indecisive cupcakes

Astrology has long been regarded as an exact science. For generations mankind has gazed into the heavens to tell us whether or not that dude we are bangin' is gonna be our life-mate, or whether today is a good day to buy that car. It is because of the power of the cosmos that we know so much about our selves and each other. Take a Libra for example:

{courtesy of Cafe Astrology} "...Libra natives are generally thought to be sociable, somewhat intellectual souls. They have an almost innocent way about them that makes them very approachable... Libra's enjoy balance in their lives... have a reputation for untruthfulness.... Some more powerful signs may consider Libra's a little on the weak side...Libra's are known for comparing and thinking in relative terms, instead of in absolutes... Harmony is the ultimate goal, but their idealism and high expectations can mean plenty of discontent... A Libra comes across as very civilized and rather refined..."

Truthfully, I don't believe this hokum. It's human nature to want to assign order and meaning to life and things but the universe is not always fair. Good things happen to bad people, innocent children die and good people suffer all the time. Some people are assholes because their mommy did not love them enough, some hate women because some pretty girl rejected them in grade school. It's not altogether random or predestined, rather a finely woven tapestry of cause and effect that all of mankind is intricately involved in. For every predicted astrological characteristic, a logical justification can be parallelled to discredit these mystical celestial predictions.

****

BUT I digress, this was supposed to be about cupcakes-Birthday cupcakes for an indecisive Libra. So what should I bake for the bitchiest broad (ME) who does not know what she wants??? A little of everything! I got the idea for Neapolitan Cupcakes from one of my favorite baking websites: cupcake rehab. I am glad I did not make these chocolate&vanilla w/strawberry frosting cupcakes for somebody else first because they are lackluster. I followed the recipe to the letter(or so I think) but my finished product was not as tasty as I had envisioned.

*NOTE*

Baking while under the influence is not always a good idea Amy Sedaris!

Why, you ask? Well, I may have doubled the salt on the Vanilla recipe because they ended up tasting like cornbread. And I over baked both batches which made the cupcakes a little dry. Okay, A LOT dry. Also, I may have misread the proportions of flour and sugar because for some reason these cupcakes were not sweet at all. However, thankfully the frosting was, which definitely helps makes these cuppies barely edible.

BLACK-N-WHITE Cupcakes

(courtesy of Cupcake Rehab)

Ingredients:
Vanilla:
8 tablespoons (1 stick) unsalted butter, room temperature, plus more for pan
1 ¾ cups all-purpose flour (spooned and leveled), plus more for pan
2 teaspoons baking powder
½ teaspoon salt
¾ cup sugar
2 large eggs, room temperature
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
½ cup whole milk
Chocolate:
8 tablespoons (1 stick) unsalted butter, room temperature, plus more for pan
1 ¼ cups all-purpose flour (spooned and leveled), plus more for pan
½ cup cocoa powder
2 teaspoons baking powder
½ teaspoon salt
¾ cup sugar
2 large eggs, room temperature
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
½ cup whole milk

Directions:
Preheat oven to 350 degrees.

In a medium bowl, whisk together flour, baking powder, and salt (and chocolate powder for the chocolate cupcakes); set aside.
With an electric mixer, beat butter and sugar until light and fluffy. Add eggs one at a time, beating well after each addition; add vanilla, and mix until combined. On low speed, beat in half the flour mixture, followed by milk; end with remaining flour mixture. Mix just until incorporated (do not over mix).
Fill muffin cups with 3 tablespoons of each batter, side by side.. Bake until a toothpick inserted in center of a cupcake comes out clean, 22 to 24 minutes. Cool cupcakes in pan, 5 minutes; transfer to a wire rack to cool completely

Sprinkles' Strawberry Frosting

(courtesy of Martha Stewart)

1/2 cup whole frozen strawberries, thawed
1 cup (2 sticks) unsalted butter, firm and slightly cold
Pinch of coarse salt
3 1/2 cups confectioners' sugar, sifted
1/2 teaspoon pure vanilla extract

Directions:
Place strawberries in the bowl of a small food processor; process until pureed. In the bowl of an electric mixer fitted with the paddle attachment, beat together butter and salt on medium speed until light and fluffy. Reduce mixer speed and slowly add confectioners' sugar; beat until well combined. Add vanilla and 3 tablespoons strawberry puree (save any remaining strawberry puree for another use); mix until just blended. Do not over mix or frosting will incorporate too much air. Frosting consistency should be dense and creamy, like ice cream.

