Sabine’s Cure for the Common Cold – a recipe

Bear with me, this is going to get a bit scientific.

First, you start with Afrin’s Severe Congestion No Drip (this is the green bottle and yes, the No Drip formula is important to the remedy). 2 solid squirts in each nostril. Trust me, this is the crucial first step, you have to get this one right.

Second, you find a 32 oz. cup.  You fill the 32 oz. cup with 21 ounces of Moscato Spumante. Top off glass with high pulp OJ. Take one big gulp. Top off glass again with OJ. Insert straw and stir. Suck down concoction as fast as you can. Trust me, this is the crucial second step, you have to get this one right.

Third, fill glass with remaining Moscato Spumante. Top off with high pulp OJ. Insert straw and stir. Mix with 2 Tylenol PM, 1 Mucinex DM, and 10 hours of sleep. The mystical magical properties of the third step are accelerated if you manage to drink the entire cup (with straw!) while in a hot steam filled shower. Trust me, this is the crucial third step, you have to get this one right.

If at any point while drinking you look at the bottom of your glass and notice a red ball, don’t panic! But if takes you longer than 17 seconds to realize that the red ball is actually your red straw, then you can assume that the magical properties of the concoction have worked, down the rest in one chug, and go straight to the sleeping portion of this remedy. 

In the morning, you won’t even remember you had a cold…but if you do?

Rinse, Lather, Repeat till better.

And yes, this is also my cure for hangnails, acne scars, and sprained ankles (substitute shower with bath). Please note, this remedy does not work on heartburn.

You are welcome.

Do you know how hard it is to just choose to work on your own happiness? I mean, how happy are you right now? If you could quantify it, where would it rate? Are you happy? Could you be happier? Then why aren’t you?

Chances are the answers to those last 3 questions are -

1. Yes.
2. Yes.
3. …

and then you start coming up with excuses. Right?

It can be a bitch to choose to make your own happiness your priority. Promise. I’m dealing with it now. Here I am, with an ocean of options ahead of me and the ability to turn in any direction in pursuit of my happiness. The chance to follow my bliss wherever it leads me. And yet, fear tries to stop me. Habits stand in my way. Still I’m trying to take delight in the knowledge that I, right now, can change anything I want to about my life without having to consider consequences. New has always been scary for me. At heart, I’m a shy person (shut up) so new intimidates the hell out of me. I’m fighting that now, I’m finding the excitement in it.  I’m embracing the “firsts” and the “new” that I’m experiencing. First interviews? Scary. First dates? Very nice. New meds? Meh. New jeans? Rockin’. Seriously ya’ll, you should see my ass.

I’ve spent most of the holidays sick and stuck in bed. Cold turned sinus infection turned upper respiratory infection. For lack of feeling up to anything else, I’ve lost myself the last few weeks in books and articles. Me and my highlighter. Reading, scanning, and researching. Remixing Your Life. Defining Your Happiness. Following Your Bliss.  You know, self-help mumbojumbo. Basically, I’ve been looking for permission to be selfish. To make my happiness a priority. Or to, more importantly, work at defining what it is that is going to make me happy.

2012 is going to be a massive journey for me.  The journey I was supposed to have in 2011 before Fate ran away with my life.  Before the sickness, and the love, and the stupidity of moving across country not once but twice; I painted this idea of what I wanted my life to be. It was a basic overview, but I knew that I wanted a new career, a new home, a new lifestyle. Now I find myself in this unique situation to do anything I want, and I want to take full advantage of it.

And that is precisely what I’m going to do…in my own way.  Because, I’m the first to admit that I’m weird and I have no problem owning that I’m a bit OCD when it comes to list making.

