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Archive for January, 2010

where to be the prettiest girl in the room

January 29, 2010 6 comments

tonight will be very special for me. i’m going to THE PUB for dinner. THE PUB is a steakhouse located right outside of philadelphia on the airport circle in new jersey for over 50 years. nothing has changed in those 50 years. 

cover of THE PUB menu

housed in a gigantic tudor building, THE PUB is a classic example of “if it ain’t broke don’t fix it.” once you walk through the heavy wood doors you are welcomed by a warm medieval atmosphere with cozy details like olde english stone floors, stained glass windows, dark wooden beams, gallows, and swords. among my favorite touches in the decor are the wagon wheel chandeliers and the large kegs mounted to the walls in the lounge.

so it’s a little dark. more reason to feel comfortable and relaxed.  this kind of uniqueness can’t be found at any other steakhouse. i don’t know why morton’s, smith and wollensky, the palm, or ruth’s chris haven’t stumbled upon this business model for their restaurants. sophisticated blandness. that’s what they are.

i like that there is always a wait when i go to THE PUB. beginning the PUB experience with a wait in the lounge is just super deluxe fun. i think all of the bartenders are WWII vets without the PTSD experienced by vets of other wars because these guys can get their drink on. and do they know how to make a cocktail! i like to kick it olde school and get a whiskey sour poured with a heavy, likely stewed, hand. THE PUB is also cool because you can order a flagon of wine. i personally recommend the chilled cabernet sauvignon.

notice the flagons of wine

THE PUB house wine is quite quaffable even to the most discrimating wine snob. not that i’d take any of my wine snob friends to THE PUB because they just wouldn’t get it. they’d be all hung up on there being no valet parking and would be all verklempt upon entering that they couldn’t appreciate THE PUB’s charm.

the dining room is dominated on one wall by the large hearth and is manned by chefs wearing aprons and chef toques. because the kitchen is in the dining room there is a boisterousness that puts you at ease.

the hostess and serving staff are all so sweet and call you hun in their sexy too-many pall malls voices.  i always feel bad for them though cuz usually they’re on their second work shift for the day having left a 12-hour shift at the diner. they stay fueled by the sambuca shots the manager gives them in the back. i know this because they’re friendly enough to share it with me.

and now for the menu ….

 THE PUB fare is to die for. savory is right! i always get the house special filet with herb seasoned sauteed brown onions which are on the house. SweeeeeeeeT! and before you say to yourself, omg THE PUB is giving this shit away, let me tell you about THE PUB FREE BEES.  that’s right, all of this is included with your entree….

fuck yeah!  i’m salivating just thinking about PUB hearth baked bread and PUB made mashed potatoes.

besides a truly spectacular dining experience. the main reason i love THE PUB is that i am always the most beautiful girl in the room.  i don’t know why this is. it’s a mystery to me why all of the superleggy paper thin supermodels from ny and philly aren’t frequenting THE PUB, but they foolishly only do swanky. medieval is where it’s at. their loss is my gain because i’d like to keep this mammoth hidden gem all to pretty myself, thank you.

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i aint no woman, aight

January 27, 2010 4 comments

i’m an adult female so you may think it appropriate to refer to me as a woman. but don’t. it sounds matronly. unfeminine. like meryl streep in doubt. or biblical: woman taken from man. like man but with a womb: woman. and please don’t say i have a womanly figure either. we know this means amazonly. and what it doesn’t mean: nubilely. yes, i know amazonly and nubilely aren’t real words. but they should be.

woman in no way conveys how i’d like to be perceived. woman does not = pretty, sexy, rad, curvy, bangin’ or badass. so what if i’m not any of these things, we’re talking perception. let’s not get mired in the details.

whether you consider them derogatory, slang, or just old school, here are some terms you can use when referring to me and examples of how you might use them:

bella donna: patty reminds me of stevie nicks when she did the bella donna album, before stevie became all womanly
 
whore: patty’s a total tech whore
 
bitch: bitch can rollerblade circles around any 20-somethin
 
bird: 2birds1blog. hilarious. don’t go there now. wait until you finish reading this bird. but british slang always works.
 
girl: fergie got nothin on patty, girl got it goin on
 
mistress: mistress patty will dominate your ass
 
bootylicious: there’s nothing more nutritious than a girl’s who’s bootylicious
 
ho: damn, that ho was born to throw a party and she makes a serious music mix too.
  
shawty: shawty’s fire burnin down the house (or something like that. if you’ve seen me dance, you know what i’m talking about)
 
baby: hey baby, wassup (this is how the beastie boys greet me when they run into me)
 
henhussy: i just like this word. i’ll leave its usage open.
 
