There Ain’t No Sexy in This City.

So I had to apologize to my friend, Tracy, tonight.  For years, my fiance and I have been busting her chops for whining about how hard it is to be a single woman in Philadelphia, and I realized tonight how tragically misguided we’ve been.  I’m so glad I’m not single because there’s not a whole lot out there.  And what is out there ain’t pretty.  And what’s pretty is, more often than not, gay.

That’s all well and good when, like me, you’re happily attached and simply open to making some new friends.  But when you’re a single woman looking for a guy, it’s tough out there, ladies.  It really is.  And I had no idea how tough.

We attended a dinner event tonight – A popular chef was cooking at a local establishment, the price was right, and it sounded like a fun time.  Beforehand, we picked up some wine at a nearby store.  Let me explain that red wine gives me headaches.  I’m not a huge wine fan anyway, and the red stuff kicks my ass to the curb, drags it down the street, and smothers it in bum vomit and dog shit.  So I opt for white.  Regardless of the meat being served, if I’m having wine, it’s going to be white.  Knowing this, Tracy asked the wine guy for a white that would go with lamb, and he picked a dry Greek wine.  Which made sense to me.  Greek = gyros = lamb, right????  Sounds legit.

When we arrived at the restaurant, we found five small tables for two lined up in a row.  Two people were already there.  They weren’t together, but were seated next to each other on the same side of two different tables.  For purposes of the story, let’s call them Peter and Wilhelmina.  Tracy and I promptly seated ourselves at the farthest table.  Some time went by while the little, white-haired, French chef rattled around setting the stage and welcoming people to the event.  Peter kept making excuses for his “friend” who had cancelled at the last minute, although the entire outing had been her idea.  I’m pretty sure she was fictional and intended to make him appear more appealing to whatever stray single ladies might be within earshot.  “Look!  I have female friends!  I’m not a total loser!”  Newsflash douchecanoe – Some women have bad taste.  Even the imaginary ones.  Especially the imaginary ones.

Meanwhile, Wilhelmina kept dropping Spanish words and chatting about living in “Philadelphia by way of Montreal by way of Memphis.”  She ripped Memphis a new asshole, and said she “might” give it another shot if it ever got it’s act together but she doubted that would happen.  Memphis, if you’re reading this, you just keep on keepin’ on.  Wilhelmina vacated your area, and you’re better off, believe me.  Then she talked about how she “totally clicked” with the chef when she met her at some cocktail party, and she immediately told her “OMG!  You’re ME in thirty years!!!”  Um, yeah, Wilhelmina…I’m pretty sure you’re not fifteen.  If you are, put down the wine and stop flirting with the pedophile.

A little later, Brad arrived, British accent and all (swoon), and seated himself on the other side of Wilhelmina.  And Wilhelmina promptly dropped Peter and gave her full and undivided attention to Brad, who was unintentionally (and quite flagrantly) attired for Flag Day in a red, white, and blue checked shirt AND a red, white, and blue striped blazer.

At some point, the topic of our wine choices was raised.  Everyone had their bottles of red.  Then the waiter came out with our white and Peter audibly gasped.  “WHITE wine with LAMB!?!?!”  OMG.  THE HORROR.  I casually leaned around Brad and said, “It’s GREEK.  So it’s okay.”  DUH.  And Peter just stared at me, mouth open, sweat beads popping out under his combover, totally at a loss for how to respond to my complete ignorance of wine etiquette.  Whatever, Peter.  At least I know how to pick pants that aren’t four inches too short.  Seriously.  I wanted to shove the wine bottle up his ass, but I thought he might enjoy it too much.  That guy was far too attached to his wine.

