Week 19: An Audacious Easter

Church. A building for public Christian worship. A building I’ve been avoiding at all costs since I was confirmed and my parent’s told me I was old enough to make my own decisions. Truth be told, you have a better chance in getting me to attend Sunday mass at the Wat Mongkolratanaram (Thai Temple), because at the very least they have incredible food.

But it’s Easter Sunday and as you’ve probably figured out by now, I’ll follow Ryan anywhere. If he wants to go to an Easter service, we are going to an Easter worship service. Besides, it will probably make a better meatball chronicle. I’m up at 5:30 AM to drive my parents to the airport. They’ve been visiting for a full week and surprisingly I wouldn’t mind if they stayed just a few hours longer, so that my dad could go to church with Ryan and I could stay home with my mom. My mom says that you don’t need to go to church every Sunday to be a good person. I couldn’t agree more and while the meatball chronicles are quite crude, I can assure you my life outside of them is much more balanced.

Ryan and I had every intention of attending an Easter sunrise service at Curtis Hixon Park overlooking the Hillsborough River but it started at 8:30AM and I needed sleep much more than I needed some so-called “calling”… especially after that red-eye airport run.  Our backup plan thoroughly intrigued me: Relevant, a Non-denominational Evangelical Church. Having never been to one, all I could picture was that scene in Borat where he finds Mr. Jesus (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vrTWJo7a9l0). 

The service started at 10AM and let me tell you, if this place existed in Massachusetts, my dad wouldn’t have had such a terrible time dragging me to church. Growing up, it was a constant struggle. I was set in my ways and didn’t appreciate others telling me what I should believe in. The boredom associated with church was unbearable and with a strong appreciation for food, I found myself critiquing their communion.

But the service at Relevant was SO different. I can honestly say I had an amazing time and there was even a complimentary café with coffee, juice, muffins and bagels. While I left believing in nothing greater than the power of the human race, I did find their message embedded in my brain: Be Audacious. Be extremely bold and daring, be recklessly brave. We need to live every day fearless, and take risks, even if that means sacrificing something of your own to help someone in need. For me personally, last year my audacious act was chopping off 13 inches of my hair and giving it to childrens cancer for wigs. While some may think the sacrifice was the actual hair, it wasn't. The sacrifice was a period of lonely months and being mistaken for a lesbian countless times. But I get it; that just isn’t enough. You gotta be more than that...you have to challenge yourself to do more.

I'm positive I didn't walk away with the full message they wanted to convey, but to me being audacious also includes remaining strong to your beliefs, even when others tell you you're wrong. Unfortunately for them, I’m a realist in the purest form. The only supernatural thing I've ever believed in was the curse of the bambino. Oh, I also learned that if you are trying to convey a powerful message, do it with strobe lights, 6 flat screen televisions, two jumbotrons, a violinist, a rock band and a choir of tiny children-- give the people something they can't ignore. While they may not have succeeded in making me one of them, and I still find it extremely humorous to call Easter “Zombie Day, I can truthfully say I’ll be back; I really enjoyed myself.  

Anyway, while this is all a beautiful revelation on how we need to help others, there's a time and place for that and the present is for meatball chronicles. Don't think for a second that just because I stepped foot in a massive room of believers I’m going to lose my roots. We are now at the Hard Rock Casino dressed to the nines. The smell of pumped oxygen, antibacterial, Brut, a nursing home, and a distant buffet encompass me.  The Hard Rock hotel and casino has an establishment called Fresh Harvest, an all you can eat buffet consisting of 7 separate mini-restaurants. It’s is only $20 per person and worth every dollar.

Our waitress is pregnant and although she’s barely showing, her belly button is bothering me. The thought of being pregnant and creating an army of nuggets excites me but I don’t want that weird belly button. Can’t someone invent a flesh colored band-aid with an optical illusion of a normal belly button to just keep that thing under control?

I know this is not your traditional Easter per say but I couldn't wish for anything greater. I love the spontaneity between us and I get a kick out of our non-traditional ways. Ryan is out-eating me. I ravaged the sushi bar and their tiny wonders called “shrimp balls” but as always, Ryan is taking everything to the next level. I watch him get waffles from the breakfast station, and then fried chicken from the “American” station and create a monstrosity of chicken and waffles buried in sausage gravy and syrup. I love him and if he exits this world early by heart attack at least I’ll know we had one hell of a ride. It’s no different than my dermatologist asking me if I want skin cancer. Well no doctor, I don't. But I will tell ya one thing: I’d rather die with a nice bronze complexion than one of a red head.

