Chinese Food Heaven

Last night, I died and went to Chinese Food Heaven.

My friend Dave came and collected me around seven, as the parking in Hillcrest, center of the gay universe, is crazy non-existent on a Saturday night.

"Would you like to drive?" he asked.

"What?"

"Just kidding," he said. "What would you like to get?"

"Chinese cream cheese wonton's," I said, practicing my dead on delivery Chinese accent.

"Well, let's have a look-see on Yelp," he took out his IPhone and began playing with it. Then he handed it to me, the veritable Luddite, to navigate. But of course, it was all Hillcrest because it's set up to give you restaurants nearest to your location.

So we drove to Clairmont and I realized: Dave is a lousy driver. He's worse than I am. When he asked me if I wanted to drive, he wasn't kidding.

Eventually, we wound up at a convenience store because I HAD to have a Coke. Not a Pepsi. A real Coke. With sugar. Not diet. A rare craving.

In the store I found that they had Vanilla Coke! So I put back the regular and brought the Vanilla up to the register. The guy in front of me was buying an energy drink. He had out a fiver and some ones and assorted coinage.

"I didn't realize that those drinks were so expensive," I said.

"Yeah, they're addictive. Don't ever get hooked on them," he said.

"I avoid caffeine anyway," then glancing at my Vanilla Coke, "usually."

Luckily, I found two dollars in my purse because I did not want to have to break out the plastic. The cashier handed me my change and I left, but not before the customer in front of me commented on my eyes, "They're hazel, aren't they?"

I nodded.

"You're lucky, mine are just brown," he said. "But I guess we're all lucky in our own way."

With that, I left and found Dave in the car, hot on the trail of a Chinese restaurant.

The first place we called and it didn't have the cream cheese wonton. So that was out.

But the second place did. So we Googled on over, parked (someone was leaving at that very moment, thank GOD, (I was STARVING!) and went inside.

The interior of the restaurant was very beautiful. White table clothes and red upholstered chairs. The only flaw was that the restrooms were outside and there was this moment, when I believed that the light didn't work and it was dark and it was scary. But then I figured it out. It was on some weird timer device. Whatever! NOT happy with the bathroom.

First, the waitress. She was the epitome of Chinese pulchritude. When I pointed out how cute she was to Dave, he just kind of shrugged. He didn't even notice! What a guy!

The first to arrive was the fried wonton. It was served with a plum sauce with hot mustard (not the "real" kind of hot mustard, but it was still good, as I hate the real kind anyway.) Delicious.

Next, the beef and scallop melody in a luscious brown sauce with broccoli and pea pods! I wanted to marry the chef, sight unseen!

And then there was pork friend rice (which looked kind of lame at first, but it tasted a LOT better than it looked) which was AMAZING. The bits of pork were tender and the peas and the rice just blended together so well. And even the egg was innocuous (I had forgotten to order it without egg). And it wasn't greasy.

I would take the beef and scallops in the saucy sauce and then spoon the fried rice over it.

Chinese Food heaven!!!!

And the name of this place?

I'm not going to tell you unless you pay me lots and lots of money.

It was crowded enough in there!

I remain, always,

Hilda Stinson

Heartburn

I sometimes suffer from it. It's true. I cannot eat at Fuddruckers. Can't do it.

The last time I ate there, it just BURNED. I was meeting a boy who was half my age. Mainly because he begged and begged to meet me. And even though, I knew nothing would happen, I reckoned that well, at least he could buy me lunch. So he did. And told me that he'd like to plow me like field of wheat. And, while this is flattering, I wasn't attracted to the boy in the least. And the burger, while passably edible, gave me the worst heartburn EVER.

Fast forward to yesterday: I'm out with Beau, it's our second date (after about a month of not seeing him at all..no calls, a few emails..my friend Tor thinks that I'm his "back burner" girl. (which I think says a lot more about TOR than it does about BEAU, but I digress)) and we have worked up an appetite, walking around Hillcrest, looking in all the second hand shops.

Beau has got this major hard on for a burger. Like: he's gotta have it. But all the places we go to are CLOSED (it IS the middle of the afternoon)-and other places we reject because they don't have a bar. When finally, he says, "Well, they might not have a bar, but they do have the burgers." So we go.

