Day 227: R.I.P TV

Hey there adoring fans (Yolanda Suarez)!

A body in motion…stays in motion….

A body watching Frasier...stays watching Frasier.

2013-08-14 12.03.13

Dear TV,

It’s not you.  It’s me.  I still love you.  I have always loved you.  From my childhood summers of Nickelodeon and Sharon Lois and Bram’s Elephant Show.  Throughout my angst ridden adolescents and countless afternoons of MTV’s TRL, and after school specials.  And finally rounding out my adult life of Criminal Minds marathons, Late Night with Conan O’brien repeats, and the occasional Saturday night on Cinemax.   You have always been there when I needed you most.  But lately I feel like this relationship has become a little unhealthy.  Do you know how hard it is for me to get up and leave in the middle of Family Feud, never finding out whether the sassy black family from Jackson, or in-bread white family from Allentown wins the four door sedan?  It’s torture!  I’ve become an addict.  I want to see you all of the time.  I daydream about you all day, and nightdream about you all night.  I want to lay in your high definition light for eternity and catch every episode ever created of 16 and Pregnant.  Did you know that every episode is exactly the same?  Spoiler Alert : A girl gets pregnant at 16 and has a baby 9 months later.   Her boyfriend is always a loser, and hooded sweatshirts are acceptable attire for any occasion.  But it’s you TV.  You suck me in.  My obsession with you runs deep.    Deeper than the pain of my menstrual cramps on day 2 of my cycle.   The time has come to cut the cord.  I can’t do this anymore.  It’s not fair to either of us.  I need to go to bed at a reasonable hour and you need to stop playing 9 episodes of Frasier every night starting at 11pm.  I need to wake up in the morning and start my day without being sucked in by your temptress Rachael Ray and her 20 minute meals that are never suitable for vegetarians, and you need to stop letting Kelly Rippa be on TV commercials telling me there is enough time in the day for yoga, eating right, electrolux refrigerators and Colgate Total.  I need a break.  No more TV before 8pm, and no more TV after 1am.  I know it’s going to be hard on both of us my darling, but you know what they say… absence makes the heart grow fonder.

Goodbye TV…at least until the new fall lineup has been revealed.

Love always,

The New and Improved Grown-up Sarah

PS: Remember Sharon, Lois, and Bram’s Elephant Show?  No?!  Well I’m sorry that your parents didn’t love you.

Day 221: Life on the Upper Yeast Side

Hey there adoring fans (Kevin Still )!

Last night I was invited to a fancy event on the East Side.  It was a performance of a series of One Acts (for you uncultured non-theatre hobo’s, One Acts are plays that consist of only One Act….duh….now go read a book!  Ok, I’m sorry for calling you an uncultured hobo…I wikipedia’d what One Acts were just to make sure I was right….I’m just as uncultured and hobo like as you….again, my apologies).  The show was great, and in fact, made me want to try writing a One Act, but my real take home for the evening was how much the East Side of New York City makes me feel like a poverty-stricken-unambitious-teenage-slob.  People that go to the theatre on the Upper East Side (with free open bar passes….oh the life!) look like this…


I on the other hand, pulled out a Betsy Johnson dress that I bought in 2008, the year I had a lot of money from dancing in a Broadway show.  In my (messier than a 14 year old suburban boy with head lice) bedroom that morning, the name brand dress seemed like a great idea for the fancy occasion.  I didn’t register that although it was a name brand item, it was still 5 years old and was meant for a 22 year old to wear to her younger sister’s 19th birthday party after spending a few hours scrubbing out the jello-shot vomit stains.  Walking down Lexington Avenue yesterday, with successful, beautifully dressed, age appropriate career women as far as the eye could see, made me super self conscious.  Oddly enough, my clothing choice made me become increasingly aware of the immature way I’ve been living my life.  Sure, I have fun, but I bet these women don’t stay out drinking til 2am (4am….who am I kidding), wake up at noon, skip the gym because a marathon of What Not to Wear is on, eat a slice of pizza for lunch and dinner because that’s all they can afford at the moment, fall asleep without washing their face, brushing their teeth, and taking off their waitressing clothes…and shoes, and then repeating the same routine 4 to 5 times a week.  I know these women are not perfect at all (they probably cut themselves every morning after their studly boyfriends continue to mention how their secretary’s boobs came out looking better than the “real thing”), and I know that I am not an awful excuse for a human being, and that name brand clothing does not define a person’s success, BUT I really need to step up my effing game!

