Vanderbilt Avenue is Singing a New Toon

For the last 2 years that I have lived in this neighborhood, it has been seriously lacking in Middle Eastern restaurants.

As it is, the dining out experience leaves us with slim pickins on this side of Flatbush Avenue, with a scant few good places to chow down at {my late night drunken munchies hangout used to be Crown Fried Chicken, if that gives you any indication. But it's closed now. Boo.}

The popular Zaytoons, which already existed in BoCoCa and Fort Greene/Clinton Hill, opened in prospect heights a few months ago.

Let me begin by saying that I am half Lebanese, and spent 1/4 of my life in the Middle East, and eating my Grandma's cooking, and I KNOW good Middle Eastern food when I see it. And this, my lovely blogger friends, is DANG good.

I've been ordering in from the restaurant a good twice a week now, and
Brooklyn Gal and I ventured over to the actual restaurant a few weeks back.

Very importantly, the space is quite big, with tons of room between tables. None of that cramming in bullshit. perfect for all you claustrophobics. More importantly, they serve alcohol {which I don't think they do at the other locations}, and it is cheaper than a hooker outside the Holland Tunnel on a Sunday morning. We're talking $4.25 for a glass of wine or beer--ok it's not Chateau Margot but hey, it's not about the wine now, is it?

Now, most importantly, the food. It is divine. If you are into Middle Eastern Mezze, this is the place to get it. I always order the combo plate-you get a choice of five salads, including felafel. I usually get the labneh,

which is just thick enough and peppered with dill and mint.
Fattoush salad,


with just the right amount of baked pita crumpled over it. The felafel is crunchy and bite sized, the hummus and babaganoush creamy and delicious.

I've also had their mujaderra {lentils rice and fried onions} which is extremely flavorful and filling.



The appetizers all come with a couple of warm, homemade pitas, which are soft, and perfect for dipping, but I like to order a side of zatar bread.


It's served like a pizza, and tastes delish dipped in a mound of labneh. YUM.

My new favorite thing to do is get off the Q train after work, pick up a cheap bottle of white from Fermented Grapes, grab my grub and head on home for a feast. Such as tonight. Good times.

For the Guy Who Has Everything

You're in a great relationship. You love your man oh so much. He deserves only the best, but he has absolutely everything.

What's a girl to do?

Well, today is Black Friday. I guess you could pop on over to Target/Walmart/Kohls at 5am and be the first to pick up a flat screen tv because it's on sale.

OR

You could head on over to this site and pick up some wooly treats for your honey.


Specifically, the Willywarmer.



What better way to say "I love you" than with this unique gift, created by the most nimble of German elves, working through the nights to make sure your husbands and boyfriends keep their naughty bits warm and snuggly.

For the man with an active social life, there's the Nightlife willywarmer.



This little fashion statement will have all the girls wishing they could get their hands on your man's jewels. Just look at that fancy handiwork, and the little sparklies just make you want to get out your dancing shoes, yes?

Next, we have the Fuzzy Willywarmer.







If you've ever had a fantasy of fucking a muppet, this is the Willywarmer for you. Comes in Oscar Green, Elmo Red, and the Cookie Monster Blue you see here.



Lastly, we have the Willywarmer Sock.


This is for the guy who likes to dress like an old dude. Or, maybe you're a sicko, and you like to see your dad parading around in Willywarmers. Well, this would be for you, too. Old man slippers sold separately.



So there you have it. The perfect gift for the man who has it all. Don't ever say I don't care.

Much Ado About Nothing?

So this morning I was running around doing all sorts of errands and decided to pop into my neighborhood bakery for a fat iced decaf.



I know I know, so many things wrong with the above sentence, starting with iced and ending with decaf. For the record, I do not like warm drinks, unless it is hot chocolate, and it better be DAMN cold outside for me to be seeking out hot chocolate. And the hot chocolate needs to have marshmallows in it. The big ones. No queer little baby marshmallows for me! As for the decaf...I can't drink caffeine. It gives me palpitations and sweats. I am not a pretty gal after drinking a big 'ole cup of caffeine, I promise you that.

At any rate, I stepped into this bakery, which I really never go to because it's WAY overpriced. Their cup cakes are tiny and cost $3.OO a pop. Even I, who covet all cupcakes that cross my path, would not spend that kind of money on those tiny little fake wannabe cupcakes.



Ok ok, I'm getting to my story.

