mobile07/23/08 04:31 - 67ºF - ID#45113
Holy effing gay
So I just read in Gawker www.gawker.com that Simon Doonan and Jonathan Adler are getting married!!! It's like the two gayest designers are now joining forces to be one fierce uber designer. Wow. I totes want to go to that wedding.
Jonathan Adler does home furnishings and sculpture. I have one of his orginal pieces (it's really ugly). Oh, he was also on Bravo as a Judge for some show and you know I'm a sucker for crap like that.
- For those not in the know:
Jonathan Adler does home furnishings and sculpture. I have one of his orginal pieces (it's really ugly). Oh, he was also on Bravo as a Judge for some show and you know I'm a sucker for crap like that.
Permalink: Holy_effing_gay.html
Words: 103
Location: Jersey City, NJ
06/10/08 12:44 - 77ºF - ID#44606
Time
Randomly I decided to go over my past blog entries. I am so much happier now than I was like 3 years ago. Moving to NYC was really hard apparently. I guess at the time I didn't realize how hard it actually was. I like my job so much more now, and love my amazing friends. I'm even quite fond of my little studio apartment. What a difference a few years makes..
Permalink: Time.html
Words: 71
Location: Jersey City, NJ
06/04/08 03:01 - 74ºF - ID#44544
Texting
It's suppossed to be busy at work today. It's not. So instead of internet stalking people (we all know what that path leads to) I decided to post something for once.
I was reading a article in Salon (www.salon.com) the other day and I felt like I could have written it.
Read below (it's basically exactly how I feel about texting and dudes and phones):
U still up?
Text-messaging has made the late-night drunken hookup insanely easy. 2 EZ?
By Sarah Hepola
Jun. 01, 2008 | I was seeing this guy who would send me text messages in the middle of the night. This might indicate a few other things about him, his love of booze and booty calls chief among them. It got so that when I heard that little double beep at midnight on a Tuesday, or 3 a.m. on a Saturday, I didn't even check to see who it was. I'd wake up the next morning to find these drunken dispatches from him, a last-call Hail Mary. "Whatcha doin?" "U still up?" All of which were variations on one crucial question: "Can I sleep with you?" I guess I'm old-fashioned; I like a guy to e-mail first.
I came late to text-messaging, and part of me never fully bought the hype. I don't have a BlackBerry, or a Treo, or an iPhone; my cellphone is so old they don't even make replacement parts, and typing out a message can feel a bit like chiseling it in stone. A while ago, I was sloooowly etching out a question to a friend at a bar -- clink, clink, clink -- when someone leaned over my shoulder. "Aww," he said, "did you just learn to do that?"
Part of the problem is that I'm an annoying grammar snoot who refuses to abbreviate. I find it offensive to collapse the English language into emoticons and acronyms. I think text messaging has indulged everyone's worst impulses to ignore spelling and disregard punctuation. I'm a former English teacher; I've had throwdowns about the serial comma, and I used to 86 a guy if he misspelled "a lot." What am I supposed to do with "l8er" and "sez"?
I admit, text messaging has its uses: "5 min. late," "I'm here," "Address again?" -- these are the dispatches that befit such tone-deaf technology. But things have gotten out of control. A few months ago, a 31-year-old friend of mine told me a long story about a guy she was dating, and I swear the only verb she used was "text." Lately, when I'm out to dinner with single girlfriends, many of whom are also in their early 30s, there comes a point in the evening when I am staring at the parts in their hair while they click away on their keypads. By the time dessert is served, they all have dates for later that night.
Sure, it's kind of amazing that you can send flirty messages back and forth from the dinner table without your pork tenderloin going cold. And it's kind of amazing that someone's trousers are buzzing the moment you hit send. It's so easy, so incredibly easy to hook up with someone -- no advance warning necessary, not a single word spoken. Of course, that's the part that bothers me, too. Like, what happened to a date? What happened to calling? To planning in advance? I realize this will open me to ridicule. I realize this is my Andy Rooney moment. Back in my day, you had to walk a mile in Doc Martens to send a fax!
