Backdoor Dragon

I am always in awe of those food challenge people.  You know, Adam Richman, the Man v. Food guy,  or even the stuff that comes up in the news, like the Super Bowl of Pho.  There are also the spicy challenges, which seem like a form of masochism.

Not to be outdone, my people decided to create their own challenge:  The Samyang 2x Spicy Noodle Challenge.  Okay this is not officially a challenge, but still.  I saw a video on YouTube about it, and when I found them in the store, I knew I had to try it.

She’s a wuss, right?  She can’t handle the Korean fire, right?  Well, we shall soon see…

I found them in a store near a bar I happen to enjoy, and of course I needed to buy them.  Before you ask, we’d not even gone in the bar yet!

Dinnertime rolled around the next day, and while I wasn’t super hungry, I figured it was now or never for the fire noodles.  I warn you, all the photos from hereon out are unedited for lighting or making me look better.  There was simply no time.  My mouth was dying.


I mean, the packaging is so unassuming!  Cute, even! Yes, it says 2x spicy, but there’s a pirate chicken throwing bombs and lightning bolts!  How bad can it really be?  Leave it to the Koreans to make something terrifying look adorable.


I was pretty skeptical.  I accidentally had a bit more water than the directions called for, and instead of leaving it plain, I added some shredded lettuce, egg, furikake seasoning, and a bit of old grilled chicken.  It was dinner, after all!  (Also, as a PSA, spicy, soggy lettuce does NOT taste good…)

I did put on a lipgloss protectant with soothing aloe and other things to make chapped lips feel better prior to eating.  You’ll see how well it helped…


First bite!  Here we go!  Okay, it’s not so bad…a little sweet even!  I notice a lot of people don’t actually chew ramen, so I made it a point to chew it like I would chew any normal food…wait…omg, my lips are tingly!  Delicious tingles..wait no, definitely not delicious.  My tongue feels like it’s swelling.  The fire is going straight to my sinuses.

Have some milk!  Okay, we’re okay now.  No biggie, it’s….wait the milk is gone and I’m still burning.  It is like licking a hot cast iron pan…

Another bite and my lips are scalding hot.  Not just the part that is touching the noodles, but it’s spreading! I am surprised I’m not blistering!  Maybe I am, I feel like anything that’s touched the sauce is 2x the size (maybe that’s what they mean by 2x?) I quickly slurp up more noodle, and it splatters onto my chin a bit!  Damn!  now my chin is a bit tingly!  Oh man, gotta keep going!  We can’t waste it!!!


My nose is red, and running profusely.  My lips are red.  The red “aura” around them is the burn.  Notice that the “protectant” didn’t work at all.  (It did serve an unintended purpose, however.  It kept them from chapping from the heat!)  My eyes were watering, and I felt like every exhale was going to light something nearby on fire.  This must be what those Game of Thrones dragons must feel like.  What a bad way to live!…and this was three bites in.

With a rating of 8400 Scoville units, it’s about the heat of a jalapeño (you know, the hot ones, not the lame regular ones).  I routinely eat jalapeños, and enjoy them, so it shouldn’t be that bad, right?  I mean, those aren’t all that spicy, right?  WRONG.  It’s HOT.  Like really hot.  Imagine not one but a bunch of them, mashed up, seeds and all.  And then you eat it with a spoon.  It’s so hot, if you get it on your skin, you will break out in a rash.


I thought I could handle it.  I thought I would be fine.  Nope.  A full glass of milk later, it burns.  Ice cream, ice, anything you can think of, and it still burns.  The “extras” were no help, either.  They just absorbed the hot oil, and it was like eating spicy everything.  Even this morning (it’s 8:51 and I ate it at 18:30 last night), there’s still a faint tingle on my lips.

But what I’m more concerned about is when it’s time to come out the other end.  While I was breathing fire before, I might be shitting fire now.   Let’s hope I drank enough milk to negate it…only time will tell.


Life is a Highway, Part 3: Meet George Jetson

Driving is one of my favorite things to do.  I am a self-proclaimed car purist (ok, snob, elitist, whatever you want to call me) and I have very specific tastes.  So the idea of renting a car is generally pretty “meh” to me, because I don’t get the high performance I want without the high premium.

