A Big City

I know my posts have been a little New York-Centric lately, but I am about to give you another one. I was lucky enough to see the show “Fuerza Bruta” Sunday night, and I couldn’t recommend it more highly. It is like a rave with a side of performance art and a smidge of Cirque de Soleil. Don’t even bother wearing socks, because they will certainly be blown off . The staff even makes you check in your coats and bags before you enter the theatre. Fuerza Bruta isn’t typical in any way, and is one hundred percent worth the trip out of your comfort zone.


Fuerza Br-illiant-a

Fuerza Br-illiant-a


The show won’t be running forever, so catch it while you can!

I’ve lived in New York for almost six years now, and have run into the same person from time to time in various different locations. This usually wouldn’t be anything of note, except said person is Keenya from an early season of America’s Next Top Model, which is probably still nothing of note. 


Nothing of Note

Nothing of Note



The first couple of times I ran into her, I really had no more than a reaction of, “Huh.” But one time, I spoke to her. We were sharing a pole on the subway, and there were a bunch of girls behind us obviously pointing and whispering about the semi-famous Miss Keenya. I couldn’t resist asking her if the situation was weird, and she confirmed for me that it indeed was. 

So fast forward to this past Saturday. I am in line at Forevs 21, and there she is again. This brings the Keenya Count to five or six. At this point we should at least be saying hi, but then again, this is Keenya we are talking about, so I will probably just say “Huh,” and move on.

Now that “The Real World: Brooklyn” is underway, I have stayed surprisingly mum about my feelings on it. At this point, all I want to say is that the line between documenting “real life” and having producers steer where cast members’ “real lives” go is getting really blurry. Also, you can only see the shot of the Fairway trashcan so many times before you want to change the channel.

That said, a man on the subway asked me today if I used to be on The Real World, but like a total dummy, I didn’t ask him who he thought I was. Based on hair style and presence of bangs, I have narrowed it down to two people:






I am hoping for Sarah.

On Saturday there was a clown in my subway car.

He was in full clowny garb and running bits on the passengers. Being the person that I am, I sat down right across from him and spent the whole ride pretending not to be staring and taking in every single word. Good thing I had my book… (which was set in a circus, oddly enough.)

At the start of the train ride, he was mid-way through making a balloon dog for a young boy whose mom had plopped him on the clown’s lap. I guess the bright clothing and crazy makeup made it okay for her to hand her child over to some strange man. 

After they got off (the train, gutterbrains) the clown continued on, looking for other passengers to engage. He succeeded with a particularly tough looking woman, who had perfected the New York FU stare. Lady straight up sat next to him and at his prodding, gave him a hug. All it took was a joke about how he wasn’t always a clown… he used to be a midget.

Then, a bookish looking woman got on the train and placed herself right in front of the clown. She was practically begging him to talk to her, and guess what… he did. He told her she would look good with green lipstick. She asked him why, and his response was “because that is what I am wearing.” Whose the creeper now?

Not soon after, the clown was on his way some children’s party, and normalcy returned to my commute. I returned to the book I had been pretending to read, while everyone else starting silently composing their anecdotes about the time there was a clown on their train. Everyone except for the two women, who had… other… things to talk about.

Apparently my friends/family are chock full of culture because my phone/gchat was ringing off the hook yesterday due to a little piece in the New York Times:

…“We found a cafe that served unlimited mimosas with breakfast,” said his fiancée, Brianna Jacobson, 23. “And we do not have that back home,” Mr. Treanor said….

For the record, I am very much not engaged. However I do REALLY like mimosas.

To everyone who made my Kiefer Sutherland birthday weekend so special, I want to say a big thank you! You all are my favs.


Brianna “now 24” Jacobson

Come join us tonight at my second annual Karaoke Birthday. If you know where and when it is, great! If you don’t, ask me, and then you will. See you bear!

Until recently, I was very lucky to be living in New Jersey with the wonderful Rose, and there were certain things I just didn’t have to pay for. My momma warned me when I moved that expenses would come up where I didn’t expect them, and she was so right. The biggest expense that I was in no way prepared for is just how freaking much it costs to buy toiletries.

Now I am not the kind of girl who needs name brands or top of the line anything, but my money woes came to a head when I realized that a bottle of shaving cream costs at least five dollars.

Now I know that I just said I don’t turn up my nose at generics, but you don’t mess around with hair removal. I have seen too many people with razor burn in inopportune places to chance anything having to do with shaving. That is where the wonderful, amazing, Angela G. comes into play.

While venting about my toiletry toils, she let me in on a little secret: conditioner does the same job as shaving cream, if not better, and is way cheaper. You can buy a bottle of Suave for 99 cents ya’ll! I put Angela’s tip to the test this morning, shaving one leg with cream, and the other with conditioner, and I’ll have you know the conditioner leg turned out way better. It is softer and feels real nice.

So, ladies if you’re like me, living in the city and all your money is sucked away by trivial things such as rent, transportation, and food, make the switch to conditioner, and have a few extra bucks in your pocket.

I finally made it out to see the Sex and the City movie. I really liked it. It was exactly what I wanted it to be. Nothing more, nothing less.

Before I go any further, I want to express just how special this television show was to me. Every Sunday my mother and I would watch Sex and the City together. The show was on for a long time, which meant a lot of Sundays chillin’ with my mom. The last Sunday before I went away for college, I surprised her with a cake that I specially designed to have pink icing and candy shoes. It had “Happy Sunday” written on it, and a long time passed before I adjusted to Sundays without my momma and my Sunday night blues were no longer.

My biggest fear was that SATC was going to be a hyper-glamorized, hyper-commodified, hyper-girly version of the show… and it was… but only a little bit. Any doubts or beef you have with this movie can be settled with one word: pookeepsie. Period.

The wardrobe, as always was brill-town, and I want to own every single thing that Carrie wore. All the women looked fantastic. The story lines were great. As I type, I keep remembering more and more things that I loved about SATC.

You could definitely tell that there were TV writers spear-heading the screenplay. It was chock full of parallel story lines that intertwined and were tied up neatly at the end. Each of the women’s arcs fit nicely with the others, and the weight of each conflict was perfectly dispersed.

I’m aware that there is a sort of stigma attached to being a fan of Sex and the City, however if you have any respect for the art of writing and producing, you should use SATC as a tutorial in how to do a good job. It’d be really easy to be embarrassed about loving a show focusing on single women’s search for love in the big city. I even wrote about it here. Judgments aside, this move is worth your while. I am so happy that I finally got to go see it, and can’t wait to watch it with my mom one day, hopefully on a Sunday in the near future.

This post is dedicated to the business lady rocking out to Mariah’s “Dreamlover” in the elevator this morning. I want to be you someday.

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