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.