Speaking out about National tragedies is never something that I would have done.  I like to make people happy.  I am Sarah the people pleaser.  I write fluff about wearing men’s tighty whities and making low production quality Harlem Shake videos.  I contemplate writing something about yesterday’s tragedy then stop and think, “Leave the serious stuff to those intelligent people out there who really know what they’re talking about.  This is not the time for fart joke writers.”  But then I realized, “Sarah. You are smart.  You are more than fart jokes.  You are a human being who was born on this planet just like everyone else.  Scratch that.  NOT just like everyone else because there is no one in the world exactly like you.  There is no one on the planet that is exactly like anyone else.  And that s*it is science!  Wait.  Are twins exactly alike?  Don’t they have the same DNA?  I seem to recall an episode of CSI, or NCIS, or LSD where one twin got framed for the  kidnapping of a donkey when it was actually the other twin who was the donkey kidnapper but they had the same kind of spit left on a coffee mug?  I guess it doesn’t matter because I’m not a twin.  So (sorry twins) there is no one in the world exactly like me, and I’m going to share exactly how I feel about the bombing of the Boston Marathon yesterday!”  And because I am who I am….I’m going to do it in list form!

How I feel about the Boston Marathon Bombing

(emotions in order of appearance)

Mother F*cking Angry!

Why would someone ever do this?!?!  I can’t even kill a spider!  I literally will capture the spider in a glass or on paper plate or what have you, walk it outside, and set it free.  That gross, probably man-eating spider has every right to be here just as much as I do!  Why would someone hurt another innocent human being?!  And why the supporters of people who are running a marathon?!?!  What could any of them have possibly done to deserve this?!?!  They spent all morning drawing “You can do it Mommy!” signs on a fluorescent yellow poster board, NOT plotting to annihilate hundreds of civilians.  And an 8 year old boy?!!  When I was 8 years old I had just learned that laughing while drinking chocolate milk was a bad idea.  Did this little boy even get the chance to discover that yet?!?  I hope whoever did this gets what’s coming to them!  I want them set on fire!  No, scratch that.  I want them set on fire while simultaneously having to organize a box of scrambled coat hangers (If you’ve ever worked coat check you know how horrible of a task this is)!  I know, I know.  I’m not supposed to want to harm anyone, and violence doesn’t solve violence. But it’s so hard not to wish infinite pain upon these A-Holes.  In my heart, I just really need this/these f*ckers to learn that what they did was horribly horribly wrong…and maybe all of the man-eating spiders that I’ve freed over the years will form an army and hunt out who ever this person/these people are and teach them said lesson.

Confusion

What am I supposed to learn from this?  I need to learn something from this.  I need something good to come out of something so horrible.  Am I to recognize that I should probably start living my life to it’s fullest because you never know when it’s going to end?  If so, then how do I do that.  I’m pretty good at living life (refer to Day 104: Home Alone and 30… or Day 52: Wine Rack Wednesday...) but I do spend some of my time doing things that don’t make me happy.  Like working for soul suckers.  But I need money to pay rent and afford this computer that I love to write on, and be able to go to my best friend’s wedding this summer, and to order in Thai Food.  So, if I’m supposed to learn that I need to live my life to it’s fullest, how the heck am I supposed to do things that make me happy 100% of the time?  Eating cheese fries all day every day would make me ridiculously happy, but I weighing  500 lbs would not.  Never having to work at a crap job until my career plan pans out would make me really happy, but having no money and living with hobos would not.  Then I start to wonder that money and food probably shouldn’t be the only things that make me happy and that those are things that I should probably discuss with a therapist but then remember that I don’t have a therapist because I don’t have health insurance and then wonder if I should just get a job at Trader Joes or Starbucks so I could get health insurance and then get a therapist to talk about my food/money problems with, but realize that working at neither of those places would make me happy and then I’m back where I started.  (Note to self.  Remember what makes you happy besides eating and money.)

Confusion Part II

What if?

What if this was a Chicken Soup for the Soul type of situation.  You know, like the story about the little boy at school who sees another little boy walking home from school all alone and decides to talk to him, only later to find out that the lonely little boy walking by himself had a gun in his bag and was going to kill himself when he got home because he didn’t have any friends and by talking to him, this other little boy saved his life?   Was this what happened to those horrible people who committed these crimes?  Only instead of taking their own lives, they directed their anger onto the people of Boston?  Don’t get me wrong, whatever bad things had happened to them in the past is no excuse for what they did, and I’m still sending my army of spiders to attack them.  But, was someone really mean to these people that did this?  If we were all really nice to each other would the world be a hate free place?  Or are some people just pure evil and there’s absolutely nothing we can do about it?

TERRIFIED

If this can happen at the Boston Marathon then it can happen anywhere.  Was it planned to happen at the New York City Marathon, and because it got cancelled by that bitch Hurricane Sandy, did the evil doers move on to the next big city?  Is Hurricane Sandy not really a bitch at all, but rather an angel protecting my beloved home?  And is it terrible for me to be thankful that it didn’t happen here?  Today, I’m off to see a taping of the Daily Show in midtown.  Should I be terrified?  Should I just do what I know my parents are secretly wishing and move to Virginia?  Is Virginia even safe?  Of course not.  A small elementary school in Connecticut wasn’t even safe.  No one is safe.

Just Plain Sad 

Neither words nor this  frowny face above can justify what I feel for the people who are suffering from this tragedy.  It’s just not freaking fair and there’s nothing that I or any of us can do to change it.  I hate being helpless. I hate seeing things that I can’t fix.  Should I go donate blood?  Should I volunteer at a mental health clinic.  Should I not have spent the whole weekend sitting on my couch drinking wine, watching TV and sleeping in, instead of going out and enjoying the world because now there are 3 people who won’t get to see another day on this beautiful planet?  Should I be mad at myself for being upset about trivial things like work, money, or the pesky 10lbs that I can’t seem to lose when I should be thankful that I didn’t lose me best friend or my own leg in an act of hate?  Should I spend more time with my family because there are people that lost theirs?  Should we spend every day following this story and learning about each individual who was harmed and what new leads have been uncovered?  Or would that attention only be exactly what the horrible people who did this wanted?

