T'is the Lenten season. Which in addition to me being slightly bitter about having to do without chocolate and pop, means seafood. Not being that big on seafood, it's a very strategic time of year for me. I don't want the same seafood-y option twice between Ash Wednesday and Easter, so I have sumthin' different each Friday. Wendy's fish sammie. Check. Ronald's filet o' fish. Check. Supermarket sushi. Check. Blah, blah, fuckity, blah. Check. This Friday was my time honored turn at lunch at Lobster. (Yes, of the Red variety.) Others may be included in Lobster day, but the one constant is my friend MGB. It started a million years ago with us being the two Catholics at our job and pretty much every year we've sustained our routine ever since.
As I headed out to our 2011 Lenten lunch I noticed the irony as I was dressed in yoga pants a cami and some sorta athletic-y zippy jacket. There it was staring back at me in the mirror as I thought, 'yep. There's nuthin' more ridiculous than a big girl in athletic gear gearin' up to go eat 4 days worth of deep fried and breadedseafood-y goodness calories?' Apparently, recognizing irony and being able to stop it are two entirely different things because I giggled internally and turned and walked out the fuckin' door hoppin' my fat ass into my big ass SUV.
It was good seeing MGB, who because she lives on the other side of the moon (aka: out in the country), I don't see nearly often enough. MGB, one of the three smallest girls I know, pulled up in this big ass Yukon, up from her last regular sized sport ute, making my first words to her instead of mainstream "hello", "what's next a Peterbuilt?" Ahhhhh...good to know I haven't lost my ass-y essence over the past several weeks. (Of course I then had to explain, because in addition to me there are probably only 3 other girls in these great states united who use semi manufacturers as a day-to-day reference point, and she wasn't one of them.)
Fortunately she knows I'm an ass. (And weird.) And even with that knowledge she asked me to join into her kool kidz book club, comprised of several skirts who I really dig. Even framed it in the most appealing fashion to me with, "you don't even have to read the book."
MGB, you had me at don't have to read.
In a departure from my normal/left to my own devices eating habits, I indulged in a full on meal. Not a "healthy" meal. Unless of course you have perhaps sustained some sort of significant head trauma; fried shrimp, fried clams, baked potato swimming in a pond of butter, salad swaddled in copious amounts of bleu cheese dressing and a biscuit. (...Serious biz the Surgeon General is gonna hunt me down and kick my ass.) However as MGB and I discussed, cooking for one is just the epitome of stupidity, in my lazy ass opinion, so something other than a cob of corn, or alternating days of pb and j with grilled ham and cheese sammies was probably a good choice all-in-all. Right? Or was that just the result of crazy ass rationalization? I donno. Either way it was pretty damn tasty.
As I headed out to our 2011 Lenten lunch I noticed the irony as I was dressed in yoga pants a cami and some sorta athletic-y zippy jacket. There it was staring back at me in the mirror as I thought, 'yep. There's nuthin' more ridiculous than a big girl in athletic gear gearin' up to go eat 4 days worth of deep fried and breaded
It was good seeing MGB, who because she lives on the other side of the moon (aka: out in the country), I don't see nearly often enough. MGB, one of the three smallest girls I know, pulled up in this big ass Yukon, up from her last regular sized sport ute, making my first words to her instead of mainstream "hello", "what's next a Peterbuilt?" Ahhhhh...good to know I haven't lost my ass-y essence over the past several weeks. (Of course I then had to explain, because in addition to me there are probably only 3 other girls in these great states united who use semi manufacturers as a day-to-day reference point, and she wasn't one of them.)
Fortunately she knows I'm an ass. (And weird.) And even with that knowledge she asked me to join into her kool kidz book club, comprised of several skirts who I really dig. Even framed it in the most appealing fashion to me with, "you don't even have to read the book."
MGB, you had me at don't have to read.
In a departure from my normal/left to my own devices eating habits, I indulged in a full on meal. Not a "healthy" meal. Unless of course you have perhaps sustained some sort of significant head trauma; fried shrimp, fried clams, baked potato swimming in a pond of butter, salad swaddled in copious amounts of bleu cheese dressing and a biscuit. (...Serious biz the Surgeon General is gonna hunt me down and kick my ass.) However as MGB and I discussed, cooking for one is just the epitome of stupidity, in my lazy ass opinion, so something other than a cob of corn, or alternating days of pb and j with grilled ham and cheese sammies was probably a good choice all-in-all. Right? Or was that just the result of crazy ass rationalization? I donno. Either way it was pretty damn tasty.
(The lobsters were very lively)
MGB shared some good news about some good people we know, and caught me up on some other folks we know. It was a delight, and well needed diversion to spend a little time that put a smile on my face.
As we were leaving we stood in the parking lot chattering away as girls do, and watched a couple pull up in his shiny black, roof down, I'm compensating for small junk car. At which point I look at MGB and ask, "wouldn't buyin' a button that says 'douchebag' have been cheaper?" Again, she already knows I'm an ass. And apparently, illiterate.
See ya next year Lobster.
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