***

I don't have a food processor NOR do I have a mixer with a paddle attachment. I used a blender on low speed to puree the strawberries and a regular mixer to breakdown the butter.

TAKEAWAY from this recipe. TOO MUCH BUTTER. I had leftover frosting, AGAIN. The taste is awesome, but in the future I will use more strawberries less butter and less sugar.

Merry Un-Birfdee, Every-body!

Set sail. destination: Freedom

ME: “Am I getting fired?”
BofA Wig: “Oh no, not at all, we just want to ask you some questions…”

I had some hot wings delivered to the parking kiosk I was working at and got caught by management. If memory serves me, that was the best shift; the medical center kiosk. Everyone who worked the booths ordered food but I got caught. I worked parking for almost 2 years and saw people come and go like toilet paper. My ticket was up and the hot wings stunt was just what they needed to fire me. When I returned to the yard after my shift was over I got into a shouting match with the shift manager. I told him, "you can’t fire me, I quit!"

Right before I quit working at Ann Taylor the manager asked me if I had stolen some merchandise. I told her in my most honest voice that I had not. But I had. One morning after running late to work without any socks on, I stole a pair from the stock room. A month later it turned out that the night manager had been embezzling money and stealing jewelry and shit and within a year the store was shut down.

I worked for a crazy balloon lady who had big fake tits. She was coked out and disorganized, but she hired me because I went to her Alma Mater. My adventure began at dawn in an A-team van with a handful of other students huddled together like immigrants, illegally crossing the border. We got to some posh west-side private school and began constructing balloon arches with no training and vague instructions. On the way back home the coke-head slammed on the breaks of her rapist van and I flew to the back while a large helium tank smashed into me. That was my first and last day.

My summer as a Library page was spent shelving books. Leafing through copies of books too sophisticated for my tender mind. I took my time in the audio visual department listening to obscure music and watching movies under the guise of checking them for defects. I worked with a tall unattractive girl who had recently lost a lot of weight and flirted shamelessly with older even more unattractive men. I would watch her practice her runway walk because according to her, she was going to be a model when she grew up.

The blue and yellow big top was posted under the Santa Monica pier for a couple of months. Back then one could flip a bitch on PCH and easily find street parking. Le Cirque left town and wanted me to come along with them but silly me, I had dreams and goals. They ended up taking this older version of what I was to become. She was less idealistic and was all too happy to run away with the circus.

A stripper I knew got me a gig selling bongs at this head shop in Venice Beach. I sold more glass stems to crack heads than anything else. This old man I worked with was skimming off the top. He got wise to the fact that I was wise to his little act and he got me shit canned. The owner felt bad letting me go and gave me a beautiful green piece with gold glitter as a parting gift.

During the summer when 'Independence Day' premiered I worked concession at Edwards Cinema. This big Samoan dude brought in a whole pizza in a box and I told him, "No outside food allowed sir." He laughed and tossed me aside like an annoying fly. Burns on my arms from cleaning the popcorn machine and the knowledge of what the "butter" is comprised of, is enough to keep me from ever eating popcorn again.

At the seedy sex shop I clocked in about a week of work before I pulled a no call/no show. It was a toss up between the disgust of unsuspecting “normal” men who had a thing for trannie porn and the gay dude who gave them blow jobs in the stalls that did it for me.

Free bras and panties were not enough to keep me at Victoria's Secretion. Panty tables, store sets, wearing a black blazer and paying for my own parking proved too high a price for ill fitting bras and cheaply constructed undies.

