One Table Over: I-HOP

He has his food. He has his food, and he's almost finished eating. That is how long he's had his food.

I got here first, but he got a waitress before I got a waitress. He got his drink
and his food, and, now that I'm looking, he's gotten his check as well!

I got a cup of coffee.

I ordered some chicken strips, but I haven't seen them. Neither have I seen the perky blond waitress who took my order.

My menu is still sitting on the edge of the table awaiting removal.

I've checked Facebook and Blogger and started browsing Pinterest, and he's over there trying to decide how much tip to leave.

Do you know what they do at I-HOP? They leave a thermal pitcher full of coffee at your table just in case you drain your cup before you see your waitress again. I've had three cups of coffee.

Oh, yippee. There's my waitress. She's coming up the aisle. She sees me looking, but she avoids my eyes. And there she goes...

He's gone. His table has been cleared and wiped and reseated.

Ah...here she is! With a plate of...(drum roll, please)...somebody else's food! Oh, honey, that's not mine. I ordered chicken strips. (You did?) uh huh...

The new folks over there are passing the time telling lame jokes as they nibble their appetizer.

A three-legged dog walks into a bar and says, "I'm lookin' for the man who shot my paw."

Hahaha! Hilarious.

How does a man on the moon cut his hair? Eclipse it!

Wait. I got one.

Where does a one-legged man work?

I-HOP.

(I crack me up.)

Ketchup on Crackers

The page view count on my other blog reads 666 right now. This is not so scary to the religion-intolerant portion of my brain, but it's raising some eyebrows in the baptist-born corner. Considering that is the blog in which I air all my demons, well...

In other news, my college education is coming along just fine. All my dreams are taking place in the middle of the bloody American Revolution, and my participles are dangling where everybody can see them, but I'm well on my way to being a member of educated society. (Okay, okay, I'm only six credits in, but it's a start, dammit!)

I CLEP-ed out of College Algebra altogether. Now I can pretend that math doesn't exist. That alone was cause for a major celebration, so I took my daughter out to eat. I paid. That's the way of things around here. I didn't buy her a margarita, despite the fact that she's officially of a legal drinking age. I could tell you I wouldn't buy her any alcohol on principle, but the reality is, I was too cheap to shell out the four bucks. I'm just a poor college kid, after all.

The kids have moved out and then back in and then out and then in again. At this point in time, I have three and a half in the house, one tag-a-long and one and a half out of the house. Don't try to make sense of that. It's likely to change by the time I'm finished writing this post. They have eaten everything in the house that is edible and moved on to licking the things that smell edible. However, I've been informed that just because a Scentsy Bar smells like a orange push pop doesn't mean it tastes like an orange push pop.

Some people have to learn things the hard way.

100 Words: The Boy Who Ate Everything

Listen here, Kid. In two hours you have inhaled one tube of Spongebob Go-gurt, three slices of bacon, two tomato basil cheese sticks, fourteen red grapes and a fruit cup.

You are two.

There is no possible way you could be as hungry as you claim to be.  Stop clutching your belly and howling in that dramatic fashion.

We have fed you. You are full. You need to slow it down, mister, or you are going to have a major tummy ache when you go to bed tonight.

Besides, your mother said she'd murder me if I give you chocolate.