
On something-night we went out to Gusto. Finally.

We’ve had a couple failed attempts making it to Gusto in time for the kitchen to still be open I mean and making The Thompson’s Counter diner whatever it’s called our fave sentimental haunt for a time there. Now I have a steak place! And if they heed this bloggy request, a pesto one.

Ethel! I said there’s NOTH-EENG in your teeth! You’re fine.

This is funny. I get asked a lot about my foodieness and they’re like, Raymi, you’re a foodie? Didn’t know. No I’m not I just go out to happening restaurants in the city 7 days a week. Have you heard of that hot new one? We’re going soon. No more from Blabbington til it happens I have a habit of big mouthitis much to the chagrin of my colleague. Whatever. People lie all the time on the internet (I don’t) and so what’s a teaser of a “is going to happen” going to the harm about really. I’m starting out honest.

We were naughty. I was hosed. We love the vin rouge!

It’s quite dark in Gusto. Had to fix the pupils on some of the shots. Not this one though, why bother. Also that guy is seriously in the middle of a point in his conversation LOL.

I loved sitting beneath this Final Destination death trap. Forgot about it instantly.

The chef adored us. I caught all the line-cooks checking me out actually. Our waitor was a little grabby too. Jesus Christ am I in heat or something, chill brothers.

We had such a good time. Tres romantique. Cry count? Can’t remember. At least 3. I cried when he had to go to work yesterday morning. GRUH-OAN oh shut up! He said it’s okay he cried at the bank Ahahaallolol. I tell Rebeccugh about all our crying and she is like:
Ahaha I love that cat so much.

More hairapy please. I am dating a hair guy and I look like a termite come on here people what’s the idea see! Poppycock! I just said all of that out loud. Steve says I should have my blog on tape, read some of my posts for you. Give me some posts you’d like to see me read all fired up for you and I will! Raymi Audio!

Love grilled bread. Too bad carbs are the devil. Once in awhile if it’s ultra thin and glistening see-through with olive oil ah ma gaaaaaaaaaaaad.

On a scale of ONE to Jewish, I’d clock us a hard eight.

So Hostel, and yet so cozy. J’adore.

Your parents on Date Night. Back to the Future.





