Warning: Parts of this column may be difficult to stomach, much like Taco Bell. Discretion advised.
During my time here, I have regrettably picked up an unfortunate coping mechanism: using Taco Bell as a rebound. As a result, the Taco Bell menu and I have a complicated on-again, off-again relationship. No matter how much I try to leave, I always find myself back beneath its hanging yellow vertical clearance bar that reads, "You must be this high to order."
Unlike the Taco Bell dollar menu, I'm not a man of many options. I have more learning disabilities than sexual partners. When a guy dumps, rejects and/or rope-burns me, I turn to Taco Bell, for it is always there for me - the best friend who wishes I would choose him over those who keep breaking my heart.
At one point, I ate Taco Bell for every meal. I hated everything then, even Betty White. I'd given up on men and, one week in, my bowels gave up on me - declaring civil war and seceding from my union. Thankfully the Quilted North won the war, signing the Defecation Proclamation and getting my G.I. back on tract. I would never subject myself to a full day of Taco Bell ever again.
I meditated on the event for a while and discovered what I call "The Five Stages of Taco Bell":
1) Craving, 2) Waiting, 3) Bliss, 4) Coma of denial and 5) Regret.
Soon after, I came to realize the stages mirror the progression of my encounters with men.
Craving: The part of the relationship where both parties involved want to see each other. You get invited places, they cancel plans to see you and they even cook for you, making hollandaise sauce from scratch! It's the Cheesy Gordita Crunch because the Cheesy Gordita Crunch is the item currently featured in Taco Bell commercials. It wants you just as much as you want it, and it isn't afraid to say so.
Waiting: The part where you're inching toward making a move. Taco Bell has dropped hints, winking with ads proclaiming cheesiness and crunchitude. You've been hurt by Taco Bell before, but you think you're ready to love again. This is the 89-cent Cheese Roll-Up - unsatisfying, driving you to further action (and the drive-thru).
Bliss: The part where you're touching each other. The bag of burritos enters the car. You want to feel it between your lips, but, alas - the road. At a red light, you can't help yourself: You seize a burrito. The oddly shaped lump unwraps faster than your chastity khakis that have buttons instead of a zipper but make your butt look fantastic. Eventually you get home and, in a blur of consumption, it's inside you and you feel like a Crunch Wrap Supreme, full of meat and sour cream. Above all else, you are happy.
Coma of Denial: The part where you're complacent. Though the initial fire has gone, you're floating on cloud nine. You had your Crispy Potato Soft Tacos and they tasted great. Even though your burritos have stopped returning your calls and texts, you don't worry. You know they care about your feelings. If something bad were brewing, you'd have heard by now.
Regret: The part where all hell breaks loose. You feel a rumble in your lower intestines, sensing you're physically ill. The burritos say you should start seeing other people — in this case, the toilet. No matter what you say or do, they're going to leave you.
Eating Taco Bell and loving are one and the same. Though you know Taco Bell will hurt you in the end, the good times make it all worth it. And at least you know what to expect.
Chip Skambis is an English and telecommunication junior at UF. His column appears on Mondays.
