Freeze, Steal, Punch, Bet, Call, Check, Raise, Jump, Rip, Cross-dress, Grope, then Gripe

As I sit here writing this, I am waiting for PGW to come fix my heat. They told me that they would show up “Monday.” I asked for maybe a 5 hour window, and they replied, “Monday.” I know this is not a groundbreaking thought, but this really can’t be said enough: I hate the utility workers of Philadelphia. So, I sit. I write. I wear pajamas with penguins on them. I curse PGW. THANK GOD I am currently unemployed and poor. What if I couldn’t stay home all day and wait?

Ok everybody, response time. First of all, I didn’t see the episode of South Park in which they discover the delightful audio candy of Wing. Sorry about that. I wish I had seen it. I love her.

Secondy-of-ly, the guy whom I have been seeing does not actually hit me, even when he has important lessons to teach me. Intimate Partner violence is serious, as I am sure the people from PUNCH (please see comment from the last entry)can attest. I didn’t mean to give the impression that I was a victim of what is legitimately the invidious underbelly of some seemingly perfect relationships. And besides, I would fight back physically and verbally. And I am pretty sure the people at PUNCH know I would win handily.

Lest anyone think me an insensitive prig, I offer you some literature on the societal blight that is Intimate Partner Violence and the importance of broadening the definition beyond mere domestic abuse.

Poker. Instead of going to quizzo last week, a few of us went to play Texas Hold Em Poker at a bar. In case you don’t know, this is the poker game that is showcased on television in two very different forums. One shows how celebrities are super-awesome and can do everything, including looking pretty, playing cards and saying funny things all at once! The other forum shows scary old guys in sunglasses who stop watching Nascar and eating donuts long enough to learn some fancy card playing. Sometimes they glare or stand up and throw their hands in the air, depending on how lucky you are as a viewer.

It was only my third time ever playing, so I was way nervous. DK, EK and KC were there. Our table contained a couple of nice patient people, who didn’t mind that we were not as experienced as they were. Our table was fun, the other table was the “serious” table, the guys who go from bar to bar playing poker on the circuit. Yes, there is a free poker circuit in Philadelphia. Because their table was playing faster than ours, the organizers of the game kept randomly picking people from our table to join the other one. As luck had it, I was sent to the psycho table. They were outwardly critical and intimidating, but I won a few hands and even eliminated some people. I made it to the final 4 (it was me against fat, sickly and smarmy, respectively) of my new table, but was eliminated after I lost focus. That is, I got bored and sick of hanging out with those losers. I only did as well as I did because I am not overtly emotive and I expertly tread the line between playing and being dumb. Ask my parents or close friends.

Unsurprisingly, since KC said that playing poker in public was the worst idea we’ve ever had, she won the whole tournament for the night (facing smarmy in the head to head showdown). Also, unsurprisingly, she laughed out loud at the organizers once she found out that the grand prize was a whopping 25 dollars. Celebrity Poker Challenge, it was certainly not.

Suicide watch. On Friday before I went to a Halloween party, JC called me up and screamed into the phone. “Someone is going to jump off a building on 12th and Walnut. You have to come watch it.” I said, “What?” He said, “And there’s a midget here watching!” I didn’t waste a second on another thought. I jumped into my sneakers and ran out the door, a little underdressed for the damp chill of autumn.

When I got to the scene, an amazing heavy set African American woman, looked at me and shook her head, mumbling, “Bitch ain’t gonna jump.” She pointed up at what looked like a woman wearing all denim with frumpy, mousy colored hair and white sneakers. She was seating, legs swinging, on the top floor and northeast corner of a parking garage. Police had blocked off a perimeter, which couple with the throngs of ever-gathering people made traffic more congested than the normal rush hour variety.

She ripped up a piece of paper and threw it up in the air. Was she a one person ticker tape parade? I wondered. But then I remembered Philadelphia teams don't win the big game. Ever. The police eventually talked the woman down from the roof but not before some very tense moments and a lengthy debate on the ground over whether she was stupid not to find a higher building. One comment: “She’s just going to end up like Terri Schiavo, not dead.” When she gave up her stand, a smattering of folks clapped for her. Mostly, people just shrugged and walked away, happy that traffic was back to normal. The apathy was overwhelming.

Halloween parties this weekend. My friends dressed as everything from Daisy Duke to Wrigley Field to a big old Purple Pimp. We went to a party where the men said, “We’re not gay, it’s Halloween!” And the women said, “We’re not sluts, it’s Halloween!” My favorite costumes were Carmen Sandiego and the Madonna character from Desperately Seeking Susan. Hilarious. We all got sufficiently wasted and made our way home. Chop and I, ventured out on Saturday when the gays were disappointingly underdressed. We also went to a party were JC was so drunk that he was throwing cheese from the appetizer plates at cars on the street. Yay free alcohol and candy!

