End of Summer Metta Sale! August 29, 2008

Check that picture out! Can’t you just feel how charming, spiritual, yet metropolitan I must be?!

There’s no formal meditation log, but I’ve been “enjoying my breath” on the regular four times a week for almost a year. I say hello to my in-breath, and say good-bye to the out. When thoughts arise in my big brain, I note them, label them and release; as is the practice in Vipassana or “Insight” style meditation. And when a pesky thought appears, there is no need to push it away. Following the advice of my imaginary best friends Tara Brach and Jack Kornfield I simply bow to that thought saying, “This too.” Please, my apartment is not huge, but my heart is! Tara and Jack told me so! So it goes a little something like this…

In, Out, In, Out, Chocolate cake–thought!, In, Out, In, Chocolate Cake–thought, Out, In, Out, In, there’s a murderer in my apartment–ahhh fear, Out, In, Out, In, Out, I want to go to Australia –Planning, In, Out, In, Out, In, Out, Ohhh, this is nice–pleasure, In, Out, In, Out, Paula Abdul–weird, In, Out, In, Out….

Although each session is different, I’ve been loving every one. Sometimes it just makes me feel nice and relaxed afterward. If I’m sad, I fire up that mat with those feelings and let them burn away. My face is a mess with tears, but my heart feels open and heard at the end. Good stuff. But the BEST stuff, when I’m really cookin’ during meditation, my very favorite is Metta or “Lovingkindess” meditation. Now before I describe this practice, in the interest of full disclosure I feel as though I must show you my meditation mat and the support I have under the cushion to help with my feet falling asleep issue.

 

I’m not exactly a professional is what I’m trying to say. But anyone I link up to in this entry is, so definitely check them out.

Metta is all about exploring how big, comfy and soft your heart really is. I like to think of it as THE cardio workout. When you feel as though you’re in a good place, you begin by repeating these phrases of lovingkindness, directing towards yourself.

May I be happy
May I be healthy.
May I be peaceful.
May I live at ease.

When you’re feeling all loved and happy, bring to mind a benefactor or friend. This should be someone who isn’t complicated. We’re talking your best-ies, or a family member. Like, don’t pick your friend of 10 years who is hilarious, but who may in fact be a cleptomaniac. (They’ll get your love too, just not in this section).

Once you’ve sent your friend lots of Metta, it’s time to move to a neutral person. This is someone whom you don’t really know at all; no feelings one way or another in your everyday life. I personally love this one, because for some reason my neutral person is always an employee at my local Dunkin Donuts. Always.

You’re now in love with yourself, your friend and a Dunkin Donuts employee. It’s time to move on to the biggie; send your love to an enemy. Alright, calm down. It doesn’t have to be Pol Pot. You can only send as much love as you can handle right now, and there ain’t nothing wrong with that. Think of this more as the “it’s complicated” section. It can be a challenge, but you would be surprised how open you are at this point in the meditation. I mean, if you can love a stranger, you could probably love that funny cleptomaniac, right? (See, I told you!)

And finally, when your heart is all warmed up get ready for the final phase of metta. Send your love to all beings everywhere. As you move through each phase and select someone to Metta, you’re kind of forced to acknowledge that “we’re all in the same soup” here. (Best Anne Lamott quote ever.) Why not invite everyone to your Metta-fest? If you’re my age, think of this final phase of Metta as the Care Bear Stare.

Ok, so can you give me some props now?! I’ve been working hard on and off that mat to just Be Here Now. When I walk down the city streets happy, I note “happy” and keep on trucking with my big-ass heart. If someone says something so stupid to me I can’t believe it, I note “sad and angry as hell”. Then I sit on the mat I send metta both my and my enemy’s way. Up until July, I am pretty sure I was the best Buddhist in the world

And then something happened.
I don’t know what.
All I know is I was feelin’ mighty low.

I am never exactly awesome at the end of summer in New York City, so it’s not that much of a surprise. The humidity is gross, the breeze is non-existent and there’s always a faint trace of poop smell in the air. But summer in New York City as a Buddhist was feeling pretty impossible. Be here? Now?! Are you kidding me?

It wasn’t just the challenges of the climate here that was killing me. There were some pretty big life questions and disappointing answers swirling around in my head. But I couldn’t even pick out what they were individually to get a handle on them in meditation. I felt all twisted up and blind to it all. Meditations were basically going like this: Breathe in…this weather is bulls–t. Breathe out…I swear to God, I am freaking outta here!

