Day 249: Why you gotta be so mean?

Hey there adoring fans (Mary Trotter)!

Readers, I am frustrated with the world today.

Why are people so mean?

And don’t give me the old “it’s because they’re insecure” excuse.

That’s bullspit.

I’m insecure about a lot of things.  I started a dang-on blog where I list my insecurities on a daily basis for the world (all twelve of you) to see.  And I’m not mean.  Never have been.  Ok, that’s a lie.  I was once mean to Ashley Naimaster in the 7th grade…probably because she didn’t realize that she was  prettier and smarter than me…and she had a 10-speed which was really cool….and then I got wind that  other people figured out that she was prettier and smarter than me and had a 10 speed…so naturally I threw all of her personal items out of our shared locker onto the hallway floor while on a “bathroom break” from shop class for the entire 7th grade student body to see.  Which I will agree was all about my own insecurities, but I was 12.  12 is about the oldest age I will allow “meaness out of insecurtiy.”  Since that incident, I’ve always been very nice.   And if I ever catch myself being in any way mean, it usually lasts no more than 30 seconds, and then I feel all bad and apologize to the person that I cut off with my shopping cart at PetCo…where the pets go.  Plus, Ashley Naimaster and I made up by time we got to 8th grade and are friends on Facebook now so I couldn’t have been that mean anyway.


Which is why my mind is boggled over how mean the people that I’ve been surrounded by are lately.   I finally quit my old job because my boss was a tyrannical, misogynistic, meanie pants who treated the employees of his wine bar like Jews of Nazi Germany, or North Koreans of North Korea, or employees of Disney Cruise lines (I once heard that a guy got fired for having a bottle of vodka in his cabin…so it’s basically like living in Syria when you work for the Mouse) and vowed to never let anybody treat me horribly again.  Life is too short to surround yourself with haters.  But now it’s my new co-workers that are down right meanies.   I just don’t get it. My first day of work consisted of me running around like a maniac while the rest of my co-workers looked at me with that facial expression of disdain where their eyebrows are always lifted….


And the only conversations had went something like this:

Raised-Brow-Co-Worker: Sarah!  (directly in front of 3 other co-workers and a manager) You really need to pay attention.  You have to stab your tickets at the bar or else the bartender will make the drink again.

Me:  (who has stabbed every ticket once the drink is made thus far…because I’ve worked in restaurants for the past 12 years…and I don’t have to tell you that it’s not rocket science) Sure, no problem.  Although, I do need that drink made.  That’s why the ticket hasn’t been stabbed.

R-B-C-W: (equally mad that I didn’t make a mistake, as she was when she thought I did make a mistake) Ugh!  So you need this drink then?!

Me: Yes, please, that would be great.  Thank you!

Why you gotta be so mean?!  All of us are consistently coated in a film of sweat and blue cheese, being mean isn’t going to help anyone here.

Then, my mom called after getting off the phone with my brother, who was worried about his clothing choices because the other students in his improv class were making fun of his polo shirts in their scenes.  Why you gotta be so mean?!  My brother can barely carry on a conversation without getting self conscious!  And he’s working really hard!  He has social issues for Pete’s sake!  That’s why I got him into improv!  Now you’re going to make fun of his polo shirts?!  What’s wrong with a polo shirt?!


It took everything in my being to not get the list of students in his improv class, hop on a Megabus, light bags of Ruby’s (and maybe some of my own) poop on fire and then hurl those flaming terds directly onto the front porches of those meanies.   But I didn’t, because that would be mean, and like I previously stated at the beginning of this long winded rant on social structures in the American restaurant industry, recreational improv classes, and 7th grade girl fights, I’m not mean.

