I Just Hit Publish, and Now I Want A Scone

Posted on March 18, 2010
Filed Under Daily, Life With The Boss, Life in L.A. | 17 Comments

Internet, there was a time when Life looked at me and said, “You quit your job! You are SO EMPOWERED NOW!” and I was all, “AWESOME! I LOVE BEING UNEMPLOYED AND EMPOWERED!” and then Life was like, “Oh, by the way, you’re moving to L.A” and I was all, “AWESOME! I CAN’T WAIT TO LIVE IN L.A.!” and then Life goes, “Op! Now you need to get a job” and I was all, “AWESOME! I WENT TO COLLEGE, THAT SHOULD BE A CINCH!” and then Life was like, “SSSIII-EEEEKKKK!” and started chasing me around my apartment screaming UNEMPLOYMENT IS GOING TO EAT YOUR FACE OFF! and stabbed me in the achilles tendon launching me head first into a pile of dirty laundry.

If you’ve been reading long enough, then you know that I quit my job at the end of 2008, started this Web site, and also went from part-time freelancing to doing it full-time. After moving to L.A. in June, I did four months in retail as a stock boy (because ‘person’ and ‘girl’ don’t capture the essence of the work) had a few job interviews that most notably include the one I was six hours late to, the one where I thought the receptionist called me a tranny, and I even contacted a temp agency where a woman told me over the phone that she thought I might not have the skill set to be an Administrative Assistant. As in, she thought I was too dumb to be a secretary. Just wait ’til I get my own gig on ABC. We’ll see who’s TOO DUMB THEN, HEAD HUNTER.

Earlier this week, I read an article about some of the struggles the U.S. Postal Service is facing, and saw a special report on how the death of Middle Class America (i.e. local business owners) would hinder a full U.S. economic recovery. In an effort to do my part, I’ve committed to mailing something (with a stamp) once a month through the end of the year, and The Boss and I have decided to shop local for the next 30 days. Local spending means supporting the Middle Class, which means a stronger local economy, which means more money for employers, which means more money for payroll, which means I could get a job! There might be some flawed logic in there somewhere, but we have nonetheless decided to move forward with our experiment.

Also, with this whole ‘going local’ thing, I thought it would be a good time to start my 21-day sugar cleanse because at some point, I have to come to terms with the fact that it’s NOT OKAY, SABRINA! to eat an entire carton of powdered sugar donuts, a triple-decker nutella “burger,” AND an ice cream sandwich…in one sitting. There’s nothing wrong with sugar, in NORMAL amounts, but I’m excited to see if I notice any positive changes regarding my energy levels, and the fairly regular headaches I get by eliminating refined sugar.

The only problem is: Me.

Last night around 10:30 p.m. (six hours into my sugar cleanse, and two days into supporting local) I unsuccessfully tried to convince The Boss to run next door with me to the CHAIN grocery store to buy a GIANT PIE.

I’ll keep you posted on how these next few weeks go.

Side Note

Posted on March 17, 2010
Filed Under Daily, Sketches Contest | 2 Comments

Last week, I wrote a post in search of an artist to collaborate with me on the How to Pray section of this site, and to have their illustrations published here. I’ve already gotten some great entries from around the world, but I wanted to take a moment, and share one of my favorites that came in.

These sketches are by Jonathan Burrello, and you can see more of his work here.

Internet, you’re obviously very talented, and I can’t wait to see what else you send in!

TSA, Here’s Your Chance to Make a New Friend

Posted on March 16, 2010
Filed Under Daily | 11 Comments

On Saturday, I flew back to L.A., and while waiting in the security line at Dulles International Airport that was flooded with college students headed to their spring break destinations talking about things like, “…then Riley used the blanket on the couch, and didn’t fold it, even after I told her to fold it, which just proves to me all over again that she so inconsiderate, and I’m SO done with the drama…” a hush fell over the crowd. As the absent Riley was momentarily dismissed from being scolded, everyone began studying the television monitors overhead. I looked up to find that the security threat levels had been raised to Orange, which is just one level below Red, which is the level that no one wants to see highlighted on the flat screen. Red causes havoc. It’s when people start to panic, and cry, and scream about how they’re going to die, and they never told enough people they loved them, and they swear to be better people, and maybe even go to church, and also, it can’t be their time because they NEVER MET OPRAH!

