My cupcakes bring all the boys to the yard...

The book titled, "Hello, Cupcake! irresistible playful creations anyone can make" by Karen Tack and Alan Richardson, is filled with creative cupcake recipes for all occasions. I came upon the book while trolling the aisle in Target and found only one recipe that tickled my fancy. Rather than buy the book, I jotted down the simple recipe for spaghetti and meatball cupcakes in my moleskine. (turns out you can find the full recipe on the web) I'm a sucker for ludicrous imitation. I love when shit looks like other shit, its one of my many Homeresque qualities.

Vanilla cake mix, vanilla frosting with 3 drops of yellow food dye and cocoa powder added, Rocher ferrero chocolates, low sugar strawberry preserve and white chocolate is all you need. It's cinchy!

The caveat: In the process of putting it all together there are some idiosyncrasies. Like the jelly has to be the low sugar preserve because of both the color and texture. To create the noodle effect you either need a top quality FREEZER zip-lock bag (don't cheap out with some 99cents store sandwich bags, you WILL regret it) or some professional cake decorating tools, and the white chocolate to grate on top to resemble the parmesan cheese is harder than a mother fucker to find.

I took these to HELL for our end of the year, farewell to the team, Italian food themed pot luck and they were a graveyard smash.

my liver's newest bro

On 12/17/09 thrill list.com posted an article about the grand opening of the latest local micro brewery titled, "Eagle Rock Brewery: our liver's newest foe". The uninspiring yet slightly informative article showcased what had originally caught my attention back in March when I read of the Brewery's victory over some city hall bureaucracy. According to their website, the Eagle Rock Brewery would be debuting their "Socialist" themed brew; with names like Revolution, Manifesto, and Solidarity; at a couple of local public houses this week. One of them being the Verdugo. It came as no surprise to me that this hipster hive would be pouring the limited release ale. It is after all, at the Verdugo that I have discovered some of my favorite beers. A couple of years back their ambition and commitment to beer would have been enough to keep me coming back. Unfortunately, that alone cannot make up for the overall terrible service that plagues this otherwise premier bier haus.

The Location: The Verdugo in Glassel Park

The Day: Thursday
The Time: 9:30 pm

The place was surprisingly empty and the d.j. spun negligible noise. I perused the flier that replaced a once robust beer menu and I ordered the 'Solidarity' only to be told by the barmaid that it's on a rotating tap and that the only ERB available would be the 'Manifesto'. The beer wench unenthusiastically poured my order and handed it to me in a nondescript glass. I only mention this because there was a time when they used to take more pride and pour tap beers into their corresponding glasses. 'Manifesto', a Belgium style witbier was nice but reminded me of a smoother 'Bluemoon'; an overall forgettable beer. NOTE: I don't brew my own beer, nor do I make my living reviewing beer. I have however been drinking beer for fifteen years and have developed a discriminating palate. It was a tasty sample but nothing to write on about. Perhaps the 'Solidarity' and 'Revolution' will prove otherwise?

The true Belle of the Ball that night was the $5 Jewbalation-Bar Mitzvah by Shmaltz. At 13% it packed a powerful yet flavourful punch. So much so, that I winced as I pried open my wallet several times more than I had originally set out to do. I was so impressed with the texture, taste and potency of this He'brew beer that I just had to find out more! Their website; shmaltz.com, reveals that this San Francisco based company has been brewing puntastic beer in New York since 1996. They have a Coney Island Lager line that is also worth checking out. I hit up my local sodapop shop, Galco's to see if I could get my cloven hooves on some limited edition Jewbalation but sadly, that effort proved futile. I did however score most of the Coney Island Lagers and got a chance to try both the 'Genesis Ale' and 'Messaih Bold'. Impressive.

For more information about the Eagle Rock Brewery, visit their website for available tour and tasting times: http://www.eaglerockbrewery.com/. Or follow them on twitter @ eaglerockbrew.

Also, if you find yourself in the Highland Park area jonesing for some old timey candy, rare brews and a decent cold cuts sandwich, be sure to visit Glaco's: 5702 York Blvd, Los Angeles, CA 90042

Lawrence Cohen

When he was young, Chunk liked to run laps outside after it rained. Our half acre lot was barren then except for a small patch of grass, tall weeds and 10 lemon trees. One time, Chunk found a fresh crop of mushrooms growing on the lawn and ate them. He freaked out, got sick and passed out. Forever after that Chunk would stop to smell mushrooms and make a face of disdain.

He was the strangest and most untimely gift. Untimely because I had just gotten my acceptance letters from the colleges I applied to and would be leaving home in 3 short months when my stepfather came home with a tiny beautiful puppy and said to me, "I brought you a congratulations gift". He was like a stuffed animal with exaggerated features: dark soft fur, big small feet, doe eyes and floppy ears to boot. It was strange because our family had tried once before to be pet owners and that situation ended terribly. For years we asked about the origins of Chunk and for years my stepfather skirted the subject.

***It was a rainy dark morning in March and the old man was at a fast food drive through after his truck driving shift ended when he saw little baby Chunk tied to a homeless person's cart unattended in the rain.***

Chunk was such a wonderful and warm being. He was the glue that kept our insane family together. He was the only thing we all loved no matter how much we hated each other. He loved beer, bacon, blueberry pancakes, long walks at sunset and short swims on hot summer days and when you wrestled with him, he would always let you win. As a puppy, he had countless admirers offering to buy him, and when he got older his massive ominous presence struck unwarranted fear in many. Since I went off to college my brother was the one who trained and bonded deeply with Chunky. Whenever evil stirred inside the home, he would just go out back to the garage and hang out with the Chunkster. Chunk never judged you; except early on when my brother got him stoned, Chunk had a bad trip and would have to only see a bag of weed to give you the most telling disapproving glare before walking away dramatically.

My parents, like a lot of Mexicans I know (I did not say ALL Mexicans so before you go bat shit I'm not talking about you) have a detached relationship with animals. They keep their dogs outside, don't bathe them with special flea soap, feed them table scraps, never take them on walks, nor take them to the vet let alone get them vaccinated. My family was not that extreme, but Chunky was not allowed inside the house for a long time. A rule my brother and I frequently violated. In his old age, mom's heart softened and she let Chunk move in. He slept in the laundry room and was allowed limited living room and solarium privileges. For the past 4 years we all enjoyed the warmth of his presence in the home. But recently, Chunk started losing control of his bladder and was relieving himself inside the house. This resulted in his banishment to the backyard, which I argued was a bad idea. In a matter of weeks Chunk's condition worsened to the point where he was completely incontinent. Baby Bro bought him some diapers and he was allowed to move back inside the house. Last night my brother called to tell me that Chunk was not doing well. He took him to the vet to fix him up but his kidneys were failing and he did not have much time left. As he left for his graveyard shift he hugged the Chunk of love and told him, "I will see you tomorrow morning buddy". My mother called me at 6am today to tell me that Chunky left us last night in his sleep. Tomorrow morning never came.

