Every Thanksgiving is a 'free pass' to eat like you have a terminal illness and could die at any second. This year was no exception. While most people were having seconds of that delicious juicy turkey, I was saying (i.e. mumbling through a mouthful of half-chewed food like an old fat English King) "Screw the turkey and bring on thirds and fourths of anything laden with carbs". Garlic-cheddar mashed potatoes? Yes please. Candied Yams with enough brown sugar to put me in a diabetic coma until I'm 73? Bring it on. Stuffing so chock full of stuff that it is guaranteed to clog even the purest arteries? You betcha. Top it off with a few glasses of Pinot Grigio, some dinner rolls and a slice of pie and the next day I looked like Tony Soprano with a major case of the PMS bloats. Naturally this happens to be the same day my husband and I have a much-needed "date night" up in LA.
As I prepared for our date night (we had tickets to see Kathy Griffin at Gibson Amphitheatre at Universal City Walk - btw thank you "C" for the amazing tickets!) I put on my biggest pair of "skinny jeans" (an oxymoron in my case for sure) and a really cute BCBG button down black dressy shirt and as I did a slo-mo turn in the full length mirror, I said to myself, "You look totally cute....for a 5 month pregnant woman." I actually considered just letting it all hang out and gently carassing my belly throughout the night so that people would walk by me and think "what a cute pregnant lady" until I realized that they wouldn't think I was so cute carrying that 32 oz plastic cup of beer in the lobby of the theatre. So I sucked it in and got my Tony Soprano ass in the car and headed up to LA.
As we arrived to Universal City Walk, surrounded by every tourist in the LA Metropolitan area, my husband looked at me and said, "Are those jeans supposed to be that tight?" Ok, Really? Not the best way to start the night. He made it worse with the immediate 'shit-I-need-to-save-my-ass' comment: "No, I think you look hot....No you look sexy!" "Hot? Sexy?" First of all it's not 1978 and you are no Rod Stewart, mister. So please just quit while you are behind and lets go get a drink before the show.
We ended up at the Saddleback Ranch bar (its the famous bar with the mechanical bull in the middle) and I ordered a margarita on the rocks. What I got was a freaking Carafe of Margarita (pictured below). I know, I know....is it famed landscape photographer Ansel Adams or me?
Now I know why no one has any inhibitions about riding the Mechanical Bull like a drunken fool - they serve their patrons more alcohol then David Hasselhoff drinks in a month. I sucked down that monster like it was a tall cool lemonade (in fact I think it was - that $15 sucker was 99% sweet and sour mix with maybe a thimble of tequila). Good thing because had that been a carafe of a strongly made margarita I most certainly would have forgone the Kathy Griffin show in favor of stripping down to my "skinny jeans and bra" and rode that bull with my muffin top a jiggling like mad, all the while screaming to my husband, "How's this for sexy?"
We made it to the Kathy Griffin show where my husband, one of the only straight guys in the joint, met up with me in our seats carrying a giant plate of nachos and two humongous beers - probably just to establish that he is all 100% manly-man. In fact I think he even farted a few times just to mark his territory - although he adamantly denied it later.) She was great as always but I have to admit that when her show ended at 10:30 the only thing I could think of was "Shit, I'm not going to get to bed before 11:45 pm - I'll never recover!"