In a moment of complete and utter lack of self consciousness, you'll tell your friend of years past about your phobia of the toilet.

"But your picture, with the 'poop in my butt' and your email of 'girlsfartoo' and your ability to be drawn into conversations about shit within the first 72 seconds of knowing someone!!"

And rightfully so, you as a friend, couldn't comprehend how a gal so fond of toilet talk could possibly be paranoid about public poo-ing. But she is.

I AM.

I can't shit in a stall. I hold it, to the best of my ability, until I get home. I wait until there is no one in the women's room.

I can't splatter poop into a toilet while others are around.

And there you have it. My secret shame.

If I don't die tonight, then it'll totally be worth the anxiety.

There have been many definitive moments where I realize I am, in fact, a grown up. Not only do I realize I'm a grown up, but I realize I'm also a little boring. You would think something reminicent of your youth would get you feeling young again. Young and adventurous.

This is how I was supposed to feel when I went to this hardcore show. I was supposed to feel like I'm still into all of that fun shit I enjoyed 8 to 10 years ago. But 8 to 10 years ago I didn't think about fire codes, stable foundation, or being arrested. These were all things to consider at this show.

I later learned the name of the venue was "Disgraceland" which I found incredibly catchy. But how I got there is, I had been invited to go see a friend of a friend's band play. When I asked where, I was told it was in a basement of a house. I was excited at the thought. I always loved illegal parties that revolved around music.

Upon entering the "venue" I was greeted with a nice guy asking for $6 to $8 dollars depending on what you thought was appropriate. We all gave $8. "For the cause." Later I only hoped the $8 was going towards reinforcing the floor of the house.

The last thing you want to see in a room packed with people is a guy with a circular saw modifying the legs of a table.......... This was actually the FIRST thing I saw (woah pun!) when I walked into this room packed full of people. The vision of something sharp and jagged flying through the air and landing into my skull was something I tried to escape as I made a dash for the back of the house. But I didn't have too far to go to get to the back.

The house was a regular South Philly house. No larger than my own living room. Actually, it was about the same size. So you can understand how claustrophobia could run amuck in a place like that right?

My anxiety was well under control until Jordan said these words of comfort, "This kind of reminds me of that video where there was a dance party and the floor collapsed."

You'll have to excuse that this review (of sorts) doesn't talk about the music. But after he said these words, all I could hear was my own voice screaming in my head, "Time to go! Find a way to get to the door! Just listen to the music from the hallway!! GET OUT!!!!"

Because once the music started- it was too late. And the crowd surfers and the pit and the music were good and stressful enough to take my mind off of the inevitable collapse of the floor. The set lasted 25 minutes and as soon as it was over, I made a run for it. In the end, I very much appreciated having a couple PBR's on hand and was super proud of myself for internalizing all of my panic. I was also glad not to ruin the time of those around me.

Setting aside the anxiety about collapsing floors, not being able to get out the door when a fire broke out, or being kicked in the head at an angle that would induce a stroke- all in all it was a great time and I found parts of my "younger days" that I've held onto. Such as, not being a vagina when 50 people are suddenly being pushed towards you... or still having the reflex to grab your friend's hat after a crowd surfer has knocked it off in an attempt to make it his own... or the instinct to try and make room for the guy in front of you who is trying to grab something off of the floor for some reason.... All of these things have me wide eyed and bushy tailed to go to a show of the same sort sometime soon.

But I need to make sure the next show I go to is at a secure location that has passed the stringent guidelines of L&I... or at least paid them off properly.

Don't let the grass grow under your feet kid.

Really, it makes sense that I haven't fully unpacked in 7 years. Realistically, you can't truely figure out what you want or where you should be without trial and error. Sometimes that can take years.

My first apartment was meant to be temporary. 45th and Chestut was not where I wanted to plant my roots in this city- but a 4 bedroom apartment for $800 a month was a pretty good start. The mouse and roach infestation was good inspiration to not only keep my stuff packed- but keep them in sealed containers. The crackhouse behind our building and the theft of my wheels were a perfect way to burst my suburban safety bubble.

What was meant to be even more temporary was the typical "move back home" that every 20 year old does at some point. When your parents are at first happy you're back, but soon enough they realize that you aren't paying rent. You've already proven you can function as an adult and financially contribute to the household, so its best to get out before your mom starts figuring out your share of the bills.

