Last night I went to something called the Boat Basin with Larry and Kate. Despite the lovely view of Dirty Jerz and the admittedly intriguing ancient Rome theme this place has going on, the Boat Basin kind of sucks. The people are pretty awful, not to mention the food blows. I had my most horrifying nachos experience yet last night - and if you know me, you know how seriously I take nachos and therefore how deeply offended and shaken up I must be.

I’m still in recovery so I won’t put myself through the agony of relaying the description.

I’ll just say this.

Wait for it…

Are you sure you want to keep reading?

Seriously, you can stop it you want…

OMG…

Ready?

LIQUID CHEESE.

I know.

I’m aware that a lot of people find liquid cheese yummy and sort of endearing in swimming-pool-concession-stand or baseball-game-vendor sort of way. That’s fine. I’m all for it. I eat so much crap like that that I am convinced there is this giant ball of food processing lodged somewhere inconvenient in my digestive tract. HOWEVER, when nachos are listed on the same page as a “chilled seafood salad” and a $16 platter of ribs, you better believe I’m not about to cough up $7.95 for chips and liquid cheese.

I calmly sent it back (don’t worry, I felt like a huge bitch doing so), pouted for awhile, and then proceeded to make up for the loss by drinking lots and lots of beer. At a different (read: downtown) bar, of course. Screw that place.

This afternoon I got caught in an outrageously windy downpour at the same time I got caught on the median thing on South Park (haha) Avenue between two really, really fast lanes of traffic. I couldn’t see anything and was conscious that I was still alive only by the rapid full-body splashes of dirty water from speeding cars. My flimsy umbrella busted out the wrong way and when I finally got it concave again I actually considered squatting down on the pavement because then at least I’d get to cover more of myself and generally be able to hide more from hell on earth.

Guess what I did instead? This is sick. Rather than holding the umbrella primarily over my head and perfectly-coiffed hair, I positioned it directly over my right shoulder, because gently encased in my non-waterproof straw bag was a spanking fresh foot-long Subway sandwich. It’s all about priorities.