Category Archives: Being 29

By the time you read this, I’ll be gone.

(image source)


Dear Funkawesome Readers of this Blog,

I have news. I’m off to the Wonderful World of Disney for four whole days. I’m not even kidding.

But how, you say? Just one of the many perks bestowed on Rob for selling his soul to his swanky corporate day-job. Am I complaining? Only half-assed. (We’re staying at a 5-star after all.)

You see, my ultimate dream is for he and I to be hippies – him on the guitar, me at the keyboard – working from any old place on the planet, sipping fresh fruit juice (with Grey Goose) because, somehow, being a hippie will classify as a respectable line of work, like being a model or movie star or full-time Twatter.

Too big of a dream?

Well, just to get a taste (you know, manifest the dream and all) you can bet your ass I’ll be typing on my laptop (OK, texting) while Rob strums a guitar (or drums on an empty Coke bottle we paid $10 for) whilst sailing on the river that runs through the spectacle of It’s a Small World.

Who says dreams can’t come true, even if they’re a little distorted sometimes.

Miss you already,

PS: On another note, Disney just happens to be the last place my family and I vacationed together before my parents divorced, which left me horribly scarred. Should be great!


Filed under Being 29

Wedding dresses are for birthdays


Birthday #28, 2008 (note: champagne w/ muddled strawberries in hand... thankyouverymuch Rob)


Birthday #29, 2009. In order to fully indulge in your dress you must hang out in it. Love the dress. Feel the dress. Absorb the dress.

When I hit the “publish” button on this post last week, I had no idea it would resonate with so many of you.

After posting about how I spent my 29th birthday, I followed up with  a post and a pic of me in my wedding dress. I bring it out to play once a year – one of several birthday rituals near and dear to my heart (included also: eating bacon n’ eggs, drinking champagne with strawberries and taking the day off work). Well ladies, the more the merrier – this year bring out the satin, lace, and slik dupioni… it’s your birthday!

I had a good wedding day. Great, in fact. I married a helluva guy on a small beach in Mexico, sipped champagne until the burros came home, and danced to Prince under the stars until my heart’s content, all while wearing my favorite dress. Ever.

To make a long story short-ish, I’ll tell you this: When I met my dress I couldn’t afford her. She was way out of my freelance-writing, yoga-teaching league. But my sister, Ashley (whom I have strange little conversations with) changed all of that for me. Months after meeting my dress, fate stepped in, made my sister a bridal stylist, sent her to Italy and left me a note attached to a small swatch of fabric that read, “My dearest sister… your dress is on its way”. I read that note on my birthday. And I wore that dress at my wedding. So wearing that dress on my birthday, naturally, makes me feel a lot things: A little pretty, a little glamorous, and a lot lucky.

Doing it in style
If you’ve always wanted to wear your wedding dress again but didn’t feel like your ex-roommate’s bridal shower or your husband’s company picnic was the place (pshaw) then wearing that little number as you’re blowing out the candles isn’t only your answer, it’s your dream come true (Note to self: Ease up on the brioche from Cherry Bomb – this year the boobs were a bit snug).

Now for the dames who don’t have a wedding dress to get fetch from the depths of a closet only to have your husband zip, button, and sash you into it while saying, “Are you really doing this again, Sandy?” don’t sweat it. On your birthday you can replace said W-dress with ANY DRESS that is your FAVORITE. Ever. Don’t have one? Well, now there’s a little something to add to your List: Get a favorite dress and wear it on your birthday. A-Sap.

Some requested details of my dress:

Designer: Melissa Sweet
Dress name (yep, they come with names now): “Dora”
Place of purchase: Pearl Bridal House (highly recommended for a flawless dress finding and fitting. Ask for Ashley).

I showed you mine, now how’s about you show me yours. Email me ( a pic or two of YOU in YOUR FAVORITE DRESS. I sense a movement stirring.


Filed under Being 29, Sandy's Closet

Do you understand Douchebag?

why reinvent

SandyB as: The Douchebag Whisperer.

I’ve officially been 29 for one whole week. Happy anniversary to me.

