Hate the word, "foodie," but feel it’s the only fitting title

Confession: I love food. I love about ten different items. I could easily limit my menu to only these for the rest of my life and die happy. OK, not happy: elated. Here’s what I can’t live without and dream of each day at noon when I’m eating my terribly bland and cold salad:

If we’ve ever gone out to eat together, odds are we’ve gone to TGI Fridays. If we haven’t eaten out together, odds are it’s because you don’t like TGI Fridays.

Summer, winter, spring of fall, I’m ready for it. Bring it on.

I make these at home all the time. My poor cheese shredder has worked 6,000 times as hard as his lazy cousins.

So what if the Qdoba guys know my name? Every ten, I get one free!

I’m thirsty and hungover already.

Classic. Makes me feel like a kid again.

There are some days (like after too many mimosas) when the only thing that sounds good is a greasy pan pizza from Pizza Hut.

Be still my salivating taste buds.

For when I overdose on all the food you’ve seen above, I’ll sooth myself with yet another kiddy meal.

And when I need to feel like a grown up again, I’ll throw five bucks at the Starbucks corporation.

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