Farewell my clumsy King, you brought nothing but joy to our lives.February 1995-November 2009

Waiting for the Bus

The craziest thing happened on the way to Hell today. I was on the Commuter Express 549 bus and the driver was yucking it up with some passenger about her weekend encounter with a man who had "tendencies"; which I think was her way of inferring that the man was a homosexual, when her dispatcher called her and asked her for the approximate time she made a specific stop. Apparently, she blew past a bunch of people waiting at her last stop before she got onto the freeway. So what's the big deal? There is nothing crazy nor remarkable about a bus driver NOT stopping to pick you up. What was astounding was her reaction. She pulled over on the side of the freeway and began to question the passengers on whether or not we recalled her making that last stop and demanded we provide written statements. She then told her dispatcher that she would go back to pick up the stranded would be passengers. I could not resist. I said out loud, "what's the big deal? This is not the first time someone missed a bus. Bus drivers have left me more times than I can count." I have had to run in the rain along side a speeding bus frantically flailing my arms only to be splashed by the speeding tires plowing through enormous puddles. I have been ignored at dark posts waiting late night for the very last bus, only to have to walk home the 2 mile route. I was completely baffled by both the reaction of the driver and dispatcher. Why just the other day, the MTA driver of bus #6748 violently maneuvered through rain slicked streets, carelessly talking loudly on his bluetooth, "...nigga, that bitch came over to my house..." Absolutely fascinating.

To Dye For

The Day: July 10, 2006. The Place: HELL's basement. My soul was slowly being sucked away when I had to take a piss. While I washed my hands in the bathroom I stumbled into some creative lighting and I noticed a shiny glare in the part in my hair. I drew closer to the mirror and that glare was gone. I knew what it was but I resisted the idea, blaming the terrible neon lights in HELL yet I walked away with a nagging looming sense of doom. Weeks later it happened again. This time there was no question about it, I had my first gray hair. A sort of panic struck me. Memories of my mother and her terrible eggplant colored hair filled my thoughts. I was desperate to hide my aging shame so that evening I stopped at Target and picked up a color closest to that of my youthful locks.

It has been a journey in hair dye purgatory that I am eager to end. In the past 3 years one gray hair turned into 3 and 3 have become 5 (which i refuse to pluck). I am not afraid to grow old, nor ashamed to embrace my age. But I desperately want my gray hairs to form some attractive order, some pattern, like a skunk or the bride of Frankenstein rather than the sporadic sprinkled arrangement they seem to have settled upon.



My first dye which was Feria's Chocolate Cherry #36 was rich and long lasting. But along with its long lasting effect, lingered the damage: dry, brittle hair. Somewhere down the line, Loreal changed the formula of this product, and it's no longer as rich as it once was. The color is now flat, and leans toward a purple hue. It was my go to product early on. But now, the lack luster color and guaranteed damage makes it a must skip.

For a while I searched for a replacement and had a lot of misses:



Both of these Garnier colors: Dark Reddish Brown # 452 and Deep Auburn #460 (which I am convinced are exactly the same product in different boxes) left my hair that dreaded grandma eggplant purple color. The good thing about them was that there was very little damage. My hair felt soft and deeply conditioned. But they are both weak, non long lasting colors which is normally a bad thing. In both cases there was not 100% gray coverage like promised. Overall a terrible color that smells really nice.

At almost $13 dollars or more this product is by far worth every penny. Clariol's Perfect 10 4R is just that, perfect. In only 10 minutes you get a root applicator to target grays, a rich full bodied shine, no damage, nice scent and best of all, no purple hue. We have a winner.

But if you are on a budget, Superior Preference 4M is a happy medium. Full gray coverage, deep conditioning (with an awful chemically after smell) and rich color only slightly on the brink of purple.

In a sad embarrassing conclusion aside from the reaffirmation of the old adage; you get what you pay for, it would be simply easier to embrace the gray and crawl out from underneath these boxes of promised youth. Maybe next year.

day in the life: of a broken hearted Sasquatch

Alone again, Naturally

Squatcho lives alone in his studio apartment. He is a tortured artist, sensitive and gentle, completely misunderstood. Squatcho just broke up with his long time on again off again girlfriend.

Eager to distract himself, he settled into a quiet evening at home alone with a good book. Then he thought, "a glass of wine will go great with this book".

Then Squatcho thought, "hum that book is
good and all but I need another glass of wine
to help me focus." suddenly, two glasses became 3, then 4 then... He exclaimed,

"Glasses are for candy ass bitches who cant understand a real artist's vision! This squatchie goes straight to the tap!" Squatcho polished off the whole bag of wine and was starting to get a little tipsy and slightly irate. "Man-fuck that Luis Rodriguez, I can write some better shit than that!"

But Squatcho over did it. He was too drunk to type. He hammered down on the keys violently; feverishly typing what he thought were the beginnings of a brilliant masterpiece only to realize he did not roll any paper into his typewriter. "Shiiieeeet."

Gingerly he began the long and arduous climb up to his bed. Muttering under his breath, "...fuck that type writer...fuck that dude-he thinks he's better than me, fuck that slut...fuck these stairs...." When Squatcho got to the top of the stairs he sat down for a while and his thoughts drifted to memories of his ex-girlfriend.


He sat there at the foot of his bed for a while
thinking about that bitch who broke his heart,
and tried to calm himself. He had the spins.

Minutes passed and he felt the room stop spinning so he climbing into bed and settled in when suddenly he felt sick. He propped himself over the side of the bed and threw-up. He muttered through the stream of puke, "if only getting rid of that cunt was this easy..."

"The events depicted in this story are fictitious. Any similarity to any person living or dead is merely coincidental."

I lerve you. I lo-ove you. I luff you.

Happy Birfdee Mr. M

death becomes

When i saw the car coming at us as we made that left hand turn, i knew it would hit us. My mind fluttered images of the oncoming car crushing the driver-side door mangling Mr. M legs, glass shattering and destroying his face. Then impact. That sound was everything. I closed my eyes to brace myself for whatever came next. Then a loud pop and smoke and terrible tasting powder filled the car. I yelled his name, he did not respond, i looked at him with panic and fear. He was okay. No glass, no mangled legs. Little Perlita took the brunt of the crash on the side front end of the car. I had no idea she was such a solid little car. We walked away from it with bruises and scraps and a lot of soreness. I am worried about what will happen now. What the other guy, a junkie Okie with seemingly expired insurance will do, what the insurance company will say. But mostly i cant stay away from Mr. M. He calls me to ask me to come over so we can just be together. and the need for closeness is mutual. It is as if this event made us both feel that we could be gone at any moment and we are desperately holding on for now. (at least i am)
As i drove johnny B home i began to think about how detached we are from the reality of death. I know people that buy and save items for a house they will eventually move into that they have never even seen. People who collect baby clothes for a child they don't even have. Notebooks filled with pictures of dresses for a wedding that is not even a reality yet. But we don't plan to die. Death is really the only sure thing we all have in common, yet we put off planning for it till we are old or infirmed. My drivers licence says i am an organ donor, so why cant the DMV keep a record of what i want to happen to my body after my death as well? Instructions for handling, nothing complicated, just the basics, like bury or cremate.
This all sound so morbid, but i would feel liberated and unencumbered by the knowledge that those arrangements have already been made, letting me focus on living my life everyday fully aware of its temporal nature. enjoying and living and being and loving, celebrating life, fully.

our taco

6300 York Blvd #4, Highland Park,CA 90042

I like to tackle the hardest of hard hitting issues. Serious earth shattering, globally conscious shit like, does Diet Dr. Pepper REALLY taste like regular Dr. Pepper? And whether or not ‘My Taco’ is “authentic” or “white people” Mexican food.

