SATURDAY MORNING CARTOONS

SOMETHING THAT RHYMES WITH 'PEACE'

To any of you Hungry Readers out there perusing m'blog and takin'

things WAY too seriously, I've got the following piece of tasty video

for you to point your peepers at and ruminate in your very gross juices.

The fact is that while most of you seem to understand the tone that
this Nerd has taken, the jaded urban author blogging his sexperiences
and cultural digestions with nary a care for his audience, there remains
a few key members of my target demographic reading each word while
coming to a boil. Listen, folks, it's a blog! I can hardly be held accountable
for the fact that you seem to take it too seriously. Get over yourself, and find
a less masochistic hobby? Might I suggest knitting...me...a cashmere cardigan?

A FASHION UPDATE

Behold, Hungry Readers, The future of women's footwear!

 (Good thing this Nerd is an ass man)

OYSTERS AND WHINE

A COOL THING

Denim jeans...a truly Jewish pantaloon...watch this promotional vid detailing some dangerously delightful
trouser construction. It's a little over three minutes, give it a gander, because you might learn something:

TRES ES COMPAÑÍAS

So nearly every week now for the past six or seven weeks or so I've had the distinct pleasure of entertaining the most beguiling young chefette that this Nerd has ever laid his four-eyes upon...cute, capable, and quick as a pistol...this ensorcelling ball of pulchritudinous personality had him smitten at minute one, which just so happened to be two years ago or so while meeting a good buddy's new girlfriend for the first (and last, as they're still together) time. It's been a long while in the making, that's for certain, and yet, after last night truly peculiar date...I can't say for certain that our future seems quite as clear as it did only eighteen hours ago. 

It's probably worth noting at this point in the entry that she, the chefette, is bisexual...and not so much bisexual as she is a full blown lesbian (hell bent for leather with a bad ass motorbike and all that fun'n'family-friendly lezbo stuff...I mean, she apologized for smellin' of gasoline on our first date because her bike broke down en route in Brooklyn...sweet Moses, smell the roses!) with heterosexual tendencies, and is - after some powerfully pronounced periods of "heart" break - testing out her romantic programming on me...oh, and she brought her ex girlfriend of five years to dinner last night...maître d', table for three?

The plan was simple: meet up at Video Games New York for a little vintage video game browsing, maybe buy something (hopefully not) and then make our way north toward dinner at Aburiya Kinnosuke in Midtown East. The plan was simple...or so i thought...right up until my date showed up, holding hands with a dead ringer for Daenerys Targaryen...seriously, this girl was stacked: silvery blonde hair, regally defined and statuesque features, big eyes, luscious lips, perfect posture that really did wonders to put out her supple breasts and ample yet pert ass...the kind of girl you'd take into a dark corner and do equally dark things to were it not for the fact that her obvious state of fitness spoke loudly for the physical harm she could smack down on your horned up manhood.

 

...She was a truly perfect specimen of her gender, and she was holding hands with my date...and even though my mind was hard boiled, almost at a scramble, filled with loud WTFness and general confusion, this Nerd played it cool...walked up toward the two ladies, greeting them both with cheek kisses and warm embraces..."this is my friend" said the chefette of my dreams, "and she will be joining us for dinner." GREAT (I thought) while I held the door open for them both as we entered the store - where I bought her (my date) a $40 copy of Super Mario brothers for the Super Nintendo...and called the restaurant to add one to our 8:30 reservation. Goodbye unknown romance with your limitless opportunities, hello awkward silence with your familiar chaste imposition.
 
A few dollars down and a few minutes early, we thirsty three decided to explore the east village's bar offerings for a pre-meal libation. As we three were already on the wrong side of 6th street, I suggested we three make tracks one block north to my preferred near-astor beer-swallowing-spot: Burp Castle. Best known for its servers in sackcloth who shush rowdy patrons who break the house rule of keeping all conversation to a "gentlemanly whisper", curly fry Thursdays, and rotating extensive offering of rich barley wines, I recall Burp Castle best as the spot at which I would sit with a brew and a laptop, doing most of my Sophomore year's schoolwork by way of their upstairs neighbor's unprotected wifi...the password was 0123456789 back in 2006. So that's where we went, I ordered flavorful tripels for the three of us...and, paying for the lot, sat off in the corner surrounded and succumbing to the alcohol their feminine wiles.

We sat, we sipped, we talked in hushed tones...I regaled the two with stories of pet ownership and my successful media career...they watched and listened, not so secretly stroking each others inner thighs all the while, and after forty minutes of getting all that introductory nonsense out of the way, we split up to head uptown for dinner - my date hopping on her motorbike, her date and me hailing down a taxi. It's important to note that the weather has taken a turn for the more traditionally autumnal this past week, dropping from an unseasonable high of eighty-five to a more personally preferred range of temps well within the fifties...I'm a cold weather whore, this blonde was not, and after as we hopped in the cab she immediately cuddled up close - asking me to share my warmth - and cooing softly as I acquiesced to her bawdy bodily desires. I had to bite my lip hard enough to draw blood to keep from making a move on her, knowing full well that my chefette was still well smitten with her ex-girlfriend, and quietly hoping that with the careful application of alcohol over time, I could still play that part of meat within their girl-on-girl sweaty love sandwich.

