A Teenage Kind of Date Night

We are very lucky. We get to look forward to one night a week to get away from our kids, our lives and catch a glimpse of what it was like before we had kids. I look back fondly on those days, because they were filled with meals in interesting places, movies (I love movies, especially in the movie theater. It cant be beat.), trips with no agendas and making business contacts (Hubby, not me. I would just twiddle my fingers and smile in the right places).

Last night on our ho-hum date night, it hit me I have agenda when we go out. I want good food, a good movie and to be home early so I can wake up and fulfill my responsibilities the next day. I am always hurried, watching the clock waiting for George to get home. Being annoyed when he doesn’t show up at a reasonable time, to insure that we will eat dinner in time and see an appropriate timed movie. Yes, I am a planner and I need to know what will happen next. It does cause a lot of undue stress, which at this point is something I don’t need more of.

I had told George that morning that, yes, I will agree to go to the shooting range and learn to shoot a gun. He has been bugging me about it for awhile and I figured there was no movie out there that I just had to see, so why the hell not. His business associate even brought a couple of smaller guns for me to try. I need to find the one I can handle, you know. Something that will fit my frame.

This is not my idea of great fun. First, guns scare me. Mainly, because I think that if the user doesn’t know what they are doing they can either kill themselves or someone near by. It is not like you accidentally trip someone and say, “Sorry.” You get me, you kill me. Okay a little over dramatic, but you get the point. Second, I hate loud noises. I think the loud noise scares me more than anything else. Third, those shells come flying out and are HOT. I really don’t want to be burned. George has come home on several occasion to little burns from shells being lodged in place they should not be lodged.

I kept my end of the deal. I entered the small shooting range and stood there stiff waiting for the other shooter to just shoot, already. I think anticipating when the next cannon shot would be heard was worse than actually being in that room dodging flying shells. There were many problems with the only shooting range open on a Monday until 8pm: It was small. So small that I think my closet is bigger. The size did not help with the noise, I think it intensified it. Then there was the skating on previous shooters discarded shells. Damn, can no one get a broom in there and clean up? Last, the kids (yes, kids) working the store and range. They did not give me any faith that they could do anything to help in the event of a crazed patron. I am a little nervous when in a retail store and all patrons and employees have a gun. Yeah, it was not my ideal shopping experience. I saw many patrons that gave me cause to worry. There was one with the eyes of a serial killer or, at the least, a man with serious secrets in his basement and he worked there in some capacity. There was a young girl (Okay, maybe late teens, early twenties, but remember I am using my cane at this point.) playing some game on the computer that sounded like many a cartoon from Nick Jr. I bet she ran home that night to catch, That’s So Raven. Yeah, not someone I want at my local gun store and shooting range. And some guy behind the counter that looks like if he didn’t take up guns he would be left to lotion and a well worn Hustler. You know just first impressions.

After being in the little room for about 5 minutes, I had to leave. I couldn’t take the smell of burnt gunpowder, the cannon like noise (Yes, we were wearing eye and ear protection. I cant imagine how loud it would be without headphones.) and the flying shells. Do you get that those things scare me? I am thinking that they scared me more than the bullets. I left and waited for George to finish shooting. Hey, the range closed in 30 minutes, I figured I could give him that amount of time to “practice”.

We grabbed some dinner at a local bar. Now, some may say, Yuck, a bar? We are in New Orleans and some local bars have better food than some restaurants. I will give the Swamp Room 3 stars for their cheeseburger and cheese fries. I guess hubby wasn’t watching his cholesterol, last night. We sat and played the million and one games available on the table top video screen and just basically relaxed. It is a shame when George turned to me and asked where the naked Photo Hunt. It was more of a shame, because I was thinking the same thing. No, there was no alcohol consumed, because that is not how we roll. We don’t mind if others partake, but we prefer to have our full faculties available to us. We have learned too many times that we are not drinkers.

