Moving (again).

Since I've had this blog, I've moved four or five times. By now, I should be good at packing up all of my shitty hand-me-down furniture and moving it across the city, but I still hate it. However, everything is packed up really nicely this time, and I'm moving into a great little place, so maybe things aren't so bad afterall (plus, I'll drink heavily the entire time).

Hope you guys have a great weekend.

~sarah p.

Dear Facebook,

I fucking hate you.

~sarah p.

p.s. Please don't ever leave me.

p.p.s. Don't even try to be Myspace, cockface. Myspace still is a trillion times cooler than you, without any effort whatsoever. It's like Urkel hanging out with Scott Baio.

The truth is....

If I were to sit down with my parents when I was younger, and try to assure them that I would never drink, experiment with drugs, or have pre-marital sex, the laughter from their side of the room would have been deafening.

With wacky events like chastity balls, where young girls pledge to their families that they'll abstain from sex until marriage, and studies saying drug-use is down in teens (sure, most kids aren't tripping balls on acid in the back of the classroom anymore, but they've gotta be doing something to forget the fact that they're plastered in acne, right?), the question remains: Are parents getting more naive, or are kids becoming better liars?

~sarah p.

Dollar Store.

I'm going to get a new job, eventually. However, until that day, I'm stuck pretending to be nice to people while I pretend that I care about their ocular health. The one redeeming thing about my job is the amazing dollar store across the hall. Amidst the jesus-candles and lint brushes are some pretty rad things. For example, how many dollar stores carry a huge assortment of chips? Not just any chips, either, but chips that make you stop for a second and say to yourself "no way, that flavor doesn't even exist". How many dollar stores have huge boxes of Bazooka Joe gum for sale? Sure, the gum sucks, and the comics are retarded and repetitive, but $1.50 for a box full of them? Easily the deal of the century. I bought a pack of bobby pins there, and the brand name was "Come To Tiger". Hilarious!

No matter where I end up in this world, one thing is for sure: I have some pretty outstanding memories about that dollar store. Wow.... Whoever takes care of their purchasing is a fucking genius.

~sarah p.

The complete guide to the anti-douche.

It's a common misconception that not being a douche is easy. You know... Be a nice guy, watch out for your female friends, don't come on too strong....
This just isn't the case. It's obviously a lot harder than it looks for Calgary guys.
There comes a time in every man's life where he must make the decision on whether or not he wants to put gel in his hair on a regular basis, wear squared-toed dress sneakers, brag about his cash-flow, get angry for no reason, and spend his evenings trying to grind on every girl he sees. Unfortunately, most of the guys in Calgary didn't get the memo..... Doing any one, or a combination, of these things makes you a douche.

All personality traits aside, the way you dress says a lot about you. There are certain things you can wear that scream out to the world: "I am a really rad guy, and I'm not going to even try date-rape you, not even once".


Let's start with accessories:
The truth is, sometimes accessories do make the outfit, but you've got to be careful. Gold is nice, but douches can wear gold too. This means you've got to get creative. If you're rocking gold brass-knuckle lace locks, you're not a violent guy, you just want your kicks to look serious, and there's nothing wrong with that. The same goes for nice flamboyant scarves and doofy glasses (but only if you actually need glasses).

Shoes:

You have two choices for shoes. You can either hook yourself up with some rare or nostalgic kicks, or you can wear something that is 100% non-threatening, like these modest blue canvas mids. Everyone will love you for it, and you didn't even have to set foot in Aldo to get them. Suede and loafers can be a grey area, but when they're done properly... Oh, man.

Sweaters and coats:
Cosby sweaters give you insta-good-guy status. I used to think that Cosby sweaters only came from thrift stores, where guys would buy them for very cheap, but this one time I was drunkenly stumbling though Victoria's Empress Hotel, and I took a peek at the pricetag on a new one. Did you know that dudes can drop three c-notes on one of these when they're unused? It's like rocking a Gucci bag without a logo on it. Wearing one of these makes you totally high-end without being a prick about it.
p.s. Logos are totally okay if you're careful.
p.p.s. Other things that give you insta-good-guy status? Silk, baseball, or Members Only jackets.

