Drinking Liberally is a weekly social gathering where progressives talk politics and get to know one another. In Center City Philadelphia, we meet on Tuesday nights at José Pistola's upstairs bar, where there are drink specials from 6:00 to 9:00 p.m. And the more we tip the bartender, the more frequently he hands out free dishes of chips and dips. I hope to see you there!
José Pistola's is at 263 South 15th Street (15th and Spruce) in Center City, near the Kimmel Center and the Academy of Music. There's a parking garage across the street, but as filthy liberal hippies naturally we suggest public transit; both SEPTA and PATCO will get you there in two shakes of a lamb's tail.
This week's topic: "How getting Glomarization a steady boyfriend blows her blogging schedule to pieces."
"Come for the beer, stay for the check"
Showing posts with label men. Show all posts
Showing posts with label men. Show all posts
20 July 2010
02 September 2009
Odd customer service hours
There are some great mysteries in life.
One of those great mysteries is why SEPTA's customer service desk on the Route 100 side of the Norristown Transportation Center is open only on Mondays, Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Fridays.
Of course, the Wednesday closure exactly coincided with my unexpectedly spending Tuesday night in suburban Norristown and needing to get back to Center City Philadelphia on my own Wednesday morning, and I'd neglected to get my September TransPass when I had a chance to do so on Tuesday afternoon. But that part of the tale isn't so much a mystery as it is a relatively straightforward example of my usual luck.
One of those great mysteries is why SEPTA's customer service desk on the Route 100 side of the Norristown Transportation Center is open only on Mondays, Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Fridays.
Of course, the Wednesday closure exactly coincided with my unexpectedly spending Tuesday night in suburban Norristown and needing to get back to Center City Philadelphia on my own Wednesday morning, and I'd neglected to get my September TransPass when I had a chance to do so on Tuesday afternoon. But that part of the tale isn't so much a mystery as it is a relatively straightforward example of my usual luck.
31 August 2009
Another day, another wedding invitation
So I've been invited to yet another wedding.
This one is the second marriage for both the bride and groom, so they're kinda keeping it small. Knowing that I don't have a steady boyfriend at this point and likely grateful for the opportunity to save a couple of hundred dollars, the couple addressed my invitation solely to "Ms. Glomarization," not to "Ms. Glomarization and Guest." I guess even the most starry-eyed, head-over-heels-in-love people I know are pretty certain that I'll be ending my days single and alone.
Won't be the first wedding I've attended without a date. Not even the first wedding this year I've attended without a date. You know that point in the reception, after the newlyweds have had a few minutes of their first dance, and they turn and invite everybody else up to dance? That's probably the best part of attending a wedding without a date, I'd have to say.
Not that I want to be a downer. However, I admit there's not much, other than serious economic advantages for both parties, that would ever make me get married again. And you'd better believe that my pre-nup would be absolutely bulletproof and would leave my future ex-husband with little but the clothes he'd brought into my household.
It is understood that this attitude of mine is not helpful when it comes to finding men who want to date me.
Oh, well. I have a few weeks yet to find a dress that it screamingly inappropriately short, and to get some heavier handweights to work on my tricep exercises.
This one is the second marriage for both the bride and groom, so they're kinda keeping it small. Knowing that I don't have a steady boyfriend at this point and likely grateful for the opportunity to save a couple of hundred dollars, the couple addressed my invitation solely to "Ms. Glomarization," not to "Ms. Glomarization and Guest." I guess even the most starry-eyed, head-over-heels-in-love people I know are pretty certain that I'll be ending my days single and alone.
Won't be the first wedding I've attended without a date. Not even the first wedding this year I've attended without a date. You know that point in the reception, after the newlyweds have had a few minutes of their first dance, and they turn and invite everybody else up to dance? That's probably the best part of attending a wedding without a date, I'd have to say.
Not that I want to be a downer. However, I admit there's not much, other than serious economic advantages for both parties, that would ever make me get married again. And you'd better believe that my pre-nup would be absolutely bulletproof and would leave my future ex-husband with little but the clothes he'd brought into my household.
It is understood that this attitude of mine is not helpful when it comes to finding men who want to date me.
Oh, well. I have a few weeks yet to find a dress that it screamingly inappropriately short, and to get some heavier handweights to work on my tricep exercises.
