This morning I learned that the guy I chat with briefly every morning at the bus stop is actually my neighbor. Like lives in my building, on my floor, is the guy I can hear talking when I'm in the shower. I think we both felt like idiots.

I'm slowly starting to feel human again. This is amazing, considering I'm part zombie.

How do you title something like this?

I took a break from my very rare internet blogging to deal with some family issues. I had hoped for a better resolution than this and an opportunity to possibly donate bone marrow for my mother.

Sadly, she died on the 9th. I spent the week in Warminster with my father and sister planning the funeral. It was as surreal as it gets. One week I'm talking to my mom about politics and the next I'm picking out what clothes to bury her in.

If my mother wanted anything for me, it was my happiness. She and my father taught me important lessons about how to treat people. The main thing my parents have done for me as an adult was to unconditionally accept me as I was. They never once made comments about who I dated, my living situation, my career choice, what college I attended or anything else. They were nothing but supportive. My mother never gave unsolicited advice. And when she gave advice, she told me I was always free to ignore it and do what I thought was best because she didn't raise an idiot.

My mother wasn't perfect, but she did manage to just accept people as they were and not constantly judge them for not being enough. I see countless examples of parents and families who look down on each other for things that really should be non-issues.

Possibly the best piece of advice my father ever gave me was "Your job is not YOU."

It hasn't entirely sunk in yet that I'll never have an opportunity to talk to my mother again. I think her being sick in the hospital for so long made it somewhat usual for her to be absent. I think it'll really hit me when I return back to work on Monday and pause to decide whether I should go home first or visit my mother first.

It's hard to know what the future holds from here. It's hard period.

Phillies. Phans. Phuck.

I'm really happy that Philadelphia has a championship. Really I am.

But if people don't stop throwing trash everywhere in my neighborhood, I'm going to scream. There are trash cans EVERYWHERE on nearly every corner. Clean up after yourselves.

The parade looked festive from what I could see. I have an excellent view of Broad Street from my apartment. After they won the series, people started pouring out of their apartments onto the streets. It was a sea of red and white. Remarkably peaceful, especially by Philadelphia standards. I could have done without the WOOOOOOOOOOOOOing that went on until 3am, coupled with the charming sounds of car horns. But seeing as I'm 27 years old and have never seen a sports team here win, it's been cool.

Heading up to Warminster on Monday. Good times.

PSA

If someone offers you alcohol with a dead snake floating in it, don't drink it. Unless puking on the way home is your idea of fun; in which case you should definitely drink it.

And that's all I've got to say about that.

Ineptitude.

Everyone is bad at something. In no particular order, these are the following things in life that give me the most difficulty operating.

DVD players: I was babysitting a few weeks ago and had to explain to the 4 year old that I honestly have no idea what the 900 buttons on the remote actually do. She suggested just hitting them all until something happened. Smart kid. If it was a matter of just pushing play, then you could argue I'm an idiot. But these things are getting complicated enough that I feel like I need an engineering degree to watch Bubba Hotep.

Mussels: I struggle to consume these delightful sea treasures.

Plastic : Specifically garbage bags, anything that is allegedly resealable or easy to open. Cut to me cursing in the kitchen and hunting for scissors.

Feet I fall a lot.

David Sedaris would suggest a drink

Today I had blood work done to see if I'm a possible candidate for a bone marrow transplant. For my mother. It was surreal in a way I can't explain. On one hand, it's a simple procedure that took less than 2 minutes. On the other, it's an enormous weight on my mind.

The odds of me being a match are fairly abysmal. I feel an overwhelming sense of guilt and shame because of this. Something that I know intellectually is beyond my control.

These aren't the things you prepare yourself for as you get older.

No Country for Old Men. This means you John.

Well fuck, I forgot about this thing. What has happened since August 25th? I'm back in Rittenhouse. Same job, no more horrible roommate and still have a knack for encountering the craziest fuckers Philadelphia has to offer. But enough. This is what I came to post. It made my heart sing.

