...Friday night pizza.

After my Thursday night, all I wanted to do on Friday night was come home, get some pizza, crash on my couch, and catch up on Burn Notice. (And why is it those are the nights I get multiple texts to go out?? Damn Murphy and his law. Damn it!) But the question was...where to get the pizza?? I've tried one pizza place, Key Pizza, because we drove past it the day I moved down here. The pizza was okay and I think they only have medium and up pizza sizes. I thought it was time to broaden my South Philly pizza horizons and share my findings with you, my dear readers. (what...no sarcasm there at all.)

I decided to walk a few blocks further than normal to try a new pizza place I've walked by before - Marra's on Passyunk. Apparently Marra's is some kind of South Philly pizza institution or something.

See how old-timey it looks? That's how you know it will be good. Right?

I went online to check out their menu, and was pleasantly surprised to see that they had personal sized pizzas!  I'm a big fan of "mini" pizzas (and almost all mini food) - pizzas that I won't be eating for days and days after I get it. My old pizza stand by - Pine Street Pizza - had mini pizzas for about $6-$7, it was perfect. So I was happy to find a potential replacement go-to pizza spot.

Anyway, I ordered a personal pizza with green peppers and picked it up about 30 minutes later. I wasn't expecting this:

The cheese goes blub blub blub...

It looked like they hacked up a green pepper into about six pieces and tossed it on the middle of the pizza. I mean seriously - I've never seen such large pieces of peppers on a pizza...it was slightly amusing.

Once I got past the oversized pepper pieces and unevenly cut slices (in small, medium, and large variety)...I tasted it. I have to say, it was pretty good. I have no deep insight to provide into the texture of the crust or the flavors of the sauce - it was just good, tasty pizza. The price point wasn't that bad either - I paid just under $8 with topping, tax, etc.

Okay, I lied. I do have some notes. The crust wasn't too doughy, but still crispy. Though I would have liked it to be a bit thinner. Oh, and smaller sized chunks of pepper. I would have liked to get some pepper with each bite instead of all at once.

Has Marra's become my new go-to? When I want a mini pizza, yes. Though I might pass on the green peppers next time.

...why you don't fuck with my parking spot.

No, I won't pop a cap in yo' ass...but I will get even.

(editor's note: There seems to be some understandable confusion. By "my" spot, I mean the one I dug out and put milk crates in. After five years of city living and over 40" of snow in a five day span, I finally succumbed to the "tradition" of "reserving" a parking spot. I'm writing about the people who didn't observe said "tradition" and moved the crates out of the spot to park there.)

These people are going to come out tomorrow thinking they have a nice, clean spot to just pull right out of. WRONG FUCKERS!

These people are going to come out and have a lot less snow to shovel! Notice how I spent extra attention on blocking in the front tires.

I decided, when I got home and saw that a nice, clean VW was in the spot I so carefully and arduously spent over an HOUR digging out of this morning, and I saw my crates moved out of said spot and onto the snow bank next to it, that the owners of that car were a special kind of asshole and they would pay.

Now, if I'd listened to my mother, to enact my revenge I would have let the air out of their tires. (Apparently, this is her M.O. used against an ex's new g/f that parked in front of her house - that's my girl.)  Effective, yes, but it wouldn't drive home my point - which is...if you didn't earn the spot, and the objects in the spot aren't yours, FIND ANOTHER SPOT YOU LAZY JACKHOLE.


UPDATE:  The lazy jackhole/fucker/special asshole was not in the spot when I went to work this morning. However, I am pleased to report that he/she/they had to dig themselves out. Again. So I'm imagining their morning went something like this:

Asshole #1: "Do do do doo...la la la...oh how nice it will be to get into our car this morning without shoveling again."
Asshole #2: "Yes, I will enjoy the labors of that person who thought that milk crates would keep US out of a nicely shoveled parking spot."
Asshole #1: "Ha! Ha! Ha! Can you imagine the look on their face when they went to - WHAT THE FUCK?? WHY IS OUR CAR SNOWED IN??"
Asshole #2: "WHAT?! But when we stole that spot last night, it was so snow-free!"
Asshole #1: "The karma elves must have come overnight to punish us for our selfish and ingnorant behavior."
Asshole #2: "The snow is not enough. We should shovel out the elderly and then impale ourselves on the ends of our shovels."
The End.
I say there are two assholes because the car looked suspiciously like the one across from me yesterday morning that two yupsters were digging out. And obviously, I took creative license with the end of that dialog. They clearly would not have the self-awareness or courtesy to realize the extent of their douchiness.

Also, while I almost put my crates back in MY spot...I thought it might start a vicious passive-aggressive crate-removing-snow-shoveling war. And really, I just don't have the time or energy for that.

...my first snow as a homeowner.

I will start this off by informing/reminding the audience that even though I'm an urban girl, I grew up in Bucks Co., PA. While it was actually named after William Penn's home, Buckinghamshire, it more appropriately describes all the freakin' deer.  I grew up in an area that was equally suburban and rural. And when it snowed, it snowed. It would take me 15 minutes just to get dressed to go shovel the driveway. And then another hour or more to help do it.

Suffice it to say, I know snow. So when I looked out the window this morning and realized that there was about 3-4 inches of snow already, and it hadn't stopped coming down, I thought the prudent thing to do would be to go out and shovel before it go too bad. (Note - I have a raging head cold at the moment, so finding the motivation to actually get off the couch and go outside was nothing short of a Christmas miracle.)

I got out all my snow gear and got dressed. Took my handy new shovel (thanks Mom!) and headed out to brave the elements.

Apparently I thought I was going to be shoveling the entire street during a blizzard.

Ten minutes later I was back inside.