As Ryan attacks several more stations, I’m left eavesdropping on the couple beside us. The girl has a huge Belgian waffle in front of her and her boyfriend says “So what makes those waffle’s Belgian? Do they speak a different language!?!” That was hilarious guy, really. Frigan hysterical. To my disbelief, she dies laughing. You two asstards are meant for one another.

In just two stomachs, we fit sushi, waffles, stuffed French toast, bacon, bbq ribs, eggrolls, lo main, fried chicken, peel n eat shrimp, raw oysters, smoked salmon, shrimp dumplings, potato wrapped shrimp, shrimp balls, lump crab meat, oscar egg benedict, sausage, chicken marsala, salami, smoked gouda, pistachio cannolis, mini reeses pieces, carrot cake, a chocolate easter egg stuffed with white chocolate mousse and last but not least a macadamia nut chocolate tart. OH and a mimosa and a bloody mary to take the edge off.

Instead of leaving and immediately falling into a food coma, we decided to hit up the slots. It’s a good thing we did because we won $100. Our winnings paid for our gambling fun, our drinks, our food and that nice donation Ryan made to Relevant Church this morning. This has been the best Easter ever. Although gambling Easter Sunday away is probably not on the Lord’s agenda, thank you Relevant for further inspiring me to live audaciously.  

Week 18: Meatballs and Manatees

There's a naked intruder and I have to admit this is the first time in my life something this fabulous has occurred. He is banging the door down at 5:50 AM, and I’m slightly delirious, staying at Ryan’s. Although Ryan’s roommate Patrick is probably frustrated with having to get up in the wee morning hours for a complete stranger, I think he should be considered fortunate that the peep hole isn’t waist high. Had it been, Patrick would have looked directly into a young freshly shaved pair of balls. Long story short, a naked man was trying to break into Ryan and Patrick’s house. I am not sure why he was naked, but he was beyond intoxicated and I think he thought he was locked out of his own home. Believe it or not, the Ryan-Patrick household was a bachelor pad long before I came along…so they happened to have a spare dress lying around. Not wanting to send the stranger off in the nude, or call the police, they handed him a tiny black dress and eventually sent him on his way. I admittedly have had some ultimate lows in my life, but never that low.

Years ago, while in Czech Republic for a government and world affairs course, this kid Tyler who was in my class consumed way too much absinth one night. Ahhh, absinth, the evil hallucinogenic. While we all enjoyed it’s mysterious powers, poor Tyler had some type of extreme effect and ended up kissing a cross dresser who he thought was a woman and then later roaming the halls of the hotel naked. I remembered thinking then, this is definitely a fantastic low point. However, he was under the influence of absinth. What’s this Tampa guy’s story? Without knowing him and without giving him benefit of the doubt, I want to say there’s just no excuse for his actions.

In no way, shape or form is any of this relevant to Sunday brunch. So let’s fast forward 24 hours. My parents have flown into Tampa and are visiting for the week. We’ve got a wilderness adventure in store which makes this the first Meatball Chronicle without an accessible eating establishment. SO, for the first time ever, I give you, “THE FIRST ANNUAL PACK YOUR OWN MEATBALL CHRONICLE!!!”

We are on the road by 8AM, on our way to explore the fresh water springs of Weeki Wachee. This adventure is not to be confused with Weeki Wachee Springs State Park, the only city of live white trash mermaids. If you are able to overcome your unbearable curiosity then you can drive right past the park and go off the beaten path to the Weeki Wachee Marina. The Weeki Wachee Marina is a nice little establishment with really unpleasant employees, but they let you rent a little boat for the entire day and go on your own damn exploration. It’s an independent exploration that doesn’t involve children, mermaids, group activities, park rides or mermaid lessons in which the “real” mermaids teach young obese girls how to be mermaids… Girls that should never be allowed to wear shell bras. I’ve never actually been to the park, but from what I’ve seen promoted, this is what I envision.

