Summer Jaunt

The Belle's have friends in Philadelphia. Many friends. A huge group of our college friends moved down there after college graduation/dropping out and never left. There are a few hipster hot spots in this great country of ours and Philadelphia is one of them. Portland is another. I have a theory that one of these days Rochester will make that list. Big city culture on a smaller scale. Gorgeous location, cheap real estate and lots of local brews, not to mention the #1 farmer's market in the USA! Then all of us who have always known and loved Rochester can all out-hipster the hipsters with the classic, "We knew Rochester when it was just playing shows in my neighbor's basement." So, just crossing my fingers on that one.

I'm not real great at taking pictures of things in a place I've been to a lot. But I tried. After you've visited a place a number of times everything starts to look normal. You can't quite look at it with the eyes of an outsider anymore. One thing that I always love seeing on the car ride to Philly is the wind turbines. There are two caches of them on the way there. They are so huge and magnificent, spanning the horizon. Emblems of clean energy. You know how I love that stuff. Behold:


OK, so they don't look that massive in this picture. That is only because I took it on my phone. Also, never mind that splotch of bird poo on the windshield there, mmmkay?

We stopped along the way for a picnic. This was the husband's idea and he was quite keen on it. Sandwiches and chips. I'm sort of a spoiled brat on vacations. I like to go out to eat and spend money. I treat myself to expensive coffees and snacks that I don't normally allow myself. Eating a picnic from home wasn't my idea. It was fine and everyone enjoyed themselves and it was nice to get out of the car for a while, yes. Would I have rather eaten at Cracker Barrel? No. Friendly's? Probably. We also stayed in a motel instead of a hotel. I don't want to talk about that. The huge free continental breakfast was almost worth it.


We stay at places that are near the airport, which is just across a bridge from the city. There is at least one giant petroleum/gas plant there that reeks pretty badly and a giant metal scrap yard. Philly isn't winning any awards on cleanliness. One thing that tickled my funny bone was the billboard directly in front of said scrap yard:

In my mind it reads like this: "Don't just look at the garbage, Eat it!"

So, you know how I was saying that some places seem normal after a while? Well, one thing in Philly never seems to fade into normalcy, no matter how many times I see it or how long I stare at it. It's the King of Jeans. See what I'm saying? What you can't really tell from this picture is how enormous...it is. OK, I'm going to stop now.


When we visit Philly we play a lot of dominos and cook quite a bit. Rodney and Luke made unforgettable pho for dinner and LuLu made this pasta dish that I just love (not to mention the green tea angel food cake with the ginger frosting!!!). Andrew and Sarah came with us and made a Mexican squash dish that I know how to pronounce but have no idea how to spell. So, I won't try.

We did splurge one night and go to Distrito, a Jose Garces restaurant. I really can't recommend this place enough. It's tapas, family style dining, which I usually hate because JOEY DOESN'T SHARE FOOD. It was a Mexican themed menu and the first thing they brought us instead of chips and salsa were spiced peanuts. The smell was mouth watering. I don't remember the last time a smell enticed me like that. I didn't take pictures of the food. I'm not great with that. If there is food, I want to be eating it, not styling it for a photo shoot. I ordered a watermelon margarita (!!!), mahi mahi tacos and an enchilada. I didn't want to be hungry because at the last family style place, I went home with room in my belly and no money in my wallet. I was full by the second tiny fish taco. So, Joey ended up sharing. Everything was delicious and presented like artwork. Plus, the color theme was green and hot pink.

Wall of Mexican wrestling masks.


Ceiling fixture that looks like something straight out of Jem and the Holograms.

Philadelphia is just about an hour away from another of our favorite vacation destinations: Ocean City, New Jersey. I'm not much on gambling, and Ocean City is closer than Atlantic City. Last time (the only time) we went to Atlantic City to play the slots I was disappointed and bored that the slot games are just pulling a lever or pressing a button. Nothing like the thing on Super Mario Brothers Three. I took $20. Flushed $14 down the toilet and saved the rest for ice cream. I told you I'd rather be eating. Anyway, our first Ocean City stop was Brown's. Home made donuts. Served to your table piping hot!

Life guard station with the good bathrooms.


The Wonderland Pier.

