A rescuing.

Two nights ago, I tweeted this:

Then this conversation happened between Boyfriend and I:
 

For clarification: Wilson = Target, and Argyle = Home. 

Here are a couple of awesome things that happened in this conversation:

1- Boyfriend responded to a tweet with a text message. Which seems strange to me because I am a slave to technology.

2- He rescued me again! He really enjoys being a knight in shining armor- if shining armor is Notre Dame sweatpants and a Hanes white t-shirt. 

3- I said yes to being rescued. This could have been like one of the millions of other  times when someone said, "let me help you," and I, like the stubborn 3 year old I am say, "No! I do it myself!" But I said yes, because I am working on this.

4- Yes, I absolutely changed my clothes in the back of boyfriend's car as he drove me back down to Belmont. There are some skills that you develop as a young ballerina that turn out to be very useful in later life.

5- Turns out that with the rescuing the trip took 25 minutes instead of 15, but thankfully theaters run later than me a lot of the time and I still saw the whole show. 

TYOE: Michigan Wine Country

How to get Wine Drunk in Southern Michigan:

1- Make some friends-of-a-friend. It helps if they are a group of awesome ladies. This should not be too hard, since, as you go through life, you should only surround yourself with awesome people. It helps if at lease one of these friends-of-a-friend live in Michigan.

2- When one of these friends-of-a-friend invites you to go on a vineyard tour of Michigan say yes.

3- On the day of the wine tour, bum a ride from one of the other gals who is going from Chicago. Be sure to not get her phone number so that this random meeting on a street corner at 7 am can be as stressful for your Type-A personality as possible.

4- Get to Michigan. Hop in the van that was rented, meet your DD - who is one of the girl's mom. Present her with a Mom of the Year award for driving a bunch of drunk 20&30-somethings around on a Saturday.

5- Drive SO far to the first vineyard. Take time to get to know all these women who you've only seen a handful of times. Celebrate the fact that making friends at the age of 29 is rare - you're doing it!

6 - Get to the first vineyard and freak out - you did not even know that Michigan had gorgeous vistas. Try the wines. When the nice man behind the counter forgets how many pours you've had, do not remind him. Buy wine. Get a glass of champagne to celebrate the morning. 

7- Get lunch. Be grateful for the invention of the tuna melt.

8- Go to So. Many. Vineyards. Some are not great (but give you free wine glasses). Some have Bob Hope wine.

9- Find a vineyard with a good patio and have another post-taste glass of wine. Eat a cupcake because not only did your friend plan this whole amazing trip - she brought cupcakes. Remind yourself to write her a thank you note later.

10- Gear up for the grand finale. When you realize you are more that justalittle sauced, give the rest of your sangria to the girl with two kids because she is playing like a champion today.

11- Eat dinner. Be real dramatic when you think you might miss your train. 

12- Get to the sketchy New Buffalo train station. Make friends with whoever is waiting with you. Do that thing where you are so excited and surprised by dumb coincidences. ("You work in downtown Chicago? That's crazy, me too!")

13- Sleep the whole way home. 

Snaps.

So I'm about 8 months late, and 10 years too old for this party but I am currently obsessed with snapchat.

One of my coworkers, who I think of a classy southern girl who knows where the party's at, introduced me at a post-work function. Desperate for her approval and perhaps slightly over served, I signed up and connected with all my friends.

I was surprised by how many people I knew on the site. Then I had a sudden thought, 

"Is everyone sending dick pix without me?"

If they are, that's fine (gross, but fine). But my knowledge of snapchat was it was just the newest, trendiest ways to send pictures of your junk (oh, technology, you're the best). Junk pictures, I thought were reserved for politicians and sixteen year-olds who don't quite understand how the internet works.

Turns out, while this is all probably incredibly accurate - snapchat is also just a straight communication tool and useful for taking pictures of things no one cares about (snap chat- for when instagramming will just take too.long) and the ugliest pictures of your own face imaginable.

Perhaps it's just my tribe, but most snapchats look like this:
 

And include text that could just as easily be provided via text message.

Granted, it is primarily my baby sister (who, at 20, is exactly who snapchat was made for) who communicates like this, but my fraaaaands do it too. 

