Chef Yang’s

I think that’s the name of it. It’s this crazy Chinese buffet in Murfreesboro where you can get great Chinese food and pizza and fried shrimp and hardpacked ice cream and it’s all delicious and it’s only like six bucks for lunch.

I tried to discern if Rex L. Camino or Kleinheider were dining with us, but, since we were in the non-smoking section, it was just us and the kids. So, unless Mr.s Camino and Kleinheider are secretly babies, we did not see them.

The Butcher drove my down to my thing and I felt bad because when we got there, it was obvious that there was no need for us to be there. So, we hung out for a little bit and the Butcher and I cracked each other up and once we’d made sure a couple of people had seen us and could attest that we did indeed actually make it there, we left.

I’m still taking Monday off, though.

Then the Professor and I went to buy something for me to wear at The Vagina Monologues. I’ll be wearing all black–I bought this awesome shirt with all these tiny buttons up the front–and then we spent a good hour in Dillard’s picking out these fabulous orange necklaces to layer up and wear. The Professor thinks I’ll look very witchy.

I hope so.

It’s funny. Sometimes you stand in front of mirrors in dressing rooms and you think, “My god, that is one hideous thing to look at.” Today, I was like, “Yeah, I guess I’m cute, in a Hummel-type of way.” I mentioned it to the Professor, but I don’t think she knows what Hummels are.

10 thoughts on “Chef Yang’s

  1. Yep, I probably did mean Chef Wang’s. Up there on Broad? I guess if I’m going to write about places, I should take the time to get their names right.

  2. Camino, I like to imagine that you and Kleinheider meet up every once in a while. Do you wear paper bags so that you can maintain your anonymity?

    Miss J., shoot. You say the sweetest things.

    Bez, I think it’d be an excellent place for kids. They have such a wide variety of food.

    Sarcastro, oops. Sorry to bring that place up again.

  3. Kleinheider and I often do just that. We each wear a polyester suit and a brown paper bag over our heads, and the whole situation must look from the outside like some lost episode of “The Gong Show” in which Chuck Barris must identify which of us is the real Unknown Comic and which is the evil imposter.

  4. I know what Hummel’s are! I grew up in south suburban Chicago, with a bunch of other Irish- and German-descended people. I am insulted on two levels here. First, I asked you to explain yourself and I disagreed. Thinking that I would engage in a conversation without asking a basic question about the terms is insulting. Second, you insult my sense of style and my taste when I say you do look sexy – NOT CUTE – and your best response is to say I don’t know what’s going on.

  5. I don’t know why or how you confused Chef Wang’s with Chef Yang’s. I figured with your dirty mind, you would be able to tell the difference.

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