Meet D

The original.

Of the many things I like about my job, one of the biggest has always been my regulars.  Regulars are common in the restaurant world.  I think it probably has a lot to do with the fact that humans are creatures of habit; if we enjoy something we are quite apt to repeat it again and again.  One visit turns to two, two turns to a few more and suddenly trips to your favorite eatery more than once a week aren’t uncommon.  There is comfort in repetition.

Now I have many types of regulars: men, women, families.  And while they’re all different, they all share an easy connection with my coworkers and me.  They’re the sort of people you’re happy to see walk through the door.  They’re the type you worry about if you don’t see them for a while.  It’s just one of those natural progressions.

While I have a dozen or more such regulars, a few cross that fine line that lies between customer and friend.  Of my regulars, a select few are the type that I would call in a bind and likewise do anything for.  They know about my successes and failures.  They will be invited to any future weddings.  I care about each and every one of my regular customers, but these really mean something to me on a personal level.  With them it goes beyond simply enjoying their company.  These are my friends.

One such regular – we’ll call him D – actually doesn’t even live in Montana.  D, though he once called Missoula his home, currently resides in Kansas.  His heart however lives here and every vacation work allows brings him back to the state he loves.  Corresponding his trips with different hunting seasons, D makes it back at least once a year though often more.  D just can’t stay away.

D’s last trip occurred this past spring.  Work was busy and it appeared to be his only opportunity to travel for pleasure for the year.  When he left he was markedly upset, unsure when he’d be able to return.  He said it would be a year most likely – at the very least.  I took his word for it.

And then, a couple weeks ago, D said he was coming to visit out of the blue.  He’d be here in just a few short days for a week of vacation.  It was very unexpected, but anticipated.

D’s trip was mainly spent bear hunting, but I still saw him often.  I noticed right away that something was wrong, but it’s never polite to bring up such things with a friend you haven’t seen in months.  D just didn’t seem as upbeat as the last time he’d come to visit.  I was slightly worried, but brushed it off as me being hypersensitive (which I have a tendency to be now and again).  Things just went like they always did despite the feeling in my gut.

On his last day, D finally confided in me that he had been diagnosed with cancer.  His trip was hastily made after receiving the news.  A gift to himself, he said.  I was at a loss for words.  I was even at a loss for thoughts.  No one tells you what to say when a customer confides in you that they have cancer; that part isn’t in any of my Hooters Girl manuals.

So I did the only thing I could think of.  I hugged him.  Normally, I would never hug a customer at work no matter how familiar I am with them, but at the moment I knew it was the only thing I could offer.  It was a small thing, but as I felt D against me I knew how much he needed it.  Here was a man afraid and I desperately tried to offer what comfort I could.  It all made me feel helpless.

I hope that back in Kansas D knows how much I really care about him.  I can’t help but worry and wonder how he’s doing.  I’m sure he’s fine, but the worrier in me will continue to think anything but that.  Go ahead and call me a girl.

When you start being a waitress, the last thing you think about are the real connections you’ll make with people.  While you’re busy memorizing wing sauces and table numbers making lasting friendships is the last thing on your mind.  But they’re inevitable and even more than that they’re fulfilling.  It makes me love my job even more.

So here’s to you D.  I hope Kansas is treating you well.  I know you miss the mountains, but they’ll be waiting for you up here.  As will that bear that you didn’t get this year.  We’ll all be waiting.  

Did you vote today?!  Vote for Sauce in the Hooters Halloween Contest so she can afford to pay for the classes she just registered for today.  Seriously.

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Why Yes, I Am Skinnier Now

It's not like this for serious. CREDIT.

In becoming more fit again, I’ve realized that it’s something people are very uneasy addressing.  What I mean is that though people notice the change and want to offer some compliment, they have no idea how to do so.  I’ve noticed this the most at work where my required uniform is especially form fitting, making it pretty obvious that I’ve slimmed down.  It’s nearly impossible not to notice in form-fitting Lycra and spandex.  And this makes people uneasy.

Usually this happens most with regular customers.  I’ll be working at the bar, mixing drinks like a true master of all things alcoholic and a customer will clear their throat in a way that quite obviously means “I have something to say with absolutely no idea how to say it.”  After acknowledging the dramatic throat clear, I’ll find myself in the middle of a stammering, uncomfortable conversation that boils down to asking if I’ve lost weight.

