Taco Bell Blunder

I'd like to know something: Has anyone actually ever voluntarily ordered a Chalupa from Taco Bell? I don't know that anyone in good conscience could own up to that. It's like admitting to eating an entire package of Thin Mint Girl Scout Cookies in one sitting. Or making homemade fried chicken - the real kind. It just seems like in today's society, it might be frowned upon.

The other day after work I had a hair cut scheduled. I love my hairdresser, and just can't leave her. She only works two days a week, and I always have to schedule after work. So I devotedly drive 45 minutes to an hour through rush hour traffic to see her. That means in order to make my appointments on time, I have to get fast food. Usually, lately, it's been Taco Bell. And my typical order is a Baja Gordita (nope, no qualms ordering a food item that actually translates to "short, fat little girl") and a taco. A Gordita is a taco with some yummy sweet/spicy sauce on it. The shell is sort of fluffy and soft, like... well... a cross between a tortilla and pita. I love it.)

Such is what I did this past Tuesday. I then drove out to the salon. Arriving a bit early, I decided to eat in the car. Opening the bag, I discovered a horrible mistake: I had not received my Gordita. They had given me a Chalupa. (I didn't really even know what it was.) I examined it skeptically, and realized it was the exact same thing as a Gordita, except that they DEEP FRY the tortilla-pita shell thing.

Yeah.

Since I was starving, I decided to try it.

And that's when I decided that no one should ever actually admit to ordering a Chalupa. Here's why: A Chalupa is basically Taco Bell's version of a McGriddle. The fried tortilla thing is soft and sweet, but the meat inside is (obviously) still savory and spicy. The thing is so chock full of grease that it oozes over your fingers and face. Maybe it's better to describe it as somewhat like a taco corndog - without the dog. Or like plopping taco filling on top of an elephant ear - you know, those things you get at carnivals? And you know what? I thought it was delicious!

I swear I could feel my arteries clogging. I felt guilty with each bite (although with each bite I wanted more), and so after only half, I put it down and ate my taco instead.

So there's my confession. If it was socially acceptable for me to order a Chalupa, I probably would. But the fear of public scorn (and of triple bypass surgery later in life) will keep me from it. But... maybe I can hope for another accident someday.

The Bug Story

So here it is, finally. It probably won't translate as well on screen as it does in the verbal retelling.

This past week I was in DC for a work conference. I was there with my supervisor, Emily, and my coworker, Andrea. It was great. Fancy, nice hotel, and lots of per diem for food. We learned a lot, slept well, and ate very well. Anyway.

The last night of the conference, my roommate, Andrea and I decided to watch a chick flick and order room service. So we donned our jammies, called up some sweet gooey chocolatey cake, and popped "Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants 2" into the DVD player. (Hey, I didn't say we were going for quality cinema.)

After a sappy, teary, romantic two hours of teen drama, and too much dessert, it was time to call our husbands and go to bed. I grabbed my cell and was on the way out the door when I heard Andrea say nonchalantly, "Hi Scott... Oooh. Big bug on the wall."

Big bug? My radar went up. I had a feeling this was going to be nothing good. In fact, I was pretty sure that when I turned around, it was going to be a worst case scenario. I considered leaving the room, but my disgust got the better of me. I turned around, hoping to see a centipede or some other innocuous creepy-crawlie on the wall. But oh, no.

"Bug?" I cried. "BUG? Andrea, that's no bug. That's a COCKROACH!" And it was. 2 inches long. With wings. Moseying up the wall, out from under the door adjoining the next hotel room. I leapt onto the bed.

(Sidenote: I feel I must explain my reaction. I am plagued by cockroaches. I am almost convinced that the Lord sends them after me so I have a chance to battle my phobia of the disgusting things. It was while I was living in Spain that I realized I had the phobia in the first place - the cockroaches there are even bigger than Mr. Friendly. They come out at night. And they hiss. I hardly slept the entire three months I was there, always vigilant when the lights went out.)

Andrea looked over at me, a little slow to register my reaction. "Should I do something?" she asked, pink cell phone still at her ear.

