crawdaddy

ok, so here are some pictures of what could quite possibly be one of my top 10 days in new york city.

for almost 2 years. wait, fuck almost. FOR OVER 2 YEARS i have been trying to plan a crawfish boil. there was always some fucking reason why my pussy friends couldn't do it. well, this year we all agreed and i got to planning.

elements:
backyard
70 lb live crawfish fedexed from louisiana
potato, corn, onion, lemon, sausage, spice
"bayou classic" pot and burner
25 friends
20 cases of canned beer
jungle juice
lots of paper towels
lots of newspaper
t-shirts to commemorate the occasion

picking up the beer from new beer distributors on chrystie street

shotgunning contest at the end of the night.

i won. every time.

finally, a slut besides me putting meat in her mouth.

dead and tasty

dead and messy.

adan, the grim reaper, about to boil the shit out of them.

the boys opening up the box of crustacean goodness.

salting them so they shit out the poopy mud water.

heavy drinkers are usually heavy gamblers, too.

i am very, very proud of my wide open throat.

so pretty.

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAH

ok, so i registered for google analytics so i can see random stats for who reads this stupid fucking shit. the creepiest thing is i can see what keywords people used in search engines that took them to my blog.



i don't know if you can see that (click on it to enlarge). but some highlights include, "fat shaved cunts" and "gay prostitute sint maarten" and "guy who poured mustard on pigeon dunks."

i might be more careful about what personal information i post from now on. you SICK FUCKS.

hi my babies. still here. waiting for some awesome pictures from my awesome crawfish boil on saturday. oh yes. 70 pounds of live crawdaddies fedexed overnight. i had all my yankee friends screaming yeehaw by the end of the night. can still beat a 200 pound man at shotgunning a beer. i'm more proud of that that my college degree.

all boys are on hold at the moment. yes all. i have hundreds and hundreds waiting in the wings.

with this mug? puhlease.

tiny's sandwich shop

this place is horrible. rivington and something...norfolk? i'd rather eat a wendy's spicy crispy chicken sandwich any day. and how do you fuck up rice crispy treats? the waitress with red hair was super nice, though. and they have diet dr. pepper. but what's up with those ridgy chips? does anyone ever really prefer those to regular shaped chips?

poodles

i'd like to meet the person that first said, "poodles are such smart dogs."
then i'd like to buy one of those hearing aids from the infomercials that lets you eavesdrop on people's conversations form 100 feet away.
no, i'd like to buy 2. one for each ear.
the i'd like to put him in a 7'x7' marble room.
wearing the hearing aids.
with my poodle.
then i'd lock him in and knock on the door.
then i'd like him to teach my "such smart dog" how to stop barking.
then when his ears bleed and he is nauseous from the ringing, i'd like to offer him the opportunity to redact his claim.

poodles are cute. not smart.

that is all.

bar pitti

bar pitti. i had penne bolognese. soraya had penne arrabiata.


i had a glass of pinot grigio. soraya had a glass of coke.



everything was sunny and nice.

i brought gigi the grey poddle, she brought clarence the brown cocka-poo.

then the cockiness that is the cocky machine bar pitti reared it's ugly head.

an empty 2 top. no people waiting. two people just walked up and sat there.

the waiter came over, not to ask what they wanted, but what they were doing there.

she said she wanted to eat lunch.

he asked if anyone told her she could sit there, because there could be people waiting.

she said no.

he asked how many, she said..."2"...(they are already fucking sitting down).

he looked at the benches, which were emtpy, and had been for a while.

he said, 'ok you can sit."

i felt like i needed a shower after that.

soraya wants me to tell you that she is in love with an italian boy. that's all.

plea

dear shorts,

i would like to meet you in person. tell your fiance not to be threatened. i am severely emotionaly retarded so she has nothing to worry about. except my stellar personality.

let me know.

thanks,
f.y.

a river runs through it

hello. i am writing this post from a perilous location. the rickety, rusty fire escape on my 5th floor sublet. 1 of two things could happen. either i could fall, or my computer could fall. in either case a couple of people would be marginally upset.

that picture is ugly. so i will now insert a hot picture of an ass that may or may not be mine. why? because i can. i'm not in therapy and this is how i feel better about myself.