Then, I read this great article that breaks down what’s going on in Syria for people like me who have no idea what’s actually going on and am too afraid to ask because when you ask questions about what seems to be common knowledge to the rest of the world you get this reaction…


And as far as I can tell, the sh*t that’s going on over there has everything to do with people being mean.  So where do I go from here?  I can’t change what’s happening in Syria.  I can’t change the way that people treat my brother.  Can I change the way that people treat me?  I’ve been working on this whole kill ’em with kindness angle, which has been my go to tactic for dealing with meanies for a long time now, but it seems to not be recognized by my new co-workers.   With them, my kindness is lost and all I get in return is more meanness or otherwise being flat out ignored.  I suppose the answer is that I should just continue to be nice and not surround myself with the meanies of the world.  But I still need to make money.  Perhaps I will use my imagination to turn their “Hey Sarah!  Are you ever going to bus that table or do I have to do it for you, you fat cow?!” to “Hey Sarah!  You’re doing a great job!  I’m so glad you started working here.  Maybe later we can go to ikea and pick out new spatulas?”  Whatever I do, I vow to not be mean, and right here and now stand on my soap box and say that I bet if we all took a vow to never be mean, the world would be a better place for all of the discouraged-waitress-polo-shirt-wearing-Ashley-Naimasters of the world!

PS: If you want the abridged, easy to follow article about what’s going on in Syria check this out:

Day 246: My Subconscious made me do it…

Hey there adoring fans (Katie Hoffman)!

It’s been two weeks since my last post: Day 227: R.I.P Tv and life has been great!  I’ve lost 10lbs!  The world is my oyster!  Yesterday, it rained one-hundred dollar bills!  Ok, ok.  You caught me.  I did not lose 10lbs, and One-hundred dollar bills did not fall from the sky (although a pigeon did try to kill me, but that’s a story for another day).  I never realized how much I really was addicted to watching Tv.  It’s like crystal meth for soccer moms, or bacon for my  best friend Mary.  Luckily, I have a sponsor that I can call when I’m really itching for a fix who loves Tv maybe even more than I do (which is probably not the best quality in a sponsor…AA would frown upon this…if AA read my blog…which they probably don’t…because I talk about booze so much that you could lick your computer screen right now and it would probably taste like cheap pinot noir…and because AA is an organization and not a real person with eyeballs and the ability to pass judgement on quarter life crisis blogs).  So,  I had a date with my sponsor Craig (one half of the gay duo featured in Day 203: My first Threesome!) last week and he surprised me with a new way to fill my Tv-less time…


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He picked me up a copy of his new favorite book.

You are a Badass:

How to stop doubting your greatness and start living an awesome life.

by Jen Sincero

This book is great!  Let me rephrase that…. Pages 1 through 87 of this book are great and I’m totally going to read the whole thing!  I only feel mildly judged when reading this book on the train with it’s super huge, self-helpy title on the cover.  The author is right up my ally (she says fuck all of the time) and the first topic discussed in the book talks about the stuff that I wanted to dive into for my next blog post, which is…

Chapter 1: My subconscious made me do it.

As I’ve been trying to, Live as Successful Sarah (as depicted on Day 221: Life on the Upper Yeast Side), I’ve noticed some obstacles that I’ve been having a hard time overcoming. It seems that said obstacles are caused by beliefs that my subconscious has made up based on information I received as a young-in.   Jen, the author (I’m on a first name basis with her because I believe that if I ran into on a subway platform we would probably have quick banter about how fucking slow the trains are on the weekends, and people that have frivolous conversation on subway platforms are allowed to call one another by their first names) suggests an exercise to try to figure out what kinds of hang ups you have going on in your noggin…

“Take a minute to look at some of the less-than-impressive areas of your life and think about the underlying beliefs that could have created them.  Let’s take the old crowd-pleaser, lack of money, for example.  Are you making far less money than you know you’re capable of earning?  Have you reached a certain income level that, no matter what you do you can’t seem to go above?  Does generating an abundance of money consistently seem like something you’re not even physically capable of?  If so, write down the first five things that come to your mind when you think about money.  Is your list full of hope and bravado or fear and loathing?  What are your parents’ beliefs about money?  What are the beliefs of the other people you grew up around?  What was their relationship with money?  Do you see any connection between their money and yours?”