As, some of you may remember, I’ve been kinda into reading (the first half of) self help and self realization books (until I get bored and open a bottle of wine and lose the book in one of the couch cushions or drop it in the toilet…true story) and I’ve learned from both The Happiness Project, and The Secret (and by not reading but watching a youtube interview with the author of the book Turning Pro) that to be successful we should act the way we want to feel and live the way we want our successful lives to be, even if we aren’t hugely successful yet.  So basically, even though my only source of income right now is from waiting tables, it doesn’t mean that I need to live like a waitress.  I need to act as if I work for a hugely successful, world renowned Improv and Personal Development company, have 3 New York Times Bestsellers, and get nightly foot massages by my loyal and affectionate personal assistant.   How would someone like this act?  Well, I’ll tell you how I’m going to try!  With some new rituals….on a list.  Because I love lists!

How to Act like Successful Sarah

1.  Go to bed and wake up at reasonable hours.  Preferably bed by 1am and up by 8:30am (unless closing the restaurant).

2.  Schedule 2 hours each day to write.

3.   Gym 3-5 days each week.

(And real gym, not doing 20 crunches between commercials while drinking a beer.  Or wine.  Or the leftover peppermint schnapps from last year’s Christmas party because it’s raining outside and I don’t feel like walking to the booze emporium.)

4.  Cut drinking down to 2 nights per week.

5.   No more day drinking.  It always sounds like a fun idea until you knock over the cereal display at Trader Joe’s.

6.  Address the issue that you might have a drinking problem.

7.  Keep bedroom/home office neat and orderly.  (Disclaimer: Living in New York City means that you have bedroom/home offices.  Also common among New Yorkers:  bathtub/washing machines,  and seedy-neighborhood-gang-bangers/doormen).

8.  Get rid of all clothes that someone would wear while drinking a Malibu Pinneapple.

9.  Eat more like a fiscally successful person, and less like a hobo.

10.  Google words like “fiscally” before writing as if you know what you are talking about.

It’s going to be really hard for me to stick to these rituals (especially since I’ve already had several cocktails  4  out of 4 nights so far this week) but I’m going to give it a try.  I’m 30 for Pete’s sake.  It’s time to grow up a little bit.

PS: Here’s the only picture I could find of the Betsy Johnson dress I was talking about.  It’s from 5 years ago when I was touring with 42nd Street.  I’m with my current roommate Abby  and our fabulous tap dancing friend Adam.  I know what your thinking.  My eyes look really nice in this picture.  You’re welcome.


Day 220: I’m a PowerBall Winner!!!!

Hey there adoring fans (Chelsea Camp)!

Despite the misleading title of this post, I regret to inform you that I did not win 448 million dollars last night.

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Because of this devastation, I want to go ahead and release a public apology to all of the people who have invited me to their  weddings over the past 10 years.  Your customary envelopes filled with cash are once again delayed.  I also regret to inform Mr. Neil Patrick Harris that I will not be buying an apartment in Harlem right next to the building he owns with his partner and adorable twins, so our (best) friendship will yet again be put on hold.  And lastly, my ultimate dream of owning my very own Power-wheel is once again just that….a dream.   Thanks power ball.  Thanks a lot.



And a special thanks to my buddy Yolanda who noticed that I had originally written pubic apology instead of public apology.  What is a pubic apology?  Stay tuned for next week’s episode of SixtySixdaysofSarah…