Strip T's to the Rescue: Part 1

First of all, I just want to mention that I posted twice in a week a couple of weeks ago, and was really excited to get momentum back. And then the Boston Marathon bombing happened. As you know, Boston is my hometown, and I really struggled with what I would say on my next post. I knew that I had to say SOMETHING, but this is supposed to be a humor blog. So, I kept procrastinating, trying to figure out a way to reconcile what I was feeling with the usual tone of this blog. Because I was just too sad.

But, then it dawned on me: it's important to laugh! It doesn't take away from remembering what happened or mourning the loss of such young and vibrant lives. It strengthens our resolve to carry on and show these horrible people that their actions do not affect us, our democracy, or our freedom to speak.  I don't have any sniper training and I hate guns and violence, so I can't root out the bastards. And while the spy life looks glamorous, I'm way too much of a blabbermouth to work for counterintelligence. ("Melly, what do you do for work?" "I'm a spy...uh, I mean, a Coors light promo girl, obv.") But, betcha by golly, wow, I can make people laugh (I hope). So, I said to myself, you write that blog about awful men buying you delicious food. And you do it for AMERICA!!! And so, without further ado:

Let's talk about online dating profiles and pictures. Typically, I skip over the profiles that don't have any pictures. I immediately think they're either married or look like Sloth.

FYI, that's true hardly ever. One of the best looking men that I've ever dated didn't have a picture on his dating profile simply because he was a professor, and he didn't want to encounter any of his students. And a gorgeous female friend of mine didn't have her profile picture up because she felt like she was always being judged on her looks and she wanted someone to date her because she was intelligent and kind. But, that's where my mind goes when I'm contacted by a guy who has no picture.

Imagine my skepticism when I received a message via match that stated that we seemed to have a lot in common and that he'd like to take me out, but he had one dealbreaker: I couldn't ask for a picture because he wouldn't send it to me. According to Mr. Could-Be-Sloth, he would much rather just meet for dinner or drinks in person. Initially, I thought that was a bit weird, but after a few messages back and forth that seemed to go ok, I gave him my number so that we could text as it's easier. At first, I wasn't sure if we were a match, but he did grow on me as the week went on. He finally asked if I would meet him for dinner, and he suggested that we go to Strip T's in Watertown

Now, here's a little background on Strip T's. It's f-ing delicious and has topped pretty much every "Best of Boston" list since it opened. So, I knew that he had good taste in restaurants. On the other hand, the general manager, Jonathan, is also an old friend who I've known forever. I'm talking we carpooled to Hebrew school together when we were kids. And, I had JUST been to Strip T's the week before for dinner with Andrea and her husband, where we had eaten them out of building and restaurant. I ultimately decided though that, even with the danger of bringing a man who could look like Sloth to my Hebrew school carpool-mate's restaurant and the danger of becoming known by the staff as a foodie groupie, it was a good place to go because as to first point, it's f-ing delicious.

Strip T's is very hard to get into without a reservation. So, I had mentioned to Mr. Could-Be-Sloth that he should make one. On Sunday, the night before our date, I received a text, "Were you serious about a reservation? How busy could it be on a Monday?" I'm not sure why this irritated me as much as it did. I think sometimes I have a tendency to be too hard on people when they don't do as I say. But that's only because I'm a genius and always right.

Luckily I could shoot a quick text to Jonathan and ask if he had any openings for a table for two for Monday night. In a text dripping with wisecrack (or so I imagine), J responded, "You mean for your date?"

Me: Yes! He didn't believe me when I said we prob needed one.
J: Well, make sure he pays.

When I arrived the next night (early as always so that I could get settled in before the fun started), I walked in to meet Jonathan at the door. Here's another reason that Strip T's is so awesome. Not only do they have delicious food, but Jonathan had provided the staff with instructions that I was on a blind first date, so that if I looked like I wasn't having a good time, they needed to get me the hell outta there fast. That's above and beyond typical restaurant service, you have to agree.

So, here we are at the "big reveal", let's run down the reasons that I was nervous about this date:

1.) My date could look like Sloth
2.) He never made a reservation, so seemed like kind of a slacker.
3.) I have a crush on the Strip T's waiter that was going to be serving us. So, I was nervous about making a fool of myself by continuously mentioning that this was a "first" date and a "blind" date, in order to give the appearance that I was still available.

As I stood there with Jonathan and the staff, and as we all ran down the plan ("People, if I sneeze, it means it's a total disaster and come over with the check even if there's still food left. No veal left behind! I will box it up!"), I got a text from Mr. Could Be Sloth..."Where are you? I'm inside".

Was Mr. Could-Be-Sloth actually Sloth? Did he even show up?? Did the unbelievably well thought-out and sophisticated sneezing plan work? Tune in next post and see!

Crazy Pete two-ups Mr. Writer (A Mini-Story)

You may remember that one time I was so upset with one of my guys that it prompted me to create a flow chart. You may be surprised to find out that he's still on the fringe of my life. We talk every once in a while and see each other every so often. Stacy has changed his name from Mr. Writer to Mr. Personality, which I think suits him better for sarcasm's sake, as he's quite reserved when you meet him. She baptized him after we ran into him at the airport one day when we were returning from Los Angeles and he was flying out.

