Off the Record

As we grow older, do those around us also visibly age? Or do the effects go unnoticed because we are also aging? When I live with my husband in our tudor style house on the east coast and we wake up every morning at dawn for our walk and cup of coffee and oatmeal with dried cranberries, will I notice the tiny wrinkles that are forming around his eyes or the droopiness of his jaw? The gray in his chest hair or the weight he's slowly gaining? Will he notice my sagging breasts and the lines on my forehead, the veins popping from my hands and the bunion on my foot? Or is that what I've looked like to him since we met? Now, if I haven't seen a friend in years and we run into each other (not at my class reunion, of course, because, Vh, I plan to never attend), we will both seem older. We will study every detail of every inch of each other's face and try to think of how much better the other looks. We don't mention the aging--we only see it and absorb it. Then, when in our cars, driving away, each of us will glance into the rearview and pull at a gray hair or tighten a wrinkle or suck in our pouting cheeks. We will then think about what it was like to be young and flexible and smooth all over. Our stomachs like milk, our faces like porcelain, our fingers more agile than most, our nails lacking of yellow, ours boobs not requiring a bra, our hair full of body and our asses completely shaped. We will think about trips we took to Europe--the people we met, the stories they told and the way we felt when we looked at a piece of art or a body of water or a scrap of vast land or a glass of wine that would get us a bit tipsy, as we had just learned to drink. We will remember our prime and how we didn't relish it and all its advantages: the free drinks, the offers for dates, the bike rides to parks, the grocery budget of $30 a month, the times when we got our hands dirty to make a little cash, the outings with old friends, the struggle to get a ride home after you'd walked somewhere, the lazy afternoons reading the paper and eating hot dogs with beer, the bowl of peanuts on our tables, the excitement we felt everytime a personal letter sat in our mailbox. We will remember first dates and last dances and bad parties and first apartments and last goodbyes. We were fabulous then. So will we be fabulous ever again?

Ok, I won't lie. There was a shooting two doors down from me on Wednesday morning. We've had problems with people thinking I'm a prostitute, but never did we imagine that a man would get shot when trying to stop some assholes from breaking into his car on the street. Here's all the Post-Disgrace wrote: "A man was critically wounded in his home early Wednesday by shots fired from outside by someone apparently breaking into a car, St. Louis police said. David Schoenberger Jr., 27, was shot twice in the head shortly after 3 a.m. while in his living room in the 100 block of Eichelberger Street, at South Broadway, police said. He was in critical and unstable condition at a hospital. Neighbors told police they heard a car alarm going off, followed by two gunshots. Police discovered that a car parked below Schoenberger's second-story window had damage to the driver's door lock, and shell casings were found nearby. Detectives theorize that Schoenberger heard the alarm, saw someone tampering with the car below, yelled at the person through his window and got shot by slugs that went through a wall. " This morning I got a call from the Neighborhood Stabilization Officer whom I had been in minimal contact with prior to this incident. I emailed him once after I got so riled up over the cat calls and male prostitution in the park up the street. His message said, "Hey Sarah, it's Brian. I just wanted to make sure you were ok. After I heard the address of the shooting, I thought I'd just check up and make certain you were alright. Give me a call." Now, if that's not the nicest thing someone from the neighborhood association could do, I don't know what is. He's interested in starting a Neighborhood Watch Association, which I would gladly take part in. Along with the club I've obtained. My concern was how this 'hood compares to others in terms of car theft, as this area's been hit a few times in the past couple months. Yes, have a club on your wheel and don't leave stuff on your seats and have a car alarm if you can, but if people are that intent on getting someone's car and then go and shoot them when there's an attempt to stop them, I'm sure they wouldn't have minded the club or the lack of belongings on the seat. According to the February stats posted by the STL Metropolitan Police Dept, there were 1,065 auto thefts in St. Loius. 19 of those occured in my neighborhood, Mt. Pleasant, an area of just a few, if not a couple, square miles near Carondelet and Dutchtown. Out of the 89 neighborhoods logged, we ranked 19th in car thievery in February. There were a total of 130 last year, so we're ahead of the game so far this year on average, with 12 in January and 19 in February. In terms of aggravated assult with a gun, there were 20 episodes last year, making Mt. Pleasant 34th out of the 89 'hoods. So far this year, there have been five incidents. What can stop this? Street lights? A Watch Association? Constant police surveillance? I'm sure that most of these thieves are not from around here, as this area is pretty damn nice compared to further north. Yes, it worries me, but this stuff can happen anywhere--even in the county.

In writing this, I don't mean to undermine any of the relationships I have with people. Everyone in my life is in it because I want them to be; the following is only an offering of my thinking and is not meant to subliminally tell someone that they're not important to me. This thought struck me as I considered being in a relationship and why it was beneficial. Why ARE human relationships beneficial? Why DO people get married and have boyfriends and girlfriends? There is a lot of pain and work involved, and heartbreak happens often, indicated by the increasing divorce rate and incidents where an ex floods your basement by sticking a hose through the Dorothy doors outside your house. People don't always get along, so why do we establish such bonds that will maybe end up broken later on? Can't we survive on our own with the help of a journal and a TV and music and books and other activities? Is it the sex that people want so badly? Is it physical affection? Is it emotional strength that other people give us? Shouldn't we be self-sufficient? We're more sophisticated than other mammals, yet we're more dependant upon others of our kind to keep us company and give us something we apparently can't obtain alone. I was recently told that I think too much about things like this and should just relax and enjoy it all. Why do we cohabitate and hang out and marry and spend time together? Because it's fun. Because it gives us confidence. Because we can gain experience in social situations. Because it's all relatively harmless; that is, unless you think about it to the extent that I do.

