barney's

went to lunch with our buyer from barney's. i will not reveal her name lest you little wannabe fashion cunts try to call her. NO! she is ours.



madam "s" is gorgeous, gorgeous. i just happen to have this headshot of her on my desktop. she has the best syle. shit, i would too if i got an employees discount at bar-nay-nay.

we met at fred's on the ninth floor. we had a reservation. i was like, what the fuck? i'm with "s" and we still need a reservation? good thing too, cause by the time we left, the front was jam packed with women and strollers and fags...and strollers.

there is nothing on the menu under $10. but check out this geniusness. who would pay $10 for soup? well, what bitch WOULDN'T if they saw this descrition:



"cure colds and stay thin" i'm speechless.

this is me with my "hello dahling i am eating at freds" face. ugh. i hope hot boys aren't looking at this.



i got a turkey club $19. pulled out most of the turkey. so i guess it was really a BLT.



"s" got linguini with tomato sauce. that was really good. she got mad when i reached in for a second bite.



soraya got the anorexic special, chicken soup. but pulled a fast one on them and cancelled the order. that is how you stay even thinner.

i didn't have enought money to pay for the check, so i bartered with all the junk in my purse.



"s" seemed really happy. i thought it was a funny joke but when i started to grab my stuff back she was like "uh, uh!"--holy cow. she really wanted it! then i had to barter to get back the stuff i was bartering with! i made it away with my candy license plate and my strawberry plastic headband. the rest was lost in the game. that plastic diner pen is really good, though. enjoy that! she's the best. i love that she took that half seriously. cause life is serious sometimes.

can't sleep

it's three in the mo'n (think snoop dog, but earlier). i don't like being up this late unless i am drunk and running around screaming at strangers and kicking over trash cans.



can't sleep, which makes it the second night in a row. last night my poodle gigi found a sleeping pill on the floor and ate it. i laughed and pictured her passing out in about 15 minutes. this picture will help you understand why i wasn't concerned.



but apparently sonata has the opposite effect on dogs. she was hyper as shit. she wanted to play so i kept throwing her toy and she kept running after it all wobbley like and bumped into the wall and tripped jumping on the bed. again, i laughed cause it was so cute. that was around 11pm.

cut to 5 am and the thing is still wandering around in circles like she did way to much blow and can't sleep or even sit still.

cut to 6am and now she is howling some crazy howl, not a whimper, but a howl. panting and shit. so i gave her half a tranquilizer and waited for her to pass out. which never happened.

called SPCA 24hour poison hotline, just so i could hear them say, "don't worry, it should be over soon." um, no. they said, without hesitation, "yes m'am, i am familiar with sonata. you need to take your dog to the emergency room immediately." FUCK. just what i needed. to go somewhere in the middle of the night. just kidding.

took the poor thing to the vet. they were like, "good thing you did, cause she could have a heart attack. we'll have to hospitalize her for the day." jesus christ. thank god i don't have children.

battle wound from the IV drip. the other leg has one, too. but it's bloody.



she all good now. should fucking hope so after $561.27 in bills.

that had nothing to do with anything this blog is supposed to be about, by the way. but it's my blog. so go fuck yourself.

brownies turns to bellies

been scarfing down these brownie bites from hole fewds. they just dissapear so fast one you put them in your mouth.

monday brownie bites


tuesday brownie bites
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wednesday brownie bites
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thursday brownie bites


having an office with snacks is bad for my jessica alba-like figure.







they are good though, so run--don't walk, to go buy them. run because you are going to need a head start on calorie burning if you keep them in your kitchen.

