Jamaica

I have dated many men in my life... I tried to make a list the other day, and I came to the sobering realization that I don't remember all of their names (what the heck was Fuzzy Navel's name??). There are more than a few I probably couldn't pick out of a line up, and ten minutes later, I'd remember that there was yet another faceless random from that one time that I'd forgotten about, which makes me wonder how many others there are that I can't recall...


But this is not a post about my whore-ish past.

My point is that despite my numbers, there are two things that have never happened:
1) I have never dated someone younger than me.
2) I have never dated someone I deem smarter than me.


K is a medical student at my institution. He is three years younger than me.

He is also quite possibly one of the most brilliant people I've ever met. We had a random conversation the other day where I asked him, "If you could have any job in the world, what would it be?" Now, I'm thinking my ideal job to be along the lines of a 'traveling restaurant/food critic', or 'rockstar', or maybe a 'tabloid celebrity'... something that is self-serving, with it's fair share of alcohol and doesn't require too many functioning brain cells. His answer: "Astrophysicist."  I honestly don't even know what an astrophysicist does, and while I'm trying to formulate a response to that, he adds, "but there's no money in that, so I decided to do medicine instead." 

Way to settle, dude.
Don't I feel like a retard for only aspiring to be a mere doctor.

And if someone ever described a person like that to me, my ego's defense would come up with a smart ass answer like, yeah, but he's probably socially retarded and awkward. But the truth is, after having known him since April of last year, and having gone out with him and his friends to various bars and restaurants in NYC, he's equally socially awesome. His friends are all cool and well versed in everything from clubbing, to politics, to rap music, museums, drinking games, movies and even ballet. His sense of humor is so deadpan and random that he literally makes me laugh out loud in my office with a gchat comment, drawing curious looks from my quieter coworkers. He's the type of person that is down for anything, anytime, shamelessly self-depricating and narcissitic at the same time, and I imagine would easily make friends with anyone in the room while making them feel like they are the coolest person there.

And because this is me blogging... did I mention that he's better looking than more the half the men I've dated? He's a white guy with blue eyes. I didn't mention hair, because honestly he doesn't have any, but I imagine he was a blonde baby. This may be a personal preference thing, because I definitely have a taste for bald guys or at least super short hair... but he's got this cute but tough guy look going on. He's 6'0", goes to the gym regularly and has got biceps that I just want to squeeze.

Looks. Personality. Brains.
Trifecta.

So what am I to do?
Pass up the opportunity and let some other girl take his eligibility off the market?
I think not.



Looks and personality were always important to me, but the IQ factor seriously has me turned on. He has an intellectual curiosity that I've lost somewhere along the way... I'd gotten used to just being happy with knowing what I know. Learning was fine if it's self serving, but I had come to consider the world of academia a bore and chore. But to him, I can tell he enjoys it. Watching him register and analyze things on a totally different level has now got me thinking.. how does he do that and how can I?


I'm planning my moves carefully because I think this one's a keeper. We've gone out a few times already, and I've demonstrated self-restraint by not over drinking and inviting myself over. We flirt constantly via texts, gchats, and emails... but then in person at the hospital, we are purely professional with inside innuendos and it is my own episode of Gray's Anatomy. Working here has motivated me to reconsider my capacity, and I know I can do better than I have been. Mediocrity was acceptable when I was a big fish in a small pond.
Now, I wanna impress.
I don't think my pride could take it if he thought I was a dummy.

So now what?

I'm working on getting my residency secured here. In addition, I'm writing abstracts and manuscripts like mad to try and get as many publications as I can before my year of research is up. I'm flying all over the country to conferences to present my findings and also trying to squeeze in some studying for my Step 3...

And now that I've gotten his attention..

I'm taking him to Jamaica.
We've booked an impromptu vacation during his spring break and we will be eating, drinking and sunbathing for four glorious days while I seal the deal on my greatest catch to date.

Ya man...

..and more bad decisions...