So I can also laugh at myself a bit when I admit that I’m going about this in an overly organized fashion. I’m creating charts, lists, and goals. Big Goals, like, career and paying off debt, and finding a place to live. Little goals, like, training myself to put on sunscreen everyday, spending more time baking, having lots more sex, and starting and/or finding a book club. I’m organizing my goals by month. In January, I will focus on career goals (like, say, revamping my resume and finding a f’n job) and in February, I will focus on something small and fun…and probably still finding an f’n job. I’m really sad, probably more sad than any adult should be, that I sold off my huge ass white board, cause if I still I had it I would have already turned it into this huge multi-colored hub of lists and goals and venn diagrams.

Why am I doing all that?  Cause it makes me happy. Genuinely stupidly happy. And well, isn’t that the point?

- Heaven by  O.A.R.

I love how my brain works. I love that at every major turning point in my life a song has come along that I identify with, one that speaks to me. I have anthem songs. I always have, I suspect I always will.  It makes for pleasant memories when the radio starts to play. Hearing a certain song will make me remember the long drives late at night to San Antonio when I was driving down to see Greg. Another reminds of the day I was promoted to VP, the youngest in our company’s history. Another will always remind me of Cozumel. This year, I started the year with an anthem of power. Of living. Of triumph. I needed that. I had some dark days when I was sick. Days when I thought I wasn’t going to make it…days when I wished that I wouldn’t. But I got better and in my heart when I think about what I overcame I think about that song and the part it played.

I have a new song. A song that I’ve enjoyed for months, but that only recently came to have special meaning for me.  I have a new anthem. One to remind me that my life is just that, mine. It reminds me to take joy in the life I have and what I can make of it. I’m still having dark moments. Moments where I despair at starting over. Sitting here with everything in front of me, with no ties, being able to make any choice I want…it is exhilarating and scary as hell.

But I sit here and I sing (off-key), and I feel secure that I can do this.

Amy asked what I was doing for Kingdom A&S.

Short answer? Nothing.

Long answer? About the only thing I could fathom doing is pulling together all my research and my handouts that I’ve already written and morphing it into a dry research paper. Cause let’s face it, the only thing I’m capable of doing artistically is writing about other peoples’ artistic endeavors. But that would require me digging into that storage unit and finding the 2 boxes of notebooks that aren’t marked as such and digging through the numerous boxes of books for the small handful I would actually need AND finding that spare hard drive that may or may not be covered in cough syrup. Then I would actually have to write the paper and remember how to do a bibliography. Want to know how much of that I want to do? Oh, that would be none of it.

There is a new research idea I have that I would love to write a paper on. I’d even be willing to relearn how to do a bibliography for that topic. But starting from scratch on a brand new topic 2 months before it is due. No, not going to happen either.

A conversation Amy and I had over the weekend even gave me another idea for yet another research paper, so the ideas are there. The follow through is seriously lacking. And locating research materials on new topics is a daunting task for me right now.

So Kingdom A&S? I’ll pass.

But this does lead nicely into something that has been on my mind for the last few months.  I do need a new SCA project…and I’m kinda stuck trying to figure out what I want to do.  I need something I’m going to love, something that will be fun for me.  Cause I love the SCA, I love being a part of the SCA, and the family that the SCA provides for me.  But lately, I’ve only been participating in a strict social sense.  I show up for my people, I don’t show up for the game.  Between my illness and then the knowledge I would be moving out of Kingdom, I stepped out of active participation. I have to fix that. I just have no idea what I want to do.

Sure I have a few grandiose ideas,  but they aren’t actually something I can accomplish on my own. They would require me foisting my ideas on others and making them work towards the same goal, and I’m not ready to inflict my version of the game on others just yet.

So instead of a Kingdom A&S project, Amy, I’m just going to try and find an SCA project for 2012 and make progress on that. We can revisit A&S projects in 2013. Will that suffice, oh Nifty Laurel of the Niftiness?

(and if you have any ideas for that project, I’m all ears…)

On Friday, I wrote out this big long depressing crazy angsty post about the last few weeks. About how I felt. About what he’d done. I planned to post it yesterday, but I’m opting out now. It served it’s purpose already. I was able to rant for the duration of my flight to Phoenix and I got it out of my system. Ya’ll don’t need to be subjected to it.

