Despite what you may have heard, it is not in fact Always Sunny in Philadelphia. However, the minute it is, I just want to be outside. I don’t care what I’m doing out there, but if there is sunshine, I want to be in it. I’ve caught myself numerous times sitting on my roof deck, alone with Darcy, staring out and thinking in the Matthew McConaughey voice from the Lincoln commercials, things like “A storm seems to be brewing in the distance,” or “I would like to eat Indian food for dinner tonight.”
And the funny thing is – it’s freezing. There isn’t an inch of skin exposed on my body and I still wish I’d brought a blanket up with me. I try to get Darcy to share her warmth on my lap but she usually stubs me in the stomach until I put her down and she can chase the bees flying around again. Every time I decide to give up and go inside there’s a quick burst of sunshine and I remember how much fun it is to be shivering out here.
The official office of the Young and Retired…
When I watch other Philadelphians on neighboring roof decks and walking below, it amazes me the way the city comes alive in the sunshine. Cold, cloudy, sunshine. The double-decker buses are filled for every tour weekday in and weekend out, the city is swarmed with tourists posing with peace signs in front of the Liberty Bell and constant field trips of middle schoolers from suburbia follow Benjanim Franklin and Betsy Ross impersonators all along the sidewalks. The duck tours are full and per usual, annoying as hell, the Segway-ers are congesting traffic again, there isn’t a parking spot for blocks AND it’s still only 50 degrees outside.
Over the weekend I walked Darcy and decided to count how many people I heard laughing along the way. I got to two because I forgot what I was doing almost immediately (thank goodness for writing down thoughts – otherwise there wouldn’t be a blog) but that’s still two more than I’ve heard since September. I thought we should go to a new park and see how other neighborhoods relished in their sunshine. We chose Northern Liberities – which is full of weirdos and I should have known, but that just means more candidates to write about.
There was the woman who was breastfeeding in front of all of the other park goers. My cousin recently had a baby and always talks about pumping and things like that. I wish I’d had some pumping pamphlets on me to enlighten her on the beauties of keeping your shirt on in a child friendly and child-less person environment. I only want to see boobs on naked photo hunt and when my friends get fabulous implants.
There was soccer practice. It was probably for ages 3-4. The kids were precious and had no idea what was going on. I loved the little girl wearing a skirt and hoodie. Or the other girl wearing jeans, a denim jacket with frills and shoulder pads and flats. Or the little boys decked out in David Beckham or World Cup 2014 gear. They would wind up like a cartoon to kick the ball off of a stand into a net three feet away. It took me back to the days when I played soccer. I was 5, and I’ve been told I picked the best bouquets of flowers throughout the game that my mom had ever received.
There were bratty kids harassing my dog. She even got away from me at one point and went Cujo on this girl who kept running and laughing and taunting. I ran after her in my bare feet trying not to lose my Mr. Softie cone at the same time but it made me wish I had pamphlets on boarding school or animal harassment or Santa not coming to kids on the naughty list to give to their parents.
There was Mr. Softie. Ginger-eyes and I had a long talk about how ice cream trucks just aren’t what they used to be. I don’t want a deformed SpongeBob, I want Kohr Brothers in a truck to arrive and brighten my day. Minutes later our dreams came true and someone walked by with softserve. It was a glorifying moment – and Roommate was good enough to give us an extra $.50, since we are actually children in adult bodies, and hadn’t brought any money.
I decided after a while that my roof deck is a kind of Mecca. There are no bratty kids, no one is naked and no dogs peeing on my belongings. Philadelphia in the sunshine is a beautiful view and I cannot wait for a month from now when I can comfortably enjoy it outside without a pair of Uggs.
I almost forgot – there are also a whole lot of bikers. Bikers are the worst. The absolutely worst. Thank you, It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia for handling the biker problem