My list:

1.  I will never-ever have enough money.

2.  People are disappointed with others that have less money because people with less money are not smart enough to receive and take care of an abundance of money.

3.  If I ever receive an abundance of money I should spend and enjoy it right away before it’s gone.

4.  I do not do anything worthy enough to make more than enough money.

5.  Money ruins Christmas.

Damn! I have and always have had a horrible relationship with money.  Why?  My parents had a horrible relationship with money.  And at least some of their parents did too…and then their parents…and then I’m pretty sure my great-great grand parents were cousins so I’m totally fucked.  As a kid the only things I knew about money were that it didn’t grow on trees, there was never enough to go around, and  people that had money were mean, selfish and thought they were better than everyone else.  And oh yeah, it ruined Christmas.  I remember my Dad telling me not to ask for a lot of things for Christmas because we couldn’t afford it, and I could see the stress in my Mom’s heart when we went Christmas shopping, but inevitably we would get everything we wanted because our parents wanted us to be as fortunate as all of the other kids even if that meant that they never bought gifts for each other, or that we had to eat McDonalds everyday for the next 3 months.  God bless ’em.  And I should add that my parents are amazing.  Despite my few flaws, I’m a lovely well rounded human being with clear-ish skin and strong bones.  And tons of my subconscious fucked-upness comes from society and early experiences as it’s all intertwined in my general up-bringing that begins with my childhood and expands to my teenage years.

Other things I’m subconsciously fucked up about and reasoning that I have justified said fucked-upness with:


You have to clean because you are messy.  Being messy means you are a terrible person.  Therefore cleaning enforces how terrible of a person you are.  So don’t do it.


If you fall in love with someone they will dump you and it will hurt.  If you don’t fall in love with someone who falls in love with you, you will dump them and it will hurt.  Therefore relationships hurt.


Eating food makes you fat.  Fat people are terrible people who are frowned upon by society.  Therefore you should always feel bad after eating food.


Naps are rewards for working hard.  Therefore if you’ve done any work today (even if that work was flossing) you deserve a nap.  If you can’t fall asleep because you are not tired from flossing, just lay there for 3 hours.  That counts.


The same thing as napping.

Having nice things: 

You can’t afford nice things nor can you take care of them even if you could afford them.  Instead of buying one nice item worth one hundred dollars, buy 7 times worth twenty dollars and throw them on the floor after using them.


Your brother is good at math.  You didn’t even realize that spending $20 on 7 things is way more than spending $100 on one thing.  Don’t try math, you will fail.

Sense of Direction:

The same thing as Math.


Dogs are awesome and make everything better.  Always have at least one dog but no more than 5 dogs.

So there we go.  A bunch of stuff that I’ve now recognized and need to unlearn.   Doesn’t sound too hard does it?

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.

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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…

Day 212: Dear Universe…

Hey there adoring fans (Venessa Peruda)!

Dear Universe,

Today I donated $14. 78 to you and your cause.  It fell out of the pocket of my favorite dog walking onesie somewhere between the grocery store and the gas station on the corner of Central Park North.  It was wrapped in a receipt for a container of chickpea salad and a small bag of kettle cooked salt and vinegar chips.  I was planning on eating the second half of the bag of chips tomorrow, as I am trying to be a bit healthier and knew that 2 servings at 165 calories and 10g of fat in one afternoon was not conducive to my being healthier needs, but after the trauma of losing $14.78 to the streets of New York, I used the second half of said chips to eat my feelings.   I know I don’t have much say when it comes to the way you run your world Universe, but if you could take my requests pertaining to the finder of this money under consideration, I would greatly appreciate it.

