Monday, December 29, 2008

Thursday, November 13, 2008

Some Research.

Between my full-time job, my part-time job, and school work, I have sooo much free time. That was a joke, assholes.

I've got way too much going on, which means that I need to take a well-deserved break now and then. What better way to clear the slate of my mind than to do some good ol' fashioned pondering....
Have you ever wanted to discover the secrets of the universe?
Have you ever sat at home, brooding on the answers to how life began, or if there is other intelligent life within our galaxy? I rarely do. Instead, I contemplate the confusing number of people still walking around wearing these (yes, even you, Yasir Arafat), and answer the tough question of: "Where did all of the Wacky Wafers go?" (down my throat, obviously).

A few for-real mysteries solved over these think-sessions:


1) What happened to Ice Cube?

At one point, Ice Cube was the smoothest motherfucker on the planet. Dudes loved him because you could usually tell, by the third line in a song, that he had definitely shot a guy in the face before. The ladies loved him because he had the raw charm of Method Man, and the adorable squeezability of Biggie. With all of the respect, well-written movie roles, and album after album of perfect material, you'd think that nothing could bring him down.
Then one day, something happened..... All of a sudden,
Ice Cube was a different man. Instead of enjoying Seagram's with Mack 10, he was now sipping lattes with Coolio. Instead of keeping him far, far away from their children, mothers were rushing their kids to the theatres to see the new Ice Cube flick. Ooooh, dear.
Where, exactly, did it all go wrong?

Well, after some intense investigation, this is what I have discerned:
In the early hours of September 15, 1996, a dump truck drove onto Ice Cube's front lawn and honked the horn. He awoke from a d
eep slumber, dressed himself in his robe and slippers, and stumbled down the stairs. Outside, the truck was idling, and as Ice Cube approached, the back gate began to open. At first nothing fell out of the truck, but then, one by one, stacks of hundred-dollar-bills began falling all over the front lawn. Ice Cube's children ran out of the house and began frolicking in the money as if it were a fresh snowfall. Just as his wife stepped out the front door to see what was going on, Eric Stoltz stepped out of the cab of the truck with a contract in his hand. "Are we going to sign this?", Eric Stoltz said as he handed Ice Cube a pen, "Or do we pack up all of this cash and drive to Don Cheadle's house instead?". Seven months later, Anaconda was released.... The rest, as they say, is history (and luckily, T.I. was able to step in as the reigning 'King of Smoothness').


2) Pass The Dutchie- Who, what, howwwwwww??


My dad owned the full Musical Youth album, and this track was on heavy rotation at our house for years and years. Dad also smoked a lot of weed in th
e garage, and told us he was 'fixing things'. Until I did some research on this track, I had always just assumed that Musical Youth had formed in Jamaica, after a record exec had kidnapped a whole bunch of boys, gave them some weed, and forced them to join a band (I think this is also how Meneudo was formed, but instead of drugs, they gave the fellas tank-tops). Naturally, when you get a bunch of stoned eight-year-olds together, they're going to create some serious music, right? Right, guys? Guys?
Anyway, I decided to get the real story, and it had no
ne of the bravado of my version. Turns out that instead of being a group of street-urchin ragamuffins, Musical Youth were actually a bunch of British schoolchildren. "Pass the Dutchie", did not, in fact, involve any intoxicated kids, either. Although based on a song about smoking weed, the term 'Dutchie' actually refers to a Jamaican cooking pot, and the track was released as an outcry against world hunger.
.... It should be noted that these research sessions can be very, very disappointing at times (my original vision of Musical Youth's story was way more jazzed-up and interesting for sure).


3) Global warming: not so bad after all?

It's the middle of November, and we've barely seen a spot of snow. I've worn a sweater or a light jacket every day since September, and haven't even had to dream of trying to co-ordinate fashion with -25 degrees Celsius. Global warming? Bring it on.
I realize this opinion would make me rather unpopular with guys like Leonardo DiCaprio, but he's just pissy because his zillion-dollar mansion is probably right on the California coast, and he's worried about foundation damage if the polar ice caps melt. Over here in Alberta, aka- 'The Safety Zone', Gilbert Grape would have nothing to worry about but getting a fabulous, ozone-free tan (obtainable in minutes without layers and layers of stratosphere in the way).
Over here in the prairie provinces, we like to whine about not being able to enjoy a fine day at the seaside. The solution? Rip a massive hole in the atmosphere, and surf's up, Alberta.
Yes, I realize the long term ramifications of Global Warming. I'm well aware that the increase in temperatures signifies a 'beginning of the end'. That being said, can you imagine an Alberta winter without your eyelashes sticking together? How about a winter that begins in December, and finishes by March? You'll be nodding your head in agreement when your favorite outdoor pool opens it's doors on the first of May, as opposed to the first of July. I understand that we should be watching out for future generations, but how about we just all decide to be really selfish for once, dammit?


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
These are really just a few samples of my work. The following are a few mysteries left to solve:
-Janice Dickinson: not human (possible robot?).
-Sugar-Free Bubble Gum- why can't the bigwigs at the Trident factory get the flavor right?
-What ever happened to the clone-girls of Robert Plant's 'Addicted to Love' video... Do they still hang out together sometimes? (I hope so.)
-Why are good pants so hard to find?
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Okay. Enough stalling, back to homework....

Your super-sleuth,

~sarah p.

p.s. If you want to waste even more time, this is the best fashion blog out there since Stylebytes.net went down.... It's extra cute because each photo has a little quote beside it that is translated from Finnish into English by someone that obviously doesn't speak English, so the figures of speech are really formal, and sometimes they use incorrect phrases like "jeans jacket" . I have a feeling I would really, really enjoy Helsinki.

Thursday, October 23, 2008

Dear Coats,

I am not going to wear you for at least another month, no matter how cold it gets.

