Green jacket, London Jean. Tartan sundress, Frederick’s of Hollywood. Navy patent belt, The Limited. Navy patent sandals with big-ass heel, Forever 21.
Cincinnati is the furthest I’ve ever lived from the ocean. I miss it and I’ve been craving seafood lately. We went to Red Lobster tonight for my seaside fix.
Mike and I have “special” names for most of the places we visit. It started in Japan because we were just plain illiterate and had to make up some sort of name to refer to our favorite restaurants. The game continues stateside. Kroger is “Kroginator,” Applebee’s is “Appledonk's,” and Red Lobster is “Red Blobster.” That’s because if you eat too many of those Cheddar Bay Biscuits, you will become a Blob. (Which, incidentally, was one of my favorite movies growing up.) Pizza Hut is similarly renamed “Pizza Butt.”
While my meal tasted good (I opted for the non-blobby Roasted Tilapia in a Bag), I dreamt about vomiting all night and woke up ready to do so this morning. I don’t think I’ll be eating there again any time soon.
Before the nausea