Walking Home From The Bar: A Retrospective

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Word is bond,

~sarah p.

Cloud 649.

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

Don't forget to buy your tickets!

~sarah p.

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

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

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



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



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




Please take note of Wu-Tang tattoo.


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

~sarah p.

BLAAOW!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~sarah p.

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