Sunday 31 October 2010

Happy Things.

Because there's no better way to nurse a hangover than wasting precious time on Tumblr you will never get back, I thought I'd share some of my digital "happy places."

Emerson Made


Clothes and accessories for the life you wish you could lead as the fabulous looking local drunk who bums around her quaint New England town. Kind of like Gilmore Girls without the fast talking and early pregnancies. I'm positively in love with this clutch, I think it
would not only bump my wardrobe up a couple of points, but make me into a better person as well.

J Crew


It's Disneyworld for the preppy. I haven't seen them screw up yet, and I don't think they can. Even these super Republican necklaces are adorable. Those crafty conservatives...attempting to take away our rights, yet accessorizing so well while they do it. Speaking of super adorable, Jon Stewart's and Steven Colbert's Rally for Sanity and/or Fear was yesterday. I was supposed to go, but Halloween trumps all. I honestly wasn't that impressed with it, but the amount of people that cared enough to show up was simply amazing.

Cast TV



This is only on here because it's the site where I watch Madmen. How melodramatic is this season four promo shot of Betty Draper? They managed to capture her solitude and self-loathing so eloquently. I know we're supposed to hate her, but I think she's by far the most interesting character on the show. I may have also been the only one who was rooting for the secretary that ultimately ended up marrying Don. She's young, she's hot, and she knows what she's doing. You go girl!


This has no purpose, it just amused me. Happy Halloween!



Friday 29 October 2010

Sometimes I regret sucking at design.


My largest problem with Graphic Design is the craft and precision of it. I am naturally a messy person, and my cutting boards, tools, and gluing skills are a reflection of that. To add to the futility of it, my worst trait is how I'm arguably inclined to not care about something if I don't naturally excel at it. This has been exemplified through years of failing at gymnastics, ballet, tennis, sailing, or even just working on my weak wrists and ankles. (In my defense, I am part British)

While I am not jealous of the mind-numbing amount of hours I have seen my roommate and classmates work on their paper sculptures and packaging projects, I am envious of their end results. To put it simply their projects are fucking beautiful and I wish I could even attempt such a feat. However, because I chose to take glorious advertising and writing courses I get to bastardize some of my favorite brands in its stead. And as we all know, the creative process is best stimulated through cheap alcohol and living in your own delusions of grandeur. Two things I've got totally under control.

I just get a little sad whenever I see the epic work of Rob Ryan, or the Etsy shop of Mr. Yen. Paperwork is beautiful and I can only aspire to have a cut-out masterpiece of my own someday. My tawdry and collegiate whitewashed walls only currently contain my assholish-photoshop renderings I either made for class or for fun while intoxicated.

But Sarah, why did you put a hamster on an Absolut Ad?
Because it's fucking adorable.

Yes I get that, but why did you have to put it in your portfolio?


...Because it was either that or Abe Lincoln talking about railing bar wenches. Oh wait, that's in there too. Thank G-d I know I'm not working in design after that mythical day they call "graduation."

Just to prove I'm not screwing around all the time, here's a bit of my (yet to be approved) thesis I wrote today. I'm essentially going to design a book I'm currently writing, on top of the mountain of classes I plan on taking, and writing the scripts for Drexel's talk show. Luckily I always have my secret weapon...insomnia.

This is a short excerpt from my food chapter, discussing yours and my favorite pastime: snacking.

You can’t get through your day on a three paltry meals, hopes, dreams, and barbituates alone. You’re probably going to want some fruit salad as well.

Snacking has always been a dangerous pastime, like freefalling or day drinking. You just don’t know how or when to stop. One chip turns into five, then half the bag, then you’re hysterically scrubbing the orange cheesy dye off your hands like you just committed a murder. You’re not Lady Macbeth, and washing away the evidence still won’t help the size of your thighs.

If you need your chip and dip fix, don’t be afraid to waste dishes and set aside pre-measured portions. Keep in mind the portions should be considerably smaller than a feeding trough. Living the dream isn’t funneling onion dip into your mouth: it’s fitting into the clothes that make people hate you.

Don’t eat in front of the TV, the glowing box will distract you from the quantity or quality of calories being shoveled into one of your less discriminating orifices. A self-satisfying and somewhat innocent snack is toasted whole grain pita or cucumbers with hummus. You can stock up and blow some cash on some of the gourmet hummus options, or make your own. All you really need are some chick peas, a food processor, and the will to blend something other than margaritas.



Saturday 23 October 2010

The rationalization behind cutting all of my hair off.



