hey, hey, hey, it's your birthday and you should probably just kill yourself right now

I have to be honest when I say I actually don’t mind Montana’s steak house (Grill? Country cook off? steak house steak off, whatever the hell that shithole is called – the place where they serve half a dead cow on your plate with a side of coleslaw) so sue me.

My dad recently had a birthday and wanted the family to go for ribs / get wasted together at the actual place where they make people wear antlers on their birthday and catch head lice and AIDS from all the other sickos that actually agree to that foul display of human celebration.

I will never say no to a free meal because I don’t know how to cook spending quality time with the folks, so off we go. I’m going to outline the fact that this was on a Tuesday, and do we know what Tuesdays at Montanas is? FAMILY DAY! WHERE KIDS EAT FREE AND PARENTS LITERALLY GIVE ZERO FUCKS HOW THEIR KIDS BEHAVE BECAUSE FUCK IT, CHERYL, I NEVER WANTED THREE KIDS AT ALL AND ALL I WANT TO DO IS TO EAT MY STEAK IN PEACE LIKE A FUCKING CAVEMAN THE WAY I USED TO DO BEFORE I MET YOU AND YOUR STUPID HANDBAG THAT YOU KEEP MY TESTICLES IN FUCK OFF.

Family day also means Montanas hires a clown that will make you a balloon animal while you line up vodka shots so you can black out and forget that you're at a restaurant that hires clowns to make balloon animals.

Because this place is run by 14 year olds, you can imagine the service is second to none when they’re not busy smoking a J behind the dumpster out back, or texting miranda that billy tongue-punched ashley last weekend. At one point in the night our server completely vanished for 45 minutes because she was probably dealing with her first period, and I almost walked out with the fucking wall-hanging canoe to give my dad for his present since I forgot I’m supposed to buy people things on their birthday and not just show up for free cake. HERE’S A BOAT, DAD, LOVE ME.

One hour into waiting for our meals, my grandmother pulls out saltines so she doesn’t faint from starvation, meanwhile I’m waiting for an alcoholic beverage before I faint from being exposed to a place that makes their staff sing and clap at strangers on their birthday.

Our food eventually came, and we were sent away with “we’re sorry we ruined your birthday/life” donuts, which I’m pretty sure had poison in them because my mom made three servers cry.

I can’t say I won’t return, because, a) meat, and b) one day I will have kids and I’m going to want that god damn clown to entertain them while I eat their free kids quesadilla and fries.

Thanks for the treeeats, stupid!

 

xoxo, the damsel