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).
this is adrien, she is a hot doctor. she also likes to make her food look really pretty.
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.
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.
cause they can't find food cause like the ice is metling and stuff. i'm torn between wanting to wear tanks tops sooner and crying over these poor dead polar bear cubs.
random. i know.
i'm having issues you guys. and guys. and everything. i think i need that special sunlight lamp that helps treat seasonal affective disorder. or something.
actually, i am going to st. maarten tomorrow with sister and jane. so i guess that will do.
NO! it's self esteem. i think. i am so beaten down in this town. i was so popular, cute, confident in texas, and also in my first year here. it was my attitude. but i dated a guy who told me to tone down the make-up and stop acting so "texas." so i thought he was older and smarter and more sophisticated and must be right. i think i lost a lot of myself those few years. then we broke up, then he started dating daryl hannah. that was humiliating. the following year i was single, i started to get my mojo back. my spice. i was getting wild again, havin fun. then i met the last ex-husband/ex-boyfriend/empty sexual partner. fun at first. turned nasty. then beaten down. i was scared to drink too much because i think it embarrassed him. he was more of a pot head, not a drinker. when he drinks he pukes. but that is such a huge part of who i am and how i grew up. i don't want to think twice before ordering a shot of tequila.
i miss myself. i like who i was. i like being obnoxious. i like being snappy. i like getting drunk with my friends laughing about the adventures we had. i like my big boobs. i hate brunch. i like flirting with guys. i like putting ice cubes in my white wine. i like kicking over trash cans. i like all baby animals. i don't like mid-century modern furniture. i like talking about bowel movements, especially when they burn from spicy food. i like hugging my friends, i miss my hugging friends. i like sitting on laps. anyone's lap. i miss thinking i am the most fabulous person. i like that i am on all sorts of medication. i like admitting that i have had 3 nose jobs and as many abortions. i like that i cry at the drop of a hat. i like that i have impeccable table manners and i like that people who don't make me physically ill. i like taking my clothes off in public to get a good laugh. i'm tired of trying to act my age, or be a certain way professionally. i want to be me again, like i was every year of my life before i turned 24. CANDICE! COME BACK!! I KNOW YOU'RE IN THERE!!
somebody call the whambulence.
dash dogs in on rivington in the lower east side. it is pretty much awesome. have no fear, meat haters. they have those tofu dog things.
i highly recommend the avocado one. this ain't your ballpark frank.
you can feel like, real new york, like edgy, like wear your nike dunks and ride your bmx and listen justice on your ipod. wear something neon.
obligatory pic of me deep throating sausage to follow...
hey. hi. how are you.
i have big tits and an good body. i am smart. i am funny. i am self depricating. i want kids. i don't want to be a bore. i like to travel. nay, i like to adventure. i look good in panty hose, heels, and a cocktail dress... as good as i look in jeans, a waffle tee and blundstones. my tastes are malleable; i like what people introduce me to. i think i am pretty much a dream girl.
following are my profile pics. i couldn't decide. and it's my blog so i can put as many pictures of myself up as i want. because when i get bored, my favorite thing to to is read about myself. word.
UPDATE: jane told me it's the lunar eclipse that made me panic this night.
i feel rotton. i hate everyone. no, that's not true. i just feel rotton.
the feeling is compounded by my frustration with this blog. i started it, not thinking anyone would read it. told a few friends cause i thought it was funny. so did they. then, apparently, if you are looking for a place to eat in soho through google, my link pops up on page 2 or 3. so now i have a smattering of strangers who visit. none of that bothers me.
there are just a few people who i know read this that inhibit me. i mean, the fact that they read it forces me to censor what i say.
it was all good and well talking about cocks and dicks (i mean pricks, i mean assholes, i mean...you know...a person, not a genital), when i thought my parents weren't reading it. but i know they do. so how am i supposed to talk about wanting to walk into the fire department and be gang banged by the entire brigade to fuck the pain away and feel the saccharine version of love. you know they just did a study how saccharine tricks your body into thinking it is ingesting sugar, then when it eventually realizes it didn't get the real sugar it thought it did, it sends craving signals for even more and more sugar. this makes you fat. so basically if i fuck for fake love i'll get fat. or something.
i can't talk frankly about the boy, because he reads it. and his friends read it.
and i can't talk about my mental state because i run the risk of never having anyone want to procreate with me. which isn't fair. it's genetic predisposition. i am doing the best i can. in any case, babies should come from so much love for someone that it explodes into a child.
my point is....
see? now i have to say this: attention boy, i do not really want, nor would i ever, be gang banged by firemen. or any men. not that you care. or do you? i never know. (ugh. that confession makes it SO much less funny).
