who does yr / who does yr hair?

This Sunday I woke at approximately 8 o'clock. Or: I woke up at 8 o'clock on Sunday. Or: even though it was the weekend and I'm a godless heathen and I could have bally well slept until noon [and beyond!], I got up at eight bloody o'clock.

The reason was to shower, dress, & eat breakfast before the 8:53 train that I was catching to go to the Philadelphia museum of art with my friends. Even though the art museum is open until five on Sundays. Even though the art museum doesn't even open until ten on Sundays!

So, with my wet hair in a lovely kind of Victorian bun on top of my head, I arrived at the Roslyn train station about five to ten minutes before the train was scheduled to arrive. This kid was there in Gryffindor colours, even though he claims to have never gone anywhere near the books. And of course my darling little friend, who claimed she would have pictures up by now, but still hasn't, was there. Plus the organizational genius & teh U-twins. & my ally M.Cass was soon to arrive.

So we're loitering at the train station, when some literate person in our group reads some of the literature SEPTA posts to give you something to do while you wait for a train. There are shuttle buses between Glenside and Wayne Junction, due to construction, and the next train isn't coming until 9:30. I.e., forty minutes from that point in time. Cha-ching!

Cue waiting for a gajillion years, made slightly better by jiving to Lin's iPod [except I have a short attention span, so I would listen to five seconds of a song, then go onto the next].

At last the train arrived, I praised Jesus a few times, and we boarded. Took over the end of one car, purchased tickets, and rode the train to Glenside, where I saw my brother & my father preparing for Boy Scout Camping Trip Extravaganza. I banged on the window of the train, but I guess it wasn't loud enough. They didn't notice.

At Glenside, we were forced to get off the train and board a bus. Which made me want to stab myself in the face. EXCEPT! The bus ride redeemed itself because it was a double bus with that accordion bit in the middle so it can go round turns, you know? So we sat in the seats in the accordion bit, that slide around when the bus makes turns and it was nearly as fun as an amusement park ride. We threw our hands into the air when we turned. Good times, good times.

After the bus had shuttled us to our destination, which wasn't really our destination, because we had to get back on a train, we got back on a train. And sat there not moving, due to some malfunction. And they had to fucking call a mechanic or something and we sat on the train for EVAR & AFINITY. But praise Jesus, I had my cell phone, so I played a little mini!golf with M.Cass. And Lin shared her iPod with everyone. And Lin&Matt tried to sing the Elephant Love Medley, except I knew the words better than her even though I didn't have the earphones in. Because I am a Moulin Rouge! guru. \m/

And praise Jesus, at last the train started to inch forward. And at last we arrived in Suburban. [After M.Cass & I threatened to get off at Market to eat in Chinatown because I was absolutely starved, having ate breakfast a gajillion hours ago.] So we walked to the art museum from there, which wasn't too bad. And I cursed Sylvester Stallone as we scaled the zillions of steps to get up to the top.

The art museum was one of the more pleasant parts of the day, being air conditioned. I was guilted into paying three dollars for admission, even though it was technically "pay what you wish," and I would have wished less because I'm a stingy bastard who hates the arts.

So we explored the Indian temple and the Japanese tea house and looked at weapons and lots of pictures of Jesus dying [the monotony broken up by random saints with large cleavers embedded in their heads], breaked for overpriced lunch [which was def. not 'pay what you wish'], then looked at Quack Quack Quack; some art that wasn't medieval, but wasn't quite contemporary; Fashion Favorites [which was a small room in a corner with about five dresses in it, a couple pairs of shoes, a few corsets, and some accessories, including sleeve puffs]; then contemporary art, including a random film by Yasumasa Morimura.

And M.Cass asked me why our female peers among the museum guests gave me dirty looks when they passed me, as if I had slept with their collective boyfriend. Which I think she might have imagined, because I didn't notice. But if her keen eyes saw true, it was probably because I was looking superfoxy in my modded t-shirt.

I was feeling particularly inspired Saturday morning, so I took one of those huge t-shirts you get for free but never wear except maybe to sleep in because they're unattractive and not form-fitting, cut out the collar so that it falls sluttily off the shoulders, then turned it inside out and sewed down each side & sleeve, about an inch in, so when you turn it back outside out/inside in, it's not so loose. I = DIY punk rock sewing goddess. Talking of DIY, I also cut my own hair recently— well, trimmed— and kind of made parts shorter than other parts, so it's a little bit layered. \m/

Note my fabulous ruffled skirt that Hannah adores so [although I'm tempted to never wear it again because Lin said she saw a similar one in, of all places, Banana Republic], my ballerina-style faux-Converse [not so much made for walking; multiple blisters will result by the end of the day], my slutty black bra, my slutty pink cami, my slutty hoop earrings, and my spectacular chunky white choker. And loose belt for the pirate look. Why do I love fashion too much?

And the tee, for those of you who must know, is a peer mediation shirt & says PROJECT PEACE and has the Abington logo [and all the Abington schools listed on the back], as well as assorted other random text, like WE CAN WORK IT OUT! MEDIATION SHOWCASE. But you mostly can't read it when I wear it, anyway, because my boobs distort & hide the logos/writing.

