Tuesday, August 17, 2010

Conversation with Grandma

Here's the beginning of an actual conversation with my Grandmother:
Me: hello?
Grandma: hello, hello?
Me: Hi Grandma, so nice of you to call.
Grandma: It's your grandmother: don't you recognize my voice?
Me: Yes, I do. That's why I said "Hi Grandma".

Tuesday, August 3, 2010

This Week's New Yorker

This week's New Yorker has a cartoon that just blew my mind. It is a picture of a man and a woman sitting at a bar. The man says to the woman, "is it horny in here, or is it just me?" Brilliant.

Monday, July 12, 2010

Love Thy Neighbor part Deux

It happened. I got the text message I've been dreading. It says:

Hey Cutty, I would like to have [dinner] this week. Lemme know what day would work for you. thx, Ben.

followed with:

hope you're doing well...

I know I said I would handle it if it came to this, but I'm totally chickening out. So far, I've written nothing back. I'm thinking that I should just text him and ask if his family is coming.

In the end, I just asked him if his wife was coming and then it turned out she wasn't. And then I got invited over to their house for dinner. Which makes me wonder if I was misreading his initial intentions, but I think what really happened was that he realized that it was a bad idea to try and get involved with a neighbor. Either way, problem appears to be solved.

Speaking of loving one's neighbors, my bedroom looks directly into the backyard of a local bike shop. Another way to look at that is that the backyard of a bike shop looks directly into my bedroom. I was exhausted the other night when I came home and walked into my room and took all my clothes off for the end of the day and because it's hot. As I was lying there I realized I could hear voices outside. I had, at this point, put on a nightgown. I walked onto the porch only to realize that some people were hanging out in the backyard of the bike shop after hours. They sure got an eye-full and then some.

Thursday, July 8, 2010

Love Thy Neighbor

So, my mid-week, mid-afternoon drunk story has two parts: there was the birthday lunch and then there was this.

Wednesday was the World Cup game between Spain and Germany. There was a classic moment of watching the game when I said something about how Germany was taking a lot of really aggressive shots on the goal, only to be told that Germany was wearing the white uniforms. The only redeeming factor was that I hadn't been vocally rooting for one team or the other, but it was pretty embarrassing. Ooooops.

I just moved to a new neighborhood in Brooklyn, so I went to go watch the game. I walked into the bar and saw my downstairs neighbor. I don't usually like to get too cozy with my neighbors just because it's important to me to know that when I go home, I can just go home. I mean, I'm friendly, but I don't really do a lot of socializing with my neighbors, and this is precisely why.

So, my neighbor invites me to sit with him and offers to buy me a beer...no problem, we're just being neighborly here, right? Then he offers to buy me food, then he starts telling me about how his wife and kids are going on vacation for the next two weeks. Then he starts asking me out to dinner. I'm pretty weirded out at this point, but I'm still thinking that he's not really hitting on me because he lives in my very small building WITH HIS WIFE AND TWO CHILDREN. That would just be plain audacious right? Yes.

We've been having a bit of a heat wave here in NYC.It was 102 degrees the day in question. The bar appeared to be having some air conditioning issues and it was effing hot in there. A bunch of the men took off their shirts and so the female bartender took off her shirt too to the amazement and joy of most of the bar. That's when my neighbor turned to me and said, "Didn't you say you were really hot?", to which I responded, "I didn't know it was going to be that kind of party".

After the game was over he kept trying my buy me another beer, which I thought was strange and then he asked me out to dinner again. Then he asked for my phone number. I was still in this strange delirium where I thought there's no way he's being anything but friendly in a slightly overly friendly way, so I gave it to him. Then I got home and the truth of what had happened finally sank in and I was like, "oh shit".

Guess who I got a text from the next day? Yup, him. This is totally weird and inappropriate. If you were going to cheat on your wife, wouldn't you want your girlfriend somewhere where she wouldn't see your wife and kids and vice versa? I just ignored the text, but had to come up with a contingency plan for if he asks me out. I will just tell him that if his wife and kids come, that's fine, but otherwise it's inappropriate. Not cool, neighborman.

Mid-day drunks

While I like to think that I've been doing nothing in this heatwave but sit at home in the A/C and watch multiple series on Netflix Watch Instantly--Party Down, you have my heart--it turns out I may have been a little more active than that.

I managed to get drunk in the afternoon two days in a row (I guess Nana was right). Today is my good friend Lola's birthday. As I told her earlier today, it's a momentous occasion because this is just the first time she's going to turn 29! We met up for a birthday lunch at Gazala Place in Midtown. Excellent Middle Eastern food that it's extremely reasonably priced. We ordered a whole smörgåsbord of mezze- you know, tabboule, hummus, baba ganoush, turkish salad, foul (which was my personal garlick-y, bean-y, onion-y, oily favorite). Followed by Turkish coffee and two desserts one was an excellent baklava, and the other was really outstanding dessert called something with multiple words. It was a piece of cake (semolina, I believe) soaked in syrup and then topped with a sweet cream that was almost pudding-like in texture and topped with finely chopped pistachios. Another advantage of Gazala is that it's BYOB--even in the middle of the afternoon. Since we had a birthday to celebrate, we managed to plow through three or four bottles of champagne.

One down-side: I opted for the fancier bottle of cava, even though there was a cheaper bottle that was chilled. Listen, your friends only turn 29 for the first time once. When I was carrying the bottle in the bag it got a little shaken up, and since we have been living in 100 degree heat for 5 years, it wasn't getting any colder in my bag. When I got to the restaurant, I asked our waiter for a glass and to chill the bottle. He opened it instead and then half of it went all over the floor. I said, "I told you to chill that". He said, "No, you told me to open it".

Despite finding the service somewhat lacking, it was really a fun day, and I love Lola's friends almost as much as I love her. In fact, I'm getting ready to head out to continue the celebrations at a midtown bar where there is often a big night of drinking for people working in front of and behind the scenes in theatre. Two years ago for MY birthday, Ms. Lola took me to one of these nights and it was the best night of my life, and a story for another time.

Monday, June 28, 2010

There ain't no father to my style

I know I have been on a blog break for a little while. I've been a little bit on a break from everything, but I am back and I'm bringing sexy with me.

I wanted to write about some of the amazing things that have been said to me in the last couple of weeks. Since I made a Wu-Tang reference in the name of the post, I'll continue with that.

I was home visiting my family a couple of weekends ago and I was talking with my brother and my mom about martial arts when I said, "All I know about martial arts, I learned from the Wu-Tang". My mother, who has just turned 67, chimes in with, "Oh, yes! The Wu-Tang Gang"!

Other notable quotes from my nephew who is five and a half:

When asked if he remembered what it was like to fly on a plane told me, "Yeah, but mostly I remember that when the plane lands, it bothers my wiener".

He is growing out his hair and I asked him if lots of pretty girls ask if they can play with his hair. He said, "ummmmmmm, just my mom and you". Then he said, "you aren't girls: you're women!".

Another priceless moment was when my eight year old nephew and I were talking about how I'd be going to graduate school for social work(I was accepted at a fine New York City institution of education). He asked me what a social worker does. I started explaining to him that social workers help people who are having problems. If someone finds out they are really sick, or if there are problems at home, or any other time people are in crisis that's when social workers try to step in and help people deal. Then I was like, "Um, why would anyone want to do this"? Good thing I have already been accepted to the program.

