Gold Leafed

Soon I will be enjoying one of my favorite restaurants. It will be delightful, I have no doubt. I have decided to go with a gold theme. I am gold leafed. Gold leaved?

In this one you might notice a slight wind through my hair. I don't have air conditioner. If I'm home, the fan's on ... and now I know just what it can do. Ha.

Spring in the Fairmount/Art Museum Neighborhood

After I pointed E. in the right direction, L. and I walked home, taking our time to soak in the sun and the pretty. Serious pretty was going on. Seriously.

Then we went to King of Prussia and bought shoes. And glitter. Well, I bought glitter. L. only bought shoes. I bought both, because that's how I roll. I can't wait for an occasion to wear my new strappy wedges. After the shopping part of our day was completed, we drove to Forbidden Drive and took a walk along the creek. We passed many a person fishing, and I made sure to take a few photographs of the newly green ground.


So. Funny thing. We were walking on the opposite side of the creek from Forbidden Drive. This meant that the path was far narrower and there were fewer people along it than the more well traveled/graveled Forbidden Drive path. As I already mentioned, we certainly saw a good number of folks. But the highlight of our walk is safely and surely when we ran into Chris. We didn't know Chris before he stopped us on the path and asked me if I was a photographer, but in the next fifteen minutes we got to know more about Chris than many people learn about another person on a first date. For example, Chris suffers from Lyme Disease. Chris was married for 28 years. Chris has a wooden walking stick; he had another one that he got from England in the early 80s but customs took it from him when he got back because it may have had some sort of bug on it or something. Chris likes a woman with curves. Chris and his 21 year old daughter bond over Jim Morrison and Led Zeppelin. Chris has lived in the area his whole life, and can tell you what the Fairmount park area and many of it houses were like back in the day. He also suffers from depression. He also realized late in life that all most women want is a man who will listen to them. Oh, you want to know another thing about Chris? He asked L. and me if I was her mother. Honestly. Honestly he asked this of us. He wasn't joking. Nor did he back down from the plausibility of that being the case when we guffawed and I acted vaguely offended (which I was). I think if it had been up to Chris we would still be jawing a week later, but we extricated ourselves and continued with our walk. And I swear to all that is swearable, if anyone suggests that there is any legitimate reason why a man would think that L. and I (born in the same month in the same year) could be confused for a mother/daughter team, well, shut it.

Surreal in Chinatown, Even Stranger Out in the World

So when I learned that we were going to a party with a surreal theme, I planned ahead and brought my senior prom dress because, well, what else was I going to wear?Fat T. had a washboard tie with eye. L. had a lovely new hat. Did we go crazy with the photos? That's for me to decide. I decide no.


So I actually used one well placed safety pin to update my dress a little and to create a ridiculous bustle, which you can't quite make out in any of the photographs. L. lent me her red tights and big flower bow thing (which I imagine once was wrapped around a wedding gift).

I'm not going to lie to you. I look better in my prom dress now than I did in its original wearing.
So we went to the party but things were kind of slow (even though it was midnight), so I texted S. to see what he was up to since I knew that he was going to be somewhere not too terribly far from the party. He gave me his details and Fat T. and L. gave me directions and I was off. Ok. Note to self: when you are wearing a ridiculous outfit and high heels and plan on walking the streets of New York City by yourself, be prepared for cat calls from passing cars, judgmental looks from passersby and the fact that you should probably just take a cab. While Fat T. was right that the distance between the party and the bar wasn't too far and could take 15 minutes, he wasn't factoring in high heels and a bustle. Nearly two miles I walked. That's not a big deal in sneakers but hooo-wee, my feet still are ravaged. How do women wear heels all the time? What is wrong with you people! I wasn't terribly surprised to find not only S. but C., T. and J. as well.

They were all celebrating this guy's birthday. I had never met him before, so every time I saw him I would yell 'Happy Birthday!!' to him. I think I may also have hugged him, like, three times. It's fine.
I forget what the bar was called but it was kind of dumb. A bottle of budweiser was $5. Ridiculous. S. and C. left soon after my arrival, but I had good conversation with T. and J. and met their friend S., whose long defunct blog first alerted me to the concept of 'brining.'

