Let 'em work, let 'em live.

In yoga class our teachers say
that when your body shakes
your nervous system is resetting itself.
like when the nintendo freezes
and you blow the dust out.
maybe thats the reason
I'm freezing
from the inside
out.
uncontrollable/feverish/shivers
mummified in goose down
in the ancient egyptian mind
(that's mine).
I thought maybe
it was the booze drinks
but
now that i remember
what I was trying to forget
and my neuroses meet up
with yours
the integration is too much
for my meridians.
its like
a traffic jam on 95.
why isn't there
an alternate route?
There's always construction
when I'm in a hurry.

nessie.

There's a hole in my sweatpants.

My heater is on and the air is dry.

I'm so sick of the wheels of my mind

spinning the same shit

like  a slot machine

im putting 4 billion quarters in

where the fuck

is my winning combo/?

Satisfaction is the loch ness monster

elusive as fuck

lurking in the shadows.

Its cold.

The immaculate deception.

When you can't be convinced
 everything's all right.
Despite your faith
your stomach tells you
you're fucking up
your bank statement agrees.
The line between being gentle
and losing control
a tightrope walk
 falling is easier.
 its not gymnastics class
 there's no foam pit.
The pavement- merciless
and your bones- soft.
 I was laying on the floor
when I saw me
Jumping off a skyscraper.
Then the Gold Star Bridge.
I wasn't scared.
I was doing backflips and shit.
I have 100$
To last me until Thursday.
Fuck.

Poker Face?

We played for spare change

over drinks and dessert.

Full of cannoli and defeat

I sipped my espresso

and waited

for the lucky hand

that would make me victorious.

I bluffed.

My stacks of nickels dwindled

and then became extinct.

I concede.

I don't mind losing

its an opportunity to practice

unattachment

to the hand

I've been dealt.

Tofu; Pros and Cons.....Just sayin'

As a fairly inconsistent vegetarian, I'm torn on the issue of Soy.  A staple of non-meat eaters, soy products have both a good and a bad rap.  Shall we explore my oversimplified list of Tofu pros and cons?

Pros:
1. That superior feeling you get when everyone else at your table is ordering flesh (How barbaric).
2.  Its a complete protein (has all of the essential amino acids our bodies require). My trainer is always hassling me on the protein.  
3.  It reportedly can  lower HDL (bad cholesterol) if eaten regularly.  AKA it cancels out Doritos.
4.  Has more calcium than dairy products. Moooooooo
5. Isoflavones- apparently act as an estrogen in females- which helps fight certain cancers.
6. Cheap.

Cons:
1. Only tastes good fried.
2. Texture is somewhat spongy.
3.  Unless it is organic its likely to be genetically modified- no bueno.  Even organic is not perfect.
4.  Its cheap because of the way it is grown- which has an adverse effect on the environment- read Michael Pollan's book "The Omnivore's Dilemma."
5.  Effect on the Thyroid- possible endocrine disruptor.
6.  Isoflavones- you'll start acting like a bitch.
7. It's a common IgG allergen...which means you may not know you are sensitive to it

My verdict- OK in moderation.

I used to....

Steal my dad's Newports,

and my mom's socks.

Have a rock tumbler,

and polish mad rocks.

Imagine what I'd look like

when I was a sixteen.

Stay up all night

(with/ without caffeine).

Eat Pop Tarts for breakfast,

skip school/drive around.

Play kickball and house

on the GH Playground.

Love the smell of the library,

and my mom's perfume.

Hate being grounded

to my room.

Wait for my superpowers

to magically manifest.

Something I didn't know,

that I always possessed.

Its like music to my brain.

Downloaded a loaded soundtrack.

 of some songs I remember liking.

Like that night he couldn't stop laughing

 and I kissed his best friend.

Distraction is concentration

 on something else.

 Something more poetic.

 Default thought pathways

designed to coax action potentials

 down the messianic neurons

 leading to liberation.

Sequestered from  the separateness

that is the subconscious.

Merging is metamorphosis

masterfully materialized.

Memories mature

in the medulla oblongata

and wait to resurface

for the perfect moment.

Like now.

Do this in memory of me.

A flood of emotions and a senseless phone call prompted me to expel these thoughts through my pink painted fingers.  I'm not sure why I called.  Especially because my nervous system reacted to the thought with supersonic quickness and let me know to be extra cautious.  Instant nausea and tachycardia. Every cell in my body remembered and reacted.  I wondered why I was holding so much resentment.  I guess I wanted to have a conversation that would make me remember you differently.   A conversation that would make my heart feel light again when I think of you, not like I just got the life knocked out of me with Pai-Mei's 5 Point Palm Exploding Heart Technique. I realize that this is a matter of my perception and it has nothing to do with earthly conversation between AT&T and Verizon Towers.  I conjecture that there's really no need for verbal communication between us.  Our predilection was transmission through the subtle body.  Broadcasting signals from the heart center.  Green light.  Go. 

Blue on Black.

Sometimes it just happens driving home from work. A blues song will come on rxp (New York's rock experience) and it sounds familiar enough for me to turn it up a little bit. The the memories come like an exploding volcano of my subconscious. Stand up CD player. Lake house. Motorcycle. Pain. Within about 45 seconds I'm crying. My heart is so wide open that the lava is excruciating- splattering over the most sympathetic part of me. You're still here but part of you is gone. The torment of knowing someday you'll die. And the pain will be exponentially agonizing. I'm saved when the song is over. Commercials and I'm home.

Short and sweet.

So I've gathered all the picture CDs that I've been collecting since I hurled my HP laptop into the dumpster in Colonial Manor (Groton Estates) for the purpose of uploading them into my new and improved technology. The macbook was not ready for all these memories. Or maybe that was me. Quite honestly, I forgot how much I loved. I never forgot how much it hurt. Two tragedies. One realization. I'm ready.

