The Honeymoon- Part Whatever Thursday Was- Jeremy

Thursday found us waking up early to catch a bus to Calabash, North Carolina. Calabash is a small town in the Wilmington metro area that prides itself as the “Seafood Capital of the World,” because they have a lot of fried seafood buffet restaurants that we were warned about eating in. But, they have a pretty cool tour running. We boarded a small boat that followed closely behind a shrimping vessel. As the shrimping nets were lowered, a huge gaggle or school or pride or herd or whatever of dolphins started leaping out of the water, trying to score shrimp that slipped through the nets. It’s kind of like if there was a Jeremy sight-seeing tour, they would get a truck filled with Girl Scout cookies (mainly Samoas), and drive slowly, tossing a box or two in my direction. Then I’d jog… or, more likely, walk…. I don’t jog… after the truck, hoping to get more cookies. I like cookies.

We were pulling out of the dock when the radio station decided to play “My Heart Will Go On” by Celine Dion. As Jess pointed out, that’s probably in the top three songs that you don’t want to hear as you’re about to sail into the Atlantic. (It’s also, coincidentally, in my top three songs that I never want to hear. Ever. Seafaring or not.) Luckily, we didn’t hit any icebergs. Or Chris DeBurghs. Or ladies in red.

We got back to the resort in plenty of time to do absolutely nothing, and then we went out for a while.

Jess wanted to go to a piano bar called Crocodile Rock.

It was a good time. Sort of.

Piano bars have their good side and the not so good side.

The good — there are four really talented musicians that play just about any song that you want to hear on the piano.

And they sell beer there.

The down side — I heard “Brown Eyed Girl” by Van Morrison three different times, because three different people requested it played.

And, we were only in there for an hour or so.

It reminded me of this time when I was younger, and my sister and I put about two or three dollars in the jukebox, and played Milli Vanilli’s “Girl You Know It’s True” twelve or fifteen times. In a row. People hated us. We were only having fun.


Jessica’s Response to- The Honeymoon, Part IV

Rioz , the restaurant we went to, is a Brazilian churrascaria. I’m not sure what the exact Portuguese to English translation of the word is, but I’m pretty sure it’s something along the lines of “the most delicious food you’ve ever eaten, served to you in excess by Gauchos that tend to your every need.” I love food, and I certainly love Gauchos, so this place was a wet dream for me.

You’d have to eat there to know what kind of experience this place is, but everything about it was perfect. The setting, the service, the food, the awesome Caipirinha that was made in front of me by the traveling bartender, the Mango cream dessert. If we had a churrascaria in Delaware I would not only weigh 800 pounds, but I would be broke. The restaurant was by far our most expensive night out, but it was worth every penny. They had Hearts of Palm and scallops on their SALAD BAR! Gah!

Onward to the “reprimand” that I gave Jeremy in the restaurant. I understand that my dear husband adds a little flair into his tales for dramatic effect, but I’m kind of surprised that he chose to dedicate most of this recollection to me shushing him. I’m also surprised that he referred to my early evening excursion at Broadway at the Beach as “shopping,” because although I did technically buy things, they were all souvenir type items for our family members. ‘Cause, you know. SOMEONE had to do that.

He’d like you to think that I left him all alone, crying in his beer, on our honeymoon, while I emptied our bank account on shoes and pedicures. In reality, I was gone about a half hour, and I froze my ass off the entire time in a sleeveless top, capris, and flip flops when it was about 62 degrees outside. And I had to pee the entire time. That Caipirinha ran right through me!

Jeremy did get a little too excited over the game. Excited is good, and I was happy as well, but we were sitting at the bar at a very kvetched, family-oriented restaurant, and there were people all around us eating conch fritters and key lime pie, all of whom looked at him in gaped mouth disbelief when he screamed, and he did scream. So I thought I would gently remind him that we weren’t in a sports bar. Apparently, this was a huge deal, because not only did he write this post about it, but I overheard him telling his father about it on the phone as they were discussing game results.

It’s funny that he should remember a little “shush” in such great detail, and yet he still cannot remember when I ask him to vacuum the living room or clean his toothpaste out of the sink after brushing! Very suspicious.

Jeremy Writes- The Honeymoon Part IV

Several days had come and gone, and I was yet to be reprimanded for anything.

And, then, it was Wednesday.

The day started lazily — and reproach – free — enough. I believe we went to the pool and read and slept and swam, and were so exhausted from doing nothing that we needed to refuel.

The place’s name is Rioz, and it dances on the sand.

Well, not really on the sand… about six blocks from the beach. And, it didn’t dance, either. It just… kind of stays in one place…. as a Brazillian Steakhouse is inclined to do.

