Oh, Brandon.

Poor, poor Brandon.

He really just even know what hit him.

Last night was the first (of many!) times that the Burgh Moms who blog managed to assemble. We are quite the diverse little group, ages ranging from 20-something to 40-something, from all parts of the city, working and stay-at-home, various levels of fear regarding Japanese Spaniards who buy amusement parks, and so on. But, we all have one thing in common (besides having kids and blogging, silly)--we all have big mouths. So when our waiter, Brandon, started the night by spilling drinks all over the place, he had nowhere to go but down.

To be fair, I personally missed the drink spilling incidents (yes, plural). In my conquest to drive through two freakin' tunnels to get there, I neglected to factor in the Succo factor. I guess some people still go to baseball games, because traffic was a beyotch and I ended up arriving ten minutes late. That was a VERY significant ten minutes because the reservation happened to be in my name and I kind of sort of in a way neglected to tell anybody that little detail. So, seven women went in the restaurant saying, "Yeah, we have a reservation, but I don't know what name it's under. Oh, and sorry, but I haven't actually met any of the other people either, and I'm not even sure I know what they look like." I don't really see a problem there, but the restaurant employees were all kinds of ticked off at me.

(Y'all who work at Rock Bottom can bite me, by the way. And Alexis--"Bite me" is Mommy's way of saying that she understands how her actions make others feel and that she's sorry. Just don't use the words yourself, please and thank you.)

So, after Brandon poured liquids all over women in hopes of being able to see through their shirts, he proceeded to deny a woman (who shall remain unnamed) her first taste of heaven in over three years. How a big 'ol restaurant could run out of daiquiri mix is beyond me, but even more mind-numbing is the fact that nobody knew how to make a daiquiri without mix. Ex-squeeze me? Yeah, I don't get it. He talked her into trying some froo-froo crap that reportedly tasted like Kool-Aid with four gallons of sugar in it. So, it was exactly like a daiquiri, but without the fun ice.

Later Brandon showed that he has no ability to remember something for more than ten minutes by giving everybody the wrong food, even as they told him to his face that it wasn't theirs. I loved the moment when Gina was all, "This isn't mine" and he was all, "Yes, it is." Think that one through next time, mmkay Brandon? He's just lucky Gina was too busy kissing her horse's behind to notice his potentially deadly sin.

I guess I should mention that the only reason I know Brandon's name is "Brandon" is because as he was walking away from delivering random food to random people, someone tried to get his attention by yelling, "HEY, YOU!" He wasn't terribly amused by that sort of name-calling, so I channeled my inner politeness and said, "We wouldn't have to call you 'you' if we knew your name."

He replied, "If you all had been listening, I introduced myself when you first got here." He threw in some extra sass at me for having missed that part because I suck.

Brandon is such a winner. A winner who fell while in the kitchen and then felt the need to tell us about it. Drinking on the job much, Brandon?

Anyway, the continuous service fiascoes really only provided further amusement to a night that was at its lowest point side-splittingly funny. Y'all, I haven't laughed that hard in ages.

The best part? We're doing it again. Hopefully you and you and you and you and you and you will be able to make it and you won't be quite so late to the ball. Keep your eyes on the other site for details, which will be headed your way before long.

And to those of you who did make it? GINA IS MINE. I saw her first, and I'm keeping her. You can't impress her by live-blogging the dinner. Playing the pity card and dropping the fact that your husband can't handle the bedtime routine won't get you anywhere either. That whole thing where you pretend in never happened does nothing. In fact, not even giving really cool stuff away will land you in her good graces. I've been reading her a while, and I just know she's going to remember who has been there for her the longest. (Right, Gina? Please?)

(Photo blatantly ripped off from Jayesel because I was too cool to take my camera out and wasn't real sure I wanted Brandon fondling my boyfriend, Mr. Canon, anyway.)