Airing it Out

On the years when I am good Santa (cleverly disguised as my mother) brings me new underwear. If, like this past year, I’m super good and Santa is able to make the four hour journey to the mall I get a box filled with new extreme low rise panties from Victoria’s Secret because these are the only underwear on the planet that are cute and fun and comfy and do not stick out over the top of my pants most of which sit casually on my hips because the world does not make pants that fit both my hips and my waist at the same time. When I opened this gift a couple of weeks ago I pulled out a bevy of boyshorts in blue and pink and gray and one pair in red tartan with “take my photo” scrawled in cursive across the butt. Always a fan of ass graffiti I was thrilled that Mama Clause had finally seen the message baring potential of my rear end. Sadly when I offered kudos for this huge fashion leap she demurred, claiming that Papa Clause had rushed her out of the store and had she seen that “ridiculous” message there is no way she’d have ever purchased the underwear. I think it’s sad that mom has yet to embrace her inner J-Lo.

The cruel trick of owning cute underwear is that unlike the smart gray sweater I also got for Christmas or the sexy gold shoes I bought in September or the awesome “Math: Get Sum!” button that my friend Joe gave me last spring I rarely get to show it off due to a distinct lack of pantsless opportunities in my life. This is especially disappointing when the panties in question use my behind as a billboard. A billboard with no one to read it is a sad and lonely piece of marketing. But luckily, on Saturday my personal mobile messaging system was given an opportunity to communicate with the outside world thanks to Improv Everywhere’s No Pants 2K8.

No Pants Day has been taking place on the New York City subway every January for the past 7 years but this was my ass’s first time to get out and mingle. Not content to mingle alone we roped Kajal and the pooper (aka her fetus who is so far having a no pants life) into attending with us. 900 other people (most of whom you’ll be shocked to hear were far far geekier than Kajal and I) joined us so in addition to our cute boyshorts the subway was packed full of boxers, bikinis and tighty whities.

The plan was for us to break into groups of 25 or so and spread out over the train cars. Once we boarded the subway people would begin taking off their pants in even smaller groups (starting with one guy at the first stop), get off the subway and wait for the next train. My nerves kicked in as soon as the doors closed on the stop before we were set to bare our asses especially since Kajal and I were the first girls in our car to stand and drop trow. No Pants day was a bit of a sausage fest and Kajal and I had speculated while waiting to board the train that this was because boxers were much less revealing than women’s panties but as I sat on the subway with a depantsed man standing in front of me I quickly realized that going pantsless with penis was much more dangerous than standing around in my underwear. I am thankful to not have to worry about any of my bits falling out. I couldn’t chicken out now so off the pants came and frankly, once you get them off, the rest is easy.

As Kajal and I waited on the platform for the next train she pulled out her lotion and began applying it to her eczema. I cannot articulate how hot it is to see a pantsless pregnant lady applying cream to her dry skin. I had to fight the men off in order to preserve her marriage. The pooper and his daddy better thank me for keeping their family intact.

A couple of observations on the state of underwear in America:

1. There were a number of girls trying to rock boxers which was obviously some serious cheating and also not anywhere near as cute as my boyshorts and knee highs combo. Knee highs were surprisingly popular for the women in attendance -- one assumes that, like me, the other girls still like to save their ankles for their husband’s eyes only. Who says we live in an amoral society?
2. If the boxer clad men I spied are any indication of status quo then the boys I date have super good taste in underwear. Today I saw way too many cartoon character themed pairs of boxers. SpongeBob on your junk or Oscar the Grouch on your ass is not hot. I also saw an entire group of boys who had chosen to pull their boxers up into an impromptu thong-like contraption that frankly may have burnt my eyes out of my skull.

It is somewhat shocking how boring sitting on the subway in your underwear can be, especially when there is little to no reaction to your half naked booty. I know New Yorkers are jaded and nonplused but I think I witnessed a new plane of blasé. After 2 stops of pantless mass transit a father and his 10 year old son boarded the train which caused me to internally start freaking out about the possibility that the father might be seriously upset that his child was seeing me in all my naked thighed glory. I need not have worried. The ten year old didn’t even comment on the almost nudity around him! I assure you that if, at 10, I had so much as glimpsed panties in public I would still be talking about it today. But I grew up in the backwoods where people still pretend clothing is not in any way removable.

