Monday, June 25, 2007


This pen is clever as fuck. From now on, I'm not ordering takeout from any restaurant that's not willing to "go there".

~sarah p.
p.s. I did not get a fortune in my fortune cookie, and that's probably not a good sign.

Sunday, June 24, 2007

The big talk.

I guess it's time to make it public: I'm giving up drinking for a month, starting July 1st.

Let me explain.... It's a money issue more than anything, as I'll probably be dropping a grand in five days in late August on my middle-American adventure, and cash doesn't come easy when you work a non-profit job. When I sat down and went through my monthly expenses, it just seemed like the wisest idea. Now, to clarify, maybe 'quitting drinking' is not really the right term. If someone hands me a drink at the bar, and I'm not dropping any dimes on that drink, I will certainly not hesitate to toss it back, believe me. I'll still be going out and everything, I'll just be turning $100-nights into $20-nights.

Some people drink because it helps them come out of their shell. Those who know me well know that I really don't need booze in order to do retarded things... That urge comes naturally.
I usually use drinking as a stress-release on my weekends.
I know, it's tough to imagine me all stressed-out, but things can get pretty intense at work during the week. Beyond the apparent stress factors of my job (the hobos, the prostitutes, the 12-year-old pregnant chicks, just to name a few), here are a few not-so-obvious things that contribute to my weekly stress:

1. I see anywhere from five to twenty babies in a day, and every single parent thinks that their child is the most amazingly beautiful baby in the universe. Newsflash, mom and dad.
I do see some cute kids, but I also see some of the most excruciatingly ugly babies you could ever imagine. I once read an article on babies, and it explained why we think that children are cuter than adults. The article said that babies have a larger head and smaller features than an adult, and back when we were cavemen, and were too stupid to actually differentiate between ages, those differences made us feel that the babies were helpless, and needed nurturing. Thus, when we think that something is cute, it's actually our brains just sensing the helplessness in something. The article said that the most attractive babies had the best chance of survival. There are times when I see babies coming in that look like bad props in an early 80's horror movie, and as I stand behind the parents as they gloat and undress the babies for a weigh-in, all I can think is how that kid probably would have been left behind in a snowbank a long time ago if this were the ice-ages.
It can be pretty taxing to hear parents go on and on about how perfect their children are. When some poor son-of-a-bitch drops all of his standards and settles for me as his wifey, and I have kids, I'm going to be humble as hell, because they'll probably be midgets anyway.

2. Sometimes I think that there's not enough Evelyn 'Champagne' King and Bastian songs in the world to get me through my daily commute. I can only hide myself in cheesy ipod songs for so long before the stress starts to get to me. I've felt more transfered-ass-heat on plastic transit seats than probably anyone else in the world. I also seem to have an affinity for sitting next to guys that like to dig in their ears (to find things perhaps?) the entire ride. My morning ride is usually no big thing... Full of screaming babies, but I have to deal with that once I get to work anyway, so I'm pretty good at tuning it out. It's the evening ride with the sweaty-ass blue collar workers and, people screaming into cell-phones, and heavily-perfumed office ladies that kill me, especially because it takes me almost three times as long to get home.

3. Ummm... I guess I'm not a big fan of sitting with a bunch of depressing single dads at the laundromat once a week.

Hmm. Guess that's all that really bugs me.

You know what? Maybe things aren't very stressful at all for me afterall, and this month should be so amazingly easy to get through. Maybe.

~sarah p.

Wednesday, June 20, 2007

Just take my word for it.

We arrived at the Boyz II Men show at 9-ish, and the floor was already packed. We pushed into the crowd as far as we could, and stood around waiting for something to happen. After hearing 'In Da Club' 76 times, and having some guy with a tucked-in t-shirt rubbing his ass on my elbow for twenty minutes, Crystal and I decided that we really didn't need to be standing on the floor after all. We waded back through the sea of hair gel and tube tops, and eventually settled into our spot behind the soundcheck guys. Who needs to see the stage anyway, right?

They opened with Motownphilly, which was pretty much the only song I really, really cared about. At some point, I got kinda bummed, because I thought that there was no way in hell I'd get any photos (not even grainy, shaky photos). Luckily, some amazing asian kid and his girlfriend came to the rescue. They pulled some sort of Wondertwins super-maneuver, when she sat on the ledge of the wall, and he stood on a stool, and she held him up from behind while he took photos for me. Anyway, he's what I ended up with (I know they're sooo tough to actually decipher, but we really did see Boyz II Men! Just take my word for it):

Besides hearing Motownphilly live, the best part of the night was the fact that this soundcheck guy totally wore his jizz-rag to the bar. He probably thought that no one would notice, but then the black lights came on... Bu-sted!
~sarah p.

Sunday, June 17, 2007

Have a seat. Let's talk.
So, you know how I was talking about Boyz II Men last week? Well, guess who's going to see them live in concert on Monday?
My plan is to go to the show, scream along to every song, and then try and get impregnated by at least one of them, and that way I can hear Motownphilly live in person whenever I want. It's called blackmail, baby.

I have a question for you guys. Was Set Adrift On Memory Bliss actually written about Christina Applegate? Do you honestly think she got drunk and had sex with the big fat lead singer at some point in the late 80's, and when he tried to call her the next day, he found she had given him a fake number, so he wrote a song about the whole ordeal? My best guess is that the song was initially written for someone a little more in the lead singer's range, someone like Natalie from The Facts Of Life, and when they tried to market the song to the masses, everyone just got kinda nauseous. So, they threw Applegate's name in there to give it some star power, and *presto*, the song lands a primo spot on Dancemix '92. I don't know, but it's been on my mind a bit these past few days. Any thoughts?

