Wednesday, December 19, 2007

Happy Birthday, Bateman.

Ever since I turned eighteen, I've been searching high and low for a good reason to not dread my birthday. Besides the obvious aging factor, I also hate the thought of forcing my dear friends to come out to somewhere that they probably don't want to go, and make them buy me drinks just because I was born. I'm positive that it's one of the main reasons that most of my friends dislike me more and more as the years go by.
I've spent year after year counting up to the day, and begrudgingly reading through the birthday cards and eating cake and downing fifteen shots and going home and feeling like a total dick. However, things changed a lot when I got an e-mail last year..... The title was: "What happened the day you were born?".

The first interesting fact that I learned is that Hall & Oates were, quite obviously, tearing up the charts in the second week of January with their hot new single, 'I Can't Go For That (No Can Do)'. Sweet Jesus, do I ever love that song. I also learned that cowboy boots and legwarmers were hot-ticket items.
I got to the part where it told me the famous people that shared my birthday. Obie Trice, LL Cool J, Slick Rick.... Off to a good start, but there was one name that caught my eye, and changed my views on birthdays forever.
...As it turns out, I share a birthday with the most top-shelf 80's teen heartthrob ever, Jason Bateman (I think he's like 47 or 57 now, but still....). Perhaps this would explain all of those awkward pre-pre-teen years that I spent wishing for a rad dude with fresh hightops and a baseball jacket that knows how to rock a party, just like Bateman was in Teen Wolf Too. Wait... I'm still kinda wishing for that.

Point is, I'm pretty sure that we're going to run into each other someday, and it's probably going to go a little something like this:

~sarah p.

Thursday, December 06, 2007

I hate you, and yet I want to add you as a friend (a guide to finally getting over social networking).

Before I even start this one up, I intentionally waited to write anything on social networking. I wanted to wait until this trend was on the down-swing... Up until this point, every time I wrote on the subject, there was a strange hint of positivity, mainly stemming from the fact that, no matter how many times I said that Myspace was awful and Facebook was dull, I secretly loved my daily online fix.
It started when I moved away from home for the first time when I was seventeen. I ran away from everyone I knew, and flew to France. I learned very quickly that small French villages don't take too kindly to a strange Canadian that throws a terrible Quebecois accent onto every word. After a few months, I got tired of having to take the bus five hours to Paris or Nice to have any sort of conversation with someone that didn't give me dirty looks or make fun of me to my face, so I started chatting on MSN to everyone back home. In the next few years, I made a ton of international friends, and was using MSN and AIM to keep in touch with them, in the days before digital phone service (no long distance charges, son).

One summer when I was in the States, someone asked me if I was on Myspace. I had no idea what they were talking about, but I signed up anyway. I didn't fill out any of the information on myself, and I didn't put up any pictures or backgrounds or music or add any friends. As a matter of fact, I left it that way for over a year. I was over it before I even started. Meanwhile, while I was ignoring the online world, shit was blowing up like Baghdad, and everyone had a profile with fancy songs and colors and pictures of them drinking a 40 of Olde English when they were goofing off that one time.

Enough was enough. I added photos and some Biggie tracks and the comments and friend requests started coming. This was the point that was like that special time in an alcoholic's life where they decide that it's totally okay to drink a couple of litres of cheap vodka a day because they're bored anyway....
...I would wake up in the morning and check Myspace, then go to work and check Myspace, then check it again because sometimes people post kooky bulletins while they're at work. Then, I'd go home and check Myspace a few more times before going to bed. Someone could offer me an all-expenses paid trip around the world, and I'd be all, "Okay, just let me check my Myspace first".

Then one day, someone started mentioning Facebook, something that I had heard a ton about while I was in the States, but had yet to encounter in Canada yet. Quickly, it became quite obvious that everyone in the country was making the shift from one site to another, and Myspace was about to be left in the dirt (my American friends, however, seem to be intent on keeping both sites in good working order). At first, I hated Facebook, mainly because I couldn't come home after a good night of drinking and add a new esoteric song to my profile. That being said, it didn't take long for me to realize that social networking is not about individuality anyway.

Initially, Facebook was a friend-request frenzy. I accepted and added freely. Then one day, I realized that I was learning way too much about people I didn't even really like that much. I did a little bit of a sweep of my friends list, and vowed to be a bit more choosy. This was the first sign that maybe the trend was slowing down a bit. Then one day, not too long ago, my dad added me as a friend. My dad is the raddest guy ever, it was the most adorable thing I'd ever seen, and I'm always thrilled to be "online buddies" with one of my creators, but I think it signified the end of an era.

Although I'm still a daily user, my cynicism has grown exponentially. No longer am I waiting for the next amazing bulletin or a new kooky photo album. No, what I'm really waiting for is the next big site to come and sweep Facebook out to sea.