To truly put the matter to rest we first have to dissect what “authentic” and what “white people” encompasses. Naturally, I take authentic to mean a representation of something that is in close proximity to the original inception. Where as what “white people” means is a matter worthy of some graduate school dissertation. That being said, I will naively conclude, for the purpose of this analysis that “white people” refers to the watering down, or commercialization of whathaveyou: in this case Mexican food. (Not that there is anything necessarily and automatically wrong with that as i will explore later.)

‘My Taco’ is one of my favorite neighborhood haunts. The décor is a cross between the set of some silly telenovella and pee wee’s playhouse with Frida-like chotchkies hanging all over the walls. The restaurant is always cleans and well ventilated: a great place to escape the heat and enjoy your meal. The staff is friendly; the menu is vast and affordable. I don’t remember where I first read about ‘My Taco’, I do however remember a reviewer raving about steak fries, which mystified me and filled me with intrigue. But much to my chagrin the steak fries were nothing more than thick crispy fries covered with carne asada, sour cream, guacamole and cheese. Not necessarily a Mexican delicacy, but more of a delicious hybrid of America conception, likes deep dish pizza. My initial disappointment was put at bay when I dug deep and attacked my mountain of cheese steak fries ($5.99) definitely a dish you may consider sharing, or not.

{authentic steak fries ;o) }

Since that first day I’ve ordered several things from the menu, usually restricting myself to the basics, quesadillas ($2.75), tortas ($4.75), and potato tacos ($1.49). But this time in an effort to delve deep into the issue of “authentic” food, I ordered the house specialty, BARBACOA DE BORREGO/marinated lamb ($5.99 small). I only remember eating this particular dish as a kid when the families got together for a quinceanera or Christmas, stuff like that. I was a little apprehensive, but when the plate came to the table, there could be nothing unauthentic about it. The slow cooked meat was tender and full of flavor, served with a cup of consume, and corn tortillas. The fixin’s come on the pate, but you can get more from the condiment station. No question in my mind that I will be ordering this dish again.

(Barbacoa de Borrego)

So, is MY TACO white people food or authentic Mexican food? 1.) Does it really matter? And 2.) Who really cares! It’s delicious, why are we so hesitant to welcome food evolutions? The important thing to remember is that in the depths of the kitchen we will probably find some Mexican cook, and how can we begin to say that he is not adding authentic flair to the dishes? I’ll tell you what is white people Mexican food, meat marinated in pasta sauce and basil stuffed in a cold tortilla, but what did I expect when I ordered a burrito in Germany!?!
P.S. I ordered a large horchata ($2.25) @ 'My Taco' and it was perfect sweet!

No Room for the Blues

O.P.I is my favorite nail polish. Their product lasts longer without chipping compared to most other lacquers and comes in the most amazing colors. The only problem I encounter is finding this brand in my local stores. Sometimes i can find it at some beauty supply stores or CVS, but they never have the whole line. (Target has a sister opi brand called Nicole, and Sephora also carries an opi line.) The website is a great point of reference to identify what jean-creaming color will be the object of your latest desire. Sadly, the website does not offer the option to buy. So, you are left to scouring the Internet for those must have shades that will make your day complete. I found this one on Amazon, it came from an independent vendor. Normally an OPI polish will run you about $8. I paid $6.49 plus $2.99 s&h and i have absolutely no regrets!

(this is how i see all the other nail polish blogs format the pictures...and i realize now why they always take the pictures outside in the day light...)

Stay tuned: next week a special paint-job birfdee surprise for Mr. M! (i will take that picture outside)

BYOBB

The extra B is for Burgers. I know what you're thinking, "For $5 bucks I can get 5 burgers at McDowell's", but we all know that fast food burgers generally lack the texture, and distinct flavor of those found in the backyard variety. Also, if you throw in a 32 of your favorite malt liquor and the company of your two favorite foodies, this can work out to be a pretty good deal.

Wednesday nights at the Echo Park restaurant, 'the PARK' is "$5 Burger Night" which includes a burger and a side. One of my two dining companions had eaten at 'the Park' once before and remembered it being BYOB. I checked the website and although i found the letters BYOB on certain nights, it was unclear if that was their general policy. Being the classy, respectful, upstanding citizen that i am, and given the lack of clarity on the matter, i smuggled in my own hooch and its a good thing i did. Apparently, the news of the "$5 Burger Night" has spread to all corners of Hipsterville and characters straight out of the latest Urban Outfitters catalog swarmed the narrow entrance to be seated. We had to wait about 35 minutes for a table. There was no list to put my name down on, and the hostess seemed aggravated and bothered. I mentioned to her that we would be outside waiting and she apathetically responded, "oh". Come to think of it, she did not even come out to fetch us when the table was ready, we just happen to be hovering around the patio and saw that one of the tables had opened up.

The decor of the establishment seemed nice from what i could ascertain from my skewed vantage perspective. Service was lax: it took a long time to take our order and bring out our food. Not to mention they were out of fries. But the wait was made bearable thanks to the 32oz I was nursing. As for the sides, i was glad they were out of fries, because the other two side options: potato salad and cole slaw were far better than i expected. The slaw was sweet and crisp and the potato salad-made with red potatoes (skins on) was not laden with mayonnaise and included fresh crisp celery.

The catch is that the introductory $5 price only includes the plain burger. You can build your own by choosing from a 6oz. sirloin burger or a veggie burger. Any fixins' are gonna run you an extra $1 for: cheddar, gruyere or blue cheese, mushrooms & garlic, caramelized onion, crispy onions or home-made aioli. Add for $1.50 for: applewood bacon. And add $2 for avocado.

(example of build your own with Avocado and Cheddar w/ potato salad)

They also have some pre-fabricated choices, like the "Who Shot J. R?"(pictured below left)which comes with bacon, cheddar, BBQ sauce & caramelized onions for $8. OR you can get a vegetarian option for $7 called,"The Club Med" (below right) which includes olive relish, crispy onions and gruyere.

I made the mistake of ordering my "J.R" medium well. The avocado Cheddar burger was ordered medium, and that was definitely the tastier burger. The bread was excellent, and the "club med" was absolutely exquisite. All the ingredients were fresh and of the highest quality. Too bad the same cannot be said about the service. Overall a great dining experience soiled only by lackluster service. But I should not be surprised, in true Hispster tradition, they are too cool for this planet and are doing me a favor by letting me eat at their restaurant. Which is why i did not feel bad pulling a Rachel Ray-$40 a day, and stiffing them on the tip.