The airing of grievances

Stuff I hate. In no special order

1) Marathon Grill. I realize this is petty and it's not even that horrible of a place. But really, do we need 4 of them in Center City alone? Why?

2) The Santimommies and Stupordaddies at the Park These folks seemingly buy whole heartedly into the Kindergarchy. Your kid is not more important than anyone else's kid. Stop sitting on the bench for hours while your lil monster bites other kids. And stop deputizing perfect strangers and assuming they'll watch your child while you go get coffee. Either pay attention to your kids and actually parent them or stop breeding. I don't care which one. These are the same folks who caution against letting kids play because they could get wet or something. Listen, unless it's battery acid on the slide, the kid will be fine.

3) The nannies and au pairs at the park Once again, you sit on the bench and do the absolute minimum required to keep the kid alive. So long as it doesn't involve moving or letting the kid out of the stroller. Ironically, both caregivers and parents are guilty of this and yet I get to hear I'm such a good nanny because I play with the kids. Um, that's my job and yours too. Try doing it.

4) Trader Joe's Actually the store rocks. The people who come in at 6pm and act shocked that there is a line kill me.

5) Trips to Kentucky This is where I get to visit the boyfriend's family and enjoy a weeks worth of judgmental comments and ridiculous assumptions. And there's no alcohol because the are part of a cult... er, religion that says drinking is bad. In the past I've managed to get through with minimal drinking, but this situation calls for creativity and a lingering numbness to make it bearable. My solution is going to be a travel coffee mug with a shot of Jameson in it. I figure two cups per day should help me be better equipped to deal with the variety of insults that tend to tumble out of their mouths. I think the key is to drink slowly and steadily. The goal here is to be adequately intoxicated and yet avoid any awkward "We think you have a problem" speeches.

Wish me luck, eh?

For fuck's sake

I am beginning to think I shouldn't leave the house. I am beginning to not want to leave the house. The men of Philadelphia will not leave me alone to enjoy my Metro, my coffee, shopping or any other activity. I'm young, I'm female and apparently I'm on the menu. Kill me.

A friend of a friend has decided he would like to have sex with me. Neato, but I'm already seriously involved and also seriously repulsed by the idea that a guy like that is even attracted to me. It's one of those things where I think that if someone like that (and by like that, I mean a transparent player with a side of pseudo intellectual bullshit) would be interested in me, I should re-evaluate my life and perhaps how I appear to people. Because if it seems like I'd ever go for someone that is clearly shady, I may be putting out a vibe that I don't mean to.

I mean, glad that you think I'm attractive, but why don't you go have a beer instead of staring at me like I'm a fucking animal at the zoo? Whatever happened to manners, tact and class? Do men really just get off on competing with other men to the point that they don't notice that the woman he's competing for would rather stab herself in the face with an icepick that respond positively to his sexual overtures?

In other news, I've officially moved to Rittenhouse Square. I live in a lovely high rise. It's great to have a 15 minute commute to work in West Philly. And it's absolutely fan-fucking-tastic and amazing to no longer live with my fucktard of a roommate any more! No more dogs, dog shit, disgusting food in the slow cooker for days on end! No more cleaning up messes I wasn't home to make! No more unemployed jerkoff talking to me about how all women are! No more sex with the door open! No more ridiculous bills being handed to me! YAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Seriously, I hated that guy and if I ever see him again I'll struggle to refrain from throwing him into the river.

Hmm.

For the life of me, I cannot figure out how it got there or why a salt shaker is sitting on my bed side table.

The burdens of popularity

From time to time the men of this grand city like to try their luck and start talking to me. Sometimes, it's funny.

Him: Wow, you're really pretty
Me: *uncomfortable glance* Um, thanks?
Him: Sitting here looking all sexy
Me: Right
Him: You got a boyfriend?
Me: Yep
Him: You ought to have 10, cause of how pretty you is

*snort* I totally agree. Because one man isn't enough trouble!

I've actually grown tired hearing how pretty, beautiful, sexy and gorgeous I am. Ah, to be young and evidently so attractive. My burden is so heavy.

