Blonde Story Short

1.  Tartan is cool.  I have a tartan dress that isn't that cool.  Why don't I wear that tartan dress with something over the top (like my BR white button up) and a skinny black belt...and my black hand-me-down booties...and a feminine jeweled necklace?   DUR! # AnythingWithStuds . 2.  I really should spend more time in second-hand/discount stores.  I like designer things.  I don't like designer prices.   Bingo! # LoveCheria 3. Even hardcore people wear the same workout gear over and over and over again. Alright! #HelloDay 4.  I don't have many blogs that I follow.  Bloggateers..."comment" me suggestions if you have them!  Anything from simple great writing, to health/fitness and girly stuff!  Please & Thank you. 5.  Finishing a sentence with just one word that best translates to "But of COURSE!" is my favorite way to show genuine enthusiasm.

Much like every Tuesday night, I met my very favorite gals for dinner. After sharing a bottle of Chard over fish tacos, two of us decided to continue our night out in PB (stands for Pacific Beach, but "Pompous Bros" comes to mind as well). We ended up at a dive called Bub's, nothing but class, where all of 8 girls total, including us, were sharing a bar with many, many....PB's. Your standard encounters didn't keep us from stimulating discussions on life and an enjoyable Bud Light buzz. We had the lonely bar fly come up with two girly shots, inevitably explaining what they were called and what was in them (not wanting to make him feel like a total idiot I didn't tell him that his knowledge was no good here, and that I am what we call a bartender) so we politely took the fruit juice with a dash of vodka. He left quickly (much appreciated) and mumbled something about a pretty smile. Okay, thanks. Another few came up, attempted chatting yada yada. Although we ...

Every other blog I follow does this whole 100TH BLOG BIRTHDAY thing... so I thought I'd jump on the bandwagon ;) Happy Birfday to me....how dee-lish does that cake look?

I feel like I'm the white (my bad, caucasian) girl in a movie of an entirely black (African American, although most aren't from Africa) cast. I'm the one who moved to the ghetto for Dad's job, which is never actually clarified. I just got home from school (it's work for me, but still a school nonetheless). I am lying in bed, put on some jams and started to write in my journal. I also took off my medium sized silver hoops and set them on my nightstand so I could lie my head down on the pillow comfortably. It's been a long day. Are you starting to feel the scene yet? Hopefully you are picturing Kristen Dunst or Julia Stiles right now. I'm feeling inspired, might have something to do with the delicious peach salsa I just ate, probably not though. So here's a little ditty I just word vommited onto the pages of my journal. I call it my (Anti) Poetry. After the horrific experience of receiving corny poetry (rhyming in fact) from a high school bf, I cannot...

It doesn't interest me what you do for a living. I want to know what you ache for, and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart's longing. It doesn't interest me how old you are. I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love, for your dream, for the adventure of being alive. it doesn't interest me what planets are squaring your moon. I want to know if you have touched the center of your own sorrow, if you have been opened by life's betrayals or have become shriveled and closed from fear of further pain! I want to know if you can sit with pain, mine or your own, without moving to hide it or fade it, or fix it. I want to know if you can be with joy, mine or your own, if you can dance with wildness and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes without cautioning us to be careful, to be realistic, to remember the limitations being human. It doesn't interest me if the story you are telling me is true. I want to know ...

Recession brings people to desperation. Desperate times call for desperate measures. I can't imagine the choices one would be forced to make if feeding his or her family were at stake. I'm sure that some are desperate enough to do things that in normal circumstances they would be incapable of doing. This is not to be taken lightly. But, on a lighter note, I generally provide one of those, there are also desperate moves that are goin' on during this time that are not a result of survival, but merely something else...which I can't yet put my ring-less finger on. Yes that's right, I'm talking about desperate moves made by men, more appropriately titled, boys. Moves that make me say out loud, "hmmmm?" and also "huh?" I have touched on my "When it rains it pours" theory before. Well it still has yet to be disproved. We got most of the P1-P4's outta there and now there's a whole 'nother team up at bat. I can'...

