Seven Vices

The Bachelor

2010-01-06T21:23:00.000-08:00

GB is out of town for the next few days, and while I do miss him, there's a joy in being all by myself, doing exactly as I wish. Which mostly involves not wearing pants (which I can do even when he's home, fortunately) and playing with my Wii. (I also play with the homophone of my Wii pretty frequently when he's away.)

And while I won't say I'm exactly a slovenly person, let's just say I only make the bed because he prefers it that way, and I'm not bothering to wash the dishes tonight. (Though honestly, I do feel lucky to date someone who doesn't believe in leaving dirty dishes in the sink overnight.) To my credit, I do still flush even when I'm by myself. Even when it's just number one!

I love being part of a couple; in fact, I can't imagine my life any other way anymore. But is there anything wrong with reveling in fake singlehood (without all the wild sex that used to entail) for a few days? (Okay, occasional wild sex. And mostly with myself.)

I don't think so. Now pass me a beer and hand me my Rock Band guitar.

Tricksy

2009-11-17T09:35:00.001-08:00

At GB's request, I have pulled an evil but amusing prank on his boss. Let's hope this turns out well.

I Love Lucy

2009-11-16T23:02:00.000-08:00

I believe I already mentioned that I had the best birthday EVER (I feel oddly like Kanye typing that) but I did not mention that part of that best-ness was related to GB's gift to me, which I only just received last week.

HE BOUGHT ME A BIKE!

Yes, I already had a bike, Chuck, who was very good at getting me where I wanted to go, despite being a little cheapy Target bike. But GB firmly believed that I'd be happier with a bike better suited to the type of riding I like to do (road biking, mostly at night) and so for my birthday, he wrapped up a Trek catalog and told me to pick one. Pretty damn awesome, no?

We went shopping a week or so ago to check out sizing and styles; I was pretty sure I wanted a hybrid. I ended up with a Trek 7.5FX that I have named Lucy. She's red, she weighs practically nothing, and she rides like a dream. Also she has a bell! I've already ridden 40 miles in the less than five days I've owned her. I adore Chuck, and he'll always be the bike that first made me really enjoy riding, but wow, I love Lucy.

Word Nerd

2009-11-06T12:22:00.000-08:00

I have admitted before to being an enormous geek who loves public radio. One of the shows I adore and have always wanted to see live is Wait Wait...Don't Tell Me! I was ecstatic when I found out they were coming to the Pasadena Civic Auditorium (a scant five-minute walk from my pad), less so when I saw the ticket prices.

However, I finally broke down last week and bought two tickets, justifying it by calling it my birthday present to myself (which is also how I justified a 90-minute massage on Monday, come to think of it). Fortunately, my favorite person (who I shall simply call GB from here on out), who is always down for anything, was free to join me and excited about it, despite never having heard the show.

The taping was last night and it was AWESOME. Bill Davis, the president of SCPR, welcomed everyone and introduced some public radio luminaries in the crowd, including Tess Vigeland, Alex Cohen, and then...KAI RYSSDAL, THE HOTTEST MAN ON NPR. Yes, I squealed like a lovestruck teenager, much to GB's amusement. Imagine then my excitment when I learned that the guest playing "Not My Job" would be TONY HAWK. Holy crap, it was like a night filled with the sexiest men alive! (That does include GB, who is the only one I was able to bring home with me after the show.)

There's nothing quite like erudite, literate humor, though to my delight, last night's taping also included more slightly dirty double entendres than I recall in previous shows. (And Peter Sagal actually said "boobs" which made me giggle like a ten-year-old boy.) And then at the end everyone got a free ChicoBag from Subaru! See, it totally pays to be a nerd.

Party Like It's Your Birthday

2009-11-02T23:19:00.000-08:00

Dear God, I have never had a birthday quite so good as this one. I have already been warned it's all downhill from here.

