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.