So Your Mom is an Asian Trannie

A relationship during holidays are all about compromise and sacrifice. When your families live more than an hour apart, you essentially have to plead your case for why it's more important to see your family on any particular holiday. Since my family says grace before dinner (although we forgot this year), we went to my family's for Easter dinner.



Since I can remember, I associated Easter with my birthday. Even though I resented the holiday overshadowing the celebration of my birth, I always appreciated the fact that more family members would show up for Easter but be tricked into celebrating my arrival into this world. From the perspective of a child: more family members here on my birthday = more presents. So yeah, how could I complain?



This year Easter landed far enough away from my birthday that we could celebrate each event on completely different weekends. From the perspective of a grown ass woman that doesn't see her family enough: more reasons to celebrate = more motivation to see your family. Everybody wins.



Although I was baptised Catholic, I was never very good at it. By that I mean, because I'm a good person and have a good heart, I practice many fundamentals of Christianity without being told by a book to do so or out of fear of damnation. But I could never get the knack of this organized religion stuff. Like Easter: I don't know if I can fully grasp what this holiday stands for- I get the basics and all, but I still don't know where bunnies, candy, and ham come into play. You see?



This year for me, Easter stood for technology. Women over 50 and technology. Have you ever tried to teach a 4 month old baby how to high five? Well it's easier and probably less frustrating than teaching your mother how to play Guitar Hero. Teaching your grandmother how to play bowling on Nintendo Wii is also more difficult than teaching a 4 month old how to high five. I know this because I've tried to do both.



You have to consider that the technology we spend our lives adjusting to will soon be gone and a new technology will be here making you feel retarded. Like having 4 remotes for the tv, cable, dvd player, and surround sound. So many remotes gives me enough anxiety that I'd rather pick up a book.



So here is my mom, whom I've grown to appreciate very much in my adult years- and I'm not saying this because she reads my blogs. She's about to play her 11 year old nephew in bowling. On this new fangled game system, you can pick the character that plays you! Cousin already has a character with his name. His character slightly resembles him. Apparently, this is the point of building your character- to make it a digital version of you.



My mom complains when cousin selects a female character that doesn't resemble her. She complains again when he selects an unattractive female character. It's then that we see the character named "Ben S." My aunt and I yell for cousin to pick Ben S. to be my mom. We laughed wildly as the disappointment filled her eyes. "Your Wii Bowling character does not define you as a person, mom!" I had to say. She was concerned that we chose this character because deep down we felt that it resembled her in some way. I could see why she'd be concerned with this. Because this was her character:





Besides the fact that my mom is in fact an Asian tranie with a huge mole and goatee, this character looks nothing like her in real life. She would never wear pink and her hair certainly isn't blond.

In the end, she beat my 11 year old cousin. Afterwards, she went outside to smoke and contemplate an identity crisis caused by this new technology.

The lesson to be learned this Easter is that you should probably not hurt a parent's feelings by assigning an Asian Trannie to represent him or her in a serious game of digital bowling. Until next time, Happy Day.

Last night's noises were Narwal and Woodchuck.

Settling into the 5th place in 4 years and I'm disappointed that we can hear our downstairs neighbor's phone conversation. But at least he sounds like a nice guy.

You see, I can tolerate hearing neighbors but I'm not so comfortable with them hearing me. Because sometimes we like to "do it" and I'm very private with this. Mostly because of the animal noises I enjoy making during the act.

But in any event, I saw boyfriend's optimistic "I heart this place" wide eyed contentedness drain from his face as he said, "I can hear him like he's sitting in the room!"

He'll have to deal with it. After this move and all the preparing of walls, I'm not itchin to go anywhere for the next couple of years. Our friends have already signed and notarized a contract stating they aren't required to help us move until 2010.

Our walls here are yellow. Like the DEFINITION of yellow. It takes about 6 minutes for you to adjust to the stream of emotions you feel upon walking into our apartment. First you feel a little jarred- like someone smacked you in the face with the sun. Next it's a little anxious because its brightness makes you feel like you should be productive at every breathing moment. And finally, you simply feel awake and comfortable.

I wish we could say we did this on purpose. But really it turned out much more "yellow" than we anticipated. We like it. Well, I *think* I like it- I go back and forth on the subject.

Our street is lovely. A clean street where people pay $400,000 for their row homes. It makes me nervous because clean expensive neighborhoods can bring nosey mf's. Lauren reassured me by saying, "You WANT to live in a place where people care about their surroundings! I came home yesterday to blunt guts sitting on my step! People just leave there trash right in front of our house!!" And I guess she's right.

I'm just one in 36,164

My coworker is known for luck with gambling. After a weekend of banking on whims and gut feelings, I asked her to buy (for me) a Powerball ticket. I wanted nothing to do with the purchase of this ticket so I had her take the dollar out of my wallet, purchase the ticket and drop it in my drawer. I promised to split my winnings with her and spent the weekend talking about what I'd do with millions of dollars.

My first "vacation" would probably be volunteering at an orphanage in Africa. I've been toying with the thought for some time but oddly enough, such a volunteer mission costs a bitch money. From there, I'd go to Thailand and pay $325 a week to take care of elephants. Since I'm not trained to deal with such large mammals, I'd probably have to just hose them down and clean up their poop. But I'm THAT into elephants that it'd be delightful. Oh, and I'd also have to sleep in a tent. I suspect the mosquitos in the jungle are the size of hummingbirds.

I'd buy my dad and stepmom a larger house. I'd buy my mom that small house in Runnamede that she used to talk about buying if it ever gets put up for sale. I'd invest in my friends shop because I love it and want to see it succeed. I'd give a great deal of money to charity and probably continue to work- or at least volunteer somewhere. I'd pay for my sibling's education and go back to school full time. I'd give money to the people that feed the homeless outside of the Free Library so that the homeless people can eat free range chicken and homemade mac and cheese.

If I bought a car, it'd be a Smart Car. Or a hybrid. I'd write a book.

If I won the lottery, you wouldn't hear about it though. I'd collect it annonymously and continue wearing the same old clothes.

Today I checked my ticket and to my suprise, I won $4!! This was actually far more than I ever dreamed of winning. I kept my promise and split my winnings with coworker. With my share, I bought 2 more tickets. We'll see how it goes tonight.

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.