local

I wonder how many posts on this blog start with something saying that I am only blogging so I have something new at the top of the page. Hi new readers! Please don't judge. There is a semblance of class over here, most days. Not today. Don't give up on me yet.

My local besties and I love to pour over the hilariousness that is the Social Scene in the South Philly Review. I've posted about the SS before, but I erased the post because it made me look like a jerk. Hey, if you die before you are 30 and your mom has the class to post a picture of your skinny shirtless self and I can see your trackmarks, I'm assuming it was drugs. And if you name your baby something ridiculous, I'm going to make fun of you. On the internet.
You can check the Scene for yourself every Friday morning by bookmarking this link. Each week is better than the next, and yes this is totally serious. No, this is not a joke. People still do this kind of stuff in 2009.

Small town living cracks me up, and Philadelphia is the smallest town I've ever been to.

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I love it when you call me Fran Poppa. Throw your hands in the aya if you a true playa.
Gunther, I gather, is the dog. He's like Clifford. He must eat a lot. I assume that's what happened to Papi Joe. Papi Joe, who ~~ um ~~ wears a hoodie emblazoned with a picture of himself?? Maybe??
Stella Maris only goes to the 8th grade. If I don't have one picture of Eighth Grade Jake that doesn't prove to South Philly that my child is a potsmoker, I'm not taking out an ad in the local rag. To celebrate the fact that he went to 8th grade.
Dictionary.com defines PHYSIC as: a medicine that purges; cathartic; laxative.
Due to the recent disgustingness posted on the blog, I'm leaving you just with the definition. You can make up your own joke about Alexis Markie (Joanie), the physic reader.
Tony Bologna is sadly missed by his brothers: Tony Pepperoni, Tony Rigatoni, Tony Macaroni, Tony Cannelloni, Tony Panettoni, and his sister, Toni Spumoni. They called him Red's to lessen confusion. They put the apostrophe in there because the mailman was a ginger. Everyone else is brown on brown. I'm guessing. Or they didn't graduate 8th grade and think that nicknames are possessive.

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Also, I woke up before 5am this morning. It was glorious. I read The Review (see above), I read the end of a David Sedaris book, I drank a pot of coffee, I played with the cat, I set free a giant moth that has been staying over for three days, I did the dishes, made Jake's lunch, I watched the news, I took care of my 3S's, I sat. In silence.

The way I figure, I love to go to bed at 9pm. If I start getting up at 5 each morning, I have 2 hours to myself every day and no one can ever judge me for going to bed as though I was only 10 years old.
Then when people ask me why I can't stay out late, I'll say I have to get up at 5.
And when people ask me why I get up at 5, I'll roll my eyes and glance over at Jake, and they will roll their eyes and give me that weak smile that tells me they see me as a martyr for motherhood and they will make a mental note to take their birth control pill on time that day. Because getting up at 5 sucks.
Supposedly.