Nobody Puts Baby in a Corner

Raspberry concrete with double the raspberries, please. Summertime means Sheridan's Frozen Custard, and I start early in the Spring (ok, I eat it all winter long, too, but not as frequently). Here are some of the healing powers of a raspberry concrete with double the raspberries:

1) PMS. Need I say more?

2) Bad day at work? Have your husband go get you a custard.

3) Have a headache? Have your husband go get you a custard.

4) It's great for celebrating, too.

5) Still tasting the onions from your dinner? A raspberry concrete with double the raspberries will take care of that.

6) Is the dog bitter and angry about spending the day in the kennel? Sheridan's has free puppy cones. A happy puppy is a happy homelife.

Every day I find new reasons to eat a raspberry concrete with double the raspberries! Tonight it cured my tummy ache. Do wonders ever cease?

We had dinner at the Goods' last night. A lovely meal of meatloaf. They have a jack russell terrier named Molly. Our beagle, Top, is almost 10 years old. Molly is one year old. A trip to the Goods' is always a traumatic experience for Top. You know the way dogs act when they get out of the car and realize that they are at the vet's office? That is nothing to what Topper does when she realizes that we are at the Goods' house. She first tries to run in the other direction until the leash won't give. Then she plants her little feet and won't budge. We usually have to pick her up and take her inside, where Molly promptly greets her with lots of jumping and chasing and little puppy kisses. Top tries to be strong, but always ends up screaming. Not barking, SCREAMING. Molly interprets the screams as Top having a great time and doubles her efforts of "playing" with Top. At first opportunity, Top runs upstairs to hide under the Goods' bed until she hears us shake the leash and say, "Let's go bye bye!" That's not entirely true. Top comes back downstairs during dinner, when she can put their differences aside and share the table scraps with Molly and help Molly lick the dishes in the dishwasher. There's nothing like a good meal to bring enemies together!

Phone call from D this morning:

D: So I have some good news; it's good for me, anyway.

Me: What?!! What happened?!

D: I went over to Hot-Air-Force-Guy's house last night...

Me: Yeah?

D: and had really hot sex.

Me: D!! I though he stood you up!

D: Not this time.

Me: So are you two like an item now, or what?

D: No, he's leaving in three weeks.

Me: D! You're such a slut!!

D: What? No, I'm not.

Me: If you were a girl, you'd be a slut.

Insert here a complete play by play of D's night with Hot-Air-Force-Guy.

Me: Wow, he sounds great! D, I'm so glad you're gay.

D: Mmmmm...me, too.

Kevin just left with his friend, C.R. I like C.R., I really do, but I'm so glad they left without me. They asked me to go, but I can tell when I'm not really wanted, so I begged out using the potatoes I was working on as an excuse. C.R. is the more clever of Kevin's childhood friends. He is actually very, very smart. For our first years together, I felt uncomfortable around C.R. We were always meeting him at bars, which immediately puts me out of my comfort zone, where he was already sitting a whole group of fraternity guys (now I'm WAY out of my comfort zone!). As soon as Kevin leaves the table, C.R. butters me up by telling me that I'm so smart and how did Kevin manage to get someone so smart and blah blah blah. Flattered, I let myself be eased into a conversation, usually about literature. It's not long, though, before I'm completely out of my league, my face growing redder and redder as I shake me head to his Russian authors and Chinese poets.

No, I haven't heard of him. No, haven't read that book. No, I didn't read that, either. No, I'm not familiar with her work.

It's so humiliating! I know it shouldn't be, but it is and I always leave feeling much smaller than when I arrived. Today when C.R. showed up on our doorstep, I was not in the mood to be belittled. I busied myself with starting dinner, but he wasn't deterred. As soon as Kevin went into the bathroom, C.R. started picking books up off of our shelves and asking me about them. I turned the water up and said I couldn't hear him.

My Mom and my Grandma came to Kansas City today so Kevin and I could take them to the airport. For our efforts, they took us out to dinner. Sitting through the meal really sent it home in my mind (I have known it for a long time, but have tried to fight it) that I am on the road to Crazy Town. Grandma just passed the Crazy Town--next exit sign, Mom just turned onto the highway to Crazy Town, and I seem to be packing for the trip. I suppose my sister is a little further along; perhaps she has loaded the baggage and is just passing the sign that says Now Leaving Sanity.

During dinner, Grandma would occasionally stop reading the signs on the wall out loud to completely misunderstand what the rest of us were saying:

Me: Mom, how are the onion rings?

Mom: Good! Want one?

Me: No, thanks.

Mom: They're different.

Me: A spice in the batter?

Mom: No. They seem heavy, like the rolls.

Grandma: Heavy like ROAST?

Me: No, rolls. The onion rings taste heavy like the rolls.

Grandma: We're not having roast.

Mom: No, mother, the rings are heavy like the ROLLS.

