This is what 30 looks like.
THIS is what 30 looks like.
This IS what 30 looks like.
This is WHAT 30 looks like.
This is what THIRTY looks like.

Can you fucking believe it?

Oh yes, we are in the gnarly hair growing out stage. Length and Colorwise. Because trendy never translates when you're poor. Otherwise known as Motherfucking ugly. Mofugly.

I have chosen to hide behind food right now, so here's what I thought of Presto.

L.A.M.B. and I were rather taken aback by the location. It's on the tippy corner in between two parking lots. One of those two lots? Pay, exact change only. *REMEMBER THIS FOR LATER

The building was non-descript, kind of that tuscan sun yellow that screams "I'm DIFFERENT!" if you're in...well, it doesn't. See for yourself.

But hey, I've eaten in a makeshift trailer in China with dirty water dripping onto my plate - I don't judge books by their covers or restaurants by their facades. The hostess was nice enough, and I guess observant enough as she knew exactly which party we belonged to. The one with all the girls and the umpteen bottles of wine on the table. Which! GREAT SPECIAL ALERT! Wednesday nights? Their happy hour is 1/2 price bottles of wine.

Which you know I loved. However, with all that wine flowing - PRESTO shouldn't've gotten greedy with the appetizer prices, which they did. Seems if you order the 1/2 price wine, you don't get the 1/2 price appetizers, doesn't make a lick of sense to me. People drink more, you definitely want them to eat more. Otherwise you'll have a bunch of crazy, giggly girls driving around in circles in the heavily secured parking lot because they can't figure out how to get out. And, NO. It did not happen to me. I'm just trying to anticipate what COULD happen, you know, just in case.

The average price of the wine was under $30, with a fairly bland selection. Yellow Tail, Cavit Pinot Grigio, Robert Mondavi...it reminded me of the wine aisle at BJ's. Where's the Dynamite? The quirky? The hook?

But, maybe I'm being overly critical. I must say, I was rather distracted by the unintentionally bare midriff of the waitress. Hooters, YES. SHOW ME SOME SKIN. Presto? No. And, no, I was not offended by her nudity - it seems she has developed some love handles. The kind that stick out unless your shirt is extra long and your pants extra high. And we ALL KNOW they don't make those clothes today. Everything is fucking "LOW RISE!" "ULTRA LOW RISE!" Seeing her skin kept me tugging uncomfortably UP on my jeans and DOWN on my sweater. Because as I have learned recently, you can't suck in love handles or back fat no matter HOW hard you try. IT was the mirror effect. Wait, was I talking about food?

The portions WERE unusually large. At least, that's what my stomach conveyed as I writhed in pain from approximately 10:00 to 3:45 am this morning. And don't "TSK" me, either. I didn't even eat all of them. No person with a stomack smaller than a mack truck could possibly masticate and digest what they put down in front of the customer. Grumpy much, ALEX? FUCK YES, when it is a work day and that alarm rings at 4:30. What did I eat? The Chunky Corn Chowder (and yes, I see you shaking your finger at the lactose intolerantly ignorant girl in the corner) and Asian Tuna Salad. Both of which tasted superb, but left me wishing I had stuck with the wine.

Presto was okay, but not a place I would actively seek out again. Our waitress was polite, but not great. Food was okay, but not taste buddingly AWESOME! Wine was financially manageable, but no great selection. I told dh, "HEY! It didn't taste like butt!" but between you and me, those leftovers I brought home? Are in the garbage today.