Wilhelmina spent most of the meal (which was scrumptious, by the way) alternating her attention between Peter and Brad, giggling like a schoolgirl, and gabbing on about topics I’m sure she researched just so she could sound intelligent in social settings.  (BACKFIRE, Wilhelmina.  Backfire.)  She unabashedly flirted with Brad, who I’m 99% sure was gay, and Peter unabashedly flirted with her (Ladies, believe me when I say Peter had not a snowflake’s chance in hell in a contest against Brad, and I say that despite being 99% sure that Brad was not interested in that way and wanted nothing from Wilhelmina other than for words to stop coming out of her mouth).

Meanwhile, Tracy and I ate mostly in silence, speaking via glances whenever one of the other guests said something particularly pretentious or outright assholish.  I apologized about fifteen times for often backing out at the last minute and forcing her to attend things like this one her own because….DAMN.

Then we all had to take a group photo (from which I half expected (hoped) we would be excluded as the weird girls with actual friends who sat one table away from everyone else).  Then Brad ditched Wilhelmina for an older lady who arrived late.  And Wilhelmina shot him longing glances from across the room as Peter clumsily attempted to graze her arm with his hand.

Mother of fucking god.  If this really was a good indication of the singles scene in Philadelphia, I don’t know what I’d do.  I don’t have a poker face, and I’m pretty sure my expression was reading something along the lines of “WTF.  Did I inadvertently wander into the Pompous Pseudo-Intellectual Blowhards of Philadelphia meeting?  JESUS.”

Before I left, I apologized once again to Tracy, and admitted I may have been wrong to suggest she attend cultural events and visit museums in an effort to meet smart men with shared interests.  Let’s be honest, your chances of meeting a straight guy at a knitting class are slim, and you’re only going to meet snotty assholes at an art museum cocktail party where the focal point of the event is some priceless work of “art” a three-year old could do in five seconds on half a napkin.  No, I’m pretty sure the answer is sports bars.  When your first impression of a guy is him in a wing-sauce stained Eagles Jersey shoving a cheesesteak down his throat while chugging a Yuengling and screaming “COWBOYS SUCK!” it can only get better from there.

I hope.

Amazon, you do not know me….

Amazon mistakenly thinks I “recently showed an interest in pencil sharpeners.”  It is equally misguided in its assumption that even if I had shown an interest in pencil sharpeners, I would pay to have one shipped to my house instead of rummaging around in my junk drawer or running to the drugstore down the street.

For those who actually are interested in pencil sharpeners, may I present the top three bestsellers on Amazon.

**Although I have to admit that bottom “camera” sharpener briefly caught my attention.

I Want to Adopt……A Skull.

So the Mutter Museum, which I LOVE, is having a “Save our Skulls” campaign – It’s $200 and you get to have your name by the skull, and you get to pick which skull you want to adopt.  You might have to pay twice.  It’s hard to tell from the blurb.  But it pays for restoring the skull and fixing everything up nice.
And I’m kind of tempted, as weird as that is.
I’m thinking the Lithuanian girl on page 3 (b/c she’s the only Lithuanian and part of my family is from there) or maybe the famous criminal on the last page.  If I do it, I don’t really want a suicide or a child murderer or anything.  And there’s an inordinate number of suicides on the list.  And convicted criminals who were hanged or otherwise disposed of.
Also, if I do this, I want a skull with a known cause of death and a name.  I guess I’d takean anonymous-no-one-knows-how-this-one-kicked-off skull if I could make up a name and a COD, but I doubt the museum would add that to the plaque.  And then I’d just be the donor who got my money in late and didn’t get a cool skull.  (Is it weird that I feel like the anonymous skulls or  the ones with unknown COD’s should be cheaper???  I mean, seriously – The two taken ones are a famous murderer and a famous hooker.  Clearly there’s a demand for the skulls of famous depraved people.  I think unknown skulls should be at least 50% off).
Here’s the link if you’re curious or just have a skull fetish:
***In all seriousness, this is a worthwhile endeavor and one that should be supported.  The Mutter Museum is a phenomenal museum, and anything that can be done to preserve their collections should be done!  If you’re in the Philly area and you haven’t been to the museum, I highly recommend a trip.

