Human Interaction

I am an extrovert.  I know; you’re shocked.  I love human interaction.  I need it to survive.  It is why I enjoyed living in a room with 4 other females more than living in an apartment by myself.  It’s also probably why I love my career so much.  I think I get it from my dad who has never met a stranger.

I love engaging strangers in conversation on the elevator.  There was this one hottie a couple weeks ago that we chatted in the elevator, and then later in my head I crafted an entire romantic comedy plot for us filled with mistaken identity and plot twists all starting with our meet cute in the elevator.  (It’s a captivating story…I mean there are 3 Sarahs in my office, what if he wanted to contact me and got the wrong one!) 

I also enjoy learning people’s names like Fedeke is the parking lot attendant at the gym, Rhandy is the concierge I get my packages from at my apartment, Rosslyn works security in the building I work in on the weekends…so on and so forth.



(This is a visual approximation. 
I did not attempt to take a photo while driving.)



Anyway, due to the lovely DC traffic situation I take all back roads to work.  So, on my usual commute I pass multiple bus stops.  It saddens me every day when I see this particular bus stop on Walter Reed and there is a line of 8 people standing there completely silent, all with earbuds in. 



What if this is your chance for a meet-cute?!  (meet-cute: when a female and male love interest meet for the first time in a romantic comedy in an adorable way; definition comes from the romantic comedy, The Holiday) 



Old dude talking about Meet-Cutes in The Holiday


Even if you don’t meet your soulmate, what if you meet someone really cool?  Or at least someone nice, or interesting, or anything?!

Today I was actually on time, so I drove by this particular bus stop a few minutes earlier.  There were only 2 women at the stop, but it was the most brilliant sight…they were laughing!  Not just an obligatory chuckle either, it was the kind of laugh where one of them was bent over holding the wrist of the other one type of laughing.  It was glorious!

It made me really happy!

Now maybe tomorrow I’ll drive past and everyone will be back to staring down at their phones with their earbuds in…or maybe, just maybe, tomorrow morning those two women will at least greet each other first before they tune out the world.

To summarize, when I am with people:

I like doing this                                                                                                   more than this.

A Love Letter to My State

Dear West Virginia,

I love you.  This may come as forward, but I've been feeling this way for as long as I can remember.  I think my flirtation became an adoration when my parents packed myself and 2 sisters up in the backseat of the pickup truck and explored every majesty you have to offer on a week long discovery tour of this place we were blessed to call home. 

I profess my love with a Facebook photo album titled, "I LOVE WV," an iTunes playlist that exclusively has songs with your great name in it, my license plate that is proudly displayed in my apartment, and although a new state has had to take its place legally on my car's bumper I've added an, "I LOVE WV" bumper sticker to showcase where my real allegiance lies.  In short, if one has met me, they know I'm a West Virginian, so they know you too.

I played outside until the street lights came on, went to the drive-in with my friends, and collected can goods for the needy with my wagon door-to-door.  I didn't grow up in 1952.  I grew up in West Virginia.

I don't just love you because you're beautiful, although you are stunning with your copper leaves and majestic peaks.  I don't just love you because you're selfless, although you do give of your natural resources freely.  I don't just love you because you're fun, although you are a guaranteed good time with your ski slopes, rock climbs, and whitewater.

I love you because you hold everyone I hold dear.  I love you because when I'm lost in this big scary world, you make me feel found.  I love you because you will eternally be home to me.

Because I love you, I want to protect you.  I want to keep you safe from those who desire to harm you, and those who want to sell you to the highest bidder.

I want to prevent your mountains from being hacked off and thrown in streams, your rivers from being poisoned with chemicals, and your land from being fracked.  I want to prevent toxic waste from being stored in slurries above school houses, in leaky, rusty, unchecked containers near the river, and in the land under our very own homes.

I want the best for you West Virginia, because you've given your best to me.

Sincerely yours,

Sarah

My Visit to The Holocaust Museum

The Holocaust Museum made me want to scream as loud as I could, sob in shivers, punch a wall, and stare in disbelief.  Oddly, I did none of these things and instead mumbled numerous times under my breath, "How could this f*&^ing happen?"  

What the NAZIs did, and said, and were, seemed so absolutely far removed from anything resembling our world, and yet it did happen, and not that many years ago.

In most of the museum, you use your sense of sight to read or watch about the horrifying acts that took place.  But the moments when they captured your other senses, are the ones that I remember most.  