Conclusion?

I don’t know what the answer is.  I don’t believe anyone does.  I know that I am sad, and that the sadness will pass sooner for me than for those most closely affected by yesterday’s events.  I suppose I am just going to try to make the happiest life for myself as possible, try to make a few folks smile along the way, and pray for the families that were affected by this tragedy…and maybe send out a call to my spider army.

God Bless you.

And God Bless Boston.

(Picture of North Shore Music Theatre’s cast of GYPSY on our day trip to Boston…I love that place…)

Here’s how it goes in New York City:

Unless you are rich.  Or are married to someone rich.  Or have rich parents.  Or have a creepy rich gentleman friend interested in supporting your “career.”  Or look exactly like and have the same name as a rich person that has either died or fled the country.  Or live in Brooklyn.

You live with roommates.

 And I love having roommates!  I especially love my 2 roommates that I’m lucky enough to share my beautiful apartment with.  I love coming home and hearing about what crazy things they had been up to that day.  What weird illegal non-domestic animals they came across on the C train.  Whether or not they got yelled at by a hobo.  What that hobo was wearing (that’s the first thing you ask when any hobo story comes up.   Person A: “Well, he was wearing a pink snow suit and carried a Casio Keyboard.” Person B “Oh, you mean Cassandron!  Did he play you his artistically enhanced version of Chop Sticks?” Person A “No, he just smiled at me while he took a dump in his pants.”  Person B “You win some, you lose some.”)  You know, the usual things you talk about with your roommates.  I am a super social person and I really do love having roommates.  BUT, once every 8 months or so, I have a night where both of my roommates are out of town, and (because of unusual circumstances) do not have to work.  I weighed my options.  Sure, I could go out.  After all, it is a beautiful Saturday night in New York City.  Or I could stay home.  In my apartment.  With ABSOLUTELY NO ONE AROUND….FOR A FULL 24 HOURS!  I think you’ll gather by my use of Caps Lock here which option I chose….

Sarah’s Much Needed Saturday Night Home Alone!

I know this is probably quite obvious to all of you out there, but just to be clear… whenever you are absolutely positive that you’re going to be Home Alone with no interruptions the first thing you absolutely must do upon entering your apartment is…

REMOVE YOUR PANTS!!

Ok.  You caught me.  You kids are so smart. The actual first thing you should do is call your friend Rebecca to come over and take pictures of you being 100% alone in your apartment.

Now that you’ve rid yourself of those super restrictive pants you’re ready to do the official SixtySixDaysofSarah Home Alone Security Inspection, (Copyright pending)(and judging by what I’ve heard about the Home Alone Franchise the prognoses is not good…I mean, they made like 8 (exaggeration) more movies with some other weirdo kid after Macaulay Culkin got pubes…because they are money hungry bastards who don’t know the true meaning of Christmas…I digress…).  My Home Alone Inspection process only involves One Step:  Uncover the most crucial hiding spot for all boogie men/serial killers/old timey ghosts/space zombies… the shower!!!  So grab your ferocious at home security assistant and check it out.

All clear!   But to be on the safe side, make sure to turn on every light and TV in the apartment until your roomies return (and then ignore their questions when the electric bill arrives.  After all, safety first)!

Time to slip into something a little more comfortable.  After all, it’s going to be a long night of independent fun…but not in the gross way you’re thinking…pervs…  Here is a perfect  example of a quintessential Home Alone outfit.

Yes, that is a T-shirt with Ron Burgundy’s portrait on it.  Yes, that is a Pabst Blue Ribbon Headband. Yes, those are men’s  tighty whities…don’t be mad…they are surprisingly  comfortable. Yes, that is my back side in the mirror behind me, I didn’t plan it that way but you’re welcome.   And yes, those are some underpants on the floor that I should have probably picked up before having this picture taken, but I have a very important rule about Home Alone day…PICK UP NOTHING!

Next, it’s time to set up an Afghan picnic!

No no no!  It’s not what you’re thinking, you racists.  When I’m Home Alone I enjoy ordering in and having an indoor picnic on this colorful blanket that my grandma made for me…and so does Ruby.

And don’t forget dessert.

Before we really get down to the most important part of being Home Alone (watching TV), it’s time to play a little game that we in our apartment call “Hide the Headshot.”  You see, for the last 6 years or so, we’ve made an official game of headshot hiding.  All you need to play is a cut out picture of your face and your imagination.  The object of the game is to hide your headshot in a clever place in your roommate’s room that they may not find for a little while.  You can’t be too obvious.  That way in 3 months or so, you’ll hear a scream coming from their room followed by the phrase “Well played Sarah!  Well played!”  It’s a very fun game and I encourage you all at home to give it a whirl.

Here’s an example:

Now, I didn’t actually hide my headshot there because my roommate Abby is an avid reader of my blog (as all of you A-holes out there should be!) and documenting my actual hiding space would take away from the fun.

Now that all of the essentials are taken care of, it’s time to get down to the best part of Home Alone-ness.  No it’s not porn!  Jeez.  We’ve got a lot of pervs reading today. Besides, I already told you that it’s TV watching!  Just watching the tube and drinking wine in your underwear all night long…Mmmm.

I started off with a marathon of Criminal Minds on Ion…

Then once it got too scary and I realized that my only protection was a 12 lb dog in a pizza coma and that I looked an awful lot like that dead child on the right when I was growing up, and that it’s been a few hours since I checked behind the shower curtain…

I changed the channel!

And wonder why on earth The Sponge Bob Square Pants Movie is on the Independent Film Channel?

So there it is.

In conclusion, there’s nothing like being Home Alone and 30.  I never want to clean up after myself, drink out of a glass, or put toilet paper back on the roll again!  But alas, the day is over and now it’s time to go back to civilization, with underwear made for women…and those pesky pants.

