After working all day on “expanding my social networks”, i.e. signing up for a number of websites and creating profiles to list my websites and get more exposure (hence, the reason why there was a lapse in posting yesterday), I actually left the house after 9 pm. Now, leaving the house in and of itself is not really that shocking. I do manage to pry my atrophied behind from my desk chair every few days to retrieve mail, do grocery shopping, or head out for the occasional secret shop. It was my destination last evening that was most shocking – I actually went to a party!
Butterfinger, Mounds and I went to the gathering, and it was basically a bunch of people with whom Mounds works at his prime beach bar place of employment. I knew a few of the girls, but not really anyone else, so Butterfinger and I did our best to talk with people, trying to remember the social skills which we rarely get a chance to use. The first half of the night consisted of Butterfinger and I drinking, eating, and admiring the miniaturized ewok-looking dog that was not quite sure if he wanted to make friends with the party revelers.
Then the party started to kick into gear. I was serenaded by a drunkard on the porch, who, upon hearing I was from Philly, began to sing the most awful, slurred version of “The Fresh Prince of Bel Air” theme song I have ever been forced to hear. This was promptly followed by Butterfinger spotting a naked man in a window across the street, and ended with a much-too-drunk, and not very fashionable, older woman re-enacting the Michael Jackson baby over the balcony scene with the shrunken canine. I can only theorize she brought herself to such a point of being over imbibed due to being surrounded by about 10-15 younger, attractive, still-in-their prime girls, but that is just a hypothesis.
So as they say, “birds of a feather…”, and as is true to form, by the end of the night Butterfinger, Mounds and I were talking to the few party-goers from the east coast. We represented a number of different regions – Allentown, Jersey, Philly suburbs, and we even extended our reach to a Floridian. It seems to always happen that way, no matter where we go, we always wind up spending a majority of the time with people who have grown up in the same geographic region. I think some of this has to do with the fact that we, as an east coast people, tend to be a lot more straight forward, and 100 times more sarcastic than our west coast counterparts. So while others may take offense when we call them out for being sloppy eaters or being to much of a wuss to attend a particular event (i.e. Roger Waters), east coast people not only understand, but appreciate the humor in being called out for being a certain way; it builds character.
We also bond together because we share the same language. Yes, each region has its own particular dialect, but we tend to have a lot less enthusiasm in our voice, adding to the humor of the things we say, because our innate ability to make things non-serious sound deadly as a heart attack. Growing up and hearing the many different accents, we have learned which pronunciations belong to whom, and can call out someone from Brooklyn vs. Long Island or the Main Line vs. Pottstown, in the time it takes a west coaster to pick out which sushi roll to try first.
Our language also contains words not used, or often even understood, by our neighbors on the west coast. I am sure I have gotten into a few of these before, but there is nothing better than being able to sit down with someone and talk about the wonderful qualities of WaWa, how tasty Tastykakes really are, and the merits of calling a money machine a MAC instead of an ATM. We eat hoagies, have real pizza joints, drink Yuenglings like water, and we did not grow up in cookie-cutter developments surrounded by palm trees, using our parents’ old Beamers to drive back and forth to school.
Oh, the stereotypes… I will quit while I am ahead, but the point is, because of our conditioning at such a young age, in such a unique area, we are destined to bond with one another in social situations. It is so easy to go to events in Southern California and be able to pick out east vs. west without even having a single conversation. We dress worse, we care less, and at the end of the day, we are just looking for other people to embrace those quirks that make us so unique.
I completely understand. When I work with kids at Valley Forge from the non-East Coast regions, they always stare blankly when I am sarcastic. I must seem like the biggest bitch to them.
hahahahaha. Story of my life while I visited CA and attended various parties with my ex. People look at you funny and talk about you in small groups as if you don’t speak English or are from Jupiter.
I once had a girl ask me about my attire at a camp-ground party: “I love those jeans and boots together, where did you get them, I would have never thought to pair those together but they look great”
(being a paranoid and sarcastic east-coaster myself I assumed she actually hated my outfit of tank top, ripped/old holey jeans and scuffed brown boots but I could see it in her face she was 100% serious and it surprised me)
my answer: “the jeans are from Boscovs, they cost me $15.00 and I’ve had them for 3 years. the boots are from american eagle, I’ve had them for 4 years… and they are the only thing I wear in philly recently because I always have to be prepared to walk through pee, a fallen weave, puke, etc…”
she just looked at me as if I was telling her a huge lie, then asked “What is Boscovs?”
oh the memories. :}
I prefer to think of the east coasters as authentic!
East Coast Represent!!! Thanks for coming, couldn’t of written a better description of the night! Good times, and many more to be had!!