



line of the night
"i could've told you that she was a patel"...
the breslin, part of the same group as the spotted pig, smelled heavenly when we walked in. pork pork and pork. i had already checked out the menu before heading out and was quite excited for innards of pork. so i put my face on and hurriedly scampered up a few blocks thinking i'd eat within the half hour. what really happened was that we arrived at 7.30 with no reservations BECAUSE THEY DON'T TAKE RESERVATIONS and opted to wait the 1h45min suggested wait time because our hunger was mezmerized by the smell of pig compounded with the fact that we believed bribing a few dollars to the asian woman in the front would decrease our wait time to under an hour. 1 drink turned into 3...and 3 drinks turned into 5. we easily waited over 1h45m being that lax was continually being sent back to our standing area because his testy boyish charm didn't win over anyone, rather forced us to order another round and an order of fries. we eventually got seated, but not before befriending multiple groups of people next to us because as we casually passed around our blackberry's and iphones with pictures of naked women, the people around us casually looked over and saw us staring at naked girls. "whoa is that your girlfriend?"..."nice pictures..."...it probably also didn't help our reputation while we tossed the words 'tits, ass, strippers' above the bar noise. but that's how we made new friends, the way anyone in new york would prefer to meet new people. would you prefer the generic approach of us to asking your name? and what you do for a living? and talk about the weather? we made friends with the bartender in a similar fashion, who had on cute outfit showing off her perky topside and tight behind with a white vneck, suspenders, and black jeans. she eventually gave us free drinks. cuz after a 5 hour meal...she said "u guys have been here forever. here u go!"
man. english pub fare is heavy. really really heavy. and the pigs foot is delicious. so is the scotch egg.
it once again needs to be stated that a dinner with lax is once again not just a dinner. it's always nothing short of an ordeal. from the process of choosing a variety of dining establishments, to the heavy debate over IM, SMS and phone conversation of actual restaurant selection, to "what are YOU drinking?", to the actual ordering of the meal...it in short, is always an ordeal...turned fiasco. however, due to the nature of pubfare, ordering was a bit simpler this time. LETS GET IT ALL! pork scratchings, scotch egg, bone marrow soup (which is a staple when it comes to a dinner with lax), caesar salad, pork belly and pigs foot. for the record, i wanted the poussin but we got pigs foot instead. and the pig foot, which was argued before its arrival that it was probably some stuffed pig roulade in the form of a foot, turned out to be an actual pig HOOF stuffed to capacity where the upper portion was oozing ground pork...while the tendon-y cartilage-y gelatinous knuckles remained in tact to scare even the most american foodie, ie lax. the knuckles were the best part. and it was fully deep fried in the same manner as the scottish egg. that was little disconcerting but...it was nothing good conversation and another round of drinks couldn't overcome.
i might have mentioned we made friends with our pictures of naked women...but it seemed that we also found a way to meet friends with our order of food. "what is that???!!@?#" they asked. "WHOA, can i have some?"..."U GOTTA TRY SOME"...."here u go."...."where are u from?"....and that led to a patel. which was later followed by..."i could've told you that she was a patel" kekekekeke.
See
Jake. See Jake flirt. See Jake flirt with someone else's girlfriend.
Now hear why he and other guys do it, and why he's vowed to stop.
By Jake
It happened again. I didn't mean for it to, but it did.
Last
year I went home to visit my parents and met someone — let's go with
Carrie this time — who's everything New York women aren't. Carrie
didn't have an iPhone, didn't want to eat at the latest gastropub and
didn't belong to a yoga gym. And she's the first female scientist I've
known. In short, Carrie was refreshing to a guy like me. Just one
problem: She had a boyfriend. I don't mean a dude she was
kind-of-sort-of seeing. I mean a man she'd lived with for years, one
who brewed her coffee every morning and had probably laundered her
underwear. When you consider that I'm a semi-ethical human being who
knew this up front, it was just a little disturbing when I found myself
making out with her on a deserted starlit beach my last night in town.
I know your eyes are rolling at that "found myself" line. But I honestly didn't pursue Carrie; I just talked to her. A lot. Pretty soon, though, she was referencing her "current situation." The words not in love, and probably should have ended a long time ago
were involved. Carrie broke up with her guy that week. We then carried
on a long-distance relationship that lasted for months before it
finally fizzled.
In street parlance, the act of taking the taken
is sometimes known as bird-dogging. And once upon a time, I felt like
most of you do about it — disgusted. But I had to admit to myself that
I'd grown to love hanging out with cool women who had boyfriends, even
if I had no intention of it extending beyond conversation. Because they
were technically off-limits, there was no performance anxiety — I could
just be myself. That comfort translated to confidence. And confidence,
as we all know, is sexy. Suddenly I was transformed into a man with
swagger.
And don't tell me that taken women don't love to flirt.
You can feel their excitement when they see that they still have plenty
of value out there on the open market. The trick, of course, is
remembering to draw the line somewhere — and on the beach, with a few
rum and Cokes in us, Carrie and I had probably crossed that line before
we even sat down on the blanket.
I'd love to say this was an
isolated incident, but there have been others. Still, I try to believe
I'm not like my bird-dogging friend who bragged about it when he got
with his married coworker … on her desk. Quite the opposite: I have the
unfortunate ability to vividly picture the poor oblivious guy who is
the third point in a cheater's triangle. I actually worry about the bad
karma and all that crap. No, I'm not one of those predatory jerks who
feel no guilt, I tell myself. But then I hear another louder voice in
my head — the one that tells me I'm a tool.
Which brings me to my
New Year's resolution: no more bird-dogging — for moral reasons and
selfish ones. I've finally asked myself this important, albeit obvious,
question: If a girl is that easily swept away from someone else, what's
to say she won't always have one foot out the door with me? That's not
just karma — it's logic. From now on, I'm making it clear that until a
woman is 100 percent single, karaoke-ing "Total Eclipse of the Heart"
together is as intimate as we're going to get. But to all the Carries
out there, I beseech you: Ditch your lame boyfriends already, will you?