I couldn't bear to stay in the train car for more than a brief moment.  Physically being present, my feet touching the wooden bottom of a train car where 100 Jews were packed in like cattle to be transported to concentration camps was almost too much to handle.  In another room there are thousands of shoes, and the stench of burnt leather immediately permeated my nostrils.  It was these sensory experiences that made it too real.

Then there was this quote which captured the feelings I had of helplessness, of being unable to do anything about it now…

The poem, "Babi Yar" was written by Yevgeny Yevtushenko about his visit to Babi Yar 20 years after the NAZIs slaughtered 34,000 people in just 2 days in this ravine outside Kiev, Ukraine.  He showed up expecting to see a memorial, but instead saw a garbage dump.

The wild grasses rustle over Babi Yar.

The trees look ominous, like judges.

Here all things scream silently, and, baring my head,

Slowly I feel myself turning grey.

And I myself am one massive, soundless scream

Above the thousand thousand buried here.

A soundless scream of what can I do, I thought.  Then I walked to the end of the museum exhibits where they document the horrors in Rwanda in 1994, Bosnia in 1995, and Darfur in 2003-2005.  How can genocide still be allowed to exist?  Now I didn't just feel helpless, I felt hopeless too.

“When we say ‘never again,’ what does it mean?”

—Elie Wiesel, Holocaust survivor

In this exhibit of the most recent genocides there is a spot for visitors to answer a question on a piece of paper and place it in a large glass case.  The question asked, “What will you do to meet the challenge of genocide?"

I answered that I would share the stories I heard in Uganda from the women there who fled for their lives from Sudan, many whom lost fathers, brothers, husbands, and even children.  Those who were forced into sexual slavery or to become child soldiers themselves.

As I added my small slip of paper to the others watching it absorb into a case of well meaning intentions, one caught my eye.  It made my visit, and every emotion with it, feel worth it, feel validated, feel hopeful, feel like by only learning about the past can we learn to make a better future.

It was in a child's handwriting, and it said,

What will you do to meet the challenge of genocide?

I will not call people names because they are different.

What a perfect call to action for an imperfect world.  More love.

I love airports

I love airports.  I had this thought tonight as I sat at Reagan National Airport volunteering at the USO there.

There's fantastic people watching, ample food options, the thrill of a new adventure and/or the excitement of a loved one's return.

I consider myself a skilled people watcher.  I enjoy creating vivid backstories for the characters I witness including their interesting accents, illegitimate children, and creepy resemblance to a SVU/Bones/Walker Texas Ranger episode I once saw.  I think my love of people watching was encouraged at a young age when my father and I plopped on a bench while my sisters and mother shopped for what seemed like at least 'three episodes of Reading Rainbow' long.

I love a 'no guilt' reason to buy a new book, multiple magazines, and junk food.  I'm Catholic I feel a lot of guilt about a lot of inconsequential things, so a chance to negate that thrills me.  (I've had a small can of soda in the office fridge for about 3 weeks now, and every time I open that damn fridge I feel pangs of guilt like I'm taking up unnecessary space that someone could use for their random full size expired cottage cheese container). Anyway, travel is the perfect excuse is to go crazy and get the KING size Kit Kat bar, with a side of People's Sexiest Man Alive…and maybe the latest memoir on some religious cult's former member for good measure.

I of course get excited about where I'm going, if it's new and different, or relaxing or exciting, or any reason really!  I also get intrigued to think about who sitting at my gate will be seated next to me.  I play a little mini version of 'would I rather sit next to that guy or that chick?" with all my neighboring chair mates.  And of course if any of them do happen to strike up conversation with me, I have a delightful array of 'well this one time on mil air' stories to completely one-up them.

Then of course the obvious, having lived in Afghanistan for almost 2 years, and then being in a long distance relationship for more than 1 year, I love airports for their arrivals!  After taking an 8, or 12, or even 15 hour flight to see the people you love, to know that someone is waiting for you half way across the state/country/world is a pretty awesome feeling.

And, I'm not the only one with a love affair for these transportation hubs!  There are entire climactic scenes of romantic movies dedicated to airports: Casablanca, The Wedding Singer,  Like Crazy, and of course the following transcendent, unparalleled whopper of a scene -

Next week a thrilling follow-up blog on the appeal of airplanes!
(Just kidding, I wouldn't do that to you…at least it hasn't come to that…yet).

