Not that I am by any means a brunch expert but I consider myself well versed in the ways of brunch especially having been on both sides- guest and server. Consider these as my suggestions on how to brunch like a boss.
1. Double-fisting: strongly encouraged. Brunch is for Saturdays and Sundays only. So, it’s ok if you show up with your sunglasses on and ibuprofen in hand. Just be considerate of your waiter’s time/energy and order your coffee/cocktail simultaneously. And don’t even bother brunching if you’re not going to drink because that’s just rude.
2. Do not bring children. Brunch is an adults only zone. I mean, hello- caffeine and alcohol in a public setting. I repeat, adults only.
3. Be on time. Don’t be late. It’s just rude. And it throws off the many hours of service that follow your reservation. Don’t be the beginning of a very bad butterfly effect. Just don’t do it.
4. Brunch is a safe space.
5. If you are going to be that exercise freak that does a SoulCycle double before brunching, do everyone else a solid and keep it to yourself. There is nothing worse than sitting down for a meal and being reminded that you did nothing to earn the number of calories you’re about to consume.
6. Have an escape plan. There is nothing worse than getting trapped at a brunch that is way past it’s prime. Even if it is bottomless. Throw back that last mimosa and scurry off to nap the day drunk away.
7. Tip well. The brunch shift is the bane of my existence as a server so show some respect and leave a generous tip. Also, it’s just an easy way to put out some good karma into the universe.
8. And lastly, if you’re going to Instagram- all parties involved must approve and the caption must be on point.
Happy brunching, folks!
As I have stated for the record many times before, I reject most if not all things domestic. When it came time to furnish/outfit our new apartment, I went out to buy a shower curtain and came back with this.
So, I’m sure you’re dying to know what on earth Martha Stewart (aka the Queen of Insider Trading and All Thing Domestic) and I have in common. Well, it’s not anything that exciting but I can tell you from personal, first-hand experience that Martha and I both get hangry.
Pretty remarkable, right? Continuing along this train of thought, I guess both of us are irresponsible/wreckless enough to allow ourselves to get hungry enough to the point where we become mildly unpleasant. But in our defense, we have a lot on our plates. Running an empire and being a starving actor are full time jobs. Speaking of, my Seamless order seems to have gotten lost in translation so I need to address that. Have a beautiful day, folks and remember, next time you encounter someone who woke up on the wrong side the bed, maybe they just need a snack.
The pizza place downstairs gives you your money back on a Saturday night because you are such a loyal (weekday) customer even though you can’t recall 80% of the food you’ve consumed from said establishment.
Still not over the fact that this happened.
So, I’m sitting here at Whole Foods minding my own business and I’m watching (and judging) this girl who is silently weeping. I immediately have a number of thoughts on this.
1. Having a meltdown in public in the city is not a big deal. In my hometown, if you were to display this type of behavior, someone would immediately call your mom or the cops.2. I’ve so been that girl and it sucks.
3. I can almost guarantee those tears were because of a guy.
Guys are scary! It has been my game plan since moving here to remain unattached. So far, this plan has been going great! I come home from every lackluster date, make a list of all the reasons why the guy was not my soulmate and then repeat my mantra (pictured left).
Because quite frankly, the idea of giving part of myself to someone is terrifying. Not one of my romantic ventures has ended gracefully. In fact, they’ve all been rather cataclysmic. Yes, I’m equating all my breakups to violent, natural events and for those of you that know me, I don’t think this is much of an exaggeration. It’s not that I’m damaged or have weird baggage (maybe only like a metaphorical carry-on), it’s just that I’m not a complete masochist and I don’t want to put myself through all that agony again. Things can only end two ways, good or bad, but they end regardless right? Unless, I find “the one”, which is terrifying on a whole new level.
The only problem with this “I’m avoiding love and relationships at all costs” thing is that what happens when someone comes along who challenges my mantra? I’ll tell you what happens. I misinterpret those butterflies as nausea and immediately turn to WebMD to solve my problems, which only succeeds in convincing me I have a serious medical ailment. I also take every opportunity to warn them to stay away from me. I employ just about every defense mechanism in the book. And if after all that, they’re still around then maybe I need to just get over myself and take the plunge.