However, renting a car is easy, and sometimes a necessity.  In the past, I’ve had cars ranging from Hyundai Accents to a swanky Lincoln Navigator.  But walking down the aisle, searching for the perfect home away from hotel for a week, I felt overwhelmed and uncertain.  Then, I saw it.

Well, ok, I didn’t see IT, I saw it’s white twin, but Whitey had pleather seats, which made my inner purist turn up her nose and snootily walk away.  So instead, a few vehicles down, the unassuming slate-ish blue car sat quietly waiting to be chosen.  It was like Indiana Jones selecting the correct grail.

Photo from

Photo from

A quick overview noted cloth seats, very basic interior, no sunroof, and what would amount to being a nimble, peppy car with incredibly vast upgrades over the last Jetta I drove.

Behold, my chariot:


A 2015 Jetta TSI SE.  This means it has a small engine, a turbo, and is one step up from the base model – heated seats, 16″ wheels, and Sirius radio that didn’t work…Oh yeah, and it was (like 99% of rental cars) automatic.  Still, it was ok.  It was a very decent car.

I believe cars name themselves.  So, the entire week, I could not figure out what this car was trying to say.  I asked it repeatedly what its name was, and only when sitting down to talk about it did this name come to me.  My Dear Readers, meet George Jetson.

Photo from

Photo from

He’s a reliable, practical, efficient, no-frills kind of guy, despite being a huge, giant, vast upgrade from last year’s model.  It’s like he came from the future!  (Or at least caught up to the present.)

George is quiet, unassuming, and at first glance, he doesn’t seem like there’d be much that’s special about him.  But get in, buckle up, and hit the button to start the engine, and you’re surprised.  He’s got pep, he’s got energy, he handles curves well (wink wink), and he just enjoys his purpose, which is to be driven.

Granted, George is easy – you don’t have to shift, or work a third pedal.  I suppose I like my cars like I like my men – they take a little more effort to get them going and to where you need to be, but in the end it’s worth it (about the journey and all that stuff) – and so I generally despise automatics.  Minimal effort, not really participating in driving the machine…So although George was equipped with an automatic transmission, it wasn’t a bad thing. He placated me at times and allowed me to get my Asian Tourist on, and take photos like this:


All in all, George was a pretty great companion to spend a week with.  We traversed many kinds of climates, many kinds of weather, and had a great adventure together.  He’s the guy with whom I drove off into the Great Beyond, and he was totally worth it.


Not in Our Stars, but in Ourselves

I’ve always been one who thinks the book is better than the movie. The only exception to this rule is William Golding’s The Princess Bride, in which the movie adaptation is just as good. And because I’ve always been slightly masochistic, when I saw this BuzzFeed article, and realized the movie was already out, I figured I might as well read the book.

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The Fault in Our Stars, has been on my to-read list for a while, but I just never got around to it. I probably categorized it with the “write about Spain,” “respond to blog posts,” “write Yelp reviews,” and “do actual work at work.” But because recently I’ve been heading into the city a bit, I’ve had several two-hour train rides in the last month, and instead of killing my phone battery, I decided to be productive, and I loaded a bunch of new books on my Kindle. One particular past weekend, I arrived at the train station 1:15 before my train was scheduled to leave. I pulled out the trusty Kindle and, coffee in hand, began reading.

It’s a slow start, but by the third chapter, I was hooked. I’m not sure what I was expecting, but I certainly wasn’t expecting a book from the perspective of a 16-year-old female cancer patient. The character development in the book is fantastic – I actually believed Hazel existed for a minute – and when Augustus is introduced, I couldn’t help but smile, and literally LOL. Augustus Waters is the exact embodiment of someone I know – you know, without the whole 17-year-old, missing-leg thing.

The novel takes you through the young love between Hazel and Augustus, and even though they’re 13 (ouch) years younger than I am, I remembered exactly what it felt like to be 16 and in love. As I kept reading, and Augustus became more and more of this person I know, I felt connected to these characters. The friends, the experiences, the wishes, the joys, and the sorrows. While I can’t personally relate to the things they go through, I can feel for them. I understand the heart-wrenching feelings of someone you love being ripped away from you, and I understand wanting to enjoy the infinite number of moments between your start and finish, even though the actual start and finish limit them.

