Might as well get this out of the way: For everyone who cares (Rebecca! Dee!), here's my new quilt.

The Snowman looks quite pleased. He is trying not to look at the paint color.

This past weekend involved a whirlwind trip throughout the Midwest. The basic timeleine was:

NYC-->Chicago-->Decatur, IL-->Steak 'n Shake-->Decatur, IL-->Chicago-->NYC.

There were a church, a Holiday Inn banquet hall, and a Hampton Inn motel room somewhere in there too, but they were mostly a blur. The only thing I'm 100% certain about is the Steak 'n Shake.

It was a godsend. The Fab Four were all tired out (and kind of hammered) after my cousin's wedding reception (Holiday Inn! Decatur!) and doing that gossiping/general bitching thing you do after family functions. We had a "liquied-up Mawmee" (LUM) on our hands, and Bill couldn't remember where the hotel was. A Taco Bell loomed in the distance. We suddenly needed it like nothing else. He sped up.

WTF? It just closed. Apparently "Open Late!" doesn't apply south of Joliet.

Then we saw it. Its outlandish lighting beamed out onto the main road. We couldn't believe we'd missed it. It was red. It was white. It held burgers for us. It was Steak 'n Shake. Bill pulled a sharp 200-degree turn as we all did a double take. We parked, with some difficulty.

Out of nowhere, things became a bit philosophical. We literally sat there discussing what we had done to stumble upon such good fortune. There was never a question of WOULD we go in. It was more whether we should, or whether we deserved to. I think we got over that in about one second - mostly because Bill was already inside the restaurant.

A cute, sturdy waitress greeted us heartily as my own heart swelled with bountiful love for the Midwest. Not half a second after she asked something equally cute, like "How about something from the fountain?" did Dee uncharacteristically (and rather rudely, pointed out Meghan) blurt out a booming "ORANGE FREEZE!" Since she was tipsy, it sort of came out like a happy song. We burst out laughing, partly out of joy because she just seemed so incredibly thrilled. We were thrilled for her!
I got my staple, the Banocholate Side-By-Side. Here's the official photo from their website:

As usual, I also took full advantage of...

You know you're in a safe and happy place when "Hot Fudge" and "Milk Shake" are all capitalized, signifying their well-deserved status as more important than the rest of the lowly word pool.

I'll spare you the rest of this predictable account. Suffice it to say Bill and Dee perform the late-night eats ritual with more vigor and lasting power than Meghan and I had ever dreamed. We are so proud to be their offspring. We worship them and their insatiable alcohol-inspired appetites. We pledge to (continue to) follow their glowing example.

Sidenote: Has anyone else had trouble with Asics sneakers? I have these horrible blisters on the insides of my feet. What do you do about blisters? Just keep running on them until they toughen up and deal with the fact that their torturer isn't buying new sneakers? I used to know about this stuff but apparently I haven't worked out since high school. Shed some light, yo.

A cheeky mademoiselle with better and more colorful shoes than me playfully alerted me today that this guy just might be my alter ego. I think we were separated at birth, and then somehow he fell behind in age by six months and a few weeks... huh? Just read it.

I know I just wrote a whole expose on why LC is evil, but how fitting would it be for me to try to trash a swimming pool concession stand in a drunken rage? I'd get to be covered in chips and LC (which would taste relatively acceptable if I was hammered enough) and I'd also get to exact revenge on the concept of LC itself. It's like a win-win for everyone except the LC.

What I don't get is how they calculated that this guy spent $40 on chips and $7 on the LC. Did they have some sort of nachos expert on hand that night? I don't live in Tennessee so it couldn't have been me. Was someone called up to do a quick once-over of the chips-and-LC-covered guy and assess the monetary damages done simply based on the amount and thickness of the layers? What a great job!

