:::Your regular snarky fashion and lifestyle commentary will be briefly interrupted for the following message:::

Today I experienced my first moment of “Popemaggedon”. My train was not only late, but canceled, and the train that followed it was significantly late and so crowded that I had to sit next to a smelly man who was showing no signs of life, and happened to be taking up 84.7% of the seat. Ahhh Septa. 

By the time I arrived at Market East (it will always and forever be Market East to me … so suck it), I was full of rage … mostly due to my smelly unconscious neighbor who was making me incredibly nauseous. And it didn’t help that I was confronted with a platform full of out-of-towners who didn’t know if the sky was up or down, clogging up every inch of walking space, and not moving … all smiling and carrying on, when I had six minutes to catch my next train to get the eff HOME. 

My eyes were rolling, my scowl was in place, but my manners did not take a backseat (hello … I’m a lady), as I angrily pushed through the crowd of see-through backpacks whilst saying, “excuse me,” in the most nicely annoyed fashion. No one seemed to care, though. All the see-through backpack owners looked like they were so pleasantly consumed with why they were visiting to even try to care about my miserable ass. 

It wasn’t until I walked up the steps to a sea of priests and nuns that reality REALLY bitch slapped me across the face. It was startling and yet so pleasant. Immediately I slowed my roll and started to feel calm, incredibly silly for being so frustrated, and oddly enough like I was in the presence of true rock stars. 

I know I’m not the only one who has been viewing this event like a “Made in America” nightmare on steroids that is a total inconvenience to every aspect of our lives, but it’s oh so different. Teenagers won’t be in “festival gear” getting drunk off $16 Bud Light cans (I mean, I hope not … come on, people). Those idiots are being replaced with old school nuns (rowdy and rude festival morons < nuns). This is a huge deal, and sometimes you just need to bask in the chaos a little because it (sometimes) is kind of incredible.

So if you are like me and want to punt your commute and hide under your bed than deal with these shenanigans, take a deep breath, prepare for the worst, and be kind. For the love of God … be kind. No matter what is happening, if you are stuck in a sea of clear backpacks that won’t move, slow down and be cordial. Shoot these people a smile. Direct them to a good bar. Show them where the rad shops are. Give solid directions (except no one ask me, I have a foul sense of direction), and welcome them. Here is a solid opportunity for the world to not see us as a bunch of fat assholes.

I realize almost all of the people attending the World Meeting of Families, especially Pope Frank, reads Life Sucks In A Strapless Bra religiously (I couldn’t resist), so welcome and enjoy our lovely city. And if you want a divine cheesesteak, visit Sonny’s on 2nd and Market.

To my real reader(s) of the Philly area, it will be over soon. I promise. Just smile and nod. Smile and nod.

:::Now back to our regularly scheduled program of snarky fashion and lifestyle commentary:::