There's a bug in my Red Velvet...

Red Velvet and I have a tumultuous history. At first bite; just a few short years ago from a bakery named Buttercup, there was love. "Love at first Bite?", catchy eh? I swear that wasn't done on purpose.

Like all relationships, this one evolved. Commitment was the next step, as I chose Mr. Velvet to be the guest of honor at my wedding. The guest of honor that everyone eats. I remember sitting in the catering hall office, asking if there was anything at all that could be substituted for the traditional (yawn) fondant and buttercream. I could easily have paid for a cake at an outside bakery, however when you are building a bar from scratch, complete with lighting technicians and mini palm trees, cake gets moved to the back of the priority list pretty quickly. And so, Red Velvet, my catering manager promised me, was "Not a problem, not at all". Trust was born.
So much so, that I didn't even ask for a tasting.

Mr. Velvet and I had a good run, and as the wedding day approached, we were on very good terms. Until the cutting of the cake. The happiest day of my life had one glitch, my cake tasted like a type of tropical fruit. What kind? I have no idea, it was that ambiguous. To quote my grandmother, "Beautiful Cake, so many FLAVORS!" Need I go on? That's what I thought.

I swore off Mr. Velvet and his undelivered promises. I considered myself lucky to have the cake be my only problem on my wedding day, and "cut" my losses. (there I go again!) We immediately broke things off and hadn't seen each other again until yesterday afternoon, when I decided to give him another chance. I didn't realize Mr. Velvet had a vengeful side, until I found a piece of a creepy crawly in my "Crumbs" cupcake.

If there's one phrase to sum up how indescribably shiteous this week has been, "There's a bug in my Red Velvet" would be it. Yes, this week involved the severing of important relationships in my life, some that will most likely leave a wound forever. I say, you have no choice but to let go of relationships that cause you nothing but grief. Goodbye Mr. Velvet, I'll miss you.

-KJ

The Chiquita Bamana

Happy Friday! Meet the Chiquita Bamana. Brought to you by the crazy streets of New York and lots of illegal drug use.

Chiquita Bamana struts around in a fire engine red thong and give a whole new meaning to the term boyshorts. The cornucopia of fruit on his head complements the vibrant colors of his necklace, which is probably an ancient tribal gift from his ancestors; or a hallucinatory dumpster project. Take your pic.

He pushes his shopping bags, filled with God knows what, around in a baby carriage. For the love of Christ, I hope this man has not spawned. I shudder to think of the humiliation that child would endure at the hands of this creature.

Additionally, everyone that owns a pair of Crocs should take a good look at this man and immediately throw a burning rubber party. Because if there is one good that can come out of The Chiquita, it's singlehandedly eradicating the evil that these plastic mitts from hell bring.

-KJ

It's not sunny in the subway.

Tourism in NYC; the bane of my existence. Every day they stroll in front of me in packs, at the slowest pace imaginable, forcing me into the street; nearly risking my life so that I don't have to be whacked in the face with a fanny pack or Nikon. They often ignore the presence of my IPOD, asking me for directions; shouting, "3!?? Canal St? Threeeeeeeeeeee??!! or"Times Square????" as if I have the words SUBWAY MAP tattooed on my forehead.

It's torturous enough that I already have to deal with their sneakers, visors, chinos, and mid -calf length socks every single day. Yet now i have to deal with their mockery too. What could a backpack clad European traveler possibly mock me, a native New Yorker, for? Try my Ray-Bans. Now, I am by no means a proponent of sunglasses at night, in restaurants or clubs. I, however, have no qualms about protecting my eyes from the downright ugliness of the subway.

On many an occasion, I have seen the most grotesque things a person can witness, right there under the bustling streets of the city I love the most. From public urination and far worse; to a plastic lawn chair, placed between the metal poles, because the man sitting in it "never gets a seat" and decided to bring his own. For some reason, I find people that consume food down there absolutely repulsive. Whether it be a banana or some Indian street food, it's dirty and disgusting and shouldn't be done. It's the equivalent of eating in a public restroom; while sitting on the toilet. That's right MTA, your subway is a toilet. A toilet that keeps upping the admission fee. You have to pee, right? And I need to get to work, stat.

