Home Sweet/Glorious/Magnificent Home

I've yet to really discuss life here in Philadelphia. I suppose I've neglected to do so because I am less than ecstatic to be living here. I've lived here a solid 4 years, and the city has lost the charm that it once had. Perhaps it's the area I live in. Perhaps it's because I haven't had the opportunity to really enjoy the city while I've been here, rather I've been consumed with work from day one.

One thing that I do love about Philadelphia, is my apartment. There is literally nothing I don't like about it. It's a wonderful, spacious, one bedroom that is full of character. I love that I can not only afford to live alone here, but can do so while maintaining a reasonable square footage. I have never seen a bug. I have never seen a rodent. I have hardwood floors! I have HUGE closets! Heat is included in my rent, which in many cases could be a negative thing, but my wonderful little apartment is miraculously kept at the perfect climate at all times. It's in a lovely little building, on a lovely little tree lined street (which just so happens to border the ghetto). And although my neighbors could potentially be a bit more social and friendly, they are at the very least quiet. No loud parties, no drunk girls passed out on the stairs.

When I arrived home after class last Thursday, I was greeted with a flyer taped to my door, which isn't unusual for the management to do. It usually signifies the need to enter my apartment for some maintenance reason or another. Upon investigation, I was surprised to find within the letter, an announcement that the building had been sold and was now under new management. Since when was it even for sale? And more importantly, what did this mean for me? Probably not a whole lot, but I couldn't help but feel a little unsettled. The previous property manager was very friendly and attentive: always quick to respond to any requests or problems. Would the new management do the same? And what about the beautiful heat control? Oh crap. Would I now have to join the ranks of other area college students, sporting long underwear and winter coats in the comfort of my own home?

I'm happy to report that conditions have stayed temperate thus far, and I have continued to be one happy pup. But what's even better, I went down to the basement tonight to throw in a load of laundry, and was greeted by 2 BRAND SPANKIN' NEW washers and dryers. This is an extremely exciting development here at the T for Tough apartment.

Unfortunately, these appliances could mean widespread disappointment for the residents of New York City.

It is no secret that come graduation in June, I have long planned to pack up and leave, and it has been largely speculated that NYC will be the place of my eventual relocation. I have new places to go, new people to see, and new wine bars to be financially irresponsible at. There is very little keeping me here, albeit a couple acquaintances that are sticking around...and my apartment.

Anyone who has lived in a major city on a budget knows how hard it is to come by a really fantastic apartment. As tough as it will be to give it up in exchange for god-knows-what, the upgraded facilities certainly will not add to the ease of transition. It's like the management company is secretly plotting against me, by vying for me. I KNOW I'm an awesome tenant, I KNOW you want me to stay in Philadelphia, but there are some NYC bagels with my name all over them, and you're really going to have to let me go.

Brought to you by Valentines Day

LOVE IS...when you ask your best friend to come smell your armpit and she does it without thinking twice.

A Bigger Bite

I never really updated on the whole meat challenge. Technically I think I failed. That second meat-eating week came and went without consuming an entire meaty meal. I blame it on finals...But I have since delved into the poultry world with defiance! Back in Rochester (post finals) due to the care, enthusiasm and culinary wonders of Mama T., hardly a meal went by without incorporation of the bird. I've got the whole chicken thing down. I've even tried salmon and crab (well...crab dip anyway) from the crab capital of the world (MD for those uninformed)! So what if I missed my deadline? Timeliness has never been my forte and doesn't the end justify the means? I hereby declare Meat Challenge 2006/2007 a success! (crowd cheers, young children throw flower petals, etc.).

Holiday Cheer!

Man, I really suck at this whole blogging thing. I think it's because I assume that nobody reads it, and really, isn't the purpose of blogging to be loved and adored? (kidding...sort of) Anyway, lets get to it.

It is a brand new year, hopefully full of brand new adventures. And with the coming of a new year comes the obligatory new years resolution. In reaction to my distaste for half-hearted vows, I have thought long and hard about what this testament should be.

My new years resolution is to celebrate obscure holidays.