By the time the train hit Stamford, which is about halfway between my origin and my destination, I had already had to stop reading, wipe my eyes, reapply my mascara, and hope that no one had seen me blubbering (more than once). I had images for these people in my head of who they were, what they look like, how it was in Amsterdam….by the time I was at Harlem 125th street, I had finished the book and staring out the window trying to compose myself. I am romantic and sentimental, but there has not been a book that has made me cry as much in a very long time.

When I closed the Kindle, dried my tears, and got off the train, I had resolved to heed Hazel’s last words to Augustus, and be thankful for the little infinities that we are given.

“There are infinite numbers between 0 and 1. There’s .1 and .12 and .112 and an infinite collection of others. Of course, there is a bigger infinite set of numbers between 0 and 2, or between 0 and a million. Some infinities are bigger than other infinities. A writer we used to like taught us that. There are days, many of them, when I resent the size of my unbounded set. I want more numbers than I’m likely to get, and God, I want more numbers for Augustus Waters than he got. But, Gus, my love, I cannot tell you how thankful I am for our little infinity. I wouldn’t trade it for the world. You gave me a forever within the numbered days, and I’m grateful.”


It Is What It Is

A few days ago, I finished David Coulthard’s autobiography, It Is What It Is. I actually hate this phrase, and David Coulthard was never really one of my favorite drivers (sorry David, Michael Schumacher had my heart).

Now, I probably wouldn’t have ever picked up this book. In fact, I probably would have opted for a Senna/Prost book, except, last year on Saturday night’s FanFest at Austin, I got the opportunity to meet him (yes he’s RBR, I know), and he even flirted a bit. He *was* the premier Ladies’ Man of Formula 1 in his heyday, after all. He also squatted down a bit, so as not to tower over me in this picture, which I thought was both hysterical and considerate, since he’s actually quite tall. 


That’s right. Me and DC.

After which, I decided to go out and buy his book. He was always the guy you wanted to be in the video games anyway. Granted, it took me 6 months to order it, and I only spent $5.99 on a used copy, but who is counting. I still purchased and own it. Of course, it took me another few weeks to open the cover and get through Ron Dennis’s foreward, but once I was a chapter or so in, I was hooked.

I will admit that while at first I was turned off by the narration style, by the second chapter I really started to enjoy it. Of course, there were a few eyerolling moments, like when he talks about what a privileged life he led, and how his family was able to support his racing because of their giant trucking company, but there are also really excellent moments when he speaks about how he kept everything clean (scrubbing toilets came up more than once), and how he really is just a simple Scottish boy. 

The other thing I found interesting is that while it’s not a tell-all, it’s got some chapters and parts where there’s a deep dive into the politics and team orders of the late 1990’s and early 2000’s. Things about Ron Dennis, and driving with Mika Häkkinen, and going up against Michael Schumacher, are really quite poignant and revealing. In fact, one of my favorite quotes:

There are other things that were quite interesting to read about – when he speaks about his wife Karen, and his eating disorder, and how much he likes Jenson Button (who doesn’t?), and how joining Red Bull was a gamble, but one that’s paid off quite well. Also, talking about technology, cars, politics…it was a view into F1 that I knew about, and could imagine based on my own foray into motorsports, but really had no idea of the intensity.

It’s a solid read, especially if you love Formula 1. For me, it humanized that driving great in the picture above, and when they become more real, it makes me think that my dreams of racing aren’t so far off. 

El Amor en los Tiempos del Cólera

I finally finished Gabriel García Márquez’s novel Love in the Time of Cholera. Granted, it took me several months, but that’s due to my negligence.  Instead, I found it to be a moving, beautiful story that answered poignant questions that I ask myself every day.