Your pal,

~sarah p.

p.s. Jackets, you're still cool.

p.p.s. Three posts in one day..... Blogger-iffic!
This is extra special and exceptional because (1) I have barely written anything in months, and (2) it is only slightly after 7PM. What am I going to do with the rest of my evening? Well, I'm probably going to do some laundry, cook a steak, and make up a dance routine to this song. Bye for now!

What's in a name?

When I was in kindergarten, there were five Sara(h)s in my class. I begged my parents to let me change my name... My five-year-old brain couldn't fathom why my parents would put me through the turmoil of having to answer to my name five times more than the average kid. My parents, however, would not budge. They knew me well, and they knew that I would probably want to change my name to something like "Weird Al" Parsons, or Monkey-Wrench Parsons. Sure, there were some other children that shared my pain, the Christophers and Katies and Matthews, but somehow I felt like I was all alone in my struggle. To this day, I still don't look up when I hear someone yell my name in public, because I assume that they must be calling for another Sarah. I typically keep my head down until someone is yanking on my arm and yelling my full name, first and last, directly into my ear.

That being said, in recent years, parents have really tried hard to set their children apart by choosing unique names (actually, let's just be honest here: the names are, for the most-part, bizarre and regretful). In my adult years, I have become increasingly aware of the reasons as to why my parents named me so commonly. Sure, I hated being mistaken for every other Sarah on the planet for years and years, but at least I could always find a custom toothbrush with my name painted on it.

At the clinic, I see about a hundred newborns a week. There have been a total off three Sara(h)s in the year-and-a-half that I have been working with the babies. I have seen fifty or sixty Jaydens and probably four-hundred Aidens. I have seen one Christopher, and thirty Irelands. What the fuck, moms and dads?

I do support some 'different' names. I guess it's a-okay if you're a bit wonky yourself, and aren't going to be satisfied with a white-bread moniker for your offspring, but some of the monstrosities that come into the clinic just leave the general public feeling sorry for the kid. Here's a few for-real names that I've come across in the last couple of years that will cause the child years and years of parental resentment:

Hollis Rollie -
I love Queens more than most Canadian white girls.... I've crossed over the Far Rockaway Bridge more than a few times. It's a well-known fact that some of the greatest knockoffs and weave-shops reside in Hollis' colorful streets, and you can't deny the amount of hip hop heritage that springs from it's seedy concrete. Hollis, as a name on it's own, might be okay, but then you take it a step further give your child a middle name like 'Rollie'. Put the two names together, and you're really just telling the world that you used to sling green-bags out of your Cross Colors jacket on the corner of 90th and 190th before you moved to Canada and accidentally knocked up some bitch.

Jodeci-
Look, I get it guys. I was a horny teenager in the 90's too. I fully understand that it's impossible to even imagine making a slow-jams mixtape without at least one Jodeci track, but do you really want to name your first-born daughter after a band whose entire M.O. was built around getting high and writing songs about fuckin'?

King/Thor/Prince-
It may be a little hilarious to call a small baby a great big tough name (in the same way that it's funny to put sunglasses on a dog), but when someone grows up with a name like 'King', they are destined to become a super bummed-out A&R guy with a mild heroin addiction.....There's no other option.

Dorothy/Sophia/Rose-
How cute were the Golden Girls? They went on dates and drank Sanka and argued with each other and complained about being old (a lot). They also had heart problems, strokes, dentures, and adult diapers. There's really no reason to prematurely age your child by, like, eighty years.

Marjorie/
DeeDee/Cindi-
If you genuinely want your child to grow up to be a grizzled waitress or chubby flight attendant, this is a surefire ticket.

Trinity/Skylar-
Insta-daddy issues. Also makes your child wonder, for life, if they were the product of a botched back-alley abortion. The white-trash route is never the right way to go... You guys should know that by now.


Really, moms and dads, all I'm saying is that things names need to shift back to normal soon. Good luck trying to find a dollar-store mug with 'Ainslee' printed on it, jerks.

~sarah p.

Cute, Cute, Cute. (AKA- why I slept so soundly last night)

Last evening, I was flipping through the channels, and caught Dog The Bounty Hunter saying 'Valentime's Day', instead of 'Valentine's Day'... Despite the fact that this vocabulary faux-pas used to be my biggest pet-peeve in anyone above the age of six, his general disregard for grade-school grammar made me smile to myself. In fact, I was still smiling hours later, and ended up going to bed with this nice, warm feeling (nothing short of a miracle, considering that my apartment's temperature is typically akin to that of an arctic tundra).

~sarah p.

Thursday, October 09, 2008

Rocktober.

*The other day, I decided to celebrate Rocktober by trying to get interested in some super-legit rock bands. I do enjoy rock, but spend most of my time focusing on 80's disco and super sincere early 90's R&B and coke-funk and child rappers and, well, you guys know what I like... Anyway, I decided to do some research online, hoping that I'd find something would strike my fancy. When the day was finished, all I had done was watch this documentary of Phil Collins' Face Value, and kind-of get into Toto.... Guess I'm not very legit. Hm.

*I finally bought a pair of leather gloves today, and now all I can think about is slapping a bitch.

*On Monday, I had a really bad headache. I said to my co-workers: "You watch, there's going to be some sort of wacky storm right away". You see, when I was a kid, I was the ultimate weather-predicting machine. Until I was eighteen, I could always tell you when it was going to snow or rain, and I didn't even have to go to community college to take the meteorologist diploma course. I just got headaches whenever shit was about to go down.
By the end of the work-day, there was no wacky storm, and my co-workers were saying things to me like: "You were wrong", and "You can't predict the weather afterall, stupid", and "Go home, honky", but I still had the headache. The next day, around lunch hour, I was almost blown away into the land of Oz, because there was the wackiest storm ever outside..... Told you guys. My co-workers were awfully apologetic, and said things like "We were wrong, Sarah", and "You were right", and "Go home, honky" (some things never change). Point is, I should probably have my own hour-long special on TLC (where they try to portray me in a freakish and inspiring light, but I actually spend most of the time in front of the camera rambling about 80's cartoons and choreographing elaborate dance-offs, because I don't get weather headaches very often anymore).

