First Philly Audition--and a few thoughts about Christmas.

I want to preface this by saying that my experience in real-world auditioning is pretty minimal. I'm more used to auditioning for people who know me already- who have had me in class or seen me perform or have already decided that a role is mine. And yeah, that's nice, but in a way, it's also crappy. I remember one of the only times that I felt like nothing aside from the audition had legitimately won me a role- and it was an awesome feeling. And now that I am no longer surrounded by teachers and friends and a consistant support system, I can only hope that someday, I will get to feel that wonderful winning feeling again. I hope.

That being said....

I had an audition recently. I'll skip the specifics just in case someone who is even remotely affiliated with the show should stumble onto this page. What I WILL say is that it is an ensemble cast looking for a female replacement, and that the only positive thing I felt for this audition was the nice neighborhood that it allowed me to see. But I digress

The audition took place at the venue, which was in a REALLY nice neighborhood. The audition was for a role that was comedic, consistant (every Saturday night into the forseeable future), and PAID. The audition was ten minutes long with nobody else in the room besides the "local director" and a couple other hopefuls. I read two sides, was grilled about scheduling, and then told I could leave. I never heard anything else.

Now, I know that I will run into about a zillion more situations like this in my life. I know that this type of structure is probably typical in the real world, and that you don't always get a chance to read more than once, or audition with the people that you would eventually be working with--even though I feel like, in this case, that would have made a lot of sense. I'm not going to try and be aloof and say that I didn't even want that part, because I DID, I really did- even though I thought the sides were kind of poorly written and questioned the credentials of this "local director", I wanted to book it, or be asked to understudy, or at least get a callback. But I didn't. And hey, that's okay, it was certainly not the best audition that I can recall having, and I AM glad that I got at least one under my belt. And I have my foot in various other wonderful doors right now- I have an internship that is fantastic with people who are wonderful and knowledgable and hilarious. I have a part-time job that allows me the freedom to pursue other projects AND get hugs from 30 of the most adorable children I've ever met in my life on a daily basis- I have a lot of great things going on. But I really want to be onstage again. I know that I have to start at the bottom and work my way up here- I know that it's going to take a while to get my foot in the door and that I have to be persistant and remember that nobody here owes me anything-nobody is obligated to cast me. I just have to keep trying. And I will.

I sort of feel like that rant was a little pointless. But I've spent too much time typing it out. There it will stay.

Anyway.

In other news, I have managed to make about 80% of this year's Christmas presents completely by hand, which was not easy, but feels freakin' awesome- there is something very satisfying about looking at the huge pile of handmade crap you have to somehow fit in your suitcase without breaking or crushing it and knowing that YOU and your craftiness are responsible for all of it. AND I've just learned how to crochet hats, which is very exciting. I'll be in the great state of Maine form December 23rd to December 30th, which I think is JUST enough time, and I can't wait to see my sister. and my FRIENDS!

that's all for now!

except...this (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=__kQ1PCP6B0a). Merry Christmas-week to all!! And to all, a quick journey to Friday!!

Rudolph with your nose so bright, won't you stay on TV tonight?

the chiropractor that lives on my street has a giant house with a driveway (huge) and a big open-air porch. in an effort to get the entire neighborhood into the christmas spirit, this chiropractor has placed a life-sized animatrontic santa claus on his porch, which does nothing but stand there and wave at all the passers-by. i go back and forth on thinking it is festive and cute or just plain creepy.

anyway. i was standing in front of this waving santa, talking to my mother when she brought something rather strange to my attention. "I was watching Fox News this morning- (the be-all and end all with my rabid conservative parents), and there was some crazy old man who had published a book bashing Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer."

ummm----do what now??

my mother elaborated on the story---obviously this man was a deranged liberal, and thank GOD there was a conservative genius there to point out the error of his ways--

and i guess i won't even touch that part of it. to me this isn't so much about political parties as it is about a beloved Christmas character.

