Archive | July, 2011

July 31, 2011

31 Jul

This past week was one of the most anti-poverexic weeks I’ve ever had in NYC.  Since moving to the city 4 years ago, this week was the only week I’ve ever had where I went out every single night of the week.  Shocking, I know.  It’s really because for the first 3+ years of living here, I purposefully avoided going out during the week because it was an easy way to save money (watching HBO at home = free).  Back in the day I would literally go an entire work week spending zero dollars and then maybe spending like $40 total over the weekend.  How times have changed.  I am seriously splurging now, going out for a drink after work with friends.  Big baller!!!

Monday night C was back in town so we had dinner at Cafeteria and had the most delicious fried mac and cheese spring rolls.  They’re exactly what they sound like — mac and cheese stuffed into a spring roll then fried.  Tuesday I had dinner and drinks with K whom I hadn’t seen since my birthday party 3 years ago and I had the most amazing pineapple caipirinha and lamb chops.  Wednesday was get-together with ex-coworkers and we went to Mogador where I had chicken tangine with cous cous along with half of coworker A’s plate of leftover chicken tangine with cous cous.  We reminisced on good old days when she would eat half her lunch at work and give me the rest; now I have no such food buddy at the office since all my current coworkers eat almost as much as I do.  Thursday was a big night for me, starting with work happy hour at Lillies which means we order like 10 appetizers, people only finish 7 of them and I eat all the rest.  Knowing I had KK’s birthday dinner afterwards, I still ate a plate of chicken fingers, nachos, french fries and sliders with copious amounts of happy hour drinks, then headed to the bday dinner at Zampa where we ordered like 10 more appetizers and desserts.

I think my body was so unprepared for all the lack of TV downtime during the week that it completely broke down by Friday, and I woke up with what appeared to be pink eye and a horrible cough.  I think my DVR was punishing me for not going through it in a timely fashion.  I had never had pink eye before, and I don’t even understand how Asians get pink eye — there is so little surface area that can get infected.  Anyway, after spending 3 hours at the ophthalmologist and getting meds for my eye which was apparently a very mild case, I was ready to finish off the week with a bang (literally too, if it hadn’t been for my eye).  Obviously that meant all you can eat sushi all you can drink sake bombing at Kumo (New Ashiya replacement), which got quite rowdy after the 7th round of sake bombing and after the waitress moved us mid-dinner next to a table full of NYU freshmen girls who were all over M and S.  That was our cue to leave for the rest of us, so we completed our usual weekend routine by ending the night with karaoke at Chorus in Koreatown with all you can drink bottle service from B and all you can sing songs by me.  I don’t really remember how I got home, but all I remember is waking up at like 6am to 15 (yes, 15) missed calls from T and 2 voicemails that were a bit difficult to decipher but said something along the lines of “you. me. cum. your hot body.”  Dazed and confused and suddenly coughing up a storm without the constant booze soothing my throat, I tried to fall back asleep and woke up a few hours later with my eye still stuck shut and with zero voice and zero money left in my wallet.  After a full week of splurging physically and financially, I was done.  This means going back to one meal a day this week.

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July 23, 2011

23 Jul

The last 2 nights for me have been all you can everything.  Thursday night was my first NYAC party and it was incred.  How I got in with flip flops I have no idea because it was the preppiest party I had ever been to.  Looooooves itttttt.  I felt like I was at a Princeton party except 10 times WASPier.  B, A and I were the only Asians there of course, so thank god we had S to be our token WASP.  This event was all you can drink and all you can eat, which for me meant 7 Jack & Cokes and vodka shots chased down with crab cakes and little shrimp appetizers on cucumber.  I woke up the next morning wanting to die because it was Friday, threw up in my bathroom sink, then somehow made it to work.