28 June 2009
On clothes and dates
It has been not-so-gently suggested to me that I might have more luck getting laid if I would only dress better.
In my defense, it's a lot easier to dress well when one has an income. I haven't had an income for a while, but if I remember correctly income is a situation where you "trade" your "time" and "work" for "currency," which you can then "exchange" for "goods and services" provided by other people. And, in the process, the numbers on your bank statement do not continue to dwindle and go to zero, so long as you "save" more of this "income" than you "exchange" away.
But until I have an income, I'll be making do with ill-fitting jeans, hand-me-down shirts, and D.I.Y. haircuts.
And maybe that's a vicious circle, too -- I'd be more appealing to a potential employer if I had more than 2 suits that fit me, and if the suits I have were better styled and tailored. Let's just say that I'm on a "banana republic" budget right now.
Anyway, I have a long history of dressing badly, and if you think my hair looks crazy now, you didn't know me in the 1980s. Childhood snapshots of my family generally show me wearing pants that are too large, a shirt that is too small, and a hairstyle that looks like a dead muskrat stapled to my scalp. When I was an undergrad, my uniform was jeans, a t-shirt with a tea stain toward the front hem, and a rolled-up bandanna holding my hair back. At least nowadays I know how to use black clothing, spandex, and hair product, and I can blame the pot belly on pregnancy.
Speaking of which, have you actually been shopping for women's clothes lately? What the hell is up with these maternity-looking shirts? Hanger after hanger of them, and hung up all over display windows. Blouses, frilly sleeveless tops, even professional shirts all have extra pleats in the front, I guess to cover up how fat American women are becoming. Folks, I didn't look good in maternity wear when I was pregnant, let alone now. Ugh. It makes me want to go back to wearing jeans, tea-stained t-shirts, and bandannas.
And I think the lack of dates is more due to my abrasive personality, and the fact that I have a kid at home, than my wardrobe, really. But on the off-chance it helps, a few days ago I went out and got some new-to-me summer clothes for myself from the upscale consignment shop down the street. Then I came home and put a slightly greater quantity of clothes in bags to donate to a charity thrift shop.
In my defense, it's a lot easier to dress well when one has an income. I haven't had an income for a while, but if I remember correctly income is a situation where you "trade" your "time" and "work" for "currency," which you can then "exchange" for "goods and services" provided by other people. And, in the process, the numbers on your bank statement do not continue to dwindle and go to zero, so long as you "save" more of this "income" than you "exchange" away.
But until I have an income, I'll be making do with ill-fitting jeans, hand-me-down shirts, and D.I.Y. haircuts.
And maybe that's a vicious circle, too -- I'd be more appealing to a potential employer if I had more than 2 suits that fit me, and if the suits I have were better styled and tailored. Let's just say that I'm on a "banana republic" budget right now.
Anyway, I have a long history of dressing badly, and if you think my hair looks crazy now, you didn't know me in the 1980s. Childhood snapshots of my family generally show me wearing pants that are too large, a shirt that is too small, and a hairstyle that looks like a dead muskrat stapled to my scalp. When I was an undergrad, my uniform was jeans, a t-shirt with a tea stain toward the front hem, and a rolled-up bandanna holding my hair back. At least nowadays I know how to use black clothing, spandex, and hair product, and I can blame the pot belly on pregnancy.
Speaking of which, have you actually been shopping for women's clothes lately? What the hell is up with these maternity-looking shirts? Hanger after hanger of them, and hung up all over display windows. Blouses, frilly sleeveless tops, even professional shirts all have extra pleats in the front, I guess to cover up how fat American women are becoming. Folks, I didn't look good in maternity wear when I was pregnant, let alone now. Ugh. It makes me want to go back to wearing jeans, tea-stained t-shirts, and bandannas.
And I think the lack of dates is more due to my abrasive personality, and the fact that I have a kid at home, than my wardrobe, really. But on the off-chance it helps, a few days ago I went out and got some new-to-me summer clothes for myself from the upscale consignment shop down the street. Then I came home and put a slightly greater quantity of clothes in bags to donate to a charity thrift shop.
