Cooler than You: Stupid Things I Say and Do

So I've been away for the past month  . . . well not away, but I have treated my blog like an ugly red-headed stepchild.  Eh, I've been busy.  And by busy, I mean busy and then on the world's longest road trip. And, yes, me made made the trip.  My second set of Amy Butler travel bags (The Weekender and the August Fields), as the first set . . . I'm not posting photos of the dead orange bag.  Here's a link to remind you of her in her pretty and new days. In short, I had promised my Mom a week of my face this summer, but in the meantime a family member is in the end stages of cancer.  Since my Dad doesn't fly, and my trip to Chicago in July got cancelled postponed, I went with him.  Not so bad . . . until you get to Ohio and Indiana.  Shit, I lived in Indiana for three years of my youth.  Yet, I managed to forget some of the billows of the middle states.  Middle America . . . Corn, bitches. Dad eating a Pennsylvania...

Tonight we shall blame my friend Burberry. He posted a photo of the Halloween/Thanksgiving display at the White Castle in Centereach, NY on Facebook, and this diatribe came back to me. This encounter occurred about two months ago, and I'm finally getting around to grossing you out with it. The short end is my Dad grew up in Indiana. He grew up on the homegrown smell, aroma (if you want to call it that), and allure of White Castle. White Castle is hard to find in most of the country, and when I moved to Long Island all those years ago he was beside himself with joy to see a White Castle. I was not. I never ate there. Honestly, you can even ask my old roommate about the night we went there and she scarfed down far too many sliders, put chicken rings on her fingers as jewelry, and made "boobie sliders" by placing them on her chest. Clearly, someone was DRUNKY DRUNKY. I sucked on a Diet Coke and attempted to hold my breath, and the only time I ever ended up in ther...