Passport Photo Induced Depression

I'm coining a new psychological term: passport photo induced depression.

No one, and I mean no one, should be subjected to seeing two incredibly close head shots of themselves, that are taken 10 years apart.

I was having a good hair day, had on a cute scarf, I was ready!  Passport photo day, let's do this!  Then I saw the results from the doorway in the fluorescently lit CVS…I have under-eye bags, the beginnings of what I can only explain as eyelid wrinkles, and an increasingly asymmetrical forehead.

Ten years ago I was the picture of youth!  Not a wrinkle, or bag, or non-horizontal eyebrow to be seen!  I was an 18 year old leaving her country for the first time!  I was the picture of fresh faced, and now I'm the picture of embattled.

Cue the violins!  Bring out the tissues!  Bring on the big wine glass and the secret chocolates from the fridge vegetable drawer!

I was having a case of passport photo induced depression.  (Feel free to spread that around, I'm making it a thing).

But then a friend said something seemingly insignificant, 'uh yeah you look different you were a baby then.'  

He's right.  I was a baby.  So what if through some stress and uncertainty and accidents and awesomeness and genetics I look different than I did before.  I've always looked different, because I'm me.  Besides my two sisters, I don't resemble anyone else's mixed bag of DNA.  

It got me thinking about two baby girls I know who were born with conditions that formed their skulls differently than others.  I think about the world that I want them to grow up in. 

A world where they will be seen just as I want any other young girl, or old girl for that matter, to be seen: for her intelligence, passion, strength, imagination, ingenuity and zest for life! 

So that brings me to this point…Today I didn't understand what was publicized on our Human Resource's update about one of my coworker's finalizing an adoption of three children.  The picture accompanying the story seemed to be from the early 1990s, but the adoption was this year.  So I did what anyone in my position would do, and asked someone and just created one of my own conspiracy theories.  

Why couldn't she post a recent picture, I asked myself.  Myself logically answered that they were in the witness protection program, so she wasn't allowed to share current photos.  But, then why were they in the witness protection program?  Obviously, their father was a mafia boss and he and the mother were taken out by a professional hit.  Then to protect the children they were given new identities and sent to foster care where my sweet coworker adopted all three of them and agreed to never share anymore recent photos.  

Well, after telling this completely rational story to one of my other coworker's who is good friends with the mother of the witness protection children she told me through fits of laughter that I must tell the mother.  The mother howled with laughter at my completely believable story and said, "You have such a grand imagination!"  Then after the conversation, she emailed me a more recent picture to prove they're legit members of society.  Therefore now I'm pretty sure federal marshals are going to burst through my door at any minute, so I tidied my living room up just in case.  Anyway, then I retold the whole story to my boss later and she said, "I'm so lucky to have someone with such a colorful imagination working here."

So that's what I want you to remember from this post today: not that Sarah has an asymmetrical forehead, but that Sarah has a pretty crazy, yet entertaining, imagination.  :)

How do you solve a problem like…Carrie Underwood's horrible acting?

The Sound of Music is a classic.  As a child I would wear the kitchen curtain on my head, and unlike most young girls who would pretend to be a bride, I pretended to be a nun - specifically Maria.  I would swing any bag with a handle around singing at the top of my lungs pretending it was a guitar case and my WV backyard was the streets of Austria, wherever that was.

I distinctly remember singing The Lonely Goatherd for a spring musical in grade school.  I also remember St. Michael Grade School's performance of The Sound of Music where I dreamily stared at my newfound crush, Captain von Trapp, also known as my soon to be freshman year Sadie Hawkins date, Alex.

In my house my mother has three movies that are the holy grail: Gone with the Wind, White Christmas, and The Sound of Music.  Needless to say my quoting of "I don't know nothing about birthing no babies," and "Mutual, I'm sureeeeeeeeee" added to my 3rd grade cool kid status.

Anyway, point being it's a classic, and not to be trifled with.  And trifled with, they did.  I get the whole - they're doing the stage version, not the movie version - idea.  I mean I am still a bit disappointed that a lot of the songs are out of order, but at least they are in there.  What bothers me is Carrie Underwood's horrible acting.  The girl's got pipes, but her constant staring directly at the camera when she is supposed to be speaking to another character, and anticipation of another character's movement before it happens is distracting, and downright, annoying.