I suddenly feel like a couger... or the teacher from 'The Graduate'...


I'm finding myself flirting dangerously with one of my students...

Nothing good can come from this.

Shit bags?

I work as a clinical researcher at one of the largest hospitals in the NYC area and part of my job entails going through electronic medical records to glean bits and pieces of information relevant to whatever study I am conducting at the time... The other day I came across this gem.

Shit bags? Ummm... excuse me doctor, but is that the medical term? 

Lol!

Megu

I love restaurant week in NYC. It allows me to taste morsels of heaven from restaurants that I'll never be able to afford to eat at... like Megu.

Megu Midtown is the latest location of the famous Japanese restaurants, and it's located in the UN Plaza. It's your typical overpriced, underportioned, pretention on a place sort of venue. However, they convince you it's worth it because they serve their food on geometric plates with pieces of fruit cut like flowers and strategically placed colorful drips of sauce.


B took me to Megu yesterday and it was deeeliiicious!

Would I ever go again? Probably not on my dollar, but if you're a sugar daddy looking to feed a sugar baby.. I'm your girl!

We started out with some simple appetizers...

I had Crispy Shrimp with Kanzori Cream Sauce and B had Okaki Crispy Asparagus:



The presentation of everything here was just awesome. I had to really control myself to not ogle at everyone else's food that came out to the tables around us. And yes, it does taste better for it. 

I wish I had a picture of the fried shrimp, but I guess there was nothing really special about how it looked. Just some flash friend shrimp dumpling looking things with a cream sauce, some green onion shavings and little spoon of some spicy chili/cayenne pepper combination that I was a little overzealous with... *cough cough* Spicyyyy!!!! but it was quite possibly the best fried shrimp dumplings I had ever had.

For the main course, we both ordered the signature 'Super Premium Kobe Beef Steak Kagero Yaki Stone Grill with Hennessey Flambee". It wasn't just Premium. It was Super Premium... lol, what ever that means...

And those are thinly sliced garlic chips on top... oohh yeahhh...  no kisses for youuu...

Dessert was simple. New York Cheesecake for him and Green Tea Crepes for me... but what I really wanted was about 17 more orders of the Kobe Beef Steak.. It was soooo good! ...and soooo tiny....

For a restaurant week option, $35 wasn't too bad for the venue. If I was a server there, I'd have scoffed at us common folk trying to eat at a restaurant meant for Japanese Investors, Arab princes and Angelina Jolie.. with a Umami prix fix menu of $195 (plus an extra $70 if you want the sake pairing), I can safely say that I'll probably never get the chance to eat there again... nor should I... 

I mean, just look at this:

... *drool*.... and this...

That's sake fed, hand massaged, slices of the luckiest asian cows on earth... IN AN IGLOO!!!

When you place this kind of food in front of me, I'm compelled to order and eat it without second thought to cost or calories... I'm just missing any kind of self-discipline in that matter. But when an appetizer costs up to $48... well... let's just say I may be a little behind on rent next month, so it's probably best if I just don't go there at all.

But if I do... I'm gonna have the 'Tajima Kobe Beef Chateaubriand'. A 9oz portion of Buddha's devine fuckin creature for only $230. Curiousity just gets the better of me... I can't imagine what could be so amazing it's worth $300 with tax and tip... but I want to find out.

I hear I get 3 wishes for that price too...

My Sex and the City Episode 245 - Mama's Boy

I had a Sex and the City episode yesterday.

I had a date with this guy from Brooklyn whom I had met online.

Meet "Mike"
Mike works in the public school system in Brooklyn and is thankful for his family, friends, and his job. He likes going to the gym, going out to local bars and clubs, and watching the NY Rangers hockey team. The five things he can't live without are his Blackberry, his new Camero, Tivo, guitar and guacamole, but not necessarily in that order. He is looking for a girl that he can 'have fun and experience life with'. He is 29 years old,  5'10', Italian, muscular and has two large tattoos over both his shoulders.

