Slurp. Suck. Lick.

I should be obese. In fact, I should be obese with a failing liver. I eat out and indulge in a few drinks several times a week. Today, after a huge lunch at The Counter, we stopped by Susie Cakes to pick up a pineapple upside down and red velvet cupcake. Then soon after we get back to work, a good friend from the media drops off a box of AMAZING cupcakes. I sometimes wonder when it will all catch up to me, then I think to myself  “f*ck it, ” and the box of parisian macaroons quickly divert my thoughts to how I’m going to rape them with my mouth. Oops, was that a bit explicit? But come to think of it, food and the act of dining is actually a very sexual experience.

For example: I’m eating at Pink Taco in LA. I make myself comfortable and take my sweater off. I pick up the burrito with both hands (its huge!), massage it a bit to make sure the contents are evenly distributed, then I wrap my lips around the soft and slightly warm tortilla. I nibble, slurp, and roll the meat in my mouth. As I am finishing, a bit of sour cream drips down my mouth and onto my chest.  I clean up and leave some money on the table.

Of all the crazy moments and events going on in our lives, food is perhaps one of the only things constant and consistently satisfying. We love it so much, that sometimes we only book social events if there is the promise of great food and drink. If we could date it, I’m pretty sure we would. But of course, we’ve mastered the art of having it all: boys, booze, and bites. Duh.

Cheers, Valenz