The Architecture of Awareness

Walking down the street with music in my headphones always made me feel like I was in a music video. A super artistic, exclusive movie during a montage. Generally, when there's a montage, the character in the video is going through some sort of transformation. Any South Park fans would agree (episode 603). I am an ever unfolding metamorphosis of sarah-ness (that is intent on making sense out of these feelings before I leave the biblioteca). Internet ads tell me "DO NOT waste money on Protein shakes! I cured my yellow teeth!" I'm sad for us. I'm emancipated by insight, acumen, and ipod. Copius creativity channeled through cerebrum. Circumstances of affliction redirect my focus to rendevous with a 2 year old with a fresh schism of the naked heart. Its as fresh in my mind as a just-cut lemon. You always liked blues music, but watching you cry on the floor in desperation is a memory I had no idea would be re-enacted 22 years later at the lake house. If I could pick a song for that montage it might be something like "Everything, in its right place." Radiohead is as depressing as they come but our souls were, are, and always will be entwined in perfect formation to indulge the blue print of enlightenment. Sat Nam.

Yogi Sars Volume 1

My first weekend of Kundalini yoga teacher training has passed, and I am having trouble locating the proper words to express it. Usually thesaurus.com is pretty good for that but it failed me just now. Maybe that's because becoming one is ineffable. I was slightly anxious seeing the bout it yoga warriors equipped with turbans and enough white clothing to outfit the KKK for, like, a millenia. The thought passed through that perhaps I was joining some kind fanatical cult, they were so happy looking- DANGER. Then I called up my favorite Yogi for a reality check. "Dude, if you got brainwashed it wouldnt be the worst thing that happened."

So I plopped onto my pillow in easy pose for whatI learned afterwards would be 21 minutes of meditation with my arms up in the air. (btw This was after already participating in hours of yoga and meditation). Torture and euphoria. I wanted to let my arms down so bad. I was mofo-ing everything. I focused on my breath. I mofo-ed my breathing. I kept breathing. I asked for help. I kept my arms up. Spirit conquered my mind. I realized my ego would stop at nothing to keep me miserable. I decided it would not win. Bliss.

Now I realize why they were so happy looking.

idk.

fast motion. love potion. making as little noise as possible typing. dont want to wake the neighbors. haters. time to go to bed. but you're still in my head. like a balloon made of lead. floating above me. love me. ski. tried to snowboard once. bruises on my seventh grade knees, butt, wrists and ego. doesn't matter where we go. i just flow. from one moment to the next. trying to get dressed. dressed in non designer clothes. done with rhyming- stick with prose. stick with it. it doesn't get easier. its always something. art of complaints. communion with saints. waiting for it to come out through my hands. maybe it will make sense then. rationalize the abstracts that design my confusion. illusion. perfusion. in unison. applause please.

word association.

I made a new friend. We went to Greenwich point beach today...walked and talked and looked at the water. Drove around and looked at the 8 million dollar houses. Eight is the number of infinity. Infinitely progressing until I'm back where I started. Started as a star. Starring Sarah. Sarah Smile. Smile like you mean it. Mean what you say. Say something. Something's not right. Like a record baby Right round round round. Roundabout logic. Logical legwarmers in neon colors. Color me surprised. To see you here tonight. In my dreams. Dream on. Ongoing ogling that is people watching. I rarely wear a watch. When I do its full of rhinestones. Sedimentary, shale and limestone (rocks). Line the highways of Connecticut (Patheticut). Count the headlights on the highway. High strung. Bee stung. Jellyfish are spineless. Susceptible to mind tricks. Like little kids. Cosmic grids. Mapping my destiny. Will there ever be less of me? Less is more. Do what you came here for. Four square. Playground politics. Homerun derby with a wiffle bat. Bats are creepy. Like vampires and my boss. Criss cross applesauce. Applesauce is mcgnarly. In a derogatory way. Way to go. Going now.

Robots, d-bags, etc.

There were several moments today where my ego tried to convince me that you were wrong and I was right. You're an asshole and I'm perfect. I noticed the assessments and tried not to judge them. Afterall- its my ego's job to formulate these rationalizations to make me feel discrete (not discreet) and abstracted. I can't help that the leaky logic passes over my awake self like a narcissistic rain cloud. It passes, though. I can help that. I breathe in compassion, breathe out attachment. And then, the moment is transformed like a transformer. Yes, a crazy destructive robot (in disguise) becomes a suggestion that I could be paying attention to something else. The only important thing. Breathing. So, my ego thanks you for being such a d-bag. You reminded me to breathe.

Juanes dice todo.

Lost 40$ at the black jack table and my dignity to the text message. It was the red bull margaritas texting.  yuck.  I must say it was exactly what I expected but the opposite of what I wanted. Predictive exposition of semantics perfectly designed to disguise.  Still trying to decipher what has been audaciously apparent since day one.  It's lame. Blackout is imminent and you're pluto to me.  Not even a planet. Just an icy uninhabited rock tagging along the orbit through physics and paramagnetic efforts.  Light years from the sun.  I always wanted to be an astronaut when I grew up, but this is indubitably not what I had in mind. In the words of the genius Juanes- tengo la camisa negra. Hoy mi amor esta en luto.

fender-bender vs. rabble-rouser

Right about now I'm wondering how you still hold a habitat in my encephalon. We've been racing around this mofo-ing universal nascar track for what seems like infinite laps. Orbiting passion, changing out tires of attachment, refilling the whip with adulation.