As I drove out of Arizona on Sunday, I realized that I’m done. I’m over it. I’m over him. What he did, how he handled this, has left me resolute in my decisions. Now is not the time for dwelling. Now is the time for moving forward. I have to make certain I don’t allow myself to put my life on hold for him one moment longer than I already have.

Then while driving, I did something that I’ve only ever done with one other ex. I blocked him from my life completely. He can’t call, can’t text, can’t email, can’t IM. I deleted emails, texts, photos. Years of communication, gone. I refuse to be confronted with the evidence of our failed relationship every time I open up my laptop or turn on my phone. Good or bad, the cleanliness of it all makes me happy. Relieved, even.

So we are done talking about it now. I know some of you still feel the need to exact your own revenge, and I get that. Hell, I’ll even support it. Do your worst, but I got my revenge and I’m done now. So ya’ll just continue to rock that grudge and hold on to it in case I find a need for it again.  I understand it can be good company.

K? K.

So new subjects, people?

Recipes or religion?

OKCupid vs Match.com?

Shenanigan plots or Shopping tidbits?

What do you think Sabine should be when she grows up?

Job leads?

Come up with a blog post topic for me and win a “Sabine Original” prize.

I’d lost them a few years back but this morning as I got out of the shower, I actually noticed them, like, just there hanging out…like they’d always been there. So if you see me and I’m all “LOOK! COLLARBONES!!!” just bear with me…my crazy will dissipate in a few days.

I’m starting to lose all the trunk weight that the Cushing’s caused. My doctor told me it would be the last weight to go, but I had started to think that maybe it wouldn’t go at all. That I’d just continue to stay top heavy. Finally though, I’m starting to notice some changes. I’m now firmly in a large shirt size… and I’m actually able to buy a button down shirt that fits in all the correct places.

I’m finally out of that horrid gray area where I’m too small for plus sizes and too big for standard sizes. By the time I’m employed, I’m going to need all new work clothes…and all new casual clothes. Which means that I’m probably going to con some girls into a road trip down to the San Marcos outlet mall, cause I suck at shopping for myself and if I can turn it into a girls’ trip maybe I won’t hate it so much. My hate for shopping is why I’m still wearing jeans now 2 3 full sizes too big. So what if I can take them off without unbuttoning them?!? They only try to fall off my ass when I walk…but that’s cool these days, right? Yeah, I know, I rock teh sexy.

I’m not even really sorry to see the breasts go. 36D (possibly a DD) means shopping for bras in normal places like Victoria’s Secret and not having to drop way too much money on special “full figured” bras. Which speaking of, women, do yourselves a favor and head out and try on this bra. Amazingly comfortable. Trust me, your breasts will love me for it.

I’m sending out my resume left and right, looking for work. Looking for either a permanent position or even just something part time (or seasonal) so I can still continue to interview until the right gig comes along. I’m reaching out to the Austin, Baton Rouge, and Shreveport areas as well. I have an appt scheduled tomorrow with an advisor at a local college as well.  It is time to get some of my certificates back up to date and some new training under my belt.

Everyone tells me this is going to end up being for the best. That using this as a reset is exactly what I need. That when all is said and done, I will have a new place to live, a new career, and the fresh start I wanted.  And if I find a need a man…well they all have ideas about who can fit that description better than the last few options. Or I could just get a dog. Or 5. Or maybe one really large Mastiff named Tank.

Till then I have a few projects to keep me busy.  I’ve got this blog that I want to get off the ground (but I always seem to find an excuse not to) and I’ve got a few other websites circling in my mind. I’m working on Adena’s virtual vigil right now, it should be up and running tomorrow night if I don’t manage to fuck the code up.

Seriously though I love my friends. They’ve pulled me out of this mess and  have helped keep me together when even my own family wouldn’t. They’ve offered me shelter and assistance and love…and should the need arise, a hit squad. Because of them, I’m going to rock this.