Friday night was J’s last weekend in NYC before he goes back to New Orleans to finish his last year at Tulane Law, so obviously we were all going to celebrate by going to an all-you-can-eat-tacos dinner because J is Mexican.  We found out that Mercadito has all you can eat tacos after 10:30pm on the weekends, so we made a reservation for 10:30pm and figured we could grab drinks beforehand at Billy Hurricane’s.  Given my Thursday night blackout, the only thing I had eaten all day on Friday was pieces of watermelon to calm my puking stomach, and I knew I wasn’t going to make it to 10:30pm without having a meal.  So obviously S and I went to Shitty Crab for their $1 oysters deal (4-7pm every day!) so I could get myself a light appetizer before the all you can eat tacos.  Once I got to Shitty Crab I realized I was much hungrier than I had anticipated, and S was running dangerously close to arriving later than 7pm, so I had to go ahead and order oysters for the both of us before the $1-oysters-before-7pm deal ended.  “6 dozen oysters and 4 Bud Lights please,” I told the bartender.  “Do you mean 6 oysters, half a dozen?”  “No – 6 dozen oysters please.”  The old bartender stared at me like his hearing was failing him.  “You want 72 oysters?”  “YES.  THAT IS WHAT I SAID.”  I yelled back.  “Is it all just for you?”  “YES.  GET OVER IT.  BRING ME MY FOOD.”

BRING IT.  Here is what was broughten.

$1 Oysters

$1 Oysters

This was just the first plate.  We had another plate just like this right after we finished the first plate.  While S and I were supposed to split these 3 dozen and 3 dozen, for some reason he only ate 12 of them, so I guess that means I ate 60 oysters that night.  I felt great for the first 50, but after the last 10 I was feeling a bit sea sick like little tiny oysters were going to come jumping back out of my throat.  Luckily I had over 2 hours to recover before all you can eat tacos, which was plenty of time for me to feel like myself again to eat 11 different kinds of tacos for J’s farewell dinner (pastor, carne, estilo baja, camaron, pollo, pescado, carnitas, mole, mariscos, calabacitas and rajas).  It was pretty amazing.  And I knew I was in for the time of my life on the toilet the next morning.

July 19, 2011

19 Jul

You may have heard, but Japan won the Women’s World Cup.  How that happened, I have no idea.  It was probably some post-tsunami pity going in their favor.  As a dedicated American, S organized a huge viewing party just so he could watch me perform seppuku after Japan lost.  Luckily that didn’t end up happening.  Here’s the unnecessarily overly detailed email invite that went out to all our white friends:

Well suhpwise suhpwise. Da sneaky Japanese purred off a victory ginst da Swedes.

Now it’s on like Donkey Kong. You called down the thunder. Now you got it. The age old rivalry between the US and Japan pops up again. Now I could launch into a litany of Pearl Harbor, Iwo Jima and (dare I say) Hiroshima (/Nagasaki) references… so I will. Thank God I’m an American winner.

Now before you retire to your dungeon sex lair to commit the rights of seppuku as you’ve come to realize the futility of F’in with the US of A, I want to brow beat you for a while. First, how dare you beat the Swedes! Women’s soccer is like nails on a chalkboard for me, and mild arousal is the only thing that makes the experience bearable. The French women today were surprisingly cute and shorn under their armpits. The US women, while having a few definite misses, for the most part bring the goods. The Swedes…oh, my heart flutters. Golden goddesses straight from Asgard. Fleet of foot yet full of bossom. But alas, Sunday I will be watching a bunch of squat, chestless, heartless wenches. Instead of stacking the team with traditional Japanese girls — giggling, Hello Kitty-loving school girls who wish so much that they could one day look like Sailor Moon — the Japanese have decided to put their best (butch) foot forward and go with a collection of girls who probably sound like Jaba the Hut when they laugh. I wouldn’t be surprised to see these girls perform the Haka prior to the match on Sunday. Well done.

Second, get ready to get your ass kicked (again). And I’m not just referencing the Lady Yanks’ record against your Japanese Cavity Creeps (21-0-3).

  • We continuously beat you on discovering meaningful technology. Yeah, Tamagotchi pets were cute, but they’re small potatoes compared to integrated circuits (thank you Texas Instruments), airplanes, television, playing it cool and atomic bombs.
  • We beat you on good looking women. Kate Upton over Devon Aoki any day of the week.
  • We beat you in every sports imaginable. Outside of Judo, Sumo and this (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u_8iztLC_Vw&feature=related), over what sports can the Japanese claim dominance? And no, surviving Godzilla attacks is not comparable to the WWF’s King of the Ring.
  • Oh, and we beat you in a little squirmish called W-W-2. And now we beat down Japanese pride everyday as we occupy your country from here to eternity.