At prices like this, I almost did not mind picking up the tab. ALMOST.

The Park Restaurant

1400 Sunset Blvd at the corner of Douglas in Echo Park

Dinner hours:Wed/Thurs/Sat/Sun 5:30-10:00

Lunch hours:Tues - Fri 11:00-2:30

Brunch hours: Sat / Sun 10:00-2:00

Part 1 of: te quiero mucho mame

Over a decade ago i left a little love note on the fridge for my mother in which i spelled "Mom" in Spanish wrong. I wrote, "no estes tan triste mame, yo te quiero mucho" with a forward stash accent above the last 'e'. (Don't be so sad mome, i love you very much) The misspelled "mom" made her smile and laugh and she instantly forgot all about what was making her so sad. (so i like to think) That note with its yellowed upturned edges, was on the fridge for a very long time. I know she still has it squirreled away somewhere, she is sentimental like that.

As time goes by i; like i assume all people who have mothers do, have gone through a range of emotional stages. When i was younger; a small child, i adored her. She was my world. I was madly in love with her. She was young and beautiful and when she walked, it was as if in slow motion. All the other children at school wanted my pretty mother to be theirs. But as my formative years drew on i began to feel the disappointment. She was less a fantastic unicorn in a slow moving meadow and much more a young, single, hardworking, immigrant parent: struggling. I respected her strength and admired her fortitude, but i longed to please her and like most children, longed for her approval, affection and attention. As young adulthood set in, i grew to resent her. I was filled with anger for all the things she did not understand, or things that she did, or did not do, or did wrong. Then after a couple of years away at college i forgot and/or accepted all the glorified and implicit hardship imposed on me, or so i thought.

A couple of years went by, i was now in my early 20's and the choices that my mother made, which i deemed selfish caused me to renounce her. Years of silence between us passed and she sent many letters. I wrote many, but sent none. I was stubborn. I felt hurt and betrayed, abandoned and angry. But she continued to send letters and little gifts. After 3 years elapsed i began to feel guilt. I was no longer angry and it seemed selfish to hurt my mother. We made a date at the Huntington Library. I dressed up because my mother is proper and elegant in that way and i knew it would make her proud to see me "presentable." She cried, and then i cried, and we talked. She looked beautiful, like always. But she was different, softened by time, not as curt. It was as if my absence had warmed her. Her hair was more peppered and magnificent and she had gradually lost the hearing in her left ear. I instantly felt terrible, for my thoughts automatically went to the Cosmic Power: that which guides, arranges and makes everything right in the Universe, and i felt shame for thinking that maybe she had lost her hearing because she never listened...

Sun & Sea

Mar Y Sol Restaurant: 6011 N. Figueroa St. Los Angeles, CA 90042
Open 7 days a week, for breakfast lunch and dinner


Nestled in a strip mall; in picturesque Highland Park, sandwiched between what i suspect to be a rub and tug massage parlour, a laundry mat overrun by savage rogue children and an El Pollo Loco, is Carolina's Mar Y Sol Restaurante. I don't know a whole lot about Salvadorean dishes, but a sign outside promises $1.60 Pupusas-everyday and i like pupusas. Also, i like a bargain even though i am always hesitant to try things that have not been previously recommended.

A pupusa is like a sope except stuffed with the meat/cheese/bean mix

The little restaurant was dead, aside from the belligerent man loitering out in front asking me why i was taking pictures of the place. (Questioning which prompted me to order my food to go and not take pictures of the inside of the joint.) The place is small but has seven numbered sitting sections, a picture menu above the ordering window with no prices listed, and mirrors on both flanking walls. Overall, it is nice and clean. Carolina will gladly take Visa and Master Card but will charge you an extra dollar for the service, so bring cash. The Menu for $1.60 pupusas includes 3 options: Revueltas, Frijol con Queso, and Mixtas. I ordered one of each, and for a little over 5 bucks and a 10 minute wait, i got a side of curtido, tomato sauce and a satisfactory meal.

Now the thing about curtido, like anything, its not always good. (This one was not, it smelled like feet, and not in a good way like a good aged cheese). It's like sauerkraut or kimchi, the general idea of a pickled product is achieved but some are far better executions of the intended product than others. Also, most if not all Salvadorian dishes are not spicy. So the tomato sauce is just that, a watery non spicy tomato sauce. As for the pupusas. I was betting that the Frijoles con Queso/Bean and Cheese was going to be the winner, i was dead wrong. The Mixtas/which includes meat(pork) and cheese was by far the best. Revuelta which is a mixture of beans, cheese and meat was a close second and the beans and cheese were my least favorite. But oh boy did i love that Mixta! Next time i'm down there getting my "neck" massaged, i am going to pick up 3 mixtas pupusas.

SIDE NOTE: i picked up a printed menu for this Salvadorian/Mexican/American restaurant, and the regular prices for other pupusas are $2.25. Most combination plates are roughly $8.50. The food is a little on the pricey side, aside from the advertised discounted pupusas. Be advised.

Weathered Sandal

Huarache Azteca Restaurante: 5225 York Blvd Los Angeles, CA 90042

With rave reviews in notable publications like the LA TIMES, the LA WEEKLY, and Los Angeles Magazine, just to name a few; its no wonder i eagerly looked forward to trying the "Huaraches" at my neighbourhood "gem" of the same moniker, 'Huarache Azteca Restaurants' in Highland Park. At the risk of disagreeing with the pseudo culinary expertise of YELPers far and wide, this brick pile is a 2.5 star joint, AT BEST.

Maybe i am being too hard on this place because i grew up eating Mexican food or maybe all the praise and hype I heard about it falsely raised my expectations, whatever it was, I can honestly say that i gave it the ol' college try. I once read an article about rules to writing food reviews that included a list of do's and dont's. I found the list redundant and obvious but one rule that seemed logical was that in order to review a restaurant fairly, one had to try it more than once, and that is just what i did.

ROUND 1: I sampled the famous huarache, a torta and a taco de suadero. Everything aside, I will say that the price was right! With the drink included, i barely broke 10 bucks, but as the popular adage goes, "you get what you pay for." I was not impressed by the elongated deep fried sope-like tosada that is the huarache. It's deep fried and deceptively chewy, not crunchy as you would expect it to be. The asada meat lacked flavor, and the crema cheese that was poured over it was runny and thin. The torta was just okay, and the suadero was absolutely terrible. (For a good torta go to My Taco on York, also in Highland Park, and for the best suadero, Taco Zone in Echo Park. Its a truck parked on Alvarado right by VONS)

(that shiny pool in the top corner, is yummy greasy)

ROUND 2: This time I went with something different. 2 sopes and a burrito. AGAIN, the meat needed flavor and the sopes were a greasy fried crunchy mess. As a rule i always order burritos "sin arroz/without rice" because that way you get the most meat. This pathetic little burrito was full of dry beans and unsavory meat. (For good sopes try Senor Fish or King Taco, there are several locations in and around Los Angeles. As for the asada, my personal favorite cheap meaty 2 hand burrito is @ Estrella, open 24 hrs. located on Figueroa Blvd, in Highland Park*ask for the red sauce, its the BEST!)

