Tag Archives: sarah hepola


16th May 2007

Sarah Hepola is a better writer than you (and by you, I mean me). Anyway, today we are celebrating because, despite moving to New York where they frown on such things, Sarah’s blogging again! And this time, she’s not just blogging about her life and articles, but also about sex!

Here’s what she has to say about American Idol:

“I start watching, I get addicted, I start shooting American Idol into the soft tissue of my upper thigh.”

Oh, darling, how we’ve missed you.

Sarah Hepola

18th July 2002

Go read her July 13 post about her dad at sarahheppola.com. Then read the rest of her site. Sarah is extra keen. Here’s an excerpt:

So when I get to Michigan, I said, tearing some bread, I thought I might spend some time in Detroit. Sometimes, when I am talking in a restaurant, I like to tear things. A paper napkin. The sweaty label of a beer bottle. I tear these things into pieces and put them in a pile of little white wads on the table. When there is nothing left to tear and wad, I arrange the pile in different shapes. A circle. A square. An S, for Sarah. Tonight, I am breaking up pieces of crust in front of me. If you listen closely, you can hear the tiny clicks of my fingernail on the plate. So anyway, I thought we might talk a little bit about Detroit

You should talk to your aunt. My Dad tears off some bread.

Okay, I say (click click), but I thought maybe you and I could talk.

Talk to your aunt.

The clicks become louder and more frequent. Did you not grow up in Detroit? I ask.

He waves his hand. Eh. And then he laughs. It’s such a mystery to me, my father’s laugh. I mean, she’s the one who lives there and

I’ll call my aunt. Later, I will wonder why I cant stop crying about this, but for now, I brush my hands off and put them in my lap.

The waiter appears. Would you like something to drink? he asks.

We answer at once: Yes.


Went to a They Might Be Giants concert last night at the Fillmore. Everyone bounced madly and sang along. THESUNISAMASSOFINCANDESCENTGAS.

My life is officially a Passat commercial.