Back on Track?

This week I am getting over an awful chest cold that rendered me pretty useless. Tonight I make my "triumphant" return to kitchen witchery, whipping up some veggies and kielbasa which will be served over fries, as tacos, or as tostadas. I haven't quite figured it out yet. **UPDATE 5/1/14: None of the above. I made kielbasa, onion, mushroom, and pepper (bell and poblano) NACHOS. So wrong but so damn right... But I made my own tortilla chips so that counts, right?!?! Apparently my new fall back is FUCK IT! MAKE NACHOS!**

Other than that, I have returned to my meatless lunches and overall am feeling a little bit better. I am doing a daily yogurt (right now Chobani flips since they were on sale and are SO FLIPPING DELICIOUS [did you see what I did there?]!) for a snack at work. And eating a cucumber every day with a little bit of Kalamata Olive Hummus. Today I also rocked a Trader Joes Pizza Veggieburger. Lots of water and some seltzer. Minimal caffeine (like one caffinated beverage a day). Maybe a few sips of The Husband's full flavored soda. And some chips, because...chips.

Let's discuss the hummus and veggieburgers, shall we?

This kalamata olive hummus... I don't know how I feel. This is less Trader Joe's fault and more my forgetting that in the world of olives, kalamata is not my favorite. And there are some pieces of olive and pit in the hummus. Not terribly off-putting but I am hella nervous I'm going to crack a tooth on a piece of pit while at work. If you dig the kalamata and hummus and don't care about the possibility of needing dental work this is the hummus for you. Flavor is very olive-y/brine-y. Nice with cukes.

So, I know these veggieburgers are going to make me sick. I knew purchasing them they were not gluten free. But Pizza? In a veggieburger? What sorcery is this? Delicious sorcery, that's what it is. They are super tasty. I cooked them a little long so the edges were a little tough but nbd. That's my fault. Not too heavy on the basil (thanks the laaawwwwd), or cheese, or sauce. Or in not crazy speak: well balanced. My only ish? They are a little greasey.

Looking forward to continuing this habit. Maybe adding my smoothies back in too.

I realized, going through my phone that I have a bunch of food porn pictures. Maybe some more tutorials soon?

Fighting Food

I made a list around New Year's, aside from my TBT, of goals for the year. There is a little overlap but I decided instead of resolutions (which I inevitably break within a week) I would list out somethings to work on:

• Make healthier choices in terms of food and exercise.
• Work on my TBT list.
• Actively "date" The Husband.
• Spend more time with friends.
• Experiment more in the kitchen, both in terms of ingredients and recipes.
• Cut myself some slack. (self depreciation doesn't have to be my go to)
• Go back to Disney.
• Start learning a new language.
• Work on Rocky Horror costumes for Eddie and Frank, maybe Janet.

Food has always been my drug of choice and probably always will be. For me, nothing beats a terrible day like tearing into some food. I am not discerning either. While I am no Anthony Bourdain, there is little I will say no to. Stuffing myself to uphoria was the easiest way to cope in a world I felt I had little control over. Now, as an adult, I get to deal with the aftermath.

The Husband and I decided to start eating healthier. It certainly helped that I had been eating less gluten. The cutting out of breads and traditional pasta made the jump to healthier eating seem easier. When we went to  Disney World this winter, The Husband rediscovered mushrooms and green beans...even going as far to admit mushrooms made his meal better. Whoa. For him, that is huge. When we met, he was staunchly anti-veggie. Over our first 4 years together, I intergrated a lot of onion and pepper into our diet. I would also harrass him into trying other veggies that I made. He came around to asparagus on his own and I felt so proud of him. But then mushrooms were added and I was elated.

It was him who suggested we eat vegetarian a few nights a week. I tried to make it 3-4 out of 7 nights. I also cut meat out of my own lunches for a while as well as breakfasts.

We both saw the benefits of this change pretty quickly. He slimmed out in his chest and waist. I honestly don't think I look any thinner but people have said I do so I will go with that. We also felt better. We live on the fourth floor and the stairs became much easier as we ate better. The more gluten I cut out, the less migraines, nausea, and gastro issues I experienced.