All sarcasm aside, WTF? I think I'm an attractive girl, but I don't think I warrant nearly the amount of attention I get. Which is every time I leave the house. What can I do about it really? Threaten to snap their cock off? Would that even work?

I make friends everywhere I go these days. Gay, straight. If it has a penis, it wants to talk to me. I don't want to cram pimpage. I want to read the Metro in peace. What about headphones, sunglasses, a newspaper and a scowl says "In the market for dick" to people? Cause I gotta fix it.

What am I listening to?

I'm glad you asked. My best musical discoveries in the past few months are the following:

MGMT
Black Kids

And as of last night, James Yuill. I suggest the "No Pins Allowed" video. The boyfriend pointed me to this last night and for whatever reason, I love it.

MGMT will be in town on the 25th. Unfortunately when they first were coming to town, I missed buying tickets. I walked around really annoyed with myself for a solid two days. But! I posted on craigslist to get tickets... And instead the dude from R5 Productions emailed me to let me know the venue had changed (to the acoustically shitty Starlight Ballroom) and that tickets were again available. I will take my chances and report back. I imagine MGMT will sound better than Ted Leo did. The highlight of that show was the man in the back who literally turned the entire room into his own personal version of So You Think You Can Dance. He danced nonstop. It was both bewildering and really ballsy. I have to wonder what combination of substances produces that effect.

I was supposed to see the Black Kids at World Cafe a few weeks back, but I didn't managed to get out of bed before noon. Disturbing, no?

Granted, I'm listening to more stuff than listed, but who wants to read a blog where a random stranger tries to give out dozens of band recommendations or worse, out-indie you by naming bands so obscure they only exist in my head?

American Splendor

I saw a bald eagle flying overhead this afternoon. It was sort of shocking, seeing as I don't associate Philadelphia with a large and diverse wildlife population. Still, it was definitely an eagle. On Saturday, I managed to see a falcon (90% sure it was a falcon) chilling in a field in Bucks County. That was less shocking, but equally cool.

This is what I do instead of going to sleep. I blog about birds.

Stardust Memories

My mother asked me if I'd be attending my high school reunion next year. I graduated in 1999. I was sort of shocked that she asked if I'd go to the reunion, seeing as I skipped the graduation ceremony altogether. Come to think of it, I didn't do my college graduation either. I'm not sure there's anyone I went to school with that I couldn't stalk via google or myspace if I was that insanely curious about their life.

I know this because last year a boy I hadn't seen since 5th grade managed to find me on myspace and send me a message. We used to chase each other around the playground like idiots. I was both surprised and happy to hear from him. Very few other people fall into that category, ya know? It's not like I actively shun people that used to know me, but I'm barely recognizable compared to who I was in high school. The thing of it is that when a person has changed who they are, it's not really all that fun to spend an evening being continually reminded. Or worse, people who assume no one ever changes and still behave towards you like the past is still applicable.

I was the poster child for a depressed adolescent. I was a slacker and a stoner. I was unmotivated and bored out of my mind. Things got a lot better for me and I really like the person I've become. The last thing I want to do is spend an evening in a room of people who will be looking me over trying to determine if I've gotten fatter or uglier (negative), if I'm still a stoner (negative) and if I ever managed to go to school (yes. still paying. thanks Drexel!)

How fun is that? Then of course are the three lifestyle questions I hate answering. Every time I run into anyone, it is inevitable these things are asked in this order

"So, are you married?"
"Do you have any kids?"

And when the answer to the first two is no...

"Aw, why not? You're pretty/There's still time/Don't jump off the Ben Franklin bridge yet!" *insert sympathetic look here*

I never ask anyone those questions. Because they are fucking annoying as hell. All they do is succeed in making me wonder if I'm living in 1945 and that career goals, financial goals, a desire for travel and just plain having fun are concepts from an alternate universe or if I'm supposed to be weeping myself to sleep since my finger is still not adorned with a shiny rock. I am not a walking uterus or an egg farm.