*The detox is finally over, and I'm back on the bottle. After spending a full month without booze, I was starting to discover that I had something called 'restraint'. This means that I learned to very carefully consider each action, and each word I spoke. However, this newfound consideration ended with me deciding that any word I said, or any action I did, was not really worth sharing with the world, and I basically spent the whole month like a mute weirdo. Thus, I was thrilled to get back to alcohol's general unpredictability. Turns out, I really missed waking up and wondering what was in my hair, and where all of the bruises came from, and how I spent over a hundred dollars, and why there is sand in my bedsheets...

*Halloween is just around the corner, and I'm thinking of going as Ronson. This costume will be funny this year, and probably only this year, because: (a) With her little hightops and porkpie hat and greasy roots, Ronson is everywhere right now (even on the beach!), and (b) Lohan hasn't off-ed herself yet.
What do you guys think?

*Go listen to that Phil Collins album now, now, nowwwwwwwww!!!

Bye for now!

~sarah p.

p.s. How are you guys?

Saturday, September 13, 2008

So this is detoxification.

At some point, I kinda forgot what it was like to wake up on a Saturday without a hangover. My lungs are probably filthy inside, and my liver is pretty much begging for a break. My stomach is tired of slurpees and pizza (I know, I'm shocked too), and I often find myself glued down to the couch and, through squinty red eyes, actually deriving some sorts of giggly entertainment value from 'Wife Swap'.

When Dylan mentioned that he was taking all of September to detox, I begrudgingly joined his month of sobriety and healthy eating habits. I wanted to support him, but I was not looking forward to subjecting the general public to a clean, sober Sarah (sorry 'bout this, guys). Despite my reluctance, for the most-part, things have been alright.
I'm on day thirteen now, and I think I'm going to survive. I've been without booze, weed, and cigarettes, and have stuck to a strict healthy diet the entire time.
There have been a few downfalls; I've learned that I actually possess some sorts of human emotion, I have to walk right by some of the most deliciously greasy restaurants on the way home from work, Autumn always has some fun parties, and some songs just aren't nearly as much fun if you're not blazed. Not gonna lie, I've had a couple of rough days along the way, but my body needs this badly.

On day ten of the detox, I was walking down the street, and someone had chucked a handful of fries on the ground. I stared down at the fries, and thought about how much I missed greasy foods. Despite the fact that the fries were covered in dirt, had been run over by a bike, and had probably been partially consumed by someone with Hepatitis, seeing those filthy potatoes on the ground made me feel ravenously starving. This is when I realized that I was literally getting hungry at the sight of garbage. It was at this moment that I knew, for a fact, that my body really did require a bit of a detox, despite all of the hardships ahead.

Some of the good points? It's easier for me to wake up in the morning, I have a little bit of extra pocket change, and I've already dropped five pounds. Side note- have you guys seen that awesome commercial for Bowflex, where some corporate-looking dickhole is sitting in front of an out-of focus Bowflex, and talking about his success story? Oh, wait, that's every Bowflex commercial ever made. Anyway, in this one, he flashes his dopy grin at the camera and starts explaining about how his waist circumference has grown smaller, and he has more energy to roll around with his son, and blah, blah, blah. It's quite boring up until the end, when he concludes his speech with one of the most fantastic lines ever:
"I gave all of my fat-clothes to my fat friends". Um, they probably aren't your fat friends anymore, dude. Watch for it, it's essentially the funniest thing on TV right now.

My biggest challenge comes at the end of the month: my very first sober moving day ever. That's right, I'm finally moving out of my terrible little craphole apartment. I'm really going to miss certain things about this little place; what am I going to do without the sounds of the weekly crack-fueled Pink Floyd sing-a-longs in the apartment below me? I've never had to buy cigarettes while living here, because the equivalent of a pack-and a half worth of smoke seeps through my walls every day, and the gentleman beside me has a charming habit of letting squirrels and pigeons inside of his suite. I guess he lets them hang out on his couch and watch Wheel of Fortune or something. However, it's gotten to the point where, every day when I arrive home, I am shocked to find that my place hasn't burned to the ground. With all of the outdated wiring and leaks in the roof every time it rains, my current building is a certain fiery death waiting to happen. So, despite the fact that it is my least favorite activity in the world, I'm moving out of here at the end of the month. However, unlike my usual moving days, I will not be allowed to cope with all of the boxes and packing and lifting by downing a six-pack at 9:30 in the morning. Fuck.

I'll let you know how it all pans out at the beginning of next month, and I won't be typing the conclusion while sober, I can promise you that. Seventeen days left to go.....

~sarah p.

Friday, August 15, 2008

The Official Seaggie Guide to Summer Vacations

You may or may not believe this, but my family has had the same pet seagull since I was maybe nine or ten. His name is Seaggie, and we met him while throwing fries in the air on Crescent Hill, overlooking the city. For as long as I can remember, Seaggie has been a total alcoholic, with the occasional drug problem. In short, he's a major party-animal, and nowadays he really only shows up while we are on vacation. You know how most of the time, people go on vacation for a bit, then go back to their normal lives? I guess you could say that Seaggie is on permanent vacation. He's a total mess, but he's pretty fun to party with when you're off of home-turf.

It's not a surprise to see Seaggie at any vacation destination the family chooses. He's enjoyed frothy Guiness with us in Ireland, taken wild stoned train-rides through Holland with the fam, and has even kept it dirty in the South with me a couple of times.

