Kowloon Me To The Moon

I spent the weekend visiting my favorite pair of best-friends-turned-lesbian-lovers out in Boston. One hybrid wine-pot hangover, a faux call in sickness and a $30 Grey Hound bus ticket later, I found myself smushed in between a cold, hard window and a Wellesley College student with one of the most unappealing moles i've ever witnessed. Said mole resided right above her lip, which sounds sexy in a Cindy Crawford-esque type way, but in fact was quite the opposite. It actually had 2 little hairs poking out of it, and while we discussed our overly Jewish summer camps and the joys of Japanese food, I couldn't help but wonder if i should dig out the tweezerman I keep stored in my purse for emergency stragglers and pluck those bad boys outta there.
I resisted, but seriously almost caved the second the Teddy Graham crumbs starting collecting in her creepy little mole-bush.

I finally arrived in Boston around 8pm, lugging a hefty duffel bag filled with only the neccessities... $3 wine, my best friend and life long companion- the Chi hair iron <3, a couple of oversized black & white cookies and a loaf of challah bread. That's right, I took requests. I contemplated purchasing some lox as well, but decided i didn't want to upset or nauseate my fellow bus companions on the five hour journey through the land of ye olde Connecticut, which honestly is already depressing enough without having to bear the scent of oily fish.

John met me at South Station and we proceeded to Hannah's Jetta, conveniently parked about a mile away from the bus station. Hannah is another member of the Navigation Fan Club, yet still manages to get lost EVERY SINGLE TIME. it's actually quite fascinating. She and Ashley constantly second guess the technology, get into a gigantic lovers' quarrel and then finish it off by making out in the front seat while you close your eyes, make gagging noises and sing Wilson Phillips 'Hold On' as loud as you can to drown out the sounds.

As we approached the car, I noticed an unfamiliar display of bleach blonde hair hanging out of the backseat window.
It was Tamara, and according to some incoherent ramblings and the half empty bottle of whiskey placed neatly in her lap I could tell she was in black-out land. While secretly flattered that I was an important enough event to pre-game for, I started to worry when she attempted to steal an innocent couple's clams casino at Legal Seafood and then proceeded to run out of the restaurant in search of pizza and potential man-friends.

Rest assured we picked her up after dinner in China Town, alive and well and partially hungover.

If you really want to know what I did in Boston for 48 hours, I'm gonna go ahead and say I ate, watched LOGO - yes, the lesbian and gay network and spoke in a full fledged Indian accent the entire time. Ashley and I also made up a song with a somewhat Jamaican beat entitled "Me Knows Where Me Likes to Be Touched" dedicated to a flambouyant ex-army Irishman whom she met in a gay bar in Chelsea last time she came to visit. She inquired when it was he knew he was gay and he replied, well "Me knows where me likes to be touched!" and it goes a little something like THIS-

ME: touch me where me knows where me likes to
Ash: TOUCCCCCCCH ME WHERE YOU KNOW WHERE YOU LIKE TO BE TOUCHED
ME: touch me, touch me, tou-uhh-uhh-uchhh me

and so on and so forth.

We also made up a song dedicated to this Indian academic advisor named Nidhi Oberoi from Syracuse who I met with Senior year to discuss my future cubicle life.

This is to the tune Biggie's HYPNOTIZE-- please feel free to sing along!

Nidhi Nidhi Nidhi
Can't you see?
Sometimes your Oberois just hypnotize me
And I just love your hindu dot
I can't wait to lick curry off your bush**.

I would like to apologize in advance for the mention of Nidhi's bush. The original lyric was "i can't wait to lick curry off your SPOT", but Hannah suggested bush, and seeing as my sexual preference was the minority... we decided bush would have to do.

Over the course of the weekend, I have decidedly come across my favorite highway in the history of all the highways in my life. It's called...bumbumbummmm...ROUTE 1, and we had to drive down it several times in our journeys to and from Boston (Ash and Hannah reside in an old homosexual-run firehouse 30 minutes north of the city.)

What's so amazing about Route 1, you ask? The whole road reminds me of one giant MULLET. There's strip clubs, stinky motels, a giant restaurant named Kelly's which is dedicated to everything roast beef (it even has a drive-thru!), several obscenely Vegas-like glowing cactus-billboards and the most mysteriously statuesque Asian-inspired castle I have EVER seen!

Me- "Hey... what IS that place?!"
Hannah- "Its Kowloon!!! it's AMAAAZING! They serve every type of Asian food imaginable!"

My eyes lit up like a nun recieving her first encounter with cunnilingus.

