the sort of good samaritan

A few nights ago, for the first time since that time in the summer after eighth grade when i left my backpack unattended at a waterpark in Phoenix because i was too lazy/cheap to get a locker (on that same trip I was also too lazy/idiotic to use sunscreen, resulting in second degree burns on my shoulders, but that's another story), I lost my wallet. It vanished mysteriously somewhere between that last bar and my house, and I didn't notice it was gone until the next morning. I figured the most likely scenario was that it fell out of my bag when I was in the cab home (and by "fell out of my bag" I mean I probably took it out and then missed the bag in attempting to put it back...hey, it was dark in there and both bag and wallet are black.) So I spent the next day canceling cards and calling every cab dispatch office in the New York metropolitan area. After several descriptions of my lost property and resultant snickers, I started regretting getting a wallet with a dinosaur on it. By the eighth or so call I gave up hope of ever seeing my wallet, and the $200 cash, bajillion cards and paychecks that'd need replacing, and almost ten-year-old Wisconsin driver's license, again.

After a few days of carrying around my passport and borrowed cash stuffed into the pocket of my Moleskine notebook, I received a phone call from my old roommate from the East Village apartment.

"There's a package for you here with no return address."

"It doesn't happen to be wallet-sized, by any chance, does it?"

"It looks like it could contain a wallet, actually."

Lo and behold, it was my wallet. Because I have yet to give my employer my new address (we just get our checks at work), and because I put off depositing my paychecks, whoever found my wallet sent it to a most convenient place. (Procrastination, you always come through for me.) Whoever found my wallet also availed himself of all the cash (coins included!! to save on shipping costs, perhaps?), and my monthly metrocard. I would like to know what went through the wallet finder's head. I imagine it was something like, "Thanks for the new iPod, silly drunk girl. I guess I can at least give you your crap back."

Oh well, I'm just happy to be able to put off going to the New York DMV for another year. And I like the dinosaurs.

in case you haven't barfed enough lately

So I'm maybe kinda actually seeing someone, with whom I may or may not work, and who may or may not be of legal drinking age. I know I know, I'm shocked too (about the first part of the sentence at least). Almost as shocked as I'd be if I ever managed to get to the coffee shop before 1pm. Anyway, last night I had my first bartending shift, which means I closed. He used to close on Wednesdays and then a new manager started doing the schedule and didn't anymore. He was going to switch to get the closing shift (longer hours = more money), but noticed that the closing busboy was the one who has a car and has, on occasion, given me a ride home. He kept the lesser shift just so I'd get a ride. The logic is somewhat flawed in that while, yes, I saved $10 by not taking a cab, he would've made a lot more than $10 had he worked the extra hours. But still, awwwwwww. I need one of those swooning couches.

lazy!

It is 6 a.m. and I haven't managed to fall asleep since my first attempt at 2:30, so I'm up writing a little roundup article I was assigned about afterhours/24 hours places in New York. I am less disturbed by my insomnia than that it took me a good hour to realize the Alanis-esque irony of this situation. Now I feel guilty that I'm at home eating granola and dicking around on the internet rather than out inhaling Korean barbeque, drooling over computers I want but don't need, or getting creepy-sounding spa treatments.

holymotherfuckingshit

After six, count 'em, six months without internet, I am writing this from the comfort of my overly heated, unnaturally lit apartment. I used to think I could never survive without internet at home, but, apparently, I can. It's like that book we all read in 9th grade where the dude is freezing and has to kill his dog and crawl inside his still warm carcass to survive (and the title and author of which I cannot recall at this time but could probably look up now that I have the internet)--any obstacle can be overcome with enough will, determination, and patience to spend 10 hours over the course of a month speaking on the telephone with Verizon customer service representatives. Internet Garage, you will not be missed.

warning!

This here site is dangerously close to becoming another food blog. The majority of my daily procrastinate-at-work emails involve discussing with friends 1.) where we're going to eat next, 2.) how awesome what we just ate was, 3.) our gastric situations following a culinary outing.