What to do? What to do? The best stop was coming up and it was all on a whim. I wanted to see the baby room that our friends are preparing for their addition. I know, I am a girl and an old mom one at that. I enjoy those things. So on the spur of the moment, I called them up and asked if we could stop by. I was fully prepared to bribe her with ice cream. Luckily, we didn’t have to pay the frozen admission.

We saw the room, and then we just talked. Once you have kids and more responsibilities you care to think about, just talking with friends becomes a lost art. During single and childless days, that was how many afternoon, evenings were spent. Now, most times there are kids to scold and hurriment to get home for naps or bedtime. There is not just sit down and chat awhile. I hear those days come back when the kids are much older, but that seems like a lifetime away.

We laughed and carried on like there was not a care in the world until reality snapped us all to our senses. I was tired from being awoken by a loud, annoying beep from our alarm every 5 minutes the night before and there was a 7 month pregnant woman that has just entered the realm of you will never sleep again for the next year plus. So we had to bid our farewells, after watching some guitar video game that I was confused by, and return to our lives. However, in that short 2 hour period life was bliss. For that moment, I was able to let go and relax. I need more moments like that in my life, there are so hard to come by these days.

I would like to say, because the husband does read my blog, that this was a good date night, BUT I still enjoy dinner and a movie. It was nice to do something different, but next week will be business as usual. Just so you know.

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Serial Killers are so 10 years ago. (Warning: Contains movie spoilers for Zodiac)

Last night, was another date night. Instead of wallowing in stupidity, we decided to take on something a little heavier. I agreed to let George see a semi-scaring movie. Now what you think is scary is not my idea of scary. I cant see the really scary movies, heck, I cant even handle the trailers. I really think Wes Craven has some problems and should be seen by a professional. I will donate to the cause, just don’t make me see the movies.

I have had a slight fascination with serial killers, in the past, but have put it aside because it tends to make me more paranoid than I already am. I am suspicious of every work man that comes into my house and plott how to avoid been killed. Really, I don’t need to be more on edge, someone is going to get hurt. I think most people want to know why serial killers kill, but I am more intrigued by those that appear to have no reason. I wonder how they turned out that way. Were they born or made?

What really made my face scrunch up was the “innocence” of the time. I mean as soon as the couple drove to the secluded area to get it on and the car pulled up behind them we knew they were in trouble. George and I were saying, “Drive off you dumb, bitch”. Yeah, yeah, we are those people. We try to keep it down. Anyway, the dude in the car, who survived the attack, was apparently thinking the same thing. However, he was too nice to smack his bitch up to get her moving. Well, he paid for that bad decision in the end. How does one live after something like that? Seeing him at the end of the movie, I would guess not too well.

The pregnant woman in the car just made me shiver. First, she stops on a dark road, because a stranger flashed his lights. Then she took his word when he told her that her front right tire was loose. How trusting was she to let him tighten it for her? Well, I know when my tire is loose and ain’t no one messing with my car. Most of the time I cant hear you honking over my music, anyway. My kids are so obnoxious in the car that I think you would just pass us by. At that point, I said, to myself, just drive stupid. Run him over and don’t look back. (NO dog jokes, okay). Then when her tire falls off, she accepts a ride with the SAME STRANGER. Come on those days weren’t that innocent, were they?

Then I went into don’t “Fuck with me!” mode. A mode that gets me into trouble, often. When she was in the car and that dude turned to her and said, “After I kill you, I am going to throw your baby out the window.” Want to guess what I would have done? I would have kept a straight face and asked him “how would he like to taste his own dick, then decked him in the face”. Sorry, to be so vulgar, but when it comes to life and death (especially my child) you are in for my crazier than you routine. That’s right, I would have gone ghetto on his ass. Although, kudos for that pregnant woman for jumping out of the moving car and taking her baby with her. That shocked me. I thought for sure they would show her dead body in the next scene.

Should I mention, that it bugged me all night, and still does, trying to figure out how this woman had a young baby (I would guess under 12 months) and could be what appeared to 8 months pregnant. That was truly the scariest part of the movie for me.