The weekend started with a surprise date on Friday night. (SHOCKING NOTE: The location of the date was the surprise, and not the fact that I actually had a date. [W00t!]) I swooned when I learned where we were heading - the Culture Clash 25th Anniversary which was one of the coolest things EVER, and my wonderful date even laughed at all the jokes that were in Spanish despite not understanding what the hell was being said. Truly, he is the awesome. We also had super-delicious tacos from the Border Grill truck before the show - and OMFG, that is some good shit they sell. Expensive, but delicious! Much like me. I highly recommend the cilantro chicken taco, crispy Baja fish taco (holy crap, so yummy!), poblano quesadilla (MINDBLOWINGLY GOOD), and the churro bites. The only thing I wasn't crazy about (besides the line) was the lemonade, which was too sweet.

Saturday we went on a hike at Chantry Flat down to Sturtevant Falls and finished off with a delicious beer at Adams' Pack Station before parting ways for a couple of hours (he went riding; I saw The Time Traveler's Wife at the Academy). We came back together for dinner at one of my favorite places, Tarantino's here in Pasadena.

Sunday - the big day, aka Vice Girl's birthday - was pre-planned; we went to Disneyland! I used my free birthday pass and a $50 gift card, so it was fairly reasonable in terms of cost. PLUS! Thanks to the fabulous Corazon, I knew that we could get free! parking! because it was my birthday! FREE! That's my favorite price! We had so much fun. Space Mountain is still the BEST RIDE EVER but Splash Mountain remains a close second. The Haunted Mansion also remains the best place in the park to cop a feel. (Or have a feel copped, as the case may be.) We rounded out the day with dinner at Pizzeria Mozza. Ohhh, butterscotch budino!

Finally, I took the day off today and though I spent half the day waiting for a furniture delivery, I was able to spend an hour with my favorite person* and then finish off my four-day extravaganza with an amazing massage from Kevin at AcuSpa. And now, I'm heading to bed. HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME!

* I think he needs a blog nickname. I can't just keep calling him "my date" and "my favorite person", can I? And I don't really think it's fair to just put his name up on here. Suggestions are welcome.

Buddy, I'll Show You Offensive

2009-09-10T10:00:00.001-07:00

Seriously? This vaguely Georgia O'Keefe-ish Absolut ad should offend me?

People are SO SENSITIVE about giant fake vaginas. Sheesh.

One More Reason I'm Going to Hell

2009-08-30T22:28:00.000-07:00

So I saw a pregnant lady leaving Peet's this morning with a cup of coffee and my first thought was, "Does that woman not care for her unborn child? Out in this terrible smoky air, drinking coffee?" And then I noticed she was driving a shitty Taurus and I thought, "Oh, I guess she doesn't."

High Class Conversations Part II

2009-07-31T11:22:00.000-07:00

Michael arrives 30 minutes early to my house for dinner and ~~Lykke Li~~ Azure Ray concert, finding me freshly-showered, wearing nothing but a towel, steam cleaning a chair

Michael: Hi. I'm early.

Me: You're lucky I'm not naked. I usually discard the towel after the shower.

Michael: People can see right into your living room windows when they walk by!

Me: *shrugs* Eh, who looks up here anyways?

Michael: WELL, I WILL BE FROM NOW ON.

Internetiquette

2009-07-29T23:23:00.000-07:00

So...is it wrong to accept a friend request on Facebook from someone you kind of dated in high school simply because he's shirtless in his profile picture and so ripped you want to eat frozen yogurt off his naked body?

I'm just curious.

Enlist in the Infinite!

2009-07-26T21:58:00.000-07:00

I saw this sticker plastered on a power box across the street from Powell's in Portland.

I actually wouldn't have noticed it except there was a somewhat crazy drawing of a cow underneath it:

When I noticed the sticker, it made me giggle (because what's funnier than a stick figure being bombarded by microwaves?) and then look closer. Being a nerd, I took a picture and then Googled the telephone number, which led me to The Jejune Institute.

"The Jejune Institute aims to maximize human potential through the continuing advancement of socio re-engineering methods across the geopolitical realm. We accomplish this through financial support, independent research, and experimental initiatives developed through our many international facilities."