As you know, i am a whore for asian food. that's right. a WHORE. muhahaha.

Ash and Hannah agreed that a trip to Kowloon was in order, and we decided it would be the last stop before I had to head back to the city.

When Sunday morning rolled around, I put on my ever-expanding spandex pants in preparation for the Asian feast that awaited me. We piled into the Jetta, blasted some Real McCoy and made our way down route 1 for the very last time.

When we pulled up, I couldn't contain my excitement. I hopped out of the car, and whipped out my digi camera. It was like the Eiffel Tower of Route 1, and i NEEDED evidence of my arrival!

An elder, mulleted woman who was most likely arriving just in time for the early bird volunteered to take pictures of us. Please see below.





As the hostess led to us to our table, I couldn't help but think how hilarious it would be if i perhaps... got married in Kowloon! There were lotto machines galore, old people, ladies with unibrows, an overabundance of obesity and a glorious display of ponds and waterfalls surrounded with fake, spray-painted rocks. mmmmm... heaven.

I imagined our waitress Denise definitely lives in a trailer park, but i loved her just the same. She made wonderful reccomendations and was amazed when I told her i took the Grey Hound all the way from New York City JUST to come to THEE KOWLOON!!

We ate strange fried chicken tidbits, teriyaki beef "nuggets" and an assortment of the greasiest noodle dishes i've ever encountered. Everything tasted like it was scooped straight off of a chinese buffet and we only managed to finish 1/80th of the food. We simultaneously became overwhelmed with nausea, held our stomaches and tried not to gag when Ash kept passing gas at the table. See for yourself, YO!


Denise took this.... mmm Denise


Me... dreaming of my Kowloon wedding.


Imagine Ashley farting for this one.


Laughing because I feel like my stomach is slowly dying inside of me and I know i'm about to sit on a bus for 4 hours.

Suffice it to say I haven't touched Asian food since, but i'm hoping to get back on track by this weekend. The end.

Where Art Thou Cream Filling?

I have a lot on my mind these days.

I recently discovered Hostess 100 calorie pack cupcakes. you know... those orgasmicly amazing cupcakes with the cream filling that splooges just a bit when you bite down? Yes, those!
CAN YOU BELIEVE IT?
While i've never been a big believer in the 100 calorie pack movement that is currently sweeping the nation, i've gotta say WOW!
Each pack contains 3 mini cupcakes. The whole thing takes a little less than 30 seconds to consume, but really... truly... yummy.
My only complaint is that there's no vanilla curly-Q thing on top. Those would probably make them 112 calorie packs which would totally devalue the whole concept!!!

So, of course i had to tell my mom about them. She's all about the chips ahoy 100 cal packs which i find to be far inferior to the magicalness that is HOSTESS!!

I wonder if my company scans my e-mail account, and sometimes i wish they did.

From: Winnymom@aol.com
Subject: Hostess 100 cal packs

Jess,

I had a pack with lunch and they made me very gassy. I'm never gassy after lunch! Maybe that's why you were gassy yesterday? Actually, they have a lot of fiber for such a small portion (5 gms., I think). They are also loaded with chemicals, which probably doesn't help.

Mom

So there you have it folks. they.will.give.you.GAS

Moving on.

Has anyone besides myself bothered to read the comments posted on my past few blog entries?
I am being sexually harassed by Sol Beskowitz and A. Coven. I'm not even sure A. Coven is a man. Hmmmmmmm.
It's really not as fun as i expected, either. My clothes are still on. my hair isn't mussed up AND i'm in my cubicle!! At least if they would show up and do that sexy arm-swiping-manuever across my desk and scatter my stapler and manila envelopes onto the floor, it would be much more enjoyable. sighhhhh

So, I guess i'll address this now.

Dear Sol Beskowitz and A. Coven,

How are you? How is Israel? Is the weather nice? Did you really fly into JFK today? I really wish we could hang out, but i'm actually going to my sister's house after work to eat dinner and make out with her dog. How long are you in town? Do you like drinking and eating chinese food?
I'm not sure we would work out, what with you flying back and forth from Israel to NYC all the time. I'm needy, Sol and A. Coven. I need to hang out after work. We would have to watch American Idol together. You would have to sit and wait patiently outside the dressing rooms at J. Crew and tell me I look nice in every pair of pants I try on and then bring me home and feed me chocolate dipped marshmallows while I paint my toenails.
You would probably hate my bed, too. It has wheels that i haven't yet figured out how to remove so when we get busy you're probably going to get annoyed and just want to leave. My roommate is also really messy. There's never any room in the freezer. You have to find little spaces and physically SHOVE your eggo waffles in there. See what I mean?

