About me: I'm a 40-something mother to a pickle party of a family. My husband Chuck, our tween Junior, our 6-year-old Everett, our toddler Cam, and I live in a town in Connecticut I affectionately call Mulletville Lite (aka my childhood hometown). My friends call me Nutjob, and they're right. In my husband's spare time he dresses up as a Viking and chases ghosts (and I'm the nutjob?). I'm a freelance graphic designer and writer.
Saturday, April 24, 2010
I don't want to get gonorrhea from a California Roll
Last night, my friend and I spent the night at MGM Grand at Foxwoods. Ain't it purdy?
Before we hit the craps table, we decided to grab some sushi. Little did I know, I was about to experience foodgasm part II, though for entirely different reasons. In the year and a half since I'd last been there, the sweet little sushi restaurant known as Shrine had become...
...a wanna be strip club.
Holy bustiers and ass huggers! Holy boobs and crotch shots! The waitresses were popping out of their outfits. And when I say outfits I mean plunging bustier-halter thingies and "skirts"
The waiters, on the other hand, were dressed conservatively in black dress shirts and pants.
As we ate, couples stood by the door and perused the menu. It went down like this: Woman looks at menu. Man starts to look at menu but is distracted by flesh parade. Man grins and gets really, really excited about menu. Man grabs woman's elbow and quickly ushers her into restaurant.
Such sushi enthusiasts, these middle-aged men.
Now look, I'm no prude, but my friend and I breathed a sigh of relief when we got a male waiter. As my friend put it, "I feel like the waitress wants us to look THERE but I don't WANT to look there."
I want to be clear here. I wasn't offended. I'm a big girl and I understand that having half-naked waitresses means you'll sell more sashimi. But Jesus, I'm so sick of smut. Every day I thank my lucky stars I don't have a girl. Riding the pole seems to be the new cheerleading. Girls' role models are hussies. I worry I'll be splattered with bodily fluid when I flip past MTV.
Where was I? Ah yes, sushi. As we were leaving, we asked the waiter why the hookers were fastidiously dressing the tables and setting out food.
"VIP party tonight," he said.
"Kelis," he said.
"Kelis?" I asked.
"The milkshake song," my friend groaned.
How fucking fitting.
P.S. Ted, if you're reading this, I wrote that old post when I didn't know Holly so well. As you know, I really came to love her.