Dear Journal,

I've been off the road for three weeks now and I'm getting a little antsy. This week I went to Applebee's in Times Square to remind me of what it's like on the road. I have a great allegiance to chain restaurants, and I know that's not the cool stance, but in my travels I've found that the greasy spoons of this country often have greasy spoons.

And it's not like it's your mom and you're like, "Good ol' mom's grease on the spoon." It's like, "I believe the large man behind the counter whose stomach is peeking out of his undershirt placed some of his grease on a spoon that I am now expected to place in my mouth."

I love chains because they'll make exceptions and substitutions. You won't offend them if you don't want the special custard on the chicken sandwich. "No tomatoes? No problem, sir. I just want to keep my job."

I actually fancy myself a chain restaurant connoisseur. And I'm not alone. My friend Greg Warren and I will text message each other whenever we're at a chain. He'll write: "Fridays is no Ruby Tuesdays but it's getting there." Or I'll write, "If you're at TGIFs, stay away from the Sicilian quesadillas. All hype, no execution."

Chains also offer absurdly large portions. They're like, "We could sell grilled cheese sandwiches for $1.50, or we could stuff a loaf of bread with three pounds of mozzarella and call it The Mozzarella Mountain." Chains know that Americans are fat and want to keep it that way. Which is why I had a disconcerting experience at Times Square Applebee's this week. I went in to feel at home, or away, and I order an appetizer and an entrée and my waitress said, "You're gettin' two things?" I said, "Yes," and she said, "alright." I was so mad. I was like, "You're supposed to convince me that I want two things even though I don't need two things. And it wasn't as though the woman saying this had not not gotten two things herself. As a matter of fact, it seemed like two things had been a part of her diet for some time. Maybe this was her way of acting as a cautionary tale. Like, "this is what happens when you get two things." Or maybe I misunderstood her. Maybe she meant to say, "You're ONLY getting two things?"

But it made me realize something about myself I call "large portion shame." The moment someone calls me out on how much I'm eating, it's like being walked in on masturbating. I'm like, "Get outta here! Or stay and help out."

So I ate my two things and then ordered dessert, bringing my grand total to three things. She didn't flinch when I ordered my third thing. Maybe I was right in thinking that two things wasn't enough...that maybe all good things come in threes. Red, white and blue. Cheese, meat, and sugar. Bret Michaels, strippers, and hair extensions.

Well I may never know what the waitress meant, but this month I'm heading to Raleigh, Nashville, Cleveland, Detroit and Columbus and I'm going to the Olive Garden, because when you're there, you're family. Plus, by bringing you bottomless breadsticks and salad with every entrée you automatically get three things without having to ask.