We had our first “pick up furniture someone offered us” experience. It was…interesting.
My best friend’s aunt graciously offered Tony and I a couch for the house. This made us ecstatic because, up until this point, we were to have only my grandparent’s bedroom set and whatever boxes we moved into the house with as furniture.
So I rounded up my uncle, who has a pick-up truck, my best guy friend and Tony and we set out to grab the couch. Turns out the initial couch was REALLY wide (although really comfy looking) and probably wouldn’t have been able to fit into the house. But, we were told that there was a narrower couch downstairs with a chair to match that we could have. Yes, we took it – but not without problem.
The furniture was in the basement of the house which was, thankfully, attached to the garage. It was blockaded in by a pool table and a pillar, though. And, as you may know, you can’t just move a pool table or the whole thing’ll have to get realigned or some shit. I didn’t know this until I was all, “Well hey, let’s get this out of the way” and it was met with “NO!!!” from all people present. I didn’t ask to kill a puppy – it’s a pool table for Christ’s sake.
So the couch had to be lifted up above the pool table then moved through a narrow hallway to the door. Well, after seeing some majorly impressive real-life Tetris moves come out of my uncle instructing the boys to move it this way and that, we finally had to take the legs off the couch to get it through the door. It’s amazing what three inches can do. (That’s what she said?)
Same thing for the chair. It was loaded on the truck and on the way to my grandfather’s for storage.
It got off the truck and into the garage fine. My uncle left and myself and the boys stayed to talk to my grandfather. Not two minutes after walking out the door my uncle was back inside.
He backed into my car with his truck.
So now Mo (Moesha is her full name) has a crinkle-fry hood that needs to be completely replaced and a jiggly headlight. My poor baby
We have to pick up another couch from a friend of ours. Can’t wait to do that. Maybe I’ll have a pancake for a car afterward.
Thursday, January 21, 2010
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
since when do i wash clothes? seriously.
Guess what? It’s merely January 20 and, already, 2010 is my bitch. Take THAT, new decade.
I’ve learned a lot in the past twenty days. Renal has to do with the kidneys, people at utility companies are generally dumbasses, and I should never go to a dollar drink special that runs for two hours.
In between all of the science term editing I’ve been doing (fuck you, National Institute of Health, for having so many science-related acronyms on your site), I’ve also been organizing things for mine and Tony’s house.
Yep. The girl who has only ever lived away from home was when she moved to Philly (and moved into her boyfriend’s parents’ house anyway) is moving into her own digs.
A year and three months shy of being a quarter of a century old and I’m finally feeling like an adult.
Please join me on this journey. I shit you not when I say that I’ll probably have a couple of mini breakdowns (which’ll be funny, in retrospect) and a lot of hilarious things will go down.
So, about this house! Huge living room that opens up into a nicely sized kitchen. There’s a pantry off the kitchen. The steps are right in front of the front door and go straight upstairs, where there’s no hallway; you come out into a common room. To the right is a spare room and to the left is the master bedroom. There’s a bathroom in the bedroom and a half-bath downstairs .The basement is unfinished and scares me (as most basements do) so I’ll be avoiding it for the duration we’re living there. I read Stephen King books. You can’t image what I think is going on in the cellar of every house I’m in.
I can’t even express to you how much storage space is in this bitch. I can fit all of my shoes AND my books AND Tony’s DVDs in the house and still have a MASSIVE amount of room.
I also already have colors planned for everything:
I’d love a green and blue kitchen. Think navy and a more pastel green, but a bit darker. (I can’t think of a name for it. I’m not Martha Stewart.)
Definitely a red, black and grey bedroom, a Japanese theme. Tony and I are pretty gothic people as far as tastes go.
The middle room upstairs will be my reading/working room and I’m thinking rustic colors. I have a lot of sepia paintings and pin-up girl-like things, which is completely my style. The other room upstairs will be Tony’s game/movie room so I’m letting him do what he wants with that. I’m going to wager black, since the kid looks like Johnny Cash on a daily basis.
As far as the living room goes, I’m not sure. There’s wood paneling, so I can’t really paint. Probably gonna go with Earth tones in there.
God, when did I get so domestic? Oh yea. When I started making to-do lists like this:
Mini breakdown, here I come.
I’ve learned a lot in the past twenty days. Renal has to do with the kidneys, people at utility companies are generally dumbasses, and I should never go to a dollar drink special that runs for two hours.
