- 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 36: Two Lonely Housewives
September 23, 2011
Our boyfriends are out of town and John-Paul and I are left wondering what to do with our Sunday. Thankfully with work on Monday, we can’t get into too much trouble. The past year or so has been spent double dating and whenever John-Paul and I get the opportunity to be alone together, it’s remotely dangerous.
I woke up sad for the first time this morning. With Ryan in North Carolina the majority of the week, I finally realized why he’s important to have around: to eat with. I’ve been busy remodeling my bedroom all weekend and the only time I stopped was to occasionally text Ryan and then to attend Friday night’s shitshow with some of the Ybor rats. Actually, the majority of Saturday was spent lying face down on my new bedroom carpet due to Friday’s activities. But, I was back to Extreme Home Makeover, Meatball Edition, by late afternoon.
With John-Paul out partying until 5:30 AM, I started to consider my options for dining alone. I was shocked when he returned my call at 11AM, as all bets were against him actually being awake. Eating alone is a very great fear of mine, alongside my fear of full grown men in overalls and dry rocks. I don’t really want to get into detail with the dry rocks, but if you’ve ever been at the beach with dry bare feet, and stepped on a dry rock, you know what I’m talking about. Oh and the word “moist.” That word is also a fear of mine. I cringe when people say it.
Daytime in Ybor is so nice. Aside from the bums that grace the cobblestoned roads, you can really breathe in the unique culture and architecture. As John-Paul and I cross the street, our conversation is interrupted by our observation that a sixth church has opened in the neighborhood. I have no idea why people think we need such saving. “Oh wow, just what we need, another church in Ybor,” I say to John-Paul, only to be bombarded seconds later by a stranger “HEY, what did you just say?” As I struggled for a response, the man attempted luring us in with some reference to Jesus and something about Sunday football, as if I’m interested and as if John-Paul’s a real man’s man.
Upon escaping religion, and arriving at La Creparia Ybor, John-Paul and I begin raping the menu. This is a real date and I’m the man. I have to pay for John-Paul because he spent his disposable income on a few worthless things this week such as cat food, Nair and 8 or 9 HBO movies.
I’m craving not one, but two iced coffees. Something about iced coffee (or any kind of coffee) makes me feel skinny. We go on to order the Jambalaya Crepe and the La Creparia Special. I add an egg to La Creparia’s Special to transform it into a breakfast crepe. John-Paul and I discuss weight, diet, blogging, cats, the future, and the hideous curly Mohawk attached to the head of the metro beside us. Just two single girls hitting up the town and enjoying a gossipy brunch together.
When our food came, we dove in. Savory sex of the mouth. La Creparia has created dozens upon dozens of delicious alternatives to your “ordinary crepes.” They’ll put anything in a damn crepe and I think it’s fantastic. From savory to sweet, from fulfilling to treats (Hey, I should do their advertising), they’ve got it all.
When your boyfriend’s out of town, and all you’ve got is $30 and a gay best friend, visit La Creparia. You won’t be able to drink booze, but you will be able to drink what I consider the best iced coffee in all of Tampa Bay and maybe even the United States. They have booze, you just won’t be able to afford it if you only have $30 (I included a generous tip in that). Skip the tip, you’re golden. But I don’t recommend that. Oh yes and their crepes are pretty frigan fantastic as well.