In honor of this special day, I’d like to impart a little wisdom because I’m nothing if not a little wiser at the ripe old age of 29 (gfaw). At this important crossroads, walking the fine line between 20something and 30ish, I feel I have something to give. And give I shall, dear Readers. Give I shall.

I’d like to think of myself as a woman of the world, not just as one who travels and loves to do so, but as one who can cross cultures and boundaries when it comes to speaking foreign and oft confusing and intricate languages like Douchebag. Yes, it is a language and yes, I understand it fluently. I remain firm, however, that it is a language I dare not speak.

And now you’re left wondering, “How does she understand Douchebag?” When you’ve been around it as often as I have, you just learn to pick it up. And I’ve had a lot of practice, especially this week.

What it sounds like
Using my own experience as an example (as I find this the most organic way to teach) common phrases in Douchebag include, “Turning 30 soon, huh… wow, how do you feel about that?” or “Next stop Cougarville!” or “It’s all downhill from here, eh?” or “Not a Spring Chicken anymore, are you? or my personal fave of the week, “I thought you were 30 already.” These are all excellent examples of Douchebag, as they represent the stupid shit people say when they’re not thinking about what they’re saying at all. You see, the number one criteria for speaking Douchebag is that your verbal ‘filter’ must be in the ‘off’ position at all times. It is the only way to fluently, successfully and seemlessly speak it.

How to spot them
You can usually spot someone who speaks Douchebag from a distance. They walk around with a shit-eating grin most of the time and can’t tolerate friendship, affection or bright open spaces very well either, so they are typically easy to pick out of a crowd. Sometimes those who speak Douchebag travel with a partner, but never in packs. They don’t socialize particularly well. The sidekick is typically just there to bounce Douchebag phrases off of and to laugh when something not paricularly clever or off-side is said, which happens a lot in the language of Douchebag.

So, how does one, like myself, learn Douchebag but not speak it? Ah, young Grasshoppers, you must learn to resist the Force. Speaking Douchebag is like drunk-dialing an ex-lover – it may be tempting, but that doesn’t mean you should do it.

The number one rule when learning to understand Douchebag is that you have to listen for it because it can sometimes elude you, like the Polkaroo or Waldo. Females are particularly excellent at speaking this particular dialect of Douchebag. They mask their accents amidst back-handed compliments like, “Nice dress, it hugs your curves” or “Hm, have you gained weight? Don’t worry, looks great on you” or “You’re gutsy…I could never show that much cleavage.” Beware of these Douchebag-speaking females, particularly the ones with sidekicks.

People who speak Douchebag are usually quite fluent in it and remain true to themselves by sticking to their viewpoints on hairstyles, trendy outfits, homeopathy, religion, marriage, sex, sexual orientation, skinny jeans and sensitive topics like cancer, AIDS or war. If you MUST endure an evening, boardroom meeting or family dinner with people who speak Douchebag then do yourself a favor and avoid these topics AT ALL COSTS. You don’t want to be left up shit’s creek without a paddle. It has one hell of an undertow.

The sad and true thing about those who speak Douchebag is that they actually have one admirable feature many of us lack: Consistency. People who speak Douchebag do so all the time and with a gusto so fierce that if they could only use their powers for good, not evil, they might actually amount to something meaningful, like solving world hunger or finding the cure for premature balding. Ah, but Douchebag is a tricky temptress. Even those who veer inevitably find their way back to the Mother Tongue.  Like riding a bike, once you learn Douchebag you never forget it.

Final thoughts
Unfortunately Douchebag is a language that’s growing rapidly in popularity. Some of its users mistaken it for being clever, witty or even “expressive” , which has led to an explosion in its use, particularly amongst displaced 20somethings, disgruntled 30somethings and within wedding speeches (although there is no proof Douchebag is relegated to just these two generations – Douchebag, apparently, is the language of Everyman.)

Don’t be alarmed if and when you hear Douchebag and certainly don’t attempt to respond– remember, you must resist the Force.  Instead, remain calm, simply nod, smile and retort (whilst gently tilting your head) “Oh, sorry, I don’t speak Douchebag”, to which the offending Douchebag-speaker will say absolutely nothing. Why? Because it is a little known yet valuable fact that those who speak Douchebag don’t, and will never, understand the indelible language of Smartass.