*If any of you would like to subscribe to my blog to get alerted when I write new posts so that you don’t have to rely on Facebook or that batman like shadow that I post in the sky, please do.  I think there’s a ‘follow’ button somewhere.*

]]> http://sixtysixdaysofsarah.com/2013/04/14/day-104-home-alone-and-30/feed/ 1 sixtysixdaysofsarah 2013-04-14 12.55.23 2013-04-14 12.55.46 2013-04-14 12.56.13 2013-04-14 12.58.20 2013-04-14 13.01.26 2013-04-14 13.00.49 2013-04-14 12.46.21 2013-04-14 12.47.39 2013-04-14 13.03.30 2013-04-14 16.04.45 2013-04-14 13.04.33 2013-04-14 13.05.00 2013-04-14 16.04.45 2013-04-14 13.06.34 2013-04-14 14.27.53 2013-04-14 14.29.40 2013-04-14 17.17.44 http://sixtysixdaysofsarah.com/2013/04/12/day-105-how-to-spice-up-your-terrible-terrible-day/ http://sixtysixdaysofsarah.com/2013/04/12/day-105-how-to-spice-up-your-terrible-terrible-day/#comments Fri, 12 Apr 2013 21:33:18 +0000 sixtysixdaysofsarah http://sixtysixdaysofsarah.com/?p=1605 ]]>  

Hey there adoring fans (Alex from Improv)!

So sometimes we get depressed when there’s a bump in the road, right?  Ok ok.  I didn’t mean to bring you into this.  This is my problem.  Hello, my name is Sarah and today I was depressed about my current bump in the road.  And then you guys say back “Hi, Sarah” and then I share with you all what’s going on at my job and why I am broke.  Unfortunately, I can’t really tell you guys about because it would be a terrible idea for me to document what’s happening until it’s over.  Don’t worry Dad.  It’s nothing serious at all.  I’m just standing up for the greater good like you always taught me.  And yes I will pay my taxes…in June…as usual…now get off my back!  Anywho.  I was super bummed out today but am very aware that being bummed out isn’t going to help the situation.  Like I always say, “Worry is a prayer for chaos in our lives” (you’re right.  I don’t always say that .  I stole it from the Spirit Junkie, or Oprah’s Super Soul Sunday or 16 and Pregnant, or something.  Whatever. It works).  So instead I decided to cheer myself up, and thought it would be nice to give you all some of my tips for cheering yourselves up when you get depressed because of the “off the record”  ass wipes that we have to deal with in life.

Sarah’s 5 Steps to Instant Happiness

Step 1:

  Order in takeout (preferably a lunch special of sorts).

Step 2:

 Hang out with a furry animal.

Better yet, put that furry animal in a silly outfit.  Here we have Flight of the Rubles Bee.

Step 3:  

Crack open a cold one and chat it out with your mentor.  She didn’t have it great all the time either, right?

(and by all means, do NOT put on any make up for any of these pictures!)

Step 4:

Put something equivalent to your goal weight on your bathroom scale, and pretend that it’s your current weight just in time for bikini season.

Ok, ok.  You’re right.  This is just ridiculous.

That’s better.

And finally,

Step 5:

Make your own Harlem Shake video.

http://youtu.be/wVcgLZwaPXQ

There you have it.  The next time you’re feeling gloomy about your career and life and bikini bod, just follow these simple steps and you’re sure to get back on track…or at least become a youtube sensation.

*If any of you would like to subscribe to my blog to get alerted when I write new posts so that you don’t have to rely on Facebook or that batman like shadow that I post in the sky, please do.  I think there’s a ‘follow’ button somewhere.*

Today, April 3rd, is not only National Chocolate Mousse day, and No Housework day (nailing it!) but more importantly it is my dog Ruby’s 7th birthday!  Because Ruby is my best friend (yeah, so what?!  My dog is my best friend.  There are plenty of awesome people with animal best friends: Timmy and Lassie, Ross and Marcel, Siegfried/Roy and Montecore, Steve Irwin and sting ray…) I’ve decided to take my blog readers on a little stroll down memory lane.

A Thank You note for my dearest Ruby

Thank you to every Regional Theatre in America for not hiring me during the summer of 2006, giving me more time to raise a puppy and less time to send hate mail to every Regional Theatre in America in 2006.

Thank you petfinder.com for charging too much for Brussels Griffons (which is what I originally wanted)  and thank you for advertising the basically same but slightly weirder looking Affenpinschers for a more reasonable price.  Thank you also for introducing me to a lovely breeder who posted this photo of the cutest puppy on planet earth who seems to be blowing me a kiss…and thank you to all of the middle aged men who tipped heavily in exchange for fake phone numbers at the bar I was working at so I could afford her.

Thank you Mom and Dad for thinking that I put seven hundred and thirty dollars down on a lemon, and then for driving from Virginia to Ohio to transport the lemon and (more importantly) to prove to me that the puppy I had put a down payment on probably only had 3 legs, 1 eye, and 8 days to live.  And thank you for being wrong.  I love you!

Thank you adorable Ruby for making me the happiest gal in Harlem, and thank you to all of my friends and family for letting me have hair the color of a yellow highlighter for so very long.

Thank you Ruby for also being wee-wee pad trained from ages 9 weeks- 12 weeks old…

And then for forgetting that you were wee-wee pad trained and  peeing all over my suitcase immediately after this picture was taken.

As you’ve grown older…

Thank you for putting up with all of the questionable outfits that I’ve made you wear…

…and thank you for putting up with all of the questionable outfits that I’ve worn…

Thank you for sharing my affinity for the horrible horrible Twilight movies…

…and day drinking.

Thank you for helping me fold my laundry…

and make my bed.

Thank you for liking some of my friends…

and not murdering others in their sleep…

Thank you for saving me from that scary lobster we saw in Central Park that one time…

and for chowing down on some human feces you found in the park the next day…

Yes, my Ruby Pubey.  I want to thank you for all of the joy that you’ve brought into my life.  Even as you sit here on the bed barking out the window at people on the street while I’m not paying attention to you because I’m trying to write an effing heartfelt letter to you on your birthday which you can’t read anyway and would probably prefer me to just take you outside so you can bark at the street people in person because why would any dog ever want a blog post as a birthday gift as opposed to some primo people harassing or at least a pig ear for God’s sake!

