Adventure #23-- Contemplating the Trophy Wife

Let me get this out there: I love women. I love being friends with women, I loved being in a sorority, and, so far, I love being in the Junior League. I am extremely suspicious of people who say they are only friends with guys because women are so [catty, bitchy, shallow]. What the hell kind of women do you know? I know the ones that have been with me for years. The friend who let me sleep on her futon when I had a room-mate crisis, the one who fed me milk and cookies and let me cry after breaking up with a boyfriend, the multiple ones who have spent hours talking through life plans and changes as we dated, married, went back to school, got jobs, bought houses, etc., the one who unpacked all the boxes of dishes and organized my kitchen, the one who will go to the sonic and eat chili cheese tots with me with no guilt or shame. These examples are just a handful of the wonderful transformative experiences and friendships I have had with women.

So, today, I was knocking around the old inter-webs, and came across this series of pictures:

Holy shit.

This is from a blog of a young pretty blonde woman who is a tri-delt at a southern college. She painted this cooler for her boyfriend for a fraternity weekend they're going to together. If I'm being honest, my first thought was to roll my eyes. My second thought was "thank God we didn't have to do that at Sewanee", but that's neither here nor there.

I go to yoga class at this studio in town across from the super trendy organic grocery store. The classes are filled with what I might call "trophy wives". Thin, beautiful, lots of pretty hair, and the time and money to go to these classes. All decked out in lululemon, of course. When I am busy judging and labeling people, I conveniently leave out of the equation that I too am thin, reasonably attractive, working on having pretty hair (any day now, y'all), and also have the time and money to go to these classes.

Is there any better way to devalue a woman than to dismissively call her a sorority girl or a trophy wife? Am I really saying anything other than "I don't know you at all, but I'm going to call you vain, shallow, and say you contribute nothing to society other than your ornamental beauty"? Really? Is that my place? For the love of Pete, I call people "sorority girl" and I WAS a sorority girl. What is wrong with me? Those women are someone's friend, and they could be my friend. Those women are the friend who let someone sleep on their futon. They are they friend who have gone through life stages with someone.

Just because someone is beautiful or put together doesn't mean she isn't smart, talented, and hardworking. The girl who made that cooler is, at the very least, artistically gifted, extremely patient, and generous with her time. Based on some other things I see in her blog, she also has a mother who cares very much about her. The women I do yoga with are so strong and so dedicated to their health and mental well-being. What's not to say they aren't also teachers, investment bankers, lawyers, or any other high stress career, for that matter? Or that they're going to yoga because it gives them the peace and strength to care for their children or a dying parent?

Point being, I need to knock off judging people I don't know. Especially people who are what I perceive to be prettier or richer than I am. Appearances can be deceiving, and sometimes the most wonderful surprises in friendship happen when you let your guard down and take someone at face value instead of putting them into a narrow category before you even know who they are.

Adventure #22-- The Rules

I think we each have a set of internal rules that, if we obey them, make us happier. For your reading pleasure, I have underlined the ones that apply to me, because, let's face it, I'm fascinating and you want to know aaaaalllll about me.

Anywaho, for some people (me), those rules are things like "If I don't have quiet time to myself at least once a day, I will freak out and stab someone in the neck." For other people they are things like "if I don't listen to music I don't work or study as well" or

Magnificent culinary achievement. Nothin' wrong with cheese.

"Full-fat cheese is the enemy" (pish tosh!)... I've been thinking about my own set of rules lately, and have come to an important conclusion:

One of the greatest rules of yours truly is.... DRUMROLL PLEASE....

If I don't do a chore at night, I'm definitely not going to get it done in the morning. 

I do this crap constantly, where I say "I'll do it in the morning." Do I EVER do it in the morning? NO! In the morning, I do things like transfer myself from my bed to the guest bed, play on the internet for way too long, then scramble around like an insane wildebeest, fling myself into and out of the shower, and run out the door headlong, iced coffee in hand.

Does the litter box need to be cleaned, Sarah? Do it before you go to bed.
Does the laundry need to be put in the dryer? Do it before you go to bed.
Does the cold brewed coffee need to be strained into the pitcher? Do it before you go to bed.

Mmmmm.... 

Do the financial statements for that board meeting need to be prepared? For the love of god, do it before you go to bed.

I have never regretted getting something done the night before.

I always regret not having done it earlier when I'm in the mad rush to get out the door the next day.

...

A somewhat related and extremely annoying other life rule of mine is:

The only way to feel better is to do what is hanging over your head.