If the cheese was actually the good, real, melted kind, I could see throwing in some chili, tomatoes, guac, etc. and just snacking off of the guy's passed-out carcass until either things got too revealing or he woke up. Just watch: some concept artist is going to become famous by layering like 27 tiers of quality nacho fixings all over a naked body. ('Nude' or 'naked'? What's the difference? Like, omigod, I don't care!) It would be called "Guac This Way," which is both an invitation to wander towards the exhibit and a compelling argument for the worthiness of guacamole. People would "guac by" in the museum and be intrigued, sexually aroused, and pretty much whacked in the face by a sudden incredible urge to eat nachos. But they couldn't, because I would have been hired to sit inside the ropes and "work on the installation." They'd have hired someone else to keep refilling my three perpetually frothy mugs of Sierra Nevada on tap, Diet Pepsi, and ice water. After I'd have eaten my weight in nachos, I could become the model and whoever had written the best 300-word essay and dropped it into the "That hungry, tall, striking but getting kind of fat blonde beauty could be YOU!" contest box would get to resume the effort.

It wouldn't just be an experiment. It would become a way of life -- like the unhealthy version of Forrest Gump's whole running thing.

Here's the campaign poster. Vote Barrett!

Maybe I just haven't seen a vending machine in a long time, but I was unaware that Doritos now warrant an entire machine. So funny.

Sorry about the lack of updates. My extensive two-person readership in Oklahoma has been neglected all weekend. I'd like to say I've been busy with productive, life-enhancing means and ways, but honestly it's just alcohol. I did just manage to upload photos from last weekend's Michigan adventure while I was glued to "Annie" on HBO Kids. I'm such a loser - any time that movie is on TV, I drop whatever I'm doing (nothing) and insist on watching the whole thing. What's even sadder is that I own the movie. I just feel like I have this duty to watch it when it's on cable. I think I just like the part in the end, where she goes, "I love YOU, Daddy Warbucks" and I start crying. And TO TOP IT OFF, the fake fireworks in the fake sky slowly spell out "A-n-n-i-e" before slowly fading away, much like this apartment's supply of cheesy noodles or the waning glory days of Diminishing Returns.

Anyway, here are the pics on a separate page. They're not that great. Oh, except the milkshake one.

( Livin' Large )

Hello ... hello again! (totally '80s guitar riff) I have Internet again! The Time Warner Man defied my expectations completely and showed up. Now I have no excuse for not obsessively updating my blog while obsessively not updating DR.

After entering The Room, Time Warner Man walked up to the TV and said, "Is this the TV?" I assumed that after doing a double-check over the rest of my living space, he'd become more confident in his guess - so I didn't respond. Indeed, it was the TV, but why should I have given away the answer? But then the man actually turned around and waited for a reaction. I considered shrugging helplessly. But then I just nodded.
The new apartment kicks ass! But there is one glaring problem. The paint color turned out to lean towards the "rosey" side of the "nice rosey orange" spectrum. I never looked at the paint after I bought it, so this is my fault. (Your runny nose, Larry having a blog, and the overwhelming April-May profits of the 23rd St. Nuts for Nuts cart are also my fault.) The painting occurred while I was romping around the Midwest, so I wasn't there to stop it. But I wouldn't have anyway. It's not that bad. It'll be like a test of character! Uh, you lose.

So much for my brilliant plan to offset the dark brick wall (wouldn't any color have done that?). Or maybe I'm overreacting. Here's a low-quality preview of the paint:

Notice that the orange is just dying to come out. But it can't. It's being suffocated by the parasitic pink, rendering a hue that can generously be classified as "coral." But we all know it's really "pink." Below is an alternative:

Okay, that was intended as a joke but it seems my "joke" looks better than my reality, so I'm not even going to attempt other colors. I would probably stay up all night and waste time on the computer if I did that. Oh wait.

It's really not that bad. I have a lot of stuff to throw on the walls, and the color does kind of remind me of a Matisse painting. (I'm not one of those people who name-drop painters, BTW. Matisse is the only artist I know. Are there, like, others?) Plus, anything's better than white. Plus:

Check out this cute sweet shop across the street. It actually says "ice cream artisans." I am pumped. I'll have the pink kind!

I'll post silly pics of last weekend soon. Amazingly, I'm tired before 5.