We’ve had quite the 7 years together.  Here’s to 7 more!

*If any of you would like to subscribe to my blog to get alerted when I write new posts so that you don’t have to rely on Facebook or that batman like shadow that I post in the sky, please do.  I think there’s a ‘follow’ button somewhere.*

This is Abby Church.

This is why this post is about Abby Church and not the other kind of Church as the heading implies…gotcha…peace be with you:

If you are not a loyal reader (because you are a loser…or a hobo who stole somebody’s computer while they were in the bathroom at Starbucks because the nice little old lady that said she would watch it got up and left because she realized she forgot to record her stories and you “the hobo” google searched SixtySixdaysofSarah because there’s been talk around town that the blog frequently compares things to hobos…and now you feel like a celebrity so congratulations!  Now put that computer back where you found it…maybe leave the browser open to my blog though…I could always use more readers…) then you may not know that Abby Church is my roommate.  Abby is a brilliant and successful Broadway actor/dancer/singer and a big supporter of mine.  She follows my blog (and convinced several of her family members to follow my blog…Hi Church’s and in-laws of Church’s!), comes to all of my improv shows, and cleans the bathroom when I forget to.  These are all good accounts of her awesomeness, but this Wednesday she went above and beyond toilet bowl cleaning.  You see, on Wednesday night I had an Improv show that I was pretty nervous about.  I’ve gotten to that place where it’s no longer impressive that I can stand on stage and talk.  That jig is up.  Now I’ve been doing it long enough where I should be hilarious and impressive at all times and am put on stage with people that have been doing improv for 10 years so I have to man up and be as crazy good as they are.  Plus, my friends have already seen me do the easy stuff.  It must be like babies and potty training where after they poop in the toilet for the first time the parents cheer, cry, and buy an ice cream cake, but every time the child uses the toilet there after is a snooze fest.  I only assume this is how potty training goes as I have no idea how babies work (see Day 74: So I guess the Children are our future?).  I did a fine job in the show, but I felt I didn’t fully step up to the plate and was under impressed with my work, so naturally I was a little bummed when I arrived at the after party and could not wait to grab a beer.  Abby was waiting for me at the bar.  She gave me a hug, told me I was awesome, and handed me a card.  It was a business card and read:

Sarah Bullwinkle*

actress.  writer.  comedian.  bad ass.

http://www.sixtysixdaysofsarah.com

time to make life a little more awesome.

I almost cried.  She had an entire box of business cards made for me.  And when I asked why, she said “‘Cause you’re the real deal.”   This is why Abby Church is so awesome.  Because it wasn’t my Birthday, or Christmas, or National Give Your Roommate a Gift so Great it Will Make Her Cry Day.  But because she believes in me when sometimes I forget to believe in myself.  I hope you all find an Abby Church in your lives…cause you can’t have mine!

*My last name has been changed to protect myself from computer thieving hobo’s.

]]> http://sixtysixdaysofsarah.com/2013/03/29/day-89-how-i-feel-about-church/feed/ 0 sixtysixdaysofsarah 262022_740162336719_6993255_n 2013-03-29 15.23.59 http://sixtysixdaysofsarah.com/2013/03/22/day-80-last-friday-night/ http://sixtysixdaysofsarah.com/2013/03/22/day-80-last-friday-night/#comments Fri, 22 Mar 2013 00:32:31 +0000 sixtysixdaysofsarah http://sixtysixdaysofsarah.com/?p=1558 ]]> Hey there adoring fans (Matty Wilson)!

I don’t think Jesus knew what lay inside Pandora’s box when he invented certain things: cheese from a squirt can, a bra that holds an entire bottle of wine (see Day 52: Wine Rack Wednesday!) and the most evil/amazing service of them all…Netflix!  I mean, sure, he did a great job by bringing us Tivo (remember Tivo?  Or do you just remember Miranda Hobbes liking Tivo? or do you even appreciate that I google imaged Tivo so that I could show the proper color palette?), followed by DVR and Primetime on Demand, but even those inventions required a picking up of the remote to fast-forward through commercials or at least a good minute or two of watching pre-paid advertisements to convince us to spend our time watching  other shows rather than playing with our children (error: you playing your children) or taking a stroll through the park (error: going to the liquor store).  But then Jesus, the Devil, the creator of Popples, and Snowball (my albino bunny rabbit from growing up who always had menacing red eyes) got together for their weekly poker night and after a few Jameson shots came up with the idea of Netflix.  Gone are the days where I would say things like “Don’t worry Abby, I’ll load the dishwasher during the next commercial break,” or “Ok, Sarah.  If you’re going to spend your evening at home watching TV and eating Thai food, the least you can do is a few crunches whenever you see that adorable GEICO Gecko.”  Yes America, the reason why we are fat with dirty dishes and un-taken-out recyclables is because of Netflix.   And all because of Netflix, my last Friday night was spent NOT dancing on table tops, skinny dipping in the dark, or having a menage trois’ like adorable teen icon Katy Perry* would have recommended, but it was spent watching Netflix.  Now, as I do realize that I need to write a blog about this experience (what could be more entertaining than someone writing about watching TV?  Oh, I know…watching paint dry…or just watching TV yourself…duh) so instead of going for my usual RomCom or 15th episode of Arrested Development (I know!  I got a late start on it, but this show is hilarious!) I decided to broaden my horizons a little bit with a documentary.  After all, I am trying to improve my life here, and what better way to do that than to stay informed about the world around me.  Plus you don’t have to read anything!  The documentaries provide all of the one sided facts you need  on any topic you could think of: food, sex, small super skinny third world country children with bugs constantly landing on their eyeballs, fat white guys who make beer/grow pot, or a little robot that cleans up our planet’s mess so us humans can go on a space cruise and drink food through a straw while losing bone density (ok, ok, that was Wall-E but it’s basically a documentary from the future.  No?  You don’t think so?  Well no one asked you Snowball so take your creepy eyeballs and get out of here!)  I started with one documentary, but quickly fell down the slippery slope of Netflix/humanity with 2 more and finally hit the bottom of the barrel…and my wine bottle.  I’ve chosen to review these movies with a poem (because I’m super artsy and deep (that’s what he said!):

First up: Vegucated

Roses are red,

violets are blue.

