EAT me OUT

time out new york has always held a little spot in my heart. 

i discovered it about a month into my new york city transplantation. 

i devoured the restaurant reviews. 

you see, this was before i even knew the term 'foodie' existed. and this was when i wasn't embarrassed to dine at red lobster. i didn't give a fuck about stars, michelin or celebritay, and definitely didn't give a fuck about who was seen in what scene. i just loved the descriptions of food, how they were prepared, words like buttery and flakey, pictures of fat juicy steaks and tiny little of concoctions of colorful layered vegetable shavings in sauces i've never heard of.

i felt the same warmness in my heart and tingle in my belly as when i watched yan can cook as a kid or read each and every recipe in the land o lakes country cooking cook book my moms ex boyfriend had laying around our house. sometimes, i just happily read menus out of our yellow pages.

eventually, in my later service years, i used the magazines restaurant guide to know where to apply for jobs. 

and now, when i pick up a time out, not only have i been to most of the restaurants listed, i've been fired from most of them as well.

here's to Time Out New York EAT OUT AWARDS 2010

my current place of employment won 

'BEST INSTANT CLASSIC SINCE THE CHANEL SUIT'

my place of employment prior, (last place i got fired from before this gig) won

'BEST NEW COCKTAIL LOUNGE'  and  'BEST NEW BAR-RESTAURANT HYBRID'

cheers fuckers. congrats!

i wish i could pay rent with salami

so you are one of the select few in the city that is a bona fide new york times four star and michelin rated three star chef.

so its your birthday. so you have a ridiculous french accent. 

so you decide to throw a bash in your lounge. so you're going to keep your employees for an extra four hours without gratuity or overtime to wine and dine a hundred of your closest fancy friends with equally ridiculous accents.

so i scored more than fitty bucks worth of house cured salami and murrary's cheese. plus lemon macaroons and a platter of organic baby veg in a basil puree that make my panties moist. 

they're fucking lucky that deep down inside, i am just a big ol' fat kid. 

happy barfday fancy pants chef de blah blah.

dreams and the pursuit of

I am amongst countless brave souls who come to this city to pursue theirs. I am a singer. A dancer. An actress. A bad ass triple threat. Which means, well, you know when you read the tabloids and gossip magazines with all of the celebrity sightings listed with the impossibly hip places you'll never get into?

Well, I'm the girl that gets to refill the sparkling waters and remove the bread baskets because how dare I try to feed them carbs?

I have worked in the hottest eateries and watering holes from uptown and down. Soho, East Village, West Village, Greenwich Village, Meatpacking District, Upper East Side, Upper West Side, Tribeca, Midtown, Gramercy, Chelsea and when I didn't know any better, Morningside Heights.

Three star, four star and so fucking cool it doesn't even have an address no star. 

I constantly battle between bitterness towards the ungrateful superficial upper crust and thanking my lucky stars that I get to rub elbows with some of the greatest creative minds of our time, like Betsey Johnson. Oh, and did I tell you I was once thisclose to Edward Norton? The only thing that stopped me from dry humping his face was the fact that rent was due in a week. Am in regrets.