When you're here, you're chattle

I wish I were at Coney.

Not right now, as it's currently the dead of winter, but I wish it were warm and I was getting ready to take a spin on the Cyclone. Grabbing a few dogs at Nathan's. Perambulating on the boardwalk and wishing I could've been around while the parachute jump was still operational. I wish, I wish, I wish...

It feels really cold right now.

We had a brief visit to hell today. Lunch at the Olive Garden. Yes, we got a gift card for Christmas. The joint opens at 11:00. We got there at about 11:20, and there was already a twenty minute wait. For the fucking Olive Garden. I hate to tell you, but the food isn't that great. Since we were there for an early lunch, the earlybirds were mostly of pre-war carbon date, and I had several near encounters with walkers. With the lobby completely overfilled, we decided to stand it out in the foyer. Since we were in the capital of Maine, the entire lobby reeked of smoke and made frequent runs outside to catch a few tokes before their buzzers went off. Since it's currently the dead of winter, the door frequently opening and closing was less than desired. Finally, our buzzer honked. I think it was Anthony Bourdain that said you can tell the quality of a restaurant by how many burners are on. At the Olive Garden, I would bet that...well...I would bet that there are a lot of burners on. As soon as you're seated, you get the feeling that you're being rushed out the door. No wonder, with all those fucking lemmings waiting behind you to get a table. Our gal was somewhat pleasant, and attentive to the amount of parmesan we wanted on our salads. But I sure as hell didn't feel like family. I got the sausage and peppers rustica, and it was fine. Was it worth the hour expended and the chop-chop vibe and the neanderthals jabbering away on cell phones at their tables? Well, we had a gift certificate.

Good thing this Olive Garden is right next to one of the only Barnes & Noble's in the state. We had another gift card...