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Make the Move

11 May

You know it.  Philly has been calling you, or at least all of your friends have been calling you from Philly asking for you to come “home” already.

Truth, Philly is dirty, trash strewn, and real.  I mean, really real.  Maybe the education system is not one you want to put your little ones through, as if you have kids… Eagles fans piss you off (lets go Steelers!)  or you’ve heard the troubled whoas of SEPTA.

But you are still interested in moving to our gritty city.  Why?  Because your neighbors are solid, and always there to lend you some sugar, or a beer.  Because your hood is the best, especially when you throw down the best block parties.  Because rent it cheap, work is abundant, and your urban family loves you hard.

Welcome home, come find your spot.

Plug me in, I want to be a robo Barbie.

7 Oct

I’m an advocate for connectivity and shared information.  There is nothing I hate more than repeating something over and over to get the same result.  (See dictionary for: insanity).

I’m also have a long time ethical standard for personal privacy. You might know my mantra of “no evidence”. I feel like a life of crime syndication would have been a great career choice.  I could still work for some of the biggest crime bosses in the world, the government! My jest via the open air internet has gotten me blacklisted before.  The number of physical pat-downs (aka the tax-payer hugs) that I’ve received at the airport has reached a  comical level.

I discovered how well connected I was with the world outside of my regularly frequented bureaucratic structures.  I was taking a client out to a fabulous breakfast at Cafe Renata and needed to keep the receipt.  Little strips of unreadable of paper usually find they way to the bottom of my purse or simply make it to the trash without thought.  Having a emailed copy, or better yet filing through my Expensify account tracks all of my financial moves and keeps me connected.  Who else likes being organized?

The  “square” does. A little swipe device that you can attach to your iphone to take credit cards. Super cute and small, its a real creeper.  When I went to ask for the receipt the clerk smiled said she already sent it to my account.  What account?  Little “square” has been tracking me all over town.  Cute and creepy “square”.

I also track how much “rest” I’m getting.  The shear evidence being collected on me though my sleep cycle is terrifying. While testing a new sleep app Sleeptime, I was fiddling around past mid-night, always chipping away at the hours, to log into some silly thing that will track my zzzzz’s.

I signed in with Facebook because at least it’s easy and now Facebook can track my sleep patterns. Mmmmm I feel the pressure of the Surrogates.  Soon, Facebook will know so much about me they can create me a life sized robot barbie!

What the sleep app did was to trigger an email to me address, so when I woke up it was already recapping my pattern.  I can’t wait until I’m robbed during my deep sleep cycle!

Today the gravity of how interconnected finally hit while in the deep haze of the morning commute.  My laziness coupled with the epic effort it takes to arrive at 30th St. Station for the long-ass train ride north, leaves me exasperated.

I don’t like to try to begin with so if I could expend less effort that would be great.

I was left with whopping 5 minutes to purchase my “monthly passes”.  Dazed and totally blanking on how ticket kiosks work I just desperately plugged my card into the NJ transit machine.  Without any instruction the screen shifted from a series of unnavigable questions to entra tarjeta and lit up with pass for Trenton Transportation Center to Princeton monthly, at $169.

I pushed yes about 10 times like a game show.  Even the little NJ transit boxes know my name. I’m a commuter super star!  And NJ transit is killin’ it!

Bitch Face

30 Jun

Parker rang me, “I’m here,” he said.

“You’re a day early and I’m 4 hrs away, but I’ll be there when I get there. Don’t worry.” I hung up the phone and drove home after an incredible day in the Pennsylvania backcountry.

He remarked at my ease in a seemingly stressful situation. Hosting three out of town trans-men, new to the city, and their first time above the Mason Dixion Line.  It had been a year since we last saw each other and my life had then revolved around my blood thirsty ambition, lingering cattiness, and the sick sense of revenge I get from eating BBQ at an ex-boyfriend’s wedding.

I’ve made some serious adjustments to my life over the last year. As I welcome my 4th year in Philly and committed to another two, I will have to accept I’m no longer ” new” to the city.  I will have lived here longer than an other move.  Nawlins, I’ll see you soon enough.

What major  changes sent my life careening off its tracks?

  • One beautifully failed relationship.
  • The cascading effects of family loss and inheritance.
  • And 6 panic stricken months of unemployment. Everyone’s true meet-your-maker state of mind.

Despite the fact I was an absolute disaster this last year and I may have actually been cracking under the pressure, it pushed onward in some personal development.  If I stopped using my bitch face and holding folks at arms length, I might just tackle the “grow” in grown-up.  (I know a lot of you  already had this figured out, but I’m shitty at practice).

With a little help from Tiny Beautiful Things: Advice on Love and Life by Dear Sugar, I laid down my fighting words.  I made some sincere apologies. Not because I like the soft cooing words of an advice columnist, but because she reached off the page and slapped my bitch face right off.   She’s a cursing columnist.  I like cursin’.   So, if you’re looking for a book to knock your ego down a peg or two, she’s your one women rodeo.

I pull a lot of my early morning laughs from the You Made It Weird podcast, where the conversation can get excruciating and frank. With help from comedian Pete Holms and a montley crew of one-on-one guest conversations, this makes it into my slap-my-bitch-face-with-real-funny-talk.  I love a good candid show.  Nothing makes me feel more connected than the terribly awkward and intimate knowledge of each other.

What has face slapping and awkwardness got to do with anything?  The key players in the get-down-on-the-ground-until-you-can-smell-humble game.  I think we’re all working on mastering this.

We all can have a case of Bitchy Resting Face.

I Hate Spring

10 Jun

It makes me want to fuck like a rabbit.  These pollens make me stupid and what I “need” is a Greek tragedy to get over myself.  Where art thou Romeo?  I’ve got some nightshade and teen angst to kill.  So, I do the best to protect my total idiocy.  I put stop gaps in my behavior, reminders to check myself.  Is this me or Mother Nature?

