Finally on the train. Have to transfer at Yankee Stadium to the D. Might still be able to make it...
Forget it. The D train specializes in making people late. Ugh!! Now I have to go straight there, and even getting to Port Authority on time is going to be iffy.
I make it (to Port Authority, not the check cashing place) with seconds to spare. Graham is waiting where I asked him to, at the Peter Pan bus terminal. Quick kiss hello, come on, we have to go!! He says something about buying tickets but he might as well be screaming into the wind as I'm not even pretending to listen, I don't have time! We don't have time! Besides, I'm way ahead of him on tickets and I tell him so as we dash down the escalator. He's never seen me move this fast. No one has.
We make it to the bus in time. Now I can relax and enjoy the fruits of my labor. And it is marvelous; Graham is looking around, trying to figure it out. He doesn't. Where are we going, he asks. I smirk and point to the gigantic Philadelphia sign as they call for us to board the bus. You're taking me out of state?! He is stunned. And...upset? Uh oh. I have a tendency to overdo things...
Nope, we're good (I think). We are the last two on the bus which means we can't sit together. This doesn't phase Graham as he settles into a seat several rows in front of me. I realize that, on 19% there is no way my phone is going to make it to Philly. I look around for an outlet and realize it's on the wall of the bus, where the person next to me is seated. Thankfully he is more than happy to accommodate me and after plugging it in, I retrieve my book from my purse. As I prepare to re-aquatint myself with how successful women think (the title of the book tells me they think differently than the rest of us) a text from Graham delays the learning process. It makes me laugh so hard it takes considerable effort not to do so out loud (see pic below).
We make it to Philly and head for our accommodations which is not a hotel but a two bedroom guesthouse where we discover that the keys left by the owner don't work. Sigh. I select 'contact property' from the booking.com website and get...voicemail. Sigh. I send a text...nothing. Sigh. "Are you hungry?" Graham asks. Yes, I am. And so began our trek through South Philly looking for a bar.
And we did indeed find that bar; a misleadingly average looking place that turned out to be so much more.
First of all, it was LOUD! I'm talking neon green with pink polka dots and metallic streamers loud. I felt the base in my veins before I was able to process the beat with my ears. Thank God for jolly ranchers; that plastic cup filled with bright red, icee-style alcohol. Two (or five) of those and that affront to your ears becomes music to your soul. So much the better if that music happens to be 'birthday bitch' which is played when you ask the DJ to play something special in honor of your man. The couple next to us starts Charleston shuffilin and I add this to my list of life goals when Graham refuses to learn this all important social ritual.
The weekend is a blend of homemade chicken fingers the size of Cornish hens that will make you seriously consider moving to the city of poultry, I mean, brotherly love, bacon walnut pancakes with bottomless mimosas, a quick jaunt to Egypt for a dig, and Harvey Birdman-Attorney at law.
So how'd you spend your weekend? I spent mine wandering through south Philly looking for a bar...
Nope, we're good (I think). We are the last two on the bus which means we can't sit together. This doesn't phase Graham as he settles into a seat several rows in front of me. I realize that, on 19% there is no way my phone is going to make it to Philly. I look around for an outlet and realize it's on the wall of the bus, where the person next to me is seated. Thankfully he is more than happy to accommodate me and after plugging it in, I retrieve my book from my purse. As I prepare to re-aquatint myself with how successful women think (the title of the book tells me they think differently than the rest of us) a text from Graham delays the learning process. It makes me laugh so hard it takes considerable effort not to do so out loud (see pic below).
We make it to Philly and head for our accommodations which is not a hotel but a two bedroom guesthouse where we discover that the keys left by the owner don't work. Sigh. I select 'contact property' from the booking.com website and get...voicemail. Sigh. I send a text...nothing. Sigh. "Are you hungry?" Graham asks. Yes, I am. And so began our trek through South Philly looking for a bar.
And we did indeed find that bar; a misleadingly average looking place that turned out to be so much more.
First of all, it was LOUD! I'm talking neon green with pink polka dots and metallic streamers loud. I felt the base in my veins before I was able to process the beat with my ears. Thank God for jolly ranchers; that plastic cup filled with bright red, icee-style alcohol. Two (or five) of those and that affront to your ears becomes music to your soul. So much the better if that music happens to be 'birthday bitch' which is played when you ask the DJ to play something special in honor of your man. The couple next to us starts Charleston shuffilin and I add this to my list of life goals when Graham refuses to learn this all important social ritual.
The weekend is a blend of homemade chicken fingers the size of Cornish hens that will make you seriously consider moving to the city of poultry, I mean, brotherly love, bacon walnut pancakes with bottomless mimosas, a quick jaunt to Egypt for a dig, and Harvey Birdman-Attorney at law.
So how'd you spend your weekend? I spent mine wandering through south Philly looking for a bar...