Which doesn't mean I don't text-message men. That takes me back to the guy I was telling you about earlier. Let's call him Scott. About three months ago, I ran into Scott, who is charming and adorable and something of a scoundrel. We chatted and exchanged numbers, whatever, blah-blah. Later that week, I was five pints into an evening with friends and feeling the impatient, irrational call to action of someone who overstayed her welcome on the bar stool. Here's an idea, I thought: I should call Scott! But I was too shy, or too slurry, to actually make a phone call. What I could easily do -- well, what I could do with one eye squinted a bit -- was to type out a note to him and toss it to the satellites. I like to think what I wrote was clever and funny. I suspect it was, "Whatcha doin?"
He was there in less than 30 minutes. Like a pizza.
It was brilliant. So fast! So simple! If only everything in life could be so complication-free. I have always been the girl who wants to keep the party going, who doesn't want to go home when the bar lights cruelly flicker on. I would never dream of calling someone at 2 a.m. -- OK, I would, and I have, and I'm sorry -- but suddenly, with text messaging, I could just send an unobtrusive "You still out?" to the call list and voilà : instant after-party.
A few days later, Scott texted me at 2 a.m., and I redirected my taxi to his place.
So here's the problem: There's a reason why drunk-dialing someone at 2 a.m. invokes shame and embarrassment. It's because we probably shouldn't be doing it. What we should be doing is taking our asses home, drinking half a bottle of Gatorade and crashing into bed. My drunk self really doesn't need new and improved ways to stay out later, to get into more trouble, to do things I will ultimately regret. Maybe it shouldn't be so easy to get into someone's bedroom at 2 a.m.
For weeks after our late-night rendezvous, Scott would text me in the middle of the night. It didn't matter if I never responded; I would still wake up at least twice a week to find some note from him, shot off at 3 a.m. I vacillated between marveling at his persistence and feeling annoyed by it. After a few weeks of this, it began to dawn on me that these texts were not the personalized messages I had once imagined. (Perhaps you figured this out a while ago. Where were you last month, smarty-pants?) They were probably sent out to a rotating cast of women who were drunk enough, or bored enough, to actually respond. Who were these girls? And was the answer really (really?): Sometimes me?
The other day I asked my friend why she liked to text-message so much. She told me she felt nervous and tongue-tied on the phone, and she liked the way text messages allowed her to be quick and flirty and sly. I asked a male friend the same question, and he told me a story about sending a "perfect text." (It involved a sexual double entendre on the Playstation 3.) The text message is all about the zinger, the crack of the quip, which has its own appeal. Sure, maybe my friends hated the emoticon, maybe they learned to dismiss the bad grammar and the crunched, vowel-less nouns, but none of that was the point, really. What they said about text messaging was no different than what I have always said about e-mail, what my mother might have said about the long missives she once sent to my father: It allowed them to be their better selves, the clever/unflappable/devastating people we all want to be in the calamitous first throes of love.
Still, it would be nice if they could do that in proper English.
Recently, I met a guy I really like. He happens to live in another city, so I don't see him much. We've e-mailed. We've text-messaged. We've talked on the phone. I like all of it, frankly, because when you're fond of someone, any word from them makes you smile. But I did something unusual the other day, just for the hell of it. It was something I hadn't done in years. And because I hadn't done it in so long, it felt new and weird and exciting.
I sat down with my legal pad, and I wrote him a letter.
I was reading a article in Salon (www.salon.com) the other day and I felt like I could have written it.
Read below (it's basically exactly how I feel about texting and dudes and phones):
U still up?
Text-messaging has made the late-night drunken hookup insanely easy. 2 EZ?
By Sarah Hepola
Jun. 01, 2008 | I was seeing this guy who would send me text messages in the middle of the night. This might indicate a few other things about him, his love of booze and booty calls chief among them. It got so that when I heard that little double beep at midnight on a Tuesday, or 3 a.m. on a Saturday, I didn't even check to see who it was. I'd wake up the next morning to find these drunken dispatches from him, a last-call Hail Mary. "Whatcha doin?" "U still up?" All of which were variations on one crucial question: "Can I sleep with you?" I guess I'm old-fashioned; I like a guy to e-mail first.
