Single Girl Questions

If I drink my whisky straight will you think I’m too hard nosed in blue jeans?  Or will a skirt do to allay those fears?  If I use my fork and knife correctly am I too pretentious and unAmerican?  Will the heels that push me past 6 foot emasculate you?  Will eating carbs look fat?  Does my a** look fat in these pants?  Can I wear pants on the first date?  The second date?  The third date?  When can I wear a baseball hat?  Does having a condom make me look fast?  Or prepared?  Does the fact I don’t belong to a political party make me seem disengaged?  Or smart?  Is it okay that sometimes I am disengaged?  Does my English degree seem too girly?  Are my boots too masculine?  How much eyeliner is too much?  How little is too little?  Can we just eat in a nice resturant- is that too much to ask?  And can it have napkins and silverware, and not wheels underneath it?  Can you hold my hand?  Can I hold yours?  Can you not kiss me on the first date?  Can I kiss you on the first date?  Where is this going if you have a cat and I’m allergic?  Do you mind that I hate my job?  Do you mind if I actually like to shop?  Am I too much of a princess to want to stand in the rain to see a bad movie?  Could you put your phone down?  Is my phone really something you can judge me by?  Did you just stick your fingers in your water glass?  Do we have to see the romantic comdey?  Can I talk about super heros without being too much of a dork?  Can I hide my dorkiness forever- no wait- can you live with this level of dorkiness?

Because that is the real question…



Accommodate Yourself

I going to tell you a secret:

I have health problems.  Now if you have known me in IRL for more than an minute and a half you know this isn’t really a secret.

Usually because you have seen me I show up somewhere broken, because I am a klutz, and casts or braces or bandages sort of scream “broken.”  But what affects my life far more than those scrapes, bumps and bruises (and breaks, bonks, booms and all the things that don’t alliterate with “B”) are the physiological and metabolic issues my body has.  My lungs are broken, as is my immune system, and subsequently my digestive system.  I’m not telling you this because I want your tears, sympathy, or even comments.  I just want you to have context for this next statement:

Accommodate yourself.  I have been sick, broken, and tired my whole life.

As in I had my first major life threatening event before I was two hours old, and that never fully stopped being a part of my life- so I have never experienced life as a “healthy” person.  I fight to stay alive with a bevy of medication, physio / metabolic therapy and a whole lot of prayer (not to mention the 3500 calories I eat everyday).  I’ve been thankfully regularly stable for most of my adult life, but still I’m telling you:

Accommodate yourself.  Just do it.  Take care of your self, your body, and your issues without making them everyone else’s problems.

I can’t eat dairy.  Do you know what that means?  Sometimes I don’t have the best potlatch or dinner party experiences.  It’s not my coworkers, or my boyfriends mother or the fancy restaurant chefs’ fault I can’t eat dairy.  It’s not their problem.  It’s my body and my issue, and I am a grown person, so it is my responsibility to navigate the table and eat dry bread and undressed salad if that’s what I’ve got available to me.  It sucks… especially when that quatro-formagio-alfredo is calling my name, and I know I need the calories, but even then:

Accommodate yourself.  Now I’m not talking about basic mobility accommodations, like chair ramps, wide doors, safety handles and those texture plates for the blind.

The reason I’m not talking about those is this: they help people gain access to vital experiences and services, and keep them safe while doing it.  I mean, do the bumpy plates really hurt your able bodied chance of safely crossing the street?  Of course not.  I’m all for reasonable accommodation- if something simple can save or better your life, without a ridiculous amount of disruption to the rest of the world.

Accommodate yourself.  When you need something, ask for it.  Don’t expect it to magically appear.

I don’t know your issue.  I don’t particularly want to know your issue (you stay out of my business, and I’ll stay out of yours).  But I do want you to be comfortable in my presence- if there is something that can make your life easier, by all means ask for it.  That being said- don’t pitch a fit if I don’t put your specialty needs before the whole world.  If you’re so allergic to peanuts that my sandwich is going to kill you- by all means, ask that I not sit next to you while I eat it.  But don’t expect me to cease all peanut consumption for the rest of time (unless you’re living in my house, kissing me, giving me pretty babies- because that’s about the comprise I need to give up PBJ).

Just freaking accommodate yourself and don’t ask me to find you a vegan, gluten free, nut free, locally sourced, Thai plate lunch.  Just pack your lunch like the rest of us already!




Impatiently Waiting

I’m a wildly impatient person sometimes.

