La Rosa Knows

Am I the only dingle berry who hates New Years Eve?

Not just that awful movie that’s coming out, but the holiday itself.

I hate running around from party to party, trying to find somewhere AWESOME, then realizing no where awesome exists because every place is running low on drinks and/or it takes half an hour to get one. Plus it can be kind of cold, and I like to layer up, but that may not make me as “sexy” as a New Year’s Eve partier as I should be.

I’d rather just stay at home, get a pizza, and watch some crappy movie while making out with my boyfriend. Is that too much to ask for?

Florida, you’ve really outdone yourself this time.

While stopped at a gas station, filling up my mom’s minivan, I decided to venture inside to see what life had to offer me. I thought all was going well when I found a lovely bottle of Sprite, that is, until I saw THIS:

A newspaper quite rightly titled, “JAIL PAPER.” It was, as advertised, $1, and contained no less than 28 pages of photos of recent convicts. The paper is Bi-Weekly and promises to be “Bigger” “Better” and “Badder” than other periodicals.

The crimes shown ranged from “Petit Theft” (i.e. stealing a beer from a liquor store), to “Exposure of Sexual Organs,” to “Lewd or Lascivious Battery.”

WHAT FUN!

But the real excitement came when I stumbled upon the “Special Sections” of the paper, which differed from your run of the mill mugshot/conviction combo. What I found were some real items you’d find in, say, the New York Times, but appropriated for JAIL PAPER.

i.e. “Ask Dan” a column a la “Dear Abby” where Dan answers his readers burning questions. For this edition, Dan was asked by “Ann” what to do about the fact that she was married, and had been contacting an old flame. Here’s what Dan had to say:

Then there was the “CRAZY FACTS” section, which listed such mind blowing items as “All of the clocks in the movie Pulp Fiction are stuck on 4:20.” and “Almonds are members of the peach family.”

And, my personal favorite, the “Jokes From Readers” section found on Page 21. Where, there is a rather crude joke that ends with the punchline, “Nice boobs.”

Sorry if I spoiled that joke for anyone.

I really, really want to meet the editor of this paper and suggest he branch out to the mean streets of Los Angeles.

I would read that edition of JAIL PAPER. Just saying.

I’m not about to pretend like I’m a foodie, because I’m not. Just this morning I bought sushi from a Publix grocery store, and I know that no respectable foodie would willfully opt for packaged fish.

That being said, I enjoy a nice meal, and so does my best friend, Elisa. We also like to celebrate our birthdays together, because they happen to fall on the same day (January 7th, Capricorn babies, fucking CUTE).

In lieu of Bath & Body works lotion gift sets, we decided to treat each other to a delicious meal at Bern’s Steakhouse.

Neither of us had been before – I dunno, our parents deprived us I guess – but we knew that this was THE premier steakhouse in Tampa. In Tampa, you guys! So, we made reservations 3 weeks in advance, and accepted that 5:30 p.m. was the only time they could squeeze us in. Seriously (?).

We started off with cocktails because, well, it was 5:30 p.m. on a Wednesday and why the fuck not? Then we opened the food menu and started drooling. As we decided on Oyster and Tuna Tartare apps, we also were told that each entree came with the French Onion Soup, their house salad, and a Baked Potato.

The French Onion Soup came in what can only be described as a pie dish made for babies, and tasted like Elle Fanning’s tears (in a great way).

For my entree, I ordered the Lump Crab Cakes which were almost all crab with very little breading. They tasted like magic and I covered them with lemon. Elisa got a filet mignon steak, served medium rare, and I ate a lot of it!

Then we went on this tour of the kitchen, led by a Swedish bus boy who I will call “Alexander Skarsgard.” He showed us where the meats were prepared, where the coffee was roasted (!!!), and told us the meaning of life.

The meaning of life, oddly enough, was to be found upstairs in the dessert room, which is separate from the rest of the restaurant. In the photo above, you can see Elisa and I in our own personal phone booth. Yes, a phone booth. Every table in the dessert room is actually sectioned off for privacy. And there is a telephone where you can summon the waitstaff, adjust music volumes, and speak to Justin Bieber (aka the hostess in the dessert area, who is also his clone).

I ordered the King Midas. Which is carrot cake topped with their homemade macadamia nut ice cream. It was DELICIOUS.

Elisa ordered this wonderful peanut butter truffle thing that was featured on the Food Network show, “The Best Thing I Ever Ate.” And it was, very much, one of the best things we ever ate.

