Andria Parker

On Monday morning my Instagram feed exploded with the face (and breasts) of a woman I had never seen before. “Oh,” I thought to myself, “maybe Fifty Shades of Grey has a new lead actress.” Only seconds later did I realize that the woman gracing the cover of Vanity Fair and the feeds of tech-obsessed...

As I type this, my hair is filled with salt and sand and I refuse to wash it. This isn’t entirely abnormal for me, seeing as I firmly believe in a don’t-wash-don’t-tell hair policy, but the fact that it tastes like the ocean and partially like blood is an indication I should veto that policy...

The second my husband slammed on his brakes I knew I was a goner. It was entirely my fault — I trust him to lead us through the streets on two wheels and never actually look for myself. If I had been paying attention instead of zoning out and testing my memory of Iggy Azalea...

As far as any of my friends or colleagues are concerned, this long weekend I have been MIA. I haven’t returned texts, haven’t responded to invites, haven’t even emoji’d in response to Instagram comments — and that’s rare. You see, every May long weekend my church choir boards a chartered bus and heads deep into...

When I first read Lena Dunham’s book “Not That Kind of Girl,” I felt like blessing it. Not because she said anything that made me contemplate life like a Joan Didion novel (or, like, the book of Psalms), but because she looked me in the eyeballs —verbally, obviously — and told me my mind was...

“I’ll message you when I’m out front so you can let me in,” was the last message I received from a girlfriend before the battery of my phone died. I knew it was dying before I had even left home, but I so strongly believed that 26 per cent would get me from A to...

If there’s one place in Vancouver that good girls go to die it’s the Roxy Cabaret on Granville Street. Situated between a greasy late-night poutine stop and an 18+ arcade, the Roxy is a staple of the Granville strip — close enough to the centre of the city to be considered a hot spot, but...

My next-door neighbor’s name is Ellen and she has lived in the same 550 square foot apartment since it was built in 1964. Ellen always has the news blasting at 7 a.m. and — if television volume is an indicator — is a huge fan of every sport played by humans. She has a wonderful...

In case you have been living under a rock — or are simply one of those people who doesn’t buy into the awesomeness of HBO due to the excessive boob shots and the brutal glorification of everything horrible — it’s Game of Thrones month. Of course, Game of Thrones month isn’t a real thing —...

In my garbage can lies an empty two-pound bag of Cadbury Mini Eggs, three rose stems and a poorly folded, canary-yellow leaflet with the words “Eternal Salvation” sprawled across the top like a lazy sun-tanner in June. Despite the paraphernalia — collected both from Safeway and the street-corner evangelist outside of Safeway — I totally...

I suffered quite a large tragedy this week when one of my favorite shows, Hart of Dixie, aired its last episode ever. The show was — graciously — given a three-episode notice of the cancellation, so tying all the ends together was done, albeit quickly and ever-so cheesily. I’m not usually one to scoff at...

I was first introduced to Andy Warhol by a high school teacher who told us to bring in our replicated versions of the Campbell’s soup can print. I, being the talented visual artist I am, brought in a literal Campbell’s soup can. For laziness purposes I even left some of the beef broth in the...

One of the best parts about starting a blog is writing your “About Me” page. At first, the exercise seems kind of pointless — the Internet is looked at by a bazillion people each day and the chances you will magically stumble across my little corner of it as someone who doesn’t already know me...

Normal people give themselves an entire year to get skinny for their wedding — naturally then, I only gave myself fifteen days. In truth, I didn’t even really bother trying. I did the Wild Rose cleanse for eight out of the prescribed 12 days and from the time Steve asked me to marry him last...

When I first sat down to write this column I spent twenty minutes scrolling through BuzzFeed articles that were completely irrelevant — articles about dogs, about biodegradable coffins, about how the art work on the covers of Sweet Valley High novels rivals pornography. I don’t know why I wasted twenty minutes of my life doing...