And just sometimes, this is our life.

Captain Ridiculous and I decided to go to dinner last night. For normal people this might be an easy task of deciding where to go, driving, sitting down, ordering, eating, paying, and returning home.
Fuck all of you and your easy glider lives.

We were both jacked into the wall having spent hours on the phone arguing with a credit card companies. Typical Tuesday night for us, by the way. We enjoy harassing back and are known for calling up trying to get interest rates down to 0.5%, credit limits raised to over half a million and our cats listed as joint account holders.
No we don't.

So we left the house at 8.

[screeching brake sound]
Things you must know about each of us.
I am indecisive but value food quality and quiet.
He is picky about food and selective of establishments based mostly on beer quality and variety.
We are both moody eaters.
This combination of variables has proved both angelic and volatile; barometer readings, level of hunger, location on the planet and unknown cheekiness factor for Wife Subject X can throw a wrench into the works at any given point in time.
In hindsight, last nights scientifical experiment mixture of unknown elements, created black sludge sulfur resin shark teeth pig intestine liquid glass gas. You all are actually lucky to be alive. Thank your God. Sing a hymn. You don't even know how close you were to absolute death.
[car reengages]

We left the house BEFORE deciding where to go. Mistake number one. We were both registering high on the sarcasm meter. Mistake number two. It is my time of the month. Mistake number 3 - 290,844,290.3885.
Arguing the validity of each persons choice of restaurant we passed. Arguing the placement of signage and how it related to food enjoyment. Arguing culture and the culinary experience. Fiddling with the radio. Arguing about music. Arguing about musics effect on hunger and food choice. Arguing about hunger and food choice related to the ontological necessity of modern man's existential dilemma.
FOR OVER 65 MINUTES.
In a 30+ mile radius driving all over Orlando we probably passed at least 200 restaurants we chose not to eat at.

By 9:05pm we were both contemplating suicide by 7-11 microwave burrito. The gas light had come on having burned through a third of a tank I thought would last me until the end of the week. It was then that divine light shone down upon Kobe Steakhouse, an unlikely choice considering the time, had it not been for the marquee flashing secret for our eyes only messages.
LATE SPECIALS - AFTER 9PM.
LATE SPECIALS - AFTER 9PM BITCHES - COME IN AND EAT SOME GODDAMN FOOD ALREADY.
Who knew.

[screeching brake sound]
We stumbled to the door like zombies on a month long brain diet. Fooooood. Fooooooooooooooooood.
"Yes, Welcome to Kobe, there is going to be a 25 minute wait for our dining room but only a 15 minute wait for our sushi bar."
I cocked my head to the side and shook it a little (I call this move The Boggle, after the board game); the words falling from this persons lips not organizing themselves properly in my head, try again please. Scanning the restaurant and counting the empty chairs, I began to wonder quietly why one would advertise an after 9pm special and then expect patrons to wait another 1/2 an hour just to be served. That sounds to me like an after 9:30pm special.
The crickets smoking cigarettes at the bar, looked over to me and shrugged, "What do we know, lady. That smoking onion tower thing is pretty cool, even after 9:30pm. If you stay we will serenade you PROMISE." And then they all burst out laughing, pointing and holding their sides.

Captain Ridiculous and I paddled back to the car on a river of tears deciding that the very next shopping plaza, no matter what it contained, was exactly where we would eat, even if it meant dumpster diving for cardboard.
Game on.

[car reengages]
At 9:15pm we park. I don't even know where I am at but there is neon and open doors and the faint smell of fried. Fuck it.
We step in and Bubbles, our waitress shows us to our seats, the only unoccupied seats in the entire place because its FUCKING TRIVIA NIGHT WELCOME TO TRIVIA NIGHT YAY!!! Except for its already started so you can't play, aw, bounce bounce bounce and away she goes. The table is "next" to the loud speaker, jacked to 11 and when I say next to I mean on a pedestal, pointed at my head, no more than 2 feet from my ears as I slide into that side of the booth, dead eyes staring at my husband, resigned that somehow I have brought this hell upon myself and will now suffer for the next "how ever long this level of purgatory will last" for having maybe killed small children with bricks or stomped puppies creamy in a former life.

"HOW ARE YOUR SWEET POTATO FRIES? I SAID, HOW ARE YOUR SWEET POTATO FRIES?! FRIES! FRIES!!! FRIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEESSSSSSSSSSSSS!!!!!!!!!"
Dinner, was silent other than the booming voice of God revealing Gwyneth Paltrow has a cookbook dedicated to her father and the slogan for Cheese-Its among other small factoids I will never ever ever fucking forget because they are now laser etched on the inside of my skull. I almost hope I die in an accident that cracks my skull wide open, just so someone can walk by and feel like they got a special treat fortune cookie, exclaiming loudly, "Holy Shit, look at that, did you know that the Mordancy is another word for Sarcasm?!?"

We made it home at 10:30pm, bruised, battered, swollen, and with headaches. No anomaly here; Hubbysaurus and I have a habit of busting up on and into all sorts of things while searching for something to eat. Sometimes, this is our life.
We agreed that next time we would at least decide where to go before leaving the house. As for our bizarre experiences while eating out, I fully expect them to continue. We are magnets for something. One day we will figure out what that something is.

The sweet potato fries were good, by the way.