HERE is the story, you can make up your own mind. Everybody has a right to their own opinion, and if the bullying in the story frosts your sugarplums, then that's that. But here are my two cents:

1) yeah, Rudolph IS bullied by the other reindeer AND by his teacher. he is different and they are uncomfortable with that. HOWEVER, isn't this whole story about realizing everybody's differences and celebrating them?? doesn't rudolph meet a bunch of misfit toys that were once rejected and find homes for all of them? and DOESN'T Rudolph end up guiding the freaking sleigh and "going down in history?" all of those that once made fun ate their words. he overcame everything!!

and

2) by that token, if you are going to put a ban on Rudolph for the bullying portrayed there, why don't you put a ban on the story of Lady Gaga, who overcame bullying and is now one of the most well-known musical icons anywhere? or (as much as it pains me say it) Robert Pattinson, who was bullied for his interest in performing arts as a child? Or better yet, why not tell President Obama that his stories of being bullied when he was younger are not something to be discussed-even though he is now the President, his past might be upsetting.

look, i'm not saying that bullying is right, or that it should be tolerated-ever, because it isn't, and it shouldn't be. it is NEVER okay to make another person-particularly a child- feel bad about themselves. however, i think if Rudolph were not a fictional talking reindeer, he would be a part of the "it gets better" campaign, telling kids that even though you might feel bad now, you can rise above the hardships and really make a good life for yourself. Rudolph would join the ranks of people like President Obama, Lady Gaga, and that wonderful guy from 2nd City that does the Sassy Gay Friend skits to encourage children to be brave in the face of bullying, and teach other children that bullying is wrong and should be stopped. I also think that Rudolph would encourage everybody to embrace what makes them different and special, which is a lesson that everybody needs- not just at Christmas, but all the time.

So let's not put a ban on the movie!!

Also, my favorite Christmas song is at the end--- let's give that a listen. OH and make sure to look for the elf wearing sunglasses as he hooks Rudolph up to the sleigh. I love that part.

November 24th

I was tempted many times to post the things that I am thankful for this year as a facebook status, but resisted, feeling that I would probably think of several thousand more things I was even more thankful for and thus have several thousand facebook updates today. However, I have had all of thanksgiving to think about it, and I came up with a list of the things that this year, I am the happiest to have.

- I am thankful that I did not have to work this thanksgiving, and that I was given enough time off to make it from Philly to Maine and spend the day with my giant family.

-I am thankful for my huge family that all gets together this time of year for thanksgiving and black friday shopping. I feel like it's sort of a rarity that families are able to get together, even for the holidays, and I guess I am just one of those amazingly lucky people that gets to have their family together at the holidays

-I am thankful for all of my amazing friends. I am happy that I am able to keep in touch with all of the people that really matter, in spite of the distance between some of us.

-I am thankful for my tiny apartment in Philadelphia, and my comfortable side of the bed and my kitchen table and my really small sink, and my kitty that wakes me every morning, and my boyfriend that lives there with me and takes care of me and always wakes up to hold me when I have a bad dream.

I could go on and on and on, there are so many little things that I am happy to have in my life! My grandmother remarked today that I seemed really happy. And I am really happy. And that's great.

Happy Thanksgiving!!!!

Thanks-WINNING!!!

Here they are, this week's WINNERS!!! I was going to look for two more to make it a perfect five, but with wins that are this awesome, I think these three can hold their own.

3) Jason Segel talks Muppets and focus groups. Hilarity ensues.

2) animals that drive has always been a dream/nightmare of mine...

1) Finally, a thanksgiving movie the entire family can enjoy!

HAPPY THANKSGIVING MONDAY!! :)

Oh---Jesus.

Ben and I had a chopped salad for dinner. I had actually never heard of a chopped salad until a couple of weeks ago, when Ben suggested one while we were doing laundry. At first I was skeptical- I'm rather partial to salads where the lettuce is big and leafy and there are big hunks of tomato and nice slices of cucumber and satisfying morsels of everything else- but upon reflection I have found the chopped salad to be a rather genius idea- you can get a little bit of everything onto your fork and then into your mouth! No wonder so many people like them!

