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!

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There I’ve said it.  Have a nice day.

Day 1/31: I don’t mean to w(h)ine…

Hey there adoring fans (Vaden)!

Now that I’ve organized my schedule (and retired my shot girl short-shorts) to where the first time in my life, I don’t work after 7pm, I’m baffled at why I’m still staying up so late every night?  A tip I took from The Happiness Project (great book…click the link if yo interesante in it) the author mentions how going to bed earlier every night made her happier and more productive.  Well, I want to be happier and more productive, but going to bed early at night hasn’t been possible and I couldn’t figure out why?  Then it hit me.  It’s all due to a little thing I call the cereal vortex...

The Cereal Vortex

Mmmm…I think I’ll have a bowl of cereal.

photonow I’ll just add some milk.

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Delicious!
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Oh no! I have all this milk left and I don’t want it to go to waste…

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I’ll just add a tiny bit more cereal…

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Whoops, too much!  Darn. I’ll just have to add a tiny bit more milk…photo

Yum.

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That 2nd bowl was equally as delicious…there’s still some milk left at the bottom…and children starving in China….what to do?photo

And this, ladies and gentlemen…
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is how we slip into the cereal vortexphoto

4 bowls later…photo

We’re all familiar with the vicious cycle of the cereal vortex.  Sure, you might never leave your apartment on time, and may have to buy some elastic waistband trousers, but all in all the consequences are quite mild.   The more ferocious vortex to look out for is the wine/tv vortex…

The Wine/Tv Vortex

Ahhh, just a glass of wine before bed while I watch that DVR’d episode of Saturday Night Live… 

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Huh, I actually liked the musical guest for once…

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aww nuts, out of wine…

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We’re only on weekend update?

Just a teensy bit more to finish out the episode…

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I can’t believe Seth Meyers is leaving…what a doll!  I’m still on the fence about this Cecily situation…bring back Tina and Amy!

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And then the episode ends and you still have a half of a glass of wine left.

What to do?

You check the DVR.

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And decide to re-watch Modern Family.  It was great the first time around, so it should be even better the second time around…

photoAww crap, I just finished my wine and there’s still 10 minutes left…
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Don’t judge me.

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Dag-nabit!  These 30 minute shlows go by fast when you can sklip the commersals…  I still have a half of a glass of wine left (hiccup).  Luckily there’s a snew Parenthood on RIGHT NOW!

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Oh, come on NBC!  Joe would SNOT leave Julia!  Snot after they pladopted that little Mexican!  Ay! Ay! Ay! I can’t take this…

and nowmy glass is emptly.

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just in time for the 2:00 news…

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If you are a victim of the Wine/Tv vortex like I am, call (212) 222-6160 for support (they deliver plus you get 20% off if you purchase and entire case!)

Day 254: Stuck In Transit-ion

Hey there adoring fans (Penelope Gonzalez)!

I’m a dancer.  I’ve been using this word “dancer” to describe my career ever since my first paid gig at the age of 16, Christmas Around the World.  We each  received a grand total of $60 for 2 months of rehearsal and 2 weeks of shows performed before tens of twenties of people, choreographed by my jazz teacher and performed on a community college stage.  Although when you break it down we only earned .0000002 cents per hour, and I may or may not have danced a holiday jig around a windmill in wooden shoes, I didn’t care.  I was a professional “dancer” and that was my word.

See!  Here I am as a Professional Dancer…

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So here I am now figuring out what the next word is.   A new word.  Not that I’ve completely given up dancing, but I want something new.  An exciting career.  Something I can profess as my job title during a conversation with a stranger after relaying my name and location of birth.   I usually tell people that I’m “in transition” but then that always takes a lot of explaining which of course I’m totally willing to do as I am an over-sharer, but it takes a long time and there are only so many subway stops on the train before either myself or the stranger that just asked me what I do for a living has to get off and go to work, or to TJ Maxx, or to the crack den already.  Aside from long winded explanations of what “in transition” could mean to a fellow subway transient, I’ve started to wonder about other side affects of the whole “in transition” thing.   Like, what if I’m using it as a crutch?  You know?  I’ve been talking to people a lot about what I’m going through, and everyone is totally understanding and rather interested in my journey.  It’s also kind of the basis of my blog, and I get tons of feedback from people I’ve never met praising me for sharing.  What if all of this great feedback is lulling me into just staying “in transition” forever because the reality of just having a job is less interesting?  Like those people that lost a million pounds on The Biggest Loser.  They worked so hard throwing Mack trucks and climbing ancient Aztec-ian castles (I haven’t watched the show in a long time, so this is what I can only assume they’ve been doing to stand up to other weight loss competition shows over the years) all the while receiving oodles of praise for losing so much weight at an un-Godly pace.  But what happens next?  When they are now just ordinary sized people?   How do I not become Sarah: The Ordianary Sized Loser?