06 June 2009
"a no-strings, go-nowhere, sex-romp 'relationship'"
Far be it from me to say that men are pigs, but I ran across a funny dating anecdote the other day while following the bouncing links:
I don't particularly need a sugar daddy and if I'm going to have a no-strings, go-nowhere, sex-romp "relationship" with a guy, well, that’s what 25-year-old bartenders, aspiring actor-writer-musicians and the occasional summer associate -- not puffy, middle-aged, overworked lawyers -- are for.The Legal Tease at Sweet Hot Justice discusses a "niche fetish" she's observed in BigLaw.
20 May 2009
"The look"
A few nights ago, I got "the look" again. The look, that is, that a man gets on his face when he starts to feel the horror of his own impending mortality, upon learning that the woman he's speaking with is divorced, has a child, and is approaching 40.
It's both more tiresome and less amusing than watching a man struggle with a madonna/whore complex. The easiest way to spot that one is when a man says, "You don't look like a mom." Which is not exactly a compliment -- really, think about it -- though probably it's usually intended as one.
It's both more tiresome and less amusing than watching a man struggle with a madonna/whore complex. The easiest way to spot that one is when a man says, "You don't look like a mom." Which is not exactly a compliment -- really, think about it -- though probably it's usually intended as one.
29 April 2009
On nervous habits
I hate it when I'm talking to someone I have a crush on and then get nervous and pick at a hangnail until it bleeds all down my finger onto the glass of cheap, sweet-ass champagne I'm drinking.
26 February 2009
Users are children
In order to better understand what was going on with my alcoholic, pathological liar ex-boyfriend, I read Jerry Stahl's Permanent Midnight this week.
The memoir goes into more detail about the day-to-day life activities of a user than I'd been familiar with. But Stahl's explanations of his background and reasons for using were similar to what I've heard and seen many times: lousy childhood and poor parenting leading to extreme feelings of worthlessness; use starts in the teens, as a way to dull or obliterate the thoughts that cause the pain; use continues and intensifies during the 20s, when the body is vigorous and resilient and can process dumptrucks of drugs; and some other people's lives get wrecked along the way.
Eventually you end up in your 30s or 40s without having the skills to actually ever deal with a problem, because you've spent the years of your life, when most people learn how to deal with problems, blasted away from your problems. If you quit without therapy -- or without access to good self-help books and a determination to do the work on your own -- then you end up a dry-drunk with anger management problems, a person mentally half or a third your actual age. If you don't quit, then you end up leaving Las Vegas, wrecking some other people's lives along the way.
In the meantime, you lie. Using is a secret, and it's a huge one. To keep it up, you have to lie, and eventually you get really good at it, and you get into the habit of lying about everything, all the time. You get good at it, because it's like evolution: if you don't get good at lying, then you can't get money and time for your habit. And the lying is not like that of an ordinary person who's maybe a little more reserved and shy than most, and doesn't open up easily. Rather, it's a knee-jerk, unconscious reaction to every situation and every question you encounter: you lie. If your childhood was bad in a particular way, then the lying is intertwined with oppositional-defiant behavior, too, that you never outgrew because you medicated yourself out of outgrowing your adolescence. Eventually you end up in your 30s or 40s and you know of no other way to interact with the world than to constantly want the opposite of whatever the other party wants. You don't know why or even realize that you're doing it, which causes trouble and pain to go along with the social discord that the oppositional behavior causes anyway, so you dose yourself so you don't feel it.
At bottom, users are children. They made themselves halt growing up. They started using in order to stop the thoughts and emotions they had in reaction to the painful environment they were in. But you can't move out of childhood without processing those thoughts and emotions and learning how to deal with them when they come up again throughout your life.
So it's a thing to keep in mind when you meet a user (or come to realize that someone you've known for a while is a user). They're still a child. If they quit and stay quit, then you're likely to be dealing with someone at the same emotional maturity level you were at when you finished high school.
Speaking of which, I think a friend of mine is back on the Bolivian marching powder. My first thought was, "Damn." I confess my second thought was, "Must be nice to have that much cash on hand."
The memoir goes into more detail about the day-to-day life activities of a user than I'd been familiar with. But Stahl's explanations of his background and reasons for using were similar to what I've heard and seen many times: lousy childhood and poor parenting leading to extreme feelings of worthlessness; use starts in the teens, as a way to dull or obliterate the thoughts that cause the pain; use continues and intensifies during the 20s, when the body is vigorous and resilient and can process dumptrucks of drugs; and some other people's lives get wrecked along the way.