I was losing faith, my brothers and sisters. Are you there Buddha? It’s me, Sarah… But whatever… In Buddhism, it’s all supposed to be workable right? So I was going to make this end of summer pits work for me!

First steps first, since I couldn’t get anywhere near Metta in my deep Pits state, I called on reinforcements. Lucky for me, my friend Susan Piver, a certified Shambhala meditation instructor and author, was on a solo 30 day meditation/writing retreat in Colorado! She’s gotta have some sort of connections, right? So I shot off a quick email telling her I was fine, but I was also a currently a disaster. It may be A, B or C, but I didn’t know. “If you have a sec, could you send some Metta my way?” I got an email a few hours later, “Of course!” and the day following, “Done!”. Excellent, check that off the list.

Then I decided to try very, very hard to fall back in love with my city …even though the stifling humidity was making it impossible to blow my hair out. Since I really couldn’t feel the Metta for New York, I made a conscious effort to engage in New York on all of those Metta levels. When the weather was halfway decent, I sat on my fire escape like I used to when I first moved here. I cleaned the hell out of my apartment, and even baked a cake in my tiny-ass kitchen. (I know baking in early August, not so smart. But the smell of cake can make anyone a little happier, right?) I even introduced myself to my favorite “barista” at Dunkin’ Donuts who makes my Turbo Coconut Iced Coffe with Milk just right…her name is Nazma!! And all the while, I’m looking at my Buddha in the bedroom, just waitin’ on my blessings. Come on, already! Lay it on me!

Now, maybe if I had asked nicely I would have received them in some awesome, dramatic Buddhist vision! All of my chakras would release and I would see all of my lifetimes lined up, all of my petty worries at rest. But the blessings sort of crept up on me, at work of all places.

I went to visit one of my favorite DP’s at a shoot that was happening in my building. When I got there, my six closest work friends were already there cracking up about the t-shirt selection of one of our friends. He made the really poor decision of wearing an orange t-shirt with blue trim, that perfectly matched his baseball cap with the Tide detergent logo…that Tide logo was basically now a target. As we all picked his brain to find out what led up to that awesome wardrobe choice, I felt an overwhelming sense of family. It really felt exactly like I was hanging out with my brothers and sisters…and that is saying a lot. “Ohhhh, I love these people.” And when I thought of family, I remembered my real family and how indescribable my connection to them is, “Ohhhh, they’re the best.” And I thought of Susan in Colorado, trying to write a freaking book and getting an email with a rushed Metta request. “Ohhh, I love Susan”.

“Ohhhh, I love Nazma.”
“Ohhhh, I love Joy the Baker for her cake recipe and baking blog”
And my mortal enemy, “Oh, New York… I can’t stay mad at you!”

Metta, up close and way personal. Alright, Buddha, I get it.

I caught these hussie leaves changing right outside of my apartment building today. I am psyched. As an upstate New Yorker who grew up down the road from apple orchards, the fall is my jam! Cute coats and hats, cider donuts and crazy foliage. I fall in love with fall every year. But I will never forget this summer in New York City and our rocky relationship. By falling out of love and fighting hard to bring it back, we made enough Metta to get me all the way through the end of the year…and maybe even into the treacherous emotional tundra of January and February.

Much Metta.

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Click and Clack… August 27, 2008

This is Andrew, and I’ve known this Mother F–er for 12 years. You may remember him from the transcript of the most important conversation that ever took place in the history of the world.

We are not best friends. We are a scientific phenomena.
Allow me to explain.

Remember Click-Clacks? They were two bizarrely heavy marble-ball things, connected by a string and attached to a handle. At first glance, they looked like the most boring, old-fashioned toy ever in the bottom of your toy box. And good luck trying to figure out how they even got into your toy box.

Then some kid in your neighborhood who revealed Click-Clacks’ great secret to you. (If she was a girl, she had three pigtails and always carried a purse. If he was a boy, he preferred judo to little league, and collected every mythical creature figurine he could get his hands on…and he may have carried a purse.) Instead of playing Hungry Hungry Hippos with you, they grabbed the Click-Clacks by the handle and started that magical momentum which made the two marble-ball things swing and crash into each other. Above and below. Over and over. Faster and faster.
Click-Clack
Click-Clack
Click-Clack
Of course the instant you heard that sonic boom, you snatched your toy back from that weak child and got to Click-Clacking. Within minutes you were under its spell and couldn’t possibly tear yourself away until your poor mother ran into the room, at the edge of madness “Alright!! If you wanna play with that thing… outside, now!”

