Blacker than Wesley Snipes' Asshole at Midnight

I could eat 1 or I could eat 3. It takes a lot of dogs to satisfy me.

If John Lennon thought "Sexy Sadie" broke all the rules, what did the Matt-LeBlanc- circa-1992 looking club promoter think of yummicoco at Retreat last night--the after party to cousin K's (the original yummi, btw) birthday dinner?



yummicoco: were you mad at me for the hair remark that I made earlier?

He gnarled his teeth and patted me on my head.

I interpreted his behavior as some candy talking.

It was also at the after party that I met a guy who was half ethopian/half saudi arabian but grew up in Sweden and was proud of his tight jeans.

EuroBama: I'm a designer and finance major. I wear tight jeans and everyone thinks I'm gay. But I just say that I dress better than they do.

ok.

Before going to Retreat and before wasting $50 fucking dollars on just yucca and beans at San Cubanos for cousin K's birthday (please stop the birthday dinners people!), I went to a hip hop event that I had no business going to.

Sponsored by another one of many nonsensical urban mags (except this one reads backwards. how prophetic.) and Green Label Art, the party boasted a performance by a special guest.

Was it Kayne? DMX? Hammer?


yummicoco to PR rep: hey, can you tell me who is performing because I have to go soon.

PR rep: it's a surprise.

yummicoco: well, can you tell me when he's performing?

PR rep: well, who says it's a he?

ok.

Ran into two old school cats that Lex and I had previously met at the Hearst Penthouse Party. Fat, unkempt cats that I mistook for losers were actually deeply entrenched in the hip hop world. It was nice to see them.

old school cat #2: whoa, there's chill!

And in rolled actor Chill Mitchell, best known for his stirring performance in House Party.

Moment of Silence for House Party.



In the film, Chill could not stop bumping into the DJ table, much to the chagrin of spin master Dragon Breath Bilal, played by Martin Lawrence.

To see Chill in a wheelchair at the old school event was a big downer to say the least.

Another mood reducer was finding out that the special performance was going to be by EPMD.



yummicoco: oh, I remember when Erick Sermon was on Lisa Williams' Gay Rapper List.

old school #1: Who's Lisa Williams? WENDY Williams, you mean?

yummicoco: oh yeah.

oh yeah.

Why am I wasting my time following the presidential debates when I could be loving this stupid show?

J'aime ta robe, Marion!

by Jean-Paul Gaultier



Marion's performance in La Vie En Rose was the best I've seen in a long time.

Loved her speech too. She's awesome.

Give it up, Hillary!

You Know What That Means? Fecal Matter.

1) A bartender at Socialista contracted a raging case of Hepatitis A, potentially infecting many of the famous customers who frequent the restaurant.

2) J.Lo pooped out twins yesterday in Long Island.

3) Sam Lufti has been ordered to keep 250 yards of Britney Spears at all times.

4) Baird Jones, the Webster Hall art curator and freelance gossip columnist for the Daily News and Post, was found dead in his apartment of natural causes. Shit, I used go to his parties with my Jersey crew years ago.

What his recorded hotline used to sound like: "Tonight, we have five terrific parties...you'll see me in the back wearing my Yankees cap."

5) Hills couldn't knock it out of the box at yesterday's debate. I still think that she would make an excellent secretary of state.

Obama/Edwards 2009 all the way.

Slowdried

TCoops made this video. Congrats to Tim but not to Hills!

Watch out for the nips!

Once, one of my boy cousins (on my dad's side) took a driving lesson with my Sicilian uncle from my mom's side, who owns a driving school in our part of Jersey.

My uncle: Watch out for the nips! They don't know how to drive.

Now, Lindsay bares everything, nipples, firecrotch-red freckles and all for New York this week.

Horrible art direction malfunction?



At first blush, I thought that the photography was pretty good (the pastel color shots are still ok) but after finally receiving my issue yesterday, I think Lindsay and her reps should sue or at least feel stupid.

what's up with the doo-doo dark blush to give her cheekbones?





If she don't got 'em, why make it blatantly obvious that she doesn't?

