Taco Bell Finally Has A Hotel And I Refuse To Let My Lactose Intolerance Define Me

I usually don’t learn much on LinkedIn except job opportunities and that Carl Radke from Summer House looks at my profile at really odd hours of the night, but today I learned that the Taco Bell hotel rumors are TRUE and I could not be more excited.

Much like cocaine and sex toys, I let Taco Bell come into my life an embarrassingly late time in my life when I should’ve tried it so much earlier in order to save myself from coming off as a sheltered adult virgin. I was living on 3rd and 97th and I saw a hot sauce packet balloon floating outside a location that had recently opened. Obviously, I stole the balloon. My roommate at the time was adamant that we sojourn a whole 300 feet to try it on the first day, and quite frankly, that was the only decision we ever made together that wasn’t some kind of self-sabotage or worthy of a felony. While I still don’t know whatever happened to said roommate to this day, I will always remember my first time at Taco Bell thanks to her.

I ordered solely the chipotle chicken griller and that alone for the first time because I wasn’t willing to dive in full throttle. What a pussy ass bitch move at the time to stick with the grillers because I was depriving myself of the greatest Mexican food on the planet. At one point, I had ordered the cheese quesadilla and my roomie filmed me eating it as fast as a could without taking my mouth off of it. 37 seconds. I dropped out of college for the second time at that juncture and had recently gotten off of Adderall, so it was the first time I ever put any effort into anything without the unfair advantage of drugs. Quite the milestone. But still, not a highlight of the Taco Bell menu. (Months later, I did finish three steak quesaritos in 15 minutes when I was in Vegas, might I add.) It wasn’t, like, juice cleanse level of deprivation, but it was like going to Eleven Madison Park and ordering the chicken fingers.

Eventually my palette expanded. My roommate was doing the walk of shame back from some guy’s apartment and it just so happened to be the day Taco Bell dropped their breakfast menu. It was scrambled eggs and bacon in a “taco shell” that was actually a waffle or pancake. We happened to have a ton of maple syrup because we were gonna do the master cleanse at one point, but we gave up and just ended up drinking laxative tea all the time instead because we thought that’s how weight loss worked. Ever since then, my ideal brunch place is dipping my tampons in vodka and mouthfucking Taco Bell breakfast crunchwraps. That’s right, you don’t really eat Taco Bell. You mouthfuck it because it is that sloppy and intimate of an experience.

Since my early days at Taco Bell, a lot has changed. I have a blossoming career as a writer. I went blonde. And most importantly, I became a connoisseur of Taco Bell.

To say I’m a regular is an understatement, and frankly, and insult. Back at home in Connecticut, one employee told me, “You always play the best music whenever you drive through here!” Since moving back to the Upper East Side, I split my time between three locations so I don’t look super desperate by frequenting the same one over and over (and over and over and over) again. The theme of my apartment is Taco Sex Beach Party and you’d have to actually come here to fully experience the theme. I can’t encompass it into words.

So this Palm Springs hotel would bring my love affair with Taco Bell to a whole different level. First off, I love California. I was there earlier this year for work, and even things I hate about New York, i love about California. Every millennial here having a podcast bothers the fuck outta me, but In California? Not so much. Largely because I was on one with Alexis Neiers from Pretty Wild when i went. People trying to converse with me? So annoying in New York. I wear broken headphones to avoid talking to them. But In L.A., I’m all about it because people actually want to get to know you. Not learn your social security number and your address level of getting to know you like in New York, but like, actually get to know you. Also, when I was at SUR (which notoriously only hires hot people), people thought I actually worked there. So to go to hotel in California would just be another major plus for me.

I don’t know what this Taco Bell hotel has in store for me, but I already know that I won’t be disappointed. And I am willing to completely disregard my lactose intolerance for my week there because much like those Olympians with fake limbs who win gold medals and shit, I refuse to let my debilitating afflictions define me. Also, it’s a Taco fuckin’ Bell resort, so I’m sure they’re anticipating hella wreckage on their plumbing and have planned accordingly.

Millie Moore