In conclusion, hostess 100 calorie pack cupcakes give me gas. It runs in the family. Do you think you could still love me?

I Do Not Hate... On the Garden State.

I was awoken Sunday morning to the familiar sound of a text message from somebody named Iobiadmin@Verizon.com. For some reason my otherwise tech-savvy mother hasn't quite mastered texting from her ACTUAL cell phone and has thus resorted to downloading some crazy program onto her Compaq Presario in order to alert me of family happenings without having to bear the sound of my Sunday hangover 'yes-there's-a-half-naked-man-laying-next-to-me' voice.

On this particular morning, she inquired if i was planning on coming home for the day. The only thing on my agenda happened to be pretending i might actually go to the gym and then at 5 o' clock announce that i had forgotten it closes early and "Oh well, MAYBE TOMORROW!" So i heaved myself out of bed, washed off last night's mascara and headed to Port Authority. Ohhhhh NJ Transit, how i've missed you so!

Whenever I visit my parents, I know i'm in for a full day of culinary excellence! This is especially important when the only items left in my fridge are honey mustard and moldy vegetable cream cheese, and so i tend to make the journey at least once every 3 to 4 weeks.

When I walked in the door, Dad was waiting in the kitchen munching on his typical pre-luncheon snack of microwaved hot dogs on potato bread. Then, the oh-so familiar topic of where to go for lunch. This is how the conversation went. This is how EVERY conversation goes. Mmmm, how I love going home.

Me: "Well, i've really been craving Indian..."
Mom: "No way, Jessie!"
Dad: "What about that new Thai restaurant that opened? Don't you like Pad Thai, Ellen?"
Mom: "I don't like Pad Thai, Marvin! You know what it tastes like? It tastes like Spaghetti with ketchup on it! Doesn't it taste like spaghetti with ketchup, Jess?
Me: "Umm... well, not really. I like Thai. What about that brunch place? The Turning Point? Let's go there!"
Dad: "No, i don't like it there! It's too feminine. All of their dishes are just too feminine! Portions are too small, and we have to wait. Ugh, no Jessie. You can go there without me."
Me: "OHHHHHKAAAAY. Chinese?!"

I don't know why we didn't just decide this in the first place. It is a Winston family tradition to consume Asian on Sundays, and I don't know why I would've assumed anything different.

So off we went to Hunan Gourmet. Dad turned on his navigation for the 12 minute drive down route 9 to the restaurant. I think he has a secret crush on the woman with that sexy robotic voice, which tends to be a bit more pleasant than my mother screaming "MARVIN!!!! NO!!! turn THERE!!!! Can we stop?? I have to pee AGAIN"
I don't really blame him, but I do find it pretty unnessary to use navigation when visiting a place you know how to get to. This is very confusing. Sarah has actually started doing it, too. Weird. I don't understand! I don't need navigation.... I just use taxis!!

As some of you may know, my sister Sarah got married in the fall of 2006. My mom has a severe obsession with everything-wedding, which in turn has influenced me to either become asexual, elope or at least just marry a non-jew as to avoid the situation entirely. I thought it would be a LONG, LONG time until any talk of wedding in the Winston home would resurface... but boy, was I wrong.
Turns out, Emily and Elinor are moving back to New Jersey and are planning their Civil Union ceremony!! While Em never struck us as the wedding type, she's decided that
A) She needs Elinor's health benefits
B) Nana pays the big bucks for marriages/babies/bat mitzvahs
C) Any excuse to stuff your face and drink heavily on my parents bill is A-OK with her.

We're all pretty excited, Mom especially since she is 100% positive the wedding is going to make it into the New York Times wedding section.
Jew finds same-sex love with non-Jew? Check
Met on an Ivy League fencing team? Check
1600 on the SATS? I'm sure that magical fact will somehow creep its way into the article...as per usual.

As I stuffed deliciously greasy chicken chow fun into my mouth, I imagined Em walking down the aisle wearing a vintage 1991 Abercrombie sweater, faded ankle huggers and her old, crusty Doc Martens with the laces coiled up like the old days at Lake Bryn Mawr Camp. She'll chop her hair especially short for the occassion, even though we advised her otherwise, and will ask if i wouldn't mind blow-drying it for her.
Elinor might spice it up with a brightly colored vest, her Cornell sweatpants and some loose pigtails arranged on either side of her head. We'll dance the Hava Nagila while their African Gray and Cockatoo flap around above our heads and their 3 cats nap in the corner by the cake. When the wine bottles are empty, we'll beach ourselves on the couch, Mom will whip out her calculator and we'll count their hard-earned money. I can't wait!

