The Burgh Moms vs. Brandon (Bless His Heart)

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.)

Should I Ask Father Time?

Houston, we have a problem. I screwed up and accidentally allowed the Toddler to figure out that she can get in and out of the new car by herself. Now she HAS to do it herself. Getting in the car itself is no big thing since it sits approximately 4.1241 inches off the ground. The bigger challenge, of course, is getting from the car floor into her really high up car seat. That little project takes well over 5 minutes and 29 seconds (not that I'm timing it or anything). Getting down is the exact same slooooooooow as molassssssses project.

Because the Toddler is in fact a toddler, any attempts at assisting this little project so that we can, you know, maybe go somewhere in a timely manner are met with a series of screeches, howls, tears, and then there's all the ways that the Toddler demonstrates her displeasure with me for so much as trying to blow on her back in hopes of speeding things up. She ain't having help. No way.

The problem? I now need to add just over five minutes to all car rides. So, if I'm taking her to daycare in the morning, we have our loading and unloading process, totally nearly 11 minutes. I don't have 11 minutes to spare in the morning. And I'm NOT getting up any earlier just so the kid has time to get in the car. Add in a repeat loading and unloading process when I pick her up from daycare, and now I'm out 22 minutes. I don't have 22 minutes to spare in a day.

I'm thinking I need to apply for a minimum of an extra 20 to 30 minutes in each day just so that I can maintain a semblance of sanity. Who do I need to talk to so that I can get that process rolling?

Takin' a Walk

Every day after I pick the Toddler up from daycare, I try to take her somewhere that she can just have a little fun. Since the weather has been muy sucky, the playground has been out of the question. I'm sorry, but I just have no desire to figure out what to do with a kid after they've landed with a splat in a mud puddle at the bottom of the slide. So lately we've been going to various trails to take a little walk. Despite her insistence that I don't know where I'm going (she yells "DAT WAY!" when I drive past the turn for the park--it's fantastic that my 2-year old is already a back seat driver), she seems to be enjoying the walks.

One thing that she hasn't been enjoying is my insistence that she try blowing the seeds off a dandelion. She can't seem to figure out how to blow without shoving fuzzy flower tops into her mouth first. Yum. I would feel bad about repeatedly insisting that she do it, but first I'm waiting for her to apologize for waking me up three to four time per night. Every night. For no reason other than she wants to make sure I'm still alive. So, yeah, I'll feel guilty just as soon as I get a full night's sleep. Uninterrupted.

She's damn lucky she's cute.