Archive for the ‘Jackassery’ Category

Lights Dimmed

I’ve always tried to be as honest as I can be about myself. I’m loud, I am brash, and I am constantly over scheduled. I stretch myself too thin. I do my best to be a good friend and I know I fail at that sometimes. I have torn through some men in my 28 years: some were sport, some were time killers, some were bad news, while some special ones were amazing, smart, and loved. I can be shockingly self absorbed and at times egotistical, but I don’t think that is necessarily bad. Oh, and dramatic…that too.

I act tough and I can have downright unrealistic expectations of people at times. I love hard, play hard and laugh hard. I drink too much and I often eat too much. I struggle every day with a very tenuous truce with my body image and self perception. I am almost continually dissatisfied with the status quo. I am defensive, guarded and can be an unrepentant hardass. I love my close friends lightbulb1ferociously and feel so lucky to be surrounded by people I truly respect and admire. I really am a little white trash in my heart–I am not kidding about my love of leopard print, big hair, loads of eyeliner, and showing off my cleavage. I am ok with that; I will never go to church, wear khaki, or drive a mini-van. Inside of me lives a softie who just wants some pretty simple things in this lifetime; love, happiness, and some pretty stellar carrot cake.

I am tired, y’all.

I am literally tired. Sleep is hard to come by and cups of coffee fill my days.

I am tired of an unending job search that has left me frustrated and so, so, SO close so many times but has just come up short.

I am tired of this medicine that has left me with an off kilter appetite and all kinds of screwed up.

I am tired of all the emails and comments I receive about my diet, my body (past and present), my weight, and my appearance.

I need a break.

I am not quitting, but I am reevaluating. I may stop blogging about food. I may entirely reformat. I don’t know. I promise to come back, probably within a month.  I will still continue to read all the blogs I love and hopefully I will discover some new ones to inspire me.

I love this blog. I love my life and my friends. I am continually amazed by all the awesome people I have met as a result of this little corner of the world. I just don’t want this space to be something that stresses me out, and lately it has been.

Being so honest, doing my best to accurately represent myself, no doubt has it rewards. I have connected with people in amazing ways and found some kindred spirits out on this big world wide web. I think all this introspection and self indulgence has made me a better person in a lot of ways; I am painfully flawed, but in a lot of ways I am really proud of myself and who I am.

Lately I haven’t been as proud of my writing or as happy with my recipes. The sometimes nasty comments and emails have been bothering me more. Sure, some are completely ridiculous, but god damn if some don’t hurt me. My body doesn’t belong to anyone but me and I will never get why anyone feels otherwise.  I am not letting myself be silenced by a select group of assholes, but I don’t quite feel like dealing with it right now.

So, yes, a break. I will keep on being me, all of me. Soon, I will be back to share it all. I am tired and I think I deserve some rest. I hope you will be here when I come back.

Postscript: I really am ok.  I didn’t mean this to seem “cry for helpy”.  I am actually pretty fucking awesome, I just need a break and was trying to explain where my heads at…thanks for all your concerns though.

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This weekend I grabbed dinner with a friend at Zaytinya.  Zaytinya is one of my go to restaurants; the food is always reliably good and it is chic without being stuffy.  The special list never disappoints and this weekend was no exception.  On the special list that night was a delightful dish of shredded lamb in phyllo dough served with a feta yogurt sauce–it was really remarkable.

But this is not about the food or the atmosphere or even the specials.  Once again, I feel the need to discuss my favorite topic–service.

My kind of waitress

My kind of waitress

Let me state upfront I am very “New England” in some ways.  I am not a chit chatter or a small talker with strangers.  I always acknowledge people and say my pleases and thank yous, but I am not one to idly banter about the weather or what not.  It simply is not the way of my people or how I do.  Also, my father has been in food service his whole life–as a bartender and a server and now as a store manager at Starbucks–so I really “get” food service.  I am not a snob, nor do I think folks in food service are below me…they are me.

Our waitress was capable and our food arrived promptly.  Our drinks never waited too long for a refill, though she could have been a  bit swifter. The thing that bothered me? Her extreme eagerness.

