dining out

Dinner and No Motorcycle

/ Quirky Girl / 20 Comments

Actually, no.

Let’s amend that to no motorcycle yet.

Building off of last week’s anniversary blog…

Consider this a sequel of sorts.

Sadist that I am, I simply can’t have a good time without conducting myself like a glutton for punishment.

On the morning of my anniversary, I started off the day by going to work.

I got off early enough for us to still get out and do things, I reasoned, so I didn’t really need to take the day off.

So I went to work.

And I sliced a gash in my leg on the corner of a cardboard box.

I probably should’ve stayed home.

But at least I arrived home to a nice surprise.

My husband had gotten me a portable Shiatsu massager.

I put that sucker to work as soon as I yanked it out of the box.

And used it nonstop throughout that afternoon and evening.

Which led to bruising myself from prolonged use as I attempted to work out the billion tension knots in my neck.

Which hasn’t stopped me from using it every single day for the last week.

With my younger son’s help and insistence, my son…uh, I mean, husband, received a lovely video game for our anniversary.

Need for Speed Payback.

Because nothing says Happy Anniversary like a racing game.

In my defense, my child and I wandered each and every aisle at Target ten times over while hauling an overflowing hand basket.

Which was equal to the weight of a baby elephant.

Because it was loaded down with a dozen bottles of açaí  Vitamin Water that my child had tossed in.

And so we kept switching off basket-carrying duties as we continued to look for the perfect anniversary gift for the good part of an hour.

Somehow, we eventually settled on a PlayStation game as the perfect present.

At least my son…I mean, husband, has been thoroughly enjoying his new game.

Anyway, we didn’t actually make it out to dinner on our anniversary.

Because we decided to stay home and watch The Martian on Netflix.

So the following evening, we ventured into a nice little Italian restaurant we’d been talking about trying for the past couple of years.

And get this:

There were actual people in this restaurant!

And our waiter was not intoxicated!

Perhaps we should have asked the guy to quickly guzzle a few beers in an attempt to replicate our horrid seven-years-prior Greek restaurant anniversary experience?

Right.

We enjoyed some fried ravioli.

And lasagna.

And homemade bread.

No greasy, slimy, rock-hard monstrosities whatsoever.

The bartender even made a little chocolate syrup heart in my chocolate martini.

It was undoubtedly one of our better anniversary dining experiences.

So that was nice, for a change.

Now, as for our first-ever motorcycle we’d been contemplating buying back?

Turns out the dealership’s asking price was much too high.

Almost as much as we had sold it for two years ago.

And so we put in a more reasonable offer.

They declined.

Typical used vehicle over-inflation nonsense.

I guess there’s only one thing left to do:

Operation Steal Back Our Bike!

We do still have one spare key.

We could easily go in and get it back.

Just pop the key in and take off like bats out of hell.

Or not.

Because then I’d have to change this post title to Dinner and Jail.

~Happy Saturday, friends! Have a great weekend!~

Well, hello again, green Ninja!

Well, hello again, green Ninja!

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Dinner and a Motorcycle

/ Quirky Girl / 39 Comments

Whew!

It’s been hotter than Hades lately.

But then, it seems the intense summer heat is inspiring for new beginnings.

At least, for me.

My blog anniversary was just a few days ago.

And now, it’s my anniversary anniversary.

And much like my magnetism for memorable birthdays…

There was one highly memorable anniversary that tells quite the tale.

The year was 2011.

My husband DJ and I decided to celebrate by going out for dinner.

But first…

We stopped at a motorcycle shop.

Which inevitably led to the purchase of a motorcycle.

After long day of work.

When judgment is always at its peak.

Because everybody knows that’s the best time to make big decisions.

It’s also common knowledge that just looking at something translates roughly to:

Let’s buy this thing!

Like, right now!

Because, really, when was the last time we’d gotten anything nice for ourselves?

And did I mention it was our ten year anniversary?

A big anniversary like that warranted something big.

Like a motorcycle.

Tradition dictates that year ten should be gifted with tin or aluminum.

While I’m usually not one to care overly much about traditions in the sense of gifts…

Aren’t bikes made of steel and aluminum?

Ha!

Anyway…

It was an electric green Kawasaki Ninja 650R in great shape.

I liked it.

DJ liked it.

So we signed a contract and we were on our merry way.

