All I Do Is Win.

Do I even need to point out the blaring irony of the recent ads for Kevin James' new movie, The Zookeeper, set to DJ Khaled's 'All I Do Is Win' ?

Really, Kevin? Did you really aspire, as a fresh-faced, promising stand-up comedian, to become a perpetual dumb fat character that gets tricked into doing things by sassy CGI zoo animals?

No, Kev-Bo. Nobody wins in this situation.

~sarah p.

p.s. Jim Carey, I am also nodding in your direction.
(Penguins? Seriously, dude? You thought you could win us back with penguins?)

p.p.s. Anything prefaced by the term "from the makers of Paul Blart, Mall Cop" would, typically, have your average actor putting the script down before reading the first page. Apparently, "The King of Queens" is not your average actor.

On second thought.

For someone like me, who is a tad obsessed with cleanliness, it may not be a good idea to own white canvas sneakers after all. It's been two weeks, and I already feel like there is no amount of Javex in the entire world that could save these shoes from a dirty, grass-stainy fate. I've just run them through the washer for the second time, and they still look like I've been gallivanting around in the sewers (which, for the record, I have not).
Guess I better pull out the ol' crimson Keds again... At least they hide blood stains.

~sarah p.

p.s. Say hello to my wonderful deaf cat, Louise! I take her outside every evening when I get home from work. She eats one million stalks of catnip, and some grass, then comes inside and promptly pukes it all over the carpet. It must be amazing to have that kind of self control.

p.p.s. If it's all the same to you guys, I think I'm going to fuck off for the entire summer with this crew. Look at their little popsicle skis, with their strange red sticks with blue marshmallows on the end... Totally something I could hang with. Also, just look at the shit-eating grin on that apple... He just screams summer hijinks. Plus, they probably have a sweet hookup on other types of ice pops, fancy types of ice pops, which, as illustrated by the photos of my freezer below, is by no means a necessity to friendship, but rather a gigantic, raging asset.

Dream Gang

Since we moved into this neighbourhood a couple of years ago, I have been seeing this gang of pre-teen boys, riding around on their skateboards and getting into general mischief. A skate gang, if you will. As with any group of twelve-year-old boys, some are tiny and fragile, and look like they just snuck out of the third grade, and some are starting to sprout pubey little moustaches and look like they could drive a car. Some wear helmets and knee-pads (mom's orders), and some were clever enough to ditch the safety gear in the bushes down the street from their parent's house (just like I used to do with my bike helmet). Yet, somehow, they all amalgamate into this wonderful little gang, and they are so cute, and look like they are having so much fun, that I'm starting to get a little jealous.

Instead of sitting around the house pouting, like I would normally do, I have decided to jump into action. I got out some paper and roughly outlined what I thought gang life would look like. I didn't want to form a skate gang because, duh, I can't skateboard. I would look like a total dick. I guess my gang will just walk around instead. Also, I wanted my gang to have a good range of ages. There should be babies and old people, because I don't think it's really fair to exclude anyone (including animals and fictional characters- unlike some people, I am NOT bound by reality). Plus, some senior citizens are sooo funny, and can basically get away with murder, because they're going to die soon anyway.
You know, I'm totally tired of going to work every day, so I think we will probably have to figure out how to make money. Perhaps a lemonade stand with a petty crime business being run from behind the counter? Something easy-going like that. Something with minimal gang warfare, and maximum profits.
Upon breaching the subject of forming a street gang with some of my real friends, I was met with resistance and disbelief. Everyone looked at me like I was crazy. No bitch, you're the one that's crazy, saying 'no' to my gang. So, you know what? Forget about it. I went online, and picked out my dream gang. Consider it like a fantasy football team, but with organized crime affiliations!

Without further ado, here they are. Meet my dream gang:




















Thuuuuuug life! These guys are incredible! This is going to be the best summer ever!

Watch out, Bloods and Crips. There's a new gang in town.

...A girl can dream, right? Right? Riiiiiight?
Guys?

xoxo
~sarah p.

p.s. Right? Can't wait to hang out with Tray-Mo.

Top Ten Hot Tips For Summer 2011!

