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Women are pack creatures. We like to have our close group of girlfriends to enjoy Sunday brunch with, catch up on the latest gossip and keep us grounded. Any guy who’s ever tried to stomach an entire episode of Sex and the City understands this need women have for female camaraderie. See, Carrie Bradshaw and her gang had the Upper East Side of New York as their stomping ground. And yet, despite having a huge selection of posh bars, fancy restaurants and shoe stores at their disposal, the gals were missing one thing – a horse track.

As my girlfriends and I discovered over the course of the summer, the track can be an 

excellent alternative to any bar or nightclub. Why go to the same old bar and listen to a bad 80’s cover band when you can grab a bite to eat at the track and share a few drinks with your friends while betting on the ponies?

My friend Holly and I headed down to Harrah’s Chester this past Sunday. Upon arriving at the track, we bought some burgers and beer and sat down to a hardy lunch. We decided to get a table outside because it was a nice day and we wanted to watch the horses before we bet on any races. The thing about the racetrack is that you and your buddies are never bored. Even if there is a lag in conversation amongst your group, there is so much to do and see at the track that it’s impossible for anybody to even consider yawning.

Holly and I went back to the bar and got a few more drinks. We then started chatting about doomed relationships, our plans for the winter, and clothes.

You can enjoy brunch and great conversation with your friends anywhere. But you can only talk about great shoe sales while betting on horses at the track. That’s a lot more than Carrie can say about the latest night club in NYC.

Stepanie Weaver is a TrackPackPA correspondent who showed remarkable restraint in not making a "Sarah Jessica Parker looks like a horse" joke. Be sure to check out her personal blog! 

Saturday's Pennsylvania Derby will be Pender Harbour's first time racing outside of his native Canada. So we made him a silly collage. Because that's how we roll in 'Merica. 

Despite a fantastic career in the great white north (he won 2/3 of Canada's Triple Crown), he's got 12-1 odds from the morning line for Saturday's race. 

Stay tuned for news, stats, and all thigns PA Derby! 

We love horses. But some people love horses. So much so that they get them painted on their bodies- permanently (perhaps many of them forget that last part?). We've decided to scour the Internet for the Best, Worst, and In-Between of horse tattoos.
 

Keep in mind, while this gallery is most definitely safe for work, there is a lot of skin shown- albeit mostly backs and shoulders. Every tattoo is tasteful, aside for perhaps a "hustler" unicorn... you'll see. 

I, for one, am appalled by this sort of conduct coming from a Police Officer. 

Thanks, Kendra! 

What's that? No way, I'm definitely not crying. I'm not a wuss. There was like a gust of wind or something. Plus my allergies. Plus my contacts. Plus I'm crying. 

A couple of weeks ago, Audi sponsored the annual Magnolia Cup at Goodwood Racecourse in West Sussex England. This highly publicized event features seven celebrity ladies taking a shot at being a jockey for single race. Contestants included a popular radio DJ, a television host, the wife of Pink Floyd’s drummer, and the race’s winner- model and face of Burberry, Edie Campbell. The race was held for the charity Great Ormond Street.

Why don’t we have this in America? Are our celebrities too fragile and fickle to get on horseback? I mean, a MODEL won the race! You don’t get much more delicate than that! I’ve gone ahead and drafted our seven celebrities:

1.  Angela from ‘The Office’
2.  Snooki (backup choice: Tila Tequila)
3.  That girl Hugh Hefner was going to marry
4.  La Toya Jackson
5.  One of the women’s world cup soccer players
6.  Someone from ‘Glee’
7.  Kathy Griffin

What do you think? Who would you like to see on horseback? Who would win?

28-year-old Hayley Turner is making history in British horseracing. She recently became the first woman jockey to win a Group One flat race outright (Group One races are of international significance, also known as ‘classic’ races).

A recent article in the Telegraph UK profiled the wunderkind, detailing her shocking small daily intake. That intake is as follows:

• Two pieces of bread, thin spread of margarine.
• Maybe a piece of fruit.
• Air.

What? That’s it! To most of us, that stuff is ACCESSORIES to our breakfasts! How does she order breakfast? "Hmm. I'll have the number 4. Hold the pancakes, eggs, bacon, hash browns, and coffee. Just gimme the freakin bread." 

In defense of her intake, Turner released the cutest statement ever recorded: “We just don’t have huge appetites. We are small people.”

Dawww. Now I want a jockey! 