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I brought this idea up to my friend Rebecca, and she told me that the possibility of my staying “in transition” forever would never happen because she and the rest of the people that care about me would kick my ass if I didn’t get a move on after a while, but agreed that Sarah: The Ordinary Sized Loser was a sitcom that I most definitely had to write.  I figured before Rebecca and all those other caring people come for their ass kicking, I should start taking some more steps to get “out of transition” and into a career and life that I want.  In a book that I’m reading (You’re a Badass: how to stop doubting your greatness and start living a awesome life) the author suggests you to take a look back at your life and remember an experience in time where you were totally in your element.   You should especially look at times when your were younger and couldn’t care less about having to pay bills, who will win the electoral race for mayor,  or which Donny Dickwater is giving everyone in Manhattan HPV.  As I was taking a stroll through memory lane, I found a great example of being completely in my element…

The Mr. Howard High School Pageant:

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When I was a senior in high school, I was asked to run The Mr. Howard High School Pageant.   Mr. HHS was a reverse beauty pageant of sorts with the school’s Junior and Senior boys competing for the ultimate title of Mr. Howard High School.  Aside from bragging rights, the winner won free trip to the Prom including tickets, tuxedo, limo, and dinner (basically everything a teenage boy would take to prom minus a drunken girl from the rival high school’s virginity).  I said yes, and spent a month pouring everything I had into the production.  I  choreographed an opening number to Men in Tights, got the boys to actually dance and sing all of it including a crowd pleasing kick line finale.   I spent 12 hours splicing music for the swimsuit competition (and by splicing I mean using my boom box with side by side cassette tapes to put all 15 contestant’s 30 second selections onto one cohesive cassette…which would take a total of 11 seconds to do now…).  I got gussied up and sweet talked every limo, tuxedo, and carnation salesman in town into donating their goods.  I grabbed the funniest girl in my class, to write a script and co-host the entire event which brought in so many audience members that the ticket sales went through the roof.  I didn’t sleep for 2 weeks working all night long on this show, and I loved it!  I’m getting excited thinking about it right now, 12 years later.  The minute those boys walked onstage wearing green tights that I convinced the vice principal to include in the budget, and t-shirts that I had burned my fingers ironing on Mr. HHS 2001 logos brought me such pride and mother sucking joy that I wished I wasn’t graduating so I could do the show a zillion more times.

So what does this say about me?  I like putting on shows.   I’m good at taking a bunch of ideas and working them into one.   I like to entertain people.  I’m a good director.  I have an eye for the big picture.  I’m not afraid of hard work.  I’m a pro at smooth talking limo salesmen.   Now what to do?

To be continued…

Day 199: Beauty is in the Mall of the beholder….

Hey there adoring fans (Nisa Ari!)

Previously on SixtySixdaysofSarah, Sarah was having a brain meltdown about whether or not she should be pursuing the idea of being in a relationship or whether she should just settle on 11 cats and a membership to YouPorn Supreme.  She was staying in Towson with her friend Kelly and Kelly’s husband Mark.  Mark had come down with some strange illness that sent him to the hospital to get fluids the day before and was still feeling like poop (and speaking of poop, lots of it was still coming out of him…in burning hot liquid form).  Sarah had a whole day to kill before she was going to see her brother’s improv show that night, and felt bad staying in their house all day while Mark was sleeping (pooping) off this illness, so she had Kelly drive her to the mall on her way to work.  Sarah loved malls and knew that while there she should probably come up with something to write a blog about.  She first thought about buying a whole new wardrobe that would maybe attract the opposite sex but then remembered that she was as poor as a hobo.  So instead she would simply try-on-without-purchasing ideas for  a new wardrobe that would turn the fella’s heads and perhaps get her back on track to NOT becoming a cat loving porn enthusiast, and have the store employees take pictures of her so she could put her adventure on her blog.  When it was time to set her idea into motion, she ran into 2 problems.

Sarah’s 2 Problems

1.  Store employees don’t like to take pictures of you when you say “Hey could you take a picture of me wearing your merchandise so I can make fun of it on the internet.”

and

2.  Mall’s don’t have stores for people over the age of 14 yet under the age of 70.

So Sarah used her improv lessons to get people to take pictures of her shopping at age-inappropriate retailers.  These are her stories…

Disclaimer: All of these dialogues totally happened…except for the parts written between two asterisks *which are those things you think of afterwards and are all “Man! I totally should have said ______!”*

Another Disclaimer: Being that I don’t actually know the proper way to use quotation marks, periods, commas, parenthesis,  and asterisks, this will be horrifying for any english teachers out there to read.  My apologies.

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Sarah: “Hi there!  I’m sorry to ask, but would you mind taking a picture of me in this?  My little sister is in this weird phase where she loves anything with the word “nerd” on it.  I know she’s a total weirdo, but she’s currently working *as a mistress* on a cruise ship where she can’t go shopping so I thought I’d send her this pic.”

2013-07-08 13.14.55Sales Girl: “Totally!  I love “nerd” stuff too.  *Is her cruise ship hiring?  I could use some help paying for beauty school*.  And those solar system leggings are adorable on you! Are you thinking of getting them?”

