Friday, August 20, 2010

If just for tonight, darling, let's get lost.

I went and saw Eclipse tonight at The Clyde.  Amelia wagered all the teenage girls would be busy scoping out boys at the Island County Fair, which would leave us a mellow viewing on a perfect summer evening.  She was right.  Only a smattering of Twi-Hards sat giggling in the front section every time the hottie hotterson native american boy walked onscreen.

I read the books.  I think the author is a hack and I can't even go into the blatant Mormon undertones that seep through in the "should we or shouldn't we?" diatribes regarding sex and marriage that run parallel with blood sucking and losing your soul.  I couldn't help but notice all the vampires fight in the epic battles except the mother of a dozen.  She must be home ironing.  Then there is the massive failure that is Bella Swan's wardrobe.  She always looks horrible.  If Edward was a real retrosexual he would rip her clothes off just to stop looking at her godawful outfits.

One of the few wins, though, is the soundtrack.  I loved this Beck and Bat For Lashes track long before I saw the movie (thanks to my sister, Phoebe).

It's appropriate for tonight because, truth be told... I have a new crush.  We've found ourselves submerged in this surreal space that is neither here (where I am) or there (where he is), but rather somewhere in-between (where honest and fun hide out).  He has me tumbling over my tongue so I have no choice but to stop talking and let the song speak.  Sweet dreams, everyone.

Monday, August 16, 2010

Part Two

I finished my last blog, "To be continued?"

Well, it's not to be continued. Not at all.

Saturday, August 7, 2010

If you can't handle the heat...

"She made for a boss, only a boss.  Anything less, she telling them to get lost." - Ne-Yo


My mom was lighting three-foot sparklers at a wedding when her thumb got burnt.  The burn quickly turned into a huge, oozing blister that she insisted on showing me as I drove her to the airport.

"Mom!  Put that away!  Gross."

"If my body is ever covered in burns, Sarah, put me out of my misery.  I'm not kidding.  There is nothing worse."

We pulled up curbside as she finally re-wrapped her wound in a band-aid.

"I'm not getting out.  This is not a public tank top. But I love you. Have a great trip."

"You are never going to see any of these people again."  She sighed, "I know you're a hopeless romantic and you think you will."

It's true.  Always on the lookout for a "meet-cute" to call my own.

One week later:

Someone is squeezing my left hand.  I'm sipping wine on the Prima patio, bundled up in the cozy blankets they hand out.  Reminds me of being on vacation in Mexico.  Warmth radiates up my arm.  Flustered, I look up to see a familiar pout paired with deep, brown eyes.  I find my voice, wobbly and possibly higher than usual.

"Hi!  What... what are you doing here?" I squeak.

"Just wanted to say hi, I didn't want to interrupt anything," He says, eyeing the guy seated across from me.  High-voltage smile and a wink before he disappears back to his table.

"Who was that?!" 

"Huh?  Oh.  Um, that's my... um, that's... he's..."

My friend is laughing now as he leans in, "You don't have to answer.  You can't even finish a sentence and you are blushing!  Ladies and gentlemen, a man who finally leaves Sarah speechless."

"I don't blush."  I say, burying my face and carving my back into the bench.  

"Then why are you the color of that wall?"  I turn to see the dusty rose wall he is referring to.

"Whatever.  It's really warm out here.  Let's just change the subject.  He's nobody." 

"If that's your nobody, I can't wait to see your somebody."

Three weeks earlier:

"Should I come up?"

"No.  But you can."

I woke up the next morning.  It was like any other morning until I saw the perfectly smooth slope of skin out of the corner of my eye. It was like any other morning until I realized I was trying to come up with a way to hold him hostage in my bed so we could finish what we started.  It was like any other morning until the memory of the night before flooded into my chest like a brush fire.

He made a gentleman's exit and I took 1/2 a Xanax.  Then it really was like any other morning.  I went to the shower, then to the mirror and then to the lip gloss. That's weird.  I had brushed my teeth but I still had wine stain on my lower lip.  To be expected with the previous night's antics.  I looked closer.  Three perfectly tiny purple crescents lined the inside of my lower lip, right where the moisture of my mouth meets the fresh air.  I'd been bitten. 

I understand the vampire hysteria now.  I can't get enough.   I want what I can't have.  I want more than lip biting and hair pulling.  He bossed me around and I liked it.  As a "miss independent" type, I don't think I'm alone in wanting a take-charge kind of man.  I take care of my business and my wellbeing all day, every day.  It's exhausting.  Sometimes I just want a man that will roll up his sleeves, or better yet take off his shirt, and push me up against a wall.  A boss, as the hip hop world calls it. 

Yes, this man is a man's man.  He loves his family with fierce loyalty.  He was raised right.  He holds his own and he certainly doesn't seem to be scared of me.  But, that's the thing with a boss.  You never know.  Sometimes they're standing in front of you and sometimes they're not.  Chances are they're standing in front of someone else.

Why do they always have to have someone else?  Every emotion is pushing up against this parchment paper I call skin.  I bruise easy and I want to take it back to where it started.  Take it back to before I found myself lusting for another unavailable man.  

Take it back to the storm.  The power was flickering when I rolled in on a Friday night wearing loungewear.  I was drinking wine alone and didn't notice him until I noticed that I didn't know him.  Right there in the middle of that blustery autumn storm, the winds of change blew in.  My meet-cute.     

I tell myself to stay away.  This sucks.  I don't want this, but I want him.  Unfortunately, I'm not sure that's a option.  So I smile and nod, trying not to give it away.  I tell him it's a "friendship hiccup."  He tells me it's "unfinished business."  Body temp: A million degrees.  Breath: Gone.  

I know how my mom feels.  I'm burning alive.  One look from him and my cheekbones burst into flames.  I feel it spread to my hairline and down the nape of my neck.  He locks eyes with me and I'm a goner.  I'm on fire and I can't handle it.  I want to scream for someone to put me out of my misery.  One woman can't possibly handle all this heat.  Or can they? 

To be continued?