The Last of the Burgh Moms

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You've read all about the Pittsburgh Blogger Get-Together. In fact, you're probably sick to death of hearing about it. But you're going to hear about it again. Last weekend I just was too busy to give the story any kind of justice. Here's how it went down.

I arrived a little early but figured I'd get the table and relax. The place was hopping and the hostess looked a little stressed. I can relate to this. I'm sure it's much like when the kids come home from school, the phone rings, Sam walks in the door and I need to get dinner started. But it happens 5 days a week and you deal with it. She, however, didn't deal so well. She looked at me like I had 5 heads when I said about a reservation.

Me: You do take reservations, don't you?
Her: Yes.
Me: We have a table reserved for 7:00. I'm not sure what name it would be under.

Let me insert here that although we very much appreciate that Burgh Baby's Mom planned this and made the reservation, she didn't tell a single soul what name the reservation would be under. Thankfully we're a group of women and are capable of figuring it out all on our own.

Her: Could it be this one? (Giving out a name.)
Me: Yes, that's probably it.
Her: (Looking at me skeptically) You're 17 minutes early. You'll have to come back at 7:00. (Said in an incredibly sarcastic tone.)


So I headed to the car to charge my cell phone battery for a bit as I'd noticed it was getting low. And then I thought I'd better use the little girls' room before the shin-dig got started because I didn't want to be the one who can't hold her bladder in a group setting.

I located an acceptable stall (don't you hate when someone didn't flush before you?) and set my purse on the top of the toilet paper holder. I had just seated myself when my phone rang.

For heaven's sake, what are the odds of that happening?! (Good thing I'd just charged the phone, that way I was sure to not miss a call while in the can.)

It was the Burgh Baby's Mom herself, calling to tell me that she was running late. I reassured her that I was already there and would get the table. And don't worry, I wasn't tinkling while I was talking. But it was definitely awkward to be sitting on the john while talking on the phone.

Sorry, Burgh. But you're the one who called. Feel free to wash your phone if it makes you feel better.


I went back to the hostess who seemed to be a little less stressed and not a bit more friendly. She grilled me again about whose name the reservation was under. As I was just finishing up the unpleasantries with her Gina walked in bearing her bag of goodies. Gina is a gem, there ain't no two ways about that. (Thanks for the goodies, girl! I had to beat the kids off the horsey butt, but did graciously allow my daughter to model the earrings.)




Apparently the hostess thought it was her business to grill every single one of us about getting the name the reservation was under the next time we tried a stunt like this. Weirdly, we all found this highly amusing, and if we ever had the notion to meet at the same joint again I'm pretty sure we'd all tell her we don't know what name it's under just for spite.

We came in one by one and our waiter was run ragged trying to catch up with things. Apparently it was too hard to remember which drink belonged to which girl. He sloshed and splashed every drink he set down and then managed to forget who ordered what meal. I'm pretty sure he was convinced we'd played musical chairs while he was gone. Which might be a fun thing to do at a restaurant sometimes.

We had an absolute wonderful time chatting, sharing and visiting. Really, it was wonderful. But being the lame-o that I am, I had to bail early. Sam brought Becky and Josh along to spend some daddy-time with them and we needed to get home at a semi-decent hour. Yeh, the kids are older, but still turn into grumpy toddlers when kept out past midnight. That whole I don't live in the city thing is good, until we're in the city late at night. (And for record, the 800 year old car is still running well. Turns out it was low on fluids and may live another several hundred thousand miles.)

But I didn't figure on the waiter playing into the leaving part. Even though we'd finished our meals and dessert, and he'd asked if anyone wanted coffee or another drink, he still hadn't brought our checks.

I'm the world's largest idiot in social settings, and went to the front of the restaurant to settle up before heading out. The hostess with the leastest had gone home for the night but her cronies were there to take her place. I was informed rather rudely that I needed to settle up with the waiter. *groan*

Back to the table I went to stand around and chat a while longer while Brandon messed up the checks, fell in the kitchen and dawdled worse than any of my kids are even capable of. Half an hour after I said my first good-byes to the group I was able to leave.

And then the real party began, I'm sure.