I came late to text-messaging, and part of me never fully bought the hype. I don't have a BlackBerry, or a Treo, or an iPhone; my cellphone is so old they don't even make replacement parts, and typing out a message can feel a bit like chiseling it in stone. A while ago, I was sloooowly etching out a question to a friend at a bar -- clink, clink, clink -- when someone leaned over my shoulder. "Aww," he said, "did you just learn to do that?"
Part of the problem is that I'm an annoying grammar snoot who refuses to abbreviate. I find it offensive to collapse the English language into emoticons and acronyms. I think text messaging has indulged everyone's worst impulses to ignore spelling and disregard punctuation. I'm a former English teacher; I've had throwdowns about the serial comma, and I used to 86 a guy if he misspelled "a lot." What am I supposed to do with "l8er" and "sez"?
I admit, text messaging has its uses: "5 min. late," "I'm here," "Address again?" -- these are the dispatches that befit such tone-deaf technology. But things have gotten out of control. A few months ago, a 31-year-old friend of mine told me a long story about a guy she was dating, and I swear the only verb she used was "text." Lately, when I'm out to dinner with single girlfriends, many of whom are also in their early 30s, there comes a point in the evening when I am staring at the parts in their hair while they click away on their keypads. By the time dessert is served, they all have dates for later that night.
Sure, it's kind of amazing that you can send flirty messages back and forth from the dinner table without your pork tenderloin going cold. And it's kind of amazing that someone's trousers are buzzing the moment you hit send. It's so easy, so incredibly easy to hook up with someone -- no advance warning necessary, not a single word spoken. Of course, that's the part that bothers me, too. Like, what happened to a date? What happened to calling? To planning in advance? I realize this will open me to ridicule. I realize this is my Andy Rooney moment. Back in my day, you had to walk a mile in Doc Martens to send a fax!
Which doesn't mean I don't text-message men. That takes me back to the guy I was telling you about earlier. Let's call him Scott. About three months ago, I ran into Scott, who is charming and adorable and something of a scoundrel. We chatted and exchanged numbers, whatever, blah-blah. Later that week, I was five pints into an evening with friends and feeling the impatient, irrational call to action of someone who overstayed her welcome on the bar stool. Here's an idea, I thought: I should call Scott! But I was too shy, or too slurry, to actually make a phone call. What I could easily do -- well, what I could do with one eye squinted a bit -- was to type out a note to him and toss it to the satellites. I like to think what I wrote was clever and funny. I suspect it was, "Whatcha doin?"
He was there in less than 30 minutes. Like a pizza.
It was brilliant. So fast! So simple! If only everything in life could be so complication-free. I have always been the girl who wants to keep the party going, who doesn't want to go home when the bar lights cruelly flicker on. I would never dream of calling someone at 2 a.m. -- OK, I would, and I have, and I'm sorry -- but suddenly, with text messaging, I could just send an unobtrusive "You still out?" to the call list and voilà : instant after-party.
A few days later, Scott texted me at 2 a.m., and I redirected my taxi to his place.
So here's the problem: There's a reason why drunk-dialing someone at 2 a.m. invokes shame and embarrassment. It's because we probably shouldn't be doing it. What we should be doing is taking our asses home, drinking half a bottle of Gatorade and crashing into bed. My drunk self really doesn't need new and improved ways to stay out later, to get into more trouble, to do things I will ultimately regret. Maybe it shouldn't be so easy to get into someone's bedroom at 2 a.m.
For weeks after our late-night rendezvous, Scott would text me in the middle of the night. It didn't matter if I never responded; I would still wake up at least twice a week to find some note from him, shot off at 3 a.m. I vacillated between marveling at his persistence and feeling annoyed by it. After a few weeks of this, it began to dawn on me that these texts were not the personalized messages I had once imagined. (Perhaps you figured this out a while ago. Where were you last month, smarty-pants?) They were probably sent out to a rotating cast of women who were drunk enough, or bored enough, to actually respond. Who were these girls? And was the answer really (really?): Sometimes me?