"Yes!" I cried. "I do not like cockroaches! I reeeeally do not like cockroaches! And if we try to kill it, we will miss!"

"Honey, I'll call you back," Andrea told her husband sweetly, and hung up. I decided to put my socks back on. (Feet protection, people. If that thing disappeared, and I was unfortunate enough to step on it later, I at least wanted a layer of sock between it and my foot.)

Braver than I, she walked over to the phone (very close to the roach) and dialed down to the front desk. "Hello? Yes. We're in room 411, and there's a large cockroach on the wall, and well... my roommate is freaking out... and so I was just wondering if you could send someone to kill it?" The front desk agreed to send someone up immediately. Which meant we had to keep our eye on him until they arrived.

Well, Mr. Friendly began to move. And then Andrea wasn't quite the cool cucumber anymore. Taking his fine time, he sauntered across the floor, over towards her bed, up onto the wall, across her headboard, and over two of the pillows on her bed. And then he disappeared.

Panic set in for both of us. "Oh, that's not right!" she shouted, cringing. "What do we do? Should we go sleep in Emily's room tonight?"

Suddenly there was a knock on the door. "Hotel Security!" boomed a deep voice.

"Security?" I opened the door. There stood a stocky, dark haired guy dressed like a cop, holding, of all things, a camera. I looked at the man incredulously. "They sent Security?"

"Maintenance is on his way up. I'm here to photograph the roach. Then we'll have to treat the room. Where is it?"

"Over there," Andrea pointed. "Behind the big pillow." Just then, he crawled back out into the light. Mr. Security strode towards the bed, not yet seeing our friend. Suddenly he jumped back.

"Holy crap that thing is big!" he shouted. Quickly he snapped a picture. We heard another rap on the door.

"Maintenance!" called another deep voice.

"Come in!" we shouted. Another man entered the room. He was elderly, wrinkled, gray. He had a thin plastic cup in his hand - like the kind you get out of the dispenser next to the water cooler. The three of us cowered in the corner, as far away from the cockroach as we could get. We pointed.

Maintenance walked over there and in one swift move clapped the fragile cup over the big bug. Mr. Friendly didn't like that so much, and started flapping around inside. But Mr. Maintenance was not to be intimidated. He scooped our visitor off the wall and crushed him inside the cup.

"Thank you!" Andrea and I gushed. Mr. Security offered to move us to a new room, but it was near midnight, so we declined (I rather begrudgingly). And so, they left. That night, I slept with my socks on. And made Andrea agree to sleep with the bathroom light on.

The next day, we found a handwritten apology slid under our door. Inside it was a coupon for a free breakfast for two at the hotel restaurant.

I'm glad to be home.

PS

It's raining today. Since all the snow has finally melted, we should be pretty safe... but pray our basement doesn't flood again. Yes, we're getting estimates on getting that sump pump. This week.

Chicago Most Miserable

I heard on the radio this morning (as I was driving David to the train station through the fog and rain) that Chicago ranks 3rd in the ten "Most Miserable Cities in the US." Apparently, some people somewhere did a poll on misery, ranking attitudes towards the weather, taxes, and economy. And Chicago was 3. We're a miserable lot. Right up there with the poor saps from Detroit.

Yesterday was 61 and sunny. It was a brilliant day. This morning, as noted, is foggy and rainy. The temps are supposed to plummet to around 20, the wind will pick up, and eventually they are calling for snow.

When I lived in Istanbul, weather was much the same (thanks to the Bosphorus Strait cutting through the city, pulling weather from the Mediterranean and the Black Sea), and I would tell people so. But people never believed me.

News on the album: Celebrate good times!! Vid is ONE SONG (yes folks, ONE SONG) away from finishing his work. I.e. then all the songs will be with the guy who's doing the mixing, and David can focus his attention on album art, etc. Which means that the estimated release date for the CD is MARCH. Whoopee!

Hm. Big bug story still forthcoming... Need to dry my hair and keep getting ready for work.

PS

Updates on the album and big bug stories from my conference in DC forthcoming.