Tuesday, February 26, 2008
You all know Sarko married Carlo Bruni. Fuck him, not that he married an ex-model. I don’t have a problem with men marrying ex-models. Ex-models are always hotter even if they have stitches in their hair and pig ass fat in their lips which you can’t wait to kiss. The reason why he’s lame is he married his rebound. Now, I am very serious about relationships and respect marriage a lot. Marriage is a lifelong commitment. Marriage should only be about legitimately getting your hand on that ass that has been turning you away (and fucking other dicks on your back) for the reasons of hell inducing premarital sex or “taking it slow”, free labor to produce and raise offspring carrying your noble French blood by a woman who has nothing else to do, sharing mortgage payments, claiming your wife as a dependent to save on tax, fabricating a sense of security / contentment when you’re too old to even drive a Volvo, proving to Dad you’re not gay and looking good in front of the citizens of France, but never getting over a recent divorce with another ex-model. I completely lost respect for that man and must move on. I’m a great girl even with acne scar on her soles. I have a lot to offer a man. I’m too good for him.
So I was walking under the Arc de Triomphe in my tight blue jeans and patent leather ballerina flats on the top of the Champs Elysees. A guy wearing a Gap sweater came to me.
“Hey cutie, how’re you doin’?” He winked at me like the Italian guy in Friends.
“Je vais bien, merci. (I’m fine, thank you.)” I was hoping he’s gonna leave me alone cuz he’s American.
“Oh come on, I didn’t take French. What’re you doing here by yourself?” He did not leave.
“Je viens a Paris pour trouver mon amant. J’ai rompu avec mon ami. (I come to Paris to find a lover. I have broken up with someone.)” I politely answered because I was in France.
“Oh hey I’m a great guy! You wanna catch a movie together? Come on, stop speaking French dude.” He seemed pretty innocent and harmless.
“Aw, okay, what movie?”
“Well I brought some Netflix over here. We can watch it on my Macbook Pro in my beat up hotel room in Pigale? They have just put some water buckets on the floor so the leaks through the ceiling are under control now.” He opened his Jansport backpack and grasped two red Netflix envelops out to show me.
“You brought your Netflix here to Paris from the U.S.?” Weirdo. I took a look at the DVDs. They’re Paris, je t’aime and La Vie en Rose. I’d seen both already.
“Yeah, you know, just in case. I’ve gotten some energy bars too. They’re from Trader Joe’s. Blueberries and yogurt. They’re good.” He’s actually a pretty nice guy I found. Score. Trader Joe’s bar consumers are boyfriend material. Pizza customers suck. That simple.
“I’m okay, thanks. I actually want some Starbucks.” I know. I’m addicted. What can I say.
“Oh really? Yeah me too, let’s go get two cups of Frappuccino!” It was a big smile on his face when he heard me saying the word “S-t-a-r-b-u-c-k-s”. It’s like a spell. There's only one in Champ Elysees.
I smirked, “How’re you from?”
“I’m from Los Angeles.”
“Me too, where in Los Angeles?”
“Me too. You’re not a stalker right?”
“Ha. No. Why? Are you a celebrity?”
“Do you know Downtown Chick?”
“Yes, I’ve read her blog. Great blog. I love it. She’s a talented author.”
Now THIS’s an interesting guy. I started to see something special in him. Smarty pants. “Aw, that’s me dude,” I said.
“What?! You’re Downtown Chick? No way…! Are you really?” He couldn’t close his mouth.
“Want my Blogger password to check?”
“No, no… I believe you. Wow, I mean, WOW, you’re really Downtown Chick huh? God, you look gorgeous!”
“Aw, yeah.” This must be a joke. I spent $1,000 on Priceline.com on a return ticket to fly all the way here to Paris to meet a dude from Downtown? I must be scammed. We should just immediately stop talking to make my ticket worth it.
“Well can I take you out for dinner or something? I mean, I have a lot to talk about with you! We can go to Quick.”
