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!