I learned two things the other evening during dinner with the girlfriends that are worth noting.
#1 thing I learned:
It was reaffirmed that men of all stripes get a huge kick out of eating meat. Shocker right?
Most of you are probably saying, "DUUUHH Tammi. Like, I already knew that."
Give me a break. I lived 20+ years surrounded by vegetarians in my house. Imagine barbecues and beef stews replaced with Lentils and hummus AND trips to macrobiotic restaurants!
#2 thing I learned:
My oldest and dearest friend Tina has officially lost her marbles.
"WHATTT?" You say.
All will be explained later.
It was—as the locals say here in Beantown—"a Wicked Gawhgeous!" night as I made my way over to the eatery, Smith and Wollenskys, for some al fresco dinner with my close lady friends. We hadn't gotten together in many moons so the talk was vigorous.
Looking around the restaurant I couldn't help but notice packs of extremely good looking men impeccably dressed in lovely business suits and shiny shoes. S&W is one of the newish cool hangouts in the financial district so it's normal to see lots of up and coming businessmen there.
More importantly, they are renowned for their steaks and let's face it. Real men love meat. Not only meat, but meat in massively large hunks, charbroiled with huge bones attached. Meat that is barely contained by the edges of the plate. Hell— they don't even want a plate! But since it's a nice restaurant hygiene requires one.
I couldn't help but fantasize about these hunky meat eaters dressed in only their boxer briefs—those cute ones that Calvin Klien makes—grabbing their big hunks of meat. Drooling as they chomp down on the yummy, bloody goodness. Unintelligible grunts and groans of satisfaction escape from their mouths.
Ladies sit on the sidelines "Oohing" and "Awing" these manly meat eating homo sapiens. "Look at them go, they're so manly with their meat!"
Just as one of the hunkier ones, all shiny with his meat juices dripping down his face, makes eye contact with me I am pulled from my revery by my friend Tina.
"Tammi you're not listening to my story!"
I think to myself, "If you have a story that's better than that six pack baring, meat ripping man-baby at the next table taking me back to his man-cave for some primitive style you-know-what I'll listen. Otherwise Fah-ged aboud it!"
But Tina will not be deterred.
"I want to tell you about the stealth mission I'm going on tonight."
"OK. Let's hear it."
"I'm sneaking into strangers yards to spread Mom's ashes."
"Okayyy....?"
Tina goes on to explain that when Mom was sick she kept repeating, "I want to go home." Since Tina couldn't figure out which home Mom was referring too she decided to hit up all four homes the family had lived in. Some of Mom's ashes were bound to end up in the right spot. She'd be home at last.
So what are you wearing for this stealth operation?
Black of course and I have one of mom's sweatshirts with a dirty DIRTY martini on the front."
How do you know it's a dirty DIRTY martini and not a regular 'ole clean martini?"
Cause the shirt says, "I'm dirty DIRTY. Drink me."
I imagine my friend sneaking around Lexington in her mom's dirty DIRTY martini sweatshirt. Crawling through darkened yards and under blooming hydrangea bushes. The puffy blue flowers brush her cheeks as she pokes her way underneath, looking for the perfect spot for the drop.
"I want to get her as close to the house as possible."
She spreads cups of Mom under bushes and around foundations. Her hands shaking as she lovingly powders the earth, "Love ya Mom," she whispers. "You're home now."
All of a sudden glaring lights flash as bathrobe clad Lexontonians fly from their houses screaming frenetically about "home invasions" and "suspicious powders," leaving poor Tina cowering under a hydrangea bush, suspicious grey dust spread like a blanket on the ground all around her. Police and Hazmat units quickly descend on the scene. Flashing blue lights transform the night from quiet suburbia to crime scene. Yellow tape wraps the bushes, cordoning off the grey powder from hapless bystanders. The suspicious powder is examined and samples are taken.
Curious neighbors emerge from their homes.
"What's happening officer?"
"There's nothing to see here Ma'am. Go back to bed."
"Is that a martini sweat shirt she's wearing?"
"Dirty DIRTY martini ma'am. It's easy to confuse the two."
A very mixed-up Tina is carted off to Bridgwater State for psychiatric evaluation. She mumbles as she's led away, "I just wanted to take Mom home."
Fortunately for Tina, real life did not mimic fantasy.
Later that night I received a text.
Mission "Kay Scatter" Accomplished!
Four locations hit before midnight.
No arrests, no dogs, no neighborhood watch vigilantes, no shifting winds.
R.I.P.
