Hey, What Are You Reading?

So, I’m sitting at the pizza place across the street slowly sipping a giant glass of Pinot Grigio and reading my book when a bunch of sexy firefighters come in to pick up pizza. And by pizza I mean a stack of large pizzas. (There is a football game on, the place is getting crowed with pick-up orders.)


Full Disclosure: That pizza/wine photo was from the pre-cleanse send off. But I love to rip the bubble off so I took this photo and would also like to say I’m sorry to everyone across the street for past and future impropriety.

BUT, back to my story. Saints Game! WHO DAT!

This very sexy guy in uniform interrupts my reading with a “Hey, what are you reading?!”

And I flash a copy of Technical Editing, Fifth Edition. And then he says “Wow that is so cool, I’m actually looking for someone to edit my dissertation and none of my friends will help me.”

(Insertion: I look super hot because before studying I went out to brunch with one of my favorite ladies and then got my nails done. I’m still rockin’ an all-black super cute skirt and tank combo and have on and this amazing purple shade of lip gloss.)

I have no idea what I would charge or what it would entail but it seemed pretty flirty. No man has ever asked me “What are you reading” when I am clearly not seeking attention unless they are actually trying to flirt. But I don’t know. He actually might need help? But who interrupts someone clearly not aware that there is a game on just trying to carb binge and who says “cool” to Technical Editing, Fifth Edition who isn’t flirting?

In any case, I wrote down my phone number and my email. (I mean, hottie fighting fires while he finished his PhD. SWOON.)

They walk out.

And then the woman next to me GUSHES about how he was just flirting with me and OMG yadda yadda yadda.

THEN, I get an email. Like within minutes!?


Ummm what does that mean? That was so fast. Did he think he was going to forget?! So I waited like an hour… finished my wine and wrote back. Because I assumed he meant “editing” and maybe more… wink, wink.


And then since I had his name I looked him up on Facebook. (UGHGHHG) And sent this:


And then this happened:


Ahhhh I am so awkward. ALSO: “Not too many New Orleanians interested in reading and writing” is a big fucking red flag. NOLA is where so many famous writers come to write and there are a slew of us competing for the same limited jobs.

I don’t even know. I was confused. Was he really looking for help? Who the fuck reads a Technical Editing book at a pizza place during a football match? (Me.) Or, as the rest of the crowd seemed to think, was he hitting on me? Or just wanting to fuck because he totally just got kicked out and no one was misreading the situation, I just have no filter and made it weird??

Who knows because at this point I’m drunk even though I ate a whole calzone the shape of a football because I was just finishing a cleanse. (Makes total sense, don’t judge me.) BUT JUDGE ME FOR THIS: and never, ever again wonder why I am single.

First I wrote, “Interesting.” SEND

Then I wrote, “I am confused” SEND



Shockingly, he never wrote back. And that doesn’t even make sense? Anyway. Curtain call on that one. Sorry hot fire fighter, it wasn’t meant to be.



Dear 2015…

Dear 2015,

I wish I could say that it’s been great and I will miss you, but that would be total and complete bullshit. The fact that 2014 ended with me toasting bubbly with my coworkers after another long holiday season in the service industry ($$$) and then welcoming 2015 by getting super sloshed at work while we cleaned up leading to a near miss of my flight home on Jan 1 suggests how pathetic you would end up. But hindsight is 20/20, right?

To be fair, the ratio of good to bad in the year that marked the 30th anniversary of my birth wasn’t so so bad, and since I don’t have a television, I’ve been spared a lot of the past 6 month’s political discourse that social media tells me consists heavily of people saying stupid things that are unproductive and sometimes outright offensive. This resulted in some pretty funny memes though, so thank you?

I had a few new romances and handful of awful dates to laugh about and a lovely and passionate repeat of my favorite flame. (Watch out for those, they might burn you alive.)  I partied in some excellent outfits and danced the night away with some magical friends. I fell down pretty hard a few times (literally and metaphorically) but magically a I still get out of bed most days because everyone knows how much I love breakfast.