My family is close with another family who has small children and their extended family. All of us went out together for Father's Day and I ended up sitting next to Granny. I had no idea, but apparently people don't want to sit next to Granny (no actual relation) because apparently she's "mean". I've never had that experience with her before. Boy, was I in for a surprise.

I ordered a bloody mary with my brunch (it was after 12 anyway), which is totally normal for me. My brother ordered a cocktail and so did Granny's grandson who is in his 30's. When my bloody mary came, Granny looked at it and smirked and asked me if it was tomato juice. I said that it was a drink. She smirked again, repeated that it was a drink and then loudly proclaimed, "Well, you must be used to drinking early in the morning." I started laughing hysterically and when people asked me why I was laughing so hard I explained. I pointed out to Granny that not only did I have a drink, but so did her grandson. She shrugged it off, and then her grandson pointed out that my brother had also ordered a cocktail. She said, "Well, naturally".

Wednesday, May 12, 2010

Moving Day is Upon Us.

Here are my questions:

Do you think my movers would accept BJs in lieu of a tip?
If yes, how does one broach the topic?

Monday, May 10, 2010

Happy Mother's Day to Me!

Recently, for medical reasons, got an IUD. IUDs, for those of you who don't know (Since I have such a huge audience), are Intrauterine devices and they look like this:

So it goes through the cervix and sits inside the uterus making the environment too inhospitable for eggs to implant.

I got the kind that has hormones in it. Let me stress that these are for women who have already had kids, ie their cervices have been stretched out by a baby coming out. So this is what happened when I went to get my IUD:

I show up at the doctor's office and am told that my insurance policy has been terminated and that I'll have to pay for the procedure out of pocket. I'm freaking out because I know that I still have insurance, and that I got a call two days previously approving it. I call my insurance company and realize that I just have a new policy number. Ok, that part is smoothed over.

I am the first patient of the day, so I am told to go back to exam room areas. I am weighed and blood pressured and then the nurse tells me that the doctor wants to talk to me before the procedure. (I am really nervous about this, by the way as I have been warned that it's a very unpleasant process. I'm pretty tough, so I'm like, "hey, I can handle this" except as the hours are ticking towards actually getting it shoved up in there, I'm starting to get a little anxious), so I find the idea that the doctor wants to talk to me reassuring.

I should point out that as I am sitting in the exam room waiting, and getting all the preliminary stuff done, I can hearing the doctor screaming profanity and yelling about different stuff. He doesn't seem to be directing it to anyone personally, but he seems really angry. So, I'm starting to get really scared that he's some kind of vagina butcher, not the mythical Vagina Whisperer.

So I get lead into his office and sit down. I say, "hi". He looks up at me and says "hi" back. "How are you?", I begin. He says, "What are you here for?" I say, "an IUD". He says, "Is there something you want to talk about?" and I say, "no, but we can if you want". He is quiet for a second and while still maintaining eye contact with me yells, "Nina! Why is my IUD in my office instead of getting prepped?!?". "Oh, shit", I think.

I am lead back to the exam room and told to undress. This is where I'm starting to get kind of freaked out. The nurse comes in and I ask her, "how badly is this going to hurt?". She says, "oh, there's going to be some pretty severe cramping". "ok", I think to myself, "I can handle this".

Then the doctor comes in. Now he's in patient mode and acts like the encounter we have just had hasn't happened, so I follow his lead. He's Mr. Affability and I'm starting to feel more reassured. I ask if I am going to cry. He tells me that he doubts it. I'm starting to feel pretty ok about this.

Then he opens up my cervix and I'm moaning and crying. Here is the best way I can explain what this feels like: if you've ever had a filling, then you know the feeling when they push the needle in with the Novocaine and it's burning and stinging and just hurting all at the same time. Imagine that on one of the most sensitive parts of your body. That's what it felt like.

I wish I was making this up, but then he drops the IUD on the floor while I'm all opened up and waiting for it, so the nurse has to go out and get another one. Then he put it in and I was sobbing. I said, "I guess that answers the question about whether or not I would cry". I felt like such a baby, and he said something about me being more sensitive than most other people (read: "you are a baby").

The part about this that I find most startling is this: I was concerned about getting an IUD since they are not supposed to be recommended for people with multiple sex partners as they can increase the risk of getting certain types of infections. So, I talked to a friend of mine who is in nursing school and asked her what she thought. She asked me how many sex partners I was planning on having in the next five years. I said that I thought a safe bet was that I wouldn't exceed 40. I know that sounds like a lot, but it's only eight a year. Don't be so judgemental. Anyway, the part that freaked me out was that I realized that nowhere in my calculations did it even occur to me that I might be in a monogamous relationship at some point in the next five years. That's a tad depressing.

So the update on this is that my first IUD came out and they put a new one in. That one has started to come out as well. Since it was just Mothers Day and all, I thought I should make the announcement that I'm the proud single mother of two pieces of plastic! Hoorah!

Tuesday, April 27, 2010

Since you were all clamoring for more blog...

I am moving on Friday which is why there has been a conspicuous silence on the blog-front. I was walking home from the wine store with a huge bundle of boxes when a guy said, "you want some help with those, sweetheart?". I'm not even joking, this kid was in high school. I love that a kid in high school called me sweetheart. In fact, I just started laughing. He said, "I guess that's a no."

Thursday, April 22, 2010

R. Kelly Again or "Sex in the Kitchen".

With thanks to Marnie, who suggested this as my "theme song". Love you!

There are too many gems of lines in this song for me to point them out individually. I just posted the lyrics so that we can have a sing-a-long next time we all hang out.

This is from work this morning: cutting up tomatoes--alas no sex in the kitchen followed.

[R. Kelly - Talking]
Nah, look man enough is enough man
Y'all need to leave me alone, on the real
I mean can't y'all see I love y'all, damn
I mean no matter what y'all say or try to do to me, I'm gonna love you anyway
You know what I'm saying, what y'all need to do let me go on do this music, you know what I'm saying
I mean, what a gotta do, what I gotta do? Give y'all all my money, all my cars, my houses, my clothes, what?
I don't owe you nothing man Go get a God damn job dawg, shit, leave me alone get a job
You don't owe me nothing, I owe you nothing, you know what I'm saying
I am just trying to give y'all this music, make y'all feel good, you know what I'm saying
That's all I'm trying to do. Let me do that, let the R do that, will ya?

Sex in the kitchen nigga,(whoo! Yeah)
Over by the stove (ho!)
(Yeah, from the kitchen to the bathroom babe (uh)
From upstairs to the basement babe) (Kels!)
Put you on the counter (ho! Yeah)
By the buttered rolls (ho!)
(Yeah, now we hoppin' in the GT coup'
Goin' to the club, doin' what we do) (remix!)
Hands on the table (ho! Yeah)
On your tippy toes (ho!)
(Yeah, hey it's the weekend y'all (yeah, yeah, yeah)
So bounce real slow to this remix y'all)
Said the sign outside the door say the restaurant is closed
And we'll be cuttin' up tomatoes (whoo, yeah)
Fruits and vegetables and potatoes (yeah)

[Verse 1:]
Let's get together like a cookout baby
You bring the beer and I'ma bump some 'Sadie'
Hook up some of that chicken baby
And oh yeah, and don't forget the rice and gravy
It's about to be a party at my crib
Got Hennessee, juice and Belvedere
Got chicks in swimsuits up in here
No po, no haters, no tricks in here
Hey y'all, whassup, whassup
Got bounce juice in my cup
Mama makin' [ass] jump up
Sh**t she don't get no f**k
Ain't gotta worry 'bout complainin' ass neighbours
'Cause your boy is sittin' on some acres
Dip low in the SLR (whoo!)
Come and take a ride in my super car
Scattered linen when you rollin' with a player
Shoppin' sprees when you rollin' with a player
At that bar when you rollin' with a player
Big chips when you rollin' with a player
The party's almost over
So baby tell me what you gon' do
Open that door, put them out
Close that door, me and you

Sex in the kitchen (whoo! Yeah)
Over by the stove (ho!)
(Yeah, from the kitchen to the bathroom babe (uh)
>From upstairs to the basement babe) (Kels!)
Put you on the counter (ho! Yeah)
By the buttered rolls (ho!)
(Yeah, now we hoppin' in the GT coup'
Goin' to the club, doin' what we do) (remix!)
Hands on the table (ho! Yeah)
On your tippy toes (ho!)
(Yeah, hey it's the weekend y'all (yeah, yeah, yeah)
So bounce real slow to this remix y'all)
Said the sign outside the door say the restaurant is closed
And we'll be cuttin' up tomatoes (whoo, yeah)
Fruits and vegetables and potatoes (yeah)

[Verse 2:]
Got the whirl pool bubblin' up
Got two fine chicks tryna double 'em up (uh)
Got top so I'm shakin' it up (uh)
When it come to the [#%&@] I just can't get enough (oh!)
This party looks like a club
You see in my eyes and I'm buzzed
I've been drinkin' twenty four hours
So fucked up you know a nigga need a shower
I pull up in the wide body (ho)
You know a nigga know somebody (ho)
And e'rbody in here know me (ho)
And somebody knows somebody (ho)
Look at my wrists ain't I so damn freeze? (Yo)
Look at my clothes ain't I so damn clean? (Yo)
Look at the bar ain't I so damn sheen? (Yo)
Look at my style I am so damn me (oh)
I got a song out doin' good
Nigga goin' platinum 'cause I kept it hood
I hear the crowd over here goin' (ho!)
I hear the crowd over there goin' (ho!)
That's why I get to show 'em this life
Turned it out and now I'm ready to fly
And now I'm on my way to the after party
'Til six in the mornin' I'ma be naughty
Put this CD in your Jeep (put this CD in your Jeep)
Play it 'til it cracks the CD
Some of y'all be doubtin' me (hey, hey, hey, hey)
But I can do this in my sleep

Sex in the kitchen (whoo! Yeah)
Over by the stove (ho!)
(Yeah, from the kitchen to the bathroom babe (uh)
>From upstairs to the basement babe) (Kels!)
Put you on the counter (ho! Yeah)
By the buttered rolls (ho!)
(Yeah, now we hoppin' in the GT coup'
Goin' to the club, doin' what we do) (remix!)
Hands on the table (ho! Yeah)
On your tippy toes (ho!)
(Yeah, hey it's the weekend y'all (yeah, yeah, yeah)
So bounce real slow to this remix y'all)
Said the sign outside the door say the restaurant is closed
And we'll be cuttin' up tomatoes (whoo, yeah)
Fruits and vegetables and potatoes (yeah)

Here we are, in this kitchen, kitchen
Sexin' each other from feet to head
Now, some folks may raise the question
"Why can't they just get a bed?"
Yeah, there ain't nothin' wrong
With us in the kitchen gettin' it on, no
Girl, it's like five hundred degrees and here we are
By the cabinet do's, by the stove
Hot buttered rolls on your tippy-toes

[Chorus:] [2x]
Sex in the kitchen (whoo! Yeah)
Over by the stove (ho!)
(Yeah, from the kitchen to the bathroom babe (uh)
>From upstairs to the basement babe) (Kels!)
Put you on the counter (ho! Yeah)
By the buttered rolls (ho!)
(Yeah, now we hoppin' in the GT coup'
Goin' to the club, doin' what we do) (remix!)
Hands on the table (ho! Yeah)
On your tippy toes (ho!)
(Yeah, hey it's the weekend y'all (yeah, yeah, yeah)
So bounce real slow to this remix y'all)
Said the sign outside the door say the restaurant is closed
And we'll be cuttin' up tomatoes (whoo, yeah)
Fruits and vegetables and potatoes (yeah)
[Fade Out]

I'm also pleased to find out that Joe and I weren't the only ones who think that R. Kelly is kind of an idiot savant though Aziz Ansari doesn't use that phrase. He says that he's a "brilliant R&B singer/craaaaazy person". Behold:

Tuesday, April 20, 2010

Moonlight and Moonshine

This weekend I went to a loft party in Bushwick where the residents were selling moonshine (which Lola called "giddy juice") and home-brewed beer. There were bands, there was smoking of marijuana, there was drinking, there was some dancing, and I'm sure there was some hooking up. I didn't smoke and I didn't hook up with anyone, though I did tell Marnie that if she didn't get laid that night that I was going to lay her myself. Thankfully, someone took the pressure off of me-more to come on that.

I also danced. If there's music, I'm going to try to dance to it.

Lola, Mack, Marnie, and Marnie's friend Jeannie were all at the party too. Besides for being surrounded by my lovely friends here are several highlights of the evening:

The home-brews included a wonderfully flavored Pecan nut ale, a walnut ale, and an oatmeal stout. All were quite flavorful, but I preferred the Pecan ale to the rest. It was rich and, not surprisingly, nutty, if somewhat flat. The flavor on it was so clear that my first thought was of bars that don't change their lines often enough and how different this was. The moonshine, though. Wowza. I only tried one flavor which was the Honey Whiskey. I didn't drink it straight, but rather mixed with lemonade. It was great. It made me giggle and dance.

There was a point where I found a neon green feather boa and forced Marnie to sing "Bad Romance" while I made her dance with me and the boa. Then I tried to tell everyone it was my birthday again. Lola and Marnie weren't going to let people fall for that again.

Soon after I walked in the door at the beginning of the night, a young man walked in. He was cute. He looked familiar. I smiled at him, and he said hi to me. I don't remember who said to whom that the other looked familiar, but one of us did. So, then we figured out where it was from. Apparently, I had met this gentleman a few weeks earlier at a show in the bathroom line. I've been told this is a great time/place to pick people up. Well, not when you've just come back on a 6am flight, went out the night before the flight, and then didn't get to sleep all day.

I don't remember all the details of our meeting, but I guess he was waiting in line to go to the bathroom and I really had to go as well. He told me that he really had to go, but that he would be quick. I, cheerful as ever, asked if I could punch him if he wasn't quick. He agreed. He wasn't quick, but I didn't punch him. This is how we met.

(This is unrelated to Moonlight and Moonshine, but that same night that I met Mr. Punch, I also met another guy in the bathroom line. He moseyed up and I told him that I was in line. He said, "oh, don't worry, I wasn't going to cut you".