(Sike! You guys didn't think I was that bummed about social networking, did you? Yes, those sites are totally stupid, but it's totally okay because I'm bored anyway.)

~sarah p.

Thursday, November 29, 2007

Walking Home From The Bar: A Retrospective

It's 4AM, I'm exhausted (and probably sweaty from dancing), and I've been drinking heavily. Sounds like a good time to hop in a cab and head home, right? Not for me, friends.

I'll admit it, I trust this city too much. I was born and raised here, right outside of downtown. Under the trees in the park by my elementary school, there were hobos that slept during the day. Sometimes they would chase us. We had to chain our BBQ down to the deck, or somebody would steal it. Once I was finished grade four, I could walk across the Edmonton Trail bridge to the downtown library by myself if I wanted. Honestly, I must have a silver spoon in my mouth... With a false sense of security like I have, I should have been attacked and brutally murdered years ago.

Saying that I don't trust this city is like saying that I don't trust my best friend. However, with two of my very good friends being attacked in the downtown core withing the past six weeks, I've officially been forced to give up one of my favorite things in the world: drunkenly stumbling home from the bar.

For years now, I've often opted to forgo a cab after the bar, and make my way home on foot. No matter where I've lived in the city, it usually takes only about forty minutes. I've walked home when it was sweaty and hot in the summer (which is pretty much the best), and when it was so winterly cold that my eyelashes would stick together. For a while now, I've been promising people that I would stop. I understood the risk I was taking on my safety. That being said, I've never been very good at giving up my vices, and usually when I "quit something", it just means that I get a lot better at hiding it. I'm not joking, though. I really have to stop, because I'm pretty sure my funeral, as fun and relieving as it may be for you guys, would be a total waste of a day.

There are some things that I am really going to miss about the downtown streets at 4AM. For example, what about the wasted touristy frat boys that run to catch up with you, then get really disappointed when you refuse to call your dealer and get them some weed? Or how about the homeless dudes that walks with you for three blocks, asking if they can have some money to "get home to Moosejaw, Manitoba", or the mini-van pervs that try to drag you away so they can have sex with you for money? Yeah, I'm going to miss those guys. And the massive blisters from walking thirty five blocks in heels? I don't know what I'll do without them.

Okay, maybe walking home isn't so great afterall. As a matter of fact, I'm not too sure what propels me to believe that my best option is to hang out downtown by myself with prostitutes and drug dealers in the middle of the night.
First of all, a lot of the time, I confuse the feeling of being drunk for the feeling of having superpowers. Have you ever seen one of those anti-drinking PSAs where the person thinks that they're acting all smart and cool after a few beers, but actually they're all sloppy and awkward? Perhaps I trick myself into thinking I'm untouchable when I'm wasted. A trusting, overconfident, and tipsy girl? I think I had officially become every Beltline Rapist's "easy catch".
Also, I think I get stingy at the end of the night, and all of a sudden spending $8 on a cab seems like way too much money, even if that $8 preserves my personal safety. What I forget is that I could probably get robbed of a whole lot more than $8 by casually strolling on 17th ave after everything has shut down, even Tubby Dog.

When it all comes down to it, the only parts I'm really going to miss are the reduced hangover from all of the extra exercise (this can be compensated by making sure that I dance extra hard while at the bar), and the sight of the front door after trudging home in heels.

Point is, I've dabbled in danger for far too long, and it's time to finally start taking cabs home, I promise. Now if only I can avoid the cab drivers with the "busy hands", I'll be safe and sound (and here for your entertainment periodically).

Word is bond,

~sarah p.

Tuesday, November 20, 2007

Cloud 649.

I swear to you guys, when I win the lotto, my whole life is going to be like this all of the time (including all of the outfits, the shopping bags, and the spandex dudes with bikes).

Don't forget to buy your tickets!

~sarah p.

Wednesday, November 14, 2007

M-E-T-H-O-D Maaaaaaaan.

Hi. Have you ever seen me so excited about something that didn't involve doughnuts or stickers or gold or dancing or grape soda? Me neither. Must've been a pretty amazing show.....

.....It was.
This is the beginning, before I started my slow migration to the very front. I always poke fun at myself, and say that I'm not really good at anything, but the truth is that I am outrageously great at sneaking up to the stage during shows. This was also the exact moment where I lost everyone I came with.

So, after I weasled my way to the front of the stage, Method Man threw a table right in front of me, and jumped on it and started rapping like it was no big thing. Meanwhile, I almost died a couple of times from asphyxiation, because everyone was trying so hard to put their filthy mitts all over Method Man's jeans (more on Method Man's "jeans" later). I also almost died from being so jazzed.