Our sojourn took us via the 6 train from City Hall up to 96^th street and back down to Union Square. We were instructed to pretend that we didn’t know any of the other pantsless freaks and if approached make crazy claims like, “Yeah, I forgot my pants, it’s a little cold” but short of a few catcalls no one talked to me(except for Kajal who I can’t just sit next to and not chat with, be realistic.). I believe there was some no pants after partying in Union Square but by then Kajal was both starving (having not eaten in over 20 minutes which I believe is the longest she can go without throwing sustenance at the parasite) and suffering from the effects of having a fetus kick her bladder for 2 hours. So we had our own post party at Veselka where the other patrons (whether they knew it or not) were disappointed that the two girl at the back table chose to wear pants to dinner.

My Peeps

According to Feedburner I have 68 subscribers to this ode to triviality. Based on my Stat Counter numbers I figure I also have about 25-30 readers who have yet to discover the joy of RSS and are still reading via bookmarks or links from other blogs (these readers will hence forth be known as “my mom and her friends”) which makes for roughly 100 readers total. Which makes me super famous (and also makes me consider some Google ads but then I remember that I am better off waiting for the big payoff so if you’re in the advertising industry and want to offer me tons of money to put a picture of say ice cream or bras or the next crappy reality tv show star over on that sidebar might I just direct you to the “email me” link?). But I have to ask – who are you people?

I can officially account for ~30 people that fit into the “guilted into reading my blog” category – this includes most of my close friends, the few family members who have discovered the inter tubes, and the people who sit closest to me at the office. Also known as people who have to read this blog if they want to retain the awesome membership benefits of the “Friends with Brianna” club. Specifically the freshly baked cookies and the in depth powwows about if when a boy says he likes cookies it means he specifically likes the cookies I made or that he just has a sweet tooth OR that he hates cookies but likes me well enough to pretend he likes cookies (best case scenario) OR if he feels obligated to claim a love for cookies simply because I had no pants on when I offered him cookies. And most importantly does this mean that he wants to kiss more? Because I love the kissing even more than cookies. No one wants to miss out on that kind of fun.

I’m guessing there are at least 2 or 3 old high school peers who found this site via MySpace or Facebook and choose to stalk me in the hopes that I will continue to reveal juicy morsels of gossip about my life which they can then pass around town and possibly use to embarrass me should I ever deign to attend a high school reunion (not likely). I generally support this action because on the few occasions when my own personal social network stalking has yielding promising fruit in the form of embarrassing confessions from girls who used to make fun of my hair in 7^th grade I have wasted no time calling the 2 people from grade school whom I still speak with to discuss exactly how much more awesome we are than people who made fun of us in junior high (answer: fucking a lot more awesome, thanks). And so, I offer up this tidbit of gossip to the category of “fair is fair” – Even though I probably seem super amazing to the point of verging on perfect when viewed via this blog alone the truth is that my hair still looks like a sheep decided to take a nap on my forehead roughly 65% of the time. But like a smart little self marketing machine I choose not to include pictures of the head flock on the internet.

There are likely at least 5 guys in my readership who I went out on dates with sometime in the last year and who added the blog to their RSS reader in an attempt to get in my pants (good move, this usually works.). But who then either decided my pants looked better on me then on their floor (foolish) or who dropped some deal breaker about a total devotion to astrology or George W or a former girlfriend. And so things didn’t work out but I was kept on the blogroll because my thrice weekly whining will be all the evidence needed to show that they are better off without me. To these boys I say, “Yeah but sometimes I post pictures featuring my boobs and then who’s better off – hmmmm?????” And for every one of these guys who I actually dated I imagine that there is at least one dude who found me on a dating site, started reading the blog and decided that there was no way in hell he was ever asking me out but who keeps the subscription going for the boobies. Hi boys, have I mentioned that I bake cookies A LOT?

And then there are the people who found my blog via your standard Google search and after seeing just how relevant my writing is to their life decided to stick around. Some of the newest members of this group probably include the following:

1. “pictures of my brouther when he was 12 years olf in side if my room”

hit # 28 -- I imagine this is mostly due to my matching typo for the word “old” so once again my complete inability to type and/or spell has brought people together. This is truly a gift from god.

2. “I am a woman that always ends up with a crusty substance in my pan”

I'm on page 8 and I can't find any links to here but I think we all know that there was a “ties” on the end of this that was cut off by some draconian search term limit (And I say thank god for such fascist rules). I also say to this new reader, "You should probably get that checked out by a doctor because while this blog offers a lot of important services to my readers I am quite happy to say that we offer nothing in the crusty substance category.”

So that’s…. 45 people accounted for and 55 government spies – your tax dollars at work.

