Thursday, October 23, 2014

An Letter Of Unwavering Support:

Dear Chicken Girl,

I've got to admit, when I came across your story, I initially thought to myself "this bitch is batshit". However, I then realized that, almost a year ago to the date, I would've thought you were on some next-level shit.

You see, much like yourself, I was dumped. Not only was I dumped, I was dumped in the most hurtful, painful, damaging way possible, the "slow-fade", where my previous partner tried everything in his power, over the course of several years, to get me to dump him first. This included infidelity, many a lie, and tons of general asshole-ness. I'm assuming your breakup was very similar. There's no way you'd be hunkering down in a fast food restaurant if the feelings were mutual.

Maybe you were a child of divorce. We are a funny breed when it comes to relationships. We either are total commitment-phobes, or do-or-die idealists that try to weather through rocky relationships, even when that dead horse is beat into a bloody pulp in the dirt. Sorry for the visual, but you live in China, so that shit probably doesn't faze you.

I got you, Chicken Girl. Maybe you can't wrap your head around why someone would ever be so cruel? Maybe you wonder how your ex can sleep at night.  Maybe you just really love fried chicken.

I can't make the hurt better, Chicken Girl. I hate to break it to you, but those eleven herbs and spices probably aren't going to mend your heart either, try as they might. Here are some good ideas to get you through this tough time:

-Drink a whole bottle of wine. Just once or twice, or until you forget everything. Those emergency benzos that you had stored in the back of your drawer? The emergency is now.
-Take solace in the fact that people may, one day, describe your ex's new girlfriend as "plain-looking" or "annoying" or "reeking of white privilege". "What the fuuuuck was he thinking?" is a phrase that may become a cathartic mantra every time you hear it. All rules of being a good person say that this is not supposed to give you any sorts of self-satisfaction, but let's face the facts: it totally does.
-Buy yourself a place to live! Get your own shit! Make your own life, then look around and admire how much better it is than your old life. Also, get a dog and a cat, or at least a fish tank.
-Fuck a black guy. This one is so obvious.
-Put on a punchy lipstick. Use lip liner. Make it perfect. Your face may be puffy and sallow from crying so much, but nobody will notice if they're hypnotized by your pout. Also, do your nails.
-Don't start dating right away. Why? Well, despite your recent actions, you're probably not a crazy person. When you do start dating again, date someone way our of your league, because they probably weren't ever out of your league to begin with.
-Enjoy the post-breakup weight loss, while it lasts.
-Delete his number, and forget he exists. He sounds like kind-of a bitch.
-Max out your credit card, and take one hell of a vacation. If one doesn't do it, take two. Order room service, and probably also have some borderline risky sex (like, use a condom, but don't get his last name).
-Watch sad movies and cry until crying just becomes kind-of boring.

You know what? Maybe you are right. Maybe eating chicken for a few days straight helps, too. The alarming lack of 24-hour chicken joints in this city means that I didn't ever get the chance to try it out. You might have found the "cure".

It's time to wipe the grease off of your sad little forehead, Chicken Girl. I'm sorry, you're going to have to use one of those scratchy printed napkins. Brush the chicken crumbs off of your elastic-waist pants. It's time to venture out of the Colonel's walls, and be the best damn Chicken Girl you can be.

Don't spend too much time trying to justify the breakup. There's probably nothing wrong with you, Chicken Girl. A good person would have broken up with you in a gentle, humane manner that wouldn't leave you mulling around KFC for a few days. It's true that some people just aren't meant to be, but it's also true that some people are just straight dicks 4 lyfe.

Feel better, Chicken Girl. It gets better.

~sarah p.

Jams Of The Week (Matters Of The Heart Edition):

 ~sarah p.

Thursday, October 16, 2014

Adulthood Means:

*Eating four handfuls of Nerds and calling it a meal.

*Letting go. Or holding on. Or whatever you like, because you say so. 

*Replacing bathtub toys with bathtub doobies.

*Popsicles in the middle of winter, even though it might make you cold. Or catch a cold. Or whatever it was my mom used to say.

*Staying up until 4AM on a work night, because you found an old iPod and you're really vibing out to it, and the only sass you're going to get from anyone is when your co-workers tell you that you look "tired" all day.

*Paying your taxes every year (because heaven forbid you get a refund), and writing a teeny, barely visible swear word in the memo line of the cheque.

*Kind-of impressing yourself with how many vitamins you can swallow at one time.

*Buying albums with explicit lyrics without having to explain to your hippie Dad why that "Snoop Diggity Dogg" character is so angry.

*Remember that lizard you wanted as a child that everybody told you would be too hard to take care of, and it would just die and you would be really sad? Well, it's time to find out if that's true.

*Reminding yourself twenty times a day that nobody can tell you what to do anymore. Except for your boss, and the government, and good luck getting away from those guys.

~sarah p.

Jams Of The Week (Cool Out 90's Style Edition):

~sarah p.

Saturday, October 11, 2014

Jams Of The Week (Stranger Danger Edition):

~sarah p.

Run This Town.

A flailing woman tries to pull my purse from off my shoulder. As I jerk it back, I think to myself "Calgary is a crack town".

For the fifth time since the beginning of the year, one of my clients shoots up after being clean for a short while, and overdoses herself. "Sometimes," I think to myself," we are a heroin town".

While in the convenience store, a twitchy man nervously asks the clerk if they have an Sudafed. It is an emergency. As I stand behind him in line, I think "Actually, Calgary is more like a meth town".

I go for sushi early in the evening one Saturday, and on the back of one of the toilets are two perfect, powdery lines that someone must've forgotten about. I shake my head and think "Man, we're more like a cocaine town".

Trailing exactly ten steps behind a random group of business men waddling from the Stampede grounds in July. There are grease stains on their shirts. It is barely noon, and they are already loud and boisterous. I change my mind once again; "We are a gluttonous town. And a drunk town".

I admit to my co-workers that I haven't watched 'Orange Is The New Black', and their murderous stares tell me one thing. I had it all wrong from day one. Calgary is a Netflix town.

~sarah p.