Okay, you maybe saying to yourself, “Yeah right, Southern Mom. We all know what to do when we are outside of the situation.” Well, all I can tell you is that since being pregnant and having kids my masculine side has truly come out. When I was pregnant with Amber I really believe I could have gotten into a fist fight. I don’t know if I would have won of not, but I know with those hormones I would have put up a good fight. My motto, now: I have no problem with rolling around beating the crap out of you, but I will not go silently in the night. Only, to be found dead and mutilated in a ditch somewhere. I think I need a happier motto. Let me think on it.

Zodiac brought up a few questions for me: Has technology slowed down serial killers? I know we have had a few, recently, but there seem to have been way more back in the 50′s, 60′s, and 70′s. Maybe we just hear about the past ones more and will hear more about ones during the 90′s and 21st century further in the future.

Has technology surpassed the intelligence of the serial killers? And why are these smart guys so messed up? Dude, get some help and stop whining about your momma. We all know she was a bitch, but jeez get some therapy.

Would DNA testing sealed the deal for the Zodiac killer? (I bet CSI would have caught him.) By the end of the movie, we all knew who he was, but there was no solid evidence to convict him. Even though he stopped killing, we had to wait for nature to take him. I do believe that the character in the movie was the true killer, but some believe that we will never know who really is the Zodiac killer. I am going to think that he is dead. I know that our technology isn’t perfect it just seems that if we had then what we have now, that these men wouldn’t have gotten away with murder. Their sick twisted murder.

One last note, this is to whoever decides how long these movies are going to be: Good God, could you please make the cut off part 2 hours. I had to take a nap and when I woke up the movie was still going on. By the end, I didn’t care about Graysmith and his obsession, I just wanted to walk around and wake up my butt. And why did you wait until we were so far in, to get to his story? And why did it take him so long to get involved in the story? Maybe if he would have gotten more involved a little sooner, they could have built a case to convict the Zodiac. Don’t sit on your ass, next time. And yeah, that was my husband who screamed like a girl when Graysmith ran out of that scary guy’s house. Can’t take him anywhere.

What to know what really frightens me? The weirdos and freaks that Google will bring to my site from the mentionings in this post.

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Sometimes Stupid Feels so Good

Mondays around here are date nights. It is our night to enjoy dinner without wiping little hands and not do that scream-while-whispering thing at the kids. Then it is off to a movie. This is what we do every date night, because it is the thing that keeps me sane. Well that and therapy. I love me some movies. However, I have a special fondness for the stupid ones. And no, not the stupid ones that all the cool people get, like Napoleon Dynamite. I swear that movie made my face hurt, mainly because it was scrunched up thinking what the hell is everyone talking about. Although, we did teach Amber to say, “Luck-eee!” like Mr. Dynamite. I like the real stupid ones that call to our inner basic instincts. “Hee hee, fat lady funny. Hee hee, farts funny.”

That’s right folks, we saw Norbit last night.

I informed the hubs that tonight, I needed to see me some stupid and he had no choice in the matter. I needed to forget all the crap that had been going down around here, lately, and just sink in my seat with a bag of popcorn, box of Junior Mints and a nice cold Icee. All of which made me sick, but oh it was a good sick. I guess practicing self-control for the last few weeks has caused my stomach to jump and roll around asking why I wanted to torture it so.

We went to a loud dinner at a local bar/restaurant/hole in the wall/slash the only place to get a decent steak dinner without going broke. Well, it use to be that last thing. It seems Crazy Johnnie’s has risen it’s prices a bit since the hurricane. I tell you one thing, they know how to burn a steak and leave it juicy inside. Just the way I like it. Please, don’t tell me how good meat is only seared and mostly pink inside. Yeah, I use to get it slightly pink, but an after effect of my pregnancies is that I don’t eat raw meat. NO RAW MEAT, EVER. That and tuna. After some conversation that I cant remember, but was filled with tons of curse words (another luxury we enjoy on date night) and hubby trying very hard to convince me to see 300, we were off to see our stupid movie.