Grandma: Well, I haven't had the rolls yet.

...and many other such snippets from conversation. Kevin mainly just ate and looked amused, not realizing that he was having dinner with his Future in different stages.

I think one of the steps of growing up is supposed to be discarding childish nicknames. Nope, I won't do it. Even if I wanted to be called Sara, my family would still call me Boo, BooBoo, Sara Boo, or some other variation of the name. When I was a baby, according to my Mom, they would sing, "Sara Boo, I love you. Yes I do, my Sara Boo!" The name stuck, and I'm still Sara Boo to family.

When my nephew, Elliott, started to talk, my sister, Jennifer, said that they were going to try hard to make it Aunt Sara, not Aunt Boo. The reasoning behind this is that we don't want me to turn out like crazy Aunt Duck. I don't know Aunt Duck's real name, but we are convinced that she must be crazy because her name is Duck! So...the plan almost worked. Elliott, now nearly four years old, usually calls me Sara, but he is a very smart boy and he hears the rest of the family calling me Boo. So now when Elliott is very sleepy or grumpy and is being snuggly with me, he calls me BooBoo. It just melts my heart because he gets this little smile on his face and almost whispers it like he's not sure he can call me that. Now that Annie, my niece, is starting to talk, it almost seems as though we are skipping Sara, such a hard word, and going straight to Boo Boo.

So while, yes, I am now an adult, I am not relinquishing my childhood name. Once a Boo, always a Boo. It's just...well...it's just who I am.

Are we all wearing green today? It is interesting to me that St. Patrick's Day (like everything else) is so over-celebrated in America that while we drink our green beer and stand in the cold to watch the parades in our head to toe green attire, all of Ireland is sitting around televisions laughing at the silly Americans. Those crazy Americans, their overdoing it again, taking it too far, they always have to be the biggest and the best. But yes, I am wearing green and yes, I am having corned beef and cabbage for supper and YES, I am a big silly American!

The Mystery Rash persists. Notice, it now has earned it's capital letters. After hearing too many people say, "It might be strawberries. Do you eat strawberries?" Yes, as a matter of fact, I DO eat strawberries. I eat them every day! I LOVE STRAWBERRIES! I am currently depriving myself of the joyous fruit, and I feel as though a part of me has died inside. Oh, lovely strawberry, come back to me. I am lost without you. This may be something I have to learn to live with. Oh, I mean the rash thing, not the giving up strawberries permanently thing.

I have a machine in my car named Maud. Maud is a genius and a wonderful companion. I push her buttons and she tells me exactly how to get from place to place. This is a huge convenience considering I travel daily to never-before-been places and my sense of direction is...well...flawed, to say the least. I'm still not sure why I named her Maud. The funny thing is, though, that when I got home the very day that I had given her the name Maud, I turned on the repeat episode of Will and Grace where Jack said he was going to go to Bea Arther's one-woman-show and yell, "MAUD!" So the name stuck.

Anyway...today my job took me to Lexington. I didn't even use Maud to get there. I traveled south on I-29 to I-70 to Hwy. 13. For some reason, though, Maud and I couldn't find our way back to Hwy. 13 to come home. That's OK. I trust Maud and she had it all laid out for me. I was traveling along a back-road/highway at a pretty good speed, listing to my book-on-tape (Death Du Jour) and not giving a moment's thought to the fact that I might be completely lost. After about 5-10 miles on this road, I saw that the road ended in a T ahead and I glanced at Maud's screen to see which way I was going to turn. Maud said to continue straight for 11 miles. Impossible. I turned left. Maud scolded, "Off route, recalculating." I pulled over to help her recalculate faster. She told me to continue 200 feet and turn left. Ummm...there was no road in 200 feet or for as far as I could see! I turned around, passed the T, and went the other way. Low and Behold there was a sign saying 12 miles to Excelsior Springs, just northeast of Kansas City. What just happened?!! I made it home, some how, some way. I think I time warped. I think it's magic. I'm keeping an eye out for my invitation to attend Hogwarts' Special Advanced Adult Program for Muggles Turned Magic Late in Life.

When my brother, Benjamin, and I were younger, we watched the video tape of Goonies so much that we broke it and had to buy another. Maybe having the dialogue permanently burned into my brain is why the line, "Watch your face, Ma!!" keeps running through my mind. See, I have a mystery rash on my face and neck. I have seen the doctor twice, and we can't figure out what is causing the darn thing. One thing I know for sure--it certainly isn't very attractive! Really, the worst of it is on my neck, concealed by my hair, but it is also on my face and it is noticeable to me. Every time I glance in the mirror I think, "Watch your face, Ma!!" I then explode into giggles, which is even funnier since I am all alone, and that makes me giggle even more. I am, in fact, giggling right now. Watch your face, Ma!!

