“Sardonic is sarcastic on steroids. “–Mr. R.
One day I will write a whole book of ‘Mr. R.isms’. For now I will simply enjoy them.
Keeping it fresh well into our f-word years.
“Sardonic is sarcastic on steroids. “–Mr. R.
One day I will write a whole book of ‘Mr. R.isms’. For now I will simply enjoy them.
Taking Date Night on the road this weekend, Mr. R. and I are attending Tampa Bay Comic Con. I am beyond excited. We’ve had our tickets for months and just this week we discovered that we will have media passes as well.
I’ve followed San Diego Comic Con longingly for years, but as we live on the east coast, attending is not very feasible. When I learned about this one in Tampa, I was totally in. Now truthfully, neither of us is actually into comic books.
We are, however, HUGE Game of Thrones fans. And, as it turns out, Richard Madden (aka Robb Stark) will make an appearance. We told you not to marry that girl, Robb. Can you say ‘red wedding?’ Pedro Pascal will also be there. We’re talking Oberyn freaking Martell, everybody’s favorite bisexual Dornish prince. Sans the squished head.
Veteran actor John Rhys-Davies (Lord of the Rings, Raiders of the Lost Ark) will be there, as will Evan Peters, from every season of American Horror Story.
Although Mr. R. doesn’t really follow it, I am a big fan of The Walking Dead. Appearing at TBCC will be Brighton Sharbino (“Look at the flowers, Lizzie!”) and Kyla Kennedy (cute little sister Mika, killed by Lizzie who lost her mind).
Ybor City is one of my favorite places on the planet and as it happens, we’re staying there for this adventure. I’ll have to tell you about it sometime. But for now, you should know that we also have tickets Saturday night’s After Party at The Castle, a club in Ybor City. I’ve had my costume for months. I’m going as Ashara Dayne, a character mentioned in the A Song of Ice and Fire books, although she has yet to actually appear. Mr. R.’s costume is more difficult to define. He has this really cool black suit coat with a large hoodie that will cover his face. He’s like a mysterious, scary assassin.
Stay tuned for photos and updates from this adventure.
Geek, by the way, is NOT a bad word. Just letting you know…
I hate going to the doctor. I’m not sick, mind you. I’m here against my will. I’m here because I’m being extorted by my work.
“Get a physical, blood work, and take our simple wellness survey and you can save $600 this year on your insurance premium.” This is what they say.
What they mean is, “Jump through these hoops or we’ll be taking even more out of your paycheck for what was a BENEFIT when you were originally hired.”
Finally made it to an exam room. There’s nothing to look at except these weird anatomical drawings of arms. Frankly, they’re creeping me out.
And so I wait.
Was this really necessary? Do we call it ‘awesomely bad’? And if we do, does throwing the word awesomely in there negate the bad, or does it work the other way around?
I’ve always thought the movie Rock of Ages was awesomely bad. But it has the advantage of great eighties music, so it’s actually more of a sing-along.
Consider the fact that watching this abomination will cost you a hundred and twenty minutes of your life that you’ll never get back. I’m not trying to tell you how to live your life, of course. Just trying to help you think it through.
I know you’re wondering…On Wednesday night, will Sharknado 2: The Second One be on at the home of Mr. and Mrs. R.?
Nope. We’ll be binge-watching Dexter.
Carry on, literate people.
Mr. R. makes me laugh. I love that about him.
He came home from work today in a bit of a snit. I met him in the driveway as he was backing in and watched as he clipped the gate with his passenger side mirror. Climbing out of the truck he exclaimed to me, “Did you see those girls?”
I looked up and down the street and shook my head.
“They were just walking down the sidewalk,” he said, accusingly.
“Get out! Someone had the unmitigated gall to walk down the sidewalk?” I teased, still not seeing anyone.
“There I was, backing in to the driveway, and they just sauntered along behind the truck like there was no one else in the world. I was stuck halfway in the street and another car came along. How stupid can people be?!” he ranted.
“Bad day, babe?” I asked, smiling.
“No, I didn’t have a bad day. I’m just tired of stupid people!” Mr. R. returned.
I snickered a little. “Sorry you’re feeling grumpy today, love.”
“I’m not grumpy!” he countered. “I’m just pointing shit out.”
No more snickering. I erupted into gales of laughter.
