Wednesday, February 25, 2009

Dirty Cajuns

I have a new favorite drink.  I discovered it while celebrating fat tuesday at The Delta Grill.  It was a cajun/creole extravaganza complete with jambalaya, steamed crayfish, and a New Orleans style band.  Among the Southern themed drinks, the Delta Grill offers a Cajun Martini.  Not one to pass up an intriguing drink, or a new spicy food, I decided to try it, and it was love at first sip! 

It's your standard martini, a mixture of vodka and vermouth, but the key is to soak lots of chopped up jalapenos in the liquor for at least six hours before chilling and pouring.  Add a whole okra pod into each glass for garnish and you're all set.  To make a dirty cajun, add a little olive juice.

Tuesday, February 24, 2009

Who wears Short Shorts?

Essie has long been my favorite kind of nail polish . Not only does their nail polish go on more smoothly and bubble free than other brands, but they have a range of colors to fulfill any girls dreams (and match her wardrobe). They have about 20 different shades of red alone, and cute names for the colors to boot. And they always have the latest shade that you see in magazines before anyone else, like last summer's lemon yellow (Shorty Pants) and Rhianna green.

I came across my latest favorite in Ricky's. It's from neon collection, and its called Short Shorts.

Monday, February 23, 2009

A Least I Know My Neighbors will Rescue Me if I'm Being Assaulted

So tonight, as I was absentmindedly opening my mail and unlocking the door to my apartment, without really looking at the door I had the horrifying experience of having a roach crawl onto my hand as I was turning the key. This resulted in me screaming and thrashing about to get it off of me, and then screaming and thrashing about more after I got scared that it might have flown off my hand and into my hair. I eventually calmed down enough to spot the offending little parasite on the floor of the hallway in time to loudly stomp it to death. Luckily the boys that live downstairs from me heard my girlish screams and came out to see if I was ok, wondering from all the commotion if I was being assaulted. Then, they laughed at me for being so scared of a harmless little bug. I, on the other hand, was not amused.

Now, your typical New Yorker doesn't understand my terror at these common little fiends, but I challenge anyone to have one of the awful creatures actually crawl upon them, and then not spiral into complete hysteria whenever one shows its hideous armored little body.

The first time I ever saw a roach ever was while dining at an outdoor restaurant in the Village. i won't name names, but I have doubted its cleanliness ever since. I was sitting there enjoying my brunch in the sunshine, when suddenly I felt something brush on my foot. Then I fell something crawl upon my foot. I looked down, and started screaming and kicking my leg frantically when I spotted a roach resting comfortably on top of my sandal straps. This display was greatly entertaining to the passers-by and my dining companions, but I needed a white russian at the restaurant across the street to calm my nerves.

And now tonight, even after the roach is safely flattened in the hallway outside my apartment, the feeling of something crawling on my skin lingers, so that every time my sweat pant leg brushes the top of my foot I jump and gasp a little bit, remembering my first encounter with the most awful pest to ever live, the roach.

Freshman Frank

There are those people out there, who really crack me up, whose personality completely changes when they get that first drink. They go from the tall, meek boy sitting in the corner graciously declining any shots while everyone else gets tanked, into the drinking machine self-named ‘Freshman Frank,’ once you pressure them into that first gin and tonic complete with yelling, dancing around, and demanding more rounds of tequila shots.

Granted, we all loosen up a little bit once we’ve imbibed a certain number of adult beverages, but this special breed manages to totally transform at the first drop of alcohol. They are almost like the incredible hulk, growing into a huge tornado of ridiculous behavior. The gentle giant, who normally defuses fights goes all nutso and starts ripping off his shirt and punching his fists through plate glass windows

Then there are the others who take a turn for the worst after the first few sips. They turn from the happy-go-lucky jokester type to the sobbing, depressed friend who looks mildly suicidal and stares at every passer-by with a streaked mascara, caked eyeliner teary eyed glance.

Everyone has their tell; be it drunk, crazy eyes, a switch to whispered only conversations, sudden super-human strength, or a tendency to re-tell the same story over and over and over again.

