By Maggie Downs
The Cincinnati Enquirer

I was 7 years old when my sister got married. My age, coupled with my complete adorableness, automatically won me the position of flower girl.

I pranced down the aisle, a vision of loveliness in my powder blue chiffon ruffles. During my petal-tossing romp, I was smiling and mugging for the cameras - and completely unaware the back of my dress was tucked into my white tights.

That's pretty much the way I've felt since moving to Cincinnati five months ago. Clueless. Awkward. And always accidentally showing off my worst side.

Part of the problem is the limited knowledge I had in coming to Ye Olde Porkopolis.

I thought I knew about the place. Reds. Bengals. Chili. Rah rah.

But let me tell you - this is a strange town for newcomers.

For example, goetta. I accept its existence. But it's rare to see a meat product take on so many forms. I've come across goetta egg rolls, goetta parfait, spagoetta. It's like tofu for carnivores. It's goettafabulous.

Also, I'm learning that some of the best things about Cincinnati are actually in Northern Kentucky. Go figure.

And "cornholing." Dude. I still can't say that with a straight face. The first time I heard someone say he was cornholing with his sister in the backyard, I figured one of them must have been in prison at one time or another. Interesting game. Unfortunate name.

Don't think I'm totally unfamiliar with Cincinnati. I know all about Skyline. I've seen Rainman. I'm down with WKRP.

Growing up in Dayton, Ohio, my formative years were infiltrated by C-town. Field trips were taken to the Cincinnati Zoo. We discussed the Mapplethorpe battle in school art classes. And while I had an unnatural obsession with the Afghan Whigs and 97X, my dad's radio dial was locked on 700 WLW.

But now, I'm just a single woman making my way in a new place. I'm learning by doing. And this new column is my way to showcase the vivacious people in Cincinnati.

Trust me. I'm no authority on what is cool and hip and cutting edge. I've spent the past four years in Zanesville, Ohio. (FYI: An hour east of Columbus on I-70. Yes, you've probably driven past it. And no, it's not the place that's always hit by tornados. That's Xenia.)

For me, the Tristate is a world of possibility and endless adventure. I'm thrilled to be in a place where a sushi dinner isn't called "bait." I like having evening entertainment options beyond a 24-hour Wal-Mart.

So this column will detail my attempts to navigate everything in the unconquerable Queen City. But it's also going to be a snapshot of the culture, the lifestyles, and most importantly, the peculiar mating rituals of young professionals.

This is where I'll need your help. Take me places. Teach me things. Help me uncover what is real and fun about being a young, on-the-go person in a town best known for pork.

I've already met one great friend by crashing into his car on the Interstate. Don't make me come after the rest of you.

One of these days, you'll probably see me around. Bars, churches, church bars. You never know where I'll turn up.

But one thing is certain.

I'll be the broad with the skirt in her tights.

E-mail mdowns@enquirer.com

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