“Um, I don’t really know how to say this, but have you…um…maybe lost a little weight?”

“You know, you look different.  I guess I’m not sure, but maybe you’ve been at the gym a bit lately?”

“I think, well maybe I don’t know, that perhaps you’ve toned up some.  I’m not really sure.  I don’t come here that much.”

Actually, you’re here twice a week, but whose counting anyway?  No matter the delivery, it’s pretty obvious that people have no idea how to address the change in my body.  Of course I totally understand.  We live in a society that has – rightfully – taught us it’s disrespectful to make inquires regarding a woman’s weight.  Hell, it’s rude to make inquires about anyone’s weight.  But sometimes, regardless of the situation, it’s nice to hear a compliment.

And that, my friends, is the difference.  If it’s apparent that someone has had a positive body change odds are they’d probably love a positive response to that change.  I’ve literally worked my ass off of my body after months of very hard work.  I’ve sweated.  I’ve sustained myself on boiled chicken.  I’ve consumed more protein in liquid form than some people probably eat in a year.  And most of it has totally sucked.  It was hard and it’s nice knowing that all of it really did make a noticeable difference.  Yes, I can look in the mirror everyday like a vain little twit and spew affirmations, but nothing is better than someone else taking notice and saying something nice.

If you notice a change in someone, go ahead and say something.  If they’re anything like me, they’ll really appreciate the compliment.  After all, a girl cannot live on protein and complex carbs alone; those don’t feed the soul.

So go ahead and sit at my bar and confidentially ask if I’m a personal trainer (yes, that actually happened).  Point out that I may have lost weight.  Because guess what?  I have.

If I can generalize, remember the importance of complimenting people.  Yes, it can occasionally feel awkward to do so, but it can really make a person’s day.  It’s just nice to be noticed and – even more so – appreciated.  I’ve made it my new personal goal to compliment someone everyday because the world could use a little love.  Let’s spread love people!

Oh, and thanks for letting me know how much you like my “guns.”

And, because I like votes and I'm a shameless self-promoter, don't forget to vote daily in the Hooters Halloween Costume Contest on Facebook.  Once again I made my costume from scratch this year.  I'm hoping - with your help - to break into the top three and win some money to support my student ass.  Please help me buy Ramen liquid egg whites.

VOTE HERE!

Then feel free to LIKE ME ON FACEBOOK!  It's where the magic happens.

The New Girl's Boyfriend

Over three years ago I began my job at Hooters.  Now three years is an awful long time, but even now one question stands out from my interview.

“Do you have a boyfriend or husband who would be jealous or uncomfortable with you working at Hooters?”

While that question would seem odd in most interview situations, it’s fairly understandable in an atmosphere like Hooters.  At the time, I got to say no and luckily I can still say no – though now just in regards to the second part – to this day.  This weekend however I got a front row seat to why that question, and an honest answer, is oh so important.

Saturday, we had a new girl on her second day of training.  She seemed like a good hire which given recent trend was rather refreshing.  She was inquisitive, helpful, friendly and actually studied for her tests.  No on ever studies for their tests no matter how many times I reassure them that they are actually hard.  Believe it or not I’m not lying to you when I say that it’s difficult.  And yes, I do take a slight amount of pleasure when you fail.  I did warn your ass after all.

Anyway, this girl – even on only her second day – seemed to me like a great Hooters Girl in the making.  Of course she just had to go and prove me wrong.  Or more specifically her creepy, clearly overbearing boyfriend decided to prove me wrong.  He just had to ruin the fun for everyone.  Douche.

New girl comes in, we set up the restaurant in record time and things are going well.  We’re ready way before opening at eleven because we’re totally awesome.  By the time we unlock the doors we’re ready to go and apparently so are the football fans; as soon as the doors are open people come streaming in.  Tables are quickly sat and drinks are run.  It’s a typical NFL Sunday and new girl is handling it like a champ.  I mentally add that to the list of things that will make her good at her job.

This is less creepy than what actually happened.

Then she gets weird.  She goes from bubbly to quite so quickly I think she’s gotten sick.  Suddenly something is wrong and it’s glaringly obvious.  Scanning the restaurant it’s apparent that the “something” is a single customer sipping a soda and intently staring at our newest trainee.  It is a powerful, disconcerting stare and even without being directed at me, makes me uncomfortable.  He watches her every move from her interactions with tables to the dumping a plate of leftovers into the garbage.  It’s all weird as eff.

