Archive | August, 2011

August Can Kind of Screw Off Now.

Jack is back in the hospital again – I’m hesitant to even talk about it at this point because I tend to rage and cry about it whenever I do – so this will be as close to a Wordless Wednesday as this Italian can manage.

Here’s my 365Project for August.  Which, August?  YOU CAN SUCK MY TOES ALREADY.

1. 8/One, 2. 8/Three, 3. 8/Four, 4. 8/Five, 5. 8/Six, 6. 8/Seven, 7. 8/Eight, 8. 8/Nine, 9. 8/Ten, 10. 8/Eleven, 11. 8/Twelve, 12. 8/Thirteen, 13. 8/Fourteen, 14. 8/Fifteen, 15. 8/Sixteen, 16. 8/Twenty One, 17. Waiting for a cat scan, 18. 8/Twenty Three, 19. You will not be leaving us so soon, master comer…, 20. 8/Twenty Five, 21. Day 3., 22. 8/Twenty Six, 23. 8/Twenty Nine, 24. 8/Twenty Eight, 25. 8/Thirty

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Some Stuff that I’d Like: Birthday Edition

So.. I turn 31 in a matter of days.

Bryan said the other day that “Oh, she’ll be in her thirties on Saturday” which I thought was weird, because I’ve spent the last year in my thirties, right?  Technically? 

Having a fall birthday like mine has always kind of sucked. (I know; poor pitiful Sarah.) As a kid, you were just getting back to school, so you didn’t know your classmates well enough to invite anyone to a party AND back-to-school shopping has just drained all of the extra cash.  As an adult, it always falls on a three day weekend which is awesome for not having to work, but that means EVERYTHING IS SCHEDULED ON THAT WEEKEND.  Football tournaments, back-to-school carnivals, etc.

As such, I never have high hopes for my birthday.  And I’ve put out the bulletin that ALL I WANT FOR MY BIRTHDAY IS ALABAMA STUFF. (They open on my birthday!!)

(If you’re new here: hi!  Welcome!  I’m a bit of a University of Alabama fan!)(I BLEED CRIMSON, IS WHAT I’M SAYING.)

I’ve been eyeing some stuff around the internet (and pinning them on my Pinterest board) and here’s what I’m coveting:

Richardson is #3 this year, and he’s been my FAVORITE for years now.  He’s tiny, but damn he’s a powerhouse.  He was injured late last season and I cried when he was hurt.  I CRIED. (I also cried during the Prothro injury .. I AM CRYING NOW JUST THINKING ABOUT IT.  So watch this instead – still amazing.) Anyway, #3 has always been MY lucky number too, and he’s my BOY.  I want this jersey.  So badly.  Size L, please and thank you.

I already have a SUPER CUTE houndstooth dress from ModCloth, but let’s face it: if you’re a Bear Bryant fanatic (I AM!), you cannot have enough houndstooth in your wardrobe.  This super cute skirt from Etsy is so precious and really, black and white houndstooth is a year round thing I can wear.  Seriously, everyone at my entire company expects to see me in Crimson or houndstooth or some combination every Thursday and Friday, September through December.

These are kind of overdone in my city – they were available at Target for a couple of seasons – but I still like ’em.  They’ve kind of served as a makeshift accessory for the fairweather fans.

I’m not an elephant person (Bryan’s mom collects elephants and Big Al memorabilia), but I love how subtle this is in a gameday outfit.  Also, this seller on Etsy has the COOLEST origami jewelry!!

I .. I need this.  I don’t know why.  But I need this on my tree in the front yard.

Aaaaand these can live underneath them.

And this is not so much University of Alabama related, but definitely keys in to my love for my state.

This has nothing to do with the University of Alabama or my state or anything other than my love of rose gold and my sudden desire for a big rock on my right hand. (Also, it’s a sapphire – which is my birthstone!)

So there you go – a list of things I will be buying myself come Tuesday!  Alabama fans, if I’ve missed something houndstooth or something crimson that I simply MUST have for the season, lemme know!  Auburn fans – ENJOY YOUR GROWING YEAR! (You know I love y’all.)


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Sweet Home.

I have written and rewritten this post time and time again.  I’ve debated not writing it.  I’ve debated writing it and closing comments.  I’ve debated about every way from Sunday and I think the best way to approach it is .. well, honestly, and without reservation and the disclaimer that:

I swear to all that’s holy, if you leave a comment on this post that’s inflammatory or awful or non-value-added or I just plain don’t like, I’m deleting it.  Straight up, no bones about it.  Welcome to the glory of my blog.

