NOBEMBER TURD

That's how my grandpa used to say that I said "November third" when I was a toddler. Eventually that evolved into people calling me a November Turd. I'd be offended, but hey, sometimes it's probably true.

My EMTsis took me out to lunch today at a restaurant called Hasta La Pasta. If you like Italian cuisine, you'll like this place. I had their signature dish, which is basically fettucine alfredo with cilantro cream sauce and grilled chicken. It was delicious, but man am I full. I couldn't even eat the free cheesecake they brought out for me. On the up side: Leftovers!

As we were finishing up our lunch, our waitress dropped a plate from the table next to us. It shattered all over the place, and I am pretty sure that the pain in my forehead is from shrapnel. I'm glad I was wearing jeans, because pieces of that plate hit me and my sister in the legs with enough force to make us wince. Fortunately, my leftovers had already been boxed and bagged, so they were safe from the fallout. The waitress had no idea the broken plate pieces had travelled that far, and in retrospect, we probably should have said something. If we'd still been eating, we definitely would have, as little pieces of white ceramic were all over our table and on our plates. As it was, we were finished and getting ready to leave.

That said, however, if I should start bleeding from the forehead, I'll be making some phone calls. Hasta La Vista, baby.