The last person who asked me about having kids and why not. I said "That doctor said all the whiskey isn't good for babies"

If you want to tell me all about your wedding and your lovely children, go for it. Don't try to make me feel better about something that, before this year, never registered as something I should feel bad about.

So no mom, I won't be going to the reunion.

Take it to the park, see if the squirrels care

Me: "Wait, isn't that song about heroin? What are you saying?

Him: "You're as delightful as heroin"

I love getting beer at the Tap Room. My eyes are death rays.

Sums it up, eh?

Like Fran Dresher without the accent

I decided to not take the new job offer, even though the salary was higher. And the health insurance. And the paid for Septa pass. Why?

It was a nanny share, which basically means two families team up to split the costs. 3 out of 4 of them were really nice. Intelligent, charming, laid back. I really liked them all. They made polite conversation, asked thoughtful questions that were relevant to my experience and the job at hand. But the one guy. He was the biggest asshole I ever met. After the initial interview he called me up to ask some more questions. Such as "What were you doing between October 2001 and December 2001? Um, helping care for a family member with cancer, douche bag. Thanks so much for bringing it up. Apparently he thought this gap on my resume was a red flag. I got off the phone feeling awful. I mean first, who wants to have someone suspiciously question them for 45 minutes? And secondly, it was a painful time in my life. I declined to answer and said something about looking for work instead. I was offered the job earlier in the week and I turned it down entirely because of him. If he was that intense and intrusive on the phone, I can only imagine he'd break down and have a royal fit if he ran into me drinking a beer on a weekend. No thanks. I'll stick with working for people who aren't insane.

He called my boss for a reference at one point and he actually said to her "It sounds like she got a lot of on the job training at your house" *sputter*

Riiiiiiighhht. I greatly enjoy when first time parents imply that somehow, even though I've been working with kids since I was a teenager and have been a full time nanny for all of my adult career, I somehow don't have as much experience as they do at raising children (please note this dude's kid is still in utero). I hate to tell people that their ability to have children doesn't automatically bestow some great knowledge onto them, but it's true. The point is that after reading "The No Asshole Rule", I'm determined to keep as many of them out of my life as possible. No amount of money is worth being tortured for.

In 38 days, we'll be back to Center City. I may actually begin packing ASAP. I'm just very excited to be getting out of my living situation.

In a wildly optimistic gesture

Um.

This has been a good week. No more cancer. I got a great job offer that I'm contemplating. And the MGMT show that was sold out got moved to a bigger venue and now I can go. I'm half tempted to purchase a lottery ticket, just in case I'm on some sort of winning streak.

I need to put on a clean shirt and head out to Quizzo.

The best news yet

My mom is in remission. No more leukemia. Her body is producing platelets at a normal rate.

I broke down crying after I got off the phone with her. I was just so relieved, grateful.

All we ever want is more time with those closest to us and I'm hopeful I will be getting a lot more of it. University of Penn is an amazing hospital

In other news, my sister is moving to Boston in August. I'll miss her terribly and my life won't be the same without our constant banter. That said, I have a free place to stay in Boston. This makes me happy.

I also have beer and brie to snack on. Everything's coming up Milhouse!

On men.

Tonight, for the first time in a long time, a man hit on me in a way that didn't make me want to punch him in the crotch. It was refreshing. Respectful, normal, understood when I said I was married (which I'm not, but it's easier than saying "I'm happily coupled with my long term domestic partner"), didn't follow me to my door because he didn't want me to think he was crazy. If I was single, he would have gotten my number. Simply by not being a complete tool.

Juxtapose this with the usual crap I get to hear.

"Wow, you've got a nice ass" Um. Thanks?

Upon being politely told I'm not interested because I'm with someone
"No ring, no rules"

"Hey bitch, let me talk to you" .... Do people go for this? Are there a lot of people wandering around the get turned on by being degraded by strangers?

My favorite though is men who try to talk to me... when I'm out with my boyfriend. Or any other group of male friends. But especially when I'm actually physically there with my boyfriend and it starts. I mean, good grief, there are plenty of horny single women in Philadelphia. I'm not single. Please go about your day, nothing to see here!