As investigators, we are often faced with having to ask probing and very private questions. That doesn't bother me. Yes, sometimes it is awkward, but not only do I need to know the answers for a complete and thorough investigation, I really want to know the answers.

What were the reasons behind your divorce?

How often do you drink? How often to intoxication? How does alcohol affect your behavior?

Why did you have to go to the doctor?

Tell me about your financial problems...

Sometimes, though, even I am told to do something that I don't feel comfortable with. For example, after discovering that someone cheated on his wife, I don't feel comfortable contacting "the other woman" for an interview. I just don't think it's right. But if that's what Uncle Sam wants so see, that's what I'll give him. It will be interesting, anyway...

I talked to D last night. We don't talk as often as I'd like because of conflicting schedules. Talking to him makes me sad because I miss him so much. D was my constant throughout college. We hit it off on the very first weekend and were practically inseparable thereafter. These are the things that I miss doing with D:

1) Watching Golden Girls (not once, not twice, not three times, but FOUR times a day, sometimes more). That Sophia cracked us up!

2) Doing imitations of an evil teacher, Somnath Sarkar (even his name sounds evil, doesn't it?).

3) Waiting for our student loan checks and making a bang-up trip to the mall, keeping the Gap in business.

4) Studying together, eating Oreos.

5) Going to China Buffet and eating until we couldn't stand up straight.

6) Playing the Fat Game (I won't explain the rules because I don't want people to hate me).

7) Watching foreign films and me learning to love them.

8) Sitting around in our pajamas in the morning, listening to the rain, and making the mutual decision to skip classes so as not to get wet.

9) Sitting around in our pajamas in the morning, looking at the hot sun, and making the mutual decision to skip classes so as not to get too sweaty.

10) Sitting around in our pajamas in the morning, looking at the frosty windows, and making the mutual decision to skip classes so as not to get too cold.

11) Walking to class together when the weather was permitting.

12) Playing tic-tac-toe or hangman in biology to pass time.

13) Checking out boys (which was especially interesting because he wasn't out of the closet, even though I knew he was gay).

There are so many more. Isn't it lovely to have such friends?

I hate to exercise. Oops, hate is not a nice word. I strongly dislike exercising. I am opposed to exercising in most all of it's forms: running, aerobics, spinning, real bike riding, stair climbers (ouch), all of it.

I used to be a swimmer. I mean, I was really a swimmer. I trained morning and night (and still wasn't all that good, but oh, how I loved it) until I tore my shoulder to shreds. Actually, then I swam some more until the doctor pondered just how my arm was staying attached to my body. Three surgeries later and no more swimming. Randy Horner, who by some miracle is still allowed to coach the sport, told me that swimming wasn't an easy sport and that it was supposed to hurt. I was 16. He was supposed to be looking out for my best interest.

Every time I smell chlorine I want to cry. I just want to get back in the water again!! It is so peaceful. Follow the black line, turn at the T, follow the black line, turn at the T. It was so easy, so routine. I could swim the miles away. Now, when I try to get in the pool, I am frustrated and angry when my arm won't quite go over my head for a pretty freestyle. Still I persevere, thinking I just need to "find it" again. But before that can happen, the BURNING starts. Still, I keep swimming, thinking, "This, too, will pass." It doesn't. After a couple of hundred yards, by the time I get to the T, turning isn't an option. At this point, I pull myself out of the water with one arm, not in a very ladylike fashion. I sit rocking, feet in the gutter, knees to my chest, holding my left shoulder with my right hand, and trying to will the pain away. When it starts to fade to a dull throb, one of two things happens. One, stupid girl that I am, I hop back in the water and do it all again. Two, I try to slip into the locker room unnoticed, embarrassed at leaving after a mere few hundred yards of swimming. I used to be a swimmer. Now I'm a sloth.

Being a jealous creature by nature, I am not terribly shocked by my latest bout of envy, as silly and frivolous as it will seem to you. It's just this: My best friend, Brad, gets to be a groomsman in our other friend, Jeff's, wedding. Why would I want to be a groomsman, anyway? If someone asked me to be a bridesmaid I would groan inwardly, smile outwardly, and quickly fabricate a prior engagement for the wedding day. Let's face it--no one wants to be a bridesmaid.

Why Brad and not me? I was just as much a part of "the group." Jeff's twin brother, Andy the Jerk, didn't even invite Brad and I to his wedding (me because Kamille the Evil Bride didn't want me there [her jealousy issues run deeper than my own] and Brad because Andy is a homophobe.) Now Brad gets to stand at the front of the church and glare and Kamille from his position of honor while I sit meekly, and probably alone, in a church in upstate New York. Why alone? Because my husband won't want to go and because my Brad GETS TO BE A GROOMSMAN!! Who am I going to sit with at the reception? No one. Sara sits alone. Always a bridesmaid, never a GROOMSMAID!!