Before you know it, you’ve ditched all of your awesome toys and friends to stand in the backyard alone with your new vice. You cannot resist. One Toy to Rule them all.

This is what it feels like to be friends with Andrew.

Sometimes Andrew and I are the two marble-balls attached to a string, completely in sync and out of touch with the rest of the world. When we’re in our own little Click-Clack universe, we don’t have the normal social checks that all of the other toys in the box have. Anything that pops into our individual minds can be a major topic of conversation. Anything. Literally.

For instance, my love of jokes based on hypothetical situations reaches ridiculous heights when I’m with Andrew.

Sarah: Ok what would you do…
Andrew: Go…
Sarah: Ok, so we’re just sitting here right?
Andrew: Right…
Sarah:…And then you look out the window and all of a sudden there is just, like, a Dragon!
Andrew: A dragon?
Sarah: Yeah…a Chinese f—ing Dragon just like, in the sky, flying around Queens!
Andrew: Pffff, I’d freak out!
Sarah: Totally!!

This conversation actually took place and we were both stone sober. I am aware on some level that it is absolute nonsense, but that day I was crying because I was laughing so hard. When Andrew and I are Click-Clacking, we each think the other is Bill Cosby.

Andrew’s humor in the Click-Clack zone takes on a very cerebral, de-constructed air, heavily relying on props. For example, years ago Andrew found a stopwatch in his bedroom. He carried that thing around for two days and secretly timed conversations we had. At the end of some normal exchange, Andrew would pull the stopwatch out and announce our time. “That decision on where to eat lunch took 23 seconds.” The other night on video iChat, Andrew started our conference call with a detailed inventory of everything on his computer desk.

-Deodorant
-Coffee cup top
-Chapstick
-Twigs left over from some grapes.

“Great..thank you, Andrew.”

Andrew didn’t tell me then there was also a measuring tape on his desk. Instead he saved that for a big reveal later, sneaking the tape into the edge of the screen.

“Andrew, what the hell is that?”
“Just so you have a frame of reference, Sarah… this is how big my head is.”

When we are in the zone, Andrew and I are both the marble-balls and the annoying kid clacking away, connected and obsessed. But once in a while our awareness extends beyond the toy all the way to the Mom ready to jump out the window if she hears that sound once more. One of us at some point, can step out of our conversation, (and I use that term very loosely), and finally ask what in the hell is going on here.

For example, Andrew and I caught “Peggy Sue Got Married” 5 freaking years ago some weekend afternoon on TV. This is an excellent movie for many reasons, but not for the bizarre reason Andrew and I love it. In one brief scene, Joan Allen’s character checks Peggy Sue with one quick line, “Hey! Peggy Sue!” That’s it. That the whole line. The whole “joke”. But of course Andrew and I have made a meal of this thing, checking each other with that line for the past 5 years. “Hey! Peggy Sue!!” The other day I finally snapped, “Andrew!! That’s not even funny and no one else in the world even knows what we’re talking about!” Andrew agreed, just as confounded by our primordial connection, “I know, I know…well, what else are we supposed to say?!”

Andrew and I have been at the bottom of the same toybox for the last 12 years. We went to college in upstate NY, and made our way through New York City together. Somehow though, Andrew got the notion a couple of years ago that it wasn’t required by Laws of the Universe that we live in the same place. I’m posing embarrassing hypotheticals to anyone who will listen in New York, and he’s taking clever inventories in Florida now. All Click, no Clack.

But in 9 days, I’m fixin to bust that state wide open with a visit to the the other half of my brain for a long weekend. It’s time to make some serious noise!

Cover your ears, Florida.

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Let there be Graham Cracker Coffee!! August 25, 2008

 

 

This is one pound of freshly ground Graham Cracker coffee from a local coffee shop in my hometown. What you do not see here are the other two pounds of Graham Cracker coffee in my bag, orders from my friends in New York City. And there is yet another pound in my brother’s kitchen which I purchased two weeks before my Cape Cod vacation and forgot to bring back to the city. When my sister told me that our younger brother STOLE it and I wouldn’t be able to take it home with me, I got very quiet…because I thought I was going to cry. Really.