At this one point, Method Man jumped directly onto me. All of these people caught him right above my head, before I could assault him in any way....
Juuust joking. Of course I assaulted him anyway.
As he was being held right above my head, I gave myself a little pep-talk. "Sarah Parsons," I said to myself , "You are never, ever going to have this chance again, so don't fuck it up". It was decided. I reached up touched my fingers to the denim on his back pocket, then firmly, but gently, cupped my hand around Method Man's ass and held on tight for a few seconds. You heard me.
Now, I'm not usually a big fan of grabass, but I'm totally positive that those rules do not apply when Wu-Tang members are involved.

Please take note of Wu-Tang tattoo.

At the end of the night, I was filthy and soaked and exhausted and burnt out, but it was so worth it. Especially keeping in mind that the man is almost fourty, I really couldn't have asked for a better show. Now when is Ghostface coming to town?

~sarah p.

Tuesday, November 06, 2007


If you see me out this weekend, shake my hand, give me a hug, gently pat my ass.... You know, do whatever you'd normally do to someone when you say goodbye.
You heard me. I'm officially leaving town, probably for good. Hasta la Vista, Sarah.

Now, before you break out the party hats and balloons, you should know that I'm not leaving until Monday night.

The truth is, from the day I moved back to Calgary, I knew I couldn't stay here forever. I have a higher calling.... A higher calling that has something to do with Wu-Tang and a tour bus.

For the first time ever, Method Man and I will be in the same room. I will show up to Monday's concert with my "resume", which is what I call it when I unbutton the top six buttons on my shirt. That's right, I am intent on landing a job on a Wu-Tang tour bus.

Stop. I know what you guys are thinking. What am I going to do on Method Man's tour bus? He's already got teamsters and roadies (both of which are far more slobby than I could ever strive to be), a hype-man, a DJ, opening acts, a manager, and a driver. What is the one thing missing? Of course. No rapper's tour bus is complete without a chubby white bitch.

Normally, a tour bus just picks up a new chubby white bitch in every city, but in terms of time-management, it just makes sense to keep one as a permanent fixture. What exactly does the job entail? Well, I haven't really figured that out yet, but I'm pretty sure that I'll be in charge of distributing the Hennessy and cigarillos, and rolling and lighting elbows. Also, I may or may not have to have someone's baby. I don't know, I'm not a mind-reader.

I am, however, willing to bet that this gig pays far better than what I'm making now, and I'm sure I could hook up some sort of benefits plan, if I can sweet-talk Method Man enough. He seems like a reasonable guy.

Point is, wish me luck in my future endeavours. Things are about to get interesting, guys.

~sarah p.

p.s. As I was passing by Tequila on 17th Ave today, I noticed that Brody Jenner will be hosting their Tuesday evening festivities in a couple of weeks. I have no idea what goes on at Tequila on Tuesday nights, but I'm willing to bet that it's certainly no Les Deux. That being said, I do think that I may want to go check it out.
I've never found myself to be attracted to Mr. Jenner, but I do know that he's one of the lucky few that could probably properly dispel those Lauren "Beef Curtains" Conrad rumors. As well, he's famous for no reason, made out with Whitney once, and his dad is some sort of big-shot who is plowing Kim Kardashian's mom, which means that he is essentially the closest thing that North America has to royalty. I think you guys should join me (that is, IF I'm still around).

Tuesday, October 30, 2007

Go for the gold!

I'll be the first to admit it: I've been a little bit bummed-out lately. Now, I could sit here all day and rattle off a billion reasons why things are semi-shitty right now, but the truth is, I think I just needed a full throttle night on the bottle to fix everything.

Honestly, though, I wasn't sure where the night was going to take us on Saturday, and I think the words 'quiet evening' might have even come out of my mouth at some point, but by the time I made it out on the town, nothing could be further from the truth.

We started at The Drum for a few pre-drinks.

I'm all about drinks and general chit-chat, but do you know what I like even better? Drinks and dancing. Holy moly, everyone was on fire that night.
This guy half-assed it five billion times more than I did, so I didn't feel so bad.

I didn't want to go out without a costume, but nobody else was dressing up. So I just took all of the raddest Puerto-Rican gangsta bitch gear from my closet (I try to throw a little bit of 'Rican in most of my outfits) and put it all together into one ghetto-fabulous outfit. Essentially, I turned up the sass on my regular clothes by about 36%. A girl high-fived me for my "costume"... I didn't have the heart to tell her that these are just my regular clothes.

You know that trouble is a-brewin when it takes us forty-eight tries to get a decent group photo of the girls. This was one of the least successful of the bunch.
I wore out the fanny pack especially for Breanne, it seems to keep the good times coming. Matching!
Everytime I think I have some pretty decent moves, Chris shows up and sweeps the floor with my dreams.
Bree and I snuck over to Amsterdam Rhino to see John and Alana. We threw it down to Gasolina and took some photos in the bathroom and maybe we should have quit drinking at that point.
Sike! Back to Broken City, where I proceeded to spill the entire bar on my shirt.
...Over to Stardust, where, just like Cheers, everybody knows your name. Or maybe not. What is going on here again?