With an elevated threat level, I assumed that I’d be scooted to the side for a “random” security check. Because that only makes sense, right? When threat levels are elevated, it’s a matter of national security to frisk the Muslim girl traveling with a stuffed giraffe. I remember the first time TSA “randomly selected” my mom to get her bags checked at the airport. It was about 15 months after Sept. 11, and she just started covering her hair. We were repeatedly told it was a RANDOM(!) selection every step of the way. It was as if the TSA officials were trying extra hard not to let on that their new system of RANDOM(!) selection consisted of only pulling Muslims aside for additional security checks. It’s sort of like that whole concept of reverse guilt, where you cheat on your boyfriend, and then you accuse him of cheating everyday until he finally thinks he really must have cheated. It’s like at some point TSA expects me to be like, Thank you for the RANDOM(!) selection. I’m so sorry I put you through this. Also, I love you.

When my mom was pulled aside, and had all her bags opened, I looked around to see that we had been randomly joined by another Muslim. A man. And over the years, other RANDOM(!) passengers seem to include those people with a dash of extra melanin. At the time of my mom’s security check, I was livid beyond all sane limits of human emotion, but over the years, I’ve kind of become desensitized to it. Although what I’m about to say goes against everything I believe in my heart, I do think that at some point people start to accept what they can’t change. My point is, I would rather have my head patted down like a dog, then say what I’m really thinking, and end up in Guantanamo.

Without Internet access.

I know that it is TSA’s job to protect everyone that flies, and that includes me. And it’s probably only fair for me to mention that for every one TSA official that has treated me like crap, there are always about three that are extra courteous, and I appreciate that. But my issue with this whole RANDOM(!) selection is simple: I WISH THEY TOLD THE TRUTH. I would have so much more respect for this flawed system of racial profiling if someone just walked up to me and said, “Listen, this is not a random selection. We’re sorry it has to be you, but we’ve already been attacked by Muslims, and the entire world is scared that if there were to be another attack, it would be by someone who shares your faith, so we’ve pulled you aside to make sure you’re not that kind of Muslim.”

I would appreciate the truth. Do I agree with the logic? No. But I’m sure you understand that I have a slight bias against being fondled by a woman six times my size who doesn’t even have the courtesy to acknowledge that I’m flexing my muscles during the pat down. The least she could do is offer me a compliment.

Shortly after the Columbine shootings, my high school (more than 1,500 miles from the site of the attacks) banned students from wearing long trench coats to school. It didn’t seem fair to enforce such a prohibition at a public school, but the thought process behind the ban of a seemingly benign garment was that because the Columbine shooters were most often seen in their long trench coats, schools around the country feared that “the coat” was somehow directly related to a certain type of person with a certain ideology. When it comes to banning outerwear, or frisking Muslim airline passengers, I think it all boils down to one thing: When a society is confronted with irrational behavior (i.e. any sort of terror-inducing act) rather than trying to problem solve based on justice, logic, and reason, sometimes, we react irrationally, too. I’m not saying that schools, cities, and nations shouldn’t take precautionary measures to protect its people, but what I am saying is that these short-term “solutions,” when implemented over long periods of time, will only perpetuate a ripple of distrust that reaches far beyond the lines of metal detectors at high schools, and security lines at airports.

Oops

Posted on March 15, 2010
Filed Under Daily | 3 Comments

UPDATE: So looks like it’ll take about a week (hopefully less) to get Slice back on its feet, which is longer than I hoped, but not the end of the real world, just the world in my mind. I’ll be updating the main page as usual, along with the Daily sections, though I’ll be unable to update the thumbnail photos that you see at the top of the page. In any case, you can get to the Daily stuff by clicking on the (not updated) thumbnails, or like this:

Click HERE for Daily Photo.
Click HERE for Daily Style.
Click HERE for Daily Closet.

And as always, you can find me on twitter where I’ll be updating regularly-slash-obsessively as I normally do. Feel free to indulge yourself in more of my random babble via the Internet as you see fit.

***

You know when someone’s like, “Make sure you don’t do this…” and then gives you a DETAILED explanation of what you’re NOT supposed to do, but then you do it anyway, and then your site breaks?

You do? Oh good, because I thought I was the only one.

I feel like I just stabbed Slice in the face, but all I was trying to do was wipe its nose. Working on trying to rewind time, and hopefully we’ll be back up and running by mid-afternoon.

Weekend Snapshots

Posted on March 14, 2010
Filed Under Daily, Family | 6 Comments

Celebrating my aunt and uncle’s 50th wedding anniversary, Columbia, Md.:

<3,
Me.