I've been really busy this month, so I asked my good pal Seaggie to dictate some important vacation tips to you, my faithful reader (I had to type it out for him, his talons aren't very effective on a keyboard):

Vacation Tip #1: Vacations should be like a fine mixture of your birthday and happy hour. If you don't drink, it's time to start. Let's be honest: here is really no way you're going to relax fully if you don't get a little help from the insides of a bottle. More importantly, it's really crucial to realize that you are visiting somewhere where nobody knows who you are. You're never going to see these people again, so why not make the most of it? For example, have you ever wanted to be the duke of a small country that also has a fondness for polo (the horse-riding sport and the cologne) and has the world's largest collection of Precious Memories figurines? In a place where nobody knows any better, you can be whoever you want to be! Later in the night, while still in character, you can make out with somebody's wife and break onto the roof of the bar, and when you leave to go home for the evening, people will smile and shake their heads and think to themselves "That crazy foreigner...".

Vacation Tip #2: You should be spending your vacation time in the exact same way you would spend your time if you won the lotto. To put it plainly, you should be throwing your money around like an Appalachian Powerball winner. Go ahead, be an idiot with your credit card.... That's why the Visa gave you the card in the first place. Sure, you've got responsibilities back home, things like "rent" and "bills", but those things are miles and miles away. Your spending is only halted by your credit limit, so go on... Give that bum on the street a whole dollar, mega-size your soda at the movie theatre, and buy yourself the non-generic cigarettes for once. Do you want lobster for dinner every night? Of course you do. Do you want lobster for dinner every night, along with rare Asian massage-beef? Even better. How's about you enjoy the meal whilst getting a massage yourself? You see where this is going.

Vacation Tip #3: Do nothing and everything at the same time. When you get back from vacation, people are going to ask what you did. You should be able to shrug your shoulders and say: "mm, nothing". Then, you should break out into a million stories about how you saw your favorite college friend, and saw Mr Dress-up's trunk (for real), and went in the most hilarious vintage store, and hung out with your Dad and his old band-buddies in the tiniest town ever, and laid on the beach for hours, and saw all kinds of wacky folk-art, and watched massive vacuum cleaners suck the garbage off of Toronto's streets after the Pride Parade, and had the most fun at the museum, and saw the raddest sunsets every night. You know, the actual main point of vacations is to gather stories to tell later in life, like when you're drunkenly trying to get everyone's attention, or when you're eighty-four, and are at the bus stop with a bunch of strangers.

Here's some photos from this year's summer vacation to Ontario:
































~sarah p. (and Seaggie)

p.s. Guess who is going away again next weekend? Yep, you guessed it.
p.p.s. Guys! I hope you're having a fun summer too!

Friday, June 06, 2008

Chicha Morada

Oh, hello there. You guys probably forgot I existed, and the truth is, I kinda forgot I existed too.

I'm here today to discuss this Venezuelan powdered drink I bought when Dylan took me to the flea market (side note- I love the flea market so much!!!!). Anyway, so there we are, wading though the grandfatherly types that hang out at the Blackfoot Flea Market (you know, the type that can build a proper shed, and wear suspenders almost every day). We'd just finished off a whole mess of tacos ('mess', by the way, is the proper pluralization of 'tacos', as 'gaggle' is to 'geese'.... Just a note for all of you kids taking the S.A.T.s this year), when we stumbled upon a teeny Latin grocery store. Now, due to the fact that we already had a taste for jazzed-up Latin food, we decided to give the shelves a bit of a gander. Dylan suggested that Mexican soda is the nectar of the gods, and boy, was he right. He bought some rice and beans, and we were on our way out, when I noticed a package.... Purple drink.

I brought the package home, and honestly forgot about it for a couple of days. However, last night, when I ran out of lemonade, I pulled out the package, poured the water and powder into a jug, and stirred it until it looked like the most deliciously grapey beverage ever. I chucked the package away, and poured myself a glass. I got busy doing something (not too sure what it was, but due to the time frame, it probably involved 'The Facts of Life', I tend to get caught up in the sexual tension between Jo and Blair), and didn't get around to tasting the juice until about half an hour later. On the first sip, I realized that the flavor was certainly not grape at all. Matter of fact, I really couldn't tell what kind of flavor I was dealing with... A non-grape purple is usually synonymous with some sort of blueberry, or blackberry, or wildberry, or even boysenberry flavor, but this stuff just kinda tasted like the Kool-Aid Man mated with a Venezuelan prostitute... Cheap and perfumey, it tasted exactly like the scent of my favorite thrift store (kind-of a good smell when you're dealing with old clothes, but perhaps not a good beverage flavor?).

I pulled the package out from the garbage to see if I could get any clues as to the dark liquid in my glass. In the corner was a small lime, and around the lime appeared to be some purple tiles. I got online and started googling some of the words on the package. At first, I searched the brand, 'Le Negritas', which has an overtly racist mascot, a slave woman. Didn't really find anything that wasn't in Spanish, so I looked up the other words on the package. A traveler's website confirmed my worst fears: those purple tiles weren't just background decoration, 'Chicha Morada' is an unfermented specialty beverage of Central and South America, made from motherfucking corn.

So, now I'm stuck looking a whole jug of purple corn-water in my fridge, and all because I couldn't resist the lure of 'purple drink'. When will I learn?

~sarah p.

p.s. Did you guys know that I'm going on vacation to Toronto at the end of the month? It's truuuue! Toronto friends, please get in touch.

Wednesday, May 14, 2008

What's my new favorite song?


(Oooobviously).

So much to tell, where do I begin?
......How about later.

~sarah p.

p.s. Happy Summer (I know, it's finally here!!!!).

Friday, April 18, 2008

Kick-Starting Summer.

This is shit.
I'm sorry, I don't know how to phrase my feelings for this weather in a cohesive or eloquent way. No matter how many times it happens, I'll never understand springtime snow. As far as I always understood in my picture-books as a child, spring is supposed to be about flowers and green grass and animals humping.