Surely it was disappointing, but the getting of and then quitting of a proper job was somewhat rewarding and suggested that one day I might find my niche in the adult world. I’ll let you know when I figure out where that is and what it looks like in case you want to join me. (On Pluto?)

You marked then 10-year anniversary of Hurricane Katrina and thus my ten-year anniversary in the city of New Orleans. What a long, strange trip it’s been.

I have a huge pile of books on my bedside table because I’m taking a course in the art of the novel (yaaay) so my sleepless nights will have no shortage of entertainment. <- in addition to Netflix, my usual array of books, an occasional late-night text session, and of course, my blog.

I’m not one for “resolutions” but I do have some goals for the coming year. First and foremost I plan to get my sister to pull through like the awesome chick that she is and help me make my AMAZING blog a better, funnier place to procrastinate at work. (For all 50 people that read it, you’re welcome.)

I suspect dating is the same in 2016 so I might opt out completely but there are a handful of restaurants popping up around town so once I’m done with a month of no dairy and no booze I’ll resume the regular consumption of food and drink. Om nom nom.

Also, because we managed to find the most horrific human to move into our apartment who managed to upset the entire home in a mere 2 weeks (Mind = Blown) I’m sure that the situation will eventually become funny and end up here because if you don’t laugh about it all that there is left to do is cry. And I don’t want to give myself any unnecessary wrinkles. I do, however, want to throw a frozen burrito at his head. I’ll explain that later.

So, 2015, I guess all that’s left is Happy New Year, bitch.

Yours faithfully,

Andrea’s Bananas



My Favorite Things

Do you remember that Bananas post when I went all Joan Rivers on my employer over pro-Confederacy propaganda, the rewriting of history and the blasphemy that is not offering NUGGETS AND FRIES during a forced meal of Chick-fil-A? Kind of bad form but as is the tradition on my lovely blog, no one was named specifically and at the time, I was already planning on giving notice. And I did! Today is my last day! So, in honor of my grand exit, I will allocate some time to my favorite pastime (aside from sex and anything sexual, working out, reading and eating): My blog. Although, my blog is really the glue that binds my passion for sex, working out, reading and eating so it remains cozy and warm under the blanket of My Favorite Things.

I am also a little bit hungover. And when I say a little bit, I really mean a lot. Yesterday was my favorite editor’s book release party for her debut novel Destroying Angel. If you are reading my blog than you, like me, are thinking ERMYGOOOD that is So Cool. It is. I’m a huge fan of YA and Fantasy and I crushed her book poolside in two days. It didn’t hurt that I had private access to a gorgeous pool and a perfect floatation device for tanning and reading. The book happens to be a great size for holding over your face to block the sun if you are looking for something to do this weekend. I laughed when I pulled it out for her to sign and it had the well-worn look of all books that I enjoy. Seriously, if the book had feelings it might reciprocate with a “Whoa, that was great…let’s do it again!” And since all great reads are really like a passionate love affair anyway, this book had some serious bed head. I had a glass of wine to cheers the release of Destroying Angel, and met the family and friends before heading to my planned dinner adventure.

My friend and I rescheduled his birthday dinner a few times. First they were closed, then he broke a nasty fall off his bike with his face and we had to wait for that to heal. So, 6 weeks after the actual birthday we celebrated with dining at Coquette, the delicious restaurant that happens to be the setting of one of our favorite Drunk in Public stories. (Another time maybe…) They are doing a fun summer promotion of a 5-course “mystery menu” so you have no idea what you are going to eat until it is served.

We both glanced at the cocktail list before laughing and realizing that the best before-dinner (after book release) drink is going to be a martini. He favors gin but whatever, my vodka and his gin – l’chaim. The first course was great, it was a ham product (I forget, not prosciutto) that was folded in on itself so that the shaved cheese, diced pair and hazelnuts could fill it like a cornucopia. We opted against the wine pairing and ordered a bottle of red and a bottle of white. Did I mention that I have a headache? Because I do. There was a really great shrimp dish which was a chilled soup kind of thing that I found to be quite pleasing. Horseradish foam!!! At first we joked about the fact that it was foam, but that shit was delicious. Then there was something else at some point. I wasn’t drunk until after dessert because we were being pretty reasonable about sipping through dinner, but for whatever reason I could not tell you what I’m forgetting. I’m sure it was great. But the chicken! Ughghgh disappointing. They brought out these incredibly fancy knives and I was really excited. And then, thankfully they left the skin on which was delicious, they gave us a freaking chicken breast on top of overcooked Spanish-style rice. Lame.