Anyway, I feel pretty good now (didn't feel so good Sunday morning, but a little activity and some Wendy's took care of that). Thanks, Saturday.

~sarah p.

Tuesday, October 23, 2007

If you feel it raise your L in the sky.

Some thoughts:

-Note to self: Do not wear heels to walk all the way downtown and go shopping for four hours, or you will end up having to scrub the blood out of your shoes, and will have to deal with ten-day blisters.

-You know that show Don't Forget The Lyrics? I think I could totally win that show.

-This is the greatest video that I've found in quite some time. My high-school was never, ever that great. Ever.... Not even during talent shows.

-Last night on Cribs, there was this famous boxer with the biggest house ever. Now, I kind-of wish that my parents would have taught me that violence is the answer.

-I'm trying my best to be cool with winter this year, but I'm really not feeling so rad about leaving the house when it's dark, and coming home when it's dark. I feel like one of those mole-people that I saw on A Current Affair that one time.

-I guess I've finally decided to kind-of forgive Jay-Z for Kingdom Come, but only for the following reasons: Ain't No Love (In The Heart of the City), the fact that he's almost 40, Izzo (H.O.V.A), the way he looks even more doofy when he stands beside Beyonce, the entire Black Album (still solid), that time that he broke up (and then made up) with Nas, and '03 Bonnie and Clyde (laugh all you want, you know that song is perfect). It does, however, make me feel a little sick to know that the guy is going to be releasing another album.

-I've spent a lot of time thinking about it, but I think I finally decided that my favorite movie is Better Off Dead, mainly for the outfit ideas (plus, John Cusack makes an adorable suicidal teenager).

-I've been eating the same massive box of Rainbow Nerds for over a month now (Thanks, Junks!).

-Sometimes when I'm going through downtown, I like to play a game called "Count The Pregnant Ladies". Pretty much everyone and their uncle is having a baby right now. The hospitals are full, my clinic is full, and this city doesn't have room for any more people. So, until the death rate speeds up to the birth rate with a one-to-one ratio (totally possible, if people continue shooting other people like they have lately), can everyone please stop barebacking for a while?

-When I had to take Home Economics in grade seven, the teacher suggested to my parents that I take two modules of cooking, as opposed to the class norm of one module of sewing and one module of cooking. This was due to the fact that, no matter how hard I tried, I was awful with a needle and thread. That being said, I've been working on trying to teach myself how to sew lately, as the hunt for the perfect satin jacket has grown tiresome.

Well, that was my week.... How are you guys?

~sarah p.

Saturday, October 13, 2007

Election 2007.

I was lucky. My parents always forced us to vote when we were younger, and now that I'm older, it's just second nature. I love my city, and I want what is best for it.
That being said, until this election, I had never bothered to walk into a voting booth with an informed decision... I mostly just picked candidates based on how funny their names were (Bronconnier? Kind-of a funny name.). However, since I am now working in the non-profit sector, the election directly affects my rate of pay, and whether or not I even have a job, so I figured that I should do my homework. Now, before I continue with this post, please keep in mind that I'm not a political blogger, and the following is mainly for entertainment value (mostly to entertain myself).


Let's talk about some of the main issues of this election:

Now, it's not that I mind having to essentially dry-hump filthy construction workers and old ladies on the bus every day on the way home from work, but you know what would be nice? Some room on the bus. Yes, we have a lack of drivers, thus the city is finding it difficult to keep up with transit demands for our growing population, but with drivers being trained at $11 an hour for the first eight weeks, and low salaries thereafter, why would anyone even bother trying to work for the system? With the threat of a strike a few months ago, wages and benefits were increased slightly for existing workers, but no new incentives were put in place for new employees, and most people looking for low-paying jobs will probably just go work for Tim Hortons instead, where they at least get free donuts all day long.
The current state of our public transit system is not good. The city is quite concerned with traffic, but doesn't offer any solutions for people to stop driving around so much.
What the city doesn't realize is that public transit really brings everyone together. Every morning, when I get on the bus and put my ticket in the slot, I raise my head and give everyone a little nod like "what's up guys? Oh, you guys are losers too? Alright."
You want a cure for racism, sexism, and ageism? Make everyone take the bus for a while. By the end, the whole city will have been knocked down a few pegs, and everyone will probably just become BFFs.

