The Story of Penne Obama and How I Became a Restaurant Critic

Last year, you may remember the blogger girl’s night out dinner at CPAC.

This year we decided to make it an annual event. So Fausta, Little Miss Attila, Nice Deb and little ol’ me head out to Woodley Park to plot our plan to take over the world.

We decided on Italian and settled on Pasta Italiana on Connecticut. (I really wish there was a link. They deserve the bad press.) Despite the fine company and funny conversation, this restaurant ranks up there with Monty Python’s review of Australian table wines. It is to be avoided at all cost. The service was ten clicks past horrid. The prices were very high. The food was so-so.

Joy played with her food, during which Debra snapped proof, absolute proof that our President is not the man he claims to be.

It was a great night with great friends, long to be remembered.

Things That Make Me Happy

After the worse winter in this Southerner’s recent memory, this makes me very, VERY happy.

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