I knew that when I moved to Philadelphia I would be in for some shock. I am from California, where people are tan and happy and frolic through fields of avocados, caressing their long blonde tresses in the Standing Palm Tree Gardens of Babylon. It's a universe far far away from the grey intensity of the East Coast, but not far enough away that I didn't have some idea of what life on the eastern seaboard would be about. Artery-clogging cheese-steaks, some odd sport called lacrosse; a filmy substance called snow and angry pedestrians. But I welcomed the change: hello fattest city in the world, goodbye straight men who eat frozen yogurt! And besides, the stereotypes couldn't be as bad as I pictured them: I mean, it's not like the doctors and nurses would smoke cigarettes outside the hospital or anything...
And speaking of unhealthy habits, it had been two weeks since Mr. Mayflower had shocked me with his burly display of arrogance at Smokes and I couldn't get over the feeling of rejection and dejection. I was homesick for la-la land and I decided to the best remedy would be to exploit the cultural diversity of the city -- what I had moved here for. Really rape and pillage what Philly has to offer. So on Friday night Carlotta and I decided to venture into the beyond -- and the beyond was at Drexel. I lined my lips with brown liner, filled in the lips with shimmery pink gloss, pulled my hair into a high ponytail, fastened on my gold chains--an outfit as deceptively fitting as the Trojan Horse. We stepped inside this random party and as if I was in a movie, my eyes locked on this total hunk. The world went still.
There he was, an Adonis: muscles ripped, proudly displayed in a Philly T-shirt, love gut pudding over the Tommy Hilfiger jeans, smooth olive skin, proud Italian nose and greased hair glistening like Apollo's chariot dancing over the sun. The DJ bumped Bon Jovi and this guy grabbed me by the hand and the next thing I knew I was back at his place. He picked me up and carried me into his place, though it was difficult for him to walk, being that there were so many lion statues afoot. But he managed to undress me and throw me on the bed. He spread me in cheese whiz and bathed me in lager and as I ran my fingers though his illustrious mullet I thought to myself: if this is cultural shock, then shock me through the heart till you give love a bad name...
But he was too vain. The Italian Stalion threw me out the door-- a weight as dead as cement bocks at the bottom of the Shuykill-- before I could even get dressed and there I stood alone on the sidewalk. Never had I felt so homesick in my life. I dialed the girls on my cell phone and met up with them at Copabanana to drownmy sorrows in margaritas. I understood that Adonis the Greek hunk-a-sontous and I weren't meant to be together, but then where was I meant to be? I felt lost and terrified, in need of a home and some comfort. I came to Philadelphia for adventure but I never anticipated the shock of homesickness. I thought to myself: If home is where the heart is, and I am away from home, then can I ever find my heart here in this strange, cold city?
Adonis had tossed me aside like wilted letuce in a cheese steak. They always say that change is good, but I had tried change and change had left me feeling like trash. I longed for the sanctitude of my home-state, where at least I could be "recycled" (not discarded, fermenting by the side of the road) goods. It was then that Tamantha passed me another margarita and drew me in for an embrace. Suddenly, I realized that with my friends, and not with a man, I was a goddess on top of Mt. Olympus. As they say, you can take California out of the girl, but you can't take the girl out of California. It was time to re-take a healthier approach and go on a lifestyle diet for my own well-being. And besides, I had already ingested enough greasy Italian sauage to last me a cold, long winter in this city. . . .
