whirlwind weekend.

Sweet baby Jesus what a weekend.


And yes, I realize it's now Wednesday. However, the weekend kind of steam-rolled through Monday and right over half of Tuesday and then there was a going away party last night for one of my besties, who is moving to Good Korea to go teach their youngins how to speak Amuuurican... so, yeah. I need to do laundry.


Plus I don't know about you, but WEDDING SEASON is now in full swing; as in I've got three nuptial-fests in the next four weekends to attend. I'm not complaining, but two of them aren't open bar.  We're even talking completely dry. So.... kid's table for me.


Anyway, I think we left off after my weekend opened with a midnight movie and I went all Harry Potter sobfest on you the next morning via lack of sleep and emotional turmoil. By now most people who are HP fans have probably already seen it, so let me just say a few words.

Mrs. Weasley saying the bitch word? AWESOME. Ginny's 19-years-later hair and ass? Both a little large if you ask me. Seeing all those death eaters peace the fuck OUT when Harry springs back to life after dying/resurrection stone-ing. Priceless. Lurve, lurve, LURVE. Notable absence? Hagrid. I know he makes a brief appearance and all, but man I missed that giant hunk 'o ... giant.


Anyway, I'll tone down the Harry Potter talk now. I mean, I'm not making any promises, but I'll try.  I think that's really more than anyone can hope for.


After dragging myself through work on Friday, I crashed pretty early that night. Plus Manfriend took me out to dinner and I ate my weight in pasta with a cream sauce of some sort... so it's not like I wasn't going to need a nap after that meal anyway.


True to form, we're slated to leave first thing Saturday morning and when I come out of my pasta coma ten hours later I still haven't packed. Nary a knick-knack or pair of undies had found it's way into any type of controlled pile/wadded up bundle. So, I frantically threw my toothbrush,  some conditioner, and like ten pairs of panties into my backpack and said a quick prayer to the luggage gods that they were actually clean.


Saturday morning was A BIT stressful. I ran over to my parents house to 'finish packing' aka see if I had received any birthday cards containing cash while Manfriend set off to run a quick errand aka go buy more deodorant. OF COURSE I left a baby gift and like six more things I needed at Manfriend's (slash I guess my house) so he had to scamper back over there and get them for me.


All in all, we left two hours late, which is pretty good for us.

We arrived in the Windy City by early afternoon and, my my my is Chicago in the summer a different place then Chicago in the dead of winter. Which would be the time of year when I resided there. When basically all I did was futilely apply for a million jobs and wait for my roommate to get home so we could watch TMZ and get drunk together. And hole up in my room, watching an entire season of Veronica Mars a night. 

Okay, end of vivid, depressing flashback.

As soon as we blazed into town we met up with my friend/spirit sister Colleen and proceeded to hit up a neighborhood festival and the zoo. Really any time I get to spend with otters is never disappointing.  Between everything, overwhelming success. Saturday night was a blast of outdoor patio cocktails- and if my two bloody mary brunch Sunday morning isn't an indication of my level of relaxation/hangover, then I don't know what is. I then proceeded to nap for several hours. Vacation means never having to say you're sorry. (Oh my god, okay. I'm sorry for wasting a sunny afternoon napping, Chicago. Nothing personal. Pinky promise.)


Sunday night involved an entirely different type of Mary.


THAT'S RIGHT, REUNION TIME. The gals got to catch up a bit, Mary's husband got to meet Manfriend,  and Mary and I completed our first ever shared domestic task, making a salad together.  I also got to meet her adorable daughter, who is only four months old and has already been saved by fashion. True story.  We drank some champagne and reminisced the good old days, which happen to STILL BE GOING DOWN. It's fine guys, she pumps her milk. RESERVE SUPPLY. Which means that NEXT TIME I'M BRINGING A BEER BONG.


Just kidding.


Kinda.

Whew. Monday, Manfriend and I were still in Chicago, so we pretty much wandered around Wrigleyville until the Phillies v. Cubs played. And we got a batting practice ball. (Manfriend took it TO THE FACE. hahahahahaha ahahaha I love him dearly, but it was hilarious.) BOOM. My friend Dev and his lady friend joined us for the game, which was sahweet.

Basically in a whirlwind weekend, and I saw everyone I wanted to see in the windy city. Frankly, I'm quite tired.

Which is why I'm going to channel George from Seinfeld and attempt to take a nap under my desk this afternoon. The only real problem is that my bosses' cubicle shares a wall with mine. It's really just an added degree of difficulty. And this girl? Up to the challenge.

Happy hump day!

Xo Sare

lack of sleep = EMOTIONS.

Well, it's all over now.




That's right, Harry Potter has left the building folks.


And if this post seems a bit more disjointed and choppy than usual, it's because I'm an emotional wreck just really tired. This girl slugged down a couple 'o birthday Beams, enjoyed the company of friends and family over deliciously (and dangerously) high amounts of sodium-ridden foods (I had bacon with every meal yesterday), watched an episode of Dexter with Manfriend, and then moseyed my happy ass back over to my parent's to meet up with my brother and catch the final installment of your favorite mystical series and mine, Harry Potter, wizard extraordinaire, at Midnight. Which, the midnight movie thing I've never done before, and can't really anticipate myself ever doing again. Plus I did it full well knowing that Friday morning was going to be markedly less cheerful than usual due to the necessity of showing up at the office. Shit though, I need more than three solid hours of sleep.


