Ode to IHOP

One of my constant regularities in life involves none other than my partner-in-crime and best friend Kris. It is a rare occassion when we don't make our weekly trip to IHOP. And not so rare an occassion when we make more than one. Never knowing exactly what will happen (transvestites hitting on cops after the Saturday night drag shows; our cars mysteriously locking on their own even while we are fighting them with our unlocking buttons; cops thinking we're either high or drunk when in fact we are neither; doors catching on our feet causing our clumsy asses to fall...), we're always prepared for an adventure. Of course these trips aren't always happy-go-lucky, seeing as how this is our place to meet and really talk, there are some sad occassions (or the few when we're holding hair out of the way while the other rejects the littlest amount of food she could eat because for some reason the world won't let us have some peace and happiness). BUT even with the sad there is always the happy. Because let's face it, we're best friends and we're surrounded by food. (Even when they do violate the french toast. By the eggs.)