Dammit. 10 Freaking Years. Gone. Just like That. Gone.

I can't wait for therapy today!
If could see me, you would know that when I say that, my hands are clasped delicately under my chin and I am smiling serenely and gazing off, as if I can see the little cherubs playing in the clouds.
Why am I so sarcastic?
Because I am a mean-spirited person sometimes and I'd like to know what Nancy thinks about that. I personally feel like my meanness isn't so much mean as it is "adult".
And what is an adult in my eyes except a mean little troll?
I am secretly 8, after all.

I am in this unfortunate position of having to hold my tongue and the unfortunate part about that is that I have the biggest mouth on this side of the Mississippi. You guys know I live in Arizona, right? This side of the Mississippi INCLUDES CALIFORNIA. California is a very big state, with a lot of people who probably talk a whole bunch about people they know. Like me.

omigod here it comes and I can't control it. Okay, so there's this person? And she's like, kind of my friend? I like her but we're into kind of different things and a lot of times I feel like she thinks I'm snobby or whatevski but I also kind of don't care about that because I care about her? You know? Well, she got involved with this dude and everything seemed great.
No really - great. They're into some things that I can't abide but that's cool.
I have to keep a little distance because I am living in the same, strangely liberating zip code as grown-ups. Not that they're bad people! They're not!
But I am seriously on a fucking mission to get too legit to quit by January and there are things that, in the past, I didn't mind being around even though it wasn't really my scene. Now, I feel like I'm not into certain things and so I will be staying away from them because I have a dui now and I can ill-afford "guilty by association." Gawd, I say 'I have a dui now' like it's a baby or something.
Awwww, what a cute widdle dui.

I want to make-out with grown-ups, I want to go to more parties where adults are dancing with a gorgeous lack of self-awareness, I want to get some clean sweats that don't have holes in them and that are not hot pink. I want to say to my friend, "That man is crazy and you should stay very far away from him or you will take crazy actions yourself and trust me when I tell you that crazy isnít funny anymore. Now go wash your face, take a shower and wash it again, and do not smoke another cigarette for at least 20 minutes." "And open a goddamn window in here. I can't even see you through the smoke."

Part of my rant is because I am very much aware of a hole in my stomach that needs to be filled by a quarter-pounder with cheese, hold the fries, but give me a small vanilla shake.
It's cool.
I'm dizzy and hungry but I'm cool.
You didn't know that I am cutting back on calories, did you? Well. When I am not paying attention to calories, all I really want is cereal and candy. When I am paying attention, I want fast foods and five-star meals and I want them served to me, pretty much at the time of the craving. I am over here having a panic attack because even though it's 10:30 in the morning, I want a whole lobster with a bucket of lemon-butter on the side and a salad of iceberg lettuce with restaurant-ranch dressing.
Oh man.
I reeeeeeeeeeeeally want that meal.
There's a vendor with whom I work here and she is going to be my ultimate hero if, when I get up from Command Central, aka my cubicle, I see that she brought bagels and cream cheese and the cream cheese is still cold.
Jesus make me stop thinking about food.
Inner monologue: Offer it up, Sarah, offer it up.
I'm cool.

So. Back to my friend and stuff.
857GU. That's the zip code where grown-ups in Tucson live, myself included, although I admittedly only rent there. I'm thinking of buying though. I know. It's a big committment, huh?
Being a grown-up in Tucson, I had to keep some distance from these friends and frankly as a grown-up, I didn't mind.
Suffice it to say that I wouldn't even have brought this up if there wasn't devastation in paradise. There was a bender, some moving out was done by one (and done suddenly, while the other wasn't home), there was a car chase (I know! Right?) and some wailing in the driveway. Suuuuck. So embarrassing. Been there, hated it, lost the tee-shirt.
Having lived a few of these precious moments in my old life as Teenager with Adult Money and a Legal ID, I feel a little bit responsible, right? Like I could score some Karma points back by being a good friend during a troubled time.
But no.
I over-whelmingly feel weird about getting involved with this. I donít want that kind of drama. I want the kind where a cute boy takes my hand before he kisses me and 12 minutes later when I am inside my house and he's on his way home, I call my best friend and dissolve into giggles with her about how CUTE he is and much he LIKES me, whee!

The trouble today is two-fold, three if you count the cravings for anything greasy, fattening and non-granola. A. In order to get my desired drama, I gotta find some straight people to hang out with, and B. I donít think I know how to be helpful here. I feel like there's no getting through to people when they are in the state of affairs that my friend is in. For me. There's no getting through for me and my major beef with that is that it is JUST LIKE MY MOTHER.
Oh god.
Oh shit.
I already know how I'm acting and why I hate it. I've hating this behavior for 31 years. This is my Ultimate Hypocrisy. This is my Greatest Fear. This is Trouble in River City.
This, I can't deal with right now.
Let's pretend I'm Arizona Molly or something and I'm not Sarah. I cannot confront the implications of being just like my mom in this situation. I can't do it. It will negate at least 10 years of my life and likely, a whole lot more. Thank god I have therapy today.

Back to my friend, I could stand up and rush her out the side door in front of the Important People at Work. Whom I do not dislike. In fact, I value them way more than in just an "I'm an ass-kissing Corporate 'Ho" way. I genuinely like them. I respect what they expect from me. I could stay seated and be a little distant and risk being a bad friend.
How do you choose?
How do you choose between being a cool-headed adult with great shoes and being what this person perceives to be a good friend? I am a good friend but I can't be perceived to be a bad employee, you know? I sit four feet from two Vice-Presidents and I am working on a big item for the President and....
Öthis is about to devolve into something that will make someone who already feels like crap, feel like she is crap left out on the rotting carpet of an abandoned house. I can't do that. I won't unsnob myself while I'm at work.
It simply will not happen.
Plus, I think the dude's a head-case, like more than I am: A real, honest-to-Jesus head-case that is delusional and dangerous; he burned her and she should go home at lunch, put everything that he owns, including his pets, on the curb and have my good friend Smitty the Locksmith come over and change the locks on the doors, that's what I think.
Now, rather than get pissy with me for sharing my true feelings on my website, can we reward me for using restraint when I express them? Sure thing that was restraint you wanna see...

Sorry. I already know the answer to both of my rhetorical questions.
I get called a snob when I behave like an adult and I'm concerned that I don't care about it anymore. I've been called snobby lots of times. Hell, even my bff thinks that my thing about not getting involved with guys who don't have degrees is snobby. And no, they don't need more than one. I'm SORRY that my grammar isn't TEXTBOOK today.
Deal, mmmm'kay? DEAL.
I like a man who went to college.
Inner monologue: Offer it up, Sarah, offer it up. Lots of people are oblivious to their snobbery and you're not oblivious to it but you are a snob, so offer it up, yo. OFFER IT UP.

Can you see why I can't wait to go to therapy today?
1. This might very-well be the first time that I sit down on Nancy's couch and I'm not already crying.
2. She is going to be thrilled with my foray into adult behavior and shoes and hopefully will help me validate my feeling that being a snob is kind of who I am, so get over it
3. Maybe she'll tell me that I'm not fat and she'll have some Chinese food left-overs that we can share. I'll use the chop-sticks, she can have the fork, that's cool.
4. I am just like my mother.

Nancy, could you pass me that other thing of Chinese food and trade me for the fork? Or better yet, a serving spoon that I can use to shovel this fried rice down my throat before it's fully chewed?

arizonasarah at 10:21 a.m.

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