Unique New York

Just like a regular woman, only crankier.

Friday, September 30, 2005

Sip Bacardi Like it's my Birfday

So, Wednesday I turned 26. I spent most of the day at school, in classes and doing intake interviews with moms for a social skills group. I came home at around 8:30, which was pretty late to be celebrating any kind of birthday.

I walked in, and Russ was there. He had cleaned up the house, walked the dogs, and had a candlelit dinner on the table. And he looked fantastic.

We sat down to eat, and then he gave me my presents. He gave me a pair of earrings that he had seen me eyeing at the airport in Oklahoma. He had been holding onto those puppies for over a month. Then he gave me this book called the "Not For Tourists" Guide to New York. I had wanted one for a long time, and had nearly bought one for myself several times. Then, he gave me the icing on the cake:
He's taking me to Avenue Q this Saturday!

I haven't seen a show except for Linda Edder since I have lived here. I am so excited! Russ really went out of his way to make me feel special. It was awesome.

So there you go. Happy Birthday to Me!

Tuesday, September 27, 2005

Sweet, Salty, Fried, Chocolate, and Au Gratin

I love food. It shows. I don't judge food by its regional location, save for the mild ribbing towards New Yorkers and their spice-wussy food preferences. I will eat almost anywhere, except maybe a restroom or a graveyard, and even then...well, there are always exceptions to rules, as they say.

Now I know this is petty....

but why does the deli insist that I have an 18 inch tall mouth?

I order sandwiches from any deli, and they send me an entire turkey (sliced thin, which is nice, no complaints) placed between two wafer thin pieces of white bread. A third layer of the sandwich contained a produce section worth of iceberg lettuce, a dab of mayonnaise, and what I can only assume was a genetically enhanced tomato.

And here is my point:

Sandwiches should not need bowls.

If at some point, deli-workers of america, you realize that you are defying laws of physics by rearranging atomic particles of chicken breast to fit a pound of the slices between two saltine crackers, I implore, remember, this is not a sandwich freak show. A real live human will have to eat this. No forcing meat to go into crevices where it simply will not go. If it is falling out of the paper, I will probably find it overwhelming. I want to hold it in my hands, and fit it in my mouth without calling a personal trainer and a contortionist.

The sandwich I had today qualified more as meat performance art than it did dinner. I am referring as much to the art of meat cramming into bread as I am meat cramming into mouth. It was a sight to see.

Now, I am going to go home and wait for the bounty to be taken out on my head for teasing the delis of New York. But it's okay. I have barricaded my door with the leftover turkey and lettuce. They'll have to eat their way through just to get in.