My friends have stated this kind of crap doesn't happen to them regularly, whereas I reject people all day long. Even when I'm pushing a stroller at work, someone wants to know if I want to have some more kids and that I can call him when I do *puke* I guess some gals have all the luck, eh?

I could go the rest of my life without hearing "Hey shorty" or my friends hearing "Who's your cute friend" or "Where is she going? I wanted to talk to her?" or the more vulgar versions.

Evidently not throwing battery acid in their faces is a sign of sexual interest. Who knew?

I hate my roommate

Yes, I do. I hate my roommate, how bout you?

I'm convinced he's just fucking with us. Because it's not really possible to be this obtuse. Or is it?

I mentioned to him that this living situation might not be working for us and that we'd keep him updated regarding any changes. So two days later, he tells me him and his girlfriend might be looking for a place this fall. OK, good for you. Then he said something to the effect of "Well, it could happen quickly or it may take awhile, so if you could just hold off on moving until we find a place... " and then I stopped listening.

Dude. I hate living with you. My boyfriend really hates living with you. I hate the fact that you made some ridiculous dinner, allowed it to form an inch of burnt rice on my pot and then you WALKED AWAY. I scraped the burnt crap off my pot (45 minutes) and put it back in the sink, curious to see how long it might take him to clean it. Three days. And he only did it because I was in the fucking kitchen putting the rest of my cookware away. His excuse for not cleaning it? "It was hot"

OMG.WTF.BBQ.

So with things like that in mind, why the hell would I stop looking for a new place until he finds one himself? I told him that as a courtesy, so that he wouldn't be completely blindsided when I announce I've found a new place that doesn't come with a 35 year old idiot.

I found a great new job opportunity. It would be perfect.

What the hell are the odds that this goes entirely my way?

And I hate that my first reaction is "Wow. How soon til this goes wrong?"

I've become much more cynical about some things (schooling, work) and much less about others (relationships, hope in general)

My mother is back in the hospital receiving platelets. Have I mentioned I hate cancer? I think my heart just about stopped when my sister told me. And here's the thing, why didn't I find this out til I happened to call her this afternoon? Why do her and my dad seem to think I can magically sense a disturbance in the force and know what's going on without being told?

Define Lame

The insane amount of excitement I felt shopping for a binder, dividers and sheet protectors at Walgreen's. I was excited because today I organized my collection of recipes. They all now live in one binder, properly organized and ready to go.

If I had it to do over, I should have been a chef or one of those dietitians who spends all their life in the kitchen creating new recipes. I think I would have enjoyed that a lot.

Shoot it in the right direction

Leaving the radio on while you attempt to have sex can have unintended but humorous consequences.

What is the best of all possible songs to hear during foreplay? Why Frankie Goes to Hollywood with Relax of course.

Deep Thoughts

I've been off work for 5 days. Why am I more tired now than I am when I work?

I am becoming more convinced that me and my friend share a brain on some level. Every time I have taken the train back to Bucks County to visit my mother, inevitably, we run into each other. It's a bit weird. I've seen her 5/6 train rides.

I'm moving out of my urine soaked hell hole in August. Words cannot express how happy I am about this.

Speaking of visiting Bucks County, all I do when I'm there is shop. It's ridiculous.

Also, watching your parents getting older and being sick sucks. Seeing my father on crutches and my mother barely mobile is a terrible feeling of powerlessness. I hate leukemia, I really do. I'm going to look into becoming a marrow donor. Surely my marrow could be of service to someone.

I need a vacation. But instead, I'm going to work myself into an early grave in an attempt to become debt free by age 30. If that doesn't work, my goal will be to become a professional vagrant in my 30's. Dream big!

I need more people to hang out with. Specifically, I need other foodies (how much do I hate myself for using the term), people who like art and museums and people who like good beer. I'd like to join a book club of some kind as well.

Sweet fuck.

Dear Mayor Nutter,

I know you were interested in the opinions and ideas of some of Philadelphia's best and brightest. I make no apologies for myself, I am solely looking out for my own best interest. I think we need to introduce a new "Trap and Release" program in our city.

