The OP touches my heart and nerves - a rant about the dance in Birmingham! (I’m your neighbor, you just don’t know it.)
I recently went out with someone and we started this ritual and he put an end to it immediately with this: “I really hate the ‘I don’t know’ game. I’m much better if you just tell me what to do.” Well, that was the condensed version.
Oh, sweet words I have longed to hear all my life! Carrabbas, here I come!! I am drunk with the power of decision-making!
Next I’ll start making dinner decisions for the rest of you - bow before me!
Great post, I loved it, gave it a 10 !
Of course we have many years experience with the dance at our house.
At our house the first chorus is, " I Don’t Care"
The second is, “Up To You”
The third, “Whatever you think”
If it’s a good day, and you’re willing to put in the time, you can get the tribeca, ‘I don’t care, It’s up to you, whatever you think’ in one long string.
Extra points may be awarded by the judges if it’s a birthday, anniversary or Valentine’s Day.
If one partner is Menopausal you get no additional points, but, then you’re probably just happy to get food.
If one partner is hypoglycemic all points double, every ten minutes.
This thread makes me hungry. My wife’s a good cook and we don’t really do the dance or eat out much. But now I’m hungry for Mexican food - the fifth food group.
We have not tried Carrabbas yet but I have heard really good things about it.
We are now leaning towards Brio because we are planning on doing a little shopping afterwards and that would put us right at Brookwood Mall.
I mentioned this to Sauron earlier tonight and he was none too pleased.
Sauron: WHAT? You can’t DO that! We had already decided where we were going…THE TAVERN. You can’t switch NOW. It’s a done deal. (I really should cut back on his caffeine.
I’m quite sure I’ll see a post tomorrow from him discussing how I have yet again changed the rules on him.
Little does he know how much amusement I get from doing this. Ahh…the simple pleasures in life.
And the dance continues… 
Irrelevant point of fact here, I bet you dollars to doughnuts that the time spent arguing about where to go is less than the time it takes for BOTH of you to decide on, and pick up, your own carryout meals from whichever place you choose. You both get the food you want, quick service, no bitching, intimate dining (in the nude if you wish), and less time wasted arguing with your mate (i.e. bitching).
I’m sure that some intangible will relegate this theory to the trash heap, but why? If you go out for the great ambience, go to the “ambience place”, if you go for the variety, you can’t get anymore variety than from any 2 places.
I think you just enjoy the “dance”, you say you hate it, but it happens all the damn time.
Do something practical, be assertive, or be flexible…end of story. This degree of “irritation” makes me think of how 3rd world people might view our dining conundrums…I know we’re not there, but seriously, is this worth a rant?
I’ve been there too, and know how frustrating an indecicive person can be, let alone a couple. Fekkin DEAL with it!! I credit you for your story telling abilities, and I have no doubt that this is a genuine aggravation for you. However, I feel that your OP can be summarized by “my girly and I wanted to eat out, we couldn’t decide, humor ensued, we ended in unsatisfactory compromise at a pseudo-truck-stop”.
I can see where your bicth is, but are you powerless? Is this a neccesary evil when deciding where to eat? If it sucks that much, make it change. If it comes down to it, sacrifice or assert yourself. If your OP was in the spirit of “life humor”, most of us can probably reluctantly identify, but if this was a legitimate rant…I hate you, and so do most other people in the world.
Wow, that seemed to hit home alot more than I thought it would.
Geez…lighten up. It was a funny story. Did it actually happen, yes…it does quite often.
No, it wasn’t a true “rant” I suppose but neither were running into the Emperor of the World at McDonalds or the lowest common denominator at Winn Dixie stories.
It was meant to entertain.
And entertain it did.
Aside: Carrabas is very good. I’ve been to one in PA. Expensive, but extremely tasty.
My wife and I have played this game, but not as well or as vocally as you two. Generally, if we want to go out, one of us already has a place in mind.
Last time we went out for dinner was on the 9th (our anniversery) and decided on a good local restaurant. It was closed. Apparently, it’s always closed on Mondays and we never noticed because we only go there on the weekend. So we kept driving, heading in the direction of either Red Lobster or Outback.
We decide on Red Lobster.
Wife gets upset because of some nonsense and loses her appetite. Starts to get all glum and whiney. Not really wanting to eat out any more. Can’t make up her mind.
I say, “Tough shit. It’s our anniversary and you wanted to go to Red Lobster. Keep driving.”
See? It all worked out easily enough. 
My family used to do the “Don’t Care, but not there” dance when I was growing up, too. I remember one night when no one wanted to cook or clean up and no agreement could be reached on where we wanted to go to get food.
We wound up (at my Mother’s suggestion!!) at the local High’s Dairy Store, where we each picked out a half-gallon of our favourite ice cream flavour, took 'em home, and ate as much of 'em as we could. Bliss. The freezer was crowded for a few days afterward.
Strangely, I’m the only one of the four of us who remembers this clearly. My brother has some fuzzy recollection of it, but that’s it.
Thanks, dnooman. Your opinion is important to me.
Wait a minute … no it’s not.
