sara elizabeth’s blog

Did you shop for great deals on Black Friday or Cyber Monday?  Or did you observe Buy Nothing Day?

Working in retail, I always ALWAYS work on Black Friday.  It ends up working out fine for me, because my area of retail doesn't attract teh crazees! like the majority of retailers do.  However, I needed a new digital camera because my two are old and/or of poor quality.  So, I bought this camera from Circuit City on Black Friday.  I lovelovelove Canon digital cameras, and am SUPER PUMPED for that thing to get here tomorrow.  Whee!

Do you tend to like music in particular genres, or are your tastes all over the place?  What are your most and least favorite musical genres?

I have pretty eclectic taste in music.  (Par examplar.)  The only genre I truly, seriously, undoubtedly hate is screamo.  Pretty much anything that screams at me.  That shit all makes me want to stab railroad spikes into my ears.  Serious.

I listen to a LOT of "boys with guitars" music.  Matt Nathanson, Blu Sanders, Griffin House, Ryan Adams, Stephen Kellogg (& the Sixers).  I guess overall I listen to mostly singer-songwriter types.  Not 'cuz I'm indie and above the law of pop culture/music, but because those guys write the songs that speak to my heart.

That said, my top five musicians/bands:

01. Matt Nathanson
02. Counting Crows
03. Lori McKenna
04. Dashboard Confessional
05. Garth Brooks

Oh, Garth Brooks.  How I love you and your crazy pop country ass.

Today I woke up somewhere around 10 a.m., which was automatic awesome. The boys and I went to the bar to watch the Broncos game, which was NOT automatic awesome. Mostly I cannot handle that the Broncos are losing games THEY SHOULD NOT BE LOSING. Detroit actually has a pretty good team this year. Jon Kitna evidently has decided to be not terrible, and their rush defense was surprisingly good. However, 44-7? Really, Denver? Including a fumble on the one-yard line by our QB, with which some dude picked up and basically FELL into the end zone? Excellent. I believe it was at about this point that I felt my time would be better spent cheering Minnesota on to beating the Chargers, which went MUCH better than when I was trying to get the Broncos to pull their cleats far enough out of their asses to run for more than 4 yards at a time. Football can suck it right now.

Also? NASCAR. That bastard Jimmie Johnson won again, and somehow Tony Stewart managed to not only finish out of the top 10, but also only four positions from where he started the race. I can't even watch his pit stops anymore. He needs to gain five or six positions on the track before coming into the pits because his crew is so slow that he loses 4-5 of them every time he has to go in. Guh. Sports are annoying me.

In good news, it occurred to me today that Thanksgiving is in 18 days. Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday, and I am super happy that it is almost here. And, with my stupid stepdad being out of the picture this year for the first time in 23 years, our family truly has something for which to be thankful. Hooray!  [And by that I don't mean we have had NOTHING to be thankful for for the last 23 years.  I mean that he is a terrible, horrible person and this is the first holiday in 23 years that he will not ruin with his idiocy.  HOORAY!]

Fifty minutes to spare. I've been staring at the cursor blink for the last hour.

My oldest nephew had his tonsils out yesterday, and today he insisted on showing me. Luckily I didn't actually see anything, as it is rather hard to explain to a four-year-old how to open his mouth and lower his tongue so that I can actually see down his mouth. Which is fine, as I do not generally handle other people's wounds very well.

We are currently in review writing mode at work. This time, however, instead of reviewing the people who work for us, we are to review ourselves and our superiors. It took me 2.5 hours today to write one review for one of my bosses. Incidentally he is the one I feel has the most to learn/improve upon, so it didn't surprise me too terribly much when I couldn't quite find all the right words for his. I'm hoping the other three [including mine] will take far less time, because I am very impatient when it comes to review writing.

My birthday is in nine days. That is in fact all I have to say about that. Oh wait, one more thing: Birthdays can suck it.

So, I'mma give it a shot.  Perhaps it will be the spur I need to get back into the rhythm of writing.

Evidently lately I have felt not the smallest desire to go to work.  And it's not because I hate my job, or anything.  It's just that I do not want to get out of bed.  So I'm very excited that apparently my life has returned to the same place it was three years ago and I find that the best use of my time is laying in bed, eating Junior Mints and watching A&E all day.  Welcome back, SadMe.

