catching up..

After a month of neglect it's high time I update this blog. Noteworthy events have gone down:

10/25/08: AbsofuckingLUKEly (aka, Ulana and Luke get married)

"Will you take Luke to be your husband for the rest of your sweet married life?"

"FUCK YEA!"

Or at least that's how it went in my mind. In reality the entire ceremony was in Ukrainian and half the time I didn't know what the priest was saying. But I must say, despite the language barrier I've never shed that many tears o' joy in my life. I think half of the crowd may have been a little confused (is that girl okay?).

Lana was gorgeous. And I must say I'll remember helping her put on her dress for the rest of my life. They're so in love it's pleasantly nauseating. And I can list the times during the wedding process that I cried (to the point of whimpering) in front of a crowd of people.

1. speech at the rehearsal dinner

2. buttoning the dress

3. Lana getting her pictures taken

4. blessing

5. blessing

6. church blessing

7. Lana looking at Luke half way through the ceremony ("hey".."what?".."we're married".."yea, I know :)")

8. blessing

9. down the isle

10. first dance

11. speech

12. speech

13. speech...

Needless to say, lots of tears but also a killer time. Kara and I really showed them how Irish girls dance...poorly, and the event included a surprise Ukrainian dance off. I know. Amazing.

I couldn't be happier for them both, I still giggle when I hear Lana say "my husband" and can't wait to see them grow together, celebrating anniversaries, holidays, and one day, baby showers :)

10/27/08: "Em, where are you" "My kitchen, where are you?" "The airport"

Surprise visit from Nancy & Amy?! Hella what? Apparently Nancy was tired of being the only one belting out "lets go Phillies" at her local Alabama bar (ya'all aren't from aroounnd her erya?), so she packed her bags and headed home for the week. Very nice surprise!

Out to Bar Ferdinand for catching up and delicious bev's.

10/29/08: Philadelphia is on FIRE (aka, the Phillies win the World Series)

If you weren't in the city you don't know how serious I am that there were LITERALLY FIRES on Broad Street. Cars were flipped and burned, newsstands went through multiple windows, the iron statue outside of the Prince Theater was uprooted from cement...shockingly, if you'll remember back to the Eagles Superbowl (when we lost like pansies), nothing happened. Not a thrown trashcan, or a good, old fashioned riot. The city was silent. I'm not the only one that thought of the irony.

I myself watched the end of game 5 at Johnny Brenda's with the sweetie. Every pitch jumping out of my seat. It was amazing to be in a room with that kinda of energy, in a room with that much joy, to watch an eruption of voice in perfect, unrehearsed , unison.

This is Philadelphia. A city that is if nothing else, beyond explanation or comparison. We're a city that slapped our sovereign in the wig. We flip cars when we're happy. Defiance is in our blood. I've never been happier to be a Philadelphian, through and through.

*If anyone is feeling generous, there's a fund online where you can donate $$ to repair the cars flipped during the riot.
**Photo taken by Kara McGrorty

10/31/08: Cold PBR cans at Noon never tasted better ( aka, Phillies Parade)

There are very few occasions when cops will let you drink PBR cans at Broad and South Street in the middle of the day. And if there ever was an occasion, damn it, it should be the first Phillies parade in decades!

I had incredible time screaming at the top of my lungs with Jesse and John. Jesse was nice enough to help me stay on the top of a fence so I could see all of the action.

The highlights:
Pat Burrell behind Clydesdale's fist pumping
Michael Nutter holding the trophy
Chase Utley looking damn sexy
Random girl peeing in a bush on church property at Broad and South (honestly...)
Buying an overpriced, but damn official pennant
The sea of red on Broad Street
Cold beers at noon :)

10/31/08: Part II: "No I'm not 6 years old" (aka, Halloween as a Lady Bug)

Devils Alley hosted its 3rd annual Halloween party, and I must say, it was bigger and better than ever! Annie was the best looking Sarah Palin I've seen, and Amy was in town from Salt Lake City so we got to catch up. Why a lady bug you ask? I blame Ashlee. I was told that she would arrive as a Bumble Bee, and that we would be insects together. No such costume materialized.

So what question did I get to answer the entire night? What horrible pick up line did every guy try to play off"?!

"So how old are you? Six?"
"While I'm impressed that you can count dots, NO, I'm not six leave me the $%*&@%#$^ ALONE!"

Lots of dancing, too much rum punch, good time had by all! If you missed it this year, block off your calendar for 2009!

11/4/08: Philadelphia Broad Street Riot of the Month #2 (aka, President-Elect Barack Obama)

My stomach was flipping all day. I was nervous, I was excited, I was moved. Jesse and I have the same polling station so I found him in the city (incidentally at my house, helping my roommate move in), forced him into the car and proceeded to the pole.

I was dancing in the poling booth. Jesse laughed.
I teared when I voted. The sweetie did too.

