david schrott is everywhere

she and i visit the 212, $85 breakfasts, i’m a sam-girl & an ode to steichen

Posted in daily life, NYC by thebreakfastdictator on 07/31/2011

We planned on going to NYC well over a month ago. In some ways, it feels like forever ago and in others like five seconds ago. We were texting a few days before our first “date” and I’d told her that I’d never had a really good NYC experience. She rattled off a few things that she loved about the city and I simply said “show me”. She said okay and we planned on a July 30 day trip. Later that night, I told Ian and he told me that planning something that far away with a girl I didn’t really know was a bad idea. Somehow, I knew he was wrong.

Earlier that morning, she and I talked about taking the Bolt or the Megabus to the big city. I found $7 tickets on the Megabus : departure time 2.30am / arrival time 4.30am. We said “Let’s do it!”. In retrospect, that was a ludicrous idea and we both were so glad we didn’t follow through with that initial idea.

She’d heard of a place. A breakfast place called Norma’s. Reservations were key and she sent me the link. Later, during a night of delirious dancing, she remarked that she wanted to go dancing in New York. I love dancing with her and saying “no” wasn’t even an option in my mind. This turned our day trip into an over-night trip. The details of where we’d stay weren’t even considered. We wanted to dance and dance we would.

The Yassos picked us up around 10.30 and we headed north — to Brewerytown. Freeman was throwing a dance party and as mentioned before, we simply don’t say no to dancing. Not now. Not ever. The energy felt a little low and the Yassos were dialoguing rather than dancing so we decided to skip out early to our default dance zone — the 700 Club. We love that place.

Love.

We’re dropped at 2nd & Fairmount and she realizes she forgot her ID. The bouncer won’t let us in and we hop a cab back to the G-Ho. As with every other recent weekend, sleep will be on short order.

We wake and who-knows-what-time, head to 30th Street, coffee-up and find the bus stop. Two breezy hours and one new talkative Jewish friend later, we land in the heart of mid-town. We find coffee and a storage space for our bags — which was oh-so-typical-New-York. On the second floor of an obscure 36th street building was a room. A tiny room. In it was a friendly young woman who was slightly scatter-brained and who took and stored our bag for the day. Cost: $6. This was, perhaps, some of the wisest six dollars I’ve ever spent.

Breakfast was out of this world. I was speechless most of our time there. We finished up and realized we weren’t far from Central Park. We made our way over there and found some grass + shade. We read John chapter five and talked for a long long time. And it was good. So good. Our talks give me so many insights into her. It shows me a little more of who she is and how I can learn to love her. I love giving myself to her — whether it’s cleaning up a wine glass she’s broken, carrying her bags for her or any other little gesture that shows her just how much she means to me.

Sam & I were freshman at Drexel to-gether. We were mostly acquaintances during college and then a few months ago we caught up and have been trying to do so ever since. I telephoned him the day before we left and made loose plans to get to-gether Saturday night.

He met us in front of our (remarkable) hostel on 17th. We headed to the Flatiron so I could snap a quick photo of it and then ended up at a bar (Mumbles) on the corner of the block our hostel was on. Times with Sam are marathons. Drinks are ordered in over-abundance and conversation slips from serious to hysterical in seconds. I think we sat down around 7.30 and didn’t leave til Meg had five glasses of wine and well after midnight.

Patricia recommended Pyramid for a night of 80s dancing. Conveniently, it was only a 15 minute walk from the hostel. We walked in and that song that I don’t know that they always play on This American Life was playing. The floor was a little sparse, but just before one a.m. is early in the two-one-two. We survived until just after two and our over-extended bodies simply wouldn’t go anymore. She asked me if I wanted to go and I told her I’d do whatever she wanted; sleep, more than anything, was what she desired.

We arrived at the hostel just before three and crashed in seconds. The sun would come soon and every sweet second of sleep would need to be savored.

The Bolt arrives at 9.45.

Coffee-up.

21 days

Posted in daily life, philadelphia, polaroid by thebreakfastdictator on 07/19/2011

It’s been 21 days since our first date. But was it even a date? She now admits she was ultra nervous and so was I. Ironically, the restaurant I picked was directly across the street from her apartment. I met her out front and my mind went blank. This is the worst possible thing to happen — I had nothing to say… I mumbled something about my friend Josh loving this restaurant and somehow that put her at ease. Conversation at the table quickly turned easy — the server had to come to us four times before we were ready to order.

Dinner was over all too quickly and we walked awkwardly back to my car. I wanted to see her more, but I didn’t wanna push things. I had no idea what she was thinking, but I did know that I wanted ice cream and that I wanted to keep talking to her on this beautiful late-June night.

Ice cream at Franklin Fountain it is! We walked to the river and talked for who-knows-how-long on Penn’s Landing.

(She has the most beautiful green eyes!!!)

Almost three weeks later she tells me she went home and told her roommate that our date (or whatever-you-wanna-call-it was) was horrible — that she talked too much and that she didn’t expect to hear back from me until we saw each other Sunday at church. I loved every second of that night and against my better judgment, texted her within the hour of walking her home. She kindly obliged and I knew this was headed in the right direction.

Apparently, she noticed me the very first week she came to church (April 10th). She asked the only two people she knew there who I was and she’s wanted to talk to me ever since.

This.
Blows.
My.
Mind.