In between all of the science term editing I’ve been doing (fuck you, National Institute of Health, for having so many science-related acronyms on your site), I’ve also been organizing things for mine and Tony’s house.
Yep. The girl who has only ever lived away from home was when she moved to Philly (and moved into her boyfriend’s parents’ house anyway) is moving into her own digs.
A year and three months shy of being a quarter of a century old and I’m finally feeling like an adult.
Please join me on this journey. I shit you not when I say that I’ll probably have a couple of mini breakdowns (which’ll be funny, in retrospect) and a lot of hilarious things will go down.
So, about this house! Huge living room that opens up into a nicely sized kitchen. There’s a pantry off the kitchen. The steps are right in front of the front door and go straight upstairs, where there’s no hallway; you come out into a common room. To the right is a spare room and to the left is the master bedroom. There’s a bathroom in the bedroom and a half-bath downstairs .The basement is unfinished and scares me (as most basements do) so I’ll be avoiding it for the duration we’re living there. I read Stephen King books. You can’t image what I think is going on in the cellar of every house I’m in.
I can’t even express to you how much storage space is in this bitch. I can fit all of my shoes AND my books AND Tony’s DVDs in the house and still have a MASSIVE amount of room.
I also already have colors planned for everything:
I’d love a green and blue kitchen. Think navy and a more pastel green, but a bit darker. (I can’t think of a name for it. I’m not Martha Stewart.)
Definitely a red, black and grey bedroom, a Japanese theme. Tony and I are pretty gothic people as far as tastes go.
The middle room upstairs will be my reading/working room and I’m thinking rustic colors. I have a lot of sepia paintings and pin-up girl-like things, which is completely my style. The other room upstairs will be Tony’s game/movie room so I’m letting him do what he wants with that. I’m going to wager black, since the kid looks like Johnny Cash on a daily basis.
As far as the living room goes, I’m not sure. There’s wood paneling, so I can’t really paint. Probably gonna go with Earth tones in there.
God, when did I get so domestic? Oh yea. When I started making to-do lists like this:
Mini breakdown, here I come.
Thursday, January 7, 2010
funny people.
Oh, hey. Happy 2010 : ) Tons to tell, but that’ll come later.
So, yes, I do play Facebook games. I’m deeply involved in Restaurant City, for God only knows what reason. In order to play the game to the best of my ability, I often friend people temporarily and then delete them. Sometimes they decide to IM me on Facebook chat for those couple hours that they’re my friends, and most of the time they either speak horrendous English or are trying to hit on me.
But yesterday I stumbled upon someone who gave me a little view of how people view us Westerners. He’s from Indonesia, a school teacher in his 30s. We were talking and I told him I was from Philly. This is what he said:
i don't know why, if i hear philadelphia, i just think many big building like in italia with many Negro, and they 'r doin' many violence, like at a film.
Ah, like at a film. Thanks, movies.
And while it’s true that, yes, there may be a higher population of African Americans in Philadelphia and there are certainly some parts of the city that are heavily laden with crime, I find it disturbing that this is the first thing that comes to mind when this man thinks of the city where America begin, the site of many an important historical spot.
We spoke for a bit more, and then he asked me this gem:
But there's a question, is there the women there like to grab their friends breast? because every women of america at facebook show that photo at their profile.
HA. Oh, my. Our drunken Facebook photos really DO reach millions, don’t they? WE LOOK LIKE A BUNCH OF ASSHOLES.
I explained to him that that’s commonly a joke among friends (leaving out the part that it’s almost always booze-fueled) and he said this:
hahhaa, that's just a joke? if u try that thing here maybe you will get a hot slap from the women here, lol hahahah
He explained to me that it’s disrespectful there. From that point on we spoke of traditions. He said that they have a lot of them and it makes him feel as though they are all “reigned in” because they cannot do so many things. He said that we are very free here and he thinks freedom is good, but he also thinks that rules and traditions are important to have.
Sir, I could not agree more. While I value the freedom we have in this country, I sometimes wonder if we take certain things too far. Years and years ago, manners were better and different things were valued. Sometimes I wish the vast majority would be more respectful of one another and wouldn’t take things for granted so much.
My Indonesian friend summed us all up quite nicely:
hahaha, west is funny.
So, yes, I do play Facebook games. I’m deeply involved in Restaurant City, for God only knows what reason. In order to play the game to the best of my ability, I often friend people temporarily and then delete them. Sometimes they decide to IM me on Facebook chat for those couple hours that they’re my friends, and most of the time they either speak horrendous English or are trying to hit on me.