I've always aspired to look like Natalie Portman in Hotel Chevalier. There is a certain elegance in the way she bitchily commands the room in a trench coat and androgynous haircut. The same goes for Edie Sedgwick, and those random anorexic fashion majors running around campus.

I have always admired their confidence in the ability to pull off a masculine hair cut. It's easy enough to hide behind long pretty locks if you have a pimple or serious bags under your eyes. People will be distracted and not as focused on your face. There is also unfortunately the issue of what guys will think. We're brought up in a society where long hair for girls is considered the status quo, and straying from it makes you highly resemble Hilary Swank from Boys Don't Cry.

However, last night when I was pounding peppermint patty shots with Natalie (Whipped cream, peppermint schnapps, and chocolate sauce all in your mouth. Follow with serious gym time) I had an epiphany. I needed to make a serious lifestyle change. The apathy towards my major had reached epic heights, and my decision making skills have been poor of late. I needed a fresh start, preferably one that didn't include retail therapy.

After several more drinks, an ill-conceived frat party, an allergic reaction to said drinks (damn you red dye B5) and one of the worst texts I have ever received, my gut reaction was to call the salon as soon as I woke up this morning. Farewell curly Jew fro, hello pixie cut.

I don't know if it's because I've grown more confident over the years, or if I just stopped caring what other people think of me. Probably the latter, but nevertheless I'm damn proud of myself for not audibly crying when I saw all of my hair falling to the ground. I was initially scared that I would look too much like a little school boy, but then I realized I had two rather large reasons how they couldn't.

I may wake up tomorrow with the horrible realization that it will take at least two years for my hair to fully grow back, but for right now I'm not in panic mode. I'm too busy modeling headbands.

Tuesday 19 October 2010

I'll starve before working retail.


I can't do this, Sam.

I know. It's all wrong. By rights we shouldn't even be here. But we are. It's like in the great stories, Mr. Frodo. The ones that really mattered. Full of darkness and danger, they were. And sometimes you didn't want to know the end. Because how could the end be happy? How could the world go back to the way it was when so much bad had happened? But in the end, it's only a passing thing, this shadow. Even darkness must pass. A new day will come. And when the sun shines it will shine out the clearer. Those were the stories that stayed with you. That meant something, even if you were too small to understand why. But I think, Mr. Frodo, I do understand. I know now. Folk in those stories had lots of chances of turning back, only they didn't. They kept going. Because they were holding on to something.

What are we holding onto, Sam?

That there's some good in this world, Mr. Frodo... and it's worth fighting for.

-Frodo and Sam,
The Two Towers

In so many words or less, Frodo and Sam's dialogue sums up how it feels being broke. When all desperate hope is lost, and Drexel still won't file my fucking work-study paperwork, then perhaps a new day will shine out the clearer and I can still go to dollar drink night. There are no other alternatives because I will cut off my trigger fingers before I even think about working retail. I know there are no drafts pulling people to work at the GAP, but it's still the principle of the thing. Almost like the time I decided I didn't want to pay for a nose job and decided an "accident" and "the insurance company" should take the financial blow. I mentioned it to my ex's younger brother, and he said he would gladly hit me in the face with a blunt object when I least expected it. I quickly lost my nerve when I realized:

a) He wasn't kidding.

b) He was fucking insane.

On the other hand, my financial woes are all of my own doing. I didn't have a job in NYC for six months because I figured I could use the economical powers that are Judaism. Even if it meant getting lunch at the $.50 hot dog place when I was "taking a walk" at work. The frequency in which I shop isn't helping as well, no matter how much of a deal I get. For example, the pro's and cons of my new Armani messenger bag I snatched up at a thrift store. Pro: I no longer have to use my bedazzled backpack. Con: That was 3 and 3/4 handles of Bankers club that could have been in my freezer. And I no longer have to use my bedazzled backpack.

At least I know the last of my wages went towards a weekend in Vermont. It wasn't that expensive because Danielle owns a room at the Killington Grand and we only had to split the cleaning fees between an engineer, math major, designer, and two copywriters. I mention our chosen professions because it speaks to the amount of alcohol that was consumed over the weekend. We basically drank beer, hiked, drank more beer, went in the pool, then brought gin to the pool. Between the ridiculous amount of carbs consumed and drank, I don't want to know how much weight I gained. Around this time of year when one needs to look good for slutty costumes, I usually keep a food diary in order to maintain some form of misguided diet. The following is my entry from yesterday.

Two Weeks Before Halloween:

Around 11:

Breakfast: 1 dill pickle spear, and an eggy in a basket (egg fried on a slice of wheat bread)

Going to try to forget the gnawing pain of hunger in preference of hand-washing a pile of clothes. They’re covered in (a tasteful amount of) sequins so the wash would not take kindly to them. My life is so difficult.

