Day 58: GrandMama Mia…

Hey there adoring fans (Mark Parsons)!

The Story.

Last Wednesday afternoon I laid down to take a little catnap to recharge for the night ahead of me. However, instead of  visions of sugarplums and a shirtless Ryan Reynolds, I drifted into a full blown panic attack.  My heart was beating out of my chest, I broke into a cold sweat, and my mind started to run a mile a minute.  In case you’ve never seen what a panic attack looks like, I’ve reenacted exactly what one’s body goes through in this video…it’s pretty graphic so you may want to sit down before watching.


The source of this panic attack: an improv show.

The reason for panic: I would be performing with our brand new improv troupe, Tainted Minds for the very first time in the show that night.  Side Note: We chose the name Tainted Minds mainly because we hadn’t thought of anything better, and we could then transform it into such phrases as Tainted Minds think alike, or Tainted Minds of over matter, or Tainted Minds: Special Victims Unit.

The justification for panic: 1. We were slated to perform smack dab in the middle of  two amazingly funny troupes that had been doing improv together for years. 2. Dozens of new improv students were sitting in the audience, improv students that were eager to see what great improv looked like, and to see how amazing our company was.

The Result of panic: My brain went into irrational snowball mode. I was going to be horrible in the show…which was going to ruin everything that I had been working on with my improv company that I loved so much… which left me with nothing to to do with the rest of my life…and reminded me that I had no monetary plans for retirement…which lead me down that long dark road of being an 80 year old hobo-waitress.


The Solution: I needed to go for a long walk.  I’ve been reading Steve Jobs’ biography, and when he wasn’t being a dick-waffle, he used to take long walks to ponder, and I definitely could use a ponder.  I grabbed Ruby and headed to Central Park.  The sun was setting, and in between the heart numbing thoughts that being terrible in the show tonight would lead me to being poor, alone, and homeless, I glanced up into the setting sky.  It was absolutely beautiful…and absolutely heaven.


Which brought me to The Mufasa moment….


Side Note: While I was editing this photo, my roommate Abby walked in and asked me why I was looking at a butthole.


To be fair, it did look like I was looking at buttholes…


But I wasn’t looking at buttholes (and I would really appreciate it if my computer stopped auto correcting buttholes into buttonholes…how often do people use the word buttonhole anyway?  Surely butthole is a more common phrase…I digress)  Because right then and there in the middle of my panic attack, I looked up to the sky and felt the presence of my Grandma.

Back story: my Grandma Hilda was an awesome southern lady, who made great soft shell crabs and was only occasionally racsist.  She passed away last summer at the ripe old age of 85 after raising 3 awesome sons and 4 awesome grandkids).


What I remember most about my relationship with my grandma was that it was fun.  And I don’t mean that in the lightest sense, I mean it was really FUN!  She was like the perfect partner in comedy.  She’d set you up for amazing jokes all of the time without ever knowing it.  Plus, you could poke fun at her and she would fall off her easy chair laughing, then when you weren’t looking, she’d tell a zinger about you (usually about being a baby nudist)!

The Revelation: Since, I was on the straight train to panic town, I decided to give reach out to her with one magical word…”help”.  The experience I got next was wild.  There was no “Things will get better…” or “I’ll protect you from all that is bad…” or “Take down your power hungry uncle and you can have your Kingdom back…”

I heard simply this….

“Why are you so worried?  I’m not worried about you.  You’re the person I don’t have to worry about.  You’re fine.  You’re always gonna be fine.  Now lighten up, pass me my afternoon cocktail, and let’s have some fun!”

The Resolution: The panic immediately faded and my body filled with happiness. I hopped on the train with my newfound boost of energy, and headed down to rehearse with my troupe before the show.  When I got to the theater, I ran into my troupe member Emily, who said this (and I’m not s*itting you…I hadn’t even had a chance to mention my Mufasa experience to her yet…)

“Hey Sarah!  Is it cool if we change the name of our group?  Tainted minds reminds us too much of taints…we were thinking of just calling ourselves Grandma.  What do you think?”

I don’t know why Emily chose Grandma as a new troupe name, but I air high-fived Hilda and agreed that it was indeed the perfect.  And our troupe GRANDMA thrived that night…because Hilda was right, there is no need to be worried.  I’m fine.  I’ll always be fine.  Now pass me my cocktail and let’s have some fun.

The End.


Let me finish…

Hey there adoring fans (Erin Holmes)!

I love Tuesdays.  After an overwhelmed and overworked 2013, I have finally organized a work schedule to adhere to my income, creative needs, and age (ie. retiring my shot girl short shorts, creating a budget for Prilosec, and making time for an afternoon snooze).  I am working a reasonable amount of hours each week and have scheduled in some Sarah Time.  On Tuesdays, I have an ample amount of time to be creative, and write a blog post.  The problem with Tuesdays though, is that I am not creative, nor do I ever finish writing a blog post.  In fact, this is the 3rd Tuesday in a row that I’ve been working on this here post.  This is what happened last Tuesday…

1.  I watch youtube videos and sip coffee.

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2.  I finish my 3

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3.  I start working on my blog post.