The funny part?

Spontaneously buying a motorcycle turned out to be the most normal part of our evening.

Celebrating in memorable ways seems to a talent for us.

(Horses, anyone?)

After buying the bike, we figured we’d enjoy a nice meal out.

And so we drove to a Greek restaurant I’d been to only once before, several years earlier.

It was way on the other side of town, so we didn’t get out that way too often.

But I remembered loving that restaurant.

It was a Saturday night.

And the parking lot was desolate.

That right there should’ve been an omen.

But that didn’t stop us from going in.

We were greeted by a host who looked like he’d had a few drinks himself.

Which was entirely probable, given the impressive bar in full view behind him.

And…

As luck would have it, our drunken host turned out to also be our drunken waiter.

There was no other sign of life whatsoever within those four walls.

No other diners.

No other waitstaff.

Nada.

Had this tipsy waiter just killed the rest of the restaurant staff? 

Which would have been rather unfortunate, given the fact they prided themselves on being a family owned and operated business.

But I remembered truly enjoying a scrumptious assortment of authentic Mediterranean food in my previous trip.

So we stuck around like the sadists we apparently were.

Our waiter ambled around momentarily before producing two sad-looking menus, held together by uneven patches of tape.

Despite an authentic-looking Greece interior, nothing about this looked overly promising.

But we were hungry.

And remained cautiously optimistic.

Spoiler alert:

When the food came, it did not get any better.

With spanakopita slimier than worms, pita bread that could crack a pig’s head open, and hummus that tasted more like mud than mashed chickpeas, it bared no resemblance to my previous dining experience.

Did we save room for dessert, the stumbling drunk inquired?

Right.

It didn’t matter if it was our anniversary.

We’d already had all the fun we could handle, without gambling on dessert.

It was beyond comprehension how this restaurant had been a six-time Best Greek Restaurant winner, awarded by a local newspaper.

Incidentally, 2011 was the last year they’d won the prestigious award.

Which was the second and final time I set foot in that place.

I must’ve been really, really hungry that first time.

Or maybe things just really, really went down the toilet in the few years since I’d first gone.

I scoped out some Yelp reviews to see if we were crazy, or if it had just been an off night.

But no.

“I thought that I was part of an elaborate prop set for what would be a great tragedy. The place is certainly capable visually of transporting you to Ellada (Greek word for Greece). The place was also as barren as an off-season tourist trap near Plakka. The only two other people there seemed to be regulars.”

And this one:

“I am certain from the many posted accolades all over the walls of the place that this restaurant was indeed great. But its day has come and gone and its legendary service and cuisine is all but a page of mythology.”

But then there were a few reviews like this one:

Amazing food. Authentic and unique. The wait staff is incredibly friendly and helpful.

Unique, yes.

Incredible?

In a way, yes.

But not in any positive sense of the word.

Love the entire experience!

Seriously?!?

I mean, our experience was plenty memorable.

But definitely not in the way of loving it.

Don’t get me wrong.

I’m all for irony.

But, wow.

So on one hand, its stellar past was not a figment of my imagination.

On the other hand…

Had those few satisfied diners had their hummus spiked?

It’s uncanny.

That whole dining experience had been way, way off the mark.

Suffice it to say, the heat wasn’t the only hellish factor on that day seven years ago.

But, hey.

A cool motorcycle and a freakish dining experience.

Which, evidently, meet all my criteria for a memorable evening.

We ended up selling that motorcycle two years ago, when my husband decided to upgrade.

Yet, in an interesting twist of fate…

It’s now for sale again.

And it’s our anniversary again.

Is this a sign we ought to buy it back, for the sake of nostalgia?

Is it fate?

I guess we shall see…

~Happy Saturday! Have a fantastic weekend, everyone!~

Nothing like an anniversary motorcycle! Now let's see if it's meant to be... a second time.

Nothing like an anniversary motorcycle! Now let’s see if it’s meant to be… a second time.

My Cup No Runneth Over

/ Quirky Girl / 28 Comments

What could be better than a memorable evening of family fun?

Well, family fun minus most of the family, anyway.

There’s nothing like a bit of quality adult time, where you can sit back and enjoy a drink.

Or two.

Or, you know, none.

Ever been someplace where the service was so painfully slow that you almost forgot why you left home in the first place?

