Once in a Blue Moon

I told my sister she had to come outside and look at the moon. She followed me out onto the deck and agreed it was pretty cool. The wind blew and I glance uneasily at the tall and shadowed corn field. Then all was silent.

Suddenly my sister grabbed my arm and screamed, running back into the house. It was almost as scary as learning Diana’s new 19-year-old boyfriend worked in a chainsaw factory. I yelpped and ran after her into the safety of the kitchen.

She started snickering. "Hahaha! I so got you, Sara!"

I grumbled and went to get a glass of water.

"Don’t worry," she continued, "the Village People can’t get you here."

I coughed up the water I was swallowing and laughed. "YMCA.."


I had only been startled by her scream because I went to see M. Night Shyamalan’s The Village with Max earlier in the evening. It wasn’t that scary, in fact it was a rather good movie, but I still was a little tense afterwards.

I highly recommend seeing it though.



Earlier in the week we had gone down to Hawthorne with the intent of getting some deliciously original ice cream from Cold Stone Creamery. That never happened, but we did enjoy a nice lunch at the ever-agreeable Pizza Scmizza.

After that a quick look around Red Light and various other shoppes, including Bamboo Lifestyle. Although rather expensive, Max and I both agreed on the look of bamboo flooring.

Then, seeing as it was so very warm, we headed across the river to cool off in the park. We wandered around and splashed a bit in the fountain before going inside a Starbucks for coffee I knew I shouldn’t be having.

I was just deciding on whether I should go for the Java Chip or Carmel Frappachino, when suddenly there came a voice from behind. It was a businessman of sorts, no older than 37, and he began to recite the following to me:

"Burninating the countryside. Burninating the peasants. Burninating all the people who.. who.."

I joined in immediately. "Lived in patched roof-"

"-cottages. Patched roofed cottages!"

Sure enough, it was nothing less than the notorious Trogdor theme. The shirt depicting the internet cartoon character had sparked the man to act, much to the confusing of the women he was with.

We parted and I took my Java Chip coffee to the downstairs table alongside Max. Looking out the window, I observed a middle aged women eating a plum and then smoking a cigarette. Max had explained that it was acceptable for people inside buildings to stare outside, that was just how it worked.

We headed back to the park, and I was feeling pretty good. Until suddenly I crashed off the caffeine and felt very sick. Max took me to the shade and gave me water, agreeing that I must be dehydrated. Being sick is actually okay when I’m with Max, but this crazy pervert had to come and ruin the whole thing.

Eegh, I hate crazy perverts.

Luckily we got away from him quickly and without pursuit. We then decided, after stopping to get more water, to catch the bus back home. Max even walked me to my door.


Apparently I'm going back down to Waterfront Park tomorrow to check out the Flutag. It sounds pretty fun but, seeing as I haven't called Bridget yet, we'll see if things actually happen as I hope they will. I should also paint my room....

Clear my Chi

I was having a horrible dream in which my boyfriend decided to take Jon Reiter to his senior prom instead of me.

"But Max, *sniff* why??"
"Because… he’s taller."

Needless to say, I awoke in a horrible mood and stumbled up the stairs hoping some Frosted Flakes might cheer me up. There’s nothing worse than being rejected in favor of Inspector Gadget by your boyfriend who doesn’t even like prom anyway. The soggy flakes of corn and milk did nothing to make me feel better, and my mournful gaze wandered about the kitchen.

Suddenly my eyes rested up the small, black machine in the corner. Of course! Coffee! Now was the perfect time to see if I could finally manage to make my own Starbuck’s Java Chip Frappichino. Heh heh heh, it was only a matter of time…

Unfortunately I made the mistake of adding in a full cup of bold expresso, that’s about three shots of high caffeiney goodness. I also thought it would be a good idea to add in ½ cup of chocolate chips, 2 tablespoons of chocolate syrup, and some whipped cream. My sister had once told me that the secret to the delicious taste of Starbucks was that they added sugar to their water, so I did that too.

Needless to say, it turned out great. Except that it tasted nothing like a frappichino. Oh well, with this amount of caffeine in my system, nothing seemed bad!

