i don't know what is more disgusting. looking at a steamer being eaten, or looking at the italian guy eating it.
that is my friends italian boyfriend. he is so annoying. a steamer looks like a testicle without a sac and he tounged that bag like a pro. so gross. he liked to talk about his trips to thailand and morocco. predictable. do something wild and then i'll be impressed. but you and every other spoiled brat has been to thailand and morocco on their daddy's money. present company not excluded. i'd like to see him walk down ridge street alone late at night with his rolex, monogrammed button down, and scarf...that is an adventure.
now, no lobster roll will ever compete with scott's lobster dock in new london connecticut. it's just impossible. it's like challenging lance armstrong to a bike race. just silly. one of the reasons their rolls are so good is because of the hot buttered lobster version. no mayonnaise, just hot butter.
well, if you take the melted butter from the steamer plate, and pour it on your lobster salad roll, it makes it 1000x better. not scott's lobster dock better; but better.
of course, one must have a light, lo-carb beer if they are eating all that. you know, like a diet coke with an extra value meal. you have to cut the calories somewhere, don't you?
a lunatic scottsman, a bitch, a bitch, a bitch, and a puppy all pile in a beemer on the way to montauk.
sounds like a good time, no?
pit stop at mcdonald's on route 27. i ordered a cheeseburger-no onion. they gave me a cheeseburger with onions.
mmmm, steamed meat.
i have blogger's block.
"The will to blog is a complicated thing, somewhere between inspiration and compulsion. It can feel almost like a biological impulse. You see something, or an idea occurs to you, and you have to share it with the Internet as soon as possible. What I didn’t realize was that those ideas and that urgency — and the sense of self-importance that made me think anyone would be interested in hearing what went on in my head — could just disappear."
emily gould wrote that in T-magazine/5-25-08
obviosly, i don't think that many people read this...but i still identify. plus, all the personal stuff that i usually talk about, i can't anymore. it's too personal.
ok, so here are some pictures of what could quite possibly be one of my top 10 days in new york city.
for almost 2 years. wait, fuck almost. FOR OVER 2 YEARS i have been trying to plan a crawfish boil. there was always some fucking reason why my pussy friends couldn't do it. well, this year we all agreed and i got to planning.
70 lb live crawfish fedexed from louisiana
potato, corn, onion, lemon, sausage, spice
"bayou classic" pot and burner
20 cases of canned beer
lots of paper towels
lots of newspaper
t-shirts to commemorate the occasion
picking up the beer from new beer distributors on chrystie street
shotgunning contest at the end of the night.
i won. every time.
finally, a slut besides me putting meat in her mouth.
dead and tasty
dead and messy.
adan, the grim reaper, about to boil the shit out of them.
the boys opening up the box of crustacean goodness.
salting them so they shit out the poopy mud water.
heavy drinkers are usually heavy gamblers, too.
i am very, very proud of my wide open throat.
ok, so i registered for google analytics so i can see random stats for who reads this stupid fucking shit. the creepiest thing is i can see what keywords people used in search engines that took them to my blog.
i don't know if you can see that (click on it to enlarge). but some highlights include, "fat shaved cunts" and "gay prostitute sint maarten" and "guy who poured mustard on pigeon dunks."
i might be more careful about what personal information i post from now on. you SICK FUCKS.
hi my babies. still here. waiting for some awesome pictures from my awesome crawfish boil on saturday. oh yes. 70 pounds of live crawdaddies fedexed overnight. i had all my yankee friends screaming yeehaw by the end of the night. can still beat a 200 pound man at shotgunning a beer. i'm more proud of that that my college degree.
all boys are on hold at the moment. yes all. i have hundreds and hundreds waiting in the wings.
with this mug? puhlease.
this place is horrible. rivington and something...norfolk? i'd rather eat a wendy's spicy crispy chicken sandwich any day. and how do you fuck up rice crispy treats? the waitress with red hair was super nice, though. and they have diet dr. pepper. but what's up with those ridgy chips? does anyone ever really prefer those to regular shaped chips?
i'd like to meet the person that first said, "poodles are such smart dogs."
then i'd like to buy one of those hearing aids from the infomercials that lets you eavesdrop on people's conversations form 100 feet away.
no, i'd like to buy 2. one for each ear.
the i'd like to put him in a 7'x7' marble room.
wearing the hearing aids.
with my poodle.
then i'd lock him in and knock on the door.
then i'd like him to teach my "such smart dog" how to stop barking.
then when his ears bleed and he is nauseous from the ringing, i'd like to offer him the opportunity to redact his claim.
poodles are cute. not smart.
that is all.
bar pitti. i had penne bolognese. soraya had penne arrabiata.
i had a glass of pinot grigio. soraya had a glass of coke.
everything was sunny and nice.
i brought gigi the grey poddle, she brought clarence the brown cocka-poo.
then the cockiness that is the cocky machine bar pitti reared it's ugly head.
an empty 2 top. no people waiting. two people just walked up and sat there.
the waiter came over, not to ask what they wanted, but what they were doing there.
she said she wanted to eat lunch.
he asked if anyone told her she could sit there, because there could be people waiting.
she said no.
he asked how many, she said..."2"...(they are already fucking sitting down).
he looked at the benches, which were emtpy, and had been for a while.
he said, 'ok you can sit."
i felt like i needed a shower after that.
soraya wants me to tell you that she is in love with an italian boy. that's all.