My question is why? Why do we take pictures of our faces/computer screens/doodles/drinks/sketchy fellow commuters? Is it because they aren't permanent? Ugly faces are okay as long as they are temporary? Or we just don't like to waste the precious memory on our phones? 

My personal problem is I always want to write too much and the thing only allows for like 100 characters. Clearly, my words are worth more than my face.

Book Review: MWF seeking BFF

MWF seeking BFF is a great idea for a book in theory. The struggle to make friends in your late 20's, especially in a new city is fascinating to me. Mostly because as Boyfriend and I ponder a move to Elsewhere, I always get hung up on the fact that it will be twice as hard to make friends and there will probably be half as many people "on the market," for new friendships.

All the things that this book talks about make so much sense. The idea that women have, "face to face," friendships while men have, "side to side," friendships. The theory that you can have just about 150 important people in your life at a time, how women are used to being pursued romantically so it is sometimes hard for us to do the pursuing in a platonic way. 

All this is great and interesting and good and neat and stuff. However, I ordered a book with a narrative. I got a book with half a narrative, a dollop of science, and writing that is best left to the Internet.

If my 30 seconds of Internet sleuthing is correct, this book was a blog. And the more I read it, the more I was sure that is where it should have stayed. Rachel Bertsche's writing is fabulous, for the Internet. As a book, it leaves so much to be desired.

And while my sweet book club ladies zoned out on my diatribe on this subject last night- I can now put it out on the Internet to be ignored:

Occasionally the Internet is the best place for a project. It is truly its own medium that, when used correctly, can knock your socks off. But when things try to make the jump to the page, they seem to only juuuuustbarely make it (this does not go for image-based websites, because a coffee table book is a coffee table book and while the world may not need more of them, my house does, so do the damned thing all you amazing people. 

I did love thinking about friendships on a more philosophical level and am now actively working to better my friendships with my current friends because I recognize how valuable these relationships are to me.

I also appreciated that this gave me the opportunity to recognize that this blog will probably never be more than it is right now. Which is probably for the best.

It's not Wednesday but...

My friend LaLa noticed something and called me out last weekend, and I've been thinking about it ever since.

I was proudly announcing that the first deposit had been made in my Roth IRA (a discovery that was only made after a panicked 5:30 am phone call to ING thinking someone hacked my account - naturally). 

"I'm almost a grown-up!" with a flourish I ended the story.

"You're always almost a grown-up. Are you ever going to get over that hump?" (I am paraphrasing but that is pretty much what she said.

I look at my life on this Friday morning, I'm dressed in my sensible, walking-around work flats and a dress I've owned  for over ten years that has some stories to tell. I'm going to a real job, but one that is "technically" only four days a week. I have strong opinions at work and people take me seriously. I am scared of most of the people in my office because I don't want to bother them. My hair is dirty because most mornings, I am too lazy to get up to wash it. I am wearing eyeliner but a sweater with a hole in it. My weekend includes a trip to Michigan wine country. And then hungoverly running 3 miles to get a cheeseburger, all because of an inside joke that was taken too far. My week has been full of working really hard and then staying up too late drinking and having fun. I have a wonderful, healthy relationship with a guy, who spent the morning trying to put a clementine in my cleavage. I feel like I have built myself a home and a community. I still think about leaving all this and moving somewhere warm, or foreign or both. I have no interest in marriage or children except for the fact that they are both excuses to get presents and throw parties. I still writing this blog full of meaningless drivel, even though I know that real, grown-up blogs are supposed to have mission and focus.

Not over the hump yet.  

with silver bells & habanero peppers, part 3

This garden post is late, mostly because I was hoping for a miraculous rebirth from some of my plants. I am finally ready to admit that this garden experiment was not the 100% success rate that I was hoping for. But! I am happy that I have taken pictures to remind me that I did make some yummy things. Including 2/3rds of a killer caprese salad.

Sadly, at some point after that picture, my tomato plants threw in the towel. I am not sure what happened - but they now look all brown and gross. There are a few buds still hanging on and every now and then I get a tomato to stick in my lunchtime salad, but for mysterious reasons, the bountiful, tomatoful August I was hoping for, will not be. 