But yesterday I stumbled upon someone who gave me a little view of how people view us Westerners. He’s from Indonesia, a school teacher in his 30s. We were talking and I told him I was from Philly. This is what he said:
i don't know why, if i hear philadelphia, i just think many big building like in italia with many Negro, and they 'r doin' many violence, like at a film.
Ah, like at a film. Thanks, movies.
And while it’s true that, yes, there may be a higher population of African Americans in Philadelphia and there are certainly some parts of the city that are heavily laden with crime, I find it disturbing that this is the first thing that comes to mind when this man thinks of the city where America begin, the site of many an important historical spot.
We spoke for a bit more, and then he asked me this gem:
But there's a question, is there the women there like to grab their friends breast? because every women of america at facebook show that photo at their profile.
HA. Oh, my. Our drunken Facebook photos really DO reach millions, don’t they? WE LOOK LIKE A BUNCH OF ASSHOLES.
I explained to him that that’s commonly a joke among friends (leaving out the part that it’s almost always booze-fueled) and he said this:
hahhaa, that's just a joke? if u try that thing here maybe you will get a hot slap from the women here, lol hahahah
He explained to me that it’s disrespectful there. From that point on we spoke of traditions. He said that they have a lot of them and it makes him feel as though they are all “reigned in” because they cannot do so many things. He said that we are very free here and he thinks freedom is good, but he also thinks that rules and traditions are important to have.
Sir, I could not agree more. While I value the freedom we have in this country, I sometimes wonder if we take certain things too far. Years and years ago, manners were better and different things were valued. Sometimes I wish the vast majority would be more respectful of one another and wouldn’t take things for granted so much.
My Indonesian friend summed us all up quite nicely:
hahaha, west is funny.
Thursday, October 22, 2009
that one is outta here!
I’ve been a fan of sports since I was little, wearing my backwards Beauty & the Beast baseball cap while I played baseball and football with the boys at recess. I’m a baseball, college football and hockey kind of girl (in that order), so imagine my absolute joy at the Phillies entering the World Series last night while I live right here, in Philadelphia.
I am NOT a Phils fan by any means – Lord no. I bleed the blue of a Yankee, through and through. The only reason I have an Utley jersey hanging in my closet is because a friend of mine bought it for me for my birthday as a joke – and you bet your ass that it’s hanging right over a Yankees t-shirt.
Living in this city allows me to feel the absolute hype and hysteria over the situation and it’s a really cool thing to experience.
Tonight the Yankees will win and clinch their spot next to the Phils in the World Series (confidence is key, baby). And then…well…things are gonna get interesting for me.
My Yankees apparel is all ready here – I just have to make sure I don’t get the shit beat out of me for donning it.
At the end of all this, there will be two possible outcomes – the Phils will repeat and I’ll be forced be at the shit-end of all my friends ridicule down here OR…
The Yanks will take it and I’ll have my day – all those months of heckling will be forced into a friend-wide silence that I will bask in as I stand there and say “I TOLD YOU SO!”
I am NOT a Phils fan by any means – Lord no. I bleed the blue of a Yankee, through and through. The only reason I have an Utley jersey hanging in my closet is because a friend of mine bought it for me for my birthday as a joke – and you bet your ass that it’s hanging right over a Yankees t-shirt.
Living in this city allows me to feel the absolute hype and hysteria over the situation and it’s a really cool thing to experience.
Tonight the Yankees will win and clinch their spot next to the Phils in the World Series (confidence is key, baby). And then…well…things are gonna get interesting for me.
My Yankees apparel is all ready here – I just have to make sure I don’t get the shit beat out of me for donning it.
At the end of all this, there will be two possible outcomes – the Phils will repeat and I’ll be forced be at the shit-end of all my friends ridicule down here OR…
The Yanks will take it and I’ll have my day – all those months of heckling will be forced into a friend-wide silence that I will bask in as I stand there and say “I TOLD YOU SO!”
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
gory glory.
Let’s take a second to talk about my balls.
My metaphorical ones, that is. You know – my cajones, my stones, my rocks. I’m not afraid of a lot of things. I have no problem doing most things, experiencing most things (except your occasional flock of birds - PLEASE get them OUT OF HERE).