Eventually those folks got themselves together to decamp and I got into a cab to return to the original party, which seemed to have gotten quite a bit more lively after I left. Like burlesque dancer lively. L. said she was sorry I missed it, but I think it's for the best. The view from the fire escape.




The fun times. They just wouldn't quit.



L. and I went to the bathroom together. It was like college only - if you can believe this - slightly more wholesome.


A late, late night. When we first got off the train in Chinatown L. was all 'I think this will be an early night, have a drink or two and then move on.' Uh huh. Sure L. Suuuuuuure.

What Thoughts I Have

So I was looking at a restaurant's website and found its executive chef quite interesting/attractive. And this is the conversation that C. and I then had (certain things being redacted or omitted):

cc says:
i want to date this chef
C. says:
oh he's so cute
and he's a chef
cc says:
yep
he likes spearfishing
C. says:
let's go there
and ask to meet the chef
then he'll come out
and we'll say, let's go spear fishing
cc says:
and we'll be friends
did you see his dog
C. says:
not yet!
cc says:
that's a good looking dog
C. says:
ohh it's a big dog
cc says:
i want to be his friend on facebook
it's totally normal
C. says:
absolutely, you can pretend to be interested in the food at first
he's 29
this is perfect
cc says:
i know. totally meant to be.
he's single!
C. says:
the menu isn't ridiculously expensive
ohhh i hope it works out
cc says:
and i have actually asked him to be my friend on facebook
b/c i am not creepy at all
C. says:
yay!
haha not creepy at all, actually
cc says:
why am i so crazy? i found a bigger picture of the dog
C. says:
haha
he's really cute
the guy
and the dog
cc says:
all i've been doing lately is finding attractive men to crush on
but i really think that i should be focusing all my single minded boy hunting on the realm of chefs
it makes sense
we have things in common
C. says:
i mean...let's be real. that would be perfect.
cc says:
except our schedules would be opposite
they'd be like 'let's have lunch on a wednesday'
and i'd be like 'how about dinner on a saturday'
C. says:
thats true...chefs do have weird schedules...
but thats okay
can chefs bring home leftovers
cc says:
yes
and i would just go and sit at the bar and hang out
i could become the friendly hostess
the friendly drunk asking her chef boyfriend to make her something not on the menu hostess
C. says:
haha
i want that life
cc says:
me too
with an Italian speaking fish spearer with a big dog
C. says:
i want you to meet him
ask your server
to let you thank the chef
cc says:
is [chef] around?
C. says:
it's totally normal and fine
cc says:
and then he'll come out
and be like 'you are the stranger who asked to be my friend on facebook...i said no'
C. says:
no. this is a great plan.
cc says:
i could get into better shape by walking there every day
almost 3 miles one way
C. says:
oh man
6 miles round trip
cc says:
and i could become a super regular there
C. says:
haha
thats pretty classy
cc says:
creeeeeeeeeeepy
(and then I drew this picture to demonstrate what I'd be like)


C. says:
haha. if you were that scary id have trouble hanging out with you
cc says:
can you just imagine though
me sitting at the bar
night after night
waiting for him
slowly becoming gollum
making statements like
i love how you pound ... that veal
or we should totally be friends ... on facebook
i want to spend the rest of my life with you ... in this restaurant
C. says:
haha...you'd wear him down eventually
cc says:
so creepy
and hilarious
i could give him a copy of my British prime minister's calendar (editor's note: i have recently become obsessed with the idea of making a calendar in which each month is me dressed up as a different British Prime Minister).
only make it special just for him
and have me eating his dishes in each month
winston churchill eating his squid pasta with sea urchin
margaret thatcher eating scallop crudo

And that's it. Super creepy. Super funny. I'm sure I'll never meet the guy, so I don't really have any shame about sharing this conversation or this photograph of him. It's like he's a celebrity. Only not really.
And if this chef ever stumbles upon this blog post, I say to him: I won't actually stalk you, don't worry, I don't have the patience for that kind of crazy.