Eventually you end up in your 30s or 40s without having the skills to actually ever deal with a problem, because you've spent the years of your life, when most people learn how to deal with problems, blasted away from your problems. If you quit without therapy -- or without access to good self-help books and a determination to do the work on your own -- then you end up a dry-drunk with anger management problems, a person mentally half or a third your actual age. If you don't quit, then you end up leaving Las Vegas, wrecking some other people's lives along the way.
In the meantime, you lie. Using is a secret, and it's a huge one. To keep it up, you have to lie, and eventually you get really good at it, and you get into the habit of lying about everything, all the time. You get good at it, because it's like evolution: if you don't get good at lying, then you can't get money and time for your habit. And the lying is not like that of an ordinary person who's maybe a little more reserved and shy than most, and doesn't open up easily. Rather, it's a knee-jerk, unconscious reaction to every situation and every question you encounter: you lie. If your childhood was bad in a particular way, then the lying is intertwined with oppositional-defiant behavior, too, that you never outgrew because you medicated yourself out of outgrowing your adolescence. Eventually you end up in your 30s or 40s and you know of no other way to interact with the world than to constantly want the opposite of whatever the other party wants. You don't know why or even realize that you're doing it, which causes trouble and pain to go along with the social discord that the oppositional behavior causes anyway, so you dose yourself so you don't feel it.
At bottom, users are children. They made themselves halt growing up. They started using in order to stop the thoughts and emotions they had in reaction to the painful environment they were in. But you can't move out of childhood without processing those thoughts and emotions and learning how to deal with them when they come up again throughout your life.
So it's a thing to keep in mind when you meet a user (or come to realize that someone you've known for a while is a user). They're still a child. If they quit and stay quit, then you're likely to be dealing with someone at the same emotional maturity level you were at when you finished high school.
Speaking of which, I think a friend of mine is back on the Bolivian marching powder. My first thought was, "Damn." I confess my second thought was, "Must be nice to have that much cash on hand."
16 January 2009
Profoundness: on break-ups and bathroom cleaning
Cleaning around the tub and sink drains with bleach and a toothbrush the other day would have been much, much more satisfying if I hadn't already thrown out his toothbrush last trash day.
06 January 2009
Profoundness: on the spectacularly bad end of a long-term relationship
His Netflix queue is full of stuff that I picked out and that he's probably not the least interested in. Twitch City and some other Canadian TV that I've missed since our local cable service doesn't include a CBC station. L'Anné dernière à Marienbad and some other art-house must-sees that haven't come around in repertory lately.
It's like a subtly sweet revenge.
It's like a subtly sweet revenge.
01 January 2009
Stepping into the new year
I PWN3D the white elephant gift exchange with the gang on New Year's Eve.
What I gave: a glass candy dish shaped like a turkey.
What I brought home: a 4-pack of Maudite.
What I gave: a glass candy dish shaped like a turkey.
What I brought home: a 4-pack of Maudite.
Nice balancing act at the beginning of the year: on the one hand, a relationship of over 3 years is painfully coming to an end. I have no job prospects to deal with my mortgage-sized law school debt, not to mention that the bar exam looms like a hulking cliché in 6 short months. But on the other hand, I gave away really the epitome of a white elephant gift (a somewhat tacky tchotchke that belongs in a grandmother's parlor) in exchange for some of Québec's best.
Unpleasantness both ahead and behind me, but an auspicious beginning to the year. Best wishes for a happy, prosperous New Year to you and yours.
30 July 2008
Cognac will be my downfall
Cognac will be my downfall.
Or men who give me cognac will be my downfall.
Men who refill my glass, unasked, after I've already had a few ounces of cognac, following a couple of beers with friends and a light dinner, will be my downfall.
In conclusion, men bearing cognac will be my downfall.
Or men who give me cognac will be my downfall.
Men who refill my glass, unasked, after I've already had a few ounces of cognac, following a couple of beers with friends and a light dinner, will be my downfall.
In conclusion, men bearing cognac will be my downfall.
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