Wal-Mart won’t pick up the phone concerning my Optimus Prime costume. The nice old woman said they’re probably setting up the Christmas displays and can’t come to the phone. The cyclical pattern of consumerism amuses me.

Lunch around 3:

Trader Joe’s veggie burger with a splash of vinaigrette.

Snack around 4:

Three Brussels sprouts.

Gave up on talking to the incompetent and elderly who run the Wal-Mart phones and ordered my Revenge of the Fallen child's costume offline. Size: 8-10 years, husky.

I felt rather chilly while I was doing homework so I put on my taupe poncho I had gotten that morning. Brussels sprouts + online shopping + taupe fetish + poncho = beyond midlife crisis. Time to funnel a bottle of vodka and use my gym shoes solely to throw at squirrels on the bird feeder. All is bleak.

Around 5: hopefully dinner.

Two pieces of toasted wheat bread with a glass of orange juice.

I was feeling down about the whole poncho thing and craved carbs.

......Then I stopped writing because I binge ate everything after class. So much fail.

Thursday 14 October 2010

Charitable Prep


A pretentious attitude, sense of style, and vocabulary are the well known ways to my blackened and decrepit heart. In my estranged youth and shallow optimism, I used to tell myself that no one is "better or worse than anyone else." That phase came and went with my Star Wars themed birthday parties and athletic prowess.

While I bemoan the fact that I cannot swim as far and hard as I used to (aka realize I'm too tired to even lift myself out of the pool) I'm quite comfortable with knowing there are a lot of inferior people out there. I'm not just speaking of Palin supporters, PC users, and those that give the double thumbs-up sign in socially awkward situations.

I'm speaking of anyone who has slighted you, or whose opinion sways from yours. Burn those bridges, stamp on the ashes, and never look back. Even if it means you end up elderly, bitter, and alone. Not to mention so delusional you're convinced that IKEA mirror you spray painted is actually a fine example of late 17th century baroque art.

In order to deviate from the so-called flock and distinguish yourself as an alpha among beta's, I highly suggest a monocle. I thought they had died out with the waist cot and the diaphragm, but apparently they're still alive and well. Check out "the colonel" from Warby Parker. For a mere $50 you can achieve the distinguishment and feeling of authority you so desperately seek without reeking of gin.

In all honesty the site is truly remarkable. Stylish frames with an RX prescription for a mere $95? Shipping included? My Jewdar went off the charts, and I'm already planning on the dark tortoiseshell or the obnoxious green ones. They also donate one pair of glasses for every pair they sell, so you can sleep soundly at night knowing little Samantha in the projects is wearing the "Huxby" style in crystal tortoise.

Now all I need is for Drexel to file my damn paperwork so I can once again grace my work study position and harass freshman. Oh to be eighteen again and desperately cling to the hope that you'll grow out of the Natty Light phase. But why quit when it tastes of what dreams are made of?

Saturday 2 October 2010

May I suggest the mussels?


With the cold weather comes nostalgia for all things New England. The glory of pretentious apple picking, designer flannel, and yelling at cows is sorely missed. Granted I do live near Amish country, but they would judge the stale scent of natural light and failure I radiate on weekends.

This morning I got ready for the beach with Danielle so she could art direct a sand castle for her book design project. G-d I love not having a real major.
After I got dressed and took a look at myself in my fabulous IKEA mirror, I realized three things:

a) all of my fall clothes are currently stashed in garbage bags four hours away
b) my mother could possibly donate or throw out said clothes again and I would be doubly fucked
c) I had put on a Michael Stars tee and Juicy hoodie without prior thought, which screams "jewish suburbanite" louder than any cheerleader without a gag reflex.

After some black coffee and Trader Joe's blueberry oatmeal (they were out of apple oatmeal yesterday, for shame) we headed off to the delightful land they call South Jersey.

I had never been to Cape May before, and it looked like a far less affluent version of a Rhode Island beach town. I could also be prejudiced against anything Jersey, but that goes without saying. On the car ride down we realized that any senior trip we could possibly afford would involve sitting in a beach house with copious amounts of liquor and mollusks. Seafood goes down best with friendship and a high alcohol content. Out of our circle of friends only the designers and med students are graduating this year, with the latter going off to more schooling, and the rest of us poor schmucks are thrown kicking and screaming into the real world.

However, such an event is unavoidable and I am getting sick of going to generically procured theme parties. When I was asked why I didn't dress up for the jungle themed party last night, my immediate response was, "I'm too old for this bullshit" and then, "you know I look like a cougar anyway."