No Reason At All

I'm no pigeon lover, but look at what this penguin is doing!

Charcoal Chicken Pita c/o Zorba's

I continue to enjoy the occasional French fry in Zorba's sandwiches. So does the dragon.

On a completely unrelated to anything note, it's fall. What's up with that? The wind has kicked up and today, as I was walking to the grocery store, the wind almost ripped my heavy earrings off of my ears...or almost ripped off my ears, leveraging my heavy earrings. I do like the look of fall foliage, but in the midst of the busy season I don't get that much time to get out of the city to actually witness it. I have no doubt that elsewhere in the universe orange, red, yellow and gold leaves are making their entrance on trees...but the trees on my street generally go from green to on the ground without my really picking up on the pretty. I should probably try to be more observant. Yesterday I walked six miles and felt real good about it. Today I feel fine, but my legs do betray the fact that I don't generally ask them to walk six miles. It's a good feeling on the whole, though my bones feel funny. What? I'm rambling. What else can I ramble about? I have plans to discuss the books I've been reading, and maybe even a small round up of all the awful movies and television I watch. Oh, and I have long been preparing (in my brain) a list of my favorite products. Looking for a killer lipstick? Well, you just wait, I have thoughts on this matter. And on matters of cheese, crackers and seltzer. Also, I need new shoes. That's enough random for one post.

Dumplings and Tofu c/o Long River

When I got back from Brooklyn I didn't have the energy nor food for dinner, so I asked S. if he wanted to purchase Chinese food with me. He did. I called and ordered for the both of us and then waited for the call that would let me know that it had arrived. I can't really do justice to the events that took place after that moment, but I'll at least run them on down. First I get a phone call from the delivery man repeating my address to me, so I told him I would be right down. I go down to my stoop and look around, and can't see him. So I call him back and tell him that I don't see him and make sure he he understands that while my address may say that I'm on Street X, the entrance is actually on Street Y. He repeats my address to me and says that he's coming. Then I wait another five minutes. Then S. comes down, wondering about the food. We wait. We wait some more. The guy calls again. Now here's what you need to understand. No matter what I might say to him, his response was always '[CC's address] yes, I'm coming there.' When I asked him where he was at the time, he wouldn't tell me. When I asked him how long it would take, he wouldn't tell me. Just the same address, yes I'm coming. It was frustrating. I mean, I quickly understood that the man's grasp of English wasn't very good, but it didn't change the fact that I was standing in my barefeet at the bottom of my apartment for 20 minutes having the same back and forth conversation with a man who didn't seem to understand anything I was trying to say. At some point I was so frustrated I handed the phone to S., knowing full well he wouldn't get any further than I did...and he didn't. So we stood and we stood some more until the guy finally appeared. But even his appearance was dramatic. We live on a one way street. This guy, this guy backs his car up an entire block, going the wrong way, to get to us. He does this with speed. So much speed that when he finally stops in front of us, the wheels screech and fishtail. I don't know what his deal was. Maybe he was drunk or just confused. I gave him a $2 tip.
The food itself was still, surprisingly, rather warm and good on the whole. I could have done with less broccoli and more tofu.