We hear about them all the time. And unless they lead to getting a day off school or work, we may have even scoffed at them at one point or another. But ladies and gentlemen, I have decided to embrace these holidays in hopes of a more entertaining, more culturally aware year. And without further ado, I present to you a partial list of what 2007 may hold:

January 4: National Trivia Day? Okay!
January 21: National Hugging Day? Why not!
February 8: National Boyscout Anniversary Day? Scavenger hunt mania!
February 11: White Shirt Day? GRAFFITI PARTY!
February 22: National Introduce a Girl to Engineering Day? ummm HE-LLO, I go to DREXEL...and would now like to start accepting applications from hot, nerdy guys willing to let me follow them around.
March 16: National Lips Appreciation Day? Make out buddy!
March 26: Make up Your Own Holiday Day? Don't mind if I do!
April 29: National Dance Day? Come out and I'll show you my moves.
April 21: National kindergarten Day: Lets go get some pinkeye!
May: National BBQ Month? Hot damn!
May 5: Cinco de Mayo? More like Drinko de Mayo!
May 7: Melanoma Monday? Here comes the sun!
June 14: Flag Day? Who's up for some flag football?
July 12: National Jello day (also Bill Cosby's bday)? Jello shots!
July 15: National ice cream day? HOLLER.
August 1: National Girlfriend's day? Alright, so clearly I need to be in a relationship for this one, but hey: I have 7 months to find one. And once I do, I fully intend on celebrating this holiday.
August 8: National Underwear Day? So what are the chances that they created this one for Britney Spears?
August 17: National Sandcastle Day? Beach trip!
September 25: National One Hit Wonder Day? Man do I love themed parties


...So that's as far as I got before getting tired of looking...but you get the point.
Obviously there are some awesome holidays out there. But it needs to be said that some of them aren't so great. Those of you who know me well, also know my feelings regarding the neighboring state of New Jersey. July 1-7 is National Be Nice to New Jersey Week. And to that I say: No Way in Hell.

conjunctivitis got me down

i have pink eye. Yes...pink eye; that nasty little infection victimizing the kindergardeners of the world? i have it.

I'm not really sure how I contracted such a gross infection. I haven't even been around kids! Maybe I got it from holding a grab bar on the Philadelphia subway, sans Purell. I'm in the throws of infection and it seems to be that time when everyone's true colors begin to show. It's like I've resorted back to the playground in 5th grade, and no one wants to play with me. I can envision how my upcoming phone conversation might go:

Me: Hey Mish, are we still on for dinner tonight?
Michelle: Yeah, definitely
Me: Oh, there's this one little thing...I have pinkeye
Michelle: Oh crap, I totally forgot. Tonight's my mom's cousin's boss' boyfriend's family christmas party. I already rsvp'ed...but lets reschedule for next week, ok?


I really can't blame my friends. I wouldn't want to be around me either. Which is why I was upset when this conversation occured at the pharmacy today:

Pharmacy Technician: Kelly T for Tough? Kelly T for Tough?
Me: Yep, right here!
PT: Hi Ma'am, I have your one prescription, but we don't have the pinkeye medication in stock, so you'll have to come back tomorrow.
Me: TOMMORROW?? Can you not see that I am a 21 year old with pinkeye? Can you not see the two wooly mammoth eyebrows growing over my pink, gooey eye that are way out of control and are supposed to be getting waxed today? Can you not understand that noone wants to be around me because they're afraid of catching this kindergarden infection themselves? Can you not see that pink is not a very becoming color for my eye and that you are making it increasingly difficult to go out and join the other hussies to find me a man at the bar? TOMMORROW IS UNACCEPTABLE!!!!

Apparently my powers of persuasion were in full effect today, because that technician promptly called the prescription in to a neighboring Wegmans.

BBQ Bite

November 28, 2006 is a day that will go down in infammy. For I, Kelly T for Tough, longtime vegetarian of 11 years, ate chicken. What is happening to this world that such an event actually occurred!? Next thing you know I'll be renouncing my diabetes.

The denial of chronic diseases?! Now THAT is serious.

The trouble is, I've yet to delve into the fleshy goodness since. Perhaps I went about it the wrong way. Perhaps trying the one itty bitty bite of bbq chicken was not the way to go. I've always been a "go big or go home" kinda gal, and really, why should this be any different? I've never been called a tease (okay, i have... but work with me here) and i'm not going to start now. It is far too monumental of an event to renig on this carnivorous activity. I am done with baby steps. Therefore, I am setting forth a meat eating deadline. By December 12, 2006 (the two week anniversary of the bbq bite) I vow to eat chicken again...and not just a wussy little bite, a valiant, balls-to-the-wall poultry meal! Your support is welcomed, and albeit finals, I will do my best to blog results of the meat challenge in a timely fashion.

storytime

In light of the update void, I will now grace y'all with a selection of events from the past couple weeks...That's right friends; it's storytime.

Story 1
Anna, Nate, Hal and myself have planned a little Spring Break trip to Mexico, via cruise. The whole thing is all paid for and everyone is very excited about the upcoming vacation. The only thing left to do in preparation was to sit down and buy our plane tickets to Florida. We painstakingly looked on every discount site imaginable before finally selecting the perfect flight. I, being a greedy asshole, proclaimed that I wanted to go first so that I could pick the seat I wanted (aisle girl all the way). I quickly shoved my credit card at Anna, before anyone else could claim the position. I got a great seat, and everything seemed to be going well.