the glorious weather continues, and i decided to take my rat dog for a long walk. sometimes i forget that i actually live on an island. though i much prefer islands with pina colada's, steel drums, and water that is any color other than brown. but, i can't be choosy all the time. so i embrace la isla that is manhattan.

if i walk ALLLLL the way to the tip of the pier on the hudson river, and squeeze myself ALLLL the way to the corner, and squint my eyes a little, i can remove all the shit that is going on in my peripheral vision and listen to the sound of the water lapping on the wooden stilts. that was peaceful. but then this fuckwaddicksuckingshitfuck rolls up on rollerSKATES going round and round in circles behind me. oh, there's more. he is playing belinda carlisle excruciatingy loud on a boombox. like, that thing that takes 9 D volt batteries. god save me.

a photo tour of hudson river park:

a view north

the statue of liberty, look closely

fuck the police! right, gigi?

a beautiful day in the neighborhood. FDNY keeps busy.

the fountain at christopher st. THE place to go for black transvestite/lesbian/gay prostitutes. i'm not being racist. it's a fact.

ahhh, peace.

pret a manger

i used to eat there in london. before they came to usa. that was the same time that fatty mcgehee picture of me from the previous post was taken. crazy.

they didn't have my favorite kind, the hummus sandwich. so i had the turkey. their sandwiches come whole or in halves. i chose half so i don't ever look as fat as i did in london. and a low fat yogurt with rubarb bottom, again so i don't ever look as fat as i did in london.



(on a side note, i have rediscovered POP! by erasure. i am listening to it full blast right now. so good.)

this is what the fridge looks like. on a busy day it's really scary, like every man for himself. reaching and grabbing what they can. they have EVERYTHING. soup, chips, salads, wraps, sandwiches, cookies, yogurts, fresh juices, fruit salads, fruit, coffee, cakes.


this was my cashier. she kept staring at me with a smile and wouldn't take my card. and just, i mean just before i lost it, she said "can i at least get a smile?" of course, i obliged. it was sunny out. what could i do?



soraya was being a cunt and wouldn't let me take her picture. but it was gorgeous out. can't wait til they open the lawn. it's such a tease watching the dirty pigeons get to rub their toes in the grass but we can't.

ho hum

nothing to write. eating been boring.

need to go away. to a beach. anyone interested?

in the meantime i am going to texas soon. going to drive from houston to austin past green hills and grazing cows. then going to eat those cows when i go to salt lick bbq.

visit my old haunts like the sorority house where i puked a lot. and sixth street where i puked a lot. pretty much any street where i puked a lot.

going to drink dr. pepper and eat whataburgers. drink a mexican maritini, which is basically a margariti in a martini glass with an olive. drink shiner and ziegenbach. watch the sunset over lake travis. eat hut's chili with all the jalapenos i can fit in the bowl. and talk with a twang that mysteriously reappears each time i smell that hot, humid houston air.

oh boy. am i excited. take a gander...








of course, after all that booze and food, i'll probably end up looking like i did junior year. keep in mind this was 10 years ago. oofah. i can't believe i actually posted this:

first pretty day of the year.

bryant park is my favorite. and the weather was so amazing i didn't even care that i waited 20 minutes in line at wichcraft only to find out, at the register, that every sandwich i wanted was sold out.

i know it looks like i smelled a fart and/or sucked a lemon, but it's just the sun in my eyes. so not cute. i'm eating a grilled chicken, grilled red pepper, mozarella, and lot's and lot's of grease panini.

i ordered the butternut squash soup, but it came out tasting suspiciously like cauliflower soup-the other soup of the day.

soraya was a little more impatient. but her foul mood stemmed from the fact that her retarded boyfriend broke up with her for the 13th time in 4 years. so annoying.

she lost patience and went to PAX. that place is so disgusting, i don't know how she did it. but she was back in less than 3 minutes. i was still waiting for my sandwich.



la, la, la...green grass...so happy!

think coffee. think try harder

high hopes, we've got hi-i-igh hopes...

yay, new place in the hood! pretty cute, lots of windows, high ceilings, good menu. it's called think coffee on bowery and bleecker.




went with rachel, a former super model. fucking sick body, still.