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S: “Ok, I know this is silly, but would you mind taking my picture?  My niece always drags me into this store and insists that I would look “sick” wearing these clothes, and I always tell her ‘Chloe, Aunty Clara is way too old to wear these clothes’ and her 14th birthday is tomorrow so I want to send her a picture of how silly I look *along with a glow in the dark tongue ring*.”

SG: “Are you kidding?!  You can so wear these clothes!  Age is only a number and you look HOT!  And guess what?   That dress is on sale for $12 and it’s the only one left!  *Plus we have two for one tongue rings if you’d like, I can pierce your tongue with my spiked choker or snakelike gaze*

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Next.

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S: “Hey ladies, would one of you mind taking a picture of me?  My best friend is getting married and all of my friends are in Cancun right now celebrating but I couldn’t go because my passport expired, *and I’m a serial killer*.”

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Then I took a short hydration break at Starbucks and ran into these two teenage girls…

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…and then tried to remember how I used to be able to fit into shorts like that and still had angst?  I can tell you right now that I wouldn’t give a rats ass about my non-existent love life, poverty streak, or lack of health insurance if I could still fit in some size zero cut-offs from…

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Maybe if I invested in some clothes from there all of my problems would disappear?  I went right on in grabbed some sensible size 6 jean shorts and a A & F baseball cap and headed for the dressing room.  All was going well until my endocrine system maxed out on the cologne fumes.  Apparently a person over the age of twenty can only last 7 minutes in that place before the inevitable…

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Disclaimer: I don’t know what an endocrine system is.

I learned my lesson.  Old people size 6 and up need not visit these teenie bopping stores.  I had a new plan…

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SG:  ”Now isn’t that a great look?!”

S: “Oh thanks.  Would you mind taking my picture?  I’m an actress and have an audition next week where I have to play a suburban housewife in the late 60′s and I need my agent to approve an outfit.”

SG: “Oh that’s just wonderful!  Have I seen you in anything on TV?”

S: “Oh probably not.  Unless you watch Guiding light.  I did some background work for them a few years back and once they gave me a few lines as a swarthy bartender.”

SG: “Oh how wonderful.  I can hold this outfit for you if you’d like.  You know, once you hear back from that agent person.”

S: “Oh that won’t be necessary, I should be hearing back from him any second *unless of course, he died on the table*.”

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All in all a good day of improvising and an interesting day of shopping.  I just had one more stop to pick out something a little sexy…

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S: “Hi there, would you mind taking a picture of me.  My mother and I are picking out a little something for my aunt and are not sure which size to go with.”

SG: “We’re not really supposed to take pictures in the store.”

S: “Oh, I’m sorry.  My aunt just had triplets and is feeling really insecure about her body.  We just thought this would cheer her up.”

SG: “Awww.  That is really sweet.  She shouldn’t feel bad, she just had 3 babies.  God bless her.  Sure, I’ll take a picture.  Just don’t tell my boss.”

S: “*Well it’s too late now.  You’re on undercover bosses and now I must deal with you on National television.  How would you like to die?  Lethal injection or we could go Hunger Games style with a human meat grinder?*

Disclaimer: Never tak pics in the dressing room at Victorias Secret.  Everything is really effing pink and you will look like an aunt-loving oompa loompa.

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I’d like to thank the employees of Towson Town Center Mall for their help with this post, and if the manager of Victoria’s Secret happens to read this, my apologies and please don’t fire Sherri.  She was a wonderful help and had an affinity for baby makers.

Now off to my best friend Mary’s wedding!  I’m sure I’ll have tons to report.  Peace!

*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.*

I’m back!

Hey there adoring fans (Allison Hammer)!

Bumps in the road.  The reason that I haven’t written a post in 3 months is due to a very bumpy road.  It involves standing up to douche-bags, quitting a terrible job, losing all of my money, gaining 10 lbs, finding a new job, sucking at said job, borrowing money from my brother, taking a trip to see my best friend’s wedding dress, going to another friend’s baby shower, wondering why it is that I’m nowhere near being a grown-up and whether or not I’m ok with it, gaining another 5 lbs, choreographing a children’s production of Tarzan (loved), death of my Grandma (not loved), given money from another friend (which I’ll totally pay back), co-producing a workshop to help women, being reminded of the good things in life, sucking less at my new job, feeling better about myself, doing some improv shows, and having an afternoon off to come back to what I love.  Writing this silly little blog about making my life better.  I’m back.

