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.