(and then Imma buy a puppy)

I’ve dated tall guys and short guys. I’ve dated the brown haired, black haired, the blond, the bald “by choice”, and even one who couldn’t let go of his pony tail long, long after he should have. I dated guys that lived alone and guys that lived at home. I dated one who lived with 17 frat “brothers”. Ones with exes, ones who were my exes, ones still with their exes. I dated a married man who stood outside my apartment professing his love for me loudly at 3 a.m. as the cops dragged him off. I’ve dated a virgin and a gay man. Catholic, Muslim, Southern Baptist, Pagan, Atheist….back in 2007 I found out on our 3rd (and final) date that he was a Mormon.  I dated a dive shop owner, a police officer monkey, a piss poor student, his professor, the geekiest bookstore manager, brothers, one that went on to become a state senator, an employee, the lead singer for a cover band, a mover, a gas man, countless “computer” guys and “finance” guys, and somewhere along the way realized that I had a thing for uniforms, mainly firefighters. Men who were firefighters, men who volunteered as firefighters, men who had been firefighters, even one that just liked to dress up and play pretend. Guys who did no drugs, did some drugs, sold drugs. I went to Miami for a date with a King, I dated a professional “Magic: The Gathering” player. I dated a guy who made shoes and a guy who wore the same flip flops every day for over 3 years. There were guys that were farm fed and guys so small they were “to go” size. There were guys who could suit up and then guys that in their 20’s and 30’s had yet to own a suit. The ones that met my parents and the ones that I knew would never make it that far. There were even 2 that met my Grandmother. Democrats, Republicans and guys who have no idea where their voting station is. Beer drinkers, gym rats, smokers, and the one who taught me to love tequila. Guys with dogs, cats, and snakes. I got a birthday iguana from one. Amazing kissers, so-so kissers and yet not one has ever kissed me the way Burke first kissed Yang. Guys that went down, a few that even did it well, ones that just expected free head, and one who thought oral sex was unsanitary (that didn’t last). Guys that wanted to cuddle and guys that didn’t. One that broke my heart over text, one that broke my heart when he died, and one that I’m fairly certain doesn’t have a heart. Ones that didn’t mind my cold feet and one that once he fell asleep his idea of cuddling morphed into putting me into a headlock. Ones that were meant to stay over and ones that I should have never brought home. Every one of them snored. Some had nightmares. Some talked in their sleep. One sang. Guys whose last names I imagined having and guys whose last names I never even knew. Nice guys, not-so-nice guys, guys that cried, jackasses, and one that I wish I could set up with that cow that continually talks shit about me. They deserve each other. Guys that I’ve given a second chance, guys that won’t have a third, guys that should never have had a first, and one that I would marry tomorrow if I could. Guys with guitars. Guys with pianos. Guys with calluses.