As much as I adore this city, lately we've been acting a lot like that kid in grade eight that got moved up from grade seven halfway through the year that spent all of his time trying to act 'cool' next to the big kids. I feel like our criminal population looked over at cities like Vancouver and Toronto, and decided that they really had to step it up a notch to get us on the map. See Vancouver? We've got a crack problem too. Now can we hang out with you at lunch?
They say that we'll need to hire two hundred police officers in order to have a full police force, but I really don't think they're ever going to be able to find two hundred young, college-educated, agile, drug-free people to fill the positions. Does it take a genius to write a ticket or hold down a crazy man while he shouts obscenities about Jesus? Perhaps we need to re-think the requirements to join the force. As well, if the cops less effort into scribbling out tickets for minor traffic violations and kicking skateboarders off of the Petro Canada building steps, and more effort patrolling areas like the deep northeast (a well-known hub for organized crime), where there are three cars patrolling an area that is triple the size of downtown, then maybe we wouldn't be in this mess... Just a thought.

I am one of the few people I know that actually lives in some sort of affordable housing. That being said, I probably live in the smallest one-bedroom in the city, where I am crammed directly above my neighbours. It's kind-of fun to play games like "What are the neighbours fighting about?", and "What are the neighbours having for dinner?" (the answer for both is almost always 'meatloaf'), but the truth is, my tiny place would be worth about $400/month in Winnipeg or Regina. Housing is tough in this city, and the current solution of spreading out like disease into communities like Cochrane, Okotoks, and Airdrie is not working. Many candidates are preaching about building up as opposed to out. It would be great to see some more downtown development, for both retail and residential units. I've never lived in a place outside of the general downtown area, and perhaps a die-hard suburbanite would have different ideas on the subject, but at the current moment, it's tough to find a place downtown that isn't a $2000/month condo. For a city that centres our economy around big-business oil companies, most of which are located in the downtown core, you'd think that logically, they'd want to try and lure the population closer in toward the city centre, but I'm pretty positive that our current administration enjoys his clone-house out in the burbs, where it's easy to ignore the heart of the city.
The point is, the way things are going, any of us could become homeless at anytime. As someone that works closely with the homeless population, I've seen a shift from the shelters being full of wacky, mentally-ill fellas that go to the bathroom wherever they please, to families and working-class people that have been forced out of living situations due to raises in rent and cost of living. Despite the fact that I may or may not be out of a job if the homeless population decreases, I think all of us would like to see less people out on the streets (and I'm not just saying this because, as of late, the hobo uniform of slim jeans, sneakers with the tongues out, and flannel jackets has turned into the style-norm, and from a distance, I've been mistaking homeless dudes for my friends).


The front-runner candidates for mayor are as follows:

Dave Bronconnier -
This is our current mayor. He's become quite diligent at avoiding most of the pertinent issues, and has embraced the whole "ignorance is bliss" attitude for quite some time now. He looks like the guy that sold my mom her car. Although he has been criticised for his lack of action on affordable housing and transit, and his support of urban sprawl and fucked-up construction projects, the rumor is that he's still a shoe-in for another term.

Alnoor Kassam-
Currently, is using "Al Noor" as his campaign name, as it's easier to pronounce, more folksy, and significantly more caucasian-sounding. He looks like the guy that sold me travel insurance. He has been involved in a rental-increase scandal, as well as a Kenyan financial scandal (who of us hasn't?), but has some good ideas on transit and homelessness. As well, his radio ads are sassy as fuck.

A couple of the "just joking" candidates for mayor are:

Sandy Jenkins-
On October 10th, Sandy was forcibly removed from a Weakerthans concert for sneaking in. When asked if he was remorseful, he claimed "No, I love the Weakerthans". You know, I don't know how you couldn't love the guy a little bit for risking his entire campaign for a glimpse at a Canadian indie group that comes to town like eight times a year.

JJ Sunstrum-
This guy showed up to register at city hall in his pajamas and some buffalo slippers. Although I enjoy his "fuck it, I'm going to look like I just wake'n baked in the parking lot and went to get some Egg Mcmuffins before trying to become mayor" attitude, I'm pretty positive that TSDF* with the majority of Calgarians.

Jeremy Zhao-
Would this city be better off if it were run by a 19-year-old university student? The answer is a resounding 'YES'. Can a 19-year-old university student trick a large portion of the population into voting him into office? Unfortunately, probably not. He did, however, promise to wear a cowboy hat in his official mayoral photograph if elected, something that hasn't been done since 1988.


Look, in the scheme of things, I can't tell you who to vote for, particularly because I haven't quite decided for myself yet. The best advice I can give is to vote, no matter what your decision.
As a bonus, check your voting locations for your area... You may get to catch a glimpse of the inside of your old elementary school gym or the dingy walls of your local legion... Neat!

~sarah p.

*TSDF= That Shit Don't Fly.
Sorry for the novel, guys.

Thursday, October 11, 2007

Never a bad time.