In life, in work, or at home, this is true for me. When I'm stressed, it is almost 100% of the time because I am procrastinating with something that is either unpleasant or difficult or both. The giant heap of folded laundry that will take less than 5 minutes to put into the drawer. The work project that is 95% complete except for one stupid question you can't bring yourself to ask. The tedious mind-numbing task. The check you keep forgetting to write. Just do it and get it over with. Really, really, Sarah, you will feel better.

And finally:

It's a lot easier to avoid temptation in the store than in your house.

This is why I have banned myself from buying the following items except for special occasions:

• Doritos
• Candy
• Wine (I know, right? I can be trusted with beer or liquor, but not wine. Weird.)
• Double stuff oreos

If any of these items are in my house, I will make less than ideal choices.

Those are the rules of my life.

I also have one single rule for my house that I will include just in case any of you come to a party at chez moi:

If you have to throw up, do it outside.

Fin.

Adventure #21-- The Arsenal of Democracy, Part I

So. I am 29 years old and have never even shot a gun before. Except a BB gun, of course. And yet, I am now a gun owner as of this weekend.

Because you can't talk guns without talking politics (apparently) and family background, I'm just going to put my cards on the table and tell you that I'm a liberal republican swing voter. Ready to have your mind blown? I voted for both Bush and Obama. On purpose. I grew up in a conservative republican family, my dad had a large gun collection, and it was never a problem. So I don't have anything against guns, but I did not think I'd ever want to own a bunch of them or anything.

But this weekend I bought a gun. And I got another one as a present from a friend that same day. I thought it would be a good idea to talk about it, especially since I know that some of you disagree with this decision.

Annie Oakley is the revolver on top and Lil' Shortcut
is the semi-automatic on bottom. They are both quite dainty.

Meet the beginning of my Arsenal of Democracy (as a friend of mine calls his gun collection)... I say "beginning" because I really want to get a rifle too, so I can take vengeance on the deer that decimated my hosta garden. Venison is tasty. That's neither here nor there. 

Why am I telling you all of this? Because I am starting from square one on guns, and it seems like everyone I know either thinks guns are satan incarnate only used to murder innocent children, or knows everything about them and are perhaps what the "other side" would refer to as "gun nuts". I thought it would be okay if I, a moderate and generally reasonable person, talked about my experience learning about them, and my rationale behind having them. Today I'm mostly going to talk about why I decided to get them and what I think about that. Another day I'll tell you about gun lessons, which I am taking because I want to be a responsible gun owner.

So, why did I get Annie and Shorty? Because even though I live in one of the "safest" neighborhoods in Chattanooga (though "safety" in Chattanooga is pretty much a joke as far as I can tell-- twice the national crime rate in every category, what what!!!), there have been a number of break-ins in the neighborhood recently. Including when people are at home. I'm alone in the house a lot, especially at night, and that's pretty scary. As a petite and non-burly woman, I recognize that if I were ever in some sort of physical altercation with basically anyone other than toddlers or the elderly I would lose. Hands down. The end. And I can't even run fast. 

And it's not just as easy as "call the police."** I'm not saying I want to shoot someone who breaks into my house, but I'm saying I would like to have the option to defend myself if worse comes to worse, or at least scare off a burglar while I'm waiting for a man with a gun to come defend me. And seriously, the fact that as a woman, I have to wait for a man with a gun to come protect me in order to be safe in my own home feels pretty shitty and disempowering. 

I don't trust the police here to arrive quickly either. A friend and I got rear-ended by a drunk driver last year, and it took nearly half an hour for the police to show up even though the station was just "five minutes away". I would certainly hope they'd show up faster than that if someone were breaking into my house, but who really knows. A lot can happen in a few minutes, and I'd rather not take the chance. So that, in a long-winded nutshell, is why I began my own Arsenal of Democracy.  

One of the character traits I value most highly is taking responsibility for yourself and your decisions. I think that owning guns is a serious responsibility, and I will treat it as such. Maybe this is weird, but the closest metaphor I can think of is that owning a gun is like choosing to have unprotected sex-- a split second choice can have a lifetime of consequences. That is a heavy thing to contemplate. Having the ability to defend myself for the first time in my life is actually a little frightening, because it means that someday I may have the opportunity to make the decision to do that... rather than to run, hide, and pray for the best.

Stay tuned for Part II-- Gun Lessons! 

**Also, so help me if one more person suggests I get a dog. A dog is a living (high-maintenance) creature, not an alarm system. If I wanted a dog, I'd get a dog, but I'm not getting a dog just because of burglars. JJ sleeps during the day, and we can't have a dog barking its fool head off all the time.