dish: did you see how dish patty was in those penny loves kenny cowboy boots
 
wilf: patty is a writer i’d like to fuck
 
superfreak: that girl’s a superfreak, the kind you read about in a new-wave magazine (for the history books, rick james was singing about pattypunker)
 
chick: patty’s so rockin she should be a chick bass player (i am in my own mind so don’t be feeling all sorts of bad for me)
 
and in closing if you ever — i mean ever — call me motherfucking ma’am imma cut your boney little ass.
 
how do you like to be referred to?

lest we forget our cynicism

January 24, 2010 5 comments

conan, your quirky, uber original comedy makes me swoon. i tweeted your praises and gushed about the mind-blowing end to your too brief stint on the tonight show. i balled like demi moore in ghost over your heartfelt thanks and when neil young thanked you for all you did for new music. then when you took off your tie, picked up the guitar, and played freebird — i definitely came a little. but telling us not to be cynical?

conan, conan, conan. not to sound cynical, but who’s been the purveyor of cynicism the last few weeks? it wasn’t until nbc offered you $32M that you had a change of heart. justsayin.

this has been some of your best material and earned you your highest ratings. people could relate to your doubts and distrust. sometimes we do get fucking slighted! you def did. the cynicism and negativity were justified. feeling this way doesn’t mean we’re getting sucked into one big black crippling hole of bitterness. sometimes these feelings are the jet fuel that launches us to new heights. ask any artist, athlete, or entrepeneur and i’m sure a good perecntage of them will tell you that part of their motivation came from proving someone wrong.  they didn’t say to themselves, suchandsuch is right, i have no talent. they got pissed and then accomplished amazing things just like you, conan.

life isn’t all rainbows and thomas kincaid paintings. life causes real cynicism, anger, rage, angst, doubt, and fear. let’s not pretend it doesn’t. what good does that do any of us? art is a productive and benevolent outlet. everyone, artist and audience, benefits when the honest shit comes out. this bird you cannot change. so let’s bring it hard. and fly freebird.

C is for …..

January 20, 2010 20 comments

you probably think this post is all about the word cunt. you’re close! it’s a list of my 20 favorite C words with a K sound.  it’s a good sound on the right words. kah. my last post was all heavy talking about depression, suicide, and that creepy wind-up doll in the pristiq ads so i figured i better keep it ez-breezy this time around. and this shit just comes to me, i don’t know why.

my 20 favorite C words with a K sound:

coquette (flirting is a blast)

crestfallen (i often feel this way)

cacophony (defines the sounds of a hangover)

cash (don’t be a monkey, everyone loves cash)

cannabis (love me a psychoactive chemical)

cunnilingus (not fun to say, but fun to receive)

cantankerous (met many a cantankerous mule)

crazy (embrace yours)

cunt (really makes me feel better when i call you this if you are one)

corny (it ain’t ez being cheezy but there’s nothing like a corny compliment. you are the brightest star in my sky.)

curmudgeon (says it all about a person)

calloused (it happens)

creative (please let it happen)

contraception (thank fucking god)

conundrum (have a lot of these)

curse (my favorite pastime)

colorful (my favorite kind of personality)

cunning (reminds me of cunnilingus. remember ms. moneypenny, “james, you always were a cunning linguist.”)

creepy (describes my encounters with men on the street)

curvy (a euphemism for my body type. and scarlett jo, kate winslet, and drew barrymore.)

What are your favorite C words with a K sound? C’mon give em up. We all have them.

Pristiq Depresses Me

January 18, 2010 6 comments

Have you seen this spot for the depression drug, Pristiq? If you weren’t depressed before, you sure as hell will be once you’ve watched it.

The woman in the ad sees herself as a wind-up doll without any torque.  For anyone like me with a predisposition for depression, you should leave the room or fast forward immediately through this commercial.

My Grandma was manic-depressive. My poor Mother found her one day in a tub of blood with her wrists cut. My Mom thought it was her fault because she had asked Grandma for prom money that Grandma didn’t have. Saddest story I’ve ever heard in my entire life. Grandma spent the rest of her life in and out of the Binghamton State Asylum. She underwent electric shock treatment. Was put on lithium. They were always adjusting her meds so we never knew what Grandma we’d be getting.

I too have felt like I needed to “wind myself up just to get out of bed, sadness, loss of interest, trouble concentrating, and a lack of energy.”  Sadly enough it was my Mom I told the first time I felt suicidal. I was a senior attending college in Oswego, NY, and it was the longest winter of my life.  At that time, I didn’t know about the horrible trauma my Mom had experienced with Grandma. The next time I felt suicidal, I didn’t tell Mom. I called a hotline.

