Clam Strips

anonymous asked:

T my old job we had these things called fried clam strips. Pretty self explanatory, right? One day this couple comes in, in the middle of dinner rushy, and asks me what fried clam strips were. At the time i had just stasted and it was my first job, so i was a little flustered. So i look her in the eye and said, "they're strips of fried clam" and everyone who was working heard me say that so for the rest of the shift they made fun of me. In all fairness it was a dumb question..

Well, damn, now I’m hungry. lol -Abby

anonymous asked:

Prompt List #4 with Jasper Jordan? love your writing by the way

Jasper x Reader (The 100 Prompt)

A\N: Thanks & Sure thing, sorry it took so long to write I have a lot going on right now xox 

Summary: The reader is a little self conscious with her body since Octavia looks like a freaking model and she’s a bit curvier, but that’s okay and Jasper loves her for exactly that reason. 

 Prompt: “If it’s any consolation, I think you’re beyond beautiful.“ 


You headed to the lake with your best friends, Jasper, Octavia, and Finn. The weather was way too good to spend the day being bossed around by Octavias brother, so you all snuck out –like usual– and this was your go to place. The sun hung high in the blue sky and not a cloud was to be seen, the sound of the small tide washing back and forth soothed you. As you sit down next to Jasper, his arm around your back, you close your eyes and breathe in the fresh smell of summer. As a collective, you all felt as though things were finally getting better, as if peace were around the corner and all you had to do was turn into it. You feel something block the sun that was hitting your face and you open your eyes groggily. 

 "What?” You groan, turning your head and burying your face into Jaspers chest in an effort to hide away from the harsh world outside his warmth.

 "Let’s go swimming!“ Octavia exclaims excitedly and you take a look at her with half open eyes. You instantly feel nervous and your palms clam up. She’s stripped down to her underwear and singlet and her body looks stunning. There’s no way you’re getting undressed next to that model of a girl. 

 "Do we really have to? I’d rather stay here.” You questioned nervously but you try to hide it behind just being too lazy to get in the water. Your thighs are much thicker than Octavias and you know your arms don’t look that toned either. You knew you weren’t overweight or obese, but you knew you weren’t classified as skinny either. Ultimately, next to her you’re convinced you’d look like a sack of potatoes. 

 "Pleeeeease?“ Octavia begs and you look to Jasper for support. For the love of God help me, you mentally speak to him. He wraps his arms around you lovingly and looks to Octavia. 

 "We’re fine on land.” He smiles at you before pecking your cheek lightly and you blush at his warm arms around you.  Octavia pouts but accepts it as she turns around and jumps into the water excitedly. A piece of you wished you were as confident as her, but the other half knows you won’t ever be like that, “How many times do you think she’ll ask you to hop in the water?" 

"Too many.” You reply, laughing slightly and Jasper sighs before gently placing a kiss on your neck. You close your eyes and hum in content, “I’d rather be with you anyway." 

 "Me too, getting sunburn is so much more fun when you’re around, baby.” He jokes playfully and you laugh with a shake of your head before the silence between the two of you appears.

 "Say it.“ You state and Jasper sighs. 

 "Say what?" 

 "You know what I mean, say what you’re thinking.” You reply to him, turning yourself to face him and his eyes switch between your own.   

 "I think you have this idea in your head that you’re not as good as she is,“ He whispers, pointing his head at Octavia as she dives in the water with a wide smile on her face. You look at her before looking at your hands that fidget in your lap, "I know you don’t feel like you are but… if it’s any consolation, I think you’re beautiful.” You look at Jasper and seriousness plagues his voice before a cheeky smile creeps it’s way onto his lips, “God knows I’ve seen you without those clothes and you are so beautiful, Y/N.” You laugh at him, smiling wide as his hand innocently rubs small circles on the top of your thigh. You remember the many times you’ve been with Jasper and how the both of you can never get enough of each other. 

 "I love you.“ You blurt out, not realising what you’ve said. Jaspers eyes widen and he looks shocked. Have you said that wrong thing? You start to feel nervous until he places a hand on either side of your body and hastily presses his lips to yours. You close your eyes, revelling in the feeling of having him be so close and kiss you so passionately. You almost straddle him but remember that you’re not in your tent or in the drop ship, you’re on a lake with your friends. You pull away, your foreheads touching as your panting breathes mixed together in between you, "Jasper, I love you so much.” You repeat, almost feeling an animalistic need to hear him say those words back.

 "I love you too, baby. Always.“ He smiles genuinely at you and you feel an unknown happiness wash over you, like the ripples on the lake. You stroke his cheek gently and tangle a hand in his thick hair before pulling his head closer to yours and joining your lips together one more time.

CLAM STRIP GRINDER REPORT

It was good! I didn’t realize how much I’d wanted just exactly that. Definitely put clams on a sandwich. I went with lettuce, tomato, mayo, hot sauce, but I shoulda put some pickles on it too. Bread was good but it’d be better as a proper clam strip po boy!!

HIS DREAMS WALK ABOUT THE CITY WHERE HE PERSISTS INCOGNITO

I woke up this morning in Borneo, went for breakfast in a crowded kopi tiam, where I greedily devoured a lip burning, nose running, utterly delicious bowl of Kuching style laksa. Tomorrow, I’ll board a long boat and, for the second time in my life, head up the Skrang River—this time for Gowai, the Iban harvest festival, where I will, I am warned, be drinking way too much rice whiskey. I have asked that my former headhunter hosts give me a hand tap tattoo. Possibly a durian pattern. I have been having regular foot massages—something they do particularly well in this part of the world. My room smells of jasmine, and outside the window, across the river, the former palace of the “White Rajah” of Borneo is visible in the late afternoon light. The muezzin’s calls to prayer will soon echo from the mosques throughout the city, one voice joining another, then another—a chorus from every direction. 

And yet….and yet…in the midst of all this….exotica…my mind runs to New Jersey. 

New Jersey, too, was exotic to me, once. For much of my childhood. The then working class riviera of Barnegat Light where I spent many happy summers. The dark mysteries of off season, pre-casino Atlantic City, with its vast, empty hotels, its novelty shops, boardwalk, salt water taffy and amusement pier. Leafy bedroom communities where I grew up, others where I was later whisked off to school…the hard packed night time slopes of Great Gorge and Vernon Valley…the fabled Pine Barrens, where untold horrors awaited amidst the discarded gangsters and mythical, griffon-like creatures said to feast on little boys. The fastidious, house proud Victorian severity of Ocean Grove right next to the decidedly honky tonk Asbury Park. The Palisades. The meadowlands—a vast wonderland for juvenile delinquents…Even the refineries of Elizabeth had secrets—their omnipresent but ever changing odors, unknowable. I came of age as a passenger in cars driving aimlessly around Route 80, Route 46, Route 4 …cruising for burgers, cruising for girls, cruising just…because….

So, to me, much maligned New Jersey was always magic. Until, like so many of us raised in the Garden State, I left—forever—for better, more “sophisticated” territory. In my case, right across the river to New York City. Everybody, of course, is from New Jersey: Frank Sinatra, Jack Nicholsen, Meryl Streep, William Carlos Williams, Alan Ginsberg, Queen Latifah, Stephen Crane, Glenn Danzig, Peter Dinklage, Donald Fagen, Ray Liotta, Martha Stewart, Lee Van Cleef, Tom Colicchio and..oh yeah…Bruce Springsteen. Anyone else not listed here was probably born there but just won’t admit it.

I get angry now when people speak badly of my home state. (I may not have been born there—but I was certainly raised there from infancy until age 17). And I get angry, from afar, when people abuse it, try to paint it in a bad light. Certainly the reality series, depicting roid-raging, Valtrex popping mesomorphs did the state no favors. But New Jersey hardly has the exclusive on meatheads.
I’ve watched in dismay for much of my life as politicians from both Democratic and Republican parties have used New Jersey as their personal feeding trough. And if you think the Christie traffic scandal was no big deal, think about how you’d feel if it was YOUR 6 year old daughter, first day of school, trapped in a school bus for 4 hours, desperate to not piss herself in front of her classmates—all because a bunch of vindictive, spiteful, gloating political hacks were peeved about matters completely outside your control or understanding—and decided to use YOUR kid as a club to beat their perceived enemy with. YOUR dad, waiting for an ambulance or emergency responder.

And certainly, what’s become of Camden, once a principle engine of the industrial revolution, after generations of mismanagement from the other political party is even more egregious. And has anyone, ever, taken as large, as ugly, as steaming a shit on a city as Donald Trump’s ‘Taj Mahal” in Atlantic City? LOOK at it! (We do, in this episode). Can you imagine an uglier, tackier structure—one more oblivious to its surroundings? It seems designed specifically to obscure the beach, the boardwalk, the gorgeous architecture of Atlantic City—the very things that (still) make AC wonderful. Of course, Donald seems eager to separate himself from his leavings these days—not because it’s an architectural abomination—but because it’s apparently become a financial embarrassment.

It would be easy to make New Jersey look amazing if I concentrated on its farmland, its beaches, its parks and its finer restaurants. Easier still if we chose to film in summer. But I thought, let’s shoot this show in WINTER. When New Jersey is supposedly at its greyest, most inhospitable, ugliest. And lets go right to those parts of New Jersey that are supposedly the most fucked up, the places where everything went horribly wrong. It is MY contention that New Jersey is so magnificent, so unique, its spirit so unsinkable and its sense of humor unparalleled that even there, seeing those places—as I do—with affection and respect and no small measure of hope, that those who watch this episode will find my beloved home state awesome and beautiful too. Even the refineries—the sprawl of bridges and highways and clover leafs—there’s beauty there. We worked mightily to show you those things as we saw them. As I feel about them.

New Jersey, it is my contention, was amazing all along. It was when we tried to “fix it” that we went astray. Drive Ventnor Avenue from Atlantic City to Margate and look out the window, and you’ll see, still there in parts—what was lost and what could be again. Look at Asbury Park—how its coming back—against all odds. And watch one lone woman’s struggle in Camden to take back, one block and one child at a time, a city she grew up in, loves fiercely and wont let go of.

The hero sandwich of my youth. Steamer clams. Jersey Italian. Birch beer. The smell of dune grass. Vanilla salt water taffy. Fried clam strips. These things should be eternal. They are eternal.