Its VD day and everyone wanted to know where the local food critic would be spending her special night. Truth is I don’t go out on holidays, as they are amateur night. Too many people who NEVER go out with unrealistic expectations make for a horrible mix with love and commitment.
The last time we went out for VD dinner, I had a whole romantic scheme planned. Watching the sunset over the dunes, listening to an authentic mariachi band and then dinner at a renowned steak house. The sun set before we got off work, the mariachi band called in sick, so we spent three hours waiting for our table at the bar. This is a small locals’ restaurant and they were intrigued with us. We told tales, they bought shots. The more shots came, the more wild our stories got. When we finally ate (and if you put a gun to my head, I couldn’t tell you what we ate) it was around 11:00 pm. We got the check and then couldn’t find a waiter to pay. We went to the front desk, the kitchen, but everyone seemed to be gone. So in my drunken state, I decided that I had always wanted to “dine and ditch.” I never had and this seemed to be the right time as these people clearly did not want our money. We tried one more time and then ran giggling to our car. When we began to drive away, we realized we had committed a crime and became extremely paranoid. Too scared to go back and sure that every head light behind us was the man ready to take us in, we slid home.
It was the next day, I realized that I had left my treasured leather coat in the booth at the restaurant. Leaving it there in lost and found was not a choice. Being the local food critic, crawling back after I “dined and ditched” was not an option. I was terrified and sure I was going to end up on the front page with a wretched mug shot. My knight in shining amour, drove to the eatery, explained our predicament, paid our tab, and got my coat. Funny thing was the restaurant had no idea we skipped on the check.
This year, I planned on locking out the contractors, turning up the heat (it is a balmy 50 degrees here) and running naked on my new floors and have wild monkey sex with my husband. I was planning to serve bacon wrapped scallops, shrimp scampi, raw oysters, seven different kinds of chocolate and champagne.
I was foiled when a dear friend (Sunshine) called on Friday and said he would be passing thru on Saturday. Crashing on our couch is what he does best, along with sharing startling comical stories, so no is never an option. I live for his stories, his happy presence, and a chance to catch up on his adventures. So plans changed, clothes were put on, romantic movies and accruements were hid and we welcomed our visitor. We also were sure to ply with enough Hennessey to have him soundly sleeping so the monkey part of the day could go on.
My husband began the day with covering all the clocks with enduring sentiments like “My love for you is timeless…….” On every clock, I had no idea what time it was all day, but I did know that I was loved passionately.
We had estate sales to go to, looking for strange and atypical furnishings for my husbands cave (his room), and our guest bathroom. Sunshine loves our piratical adventures, so he came along. We bought him vintage bean pots.
We ate at Jocko’s, known as the best steak house in the US (according to GQ) and savored eating in the bar where the locals gossiped, argued, and romanced each other. The steaks wer
e huge, delicious (they age their meat and then grill it over an oak open pit flame) and it is worth the wait.
At home, the kids came by for their Valentines, and to spend some time with Sunshine, as they love him as much as we do. We shared stories and as usual, his where the most astonishing and comical, although I did impress him with current drama’s facing the fine people of Pismo Beach. We feed him our romantic meal, cognac and other California treasures. He was asleep by 9:00, we left the Blues on satellite radio and had our grown up fun. It was a good VD.
The last time we went out for VD dinner, I had a whole romantic scheme planned. Watching the sunset over the dunes, listening to an authentic mariachi band and then dinner at a renowned steak house. The sun set before we got off work, the mariachi band called in sick, so we spent three hours waiting for our table at the bar. This is a small locals’ restaurant and they were intrigued with us. We told tales, they bought shots. The more shots came, the more wild our stories got. When we finally ate (and if you put a gun to my head, I couldn’t tell you what we ate) it was around 11:00 pm. We got the check and then couldn’t find a waiter to pay. We went to the front desk, the kitchen, but everyone seemed to be gone. So in my drunken state, I decided that I had always wanted to “dine and ditch.” I never had and this seemed to be the right time as these people clearly did not want our money. We tried one more time and then ran giggling to our car. When we began to drive away, we realized we had committed a crime and became extremely paranoid. Too scared to go back and sure that every head light behind us was the man ready to take us in, we slid home.
It was the next day, I realized that I had left my treasured leather coat in the booth at the restaurant. Leaving it there in lost and found was not a choice. Being the local food critic, crawling back after I “dined and ditched” was not an option. I was terrified and sure I was going to end up on the front page with a wretched mug shot. My knight in shining amour, drove to the eatery, explained our predicament, paid our tab, and got my coat. Funny thing was the restaurant had no idea we skipped on the check.
This year, I planned on locking out the contractors, turning up the heat (it is a balmy 50 degrees here) and running naked on my new floors and have wild monkey sex with my husband. I was planning to serve bacon wrapped scallops, shrimp scampi, raw oysters, seven different kinds of chocolate and champagne.
I was foiled when a dear friend (Sunshine) called on Friday and said he would be passing thru on Saturday. Crashing on our couch is what he does best, along with sharing startling comical stories, so no is never an option. I live for his stories, his happy presence, and a chance to catch up on his adventures. So plans changed, clothes were put on, romantic movies and accruements were hid and we welcomed our visitor. We also were sure to ply with enough Hennessey to have him soundly sleeping so the monkey part of the day could go on.
My husband began the day with covering all the clocks with enduring sentiments like “My love for you is timeless…….” On every clock, I had no idea what time it was all day, but I did know that I was loved passionately.
We had estate sales to go to, looking for strange and atypical furnishings for my husbands cave (his room), and our guest bathroom. Sunshine loves our piratical adventures, so he came along. We bought him vintage bean pots.
We ate at Jocko’s, known as the best steak house in the US (according to GQ) and savored eating in the bar where the locals gossiped, argued, and romanced each other. The steaks wer
e huge, delicious (they age their meat and then grill it over an oak open pit flame) and it is worth the wait.At home, the kids came by for their Valentines, and to spend some time with Sunshine, as they love him as much as we do. We shared stories and as usual, his where the most astonishing and comical, although I did impress him with current drama’s facing the fine people of Pismo Beach. We feed him our romantic meal, cognac and other California treasures. He was asleep by 9:00, we left the Blues on satellite radio and had our grown up fun. It was a good VD.
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