Aimed at teenagers.

I should not have to live in fear that a bunch of children are going do me harm on my way home (you know, from my job. Which none of these fuckers seem to have). Imagine my surprise when I exited the subway yesterday evening (and what a surprise, no cops. Guess they only do film related closings in Center City) and a group of girls asked me for money. I refused. I was then told I was a bitch (fair assessment for those who know me), a big ass bitch (might be fair) and they told me to keep walking or they'd kick my ass. Um, excuse me? I'm 26 years old. I should have a number to call to make sure these feral children are captured, taken to a facility, sterilized and then released. Why? Because frankly this degree of stupidity and entitlement probably has hereditary and/or environmental roots and their ability to fuck should not create another generation of morons who harass tax payers for change. I do not care which, despite my social services background. What I do care about is that teenagers feel untouchable.

They feel like they could assault me or any other unlikely individual because they know they will be treated as children in a court of law. Meanwhile, if a capable adult hit one of these pwecious children back, we'd be looking at serious repercussions. I know, I know. I heard constantly in my program that youth need something to do. This is only half of the picture. What they need is parents who give a damn. Who care enough to bother saying "Hey, that's wrong" What we have now is generation after generation raised by teenage parents and we're seeing the results of that. Parents who want to be friends rather that disciplinarians. Parents who are giving their kids an allowance based on how much weed they sell for them. And I say, the solution is to stop letting idiots have children.

If I need a license to have a dog or to drive a car, what is stopping Uncle Sam from making sure that I'm not incapable of teaching the next generation before mother nature gifts me with a child? Why do we wait until our incompetent DSS shows up after the fact?

Thanks,
A Concerned Citizen

Obtuse.

Lately I've really had a strong desire to stop renting, stop dealing with ridiculous roommates and just BE. I'm domestically oriented by nature and the idea of having some lovely Victorian home (preferably to restore) appeals to me. Unfortunately I'm not exactly swimming in a few thousand extra dollars at the moment. My goal is to begin saving something, anything towards this goal beginning in September. And to pay off all other debt ASAP. Aunt Sallie is a bitch.

Speaking of ridiculous roommates, ours can't figure out why we have an issue with him leaving the door open while he's having sex. His argument was that if he heard us, he'd be happy for us. We were not complaining about volume, asshat. We were lamenting on the complete lack of respect you have for others. If you really don't mind people having sex wherever they feel like it, then I suppose there's no reason for us and a few friends to refrain from going at it in the kitchen while you're cooking or watching TV. The boyfriend has also threatened to implement an open door shitting policy while he's eating dinner. Perhaps that would convey the message that hey, doors are neato.

To be completely honest, it's hard not to want to mess with a person who is being deliberately obtuse. We had considered hooking up the speakers and playing Michael Jackson's "Beat It" at an intense volume whenever the open door fucking begins. Alternatively, it might be fun to convince our roommate that we're involved in some sort of illegal activity. Have various people start calling and dropping by at all hours, behave in a paranoid manner. This is what I do instead of actually snapping. I daydream.

Poor Satan. He's going to come for your soul and leave empty handed.

Sometimes you realize that adulthood hasn't exactly been as you had pictured it. I look at the boyfriend and I. We both went to college. Drexel and Ohio State. We both work jobs that have nothing to do with what we studied. He can't seem to find a good full time job that isn't soul crushing or completely unethical. Meanwhile, I work with children and have somehow managed to work 30 hours a week and bring home a full time salary. And the rest of our friends work at a variety of jobs that range in flavor from tedious and unfulfilling to soul crushing and a reason to drink alone.

This is not what they tell you in school. They don't tell you that you're acquiring thousands of dollars in student loan debt in order to be a good worker bee until the day you keel over dead. They don't tell you that college attendance in and of itself is a guarantee of nothing other than short lived daily intellectual stimulation that you miss during your more mind numbing days at work. What I wouldn't give to spend my day waxing poetic about feminist theory. Hell. I'd settle for debating the best model for treating addiction. The days when there was an answer.