I've been seeing quite a few commercials on MTV for Date My Playlist. I think it's a show where they pick you some dates based on a four-song selection.
If I had to submit a playlist, it would probably look a little something like this:
1. Everybody Wants Something - The Zit Remedy (p.s. If you ever start to feel bad about the way things are going for you, just watch that video, and realize that you're not a 30-something computer programmer that spends his weekends re-tooling Degrassi songs in a super serious way).
2. Big Things Poppin - T.I. (have I mentioned how much I love this one yet?)
3. Iesha - Another Bad Creation
4. The Object of My Desire - Starpoint (I really like this video, because it's full of early 80's neofunkers, trying their best to be "real" infront of the camera without doing blow, because MTV said no to that idea).
Quite frankly, I don't know if I could even handle dating someone that would choose me based on those four songs, because they'd be way too awesome. They'd probably just want to have dance-parties all day long, and would probably have their own slurpee machine, and I'd probably die of happiness, so I really don't think I should even bother submitting an application.

~sarah p.

Monday, June 11, 2007

Not too hard, not too soft.

With the official start of summer just ten days away, I've been thinking a lot about the little details that could turn it from a good summer to a great summer.

You know, the little things. For example, things have been going fairly smoothly in menswear for the past little while. I really, genuinely like the outfits that guys have been throwing together, but they're all pretty much the same outfits as last year (don't believe me, go check your photos from last summer.. See?). Perhaps this summer, the fellas of the world may want to consider some outfits straight outta another period in time. Gentlemen, say hello to the Motownphilly look.

Now, stop yourself before you go and pull out your cuffed easy-fit jeans, blazers and low Doc Martens with matching leather belts. We're not at a 7th grade dance in 1992, and that's not the look you're going for. I'm talking about outfit #2 in the video, with the preppy sweaters, the brand-new New Eras, and the motherfucking bowties. I'll leave the bottom-half up to you, because the early 90's had nothing on denim-wear, but I think the look should probably end with the freshest kicks ever at your feet (might I suggest these multi-metallic Court Forces that I kind-of love with my whole heart?). I guess any shoes are fine so long as they aren't square-toed or any form of sandal. I guess.

Point is, how is anyone ever supposed to have a bad summer when you're walking around like you just got promoted to the head of the Faculty of Freshness at Harvard? They can't.

My question to you is:
What kind of outfits can girls pull together to have the same impact? Where do the ladies go from here? Early-90's womenswear was fucking brutal, and I'm sure as hell not going to walk around looking like Whitley Wayne (or am I?).

~sarah p.

Sunday, June 10, 2007

Garage sales.

Two years ago, I was supposed to help my mom out with her annual garage sale that she organizes for the whole neighbourhood (now is a good time to mention that, a week away from her 50th birthday, my mom has more conviction than I will ever, ever have). Long story short, I ended up getting absolutely slaughtered at Crystal's, and was up dancing and drinking until 5:30AM. I had to get up and help mom at 8:30AM, and I was a fucking wreck. I'd like to say that I helped out that day, but the only thing I ended up doing was puking a whole bunch and sleeping on the porch. My mom didn't ever say that I actually hurt her feelings, but I know that I was a pretty terrible child that morning.
To this day, I kinda feel like an asshole for that episode, so I was determined to help out properly this year. I had some good company, so I actually stayed in on the Friday (!), and in the morning, I even gathered up a few things to put in the sale. In total, I had the potential of making probably $40 off of my old shit, but I walked away with $3.

I did, however, get more wasted than I ever would on a normal Saturday, and I scored some earrings that solve the dilemma of 'gold or silver?' (pictured here on some gangsta-ass neoprene, 'cuz I ball like that).
~sarah p.

p.s. Word to the wise: in the gold vs silver debate, there's never any contest... Gold always wins. Put your brights on and make 'em NV.

Thursday, June 07, 2007

Even I think this shit's getting ridiculous.

Fuck you Lohan, fuck you Hilton, and fuck you Richie..... Three 6, you're still cool.

The celebrity gossip has been the same old shit over and over again lately. Someone famous needs to do something really fucked-up... Pronto.

~sarah p.

Tuesday, June 05, 2007

Guess who's back in the muthafuckin house?

Very last pair in the store.
$16 this time, but you know they copped that basket-weave toe from Nike, so I guess it's kind-of worth it.

~sarah p.

Stumbling on a Sunday afternoon.

You know me.... I like to keep my Sundays pretty low-key. This Sunday started out like any other: Crystal and I were eating some ice cream on a bench, when Trevor's car pulls up behind us. This is how our Sunday went from a regular boring day to a happening.

I know what you're thinking... You? Rafting? For the record, it's not my normal jam at all, but how can I say no to Trevor?

Trev and Wade were so, so excited to get out on the river. A little too excited, perhaps.

After the boys finished up and cleaned themselves off, we started out journey.

Our raft said something about only being able to handle 120 pounds, but Crystal and I like to challenge labels.

Eventually, we tied ourselves up to John.

If your sunglasses are neon, then maybe you can be in a club with Clinton and I. Maybe.

The cops came and tried to make us get rid of our beers....

Sssssike! We're pretty sneaky and clever (and intent on staying drunk).

Point is, Sunday was kind-of perfect (I know, I'm surprised too!).

~sarah p.