Meat Heaven

I did not want to go out tonight. I did not want to go out because I have meetings in the morning and another grueling day of writing ahead of me before I am picked up in a panga on Sunday and taken away for two days of absolute luxury in disgustingly luxorious hotels. Instead of going out drinking and carousing with my friends, I went to dinner alone in the marina.

I like the marina because I like boats. I like to look at the sailboats and yachts, the water glittering from the lights and I like to people watch. Before I decided on which restaurant to go to, I walked the length of the marina for exercise and to view the different menus.

One of the terrible things about where I live is that the horrible proliferation of timeshare salespeople makes one jaded and untrusting, even more so than before. Whenever someone talks to me, I instantly distrust them. I was never a very social or friendly person before I moved here and now I’m even more hostile. So as I was walking, a rotund man shouted at me, “excuse me miss, can I ask you a question?”

This stopped me for a moment (not literally of course, I kept walking, edging closer to the water and farther from the source of my discomfort). Again he asked, as I narrowed my eyes at him, “can I ask you a question?” I nodded.

“what’s it like being so beatiful?”

My response was instananeous. I snorted. I snorted a long, heaving snort of absolute disgust. That line cannot possibly work on people. If I thought he might have been geniune for even a moment, I would have graciously thanked him for the compliment but living here, I’ve heard it all. The obese black woman who dresses herself in hefty bags in downtown San Francisco would have gotten the same line. I felt like I needed to take a shower.

In the end, I settled for a very chi-chi restaurant that had the most tempting menu. I settled on the peach-pistachio green salad with champagne vinegarette and the boneless spare rib with polenta in a red wine reduction. The salad was okay – the best part was that it came stacked in a square tower and the server accidently toppled it prematurely and he apologized. The spare rib… well, that spare rib was something else. That was the kind of spare rib you take home to meet your parents. It was the kind of spare rib that would like cheat off your chem test. I ate the entire thing with a fork and I could have eaten it with a spoon, it was so succulent and tender.

So I sat at my table in the fishbowl restaurant, watching the people walk along the marina boardwalk. I admired the yachts and watched the fireworks from the pirate ship (yes, we have a real pirate ship and it sets off fireworks every single night) and in this beautiful restaurant with this amazing food and perhaps one or two stiff, stiff drinks, and I thought about what my mortal enemies were doing at that very moment. If you’ve ever seen the Grinch, you can probably picture the smile that crept across my face until I was a grinning idiot. Yes, my mortal enemies are all freezing their asses off in their drafty hovels while I dine on what could have been the spare rib of an angel in the pretty, pretty marina. I cannot express how much joy that gave me, seeing as I am a small and petty person, you can imagine a great deal of joy.

That is why, my darlings, this blog is called what it is.

I have some cow pictures for you that I will post tomorrow. Now I am going to kill super mutants with rocket launchers.