We watched the numbers roll in from Jose Pistolas. Good bar, great draft list, killer nachos. The bar was roaring every time a state turned blue, and blew up when they announced our new president. One back-handed but moving concession speech later and we were out on Broad Street, rioting again. Stopping traffic, chanting, and smiling.

It was a completely invigorating experience participating in such a momentous election. I value my civil liberties. I mourn the loss of those objectified and marginalized, especially those within our own country. But I remain hopeful that as a country we will progress towards tolerance and understanding. One step at a time.

Remember, remember the 4th of November. I will.

11/17/08: No longer involved in federal slave labor (aka, VISTA is over)

Holy hell it's true. I'm no longer a slave to the federal government. My "year of service", my serious pay cut, my "year to grow", my VISTA term is finally over. And not only is it over. But my host organization decided to hire me. Same job, but better. I don't know how to say this without sounding greedy, but in December, I'll be able to pay my phone bill and my electric on time.

It's the simple things, isn't it?


Sorry for the longest post ever. I promise shorter posts in the future!

Say what? NO WAY!

I know, I felt the SAME WAY when I found out that October is national Scrabble month! Time to reinstate a Sunday tradition of roaming the city with Scrabble board, bottle and wine key in tow. Cate and I played the other day and I got a whopping 36 points on 'chef'. Oh yea, scrabble bliss :)

If you ever want to celebrate October in a uniquely scrabblishous way, you know who to call!

keep in mind...

Some excerpts from one of my favorite blogs, Gimme Schelter...

If you were all alone in the universe with no one to talk to, no one with which to share the beauty of the stars, to laugh with, to touch, what would be your purpose in life? It is other life, it is love, which gives your life meaning. This is harmony. We must discover the joy of each other, the joy of challenge, the joy of growth.

-Mitsugi Saotome

“The truth is that our finest moments are most likely to occur when we are feeling deeply uncomfortable, unhappy, or unfulfilled. For it is only in such moments, propelled by our discomfort, that we are likely to step out of our ruts and start searching for different ways or truer answers.”

-M. Scott Peck

Age makes the stakes higher. I’ve grown wise enough to know that 'Life', what the ancient yogi’s call 'Shakti', is like a great journalist, she doesn’t permit candy coated lies, game playing or masks, but seeks to expose genuine truth, no matter what. I guess that’s called wisdom. Wisdom knocks on doors until they open. Wisdom knows when to keep knocking and when to walk away.

- Jennifer Schelter

Need some cleansing? Space to exhale? I recommend the Yoga Schelter. Check it out, let me know what you think.

Did the world run out of elbow room?

It’s getting harder and harder to find space in this wide open world. Half the problem is that it isn’t as wide open as we’d like to think. In a city with over 1.5 million people, you still run into the same faces. You have to avoid entire zip codes, bars, shows, and sub cars to really steer clear of the unwanted.

I’m wondering if there’s space for us all to stretch out and have…well, space. Space to feel safe, feel loved, feel adventurous, feel understood and fulfilled. It’s hard to imagine that all of this space needs equal room to stretch out either. That isn’t clear.

Maybe a model of a house would be a better visual. I, for one, need a big spacious living room, and a small comfortable, but safe bedroom. While some may need more space to be adventurous and understood, others may lack the space they need to feel safe and loved. To continue the thought, some need something baking in the oven while others would prefer a larger garden.

Here’s the question that leaves me stumped. If we don’t create a space where people can join us, can we really feel loved, understood and fulfilled? Or can we do it solo? Can we feel loved without someone holding us on a shitty day, understood unless we explain ourselves, or fulfilled if we exist in an empty room?

Recently I’ve been trying to cope with this stinging sensation in my chest. I’ve had some space revoked recently. It feels like I finally got my green card to my favorite private island with unlimited mojitos, only to find, upon arrival, deportation paperwork. Or like I’ve been patiently applying Neosporin to a cut only to break down and pick the scab.

When I was younger I feel on the steps of the rec center on the way to a gymnastics meet and tore my knee open. Sure it hurt like hell at the time, and was gushing blood, but I had adrenaline to help me cope. But when I picked that big ‘ol scab off it hurt more. Even the wind grazing the area hurt. Aren’t we told that if we pick at a scab it takes longer to heal?

We’d all like to believe that we don’t need emotions and the space to express them for functioning life. That all we need are the basics; food, water, shelter, air. But really, is our emotional life that disconnected from our physical life? Is it possible to have a muscle completely unscathed after a life of mixed emotions?

From what I’ve heard from the medicals in my life, it looks just like the pictures. But I’m sure if I ever stood above my exposed beating heart, it would probably look something similar to my right knee when I fell. Chock full of scraps and bruises, with a freshly picked scab.


Maybe it’s a life long dilemma, changes daily, or maintains consistency. I’m sure what fills and completes us will change as our needs change. Because sure, sometimes the proverbial pint of Ben and Jerry’s is the cure, and sometimes you want someone to hear you cry, but then there are unique moments when it’s just enough to hear yourself admit that you’re okay.

