Thankful for these givings.

In no particular order...(but sort of..mostly the Top 5).

15. Lists.

"To-Dos," "Bucket" or "Favorites." It really helps prioritize my life.

14. 'Really?'

It makes discussing the nonsensical so much more fun. For instance...

13. GOP Presidential Debates.

For allowing me to use #14 frequently.

-"Libya...Libya...?"

-"I can't remember the third...Ooops."

Not knowing geography in general. Like that Africa is indeed a continent, not a country. Come on! (said in the stylings of Gob Bluth)

12. Scarves.

I have hangers that have lost their lives to my little obsession, but can't stop, won't stop.

11. Phone calls.

I know, I know, what is this, 1990? Remember when it was such a big deal to make a 3-way call? Now we just "cc:" each other on email. Booooring.

I love a good phone call. From the sound of the personalized ringtone I've chosen for the selected people that actually call me, to actually hearing someone's voice and laughter as we share the insanity of the daily.

10. Hazelnut Hot Chocolate.

Subconsciously, I think it's because the Hazelnut is Oregon's state nut. Consciously, it's liquid love.

9. My job.

Although it might not be the final career for me (mostly because I hyperventilate at the word 'career' as that's something adults have which I can't possibly be), I have to admit, it's pretty cool to teach college kids. Which brings me to...

8. My Students.

I had the stark realization last week that I have the pleasure of conversing and working with people from roughly 10 different countries on a daily basis. Not just their countries of origin, but immigrants of this generation. Russian, Ukranian, Taiwanese, Japanese, Chinese, African (Kenya, Sierra Leone, Nigeria), Iraqi, etc. I have two students who actually fled Iraq at the beginning of the war, watched family members being murdered before them, and were forced out of their country because of their religious beliefs. And they're still standing and getting an education...from me. I feel like they could teach me (and are) even more.

7. Meeting good people.

I try...I mean really try to be optimistic and see the goodness in strangers and people in general. Then "they" or someone does something douchey to taint my hope. Then you meet a new somebody that really restores your belief that there are people still left worth meeting.

6. Flannel sheets.

Even though sleep and I have nightly disagreements, there is not a more comfortable place to struggle in.

5. Semi-Independence.

This past weekend I had an autonomous Saturday. I went to a book signing for my beloved Mindy Kaling and by nightfall, went to a comedic benefit for the Mona Foundation featuring Rainn Wilson, Mindy Kaling, Anna Faris and Chris Pratt. I hang out by myself all the time (See #2, I do indeed have friends)...movies, coffee shops, lunch dates, exploring a new part of town, etc. but this was semi new territory.

For some reason we tend to be ultra self-conscious when we venture out alone (sadly some people avoid the public all together if they can't find a boyfriend in time for the wedding or friend to drag to a concert).

However when you're out with other people, you don't find yourself consumed by noticing and identifying other people for being alone. You stare and notice them if they're good looking or not. Or have on a super cute scarf or shoes.

4. Sense of Direction.

As I was driving toward Portland for the holiday, I began to contemplate various routes that would take me to my dad's house, depending on traffic. I've just begun to have this same type of comfort in my new home, Seattle, where I now know various routes through trial and error, that will take me home. It feels good to silence the navigation system.

3. Literacy.

I got frustrated the other day when I missed my exit due to inattention and some pretty serious car singing, and then thought, what would it be like to miss my exit because I couldn't understand the signs? Which led me to wondering this same concept while walking down the aisles of the grocery store 10 minutes later. Which led me to continue wondering this as I sat down that evening to indulge in my favorite pastime; reading for pleasure. How lucky I am to be born where I was, with the people I was born unto, and have the public education I did.

2. Friends.

My expectations of a friend are high and I expect the same of myself to my friends. This might be the reason I constantly struggle with having 450+ Facebook "friends" because I carry great weight with that word and it's impossible for me to be that person to 450 people. So for the ones whom I share real phone calls, dinner dates, travel adventures, or can do close to nothing and wake up sore in the abs from laughter, I'm so thankful for you. You really can't imagine how much. You're the family I choose.

1. Family.

I've always felt bad for people who loathe hanging out with their family, because I love hanging out with mine. And right when I think I realize how much I am loved by them, they show me a new way. I'm nothing without their love.