A strange thing happened on the way to find my wayward husband, a strange looking man hit on me. I was waiting at the top of the escalator waiting for my husband to stop dicking around with an ATM (his business) downstairs, when I decided I had enough. Hubby wasn’t going to make me miss the previews, the best part, because he is taking care of business. I start to go down the escalator and a funny little man smiles a little too big and says, “Hey, How you doing?”. He was disturbing, to say the lest, because he looked like a fetus. A big-eyed, psycho fetus. Now, we are in the South and often people, I don’t know and will never see again, will smile or say “Hey”, but this man was a little too into it. So into it, I think my skin actually crawled off the bone. Not to hurt the man’s feelings, I waited until he was up the escalator and out of sight before I ran for the hills. See, I am so nice I dont like to even hurt the freak’s feelings. I ran up to Hubby and told him to forget about that stupid money machine, before another man, albeit scary, steals me away.

It was so nice to settle into our seat (there were many to chose from seeing it is Monday and everyone else in the free world has seen this movie already) set up our candy shop (the snacks cost more than the movie) and demanded to be amused. We were not disappointed. The only bad part about the movie is the line my Husband took away from it. You don’t know discomfort until you are walking through a mall with your husband loudly laughing, “Ryou rugly black baby. No one rever want rhese.” I am sorry to anyone that overheard that and hope you understood that: 1. it was funny in the movie and 2. my husband was born without a filter. It is amazing that one can insult 2 ethnic groups within 30 seconds. Eddie Murphy is so great.

Even though I am not fully back to my old self, I can still replay a few scenes of the movie and a smile can creep across my lips for a few seconds. My mind is still mush and I suspect it will be so for a little longer. However, it was good to escape into the land of stupid if only for a few hours on a muggy Monday night.

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Me and My Mister Out on the Town.

Three years ago, a big developer wanted to build a subdivision of 600 houses. This may not be odd to some, but it is definitely odd to our little community. First of all, our village doesn’t show up most times when entering in our zip code. Often when I am shopping online, the powers that be will shoot back that I am wrong. The city I have entered is not correct. I have accepted this and let the computer think I live in the city that is several miles away. Whatever, as long as I get my packages, all’s good. Besides, we all now the Internet knows everything.

Our neighborhood doesn’t have sidewalks, the houses sit on as little as a 1/2 acre and some people have an acre lot. This is how we are zoned and we were not going to let someone come in and build 8 houses to an acre. Not to mention it would be a death sentence for anyone driving on the main road that is already a scene to many a deadly accidents.

Through this civic association my husband, and others in our community have developed, has been on a first name basis with many of the local politicians. My husband is a strong personality and you definitely walk away knowing him. He has a passion matched by no one and will haunt you until you give him what he wants. I have learned to live with it and ignore it. I don’t fall for his mind games, but love to watch others fall to their knees and beg for mercy. I think most of our local politicians don’t want George on their bad side. What they don’t know is that I am the one pulling the strings. Mwahhaaaa.

This brings me to last night. We were invited, along with tons of others, to a fundraiser for a local politician. This function has caused me worry for a week. I didn’t have anything to wear and I would know no one. I never have anything interesting to talk to people about at parties, so I end up rocking in a corner wondering when is an appropriate time to go home. George knows I hate these functions. We don’t drink, so we are always on guard. Although, I have still been known to make a fool of myself.

Before we go to the function, we go to eat. It is a nice, elegant little restaurant. I love the atmosphere and the food ain’t too bad. All is going well, until I have to go to the bathroom. I dread going to the bathroom when I am all dressed up. There is so much foundation under my skirt I can start building a house. Oh yeah, you could bounce a quarter off my stomach, but not because of any ab exercises I have not been doing. First, we have the control top pantyhose, then there is the bodyshaper and finally there was the shaping cami that comes to just above my hips.