Will our cars collide someday? Smash together and explode....change form into a sea of flames....unstoppable rapid oxidation that leaves behind our bodies only to expose volcanic ash. We'd leave behind the swagger of our egos and we'd realize we were fashioned of the same protons, neutrons, and electrons. Perhaps then, you'd understand quantum physics. And be capable of a legit authentic interrelation. (Secretly) hoping.

Or will it be the alternate (more likely) ending : Driving parallel for mad laps. Approaching destruction but resisting reform. Kind of like a Republican. Politicians blending in with the hood (wearing camouflage). Delivering saccharine, hollow, standard lines regarding fidelity.

Conclusion: Reality sets in. Accepting what is is not the same as participating in it. Vinidication.

over it and out.

The Anthology?

After 7054 views, my blog on Myspace is hard to let go of. It's the only reason I haven't deleted myspace all together, since the desire to check my ex-almost boyfriend's current nongirlfriend's page is dead and gone (with occasional moments of weakness). Anyhoo....I was at the local Hanafin's Irish pub when I presented this conundrum to my posse- who gave me the best idea ever- repost them all on to this blog- one at a time- like a blast from the past. Damn. 107 posts. I thought about it- I'm still thinking about it. I just read tons of them and tried to pick one....Got stuck in amazement of all I've created. What a journey. Life is beautiful. But I can't bring them all out like T.I.... I think I'll save it for my book of memoirs. Until then. find them on www.myspace.com/sarsdz

That annoying Nickelback song. etc.

Status post much needed shower I'm feeling so fresh and so clean, clean.  Its been a lazy Saturday so far, and there's reason to believe the microcosm that is the bedroom should be appreciated until after 3pm.  This gives a whole new definition to the phrase "live like you were dying." Between that annoying Nickelback song  (If today was your last daaaaaaaaay ) and the even more merciless Tim McGraw song about skyyyyyyydivng and rocky mountain climbing(Live like you were dying)  it seems that there's musical pressure to live as if there were no tomorrow.  I confess that I believe in the magnificence  of the present moment.  Ultimately, the only thing that exists is now.  

But....

If we all truly started living like it was our last day then nothing would ever be manifested for the future.  We couldn't have goals or dreams of what we would like to accomplish in our lives.  That terrible song wouldn't even have made it on the radio.    Maybe there should be like  a 75%-25% split.  Living the dream vs. dreaming the dream.  There has to be some balance.  Maybe I should write a song about that, then sing it terribly in a studio.  Throw some auto tune on it.  Lose 20 lbs, get some hair extensions, a spray tan, a scandalous outfit, a nearby hot tub, bottle of bubbly, then get rich.  I could have a badass celebrity boyfriend, like Colin Farrell or Johnny Knoxville. sizzle.  perfect.  Now I have a goal. for the rest of the day I can go back to living like I was dying again.  

This is a case of the irresistible force meeting the immovable object.

Its scary to me that I almost didn't remember the password to my own blog. A testament to my absence. I'm feeling exceptionally energetically expansive status post kundalini yoga class. Creative type energy suitable for library blogging. To my right 40-something man is browsing youtube video girls in bikinis dancing- he probably has a boner and will be visiting casual encounters on craigslist next. Someone lock up Miley Cyrus. I'm browsing astrology trying my best to encounter a thesis that deems us incompatible- not that a second (third, fourth, or infinite number) opinion would even help. After all the time and bullshit, the magnetism is still abracadabra status. Regardless of your recklessness with respect to romantic relations. Admittedly, I love it all. I've also never been so mad at anyone. Ever. Unconditional love is the radical acceptance of the light and the shadow, right? And we all know that any Scorpio with a palpable pulse loves a good metamorphosis undertaking. Let us see. Will this caterpillar become a butterfly or a moth?

You all know how I feel about Bugs.

On the corner of Miami and Amistad

I'm at mom's homearoo, alaonearoo, cause johnaroo's at bonnaroo. Wish I was there but I guess I have to get over the fact that I missed what will be renowned as the most epic trip of the century. Ok maybe I'm being dramatic. But I really wanted to get up with the get down with all the people that went. All the friends I met through John that turned out to be my second family in the south. I look forward to making friends all over the world because new people always have something to teach you about life and yourself. Theres a saying about people coming in to your life and changing something in you forever. Its too precious moments-esque to quote here (I'm way too heartless and cool for that). Seriously, though, I am truly amazed at the ways the past future present awesome people have appeared in my existence from October 26, 1984 till forever. That sentence was creative gramatical genius. I love all you hoes. If I was still 10 I'd make you all friendship bracelets out of embroidery thread and sell them to you for 50 cents. Hey, everyone has their south beach hustle.

international bird call.

305 till I die

I've been writing a lot but haven't been publishing. Save as draft. I wake up exhausted everyday because I'm living in dreams. The sound of the fan is annoying me. Lacking insight. Perfect eyesight. My roomate never turns off the lights. Amanda used to say that about me. I miss Miami. I MISS MIAMI. Even the caps lock doesnt do the statement justice. Everyday my imagination is stuck in 33139 and wonder if my life will ever be the same. I wonder if I will ever have my daily morning shower space out session with a view of the rising sun over the tropical atlantic, tourists and homeless beggars again. I wonder if I will ride my 50$ craigslist bike to work rocking out to Ghostland observatory pandora station. I wonder if I will ever see my box of missing stuff again. Or should I just let it go? Let it all go? I think Toni Braxton had a 90's hit about that. It was on the same album as Unbreak my hearrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrt. A little ironic, yeah I really do think. Too much. Too much love. LCD soundsystem. Pogo sticks and Backyard olympics. Michael Phelps vs. Sean Phelps. Moviemaking and mayanetics. The octagon and Tyrone. Moonlight meditation and existential contemplation. All of the things that we find on the beach....

mypod

So for the past year or so i've been on the search for a band to completely sweep me off my feet and make me want to run away to indie land and I've found it. Band of Horses. If you're in the mood to drive, write, paint, feel, be moved in general go buy their album. Its Echo and the Bunnymen meets the shins, flirting with Cold war kids, with a dash of Ugly Casanova and a sprinkle of Elliot Smith- but not so depressing. Plus, the lead singer had a mc-gnarly beard.