Also, this lobelia is so dead. It's deader than Jnco jeans. I tried some plant CPR over the weekend but she's a goner. I'm mad at her too. Stupid plant. 

The other front deck flowers seem to be doing okay. I haven't had a dahlia bloom in awhile, but there is some new bright-green growth that is getting me pumped for one more bloom or two.

My lavender summer daisy had all the blossoms for a hot second which was great until I forgot to take a picture. And two of my KKP plants continue to bloom sporadically and make me smile so.big every time. When I die, I want everyone to plant lovely things to remind them of me.

My cuke plant was a total bust. Lesson learned. Thanks for this weirdo, cuke plant.

I'm giving him another day or two to grow then I am throwing him in pickle juice. 

Speaking of pickle juice! My habanero and banana peppers have done amazingly well! I cut 'em all up and threw them in these jars with this recipe for juice (or an approximation of it that didn't require a trip to the grocery store). Today I bit into one and I am so happy! They taste great and will taste even better when I put them on a pizza with pineapple and sausage. Get out of my dreams and into my belly.

Since I'm realistic about just how many more peppers I am going to get this summer, I went the fridge pickling route, using old (clean) jars and I am super happy with the result. Plus I made old things useful again.

But just a warning: you will get habanero pepper juice on your face and you will die.

My bell peppers have been MIA all summer and the strawberries haven't been around for about a month. I keep seeing buds on both plants though, so I'm remaining optimistic.

I know I probably only have a few more weeks of this experiment since everyone keeps saying its going to be an "early fall," (uh, okay, Farmer Brown, if you say so). But maybe we'll get a final victory lap with some of these guys.

Maybe? Right? Maybe? Probably?

That's the thing about this gardening crap. You have to stay so goddamned positive about it. You're taking your Horseshoe Casino money and turning it into a big gamble over life and death. 

Unless you go with basil. It's always a sure bet. I edited all these photos with Over, which was a good idea.

 

Bike bits: change in the air

On Saturday, I managed to give my bike a flat tire about three miles from my house. It was so lame, mostly because I knew I still needed the exercise after eating my birthweight in guacamole, so I hoofed it home.

During this seemingly endless walk from Lakeview to Andersonville I had lots of time to think about life and the future. Naturally, this was a disaster. But I did determine that I would change this bike tire all by myself.

Bike maintaince is Boyfriend's wheel house, but in my quest to be a well-rounded, capable lady I knew I had to go it alone, at least once, so I could say I could. 

I found these two videos superduper helpful:

Some notes:

-you will get messy.

-you will get frustrated.

-it is harder than it looks.

-sometimes your brakes don't have a quick release, try not to panic.

-how much air pressure you are supposed to have in your tires is written on your tires.

-do not give yourself a time limit the first, second, ninth time you change a tire. Deadlines are jerks.

-the sense of accomplishment is worth a broken nail and a dirty tee-shirt.

Movie Review: Austenland

Sometimes I think the Internet is a place where we can share stories, not to bring us together in some dumb, kumbaya way but more in a "I'm going to do this, and tell you about it, so you don't have to do it yourself."

Guys. I saw Austenland for you last night. You're welcome. You can cross it off your list and get on with other things. 

Here's the thing: it wasn't terrible. It also wasn't good. It just was. It just kind of just sat there. With its boobs pushed all the way up to its chin. 

Another, perhaps more appropriate name for the movie would have been, Watch Jennifer Coolidge be herself for 97 Minutes or maybe Try to Figure out Where you Know that Guy From (Hint: It's Flight of the Concords).

There were very funny parts to this movie. Literally, every third time Jennifer Coolidge opened her mouth, I laughed. She is a funny person and this movie would have just sunk without her energy.

And that, my friends, is my problem with Keri Russell. She has no energy. She just was kind of on screen, saying lines, being pretty and everyone crossed their fingers that that would be enough. It totally was not, for me anyway. 

It was a cute movie with a dumb-but-fun premise - and with many another actress in that lead part, it would have been worth renting on RedBox (do people still do that?)

