Where the hell are you, Sovereign?
I am living in my parent's basement.
It's actually pretty classy. I feel pretty comfortable bringing random
men home from the bar, where they can lounge around on my parent's floral loveseat, or circle their nipples beside our family portrait circa 1987, possibly while clawing their hands in mid-air in a ferocious, tantalizing invitation to.... get herpes. Seriously, when would I ever bring random men home from the bar?
(Except for this one time when me and the girls DESPERATELY needed to get drunken McDonalds, and we met some guy in the parking lot of our hotel who offered to DD us there ... safest decision I ever made. My Chicken McNuggets tasted that much better because they were flavoured with DANGER.)
I can just hear you asking, "Parent's basement, Sarah?"
Well. Long story short I travelled here by hot air balloon* about two weeks ago, with my disgruntled cat, my dad, his Steve Brown sermon tapes and my camera whose card was full of some incredibly spectacular photos of the dashboard. It was awesome that my dad came to pick me up because otherwise I would've had to find a new home for half my stuff.... and honestly, I need all four copies of Alice in Wonderland that I own. We did a big switch with me and my cousin Mike, who is now living in Masset, and now I am diligently attempting to figure out what I'm going to do next in my life.
I am seriously thinking of becoming a trapeze artist. I've been practicing really hard. Like, mostly in my head, where I've been going over the moves I'll do when I finally get my trapeze all set up. ... In my parent's basement, but once it's up and running and I've scheduled my summer tour, it'll be AMAZING.
*Okay, not really, but wouldn't that have been awesome?
It's actually pretty classy. I feel pretty comfortable bringing random
men home from the bar, where they can lounge around on my parent's floral loveseat, or circle their nipples beside our family portrait circa 1987, possibly while clawing their hands in mid-air in a ferocious, tantalizing invitation to.... get herpes. Seriously, when would I ever bring random men home from the bar?(Except for this one time when me and the girls DESPERATELY needed to get drunken McDonalds, and we met some guy in the parking lot of our hotel who offered to DD us there ... safest decision I ever made. My Chicken McNuggets tasted that much better because they were flavoured with DANGER.)
I can just hear you asking, "Parent's basement, Sarah?"
Well. Long story short I travelled here by hot air balloon* about two weeks ago, with my disgruntled cat, my dad, his Steve Brown sermon tapes and my camera whose card was full of some incredibly spectacular photos of the dashboard. It was awesome that my dad came to pick me up because otherwise I would've had to find a new home for half my stuff.... and honestly, I need all four copies of Alice in Wonderland that I own. We did a big switch with me and my cousin Mike, who is now living in Masset, and now I am diligently attempting to figure out what I'm going to do next in my life.
I am seriously thinking of becoming a trapeze artist. I've been practicing really hard. Like, mostly in my head, where I've been going over the moves I'll do when I finally get my trapeze all set up. ... In my parent's basement, but once it's up and running and I've scheduled my summer tour, it'll be AMAZING.
*Okay, not really, but wouldn't that have been awesome?
Labels: Sarah Land
posted by sarah, the pirate at 8:05 PM
Hi. My name is
Sarah 
Hey Sarah, what are
ye listening to? 
BLOG CATEGORIES
MARVELLOUS ELSEWHERE!
AND ALSO, 
SHOPPING HOTNESS
FURTHER ELSEWHERE!
I'M READING:
I'M SEEING:
BOOK CLUB!:
1 Comments:
If your parents' basement has the standard 7-foot-high ceiling, this means you will be dangling no more than three feet from a plushly carpeted floor. This is not the most convincing scenario in which to call yourself a "trapeze artist," particularly if you wish to avoid involuntary commitment.
Perhaps you could tell people you've become a giant, flightless bird. (An ostrich? An irradiated mutant bird?) In any event, you'll want to occasionally peck at some nearby birdseed to give your account the requisite "je ne sais quoi" (literally, "I have forgotten my thorazine").
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