Sarah goes out in public and we all know how this will end.

Hello everyone!

Whew!  It's been a while, I know.  And I'm still not quite ready to emerge from my NANOWRIMO fury.  I've got some 14000 words I have to come up with between now and next Sunday, and frankly, I'm not sure how that's going to happen, but it's going to happen!

Anyway, I have to share this with you because, well, why not?

Couple Sundays ago it was my birthday. Yes, I got older.  And make all the comments you want about fine wine...I got older. 

My b-day bash was held here...

One of my fantastic birthday presents was a trip up to Lambeau Field in Green Bay Wisconsin to watch my beloved Green Bay Packers take on the Philadelphia Eagles.  (For those of you who don't know, this is American Football.)  I was very excited because 1)  I love the Packers and 2)  I've never been to a game at Lambeau  Field.  (I know, how did I get to be this old...)  Granted, I was NOT excited about sitting outside on a cold November day, (and by cold I mean below 25F) but I was going to put on enough layers of clothing and it was going to be fine.

I had it all planned out. Two pairs of socks, one of them wool.  Snowboots. Long underwear, heavy jeans.  Long underwear, longsleeved shirt, light jacket, hooded sweatshirt, heavy coat.  Wool mittens, headscarf and ear muffs.  Yes, my legs were a little undercovered, but I figured it would be okay,

I'm ready!  Bring on the game!

since I was going to be jumping up and down plenty.

The minute we entered the concourse, I knew I was in trouble.  I was so cold...and we were forty-five minutes away from kickoff!  And that's why I now have a year's subscription to the Milwaukee Journal/Sentinel...see, the guy there was giving away fleece blankets if you signed up for a six month subscription.  I wanted two blankets, one for my front and one for my back.  And thusly, I now get the Sunday and Wednesday paper...which promptly goes into the recycle bin because honestly who has time to read an actual newspaper?  But I got two nice blankets, so I was a bit happier about sitting on a metal bench with 76,000 of my new best friends.

Well, except for the woman behind me.  The woman who kept dropping her stupid mitten and then she tapped me on the shoulder and said, "I dropped my mitten."

Do you get how stiff and clumsy I was in all those layers?  Bending down to pick up a mitten and then reaching back to hand it to her involved shifting blankets and removing my own mittens.  I was about to go all Cheri Oteri on her and yell, "It's mine!  I keep this now!"

Shoes, mittens, whatever.  If you drop
it again, I'm keeping it!

I'm pretty proud of myself, I made it all the way to halftime without going inside.  Actually, it didn't matter because "Inside" meant the concourse, which was just as cold, if not worse, than the stadium itself.  But by the middle of halftime I was pretty frozen and besides, the call of nature was to the point where I couldn't ignore it.

And that, as my faithful readers know, is the whole point of why I took time out of NANOWRIMO to tell you this story.  Ah yes, Sarah has to use a public restroom.  What could possibly go wrong?

Oh let me count the ways!

First of all...remember the GROSSEST STORY I'VE EVER TOLD? (If not, click HERE and read it.  We'll wait.)

Anyway, so once again, my two least favorite things:  Using a public restroom and my female punctuation come into play. Now let's add multiple layers of clothing and stadium full of freezing cold and let's see what happens...

Halfway through halftime I knew I had to get into to restrooms. Not so much because I had to, you know, GO, because those who know me know I can make it many, many hours without using a restroom...but I was frozen solid and the only place that had heat was the restroom.  No problem, thinks I, I'll get into the bathroom and warm up in there for half an hour. It'll be great. 

No, no it won't be great, but it will make a great blog.

See, I wasn't actually expecting my punctuation to be so...forceful that day.  Ladies, you know we have the cycle within the cycle where you have days that are fine and then there are days where you should probably just put on plastic pants and lie perfectly still for about 9 hours.  And that commercial years ago where the woman stood up and looked horrified because, as the announcer shared with us, a woman's flow can increase 200 times when she stands up?  Yes, all true and oh yes, all happening to me right there in Lambeau Field.

