This may come as a surprise, but apparently there is more to Philadelphia than traffic and booze.

In fact, Philadelphia is kind of a big deal in the grand scheme of things where things = American History. At least, that’s what everyone keeps telling me. I decided I had to spend Saturday nursing a hangover exploring all of the historic crap that Philadelphia had to offer with a few members of my sweet, sweet posse.

Come, let’s see Philly together.

One of the absolute must see attractions in Philadelphia, and our first stop, is Independence Hall (formerly known as the Pennsylvania State Hall). This is often referred to as The Birthplace of The United States, because it is here that the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution were both drafted. It is also pictured on the back of every one hundred dollar bill.

I was very excited to see the real thing and get plenty of pictures to bring back home. Like this one:





On a completely separate note: the National Park Rangers in Philly are dicks.

Whatever. Who needs the stupid old Independence Hall anyway. There is lots of historic crap to see in Philly!











After about 5 more minutes of assigning great historical importance to random buildings, we decided fuck this shit, we need to hitch a ride. Thank God Hilly and Becky were able to flag us down a ride and a tour guide.





Thanks to the tour guide, we were able to learn all sorts of real and true Philly facts during our carriage ride. For example:














Whew. We learned a lot in 30 minutes!

Next stop: Liberty Bell! Because you just can’t go to Philadelphia and not see the Liberty Bell. Hell, you can’t hardly call yourself an American if you don’t make it a point to see the Liberty Bell at some point in your life. It’s all about Liberty - it says so right in the name “Liberty Bell”.








Are you getting bored yet? Are you still reading? There’s going to be a quiz you know. Seriously.

ANYway, after taking the time to fully appreciate all that is The Liberty Bell, we set off to find the really cool stuff. Namely, dead people. Thank God the cemetery we wanted to see wasn’t very far away. We only had to walk 5 blocks North, 2 blocks East, 4 blocks south and 3 blocks west.





Ben Franklin is buried in the cemetery behind Christ’s Church. And do you know who else is buried there? A few signers of the Declaration of Independence, the “father of psychiatry”, the man who was the Christ’s Church organist for 41 years…





OK, I’m sorry. Downer. But that picture is so cool. In fact, I think I took more pictures in that cemetery than I did the entire rest of the weekend. I also think I laughed harder in that cemetery than I have ever laughed in my entire life. And also? I am probably going to hell now.





After Karl got dressed, we made our way to the next must see attraction in Philadelphia: The Free Quaker House. What, you may ask, is a Free Quaker?





In my book, what all that says is “cool as shit”. I have a soft spot for rebels and idealists. I officially love Free Quakers.





At least Mr. I’m A Big Fat Phony Quaker was able to recommend a good cheese steak joint for us.

Well, everyone else said it was good. Me? Apparently I’m not made for Philly or Cheese Whiz.

So, as you might have heard, I went to a little blogger get together called TequilaCon on Friday.

Here’s how it went down:

At about 12:45, Avitable and I boarded a plane from Orlando heading to Philadelphia. Of course, we kissed our loved ones good by from our iPhones first.

The bad thing about traveling with Avitable is he makes me buy him water. At a gazillion dollars a bottle at the fucking airport snack bar. The good thing is he’s a pretentious ass and upgraded us both to Business Class.

We landed about who cares what time o’clock and were greeted at the airport by Karl and Hello Ha Ha Narf. No, I do not have pictures of that. Why would I have taken pictures of that?

We drove through the very lovely Philadelphia to get to our very lovely Hotel La Sheraton.

Once we checked in, we had to call Hilly and explain to her that we could not come pick her up from the airport - but we would happily send a cab.

While Hilly was happily taking a cab from the airport, we found a few more bloggers who were also stuck in traffic.

By the time Hilly got to The Hotel La Sheraton, we were prepared to make it up to her welcome her.

Oh my God. I just realized I have no pictures of welcoming Hilly!

Oh. Wait.

Blah blah blah, yada yada yada, we all met up in the hotel restaurant to go out for dinner.

After spending all of someone else’s money on food and booze, we retired to the bar.