I'm ready to be inducted. Who's wants to go up to San Francisco with me for our free introductory workshop?

High-Class Conversations, Part I

2009-07-20T00:02:00.000-07:00

Corazon: I had a BLT on a waffle.

Me: That sounds kind of gross.

Corazon: They used spinach instead of lettuce.

Me: Hmm, that actually sounds better. Plus it had bacon on it; I'll eat anything that has bacon on it.

Jenny: I'd eat pussy if it had bacon on it!

Me: NOTE TO SELF...

Speaking In Tongues

2009-07-13T14:20:00.001-07:00

I'm once again trying the Internet dating thing. Actually, it's not half bad. Well, okay, if we're using math, it's exactly half bad.

I've been on two dates with two different guys. I won't bore you with the good date because you don't care about that. You want to hear about the bad date. Bad dates are way more interesting.

To be fair, it was a great location (Descanso Gardens) and he picked it, so bonus points for him. However, he was extraordinarily quiet. Like mime quiet. He also kept eating the plants (no joke) and didn't quite match his online photos that portrayed him as a person with normal hair and average body weight. This is not to say that I'm shallow! Okay, I am shallow. I'd like to date someone with whom I can imagine engaging in the types of sex acts that remain illegal in some Southern states. And this guy looked only vaguely like his photos, and by "vaguely," I mean maybe he ate that guy and showed up posing as him.

Shouldn't there be some sort of harsh criminal penalty for putting up misleading photos on a dating site?

Knocked Up

2009-06-22T20:49:00.000-07:00

Last night I had this incredibly realistic dream that I was hugely pregnant and in labor. My belly was so freaking big and the contractions hurt really bad; I'm sure that actually giving birth is much more painful, which is worrisome*. Also I was writhing around alone in my bed without any medical assistance, which sort of sucked.

I was vaguely aggravated about being pregnant in the first place and definitely not thrilled about giving birth, given the pain factor. In this middle of everything, I woke up briefly and then fell back asleep, at which point, thankfully, the baby was already born. Turns out I had a girl and named her Carolina** Rose. Remarkably, or perhaps not, there was no father featured in the dream and my foremost concern was getting back to work. At no point did I even ever see the baby, in fact.

In related news, and in the spirit of always trying to share TMI, my cycle has been really off due to a six week stint on the Pill shortly before leaving for China and during my time there in hopes of pushing back my period until my return to California. It worked up until a couple of days before we left Beijing, but then my body was all fucked up from the hormones. I was about a week late this month and had a lovely two weeks of PMS action without ever hitting the M part of that acronym. Normally that wouldn't be a huge deal, except since I've actually gotten some action lately***, I was stressed out that maybe I wasn't just late but LATE.

I went so far as to take a pregnancy test last night (only one line, whew!) but I was still worried because I'm crazy. Thus my mind conjured the insane dreams last night which once again proved that even in my subconscious, I'm unfit for motherhood.

* Or would be, if I ever intended to get pregnant.

** Pronounced as in Carolina Herrera, not South Carolina.

*** Always use a condom, boys and girls. I do! And yet I'm still terrified of getting pregnant because I'm Catholic and I know God wants to punish me for having pre-marital sex.

I'm Wicked and I'm Lazy

2009-03-23T19:32:00.001-07:00

I have had little to no motivation to write lately. I don't know what it is exactly; it's possible that my early-onset spring fever, which has resulted in my throwing away/shredding/giving away about a zillion things in my house, has sapped my energy to the point that I'm unable to think of anything creative to say.

It's also possible that I'm just really fucking lazy.

I've been busy lately, but not with anything particularly salacious. (Okay, maybe a few salacious things, but when someone reads your blog, it's hard to write about them.)

To give you a small hint of my exciting life: I saw "I Love You, Man" (FOR FREE!) and I saw Jonathan Gold moderate a panel on whether food can be authentic. I hate to say it, but the movie screening beat JG hands down. That dude does not know how to facilitate a conversation. Helpful hint: it does not involve you talking the entire time. MODERATING FAIL.