Tomorrow I will rise at 6:30am. I will wince looking at my clock. I will ready myself for my day. I'll get on the subway and try to avoid becoming a victim of feral teenagers. I will get off at Broad and Walnut. I will wait for my bus and read the Metro. I will take care of babies and note all of the cool new stuff they do during the day for their parents. I will do puzzles while they sleep. My afternoon will cap off at Clark Park, weather permitting. I can map all of this out because this is about all I have going on. I read nearly constantly these days because I feel like apoptosis of my brain cells is eminent.

Wait. What the hell was I going to say next? This is my point.

We built this city on rock and roll.

Love is...

Getting up early to clean your bedroom, because over the course of the week it looked like the Paper Elf had been littering the end tables with train schedules, receipts and maps. I vacuumed the floor. I dusted. I DUSTED. I wiped down the bathroom. A feeling of joy sweeps over me. My cats look at me as if I've finally lost my mind.

The boyfriend made lunch. It was delicious. He then mopped the floor and vacuumed both floors. This is love. Or, it is OCD in the most magnificent form.

What is not love? The realization that our ridiculous roommate is incapable of doing any of these tasks. He is also incapable of cleaning dishes, putting them back in the cabinets after they've dried, using a vacuum, cleaning his bathroom, wiping off counters, etc. He IS capable of eating our food and finishing off ice cream. Is it August yet?

The sociopath in the next room.

What's grosser than gross? My roommate!

In general I don't mind this person, but the sanitation leaves a lot to be desired. I have lived here for 3 weeks. So far, I have coped with the following:

Fun with Salmonella: This is what you risk when you prepare raw chicken and touch surface after surface without washing your hands. Touch the counter, touch the stove, touch the fridge and turn yourself around. That's what it's all about. I have to wonder if he thinks salmonella is some sort of urban legend.

Slow Cook in Perpetuity: Your average person makes dinner in a slow cooker, leaves it on for 6-8 hours, eats and then refrigerates the contents. Unless of course you're insane. Then you think it's OK to leave the cooker on for 3 days and continue eating the contents. I'll give you a minute to process that.

Fun with Feces: Why house train your dog when you're home? Let your brand new roommates discover the fun and joy of having shit conveniently at their door. Make sure not to clean it up after you've obviously seen it. Bonus points for allowing the dog to saturate the carpet with piss.

Exhibitionist Tendencies: Have sex with your girlfriend. Leave the door WIDE open so your roommates can hear you moaning and groaning. Do this constantly so they know it's not a one time fluke.

Green Cream: Open sour cream. Discover green substance growing on the surface. Do you throw it away? Nah. Simply remove to green funk and enjoy!

Can I use your bathroom? You know, the bathroom that is connected to your bedroom and doesn't have locks on it? Cause that's not weird at all. No sir.

The theme here is "squalor"

I remember when me and The Boy started dating and I first went to his apartment. He shared this apartment with 3 other guys. He instructed me to not touch anything in the kitchen for fear I'd manage to be infected by the millions of bacteria he guessed were lurking on the countertop. I heeded his advice and left unscathed. I remember asking if the theme of the apartment was squalor because, well, it looked like a bunch of dudes lived there. Good times.

This isn't exactly related, but the neighborhood I live in is somewhat filthy. And by "somewhat", I mean completely. I take the subway to work every day. When I came home on Monday night I was utterly amazed at the amount of trash casually dancing in the staircase, more still hanging out on the street. Seriously, two steps were hazardous due to the lovely folks who couldn't quite understand the purpose of the trashcan. Which was literally 4 feet away.

The other night I saw a guy walking down Broad Street with fries in his hands. He decides he's finished and hurls them into the air. Again, the trash can was a foot away. What the hell?

There is something seriously wrong if you can't be bothered to clean up after yourself. Are these people missing the spinal flexibility that allows you to turn at the waist and deposit trash in the can? Or do people truly not mind living in filth?

And speaking of riding the subway. You can encounter things like this. How's that for a pass perk?: