Random thoughts on a Sunday morning

1)  The other week Matt and I did some shopping at Whole Foods.  You know us foolios don’t shop at da Whole Paycheck, but it was all very surreal and Stars Hollow-esque (Gilmore Girls allusion there) because everyone there was skinny and beautiful and there were musicians playing outside the store and it was so quaint and so dang pretty and THEY DO YOGA ON THE ROOF!  Walking past all the Lexuses and Volvos I thought, “This is it. The liberal elite.  We finally made it!”  Then we got into our Corolla (still package-taped up!) and I thought, “Nevermind.”

2)  Matt found groats at Whole Paycheck and is in love with them (or, the idea of them).  They are like oatmeal, but on steroids.  Or something.  Athletes eat them and the groats (too close to “groin” for my liking) fuel them for hours.  So Matt brought them into work, planning on making them, but they’re like steel-cut oats where you gotta cook ‘em for a long while, and you know that boy only has a microwave.  Fail.

3)  I’ve been reminded lately that it’s up to us to make our own happiness, and I’m trying to be very deliberate in this, particularly regarding work.  (It’s always work, isn’t it?)  My wallpaper now says “My To-Do List: Count my blessings.  Practice kindness.  Let go of what I can’t control.  Listen to my heart.  Be productive yet calm.  Just breathe.”  I stole it off someone’s Facebook profile, and I know it’s hokey, but it really is quite good in its own way.  I read it every time my work computer boots up.

4)  Annie is almost a year old.  Every time I look at her, or Matt, I realize this right here is where I’m meant to be.  What a beautiful year.

5)  Driving late the other night I plowed into a fox.  At least I think it was a fox.  My worst fear was that it was someone’s dog.  It was really upsetting at the time and came out of nowhere, and there was on-coming traffic, so I couldn’t swerve.  It happened so quickly there was no avoiding it.  Matt and I were stunned and saddened, but what can you do?  Which brings us to topic number six.

      6)  I really want a Subaru.  My front bumper – due to the poor fox – is now severed in
          several areas and there’s only so much packaging tape can do…

7)  And duct tape is just really trashy.  I mean…I’m a lady.

8)  Back to the Subaru (Outback or Forester).  I love the cars aesthetically and I think it’ll be the perfect family car.  Oh, oh, and the advertising.  The advertising gets me every time.  Oh, I just cry and cry.  Who doesn't adore all the dog ads?  (There's so many more on YouTube  too.)  But the ad that most recently gets me is this one (I cry to Matt and say, "We just have to get a Subaru   It reminds me of us and it's so beautiful and fdklaj;dkf " (that's when I start crying, all snotty and perusing the Subaru website):

9)  When I hit the fox, we were coming home from a Halloween party at Matt’s parents’ place.  Matt and I were trees and Annie was an owl.

10) Which brings me back to why I love Matt.  He made that owl costume.  Like, boy borrowed a sewing machine and made it.  Here’s photographic evidence:

The artist hard at work.

11)   But – on the other hand – he’s now obsessed with sewing and tailoring.  He lost some weight in the last year and, I cannot make this up, took in his sweaters.  He watched a YouTube tutorial and did it.  This morning he said to me, “Those jeans of yours are a little stretched out; do you want me to take them in for you?”  He got a raised eyebrow.

12)  I prefer to shrink my jeans in the washer and dryer, thank you very much.

13)  It’s the weekend.  Happy Sunday all!  I leave you with a terrific Sunday morning song to dance/clean/make breakfast to: 

Beach Bunny

A ravishing photo of my beloved on the beach:

If this doesn't get you all hot and bothered, I don't know what will!  (And I'm only half joking.)


And thank you Matt, for never minding that I post this stuff.  And that DOES really get my blood boiling!

Train Tantrums

I’m a bonafide commuter and take the train to work, and (so far) I love it.  I love unwinding, listening to music, staring out the window, dog-earing my book, and thinking about dinnertime and Penny and Matthew and all those precious little things.  I’m on my daily migration to what’s important.