At the end, there was this funny-enough credits bit that, in theory, was hilarious, but in actuality, was Keri Russell looking very hard like she was trying to have fun and be relaxed. And that was kind of the whole movie. It's like she wasn't really in on the joke that this movie was dumb and everyone was just having a stupid fun time. 

That being said: Jennifer Coolidge killed it. The blonde girl doing Regency Prancercise killed it. Jane Seymour's taxidermined lamb was totally underutilized. 

It was worth the price of admission ($0). It totally belongs in the canon of movies you Netflix on Sunday morning because you are too hungover to get off the couch. 

Also, one million Internet points to someone who can get me one of those "I Love Mr. Darcy" bags that she carries.

TYOE: San Francisco, part 1.

So, on the last day of this trip - I got offered my current job, which promptly threw my life into a tailspin. And then there was the fact that we did so.much during this trip that I was overwhelmed about trying to blog about it. But I figured it all out. A post for San Fran food and then an extra bonus post for all the things we did including off-site field trips.

Cool? Cool.

Guys. First things first.

HOW COME NO ONE TOLD ME SAN FRANCISCO HAS SO MANY HILLS?!

Seriously. I feel like everyone just assumed that I would know this. Why would I know this? Ya jerks. Needless to say, I was bummed, and so were my calves. I'm sure when you live there you get used to it, but nothing like walking around all day, only to be faced with gd. Mount Everest to get home.

I'm a lazy girl, but I tried to be real cool about it. Except I complained all the time. But just to Boyfriend, who is contractually obligated to love me anyway.

This trip, because it had so many parts and pieces that we had to do, it required an excel spreadsheet. No joke. We are such nerds.

Where We Ate (at least most of the places):
Chowder Hut Grill. This was literally the first thing we did after we dropped off our luggage. There are a million spots to grab a bread bowl right on the wharf, but we went to the one that seemed to be the most reasonably priced with a decent amount of seating. It did not disappoint. I wanted to eat about 400 billion bread bowls full of crab chowder. My heart. Oh. Its been 10 weeks, I still want it all the time, just propped up on my big old belly (that is full of previously slurped chowder).

Pat's Cafe. The first time we tried to go to Mama's the line was dumb. It was raining, it was 10:00 a.m. and it was the stupidest line I have ever seen. So we went to Pat's. It was good. Really, it is much harder to ruin eggs and avocado than it is to make yummy and delicious. Way to not screw up, Pats.

Jaspers. This place was recommended by a friend and it was pretty delicious. It was so hipster-y (I guess the best restaurants are these days) but the marmalade on my cheese burger made up for all the plaid button-downs.

Great Eastern. Boyfriend was apparently terrified of Dim Sum (as I am sure many folks from Indiana are) and so we got just regular chinese food. He experienced his first moo shoo pork and I regaled him with the story of how Buttmunch and I used to just eat the pancakes with white rice and plum sauce. This is to say, this food was totally fine chinese food. Probably better than I am used to, but  not so authentic that I was nervous.

Mama's. This place had a line around the corner at 8:00 a.m. on a Monday in the middle of May. I was expecting to have the most amazeballs, game changing brunch of my life. And I was? Satiated, but not blown away. I mean, yeah - that was a decent crab benedict and Boyfriend's cranberry-orange french toast was good, but...citizens of San Francisco there is so much else out there in the world of Brunch. Come to Chicago, we shall rock your world.

Lou's Fish Shack. We had a Groupon, which was good because this was so overpriced and touristy. But it was also kind of perfect for our epic post-bike ride meal. We were exhausted and did not want to have to think or plan anything. So to have a reservation somewhere just blocks from our hotel that served totally adequate sea food that filled us up. We were happy, touristy campers.

Zushi Puzzle. In an attempt to be true San Franciscans rather than tourists for a night, we tracked down a regular old sushi joint in the middle of nowhere. It tasted pretty much exactly like any decent sushi place in Chicago, which was a relief.

Ghiradelli's. Boyfriend remembers coming here with his family and I am a total sucker for nostalgia and ice cream. The wait is dumb, the portions are huge, but you have to do it. So do it.

