Day 106: Perspective…

Hey there adoring fans (Tena Michelle)!

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.


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?


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?


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…)

Day 104: Home Alone and 30…

Hey there adoring fans (Jeff Kuhr)!

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…

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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.

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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.

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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.

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And don’t forget dessert.

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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:

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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…

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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…

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I changed the channel!

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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.

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Day 105: How to spice up your terrible terrible day…


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).

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Step 2:

 Hang out with a furry animal.

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

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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?

Photo on 4-12-13 at 5.02 PM

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

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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.

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

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That’s better.

And finally,

Step 5:

Make your own Harlem Shake video.

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.*

Day 93: Rubies are a Girl’s Best Friend….

Hey there adoring fans (Michael Smith)!

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 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…

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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.*