I didn’t actually read any of this, but all I knew was that I wasn’t disputing any of these points since no one hates the motherland like I do.  Obviously I was rooting for USA despite the fact that the team was a bunch of broad shouldered dykes with horrible skin just looking to get face fucked and/or munch a ton of boxx (I guess better than the Japanese team who looked like a bunch of 12 year old boys who needed to get anally raped) — and as such, I fully supported all the propaganda posters that Colonel J had specially made for this occasion, including this one:

Say No To Prostitutes

Say No To Prostitutes

I applaud his PhotoShop skills.  I also applaud S’s cooking skills — in the spirit of America, he made sliders for everyone (all you can eat) and got an entire large tray full of Belgian fries with truffle, mango, wasabi and curry mayonnaise.

Homemade Sliders

Homemade Sliders

Mini Dericious

Mini Dericious

Belgian Fries

Belgian Fries

I had a total of 8 sliders that day.  And while the game may have possibly been the most boring soccer game – or any game for that matter – that I’d ever seen in my life, I did enjoy the all you can eat sliders/fries and all you can drink Four Loko.  I left S’s apartment that day full of meat, liquids and maybe some pride (that’s what she said).

July 13, 2011

14 Jul

Last week I attended the most incredible bbq I had attended since that Harvard Class of 1996 bbq I went to with A like 2 years ago.  This one was hosted by G and her friend R, who sent out the following email that previewed this event:

I know we’re all thinking that this is just throw a patty on a bun and call it a day. This is not the case. There will be booze and food provided. Take a look- YUMMMMM!

  • Ginger marinated, grilled shrimp
  • Sesame encrusted Tuna
  • Grilled Little Neck clams with clarified butter
  • Fresh herb marinated chicken breast
  • BBQ pulled beef short ribs sliders
  • Sweet Italian sausage with peppers & onion skewers
  • Veggie burgers
  • Hamburgers
  • Asian noodle salad
  • South Western potato salad

?!?!?!?!!?!??!!?!?!?!  Wait did we graduate in 1996 or 2006, who our age throws a party like this?!?!  It had to be a tease.  I figured maybe G had just recently gotten into cooking or something and she was over-ambitiously deciding to generously cook a huge feast for all her friends.  Roommate M and I showed up promptly at 8pm to find out the real deal and stopped by a bodega beforehand to pick up some pepto in prep for the big night and a 6-pack of Bud Light to be courteous guests.  When we arrived we were perplexed by what looked like a humongous one bedroom apartment with a spiral staircase that led to what appeared to be… YUP yup it was, this guy R had his own huge rooftop with a flat screen TV and nice comfy couches set up on the deck.  I immediately then see G who is ecstatic to see us, and we hand her the Bud Light contribution like the good guests we are.  “Awww you didn’t have to!  We have an entire full bar silly!”  G points here, here and here to three corners of the roof deck where there are uniformed bartenders with a full open bar, and in the fourth corner, a grille with an actual chef.  http://www.fortunecity.com/lavendar/poitier/135/freebies.wav

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I couldn’t believe it.  WHAT WAS THIS?!?!  M and I immediately run over to the bar where they were serving the most amazing drinks – some lemonade blueberry vodka thing and a sweet tea vodka drink.  I hadn’t really been into blueberry drinks since junior year of college with my Daedalus blueberry mojitos phase but this drink was out of control.  M and I were so absorbed in the drinks that we almost didn’t notice the incredibly good looking crowd around us, including one of my old last-year flings which was awk.  M and I spent the rest of the night shuttling back and forth from the bar to the grille where I continuously munched on pulled pork sliders, regular sliders, grilled shrimp, seared tuna, etc etc.  I’ll just say thank god for the pepto.  Before I knew it, I completely lost track of time and woke up to find myself somehow in a cab going back home with multiple missed calls from various people.  I definitely puked up some remnant seared tunas the next morning, but it was all worth it.