The other day I asked my friend why she liked to text-message so much. She told me she felt nervous and tongue-tied on the phone, and she liked the way text messages allowed her to be quick and flirty and sly. I asked a male friend the same question, and he told me a story about sending a "perfect text." (It involved a sexual double entendre on the Playstation 3.) The text message is all about the zinger, the crack of the quip, which has its own appeal. Sure, maybe my friends hated the emoticon, maybe they learned to dismiss the bad grammar and the crunched, vowel-less nouns, but none of that was the point, really. What they said about text messaging was no different than what I have always said about e-mail, what my mother might have said about the long missives she once sent to my father: It allowed them to be their better selves, the clever/unflappable/devastating people we all want to be in the calamitous first throes of love.
Still, it would be nice if they could do that in proper English.
Recently, I met a guy I really like. He happens to live in another city, so I don't see him much. We've e-mailed. We've text-messaged. We've talked on the phone. I like all of it, frankly, because when you're fond of someone, any word from them makes you smile. But I did something unusual the other day, just for the hell of it. It was something I hadn't done in years. And because I hadn't done it in so long, it felt new and weird and exciting.
I sat down with my legal pad, and I wrote him a letter.
Permalink: Texting.html
Words: 1358
Location: Jersey City, NJ
Category: cooking
05/31/08 09:31 - 61ºF - ID#44504
Oatmeal Bars
I just made Sarah Snow Oatmeal Bars. Holy crap are they cracktastic. I added 3 kinds of nuts (walnuts, almonds and pecans) and apricots and figs and bran and mangoes and apples. I used all organic ingredients and it cost a small fortune to make them. I just snuck a bite of them before i packaged them for the coming week- every dollar spent was worth it.
-If you want to make them you can find the recipe here:
-If you want to make them you can find the recipe here:
- Yes I just posted a no make up picture of myself.
Permalink: Oatmeal_Bars.html
Words: 100
Location: Jersey City, NJ
05/29/08 09:28 - 56ºF - ID#44487
Im not throwing gang signs
My brother threw a chair at me when i was in highschool. it was dramatic. my finger was briz-oke. Since then every year when it gets humid it hurts. I think this year is the worst. i can't move it. it hurts like i have arthritis. Pictorial proof below.
when i extend my fingers
natural hand
when i extend my fingers
natural hand
Permalink: Im_not_throwing_gang_signs.html
Words: 60
Location: Jersey City, NJ
Category: family
05/22/08 09:10 - 55ºF - ID#44424
Sisters
So today my mommy dearest calls me on her way to work to discuss a "issue" she has been having. She tells me that all Sarah does is quote me. "Well Jessica says this, Jessica says that, Jessica told me you were going to make me color your hair in the garage.."
My mom is sick of hearing my tidbits of wisdom via the littlest ho. The first thing that comes to mind is: awesome- warms the cockles of my heart. i so often take for granted having siblings and being the oldest. now that we are all grown up (i use this term very loosely) i forget that there is the possibility that they may still look up to me- if even in a small way. the second thing that comes to mind is: of course- i live in new york, i listen to npr every morning, read the nytimes and thus am superior and have far more wisdom than the normal, non city dwelling, human this link proves it.
My mom is sick of hearing my tidbits of wisdom via the littlest ho. The first thing that comes to mind is: awesome- warms the cockles of my heart. i so often take for granted having siblings and being the oldest. now that we are all grown up (i use this term very loosely) i forget that there is the possibility that they may still look up to me- if even in a small way. the second thing that comes to mind is: of course- i live in new york, i listen to npr every morning, read the nytimes and thus am superior and have far more wisdom than the normal, non city dwelling, human
this link proves it.
Permalink: Sisters.html
Words: 176
Location: Jersey City, NJ
Category: music
05/20/08 08:49 - 49ºF - ID#44402
The only reason I thing Myspace is..
acceptable.
Tugboat Annie. My first, last and only true love. Holy shit they are amazing.
Tugboat Annie. My first, last and only true love. Holy shit they are amazing.
