I have a confession.

I bought new shoes yesterday. When you tried to call yesterday, and went straight to voicemail... I could not be bothered. Work had made me crazy, so I left early and I stopped off at the new Shoe Pavilion on Southlake Boulevard. I tried on 4 pairs of cowboy boots (none of them fit quite right), and then found a pair of rather girly chocolate cork Charles David platforms.

To defend my actions, I have to say, I feel half way civilized for the first time in months. I painted my toes, shaved my legs, put on some fragrance, and wore new shoes that make me tower above my co-workers.

Yeah, I'm empowered. Today is a much better day.

‘Really, Bunko? I love Bunko.’
‘When they asked me… I didn’t even know really, what Bunco is…’
‘I don’t either, but I’ve always heard is a thinly disguised excuse for drinking.’
‘I don’t think these women are THAT way. I mean, if this were a real dice game with shots and ciggies, I think I’d know what to do here.’
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This is where the neighborhood ladies call my bluff. They came over this past Saturday as we were sitting down to enjoy our pancakes and talk about the work we would do on the house for the day. Jodie and Barbara introduced themselves, and appologized for not bringing us cookies (we think it was an oversight on account of us not having kids). They asked us the usual getting to know you questions, which Chris and I answered with our hands stuffed in our pockets. Suburb dwellers without gold bands is so passe.

‘Call me, ‘ Jodie said ‘you don’t have to show up alone. I’ll go over with you.’

I didn’t sleep well for the last three nights, but I talked about it every day.

Then last night, they showed up at my house at 7:30 ready to take me away. Chris opened the door and blocked them from grabbing me.

Last night, date night in the city, featured a trip to the famous Mockingbird Campisis Egyptian Restaurant for a large crispy pizza. This is not the best pizza in the metroplex, as the best pizza goes to iFrattellis followed by Scalinis (a distant second). The crust is fair, the mushrooms are canned and rubbery, the black olives are ground into tapenade.

Although knowing not to expect the best pizza in the metroplex, we did hope for a pleasant dining atmosphere surrounded by ancient scowling no- nonsense waiters that kiss the older patrons when the walk in the door. We expect a lot of older patrons. We expect some nice Dean Martin or Frank Sinatra swooning in the background, and our soft conversation in the foreground. I expect to see some big Italian Mafioso visiting from Chicago to happen into the joint, and make all the chatter come to an abrupt stop…but not really.

What I got was a table over my right hand shoulder with two families, one head up by identical twin three year old blonds who very clearly did not want to be there. The two grown adults they brought with them were committed to ruining 30 + people’s date nights in the city, so that they could bring their pwecious miserably adowable baby-waybies to a night out. They would do anything to keep the night of crying going for twenty minutes to an hour or more! Poke the baby, make scary faces at the baby, or a special acrobatic performance of mommy eating at the restaurant table while standing up with the baby…anything to keep the night going!

Bye Bye Campisis.
I'll miss you not.
Moving right along....

Last night, date night in the city, featured a trip to the famous Mockingbird Campisis Egyptian Restaurant for a large crispy pizza. This is not the best pizza in the metroplex, as the best pizza goes to iFrattellis followed by Scalinis (a distant second). The crust is fair, the mushrooms are canned and rubbery, the black olives are ground into tapenade.

Although knowing not to expect the best pizza in the metroplex, we did hope for a pleasant dining atmosphere surrounded by ancient scowling no- nonsense waiters that kiss the older patrons when the walk in the door. We expect a lot of older patrons. We expect some nice Dean Martin or Frank Sinatra swooning in the background, and our soft conversation in the foreground. I expect to see some big Italian Mafioso visiting from Chicago to happen into the joint, and make all the chatter come to an abrupt stop…but not really.

What I got was a table over my right hand shoulder with two families, one head up by identical twin three year old blonds who very clearly did not want to be there. The two grown adults they brought with them were committed to ruining 30 + people’s date nights in the city, so that they could bring their pwecious miserably adowable baby-waybies to a night out. They would do anything to keep the night of crying going for twenty minutes to an hour or more! Poke the baby, make scary faces at the baby, or a special acrobatic performance of mommy eating at the restaurant table while standing up with the baby…anything to keep the night going!

Bye Bye Campisis.
I'll miss you not.
Moving right along....