Viva Las Vegas. No, Really.

As some of you may have guessed from my manic tweets, there’s a lot going on right now. I have a super duper full schedule due to some projects running longer than anticipated (you can’t rush awesome) and spontaneous opportunities that I’ve not been able to refuse.

One major opportunity I can’t talk about yet, which is killing a big mouth like me, but I promised and I’m only as good as my word. I also signed legal stuff, so there is that.

Another big thing is… well, I’m moving.  Yes, again. But this time, I”m not just going across town, I’m moving to Las Vegas!

I’ll give you a second to insert any in a series of anticipated and oft-heard protests: Continue reading

To a Deeee-luxe Apartment in the Sky

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

Deep-Fried American Summer

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.

Continue reading

Prickly Pear

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’.