Two weeks later (Easter), I noticed her. We shared a long glance, a look-away, and another long glance before the service started. I never talk to girls I don’t know, but on that day, I knew I had to. I was ready to go say “hello” during Passing the Peace and much to my dismay, I looked back and another young suitor had beaten me to her. Frustration itched inside of me and I kicked myself for not introducing myself sooner. Two days later, I wrote Paul an email about how I thought for sure she’d wanted me to go say “hi” but that I’d missed my chance…

In the following weeks, she was introduced to our group by the other suitor and it seemed they were clicking. Little did I know that all along she was hoping to get to talk to me.

There was the night that Chad and I devised the phrase “up to bat” to describe all the guys going after her and how ludicrous it was. That night, she and I shared a few looks, laughs and eye rolls that got me wondering what exactly might be simmering between us. I couldn’t think it was much of anything, but that if I ever wanted to talk to her down the road I’d need to keep a low profile now.

That was early May.

Two months later, I call her my girlfriend (this is still something that despite the reality of it all, isn’t connecting inside of my brain). We push the borders of delirium while staying up til four, five or six a.m. after hours of dancing. I’ve learned the bus routes to her house and spent untold dollars on cab rides home.

She loves spending time with me and I with her.

I can’t get over the surrealty of this all. And for now, I don’t want to. Where-ever this journey may head is anyone’s guess, but for now, I’ll take her hand and simply enjoy her remarkable company.

alright, alright, just dance.

Posted in daily life, philadelphia by thebreakfastdictator on 07/12/2011

We spent two nights on the Moshulu within a week. Both were DJ DeeJay parties and while most wouldn’t consider him the best of DJ’s, he picks a lineup that is hard to beat and we’re gluttons for the boat dancing punishment. There’s another one in under two weeks now, and we’ll certainly be there.

Davey Keips' Summer Bash

Summer nights are the best nights and they keep getting later and later. 5am is now an acceptable bedtime — weekend or work-night. 7 hours of sleep will get us through two weekend nights and maybe just a little more during the work-week.

She’s started drinking coffee now.

I can’t get over this. Two months ago, me and Chad were joking about all the dudes who were “up to bat”. Slowly, they got demoted to the Minors and one off the cuff comment about lucid dreaming on Memorial Day lead to an email a month later which lead to more emails which lead to a dinner in Olde City which lead to… this.

The surrealty of it all has me wondering if this is really my life.

Yes it is.

I sent her the photo above and made the comment that it made sense that the first photo of us was dancing. She corrected me and said it wasn’t the first photo of us. She sent me a picture from a cookout a few months prior and while she was technically correct, it still wasn’t the first photo of us.

The party, while a really good time, wasn’t what we’d expected. Last time it was an all out dance-war and that never materialized. Midnight had rolled around and people were chatting rather than dancing even though Beat Masta J was spinnin’ beats.

“You wanna go find a club if this doesn’t pick up by midnight?”

“Do you even have to ask?”

“Okay. 700 Club it is.”

“Perfect.”

A little after midnight, we slide out the side door so as not to catch hell for leaving early, catch a cab on Moyamensing, drop Maggie in Olde City and carry on to Northern Libs. Our cabbie is the first non-immigrant cabbie I’ve ever had in Philadelphia and he complains about then navigates deftly around the Greek Picnic. $17 later we arrive at the corner of 2nd & Fairmount and head upstairs into the faux-living room. It’s under-crowded for a Friday. Fine by us. It’s Motown night and every song is killer. I grab her hand and twirl her, pull her close to me and kiss her right on the dance floor. Did that really happen? Yes, it did.  Ninety minutes pass while feeling like only ninety seconds. The music stops and we head out into the warm summer air. The walk back to her apartment is shorter than expected and we sit in the park on the corner of Front & Chestnut. I wrap my arm around her and we just talk. Two hours and an $11.91 cab ride back to Fitzwater has me in bed, exhausted but not.

What a night.

…and there’s many more to come.

Happy Fourth, 44 minute walks and $12 Cab Rides

Posted in daily life, philadelphia by thebreakfastdictator on 07/05/2011

I take her hand to walk her through the monster crowd on the parkway. It’s not the first time but it feels so good for her fingers to interlock with mine. Our palms are sweaty and we loosen our grip to re-adjust. I squeeze hand tighter and pull her through the crowd. I look back to make sure she’s okay. She is and she smiles and we keep going. I love every second of this.

The light is beautiful around Logan Circle. The sky is a gradient of dark blue to light pink, spotted with orange clouds. The warm summer light reflects off the white pebbles around the circle and makes her face glow. She looks beautiful and we walk aimlessly around the circle, paying attention to nothing other than what the other has to say.

A little over two hours later we sprawl out with some friends along Kelly Drive. The fireworks explode overhead and we lock hands again. The weather is perfect and this night is amazing.

Happy Birthday, America.

The Moshulu party is winding down and everyone’s bailed on us. Zeke’s around somewhere but who knows where he’s gone after that four-loco. She needs a water and we head to the bar. She drinks it in about three seconds and we hit the floor together. I take her hand and spin her. The music slows and I wrap my arms around her waist. We put our foreheads together and soak in the music and breathe the hot summer air. I wouldn’t wanna be anywhere else.

We walk back to her apartment and find Zeke a cab. There’s a park caddy corner to her block and we head there and lie in the grass. Exhaustion overtakes us and we barely say a word. We don’t need to. The night has spoken for itself.

It’s 3am now and I walk her home. Fourty-four minutes later I end up on my doorstep. The sun’ll be up in under an hour. Sleep hard. The morning comes fast.

summer > everything

Posted in philadelphia by thebreakfastdictator on 07/02/2011

Did I really just spend $58 on four glasses of wine?

Did i really just stay up til 4.14 and wake up at 7.18 on a weekend work night?

Yes.

Yes.

…smile.