Other things that are contributing to the return of SadMe, other than the fact that I have not been to the gym since the death of Jesus Christ:
1. The Denver Broncos have forgotten how to play professional football.  It is entirely too much for me to sit through 16 excruciatingly annoying games.  However, I have done it for the majority of my life, and will continue to do so.  I in fact have seen far worse Broncos teams than this one.
2. The Colorado Rockies did not manage to win a single World Series game.  This, I believe, is why I have not bothered to care about baseball in the last ten years.  You watch 100+ games, get all excited, and then what?  Nothing?  Even when I was an avid Braves fan and watched them win Series', it still seemed anti-climactic when the season was over.
3. Have boys become more stupid in the last three years?  I believe they have.
4. Also -- working at 0600 every morning sort of cramps my "I'll go to bed whenever I want/wake up whenever I want/go to work whenever I want" style.  I am not a fan.

SadMe, however, turned into EcstaticMe for three days this past weekend when I had the chance to see my sisters and brothers and one Matthew A. Nathanson.  There is no end to the amount of fun my family and I have together, ESPECIALLY when it involves Matt Nathanson concerts.  LOVES the Matty Nay.

My BF(F) was working tonight, so I told him I'd text him updates of the game.  Apparently I am the best commentator ever.

Three up, three down in top of first.

Fuck! First guy up hit a homer.

Fuck!!!

Wow.  That was a lot like getting nails stabbed into your face.  3-0 Sox.

Helton K.  Atkins 2B.  Hawpe K (though questionable, I thought.)  Tulo 2B.  Atkins scores.  Torrealba grounds out.  3-1

Francis strikes one out.  Some 12-year-old grounded out.  He walked some dude trying to sport the Helton facial hair.  Ortiz doubles while Holliday sits with his thumb up his ass.  Shitty Taveras threw like a girl.  Relay too late from Tulo...

Some douche popped up to Kaz.  4-1.

Spilborghs lined out.  Taveras flied out to stupid Ramirez.  Kaz popped out.  More amazing offense from the boys.

Oh, we're back.  Francis Ks Varitek.  Some big long conversation about rain.  Drew hops one to Helton, out two.  Some question about Canadian pitchers.  My boyfriend missed the ball that Lugo bunted.  One on.

The 12-year-old grounded out to Kaz.  Holliday up.

It's raining a lot now.  Umpire is not happy.  Holliday grounds out to third baseman.  Helton doubles off the GREEN MONSTER.  Boyfriend hits like 37 foul balls, then strikes out.  Hawpe swings at shit my blind grandma wouldn't swing at.  K for him.

Oh, shit.  I totally missed the first two outs.  Stupid Ortiz singles to LF.  Evidently the rain has REALLY let up.  Fucking Ramirez hits a double.  Ortiz to 3rd.  Morales warming up.

Asswipe east coasters taunting FRAN-CIS.  Oh, we walked someone intentionally.  Varitek doubles, interferred with by a fan.  6-1.  Drew up.

Drew strikes out.

More shit.  No runners.  6-1.

FYI, my boyfriend is precisely one month younger than I am.  (I was getting kind of bored.)

Morales pitching.  12-year-old on first.  Pedroila pops out to Tulo.  Helton look alike up.  Oh, a balk called by home plate ump.  What a shitty call.  Yukelis is Helton look alike.  JESUS CHRIST.  7-1.

AAAHHH!!! Ortiz doubles to right center.  Yukelis in to score.  I'm going to have to kill someone soon.  Ramirez hits JUST over Tulo.  9-1.

Oh, shit.  Apparently someone hits a double to LF.  Their bullpen keeps playing their Coke bottles and water bottles and shit.

They have Speier warming up.  FYI, I HATE that guy.  Morales walked Varitek.  We've had two outs for like, 7 hitters.  Tulo dives and stops the ball from going to CF.  But, another run in.  Speier coming in.

That dickhead Speier has walked in TWO runs.  28 minutes has this half inning been going.  Helton trying to talk Speier into not being a shitbag.