You know what really messes me up? Groundhog Day (the actual day, not the delightful film starring Mr. Personality himself, Bill Murray). Every February 2nd, the groundhog peeks his head out of his hole, and newscasters tell us that he saw his shadow. First if all, how do they know that he saw his shadow? It's not like the groundhog can fax the media shadow-updates or anything. Also, a groundhog is basically a lard-filled gopher. From the looks of an average Southern-Alberta highway, gophers are not too clever at the best of times. Meteorologists, they are not.

Anyway, every year I get this little glimmer of hope that the last snowfall will be sometime in early March, and it then it will be smooth-sailing with sunshine and pools and patios until late October. This is actually how it's supposed to be when March rolls around, according to classic literature such as "The Four Seasons of Math", which was an educational workbook that my parents made me do one time in elementary school. You know what? The way things are going, an early spring may never, ever happen, despite what the groundhog says.

Part of me thinks that it's the general public's fault for holding onto winter for so long. Why are people still wearing mega-puff NorthFace coats in March? No matter how cold it is, all of your winter stuff, which includes mittens and wool or down coats, must be in the closet on March 1st. Otherwise, spring and summer are going to show up to the party, and they'll think that everyone is having so much fun with winter that they may as well take off and go back down to Miami, where everything is waaaay more fun anyway.

So here's the plan: we need to make spring and summer feel welcome. This means that it's time to start wearing jackets instead of coats. Sure, it'll be chilly for a bit. Deal with it. Anyone who ever went to junior high could tell you that you look like a million times cooler when you're underdressed for the weather. You know what's even better? Be a real sport and wear cutoffs or neon or kooky sunglasses....Bonus points if the neon is a little sun-faded.
Another thing you can do is to come out of hibernation. Sure, it's kind-of great to hide away and tuck yourself into warmth for a few months, like some kind of herbal tea commercial, but once you get outside of the "official" winter months, it's time to get the hell out of the house and fill up all of the fun spots. Come on.
Drink a ton of slurpees, go stand by the fence of the outdoor pool, have a beer on your balcony, stop cooking pot roasts (this one is for my downstairs neighbours), walk downtown and make fun of people along the way, force everyone to listen to the Menace II Society soundtrack, and eat popsicles for dinner now and again.... There's so many little things you can do.

Let's get it together and make summer happen. We can do this, guys!

~sarah p.

Tuesday, March 18, 2008

Don't ask me how I found it.


... It doesn't matter whether it was on the AM 106 Top Ten at Ten, or on Tarzan Dan's Hit List, or track #7 on Dance Mix '92, I have never truly experienced Black Box until I saw this video (and, in case you didn't know, I have a lot of Black Box-related experience).

~sarah p.

p.s. Have you seen any recent Chuck E Cheese commercials? Since when did Chuck E Cheese turn into an ultra-safe roller-blading enthusiast? Like, seriously... Knee-pads, spandex racing jersey, and a helmet? Is this what modern kids are into?
Remember when he was a just a regular ol' pizza-mouse that wore bowties and dressed like he knew how to smoke a proper cigar? Man, sometimes change isn't good.

Wednesday, March 12, 2008

The Holiday Candy Hierarchy (It Exists).

Maybe you guys didn't know this, but in terms of holiday candy, there is a simple and rigid hierarchy that has existed since the dawn of time. Basically, to break it down in simple terms, there are amazing candies that only come out during certain holidays, and some are better than others.
What makes me an authority on the subject? All recent confusing and magical weight-losses aside, I used to be pretty fucking chunky. It's a well-know fact that the more blubber you possess, the more you know about stuffing sugar in your fat hole. I became a fine critic in the art of novelty candy, and would wait patiently for the shelves of the Sever to fill up with new and exciting shit. You know what? I'm still not very thin, so I'm still totally excited about the influx of choco-eggs on the shelves right now.
Anyway, the main four holidays involved in the hierarchy, in order of importance (worst to best) are:

4. Valentine's Day.
Basically a bullshit holiday to begin with, the majority of Valentine's treats involve cheap chocolate or chalky hearts with no discernible flavor. You know, the ones that have witty banter stamped on them (this year, some of the hearts had rad sayings like "FAX ME", which was great, because I always fax dudes my true feelings, and "NICE BOY", which is a shame, because I really don't like nice boys that much).

3. Christmas.
Christmas candies are full of nuts (the tree kind, not the good kind, if you get my drift). I don't know why, but my life is full of the greatest people that will swell up like Oprah's feet in the summer if they ingest nuts. Maybe the world is trying to tell us something? Nuts are boring and not that tasty. Except for almonds, which I think are actually a legume anyway.... Google it and get back to me.
Also, any time anyone releases a Christmas version of their regular product, they just color everything green and red and call it a day. Kudos to their marketing departments for kicking back and enjoying the holidays, but I've got standards, you know. Seriously.

2. Halloween.
This is when shit starts to get good. The point of releasing a Halloween-based candy is to sick everybody out by using lots of fake blood (usually strawberry-flavored and fantastic) and spiders and bones and bats. In order to counteract all of the disgusting nonsense, candy companies usually have to ensure that all products are fucking mouthwatering. Also, you wouldn't think that small little versions of chocolate bars would be enjoyable, but they're not kidding when they call that shit "fun size".

1. Easter.
In terms of novelty holiday candy, Easter is the clear winner. I could sit here all day and rattle off general statements, but instead, I want to single out some stand-up examples of this year's crop.

*Popping Mini-Eggs.
Okay, you know how regular mini eggs are so fabulous that you'd sell your soul and your first-born child to score some in mid-July? Well, Popping Mini-Eggs are just like that, except when you put them in your mouth, they also punch you in the face. Trust me, they're essentially the best thing ever.