I cannot abide the beach without one of these bad boys. The day we went it was cloudless and over 100 degrees. Everyone got a modicum of burn, even after reapplying sunscreen. I have an awesome tan because of this day. Don't lecture me about skin cancer. My skin sees the sun a total of two days a year in Rochester, so get a grip.



Kerm looks so happy, you can't tell how god awful hot it was. The water was cold enough to freeze your knees, but everyone was in it. Otherwise you'd be frying up like a side of fat back bacon. When it got too hot for me I decided to shop the boardwalk. I'm pretty sure the boardwalk is over a mile long and I know for sure that it is lined the entire way with shops and restaurants and snack places. I tried, I really did. I got a huge bottle of water and a Polish Water Ice. I only lasted about 10 shops. People: It was too hot to shop! Please know that this has never happened to me before. I mean, it was throwy-uppy hot. I did manage to get one picture though.


These kettles are notorious in our family. There is one very famous story about my mother and her inability to remember the name of this shop. They make insanely delicious fudge there. She gets the fudge, she loves the fudge. She called the shop a variety of names, none of which were correct. The Fudge Kettle, The Country Kettle, the Fudgy Cudger, The Kettle Kitchen, etc. The actual name is simply, The Fudge Kitchen. I have ordered their fudge online and had it delivered. I recommend it to a friend. At any rate, I gave up shopping and we went and had Mexican food...again. It was so good. I can't tell if it was because the food was legitimately delicious, or if we were just that hungry or if it was because the place had air conditioning. But you can go there and find out for yourself. Rojo's.

The day after that we went on a Ghost Tour of Philadelphia. Let me stress that this was not our (the tourists) idea. Our friend LuLu lives in Philly, has for years and years. She loves her some history, Ben Franklin and haunted things. We had lunch and dinner/snacks and drinks at some pubs first and just took our time walking around down town. This is a picture of Monkey Knife Fight. A beer you can only get one place on earth: Nodding Head Pub. It was ginger and lemon grass beer, you people. It was so delicious I could have cried. It depresses me that they don't bottle.

Then I saw this and knew I was in trouble.

Thank goodness that's not the only way to get it. Or I would be in deep, deep trouble.

Our tour guide on the Ghost Tour kept encouraging us to take pictures of various haunted locales in an effort to catch "orbs" on camera. See mine?


No? Me either. This is a cemetery haunted by orphans from the yellow fever epidemic in Philly's history. These ghosts gotta get a lot more haunty if they hope to pass along their gruesome and frightening legacy. Otherwise people on the tour are just going to get distracted by their free glow sticks. Although, to be fair, I could get distracted by glow sticks, necklaces and/or bracelets at almost any time. During a lightening storm in an open field where I am the tallest object? Yep. During a 4th of July fireworks display where my own name is being spelled out in pyrotechnics? Yes, for sure. On a plane careening through the sky in a downward spiral of death? I seriously hope I never have to find out.

Speaking of things being haunted or spooky, I present to you, Cabalina Jordan. Now, Cabby is sort of a legend in these parts. LuLu has had him since she was very young and Cabby went absolutely everywhere with her. To say that this thing has been and is still loved is a gross understatement. He (oh yes, Cabalina Jordan is a dude, not a lady.) is flat with love. Nigh two dimensional in areas. I can't believe I got to meet him live and in the flesh. LuLu keeps him close at hand in case of a fire. I have had his name in my head for years. It gets stuck there. You can't just UNthink Cabalina Jordan. Now I pass that curse on to you. Please let me know if you start calling one of your kids that, or name a pet after him.


Since I don't want you to have all kinds of nightmares tonight, I'll leave you with another image. My breakfast bloody mary from the Penrose Diner. My all time favorite diner. The waitresses have deep, deep Jersey accents. They say, "What canni get youse?" And I say to them: morning booze, please. This is vacation, after all!

Winging with Wine

Buckle up, this is a long one. Also, unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on your point of view) we do not have pictures of this event. So, I will illustrate. Lucky you.

So, as you may or may not know, I am a horrible flyer. I dislike even thinking about being on an airplane. I loathe actually being on an airplane and I wet my pants in flight. I also claw the arm off of anyone sitting near me because of my great, great fear. I’m sure that my picture and description are on a website somewhere warning people that if they are seated next to me on a plane they should ask to be moved. Immediately.