Herges gets Yukelis to pop up to Hawpe.  Thank all the gods in all the lands.

Are you dead?  Rockies had two hits, one double play, no runs.

First pitch a ball from Herges.  Shock!  Answer to the Canadian pitcher question.  Ortiz pops up to Holliday.  Some guy flied out to Hawpe.  Herges walked Lowell.  Herges strikes some guy out.

At this point he responded that he was busy and sad that our team has "crapped the bed."  So I stopped texting.

All in all?  Fuck you, Ryan Speier.  I keel you, you mother beetch.

Apparently all I write about is extremely sad things.  The truth is, I think about writing often, but somehow I never find the time.  Or the words.  Both, maybe.

One of my co-workers was killed in a car accident today.  We weren't close, never hung out.  But I enjoyed spending time with him at work.  We had the same sense of humor, and could at least bond that way.

I think all my words have been exhausted in the hours I've spent with co-workers and friends at work and on the phone.  I called my fellow managers and asked them all to come in tomorrow, to be with their associates to answer questions and console them.  We'll have grief counselors there, which will be necessary and helpful.

My head is killing me.

Six weeks ago I woke up to four missed calls on my cell phone.  Co-worker.  Wife.  Co-worker.  Work.  I thought it strange, considering I hardly ever get four calls in a WEEK, let alone in a night.  "Sara, it's Jeff.  Call me when you get a chance."
"Hey, it's me.  Call me as soon as you can."
"Sara, it's Rhonda.  Where are you?  Call me."
"Hey, it's me again.  CALL ME!!!!"

I tried calling my wife, but she didn't answer.  I called Rhonda next.

"Hey.. did you hear about Jamie?"
"No?  What's wrong?"
"He was jumped last night..."
"WHAT?"
"...I'm not sure of a lot of details.  He's at the hospital.. Denver General."
"Okay," I breathed.  "Let me call you back."

I called my wife.  "Did you hear about Jamie," she asked.
"Sort of.. I'm still confused.  I'm going to head down to the hospital."
"Are you okay," she said, gently.  It wasn't a question, really, because she knew I wouldn't be.
"Yeah... let me call you back, after I've seen him, or know more.. something."
"Okay.  Call me later."

I stumbled into the shower, and called our friend Jeff when I got out.

"He was jumped outside his apartment... stabbed 8 times.  He's in the ICU."

I felt the tears sting my eyes, the blood rush out of my face.  I forgot how to breathe, and was halfway up the stairs before I realized I only had one shoe on.
"I'm going to go to the hospital.  I'll be in later."
"Call us."

Jamie had been jumped.  Stabbed.  Was in the hospital.  The words were knocking around in my head, back and forth, up and down, and I was struggling to understand a single one of them.  I called Brett, and got no answer.  Sent him a text, no response.  I needed to get to the hospital.  Needed to see him.  Needed to know if what I'd heard was over exaggerated, or not exaggerated enough.

I walked in, asked the man behind the desk where my friend could be found, and forced myself to climb the stairs to the Surgical ICU.  The lady behind the desk had me sign in, and told me to take a seat.  "Two at a time," she said, "And two of your friends just went in."  I sat down, and immediately stood back up.  Who can sit down when their BFF is laying in a hospital, the victim of some insane random attack of malicious nonsense?  A couple co-workers of ours walked out, and I rushed them.  "How is he?  Did you see him?  WHAT HAPPENED?"
"Shhh.. we saw him.  He just got out of surgery.  K-Mart and Jesse are in there now."
I sat with them, feet tapping, head in my hands, desperate to see my friend, and afraid to see him so vulnerable.  Finally Kevin and Jesse came out of the SICU.  "Hi," I said to Kevin, wrapping him in a hug.  "Hey," seemed to be all he could say.  "Are you okay," I heard myself stupidly ask him.  Of course he wasn't.  He'd been at the hospital for the last 4 hours.  He'd just come out of the Surgical Intensive Care Unit, having seen his best friend recovering from something that until then had been unimaginable in our small world.  We'd been hurt, we'd struggled with life, but one of our friends clinging to life?  Not us.

