Jeff decided to take his film camera with him (what is this, 1998?), so there are no instant memories for me to share. I guess I'll just have to post random photos from the past to illustrate. Like...
Jeff (right) and his brothers posing in short shorts in front of a Pennsylvania well! This is relevant to our trip because we passed Armani Exchange on Walnut Street and saw a sign advertising a sale on men's shorts--two for $100. I laughed and laughed, because if there is one item of clothing that should not cost that much money, it is manshorts. Especially since Jeff can just wear my homemade Daisy Dukes if he feels the need to show off those gorgeous gams of his (no, seriously, he has great legs. But shorts don't do much for him since he's covered in fur. It's like he's always wearing pants.)
Where was I? Oh, right, cheesesteaks.
The last time Jeff was in Philly was for a bachelor party last summer. He does not remember much, except for going to two strip clubs (one classy, one trashy, you know--for balance) and almost getting arrested for trying to use his ID to get one of his buddies into a casino (the guy was over 21, but had left his wallet at the hotel, probably because he was so drunk). But Jeff does remember experiencing cheesesteak nirvana, sometime around 2am on South Street, so after we checked into our hotel we wandered over to try to find this meat mecca. You should know that Jeff does not often get truly excited about food, so the fact that he was leading me around like a bloodhound to track down this place was telling. All he could recall was that it was "chrome" and "awesome." But somehow his Spidey sense prevailed and we eventually found ourselves at Jim's Steaks. There was a line wrapped around the block, and as soon as we got on it, four guys dressed as the Ghostbusters walked by. It was kismet.
An hour later, after I had inhaled my first cheesesteak ever, I looked like this...
|Also taken in Philly, circa 2006! Relevant!|
I had made dinner reservations at a schmancy steakhouse, but Jeff and I looked at each other, congealed Cheez Whiz glistening in the corners of our mouths, and said, "Fuck that." Instead we bundled up our third, emergency cheesesteak and high-tailed it back to the hotel, where we took a bubble bath and watched Dante's Peak while Jeff drank a fifth of Jack Daniels. It was literally one of the best dates of our almost 8 years together. When we checked out the next morning, Jeff insisted that we leave the Mr. Bubble and the bottle of Jack so that the housekeeping staff could see what fun we'd had (although, in retrospect, the Mr. Bubble combined with the chicken fingers I'd ordered from room service off of the kids' menu might suggest the presence of a single, alcoholic parent and their lonely, albeit clean, progeny...)
The next day, we were planning on taking a tour of Independence Hall, but after we got our (free) tickets, we started walking, and all of a sudden where did we find ourselves but back in line at Jim's. Yes, friends, we consumed a sum total of 5 cheesesteaks in under 24 hours and didn't see a single goddamn sight. In fact, on our way to the suburban theater where D-Sed was reading, we even stopped at an Outback Steakhouse so that we could eat even more and see even less. Then I got to watch my idol, in a bow tie, read from his diary and make multiple blow job jokes.
Best weekend ever.