"Good", I said, "Because, I'd cut you". He said, "you don't mean in line, do you?". I can be so charming)

By the time Lola and I graduated to the moonshine, we were laughing our asses off. We were just having a good time. As Lola summed up the evening, "it was good energy". There was also a member of one of the bands who had a Cosmo Kramer (from Seinfeld) hairdo that had us in hysterics.

Marnie was dancing around with a bunch of boys (this, I believe is where the seeds were planted for the pressure being taken off of me to "do" her), including my intended punching victim. It was time for me to go dance. I walked over to where she was completely surrounded by four boys and I said, "Shit, I feel like i just walked into a gangbang", laughed and then sat down and told Lola. She said, "I would have thought that would be your scene". No comment, Lola.

Towards the end of the night, Lola, Marnie and I were huddled in a little circle laughing about how much fun we were having. Then there was a declaration that we all had fabulous tatas made by...us.

We ended up staying out til late. I got a ride home, but the car was packed. I don't want to complain because rides home in NYC are rarer than snowballs in hell. I ended up sitting shotgun with a 50 pound bag of dog food in the front. If the measure of the quality of a night is commensurate with the level of dog food smell coming from between one's legs, I'd say this night was a winner.

Sunday, April 18, 2010

Sunday Styles

So, I recently went to a birthday party. After that, I was supposed to go to an after party for a theater project that Lola worked on, but was totally wiped out from the previous night. I had some weird encounters at the birthday party (what can I say, most people are weird!), but overall it was a good time. I have a hard time complaining when I've been plied with wine and delicious, ultra-fattening foods. There was delicious pate, wonderful bread, a seemingly unending selection of cheeses, deliciously salty cured swine,and my personal favorite--cornichons. I guess if I were really writing this for foodies (though, arguably, I'm writing this almost exclusively for myself), I would list the kinds of cheeses that were served.

The hostess and birthday lady works in the food industry, as did some of her guests, and yours truly. I spend a good amount of time at the party railing against this guy that I met earlier this week. He was a self-declared "foodie".

I have to say, and I'm sorry to whosoever reads this and uses that word--it's not personal--I hate that term. It makes my skin crawl. I would so much prefer the terms "epicure" or "gourmand". Foodie, to me, is a term that people apply to themselves, and anyone can claim that s/he is one. What bothers me isn't even that one has to back it up or prove it (but people who are "foodies, always seem to try and prove it), but it's such a bizarre term. It's too cutesy.

In Senegal there is a descriptor for people like me: buggna lekk. It literally means, "someone who likes to eat". Fuck yes. I am a fan of getting down and dirty with stuff (in general), so in this case, I don't want any diminutive language; I want to talk dirty to and about my food.

If I love you though, and you use the term foodie, forget about all the stuff I just wrote.

End of tangent.

So I met this guy and he wouldn't shut up about food. And yes he was knowledgeable. But he was so cocky and was out to "outfood" everyone. Jane said it was because he was so passionate and that she respected that in him. It didn't even feel like he enjoyed experiencing food, just talking about random food shit in a really pedantic way. It was a turn off.

After suffering through hours of this while drinking (which always lowers my already low tolerance for people who are acting stupidly), I thought I was actually being somewhat gracious. But then this guy starts talking about how refined his taste is, but how his friend would just eat at McDonald's. Finally, after really not engaging with him (he barely paused for breath, so it wasn't much of an option) about food or about anything, I mentioned that Anthony Bourdain said that he loves McDonald's in Kitchen Confidential.

This guy started mentally assaulting me to find out just why Anthony Bourdain likes McDonald. He wouldn't let it go. I just kept telling him to read the book and that I didn't remember why (I read the book in 2002), but he just kept badgering me and wouldn't leave it alone. "Why?!? There must be a reason! Why does Anthony Bourdain like McDonald's?!?!". I'm not sure I can convey in type how I was feeling, but after that exchange, I walked outside and told my friend that I wanted to punch him in the face. Obviously, it wasn't just the way he talked about food. It was his whole deal. Sometimes, some people need to get punched in the face.

Sometimes I also could use a punch in the face (figuratively, of course). I wanted to say that in my previous post, I was very dismissive of DJ. It appears we will be going on a date on Thursday. I am not very excited about it, but rather than convince myself that it will be epically bad, I'm willing to be a little more open-minded about it. He seems like a nice, if somewhat awkward guy. It'll be fine. I hope.

Saturday, April 17, 2010

Returns on Investment

I can't help but laugh at how inconvenient my timing for starting this blog was. I was going to write all about dating and sexing boys. Since I've started writing, my "love" life has shown a precipitous slow down in activity. I'm not really sure what happened. I just wrote about Joe which was a few weeks ago.

On Monday I met a sweet young man on the train who was kind of amazed by the reggae collection on my ipod. He was Jamaican and couldn't believe I had music by Burning Spear and Buju Banton. He was totally hot and asked me for my number. I just giggled and didn't give it to him.

Remember when I talked about my best fake birthday party yet? I ended the post saying that the DJ (we'll call him DJ) asked for my number. It was too awkward for me to not give it to him, as I'd been giving him a lot of attention because I was trying to get him to play the songs that I wanted. He's cute and a good dancer, but I am not really feeling him. To be fair, I don't think I'm really feeling anyone these days.

Lately, I think one problem with me is that I've been doing a little more sexual math than I used to. I've been thinking about, to quote my financier ex-boyfriend, my returns on investment. Like, do I really want to spend an evening with someone I don't care about on a date when all I really want to do is just go home and fuck and never see them again? I'm not always so crass about it, but it's so much work trying to get to know someone that you already know you don't really want to know.

Here I have a text conversation in which both DJ and I couldn't express less enthusiasm for going on a date:

Weds 8:40pm
DJ: Hey Cutty. It was cool meeting you yesterday at the bar

Thursday 10:30am
Me: Hey DJ. It was also cool meeting you!

Thursday 8:30pm
DJ: Sorry to respond so late. If you're up for a drink this weekend that'd be cool. What do you think?

Friday 9:30pm
Me: this weekend is not great for me, but I'd be game for next week. Do you have time?

Friday 9:33pm
DJ: That can work

Saturday 2:50pm
Me: I can do Wednesday or Thursday evening. Do either of these work?

Saturday 3:10pm
DJ: Thursday works.

Can you sense the unrestrained passion that is going on in this exchange? At this point, I feel like we're both committed, but neither of us really wants to go. I want to extricate myself from this, but at the same time, I believe, in my heart of hearts, that this will be so epically awkward and bad, that I can't help but want to go through with it. If you haven't guessed by now, I'll do pretty much anything that I think will make a good story. Now I just have to figure out how to respond to that overwhelming sense of desire he has conveyed.

Friday, April 16, 2010

Welcome to My Spinsterhood

So, it's Friday night. I went out to see "Date Night", the romantic comedy starring Tina Fey and Steve Carrell with another single lady. Then we ate sushi at Haru. As I was on my way home--before 9:30--I ran into the local deli to buy overpriced chocolate and came home to sit in front of the computer and blog about how utterly spinsterish I am and eat chocolate. The only thing I can think of that would complete this picture would be cosmopolitans.

I was tempted to try and booty call the guy I was most recently boning, but I don't think I'd get a warm response. It's also Friday night and i'm not really sure I'm willing to put my desperation out for his examination. Not that I'm actually desperate, but it'd definitely come off like that. I decided masturbation is definitely the better option.