“Um, okay, yeah, sure.” (to be continued)
I tried the Merlot, Carbonate Sauvignon, Pinot Noir, Shiraz, Zinfandel and Chocolat Port. All of them taste so so fruity, on the berry side, like CVS kid’s liquid cold medicine. Since they’ve only opened for a year, all of them are exceptionally young although unfortunately they’re not chicks. It’s pretty nasty. Basically they’re not really wine but some berry flavored wine-like beverage I think. For $15.99 a bottle, I really can’t imagine what kind of idiots will buy them except maybe a highschool kid trying to impress his 17-years-old girlfriend with his sophisticated hobby. And believe me, when his highschool sweetheart becomes a grandma with saggy tits, this bottle of wine still isn’t going to be a good bottle of vintage. Period. It’s a joke.
The only thing good about this place is the bar-tender. She’s very helpful, acceptably knowledgeable and cute. She shouldn’t be there.
Saturday, February 16, 2008
I was supposed to be content, sitting happily like a kitten after work on a laid back Friday night watching Persepolis at the Harmony Gold Theatre in Hollywood. I got there in time and realized the parking lot on its back supposed to be big enough and free was all full. There was a long line outside of the cinema like they're getting free blowjobs from Scarlett Johansson or something. So I knew there's no way I could have found another place to park and make it in time for the animated film about the Iranian revolution and emigration. I went to Sonora just to sit down cuz I'm not familiar with Hollywood.
Very much Denny's quality LINE-CAUGHT WILD SALMON and CHOPPED VEGETABLE SALAD. Try it if you want to know how mundane mixed style Western food tastes like for $70 to end the night.
Friday, February 15, 2008
Look, even disturbed psycho chick needs to eat too. I had homemade French style pork and dates for Valentine's Day dinner after being stuck in traffic for three damn hours like an idiot for my shrink appointment because of all those daters on the way to their friggin' hot dates. No, not dates with men, I mean the fruits, those little brownish things that grow on a tree.
Screw Valentine's Day. Screw daters. Screw traffic. Screw spending. Screw you all dude.
Sunday, February 10, 2008
I give 9.5 out of 10 for the service of Angelique.
Service service service.
Super attentive and helpful servers. I made sure he got 20% tips even though he thought I ordered the Omelette Provence while I actually said Morocaine. (God, am I that bad? I must be possessed by a demon. Where's my Exocist?)
I left my purse there. They even ran out and took it back to me.
The only thing is, the replaced Omelette Morocaine had a problem. It's watery. I think the moisture came from the squash and bell peppers. Mom said vegetable omelette should be scooped out right after the vegetables were warm enough but not any cooked in the pan. Otherwise water came out and the omelette was ruined. Well, not "ruined ruined", but the cook then lost point. The spicy Merquez sausage was also just so so. The salad was good. Would be better if with walnuts and slightly sweet dressing instead of sour if with omelette. But for $9 I was totally fine with what I got. Cheap eat for that amount. I was just being a pain. Nevermind me.
Wish the portion were smaller. It's a GIANT omelette nobody could finish. Waste of food. I'd be happy to pay $12 if they made it smaller but added walnuts, used better dressing and made better omelette though.
The hash browns were delicious. Hash browns're hard to make. But the herb and frying were just right. Good job.
Saturday, February 9, 2008
This's frozen raw lamb meat. Each time, my dog can only eat 2 pieces or she throws up if I feed her more. She's still hungry, eating, playing all the time but she just keeps throwing up and losing weight. Doc said nothing is wrong in her but it's a long journey of putting her back to eating right after years of eating bad commercial dog food. I really don't know what to do. I've tried evrything. I've spent all time, money, tears I have for my canine companion. It's like a marriage. We have my longest relationship.
I love birds. Birds're just so beautiful and peaceful. They never talk that much. They never lie. They never lie to themselves either. And of course, they never get engaged and forget me. I took one of the boats to watch the ducks. It's $7 for half hour and $10 for an hour. I got so very close to the ducks. It's beautiful.
It's romantic; it's pasionate but it's so short. My own private MacArthur Park. Brokeback duckies.