They add a little element of extra entertainment to the average night out. They’re like a bad stereotype that pops out every time they dip into the sauce. But then they give you a good chuckle and stare at you with those drunk, endearing, half-closed eyes, and you remember why it's all worthwhile.

So tonight, say cheers and buy a round for your Freshman Frank!

Sunday, February 22, 2009

Were Javier Bardem and Jeffrey Dean Morgan Separated at Birth?

Does anyone else thing that these two beautiful men look freakishly alike? Because I often have trouble telling them apart.

Here is my Card....

Recently, I've had a lot of guys give me their number.  It's a little perplexing.  The circumstances have been different.  One leaving his number on the credit card receipt of a table I waited on.  Another writing me a little note saying, "I like you."  A third offered me free gym sessions, and after I politely declined, citing my current gym membership he awkwardly gave me his card anyways and told me to call him anytime.  The last saw me as a damsel in distress on the sidewalk, and ferried my 30+ pounds of laundry up the three steep flights to my apartment, presenting me with his business card before dashing off to be some other maiden's knight in shining armor.

Each time it's a little confusing to me, since as the story goes, the guy gets the girl's number, calls and asks her out.  In each situation, I didn't have a particular burning interest in the guy, hadn't paid him any special attention, and the chances for rejection were high.  I could understand where asking for my number would be much more intimidating than simply slipping me theirs with the paid bill and a smiley face.  But is it wrong that I judged them a little for not simply manning up and asking me out?  I mean, is it really fair to just toss the ball into my court and wait for a pass back when I didn't even ask for it in the first place?

It's like the guy, who you've already hooked up with getting your number the next morning--a nice courtesy, even if he doesn't call--who dials your phone the instant he finishes programming in your name, you know, just so you have his number, so you know who it is when he calls.  What is with this new trend of guys insisting that the gal has the number just in case she wants to give him a ring?

I consider myself more feminist and progressive than the average chick, and I am certainly happy that it is not a crazy idea for a bold lady to ask out the fella of her choice without a "Sadie Hawkins" dance demanding it.  That said, let's see a little effort here!  A lady needs to be wooed, given a reason to want to see you, presented with your charming gallantry not simply tossed a number with the implied demand to be called.  I mean really, do I want to be the one to make the awkward first phone call, and plan a date for someone I just met, when they are the one who was interested enough to try to get my attention?  I think not.  

So fellas, let's put a stop to these strange dating advances.  Either grow a pair, bite the bullet and just do it, or direct your attentions towards someone who seems interested in dating a giant pussy.  Let's leave the coy glances and sliding your number across the table to the real women here.  I mean, what's next?  A note reading Do you want to go out: Circle Yes or No.  This isn't third grade.

Thursday, February 19, 2009

Stroller Scythes

The Upper East Side during the day, during the week is a strange place, a twilight zone of stay at home moms, college kids, the elderly, and the privately wealthy wandering the streets. There aren't any big businesses tos peak of, excepting restaurants, grocery stores, and the occasional non-profit. So it's mostly resident pedestrians between 10 and 2 before the masses of school children clog the streets.

The most amusing character among this bunch is the agressive mother, aggressively pushing her stroller in a do or die game of chicken with the other sidewalk walkers. They may as well have chariot scythes attached to the sides of their enormous buggies that look equipped to go offroading in the desert, with their large springloaded wheels and the capability to convert from bassonet to forward facing stroller. Just check out the Bugaboo website to see the extrem stroller options they deliver.

They stare you down with a determined move it or lose it glare, just daring you not to yield and stay in their way, powerwalking towards you all the time. And you had better not fuck with them during rush hour, when they are blocking the sidewalk with a trail of three pretty little children trailing behind them. They will not move, pull their kids in, or slow down--it's dodge or get run over. I know that being a UES Mom is a stressful job, competing for schools, status and a sucessful life for their star of an infant, but it a death match on the sidewalk necessary?

Maybe. Maybe raising a kid in the city is just that stressful.

