Classy Lil' Mamas

So me and my ladies decided that we needed to showcase our style and grace in public, so we went to San Francisco's Ferry Building for some champagne and oysters. CLASSY, I KNOW. I am a delicate little lady that enjoys parasols, winged celestial beings, fine silks, and sometimes, I even shit out caviar. Of course, I spend my Monday afternoons sipping a lil bubbly and discussing European architecture with four of the most sophisticated broads I could find on Craigslist.






First, we hit up the Ferry Plaza Wine Merchant and got these champagne flights that came with 3 different champagnes, one of which was a rose and the other 2 are a complete mystery. All I know was that I felt really nice after I took the flight. I think my girls were feeling good too because the noises coming out of our mouths were one decibel above that of a crop duster. Again, CLASSY.


We also ordered this opulent platter of cheeses, bread from the Acme Bread Company, and marinated olives and mushrooms, all of which made me feel very dignified and marginally female. By the way, I love Acme's bread more than I love most of my nuclear family so you can imagine what kind of pelvic motions I was trying to suppress.

Next, we miraculously stumbled upon HAPPY HOUR at the Hog Island Oyster Company. 5pm-7pm on Mondays and Thursdays but get there around 4:15 because it gets CRAZY crowded by the time 5 rolls around. $1.00 OYSTERS!!!




Pints are only $3.50 during happy hour, which is a bit pricier than what I pay for 40's but again, on Monday's I spare no expense for a little bit of luxury. I got a pint of Racer 5 IPA and I must say, it tasted like fermented magnolias.


I am so deep.


More Acme bread for me to caress ever so gently with my small, girlish hands.


This is where the ladylike behavior went down the shitter because I nutted myself thrice. Once, twice, three times a lady is what a wise man once said. Anyhow, it is their grilled cheese sandwich made from Cowgirl Creamery's Mezzo Secco, Gruyere, and Fromage Blanc. Yeah, El Nino in your crotch is right.




I live for this bowl of clam chowder. It is so creamy, with just the right amount of bacon, topped with glorious little Manila clams. I dedicate every Jodeci song in existence to this bowl of chowder right here, especially "Feenin." CAUSE I'M FEEEEEEEEENIN' FOR YOU!!!!!


STEAMERS. I hit. Tasted like hams, son.




THE OYSTERS! Since these were only a buck, we got 40. Take note of the vinegar mixture in the middle called HOGWASH...so amazing with these fresh, buttery lovers. Jesus christ, I want to go back!!!!

In conclusion, I am hot.

Look at this...

THIZZZZZZZZZZZZZZMAS

I think all the dead animals that I've been eating during the holidays are starting to stunt my creativity because I can't even think of shit to say right now. My body hates me and I am in desperate need of a vegetable.

On the magical day that we call Christmas, Jesus gave birth to prime rib and mashed potatoes on my families dinner table and it was CRACKIN'. CAN I GET A WITNESS?!


Courtesy of Kirkland Signature and my glorious aunt.


Macaroni salad...holla atcha boy!!! (My cat made this.)


This is either some kind of a center piece or something I neglected to eat called a salad. Either way, its irrelevant but very nice to look at...like me ;)


GARLIC MASHED POTATOES. I shit you not, I actually made this. Like with my own hands and without adult supervision.


CRAB CAKES. Me likey? (Ugh, I can't think good. I just watched 5 minutes of Little Chocolatiers on TLC and 10,000,000 of my brain cells just burst. Out of boredom.


A berry pie from Fat Apples in Berkeley. We made out a little bit and I got it preggers. Yo I'm super, I'll make ya bitch squirm with my SUPAH SPERRM!




My cuddy Amanda made this bombass berry trifle with almonds and booze in it. I got pretty twisted off this cause I believe there was some codeine in the custard. Codeine is hands down, my favorite condiment on the planet and I'm positive Lil' Wayne agrees with me.

Ugh, I'm gonna go cry in the shower and eat leftover ham.

Ghettoass Ron Ron Juice *FIST PUMP*

Fists all across the globe have been furiously pumping ever since MTV debuted its greatest and most poignant contribution to American culture, Jersey Shore. These glowing, saline spectacles have captured the hearts of billions worldwide with their eloquence, incomparable style and by making human mutation look endearing. More notably, physicists have been stunned by the entire casts unnatural abilities to distort space/time in gravitational fields with their daring use of hair gel and Bump-Its.