I met the Possum at some Jewish Center. My job there was to shock innocent school children with images of poverty and abstract art. The goal: to illicit some raw emotions in them. Which in turn they would use to scribble their apathetic feeling onto a small blank white box. The Possums job was to photograph the boxes. The whole project was some lesbians answer to heightening homeless awareness.

One Christmas after a grueling interview and a 100 question morality test I went to lunch and never came back from my seasonal gig at Urban Outfitters. A bunch of things lacked price tags and the store was a mess. I remember that I started giving a bunch of shit away when I knew I would not be coming back from lunch.

I enjoyed teaching sex Ed for PPLA. My car was new (to me) at the time and filled with boxes of condoms. I lived in the West side and I did not mind driving EVERYWHERE. I felt confident, I was educated, and most of all I felt productive. Eventually like with most non-profits I was phased out due to budget cuts.

Once after a week of hard rain I found the dead body of a diabetic tenant that lived in one of the units of the apartment building I managed. He was swollen and flies feasted on his body.

The union was a job. I did not hate it, and I did not love it. But when you work for someone who lives in a world of their own creation they sure as shit ain't gonna let you fuck around with their little operation.

That one summer I worked as a youth marketer was a dream/joke. Best job ever. I got paid to go places, have fun and pass out free shit. Totally ridiculous. When I got paid to go to Vegas, I tore down the curtains and wrote on the walls that I loved Johnny Depp. When I went to Satan's asshole; Phoenix Arizona, I dyed my hair and left the bathroom and towels blood red. Priceless.

“Fake it till you make it”, is what some broad with a skin condition told me in HELL. Bank of America was an awful place and in the vein of disgruntled ex-employees I can with overwhelming certainty say that I worked with the stupidest bunch of morons EVER. Never have I met such vapid stupidity. People so fucking unaware of the world around them, so out of touch with reality: global politics, music, cinema, even state capitals. People with nothing to contribute to a conversation, nothing to teach or impart in the least bit. I felt my brain drying up during my 4 year stint in that shitty hell hole. I found myself forgetting words and facts. My conversations were reduced to sophomoric colloquialisms.

It’s not entirely fair for me to demean the job that I begrudgingly stayed at for 4 years. There were a few lost souls in that crummy place that knew a thing or two, or three whose friendships and company I enjoyed. But for the most part I was misplaced. I did not belong there. It was such a lonely soul numbing experience, so much so that when they called me into the little room to ask me a few questions (they lied; the very next day they shit canned me) I was filled with euphoric optimism.

The nostalgic cynic within drove me to read through my old diaries and a common theme recurs, the need and desperation for a job, the constant dissatisfaction with my station and overall quality of life. As I embark on this familiar journey I HOPE that my ship sails in forgivingly calm water. That my destination be not a mirage but a welcoming port filled with promise and future, that my days be filled with beautiful weather, health and riches unknown to man.

im not white

Census fever has come and gone but the issue of racism lingers like a malignant cancer.

When the census packets first started arriving in homes the local media paraded our [Los Angeles] midget mayor in a census propaganda fluff piece declaring us [Latinos] as white. The anger and outrage I felt was not fit for words. Needless to say, the census form still sits on my coffee table covered in food grease, beer and coffee rings. I tried to think back to some collegiate anthropological course that I took years ago that discussed the origins of man. I desperately searched my drug addled memory for some semblance of a factual truth regarding race but sadly the only thing I could squeeze from my pickled brain was some quasi knowledge of history. I KNOW for a fact that I am not white because my ancestors have been here on this patch of land long before the Mayflower or even Columbus. Plus I own a mirror.