Recently, there was some discussion about a cake at a blogger’s conference being racist.  Go ahead; read that sentence again.  Read it twice.  You won’t find any deeper meaning or any hidden agenda in there; it was literally about a baked good being considered racist.  A cake featuring two unicorns – one black and one white – rearing up to eachother.  Yep, that was the basis of the conversation.

In my typical fashion, I laughed at the kerfluffle for a little bit, but SIX HOURS LATER, the internet (at least my little knothole in it) were STILL talking about it.  So I took my usual stance – let’s point out how incredibly STUPID all of this is.  I’m going to patent this, I think, but my recommendation during these types of things is to turn to your significant other – one who is, presumably, not as entrenched as you are – and explain what you’re mad about.  Dude, you will feel SO STUPID as the words leave your mouth.  Let’s take this as an example, shall we?

Bryan: Why are you huffing over there?
Me: They’re arguing about a racist cake!
Bryan: .. say what?
Me: A .. ca.. a racist cake.  But I want them to stop – the Bachelorette is on!  We must discuss THAT!

A tweet of mine was retweeted.  Since I was in a locked account at the time, only approved users can see my tweets, so she asked my permission to retweet it and I agreed.  My tweet said, and I quote, “IT’S AN EFFING CAKE.  LET THAT SHIT GO.”  I still stand behind this.

The next morning, I woke up to a response from a user I didn’t know and doesn’t follow me.


I .. what?  You see the Alabama coming out in me?  What?

I didn’t understand – honestly, I didn’t – so I went back to see if I used “y’all” or something.  I use Y’ALL a lot, so I figured maybe ..? .. that was the Alabama coming out?  That I was southern?  But that wasn’t it.  I went back and read the rest of her timeline and saw how she was going off about southerners.  And racism.  OVER A CAKE, MIND YOU.

So here’s my plight.  I’ve just been accused of being racist because I’m 1) white and 2) live in Alabama. (And, apparently, don’t like arguing about cake.) This .. doesn’t seem fair.  Like, at all.  I don’t know this person, but she’s apparently a well-read blogger.   One who just named me racist over a 140-character sentiment.  ABOUT CAKE.

As a white girl who lives in Alabama, I am allowed no valid argument against this accusation.  I have none.  I learned this back when I wrote a post for MamaPop about Christopher Reeve being named in a tell-all expose as having had an affair with a gay porn star.  “Ewww,” my post surmised, “a porn star, Christopher?  But you’re supposed to be MY boyfriend!”  And I was slandered every way from Sunday as a homophobe. 

But that wasn’t what I said, I countered.
You’re straight, they argued, you clearly hate gay people.  It’s in your TONE.
I don’t hate gay people!,
I stammered. I know LOTS of gay people. Do you want their phone numbers?
That’s like saying you have black friends,
they argued. It doesn’t mean you’re not racist.


Is that just how it is?  That because I’m different than you, I must be in attack mode?  That I must be the enemy?  Do you think that everyone advocating your cause is EXACTLY like you?  Or is it possible.. maybe just possible.. that someone different than you doesn’t think you’re wrong because of your difference?  Or more likely, hasn’t even noticed or given weight to your difference?

It’s the same argument in race.  I cannot help the fact that I was born white.  And I choose to live in Alabama.  The Alabama I choose to live in is NOT what you see in The Help, by the by.  We are integrated, and we have an incredibly diverse population.  I’ve traveled, and I’ve SEEN racism.  By the way, it’s always been north of here that I’ve seen blatant and ugly racism.

But because I am white, I am not allowed to defend myself.  It doesn’t matter that my father lived in the projects of Montgomery and marched for the end of segregation.  It doesn’t matter that I work and live in a community that is a colorful tapestry – not even just black and white – and that we have a lot to be proud of.  It doesn’t matter that I don’t see color.  Because those are just words, right?  BUT THAT’S ALL I HAVE.

In her defense, I was offered an apology for that.  As if, you know, calling someone a RACIST in ALABAMA can just be erased with a fleeting apology.  Which – IF I MAY JUST SAY – is a comment that insinuates more racism and ignorance than any comment I made to deserve it. 

The question comes out any time something like this surfaces online Why can’t we just talk about race? and the answer is THISTHIS IS THE ANSWER.  Because slander is thrown, assumptions are made, and people like me?  People like me who are – assumably, I guess, because of my color and locale – most in NEED of an education for tolerance and acceptance and race relations?  ARE IMMEDIATELY CORNERED AND LABELED.  Because if I say ANYTHING .. ANYTHING AT ALL .. I am immediately slammed against a wall and told that I am the racist one.  Because my Alabama is showing.