Personally, I was impressed by their expertise in the art of RAGING and what really caught my attention was cast member, Ronnie's alcoholic concoction called, "Ron Ron Juice." Basically, he throws ice, watermelon, cherries, cranberry juice, and vodka into a blender and all hell proceeds to break loose.


Never mind the muscles, with a face like that, this man is well on his way to becoming a Flex magazine centerfold and the new spokesman for Muscle Milk.

Peep this video where he unleashes the mighty juice upon The Situation and some other salty Guido that he lives with:

Jersey Shore - MTV Shows

I think that if they played this episode of Jersey Shore at the Copenhagen Climate Conference, it probably would have gone a lot smoother.

Anyhow, I decided to try making Ron Ron juice on my own because like Ron Ron himself, I too like to consider myself a cocktail connoisseur. I had to tweak the recipe a little bit because I am not as classy as the Jersey Shore kids because I do not have access to a blender or fresh fruits, so I had to improvise. Thus, here is my recipe for "Ghettoass Ron Ron Juice":

- Smirnoff
- Cherry Slurpee
- Arizona watermelon juice
- Ocean Spray cranberry cocktail

So, I headed to my favorite 711 on Taraval Street in San Francisco or the "Murdah Block" as me and my friends like to call it and I got the party started over there.


First, I copped one of these bad boys from the liquor store across the street and then discretely snuck it into 711. I grabbed two 28 oz Slurpee cups and split the contents of the Smirnoff between the two Slurpee cups. (Both were not for me, my homie Jizzo agreed to do this with me.)


Then I filled 2/3's of the cup with Minute Maid Cherry Slurpee.


Added some Pina Colada Slurpee into the mix for some Westcoast flavor.


Added some Arizona watermelon juice to substitute for the watermelon chunks that I didn't have because 1) I'm ballin on a budget and 2) it's December and watermelon is not in season.

I skipped the cranberry juice entirely because I forgot it, whatever...add it if you like.


Garnished the drink with double straws, slicked back my hair, and did some fist pumps to top everything off.

Next, Jizzo and I headed to the local playground in the 40 degree weather, drank our Ron Ron there, and proceeded to get frostbite. I don't remember too much after that except meeting our friends up at a bar, barfing, and then ordering a personal pizza. Got a text the next day from Jizzo asking me why she had Ron Ron barf splattered on her boots. Thus, I am helping Jizzo sue Ron Ron himself because I believe he is responsible for the mess on her boots.

Crabs!!!!!!!!

If you don't like crab, you are probably a jackass and I am not speaking of the itchy variety, I am talking about the sea creatures whose legs are full of buttery sex meat. If you don't already know, its CRAB SEASON and this is the most magical time of the year for me because for one, crab is unspeakably cheap and second, I get an adrenaline rush from being crotch deep in the ocean in my chest waders and night vision goggles, while groping for bottom feeders. For those of you who need a clearer image of what chest waders are, here ya go...don't get too aroused:









So everyone and their fuckin mamas have been talking about how crackin The Boiling Crabin San Jose is and lord knows I get all kinds of excited when I hear the phrases "hella longass wait" and "45 minute drive" in a description...NOT. But as I said before, people don't wait in line for hours and drive great distances for mediocrity and I rest my faith in the loins of these people, trusting that their fatness does not steer me wrong. My dear friend Dri is a huge fan and advocate of Boiling Crab and suggested we make the trek along with our other former college partying/eating companions to San Jose in the name of crabs.


So Boiling Crab is a Cajun-style seafood restaurant with various locations in California and Texas. I was already impressed by the fact that the first thing they give you is a bib, no one was using any kind of tableware or utensils, and there was a shark suspended from the ceiling.


Next, they dump a pile of limes on your table and give you little plastic cups filled with salt and pepper. I just squeezed a shit-ton of lime juice into my salt and pepper. Then I waited for what seemed like a decade for the goods...so I guess you could say with all the preparation, there was criminal intent.


My homie, Elmer accosting the sweet potato fries with illicit gusto.


So we ordered the lobster, shrimp, and Dungeness crab. You have a choice of seasonings between Rajun Cajun, lemon pepper, garlic butter or "The Whole She-bang", which is a combination of the three. And of course, we went with THE WHOLE SHE-BANG! You also have a between different levels of spice and we went with the mild because we are pussies and honestly, that was spicy enough for my ass. This is a photo of Professor Wise waltzing with the lobster before he mercilessly ripped this baby another one.