Even more lame was dessert. Citrus something blah blah blah. It didn’t taste bad or anything, I mean, it was dessert, but I wanted chocolate. Chocolate. I am a natural problem-solver and found a way around their only-one-menu-on-Tuesday by purchasing sweets elsewhere. I walked across the street to Starbucks and got us those fancy non-Reese’s peanut butter cups and a dark chocolate covered graham cracker bar. That…hit the spot. We also each had an amaro. No wonder I was in prime form later. And by prime form I mean that I was no fun and should not make plans (damn it, love sucks.) after making plans to get intentionally really intoxicated knowing what a game of Russian roulette that can be. I picked up my car in the morning after a half of a shower. I anticipated feeling rough so I prepacked tuna salad, chia pudding and some cucumbers and grapes. Tuna was good for covering the booze scent that just would NOT go away.

I found out I got into grad school yesterday, so YAY me. Today my mother seriously asked me “What is your plan for partying?” She meant not partying and I didn’t have an answer so I went all sullen-teenager and said “K Bye” Sorry, mom, I’m hungover and dutifully closing down shop at work. I’m keeping the employee handbook of crazy rules for my memoir. I am also taking home a gem from the “free book box” called, Junior Lifeguard Baywatch: Hobie Gets a Life. It include a color photos in the middle. I didn’t remember Quinn having so much thigh. You go girl. I’m only sad that they don’t have perforated edges for me to tear out the pages and hang them on my wall.

Um, what? ……….!!!!!!))))))))))

I saw an article today that said you can tell how long a relationship will last based on the way you tell the story of how you met. Or something like that. I didn’t read it. I took it at face value to be true because of the short-lived affair with Hot Chef.

The way I met Hot Chef (the actual way): I was writing an article about a grand re-opening gala at the museum that his new restaurant shares the space with and my editor asked me to also include some information about the adjoining restaurant. When I went to interview him I was pleasantly surprised to find him both attractive and flirty. So, as a lover of food, after my piece was submitted, I casually went to the restaurant on a quiet Tuesday to try the food with one of my best friends (who happens to be smoking hot, and also happens to be in a serious relationship). Crafted plan? Ab-so-fucking-lutely. I’m not stupid. Plus, he was totally flirting with me! Anyway, he walked us to the car and then later *found* my number from our email thread and texted me something sweet about hoping we got home okay. Oh those were the days!  He invited me to be his guest at the gala on Friday. Needless to say, I was stoked. The rest is, well, history.

If you ask Hot Chef: “She stalked me.” (His version is great, isn’t it? So flattering. It is as if he really likes me.)

Did I mention he is funny? So funny.

It also turns out that aside from his brutal How We Met Story he was pretty condescending and mean to me in the day to day, particularly when it came to my work or my evening plans, culminating in one lovely, lovely exchange. You can read about it here.

One of the most notable things about conversing with Hot Chef is his use of punctuation. And capital letters. Is his phone stuck on caps lock or something? Jeeesh. I feel like I want to say, “Calm down and stop yelling at me.”

He was always doing things like this.))))) At first I thought it was cute. And maybe a typo, but it happened all the time. I thought maybe it was his calling card. You know, that way if I deleted his number I’d be sure to know who was texting me. I don’t know, they might be smiley faces? I might never know. As I said, this is history. Recent, but still. Past is past right? Move on already. Maybe not yet. Who can forget gems like this: I was WORKING, not PARTYING!!!!!))))))) <- real text.

Today, I got another assignment kind of on the fly and was email corresponding with my source. Spoiler alert: He’s a dude. He is also the GM at a popular fitness center in town. You can imagine my shock when I get an email from him (a business email no less) with, what I can only assume to be ellipses, except it looks like this……………………………………………………and then he goes on. Um, what? Déjà vu.