“That’s her boyfriend or fiancé or whatever,” remarks the girl who’s directly training her today.  “He was here on her first shift too just hanging out and watching her work.  It’s so uncomfortable and awkward.”

And it was uncomfortable and awkward.  Especially when he started shooting the “I love you” sign at her across the room shaking his hand until she took notice.  That’s when enough was enough and my manager went to talk with him.  After a few minutes of talking, the boyfriend got up and left.  Finally.

Things returned to normal. Until he came back and found his way to my bar.  He took a spot in the corner and continued his staring.  Eventually, as I was putting in an order, he turned to me.

“Is it against the rules for you girls to flirt or something?”

I wasn’t really sure where he was going with the question, but I told him that while there was no rule against it, flirting wasn’t really acceptable but that often people take our good service and kindness for flirting.  Suddenly I found myself on the receiving end of him validating his reason for being there.  For a while I just let him go.

“You know,” I said eventually, “you really don’t need to justify anything to me.  And while it’s not technically against any rules for you to be here, it seems to be making your girlfriend really uncomfortable.  I mean don’t you think it makes it a little hard for her to do her job with you hanging around?  I promise nothing is going to happen to her while she’s at work today, but honestly it may if you keep doing this.  Our owner really doesn’t like boyfriends hanging around and I don’t think you want to put the job she just started in jeopardy.  I’ve seen people let go for far less.”

He thought about all that for second and again tried to justify why he was there.  I realized then it was a lost cause.  This guy was a controlling boyfriend in every sense of the word and nothing I was going to say would change that.

The next day, the new girl never showed up for her shift.  But I wasn’t surprised.  I had a pretty good feeling that she went home, he got pissed and she was told she couldn’t work at Hooters anymore.  It’s a shame, but hardly unexpected.  Boyfriends always have issues with Hooters, but really in the end the issues are far deeper than a job involving short shorts.

Too bad we lost such a good one.

Please remember to keep voting for me in the Hooters Halloween Costume Contest on Facebook!  You can vote once per day, per account until November 1st.  My poor, MBA school ass would really appreciate you taking the time to vote.  And telling your friends.  Or your mom.  Or you cat if he has a page.  You get the idea.

VOTE HERE!

Hooters Halloween Costume Contest

Once again, I'm part of the national Hooters Halloween Costume Contest on Facebook.  On the line are some awesome cash prizes that would certainly help out a busy MBA student - specifically this busy MBA student.

I'd really appreciate you taking the time to vote ONCE A DAY from your Facebook account.  Heck, maybe you have two Facebook friends, maybe you have 2,136 friends, maybe you're a computer genius who knows a great way to get me lots and tons of votes.  I love all of those things!

VOTE HERE

All you have to do is like Hooters and then you can proclaim your love for Sauce each and every day!

And because I love you, this year I'll actually post a picture - all parts included - here on the blog.  Maybe it will entice you to vote.  Or whatever.

I made this.  It's because I have no social life.

The Spray Tan

Like this only naked. CREDIT.

In addition to experiencing my first fitness competition this past weekend, I also had the pleasure of receiving my first spray tan.  Now this was no ordinary spray tan.  This was a competition spray tan and it is another beast entirely.  And when I say beast I effing mean it.  This spray tan had a mind of it’s own.

It’s common for competitions to bring in a professional spray tanner to give tans to competitors.  For the sake of this post, “give” actually means it cost me $100.  That tanning bitch was raking in money all weekend long, one faux tan at a time.

Anyway, I made my appointment a few weeks in advance that consisted of two separate sprays the day of the show.  Yes, I got two sprays two hours apart.  They’re not joking around with this tanning shit.  In fact, they’re so serious that they send you all sorts of rules to properly prepare your skin for ultimate tan reception.  So I exfoliated, cut out body washes, avoided moisturizers with oils and otherwise prepared my canvas for ultimate darkness.  If I’m gonna pay $100 for something I’m going to take that shit seriously.

I showed up for my first tan and was freezing my naked ass off before I knew it.  While this was awkward in itself, the whole thing was made as uncomfortable as possible by being done in a strange little hut in the open ballroom of a Hilton – surrounded by several more little huts.  All of which have weird plastic windows right at face height.  So there you are naked and waiting while you look out this weird little window and try not to make eye contact with the muscle-bound dude across for you.  And all of this is before you’re given the pleasure of being blasted with icy tanning solution from what is essentially a paint gun.

