bug

verb: to bother, annoy, pester

Okay, so the Claritin poster wasn’t a primo example of Philadelphia quirkiness, it was actually a sneaky ad from Zyrtec. Very clever indeed. Were I affected by pollen, ragweed, etc, that ad alone would sway me into trying Zyrtec over any other over-the-counter anti-histimine (that’s why I’m an excellent consumer) but since I’m apparently immune to such things, I’ll just go on thinking that it was a swell marketing campaign.

Though normal allergens don’t bother me, something I dread as the temperatures begin to climb are other airborne irritants, specifically those of the insect variety. I’m horribly allergic to mosquito bites, which is truly unfortunate since mosquitos and all other nibbling, blood-sucking insects seem to just LOVE me. I know I tend to speak in hyperbolic terms sometimes, but my reaction to insects is literally the worst case that most doctors have ever seen. Two years ago I went on a long weekend camping trip and got so chewed up that I made an appointment with a dermatologist, hoping to be given some kind of medication that would either a) make the itching stop, or b) make me invisible (or unappetizing) to bugs. The conversation went something like this:
Respectable Dermatologist: (alarmed) Those… aren’t bug bites.
Me: Oh, I know, it’s pretty awful.
RD: (still alarmed) You must have some kind of condition.
Me: …no, they’re bug bites. Can you give me anything for them?
RD: They can’t be. There’s too many.
Me: I know, I tried counting them but lost track when I got past 50. Maybe you could give me an ointment, or a pill, or something?
RD: That’s impossible. They can’t ALL be bug bites.
Me: Except that they are…
RD: No. They’re not.
Me: Hm. Okay, I went camping in the Pine Barrens and actually SAW the bugs biting me.
RD: No. Uh-uh. There’s no way.
Me: Um… Yes. Really.
RD: There aren’t that many mosquitos in New Jersey.
Me: …You’re not going to help me, are you?

Since this has been a problem that’s plagued me (and has only gotten increasingly worse) since childhood, I tend to dislike most insects, even the ones that don’t bite. To avoid a mess in my apartment I’ll try to catch some (moths, for example) and free them outside instead of squashing them. But if there’s a chance I’m going to end up being bitten, or if it’s a *cockroach* that I have to deal with, I’ll kill anything dead without a second thought. It’s not a girl thing, or an “eww, a bug!” thing, it’s a matter of my happiness, comfort, and, to an extreme degree, survival.

All that being said, there is also a type of insect that I’ve recently encountered that I simply don’t know what to do with. Too fast to spray with kitchen cleaner (which, I’ve learned, kills everything) too big to squash without making a mess, and far too heebie-jeebie to capture and set free on the fire escape… folks, I give you the Philadelphia Millipede:

Now, what on EARTH am I to do with that? I suppose could keep her as a pet and name her Phillie Millie. If that’s not a close enough shot for you, here’s the one I’m submitting to cuteoverload.com:

This is what I had to deal with upon arriving home this evening, after teetering home in three inch heels, after multiple glasses of wine, after schmoozing at a work dinner with some terribly impressive and influential people. So what did I do? I took the bug’s picture on my cell phone and half-heartedly aimed a spray bottle of kitchen cleaner at it while it scampered underneath the radiator. Very much alive.

I’ll be living in this apartment for exactly 16 more days. Any suggestions on what to do with my multi-legged roommate if we encounter each other again?

dwell

verb (used without an object):

1. to live or continue in a given condition or state
2. to linger over, emphasize, or ponder in thought, speech, or writing

As promised, more good news to share! First of all, news of the not-exactly-mine-to-share variety: Martin (boyfriend, of the totally awesome variety) bought a house! After a fairly painless search, he found a beautiful house in South Philly that’s more or less move-in ready, and he officially becomes a homeowner (with keys) in mid-June.

Now, for my own news: I found an apartment! It’s a delightfully bright (windows in every room, gah) and unusually enormous (an entire floor, gah twice) one bedroom on South 10th Street, right near the Italian Market. I move on June 1, which can’t come fast enough since today I was not only greeted at the front door of my current apartment by a giant cockroach, but I also found out from a neighbor (who was kind enough to provide bug spray for the offensive roach) that my building has been recently broken into… twice. So, yes, all the signs are there, and it’s time for me to leave. As much as I hate moving, I’m really looking forward to my new home. It’s big enough for all of the furniture that I had to put into storage when I moved into my (tiny, roach-infested, easy-to-break-into) Rittenhouse apartment, and I’ll finally be able to set up a sewing area after five years of wanting one, PLUS I’ll be able to host small parties. Oh, that’s right. Domesticity and I are going to get it ON.

Speaking of new homes, it’s time I expressed my growing fondness for my not-so-new home city. Even though we got off to a rough start, I can finally say that I’m glad to be a Philadelphian. Perhaps at some point I’ll be moved to make a detailed list of all things I love about this city, but for the moment I’ll just talk about my absolute favorite: the always surprising, never-disappointing quirkiness. Like this sign, for example:

spotted along South Street while walking to Martin’s apartment. Or the pumpkin helmet that someone carefully carved for the statue of the woman in the fountain in Rittenhouse Square around Halloween. Or the heavily inked and pierced bike messenger who yelled “God bless you” over his should to me when I sneezed while crossing Broad yesterday afternoon.

This city has always felt small to me, so it’s only right that the little things should matter most. New York will always be a wonderful place to visit old friends, but Philadelphia is finally what feels like home.

variable

start

verb: to begin or set out, as on a journey or activity

Hi, and welcome to my blog! I’m sure you have questions. To start, this isn’t a topical blog. It’s meant to serve as a writing outlet for me, in hopes of sparking other creative endeavors, and also as a way to share my life’s goings on, adventures, stories, tangents, etc., with folks who I don’t see regularly. But, being a public blog, total strangers are more than welcome to visit, and often!

Next, the name “falling up the stairs.” It speaks to my current life (and generational?) status: onward and upward, but with a few faceplants here and there. Cheesy, maybe, but… who doesn’t like cheese?

This introductory blog was bound to be lame, and so it is.

Check back soon for far more interesting posts!