On the Border!

So, I'm pretty obsessed with Mexican food.  That might come as a surprise to some, but if it's THAT much of a surprise you don't know me very well.  Any time I go to Dallas/any part of Texas my friends always ask where I want to go eat and my answer is always Tex Mex.  I love it.  I might be ok turning into a tortilla.  But only if it meant I got to eat myself.  Like a hot dog in fake Harry Caray's world.

Anyway, the Mexican food pickins in Missouri are quite slim, and essentially the nearest thing to legit Tex Mex (aside from the few restaurants in Columbia and a couple that I really liked in St. Louis), is On the Border in Kansas City.  Every time I go to Kansas City I get On the Border.  Even if it's just to have some chips and queso.  I make time for my love.  Scott went to the Mizzou/kstate game in Manhattan a few weekends ago and I thought to myself "this is perfect!  He can stop and get OTB on the way home for dinner!"  My plan was pretty brilliant.  At least I thought so.  This is going to sound so lame but all day that Saturday I was thinking about how good my dinner was going to be.  As I took down the Christmas decorations and cleaned the entire house, I kept thinking "that salsa is so good" and similar lardy things.

Scott called me around 6pm and said he'd be home around 7:30.  He asked me what I wanted for dinner.  I was like "ha-ha so funny" since I had basically talked his ear off about this brilliant plan.  He said "when I called the wait was over 45 minutes for carry out so I didn't stop.  But you can pick where we go in Columbia."  I felt my smile fade and my only-child syndrome slowly turn on.  He asked me how the game was on TV and I snidely reminded him that I had been doing chores all day in anticipation of my dinner.  Showed him.  When we hung up I told several people about my first world problem.  (This was much like the time Scott convinced me that the grocery stores finally had Blue Bell and I turned around and told the whole world about how excited I was...only to find out that it was a cruel joke.  Now that I think about it, it's sad how excited I get about food items.  See Pinterest post below for further proof of this).  The more I thought about the whole "45-min wait" thing, the less convinced I was.  A 45-minute wait at what was around 5:30pm on a Saturday in suburban KC MO?  Yea right.  By the time I heard the garage door opening I had decided I needed answers.

I played it cool though, not looking up from the couch when I heard the door to the garage open and Scott walk in.  He casually asked me if I had thought about dinner, to which I replied that I hadn't, with my eyes glued to the television.  He told me to think about it while he got some trash out of his car.  A minute later he came back in and I still refused to look over.  It wasn't until the OTB bag was completely blocking my field of vision that I realized I had been duped...again.  I knew in my heart of hearts that he'd never let me down!  After a minor "they didn't put tortillas in our bag" crisis, I enjoyed my dinner!  Scott, for all his love and devotion to me, spent the night awake with food poisoning.  :-/

It's only a few weeks later and I have to go to Kansas City tomorrow for hearings.  I didn't get food poisoning, and I have a Chili's/OTB gift card calling my name.  So, you know where I'll be eating lunch.  The end.



(Upon further reflection about my love of OTB, I feel like I sound a bit like Kendra and her obsession with Olive Garden.  I'd like to clarify that OTB is not my favorite restaurant, or Mexican restaurant.  But, it reminds me of home and I love home, so I love it.  There, the end for real.)