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A few days ago my friend Holly was introducing me to someone and said, “Oh Sarah’s hilarious.  And a really good writer.  You should read her blog.  Sarah, tell them about your blog.”  And what did I do?  “Oh, I haven’t written in a while, don’t read it.  I need to update it but I haven’t written in months and I feel like I need to make my comeback post amazing and I can’t think of what to write about.”  This person who I didn’t even know (or maybe it was someone I knew…I was a little foggy that night….from the 10 beers I drank…ok fine…it was 11) said, “Why does it have to be big.  It’s just a blog.  Just write about anything.”   They had a point.  There’s like 15 of you out there that read this thing (including my parents…and they go to church so they have to love me), and there’s millions of blogs out there.  And then I started thinking about the whole Men in Black sequence at the end of the movie when there’s a Universe living inside some cat’s collar, and then they zoom out to planet Earth, and then zoom out more to some galaxies and then zoom out even farther and it ends up being 2 aliens playing marbles with all of the galaxies which showed how insignificant we all are in the grand scheme of things which made me think that if I wrote a really boring and shitty post after not writing a post in months then who the Hell cares?….and then I youtubed that clip so I could post it because I don’t really have any pictures besides the one above that was taken at an improv show in the middle of winter to share and you’re supposed to have media in your blog so that the 15 of you will read it instead of clicking the x at the top of your screen and moving onto porn…except for my parents who don’t watch porn because they go to church and love me…

So, instead of writing something new for this post.  I’ve just copied and pasted my blurb from the Improvolution newsletter I wrote yesterday.  I’ve been writing the newsletter for a few months now, and I got some lovely feedback from this one and I really like it.  So here it is….

A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Funeral…

Hilda Hicks lived a wonderful almost 87 years.  She was my grandmother, and she passed away last Sunday.  It was a very sad day for my family, but for my brother it was a step in a new direction.  You see, my brother has social anxiety that has crippled him since he was a teenager.  He does not speak to new people, he often paces the room in social settings out of nervousness, and for a very long time he had trouble even making phone calls to order pizza.  He’s seen a therapist, and has tried different medications that have helped a little, but still he is very uncomfortable when around more than one person.  Until last week.  After my grandma died, I met my brother in Baltimore and we drove down to Virginia together to be with my family and attend the funeral.  During the wake the day before, we all met with the Pastor to discuss what was going to be said at her funeral and was asked if a member of the family would like to speak.  Of course everyone turned to me, as the actor/dancer/improvisor, and I volunteered to say something as all of them played the “I don’t do public speaking” card.  Then the Pastor asked if there were any special prayers or poems that my Grandma had been fond of.  We all thought of the same prayer that Hilda had hanging cross-stiched in her home for 60 or so years and my mother half jokingly to lighten the mood said my brother could read it.  We thought nothing of the comment until we heard the words “OK” from the side of the room where my brother had been pacing.  We froze.  My father asked him if he was serious, and my brother replied, “Yeah, I can do it.”  This is the part where I should mention that a month before any of this happened, I signed my brother up for an Improv 101 class in Baltimore.  He had mentioned in the car ride down how much he enjoyed the class and even went out for a beer with his classmates once (which never happens) and I could tell that my plan of using improv to help his social skills was working.  The next day at the funeral, I gave my prepared speech about how lovely my grandma was, how much I was going to miss her, threw in a couple old people jokes for good measure, and then introduced my brother to the congregation for his prayer.  My whole family wiped the tears from their eyes as my brother stood at the podium and read aloud to 50 or so people, the prayer that my grandmother had loved for all of those years.  I’m not saying improv was 100% responsible for my brother’s courage that day, but I am betting that it was 99.9%  I know my grandma was proud looking down on my brother and how far he had come, and I know my brother was even more proud of himself.  I hope you all enjoy your day today, and if you still have a Grandma, give her a call.  I’m sure she’d love to hear from you 🙂

,

You’re newsletter supervisor,

Sarah
                                                      

So there it is.  My first day back in the saddle.  Not too painful.  Now, off to continue to make life a little more awesome!

 

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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REMOVE YOUR PANTS!!

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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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*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 68: And then there was thirty-seven dollars…

Hey there adoring fans (Dewey Caddell)!

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.

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*He is not hot now.

Day 52: Wine Rack Wednesday!

Hey there adoring fans (Nikki De Lapenta)!

As all of you are loyal readers of my blog (or you just checked this site out hoping to find 66 different sex positions of Sarah…which you won’t…because there’s only 2…and why would I call it SixtySixdaysofSarah if it was about sex positions you weirdo?  I would call it SixtySixSexPositionsofSarah…someone’s totally going to steal that idea…I want 5% of it’s earnings you perverts!), you know that I had a major realization on Tuesday, which was:

 I’ve been spending all of my energy  focusing on the things that I don’t want in my life and haven’t even scratched the surface of the things I do want in life.  

I needed to admit to myself (and to all of you Nosy McNosersons) what my big goals were.  And naturally, those goals consisted of becoming a rich and famous actor/screenwriter/novelist/world leader.  So on Wednesday  I set my eyes on the prize and got to work…

winerack

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“Desire is the key to motivation, but it’s determination and commitment to an unrelenting pursuit of your goal- a commitment to excellence -that will enable you to attain the success you seek.”

 -Mario Andretti

Special shout out to Abby Church for helping me out…and for filling her Wine Rack with G & T’s!