You can relax though, because I have no intention about discussing chopped salads any more. The fact that we were cutting some vegetables in the kitchen is really all you need to know. Ben had just cut the top off of a red pepper and removed all the seeds and the strange little parasitic pepper thing that you sometimes find inside the big juicy ones. I snatched the orange-green blob up off the cutting board. "Look," I joked, "it's the baby Jesus."

This lead to an amusing talk of Jesus-es past- the grilled cheese Jesus, the cheetoh Cheesus, the monologue in Lonely Planet where Carl is telling Jody an anecdote about a washer-woman who sees the face of Jesus and/or satan in the plate that she is washing, which reminds me now that I know someone for whom that monologue might be good.

I learned later, while I was making cookies, that Jesus has been pretty busy this week. A man in Maine has alleged that Jesus told him it was okay to squat in someone else's home while they were on vacation (read all about it right HERE). There was no hesitation, of course, because the opinion was seconded by the man's dog. If that weren't enough for him to be certain that he was making the right decision, there was also the promise that he would meet Taylor Swift in the house, and proceed to marry her in the back yard. I'm not sure if it was the dog or Jesus who told him that one, but he's been charged with theft and criminal trespassing. And while I didn't think that I would say this, Jesus may have inadvertently been onto something with this poor guy, who is probably homeless and hungry. Perhaps if he could get a little jail time he'd be able to avoid spending much of the harsh Maine winter outside, and that would be a good thing.

oh, and on a completely un-related note, I have become obsessed with THIS. Maybe it's a maternal motherly woman thing. Maybe it's my love of dogs. Maybe it's just plain awesome. But that dog can feel free to babysit any children I may have.

Swordfish.

Today I learned that a good friend of mine from high school has passed away. I'm not going to say any more about it, because it isn't my place and I feel like it would be tacky. What I will say is that I will miss him and think of him often, and that the news of his death did something to my perception today. I was suddenly in love with everything- every little thing that I could see and feel and that could make me feel alive- it makes me sad to know that this friend will not be able to experience these things anymore- no more autumn days and crunchy leaves, no more hugs, just empty space and silence. But today the leaves changing colors on the trees, the giant pretzel statue in pretzel park, Doretha bringing me an extra wild cherry capri sun, the pair of four year old twins that must give me hugs once they see me, the intensity of how much I loved all of these little things was overwhelming and wonderful. At least a shred of happiness came from today.

That's all for now.

Perhaps later this week I'll give details of my exploits as mouse-hunter. Just not today.

Ghosts of Halloweens Past

Last year, Halloween was on a Sunday, and I was just finishing my shift at the slots when the girl behind the bar slid back into the service well and asked for help making a cosmo. I, having just learned how to do it, jumped on the task, and before long, was carrying a cosmopolitan martini (in one of those stemless, fishbowl type glasses) out to the bar. The bartender pointed to where it belonged.

And there she sat.

She had long blonde hair and an outfit that was almost completely purple- even her fingernails were purple. She thanked me for the drink and I, not wanting her to feel like I was staring at her for too long, made a clumsy comment about the color of her fingernails, which was really pretty. She thanked me, and we also talked about the stemless fishbowl glass- how nice they look, how they serve coffee in them in other countries, those kinds of things. She gave me the money for the drink and I ducked back into the service bar to get her change.

Now, there is something that I didn't tell you about this lady. It was pretty clear from the get go that she was a man. I didn't want to embarrass her, because she really did look great. It was just the face-stubble and sort of deep voice that kind of gave her away. When I came back out to give her her change, she leaned a little further over the bar and said, "I just want to thank you for being so nice to me. This is a truly terrifying experience." She explained that it is really hard for her to find support (especially in that area) and that Halloween is one of the only nights a year that she feels safe to present as a woman- that way she probably wouldn't be beaten up. "And, hey--" she said, getting up from her barstool, "how do I look??" She turned around, and I took in her purple tights (awesome) and her heels (also awesome) and her purse and her watch.

"You look really great." I said. And I meant it. I held out my hand, "My name's Mandy."

She shook it. "I'm Natalia."

