Apparently, I snore like a grampus.

I warned Nik that I may well talk in my sleep, recalling an incident from when I was with Greg and I woke up in the middle of a conversation with him, really angry because he didn't understand what I was talking about. Of course, neither did I, once I woke up.

Anyway, yesterday morning he told me that, as far as talking goes, I was silent as the grave, but as far as snoring went, the windows were rattling.

"Fortunately, you stopped pretty fast. But what you lacked in longevity, you made up for in amazing volume!" Then he made a noise that he claimed was an imitation of me, though I thought that it sounded rather more like a frog in a blender.

I, of course, completely rejected this statement. I am much too dainty a flower to snore! No, really!

So first thing yesterday, we had a massive breakfast at the B&B. We wanted to load up in case we couldn't find anything to eat again in Philadelphia, City of No Restaurants.

I had pancakes and bacon and home fries and toast and tea, and Nik had French toast and bacon and Eggs Benedict and milk and orange juice. At that point, all I wanted to do was go back to sleep, but we went into the city instead.

It was a simply beautiful day, thank goodness, after the rain-soaked night before. Sunny, breezy, clear blue sky, etc.

We walked to the Art Museum and wandered through. It's a swell museum, with a great Impressionist collection, and a bunch of Duchamps, and I went to all of the gift shops and bought postcards and Nik waited for me outside on the steps while I was in the last one. I swan, it's like dragging a five year old to a department store.

He claims to have been warped as a child after having spent an inordinate number of hours watching his mother try on shoes.

Then, even though it was late, we just made Independence Hall before it closed. It was kind of the whirlwind tour, but it was good. Then we went to Christ Church cemetery and saw Ben Franklin's grave, which was covered with pennies. Only to prove, I imagine, that Americans will wish on anything.

Of course, Franklin's head isn't on the penny, it's on the hundred dollar bill, but I didn't see many of those on the tombstone.

Then we decided to wander by the restored City Tavern.

I wanted to eat there, but Nik didn't think that we were dressed well enough to go into the dining room, even though a party of jean-clad tourists immediately preceded us, the prices and the tablecloths frightened him a bit. So we just went into the bar instead and had a couple of drinks.

It was really great there, though we decided that the bartender really hated his little outfit, with the knee-breeches and all. The other staff appeared to wear their clothing just a little more happily and naturally.

Afterwards, we went to the Hardshell Cafe for dinner, having decided ahead of time where to go with the use of Philadelphia Magazine, not much wanting to wander hungrily for hours like we had the day before.

The magazine said:
"The Hardshell Cafe, 9th and Market Sts. Seafood restaurant specializing in Baltimore-style steamed crabs, sautéed garlic crabs, fresh fish and an array of non-fish options."

Doesn't say a word about the service, does it? And for good reason. The food was really extremely good, I had a shrimp cocktail and a big fucking steak, and Nik had a side salad and chicken fingers and a crab thing, but the first clue that the service may well be less than stellar was the little note in the menu that said that a 15% gratuity would be added to all checks. Meaning no incentive whatsoever to do a really good job.

The most glaring example was when I got my shrimp cocktail, I got it with no cocktail sauce, but I figured that he'd bring it with Nik's chicken fingers. He did not, so the next time he walked by, I asked him "May I please have some cocktail sauce?" and he startled, like he had never heard of such an odd request!

Cocktail sauce on shrimp cocktail, imagine!

So, after quite a pause, he brought it to me not in a little plastic cup like Nik's mustard sauce and the dressing for his salad, but in a squeeze bottle like ketchup. Like what they use in the kitchen to fill the little plastic cups.

I wanted a little plastic cup, though, so I wiped out the one from Nik's ranch dressing and put my cocktail sauce in it. Our esteemed waiter apparently decided that because he didn't give it to me, it didn't actually exist, so he left it on the table for the rest of the meal.

But he got a lovely 15% tip anyway! Whaddaya know about that.

Then we wandered home and watched an almost entirely laugh-free episode of Saturday Night Live that convinced me not to buy Tom Petty's new album, if the two songs that he sang from it were representative!

And I took another wonderful bath. I will miss that tub most of all when we leave. I'm so used to my doll house tub at home that just about barely dampens my lower half, that I could barely contain my joy at actually being able to stretch all the way out.

Sheer heaven.

Today's horoscope:
Now's the time to release any stress. Relax tight muscles and let go of tension with a hot tub, steam bath, massage or other techniques.

One year ago today:
Weehawken is a mighty Catholic town!

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Last Updated Sun 11 April 20:54:09 1999