Thats whats gonna be on my ipod.

Just as soon as itunes stops declining my debit card.  ouch.

There's no place like home.

I learned today that _________. I thought that sentence would be easier to complete. My Dad came home from the hospital today for good- after being in motorcycle/pavement/ER/coma/ventilator/icu/trach/stepdown/tele/regular floor/rehab/half rehab. Fuck. Thats a lot of trauma for 6 months. 6 months. I can still remember when I got the call. I was paralyzed. I thought he was dead. I wouldnt have believed it if Nostradamus had predicted it himself. Ok so now what? Do we go back to our lives? Miraculously become a functional family? Start writing notes on napkins and go to Disney World on Vacation? I want to scream that its not fair! Throw a temper tantrum and destroy everything in the house. You're like a tornado. We're FEMA and we're tired. I refuse to carry that story around in a lead backpack. I'm too tired. It's too heavy. All we can do is leave it behind and allow the universe to breathe us into now. In forgiveness. Out pain. We're not in Kansas anymore.

I heart face in hole.com

breathing and (x)

Generalizations about my life achievements and my reactions to them have been running across my brain like those emaciated folks panting to finish the Boston Marathon.

  That means they're tired, but enduring.  The indefatigable voice that continues to question, "What do I do with my life?"  I always think that I will figure it out at some point, after I do (X).  After I start/finish my master's degree, after I move across the country, after I do this job, read this book, get a dog, move into a better apartment, etc etc etc.  

Between searching for the future and celebrating/crying over the past, there's now.

  My life.

  I'm breathing.

 In creativity, out  confusion. 

Are you there God? Its me, Sars.

Dear God, Jesus (also included- baby Jesus, all saints, Mary and Joeseph), Gurus A-Z, Buddha, Jah, Zeus, Hale Bopp Comet, badger, ALL real and perceived dieties:

With all due respect (ultimate illmatic respect), please take this blog as my white flag. I surrender. I understand now that I have no control over wether or not I drive my car. I have no control over anything besides my reactions and choices (to things I have no control over), which are child like at times. Especially during the times that I don't get my way. I'm working on it. Thanks for letting me know. Thanks for my whole life. I'll try not to complain so much.

Love,

S dot arah

PS- If you would consider using your powers to cancel my student loan debt as a way to stimulate the economy it would be great. Starting with citibank. Just throwing that out there.

Family values?

John hasn't had a crunchwrap supreme in six months. He expressed his desire for one in a rip torn voice then called me Sarah Torn. Torn with a capital T. DUH. I'm such a tattletale. But that's what little sisters are for. I endured years of being called adopted so I'm entitled to blow up his hankering for Taco Hut on my blog. Go buy an ocelot and stop ruining my life all the time and looking over my shoulder. Boozey McBoozerton. Gin Rummy. I played clue today. I suspected Colonel Mustard in the ballroom with the lead pipe.  I was wrong, I cheated, and then I lost.

Prescriptions for mental health

I drove by the lake house today.  This time, I had a rearview driver's side mirror.  It was pitch black (aside from constellation star light pollution) so the mirror was useless.  I felt like I was on my way home.  Interestingly, while I was actually living there it didn't feel like home.  Bootleg family and a place to throw down my belongings and write my story.  Get barked at by psycho baby dog trying to ninja my way in after tipsy driving 32 miles in the Ac through back woods at 4am.  Blowing me up like my pager in the 8th grade.  Home is conditional.  The universal accommodation to Maslow's hierarchy.  Stability is overrated.  It's all about resilience, flow, and metamorphosis.  Abdicating the past is rolling out the red carpet for love.   If you bury the hatchet does that make it any less sharp? (It is) waiting to spawn a new laceration when the top soil erodes to expose the fossil.  It still hurts.  Transmutation is a different transaction.  Emancipation from my biography and amalgamation with the cosmos. You said, "Fear cannot live in you, Sarita, especially you." You always say the right thing. Its a more effective anxiety prescription than Clonazepam 0.5mg BID (or as directed) #30 no refills.  I hope the swine flu spares you.  Take that to CVS or your local 24 hour Walgreen's and cash it. 

an ars poetica

I usually don't do this but.....I love Mexico, Mexicans, writing, and Poems by Mexicans about writing Mexican poems.
Por eso, enjoy :)


Certeza (1961)
Si es real la luz blanca
de esta lampara, real
la mano que escribe, ?Son reales
los ojos que miran lo escrito?

De una palabra a la otra
lo que digo se desvanece.
Yo se que estoy vivo
entre dos parentesis
---Octavio Paz

Understanding in a car crash

I would like to explore personal truth as it is related to authenticity of interpersonal relationships. Actually, there's really no need for exploration here I will just make a statement. If you are not truthful to yourself, it will reflect in all of your relationships. And then no matter how awesome the authentic self is, you're living a lie, you will get caught up in the glitter of the school play of life asking mad people on dates to the prom not realizing the whole point of the prom is to just dance. Negating the awesomeness. Moral of the story- breathe through your heart, tell them why you're mad, detach from the drama, get out there and break it down to your favorite 80's dance groove (Flock of seagulls?!?! )
And, that, my friends, is what I realized when that girl crashed into my car on 4/20/09, going to Jeffrey's house.