Armed with cash, sunscreen, bug spray, beer, liquor and food, we are anxiously awaiting to conquer the crystal clear waters of this red neck riviera. Unfortunately for us, despite getting there very early, the tide was too low and we were forced to wait for more than an hour.  My mother decided that the unpleasant marine-lord who had the personality of a rock was discriminating against us because of my parents’ obnoxious Boston accents. I was convinced she was right until others arrived and they were forced to wait too.

Anddddd we’re off! Ryan is captain of the dingy and my dad is on the bow like a watchman. I immediately analyze the situation and wonder if Ryan ever saw himself at 31, stuck in a boat with a brunette yankee girlfriend 7 years younger than him…and a family of democrats. But then again, in my younger more liberal days when I ran around Cape Cod as a free spirit supporting my gay neighbors’ marriage rights and all the silly sluts who wanted abortions, I never saw myself with a Southern Republican. I was a cleat chaser from the day I knew what balls were(baseballs). I loved the concept of dating a baseball player but for young me it was only a distant dream. I played on the boys team, hoping that the boys would appreciate my athletic abilities, but the only thing I gained from that season was the nickname “meatball.” That’s right, young fat Michelle would get up to bat and my OWN TEAM would chant “MEATTTTTBALLLLLLLLL.” It was humiliating and needless to say I never went back for another season. The situation was so unfortunate that my own family started calling me meatball instead of offering me comfort or diet pills.

Years later some of those baseball boys would fall in love with me and I’d tell them to eat my shit and die. Anyway, funny how love changes who you want to be and where you want to be… exclusively committed and beyond happy with someone who genetically engineered cows.

Ryan’s skills far surpass knowing how to impregnate a cow or yank an utter; he’s an amazing chef and he’s the sole reason that today’s meatball chronicle was unbelievable. He makes me wonder why we ever actually go out and pay for food. With my father feeling unable to navigate any farther on a miller high life diet, and my mother wanting something more than sweet tea vodka, we pulled the boat up onto a sandbar and opened up our cooler. Goodness gracious what a glorious picnic. I had made subs with roast beef, pepper jack cheese and banana peppers but they were quickly overlooked by Ryan’s unnecessarily fantastic boat food. I am not sure who thinks to bring sausage dip on a boat ride but he did, along with crackers to dip. Weeks prior at Gaspar’s Grotto Booze Cruise Brunch we had eaten some curried chicken salad and I have to say that Ryan’s recipe shit all over it. It is the most delicious thing I have EVER had in between two slices or bread, or in a wrap, or in a spoon, or smeared all over my body--- it didn’t go that far but I found myself wanting it to. Curry, grilled chicken, white raisins, candied pecans, and I can’t say any more or someone will surely steal it. I found myself thinking that he should open a little roadside stop that only serves this, all day and every day. What a bright and successful future we would have.

Shortly after lunch we continued our adventure and explored every tiny winding river that Weeki Wachee had to offer. We never found any springs, but we did see manatees and shortly after looking down at my stomach and then back at the manatees I realized we could pass for sisters, so I put my shirt on. It remained on the rest of the day. We were gone for hours and I had eaten so much that the vodka never hit me. Our trip ended just in time because I was on my way into a food coma and didn’t know if I’d last much longer in the sunshine. With only minutes to spare before docking our boat, we came across a fantastic scene. A massive woman bending over right in front of us. She looked like a manatee out of water and I quickly attempted taking a picture. My mother tried to stop me but I snapped a picture just in time before she walked away. Sadly, I can’t share this picture because I think it’s illegal.

Speaking of asshole things I’ve done lately, next week is Easter Sunday and I believe the chronicles will begin in some type of religious establishment. I have more than enough to confess. But confess to whom? I know that God and his homeslice Jesus live at Lupton's and as a slim believer, I can’t imagine it’s going to be a good review. Hang tight and pray I get to eat more than communion.

Week 17: A-SUE-Ming We Grow Old…

Lately I love him more. I dunno if it’s his newly waxed chest, or the fact that he drank soy sauce through a straw last night at dinner. He makes me happy and with every move he makes I find myself thinking “wow he really is weird.” This is off topic, but whenever I come across a kiwi, I eat it with its furry skin on. It’s like biting into a tiny hamster every time, yet it never gets old or disgusting. Ryan does not do this, but I often envision him getting closer and closer…until someday, he really is as weird as me.