Concluding Brunch

While wedding festivities were concluded, there was one last function to attend before pushing off from Portsmouth's shores/general location. So we all trooped back to the island for another round of great company, smoked salmon, bagels and other treats. I abstained from the alcoholic cocktails, as I had only slept four hours between events (yeah, that's how I rolllllll) and had to drive home...but the fresh orange juice and coffee were entirely satisfying.
I don't know who took this photograph. L. sent it to me the other day, and I like it, so I'm using it. The end.
After departing Portsmouth, I dropped groomsmen K. off at a Boston bus terminal before continuing south. I was sort of flying by the seat of my pants in terms of directions, which is not a good way for me to fly as I get easily disconcerted. This state of driving led to my eventually crossing the Tappan Zee Bridge three times, my needing to turn around in THE BRONX, getting onto the Palisades Parkway for no reason and, eventually, a ridiculously awful motel experience ( I finally gave up any attempt of getting to back to Philly at a reasonable or sane hour and stopped in New Jersey). How awful an experience? Well, for $90 I had the privilege of staying in a room with two locks, one of which clearly had been breached in recent times (looked like a crow bar had been used to pry the wood around the dead lock away...wood splinters still had a little sharpness). The inside of the room had its pluses and minuses. On the plus-side, it had wireless. On the minus, its toilet wouldn't flush unless you manually pulled the chain. And the wall paper was peeling off the walls. Now, call me snobby, but I kind of expect a toilet to work if I'm paying $90 for its exclusive use. The bed was a king, but I went to sleep convinced I would wake up with lice or bed bugs (neither happened, but that mind-set caused quite interesting dreams). The end.

Hospital and Hotel Meals

Another day found my mother eating meatloaf, mashed potatoes and extremely overcooked peas for lunch.
For her evening meal, she ordered a cheeseburger and baked potato. I was convinced that I wanted that same meal for my own dinner later on...but ended up going in a slightly different direction.
My own dinner was served c/o the bar/grill in the hotel's lobby. The establishment has almost nightly singer/songwriter events. So, after eating my chicken quesadillas and beer, I stayed around and watched for a while.
During my lingering time, I momentarily fell in love with this musician. Man's got a voice on him, and the song he sang that night (which isn't on his MySpace page) was just delightful, and a welcome change of pace from the relatively predictable country acts that came before, and after, him. I decided we were going to get married and raise ourselves a brood of Tennessee chil'ren. Except he's actually from Pittsburgh...and married already. Oh well. The food was fine in that predictable kind of way and while I liked the attitude of the waitress, I didn't enjoy the 10 minute wait for a menu and then the additional ten minute wait for my beer (when she finally did appear she admitted that she had forgotten about me).

Unconnected

On two, extremely different, notes.

Last night this was my Facebook status:
"Raise your hand if you just saw a pants-less man (in all his balls and penis glory) in the back of your hotel's well-lit, well-traveled parking lot! (I AM RAISING MY HAND)."

And, completely unrelated, today marks the 12th year since Carter Waghorne, a friend from high school, died. I haven't had the same kind of time to reflect on what this means as I have had in years past, and maybe it's not necessary to try to glean any new meaning out of the tragedy. But I still note this day and remember those with whom I grieved, and I hope that no one is offended that I'm remembering Carter's death right after mentioning a pants-less man.

Punchy Pictures, Cranberry Bliss and Champagne, Catan

I wasn't alone in a little punchiness by the end of our dinner. Or at least I don't think so. When we returned to M&A's I insisted that A. take a few photographs of M. and me. I'm not sure what this series is about. One part of me thinks that we're recreating our initial months of friendship, when we ran around our high school's central area punching the shit out of one another's arms for fun.
That, or we could have simply been doing a little dance.
Or pretending that we were zombies?
I then showed A. how to use the flash and we took slightly more serious photographs. Slightly.
Best of the bunch I think, in terms of traditionally smiley photographs in which people aren't all blurry and crazy.
This face I made on purpose. Really.
Then I took a few photos of M&A together, none of which turned out quite well due to my punchiness...but I like this one, even if they're off to the side with a picture hook by their heads.
Then A. decided to invite A. over to play Catan, which we thought was a good idea, so then Catan was played and Harbinger Winery's Cranberry Bliss wine was mixed with champagne. Necessary? Heck no.
Then M. made some sort of dessert treat and whipped cream, which I ate with quite the dainty little spoon. I love dainty little spoons and expressed, at the time, a desire to fill my kitchen's silverware drawer with them. M&A's friend A. said that he only ate with little spoons, which I didn't believe but eventually was convinced by. I thought that was cool.
Though definitely tippled, I still crushed everyone in Catan. Crushed, I tell you, crushed!