Bloggy Bonhomie: Dinner Date Edition

Its getting serious, people. That Bitchin’ Wife and I shared…dinner!

Join us, won’t you? [doodaloodoodaloodoodaloo]

Amy and Ann: Omyblog you look so purty and you too, you too, you too and bloggy-bloggo-blogenshtina and Jimmy crack-blog but I don’t care, me either! Me either! OMblog, ME EITHER!

Waiter: I hate to interrupt, but just thought I’d ask once more if you’d like some drinks?

Amy: I’ll have an old fashioned, Makers Mark, sweet.

Waiter: Would you like fruit?

Amy: ‘Scuse me?

Waiter: Fruit. Would you like some fruit with it?

Amy: Umm, like what?

Waiter: Fruit (definitively) Like an olive.

Amy and Ann flinch dramatically, in opposite direction, but with parallel meaning

Amy: Well, just tell the bartender–they usually come with a maraschino cherry.

Waiter: So no olive?

Amy: No (goddamned) olive.

Ann: (Easing all manner of olive tensions with off-the cuff-olive shenanigans) I’ll have her olive–winkwink, yuccayucca– in a very very large straight up vodka martini. Ohkay? OK (sweet smile and offoff with you, strange not-backing-off the olive in a sweet drink, non-blogger waiter fellow)

[later]

Amy: So Braja types so fucking fast. Like 170 wpm, with no mistakes.

Ann: Why doesn’t that surprise me…

Amy: Oh, will you tell me if I have anything in my teeth after eating these green-seasoned croutons?

Ann: You’re saying that because I presently have green shit in my teeth, correct?

Amy: Yes.

Ann: Seizes butter knife and proceeds to less-than-discretely check teeth in knife reflection.

Amy: ????

Ann: Never seen anyone do that before? Great way to apply lipstick. Anyway bloggy master plan and bloggy blunders and blogme-Amadeus.

[much later, everyone has left the restaurant–a long time ago]

Waiter: More water? More coffee? More water? More coffee? More water? More coffee?

Amy and Ann cock their heads, in opposite direction, but with parallel meaning

Amy:…oh and I seriously need some new emoticons.

Ann: What I think I hear you saying is you’d like another way to express your emotions while commenting?

Amy: Yes, Ann. Thank goodness I have someone in my life to validate me in this manner.

Ann: Wait, remember that time that the waiter asked if you wanted fruit with your Old Fashioned? Laughs uproariously, slamming table, throwing head back almost to the point of decapitation…

Amy: You mean 90 minutes ago?

Ann: Yes—you’re right. ‘Twas a mere 1.5 hours past. Who will reference the appropriate time frame for me when you move the Bitchin’ Family to Slutshole Lane?

Amy: (wiping tear from her eye) Let’s go scrape off our cars…

Ahhhhhnd, SCENE!