For the Love of God, Can Someone Start Kissing My Ass Soon, Please?

Seriously.  I’m usually the first to complain about ass kissers, but I feel like there are certain times in one’s life when one’s ass ought to be thoroughly kissed.  Kissed so much it becomes raw and chapped and suffers from a severe case of stubble burn.  And one of those times is when you’re potentially going to drop thousands of dollars in someone’s lap.  Let me explain:

I’ve been planning my wedding off and on for a few months now, and I’m baffled by the attitudes I’ve received from many venue representatives.  I’m not talking about little things like delays in getting back to me, although I’ve had my fair share of those experiences.  No, I’m talking about those people who seem completely put out that they even have to deal with my inquiry in the first place – Those people who, even by the tone of their e-mails, are rolling their eyes and heaving exasperated sighs over how I dared ask such completely outlandish questions like, oh I don’t know, the rental cost?  Whether I can have a tour?  Whether they have availability on a few select dates?

Here’s a perfect example.  A few weeks back I attempted to contact a local venue in a large city park.  After waiting a couple of weeks with no response, I sent a second e-mail and attached the first.  Three days later, I finally heard back with an invitation to visit the site during business hours (11-5).  The response was sent after hours, around 6:00 pm.

The following day (yesterday), I sent a reply at 7:00 pm asking whether it would be possible to visit the site today around lunch.  Now, I was well aware that I was e-mailing after hours and that there was a very good chance my message would not be viewed until this morning, but I sent it on the off-chance that the rep checked her e-mail outside of work, and I based this possibility on the fact that her reply to me was sent after hours.

Today, I received this response around 1:30 pm:

Sorry, I could not get back to you earlier.  We are here from 11 am to 5 pm today.  I would have phoned you if I had a number.

That’s it.  No “hello,” no signature line, no nothing.  Just a snarky last line pushing the blame on me for not having the foresight to give her my number.  For starters, I tend not to willy-nilly hand out my number to any sort of wedding industry rep because those people are often relentless if they sense the slightest bit of actual interest.  But I shouldn’t have been worried here since clearly this woman isn’t at all concerned with offending me – You know, the person who is inquiring about spending THOUSANDS OF DOLLARS to rent her site for a FEW HOURS.

Nevertheless, I responded somewhat politely:

It’s perfectly okay – Things got pretty busy for me anyway.  Are you available this coming Tuesday around 4:15?

My number is XXX-XXX-XXXX if you need to reach me by phone.

And she replied:

YES, THAT WILL BE FINE.  SEE YOU ON TUESDAY.

OMG.  Why are you YELLING at me?!?!?

So, partially in an effort to grate on her nerves and partially because I honestly had no idea where I was going and I hate driving around like an idiot and ending up parked in the wrong place, I asked:

Great – I know where the mansion is just by driving past – Is parking right there as well?

And she said:

Yes, you can park in our parking lot.

I can just hear the “OBVIOUSLY, dumbass” left untyped at the end of that sentence, can’t you? 

SIGH.  Maybe I’ll just pitch a tent in my driveway and invite people over for hot dogs and beer.

I Think My Parents are Trying to Kill Me.

So I was supposed to go back to Georgia next week to help my parents after my dad’s hip replacement. Turns out the trip is being postponed because my dad’s surgeon had to have an emergency appendectomy over the weekend.

I was talking to my mom about the change of plans, and my dad was in the background:

Dad – Tell her we’ll cover the cost of the flight if she has to change it.

Me – I got trip insurance. Dad was on the phone with me when I booked it. He suggested the insurance.

Mom – She got the insurance.

Dad – (muttering)

Mom – He thought that was just for if the plane crashed.

Me – WHAT?!?!? What the hell good would THAT do me????

Mom – Hahahahaha!!!!

Me – THANKS, DAD.

Mom – Well, you know, that might be a good kind of thing to get too.

Awesome.