Please award that $14.78 to someone worthy.  Please don’t allow this money to be picked up by a D-bag who uses it to buy something boring and practical like drain-o, or maxi pads.  Please let this $14.78 lead it’s new owner to something exciting and adventurous.  Maybe a fancy cocktail on a rooftop overlooking the Manhattan skyline (provided that this person has the accurate amount of money on their own to leave an appropriate tip…or else they would be a D-bag which we previously discussed the money would not be going to).  Or maybe, this lucky and newly rich person will use the money for a nice ferry boat ride where they could breathe in the fresh Hudson river air, perhaps glance over their shoulder only to notice the most intriguingly beautiful person they’ve ever seen standing at the other end of the upper deck.  The intriguingly beautiful stranger may notice them at the same exact moment, and as their eyes lock, a timid smile comes to life on each of their faces, both knowing that this is the moment they will look back on 50 years from now when surrounded by their children and grandchildren while vacationing at their summer home.  “Now children, If I hadn’t found that $14.78 on 110th street all of those years ago,” they would say, “I would have never taken that ferry boat ride, would have never met the love of my life, and then none of you kids would be here today.  Before I pass on into the great unknown that is heaven, I sure hope I get a chance to meet that poor sap who dropped that money on the street that day, and thank them for changing my life forever.”

And I suppose if neither of those events happen, Universe,  I sure hope the recipient of my mishap at least uses the money to go to see SHARKNADO… and splurges for 3-D.


Your beloved yet clumsy follower,


Day 208: When Hairy met Sally…

Hey there adoring fans (Heather Torres)!

I’ve been tossing back and forth this idea for a way to get myself more motivated.  It’s kind of a “challenge” that I would be giving myself for the month of August.  I won’t tell you what it is now, because I might chicken out and then you all will stop reading my blog because you’re only currently reading it to learn the answer to the secret of life and to pick up the occasional dating tip and who’s going to learn those things from a chicken?  This plan does however involve some organization, so with my afternoon off, I decided to start with organizing my bedroom….


But being that I hate cleaning, and share the same attention span as a hungry baby billy goat, I got distracted…

by my gross hairbrush….









I would like to conclude this post with a little quote from my cousin, Gina on her reasoning as to why I am still single:

“It’s okay cousin!  I was single forever and was pretty sure all guys were A-holes!  You are awesome so it’s going to be a hard find someone to match your amazeballs personality…”

Yes, Gina.  I believe it is going to be very hard to find someone to match my amazeballs personality.

*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 206: What has your earlobe done for you lately?

Hey there adoring fans (Rob Schiffmann)!

It began with an earlobe.  It was a burnt earlobe.  My burnt earlobe.

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You see, a few weeks ago I went to visit my family at our beach house (and by beach house I mean a quaint one story cinderblock cottage built by my grandfather in the 50’s on the Tappahanock river in Deltaville Virgina, population 12… I love that beach house but wanted to give you a clear visual of where I spend my summer vacations so that I don’t lead you to believe that our family owns a Hampton’s summer mansion or P-Diddy type yacht because then you would all probably start asking me to “borrow” money to invest in your pyramid schemes).  Before going outside, I slathered myself with sunscreen just as I do every time I go out in the sun.  With all of the jogging, reading, and water sports I do in the summer, I have to be very careful of scorching my pasty/veiny skin.

Look here’s a picture of me jogging at the beach…

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But alas, I forgot to put sunblock on my dang ears and they got burned so badly that a few days later a flake of dead ear skin fell into my coffee mug of cabernet (because sometimes you need to drink wine out of a coffee mug…because you’re at work…).  Had this earlobe problem not happened, I probably would have just kept on walking a few weeks later when I came across this woman at Wholefoods.

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She was sitting at a desk with what appeared to be an illegal spaceship on it.  At first, I dismissed her.

Woman with illegal spaceship:  Hi there.  Would you like a free skin analysis?

Me: No thanks.

Disclaimer: In New York City, every where you go people are always trying to stop you during your incredibly busy day to give you things that you don’t need often in return for buying things you don’t want.  Example: “Excuse me miss.  Do you like stand up comedy?”  “Sure.”  “Great.  If you give me $1200 dollars and a DNA sample I will give you 2 free tickets to see Stinky Peterson tonight at Pierre Canseco’s Comedy Saloon.  This does not include the 7 drink minimum.”

