The Freaking "To-Go" Box

For Thanksgiving this year, my mother asked me to bring dessert.
And, of course, I brought, like, 3 pies.
So, because I knew addROC and I would be traveling from our neck-of-the-woods to my folks place out in Bay Ridge, I went to the The Broadway Panhandler and invested in a set of Assemble-It-Yourself cardboard pastry boxes.

Obviously, Thanksgiving has come and gone. And, let me tell you something: No matter what I do, no matter how hard I try, I cannot get rid the these freakin' pastry boxes.

So, in a valiant effort to get the f#*kin' boxes out of my life, and into someone else's kitchen to take up inordinate amounts of truly invaluable space: I brought a cake to Reid's.

My Caramel Cake, inspired by the genius that is Smitten Kitchen, was a light, white, fluffy, delicious cake before it was corrupted by filthy, sticky, sweet and creamy caramel.

1. 100% Naked...and we think she's been working out. Lookin' reeeal good, Cake.


2. Caramel. Hot, hot Caramel.


3. Cake, Caramel, and a "To-Go" box. Classy and functional!


SUPER HELPFUL TIP:
Do yourself a frikkin' favor.
Buy your "To-Go" Boxes on a need-to-need basis.
Heed my advice or be stuck with a shit load of boxes that have no apparent purpose other than to remind you of the food you're not making, and to deplete precious, precious cupboard space!

Ho Ho Freakin' Ho

The holiday season is upon us.

Nester that I am, should I be bursting with joy?
After all, there are pies to be baked, trees to be purchased and decorated.
Little gifts for friends tied up with ribbons (which, obviously, MUST be curled).

Neighbors have already put Santa-related shit in their windows.
Holiday shoppers piss me off as they run around Union Square like a bunch of wild horses, bucking through the crowd on route to the Christmas Village.

So, here I am amidst all this holiday cheer. And, folks, I'm not ready.

Is it just me? Or is it 60 degrees out and is it still FUCKING NOVEMBER?

I just want to tell everyone...calm down.

addROC and I sat down to a lovely weekend brunch at Sunset Diner, relaxing, enjoying the hum of the BQE...runny eggs...toast...and what's that I hear?

I'll Be Home For Christmas?
Fuck no...it couldn't be!
I was just AT home for fucking Thanksgiving, like, t-minus two minutes ago.

Back off you Holiday junkies.

December 1st is WELL on it's way.
Then you can Ho Ho Ho out your asses.

And, hopefully by then, I'll be ready to bake some cookies.

Staple-tabulous!

It's bad enough that I LITERALLY live across the street from a McDonald's.
But, a STAPLES?

C'mon people.
Why the fuck do we need a STAPLES under the BQE in the most random and untraveled area (by office supply consumers anyway) ever?

Well, the answer is, we don't.

But, being the optimist I am, and given that change is something I welcome, generally, I'm trying to look at the bright side of this situation.

addROC and I have decided that these are the pros thus far:

1. If we ever run out of printer toner, we don't have to schlep anywhere. Good thing we NEVER need printer toner!

2. There's a huge fucking parking lot, so, when my Moms comes for dinner she can park her caboose in the STAPLES parking lot. Sweeeeeet!

3. The huge red STAPLES sign matches the McDonald's Golden Arches.
I like matching.
Matching is good.
Especially as I am lulled to sleep by the bright neon lights and the hum of the BQE (thump-thump, thump-thump).
It's like sleeping in the woods...only better! Fuck 'dem crickets!

So, come on over to the new STAPLES on Meeker btw. Kingland and Morgan Aves. when that shit opens!

After you shop-your-office-supply-ass-off, you can come get drunk with me and addROC, and we'll look out on all the corporate lights!

Who needs the fuckin' skyline?

Plum Outta Luck

Plum season. Juicy-ness.

This past weekend, I found myself at McCarren Park's lovely Saturday Farmer's Market, where there were plums a-plenty.

Set on making a Plum Tart, I found myself drooling over basket upon basket of beautiful and colorful plums at the fruit stand.

So, I stuffed 5 lbs of plums in my backpack, and rode my bicycle back to the homestead. All the while, Sugar Plum Fairies danced in my fuckin' head.

Well. I'm glad I got so many frikkin' plums, 'cause the tart was a no-go.
The dough was FUCKED before I even had a chance to fold in the sweet plum filling.

So, like a whiny bitch, I gave up and trashed that son-of-a-bitch.

And, instead, I made this turd.
A "Plum Cake."
We could also call it: "A flavorless, dry, quasi-attractive flour based substance in a pan, somewhat resembling cake."

I'm sticking with pies people. Tart dough is a beeeotch and this cake was garbage.

Oh yeah, Happy Monday.

A Serious Word on Anonymity

(Painting by Martin Dace)

Today's post is a brief one folks.

I have to tip a bit off the subject today because after reading a post on Only the Blog Knows Brooklyn, titled "I LIKE REAL NAMES OR CONSISTENT WEB ALIASES" I found myself thinking a lot about anonymity and what its place is in the blogosphere, and what it means to me, as a blogger.

So, I replied to this post, in a rather long-winded fashion, and I hope you'll follow the link there and read what Only the Blog Knows Brooklyn has to say too.

Send me your thoughts. Anonymous or not.

Anti-Nester of the Week: Rachel Ray

I'm sorry, really. But, I just HAVE to go there.

