PolySkeptic Compound!

I grew up in Philadelphia.  I love Philadelphia.  For college and grad school, I was not far away, and I visited often.  I love being in and near major cities, for many reasons.  It has something to do with easy access to culture and more tolerant and accepting people.  In other words, you can get away with being weird easier.

A few years ago I was involved with a woman (she-who-shall-not-be-named…oh fuck it, her name was Seana), who got a job in Atlanta.  The relationship was going well, and at the time I was not working and decided to take the risk of moving to Atlanta with her.  ‘Risk’ being the operative word.  Turns out that she was an evil monster worthy of fantasy-lore, and I ended up not with her anymore.   I think that’s for the best.

But while down there, after having my heart yanked out, stomped on, and then rebuilt in order to smack it around with a badminton racket (some people have strange kinks), I met Ginny, and luckily she didn’t like badminton that much.  So we started dating and her academic pursuits led her to the Philadelphia area and thus I eventually moved back to Philadelphia and have lived here for the last year-and-a-half or so.

Until now.

Now, I live in New Jersey (which is totes better than that old Jersey, from what I hear).  And this has been the source of epic teasing–of me, by me–because we Philadelphians are raised to make fun of New Jersey.  It’s the perfect set-up for self deprecating humor, really.   Also, it’s Philly tradition or someshit.  I think it has something to do with people waiting in lines at Geno’s or Pat’s at 3:30 AM being generally stupid while figuring out how to order a cheesesteak.

Naturally, we assume they are all from New Jersey.

Well, look at me now! I’m living in New Jersey.  Granted, I’m only a PATCO ride from Philly, but I’m almost in another universe, really.

I kid, I kid…and then some years later I goad.  Wow, that was a really terrible and spontaneous attempt at a pun which probably fails in text.  Oh well, it’s typed now and there is nothing I can do about it anymore, so I will have to live with it.  And so will you.

It’s actually sort of awesome because my life now has the soundtrack written by the collaboration of the various love-babies of Bruce Springsteen and Jon Bon Jovi.

So, why “PolySKeptic Compound”? Well, it’s because now all of us polyskeptic writers (at least, those of us that survived the great PolySkeptic wars…see here, here, here, and here for example) now live under one roof! And if Jessie would actually accept my invitation to contribute, we could have the whole house involved! A blog orgy…or something.

OK, maybe not “orgy.” Polyamory is not all about the sex, right? Think of it as an orgy of fun.  Not that orgies aren’t fun….  You know, never mind! I don’t want to hear your anticipated groans of disapproval at my terrible humor.  No orgies then, goddammit!  Also, there is no god.  Probably.  And if there is a god, then it’s a total dickwad.

OK, so back to the point.  We are living in the same house now.  I got rid of a lot of books for the move but I still have a lot of them around me.  There’s also a lamp shaped like a guitar.  And cats.  Cats are assholes, BTW.  I like them and all, but they scratch at your door early in the morning.  And it’s hard to get them into the microwave.

Like, really hard.
So, now that I’m living in The Jerz, perhaps we’ll start making videos and call it “Jersey? Sure!” in which we shall make baby Jesus cry with our orgies of fun-but-not-as-fun-as-sex-orgies-fun.   Also, no Snooki. It’s funny because it sort of sounds like I said “no nookie.”  Really, it’s funny.  Also, I’m working on my abs so I can be “The Circumstance” and be world famous for something other than my hilarious jokes and intimidating intelligence.

Gina is laughing.  That’s all that matters.

The rest of you can eat a bag of dicks.

With a spoon.

—

So, this is what happens when I wake up at 7:30 in the morning….

But, in all seriousness now, I’m quite happy to be here, and I look forward to my new life in New Jersey.  Hell, beer is cheaper here.