Hi friends,

Today, I spent a couple of hours at the laundromat. After an hour or so, I got bored of staring at families with four dirty children, bummed-out single dudes, and shitfaced goth kids, and I took off to 7-11 for a while. After cruising for novelty candy for a bit, I ended up at the cash register with a slurpee. There were a couple of frat boys behind me, and one of them made a snarky comment about people drinking slurpees when it's cold outside.
You can insult my weight, my height, and my intelligence, but never, ever try to criticize my choice of beverages.
I turned around and got serious for a minute. "Look, fuckface, " I said, " There's never a bad time for a slurpee". Then, I bought a lighter with a stoned happy-face on it.
They have white rootbeer slurpee now, which is rad if you have problems with spilling things on yourself.
On the way out the door, a chubby old man winked at me. Score!

Point is, I've been busy, guys, and I'm sorry.
I know I've been a little absentee lately, but I've got a decent post on the way (and it's political... I know, I'm surprised, too!).

Okay, I've gotta go girl-crush all over Silverman's new season. I told you guys... So busy latley.

One love,

~sarah p.

Monday, October 01, 2007


My whole life, I've always thought that having street-cred meant that you knew all of the words to a couple of Biggie songs, and could throw at least two gang signs without thinking too hard about it. This perception changed the other Thursday when I ended up with a bruised kidney, from getting my ass kicked by a bum. I usually prefer the word 'hobo' to 'bum', but in this case, 'hobo' seemed like too friendly of a word (like that charming fella that lives in the parking lot across from the Mustard Seed that told me I had 'nice tits' one time. That guy is a hobo).
Anyway, let me clarify: I was at work, and one of the bums got a little frazzled about a prescription that he felt he needed, and things got a little out-of-hand. I ended up walking out of work that day with a little bit of actual street-cred, for the first time ever. I hate to say it, but it felt gooood.

Here are some ways to get some insta-cred for yourself:

Facial Scars - It really doesn't matter if the scar on your face is from that one time when you were eleven, and you were skating around on one skate to impress a girl, or that one time last month when you tried to pop a wheelie on your bike (probably to impress a girl).... Everywhere you go, strangers will be wondering what happened to your face, and imaginations will be running wild.

More Than One Gang Color - If you go to Compton, and you wear a blue bandana, and a red bandana, and a yellow bandana, and a white bandana, you'll confuse all of the gangs, and everyone will just forget about all of the violence and have a great big block party in your honor. Well, either that, or you'll totally get yourself shot in the face (once again, gaining you insta-cred, so it's no big thing).

Getting in a fight under and (or all) of the following circumstances- while seriously injured, for a girl that doesn't even like you that much, with a bum or a cop (not provoked by yourself), or during a contest (where you decide, during the contest, that winning can go fuck itself, as fighting is way more important.... If that shit's not gangsta, then I don't know what is).

Don't get me wrong, street-cred can have it's downsides as well. What happens the next time on of my friends gets in a brawl? They'll be looking at me like "what's next, partna?", and I'll have to shrug my shoulders and look at the ground and think about bunnies or something. That part's not going to be as much fun, but in the meanwhile..... Watch your backs, I've got like a week or two of cred left, and I intend on using it.

Seriously, just kidding about that last part... The past couple of days, I've been too doped-up on Nyquil to get around to doing anything at all. I guess germs don't observe street-cred.

~sarah p.

Tuesday, September 18, 2007


I've barely been near my shithole apartment in the past month. I've been up in a quiet residential neighbourhood, housesitting for my parents. This means that I've been hanging out in a backyard, where they have trees and plants and no used condoms or smashed bottles of Colt 45! I know, totally unreal.

Anyway, I was out on the back deck last night, and I looked over at a rosehip bush in the corner of the yard. It's droopy branches were tinging bright hues of red and yellow and orange... There was no denying it, summer is finally over.
"Fuck you, rosehip bush", I yelled out, "I'm not ready for autumn". However, when I woke up this morning, the leaves had not turned back to green. Hmm. I guess I have no choice in the matter: fall is here whether I like it or not.

I try to embrace the changing of the seasons every year, but the truth is, the only time I'm okay with it is when it's getting hotter out.

Part of the reason why I'm not a fan of cold weather is that I hate coats with my whole heart. Correct me if I'm wrong, but coats are the least flattering piece of clothing that anyone can wear (this includes palazzo pants and those fake-tattoo shirts). You know, maybe I shouldn't be talking about "flattering clothing", as I've got the precise body-type that should probably be covered up with several coats at all times, but the truth is, a coat can put a damper on the most amazing outfits pretty quickly. Have you guys ever been somewhere where the people don't have to wear coats because it's hot all the time? Those people always seem a lot happier, as they never have to search through all of their coat pockets to find their chapstick, or never have tried to match formal-wear with a jacket (not an easy task).
It is fun to find money in the pockets of an old coat, but I still think it'd be way more fun to find money in the pocket of some cutoffs instead.

I've also grown more and more confused by Halloween. I'm not the not the type of gal who spends all of her time talking about equality and double standards, but the ladies clearly get screwed-over on this holiday. The fellas are allowed to wear whatever they want, no matter how gross or retarded the costume is, and everyone will applaud them for doing it. Girls are allowed to wear whatever they want, so long as they look outrageously hot while doing it, or people will whisper about how much "courage that must've taken to walk out of the house looking like that".