July 10, 2011

10 Jul

July 4th weekend was kind of a blur.  M/K/W and I, along with 3 other girls, were staying in the Crack House in East Hampton and it was… an interesting weekend.  We arrived last Friday night and knew wherever we were going to go out, there would be a 3 hour line outside, so we naturally started drinking aggressively at the Crack House so we would be able to better tolerate the crowds outside and the $15 drinks at bars.  W started mixing some serious vodka tonics that were left at the house (read: free), and I can’t even remember what else we drank, but before we knew it, we were all close to blackout by the time we left the Crack House and headed to Talkhouse.  Of course there was a 3 hour line outside Talkhouse and since I was with 6 determined girls, we waited in line.  The rest of waiting in line is kind of a blur, but all I remember is that half way through, I suddenly found a hot dog on the ground right next to me that W had apparently discarded (it was on a paper plate ok….), so I picked it up and happily ate it because it was free and I was starving by then.  Meanwhile people behind me were whispering things like “I wonder if that hot dog is roofied.”  But I knew it was W’s so I was fine.  Once we got inside after forever, I ran into a million people I knew, including C who was known on campus for exchanging sex for drugs.  Unfortunately I didn’t have any on me so I didn’t get lucky.

The next morning we all woke up to the worst hangover ever, which was cured by a day sleeping on the beach.  That night we were determined to go out earlier so we could avoid the 3 hour lines, but once again we got too caught up in our pregame.  I decided to make my specialty Pink Panty Dropper drink, which J had introduced at D’s bachelorette party where no one was drinking it.  I couldn’t understand it at the time since J/K and I thought it was the most delicious drink ever made, and we were actually quite offended that no one else was drinking it at the bachelorette party.  It was literally just vodka and pink lemonade, so I knew the Crack House girls would love it.  I poured the entire handle of vodka that was leftover in the freezer into a pitcher along with one packet of Crystal Light and some soda water, and I served it confidently to all the girls.  Unfortunately all the other girls except me spat it out, saying it was disgusting, and I finally got it:  No one else liked the drink because it was too strong.  So I practically finished off the entire pitcher with some help from W and K who drank it against their will.  After that, we still weren’t done pregaming so we opened up one of the Four Lokos I had brought (my contribution to the house) along with a bottle of champagne and finished those off in our car with this sketchy driver we found who wanted to come out and party with us.

When we got to Surf Lodge too late, there was of course another 3 hour line and some of these girls really had to pee, so W and J went to go pee in the woods right next to the bar while the rest of us waited in line.  J came back promptly, but after W was MIA for about 20 minutes, all of us got a little worried.  We decided she was either a) taking a shit in the woods or b) getting raped in the woods, so we went around yelling her name trying to find her.  After a few minutes she emerged from the woods with a group of people who were yelling, “Does anyone know this girl?!?!  Is this your friend?!?!”  OMG.  We ran to her and thanked the kind souls, who told us that she had been taking a nap in the woods after she had taken a piss.  W – what a champ.  After we decided to forget Surf Lodge, we went to The Memory instead where we stayed for a few hours.  Too bad that when we all were ready to leave, we waited outside literally for another 3 hours for a car back home.  W had broken her shoe, K was trying to hitch hike a ride back with drunk teenagers, and we were all a mess.

The next morning we all woke up to the worst hangover ever, which was cured by a day sleeping on the beach.  This time we ACTUALLY got our acts together to go out early, and early meant 4pm.  We headed back to Surf Lodge, where we did get in this time since it was 4pm, and we decided to stay there for dinner and a night of drinking.  The best meal I had all weekend – fresh lobster roll.  Most expensive gourmet hot dog I’ve ever ordered in my life, but it was worth it.

Hamptons Lobster Roll: $24 (anti-poverexic)

Hamptons Lobster Roll: $24 (anti-poverexic)

After 5 bottles of wine, we were all wasted at dinner by 8pm.  Unfortunately that also meant we all had terrible hangovers by midnight, and I couldn’t sleep at all that night because I wasn’t blackout when I hit the couch.  Next day was another day at the beach, and without even seeing any fireworks we headed back to Manhattan, which we had all missed.  Driving back to Manhattan and seeing the city, I think we all teared up a little because we were so relieved to come back to a city where we could walk into bars if we wanted without waiting in a 3-hour line, where chicken salad sandwiches were $8 not $14, and where we had our own apartments where there weren’t 7 girls sharing one bathroom.

Happy Independence Day.