"Really nice to meet you," I said, "Happy Halloween!!"

Natalia, where ever you are this Halloween, I hope that you have found a group of people that loves and accepts you for whoever and whatever you want to be. I hope that you have found a place, both geographically and mentally, where you feel more comfortable donning those purple outfits- and maybe even make an appearance on a day besides October 31st. I hope that your fingernails are another awesome color and that you've had a few more cosmos, and I hope you're really happy.

Happy Halloween Everybody!!

how a night of hoagies and pleasantries ended with Mandy on a bizarre tirade for truth.

Picture it: Bangor, circa 1999. Elizabeth and I are sitting in Governor's with her mother, Cherrie. We are eating ice cream sundaes, planning our upcoming trip to New York City, and, of course, gossiping about one silly thing or another. I can't quite remember what person or action that Elizabeth was describing with disapproval, but I do remember what she ended her thought with:

"well, whatever tops your cherry, I guess..."

Elizabeth had meant that statement to have the same effect as "whatever floats your boat"-- kind of a "whatever goes on the sundae after the cherry," maybe? But Cherrie was abhorred.

"ELIZABETH!!!!"

We stared back at her. "What??"

"Do you even know what that means?? If you say 'whatever POPS your cherry...."

"MOM!!! OH MY GOD THAT'S NOT WHAT I SAID!!!"

by now, the people in the booths on either side of ours had stopped their conversation to listen in, and we were all silent for a moment before we roared with laughter. Eventually the other patrons went back to their haddock sandwiches and onion rings, and I'm not sure how many were there to hear the next little gem:

"I hope Patrick Wilson is still in 'The Full Monty' when we se it. Mom thinks he has a big penis."

So, that evening was a win, and it's also no surprise that when I stopped by Elizabeth's tonight for hoagies and a visit with Cherrie, that the sophisticated topic of male genitalia was once again raised for discussion. This time, we dissected a story that was supposedly featured on the Today Show, claiming that pregnant women who eat a lot of chicken could be causing their boy babies to have small penises.

YES. You did read that right.

Skeptical about the validity of this argument, and unsure of whether or not the story was even ON the Today Show, Cherrie looked it up on Elizabeth's computer. "Oh. There are a lot of articles about this- poultry consumption and the feminization of male genitalia-" she clicked on one. "And this one says that if you eat a lot of soy, your boy babies will be both homosexual AND have small penises??"

We all exchanged looks. And then questioned what sources these studies came from [some rabid christian research center?], and what foods might make a baby boy have a bigger penis, which, of course, included the obligatory cock vs. chicken jokes.

Ben was in the shower when I got home, so I perched on the toilet seat and told him of this chicken-penis study that I'd heard about.

"I'm pretty sure that's bullshit," he said, looking out from behind the shower curtain. "And anyway, what a strange thing to be tested in a randomized control trail." I had to agree, but still, I had to read one of these articles for myself. So I did.

For those of you too lazy to read the article, the very first sentence should provide you with a little insight....

"According to the best available science, three-quarters of women find both penis length and girth "somewhat important" or "very important."

Um. WHAT?? First of all, no duh, and second of all, do you really need the "best available science" to come to that conclusion?!?

"It was a simple study. Researchers measured the levels of phthalates flowing through the bodies of pregnant women, and then later measured the size and characteristics of their infant son's genitalia between ages 2 months and 3 years."

Okay. Let me get this straight. You are telling me that you measured the penis of a BABY and are somehow surprised that it is SMALL?? WHEW!! I'm so relieved that we have scientists working on this, I would never have been able to obtain these results on my own.

But seriously. I actually went totally crazy over this and started reading all of the supporting materials linked in the article. Apparently the MD who published this warning to pregnant women got most of his information from a study which tested the effects of PHTHALATES on reproductive development. According to this study, it appears that yes, the levels of phthalates found in pregnant women DOES contribute to the size of their infant son's junk- it may be smaller than those of other boys whose mothers did not have as much of that stuff in their system.

