Yesterday evening Tim and I were deeply and passionately engaged in a fantastically implemented course of lazing. That which one might call loafing, or perhaps even lollygagging. Lounging. We were just really lethargic, and.. ok, wait a second...
Sidebar: Why do so many words for doin' nuthin' start with L? This is going to bother me for awhile, and you should know that.
Right, so we were deeply and passionately engaged in the lackadaisical (again with the L!), as is our wont, and we were attempting to gather ourselves up to go take in a show (more on that in another post). We distracted ourselves for awhile (there's this one word Tim can say which sends me into utter fits of uncontrollable laughter - it's one of his super powers, and he doesn't wield it lightly. Having time to kill, though, he trotted it out.), and then circled around to the inevitable "so what do you want to do for dinner?" topic. We go through this a lot. Often. Daily, even. And whenever anybody asks that question, the answer is typically one of two things: 1) Donkeys 2) Donkey toes.
Shut up. You knew what you were getting into.
So we went through this litany and then ended up with an "I don't know", even though I was formulating a plan to suggest a particular restaurant. That's when he did that goddamned thing he does; that thing where he looks at me and tells me precisely what I'm thinking (Seriously? Why can't he manage this about important things? It would save me so much of the wanting to kill him). Which here means he stated the name of a restaurant where we'd never been, which we often mock, and months ago decided we'd eventually try just because the name entertains us so.
We're kind of odd, you see. The 'restaurant' in question happens to be called "Fire Mountain", and every time we pass it, one or both of will find ourselves incapable of resisting the urge to shake a fist in the air while bellowing"FIIIIIIIIRE MOOOOOOUNTAAAAIN!"
What? Remember "we're kind of odd", from a few seconds ago? Right.
So as he goes to hop into the shower, he says "Fiiiiiiire Moooountaaaaain!" to which I reply "oh, fuck you" (which, in point of fact, is what I had said to him after he trotted out that made up word. Only after ten minutes of guffaws.), and therefore we were in mutual agreement: dinner plans were now set.
The place was awful. Really bloody terrible. So bad that I do believe I stated "I never ever want to set foot in this place ever again. Ever!" after my first look at the buffet options. It wasn't a total failure, however, as the people-watching was plentiful (the helmet hair! The mullets! The gold dog tags!), and at least the honey yeast rolls (which comprised the majority of my dinner) were tasty.
After a smidge of time-killing (I really thought dinner would take us longer than the 30 minutes it ended up consuming), it was on to the theatre.
As it turns out, I'm not old enough for R-rated movies, and that's the forthcoming, not now, not this one, later on post.