Head over to Telegraph UK for the whole scoop. We're gonna have to keep our eye on this chick!

Good ol' Mike Rowe of Dirty Jobs takes a swing at being a farrier! Look's like an extremely difficult job.

Qualities needed: Finesse, brawn, artistry, and courage to spend that much time beneath a horses butt (watch the video to see why)!

We're ever-expanding our family here at TrackPackPA. So, let us introduce our newest addition: Stephanie Weaver.

When I initially told my friends that I was going to be heading over to Parx Racing & Casino, in Bensalem, PA, to bet on horses, they thought I had lost my mind.

“Wow, Steph,” one guy even commented, “You’re taking this freelance writer thing too seriously. I mean, are you trying to become like Hemingway or Bukowski? Yanno, they both bet on horses and were perpetual drunks.”

It’s true. I was in the midst of trying to get a fledgling freelance writing career off the ground, but I wasn’t trying to find inspiration from two old men who had a penchant for redheads and six-toed cats.

I was more curious than anything. And there would be beer, which was always a great selling point in my book.

As soon as I entered the facility, I headed straight to the bar. If I were going to do this correctly, I needed at least one strong mixed drink before I began. The bartender resembled one of my favorite aunts. She was one of those non-pretentious, maternal women who treated everybody like an old friend.

“Hey daw-lin, what can I getcha?”

After I got my drink, I realized that I truly had no idea how to actually bet on a horse. Being a member of Gen Y, I chose to use the machines that you could slip your credit card into instead of going to a human pari-mutuel clerk because I enjoy the speediness of technology. I decided to choose a horse named Roman Treasure. The reasons I chose her were a) she was a lady horse and b) I think Romans are hot.

I sat down and watched my pick, Roman Treasure, toe-dance alongside her pony. She was wearing her sassy pants that day and continually nipped the other’s horse’s neck.

The horses were loaded one by one into their starting gate. I took a sip of my drink and noticed how cute my new boots looked against the muddy landscape of the track. The buzzer suddenly went off, I looked up, and the horses charged forth.

It was kind of like watching a train emerge from a tunnel- bursting into the sunlight with swift, mechanical muscles propelling the gigantic thing forward. As they inched closer to the finish line, the crowd’s enthusiasm picked up, as did my own.

I heard one person screaming from the bleachers:

“Come on baby, come on!”

I ran to the fence side to join the rest of the crowd. It was amazing how engrossed in this race I was. My first time watching live racehorses, and I was completely sucked in. I knew that I was hooked.

My filly remained in a close second for the majority of the time and during the last leg of the race, she shot forward, winning. I heard a collective sigh from the audience. It was my first time betting on a horserace and I had won. I had won $7.45.

I took that money and put it all down on a horse named Risqué Get Away. The odds against him were 16 to one but I had no idea what that meant. He was pretty, and thus I bet on him.

I decided to watch this race from the bar. I also wanted to talk to some people who looked like they might be regulars. I chose to seat myself next to a trio of guys who had about 15 empty pint glasses lined up in front of them. Perfect.

I introduced myself and told them this was my first time at the racetrack.

“Never come back,” the one guy said. “It gets under your skin. You’ll get hooked.”

I wanted to tell them that this sport already had me hook, line and sinker, but they had already gone back to their beers.

I turned my attention to the television where the race was being shown. The horses were loading. The buzzer sounded, and they were off.

From the start, I knew the horse I had decided to place my money on was a little bit of a daydreamer. He didn’t run from the gate right away. He kind of just dawdled there, enjoying the scenery, much like how I admired the sun and ignored the ball when I played outfield on a softball team when I was seven.

My horse stayed in last place the entire race. For some reason, I had expected to win again. When he came in 9^th place, out of a group of nine horses, I felt a bit disheartened, but I still had enjoyed watching the race immensely.

Overall, the experience was pretty awesome. The drinks were cheap and strong and it was amazing to watch real horses race one another. I didn’t quite realize how much I would actually really enjoy my time at the track. I mean, I appreciate any sport that involves alcohol, such as bowling, pool, or darts. I was never good at any of these pastimes, and I don’t think I’m very good at betting on horses, but I’ll definitely do it again very, very soon.

Stephanie Weaver

We promise this is the last time this respected blog will ever bring you images of drunken idiots running across the tops of porta-potties at The Preakness. We know how stupid it is. And we know how it hurts when a cold can of PBR nails you right on the noggin. And we promise that you'll never see us atop those outdoor toilets again. Mother, are you happy now?