Lately, we have fallen off the wagon. There has been a lot of take-out recently. My depression and anxiety have been pretty terrible. I don't want to cook (which is something I love doing) or do dishes or really do anything but sit on the couch and harrass the cats to sit with me. I have not been as careful as I should with gluten and have made myself sick almost daily because of it. But it didn't stop me. My personal well being was forgotten in order for me to feed the demons I have.

Addiction is something people don't like to talk about. When they do, it's usually only in reference to drugs, alcohol, and nicotine. Food should be right up there. It is a way of feeling high while remaining functional. The cravings can be painful. I try to keep snacks at my desk that won't make me feel guilty or shame if I eat them (vegetable root chips, gluten free rolled oats and sugar free syrup in the fridge), to help tame the need to eat while retaining some of my goal to be healthier.

Eggs and steamed rice have become my go to for nights I can't bring myself to answer the door for delivery... Wondering if the delivery person is silently judging me for ordering again in the same week. You'd think this anxiety would motivate me to cook and get back on track. That's a big fat no. It makes me want to have The Husband answer or have us alternate who goes in to pick it up so its not always the same face. My shame and guilt consume me, causing depression to a point where my body hurts. I feel like an awful person and a terrible wife.

The worst part in all of this, is that I am one of those assholes that watches food documentaries, who will shell out more money to buy organic and non-GMO products. I get on my wee soapbox to talk about chemicals we ingest and the state of farming in the country. But once the depression and anxiety hit hard... NONE OF IT MATTERS. I am 15 again: Boys don't like me because I am fat and ugly; I think no one actually likes me in general, they just pretend so they don't hurt my feelings; I am not good enough for anything, EVER; I am not worth saving.

I know these are all things I have to work on. I suppose in reality enough people like me for being me. And at least one boy likes me... He heard Beyonce and knew he had to put a ring on it. The rest? I am not on board with refuting yet. I am hoping sticking to eating well and cutting myself some slack will help.

What Am I Meant to Do?

Lately I have been struggling with the idea of what I am "meant" to do. Do we have a purpose? How is one supposed to know they are fulfilling this purpose? How does one acheive this atonement with the universe? And most importantly, why can't I figure out my place in said universe?

For those who know me, I have had a tragic yet ecelectic college "career." I applied as pre-law but wasn't accepted to that program... So naturally I went as far in the opposite direction I could, to the place that felt the most like home in high school. I enrolled as a Fine and Performing Arts major with my concentration being theatre. After being in school for one semester (one which has yeilded the best stories of utter co-ed HORROR) I left because I coudn't afford it. Take note of this last line. It's a common theme.

After a little time off, I went to Salem State then College/now University. Enrolled as a Crimanl Justice major with a concentration in forensics. After my orientation, and an introduction from the worst department chair on the face of the Earth, I switched to Spanish. Espanol! Me gusto espanol mucho! The goal was to be a high school Spanish teacher. And then I left because I couldnt afford it.

I went back to Salem State as an English major with my concentration being Secondary Education. However, during this time I fell in love with geology. Naturally, I decided to double major. Hahahahahahahahahahahahahhahahahahahahhahaha. Working full time plus multiple majors plus labs that felt they were extended lectures so you have to do lab work on your own time plus sick and or dying family members equals the start of a spiral so far down you can't see the end. I dropped my geology major and lasted another semester before I failed out.

My last semester I found two things that brought me great joy: a class editing the college's literary magazine and a seminar on Willa Cather that looked at her works from the point of view of space/gender/sexuality. Both made me want to do something related to each as a career. Maybe both! Edit a gender/gay focused literary magazine? I don't know. It sounded like a good plan then.

Since then I have worked customer service jobs that at times feel like they drain the very essence of my soul out and replace it with an ulcer's ichor.

Knowing I have been searching for meaning, The Husband has encouraged me to take classes or go back to school. However, my schedule at work is not felixble enough to do this. And, (wait for it....) we can't afford that. I applied to a local community college a few years ago for their culinary program, but realized too late we weren't going to afford it. Bummer, but I moved on.

