no food. but this is just too funny.

esperante or o or something

i discovered this place moving the douchebag into his apartment across the street last year.

all i wanted was sangria and sunny windows, so we went there. all my friends made me sit with my back to the window, you know for my own protection. but seriously, if i wanted to stalk i could...he's never in town on the weekends. ever. so it was safe.

holy shit are the drinks good there. and the food is great too. i can't tell, i think it's mostly brazilian?

i had guava margarita(s).

kinky had some coco punch which had rum, cocunut milk and fresh ginger. really good. other dudes had beer.


empanadas came 3 to a plate; vegetable, chicken, and beef. beef was the best. i asked for hot sauce, waitress said they didn't have. normally that would make me lose my shit, and i think she could tell because of the comfortable pout that started to make it's way across my face. she jumped in and said they only make their own and i would like it. i did. it was good.



the carne asada was, eh...ok. mediocre.



i hereby declare this corn the best in the city. please disregard any prior declarations. they smother it in jalapeno butter. and then lime. like, if i could have sucked the husk dry, i would have. i had two. and licked all the juice off of the plate. both plates.

here is me and my first corn.

here is roi eating his corn, with me jealous that he still has corn.

here is me with my second corn. yay!


esperanto is on 9th street and AVE C.

barrio chino

mexican restaurant in chinatown. hence the barrio. chino.

went for dinner. i really like this place, and was excited to go back. coudn't believe it had been so long since my last visit.

oh, yah. it takes HOURS to get a table. around an hour and half we waited, dodging bussers with plates and waitresses with drinks. i highly, highly recommend the habanero grapefruit margarita. after one, i asked them to cut back on the simple syrup to make it spicier. boy did that work. so fucking good, the spice cuts all the tequila and gives you that extra heartburn that i love.


first up was shrimp ceviche. this is real ceviche, no bullshit extra ingredients to make it gourmet. the shrimp was cured and so soft, like as soft as the best most perfect lobster.


i liked it so much i drank the juice like a milkshake.


also some sort of pork soup with all sorts of accoutremants, which naturally makes it more fun to eat.


THEN...he had mole. i mean, i get it, but i just can't get over tasting the whole chocolate thing. not into it.


i had enchilades verdes. chicken, corn tortillas, tomatillo sauce and queso freso. a perfectly small amount of black beans on the side.


the food was so, so good. it may have been the two and a half margaritas i had while waiting for a table. or maybe the two i had after we ate that affected my memory...but i still would go back and wait an hour any day

and for desert: shots of tequila with tomato something or other as a chaser.


boy, that was fun!

broome between orchard and ludlow. reservations for parties of 8 or more.

shorts AND jackrabbit

you are so right. i deleted.

shorts

you are so right. i deleted.

bite

on lafayette. salad, goat cheese, apples, bread. blah. making assistant go get a me a burger from mcdonalds right now cause i can't eat this rabbit shit.




very hungover. question: if a tree falls in a forrest, and no one hears it. did it happen? so, like, if i pretend i didn't retardedly text the boy 3 times with no response, did it happen? well. i am pretending it didn't. and i'll pretend he never got them. retard. me. retard.

maybe it was the cliche of a night i had that put me over the edge. fancy dress at a fancy benefit, then late dinner at waverly inn, then dancing with smoking french guys at beatrice inn (lots of inn's, but no in and out. ha.) such a fun night that all ended in shit. no cash to buy water from deli. tried to use my ATM card, but got the pin number wrong 3 times (retard) so it locked up and i couldn't withdraw. walked to another deli. different ATM machine, same problem. feet hurt from walking in 4" jimmy choo's (that ex was with me when i got) so i took them off and walked home barefoot. alone. at 3 in the morning. one block from where some girl was attempted raped two weeks ago. (retard).

well, woke up this morning and i had texted a bunch of random friends... the boy. i also noticed i was missing one shoe. i lost one shoe in a matter of one block.

like cindarella. just waiting for that mother fucking prince to show up at my door. with my shoe. cause all i really want is that shoe.

st. maarten revisited

two monkeys.



(--IMAGE REMOVED AT SUBJECT'S REQUEST--)

awesome!

eliot said, "i only put it in this much."

she said, "pinche, you said you'd protect me."


prostitution rings are the new blogs.

cooked tomato

washington square diner gave me perfect tomatoes.


and they served it to me with a smile.
and i paid for it with a credit card.

le pain quotidien

or however you spell it. went there with soraya. i really like this place.

(i did have a long, ranting, self-indulgent paragraph about douchebags. well, just one douchebag. but i took it out cause behavior like that is not positive. HA! listen to me! positive!)

i had the ham and 3 mustard sandwich, soraya had some detox salad which seemed to me like a scam, because beets and lettuce and brie is not all that detoxifying.




then a chocolate croissant which made my day. i like this place, the lighting is good, the food is nice, and the communal tables allows for some interesting people watching. it's a little slow, but whatevs.


.

passive aggressive waiter

this really bums me out. i find i place i love, then they fuck me over. square diner.

all i wanted was eggs, toast, and grilled tomatoes. very very well done tomatoes.

i specifically said "so cooked that they are burnt and mushy."

they come back hard and barely cooked.

so i ask him to send them back and cook them more.

they came back only a tiny bit scorched.

i stood up with my plate, roi terrified i would cause a scene, and asked the waiter to "please, please cook these more. yes, even more. til they are totally burnt."

he rolled his eyes at me and shoved his order pad in his apron in a huff.

this is what he brought out to me.



a new set of completely uncooked tomaoes.

i tipped him a quarter. ass.

adios

it's 1 am. went to bed early but keep waking up from this itching all over my body.

not itchy like a rash or bites, more like these pin prick feelings every where that i have to scratch to make go away.

i think it's something with my nerve endings.

this could be the end, y'all. my body is going to explode and the pin pricks are a warning sign. they'll get more frequent and more intense and then it will feel like a firework went off on the inside of my skin and all the embers are burning me and i'll just melt. yes, melt-maybe not explode.

i am not high on ambien.

oh my god, even the inside of my nose itches. and my eye lids. this isn't funny.

please make sure someone takes care of my doggie. and my sister gets everything of mine. and i want to be cremated (if i haven't turned to dust already) and have my ashes spread over the texas hill country at dusk. and possibly off of table moutain. and a little in the bayou in houson, just cause it was home. farewell.

jone's...again

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).

caribbean queen

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.

wait...you ready?

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.

girl or fag?

who says "toodles"??? and is that someone that deserves to see a picture of my chi chi's?

screen capture of the comments


screen capture of his/her email

polar bears are dying

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.

but wait!

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.

BEATEN DOWN.

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!!

old candice:











somebody call the whambulence.

dash dogs

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...






*dash dogs

is it summer again yet?