Bac-O

I really overdid it with the Bac-O bits this weekend. Not bacon bits. Bac-O. You know what I'm talking about. Those little scraps of cardboard that they paint with a pork-flavored reddish food coloring. The little spongy bits that come in a can and have never touched a fatty slice of bacon in their (surprisingly long) shelf lives.
What started with a small amount sprinkled on a baked potato at dinner time progressed into generous handfuls later in the evening. By the time I was shaking the last few out of the bottom of the container, and letting the last salty bits dissolve on my tongue, the love affair was over. I can't believe I'm saying this, but I do not think that I will ever be able to handle anything "bac-o"-flavored again... Trips to the salad bar will never be the same.

~sarah p.

p.s.
This:

Reminds me of this:
The big difference? The second is a fictional product on The Simpsons, and the first is a real product I bought at the store the other week that smells THE WORST. Nuts and lemon? Come on now.

Bundy-style.

After hours of baking in the sun (sorry, epidermis!), I've finally obtained a decent tan, which also means that my hair has had enough time to bleach itself to a light blonde that is one shade away from mega-slutty... This is the look that I wait ten months of every year to obtain. It is a look that takes ten pounds off of my tiny frame, all while I hammer down brisket and ice cream like it's going out of style. It is a temporary facade that shocks me a little, I hardly recognize myself when I catch my reflection in the window (where did my pale, sallow face go?).
A wonderful tan is not obtainable without some serious effort. After hours and hours on the lawn in a (probably too) tiny bathing suit, reading magazines, drinking diet sodas, laying on a towel on the ground (the ground!), and being mindful of tan lines, I deserve to look a little bronze! I earned that shit.
It means that wearing tights with my jean cutoffs becomes elective instead of necessary, I don't have to cake on the makeup with the same gusto, and, for the next couple of months, there's nothing wrong with using Kelly Bundy as a style icon. Bring on the crop tops and tube skirts. Summer's here.






~sarah p.

p.s. Guess who used to have a thing for Bud Bundy? Leave it up to me to have the lamest childhood crush in history.
p.p.s. Where does a gal get a cross necklace nowadays? Somewhere without the, you know, relentless preachiness that often comes with said purchase?

Tell me what you want from me.

Two weeks into summer! Here's what's been going down so far:

*Ain't it true, though?

*I just watched the Blockbuster by my house shut it's doors for the last time, and local music stores are closing down at an alarming rate, but I swear to god, if "the digital age" steals the precious, simple joys of thumbing through a magazine away from me, I will throw myself off a bridge.

*They are selling Luther Burgers at the Stampede this year, and, as we already know, anything Luther has touched is fine by me.

*I am in love with this song, and the House Party franchise in general. If only my parents would go out of town, so I could throw a wild party full of hip-hop hijinks with my best friend, who, according to the movie, should be a shorter, blacker version of myself:


*Bieber! Kind of!

*This week, on an old episode of Shaq Vs., I learned that Shaq hates pickles, hasn't done dishes in 25 years, and is single-handedly wiping out homophobic crimes in the community.

*This dog is on a mission. A mission to find life-ruining parasitic insects. Working with the homeless, I could desperately use a bug sniffin' beagle in my home. Donations welcome. I am in a perpetual bed bug scare, fueled mostly my own paranoia, along with regularly hugging street folks. So, you know, get me the dog, or some really intense muscle relaxants to take the edge off. Either one.

*This guy (swoon. I think I'm in love.):



*These guys:


*You can get a mini-donut milkshake from Boogie's Burgers. Better hurry, though. Limited time offer.

*They let you put your own syrup on your shaved ice, so, naturally, I got all of the flavors:


*I mean it! Thanks for reading! I love you guys!

~sarah p.

Bonus summer jams: