Atlantic City Summer 2017: Day 5- Almost New Regulars

August 10, 2017

We started out with a flashback to the two cooking shows Anabelle liked as a baby.  Emeril Lagasse was a guest on Rachael Ray.

That was a brief look back, before going to the beach and the normal (for us) activities of tanning, reading, and fake cooking.  Anabelle brought her boogie board in for the first ocean foray this time. My role was to make sure none of my family went “off sides.”

That is, checking that there was always someone swimming further away from shore than my family, allowing the monstrous ocean beasts to eat them while we scrambled to safety.

I figured out my (one of a great many) problems with the ocean.  I don’t float...
at all. 
I need to actively swim to stay atop the water.  This means the simple activity of bobbing in the waves is an exercise in massive energy expenditure and timing for me.  I regularly blew one or both, leading to the frequent -comedy styled- buffeting.

Back on the beach it was snack time. Anabelle went back to sand based Chopped while I went back to getting random burned spots on my flesh.

Swimming together again, we noticed the construction abated, settling the water enough that we could see our feet underwater for the first time.  Anabelle did some flips and even a cartwheel through the waves. Rosa was using her lifelong ocean experience to bob along nicely. Figuring I finally had the hang of it, I proved myself astonishingly wrong and dove through the wave too soon, smacking my noggin on the sea floor, like an Elmer Fudd circus act.

This added to my lack of sense of direction when I decided to try a swim parallel to the beach. (Apparently  my normal choice of "swimming across" would have issues.) The power of my stroke carried me nicely through the waves, but a combination of the buffets to my head, and the changing of position meant I had no idea where my family was when I finally emerged.  I found them eventually when I saw them simultaneously packing up and scanning the crowd for their wandering, and rapidly fricasseeing, missing member.

We rinsed, rested and rose up to our suite (woo hoo!) to get ready for the night.

Fancy night makeup was applied, Uno was played, comics were read, and Anabelle’s “Hotel Front Desk” game, (which was a second tiny tot flashback) was set up. 

In parallel with Rosa’s application of eye makeup, I noticed my eyes were sunburned near shut.

However, I was gearing up to celebrate another rare “Daddy was right” moment.

Based on the first visit's success, they decided they’d rather return to Ri Ra, than my previous successful suggestion, Cuba Libre.

We started with artichoke spinach and buffalo dips- not authentic Irish faire by any means, but we were starving.

Their pasta plates and my chicken were all phenomenal. Woo- go me!  Putting the hidden and often ignored part of my heritage on display, I celebrated with an Irish Mule. 

I should read slower. I was thinking not that “Ginger Beer equals Ginger Ale” but, for some reason “Ginger Beer equals Birch Beer.” Good drink but definitely not the flavor I was expecting or hoping for.

To walk off dinner, we took another Boardwalk stroll…mostly so Anabelle could feed her Polish Water Ice sample addiction.

The unplanned local entertainment was a guy in a t-shirt singing swing on the stage. Not nearly as fun as the Profane Plate Tosser, but more traditionally talented.

We only went as far as Caesars on this night, popping into the mall to learn B*Iconic had a ring shipment due in the next day. We also found the sad remnants of the giant awesome magnet store that used to be down there, tucked away in the back of the mall newsstand.

In Caesars itself, the expensive gelato stand outdid itself in rudeness by refusing to sell less than two scoops at a time.

We quickly sprinted past the weird baton night show to get back to the Tropicana.   To make up for the short trip, we decided to extend our stroll a bit past our hotel the other way. That is something we usually avoid as it is fairly abandoned but clear and warm night air encouraged a bunch of other wanderers that night.  We had two interesting encounters.  

The first was spotting a very cool sculpture that looked like a musician from some angles and a g-clef from others. It would admittedly be far cooler f I had the slightest memory of who it was a sculpture of.

The second was a guy passing who looked at the three of us and asked if my name was Charlie because of the two angels I was walking with.  It's rare you hear a live comment that is that astonishingly outdated, even when taking the reboot into account.

We returned and did a little packing. After putting some non-essentials in the car, we explored the interior of our shoreline home a bit. Explorations of the Tropicana Quarter and surroundings almost always include using a Mrs. Fields cookie coupon for some reason. (*sings* “It good enough for me.”)

Our first pass down the “secret hallway” showed us Boogie Nights was open. Through the little window we saw a guy in there who made my dancing skills look expressive, flamboyant and precise.

I think he was dead.

Tangos, the casino side bar, had another in a series of excellent bands, which we listened to by the fountain for a bit.

We passed Boogie Nights a second time on the way back to the elevators.  Anabelle was enthralled by the hula hoop dancer.

That is, until that “to the left to the left to the left” group dance song came on and she ran screaming towards the room to end the night.

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