Author Archives: lyz

A Good Friend is Hard – Scratch That – Actually Not that Hard to Find

The other night I was really craving a good hamburger. Like, totally juicy, stuffed with pungent blue cheese and topped with caramelized onions, sautéed mushrooms, lettuce, tomato, spicy mustard, and ketchup. Not your standard picayune burger. (Side Note: I’ve been reading a lot of David Foster Wallace recently, and he uses the word picayune three times in one essay. Really, David?)

Since I’d been trying to meet up with a friend of mine for a while for dinner, and since I only had about half of what I needed to achieve my burger dreams and since those burger dreams demanded achievement, I suggested dinner at my place – halfsies on ingredients. Of course the beers were a bonus, and the cheese might have been a little pricey, but I think we did well for way less than we would have paid eating out. Right, Bryan, right? Those burgers were delicious. The kind of thick, heavily laden burgers that need to be squashed flat before being eaten. Bam. Burger magic.

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How to Enjoy Life 90 Cents at a Time

Big news: I’m broke. I mean, what’s new? Except this time I really am. This time I made the egregious error of spending all my savings on a ticket to St. Croix at the end of May. Which will be great, for sure. And I’m trying to look at this whole not-being-able-to-buy-groceries for a month thing as a pre-bikini diet. And the ensuing frugality as a training of sorts for when I do decide to save money for some grander purpose. And as a force-fed way to find cheap eats, right? I’m trying to be very blessing-in-disguise about the low funds (and the two painful weeks until my next paycheck), but I’m finding it just a smidge difficult – at least until I remember Chinatown buns.

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Pe(e)p Rally

“I can write about whatever the hell I want,” I say as we stroll down Bushwick Avenue toward Danny’s Pizza for the slice I hope will cure waking up at 6:30 in the morning, a full day of work, and too many Peeps before a restless nap. Somehow I’d forgotten that a whole week had gone by and Sunday was here again, and I had nothing to write about. Again.

Is it the weather? Is it this lazy slide into Summer that makes me feel so apathetic? There’s nothing I’d like to do more than sit on the rooftop and listen to Gossip and eat sunshine. Because I’m doing that pregnant hungry thing again, where the elusive taste I’m craving can only be found by eating my way through everything I find in the fridge/pantry until I find that one thing I wanted to eat all along. Or is that like Pac Man?

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The Short Skirt Approach

I couldn’t write anything last weekend because I was having sixteen dollar drinks in the revolving lounge on top of the Marriot Marquis. Sorry. Mom was in town and after walking her through the boonies of Brooklyn all day, I think she thought a dose of big lights and skyscrapers would cure me of this inexplicable fondness I have for graffiti, empty lots, and giant windows chattering with wind. Though the efforts were inconclusive, we did ascertain that I am generally no good at identifying landmarks. Quote of the evening: “You suck at this game.” Thanks, mom.

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Yes, Yes, Yes

Ok. Stop whatever you’re doing right now. I know it’s probably really fun. Like sunbathing or riding a bike or spray painting a building. Stop that and go find a corner bodega that sells bread pudding. Eat, go back to whatever you were doing, and tell me that whatever you were doing before isn’t more fun now. Even if you were vandalizing something.

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The Way It Goes

I’m a comfort eater. Freely admitted. For instance, about four seconds ago, I was trying to figure out how to start this little piece and decided that instead of writing, I’d go make a sandwich out of the three things I’m craving at the moment: spicy mustard, brie, and cornichons. Now I’m sitting at my desk, more at peace than Rodney Yee downward dogging on the brink of a Hawaiian cliff.

Also, as a result, I’m thinking about comfort food and how somebody told me recently that I have an obsession with it. And that no matter how much I hate the idea of being obsessed with anything, it’s almost inevitable for me to be obsessed with comfort food, because for me, good food is comfort food. And I only eat good food. (No, really. Seriously. Really.)

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