lagoonies.

I've been wanting to slap you upside the head with an update about my life for awhile now but I've been investing my time elsewhere on other seemingly menial but far more important tasks such as inflating giant sea dragons, wrestling with zip ties, scratching mold out of mini fridges with my fingernails, power washing my name in the dirt and bird poop on the pool deck, and of course pounding choreographed dances into my head like it's crunch time for a big test.

Work week is officially over.

Ninety plus hours of mayhem involving fifty plus staffers and what was once a boring college dorm has been transformed into a magical land of super hero themed family vacation stardom. I wish you all would come visit.

I don't know that I've thoroughly explained to you all that my job entails.

Ok, yes, it's true, I'm only getting paid four bucks an hour, which is a nauseatingly drastic pay cut from what I was making at the bar, but no matter, because this job is sincerely unbeatable.

I'm a lifeguard at a family camp. I get paid to watch a pool and blow a whistle when the kiddies get out of hand. No, this is not to undermine my responsibilities as a lifesaver. I take my job seriously. But for the most part, it's pretty chill.

The pool is only open about 4 hours a day.

Which means that the other hours of my schedule are chalk full of family bingo (it's disco themed so best believe I'll be roller skating in gold hot pants with a blonde afro), bike rides, softball games, karaoke, lots of precious babies, and the best part of all...performing on stage.

Yes, I got cast in the show. When I worked at this camp four years ago the theme was Wild Wild West and I played a granny who was in danger of losing her ranch...the protagonist for all intents and purposes. Now I'm on the other side of the spectrum. I'm a sassy Lagoon Lady with a ferocious hair flip and an incessant foot pop who is out to sabotage the Vacation Center and destroy all happiness.

I can't really express how wonderful it is to be back in my element. Laughing with children, leading athletic activities, being loud and absurd. It's magical. And you're all invited to come check it out.

Please have a little look see for yourself.

http://www.familyvacationcenter.com/

And I'll try and post pictures and videos as the summer progresses...

Here's a couple to tide you over...

This is the posse of Lagoonies. Elvira is the villian in the center...and the rest of us are her little cronies.

I play the part well, wouldn't ya say?

And as far as after summer is over...I haven't the foggiest...

So be praying for and with me...And if you see any full time jobs just lying around, don't hesitate to pick 'em up and throw 'em my way.

confessions of a twenty-something single white female.

All I can do to avoid picking the charred skin off my recently sunburned back and chest is slop more globs of lotion on, which then just makes a nasty concoction of dead skin gloop that smells vaguely of cocoa butter.

I should've heeded Sonjie Scribbz sunscreen advice, but alas, I did not, and I probably will not, ever,  because I'm destined to die of skin cancer.

I saw it in a dream once.

Aside from laying on the beach voluntarily subjecting myself to third degree burns, I've been keeping busy by reading Chelsea Handler's "My Horizontal Life," collecting the hordes of stray bobby pins from all over my empty room, eating a smorgasbord of random canned goods and other foods that have a shelf life of at least a century, and of course, packing.

I move out of my apartment on Wednesday.

Out of my apartment and intooooo...the dorms.

Try as I might, my goal in life this summer, is to avoid re-introducing myself to the freshman 15. Or, in my case, the freshman 25. Let's not talk about it.

Ok, let's do.

Yes, I gained 25 pounds upon entering college oh so many years ago. Six years to be precise. (oh shit, that means my ten year high school reunion is in four years...I should probably start working on my "check me out I'm so cool, I've got my shit together" plan, or, maybe I should just have a kid).

So yeah, 25 pounds. Twenty-five pounds of make your own waffles with boysenberry syrup and that extra dollop of unwarranted whipped cream splattered on top. Twenty-five pounds of all you can eat cheeseburgers and french fries, with a side of pepperoni pizza (times 3 of course). Twenty-five pounds of cranberry juice with every single meal for a year. I'm rather surprised I didn't develop diabetes with all that unnecessary sugar, but I presume my bladder is doing quite nicely. Cranberry juice is good for your bladder right? I've heard that once or twice.

Anyway, I'm determined to avoid the afore-mentioned weight gain. And I'm determined to do that like so...

Of course I have a plan. I always have a plan. No matter how often it falls through or I bail on it like an "I'm about to careen into a ditch" skateboard....there is still a plan.

Drum roll please...

Ok, ok, you can stop beating on your knees like a crazy person while you sit in that room by yourself reading about someone else's life, that is far less cool than your own...

And moving forward from the virtual noogie you just subjected yourself to...

I'm training for a marathon.

I know, I know...if you know me at all, I've never trained consistently. Ever.

So who's to say this time will be annnyyyy different...

Well, to be quite frank, and not the ballpark kind, or the overweight handyman with the over-sized onesie kind...quite frank, like bam, in your face, it probably won't be any different.

But I'm gonna try. And that's all I can offer up at this point in time.

I've been active four of the past five days. I'm gonna go ahead and pat myself on the back for that one. Ok, my definition of active may only mean getting out of bed to grab the stale chips from the back of the cupboard, the ones that have been hiding under the empty generic oreo box, for the past month, but hey, it's active nonetheless.

Ok, that was a joke, purely for joke's sake. I think that would be a great name for my first child. Joke. No? Ok, never mind. That was a joke too.

Yes, my definition of active is probably different from yours, but it's probably a little more on the extreme side. As my roommate likes to say "Sabrina, you're too hard on yourself."

I get it at least three times a week.

I've gone on a few four mile runs, a "medium" hike (my definition of medium is Emily's definition of strenuous...oops), and I suffered through some very low energy stadiums today. Four days of lackluster exercise that I consider to be active.

