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12-21-01 - 4:31 p.m. Last night Jared, Kellie, Leif and I went to Denny's. A sort of double-date, if you will. I don't know if it's a nationwide novelty or not, so I'll give a brief explanation of the Power Rings phenomenon. Denny's restaurants now have these little tubs of K'Nex-like plastic building tools for children to play with called Power Rings. If parents are pleased enough with the calming effects of the Rings, they can buy a larger tub, meaning more pieces than included in the free sample tub, for, I believe, $3.99. As the four of us walked in, Kellie and Jared in their conservative overcoats and him rubbing her shoulders for warmth, Leif and me wiping the rainwater from our bare toes (we're sandals folks) and pulling off our respective headgear (he wore a visor, I a beanie), I noticed that the Power Rings tubs were unattended by the register. I grabbed a tub and took it with me to the table. The four of us removed our cell phones from our pockets and placed them on the table. I dumped the Power Rings out of the tub and began idly piecing them together while the others pored over their menus in search of something cheap and hot. I joked that I was going to order something from the kids' menu. (If anyone gets the reference, then good job.) Once our drink orders had been placed and our waitress (Cathy, a bleached-blonde, somewhat overweight woman in her 50s, trying to hide her imperfect figure by wearing a uniform several sizes too small) walked away, Jared took some of the Rings from me. He began building a small structure shaped something like a folding beach chair. When he was done, he placed his phone in it, introducing it to us as "The Greatest Cell Phone Holder Ever." Leif made a face. "I can do better," he said. Kellie and I rolled our eyes. Testosterone is so weird. Thus began The Great Denny's Cell Phone Holder Challenge, 2001. In the end, they had used three tubs of Power Rings to create massive contraptions with multiple levels. I wish I'd had my camera. When Cathy came to take our orders, Leif asked if they (Denny's) had mochas. She told him they had cappuccinos. "But no mocha?" he asked. "Well, mochas and cappuccinos are the same thing." "Actually, mochas are cappuccinos with chocolate in them." "That's what I meant. I can get you a cappuccino and add chocolate sauce myself if you want." "That'd be great. Thanks." Cathy gave him a blushy smile and hesitated before taking his menu from him. I sat trying desperately to keep from exploding with laughter. When I was sure she was out of earshot, I turned to him and said, "Oh my god, she has a crush on you!" "She's like 80 years old!" "And she works at Denny's. You know she's gotta be lonely." "Laura, that's messed up. You shouldn't say that." "Shut up, Kellie. Nobody cares what you have to say." "Hey, be nice to her." "Or what, Jared? You'll beat me up? Noodle boy." (This is the kind of friendly banter our four-way-friendship is made up of. I have an answer for everything and so do they.) When Cathy returned with our drinks, she quickly set down my, Jared's, and Kellie's selections before producing Leif with his impromptu mocha. It was in a mug with a tower of whipped cream, a zigzagging stream of hot fudge sauce, and a cherry. The four of us gaped at it for a moment before he began to lick away the cream. He gave me the cherry and I showed off one of my hidden talents by promptly tying the stem into a tight knot with my tongue. After we had all eaten, Leif decided he wanted a sundae and splurged on a banana split. This, too, turned out to be quite the spectacle. "There's gotta be a half gallon of ice cream on this thing," Leif accurately remarked. "Please feel free to help me with this." But we three felt it was his duty to finish it by himself. For Cathy. It was a beautiful sundae. And it was free. She didn't ring up his sundae or his "mocha." We didn't contest this, knowing it was clearly not a mistake. Leif and Jared spent the last few minutes at the table constructing a huge "Tip Tower" out of Power Rings. "She should appreciate that," Jared said of his joint-masterpiece. "I don't think so. As a fellow waitress, I can tell you she'll hate it. Because she's gonna have to put all those things away. Though considering her loverboy helped make it..." Standing outside Denny's figuring out who would take Kellie home, because Jared had to pick up his sister and there wasn't room in his car, Leif offered. (He had driven me and in his truck, there would have been just enough room for my skinny-as-hell sister.) "There is no way in HELL I'm letting you drive me home!" she protested. Leif grinned. "Why not?" I asked. "Because he drives like YOU!" I grinned with Leif. "Nothing wrong with that." "One-way-streets mean one direction!" "Oh, shut up." In the end, she crammed her terrified self in between Leif and me and one of Leif's electric guitars in his truck. To scare her, he put in a Gary Hoey CD of Christmas songs and turned up the volume on "Carol Of The Bells." Kellie spent the entire trip home practically in the fetal position while Leif played air guitar and I kept time on the dashboard. After dropping off Kellie, we went to a donut shop for some real mocha. Then he dropped me off and went on his way. The thing with Leif's driving: He's not that bad. Okay, so he kinda went the wrong way and over a median at 65 out of the donut shop's parking lot, but hey, I do it too. When there's nobody around. Which is probably why I've received two tickets. Seriously, though. We both do the same things a billion other people do. The only difference is that we get caught. Oh, and I drew a picture illustrating Leif's maneuver last night. Just because I was bored. Click here to see it. I am the greatest artist in the world. I should start my holiday shopping soon, don't you think?
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