I was on the 123 yesterday, when I noticed two very large Italian women staring at me curiously. It takes a lot for me to notice anything on the train, since I do my best to block out my surroundings until I reach ground level. The gawking turned to giggling, and then before I could figure out what the joke was, they simultaneously put a pair of sunglasses on, and began to cackle uncontrollably. It was at that point I realized they were laughing because it wasn't sunny in the subway. Immediately, an urge to display a necessary hand gesture came over me. But then a curious thing happened; I laughed back. I even waved. I'll be damned if they stereotype me as another self -important, crass American.

Go home turistas, I'm wearing my Ray-Bans so I don't have to look at you.

-KJ

Sponges, the silent killers.

The average person is exposed to approximately 3,000 advertising messages in any given day. Buy this, eat that, invest your money here, "Just Do It!", "I'm lovin' it", "You would be home already if you lived here", and on and on it goes. There are about 1,000 minutes in each day that we spend awake. Theoretically, it would take every minute of the day if we did nothing else but look at these messages. Yet, they're subliminally there, in everything we do, in every place we go. Right this very second, I see logos for Dell, Glaceau, Lucky, Comdial, Avery, Mead, BIC, Papermate, Staples, Totes, allure, Google, Office Depot and Ray Ban at my desk alone.

As if that's not enough, we still have to wait for the subway/sit in traffic, work, check Facebook, work some more, gchat , more work, cook/order dinner, book appointments, pay bills, go to the gym and make sure we check to see if its going to rain again tomorrow.

When we finally do find the time to kick back, relax and watch TV or read a magazine/website, we often find conflicting or downright useless messages. Most recently, I found a little gem titled, " 9 Things in Your Home that may be Killing You" on the website of my favorite mag.

The article warns of the dangers lurking in your "wet towels" and advises not to share them with your boyfriend (boy cooties, gasp!), and wash them often. If your male friend does happen to touch your towel, you are promptly advised to "send that towel where it belongs, the washing machine". It then goes on to suggest that your laundry machine may be harboring bacteria, and that if you use a public washing machine, you should ask the building manager to make sure the temperature is a "germ killing" 155 degrees. I don't know about you, but the "building manager" where I wash my clothes doesn't speak much English, so much for that idea.

Think your salt & pepper shakers are cute? Think again, it warns, since they are touched at all phases of the food handling process. Using disinfectant to clean them? Don't even think about it, unless of course you are using EPA-Registered disinfectant! Might need Google's help on that one.

Better yet, have you traveled lately! Beware of bed bugs, they say. Wash everything in your luggage in hot water and be sure to scrub that suitcase with a stiff brush before giving it a good vacuuming. Right. I'll be sure to do just that, right before dunking it in a vat of rubbing alcohol and setting it on fire for good measure.

Tired from thinking too much about all this? Time to relax with your laptop, you say? Not without daily disinfecting wipes! Your germ harboring keyboard likely contains more bacteria than a toilet bowl! Yikes.

All this talk of germs makes me want a shower. What's that, they say? I can't even shower without the fear of dying?! Not if my shower curtain contains PVC, which "studies suggest" may be harmful to my health.

You know what else "may be harmful to my health"? Worrying about being killed by my salt & pepper shaker, towels, laptop and shower curtain! Never leaving my house for fear of the dreaded "bed bug" and microwaving my sponges before every dish wash. What's next, avoiding sidewalk street cracks and wearing protective face masks during my weekly manicure? I'd rather take my chances. I think tonight I'll curl up inside my dirty suitcase, with my spice rack and all the sponges I can find laying around my apartment, sans microwave and EPA- Registered Disinfectant. Wish me luck.

- KJ