We talked back and forth for a few days and finally decided to meet in person on a Wednesday night that was later forcasted to have a snowstorm of over 20 inches. I texted him earlier in the day before the snow started asked if he wanted a rain check.

     “Nahh, I'm not worried about the storm. I'll drive out there. I really want to meet you.”

     “Okaaaayyyy....”

     We decided to meet at 8:30pm at a local tequila bar on the Upper East Side, close to my place. I'd been there before and its a cheesy Mexican themed bar and restaurant with cow print benches and frozen house margaritas and a completely misplaced live band that played rock and roll music in the downstairs basement turned lounge. When I arrived, it had already started snowing and there was a couple inches of snow already on the ground, but it was nothing that commuters couldn't handle. The place was about half full which seemed about right on a Wednesday night, nevermind the shit storm that was about to fall out of the sky.

     Mike was at the bar and when he saw me coming, he stood up to greet me.

     “It's so great to meet you.” He smiled as he gave me a kiss on the cheek. I have to admit, I had the worst case scenario playing in my mind on the way to the bar. Of Mike being ten years older than his profile, 50 pounds heavier than his profile, maybe he talked nasally or had tourettes. Maybe he had a gimp leg and six fingers on each hand... much to my relief, he turned out to be surprisingly normal.

     We ordered beers and some guacamole (which we agreed was fantastic) and despite myself, had a really great time. We conversed about everything from South Park, religion, butt modeling, Ferraris and even about the type of tanning lotion that we preferred. He was a funny, witty and incredibly laid back guy that I thought I wouldn't mind getting to know on a second date. I may not marry him, but he sure as hell is fun company. Who knew online dating could be successful? Even our bartender was feeling our vibe and gave us a round of shots on the house.

     As the night got later, we realized that most of the other patrons had left the restaurant and it was now down to just a handful of us, buzzed at the bar and glad that we were indoors. The storm outside had taken a turn for the worst and the had been given a new term called the Thundersnow. The streets was completely deserted and the snow was everywhere and halfway up to the wheels of the cars parked along the curb. I vaguely remembered that Mike had driven from Brooklyn to meet me in the city... I checked my phone for the time and sure enough, it was after midnight.

    Then my phone rang.

     An unknown NY number popped up on my phone. Wondering who and where one of my drunken retard friends could have gotten stranded in the city to need to call me from a stranger's phone, I answered it.

     “Hello?”

     “Umm... hiiii.” A female voice said to me. “I'm so sorry to bother you right now, but are you out by any chance with a Michael?” I was speechless. Instantly, I ran through the mental list of potential callers: a jealous girlfriend, a crazy stalker, a wife??? I tried to pick my jaw off the ground and say something coherent...

     “Michael?” I stammered. His eyes shot open. That look of horror. Like you know shit just hit the fan. “Why yes I am out with him.” I confirmed while bracing myself for the barage of angry 'homewrecking slut' insults I was about to receive. “I'm sorry, who is this?”

     “This is his mother,” I was speechless for the second time in the span of ten seconds. “It's just that it's getting late and the storm is getting pretty bad, and I was just worried because he hadn't come home yet.” This sentence took me a full minute to register. With my jaw still open, I looked at Mike and handed him the phone.

     “It's your mother.”

     He took the phone and immediately turned bright red, obviously mortified. He turned his back to me as he proceeded to yell at his mother. I wanted to laugh. I wanted to cry. I wanted to ask him why he still lived at home with his mother. I wanted to know why she had my number. I wanted to make fun of his curfew. I wanted to do a lot of things, but when he handed the phone back to me, all I said was “We should probably get going.”

