Beantown

Because there is nothing blog-worthy in my life right now other than occasional urges to pull a Sylvia Plath (I do have a gas oven .. heard it's tougher with electric), I decided to recount my visit to the exciting international city of Boston in April.

Day One: My friend G and I arrive at the beautiful and centrally located Shawmut Inn ... cheap as hell although we have to pay extra to get two beds because we physically disgust each other. We are excited to have a room on the top floor until we see that our view is of a brick wall. Right away I contact the human heart and soul of Boston, Jesse, one-time stuff of Jeff Grothman's nightmares. Soon I learn via text message that Jesse and his friend Alli have become overnight sensations due to their activities in the under-exposed zombie field and have received a full page of coverage in the Boston Phoenix.

Excited to have the acquaintance of such a luminary, G and I venture out, figure out the T (way easier than NYC), and start following the red paint, aka The Freedom Trail. Eventually, we encounter Jesse near Faneuil Hall and we duck into a nearby eatery, a hell-hole of drunkenness and debauchery. Our aging hooker waitress cards youthful Jesse, but when I ask why she doesn't card me, she says, "Lady, you got crotchless panties older than 21." We have seafood and numerous beverages and are continuously assaulted with flying napkins and food, balloons being tied into our hair, a paper hat for me that reads "I put out for coleslaw," etc.

After this splendid episode in fine-dining, the three of us take a beautiful starlit carriage ride, tucked up in blankets like Jane Austen characters ... It was the most romantic thing EVER!!!! Tom Cruise proposing to Katie Holmes atop the Eifel Tower? Nothing on this! Our horse was named ... hmmm, Jesse can you help? Driver was named .. ummmmm.

To be continued ....