Adventure #20-- Homemade Makeup Brush Cleaner

 Do you ever actually make things you see on pinterest? I don't. I'm not crafty, first of all, and I'm extremely cheap, second of all. So I don't want to waste money on something that will likely turn out to be an abomination. But that's neither here nor there, since today's post is about how I actually did something I saw on pinterest.

This is a sick thing to admit, but I basically never wash my makeup brushes. Grody to the max, right? So, I saw this brush cleaner recipe on pinterest and sent it to my sister. She raved about how well it worked, but I completely ignored her. Until tonight.

Recipe:

• 1 cup really hot water
• 1 tbsp white vinegar
• 1 tbsp dish soap

Generic brand vinegar and Palmolive! Fancy!

Peep investigates.

The second my foundation brush hit the mixture. 

Seriously, y'all. It worked SO FAST. You know how black tea immediately turns the hot water that gorgeous dark brown? It was like that, but really gross. 

Foundation brush and eyeshadow brush after swirling around
a bit. The liquid was completely opaque by this point.

EEEEW. It looks like a cheerful pink in this photo, but it was brownish pink, like a sad melted chocolate strawberry milkshake. My makeup isn't even that color. I have no idea how this horrific slurry of pinkish brown happened. I rinsed the brushes out, but they were pretty much perfectly clean when they came out of the cleaner. I made a second batch of the cleaner just to see how much crap was left in the brushes, but the first batch cleaned them extremely well, and hardly any more makeup came out the second time through. 

Ooooo... Aaaahh...

The brushes are drying right now, but they already look so much better and do not smell like vinegar at all. I will definitely be using this recipe frequently in the future. Yay!

Adventure #19-- Hot Yoga

I have done a fair amount of yoga in my life-- a couple years ago I was doing about three classes a week for months in a row. I got to the point where I noticed a change in my body and my skill level. I hate exercising with a fiery passion, but yoga has been the one thing I've done repeatedly because I enjoy it. I've done four or five different types of yoga, but never hot yoga. Yoga in the noog is a lot more spendy than yoga in other places I've lived, so I leapt on the living social deal for a month unlimited at the hot yoga place as a chance to get back into it.  

So, I went for the first time ever today.... 

.... and an extremely perky lady named Blair tried to kill us all with a "yoga" routine developed by what I can only image to be superhuman robot people with arms, legs, and cores made out of titanium and sorcery. 

Artist's representation of Blair.
"Just breathe into the pose. Now we're going to hold it for 10 more breaths."
Editor's Note: 10 breaths = at least three hours

I know it's hot yoga, but the room was approximately the temperature of the surface of the sun. Chattanooga is not known for being a cold place in July, but I felt a little chilly walking out of the lesson. Needless to say, I was sweating by the time I sat down on my mat. I wore shorts, which was a BIG mistake. Any sort of pose where you have to rest a sweaty arm on a sweaty leg? Danger, Will Robinson! (Though I'm happy to say this is an excellent excuse to buy over-priced yoga pants that will completely cancel out any savings brought about by going to groupon yoga classes).

But seriously? Some of those poses? Woah. Things I have never even heard of! It started well. It was just an intense flow yoga. That surely would ease up at some point? Right? Right?! 

Then it kept getting harder. I did my best to keep going, and I didn't cry or throw up. That's about all I can say for myself. I think that's what yoga is about, just doing what you can.  That being said....

Artist's representation of me, with 20 minutes still left in the class.

...it was by far the hardest workout I've ever had in my life. And somehow pretty much everyone else in the class was some sort of yoga master. Bitches were doing inversions. Maybe they are part of the superhuman robot people race.

All that said, I might be a masochist, but I'm totally going back on Saturday if I'm able to walk again by then. I feel fantastic and accomplished. But if I don't look like Heidi Klum by the end of this month, I want my $49 back. 

Adventure #18-- The Time When Travel Took Me Home

When I abandon something I love, I need emotional space. When I make a big decision about myself, I sometimes have to close a door for a long time. Then maybe, someday, I can go back for a visit.

In college, I had two academic loves-- history and Latin. I especially loved Latin, but I never felt like I had a natural talent for it, so I minored in it for fun. I thought of Latin like I thought of being in the university choir-- I am no amazing singer, but I'm at least capable of carrying a tune, and I enjoyed it a great deal. After I graduated, I taught history and Latin. It was the most terrible job I've ever had, but not because of the history, or the Latin, or even the teaching, for that matter. The politics of it were awful and I was terrible at classroom management. But, not being one to give up (see also: stubborn), I decided to keep going in that same direction. I moved back home to get married, and decided I would apply to grad school to get an M.A. in Latin and go back to teaching. I was even accepted by a couple of programs. But two years after I left my first and only classroom, I was still having nightmares about teaching. I was struggling through my second semester of Greek, and finally admitted to myself that maybe I needed to explore other options.

