Posts tagged ‘brunch’
Let me start off my saying that I am the one in the yellow sweater. I replaced my face with Beyonce’s because I have never in my life seen a more unflattering photo of myself. I look like a homeless man emerging from the subway tunnels at first thaw, after a long winter of anorexia, meandering in my own filth, and casual butt sex with stray dogs. I don’t know if its just me, but I haven’t been drinking as much in 2013. I have taken this time to reflect, work on projects, and hibernate in my bedroom, which is as much of a man-cave as it can be with a chain chandelier and 30 color coordinated cushions. Regardless, this means what when I do go, I go hard. So this Sunday Funday brunch extravaganza lasted no less than 9 hours. In no particular order, here is what went down:
We started brunching at Pier 9, which is a hit-or-miss brunch hotspot in HK. Its a hit because some of the staff, like the hostess and one particularly charming foreign server that resembles Mr. Bean are awesome and super accommodating. Miss, because they often get your food wrong, or run out of champagne and have to serve Sangria (Red wine does nothing but piss me off). Hit because the manager always makes up for any service issues we have. (sidebar: I am pretty sure our actual server was a Russian prositute).
Anyway, I was still drunk from the night before, so it was pretty easy to get my buzz back. I noticed a friend of mine across the restaurant, but rather than get up to say hello, I sent him photos of my nipples, and the nipples of the girl next to me. Jmo spent the entire time talking about how flawless his skin was. I was sitting across from a Puerto Rican tranny, near a girl who didn’t realize she was at a gay brunch, and some rando Colombian guy who kept grabbing Nadia’s justies (we call her boob’s justies, because a handful of tit is “just enough”). We ended up getting a random birthday cake platter even though it wasn’t anyone’s bday and more than enough mimosas and glasses of sangria to tranquilize a horse. Then we went to the new Boxers in HK, where I pondered whether or not my attraction to gingers is due to some kind of vitamin deficiency (I saw a redhead there that was so gingery his eyelashes were translucent- so hot). Then we went back to JMO and Nadia’s new apartment, where we were surprised by some interesting characters- a pair of twinky young vampire-looking creatures that were clearly “awake” if you know what I mean. In case you don’t, I will just just say that it was snowing wherever they came from. Meaning that they were hanging out with a white girl.
Cocaine. Just cocaine, okay?
I will say the best line of the night came when I told one of them (who was randomly washing his hair) that I loved the towel on his head. Without missing a beat, he said: “Its Chanel.” Well played.
Apparently the other one took that compliment to heart and Read more…
Is it possible to get alcohol poisoning off Mimosas? I think we proved yesterday that it isn’t, because we drank about 15 each. It was Nicky’s birthday yesterday, which was especially nice since his present (the official birthday gift of my group of friends) is to have power over the rest of us for the entire day. Nick was especially considerate of us on this day, because on my birthday I make my friends do foolish things like break up with their boyfriends and stick spatulas up their asses. We had gone out the night before to XL (which was an ordeal in and of itself, which I will get to later) so Nadia and I woke up alone in JMO’s apartment wondering if everyone else had been raptured. This would have been ironic because if anyone is going straight to hell in gasoline panties, its JMO.
I quickly discovered the Nicky had gone back to our apartment where he passed out in the nude surrounded by lit candles. I woke him up with two shots of vodka, and we decided to head to brunch. I don’t know if you have been to Pier 9 in Hells Kitchen, but we were blown away by it! Not only was the hostess super friendly (she even convinced the DJ to play Candy Rain, by Soul for Real, which was an idea that sounded awesome in our heads but ended up being lame as fuck-thank god we were shitfaced). The server refilled our unlimited mimosa’s every thirty seconds, and the food was absolutely impeccable. Our fruit salads contained nary a slice of cantaloupe, which is impressive in and of itself.
Since we started the day off wasted with cocktails its unsurprising that cock talk followed. Everyone went around the table discussing the worst places for bodily fluid, Emsy basically ate with one her legs up on my shoulder, and Nadia deep throated a mimosa glass. Frecks showed up 2 hours late dressed like a substitute teacher that got lost in Jurassic Park so I spent the rest of the day trying to let people in on that joke without him finding out. Oh, and there were children all around, which didn’t stop me from flirting with the guy at the next table over. I can’t get over how friendly the staff was though, it really was the perfect brunch.
