dinner alone

it was one of those nights i couldn't get my shit together. or rather, all my friends' shit was all over the place and none of their shit was wanting to eat din din with me. it was hot. everyone was whining.

well, i had napped for two hours and with no cable to pacify me, i needed to get out of my apt.

i walked to a new mexican food place by my house. cabritos? i think?

grrr. who the fuck charges $60 for a pitcher of margaritas? that better come with a free trip to acapulco cause there is no way that montezuma tequila makes one's overhead that high. the best, i mean, this is ridiculous, the best is if you want "fresh juice" in it it's an extra $6. THE FUCKING AUDACITY IS BEYOND ME. fuck this place.


but i was hungry. i had a michilada to calm and cool me down. can't really mess those up.



there was nothing on the menu that was affordable. i mean i'm super rich so i don't have to worry, but i do have a sense of when i'm being taken advantage of. it's all relative.

i settled on chicken tomatillo enchiladas. $14. this is what i got.


NO FUCKING FUCK YOUR MOTHER YOU CUNT ASS CHOCHA FUCK NUT WAY.

on top of that, i had a huge piece of gristle in one bite and had to spit it out. which means 1/4 of my whole meal was disposed of.

no rice. no beans. no fucking nothing. take me to barrio chino immediately.

do not ever ever ever go to cabritos on carmine street beween bleecker and bedford. it is bad and expensive. if i see you there i wll humiliate you in such a way you'll wish the juice from the jalapenos on your plate was squeezed into your eyes because it would feel better than the suffering i cause.

ha.

oh, yes. we went there.

after a long morning of antiquing in 100 degree heat in glorious stamford, CT, we decided to reward ourself with a trip to target. and after 2 hours in target we were starving!

and like a beacon in the night, we see PF CHANG'S. the "mr. chow's" for proletariats.

this place is amazing. it was cold, the tables were clean, we got refills on our drinks without even asking for them. i felt totally at home. we didn't have to ask for them to clear our plates, they just did it. and when the meal was done, she brought me a fancy plastic to go container with a matching paper shopping bag.

long live mr. chang. i wonder what P F stands for...?

candice's secret sauce

ok, so i have had hundred's (ha) of requests for my secret sauce recipe at na trang restaurant. let me think if i should share...



ohhhkaaay. twist my arm.

here are the ingredients you need; sriracha (spicey rooster), fish sauce, sugar, lime.

fill the bottom of a sauce bowl with the spicey rooster/sriracha/ass hole is on fire sauce.

squeeze a good juicy lime wedge in there. if it's a dry lime, stand up, throw it on the floor, and shout at the top of your lungs "what kind of a shit hole place is this? how am i supposed to squeeze lime juice from a dry fruit?!"

put a tiny squirt of fish sauce. if you put too much it gets too salty. plus your chocha will smell bad.

now the most important secret. sugar! it cuts the spice. a good circle or two.

then stir, stir, stir.


make all your friend happy by serving them delicious sauce!

make all your friends even happier when you point them towards the restroom after lunch.

quickie

went to les enfantes on ludlow and canal to hang out with some friends. i had a chicken ceaser salad. it was really bad. no taste and the chicken was burnt and dry.

friend had the lamb marguez which was really good, although i only ate the cous cous. the sausages looked like poop from R.O.U.S.'s from the princess bride.




their coffee was good and the guys are totally hot. germany was playing poland in the euro cup. guess who won...

cafe colonial

but first, a note on the previous post. uuhhh, no explanation for that one. sorry.

today soraya made me go to cafe colonial on elizabeth and houston. that place SUUUUUCCKKS. the food is decent, interesting menu, but i really get panicky in there cause the tables are arranged in a weird way and you feel like your neighbor is so close that you can feel their breath on the back of your neck. not fun. i try to sit with my back to a wall to prevent that nightmare from happening. that and the waitresses are completely vacant. and slow.



their limeade is really good. soraya got a healthy sandwich and soup combo. i got rice and beans. the rice is really good, it's long grain and smooth. like perfect little tubes. slippery almost. (gross description). i did send the first bowl back because the beans were lukewarm. the second batch were steaming hot, nice save on their part. but it wasn't enough to fill my fat ass up.



so i stopped at steve's on the bowery and got rice, beans, and beef stew. and reese's peanut butter cups.

hello, my name is candice

and i'm an alcoholic.

not the kind that wakes up in the morning and needs a shot of crystal palace. but the kind that once she starts she can't stop.

it's just, like, you know. pringles. you aren't going to let it sit there half empty. you're gonna fucking finish that canister of shape-pressed potato mush until there's nothing left.

i went to the gym today. i saw my ex. he's cute and all, but i'm over the "lets-cheat-on-the-greatest-girl-that-ever-lived" kind of guy...so... you know...

whatev's. my blog. my story. no sense. my story.

honestly, here is what happens. when i have my friends that party with me (strictly alcohol), i play til it's time for bed and i fall asleep. when my friends go to bed before me, i tend to sit here and ponder. stuff. pondering stuff. i wonder about what i want. and what i wanted, and how it's different. what if i had that house in houston? with my SUV and i'd probably be 8 months pregnant with my 2nd child. instead i am zero months pregnant and i could have had 3 by now.

life is trippy. dude.

honeslty, though. things happen for a reason. i really believe that. there is no way i could have raised any of my three abortions as a good mother. if i don't have kids, at least i am working towards being a really really good godmother and aunt.

such is life. don'tmistake it for a defeatist attitude....by no means. i turned 30 a while ago and just simply let go of the desperate attitude.

all is good

my blog, my train of though. you fuckwads.

i'll punch you in your facebook

soraya and i deleted our accounts. the reason on the survey that we checked off:

"facebook is causing social drama in my life."

i mean, they couldn't have worded it any better.

...i'm craving ikea meatballs.

xxx

chocha

subway chocha. it's hot outside and that's the way i like it.



it would be more fun if i had one of my ex-boyfriends to slum around town in the heat with. ohhhhhhhhhh wellllllllll.

poop

east village thai. i wanted beef in my pad see ew. not mouse shit.

steamers

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?

memorial day weekend driving

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.

crawdaddy

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.

elements:
backyard
70 lb live crawfish fedexed from louisiana
potato, corn, onion, lemon, sausage, spice
"bayou classic" pot and burner
25 friends
20 cases of canned beer
jungle juice
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.

so pretty.

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAH

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.

tiny's sandwich shop

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?

poodles

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

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.