Day 159: Wedding con Queso

2011 Total Earnings:  $12,297

Today's Contest:  Eli's Cheeskcake Sweepstakes
Prize:  A free cheesecake
How to enter: http://www.elicheesecake.com/contest.aspx

Not quite kosher for the Jewish wedding

The wedding weekend marathon continues.  I find that no matter what my family talks about, most of the time the conversation falls back onto a neutral topic.  The topic of cheese. We are nothing if not polite Mid Western WASCs (White Anglo Saxon Catholics).  Within minutes of my initial arrival I was discussing making dates stuffed with blue cheese and wrapping them in bacon (totes amazeballs if you've never tried).  My grandma, older brother and I started riffing on what kind of other cheeses you could substitute.  This thrilling conversation volleyed like a heated tennis match from blue cheese to cream cheese and finished with my grandma's grand slam trump of...look out..."Camembert".  Grandma knows her fromage.

Continuing our fondue family reunion...tonight we went downtown to Gino's East...kind of a famous Chicago deep dish pizza place. If you've never had Chicago deep dish, it's totes beyahhhhnd.  Each gladiator size slice is basically like a wedge of cheese with some pie crust on the bottom.  It's a beast of a pizza.  It's like the bully on the pizza block.  It will kick your pizza's crust. 


I, being the token gay manorexic on the Atkins diet, scooped out the cheesy chessiness and discarded the crust like a neglected carcass on my plate.  I looked at it with simultaneous disdain and desire.  The buttery flakiness tempted me like a mythical siren calling to me from the cliffs of the Greek Isles.   Maaaaaaaaatthhhewwww....the crust is the best paaahahahahahahaart.

My pizza/siren daydream has me visualizing the likes of of  Sarah Brightman holding crumbling pizza crust slipping through her fingers as she sings in uniteligable words to me standing on the cliffs...

(with pieces of white paper in her hair)

But if I was to fit into my micro sized Levi Khakis tomorrow, I needed to ignore the melodious carbohydratic calls from the Siren Brightman.  Seriously, my pants are like the sized of a Ken Doll's.  With slacks (a word my mom uses) this tiny, the pictures of me at the wedding tomorrow are either going to be a amAHzing or a little scandal-disasterous.  Say Cheeeeese!