There is no character development whatsoever.  If you had not seen the original movie, you'd have no clue why after what appears to be two days of being the children's nanny, she abruptly leaves after one dance with their father who miraculously now sings nonstop when two days prior he was whistling like an A-hole.

Now this may be me acting as a bit of a bully, but the kids weren't as adorable or endearing either.  Gretel was forgettable, Brigitta wasn't nearly sassy enough, and Kurt was not "incorrigible." (Remember his introduction Sound of Music purists?)

Then they basically ignored the entire NAZI plot line until the very last minute when it was unavoidable.  The saving grace was Carrie's voice, and surprisingly Frau Elsa Schrader's performance.  She looked very familiar, then I realized she was Benson's partner's ex-wife on Law and Order SVU. Who knew she could sing?  She also completed a stunning recovery after an extra stepped on her dress.

Not only was the word NAZI never even mentioned once in the entire live performance, the actual NAZIs seemed to be cast the day before the show and forgot all their lines.

Oh yeah, and Maria and Captain Von Trapp?  ZERO, ZIP, NADA chemistry.  She looked as awkward and unnatural as a sorority girl flirting with her 65 year old pot bellied professor to get a higher grade.

In conclusion, I would like to see how the sales of The Sound of Music, Julia Andrews version, will inevitably spike tomorrow.  Carrie, you beautiful, Godly gifted singer, leave the "acting" to only your music videos where I will gladly support you.

Disclaimer: I have no technical expertise in any of this, unless you consider being star of the 6th grade Christmas pageant as expertise.  I rocked that elf costume.

Why I am “obsessed” with Facebook, and why I’m okay with that

Multiple men in my life, my friends, and my immediate and my extended family have all said the same thing to me about my “obsession” with Facebook: it’s unhealthy, not right, weird, a waste of time, and stupid.

The same exact comments could be said about someone who is obsessed with internet porn.  Yet, we’re talking about Facebook.  Why does this reflect poorly on me as a human being?  Why is being active on social media a character flaw?

I don’t get all my worldly updates from Facebook.  I read USAToday, Huffington Post, the Washington Post, and Yahoo News on a nearly daily basis. 

I’m not selling jewelry, fitness advice, or nail polish. 

I’m not asking people to agree with me. I’ve already been defriended by a few people for my support of gay marriage.

I’m not hiding behind social media to not participate in my real life.  Yeah, I kind of/sort of have a pretty awesome one.

I’m not crafting my image, trying to find dates, or looking for followers. 

Then why not write this blog in my journal?  Why not just exclusively call or text my friends, instead of Facebooking?

The only reason I’ve got; the only reason I can wrack my brain to come up with is, because I like learning.  I like learning about women’s issues, race issues, unemployment issues, healthcare issues, and yes even issues of how to fix my hair in 5 minutes on a hurried Monday and how the Hills stars can describe the situation in Syria.

I like learning about how one friend gave up how his worldly possessions, packed up his family, and became bible translators in Africa because they felt called.  I like learning how someone in 2013 can think global warming doesn’t exist.  I like learning about GMOs and how one friend, who is a scientist, thinks they’re good, and another who is a full time mom thinks they’re ruining our food and our planet.   I like learning about Kony and Karzai and union strikes and rape allegations from not only the news, but from the people it affects, from the people I call my friends.

I can read about Kony in Uganda on CNN, and I can see pictures of my friend in Uganda working with women and their children who were sex slaves and child soldiers of Kony’s.  I can read about a preacher being stopped from burning the Koran on USAToday, and I can sigh with relief to see one of my friends complaining about how bored he is in Afghanistan and surviving just another day without incident.  I can read about the feminists revolt of Pinterest on Huffington Post, and watch my friend as she tries to raise her son without gender specific parenting roles so he’ll respect women.  I can hear all about Obamacare and the horrible wrath it is raining down on all of us on FoxNews, and I can see pictures of my friend’s mother recovering from a cancer her private insurance wouldn’t pay to fight.  I can read of another unemployed veteran searching for work, and I can support the organizations who are trying to do something about it.

I feel connected to a world where people like me, and not like me, are suffering, supporting, blaming, bolstering, lifting up, tearing down, having fun, getting fit, losing, loving, and living.

So I may be wasting my time, ridiculous, self absorbed, addicted, obsessed and annoying. 

Well, at least I’m not watching internet porn.