I walk into the bathroom and am confused. It is just one big room with 2 toilets. Oh yeah, 2 toilets in one big room with no stalls. What the hell is this? Am I suppose to invite someone in to sit along me and pee? Am I suppose to leave the door unlocked and wait for someone else to join me. Oooooh, so exciting peeing next to a total stranger. “So, do you come here often? Hope all comes out well. Oh I see you had the crab au gratin appetizer.” Being the selfish bitch I am, I locked the door and thought to hell to any other woman who wanted to use the facilities. I know I am not the fanciest girl in the world, but I would think in a swanky place there would be some privacy when eliminating. I guess this is how the rich pee, but this is not how this little white trash girl rolls. I pee alone went out. It is one of the many things I savor while away from my kids.

Then we head off to the fundraiser. I am glad we ate, because: 1. I was very hungry (This Lent thing is going to kill me), 2. It is Friday during Lent and who knows if they would have Lent friendly foods (For those of you that don’t know, we are not allowed any meat on Fridays during Lent. What else is there to eat in the world?) and 3. I never pass up a chance to go to out eat, which is probably the reason I have enough body shaping material for a hippo. That and the 2 children I housed in my womb that insisted on stretching my stomach to the point of no return.

I ask George does he know which side this politician is on. “I don’t know.”

“You give money and don’t know where he stands on the issues?” (I don’t even know what the issues are, but it sounds good. Me and my self-righteousness.)

“I am not supporting him.”

“You gave him money that will go to his campaign fund.”

“I don’t know what you are talking about.”

Such is most of our conversations.

The cream of the crop of the political machine of Jefferson Parish was there, along with young women with many boob jobs on the arms of young men who came for the free drinks. We circled the room a few times. It was hard for me, because I had, unbeknownst to me, broken my right pinky toe earlier that day. I learned the true meaning of pain that night. I wish I could have cut my foot off and picked it up at the end of the night. “Excuse me can I check my foot for the evening?”

We left after an hour and a half, because yes I am an old fuddy duddy. I couldn’t take the noise. The band was too loud and out of key. People talked way louder to be heard over the band. We had endure the drunks that get worse toward the end of the function. I was right there were very few choices, like only one, for us observing Lent. This surprises me, because we live in a very Catholic community. I guess some are not as strict on the rules as others. God will forgive you, it is a party, right?

How do you know you are in a mainly Catholic area and it is Lent? Mcdonald’s gives it’s filet o fish sandwich it’s own website and tells you the many ways you can have fun with fish. Ooooooh, fun with fish. I think I will wear it on my head, tonight.

I amused myself by passing gas, which no one heard because it was so loud. I am still a lady, because I know my farts don’t smell. I totally understand what babies and kids go through. I thought my head was going to explode with the noise and different things going on. I, also, came away understanding the jokes about us Southerners. Jeesh, who wears jeans and no bra to a party. Excuse me deliverance called and they would like their hillbillies back. I, also, amused myself by watching for all the dirty old men staring at the young chippies’ chest. Yes, I saw you and hope you got a good look. Sheesh.

It wasn’t my favorite night out, but I know it was something my husband really want to do so I sucked it up and went. And I waited an appropriate hour and half, before I started begging to go home Can I have my medal, now?

This night was made possible by our lovely friends, Jason and Sheila, for babysitting our darling children. You can thank me later for slipping Sammy that mickey that caused him to sleep until the wee hours of the morning. Sorry, you had to endure a night of Barbie and the 12 Dancing Princesses, dance recitals and school plays. I totally understand why you sent Amber to bed, but we all had our crosses to bear that night. Someday I will return the favor.

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Date Night

Click here for video of a kick ass night out, parent style.

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10 Things I learned from the movie "The Departed".

10. Yes, you can hate Matt Damon.

9. Leonardo Di Caprio is pretty hot, but not too muscular.

8. You CAN have too many well-known actors in one movie.

7. Marky Mark is annoying.

6. Jack Nicholson is really old, but can still act.

5. Evidently, every Bostonian adds a lot of extra a’s in their words. Words that dont even have a’s in them.

4. You can never have too many guys shot in the head.

3. Jack Nicholson must have a pact with the devil.

2. Anything fried and smothered in a heavy cream sauce is fine by me.

1. Everytime I leave my house, something is bound to happen. At least no one died.

I thought date nights were for relaxing and reconnecting with your spouse. Shows how much I know.