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PS: no joke you guys.  You can buy this s*it on Amazon.com.  I prefer to give them as wedding gifts.  Holla Kelly Cwalina McKew!

PPS: Amazon.com should totally give me money for promoting them.

*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: Wanna come hang with my passé?

Hey there adoring fans (Mindy Dougherty Baida)!

So, you remember that day (Day 15: Ballet (the “T” is silent) specifically…you didn’t read day 15?  You’re never going to become an adoring fan with that attitude…and if you’re not an adoring fan then what are you?  Just a blog reader with no recognition…that’s like a barber hangin’ out with a bunch of bald guys…is it though Sarah?…that’s the best comparison you can come up with?…how about a hemorrhoid with no preparation H?…or better yet a hemorrhoid with no butt hole?…PS: you should probably stop talking about hemorrhoids…it makes people uncomfortable…now back to the story about the good thing you did to feel good about your life) that I got all ready to take ballet class and then the train was late (I spent too much time having my roommate take pictures of me) and I didn’t make it to class?  Well, this time…

I finally made it to ballet class!

My friend Aleka told me about this ballet class that she takes on Saturday afternoons.  Her pitch was “It’s a bunch of 70 year old women and me.”  Which (sadly) was exactly what I was looking for (because although the rest of my body is at the ripe young age of 30, my right knee is circling the drain at the age of 105, so when you average it out, a geriatric ballet class plus 2 mimosas was the perfect decision).

Before class started…

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After petite allegro (small, quick jumps that remind you that you probably should have taken a poop before class started…stop talking about poop…it’s making people think about hemorrhoids)…

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After class (after a pitt stop at Duane Reade where you picked up an icepack….and a six-pack).

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Moral of the story: You’re old and your body hates you. Going to they gym all of the time (once a week) is not going to give you your dancer body back and ballet actually makes you happy and happiness is what we’re going for right now.  So, go to class more you fat f*ck.

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See you next week Aleka (notice the under-boob-sweat.  You’re welcome)!

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*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.*

Day 71: Help! The Apocalypse shrunk my pants!

Hey there adoring fans (“Sabrina” from the Verizon Tech Support team that restored my 571 contacts)!

Ah, here we are.  Safe and sound on December 26th.  The world didn’t end.  I ate cheese fries.  Christmas was wonderful.  I drank 7 bottles of wine.  And here I am just 5 days post apocalypse and I can’t seem to button my pants.  Surely it’s not my fault.  I mean, my parents have a really hot dryer.  My ass swelled on the 7 hour train ride home.  There’s absolutely no way that opting to write a blog instead of eating right, taking dance class, and hitting the gym for 6 months would have any effect on my sexy body…

oops…

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Ok.  To be fair, the scale read 129.8 before I picked up my phone (You hear that?  It’s the sound of the little x at the top of the screen being clicked on by any dude reading this post.  What’s the matter fellas?  Don’t want to read about a lady and her weight?  But I’m naked in this picture.  Does that help?  No?  Ok, tune in tomorrow where I will be talking about motorcycles and hand jobs).  The truth is, I’ve only gained 5 lbs in the last year.  The problem is that my body has turned into 129.8 lbs of cheese, salt and vinegar potato chips, coke zero and lots and lots of booze. I feel like crap and now that the world is not going to end, I guess I should start taking care of myself…you know, so I can look (and feel) really hot for the next apocalypse.

My first step was to re-watch this really awesome documentary called…

Hungry for Change

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It’s by the same peeps that made Food Matters (Netflix that son!).  It talks about all the effed up s*it that is going on with our food and yadda yadda yadda we should eat a more natural plant based diet.  I did this whole 80% vegan diet for 5 months last year and felt awesome.  I had also lost the 5lbs that I had put on, felt less tired, and had awesome skin. (You hear that?  It’s the sound of anyone else that would rather suck on a lead based paint  popsicle than read about a vegan diet).   Don’t worry, I’m not going to document everything I eat and take pictures of my poop everyday.  I’m just taking one step at a time to create a better life for my self (now that I’m going to be able to hold onto it for a little while longer).

Step 1:  No more Coke Zero (gasp!)

scale coke zero

I know I say this about twice a year, but this time I really am quitting coke zero.   In my little documentary here, I’ve learned that aspartame is quite addictive (so you see, it’s not my fault that I drink 4 20oz bottles a day!).  What happens is that it kills your cute little brain cells, but right before they die they get really excited, which makes you crave that feeling over and over again so you keep drinking more and more.  And even though it is labeled as zero calories, the way your body deals with it is by turning it into sugar…or fat…or vaseline…or something (I may not have really paid attention to that part).  Anywho, this stuff is terrible for you (as we already know…and as I just chose to ignore…you know, because we were going to be attacked by zombies).

So, instead of my usual morning stop at the gas stations, I opted instead to go to the organic market and grab a fresh vegetable juice.

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Just a few pounds of juiced beets, spinach, celery, carrots, and garlic.