Image courtesy of

I suppose I’ve always been a romantic. And then life happened, and I became somewhat of a cynic. Cynicism usually brings about the death of romanticism, but for those of us that truly wish to believe in love just question it, instead of letting the cynics kill off any hope. I was happy to find that this book addressed most of the issues and questions I’ve been harboring for years, and now I feel more confident that love really does exist, and conquers all:

  • Can love exist in an epistolary form? Yes! Absolutely! It’s hard to just go off words on paper, but I think the romance is that back then, you had to handwrite them, send trinkets, and longingly wait for a response and reassurance of love. If Florentino and Fermina could begin and rekindle their love by handwritten letters, then of course love can exist in today’s society, most of what we do is via chat and email.
  • Is it possible to be happy with someone, and have a wildly successful marriage and career, and not love them? Fermina says, “It is incredible how one can be happy for so many years in the midst of so many squabbles, so many problems, damn it, and not really know if it was love or not.” This sort of made me sad, but you don’t always get to marry the love of your life.
  • Can you be in love with more than one person at a time? I used to think this was absolutely impossible, but Florentino says, “One can be in love with several people at the same time, feel the same sorrow with each, and not betray any of them. ” The more I thought about it, the more I realized he is right. You can be IN love with more than one person at a time.
  • How many great loves do you get in your life? I already knew this answer, and it’s just like Louis from St. Louis says in the YouTube clip: You can have many loves, and lovers, but you get one great love, if you’re lucky. And that love withstands people coming and going from your heart, it survives despite the years that pass, and you see that love everywhere, every day, even if you’ve been apart for years.

If we only get one great love in our lives, if we’re lucky, I hope I can be that lucky someday.

The Great Gatsfailure

“I hope she’ll be a fool—that’s the best thing a girl can be in this world, a beautiful little fool.”

–Daisy Buchanan, The Great Gatsby.


I feel like we’ve all been made fools, despite Baz Luhrmann’s best intentions. So maybe it’s the best thing some of us can be in this world – beautiful little fools. And anyone who thinks this interpretation is any good is a fool too. Let’s have at!

SIDE NOTE: Someone keep me honest and remind me to write about my AS Debacle, A Million Little Pieces, and My Sassy Girl. Oh, and someone remind me that I’ve had two very large glasses of wine while writing this.

I know I have a lot to address, but for now, I need to write about the fact that The Great Gatsby is sucking.

Now….I love this book. You could say I’m even mildly attached. And I actually like most of Fitzgerald’s work. But this book in particular  – it might even be considered his capstone. I mean, at the core, it’s about true love: Jay is still in love with Daisy, and throws lavish parties with A-list celebs to get her to visit his home. He even befriends one of her confidantes. In the end, he takes the fall and pays the ultimate price to save Daisy (ok maybe not intentionally), and…the end. Love conquers all. 

While I was thoroughly entertained by Luhrmann’s Romeo + Juliet, I think it was mostly because

a) I had a tweenage crush on Leo (come on, it was 1996- who didn’t?);
b) I liked Shakespeare, but I was a dork in school. And he really needed a modern revamp to get the popular kids to notice him; and
c) Jesse Bradford. 

I was left slightly colder by Moulin Rouge. Nicole Kidman’s singing was a bit off, but I love Elton John and 1980’s classic hits like “Roxanne.” Plus, it was 2001 and I was in desperate need of some red satin with black lace. I was an uptight teen. So sue me. 

I haven’t seen Strictly Ballroom or Australia, but I can only imagine they employ some of Luhrmann’s signature techniques, like flashy cut scenes and anachronism. (Which, come on. Jay-Z in the 20’s? Really?)

While I was generally interested in the adaptation of Fitzgerald’s novel, and especially the Tiffany’s collection made especially for the movie (check out the “Jazz Age” inspired collection here), I was sliiiiiiiiiiiightly nervous, in the same way I was nervous about Les Mis. And. Sadly. Unlike Les Mis, I was not reassured. 

Ok. So Tobey Maguire is admittedly not my favorite actor. But when Daisy flashed her giant ring, I might have been a little more intrigued. Isla FIsher is super gorgeous, but definitely not my idea of Myrtle. And Tom, George….they’re ok. But the real “this movie is dead and there’s nothing you can do about it” moment came when Leo made his onscreen appearance. 

The fashion was great. The jewelry was great. Even Tobey was pulling his own (though Sam Watterson was far better as Nick). But then Leo came in, and Gatsby was dead. 

