Recently I went t to Bombers with friends. I’ve said before that I’m neither a fan of their burritos (I’m a Chipotle girl, myself) nor of their decor, which consists of scantily clad women straddling missiles. But I AM a huge fan of the free giant margarita on your birthday. My friend’s birthday was on a Sunday, and so we had a little girls’ lunch-and-drink. Which made me just check my calendar, and my birthday this year is on a Sunday, too, so I think that I’m going to copy her exactly.
Really, it was an excellent outing. Plus, I also discovered the item on the menu which is my new must-have: Disco Fries.
Oh. My. God. French Fries with melted cheese and gravy. Sounds awful, but so delicious. Eating them, I couldn’t help thinking that they would be the best thing ever if one were high and beset with the munchies. They seem perfect for that. But then I thought: I really don’t know, because my experience with drugs is so minimal. Like, tragically minimal. Did anyone else spend the entire first season of Weeds thinking to herself, clearly, I should have smoked more pot? And then I thought about how I wasted my youth studying and attending classes and being responsible, and how now that I am well into my 40s I feel like I probably should have relaxed a bit more between, say, ages 12 and 28. And now I have these kids and I have to be a good example, blah, blah, blah. So ten years from now I’m just going to go nuts.