Tuesday, February 17, 2009

Leggings or Pants

As a child of the eighties, who fought my mother tooth and nail to give up my stretch pants for jeans in elementary school, I was thrilled to see leggings and neon colors come back the past few seasons with a vengeance. Paired with the long flowy tops and belted dresses of this year, leggings cannot be beat in comfort, style, and warmth. They let every girl accomplish her dream of taking summer dresses into fall and winter without suffering near frostbite of the knees on the way to the club. Comfort has finally meshed with style to create cozy-cute looks.

However, the opaque tights of this fall seem to be adding a dimension of confusion to the trend and I have been witnessing a disturbing tendency of women of my generation to wear leggings as pants.

Listen here! There was a reason the name was changed from stretch pants, to leggings. While there is an opacity to many leggings, especially in dark colors that allows them to be worn without exposing any private parts, the very fact that they are called leggings means that they are supposed to be layered, and ONLY worn under items that cover the buttocks.

You wouldn’t be caught dead wearing your opaque tights out without a skirt over them, so why are so many otherwise fashion forward ladies taking leggings out from underneath and flaunting them as pant-like fashion?

I have seen leggings paired with t-shirts that border on long enough, but fall just short. I’ve seen risky-business style collared shirts belted and worn with leggings poking out a little too much, and most recently—and most upsetting—leggings worn with a cropped sweatshirt that was in no way fashionable, just merely spandex with a hoodie. If I can see the definition between your cheeks, you are showing too much.

Now ladies, I loved the 80’s, and even the 90’s trends as much as the next gal, but let’s keep this trend in this generation! Stretch pants are not cute- leggings are.

Don’t even get me started on Express trying to revive the stirrup foot legging.

Saturday, February 14, 2009

Umbrella Today?

So, I've gotten lazy about checking the weather. It all started to go downhill once I didn't have a window that looked out on the street. In college I used to slide by by checking my roommates outfits, or peering out to see what people outside are wearing to gauge how warmly or cooly I should dress. These days, sometimes I don't even look out the window before leaving for work, which thanks to global warming messing with me, has led to some wildly inappropriate outfits as of late.

There have been the 50 degree days in the middle of winter, when I go out wearing my down coat, and the random snowstorms that catch me by surprise in my clogs which tend to take in alot of slush. It's just too easy to walk out the door without your umbrella living in NYC, when you count on those random Asian men that seem to appear out of no where hawking umbrellas at the first drop of a storm. But, those days when its really coming down, there's no umbrella man in sight, and it's impossible to get a cab, I really regret not just opening up my Gmail homepage and looking for a little raindrop or picture of the sun to warn me of what's to come.

Luckily for me, someone has taken all the guesswork out of the weather for me, and I will never have to take responsibilty for remembering my own umbrella again.

At this webpage:,

aptly titled Umbrella Today? You just enter your location and phone number and they will text you at a decided time whenever rain is in the forecast, gently suggesting that you might want to throw on some rainboots and toss your mini umbrella in your bag. It doesn't get much better than that.

Just in case you weren't sure it was Valentine's day....

-eHarmony and have stepped up their advertising campaigns to suck in all those singles feeling sorry for themselves. Now instead of one ad per commercial break, online dating services are actually every other commercial
-Bravo has been exclusively playing "The Millionaire Matchmaker"
-Several romantic horror movies (i.e. My bloody Valentine) have come out in the past week to complement the recent airing of 'He's just not that into you'
-Your local pizza shop is offering heart shaped pizza
-Notting Hill and Bridget Jone's Diary are simultaneously on TV
-Red nail polish is sold out at CVS
-Your bikini waxer is booked for weeks

Happy V-DAY!

Wednesday, February 11, 2009

Spanx: A Girl's Best FriENEMY

Ever since they hit the Oprah show, Spanx have been the new hotness is body-shaping apparel. More comfortable than control top hose, everyone from celebrities to the average Jane wanting to eliminate “VPL” (visible panty lines—Spanx’s term, not mine) and those jiggly lumps and bumps that always pop out after a few too many nachos at Sunday afternoon football, has been donning the slimming garment underneath their clothes. The options are endless, from full leg shaping hose--think leggings made of really springy spandex—slimming skirt inserts, and even leg sleeves for cropped pants. There is truly a SPANX for every garment and occasion. And don’t forget your top half there are slimming camis to even out your waistline.

