Part Dos

I'm not going to punk out like that last entry on you.
While I am feeling that weird about this incarceration situation, there are a few things that I think about and then chuckle to myself at how utterly ridiculous they are:
For example, I think it must be ingrained in me to groom my eyebrows and plan my wardrobe before going on any trip. In preparing for this experience, my brows look great and my laundry is completely done. All day, I've been thinking about what I'll wear. I'm pretty sure that I won't get to keep my outfit, so I'm not talking about great lengths here, and there's NO WAY that I would wear anything that I am attached to, or that is DKNY, Juicy, or any other label item from La Closet de Sarah.
Hell to the no, as Whitney would say.
I'm going to wear a race tee-shirt and knock-off sweats and socks with some sandals. I don't know for sure what the foot-wear situation is going to be but rest assured, not one half inch of foot skin will be touching anything. If I have to surrender the sandals, I'll have on thick socks to buffer me from gross. If I have to surrender the socks, I have the sandels to buffer me from gross. Socks can't possibly be contraband. And Best Friend? sht up, I know what you're thinking and your words can't hurt me. I DON'T CARE that I am going to look like exactly everything you have ever mocked about the Canadian sense of fashion. I have some practicalities to consider and I think this is the one time where I will not suffer in the name of looking cute.
I'm also going to make sure that I shave (duh - like I can go four hours without shaving my legs) well... ahem... everywhere. If I have to be searched, I am going to look damn good when they do it. No way would I remove all of my clothing, in any circumstance, without being buffed and polished and clean.
Fuck to the no, as I would say.
Also, since this is about the worst thing that could go down in my pedestrian, free white female life, I am ready to begin an upward trajectory. Now, granted, I've always been a little slower in some respects than the other kids but now, I'm ready to turn this missile skyward. I've got a big ass low scheduled for tomorrow and a few lows through the month of August but honestly?
Enough. This time next year, I better be in a treehouse in the Brazilian jungle with my currently hypothetical lover, being surprised with a gorgeous ring and a bottle of champaign while I watch the little monkeys swatting at 8lb mosquitos.
I kvetch about my doglet but I am going to miss her SO MUCH tonight. Puppys talk to you a lot more than cats. And when I say her name? She comes running full-speed from where-ever she was and slides into me with a great big smile. I love watching her run and play and I love her puppy smell and her splayed-leg seated position. When Rosie sits, her legs splay out and I call her Frog Dog. I think it's going to be a little bit empty to wake up and not see her little head pop up at my side, her black eyes watching and waiting for me to be awake. I really do love my Frog Dog and part of my imagining how this is going to go down?
Part of it is my reunion with Rosie. I CANNOT WAIT to pull up at my friend's house and call out in my puppy voice: "Rosie? Rosie! Come" and she'll flatten her ears for maximum aerodynamics and take big, leaping strides to me, this time me, kneeling and waiting for her.
I can't wait for that part.
I can't wait to go over to my friend Christy's, on Saturday afternoon and debrief. She makes the best iced tea in the whole world. I don't know what she does to it but I could live on her iced tea and usually? I don't really like iced tea unless its fruity and exotic. I'm looking forward to that part - sharing with her and having some tea and watching Frog Dog run around her backyard.
Let's see, what else? I'm happy that this part will be over and that by Sunday, I'll be getting my tan on without this hanging over me. Because it will be over, I might be able to rduce the amount of my entertainment bidget that I spend on layng out-reading when I have perfectly good reading materials that don't ever mention Nichole Richie, Paris2, or La Lohan.
There's no doubt that this sucks big, infected privates.
It's conceivable that'll come out the on the other side of it without any major damage and get back to my shallows, with my doglet and my tan and some really funny stuff.
I mean... it's equally conceivable that I'll be forced to hook up with a Cuban gang leader named Elaine, who shaves my head and calls me her bitch and eventually, I begin to understand why dogs like structure and discipline as I slowly become Elaine's prison bitch.
Focus: Brazil. I can't go to Cuba anyway, I'm an American.
Motivation: Rosie. This one's fer you, pups.
Achieve: A bottomless, sparkling glass of Christy's iced tea and a more bronze, less yellow tan.

My weekend's all planned out - I hope yours isn't!
You know, in that I hope you get to go do what you want... Christ, what do you think I am, some bitter criminal or something?

arizonasarah at 1:56 p.m.

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