But there’s a dark underbelly to the train, too; one that centers on a pervasive lack of manners and general etiquette.  I do enjoy myself some Miss Manners, I must say.  You will receive a thank you note from me, and niceties will be met with a “my pleasure”.  So it shouldn’t be a surprise that I’m going to write about the train douches (yes, I said it) on the R5 line.  Really – they need to be exposed.  So hitch a ride, darlin’, because here we go!:

Septa (Southeastern Pennsylvania Transit Authority) regional rail trains are invariably set up in the following format: a set of two seats on one side, and three on the other.  Meaning, if there is a full train, someone will have to sit in the middle.  I often take a train called “The Great Valley Flyer”.  Doesn’t that just scream turn-of-the-century railroad romanticism to you?  The Great Valley Flyer stops at all the outermost stops on the line, and then continues into Center City Philadelphia non-stop.  I live a good 2/3 out on the line, so I pick-up the train on its last stop before it choo-choos into the city for a 7:51 am arrival.  Because of this, the train is always very crowded with tired commuters and there are almost always only middle seats left.  Do not, I repeat, DO NOT pretend to be asleep so a new passenger will forgo asking you to slide over.  These dufuses are almost always male, because, and this is very scientific, here: I believe males have a bigger allotment of asshole-y genes.  I can SEE YOU peaking out at me through your half-closed eyes, sir!  And spreading your legs in the biggest, most obnoxious and grotesque “V” isn’t going to stop me.  And YES, my big booty will take a seat.  Also, putting your briefcase, laptop bag, and newspaper all in a row to take up the middle seat will not deter me.  I see others look at your seat, look at the crowded train, then look back at the seat in that sad, timid way my dog looks at leftover food on my plate: they would rather stand the whole trip than bother with the likes of you.  Well, they’re obviously nicer than me, so scoot over!

On most trains there is an overhead rack, number one, and number two, why don’t you try a little consolidation?  Women are particularly guilty of this: oftentimes a woman will carry 1) a purse of smallish stature, 2) a tote bag of largish stature, and 3) a lunch in a thermal container.  Sometimes a laptop bag is thrown in there, too.  I’m particularly baffled at these gals: whatever happened to one large work bag?  I carry a large leather tote a la L.L.Bean (stylin’, I know): it can fit a laptop, a pair of shoes (and these are some pretty damn big size 11’s), my wallet and mp3 player, and a lunch.  However, I’m not mad at them because they aren’t spreading their baggage all around like a petulant fifth grader. 

Now let’s touch on the cattle call that is the train station during the evening commute.  When our train pulls in I have never witnessed such base behavior.  This is no Titanic, folks, with women and children first.  I’ve seen feeble old ladies cut off by a Main Line douche.  This is a good time to say I find people who live on the Main Line particularly loathsome, and it’s really my problem.  I’m sure most are hard-working good people who aren’t on their second marriage to someone half their age, and they all don’t drive Mercedes convertibles and have live-in help.  But I don’t care: that’s how I see them all (I know, I know: I’m awful).  For non-locals, the Main Line is a supremely tony area of suburban Philadelphia.  My train runs through this area as Matt and I live about 15-20 minutes north of this tax bracket (and thus three tax brackets south).  Now don’t get me wrong: I’d love to be rich and not work, but I’m not, so my only option is to seethe at them and be a jealous ol’ curmudgeon.  And write pithy blog posts.

My distaste for this suburban breed began when I was cut off again, and again, and again by clueless moms in Land Rovers chirping away on their Blackberries.  This happens daily.  She’s often pulling into Whole Foods with three children in the back and wearing Lululemon yoga pants.  Now that I take the train with their husbands, I’m even more incensed because (and I swear to you on this) they are always the ones who would rather give up their nanny than move over a seat or let you slide in.  If you are dressed in something from Target or Macy’s, or, jeez, even Banana Republic, you’re downright jolly in the morning.  Brooks Brothers and reading the WSJ?  Keep a’walkin’. 

But even I am shocked when I see good ol’ elderly folks trampled in the commuting rush.  I have literally put my arm out to stop the masses as the woman in question gathered herself and slowly boarded the train.  I am also known to give dirty looks at these offenders, and I swear I can be all sorts of intimidating given by 5’10” stature (5’11” in the orthopedic flip-flops my mom insists I wear).  They’re probably scared I’ll key their X Series. 

