I've given up on the questions that lead off the journal every entry. Not only are they not informative, but they seem to work better with a group of people. Plus, I'm bored with it already. I blame television for my short attention span.

Things are well with the Oddities. B and G and I have settled our differences, (though we have yet to talk about them) and moved on.

The weekend was fun. Friday was more paintballing (not so fun) and eating at a local restaurant with the worst service I had ever experienced. Not to mention any names *cough*PandaExpress*cough*, but the place would have to be top my best of the worst list.

We entered the restaurant and the hostess showed us to our table. She asked us what we wanted to drink, but she failed to provide us with menus. B and G just guessed at what soda was available, and when she returned with the drinks, they were in 20 oz. bottles, and not glasses. It looked tacky. Since I didn't order a drink, she returned with only TWO menus, promting me to politely ask for one.

From there, a waitress took over, who looked like a former MadTV actress. She was sloppy and looked unprepared. As G and I were about to order, she stopped us in mid-thought to tell us not to tell her the menu item, but the number associated with it.

G and I exchanged glances.

"Number 42," he said.

"Number 54," I answered, still unsure of what to think.

This was all in the first five minutes.

B was the smart one. He went the buffet route. He didn't have to associate with the waitress, the menu and its subsequent numbers, or what happend next. When she brought out our food, she set my Kung Pao chicken in front of me, then picked it back up, and went to the back because she had to check whose order was whose. Ridiculous. I talked with G about the poor service, and the cashier had to chose that moment to come to our table.

"What?" she asked.

I saw him, but pretended I didn't. The last thing I wanted to do was face an employee.

On second thought, the last thing I wanted to do was face the waitress who returned seconds later. We ate, got boxes for what was left, and sat in awkward silence when the bill came, and the subject of how much to tip was brought up.

"Nothing," I said.

That idea was nixed, and the two of them left a total of three dollars. With my 75 cents thrown in, our tip came to 3.75. It wasn't deserved on our bill of 26.67. According to my quick mat, we gave about 15%. A stark contrast from the 15% I left for better service at IHOP that morning.

Saturday was bowling. My excuse for bowling so bad was the cute girls in the lane to our right. I won game one 109-94, but lossed the second 105-99. Brnadon didn't bowl, because he's sick of the Union Building, and bowling. How many times have we bent over backward to do what he didn't want to do? So he apparently went to Kari's (his prom date's house) while we bowled. Plus, I had a bet going with G as to whether or not Natasha is a Russian name. I won of course. He even asked the woman at the information desk if it was. Did you know Natasha spelled backwards is Ah Satan? Which is why G should name his kid that. His obsession with death and fire will get him in trouble one day. Along with picking flowers from people's lawn, and then throwing them out the window for no reason.

Helped my uncle move into my grandma's on Sunday. His friend that was supposed to help him was getting high in his old apt. After, I cleaned my car for the first time since I bought it. Next is the upholstery, and my room. Dust bunnies beware...

Jas

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