a dream, an airport, a cat. in that order.

Last night I had an odd and semi-disturbing dream involving a minivan, a park near my hometown, a very confusing trip to the grocery store and/or possibly someone's grandmother's house, and one of my college roomates.  I woke up at 5:30 to my dad calling to let me know that my parent's and brother's plane had landed and I should leave now to pick them up at the airport. As I brushed my teeth and stumbled out to my parent's Suburban to complete the last leg in bringing them home from vacation in Hawaii, I was legitimately confused about what was real life and was was dream life. And then the speedometer didn't work my entire drive to the airport. It was kind of a weird morning.

Anyway, my parents were supposed to get home yesterday, but they got stuck in Hawaii another day due to mechanical failures on the plane or something, which if it weren't for the extra hours spent in an airport with an eleven year old (my dear brother, Charlie), would make them the luckiest vacationers ever. I never get stuck in Hawaii another night on the airline's dime. But I did get stuck in Denver for an extra night on their dime once, and that was rad. Except I got sick on the way home. But that could have been a hangover. It's anyone's guess.

While my parents were gone I watched their pooch and the house and the cat who also lives there. She's kind of a bitch. But we love her. But seriously, she's a cat, so strike one and two right there.



Yesterday I was hanging out on the back porch and she would not leave me alone. I'm reading The Vanishers right now, which is riveting, and she kept swatting it away so I would pet her more. So, strike three.

Just kidding, she was being uncharacteristically adorable and we had a mini photo-shoot right then and there. Of which I'll only subject you to one snap. You're welcome.

Meet Greta, this is her version of Blue Steel.  Also note my hood status. It prevents people from seeing what I've done to my hair. Yeah. That happened.

time for a photo dump. you're welcome.

I'm wounded. And by wounded I mean branded, because at 25 my friends and I STILL apparently think that's a good idea after like three glasses of wine.

Here is Easter Mass with my family. My dad insisted on holding the baby. Lucky I was seated right next to him, so I was blissfilly occupied tickling feet and holding hands with Florence. My parents are cute.

My brothers are also really into Florence, even when she's sleeping. It's really adorable.



I made Matt hold the baby since she was changing hands like a hot potato. He is particularly nervous about 'the transition,' but once the baby is safely transferred into his arms, he's a natural.



Pre-branding. Just an innocent night with the gals. Before it turned into an after school special/Smokey the Bear public service anouncement.

My parents are in Hawaii this week, so I'm watching the dog. He's clearly distraught over their absense.

I would have put like 200 more pictures of Florence in this post because she's my neice, so she's automatically the cutest baby ever born, but I'll spare you for now.

See, here we are hanging out. GIRL TIME.

I bought her those choice shades. She's already so fashion forward.

Matt bought me a gun recently because he knows me well. Soon after, we went to test her out and it was thrilling. I can't believe I've lived all this time without a rifle.



This is from Florence's first photoshoot. She was three days old. She's so much more photogenic than I am. I think she gets her strong interest in feminism from me and her mom. Buckle up, little one. This lovely snapshot is thanks to this talented lady: source



silver lining? my pee is clear.

My job is easy.


Like, if not for fear of electrocution, a beaver could simultaneously build a dam and do my job successfully. OK, I really don't like that analogy either, I'm sorry. A dog. A dog could do my job. Let it be known that I adore the entirety of the canine species, but we don't keep dogs around for their smarts. We keep them around because that tail a-waggin' is such a candid expression of joy that giving them a pat on the head is completely undeniable. Dogs are loyal, and bad ass, albeit dumb.


A dog could easily do my job.


Which is probably why I don't particularly care for the way I keep myself in the black, so to speak.



I loathe my job with the heat and fury of 100000 suns.



However, having a job that requires so very little actual brain power has its perks. Very FEW perks, but still, they exist. Minimally.


For example, despite the fact that my boss seems to get his kicks out of treating the workday like an eight hour criminal lock-down, I get to spend an undue amount of time worrying about things that in my normal, everyday life I wouldn't even really consider, let alone set aside actual moments for. Such as hydration. I can honestly say that I've never been as well-hydrated as I am at this particular, peculiar point in my life. It's almost a compulsion. I fill up two water bottles, I drink them. I go back downstairs to the water-cooler and re-fill them. I drink them. Repeat for eight hours. My piss is clear. It's fucking almost water-clear. It's phenomenal.


Thanks, job. I don't give you enough credit for forcing me to find valid reasons to leave my desk as many times a day as possible. The water distraction is two-fold because it also makes me pee about 23874387 times a day.


Another reason to leave my desk? I'll take it!




Also, I must say that my nails and hands have never been in such great shape. Being that I stare down at my hands the majority of the time that I'm not staring at the computer screen in front of me, I've really taken an interest in putting my best hand forward. I moisturize, A LOT. In fact, I even have to take off my ring to do this task, so it takes a few seconds longer. If I look down at any point in the day and my hands look even the least bit parched, I stop everything I'm doing to attend to lotioning them up. Equally as important, my nails and cuticles. I thought those movies and shows I saw as a child where ladies working at desks are always picking at their nails were just to make them look worthless/trashy/lazy. But really, it's because it's true! I have almost an entire manicure kit in my desk.

I feel at this rate, I could someday be a potential candidate for a hand model in a national commercial. I know, I know, it sounds crazy, but I like to set my sights high.

Finally, I spend OODLES of time staring at the computer. I'm the kind of person that's interested in almost everything... but I'm a bit absentminded, and I take a slightly ADD approach to life. AKA I'm always stumbling upon giant piles of awesome that cause me to go "WOAHHH, man, I gotta read/listen to/buy/see THAT! And then I wander away and can never quite remember where I saw it or heard of it, or what it was called, just that it was rad and I forgot and I'm an idiot. Seriously, a lot of my life is that whole song and dance. HOWEVER, since I'm basically confined to this desk all day, with an UNLIMITED amount of post-it notes and ink pens, I've developed a strategy! It's called writing it down AS SOON AS it happens to strike my fancy, whatever it is that I've discovered. I've got more interests and interesting things to tamper with then I even have time for! Tiny scraps of paper everywhere!

Plus, my cubicle has a window.


I know, you're still jealous about the pee thing.


HYDRATE, fools!

XO Sare