     I hadn't been on a date with a person who still lived at home since high school. I wondered briefly if she was sick, or if he was really unemployed, or if he had recently gotten kicked out of an ex-girlfriend's apartment. I couldn't decide if it would have been worse for him to have been cheating on a girlfriend or still live with his mother. At least cheating is a socially accepted thing to do. If you hear a man cheat on his girlfriend, you think 'that cheating bastard', you vent, then you tell the girlfriend that she's too good for him and move on. But a man who still lives with his mother? That can only be chalked up to three possibilities: 1) She is terminally ill and needs someone to take care of her which is noble and aww-worthy of what a good son he is, and most girls would still consider sleeping with him, but only at their place. 2) He is unemployed and lazy, down on his luck and broke, or any combination of the above which still makes him a potentially nice guy, but please don't call me until you find a job and an apartment. Or 3) He is a mama's boy to the extreme and suffering from some deep Oedipal issues that require him to garner her approval in every aspect of life from the clothes he wears to the girls he dates, but it's a lose lose situation because you will never be good enough to replace dear old mom. Nor do I think you should you really try...

    

     “Some people think it's weird that I still live at home, (Uhhh... cause it is) but I save a lot of money that way (you have a job). Besides, I'm Italian and family is really important to us. (you're a grown man) I thought about moving out and getting my own apartment (so why didn't you?), but I decided to get a car instead. (Cause you really need a car living in New York City...) And I only gave her your number just in case something happened. (Like if I was an ax murderer?)”

     “Check please.”

     We walked out of the bar into the howling night and I should have just booked it to the nearest cab, except there were none. There were absolutely no vehicles on the snow covered streets.

     “Let me at least take you home. It'll be an hour before a taxi drives by.” I looked up the street desperately for a glint of yellow, but he was right. I'd get home faster walking in this weather if I didn't die and get frozen til spring first. Mike had parked his Camero on the corner and when I glanced at it, I knew that car was not going anywhere without some effort. The snow was up past the wheels and bumper and caked at least 8 inches high over the hood, roof and trunk. Why he decided to drive a low sports car into the city on the night of a massive blizzard is beyond me. I almost wanted to tell him to forget about the car because it obviously isn't going anywhere, but then I didn't want him thinking that was an invitation to stay at my place because the last thing I needed was for him to wake up in the middle of the night asking for a warm glass of milk. I tightened my scarf and trudged into the snow. After dislodging the snow in front of the drivers side door, he started the car up and popped the trunk. From the trunk he pulled out a small shovel and started to dig the car out from the curb. Myself, not having a shovel, kicked at the snow in front of the car, half out of spite and half out of exasperation, trying to kick the mountains down so that the car would be able to drive over them rather than sink and spin wheels futily in the snow. After a good twenty minutes, he got into the car and tried to drive out. The car moved back and forth a few feet, but refused to clear the snow bank in front of it. The rear tires just kept spinning and the car would just sit defiantly. Finally, he put the car in park and looked at me.

    “How about I try and push the car while you try and steer us out?” Sure, it's only a 4800 car that's rear wheel drive so you can get sprayed by slush while you channel your inner juicehead... on second thought, that was strangely satisfying to me.

    “Sure.” I reversed the car back a few feet and rolled the window down and counted, “One, two threeeee!!!!” The Chevy inched forward in the snow and just when we feared it would get stuck, it roared over the low bank and we were free. I climbed out of the car into the passenger side and Mike triumphantly slid into the drivers seat. After all he's been reduced to in my mind, I thought let him have this small victory. He's still got a long drive home to mom.

     Mike dropped me off at the corner of my apartment and I gave him a quick peck on the cheek and thanked him for an interesting night. As he drove off into the Thundersnow, I suddenly wished it was the weekend, so that I could run off to another bar and keep drinking. Only the because of the snow, I used my better judgment and went upstairs, peeling wet layer after cold wet layer of clothes until I was naked and dry. I picked up my phone and texted Mike one last time: Get home safe and tell your mother I'm sorry I kept you out past your bedtime.

My Edible DC Experience...

I was in DC these past couple of days for a surgical conference and as interesting as it all was, and as nerve wracking as the presentations were, and as fun as it was to go from exhibit to exhibit checking out the latest laparoscopic toys and scoring free pens, mugs and t-shirts... my favorite part was the food...