While You're at it Remember to Mention how Hot I am

I turned 30 years old on Saturday. I have decided to write about this not only because my mind is completely devoid of creative writing ideas but also because I hope to drive up the number of comments this post receives by guilting everyone into wishing me Happy Birthday and telling me how crazy young I look (see evidence at left). I suppose one could argue that along with wrinkles and gray hairs and an affinity for mom jeans and (apparently) a complete inability to write anything even remotely humorous turning 30 should give me the gift of maturity in the form of no longer needing to validate my life via brief commentary from people I do not actually know but I think we all know that would be ridiculous.

I celebrated my birthday in a number of ways. I honored the most delicious of the 5 food groups by supping at a restaurant entirely devoted to cheese. I was assured by the Republican presidential candidates that health care in America is totally rocking and most of the uninsured people are richies who simply do not want to waste their money on insurance which made me super happy because very soon I will probably start suffering from old age related maladies (and I also noticed that McCain was very giggly having apparently spent Saturday afternoon celebrating my birth by downing 14 pre-debate gin and tonics thus cementing his place as my favorite candidate who I will not vote for because he has aligned himself with evil (and believe me there is A LOT of competition for that title)). I put on more make up then is really appropriate if you’re not starring in Cats or trying to hide a birth defect. And then I watched some girls take their clothing off.

Inviting everyone out to a burlesque show on your birthday is the best way to thank people for a year of friendship. Especially the guy friends. It is also a good way to bid your own perky boobs ado (or, hopefully, inspire them to stand proud for as long as possible). As a bonus they also serve booze at the burlesque show which everyone knows is a requirement for ringing in middle age.

The best birthday gift that the universe gave to me was the scene I witnessed while in line for the bathroom. The line was located in the basement of the bar and was roughly 72 miles long. After I spent 10 minutes focusing on anything other than the possibility that I might pee in my pants and that I was not young or old enough to justify needing a clothing change a blonde lady walked past the queue of patient would be pee-ers and up to the bathroom door while drunk people yelled at her about the concept of lines and how they work. She reached the door right as it swung open and as she propelled herself over the threshold she turned to the line and said, “I really have to pee, is it ok if I just go first?” And then, without waiting for a response shut the door. This caused quite an uproar amongst the full bladder party and when she exited the bathroom (in her defense she did her business surprisingly fast) the entire line BOOED her. This was the most awesome New York City moment EVER.

The boobie show was also pretty sweet, it was hosted by Jesus – which I thought was a little cruel, making the son spend a whole evening introducing examples of his dad’s finest work -- and the girls brought out not only naked breasts but some pretty rocking hula hoop and tassel twirling skills and one wore some glittery red lipstick that I may have to come up with an excuse to purchase (“it makes me feel young”). It occurred to me that burlesque shows are likely even better than regular strip shows since they offer the bonus hotness of girl on girl action like me slipping ones into sparkly panties, my guests really should have been more thankful.

Regrets? I have a few. There was no ice cream eaten on my birthday – this bothers me so much that I devoted at least 30 minutes of Sunday to the question of if I could extend the healthy eating amnesty period one day in order to reconcile this unfortunate oversight. I probably should have shown more cleavage. I probably should feel more comfortable defining myself as an “adult.” Also, I’m pretty sure I was supposed to have purchased a house by now.

Fishing

I just half assed my way through my second monthly post over at The 'Stache. The rest of the writers on this board get roughly 7 million comments per post and it would really help my fragile ego if you could go over there and make it look like I have readers.

This Worries Me

How it Should Have Gone Down

ABC Reporter: So there you have it Joe, Obama has taken the lead in this impor--

ABC News Anchor (Joe): Bob, sorry to cut in here but we have some important news developments coming out of our LA affiliate, we’re going live to CeCe Hernandez who is on the scene

CeCe: Jose I am reporting from outside of Britney Spears’ mega huge house of fun and there is a flurry of activity here. It appears the Miss Spears has finally lost it. We hear that she has locked herself in the bathroom with her children and may or may not be spreading strawberry frosting on the floor to serve as a force field against the multitudes of police and firemen currently breaking down the door. This reporter thinks that the chica may be loco in the cabeza. Back to you Joe.

Joe: Thank you CeCe. This is ABC news, always bringing you the important stories of the day, now a message from our sponsor, Sandwiches Bigger Than Your Head.

What Actually Happened

ABC Dude: blah blah Iowa blah blah Obama blah blah you can totally use caucus as any form of speech the caucus caucused caucus caucusly.

