Blonde Story Short

As we walked up the four flights of marble stairs to our hostel room, we hoped our two other roomies would be two things: female and awake. This would mean that we could get ready for bed in normal fashion; noisily, 1/2 naked and with talking of our day's adventure intermingled. Bindiya, roomie #1, was awake and ready to chat it up. What a sweet and hopeful soul. She is from Bombay, India and lives in London to work for an investment banking company. She is 26 years old, and "still not married." She wants so badly to come to the states and attend Harvard for her MBA. After high school she was told by her older brother that if she wanted to further study, he would allow her to do so. This is apparently Indian custom, the oldest brother is sorta in charge. Her high school teacher had to persuade her brother to allow this kind of craziness as most Indian girls are to be looking for a husband at that point. She studied further and is now preparing to apply to Harv

I work mostly nights and when I park my car in front of my cozy little house I pay attention to nothing beyond what I am about to embark on...what I like to call a Zone-Out TV sesh. This is a time when I lie on my couch and stare at the television using the same amount of brain cells and energy as taking a relaxing nap. Then I go to bed. On this particular Saturday I had worked what's called a "Porta-bar" (aka Portable Bar) for eight hours at a Luau and was very tired (mostly tired of making "Coco Loco's") So I paid no attention to the sign outside my house that read "No parking after 2am Sunday." I had briefly noticed the sign earlier in the week and decided that I'd worry about it on Sunday. Duh. So of course returning home on this Saturday night required nothing beyond my normal parking efforts. WRONG. As most of you have figured out, that meant move your fricken car Saturday night, not Sunday! Sunday morning, on my way to meet my good

After running like hell to catch our train from Rome to Naples, somehow the train attendent knew I was not supposed to be sitting in First class (young american girls carrying dirty backpacks and sweating like beasts are clearly only classy enough to be in the 2nd class) So, I moved...and ended up sitting next to a nun. She ate a sandwich, used her cell phone and totally backwashed in her water bottle. I wish I could communicate with her but unfortunately no italian for me. I take joy in knowing that my mom would be so happy to hear that one of her very own catholics...not just any catholic, a super legit catholic...was within inches of her one and only daughter. I'm assuming this means extra blessings or safety or something. Suddently I become anxious that writing about this nun is perhaps a sin. Even worse, what if homegirl is reading my every word? She is sitting RIGHT next to me. No, impossible. She would've been offended by the backwash comment. The chick across from me i

So I'm an avid journaler. There are times when my journal entries are prayers, times when they're a tool for venting and then times when I write short story-ish matter. One of my hopes (one of probably too many, some of you pessimists might argue) is to one day write a book. What you'll read, if your ADD isn't agressive like mine, will mostly share my crazy observations that one wouldn't dream up unless they were up in "Sara-land" (my head) which is a place I'm pretty sure you don't wanna be...trust me. Some describe people or things that have moved me and some consist of stupid crap that I find humorous. Most of it is uncensored. My motivation to share some of my craziness and become a "blogger" came to exist on my recent trip through Europe (backpacking to be be specific...and make myself sound rugged and cool to all of the male readers ;)) I had more time than usual to write, think and take in all that the foreign adventure had to of