the mistake i knew i was making

this morning i woke up feeling mainly recovered from wednesday night’s tangle with a sprite bottle full of whiskey and i realized that my food supply resembled that of someone who is serious about using heroin (half a bag of cous-cous, an unopened bottle of salad dressing and a very small amount of grated romano). seeing as one of my friends from oregon is coming to visit tonight, i decided that i couldn’t have my fridge looking so pathetic (and my existance so transient) so after a cup of tea, i took my bike down to trader joe’s and after that, i walked to the awesome italian store. the whole time i was starving but i pushed on with the plan to eat a delicious cheese burger at this place called big mouth when i had made my section of the kitchen sufficiently adult-like. but i finished early! at 10:40 i was done and right next to the burger place which didn’t open until 11:00. and i was so so so hungry. and the popeye’s was right there and the picture of the delux chicken sandwhich looked so appealing.

never ever, ever do what i did next.

i’m serious. i don’t care what the options are.

i went in and ordered the meal.

first of all, i have no idea what was “delux” about my sandwhich. it tasted like some one had strained all the cubed chicken bits out of cut-rate chicken noodle soup, glued them together, battered them with cardboard and then deep fried the whole thing. it was rubbery and strangely colored and so hot that it not only burned my tongue but my HAND too, when some juice of unknown origin dripped out the back. the bun looked like it was the kind of bun that is dyed to look toasted and i’m pretty sure i’m dying from whatever disease was in the mayo.

the french fries tasted like straigtened out curly fries which weren’t good in middle school and still aren’t good today. also i’m sure the “cajun” spice or whatever they call it, fulfilled my sodium requirments for a month.

my favorite part of the whole experience however, was the panhandler: pretty much everyone in popeye’s looked downtrodden. there were downtrodden families, downtrodden addicts, downtrodden single women, even a downtrodden midget but there was also a downtrodden panhandler, going from table to table, putting out his hands as if ANYONE who was forced to eat at popeye’s even had one nickel to spare. man. i ate about half of my food and split.

i hope i don’t die of some fake chicken borne illness because i’m going to santa cruz in a couple days and it would be hard to get there if i was dead.

it’s not worth risking your life. never eat at popeye’s.

love lizzy

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