Also, all these photos are the wrong size and way too big. I'm way too lazy to fix this right now.
ALSO, why are the photos NEVER centered/justified properly? WHY????? I HATE YOU, BLOGGER.
It's all messed up. What do you want from me?
|"You're not my mom. Where's my mom?"|
|"This man is not my dad ... who are you people again?"|
|It was another hour before I figured out that my auto-focus was turned off ...|
|The stache pizza at Zavino. He was dragging from nightshift ... I had to pull out the big guns, i.e., pizza. And then we each ordered a glass of wine which, like, did not help.|
|And then Jess was like, "Can you go find a purse next door for me at Verde?" She ended up saying "Meh."|
|If I ever move to center city, I'm living where Locust bumps into Washington Square.|
I haven't walked through the cemeteries in Society Hill in ages, so we headed south that way. Cutting through Jeweler's Row, something clicked: so many fonts. I love signs, especially ones that look old ... I'm really not sure what I mean by "old" ... older than me? No offense or anything ...
|ugh, when you're short and trying not to get hit by cars, everything is on a really weird angle. Drives me crazy. All I want is symmetry.|
|I think I like this one because it reminds me of my writing on good behavior.|
|We found this gorgeous empty courtyard with a fountain--I'm sure I've seen it before, but I don't remember it.|
|And there's a cemetery right behind it. ooo la la, be still my heart. It's like walking to Rome by mistake.|
|Thought my shutter was faster. womp womp.|
|Been there/done that, bud.|
|Mom, there's this book I really want for my birthday--it explains all the stuff you see in cemeteries. Don't shake your head--you'll flip through the whole thing before you give it to me.|
|If I had to design my own headstone it would turn out like this: "Olives?? or oaks?? OLIVES or OAKS?? [insert five anguished emoji]" Mom: "Can't you just do both?" Me: "That's allowed?"|
|Absurd story: My mom read A Prayer for Owen Meany sometime around 1995--it's a fictional story. That same summer, we see this grave at Old St. Mary's Church. My mom says, "What are the odds?" At the time, she was using film (we all were) and didn't want to waste a shot on a random grave. Besides, we wouldn't forget where we saw it, right? Wrong. No one believed her later that there was an "Owen Meany" grave in Philly ... and we couldn't find the damn thing to take a picture to prove it. Trust me, we looked. Last weekend ... I found it. I've always had my eyes open for it, and when we went to leave this cemetery, we randomly left through the side exit into this ugly parking lot rather than through the pretty main gate. I literally said out loud to Ron, "Well, I guess I won't find ... HOLY CRAP THERE IT IS!!" To which Ron responded, "Shut up, there's a priest over there. There's what?"|
|This church is always gorgeous in every season. Its doors are always locked, both for the church and the cemetery.|
Ok, enough signs for now. (It got too dark, that's the only reason why you're off the hook.)
|Meritage for dinner--granted, we went early ... but the place was deserted. The whole time. And it was great, so it didn't make any sense. Meanwhile, the place across the street was pretty busy. huh.|
And then we went home--totally exhausted--and fell asleep on Leslie's couch watching Arrested Development. (ugh, I am so Lucille it's not even funny. Minus the whole Motherboy thing.)
Day 2 coming up.