There are tons of this miracle, and the happiness it has brought to my life that you can’t see in this entry. Unfortunately, you also cannot smell the glorious comfiness that this unassuming bag emits. And you certainly cannot hear my exclamations of wonder and joy when I catch its heady perfume; “This s–t smells so f—ing good I am going to french kiss it!”

If you have not sampled Graham Cracker coffee, (which unless you’re from my hometown or know someone who is, you haven’t), it is as if you are walking through the world like one of those creepy monkeys with their hands on their ears, eyes or mouth. Everyone loves this stuff. EVERYONE. If you are lucky enough to sample the Good Stuff (or cursed, as the case may actually be), you will buy, cheat and steal for it. My brother’s theft is not the first case. When I bought this for an ex-boyfriend’s mother as a gift, it followed him right back to his apartment the very next week. “I don’t know..there’s just something about it!!” This was especially true for him, since he rarely even drank coffee.

I can’t possibly describe Graham Cracker coffee’s alchemical deliciousness. But allow me to offer an origin story detailing the cosmic occurrence which took place bringing this fantastic product into my life. In the great world tradition of spoken word histories, please pass this tale along to your friends and family so that our Graham Cracker culture will live on. Please gather ’round…

Long ago…

…Before roosters crowed at the Sun and coyotes howled at the Moon… Before the oceans kissed the shoreline, and all the birds were beautiful, (no gross bird a-holes like New York City pigeons yet), the most powerful deities in the universe met to create the most delicious morning beverage the world would ever know.

Tim Gunn, dressed in an impeccably tailored suit, throws his Large Dunkin Donuts Coconut Iced Coffee across the room. “This bores me!”

Jesus, Harry Potter and Scrooge McDuck all throw their hands up in frustration, rolling their eyes at Tim’s response to their latest attempt to nail the down the best coffee in the world. The Buddha takes a deep, mindful breath before asking, “Tim, what is wrong now? We agreed to be open-minded, yes? Appreciate what we have now?

Tim crosses his legs in a huff, “Well, I’m sorry Buddha I tried. But there are serious questions about the taste level here. Nina will never go for this.”

Scrooge McDuck quickly rises from his chair and launches into one of his classic temper tantrums in a heavy Scottish brogue, “We don’t have time for this!! The world needs to know that there’s something perfect and sweet to drink every morning! We have to decide now!!! AGHHHH!!

Tim casually throws his hand in the air still seated, “Ok, you need to relax…what is he even doing here, anyway?” Harry answers Tim as Scrooge continues to freak out now bouncing on his head, “Ducktales. Best afterschool cartoon ever, period. He gets a say.” Tim reluctantly agrees, surveying Scrooge McDuck’s outfit in disgust.

Jesus stands up and pulls his hackey-sack out, “McDuck…chill out! Man, we all just need to relax! Buddha, maybe we should just get out of here for a bit and get some fresh air?”

The Buddha agreed with Jesus and led the entire group on a walking meditation to a beautiful valley in upstate NY. The land was unspoiled, covered in apple orchards, lakes, mountains and roller coasters. (Yes, roller coasters…because they are way fun and I said so.) Upon sight of this beautiful land, these great deities acted like children without a care in the world. They frolicked in the meadows and made quick trips to Shop-rite for delicious snacks. The Buddha and Jesus coordinated and ran in a local 5K. Scrooge McDuck taught Tim Gunn how to joyfully dive into piles of gold coins. And in between roller coaster rides, Harry Potter worked on his most complicated potion yet; a coffee so special, fragrant and warm representing the joys of this memorable day.

The Buddha sampled Harry’s magical coffee and was pleased. “This is all I ever wanted, right here and now.”

Jesus was also satisfied. “See man, this is what I’ve been freaking talking about! It’s all about love, man, love! Hey, where’s my hackey-sack?”

Scrooge McDuck sipped Harry’s new recipe and the irises of his eyes immediately turned into dollar signs when he thought of all the money the distributor of this new coffee would make.

And Tim Gunn simply stated, “Harry, it’s exquisite.”

And so it was, that Harry Potter’s Magical Graham Cracker Coffee came into being.