*Creme Eggs.
These classic eggs always seem to disappear quicker after Easter than anything, meaning that you have to comb the most decrepit Korean grocery stores after April like a squinty-eyed crackhead digging in the couch cushions for one last rock. One time when I was a kid, we had a poodle that ate an entire package of these. My mom was sooo mad, but how could you blame the guy?

*Peeps.
This one time when I was down south, somebody told me that Peeps were only good if they were stale. Not being a huge fan of the sugar-coated marshmallows to begin with, I called bullshit and forgot about the conversation for quite a while. Then one day, I received a package as a gift. I ate a single Peep, and left the rest of the package to rot in the cupboard. A few months later, I was on a bit of a binge (why was I fat again?) and I ran across the package. You know what? My southern friend was 100% right. In the past few years, I've even been able to find chocolate peeps and peeps with sprinkles (holy fuck).
Since then, I've learned to never, ever doubt a southern man when he's talking about food.

*Chocolate and Vanilla egg.
I can't remember where I found these eggs, so I can't even tell you what brand they are, but if you come across chocolate eggs filled with vanilla and chocolate, do not hesitate. You will spend the next few days in some sort of sugar coma, not unlike your average k-hole, but it's totally worth it. Trust me.


Anyway, I don't know how I'm supposed to keep this weight off with all of these amazing candy releases, so expect me to balloon back up to jolly-Sarah ASAP. Have a rad Easter, guys.

~sarah p.

p.s. Did you guys know that Easter is actually about death and church and not about long weekends and sugar? Neither did I...... Let's keep it that way.

p.p.s. I know this is way off topic, but how rad has the weather been lately? The only two topics of conversation that I've brought up to anyone all week are as follows:
(a) Summer is so rad, isn't it?
(b) This summer is going to be so much fun.
I found out I have an outdoor pool like three blocks from my house, and I couldn't be any more jazzed. Last summer was great and everything, but I spent all of my time wandering around like an aimless asshole when I should have been taking my beers in a to-go cup and soaking up the rays in a chlorinated wonderland. To reiterate, this summer is going to be the most fun ever... It's set in stone.

Tuesday, February 26, 2008

Lessons learned from 80's TV.

I've got a cold or a flu or something, and have been at home for a full weekend, plus two work days. After years of working in positions where there was no humanly possible way to take a sick day, it's pretty strange for me to be in a position where, at the first sight of a sneeze or sound of a cough, the boss is out at my desk sending me home. Remember getting sick when you were a kid? You would have a blast the first day or two. You'd eat popsicles and watch Sally Jesse Raphael all day long. However, soon enough, the charm wore off. Well, the same thing happens when you're an adult..... Fact of the matter is, shit is getting monotonous.

For example, did you know that channel two, the one that has all of the scrolling TV listings, only plays a total of three songs (in musak-form):
1) Bill Withers- Lovely Day
2) Junior Walker - What Does It Take (To Win Your Love For Me)
3) Dido - White Flag
Don't believe me? Flip to channel two right now. See?
Although some of these tracks, minus the Dido, are pretty decent when not in elevator-form, would it kill them to convert some Bobby Brown or Dre into musak? The Chronic has a total of sixteen tracks (yes, including intros, outros, and rap-skits), but there is some downright usable material on that album.

One of the things I've been doing to pass the time is watching 80's sitcoms. People faced different sets of problems on shows in the 80's, which is surely due to the lack of terrorist-paranoia and Friends-based spinoffs. I've been taking notes, and I feel like I've learned an awful lots over the past couple of days.
Somewhere over the past twenty years, we've complicated everything. Life's not so hard, so long as you're taking your cues from the right sources. Here are a couple of solutions to common day-to-day issues:

Conundrum #1: Getting busted by a significant other.
On an episode of The Hogan Family, the twins met up with Jesse Spano and Kelly Kapowski from Saved By The Bell (side note- sitcom crossovers? An endangered species) on a Californian family vacation. Anyway, the nerd-twin, Mark, gets busted by his way-too-hot girlfriend, Kara, while slathering the ladies with tanning oil. Kara gets mad at Mark, as she had gotten on a plane to surprise him on his vacation. After stating to Kara that his grandpa has severe mental issues, a blatant lie, Kara feels bad and takes Mark back, and everything is great.
Lesson learned: Problems with significant others can always be fixed with wacky lies.

Conundrum #2: Parents are getting divorced.
Despite the national statistics done on the subject, according to 80's TV, 96% of all parents will try to get a divorce at some point. 'Try' being the key word here. So long as the couple has at least two children, there's pretty much no way in hell they're getting a divorce. Turns out, 80's TV kids are all a combination of marriage counselors and scheming geniuses. A few heart-to-hearts, combined with a wild plan, almost always ensures that a family will be back to whole within a thirty-minute span.
Lesson learned: Not to worry, parents will reconcile 98% of the time.

Conundrum #3: Curiosity about drugs.
At some point on an 80's sitcom, usually during exams, the eldest child will be offered some pills or a joint by some kid with a leather jacket. The character will reluctantly accept, and carry it around for a while. If the drug offered was a joint, then the parents will catch on prior to the kid smoking it, as toking on 80's American TV was pretty much taboo. However, if the kid has pills in their pocket (almost always 'uppers', aka caffeine pills), they will eventually decide to give into peer pressure, and the end result is usually one moody, irritable teenager. The parents intervene only after a family member gets snapped at, ending in a "we both know you're better than this" speech. The kid stays off the trucker-speed, and all is well.
Lesson learned: Parents will always find joints, and caffeine kills.

After all of these well-learned lessons, plus the plethora of fashion-tips I've picked up from The Cosby Kids and Kimmy Gibler, I'm pretty sure my life is on the right track from here on out.

~sarah p.