So as you sit down at the kids' table, in front of the TV or in a restaurant on this holiday, let us not celebrate Thanksgiving in the way of the first:

"I celebrated Thanksgiving the old fashioned way. I invited everyone in my neighborhood to my house, we had an enormous feast, and then I killed them and took their land."

-Jon Stewart

Instead, bathe in wherever it is you find your love.

Unrelentless Love.

When it rains...it comes through my ceiling.

Apparently when my life evens out into an unexciting lull, someone raps on the door of disaster and tells them I’m unamused and it’s time to mix things up. So I guess it’s my fault for being a tad bored. Plus, I pretty much am in the 15^th percentile when it comes to luck (Exceptions: Winning the Academy Awards Bleacher Seat drawing in '03; Being chosen to volunteer at The Sundance Film Festival 2x). Note: I'm talking strictly about "luck." Of course good things happen to me, but that's usually the result of hard work.

This last week I was spending time in Portland for a good friend of mine's wedding festivities when I got an unwelcome call from my landlord.

"There's been a little leak."

Because I lack the optimist's outlook, I immediately told my mom: "With my luck, it will be anything but little."

I was right. The "little" leak had made its kind way onto my bed and through my mattress, through my box spring, onto my bed frame, and everything underneath my bed. I guess I should be lucky that my shoes and purses were left unharmed. No one would want to see that itemized list. If that wasn't enough, when I came "home," my stuff had been left in the grass in front of my apartment to dry along with my mattress leaning against the building with no one in sight.

"I hope the newspapers you had weren't important underneath your bed."

Being that I'm not someone who hoards random newspapers/magazines underneath their bed, of course they were important. 9-11. The day my niece was born. The day & days leading to my dad's appointment as Chief of Police. My graduation programs. Obama's Inauguration. Funny enough, two of the Time Magazines that did survive had Palin and McCain on the cover. I guess it could be worse; my last name could be Santorum. Go ahead, google it. No, President Santorum definitely isn't going to work based on name alone.

That's why I know life has a sense of humor. Also because the day after this catastrophe, I got all new tires on my car, drove 2 miles home and one went flat

It’s hard to get truly angry (although I may have an ulcer from stress) when you have such wonderful people surrounding you. Like the people you call when you’re 180 miles away from home and they run to your rescue to advocate on your behalf, then take apart your bed, strip your sheets & wash them, and give you the full honest report. Or the people who drive up for the day on short notice to take care of business and start replacing those items that are replaceable and comfort you in the loss of things that aren’t. And hug you when you cry because all of your personal affects have been spread out on the grass/sidewalk for all to see. Or the people who amid a very busy day take 10 minutes to give you their professional law advice pro bono. Or the people who sit across from you at the kitchen table researching and staying 150% calm when you are anything but and tell you why and how this will all work out. And the people that call to see if there’s anything they can do because they know that just asking helps.

Bothered? Yes. Angry? I can’t get there.

Mostly because I have the image of my niece doing her first “big girl wave” this past Monday while she sat in my lap and watching her persistence in crawling over everything and everyone to the toy she wanted. She reminds me that even though my barriers may seem of a larger scale than people’s legs or coffee tables, she is conquering hers which are just as big to her in her new adventures of mobility. My heart is too full and encouraged by that little girl’s determination and I’m so thankful for her beating heart. I know mine won’t beat forever, so in the minimal time it does, I’d prefer to smile. Mattresses, bed frames, apartments? Replaceable. My people however, are not.

And certainly not this little one who just remembering that she exists, makes me smile.

Turn, Turn, Turn

"A time to be born, a time to die

A time to plant, a time to reap

I time to kill, a time to heal,

A time to laugh, a time to weep."

I am aware that the Earth is in constant motion. That’s what keeps us on our punctual schedule of making it around the great sun in 365 days; 366 days respectively in a leap year. But even though we are forever moving, there are some times when you can really feel it more than others. It’s kind of the equivalent to a smooth airplane ride where you are traveling around 500 mph, yet you don’t feel the movement until you hit turbulence.

Yes, this is the ideal way to describe life as is right now. Metaphorical turbulence.