Everyone loves to hate her, but why? Hmmm...

My Top Five Reasons For Hating Rachel Ray

1. I'm not sure what she really does...but I'm pretty sure that I could've done it without her.

2. She's 100% Pure annoying.

3. She's a "chef" that endorses Dunkin' Donuts. Have you ever had a Dunkin' Donuts bagel? Would you endorse it? Exactly.

4. In the one full episode I've seen of her self-titled ABC show, she was cooking with Dr. Phil. Together they were making a one skillet lunch that consisted of:
One, bun-less, Beef Patty Topped with Smoked Mozzarella
A side of canned, cut string-beans (canned string-beans...ewww).

What? This is a cooking show? I may not be a great cook, but, I'm pretty sure the concept of hamburgers and canned vegetables falls under the category of: Lazy & Boring.

5. "Yummers!", "Delish!", and "EVOO" are all a form of brainwashing. There is a very distinct possibility, if I hear her utter them again, that I may shove my own septum into my brain. It's become so bad, even I find myself saying her little catch phrases, in my own fucking kitchen. Sacrilege. She must be stopped!

I leave you with these sentiments:


If we must toast to Rachel, let's do it old school, pick up a 40 oz-er of COLT 45^©. You'll be so wasted by dinner...it won't matter what slop she throws down.

The POM© Hype

Sometimes I'm in the deli, and I ask myself...why?

Why on EARTH do people consume the shit they consume? And it's not just a matter of the consumption itself, it's a matter of the price we pay to have the honor of consuming!

Fuck that. I'm tired of the advertising industry's psychological warfare.

So, I did it.

I tried POM^©.

Just to see what the big, fuckin' deal was with their big, fancy jar glasses and their super-jacked antioxidants for long life, or whatever.

And, you know what people? It's tea. It's tea, in a fancy jar.

Bottom Line: If you really want to spend $3.75+ on a jar of tea...go for it. That's your prerogative. But, if it were me, I'd do what I had to do to complete my glass collection, and swear off POM^© for life.

Why? Because you're some marketing agent's wet dream.

You saw a a little bit of Pomegranate juice or Tea in a fancy jar, or a fancy cape, or with fancy wings, on the side of a telephone booth somewhere and you decided, for between $3.75 and $5, to buy the hype.


And, what can I say? I did too.

But, trust me, I won't again.

For Christ's Sake...A Little Sun Please

(Photo By Joe Schumacher)

Dear Mr. Sun,

I'm frikkin' dying here.

Light deprivation SUCKS.

I can't motivate to do anything.
Like, for real, absolutely nothing.
I can't bake, or clean, or bitch about shitty household products without considering putting a razor blade to my wrist.

Even my fucking plants are having difficulty with photosynthesis, you rat bastard.

I mean, seriously, it's still frikkin' August and on Tuesday we had the coldest day, for this time of year, since 1911! What the FUCK do you think you're playing at muthafucka?

Is this how they live in Seattle, Mr. Sun? 'Cause, that's fucked up.

Fuck you very much,
Brooklyn Bitch

Won't YOU Be My Neighbor?

This is the conclusion I've come to: You either love your neighbors, or, you fucking hate them.

So, when addROC and I met our apartment neighbors and they were decent, we were like, bonus!

Little did we know that lurking right next door was a huge jerkface muthafucka.

Yes, our neighbor one building over is a total asshole. He gives us shit for putting trash out in front of our own apartment building, claiming that he has to "clean up" after our messes.

Now, I am Brooklyn Bitch of The Brooklyn Fucking Nester, I do not MAKE messes. I clean them, bitches. So this dude just pissed us off.

Well, a while back, our fucknut-of-a-neighbor started piling bricks up on and around his stoop. Lots of fucking bricks. So, when addROC and I saw our nemesis moving this assload of bricks into his building, we became suspicious.

Lo and behold, we were grilling out on our roof, and I happened to look over the edge into our neighbor's "yard."


It's always been a dump down there, but, it seems that he has made preparations to build upon that dump. And, though I cannot say with any amount of certainty, I'm pretty sure that he doesn't have a permit for such expansion.

What's worse is that we think, by the looks of it, that he is building more apartments. Whack.

Even Mr. Rogers himself would ban this douchebag from the neighborhood.

But, I'm no whistle blower, so, the atrocities will continue...

Dirt Devil© Broom Vac Sucks

One of the the worst things ever is mopping the fucking floor.
So, when you actually motivate to mop, or Swiffer^© Wet Jet, or what-have-you, you don't want to be deterred by a piece of shit, fucking electric broom.

Stages of Floor Mopping:

1.Electric Broom and/or Sweep Floor
2.Mop Floor
3.Allow Floor to Dry
4.Enjoy Clean Floor

Simple, no?

So, when I received the Dirt Devil^© Broom Vac from my mother as a gift, I was stoked. 'Cause, let's be real, sweeping fucking sucks in every way possible.

This "Broom Vac" has no suction WHATSOEVER, nor is it a good broom independent of the vacuum feature. Just because the folks in the commercial are dancing around like jackasses and putting on what looks like a high school musical in their kitchen, does not mean that this contraption does jack-shit.

Bottom Line: This is a large paperweight, piece of shit. I realize some other electric options aren't as "affordable," but, buying this "Broom Vac" would be like throwing your money in a huge, burning trash bin.

Save your cash and get a dustpan, bitches. This hunk of junk BLOWS.