Our planet is dying,

because of cow poo.

Second Up:   Inside North Korea

(with that chick that was on the View a long time ago)

A haiku …

This sh*t is crazy

Don’t go to North Korea

Because you will die.

Now I needed something to cheer me up.  My BF, Netflix, needed to show me something funny about the world we live in which brings me to our third and final movie…

3.  Joan Rivers!

(is surprisingly sad)

There once was a woman named Joan,

whose face makes you just want to groan.

She still is alive,

at age seventy-five

But I’d much rather watch Home Alone.

I give up!  This poor woman’s story should be so inspiring, but at the end of the day, it’s just as depressing as veal marsala, and North Korean karaoke parties.

And I’m done.   Time to put on Wall-E, at least there’s a happy ending there…kind of.

Alright alright.  I didn’t watch Wall-E (couldn’t figure out how to use the Blue Ray player when my roommate John is not here).  I’ve thought about my night of documentaries and came up with a moral for these stories…well, two of them anyway.  The Moral of Vegucated and Inside North Korea:   It’s easy to ignore what’s happening in our world and to continue going on with our easy peazy lives.  It’s a lot harder to stand up and fight or let alone recognize what’s happening to other people’s/animal’s rights, and I am very thankful for the people who produced these movies for pulling the wool from my eyes to show me what’s really going on in slaughter houses/North Korea (it’s odd how similar these 2 things are).  All 12 of you reading this should totally watch these movies!

As far as Miss. Joan Rivers is concerned…

I commend her on working hard against all odds and paving the way for female comics.  I just wish she wasn’t so sad all the time, but then again, she is human (64%) and should not have to be happy for the likes of me.  I do really hate when I walk into a room without a smile on my face and then  have a friend ask me “what’s wrong?”  I get that I’m the life of the party 90% of the time (you’re welcome), but that doesn’t mean that I have to be it 100% of the time…does it?  Now I feel horrible about wishing that Joan Rivers wasn’t so sad.  I take it back!  Be sad all you want sister!  Live your life!  Viva Las Vegas!  So there’s my take away.  Be who you are, and feel how you want to feel, and stop giving a f*ck about what anyone else has to say about it.

*If any of you would like to subscribe to my blog to get alerted when I write new posts so that you don’t have to rely on Facebook or that batman like shadow that I post in the sky, please do.  I think there’s a ‘follow’ button somewhere.*

<img class="aligncenter size-full wp-image-1561" alt="images" src="http://sixtysixdaysofsarah.files.wordpress.com/20

It’s time to let all of my fans out there know that I have come across a new job opportunity…

A.  Argentinian Cardinal.

B.  Mob wife of the MiddleWestSide.

C.  Teaching dance to youths.

If you guessed C, you are correct (A and B are both just fantasy jobs that I create for myself while selling shots to 21 year old hoodlums)!

  This new job opportunity situation all came about because my roommate John had been teaching kids to dance for like ever and had just booked a job that would take him out of the city for 4 months.  Hold on…rewind…before we continue on with John’s story, you need a little background information about me:  You see, I never really took a stab at teaching (stab is probably not the best term to use when speaking about teaching children… Let’s change that to “teaching has never really tickled my fancy”…wait no, that’s just as bad…in a gross way…Ok, how about “I never thought about becoming a dance teacher because) I was far too busy auditioning and performing as a professional dancer.  Plus I always hated hearing that depressing advice: “Well, you could always teach,” which in my mind was the equivalent of saying: “You’re all washed up Sarah.  Throw in the towel and get some use out of that diploma your mother and I are still paying for.”  Now to be clear, my parents have never said that to me, nor has anyone else for that matter.  It’s just one of those snarky little beliefs that I’ve had in my brain about teaching since I was a teenager.  Which is completely silly because had I not had amazing teachers growing up, I wouldn’t be nearly as talented and successful as I am today (What?  I AM talented and successful!  What’s that?  Yes, I did write a blog about only having 37 dollars to my name earlier this week.  Success isn’t measured in money you d-bag!  It’s measured in how many times you’ve been nominated for a Grammy in the category of Original Cast Recording,..which I have….one time…so basically I’m famous.  Suck it.)  I’ve taken a look at what I’ve been up to job wise since I “took a break” from musical theatre audition land, and thought that teaching a few classes here and there could be a good thing.  It would definitely reduce the amount of time I spent working (and drinking) in bars.  Ok, I’ll do it!  Wait are you confused?  I am, I wrote this blog in several nonsensical chunks before putting it together.  And now, I’ve poured myself a glass of wine, so things could get messy.  Let’s go back to where we left off with John…

    Along with teaching tap, jazz, and ballet classes at a studio in Westchester, he was also the choreographer for a junior production of Tarzan.  This is how it went down in our apartment after celebrating the news of his fabulous gig:

 ”I know,” he said to me from down the hall, “You could teach my classes and take over choreographing Tarzan!”

(notice the exclamation point).

“Sure,” I replied.

(notice lack of exclamation point).