Yesterday’s date was February 14^th. But yesterDAY was Valentine’s day. In the socially constructed way of how we view Valentine’s day, I didn’t have an “official” Valentine. In fact, the only rose I received was from atop of my Grandpa’s casket after the military paid a beautiful tribute to his service.

To some, I’ve probably depressed you with the thought of not having a Valentine. To others, I might have depressed you with bringing up death which as the living, we have such a hard time placing. But let me explain the beauty in both.

I am not anti-Valentine or pro-Valentine. Do I think it’s a bit ludicrous to pick one day of the year where you shall spend hard earned income on a loved one over all other days to show them how much you love them? Sure. Do I think it’s nicer to sprinkle these acts of kindness throughout the other 364 days (365 LY)? Of course. But is there anything wrong with having an official day of love? Not really.

If Valentine’s day is considered to be the day we show the ones we love how we adore them through the mediums of chocolate and other disgusting assorted candies (Note: I hate most holiday candy, not Valentine’s specific), why is it romanticized? Shouldn’t we take the teachings of the third grade and take this “opportunity” to show love to those who get us through days on the regular? That is what I deem love to be; helping each other during the normal and abnormal, mundane and extraordinary, 24 hours of passing through the week.

Through the month.

Through the year.

Thank you to those who get me through the Earth’s rotation. On the regular.

And due to unfortunate circumstances of my grandpa’s death, I had the joy of spending the week/weekend preceding the day of love with my family. Granny, my dad’s mom, lost her husband of 34 years (to us, he was "Papa"). That is longer than my lifetime, which to me, sometimes seems longer than it actually is. I cannot possibly imagine all the memories created with a person over that time when I feel overwhelmed just looking at the pictures that represent my short time here.

Let me tell you a little about my granny. She is where I get my sass, stubbornness and strong will. Although, she is one hundred times stronger than I. She had to be. She grew up in the cruel South where the world hadn’t made a place for her and she had to make a life with her brothers and sisters. Literally, create life so they could survive. She is 1 of 14 and spent her young days on the farm, soiling seeds that would allow her family to eat. She claims she is the worst cook of her sisters since she was out in the field; I beg to differ. She is the best cook.

Granny got out of the South. She went to college. She became an RN. She raised 3 biological sons and blended two families when she met Papa, who had 5 children of his own. I tease her for her love of Y & R, which I happily watched with her as a child, her love of denim skirts, and how even after lecturing someone she’ll kindly say, “bless ya” as if to say, "no harm, no foul, and even if you have transgressed, there's still a chance you're going to heaven." She teases me because of my will in making words up in Boggle that I persistently persuade her really exist, but mostly she supports me, talks to anyone that will listen about her eldest granddaughter, encourages me (she’s the main reason I went for my Master’s) and loves me.

She’s good at that.

She has loved and taken care of Papa for as long as I can remember and is the example of the word wife. The fact that I had to watch her on February 14^th bury her Valentine tears my heart apart.

I’m awaiting that love that will tear me apart to lose and bring me incredible fulfillment in its presence, that I’ll never want to have to leave it. I didn’t know it was possible to feel all those things from one person. I have now been a witness.

I come from pretty remarkable roots. Distinct personalities, the biggest hearts I have ever seen and so much love that it's a wonder that the Earth can contain it all. Maybe that’s why Papa had to leave. We really feel when one of us is needed.

On Thursday, our family gathered at Granny’s to be together. My Uncle, my dad’s twin brother, fresh from the plane, walked through the crowd that had accumulated in Granny’s hallways and walked straight through it all to find her sitting next to me on the couch. They embraced and for the first time, I heard Granny cry over her loss. I stood up, maintaining my disposition I was certain, and walked to the spare bedroom where Granny and I watched Y & R and Papa and I watched Westerns and WWF. I sat down, covered my face and let myself feel everything. A moment later, my dad and my brother who was carrying baby Olivia, came into the room.

How did they know?

My brother said, "We love you Auntie Teela" and held up sweet little Olivia’s mouth that was busy in its new favorite pasttime of blowing bubbles, to my cheek for the sloppiest kiss I’d ever received, which coincidentally, was the best kiss I'd ever received.

The one with all the Thanksgivings....