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This weekend I learned I am a simple girl or maybe I am just white-trash.

Today is our wedding anniversary. It has been 6 years. It should be mentioned that neither of us remembered but were reminded by outside parties. Thank you to my aunt, keep sending those emails, I may need a reminder when the kid’s birthdays come around. This is no testament on how much I love my husband or my level of happiness in our marriage. It just means that since having kids my brain has slowly been sucked from my head.

I don’t really understand wedding anniversaries. Yes, we are happy that we are still together, there were a few moments after Amber was born that I thought, “Oh my Gawd!!! Is this my life and how do I get out of it?”. After we got use to her and all the trouble she brings we have settled in nicely. However, why do I have to celebrate making another year, did I not promise to do that at the wedding. What, they thought I lied and needed to be reminded every year that I promised to stay married for life?

The question of gifts came up, but really with birthdays and Christmas, I get tapped out. George has put us in a position (Thank you, honey) that we want or need nothing. I actually strain myself to think up things for him to buy me and then look surprised. (He does quite well in the present department, so I shouldn’t make fun, but I will.) George is difficult to buy for. He is constantly asking for things I think he just doesn’t need. I know, it is all about him, but I will be the one tripping over the item after a few months. I should just buy him what he puts on his wish list (Yes, we each have a wish list carefully organized on our computers. At anytime either one of us can go to said list and see what the other may want.), because at least he will play with the item.

I told George no gifts this year, really there was no time seeing that neither of us remembered. I said let’s go to Commander’s Palace for dinner on Saturday. Mom was babysitting, yeah!!! They have just reopened after being closed for just over a year after Katrina. I thought we could get in, because you know there is a slow down of tourists to the city. (I wonder who all those people were going in and out of the titty bars and flashing their boobs on Bourbon street? Hey, it isn’t Mardi Gras and those beads cost like a penny. Have some dignity.) Uh, the earliest reservation was for 930pm. Sorry, but I am too old to eat that late and since having kids we have gotten use to eating at 530pm. We beat the rush and the kids don’t bother many people, because all the swinging childless people eat much later than us. So we decided to go there for brunch on Sunday. We ended up going to NOLA, an Emeril restaurant. It was nice and casual enough.

I think we are missing something, because we don’t drink. We actually go to these places to take in the atmosphere and food, which they deliver. This is where I discover I am a simple girl (or maybe just white trash). I understand all these chefs want to impress us with their latest creations and how well they can put flavors together, but frankly it is lost on me. I am sure other people find this food delicious, I am left confused. I had a Filet Mignon with some kind of bordelaise sauce (which I really never found), sauteed rapini (broccoli rabe) and dirty rice. Now, I love me some dirty rice, but I am not sure what I had last night. Hey Emeril, what did you do to the dirty rice? It had a tomato taste and not much of a kick. Now, dirty rice I have had at Zea’s or at other’s home has a kick. It will knock you on your ass and you come back begging for more. The steak was good, easy to cut, but where is the sauce? I know Emeril has eaten down here before and knows we want stuff smothered in any kind of cream sauce. If I cant see it, it ain’t there. We did have a crab cake for a starter that was pretty good, but who looks at an eggplant and says lets puree this thing and see how it taste. Uh, not too good. I should say that the service was great. There was always someone there to fill our water, fold our napkin when we left the table, and clear some mess we made. Hell, it took 3 people to do those jobs and I do them at home all by myself. I deserve a medal. I would like to say that it nice of them to give me a black napkin so that I wouldn’t get white napkin droppings all over my black skirt. Cause, you know when you go clubbing afterwards and the blacklight is on, you don’t want all kinds of little white things on your black clothes. I don’t know what was in that food, but I was knocked out by the time we got in the car. I slept the whole way home. I think Emeril is slipping something into the food.