Pants:
Any pants are okay, so long as they don't have any hint of flare to them whatsoever. Put a flare on any pants, and you've just crossed the line, partner.

Shirts:
Shirts are all about being kind-of hilarious, even if you're the only one that gets it. You can either go the ironic/vintage/goofy route, or you can get cheeky, like this all-over-print hoodie all-over-print hoodie. It's also okay to go high-end, so long as you're repping the right company.

Like I've said before, if you're careful with your labels, you're okay. For example, this shirt is a rad throwback to Yo! MTV Raps. Wearing this shirt symbolizes that you were probably awesome enough to learn the words to some really amazing songs, like something by the Fat Boys or Young MC, and that you know the difference between the Dr Dre that hung out with Ed Lover, and the Dr Dre that was in NWA. Good people will applaud you for it.

In terms of personality, it's simple, really: don't put your hands all over girls, have some solid dance-moves that can be pulled out either solo or in a group (although there are exceptions to every rule, couples dancing is, on the whole, not cool), know a little bit about something before you start talking about it, don't ever mention anything about how much money you make (unless you're making a joke about how poor you are, which is endearing), don't get mad or violent unless it's 100% necessary, know how to take hints, and how to stop yourself when enough is enough.

Well, I think we're all set... Fly away, little birds. No more vinegar and water up in here (please). This city's getting fucking ridiculous.

~sarah p.

Falling to pieces and other tales.

Yes, I get a lot of colds and flus (the Nyquil people write me a thank-you card every year), but on the whole, I'm a pretty healthy person.
Lately, though, my health has been taking a bit of a nosedive. For example, it was my tennis elbow acting up after all, which is so awful, considering that I don't even play tennis (and I initially got it from lifting boxes of the city's finest wines). I'm not sleeping, and I still haven't gotten rid of my cough from a couple of weeks ago.
My biggest issue, however, started about a month ago. Everything that smells bad smells the same to me (not joking). For example, a dumpster smells the same as that dead bird that I walk by every day on the way to work. I can't even describe what it all smells like (maybe kinda like burning some eggs, then puking on them), and it wouldn't be such a huge issue, but I have the feeling that certain things are smelling worse than they normally would. For example, when the Edo in the food court burns a bunch of shit, it didn't smell great in the first place, but now it smells just as bad as some of the old guys that come in for eye-exams (which can be terrible, believe me)... Pretty sure this means I have a brain tumor, so make sure you buy me a ton of nice things to make me feel better. Thanks (I'm a size 5 1/2 in shoes... Hint, hint).

After spending last night roaming around the neighbourhood in the snow (long story), I'm looking forward to taking it easy tonight. You guys know what that means.... MTV. I'm not a huge fan of Two-A-Days, but I think that tonight's Real World Denver is unmissable. Granted, I don't love this season as much as most of the other seasons, but I'm always down for a good on-air freakout. Also, I kinda looked ahead to see what was going to happen on I'm From Rolling Stone (MTV in the States is a couple of episodes ahead of us), and I've gotta say... I'm not really that happy with the results. More on this later, but it's safe to say that Russell is now available to move in with me, and I couldn't be more excited.

I've been packing like a motherfucker, and yet I feel like I'm getting nowhere. I've already packed most of my clothes into six large boxes, and I haven't even touched my shoes yet (and this is after I just got rid of a bunch of stuff). I've got to say, I'm amazingly jazzed about getting into my own place, but for a 'collector' like me, moving is the worst shit ever.

Just when I thought that supermarkets couldn't get any lamer, they prove me wrong. I was at Safeway today on my lunch break, checking out the beef jerky, and some Green Day came on over the loudspeaker. The woman beside me, who was looking at the snack mixes, starts singing along softly. I got a little embarrassed for her, and switched aisles to peep the olive oil. In the next aisle, the same thing was going down... A lone middle-aged woman, audibly singing along. I decided that my best course of action at this point was to go collect my produce and get the hell out of there. However, as I'm getting some tomatoes, I hear two of the produce boys arguing over who has the better, rarer Green Day album collection. Two days ago, the grocery store played Nu Shooz's I Can't Wait, which is one of those songs that I totally hate to admit that I love with my whole heart (especially the first minute or so), and I thought to myself that maybe Safeway wasn't so bad after all, but I take it back.