I used to loathe Thanksgiving. Instead of a happy grumble of excitement in my belly looking forward to the day, I stressed at the thought of it. Because of this I found myself in Reno in 2007 and NYC in 2008. The latter being one of the best days (trip for that matter) of my entire life.

My animosity for the aforementioned holiday did not come from a distaste of any particular Thanksgiving course much like Chandler, the star of the show from which this blog title is stolen from, or the "stomach-is-overcapacity" message that my brain received a turkey-bite too late. I was plagued by the symptoms of any child of divorced parents.

[This is in no way a poor-me, post. In fact, it's quite the opposite.]

With each turn of the pages in my planner closer to our Thursday celebration, a nauseating feeling would rise in my stomach.

I felt slaughtered. Much like the turkeys that many would be feasting upon (except for the lucky SOB that ended up at The White House and was pardoned). Or the way the Natives did after the Pilgrims, well, slaughtered them. Now I'm being dramatic.

Where was I to go? Who was I to spend it with? Running around town sounded like too much work and the thought of leaving one parent for another brought indescribable guilt of picking favorites. After you ate dinner you were supposed to sit. Let the fat absorb and well, get fat. Unbuckle that top button; loosen that belt. Not go to dinner #2.

So I didn't do it. Goodbye Portland. Hello anywhere else.

I had to float away for a little bit to find my way home...and float I did. Just like the giant Shrek I watched fly down that New York street in November 2008. But after this glorious flight, Shrek was deflated into nothing but a glob of green wrinkled plastic without the assistance of helium and his team of people that held his strings down to keep him aloft.

Like the helium in a balloon, these ideas of stress surrounding what should be a happy holiday had blown up to capacity in my head. And I wasn't allowing my special "team" to help me through it.

Enter Thanksgiving Twenty-Ten.

I woke up at my dad's and took my brother his favorite pie that I make annually, no none of that Pumpkin business, Sweet Potato Pie. And then I held her. Miss Olivia.

Her first Thanksgiving. She wouldn't be feasting on Turkey, pie, or gumbo (another family tradition), she'd just be spending time with those who loved her. Eating. Sleeping. And that's all it took was a look in those big dark eyes staring up to me. The importance of my team.

After sufficient cuddling time, I went to dinner #1 at mom's with my grandma and uncle. We watched Charlie Brown [granny and I share a love for Charlie Brown], I slept and then awoke in time to head to my next destination.

To dinner #2 I went with dad, other grandma, my 2 other uncles and cousins. I sang 'The Beatles' while my cousins played back up guitar and drums on Rock band followed by the annual never-ending Domino game. We lost. But we had fun.

I was afforded the luxury of seeing all of my family in a day's time. How lucky I am to not only have the ability to see them all, but to have people that actually care that much about me in my life. It's easy to lose sight when you have these things within your grasp and you forget about those who don't have that love in arm's reach.

We're born within this small group of people out of 6 billion other ones walking upon this Earth, in such a specific moment in time. There's no choice to where you end up. But there is the choice to love.

I'm thankful for my team. This indescribable bond we share that requests nothing in return and I only feel for a very few select people on this Earth. I now realize what a unique experience this is.

What a gift.

The Buffer Zone.

This past Friday, I decided to go on a solo date to see "The Town." Being the punctual person I am, I left early to ensure I'd make it in time for the 8 o'clock showing and of course, to claim a good seat in the theater.

I got to the theater so early that I decided I could make the 7:25 instead. The ticket dude said the theater was only half full but upon closer inspection (going into the theater), found it was well over half full and I didn't think my neck would appreciate the cruel angle of the front row and I didn't want to bother anyone who had clearly gotten their early for a good seat. So being the good samaritan I am, I went to wait in the 8pm theater.

The theater was empty and I sat at the very top in the middle. Perfect. Or so I thought.

5 minutes after I claimed my seat, a girl walks up to the ENTIRE empty row and asks, "are you saving these seats?" To which I honestly reply, "no." This apparently was an invitation to sit next to me-in one seat over. "Great!" She replies. "We'll be kinda cozy!"

Well, we wouldn't be cozy if you decided to move further away from me.

5 more minutes pass and her 2 friends join her. The boy goes and sits on the other side of her and instead of following suit, the girl opts for the seat right next to me.