The End.

Of The First Night.

I’ve been trying to eat healthier and force feed my family more nutritional stuff as well. Part of this involves me buckling down and getting back on my low carb diet. Part of that involves me running all over hell and highwater (where is highwater, exactly?) in search of all the ingredients needed for various low carb recipes. (Do you have any idea how hard it is to find soy flour?)

That’s the preamble. Now, let’s get to making “Low Carb Quick White Bread“, shall we?

Officially: whey protein powder*, egg white powder*, baking powder, Splenda, salt, heavy cream, eggs, water, and olive oil.

*Will require a body part (preferably an arm or a leg) in exchange for.

THEN! You mix the DRY! with the WET!.

Then you wait for 15-20 minutes. I recommend you pass the time having a cigarette. Because this is all about getting healthy.

I bet you thought my husband was the only man I would trot in front of the Internet for my own amusement. Didn’t you?

Well, you were wrong.

My disrespect for manhood extends far beyond the narrow confines of The Man I Have Sex With. My irreverence knows no bounds. And yours shouldn’t either.

To prove my point, today we begin with a subject who is in no way at all my husband:

My boss.

(OK, so if you know my boss you might suspect he is an easy target. Play along.)

Once he is good and tied down comfortable, it is best to get to work quickly before he comes to his senses. In other words, roll up his pants and fill up the tub - so that it would be awkward for him to try and leave.

Before she pulls his hooves feet out of the water, it is helpful to thank the nice Asian lady. A lot.

After much poking and prodding and clipping and scraping and rubbing and cutting and shaving and tweezing… it is important to stop and check on The Subject.

And then, once you’ve ensured that everything is fine…

You break out the Purple Polish.

And that, my dear readers, is how you take another bite out of manhood.

Want to see the pretty purple piggies in all their glory? Bask in their awesomeness here.

Before one can make amends, one must do something worthy of being amended.

Such as - putting your husband in a bonnet. On the Internet.

That would be, step one. Then, it’s time to get down to the business of making amends.

Oh yeah. We’re going there….

After the bonnet is tied firmly in place:

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I’m working on becoming a professional photographer.

OK, that’s a lie.

But I HAVE been taking a lot of pictures lately. And I AM considering adding a “photo blog” section to this site.

I’ve got my debut picture all picked out. But professional photo bloggers need captions. And for the life of me, I can’t come up with one.

Can you help?

Caption this!

Winner gets gifted a Flickr Pro account (or something similar if you’ve got one, I guess.)

Annnnddd….

Go!

(P.S. The winner of the Send Hilly to Philly Fundraising contest was announced yesterday here. And yes, we did raise enough money to send Hilly to Philly. In fact, you guys surpassed our needs in about 24 hours. The extra cash was sent to a few other bloggers who are also going to Philly and were trying to get hotels, etc. You guys? Are awesome. Now… Caption my picture!)

Oh my God, I am so exhausted.

Funny thing about living in Vacation Land - you don’t do shit until other people are on vacation. In your house.

It’s been 10 days since this whole Month of The House Guest began - which means we still have about three weeks to go. And good God, I’m never going to make it. I’ve already done Universal, the beach twice, the state park, some other stuff I can’t remember because holy shit did I mention how tired I was?

Anyway, not the point.

Point is - I’m a loser.

How big of a loser you ask?

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Dear Miss Britt,

I have been reading your blog for over a year. Now that we both live in the same sunshine state, we should get together. I’m sure we’d have lots of fun!

Sincerely,

Allyson

—————-

Dear Allyson,

This sounds like a great idea! I really enjoy meeting new bloggers.

Are you available the last weekend in February?

If so, you should drive two and a half hours to hang out at my house!

We can have drinks.

And hang out. And just… relax.

You can even meet the Husband.

We’d love to have you over.

Hope to see you soon!

XOXOX,

Miss Britt

P.S. Anyone else got a craving to meet me? Yeah… I didn’t think so.

I’ve got nothing.

Let’s just stare at my shoes, shall we?

You can see more random below average pictures from me here.

I know. Your day is now complete.