she had the lunch of a 2nd grader. peanut butter and banana and honey and cinnamon sandwich. and a whole milk. not skim. more power to ya. the cinnamon ruined it, and it should have had more peanut butter.



soraya had an apple, brie, and honey and balsamic vinegar on baguette sandwich. she kept bitching about how it was too sweet. she had a coke in a glass which is always better than a can and way better than plastic. but still not as good as mcdonald's fountain.

i had salmon, cream cheese, watercress, and red onions on black bread. the onions didn't bother me because the only boy i have had a crush on in 3 years lives in newfoundland (look it up). and he isn't getting anywhere near my face anytime soon. it was, eh. whatever.



everything was whatever. it's new though, so i'll give them another shot. i think it would still be good to go to for a cup of coffee.

best part of lunch was dessert back at the office. oreos and milk. there was definitely an elementary school lunch theme going on today.

da silvano

this is bar pitti's rich, tacky neighbor. bar pitti wears converse, and this guy wears...i don't know, what do cheesy italians wear when they step out of their ferrari's? whatever, the ladies would be wearing very thin 4" heels. with pointy toes. this is usually paparazzi heaven, but i guess miley cyrus was around the corner, and britney spears was on the F train, so that left the sidewalk pretty empty. plus, i didn't roll up in my maybach today. you know, i wanted to be like everyone else. and walk. in the cold.

brain hurt. not working. this date was howard part due. i love howard. he's like an intimidating yet huggable big brother. (see my post on raoul's for background).

the food was good. -ish. good-ish. i used to get dressed up to go to this place when i was younger. like, a night out...at da silvano...oooooh. now i could give two shits. i wasn't even wearing deoderant today. had sliced meat and crumbly cheese. white wine (yeah! at lunch!). poached artichoke. soraya and i split a pasta.




howard had this pollo, which is italian for chicken. duh. but it smelled like boiled bird. like when my dad went pheasant hunting, brought them home, and thought you cooked them by putting them in a pot of hot water. with nothing else. the kitchen smelled like bird flesh for days. that smell made me sick. and so did howards pollo.



the best part of lunch (besides howard) was the old priest sitting behind us. he had two cell phones and 3 times as many glasses of wine during the course of our stay. huh? those suits just creep me out. but not as much as when this little boy came out from under the table.



he didn't have time for dessert. so soraya and i went to amy's bread for a cupcake. bad idea. they were rock hard, like my boobs when i was 17.



jesus fucking christ, is that what i look like today? (sorry, father. priest man. reverend?)

brain hurt. not working. post not funny.

chili

i am totally addicted to chili from jone's. today i couldn't leave the office so i ordered it to go.



it came in this massive tub. but don't worry. i worked my way through it. it took me a couple of hours, but i did it.

got sour cream?



i'll take any cream. on my face. (like la mer or la prarie, you perv).

acme

what up, bitches.

went to lunch with my out of work friend matthew. ladies, he's single. and don't get the wrong idea by out of work. he pretty much shits gold bricks. and he's related to JFK.



anywho. DO NOT go to acme on great jones. it's like jone's cafe's retarded half brother that is kept in a basement so as not to embarrass the family.



started of with chicken gumbo. after you get used to the soapy flavor, it's not that bad. and there was no gristle in any of my bites, which is always a plus.



then had red beans and rice. now this was just pathetic. it was like the opened a can of goya red beans, and poured it over some uncle bens instant rice. NO FLAVA. i doused it with all the hot sauces they had, but it didn't help.

the chicken tenders were interesting. a little dry. but ketchup made it wet and tangy. if you're feeling generous, and run into a crew of homeless children, you could feed them all with one order. it was ridiculously huge. and a little dry.



that was that. paid with a card. don't drink the iced tea, it was murkey.

no food. but this is just too funny.

esperante or o or something

i discovered this place moving the douchebag into his apartment across the street last year.

all i wanted was sangria and sunny windows, so we went there. all my friends made me sit with my back to the window, you know for my own protection. but seriously, if i wanted to stalk i could...he's never in town on the weekends. ever. so it was safe.

holy shit are the drinks good there. and the food is great too. i can't tell, i think it's mostly brazilian?

i had guava margarita(s).

kinky had some coco punch which had rum, cocunut milk and fresh ginger. really good. other dudes had beer.