You just got served.

everyone is rock em sock em robots

Sliding into moms house trying to be all stealth but I don't know how anymore. I'm a clumsy mess a few margaritas deep. The cat is blowing up my spot, jumping around me following the flashlight on my iphone---my life is in shambles, is there an app for that? How about my feet hurt from dancing and my brain hurts from building the hoover dam (see above) to stop the flood of firing synapses designed to ruminate despite knowledge of the priority of the present. Leaks are springing...its tsunami or desert...what happened to the cascade of moments in synchronicity dancing over rocks being bathed in sunshine....happy fishes swimming around and shit. Basically beleiving biochemistry has it all figured out and conceding to the theory that our brains are little control centers for robotic limbs and we have control over our lives...erroneous on a multiplanar system of factorials that we cannot begin to describe in semantic expression of our own deductive reasonings with each other...only with ourselves. When the robotic mind is quiet. So shut up and listen.

Panda-monium

An old man

( 80 some years)

with an actual Panda

embroidered on his fleece vest

just stared me down in the library.

He looks sad and tired.

I want to be nice to him.

That's the nurse in me.

Mirror, Mirror.

That's all.

The Zen of Life Support

For some unseen universal design it became a requirement of my desk-nurse job to partake in Advanced Cardiac Life Support training. This was one of the classes that I purposely avoided while I was working the the ED. I had no real desire to bring people back from the dead using pharmacology, "shocking" with a defibrillator, and/or rib crushing chest compressions. In the past, I doubted the philosophy of it all, to be honest. However, on December 26, EMS of Preston city and the staff at the Backus Hospital ED saved my father's life. Gave him a second chance at life and a family. A little too ironic....Alanis Morissette style. I never realized how my work in the past must have affected others in the same way until this moment. Not saying I want to hop in the ER bandwagon again just yet...just something to ponder.

Juicing my way to health.

Jack LaLanne. Man, legend, juicing icon. Chuck Norris status. I snagged this diamond in the rough in the local Port Chester Costco, and am enjoying my first fresh juice creation as I blog. Clearly, I am more energized than ever and renewing my zest for life. My recipe and review:
(all organic)
5 stalks celery
1 carrot
1 beet
1 inch ginger root
1 1/2 lemons
handful of cilantro
1/4 large cucumber

The juicer is shiny and new. Easy to put together, pain in the ass to take apart. Doesn't take well to the cilantro or big pieces. Almost zero foam. Relatively quiet (a whisper compared to my smoothie blender). Pulp is dry (This is a good thing in the juicing world I think). The juice itself is too lemony, but ninjas need alkaline blood so its cool. Cleaning the thing is pretty annoying. It did come with a handy brush, which prevented the blade from becoming a sponge-ruiner. My roomate says she feels sad for my blender. Like an orphaned child or a toy story doll, it was pushed under the sink to make counterspace for my newest, hottest, fitness liquid maker. juicer out.

you go to the dealership but you never cop nothin...

Its unbelievable.
The idea is inconceivable.
(to me)
Exhibits A-Z
Could not illustrate
the deterioration
(of our illumination)
The regulatory senses in my anatomy
cannot perceive your center
(anymore)
Your heart wears a bulletproof vest
not of teflon like 50....
but of animalism and aphrodisia.
nauseating.
Thats really all the energy I'm willing to put into this.

impala.

I love pie charts.

I'ma survivor, damnit.

Dude. I have never been so appreciative for all the time I had a car. I think much of the American public take driving an automobile daily for granted. I'm not really sure about the subject verb agreement on that last sentence...It sounds wrong, but it may just be right. Fuck it, poetic license right? Although, this is not a poem. Prose at best, but I digress. Back to the car scenario. My time walking / utilizing public transport in the lovely Greenwich has been a little annoying, but all in all not that bad. When my car first died it was like armageddon. How would I do anything??!?! I figured it out. I'm a survivor. Ladies, listen to Destiny's child and learn all you need to know in la vida. Beyonce and her posse also taught me other invaluable life lessons, for instance:
1. If he cant pay your bills, hes a trifling, good for nothing kinda brotha
2. Even If The Pope Said He Likes You Too I Don't Really Care 'cause You're A Bug A Boo
3.Ladies leave your man at home. The club is full of ballers and their pockets full grown
4. Betta be street if he lookin' at me I need a soldier...

I hold grudges.

So I was looking through some random facebook photo album and I saw the pic of this guy who slapped me in the face at a party about five years ago. I immediately became angry. Fists clenched, eyes narrowed, altogether a tense moment. I gave my iphone the death stare as if his picture could catch my eyes. Like laser beams. It became clear to me that I hold grudges. I've read this in my horoscope several times but thought that it didn't apply to me. So here it is for everyone to read...Larry, I forgive you for slapping me in the face even if you aren't sorry or don't remember. I think it was a bitch move, but it's ok. Everyone makes mistakes. I'll let it sliiiiiide.

I guess that means now its time to let go of the people that hurt my feelings, not my face.......

Astro-sars

This library is full of Saturday afternoon internet vultures. I walked here. I have my feet flat on the ground, an inadequate attempt to keep my mind out of outer space. Sometimes I prefer that ocean of emptiness to real life. Nevertheless, at this moment I belong to the earth. The melodrama of consuming emotion played out amongst the cast of amateurs reading a script written in heiroglyphics. Stage set with parking meters, pine cones, Dunkin Donuts, bubble jackets, and microwaves. Camera phones are patiently waiting to capture the next facebook wall photo. In fourth grade I wanted to be an astronaut. Then I met gravity. Became a nurse. Is it too late to catch that space ship and start blogging from Saturn?

CableVision

I decided at some point last week that I should buy some internet and cable. This is a novel concept for me as I have previously only embezzled internet from my neighbors with unsecured wireless networks. They were going to come set it up tomorrow morning. I was also planning on buying a computer to use along with my internet.

