Perfectly Disgraceful

My very first bike accident

My people are from Glasgow, which  features one of the worst slums in Europe (so I'm told, I cannot be bothered to Google). They came to the states and settled in Detroit, another top-ranking slum area. I left Detroit (we will ignore the bland non-slum-ness of Allentown and the suburbs of Detroit where I actually grew up) and bought a house in South Philly, home to a larger proportion of semi-employed assholes than most urban areas. Really. Ask me about my delightful tire-slashing tree-killing constantly-threatening neighbors sometime.

Like my people, I do not fear a little adversity. Friday night? When a taxi hit my bike? And was totally in the wrong? Did I cry and get upset and call the cops? No. I blocked the damn taxi so it couldn't drive off and yelled and cursed at the driver long enough to make him feel really bad. Then I made sure that my bike was functional and rode off. Goddamn taxis are a menace. That driver should be thanking whoever it is he worships that I didn't call the cops. I didn't call because both because I fear the overzealous South Street cops (I did have a few drinks in me), but also because I am sympathetic to the undocumented and I didn't think that dude needed to get in a lot of trouble.  But he and all the other taxi drivers in Philly need to PAY ATTENTION.

Figs

They sure look pretty, don't they? I haven't bought a decent fig this summer; every one has been free of flavor. I did have some good figs at Tria back in July. I had a few glasses of wine in me by the time they were served, but I believe they were grilled or broiled or something with maybe some prosciutto and honey, maybe some sort of nuts, too. I dunno, but they were tasty. Before I ordered them, I asked the bartender about their quality and he assured me that Tria only serves figs when they actually have flavor.

 

I was raised by a mother who is not an adventurous food eater so the first time I ate a fresh fig was in 1995. The then-owners of the now dearly departed Odeon had Rex and I over for a drink and a snack. The beautiful Madame Odeon served us fresh figs sliced in half and topped with goat cheese, which I, then a young slip of a thing, thought the height of sophistication. In addition to a French restaurant and a head of gorgeous wavy white hair, Monsieur Odeon had an extensive collection of art books that Rex coveted. I so admired these people and they had invited us to their house, I was thrilled! But it was a hard row to hoe, owning a restaurant in Philly in the mid-90s, and the Odeons shortly thereafter moved to the west coast to become full-time oenophiles.

 

When I was aspiring to be a denizen of Odeon, I couldn't really afford to drink there, let alone eat there, but I worked at 12th & Chestnut, lived at 12th & Spruce, and Odeon was at 12th & Sansom (now the location of Les Bons Temps, the building is still beautiful, take a gander). It was pretty much impossible to not stop there for a beer on my way home from work. I would carefully nurse that one beer and hang out with the barflies who seemed to be mostly criminal defense attorneys. Funny guys. I'd flirt with the bartender who broke many a heart. I'd wish I could afford another beer, or a plate of frites, or a rendezvous with someone I shouldn't. Your twenties should be all about longing, right?  You're better for it, I should think.

 

Luckily, just as my favorite bar was about to close, and not long before I lost that job, I convinced Rex I probably wasn't all that crazy, and I never again had to go back home alone.

My life

Rex and I are looking at the pictures of the Older Child's collages and he says to me, "The Bayeux Tapestry is like that."

Collages

By the Older Child.

Mouse pants is my favorite.

Ghetto sangria

It's not really ghetto-- after years of working in the anti-poverty community, I know that limited access to the low prices and wide selection of fresh produce available at supermarkets is a serious food security issue in low-income urban communities. But I digress.  Or wait, maybe the lack of actual fruit in this sangria is what makes it ghetto.  Anyway.

Go buy yourself a box of cheap wine, the Black Box merlot is decent, I'm also a fan of Killer Juice Cabernet:

(If you prefer white sangria, I suggest using a bottle of vinho verde or a box of some pinot grigio.)

Purchase a bottle of Trader Joe's Mojito soda:

Fill a pint glass with ice, pour in as much wine as you think wise to drink, add the mojito soda to taste (warning: it's pretty sweet), add a splash of sparking water, and voila, instant cool refreshing alcoholic beverage that bears some resemblance to sangria without your having to deal with fresh fruit (which, you know, might make it a teensy bit healthy).

If you don't have a Trader Joe's near you? Well, now you know what it's like to live in a grocery-store-free low-income area.  I believe Barrack Obama has promised us a Trader Joe's in every neighborhood, one more reason to go canvass for him right now.  Or, after you drink that fake sangria.

At the party

To conclude our week of dresses, shoes and other wonders, some pictures, after the jump.

More dress-up

So. Tired. Haven't yet downloaded pics of my own dress and etc., so please make do with these dresses in the meantime.

I am rather disgraceful

Younger Child - Sometimes you yell at Mom.

Rex - When do I yell at Mom?

Younger Child - When shes says fuck.

Summer Table

For those of you who are sick of the dress dilemma (though really, why would you be?) I present a view of what dinner is like most summer evenings in the Disgraceful house. Nothing on this table requires the use of our oven or stove. Note the glasses with ice in them; they are full of ghetto sangria.  More on that later.

Dress decision

Yes darlings, we have a decision!  Some of you opined in the comments, some by email, and some in actual real live person. My wonky side thought it best to chart the responses (note how I preserved your anonymity with the clever use of initials) and so, we have:

	Vagabond
	Sack	H&M	Flowers	Green
B	yes
BB	yes	too young	no
C			yes	yes
S	yes			no
F	no	yes
L		no
SD			yes
A		yes	yes
MCGirl	LOVE IT
T	yes
Hipster Girl 1	yes
Hipster Girl 2	yes
Totals	7 yes	2 yes	3 yes	1 yes
	1 no	2 no	1 no	1 no

Last night when I was about to leave work, the sack was tied with the flowered dress, but then Marie Claire Girl weighed in with a very persuasive "LOVE IT!" so I was compelled to bike over to Vagabond and try the damn thing on again. Two very cute hipster girls watched me obsess and then offered that they both really liked the sack. Granted, they had not seen the competition, but they were very reassuring.  Sack it is.

Now.  What shoes do I wear?  I haven't yet tried it on with the hot pink sandals.  In the pic on the previous post, I'm wearing the Kork Ease and I like how they look.  B is most opposed to the pink and thinks I should go flat, but I think the occasion, and my legs, deserve a lift.

Opinions?  Anyone want to lend me a fabulous handbag?  Jewelry?  Anything?