So like, minutes after I posted that last post E called me to say she was coming over.
E being the ‘my best friend’ from the last post.
E being the chick I haven’t seen in months and then just happens to call me after I post on my blog about her. And last time we went out and I mentioned my awesome internet stardom, the next day I had a butt load of hits on my blog looking for ‘Kelley’s blog’
But yeah, she is all ‘when are you going to tell me about your blog?’ and I am all ‘I know you are freaking reading it you Faker Mcfakerson, fess up!’ and she is all ‘what is this Faker Mcfackerson shit?’ and I am all ‘I totally stole it from some other blogger or something’ and she is all ‘Since when do you talk like a Valley Girl?‘
Anyway, she comes on over and I am staring at her belly all the time and thinking ‘sheeeee-it she has either put on a fuck load of weight or she is pregnant’
And she was the latter. Fuck it. Who knew extreme jealousy could actually ooze out your ears…
So we decided to go out to dinner to celebrate. Celebrate the fact that she can drive and I can get absolutely fucking staggeringly drunk and eat all the damn soft cheese that I want.
Ommmmm nommmm nommmmm on the cheese biatch.
We decided to try the new fancy schmancy restaurant that opened 2 weeks ago out in the middle of a vineyard. In the middle of nowhere. That took us 4 wrong turns and almost going back to town to drive through KFC to find.
Finally we found it. In the middle of nowhere. A TIN FUCKING SHED.
I looked at E and said ‘I moisturised for this? It better be good’
So we were led to our table and the ‘trendy’ chairs which equal un-fucking-comfortable fake leather that makes my thighs
sweat glisten, and I give E that look, the look that would be totally awesome if I could actually lift my eyebrows independently and not look like a botox victim.
The waitress brings us the menus, E asks if we can order anything from the menu and the girl is all ‘yes’ and giving E that look that I cannot perfect, so I look at her sweetly and say ‘Even breakfast?’ and she is all ‘No’.
We peruse the starters and entrees. Considering the cheapest thing is some bread with herbs and cheese at 11 bucks we decide to split one cause the girl tells us it is a small loaf. I order my main and wander over to the bar while E chooses from the specials menu.
I buy a bottle of red that promises hints of blackberry and chocolate and a lemonade for E. Bwaaaaa haaaa haaaaaaa at the lemonade preggo biatch. All the wine is mine.
No sooner do I sit down than the starter arrives. And that motherfucker is HOT. I have like, asbestos hands, and that shit still hurt trying to pull it apart.
And the cheese? Hmmm, I don’t see no stinking cheese. Or herbs. WTF?
Seconds later our mains arrive. Um. What? Did you even have TIME to get back to the kitchen?
Mine was a risotto something or other with snow peas and chorizo. Big great hunks of fucking chorizo hidden at the bottom and tiny little slivers of snow peas. It had some fancy name, and while delicious, I could have done a damn sight better and probably fed the whole street for the $30 I paid.
E’s pregnancy brain kicked in and she ordered something from the lunch menu, chicken blah blah blah focaccia. Must have been some special freaking Christian Dior chicken, cause $20? And I think we found our cheese from the starter…
Hmmm pretty odd thing for a fancy schmancy restaurant. But then I look around. Bogans abound. Gnawing on their $30 steaks, chewing with their mouths open.
And I swear to God one guy had acid wash jeans on. His lay-dee wearing low rise jeans and a mid-drift top. I am feeling rather over dressed. But then the second glass of wine kicks in and I enjoy laughing openly at the other diners, E used to my madness and egging me on.
We stagger and waddle over to the dessert cabinet, make our selections and wander back, looking under tables for the ultimate in bogan wear – moccasins, uggs and crocs – but thankfully none to be found. This place must be rool classy like. To be fair, there is only one table of bogans and it looks like they are celebrating someones birthday.
After what feels like an age, compared to the seconds between the starter and main, our desserts arrive. On warm plates. E is non-plussed, I am rather pissed. It is a cold dessert and now the dollop of cream is melting.
E decided on the lemon tart. Cause she is one.
I finally settled on the pecan and white chocolate tart. Cause I am awesome.
We closed our eyes while paying the bill and returned to my house to find Boo in bed and MPS snoring on the couch. I went to bed soon after E left to dream of being a food blogger.
Tomorrow I will show you how to make toast and open a bag of chips.