Everything’s Coming Up Roses…

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It’s my birthday today!  Hooray~

I’m having a very musical theater birthday this morning and listening to Ethel Merman’s Everything’s Coming Up Roses.  It feels fitting, especially because on this milestone of birthdays, I surprisingly don’t feel old.  There’s no big age crisis going on over here, and to be honest, I kind of feel like sh*ts just getting good.

Listen to good ol’ Eth –> Everything’s Coming Up Roses

This past weekend, Matt surprised me with a quick trip to Vermont where we stayed at an awesome culinary resort.  We took a cooking class where we learned to make homemade pasta from scratch with mushroom alfredo sauce, grilled romaine salad, chicken, and mini chocolate lava cakes with homemade banana ice cream.  We had a great time checking out Vermont and getting into the culture out there, which is very laid back and a refreshing break from the chaos of New York.  We hit up the little shops, and checked out the beer brewery Magic Hat, which was very cheeky and fun.

On the ride home, I begged Matt to stop in Connecticut so I could see Yale and the theater that I performed at a million years ago when I was in Les Miserables.  So, we took a little detour and walked around CT for a little bit.

Of course we hit tons of traffic on the way home and of course there was tons of rain to boot, but we’re back in Brooklyn and it’s my birthday and I took the day off from work but I still have lots of homework because next week I have finals and that kind of stinks but that’s ok because it’s my birthday and everything’s coming up roses so hip hip hooray.

Well hello, Vermont.

Well hello, Vermont.

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And hello, ice cream. Vermont is where Ben and Jerry’s was birthed. They even have a road called Cherry Garcia. Awesome, right?

Where we stayed

Where we stayed.

The hotel

The hotel

Our instructor for the cooking class. He told us lots of celeb gossip about people he's cooked for.

Our instructor for the cooking class. He told us lots of celeb gossip about people he’s cooked for.  Shhhhhhhhh….

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Shopping

The Magic Hat brewery

The Magic Hat brewery

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Inside the brewery

Getting crazy. Not really.

Getting crazy. Not really.

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Goodbye Vermont.

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Hello, Yale, nice to meet you.

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Yale campus at night.

So, this is 30, eh?  I’ve got to tell you, I’m hopeful about 30.  I think this is going to be my year.

And as Ethel would say…

“Curtain up, light the lights, you’ve got nothin’ to hit but the heights.”

~The End.

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Phil Dunphy for President, Yo.

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I have a confession.  I love Phil Dunphy.  Don’t worry, my husband doesn’t mind.

 

Such words of wisdom, Phil!

So, there are Jerry Seinfeld’s (eh, pretty funny), there are Larry David’s (um, ridiculously funny), there are Ray Romano’s (definitely a good time), and there are Al Bundy’s (hey, he had his moments), but no one and I mean no one is funnier than Phil Dunphy.

I’ve always had a quirky sense of humor, and I don’t usually find the conventional stuff, knee-slapping hilarious the way a lot of people do.  I need originality, I need ridiculous, I need absurd, I need you to cross the line, and then I need you to cross it again and again.

I love to laugh, but to be honest, it’s not that easy to make me lose it.  I’ve been known to sit in on many a Will Farrel movie and not so much as crack a smile.  But Phil.  Well, there’s just something about him that makes me laugh until I pee (not literally, but well, you know what I mean).

You know what?  Rather than tell you, why don’t I show you?

I think what’s so awesome about the actor who plays Phil Dunphy (Ty Burrell) is that in his Emmy speech for Outstanding Supporting Actor in a Comedy, he alluded to being a struggling actor prior to Modern Family.  He had been in the business for years doing odds and end roles, but not gaining much recognition.  Landing a part on a hit sitcom for your first big break?  Not too bad.

I was late to hop on the bandwagon of Modern Family.  This semester at school I’m taking a sitcom writing course where we study Modern Family episodes, and then for a final project we’ll write one of our own.  I had never seen the show before, and I have to admit, when my teacher announced that it was the only show we’d be studying, I had my doubts.  I felt like all the good stuff had already been done.  I was wrong, and immediately realized that after watching the pilot episode.  Somehow week after week the writers come up with new ideas that highlight each of its hilarious cast members.

Really, what I’m trying to say is that if you don’t have this show in your life, than your missing out big time.

On a side note, Phil Dunphy was the only thing that got me through this recent President election.  While the Facebook feuds were blazing, I chose to take a neutral standpoint and simply say: Phil Dunphy for President, yo.  If Phil was Pres he’d definitely make us laugh, and I think we could all use more of that.