Fair enough, Mr. R. Fair enough.
Behold, the new hand painted wine glass Mr. R. bought me to replace the one that was broken. We got it Friday night at the Art & Wine Promenade in Northwood Village.
Artist Nicke Barefoot (I swear, she goes by that name) has a booth there every month and she sells the beautiful one-of-a-kind glasses. Each one is an original piece of art and she paints a signature bare foot on the base of each one. In addition to wine glasses, she has martini and pilsner glasses as well. Her flier says that she accepts commissions for special projects. I’m thinking this could make for a fabulous wedding gift.
At any rate, I’m thrilled with my new wine glass. A toast to my sweet Mr. R. Thanks, babe.
Oh, the adventures of date night. Last night was our first Friday night out in a few weeks. Needless to say, we were excited to be out and about. However, our first two stops were a bust.
First, we tried Coconuts on the Beach, a tiki-type bar at the Hilton Singer Island Oceanfront. We walked in around 6:30 and to say they were not busy would be to understate the situation. There were a couple of occupied tables and a handful of people at the bar. Even so, we sat for about fifteen minutes and no server or host approached us. Mr. R. went to the bar to order some cocktails and couldn’t even get waited on there. Why did we even try a corporate place?
We left the Hilton and headed south on Singer Island to the Sailfish Marina. Again, it was not crowded, and by this time it was after 7:00. On Friday night. We inadvertently pulled into the ‘Valet Only’ parking lot which had a couple of cars parked in a sea of empty spaces. The attendant helpfully pointed out that if we wished to self-park, we could pull back out onto the street and drive about a block down and park there. Yet, here we were, in a virtually empty parking lot. Here’s the thing–it’s Friday night and we just want to have a nice time together.
Instead, we did what we should have done from the beginning, and that is we headed to Northwood Village for the Art and Wine Promenade. Parking at the west end of Northwood Road, we strolled along the closed down street stopping now and then to look at various wares offered by the artisans and vendors set up there. There was supposed to be a tropical mango theme for the evening, but the only mango I saw was on one table giving samples of sangria. There was lots of live music; I’m reasonably certain that Sweet Home Alabama doesn’t qualify as tropical, but I’ll let that go because it’s one of my favorites.
Eventually, we ended up at O-BO, taking a table in the street, the better to people watch. I ordered a sauvignon blanc and Mr. R. had a soft drink while we considered the menu. Owner Jeff Thompson greeted us like old friends (take that, Coconuts) as did our server. A lady at another table graciously offered to take a picture of Mr. R. and me together. Live music was provided at the restaurant by O-BO regular Micheal Boone. He used the wireless mic to move effortlessly back and forth between inside and outside. His version of John Legend’s All of Me was spot-on and enjoyable. The evening was exceedingly warm and muggy, a fact that cut down on my appetite, but we ordered the exquisite truffle waffle fries anyway. Great service and amazing food are the reasons we keep going back to O-BO.
On our way back west on Northwood, we stopped at a vendor’s table and Mr. R. thoughtfully replaced my hand painted wine glass that was broken a couple of months ago. More about that in a future post. Back to date night.
Leaving Northwood Village, we headed further south to downtown West Palm Beach and Clematis Street. Walking west, we passed one of our favorite hang outs, Bar Louie, to go further up the street to Rocco’s Tacos. Mr. R. is not often in the mood for Mexican food so when he offers, I readily accept. Rocco’s was busy and there were several people waiting for seating, in spite of the fact that there were one or two tables available on the sidewalk. Many people don’t prefer the small sidewalk tables because they’re right next to the street. Mr. R. went inside to ask about the wait. He mouthed to me that the wait was 25 minutes and I said no, let’s just go back to Bar Louie. However, the manager, Ryan, witnessed this exchange and seated us immediately at the outside table that we wanted in the first place (take that, Coconuts). Outdoor seating on Clematis Street is the best. It’s fun to watch people walking up and down the street: couples on dates, groups of dudes (or chicks) on the prowl, the trolleys full of tourists that ride past, looking afraid to get out and experience the ‘real’ West Palm Beach.