I asked around to see what my contemporaries {other Latinos} would be doing about this grave injustice. Most people found my outrage ridiculous and welcomed the idea of being considered white and gladly claimed that as their race on the census. Others confronted the ludicrous implication of Aryan inclinations by claiming to be black. And while that is funny, and probably more accurate, I'd rather not partake in this ridiculous exercise of false self identification. Its offensive to me to assume that I have anything in common with the cultural heritage bred of entitlement. Sure I went to college, have indoor plumbing and the right to vote but I am reminded constantly that I am not welcomed in certain circles.

We were at the bar when my heavy handed humor got the best of me. It may have been a little presumptuous of me to imply that I would be attending a Klan meeting now that I was 'white'. The white people in the bar stools next to mine became visibly uncomfortable. Uncomfortable with WHAT is unclear. It could have been with my racist rant or maybe the idea of a darkie crashing their exclusive Klan meeting put them on edge. Whatever it was, It was clear my money was no longer green enough so I left.

At first I thought that their discomfort came from the "white-shame" That they did not like to be reminded of their history of hate and oppression. Then Arizona happened and I realized that the whites are just as racist as ever. For all we know that stupid "we are all white" census stunt pushed them over the edge. Perhaps the idea of welcoming us to the fold sent them into frothing at the mouth rage that obviously caused them to revisit and dust off some ol' Jim Crow justice. I say to all my brothers and sisters in Arizona when the cops stop you and ask you for your passport you tell them that you are white and that there must be some kind of mistake. Then ask them for their passport.

TextMex

When I first received a text message from my mother I was amazed. Initially because she called it a "Tex-mex" and then because the act totally betrayed her aversion to anything technological.

It's no secret that I LOVE texting. I prefer it to talking on the phone in fact. Perhaps this comes from my love of the written word. How the letters string together giving birth to beautiful prose. Or how when given a limited space one can cleverly abridge the context of almost any communication; stripping away the fluff and leaving only the essence of meaning. Or maybe it is because I talk on the phone for a living and perpetual speaking is exhausting. 8 hours of constantly yapping makes me hate the sound of my disgusting voice. It makes my ears ring and the idea of listening to people's chatter while off the clock makes me absolutely bat shit. One thing I have learned from my work and from taking public transportation is that 90% of conversations are NOT THAT IMPORTANT! The meat of those conversations can be reduced to a set of characters. "Dinner at 8" "Running Late" "I miss you" "I hate you" etc. Today on the bus I heard a woman talking shit loudly into her phone about a hypochondriac with halitosis. It was funny as all get-out but completely unnecessary and useless noise. She could have sent a simple text that read, "i hate that fucking bitch, she has yuck mouth" end of story.

I also see nothing wrong with intense text battles. The vigorous back and forth becomes a heated Apache dance...ahhh the intrigue. Occasionally however one will be forced to endure the dreaded 'text life story'. This long ass message that reads like a dissertation is annoying but sometimes necessary. In all truth there is probably a reason why that person could not say those things to you in 1.)person to your face or 2.) over the phone in your ear. Maybe you are a terribly defensive person. Maybe you are confrontational and don't listen, maybe they just don't want to have an argument but simply want to just say what they feel. At any rate these text essays are funny and sometimes make nice conversation pieces at cocktail parties and sleepovers.

The moral to this verbose rant:
Phone conversation will NEVER replace actual human interaction. And sadly, human interactions are not always meaningful encounters. Texting and to the same extent, letter writing affords us more time to think about the value of what we are about to convey. Let's face it, WE are by nature really fucking annoying and selfish. When we converse with people half the time we are too busy thinking about what we are going to say next to hear what we are being told. At least if we are in a position where we are forced to read someone's words; a certain level of comprehension could be assumed.

So next time you get a "tex-mex" from me know that above all else; I was thinking about you fondly, and that while I value you for all your disgusting human failings (I have a shit-ton of these); I value your time even more to NOT waste it with dead empty words and useless noise. KIT, TTYL and XOXO *(^-^)

SIDE NOTE: I'm not talking about texting while flying a plane, conducting a train, or driving an automobile. That would be plain stupid.