Once I seized myself into alcohol and sugar shock, G came and picked me up where I passed out on a futon and dreamed of a warm shower in the morning.

By the way, I was dressed as Harry Potter. Pictures will follow, but I must warn you, I was fucking adorable. I know this because I was groped by more men this weekend than ever in my life. Nothing like Halloween weekend to bring out the pedophiles.

Not that I am surprised, but on the eve of the most important month of the year, I got the news that November babies get the psychological shaft. So, that’s why I am the way I am. I thought it might be a lack of vitamins.

Happy Halloween! Boo!

Why Do Birds Suddenly Appear?

Ok, autumn is my favorite season, but that's because I like long walks in the park with colored leaves falling at my feet. The cold rain could stop any day now, thanks.

Remember when I joked in my last post that I had no heat? It turns out that since God hates me and karma is a Bitch (or vice versa) that my heat actually IS broken. I had no hot water for a shower this evening, and I felt so, so dirty. I actually had to carry a towel and toiletries to JC's house and take a shower there. And I will have to do that tomorrow morning, too. If my week gets any better, I will be rolling in glass by Thursday.

However, I have found something to keep me warm this evening. Her name is Wing. She sings like a bird. Please listen to her and experience the magic. Be warned. It's safe for work, but not for the faint of heart. I am not sure who told this woman she could sing, never mind give her a recording contract, but I am so happy they did. If you have not heard her, you must. She is a delight.

The Prodigal Blogger Returns

I know. I know. Where have I been? Am I OK? Etc…

Well, I am back. Since I lost my job a while ago, I just haven’t felt much like writing. Everyone who has said hello and told me I haven’t been writing since that time, thanks. I am going to try and be a better person now. Mostly because I know that making you happy makes me a better person. My parents used to tell me the exact same thing—except they also added that I would go straight to hell someday if I didn’t do everything in my power to make them happy. And this is why I wake up in the fetal position every morning. Well, that and because I have no heat.

So what have I been doing since I last wrote? Most people when they are faced with an obstacle like the loss of a job hear a beckon call to action. They gather their wits, make lemonade out of those proverbial lemons, light a fire under their ass and/or exemplify one of many other clichés. I am not that person. I prefer the passive approach to crisis management. That is, I sit around and feel sorry for myself and avoid contact with anyone who might ask me how my life is going. That way I remaining alluring and elusive and don’t have to waste my energy or your time on half-hearted human interaction. That sounds more pathetic than I meant, bear with me.

Also I went to lots of weddings. Seriously, this past weekend in the first weekend in October when I haven’t attended a wedding. Each wedding was a blessed celebration of love which I commemorated by getting fall-down embarrassingly drunk. Some highlights included, but were not limited to: stealing several wedding favors (by several, I mean more scented candles than you can shake a wick at) and a table centerpiece or two, monopolizing all the time on a wedding video by seducing several women over the age of 55 and pimping my friend out to another man so that she wouldn’t make out with a midget with slicked back hair. I danced up a storm, drank up a bit of cirrhosis and lost a ton of money. I placated my bitterness towards weddings by making up reasons why the couple was getting married that clearly were substituted for true love, which probably does not exist. At least not while I am legally forbidden from ever declaring that I have found one and reaping the tax benefits therefrom.

Man, I am a bitch today for no reason. I am probably going to be writing with a bit of an “edge” for a while.

In other news, I found a nice guy to date who only hits me when I really deserve it or he has an important lesson to teach me. I watched tons of television, lots of reality tv. I have read a bunch of books. I reunited with all my college roommates (that matter) and went to the wedding of a girl who dated almost all of them. I finally learned how to play Texas Hold 'Em. I visited Cape Cod. Got a bit of Botox. My friends have started writing letters to celebrities. And blog-spammers have fallen for me like that creepy, old guy in the corner who keeps buying me drinks.

Other assorted thoughts before I sign off for the day:

· Bad- The Phillies were thisclose to making the playoffs, breaking my heart just a little. Good- An early playoff exit by both the Yankees and Red Sox proved that there are more than 2 teams in baseball.
· Good- Arrested Development, My Name is Earl and The Office (American version) are really, really funny shows. Bad- The Amazing Race Family Edition and the new season of Desperate Housewives are really, really boring.
· Bad- Hurricanes are scary! Good- Rob Marciano and Andersoon Cooper get pretty wet in hurricanes.
· Good- George W. Bush’s approval ratings are lower than ever. We’re talking Warren G. Harding territory here. Rove and DeLay are looking like indictment posterboys. Huzzah! Bad- GWB appoints Jerri Blank as a nominee for the Supreme Court.
· Good- Madonna’s new song samples ABBA music. Bad- Jessica and Ashlee Simpson still considered pop-culturally relevant to many.

I am going to try and blog more. I want to be better. I want to be better for you. I live for your affection and positive affirmation. Now, get up out of this seat, hug a loved one and secretly pretend it's me.

I will do the same for you.