How did Graham Cracker coffee make it to my local cafe’s food distributor? We may never know. But we do know it is our responsibility to tell the world about Graham Cracker Coffee’s existence. When we are lucky enough to come upon this gift from the Gods, we must be sure to get enough for everyone in our immediate circle to enjoy.

But we must never, ever steal it…LUKE!

Graham Cracker Coffee…

I love you.

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In Memoriam… August 22, 2008

The following eulogy was given by Sarah Jackson at the Conair 1500 Vagabond’s funeral service held at St. Patrick’s Cathedral on August 19th, 2008.  Due to the huge public outpouring, The Vagabond’s family asked that Sarah’s brilliant prose be entered into the public record for the thousands of mourners who could not be accommodated.

Good afternoon, everyone.  On behalf of The Vagabonds, I would like to thank you all for being here today. We are touched that everyone honored the family’s final request and blew their hair out as straight as a pin… especially in such hot weather when one drop of moisture from the brow could destroy everything you all worked so hard to accomplish with your brush and..and..uhh, excuse me (Sarah and audience members dab their eyes with handkerchiefs), your blowdryer.  Oh God, well, I guess we’ll all have a lot of moisture for the rest of this service!!  (Thandie Newton, Elton John and Madonna all wipe their eyes, careful to avoid their hair.)  I can do this, I can do this, pfewwww, ok…

Up until three years ago,  I had given up on my hair’s hopes and dreams once I realized it would never feather like the rest of my first grade classmates.  Just a mess of dark brown, frizzy curls piled on top of my head which I pulled back, cut painfully short and at my most desperate moment, brushed all the way over to one side.  Not good. I often wonder now what the Vagabond thought of my hair trifling as it sat in the back of my childhood home’s bathroom closet, unused since my mother had frosted her hair in the 70s…just waiting.  We can only estimate his true age.  (Carbon dating could only go back as far as the mid 1970′s.)  But I know that I personally didn’t come of age until I re-discovered my true and hot as molten lava friend.

(Halle Berry rises from her seat hysterically crying and moaning; worse than the scene when her son dies in “Monster’s Ball”.  Tim Gunn quickly runs to her side, “Halle, honey, your hair…Pull it together!)

It wasn’t until I moved to Queens and found my first excellent hairstylist who encouraged me to explore straight hair that I was ready to dance with The Vagabond.  And dance we did!  I understood the process of dividing my curly hair into sections and holding a hot dryer to the round brush filled with hair. Yet I feared that my muscle-less physical condition wouldn’t allow me to hold a modern day hair dryer up above my head for that long. But all my fears melted away when I held the Vagabond in my hand once again; light as a feather and dangerously powerful-a heat so intense that I’m certain it caused New York City’s last blackout.  

Morning after morning, the Vagabond and I gave each other everything we had.  He encouraged me to soldier on through the impossible hair-straightening summer, suggesting I run my house fan right beside me on a stool to avoid overheating and dreaded sweat.  And when the Vagabond was tired and simply passed out from the hard work, I gently blew into its nozzle to cool the coils down until he started up again.  We were a perfect match.  But in my haste to get bodacious hair in a hurry this past Tuesday, I pushed my dear old friend too far

It all happened so fast! I mean, God it was just–. Everything was fine! my hair was divided into perfectly manageable sections! Why?  Why did I need to adjust his nozzle like that?!  I’ve never even done that before…oh God!!

(At this point, Sarah’s husband Aaron Eckhart quickly rushes to her side to calm her down.  He whispers in her ear and Sarah loudly responds, “No, Aaron!!  They need to know what I did!  Yes, I love you too and we’ll french like crazy when I get home, but right now they need to know the truth!!”)

The strongest blowdryer any of us ever knew was destroyed by my weak muscle-less hands. In a split second his head popped off like a dandelion’s and I was left with a broken heart and half-curly head of hair.  After I screamed “G–dammit!” and prepared to head back in the shower to wet my hair and go au natural,  I heard the Vagabond’s weak, but firm last instruction to me; “Finish it, Sarah. Finish what you started!”

That last straightening was the sweetest one of my life.  The challenge was great, pinching my blowdryer’s head to the base while balancing the brush and hair in my other hand.  But it was the least I could do for my brave and hot friend.