So I ordered my small iced decaf coffee, in a large cup. I like it in a large cup, cuz then I can smother it with milk and half n half. Yes, I am one of those people. I'll bet you are wondering why I even bother with the coffee.. I think the woman behind the counter thought the same thing, because she went ahead and poured me a regular coffee, warm, and caffeinated.

"Oh sorry," I called. "I actually wanted it iced, and decaf." Now I know I said it very clearly and precisely, because I am always afraid that they are going to give me caffeine. so I enunciate when I order. She just chose to mishear me. Which is fine.

Until I saw her take the coffee that she had already poured into a cup, and then pour it back into the coffee machine.

Now, I know the water that they make the coffee with is scalding hot, and probably kills any germs that the coffee may have met up with while sitting in the open air for those 1O seconds or so...but isn't putting that coffee back into the coffee maker akin to taking uneaten bread baskets and reusing them?

Or am I overreacting?

keep your pants on!

As I got dressed yesterday morning, I started to have second thoughts about the leggings I was pulling onto my body.

The elastic at the waistband seemed a little droopy, although I had worn them over the weekend and had no problems.

I should probably add that said leggings also have a giant hole in the crotch, that extends halfway down the left thigh, and probably should have been discarded many wearings ago.

But, true to my slovenly nature of wearing things until they literally fall off my body, I slid the leggings over my shapley thighs and continued to get dressed.

Cut to 3 hours later, as I get off the 6 train on the upper east side for a doctor's appointment. My leggings are feeling kinda slippery. I suddenly feel slight terror as the waistband starts to slither down my hips and make it's way down. Oh God I am about to lose my pants right on 68th and Lex.

I wasn't panicking yet, as I gave them a good hike and figured that would do it the four long blocks to York Avenue.

Not so much. I got as far as 2nd, and realized that my ass was full on uncovered, leggings dangerously close to peeking out from underneath my very short sweater dress. Fuckkk!

I saw a Walgreens and ducked in, diving into an aisle and yanking my waistband as best I could without flashing the entire store. Fucking Walgreens I thought would at least have some cheapo black tights--all I saw was this type of shit-



I didn't even know that women still wore this shit. Is that even possible??

At any rate, no luck at Walgreens, so I stumbled out, holding my waistband up through my dress like a crazy-ish person, pawing at myself in near tears. I reeked of desperation and shame for not being grownup enough to have clothing that wasn't in tatters.

Aha. Ann Taylor Loft across the street. They shall have tights.

By the time I found the tights, got on line behine *one* person who decided to take forever, with a salesperson who was the most painstakingly slow mover I've ever seen in my lifetime, my leggings were dangerously close to hovering somewhere around my ankles.

What I don't understand is why I didn't just explain my predicament to the salesperson so she could allow me to change in the dressing room right then and there.

But no, I like to make things difficult for myself. So I yoinked on my waistband one last time, and hightailed it to the Doctor's office, where I would change in the bathroom and rid myself of the evil leggings for once and for all.

Once in the elevator, I lifted my dress up, and pulled the leggings back over my behind, where they belonged. Sweet relief at last!

And yes, I am fully aware that whoever was manning the security camera got a mighty nice free show, might I add.

I Ain't No Hoho "Ho"

I was sifting through my work email this morning,and I saw this in my inbox--

ho ho heel

What in God's name am I going to do with one of these???



Other than parade around in those and some pasties, of course.

Honestly, do people really buy these {at $2O-$3O a pop, mind you}? Is there really someone out there who is right now saying to themselves, "I think it would be a real hoot to hang some sexy lookin' shoes from my fireplace mantel and call them stockings. How quaint. How risque."

This is the sort of thing I would imagine that Anna Nicole Smith might have had hanging in her home. Nuff said.

Can You Spare Some Asparagus?

Saturday night my sister and I went to see Bill Maher at the Beacon Theatre.

I myself am not a big fan of Bill Maher, and would not normally have sat through two hours of his ire and sarcasm, but I got my sister the tix for her bday and she asked if I would accompany her to the show.

The need for alcohol was felt all around when the show was over, and we were kinda hungry too, but being on the Upper West Side, I wasn't really sure where to get some grub and a nice, cold beer. As many times as I have been to the UWS in my lifetime, everything always sort of melds together in my mind, and I can never seem to remember where anything is.

The one place that I always seem to end up at is Josies , on 75th and Amsterdam.