They just dumped bags of red, boiled murder on the table and we kinda just went at it. You can sort of see the Dungeness in this picture. The spicy, buttery aromas that emanated from these bags were exquisite and held unearthly powers that can only be found in the reduction of crab guts.


This is just rice. It's looking awfully vulnerable amidst all those lifeless ocean brutes. DON'T BE SCURRED, BABY.


SCRIMPS. You already know I showed these a good time.


If you gave a mermaid too much Hennessy and it happened to vomit all over a table, this is what it would look like.

So, The Boiling Crab gets two thumbs up and another one from down south. I have this theory that this is the perfect place to bring a first date because you can tell a lot about a person by how they deal without utensils, tableware, bib wearing, and being doused in sauce. It can either be a really fun, smelly date if the person is cool/worthy/wifey material or it can be a really awkward and tragic date if they are straight up crap. Try it and tell me how it goes. I will not be surprised if I am responsible for the conception of thousands of babies based on this claim.

My lovely roommate aka my mom made something spectacular this week too: CRAB WITH COCONUT MILK. Sheer genius...mind you, this woman made me thus, I too am a genius.






According to my moms, you mix together onion, garlic, coconut milk, and little bit of vinegar and wait til it boils. Then add the crab, some salt, and cook it for 15 minutes or however long it takes for it to cook. Pretty easy. But let me tell you, this shit was so DELICIOUS...I was dancing around the house with coconut jizz on my face, speaking in tongues. Shit was amazing...

Now go get some damn crab while its in season or else you will die of chronic lameness. BYE.

Interior Decorating Champions

This is hardly food related but it is necessary because I need to pay tribute to the sexiest and most gorgeously decorated apartment that anyone has ever laid eyes on. I am proud to say that I played an integral role in the curating of this brilliant spectacle that has caused my former roommate and I to become the envy of the entire interior design industry. The entire cast of Queer Eye for the Straight Guy have all personally sent us death threats to express their jealousy and we actually found Rachel Ashwell spraying our apartment building with lighter fluid. Fortunately, we were able to tackle and restrain her when we spotted her trying to set off bottle rockets across the street. I'm sure everyone around Michelangelo turned into hatinass busters when he painted the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel too.

After three years of being the grownest and sexiest apartment on the block, this sexyass apartment is being vacated and the building is likely to collapse because the apartments glory was the only thing holding it up.



This is the DJ Statue that I got from the local junkfest around the corner. I haggled with an elderly guido for 2 months after my roommate spotted this baby rotting in the corner of their warehouse. I asked him how much he wanted to pay me to get it off his hands and he responded with, "THAT IS $80. I SELL THOSE ALL DAY LONG, ITS HANDCRAFTED IN THE PHILIPPINES." I said, "So was my dad, but I ain't payin no $80 for his ass." So we settled on $40. I also got that gold pillar its sitting on for $40 as well. I make deals, I ain't no sucka.


Some patio furniture I inherited from my parents. Although wicker furniture is very chic and avant garde, it's highly flammable but that's a risk we were willing to take.


The art on our walls were extraordinarily rare pieces that we went to great lengths to procure. This particular piece is something we affectionately refer to as "The Murder Scene." Let's just say a fly made the mistake of crossing my roommate during Rossi hour and we left it up there as an example to any other trifling motherfuckers that thought it would be okay to trespass our sacred space.




I got the first baby from my buddy and the mayor of Silverlake, the infamous Five Dollar Man. Not sure where he found this treasure but he sold it to me for the tender price of $5. The second piece was from one of the raddest vagrants that I've ever come across and he goes by the name of Slayer. Again, no clue where he got it from but I assume its from Sir Mix A Lot himself.


I only lost this remote ONCE.




Various treasures from the pimpin trove.








These are some adornments from the dining area.




The sauce collection.


This is kind of poetic cause clearly, we were living the high life.




The essentials...


Some people keep shopping lists on their refrigerator door, we on the other hand like to keep memories on ours. Pictures of ex-boyfriends, Lost Cat signs from when the cat jumped out the second story window...things we WANT to remember as opposed to things we NEED to remember.




Le bafroom.



BYE BYE APARTMENT!