R.I.P? Hello Kitty

I meet a girl in HELL who was willing to drive me to Hello Kitty’s 35th anniversary “3 apples exhibition” in the Westside Royal T-bag gallery. It was the night of Hello Kitty’s Masquerade Party and it was horrendous. I made the girl pay for our pizza later that night when we failed to get into the party. Without saying too much more about that debacle, it was from that night on that my relationship with HK began to grow frigid. I did recently buy myself a lovely but poorly constructed, smelly overnight bag with some birthday money my mom handed to me like Ginger from “Casino” handed money to valets in exchange for blow. But even that ‘small gift, big smile’, could not erase the memory of my disgust with HK from that night. When Hello Kitty unceremoniously put on her leather jacket, strapped on the water skies and jumped the proverbial shark.

HOWEVER. Even though I’m done drinking the Hello Kitty Kool-aid, I am not ready to leave Sanrio town altogether. Sanrio has a shit-ton of awesome characters that are way cooler than that over-rated feline. Who has to coincidentally be some kind of special cunt to keep her twin sister out of the limelight all these years. Mimmy is reportedly “a little shy” and has a “different” personality and she allegedly wears a yellow bow on her right ear to help tell them apart. I wonder if HK is really that big of an attention whore or is Mimmy maybe like Rain Man? Is Mimmy mentally retarded? Is she really fat and depressed? Is she volunteering for Green Peace? Has she turned states evidence and is in witness protection? Or maybe having to live in her sister’s shadow all her life has driven her to hit the pipe really hard? Regardless of what affliction plagues this reclusive puss, she still deserves long awaited adulation and is potentially way cooler than her played out twin in my opinion.

Note: Clearly it is unrealistic for me to claim that I will quit Hello Kitty cold turkey. As Mr. M pointed out; I am addicted. Disgruntled and bitter but a junky nonetheless. A junky who will be trading in her red bow for a yellow one. baby steps...

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!

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."

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

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?

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.

HELL-o

Beep-Beep..."Hello, thank you for calling"... take a deep breathe, listen, wait-what are they rambling about? Get to the point, what the fuck is your name! i asked you for your name, YOUR NAME!!!! "no problem Mr. customer, it would be my pleasure..."search, look, listen wait, he is talking again, say something reassuring,"...yes i completely understand, let me explain to you how this happened..." FUCK, here we go, "... on Friday..." now what!? shut the fuck up if you want me to explain. where does this asshole live? huh- i wonder what kind of work he does? i see he eats a lot of Jack in the Box, Jesus! he is there like every day, what a lard ass. is he done talking yet? "...yes certainly, may i place you on hold while i research this further?" fuck I'm parched, i need some water. lets see, looks like you fucked up Mr. jack-in-the-box, lets hope you wont be a little bitch when i tell you that you fucked up. i wonder if my netflix will be there tonight, or if the postman will put my movie in bill's mailbox again? "Hello Mr. customer, thank you for holding, i reviewed the..." numbers, numbers, numbers, more numbers blurring into more numbers is that an 8 did i say 9? why did i say 4 that is clearly a 3, "unfortunately sir, i don't have an itemized description of what transpired during that transaction." dumbass, how the fuck am i supposed to know what you bought for fuck sakes! "...of course i understand that its a great deal of money sir, and yes i know the economy is bad..." i cant talk anymore my throat my fucking throat feels like its closing in. my mouth labours to form words. over and over again these words-these meaningless words. the sound of my voice is so irritating, it sounds like noise, what did i just say? ARG!!!! GOD DAMN IT i have to piss! when is my next break, 6:45, what time is it, 4:00. fuck me. "...yes, of course i understand..." fucking-A! SHUT UP! SHUT UP! SHUT THE FUCK UP! "Is there anything else i can help you with? We appreciate your business sir, have a nice day." Beep-Beep... "Hello, thank you for calling..."

Don't take it personally...

I never understood that comment. I don't see anyone else here, you did not say that shit to the wall did you?