Now a normal person in normal circumstances would simply hustle to the restroom and take care of things.  But I am not a normal person, and I was not in a normal circumstance.  I was, instead, in a very long line in a very cold concourse waiting to get into a very small restroom. Nope, there was no time saving clothing removal for any of us in that line.  I honestly believe the powers that be were purposefully blowing cold air on us.  Why I do not know, but it was way colder in the concourse than it was on my metal seat in the stadium.  So we're standing there, thirty of us, waiting outside in line to get into the restroom.

I finally get into the blissful restroom to wait in line there.  But at least it's warm.  So warm...so lovely...  I look around and I realize people are HURRYING.  WHY?  WHY IS EVERYONE IN A HURRY TO LEAVE HERE?

I actually said that out loud.  "Hey ladies,"  says I, "we can hear the game here, and it's warm, why don't we just stay here?" 

Yes, see, there are just days
a woman should not leave
the house.

The restroom attendant was NOT on board with that idea.  And she gave me the stink eye the rest of the time I was in there.

So okay, I'm not going to just camp out in the rest room and listen to the game as planned. Nope, I'm going to have to go through the motions of using the restroom.  And the problem with that is in the process of using the restroom, I'm going to dislodge certain punctuation protections that won't, and probably shouldn't be easily relodged.  My best hope was to just stack more protection on top of what I already had.  Which would amount to a mattress between my legs.  Which is attractive.

So I finally get into the stall and I would like nothing better than to strip down to my long underwear and just sit there for an hour.  But I'm not going to be that girl, the one the restroom attendant already has the stink eye on.  So I feel like I have to rush just like everyone else.  Which means I don't remove a lot of layers. Which means my reach isn't exactly as long as it might be without layers and layers of clothing.


I don't need to go further, because those of you who know where this is going, you're already choking on your coffee and those of you who don't know where this is going...well, go put a heavy coat on, and then try to use the toilet.  Good luck.
By the time I got out of the stall I'd given up any hope of hygiene.  I was sweaty, I was disheveled, but I was, hopefully, protected against a punctuation leak, what with the Temprepedic wedged between my underwear and my jeans..  I managed to kick my one coat across the floor  (The one layer I did remove.)  and I washed my hands.  Looking over my shoulder I saw women reapplying makeup. 

The PACK!  The PACK!

That was one of those moments when I realized I'll just never be what people think of as a beautiful girl.  I just won't. I can lose weight. I can learn to be more graceful.  I can even maybe curb my impulsive sense of humor. All that will take a mountain of work, but it's possible.  But here's the thing:  I'm one of those women that sort of put it together once a day and then it all deteriorates so that by the time we get up the next morning, we're something out of a freak show.  I'm not one of those people who can simply be remade in the mirror of a stadium bathroom.  I didn't even look in the mirror because I knew two of the following three things would be true:  1) portions of my hair would be standing straight up while other portions would be hopelessly flat and the only fix for that would be a complete wash and redo.  2)  The makeup I was wearing was long gone and it would require a complete redo of that...and possibly some added spackle for good measure, to reach any level beyond horror film. 3) given the amount of clothing I was wearing, what was happening from the neck up didn't matter because from the neck down I looked 70 pounds heavier than I actually am and honestly the only person attracted to me at that point would be the team from Biggest Loser trolling for contestants.  In short...watching the girl fluff her hair and reapply lip gloss, I knew it was pointless for me to try because I was at Quasimoto stage anyway. 

Self reflection is good...right?

Anyway, I did enjoy the game, cold and all. And the Packer won, which was great.  And, once home, hubby and I had a good laugh as we stripped off layers and layers of clothes and got clean and looked human again.

Great day, overall, great birthday.  And, of course, something to share with you!

Happy Thanksgiving my friends...and remember, be thankful for what you have, and be thankful you don't live the comedy that is my life!