ANOTHER KIND OF LOVE IT'S EASY TO FORGET

A moment of silence for Roll N Roaster in the East Village. It closed.

I loved their $5 pitchers of Yuengling.
I loved their grilled chicken sandwiches on giant kaiser rolls.
I loved their round-cut waffle fries with Cheez sauce.
I loved their free condiment station.
I loved their apple pie with soft serve ice cream.
I loved their Brooklyn atmosphere in the middle of Manhattan.
I loved introducing new friends to it and having them love it.
I loved going with old friends and enjoying it together.

I miss it already! There's one in Sheepshead Bay, but, RIGHT, like I'm going to go THERE!

MAKING AN EFFORT

I'm cute but not baby-animal-in-a-teacup cute, so I've got to make an effort, you know? Lately, I've just NOT BEEN MAKING IT. Which is totally okay with me, except I haven't had a haircut in literally a year and I could use a mani-pedi even though I never ever get them and, the worst admission, I've run out of clean clothes and I'm sort of wearing dirty ones and that might not be totally okay with the rest of the world. Including, uh, cute boys? Who I am interested in?

I bring this up because I hadn't really put much thought to the matter of my appearance until tonight, when I ordered food at work and went downstairs to the lobby of the building to pick it up. Delivery guys aren't allowed past the lobby, and I work on the 31st floor, so I always have to ride the elevator down, sign for the food, and ride the elevator back up to my Writers' Cave. Sometimes there are other people in the elevator, and sometimes there are other people in the lobby. I pretty much live in my own world, so I forget this at a rate that can only be described as frequent. Anyway, I picked up my MASSIVE order from La Paloma, a Mexican place I've never tried.

Side note: I may have mentioned that, past 8pm, I'm given a $20 food budget, and $20 goes a LONG WAY at La Paloma. I'm diabolically sneaky (read: cheap) so I use up the $20 by ordering enough food to last dinner, the next day's lunch, and perhaps even the next day's afternoon snack. Who likes Mexican food THAT much? NOT ME! But who likes free dinner, lunch and snack? TOTALLY ME! In any case, after ordering up a giant veggie burrito, rice and beans, and a grilled chicken salad, I still had about $3 left. I checked out the dessert offerings, and plantains were listed at the nice price of $2.50. Bingo!

Okay, so back to picking up my order in the lobby. Where other people are. I was SO hungry that I just couldn't wait to get up to my desk to dig into La Paloma's South Of The Border Goodness. I also lack a certain amount of self-control, or maybe social mores? Perhaps that's it. In any case I knew I'd be starting in on my freebie dinner en route. The thing that was easiest to grab as I walked toward the elevator were the plantains, wrapped in simple tin foil. They were big ol' things, and clearly, horribly phallic, but they smelled amazing and, unlike the other food in the bag, weren't covered in some sloppy sauce. Again, being in my own world, I just grabbed one and shoved it into my piehole. At the exact moment that I did this, a super-cute boy rounded the corner. P.S. I NEVER SEE CUTE BOYS IN THE LOBBY! This one came out of NOWHERE! As I chimmy-chomped on plantain, struggling to get it totally in my mouth, I had what some people might call a "technical". It's when you make eye contact with a guy or girl long enough and interestedly enough to count as having slept with them. It's like you totally check each other out or something. I'll be honest: I am new to the term. But our eyes locked as I choked and chewed, unable to keep my mouth closed because I'd taken too big of a bite. So basically, this cute boy saw me choking on fried, starchy banana mush, cheeks akimbo, eyes tearing from the effort.

Oh, effort! There are so many kinds of you to make!

BURGER BENDER

Some people go on Sexual Benders. Right? You know those lucky friends of yours, the ones who view the world as one giant Fuck Party and everybody and anybody seems to be invited? They're basically the people for whom those Hedonism resorts were invented, although, honestly, those on a Sexual Bender don't NEED those Hedonism resorts because New York City (or wherever they may live) is their resort. They fuck and fuck and fuck. And while it may not come with a free continental breakfast or a tan, it also might. I have NO IDEA. Because, sigh, I am not one of Those People.

Lately, however, I've been on a Burger Bender. It's almost exactly like a Sexual Bender except I think I have less risk of getting single or double herpes and I don't compare myself to the other women in the room while I am going to Mouth-Town on my meat and two-buns. But I do feel a sense of shame and lack of control and total indulgence and "yeah! let's do this-ness!" about it.

