And I Have No Pictures Because I'm a Forgetter

So last night my mom, sister, and I hit the bright lights moderately dim lights of The Olive Garden for a girls-only Mother's Day repast.

It was ridiculous how tasty and yummy and calorie-laden the ensuing meal was.  Equally ridiculous was how I drove home, put on my sweats (because RAINY and CHILLY and GLOOMY around these parts this weekend) and proceeded to watch episode after episode of Say Yes to the Dress for the rest of the evening.  and I might have shed a tear or three because those brides with their mamas?  too PRECIOUS.


We thought on a whim about taking in a movie, but our timing was all off...so straight home to be a lazy slug it was.

This turned out to be a very fine decision.


Anyhoo, I arrived early, and it's a very good thing that I did because already at 4:30 there was a 30ish minute wait.  I got my name on a list, received my little buzzer doohickey, and returned to my car with my reclined seat and a touch of Natasha Bedingfield's Pocketful of Sunshine because, HELLO, celebratory dinner out means breaking out The Happy CD! 

(Why yes I do have a mix(ed) tape CD full of the happy.  I put it together upon discovering every single song I seem to like is full of the melancholy and tragic.  I pull it out when I'm supposed to be full of the UP and the HAPPY.  I'm strategic like that.)

(It should be noted that I'm referring to my junk-food-y-type music here.  Of course my beloved praise & worship & what-not are full of The Hope and The Wonderful without a sign of the melancholy or tragic.)

(Just SAYIN'.)


Now I don't want to be unkind because I tend to lean toward the kind, but while waiting for our table and watching the parade of people coming and going, quite frankly I was shocked and horrified at how many, well, SLOBS show up at the Olive Garden looking completely like slobs.  Seriously, y'all, when did the whole entire world seem to stop caring?  The jammies at the grocery store are bad enough, but the ripped up jean shorts with unkempt (that's right, I said it, UNKEMPT) hair accompanied by the t-shirts that are two sizes too small are simply not appropriate for such a fine establishment. 

(In my humble opinion.)

The truly awesome counterpoint to that is the fact that it was prom night around these parts, so we have the SLOBS eating right next to the pretty little things in their prom-y finery.  No kidding, the people watching was truly DELIGHTFUL tonight ;)

Annnd the above observation is what is known as a rabbit trail, leading to a soap box, and landing directly in NOWHERE.  Consider it a bonus.


To sum up my Mother's Day journal-y goodness.  We indulged all over the place.  There was my favorite raspberry peach tea, and then bruschetta for an appetizer and those wonderful, obligatory salads, followed by my deep, dark, guilty pleasure known as chicken Alfredo, and culminating in CHOCOLATE CAKE.

There was also freshly grated cheese offered by the sweet - and patient - waitress dumped on each and every layer of said meal, except of course for the CHOCOLATE CAKE.

That would just be silly.

I ate exactly half of everything and brought the other half home, promptly putting it in the freezer to be eaten after my body recovers from the calorie overload of the day.


We sat there for about two hours and therefore had to leave a most generous tip to assuage our guilty concern for the waitress.


And then we left, and I came home to the aforementioned comfy clothes/wedding-dress-shopping goodness.

And that, my dear friends and family, was my Saturday night, consisting of about all the excitement I could handle. 


Happy Sunday!