Also despite terrifying layoffs at my workplace, I am still employed. My job is going to change somewhat, which will mean, I suppose, that I need to start working harder and/or waking up before 9:30 a.m. Despite that, I'm still glad that I wasn't fired.

In other news, I'm moving! I'll be a block away from my office which means I'll walk to work every day but also have even less of an excuse than I currently do for being late, given that I live a mile and a half away from work right now.

Also I am going to China in six weeks!

Oh, Barry!

2009-03-10T17:46:00.001-07:00

I had a somewhat, *ahem*, romantical dream about Barack Obama last night. Unfortunately, one minute Barry and I were alone, about to make some real progress on the important and pressing issue of nudity in my bedroom, and the next minute three other people appeared and were all up in our business about what we were doing. Thus, he never got to use his signing pen, if you catch my drift.

And then I woke up! I really need to work harder at learning to lucid dream.

"My Eye Looked Like A Lime"

2009-03-09T20:48:00.000-07:00

I love The Story from American Public Media. I'm always transfixed by the narratives that people share on the show and how naturally host Dick Gordon seems to interact with people, asking the very questions that I'm wondering.

Today's show was particularly fascinating to me. I struggle with the notion of forgiveness and what it means to truly let go of anger; during Lent, my thoughts often turn to the words of St. Francis: "[I]t is in pardoning that we are pardoned."

In addition, the medium through which resolution came - Facebook - was interesting. Who knows how we'll be connecting with our past in another ten years?

* NOTE: If you punch me in the face, please do not try to neurally friend me on Mindbook in 2019.

Miss Lonelypants

2009-03-06T22:24:00.000-08:00

A friend recently told me about a dating site she's using that she likes. According to her, it's free and filled with attractive people. (I'd tell you the name of the site, but she made me promise under penalty of death that I wouldn't share it and lessen our chances with the available men.)

At any rate, feeling sexually frustrated (my version of lonely), I decided to sign up yesterday. I saw a couple of interesting profiles and had a few emails by the time I came home today. While I was online checking my messages, I was asked to chat by two different guys, one right after the other.

Wow, I'm popular!

Right.

Sure.

I got hung up on both times. TWICE. IN A ROW. By men who initiated contact with me.

Granted, the first one wasn't really a "man", given that he was only 19. Okay, I admit, I shouldn't have agreed to talk to him in the first place! But he was hot and he said he liked older women, and, shamefully, I kind of wanted to make fun of him. (I'm horny AND cruel.) He disconnected on me after I responded to his greeting with "Aren't you a little young for this?" I didn't even get to ask if he was just going after older women so they could buy him booze! Honestly, I think he was lying about his age anyways. He was easily 20.

The second dude was older and kind of cute, but halfway through our conversation he had already made a reference to being nude (uh, gross)...still, I stuck around and tried to ignore the comment. Then he started an anti-Obama rant, blaming the state of the economy on a man who's been president for less than two months.

And yet HE is the one who hung up on ME.

To my credit, whatever that means, I actually tried to have an adult conversation, arguing my political points with reason and facts and only a few insults. After he said Obama didn't know what a bad economy is really like because he's only in his mid-forties, I typed, "Uh, you're 40. Are you telling me you traveled back in time to experience the Depression?" This is the point at which he disconnected.

I wanted to yell, "I SAID GOOD DAY, SIR!" but unfortunately, I was sitting alone in my bathrobe at home in front of my laptop. The statement loses a little power that way.

Anyhow, it's obvious that neither of these guys were right for me, but somehow I can't help thinking that if I started saying a little less of what I'm thinking, I might date a little more. *sigh*

Good Bacon, Bad Bacon

2009-03-04T12:24:00.000-08:00

I've eaten a lot of bacon in my time. (Especially if you start "my time" about a week ago, since I have a package of bacon in my fridge that I'm afraid is going to go bad before I can finish it. Do you know how hard it is for one person to finish a pound of bacon?)