And, in we went.

40 dollars each may sound like a hefty price for a buffet.

But…. damn.

The salad bar was ginormous, and included mussels and sushi and some incredible salads.

And, then, on the table, was a little cardboard circle. On one side, red. The other, green.

We flipped the coin to the green position.

Suddenly, our table was swarmed by Brazillian men the way a turd is quickly surrounded by horseflies

“Parmesan-encrusted pork?” asks the first guy.

“Slow roasted chicken sausage?” asks a second.

“Garlic steak?” a third.

And so on.

11 different guys visit the table within seconds, heaping our plates with the best tasting meat we’ve encountered…. definitely on the trip… perhaps ever.

And what better way to burn off 7,000 calories than to go to a bar and down a bunch of beer while watching the Stanley Cup playoffs?

Jess and I waddled across the street to Jimmy Buffet’s Margaritaville, where the large TV in the center of the bar was broadcasting the Flyers and Canadiens matchup.

Jess went shopping and left me on a bar stool, eyes glued to the television, hand around Yuengling number three.

When she came back, the Flyers had a two goal lead.

She ordered a beer.

And, halfway through that beer, the Canadiens had scored twice. About a minute apart. Tie game. With less than 6 minutes left.

And then, Daniel Briere snuck one past Huet.

“YEEEEEEEAAAAAAAHHHHH!!,” I screamed, forgetting that I was not exactly in a sports bar, and that Southern Parrotheads aren’t nearly as excited to see the Flyers win as I am.

“Shhhhhhhh!” came from Jess, who glanced around nervously to make sure I hadn’t made anyone choke on their coconut prawns with my sudden (and, admittedly, loud) outburst.

So, it wasn’t a scolding, really. If she had a rolled up newspaper, she may have swatted my nose with it and said, “No! No yelling! That’s a BAD JEREMY! No Cheeseburger in Paradise for you!” and that would have been the end of it.

So, more conscious of my surroundings, I silently celebrated as Mike Knuble tapped one into an empty net, and Jess and I, drunk and happy and full of garlic steak, retreated back to the room.

To watch television, or something.

Wow, we’re lame.

More to follow….

Jessica’s Response to- The Honeymoon, Part III

I don’t think that today’s response will really be a proper post, because I am in the middle of making egg salad so that Jeremy will have something to eat when he comes home from work (yeah, don’t you wish I was YOUR wife? In my defense, I went straight to my Mom and Dad’s house after work to visit with them since they’d been at their Florida house since a day or two after the wedding and ate there…) and preparing the house for the arrival of our new puppy, Winston! But, more on our new addition later.

I honestly didn’t think about our anniversary being so close to Jeremy’s birthday until after we’d set the date. I know, I’m a horrible wife. I make my husband eat egg salad sandwiches for dinner, and I forget his birthday. Seriously though, April ended up being a good time. We were engaged in February of 2007, and Jeremy’s sister was married that October. We didn’t want to have our wedding too close to her date and steal any thunder, so that put us into 2008. January, February, and March are too iffy as far as weather goes, and so April it was. His birthday did sort of end up getting lost in the hoopla of the honeymoon, but I think we still had a pretty good day. For one thing, I was able to buy him a “Happy Birthday to my Husband!” card. How awesome is that?

And, of course, we swam with the stingrays. And sharks.

Okay, I actually took that picture of sharks in another tank, the sharks we swam with weren’t that big. Or teethy. But they were a good three to four feet long, and I watch way too much of the Discovery channel not to worry about those bad boys, which I suppose is why I didn’t notice the aquarium worker eating a fish filet. I was too worried about having my arms gnawed off.

In the tank were dozens of rays, from Cow-nose (my favorite, they were so curious and social, and they kissed our fingers and toes as well as nuzzled up against us) to Spotted Eagle Rays. Also in attendance were some Bonnet sharks that look like mini Hammerheads, another species that I don’t remember that will eventually be eleven feet long and was being housed there temporarily, and some sand sharks. There was also a fugly looking Port Jackson Shark which looks like a half ray/half shark hybrid.

Since I was the first one in, I scurried down the rocks and watched our guide lead Jeremy, clad in a nut-hugging wet suit, into the tank and out of the corner of my eye one of the Bonnet sharks appeared and swam right to me. They’re completely harmless, but they resemble Hammerhead sharks so much that my breath still caught in my chest a bit.

And now, on to Medieval Times. God, that word is awkward to spell. Yes, it was a festival of cheese, but we had FRONT ROW SEATS to that bad boy! I did get a carnation from our knight, which I believe marks the second time in the past three years that a man has gotten me flowers. The other time was the night Jeremy proposed. Not like I NEED or WANT flowers, or anything. At all. Seriously. Stop looking at me like that.