empanadas came 3 to a plate; vegetable, chicken, and beef. beef was the best. i asked for hot sauce, waitress said they didn't have. normally that would make me lose my shit, and i think she could tell because of the comfortable pout that started to make it's way across my face. she jumped in and said they only make their own and i would like it. i did. it was good.



the carne asada was, eh...ok. mediocre.



i hereby declare this corn the best in the city. please disregard any prior declarations. they smother it in jalapeno butter. and then lime. like, if i could have sucked the husk dry, i would have. i had two. and licked all the juice off of the plate. both plates.

here is me and my first corn.

here is roi eating his corn, with me jealous that he still has corn.

here is me with my second corn. yay!


esperanto is on 9th street and AVE C.

barrio chino

mexican restaurant in chinatown. hence the barrio. chino.

went for dinner. i really like this place, and was excited to go back. coudn't believe it had been so long since my last visit.

oh, yah. it takes HOURS to get a table. around an hour and half we waited, dodging bussers with plates and waitresses with drinks. i highly, highly recommend the habanero grapefruit margarita. after one, i asked them to cut back on the simple syrup to make it spicier. boy did that work. so fucking good, the spice cuts all the tequila and gives you that extra heartburn that i love.


first up was shrimp ceviche. this is real ceviche, no bullshit extra ingredients to make it gourmet. the shrimp was cured and so soft, like as soft as the best most perfect lobster.


i liked it so much i drank the juice like a milkshake.


also some sort of pork soup with all sorts of accoutremants, which naturally makes it more fun to eat.


THEN...he had mole. i mean, i get it, but i just can't get over tasting the whole chocolate thing. not into it.


i had enchilades verdes. chicken, corn tortillas, tomatillo sauce and queso freso. a perfectly small amount of black beans on the side.


the food was so, so good. it may have been the two and a half margaritas i had while waiting for a table. or maybe the two i had after we ate that affected my memory...but i still would go back and wait an hour any day

and for desert: shots of tequila with tomato something or other as a chaser.


boy, that was fun!

broome between orchard and ludlow. reservations for parties of 8 or more.

shorts AND jackrabbit

you are so right. i deleted.

shorts

you are so right. i deleted.

bite

on lafayette. salad, goat cheese, apples, bread. blah. making assistant go get a me a burger from mcdonalds right now cause i can't eat this rabbit shit.




very hungover. question: if a tree falls in a forrest, and no one hears it. did it happen? so, like, if i pretend i didn't retardedly text the boy 3 times with no response, did it happen? well. i am pretending it didn't. and i'll pretend he never got them. retard. me. retard.

maybe it was the cliche of a night i had that put me over the edge. fancy dress at a fancy benefit, then late dinner at waverly inn, then dancing with smoking french guys at beatrice inn (lots of inn's, but no in and out. ha.) such a fun night that all ended in shit. no cash to buy water from deli. tried to use my ATM card, but got the pin number wrong 3 times (retard) so it locked up and i couldn't withdraw. walked to another deli. different ATM machine, same problem. feet hurt from walking in 4" jimmy choo's (that ex was with me when i got) so i took them off and walked home barefoot. alone. at 3 in the morning. one block from where some girl was attempted raped two weeks ago. (retard).

well, woke up this morning and i had texted a bunch of random friends... the boy. i also noticed i was missing one shoe. i lost one shoe in a matter of one block.

like cindarella. just waiting for that mother fucking prince to show up at my door. with my shoe. cause all i really want is that shoe.

st. maarten revisited

two monkeys.



(--IMAGE REMOVED AT SUBJECT'S REQUEST--)

awesome!

eliot said, "i only put it in this much."

she said, "pinche, you said you'd protect me."


prostitution rings are the new blogs.

cooked tomato

washington square diner gave me perfect tomatoes.


and they served it to me with a smile.
and i paid for it with a credit card.

le pain quotidien

or however you spell it. went there with soraya. i really like this place.

(i did have a long, ranting, self-indulgent paragraph about douchebags. well, just one douchebag. but i took it out cause behavior like that is not positive. HA! listen to me! positive!)

i had the ham and 3 mustard sandwich, soraya had some detox salad which seemed to me like a scam, because beets and lettuce and brie is not all that detoxifying.




then a chocolate croissant which made my day. i like this place, the lighting is good, the food is nice, and the communal tables allows for some interesting people watching. it's a little slow, but whatevs.


