Stalking Isabella Rosellini

So many topics, so little time.

Let's fold the napkins, light the candles, set the plates, and kiss the patrons shall we?

::record skips::

Oh yeah, that's right, so I guess this qualifies as a quandry (slang spelling).

Whilst out at a birthday dinner party at a favourite restaurant of mine in

town, I will not name the restaurant, nor the genre for sake of protecting identities in this rather sensitive story (but I am not above telling you that tacos were consumed at this establishment).

Well, we'd all settled in and planted our rears when who from the kitchen should sparkling appear? It was that waiter, you remember the one, said we looked like celebrities and wished us good fun.

Not only did this waiter recount the entire, BeckiJennifur meal we'd had so many weeks ago to the entire table of 10 love, but also went into grave details about, his "dead friend in Chelsea" to the BIRTHDAY PARTY!!! (not the best dinner conversation). In addition to this embarrassing scene he fawned over how beautiful I was encouraging the table to join in on the compliment fest, while ignoring the birthday girl who looked so very glamorous herself in her birthday outfit.

The perfect meal (and slow slow service) were rounded out with the waiter, let's call him "Cob" asking my boyfriend permission to kiss me (which he did not give, btw), and then sliding into the seat next to yours truly and giving me a big, starstruck fan, eager kiss on the temple, then skipping away like some sort of 6'3" Latino keebler elf.

Isabella Rosellini would not have put up with this.

(Can anyone understand this blog but you, Becki dear?)

Insight and Salsa,

Jennifur