It was my turn.  Our friend Shannon held my hand as we walked down the hall.  We walked into his room, and I felt the tears again.  There was my friend, beaten and bloody and bruised.  My beautiful friend

Jamie's birthday - 7

, so genuine and sweet and loving, looking unlike I've ever seen someone I love look.  They kicked out some of his teeth.  They broke his big, thick emo glasses.  His hair was a mess.  He had IVs and tubes running everywhere.  I was afraid to hold his hand; too afraid I'd cause him more pain.

"Hi, sweetie," I whispered.  He opened his eyes, muttered an almost silent "Hey."  Shannon talked to him for a few minutes before she said we should get going.  The number of people waiting outside to see him was growing bigger and bigger, a testament to this boy man, to his impact on his friends.
We decided to leave, and I started to cry.  "Don't worry about work," I said, stupidly.  He nodded.  I kissed his hand, his arm, afraid to leave, but knowing I couldn't stay without turning into a puddle of tears, unable to move from the corner of his room.

I said my good-byes to my friends, and went back to work in a daze.  Everyone [or so it seemed] asked me how Jamie was doing.  I didn't know what to say.  He's okay?  Turns out he's struggling, on account of how he was stabbed a half dozen times, one of which punctured his diaphragm, and another of which tore a hole in his small intestine?  He's not really coherent?  All I could do was tell them he was doing all right when I saw him, but that was after he'd just gotten out of a 6-hour surgery to save his life.  I spent the majority of the day staring at a computer screen, unable to work, too afraid to be anywhere else.

The next few days went by in a blur.  The questions became more sporadic, which was good for me.  I had gotten to the point where I couldn't think about my friend without either wanting to go up on a bell tower and murder everyone who looked like some asshole son of a bitch, so unconscious of the value of human life -- particularly that of my friend -- that they would try to KILL someone for some shoes?  Money?  Whatever.  Either that.. or breaking down into a sobbing, pathetic mess, unable to put into words the broken heart I held in my tear-soaked hands.

Jamie and I have always been BFF.  There has never been that awkward "I wonder if he/she likes me?" point of our friendship.  We are simply friends.  Until he was so close to being just a memory, I hadn't realized what he had become to me.  The man I depend on for so much.  The first man I can say I truly LOVE, in all the best ways.  The man who has changed my life by supporting me, making me laugh, trusting me, and believing in me.  The man who has also changed my life by never lying to me, even when his words made me cry, cringe and cuss.  The man who tells me he's writing a song about me, and when I ask him if it will be mean, he looks me in the eye and without skipping a beat says, "It will be honest.  It might be mean, but it will have lots of good stuff, too."

I've come to love him.  Some time in the last two years he has become the boy I count on for everything.  I can tell him I love him, kiss him on the cheek, and know that neither of us is going to go home and overanalyze the night, the moments, the words, the looks.  We have the best kind of love.  The kind that is built on respect and trust and friendship.  The kind that can't be damaged by breaking up or breaking down.  The kind that I have yet to find in any boyfriend or relationship I've been in before.

And it took seeing him in a hospital room for me to realize that.  Stupid, stupid.  I guess the thing about it is.. as shitty as it was of me to have to see my friend in such a heartbreaking, devastating way to recognize what he means to me.. I now have the opportunity to love him better.  To be a better friend.  To give back to him what he has given to me.

He came back to work last week.  He doesn't have his teeth fixed yet, but he is still as important as he ever was.  He bosses people around, talks to customers when they are mad.  It still makes me giggle whenever I think about my beautiful, emo-glasses wearing, toothless friend with a YooHoo belt buckle going to calm down an irate customer.  He is back, mostly the same boy I knew before.

Occasionally I see a change in him.  A different tone of voice, a phrase I'd never heard.  I watch, trying to keep tabs on him, hoping to catch him if he starts to fall.  I pray that his strength, his spirit, his heart will get him through this day.  And the next, and the next.

He may never be the innocent, hopeful boy he was before.  But if he's anything, he's resiliant.  And some day I know he'll be better.  Stronger, even more awesome than he was before, than he is now.  And on that day, like so many days before, I hope I'll be there to hug my friend, my strength, my reason.  And I'll tell him that I love him, only in the good ways.

This week needs to back the fuck off, SERIOUSLY.