Archive for the ‘daily affirmations and observations’ Category
fresh market grand opening and i don’t know things
Since I’ve been waiting for the Fresh Market Grand Opening since the razing of Coconut Point, or the plaza formerly offering fried pickles, used golf equipment and plantation shutters, I didn’t bother to check on the actual hours this morning. I just assumed it opened when I got my latte and found a parking spot. So let’s just get out there that I’m pretty confident I crashed a private preview party. Worst-case scenario I whip out my press pass for this blog and they send me to the Sweetbay on MLK.
Perched just before the Martha Stewart Living Fall Edition display of pumpkins and Indian corn outside the entrance, I noticed a woman sporting a black pantsuit roasting like a rotisserie cornish game hen. Judging by the amount of senior citizens flocking around her table like they were at a free cholesterol screening, it was obvious she was giving something away. So I headed over to exchange my (fake Yahoo) email address for a free Fresh Market tote. Don’t be intimidated by the form you fill out because it has those little letter boxes. I can never fit my letters in those little effing boxes either. If it makes you feel any better, there are Jelly Beans in that tote.
Upon entering Fresh Market you will be greeted by a flower display that for the love of Charlie Crist contains no spray-painted carnations. Because it rivals most flower shops in St. Pete (especially those that sprinkle glitter on their roses. ew), it is completely acceptable to buy a bouquet even though you leave for Disney tomorrow and will not return until it is a pile of potpourri on your dining room table.
Then you’re off to the produce section which delightfully has no flies swirling around piles of bruised nectarines from Mexico. If you forgot your iPod (amateur – biggest shopping faux pas ever), I recommend the following solution for keeping employees from asking you 300 times if you need assistance:
Pantsuit-Wearing Fresh Market Employee: “Miss (okay, whatever, maybe he said Ma’am, I need Botox) – do you need help finding anything?”
Me: “Yes, bananas.” (now make sure you say this as you are putting the bananas in your cart; they will not bother you again.)
Then you’re off to determine whether or not the Fresh Market produce is nuclear or just on steroids. The honeycrisp apples would pass for shiny red Priuses in the parking lot, the Portabella mushroom caps could double as umbrellas, and the strawberries are so big they require diving boards above swimming pools of chocolate for dipping. I felt a bit like Alice after she shrank to fit through the keyhole. I couldn’t tell if I should be excited about asparagus that big or a little scared?
Past the produce section you’ll find the seafood counter where en croute Chilean seabass awaits you for $22.99 a pound. As my good friend Patty Melt suggests, “Don’t practice being poor until you have to, honey.” (Patty’s alimony runs out next month). So I filled my cart with coconut-crusted shrimp, lobster cakes (this is Fresh Market – crabcakes are so Publix) and pecan-crusted trout filets. I will eat none of this, but I do feel good about stimulating the economy.
I skipped right over the bakery because just glancing at the four-inch peak of frosting on the Halloween cupcakes caused my pancreas to pump out a painful amount of insulin. Likewise, I avoided the colorful melange of olives at the olive bar because I knew spending too much time there would cause my hair to smell like Falafel King. I passed by many foods I could not identify, which made me feel a longing to eat something other than oatmeal from Starbucks. I want to eat Lingonberries too! Or at the very least know what they are.
As I headed back to the refrigerator section comprised of enough yogurt to completely eradicate yeast infections, I noticed a unique feature which promises to keep Lucas Lightning Jackleg-Montalban a regular customer: the “Create Your Own 6-pack” display. He can then head over to the $3.99 a-pound ale nuts container and have his grocery shopping done for the week. Does Fresh Market stock toiletries? Natch. In fact, Mr. Jackleg-Montalban can now get away with a #7 (not showering after a night of Yuengling and bad judgment) by drinking Republic of Tea’s “Get Clean” tea (see below). And if he ever decides to woo (or roofie) women with wine not from a box, Fresh Market has a small, but respectable selection from which to choose. Sadly, no Caymus.
In summary, Fresh Market promises to make Publix look like an inner-city soup kitchen. The fact that they stock Alexia Julienne fries with seasalt is reason enough to go. Just remember your iPod.
How Fresh Market ensures you never bring your kids here
For when you were too drunk to shower (#7)
And perhaps the most compelling reason to shop here
Sadly, this does not work as a cupholder for your latte
I'm pretty sure at Sweetbay this is just "onion relish"
These paninis will make you feel like total white trash for waiting in the Publix sub line
Um, Fresh Market? I don't cook.
Where you'll find Lucas Lightning Jackleg-Montalban
why i’m not going to tonight’s game
Last Thursday, my $78 infield seats included a complimentary view of this:
So it made enjoying my hot pretzel a little more challenging than usual, and let’s face it, that’s the only reason I go to Rays games.