First tan down, and I was immediately warned to avoid water at all costs.  This would seem easy enough, but of course it’s raining and has been for two days.  The whole world was against my tan from the very beginning.  Then I was told I should pee in a cup.  Like a high school physical.  Or a drug test.  I decided to ignore this rule as soon as I hear it.

Within seconds of being outside, my legs were flecked with water leaving glaringly white splotches on my newly tanned skin.  Mother Nature had won round one.  She won round two when I rebelled and peed without a cup.  I popped a squat so as not to touch the toilet and – even though I was careful – the result was an obvious drip down my right thigh.  I bought the stupid cups on my way to tan number two.

After a second round of tan two hours later, my mistakes were fixed and my skin was a color that can only be described as 100% unnatural.  Lets just say that I was tan enough to frighten people at WalMart and nothing surprises people at WalMart.

And while being a spectacle can be mildly uncomfortable, the inability to touch anything was definitely the worst part.  Like King Midas anything a tanned fitness competitor touches turns to gold.  Only this gold is actually orange and not worth lots of money.  After leaving smudges on everything from toilets to walls to car doors I eventually just stopped touching things and let Dreamy take over.  I stained my clothes, I stained my –purposely-shitty – sheets, I even stained the light blue polish on my toes.  Nothing was safe.

And then the next morning, they tanned me again.  I went from insanely dark to full on black.  It was at this point that I’m pretty sure I forgot what my actual skin tone was.  I was just layers upon layers of tan.  With one final spray before the night show, I had received four spray tans in just over 24 hours.  And for the record it felt totally disgusting.

When it was all over and I was finally able to shower the tan came streaming off of me, darkening the water instantly.  Never before has a shower felt so good.  Or resulted in an immediate need to clean the bathtub.  Magically I was white again and all that tan was down the drain. 

Thank goodness.

Sauce's First Fitness Competition

Not me.  Or my lady trophy.

And just like that I competed in my first fitness competition.  That’s about how fast the whole experience was.  I walked on stage, hit a couple poses, stood in a line and in less than a minute was judged.  I was not judged a winner.  Instead I was judged thoroughly disappointed somewhere in the middle.  My competitive streak was most unhappy.

My division, tall bikini had thirteen competitors.  Divided by height, the show had two bikini divisions: one for those under 5’4 and one for those over.  Now if this seems rather unfair, it was.  The lower division had only five competitors.  A division has five finalists.  Yes, everyone was a winner in the lower division.  In comparison, most people were losers in my division.  I got the pleasure of being first loser.  And yet again it sucks to be tall.

Anyway, judging is completed in the morning.  This consists of you walking out, hitting poses at three marks and then all lining up at the back of the stage.  They then have everyone turn around and a split second later they called five girls to the front.  This ended up being their top five.  They were picked in all of about two minutes. 

After calling the top five and viewing them front and back, they called up the rest of us and we also posed front and back.  At this point, I was called forward along with another competitor.  Generally this is a very good sign and I figured I was being compared for inclusion in the top five.  This was not the case.  Rather than comparing again – which is common in big divisions – they put us back in line and moved us off stage.  And that was it.

After judging, given that I had been moved, many people thought I was a shoe in for a top five finish.  I felt confident as well, sure that I had at least landed myself a fourth or fifth place.  Really I didn’t care as long as I got a trophy.  I’m a girl.  I like shiny things that say I’m awesome at stuff. 

Since judging was over, Dreamy and I decided to have a little lunch at which point I let myself go a bit.  Yes, I had to put on a bikini again, but the hard part was over.  I had earned an effing tamale.  And rice.  And a daiquiri.  And ice cream.  Yes, I ate all of that before putting on a bikini six hours later for the night show.  I only felt marginally guilty.

The night show is basically just all flash.  Since the judging is complete, they parade everyone around and hand out prizes.  It’s easy.  I went out and hit my poses again and then they called the top five.  One name.  Two names.  Three names.  Four names.  Five names.  WHAT THE EFF?!  None of the names belonged to me.  I left the stage dejected as they begin announcing the places of the girls left on stage.  Why hadn’t I been called?

Initially I got mad.  I got upset.  I let it get me down.  Yes, I’d gotten sixth and done well overall, but being an intensely competitive person I wanted more.  I wanted that shiny, lady statue.  I wanted people to know how well I’d done.  I wanted recognition.