   I was sure that I could choreograph.  I have always been a great choreographer.  Proof: In college, I had choreographed and performed an interpretive dance solo to a monologue I wrote based on the mayoclinic.com website about correctly diagnosing hemorrhoids.  It was a crowd favorite!  Plus, I had been in Tarzan in Boston the summer before, so I was super familiar with the show and had already done my gorilla research (very important for Tarzan.  Would you perform Cats without studying those kittens-playing-paddycake videos?  The answer is NO.  Just ask anyone that’s ever done Cats…that’s you Jessica Dillan!).  So, choreography wasn’t the problem…it was the kids.  Ok, let me re-phrase that.  The kids weren’t necessarily problem.  It was the I-haven’t-really-worked-with-kids-for-more-than-a-few-hours-in-my-entire-life that was the problem.  Sure, I’ve subbed a class for a friend from time to time, or taught a weekend workshop, but at the end of the day, all I do is make the tikes laugh for a few hours and then move on with my life, never knowing or being responsible for any of them learning or growing beyond those few hours.  But now, I have to care.  I have to make sure they get better from week to week.  And I do, I really do care.  I just don’t know how kids work these days.  I have no younger siblings, my cousins are all my age, and the only friends of mine that have offspring have babies, and all I know about babies is that I’m not supposed to shake them.  I cannot for the life of me tell how old kids are anymore.  And even if I find out how old they are, I have no idea what age’s know what things…

Here are some examples…

This is a picture of my roommate Abby’s adorable niece, Sadie.

Based on everything I know about children, Sadie is between 0 and 10 years old. She might know how to use the potty OR might know the square root of pi.

Here are 2 children I saw on the street today with their Mom (presumably).

I’m gonna say the one on the left is between 2 and 17, could be having trouble telling time OR is up to date on foreign policy.  The little-er one may be mastering how to tie her shoes OR might be up to Chapter 7 in Fifty Shades of Grey . 

After realizing it might be creepy (OR illegal) to photograph random children on the street, I went into Duane Reade for some more examples.

Here is a card I found of a little boy and a little girl looking all “old-timey” while having ironic dialogue bubbles coming out of their heads.

Let’s call them Dick and Jane.

Jane is either wetting her diaper, OR explaining how to make Dick’s bike more aerodynamic.  Dick has either just discovered that he has a penis, OR is telling Jane to get back in the kitchen where she belongs (he was named Dick for a reason).

And PS you guys. How old is this Dora the Explorer gal anyway?  Six? Quince? Taco?

Now here is a beautiful family that I found at TJ Max (along with a frame that I am considering buying for $12.99).

I think the little boy is between 9 and 19 and the little girl is between… wait…I’m going to go with 9 and 19 as well!  They are twins.  They both could know how to count to 100 OR the meaning of life.  Hold up…those parents are looking between 25 and 40.  That’s my age!  Oh god, people my age have 19 year old spiritually-genius twins that can count to 100.  I should just throw in the towel and call myself a spinster now.  Ruby, it’s time we get some cats!  I’ve got the perfect frame for our spinster family photo (if they take Discover).

Now that we’ve discovered that I am an idiot when it comes to children, I decided to take some time to get my s*it together and gather all of the hard core facts that I could find on kids…

Nailed it!  I’m ready…

So children, after conducting hours of scientific research, I’ve concluded that if at the age of 12, Harry Potter can uncover the Chamber of Secrets and kill both a giant man-eating snake AND small soul-eating diary of a mass murderer, you all should be able to tendu from 5th position.  And if Rue could stay alive through several days of the Hunger Games AND complete an elaborate ingenious plan to blow up the mountain of food hoarded by those d-bag kids from the mean districts, than you should be able to show me some double time steps!  And for you other kids out there that are oddly large, small, slow, pimply, or clubfooted for your age, just take a look at our friends Neville Longbottom or even Peeta Mellark.  Dancing may be the number one best thing on the planet, but Herbology and Cake Decorating run a close second.

PS: This is another card I found at Duane Reade.  I like it even though I can’t tell if the kitten knows physics OR not…OR why it is drinking a martini…OR why it is an Easter Card?

PS:  This is how you research Gorillas.

This is my buddy Vasthy and I in between Act I and II of performing Tarzan.  The more you know (cue rainbow and shooting star).

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And then there’s that one day when you look at your bank account and only have 37 dollars to your name.  You think…

“Wow Sarah.  30 years old and all you have to show for it is these measly 37 dollars.  It looks like your hitting life right out of the park!”

 And it’s not like you are going to have only $37 forever.  In fact, you’re waiting on some unemployment money and picking up a few checks tomorrow.  Plus you are working at a rowdy bar on 5th Avenue on St. Patricks day where you are sure to make some sweet cash in-between dodging the bar fights and underage vomitting.  Then you take a second to re-read everything you’ve written in this post so far and think to yourself that you might want to take a look at your career path.  You consider that maybe if you went back to the way things were and you had a Musical gig lined up like your roommate John, you wouldn’t need to worry about your 37 dollar dilemma because starting on Monday you would be working a solid 36 hours a week tap dancing, receiving health insurance, and rolling in a steady paycheck for $800 or so dollars a week while subletting your apartment in Manhattan.  Plus, once the show goes up you’d only be working 24 hours a week and have plenty of free time to go to the gym and be all skinny again.   But as you take a sip of tea (wine) out of your “How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying” coffee mug,  you remember that the last time you did a show you had more fun being silly in the dressing room and playing practical jokes on the cast then you did performing your ensemble track.  But at least you had money.  Well, not that much money.  You had lots ‘o money when you were on Broadway, but that only lasted a year and you spent all of it on steak dinners, Betsy Johnson dresses, and taxis.  Then you get a little bit happier about the fact that you no longer eat meat because tofu is way less expensive than a steak dinner.  But then you have become counter productive yet again because you remember that you could easily go to the McDonald’s and pick up like 7 burgers for 99 cents but anything tofu based is at least 8 dollars…plus you have to go home and cook it…then you remember that your only good pan is in the dishwasher and then think that you should probably have more than one decent pan to cook with and start shopping online for pans but then are reminded about the $37 dollar budget that you have for the next 36 hours and get sad all over again.  Then you make a list (because that’s what you like to do, and let’s face it, you need some inexpensive cheering up right now)  about all the things that could happen to you in the next 36 hours that require more than 37 dollars.

Possible  things that could happen in the next 36 hours that would require more than $37

Living Social offers a $39 dollar deal where you receive a bottle of Pinot Noir…everyday…for life.