HOWEVER:

1) this study was extremely small, and believe it or not, some of the mothers originally contacted decided against having researchers measure their son's privates. go figure

1.5) it was also mentioned that in order to gain any conclusive results, these infants would have to be examined again as adults- for all we know, these babies who once had small penises grew into men with perfectly normal- hey, even large- reproductive organs.

2) while it is stated over and over in the material that there was a difference in genitalia that corresponded with phthalate levels, the actual AMOUNT of difference is nowhere to be found..........hmmm.

3) after reading this study, I tend to agree that phthalate levels might contribute to reproductive health later in life. I failed to find, however, any shred of evidence that CHICKEN is behind this issue. While chicken may have more of this chemical in it than say, fruits or vegetables, there is no data to support the notion that the pregnant women in this study had more phthalate in their bloodstreams because they had eaten more chicken. Actually, phthalates can be found in numerous other items, including shampoo, makeup, medication, and prettttty much anything containing plastic. I am sure that there are several ways -poultry consumption aside- for the levels of this chemical to be heightened in the bloodstream of a pregnant woman.

and one more thing....(really, just one more)......

Did anyone else notice that this article is published on a website called vegsource.com?? [Now, don't get me wrong, I fully support anybody who wants to be a vegetarian. Just because my stint as one ended with me fainting in the shower on several different occasions does not mean that it is the wrong choice for anybody else...] Could it be that this whole thing has less to do with phthalates and more to do with EATING CHICKEN...?? I wonder if Michael Greger, MD eats any meat at all. Ben wonders why he attaches his MD and his picture to something as juvenile as this (and truth be told, he spent even more time than me looking into this stuff :p). Unfortunately, we do not have the "best available science" to help us find those answers, and that's a shame.

So, there you have it. A night of hoagies and pleasantries and gossip that turned into Mandy obsessing over the validity of a- let's face it- pretty freaking random claim. Well, rest assured that I got the answers that I was looking for- and, if you kept with me through this whole....science....thing, I hope that you did too.

and hey, at least i found an appropriate venue to share the scary chicken picture that i actually took at my local supermarket.

WINNING!!!

While I realize that Charlie Sheen's downward spiral was embarrassing to those close (and perhaps those not so close) to him and potentially dangerous to the health of himself and those around him, I feel that the catch phrase that emerged from this rather insane period deserves some appreciation- look at how it's caught on!! Tonight, for your entertainment, I have assembled five facebook/youtube/internet sensations that I deem to be WINNERS- they are funny, they are awful, or they just make me smile when I think about them. ENJOY!!

#5:

http://local.sandiego.com/news/video-gumby-attempts-to-rob-7-eleven-in-san-diego-fails

[this one has it all- violence, costumes, and a poor anchor wondering when THIS started being news. WINNING!!]

#4:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xw1bAL-N6H8

[BETTY freakin' WHITE!! Betty is always winning!!]

#3:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9A4UGtM4hDQ

[the snarky boss getting what he deserves, the crash of the cymbals, the look of victory as joey walks down the hallway- all WINNING!!]

#2:

http://www.stumbleupon.com/su/1tqL2k/www.funpic.hu/en.picview.php%3Fid%3D40567%26c%3D-1%26s%3Ddd%26p%3D1

[come on. there is NO WAY this little guy is NOT a WINNER!!]

#1:

http://www.neatorama.com/2011/03/30/royal-wedding-fridge/

[there's just--NOTHING not-winning about this.]

this week's good, bad, and ugly.

OR what is it with russians and their barres?, stephen king's in the freezer while ben's away, and GOOD GRAVY how i hate driving in the city!!

the GOOD: Call off the dogs. My search for a dance studio in Philly is officially over. My Philadelphia spot for dance is on the third floor of 1923 Chestnut Street- it's a really gorgeous space that belongs to the illustrious Kip Martin. Kip is a Russian- trained, meticulous teacher who lets nothing slip by, demonstrates everything flawlessly, and even dispenses some sassy wisdom when it's warranted ("let's not fall off the stage the next time we do that, hm?"). In a word (or two), he's fucking amazing. After class, he inquired about my training- where it was, what style, nationality of my teachers, etc. I explained about Maureen and Keith in Maine (who- oh my god, I miss terribly), and Kip looked at me over the rims of his glasses and said "Well, they did a good job, I think."