It was then that Nate went to get his ticket. Lo and behold, there were no more available tickets on that flight. Apparently, I got the last one. Which means that Anna, Nate, and Hal are all traveling together on a later flight, and I get to wake up at 4am to take the train to the airport by myself. I also get the privilege of waiting for them in the Palm Beach airport...again, by myself. Karma's a bitch.


Story 2
I recently went to NYC for a night to visit my dear friend Lyndsay, and reminisce about when I had free nights and weekends to frolic around in the fair city. We settled on Joshua Tree, an 80s throwback bar nestled in the Jersey-ridden hell commonly known as Murray Hill.

We arrived in style but were disappointed to discover that there was no coat check in site. After scanning the coat scene for a few minutes, we ultimately decided to take careful aim, and throw our jackets on top of a lonesome jukebox. This plan worked out famously, and left us to get our drink on. We had been drinking and hanging out at the bar for some time, when an older woman approached us (I will take this opportunity to sidenote, and say that older was meant to imply a woman in her late 30s, and no dear readers, do I think 30 is old, I am simply trying to illustrate that she was generally old-er than the typical clientele at said Murray Hill bar...no disrespect!). She asked us where we had put her coats and we let her in on the brilliance of the coat jukebox. She forced her purse and drink on us to hold, disposed of said coat, and returned to chat it up.It seemed pretty harmless at first, women are typically a safe bet when engaging in conversation with a strange older person at a bar.

It was then that "Kat" asked us if we were single. Lyndsay and I casually told her we were, and Kat proceeded to tell us all about her two friends that we would "totally go for". Not knowing what these friends might be like, we proceeded with caution seeing as Kat was pushing 40. It wasn't long before Kat introduced us to her boyfriend, who PURRED and MEOWED at every mention of her name. I found it odd that Kat kept poking me in the stomach and winking as we talked with her nutjob boyfriend, but brushed it off without thinking about it too much. A little later Kat introduced us to this second friend of hers. He was significantly drunker than the other two, which may be why I didn't think it was that strange that he spoke about how long he had been "involved" with Kat and her boyfriend. Lyndsay and I began to grow uncomfortable with our new company, and threw in the bathroom card.

We casually left to use the "facilities" and turned to each other for a recap at the end of the bar. We spent the remainder of the evening in the back, afraid to run into our new friends. When we finally decided to hit the road, we put a whole series of acrobatic feats into play as we twisted and dodged to avoid them. It wasn't until we were standing in the front of the bar that we were able to look back and see all 3 of them at different areas in the bar, talking to different people.

Later, while standing on the street, it finally dawned on us that we had been accosted by swingers. Only in Murray Hill.


Story 3
Since birth, I have been cursed with the fate of being a loud talker. Even when I consciously try to speak softly, I fail. Add any type of alcohol into that equation and you're asking for trouble. Now that we've established my lack of volume control, we can get this story underway:

Sometime last week, Nate and I went out for date night. We had previously gotten tickets to the Imogen Heap concert, and decided to grab a bite to eat before hand. We settled on Valanni's, a restaurant that our favorite studio teacher had designed. Nate is one of the few people that I tend to have really deep conversations with, and somewhere throughout this particular conversation, in a moment of extreme melodrama, I declared that I sometimes doubt I'll ever get married.

Mid-conversation, a couple was seated next to us. We continued on with our discussion (again...with me attempting to censor my volume...because lets face it, the whole world doesn't need to know I'm going to die alone). A few minutes into their time at the restaurant, there was a commotion next to us. The man had moved from his seat, to a kneeling position on the floor. Nate and I looked at each other in disbelief, as we heard him ask his girlfriend to marry him. She accepted, and he returned to his seat to enjoy the evening with his brand new fiance. This was all very exciting. Neither of us had ever witnessed a proposal before, and we couldn't get over the fact that of all the times for it to happen, it occurred during that particular conversation. A few minutes passed, and once we finally picked our jaws up off the table, Nate and I turned to them with huge smiles and congratulatory wishes. They happily said thank you...right before the man turned to me, put his hand on my shoulder and said rather loudly, "I'm sorry I had to do that right after you said you didn't think you were ever going to married."

I was MORTIFIED, in a this-is-the-best-thing-that's-ever-happened-to-me, I-can't-wait-to-blog-about-it sort of way...perhaps I really am cut out for this whole writing thing?