Wednesday, February 13, 2008

Some Valentine's cards for the rest of us:

Look, friends, you could go to the store and buy a card for someone that you barely like because Hallmark told you to, or you could go against the grain for once.
Ladies, the gentlemen of the world don't like Valentine's Day. Never have, never will. Whether you're in a for-real relationship, or you just kinda like someone, the best gift you can give is to leave him the fuck alone for once.
Sure you can spend tomorrow looking like a total sucker, but for those of us that have already figured out that Valentine's Day is a sad excuse for a holiday, here are some fresh new cards:


Tuesday, February 12, 2008

The Rules.

It'd be an understatement to say that I hate dating. No matter how you break it down, dating is a job interview for sex. You bring out your top game and awkwardly ramble through a couple of hours with a complete stranger (or sometimes even a well-known friend), hoping that in the end they won't hate you. Mostly, I just end up hating them. After weird dinner conversations and awkward grope-fests in movie theaters, I'm usually stuck thinking that I could have done a million other things with my night that would have been a million times more fun. Fun is very important to me, you know.

However, for someone who really doesn't enjoy much of what dating has to offer, I'm waist-deep in experience, meaning that I have a ton of advice for those would-be cupids out there this Valentine's Day.
Surprisingly, the rules are actually very simple:

1)Having Standards.
People say that there plenty of fish in the sea. These people don't have any standards. The perfect date should be fucking hard to find.
When I say 'standards', I don't mean things like a sense of humor, a kind and respectful disposition, confidence, or a positive attitude. These are things that everyone and anyone wants in a partner. No, my dear friends, I'm talking about nitpicking a little. This shows that you have honest respect for yourself, and are not just settling for the next thing that comes along.
Having standards makes other people respect you as well. For example, my good friend Pickle says that he would never date a girl that snowboards. His reason? It's important to keep some things, for example, a very well-liked hobby, to yourself. Now, would it be easier to drop standards and settle for someone he met on the hill? Probably. That being said, part of having standards is being patient. If you want to hook yourself up with someone decent, you have to be a respectable person, which means patience out the ass.
Every other week, someone in my office is trying to hook me up with someone. The problem is, the people they're trying to set me up with really don't meet my standards. Case in point, I don't want someone that works in another non-profit organization, nor do I want someone that went to photo-school. I like to keep some things to myself, including my career and schooling.
I also want someone that is going to challenge me, fashion-wise. This means that I'm really not into dating someone if they enjoy rocking baggy pants or dress sneakers, no matter how nice of a person they are. Every person I've dated for the last few years has been able to remind me when something is out of style, meaning that even my wardrobe benefits from having them around. It's a tough thing to find in a person, but it's 900% worth the wait.
Of course, these aren't my only standards. I also frown upon expensive hair-cuts, clingy guys, and recent small-town transplants to the city.
Sure, you may lose out on a few dates, but in the scheme of things, if you stick to your guns and the date works well and turns into something long-term, having standards you're going to save a ton of time and effort trying to turn someone into something you can live with for the rest of your life.

2) Dating 'Up'.

If there's one thing I believe in very firmly, it's dating 'up', meaning that each person you date should be as cool as, if not cooler, than the person you dated before. For example, if you just finished a relationship with someone with facial piercings, then the next person you date should be without. If you've dated someone without, there's no going back, partner. Since day one, I've been dating 'up'. My first few relationships were nothing short of awful, but each person gradually got a little better. Unfortunately, dating 'down' makes you look desperate to the world. Trust me, people notice when you've stepped down, and although nobody will say anything, they'll all be wondering why the hell you've dropped your standards (which, eeeeeverytime, will lead to public ponderance on how long it's been since you've been laid).
No question: it's tough to keep dating up and up and up, as it gets a little harder each time to find someone that isn't as stupid or whiny or fat (or skinny, depending on your preference) as your last partner, but, once again, this makes you a respectable person, as it shows constant improvement in your choices.

3) Listening To Signals.

If there's one thing I've figured out, it's that most people will lie to themselves while dating.
I've been on dates before where things seemed to be going well. For example, a while ago, I went out with a guy who was a Miami Bass rapper, lived in Calgary part-time, as he was taking care of his sick mom (a family-man that allowed me to be selfish with my time? Hellllll yeah). He wore slim jeans, had gold everywhere, and had a rare collection of kicks. He owned his own house, and made witty conversation the entire night. Seems perfect, right? I thought so too, but at the end of the date, after everything was said and done, I pulled out the deal-breaker: "I have to work tomorrow".
If you've ever been on an amazing date, you'll know for a fact that it really doesn't matter if you have to work in the morning. You'll stay late and continue the fucking date. The words are particularly poignant if any sorts of physical activity has occurred. Leaving after sex (whether you work in the morning or not) means that the date was purely physical, and probably isn't going to move past that stage.
It's time for the dating world to face the facts: even if you like someone, trying to cop out on the end of a date is a sign that you're just really not into the person after all. On the flip side, having someone tell you that they need to leave, as they 'have to work in the morning' is a really great signal that they're just not that into you. Take the hint and move on, sport.


So, what am I, your new favorite love-guru, doing this Valentine's Day? Well, I'll be working hard at hustling some major dinero from Calgary's finest bigwigs for a charity gala for work. Yeah, it's not romantic, but it's the first time in years and years that I haven't been out, sitting across the table from someone who would probably rather be elsewhere. To those of you that are putting on your best fake-smiles and giving in to the holiday, best of luck, suckers (and keep the rules in mind, or you're just wasting your time).

~sarah p.

p.s. After last year's precious Valentine's post, I've really had to work hard at coming up with something that would raise the bar (it's all about self-improvement, guys). Good news is, I've gained access to a computer with my favorite program ever, MS Paint (a rare luxury, now that I'm working on a Mac), and have something pretty outrageous in the works. Stay tuned.

