Tag Archives: GFI

To a Deeee-luxe Apartment in the Sky

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Since our last episode of Neighbors Who Suck, I have moved.  I loved my view and I will miss it, but after much soul (and apartment) searching, I found a place and gave my notice. I just couldn’t take one more midnight wildebeast dance party or one more liason with the snatch banshee next door.

My last place was probably one of the “coolest” placed I’d ever lived, in terms of hipness. For the most part, I’d lived in larger complexes that were fairly organized, well-maintained and suburban (though I did my fair share of couch surfing and car sleeping in my late teens and 20′s).  The last place was an old vintage building that I loved so much and the area was close to downtown and had a beautiful view.  It was a “cool” place to live, in terms of the area of town.

When GFI lived upstairs, it was fun — we had a good time and socialized fairly regularly, though we were always sensitive to the other’s need for space. But when she moved, aside from the view, there was really no reason to stay.  Now that I have Lulu, I needed a bit more space and I started to feel my stuff closing in on me.  Plus, with all the turnover in the building, the other tenants, newer tenants, live a “younger” lifestyle than I do (late nights, lots of noise, unpredictable schedules, Miller Lite for chrissake). Not that I’m old, but I’m certainly not twenty-four anymore and we were all just a little too close for comfort. Continue reading →

Pressing Matters

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I have gone on many, many times about my quest for the perfect coffeemaker. I’ve gone through several since I started blogging.  Each time I griped about this coffeemaker or that, someone would tell me to get a French press and  I would politely decline.

A French press? How can I possibly achieve that hot, delicious fresh-brewed cup of joe without a coffeemaker? Pour water in, press it down, voila! Great coffee?  Nooo… surely they must be mistaken. In case you hadn’t noticed, I can be quite stubborn.

My Coffee PressSo how, you might ask, did I end up not only purchasing, but loving my new French press?   A desire for better aesthetics in my kitchen.   Hey, all things can’t be noble. Sometimes you just want things to look pretty.

GFI and I have identical kitchens since she lives directly above me.  We have them set up similarly, too, because we’re dorks like that and we took cues about what worked and what didn’t in each other’s space. For example, we both have our microwaves on top of the refrigerator to save space and we both have tiny lamps scattered around the kitchen for more ambient lighting because we hate the overhead fluorescents. My issue was that GFI’s kitchen always seemed so much cleaner and brighter to me. Same amount of lamps  (two small IKEA colored numbers), pretty much the same amount of stuff on the counter… what gives?

The difference?  GFI no longer had her coffeemaker on the counter. I, on the other hand, still had my big black Mr. Coffee (which doesn’t make very good coffee anyway and chirps annoyingly).  She sang the praises of the coffee press, insisting it produced the most delicious coffee and insisted I go buy one with the Starbucks giftcard she got me for Christmas.

So, for once, I actually did what I was told. I caved in and bought a French press gift set the very next morning on holiday clearance and it was the best thing I ever did.  Coffee-wise, anyway.

It’s easy, it takes no time (4 minutes!), little energy, it’s quiet (which ideal first thing in the morning), I get just the right amount of coffee and the flavor is beyond compare. It’s almost creamy the way it foams and creates this rich froth on the top.  I also have to heavily endorse my new favorite Starbucks blend, Sumatra Extra Bold (press grind).  It makes the most delicious cup, in my opinion, though I have an arsenal of coffee in my cabinet to try. You can use an all-purpose grind, though so far I’ve found the press grind to make the very best brew.

So to everyone who has ever recommended I get a French press, I owe you an apology.  You spoke the gospel and I, too brainwashed by Mr. Coffee, turned the other cheek.  I don’t know why we allegedly don’t like the French, but for the coffee press alone I’d have to declare vive la France!

Deep-Fried American Summer

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I’ve been a big blogging slacker, but I swear I have a good excuse.  Like work and sunshine.  cheese  I went to the Del Mar Fair on the 4th of July.  I know it’s supposed to be called the San Diego County Fair now, but to hell with them. It will always be the Del Mar Fair to me. 