~The End

Photo from ABC.com

An Open Message to the Guy Who Lives Above Us…

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Dear Guy Who Lives Above Us,

You don’t know me, but I live in the apartment below you.  I probably know you better than you think.  I know about the atrocious sleep schedule you keep, I know that you don’t work very much if at all, I know that you like to move furniture around at all times of the day and night, I know that you like Good Morning America (I can hear you watching it every morning), I know that you sometimes dance all by yourself (mostly late at night), I know that you have very, very loud and obnoxious friends, and I know that you enjoy Wyclef Jean.  Cool.  So do I.  Particularly, I love his rendition of “No Woman, No Cry.”  Here’s the thing though, Guy Who Lives Above Us, I don’t really enjoy Wyclef Jean at three in the morning…on a Sunday.

It’s not like you don’t know that you’re noisy.  Multiple neighbors have filed complaints about you, including the elderly woman who lives above you. Then, the night when Hurricane Sandy hit New York, you really outdid yourself.  You had a party that lasted all day and all night.  Some part of you decided it was a grand idea to have this massive party at your place in Brooklyn.  You must have said, “Hey guys!  Party at my digs!  My neighbors won’t mind!!!”  Just curious, what made you think that was a good idea?

Maybe you thought that it didn’t matter, because most of New York was shut down and didn’t have to work.  I get it.  I didn’t have to work, but guess what?  Other people did have to work, including my husband.  Yes, he still had to report to the hospital by 7 AM, even though your party didn’t stop until 5 AM.  And by that time, he was already up for work.

Not cool, Guy Who Lives Above Us, not cool.

I’m not really sure where we go from here, but I’m just going to put this out there:  The next time I get the urge to sing Lisa Loeb’s “Stay” or “We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together” by Taylor Swift at the top of my lungs, I’m going to do it.  Yeah, I just may belt one of those suckers out, and make you listen to me.  Then again, I may sing a song with notes I can’t hit, notes that make me screech, and make you listen to me try.

So there.

The moral of this story, Guy Who Lives Above Us, is that sometimes your poor decisions make me go…

Seriously.

We’re pretty nice people (The People Who Live in the Apartment Downstairs), and hey, we’re just trying to get some sleep.  So, can you please just shut the f*ck up.  Please?

Thanks.

Sincerely,

The Girl in the Apartment Downstairs

P.S. Does anyone else have noisy neighbors?

~The End

Photo by Anne Taintor

How To Find Out If You Still ‘Got It’…

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The title of this post might be slightly misleading.  Don’t let it fool you.  This isn’t much of a how-to guide at all, but rather my own personal story.  I hope you find it funny…

It all started one random Tuesday morning.  I showered, ate breakfast, and dressed for work.  I put on my black skinny jeans, black high-top Converse sneakers, a crew neck cream-colored sweater, and rhinestone button earrings.  Once I was ready, I grabbed my Kindle, and rushed out the door to get to the subway.

After a few stops, I settled into a seat on the train and began to read.  Not long after, a group of high schooler’s, all of them clad in plaid uniforms, hopped on the train, and began to converse loudly.  I tried my best to read, but the kids’ voices were boisterous and distracting.  Soon the lady sitting next to me got up and moved, and in her place, a gangly, freckled-faced boy with wavy brown hair sat down.  He was no more than fifteen or sixteen tops.  I continued to read (The Perks of Being a Wallflower) and I felt as though he was reading over my shoulder (I really hate when people do that, by the way.)  I ignored it, but after some time he quietly uttered, “Hey,” under his breath.

At first I assumed he wasn’t talking to me, so I continued to read (I was at the part where Sam stands up in the car while listening to Landslide by Fleetwood Mac.)

“Hey,” he said again, this time louder.

I raised my eyebrows and looked at him.  “Hi,” I said.

“What are you reading?”

“The Perks of being a Wallflower.”  And with that, I went back to reading.  (By this time Charlie was talking about Aunt Helen.)

“What school do you go to?”

I took note of his penny loafers, navy blue stock, uniform pants, and tried not to laugh.  This kid thinks I’m in high school?  I asked myself.  Wait.  This kid thinks I’m in high school.  Awesome.  I thought.

“What school do you go to?” he asked again.  “Saint Ann’s?”

I considered letting it go on, but he was so sincere that I felt a little bad.  “No, I go to college actually…and I’m 29…almost 30…and married.”

“You are not.”

“Yes,” I insisted.  “I’m afraid I am.”

“No, you’re not.  C’mon what school do you go to?  I’m not gonna stalk you or anything.”

“I’m serious.”  I showed him my ring to prove it.  “See,” I said.  “I can show you my driver’s license, too, if you want.”

“No, that’s ok,” he said, convinced now.  He stood up, and flung his backpack over one shoulder.  “Nice meeting you…,” he mumbled.