The first time i ordered my food to go, the second time i ate in house. The place was packed with an authentic cross section of the community with an eclectic mix of characters filling the living room sized restaurant while lethargic flies hovered in and around the patrons faces and food. Ummm, sanitary.

In the end, it really is of no consequence how good or bad their sorry ass "chanclas" are because this place is inexpensive. As much as I disliked the food, I may entertain the idea of going back to try the chilaquiles and maybe one of those aguas frescas they boast about. Which I must admit, looked very refreshing. I had the horchata during round 2. I find that one can gauge the quality of the food in a Mexican restaurant by how good the horchata is. This one was just okay, too much ice and not sweet enough. On second though, I'm not going back to that shit pile, i make some excellent chilaquiles...

square peg in a round hole

Contrary to what some men believe, the pelvic exam is not as awesome as it sounds. I used to visit Planned Parenthood for all my lady part needs, but since i have a job that offers me the opportunity to pay for my own insurance; i wanted to take advantage of what has already been deducted from my paycheck. My trip to Kaiser left me feeling raped emotionally and financially, not to mention a little sore in my labia.

First of all the exam was initially slated for March 31, but i was menstruating and ineligible for probing. The soonest Kaiser could reschedule me was: May 18th. Then May 18th came, i was period free, and ready to get in the saddle when i get a call letting me know that the Doctor decided to cancel my appointment, no explanation provided. Next available day: June 10th. Keep in mind that i have to take these days off from work, as unpaid days which i have to request off a month in advance.

(im starting to whine, and im losing my focus, regrets)

Its June 10th. I am at Kaiser, first window-$15.00 copay. Next window, the ensemble cast of "nurses" are the medical professions' answer to Reno 911. The nurse that performs my exam; NP Lil Louie, keeps leaving the room. At first i though she was looking at my pap smear under a microscope, (i have had doctors do that) but she would come back and not report anything. Then i realized that she was visiting other patients in the time she was supposed to be examining me. She left me in that room for 10 minutes at a time while she worked on other women.(i wonder if she washed her hands?) On one of her brief returns to the room, NP Louie asked me if it was okay if she inserted her finger in my anus WHILE she was inserting her finger in my ass. It was more of a statement than a question. (i am still confused what that procedure was for).

As if i had not already spent enough time there with Josef Mengele; I, in my infinite wisdom decided that i wanted to be fitted for a diaphragm. She was ill prepared and at one point i suspected that she was trying to insert dirty diaphragms inside of me. NP Louie, who decided not to listen to me insisted on inserting the largest diaphragm inside of me first. It was the size of a small baseball cap. I began to complain. I yelled, "Ouch...STOP...your hurting me..." at one point i even told her that i changed my mind that i did not care for this form of birth control, i yelled. "...you know- im cool with condoms, this is fine, please lets just stop." But this NP did not understand basic English commands or simply did not care. The whole time she ignored me and treated me like she was doing me a favor for free. Needless to say i left an hour and half later felling uneasy, slightly used, and ashamed. I am 31 years old and i have had at least 10 pelvic exams in my life, and none compared to how terrible this one was.

A week later i get a call that i need to come back, that although my pap smear was negative there are irregularities. I specifically ask, " is this just an excuse to needlessly test me, in an attempt to pad the bill?" "Oh, no, not at all, here at Kaiser we are very careful..." I reply, " i have had other exams before and this is highly irregular" "Oh madam i assure you that we are only taking precautions." Next appointment is June 25th with a real doctor this time. Gladys Estela Loera, MD. Okay, this is refreshing. First window, again $15.00 copay. Next room, i barely sit down when im called into the back. Although MD Loera seems disillusioned with the idea of looking at vaginas all day; she is attentive and alert, friendly and quick. She did not leave the room until it was over. I asked for an HIV test, she tells me to go to the lab, shakes my hand and sends me on my way. 20 minutes in all. More like it. I go to the lab and the shell of a woman who was on leave from her other job as crypt keeper tells me, its a extra 10 dollar copay for the HIV test. I tell her that its ridiculous to pay AGAIN, for something that i can get for free. I asked her for my card back and stormed out. Whatever, its done and over with right? wrong!

On Sunday i go to my PO BOX and waiting for me is a bill from Kaiser for $155.00! I am so angry! I specifically asked if the second trip would cost me money and they lied to me. But that fact is besides the point. ITS GROSSLY UNETHICAL to perform a treatment without disclosing a hidden charge. What if i cant afford this? (which i cant) I should have been given the option to decline service and opt for a more affordable treatment. I am at a loss. I feel trapped. I wonder how many other people KAISER has done this to? I see names of "providers" listed on my bill that i did not actually see on those 2 days. It appears that i am being billed twice, and at no time did i sign anything agreeing to being billed at a later date. I dread making the call to dispute the erroneous charges. I will sit on hold for 30 minutes and be transferred 3 times before someone tells me to "call my insurance" just to get me off the phone. To which i will exclaim, "YOU ARE MY INSURANCE!" i don't want to ruin my credit over this, but i DON'T believe its fair to extort $155.00 out of me. It sucks to be the little man/woman. Paying for insurance at a shitty job that offers half ass benefits, having no money for legal recourse, no voice, no choice but to pay. and pay, and keep paying...

P.S. i have yet to wear this $40.00 diaphragm that i paid for in full at the pharmacy that first day after waiting in a lobby for 45 minutes with sick people and crying babies.

My cheap coochie

I've been on a coochie roll but i promise, this my friends, is the end. I went to the market and bought all the supplies to make my own hot diggities (that's what my old lady calls 'hot dogs', she's foreign). I pulled out the abacus and did the math:

Per Dog

fancy mustard: .o6 cents

Kraut: .85 cents

Bread: .41 cents

Sausage: .41 cents

Total: $1.73 per dog

(there is a sausage under all that mustard, i swear)

Moral of the coochie madness story is that its always cheaper if you do this shit yourself at home. Not to mention, all that shit comes in packs so you have extra food to feed your friends, the neighbors, or yourself 6 times throughout the week. A very wise little Asian boy once told me, "when you eat out, don't pay for shit you can easily make yourself, order something you cant make at home."

Tommy's has Best coochie

There is nothing like an exhausting day in Satan's lair to make a man not hell bent on fixin' viddles. I was tired and feeling lazy. So as i drove down Colorado on my way home dreading a cold cuts sangwitch for dinner, i remembered that i pass a Tommy's en route. And i thought, (at the risk of getting an attack of violent diarrhea) why the hell not. I pulled into the drive-thru and for $2.25 i got this filthy, disgusting, gut busting chili-cheese dog. Uh! GET SOME! You can see the grease glisten off the yellow wrapper which is clearly an indication of its vast nutritional goodness. Okay, okay, it's not made of rattlesnake, rabbit, and endangered snow leopard; but for $2.25 this is a hearty hot dog. And if you count that giant wedge of tomato and the half dozen pickles, this bitch is almost, almost-in healthy salad territory.
Also, as i was doing my laundry on Sunday i found that Trader Joe's sells a 6-pack of the Spaten Optimator for $7.99. Sacrilicious.

