~Sunday~ I forgot to capture this from yesterday. It’s from a follow-up e-mail from my uncle, from which I wanted to capture a few more affirmations:
| Writer you are, I would be on the computer 24 hours if I wrote all the things you write about. You do one hell of a job… I will treasure the pictures of your Christmas meal at Vivian’s and especially the family… I spent most of my Saturday morning reading your [blog], enough time to read a book. But I must say it is very enjoyable and interesting… John let me take this opportunity to wish you & Robert and your family a happy, prosperous New Year. |
I woke up at close to 10:00 and Joe was heading downstairs to get some coffee before the free hotel breakfast was put away that stopped at 10:00. He brought a cup of coffee back for me, and with it I ate a sour cream doughnut I’d bought last night, while he enjoyed some pastry from the breakfast bar with his coffee.
We Google mapped a Panera Bread location, and as we approached it, we saw a Max & Erma’s at which we decided to stop for lunch. Coincidentally, and funny, we both experienced a quick bout of nausea at nearly the same time just before pulling into the restaurant. I’m quite sure mine was from taking my meds on an empty stomach before leaving the hotel. For lunch, we both had Max & Erma’s Club Sandwich, which came with seasoned fries.
We drove across the street to Panera’s where we ended up taking a table right by a door that was exit only, that people had to reach near Joe’s head to open, and that slammed after almost everyone exited.
As if that wasn’t annoying enough, two ladies, one with a very loud and annoying voice sat at a table next to us, and a very angry and very bitchy daughter of one of them came in after a little while with her panties twisted tight—in a total wad—about waiting for them at the front door when they had already come in and found a table. “I’VE BEEN WAITING AT THE FRONT DOOR FOR 15 MINUTES. I WAS JUST GETTING READY TO LEAVE.” Bitch, bitch, bitch, she went on and on about it like it was the end of the freaking world. Then they all exchanged Christmas gifts. Merry fucking Christmas.
We didn’t stay at Panera’s as long as we anticipated as Joe was unable to connect to their network for some reason. It was weird. My laptop found the network without my having to tell it to look for a network, and then it automatically connected me so that all I had to do was click “Accept” (the terms) on the Panera home page to start using the network. But for Joe, it wouldn’t even connect to the network after he found it manually. Strange.
Back at the hotel, Joe worked out in the hotel’s fitness room doing 45 minutes on their elliptical machine. I, myself, napped during said time.
We had dinner at Denny’s, which was somewhat tragic. There were two customers (at one table) when we arrived and the waitress just kept chit-chatting with them while we stood at the door waiting to be seated. Eventually she heard us talking (probably when we said, “WTF???” after a couple of minutes of standing there being ignored) and came over to seat us.
I think our waiter’s name was Patrick, and after sashaying up to take our order and then putting it in for the kitchen help, he took a seat in a booth within eyesight and I watched him either text or check his e-mail for a couple of minutes and then get on his phone for a little bit. I saw our French toast order come up, and he’s lucky he got up and checked on it shortly thereafter, or I would have gone into ALL CAPS MODE on him.
After setting our food down, he made some small talk about wishing he were back in NYC for New Year’s to see the ball drop, and went on to elaborate, “I just had surgery, and my doctor told me I couldn’t travel to New York.” That was just about the maximum detail we wanted to know about our server’s health before we dove into our dinner. We thought there was a good chance we’d see him out later out at the club anyway. All that is to say, we’re quite sure he was family.
We arrived at the Rainbow Cactus Company, where thankfully there was no cover charge, and where we were expecting a 10:00 drag show courtesy of the information on their website. We sat within eyesight of the front door and were entertained by the high-level of importance the people working in this place seemed to assign to themselves. Between the (sheriff-like) badges on a couple of them, to the bluetooth earpieces, to the curly wires disappearing down the back of someone’s neck, we began to expect to see one of two things next: Obama and his entourage pull up or crises communications exchanged via Dick Tracy watches. People please. It’s a gay bar. In Virginia Beach, Virginia.
10:00 came and went and at about 10:10 I asked a bartender what time the show was. “10:45,” she replied. So much for accurate website information.
We decided to ride over to Ambush to see if anything was going on over there, hoping that none of last night’s acquaintance would be there to call us on turning right instead of left leaving the bar.
There, we found as much smoke as there was last night, but with $2.00 well drinks and pitchers of beer for $5.00. (For posterity: the bourbon and diets were $4.25 and the Yuengling bottles were $4.00 at Rainbow Cactus Company.) The only one of last night’s clan here tonight, was Toby the bartender, who was off duty, drinking Bloody Marys with a long, thick stalk of celery that I think he actually brought with him, and which he kept transferring from one glass to the next.
He was not nearly as friendly as he was last night—when he was getting tips—and the more clothes he took off (down to a tank top) and the more light that he got under—well let’s just say that cloth and darkness are his friends. Go ahead, click this for a description of that last remark.
Although, the drinks were cheap, Joe and I just weren’t “feeling it” here, so after my second drink and him finishing about three-quarters of his pitcher, we headed home. Passing back by the Rainbow Cactus Company on the way back, we saw the parking lot absolutely packed, and since we’d had our hands stamped for free re-admission when we left, we stopped back in.
I parked next to a van whose owner was holding the door open for his dog to come toward and get in. The dog was what what my dad calls an “arithmetic dog,” meaning three-legged, or as my dad explains after using his term, “Puts down three and carries one.” Badumpbump. We’re here all week folks. Try the veal. The dog was so sweet and it detoured from the van, hobbling towards me to get petted, and then proceeded over to the van. Adorably sweet.
Back inside the club, we once again just didn’t “feel” it in that place, and left in less than ten minutes after arriving. Back at the hotel, we had a feeding frenzy.