A mysterious stranger has lost his wallet and needs $38 for a cab ride home to his mansion inside the Statue of Liberty and is willing to trade you his beach house in Fiji  for that $38 cab fare but only if you have exactly 38 dollars.

Your dog swallows a mousetrap.

Your agent calls you with an audition for a Colgate commercial but you can’t afford the Crest 3D Whitestrips to erase the evidence of last nights Pinot Noir extravaganza…then wonder if Colgate has a cheaper version of whitening strips and if they did, why haven’t you heard of them?  Maybe it’s not worth going to this audition after all.  Sounds like Colgate needs to get their s*it together anyway.

Your dog swallows a clock radio.

You get invited by a well known ex-rapper to an exclusive dinner party where Missy Misdemeanor Elliott performs her One-Night-Only-I’m-out-of-retirement-and-singing-”I Can’t-Stand-the-Rain”-for-all-of-my-adoring-fans-that-were-obsessed-with-that-song-in-middle-school and you realize that your black garbage bag dress is still at the tailors with a steep up charge of $40 from when you spilled cocktail sauce on it at your last ex-rapper dinner party.

Your dog swallows a chocolate fountain.

The “Hey! You have a face that kind of looks like Tapanga from the popular 90′s teen sitcom Boy Meets World” contest is taking place on the Upper West Side with a $40 entrance fee and the grand prize is a date with the kid who played Minkus who is surprisingly hot and rich now*

Your dog swallows your 37 dollars.

If any of these things happened before I picked up my paycheck tomorrow, I would be super sad.  I hate how money dictates my life.  I guess maybe the answer is that I should not let money dictate my life.  That’s it.  Ok, I’m glad we talked this out.  Bring it in for a hug.  I’m going to borrow a buck from my roommate and take a cab to a very exclusive mansion inside the Statue of Liberty.

*I know you all just googled Minkus from Boy Meets World.

*He is not hot now.

If we go back eons (or just 3 months ago) you’ll notice that I have a little thing (in an admiring way…not a gay way…not that I would throw her out of bed because she would probably just lay there saying hilarious things all night…and bring along a sandwich) for the one and only

Tina Fey…

In fact, one of my goals before the End of the World (this blog originally began as a bucket list of things I wanted to do before D-day/December 21st…I also tried my first raw oyster…impressed?)  was to meet her.  I even went so far as to send her an invitation to Thanksgiving dinner in the shape of a

hand turkey…

And when that didn’t work I spent an entire Sunday afternoon  at the restaurant where a friend had told me she saw her having brunch one time…

She never showed.

(Side note: You’ll notice I wore a very calculated outfit in the hopes that we would be wearing the same sweater so I could say “Hey!  Same sweater!  Did you plan this..wink wink?  Let’s be friends.  I wear glasses for distance.”)

And thanks to a treaty made with the Space Zombies, the world did not end ( everyone knows it was the Space Zombies that were after us…not the Mayans…duh) and I now had an infinite amount of time to meet Tina Fey, find her on Facebook, and wear those little heart necklaces where her’s says “Best” and mine says “Friends 4 Eva”.  With no deadline in sight, I could finally relax.  I turned 30, reevaluated my life and started making new goals for myself.  I re-read The Secret and   created a vision board of all of the things I wanted for my future, and as you can see…

Tina was still there, right at the top!

(and oddly enough, the Family Guy episode featuring Ryan Reynolds came on that night…his picture is on the right had cork-board-flower petal because he is going to be my pool boy…when I get really rich and buy a pool…for my rooftop…of my very own Manhattan Skyscraper…that only has 4 floors because I’m kinda afraid of heights…)

 I added in some more Improv classes to my schedule, continued to work on my screenplay, and started saving my pennies so that soon I could take and acting for TV and Film course.  All of which are things I believe Tina would be proud of.  I kept trucking along and one day, as luck would have it, I got the call.  My friend Sarah’s husband Andrew was a personal trainer in the city and just happened to be the personal-trainer-of-James-Lipton’s-wife’s-boss (say that 5 times fast).  She had been offered tickets for a very special Inside the Actors Studio, but was going to be out of town and asked Andrew if he had any friends that might be interested. And lucky for me Andrew is a big fan of my blog,

so…

on Tuesday March 26th, I was invited to a filming of Inside the Actors Studio with guest artist…my hero…Tina Fey!

And like any good student (stalker) I took some notes that I would like to share with you.

 Here are my favorite quotes from the evening:

“Only in mid 90′s comedy does an obedient white girl from the suburbs count as diversity.”  -when asked to interview for a writing position at SNL, as Lorne was looking for diversity.

“Do you want me, or do you want (me to do) Will Ferrell’s me?” - James Lipton when asked to perform as himself in a film.

“Fuck it.  They can’t fire me.  I don’t work here anymore.” -when approached by SNL to do Sarah Palin.

“Writing is tedious, painful, and boring until it’s done.  Then it’s Thrilling.” - when asked about her process.

“These sketches were not just funny, they were history.” – James Lipton on Tina’s Sarah Palin sketches.

“He’s a hilarious character actor in a leading man’s skull.” - when asked about working with Alec Baldwin.

“They have to talk fast and not paraphrase.” - on auditioning actors for 30 Rock.

“Shhhh…don’t speak.“ – what her father said to her after a stranger had stabbed her in the face.

“Shitballs.” - when asked what her favorite curse word was.

“Your job is to be a director.  Your job is not to teach people that women can be directors” - when asked about women working in a man’s world.

“Talent is not sexually transmitted.  You don’t have to have sex with someone talented to get talent.” - when giving advice to the female acting majors.

“You’re roommates with Oprah!” – when asked what she hoped God would say to her when he met her at the Pearly Gates.

“Don’t eat Lean Cuisines.” - more advice about working with men.

“The nice thing about improv is you learn how to fail.  Five times out of ten it’s going to be terrible.  Failing in front of an audience.  You know it’s not going to kill you.” - on the benefits of Improv.

“Clearly defined characters from the beginning.  Give everyone a clear point of view.  4 white girls living in an apartment.  Not so clear.” – on the success of writing for 30 Rock.