Maybe it’s because when Leo was in his heyday, I was too enamored with his face that I paid no attention to his acting. Maybe it’s because that he is so overhyped, or because he gave on absolutely phenomenal performance in What’s Eating Gilbert Grape, that I jumped on his bandwagon. Then Titanic happened, and it was, well…..titanic….And I think it’s then that I thought I thought he could act. Or I really didn’t care if he could act, because he was so pretty. But now, because it’s close to home, I care. And I’m so thoroughly disappointed. 

I shut the movie off when Gatsby brings his fancy yellow car to Nick’s house, so H8ers gonna H8, and tell me I didn’t give the movie a fair shot. Or Leo fans, but whatever. You’re all 14 years old and jailbait. I just couldn’t take it anymore. I really, really just couldn’t. The acting was flat and dull, I wasn’t convinced, and no matter what Tom and Daisy did, I didn’t believe Gatsby by was billionaire playboy with a broken heart. It was like taking a bullet every time he uttered a phrase. That many bullets (I think 8?) hurts. A lot.

I’ve since had a beer, so I’m sufficiently drunk. But even sober, The Great Gatsby would still suck. Why? Because Leo could not sustain my belief in undying love. And that sucks. 
















*****the picture editor wasn’t working, so respectively, pictures are courtesy of:;; and

Revenge Is A Dish Best Served Cold

::deeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep breath::

I wanted to not blog about this book, but I think it’s been bothering me for long enough, and I have had a sufficient amount of wine.

I might have underestimated how far I was in the book Revenge Wears Prada. I said 65%,  but it was more like 81%, which was my mistake. I finished the book that night, and I am now struggling to figure out how they’re going to make it into a successful movie.

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I will be the first to say that a movie about a horrific boss, with designer clothes, is probably right up my alley. The book, however…..well, let’s just say I was less than impressed. So I’m not entirely sure why I thought the sequel would be better. If I follow the rules of sequels, the second one is always the worst* – just look at Indiana Jones and the original Star Wars! (Yes, I know those are trilogies, but something tells me that if we give it a few years, a third book will be in the works).

Primarily, I think the first-person narrative of the first book worked far better than the third-person POV of the second. For some reason, I believe Andy when she’s talking about herself. I find her a lot less believable when someone else is talking about her. Then, Emily, who hates Andy, suddenly decides to form a camaraderie with her? And then she decides to be her best friend? No. No, no, no. And Andy, who was so strong willed at the end of the first book, marries a guy she doesn’t trust, and allows his domineering mother and his complete disregard for her feelings because she thinks they can work through it, and the good times are better than the bad? Where the hell did strong Andy go? The one that told Miranda Priestly to fuck off?

Then, Emily sells their magazine out from under her, for millions of dollars. Emily might be haughty and full of disdain for those that shop at a normal mall (dammit!), but she wasn’t ever motivated by money. Prestige and free designer clothing? Sure. Money? No. Additionally, I don’t think Emily would ever try to turn her best friend’s husband against said friend…..mostly because she probably wouldn’t have friends.

Let’s be honest…does she really look like she’s the social type?
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Finally – I know there are asshole guys out there. And I know there are men that would completely ignore the woman they marry because of their father’s “legacy,” no matter how run into the ground said legacy is.  And perhaps there are men that would keep secrets about running into exes, or that would honor the “what happens at the bachelor party stays at the bachelor party.” But the idea that Andy, our heroine, would be seen with a guy like this, let alone marry him and then make excuse after excuse about his behavior? Sure, it’s the abused wife syndrome. But she’s supposed to be the strong protagonist that, after 10 years, knows herself, what she wants, and won’t put up with any more crap. And she sure as hell wouldn’t let her no-good husband name their daughter “Clementine.”

I think I was just so very disappointed with the second book in the series, I really don’t see myself trying any of the other books by Lauren Weisberger. Sure, it’s easy-to-read and a decent beach book, but I think she initially pulls you in (with the help of Anne Hathaway and Emily Blunt) in regards to character development, and then they fall flat on their face. I’d like to chase Harry Winston, or try to remember last night at the Chateau, but after my two experiences with Prada, I might stick to jewelry and hotels, instead of more chick lit.



*The only exception to this rule that I can think of is The Godfather trilogy, where the second one is by far the best of the series.