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$4.79 are you trying to bankrupt me?!?!  You evil organic market you!!

Breathe Sarah…just breathe.   You usually drink like 3 Coke zeros a day which ends up being like $4.50 worth of dead little brain cells.  You’ll be fine…or you’ll save up to buy yourself a juicer.  Or meet a handsome rich man who will buy one for you.  Screw that.  You don’t need a man to get you what you need in life.  You’re an independent woman!  All my single ladies…all my single ladies…now put your hands up…

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I digress.

Anywho…no more coke zero or any other processed foods for me.  I’m going 80% vegan (there’s probs going to be dairy in some unexpected food items that I hadn’t accounted for).  Plus I’m still going to eat seafood.  I’ll be what I like to call a P-gan (pescatarian-vegan).   I’m trademarking that word (if I knew what trademarking meant).  Let’s try this out for 30 days (minus my birthday) and see how it goes.

Wish me luck!

Day 42: Light as a feather stiff as a board…

Hey there adoring fans (Justin Aefsky and Madeleine Reade)!

So, as most of you know, I’m looking for love before the End of the World (kinda like that Steve Carrell movie, seeking a friend for the end of the world…but a love-r…and not sure if that’s the accurate title, but as my iBook G4 from 2005 seems to be failing me tonight as well as my stupid 3 year old android phone who won’t let me open up a Google window so I can fact check…and won’t connect to stupid Time Warner Cable because it’s well…stupid…and keeps making typos because I have big thumbs which I inherited from my father… I digress… yet again) I’ve realized that the reason that I haven’t made a love connection is not because of ME …but definitely because of my friends Flat Pam and Flat Sarah (if you don’t know who the Flat girls are, go back to Day twenty something or thirty something….what do I know, I can’t look anything up from this stupid (might as well be rotary phone)).

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See, the problem is not with my flirting technique (of pretending that the guy “I swear looks so much like my next-door neighbor from growing up”…and then maybe throwing in my signature knock-knock joke and leopard thong flash…sometimes zebra, occasionally tortoise shell). The problem is that the Flat girls often accompany me to the bar…and I’ve noticed that they seem to be getting a little…soft (perhaps from all those marshmallows…or from sitting at home and writing blogs instead of going to dance class) so I took them to the Gym!

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Alright girls. This is the ellyptical machine. It’s great for people with bad knees (fatty’s too lazy for treadmills).

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Don’t worry. I brought some “Grey’s Anatomy” fat burning entertainment (PS: it blows again…don’t bother).

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Quick water break ladies. No dilly dallying and no running…’cause my crayola’s are out of ink…get it?

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Way to go Flat Pam! Some more cardio will burn that “sweet meat” right off and make you more appealing to the opposite Flat sex. Flat Sarah, I wish you could show some initiative like Flat Pam here.

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Way to go Flat Sarah. The stationary bike…ie: the fitness equipment of the elderly. You’re gonna be fat forever…and maybe get a hemorrhoid.

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Time for some heavy lifting ladies. Nothing says “Hey handsome 30 something guy that appears to not live with his parents…you should meet my friend life-size Sarah” like some toned triceps.

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Same goes for quads…

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Alright Flat Sarah. Now it’s just sad.

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Don’t forget to wipe down the equipment…or else your fellow gymmers will glare at you…or you’ll get Hep C.

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OK ladies. Let’s see how well you did. I wanna see -3 oz or else it’s the back-end-of-the-toothbrush-down-the-throat for you…

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Pretty good girls. Now how’s about a steam and a shower to squeeze out those last few millimeters of disgust .

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You girls look A-M-A-Z-I-N-G!

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I have a feeling that with all of our skinny/hot/hilarious powers combined, love is right around the corner! Now, Flat ladies, have yourselves some laxatives and electrolytes and off to bed.

PS: Thank you (to my 12 readers) for tolerating this post that took 4 hours to publish, and was written on a screen the size of a powerball ticket. If the world doesn’t explode on the 21st, I will work on buying (beg a rich person to buy me) some efficient technology.

Pps : it’s 2:30 in the morning. I’ll edit tomorrow.

Day 41: The date…

Hey there adoring (Katie Green and Stephanie Seiler)!

So tonight I went on a date.  This guys asked me out at a bar last week.  Since I’m hoping to fall in love by the end of the world, I said ok.  Let’s see how it went.

(Since taking pictures would have been totally weird.  I’ve opted to use our Hollywood look-alike’s to give you the play by play.)

1st date bing“Hey there.  You are attractive and fairly intelligent.  Can I take you out on a date?”

 

megan-hilty-picture-12“I don’t know bar patron.  Are you a serial killer or douche bag?”

bing 3“No way.  I’m totally not a douche bag.  I even have a job.”

 

hilty 4“Ok.  I guess I could go on a date.  Wait how old are you?”

bing glasses

“34.  Oh and by the way, I’m not a serial killer either.  I understand my previous answer was misleading.”

hilty 3

“Alright then.  Even though this seems like a terrible idea, the world might end so I am willing to take a risk.  Plus it may prove to be a fun blog entry.  Wait, what blog?  Who said blog?  I’m not writing a blog.  Never mind.  I guess I’ll see you next week.”