And the burger is heavenly. It's so juicy. And the bread it comes on is artisan quality. But the fries are those awful reconstituted potato abominations that they now serve at Chili's (I believe, if I'm recalling correctly)- we get a half fry, half onion ring. The onion rings are passable. I mean, a place that serves burgers like that should serve real steak fries. The big fat crispy ones.

Then we go to a movie. It's a movie about two gay men and their love story. It's terribly romantic, but we don't hold hands for most of the film. In fact, all the hand holding has made me notice one thing about Beau-and it's this: he really needs to get some hand lotion. Rough and dry. Maybe he's ashamed. I don't know. Maybe he's not all that into me. I don't know. I'm dithering. Am I not?

There was a point in the elevator where, in an alternate universe, it was a long ride. And I wore a skirt. He pushed me to the back of the elevator, and raised my skirt, whereupon he then pushed himself into me, hard and fast. Hmm. But, in this world, we both remained completely zipped and he just banged into me suggestively, a little bit. I'm still not sure what to think.

It always seems he's got something going on. As if he's read ˆThe Rulesˆand is trying to make me think he's got this wildly successful social life. Always on the go, always doing SOMETHING, and usually too busy to get together with me. But, then again, maybe he IS too busy to see me all that often. Maybe I am the "back burner" girl. But, of course, to be fair, I haven't been all up in his grille either.

So, I went back and re-read his profile and it seems like he just wants to date someone in a non serious way. Although, he did say something on the first date about how that might be changing for him. And I felt so happy on that date, not because he said that, but because I couldn't believe that I actually liked him ('cos that doesn't happen all that often). I can't tell you how many first dates I've had. So many guys I am just NOT interested in.

In other news, Tor told me that he wants a FWB, but that he doesn't want to talk about my other relationships. But yet he doesn't want a relationship. Interesting. So is he telling me he just wants a one night stand? (Rolling eyes) The problem with Tor is that he thinks he's hotter than he is. He doesn't realize that my choices extend right on down to the early twenties set. There are men much younger and far more beautiful than he that are just dying for a lil' something something from ol' Hilda here! Not that I'm really interested. But the OPTION is there. Tor needs to stick that in his pipe and SMOKE it!

Later, it hits: heartburn. But it's a very subtle heartburn. It's not like the kind I got from Fuddruckers. Yes, the burger I had with Beau was kind of greasy. Yummy. But greasy.

Signing off,

I am,

Hilda Stinson

Telly Porn

Okay. Let's talk about the new Subway commercial: Pastrami. It looks really good. The melting bubbling cheese and the toasted bread just beckoning you..
Yeah. As IF.

Let's talk turkey: as in: really? The Pastrami looks like it's been bathed in nitrates. Nitrites? Hmm. And their bread? It tastes AWFUL when it's toasted. What a gyp! En serio! I'm so tired of the hype.

The Big Carl? Really? The last time I ate at Carl's Jr. I suffered from: a. indigestion and b. through one of the worst sandwiches I'd ever eaten. It was a steak sandy. So really? Going after the Big Mac? I'll believe it when I taste it. And I know, it won't be good. Why should I even try. Hey Carl's Jr. why don't you have a "free" promotion on that? At least then I won't have to pay to get indigestion.

Last? McD's full on brekkie. Ugh. Corn based pancakes. Yuck. And I will NOT be eating those scrambled eggs. Like you could ever get ME to eat eggs. Although, I will give them the sausage. The sausage DOES kick ass. And the bacon. Yeah. Although, it BETTER NOT be cold!

My last column was, how can I put this delicately? Taken away by the gods. Dammit! Mother of FUCK! (A cuss I invented, patent pending!)

It was entitled Bloody.

It was about Tyson Beckford. Wait. Let me make sure I'm still online. Yeah. Okay. I'm solid. (Not his real name, btw. Secret celebrity club. I'm known as Heidi Klum. 'Cos Ah'm sexy. And blonde. Yeah!)

Right now? I am hopped up on Benefactor Cellars. It's got a skeleton on it's label. It was 4.99 at Trader Joe's. It's GOOD. But I'm fucked up, I just thought you should know.