(oh, and to all you haters that think i am obnoxious for pointing out my "fat" just deal with it. it's a joke. i know i am thin, and gorgeous, and wildly sexy--especially with my white underwear peeking out the top of my cheap jeans.)

cafe felix

went here for a drink. not dinner. a drink. can't eat here ever since i had a worm in my cod. scratch that--one dead worm, then one alive worm. two separate worms. two separate stages of existense. both in my cod on my plate.

but it is still a cute place for a drink.

this is gabriello, or gorgonzolo, or something. whatever he had made, i was eyeing and drooling over. apparently it's his own recipe of victoria hot sauce from mexico, black pepper, and god knows what else and he cooks his flat, thin steak in it.



it was better than that feeling you get when a guy returns your texts in less than one minute change on your cell phone.



i ate it. so did the other guy at the bar who i didn't know, and neither did gabriel/gorgonzol.



met the owner alain. he loved me after the conversation revealed that i had stayed at his friends hotel in cap d'antibes. that's in the south of france for all you idiots. the hotel is the eden roc. that's fucking high class for all you idiots. cash only high class. treated me like his best friend after that. i don't even know what integrity means anymore.

this place is cute, fun, high ceilings. excellent burgers, good to watch soccer. just stay away from the fucking fish.

hip to be square

i found somewhere i liked!

i love it. i hope it doesn't blow up. i swear to god i want you to stand up if you see me walk in, and give me your table. and say thank you as you do it. you'll know who i am by the dirty looks i give everyone in the joint.

square diner. west broadway and leonard, i think. too cute. wooden slat ceiling. tiny. perfect.

warning: fresh squeezed orange juice = tropicana. but they will still say it's fresh squeezed even if you ask, "are you sure this is fresh squeezed?" no matter.



fruit salad had mango slices in it. which really impressed me.

ordered a lumberjack breakfast. it should have been called the meat breakfast. cause there was a lot of meat. see that ham hiding under the eggs? that was discovered after excavating the bacon and sausage.



for $1 extra you can have real maple syrup. whatever that means. i got it cause apparently you are unsophisticated if you like aunt jemima.



i guess i couldn't ruin my perfect, perfect buckwheat pancakes with corn syrup, though.

now you see it.



now you don't.



i lurve this place. (annie hall anyone? "i more than love you. i lurve you.")

cash only, but ATM inside, which is impressive cause the whole place is only 33.3 sf big.

$30 for breaky. super nice waitstaff.

a rhyme

one pill, two pill
red pill, blue pill.

and another red, and an orange, and half a white.

and the capsule for my poodle cause she has issues, too.
(that was the vets decision, not mine).

long time...no ikea.

to all (ha) of you who have wondered where i've been, i apologize. i just got totally sick of everywhere i ate and was beyond frustrated. i became indifferent.

this is nothing a quick trip tp ikea couldn't snap me out of.

my friend's girlfriend is swedish. i didn't believe her cause her hair is right brown, but she speaks the fucking language so i guess i have to. we all went to ikea.

after ikea, roi is going to rob a commerce bank. no, wait, bank of america.



anna did NOT join us at the restaurant because she said macaroni and cheese is not swedish.



roi will do anything to get me to eat my veggies.



standard sequence: excitement, triumph, bargains, gadgets, food, yummy, ---> lines, screaming babies, maze, lost, no cell phone service, where did anna go, where am i, where is the bathroom i have to pee, i just peed on myself a little, must leave this place--->convertible mercedes with 3 adults and FURNITURE crammed into it--->lost on the turnpike, turn around, no cash for toll, spilled juice on lap, holland tunnel traffic ---> why did i decide to buy all this heavy shit when i live in a walk up with no boyfriend to carry it? i came thisclose to just leaving it all on the sidewalk.

but i did find this cute little bumble bee get up. the kids really thought it was hilarious. the adults did not.

thanksgiving

i am so tired of thanksgiving, which makes sense cause it was 5 days ago. here is the deal. i woke up early, blow dried my hair and went to help my ex cook for his whole family. which was fun. and cute. he made me wear a chefs hat and coat. i couldn't tell if that was endearing or humiliating. then i rushed home, showered and changed, and went to my friends for our annual drunken-orphan thanksgiving.

is it too old to be an orphan at 30?

hadn't eaten one nibble all day, got there and drank beers and beers and wine and wine. which would have been fine, except there was a delay in the turkey cooking. like, seriously? the only reason i stay in new york this week is to AVOID ANY DELAYS (get it? as in the airport? ugh.). we drank the (our) traditional barenjager. you haven't lived if you haven't had this stuff. they serve it at faneli's if you can't find it--it's rare. it tastes like honey and ether. more like honey... and that shit will get you all kinds of fucked up.