His name is Joe and he's a waiter at the restaurant across the street from my apartment. I met Joe by going out to brunch at the restaurant. Almost no one reads this blog, so I could probably say which restaurant it is, but I won't. This is actually a shame since they have one of the best brunches I've encountered in my many years of NYC brunching.

Here's how it happened: I had had one of my various birthday parties about a month ago. The night before the party I had gone on a date with a guy that I had met over the internet. Well, that's another story, but suffice it to say, it did not go well. The night of my birthday party, I declared to all of my friends that I was never going on a date again. I had a new three year plan which consisted of no dating and then getting knocked up at some point within that outlined timeframe. Everyone pretty much laughed at this plan since I do seem to meet a fair number of guys (sadly, I'm interested in almost none of them romantically).

The party was on Friday night. Saturday night I went out with Jane to see a friend of her's play music at a venue on the Upper West Side. It was a totally random gathering of people and at least two guys tried to talk to me, but I wasn't having it.

Sunday, my friend who was visiting from Chicago and I went out to brunch at the restaurant. We were there, eating, drinking our bloody marys, enjoying the atmosphere and our time together. She excused herself to the bathroom and I started eavesdropping on the conversation next to me. Joe and some regulars were chatting about something (maybe baseball) and of course, I started chiming in. Joe turned to me and struck up a conversation. I'm not much for philosophical debates, but somehow we started talking about something Jane had said to me the day before. She thinks that 50% of what people say is out of desire for wanting things to be true, rather than saying what actually is true. I find this appalling and refuse to believe this. Especially because I don't fuck around with people's feelings and I am severely committed to being truthful. Anyway, as we're talking my friend comes back. Joe introduces himself and asks my name. He totes ignores my friend.

Before he goes back to his duties he tells me that he doesn't want me to leave until his shift is over. I giggle. But soon, it is time to go. We have a date with Tim Burton (that didn't really pan out. To be honest, I don't even remember what we ended up doing), and before we left I went to the bathroom. On my way back to the bar, where we'd eaten, Joe handed me a slip of paper with his number on it and said that he really hoped I'd call him.

He's cute. So I texted him when I walked out of the restaurant and said that it was nice to have met him and here was my number. Long story short, we made plans for the next night.

He took me to Weatherup for drinks. Well, it turns out that he knows someone who works there and we ended getting a shit ton of free drinks. I got plastered. We talked about food, music, literature-basically hitting all the high points of my interests. It turns out we had gone to similar colleges. Here's the deal: he's four years younger than I am. That kind of freaked me out. But, I ended up drinking enough that it stopped bothering me.

He suggested we go back to my house. I was/am fairly damaged (pronounced da-MAAAAAAH-ged) by some douchebag in December. Even though this was happening in March, I wasn't really feeling Joe. I kind of hesitated. In the end I agreed that we should come back to my place. Well, this guy is (but of course) an aspiring singer-songwriter. Music was coming up a lot in the conversation. I was playing some soul music from the '60s that I'd been getting into at the time. He suggested that we slow dance. I knew where this was going, but I sort of felt that at this point (even though I was kind of damaged (da-MAAAAAAH-ged) by the dude from December) that the hook-up was already pre-ordained.

Wow. I'm glad I went with it, because this dude knows how to eat pussy--unlike this douche. I am really not sure what his technique was, but I have never come so hard in my life with another person. Twice.

After the second time, he asked me if I was ok, because I can only imagine that I was lying there with my eyes half-closed and panting, perhaps looking like I'd just suffered a coronary. I said that I was fine, but that I couldn't talk for a few minutes.

I told him that he made me come harder than anyone else ever had. He said that if we fucked that he was willing to bet that he could do it twice as hard. Well, I'm up for a challenge, and I asked what the terms of the bet were. He said dinner, and I agreed. Then it was my turn to see what he was packing. Holy Shit. I looked down and saw a healthy 8 inches staring back at me. Christmas morning for this Jewish girl.

I could go into details about our fucking, but there's no point. It was epic. We fucked until the wee hours of the morning with me screaming. We woke up two hours later and fucked again. He lost the bet, by the way.

The next day, a friend texted me about being woken up by an earthquake in LA. I wrote back something about how there had been an earthquake in my room too, and that I was hoping no one had gotten woken up by that. Honestly, in the texting exchange it sounded a lot more suave.

Joe and I had one more encounter. We kept texting for the next week or so, but it never seemed to work out for us to get together. Looking back on it, I believe I was the one who was being so evasive. He's sweet, smart, cute, and obviously a great lay, but I didn't really see a long term future.

Well, it finally worked out that he was going to come over after work one night. He ended up not coming over until around 12:30am. I was kind of relieved because I thought we were clearly in booty call territory. He asked me out to dinner at a nice restaurant in Prospect Heights to pay his debts. I was going to be out of town, so I said that I wouldn't be able to make it.

We then reprised our roles as horny twenty-somethings. Seriously, we fucked for hours again. He has a beautiful, beautiful, beautiful cock that brings tears of joy to my heart and my nether regions. I know it seems like I'm not holding any punches here, but I'm still trying to decide how graphic to be. Since my readership is so extensive (not), I can't tell how offended the three of you will be. Anyway, let's just say that he and I had great chemistry. After it was over, hours later, we were hanging out naked just talking. I thought things were going swimmingly. I told him that if he wanted to stay over, I'd make him breakfast. To me, this is not a big deal, just a nice thing to do. I am not really sure what transpired, but then he started getting all weird, saying that he had to go home, work early, whatever. I just said "ok". So he peaced out at 3:30am.

I thought it was weird, but I just kind of let it go. The next day I resumed texting him as we had been previously, except now he was being cagey and rather unresponsive. I told him I would let him know when I was back in town. He said ok. I got back into town more than two weeks ago. I have not contacted him, nor has he contacted me.

I will tell you a little about the emotional fall out this has for me. The first time we hooked up, I told my friend DeeDee about him. She and I had dinner together the other night. She started asking about him. I had NO idea who she was talking about. I guess that got me thinking about him again, hence this post and the opening of it with me fighting the temptation to booty text him. Even though I already basically said it, I'll say it again: I'd be lying if I said I wouldn't hit it--HARD--if he got in touch with me again.

Wednesday, April 14, 2010

Overheard in NY

This morning I was getting coffee on my way home from the chiropractor. I walked into the coffee shop and overheard two men introducing themselves. Their names were--I'm so serious and so excited--Bill and Ted. Today is an "excellent" day.

Tuesday, April 13, 2010

My best fake birthday party yet

I had one of the most amazing days ever in the history of my life (once again, that superlative is coming into play).

My day started with my weekly therapy session. As is part of my usual routine, I went to the gym after for a workout. I was supposed to meet a friend for lunch. She had a baby in September, so I see her pretty infrequently these days. I ended up waiting for her for an hour, but no matter. It was great to see her and catch up with her.

Then I went to work.

After work, I went to meet up with my friends Lola and her man, and Kerry who I haven't seen in forever, for happy hour drinks. As I walked from the train to the bar, I started thinking about how my work life seems to be more like something that I fit in between my social engagements. We went to a bar that has an amazing happy hour special: A bottle of wine and two appetizers for $30. Not too shabby. It was a superfun time and we talked about Kerry's upcoming trip to Lola's hometown and about football.