The next week…

bing phone“Hey Sarah.  It’s me.  The guy from the bar.  How about we go out this weekend.”

hilty phone“Sure, guy from bar.  Where should we go?”

bing phone“Well, I live in Long Island.  I’ll have to take the train in.  Any suggestions?”

hilty phone“Wow.  Long Island.  Ok, that sounds like a fun place.  How about we play it by ear?  I’ll see you Sunday.”

Sunday…at another bar…

bing poster“Hey Sarah!  I hope you don’t mind.  I got us a table.  So where are you from?”

hilty black and white“I’m from Maryland.  Go Ravens!”

bing tv guide“Oh cool.  My older brother is getting married in Maryland in July.”

hilty 2“Oh, cool.  How old is your brother?”

Republic“26.   He’s a pretty cool guy.”

hilty stunned

“Wait, what?  I thought you said you were 34?”

bing blue“No.  I’m 24.  The music was pretty loud, maybe you misheard me.  So anyways, I live on Long Island and am saving up to move into the city.”

hilty stunned“Wait.  Do you live with your parents?”

bing nyc“I mean, just for now.  Why, is that a problem?”

hilty stunned“No no no.  That’s totally cool.  Oh look.  I just got a text message from my Landlord…our apartment has been taken over by those really big termites from those commercials.  I gotta run.”

1st date bing“Ok, are you sure it wasn’t something I said.”

hilty gotta go“No, not at all.  I just really need to check on my apartment.  It was nice meeting you.”

bing hat“Oh, ok.  Can I call you next week?”

run away!“Umm…I think my phone just exploded.  How about I contact you?”

Day 24: You’ll love David’s Bridal…

Hey there adoring fans (Desi Davar and Olivia Conroy)!

If you haven’t been paying attention (shame on you…all 3 of you) on Friday night (Day 23) I was paid a visit by a gentleman caller.  On Saturday morning, I said to that gentleman caller the number one sentence that every gentleman caller wants to hear…

“I had a great time last night sir, but now I must bid you adieu to go pick out a WEDDING DRESS!!!”

Yes ladies and gentleman (callers and non callers alike), on Saturday I tried on wedding dresses!

Do I have plans to get married any time soon?  Nope.  But who’s to say that I can’t have a blast trying on beautiful dresses and have strangers dote on me for no good reason (no I do not have a constant need to be the center of attention.  Why do you ask?)?   After all, the world could end in 42 days (or not…fingers crossed).

We started off with a column dress (let’s get real…we started off with Bloody Mary’s).

Then this little number called a “fit and flare” (or as I like to call it “do these feathers make my ass look fat? and flare”).

Then this guy that kind of looked like a nightgown (under impressed face)…

Then I had a talk with the sales woman Sharisse about my boobs.

“Sharisse, you call them wide set.  I call them East-Wests.  Tomato, tomahto.”

Then she brought out the big guns…

I didn’t necessarily find the perfect (fictitious) wedding dress that day…

…but I did have a ball (gown)!

The take away from this experience:

1. The bigger the skirt the smaller your head looks (in a good way).

2.  The friends that you drag out to watch you try on wedding dresses when you’re not actually getting married (and tell you that you look pretty even though they don’t have to because you’re not going to buy any of them anyway) are SAINTS!

3.  Bloody Mary’s + corset = heartburn

4.  Gentleman callers may or may not love being called gentleman callers.

A big thanks to my buds Candice and Aleka for humoring me on a fantastic Saturday afternoon!

And a shout out to saleswoman Sharisse!  Thanks for everything (boob talk included).  Sorry for not buying anything.  And don’t worry, if the world doesn’t end I’ll be in to pick up my bridesmaid dress for my buddy Mary Trotter’s wedding.

Day 23: The Man Hunt…take two!

Hey there adoring fans (Alleka and Kathleen)!

Previously on Sarah’s quest to fall in love before December 21st…

We last saw Sarah getting blown off (not in the good way) by a guy at a bar right after the hurricane (because he had a stupid girlfriend which he omitted from the 2 hour conversation that he and Sarah shared).  So in her pursuit to find love, she decided to gather a couple of gal pals and hit the town at one of her favorite man hunting spots, The Gingerman, where the fellas have jobs and the ladies are few and only mildly attractive.  Now, in order to properly man hunt, you have to do a few things to prepare…

Step 1: Shower and shave your legs.  Or if you’re building has no effing hot water, use extra body spray and wear pants.

Step 2: Apply lots of black eyeliner.  This lets the men know you are available (taken women often go for a soft brown liner and sweat pants) and although you look great for a 29 year old, you can pass for 25…

Step 3: Pick out the perfect man hunting outfit…

Not too fancy…

Not too 90’s…

Something just right.  That says, “Hey there attractive man who appears to be heterosexual and employed. No, I’m not desperate to fall in love before the world explodes.  And yes, my footwear is 1 part sneaker and 1 part wedge.”

