She-The Monkees.

I know that this is technically a "Mickey song", but Davy is a total master of that tambourine.
Rest in peace, dreamboat.

xo

~sarah p.

p.s. Most of my childhood dreams involved one (or several) of The Monkees. My father was quite a fan, and there was a fair amount of memorabilia around the house. Oddly enough, Mickey was my favorite, as was my mother's when she was a girl. Gross.

Weatherman.

See, weatherman? This is why we all make fun of you.
You said it was supposed to be warming up today, and my hopes were sky-high.
You were wrong, and now everyone is sad.
Thanks a lot, asshole.

~sarah p.

p.s. Today I helped move my mom and step dad out of my second childhood home. We found a jewelery box filled with a mini silver big rig, an 'I Love Puerto Rico' charm (nobody in my family has ever been to Puerto Rico), a very large gold cross (we were not a religious family at all), and a half-eaten cookie with tiny beads pressed into the surface. They say we tend to block out the not-so-pleasant childhood memories in our pasts, and I can't help but think this was one of those specific cases.

Stat.

Although I often struggle with working a 10-7, Monday-Friday type of job (or really, any job at all), there isn't much better than a stat holiday weekend. Every ten minutes or so, I remind myself that while I'm sunning myself on the front step with Reggie and Louise, spending hours picking out the perfect lace tights, drinking an entire pot of coffee to myself, or, quite frankly, doing fuck-all, I am also making my salary wage.
In fact, paid long weekends are one of my favorite feelings, sandwiched in between 'pleasantly tipsy', and 'just finished cleaning the house'.
I'm not too sure what my absolute favorite feeling in the whole world might be... Honestly, I probably wouldn't tell you guys even if I did know, as it is most likely totally embarrassing and/or wildly illegal.

Forever and ever,

~sarah p.

I Think We're Alone Now.

I often find true tales of obsession much more unsettling than larger-than-life horror films, which is why nightly, since watching this film last weekend, I have been checking in my closet and under my bed for creepy middle-aged men that don't blink enough.

~sarah p.

The "Breakfast Belt": An Unwarranted Rant.

"Just give me all of the bacon and eggs you have. Wait, wait, I worry what you just heard was, ‘Give me a lot of bacon and eggs.’ What I said was, ‘Give me ALL the bacon and eggs you have.’ Do you understand?”- Ron Swanson, Parks & Recreation (Thursdays on NBC!)

Call me cynical, but I still have a hard time wrapping my head around the fact that the tiny, dirty neighbourhood where I grew up, on the not-so-nice side of downtown, is now overrun by trendy breakfast joints. Now, I am not a morning person, nor a person that eats breakfast on a regular basis, but I do believe that you need some solid first-hand experience in order to be a good complainer. Thus, I have tried most of these establishments at some point, and I have yet to taste something that merits the massive lineups out the door (even on the occasional weekday?), or the general pretentiousness of the whole experience. Tell me, what was so wrong with Denny's in the first place? Actually, never mind. Don't even bother answering that question.

Also, don't even get me started on the new trend between these places- breakfast poutine.
If my daily caloric intake allowed it, I would eat a diet entirely composed of penny candy and toaster pastries, and even I am a little disgusted at the excessiveness of poutine as a morning dish.

Give me eggs. Give me bacon. But give them to me after 11AM, without a lineup and an attitude.
...Also, fresh coffee. That would be a nice touch.

~sarah p.