If you do plan on attending tonight’s game and don’t want to park in Tampa and helicopter in, you can park right in front of Ferg’s in the 2-hour spots for the cost of a $25 parking ticket and a small pile of vomit on the hood of your car. Okay, bargain on the parking ticket (Mr. Jackleg-Montalban paid the same amount for a parking violation-free spot much farther away). And as for the vomit. Um. Have you seen my car?
my new, all-natural diet aid and birth control plan
Because either I’m a masochist or a very good friend, I took Ainsley and Zeina’s two girls to Chuck E Sneeze yesterday. On a Saturday. Even though I wanted to scratch my eyes out with the Lollipop each girl won with 1,400 tickets, $50 and three hours of my miserable existence later, I was too afraid of the painful bacterial infection it was sure to inflict. So let me just apologize in advance if you plan to eat any time in the next 24 hours, but I feel compelled to post stealth iPhone pics of a few of my favorite patrons.
Because I still cannot unsee these, my plan is to not sacrifice my retinas in vain and instead go there every week equipped with my iPhone and no less than 300 individually packaged GermX towelettes. I will use the photographic evidence to either prove the existence of the Missing Link or to develop an all-natural appetite suppression and birth control regimen. And hopefully make enough money from this venture (combined with my Lone Shoe masterpiece) that I won’t have to resort to buying powdered laundry detergent on the three Fig Newtons I will be paid in alimony.
Just be glad these pictures are not scratch ‘n sniff.
confession: i don’t pump my own gas
Okay friends, I may have to find a new full-serve gas station. Because my car gets 5mpg, I’m in Bob Lee’s twice a week. The guys know me there (I tip them well). So this morning one of them asks if I could do him a favor. “Sure!” I say. What could it be? Pick him up some degreaser for his hands? Show a little more cleavage?
No such luck. He asks me if he can put a Bob Lee sticker on my car. Um. No. “Well, I only ask because you have school stickers on there.”
Okay, I realize that I may spend about as much on gas as I do on tuition, but I only put the Shorecrest stickers on there so my car can get keyed while I’m in South St Pete. Same reason I have a Gator license plate. I’m trying to get my car torched at a Florida State game so that I can get a new one.
Why not have a smoked fishspread sammy while you get that nail pulled out of your tire?
Bob Lee’s Deli Menu: http://www.bobleestire.com/LinkClick.aspx?fileticket=z9ViOxTN66o%3d&tabid=87
death and taxes
Someone much wiser than I said these are the only certainties in life. Um, that was Ben Franklin for those of you who mistakenly thought it was Yo Gabba Gabba. But I disagree. Partially because I believe in the afterlife and reincarnation (I’m coming back as a dolphin), but mostly because I’m a big proponent of offshore accounts in Nevis. So I’m challenging Ben with a few of my own certainties:
1. If I wear white; there is a 98% chance of rain.
2. I only receive neighborhood burglary alerts from the Tierra Verde homeowners association on the days I forget to set my house alarm.
3. I only get stuck at a drawbridge if I have to pee or have ice cream in my car.
4. You will never see more than one abandoned shoe. I have never in all my years seen a PAIR of shoes discarded on the side of the road. I call it the “The Law of the Lone Shoe.” It’s like gravity. Or rather the gravitational pull of Starbucks in the morning or Nordstrom Rack once I get my first alimony check. A good friend recently told me, “Of course there is only a single shoe. Why would anyone throw out a pair of shoes?” I love you, buddy, but under what circumstances would one feel the need to throw any shoe out the window of their El Camino while driving 80mph on Alligator Alley?
So the next time you see a lone Reebok perched on a fence post like a crown or a single tattered Nike strewn on the sidewalk, snap a picture and send it to me for the coffee table book I plan to publish. I’ll sell three copies (to my mom) and split the proceeds with you.
oprah’s pledge not to text and drive
Here’s my new pledge:
“I will only text and drive when I want to avoid a costly maintenance on my Land Rover.”
You see friends, this morning I was replying to an urgent text that may or may not have had to do with the tailgating (cocktail) menu for this Saturday’s Gator game when I semi drove my right tires up on a curb that appeared out of nowhere on 16th. I blame this minor mishap less on my texting and more on the fact that my car pulls so far to the right due to a much-needed alignment that if I let go of the steering wheel for a second I end up in the Atlantic Ocean. So after I realized “phew, no flat tire” and erased the shrill voice of my mother threatening to “tell Oprah” on me, I discovered that I knocked my car back into alignment. Now I can let go of my steering wheel (as I just did on the Interstate while writing this), and drive relatively straight. So I’m canceling that tire rotation and wheel alignment and writing Oprah to tell her about the benefits of texting and driving.
My Strawberry Effen Gatortails were REEdiculously yummy.
i only wear white when it rains 