Once my baby car died en route to the martial arts class that was going to enable my lifelong fitness, I realized cable, internet, TVs and computers were a luxury. My hard earned, tax returned dollars have a different destiny. So I called and cut off the cable. After the 20 minute hold time, the customer servant inquired about my decision. I told her the truth. Which is....

Im living the American Dream.

Ummmm can I get that stimulus check?

Domino Rally

Domino Rally was a game from the early 90s where you set up a shit ton of dominos just to knock them all down with one fail swoop of what looked like a pinball. I like to consider myself a pinball wizard, kind of like Tommy from The Who. Setting off ripple effects of dominoes collapsing only to be rebuilt again in a much more beautiful and intricate arrangement. Its kind of like six degrees of Kevin Bacon. Its impossible to say where the beginning of this universal domino rally commennced, but I would wager it was around the time of the big bang. In this moment (from my relative perspective), my dominos seem to have fallen. I am certain that it was a glorious moment for the creator of the universe to see the arrangement collapse, almost like watching the Sarah Super Bowl. Life will pick up the pieces and synthesize, arrange, and artfully engineer a new constellation of dominos for the next realization exploitation event. I have decided to simply buy some tickets and enjoy the fireworks.

seriously, everybody was kung fu fighting

And by everybody I mean me. I took a complimentary Kung-Fu private lesson today by a shaolin super black belt master man. I must say it was empowering. I felt like Uma Thurman getting sweet sweet revenge. It's a relative paradox- the ancient art of releasing fury so gracefully. I'm seriously considering becoming a student. If only I could finance both yoga and kung fu. I mean, I have the rest of my life to be a yoga master and/or a kung fu master (grand master even) but which comes first? I'm torn like the two of swords tarot card. Well, the library's closing so I'll have to meditate on it solo.
PAz.

To gym or not to gym...

I got in my car to go to the gym to cop a membership. Instead I wound up at the local public library. I feel pressured to join by the part of me that wants to trade 60$ a month to reach my ultimate fitness goals but a simple fact remains. I don't like the gym. The people remind me of a bunch of hamsters on wheels. It smells like a teenage locker. I get caught up checking everybody out and judging myself. Time stands still while I try to mentally sing along on ipod to Fabolus's album Ghetto fabolus. He cleverly raps "I'll put shells in your stomach like you ate pasta for lunch" while I run for what seems like eternity only to burn 150 calories. As if thats not bad enough, the ipod invariably dies. I thought to myself...at least you could meet some hot guys there. Then I realized that these said hot guys probably like being at the gym. Or even worse, hate it but go out of necessity to keep up the girlish figure. A hamster. Do I want to date a hamster??? Going out with a gym guy is borderline beastiality.

I'd prefer the smarty pants sitting across from me working out math equations.

Seriously, I've decided that the only way I will ever stick to some sort of workout is if I actually like it. Yoga I can get down with. However, at 20 bones per class on average in the good old CT, I'm going to need some supplemental group recreational activities. Wish me luck finding something fun.
Badger out.

My momma didn't raise no fool

My mom asked about you today. I was too embarrassed to tell her the truth, which was that you wanted to exercise your right to personal freedom more than endure a perceptible relationship with me. Instead, I shrugged and gave the nonchalant 5 word explanation, "I got bored of him." This is partially true. She wasn't too broken up over it. She just asked if I had met anyone else yet. She never thought you were my type. Mike said, "You always play with your toys for 2 hours and then leave them on the living room floor." I'll add mine to the list of broken hearts you've collected. ouch. Love has a brilliant, intelligent, intangible design. I've put a moratorium on trying to nourish the spark that kept our soul ties entwined. Narrowing the focus of my energy on resuscitating the part of me that knew better all along. For Valentine's day, I'll meditate on my intuition. Love to all.

Ra Ma Da Sa.

Facebook epiphany

It's a lazy Saturday morning after a night of swallowing a mixture of last weekend's hangover gatorade cleverly mixed with the last of the booze in the house (we had to get rid of it, we're moving). Hangin out in my pyjamas with a liter of Evian and my iphone because I'm not ready to leave bed but I'm also not having delirium tremens so I need some sort of stimulation. I turn to facebook during these circumstances. I want to see what everyone else thats not in my bed is doing. I realize that the facebook status update is the new AIM away message. This is just like college. What are all my friends doing? Are they really doing what it says they are doing? Are people just writing clever things so other people will comment? I think the amount of facebook love you get is directly proportional to the amount of facebook love you give. A lesson in Karma. And whats up with the people that refuse to get facebook anyway? They must be the tent city (Uconn alumni will appreciate that reference) of the world. Too cool for school. Go Huskies.

Impala holla

Nomads love Craigslist

The age old dilemma of a nomadic spirit is what to do with your aquired personal assetts once you decide to implement your nomadic tactics once again. The answer is craigslist. You can hawk and hustle the whole shebang. She bangs. Amanda even tried to sell Tyrone on craigslist. Someone reported her. Any good nomad knows you cant collect animals on your travels when you're a vagabond migrant pilgrim. I earned 45$ today in 20 minutes. That's more than I could procure hourly from saving the world's offspring from environmental toxins and pop-tarts.

On high fructose corn syrup...

So now there's this article saying that there's mercury in high fructose corn syrup. FUCK. Do you know how many fruit roll ups I've eaten in my lifetime?? Probably more than there are kids with autism. They're so tasty. Can't stop won't stop. I'll need the hyperactivity from both the Red 40 and the metals when I take my bike trip around the country. I will also bring cashews, fudgecicles, cafecitos, and my iphone; although it will be difficult to charge from the campsites. I'm a smart girl, I'll figure it out.

Seriously, though, Stop eating HFCS. I'm not being paranoid that shit was gnar before we knew it had metals in it.