I was about halfway through the best burger and coconut milkshake of my life when I realized I really didn’t effing care.  No, I didn’t do as well as I’d hoped, but I still had accomplished something pretty amazing.  I’d been incredibly dedicated for months.  I’d worked hard and while the results hadn’t led to a silly trophy, they had led to a strong, confident body.  And as awesome as it would have been to get totally wasted while carrying around a trophy in the shape of a buff lady, the physical and mental results are far more rewarding.

Besides, judging is subjective.  As Dreamy reminded me, “Any given Sunday, babe.”  And inappropriate football movies aside, he was totally right.

Then, a few days later I checked my email.  Now generally I don’t get many emails at According to Sauce.  So when I logged in and saw two, I was pretty excited.  But what really got me was the fact that apparently my journey and hard work had inspired someone.  Both of the emails said that I had motivated them to get off the couch, go to the gym and make a change in their life.  Reading those two messages left me feeling so incredibly inspired.  While it’s nice to do something for you, it’s something else entirely when that personal change can positively affect another.  That was never my plan, but I’m so glad it’s become an outcome.

So will I do another fitness contest?  Honestly, I’m not sure.  While I enjoyed the process, the diet left me with a short fuse and nearly entirely changed how I treated those closest to me.  Nothing – no matter how much you like it – is worth treating those you love poorly.  Let’s not sugarcoat; I was a raging bitch.  I’ve heard that though changes in mood can be common they are avoidable with changes to the diet, but if it’s not than I’ll be going into retirement.

What won’t be changing is my dedication to maintaining a healthy lifestyle.  I’ll still be mindful of my dietary choices.  I’ll still go to the gym.  I’ll still treat my body the way it deserves to be treated, because it feels good to do that.  And maybe – if I’m lucky – I’ll inspire another person or two.  It’s not a lady trophy, but it will certainly do.

P.S:  I treated my FACEBOOK fans to a peak at what I looked like at the contest.  Feel free to become a fan and take a look!

One Day

A glimpse at my Halloween costume.  And my
abs.  I'm proud of both.

I am effing hungry.  I leave for my first fitness competition tomorrow and all I can think about is eating a carb sandwich that is fried in bacon fat.  I realize that makes no freaking sense.  That’s how bad I want really, honest, shitty food.  Ironically, I have been eating a ton, but all the chicken, asparagus and more chicken just isn’t cutting it anymore.  I need bread.

Really I think it’s mostly a nervous thing.  Suddenly that thing I’ve been working toward for months is here.  It seems like only a sort time I ago I was twelve weeks out.  Well twelve became eleven and eleven became ten and now I’m here.  One day. 

On Saturday, I’ll be taking the stage to compete in the smallest bikini I have possibly ever seen – funny that’s also the most expensive I’ve ever purchased.  I’ll be tanned and made-up and pose with perfection.  But what you won’t see as I stand on stage and flirt with judges are the over twenty pounds I’ve lost (and that’s keeping in mind that I’ve gained a significant amount of muscle).  You won’t see the two a days I’ve put in at the gym.  You won’t see how strict I was with my eating.  You won’t see all the work it took.  You’ll just see the result in bejeweled baby blue and clear high heels.

Sitting here on the couch I’m honestly amazed with how strong I feel.  I know that I have willpower and drive.  Without either of those traits I’d never have found myself here.  Even if I don’t place, at least I know that I can get myself to this place.  And that is saying something no matter where I end up.

I’m nervous.  I’m hungry.  I’m excited.  I’m ready.  All I need is a ridiculous spray tan and some butt glue.

And a medium rare burger and fries on Saturday night.  And popcorn.  And beer.  Eff it, take me to a buffet.

Caroline

“And how old are you now?!”

And that’s how, between sets of pull-ups, I met Caroline at the YMCA.  At first, I was annoyed.  When I go to the gym I am not one of those social girls.  I am one of those far less common “leave me alone so I can sweat like a pig, but have a really hot ass to show for it” kind of girls.  I don’t like to be interrupted in the middle of my workouts.

“I’m twenty-six”

“Married?”

“No, not married.”

“Kids?”

“Nope, no kids yet.”

“Well you keep being fit and keep being beautiful for you and you’ll be eighty-five like me with all the doctors saying you’ll live to be 105.”

Caroline could probably curl 45s.  CREDIT.