I will not drink green beer or wear those stupid diddly bobbers on my head. I will not get drunk or kiss anyone I'm not supposed to kiss. I will drink lots of water and eat lots of bread, but will never ask you to kiss me because I'm Irish. As a cold slowly sets in, I'm wondering what I've done to become unhealthy. I get my veggie and fruit servings. I get plenty of sleep. I dress warmly and always with a hat. Maybe it was the asbestos in Fred's house or the paint fumes in Alicia's. The insides of my ears itch so badly, I'm tempted to stick something larger than my elbow in there to get whatever's annoying it./Next week is the end of all this acting like a youngin'. I'll be big. And large. And too old to comprehend the freedom that I used to have as a 22-year-old. Does this mean I need to find a full-time job where I do the same boring thing every single day? No. Certainly not.

I like pulp in my orange juice, but I don't like chunks in my peanut butter.

have a couch that I can have or buy or borrow?

I've always been in the "scene" somewhat, but my involvement has increased greatly in the past few months, due to my mate's status as the 49th most powerful person in St. Louis. VIP invites, cocktail parties, comped dinners and free tickets galore, I've finally learned how small this city actually is. At the fashion show last night held at Mad Art, the traditional crowd was present, but the attitude was different and the air slightly muggier than usual. Rob Thurman, a different sort of "man about town," engaged me in a conversation about Romania, Hunarian women on Saturday afternoons, gypsy children, his birthday and the surrounding setting. "I'm not really used to hanging with this crowd," I said, feeling slightly uncomfortable among too many familiar faces. Rob retorted: "You do too hang around this crowd--just not when they look like this." How true, how true. Feathers in hair, skirts reminiscent of parlor drapes (a word Steve claimed should be used more often than it is), bellies bursting and pasties protruding, this "style" of St. Louis was not making a lasting impression on me. Sure, enough of one to write about, but not to mimic or remember past the initial shock and horror. I had just come from a fish fry, and the stark contrast is maybe what jolted me so much. I ate frozen green beans and baked fish with Wonder bread off a styrofoam tray with plastic utensils and drank Busch beer from a can. We sat at long cafeteria tables full of Catholics whose children ran around, yelling and falling and sometimes drooling on their shirts. We saw Dan Gray get food to go. They sold raffle tickets, a genuine 50/50, with the names of states on them. Tom picked Alaska and Kentucky, the first place his application for a job was rejected and where an ex was from, respectively. I hadn't noticed that I was wearing green earrings, a green shirt and a white sweater until someone pointed out next weekend's significance; I pulled the earrings off as soon as I walked in the door and saw a man's hair sprayed green. So, smelling slightly of fish and cheap beer, we walked into the fashion show where everyone wore the same fake smile and stressed out about unidentifiables walking across the red carpet. St. Louis, no matter how hard it tries, cannot be pretentious. You may look like it and act like it, but I don't believe you.

"Guys think girls don't poop or masturbate."--From a morning conversation online. "You do too hang around this crowd--just not when they look like this."--Rob Thurman on the extravagance of the Forbidden Fashion Show attendees.

On Tuesday I head to a photography studio to get my headshot done for the Mag. Shoulders up, nothing too intricate. When they called to schedule, I asked, "Do I have to wear anything specialy? Apply make-up or anything?" I've never posed for anything but my senior photos, which were taken outside by a friend. I also posed for my friend Geoff, who just wanted to test out his camera. But this is for real, ya know? Will my nervous pigmentation kick in and my cheeks will go red? Will my fly-aways act up again? Will my right eye, which is slightly more closed than the opposite, look completely shut? What about those lines on my neck? And my small ears? Will they show my small ears? I don't want to smile with my teeth. Actually, I would prefer not to smile at all. Maybe just a gaze. A simple gaze would do. I hope they don't shoot my profile. Thanks, Fundels, for that nose of mine. This is my future, we're talking about here. We can't have it botched by some nasty pic! I'll be fine. I'm supposed to say, "Cheese," right?

Sarah is happy in her apartment. She likes the sunlight that comes from the southwest and into her stained glass windows. She likes that she lives upstairs, with three rooms to herself. Sarah also likes her built-in cabinets and amount of closet space. She likes tending to the yard and calling the landlord and cops when necessary. She is a good neighbor, good citizen and a good tenant. Sarah likes when it's quiet and no one's around. She hardly turns on the radio, but, when she does, it's either Classic 99.1 or NPR 90.7. She likes all music or all talk, not a mixture. She likes when her nose is cold while she sits at her table, typing on the computer, eating or talking with friends. Her St. Louis flag blocks some prime sunlight, but she's happy that her pride is sometimes more important than the sun. She enjoys riding her bike for transportation purposes and has been known to take the bus occasionally when traveling downtown. She is cautious and suspectful and inclined to ask you a question when you least expect it. She is unsure of what is coming next and wish she could mend all her ills and faults and needed and wants and desires. She's unable to tell some people how much they mean to her. Sarah is also a little bit shy when it comes to the truth. She knows her options and what the opportunities would bring her, but she fails to admit to them and acknowledge their truth. She apologizes for any misunderstandings, any games or any unkept promises. She knows you're there, she just might not always say hello.