It's no secret: summer is my favorite time of year. Probably my favorite thing in the world. As a matter of fact, I hate every other season (so much!). I should probably try to move to Jamaica or somewhere else hot, but (1) Canada's unbeatable health care system, and (2) it really ups my chances of getting raped. So, instead, I spend each and every day without sunshine counting down the days until it's time to pull out the coconut oil and start the building the perfect tan. It's my twenty-ninth summer on the planet, and this one is special because I'm pretty positive it's the last year that I'm allowed to wear two-piece bathing suits. My friends in their thirties have assured me that it's all downhill from here. Better enjoy it while it lasts. Good news is, I've had a whole twenty-nine years to figure out this whole "summer fun" thing. Here's a few pointers for summer 2011 (coming soon!):

10. Gentlemen: unless you've got your deodorant game on straight lockdown, leave the athletic grey t-shirts for the other ten months of the year. Uncontrollable sweat-stains will not award you any summer lovin'. Try a linen blazer instead, it could be the hottest day of the year, and there you'd be, cool and fresh and crisp. Not a drop of sweat. So long as you kept your deodorant game locked in tight. I told you keep an eye on that, already.... Next!

9.If you're anything like me, and miss out on 99% of the nice days due to steady employment, you have to do your best to maximize your sun exposure. Skin cancer? Blah, blah, blah. It's a fact: a tan makes you look thinner, healthier, and significantly less Caucasian. Quit whining, grease yourself up anytime the temperature is over 21C, and get out in the yard, why don't you. Leave the sunscreen at home. That is, unless you work outside. In that case, unless you like the leather-faced, Crocodile Dundee look, cover that shit up.

8.Ladies. Maximize your wardrobe. Cut all of your terrible old winter shirts into crop-tops. Don't think about it! Go get your scissors! Do it now, thank me later. Or don't... If you didn't cut them the right way.

7.Don't even try to fight with the dandelions in your yard. For the first couple of years that we owned our place, I would come home from a ten hour day and spend two hours trying to rip those little bastards out by the roots (which, by the way, are standardly the size of my arm, no matter how small the flower), and I was doing it unpaid. Then, one day, I just gave up the fight. I finally realized that, hey, I don't own these dandelions, they own me. Also, dandelion spray is like $20 a bottle, and as a bonus, also kills ants (and everything else in the yard!).

6.Stop cooking inside, stupid! It's summer! Turn on your BBQ! The best part about barbecuing anything is that you don't have to worry about doing as many dishes, because you can just get throw anything into a bunch of tinfoil, and you're good to go. What's that? Excessive tinfoil use is bad for the environment? We'll discuss it during the great tinfoil shortage of 2046. Until then, tinfoil! Hell, yeah.

5.You are never too manly, or too heterosexual, to drink a white wine spritzer. People always cruise into autumn all bloated and chunky, because they've just spent two months slamming the brewskis. When I see a dude at a summer party walking around with a dainty wine glass, or a clear cocktail in hand, I always secretly applaud his commitment to keeping his bathing suit body.

4.The unisex footwear choice for summer is a clean, tidy white canvas sneaker. Just make sure you know your way around a bottle of bleach, and steer clear from large fields of grass and muddy alleyways. A dirty white sneaker is a clear sign of defeat.

3.The correct hours to go to the outdoor pool are 10AM-1PM. Anytime after, and you're stuck sharing the water with young Asian boys that wear (very thin) underpants as bathing suits, and families that bring along their fourteen kids to take advantage of the "family discount" at the front desk. Let me break it to you this way: urine city.

2.It is 100% okay to smell of coconuts 100% of the time. As a matter of fact, it is often favored to the stale cigarette, cheap beer, and sweat smell that tends to get a jillion times stronger when it's warm. Oh! And you shouldn't smoke very much, but it is okay if you are by a campfire, or you can have one cigarette (and only one) if it's really hot and you're at the beach or walking from one bar to another. Just bring gum. Preferably coconut gum.

1.Although not well supported by the nutritionist community, it is a true fact that the four food groups in the summer switch from meat and meat alternatives, dairy, fruits and vegetables, and grains, to Slurpees and Slurpee alternatives, watermelon, steaks and burgers, and popsicles. Try to eat at least two servings of each a day!

Summer 2011- can't wait!

~sarah p.

p.s. Coming this August: Toronto, and a jaunt out to cottage country. By myself.

The "hippo story".

The series of events leading up to this particular situation are probably so fantastically entertaining that it would ruin my whole life to hear the story. I would never think that anything was funny or cute or nice again, because the "hippo story" would top them all. You know what? It's better if I just picture a boring scenario, where the hippo and the man, both ultra-lonely, met on Craigslist for a cup of coffee, and one thing lead to another, and, well... Hippo in the bed.
Yawn.

~sarah p.