I can curb my carnal instincts (someone punch me before I hurt myself). Although these recent articles beg for the realization that I might just be on point.

But not street dudes, harping around like a bunch of birds in heat.  I feel like I’ve stepped into Discovery’s Plant Earth segment about mating calls.  I hear you baby, cat calling, sidewalk hustling, lip smacking.  Aren’t there rules for this?

You know what will really win me over? Serenade me at midnight while I walk down a dark street. Slide your hand along my ass as you inappropriately linger too long in the trolley car.  Aggressively scream that you’ll steal me from my roommate who you’ve assumed is my boyfriend. 

Don’t get me wrong.  There are unbelievably awkward moments that result in successful relationships. Like the Fu Wah guy’s sister, for instance, was followed by an Eagles player that came into her restaurant and bought her flowers on the daily.  Maybe if he wasn’t a popular sports figure, we would think this was creepy.

I still think its creepy.  But I also think cute Asian chicks have their own personal seduction hell.

This is all to say how excited I am about Hollaback Philly!  They did some work in my hood and are headed to be a panel at the Trans-Health Conference this weekend.

 

 

Yo, white girl, you a 10!

Thanks, I wonder what a full 100 looks like?

A Love Letter to SEPTA

1 May
Dear SEPTA,

Despite the running shitty jokes about your service, we know how hard you work. We’re there on the early train busting our asses to work, too. We know you keep a balanced budget despite our friends in Harrisburg throwing you under the bus (literally). And we know those 1981 trolleys, though vintage, are better for our air quality than any Prius. So I fucking  love you, despite the fat-kid-in-gym-class-getting-picked-last scenario.

While getting the 5th largest population in America to work on a miniscule capital budget you did me some fucking justice. You found my keys… to my life. House, bike, car. The whole bit. You found them, tagged them, and saved them. For me.

You better believe I fucking love SEPTA.

With all my heart,

Lost and Found Article #61

Winter Never Looked So Good.

3 Dec

Winter in Delaware. Real beach life.

Last of the South Philly Kings

17 Sep

“Putting the cunt back into country” is pressed into large blue and red tin boards fashioning a bent over Bettie Boop.  This tiny corner luncheonette has been operational for over 20 years, surviving a destructive blaze only to be brought back by the love and hard work of its South Philly neighborhood.

Carmen’s Country Kitchen serves up some quirkiest combinations of tasty food that you never even knew.  Just last week, I plowed through homegrown tomato and buttermilk pancakes with a side of apple smoked bacon.  *die*

Not to mention the chocolate french toast with carmel ice cream and pecans, over flowing with a side of home fried potatoes.

But beyond the roll-over-in-a-fit-of-delight-and-comatose-joy feeling, was on that day, Carmen opened her shop up on a Monday.  Untraditional hours for the kitchen.  But we called to see if she would cook and she happy agreed to spend part of her Monday morning whipping up the food our mothers would have never even conceived of.

For Eric, it may be his first and last time at the Country Kitchen.  The lease holder has decided this tiny 15 seat luncheonette would be better off as another pizza joint. As much as I can down a cheesy pie, it won’t have the same kitchy feel as the Country Kitchen.  No nipple mugs, penis fertility sculptures, Mason jars full of chilled water, or  windows adorned with thriving plants.

I doubt there will ever be a line of hungry and patient patrons waiting for pizza as they did for the sweet taste of Carmen’s cooking.  Simply for now, thank you Carmen for finding the cunt in me.

Ms. Low Flow and the Escape Poo

23 Aug

Lets be clear, I’m not a fiction writer.  However, I am a professional, even when we need to get real with our body parts, fluids, and functions.  Try not to recoil, its impolite.

So let me tell you a story.  Ms. Low Flow is our environmentally friendly excrement relocater has always been kind, but not always effective in her duties.  Though a sweet bubbling lady, she has many enemies in the office. Some of these enemies are my unknowing co-works who are waging war on poor Ms. Low Flow.  But her greatest challenge has been Escape Poo.  The Escape Poo is always just barely lurking below the surface, often just beyond one’s range of visions.  He is determined if anything to remain above ground.  Ms. Low Flow does her best to quietly and discretely sweep him into the undercurrent, but without help from the unknowing staff, it is a downhill battle.

The absent minded staff inevitably allow the Escape Poo to resurface, simply by not holding the handle down long enough.  Ms. Low Flow can only do her part if you do yours.

So dear friends,

In the office, park, or public restroom, and even at home.  Remember our good environmental friendly machines can’t do their job effectively if we don’t participate.  Hold down the handle and save your spouse from encountering the

ESCAPE POO!

Lock Up: Nancy’s Arrival

1 May

“This is death row, although no inmates were ever executed here.  They were sent to Rockview Prison near State College,” said our tour guide Scott.  “Whoop whooop!” I said and I raised my hands in the air.  Nancy knocked them down.  “I don’t think you can rep a prison if you haven’t been there, even if it is in your home town.”

Our tour guide was recently nonplussed by my comments noting he may have been a geologist in a different life.  This second attempt at jesting/reping my hood made no mark on Scott.   To my amazement he was able to fend off and overly zealous tourist with a tactile dysfunction.  He ran around like a 12 year old, touching everything, including his homely girlfriend.

During our tour we came to understand that penitentiary was not a word commonly used at the time of the prisons induction.  It stands for penance…a type of silent waiting drawn from Quaker practices.  Either way, the prison was a cool tour and during the winter (what winter!?)

Eastern State can be so cheap (AAA, public school teacher, lowly student ID).  Its a great place to take a friend with free parking surrounding it on all blocks!