So, do you speak and/or understand Douchebag or know someone who does?


Filed under Being 29, On my mind

As I turned 29, this is what I was doing.


Hello 29.

A lot of great things came my way as I ushered in 29 and kicked off my year of reinvention. Here’s a synopsis of my 24-hours, including some reviews and thoughts of some great places I visited in the city. (spread the love, right?)

Fact #1: I don’t work on my birthday, no matter what day of the week it is, for me it’s a national holiday. But it’s not my fault. My mother made me this way.

Fact #2: Everyone (strangers included) know when it’s my birthday. Why? Because I tell them. It’s a game of sorts – trying to sneak it in, under the radar. I’m not nuts, I’m crafty. Check out my very first video about that here.

Birthday. It’s in my genes.
When I was a kid (we’re going back to the 80s here) my mom would make a huge deal about my birthday. Always. From hiring clowns to dole out balloons at my party, to hooking me up with a Teddy Ruxpin before all of my friends had one, to setting up our pain-in-the-ass-because-a-kid-always-gets-hurt Banana Slip n’ Slide, my birthday was an event around our house. I had a free pass to just about anything. And this year was no exception.

Birthdays are better with two
Rob joined me for my “holiday” (although I’m convinced he has as much fun as I do on my birthday. Trust me) and planned a day nothing short of what I wish everyday could be like. Since a picture is worth a thousand words I figured I’d be economical with my post and show you what happened.

Here are the highlights:


Mitzi's Cafe.

bacon n' eggs n' fruit n' coffee. $6.95

bacon n' eggs n' fruit n' coffee. $6.95

B’fast @ Mitzi’s: We started the day with one of my favorite dishes EVER… bacon n’ eggs. Straight up. We live just a block from Mitzi’s Cafe, a staple breakfast spot (brunch if you’re hungover) in Roncesvalles that just happened to have my dish on special. Hell yes.

Elmwood Spa. Try the couple's massage. Oh la la.

Elmwood Spa. Try the couple's massage. Oh la la.

Not quite sleeping, but not quite awake either.

Not quite sleeping, but not quite awake either.

Spa’ing: And now comes a confession: I am addicted to spas. Rob is my enabler. I was treated to a massage at the downtown Elmwood Spa. (Rob had one too. Qu’elle surprise.)

Tom yum soup. Veg pad Thai. Mango salad. Curry chicken. Fresh roll. $14

Tom yum soup. Veg pad Thai. Mango salad. Curry chicken. Fresh roll. $14

Lunch’ing: Next to Elmwood Spa is Bangok Garden. For just $14 we each loaded our plates at their uber-fresh buffet. Decided on a patio spot since the weather, as birthday luck would have it, was most definitely in our favor.

Quick switch:
It was hot out on Friday and my jeans and tank weren’t cutting it. So, in the spirit of reinvention, Rob and I ducked into a small shop and picked out this little number. We bought it and I wore it out of the store. Just. Like. That. Highly recommended. *The image won’t cooperate and rotate, but I figured the mention of the experience was noteworthy nonetheless.

hot water + cold champagne + fresh strawberries = good for me.

warm bath + cold champagne + strawberries = good for me.

Bath’ing: Champagne, strawberries, and a hot bath. Two thumbs up. (another birthday must-do each year.)

Dinner and drinks at Vertical. $60 for the "Sicilian" tasting menu. Still drooling.

Dinner + drinks at Vertical. A steal at just $60 for the "Sicilian" tasting menu. Still drooling.

Rob makes a blog appearance. His request. My say on the image. So there.

Rob makes a blog appearance. His request. My say on the image. So there.

Din’ing: I love trying new restaurants. Vertical was a new one for me. We sunk our teeth into their $60 tasting menu, complete with wine for each course (and champagne on the House for my birthday… booyah!) Wish I had more images of the whole experience (including a shot of Rob and I) but, well, we were drunk-ish. Like I said, wine came with every course. I’d recommend checking out Vertical for a hot night out (hit the patio, if you can) or dinner with friends. Not a lot of cash for a whole lot of eating and sipping in style.

A fantastic start to what is sure to be a fantastic(er) year.


Filed under Being 29