The little blowdryer that could has now been disposed in accordance with New York City’s e-recycling rules.  (As you all know, going Green was a very big concern for The Vagabond.)  But his last lesson remains close to my heart and head; finish what you start.  

I will never forget, Conair Vagabond 1500.  I will never forget.

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(PVD) Post Vacation Depression August 19, 2008

Look at that picture! Have you ever been so bored in your whole life?!

I sat down to this boring a–hole of a lunch on my first day back at work, and it hit me like a ton of snorefest bricks that I was suffering from the first stages of PVD, Post Vacation Depression. Symptoms may include the following:

-A heightened sense of smell which makes New York City’s annoying summer habit of smelling exactly like poopy virtually intolerable.

-Wearing an overly-summer dress to the office which highlights your new tan, but would be more appropriate at the beach bar where you were checking out every surfer dude who walked in thinking to yourself, “Yeah, I could LIVE here!”

-Engaging in generic vacation banter with co-workers on the elevator. “Oh yeah, it was great! But now I need a vacation from the vacation, ya know?! I just need to detox and eat fruits and vegetables for the next few weeks!”

As I checked off the PVD symptom list, anger and fear arose along with my self-diagnosis. I desperately tried to catch my breath as I tried to go back in time looking at all of my Cape Cod vacation pictures.

“Are you kidding me?! I can’t be stuck in this city like some ridiculously boring animal who eats salad, goes to the gym and checks her email!! It’s not right! Get me back to my natural habitat of bike rides to the beach during the day and board games with the family at night. And what in the hell am I supposed to eat here?! There’s no seafood shack with an ice cream counter to get Mint Patty hot fudge sundaes in downtown Manhattan!!! Oh my god, this is it. I’m dying…I’M DYING!!!”

PVD affects milions of Americans everyday at the end of each summer. Luckily, I have a regular meditation practice going to fall back on during my bouts with the disease. Once I relaxed myself and realized a 911 call for an emergency ice cream sundae prescription wasn’t necessary, I remembered meditation teacher Tara Brach’s wise advice for when you find yourself in crisis mode; ask yourself “What is happening right now?”

“Right now”, I was sitting in my sunny office with at least 3 or 4 hilarious conversations under my belt with co-workers who are also some of my best friends. I also gained a little altitude on my vacation experience. Yes, it was fun and relaxing at some points as all family vacations are. But it also had its moments of scary cabin fever when we had some cold, rainy weather for two days straight. (I MAY have overreacted when my older sister made a joke and I stormed off to my bedroom at 8pm, refusing to come out and just going to bed… I mean, it’s possible). And the salad in the front of me wasn’t the most exciting thing, but it also wasn’t a fried shrimp or clam, about which I had said at the end of last week, “If I eat one more of these f—ers, I am going to boot!”

So I ate my salad in peace and checked my email regularly. I went to an office cocktails event with my friends after work in mid-town Manhattan, indulging in just one mellow beer and treating myself to one slice of the best pizza in Astoria.

And as I walked to Napoli pizza I caught the heavenly smell of chocolate chip cookies as I passed the bakery on the way. Chocolate Chip cookies…not poopy.

Home, sweet home.

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Major announcements from a Salt Marsh August 15, 2008

 

 

Please, I’m not such a hardcore blogger that I would be dumb enough to take my Macbook into this salt marsh with me. Only a Maximum Comfort hoodie is required when vacationing with the Jackson family on Cape Cod. But on this last day of vacation, I do have some exciting news that simply cannot wait until I get back to Queens. Please read the list in its entirety as I am saving the best for last!

1) My brother Luke is a giant…or at least half-giant.

Gone are the days of my sister and I teasing, tricking and torturing our little brother. We weren’t aware of his magical secret until this trip. But we have all accepted him- much like Harry Potter, Ron and Hermione accepted their loyal friend, Hagrid.

 

2) I kicked back my first oyster shot at the must-drink-too-much-at Cape Cod destination, the Wellfleet Beachcomber.

Would I say it was delicious? Hmmmm… let’s see, how can I describe a shot made up of cocktail sauce, tabasco, tequila and one raw, shucked oyster?

Terror. Fear. Panic. Erotic. Anger…Basically, I’m too old for this s–t.

 

3) And finaly-the very cool news that is keeping me away from the beach right now-I’ve been selected to be an official blogger for Savor the Success, a new social networking site for women entrepreneurs.