A few minutes later it was time for me to get off the train.  As I walked to work, I couldn’t help but laugh.  I looked down at my Converse shoes, and realized that maybe I was dressed kind of young.  I mean, I am young, but not sixteen.  Still, it made me smile, and inspired me to promptly put a status update on Facebook.

In other news, my dad has edited my name in his phone-book to “Mrs. Robinson.”

And that my friends is the story of how I found out- I still got it.

~The End.

The Woes of Being a Short Person…

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This past weekend I went to a concert with my very tall friend, Reagan.  We went to see Morrissey at Terminal 5 in NYC.  One of the reasons I was so excited about this concert was that it was a small venue and standing room only, which meant a great view and an opportunity to get close to the stage.  So, why is Reagan’s height significant to this story you ask?  It’s simple.  She could see and I could not, because well, I’m short.

Sure the music was great, and Morrissey can still sing like he did in the 80′s, but I might as well have been listening to him on my iPod, because I couldn’t see a thing.  Nada.  Not even a little bit.  You know what I think is funny?  (You short people will hopefully identify, and appreciate this) All of the tallest men in the whole damn joint were somehow strategically placed in front of me!  Why, Why, Why does that always happen?

Throughout the concert, I became accustomed to watching other people’s faces around me for their reactions, because I couldn’t see anything myself.  Occasionally the crowd would “Ooooh” or “Ahhhhh” and I just had to assume something really cool was happening.  The most exciting part of the concert was when Morrissey sang the lyrics, “Close your eyes and think of someone you physically admire,” in his Bri-ish accent and followed it up with ripping his shirt off like He-Man.  The only reason I know this happened was because my tall friend who could see, turned to me and squealed, “Oh my God, Sar, he just ripped his shirt off!  That was crazy!”  I had to judge by her reaction of shock, then laughter, and then glee that she was thoroughly entertained by his antics, and that it was the highlight of her experience.  However, I did not see any of it.

At one point I blindly held my camera up in the air, set the zoom mode all the way up, and took a pretty decent picture.  In fact, I didn’t realize how good it was until I got home and saw for myself.  Geez, the lengths short people have to go to, to see what’s going on!

Not bad, huh? What can I say, I make the best of my circumstances.

On a side note, I left with a cool souvenir.  I bought myself a t-shirt with Morrissey in a barber’s chair, getting that signature ‘do of his.  How fitting for my profession!  Although I didn’t buy one, they were also selling tote bags that said “Shoplifters of the World Unite.”  Ha!  I thought that was quite cheeky and clever (forgive me for the British slang, but I’m going with a theme here…)

If I learned anything from this experience it’s that next time I go to see one of my favorite artists live, I will invest in some really, really good seats or skip the “standing room only” shenanigans all together, because it was kind of the pits.

Can any of you short people out there identify with this?

~The End

This Is Thirty.

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A few months ago I asked Matt what he wanted for his 30th birthday and he promptly answered, “I want to go to Hawaii.”  I said, “You and me both, but that’s not gonna happen.”  We don’t have the time nor money to take another trip to Hawaii, so I decided to do the next best thing.  Bring Hawaii to Matt in the form of a surprise luau birthday party for this epic 30th occasion.

It all went down two Sunday’s ago at Matt’s parents house in Long Island.  It took place poolside where delicious Hawaiian grub was served, and the most amazing, authentic Hawaiian singer played renditions of Bob Marley, Jack Johnson, “IZ” Kaʻanoʻi Kamakawiwoʻole, Elvis, and an array of other Hawaiian tunes.

About three years ago when Matt and I got engaged, he had the ukulele version of the song “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” playing while he proposed.  He told me then that he wanted that song to play at every milestone in his life, so we also danced to it at our wedding, too.  He probably forgot that he told me that, but I didn’t.  The day of his party, I arranged for the singer to be playing “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” live when he walked into the surprise.

When we arrived at his parents house for the shindig, we could hear “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” faintly playing in the background.  Matt asked, “Do you hear music coming from somewhere?”  I said, “Yeah, I do, but I can’t hear what.”  I had to laugh, because it took him a while to actually hear what song it was.  As I led him to the backyard, where everyone was waiting, he was shocked to see all of his closest friends and family there to celebrate his birthday.

Matt may not have gotten to go all the way to Hawaii, but I’m pretty sure he was transported.  The next day and after it was all over, he declared, “I miss my party.  I wish I could do it all over again!”  <–Success!

The big reveal.

Mr. Palma

The twinsies.

The Palma’s.

The festive cake.

Sorry to all you Veggies out there.

Tiki torch

Poolside

Matt’s buddy, Brendan.