this is the chef basting honey on the bitch while drinking said honey gasoline drink.



by the time the fucking bird was cooked everyone was too drunk to taste it. i may or may not have taken my dress off and run around the room screaming "gobble, gobble" at the top of my lungs. no recollection of how i got home. but i was naked when i woke up. awesome. (would have been more awesome if there was a smokin' hot boy next to me--no wait, cooking me breakfast. unless i didn't know him. that would kind of suck. so i guess i am kind of glad was alone in my bob-o-pedic. not temper-pedic; bob-o-pedic).

happiness is...

mr. winkle.

cafe gitane and strong men

2 things

1: cafe gitane is for sure the cutest little place to eat in soho--possibly all of lower manhattan.

2: i can't go out with a skinny dude.

i realized this when i was looking at all the skinny dudes in cafe gitane. how is a skinny dude going to protect me from evil, bully neighbors in my office building? how is a skinny dude going to lift an entire car with one hand--if i needed him to? how is a skinny dude going to rescue me?

bonnie tyler said it best:



"I need a hero
I'm holding out for a hero till the end of the night
he's gotta be strong and he's gotta be fast
and gotta be fresh from the fight ...

It's gonna take a Superman to sweep me off my feet"

yes it is, bonnie. yes it is.


some pics from gitane. i wouldn't drink the tap water they put on the table. i sat at the bar and watched the dishwasher fill them up. it wasn't very sanitary.
pan au chocolate

chicken sandwich with mango and strawberries. really good.

cucumber yogurt and hummus with rose petals.

chili

i never actually knew this place was an extension of faneli's. they have chili and soup and wraps.

corner of mercer and prince. the little black hut. like a tumor on the building.

simple post for a simple place.



view of veggie chili:


mini coke from target

material

here is the thing. when i started this thing, i was mad and sad and just generally a horrible person to be around. i think that made it funny, cause i really only think i'm funny when i am being a total cunt.

the bad feelings mostly stemmed from my reactions to the boy...but i am so bored of being upset over that. it's like a rocky IV situation: the story is the same as before, the ending is the same as before, and you just couldn't care to watch another one. i mean, i will always love him and want him and wish there was an alernative ending on the dvd kind of thing-who knows. anything could happen. i just can't be sad over it anymore.

now, it's like, i am not that angry? or miserable? so it's hard for me to get inspired?

i have to find a new voice--or else put myself in more situations that irritate me. like ride the subway more often, or walk behind women with strollers. basically anything that makes me want to stick needles into my eyeballs or light myself on fire.

gonna work on that.

xo

the following has nothing to do with soho or lunch. but, my god, this dog is just too much to handle. his name is mr. winkles. could you die? couldn't you just punch it for being so cute?

mr. winkle

remember finlay?

crazy finlay. went drinking with him. come on...your remember:

refresh your memory

check it. he good.

more of finlay's awesomely awesome shoot for the fucking new york times, yo

eato dinnero in brooklyno

ok, so i've been to brooklyn more times in the past 2 months than my entire life in nyc.

i still don't get it. is it cause there is more parking?

went to bonita. i'm not sure of it's exact location, it's somewhere across that water part between here and there.



according to the picture, it serves comida tipica mexicana. that means i'sposed to be real. please, like taco surf on the highway between rosarito and ensenada serves shredded radhishes and "baby" cilantro on their shit. no way, hombre.

i had high hopes cause everyone working there was latino tipico, so there was no way the food could be bad.

but it was, eh. not bad. just not right...but not bad. i really think my theory about mexican food not being good this far north might have some merit. you know, like the water in LA can't make good bagels or pizza crust? jalapenos and cilantro just don't grow right up here.

the guacamole was excellent, to be fair. pacificos were almost cold. whatev's.


(friend asked me why i always have to have pictures with long things in my mouth. my response was, duh.)

had chicken tacos. chicken was ickster. so i just ate the corn tortillas doused with lime juice.



oh, and...