If nothing else, all this traveling we have done has made us incredibly grateful that we live in Chicago which, to us, feels like one of the best foodie cities in the universe. And not only is the food in Chicago amazing, it is accessible. Sure we're home to Alinea, but we're also home to Kuma's Corner, and the Bongo Room. Amazing food in Chicago is not super expensive and not too hard to find, and maybe it's because we're living in tourist land when we travel, but we have struggled to find any city that matches it.

That being said - none of the food in San Fran disappointed. You cannot go wrong with fresh fish or sourdough bread and they worked that angle so hard. Well done, hipsters. Well done.

Eventually, I'll get around to talking about all the super fun things we did.

TYOE: 24 Hours in Nantucket

The human body really needs five days on Nantucket a year to function at its highest level. This year I only got four, and two of them were rainy - so I'm pretty much going to be draggin' ass for the next 12 months. Sorry Universe.

Back when I was a barefooted, dirty kid running rampant on the streets of Siasconset in search of a snickers bar before 9 a.m. there were rules about who came to Nantucket. Namely - you came with your family. End of rules. But recently the rules have been changed. I think because I'm getting to the age where I should be bringing the next generation of the family line buuuuut, instead I'm bringing my 20-something friends.

It's cool, Granny would much rather have drunken young professionals than great-grandchildren sleeping in her house. Everyone knows that.

Not everyone recognizes the five day rule, so I've managed to come up with the perfect 24 hours in Nantucket. When I am talking perfect, I am talking both controlable and non-controlable elements. Sometimes it rains. You will not have the perfect day - but you also probably won't get sand in your bathing suit. There is always a silver lining.

Here's how you do it right.

Get off the boat. Make sure your dumb friends who are meeting you don't drink too much the night before and forget how time works because the best thing about arriving on Nantucket is being waved at when the ferry is docking.

Eat some breakfast. I recommend Black-Eyed Susan's. If your human form does not allow for 45 minute waits for breakfast, I recommend Queequegs. If you're one of those "I'll just have coffee," people, head to The Bean.

Look at things in town. Some things you can look at include: stores, people, restaurant menus, fancy boats, water, bicyclists failing at cobblestones, fancy houses, the Brant Point light house, rich kids trying to sell you lemonade, aaaand all the crap in the Hospital Thrift Shop.

Get your Provisions sandwich. I don't recommend getting anything that is going to be made gross by spending a few hours in your backpack. Don't get the lobster roll. You will be the saddest.

Be up at the Visitor Center by 11:30 am so you can get that first shuttle to the brewery. If island boozing is not your thing than you can hike to Alter Rock with the rest of the 9 year olds. The Brewery is a great place to get boozy but its also just an awesme place to sit and eat a sandwich. I'm sure they have juice. Rainy day alternatives: read a book, the Whaling Museum, ice skating, taking an all-day nap.

Cisco Brewers has gotten a little high falutin' recently. But if you get there around noon, you should miss most of that. Enjoy as much brewery as you like and then take the most BOGUS EXPENSIVE CAB RIDE OF ALL TIME from the brewery to Cisco Beach. Cabs on Nantucket are proof that nothing can ever really be perfect.

$20 of bullshit later, sit on the beach, play in the ocean, take the always delightful beach nap.  Maybe you brought yourself a six pack, because you're a genius planner. Maybe you're trying to sober up a little bit because you're not 22 anymore. Whatever it is - have some perfect beach time.

Also, get in the Atlantic. It's cold, but so is your mom. Do it.

Then, get yourself back to 'Sconset. If you're super lucky, you have an amazing family who will drop everything to squire your friends around the island. If you don't have this, take anothe bogus cab ride. Sit in the back of that cab and think about capitalism.

If you're feeling like you need a Nantucket history lesson, take Polpis Road and peep Sankety light house. Make sure someone tells you about it.

Change yo' clothes (a day on Nantucket requires three outfits or you're not doing it right). Get boozy on the porch. Peep the ocean. Feel real rich. Ignore the mold. Tolerate Granecdotes* because they are the reason for the season.