Permalink: The_only_reason_I_thing_Myspace_is_.html
Words: 20
Location: Jersey City, NJ
Category: robots
05/19/08 09:16 - 47ºF - ID#44395
Robots
I'm not alone in my fear of robots. Read the link and then the comment by MONSTERGOC:
PS- I know I'm long over due in posting about my super fun DC trip. I promise pictorial witty post soon :)
PS- I know I'm long over due in posting about my super fun DC trip. I promise pictorial witty post soon :)
Permalink: Robots.html
Words: 42
Location: Jersey City, NJ
05/14/08 09:07 - 56ºF - ID#44341
New York Shitty
I haven't blogged anything of substance in a while. I have my whole amazing DC trip to blog (side tangent: thank you to everyone who gave me tips/suggestions I used all of them and ended up falling in love with America all over again). I think this is partly because I'm having a touch of depression. I had such a wonderful amazing introspective time in DC I actually shed a tear when I had to leave. Then I came back to the shitty/city. I'm now considering moving.
Just one reason why I may have had it with the uncivilized assholes who live in NYC. So back story first. When I was in DC I was on the train during rush hour (5:30pm) the train was crowded. There was a young women (20 something) holding a grocery bag. Next to her sitting down were two kids. I automatically thought "oh these kids are punks, they are so rowdy, fuck kids, etc". Then I was proven what an asshole I am for judging people. The one kid said to the other "what's wrong with you give up your seat for the girl". And he did!
Fast forward to me on the train at 6 pm this evening. Packed F train. Lots of douchy business types, myself included. On walks a young women carrying a diaper bag and a clearly very young baby. The train starts andshe struggles to get on the train. She walks by 3 men no older than 35, sitting reading papers, spread out taking up more than one seat. As soon as I see this woman I right away motion to her to take my seat. She looked so tired and grateful. Turns out the baby was 2 months old and she had just been at the doctors all day getting the baby shots. I gave every man near by a shameful look. What kind of "man" sits and watches a young women with a baby struggle and doesn't jump up and offer his seat? I live in a city of douchy assholes and sometimes I fear I'm becoming one of them.
Just one reason why I may have had it with the uncivilized assholes who live in NYC. So back story first. When I was in DC I was on the train during rush hour (5:30pm) the train was crowded. There was a young women (20 something) holding a grocery bag. Next to her sitting down were two kids. I automatically thought "oh these kids are punks, they are so rowdy, fuck kids, etc". Then I was proven what an asshole I am for judging people. The one kid said to the other "what's wrong with you give up your seat for the girl". And he did!
Fast forward to me on the train at 6 pm this evening. Packed F train. Lots of douchy business types, myself included. On walks a young women carrying a diaper bag and a clearly very young baby. The train starts andshe struggles to get on the train. She walks by 3 men no older than 35, sitting reading papers, spread out taking up more than one seat. As soon as I see this woman I right away motion to her to take my seat. She looked so tired and grateful. Turns out the baby was 2 months old and she had just been at the doctors all day getting the baby shots. I gave every man near by a shameful look. What kind of "man" sits and watches a young women with a baby struggle and doesn't jump up and offer his seat? I live in a city of douchy assholes and sometimes I fear I'm becoming one of them.
Permalink: New_York_Shitty.html
Words: 350
Location: Jersey City, NJ
05/07/08 07:05 - 65ºF - ID#44266
Dee Ceee
I'm ready for my night out on the tiz-own. I wish it was a sister night out. I remember how much fun it is to get ready with the little ho. Who else is going to keep my fashion up to date? I'm off the the beer place with 100s of beer (thanks to (e:jenks)!). Here is me all dolled up!
PS Im not stoned. My allergies are just mega out of control. I'm allergic to Bush.
PS Im not stoned. My allergies are just mega out of control. I'm allergic to Bush.
Permalink: Dee_Ceee.html
Words: 80
Location: Jersey City, NJ
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I thought they were put together at the last minute before the shutters opened, by stressed-out store employees. This is like a whole super-sub-specialty that has suddenly sprung into consciousness. I can bet that I will be wondering who designed the displays, how much they cost, is the maker of the mannequin wig marrying the person who made the earring etc. the next time I walk on the streets. Thanks for making window shopping more complicated than it is.