And no, that's not supposed to be a Victorian bun; I change my hair a lot when I'm bored/nervous/self-conscious. So that's a low ponytail with pieces of hair falling out in front because they're too short. Gangsta.

But back to Sunday. After museum!funfun-a-gogo, some lunatic had the bright idea to walk to Reading Terminal Market [approx 1.5 miles or 2.4 km]. I bought a Power Rangers Dino Thunder popsicle outside of the museum before we started walking [or rather, as they started walking], because I was the only one among them who had a childlike sense of fun and appreciation for delicious frozen treats. Except it was the most ridiculously huge popsicle you'll have ever seen and it made me feel slutty eating it, so I walked behind everyone else, so they wouldn't see me eat it.

Passed a couple fountains on the way, but was forbidden to take shoes off and wade in by fascists in group. Or I was too lazy to ask. They probably would have given in. When we arrived at Reading Terminal Market, we read the door that said OPEN MONDAY THROUGH SATURDAY. And died inside. Or perhaps that was only me.

So then Lin was like BURMA! and she led us on a roundabout route through Chinatown to Rangoon, where two ladies she called "Auntie" [whom I suspect were not in fact her aunts!] served us Faluda/Falooda [none of the recipes you'll find googling either of those will quite accurately describe what we had]. Ice cream + syrup + tapioca pearls = bon. Weird gelatin strips = not so much.

Perhaps the gelatin went to their heads, but at this point, certain people decided, in order to have a proper cultural exchange, we would have to take Lin to Pat's for a cheesesteak, because she had never had one. These certain people pretended it was just a little walk to Pat's from MOTHER EFFING CHINATOWN. Foolishly I followed them. And because our fearless leaders were stupid boys, it was me who txted Google for the exact location of Pat's. And it was me who called my mother so she could mapquest it because we had already walked ~20 blocks without finding it. IN PLUS NINETY DEGREE WEATHER.

So with that 1.5 miles under our belts, we decided the extra block to Pat's might as well have been the entire Sahara bloody desert, and settled for trudging into line at Geno's. Having not much room for hunger, as was experiencing overwhelming combination of thirst, irritation, and suicide-might-not-be-so-bad, I bought a mandarin Jarritos at the place next door so I wouldn't feel guilty sitting at one of their tables, since Geno's tables were all full.

Lin had a bite of her cheesesteak, naturally thought it was vile, and exposed the goal of our hike for the pointless sham that it was. My mind numbed from exhaustion, I was then tricked into thinking we might walk up to Broad St. to catch a bus. It was not to be. When we reached Broad St., my evil torturers cried, "Look, it's not so far. William Penn's RIGHT THERE [=1.5 miles away]!" And we walked.

Why I didn't collapse to the ground and refuse to go anywhere until someone called a taxi, only the virgin mother Mary in her infinite wisdom & patience knows. My only consolation was a photograph of pretty boys kissing I'd torn out of PGN, but I didn't want to have pretty boys kissing permanently associated with sore feet, so I used it sparingly.

We took a brief rest at a Banana Republic, so that Lin Gyi could find out that it was closed, and finally made it to Market East, with just enough time to run down the steps and hop on the train that was already in the station and nearly pulled away without us. [Fortunately I had wished on a wishie that we would arrive at the station at just the right time to catch a train.]

After another bus shuttle trip, we arrived in Glenside, and went our separate ways, promising to reconvene at Lin's for swimming and Moulin Rouge!-watching [inspired by our earlier musical interlude & the fact that two of our number had never seen it & that Lin Gyi allegedly hates Baz Luhrmann & that everyone else realises it's pretty much the best movie evar].

I went to M.Cass's cousin's graduation party with her, because that's what good friends do, and then it was swimming! Which was vairy plaisant, but somehow the water was too cold, even though we'd walked far too many miles in the heat [at one point, M&I were actually singing 'I will walk five hundred miles and I will walk five hundred more' under our breaths, but that was before we'd actually walked a significant distance and had our youthful spirits crushed].

And then, at last, we all gathered around the Teevee & Ewan McGregor's earnest voice washed all my bitterness & tiredness & general residue of badmoodyness away.

PLEASE LEAVE YR ADORABLE WIFE & MARRY ME.

Although I suppose I would be willing to settle for someone who is merely a passionate fan and can sing all the words by heart. God, what a fantastic movie. Why is Baz Luhrmann brilliant?

During one of Nicole Kidman's whingy solos, I asked M. why all her songs are so annoying & complainy, and she said because they were the musical equivalent of me. Which was just.

But if you must know, I complain because I care. And because it's a fun creative outlet. So don't take this too seriously. [I'm a generally good-natured person, I swear!]

& a ridiculous amount of props for reading it all! [I tried to break up the epic saga with a picture. Worth a thousand words and all that. I think the double bus, pretty boys kissing, and yr adorable wife links all involve pictures too, if yr eyes need a rest. And if Lin ever gets her act together, perhaps I will be able to provide a fotografía or two as well.]