Finally, there are the individuals (read: men) who insist on getting up and positioning themselves in the aisle a good stop before their designated stop.  The other day a MLD (Mainline Douche), who occupied the window seat, said to me, who occupied the aisle seat, “The next stop is mine.”  I replied it was also mine, thinking we were good to go, when he said, “Well then can you please move?”  We were still at

30^th Street

Station, which is a few minutes before our Suburban Station stop.  The train was idling.  I got up and MLD took his position in the aisle.  Now this is the kicker: I finished my book chapter and got up when the train actually pulled into Suburban Station and LO AND BEHOLD, stepping into the aisle directly behind me.  I figure he saved two seconds off his commuting time by doing this, so good going MLD!  You win!

I know I sound like a bitter Betty, but I can assure you I love the train!  I love feeling like a part of the masses – there’s just something so intrinsically welcoming about it.  Like, we’re all doing this less-than-ideal commute together.  We’re all waiting for this delayed train, together.  And sometimes I’m even tickled by my well-off seatmates (my JC Penney-clad self often guesses if their cuff-links are real gold, or, god forbid, platinum). 

So, there you have it: scoot in or let your fellow passenger take that middle seat without grunting, quit the farm animal shoving, calm the heck down, and I swear, I’ll quit bitching. 

Probably.

Robots, Heartache, and Chocolate Cake

Watson is silently laughing at these humanoid fools.

 It's just been too long since I last posted, and this simply will not do!

First things first: I have a terrible crush on Watson.  As in the IBM robot currently kicking ass on Jeopardy.  Matt doesn't fault me for this, as he has his own burning desires for that bot.  Ah...young nerds in love.

Speaking of love, Valentine's Day has come and gone and we celebrated with wonton soup and egg rolls - the only thing that rivals my love for Matt, is (of course) my love for food, which is worn on the plump slope of my belly- it's a mid-section that has seen it's share of shrimp pad thai, spaghetti and meatballs, and chicken pot pie.  And since we're not a couple for grand displays of romance (well, that one year I did sort of demand flowers at work but that ship has sailed), we celebrated quietly.  Not that I didn't demand anything: I requested a card that he didn't "just sign".  I wanted verbiage, damnit!  And dot those i's with hearts!  He wrote me a lovely note that makes me cry every time I read it.  It may be the wacky fertility meds, but, hey, it just might be love.

It's been a trying few months for us, but how lucky we are.  This is what I repeat when I hear troublesome news.  Take last week: it was announced our consulting company is going belly up and we'll either being going bankrupt or will be bought in an acquisition.  Since I work in corporate, we - almost certainly - will be laid off.  The question is when.  This, of course, will end our fertility treatments.  We also just started a new IVF cycle and are forging ahead as most of it is paid for by the practice due to the last cycle's mishap.  But then that's it.  I'm upset, but I've even more upset it's making me so upset which, in turn, makes me even more upset.  Or something like that.  It's upsetting I can't even figure out that sentence!

Now it's chocolate cake time.  Yes - I got cake too, because just Chinese food isn't fattening enough, and well, I deserve it!  (That's what I say, at least.)

PS: Watson will be on Jeopardy tomorrow, too.  Tune in to check out my boyfriend!  

Music To My Ears

One of my favorite bands, with long awaited new material: I've been listening to this on repeat all afternoon.  Just had to share with any readers, who I know have equally fab taste! 

Fleet Foxes - Helplessness Blues by subpop

A Hat and A Goat

Have you seen the PBS six-part documentary called "Circus"? Well - Matt and I did - and he subsequently became totally entrenched in the lives of the featured circus performers in the show, all a part of Big Apple Circus. I'm not really keen on any form of circus and for the life of me I will not understand clowns (I find them more annoying than creepy), but this boy was DAZZLED. (I have no sense of childlike whimsy so I was more like, "eh".) Anyway, for Christmas, his parents got us tickets to the show which is currently stationed in Manhattan. After a delay (we were originally scheduled to go on the 26th but the big snow storm nixed that and made me a stressed-out, flustered mess) we trekked up in the train this New Year's Eve. Here is a short pictorial of our day in the city, staring Matt and his hat:

Instead of New York chic, Matt went with "Igloo Chic". Here he is driving to the train station as the sun was rising and wearing my bedazzled sunglasses. He's sassy like that.

Since I know my way around the city I asked him what kind of food he wanted to eat, and the boy replied "TACO CART!" I asked again and he replied that a taco cart was non-negotiable, so here he is at....yes....a taco cart for lunch. We got the chulupas. (After a week of eating horribly, and my stomach already churning, this was not the best decision on my part...)