I think we must have had at least 15 mimosas each, which I guess explains why Nadia ended up taking photos of my asshole on Ninth Avenue. Emsy and Nadia secretly made Nicky a cake, which I accidentally told him leading to Nadia putting the tranny smackdown on me by smearing my face with frosting, which I somehow forgot about even though I was basically snorting an 8 ball of sprinkles the entire time. Nobody had a candle, so someone (I am 100 % 50/50 that it was me) had the disgusting idea of using a lit cigarette instead, which is even more ironic since none of us smoke. Then, everyone was so fucked up they actually ate the cancer cake. Then, since we apparently love wasting alcohol we decided to Read more…
Let me preface this by saying that Il Bastardo is called such because every time we brunch there our experience is eventually bastardized into a monstrous partying clusterfuck that cannot be contained by the reins of decency. It was so debaucherous I am only now recovered enough to write about it.
It started off as a Shindia/Nicmac birthday/welcome brunch. The server immediately hated us since I sat myself next to Jmo, a jew so loud he could out-behar Joy Behar. He and I hadn’t eaten, and weren’t planning to any time soon so we could get good and drunk first. The thing you should know about Il Bastardo is that they serve their mimosas and champagne in glasses so large Somalian Families could feed their entire families rice from one goblet. For a week. So immediately I see Logan at one end of the table beside Nicmac, me and Jmo in the center across from Frecks and his Brazilian boyfriend, and Shindia at the other end. This is the perfect storm brewing–as we were far enough apart to turn the table of 18 ppl into a shitshow but close enough to yell at eachother. Which we inevitably had to do since Il Bastardo thinks they are a daytime version of Studio 54 and tried to drown our faggotry out by turning up the music 2000 decibels.
Let me start out by saying that I don’t pop pills or smoke. I’m already enough of a mess without those things and honestly, I think I’m immune to most things these days… my liver has been overworked for years and is finally begging for a transplant. Read more…
Yesterday was an uncommon Saturday. I am an occasional day drinker and a less occasional bruncher (don’t get me wrong–I love brunch but it ALWAYS turns into a 9 hour affair, and I have things to do like yogalates, and waxing my cooch) but yesterday Shindia invited us to a brunch in my neighborhood so I thought Why the hell not? PS it was unlimited mimosas or bloody mary’s AND entree for 15 bucks. Frecks brought his Brazillian boyfriend who barely speaks english, and Jmo brought his boyfriend Twinkletits as well. We spent the brunch plying Freck’s brazillian boyfriend with champagne (since he had to work in 3 hours) and inappropriately commenting on the size of our server’s cockle. (thanks to JMO who apparently thinks he knows how to whisper). Freck’s boyfriend also just got a membership to David Barton gym, better known as the land of a thousand cock cruisers, a fact that made Freck’s face turn as red as Lindsay Lohan’s ass hairs every time we brought it up. Which was every 5 minutes.
*My birthday dinner was a hot mess. I say this knowing full well that a birthday dinner is really a reflection of a person–so mine was disorganized, crazy, drunken, and quite an adventure. A complete shitshow. I’m actually proud. In order to save time I have just inserted the facebook message I had between Jats and I regarding the dinner,which he missed because he was day-drunk and passed out.
So what does this mean?
1. I can stop wearing an entire thermal underwear set under my skinny jeans and xxs t shirts–sometimes when I was drunk and sitting down I found it very challenging to stand up in all those layers. NO MORE SWEATY BALLS!
Just kidding. I will always have sweaty balls.
2. I can have sex in public again. This is probably the worst thing about winter–sure its fun to go skiing and all but wouldn’t it be more fun to sneak into the woods and do sexuals? Not so much when both of your dicks look like gerkins.
In order to scale back my daytime drunken fiasco’s, I only went to brunch twice this year. Can somebody please tell me why it always lasts 12 hours? I am up at 6 am because I went to bed by 11 pm after trying drunkenly to watch the sequels to both Titanic and Mean Girls, and unsuccessfully drunk texting my fuckbuddy. The exchange is as follows:
Him: What would it take to get you to come over here?
Me: A million dollars.
Me: I’m not worth a million dollars. Read more…