Example of a Number One:

gina: how about hearth or centovini?

sl: i think i lean more toward centovini than hearth, but only because i saw some negative reviews of the service there. what about blue ribbon bar? though i can't really find much on it. or klee brasserie? which, i'm pretty sure, i'm spelling wrong.

gina: i'd looooove to go to blue ribbon bar. but i'm afraid it's going to be packed. although if i'm off on monday or tuesday.... maybe we could try blue ribbon bar and then have centovini as a plan b? and i'm always very skeptical of people who write on citysearch about bad service. people take one or two mistakes made by one waiter on one night and determine that it's a problem with the restaurant as a whole. also, service has to be very far from flawless for it to ruin my experience, provided the food is good.

anyway, you spelled klee brasserie correctly. my problem with going there is that the creepy colon cleanse informercial guy who compares the size of his daughter's bowel movement to his forearm is named klee.

Example of a Number Two:

Stay tuned tomorrow (or, if I'm too hungover from tonight's belated holiday staff party, Thursday) for a full Los Angeles recap, including my first experiences with the following: guanciale, steak tartare, epoisses cheese, baked pork buns, yellowtail belly, brain tacos, fish tacos, baby eel, and spicy Szechuan.


Example of a Number Three:

Fortunately for you, the reader, I will say no more other than that you should be prepared to suffer for your spicy Szechuan. Please pass the Metamucil.

love (and cold dryness that is making my fingernails break off) is in the air

It's kind of sad that the spam comments to my blog posts are more interesting than my actual blog. But I've been busy! Busy working! And getting kicked out of bars! (Namely, Hooters.) But mostly just hibernating in my windowless furnace of an apartment. Last week I completed the Thursday crossword puzzle for the first time. It's probably my greatest accomplishment since college graduation. Anyway.

*So I have actually been a wee bit productive. Here's my latest contribution to the wonderful world of internet service journalism. Awesome header photo courtesy of my horndog editor. Bless his heart. (Also, please don't stalk me.)

*Next Tuesday, we're closing the restaurant early and, finally, having our holiday party. There's no way it won't be ridiculous, but, unfortunately, probably not this ridiculous. Note to self: Get hired at the Spotted Pig by next February.

*This new service is pure genius. It reminds me of college, when if we locked ourselves out we had to go to the housing office across campus to fill out a little form and get a key copy and the numerous times I had to go there barely clothed and barefoot. And of my first apartment after college and the time I left my keys and cellphone in the apartment so I couldn't call any friends and I took a cab to FAB's on the Upper East Side and rang the bell but she wasn't home so I went up to ol' alma mater and figured I'd crash in a dorm's common room but was able to use a computer to look up an old teammate/current student's number and beg to sleep on her floor. And of my current apartment, specifically when I hadn't given S a copy of my key after they changed the outside door's locks and got home from work at 5am sans keys and had to wake her up and spend the night on her futon in Greenpoint. I've since wisened up and hidden keys outside my apartment.

*I thought it wasn't possible for me to love Pies 'n' Thighs any more than I already do, but then this guy came along. Score one for Homie the Cat.

And, in case anyone was wondering, I will be spending Valentine's Day working at the restaurant. And then, most likely, enjoying a nice six pack alone in my apartment. Maybe I'll even spring for something imported.

don't drink and diet

There is a bump on my forehead the size of a golf ball and I have no idea how it got there. I think perhaps it has something to do with last night, when, after spending two nights in a row this week alone at home watching the Oprah 20th anniversary DVDs, eating ice cream, petting the cat, and, yes, crying (judge me after you watch that dear little 11-year-old poet boy with muscular dystrophy and a desire for world peace), I decided to give up on the whole virtue thing and hang out after work at work with my coworker. We essentially re-tasted every wine we pour by the glass, in full glass proportions. I didn't really learn anything about the wine, but I definitely learned that a chicken salad is not a sufficient alcohol absorber. Needless to say, my head hurts, and I will be having sparkling water after work tonight in preparation for tomorrow's outing to Hooters for a friend's early retirement party (she's giving up on the ol' NYC and moving to Miami). Pictures to come.

calgon...

Yeeeah, it's a little nippy in New York right now. As luck would have it, I'm headed to LA next week to stay with these food lovin' boys and spend over a month's rent on restaurants. I'm not sure of the exact plans they've (not) cooked up, but I know that our itinerary looks something like this: eat, eat, eat, drink, sleep, repeat times four. We might go shopping once too. Definitely not for jeans.

the not-so-new-anymore 'hood

Aaaah, South Williamsburg. That beautiful melting pot of Hassidic Jews, Puerto Ricans, condo-buyers, and destitute young white chicks who don't mind living in windowless basements. It's a weird place, but I kinda love it.

