Bad steaks, a fight, and waking up alone

The Chef came down on Tuesday and after a marathon pants-shopping trip, we had a nice dinner and headed over to the Alley Bar, which is my favorite new place in Saratoga.

Wednesday night, we went to Lillian’s, where dinner was HORRIFIC. It was awful. And ridiculously expensive. And not cooked correctly. Did I mention the food sucked?

We headed to the Alley again, where we got in a fight about something so stupid I’m not even going to post it here. This fight ended, obviously, with the Chef leaving the bar, me walking home alone and then taking his bags and leaving them on the hood of his truck, which meant, of course, “When you get back, come talk to me so we can make up.” He took it to mean, “Leave. Now.”

Boys are so stupid.

I-81 and other reasons I hate the Orioles.

I spent most of the day doing nothing, which was blissful after spending last night and the wee hours of this morning driving through Pennsylvania. It’s not a bad drive overnight – but it’s hard to keep track of the changing speed limits.

I stopped in Wernersville, PA (please don’t ask me to do this again) and asked the gas station attendant – who was baked out of his mind – how to get to Rte 61. 

“I’ve never heard of that road. I don’t know. Where are you trying to go?”

“New York.”

“Whoa. Uh, I don’t know. You could ask at Sheetz.”

Yes, my little half-baked helper, I could ask at Sheetz. But then I’d get suckered into buying a breakfast sandwich of some sort and a liter of coke and maybe some chicken fingers and other assorted delicacies that are better when they come from Sheetz because (a) you get to order them on a touch screen and, (b)it’s 1 a.m. and I’m in the MIDDLE OF PENNSYLVANIA. (I’ve been in the middle of Pennsylvania for about FOUR HOURS. I swear, PA is as big as Russia.)

And after all that, I discover that the Yankees beat the Orioles 7-1 and Jeter, who spent most of the game acting like he was on the junior varsity team at Who Cares HS, brought in three runs in the ninth. Thanks, D. Couldn’t have done that before Brian and I sought shelter from the rain at the bottom of a bowl of pasta?