Archive | Philadelphia RSS feed for this section

When old dudes sweat

18 Feb

Friday night I went to see a show of a band that was celebrating their 20 year anniversary.  I was 19 when they had their ONE hit that was played on the radio.  It was a good song, apparently good enough to get them a following that is still interested in following them around 20 years later.  I mean, it was a good song, but it wasn’t THAT good.  Catchy?  Sure, but certainly not as big of a one hit wonder as Chumba Wumba’s Tub Thumbing.

So there I was, totally out of place, with my over sized Badgley Mischka purse that everyone kept bumping into, and my Burberry scarf.  Maybe I don’t belong in concerts with standing room only.  I want a table where a waiter is going to come over, take my order, and bring me a GD glass of champagne or an overpriced cocktail.  Not Bam Margera’s bar where I have to elbow my way through a crowd, push my way up to the bar, yell at the top of my lungs to get a drink, and then get served a shitty vodka tonic in what can only be described as a shitty dixie cup.

The opening act was incredible.  Sure, he was dreamy and cute and about 20-nothing (so you know that’s right up my alley), but the kid had some amazing talent.  As soon as he left the stage I was pretty much ready to go.  But my friend who I had gone with, the one who had “dated” the lead singer of the band insisted we stay.  Fine.  Whatever.  I had scored a chair at the front of the venue, and the only thing obstructing my view was the sad 50+ year old woman who hippie danced her way through the show.

As I was watching the crowd and the band I thought to myself how these guys, in their prime, may have been handsome.  I imagined the groupies getting all excited when the bass player sweat all over the place.  The throngs of women who wanted to be invited back to the bus to see if they could get a lick of that bass player’s sweaty sack (I just grossed myself out with that).  Fast forward 20 years and seeing a middle aged man with a little pooch isn’t quite as sexy.  It’s almost sad watching these guys hang on to something that they once had.  I was half surprised that no one started wheezing on stage.

Not that the crowd seemed to mind – everyone seemed to be the same age as the band members.  They had all left their jobs, spouses, kids, responsibilities at home and were capturing their youth for a night.  All except the one drunk whore who rushed the stage and had to be carried off by a bouncer with facial piercings.  Not cute, ma’am, not cute.

I get the allure of wanting to see a band who played the soundtrack to your youth.  Two years ago I went to see Duran Duran with friends and it was awesome!  We were smashed up against the stage and the music sounded great – though seeing John Taylor up close was a bit of a shock.  The face that had once been so handsome was now covered in lines.  You could see his arms once carried muscle tone, but were now saggy.  It was strange seeing these one time idols who were now on the cusp of senior citizenry.

As I drank my vodka tonics on Friday it occurred to me that I’m more than happy to stick with pretending I’m young and cougaring it up with a 20-nothing year old, than to date someone my age.  After all, I can’t look as old as those dudes on stage, right?  At least that’s what I’ll keep telling myself.

Unless we’re talking Bruce Willis.  I’d still climb on him like a ladder.

Phamily Phun

23 Jul

After almost three months of living in Philly, my family has finally decided to come and visit me.  We’re all hanging out in Center City, staying at a swanky hotel.  It’s fancy, and I’m pretty sure someone will end up dead, and someone will end up in jail by the end of the trip.

So far, there’s been:

  • three fights
  • four tantrums (not all of them by children)
  • a little “accident” on the leather sofa in the hotel lobby

It’s all about keeping it klassy here.  My niece went ahead and peed all over the leather sofa right in the middle of the hotel lobby.  Know the best part?  It’s totally going to leave a massive stain.  Even better?  Three people have come by and sat on the pee soaked sofa.  Yeah!!

On top of that my mother decided it would be a great idea to skype my uncle from the lobby.  Yeah, she sat there for 20 minutes and yelled at the computer while other hotel guests walked by and gave her dirty looks.  It was awesome.

Now it’s 9:15 on a Friday night and we’re all back in our rooms and ready to go to bed.

I can only imagine what tomorrow may bring…

Inner City Drama

12 Jul

Guess who almost pooped her pants on Friday night??

That would be me!

Guess why?

No, it’s not because Office Adonis finally made his move (though I’m working on that) or because Boom Boom made me a Miralax Margarita as a little joke.