So after a long energy spurt antics, I finally realized that now would be a good time to rip off some of my wall paper and repaint the room! I had way too much junk cluttering up the place, and I wanted to get rid of everything I didn’t need.

Throughout the long and tedious process of slowly removing the tape from all my Lord of the Rings posters, and sorting through random crap, I had a lot of time to think. I thought a lot about stuff and the deep, meaningful psychological reasons behind them.

I have a lot of work cut out for me, but ‘ol Max offered to help paint. Maybe he can help me pick out the colors.

Biking and Blueberry Math

Yesterday my father and I decided to wake up early and ride our bikes to Portland. Actually, we drove to Sellwood and then rode along the wonderful Springwater Corridor. It’s 4.5 miles, and that’ll take you just past the Ross Island Bridge. On the way..

• 5 great blue herons
• 5 ospreys (2 nests along the way, spotted one baby)
• 1 woodpecker
• 7 canadian geese
• and many, many ducks of varying shapes and colors

We continued along and crossed the Steel Bridge, went back along the other side of the river via Waterfront Park and headed back over Hawthorne. And then back up the trail. The whole ride was about 10.5 miles.

Portland seems very different on bike. You can take the back roads all you want, and avoid traffic and those hobos who wash your car window even when you don’t want them to. But best of all are the unique people who make up the biking bunch.

Sporting "No One Died When Clinton Lied" and "If you can read this, you’re not the President" stickers on the back of their bikes, all the folks we talked to on the way seemed very in the know; environmentally conscious, politically active, healthy and energetic, my kind of crowd!

Though I must admit I was a bit worn out after we were done. Phew! Time to step into New Seasons Market and get some nourishment.

Let’s see.. after that Max came over and finally saw the first Spiderman. Now we’ll have to go see the second one, aha! Third time for me!

This morning at 6:00 we were off again, shorter course this time (5 miles maybe), to Bob’s Red Mill for breakfast. Then we headed back through the woodsy Aldercrest roads.

I was seriously tired afterwards, but.. seeing as I wanted to see Spidey again, I needed to earn some money today. My dad said I could wash his truck for $10 and I took him up on the offer.

I guess it would have been nice to know that he hadn’t washed his truck for a year and a half. It wouldn’t have been that bad if the bed wasn’t covered in old wood chips and the interior wasn’t covered with mud. But there’s no time like the present, so I got right to work.

Two and a half hours later I finished, and resolved not to do any more work for the rest of the day! So, of course, my mom wanted me to go out into the shrub lands and pick blueberries for eternity, or until she got another 6 pounds. Think about it:

• Blueberries weigh around 1 to 2 grams each, if they're lucky.
• It takes 453.59237 grams to equal 1 pound
• For 6 pounds, we needed about 1360 blueberries!
• I estimated that you can get 20-60 (if you're lucky) ripe blueberries per bush, so we'd have to visit at least 20 different bushes in the farm.
• Picking a blueberry takes about .5 seconds, so 45 minutes was the lowest possible ammount of time I could get it done in, not coutning breaks, snakes, and traveling from one bush to another.
• So, all in all, picking blueberries is lame.

Anywho, sometime after I had stopped wondering how blueberry picking could be fun, I had filled up my bucket. My cousin and I wandered off, as far from the berries as we could muster. As it turned out, that just ended up leading us into some Himalayan blackberries. I guess our fingers were still in the picking trance, so I went about picking the blackberries.

When my mother finally called that she was done with her precious, precious blueberries, my legs were scratched and bloodied. So I stumbled past the strange horned goats (who were also picking berries) and into the car.


"YOU HAVE CHANGED MY LIFE AS OF TONIGHT, SARA ELISE BERNERT!!"


Well, I guess I have that going for me...

Thrift, thrift, Horatio!

Ever since the death of her mother, I have gotten closer to my young cat Hershey. She inherited the feral gene from her renegade and homeless father, and has never been much of a.. lap cat.

More than a year has passed now, and I’ve developed a strange, strange relationship with the cat. Every night or so she claws at my window to see me off to sleep, meowing twice and looking in my eyes before racing off into the night. Every morning we wander around the yard, taking turns showing each other things. She’ll bring me random items and lay them at the back door, a glove, an apple core, and an add for Burlington Coat Factory.