.

passive aggressive waiter

this really bums me out. i find i place i love, then they fuck me over. square diner.

all i wanted was eggs, toast, and grilled tomatoes. very very well done tomatoes.

i specifically said "so cooked that they are burnt and mushy."

they come back hard and barely cooked.

so i ask him to send them back and cook them more.

they came back only a tiny bit scorched.

i stood up with my plate, roi terrified i would cause a scene, and asked the waiter to "please, please cook these more. yes, even more. til they are totally burnt."

he rolled his eyes at me and shoved his order pad in his apron in a huff.

this is what he brought out to me.



a new set of completely uncooked tomaoes.

i tipped him a quarter. ass.

adios

it's 1 am. went to bed early but keep waking up from this itching all over my body.

not itchy like a rash or bites, more like these pin prick feelings every where that i have to scratch to make go away.

i think it's something with my nerve endings.

this could be the end, y'all. my body is going to explode and the pin pricks are a warning sign. they'll get more frequent and more intense and then it will feel like a firework went off on the inside of my skin and all the embers are burning me and i'll just melt. yes, melt-maybe not explode.

i am not high on ambien.

oh my god, even the inside of my nose itches. and my eye lids. this isn't funny.

please make sure someone takes care of my doggie. and my sister gets everything of mine. and i want to be cremated (if i haven't turned to dust already) and have my ashes spread over the texas hill country at dusk. and possibly off of table moutain. and a little in the bayou in houson, just cause it was home. farewell.

jone's...again

this is adrien, she is a hot doctor. she also likes to make her food look really pretty.




this is me eating key lime pie.



i really like this restaurant.

boring post. i want someone to call me baby. and think of me when i'm not around. and let me know they think of me when i'm not around. and kind of want me around even when i can't be around.

"i need an around the way girl, that's the one for me, you got me shook up shook down shook out on your loving" -ll cool j (different around the way. but whatev's. i'm sure i could rock a little street wear someday).

caribbean queen

hi there. jet blue flies to sint maarten. so if you pick the right days, you can get down there for about $200.

sister, jane, and i went for a little 3 day get away. it was really great. except for the last hour on the beach when the guy sitting next to us had a heart attack and died. right there. next to us. blue in the face, dead. my sis, she's a 4th year med student, she and another nurse tried...they did what they could but she told me and jane that she knew the guy was a goner when he hadn't taken a breath or regained a pulse for over 5 minutes. poor fella. we let EMT take over when they arrived. we had a plane to catch!

(a moment for the man who died on a beach with his gay lover, speedos, and a glass of white wine...from one heaven to the next).

the best food is on the french side of the island. eating salad with fresh crab meat and drinking rose for lunch while on a beach is kinda amazing. the whole euro thing really fucked us up, though. so we couldn't afford domain ott. just the ghetto chateaux lacoste. here is jane trying to not look heartbroken that we weren't drinking cliquot rose.



the best was the back door entrance to st. barth's. fly like we did, into SXM. take a boat with all the other old middle classers to the st. tropez of the caribbean. yay! one person puked on the ferry. that was cool.

i must say. st. barth's is the cutest place ever! the guys are totally gorgeous, and especially the one's cleaning the mega yachts. (yes cleaning, not owning. the crew were to DIE for. but not like the guy on the beach died. more a figure of speech thing).

but watch out. you will be raped blind by the prices. we had breakfast. 3 coffees, 1 croissant, 2 orders of scrambled eggs. $37 dollars. the eggs didn't come with anything. just eggs. not even a garnish of parsley.




they were excellent eggs though, and so was the cafe.

ok, so maybe $37 isn't that bad for a quaint petit dejeuner. and, in all honesty, it didn't bother me that badly.

BUT LUNCH! holy shit. 3 plates of salad, 1 orangina, and 1 large sparkling water.

wait...you ready?

seventy five dollars. seven, five, dot, zero, zero. at that point i thought st. barth's was super cute, and i loved it, but i needed to leave immediately and come back another time with a rich boyfriend.