Worst-coochie gives good sausage!

The place is actually called Wurstkuche (with an umlaut over the second u). Its located on 800 East 3rd Street in L.A. I read about it in Los Angeles Magazine's May issue:cheap eats, and it came highly recommended by fellow foodies as a must try. Technically, i am violating the food blog rule by reviewing a spot that i have only visited once. But in my defense i was there with Mr. M and he ordered something different from me, and we sampled each others orders.

First of all, the 'purveyors of exotic grilled sausages' have a great set up. A fabulous menu which includes awesome German and Belgium BEERS. An even more fabulous layout, with a spacious cafeteria style dining room flooded with natural light during the day. (the tables are removed to make way for a dance floor @nite) The crowd is a mix of the business set and hipsters who wear their sunglasses indoors while they eat. An apple lap top is set up in a corner providing the soundtrack to your meal.

That being said, i am not entirely sure why this place was reviewed as being a cheap eat location in Los Angeles. The 2 exotic dogs we ordered ran us $15.50, (Buffalo, Beef & Pork w/Chipotle Peppers topped w/ caramelized onions and Sauerkraut pictured above) and the 2 frosty beers were an added $12.00.(Spaten Optimator- 7.2% ABV pictured below) The buns are not especially soft nor sweet nor sourdoughie (in a good way). They are in fact, a little too big to house the sausage. And even with the 2 free toppings they throw in, i am not entirely sure that this is a great cheap eats deal. All this aside Wurstkuche offers a fantastic experience and i definitely recommend it to any and all sausage and beer lovers. This place does not need my 2cents, nor my $27.74 for that matter. As we were leaving, there was a considerable line forming to order dogs or beer. But i don't live Downtown, nor work there, nor "party" there so its unlikely that i will go back. This place reminded me of PINKS; also a Los Angeles hot dog landmark that always seems to have a DMV type line flanking its establishment. I see big things and a promising future for this place. However, for my money, i think I'll stick to one of those good ol' victory dogs: a hot dog wrapped in bacon topped with onions and green peppers that you can buy on any street corner after a game, concert, show, night out at the local pub for about $2.50.

Yaba-daba-doo!

GM died on Monday. Sadly, the news was not really that shocking for me; i have been hearing about the eminent demise on NPR. On Tuesday I received a forwarded email titled; "Goodbye, GM", an essay written by Michael Moore about the event. It got me thinking about the future of automobiles, the earth, about the Aztecs and the end day. It made me a little angry and reflective about the job our current president has been doing. It was easy to lampoon G.W., he's a total buffoon who's a constant embarrassment to himself. But Barack is an educated, articulate man, and that is what makes my disappointment with his lack of activity more discomforting. I read Michael Moore's essay in which he goes into a litany of requests for automotive reform. On Thursday in the parking structure of HELL my opinion of the defunct company totally changes when i saw the FULL CELL EQUINOX by GM. It was like an amalgam, a mirage, a glimmer of hope. It seemed ironic to me that at its life's end; GM actually proved to fulfill Mr. Moore's manifesto, an energy efficient vehicle.

What is a Fuel Cell Vehicle?

FCVs represent a radical departure from vehicles with conventional internal combustion engines. Like battery-electric vehicles, FCVs are propelled by electric motors. But while battery electric vehicles use electricity from an external source (and store it in a battery), FCVs create their own electricity. Fuel cells onboard the vehicle create electricity through a chemical process using hydrogen fuel and oxygen from the air. FCVs can be fueled with pure hydrogen gas stored onboard in high-pressure tanks. They also can be fueled with hydrogen-rich fuels; such as methanol, natural gas, or even gasoline; but these fuels must first be converted into hydrogen gas by an onboard device called a "reformer." FCVs fueled with pure hydrogen emit no pollutants; only water and heat; while those using hydrogen-rich fuels and a reformer produce only small amounts of air pollutants. In addition, FCVs can be twice as efficient as similarly sized conventional vehicles and may also incorporate other advanced technologies to increase efficiency.

*information provided by: http://www.fueleconomy.gov/feg/fuelcell.shtml

Not for nothing but this car RULZ! Like a compact mini-van, or a tubby station wagon; its design was clearly intended to please the market demand for SUV's/Monster trucks. Apparently, GM revealed this automobile in early 2oo8 and after winning several awards, receiving acclaim and recognitions, the car never became available to the public. How sad. I was excited to be near it and eager to learn more about it. (It belongs to Disney-Disney has offices in HELL too)
Its depressing to know that the technology exists to make serious strides in self sufficiency and that clearly the public is responsive and willing to make the switch from oil to electric, but that our government would rather forgo progress to keep corporate America rich. Unacceptable. I sincerely HOPE Obama makes good on all those campaign promises. No disrespect Sir, but the tax break on purchases of new automobiles is just the tip of the iceberg. When will you tackle real reform rather than coddle corporate America with bail outs? What happened to the EV(electric vehicle), bring that bitch back Barack. Put some solar panels on the lawn of your white house, pimp out your ride and make the Beast Eco-friendly. Attach some strings to all that money you are giving the automotive industry and help us break free from our addiction to foreign oil and war.

side note: does anyone remember that MC BREED song about him being from F.L.I.N.T. and how if he became president he would paint the white house black....

USA-not-A-Okay

In my life time i have seen the US/Mexico border go from a chain linked fence that divided two countries to a thicker and taller metal gate, then it changed from a gate to a wall. And then behind that wall another wall was erected and on top of that wall, barbed wire was added. So much money and energy has been squandered on securing that border. THEN- after 9/11 the shit really hit the fan. We had to protect our border from foreign enemies, which the minute men used as an excuse to declare open hunting season on Mexican terrorists. All this to protect ourselves from Mexicans who come to the United States to spread their religious ideologies, and steal all of our good jobs... That being said, you cannot imagine my shock and awe when i heard one of today's top news stories about the (June 1st) restriction, requiring people to present proper identification when attempting to cross the Canadian/U.S. border. So wait a minute, time out, all this time that we were "securing our border" to the South and pioneering all that Homeland Security bullshit, what have we been doing in the Great White North?

Let me get this straight. For years i have heard the redundant rhetoric about Mexicans stealing jobs; jobs that we all know GOD DAMN WELL, NOBODY wants to do; all the while letting educated English speaking Canadians just walk across the border without so much as requesting proper identification? What? Did we ever stop to imagine what jobs these highly qualified Canadians were taking from U.S? Do we care? I have never seen a Canadian housekeeper, nor a Canadian selling fruit on the side of the road, or washing cars, nor mowing a lawn. So what is this bullshit really about, America?

