Day 3, Dinner: Tex-Mex rocks. Tap water sucks.

THIS BLOG CONTAINS STRONG LANGUAGE.  THIS MEANS YOU MAY SEE PHRASES SUCH AS "SHIT-STAINED LAUNDRY BAGS." YOU WERE WARNED.

After such a filling lunch, I knew my only option for dinner was meat, cheese, and a tortilla-- in some most excellent fucking combination that would tickle my fancy.  I needed some calories, and if I went with a lot of grilled chicken, I could do it most deliciously (and healthily).

Now, I'm not one to visit a suburb on a regular any basis; in fact, it goes against the very fibers of my finely pressed Armani Collezioni Super 150s suit.  Unfortunately, I had to finish some business after my lunch outside of Dallas, and I ended up meeting my wife in Hell Coppell, a suburb.

There's really only two reasons to visit Coppell.  One involves disposing of dead bodies; the other involves Anamia's, a reputable Tex-Mex restaurant.  The latter really isn't great enough to venture out where commoners roam, but every now and again, it's important to see how the rest of the world works, eh?

Of course, what I really wanted to eat wasn't an option. Ribeye fajitas.  Tex-Mex for a fucking gentleman:

Son of a cockknocker.

I had to settle for two grilled chicken tacos al carbon with a Diet Coke.  Of course, the waiter brings my bubbly beverage and I realize I am royally fucked:

A fucking can of Diet Coke.

I immediately went into panic mode.  This meant (1) I could only drink one, because they charge for each can, (2) I am drinking a lesser beverage, as compared to a fountain Diet Coke, and (3) I have an unsightly can on the table, which associates me with peasantry.

I solved the third issue rather quickly by tossing the can on the floor.

Naturally, I finished the Diet Coke in about two minutes (perhaps spoiled by the nine free refills earlier today), which meant I had to ask for tap water, which is vernacular for "toxic sludge."  Water tastes terrible to begin with, unless it's FIJI® artesian water. FIJI® artesian water is properly filtered mineral water from the beautiful island of Fiji, is in an attractive, uplifting container, and is generally too pricey for "lesser" folks (i.e., perfect).

This is what I was forced to settle for.  You can see the feces particles floating in it:

Needless to say, it tasted like a vagrant's saliva, after he had tongue-raped a roll of old nickels.  Miserable. 

At least the food was good (and cost $12.28 including tax and tip).  Anamia's always delivers in that respect.  Too bad it's centrally located in a substandard area populated by Chevrolet Silverado drivers who work in "IT," which really means a call center job that pays $9.75/hour.  Were it in Dallas proper, it would be a solid 4/5 restaurant.  Its location means I have to bump it down to a 2/5.

Lunch tomorrow will be a true test...and I'm already feeling somewhat ill.  I don't know if that's the alcohol deprivation or the leprosy I contracted at the strip mall this morning. My money is on leprosy.