All day in Hell i have been called a bitch. told: "fuck you" and i had a guy actually retract a "thank you" because as he put it, i did not do anything to help him. Two things come to mind. why do humans think that other people are supposed to fix their lives and their mistakes? And why are they so quick to personalize blame and then generalize the shame that is felt when that blame is misplaced with a response like, "don't take it personally." If we really did not want people to take things personally, we would not blame them, insult them and belittle them specifically. Its like saying your "sorry", as an easy fix-it-all response. We don't think before we act and for some reason we humans feel entitled. I have yelled at people and bitched them out but in every case i have never EVER said, "don't take it personally." if i am yelling at you and calling you names, i mean it. it may not be right, i admit. But there is no misplaced blame. I don't yell at the cashier at Trader Joe's because the old white lady hit me with a cart. I yell at the old white lady.

Why do we, as a society accept this shitty half-ass remedy to a much bigger problem; our lack of respect for each other? we cant allow ourselves to wash our hands of our responsibilities and then turn around and shit all over someone else because we have been raised to treat each other like shit and then say "sorry". I say, take that shit real personal like because that lady called you stupid, told you that you were useless, and then turn around and tell her that she is out of control and over the line- and generally being a bad human. When dogs take shits in the middle of the living room we don't hesitate to roll up some newspaper hit the dog on the snout and point our finger at them and exclaim, "Bad Fido. Bad boy!" Now, i don't think that's right by any stretch of the imagination, but as a society we thinks its totally acceptable. Therefore i say, if you act like an animal, then you should be treated like one too. "Bad Lady, BAD!" then i will tell her, take it personally...

*also for the record i don't believe in hitting animals unless its a snow leopard and its about to eat your baby. if your dog took a big nasty shit in the middle of the living room, that shit is your fault. you should take your pet out for a walk more often.

My BFF 4Ever

For as long as i can remember he has always been there for me with his warm fuzzy embrace. i grew wiser, saw the world under his guidance and tutelage. when i was sad, bored, lonely, angry... he was there to bring a smile to my face. he never cared what i looked like, that i put on some weight, or that i forgot to put pants on. Unconditional. So one can only imagine my outrage when i heard of the meddlesome government's plan to tear asunder my peaceful home by forcing me to get a digital converter for my oldest friend?!?

Mr. M and i went to Target on Saturday to pick up my nifty sansonic (the bastard child of Panasonic and Sanyo), that with the coupon cost us 5 bucks. you should see this piece of work. and if you have an old set like i do, you have. its ridiculous. Hundreds of channels? better picture? Easy hook up? My ass! it took me an hour to connect the sansonic up to my already awesome entertainment system that consists of a VCR, DVD player and my TV. i got the converter plugged in, but now i cant get the VCR or the DVD player to work! I still only have the same channel options, and as for better picture, try no picture. Now i have to go out and get a special antenna!?

its not such a big deal i suppose. its technology- the wave of the future. i am not all together clear as to why we have to go to a digital signal, it seemed to me that everything was working just fine. i guess i am like my grandparents who thought the typewriter was just fine and did not understand why computers were such hot shit. Maybe i will just break down and FINALLY get cable? huh, there's a thought. Hold fast BFF, we just might have HBO soon. AND Showtime!

Dear Diary

Recently i have been going through my old diaries because i am trying to find something in them to convince myself that they are worth saving. Mostly its a bunch of sad, waaaa-my-life-is-so-hard-you-don't-understand me, bullshit. Some of it is reflective but most of it is pathetic. i did however stumble upon this deliciously ironic little gem: [12/11/2001] 'I wish that these pages and words would erase themselves so that no one could ever see my thoughts and feelings, so that nobody could judge me or laugh at my turmoil.' A couple of things come to mind. 1.) i wrote that in 2001!? it reads like the musing of an 8th grader, 2.) why write it down if i don't want these things to be read? and Finally HOW ridiculous is it that seven years later i will decide to write shit down in a medium that explicitly opens me up to that laughter, judgment and ridicule from others; perfect strangers even, that i so desperately wanted to avoid?