The wedding, I mean, birthday singer.

We’re silly.

Oh and Matt?  You might be 30, but don’t worry, you’ll always be my teenage dream.

~The End.

Leo, You Just Don’t Do It For Me Anymore….And Other Ways I Realized I Was Growing Up.

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I was like any typical fifteen year old growing up in the late 1990′s.  I was in love with Leonardo DiCaprio.  Swoon.  I mean, wasn’t he just so dreamy in Romeo and Juliet, and forget about Titanic, um…to die for!
My walls were lined with posters of Leo like this one.

Oh, Leo, “you kiss by the book.”

Just when every teenage girl thought they couldn’t love Leo anymore, Titanic came out.  The combination of Jack and Rose’s courtship, highlighted with the haunting score of violins playing in the background as they stood together at the front of the boat intertwining hands was almost too much for any young girls heart.

C’mon, who doesn’t remember this scene?  It was epic.

I mean, could Leo be anymore dreamy than he already was.  Why, yes, yes he could, and he did it so well, didn’t he?

Back then, Leo was my go-to celeb crush, and it stayed that way well into my twenties.  I remember catching Titanic on TBS or some other cable channel, and having to stop whatever I was doing to experience Jack and Rose’s love affair one more time (and probably for the thousandth time.)

Recently I flipped the television on to find Leo’s face as none other than Jack Dawson staring back at me.  I got excited when I discovered that the movie had just started.  Matt was at work, my homework was done, and I had nothing else on my agenda but watching Titanic.

Fifteen minutes went by and I couldn’t help but have the following thoughts:

“Geez, Leo’s a bit scrawny, eh?”

“He looks like he’s about sixteen.”

“This movie is kind of corny.”

I continued to watch and willed myself to enjoy it, but I found that I was distracted.  I was checking my email, texting Matt, and going on Facebook.  Could it be…Was I over Leo?

After an hour of Titanic, I couldn’t deny it anymore.  I was not only over Leo, but I couldn’t understand how I was ever into him to begin with.  He was skinny and feminine, his hair was greasy, and he seemed immature to me now.

This could only mean one thing:  I had grown out of Leo.

And Leo isn’t the only thing I’ve grown out of.  As I approach thirty, I’ve been noticing other things that I’m over…

Journaling:

I used to live for jotting down my feelings in notebooks.  I haven’t done it in years, but recently when we moved into our new apartment, I came across a journal from about seven years ago.  There was a quote scribbled on the cover, and as I read it, I couldn’t help but feel that it was indulgent, childish, and dramatic.  As I held it in my hand, I cringed so much that I wanted to burn it or throw it away.  I never did get rid of it and instead tucked it away into a drawer, but not without looking up who coined the awful quote first.  When I googled it, I found that it was none other than the bratty Avril Lavigne.  Figures. I don’t have any intention of starting another journal anytime soon; I guess I’m just kind of over it, and that’s what my blog is for now.  I can only hope that a few years from now I don’t look back on this thing and cringe….

PDA:

So, I’m not talking about a little hand holding.  Holding hands is totally fine by me.  Matt and I hold hands all the time.  What I am talking about are the groping teenagers on the subway, sitting on their boyfriends laps and making out, as his hand creeps up the back of her shirt.  Gross.  Something has happened to me over the last few years.  Public displays of affection make me uncomfortable.  It used to not bother me at all, but now…well, it makes me want to look away or scream, “Where is your mother when you’re behaving that way?”

Loud Music:

I used to listen to my music really, really loud.  However, now I can’t stand to have music blaring loud.  I can’t concentrate.  I can’t think.  It makes me want to rip my hair out.  I also don’t like shopping at places where they play music too loud, because get this, I can’t shop properly!  Recently I went into Abercrombie and Fitch and between the screaming music, extremely strong perfume that they spray all over everything, and the dim lighting, I didn’t last but thirty seconds.  There is proof that my distaste for the store has everything to do with my age, because I loved that store something terrible not even ten years ago.

Pork:

So, you’re probably going, “Pork?!!  Huh???”  But yeah…pork.  This is perhaps the biggest sign of me being a real grown up.  When I was younger I used to loathe pork chops.  Like, with a passion.  When my mom would make it for dinner, she would have to make me a hot dog because I refused to eat it.  In the last two years, I’ve noticed my tastes in food changing; a little gorgonzola here (which I used to hate) a little goat cheese there (which I used to think tasted like feet, but now love), but perhaps the most shocking change has been pork.  Sometimes when I’m eating it, I’m like, “Who am I?” I used to vow to never ever eat pork, but here I am, eating pork and developing the palate of, well, an older and more adult-ish person.

~The End

Pictures by IMDB