it's a way of life

A haiku entitled "Despair":

Queso, I miss you.

Chi-town does not understand

Your melted goodness.

I know you can really feel it in my poetry, but I feel like I'm living in one of those depression commercials. You know who a-lack-of-queso hurts? Everyone.

I've demanded that we eat mexican a few times since moving here, and nobody has queso on the menu. Queso fundido, sure, queso fresco, sure. But straight up melted ambrosia? NOT FOR YOU SUCKA.

Austin does it right. After having queso as an appetizer, then they go ahead and smother your meal in it.

In my quest for queso, I have only found 2 solaces in this city. One is Qdoba, which I biked my hungover ass to yesterday specifically because I knew the only thing that could cure me was sweet melted white cheese with jalapenos. The second place is Uncle Julio's. As in, the Texas mexican food chain.

There are a few things wrong with this selection. Uncle J's is totally fine, but I can't commit myself to a $50 meal everytime I'm jonesing. The Qdoba variety did the trick on Sunday, but it was runnier and more bland than I remembered, which means that it can only be utilized in the darkest moments of anguish. (I still ate the entire bowl and felt like a new person afterwards. Coincidence? You know the answer).

I have drawn a few conclusions about my situation:

1) The quality of life here is sub-standard.

2) Chicagoans have no self-respect.

3) Someone is trying to kill me slowly.