Your pro Canada, anti Mexico agenda is clear to me now America; you racist Jezebel. Don't judge me harshly, please; I was born here, i live here, and i love you America, but sometimes you disappoint me and fill me with shame. I wish you'd stop it and get it together. Get us some universal health care, help us with our distressed debt, truly and honestly leave no child behind and stop being such a two-faced racist bigot. ALSO, for Christ sake- if you are going to tighten one border, tighten both! Its like wearing fireproof pants with no top! ...And the rockets red glare with amber waves of shame-AMEN

Won't somebody please think of the children!

With the California election less than a day away i am flabbergasted by the amount of media coverage and propaganda surrounding this important event. I cant open my mailbox, watch a t.v. show, or listen to my favorite radio station without being inundated with some debate about the controversial propositions on the ballot. ACTUALLY, not really. In fact, quite the opposite. I have in all truth only caught one commercial where a "teacher" is pleading for the children, begging us to vote yes on Prop 1A and 1B. As if either proposition had anything remotely to do with the other. I think at one point she actually exclaims, "wont someone think of the children!" Which is a serious pile of soft smelly beer shits! Prop 1A has absolutely nothing to do with the children! it has everything to do with a a mystical "rainy day fund" that in all actuality is a Slush Fund. This BITCH will have us believe that in order to help the children we need to vote YES on 1A and 1B. But if we really care about the children, we will only VOTE YES on 1B and NO on 1D, the only two propositions which actually have something to do with children.
I am completely disgusted and disappointed with our display of civic duty. From the corporate news level, the grassroots level, and personal neighbor to neighbor level. This apathy born from the same community that not 7 months ago was wall to wall ape shit about our electoral process. Look, listen, Its cool we voted for a president, I'm glad Barack is that president, and I'm glad that a sound active campaign brought that to fruition. But what the FUCK CALIFORNIA!?! This election tomorrow has EVERYTHING to do with our local government. This is shit we can tangibly control. I cant tell you how to vote: (NO ON 1A, 1C, 1D, YES ON 1B, 1E, and 1F.) But i can urge you to vote. AND i know you all are already registered because you voted for Barack, so i know you are still eligible. The future of the Golden State's budget lies in your hands dude. Don't fuck this up!

its a FILM not a MOVIE!!!!!

A while back the movie 'Independence day' was on television. I watched it because there was nothing else on and also because as it turns out, it has an all star cast. I realized a couple of things. One, this movie is what really solidified the Fresh Prince of Bel-air's role as a leading man, and two, the movie is terrible! Absolutely-shit smeared on your best shoes, late for an important interview-terrible. Granted it was never my favorite movie, but it got me thinking about big summer blockbuster movies, bad 80's movies, and how they compare to alleged "films". All this aside, it is not my intention to embark on a slanderous tirade about the quality of 'Independence day'. For all i know, maybe it sucked because like lots of poorly conceived futuristic movies that try too hard; it could not withstand the test of time, or maybe it's because the concept is weak and badly recycled, or maybe, just maybe its simply a crappy film, so what? I am mature enough now to see past that elitist art-house mentality that only Criterion Collection films and those directed by someone with a foreign sounding name are alone worth watching. Truth be told, some of the shittiest movies have brought me the most joy over the years simply because of their irreverent quality. But the fact that i love 'Showgirls' with all its plot holes and character flaws is not the point. The point is that shitty movies go both ways.

When i started Netflix i was eager and ambitious. I started watching everything. The critically acclaimed stuff, the popular stuff, stuff that came highly recommended all the things i always wondered about... and it hit me. A lot of these so called films are complete tripe too! I could not stand 'Blue Velvet'. I found it idiotic, and pretentious. I simply do not accept the hype. The genius of Ingmar Bergman is lost on me and 8 1/2 is overrated. There, i said it! I am not a yokel that cannot appreciate art, on the contrary, i can appreciate ART even if it is not acclaimed.

I say this because the other day i went to watch 'the Fast and the Furious' at the 2 dollar theatre and as predictable as it was, i enjoyed it. But i caught a lot of grief from friends who passed judgement on the movie. SO FUCKING WHAT if it appeals to the lowest common denominator?!? Maybe sometimes we need to just suspend all disbelief and escape our better judgement for 90 minutes and just have a mind numbing good time? I am not suggesting that we abandon all discretion, nor am i championing the nomination of Vin Diesel for an Oscar. But i can find value in mega budget-mindless explosion movies, not exclusively reserve it for hyped art house films. Perhaps my taste is all in my mouth, but after watching some "classics films" i cant help but wonder if they are great for the same reason that the Emperor's new clothes were?

Take my husband, PLEASE!

Bukowski tells a tale of a stud that could not mate with a mare because she was "too attractive". The handlers had to lather the mare with mud to entice the arrogant stud into mating. The point of the story published in "South of No North", was that the stud was intimidated by the mares beauty. And it was not until he believed that she was uglier than him, that he felt confident enough to perform. I always remembered that story as an interesting insight into the male psyche.

The other nite i engaged Mr. M in the always dreaded instantly regrettable, "who would you rather" conversation. He begrudgingly participated and was a good sport about it; going into the pros and cons while carefully weighing his options (within the realm of the game and otherwise).Then i chimed in with my usual narcissistic-all consuming-insecurities. He replied, "why do you always have to make everything about you?" Needless to say, that was the end of the game, and i never did find out if he preferred Bijou Phillips or Donna Pinciotti.

I later apologized for ruining the game and i explain that i was not trying to make it all about me, that in the big picture i did not care about the outcome of the game. I simply felt suddenly insecure. Insecurities born in every woman who have ever watched t.v, opened a fashion magazine, had a class with THAT hot chick. It made me question if having a "hot body" was an important component for his ideal woman. He was right, i did make it all about me and about how i measured up to what i imagined his ideals of a "perfect" woman to be. I asked him, "would you like me more if i had a hot body?" he said no. i suspiciously suspected otherwise, when his follow-up response brought complacent contentment. He said, "if you were really hot i would be happy, but i would worry. right now i am just really happy, and this is better." When he said that i remembered that old song about being happy for the rest of your life by Jimmy Soul:

...A pretty woman makes her husband look small
And very often causes his downfall

As soon as he marries her, then she starts

Doin' the things that will break his heart

But if you make an ugly woman your wife
You'll be happy for the rest of your life

An ugly woman cooks your meals on time
An she'll always give you peace of mind...

Its a clever song that takes me back to The Buk's story. It became abundantly clear to me that women really don't know what men want, nor do we fully understand them: MEN. Rather than dwell on the "whatifs" i am gonna let myself feel pretty and loved and accepted just the way i am; as a muddy mare, although i rarely have a meal made on time.

This is not a Food Blog

Apparently, there is a code of ethics one should follow when writing a food blog, which i think should just be left to common sense and not a group of word Nazis who think they alone have the write to write. (Get it?) it's punny...