I've been dancing all week, four hours a day. I have the sore body and bruises to prove it. It's amazing to me how there are certain things in life that make us (or at least make me) utterly focused. Dance is one of those things. I don't dance often enough, but every time I do, I say to myself, "Why don't I do this more?!" It's sort of like cooking for me. For some reason my brain tells me it's more fun to go out to eat. Then, I take the time to cook, go through the process, put on the cute apron blah blah blah...and realize cooking is great and just like dancing, I should do it more often! Today as I sat (perched rather) in an awkward break-dancing position, this is where the bruises come from, it made me really think. Now normally, I don't need help thinking, this analytical-beyond-over-thinker has enough thoughts on her own. However, dancing takes away the wheels on the bus going round and round type thinking and all the sudden turns me into ...

As I've shared before, I love Algebra..in an almost freakish sorta way. I love how predictable it all can be. There's an established rule for everything. I also really like rules....sometimes. It's the teacher in me, sometimes at odds with the hippie in me, balance is the key right? I love how there's only one answer for each problem in Algebra. There's one rule. Sometimes there's an exception to that rule, but once you've experienced and memorized this exception, you're okay...things are back to being predictable. Life lessons on the other hand, are the contrary; unpredictable, full of way more than one exception to the "rule," and even once you've learned the exception, there are many more to come, more to experience and figure out. More that are unknown, unsafe and can even be devastating. You can't predict when or how you will get hurt, who will hurt you, or on an even more terrifying note, who will love you. It's all...

"Once upon a time their was a girl who was from Mexico which she talked Spanish. She moved to San Diego to go to school. When she went to the school the students talked english. When she knew that everyone talked english she felt lonely because no one understood what she said. She said in Spanish that she needs help with her homework, "Necesito ayuda con la tarea." When she told that to them they got confused and didn't understand what she said. After she was trying to find someone that speaks her language. She couldn't find anyone that talks her launguage in her class. When the teacher saw the girl that speaks spanish the teacher went to go talk to the principal. When the teacher talked to the principal the teacher told the principal that she has a student in her class that speaks spanish. The principal got the student that speaks spanish and the principal was trying to find her a teacher that can teach her english. The teacher was looking all over for a spanis...

This was a prompt that my kids were required to write about a motherly figure. They are reading The Joy Luck Club and exploring relationships with females. I responded to the prompt as well so that I could give an example...and of course because I love to write! Of the many, many INCREDIBLE women in my life, I chose to write about my Grandma.  Enjoy... The motherly person in my life that I chose to write about is my grandmother. Her full name is Mary Margaret Eva Lucille Morgan but she goes by Lou. Most people call her "Grandma Morgan" because whether you're her grandchild or not, she treats you as if you were. Abuelita Bonita (my special name for her: translation Beautiful Little Grandma) is 83 years old. She has raised or been a significant part in raising every person in our family. For me specifically, she was a key peice of childhood. She is the grandmother of 19 and the great grandmother of 27 children. Since the love of her life (that would be me!) i...

Getting nostalgic I pulled out my journal from traveling through Europe last summer. So this is straight out of it...poor grammar and all ;) I have to admit I can barely read my own writing! Friday July 18, 2008 We had another great, free hotel bfast, no champagne today :) Checked out. My hypothesis was correct, the clothes hung all around the room are definitely still wet. In the suitcase they go, what are ya gonna do! We checked out and realized "Borkum" our next destination is on another island! We would. Basically we'd have to go back through Hamburg to the other side. Right now we're in Utersum on the island of Fohr. Instead, we cancel our Borkum hostel and with the help of our very sweet German hotel owner, get a cab to the nearest hostel on OUR island. That hostel = full. The lady tells us about "Haus Atlantis" a house behind the hostel building that rents out rooms. We get our ish over there and some how communicate that we ...

I finally freaked out today (in the confines of my own head). I'll rewind for a moment. I arrived Saturday night in Berlin, Germany at "David's Cozy Little Backpacker Hostel." aka the cheapest one I could find on hostelworld.com. I would be staying here the next three nights and it was by far the weirdest place I'd seen...ever. A host of norwegian 18 year old girls were quite the welcome wagon. They told us we had to go out with them and (in a seductive, creepy manner) that "...they'd never been out with American girls before." That, along with the staring and graze along my rear as one walked past me was my que to go to bed and take a raincheck! So here we are. Thus far, although I have experienced various unclean and disturbing circumstances on this trip, I have not yet allowed myself to be "high-maintenance." Well, today is the day where that all comes to an end. I had to wait for the one and only shower in the hostel. I w...

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...

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...