Step 4: Floss.  Nobody wants to fall in love with gum disease.

Step 5: Pour a bottle of Guiness into a travel coffee mug.  Drinks are expensive.

Now you’re ready to man hunt!

Time to meet the cast!

We have Kathleen, a fellow actress who I like to bring man hunting  (even though we usually just sit and talk to each other about the lack of men in the city instead of talking to actual men).

Edita, a restaurant manager, who is quite upset that the dang hipster bartender hasn’t poured her another beer yet.

And Alleka, an actress friend who has a boyfriend which makes her the perfect wingman (it’s always essential to bring along someone that is in a relationship because they’ll talk to the less attractive guys for you and you don’t feel bad about it cause they’re already getting tail on a daily basis).

After a few drinks and no luck talking to any men besides the bouncer, we decided to regroup and get some food at the Heartland Brewery.  Where….

We met a bunch of really cool guys!

For my first technique of flirting, I introduced the guys to Flat Pam.

They sniffed her skirt (grape scented you pervs) and bought us a round of beers. Who knew Flat Pam would be such a hit with the fellas.  Oh, that’s right.  I did!

Next, I gave them my website for the blog.  They were all particularly fond of my underwear drawer makeover.

And for my final technique I got really drunk and took one of them home with me!

To be continued…

(Maybe.  We’ll see if bringing home a sexy stranger is the first step to falling in love before the world ends…not just the first step to a urinary tract infection)

Day 21: Every Batman needs his Robin…

Hey there adoring fans (Tommy Casabona)!

Tonight I’d like to introduce you all to a new friend that I have recruited to help me with my EOW endeavors.  Ladies, gentlemen, and hobos I’d like you to meet…

FLAT PAM!

You should note that Flat Pam is from Baltimore (hence the Ravens garb.  Go Ravens!) and that she was colored with scented markers and smells of grape and rootbeer (never has a lady had her crotch sniffed so frequently).

As you all know (or have no idea because you haven’t read any of my other blogs…shame on you jerks…but also, thanks for reading my blog!), something that I’ve always wanted to do (especially before the EOW) was to have a child send me a “Flat Stanley”.  I have no nieces or nephews of my own, and all of my friends who have babies have well…babies.  “Flat Stanley” is a school project done by 1st graders all over the country.  And I really wanted one….sooooooo,  I got one (hooray)!

On Day 16: Audience Participation, I asked any fans of the blog if they knew of anyone working on Flat Stanley’s.  My friend Pam (who I grew up dancing with and haven’t seen for 15 years) contacted me and let me know that she was now a 1st grade teacher (long way from a shot girl like myself…not that there’s anything wrong with my profession) and that her class was working on Flat Stanley’s!  Oh what joy!  She volunteered to send me her Flat Stanley to share with her class.

And yesterday I got my new friend Flat Pam in the mail!

The letter that came with Flat Pam read as follows,

Dear Sarah,

As a part of our class’s “Families Around the World” and holiday units in Social Studies, our class has read the story Flat Stanley.  This story is about a boy who wakes up flat (Jesus!  It’s like American Horror Story) and goes on many different adventures.  One of these adventures includes mailing himself to his grandma in an envelope (I’d mail myself to Ryan Reynolds’ home covered in banana boat tanning oil while holding a picture of Blake Lively looking fat)!

To go along with this story we have drawn pictures of our “flat selves” to mail a relative.  If you could please send back a nice note about where you live (Harlem), your holiday traditions (alcohol abuse), and a souvenir or two (hip flasks), our class would really appreciate it.  The children love seeing items from around and hearing about different parts of the country and world!

We will be marking a map in our classroom of where each flat child traveled.  Hopefully, this activity will open the children’s eyes to many different people (hobos) , places (cock fights), and things (mechanical bull rides) in our country and world!  Thank you for your support in making our Flat Stanleys a success!

**Please don’t forget (what are you a terd?) to return Flat Pam with your letter!!**

Love,  Pam

Flat Pam’s only been here for 2 days and she’s already helped me with so many things…

She helped me Rock the Vote last night in Rockefeller Center…

(Yep.  This is the place you saw when you were following MSNBC for the election…unless you were too busy watching a hammered Diane Sawyer on ABC.  Way to go Flat Pam!)

She’s helped me edit my blog…

Yes, I have an iBook G4 from 2005.  Jealous?

She helped me try on funny mustaches…
Again.  Jealous?

She carried her own in the first snow storm of the season…

Yes I  took this picture myself.  Not too many helpers walking around in a “freezing mix of snow and sleet”.

She helped me warm up with a second (fourth) glass of wine…

Don’t judge.

And she helped me get a good nights sleep…

Sleep tight Flat Pam.  Don’t let the bed bugs bite.  And seriously…don’t joke about bedbugs in New York Flat Pam.  That s*it’s for real.