Velveeta is Not Organic

Oh people.

I have tried to eat well down here. "Tried" is the operative word. But it is nearly impossible. At least that is what I am telling myself.

I came down here with a tub of organic spinach, roasted red pepper hummus, celery sticks, Greek yogurt and walnuts. Apparently I thought that is what I needed to sustain me for these five days. Apparently I thought that would be enough to fight off the dessert demons that scream for me to give in. Apparently I thought the power of rabbit food would reign victorious over everything fried and delicious and comforting and homemade.

Apparently I had lost my mind.

First off, the power of Velveeta is like a magnetic force that sucks all forms of self-control and will power out of your body and slaps you around until you give in and succumb to the almighty queso dip. And once you taste it, there is no turning back. The addictive chemicals found in this processed cheese substance make you do all kinds of things, like pour it on top of chips, enchiladas, beans, rice and even your salad. I even considered naming my first daughter "Velveeta Marie."

Secondly, there is no such thing as "organic" in northwest Oklahoma, unless you count beef. There's lots of organic beef roaming around. The only problem is that they still have hooves and are mooing.

Third, Snickers just taste better down here. And I may or may not have driven to the Quick Stop to buy one. Or seven.

Fourth, the Shattuck Pizza Hut (the town 7 miles from Gage) has the best pizza of any Pizza Hut IN THE ENTIRE WORLD. Trust me, I know this. And when you request things like "I would like an organic crust made with sprouted grains, extra crispy, with pancetta, goat cheese and basil, with fresh oregano and a sprinkling or parmigiano-reggiano on top" they look at you like you just grew a second head and say "Excuse me, honey, did you just say you wanted the double bacon cheeseburger pizza?"

Actually yes, yes I did.

Finally, my Aunt Marge and Uncle Larry are the best cooks in the world, hands down. Last night I was met at their door with roasted chicken, root vegetables, fresh bread and homemade apple pie. And to top off the evening, Marge made kettle corn.

Stick a fork in me, I'm done.

So if I don't come back to Colorado, you'll know why. I'll be rolling around down here in a euphoric, albeit chemically processed, state wondering how my organic phase lasted as long as it did.