After happy hour, we all dispersed to different locations. Off I went to the Knitting Factory to meet two other friends and to see the band of this guy who I met at a show and invited to my birthday party last month. I got there really late and missed his band. Ooops. However, my friends Marnie and Mack were waiting for us outside as they didn't want to pay the cover to come into the knitting factory. After some logistical negotiations, we decided we would meet at Spuyten Duyvil, which is right next door to the Knitting Factory. Jane and LR wanted to stay at the show, so I left and met the other folks, but after a little while, they joined us too. Also, we ran into one of LR's friends.

While we were there, I realized that
a) I was hungry and
b) I was right across the street from Fette Sau

So I went over there. Honestly, sometimes food makes me feel horny. The smell of the smoke and meat pretty much made me wet. They were closed with their regular menu, so I took a look at the after hours menu which consists of:
Pulled Pork Sandwiches
Baked Beans

I only managed to convince one friend to come over there with me since EVERY OTHER PERSON in our posse was was vegan or vegetarian (there were seven of us)! I really enjoyed my pulled pork sandwich. Jane ended up getting two of the sausage sandwiches, so I got to taste hers as well. I love smoked meat. Perhaps I wasn't clear about the fact that it totally turns me on.

While I had been at happy hour, I was texting with Marnie in order to figure out whether or not we would be meeting up at some point during the evening. Since I was having a great time at happy hour and was all loosened up from the wine, I realized that I was in a drinking mood. Also, because I've been listening to/watching the video of Lady Gaga's Bad Romance rather obsessively, I was texting Marnie with quotes from the song. Also, I've been listening to Delroy Wilson almost daily for the past few months. He has a song called I'm in a Dancing Mood. Well, the ensuing text messages resulted in possibly one of the best text conversation of all times. (Actually, I will someday compile a list of my favorite texts and text conversations.) It goes like this:

Me:...I also just wanted you to know that I'm a free bitch, baby.

Marnie: When do you get off? Work, I mean. So I can have your vertical stick

Me: (logistics)...I'm in a drinking mood-when you feel the beat you got to move your feet, you got to clap your hands and take a shit. I want you in my room when your baby is sick. What are you up to, let's take shots.

While we were waiting for Jane and LR to come leave the Knitting Factory, Marnie started asking me about the text message that said, "move your feet, you got to clap your hands and take a shit". The reason this whole exchange is so funny, is that I had no idea that I had written that. When she was reading it to me, I thought she was making it up. When I realized what had happened--it was a typo; the "i" and "o" on my phone keypad are right next to each other and it was supposed to say "take a shot"- I started laughing so hard that I almost threw up. No joke. I almost puked.

So when I had met up with Jane and LR, Jane announced that we should go dancing--she apparently was actually "in a dancing mood". As for yours truly, well, I'm pretty much always in a dancing mood. We debated about the best place to go out dancing on a Tuesday night. We ended up deciding on Royal Oak.

We walked in, and there were literally 4 people in the bar who didn't work there, but there was a DJ and the back room was (obviously) empty. We started a dance party that included tours jetes, cartwheels, random swing dancing moves, and weird running and jumping while karate chopping combination moves. I declared that this was the best birthday party I've ever had. My birthday was six weeks ago, and I've had, like, four various birthday celebrations since then. More people had shown up at the bar and then it spread around that it was my birthday. I decided to go with it. Why not? The DJ then played whatever I wanted, and I even got a couple of shots out of it. The DJ gave me his phone number. I got home close to 3am.

All in a days work, my friends, all in a days work.

Monday, April 12, 2010

Oh. My. God.

It's no secret that I'll occasionally peruse celebrity gossip websites. This morning before work, I decided to take a gander at dlisted.com and found this video.

It's so wrong on so many levels, but he's so into it that it's kind of great. I love that he whispers "I love you" as part of his pussy eating repertoire and also that the muzak version of the Titanic song is playing in the background. The intensity of his gaze at the beginning and the moments where he pauses to think about what he's doing next are hilarious. My ultimate favorite segment, though, is at about 48 seconds when his eyes roll back in his head as though he's about to make himself cum.

I can't decide if it's a good thing or a terrible thing that people are looking for cunnilingus tutorials on Youtube. I wonder why this guy decided he was the authority.

What's so amazing about the timing of finding this video is that on Saturday morning I was cracking jokes with some friends about someone being "The Vagina Whisperer", which this guy ain't.

Saturday, April 10, 2010

Hangin' with Mr. D.B. Cooper

I got a follower! Hi Meghan!

Last night I was hanging out at Pacific Station on 4th Avenue in Brooklyn. I went to order my beer (pranqster- it was fucking delicious) and overheard the guys sitting at the bar next to me talking about D.B. Cooper. Who is D.B. Cooper you may be asking yourself. The answer is that I don't really know besides what these guys told me. I could have googled the name, but I don't really care that much.

So according to these guys, D.B. Cooper was a guy who basically did a stagecoach robbery on an airplane and then parachuted out of the plane and was never seen or heard from again. To the guy next to me, this meant he got away with it. Of course to me, it meant that he must have died when he parachuted out.

The guy was trying to tell me something about how this was the greatest crime ever committed and how if you got to be D.B. Cooper, you're getting laid for life if you tell that story. My initial thought was that he should just say that he's D.B. Cooper and change the timeline of the story from the '70's to the '90's and then he'd be the one getting laid. He seemed to think that wasn't feasible, and I went so far as to suggest that he should make a fake wikipedia page for himself with a picture and everything describing his caper. He claimed that this was a lot work. I said, "Sure, it's a lot of legwork, but you're going to get laid for the rest of your life. I'd think it was worth it".

He said, "I guess I can see where your priorities are". I didn't realize I was so transparent.

Whole Foods as the Forgotten Corner of Hell

Yesterday, I went to MoMA to finally see the Burton retrospective--something I'd been meaning to do for months and months. It was pretty cool. It took me a while to get into it, probably because it was still so crowded. However, I had tried to go last month and had to leave because it was a giant cluster-fuck, so this was a vast improvement. Once I'd gotten to his drawings from when he worked at Disney that were just so clever and witty, I was pretty into it.

My childhood is so associated with Batman and Beetlejuice and most importantly Pee-Wee's Big Adventure, but even Mars Attacks and Ed Wood. The only Tim Burton movie that I didn't like when I was a kid was Edward Scissorhands, which is everyone else's favorite. I always just thought it was so sad how mean everyone was to Edward and how he was so sweet and just wanted to be loved. It was really hard for me to watch, and actually, I have never seen it again. Maybe I should give it a try. Beetlejuice is still one of my favorite movies of all times, though.

Anyway, after the museum, I was going to meet a friend who was walking dogs uptown, so I decided to stop for some sustenance at Whole Foods. I generally avoid Whole Foods because it think it's ridiculously expensive, but because I didn't have any cash, I knew they would take my debit card even if the purchase was only $5.