I think that it was cool idea for NY to go with the "Last Sitting of Marilyn" concept , but perhaps NY should leave the ambitious shoots for glossies that have the know-how to make someone who is not as gorgeous as Marilyn to look like a beautiful version of the screen legend.

whatever.

Mrs McCain Looks Hella Evil

Is it all the eyeliner? She looks possessed.

Anyway, I am reading Motherless Brooklyn and loving it.

Guess the Page Six Blind Items

According to Gawker.com: PageSix ran two particularly prurient blind items this morning. The first is about a surreptitious fondler of ladies, the second a fashion designer with a Sapphic taste for Latinas.

The blogger is really bad at figuring these things out, but is, pathetically (his words not mind), infinitely curious.


And I'm dying to know too!

Let's attempt to guess the second item, first.

"Which fashion designer is lying to her actor beau? While she proclaims her love for her man, New York insiders say she really prefers 'butch Mexican and Latino women'"

Kimora Lee Simmons.

That was kind of easy but what about this one?

"Which D-list TV star, who's famous for getting paid to party, distracts skirted ladies by pouring liquor down their throats as he gropes them?"

Constantine from American Idol?

All Freshly Baked. I'm On Your Cake.

There are moments when I like to get drunk at home. Currently, I am totes lifted off Lambrusco.



ccstar over the phone: your speech sounds slurred.

yummicoco: yeah, I'm drunk.

The last time that I was buzzed, was at 4 Course Vegan this past weekend. Not a restaurant---more like a secret dinner party (held on Saturday nights only) featuring the vegan food stylings of crunchy-but-hot-argentine-looking-but-I-think-is-Jewish Chef Matteo.




This was our Valentine's Day meal.



With a bottle of Multipulciano d’Abruzzo in hand, we walk past Berry, towards the water on south 4th--the "Save Domino" sign glows red on our left and the Williamsburg Bridge looms above in front of us, we start to feel anxious.

Is this the right place?

Finally, we locate the building. Walking through the courtyard and opening the secret restaurant door, we find a few people milling about including a sassy maltese named Winston. I enter the space and say hello to the first person standing near the door.

I am Haitian so I immediate think that she is some kind of servant or co-host.

She's neither.

She's Isa Chandra Moscowitz, the cookbook writer. My vegetarian heroine.



yummicoco to an art gallery owner: the lady in the red hoodie is a well-known vegan cookbook writer

Art Gallery Guy didn't know that I made scrambled tofu that morning straight from her cookbook, "Vegan with Vengeance". Her recipes are jamin' on the one.

art gallery guy: ok.

He didn't give a fuck.

The next day, we visited cousins in Bed Stuy. For relatives so consumed by appearances, they live in a pretty grimy area.

They also own a pitbull, named Jack.

boy cousin: my neighbor's pitbull, blue, is smart. he listens to everything [his owner] says.

As boy cousin is saying this, we are standing on their balcony watching Blue from across the street. A true pitbull soldier, we watch as Blue dangles 4 feet off the ground, biting deeper into a plastic orange traffic cone. He is a spinning, gray muscle getting ready for some kind of battle.

yummicoco: Blue's ghetto.

And I think his owner is a Crip.

Faux Pas: Not the proper way to look at someone when you are interviewing them for television

Insider reporter during an interview with 40-year-old virgin but married (?) Gary "Pauvre Diable" Coleman.

Best. Dance. Competition. Ever.

Do We Need Girlfriends?

On the Today Show this morning, Candace Bushnell took credit for bringing sex to the mainstream. Hello, Helen Gurley Brown? But with bombs like Cashmere Mafia and Lipstick Jungle, have we stopped giving a shit about these thoroughly modern and ambitious woman?

I know I stopped caring about Hilary.

Anyway, read my latest post in Huff Po and please please pretty please leave a comment.

Click Here!

Oh, and I missed this moment today because I was in the shower. I love the Today Show!

Be Easy

This morning the top button popped off my high-waisted booty-short-overalls in the office bathroom. Was is because I am a sinner--going against my weight class to wear something that someone 50 pounds lighter could wear without a hint of irony.

Doesn't matter. I just grabbed a couple of paper clips and shrugged it off to some urban outfitter malfunction.