Second Disclaimer: I’ve never actually stopped when anyone has asked if I like stand up comedy.  I can only assume this is what happens.

After dismissing the spaceship woman, I continued on my way around the store in hopes of finding some free samples of tortilla chips and then stopped in my tracks when I remembered my flaky skin cocktail.  I have actually always wanted to know what was up with my skin and how to take care of it.  How does one prevent wrinkles while simultaneously fighting off pimple gangs?  I have also heard that we humans should get checked by a dermatologist once a year and although I am quite aware that estheticians are not dermatologists, they probably know more than I do about skin and at the very least probably don’t refer to acne as pimple gangs.  Being an uninsured pasty person, this was starting to sound like a good idea.  Plus my blog is about trying to make my life awesome so learning how to make my skin awesome would probably in turn make my life awesome, right?   And I was in a Wholefoods, which was a pretty ok company to trust (aside from my theory that they inject all of the food at the salad bar with lead so that your salad can never cost less than $17.84).  Right?  Plus I still had 20 minutes to kill before any reasonable happy hour started, so why not?  I marched right back over and said…

Me:  Is this like totally free?

Girl with illegal spaceship: Yep!

Me: No catch?  I should probably let you know up front that I’m currently as poor as a hobo.

Girl with illegal spaceship:  It’s totally free.  I’m a licensed esthetician and Wholefoods has hired my company to teach people healthy skin practices.   

Me: Foshizzle?  I’ll do it!

I stuck my head in the illegal spaceship and got some pictures of my epidermis…

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The first few weren’t so bad.  When compared to 1,000 women my age and skin type, I was actually doing pretty well especially in the wrinkle division.  She said any findings below 30% were things I needed to worry about but anything above was fine.

Spots 43% and Wrinkles 85% (nice!)

sarah face

Texture 85% and Pores 49%

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And then came the gross part.  Where they remove the epidermis and focus all up on your dermis.  Sun Damage!  Out of 1,000 women my age and skin type I was in the bottom 1%

UV Spots 1% and Brown Spots 12%

sarah face

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Josie Grossie!

Apparently what I’ve always considered to be adorable little freckles are pockets of melanin (or pockets of something that sounds like melanin…I didn’t really take notes…and as I mentioned before, this event was followed by a happy hour so I may be remembering a lot of this entirely wrong).  Now, I know what you readers are thinking.  “Sarah, she’s a shyster!  She’s only saying you look like a dead baby giraffe because she’s trying to make you buy some shit!  You’re the most beautiful skinned person I’ve ever seen.  There’s no way she’s telling the truth!”   And I thank you for saying such sweet things to me readers.   But she didn’t make me buy anything and I think a true shyster would have told me that I had horrible wrinkles and should probably start investing in her company’s stock of unicorn blood, so I trusted her.  She did however recommend some sort of fruit enzyme product that would eat away my sunspots, which sounded really freaky and cool.  Then I asked her if there was anything that I could pick up to rub on my ass cheeks to eat away my cellulite but she didn’t know of anything for that besides cocaine and then I reminded her that I was as poor as a hobo and that cocaine was probably expensive or at least seemed that way on Law and Order.  I told her that I was suprised by the sun damage especially since as an adult, I’ve always worn sunscreen on my face but she said that most of the damage was probably done when I was a kid,


and that I needed to be extra careful and to use atleast an SPF 30 every single day and that makeup with SPF in it didn’t really count.  All in all the whole thing took about 15 minutes and really was totally free, so if any of you New Yorkers are ever around the WholeBody in Chelsea, stop in and see the lovely Winter Cohen from MyChelle Dermaceuticals so she can tell you exactly how much your parents didn’t love you by not properly shellacking you in SPF 2000 as a child.

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Day 203: My first Threesome!

Hey there adoring fans (Tori Blontz Saffran)!