We sat in that restaurant eating for a total of 3 and ½ hours.

I had to unbutton my belly button to make more room for the weight I gained.

Several times during the meal I proposed marriage to Elisa. Every time she accepted. We also discussed the possibility that we had died on the way to Florida, and this place was heaven. We agreed that we were fine with that. Additionally, we now know that every year, in honor of our birthday/Christmas, we will be giving the gift of a Bern’s dinner to each other.

I am very much looking forward to next year.

Happy Birthday best friend!! xoxo

I ship Dexter + Killing Deb!!!

When it comes to fighting, it’s my firm belief that men have absolutely no idea what actually pisses women off. Because if they did, I wouldn’t be half as mad as I am most of the time. Unfortunately, this leads to some confusion because, being the evolved and intelligent person that I am, I have a tendency to assume the same type of insight from my male counterparts.

This is where I would be wrong. You see, women give men too much credit. We assume that men analyze and decipher situations in the same way we do. Where we consult friends, our mothers, relationship books, and the almighty power of Google, men do no such thing. In fact, they usually do the opposite. In that they quickly forget about a fight soon after it’s ended.

It’s different for women, however. We never forget. And I mean that in the same way that Glenn Close won’t let Michael Douglas forget that they had sex in Fatal Attraction even though he clearly will never leave his wife, kind of way.

As such, I’d like to do the dudes of the world a solid and outline what ACTUALLY pisses women off. Even though you may think it’s her “period,” we actually tend to be a littttle more complicated. See below.

How to piss your Lady off:

• Thinking that a “date” includes your friends. Call me old fashioned, but the easiest way to turn me on is to DEFINITELY invite all of your friends out to dinner with us. I will FOR SURE want to play with your balls after they tell stories about the frat you all barfed in that one time. Oh, and after dinner, please take us to that dive bar where it smells like stale chicken wings. That always makes my bra pop off.

• Laugh at something your ex posted on your FB wall. That’s right fellas. Believe it or not we don’t want to know anything about your past relationships. We realize it may be necessary for you to tell us every gory detail – like how you guys tried anal one time but she stopped you before it got all the way in (true thing I was told, as a sidenote) – because men are emotionally repressed and have no one else to turn to. But take it from me, go see a fucking therapist. It will be worth every penny when we don’t have to imagine all of the other holes you’ve poked around in.
• Skid Marks. Look, I’ve never been the victim of a skid mark sighting… but I know they exist from watching R-rated movies. Bottom line: If you can’t figure out how to wipe your own ass, Imma be hella angry that I’m dating you.

• Wearing that ugly-ass shirt… again. Yes, you just looooove that football team from your old college, or whatever. But that shirt has a hole in the armpit and the stench of keg beer won’t come out no matter how many times you wash it. Time for a new shirt, guy.
• Falling asleep instead of having sex. Maybe all of my friends got an extra dose of slut on the way out of the birth canal, but every gal I know loves sex. Like, wants it all the time and can’t get enough. Only problem? Dudes talk a lot of game but rarely are able to perform as much as we’d like. 
• Not Being Jon Hamm. Seriously guys, get it together. Brush your fucking hair, grow a five o'clock shadow, become incredibly mysterious, eat something. Just be Jon Hamm.

I’ve been in Los Angeles for three years now. And, in that time, I’ve done my fair share of dating. To add to my knowledge I’ve also taken free drinks at bars from men I had no intention of ever sleeping with… oops!

Amidst the brothels venues of West Hollywood, Silverlake, Los Feliz, Downtown, Beverly Hills, Venice, Santa Monica and Hollywood, I’ve encountered all of the dregs of men that Los Angeles has to offer. These men can be deceiving, as they physically appear to be healthy and fit for the duty of dating…. But don’t be fooled, ladies! These males are to be avoided AT ALL COSTS.

Awfulus Agentus (aka CAA Agent Trainee): You may notice that he’s the only one in the bar wearing a suit. He’ll introduce himself with the line, “What do you do for work?” and buy you a red wine before jumping into a gripping story of how he once met Eli Roth in an elevator.

BEWARE

The Gym Rat: He only wears sleeveless shirts. You’ll find him by the closest mirror where he’ll pretend to listen to what you’re saying while flexing his “guns” to impress himself.

“Model” who never works: Look for the under 5'10 man with little to no body contour. He’ll order shots at the bar and expect you to pay for them.