I know, I know.  I am a  huge bitch, but really? Do I need an in depth recitation of 6 dishes on the menu she likes? Do I need to laugh about how our names are similar?  Not really.  It didn’t bother me that much and it certainly did not ruin an awesome meal, but I found it mildly intrusive.  My friend pointed out that servers need to hustle and make an impression since they are working for tips.  It is a very valid point, but if you are competent, friendly, and attentive, you are a good server.  I am not looking for a new friend.

This seems to happen a lot, the overly familiar server.  I have been called “hun”; the only place I find this acceptable is at a dinner and someone named Flo is slinging my coffee.  The greeting “hey guys” also kind of irks me in a nicer restaurant.  But most annoying?  Those servers who sit down and talk to you.  It has happened more than once and frankly, I damn near want to push them off the chair every time it happens.

So what say you? Am I off base? A huge bitch? On to something?  I want to hear your thoughts on service and what is the appropriate level of interaction.

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Some Questions

I am taking a glorious 4 day weekend and it cannot come a moment too soon.  Annie Birdie is getting hitched and I have several friends in town.  I have barely drank in over a week so some serious drunkening is also on the horizon.  That is the way Jesus wants it.

But first, a few questions to lead us in to the weekend:

  • What is the deal with women and food in TV and movies?  Has anyone ever noticed how much some of these women eat yet they are impossibly thin? I am thinking Lorelai and Rory Gilmore scarfing burgers all the time or the zillions of romantic heroines who eat ice cream every day and don’t seem to gain an ounce.  There just seems to eb such a maddening disconnect.  We never see these women on a  treadmill or eating a chicken breast for dinner.  Occasionally, there is a yoga class thrown in there, but it serves more as a location than a workout.  Discuss.
  • Could I actually have a tape worm?  I have lost 8 lbs in the past two weeks.  EIGHT POUNDS.  Now, granted I had no appetite for about 5 days which is a first for me.  I can always, always eat.  My appetite is pretty much back, though.  In fact, it is back to the extent where I have had two of those huge ass apple fritters from the locl coffee shop this week.  You know the ones I am talking about–all covered in sugar and as big as your head and they are so dense they hit your desk with an audible “thunk” when you put them down.  Truly, this is shameful and wholly unhealthy but it is all I want and I am still losing weight.  What the hell is going on?
  • Finally, and most importantly, what are you doing this weekend?  Need recipe suggestions for a cookout?  A restaurant recommendation?  Ask below and I shall help.

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Don’t Make Me Beg

Last Friday night I lead a cooking demonstration for a group of Annie Birdie’s friends. As part as her bachlorette party, I was asked to head the demo. Due to the plague–or as Lilu has dubbed it, my combination of swine flu and tapeworm–I didn’t prep as much as I liked, but I definitely spent a good amount of time running through it in my head.

Thanks to your suggestions, I landed on something simple: burgers and fries. They say go with what you know and that is exactly what I did. The group said they felt this was something they could actually recreate and that was exactly what I was going for. Burgers were the perfect choice as I could demo knife skills (the onion and garlic) and just pass on general grilling tips. The fries were a huge hit, too.  Nothing makes a group of women go more insane than the suggestion of sour cream as a dipping sauce.demo

The best part for me was how comfortable I felt in front of everyone.  I wasn’t nervous or worried about screwing up.  It certainly was not perfect or formal, but I just felt really at ease in front of the group as I rattled of tips and lead instruction.  Seriously, Food Network, why don’t I have a job with you?  My breasts are not nearly as scary as Racahel Ray’s and my attire is way more appealing that Guy Fieri’s.  Sure, my apartment cannot compete with Ina’s house in the Hamptons but at least I don’t have a gay husband you will have to follow around.  Give me a job, people!

After the demo and gorging ourselves on burgers, fries, and a delicious cake (made with coke!), we headed to Cafe Citron for some Latin dancing.  Now, I am a dancer of the American sort; I like to shake my whooty and get low.  Plus, I have never really recovered from the trauma of being motorboated by a very petite man while salsa dancing a few years back. (My asshole friends just stood in the corner and laughed hysterically…)  I managed to cordon myself off and only got dragged away twice; once by a man with a kung-fu grip on my waist tighter than a teenager watching his first porno and another who reaked of bubble gum and kept jabbing me with his…excitement. I was actually endlessly amused by this as my cold was in full force Friday night; I shouldn’t have gone out but I could not allow myself to miss Annie Birdie’s bachlorette.  The whole night I sniffled, coughed, and blew my nose on a paper towel in my purse; goes to show you if it has a pulse, some guy will dance with it…and that “it” was me this past weekend.