“Laughter” – when asked what was her turn on.

“Cowardice” – when asked what was her turn off.

“If I was just an actress none of this would have happened.” - the reason that I get a lady boner for her.

And just a few other fun facts

Did you know…?

• In High School Tina wrote an anonymous comedy column for her school newspaper.
• She met Amy Poehler in an Improv Company called Improv Olympic.
• Darrell Hammond was actually the first SNL player to try James Lipton, but when it bombed Will Ferrell asked if he could have a stab at it.
• Lorne Michael’s doorman was the first to offer that Tina Fey looked an awful lot like Sarah Palin.

Although I did not get to actually meet Tina (yet), I had a wonderful time listening to her speak.  She is everything I hoped she would be.  She likes the word shitballs and has done a damn good job for us women in the industry.  Oh yeah, and my vision board worked mutha fu*k@’s!

Shout out to my amazing friends Sarah Marie Jenkins Briedis and Andrew Briedis!  You are my heroes!

(And that giant line of people are all of the students that waited outside for 6 hours in order to see the filming.  Which makes me glad that I am 30 and thanks to Andrew and Sarah, a VIP!)

*If any of you would like to subscribe to my blog to get alerted when I write new posts so that you don’t have to rely on Facebook or that batman like shadow that I post in the sky, please do.  I think there’s a ‘subscribe’ button somewhere.*

Let me tell you all about Tina Fey!

Psych.  I have to head to an improv show so I’ll just post this exciting event that happened on Monday.  Stay tuned for Tina Fey Thursday!

So last week I finally sat down (with a bottle of wine) and wrote down some concrete goals for myself.  Immediately after, I regretted it and threw up (I didn’t throw up).  I mean, who says they want to be in the movies?  7 year olds, Teen Moms and the contestants of the new celebrity diving reality show SPLASH, that’s who.  I’ve always enjoyed what little acting I’ve done.  It was always just a line here or there in a musical which usually sounded like “Hey Zippy!  Which way to the Sock-Hop?” or “Oooohhh-oh-oh-ah-ah-ah” (I played a gorilla in Tarzan…not a hooker in a porno…I could see how that phrase could be misleading).  So the Oscars Sunday night were super inspirational (70% of the Oscars on Sunday night were super inspirational).  So I said to myself “Sarah, you pansy, it’s time for you to get your ass out there and start pursuing that dream.  One day you could be joking around with Meryl Streep, lip syncing All That Jazz or challenging Adele to an “F” verses “Th” debate.  In order to make this goal happen you’re gonna have to stop finking about it and get off your ass and do that s*it!”   So I started using my positive thinking powers and the laws of attraction to have an on camera job fall in my lap, and you know what?  It did!  Not really.  Well kinda. My friend Joanna asked me to come along to help her with some behind the scenes work for a shoot of her vaudevillian-silent-movie-webisode, and I was happy to help.  Then (as luck would have it) one of the small dogs that Joanna had cast had bailed on the shoot.  And lucky me…my small dog was camera ready*.

Here is a slide show of how it all worked out.

Part A

For you normal people…

I’m so excited!  My dog is going to be famous!

“Ruby!  Get your s*it together.  You’re gonna be a star.  This could by my your big break!  Oh, these cheek bones!”

“And of course it had to be humid today…”

“What do you mean you don’t want to be a star?  What the HELL is wrong with you!?”

“How else am I going to become a famous actor?!  What, am I supposed to do?  Pay for an acting class?!  That s*it’s expensive!  You have ruined me and brought shame to our family!”

“You know, this hurts me way more than it hurts you…”

But eventually she got the hang of it.

The End.

——————————————————————————————————-

Part B

This is what would have happened had it been a Broadway Musical…

“My daughter can do it!” 

” Since when?”

  “Ever since she’s been here to see how little there is to it.”

“Well, she better get ready right damn now.”

“Well, come on, get your makeup on, there ain’t much time!”

“Not too much makeup, baby.  Young and girlish.  Pure.  Don’t smear that junk all over your face like they do.  You just keep your mouth the way the good Lord made it…you’ll be a lady: grand, elegant…with a classy lady like walk.”

“Oh no— your hair’s all wrong.  You can’t just let it just hang like spaghetti.  Put it up!  It’s got to have class!  Fluff it out in front.  Thank God, the Lord gave us good color — and that you washed it this morning…”

“Baby, it’s all right to walk out when they want you.  But you can’t walk out now when after all these rotten years, we’re still a flop.  That’s quitting.  We can’t quit because we’re a flop!”

“You just walk and dip.  My girl’s a lady, you make ‘em beg for more — and then don’t give it to them!  Now let’s see, anything else?”

“I’ll take this to the conductor.  Just remember.  You are a lady.  And you are going to be a STAR!”

And eventually, she got the hang of it!

The End.

In conclusion…I’m well on my way to starring in feature films.  Just as soon as this web series goes global and my dog becomes famous.  Then the offers will come pouring in, and eventually Spielberg will learn that the owner of that adorable little “naturally curly haired” dog belongs to a fabulous owner with a background in theatre and copyright infringements.  In just a few short months this video will be edited and my Ruby will be featured for a solid 15 seconds in a web series that already has 500 hits on Facebook…and my dear Arthur Laurents will roll over in his grave.

And foshizzle check out the first episode of this web series.  Even though neither Ruby or myself is in it, it’s pretty awesome and features my roommate and some other great and talented friends.

http://www.whocouldaskforanythingmore.webs.com

                                                           The End.

*This story is a big lie.  Joanna had asked me weeks ago if Ruby could be an extra on the show and I said yes.  But this way is better, no?

PS: Big shout out to my fellow cast mates from the Broadway revival of Gypsy.  Because one time I was on Broadway.

The End.

*If any of you would like to subscribe to my blog to get alerted when I write new posts so that you don’t have to rely on Facebook or that batman like shadow that I post in the sky, please do.  I think there’s a ‘follow’ button somewhere.*