Head back into town for dinner. The options change from year to year, but you cannot go wrong with Slip 14, 12 degrees East, Straight Wharf, or Cru. If you're a baller shotcaller - head to Boarding House, The Lobster Trap, or Company of the Caldron. And if you're on a budget - The Tavern, Sea Dog Brew Pub, or The Brotherhood of Thieves will feed you.

And now its time to wander around the town of Nantucket at night, stopping in bars (I'm not going to list them all, throw a stone and you'll eventually run into somewhere to serve you booze), stumbling over cobblestones, taking a trek down to Children's Beach to put your drunk toes in the water.

When you've had quite enough to drink, you finish the night with ice cream (from the Juice Bar - get a waffle cone, or you're a terrorist, btw) or pizza (from Steamboat Wharf Pizza) or both (if you're awesome). Get in one more dumb cab and stumble up the step stairs of your fishing shack. Pass out.

Wake up for a stroll to the 'Sconset Market for a pastry and a cup of coffee. Make sure you bring extra pastries for your hostess and whomever has been helping you out. No one doesn't like a 'Sconset Market blueberry muffin.

Eat breakfast on the porch. Enjoy all the people walking by who are jealous, both of your house and your pastry. Instruct them that the beach is to the right and the bluff walk is to the left.

Head back into town one last time. If you have some free minutes, you can spend them climbing the stairs of the First Congregational Church, picking up some Portugese bread from The Nantucket Bake Shop (I've already discussed my stance on this matter), get a Henry Jr's sandwich for the ride home (get it on the homemade roll, vacation is not the time or the place for whole wheat bread).

Get on the boat. Realize that you should have spent way more time on Nantucket because there was so much you didn't do! You didn't go see the airport from Wings, or rent bikes, or go to Madaket Millies for scallop quesadillas. LUCKILY, you're with a seasoned veteran, who will hand you a penny and instruct you to throw it into the harbor, just as the ferry rounds the Brant Point Lighthouse - and then you'll get to come back.

*Granecdotes are the new terminology for the amazingly hilarious, occasionally offensive, totally bizarre things that my Granny says and does. I love her so much, and without her house these 24 trips would not be possible, but she is legit old-lady-crazy.

TYOE: Boston

Boston has always been a stepping stone to the final destination. I'm there because I am trying to get somewhere else. Once, when NeedyT was coming out to visit me during my residency on Nantucket, I came for a little over 24 hours just to buy underwear and eat fast food. Ridiculous, but necessary. It was 104 degrees in the shade those entire 24 hours, making it ridiculous, necessary and pretty miserable. Boston was the elephant graveyard, Simba.

Last year, after a trip up to visit Buttmunch, I found myself with almost a full day here since that fateful trip that lodged Boston in my head as the bad place. In the ten hours I spent here with Cinderella last year, I ate proscutto, drank free beer and devoured a game changing lobster roll. This brought Boston up significantly in the rankings, but it still remained a city of being almost-there. 

This year, Boyfriend's job has dangled the possibility of a Beantown relocation in front of him like a scrawny, still dirty carrot. We figured before we completely shot the idea down, we would spend a few full days in the B.

The trip was made even sweeter by a few days on Nantucket on the front end, and an overdose of snuggles with one my new favorite humans. But ultimately, when we left we knew, it was not the city for us. What it has in being ocean-side and precariously closer to my East Coast family and friends does not really make up for it's over-priced real estate, lack of gridded street, and just "meh"-ness.

We'll go back to visit though, if only because we dropped the ball so hard on the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum (GUYS! That sweetpiece of architecture is closed on Tuesdays, do not drop the ball like your ball dropping friend, me). 

What we did:

Freedom Trail. Hey, are you interested in 10 or so buildings that are all kind of the same, with the same back story, and a couple of old-ass graveyards tossed in? Sah-weet. Get your ass on that little red line that through Boston. Real talk: Boston is full of game changing history. Literally. The Freedom Trail takes about two hours and you should do it. BUT! You should do it NOT on a Monday for the very simple reason that the USS Constitution is closed. Bogus.