So it was a good night for all. I learned some new things, the men got to eat their meat, I got to watch them eating their meat, and Mom got to go home. Tina didn't go to jail and the Lexontonians slept through the whole thing.
A round of dirty DIRTY martinis for everyone!
As Tina says, "Mom didn't screw around when it came to her martinis."
It was—as the locals say here in Beantown—"a Wicked Gawhgeous!" night as I made my way over to the eatery, Smith and Wollenskys, for some al fresco dinner with my close lady friends. We hadn't gotten together in many moons so the talk was vigorous.
Looking around the restaurant I couldn't help but notice packs of extremely good looking men impeccably dressed in lovely business suits and shiny shoes. S&W is one of the newish cool hangouts in the financial district so it's normal to see lots of up and coming businessmen there.
More importantly, they are renowned for their steaks and let's face it. Real men love meat. Not only meat, but meat in massively large hunks, charbroiled with huge bones attached. Meat that is barely contained by the edges of the plate. Hell— they don't even want a plate! But since it's a nice restaurant hygiene requires one.
 |
| Man-style Dabba Dabba Doo! |
I couldn't help but fantasize about these hunky meat eaters dressed in only their boxer briefs—those cute ones that Calvin Klien makes—grabbing their big hunks of meat. Drooling as they chomp down on the yummy, bloody goodness. Unintelligible grunts and groans of satisfaction escape from their mouths.
Ladies sit on the sidelines "Oohing" and "Awing" these manly meat eating homo sapiens. "Look at them go, they're so manly with their meat!"
Just as one of the hunkier ones, all shiny with his meat juices dripping down his face, makes eye contact with me I am pulled from my revery by my friend Tina.
"Tammi you're not listening to my story!"
I think to myself, "If you have a story that's better than that six pack baring, meat ripping man-baby at the next table taking me back to his man-cave for some primitive style you-know-what I'll listen. Otherwise Fah-ged aboud it!"
But Tina will not be deterred.
"I want to tell you about the stealth mission I'm going on tonight."
"OK. Let's hear it."
"I'm sneaking into strangers yards to spread Mom's ashes."
"Okayyy....?"
Tina goes on to explain that when Mom was sick she kept repeating, "I want to go home." Since Tina couldn't figure out which home Mom was referring too she decided to hit up all four homes the family had lived in. Some of Mom's ashes were bound to end up in the right spot. She'd be home at last.
So what are you wearing for this stealth operation?
Black of course and I have one of mom's sweatshirts with a dirty DIRTY martini on the front."
How do you know it's a dirty DIRTY martini and not a regular 'ole clean martini?"
Cause the shirt says, "I'm dirty DIRTY. Drink me."
I imagine my friend sneaking around Lexington in her mom's dirty DIRTY martini sweatshirt. Crawling through darkened yards and under blooming hydrangea bushes. The puffy blue flowers brush her cheeks as she pokes her way underneath, looking for the perfect spot for the drop.
"I want to get her as close to the house as possible."
She spreads cups of Mom under bushes and around foundations. Her hands shaking as she lovingly powders the earth, "Love ya Mom," she whispers. "You're home now."
All of a sudden glaring lights flash as bathrobe clad Lexontonians fly from their houses screaming frenetically about "home invasions" and "suspicious powders," leaving poor Tina cowering under a hydrangea bush, suspicious grey dust spread like a blanket on the ground all around her. Police and Hazmat units quickly descend on the scene. Flashing blue lights transform the night from quiet suburbia to crime scene. Yellow tape wraps the bushes, cordoning off the grey powder from hapless bystanders. The suspicious powder is examined and samples are taken.
"What's happening officer?"
"There's nothing to see here Ma'am. Go back to bed."
"Is that a martini sweat shirt she's wearing?"
"Dirty DIRTY martini ma'am. It's easy to confuse the two."
A very mixed-up Tina is carted off to Bridgwater State for psychiatric evaluation. She mumbles as she's led away, "I just wanted to take Mom home."
 |
| Mom Kay and devoted daughter Tina. |
Later that night I received a text.
Mission "Kay Scatter" Accomplished!
Four locations hit before midnight.
No arrests, no dogs, no neighborhood watch vigilantes, no shifting winds.
R.I.P.
So it was a good night for all. I learned some new things, the men got to eat their meat, I got to watch them eating their meat, and Mom got to go home. Tina didn't go to jail and the Lexontonians slept through the whole thing.
A round of dirty DIRTY martinis for everyone!
As Tina says, "Mom didn't screw around when it came to her martinis."
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