In Inman again.

What a good weekend. I made the drive down to Philly Friday night with Katharine and Nate in tow. Driving through New York is lowest on my list of things I want to do again. It was hot in Philly, but we survived with frozen mango and frozen yogurt and lots of stops into air conditioned record stores. We finally made it to Barcade after an incredible dinner (and soft serve!) at Frankford Hall, a beautiful bar with ping pong and foosball tables, a s'mores pit, and plenty of outdoor seating. It was in a reclaimed mill or something with lots of brick.

We lounged in our sweat in Rittenhouse, saw some fireworks on the sidewalk, and had those kinds of conversations that last all day. I got to see my friend Kate who lives much too far away and was reminded of the way it feels for nothing to feel different after so much time. There was karaoke, and even though we were too late to sign up, we made up for it with picklebacks and singing Garth Brooks and Fun. loud from the crowd. KMo and I danced like we were in college again, which reminded me you don't have to be in college to dance like that.

Oh, yeah, and there was a Twin Peaks brunch, which explains some of the photos above. I crocheted my own mustache and was proud to call the Log Lady my main man.