This is the entire area that I'm responsible for keeping clear:

Was so tempted to move my car into that open spot.

I've shoveled more snow off my parents' front porch. It took me longer to get dressed than it did to shovel my sidewalk. So I shoveled my neighbor's steps. And then a part of my other neighbor's sidewalk. Then I came back in and had to remove all the layers.

Now I'm going to curl up on the couch with my Slanket and a hot beverage, Netflix some "Spooks," and not shovel again until tonight. At which point I will probably just throw on a coat and boots.

Oh man, I just heard someone start up a snowblower. *sigh*

...being a real South Philly resident.

So...after many years of being a "resident" of Philadelphia, I broke down and became an actual resident of Philadelphia. Complete with new car registration and everything. This is what greeted me when I got home tonight:

This can only mean one thing...

...unrestricted parking!!

Now, if we can only do something about those old fuckers and their Bingo nights. 

Oh...and a sign I'm definitely in South Philly...this is also what I came home to tonight:

That is my door on the left. I share that awful awning with my neighbors. And now, it would seem, we share some tasteful Christams lights.

….moving. And small talk.

I hate small talk. I think often times it’s thoughtless and insincere, done more out of social obligation than genuine interest. (And I suck at it.) People ask the perfunctory, “How are you? “ - but do they really want to know? If you started telling them about your shitty morning where you spilled your breakfast onto Dry Clean Only pants, or how the power went out so you overslept, you would most likely get “The Look.” The look where he or she politely nods and smiles at you, but his/her eyes are saying, “oh dear God, get me away from this person now, I was just being polite.”

This is how I feel when people ask me, “how’s the house?” Most, if not all, do have a genuine interest knowing that I just bought my first house in a new neighborhood. But I guarantee they don’t want the verbal diarrhea that I spew forth as I tell them about the myriad problems I’ve encountered in the past month.

Or worse, they probably don’t want to hear that I’m really not adjusting well to the move. How my routines are all off. How my stove’s cooking temps seem to be way higher than any other gas stove I’ve ever cooked on. How the nearest drop off mail box is now so far out of my way. How, despite only moving 1.5 miles south, I feel so far removed from EVERYTHING. Like I moved to a borough.

They want to hear, “Oh, it’s great! I love it! Best decision ever!” But if I said that…I’d be lying.

Now by no means do I hate the house/new ‘hood. I don’t even think I regret buying this house. I just REALLY miss the area I lived in for the past four years. It was fantastic. It’s like going away to college and really missing home. You know you’re in for good times; you just have a hard time getting past what you left behind.

So, to anyone reading this who knows me – unless you really want to know how the house & new location are going…don’t ask. I suck at polite small talk.

…not being hip enough for my new ‘hood.

I am not a hipster. By ANY stretch of the imagination. I don’t even think I could pull it off for Halloween. I like heels and silk and handbags.  ---->

In addition to attracting urban girls who can't afford Center City, my new neighborhood also attracts hipsters. That being said, two friends came down on Saturday so we could check out some bars/hangouts in the new ‘hood. The evening was pretty uneventful, which was fine considering I got home around 3am the night before.

Bar #1 - Lucky 13:
I really liked this bar and will definitely be going back. It was small, but not overcrowded (even on a Saturday night), they had Magner’s cider, good music/jukebox selection, and a bunch of TVs (which were playing Tremors – always good for a laugh). We didn’t order anything, but the food that was being served looked tasty.

It was marginally hipster, but I felt neither old, nor lame. Added bonus – it’s about two blocks from my house.

Bar #2 - Stogie Joe’s:
Also about two blocks from my house, but not on my list of places to return. We didn’t even order drinks. As my friend K said, “it reminds me of a bar in Bensalem.”

NEXT.

Bar #3 - Pub on Passyunk East, a.k.a. POPE:
Hel-lo hipster mecca. I kinda knew this going in, but the sea of fixies out front sealed it. We walked in and BAM – into a wall of people. Correction – wall of hipsters.

We found a corner to wedge ourselves in and ordered drinks - bonus for them having Magner’s. (We attempted to sit down, but were shooed away by the wait staff.) Of course, someone next to us was drinking a token PBR. We finished our drinks and headed out, past a guy in a TNF ski jacket with its hood up.

I have mixed feelings about POPE. I think I’d go back and try the food (which I hear is good)…but I will probably not be going back on a Saturday night around midnight. I am just not cool enough and can't resist the urge to poke fun at the rampant skinny jeans wearing.

All in all, an enjoyable evening getting the lay of my new land, which is slowly growing on me. Slowly.

...new neighbors.

Depending on how neighbor relations go, I could regret writing about this. That being said, I'm doing it anyway.

The other day my Dad met my next door neighbor while out on the roof patching a leak (they were down to help with some stuff and mingle with the neighbors, who must think they live here).  Apparently she's singl(like me), well-spoken (like me ;) ), and seemed nice (hmm...people would say I'm nice. right?).  So she likes to spend time on her roof sans deck, outdoor space is at a premium in these parts. No biggie.

Cut to about twenty minutes ago when I catch a reflection in my TV (which should really just be called "my 42 inch monitor") of someone outside my window. Being the crazy paranoid person I am, I turn around expecting to see a lurker...nope. It's my neighbor. In a tank top. In 50 degree weather. 

I have no idea what she's doing out there and then I just see a pair of legs from the knees down. And they were, uh, kinda masculine in their, um, hair coverage.  Then they went away. And then I realized my hippie artsy neighbor is outside on her dirty roof doing yoga in a tank top and yoga shorts.

Meanwhile I'm inside on the couch in a t-shirt, flannel pants, and slippers eating Halloween candy thinking to myself, "is the heat really on??"