Picture this…

Three hot girls driving around in a brand spanking new SUV in Philadelphia at 1:00 in the morning.  Two of these girls are drunk messes, one of these is a responsible young lass who cares so much about her drunk whore friends that she offered to drive home.  And maybe part of the reason she wanted to drive home is because she’s got a touch of new car envy.  Four blocks out of the parking lot and suddenly red and white lights and a big fat fucking siren pull out of nowhere.

The second I saw those in the rearview mirror I seriously felt my ass clench.  I was sure that I was going to poo myself in Boom Boom’s sweet ride.  How would that look if the cop made me get out of the car and I had a trail of poo down my leg?  Not good, not good at all.  As I was rifling through my bag, I started to recite the alphabet backwards.  You know how freaking hard that is to do?  I kept getting stuck after Z Y X.  Who the hell can recite the alphabet backwards?  I can’t do that shit sober, thank God I wasn’t drunk.  Thank God.

I’m pretty sure that when the officer saw my face he caught that deer in the headlights look.  I was ready to flash him my pearly whites, and maybe a boob. As is customary the officer asked, “Know why I pulled you over?”

Why do they ask you this question?  What is the point here?  A ton of stuff rolled through my mind.  Did I run a stop sign?  Had I turned down a One Way street?  Had I killed a pedestrian and not even noticed?  Maybe there was a warrant out for my arrest because I didn’t tip the nail technician at the salon earlier because she cut my toe nails so short that my toes hurt when they were exposed to wind.  Or had he secretly been following us all along and he knew that I had been drinking earlier in the night?  Were we going to have to give blowies to get out of this mess?  What would my mom do if I called her from prison asking her to bail me out?

“No, officer, I don’t,” I responded while clenching my cheeks.

“Well, ma’am,” (not even a freaking miss), “you’re driving with your headlights off.”

Um, duh.  In my defense, I would just like to remind everyone that this was my first time driving the car.  Then again, one of the fundamental lessons I learned 20 freaking years ago when I started driving was that you have to turn your lights on when it’s dark.

Instead, what I remember from those classes is that the most dangerous time to drive is 15 minutes after it rains because the oil on the road comes to the surface AND if you stop behind a school bus, you have to stop 15 feet away.

Protected: Profile of the Weak: Philly’s Biggest Douche

3 Jun

This content is password protected. To view it please enter your password below:

Where Fat Whores Go To Die

2 Jun

I have found the place.  I really have.  Apparently, Philadelphia is a mecca for fat whores with bad taste.

No, that is not why I chose to move there.

It just so happens that the city of Philadelphia is welcoming me with open arms AND providing me with opportunities to mock.  Opportunities unlike Baltimore could possibly give me.  Sure, I miss the white trash dudes in long, white tank tops and jorts (jean shorts).  But how can I possibly not like Philly when it offers me something like this:

I’m not sure which I love more: the mullet or the back fat.  It’s really something.  The super crazy thing is that these two klassy ladies were dressed up.  Dressed up!!  I went to the Sex and the City release last Thursday with Boom Boom, Jersey Belle, and South Philly Fasionista.  It was pretty hilarious to see how some of the chicks at the movie had dressed up for the occasion.  It was like some of them pretended that they were actually in the movie.  Very unfortunate for them, but high mocking times for us.

Our favorite, by far, was not mullet girl.  Oh no, that chick had NOTHING on Nemo.

When we first spotted her during our uber fancy dinner at Pod, we laughed and laughed.  The poor whore walked in wearing a dress that was clearly not suited with her.  Along with this unflattering dress she carried a GIANT pink bag and a faded denim jacket from 1982.  Not attractive.  Upon closer inspection, we realized that her dress was COMPLETELY see through.  We had zero trouble seeing the gigantic granny panties she was wearing underneath.  The pink and white ones that matched her bag.

We spent most of dinner staring at her in utter horror and debating whether/not she had done that on purpose.  We also decided that none of the 20 girls sitting at her table were her friends.  She must have been a horrible person because no one mentioned to her that everyone could see everything that she was carrying underneath.


God knows how we were able to stomach the entire meal.  Jersey Belle and I almost lost it when she bent down in front of us.  I see London, I see France.

Lucky for you, I took a pic.