~sarah p.

p.s. This is my new favorite blog. Just photos and hip hop.... That's really all that counts, isn't it?

More reliable than the weatherman.

It's probably going to get amazingly nice outside, because I can feel it in my elbow (well, either that, or I'm totally getting tennis-elbow again).

~sarah p.

Red Bull hangovers and MTV (is Red Bull one word or two?)

Well, I got my answer. Dancelife, my favorite hungover show, was replaced by Juvies, which may or may not be the dullest MTV show ever. They take some kids that are less hardcore than I am, and watch them as they hang out in baby jail until they go to trial, which was a total of two days in this episode. The only episode that looks like it's totally worth watching is the one where the chick is busted for stealing a chicken, because you know very well that the dramatic reenactment is going to insane.

~sarah p.

p.s. Joint marathons in both The Hills and Unwrapped really helped me through my Red Bull hangover nicely. Too bad it was such a waste of a day.

Rubbing Elbows.

This one time in Vancouver, I was all: "What's up, Tony Shalhoub?", and he was all: "Not much".

~sarah p.

p.s. For the record, I barely knew who he was. However, at the time, I didn't have cable, and the only channel that would come through the mountains was one that played Wings all day long. Then, I kept walking past him in the mornings. Eventually, something needed to be said.

In it to win it.

I'm really not a big fan of "drinking holidays", but it was Saturday, so Breanne were heading out anyway. We get to the bar, and everyone was easily 10 drinks ahead of us, so we decided to throw ourselves in the game with a strong start at the Rhino.

We tried to take a picture in the bathroom (classy, I know), but weird shit kept happening. This photo, for example, has a creepy floating fist in the middle of it (which may or may not have been a leprechaun).

So, instead, some shitfaced girl took the photo for us.

Then, we go over to Broken to see Marco, and it was pretty quiet, as the bathrooms were literally broken (all of them except the staff bathroom in the back)... Good thing we got those stamps on our wrists at Amsterdam, or it coulda been a very interesting night.

Here's the thing, though..... We drank and drank, but we were really having a tough time getting tipsy.

What's the best cure for being sober? The answer, obviously, is Jagerbombs.... More on this later.

Cassius and Adrian were there, and Breanne was getting a lot of loving...

...But it's totally cool, cause things like grabbing boobs and kissing girls does not make these dudes sweaty, if you get my drift.

Ryan was cool enough to drive us to Macs to do some grocery shopping at 3AM, and then back to my place where we made frozen entrees and went to bed, sober and with empty wallets.

Maybe I've mentioned this before, but I'm pretty sensitive when it comes to caffeine, and all of those Jagerbombs we drank to try and "catch up" to everyone had me wide awake most of the night. If you were laying in bed and wondering if I was thinking about you last night, the chances are good that I totally was, as I had enough time to think about every person I've ever met in my life. Needless to say, Red Bull and I are no longer buddies.

~sarah p.

p.s. I'm sorry, but there is nothing in this world that puts me in a better mood than hearing either Kris Kross or Biggie's Juicy at the bar.

Congrats to Sara D & Jeremy!

My favorite American couple getting married in August? Taking a trip down to Oklahoma? Fuck yes. So jazzed, you guys.

~sarah p.

Safeway? Co-op? Pfffftttttt....

Have you guys ever tried a grocery-delivery service? I think I may consider it after I move, mainly because I'm pretty sick and tired of the grocery store.

I usually go to the store on my lunch hour, which falls between 2 and 3PM, which you'd think would be the best time of the day to go. Sike..... There's never a good time to go to the grocery store.

I'm pretty good at the actual "picking out food and putting it in the basket", I even make a list before I go. However, I am no good at supermarket etiquette. For example, when you're in an aisle, and there's three old guys clogging up the isle, is it okay to want to scream obscenities at them? Being in my line of work, I like to think I'm a pretty patient person, but even I get a little bit amped-up when I'm tring to push my way to the checkout counter. Also, if there's a tall old lady in the aisle, and you want something that's super high on the shelves, is it okay to force her to reach it for you, even after she gives you a bitchy look when you ask her nicely?
As well, it's way too hard to try to figure out which line is going to be the least retarded. For example, if the lineups are all roughly equal in length, which is the best one to stand in? I have never chosen the right lineup in my life. Let's say there's three lineups: one has three old ladies in it, one has three moms with children in the carts, and one has single middle-aged males. Of course you're going to choose the line with the single dudes in it. However, if I were to choose the line with the single guys, then one of the guys would decide to have a cellphone conversation in the middle of the transaction, one would want to chat up the cashier, and one would forget something and want the cashier to go fetch him cigarettes. Goooo figure.