Now, something you should know about Tyson Beckford. He's not really "black". He's Dominican. There's a huge difference. That being that this: the whiteness of the "massas" dilutes the blood, so to speak, ergo, they are, the "blacks" de facto, white men. Sorry. True. Really really true. And, then there's this. The "being black" entitles one to a certain, shall I say, egoist-ness about one's sexual prowess. And to be honest? There's no reason for it. Yeah. There it is. I said it. But the Dominican? Oh man. It was good

So, not to be oblique, but I'm going to anyway:stiffen your upper lips my lovlies, it's about to get gruesome. Tyson Beckford could have been a Hell's Angels initiate.

Which is more than what i can say for the most recent: a boy, timid beyond words, who was about to, until I mentioned that it was my time.

Of course.

I love them Dominicans!

Holla!

Hilda Stinson

IHop Commercial

There is a commercial out there that makes me WAAAAANT pancakes. I usually don't care because I know what's in them, but today I just WATCHED the syrup drip sensuously off that hot stack and I just wanted them! (The all you can eat shrimp, not so much, it just looks SALTY!)

In other news, I have been out of work a day and have been going crazy. Instead of my usual half banana and chocolate squares with peanut butter on them, I had sprouted wheat toast, with butter. Calorically about the same, I reckon, depending on how much butter I used. And YES! It was frozen, and melted nicely in my mouth. Just so you know. And there was tea. Chamomile. With a drop or two of almond milk.

Lunch? Makhani Dal over arugula.

Second lunch? Half an eggplant wrap and half an Italian salad

Appetizers: Seaweed chips and cucumber, and then half a peanut butter sandwich (with cucumber in it).

Dinner: Meatloaf muffin (cooked up side down to make sure that the potatoes don't come out cold!) and broccoli. Which wasn't completely warmed up. (LAME!)

And yes, I did have a protein shake with my toast in the morning, complete with all the vitamins and glutamine I always take.

There was a nap. It was GOOOD. But, I felt tired all day. But then, I realized, why.

BTW, why IS it I only have ONE follower if so many of you are reading my blog? (POUT!)

Follow!

I remain,

Hilda Stinson

The Dinner Debacle (New Year's Evening)

The boy I was meeting for dinner, former model and current resident of one of Carlsbad's premiere neighborhoods did not want to eat at a chain.

He arrived, looking taller than his picture. And, now that I think of it, older. Not that I was disappointed. I was actually prepared to be disappointed because that's how these things usually go.

We had spend a goodly portion of Xmas week chatting on the phone, one night until 1:15. I was dragging the next day, lemme tell you . So if nothing else, I knew he was at least, okay to talk to.

I had worried he would find me too fat, but he seemed to like me and that was good.

The restaurant was dark. So dark that I could barely read my menu. But of course, the food was not entirely consequential, until, of course, it was.

The waiter, a bald middle eastern man arrived swiftly to place the napkins on our lap. I placed mine first while he was unfurling H's. Then, I thought, well, let's get an app. Because then I won't have to choose an entree right away. So I ordered what the waiter rec'd. It was steak on bruschetta. With, what I imagine to be goat cheese. I hate goat cheese. Actually, the tomatoes were soggy, so I scraped everything off onto the place and ate first the meat, then the toast, then, last, those awful tomatoes. It was edible. Not great. But of course, when one is on a date, it's not good to complain. So I bore it. Like I said: edible.

I decided to get the filet mignon, because as you well know, I do love filet! Well, it arrived and looked very nice, and then I cut into it. Hmm. Salty. Another bite: okay a little better and then whoa! This awful liver taste enveloped my mouth. This filet TASTED LIKE LIVER!!!

"Is it okay?" H asked from across the table.
"Well, actually, no," I said, bursting into tears.
"What's wrong?"
"It tastes like liver!" I howled.
"No, it couldn't be," he cut himself a slice, chewed and then said, "by gum, Hilda! It does!"
At which point I was very upset.
The waiter came over and took the offending dish away. "Ravioli, try the ravioli," he said.
So, a few minutes later, he arrived with what I assume was mushroom ravioli. It was like the app, edible. Not great.
I was very unhappy.
When the waiter returned to see if we wanted dessert, I said, "I don't think we'd better risk it."
H concurred and ordered a coffee.

Quite possibly, this was the most disappointing restaurant I've eaten at all year. But wait. It's the only restaurant I've eaten at all year! Oh! What a bad miserable omen!

I leave you, sad and dejected,

Hilda Stinson