When Josie's first opened, probably about 1O years ago or so, we were all very excited about it. It was all organic, quasi-healthy, but the food was actually delicious.

Over the years, the place has gotten way too crowded, and the novelty of organic, quasi-healthy food has worn off, plus it's all so damn expensive--I mean, I'm paying $2O bucks on a turkey burger for god's sake--but somehow, when I'm in the neighborhood, I always end up there, because honestly, I don't know where the fuck else to go!

So, there we went, to Josies. The wait was only a few minutes, so we parked ourselves at the bar, and ordered $7 beers {yes, $7. And those were the cheap ones}. Soon after we got our beers, we were shown to our seats. We happened to get placed next to a large table filled with WAY too happy couples. You know the ones I mean...they were all adorable, one of the couples were the "ones with a baby" and the baby was well-behaved, and the parents still seemed to actually be attracted to each other, and all the friends around them were happy and girls were sitting on their guys' laps and feeding each other. VOM.

We chose to ignore them, and checked out the menus.

Just as I predicted, everything was way overpriced. Until I saw that there was a prix-fixe menu.

I did not know of this prix-fixe menu, and was very excited to note that you could get an app, dinner, dessert, AND a glass of wine for $33.95!

Yea, so it might make me a little early-bird special-esque, ordering from the prix-fixe menu, but whatevs! Girlfriend is poor!

So, my sister and I decided to order the exact same entree--grilled salmon over mashed sweet potatoes and a side of asparagus. How delish does that sound, right?

Our dinners arrived, and we took a good look at our plates.

Grilled Salmon-check.
Mashed sweet potatoes-check.
SIde of asparagus. Nope.

I mean, there was asparagus. Two spears,to be exact. But would one call that a "side"? One would think not.

My sister, never the shy one, called out to our waiter, "Do ya think I could get some more asparagus on my plate?" she demanded.

He assumed an appropriate, empathetic expression and said that actually, she couldn't, because asparagus at this time of year is really expensive, and it was really only a garnish.

Garnish? Garnish is a sprig of parsley, carelessly tossed onto a plate. Garnish is a lemon wedge. Garnish is not yummy, delicious, crisp spears of asparagus!

We shrugged, laughed it off, and continued eating {which was all yummy, garnish or not}.

It was decided that had we not been the cheap bastards that we are, and had we ordered from the regular, non pre-fixe menu, we would have gotten a proper serving of asparagus, with an actual garnish of parsley on the side.

You live, and you learn.

Wake up Cat

For all my fellow cat lovers, you will all be able to relate to this! Happy Monday!

paul mccartney's new girlfriend, and other stuff

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And All This TIme I Thought I Was a Chick

I always have to wonder what it is about me that screams "I'm a guy" when I walk into a Starbucks or other such establishments.

On more than one ocassion {why can't I spell this word? I have spelled it 3 different ways now, all of them look wrong}, I have been called "Sir" as I approached the counter to place my order. There is really nothing worse than bouncing into a place, excited for that tall, skim, iced decaf mocha, finally getting up to the server after waiting on that line that would drive anyone to insanity, and having the girl behind the counter smile and say "what can I get for you, Sir?"

What is it about me that screams guy? Is it my long, flowing golden locks? My ample cleavage? My high-pitched, feminine voice?

Do they think I'm this dude?



I dunno. I think Beehive might not be so thrilled upon finding out that he's been boning Michael Bolton all this time.

Veggie Tales

Yesterday I was really craving a salad from the place around the corner from my office. You know, the one with all the really fancy mix-ins. It even has turkey bacon. Mmm. I had made up my mind early on that I was going to splurge on the 9 buck tub of lettuce and such, and it was gonna be GREAT.

I got to the place, and I was greeted by a nice young man behind the counter who took my order. I got my usual mix of arugula and romaine, and as he expertly stuffed it into the plastic container, I noticed something wasn't right.

He had a large mass hanging from his left earlobe.

It was spongy and sort of crumpled, like a very large wad of gum.

AAAUGH.

It was way worse than this case of cauliflower ear



and nowhere near as bad as this ear tumor on a 19th century Chinese man



But nevertheless, it was difficult to watch a guy with a cauliflower-ish tumor dangling from his fleshy earlobe about to prepare my lunch!

I mean, I like cauliflower in my salad and all.

But cauliflower in my salad guy's ear? Wrong. Wrong wrong all sorts of wrong.

And now I begin my long descent into Hell.