Mini Cupcakemikey, GFI and I got there before it opened and spent the majority of the time sifting through the assorted crap vendors in Bing Crosby Hall and the like. We stopped for cupcakes at a super cute booth that was decorated in pink and black and white with lime green accents and curly font. It looked like a website I did for a client once… only life-size.  A little surreal, but the cupcakes were good!  Three mini cupcakes in red velvet with cream cheese icing, chocolate on chocolate and vanilla cake with chocolate icing for $5.  It worked out perfectly; we each got a bite of every flavor. 

We got our handwriting analyzed because we had a sudden urge to piss away $3. The Fair does that. It’s like a state of fugue or something. One minute, you’re perfectly rational, bypassing the loud guy selling chamois, the mood-lipstick mistress, the uber-butch hocking cheese graters and then, without warning, “Let’s get our handwriting analyzed! It’s only $3!” And the next thing you know, you’ve corrupted your whole party.

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The Budding Wino

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A couple months ago, GFI, Modigli and I hit up a local place called Wine Steals, their new location in Point Loma.  While there, I sampled a wine called Saxon Brown. It was white, but I had no idea what kind of white it was… chardonnay, pinot grigio, what?  In any case, it was delicious and my favorite of the several different varieties we tried that day.  I didn’t end up buying a bottle, but I can’t recall why since I rarely leave there without one.  (Their prices are fabulous… great wine for low prices, hence the name.)

I’ve been looking for it ever since whenever I go to the store. I’ve tried various grocery and specialty stores, though I didn’t try the Bevmo, the Church of Liquor. Since I didn’t know what kind of white I was looking for, I was having a hard time browsing for it.  There’s a lot of white wine out there!

Well, just now I was perusing one of my daily stops, woot.com and it’s sister site, wine.woot.com.  And lo, there was Saxon Brown. Yea, verily, I bought myself the weekly special on the spot. And then I stopped talking all bibley.  I’m so excited! This was posted on the 12th and I just lucked out that it’s the weekend and they didn’t switch it yet because with Woot, once it’s gone, it’s gone.  Woo hoo!

I’m not a fancy know-it-all wine person. I just know what I like and this stuff was delicious. I highly recommend the Semillion, but I’m looking forward to trying the Syrah Rosé, even though I haven’t had a blush since 1995.  If you want some, get it while it’s hot!

Cosmic Politan

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GFI and I have tickets to see Sex and the City on Saturday morning.  It may require a Thermos full of these, courtesy of my favorite cocktail site, Cocktail Times.

Cosmic-Politan

Ingredients:

- 1 cup ice
- 1 oz vodka
- 1 oz Cointreau
- 1 tbsp grenadine
- 1 cup watermelon puree
Garnish: 1 mini skewer of a small piece of watermelon, pineapple and a small strawberry.

Mix all ingredients in a cocktail shaker with ice. Strain into a chilled martini glass and garnish with a fruit skewer.

What?  oh oh It’s fruit!

The Matrix Loaded

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Whenever I say the name of this car, I expect two things: someone will make a crack about Keanu knowing Kung Fu or similar or that Duran Duran will jump out from behind something and start doing a bastardized rendition of The Reflex.  These are the things that go on in my head from moment to moment.

I bought this car today. cheese  It’s a 2009 Toyota Matrix and she’s red and I like her a lot.  I’m also quite proud of my haggling. I brought mikey with me because I didn’t want to get bamboozled. Not that I couldn’t hack it myself, but car salespeople are professional manipulators (no offense to any car-slingin’ readers I might have) and there is safety in numbers. I would have brought GFI, too, but she’s in Panama getting tan.

I’m honestly surprised it only took 3.5 hours. Normally a car purchase is an all-day affair, but this was a cakewalk.  I went in knowing what I wanted and I have to say, the folks at Mossy Toyota, especially Theresa, were really helpful.  She had all the cars and/or colors I said I was interested in, with the appropriate features, ready for me to test drive when I got there.  And when I refused to budge from my deposit amount (I had a number, people, and I wasn’t paying a penny more!), she and her GM were more than willing to get it down to my number without changing my monthly rate.

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The Continued Pursuit of the Perfect Martini

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Last night, GFI and I dolled up and hit our favorite haunt, Anthology Supper Club.  Their house band was playing, so we wanted to catch a few sets and have some cocktails. (Herb Albert is playing there tonight — I wish I’d known!)