Unfortunately, I do pay rent for my "apartment." And I quite enjoy when my super puts a sign inside the outside door reminding us not to let in anyone from ConEd. Screw utility bills!



I am really, really curious to find out who is going to live in all these shiny expensive condos. The subway is a solid 10-minute walk away, there are no decent convenience stores or places to buy groceries, and cabbies always take the wrong exit after the Williamsburg Bridge.

(the building on the left is occupied by exclusively hassidic families. on the right? who knows...)


One thing I love about my block is Vince's auto repair shop. I don't know who Vince is, but he must be pretty good since there are always cool old cars around, like this lil' guy parked across the street from my place. If puppies had an automobile equivalent, it would be this Porsche.

(it barely came up past my waist.)


Another thing I love about the 'hood are Dressler's onion rings. It's an all-around solid restaurant, with fancy yet not too ridiculously priced food and stunningly beautiful yet subtly quirky decor, but oh my fucking god the onion rings... For $5 you get two stacks of rings, each about eight inches high. The outside is light and crispy (the secret, I learned recently, is tempura batter) and the onions themselves aren't overcooked and soggy so the whole thing doesn't get pulled out when you take a bite. And I'm not a big cocktail person, but Dressler's are perfectly balanced (i.e., more booze, less sugar) and wash those rings right down.

(the aftermath...i wasn't thinking about pictures with those gifts from heaven in front of me)

gap's "reverse fit" should be illegal

Is it just me, or has Saturday Night Live maybe gotten kinda good again? It probably is just me, considering I don't watch TV (and I say that not in the "I don't watch TV and am therefore better than you" sense, but in the "I don't watch TV because I live in an illegal basement apartment and cannot furnish Time Warner with a copy of my lease as I don't actually have a lease and they won't hook me up without proof that I live there since the last resident was delinquent and owes them almost $1,000" sense) and haven't seen an episode of Saturday Night Live in years. Nevertheless, "Dick in a Box" renewed my faith in humanity, and "Mom Jeans" made me want to kiss my new $39 Uniqlos. I spent the entirety of my teenage years telling myself I would never have my mother's body. Now, of course, I totally have my mother's body. If only I'd realized it was all in the jeans...

dispatches from the front lines

The latest news from the Most Over-Qualified Target Employee Ever:

Today I had my 90-day performance review at Target. I scored "below expectations" in the "fast, fun, and friendly service" category. Just thought you should know.

Although, just for the record, I am 99.9% sure I'm the fastest cashier they have.

I have no doubt. Keep up the good work, Sis!

Ellen reports that a pair of tickets for one of the five sold-out upcoming Arcade Fire shows in NYC sold for $1,525.00 on Ebay. That's one thousand, five hundred, and twenty five dollars. For two tickets. To one show. By a nice little indie band from Canada. I have officially lost all faith in humanity.

i tried to nap but the cat woke me up

So 2006 went out with a big drunken bang--the only way it should have, really. Having spent the days prior to December 31st working full-time at both jobs, drinking too much and sleeping too little, I was already operating at about 62% when I arrived for the internship at 11am. Thanks to unlimited coffee and free lunch, I managed to remain conscious until 6pm, time to head to the restaurant. Actually, it wasn't time to head to the restaurant just yet, but if not for those two beers at my favorite new LES bar, I might just have jumped in front of an SUV full of guidos before my closing shift.

The night progressed as I imagined it would. We were so busy before midnight that I was too preoccupied to notice how absurdly exhausted I was, and we were so slow after midnight that I was able to drink enough wine to keep me from noticing how absurdly exhausted I was. By closing time the bartender, the manager, and I were completely and utterly hammered. Time to do the closing work! It was around this time that I blacked out, but from what I hear we were a special bunch, indeed. Apparently, it took me two and a half hours to do the math-intensive paperwork, my manager pretended to hit me on the head with a chair and actually hit me on the head with a chair, the bartender passed out face down in the cash drawer, I fell up the stairs, and I fell down the stairs. The wine director, who was stuck there even later than we were semi-soberly taking inventory and stocking bottles, said I made his night. I am nothing if not eager to please.