About six months to a year before actually getting on a plane I start having stress dreams. Last time the husband and I flew I was such a mess that I transferred my anxiety straight into him via small flesh wounds in his arms made with my hands which had transfigured into beastlike talons. He couldn't calm down the whole trip whereas, as soon as we touched down I was right as rain, happy as a clam. Poor kid.

So a plan was devised for this most recent trip. I would go to the doctors, get a prescription for something very strong and be unconscious by take off. A good time would be had by all. When we made this decision my stress dreams changed from being on a plane to forgetting my medicine and being on a plane. Adorable.

So get the meds - Valium. Just a few pills for the way down a few for the way back. The doc tells me not to mix it with alcohol or I "will not like the results". I don't ask why. She tells me to be careful with the pills since I'm a small person. One pill should do me just fine. I'll be asleep for 4-10 hours. The husband starts worrying about dragging a limp body off of the plane.

I am calm the entire day, putting all my trust in chemistry. I don't worry because I know that I'll be asleep before take off. Glee! I take the pill one half hour before getting on the plane, as instructed. I walk on the plane, feeling too normal. I start to worry. This is not good. I had forgotten how small planes are! My claustrophobia sets in as I scrunch by already small body into a coffin like seat between the husband and my friend HB. They both look worried. The medicine hasn't kicked in. Which one of them is going to sacrifice their arm to the claw beast? I close my eyes and tilt my head up so that I'm breathing in the cold air from the spigot above on the ceiling button console. I try to relax, try to feel myself getting sleepy, falling asleep. Nothing.

I coach the husband and HB to hold tightly to my wrists as we take off. It is at this point that I realize our pilot must be (enter name of Nascar driver here). He goes 1,000 miles per hour and angles up at about 90 degrees. I'm fairly certain I'm going to die. My butt hurts from clenching. Sleep is nowhere in sight. I can't even have any alcohol for fear that I "wont like the results". I try to relax. It does no good. About an hour in I say I'd like another pill. The husband doesn't think it's a good idea. HB says to do it. She isn't scared of dragging a lifeless body off of a plane. I compromise and take a half. It does nothing.

About an hour before we land I've had it. I can't control myself any longer. I'm about to start climbing over the seats and screeching like an owl. I look at the husband with wild eyes. "I need something", I say. He looks like he's going to start rocking back and forth while singing twinkle twinkle little star. I look at the laptop that he's watching a movie on. "I need that. I need the internet." He promptly pays the $10 for an hour of internet without hesitation, bless him. It wasn't the greatest, but it got me through.

Now, on the way home I devised a plan: Alcohol. Lots of it. The flight back was at 3:00 pm. I started a regimen of drinks at 8. I was happily slurring over my Mikey Mouse shaped pancakes. After breakfast we watched some Sesame Street in our room. I was drinking red wine out of a soda cup with a straw. It was the husband's job to keep me awake. If I could just maintain a nice level of drink induced happiness and not fall asleep I'd be able to fall asleep immediately on the plane. He failed. He fell asleep, and then what's a girl to do? So, I had to start all over.

The only thing was that we had to get on the bus to the airport at 11. We didn't make it to the airport and through the line until 2:00 pm. I ran to the bar. I never run, I hate running. My body isn't shaped for running. But I did, because that's commitment. Hurriedly I gulped down a glass of red wine, a long island iced tea and another glass of red wine. We boarded the plane at about 2:45. I was feeling pretty good about the whole thing. I was fairly sleepy, but before closing my eyes I was able to ask Nick to get me some wine when the cart came around. I then added that "I'd never forgive" him if he didn't. That was the liquor talking. I think.

At any rate the ride home was fantastic. I spent most of it asleep, a bit of time talking endlessly to HB about who knows what, and some of it looking out the window. Without peeing my pants! I was more or less awake for both landing and take off and was fine during both. I bought a bottle of red wine when I got home and every time I taste it I think about the airplane. In a good way! Let me recommend this course of action to anyone who hates to fly! It's amazing and getting sloshed is the best thing you could do for yourself. Ever.