Are We There Yet?

So Big C works on Irving Place and I used to always make him take me to this mediocre Chinese food place down the street.  It was a sort of reparation for forcing me (an overweight, bookish, and oh-so-awkward) middle schooler to meet co-workers and bosses at his company and wait for hours..... hours for him to decide that he had worked enough for that day.   I never fully understood why I liked this place so much.  It's got this gaudy decor with garish chandeliers and faux-wood panelling.  It's like those party venues which advertise on public access television and where you imagine the Gotti family has hosted every special occasion ever. Tonight I find myself heading back there with AB and co.  But on my last visit (during the summer) I made a shocking revelation which would wondrously connect my current and middle-school self in some existential meaning-of-life way.  Two words.  Free wine. I've never been someone who's huge on going out of my way...

So it's been a long weekend.  And this probably isn't a real post.  but please read on...or just look at the pictures....the pictures are good. Reuniting with parisian-amis is always a good, random, sloppy, wine-soaked time.  Friday night started off with dinner during which I discovered a fun surprise on the way to the bathroom.  Photo.  Booth.  There are few things in life that make me happier than photos but photo-booths give me the instant glee and gratification of a child presented with ice cream.  After the second WC trip and the third glass of wine, I'd convinced AM and JM that there was no way we we leaving without a photo series. Unfortunately I don't have the photos.  I'm sure AM got her hands on them but I will be peer-pressuring her for a scanned image to upload.  In any case, I'll describe.   First, we had to beat out a 9-year old who was the only other person at The Smith who hadn't out-grown the fun of photo-booths (ex...

My waxist is a Nazi.   And she has been carrying out illicit-amoral experiments on my nether region.  You know that scene in The 40 Year-old Virgin , where Steve Carrell actually gets his chest waxed by a giggling asian beautician? Well, its true.  Except she's an Indian version of satan with a price on my vagina's head (?!?).  Perhaps a poor diction.   Anywho...she sucks...but do you know what sucks more?  The fact that I always take her back. There are few positions more awkward than having your legs behind your head on a table stolen from a gynecologist's office veiled with a thin piece of paper that sticks to your ass which is sweating in anticipation of the vaginal pain your body is about to shudder through.  The only thing that can make this situation more awkward is being naked from the waist down and having a woman you barely know berate you for missing your scheduled appointment a month ago.  The one you skipped because fe...

"Sometimes I think that guys just don't see things, like cellulite.  Like those guys who are into voluptuous women er whatever.  I just think.  They must  not see it" Straight girl to straight girl, "I'm really into your ass.  It's so perky.  It's enormous.  I just want to grab it.  I don't even want to call it an ass.  It's like a flank, a haunch" "It helps if you play with my balls" "Sometimes I have a problem with dingle-berries, they suck" "My vagina itches" "Yeah, it's really small.  Like I didn't even realize until I saw more of them.  The second time I was like oh wow this guys pretty well-endowed.  But after a few more I was like...there's no way that I was just lucky that many times." "I have to go to the bathroom.  Can you put some headphones on or something?" "I mean I like expect to have at least 2 orgasms" "Her fake nail came off in his ...

You're kind of cool.  I enjoy making out with you.  But there are a few reasons why I'm glad we didn't do the nasty. a.  you never texted me back a couple of weekends ago. b.  you have some of the symptoms of an only child c.   last Sunday I saw a barrette (not mine) on your window sill. signs of hope. a.  you danced to James Brown in your living room at 2 AM...that was one of the coolest things i've ever seen. b.  you sobered up pretty quickly c.  you don't snore. maybe next time. Also, Dear friend-of-a-friend who was hitting on me at the bar on Saturday.  Don't worry, you weren't to forward.  In fact, I had no idea you were gaming on me.  So...welcome to friend zone. Also random-guy-in-the-gray-hoodie who I ran away from by accident.  Sorry about that, but you were boring and it was awkward and I on reflection I think I did us both a solid. Also Hatian-cab driver,  I'm sorry I was too drunk to properly ...

I like to think that people have missed my blog posts the past two days.  I also like to think that when I am absent people think I'm actually doing cool and impressive things like inventing something or stalking Tina Fey.  But, no.  In general I don't do things because I'm just too lazy or helplessly hungover or caffeinated into a coma.  And I've probably been watching a  Law and Order: SVU  marathon for 15 hours because I'm too lazy or too hungover or caffeinated to find the remote.  But this time none of those reasons explain my digital 'Gone Fishin' (actually hungover might be a sign of a problem seeing as how it was mid week). The fact is I've lost my muse.  And yesterday I today I got it back from the gods and Michael Jackson. I'm not sure if everyone has heard about the viscous attack on poor little Blanket Jackson by his cousin Jaafar (I couldn't make that name up).  Apparently the 21st century equivalent of mailing in ...

T oday is one of those oddly pleasant days that I fuckin' hate. It's false spring.  Just as you start getting used to it some hairy-assed rodent gets scared of it's own shadow and it matters that your corner house neighbor it too lazy to shovel and too cheap to pay someone else to do it.  I mean Last week everyone was trying to figure out how many ways you could create one word out of"snow"(or some variation) and "Apocalypse."(or some variation)  I imagine the first newscaster who used 'Snowmagedon' this year really gave him/herself a pat on the back after that one.  I suspect it was Mr. G from the WB --er whatever its called now.  Why?  Because I think he's an asshole.  I can honestly say that he's one of those people I hate for no legitimate reason.  But look at him (Pic1).  He looks like a grown up Peter Brady with David Hasselhoff hair. He is Douche-bag.  Anyhow, any time I hear 'Mr. G'  I think of  Mr. G from Summer Heigh...