We strolled through Central Park, which was glistening and bright. Snarkiness aside, it was rather lovely and made me feel all nostalgia-y for the city. I never found New York particularly romantic (more tiring, sooty, lively or whatever) but this was definitely....nice. Matt, his hat, and I really enjoyed our morning.

We made it to the circus! (And here is Matt...in that hat.....again.) He noted how stylin' he was since he saw "native New Yorkers" (his words) wearing them. Sigh.

In our (read: his) excitement, we got there rather early. Here is the view under the big top.

I felt rather awkward as I think we were the only couple without kids in the audience. It just felt creepy and wrong, UNTIL this act with goats and dogs came out. Then I let out a hoot and a holler and really got into it. Look, there are a few terrific, cosmic couplings known to man: peanut butter and jelly. Burt and Ernie. And now? DOGS AND GOATS!

Get this: the goats jumped on the backs of these mini-horses and road those beasts around the ring! This is when I decided the circus ain't all bad, and that goats are marvelous animals (well, I already knew that...). I was positively giddy for the rest of the day and vowed to get a goat.

This is a really bad photo of me, but let's ignore that and focus on the sign. Here we are waiting to get into Momofuku. When I asked the dear boy what type of cuisine he wanted for dinner (thank god it wasn't "taco cart"), he said, "I heard an interview on NPR with this chef; it sounded good...something like FooFoo's Noodle House?" I was so proud of him...this little burgeoning foodie! I said, "Do you mean Momofuku noodle bar?" and he exclaimed "YES!" I was surprised because he is the opposite of trendy and here he was suggesting the restaurant du jour in Manhattan that all the hipsters flock to - my, how the tables have turned. Here we are waiting to get in; by the time they opened for dinner there was a line 50 people deep. We were first. I was damn sure we were getting in! (And dinner was delicious.)

It was a long day. We walked from Penn Station to Midtown East (you know, for the taco cart) then through the park to Lincoln Center (where the circus was), then took the train downtown to Soho and Chinatown for some shopping at Pearl River (amazing home goods), then walked over to the East Village for dinner, then to Union Square, and then, gosh darnit, we hopped back on the subway for home. Here he is underground with the subway station critters on 14th Street. And yes...still wearing the hat.

I don't know what it says in that we were home and in bed by 10:30 pm, and then turned on the television to watch the ball drop where we just were, but I suppose that's par for the course. Anyway, I heard those Times Square goofballs wear Depends to keep their spot in the crowd, and honey, that just ain't my scene.

It's Parrrty Time!

The get-together on Friday night was just like this.  Obviously, except for the party hats...

I'm writing this with the assumption that no one from my neighborhood will ever find this blog.  Now let's begin.

On Friday Matt and I attended our first neighborhood get-together.  They hold these little shindigs from October to June and yearly an invite is placed in our mailbox.  And yearly we decline to participate.  Well, until this year.  I figured we can't be hermits any longer, and heck, maybe I'll meet someone and they'll be my new link to a fabulous job.  Or willing to watch our dog when we're away.  Not that I'm all selfish: I was also curious.  I wanted to get the "what's what" on folks in this neighborhood.

Matt and I are both introverts.  I don't particularly like large groups, and often just sit back and observe.  When at work functions or anything else that is, well, forced, I can put on a great extrovert show.  Especially when three-plus glasses of wine are involved. 

First things first: we were, on average, 35 years younger than the other party-goers.  To be fair, a number of young families with small kids couldn't make it, so that skewed the numbers a bit.  Next thing: someone made a buffalo chicken cheese dip, and so help me god, it was the most delicious bowl of globbity goop I ever ate.  Third: only a handful of women ate my damn dip, so you bet I'm not pleased.  Fourth: the man who hosted collects penguins.  In stuffed form, plastic form, metal form: you name it.  I'm still determining what to make of this knowledge.  And lastly, do you recall when I mentioned our beyotchy neighbor?  Oh yes...she was there.  And I sat next to her.

During the course of the night, through this testy neighbor, I learned several of our neighbors had PhD's, she countered my comment that Matt was a programmer with that her son-in-law is the director of IT at a very large, well-known company, and she stated for the fifth time that "you have quite the yard to take care of....".  I pretty much determined she was the matriarch of this bunch, and ruled with snide comments and a fabulously-manicured lawn.  Matt doesn't think ill of anyone, but even he admitted: Pat is one sneaky biznitch (fine, my words, but the lad really did say, "She's nice but with undercurrents of insincerity."  He has a way with words, doesn't he?)  But this is what Pat doesn't know: two of us can play that game.