Not at the conference, of course...

In DC.


Seeing as my department was paying for my trip and meals (and being a poor post-grad/non-resident who still takes public transportation and packs her lunch everyday), I was more than happy to indulge in an extravagant meal or two.

The first night we went to a Brazilian steakhouse, Fogo de Chao, on Pennsylvania Ave. I'd been to several Brazilian steakhouses before, including another Fogo in Atlanta, but many of our team were newbies to the restaurant where red means stop and green means go go gooo! For those of you who have never been to a Brazilian steakhouse before, the concept is simple. There is a small coaster looking item on the table for each person, and on one side it's red, and on the other, its green. When you place it red side up, it means that you're full or still working on your plate and so the servers will keep walking by. But when it's green side up, the servers suddenly emerge out of the woodwork with several different cuts of steaks, lambs, porks, chicken, sausages and more... over 15 kinds of meat on skewers that you can eat until you are gasping for air. My favorite meat is lamb and I think I may have single handedly eaten a whole rack. Even the salad bar is stocked with over 80 irresistable items, and it is a novice mistake to fill up on just that. We ordered some wine (in moderation), and a few deserts in the end... and in the end rolled out of the restaurant. We actually had high hopes of hitting a bar afterwards, but we were all so full and high on food, that we decided to call it a night and part ways to our hotels. I'm kinda glad we did... I was dreaming of a bed before my head even hit the pillow that night.

The second day we went to Legal Seafood by Chinatown for lunch and it was by far the best lunch I'd had in a looooooong time. Dozens of raw oysters, clams on a halfshell, shrimp cocktail, stone crabs, crab cakes, mussels, scallops with caramelized bacon (I didn't know you could make bacon better), seaweed salad, lobster rolls... omg... I think we had half of the Atlantic on our table... I'm still dreaming about the mussels (and caramelized bacon)! It wasn't prepared all fancy or plated with flare... it was plain and simple, but fresh and top quality seafood that only the best seafood restaurants can offer.

After we worked the crustaceous calories off in the convention, we gathered for a reception and dinner at Zaytinya, a Mediterranean dream only a few blocks away from the Washington Convention Center. After a few pomogranate sangrias from the open bar, we sat down for a delicious eleven course dinner:

Appetizers included:
1) Maroulosalata, a shredded romaine and dill salad with mizithra cheese and a red wine vinegarette.
2)Tzatziki, a tangy yogurt with diced cucumbers and dill. Served with puffed pita.
3) Hommus, a classic Mediterranean puree of chickpeas, garlic and tahini.

Next round was:
4) Falafel, traditional chickpea fritters with tahini sauce.
5) Salmon, perfectly baked, pink in center, with spicy eggplannt and cracked green olive saltsa.
6) Garides Me Anitho, sauteed shrimp in a buttery sauce of dill, shallots, mustard and lemon juice. (This was my favorite dish!)

The main courses: 
7) Piyaz, warm giant beans with kale, and oven roasted tomato and garlic.
8) Shish Taouk, grilled chicken, sumac onions, grilled tomatoes, and a delicious garlic tuom. (I wanted to eat the whole bowl of garlic tuom it was so good, but lucky for everyone around me, I refrained.)
9) Crispy Skirt Steak, pickled radish, onion seed, yogurt, with a green chile zhoug sauce.

Desserts were:
10) Turkish Coffee Chocolate, a warm chocolate cake with bittersween chocolate flan and a cardamom espuma finished with espresso syrup.
11) Turkish Delight, walnut ice cream, yogurt mousse, drizzled with orange-caramel sauce and caramelized pine-nuts, plated with honey gelee.

I highly recommend any of these places, and my only wish was that I could have stayed in DC another day. I had an evening to see the memorials and monuments too, but man... if I could eat my way through the country...



Yummy!


...

Unwanted

My friend has described the residency application process like this:

"I feel like a fat girl at prom"





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