- The Southern Buffet of the Arroyo Wedding on Week 40: Saluting, Swinging, and Santa Fe, Baby.
- 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 33: Catchin’ the Spirit!
August 9, 2011
As I sit in a tastefully decorated wooden pew, eating macaroni and cheese, I anxiously await the arrival of Mr. Jesus. Ryan and I are in the final stretch of a weekend getaway to Whorelando and the trip has been nothing short of fantastic. It is amazing what you can experience in just 48 hours after being removed from the Tampa bubble. Living in Ybor, I am prone to ass clowns. But marching ducks, a winning scratch ticket, bourbon-infused sweet tea vodka, mimosas and now a Sunday gospel brunch…. Have I died and gone to heaven?
The whites are low in attendance today, but black and white alike are uniting today, in one bible thumping concert hall, under God. I’m not going to be personally uniting with anyone because I’m in my own private pew on the second floor balcony, overlooking Jesus’ dance party downstairs.
Let me try and describe this. House of Blues, Orlando. A concert hall/temple of sorts. A stage surrounded by white-clothed tables, a second floor with a balcony and pews. God’s children everywhere, catchin’ the spirit. One woman caught the spirit so hard she found it necessary to wear an all white body suit and dance in a one woman exorcism party of some sort. No really…watch the video clip below.
Ryan keeps finding it funny to dance and clap uncontrollably and the sad part is, he actually fits in. This experience is 100% preposterous. I keep taking pictures with my phone and sending them to my circle of unholy friends and the only replies I receive back are “what’s wrong with you,” “you’re an idiot,” and “where the hell are you, Sister Act?”
Our backdrop is an endless buffet that I can’t get enough of. This beats Holy Communion fo’ sho’. Bread crumb topped mac n’ cheese, fish sticks, eggs, sausage, bacon, collard greens, bbq chicken, jambalaya, potato salad, biscuits and gravy, waffles, strawberries, creamy broccoli salad with crispy bacon, cocktail shrimp and remoulade, a carving station with prime rib and ham and a dessert station pies, cobblers and bread puddin’ with whiskey cream sauce. I broke up my bacon and mixed it into the macaroni and cheese like a real fat ass. It was to die for. Ryan inhaled 4 full plates of food.
Surely this is not serious. But as I look around the room I realize this is fact serious. I can pregame the apostle’s show with mimosas, practice gluttony, and party with a bunch of black people…. And get away with it. Praise the lord! Earlier this morning we watched a bunch of live ducks make a red carpet grand entrance into the Peabody Hotel lobby, led by a marching “Duck Master” (named Donald) and I thought that was strange—not anymore.