So, once I make my big move, I think I'm going to pay someone to do my shopping for me. It's going to be way less stressful, and it'll make me feel like a balla.

~sarah p.

p.s. My dear hippie Dad, who holds firm to the belief that advice is redundant, rarely ever offers me tidbits of fatherly wisdom. However, this one time when I was living with him in Victoria, he turned to me and said: "Don't go to the grocery store when you're high". Thanks, Dad.

p.p.s. Food Lion? Piggly Wiggly? The South has the best names for grocery stores ever.

No, he can't.

Can a douche like this guy ever wear white pants "right"?

~sarah p.

Way to be a buzzkill, J. Lo.

Was that seriously Dancelife's season finale already? That was the shortest season for a show ever. Ridiculous.
MTV better replace it with something good.

~sarah p.

p.s. You know what makes me laugh so, so hard every time I think about it? Competitive eating. More than anything, it's due to the fact that these big cocky fat guys think they're going to win, but who wins every time? That's right, the tiny little Japanese dude, or this chick (except for when there's bears involved).

This weekend:

Friday night:Saturday night:

Sunday night:
(Ran out of Nyquil)


Let's hope next weekend is full of less kleenex, less medicine, and less doctors slapping blood out of my lungs, and more of the general debauchery I'm used to.

~sarah p.

Oh hey, adulthood...

Today, I spent the day on the couch, getting better acquainted with daytime TV (at one point there were three different episodes of Seinfeld on at the same time), but at 2PM, I received a phone call.
I went and looked at a one-bedroom place on Monday, and the landlord had called to tell me that he had decided that I was the best candidate (for once, my "charm" actually worked on someone).

So, with my fever downgraded from 'fried egg on forehead' to 'mildly toasty', I bundled myself up and headed off to sign my very first solo lease. The landlord, who couldn't have been any older than 30, and I walked through the place again, and talked about the terms and conditions of the lease. He told me it's cool if I paint (awesome), and he said that "smoking is allowed, so long as it's not cigarettes or cigars", and then he winked at me. I gave him a good wink back on that one. I get your drift, dude.

The poor guy had to stand around for the longest time while I fumbled through writing the cheques. After not eating any solid foods for almost four days, my brain is not at it's finest right now (brains needs calories to work, son).

Say hello to Bankview's newest resident.... The only thing left is to trick someone into giving me a job that pays a proper wage, and I think that real adulthood may be just around the corner (juuuuust joking, you guys know me better than that).

~sarah p.

p.s. I'm feeling a little bit better tonight, but am left with a cough that literally skyrockets me into the "least attractive person in the world" category. My apologies to anyone that has to spend any amount of time around me this weekend.

Grape Slurpees and Nyquil.

It had been almost three months since I've gotten sick, which is the very longest I've gone since the whole Lyme's Disease fiasco of '05. However, all good things must come to an end, and I've been delirious with fever for the past couple of days. I woke up Monday feeling kinda funny, but due to my regular weekend overindulgences, a lot of Mondays I feel a little "off". It wasn't until I got a note from my dear friend Pickle, stating that he was feeling pretty under the weather, that I started to question whether or not I was getting sick. He woke up Sunday morning with a fever and chills, and by Monday night, I was shaking and sweating myself.
I went to work on Tuesday morning (but mainly because I had to fax off a rental application) and stayed for less than an hour. I spent the day in a Nyquil-induced haze. This morning, I was sure I was going to feel better, but even after putting together a nice medicine cocktail, I was still in rough shape. However, due to severe understaffing , and a solidly-booked day, I had no choice but to head into work. Several times today, I passed by people that I should have said hi to, but my head was so foggy that I almost didn't recognize them. I called an adult patient a 'little turkey', and slept on the floor of the office on my lunchbreak. I'm not going into work tomorrow, no matter what. I don't assume I'll be at my current job for much longer, so I may as well use up those paid sick-days while I still can.