Every time we go to Anthology, I love it more. (You can read about the very first time we went here.) The staff is sweet, the atmosphere is relaxed, but refined, and the music… well, I love jazz.  I love love love it.  So, it may not be for everyone, but we like it.  Their food is absolutely incredible, albeit wee.  This time we had a duet of Maytag blue cheese souffles with fresh arugula (rocket for my English friends *wink*), a couple spiced candied walnuts, port poached pears in a port reduction and a bit of Stilton.  It sounds like a lot, but it was about 6 bites or so. cheese  We also ordered Frite Misto which was a lovely combo of lightly battered bits of fish (we noted salmon and some kind of whitefish), prawns and lobster with a caper remoulade.  We had a hard time deciphering the lobster and suspect that it missed our batch, but it was still delicious.

Now, the important stuff – the cocktails.  I recognized last night, once and for all, that I’m just not much of a fruity drink person. If it’s a margarita or a sangria… well, those are in their own league. Umbrella drinks aside, I am not really one to order apple-tinis or even Cosmos.  It’s vodka martinis, slightly dirty, 3 olives, straight up.  The sugar in those other drinks just doesn’t jive with me, especially when I’m eating.  I like sampling them and creating them, but for pure cocktail enjoyment, I’m old school.  Yet, being the adventurous chick I am, I ordered a Blood Orange Drop, which was blood orange vodka, fresh blood orange, a squeeze each of lime and lemon and a dash of simple syrup.  The flavor was delicious, but it just wasn’t a “sipping” drink for me. It was too sweet, especially with the rim of sugar.  But it was pretty!  Personally, I’d serve it on the rocks in a collins glass, skip the sugar rim and hit with a splash of soda.  Now that sounds drinkable…

GFI ordered a Ginger Peachtini which was Peach Vodka, ginger simple syrup and… something else. I can’t remember. It was good, though! I liked it better than my Blood Orange thing.  Next up we enjoyed some of the best Grey Goose dirty martinis I’ve ever had.  Seriously. After our experience at Starlite with the sea monkeytinis, this was like drinking the nectar of the gods.  When Kathy visits, I’m totally taking her there… I dare say it was perfect, but I think it requires further testing.  Yeah.  oh oh

After listening to a few sets and chatting with the singer and trumpet player for a bit (the latter’s Kind of Blue was swoonable), we wrapped up the evening with a drink no longer on their menu: the After the Show.  We’d had it there before and were surprised to see it off the menu, but they were happy to make us a couple.  It’s Stoli Vanil vodka, Kahlua French Vanilla, Bailey’s, espresso and a drizzle of chocolate in the glass.  *faint* So good… so so so good.  Again, like fruity drinks, I’m not much of a “dessert cocktail”-type, but I do make a few exceptions. When they’re not overly frou-frou, too creamy or too sweet, it’s fine. There’s a subtlety to it and most bartenders have a heavy hand.  I think this one is a keeper… I just need to get them to give me the measurements.  smirk

It was yet another fabulous night at Anthology.  Whenever I go, I’m overcome with “Why am I not singing more? Why am I not up there doing that?” It always lights a bit of a fire under me… we all need that sometimes.  GFI and I agreed that we don’t mind indulging our budgets once in a while because the quality of the evening is so much richer.  I guess that’s part of getting older… it’s more about the experience and the company and no longer about what the well drink specials are and “gosh, do I have enough change under my couch cushions to buy shots tonight?”

After our last cocktail, we hailed a cab and rode the mile and a half back to our place and were in bed by 10:30pm.  *sigh* God, I love being a grown-up.  It’s more expensive, but I get way more sleep…

Prickly Pear

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Prickley pear margaritaThis just in: prickly pear margaritas are nature’s gift.  If nature is named Jose Cuervo, but whatever. They’re so good, I’ve not been able to stop thinking about them since I had one.  If you don’t know what the hell I’m talking about, a prickly pear is the fruit produced by Nopales cactus… those flat wide ones with the purple doodad at the top. Like these.

