Let's start calling Burbank "the Bank"! Do it! Do it!
Long, TV-less weekend was something of a joy, something of a dream. Thursday was spent having habachi (a little silly for me) and at C.O. Jones in the Have.
Friday, my sister graduamated from high school. Thunderstorm meant indoors, which, in turn, meant I had to watch it on feed from the cafeteria. Then my sister departed for Project Graduation and my sis and I went down to the Have to hang with some of my Yale friends, eat Pepe's pizza (Bar was mad crowded) and cookies/cannolis (chocolate mousse, mm) at Libby's. I'm not much for Italian pastries, but if you're gonna have one, Libby's is it. The hours they post are a total lie, though, and they sometimes close early. Just be aware.
Saturday, ran errands, including getting my awesome new LG Chocolate in red (I know, I know, they came out an epoch ago, but it's new to me, so let me be happy), marveled at the comparably low gas prices, and prepped for my sister's grad party. Fam and friends showed up, lots of picnicky-type food, including some banging lasagnas that went, largely, to waste, and three cakes, including one that I ordered from Claire's THAT THEY DID WRONG! and finally, 12 hours later, a tad bit of sleep.
Sunday, I only had time to eat brunch before grabbing the plane back to Burbank. Or three planes, as the case might be.
Now let's talk about airport madness because, really. My trip home was uneventful, but Wednesday night was ridic.
First, in Phoenix, all the food places were closing/closed as I got there, except for Cali Pizza Kitchen and a TCBY. I didn't feel like spending 10 bucks on a sandwich, so I opted for $4 on a yogurt. At the front of the line, an old couple got into an argument with the TCBY employees. And here's the issue. The women were clearly some form of Muslim, probably East African, and almost fully-covered. The people ordering were old, old, old white people. They may have been around when Africa and South America were one. Apparently, the old people could not read because they ordered a white chocolate swirl, which, if they had read the menu, they would know can only be swirled with strawberry. So an argument ensued about what "white chocolate swirl" meant.
The employee finally capitulated and made them a new ice cream.
And here's where I get pissed. The woman DIRECTLY BEHIND THIS COUPLE DID THE SAME THING.
And this time, she talked to the employee like she couldn't speak English. It was unbelievably rude, and the customer WAS CLEARLY IN THE WRONG. She kept repeating white chocolate swirl, and I wanted to yell at her that a) white isn't a flavor, b) read the friggin' menu, and c) don't be a jerk.
I thought the employee was gonna kill the customer, and honestly, I would have testified in her defense because that was just obnoxious.
THEN in Philadelphia while I was waiting for my connector to Hartford, early Thursday morning, a young man in sunglasses and a baseball cap sits down next to me while I'm dozing. Then he gets up and leaves... without his suitcase. 10 minutes pass. What the hell?
So I follow the line of thinking drummed into me by the NYC MTA system (si ves algo, di algo-- IF YOU SEE SOMETHING, SAY SOMETHING) and bring it to the attention of an employee.
A half hour passes while they try to page the guy and the woman calls her supervisor. At this point, I'm wondering why the suitcase hasn't been removed from the airport and blown up, and I get as far from the gate and the suitcase as possible, while still maintaining the ability to watch what happens (hey, Bravo, I have a new show to pitch to you), when the guy in the shades walks out of the bar, goes to the bathroom for about 5 seconds, then returns to our gate. He gets his suitcase. I didn't see anyone yell at him.
But overall, good weekend. I should have taken a picture of the New Haven food, but I was too busy eating it all. Mmm.