Point is, if I've given you a blank stare, or called you a strange name in the past couple of days, then I apologize. Any medication with "quil" at the end is a recipe for disaster.

Tonight, I'm not doing anything more intensive than trying to finish this grape slurpee that I've been working on for two days now. If somebody wants to come over and rub my achy muscles, then that would be pretty cool. Thanks.

~sarah p.

p.s. Big ups to all of my other sick peeps. Feel better soon, comrades.

Walking home (#1 Prostitute of the Year Award).

It's not normal for me to write this late at night, but after almost being kidnapped this evening (totally my own fault), I'm gonna be up smoking for a bit anyway.
I'm really not very sober, so please excuse the grammar.

Crystal finally had a night off, and it was time for an old-fashioned good time.

We went to the Rhino first, to say hi to Jon and Alana, and indulge in some $6.50 doubles.

Trev was there, and I think he's becoming quite the popular guy.

We went over to Hifi, and Phersmay, Crystal, and I had a dance-a-thon. Then, the girls left for the night. I danced for a bit, but there was too many "serious" dancers on the floor, and I'd had 6 million gin and sodas, so I decided to head home.

Next time I'm leaving somewhere, and I tell you I'm walking home at 2AM, physically force me into a cab. Yes, if I walk home, it saves me $10, but taking a cab spares me the cat-calls, the 3 different steoeotypical white vans pulling up and asking for "services" (because, as you can see, I was wearing straight-up hooker shoes), and the dude trying to drag me, by my sleeve, into his van. Good thing my kung-fu skills are so outstanding (kidding.... I actually just shook my arm, gave him my best ice-grill, told the dude to fuck off, and he let go of me).

The walk home is so pretty and quiet, but I really should know better by now. When I sober up, and really think about it, the amount of times that I almost end up on a milk carton in a month is far higher that the national average.

By the time I hit the pedestrian bridge over Memorial, I know I'm almost safe...

...Still, if there was awards handed for prostitutes (category being: # of terrifying white vans that try to pull up and take you away forever), then I think I'd probably win, hands-down (and I didn't even have to have sex with anyone for money!).

~sarah p.

eta- So.... It's morning, and I'm sober now. Lesson is: when you look like a 14-year-old runaway, you should stay far, far away from prostitute-alley at 2:30AM, or people will try to drag you into their white perv-vans.

Billz, billz, billz.

In my whole life, I've never, ever thought about money as much as I've thought about money in the past month or so. This morning, I stood in lineup with my lotto ticket in my hand, hoping that somehow I'd actually see some payoff for once. With my pending adulthood staring me in the face (I'm moving into my very own place, and am looking for a new job), now would be the time to have a little extra money come my way. Truth be told, if I ever won the lotto, I wouldn't know what to do with myself. Growing up in a middle-class family, I didn't know the joys of having a ton of extra cash, and that trend has carried-over into adulthood. I always imagine that if I won a bunch of money, I'd try to swim around in it like Scrooge McDuck, then I'd probably become more of a frivolous spender than most rappers after their first hit single.

The mall lotto ticket lady and I don't have a very good relationship.... I'm pretty sure she's mocking me all the time. Every time I put my ticket up on the counter, she makes strange faces at me and puts my ticket through the machine. Then, like always, she says to me "Back to work!", and the 40 old people standing around me laugh and laugh like it's the funniest joke in the world (sorry, old people, at least I can eat solid foods without worrying about my dentures, and don't have to wear any form of "protective undergarment").

Usually, I just slink away and go off to worry about paying rent and bills and still having money for "adventures", but instead, I bought a scratch ticket today. I took it back to the office, scratched that motherfucker like it was my job. Guess what? I won a whole two dollars. I'm pretty excited about going to see the lotto lady again, throwing my ticket up on the counter. Two dollars, please (and don't even try to get sassy with me).

Now... Here's the big question: Do I keep the two dollars, or do I spend the money on another ticket?

~sarah p.

p.s. I'm doing my taxes tonight... I'm pretty sure I'm going to have to pay, but stranger things have happened. Wish me luck!