Really- I have the patience of a saint mildly enthused friend who will use this against you at a later date upon occasion, when I need to be supportive and loving and you’re vomiting tequila in my bathroom.  I will rub your back, tell you he loves you (even if I don’t know that’s true tonight) and brush your hair into a tidy ponytail before carrying you into my bed.
I never woke up early Christmas morning (or if I did it was against my will).  I don’t oven stalk when baking a cake.  I don’t even mind sitting in traffic all that much.

But I cannot stand it when the internet doesn’t work the way I want it to.

At work we have an online expense system- it never works as well as I think it should.  So I spend a lot of time singing “I hate expense reports, I hate expense reports, I hate expense reports,” while watching the Microsoft Windows circle spin around and around.

And then there’s glitches. My WordPress account was suspended thanks to a glitch. {Since you’re reading this, I’m fixed- so thanks WordPress team!} I didn’t have the intention to really work on anything- after-all I’m at work, but now all I want to do is write about it, so I’m compulsively checking my email, and waiting to see if anyone has seen my request and responded to it and helped me {this is me being impatient, the WordPress customer service is fine, and I have had no trouble with their team} and writing posts in my email while I’m supposed to be working because I’m so freaking impatient.


XOXOX Sarah Mae

PS- Due to this interruption in our regularly scheduled program, our regularly scheduled program has been interrupted.  Today my favorite thing is WordPress’s awesome customer service team, and I’m not just saying that.

Sometimes, just when I begin to miss the life I love, and day dream in traffic on my morning commute about the “could have been” of the northern ranch life, where I wear dirty blue jeans and boots on a daily basis and commute on foot, I am reminded:

There’s a Rush Hour everywhere.

Thanks for the reminder Posey plus Polemics, after this week, a girl needs these things.

Love to you! -Mae

100 posts (okay now 101!)

100 posts


100 posts!  Holy freaking cow, you guys!!

This was a little secret goal of mine… as I am typically an abandon-er of projects.  Looking back to my first “official” post in January I can’t say much about me has changed… after all it’s only April.  Which means in 110 days (if my math is right), I have posted 100 times… which seems more impressive than it feels when you do all the maths.

100 posts seems to be a good place to turn and look back at that first post, to see if what I wanted to do, is actually what I’m doing.

  • I wanted to carve out a place to be authentically me- without the pressures of my IRL identity.  What I did not not expect was having people in my IRL follow me, and then comment on my work, IRL.  Serious failure in foresight- but that being said, this medium allows me to stay authentic, because reading is so far removed from writing.
  • I wanted to engage in world building.  While I think I’ve started this, in building small ties between other content producers, I think I’ve a long way to go.
  • I miss talking to smart people about stupid things. And you guys solved that!  Seriously, I don’t have to be intelligent for you to pay attention… and be interesting and funny- and I love it!
  • I wanted to finish something!  But I’m not done yet!  I think blogging has become a habit, and that’s great because finishing projects is just as hard as keeping with them.

In this time, I’ve made some friends, started some projects, and compiled a huge number of ideas to write about.  So here’s to a hundred posts in the past- and here’s to a hundred to come!


I <3 You, Akismet

Want a little boost?

Check your Akismet spam folder.

No, seriously.  Spam is my new happy drug.

Apparently I am beautiful, brilliant, the most wonderful stumbled upon blog person with SEO problems on the planet.  I also attract perfectly strange men who want to sell me purses, marry me, and “buy bunnies” whatever that means (if it’s gross, please don’t tell me what it means).

All of these men are excitingly living in far off places, and have a host of worldly possessions other than high speed internet connection (though really, I would probably consider high speed internet in the “win” column, given I live in an area where it isn’t decent internet).  Their broken English undoubtedly comes with a nice little accent that is for obviously going to woo me into luv.

Look, I love my real commentators.  You are lovely engaging people who seem to “like” most of the stuff that I’m not necessarily super excited or confident about, which gives me this genuine feeling of love and support and community, because it’s like all of you are saying “we know you tried hard, and we appreciate it.”  But you are a fancy date with proper flatware and a waiter in a tie.

You can hate on spammers, especially when they are filling up your actual comment threads, but when they live in their own little petri dish of the spam folder, that I can choose to open whenever I wish they serve a lovely purpose of perking up.  Because you are a perfectly romantic date- and they are the semi-homeless guy catcalling while I walk by on my way to the club on a Friday night.  

It’s just nice to hear someone noticed, every once in a while.

Luv u guise!