Our server Price was friendly and helpful, explaining the menu and the evening’s specials. Ultimately, we ordered a pitcher of pamaritas and Rocco’s homemade tortilla chips and salsa which we enjoyed while we watched the crowds and listened to the music pouring from inside the restaurant. I’m certain I heard Jesse’s Girl at one point. After a couple glasses of pamarita, I made my way inside and found that the movie Napoleon Dynamite was inexplicably playing in the loo. But I’m a fan of quirky.
After we settled up with Price, Mr. R. agreed to take me a few blocks further west to Respectable Street, a club he introduced me to when we first started dating. One day I want to write a whole piece about Respectables. The place has changed a great deal over the years, but one thing that remains the same is the friendliness of the bartenders there (take that, Coconuts), a fact which Mr. R. wanted to emphasize. It was only 10 o’clock, very early for the Respectables crowd, and the place was nearly empty. We ordered our drinks and sat on a banquette to watch the action. We noticed the lonely guy sitting at the bar taking selfies, which seemed a little sad. There was the skeevy guy standing where he could look into the ladies’ room, a fact I noted as I washed my hands and looked into the mirror, finding him looking at me. One other guy was sitting down the banquette from us, but he finished his drink and left. Thumping retro new wave music was playing to the empty dance floor. I love to dance but I prefer when the floor is packed, when you know no one is looking. Slowly, people began to trickle in, some heading directly out to the back courtyard to set up music outside. Eventually, some girls started dancing and I let Mr. R. take us out on the floor for a bit. A few songs later, we’d had enough and we were ready begin making our way back home.
Despite the rough start, we had an excellent date night. We visited some superb establishments, met some nice people, and witnessed some interesting scenes. The beginning was a little rocky, but don’t we need the bad to appreciate the good?
Northwood Village in West Palm Beach hosts their monthly Art & Wine Promenade tomorrow night. It’s the Tropical Mango Celebration so in addition to the usual artists and vendors, they’re promising mango themed menus and beverages backed by ‘island music”.
Friday night, the shops and galleries along Northwood Road will remain open and the owners are happy for you to browse. Usually, I’m a bit intimidated to enter frou-frou art galleries and antique shops but during the Promenade the business owners go out of their way to make you feel welcome. And nothing says ‘welcome’ like a complimentary glass of wine.
On our first visit to the Promenade, Mr. R. and I stumbled across Bistro Bistro, a French bistro and bakery. Mon Dieu! While sipping our wine, we pored lustfully over contents of the bakery case. Pointing to a chocolatey looking confection, Mr. R. inquired as to what it was.
“Eet ees ahhh-zuuul-nuuut,” the woman replied.
Mr. R. looked to me, bewildered.
“Hazelnut, babe,” I translated from Frenglish.
To say Mr. R. was in is a massive understatement.
If you’re local or just visiting the area tomorrow, you won’t want to miss this fun celebration of art, wine, and small business. Toss in mangoes and island music, it’ll be like you’re in the Caribbean. And if you play your cards right, maybe you can even get your “ahhh-zuuul-nuuut” on.
This morning, I read a post on a WP blog disparaging the way some bloggers seem to find it necessary to constantly make critical comments on what we write and post. Later, I saw this quote which seemed rather apropos, and not knowing whence it came I thought to possibly share it. However, upon Googling it, I discovered that it’s from a Taylor Swift song.
Crap! Taylor fricking Swift. That tears it, I can’t possibly post it now.
Plus, one day last week I read a blog post in which the writer criticized bloggers who post memes and other unoriginal items rather than their own heart-felt original work. I believe the exact quote was, “That’s why I chose WordPress rather than Tumblr.” Well, la-ti-dah! Thank God for that!
Next thing I know, I’m feeling bound by self-consciousness. What will people think? Philosophy, Taylor Swift style. Unoriginal work. Can’t I write something worthwhile without leaning on someone else’s thoughts?
Then it hit me: I started this blog to post the things I find meaningful. I post things that make me laugh, things that make me mad, things that express my absolute appreciation for the love of my life, things I want to share with others. Most of what I post I write myself, but from time to time, the words of others strike a chord. There is value, whether or not the words originated with me.
And if no other soul ever reads or appreciates the things posted here, that’s alright with me. I’m happy to have the outlet. I’d a thousand times rather post the things that are meaningful to me than try to tear down the things that are meaningful to someone else.
And besides, just because Taylor Swift said it doesn’t mean it’s not true.
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