So, maybe as I embark on my second year in the city, it’s time for a new mantra. One that is a little less closed off. And maybe it’s just another step to being an adult or maybe it’s another mistake waiting to happen. Either way, I think it’s time for a change. I’m by no means looking for anything but I’m done pushing everything away.
I don’t remember the last one year anniversary I celebrated.
As of tomorrow, I will have been in the city for one year. Happy almost one year, New York. And what a year it’s been.
I’ve had my wallet stolen twice.
I’ve lived in 3 different apartments in 3 different neighborhoods.
I’ve had 3 different day jobs.
I’ve broken up with an agent and I probably would’ve broken up with a boyfriend too if I’d had one.
I’ve been on more bad dates than I can count and a handful of really great ones but they all make for great stories regardless.
I’ve downloaded and deleted more dating apps than I feel comfortable admitting on the Internet.
I’ve learned that having breakdowns in public is totally normal and no one cares but they’re all judging you.
I’ve probably called my mom at least twice a day on average.
I’ve become best friends (and roommates) with a girl who was my sworn arch nemesis.
I’ve won the Hamilton lottery. Just saying.
I’ve handed Jake Gyllenhaal a bottle of water.
I’ve been rejected over and over and over again but I keep going back for more, which I’m pretty sure qualifies me as a masochist.
So, happy almost one year, New York. Bring it on.
DOH= Department of Health
How dare you walk into the hottest new restaurant in town on a FRIDAY NIGHT and completely halt service for two hours so you can do your inspection. As if that weren’t enough, you then proceed to sit down for dinner at said restaurant. Rude.
In no reality is the cuisine at Santina “Armenian” so you should probably get your shit together and update your website.
Thank you for the single worst night of service I’ve had in my short career as a waitress.
You ruined my Friday night and I hate you.
You have no friends and no one likes you.
“How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.”
I always thought this was a Shakespeare quote. Is that just me? Turns out it was penned by a woman named Elizabeth Barrett Browning. I’m really glad I decided to become an informed citizen of the world and google the origin of this quote that I use on a regular basis.
I really don’t want to get into the subject of love. That wasn’t the intention of this post. My original idea was to make a list of all the ways that I have successfully deflected love; kind of like my own “How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days” type of thing. I think there’s some great potential for humor in this so I’m going to go ahead as I’d planned. So without further ado let me count the ways…
1. I reject all things domestic. My version of cooking is getting everything delivered to my door or paying for the pre-made version at Whole Foods. If I’m getting really ambitious, I’ll use the microwave.
2. I don’t make time for love. Who has time for that shit? I have a lot of things I need to get done and until someone figures out a way to give me more hours in a day, love/dating/romance takes a backseat to more urgent priorities like writing this blog.
3. I have my read receipts on. Every once in a while I get a random text from an old tinder flame (oh look, that’s clever) asking if we’re ever going to go out again. First of all, if you don’t have an iPhone and therefore can’t see my read receipts, I probably didn’t go out with you in the first place. Secondly, radio silence generally means I’m not interested. Thirdly, props to you for reaching out and being bold but I let my read receipt do the talking at this point. You’ll see I read the message and had nothing to say in response ergo not interested. It’s cold, I know, but for all the time I make for true love, I make even less for bad dates.
4. I’m aggressively sarcastic especially when flirting. This perplexes about 89% of the male population and the remaining 11% bores me so…things are looking up.
5. I become nauseous when I think about having a “boyfriend”. When I was 15 and stupid, I was ecstatic at the prospect of going steady with someone. I put the “<3" next to his name in my phone; it was very serious. But now, in my old age, the thought of calling someone my "boyfriend" makes me want to vomit. I admit that I can be overdramatic but I do not joke around with medical symptoms. I WebMD-ed common causes of nausea and found that psychological illness was among the list. I have since concluded that merely the thought of a "boyfriend" makes me psychologically ill and therefore nauseous. Brilliant and totally legitimate, I know.
6. I have this grand vision of being a 21st century independent woman and a significant other just doesn’t really fit into that picture. I also get a small amount of satisfaction telling people I plan on dying alone. Real mature, right?
So, there you have it.
I think I could give Elizabeth Barrett Browning a run for her money with this one…“How do I avoid thee (thee being love)? Let me count the ways.”