So, now we are best friends. And as soon as my calves unclench from the over 1000 releves (998 of which we did at the barre-[!!!!]) we did in class I am headed back. Kip told me I should feel like I have a home there, because I do. Well, okay. If Kip says so.

the BAD: Ben is away until Wednesday for med-school interviews, which is actually incredible news. It would just be more incredible if I had a television in my apartment. With a TV, I can lay in bed, put on the sleep timer, and listen to fraiser, the golden girls, or the food network and fall asleep until morning. Without a TV, I turn out the lights, lay awake in bed, and convince myself that every noise I hear (the cat, the wind, michael next door, nothing) is a murderer or dead body or ghost or giant rat. It doesn't help that I have gotten into Stephen King for Halloween. I'm reading a collection of previously unpublished novellas- one about a man who slaughtered his wife like a pig and is driven insane by her decomposing corpse and a harem of giant rats, one about a woman who is viciously attacked by a bunch of rednecks on her way home one night, and two more that I haven't gotten into yet. It was stupid of me to begin reading it the week before Ben left on a week-long adventure- it was probably stupid of me to start reading the book in the first place, but once you start reading, the descriptions and the suspense completely pull you in- even IF the first sentences you read are "i murdered my wife and tupped her body in a well. i forced my son to help me" (or something to that extent). The book is residing in the freezer (in true "Friends" fashion) until Ben comes back on Wednesday. And luckily I have Elizabeth and Geoff's guest room to crash in until then too- entire blocks away from the scary book.

the UGLY: On Friday night I had the pleasure of watching one of the sweetest little boys in the world (look at how cute he is ) who lives in the nearby neighborhood of Mount Airy. I took Elizabeth's car. His parents went to a jazz concert and arrived home late (not a big deal, Matty was asleep anyways), and I COULD NOT FIND A PARKING SPOT TO SAVE MY LIFE!

This is what I know about driving and parking in Philly, and none of it is good. The driveways here are apparently not meant for cars. Everybody has a car (or two) and everybody has to park on the street AT ALL TIMES. Let me ask you, in a city that has public transit that is reliable (on weekdays at least) and gets you almost anywhere in the city and the surrounding suburbs, why on earth would you want to have a car that ALWAYS needs to be parallel parked?? Sometimes I see the entire streets filled up during NORMAL BUSINESS HOURS. If you don't have a job that you need to get to on time, WHY DO YOU EVEN HAVE A CAR?!?! Of course I could be wrong. Maybe all of the owners of those cars work at night. Or they are being green and walking everywhere or something- but if they are walking everywhere, WHY THE CAR? I understand that a car is probably more convenient than having to depend on public transit, and that it makes impromptu trips across state lines (or to ikea) a lot easier. But good gravy, I DO hate driving and parking in the city. I am okay with relying on busses and trains. If I don't have to drive in Philly on the regular, it will be okay.

Tomorrow I am going down to Main Street to get my nails done and look for a coat and/or earring rack. The hardcore cleaning of the apartment in Ben's absence has been going incredibly well. Maybe I'll even get some pictures of our cozy, furnished apartment up on the interwebs. And Babs is doing well. She's a good cat.

my life above a crack den.

when ange and i were freshmen in college, she called me one day to go have a look at a house that her father was thinking of buying. if he bought it and fixed it up a little bit, she explained, we might be able to live in it next year with a couple of room mates. so, i eagerly jumped into her green jeep and off we went. the house was deep in the throes of old town maine, which boasts such amenities as a smelly mill, johnny's restaurant (one of the best breakfasts EVER) and tim's little big store, where you could mix and match six packs of beer and bitch drinks. we might have driven by it a time or two, but when we finally stopped in front of the correct house, i think underwhelmed would have been an understatement. the house was little more than a mint-green rectangle with a black roof, windows covered in tapestries, and an area of white vinyl siding where the front door had once been.