WTF is going on, I think. She has the whole other side with no other movie goer patrons. I'm having a 'Friends' Chandler moment. You know, where he has to hug-and-roll Janice over. She has the entire other side of the bed!! Move. Over.

She says something to her friends about having to sit directly under the projector, she's apparently OCD about it. After a few minutes, I move a seat over to give my personal bubble the air it needs and deserves. This apparently was an open invitation for said guy, to switch sides that he is sitting on to occupy my empty seat. Yes, he now is sitting right next to me. Oh, and the rest of the row is still...entirely empty. I move over another seat to reinstate the fact that I have a 1 chair rule. Did he not understand why I moved over from his friend in the first place?!

The movie theater starts to fill up. A family sits on my other side, kindly leaving a chair in between us as normal people do, and the previews start.

Now is a good time to mention that I LOVE PREVIEWS. Trailers are my fave. The music. The intensity. The little glimpses to a story that is not yet complete. It brings me indescribable joy to look forward to a flick that has not yet released.

To recap: I'm not a fan of tardiness and I love previews. Let's continue.

2 boys enter the theater and give it a once over.

Do not even think about coming up to my row.

They make their way up until the stairs run out and look over in my direction. I have them in my peripheral but am trying to appear as if my full attention is on the screen.

"Excuse me!" One of them whisper-shouts. "Is anyone sitting there?" I look around in obliviousness as if he could possibly be talking to someone else. When everyone looks right back at the solo girl in the theater, I impolitely grumble, "no."

I switch seats, next to the boy from the triad and the 2 boys sit down. New boy sitting next to me decides now is the time for a review of the movie we are about to see.

"Is this supposed to be good?" He asks. He has now displaced me from my seat (which I got their early to claim) and now he is interrupting my previews.

No idiot, I enjoy paying $10 to purposely come to the movies to see terrible films. *

"Yeah." I reply, in the most irritated voice I can possibly use. The previews continue and the 2 boys get up and leave.

I move back to my seat.

The movie has now started with an intense opening sequence. We're about 20 minutes in when I see a woman enter the theater and starts eyeing the seats. She looks in my direction. In case anyone is wondering, it's probably at least 8:45. Movie started at 8.

The bitch starts to climb the stairs.

She shuffles down the row. In front of the family. And now in front of me.

"Can you scoot down? My husband is coming too."

I didn't even respond. I angrily get up and use every nonverbal that one can possibly detect in the dark, make it my mission to show this woman how much I hate her. I heavily sigh/groan, drop into my seat and take ownership over the armrest.

Her husband comes in about 10 minutes later to which she waves some loose papers in the air to flag him down. Yes, she had papers in her lap in a dark theater. I assume that it's on these very papers where she misread the movie time. As soon as he sits down they start talking about the 10 minutes that she's seen and probably trying to piece together what they missed. When they realize they have no clue what's going on, they get up and leave.

I reclaim my chair.

I hear a faint laugh followed by a whisper, "How many times are you going to move?" Says the boy who I moved because of the 2nd time.

I shoot him a glare which he obviously can't see and redirect my attention onto Jon Hamm's beautiful face where it should be.

What can I say? I like my buffer zone.

*I actually didn't pay to see the movie as Regal had gifted me a free movie ticket per my membership and loyalty in the Regal Crown Club.

Phantastic Times in Philly

We all know that I travel. A lot. This year I have made my travel theme, if you will, new adventures to lands I have yet to discover...

So far in 2010:

• Park City, UT for Sundance in January

-Amazing Films

-Fantastic Traveling Companion; Miss Sarah Shintaku

-Met new and wonderful friends

-Saw my crush Joseph Gordon-Levitt & Adrian Grenier

-Surrounded by art in the making and final stages.

Dare to Tell your story.

• Philly, PA for reunion in April

-Quality time with my Beaver Bud Allison

-Much needed visit from my Megan Bostonian

-Historical & Pop Culture tour of the land

-Oh and of course, playing on random game pieces

On the calendar:

• TBD – May
• Cabo San Lucas – June (I spent about 8 hours here on a cruise before, that’s it)
• Dallas & Austin, Texas – September

Repeat Awesomefenders:

• Seattle, WA - Girls trip!
• Newport, OR -Seafood & Wine Fest

Enough Reminiscing of times had, let's look at the current adventure.