P.S. I just watched the Clinton Obama debate. I want to marry Obama.

P.P.S. Hillary, seriously, you need to fire your strategist. OMG, you came off as an angry, bitter woman with no manners.

I first heard about the BlogHer “Letter To My Body” Initiative over at Joy Unexpected. I’m following suit because I think it’s a brilliant cause, and one more women should embrace. It’s something my mother would be proud of.

Dear Body,

You have had to live with a lot of expectations. From me, from men, from other women - everyone has their own demands on you.

I should warn you, that’s probably not going to change.

My children will still expect you to push beyond your limits because they need us, even when we’re tired. Men will continue to expect you to hold on to our youth and never show any signs of wear. And other women? Well, I hate to tell you, but it seems that is just getting worse. They want you to be taller. And slender. And strong. And if you can manage it? Bullet proof skin would be a plus.

Thank God we still have Jared. He’s loved you in every shape and form. Even when I couldn’t stand to look at you anymore.

About that…

I have expected more of you than anyone. And I have ignored you and given you little appreciation for your successes.

When you were young and vibrant, your muscles taut and your skin still smooth, I berated you for your lack of lankiness. When your hips rounded long before child birth, I chastised you for ignoring the waif trend that was so prominent among teenage girls. I tried desperately to disguise you, with push up bras and jeans meant to elongate your naturally short legs. I didn’t appreciate your energy and stamina until they started to fade.

And, let’s be honest, when you were at your most vulnerable… I used you.

Worse than that, I let other people use you. I yielded you as a weapon. I let your value be judged by people who had no business doing so. For years I ignored how precious you are and sent you out as the guinea pig to see how dangerous the rest of the world could be. I tried to deny that you were intricately a part of Me, so that I didn’t have to face what I was putting you through.

And somehow, you survived. And I continued to take you for granted.

When you carried my children, reinventing yourself almost over night in order to meet their needs, I cried when you began to show signs of strain. I labeled your swelling and stretch marks as scars of weakness, ignoring the strength you exhibited by nurturing those two beautiful people inside you.

When you made soft places for those babies to lay their heads, I grew angry with you for your insistence on adapting.

And then I took control of you. I changed our diet drastically and melted 40 lbs from your frame. For the first time, I was finally pleased with you… because you were finally living up to everyone else’s standards.

Ah, that honeymoon period was sweet.

Of course, you and I know that behind closed doors, you’ve once again fallen short. We know that underneath my size six jeans, I hide your butt - that would sooner swallow a quarter than bounce one. We know that inside the Victoria Secret Secret Embrace bra, your breasts have become deflated and empty.

We know that your skin is sagging. We know that you’ve suddenly seem to become obsessed with new ways to sprout hair faster than I can remove it. We know that the excuses of pregnancy and child birth can no longer justify the potato sack you’ve attached beneath your belly button.

But I want to tell you, for once, for the first time…

That’s OK.

Really. Because those expectations that people have for you? They’re nothing more than a fantasy anyway. Other bodies don’t look like that either - not without surgery and airbrushing. Trust me. I have seen Cindy Crawford and Jennifer Love Hewitt (thank you Internet)… and you’re not doing too badly.

Are your boobs deflated? Sure they are. They’ve fed two children. But they also still spark at the touch and add to your uniquely feminine silhouette.

The extra width of your hips is what creates that beautifully melodic line when you lay on your side.

Your legs bear the signs of a woman who has learned to stand on them, on her own.

The new whispers of lines around your eyes are a reminder that you have lived more, laughed more, and cried more than a younger version of you. They remind your children that you have seen enough to offer them guidance.

Your hands have begun to look less like your daughter’s, and more like your mother’s… which is at it should be as you stop needing a caretaker and become one.

Are you aging and sagging and adding to your fat storage? Sure you are. You no longer need the defense of hard lines. Our life is now filled with people who need the comfort and warmth that your softening provides. The energy you exuded in your younger years is slowly being tempered by a calm, more quiet confidence that grows from experience.

You’re settling in, and you deserve that.

God knows, we both do.