I won't say I'm a bacon connoisseur - though that would look great on a business card - but I will say I know good bacon from bad bacon.

And Oscar Mayer, your Center Cut Naturally Smoked Bacon with 30% lower fat in the stay-fresh reclosable tray is BAD BACON. It's the skinniest bacon, width-wise, that I've ever eaten. (And everyone knows that with bacon, as with uh, other things, thicker is better.) Speaking of skinny, there's so much less fat on it that when I cook it, it sticks to the pan instead of making a pool of delicious bacon grease.

W.
T.
F.

NO BACON GREASE! That's never happened to me with other bacon. It's making me sad.

It's Like The Fifth Element

2009-03-03T14:49:00.001-08:00

@ Jenn's Birthday Fiesta

Jenn: It's Quatro Leche Cake.

Fran: Whoa! I've never heard of that!

Me: The fourth milk is from Salma Hayek.

(For the record, that was the best effing cake I've ever had. I totally wouldn't be surprised if my comment was spot-on.)

The Accidental Episcopalian

2009-02-27T00:44:00.000-08:00

Admittedly, I don’t go to church very often. I’m Catholic, but I’m one of those Catholics...you know, the big holiday Catholics. The ones who take up your parking space at Christmas and Easter, who cry during confession because of guilt and shame from not going to Mass for months on end (and who forget we prefer the term “reconciliation” over “confession”.)

But Ash Wednesday is a good reason to go to church, and so I drove down to South Pasadena to hit up Holy Family for some forehead ash. Or at least that was my intention. Driving down Fremont, I saw the front door of the church, open and welcoming. I made a turn onto the side street and went around the block to enter from Monterey.

The church looked different somehow, but it had been (*ahem* over) a year since I last set foot inside so I ignored the lack of familiarity. I was surprised by the singing congregation when I walked in, since it was supposed to be ashes only, not a full Mass, according to the Holy Family schedule on the website. But I slid into a pew, knelt for a quick prayer, and joined in.

A cute young priest read the Gospel and I noticed that the people around me didn’t exactly say "Praise to you, Lord Jesus Christ" when he announced the reading. I chalked it up to them being irregular attendees like me. Then I noticed the supposed priest was wearing a wedding ring, which I attributed to him being a deacon because it was just ashes, not a full Mass. (Note how I rationalize everything. Because I am the crazy.)

Then a woman in purple vestments got up to speak. She did a lovely sermon on Lent and I thought, “Wow, a woman! This is a really liberal church! I don’t remember it being so progressive. I’ll have to come back again soon.” There was a lot of singing, much of which was somewhat mournful and almost all of which I didn’t understand except when they said “Jesus” or “Lord”.

I got my ashes and when I sat down, I (finally) noticed a purple sash that had been in my line of sight the entire service that read, quite clearly, “St. James , South Pasadena 1904”. I turned my head and saw a picture of Mary, who's quite obviously our thing (and by our, I mean Catholics). I felt reassured, but still a bit unnerved. Then I looked down at the collection envelopes in the pew and noticed they said “St. James” followed by the words “Episcopalian Church”.

Panicked thoughts: OH NOES! I AM IN THE WRONG PLACE AND AM GOING TO HELL!

It seemed rude to run out of there screaming, so I sat quietly, contemplating the fact that if I died that night, I would have spent my last hours in a heathen haven. I apologized to God and wondered how quickly I could set up a confession...er, reconciliation session. I also noted that Anglican churches have an interesting and unintelligible interpretation of music.

An observation about Episcopalians, from an anthropological perspective: they’re not conformists. At one point during the service, half the people knelt down and I followed suit, only to look around and find that the other half of the attendees remained stubbornly standing. “Uh, what?” thought I. We Catholics don’t do that at Mass. We’re big on homogeneity.