Persian “Gangsta” who lives in his parents Beverly Hills mansion: Expect to see some shaved man-cleavage, pierced ears, and sunglasses at night.

Midwest boy who thought life would be like Entourage: In what is perhaps the lamest of the male species, this particular kind will have zero sense of humor and no real personality. He’ll also have a closet full of shirts from the GAP.

Filmmaker who peaked in college: AVOID AT ALL COSTS. Unless you enjoy being talked down to by a pretentious nobody. Also, he’ll make you watch subtitled films.

Comedian/Hipster: Get ready to LOL. Except by LOL I really mean weep after spending two hours at an open mic only to listen to your beau perform 5 minutes of standup about how he can’t understand why he still gets skidmarks.

Womp womp!

Writer/Waiter: Much in the vein of the Filmmaker who Peaked in College, this fine specimen will wax on and on about his screenplay/pilot/what have you, but never be willing to show you any of his work… Know why? Because he sucks at life and writing.

Closeted Gay: Aaaah, the draw of the well coiffed man with refined tastes in musical theater. This man will douse himself in designer clothing, visit the trendiest bars, and be impossibly handsome all while deftly avoiding any physical contact.

Try as hard as you want, ladies, it ain’t gonna happen.

Nice Guy who turns out to be a Scientologist: He’ll be sooooooo sweet. He’ll buy you stuffed animals, bring you flowers, and have a star named after you. There will be compliments, OH, there will be plenty.

There will also be a tour of the Scientology center off Franklin Ave. Carry a stun gun at all times.

Do you hate most people? Would you rather be alone in your room than go out to a party with your friends? Do you break out in hives at the thought of hours of uninterrupted socializing?

Then you might be an introvert… LIKE ME!

Unfortunately, if this is the case, people will label you ‘Rude,’ 'Pretentious,’ and 'Un-Fun’ once you start leaving every party by 10 p.m., and never invite them over. Ever.

Luckily, I’ve developed 5 easy tools to fake being an extrovert till you make it. And by “make it” I mean find a lovely hole to crawl into and be happy forever.

1)   Tattoo a smile onto your finger, hold it up when you venture outdoors

2)   Use an excuse like, “I need to condition my eyelashes” to get out of real plans

3) Get a job that makes people uncomfortable to talk about (i.e. director of a morgue), bring up the gruesome details of said job at every social opportunity. They’ll stop inviting you out

4) When you meet a new person, ask them to tell you their life story. Nod encouragingly when they start the story, stay in place, don’t move much, and two hours later they’ll call you a 'great listener.’

5) Arrange get-togethers that require silence and dim lighting (think Cirque du Soleil, an outing to the Opera, field trips to a public library, etc.)

 “Those aren’t my tits…” - REAL* quote from Blake Lively

“Someone hacked into my computer…” - REAL* quote from ScarJo

“He told me the camera wasn’t on!” REAL* quote from KK

(*Not at all real in any way**)

(**Their breasts)

Did I ever mention that I’m not above eating? And I know I’ll be outcast for saying this, but if I could have a job where I just eat all day… I’d do it.

I know it would be a total burden; all those starter rolls, the dessert wines, the way the flickering candlelight would frame my face just so… but I’d take one for the team. To try and prove my point, I spent most of this weekend doing just that.

EATING.

This was taken after 5 rolls of sushi at Katsuya, and a flirty cocktail with a watermelon wedge. Look at me: Barely standing.

This was captured after a lovely meal at the Olive Garden in Burbank. I had 2 servings of bread sticks, endless salad, and a seafood pasta.

And this was taken mere seconds ago on my Photo Booth app.

First of all, this site Pinterest? AMAZING. I have found so many fun recipes there, and the layout is just pretty. I get glazey eyed on that site.

I’m having a holiday party and had to look up some things, here are my favorites so far…

Spicy GingerMan Cocktail- I like this one because of the ginger beer. Yummy!

For this recipe you crush up a bunch of candy canes, that sounds good to me… Candy Cane Cookies.

Pita Tree Apps. I kinda just like the look of these. Plus I enjoy me some avocado.

OREOS! ON THE BOTTOM!!

Cookies and Cream Cheesecake Cupcakes.

Obvi dovi we’ll be needing some eggnog.

(Eggnog Martini)

Christmas Crack. Nuff said.

Recipe suggestions welcome!