I'm so out of shape, I'm rather embarrassed. I went on a two mile run about two weeks ago and my lungs felt like tiny little leprechauns clutching their gold in the fetal position, completely and utterly unwilling to open up and expand. I was ashamed and walked home, trying with all my might to keep from crying hysterically. I knew that would only aggravate the leprechauns.

It's no secret I've been dumping buckets full of unhealthy all over my body. And pulling myself out of those puddles and shaking off the residual sludge is not going to be simple.

But I'm hiking up my britches, accepting some blame, and pulling my chin up off the ground. Have you ever successfully done a chin up without smacking your chin on the bar? Yeah, me neither. I couldn't ever do the weenie roaster either, those girls that could were beyond me. The one time I tried to do one of those flips over the chin up bar, I fell on my back. Praise the Lord I'm not paralyzed due to trying to one up the weenie roasters.

Now that I've got my pants back on, and my chin at a socially acceptable angle (not too high and not too low), and some blame deep tissue massaged into my body, it's time to gather up my basket full of lessons learned and skip to the loo my darling. Except I don't need to go to the bathroom.

I fashioned myself a cloak of optimism out of all the leftover Sandbar flyers and empty condom wrappers laying on my bedroom floor. I pulled it around my shoulders and pulled the hood up over my head and looked at myself in the mirror for awhile.

Someone once told me you can't possibly love a man completely, until you love yourself entirely. Makes sense right? Hence the reason God hasn't graced me with a husband just yet.

Hope those four years go by slowly because I definitely ain't got my shit together yet. Damn high school reunions. Remember how I was valedictorian? Oh yeahhhhh....needless to say I've regressed..or not so much regressed, I'm just a late bloomer. I didn't get my period til I was 14 and a 1/2, while all the other girls got it at 11 or 12. Seems only fitting that I wouldn't start partying and drunkenly carousing until well after college. Dumbass. I was calling myself a dumbass, not you. Sorry if that was misconstrued.

This whole online diary thing is so funny and awesome. And borderline insane. I don't know who you are, but you're reading the most intimate details of my life with some half-hearted chuckles tacked on the end. I hope you thoroughly enjoy it, appreciate it, and maybe someday you'll make me famous. Now run and go tell your friends I'm funny, or at least tell them that I'm real. My friend Krista and I used to challenge each other to live transparently...here's lookin' at you kid. My poker face isn't that great.

Anyway, now that I've morbidly hacked into you with my capital Sin, and her little sin minions, it's time to go eat tacos with my family.

Pick your jaw up off the ground and call me. Lord knows I need some real friends these days.

And if you haven't already, go read my other blog...http://droppingeez.blogspot.com. It's a doozy. Beware.

Zie enddd.

elasticity.

It's no surprise that I've been drinking my life away the past six months. That, and allowing my dignity and self-worth to get stomped into the ground by managerial staff that lead dictatorially rather than diplomatically.

The times they are a changin' folks.

I put in my two weeks at Sandbar.

No more incessant and annoying text messages harassing you about coming out.

I am no longer a club promoter. And I will no longer be a bartender come Monday June 13th.

Come Sunday June 5th, I will be an American Red Cross certified lifeguard employed by UCSB at the Alumni Association's Family Vacation Center. Sheesh that was a mouthful.

Not only do I get to participate in all staff choreographed dances, I get paid to play softball, go on bike rides, lead vacationer hikes, and facilitate alcohol induced adult karaoke. Oh, and supervise and ensure water safety. Lifeguard is my official title, but I'll be wearing a plethora of hats this summer. Hats that fit my head far better than that of night club promoter and bartender.

I've neglected myself the past six months. I've neglected all the things that make me happy, and bring joy to my life. I can't place blame on anyone but myself, of course, although I'd like to point all ten of my fingers at different culprits that aided in my demise. A series of unfortunate and misguided decisions have led me down a path to self destruction. Totally and completely.

I used to be a dreamer. And now I've developed a cloak I like to don, a suffocating blanket of fear and anxiety. In remaining determined to live in the present, I've cast aside the buoyant energy and spirit I used to invest in dreams and imagination. Cannot one exist without the other?

Not only have I neglected myself, I've neglected my friends. I spend an uncanny amount of time alone. I've always been an introvert but the past six months have been extreme. Sandbar owned me. I can't blame it all on Sandbar though. There were a series of men involved and a severe lack of Christ and community. All of the above drained my soul. Stole all my energy. And left me in a heap on my bedroom floor.

But alas, I can see the light. It's time to pick myself up, twirl in circles, and shake the dust. This summer's gonna be good. Fun. Happy. Full of laughter and ridiculous antics. Hopefully the preventative skills I'm learning in lifeguard class will keep the water related emergencies to a minimum, so I can perfect my tank top tan without having to stress out too much.

And as far as after summer...only God knows...I've been perusing cruise line jobs and how to obtain work visas in other countries, i.e. Australia and New Zealand.

My hammock just came in the mail a couple days ago. I've yet to sling it, but I know it's going to be the source of much needed relaxation, meditation, and time with the Lord.

I also just watched the movie Big Fish. I don't want to ruin the movie but it honestly ignited my imagination and inspired me to write more, tell more stories. It's ridiculous how much I've died, and lost sight of myself in the past six months. I'm pointing and laughing in my own face. Silly girl.

Once I get over this fear and anxiety, I'm gonna start investing my time in floetry. Slam poetry. I think I could really get into it. This stuff sets me on fire. Watch these videos and tell me you're not inspired.