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- Lisa on Sorry Mom, You Suck at Cooking
- Rachamn Benhava on Brocato’s and Join Chickens, Like Your Aunt Nina Probably Had
- admin on Week 47: No Brunch: Just Some Vows, Goat Cheese Balls, and Neil Diamond.
- admin on Get your Happy Ending at The Wharf
Week 21: The Village Rehab
May 13, 2011
It’s said that the volatility of your innate short temper is exacerbated by the aftermath of your abuse of illicit drugs. Fair enough. But what if we weren’t doing drugs? I sit here wondering why Ryan is in such a piss poor mood on this sunny and promising morning in St. Petersburg, Florida. Most people like to avoid others when they are in a bad mood or indirectly targeting their frustrations, but I wouldn’t miss it for the world. I love his unyielding tone.
Recently his shaved head and manly beard have me fantasizing that I’m dating Kevin Youkilis. Ryan is much better looking than Youk, but I can’t help making the connection. There are some striking similarities between the two. They both have young brunette girlfriends, they both have beards and shaved heads, and they are both known for their ability to get on first base, even if it takes a walk to get there. Youk was actually called “roly-poly” by his high school baseball coach and even called “fat kid” by general manager Billy Beane, and that alone makes him fabulous. I’ve tried writing Youk letters about my relevant inner struggles with being called a “meatball” and my ability to overcome the banter and turn into a bitch-talking bombshell, but he never replies.
Ok, I’ve never done that. And the bombshell days were actually short-lived. They went away as quick as they came. Today I am missing 3 toenails and have hair that keeps turning a hideous shade of brown despite dying it black time and time again. Oh and I am feeling the wrath of those evil high school tanning beds you deem necessary at 17. You know what they say though, love is blind. Ryan clearly loves me for my warm hearted soul.
Oh yes, Ryan, back to Ryan. We’re in the car and he’s in an awful mood. As we approach the toll booth we realize we only have 3 pennies in the car. Ryan’s wallet is in the trunk, so he puts the car in park in the middle of the toll plaza and proceeds to get out of the car. The toll man is screaming “SIR YOU CAN’T GET OUT OF YOUR CAR. SIR! SIR!” Ryan plays deaf and continues to pop the trunk. The guy screams like a broken record until Ryan literally tosses a dollar at him without saying a word. As we drive off I look at him with a smirk and don’t say a word. Ryan flips out: “WHAT? I’m hungry and that man had no business telling me to stay in my car if he wanted his 50 cents. He was contradicting himself- GIVE ME 50 CENTS. STAY IN YOUR CAR WHERE THERE IS NO MONEY AT ALL. He is not the law Michelle.” I try to hold back laughter but I can’t. He’s just so funny when he’s mad.
I consider this a fair warning that Ryan’s on a mission for food and suggest that we pull in to the first place we see. Within seconds, he immediately bangs a right into Village Inn. I immediately regret suggesting this and know right away that our first turn was a mistake …However, I’m too afraid to tell him that we may have to try a second place. I’ve been here before in the wee morning hours to chase some Popov with pancakes, and even then I thought they were disgusting.
We enter and Ryan stares at the huge pies in the glass display. I hold my breath hoping he doesn’t want one and just in time a hideous hostess comes over to seat us. It takes Ryan a total of about 5 minutes before he realizes that we are in a dive. The customers are quite disgusting and so is the staff—they sure are nice though and I hear that inner beauty really makes a person.
I’m staring directly at an old man who thinks it’s appropriate to pick his nose here. His wife talks to him as if nothing is wrong. A waitress walks by with a mole on her face that could easily be mistaken for a raisin if there were not hairs growing out of it. Whatever. Raisins are cool. They include relief from constipation, fever and sexual weakness, but something tells me this waitress offers none of the above.
I am fortunate that Ryan has his back to all of this, including another old man who is now staring at me. I let one stinkin’ areola slip while adjusting my bathing suit and all of a sudden the geezer is glued. I let Ryan know that once again I mistakenly thought I was being proposed to last night between the amazing concert, the beautiful hotel, and the intoxication that caused me to chest-bump a stranger the size of an adult Augustus Gloop. Ryan had no intentions of anything of the sort and let me know that I ruined his morning and I’m responsible for him being in such a bad mood. He said he envisioned a great morning together following a great night and my lack of interest in running together combined with the dehydration that made going to a street fair seem unbearable “simply ruined his day.”
I know what he needs: a cheeseburger. A big fat cheeseburger. Ryan orders a double cheeseburger and it comes with bacon, cheese, and an onion ring on top. He gets fries on the side. I get the Santa Fe Breakfast Burrito which comes with sausage, egg, black beans, potatoes, tomatoes, onions, melted cheeses, sour cream, salsa, jalapenos and pork green chili.
A woman with a spiked mullet walks by and Ryan says “Michelle we are in the shittiest establishment on St Pete Beach. I don’t know why anyone would ever choose to come here.” No shit Sherlock. So I’ve made a mistake…but I refuse to accept responsibility and change the topic. Our food arrives shortly after and thank the burger lord that Ryan’s burger is delicious. My burrito tastes like a frozen $0.99 gas station burrito that was not fully thawed based on the frozen potatoes I kept finding within it. It is disgusting but I’m starving and as long as Ryan’s happy I know the day ahead is much more promising.
Ryan enjoyed his entire burger in silence and once we were done eating we had a fast jog towards the exit. Ohh poor poor Village Inn: In your defense I should have never walked in your doors. I knew you were bad to begin with…. But eating in your establishment is similar to eating in a bus shelter of downtown St. Pete without any alcohol. Being forced into accepting the reality of it all is quite depressing.
As we leave, Ryan blurts our “NOW I KNOW WHY PEOPLE GO TO VILLAGE INN!!” Why Ryan? “FREE PIE ON WEDNESDAYs!” Today is not Wednesday. Why are they here today? “THEY’VE ALL BEEN FOOLED!”