Either way, I'm fortunate he's stuck around so long because he's attempting to make me a better person. I don’t know if he’ll ever succeed, but earlier this week I really let my inner masshole come out. Frustrated with the lack of common sense, customer service, education and honesty surrounding Tech 1 Engines of Tampa, I had really lost my mind. I went 16 days without my car and my anger really got the best of me. I thought it was a good idea to let them know how I really felt about them…. So I got down on their level, went outside barefoot and taught them what a "fucktard" was. I also let them know that if I see them again they will be guilty of murder in addition to shitty service because I will legitimately kill myself.

Well, I’m here… so I didn’t kill myself… but I’ll let you know it didn’t end to my advantage. Ryan, being the bigger and better person in my life played mediator and explained to them that there was clearly a lack of communication and that their business had immense room for improvement. While it’s all relevant and true, I found it much more hilarious to act like a raging trailer park druggy for one day of my life. Believe it or not, there was a feeling of empowerment and pride associated with the unpleasant string of events. I felt like I won… despite being robbed of my money, precious time and dignity. Oh well.

So, the car issues are behind us and we’re on our way to Sue’s Country Kitchen in Seffner. I don’t know if I’ve ever been to Seffner, but the name alone creeps me out. It sounds like an STD of some sort, doesn’t it? I looked up Seffner on UrbanDictionary.com and the dictionary defines it as: “The worst place to live in Florida. Drug capital of Hillsborough. Also known as Methner.” The sample sentence they provide says: “Seffner is known for its many meth labs, and the ability to get any drug anywhere. Seffner also sucks.”

So yea, we’re in Seffner. But I am well aware that the best food often comes from establishments off the beaten path. So I’m not afraid. Nothing scares me after showing Tech 1 Engines who’s boss. When we walk in an extremely blonde lady screams HEWWO! HOW AH YOU??  Little did I know I’d have to hear that approximately 25 more times before leaving. I’m not quite sure what kind of accent it was- maybe Seffner has their own. But it didn’t get old. She was the nicest, sweetest lady ever. We were fortunate to get her as a server because our alternative was a woman with a mullet and when I’m uncomfortable or amazed I often stare in disbelief.

There were antiques everywhere. They kept me fascinated the entire time. I kept wondering what things were and then Ryan would teach me. Ryan knew what everything was because he grew up on a farm or somewhere outside of the big city where kids like me used electronics. Or I dunno, maybe he was just brought up normally and I was the spoiled outcast. I remember getting a cell phone in 6^th grade and even getting a custom designed blue shell for it that matched my bedroom.  It’s no wonder I moved to Florida and no one has since wished me back or relocated to be with me. Hrm.

Sue’s has a buffet but for once in my life I’m not really interested. Ryan tackled that thing like a true man but I patiently waited for one of their infamous skillets that the interwebs boast about.

While waiting for my food I can’t help but notice that there are old men everywhere. They gross me out. I know that I’ll be old someday but I just can’t fathom the reality of it all right now and if you’re not my grandma or grandpa I need you to get the hell away from me.  Hearing aids, obesity, bifocals and velcro bound shoes. What a life.

Ryan’s been eating for a good 15 minutes and while he keeps trying to feed me his buffet food I want to respect Sue. Whoever she is. I didn’t pay for that buffet so Ryan needs to be the one that eats its unlimited glory. He eats smoked sausage, sausage links, country fried bacon, regular bacon, country fried steak and gravy, biscuits and gravy, ham cubes, fruit, French toast, pudding, fried eggs, toast, and more.

Finally, my steak skillet. Holy shit this thing is a monster.  No really, it’s a monster. It’s about 3 pounds of food and I risk getting tennis elbow if I dare move it. The onions and potatoes are amazing. Greased to perfection. However, the steak sucks. It’s extremely chewy and flavorless. C’mon SUE! Luckily, I’m enjoying myself so much that I don’t care about the food. It’s amazing how a great atmosphere and time can have you thinking that you are actually enjoying the food.

