But Call Me Betsy

Why is it that the second the weather gets above 50 degrees, people break out their beachwear? The dress code for girls on campus consists solely of flip-flops, sloppy pants or skirts, and hoodies (enough with the hoodies, already). I can't imagine women in France walking around that way--it's just so lazy. I can kind of understand sandals (though I still think people should wait until April), but I honestly don't think ff's should be worn unless (1). you're going to the beach or pool; (2). at home where absolutely no one can see you; (3). you're about to shower at the gym and don't want to contract athlete's foot in the public facilities; or (4). all of your other shoes have been destroyed in a fire and you're just wearing the ff's on the way to Payless. OMIGOD YOU GUYS, THE APOCALYPSE AS FEARED: http://www.vh1.com/shows/dyn/so_notorious/series.jhtml

After a harrowing weekend of not discussing the issue one bit, we found out on Monday that the nameless, faceless investors owning the property on Oxford Street accepted Shawn's bid. He was convinced he wouldn't get it...I believed he would. A little about this house: it has a huge cement backyard that Shawn has alreayd mentally redone with a jacuzzi, Zen garden, a small bar, a few trees, and weatherproof patio furniture; the front is white stucco with brown trim (I think we should paint the trim a vibrant blue); there's a wood burning stove in the center of the living room so that he and I may fulfill our life long dream of playing Little House on the Prairie every day; two bedrooms and a large bathroom upstairs, and a small powder room next to the small kitchen. Oh, and the refrigerator in the mud room. It will most likely be easy to move the fridge into the kitchen. My dream is to take out the powder room entirely to expand the kitchen into the mud room; that way, we cou

On the way home from the subway yesterday, some kid on a mud bike raced toward me on the sidewalk. He almost hit me, but veered off between two cars, jumped off his bike and let go of it. The bike sailed into the air, hit the windshield of a passing car, and bounced off into the street. The car didn't even stop. It was very strange. It was almost like the guy was aiming at the car, but who knows. I said, Are you okay? Was that my fault? Another guy across the street asked the same thing. The kid didn't answer. He picked up his bike, inspected it, and walked off. So then I started wondering about how close I had actually come to being hurt; if the kid hadn't veered off, he would've hit me at full speed. That made me think of other ways I could've died in my lifetime. 1. Every kid has to almost choke on a coin. I sucked a nickel down my windpipe while watching Mutal of Omaha's Wild Kingdom when I was four or five. My uncle picked me up by my ankles and thwacked me

We looked at three more houses yesterday at lunch. Okay, but first I have to explain the bus ride over there--the Number 3 down Cecil Ave. to the blue line elevated Berks stop. Not a very eventful trip until 4th street when a pack of loud white people got on. A mother and daughter team sat across from me, both toothless though the daughter probably wasn't older than forty. The daughter said, I don't got no money for the fare. Her mom said, I don't neither. She went up to the front of the bus and poured a bunch of change in the till. The bus driver didn't say anything, suggesting that this happens a lot and that some money is better than none. In the seat above them was another toothless man in a baseball cap with a Camel cigarette tucked behind his ear, a droopy moustache, and a prison tattoo in the webbing by his thumb. He was being talked at by a woman he seemed to have met at the bus stop, an older lady with tri colored hair and a nose piercing who was saying somethi

Shawn and I did not get the bid on the house we wanted on Miller Street. He took it very hard. I wasn't so so disappointed b/c I know we'll find something else and the back yard was somewhat claustrophobic and there was a basketball hoop nearby--it's possible that every night at midnight, some 15 year old would be out there practicing lay ups until 2 AM. We drove around Fishtown last night to look at a few other properities Dominick suggested. We were walking over to one of the houses a little further North when we saw some sidewalk drama unfolding across the street; a body flat on the sidewalk and a girl yelling and swinging at three fat guys standing nearby. One of the guys tried to hold her back while she continued to swing, her t-shirt riding up to show the white ring of her stomach hanging over the top of her jeans. An ambulance came and the girl knelt down and embraced the person on the ground, who couldn't have been that bad off, because he hugged back and t

I am trying very hard to patronize a new local coffee shop on 9th street, just steps away from Starbucks. It's a cute place with unaffordable local art on the walls and the stiff looking pastries that all coffee shops seem to offer. However, the coffee just isn't as good as it is at Starbucks. Perhaps it's unfair to hold a small operation up to a mutli-kajillion dollar conglomerate like Starbucks who can afford to have 20 people per store in the back scrubbing out the coffee machines, grinding fresh beans, and maintaining just the right temp and aroma. Still, I drink coffee every morning and some mornings, I just want it to be good instead of okay. Attention struggling coffee shops with artistic themes: Put less effort into decor and more effort into making really, really good coffee. I'd like to like the Bean on South Street but their brew consistently tastes stale and bitter. And David Cross has allowed himself to be quoted on a Starbucks coffee sleeve. Very sad? In