Anyway, while drinking at Second Glass's Wine Riot last weekend, I received this text:

The text took me by surprise as we had just been talking the week before about my moving to his neighborhood next month and his feeling that I was "invading his territory". So, it was out of the sky blue. Right away*, I took the normal action and obviously posted it to facebook so that my friends could see it.

Not to be outdone, three minutes later, I received this text from Crazy Pete:

 

 

*It took thirty minutes to show everyone that I was with, and be taught how to make a screenshot on my iphone.



 



 

A day of Reckless Abandon and Abandonment at Fenway Park

First off, let me apologize for not writing as often as I should be! There are no excuses except for the fact that I am extremely lazy.

Monday, I partook in the tradition of attending Opening Day at Fenway Park. It was a beautiful day and the Red Sox defeated the Orioles 3-1. I clapped and pumped my fist and drank a lot of beer. Ticket sales at Fenway Park have declined this year, and the owners have had a tougher time than the previous few years of getting the fans in the seats. Blame the team's poor performance of last summer. Blame the ridiculous ticket prices. Blame the fact that last season wasn't the same without yelling "Yoooooooouk" and we had to settle for just a raucous rendition of Sweet Caroline. There are many reasons I'm sure. But, a few weeks ago, as a lure back to Fenway, the organization issued a press release that they would be selling beer for $5.00 in April! Much less than the $8.75 that we normally have to pay! And my sister, Stacy and I were stoked!! Until we got there. Those villains in the front office had foiled us again!

We went up to the beer counter and were surprised when the woman pouring asked us if we wanted "small" or "tall". "Tall", we replied, of course. We were confused when she handed us a regular-old-12-oz. cup of beer. Stacy whispered to me, "If this is a tall, how small is a small?" We learned soon after that it was very small when the guy in front of us came back to his seat with one. The $5.00 beer looked to be about half the size...which really isn't as big of a "deal" as I was expecting. So small, that my friend cleverly coined the phrase "The Pedroia Pilsner".




Despite this trickery by the evil geniuses at Fenway Park, people seemed to be buying up a lot of the $5.00 beer. In fact, (maybe as a result of a game that started one hour later than usual), the people sitting around us were trashed. The woman in the seat next to me passed out around the sixth inning. And from that point on, I kept one eye on the game and one on her as her friend tried to shove peanuts into her mouth and make it look like she was still awake.

But no one compared to the couple that was sitting in front of us. For reasons that will become clear, I'll refer to them as Mad Hater and Absentee Father. From the first pitch of the game, these two caught my attention. It wasn't just the fact that they were completely sauced and we still had nine innings to go. It was because of their gigantic age difference and that they introduced themselves as father and daughter, but were a bit too Mackenzie and John Phillips for my taste. Mad Hater was blond and looked as though her expression froze while duck-facing. Absentee Father was swaying in his seat and kept creeping closer and closer to the unlucky 25-year old sitting next to him.

Right around the fourth, I got up for a beer refill. When I hit the beer line, imagine my surprise to find that the kegs were tapped out. Apparently, Red Sox fans can consume more Dixie-sized beers than the front office was expecting! As a result, the lines for the remaining beer counters were ridiculous. Didn't really stop me from standing in one though...

Meanwhile, back at my seat, Mad Hater had noticed that her dad-boyfriend's new reluctant buddy, the unlucky 25-year old, was wearing a Bruins jersey underneath his Red Sox one. So, she asked him about it. Not sensing the trap, Reluctant Buddy told her that he was going to the Bruins game after the baseball game. For some inexplicable reason, this made Mad Hater mad. She began to scream, "You like the BRUINS??? HOW could you like the BRUINS?? What is WRONG with you???" If she had been joking, it would have been ok...odd, but still ok. But, she honestly seemed livid that this guy, a fan of one Boston team, would DARE to be a fan of another Boston team. I missed all of this, but when I returned to my seat, I returned to an atmosphere of uncomfortable silence and my sister filled me in on what had gone down.

Right around the time that I returned, Absentee Father earned his nickname by disappearing. I'm guessing that this was around the fifth inning. A couple of innings later, Mad Hater got up. I thought that they were gone for good. But sometime in the ninth, Mad Hater returned. I overheard her say to the Reluctant Buddy, "He never came back????"--surprised that Absentee Father had clearly abandoned her (which is another tell-tale sign that he's probably not really her father). She called his cell phone a few times and he didn't answer. She dropped her sunglasses in the row in front of her and had an awesome struggle trying to get them back. I began to feel sorry for her until she flipped us all off. And with a duck-faced huff, she got up and left.

I'll never know if Mad Hater found her "dad". I like to think of them passed out together underneath a disability ramp in the bowels of Fenway Park, their middle fingers permanently stuck up in the air, serving as a reminder to all of us to drink responsibly--even if it's only Dixie-sized beer.