Today was our trip to Commander’s. A place that people talk about and everyone has been to at least once. Well, I have been there at least once. I don’t know what it looked like before the storm, but hell they did a great job rebuilding it. I would like them to finish the bathroom. I know all us ladies have seen our parts before, but we would prefer a lock on the stall when we are doing our business. It is just a lady thing. I was very nervous about our brunch here, because we had the kids with us. I told George to warn them on the phone when we made the reservations, because I didn’t want anyone coming to us and complaining. I would hate to get ignorant in such a nice place.

We are seated and everything seems to be going well. Sammy is a little upset, because he is hungry, but doesn’t want to nurse. No worries, I have the diaper bag that has everything. Voila, lunch for Sammy. Amber is doing okay, even though she was a total pill at church and the store earlier. (We went to the Devil {Walmart} to see if they had anything for Halloween. Nope, nothing. What, now I have shop for my Halloween stuff 2 months in advance? They had Christmas stuff out. I think the world is coming to an end.)We are quietly waiting for our menus, munching on bread and listening to the jazz band. Let me tell you there is nothing like eating while 3 men come to your table and play jazz for you. It is great. Finally, the menus come and I scan to see if there is anything I will like. Nope, not really. I will say it was far cheaper than I thought it would be. Depending on your entree, you could get a starter, entree and dessert for about $36. Not bad. I order pancakes, because really how different can pancakes taste. I found out very different. What the hell is brandy milk and how do you get it into a whip cream? I had to share with Amber, who filled up on bread and chocolate milk. Now, do you what to know what chocolate milk at a fancy restaurant will get you? They actually melt chocolate and professionally stir it into the milk. There is no Hersey syrup at Commander’s and I never saw the chocolate fall to the bottom of the glass. You do, however, have to wait a little bit for this milk, which is difficult for a 4 yrs old to comprehend when everyone else has their drinks.

My starter was crab and egg creole. I love crab meat, put it anything and I will eat it. However, poach eggs I am not too fond of. I think it is an after affect of being pregnant. Once the yolk was broken on that egg and it’s runny yellow goodness pour into the creole gravy I was done. YUCK!!!! Good thing George was there, he ate it. Our dessert was a chocolate tart. Okay, chocolate. Good. Don’t know what a tart is, but if it is made of chocolate it has to be good, right? Uh, I don’t know what that texture was, but I don’t want it near my mouth again.

It was nice to have the jazz band play our wedding song, The Way You Look Tonight. I don’t know where the line was,between enjoying the music and actually cheating with the man singing. This man’s stare on me was so intense, I think I did break a wedding vow. It was uncomfortable. We did leave the restaurant with several people telling us how good our children were. They didn’t know the threats we laid down to Amber before we entered the restaurant. And again the atmosphere was worth the price of the food. I do not feel well, again, and am very tired. Damnit, did Emeril leave his special sleepy ingredients at this restaurant, too.

I will say there is no other place, but New Orleans, where you get to second line around the restaurant and the owner joins in. Where the servers will actually talk and joke with you. None of our servers had a stick up their butt. And if you are use to fine dining, like many are, I am sure you will enjoy the uniqueness of the food. I think my stomach has become too accustomed to the middle of the road restaurants that it was put into shock this weekend. Maybe like all things that I have discovered since hanging around with George, I will come to expect only the best and will shun anything that doesn’t measure up. Hey, one can break out of their simpleness.

If you have stumbled onto this because you googled: New Orleans, Emeril, Commander’s Palace, NOLA or runny, yellow goodness, please don’t go by my review of these 2 fine restaurant. I have eaten at other fine restaurants, like Shula’s and Emeril’s Delmonico’s and enjoyed it very much. I think I am more a steak and potato girl. I say try these restaurants and I am sure you will enjoy them. I would highly recommend Commander’s Sunday Brunch. It is not that expensive and if you drink I am sure you will like the Mimosas.

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