For the record, Jeremy did indeed take his souvenir banner home to use as a straw, along with his 3-D hologram Medieval Times beer cup. The cup is tucked far away in one of our kitchen cabinets. The banner/straw got thrown away days ago after being left in my car since April 29th. My bad!

Jeremy Writes- The Honeymoon, Part III

I have my suspicions that Jess set our wedding date when she did so that I wouldn’t be able to forget an anniversary.

Next year I’ll think… “Oooh! My birthday’s coming up! Oooh, my anniversary’s coming up, too!”

I hit the big 3-1 on Tuesday. And felt every bit older.

My neck was really sore.

I pin the blame on this book I was reading.

It was a good book, and so I continued reading it…and reading it…and eyes heavy….and reading it…. until Jess found me the next morning on the loveseat, the book on the floor beside me.

And the loveseat had these crazy high armrests, so my neck was bent at near a 90 degree angle for most of the night.


We went out for breakfast. I ordered a Philly steak omelette. On the menu it said Philly steak, mushrooms, peppers, and Swiss cheese. Swiss cheese? Who puts Swiss cheese on a Philly steak? That’s the way they do it down South, I guess. I substituted cheddar. It wasn’t authentic, but it was much closer than Swiss would have been.

Jess had planned something special for the day. Involving stingrays.

No, no…. not THAT.

We went swimming with them.

I was a little apprehensive. Steve Irwin swam with the rays, too. And, crikey!

We were picked up at the hotel by Mindy and Ray. The guy’s name was actually Ray. I think it would have been cooler if the girl’s name was Amanda. You know…. Amanda Ray? A manta ray? You… no? Well…. I thought it would have been cool.

So, we arrive at the Ripley’s Aquarium, and Mindy Ray take us to a table in the cafeteria to give us instructions and tell us some sting ray factoids and what have you. Several tables over, an employee is eating lunch. I believe it was a fish filet sandwich. And I thought that was a horribly mean thing to eat in an aquarium. Maybe it was a slow learner. The other fish, I’m guessing, could see him eating their fallen comrade. Then again, what would the fish think? “Look at that guy! He’s eating one of us! Th…. oh, hey, coral!”

Jess and I put on wet suits. And, thank God for small favors… I’m really glad I don’t have a rubber fetish. Because those wet suits left nothing to the imagination. Ray is one of only a handful of people who now knows which of my testicles hang lower than the other.

We slip into frigid water and kneel as Ray holds out pieces of raw squid. One by one, the sting rays come over and eat, and we get to pet them. They feel really odd, like rosary beads encased in jello.

Then, it was off to Medieval Times, a dinner theater where knights joust while we eat.

If it weren’t for the glowing red Exit signs and the holograms projected on the ground, I would have actually thought I was magically whisked away to… to Medieval Times.

It was cheesy as all hell, but fun.

We cheered on the black and white knight. He lost in the first round.

Before he “died” he gave Jess a carnation. Just handed it to her. And, I wanted to say “Hey, back off, F**k-o, we just got married.”

But, I didn’t.

And then he “died.”

Serves him right, the home wrecker.

I also discovered (at the end of the night, unfortunately) that the chintzy souvenir flags they give you can be used as a straw.


More later!

Jessica’s Response to The Honeymoon Part II

So, as you can see, it was pretty ugly on Monday. You may also notice that the picture posted above was taken at the resort’s pool, which we lounged around for a couple of hours. And by lounged around, I actually mean swam in. Yes, during the thunderstorm warning. This was my honeymoon, bitches! It’s going to take some actual lightning and/or a cyclone to keep me from floating down the lazy river sipping on a pina colada! Those clouds ain’t nothing!

The rain held off not only during our time at the pool, but during mini-golf as well. One thing Jeremy neglected to mention is that I started our golf escapade off with a hole in one on the very first hole. Yeah, that’s right. Of course, the next 17 holes were filled with nothing but heartache, and I ended up losing by ten points, but I am savoring that fluke of a moment for as long as possible. Here is a little taste of my victory:

And, for balance, here is a pic of Jeremy, making the quintessential Jeremy Face as he kicked my ass in the Pirate Cave, or whatever that thing was called:

Not much else really happened on Monday, now that I think about it. We ate some good seafood at Captain George’s and experienced what would be the first of many timeshare sales pitches. It seems like everywhere you go in Myrtle Beach, someone is trying to get you to come to a timeshare sales presentation. It starts out innocently enough. You’re leaving a restaurant and a nice, clean-cut young man will nonchalantly make a comment about the weather or the food, and trying to be hospitable you’ll comment back, and then they have you in their death trap.

