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!