Naturally I pulled out my phone and added to the amazing long-running group text with two of my besties and said, “Hey you guys, I met someone who uses more weird punctuation than Hot Chef.” Ha. Who would have thought? Obviously they wanted details. When I explained that I learned about his use of punctuation because I’m writing a story about him/the business, I got a fist bump and a resounding “This gig is great for your dating life!” followed by, “You should send him the blog post preemptively (winky face)”

No winky face! Should you come find me, Sir of the Athletic Club, take a tip from your predecessor and a) be NICE or LEAVE and b) This…………………………………………is not a thing…………!!!!!!!))))) IT IS CONFUSING. AND MAYBE JUST FOR THOSE OVER FORTY??

Seriously. What is that?

Sexy Commuter Sleeping, Breakfast and Other Thoughts

Last winter when I commuted from my parent’s house to my fancy Manhattan job, I started off with the mentality of someone who has never done that daily trek before. I was bright eyed and fresh faced about the extra hours in the morning and was sure that I would be both totally up on current events AND plow through my ever-expanding reading list without requiring the luxurious days of a beach vacation or the free time afforded by not sleeping thanks to a horrible break up to kick it in high gear. Not the case. As it turns out, while I did not mind getting up at 5:30 AM daily to meet my parents in the kitchen for breakfast and coffee, the commute was a different story.

Since I was to have ALL THIS TIME, I was planning on reading The Luminaries as I’d heard great things about it. I picked up a hard cover copy at the bookstore and began on a weekend. About a hundred pages in, I realized that I was carrying the book with me on the bus, to the subway and then to the office and still had not made much progress. Two nights per week I’d leave the office and walk across Central Park to go to Pure Barre before coming home. On those nights I wasn’t at my house until well after ten. That is a long day and a heavy book. (FACT: I am still vehemently against e-books.) But here’s the other part. The bus is a commuter bus. The nice kind of bus that we used to take in middle school when we were going on a fancy field trip somewhere like Washington D.C. It has seats more like an airplane than a bus and has a bathroom in the back. And that means something in the world of New York City commuting. In the morning the lights are out. There is a 100% no talking, no cell phone rule and the driver enforces it. It is great. It is also less conducive to reading or studying for the GRE than say, sleeping. So, while I thought I was going to be DOING ALL OF THE THINGS, as it turns out, I was 100% passed out. Mouth agape, head back kind of asleep. In a blink I’d see the sun coming up over the NYC skyline before we dipped into the tunnel. This was wake up time, and the driver would turn on the lights and rouse his sleeping masses and kindly remind us not to forget things like our cell phones.

There was a Fresh & Co between my stop at Lexington and the office and I’d regularly slop there for second breakfast. This is another joy of the 5:30 AM wake up. Second breakfast. It’s a thing. If you think you can make it until noon or 1 without it, you are crazy. Sometimes I’d bring yogurt and fruit, but I loved and I mean LOVED that they sold hot steel cut oatmeal. MMmmmm They knew me by my order, half milk half water with the tiniest tiniest bit of brown sugar and raisins. I’d pick up a banana as well. It was great. The only problem with the lovely staff starting my oatmeal order before I’d say anything is that if I wanted something else, I’d have to walk to another spot. If I was like “hmm I want a bagel,” no deal at Fresh & Co., I would have to purchase my bagel elsewhere, or buy both. That’s the way it works. And honestly, I’m okay with that.

I’ve made way WAY more progress on my reading list now that I’m back in New Orleans with ample free time to read and write this blog in between my shifts waiting tables and penning articles for local publications. Even so, the funny thing is that I have still not read The Luminaries. The other thing about starting an epic book is that if you’ve gone on and read several, and I mean SEVERAL in the meantime, you only kind of remember and it is nearly impossible to pick up where you left off around page 100-and-something. It is also annoying to start over because you remember enough of it to make it tedious. The only option is really to wait. So here I am, waiting. I think perhaps this summer will be good. Stay tuned.