Friday, February 08, 2008

Back to school, back to school.

Oh, my god, you guys.
Today it was made official: I'm going back to school. By the end, I'll legally be able to poke hobos and junkies with needles, which is sweet, because if I am having a hard time, the junkies will be able to show me how to get 'er done.

I graduated from school for the first time in 2003, at the responsible age of 21, when normal people usually finish and get on with their lives. As many of you know, I took the photography program at a very small school in Victoria, where I learned some very key things about post-secondary education:

1)I can stay up for three days straight if I need to.....With a couple of slurpees and an entire box of those trucker pills with the cartoon rooster on the box.

2)BC homegrown is fantastic. So fantastic that you can wreck entire assignments when you get fixated and take one too many blurry shots of funny-looking pigs on Saltspring Island, when the assignment has nothing to do with funny pigs.

3)If you don't let out your stress by getting out once in while, things will really come to a head at the end of the year when you end up drunkenly running down the beach naked in front of the entire school, before it's even dinner-time.

Lessons learned, right?

I don't even know if I'll be able to assimilate back into the student lifestyle. I guess if things don't work out, I can always drop out and live off of the government. After almost a year of working with the needy, I've learned how to swindle the social services of this city pretty well. In fact, I could probably make more money that way. Anyway, I am going to give school the old college try. It could be interesting.

I'm pretty positive that I'm going to be the oldest student ever, and they're probably going to make me sit in a grandma-style rocking chair to write exams, but I'll show all of those young'ns when I'm running down the beach naked at the end of the year.

Wish me luck!

~sarah p.

Tuesday, January 29, 2008

Jewish Cookies.

The thing about Jewish cookies is that they're the exact same as regular cookies, except they're better with finances and you'll have more fun at their wedding receptions.

~sarah p.

Thursday, January 17, 2008

Dethroning Uncle Dale (Becoming The Fuck-Up Aunt).

Last week, my second step-nephew was born.... Truthfully, being an aunt is probably the closest I'll ever get to having children. It's not that I don't want kids, I guess I might start to get the urge around my forty-eighth birthday, but even so.... All of my attempts to trick men into any sorts of long-standing relationship have been wildly unsuccessful, and the thought of going to a sperm bank totally makes me want to throw up (can you imagine what you might end up with? Like, some sort of troll-baby or a kid with webbed feet or something?).
There are benefits to having children in the family without having any children of your own... You can enjoy the nice parts about having kids around, without having to give up the lifestyle that you've become accustomed to (and by 'lifestyle', I mean 'going out too much and being everyone's creepy, way-too-old friend').

I've really been thinking hard about being an aunt. I have some great-aunts, but both of my parents didn't have any sisters, so I've had to model myself around my uncles instead. My father's brothers are both family men, they work hard and take care of their wives and children... This doesn't really seem like something I could ever dream of accomplishing, so I've had to look to the other side of the family, to my mom's brother, Uncle Dale, for some inspiration.

Uncle Dale could best be described as the 'fuck-up uncle'. Now, anyone that has a fuck-up uncle will tell you that this is not a demeaning term, but rather a term of endearment. The fuck-up uncle is just as integral to the family as the straight-laced sister or the adorable niece. Honestly, I always kinda thought that my little sister would assume the role, but over the past couple of years, she has become downright domesticated. Both of my step-sisters have kids, so by process of elimination, the role is mine.

Anyone that has ever met my Uncle Dale will tell you that he's actually a really good guy.... He's been a commercial painter his whole life, has no kids, and has never been married. He drinks like a fish and constantly smells of weed, but even fuck-up uncles can do some really amazing and loving things. For example, I had made my parents confess that Santa Claus was flat-out bullshit slightly after my fifth birthday, and yet Uncle Dale would walk on the back deck year after year with big boots, then tell us Santa had left tracks in the snow. He would take care of the pets while we were gone on the road in the summers, let me store all of my shit in his house when I was pimping all over the world, came over and spent time with us often when we were little, and helps us paint whenever we ask. With that said, fuck-up uncles wouldn't be fuck-up uncles without a few key ingredients:

1. A fuck-up uncle must show up drunk and/or stoned to every major family function.... I think I can handle this part nicely.

2. After getting even more intoxicated, a fuck-up uncle will proceed to make racist, sexist, or other non-politically correct statements. Since I am both ultra-liberal and female, I'll have to tweak my bold statements a bit. Instead of a rant on how all Asians are bad drivers or how female aren't technically equal to males, I will rant about facial piercings past the age of twenty-five (anyone younger can at least pretend that they're being experimental), art-school students (Hi guys. I went to art school too, and it didn't make me cooler than anyone else, so why would it work for you? ), and girls that wear inappropriate clothing for their body type (it really doesn't matter that it's trendy right now... Girls under 5'6 cannot wear high-waisted or wide-leg jeans, or they look like they're drowning in a sea of stone-washed denim).

3. A fuck-up uncle has to be embarrassing to the point where you warn people before introducing him, but not embarrassing to the point where you refuse to introduce him all-together.


Fuck-up uncles have the best (and worst) stories, give you decent amounts of cold-hard cash during the holidays (mainly because the only thing they actually have to spend their money on is booze and weed), and make you proud that you didn't end up like them.... It's going to take a strong stomach and a willingness to try to borrow money or go to jail once in a while, but I really think I can handle this gig.
'Fuck-up Aunt Sarah' has a nice ring to it.


~sarah p.

Oh hiiiiiiiii there.

Okay, so I took a month off of blogging, and let me tell you: it was the most miserable month ever. Nobody even reads this blog, and the entries are painfully awful at times, but things don't feel right when I'm not contributing to it. So here I am, forcing myself to get back on track. Promise I'll sit down and type out some sort of entry this evening.

Let's never fight again, okay?

xoxo

~sarah p.