 
I’ve met them next to a bonfire, kissed them under a street light, and left them standing in the rain. We’ve met in bars, made out in cars, fondled in a computer lab and argued over the tab. We’ve gone to museums, flea markets, and amusement parks. On chilly nights, we’ve cuddled under blankets in a tent listening to the rain. We’ve watched; True Lies, Can’t Buy Me Love, and Minority Report. The movie Air Force One became code for sex and you held me when I lost my shit watching Bridge to Terabithia. I fell in love with you when you took me to a midnight showing of the original Willy Wonka in 2005. We sexted during business meetings. We did shots overlooking the happiest place on earth and kissed on the fire escape of your sister’s building. We dreamed of opening a vineyard together, and then a bookstore/tea shop. You forgot we fucked in Sarah’s closet, but you won’t forget that time in her backyard. She mistook me as your wife and you didn’t correct her. You surprised me when you told me your dream was to own a bed and breakfast. We had season tickets for a minor league hockey team and you loved to taunt the players in the penalty box. I left you so you shot me. We played drinking games and pretended we were just friends. I woke up from surgery to realize you hadn’t left my side in 5 days. I discovered only after showing up at your Halloween party in my “I Dream of Jeannie” costume that you had a fetish for genies. I drug you to an avant garde theatre where we learned that sometimes a guy in a feathered lycra suit is simply just a guy in a feathered lycra suit. Once everyone fell asleep we did all the things we had promised each other we wouldn’t do. We worked our way thru the “101 places to visit in Dallas” and we were only caught having sex at 7 of them. The smell of new canvas will always remind me of how bad sex with you was. We went on weekend trips together strictly as friends and always managed to wind up naked. You were arrested for drinking and driving and the cops had to take me home. That was fun for me. You came home from work at 2 a.m. and I met you at the door in high heels and one of your dress shirts. That was the night we fucked over the sofa. Yes over, not on. We danced at that wedding before sneaking out to have sex in our friend’s backseat. You were an unfailingly polite Southern gentleman, and it drove me nuts. I took your mother to chemo because you couldn’t bear it. We sat in your Jeep for 3 hours telling stories about the moon and waiting for a tow truck. I put flowers on her grave because you forgot to. I giggled as you tried to electrocute me cause it tickled. In an effort to save your reputation, I let people think we slept together so people wouldn’t know you had really fucked…that. I didn’t tell you I thought it was sad that you were in your late 30′s and couldn’t hold down a job. I thought you were gorgeous to look at, amazing in bed (or on the sofa, in your clawfoot tub, on your immaculate kitchen countertops) but dull as fuck to talk to. I threw a drink in your face at a 7 Deadly Sins party, sent you flowers for your 40th birthday, and cried over you too many nights. I kept the plaid dress shirt of one and burned the headboard of another. I told you I loved you when I didn’t, and that I didn’t when I did. And for you, I faked it every single time.

P.S. I’m back.

I’ve had this bag for about 18 years (damn).  It is a camera bag, and for the first few years I owned it that is exactly what I used it for.  See, I used to be a bit of a camera geek, and I carried a couple with me where ever I went. This held my Canon body and a number of lenses. It also carried a Nikon Point and Shoot, that I annoyed all my friends with constantly. No shit, I was worse than Mouse. I went through mounds of film. Mounds.  I had my own darkroom…well okay, to be fair, I had a bathroom that I used as a darkroom.  I was convinced I was going to have a camera in my hand for the rest of my life. Then I discovered theater.

Over the years, the camera bag stopped holding cameras. Then it sat on a shelf for a long while.  At some point, years later, I started using it as a purse from time to time, cause it really is an awesome bag. When I had the baby X31, it fit in this bag perfectly. The cord fit the front pocket like it was made to live there. Even now, I use the bag as my “go to” work bag. My Kindle, my Filofax, and my Idea book all fit in there with plenty of room for purse stuff.  The bag sees a lot of use.

So a few years back, I was living in Hell (Florida) using the bag to haul around my work laptop and I noticed something. See the sides of the bag?

Film Pockets. And inside one of the pockets?

Film. Exposed Film. That I’ve been knowingly hauling around for at least 6 years now.  It has become a bit of a talisman for me. Some people have a lucky coin, I have this. I have no idea what is on it. I do know that based on the type of film it is from my Nikon so the shots are probably candids of my friends from high school, the early years of high school.  Some days I have a desire to go get the film developed, but then I start to worry that maybe the actuality of the film won’t be as good as the wondering about what memories it holds. There are a number of things that happened to me growing up that at the time seemed like perfection, and that today, as an adult, I realize were anything but.  So the film has the possibility of bringing up some old shit, shit I would rather not confront. But also there are possibilities that there is something wonderful in there…I just don’t know.

So what would you do? Would you sacrifice your talisman and take a chance or would you tuck the film back in it’s pocket for the next time you needed to hold on to something for good luck?

I will openly admit that the hardest part of this project is posting the pics here and not on Facebook where I can tag people.  But that would petty and I like the smell of the air up here on the high road.

So without further ado….PHOTOS!

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