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Make sure to check me out at The Gospel of JP today.  Topic: dating.  I know some stuff about it…trust


In college, our improv troupe was called Recess. They were sporadically funny, but they did manage to turn out a few memorable skits. Also, they churned out TJ Miller, who was in such classics as Cloverfield and is also a pretty entertaining stand-up as far as stand-ups go. Weird dude that TJ; my friends and I cleverly referred to him as “Buck Toothed Blond Boy”.

Anyway, when I think of Recess I always think of this one video skit. It is this guy, some worker drone, getting ready for his day. He is happy, smiling, and going about his daily tasks with some pep as U2’s “Beautiful Day” plays in the background. At the end of the 60 second short, huge smile planted on his face, he hangs himself. The caption across the top of the screen reads “Even Happy People Kill Themselves”.

Is suicide funny? No, but that skit sure was… And the point of this story?  Not everything is perfect and yesterday was certainly a bad day.  I am alive, though.  Thanks to everyone for their emails and comments of concern yesterday, even if some of them did manage to scare me a bit.  I promise I am not dying, or have a brain tumor, or celiac disease, or a zillion other things.  I trust my doctor and it is gonna be fine.

Last night I stopped at Vace, the best Italian deli in the city, and picked up some homemade fettucine.  Without shame (hey, I have lost 5 freaking pounds from feeling so crappy), I made a huge trough of pasta, covered it in oil, garlic amd parmesan, and scarfed down. It is the little things, kids.  Today, despite a sore thorat and a still lingering headache, I feel better.  Thanks for the vent…I needed it.

So, I ask you this…what is your favorite comfort food when feeling sick? Soup? Sundaes?  Mashed Potatoes?  I am curious.

And for some much needed comic relief, please head on over to Just JP’s place for some hard truths about men and dating…Mom, skip this one.

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Christ, I hate the sound of my damn voice, but does anyone love it?

Congrats to the winner…a recipe will be posted tomorrow.  Pinkie swear.

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So about a week ago I passed 200,000 original page views here at this site. I would have noticed sooner but I have been too busy dancing around my bedroom in my underwear singing Girl Talk in to my hairbrush.

I have been thinking of what I could do for you guys to celebrate. I decided on two treats.

First, let me share with you the most magnificent piece of mail that I have received in the past (almost) two years. Seriously, I love this glorious heaping of hate; it is one of my most prized possessions.  This letter  had some stiff competition, but this one takes the cake. After going back and forth with this guy, and telling him “good bye” (whoops, I made a typo…shocking) and calling him insecure, I got this lovely gem.saigon It was actually a comment I chose not publish because this guy was begging for way more attention than I am ever willing to give a man. Please enjoy:

Dear Lem,
Apparently you think I’m “an insecure man,” and that’s unattractive to you. This saddens me. Tell you what, I would wager the balance of my bank account that I could take you home (your home, since I’d be from out-of-town). But it probably wouldn’t work because I imagine you get hit on so rarely and would realize that something was up once a stud like myself hit on you. Oh, and I bet you’re easier than a Saigon hooker (call it a remnant from your fatty days).

Then, there is the matter of us being in the same industry. Well, me at least. I’m 23 and I’ve had more front-page stories and freelance clips in national magazines than you will likely ever see, even if you can parlay this craptastic blog into an actual job (I think Martha Stewart’s Living is hiring?).
So while you may have “banned” me, I take solace in knowing that I’m out of your league in every way imaginable. Feel free to forget you ever ran into me. I can only imagine how sad of a reminder I am. Goodbye to you, love.

P.S. Goodbye is one word. Why the fuck would it be two? And combative baby shouldn’t be hyphenated. Do you see a compound modifier in there?
P.P.S. I know you can read this. If you would like to respond, I will give you the ability to (see below). If not, I completely understand. Enjoy living in

your delusional blog world.


I am not going to offer a shred of commentary, but would love to hear yours.