I experimented with SPANX recently, and tried out a skirt insert under a clingy dress that tends to expose tummy bulges on even the most fit stomachs. And I was confronted by the classic dilemma of the young woman, out on the town wearing undergarments that enhance her figure, but not necessarily her sex appeal. Think Bridget Jones’ dilemma: the tummy flattening, oversized granny panties or the lacy thong leaving your love handles waving in the wind.

What happens to the Spanx when your guy friend has one too many tequila shots and gets a little extra friendly, sliding his hand down the curve of your back and over your butt—will he be drunk enough not to notice the telling line where Spanx end and your legs begin? Or will all your college friends be hearing about Jane’s strange elastic dents the next day?

Or if a lady is getting a little lucky and manages to meet Mister Right at the bar while Spanx clad. How do you gracefully slip out of a full spandex suit when in the heat of the moment, and will prince charming be alarmed by the boa constrictor garment we’ve squeezed ourselves into that simply serves to mask our womanly curves? Or if we manage to excuse ourselves to slip into something a little more comfortable, or slip out of something a little less comfortable as the case may be, will the Rico Suave be perceptive enough to observe the difference, and can the Spanx fold up small enough to be stashed inside our evening clutch?

Spanx are office friendly, and work wonders for a lady’s power suit. But I say, when work turns to play, and there is any chance of intimate touching, kick this frenemy to the curb!

Image Courtesy of:

Junglee Juice

Did you ever notice that when people tell you that college was the best four years of their life, they seldom explain why? It’s just a simple sentence, trailing off into a nostalgic sigh and glance into the distance that commands you to have a great time, to enjoy--to make it the best four years of your life.

Now, we all take this on in different ways: drinking a lot, skipping class, just sitting around and doing nothing. But none of us really understood why college was the best four years of life--although damn fun--until it’s over.

Granted we understood that complete and total lack of responsibilities, endless free time, and living totally off our parents’ money was AWESOME while we were doing it. However, the real reason that our long hours free to spend devising new drinking games wasn’t anything more than good times didn’t sink in until we were booted out of our happy little world and into the reality of life after college.

The real reason people look so fondly upon their four collegiate years is because the next two years afterward SUCK. I mean, truly and utterly. Suddenly you have to pay for your own alcohol, get up early, brush your hair, and don’t have money for delivery at every meal.

Thanks for the warning people. Oh, and thanks for mentioning that the economy was planning to totally take a nosedive and turn the job hunt from difficult to nearly impossible.

Can we get a class, a heads up, a slight little warning? A signal that we will be shot from the lap of luxury into utter struggling with little to no transition period? A little more than a nostalgic, “Enjoy it while it lasts, kiddo,” from Uncle Mark. Maybe then, we’d take it a little more easily instead of being sent into a collective crisis at why life has suddenly become awful, and instead of being surrounded by forty of our best friends to help us cope, we have all been dispersed to different corners of the country to suffer alone, only able to respond to the question, “How’s life after graduation?” from hopeful relatives with a strained, “Fine.” And struggle not to burst into tears at how awful life has become. Maybe that’s what senior seminar should have been on.

That brings me to the url of this blog. While simply enjoyable to hear due to it’s lovely resemblance to JUNGLE juice one of my favorite college cocktails, it doesn’t stop there. Junglee is a Hindi word used to refer to wild ladies, who are not easy to control. Headstrong, confident women who refuse to take the common road, and pave their own path along the way. Dazzling, unstoppable women who move with the force of the wilderness behind them. This is the kind of ladies that have surrounded me throughout college and beyond.

Second it’s a daily juice, a day in the life of a girl trying to make in this world after college, and graduate school are over, and the economy is tanking. Getting by as a waitress in NYC opens the door to at least one funny story or encounter a day, and I plan to give you a daily injection of this junglee daily juice.


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