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16 HOURS pass

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Brianna: WTF? Britbrit went crazy and I MISSED IT?!?! Why kind of media are we fostering here? I mean I care about the presidential race as much as the next girl but DUDES you have got to prioritize.

This Reporter Smells Something Fishy and it's Not Just the Anchovies.

I know that my normal writing is less hard hitting ground breaking journalism and more wry commentary on tragedies that befall me spiced up with food porn but today that changes. Today, right here, I will be breaking one of the biggest New York food related stories (and possibly the single biggest New York food story to not involve vermin). You’ll probably want to set your Mai Tai down and get out a pipe and smoking jacket so you at least look the part of a true news reader rather than a slobby blog reader.

Three years living in New York City have made me extremely judgmental of slow walkers. I have also developed the hilarious habit of forgetting that public transportation is a myth in all other cities and that it is totally appropriate to drive across the street because seriously no one outside of New York even knows how to walk. But I have not yet become a pizza snob so when in Las Vegas last Saturday my family invited me out for pizza I happily agreed. After all I love anything smothered in cheese and Dad was paying. Here’s a free cooking tip: the best way to improve a dish is to make it free.

When mom told me that we were going to a place called “Grimaldi’s” a little bell went off in my head., “… that sounds familiar.” In the car on the way to dinner I spent at least 10 minutes on thoughts like, “Is that the name of a baseball player?” “Did I ever date a boy named Grimaldi?” “Does having this mental conversation at 29 years old constitute early onset Alzheimer’s?” until I shouted out, “Hey! The famous pizza place near work is named Grimaldi’s! Mom, we went there.” And then my mom started in on, “Oh, I bet this is the same place, it’s probably a chain.” But OF COURSE she is wrong because I am an incredibly cool foodie and I do not eat at chains. And seriously the supposed best pizza place in New York is not a chain. GEEEEEEEEEEZ MOM.

Um. Actually. Fuck. I hate it when my mom is right.

The Grimaldi’s of the west (with locations in Vegas, Dallas and all over Arizona but notably, NOT in New York) is New York themed. The walls covered with subway signs and pictures of the city with a heavy and disturbing focus on the Brooklyn Bridge. The waitress flair involved a lot of (relatively big) apples. It screamed “chain!” I was certain (despite my mother’s pleas to the contrary) that this overly clean, match-y, boring restaurant was of no relation to the tightly packed, demure pizza joint of Dumbo fame. But then I read the “history” section of their menu which starts with “The pizza that made the Brooklyn Bridge famous.” Curious…

Patsy Grimaldi learned the trade from his Uncle Patsy Lancieri, who trained with the man credited with opening the first pizzeria in America in 1905. Lancieri opened Patsy’s Pizzeria in East Harlem in 1931, where Grimaldi started learning the art of coal brick oven pizza at the tender age of 10.

And curiouser.

The menu at Grimaldi’s:The New Dough (see here) is also strangely similar to the NYC joint with the exception that it is sponsored by no less than 4 brand name products (China Mist Tea, Lavazza Coffee, Carmelina Brands (exclusive Grimaldi’s supplier of tomatoes) and Hormel Foods (not exactly sure what they’re bringing to the party since Spam does not appear to be on the menu…)). You order plain pizzas and pay extra for toppings, the toppings options are pretty much the same though I think the west coast might have more variety (Does Dumbo’s Grimaldi’s offer anchovies or ham?). West Coast Gs also offers an Oreo cheesecake which I cannot imagine would be sanctioned in NYC.

The pizza itself was good – I suspect surprisingly good for a pizza served in Las Vegas. I also suspect that someone more New York-y than myself could tell you about 8000 things that were wrong with it but rather than focus on the negative I decided to continue my main December focus of eating a lot of food. I had 4 slices. The crust was thin, the layer of cheese not too thick, the sun dried tomatoes flavorful, I really can’t complain.

It was fast becoming clear that someone in the Grimaldi’s family was raking in some sweet licensing cash. And part of me thinks, “good for you guys!” But the more cynical part who sometimes also considers bands less cool if they, you know, sell any records is certain this is a sign that Grimaldi’s has sold out and will soon start sucking. I think the natural flow in situations like this is, “good restaurant -> open chain -> start serving frozen tater tots -> vermin infestation -> closure” So you know, consider this a warning.