And that’s a pretty good introduction to one of the most wonderful, yet totally insane little old ladies I have ever had the pleasure of meeting.  One of the reason I love the YMCA – and have kept my membership despite having access to the gorgeous student recreation center on campus – is because it is full of old people and not dumb bitches.  And Caroline is quite possibly the best of them.

Before I knew it, Caroline began regaling me with the high points of her long life.  There were two husbands.  There were four kids.  There was three years spent teaching in Germany.  Caroline was one big over-share after another.  This was officially confirmed when she told me all four of her children had been conceived while she was wearing a diaphragm much to the chagrin of husband number one.  Too much?  Probably, but when you’re eighty-effing-five going on 105 you can say whatever you freaking please.  Birth control failures included.

After something about her second husband being initially married to a woman who was “more beautiful than Elizabeth Taylor and just as promiscuous,” Caroline began talking about inner beauty. 

“You know I’ve met at least forty people with scars and burns and ugly outsides; people that have been pushed around because they looked a certain way.  But I didn’t ever mind that and I looked right in them and met the most beautiful people in the world.  You’re one of those few people who are lucky to have the beauty on both sides.  It’s a gift that you should spread to the world.  The world needs all the love and beauty it can get.”

Then Caroline reached up, squished her hands onto my cheeks, smiled wide and said she couldn’t wait to see me more.  And as I got back to my pull-ups, I realized I couldn’t wait to see Caroline again either.  Caroline had told me her whole history and made my day in all of about three minutes.

I hope I can live me life half as fabulously as Caroline is living hers.  I hope that one day when I’m eighty-five I can drop a bomb of knowledge on some unassuming twenty-something on a random Tuesday morning at the YMCA.  I want to spend my life being Caroline awesome.

I will however not be trusting my woman parts to a diaphragm anytime soon.

Losing It

Go ahead and think it, I’m a horrible blogger.  I’ve left things terribly neglected and for that I apologize.  The truth is – because I believe in the benefit of full-disclosure – I have completely lost my drive.  Actually, that would be a vast understatement.  I haven’t so much lost my drive as I’ve totally lost myself.  And that is a frightening realization.

To be honest, I find myself lacking the passion I have always found to be one of my greatest strengths.  Perhaps it’s the homework.  Perhaps it’s the lack of a social life.  Perhaps it’s the changing of the blog.  It’s probably a combination of a lot of different things.  Whatever the reasons for the place I’m in, the only clear thing is I need a way out.

A few days ago I hit rock bottom.  I can’t say I’ve hit rock bottom before, but I’m pretty sure that hysterically balling over the phone to your mom on the floor of your closet certainly qualifies.  Yes, I am ashamed to admit that is where I actually found myself.  I said an awful lot of things as the tears came without restraint into the dark.  I said I wanted to drop out of school.  I said I felt alone.  I said I hated my life.  I said things that scare me.  And while I eventually calmed down and found my way to a chair, I still felt that same dread.  My drive was gone and I didn’t know where to find it.

But the next morning I still got up and found my way to the gym.  Even though I really didn’t want to be there.  I didn’t want to be anywhere besides the comfort of my bed.  I wanted to sink into its sheets and simply disappear.  Despite all that, I got up and ventured to the YMCA before the sun was even up.  I was just a couple weeks out from a fitness competition after all.

And as I was there doing my cardio and weight training I realized the drive it took to kick my own ass for months on end.  I felt the strength of my body.  I felt the power of my will.  In a split second I realized just how driven I could be.  Things became clear and I understood the amazing kind of person I am.  It was corny as shit, but it all felt so right.

So I went home and joined LinkedIn.  Maybe that sounds weird, but I threw myself into the project and as I created my profile and looked at my resume I realized how much I’ve done with the opportunities that have been presented to me.  I realized that I am an asset to myself as much as I am one to everyone else.  My confidence in myself – though diminished – still existed somewhere inside me.

Yes, I still feel lonely.  I still feel a little lost.  I still feel unsure about an awful lot of things, but I realize that life can and will work itself out.  It’s just the how I’m not quite sure of yet.  But maybe I don’t need to be in a rush to figure all that out.

Right now I just need to work on returning to the positivity I have always prided myself on.  I also need to work on returning this blog to something I’m really proud of.  Who knows, maybe someone will read it, appreciate what I’m doing and offer me the dream job that I feel so very compelled to have.  But then who really knows anything?

Maybe that’s the beauty of it all.