You better tune in!! I'll be celebrating my bday weekend... yes i'm a leo. Venus in cancer tho... muah. Rising in cap... oof. Moon in sag... hot?
And just like that... I turned 27 and my secrets are either rotting in seperate trunks around the house or sprouting into flowers i've never imagined. This glass purple with leaaves that spiral. I cut one and instantly wept. The smells combined made me witness death with my eyes open. Amber Kahn warned me that the leo spotlight would shine in ways I couldn't handle. She wasn't wrong.
Working on my set for this:
You better tune in!! I'll be celebrating my bday weekend... yes i'm a leo. Venus in cancer tho... muah. Rising in cap... oof. Moon in sag... hot?
I know, I know! I mentioned meeting on Friday but I got occupied with Cyberpunk 2077!
The man I mail erotic letters to let me borrow it when he came over last week and I'm fully hooked!!
Did you wait for me? Put any fragrance on to impress me?
Listen... I'm really bad at meeting in public on a whim. As much as I fantasize about it, the concept of cruising has only worked for me a sparce amount with my handful of attempts.
I've wanted to share my tragic, sexy, and humiliating cruising in Rittenhouse story for so long. I just never knew when to bring it up. Now seems so fitting since this blog is a tragic, sexy, and humiliating space for you to gawk at me and respond only when you want.... if you want. Hehehe
Picture it, Summer 2024. A friend of mine was in town who I barely see. So, of course, I had to grab an Indego bike and tread thirty minutes to a gentrified home turned into a bar.
The outfit was my go-to maxi polyester skirt and a lace cami. Hair up. I learned this trick to do a high pony and then add the butterfly clip under it for volume… hot. Got to show off my soda caps purse too with my ex’s camcorder I’d eventually destroy in the laundry. I still can’t find that skirt either!
We drank. Did the karaoke thing at Ortlieb's, my first time there. I got so stoned I actually enjoyed the songs white people like to scream at each other at bars. Well at least at this bar. You know… the ones that make your foot go *tip-tap* in a cowboy boot you thrifted. This summer was also my first attempt at incorporating the cowboy boot into my looks.
I got to meet the friends boyfriend that night too. Who I'd eventually have such thought provoking conversations with about processing life and moving on.
At about 1 A.M., I hopped back on the bike and started moving from Fishtown to Point Breeze. The friend I mentioned and her partner are insanely attractive. Those type of people that make you question what you want to do with yourself after being around such charming people. So... I decided to make a pit stop at Rittenhouse and see if any people like this, who were single, felt similarly that night.
I light up the roach in my bag. I love leaving 1/4 inch missiles in my purse to enjoy after hours of small talk and cocktails. Maybe most of the conversations were small talk because I turned a basbeall bat of a blunt into a pistol bullet. Leaving it to bounce around and leave crumbs in my bag and make me generously happy if it survived the night.
A man in a suit spawns and bends around the corner. I can tell he's taller than me as I sit... cute. This is pre-glasses-era, so I couldn't see what he actually looked like from afar. But I trusted myself. Less than ten seconds of intent stares brought him to the bench. He sits. We chat. We kiss.
The suit came from a friend's wedding and the boy came from Graduate Hospital, formerly Bushwick. I couldn't take either home with me. Sex with me while I'm drunk feels like a caterpillar in metamorphosis, still and boring. He asks to meet earlier in the evening in a week from then. I agreed.
During this week I met a man who wanted to hook up with me from the apps who I later found out was still married to his wife who allows the marriage to be open because she, too, can't bare the fact to be fully involved with a Disney gay. He came over and saw that my bike was shit and fixed it for me. Woohoo! No more Indego bikes.
Seven days passed and I wanted celebrate the new life my retro Bianchi was given. So, I took her out for a spin to meet my new cruising endeavor. Wearing my go-to maxi polyester skirt and a lace cami, this time chocolate brown cotton skirt with matching cotton camisole, I take off. Definitely reaking of Mugler Angel at this time.
Who knows what music I was listening to. But I'll tell you, It was definitely too loud for biking in the city. That's how I like it. Silence in the city is impossible. You have to drown out the noise with sound in order to feel any sort of silence.
With that, I couldn't hear that the chain was slowly eating at my skirt until I reached about a block away from Rittenhouse Square. I couldn't pedal anymore and my bike immediately froze. The bike falls on top of me. I see my skirt caught in the chain and realize I have to rip the skirt apart in order to free it. I freak.
"Are you okay?", I hear from behind me.
"No!", I say as I squirm out of my skirt. The onlyoption so my bike is no longer on top of me. Literally skirtless!
A man pulled from a men's toiletries commercial hops out of the truck. The ones where no matter how baggy the t-shirt, the pecs STILL pertrude out and you know he smells like good cologne from afar. Some Sex + The City shit.
He unbuttons his shirt and tells me to cover myself as he rips my skirt out the chain, asking if it's okay to do before-hand. I turn the shirt into a temporary cover-up.
He gives me back my skirt and offers to drive me home. He clearly wanted some, but... I was too in my head. I just took my fucking skirt off in Rittenhouse and some hot guy wants to hang still after seeing that mess? No... pass. I also had to prove that word-of-mouth meeting still exist, anyway!
He gives me back my skirt and I use my hairtie to turn this maxi skirt into a ruched moment. Now walking alongside my bike into the square.
I jammed my finger pretty bad when I fell on it and tended to it while sitting. Ten minutes turned to thirty, then to sixty. I concluded he wasn't coming. Shed a tear and rolled a joint.
And that, everyone, is why I no longer cruise in Philly.
My bike lays in my basement waiting to be fixed. I'll get to it. And when I do; the both of us will bike through Kelly Drive to one of my favorite neighborhoods in Philly, Upsal. I used to bring my harp up there, when I had a car, and play songs only I could hear into the Schulykill trails.
To conclude, cruising is a sport that I am not built for and I have trouble reading that people who are interested in me ARE interested in me.
Did you smell what I have on while I was chatting? It's this Pistachia Brulee I was given at work. Normally not my thing but it compliments so well with the cocoa butter I put on daily. Nutty sweetness isn't something I'd normally wear in the summer. But, for some reason, this summer I keep wearing scents I loved in the winter of last year. Is there any correlation?
I will see you on Friday... hehehe. MUAH!