UPDATE: i can get gang banged by whomever i choose, because what the boy thinks is of no matter to me anymore.
i am so bored. i am so bored. i am so bored. just waiting for some stuff to get done here at work, then it'll get busy again. but for right now, i am so so so bored.
my stomach is blubbery, i am PMS-ing. i haven't had a BM since last thursday. it's probably all the junk food i eat.
going to st. maarten on saturday. i'm gonna go to the nude beach and have my sister take a picture of me just because. i'll be nude, of course. me and all the other fat ugly nude people because the only people on nude beaches are fat and ugly.
how telling of life these days: to find a therapist, i googled, yes GOOGLED "psychologist, 10014." it worked. i emailed three people, told them i am tough and usually abusive toward my therapists. we'll see if anyone bites.
i need something exciting in my life. the boy is exciting (yes. that boy. i don't care what anyone thinks.), but mostly only exciting on the weekends when he has time to share his excitingness with me. what about the rest of the week? work? i know. work. i just am ready for something to rock my world. maybe i'll die my hair pink. maybe i'll get hit by a taxi and break some bones. either one works for me.
i may or may not have once bought drugs from a guy with the same name.
i also may or may not have had sex in the bathroom here.
but both of those may or may not have been AGES ago.
this place is an icon. they are klassy, accommodating if they know you, and the food is just impeccable. or however you spell it. (tool lazy to do the spell check thing on here)
went with my friend howard. poor howard. he was having a quiet dinner with his brother at pastis. but, just their luck, they sat next to me. after a good half hour of torturous questions, they finally capitulated and became my firends.
howard is great. he boxes. he is divorced and is still best friends with his ex-wife. he has similar patholigies to mine.
in the conversation tonight, i found out howard's girlfriend's age. everything changed. she is the same age as me. so now i see the whole relationship differently. i am an agist. sorry. (but that's the only -ist i am. i swear. what!? i listen to reggae AND i love chinese food.)
but come on, i listened to all the stories about this woman/girl, about how she was slowly trying to move in, but he didn't want it. about how she had promised him she didn't want children even though she didn't have any with her first marriage.
like, OF COURSE, totally normal for a 45 year old woman to not need kids, and OF COURSE, totally normal for him not to want to move in with a 45 year old woman after they both had failed marriages. who needs it? just have fun in your mid life crises sort of relationship!!
but 30? come on, howard. she is lying. she wants to live with you, she wants to marry you, she wants you to one day give in to having children with her. I KNOW. I AM 30. I HAVEN'T GIVEN UP THOSE DREAMS YET. (although, casey, if you are reading this, fuck you. this has nothing to do with you).
started off with oysters. good.
then salmon tartar. some sort of fancy prefix to the salmon, like, where they caught it....but who knows. good. served with little papadam chips--that was weird. lemon creme fresh--that wasn't necessary. and those huge, hideaous, fish egg things. roe? ugh...those are just gnarly.
jane and i split the steak au poivre, because you just have to when you're there. oh. my. god. it's like CRUSTED with pepper corns, and the chips are to die for. the actual steak is unreal. and if you read this blog ever, you know it takes a lot for me to eat cooked animal muscle.
we didn't have room for dessert.
but these ho's did. it's like a big helmet of spun sugar with a cake and a candle inside. howard was begging me to lie and say it was my birthday. but i was ready to puke up my meat so i just coudln't.
love you howard.
raoul's is on prince and sullivan.
here is crayfish, cooked thermadore style. it was a bigger one, so not as sweet. the best way to eat it is with your fingers.
dad had mussels. they are huge, and i love how they put just the right amount of cream sauce IN each shell, instead of the belgian way of having them float in soup.
mom had prawns with garlic sauce.
don't got nothing cheeky to say today.