I went to Philly to visit one of my ole pals from OSU, Allison, and meet Megan, an old pal from Greece (she’s not Greek, we were roomies there) as well who drove down to Boston in a terrible 7+ drive to meet me in the City of Brotherly Love.

Day 1/Night 1:

Took my first red-eye ever, leaving PDX at 11pm PST arriving in DTW at 6:15EST and then arriving at my final destination at 9am EST. I thought I would be exhausted and in desperate need of a nap as I was engrossed in ‘Game Change’ and maybe slept 3 whole hours. Turns out, adrenaline conquers drowsiness and after I dropped my bags off with Allison at school (she had to finish class for the day), I headed out into Philly solo-without a map and a Droid with a low-battery. Dad, if you’re reading this, you needn’t worry, as you can see, I got back in one piece.

I knew I’d be seeing the sites with Megan and Allison, so I decided to stalk out the set of ‘Dark Fields’ starring Robert DeNiro and the delicous Bradley Cooper. All I was presented with were sets and a very cleverly labeled on-set bathroom which were titled ‘Desi’ and ‘Lucy.’ On my way to the set however, I was greeted by the infamous LOVE sculpture smack dab in JFK park. What a feeling. To be walking along in search of something else, thinking you might have a clue where you’re going, then just like that...

Love sneaks up on you.

After some aimless wandering, I found my way back to Allison’s school to meet her to drop off some stuff at her place and then to find my cheesesteak. Al lives in Center City, a fab locale. Her place, as most others, is built in this row house fashion where there are 4 moderately sized floors, one essentially for each roommate (not including the basement-that’d be 5) that are connected my micro-spiral-step staircases. Of course, she was on the top floor. Good thing I packed lightly or I would’ve been commuting to my luggage on the main floor. Not that a commute is anything new to this one.

Mission Cheesesteak: Allison took me to the infamous street where two rival cheesesteak joints call home. We opted for Pat’s because the menu was a bit more expansive. I know, what really is there to expand on in a cheesesteak? Trust me, there was a difference.

It was greasy. Flavorful. But just okay. I felt kind of like the first time I had a voodoo donut that everyone had raved about in Portland. Kind of the, that’s it? A bit anti-climatic, but necessary nonetheless to consume. My appetite has been filled and for the sake of my arteries and desire to live a long beautiful life filled with adventures to strange lands, I think I’ll lay off the greasesteaks. I mean cheese.

We then took a stroll through history. Found that bell that’s on all of my ‘Forever’ stamps. Stood in the courtyard where our independence was declared. Visited our home girl B. Ross’ house where she first sewed up our flag and she apparently resided with her cats, as there were 2 cat statues, I kid you not, in her courtyard. Al and I are also convinced that she is buried with a flag that contains a map to a very important national treasure. Thank you Nic Cage for making us paranoid about every important document or artifact of our nation’s history.

After making a good first-day tour, we sat down to chat in Old City at a pub over some adult beverages, good conversation and yes, spotted an Oregon license plate (my homeland), an Alaskan license plate (Allison’s native land), and California plates (where Allison recently resided). After we scoped out some cheap grub in Center City we went home to call it a day.

Day 2:

Allison had class and Megan wouldn’t be arriving til that evening, so I took this opportunity to have some QT with Philly. I started off with a cheap breakfast at a diner while watching high school aged kids take their sweet time eating at 10:00am on a Friday. Either they were skipping (our idea of Cruisers, CHSers? What? We never skipped..well, not for breakfast…) or it was probably one of the many inservice days that our public school system observes. Preventing children from learning and honoring budget cuts, one inservice day at a time.

I thought I’d get lost in a completely new direction today and pleasantly found myself on the Avenue of The Arts where the amazing Kimmel Center is located. In addition to this grand architectural feat, I found quirky tinier theaters, music shops and beautiful buildings. I stopped into a café called, ‘More than just Ice-Cream’ to read and eat a float, and oh yes, stalk out set #2 of ‘Dark Fields.’ Again, during my mission to find this, something else came my way. Possibly one of the most entertaining conversations I’ve ever eavesdropped on. Two 50 something gay men were sitting very closely behind me, discussing everything from their disdain of having a movie filming there and blocking off ‘all the f’ing streets’ to their theories of Oprah’s sexuality.