I point out an awesome antique stove and Ryan says he'd love to put smith and smeigle (my cats) in it. Rather than scold him, I quickly agree and the conversation goes awfully south:

Me: YUP! Just like a little kitty holocaust!

Ryan: I would absolutely eat a cat if it were raised on pulled pork. But it’s bullshit--we just aren't allowed to experiment. People do it with cows…so what’s the big deal? 

Me: I would love to have a cow with you some day babe. A female though, so we don’t put our children at the risk of being accidently mounted by a bull.

Ryan: Once it get’s old we can kill it in front of the kids to show them how the world works: you love, you raise, you slaughter, you eat!

I look around and pray to god no one has heard this conversation, but based on this restaurant’s clientele and immense amount of meat consumption, I doubt any of it matters. Ahh, finally some diversity has walked in the door. A Mexican Man wearing Sketchers Shape Ups… why do these things keep reappearing in the Meatball Chronicles and why is this man trying to have a Kim Kardashian ass?

It’s time to leave. Sue’s has attempted being a real country kitchen complete with a country store but the selection is just outrageous. At the checkout stand, they’re selling toilet paper, deodorant, body wash, blistex, flints, pocket knifes and a cologne set. How exactly does this all work? Does Sue really have customers that come to the realization that they smell like a dumpster during breakfast and say “OH THANK GOD THEY SELL COLOGNE HERE.”  You know what they also sell? Milkshakes. And they are 100% delicious and necessary. We order two to go: strawberry and cookies n’ cream.

Right as we were leaving, someone calls our waitress SUE. THAT'S SUE!?!?! I MET SUE!?!? I tell Ryan we were served by the owner and he asks how I know. “Well, assuming that it’s not just a coincidence, someone called her SUE!”  Ryan bursts out laughing “a-SUE-ming!”  Oh man, that just isn’t funny. At all.

Well Ryan, a-SUE-ming we grow old…..I would like a cow, an antique stove, and a milkshake. Please.

Week 16: The Country Boy, The Fag Hag and Two Butt Pirates

ARGGGGG! The long awaited Gaspar’s Grotto Booze Cruise Brunch, where the only rules are to “Build Yer Own Damn Drinks.” Ryan and I have been waiting to let loose and I can’t think of any better way than to attend this debauchery and invite my two very best gay friends. Anyone who knows me knows that I am admittedly a fag hag, a female who associates herself with gay men and thinks she’s trendier than everyone else because of it. Poor Ryan had no idea what he signed up for when he started dating me. Within just a few months he became exhibit b: the male counterpart, a male with forced interpersonal relationships with gay men: the fag stag.

I loved Sean and John-Paul from the day I laid eyes on them. They were hot, they were funny, and most importantly they were just plain mean.  Two years later, I can say we’ve had our share of inappropriate faux romance, laughs at other people, and a plethora of hot date nights where the general public didn’t know who belonged to whom.  

Gaspar’s Grotto Booze Cruise Brunch is just 3 blocks from my house and contrary to looking trendy, I’m hoping my gay boyfriends will draw some of the attention away from me… today may be the resurfacing of BOMB: Black Out Michelle Boyd (of all people, my coworkers gave me that name many moons ago after falling in a bush at a company happy hour). The real reason I don’t want people noticing me though is because earlier in the week I had a terrible case of sun poisoning. My face slightly swelled and my lips blew up several notches past Angelina Jolie’s. Imagine two plantains for lips. Laugh about it a few minutes and then realize this really happened and it wasn’t funny at all. Karma is a bitch. The aftermath of it all is cruel. My lips are no longer swollen but they are trying desperately to heal by drying up and all I can think about is someone mistaking me for an Ybor rat covered in herpes.

Ryan is bound to get silly due to his lack of carbohydrate intake all week. Yes, we are still going strong on this whole weekly diet trend. When Sean and John-Paul knocked on my door promptly at 10:20 as planned, Ryan answered the door wearing my women’s size small shirt. It’s good to know that he’s excited for hanging out with my homosexual hunks, but I’m not letting him steal my thunder. I quickly show John-Paul my herpe-look alike as if I were proud of it. Ryan changes into some normal clothes and we’re off.