And here's what I don't like about being on a college campus: you will see girls on their way to class dressed as though they are sleep-walking. This morning, I heard someone behind me, shuffling along in a way was irritating and then this girl zipped by wearing black fuzzy bedroom slippers. The girls also like to appear in flannel pj bottoms. It was twenty degrees yesterday and I saw this person clip-clapping along in green flip flops. I think even jogging pants are offensive if you're not on your way to the gym. I mean, make an effort--push yourself to actually put on jeans. Kids these days! Shawn made a bid on a house yesterday. We are breathlessly awaiting Dominick, our realtor, to tell us if the offer is accepted, denied, bargained up, laughed at, etc. My top favorite things about the house include: cute foyer with French door, beautiful house front of red brick, strange cubby hole in the stairs that descend to the basement, exposed stone in the basement (which is als

Now that I'm on a campus again, I'm reminded of all of things I like and one or two things I don't. Within short walking distance I can: rent a video, have my hair cut at the Chop Shop, go to the bank, buy tokens, purchase Rice Krispie treats or other necessities from the7-11, check out and return books from the library (being able to return them is key. I just paid off $65 in overdue fees to the Philadelphia Public Library which has no drop boxes and is open from 12-4, Mon.-Thurs. every other week), go to the gym, see a lecture, concert, or art exhibit, browse through Barnes and Noble, order a Starbucks chai vanilla latte, search the Web on a laptop at the ne w computer lab, buy a beer from Draft Horse, play pool, and stuff my face with falafels, crepes, or Chinese food from the numerous silver kiosks parked on street corners. In my old job I could: run five blocks to buy a crusty, overpriced sandwich and hurry back to eat it b/c we only were given half an hour for lunch a

We've been looking at houses lately--actually, we've spent two days searching for open houses and have looked at two houses with our new bff and realtor, Dominick, who won us both over by paying for one beer at Royal Tavern after we looked at the first place. He showed us a property in Fishtown owned by a guy named Harmon who put in all new everything. It's a three story, extended trinity with a large back lot, hardwood floors, and exposed brick walls. The stairs wind up and up and the ceilings are high and spacious. It has air conditioning. He had it decorated sparesly, a few New Yorker magazines thrown about along with three guitars. He drank coffee while talking to us at 6 PM at night. Shawn gets nervous and stuttery in these situations, I don't know why. I go the other way and act all relaxed and personable and interested so that probably ever person whose house/apt. we walk through thinks I'm a shoe-in while in real life, I'm thinking, No way, Jose.

Whenever I have to ask other people at work to complete a task, I feel like the manager from Office Space . It's difficult to compose an e-mail request without including a line such as "that would be super...If you don't mind...I'd really appreciate it if..." You're obviously telling them to do something which is not optional, so to write "that would be great" is the same thing as typing "as if you have a choice" so maybe it's better to leave off the "thanks so much" at the end. My latest task will involve choosing candidates to interview for an open position we have here. I may also be interviewing them by myself or with Kim. I've never had to do that before. I promise I won't ever ask anything as dumb as "how does this job fit into your overall career plan?" Someone asked me that once during an interview for a fairly low-paying administrative job, and I wanted to reply, "Ever since I was a little girl

You get to look at cooler outfits from people on the subway; hipsters, young and old. There's a set of parent hipsters who take the subway around the same time I do. The woman has dyed copper hair and piercings and the dad wears a stocking cap, Cardhardts (sp?), and cool shoes. The kid, of course, is decked out in striped stockings like Pippi, a tiara, and mismatched skirt and shirt. You know they are the kind of parents who have decided to let their child pick out her own clothes in the morning to foster a sense of indepence and identity. The other day, I watched the little girl pull the following out of her father's coat pocket: a pair of sunglasses, keys, and a cookie with lint on it which she ate. On the way home from work on Wed., I unsmartly sat down in the middle of these two teenage black girls, not realizing they were friends and having a conversation. They kept talking over me and I pretended to read my book. Then a guy they knew from school came into the car and join

In Chicago when I took the El from Sheridan to Chicago Ave., I never ran into the same people twice. Never. So, I was wondering if I would recognize anyone now that I ride the subway again. My first day, this skinny short white guy got on the train at Walnut/Locust. He had a bleary eyed look as if he'd been working the night shift or smoking pot or both and he was wearing this puffy black jacket with "Mikey" stitched in white cursive. This first second I saw him, I thought, He was born with Fetal Alcohol Syndrome. He just didn't look right. I also noticed that he had a blue homemade tattoo in the webbing by his thumb on his right hand; the kind of tattoo you do yourself or that you get in prison. I know this sounds totally classist and it is. He got off the train before I did; can't remember which stop, maybe Spring Garden. Anyway, I noticed him mostly because of his jacket. At the end of the day, I was riding back and Mikey got on again. We had both had a full da