Man 1: She’s obviously a lesbian.

Man 2: Obviously.

Man 1: That’s why she’s quitting her show. When she does, she’ll come out.

Man 2: And her “best friend” Gayle? Definitely her lover. Poor Steadman is just along for the ride. He likes p______. But, so does Oprah.

If this ever were to happen, which is highly unlikely, I tip my hat to you, incredibly loud-opinionated seat neighbors at ‘More than just Ice-Cream.’ Your store name doesn’t lie. What a conversational treat.

When I finally left to do some window shopping, buy some souve’s and what not, I found myself craving a little libation. I walked into the first bar I saw, plopped down and started reading. A loud voice from behind me with so much character it could not be ignored, startled me when he excused my sneeze. At this point, I looked up to find myself in a bar full of men. Hmmm…I thought, interesting. Women don’t enjoy an after work drink? Nope, not at this bar Teela. This bar in particular is where men come to meet, well, other men. I finished my drink, watched a little Oprah (funny enough playing in the bar), and hit the road.

Later that night, Megan was still en route and I grabbed happy hour drinks with Allison and her boyfriend AJ at a bar in Old City.

By the time Megan finally made it through the treacherous road conditions (there was a rainstorm) and hellish traffic, Happy Hour was over. After our dramatic reunion, we got some more food and went to our hotel where we entertained ourselves with made-up list games in pure Megan-Teela fashion.

Day 3:

Today was Megan’s day to soak in as much of the love as she could. Being that I had wandered the streets and have come to have a great sense of direction, I suggested that I take her on a tour to the cool things I’d seen and to the other places I was waiting for her to explore. We walked oh, about 10 miles. The Art Museum, where Rocky was filmed on those infamous steps, looked a lot closer than it really was. Which was just fine as we had a lot of time to catch up in between.

In addition to the sites Al and I went to, we went to LOVE park again, City Hall, Art Museum, The 1^st Bank in the US, 1^st “free library” in Philly, US Mint, and the Constitution Center.

After a day of playing the tourist role, we decided to delve into the local scene. We feasted on an Uh-May-Zing Mediterranean meal then hit the night scene. This was a pure source for entertainment in both positive and negative ways.

Positive:

Free drinks from a guy who simply wanted to buy us drinks. No conversation necessary. Score.

The DJ had a similar obsession to Jay-Z as this one. “Onto the Next One…”

Guys in Philly like to actually dance and CAN dance. There were no attempts at abrasive grinding. How refreshing.

Negative:

A guy pretended to be drunk in order to slump over the chairs that were housing our purses. When they moved, he moved with it. When he saw we weren’t wasted broads, he moved onto the next one, in true Young Hova fashion.

Megan’s toenail got ripped off by a big foot.

Day 4:

The only thing that really justifies the last day in Philly is described best by one of the last conversations I had. A lady sat down next to me in the subway while I was waiting for the train that wouldn’t be coming (apparently, the train doesn’t run to the airport on the weekends-Yes Philly, that makes perfect sense).

Geographically ignorant woman: Where are you from?

Me: Oregon.

Geographically ignorant woman: Ohh..where is that?

Me: West coast. Above California.

Geographically ignorant woman: ::Looking up into space, as if thinking. Trickster:: Is the climate there similar to Jamaica?

Me: ::SMH:: No, unfortunately not. (Last time I was in Jamaica it did rain though).

I placed by earphones back in their ears.

I got a good dose of Philly in my long weekend trip that I spent out there. Just like every place I go, I appreciated the people (good and bad-someone DID tell me to shut the hell up, unprovoked), the story of the land, the food (Mediterranean deliciousness, Cheesesteak meehh), and of course, the awesome and irreplaceable company of my wonderful friends who took time out of their lives to meet in the city of brotherly love.

For the sake of keeping this entry positive, I will not discuss the children who took residence in Row 26 Seats B&C who made my life hell for 4 hours and 15 minutes, and not a minute less. I'll save that for a future post. Had I been a therapist, their father would’ve received a nice pamphlet on ‘Parenting’ from me.