There's nothing like a road trip for food stories. As you may or may not know, I am not particularly choosy when it comes to food. I love really great eats, but I don't turn my nose up at food that's somewhat meh. I love me some crunchy nosh. I'm one of those people--otherwise known as "fat"--
who just love to eat.
With optimism and anticipation I ordered my all-time favorite, nachos, at an Indiana Denny's along I-94. The picture in the menu gave me goose-bumps: crispy golden chips, just-barely-melted grated cheddar, picturesque snips of green onion poking up like crocuses around a snowy dollop of sour cream.
Whoever made the menu was a lying liar who will burn in a special hell. The waitress delivered what looked like actual hurl: gobs of oily cheese oozing viscously over bright yellow rectange corn chips suffering from a bad case of acne; watery sour cream Clearasil separating over the top. Even the plain chips around the edge were inedible, let alone those that had been violated by the curdish goulash gobbed on top. I did not eat them, and I did not pay for them.
By the time my two friends and I arrived at the "cabin," the party was in full swing (read: cocktails and stories were flowing).
Here's the weekend line-up, in no particular order (names have been changed to protect, well, nobody, since anybody reading this will easily identify who's who):
Host, J. Cool: Beautiful, stylish, talented. This is the woman I call when I'm browsing the grout aisle at Menard's, or selecting lingerie for a mutual friend.
Guest of Honor, Bucky: My favorite author is nutty and multi-talented. This weekend was a celebration of her significant birthday.
Bob the Builder: A hot tomboy who thinks she's stronger than she really is. Once she persuaded me to be my own contractor for my kitchen renovation, because it comes so easily to her. I will never forgive her.
Arid Queen: This girl has more even more stamina for staying up late than I do. A independent thinker with a sense of humor dryer than the Sahara during drought season, and great taste in TV boyfriends.
Spike: Twin-set wearing volleyballer with celebrity connections and a secret crush on World Wrestling Entertainment (WWE) superstar Ric Flair (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ric_Flair).
Rock Star: This one makes you ask "Why do some people get it all?" She's got Dolly Parton's voice, Demi Moore's looks, and brains to boot.
Dr. Vespinator: Her special talent is twisting human pretzels. She tools around on a red Vespa, healing everyone she touches with gentleness, humor, and great back rubs.
The Professor: Helps our group stay organized, and keeps her class in line. Loves the little fishes, and hosts an excellent open house.
L. Tiny: The tiniest crazy group member. Slept, nursed and smiled all weekend.
Our ages range from 29 to 55. We're all above average intelligence, of course, and all smokin' hot. Some of us are married, some single; some have kids, most don't. We work in a variety of fields, including construction, communications, advertising, education, and health care. Jesus is our common denominator.
(Hmmm. That last line was sort of queer. Oh, well. So be it.)
More later. Check out the Vagina Dialogues, Part II.