A letter to my father.

Dad,
I know you're in a neuro rehab and you may never read or understand what I want to explain to you but it helps to get it out of my head so here goes...

I didn't realize it was February until just now. From my bed-hovel-cocoon, fighting my epic hangover was useless. I finally threw up my mental white flag and called it. I fucking surrender to my deoxyribonucleic acid (9th grade science class makes me feel smart). The ancestral exigency that leaves me conclusively supine and unarmed against the rogue malignant spirit. I don't mean to blame DNA entirely, I am not a hapless victim; That is not the point of my story. What I mean to say is that I get it. The pain lives inside of me too. At present it has rendered you unable to care for yourself or carry a cohesive conversation. That hurts. I'll be home soon. Done with the emo bullshit but over the poisoning on the real. I'm praying for you.

Love,

S.

Hold me closer, Tony Danza. count the headlights on the hiiiiiighway

I recently became an editor for urbandictionary.com

This noise had me cracking up

Tony Danza
When you are giving it to a chick from behind, you yell out "Who's the boss?" She'll get confused, turn her head around, at this moment, you donkey punch her in the face and then scream TONY DANZA!!!

used in a sentence: Oh man, I totally pwned Jeff's girlfriend last week when I gave her a Tony Danza.

True or Fase???

Who gives a shit?? This is Hilarious.

I snapped this photog in line at the local Publix.

Dr. Phil is pulling a B-Spears and I love it.

A relative housing paradox.

I dont get it. People can't afford their houses (as evidenced by the recession foreclosures left and right) yet rental prices are SKY HIGH. No wonder no one can afford to pay their bills on time if at all. How is one nurse supposed to pay $1500 for a CT STUDIO?!?! I was forced to look into alternative options. Maybe sharing a house with some randoms from craigslist? That could be like college. College. That's what got me into this predicament in the first place. I could have been knocked up, on welfare, buying Newports with my EBT food stamps, chillin on my stoop with my 5 kids in section 8, fucking enjoying life. Instead I'm living "my dreams" which btw, never included paying over one thousand dollars per month for a roof and some privacy. Anyhoo, in my search for affordable housing I found the funniest thing I've ever seen. Read this actual Craigslist ad...

"I'm guessing there must be other guys around here in the same situation as me: I'm getting divorced, I'm dating & I'm in need of a place to take a date after dinner occasionally. If we pull together 4 guys, all willing to throw in $300/month, we can easily find a nice studio someplace. If we pull together 6 guys, we can get a 1BR apartment. Any guy who tries to actually move in and live there will be physically thrown out by my cousin Louie! Lowkey guy here, 45, self-employed builder, just looking to have a place w/ a well-stocked bar & stereo to bring a date back to.....w/o having to resort to the whole hotel thing...."

WOW...The only thing he forgot was that you have to provide your own R. Kelly CD and Chris Hanson from to catch a Predator will have the hidden camera set up.

.pack yo bags we're....

full. cold. a little angry. not sure why. disconnected from the art.  judgmental. negative. nauseated. numb. uneasy. adrenaline.  conflict.  free.  trapped.  lost.  damp.  annoyed.  betrayed.  frustrated.  hopeful.  hopeless.  impulsive.  intuitive.  robotic.  sad.  stealth.  red.  excited.  thirst  blahhhhhhhhh.  

Three things.

There's a few things I want to vent that have nothing (or everything) to do with one another.

1.  I couldn't watch the inauguration because I was working.  What kind of country is this, anyway? Dear president Obama, I'd like this fixed.

2. Tyrone pooped on my bed while I was gone for the weekend.  How embarrassing for him.  Dear Amanda, I blame you for this.

3.  Jessica, I agree.  Wear some damn flats to the damn club.  That being said, I'd trade shoes whenever necessary.  That's what friends are for.

Word.

yard sale

Its like the contents of my life have been spread out on the lawn of this icy tundra.

Yard sale.

5 cent, 10 cent, dolla.

Expectations of what my life would be like

begging to be bought up 

by someone who doesn't know any better.

(me)

Mom's spending her last 15$ on Bingo

and Dads sitting disoriented in the hospital

John's locked out of the house again.

A

Beautiful Disaster

A

Sublime cataclysm

my

cosmic teacher

my 

terrestrial torment

for

divine epiphany

just a

paragon 

of

perfection in the imperfection

that is

human

existence

You can take the girl out of Miami, but you cant take the Cuban out of the girl.

Cuban Coffee, that is....I am an addict. I even brought home to CT my baby Cuban espresso maker because you can't find the cafecito or colada in these parts. I'm not really sure what I ever did without it. Miami has left it's scar on Sarhita thats for seguro. I feel like I should be making a rap song about this a la Eminem. I'm a sucker- all I gotta say....is cafecito's really got a hold of me.

You can't say blog on an airplane

An excerpt from my travel journal....
"...1/15/09. I just experienced the ultimate in karma. I was sitting at the terminal in philly enjoying a pretzel (carbs don't matter when you're travelling and the southbeach diet does not exist outside sobe). So I'm watching the people get off the plane and one man was so angry about his carry on bag that he proceeded to yell at the first US airways employee in a uniform he could bounce his words off of. Ranting, raving, and otherwise causing a scene. I turned to the hot, 30-something dude sitting next to me and have an excuse now to strike up a convo. "That guy is losing it over there. This is hilarious." We have a good laugh and he complains his nextel isn't working. I thank the buddha that I have an iphone and I am trying to pass time w/ mobile facebook when I had a sudden realization that I've left a bag on the plane. Some of the most important items I brought with me on my impulsive travel. John's diploma, yoga mag, a present for Jeffrey, I was ejected from my seat in a panic and blurt out "FUCK!" I hurriedly ran/walked to the terminal to be turned away and sent to "customer service." What a fucking joke. It was like that episode of the Dave Chappell show where they have that training video for the company where their mission is to piss people off. I say to the customer service "specialist" I left somethign on that Boeing and this lady says "That was smart." I became so enraged that all I could imagine was taking off her head with some sort of automatic weapon. I felt just like the guy who I was laughing at a mere 15 minutes sooner.