As most of you adoring fans out there know (Disclaimer: I know I owe a bunch of you out there your adoring fan debut, and I swear I’ll get to you, and if I don’t, I promise to have a big party where everyone that I missed can gather together and punch me in the urethra…how’s that sound? Oh, and PS: the best way to become an adoring fan is by leaving a fabulous comment about how skinny and clear skinned I look on Facebook.  Not that I have vanity issues…oh shut up, what are you my therapist?…oh no, you couldn’t be because I don’t have health insurance and can only afford to get therapy and life advice from fortune cookies!  And only the fortune cookies given out between 11:30am and 4:30pm Monday – Thursday when there’s a lunch special because otherwise that s*it is expensive!  Now where was I before I started this quickly digressing parenthesis rant?  Oh right) at my last wedding a few weeks ago, I fell into a vicious tailspin over thinking about the whole relationships vs. being alone forever deal that f*cked with my head for a few days, hugely because I once again didn’t have a date to said wedding.  Luckily, for my best friend Mary’s wedding last weekend, I was blessed to have my 2 big brothers-from-another-mother, and favorite couple of all time, Michael and Craig there by my side for the entire weekend.  I had an amazing time and came up with the #1 best piece of advice for attending a wedding…

Sarah’s #1 Best Piece of Advice for Attending a Wedding…

Go with your gays!


Sarah’s Reasons for Why Her #1 Best Piece of Advice  For Attending a Wedding is to go With Your Gays…

1.  Six hands are better than two when it comes to zipping a dress and smoothing over back fat.


2.  Your dates are more well groomed, hotter, and better smelling than the entire midwest.





<———SMELL NICE!———>

3.  Your dates listen when you say that your up-do is very Jessie Spano from Saved By the Bell Prom episode…


but then lovingly advise you that it is really more Jessie Spano from Showgirls.


4.   You finally have not one but two people to dance with when the Dj says those usually haunting words: “Now the bride and groom would like to invite everyone to join them on the dance floor” Added Bonus:  you get the most dapper dancers in the room!

Mary (Beautiful Bride) Craig (Gorgeous Gay)

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Me (Bearable Bridesmaid) Michael (Gorgeous Gay)


5. You have a posse behind you when you decide to steal the boxed wine from the rehearsal dinner to bring back to your hotel room…

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6.  Being that most of the groomsmen are not regularly around gay men, your dates show them that not all homosexuals wear pink tuxedos and give out “handy’s”  in the bathroom.  In turn, all groomsmen profess their adoration to your dates with a “bro shot”!

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7.  Because your dates are constantly hitting the gym, you have two handsome (although extremely tired) body guards there to protect you while you wait for your bus to the airport at 3:40am the next morning.

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In conclusion.  Forget about bringing boyfriends, fiancés, or even husbands to your next wedding.  Go with gays and you will always have an amazing time!

**Disclaimer: this theory has not been tested south of the Mason Dixon line.  My apologies for any hate crimes in advance.

*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 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.”


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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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.*

Day One hundred and twenty something: Beauty and the B-cup

Hey there adoring fans (Kelly Cwalina McKew!)

Happy 4th of July!  I mean 8th of July …sorry, time flies when you’re going to die alone.   I know…I know!  I take it back…a little.  But with the week I’ve had it’s been all I can think about.  Last Wednesday, I packed my bag (and my dog) for nearly a full week’s vacation.  4th of July, here I come!  Which was perfect timing because New York City and her restaurants are completely dead during the summer holidays, as the rich folks are headed to the Hamptons and the poor folks are headed to the free beaches that are filled with Hep C.  My family was going to be at our beloved Rivah (that’s how people in the south pronounce river) house for the fireworks and I really wanted to see my grandma as she was beginning to become more and more forgetful (Gold star, yet single tear for those of you that have read my last post and recognize that unfortunately my grandma had passed 2 weeks prior to the trip…still it was a great time to be down with my parents, bro, aunt, uncles, and cousins to celebrate the wonderful life that my grandma had had).  One of my higshchool friends was getting married on the 6th in Baltimore, and as luck would have it my brother has his Improv 101 showcase tonight in Baltimore as well (even more props if you remember that I signed my bro’ski up for improv classes to help with his social skills…you’re totes winning you loyal readers!)    So it has been a jam packed week of fun, but with me, I can’t have too much fun with out analyzing everything that’s happening around me.  So as I sit here at my friend Kelly’s house in Towson and hear the sorrowful groans of her husband in the next bedroom (as he has been peeing out of his butthole for the last 72 hours…big shout out to Mark McKew!) I have come to realize that what has been bothering me this whole vacay is how everyone around me seems to be in a relationship.  I’ve always been aware of the fact that 80% of the people I hang out with are in relationships, but I guess living in New York City takes the edge off.  There are millions of us living on one tiny island (totally made up population count) so I see single people around me all of the time (only half of whom are probably serial killers) but when you spend the week between family vacation…

