I Regret That I Forget

Tara, a regular commenter to this blog pointed out that I omitted a key detail of my visit to SF.

Sushi Boat.

Don’t ask me to name this restaurant, as this is not a restaurant review. This is a report of the delicate, luscious, and open-ended gorging that occurs when you sit me in front of beautifully prepared seafood corsages, floating by at 3 nautical miles per hour. There is nothing more savory and delicious than the irony of fresh raw fish, sitting pretty in miniature boats, cruising by in linear armada, ripe for the plucking by vultures in hipster clothing.

That was me and Tara on Church Street, on the night of December 28th. It was more me and less Tara, as she was rightly fettered by certain food limitations, leaving me alone and unchecked in my tour of duty in at least four of the seven deadly sins.

I just saw the season finale of the Biggest Loser on the plane. I cried throughout and also wondered how a person could possibly eat a whole pizza in one sitting and have room for more. I learned how on this night, but I wasn't crying, I was silently mooing in blinding pleasure.

Some hottie made wanton eyes at Tara on our way out, but sadly we did nothing about it. We made our way instead to the Safeway for skittles, whoopee cushions, and Doritos. I suppose in some blend of Christian fundamentalism/saving-yourself-for-marriage and 90s-fear-of-bodily-fluids-throw-saran-wrap-on-everything logic, if you mix these purchases all together, they make a suitable alternative to a cold rainy night of hot steamy sex. I could be wrong on this one.