"dad," said ange on the phone. "you cannot buy this house. it looks like a crack den."

having never seen a crack den before, i tended to agree with her, and we were both certain that we did not want to live there. needless to say, andy didn't buy it, but the image of that sketchy little home stayed etched in my mind. if ever i heard the term "crack den", the mint green block would be all i could think of. that is, until i moved out of maine and learned what an ACTUAL crack den might look like.

at the time that ben and i signed the lease on our philadelphia apartment, our landlord did two things- first, he invited us to his daughter's second birthday party, which would take place in a month's time in king of prussia (this is ALSO a wonderful story, but it is one for another time). second, he told us that the woman downstairs was being evicted, and it was only the second time in his entire career as being a landlord (11 years times 32 units....you do the math) that he has ever had to evict someone. "she just got into some weird stuff," he said, and left it at that. for the time being. we learned later from rachel, who also lives in our house, that ms. downstairs was possibly a prostitute. it didn't take too long for us to connect the dots about her many gentleman friends that came to visit, (friends she referred to as "cousins"), the fact that her 5-7 year old son would sometimes just be sitting on our porch, alone, while she remained inside- those sort of things. (mind you, i KNOW this is all circumstantial evidence, but we all agreed that she must have done something pretty horrible in order to be evicted by our landlord, who made an exception to his 11 year rule by renting a one bedroom apartment to ben and [typically, no couples], allowed rachel to have her giant dog on the third floor, and didn't make a huge deal when michael, who shares the second floor with us, forgot to put his rent check in the mailbox and then went out of town for a week...something was fishy.)

the drama over the eviction continued- she and all of her stuff were supposed to be out on september 30th. on the first, we got a call from our landlord saying that he was on the property if we wanted to give him our rent check, (but if we weren't ready we could just drop it off another time). ben and i met him downstairs, where he was standing in front of her former apartment, the door wide open. i gasped. there was trash everywhere, broken furniture littered the floor and any other available surface, a half-full fish tank was perched precariously on the end of what i can only assume was a coffee table. a huge chunk of the ceiling was missing, part of the wall opposite the door was peeling and falling down, and the smell was unbelievable. ms. downstairs had clearly NOT moved out.

"believe it or not, this was actually the nicest apartment in the building," sighed our landlord. he explained that he was bound by law to keep all of her belongings for 30 days, and that he knew that she had been messed up with drugs, which had led to her eviction. "this is what drugs do to you," he said, hastily closing the door, "so don't get caught up with them."

certainly puts the quasi-dodgy mint-green house into perspective, doesn't it?

we have actually come into ms. downstairs a couple of times since then, through a sort of bizarre set of circumstances. she told us that she was absolutely not a prostitute or into drugs, and that the house was simply falling apart and our landlord didn't want to deal with it. THAT's why she was being evicted, and please don't think anything bad about her.

i was thinking about our apartment- the brand new carpets and the fact that we had been allowed to paint the walls whatever color we wanted, and at the same time the fact that she had told her 5-7 year old son to "get back here right now before i rip your face off" moments before defending herself. luckily ben chimed in with "oh don't worry, we definitely don't."

so, while i suppose the jury is still out on whether or not ms. downstairs is indeed a crack whore, i would say that the evidence stacked against her (while, i'll admit, it's mostly circumstantial...) is pretty substantial. she has one more chance to come and get the remainder of her stuff, and then i guess the pretty blue sign that is taped to our front door will be strictly enforced. [drama, drama, drama...]

ben and i have wondered aloud about who might take the apartment downstairs once our landlord is done cleaning it (and replacing the carpet, ceiling, wall, etc...) i hope it is someone our age, like michael and rachel, so that i could fulfill my secret desire to have a sitcom style living situation. i guess that "hey, did you know that your apartment was once an alleged crack den?" is probably not the BEST way to make a first impression with a new neighbor, but i will take full advantage of the once terrifying apartment downstairs when i tell my non-philly (and hey, maybe even some philly) friends about it.

and

i'm still pretty glad that andy didn't buy that house.