New Bloomfield, Perry County, Pennsylvania

It’s a half a house, on the ‘main drag’ of this small country town.  New Bloomfield is a town a bit smaller than the small town I grew up in, with one main street and a few tiny offshoot streets, one diner, and a Uni-Mart.

            The house itself is old; it’s red brick, and the wooden parts of it’s structure are a dirt-brown, but have been painted over so many times, they are thick with hidden layers.

            The rooms inside are terribly narrow; this house was not designed to be split into two halves.  And since I’m essentially squatting here (with a married couple and an unmarried couple), the actual room for me to maneuver is minimal.  I have a couch (usually) and that is all; my room is the living room, which is also everyone else’s living room.

            It’s a two-story house, with a tiny kitchen that I barely even remember, and a winding, death-defying staircase which I ascended as rarely as possible (but frequently, anyway, as the only bathroom was upstairs.)

            My life in this house is partying.  I love to party here, and everyone else usually comes along for the ride.  Sure, I’m doing some depressed drinking alone late at night here, like everywhere else, but since this house has somehow become a gathering place for our ‘crew’ (which is odd, since we are at an outpost of civilization, half an hour from the closest supermarket and even further from where most of our friends live. Somehow, they make the trek out here often) I have found a renaissance of partying.  And we have all discovered “King Dickhead”.

            King Dickhead is a drinking game that utilizes playing cards, but you don’t really play cards.  Certain cards and suits do things like give players ‘powers’, force other players to do things, or kick off other ‘mini-games’ within the game, such as “Never Have I Ever”, in which  the player who drew the card says something like “Never have I ever blown a dude,” after which everyone who has blown a dude has to drink.

            These games could reach epic heights of ridiculousness in those days.  We were a group of people undergoing a stretching of our moral compasses, and the debauchery and elegant silliness that took place in that small living room was practically Roman.  During one particular game, I was made to sing “I’m a Little Teapot”, complete with all the body motions, completely nude in front of everyone, another friend was forced to disrobe, sit Indian Style, lean back, and place a lit cigarette in his asshole, for everyone to see.  That was gross. But hilarious.  And don’t get me started on the now-famous ‘parade of penises’.

            It was after one of these particularly raunchy games of King Dickhead that a bunch of us were sitting around the living room, relaxing, in various forms of drunkenness, that someone pulled out an acoustic guitar and began strumming it.  Almost immediately, one of the females turned to my close friend P—, and said, “Ooooh, can you sing that Seven Mary Three song? What’s it called?  I love it when you sing that song!”

            See, I had just recently introduced P— to the band Seven Mary Three, by way of the song that was being referenced, which is called “Lucky”.  For years I had been the only Seven Mary Three fan I knew, and I tried to convert just about everyone I knew, to no avail.  Everyone in that room had been subjected to my Just listen to this one! pleas and they had all summarily shot the band down.  Now, less than a month after P—‘s conversion, he is being enthusiastically asked to sing one of the band’s songs at a party! You can probably all see why this would be minorly annoying, but I was incensed beyond all belief.

            I stood up from my seat on the floor and ranted immediately.  Everyone was justifiably shocked by the level of my anger (later they would become accustomed to this sort of behavior).  When it became apparent that my wrath was not going to cause anyone to say “Why, Seth, I had forgotten you liked this band first! Why don’t you sing us the song instead?” I stormed out of the room, up the narrow, winding staircase and stopped in the hallway at the top of the stairs.  I was incredibly drunk and could barely see straight, and my anger was absolutely boiling.  I punched a wood-paneled wall as hard as I could, but would not feel it until the next day.  I paced.  I said terrible things under my breath.  But I didn’t fall apart until I heard the first few chords of “Lucky” float up the stairs to me, and shortly after, P—‘s soft, understated voice charming the first few lyrics out of his throat…Mean Mister Mustard says he’s bored…of life in the District…he can’t afford…the French Quarter high…


I began to cry, to bawl, to sob, as I slid down the wall and sat with my back against it, my body heaving and snot running down my face.  I was as twisted as the staircase in those days, and as immovable.

6 Responses to “New Bloomfield, Perry County, Pennsylvania”

  1. *sigh*… It pains me to know you’ve had times like these, but not much. I’m sure you had to go through all that you went through in order to become the extrordinary person you are today.

    I would have asked you to sing though!

    • sethdellinger Says:

      Feel bad not for me, Kiwi, as my life has turned out to be amazing! I was actually really really racking my brain trying to come up with ANY story from this residence that wasn’t sad and addiction-related, but that was all there was!! Thank you so much for calling me extraordinary!

  2. Such a great song! Haven’t thought about that one for years, I gotta go dig that out.

  3. Thanks to one Seth Dellinger, I have that CD handy in my car right now!

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