You know what is kind-of okay about Autumn? Shaking a tree on somebody so that they get leaves down their shirt and in their hair. That joke will never, ever get old. Also, there's a ton of good food floating around (except for candy corn. Sick.), and the new TV season starts, which means that there are several new ways to lower my IQ on a daily basis (awesome).
I can't change how the seasons progress, I accept that. All I'm saying is, if we could get the entire country to jump up and down at the same time, we may be able to shift the earth's axis just enough to never have to deal with this shit again, and then we can find money in our cutoffs pockets all year round! Think about it and get back to me, okay?

Tuesday, September 11, 2007

The VMAs- Some Afterthoughts (It's Britney, Bitch)

The VMAs are the best award show, because things get really out of hand really quickly. None of the other awards shows have near the amount of general debauchery and mayhem. I think one time someone got sent home from the Emmys for sneaking a beer from their dad's garage fridge and drinking it in the bathroom, but that's about as hardcore as the other awards shows get. The VMAs are just full of fights and random hook-ups, which is what makes it so exciting to write about. Here's how the show broke down:

-Let's get any and all Britney discussion out of the way right now. Look, after years of being the joke of the entire universe, I don't know why anyone would think that ol' Leatherface Spears could pull the most amazing performance out of thin air, single-handedly saving her career. The bitch is so far off of her rocker by now that it doesn't even matter anyway, right?

-In a time where shoulder-pads are coming back into style for the ladies (read that somewhere the other day), the freshest dudes are taking style cues from Kim Mitchell, and even my own closet looks like it's 'just joking', I'd like to think that most style rules really don't apply anymore. As a matter of fact, lately I've been saying that, in terms of recent fashion trends, it's not about what clothes people wearing, but who is wearing them. However, I retract that statement entirely when it comes to Lil' Mama's atrocity of an outfit. In 1993, kids were graduating from acid to MDMA, and everyone was walking around wearing plastic soothers for like a week. The trend died out quickly, mainly due to the fact that pacifiers past the age of two make you look like a super-tard. This outfit should have stayed buried in the ground, right beside those gross little trolls with the puffy hair.

-Why the hell does Timba have to try and steal Timbo's thunder all of the time? I understand that getting up on stage with Justin will probably pay off, ass-wise, later in the evening, but there was really no need for Timbaland to pretend he did anything more than recycle a few beats, flip a few switches, and say "Timbaland" and "Yeah" a few times on the album.

-Audrina, LC, and Whitney (aka-The Good Team) got to present the award for Male Artist of The Year. Unfortunately, Heidi and Spencer were unable to present, as the VMAs don't have a category called "Douche of The Year".

-Kanye? Still awesome. Silverman? Would probably switch teams for.

-I didn't think it was possible, but looking at Cee-Lo makes me feel kind-of thin.

-It's tough being a washed-up rock guy. So, if you run into another washed-up rock guy during an Alicia Keys performance, you should probably just shake hands or hug, as opposed to bitch-slapping them.... Have some fucking empathy, man.

363 days till the next VMAs... Mark your calendar!

Tuesday, September 04, 2007

Don't let it fade away.

Since returning from vacation, I've had one clear goal in mind: don't let myself get stressed out again.
I had just spent a week drinking and smoking and fucking around like a total jackass, without having to even pretend to be serious even once, and it did me a world of good. My shoulders didn't hurt, my mind was clear, and things just seemed a hell of a lot brighter.
Then, I returned to the office on Tuesday morning, and right away, I was falling back into old habits. I had also decided to try and quit my morning cup of coffee (a feat that has been even more difficult than quitting my pack-a-day habit when I returned from France), which made things even tougher.

I came home Tuesday night and had a serious talk with myself, which is something I rarely do. It's not exactly easy to pinpoint why I get so stressed out, but it's safe to say that I really don't worry much about the shit that normal people worry themselves about.
It'd be totally normal for me to worry about the fact that I don 't have a ton of money, or that someone would have to have ass-backwards standards in order to find me attractive, or that my job is so intense, or that most of my friends are embarrassed to be seen in public with me, or that I'm really not getting any younger. However, strangely enough, those things don't keep me awake at night.
The truth is, I do think too much, but the thoughts usually lie within these categories:

-If you are wearing something without belt loops, then what do you do with the loose end of the belt when it's all done up?
-Kelly Clarkson should be so fucking grateful that Ghostface mentioned her in that one jam.
-Scrappy Doo was a total dick (seriously, worst cartoon sidekick ever).
-Outfits: am I matching too much or not enough?
-Has Dilla ever produced something that I wasn't fond of?
-If I ever got up the balls to cut my own hair, it would probably look okay.

