Skip to main content

Dishing on Fish

Lord, help me. Not only am I overwhelmed by inactivity, I am also currently on a mission to try every restaurant I haven’t visited yet on the Vineyard. This is hard to accommodate without a steady job. But I’m no pushover. I’ll keep on eating.
The husband and I went out for sushi the other day. First of all, I can’t believe he finally tried it and second of all, he loved it. In fact, he preferred the plate of sashimi. The wonder of it all.
         This was at the Lookout Tavern, which of course looks out over the pier in Oak Bluffs. Seeing how the place was packed and there was a wait for the cool tables, we opted to sit at the sushi bar and watch the knives fly over all that raw fish.
         It was pretty awesome.
         It was even better when accompanied by rum punch and the “happiness is…” margarita.
         While we were dining, my better half, as he has been known to do, decided to engage in conversation with any and all of the sushi chefs who could speak English.
         I found out that all of the sushi fish that they use comes from . . . you guessed it . . . New York City, just like the salsa in that inane commercial.
         This was hard to take for a girl who prides herself on eating scallops that come fresh from the next town over. Apparently New York is even the go-to for seafood.
         Anyway, this was a sort of date because my son Dan is off to summer camp. That means two weeks of solid “woo-hoos” interspersed with “What the hell? Danny’s gone. What are we going to do?”
         I’m always conflicted at camp time. On one hand I want to fly to Vegas and see male strippers or at least the Cirque du Soleil. On the other hand I want to stay home and snuggle up with my husband in the air conditioning while watching ridiculous Netflix movies. What’s a girl to do?
         This time it’s been pretty darn sweet. We’ve managed to spend some great time together doing absolutely nothing, with a little sushi on the side.
         I haven’t yet gone to my go-to activities: Nairing my legs and painting my toenails. But they’re on my list.
         A camp vacation wouldn’t be complete without a couple of issues of People magazine, a brownie sundae from DQ, and a big bag of plantain chips.
         This all leaves me wondering what Dan’s doing during his break from me. I wonder if he’s just having a really chill time without me climbing up his ass. Probably. Who wouldn’t?
         I should go now. I want to grab my husband from his workshop so he can warm up the couch, and Netflix has decided to work tonight.

        Like the seafood, you can’t count on the Internet connections here. Better grab the good times while you can I always say. 

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

He sells sea shells, I wish

   So now rather than being obsessed with fake fingernails I can’t afford, I’m becoming obsessed with checking this blog. I’m pretty sure all 52 views were made by either me or my husband.   That leads me right into the current situation at hand. We need friends. We’re desperate for them. I’ve started handing out my telephone number to people I meet while doing my meager freelance work. They think it’s for the story I’m writing but really it’s in hope that someday they’ll find a reason to call and then I can hit them with, “By the way, do you play cards? Bingo? Gin Rummy?” If I wasn’t so arthritic I’d throw Twister in there.    It’s not so much for me, it’s my husband who likes to have people around. I have become hermit-like since moving here while he has become convinced we could die here and not be found for months. He had friends back in Syracuse but he chose to stay home at night with his loving wife. Now all of a sudden I get the impression he’d hightail it out of here a

Splitting Hairs

    I’m pretty sure I’ve mentioned my hair a few times. I think we need to delve into it a bit further. You see, when it takes a $200 trip off-Island to get a haircut, or new underpants for that matter, you take a haircut seriously. Besides, when you’ve got the broad shoulders and the wide hips, you rely on your hair as a sort of aphrodisiac, if you know what I mean.                 I’ve been thinking about a haircut for about 8 months now. Did I mention life chugs along pretty slowly around these parts, giving me plenty of time for watching paint dry or the grass grow? Anyhow, I came to the decision that I should go ahead and do it even though more than one woman here told me she left her last appointment at the hair salon in tears. Hey, it takes more than a crappy haircut for me to turn on the waterworks. And naturally I consider tears over a haircut pretty much wasted. There are so many other crappy things to cry over, so I try to save my tears for things that have a heartbea

Life of the Party

   So I picked out my funeral music years ago. It features Steppenwolf in the forefront. I'm pretty sure I can think of some Syracuse priests who would bend a couple of rules and blast some Magic Carpet Ride for me. Believe me, they've done worse. That's why I love them. Anywho, I do spend more than a little time thinking about how I'd like my "after party" to play out. I'm nothing if not morbid. These things are important to me.    First of all, I want a kegger. Absofuckinglutely. And I want there to be all manner of food just like I like it. Huge portions, bottomless red plastic cups. You get the picture. The music is key and must include Steppenwolf, a fantastic Motown medley, Mony Mony, maybe a Monkees song, a little Led Zeppelin and definitely some Levon Helm. And if there's time left and people are feeling sappy, a couple of Van Morrison songs. I'm thinking as I write this that I want to go to this party. Jeez.    And you know I'll be t