I know what you're thinking: I'm pathetic.  I mean, Pat is in her twilight years and I should leave her and her velvet track-suited self alone.  But as she started bragging about her daughter's African safari and detailing her house in the Outer Banks, I thought one thing: Game's on, Pat!!!

Then I spoke with Harriott.  Harriott is even older than Pat and was the sweetest thing ever: she talked about her cat and gave me dish on an old pedophile neighbor who moved away.  When the host asked if I wanted more wine and I politely declined, Harriott piped up and said, "Kathryn is loaded!" and chuckled.  I never heard an 80-year-old talk like that - and I liked it!

Then there was Donna.  Donna is crazy.  There is really no getting around it.  She bounced around the room like a kangaroo on methamphetamine.  She's probably fifty but dresses twenty years younger.  Pat said she was the "character" of the group.  But I love her because she said I remind her of Jennifer Garner.  Now, I don't look a lick like Jennifer Garner, but boy do I love me some Donna.

Our hosts, Bob and Eileen, were very, very kind.  Bob, like several of the men, sat in the same area.  Come to think of it, the room was segregated with the women on one side, and the men watching the Phillies game on the other.  Except Matt; he sat with us lady folk.

I'm intrigued with Bob and Eileen because Eileen has about six inches and 75 pounds on Bob.  Now, I'm not one to talk: I've got more poundage than Matt, but they were taking this to new heights!  I loved it and thought it was a success for all us larger ladies.  Just as I was digging this, I noticed about 50 sets of penguin eyes staring at me.  Bob is obsessed with penguins.  Because I'm nosy, I asked why but he didn't really have an answer.  I guess he and the birds just connect.  

Now let's get this straight: I'm sure they had their fair share to say about us after we left.  Something along the lines of "those two big dopes sitting in the corner" sounds just about right.  We're hosting in February.  You bet your behind I'm already thinking about recipes.  Someone's gotta blow Pat outta the water.

New England Here We Come!

Somewhere between bitching at the dog and bitching at Matt and bitching at inanimate objects, I realized I needed to get away.  Scratch that: they needed to get away from me, but someone had to be in my ridiculous vacation shots so I dragged Matt along.  (He also makes nice company.)

We spent a few days in Provincetown, Cape Cod and an overnight in Boston.  It rained the first two days, which only made me bitch more, but I stuffed my face with lobster and clams and that seemed to dull the pain. 

Here are a few of our vacay shots from the trip:

Sometime amidst the 8 1/2 hour drive up to the Cape we stopped for lunch.  I think it was in Rhode Island.  Regardless, it was the "middle of nowhere"....

We finally arrived!  Matt showed his appreciation by taking in  the hotel decor.

This was posted next to all the literature at the hotel.  The last sentence is our absolute favorite; we're totally in love with Charlie.

It rained for two days when we arrived.  I made Matt pose with a forlorn expression.  I think he nailed it.

Every visit to Provincetown requires a visit to The Lobster Pot - or so Trip Advisor said.  Here we are, waiting for our table - instead of a disk that lights up when you're called, you get a lobster!  We're easily amused.

This is my come hither look.  Actually, this was on top of Pilgrim Monument in Provincetown, which commemorates the Pilgrims landing there (they landed there before Plymouth - take that, Plymouth!).  The monument is 255 feet or something and big mama (me) climbed the whole thing!  Then I stood in the wind and gave this sexy little look.

This is my love.  I think he looks a bit like a porcupine here.

This was a dike that crossed from one end of Provincetown to another.  It was rocky and over a mile long.

 

This is me saying, "Enough of this, beyotch!" and walking back after we made it to the other side.

OMG right before we got to the Cape there was a GREAT WHITE SIGHTING near our hotel.  This is the northern most sighting of a Great White in years (I'm too lazy to look up the exact amount).  Anyway, this made Matt very happy and he immediately asked the ranger where this shark attack took place (the shark ate a seal) so he could swim at that beach the next day.  He was annoying me that day so I said fine, and into the water he went.

I'm just loving the colors in this.  And Matt's hair...there are no words....

This is a photo of me and my beloved before the Great White got him.  Good times, good times...

Matt was really annoyed I made him sit on this fake whale, called "Bubbles".  But I think he's a bit scared of my wrath so he obliged.

