Oooooh, weekends
February 19, 2008
I ate like a pig this weekend. I also may have EATEN a pig this weekend. A whole one. Mmmmm, bacon.
Sara Faith on Le Radio again
February 15, 2008
Your weekly dosage of “Cares/Who Cares?” You’re welcome.
http://fnxradio.com/shows/sandbox/attachment/50706.ashx
Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad (Valentine’s) Day.
February 14, 2008
The ONLY good thing about today was actually a pretty awesome thing, and that’s my amazing Valentine. Who doesn’t read this or any of my other blogs (or even know they exist, I don’t think), but I still wanted to crow, even though nobody’s listening, because were it not for you, babe, I’d be pretty damned miserable. And I am, most of the time, except when you’re around.
I’m not fat, bitches, I’m healthy.
February 12, 2008
And yet, tonight, at a rehearsal for a burlesque show, which is SUPPOSED to feature BUXOM women, I was handed a handful of dresses made for a fucking TEENAGER and basically stared at, speechless, when I couldn’t stuff my size-10 ass into them.
(This, mind you, is a week after a coworker “jokingly” referred to me as “husky”)
I’m standing there, trying not to cry, when the skinniest girl in the cast, PICKS UP one of the things that doesn’t fit me, slides into it like she’s greased with Crisco and the damned thing is made of Teflon, and starts dancing around like she’s Jennifer Beals, it’s 1985*, and the whole room just paid a bucket of money to brave the cold in their Members Only jackets to watch the hottest woman of the decade get a bucket of water dumped on her while she’s wearing a leotard.
The big shitter in all of this? I just lost 12 pounds.
Shall I drown my sorrows in whiskey (and become a drunk), ice cream (and get fatter), or whiskey AND ice cream (and become a fatter drunk)?
*I have no idea what year Flashdance actually came out.
You’d think I’d remember
February 8, 2008
Is it a sign when you’re so insanely busy that you don’t even realize that you’ve been published in a book? A book with Stephen Colbert, and other funny people I’d like to have sexual relations with?
Check it out, I’m on page 131
“Not Quite What I Was Planning: Six-Word Memoirs by Writers Famous and Obscure”
Am unclear as to whether I count as “famous” or “obscure”.
On the Radio. Again
February 8, 2008
This week’s “Cares/Who Cares”. Only this time, I’d only had an hour of sleep, and that hour was on the couch in the WFNX studio, because I’d done an overnight on-air shift. Listen at your own risk. I’m not sure how much sense I made. Wheee!
Vodka!
February 3, 2008
Dear Vodka,
Well old friend, we meet again. I’m just writing to tell you how much I love* you, and that I’m so glad** that I drank so much of you on Friday. I had a great time!*** I felt really happy**** on Saturday, too. I spent the whole day smiling!***** I can’t wait to drink you again!*******
Love,*******
Sara Faith
They like me. They really like me.
February 1, 2008
I will now appear on the radio once a week. I am also taking bets on how many weeks will pass before I accidentally drop an f-bomb on the air.
Hear my first segment here
http://heyspecialed.com/audio/for%20phx/careswhocares020108.mp3
What, me worry?
January 28, 2008
Well, it’s official; my body is becoming a physical manifestation of my constant stratospheric level of stress. I just realized this weekend that, in addition to the random black hairs I have sprouted on my stomach and chin (I’m sexxxxay!), my forehead has permenant lines. Or, as some people like to call them, wrinkles. I have physical manifestaions of stress carved into my forehead.
Naturally, I spent the entire day on Saturday pulling on them in opposite directions so that I could stretch my forehead skin back to baby-smoothness. Which resulted in…redness, oiliness, and a massive headache.
You win this time, stress and anxiety. But I’ll be back. And when I return, I’ll have drugs and a personal masseausse. Mwa-haha.
Poof! She’s gone.
January 18, 2008
I used to deal with stress by running away from it. Hopped in my car and drove off on a spontaneous road trip, or even PACKED up my car and moved, either across town, or to a different state. This has proven antithetical to being a grownup. But it would have been excellent fodder for Jack Kerouac, had I eaten a lot of pie at diners, and fucked some bodhisattvas on mountaintops.
So since I’m trying to be a grownup, and have grownup responsibilities, I can’t just pack up and go. But godDAMN, do I want to. I’m a stressball. Stressball stressball stressball. I literally cannot think of a single thing that is not making me nutso stressed. Seriously. Tugboats? Stress me out. Kitties? Stress me out. The chocolate cotton candy cones at the Langham Hotel all-you-can-eat chocolate buffet? Delicious, but stressful.