So I go in, and wander around the insanely crowded store in circles looking for chocolate, foolishly thinking the selection would be by the cash registers (hello impulse buy) and didn't see them. Then I finally find some shelves with chocolate on them, but all the bars are like, $8. Finally, I'm able to get the attention of someone who works in the cheese section, and I ask, desperation starting to creep into my voice, where the chocolate is. She points me to the shelves with the $8 chocolate. I ask her if that's all the chocolate they have, and she tells me that theres more. I ask "Where??". She tells me that it's over in the grocery section. I don't know where that is, so I ask her to direct me. She says it's all the way in the back. So I amble over there and keep wandering up and down the aisles sure that finally my search will yield the desired results.

Up and down I go with nothing to show for it. Finally I flag someone down and ask him where I can find chocolate. Would you believe it, but apparently this guy was deaf and didn't talk. He directed me to someone else. I asked him, "where are the bars of chocolate?". He said, "hmmmmm. I'm not sure--let me ask someone". He asks someone else who keeps repeating "bars of chocolate" like he wasn't really sure what those were, until with full desperation making my voice hoarse, I interject "CHOCOLATE!!! WHERE IS THE CHOCOLATE?!?!". "oh", he says, "it's by the baking stuff, two aisles over". "Merciful Heavens", I thought.

I got my chocolate and tore it up on the train. Fin.

Friday, April 9, 2010

My future husband

This is a man I saw at the Times Square subway station on Easter Sunday. I asked him if I could take his picture, and he said yes. Then he promptly pulled down the bunny mask, and hid the cigarette making the picture of no interest to me. After he thought I was done with the photo shoot he resumed his earlier pose. That's when I took this shot.

Then he offered me his number. I just smiled politely and moved on.

Wednesday, April 7, 2010

Look out boys she'll chew you up.

It's almost 90 degrees in New York City today. All I want is to have some kind of manservant serve me iced coffee (preferably the Blue Bottle New Orleans Iced Coffee mentioned previously) and oral sex all day and Palm Ale and wang all night.

Well, tonight for my outing, I went to Caracas Arepas bar in Williamsburg. I love eating there because when I leave, my hands always smell like greasy deliciousness. The food is good because it's greasy and the arepas themselves are fucking delicious. The fillings sometimes leave something to be desired. Tonight the staff was having a hard time getting it together. I almost drank water out of a glass that had a chunk the size of a good sized pea missing from the rim. Our food took about 35 minutes to come out, and our drinks came out after that. Not the best night for service there, and my chorizo was overcooked, dry and chewy. I'll still go back, though. My first choice was Fette Sau, the barbecue place whose name means "Fat Pig". I never get to go there because almost all of my friends are vegetarian or vegan. They were insanely crowded because of the fair weather, and we decided to move on, which is how we ended up at Caracas.

The final destination of the evening was Rose Live Music to see some live Dub. I had never been to Rose before and the only real criticism I have is that the ambient music before the band played was way too loud. Other than that, it's a totally sweet bar, and a great place to see music. The band played really tightly, even though it was improvised. I was really stunned by the talent of the musicians. The show was great, but because I have an appointment in the morning I had to cut out early.

I was debating whether or not to take a cab, because there are some sketchy characters out at 1am in the middle of the week, and because who knows how long one will have to wait for a train in the middle of the night. Because of the hot weather, I was wearing a short-ish skirt with wedge sandals. I only waited for the train for about 5 minutes. A few stops into the journey, a man got on, sat opposite me, and kept touching himself in his bathing suit area. I couldn't tell if he was rubbing himself, or if he had crabs.

Tuesday, April 6, 2010

I want some answers that Ja Rule might not have right now"*

Today I got a text message that said:

"It's a date. We'll play doctor while we wait".

That's some sexy ass stuff. Sadly, it's a text message from a friend who is in medical school and wants to practice for her board exams. She has agreed to accompany me for a medical procedure that I'm getting on Thursday. This is what counts for action in my life these days.

"These days" means since the last time I got some action which was less than two weeks ago, so I'm maybe being a little dramatic. However, I did have a sex dream about my college boyfriend last night. Does that count?

Not so recently, I found out that he said I was his best lay ever (YES!), but I did find out recently that he and his long term girlfriend broke up not too long ago. He doesn't know that I know. But, I texted him today...and he wrote back. End of story...for now. Here's hoping for a little reliving-the-past loving. Assuming I'm still attracted to him, of course. Oh jeez. I forgot about that part.

Musical Break:

If you don't know the song Come to Me My Darling by Ruby Johnson, you need to do something about it.javascript:void(0)

Also, I need to plug Mimi Lavalley's band, The Calamity Janes, because I can't stop listening to them. Check them out, particularly the songs "Say Darling Say" and "Red Rocking Chair".

* I told you he was my soul mate.

Monday, April 5, 2010

Sunday April 4, 2010

I went to a brunch yesterday at someone's house. The hosts had to leave because their cat had renal failure. I made basil-zucchini soup with cashews. I was exhausted having worked a crazy Easter brunch on Saturday. I was cooking with my friend who asked me to "turn down the bitch factor". I asked her not to talk to me for ten minutes. She responded with, "don't you know me? I can't not do anything for ten minutes."

After gorging myself, I went home and was so unnaturally tired that I was convinced that I had cancer, or that I had "baby cancer" which was what I was calling "pregnancy". I called my "bitch factor" friend who suggested I might just need a nap. Turns out she was right. I got my period today, so I'm baby cancer free! True story.

Sunday, March 28, 2010


As this is my fourth post, I deem it necessary to rejoice in the fact that there is one reader of this blog: me. I'm actually kind of relishing that no one has read this--it's some kind of weird turned-against-myself schadenfreude. I might have to start every blog entry documenting my lack of readership simply because it tickles me. Something else that makes me laugh is this story that I've been telling recently:

Two years ago, there was a period of time where I found myself browsing the inventory at Babeland online somewhat frequently (read: daily). I was just trying to acquaint myself with their products. They were promoting a new product(at the time) called Sasi. They were hyping it really hard as a vibrator with sensual intelligence. It's programmable and supposed to simulate oral sex, which personally, I love. When I was reading this, Sasi wasn't available in the US, and Babeland claimed they were going to be the only outlet for this vibrator which cost $185 (now it's $145).

At that time, though it's hard to believe, I had a boyfriend. I was going to the Brooklyn Babeland with the intention of buying him a gift. I opened the door and there was Sasi, in all its glory. Mounted on a plastic altar with a celestial light shining down, and the heavenly choir singing, it had arrived. My face registered Sasi's presence with a look of religious ecstasy. I picked it up and turned it on. I kept looking around the store so I could share my joy with someone, anyone. Then the door opened and I heard someone call my name.

I turned around and it was my landlord who lives below me and who I hear fighting frequently with his family. At this point I've had about 30 different thoughts filtering through my brain some of which included,"oh my god, I'm so embarrassed", "what the fuck is he doing here?", "AWKWARD" and "how do I turn this thing off?". I couldn't turn it off, so I just kind of threw it down. He asked me, "What are you doing here? Are You shopping here?", to which I responded, red as a beet, "Are you?". He glanced around, smirked and then said, "Me? No." Then we said some hasty goodbye and he left. I was mortified.

I turned to the girl who worked there and explained that that was my landlord. Because of the training workers there have, she was unfazed. I had to spell it out for her, "That was really embarrassing". She said, "Well, I guess he shops here too." I tried to save face by making some kind of jokey comment about how there is so much fighting in their apartment, that I hope so. This joke fell pretty flat--to the point where I almost just put the word joke in quotation marks.....

