of catharsis. I need to know if I'm crazy, or if I'm a fairly normal newly-wed, who has been removed from the city and transplanted in Bryan/College Station. A new community, a new career, new friends, a new church....and perhaps most baffling of all...I live with a boy!?! A boy I love dearly, but a boy nonetheless. A type B boy. Do you know that I am type A! I live with a boy...okay...he's a 34-year-old man...who leaves his dirty work clothes at the back door the minute he walks in the house, owns and plays a mouth harp, and likes to run around the house in his boxers performing his "Brandon Dance" (the feint of heart should never witness the Brandon Dance). This is surely enough to make one type A city-dweller crazy, right? I think I just answered my own question.
I live in perpetual pursuit of "The Plan". You know...God's amazing, grand plan for my life. In the mean time, it's often easy for me to miss the small miracles He places in my life daily. Miracles like: a gentle, kind, strong, hysterical, and most of all Godly husband, who loves me dearly and always does his best to take care of me. A mother, who has taught me the principles of being a Godly woman, and who has always been closer than a friend. A father, who works endlessly to provide for his family and would do just about anything at the drop of a hat. A brother and two sisters, who always make me laugh. The best in-laws I could have ever asked for. And, of course, a little puff-ball cavachon (Cavalier King Charles Spaniel x Bichon Frise) named Bella Bawk Ba Gawk (I'll explain later...but you know a certain "Brandon Dancer" was involved in the choosing of this name).
I would like to take the opportunity to focus more upon the daily blessings and less upon The Plan...whilst still complaining about not knowing what the heck The Plan is. Look, you can't expect me to be cured instantaneously (I spelled that one correctly!).
Preview of topics to come: *How to be an unpredictably insane wife and frighten your husband into silence: My first six months living with Brandon W. Lacy *Am I really nesting, or am I just antisocial? *You want me to advise you? Alright, here we go... *Do I want a Master's or a House? : Guess a girl can't have it all *How come watching my husband develop his culinary expertise while I sit in front of the TV does not make me feel like a "modern, independent woman"?: how to gain weight during the first six months of marriage. And many many more topics to come.
(Because Heide Klum has reserved "Auf Wiedersehen")
Bis Bald,
Sarabeth
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