20 Ways To Trick People Into Thinking You’re Smart…

Frenchy: Hey, Marty, are those new glasses? Marty: Oh yeah, I just got them for school. Don't you think they make me look smarter? Rizzo: Nah, you can still see your face. down your bra?

Frenchy: Hey, Marty, are those new glasses?
Marty: Oh yeah, I just got them for school. Don’t you think they make me look smarter?
Rizzo: Nah, you can still see your face.

1.  Attend art galleries, and act deeply moved when you’re staring face to face with a giant painting of nothing but a big black dot.

2.  Say ‘palate’ whenever referring to your taste in food.

3.  Wear black framed, non-prescription ‘nerd’ glasses.

4.  Live in Brooklyn.

5.  Repeat ideas smart people have said in your presence and pretend that they’re your own.

6.  Use words like, actually, literally, honestly, and personally, at the start of most sentences.

7.  If you watch any reality television, You. Must. Not. Admit. This. EVER.

8.  Tell people your favorite television shows are Homeland, any HBO show (other than True Blood), Downton Abbey, or Breaking Bad.

9.  If you have nothing intelligent to contribute to Facebook, Twitter, etc., at the very least, use these correctly: there, they’re, their, your, you’re, we’re, were, then, than.

10.  Pretend you’re really up on politics, but only read the headlines.

11. Tell people your favorite movies are foreign films, and then name drop at least three titles.  Extra points if you pronounce them correctly.

12.  Hang out at any coffee shop except Starbucks, and preferably one that sells crappy coffee that costs twice as much as the chains.

13.  Shop at independent bookstores, and scour the historical fiction section (hopefully while wearing your black framed nerd glasses.)

14.  Tell people you studied abroad.

15.  Tell people you’ve read lots of books, and name-drop titles like The Importance of Being Earnest, Ulysses, A Tale of Two Cities, The Odyssey, The Old Man and the Sea, etc.

16.  Talk about Freud and drop at least one of his theories into conversation at a dinner party.

17.  Say you love every Woody Allen movie whenever given the chance.

18.  Use the word ‘juxtaposed’ in a sentence correctly.

19.  Use words like layered, texture, ripe, raw and supple when describing music.  Bonus points if you can use any of those words to describe Bon Iver’s music.

20.  When drinking red wine with friends, first refer to the taste as full-bodied and complex, then once you really have their attention, talk about how you love the hints of oak and cedar wood.

~The End.

Pictures courtesy of IMDB

Advertisements

Everything’s Coming Up Roses…

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.

photo(3)

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….

photo(2)

Shopping

The Magic Hat brewery

The Magic Hat brewery

photo(6)

Inside the brewery

Getting crazy.  Not really.

Getting crazy. Not really.

photo(9)

Goodbye Vermont.

photo

Hello, Yale, nice to meet you.

photo(11)

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.

The Woes of Being a Short Person…

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

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

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

Dolly and Bunny in the City that Never Sleeps…

Last weekend was a BFF extravaganza.  My husband went away to Montauk for his brother’s bachelor party, so I stayed at home in Brooklyn and had a little party of my own with my friend Reagan.  There is something about my friendship with Reagan that makes both of us revert back to grade school giggling, where we laugh until we can’t breathe at just about nothing.  Do you have any friends like that?  You know, the kind that make you laugh so hard you pee?  Reagan is that friend for me.  We’ve been friends for a long time, and have been with each other through some pretty tough stuff, but we’ve always managed to laugh and that’s what I love most about our friendship.  Laughter is what makes our relationship so special.

Me and Reagan aka Dolly and Bunny

When I was young my grandma used to tell me stories about her friend, who was nicknamed Babe, and all of the shenanigans that the two of them got into.  I loved those stories, and I could always picture Babe and what she must have looked like, with her strawberry blond hair in banana curls and red lipstick.  Usually the stories all had a similar theme with Babe being the more adventurous one, and my Grandma, whose name was also Sarah, following her lead and getting into trouble.  I’m not sure if my Grandma had a nickname, too, if she did, she never told me.  Sometimes I like to imagine that she did, and what it might have been.  About a year ago, I told Reagan the story about my grandma and her friend Babe, and she decided we needed ‘old lady nicknames,’ too, for when we tell stories someday.  Thus, the nicknames Dolly and Bunny were coined.

This past weekend was filled plenty of Dolly and Bunny stories and tons of hilarious antics.  What if I told you we saw a psychic, took in an awesome Off-Broadway show, visited Reagan’s daughter named Piper Jane, and sang Kumbaya with Woody Harrelson?  Would you believe me?  And yes, that last one is true.

Our weekend was quite eventful.  On Saturday, we saw an Off-Broadway show in Soho.  Reagan’s friend Jen is a really talented lighting designer for numerous Broadway shows, and highly recommended a musical she recently worked on called Triassic Parq.  It’s a hilarious parody about Jurassic Park from the dinosaurs points of view, and I’ve got to tell you, I felt truly inspired by the fine arts after seeing it.

Triassic Parq

Reagan and I have talked about going to a psychic forever, but the timing has never been right.  After seeing Triassic Parq, we walked out of the theater and were just about to hail a taxi cab, when some crazy gypsy lady called out to us from her little shop.  We kept on walking until we both took one look at each other and said, “Should we go back and do it?”  We said, “What the hey,” and turned around and went for it.

Me getting my reading.  So…the gypsy lady told me I was going to have twins…BOYS!

A weekend with Reagan wouldn’t have been complete without a visit to Blythedale to see  her sweet daughter, Miss Piper Jane.

One of the happiest and silliest kids I know.