As predicted, Ryan is just plain silly. I don’t think we were there for an hour before he spilled one of his drinks all over some girl’s leg who I mistakenly labeled as black. She was Russian. Aside from her black hair and extremely sun-kissed skin I have no idea what I was thinking. I hate it when girls wear those massive sunglasses, hiding their true identities. What started out as a casual brunch with conversations about the future, house hunting and every day couple activities quickly turned R-Rated after a few rounds of drinks.

As part of the Booze Cruise Brunch Package you get unlimited mimosas at the champagne/juice bar along with your very own small flask of vodka to make your own Bloody Mary’s. I don’t like Bloody Mary’s so I decided to invent the “The Mango Bomb.” It was beautiful: a large glass, my entire flask of vodka, champagne and a splash of mango juice. No ice because water is for quitters. These Mango Bomb wonders were the beginning of the end for me personally. Ryan chimed in every now and then with some really random quotes such as “I am really enjoying this” and “Golleeeyyyy looks like I’ll be taking a poop at Gaspars.” Hours later he spilled his second and third drink. One on his phone and one on a plate of shellfish.

Oh yes how could I forget: within the 5 hours we spent at Booze Cruise Brunch, there was also food. Unbelievable food. I say unbelievable because I’m not quite sure exactly how great it was, but I know I thoroughly enjoyed myself. Jalapeño Cheese Grits, Lobster Claws, Snow Crab Legs, Oysters, Shrimp, Little Neck Clams, Lox, Sausage, Eggs, Potatoes, Hummus, Cheeses, Biscuits and Gravy, Bacon, Pasta Salad, Pastries, Bagels, Lunch Meats, Curry Chicken Salad, Fruit, Salads, Vegetables, Desserts and more.  I ate everything in sight with the exception of the fruit because just a few days ago an emperor scorpion was discovered in Ybor. It came from a Brazilian fruit shipment…or so they say.

We stayed at brunch so long that the table next to us actually turned over 3 times. The first round was a couple consisting of a very large woman and her husband whom I never looked at. She gave us her vodka before she left so it wouldn’t go to waste. Instead of bringing it up to the Bloody Mary bar we brought it straight to the bartender where he added fuel to the fire and turned it into 4 glorious shots which we all took straight to the face.

The second round of people who sat at the table next to us was a young couple. The girl was much hotter than the guy and they were extremely awkward; it was undoubtedly their first date. While Gaspar’s Booze Cruise Brunch may easily be mistaken for a ticket to the bedroom, what he probably failed to notice was the Jesus fish and cross tattoos on her ankle. Good luck with that one buddy.

The third round of people that showed up were friends of my roommate and the first words out of one of their mouths was “Hey Michelle, nice lips!” While everyone else found it funny, I wanted to die or make fun of his height. John-Paul went on to say “Michelle, you are like a fake diamond. So beautiful and attention grabbing until you get closer and realize you are missing three toenails and have a case of the herps.”   It didn’t end there. The word diamond sparked a conversation about diamonds and John-Paul wanted to know why Sean hadn’t asked him to marry him yet. Maybe because we’re in Florida and gay marriage is not recognized. I accidently let Ryan know that once I got my hopes up and thought he was proposing to me on our camping trip to Myakka River several months earlier, only to turn around and see him drunkenly on one knee tying his sneaker. I probably should have kept that to myself or stayed at home today.

My solution to any awkward moment is to find the closest bar so John-Paul and I went right back to the champagne/juice bar and started making our drinks a little bit stiffer. Why not? For some undetermined reason we started line dancing at the bar. There’s was a fat guy laughing at us but it’s uncertain if he was laughing at the line dancing or my damaged pout.

When we returned to the table we were greeted by the chef and then moments following we were greeted by Gaspar’s owner. Unbelievable. My first encounter with ones who make it possible for me to go on these chronicles each and every week and I can barely hold a conversation. This is truly a treat and will probably never happen again.

John-Paul made a comment about something smelling of lube and grits and at that point we all decided nothing past this moment would be included in the food blog. And so the story ends. I’m sorry but the rest is unrecorded history for legal and reputational issues. Gaspars, as always you get a triple A+.  You’re consistently fresh and full of pirate hookers, but when you add unlimited booze and food to your atmosphere, you become a truly irreplaceable venue.