I spent the next two days sleeping, napping, drinking lots of water, and working just a couple short shifts at the restaurant. It's now day three of 2007, and I've pretty much blown my wad on New Year's resolutions. This morning I started my day at 8am. Granted, the only reason I did so is because after I woke up at 7:30 to get a drink of water, my daydreaming about the 20-year-old busboy I have a crush on and the beautiful life we'll certainly have together was interrupted by the sound of the cat scratching in the litter box. Only he wasn't in the litter box. He was in my brand new suitcase that I had yet to unpack after returning from Wisconsin a week ago. The combination of my anger over the incident, a clear and sober head, and extreme hunger due to an attempt to reduce my calorie intake to somewhere around that of a male Olympic athlete overcame my desire to return to bed.

It is currently not even noon, a good hour before I usually wake up, and I've already accomplished the following:
- cleaned the cat pee out of my brand new suitcase
- unpacked the suitcase and cleaned/threw away pee-covered items as necessary
- put away all the clothes, shoes, books, DVDs, and assorted other crap lying all over my apartment
- threw out a couple weeks' worth of the New York Times
- changed the litter box
- took out the trash
- finished two-thirds of the Wednesday crossword puzzle
- read the "Dining Out" section
- deposited my rent check at the local HSBC per my super's somewhat ridiculous request
- bought a new shower head for the shared bathroom since the old one blew off and smacked me in the head the last time I attempted to shower
- took a shower
- shaved my legs (!!)
- did two loads of laundry
- washed the dishes
- dusted all dusty surfaces
- swept the floors
- vacuumed the rugs
- Dust-Busted the futon
- blowdried my hair
- painted my fingernails

For the remainder of the day, I plan to head to UPS to mail some things, the pet store to buy some cat food, the drugstore for toiletries, the internet cafe to email some thank you notes and pay for something I bought on eBay (I'm writing this from home on good ol' Microsoft Word), and the yoga studio to pick up a schedule. Either all of that or a long fucking nap. Stupid cat.

well well well, look what the cat dragged in

FABulous!

a lohan holiday

Listen, if you dare. Just like the Shins, Ali Lohan will change your life.

greetings from central wisconsin

Look at those happy little trees.

quotes of the day

*Another dispatch from the most over-qualified Target employee ever, my little sister:

You wouldn't believe how many old ladies in Target stop to talk to me about their hot flashes. Sometimes I really think somebody stuck a sign to my back that says "Tell Me About Menopause."

Aaaand the countdown to grad school begins...

*Because I tend to veer toward the lazy end of the human motivational spectrum, I love all the "best of" lists that come out around New Year's. They allow me to catch up on good music, movies, books, etc., without having to spend a year slogging through all the crap. And then by the time I'm done with all of those, it's almost January again. Beautiful. Anyway, the whole New York Times Magazine "Year in Ideas" article was fun to read, but I particularly enjoyed the bit on psychological neoteny, which is the "retention of youthful attitudes and behaviors into later adulthood," aka immaturity.

...social roles have become less fixed in modern society. We are expected to adapt to change throughout our lives, both in our personal relationships and in our careers, and immaturity, as Charlton added, is “especially helpful in making the best out of enforced job changes, the need for geographic mobility and the requirement to make new social networks.” In fact, he speculates, the ability to retain youthful qualities, now often seen as folly, may someday be recognized as a prized trait.

Take that, Dad!

*MUG vs. Daily Candy: No contest.

Daily Candy on the new wine bar/restaurant Varietal, 138 W. 25th [6th/7th] 212.633.1800: puff, fawn, ooze. MUG on Varietal: ugly, bad lighting, noisy, unfriendly.

Another reason MUG is better: concision.

*From the dear, departed Fat Asian Baby:

[photo source]

We miss you, pookie.

always have cheese when you need it, with virtually no waste

It's probably a good thing I still don't have internet access at home. If I did, I would come home in a post-fried chicken/beer/whiskey haze and write about my cat's latest crrrrazy shenanigans, like, every other day. At least. And then I might as well go out and buy myself something from the Quacker Factory. Like last night, after some fried chicken, beer, and whiskey, and, in this particular case, Battlestar Gallactica (thanks, R!), I turned off the light to go to bed when I noticed the suspicious absence of high-pitched whiney meowing. Sure enough, I'd forgotten to shut the door and the cat was nowhere to be found. I went into the hallway and asked my fellow basement dweller, who was cooking some kind of meat--probably goat (don't ask), if he'd seen old Walter. Nope, he hadn't. Then out came another fellow basement dweller, who said Walt was hiding above the walls of his room. Sure enough, the cat had run into his room and managed to wedge himself in the shoebox-size space between FBD's wall and ceiling at least 10 feet off the ground (I like to call our apartments "architecturally quirky"). Then I cursed the little turd, went back to my room, and Walt was there in 20 seconds. Sometimes to get guys to chase after you you just have to be a bitch. And now I'm comparing my cat to guys, which brings me back to the beginning of this post. And probably explains why I haven't made out with anyone except the alcoholic bartender in six months.