My Alabama?  Was showing after the April tornadoes.

My Alabama? Is nationally recognized for intelligence.

My Alabama? Is recommended for raising families.

These, of course, are just words.  You’d have to come here for yourself to see it and deem it true.

But y’all, we’d love to have you.  Doesn’t matter your color or your economic bracket or your religion or any of that.  We’d love to have you here.  We’ve got a glass of iced tea waiting for you .. we’ll even let you choose sweet or unsweet .. and we’d love to sit with you and watch the sunset.  Because we are still the small-town heart, but we have big open arms.

It is NOT 1960 here.  My Alabama is showing daily, and you know what?  I’m damn proud of it.

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Let’s Talk About My Being Fat.

Perfect weekend dialogue, right?  I thought so too.

Now, look.  Please spare me the “You’re not fat” comments because that’s not why I’m writing this.  Honestly, it’s not.  I am overweight.  Fact.  Truth.  I look like I’ve born children.  Indisputable.  I am overweight, but I’m not unhealthy.  I’m strong, and I have great endurance.  I take consolation in that.

I learned in the February time frame that a local theatre group was interested in doing Cat on a Hot Tin Roof.  Honestly, I knew little about the show – I’m really not a Williams fanatic – but I knew that every woman wanted to have the role of Maggie on their resume.  I also knew she spent a goodly portion of the first act in a slip.

Now, back in the day, before kids, before Bryan, before all that, I was in a lead role that required me to flat out change clothes onstage.  I also was in a role that had me in only a bra for an entire scene (different show).  I did both of these things without really flinching.  Being semi-naked onstage was not a big deal.

But that was then.  And this is now.

I was wrapping up proposal 2 of 3 at the time, and let’s face it – proposal work doesn’t allow for time.  Time for anything.  There is not time to exercise, not time to eat well, not time for much of anything other than work and sleep.  It was May before any free time shook loose, and I began doing 15-20 minutes of Pilates a day and attempting to eat better.

I got my hands on a script and read it.  Twice.  And .. honestly .. I didn’t like Maggie.  I just didn’t.  I was really kind of drawn to Mae, the sister-in-law.  She just seemed .. I don’t know, deeper?  Tennessee Williams is not a kind writer to women, so his female roles are often very one-note.  But Maggie – everyone wants Maggie.

This is Maggie in the movie:

Well .. I thought .. if I wear, like, four Spanx shapers and I don’t eat and I go on the Lemonade Cleanse..

So I watched the movie.  And while I “got” Maggie a little bit more, I realized I’d have more fun with Mae.  This is Mae in the movie:

(On the left there .. as if I had to specify.)


I was not cast as the hot girl.  I was cast as the ugly one.  The one who is openly described as having a worse figure on her.  Truth.  Fact.  Indisputable.  A “breeder”, who may “drop a litter the next time”.

I was hurt.  A lot.  I was hurt because I wasn’t even really considered for the role, which is fine and I need to take like FOUR DOSES OF MY OWN MEDICINE and know where I fit and where I don’t.  The lady cast as Maggie is beautiful and sexy and is really, really right for the role.

And I am right for Mae.

It wasn’t until last night that I finally saw myself in a mirror and, like, saw myself.  I am not shapely anymore .. well, there is a shape, but it has moved from hourglass to peach.  I am not the ingenue.  I am not who I have been trying to convince myself I am. 

I have often spoken about Gilda Radner and what a profound influence she’s had on me.  I’ve mentioned how she never hesitated to take the ugly parts or the unattractive parts because she could find the gold nuggets within them.  I’ve talked about how I admired that.  Even more recently, I talked about how Melissa McCarthy stole my heart in Bridesmaids because she was just SO. FREAKING. FUNNY without having to be “the fat girl”.  She was just FUNNY.  Period.  End of story. 

I am no longer an ingenue, it’s true.  I once had a director tell me that I not only lack the skill to recognize comedy, but also that I cannot execute it. (This same director also took to an online tirade to discuss my ass being the size of a 747.) That director is WRONG.  I am not an ingenue.  I do not look that way.

But it’s okay.

I make it work.

And like Gilda and Melissa, I am happy for the spotlight.

Come see Cat on a Hot Tin Roof in Huntsville at the Von Braun Center Playhouse. 

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Please Excuse the Silence

But we’re all home, and we’ve got a bit of celebrating to do.

Thank you for all your kind words and wishes this week.  They’ve meant more to us than you realize.

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