I think she wants me to follow her into the darkness, but I also think I’m crazy. So I won’t. I’m spending too much time on the computer, it’s beginning to detach me from physical reality..

Actualities in our existence which many do not desire to accept because of the self-incrimination probabilities and dependent-nature tendencies. Most people have decided to make their own reality by changing an existing reality or creating a new one for their own individual purposes... so they can maintain authority and control over their own life and maintain a position over others as being free from any blame.

Meow

It is pretty much impossible for me to revert back to my old ways of thinking; justification and separation are two luxuries my new philosophical introspective will not allow. Every day my own thoughts are interrupted by some other peculiar side of myself, twisting simple ideas into elaborate reflections aimed at wisdom. It’s harder to live without excuses, being pushed to follow a set of morals I’ve always seen as right but never wished to follow during my free time, when I believed the eyes of God might look away from time to time.. and I could get away with it.

I can’t get away with it, not even myself is inattentive. I know it’s for the best I just wish I understood where this other Sara came from. I wish I knew what I was supposed to do. I can’t even really dislike anyone anymore… garr! I miss minor transgressions.

Actually, I did silently plot the deaths of these three teenagers who wouldn’t stop talking and playing with their cell phones while I was trying to watch Spiderman 2 for the second time. So not all is lost!

*cricket*

Ha

Bush spokesman Dan Bartlett had told the White House press corps that the movie was "outrageously false" -- even though he said he hadn't seen the movie. He later told CNN that "This is a film that doesn't require us to actually view it to know that it's filled with factual inaccuracies." At least they're consistent. They never needed to see a single weapon of mass destruction before sending our kids off to die.

Woot for Michael Moore

My Sister

I thought the best of my sister, even as she abandoned her plans to attend the University of Oregon in order to follow her boyfriend down to California. I figured she’d learn a lot about money, the real world, and maybe even about saving money.

I didn’t worry too much when she thought she could make it all right by renting an apartment in Azusa. It would be a good lesson for her, and she’d probably get a better view of reality. She told great stories of long days on the beaches of Los Angeles and Palm Springs, I figured she had already decided what she wanted to do and was working with college on the side. I might have thought it a bit strange when, although she was still in California, she was taking online classes for Clackamas Community College.

Somewhere along the line she came back home, and took actual classes at CCC. I thought now was the time she’d begin to grow up. She landed a good job at Zumiez, and told me she was planning to attend U of O for sure next term. She had even put down her first payment and found housing.

Then she wasted over $500 when she believed she could become a model. I never figured my own sister to be the type to fall for one of those modeling scams, but she did. I tried every bit of sarcastic, down to earth strategy I could think of, and yet she still continued to believe this "great modeling career" would land her some great, quick cash. She hasn’t done much with it since, and has mad a great sum of $0.00.

Things were going back to "normal" when suddenly, one day as I went get some orange juice, I spotted several colored sticky notes attached to the fridge. As it turns out, my sister believes it would be "better" to skip out on the U of O thing and, instead, become a "professional wakeboarder." She even spent $400 on a wakeboard. And I thought she was saving for college..

I just.. couldn’t swallow it. So I took all her sticky notes and articles about it down while no one was home, and recycled them.

So I came to accept that my sister was just living in her own little world; a place where, apparently, money magically fell from the sky and a college degree wasn’t needed for a successful life.

It was bad enough having one unrealistic college student hanging around, but then she invited one old friend from Palm Desert to stay with us. Then another friend, and another one from Bend. Then it was the friend’s mom from Arizona. Luckily the Bend fellow stayed only one night, but I don’t know how we’ll manage having the other three around.

Now, for an hour or two, my sister believed she and the Palm girl should venture up in Canada "for a fun roadtrip." Leaving the friend she invited to visit alone, along with his mother. I beat my head against the window in disbelief.

Fortunately, when her insanity seemed at it’s all time peak, my father arrived and I quickly briefed him on the perilous situation of his daughter. He hastily pulled her aside to talk some sense into her, and she now says Canada "might not be a good idea."

