So, we had dinner at some really expensive French place. I won't say an actual number, but to give you an idea, my father spent almost a months rent on dinner for 5 people. Yeah. I saved the receipt for my scrapbook. We were there for well over 3 hours.

What's there to say about a restaurant this expensive. I mean, the waiters are fucking professionals, and the food is always crazygood. It's seriously impressive how good the waiters are in places like this. I don't have a single complaint, the food was terrific, my mixed drink (Strawberry Blonde) was adorable. It was great. It seems silly to complain about anything at a place like this.

Ok I do have to say one thing though. I've been to quite a few of these kinds of places before with my father(I think he gets off on wasting shitloads of money on meals), and after the first couple times I didn't feel awkward having someone put a napkin on my lap for me, etc. For some reason though, when I first came in, something about this place made me feel out of place and silly. It went away after like 20 minutes, and I enjoyed the rest of the meal. I think it has something to do with the fact that the room we sat in reminded me of my grandparents dining room or something. It didn't feel like a restaurant. The bar area was ten times cooler, and I wish we ate in there. They had a couple tables for meals set up in there. The lighting was darker and the chairs were velvety looking and shit. The room we ate in was like really white and bright. Anyway. The food was fantastic, so I can't complain.

We all had the 8 course tasting menu thingy(the stereotypical French meal where every course is the size of a deck of cards or smaller). I don't remember all of the courses, and if I could, I wouldn't list them all cause it's late and I had an incredibly long day today on like 4 hours of sleep. One impressive thing though; my father mentioned during the reservation phonecall that my bro was a veggie, and the woman said she'd mention it to the chef. Our waiter paid a shitload of attention to Jake, almost fussing over him, making sure each veggie-altered course was OK. It made me happy to see a restaurant do that, as I spent quite a few years as a veggie and I know how shitty it can be at times looking for stuff without meat in it.

Funny thing though. I came back from the restroom at one point, and the waiter who pushed my chair back in asked if I was left handed. I said no, and asked why he thought that. He told me that I come at my chair from the right side, and lefties usually do that. I said oh, I didn't realise, and he sort of mumbled, sounded embarrased, said "I guess that disproves my theory" and shuffled off. My aunt and I went to the bathroom a while later and decided to come at our chairs from the left side to fuck with him, but he never helped us push our chairs back in again. We made jokes later that that was a Minnesota man's way of flirting with someone. This has become the joke of the day: men from Minnesota speak softly, timidly, and not very often. It started when my dad was describing some men in his office, and just became a sweeping generalisation from there. Anyway, I'm getting tired now, like really tired. I had an awesome day and now I sleep. There's no pictures of the food cause I thought it'd be tacky.

(What are the valets on duty reading? Galapogos by Vonnagut and A Short History of Nearly Everything.) ------------------------ Bird (Graci) -tinyurl.com/ytchdw "It's easy to regret your awkward conversations but hard to regret the ones you didn't have."