On Friday night I went to The Spotted Pig, a "Gastro-Pub" in the West Village. What is a Gastro-Pub? It's just a pretentious way of saying "This food costs more than other places but it tastes awesome accompanied by the crowded inconvience of a sports bar without the blaring tv sets or douchey frat dudes not that there aren't douchey people here they're just in Polo sweaters instead of college sweatshirts but you get the idea."

Now I LIKE The Spotted Pig, don't get me wrong. And I went specifically because I wanted to eat their cheeseburger and french fries. And their cheeseburger/fry combo is pretty posh; the burger's served on BRIOCHE (fancy!) and has some expensive BLUE CHEESE on it (double fancy!), and the fries are tossed with frizzled ROSEMARY (triple fancy!). It was good, but it wasn't GREAT. I thought the blue cheese TOTALLY overwhelmed the meat, as did the bun, but the fries, though shoestring thin, were undeniably yummers. Was it worth $15? Uh...SORT OF?! Not really. Corner Bistro's burger is STILL BETTER, as is Shake Shack's, and each costs less than $6. Still, you'd think The Spotted Pig's, though mildly disappointing, would be enough burger for a single weekend.

But as I said, I'm on a BENDER.

So Saturday night, after a late night out at my most funniest friend's 30th birthday, I was STARVING. And, as I usually find myself when I am STARVING, NOBODY ELSE WANTED TO EAT. What. The. Ef?! I mean, what was I gonna do..NOT EAT?! Even though it was two in the morning...? NOT EAT? NOT POSSIBLE!

Fortunately, my friend, who works in PR, was across town in the Meatpacking District CELEBRATING JESSICA ALBA'S BIRTHDAY WITH JESSICA ALBA! I know, I totally just name-dropped, but it's totally the truth, y'all! He called me and invited me to the club to hang out. With him and JESSICA ALBA and her small, NY posse. I swear to the holy G that I didn't want to go. I told him, "I am just TOO TIRED and TOO HUNGRY. I am going HOME."

"Megan, don't be retarded, girlfriend. JESSICA ALBA HOLY SHIT ARE YOU KIDDING?! I WILL PAY FOR YOUR CAB!"
"It's not that. I'm just...I'm really...I'm HUNGRY!"
"What is WRONG WITH YOU?!"
"NOTHING! I have low blood sugar! I NEED TO EAT!"
"Fine. I PROMISE WE WILL EAT RIGHT AFTER."
"Right after what?"
"Right after you get your ass OVER HERE with JESSICA ALBA! Am I not speaking CLEARLY?!"
"Where?"
"Where what?"
"Where will we eat?"
"What?! WHO CARES?! Just get OVER HERE Jessica is SO BEAUTIFUL you have to COME HANG OUT!"
"It's important...I'm HUNGRY!"

And here is why my friend is a PR genius. He knew exactly what to say to get me to come to his "event":

"Pastis."

Pastis is a French Bistro, and, like The Spotted Pig, it can be Fancy and Pretentious and filled with Douche Douchestoffersons. BUT, also like The Spotted Pig, Pastis has a Famous Burger, and I had never tried it. And wanted to. IMMEDIATELY.

"Oooh! Really? You PROMISE?"
"YES! Are you coming?"
"Only if we eat REALLY SOON after I get there."
"We will."
"At Pastis!"
"YOU ARE CRAZY! FINE! We'll eat at Pastis! COME NOW!"

I'm not going to get into the details of what it feels like to snort the purest, most Ivory-white Bolivian Marching Powder off of Jessica Alba's gorgeous, honey-colored decolletage, but only because I have no idea what that would be like. I will speak only to the IMPORTANT part of the evening: FINALLY getting to Pastis, FINALLY ordering a burger and fries, and FINALLY eating it. It was AMAZING. Pastis' burger was impossibly juicy and delicious, the meat fresh and perfectly cooked to my Medium specifications, and its proportion of meat to bun to lettuce/onion/tomato was perfection. I could write an epic poem that would make Ovid weep over their fries. Really. Pretty much the best I've ever had. It was all so GLORIOUS!

But now it's Monday and I feel spent. So much MEAT, you know? It's wonderful in the moment, but the aftermath...when I must look myself in the eye and deal honestly with myself, I feel...dirty. I just want to be alone. With some fruit or something. Maybe a salad. I hope I don't get a case of The Mad Cow.