One thing I DO have a problem with is scary movies. Since dating Tony, I’ve been seeing more and more scary movies and I’m now figuring out what really gets under my skin. It’s not so much the blood and gore at this point – it’s the paranormal things. It’s demons and ghouls and crawling, jerking figures. But I sit through all of it, and I do it well.
My scary movie balls are pretty big, but I didn’t get there without a fight. Oh no. Don’t like scary movies but find yourself being dragged to one? Listen to me – I know just what to do.
Got contacts? Take those bitches out and throw your glasses on. There’s a sense of security in knowing that if you look a little too far in one direction, your world will become a blur, thus softening what’s on screen. Or, just take them off completely. The people you’re with don’t need to know you’re blind as a bat without your glasses on. What you see on screen will just be a lot of blotchy figures – Saw V went by in big red blurs for me.
Put your knees up. This will only be a problem if the theater is full, thus making the seat in front of you occupied. Otherwise, putting your knees up gives you something to stare at when things start to get crazy. It serves as a barrier to the screen – you can pick and chose which corner of the screen you’d like to stare at instead of the whole thing by shifting your knees about. This method also works well if you wear a hat. Hats are way more effective, but you might get called out if you pull the brim down too far.
And last, but not least, and most important - RESEARCH. Yea, it’s not just for school – it’s for your nerves and sanity. It’s going to ruin the movie, sure. But who cares?! Did you really want to see this in the first place? Probably not. If you aren’t attending the opening night of the film, go online and look at reviews. Got a twist ending to it? Google it. YouTube it and you might get lucky. A lot of reviews talk about specific scenes, so you know what’s coming. Prepare yourself for what’s to come and it all won’t be such a shock.
So get out there, go see some crazy films that you didn’t want to be a part of in the first place. You can at least discuss it with your friends (to a certain extent) and maybe after a while you’ll remove the cap and drop your knees and take it in in all its gory glory.
My metaphorical ones, that is. You know – my cajones, my stones, my rocks. I’m not afraid of a lot of things. I have no problem doing most things, experiencing most things (except your occasional flock of birds - PLEASE get them OUT OF HERE).
One thing I DO have a problem with is scary movies. Since dating Tony, I’ve been seeing more and more scary movies and I’m now figuring out what really gets under my skin. It’s not so much the blood and gore at this point – it’s the paranormal things. It’s demons and ghouls and crawling, jerking figures. But I sit through all of it, and I do it well.
My scary movie balls are pretty big, but I didn’t get there without a fight. Oh no. Don’t like scary movies but find yourself being dragged to one? Listen to me – I know just what to do.
Got contacts? Take those bitches out and throw your glasses on. There’s a sense of security in knowing that if you look a little too far in one direction, your world will become a blur, thus softening what’s on screen. Or, just take them off completely. The people you’re with don’t need to know you’re blind as a bat without your glasses on. What you see on screen will just be a lot of blotchy figures – Saw V went by in big red blurs for me.
Put your knees up. This will only be a problem if the theater is full, thus making the seat in front of you occupied. Otherwise, putting your knees up gives you something to stare at when things start to get crazy. It serves as a barrier to the screen – you can pick and chose which corner of the screen you’d like to stare at instead of the whole thing by shifting your knees about. This method also works well if you wear a hat. Hats are way more effective, but you might get called out if you pull the brim down too far.
And last, but not least, and most important - RESEARCH. Yea, it’s not just for school – it’s for your nerves and sanity. It’s going to ruin the movie, sure. But who cares?! Did you really want to see this in the first place? Probably not. If you aren’t attending the opening night of the film, go online and look at reviews. Got a twist ending to it? Google it. YouTube it and you might get lucky. A lot of reviews talk about specific scenes, so you know what’s coming. Prepare yourself for what’s to come and it all won’t be such a shock.
So get out there, go see some crazy films that you didn’t want to be a part of in the first place. You can at least discuss it with your friends (to a certain extent) and maybe after a while you’ll remove the cap and drop your knees and take it in in all its gory glory.
Monday, October 5, 2009
i want your love, i want your revenge.
Today I decided to go out and do something old fashioned – a lil ole thing I like to call human interaction.
I pulled on my favorite boots, grabbed the gorgeous Marc Jacobs Tony bought for me and crammed it full of resumes and writing clips. I traipsed the city from 2nd to 19th Street, Market to League, and handed packets in to any publication I could find.
It went as well as one would expect. But there was one place that stuck out in my mind.