And the other treat for y’all? It is raffle time once again. Comment below–a question, an observation, a haiku, or a compliment on the awesomeness of my hair, the reason why I am a hooker–and you will be entered. Names will be chosen at random. The raffle closes tomorrow night (5/7) at 5 pm EST. If it can be shipped (ie no cakes), I will make the winner whatever they want…within reason.

Thanks to all of you…and thanks for accepting my hooking ways.

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Hold Me

As everyone knows by this point–oh drunk twittering, you get me every time–I was in NYC with my lovers LiLu, Deutlich, and Maxie this weekend. Fun times were had, but I think this video starring Maxie and LiLu sums it up. I am the camera woman…those are my school girl giggles:

I am feeling awful today. The rain has left me with a huge headache and my stomach is staging a coup. Why did I buy a Cinnabon? It only results in Cinnashame. I know better.

Tomorrow I will be back to the grind, but I am taking a tiny rest today. I faced my fears and went to the neurologist about these freaking headaches. The new meds may make me feel a bit “detached from myself” but I am hopeful things will be better. I didn’t have the heart to tell her since I am always drunk or hungover anyway, I don’t know what “myself” feels like anyway. Also, she asked a ton about my sex life…orgasms help with headaches. She was wondering if I had a boyfriend and I just didn’t have it in me to point out one does not need a boyfriend to find an orgasm. Or…that they need another person, frankly. Maybe all the time I spend using the internet for what it is really for can just be part of my treatment. Thanks, PornHub, this one is for you.

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Oh, Friday’s off, how I love you. Today I will do wonderful things such as have a leisurly workout, meet up with my pal VK for lunch, and catch up with Irish Lebowski for a afternoon gossip download. Mixed in there will be a trip to see a woman with broken English who I will pay to rip the hair out of my most sensitive of bits. This part is not so wonderful, but it is entirely necessary, so there we have it. Don’t you feel so close to me now that you know this?

Anyway, a few weekend tid bits now that I have your attention:

  • If you live in NYC, are a blogger/friend, and want to see a group of people test their personal limits for alcohol consumption, please come out on Saturday night and say hi. We will be at the canned-chicken1Pourhouse starting at 9.30.
  • Dude, have you seen this chicken in a can bullshit? It has been everywhere, but holy hell. A WHOLE FUCKING CHICKEN. IN A FUCKING CAN. Look at that picture! Seriously, the thought of it makes me want to vomit. Can you even imagine the sound that thing makes as it comes out of the can? How it tastes? I feel more shame even thinking about eating that than I do on the typical Sunday morning
  • I have a little secret: I am pretty gullible. My father Don has made a career out of telling me outlandish tales and seeing how far he can take it before I become suspicious. This is why these meat business cards confuse me. Is this real? Is my leg being pulled? Who wants a business card made out of cured meat? I have so many questions; please give me an answer.

Have a lovely weekend, kids.

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You know what I like?

No no no…I am not talking about leopard print, wheaty beer or any movie involving lots of blood, but there is that.

I am talking about road trips. Windows down, singing along to the radio and some junk food. What is not to like? Lucky for me, I am taking one next weekend. I am heading to NYC with my girls LiLu, Maxie, Deutlich and dmb5_libra.

From gpb.org

From gpb.org

I cannot even imagine the trouble we will get in to, but I assure you this: my cleavage will finally see sunlight, someone will fall flat on their face, and LiLu will get the spooning of a lifetime from yours truly.

Next Saturday night (5/2/09) we are getting together with a bunch of NYC bloggers and readers. If you are in the area, please come out and say hi to the above mentioned ladies, as well as Chris, idontliketoread, Cavy, Wordy Ninja, Kat and Lauren.

There are only a few rules:

–You must be nice/accepting of the fact that we will probably be falling down drunk by the end of the night.

–You cannot be creepy. If you ask to smell anyone’s hair, you will be punched. Or, I will send my mom after you. This kinda shit scares her. I don’t know why; the internet is a safe place.

–You cannot publish any photos without permission. Me? I don’t care as long as they are flattering, but others may hunt you down.

If you can follow these simple guidelines, we cannot wait to meet you. Swing on by the Village Pourhouse on the corner of 3rd Ave and 11th Street at 9.30 and I’ll give you a big smile.

Just don’t touch my hair.

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