The Pip loves stories about pink fairy princesses.

Reagan and I being silly and trying to fit in Piper Jane’s super cute plaid blazer.

It really was a great rendition of Kumbaya.

So, why were Reagan and I hanging with Woody Harrelson?  Reagan’s friend Jen, the lighting designer, is working on a new play with him and she invited us to join the rest of the crew for a bite to eat after a rehearsal.  Woody was really nice, and as I mentioned before, we really did sing Kumbaya with him.  Yes, it was random, and I have no idea how or why that happened…but it did.

Last weekend is sure to go down in Dolly and Bunny history.  Just like my grandma’s friend Babe who was always getting her into mischief, Reagan certainly gets me into some monkey business, but I don’t mind.  It gives me plenty of material for many ‘old lady stories’ to tell in the future.

I used to wonder if I would ever have a friend like my grandma’s friend Babe.  I think life has a funny way of bringing people into your life that bring out something different in you that no one else does.  Maybe Reagan brings out my goofy side.  Maybe Babe brought out the silliness in my Grandma, and that’s why she had such fond memories about her.  All I know, is that I’m sure happy that I have a true friend, a Bunny, and that we laugh and laugh and laugh and laugh.

~The End.

Photos by Broadway.com and moi.

My Ode to Snoop Dogg (if he should ever read this)…

What’s that you say, Snoop?

Dear Snoop D-O-Double G,

I want to hereby thank you for preparing me with the knowledge of knowing what to do in  situations that involve the 5-0 (aka the cops). You see, the other day I took ride to CVS to pick up a prescription for my husband.  After completing my purchase, I exited the store, got into my car, and proceeded to pull out of my parking spot.  However, as I was doing so, I glanced down at the prescription I had just bought, and started second-guessing whether I had picked up the right one.  So, what does any good wife do?  She texts her hubby to make sure, of course!  As I was texting, though, a police car suddenly pulled up beside me, and I started to freak.  I’m no dummy; I know it’s against the law to be texting and driving, but the thing was, I wasn’t technically driving, so I wasn’t sure what to do.

Snoop Dogg, just like an angel from above, I heard your voice say to me, “When the pigs try to get at ya- Park it like it’s hot/ Park it like it’s hot/ Park it like it’s hot,” and I calmly pulled back into my parking spot and turned the ignition off.

And can I just tell you, Snoop Dogg, you were so right.  The police officers looked into my car at me, and I was like, “What?” because I knew there was nothing they could do about it.  I was in a parked vehicle, and I wasn’t breaking the law.

So, I just wanted to say thank you for indirectly providing me with the tools I needed on that fateful day, because to be completely honest with you, I had no idea that a song I listened to on repeat in my beaten down Ford Tempo back in 2004, would be so influential on my life.

So, thank you, Snoop Dogg.

Your fan,

Sarah Palma

~The End

Photo by fanpop.com

The Art of a Theme Song…

Can we talk about theme songs for a minute?  Personal theme songs.  You know, like a song you listen to get pumped up, or a little ditty that plays over and over in your head that follows you through life.  In my opinion, everyone should have one.

Does anyone remember that show Ally McBeal from a few years back?  That show sort of pioneered the art of the theme song.  Remember when Ally danced for the first time with that weird computer animated baby to “Hooked on a Feeling” and got down?

“Hooked on a Feeling” became Ally’s theme song and a running gag on the show.

Or maybe you might remember more recently when Joseph Gordon-Levitt danced in the streets to Hall and Oates’ “You Make My Dreams Come True” in (500) Days of Summer?

My favorite part of the movie. Obviously. I’m a sucker for impromptu musical numbers.

Well, I got to thinking about theme songs today as I was walking down the blistering streets of Brooklyn in 98 degree heat, iPod-less, (because I accidentally left it at home) when one particular lyric to a song kept replaying over and over again in my head.  I tried to push it away and will a better, perhaps cooler song to take its place, but it was no use.  Katy Perry has taken over my life since I accidentally heard her song “Firework” in CVS yesterday.

So, there I was trying to cross the street as the song slowly began to creep in:

“You just gotta ignite the light, and let it shine
Just own the night like the 4th of July

‘Cause baby you’re a firework
Come on, show ’em what you’re worth
Make ’em go “Oh, oh, oh”
As you shoot across the sky-y-y”

I tried to fight the song off as long as I could, but by the end of my walk home I was full-blown humming it and owning it <–Don’t judge me.  I kind of felt like Emma Stone in the movie Easy A when she opens up the musical card from her grandma that plays “Pocketful of Sunshine” and she groans, saying how much she hates the song.  Cut to a few hours later when she’s taking a shower and rocking out to it.

“I gotta pockeful, gotta pocketful of sunshine…I gotta love and I know that it’s all mine oh–oh–oh.”

If you listen to the rest of the lyrics to “Firework” you’re bound to feel that it’s a little silly:

“Do you ever feel like a plastic bag,
Drifting through the wind
Wanting to start again?
Do you ever feel, feel so paper-thin
Like a house of cards,
One blow from caving in?”

Do I ever feel like a plastic bag?!  Okay, so the song is pretty weak on imagery, but I’ve got to admit, it still kind of inspires me, though.

Take for instance these lyrics:

“It’s always been inside of you
And now it’s time to let it through.”

It reminds me of one of my favorite quotes by Dolly Parton: “The magic is inside you.  There ain’t no crystal ball.”

If you’ve never heard Katy Perry’s song “Firework” have a listen here…03 Firework

So, tell me…

~The End.

Photos by IMDB, and Pinterest.