The cab ride continued, as she told me of her recent graduation from the Rhode Island School of Design - her specialty being metal work - and her plans to keep honing her craft from a studio space in her parents' Upper West Side brownstone residence...wealthy AND good looking, and she knows her way around a workshop...that's when I knew I was in trouble - and also, thankfully, when the cab pulled up in front of the restaurant. Meeting my date, the chefette, with her date by my side, we three walked into Aburiya, were seated in a semi-private room, and jumped into the menu. We were given a taste of some delightfully champagne tasting sparkling unfiltered sake (which I not must get a case of because it was JUST THAT GOOD) and I ordered a whiskey flight of Hibiki and Yamazaki 12th and 15th blended and single malt Japanese whiskeys...and with some very clean and honest flavorful sips made chilly by way of some of the most gorgeous and nearly invisible ice blocks this Nerd has ever seen, ordered our meal: a selection of house pickles and smoked cheeses, red snapper miso soup, salt encrusted scotch salmon, sea urchin sashimi, miso soaked wasabi leaves and jelly fish salad, spicy grilled Berkshire pork belly, and crab croquettes served on a crab claw so that it looked like tiny little perfectly formed turkey legs. For dessert we enjoyed a black sesame custard and flaming cognac crème brûlée, both served with house made vanilla and red bean ice creams. The meal was delicious, the blonde kept swooning with each bite, the conversation was swift and clever, and we three got along far better than expected...which is when my date got a little drunk and started nibbling on her gal-pal's left ear, whispering sweet nothings like, "I want you, I need you, let's go somewhere more private, oh baby, oh baby, oh baby, oh..." and kissing her neck while her gal-pal started playfully biting and then sucking on the chefette's fingers. I watched. What more could I do? I mean, sure, this Nerd's got needs...and fingers (and toes)...but evidently the ladies were hungry for a little more than food...who the hell was I to dissuade them from engaging in a little healthy disease-free fun?

Our meal came to a close, I got the check (goodbye $250.00...that's right...paying for we three fell upon me, again...what nerve my chefette's blonde friendess had not even to offer to pay once...), and we all stood around the chefette's locked up motorbike making plans for the rest of the night. I'm not sure how, quite possibly because I tactfully looked away as they locked lips, but my chefette wound up walking her bike on over to my place - with a guarantee that her interest was in a non-alcoholic beverage and seeing my pet turtle (whom she had heard so very much about) and I understood that under no circumstances would sex, with me, be occurring that evening. Well, with her promise of sexless sobriety, how could I say no? So we made our way west, as she yammered on - block after lesbionic block - about how beautiful and sexual and lovely her ex-girlfriend was...she actually said that she was much rather feeling like being with a woman that night, and every night, from there forward. This is when she caught herself, while waiting at the intersection of 45th & Madison avenue...I was admiring the new window displays at Paul Stuart and she pressed her lips against mine. She said she saw an opening and took it - I didn't mind - she also said that the past Sunday night, when she told me she couldn't make it to my friend's Bushwick birthday bar crawl because of work...she was actually getting busy sleeping with her boss.........it was a good kiss.

So we're back at my apartment, she's sipping on the last of the Mexican Coca-Colas a good friend of mine gifted me some number of months back, while playing with my dog and appreciating the view and carefully curated decor offered by my apartment. I'm sitting on my couch, trying out every possible position to maximize my sexual power while still appearing available for casual conversation...which is when she comes over, gives me another - deeply impassioned - kiss...and tells me that we should head to my bedroom, take all our clothes off, and...talk about her business plan. For you see, Hungry Reader, her interest in me is solely as a long term investor. She says she's emotionally unavailable for romantic entanglement, more interested in something adult and proactive than sappy and ill-fated...all sentiments with which I strongly agree...however, there's something powerfully prostitudinal about having a girl ask you to invest in her business while taking your dick out of your pants. Sure, the fellatio was great, and yes, her body was "slamming", but we didn't have sex...I felt dirty and taken advantage of, and I'm very really not sure about seeing her next Tuesday as planned. She wants to go to the zoo...but somehow I'm thinking what she actually wants is to take me to the cleaners. You know what? When I came back upstairs, after sending her motorbiking off into the night, I checked to see that she hadn't stolen my wallet, watch, or cufflinks. Dinner was delicious, the conversation compelling, the night air crisply bracing, the kisses sweet, and the mouth-stuff-done-on-me delightful...but I've never been so torn...this is why I carpet bombed my amygdala and napalmed that cold-dark-space-where-a-heart-would-once-race all those years ago, to keep from "feeling" things, to keep from being hurt, to keep my hard earned cash safely in my coffers and out of the callused chefy hands of chicken-headed-cuties. Good grief, what's a Nerd to do (other than meet up with a series of exes over the course of the next four nights to drown my sorrows in their familiar'n'aromatic femmotionally dulling womanhoods)? At least I made it to the fourth date...and SHE turned out to be the cad!

CONTROVERSHELL

While drinking beer at a bar in Brooklyn's own Bushwick in celebration of a good buddy's birthday, a wallflowery actor told me - in response to my strong'n'descriptive endorsement of Bar & Books over on the east side - that I'm "like a vice connoisseur"...funny, because up until that very point, this nerd fancied himself a textbook hedonist, a description which seemed sufficient but now rings up lacking in the extraordinarily decadent indulgence of the recently applied title noted above. In this spirit, I am rededicating myself to going hog wild over those items of rich rapacity heretofore found anathema to even the most schmaltzy spirit's superior sensibilities.

Once described to me as having the appearance of mottled clouds against the sun, there is no material quite so stunning as authentic tortoise shell, particular when used in the construction of showstopping luxury eye wear such as the vintage French frames featured below:

Sunglasses? Daily RX eyeglasses? The choice is a tough one...but at an asking price 

of $750.00 USD, it's tough to turn away from something so unusually seductive. 

I just want to own them, ya know what I mean?

**MORE ON THAT SOON**