Maybe it's better that I don't figure out any of the sources of my stress, because I'm starting to think that most of it was imaginary anyway.
From here on out, I'm going to deprive myself of self-deprivation (which means as much coffee as I want), and that vacation feeling should last forever (or at least until winter).
Wish me luck!

~sarah p.

Tuesday, August 28, 2007

The truth about Oklahoma.

At 5AM on Wednesday, I was at the Calgary airport, loudly discussing my single status with a customs agent (it's an interesting story, remind me to tell you sometime in great detail, but a customs agent was very concerned with the fact that I was 25 and unmarried with no prospects). At first, I was concerned that this shaky start would reflect on the rest of the vacation, but nothing could be further from the truth.
I got on my flights and started my journey. A big thanks to American Airlines, who, with their liberal "keep the whole can" policy and their twangy flight attendants with massive hair and names like "Marge" and "Didi", have really flown their way into my heart. As well, talk. about. legroom. Hell, I could have normal-length legs, and I'd still have more than enough space to kick around my feet like an idiot.

After a day of airports and switching planes, I arrived in Nebraska with the warmest welcome from Jenny Junk and prepared myself for my adventures.

The next morning, Jenny Junk and I took off toward Oklahoma City. I've been on a few eight-hour road trips in my life, but nothing will ever measure up to sitting beside Jenny Junk in the muggy southern weather, smoking Camel #9s, and listening to 80's classics, ELO, and a healthy dose of T.I.

When we arrived in Oklahoma, there was not a lot of time for lollygagging, as it was time to head out for Sara D's bachelorette. A ton of super awkward photos ensued:

I've come to realize that if I ever want to get anywhere in life, I need to have some fabulous nails. Sara D promised me that she'd take me to a for-real Korean ghetto nail salon, and she did not disappoint.
There were chicks with massive weaves coming in on their lunch breaks from the drugstore to get the chips in their acrylic tips fixed. Really, the least I can do is to get some dollar-signs airbrushed on, to let people know that I mean business.
See? Nice nails = money. The poster told me so, and posters rarely lie.
What's better than a bachelorette penis-cake? How about a bachelorette penis popcorn ball, complete with white chocolate tip? Props to Jenny Junk for getting the skin-tone juuuust right.
At first it was just Sara D enjoying it's value.....
....but by the end, even Marisol was getting in on the action.
Saturday, the wedding day arrived, as well as the greatest guy in the world, Matt Degnan (fresh from Notre Dame). The ladies were looking fly-y-y-y-y-y-y-y-y in our formal wear, even though it was like a thousand degrees outside. This is the last picture I took before we had to head out and make the wedding happen. The ceremony was under five minutes, as Sara D and Jeremy are pretty much the most amazing couple in the universe, and they really didn't need much time to prove that they actually did want to get married. We know it, guys. We know.
Okay, so there was this afterparty when the wedding finished, but due to a few wrong turns, Matt and I ended up with exactly 60 minutes until last-call from the time we arrived. You guys know what that means.... Power-hour.
Now, although I've had some pretty big nights in my past, Sara D and Jeremy don't get married every day, and it's rare when I get to drink beside my favorite people, so Matt and I really had to step it up a notch and make the hour count, which included large amounts of rum and beer-chasers with everything.

The evening ended on a pull-out couch mattress with no sheets (despite the fact that we were in a beautiful hotel room with two of the most comfortable beds ever), and with a nauseous IHOP breakfast.
We sent Matt on his way back to Notre Dame, and sent Sara D and Jeremy off to do married couple things. As for Jenny Junk and I, it was back to Nebraska and back to reality.
Now, normally I'm against most novelty t-shirts, but if you're thrifting with the girls in the actual ghetto, and you happen to run across a t-shirt that sorta knocks a super-patriotic state, and you just happen to be spending six hours in that state later in the week, and you kind-of feel like being a cock, then a guess it's a good way to ruffle a few feathers. Getting in a battle of wits with your average Texan is like playing Scrabble against a sewer rat... Not too difficult to beat, but totally fun regardless.
In between heated discussions at the airport bar and long rides on the moving sidewalks, I spent a ton of time ogling men in military uniforms (they're all over US airports!). You know, if it weren't for the whole "killing children and innocent civilians for a job" thing, I could probably really get into that jam. Sure, my vacation didn't have any palm trees or any beaches (tons of giant crosses and red dirt, though), but the truth about Oklahoma is that I got to spend a ton of time with four of the most incredible people I've ever known, two of which are now officially married to each other. I don't know if I could have asked for a radder vacation.

~sarah p.

p.s. Down south, Americans really like to run over things. We travelled through Iowa, Kansas, Nebraska, Oklahoma, and Missouri, and saw all sorts of dead stuff on the road, including an armadillo (!) and a wolf. I also had some delicious crushed-ice in my drink at Sonic. Sometimes, it's the little things that count.