Welcome to Main Event, a  so-called family entertainment place where you can eat and play!

At least in theory, anyway.

If you ever want to ensure you don’t overindulge in alcohol (or anything else, for that matter), Main Event is the place for you!

At any rate, my husband DJ and I decided it would be nice to take my brother in-law Mike out for a fun night while he was in town.

Main Event seemed like a good idea, and I’d been there many times before with the kids.

But only to play games rather than to eat.

If the comical pairing of bull riding on a 110-inch tv with Lady Gaga blaring over the speakers was any indication, it was undoubtedly going to be a memorable night.

I started off with a Bahama Mama, and DJ ordered beer.

Mike made the mistake of asking our young waitress if they make White Russians.

A little food for thought-

When your waitress asks you what exactly goes into the drink you’re about to order, just remember two things:

  1. You are not the bartender, and it is not your job to be a walking encyclopedia of alcoholic concoctions unless you are getting paid to make that drink yourself.
  2. The bartender will probably be using you as their experimental lab rat, so do yourself a favor and order something else. From the menu.

I get that mixed drinks can take a few minutes to…

Well…

Mix.

But how long does it take to pour freaking draft beer?

Were these people growing fresh fruit for the cocktails out back?

Painstakingly harvesting wheat for the beer?

Our delightful waitress finally brought our drinks out half an hour later.

Mine might’ve been a Bahama Mama…

But it took so damn long to get there, I couldn’t be sure if that’s what it really was, or just Kool-Aid spiked with a touch of rum.

Mike’s White Russian had a disproportionate amount of vodka.

Could’ve been worse, I suppose.

Hopefully it was the good stuff, at least.

More bang for your buck, right?

We’d also ordered onion rings, which arrived shortly before the drinks.

Minus any plates, napkins, or utensils.

We stared and stared at the onion rings.

A few moments passed before we redirected our intensely disgusted gazes in the direction of the bartender before DJ got up and demanded plates and napkins.

Our ditzy waitress came over a few minutes later.

Oh, so that’s why you needed plates! 

Ya think?

Come on, did we look like complete savages?

Plates and napkins are somewhat of a necessity when it comes to eating.

Especially in a restaurant, for crying out loud.

Unless you’re a child.

But we didn’t bring the kids, so I was kind of planning to eat like a civilized human being that evening, thank you very much.

A different waitress arrived at our table with a large tray containing our entrées a while later.

We watched in disbelief as she dropped off my hummus and vegetable platter and DJ’s steak…

And then she looked at the remaining entrée, looked at Mike, looked back at the entrée…

And then took off like a possessed hamburger-snatcher.

We continued to watch in part curiosity, part horror as she strolled aimlessly from table to table with that hamburger before returning wordlessly to our table.

What the hell?

Perhaps that’s why our drinks had taken so ridiculously long.

Maybe this other waitress had gulped them down.

All of them.

Then Mike asked for ranch dressing.

We started taking bets on how long it would take for the dressing to materialize.

I contemplated ordering another drink, but then thought better of it.

We were ready to get out of there.

But our waitress was nowhere to be found.

DJ set the timer on his phone to five minutes.

Five minutes until we were going to bolt out of there like a trio of bandits?

I can’t be sure.

Finally, DJ about had it.

He stormed over to the front desk to see if they could be bothered with something so trivial as allowing us the honor of paying for that bizarre dining experience.

Perhaps we should’ve run out of there.

Well, okay.

Fine.

That isn’t something I’d ever done before, nor could I do anything like that in good conscientiousness.

We finally moved on to the games.

I over-enthusiastically whacked some moles.

DJ and Mike played a few intense rounds of Rambo.

Then Mike moved on to a game where he got to repeatedly kick the crap out of a soccer ball.

I think it’s safe to say we all had a tiny bit of pent up aggression from our dining experience. 

Oh well.

We all needed a break. 

And what we got was a good laugh. 

Along with a fairly good idea of where never again to go for dinner.

Ever.

~Happy Friday, everyone! Hope you’ve had a terrific week, with an even more fabulous weekend on the way!~

Why so sad, little drink? Is it because you've been waiting so long to be served that you're crying tears of condensation? Yeah, me too.

Why so sad, little drink? Is it because you’ve been waiting so long to be served that you’re crying tears of condensation? Yeah, me too.