What was meant to be a big move for a long lasting stay in one place was when I moved in with a boyfriend in Manyunk. A good sized 2 bedroom apartment for $690 a month- how could you ever leave? Outside of realizing your boyfriend is addicted to alcohol and various other substances and noticing poor hygene habits and daily explosive bowell movements that leave shit caked along the toilet rim- the rent's really cheap enough to live there a few months longer than you'd normally prefer. This situation is why God made the "month to month" provisions you'll sometimes be lucky to find in your average lease.

Moving in with your best friend, for the 2nd time was a decision I knew I would later question. After 45th and Chestnut, we gave eachother some distance for a few months. But at this point, we were both 4 years older with good paying jobs and moving to a better neighborhood (Fairmount). I was in insurance sales. She was a stripper. Her income was far higher than mine and this gave me a feeling of security. The shoe was on the other foot for once... but only for the first half of our lease. Quitting her job as an exotic dancer was the most healthy decision she's ever made- and I was proud of her. But you gotta have a back up plan when you make these kinds of decisions. Before I knew it, I was paying $1200 in rent by myself not knowing when I'd get paid back.

Once again, after we parted ways, there was distance for months. More distance this time because she moved to the other side of the country. After getting over this "good riddence" phase of our friendship, I started to miss her and was thrilled when she came home for a week.

My mission that year was to keep the apartment forever. Two bedrooms with two bathrooms, a deck, 10 foot ceilings, in a prime location- I paid $1200 myself for 2 months waiting for my friend Jared's lease to run out so he could move in. When our mutual friend had 2 home invasions over the coarse of 2 months at 19th and Girard, the idea of the 3 of us living together came up. Recollecting conversations with her about how we could never live together made me squeemish that I was giving up my apartment to live a miserable existance.

This is how I ended up at 28th and Brown. Happy as a clam. Amanda and I got along just lovely. She was the mother to Jared and I. Thinking of Jared and I living alone, I realize that we would've had a messy place. Amanda was the balance for our cleanliness. I was the balance between two people that argue. And Jared took care of the boy stuff. I could've stayed there forever, but it was time to play house.

And that's how I ended up here on Corinthian Ave with the Eastern State Penatentiary outside of my front door. An architectual landmark with worlds of history and hauntedness flowing through its walls. I ended up here because that's the next step you take when you're in a blissful relationship. You see if you can ruin it by living together.

In the time I've spent living with boyfriend, I realize that if any relationship has a shot of lasting for a very long time, it's this one. We've survived 7 months of living in a small 1 bedroom apartment. And now it's time to see how we survive a larger apartment that will have enough space for us to escape eachother. We've been looking at places for exactly one week and I think we've found "the one." It's lacking a deck (or yard) and a washer and dryer in the unit- two things that were very important to us at some point. But it's on a great street. Location location location.

The idea is that we will move somewhere that we can stay and enjoy for a few years. This is a foreign and frightning concept to me. Knowing that I could simply move if I outgrow the apartment has always been a helpful thought in making these decisions. But now... now it's a commitment much larger than I've ever known. We'll see how it all goes.

Brobdingnagian Penis on Market Street.

My calender "big word of the day" is Brobdingnagian. It's an adjective meaning Of huge size; gigantic; enormous. Considering the difficulty one would have pronouncing this Brobdingnagian, it would only make sense to simply use the words within the definition of the word itself. Unless, of course, you're trying to confuse- which is always fun.

Last night two people were fatally shot 6 blocks away. Helicopters are a tell-tale sign that someone nearby didn't make it through the day. My parents can't understand why I can't see myself not living in Philadelphia. With the murder rate where it is and the complications of city living where they will always be, it just doesn't make sense to them.

Living in the burbs where you have to drive anywhere and everywhere you go just is what doesn't make sense to me.

On a somewhat unrelated note, I think more men should take off their pants outside of the Dunkin Donuts on Market street during rush hour. It really does help the long work day end with a chuckle. If anything, it gives us all a story to tell when we get home. By doing this at rush hour, you have the opportunity to amuse, bewilder, and horrify a larger number of people.

I can't help but wonder why this man took off his pants in front of the Dunkin Donuts window. But what's even more baffling is that the man that was sitting inside, continued with drinking his coffee and reading the paper.

The whole world could pass right by you with the assistance of an iPod and a good book. Sometimes it's safer to just ignore the insanity around you. Looking the wrong person in the eye could get you stabbed in the face. I don't know this for fact, nor have I seen it happen. But it's a possibility.

Testes

This is a test.

Please don't be disappointed.

Here is a picture of an elephant showing dominance.




Nevermind. The disappointment continues. There is no elephant. Not yet anyway. But soon enough, I will deliver.

This has been a test!