A few years ago, when I was much skinner I went to an Anti-Valentine's Day party at the Royal Oak in Williamsburg. It was while playing spin the bottle in a private room, that I noticed a German looking guy with dark rimmed glasses enter the game. Each time he spun the glass, he kept getting my roommate JB. He was incredibly awkward and I noticed that my roommate was frustrated that she was only getting to smooch the clumsy German, a couple of girls (not me of course) and another lame guy. Then, it was the German's turn again. As the bottle slowly inched its way toward my direction, I moved over a little bit so that my roommate got stuck with the duty of kissing him again.

An hour into the game, I was starting to feel incredibly nauseous having had all of these strange hipster tongues down my throat. It was gross.

Outside of the private room, I chatted with one of the better kissers of the bunch, who shockingly was a kindergarten teacher. Turns out his girlfriend was one of the chicks made out with JB.

Blah Blah Blah...

...I eventually go up to the German. I thought he was cute and I was curious. My roommate thought that he was a total pervert.

yummicoco: are you german?

"No, I'm from LA."

And now I'm fat with a button missing from my booty shorts.

Happy Valentine's Day

I got your stimulus package right here.

I interviewed a couple of the guys from 'We Need Girlfriends' for my Huff Po blog which goes live tomorrow.

In the meantime, check them out here.

I'm Not a Hater, I just crush A Lot

So finally, Gawker.com alums hot-but-asshole-yo Josh admits to his affair with asshole Emily Gould.

ok?


Tonight, watched a segment of HBO Sports about a 77 year old nun, Sister Madonna, who is also an Ironman Triathlete. Now, that's some shit that people should be reading about--not stupid love updates about entitled, elitist bloggers! Sister Madonna is one of those passionate, dedicated, intelligent, fearless people that are not wrapped up in media news, celebrity gossip and latest sample sales (barneys warehouse sale is coming up, btw). She's incredible but her hairstyle is quite unfortunate.

Your Bone's Got a Little Machine

There is a man in my neighborhood that looks like a black man trapped in a white man's body. He looks like Eddie Murphy in white make-up.



Yummicoco whispered to Sax early yesterday morning while walking behind the "Imitation of Life" on 5th ave: Look, it's the black albino.

Sax: yeah, I know. see you later.


Read my latest post on Huff Po.
Here!

Sad Sacks in the City

Caught the last 10 minutes of Lipstick Jungle. It sucked.



The show's only saving grace?

Andrew McCarthy



The thing about Andrew McCarthy (despite my undying love for his wet noodle performance in Pretty is Pink) is that he is a big pussy. And from what I gauged, watching the last few minutes, was that Mr. McCarthy was Ms. Bushnell's new Mr. Big.

Big mistake? Maybe. But the entire show just seems to be a melodramatic bore so pinpointing the root of the show's suckdom isn't worth my time.

Before that, I was set to chat with Travis from Gym Class Heroes for my Huff Po blog but jetted after 5 minutes because that party was just too wack for words.

Corny bald man on the coat check line: Whoa, are all you girls from Jersey?

Tacky girls: yeah

I grabbed my coat and left.

Preceding that, I had just made it in time to see Jayson Brunsdon's show at Bryant Park. Cute but kind of patchwork-y. Saw for the third time a fuschia-haired make-up artist.

First time I saw her was at Tracy Reese this past Sunday. Second time I saw her was at Rodnik's show at The Box that Sunday night with BGA.




A rock show within a fashion show with the designers performing rock music and proclaiming that they are "not a rock band".

Whatever.

That night, at The Box's coat check, I recognized another familiar face that I had seen earlier at Curly's Diner. Bruno Wizard.

Bruno: It was 25 years ago that I had a dream where I saw letters in the sky burst in flames. It spelled something. And, that was the chorus of my song.

His breath smelled like dried-up, dead veggie burgers.

Earlier tonight, I stopped for a glass of champagne at the lifebooker event where people were getting their eyebrows tweezed in dark corners, their faces sprayed within inches of a tanning gun under awkward lighting, while papabubble candies were strewned about throughout the Kiss and Fly space.

Security guard: Ma, you leaving already?

Yummicoco: Yeah, but you never know I might come back.

Security guard: Anyone who says that never means what they say.