But I still wish I did have internet, because then I'd have more time to find heart-warming news stories like this. And finally give my mom a list of things I want for Christmas.

my marc jacob bag and frankie b jeans

One of my duties at the internship-cum-temporary-almost-full-time office job is posting and editing party listings. It would be tedious if not for the fantastic material I get to work with. It's also heart-warming to know that the illiterate children of the world will always have a future as party promoters. A sampler (unedited, obvi):

This stylish penthouse is the epitome of what a real nightclub is supposed to be. Stride by the limousines in your nicest get-up as you enter this stunning high-rise. There is a doorman in a suit, he will escort you to the first elevator. Forty-three flights later, you clear your ears to adjust to the altitude. Another elevator and then you find yourself amongst the celestial and the divine - scenesters strutting their Armani suits and Louis Vuitton purses, 737 feet above ground level. And then you ask yourself, how do you define class? And you look around and find over 737 ways to do it. Does it get better than this? Really.

Really.

New Year's Menu Appetizer (choice of one) Cashew dusted Maryland Crab Cake with a strawberry horseradish emulsion,wasabi crème fraiche Prada PurseRoasted pheasant, sun dried tomatoes, arugala, goat cheese,wrapped in phyllo with a champagne citrus beurre blanc (Choice of Soup or Salad) Lobster Bisque and a sweet corn ragu Butternut Squash with arugala pesto, aged balsamic Haystack SaladMixed greens, haricot verts, yellow was beans, oven dried to tomatoes, peaShoots, truffle vinaigrette Wedge SaladCrisp iceberg, red and yellow teardrop tomatoes, crisp bacon, roasted pear and Gorgonzola dressing, balsamic reduction, basil oil Entrees Herb Roasted Rack of Lamb
Wild mushroom orzo, balsamic thyme reduction Four Peppercorn Crusted Beef TenderloinParsnip pear puree, fennel tempura, grape Riesling jus Lobster Stuffed HalibutPuff pastry, julienne vegetable sauté, herb emulsion Pistachio Crusted GrouperPeruvian purple potato puree, pineapple papaya relish, ginger beet essence Dessert Chef's New Year's Selection

I always prefer my pheasant roasted with a Fendi purse, but Prada'll do, I guess.

dreams

You know a band is a great one when it can make the Roseland seem like an acceptable venue to have a concert. Despite an epic beer-getting adventure involving waiting in the bar line and then waiting in the bracelet line and then waiting in the bar line again, our crappy distant vantage point, and geeky out-of-shape white dudes getting their grooves on, I had a shockingly good time at the My Morning Jacket show. I really, really, REALLY want to marry a mountain man and move to Tennessee. Working two full-time jobs in New York and hooking up with a skinny alcoholic bartender is a close second, right?

volume of beer consumed is directly proportional to miles walked

Given my extremely limited readership (and ability to post anything worth reading) I am always amazed when I'm contacted by a blogfan. One time it was pretty cool (hey, KB!), but usually it's just older dudes on the creepy end of the spectrum. Ahem:

I just read some of your blog. Ihave never done this before. Is this some type of self therapy to write your daily thoughts and doings on line. I mean it is ok and all but I just find it interesting. I notice that you live in New York. I just left new York and I love it up there. I wish I could move there, but my wife refuses to move somewhere where we cannot afford a house. Well , I enjoyed your blog although it seems you may drink a tad too much. I do wonder what you look like. I figure you are about 5'5 and about 140lbs with light brown hair. Am I close? Anyway, have a great life and may God bless you in your future endevours. Please rememer to call on God whenever you are having problems. He may not seem to be there, but he is, and he will carry you through the most difficult times you could imagine.

jeff

He totally thinks I'm fat.