Also, I’m pretty sure they don’t believe in transubstantiation. I didn’t take communion (or whatever they call it) just in case. And embarrassingly, to show you how deeply ingrained the patriarchy of the Church has wormed its way into my head: when the female pastor(ess?) took the host and started breaking it up, I was like, “Oh no she DIDN'T. A woman’s touching all over my Body of Christ! I CAN’T EAT THAT.” Yes, I have been brainwashed to believe only men can touch the consecrated host. *sigh*

At any rate, it was a very nice service but I still feel guilty and shameful about going to the wrong church. Also I got lost trying to leave and felt very freaked out and had to shout “This isn't my church please help me where is the exit!”

Lord, forgive me! (Also any Episcopalians I may have offended. You seem like a very nice people.)

Take It Off!

2009-02-23T20:24:00.000-08:00

As a member of Meetup, I occasionally get emails inviting me to join a group in which I might have an interest. At first, I was flattered by these solicitations: wow, somebody wants me as a member! Then I had the Groucho Marx reaction: if they want me as a member, I should probably avoid them.

I hadn't received any of these emails recently, but then last week I received a message on my profile page: "Hi Vice Girl: I wanted to invite you to join the group that my husband and I started. Its called Persephone Club and it is a great place to socialize and meet really wonderful people."

Well, that sounds lovely! But somehow I had an uncomfortable feeling when I read "my husband and I." Call me crazy, but it sounded a little creepy, like it might be run out of a conversion van by a guy missing some teeth and at least a couple of fingers. However, the Greek reference threw me off. "Maybe I'm overreacting," I thought. "Maybe this is a club devoted to drinking POM and eating pitas."

But a single click showed me my instincts were correct:

"We are a group of professional young adults who value themselves & others through nude recreation and nude travel. We are looking for couples and individuals to join as new members. We provide a safe and fun environment for socializing & networking."

First, let me just say that I'm no burqa-swaddled prude. If I'm wearing pants at home, either I have company* or I'm expecting the pizza man. (And if he was younger and cuter, I'd be open to staying pantsless when answering the door.) I perform many of my morning rituals in a state of at least partial undress, much to the chagrin of my neighbors, I'm sure. But nude recreation? Call me old-fashioned, but that's a two-person** enterprise.

I was weirded out because my profile is fairly buttoned-up on the site, so I wondered what about me made these people think I wanted to "network" (or God forbid, "travel") in the buff. Then I mentioned it to a few other Meetup friends who, as it turned out, had received the same note. (At least then I knew it wasn't me somehow putting out nudey vibes.) I found out they're actually using Meetup to promote their private*** website.

I'll note two interesting/amusing/disturbing things about the site: first, out of four pieces of artwork on the front page, two are of clothed individuals. And second, for all the talk about how there are "no falsehoods, no agendas" and the statement "[o]ur intention is to take away the evil stigma that society places on nudity," there is ZERO INFORMATION about the couple that allegedly founded this group.

So, yeah, Buffalo Bill, thanks, but I think I'll keep my clothes on for now.

* The kind of company that wants me to stay clothed. (Jerks.)

** Okay, maybe three on special occasions.

*** No pun intended.

This Banana Needs A Brazilian

2009-02-20T13:23:00.001-08:00

I admitted in another life* to loving bananas for the perfectly packaged and tasty treats that they are.

However, today I must give a wag of the finger to bananas for the weird stringy bits** that cling to the crevices after you peel the skin. I usually try to pull most of them off, but today I was overly lackadaisical in my efforts and ended up choking on a tangled bunch of flossy banana thong underwear. Actually, it was like a mouthful of fruit pubes.

WHERE ARE GENETICALLY MODIFIED HAIRLESS BANANAS WHEN YOU NEED THEM?

* Or another blog.

** Apparently, they have a name: phloem bundles. SEXY.

Hello, Lover.

2009-02-17T12:25:00.001-08:00

I finally got a chance to visit the Kogi truck on Thursday night, after the event I mentioned in my last post.