We saw tons of Humpback Whales!  Here are two of them sticking their mouths out of the water. 

And this is a tail.  (Wait - is that what you call the tail of a whale?)

The scenery was gorgeous as the boat made it back to the harbor.  Unfortunately, Matt didn't really notice as he was solely on the look-out for sharks.

This photo brings me to tears.  It was sheer minutes before Matt met his fate with the shark.

The view from our hotel room, which looked onto the pool and harbor.  And a lot of fabulous people sunning themselves.

Cape Cod National Seashore has miles and miles of uninhabited, protected dunes.  So we got in a gas-guzzling SUV and explored them all.  (In all seriousness, Art's Dune Tours were a lot of fun and the scenery was as gorgeous as the ride was bumpy.)

Nestled amidst the dunes are little shacks that namely artists and recluses live in.  They have no electricity and no running water and are relics of ...well, a long time ago.  There are 19 shacks in all and I found myself wondering about the residents. Having Crohn's, I was also intrigued about the bathroom facilities.

Okay, fine!  You got me: he wasn't attacked by a shark.  Here we are at dusk in the dunes.

Then we ate clams and lobster on the beach because we're fancy like that.  Because, obviously, only fancy people wear lobster bibs.  And hold up their dead lobsters for the camera.

Matt's new "man chair".

View from our hotel.  This was the morning we had to leave, and it was gorgeous after a few rainy days, so I took photos to remember how lovely it all was.

I adored, adored, ADORED Provincetown.  It's at the tip of the Cape and a haven for artists and gay men and women, and nerds like us.  It was beautiful, fun, lively, and above all, VERY dog friendly.  Here are two men with their dogs walking in the harbor at low tide.  I vowed to Matt that we were coming back, but next time with Penny in tow.

After Provincetown we spent an overnight in Boston and went on an amazing bike tour (Urban Adventours - very highly recommended).  Here is a photo one of our guides took of Matt at Fenway Park.  Matt didn't know, but he looks like a total badass here - LOVE IT.

Unfortunately Matt killed his badass persona by wearing a decorative bed pillow as a hat back at the hotel.  Some things never change.

Two dummies walk into a park...

Last weekend Matt and I went to Grounds for Sculpture, an outdoor museum of sorts featuring all styles of sculpture throughout the lush grounds in Jersey (see - not all of New Jersey is bad). We found ourselves wondering and stumbling through the acres - it was delightful. I was determined to get my culture on! But instead of being mature patrons of the arts, we went and did this:

"Onward ho, beast!" (said the statue)

Doesn't this look familiar?

Here's the real deal by my boy Claude Monet.

Crossing a bridge I saw this bather. Because I have no sense of personal privacy, I took a photo.

A classic by Manet.

Me ruining a classic by Manet.

‘Le déjeuner des canotiers’ (1881) by Pierre-Auguste Renoir.... It's nice and all, but don't you think it's missing something?

Ahh....there we go. A bit of dufus goes a long way.

This is Matt having a conversation with a statue in Renoir's painting. See that glazed-over look the guy in the top hat is sporting? That's what happens when Matt waxes poetic about coding.

Believe it or not, this was the least creepy photo of Matt and this statue. I just don't know what to make of that grin.

I made two decisions upon seeing this sculpture: 1) I need a pond. 2) I need a huge, steamy head to put in my pond.

This is me mid-conversation to pretend dinner-mates at a pretend table. (Please note: I wasn't pretend hungry - even bread made of rock looks tempting to me - damn my large appetite!)

I also rubbed her belly for good luck in addition to my (sadly) trademark thumb's up.

One of my favorites in the park. Mainly because she doesn't have a modicum of modesty, and I like that!

Something looks familiar here...

Here is a statue, painting the scene below by Monet - made of statues! It was like a statue in a statue in a statue or something. All I know is that it BLEW MY MIND!

Please note two things: the baboon king, and Matt's sweaty back as he bows down to the aforementioned baboon king.

"What, you're having a private dinner conversation?" Not anymore. Check out the peeved waiter to the left as I crashed his dinner party.

Here we were at this fancy pants park, and I spot a sculpture of a girl PEEING. Obviously, a photo was in order.

Near the end of the day, Matt was getting tired.

So he relaxed with some light reading with statue Sally. Or, that's what I called her, anyway.