Where are you from? He’ll ask. Delaware, you’ll reply. Oh, really? I have a cousin who went to the U of D, he’ll comment back. Say, are you guys in town for a couple of days? Are you planning on seeing any shows? Visting any museums? Going out to eat?

Of course you’ll have to answer yes to one of these questions, but if you didn’t he’d probably come up with something else. Planning on buying gas? Sleeping? Walking? Peeing?

Then he’ll offer you something fantastic, like free tickets to a show, a free dinner or two, or sometimes even just cash. The catch is, they want you to stop by one of their 8473274234341 local timeshare resorts for a “60-90 minute” presentation where a group of salespeople will try to get you to buy into the resort. You get all the comps after you complete the presentation.

We have no intention of buying a timeshare, since we already have one mortgage and are trying to overhaul this place little by little, but these salespeople don’t want to hear you say no. I’m suspecting that they get paid based on how many seats they fill, and they are relentless. A polite “no thanks” isn’t enough- they only up the ante. Lying and saying you’re leaving the next day, already own a timeshare somewhere else, or can’t afford to own there doesn’t work either, because they have comebacks for everything.

I don’t know if it was Jeremy’s Phillies hat or my pasty skin that tipped them off that we weren’t locals, but we were big targets for these salesmen, to the point that it was incredibly annoying to walk down the street in the main part of town. Eventually we learned to spot these guys from a mile away, and also learned that “Visitor’s Center” is not a really a resource for out-of-towners staffed by a friendly old lady who wants to draw you maps to her favorite restaurant, but actually just a place for a bunch of timeshare salesmen to hand out around brochures of places they can give you discounts to go to if you come take the tour of their property while giving their spiel.

Although it’s in Mr. Nice Guy’s nature to be exceedingly friendly, I eventually had to grow balls of steel when I heard “Hey guys, where are you from?” and just say “Not interested, thanks!” and keep walking. Like I said, this is my honeymoon, bitches! Take your pushy salespitch and go stand in a thunderstorm with it.

The Honeymoon- Part II, according to Jeremy

We awoke Monday morning at a Sheraton in Myrtle Beach.

The resort gave us a list of weekly activities upon our arrival.

We were able to look at the itinerary for a good few seconds on Sunday night prior to passing out, the print embedded on our faces like a Mary Worth cartoon in silly putty. Not that anyone ever reads Mary Worth. But, it seems a popular putty cartoon. That and the Family Circus.

Anyways, we had circled an activity or four that we were interested in participating in.

The first was at two that afternoon. The Newlywed game.

Jess and I always joked that we should set up e-Harmony accounts and honestly answer the questions, and see how compatable we are with one another. We were guessing our compatibility would be, numberwise, like the average temperature in Antarctica.

We never got around to doing that.

But, the Newlywed game proved that we knew some stuff about one another.

Proof positive… the first question I was asked was “Real or fictional, name a television character that reminds your wife of you.”

With a fraction of a seconds worth of hesitation, I responded “Homer Simpson.”

I was right.

All in all, I think I answerd 5 of her questions correctly, and she answered four or five of mine.

We won by a landslide. Of course, we were the only ones playing. I think that was because the other Newlyweds were busy setting up e-Harmony accounts on their laptops to test how peaceful their future together would be.

So, we earned ourselves (by default, sure, but… whatever. We aced that Newlywed game.) ten dollars toward our next meal at the Melting Pot. Hooray, fondue!

We went back to our room and flipped on the television while getting changed into our “nice clothes,” which for me was a T shirt with nothing profane printed on the front. The TV called for a severe thunderstorm in the area where we were staying. So, we did what any sane, rational, college-educated couple would do.

We went miniature golfing.

Ben Franklin would have shit himself, were he still alive. Had we watched the full news brief, the anchors probably said in their report “We strongly suggest that you DON’T go to a really high point with a WATERFALL running through it and wave a GIANT METAL ROD over your head.” But, what do they know? We survived.

And then ate seafood.

I know rain on the wedding day is supposed to signify good luck (we got the rain soon after our reception. The weather beforehand was gorgeous. Lovely wedding weather..), but I wonder if torrential downpours on the first full day of the honeymoon sort of negate all of that good luck.

So, the remainder of the night was sort of a wash… literally.

And, we didn’t pack any of our Netflix.

So, we spent the remainder of the evening watching television…. without the Versus network.

But, within a span of ten seconds, Jess’s Dad called her, my Dad called me, and Pron sent a text message alerting us that underdog Philly had beaten the Canadiens.

And there was much rejoicing.

And lots of watching America’s Funniest Home Videos.

It was the best thing on. Really.

All in all, a good first full day in South Carolina.