The biggest difference (outside of décor) between Grimaldi’s NYC and Grimaldi’s:The Cash Cow is the friendliness of the wait staff. For those of you who have never been to Grimaldi’s NYC might I just say that customer service has been sacrificed in favor of creating a stereotypical New York experience in the form of having waiters yell at you. It’s a bold choice. In Vegas the have gone with the more traditional “waitress is nice because she works for tips and recognizing that kissing your ass is the fastest path to money.” Another notable difference is that in Dumbo I have never seen a pizza dropped on the floor but in Vegas I saw this happen no less than 3 times in 45 minutes. Leave it to Vegas to work in dinner entertainment.

I just took a gander at the Dumbo Grimaldi’s website and the (much snazzier though still rather crappy) Southwestern Grimaldi’s Pizza Chain website and my suspicions that these entities are related has been confirmed. In fact the NYC Grimaldi’s site links to the knock off site. And Wikipedia also notes the relationship. You may not have cared about this news but you can’t deny that I broke this story. Or at least that I wrote the longest diatribe about it. I’ll watch for my press pass in the mail.

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Third Party Resources

Do you know where to find the best New York pizza around? Even if you suddenly find out that the Las Vegas pizza you love is related to your New York pizza place by a chain restaurant, you can still check out the yellow pages for some worthwhile pizza joints.

Gluttony

Visiting my parents turns me into a bit of house wife. They have a huge kitchen full of irresistible contraptions all calling me to play with them. In the summer they have a garden full of the kind of produce that I can only dream about in the city. In the winter they have a freezer and pantry full of preserved ingredients (seriously, mom cans or freezes everything -- if the apocalypse comes there will be no better fed family of refugees). And year round they have empty tummies that I'm eager to fill. Holidays also provide a perfect opportunity for making food that I would not normally feel able to justify -- OF COURSE we should spend $40 on crab legs, IT'S CHRISTMAS! ABSOLUTELY I should make 5 desserts -- WE NEED TO BUILD UP OUR ENERGY FOR PRESENT OPENING. This year's vacation menu affords me not only an extra 5lbs (the Christmas miracle of the year is that I somehow still fit into my clothing) but also an easy blog post, it is the season of blessings.

Cioppino

For Christmas Eve dinner I made this fish stew for the second year in a row and like the first act the encore was a hit. I used this epicurious recipe which knows enough not to mess too much with a pot full of amazing ingredients, if you (or, you know, your dad...) feel like splurging on insane amounts of seafood this should impress the guests.

Chicken and Dumplings

I served this Smitten Kitchen recipe on Christmas evening (go check out her pictures, they make mine look like slop) and because I am incredibly lazy I didn't bother with the whole removing the chicken from the bone step which grossed out my sister-in-law to be but didn't seem to adversely effect the dish itself. This was the perfect comfort food and I found myself wishing for a blizzard while eating it. (Who am I kidding? I'm pretty much wishing for a blizzard every waking moment from November through March).

Pasta With Brussel Sprouts and Peas

This recipe is a Brianna original and my current favorite fast and easy winter dinner plan. If I may be so bold as to call myself a chef then I can also call this dish a lighter riff on the classic pasta carbonara. It starts with sauteing some cured pig (when I'm feeling fancy I use pancetta but at mom and dad's only bacon was available.) and garlic and mushrooms then add roasted brussel sprouts, peas and parmesan cheese. The recipe is a very forgiving refrigerator cleaner and I've replaced the peas with spinach and done without the mushrooms on many occasions never with any ill efects.

Fisherman's Pie

Last summer my parents shipped me 26 pounds of halibut from Alaska and since I am one person with one average sized freezer I was forced to share the bounty with friends. Because I am incredibly lucky my friends Alia and Owen shared the bounty back at me by inviting me over for dinner when they cooked their halibut ration. Owen got this recipe from his mother and I have dubbed it Fisherman's Pie since it's basically Shepard's Pie with fish instead of lamb and a cream sauce instead of a tomato base. I made this one evening when my parents had invited friends over and while there were many raised eyebrows upon hearing that I would be serving "Fish Pie" when we finally sat down to dinner there was a tableful of surprisingly happy tongues and many seconds served.

Eggnog Ice Cream

This was an ode to my love of the Starbucks Eggnog Latte which was as good an excuse as I needed to play with mom's ice cream maker. This is another epicurious recipe (I am their biggest fan and advertiser, they should pay me.) and while I was (obviously) tempted to up the rum portion I resisted out of fear that adding alcohol could adversely affect the freezing process which could lead to me being forced to eat a bowl of boozey liquid ice cream mix and while this sounds like the perfect way to celebrate the season I didn't think my parents would appreciate the image of me covered in custard and passed out on their kitchen floor. They have no idea how much I sacrifice for them. I am like the best daughter ever.