Lunching With A Friend At A Restaurant With A Confusing Name

July 16, 2015January 28, 2021 / Ally Bean / 24 Comments

… you gotta wonder who names these places?

A FRIEND WHO I’VE KNOWN FOR DECADES called me and wanted to meet me for lunch at a place she’d recently discovered. She thought the food and service were great– plus we needed an adventure, she said.

I asked what was the name of this fine establishment where we’d be lunching. And that’s when the conversation took a turn for the worse.

It’s called Again With The Eggs Cafe, she said.

… Or maybe it’s called All About Eggs Cafe?

She couldn’t remember.

• • •

I ASKED WHERE THIS NEW DELIGHTFUL RESTAURANT, whatever its name might be, was located. Come to find out it was about halfway between where we each live, so it made sense to go there.

It’s called Broken Eggs Again Cafe, she declared.

That’s it. That’s the name of the place.

… Or maybe it’s called Something About Broken Eggs Cafe.

I can’t remember the name, she said.

[No kidding, thought I.]

However, despite not knowing the precise name of this restaurant, located in a new “lifestyle center,” she could tell me exactly how to get there. And how to safely navigate the “lifestyle center” parking lot, designed by the makers of whack-a-mole.

• • •

AND THAT WAS GOOD ENOUGH FOR ME, a woman who started driving pre-Garmin. Who survives life in the big city sans smart phone.

Who’s been lost more times than found when it comes to going to lunch with friends.

So off I went to have lunch at this charming little restaurant, with the impossible-to-remember name, called: Another Broken Egg Cafe.

… you can understand her confusion, can’t ‘ya?

• • •

No Whippy Frosting For Me, Please & Thank You

July 15, 2015January 28, 2021 / Ally Bean / 29 Comments

Welcome to Fun With Foibles, an ongoing series wherein I helpfully point out what is wrong with other people & things, while remaining quiet about my own failings. Today’s topic is…

Whippy Frosting

In case, somehow, you are unfamiliar with Whippy Frosting, it is a vile, faux-vanilla flavored concoction of Crisco, Cool Whip and Peeps, blended together, making what bakeries try to pass off as frosting for cakes.

Whippy frosting is an abomination against man and God.

In fact, while often omitted in modern translations of the Bible, everyone knows that on the eighth day God created cake. And He said: Let there be butter cream frosting on all cakes. Henceforth and forevermore. Amen.

[That would be “Fiat Yum” in the original translations.]

Yet some people, mostly heathens I’m assuming, continue to buy cakes with whippy frosting from the bakery– thereby encouraging the bakery to ignore God’s perfect creation, butter cream frosting, and to continue to make said sub-standard frosting.

And try to pass it off as edible. WHICH. IT. IS. NOT.

So I urge you, gentle readers, as a favor to me, who asks so little of you, to not buy cakes with this stuff on it. Maybe then, it’ll go away.

I can only hope.

New Year’s Resolution, Mid-Year Clarification Of Said

July 10, 2015February 11, 2016 / Ally Bean / 11 Comments

AND NOW A WORD FROM OUR SPONSORS…

Yes, I know that I declared 2015 to be the Year of the Recluse.

I know that I said that I’d not be doing things social. But sometimes, even an introvert such as myself, wants to do something with a friend or two.

So I’m a failure at following through with my New Year’s Resolution. Like you’re so good at doing in July that which you said that you’d do in January?

Hmmm? How are you doing with your resolutions?

# # #

To clarify, when I said that I’d be a recluse this year what I meant was that I was going to avoid reunions, anniversary/holiday dinners, birthday bashes– and having a Christmas party here at the house.

[That last one in particular.]

So when it comes to those sorts of things, I’m a recluse. But when it comes to other activities I’m kinda out there socializing all over the place this year.

Well, I’m always kinda out there, but you know what I mean!

…AND NOW BACK TO OUR SHOW

A Summer Afternoon At Home: Rocket Pays Gizzard

July 7, 2015January 28, 2021 / Ally Bean / 17 Comments

Sitting on the screened-in porch. Reading a magazine. Sipping an iced coffee. Late afternoon.

Summer is all around me.

In the distance across the ravine hidden behind the trees I hear kids playing outside. They have a trampoline over there– and they play all sorts of “ball” sports, like football or softball or basketball.

These kids, who are around 8-10 years old, are a happy bunch. Boisterous.

And supportive of each other. I’ll hear some of them encouraging the other ones with “good job” and “awesome.”

There’s rarely an argument.

So, when I become aware of a lull in the kid noise, my ears perk up.

What is this, I think. Not the usual light-hearted chatter. Is there a problem over there in kid-topia?

As if on cue I hear one loud little voice yelling: “Rocket pays gizzard. Rocket. Pays. Gizzard. ROCKET PAYS GIZZARD.”

This child is insistent.

All sorts of other kid voices yell back at him: “That’s not right.”

Then silence. Nary a sound.

Of course now I need to know what they’re up to, so I wait to hear what they will be say next– and much to my surprise I hear an adult voice.

An adult who is laughing while trying to speak.

An adult who has decided to intervene to keep things rolling along smoothly.