Food Blog Restaurant Review Guidelines
1. We will be thorough.
We will consult the Association of Food Journalist guidelines to maintain a standard for reviews.
2. We will be fair when reviewing a restaurant
We will visit a restaurant more than once (more than twice, if possible) before passing a final judgment.
We will sample the full range of items on menu.
We will be fair to new restaurants. Establishments experience growing pains. We will wait at least one month after the restaurant opens, allowing them to work out some kinks, before writing a full-fledged review. If, however, we chose to post about a new restaurant because of timeliness and competitiveness, we will instead offer readers “initial impressions.”
If we receive an item for free or if we are recognized during our reviewing process, we will mention so in our review.
While anonymity is important when dining out and conducting a review, we will not hide behind a pseudonym. If complete anonymity is required for personal or professional safety, we will not post anything that we wouldn’t feel comfortable putting our name on and owning up to. Readers should also be able to respond to the reviews.

***
I will press on. Last night Mr. M and i went to Casa Bianca. It's a mom and pop Italian restaurant located on 1650 Colorado in Eagle Rock. Mr. M and i have been there before.(AND yes i have been there more than 2 times before). All bias aside, i sort of prefer Tarantinos in Pasadena on 784 E Green Street. It too is a mom and pop operation, is a CASH only establishment, has marvelous pizza pies, (i have been there more than twice too) but i have never had to wait 45 minutes to an hour to eat there. Casa Bianca does not need me to review it. It has been reviewed and revered in various publications', 'BEST OF ' lists. It shares the charm of Palermo Ristorante Italiano located on 1858 N Vermont Ave in Los Angeles. You can buy a glass of wine while you wait for your table there too and the walls are plastered with 8x10 glossy head shots of D list TV stars from yesteryear. The food is better at Casa Bianca than that of Palermo's but the price is about the same. But i digress, this is not a FOOD BLOG.

Last night Mr. M and i went to Casa Bianca, we were prepared to wait so we walked down the street to a Liquor Store and bought a 32 of the high life and 2 cans of Boddingtons. We sat outside talking about "Son of Rambow", a delightful little movie we netflixed this week. The night was warm and balmy, due to the rain that had just misted everything. We were yucking it up and i was especially enjoying making fun of the other parties waiting to be seated. One group in particular went through several packs of cigarettes while waiting to be seated. It appeared to be a party of 10 gathering to celebrate the birthday of the ring leading hipster blond. Classic hipster look: long bangs, tight jeans, and that dirty but not dirty put together look. Little by little her friends kept showing up and they all awkwardly stood around chain smoking because it appeared that many of them did not know each other. Which begs the question; is a dinner birthday party really a good setting to meet new people? They got seated before us and then a mid forties couple joined the fun outside. The ass clown had long hair and kept trying to butch up the conversation by talking about things he had no idea about. He actually said that Mark Sanchez went to the LIONS; idiot! And his lady friend was one of those divorcee's that had a lot of work done: had fried blond hair but a tight little body. A real match made in heaven. We finally got seated and wouldn't you know, we got to sit right next to the party of 10. Turns out the chain smokers were all, wait for it, wait for it, VEGETARIAN!

Now some of you loyal blog followers know that i fasted, and that i can MacGyver the shit out of some tofu, so being a vegetarian is all good. But Vegetarians that chain smoke and wear "MEAT IS MURDER" shirts put me over the edge.

(See i told you, this was not a FOOD BLOG)

Here i go on my soap box. SMOKING is MURDER and SUICIDE and Smoking is Puffthetic! If you can't find something better to do with your hands while you wait around then you are socially inept. If you can't sit through a meal without stepping out for a smoke break, you are a LOSER JUNKY. And if you really care about animals stop smoking! NEWSFLASH! We are all animals and while i was sitting outside with you for 45 minutes breathing your second hand cancer you were slowly murdering me.

I used to smoke. It was cool. I was a bad ass and i wanted to announce my presence with authority. But its an expensive ridiculous habit. Many of my friends tell me now that they cant imagine me smoking. It has been about 2 years and i can honestly say i don't miss it. But back to my point. DON'T BE SUCH A HYPOCRITE! Don't push your vegan bullshit in my face while puffing cancer at me as well. If you want to commit to making earth a better place, start with yourself. Better yourself first.

In conclusion, the pizza we ate was wonderful. The sausage was excellent. The meatballs were whatever. But the little cockroach that joined us in our booth at the end of the meal was an especially nice touch. I think from now on we will do carry out.

As Seen On TV

i have a secret confession to make: I love television. Okay, okay, that's not really a secret. But the fact that i love bad television, and above all, infomercials should be. There. you all know my filthy little secret. Although, some of you may have already suspected this after eagerly unwrapping a Christmas or birthday present from me only to find some product that has been hawked on late night television by some former child star.

i jest, i cant say what it is exactly about the infomercial that attracts me, perhaps the poor production value, the terrible acting, the ludicrous empty promises and claims of success or maybe its the jazzy synthesized beats. At any rate i must admit that i am a bit of a sucker sometimes. You wont catch me rockin' the snuggie on a cold night, nor grilling some chicken in that glass crock pot that Mr T endorses. I have a general rule about these things: IF THE PRODUCT ACTUALLY WORKED, IT WOULD BE SOLD IN A STORE, and not just the virtual Bazaar that is late night T.V.

I get so giddy with glee when i see the products that have actually peaked my interest make it to the shelves of my local Target or CVS. I get a sense that because the product is in an actual store that it may actually work and i don't have to worry about giving my credit card number to some yokel over the phone. I have bought plenty of things that have been advertised on TV and have had great success with them like:

• the Ove' Glove that is really amazing if you use the oven a great deal which i do since i don't own a microwave so i heat everything up in the oven and plus i love to bake
• ShamWow which does have me saying "WOW" every time i use it. It sucks up a lot of water and dries fast. WOW!
• the Iron Gym, which at first was a bust since it did not fit any of the doorways in my apartment. But i gave it to my friend and he raves about how well it is working for him. (and i can totally see results too)

So i nearly messed myself when i was trolling the aisles of CVS and i found the Smooth Away! i could not wait to try it out and see how this miracle product would remove my hair, painlessly and without chemicals. Ten bucks later, i had myself another truth test.

The plastic pink pads look sturdy and the pack includes 5 adhesive backed sandpaper strips for each pad. (5 little, 5 big sandpaper strips) The instructions are self explanatory- rub in a circular motion, clock wise then counter clockwise no up and down, no side to side.

The sandpaper strips are very fine, and do not break the skin, nor cause it to burn nor itch. However i did catch a whiff of burning hair when i was doing my test.

BEFORE:
(Please forgive the picture of my hairy ass leg.) The instructions indicate that the hair should not be too long.

AFTER:
The hair was gone, and my leg was hella ashy afterwards. i assume that was the gentle exfoliation that was promised on the box.

So the verdict? it works. Its not as close as a razor, and not as clean as a good waxing. But the Smooth Away actually works. I did find the the little sandpaper strip lost some of its sanding abilities after one leg so i wonder if they sell replacement pads or if i can just buy some at Home Depot and make my own?

Secretly i think i just want to invent something that will make me Millions of dollars and get me out of HELL. all i need is one idea, my very own snuggie, or clap-ON, or flashlight key ring. No matter how stupid it is, someone out there, (perhaps someone not too unlike me) will buy it.