Wonder of wonders, there was no line at the truck parked behind the Alibi Room, save for a dozen or so Yelpers who were milling about before joining the after party inside. As luck would have it, my loyal minion* EJ was at the front of the non-existent line and asked what I'd like. I asked for one each of the short rib and the spicy pork tacos, sans onions.

Within a few minutes, I was chowing down. I finished what I think was the short rib taco first (it was dark and I'd had a few beers, so forgive me for not knowing which was which). It was tasty and mostly onion free and entered my belly quickly. Alas, I was only able to finish half of the second one (presumably the spicy pork) before I gave in and passed my taco along to EJ's buddy Dave to finish off**.

I dug the tacos, but my mind remained relatively unblown until the fabulous Stephy offered to share her kimchi quesadilla.

HOLY KOREAN MOTHER OF GOD.

I've been dreaming about the single bite I took since that moment. In fact, my stomach is grumbling right now just remembering the cheesey, gooey, perfectly spicy, fermented cabbagey goodness. I lust this quesadilla. I want to marry it and have little half-breed quesadilla babies.

I also find this to be further proof that my yellow fever is justified: nothing melds together better than Korean and Mexican.

* Who is actually neither loyal, nor my minion.

** Wow, that sounds filthy.

You Give Love A Bad Name

2009-02-12T15:28:00.000-08:00

So I'm headed to a pre-Valentine shindig tonight for the Yelp Elite Squad*. There'll be free tequila (which, unfortunately, I do not drink) and free Mexican food (three words that normally don't bode well for one's digestive system), along with hundreds of drunken, horny Yelpers.

This would probably play out better for me, romantically** speaking, if I didn't already know most of these people. Who dates their friends? I prefer to date strangers, so that they don't know where I live and it's easy to fake my death to explain my failure to return their calls.

Truthfully, I don't feel the need to hook up with someone because of some arbitrary holiday, mostly because every day for me is an arbitrary holiday if I'm having sex. Despite that, I got a haircut and shaved my legs and will be wearing a dress. Hope and lust spring eternal.

* I feel like a douchebag just typing that.

** And by "romantically," of course, I mean "carnally".

Conversations With The Village Idiot*

2009-02-09T22:52:00.000-08:00

Wendy: Hey, do you want to go snowshoeing this weekend?

Me: Do you think I can?

Wendy: You mean like are you physically able? What do you mean? It's just like hiking, only you're wearing snowshoes. Of course you can do it.

Me: But will I fall behind and get eaten by snow wolves?

Wendy: You'll be fine. You're going on that hike tonight, aren't you?

Me: Yes...but I'm afraid I'm going to fall behind and get eaten by regular wolves.

Wendy: Seeing as it's a full moon, wouldn't you probably get eaten by werewolves?

Me: Oh God. One more thing to be worried about!

* Just to clarify, in this conversation, I am the Village Idiot.

Meh.

2009-02-08T23:56:00.000-08:00

I was utterly worthless this weekend. I did manage to unpeel myself from my bedsheets long enough to meet some girlfriends for a movie on Friday night, but aside from that, I've spent most of the last 72 hours asleep or groggily moping about the house.

I consumed nothing healthy (unless pepperoni pizza or bacon and eggs have migrated to another category in the food pyramid) and did nothing of import, except wash a few spoons so that I can make coffee tomorrow morning.

In the Lazy Olympics, I WIN!

ALL CAPS KIND OF ANGRY

2009-02-06T16:09:00.000-08:00

An open letter to my not-so-bright ex-boyfriend:

If you're going to insult me on Facebook to elicit sympathy from your office crush, perhaps you should first remember that if we are "friends," I CAN READ EVERYTHING YOU'VE POSTED. Because you are too stupid to know how to change your privacy settings.

Also, if you're going to irritate me online, perhaps you should make sure I am not currently in the throes of PMS, lest I flame you in response for the world to see.

Jackass.

Órale, Kogi!