Lent Watch 2008: i was irritable today, i thought that maybe i was going through alcohol withdrawals then i realized that i was just menstrual. I entertained briefly the idea of buying near-beer but that would be a waste of money and as Mr. M pointed out, we would look, never mind feel stupid purchasing fake beer.

Just for shits and giggles i researched AA online and found that its tenets to sober living are deeply flawed. A bulk of the steps rely on one turning to GOD. Which in it of itself is great if you are a Christian. But what if you are not?

Steps 1 and 2 seem like some good shit you want to do in general if you have lost control of your life. Step 3 makes an attempt to elaborate on "GOD" {as one understands him to be(insert personal faith in here)}, but from there on out it's clearly a Christian endeavour. i am not dismissing the power and potential for this program to be successful. I think that steps 8 thru 10 are pretty awesome and are things we should all do addictions notwithstanding just to be better humans in the universe. But is sobriety only found in GOD? what if someone is a Buddhist, or an atheist, does that mean that there is no hope for them?

THE TWELVE STEPS OF ALCOHOLICS ANONYMOUS
1. We admitted we were powerless over alcohol—that our lives had become
unmanageable.
2. Came to believe that a Power greater than ourselves could restore us to
sanity.
3. Made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of God as we
understood Him.
4. Made a searching and fearless moral inventory of ourselves.
5. Admitted to God, to ourselves, and to another human being the exact nature
of our wrongs.
6. Were entirely ready to have God remove all these defects of character.
7. Humbly asked Him to remove our shortcomings.
8. Made a list of all persons we had harmed, and became willing to make
amends to them all.
9. Made direct amends to such people wherever possible, except when to do
so would injure them or others.
10. Continued to take personal inventory and when we were wrong promptly
admitted it.
11. Sought through prayer and meditation to improve our conscious contact with
God, as we understood Him, praying only for knowledge of His will for us
and the power to carry that out.
12. Having had a spiritual awakening as the result of these Steps, we tried to
carry this message to alcoholics, and to practice these principles in all our
affairs.
Copyright A.A. World Services, Inc.

Super Market

Today i went to Market: Trader Joe's and Food 4 Less. Both wonderful establishments offering different products exclusive to each location. For example, if you are in search of a 26 pack of 'the champagne of beers' for under 14 bucks then Food 4 Less is your destination. But if you are looking for edamame hummus then set your course for Trader Joe's.

Edamame Hummus aside; as delicious as it is, Trader Joe's has 2 major draw-backs. the people who shop there are all shit crusted assholes and there never seems to be any available parking. Okay, not ALL people who shop there are assholes, but my experience there is always the same leaving me feeling guilty i walked in and eager to leave. At first i thought maybe it was me. Maybe i should not have done my shopping from the carts of the other patrons. or that maybe it was because i was not Eco-cool and did not bring in my own shopping bags. But its not that. No matter what city, no matter what time of the day, the people who shop there are real jerks. (for the most part.) I get hit by carts, cut off, and rushed through aisles as i try to shop. I like Trader Joe's, correction, i LOVE; i LURFT Trader Joe's! the products are one of a kind and the prices are great, i just wish the place was friendlier.

Now Food 4 Less, there's a friendly store. Children running freely throwing produce at each other and at other shoppers, patrons eating as they stroll the aisles with the greatest of leisure leaving half eaten products and food wrappers stuffed between packages, security guards that look too old, or too drunk to actually aid in the case of any real emergency... its a very welcoming place.

Perhaps i am being too picky, like the Goldie-locks of Market Places. This place is too snobby, that place too shantytown but nothing is just right. i don't spend my whole life trolling grocery stores, but like most humans, i need to eat. And i find myself wasting time schlepping between markets to find everything i need/want. Maybe i am asking for too much: a nice, clean, cheap place with lots of variety and unique products, with a friendly atmosphere and ample parking...