As the PA pushed the pie towards my face, all I could think was “please don’t break my nose, please don’t break my nose.” I pictured my glasses cracking under the pie tin, blood oozing out of my nose and mixing with the whipped cream, effectively destroying the only take we had to shoot the spot.
A super close second thought was “how did I get here?”
“Here” was a commercial shoot that had booked me late last night, after apologizing for “booking the wrong Sarah” (aka the one who wasn’t me) initially. Today being my day off, I told them I was free, and they sent me the specs of what to bring, etc. At the bottom of the email, an afterthought, really, was a single sentence: “you’ll be getting a pie in the face, btw.”
Oh, ok. Sure thing guys. Here’s a thumbs up emoji to match your abbreviated casualness.
Day to day bookings usually run something like this. Today it was a pie in the face. A few months ago it was “coaching your sister through labor.” A couple years ago it was “surprise! you’re going to be suffering through cholera. In close up. Making vomit noises.”
What I’m trying to tell you is my life is sheer glamour.
Don’t get me wrong: I’m not complaining. I’m saying this to explain that this is the reality. This is the type of money making, ridiculous thing you do with your BA in English Lit and Dramatic Arts. Maybe what I should have done was gone to mime school…at least then I could convincingly strap an invisible Christmas tree to my back and attempt to board an invisible bus.*
When the take was over, I got a standing ovation from the crew. Ok they were already standing, but they definitely clapped. Twelve people started wiping the whipped cream off of me, trying to prevent as much as possible from seeping into my clothes and hair. They invited me to watch the replay, and I have to admit, it looked really cool. I wouldn’t say that in that moment I knew why I was doing this, or felt validated as an actor or anything like that. Honestly, I was just glad I didn’t flinch or make some ugly face while the pie came towards me. I looked pretty, I looked confident, I looked like I knew what I was doing.
And for today, that’s enough.
*a real thing I was asked to do in an audition recently.
I love playing dress up.
Always have, always will. In case my earlier never-wear-the-same-outfit-twice confession didn’t get that point across clearly enough.
That isn’t to say that I love fashion; while it’s fun, I don’t care too much about Fashion Week or the runways or designers. What I enjoy is getting dolled up, doing my hair, and pulling on something that makes me feel pretty. The days where I feel extra depressed or angry, I may even throw on the old falsies (lashes, people…though let’s be real, the power of a push up bra is also a many splendored thing). I don’t mean that I’m ‘high maintenance’ or fussy – there’s just little that will work as well to pull me out of a funk as some lipstick and a nice dress. There’s something powerful in the decision to pull yourself together physically that tends to (in my case) pull the rest of me along with it.
I particularly feel this way when I’m going to work. I’ve read all the clickbait articles (thanks for the email forwards, MOM) that ‘prove’ that waitresses or bartenders make x% more money wearing make-up vs. not, or wearing a skirt vs. not, or I don’t know, having hair vs. not. While they are for the most part less than scientific studies (that always seem to point back to The Daily Mail) in my experience they do hold some truth. Not so much due to appearance, but due to how wearing make-up (or a power suit or a high bun or whatever) makes you feel. No one puts on make-up because they feel coerced. Sure at times it’s annoying or takes time and energy I’d rather spend on something else, but no more so than putting on socks because it’s cold, or sunscreen because DUH (always wear sunscreen please).
To me, it’s the same as a super fan wearing their football jersey the same way every game to prevent his or her team from losing. Obviously there’s no tangible reason why it would effect the outcome of the game, but wearing it gives the fan a little bit of agency, a feeling that they can control their destiny (or that of their team). In my case, dressing up makes me feel like I have taken significant steps to make my day better. Whether that translates into tips or not is anyone’s guess, but it rarely hurts them.
off to the salt mines,
A combination of slow internet and day-off laziness has made writing today’s post difficult. I have to keep reminding myself that this is my blog, my idea, and that there are no rules or grades for the assignment.
I told you I have issues.
Anyway, in lieu of a half-hearted and half-planned post, here is one of my favorite e e cummings poems. His structure has always comforted me, the symmetry and ease at which the poems work themselves out forming a sort of meditation.
In this particular piece, the idea of the word “yes” containing all worlds is a beautiful reminder that anything is possible. That “yes” is only the beginning.
Also I’m a sucker for anything with peach imagery. Deal with it.
love is a place
& through this place of love move
(with brightness of peach)
yes is a world
& in this world of yes live
So I have a shopping problem.
If you know me, you know that this is the case. I have more clothes than I know what to do with. When I was in first or second grade I remember thinking “I never want to wear the same outfit twice,” and honestly, for the most part I’ve stuck to that credo. I mean, I’ll wear a variation on an outfit, change the hair, make up, etc., but there’s something satisfying about creating a new look every day, and by now it’s second nature.
ANYWAY. I love Madewell. I can’t typically afford it, of course, but their clean lines and perfectly slouchy I-stole-this-from-my-boyfriend look is my lazy saturday (or, ok, tuesday. or wednesday. or thursday…) inspiration. I can’t usually walk by one without going in, and running errands in Soho earlier this weekend was no exception.
However this day, THIS DAY, I was to take home a treat-yo’ self prize: the Universal Tee in Olive.
Guys: this shirt? The softest. And the color? I mean, as a redhead, I have my share of green shirts, but none make me feel quite like I could survive a zombie apocalypse and still look put together. As they say on Doomsday Preppers (which I may or may not have been marathoning since I found it on Netflix) “When the S*&t hits the fan at least I’ll look like I know what I’m doing.” Ok, so maybe not that last part. But that first part…they sure do say it a lot. But I digress.
Now for the important info: all t-shirts are 25-30% off right now…and with an added student discount this shirt clocked in at around $15. Totally worth a Treat Yo’ Self buy.
yours in end-of-the-world splurges,
As a rabid fan of Ms. Parker, I would (and do!) agree with most of the things she has said. Her martini advice for example has proven itself to be true one too many times (even though there’s a debate whether she actually said it) and in high school I may or may not have tried to form a theater competition piece based on her Hate Songs, which I highly recommend. They may have been a bit outdated and difficult to grasp for my fellow 16 year olds, but re-reading them now ten years later (yikes!) is a real treat.
ANYWAY, when I found the above quote whilst searching for blog name inspiration, it was like a little nudge from dear old Dot.
You see, all my life, I too have enjoyed the accomplishment of writing, of getting my thoughts down on the page, neat and orderly, perfectly organized and clearly stated. BUT I HATED THE ACTIVITY OF WRITING. Due to the potent combination of poor penmanship in elementary school (shout out to Mrs. Pavalak) and an innate fear of anyone reading my deepest thoughts (it’s possible that baby Sarah reeeally misinterpreted the point of The Diary of Anne Frank), I never enjoyed it. I also must admit that I enjoyed the good grades, the awards, the attention that came from writing…but never enough to keep it up.
Thus, here’s my blog. There’s no over all theme, other than things I want to write about. My goal is to make myself write at least one post a day for an entire year (ambitious, much?) if for no other reason than to break this absurd aversion to writing.
Because let’s be real: penmanship doesn’t matter to the internet.
So raise a martini (two at most) to my contribution to the blogophere: Studies From a Broad.