Without the shoulder, ice cream, or Neosporin. Alone, in your own space, with your very own scabbed, exposed, perfect heart.

notes in a bar

And in that moment
I heard my favorite song
(the one that makes my heart jump)
coincide with your voice,
and it made me love you more,
made me miss you,
made my heart and soul connect.

Can YOU type with 7 fingers?

I learned how to type when I was in the second grade. The computer teacher at my school was a nun, and all she taught was computers. If I had a brother in the room I could recall the name, but something that will always burn in the brain was this nuns thumbs...that and her old school Catholic teacher rhetoric (thou who disrespects thine nun computer lab shall be beaten with large wooden object).

So this nun. Back to her thumbs. I was sitting with friends today looking at dogs and their owners. After an owner has been with a dog for a while they start to look alike, and vice versa. I can see the logic in that argument; you spend enough time with anything, you become just like it..right? RIGHT. This nun had two thumbs in the shape of a space bar. I kid you not. The woman looked like a keyboard, and had a soul that mirrored cold plastic.

I mean, look at your thumb. Do you see your joint? Now imagine, rather than it pointing up, rotate that puppy 90 degrees. This was the hand of an evil nun. I digress...

We were told to pretend that we had oranges under our palms while we were typing. We also had typing tests where we had to close our eyes and type the alphabet (cruel and unusual punishment). Ironically my piano teacher, also a nun, told me the same thing. Obsession with citrus in the nunnery? I was thinking about these nuns today because I managed, in a moment of severe frustration, to give myself two papercuts, one on two consecutive fingers, with a postcard(holyshit ouch, that stuff isn't thin).

Papercuts really aren't supposed to make you think this much, honest. But I think we all become more aware of the functions of our body parts when they're injured. Like how you only really notice the top of your foot when you get a blister from new fipflops, and your scalp isn't really on the top of your priority list until you've dyed it an unnatural shade of purple. Again, I digress. I've spent the afternoon trying to type with 7 fingers, thinking about how Sister Mary IWillMAIMYouWithARulerIfYouFuckWithMyKeyboard would react to my poor typing skills.

Sometimes it takes a vice for us to appreciate normal operations, or to lose something, before we become aware of how wonderful it was. As I'm sitting here I'm getting frustrated as Fisher keeps kicking me with his back right foot. Both he and his brother are dreaming at the same time. Many times I've come home just too damn tired to take them out, annoyed that they're so filled with energy and I'm so filled with...not energy, but know that if I came home without their cold noses to greet me I would be beside myself.

Thanksgiving is coming right? Before we know it the leaves will be a huge heap on the ground, the trees will be bare and Philadelphia will be filled with ghosts walking around in black suits and hoodies. I want to get ready for Thanksgiving in a new way. Not by stalking and buying the largest frozen turkey that ACME will sell me, but really appreciating what I'm thankful for- like 10 fingers, and 10 toes, all in working order. I've got time to figure out the rest. In theory...

"It's my happy-birthday-bergerac, -bononi, - budini!!"

At 12:30am a celebratory glass of Bergerac morphed into multiple glasses of (delicious) red wine in the rear mezz, as we lovingly refer to it, at Devils Alley with all of my fav's from the Alley crew.

"It's my happy birthday! It's my happy birthday bergerac, my happy birthday bonini, my happy birthday budini!!" In all honesty, by the time I got to the budini, things were full swing, impromptu birthday celebration.

I don't know if it was the wine or the fresh air, but after alley drinks, I really wanted to bike across town to my friend Johns roof deck. So off we went, on a very-much-WAY too tall Schwinn to 21st and South.

What a beautiful deck! Drinks were had, and Cate convinced a passerby to sing me happy birthday from the street. Not exactly Marylin or Barry, but sincere and wonderful. After walking two blocks not only was the celebration in full swing, but so were the spins. Somehow threw myself in the shower and crawled into bed.

The sweetie tells me that I didn't get home until 4....suspect?

I really do have the best friends in the world. And I don't just say that because they buy me great wine instead of shots of SoCo and Lime. It just works, without work. For instance, my best friend sent me a beautiful red pie plate and instant crust recipe this weekend. She's never forgotten my birthday, and to boot, she found a pie plate with my high school nickname (Emile, Emile, Smmmiillleeee!). What a perfect present!

I'm so lucky to have such great friends to celebrate the good times, and work through the sketchy times. Considering I'm always a half hour late, consistently forget to send belated birthday cards to friends, go Christmas shopping during "after Christmas sales", and notoriously forget to return voice mails, it's crazy to think that my friends stick around.

I think this calls for a 24th birthday resolution. Rather than a cane and pair of reading glasses to accompany my aging bones, I think I'll opt out for a calendar for my kitchen. Important dates will include birthdays, bills due, flee meds for all the boys in the arc, and of course, time for my partners in crime, Bergerac, Bonini, and Budini.

Thank you everyone for the birthday wishes; for unconditional, unfaltering love.