And not even in a GOOD way. (Which, hey! Still available, emotionally-aloof millionaires!)

I’ve mentioned how we’re poor, right?  Like, eleventy hundred times or something.

So I was slightly APESHIT when I got a free coupon in an email for a FREE PAIR OF PANTS FROM GAP.  Dude, that’s like the lottery around these parts!  When you have days where you’re seriously balancing food and/or utilities .. and I know MANY of y’all get this .. getting a coupon for a FREE pair of PANTS from a store like THE GAP was seriously a pick-me-up I needed.

It was part of their promotion for their new “fits” of pants .. the Modern Boot, the Curvy, the Perfect Trouser, and the Really Skinny.  Try on a black pair and whichever fits you best .. take home!  (Good August 16-22.)

Our only Gap in town is now 20 minutes away, which is not a big deal in most cities, I know, but .. that’s GAS.  And have I mentioned that we’re poor?  So I planned for Tony to go down for a nap, and I’d abscond to our outdoor shopping extravaganza.

It was approximately A MILLION DEGREES outside.  I wasn’t dressed to the nines; I was wearing denim capris and an Alabama tshirt. Roll Tide.  And flip flops.  I did not give the appearance that I had any money.  Cause .. I don’t.

I couldn’t get ANY employee to give me the time of day to ask about the coupon .. I’m a stickler for expiration dates, “certain exclusions may apply”, all that jazz.  And I hate spending time shopping.  That’s just me.  So no one would talk to me, and that’s cool, so I grabbed a black pair of each fit and let myself into the dressing area.

Well — SURPRISE — the Curvy worked best for me.  I was pretty stoked because 1) FREE PANTS and 2) I really DID like the way they fit.  The material had a touch of stretch, the cut left no gap in my waistband when I bent over, and I could see myself wearing these pants with heels and/or flats.

When I approached the counter, the tall gentleman asked if I was ready to check out.

“Well,” I said, mentally preparing myself for anything, “I just need to make sure that this coupon is still good.  And applies to these pants.”

He looked it over and declared it good.  And on these pants, no less.

He started typing .. look, I worked in retail, and I know what A BITCH coupons can be .. and then he paused.  “Let me try this again,” he said and typed.  He paused and then looked at me.

“This coupon is used,” he said.

“I’m sorry?” I asked.  Of all the things I was prepared for, I wasn’t prepared for this.

“This coupon has already been used,” he said.  And he RIPPED IT UP IN FRONT OF ME.

I just sat there.  Dumbfounded is a good word.  Jaw open.  And a little bit EMBARRASSED.

Granted, there were MAYBE two other people in the store.  We’re not talking about massive public humiliation, but still.

I felt that super hot feeling behind your eyes when you know you’re about to lose it, so I thanked him (I THANKED HIM) and left the store.

Sarah of three months ago would’ve soothed herself by buying something else.  But Today Sarah has NO MONEY.  So instead I went into a beauty store and put on the most expensive perfume I could find.  I could at least SMELL wealthy, I thought.

I came home and tried to tell Bryan the story of why I hadn’t come home with any pants (seriously, I had been acting like these free pants were friggin’ magic pants delivered by Santa Claus himself), but I started to tear up and couldn’t get through it.

I .. I worked in retail.  And, frankly, I worked in a higher end retail store than THE FREAKIN’ GAP.  And if a customer came in, presented an EMAIL coupon, and we had an issue with the coupon?  We’d make it work.  Because that’s what customer service IS.  I’m not even demanding free stuff that is uncalled for .. THE COUPON WAS EMAILED TO ME DIRECTLY FOR A FREE PAIR OF PANTS.

But whatever.  I’m more than pleased to not shop there in the foreseeable future.  It helps that I don’t have any money to shop there anyway, but this..?  Will not be soon forgotten.

When I turned 25, I had some ridiculously stupid list that I wanted to fulfill.  Obviously, I didn’t find it stupid at the time, but looking back, things like “Ride bareback” and “Get Kissed in the Rain” were not really important. (Although the latter? Very cool and snared me a husband.)

In two weeks, I leave my 20s behind and start a new chapter.

Somehow, at 25, this is not quite where I thought I’d be at 30.

BUT!  Hey!  It happens!  Exclamation point!

We had planned to go to New Orleans for my birthday weekend (there are luxuries afforded to being born on a three day weekend), but um, DING DONG HALLO, we have no money.  So instead, my in-laws are coming in to visit.

…

I’ll let that sink in.

No, really, I love my in-laws, I do.  And it will be nice to have extra hands around.  And it’s been since Christmas that they’ve seen the boys, and they need to know what they’re in for with the whole grown-up-grandchildren thing.

In other, sort of unrelated but maybe entirely (passive aggressively) related: would you ever tell a child .. who you’ve proclaimed as a worrier .. that a teacher “has it out for” them?  During the second week of school?  WOULD YOU DO THAT?  No you wouldn’t.  Because you’re sane.

So, back to my birthday, I am thinking that 30 has got to be stellar compared to 29.  I’m kind of hoping for a less eventful year .. decade, even .. and what will contribute to that, in large part, will be my ability to drink through the entire duration of this coming decade.

And with that, I leave you with my newest obsession: This Thing the Kids Call YouTube.

Y’all,

I owe you a few words.

I left a shitstain on this blog a mile long when I published that last post.  I freaked people out, fearing I was about to stick my head in an oven or something, and that’s uncalled for.  I don’t like it when people do that, and I’m sorry that I did.

In reality, I’m just tired.  It’s the kind of tired that isn’t cured by sleeping.  It’s a kind of tired that is ALMOST first trimester pregnancy tired, but not as rewarding.  It’s a tired that saps everything inside, leaving me with little else except recognition of The Tired.  It sucks me of my humor, my joy, my hope.  It’s a fucking annoying Tired.

It’s a Single Parent Tired.  Again (and always!), I tip my hat to single parents, because DAYUM.

I had The Ugly Cry this weekend.  You know the one.  The Ugly Cry that forces you to look akin to Julia Roberts while having a diabetic episode in Steel Magnolias.

“Honey, it’ll be okay,” Bryan said.

“DON’T TALK ABOUT ME LIKE I’M NOT EVEN HERE!” I’d snap, wishing M’Lynn would give me some orange juice already.

This week is better, already.  I’ve got lunches with some of my favorite peeps scheduled.  I’ve got tons of work to keep me busy, and it’s the creative, lucrative kind of work that I enjoy. (Cleaning houses, while profitable, does not make my Favorite Things To Do For Fun list.) Aside from Beau bringing in a LIMB FROM A FREAKIN’ TREE and then SHREDDING IT LIKE A WOOD CHIPPER IN MY LIVING ROOM last night, the house is relatively clean.  I washed our sheets and deoderized our house.  In short, I offered to myself what others pay me to do.  And?  I did it for free, because I am my best pimp.

We had Jack this past weekend, which is both easier and harder, but there were moments that were pure joy.  When the stars align and the moon is in the seventh house, everyone’s in a good mood and there is squealing and laughter in every crevice of the house.  The other part of the time, there is a fight for dominance over the remote control and our attention.

The way to fend this off is by centering all family time in the gallery kitchen, where both boys were keenly aware that they were being immortalized on video and receiving our full attention.  It was like Christmas.

THIS WENT ON FOR HOURS.

And, admittedly, it’s pretty hard to hate your life when you can’t hear yourself kvetch for all the laughter and squealing of joy.

That, and a few Advil, will make you a pretty happy camper.