But I love HP to the extreme and I felt perhaps yesterday would be the time to show my true devotion. At midnight. Just like everyone else. Minus the costume, because I'm 25 now and that ship has probably sailed, or at least should have. I'm not trying to be the old lady in the corner yelling "Expecto Patronus!" All by myself if you know what I mean. People talk.

I need not have worried.


Right, but for real, imagine the spread of people that attend midnight showings of movies like Harry Potter. I saw MORE than one adult female dressed as a Golden Snitch. Gold glitter head to toe. Gold child's fairy wings. GOLD SPRAY PAINTED HAIR.  There were the punk guys, together in droves, wearing hand-sharpied shirts with philosophical banter like "Ron Weasley ROX!" Couples holding-hands- dressed in full wizard robes. Hogwarts scarves. Kids with wands. Lots of lightning bolts on foreheads.


Total freak show.


Me, smack-dab somewhere in the middle of the line, loving the shit out of it because these are my people.


And don't even let me get into the hours-long lines, overwhelming waves of teenage sexual tension, and just total lack of any sort of order or use of societal convention surrounding the entire concession area. Waiting in line for a small popcorn and two drinks that come to $15 should really never take 45 minutes. At one point a new line opened up, so I swooped over and mentally high-fived myself for my good reflexes, obvi I was about to save myself like 20 minutes of teenage-angst-filled-line-time. So I waited. and waited. and stood there. For 15 minutes. And you know what happened?


REFILLS ONLY!


That's what happened.


Back of the line again.


I don't handle that sort of thing with grace. But I was by myself while my brother held our seats and it was opening night of the very final milking of the Harry Fucking Potter cash cow teat, so I swallowed my pride and internally raged it out. Minimal scowling even.


But it all worked out. By the time the previews started, even the grown-ass men were giddy with excitement. Honest-to-god cheering and clapping after some of the previews. Like I said, freakshow.


And then it started. And it flew by in mere moments. And then it was over. I'll spare details in case anyone isn't as big of a devotee as I am and didn't drag themselves to the midnight showing of Harry and then trek into work at eight the next morning. I'm hardcore, just saying.

PLUS OMG NEVILLE IS A BABE NOW. WORTH IT.  

It was good. Really, really good.  Just the high note Harry deserves to go out on.


I remember tearing through the books each year or so, the morning they came out and my mother took me to get them at the store. I'd stay up all night reading after my siblings went to bed, because we shared one copy between the three of us and I couldn't stand not knowing what happened next. I always finished in one or two days, three tops. Reading the last book was like saying good bye to an old friend. And then there were movies, new installments to look forward to. The magic lived on.


Yeah, I'm a nerd. But come on, it's Harry. He let me stay a kid,  believe in my imagination, so much longer than I ever could have without him. He was a realistic hero,  struggled to be a good guy at times, fought villains both beyond my reality and uncannily in line with it. I felt like he could have been my friend, and maybe in some ways, he really was.


People state the obvious about movies and how they're never as good as the books they're based on as if it's the first time anyone has ever been genius enough to make that observation and well, it fucking chafes my ass.  OF COURSE they can never live up to the web a good author can weave, the images they let you conjure up on your own. Entire worlds can rise and fall within our hearts and heads-without anyone on the outside ever knowing and I'll always have an incredible amount of gratitude and respect for JK Rowling for doing that with Harry. For me. And for millions of kids and presumably millions more to come.

But seriously, people that want to dog on the movies need to lock that shit up around me. Because, good for the person that even dared to try to accomplish the impossible feat of bringing Harry to life. For bringing him to people that probably never would have otherwise cheered for the boy with the lightning bolt scar. For giving Harry a face and making him a hero for millions more. Do I feel more legitimate for being a reader first? Hell to the yes. But that doesn't mean I don't appreciate the fact that the movies are there.


So seriously, I know haters gonna hate, but don't make me get into a fist fight with you about the portrayal of Hogsmeade not living up to expectations in the middle of a crowded bar. Not that that would ever happen.

Just STFU, walk away,  and get over yourself, asshat.


Harry's been with me through a lot. Half of my life. Crazy. I read him at camp as a camper AND as a counselor. On the hammock of my now-sold childhood lake house, home. He got me through long car-rides and took my mind off of painful breakups. He gave me a conversation piece at college parties and really almost anywhere I go, really. He's sturdy, enough to hang a new friendship on at the beginning.  Plus, I can open any of the books and just start to read, knowing it will conjure memories of where I was in my own life when this new twist unfolded in Harry's. It's sensory. He's part of the time line of my life.


Maybe Harry's not my stand-by read or my favorite life-changing piece of literature. But we sort of grew up together, and now I've got to keep going and he'll always stay the same. I suppose I'm grateful for the constant. He'll always have a place on my bookshelves.

But, it is rather devastating sad to see the end.




At this point it's painfully obvious that I've been over here in my cubicle sniffling away and letting the occasional tear leak out of my eyes. Kind of pathetic.

I need more coffee. And a Midol.

So, bye.


XO Sare