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.