Savor the Success was launched by Angela Jia Kim, founder of Om Aroma, a luxury spa and skin care product line. It’s no surprise that this site is already completely helpful and excellent within its first month of going live. Angela is a concert pianist who decided to just start whipping up her own freaking body lotions when she had a terrible allergic reaction to a popular cream while performing on tour. So not only is Angela still a successful musician, she is also CEO of Om Aroma as well as founder of this new networking site. Also, I think she’s swimming against Michael Phelps tonight in China. And I’m sure she will make it to Beijing in time because she can probably fly, too.

I am honored to be one of five women that Angela’s group selected to follow as we pursue a professional goal. Over the next six months I will be blogging about my ups, downs and all the way arounds as I re-launch Sarahcentric in order to find a gazillion more readers to further my writing career. So, basically I’m blogging about blogging… quite a Russian Doll situation!

So in conclusion…
My brother is giant.
I hate oyster shots.
I have two blogs.

…an excellent vacation.

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MC Brunch August 2, 2008

My friends are so selfish sometimes.

Now I ask you, who coordinates a family trip to Oregon months in advance without checking to see what my mood might be on that Saturday in August?! Sure, my friend’s’ cousin is getting married. But are you freaking telling me she couldn’t stop to think, “Huh, I wonder if Sarah will be bored on that Saturday morning? What if she has fallen desperately out of love with New York City that week? What if the only cure for Sarah’s blues is a perfect, comfy brunch at one of Queens’ fine eating establishments? Yeah, I better tell my family I can’t make it.”

See? Selfish!

But no worries, friends. I decided to use Jess’ blatant disregard of my emotional well-being as an opportunity to reconnect with my love of New York through my Maximum Comfort tools.

If there was a Maximum Comfort Brunch Olympics, New York City would be accused of Maximum Comfort steroid use. The variety of food choices here can be overwhelming to the amateur bruncher. But New Yorkers do not play; waking up on the weekends with our taste buds fully tuned into which cuisine will most effectively ease the hangover we are currently experiencing, whether it be from alcohol or just the emotional weight of the end of another week in the city.

Yes, my friend did try to ruin my life this weekend. I confirmed this with our mutual friend Andrew who said, “What the f–k?! She can’t just go ahead and do stuff like that without asking us!”  But I’ve got mad MC Brunch skills and quickly formulated an alternative. I wasn’t sure what my deliciousness would be yet, but as I quickly dressed in a brunch uniform -old jeans, flip flops, Snoopy t-shirt – the Sarah Brunch Broadcast System in my mind began announcing on a loop, “Egg & Cheese on a Bagel”.

Now, I’m not gonna lie here and tell you that I wasn’t experiencing some doubt in this SBBS alert. I’ve been a vegetarian for almost two years now. I’m happy with the decision, but I do miss sausage and bacon somethin’ awful. And that longing usually turns into vegetarian heartbreak when I have a breakfast sandwich sans meat. But the SBBS alert kept playing over and over as I walked to my favorite bagel shop. This was not a test.

But as I patiently listened to my brunch instincts walking home from the bagel shop -fried egg & muenster cheese on a toasted plain bagel, ketchup, salt & pepper in hand- the tune slightly changed. Another inspired layer appeared, “Add your own vegetarian Morningstar sausage, Sarah”. You see? Where Buddha closes a carnivore’s door, he always opens a suitable vegetarian replacement window.

I hummed as I waited for the 1 minute, 30 seconds it took for my “sausage” to cook in the microwave. I took my first cup of coffee to the next level pouring it into the most comfortable mug of all time. (Note: I’ve scientifically proven that the tall, but narrow proportion of my Reese’s coffee mug makes for a much more delicious cup of coffee that stays hot longer. Also, the familiar orange and yellow palette is a reminder that a chocolate treat is not too far off in my future. My paper on the subject will be published soon in the New England Journal of Medicine.)

And now as I type this, Saturday morning comfortized to the Max, I am finding the room in my heart to forgive my friend for her transgression. With grace and dignified beauty, lying on my bed in my Snoopy t-shirt and glasses, I thoughtfully recollect how it was I that cancelled our last Maximum Comfort date for pizza at our favorite local joint. Even I was capable of breaking someone else’s heart simply because I had to work late at the office.

And there, but for the grace of Maximum Comfort, go I.

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