Also if you're looking to really reevaulate your own personal level of physical fitness: climb the stairs of the Bunker Hill Monument, get lapped by a woman wearing a tennis skirt, hate everyone in the universe and then and cry into a bowl of clam chowder. 

The Boston Tea Party Museum. It is absolutely the most over priced thing I've ever been a part of, but there is something very satisfying about throwing tea into the river. In fact, if it was an hour of tea throwing, it might have been totally worth it, but there was way more listening to creepy anamatronics and LARPers teaching me about history than I would have preferred. Also, there is something oddly strange about playing pretend and yelling about throwing over our oppressors when we're the ones who do most of the oppressing now. But, you get a feather?! So there's that?!

Walked all the places. We pretty much ate all there was to eat for seven days straight and with the promise of a homemade lobster roll on the horizon, we felt as though we had to do something to earn it. So we walked from our hotel in the Chinatown-y/Financial District-y/How is there always a traffic jam-y neighborhood out to Somerville (nearish to the Porter Square red line stop, for those of you playing along at home). All told it was about 4 miles of walking through Boston Common, along the Charles River, through the faux-suburbia of Cambridge. In addition we walked Back Bay to Fenway which is not nearly impressive, but - I have to say, Boston is a totally walkable city. Its mostly flat, and pedestrian friendly. I dig that about you, Boston.

What We Ate:

Homemade Lobstah rolls. Not only did my friend make one of the cutest babies in the universe, she married a dude who makes his own lobster rolls. Winner, winner Lobstah Dinnah. I never feel quite so high on the food chain then when watching a lobster become my meal. Sorry you are so delicious, lobster.

Boston Commons Coffee Company. We ended up having breakfast here both days. Both days it was totally packed. On the second day, they had run out of bacon...it was not even 9 a.m. Were breakfast not such a highly charged, emotionally meal for me on a daily basis - we would have walked out then and there. But Boston does not have much going for it in the weekday breakfast scene. So I made it through. Their coffee was mega delicious though. And the food was good, except for the bacon foul up.

Warren Tavern. There is no official oldey-timey tavern of the Freedom Trail, but if Warren Tavern wanted to dub themselves that - they totally could. Located just far enough away from Bunker Hill's stairway of fat kid shaming to feel like you totally earned that secound beer, but close enough that you can get there without actually passing out on the incredibly narrow sidewalk. Its got that dark-wood-rafter-low-ceilinged-lots-tarnished-gold look of pretending that you're plotting the overthrow of the government. Also, the clam chowder has All.The.Clams. Oh man! Guys, seafood on the east coast is serious business. And I love that about the East Coast. Also, they know their way around a crabcake BLT which they should since they're the oldest tavern ever in the history of their internet website.

Mike's Pastry. The answer is Mike's Pastry. The question does not matter. hashtag cannolis. 

Corner Tavern. We wanted to check out the Back Bay to see how the real Brahmains live it up. Apparently the upper class likes their service bad, their grilled cheese delicious and their bar food reasonably priced. 

Flour. After we worked up a tea-throwing sweat, we went to the restaurant ranked #13 in the city. And, I'm not gonna lie - as sandwiches and whoopie pies go, it was pretty satisfying. I would absolutely tell you to go there post tea-throwing. But, if this is your 13th best restaurant, either everyone on Trip Advisor has terribly low standards or you have no good eating in your whole city.

Wagamama. GUYS. One time, I went to London and I visited myotherhalfRacheltwin and it was awesome and we ate at Wagamama, which was also awesome, and that trip happened six years ago, which is CRAZY. Anyway, while we were there, we went to this amazing little noodle shop near the Globe theater. Then every time someone would post facebook pictures, I would always see it. It is the go-to for all your noodle needs in Foggy London Towne. When we walked past the one in Quincy Market, I was at like a 40 on a scale of one to pants-peeing excitement. What a random find! Naturally, I demanded it as our final Boston meal, to be stuffed in a backpack, x-rayed by TSA and then enjoyed on the plane to the jealousy of all our sucker planemates.

Boston. I do not miss you. However, we have one more date so I can peep this sweet, sweet architectural treasure - so man up before I get there. More London chain restaurants and babies, please.