The Difference Between Southie and Dorchester...

According to this guy, anyhow....

My friend Di and I went out for a late lunch (i.e. early drinks) in the South Boston area last Saturday afternoon. We hit up one place to watch the beginning of the sox game and then headed to a fairly well-known dive bar to watch the end of it. The place was pretty empty. After the first round we decided to go out and have a smoke. There was a guy out there also indulging and he struck up a conversation with us.

"So, whereya's from?" he questioned in an Irish accent.

We told him and returned the question. He told us what county he was from (can't remember) but then said he was now living in Dorchester. Di said she once lived in Dorchester for a time.

He then started to tell us about how he lived in the "good part" of Dot and how it is easy to turn a corner and end up on the "wrong side of the tracks." He then went on, unprovoked, to tell us this...

"One evening I had too much to drink at Murphy's Law here in Southie," he said. "I mean, I was drunk, ya know? I left the bar and took a seat on the sidewalk, the next thing I know I woke up and it was, oh, 'bout five o'clock in the morn."

And at that Di interjected an "oops..." ....he went on...

"I was wearing a gold chain on my neck, a snazzy watch, and had two hundred dollars in my pocket. But do you know what? Can you guess what?? Not a soul bothered with me. Not a soul."

It was at that point I got confused about where this story was heading.

"In Dorchester", he continued, "I would have been robbed blind. But not in this town. In this town they wouldn't rob a bloke laying on the sidewalk." He then stubbed out his butt and headed back into the bar.

I don't really know the moral of this story, my biggest concern was that Di and I looked like the type of gals that a man would meet and immediately feel free to tell he once slept on a sidewalk.

A Few Catch-ups

Things have been so busy lately, mostly due to the new job that I haven't had time to reflect. Also, my home computer shit the bed so I am typing this from Jude's house right now (and she is currently talking to me about banking woes and her dog's diabetes).

So, in no particular order, here are a few gems to re-introduce you to the Scotch you once knew.

Landmines

My job is in the Financial District (wait, Jude is now talking to me about my niece.....), before I worked in Harvard Square I worked in the financial for 4 years - I was in my early twenties. If I had to guess I would say that at least 55% of the men I have been involved with came from that job. As crazy as I am now I was much more brazen and fun-loving in my early twenties. What kills me now is that everytime I am running around the South Station area looking for the kinkos or having a meltdown on the wooden bridge that connects Congress and Summer Street I always run into one of these guys. I call them landmines. I always look out to try and avoid them but when I least expect it, there is David or Josh heading my way wanting to have the ol' howyadoin chat. I want to scream "I AM NO LONGER THAT GIRL!!" I am not the asshole who you slept with and then stood up for an Elton John concert! I am not the girl who fell down a flight of stairs at Three Cheers pub! I am not the girl in the elevator with you holding her bra when the door opened and it was CEO!! I am Scotch, I am 31, I often drink too much and get loud and funny but that aside that is where the similarities end.

Kilts

The other night after way too many beers two of my friends and I decided to hit the shittiest last call bar in town - The Boyne. We weren't there for five minutes when two gentlemen walked in wearing kilts. My girlfriend turns to me and says "I dare you to..." she didn't even get it out before I was up there requesting a peek. Turns out the rumors are true. We danced to AC/DC and then went home.

I must sign off, Jude is now talking to me about tree pruning.

Love yas!

What Once Was Lost...

Saturday afternoon I got a call from Jude on my cell. She was up at the Rockingham Plaza in Salem, New Hampshire. She lost her keys. She was stranded.

Merging onto I-90 in my car that has brakes so bad it shouldn't be driven I was nearly side swiped and then nearly side swiped a car trying to avoid the first car.

But I made it up there, gave her the keys, and then headed back to Boston. Got lost, ended up on Mass Ave in Roxbury, as I always do when I get lost, but found a sneakly little quick turn back onto I-90 West from Boyleston Street.

When I got home there he was. This thing. This guy.

He had been gone for over 25 days. I dealt with the fact that he was dead over two weeks ago. But there he was. Tattered, injured. Hungry but unable to eat. Fucking really thirsty.

I'm not pointing fingers. But the vet says someone hurt him.

But hes home, my brother fixed my brakes, Sears called my mother and told her they found her keys.