In other news, Dad has been mistaken for a senior citizen! Apparently, he visited McDonald's last week for a cup of coffee, and was only charged 45 cents!! He asked if they were having a special sale on coffee, only to find out that's the cost for the oldies community. Awww Marv, i still love ya! Perhaps you can pass along the discount to your broke-ass daughter?! Pretty please?
Additionally, he's taken on a new client who actually found a mouse in their Wendy's chili. Be warned!!!

I spent the rest of the afternoon at ShopRite with my mom, grabbing whatever looked expensive and delicious and tossing it into the wagon without regard. When I returned home, I ransacked the cabinets for shampoo, conditioner, shaving cream and many other essentials to ensure I wouldn't have to pay for them myself at good ol' Duane Reade! I shoved my goods into a monster sized duffel bag, gave a few farewell kisses and headed back onto the bus...but not before Mom could give me some leftover white meat chicken breast from Shabbat dinner Friday night.
"You need MORE protein, Jess!"

Thanks again!!

The Grocery Blues

Since moving to Manhattan i've taken up a brand new sport! Yep, this comes as a shock to me too, considering my athletic career basically ended in the 4th grade when I gave up on soccer and took up competitive cookie eating.

But anyway, here goes.
First you fill up your basket. Teriyaki chicken! Sugar snap peas! Hummus! It doesn't really matter what you put in it, just make sure the basket is heavy enough so there's no way you're going to want to hold it for longer than 25 minutes.

When you're all done, look for the man in the red tee shirt waving a giant flag. You can most likely find him close to the entrance and being extraordinarily friendly, which will in turn make you feel pretty uncomfortable. He probably looks like he smokes a lot of pot, and hasn't bathed in at least 2 days.
Have I said too much?

When you find said man, go to him. You will find yourself in line behind a minimum of 50 people. That's on a calm day, like say... Tuesday. Sundays are merely for professionals.

Now that you're in line, feel free to peruse your surroundings. Make your way past that eye-poppingly cheap produce! 39 cents an apple?! Toto, I don't think we're in Murray Hill anymore.
Check out the bakery. Grab some low-fat blueberry scones, they're only $1.29!

That baskets feeling pretty heavy, huh?
Put it down, I promise you'll feel much better. This line is long and moving pretty damn slowly. If only you had less than 12 items, you'd get to wait at LEAST 3 minutes less!!

As the line moves along, you pick up your basket, walk approximately 7 inches and then place it back on the ground. Efficient? I don't think so.

So, you start to nudge it with your feet. Nudge, nudge, nudge. Along with the nudging, comes the 'Bumpology', in which people bump into you with their wagons and carts while reaching for the soy chili on the top shelf, and then for some reason you both apologize
"Sorry!! Can I just...? Yeah, just trying to get the... oohhh GOT IT! Sorry!"

You've already made it to the free sample area, and have added 8 more items to your basket! Mmmm... they're giving out organic cinnamon crumpets. I've never even had a crumpet, and I lived in London for Christs sake!!! C'mon, toss those babies in, too.

Seriously, you gotta love Trader Joes. They are like the equivalent of telling your friends that you just rode your vintage bicycle to a Sondre Lerche concert in Williamsburg, and stopped for a tofu-hotdog on the way home.

Once you've made your way into the dairy aisle, you know you're almost home free! Have you noticed that sound? The sound of hard, plastic scraping against the tile floor? That's right. Look around. You're playing... the Basket-Push! Everyone else has picked up on the nudging just like a giant sign was posted on the wall with how-to instructions and a real, live demonstration entitled "How To Not Feel Like Your Hands Are Going To Fall Off"

Just when you feel the sweat stains starting to form in the armpits of your brand new Anthropologie sweater, you come to the check-out dispatcher. You're 30 minutes late for American Idol, you've acquired at least 3 bruises on your hip and thighs and to top it all off, you just realized that you've far exceeded 3 grocery bags worth of goods and have NO idea how you're going to transport everything home.

Finally, after 38 long minutes, you pick up your basket and head to your designated register, conveniently located next to what is now the END of the line.

As you watch your $5.99 pre-cooked shrimp scan, you praise your gigantically lazy ass for traveling all the way down to Union Square just to get a good deal on your groceries. You've improved your calf muscles, increased your weekly budget for alcoholic-beverages and are the proud new owner of organic cinnamon crumpets!

See! Who ever said I can't play sports??

P.S. This is when you know my social life is starting to go downhill...