Every time I see this fucking commercial, I get totally depressed. I remember my Mom’s sad story. I remember what it felt like to be on the brink.

What kind of manufacturer makes a drug for depression and then triggers the very condition it’s treating in its ads? Way to sell more pills douchebuckler. I don’t think these pharma companies should be allowed to market to consumers.  They’re putting ideas in our spongy, paranoid brains and causing phantom symptoms. 

Maybe the makers of Oxycontin could start advertising. “Life sucks. Opiates make you feel euphoric.” Or, “Feeling shy and nervous about your next social engagement? Try Oxy, you’ll talk your head off. Side effects include slurring and unexpected horniness.”

How ’bout someone starts serving Ritalin ads during SpongeBob to the kids of these pharma marketing geniuses? “Hey Dad, I think I have ADHD. Can you score some Ritalin?”

Besides that Pristiq doll is Chucky clown creepy.

Slow Walkers Should Chew Nicorette

January 15, 2010 1 comment

Babies, midgets, prepubescent girls, and pugs are supposed to be roly poly. Triangle, inverted triangle, hour-glass, oval, and rectangle body types are all fine. But if your body type resembles a marshmallow, you’re too fucking fat. If you’re not a weeble but you wobble, then you’re too fucking fat. And if this wobbling turns you into a slow walker, then I have issues with you.

I’m not thin by any measure. I’m of German-Irish descent. We breed ’em hearty and big-boned. We’re a beer and potato people. I also happen to be a cheese junkie.  So I’m not here to advocate skinny ass figures.  I’m also not saying super fast walkers are cool. They look like spasbots. But what I absolutely can’t get behind is a slow-walking fat ass. Literally, I hate getting behind them.

I’m a woman with a mission and people who can’t move at an average or accelerated pace slow my shit down. This is a big concern when I’m leaving work or shopping for a new party dress. When a slow walker, or much worse a pack of slow walkers, totally obstructs my way this causes a rage spike which in turn compels me to pop a piece of nicorette.  Maybe slow walkers should chew nicorette, too, to get their fucking heart rates up once in a while.  There are four flavors to choose from:  White Ice Mint, Cinnamon Surge, Fruit Chill, and Fresh Mint. Eight if you consider the teeth whitening varieties.

Anyway, I think these slow-walking fat asses should be required to place a warning placard on their rear ends so people can try to avoid getting too close and blocked from further forward movement.

If you think I’m insensitive, you’re dead wrong. I’m really looking out for these fatsos. If these people don’t lay off the grilled cheese and bacon sandwiches, they’re going to suffer the inevitable revolt against slow walkers where slow walkers who get caught (and they’ll all get caught, thank you captain obvious) will be confined to their homes and when they die of obesity, the only way to cremate them will be to burn down the house while they’re still in it.  Like poor Gilbert Grape’s Mom.

The Perfect Drug

January 13, 2010 7 comments

I have a little problem. I have a bunch of them but let’s focus on my addiction to nicorette gum. I quit smoking 8 years ago. It was super fucking hard and my rage was such that someone should have injected me with 4MG of Ativan and taken me away in the crazy cart.  I didn’t want to quit but evidently it gave me asthma. Smoking was my best friend and shield (literally, it kept people from getting to close to me).  And nothing calms my angry punk ass down like continuously renewing the nicotine addiction cycle.

To this day, I still miss my Marlboro Lights (ML) and vow that I will smoke again! Vowing that I will smoke again is one of the ways I stay off ML. I pray everyday that I’m given two weeks notice before I die so I can smoke my ass off.

Another way I stay off ML is by fully embracing my nicorette habit with a nicorette addiction. I have no intention of ever quitting this shit.  Here’s why:

I don’t eat like a POW just released and returned home to Mom.

I’m able to deep throat my boss’s control freak and passive-aggressive daggers (sometimes this requires the addition of grey goose and xanax).

I have less road, elevator, and sidewalk rage than I normally experience when something hinders my mission at hand.

I don’t kill the urban element in my work neighborhood who slow me down with their slow walking. [best i can tell, slow walking occurs because you’re too fucking fat and travel in fatty packs or because your deliberate steps are necessary to keep your pants up.]

I have something to pair with other vices like coffee, drinking, and occasional recreational drug use. [vices are most effective when combined.]

I won’t boil a bunny on your stove if I feel scorned by you.

I won’t scratch my eyes out from boredom when I’m forced to attend a girl-only party. [see girls bore me.]

I have something bad to balance every good thing that ever happens to me.  nicorette after sex, nicorette when I get a new job, nicorette when my daughter has a shut-out, nicorette when I get a comment on my blog, etc.

Nicorette is nirvana.