Since then, I've thought about going to school for baking. Or going for cosmetology. Or finishing my english degree and teaching. Or going for a degree in Women's Studies. Everytime I think I have made a decision, fear of failure and disappointing people creeps in and paralyzes me.

When faced with continual self doubt, how can one confidently make a decision like this? Which one is the right choice? How do I know?

I talked to The Husband about this feeling. How I don't feel like I have a purpose or meaning. He suggested going to church. I was raised Catholic but don't agree with a lot of their teachings (although, the new Pope is pretty dope). We have a UU church down the street, which is an option. But as someone who believes more in the occult than traditional religion, how do I go to church and asked a God I am not convinced is there for help or guidence? How do I walk into their house and not feel... disingenuous?

Worse: what happens if I go and there is nothing? No sign. No help. No guidence. Doesn't that make me more of a failure? Should I skip the church and divine with a pendulum to see what is the best fit? Is that cheating myself of some miraculous self-discovery I have been lacking all these years?

What I do know is as the days pass I begin feeling more trapped. Caged. Captive. Alone in my head tossing around all these questions and scaring myself into silence, trapping parts of myself that want to be set free.

Making Feminism Digestable

I am involved in a program every summer that teaches girls in high school how to be more active in government. I give a course during the week on women in media. My course breifly discusses feminism outwardly but it is a main theme one can notice throughout the 4 days. I try to cover how suffrage and feminism are presented in the media and from there move through how what women wear and our body shape are scruntinzed, ending with female characters in the books they are reading.

This year is my third year giving the course. My struggle is: how do I make feminism digestable and exciting to girls that are 16 and 17?

I draw "young(ish)" Hollywood into the discussion: Lady Gaga, Britney Spears, Jennifer Lawrence...
I use Disney and the altering of princesses and other characters for marketing purposes.

In a world where feminist is the "f word" we're most afraid to use, how do you teach vulnerable teens that feminism is something they need?

I am reading How To Be a Woman by Caitlin Moran as reasearch for my class. And because I can. I have just finished up the chapter where Moran realizes she is a feminist. She describes reading Germaine Greer's work and summing up the idea of feminism as "scornful of any useless inherited bullshit. New; fast; free. Laughing, and fucking, and unafraid to call anyone out-from a boyfriend to the government-if they are stupid or wrong. And LOUDLY. LIKE ROCK MUSIC." She goes on to point out that feminism is often used negatively "to stop women behaving as freely, normally, and unself-conciously as men. Even-in some extreme cases-suggesting that acting as freely, normally, and unself-conciously as men is destroying other women."

Last year I had 84 girls take my course. The first year, 7. I am hoping for another large group but I will be happy with 7 again. What matters is that these girls get to see that they are not wrong for being ambitious or for wanting to be on equal footing as their peers regardless of gender.

In my effort to keep my topics current and evolving, I am adding Mindy Kaling and taking out Grace Jones. Lord knows these kids don't know who Grace Jones is (and it is a damn shame).

But the question remains,

How do I make this topic a little less hairy legs/flannel and more exciting...more rock and roll?

Suggestions welcome.

TBT #11: Books

#11 of my Thirty Before Thirty is to read 100 books with no genre exclusions.
 
I am 4 down. 96 to go. This is actually kind of a bummer. I feel like I need to be deeper into this by now to make the goal. Luckily, we took a trip to the Used Book Superstore as well as Barnes and Noble last weekend where I hit the crazy sale section and got a few things to hold me over.
 
I have decided that while I am reading these books, I might as well review them as well. Follow the read more link below to see the reviews.
 
The List (so far):

1. Six Train to Wisconsin by Kourtney Heintz (fiction, occult)
2. The Diviners by Libba Bray (YA fiction, occult)
3. An Object of Beauty by Steve Martin (fiction, art)
4. The Potty Mouth at the Table by Laurie Notaro (humor, memoir/essays)

 
In Progress:

1. How to be a Woman by Caitlin Moran (humor, memoir, women's studies)
2. Freakonomics by Steven D. Levitt and Stephen J. Dubner (economics)
3. The Mists of Avalon by Marion Zimmer Bradley (fiction, fantasy)

 
On Deck:

1. Manifesta: Young Women, Feminism, and the Future by Jennifer Baumgardner and Amy Richards (Women's Studies)
2. A Discovery of Witches by Deborah Harkness (fiction, historical-fantasy, occult)
3. Tough Shit: Life Advice from a Fat, Lazy Slob Who Did Good by Kevin Smith (humor)

 
Some of these have been in progress for a while *cough*Avalon*cough*. I have my work cut out for me, for sure.
 