Karma's a USAIR employee......"

A new one for the urban dictionary.

Trapper Keeper: (noun)- a persistent, persuing male, a stage 5 clinger. That guy was really cute, but he's a trapper keeper.

This is bullshit

I knew it was going to happen. I dropped my iphone walking home from salsa lessons.  It flashed the "white screen of death."  IT still works perfectly, just there's no screen to prove it.  just white. FAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACK !!!   I tried everything to bring you back.  Even Apple CPR.  Nothing helped. not even a hard reset.  How have I become so reliant on a piece of technology? It used to be impossible to get ahold of me- now I live for the piece of scrap metal that frustered me for a good 2 hours.  Fuck you, iphone.  I don't need your facebook or your shazam. OR your myspace or text messaging or constant connectivity. I'm even over you, safari.

wait..please come back.  I can't liiiiiiiiiiiiiiiive, if living is without youuuuuuuu.  Sing it, Mariah.

I just got...

....a thing to see how many people read this.  click on the link all you want, it will make me feel good about myself.  

The dollar Bazaar- More like Dollar Bizzare

 

Hypoglycemia got the best of  me today so I walked to  vita-life for a smoothie. Getting out of bed and detaching from my dream world has been getting increasingly difficult, there's not enough caffeine in the world.  In my partly sunny (mostly cloudy- whats the difference?) travels I stopped in the local dollar bazaar, hoping to find something as useless as how I felt for a discounted designer price.  (Shameless run on sentence) Its clearly the most ridiculous store in south beach.  A 50 something year old latina with severe magenta lipliner is guarding the "valuables." Among them, this awesome Du-rag, also known as a "wave cap."

 

Its  not bad enough that this thing is in the dollar bazaar,but to add insult to injury,  it costs $1.29. What a rip off.  I bet the extra 29 cents were used for this guy's professional modeling photo shoot.  It looks like something I would make as a joke.  His expression says "Hey, I know kung-fu, don't fuck with my waves or I will cut you."  It also looks like he could be breathing fire out of his mouth like a dragon.  Another option is that he is the infamous Lil' Du Rag, an up an coming pop-rap star that will soon be on blast with his hit new single "Mrs. Hairdresser" in which he will undoubtedly use the T-Payne (Cher) effect to enhance his vocals. 

Hot Sars in the city

I usually take Meridian Ave home from work on my trusty Roadmaster bicycle, but today I had to make a stop in a shop  and ended up finding an alleyway shortcut between Washington and Collins. I must say, there is not much worse on the nares than the smell of hot garbage akin to Jeffrey's designer clothes. ugh. A mixture of 80 degree fermenting banana peels, pizza, and bloody boob job gauze. Miami beach is the city of paradox. The beauty of the ocean cancels out the grime of the populace. Most everyone is on vacation, and everything is priced as such except cuban goods. On that note, I am off to spend my hard earned autistic dollars riding the ocean route to the gym to ride a stationary bike. Impala holla

Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow.

Sitting in a directors chair (thanks Sean) in my halfway furnished apartment, it's a New Year and I'm still doing the same shit.  Sunday blogging watching movies made for theatre but reformatted to fit my landlords wall mounted  50 inch HD plasma.  At your request, I will recap an unforgettable New Year's eve.  The blizzard didn't stop my mom's boyfriend's compulsive gambling habit from accepting 10 dollars in trade for a ride to the casino in slippery arctic conditions.  I arrived and couldn't wait to see your halfway drunk face.  We got our room keys a la R. Kelly, and teleported to the bar and couldn't get drunk fast enough to hopefully kill the braincells that kept flashing my brain the day's memories of  my father mechanically ventilated and you checking out all the other girls.  Finally I'm there and I don't care.  I sing along to one of the greatest 80's gay man duos, Hall & Oates.  She's a maneater,  mu-fucka.  I try to sneak 2 booze drinks from the cart but there's no pulling the wool over the eyes of the Mo-Sun liquor gestapo.  It was probably in my best interest.  I wouldn't have served me either.  Fast forward to  the high roller lounge where our new friends are stoked to get annihilated with us and the drinks keep coming.  I meet a new friend on my way to take a bathroom break from the boys talking about skateboards and whatnot.  A very entertaining young-ish doctor that wants to teach me what I missed in anatomy 1, 2, and 3.  I get back to the table in time for the ball to drop, scream Happy New Year! pound a sip of champagne, and go to our room.  I think I'm grounded.  I swear I'll never drink again if I can just sit in the shower with you allllll day.   Pretend that I'm not leaving and everything's not falling apart.  But, we have to go eventually and my dear we're still goodbye-ing.  Oh,  as long as you love me soooooooo.

Happy....

So this is how I spent the first of January...Limping into 2009 and flying into Miami (correction, Flying into Fort Lauderdale and getting a ride inthe middle of the night to Miami).  This chinese, yet Panamanian born war vet would NOT STOP talking to me.  Really, I had the tray table out and my head on it which is international language of "leave me alone" and I was assaulted with a finger poke to let me know that "The drink lady is coming...do you want something??" Thoughtful, yet obnoxious.  I'm back in Sobe and headed to the beach for some time with the ocean.  hopefully it will bring me back to life, but further from reality.  I guess this is what is supposed to be happening, but I can't wrap my mind around it.  This apartment is a disaster mess.  I can't get out fast enough. La dee da.