Thunder, Love Cats, Cookies

I woke up at 3:30 when one of my cats ran under the stairs beside my window, hissing and meowing like crazy. A dull rumbling shook the window pane, and I sat up quickly. What’s going on? Was my father telling the truth when he claimed UFOs hovered above our yard every month?

A sudden flash of light and peel of thunder shattered these paranormal ideas, and I opened my window to let in the breezes of the storm. I tiptoed down the hall and slowly slid out the side door to stand in the rain. Then I went back to sleep.

About five hours later Max arrived and we went to revisit the site of our first date. It was considerably (and enjoyably) much warmer than our previous visit. We enjoyed a leisurely lunch by the river, then lay on the grass for hours pondering the smell of dog and the annoyance that is children.

I was too soon dropped off home, just in time to turn around and head back out. Written on my hand was an address, and I walked towards it. Down the hot road..

Honk.

Honk.

Gahhhhhh… I really don’t want to be racist here.. but why do the Hispanic boys have to honk and whistle at every girl they see?? Not that I’m sure all of them were Hispanic..

Not soon enough did I arrive in the safety of the back roads, where I began searching for the Spencer’s house. Finally I found it, hidden down a little street, and I knocked on the front door.

The whole visit lasted 4 minutes perhaps, he handed me a cookie and some tang, I gave him some books and a CD.. talked to his dog.. scoffed at his 4.00 and then headed back home.

Honk.

Honk.

Eww. It’s the attention from older, ugly men that make you want to stop shaving your legs and wear only loose fitting clothing for the rest of your life. Needless to say, I was getting ticked off. The next person to make any sort of comment from their car windows was going to get a-

Honk!

I swirled around, fists clenched, braces bared, ready to face the driver!

"Hey cousin!"

Oh, it was Amy! Well, that was much better than an ugly man! She drove on.

Honk. >.<

The Californians were still at my house when I got back, but they won’t be leaving for a while. I guess I should enjoy my house right now with only five people in it, because there will be seven come Thursday.

Tomorrow I’m meeting a friend of Sarah Bernert’s in West Linn. I hope it’s enjoyable.

How many dog idioms are there?

I have been suffering with a strange cough and sore throat for many days. It is worse, and most noticeable, at night and continues after I wake up until about noon. It’s horrible, and I’m not sure what the cause is.

So I picked up some cough drops on my way to the Humane Society today, at that new Safeway. They were pretty good actually, orange creme or something.

My friend Emily wanted one once I got into the Ed Hall, so I started telling her about my cough. We were helping out a dog with tracheobronchitis, or kennel cough. I realized that I had shared water with this dog. GASP!

"Can humans get kennel cough?"

"Ahaha! Sara has kennel cough!"

"Shut up, I don’t want everyone to know."

"Wait," said Lindsey, walking by with a large chow mix, "how would you get kennel cough anyway?"

It was a long story…

I had licked roughly 200 envelopes with wavers inside to send to the young campers coming in the next weeks, and afterwards we were all feeling a little.. loony. One thing lead to another, and soon my three camp friends (or so I thought) were persuading me to take a dare in which I drink out of a nearby dog dish… so I did.

The dog had kennel cough then, and was just getting over it now. Was it possible I had actually become infected with it? I decided to believe it. Besides, my new shaggy haircut was making me feel quite doggish. Arf.

It is usually a self-limiting disease and most animals do not require treatment. Intranasal vaccines are effective, but due to some possible side effects, are recommended for animals that are at higher risk.

Oh good, I should clear up in two more days or so, if not I’ll be sure to talk to my vet.

Four Pointed Wound

I walked back up my street slowly, falling hard off my caffeine high and wishing Max was still around. I was heading to my friends house to take care of her pets, two cats and an old ferret.

I got there soon enough, and finally got their stubborn door to open. The house was very quite, and I spotted one of the cats glance up from a chair; my first task was to feed them. I walked up the stairs into the kitchen and turned to look for the cans of cat food.

Suddenly from the assumed empty kitchen, someone yelped.

"AAAAH!" I screamed in reply, and whipped around to confront whoever it was.

It was my friends dad, standing by the table in a bathrobe, his long hair uncombed.