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and weddings…

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and Clueless marathons on MTV…

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   You start to realize that although you know you are a strong independent woman…you are single…and 30.

Being a single lady has never really bothered me terribly much.  After all, Beyonce did write a song on it (which is only pertinent until Prince Charming  “puts a ring on it”).  I date a little (and I do mean little) here and there and it’s  fun for a bit and as time goes by things fade out.  I’ve always been a big believer in the fact that my life is pretty cool and unless someone is going to make my life better than pretty cool then why bother.  This week, however, has shaken me a little.  Relationships as far as the eye can effing see!!!  In some of the relationships, the two people were happy.  They were partners in the great journey of life.  Best friends.  A pod of peas.  Comrades.

Please vomit over Exhibit A:

My cousin Jessica and her husband Garren.


  And some relationships made me less than inclined to join the “taken” team.  I saw husbands/boyfriends/partners treating their significant others (and sometimes the general public) like a big sack of crap-potatoes.

Exhibit B:

‘Nough said.

But in every case I could feel these people, for better or worse, content with their partners and moving forward with their lives together.  Even a few of them are starting families.  Yes, I’m still crazy ole’ Sarah who’s fun to be around…

Just ask my Dad!

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or this bottle of Diet 7 up!

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or my friend Kelly!

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Ok…don’t ask Kelly….she’s still mad that I haven’t made her an adoring fan yet…until she reads this post…and cries with joy…and doesn’t complain about taking me to the bus station at 1am…

But I’m not the most important person in anyone’s life.  Except Ruby.  My dog.  That just stared at me while licking her butthole as I’m typing this post.  And then I feel like I’m in a Horcrux.  No.  That can’t be right.  I think that’s Harry Potter.  Debating weather or not you are ok to be alone for the rest of your life should not be decided while drinking Carona’s in the afternoon.  Don’t judge me.  I’m still on vacation until tomorrow…when I will go back to drinking at a more reasonable hour.  I’m in a conundrum?  Oh what the Hell…I’m in a pickle.  I’m 30.  I’m moderately attractive, with a decent personality and a full B-cup***.  I love my friends and family very much and I know they love and care about me.  But then there’s that little voice in my head… “Should I be actively pursuing the chance to be the most important person in the world to someone?  Maybe actually bring a date to a wedding for once in my adult life?  Have I been purposely pushing people away because I am worried to have someone mean more to me than I mean to myself?  If it was meant to be wouldn’t it have happened?  Am I taking back women kind 50 years by possibly hoping to find someone that will take me to the hospital when I’ve been peeing out of my butthole for 72 hours?”

 I just don’t know.  And maybe I never will….but now that I got that all off with my chest, be sure to stay tuned for how I spent the next 4 hours making myself feel better by playing improv at the mall…

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***Since writing this post I received a lot of lovely feedback from friends telling me how great I am, and I know, I know!   I am pretty awesome so I shouldn’t have down graded my good qualities.  What I should have said was that I’m smokin’ hot, with a better-than-Zoe-Deschanel personality, and a nearly C cup size (when I have period boobs).  

Thanks J-Pack!

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.


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,


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 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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*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.*