Eventually, through a truly random series of events, I decided to take an accounting course. It turns out I had found a new love. But the decision to pursue accounting as a career was not easy. It seemed like everything accounting meant for me, as a career and as an academic discipline stood in stark contrast with the study of the classics that I loved so much. I wasn't just leaving the ivory tower, I was setting it on fire and walking away to the land of Business, never to return. I felt like I was letting down all of the brilliant and kind professors I had the privilege of learning from. I felt like I was letting go of a major piece of who I was and who I had always expected I would be. I mean, tax accounting? Really???

Really.

So I left Latin and history behind. I worked full time and went to school full time, and networked, and tutored, and took and passed the CPA exam. I'm a very happy tax accountant now. I love my life, and I love my job. I don't regret for one minute that I've gone in this direction. Plus they tell you that Sewanee teaches you how to think. As far as I'm concerned, "analyze, don't summarize" should be Sewanee's second motto along with "EQB"... and tax accounting is very analytical. So in that way, it suits.

But at the same time I've finally had enough distance for long enough that I can now begin to go back home to the things that were so meaningful to me in the past. I'm not exhausted by constant schoolwork, so I can read and explore on my own terms. I can be a tax accountant who reads the Aeneid and watches historical documentaries. For fun! Because I'm a giant nerd.

Perfection.

So, I decided that I was going to reread the Odyssey during my travels in Greece. And I did.

We had an entire day at sea on the leg of the trip between Venice and Corfu. I made fairly good progress in the book, getting to the point where the Phaecians bring Odysseus home to Ithaka. Poseidon, who has a grudge against Odysseus, finds out what they have done, gets angry, and turns the Phaecian ship into stone right before it gets to land.

The next day, I had one of those random joyful moments that brings tears to your eyes because you are so overwhelmed by something you can't explain. We got on the bus in Corfu and our tour guide started talking about the various places we were going to go that day-- a distillery, an orthodox monastery, a restaurant on top of a mountain with a fantastic view... and a rock in the harbor that is said to have been a ship turned to stone when returning from bringing Odysseus home to Ithaka. It turns out that Corfu is the modern name for the land of the Phaecians.

The one in the back. 

So yes, I cried right there on that bus. And I cried again when I saw the rock. Because there I was, halfway around the world and suddenly brought back home by a modern-day Phaecian.

Adventure #17-- Cold Brewing Coffee

I don't know if you've heard about cold brewing coffee. I heard about it first when I was working at Stirlings, but we didn't have room to do anything but what we already did. I assumed cold brewing was complicated and took a lot of equipment. I also didn't drink coffee, so the matter of cold brewing completely left my mind until recently.

I started drinking coffee during tax season. Hot coffee still has not won me over, but "addiction" may perhaps not be too strong a word for what I felt towards these beauties:

Get in my belleh

Ingredients? Coffee, milk, and sugar. Actual sugar, not corn syrup. Something in the neighborhood of $2 a bottle. One or two of those a day? It starts to add up. Not going to happen on a continual basis. So I started looking for iced coffee recipes, presuming I'd have to get a coffee pot, brew hot coffee, wait 'til it cooled, etc. 

But no. I found the Pioneer Woman recipe for iced coffee. It turns out that cold brewing means you put coffee grounds in a container, add water, and let it sit for at least 8 hours. I put half a pound of coffee in a plastic 1 gallon pitcher and filled it with water and let it sit overnight and partly into the next day. 

I used Cafe du Monde coffee for no reason other than
some girl from work cold brews too, and she's from Lousiana
and orders this coffee by the case, so she gave me
a brick of it for free. Thanks, Caroline!

After letting the coffee sit, you strain out the grounds (I used a coffee filter inside a wire mesh strainer), and you are left with... a sort of iced coffee concentrate. You probably would not want to drink the concentrate on its own unless you are brass of stomach or ball. So I added milk and some simple syrup to mine, and kablam! Sweet creamy victory way more delicious than the starbucks in a jar. The Pioneer Woman says that a batch of iced coffee concentrate made with a pound of coffee and two gallons of water lasts her about a month if kept tightly closed in the fridge. A pound of coffee is about $10-$12 bucks, and that lasts a month? Way more economical, too. 39¢ a day, plus however much a splash of milk costs.

Hello, beautiful!