Today, Trent and I installed an internet “air” card into our Macbooks so that we could have internet anywhere and everywhere we go. It’s such a strange feeling. It doesn’t matter what I’m doing or where I am, I can Google, Facebook, PetFinder, you name it. There are no limits. Driving down I-80? Internet. Sitting in a soybean field in the middle of Nebraska? Internet. On a boat in Lake Michigan? Internet. As I sat in the passenger seat of our Penske moving truck this afternoon on our way to Hoisington, I checked the weather and posted a Craigslist ad on my laptop. I was amazed. I looked up and gazed out the window at the air. I felt like I should be able to reach out and grab handfuls of “internet” floating in the air.
Anyway, I’m done doing PCP before writing blogs from now on.
I hate people that think that just because they order a meal as a “salad,” that they’re eating healthy. Stop kidding yourself. Just because you put your favorite meal on a bed of lettuce doesn’t make it any less fattening. In fact, I argue that it makes it even MORE fattening on account of the only adjustment to the meal period was actually adding the lettuce, thus increasing the total amount of calories. Let’s take for example the taco “salad.”
First, let’s look at just a taco: deep fried tortilla shell, chicken, cheese, sour cream, tomatoes, guacamole, and pico de gallo.
Now, the taco salad? Deep fried tortilla bowl, chicken, cheese, sour cream, tomatoes, guacamole, and pico de gallo, except this time it’s served on top of a pile of shredded iceberg lettuce. Who do you think you’re kidding? Just get yourself the damn taco platter.
Then there are the people that want to feel like they’re eating “light” when they go out to dinner with the family at Applebee’s, so they order a salad. Except they order this salad with fried, breaded chicken, and extra already high-calorie dressing on the side. Get real. Just order yourself the chicken basket with fries.
Speaking of tacos, I don’t think it’s a mystery to any of you that I have a serious infatuation with Mexican cuisine. I dream about it, think about it—if I don’t have it after more than four or five days at a time, I have to have it liquified and pumped directly into my veins—you get the idea. The funny thing about Mexican food though is that if you look at a menu, they’re all made of almost the exact same ingredients, just prepared in different shapes or orders. Taco? Flour tortilla filled with beef/chicken, cheese, lettuce, tomatoes, and folded in half. Burrito? Bigger flour tortilla filled with beef/chicken, cheese, lettuce, tomatoes, and rolled. Enchiladas? Flour tortilla filled with beef/chicken, cheese, and, well, you get the idea.
I think this is why I love Mexican food so much. It involves all my favorite ingredients (like queso), and they don’t change things up on me. I can always feel safe knowing that whatever I order off a Mexican menu is definitely going to satisfy my cravings. I like security.
Well, today marked day 1 of Trent and I’s voyage across the United States. After finally loading up all of our belongings (not before throwing half of them away, mind you) into our bright yellow Penske truck and loading up the ol’ Neon onto the trailer to pull behind the truck, we kissed Leawood, Kansas goodbye and made our move west to first drop off a bunch of stuff to store at Trent’s grandma’s while we’re hop-scotching across the country for the next couple of years for our new jobs. Tomorrow morning, we make our way up to Council Bluffs to see my parents, drop off some more stuff to store, do my taxes (kill me, and F the government for robbing me like Johnny Dilinger in Public Enemies), and then Friday morning we hop back in the bright yellow bus and drive 1,330 miles across the country toward the East Coast, our final destination being Berlin, Connecticut.
This trip, without stopping, is estimated at just over 21 hours. Unfortunately the seats in this truck aren’t exactly conducive to cat-naps. The reason? The seats are positioned in a peculiar forward lean, like the Leaning Tower of Piza. It’s like Penske wants me to sit at attention 24/7. Don’t they know I need to fill my bloodstream with sedatives to black out this long voyage? What were they thinking setting these seats at an acute angle? On the plus side, I have been biologically programmed to be able to sleep in nearly any position. Leaning forward? Not my cup of tea, but I can definitely hunch all the way down onto my own lap with a balled up sweatshirt as my pillow and snooze the day away.
I am looking forward to the bountiful opportunities to snap pictures of freaks at truck stops along this voyage, however. Just today I snagged this handsome fella near Salina, Kansas:
I wonder what kind of shampoo he uses. I bet Pantene.
Kidding. Men like this don’t bathe.
WELL, time to hit the hay. Never understood that phrase; probably never will. Although I seem to have epiphanies about catch phrases pretty often. For example, it wasn’t long ago that I finally grasped the literal meaning of the phrase “you can bet your bottom dollar.” Think about it.
…I’m sure most people knew what it meant, but, you guys can go to hell.
“Two people told me today that I give the best high fives ever. TWO. In the same day. I’m officially a loser.”