Lushy and her mom are in town, so we all went to The Prado on Saturday for lunch with GFI and Modigli.  That is probably in my top 3 places to eat in San Diego. The architecture, the gorgeous park… the giant vats of sangria… what more could you ask for?  Normally, sangria is what I would go for, but since I’d never had a prickly pear, let alone a margarita made from one, I decided to live large.  So I had two. I would have had three, but I was too full. 

I can’t quite describe the taste… it’s tart and sweet and a wee bit sour, but not too sour. You don’t taste the liquor, really, yet you know it’s there. It’s an easy-drinkin’ cocktail, my friends.  I’m now hell-bent on making them at home.

Here’s my assessment of their recipe, based on a combo of what their menu said, your basic top-shelf, Cadillac-style margarita and the addictive experience I had with it.

Prickly Pear Margarita

  • 2 parts tequila of your choice (I prefer silver tequila, personally… Hornitos or Petron, preferably, but whatever you like)
  • 1 part Grand Marnier
  • 1 part prickly pear juice
  • 1/2 part fresh lime juice
  • 1 part simple syrup

You can shake with ice and strain into a glass rimmed with salt OR, how I had it, throw it in a blender with as much ice as you like and serve it frozen. I didn’t have salt and personally, I think either a sugar/salt blend or no salt at all on the rim would be ideal.  Squeeze o’ lime. Viola!… alcoholic orgasm.

Don’t say I never gave you nothin’.

Like They Do on the Discovery Channel

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GFI and I have acquired a new regular at Casa Cocktail (that’s my building — I just decided it needed a name for reference purposes).  Well, we haven’t — Slick has.  He’s got a new girlfriend.  This while the seat on his old girlfriend’s bike that lives on the landing is still warm. But whatever, I’m not here to judge him on his relationship decisions.  I’m here to mock his new girlfriend. Duh.

Let me give you a basic schematic of our building.  If you’re looking at it from the front, I’m on the bottom right, GFI’s on top of me, Slick is to her left and downstairs from him, Nurse New York.  So, we share walls, specifically that one main wall and ceiling/floor where all of our apartments connect.  On our side of the wall, GFI and I have our bathrooms. On the other side?  Slick and NNY have their respective bedrooms.  You can see where this is going.  Oh yeah.

Now, we never hear a peep from NNY. Once in a while I’ll hear her on the phone in her room, but usually she’s off being busy and nursey. However, Slick and his new girlfriend get downright National Geographic up in here!  National. Geographic.  It’s insane.  GFI and I have dubbed her Project X because when she and Slick go at it, it sounds like caged chimps.  Forty caged chimps.

One night on the terrace, GFI tells me that she had to brush her teeth in the kitchen because the thought that a mere 2-foot wall and a medicine cabinet was all that separated her from Slick’s grunting body was just too much to bear.  Then, the next night, I could hear them going at it from the living room.  When I went into the bathroom, it was like they were humping at the Hollywood Bowl it was so loud. 

[insert chimp screams here]

I think last week, mikey came by and he came out of the bathroom saying, “Dude. You can hear your neighbor and his girlfriend going at it.” Oh yes, I’m aware.  They seem to have no concept of time, which is fine. It’s monkeys in the morning, monkeys in the night, monkeys in the afternoon.  (And yes, I know chimps aren’t monkeys.) Hey, I’m all for sex at any time of day. Spontaneity is fabulous… don’t get me wrong, but I try to keep in mind that perhaps the entire neighborhood doesn’t want to hear the result of “my O face”, as it were. And from what I understand, I also don’t sound like a B-grade Matthew Broderick movie.

It really doesn’t bother me all that much… I think it’s pretty funny, actually. Especially now that we have a good name for her. It makes it all that much more entertaining, but I know it’s bugging GFI. Their monkey love woke her from a dead sleep the other night… that’s no good.  So I think next time we’re all out on the terrace, I’m going to warmly rib him about this new girlfriend and suggest that he move his bed to the opposite wall.  Hint, hint. Nudge. Nudge.

Now, props to Slick. He’s either really good (which is just not something I wish to consider) or she’s been watching too much porn and needs to refine her faking technique, but either way, let a girl wash her face in peace, would ya?  Sheesh!