2009-02-04T19:25:00.000-08:00

Here is a short but awesome video from holamun2 about the Kogi Korean Taco Truck, which I have yet to successfully patronize. (*grumble, grumble, long lines*)

I found the video on the Kogi Twitter feed which is my venue for spying on the Kogi team and constantly whetting my lust for their meaty wares from afar. (Why must I torture myself?)

AWESOME QUOTE:
"This taco truck would be nothing without the history and the people of Mexico, Central America, and all throughout Latin America....the soul of this truck comes from Latin America; it comes from Los Angeles." - Roy Choi, Executive Chef and Co-Founder

Shout-out to mi gente!

Frosting! My Only Weakness!

2009-02-04T18:39:00.000-08:00

I would say I have no idea why I'm eating like a ravenous street dog today, but I know it's PMS-related. Despite a lunchtime pita stuffed with leftover chicken shawerma and rice and slathered thickly with hummus* and garlic paste, I was suffering from a relentless attack of the hungries less than three hours later.

I decided to stop at Polkatots, because nothing is as healthy and nutritious as a cupcake. Actually, I got a mini-cupcake. Or six.

I set aside four to take to work tomorrow and ate two, which, according to my calculations, constitute only half of a regular size cupcake. (I'm using new math here, people.) Unfortunately, the two I tried weren't the good ones. In all fairness, this should justify me eating the ones I was saving for my co-workers for breakfast myself instead of sharing.

I sampled the strawberry with strawberry frosting first: the cupcake itself wasn't bad, but the frosting, which was overly greasy, left a lot to be desired. The sugar sprinkles were also unwelcome; I don't like a toothsome crunch to my cupcakes, thank you very much. Then I tried the chocolate with chocolate frosting, which was actually worse than the strawberry. It had a fake mocha-y taste to it that lingered after I finished, which I wouldn't have enjoyed even if I didn't hate mocha. The dulce de leche, coconut, and carrot cake are definitely the way to go at Polkatots.

I also stopped at Grand Chicken, located in the same shopping center and open for just nine days, to pick up tri-tip shawerma for dinner. While the little nibble I had before I stuck it in the fridge wasn't overwhelmingly flavorful or memorable, in a pinch, meat is meat. (That's my dating theory, anyways.) To their credit, the staff was friendly, the place was spotless, and they accommodated my request for no sides/extra meat at the same price as a regular plate. Still, I think I'll stick with Soumarelo or MC when I'm pheening for Mediterranean food.

* I somehow doubt PMS can explain my penchant for saying "I'm a hummus-sexual" and then giggling, though.

Making My Stomach Hurt Via My Eyes

2009-02-03T20:41:00.000-08:00

(Photo from Union Square Falafel Battle: Maoz, Pita Joe, Moishe's, and Rainbow | Serious Eats : New York.)

Good Christ. If this was a quiz and I had to guess what these were, I'd have said (from the top left, going clockwise):

vegan cookie (raw)

mutant crab cake

close-up of batter crumb from bottom of Long John Silver's combo meal box

vegan cookie (burnt)

I'm obviously a falafel ignoramus. I'm assuming they taste much better than they look.

Seven Vices, Seven Days…Coincidence? I Think Not.

2009-02-03T18:12:00.000-08:00

I was going to call this blog “Sloth and Gluttony,” but those aren’t my only vices by a long shot. (Though they are two of the good ones.) It seemed a bit of overkill to list all the vices as the title, so Seven Vices it is.

According to Wikipedia, the seven deadly vices are:

Lust
Gluttony
Greed
Sloth
Wrath
Envy
Pride

I’m amused that lust is listed first. Is it really going to kill me faster than gluttony? I somehow doubt that, given my cholesterol levels. But I must say, lust would at least be a fun way to go (provided you actually got to indulge in your desire). And I love that in Latin, lust is luxuria. It even sounds sexy.

My vice for today was sloth (unfortunately). I was supposed to wake up at 7:30 to take my car in for servicing, but I overslept until 9:15. Yes, I sleep like a narcoleptic in a coma. Yay, sloth!