Good thing I like reading, huh?
 

Bittersweet

My dad passed away last April. The 15th. Tax day. It was a month and a half before our wedding. Luckily, I had the help of family and The Husband to keep everything from falling apart.
 
Like every daddy's girl since the dawn of time, I think my father was the best and most perfect father ever. While he was not always the best and most perfect person to others, he was to me. He made mistakes and regretted his actions like any human. But to me, he was more than human. He was my superhero.
 
He was the guy who drove back to McDonald's circa 1988 when my cheeseburger Happy Meal was burger-less. (Legit, it was bun and condiments. Step up yo' game, folks.) And later that year managed to get me to be casually racist in a fine dining Japanese establishment for his own amusement.
 
He was the guy who tried to convince me my grandmother (mother's mother) was a witch. A real, spell casting, broom flying witch. He sent me around the house trying to locate said flying broom too (no luck. she either hid it too well or isn't a witch).
 
He was the guy who lovingly (and annoyedly...is that a word? #don'tcare #YOLO) pulled prickers out of my bare feet in Hawai'i while I screamed and cried. He was also the guy that warned me not to walk on the grass without my shoes on earlier the same day because I'd get prickers in my feet.
 
He was the guy who saved all year on his workman's comp to fly me out for the summer.
 
The guy who tried to calm me down after a got old cactus needles jammed in my fingers and my friend's cousin yanked them out with her tweezer nails.
 
The guy who taught me not to hide things from him because he'd find out and be more disappointed that I lied (that Beavis and Butthead pog slammer was NOT worth it).
 
He taught me about his home, his family, and his perspective on life which was always so vastly different from my own. Little did he know, it was the nights we stayed up talking that I treasured the most.
 
He was always proud of me, even when he didn't understand what I was doing (like Girls State or my work in geology). And even though he wasn't book smart he never made me feel like where I came from would hold me back or like I was too smart for my place. He was weird and encouraged me to be weird as well. The one who encouraged me to get piercings (even if it started out as a way to piss my mom off) and just be myself.
 
He was the man I spent my summers taking care of when he was sick or healing. The man I worried about the other 10 months of the year. The one that as an adult I should have called more or tried to see more. The one I offered a kidney to but he declined. I should have tried harder and fought harder but I knew he was just as stubborn as me and he wouldn't budge.
 
I picked "Landslide" by Fleetwood Mac as the song I would dance with him to at the wedding. Stevie Nicks often dedicates it to her father and we both love/d Fleetwood. At first, I couldn't listen to it without a complete breakdown. Over the year it has become better, until today. It was on at work and I felt like all the happiness was sucked out of the room. Like J.K. Rowling was here with a Dementor. My chest hurts, like I am missing a piece of me. I worked hard all year to fill that hole, but I suppose it never goes away. I told The Husband I felt like nothing would ever be the same after I found out he passed. I was right.
 
Nothing is the same. I am not the same. Not better. Not worse. Just not the same.
 
The next week will be tough. There will be tears and guilt and blame. Saying goodbye is bittersweet. In the words of Big Head Todd and the Monsters: "It's bitterweet. More sweet than bitter, Bitter than sweet. It's a bittersweet surrender."
 
He is in a better place. One where kidney function and amputated limbs can't hold him back. I hope you finally got the black legs, Daddy. Run fast and jump high.

The dream team in like... 1986

Back from the Dead

For those of you not following my Facebook, I have been terribly sick. Norovirus sick. My apologies for the lack of anything posted but I have bounced back and will post something of substance soon. It is my late night at work afterall... which means for 3-4 hours I'll have nothing better to do.  :)