The dangers of too much cilantro and New York City
I hate that New York makes me distrust the kindness of strangers. After all, you never know when the random guy who calls out, "Hey pretty lady!" is actually waiting for you to make eye contact in order to drop-kick you and steal all the candy from your purse. And I operate under the assumption that there's a 1% chance every night that I might get mugged and/or killed. So whenever I walk out in public, I stare firmly at a point on the ground about 15 feet in front of me and ignore all comments or looks directed my way. Even when some cracked out homless person is standing right in front of me screaming, "I'll kill you bitch! I'll rip your head off! You aren't my mother!" And the best part is that the two people sitting next to me were totally unfazed, as well. I probably could have been slaughtered mercilessly, and they'd have continued reading their books.
Luckily I was not slaughtered mercilessly, so I can continue to feel sad that I have to ignore people and be a jaded bitch on the mean streets of New York.
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Every other night, Matt or I buys a giant bunch of cilantro from the bodega on our corner. Sometimes I wonder what the bodega owners think we do with all that cilantro. They probably think we just are weird people who cook REALLY REALLY cilantro-heavy dishes.
Perhaps when we kill and eat Toast and Lilo, we won't have to season them because they'll taste like all the cilantro we feed them.
Luckily I was not slaughtered mercilessly, so I can continue to feel sad that I have to ignore people and be a jaded bitch on the mean streets of New York.
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Every other night, Matt or I buys a giant bunch of cilantro from the bodega on our corner. Sometimes I wonder what the bodega owners think we do with all that cilantro. They probably think we just are weird people who cook REALLY REALLY cilantro-heavy dishes.
Perhaps when we kill and eat Toast and Lilo, we won't have to season them because they'll taste like all the cilantro we feed them.