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?