Anyway, because I was already completely discomfited by that encounter, when I asked the woman for help with butt plugs, I couldn't help but giggle. (Honestly, though, butt plug is a ridiculous sounding phrase. Just say it out loud. Can you not giggle a little bit? Try it on the subway and then report back to me.) I just wanted a friendly reassuring smile after my trauma. She just deadpanned and then gave me the educational rundown on butt plugs.

I walked home with my purchase totally dazed. I spent the next day or two trying to puzzle out just what my landlord was doing at Babeland and was totally flummoxed. Had he seen me walking in and came in to say hi and embarrass me? Was he shopping there and seen me and tried to act like he wasn't shopping there? It just didn't make sense because my back was to the door and all he had to do was just walk out.

I was still mildly confused but had mostly forgotten about what had happened a few days later, when there was a knock at my door. It was my landlady and she'd just come to tell me a few things about the apartment. She ended the conversation with, "Can I ask you a personal question?". I said, "okay", and then she asked me if I was expecting. I was completely confused, and said, "no, why?". She said, "well, my husband was at the hardware store and saw you go into the baby store". They thought that "Babeland" was a baby store. Thank goodness Sasi doesn't actually look like a dick.

New Statement of Purpose

Ok. I have managed to post two blog entries and accrue zero readers/followers. My original intention with the blog was to chronicle my dating and love adventures in New York City. I have had so many spectacularly bad romantic encounters that it almost doesn't seem fair that I should keep them to myself. I had previously mentioned that I'm straightforward, but I am also a little bit shy about putting all this stuff about me out there. I've been having this inner debate about how anonymous this should be, as I wanted to make this blog all about my sexcapades. To be honest, though that is a huge part of my life, I really want to write about my life in this fine city. I am basically a ball of social energy running from activity to activity.
Today, while doing a post brunch stroll, I realized that I live in superlative. I had said that it was hyperbole earlier, but that's not accurate. Superlative is totally spot on. I declare almost nightly that it's the best night of my life, and I mean it.

Friday night was one of those nights. I attended the book release party for a young lady by the name of Mimi Lavalley. She's a blond cutie. She had put together a fantastic night at Freddy's in Prospect Heights. As far as I'm concerned, Freddy's might be the best bar in all of New York City, and of course, it's slated to be demolished to make way for the egregiously unnecessary travesty known as Atlantic Yards. Freddy's is just the right amount of soul and sass. It's a dive, but represents the feeling of Brooklyn from way before I ever lived here. It's gritty, but welcoming, and has been a place to foster lots of local talent. It's basically the perfect neighborhood bar.

The local talent that Freddy's was supporting on this magical night, were stars of the Brooklyn country music scene, as well as some guests from Massachusetts, and some singer-songwriter/hasidic reggae allstars. The alchemy of the evening not to mention some kick-ass baked goods completed the fabulousness.

Mimi is selling her book and writing about her awesomeness here . There were many high points to the evening, but I was blown away by the last band who managed to create a ho-down in the middle of Freddy's back room. One person said to me, "this music combines my two favorite things--do-see-do-ing and beating the shit out of the floor". I might be paraphrasing there. They are a Brooklyn old time country band who go by the name of the Piledrivers. I have to say, after having experienced the dance party that they produced, those guys can pile drive me any day of the week

Saturday, March 27, 2010

R. Kelly and Blue Bottle

I can't stop listening to R. Kelly's new song "Pregnant".

The guy that I am/was boning (I have no idea what's going on with that....but another story for another time) happened to weigh in on R. Kelly as an idiot savant. I had to say I thought that was a pretty apt assessment. I recently downloaded the original "Ignition" and when I am by myself, I totally rock out to it. With others, however, I start to realize how silly it is. At the same time, it's just so brilliant. The opening line of Ignition is "Girl, please let me stick my key in your ignition". The first line of Pregnant is "Girl you make me want to get you pregnant. Lay your body down and get you pregnant...knock you up...pregnant" Not exactly subtle, but kind of sexy in its graphicness, and yet so dumb it makes me laugh. Also, since I am known for being straightforward, I appreciate someone who can get to the point. I think that it means that his writing has achieved some kind perfection--at least for me. But, of course, I can't end a discussion of the relevance and contributions of R. Kelly to contemporary society without referencing my soul mate Dave Chappelle, who composed this piece:

Anyway, I wasn't trying to talk that much about R. Kelly. I was going to write about my day of gastronomic delights. It all started this morning with a friend who is visiting from Chicago. Our intention was to eat at Egg in Williamsburg, but since the line is always ridiculous on the weekends, we decided to pack it in and walked over to DuMont. I've always had totally consistently really high quality meals there, and their mac and cheese is up there among the best I've ever had. Maybe it's the best, and I do make a mean mac and cheese. I had the burger and my friend ordered the skate tacos. I don't love skate, but it was pretty tasty. They are famous for their burger as well as the macaroni and cheese and I was pretty pleased with what I ordered. It was charred perfectly, and though I ordered it medium, I think it was a bit overcooked. Their french fries, by the way, are house-made, and are great.

When my visiting friend was here last, we had walked by the Van Leeuwen ice cream truck. I told her we had to stop and get some because it is the best fucking ice cream in New York City. Seriously, I have almost force fed some to vegan friends because I think they're lives must be incomplete without the wonder of that ice cream. We stopped and got some and apparently she has been fantasizing about it ever since. We walked over to the the newly opened shop on Bedford by McCarren Park. She had the Gianduja, and I had the Earl Grey. Yumtown.

Then I walked her back to the Bedford L train station. The way she felt about the ice cream was how I felt about Blue Bottle Coffee's New Orleans Iced Coffee. The San Francisco coffee shop has just opened a satellite in the dear BK. It's at 160 Berry which is (i think) between N. 4th and N. 5th. I waited in line for 15 minutes (which kind of makes me feel like a sucker) and chatted with the friendly Midwestern lad in line in front of me. He had a huge camera slung around his neck, and a gear bag, which made me ask him if he was a profesh photographer. He said "no, but everyone needs something to work on" and went on to say that even video games can count as that outlet. I started wondering what my "thing" would be, and realized that it would have to be trying to figure people out. I get really curious about people--where they come from, who they are, and what they are about. All this is really besides the point, even the part where I felt like a doof for waiting in line for 15 minutes for coffee, because as soon as the chicory-coffee-milk hit my tongue it was as though the entire world fell away and God came in my mouth.

Friday, March 26, 2010

Back in Black

So this is my first blog entry. I'm sort of hesitant to write as I am pretty sure that no one will read this. I also have a fear that my life is way more interesting to me than to anyone else--but most people probably think that about themselves.

Here's a little bit about the name of the blog: "Let me cut your cake with my knife" is a line from an AC/DC song called "Let Me Put My Love into You", which is on the album Back in Black. I believe that Back in Black is one of the best albums of all times for these reasons:
1)Even on the recording, it rocks super hard
2)The entire album is about partying, sex, and how badass AC/DC is

I feel like my life often consists of partying, sex, and how badass (I think)I am. I'm an epicure, so I like the line "let me cut your cake with my knife", because I'm a fan of innuendo and of food. That's a little background about me and the name of the blog.