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4.  I wander around the apartment and dangit! Time to take out the recyclables.

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5.  Holy turd rockets, it’s cold outside!  I should probably get back to work.

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6.  But then I wonder who left this weird old armoire in our basement?

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7.  Holy s*it!  I bet it’s just like that mirror from the first Harry Potter book!!!!!

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8.  Now if I just sit here long enough, I’m sure I’ll be able to see myself become the Head Boy and Gryffindor take the Quidditch Cup.

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6 hours later.  I start watching TV having accomplished nothing.

You see, readers.  I have a huge problem finishing things.   I get close.  I do about 90% of what needs to be done.  But then I get distracted by something else and don’t complete the task at hand.  I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately, and wondering why I have such a hard time with finishing.  Then I looked back at my life as a performer.  As a dancer, my only real responsibilities were to stay in shape and show up for auditions.  And the results were either:

A.  Get job.

-Your Agent calls and tells you that you’ve booked a job.

-The Company manager books your travel, to and from the location and tells you what hotel you’re staying at.

-The Director and Choreographer tell you what to do and how to do it.

-The hotel mattress give you bed bugs.

-The Hotel manager puts all of your stuff in boiling water.

-The Company manager gives you benadryl.

-You do the show for 8 weeks.

-The show closes.

-The Company manager sends you home.


B.  Don’t get job.

-Go to more auditions.

Hmmm…no wonder I can’t finish things!  I’ve never had to.  I’ve always relied on someone else doing that part for me.  Nuts.

Plus, I’ve realized this little conundrum:

If you never finish things, you never have to start anything new.

Check it…

I’d love to get to the gym, but I really need to finish cleaning my room = if I never finish cleaning my room, then I never have to go to the gym.

I’d love to save more money, but first I should probably finish doing my taxes to see where I stand financially =  if I don’t do my taxes, I’ll never know how much I owe or am refunded so I don’t have to deal with where I stand financially.

I should probably make a plan for my writing future, but I still haven’t finished that blog post about not being able to finish things = If I don’t finish my blog posts, I don’t have to come up with how writing is going to tie into the rest of my life.

Well, not anymore!  It is week 3 of working on this gosh darn blog post, and I am finished!  I am Sarah the FINISHER (which coincidentally is also the name of my new super hero/serial killer comic book series…which is my new plan for how writing is going to tie into the rest of my life…maybe).

Vday romp: Screw Victoria and listen to Sarah’s Secret…

Hey there adoring fans (Susan Hicks)!

A Post-Valentine’s Proclamation.

   Readers, it’s time I let you in on what’s really been going on in my boudoir.  First thing’s first…I’m a fun gal!  I’m usually up for anything.  I try new things, revive oldies but goodies, conduct experiments to pull off the spectacular, etc… but I’m having a slight problem.  There’s something in particular that I’ve always wanted to enjoy in the bedroom, but haven’t found it quite ‘the rage’ that people have let on to it being.  I’ve tried it a few times now and it still seems rather uncomfortable and quite honestly…pointless. And this is coming from someone who can make herself like anything!  Case in point: olives.  I used to hate olives because I thought they smelled the way that pee tasted…if I had ever tasted pee.  Then I discovered martinis, an adorable cocktail that made my vodka cranberries look amateur.  If I was going to make martinis my bitch, I had to learn to like olives (and don’t give me that “with a twist” BS, we all know the real sexiness of a martini is the dirtiness, not a slightly bent lemon rind).  So I did it, I made myself eat olives everyday for 2 weeks, and now I love olives (and look f’ing awesome waiting for my pretend date to arrive at bars).  But what I am speaking of today, oh devout followers of mine, is definitely not a mere olive, because I’ve tried and tried and am still left with no martini.  Which begs the question, is it me?  Am I to blame?  Did I choose the wrong position? Or the wrong size?  What if it’s too big or even worse… too small?  Or maybe it’s “just the right” size, and it is my shape that is “off”.  After all of the recent less than admiral results, I phoned my mother to ask her experience. She insisted to keep trying as I am an adult woman now, and need to grow up.  “A true Hicks woman is queen of her castle and that all starts with the bedroom!”  After all, she had been doing it since she was a teenager.    But I’ve had enough!  Today, I’m speaking out.  I will no longer remain silent on such an important issue.   Because on this day, February 15th, 2014, I shall proclaim the truth so that generations to come will know what’s really going on… and what’s really going on is…that… FLAT SHEETS ARE STUPID AND POINTLESS AND SHOULD HAVE NEVER BEEN INVENTED IN THE FIRST PLACE!!!

I mean, come on!






There I’ve said it.  Have a nice day.