"I’m sorry!" I stammered after a brief pause, trying to collect myself. "Was I not supposed to start feeding the pets today?"

"No.. um," he rubbed his face, "sorry. I was going to call.. see I was feeling sick and decided not to go along down to California…"

"Oh, well, I guess you don’t really need me to come then."

"No no," he said, putting his weight against the table. "You can still take care of the pets. I am going to go back to sleep now."

"Oh.. okay.. well, feel better!" I said, and watched him head down the hall and close the door. My eyes were still wide. I closed them tightly several times and sat down on the floor, opening a can of cat food.

Her dad is unnerving enough without scaring me half to death by being in the house when he was supposed to be on vacation! I would have liked to think he might have called me before I came over. He was always a bit intimidating, and uncomfortably reminded me of Lionel Luthor, both in looks and manor.

I stroked the cats a while before heading downstairs to tend to the ferret. He was a very old ferret, very senile and cranky. Although, in his youth he had always been evil and I had never had much of a liking for him. However, his weakened state and loss of hair did move me to pity.

I sang softy to him, and held the water bottle close so he could drink without getting up. I stroked his muzzle and hand fed him, soaking each piece so he could eat it easier. I spent a good thirty minutes with that animal, and as I turned to tuck him in, what do I get?

SNAP!!!! His four fangs sunk into my palm, a surprisingly strong and painful bite for such a frail creature. I pulled my hand back and yelped, but the ferret came with it!!! Finally he released his grip and slunk back into bed.

I slammed the cage and rushed upstairs, locked the door, and ran. My whole hand stung and blood had begun to trickle down my arm; I ground my teeth and cursed the ungrateful weasel, wrapping my hand in my blouse and running across Thessien.

Can't sleep- my thoughts will eat me

Worst enemy? The lanky, brown haired teenager fond of speaking against the government with series of long and seemingly impossible conspiracies, who sat in the back of the room shining the lid of her Lord of the Rings lunchbox. Claiming to fight for the earth, do what’s right, and always live the Girl Scout way.

Her precariously strung net of happy, uninvited but unchallenged ignorance, was torn, scuffed and scratched by some unwanted form of blatant reality. I suppose I had been aware of many of these issues, but decided that they were simply too big to tackle.

It began in the morning. I was sitting in the Education Hall of the humane society, with the lunchbox, trying to keep an eye on the kids, when the man entered the room. He was a tall, looking to be in his 60’s, with long white hair and beard. Following close behind was a young Weezer-looking guy holding a green and blue macaw, and a soft-spoken women with a video camera and tripod.

They quickly set the bird on a branch stand, and started a movie. It was clips from an OPB special about macaws, and the old, white-haired man was featured in it.

He began to explain his role in preserving wild macaws, and repeated several times that they do not make good pets. This was normal for presenters at the day camp, preservation spiel followed by handing out some brochures.

But he didn’t stop with macaws. He began to attack three of the things I, and most people, value: chocolate, coffee, and bananas. He went on and on about the destruction of our planet, sparing no time for pleasant facts about current efforts to help, and instead told stories of cancer and pesticides. It was a depressing speech, most depressing that it was all true and I was left with the thought I always have:

"Yes, that’s bad, but if I stop buying chocolate it isn’t going to help. I’m just one person. I’ll die a chocolate-less old women and people will still be buying tons of Hershey bars long after I’m gone."

And so the day continued, almost normally. I did have a small incident in which I over-dosed on envelope adhesive and found myself lapping water out of a used dog bowl… I don’t want to talk about it. I suppose that’s what one could expect when they are woken up after a strange dream by Warren Zevon. The sinus medicine I took probably didn’t help much either.

But I made it home through the traffic all right, and just in time to shower the dog hair off and meet up with Max. We went out to see, what else? Fahrenheit 9/11 at Century 16. It was a good movie, but once again I faced what a strange, strange world we live in. I believe my boyfriend might call it "fucked up," but I’m not one to produce such vivid words from my braced mouth.

If the movie did anything, it made me feel very proactive. They only thing I could think to do is write to those serving our country, but I can’t write any people serving in Iraq because of the "terrorists." So… I don’t know what to do.