When I got to Philadelphia Style, I nearly threw up from the sheer overwhelming feeling that hit me when I walked in. It came from the fact that everything clicked and I knew this was the place I had to work.
It was in a remote part of town, the door outside was big and black, as well as the name plate that indicated the company inside. I walked in to blood red walls adorned with blown-up pictures of select covers of the magazine. It was quiet and the secretary desk was unmanned – until a huge fluff of white came bounding out of the back to jump up on my legs and lick my hands. The dog was adorable and soon followed by a woman, who I gave my packet to. She said she would pass it on to the editor.
I hope so. And I hope I get a call.
I walked in that office and saw myself. I saw myself traveling there day in and out, working there and enjoying every minute of it. I saw comfort and guidance. I saw the era of a new me.
I’ve been seriously considering going back to school for fashion lately. I’ve got journalism and marketing under my belt. Why not add the passion that comes second to writing to it?
I pulled on my favorite boots, grabbed the gorgeous Marc Jacobs Tony bought for me and crammed it full of resumes and writing clips. I traipsed the city from 2nd to 19th Street, Market to League, and handed packets in to any publication I could find.
It went as well as one would expect. But there was one place that stuck out in my mind.
When I got to Philadelphia Style, I nearly threw up from the sheer overwhelming feeling that hit me when I walked in. It came from the fact that everything clicked and I knew this was the place I had to work.
It was in a remote part of town, the door outside was big and black, as well as the name plate that indicated the company inside. I walked in to blood red walls adorned with blown-up pictures of select covers of the magazine. It was quiet and the secretary desk was unmanned – until a huge fluff of white came bounding out of the back to jump up on my legs and lick my hands. The dog was adorable and soon followed by a woman, who I gave my packet to. She said she would pass it on to the editor.
I hope so. And I hope I get a call.
I walked in that office and saw myself. I saw myself traveling there day in and out, working there and enjoying every minute of it. I saw comfort and guidance. I saw the era of a new me.
I’ve been seriously considering going back to school for fashion lately. I’ve got journalism and marketing under my belt. Why not add the passion that comes second to writing to it?
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
i dream of to-do lists.
I realized last night, as I lay in bed, that I never relax.
Ok, for example – I have a really hard time going to sleep because my head is constantly swimming with thoughts. Last night as I lay in bed I thought about this:
- What to wear for my Lady Gaga Halloween outfit – all the make-up and accessories possibilities
- Calculated the hours I had put in for my job this week and how much I had left
- Contemplated what outfits to buy/wear for the Wicked Faire we’re going to in February
- Thought about going home next week & who I was going to see
- Where I'm going to get the OPI Russian Navy matte nail polish I've been lusting after
None of this is pressing. I cannot accomplish any of the above things while it’s that hour of the night. Yet I lay there and I think them and I can’t sleep.
A typical relaxation for others is not so for me. I can’t just SIT. The above happens. I plan and plot and organize and rearrange things mentally.
A lot of it has to do with this job thing. I need to just go downtown next week and go door to door, handing out packets of my work.
I saw The September Issue last night. It not only made me want to shop, but also to get back into the major publication mode. I miss the days of being editor-in-chief and of writing for the Weekender. I miss interviewing people and bringing out the best in the stories they had to tell. I miss deadlines.
I miss deadlines. What the eff is wrong with me?
I just miss it all.
Ok, for example – I have a really hard time going to sleep because my head is constantly swimming with thoughts. Last night as I lay in bed I thought about this:
- What to wear for my Lady Gaga Halloween outfit – all the make-up and accessories possibilities
- Calculated the hours I had put in for my job this week and how much I had left
- Contemplated what outfits to buy/wear for the Wicked Faire we’re going to in February
- Thought about going home next week & who I was going to see
- Where I'm going to get the OPI Russian Navy matte nail polish I've been lusting after
None of this is pressing. I cannot accomplish any of the above things while it’s that hour of the night. Yet I lay there and I think them and I can’t sleep.
A typical relaxation for others is not so for me. I can’t just SIT. The above happens. I plan and plot and organize and rearrange things mentally.
A lot of it has to do with this job thing. I need to just go downtown next week and go door to door, handing out packets of my work.
I saw The September Issue last night. It not only made me want to shop, but also to get back into the major publication mode. I miss the days of being editor-in-chief and of writing for the Weekender. I miss interviewing people and bringing out the best in the stories they had to tell. I miss deadlines.
I miss deadlines. What the eff is wrong with me?
I just miss it all.
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