Does Dosa Give You Gas?

[Spelt pizza in NYC -- hands down favorite]

I was going to title this post, I'm going going, back back, to Cali Cali, but gas is really on my mind. I'm glad to be back home but NYC was fantastic. Here are the highlights:

• Chilling with the BFF (Dilly) in Curry Hill. And no, she isn't desi.
• Went to ZenDenizen's partay. Engaged in debauchery with her eclectic group of friends. Someone offered me a shot as soon as I walked in. My kind of people. Ms. ZenDenizen is hawt -- skinny with ginormous boobs. Dilly and I stole glances at the breasts.
  
• Brunch with Tamasha at a swanky place. I was tempted to bust out with, "I got five on it, grab your 40, let's get keyed," I have no idea why. Ms. Tamasa fed us well. Dilly and I feasted on frittata with cavalo nero, doesn't that just sound cool?
• Met up with Chai and gang to get our drink on. We wiggled our tush, did the salt shaker, and busted out with the shopping cart until the wee hours of the morning. We closed the house in LES. We then feasted on the cuteness that is Chandi. I don't think I've ever stayed out so late. Dilly and I grabbed grub and got home around 7 am.

I'm exhausted and I have gas. Dilly and I had dosa for dinner last night. I even took Beano. I love South Indian food, the dosa was so good that I'm drooling thinking about it. I couldn't rip loose on the airplane -- hot stifling air and smelly farts are not a good combo. I passed out on the plane ride back to LAX. I hope I didn't pass gas in my sleep (hubby says I do sometimes). At least I didn't do what the old dude did when he got off the plane. He ripped loose as soon as we got off. The farts were loud, like bombs, and I had to hold my breathe because they were stinky. Maybe he ate too much dosa.