Does this legitimately qualify as something I get angry about? Nah. But it’s an amusing irritation, like trying to decide between the Rolls or the Ferrari when we want to motor to the mountain chalet for the weekend, or when we argue about serving the Beluga caviar or the shrimp canapes as an appetizer when we have our semi-annual Diplomats Dinner. Fortunately, we’ve outsourced the main creator of friction between Aries28 and myself – our whole Servant Disciplinary Code. She wanted to keep the floggings; I was leaning more toward time in the stocks. Now we have a company that comes in twice a week and does that type of stuff for us, relieving us of that burden.
The Pit is a valid way to blow off steam when one is angry about something. It’s also a way to point out life’s less-important, less-irritating situations that many folks deal with on a semi-regular basis.
In other words … chill a little and enjoy the ride. It ain’t all Sturm und Drang in here.
Morgyn, I want to be adopted by your family.
Ice cream container and a spoon - ah, what a meal.
dnooman, I’ve avoided saying this up until this point, but why don’t you get to know someone before you slam them, making yourself look foolish in the process.
Sauron’s rants are always humorous, always imaginative and creative. I’ve been here about the same amount of time as you, but this is something I’ve figured out. Read a few of Sauron’s rants before you jump in.
Aries28, are you my long lost twin!?!?! I hate Chinese food too, which irritates MY SO beyond words.
~J
Hmmm…mother never mentioned a twin…
I just don’t like Chinese food and it is Sauron’s favorite.
I don’t particularly like seafood either but I will eat plain fish every now and then as long as it doesn’t taste too fishy.
I know…I’m odd.
Mmmm… Brio’s. So when’s that next BamaDope? I’m hungry now and I just started posting again so I’m ready!
Why, thank you, Jaade. I’m flattered.
You and Aries28 ought to get together to discuss common food dislikes. I bet you love tomatoes, don’t you?
Sadly, it was just the once. Most of the time we had actual dinner-type dinners. Not that I’m complaining, my Mom is a great cook, but I have to admit that I recall the occassion fondly.
Of course I do!
Yes, I read that rant, too.
Aries…I like fish, fried. And shrimp, fried. Grilled is ok. Anything else is out.
~J
You know…we DID live close to Birmingham when I was in the 2nd grade…
And ladies and genlemen after all this we ended up trying Carabbas for our dinner that night, which was never on our original list in the first place. It was yummy though!
Then we bought a new carseat for the tiniest minion of Sauron, went home and watched BtVS and called it a night.
Boy are we exciting or what?
Sounds a lot like a night with the Heaps. Buffy included.
Now, now, dear. “We ended up trying Carrabbas” doesn’t do justice to the situation. Allow me to elucidate:
We had dropped off the tiniest Minion with the grandparents and were on our way to Target to purchase a new car seat. All is right with the world; we’re going to get the car seat, mosey on over to the Tavern, enjoy a good meal.
As we turn into the shopping area that houses Target, Aries28 says, “There’s Carrabbas.”
Since this is an accurate statement of fact, I agreed. “Yep. There it is.” The restaurant was squatting in one corner of the shopping area. Pointless to deny that.
“We could see how long the wait is there.”
I turn to her. “Why on earth would we do that?”
“Well, we might want to eat there.”
I am flabbergasted. “What?! No! We agreed to eat at the Tavern! You like that place! That’s where we said we’d eat!”
She is undaunted. “Yeah, but it’s probably crowded. I don’t think Carrabbas looks all that crowded.”
I am rendered speechless. “But … Tavern … we said … I thought … Tavern …”
She touches my arm soothingly. “Let’s just see how crowded it is when we finish at Target, okay? If it’s too crowded, we can go on to the Tavern.”
So we go in to Target, buy the car seat, and drive across the parking lot to Carrabbas. A veritable sea of cars confronts us. Cars are stacked on top of other cars. Helicopters are ferrying in new cars, because the restaurant’s parking lot is completely blocked.
My wife turns to me. “It doesn’t look too crowded, does it?” she says perkily.
I am beaten. I give up. I switch the Pathfinder to four-wheel drive, pull a Bigfoot over the first layer of vehicles, and park as close as possible to the door. We approach the handmaiden guarding the door.
“How long is the wait?” I ask, dubiously.
“Twenty minutes.” This doesn’t sound too bad, actually. But I know my wife hates to wait for dinner, so I attempt one of my suave, big-city tipping moves in an effort to get us seated quickly.
Dropping my voice, I say to the handmaiden, “I’ve got a nice shiny twenty-five cent piece if you can move us up on the seating list.” She laughs. “And if you’re really quick about it, I’ve got another one just like it. They can both be yours.”
Strangely, this does not seem to impress her. Nevertheless, we go in and sit down to wait.
Truthfully, the wait was not very long, and the food was very good. I enjoyed it.
But it wasn’t the Tavern.
And for all these years, I’ve been saying that I can’t dance. The Mrs and I have been doing this for years. Not as much recently what with The Little One and the impending New One. Our dance usually ends with take out Indian (mmmm saag…).