At the moment, I wish I wasn't prone to attachment.
The detachment process can be rather painful. Sometimes it's only as bad as a tooth being pulled; other times I feel someone tearing out the sutures on my chest.
I don't want another proverbial heart surgery.
Saturday, May 29, 2010
Saturday, May 22, 2010
Not Our Mamas' Kitchen
Yesterday three friends (Joni, Becky and Becca) and I made fettuccini and ricotta and spinach-stuffed ravioli from scratch. The four of us went to a pasta making demonstration at a local co-op grocer and decided to try our newly learned skills. We rounded off our meal with garlic bread knots, alfredo and two marinera sauces, and mango and jamaica juices. The alfredo and the drinks were the only things not made from scratch.
Growing up I never took much of an interest in cooking. I didn't hate it, I just didn't try to learn. Knowing how to make a quesadilla was good enough. Now I want to dabble into the culinary horizon. Part of it may be that I am on my own. I need to eat to survive and without mom or a college cafeteria I want something besides Ramen or cereal. Why should my taste buds be deprived of excitement in my own house?
Mine and my girlfriends' desire to experiment in the kitchen goes beyond survival of the fullest. I think cooking, in a sense, has become a rare art. A slough of fast food joints and restaurants make meals for us. Family meals are still around but are no longer staples in today's fast-paced society. I'll admit I've fallen into the "I'm too tired" or "I don't have time" trap (and that's without children or even a significant other!) yet I can't help but crave something better.
Cooking for our mothers was part of the "I do" package, making it primarily a responsibility. Not that they didn't take some pride or joy from it, but it was a type of duty. For the four of us and many others in our generation (including gents), it is a type of hobby and an adventure. Maybe that's why there's more interest in it.
Becca hopes society somehow goes back to the "older times," when meals were homemade, families ate together, and the only acceptable take-out was a brown sack for lunch. As we and four other friends sat around a table, laughing and talking over a pasta dinner made from scratch, I kind of hoped it would and that I could be part of it.
Growing up I never took much of an interest in cooking. I didn't hate it, I just didn't try to learn. Knowing how to make a quesadilla was good enough. Now I want to dabble into the culinary horizon. Part of it may be that I am on my own. I need to eat to survive and without mom or a college cafeteria I want something besides Ramen or cereal. Why should my taste buds be deprived of excitement in my own house?
Mine and my girlfriends' desire to experiment in the kitchen goes beyond survival of the fullest. I think cooking, in a sense, has become a rare art. A slough of fast food joints and restaurants make meals for us. Family meals are still around but are no longer staples in today's fast-paced society. I'll admit I've fallen into the "I'm too tired" or "I don't have time" trap (and that's without children or even a significant other!) yet I can't help but crave something better.
Cooking for our mothers was part of the "I do" package, making it primarily a responsibility. Not that they didn't take some pride or joy from it, but it was a type of duty. For the four of us and many others in our generation (including gents), it is a type of hobby and an adventure. Maybe that's why there's more interest in it.
Becca hopes society somehow goes back to the "older times," when meals were homemade, families ate together, and the only acceptable take-out was a brown sack for lunch. As we and four other friends sat around a table, laughing and talking over a pasta dinner made from scratch, I kind of hoped it would and that I could be part of it.
Monday, May 17, 2010
Today I Ate an Organic Cow
Today I ate an organic cow. I'm a vegetarian. Oh, and I went to a H.E.M.P. (Help Marijuana Prohibition) picnic, so I was quite the "rebel".
Whitney, a friend who works at the dry cleaners next to our bakery, helps organize these rallies. After many invites I finally went. It was the perfect day for the park: rainy and cold. I kept thinking of Seattle, though the one day I was there the skies were blue and the sun shone upon my back. I think the older hippies who lead H.E.M.P. also had something to do with my Northwestern thoughts.
One of the group leaders, Farmer Bill, brought some organic ground beef from his farm. Whitney assured me the cattle were grass-fed and well treated. I'm not a hard-core animal activist or green person but my flower child tendencies figured it was OK to try it. After all, it wasn't hormone-filled, grocery store meat, no?
Two ladies opened the packets and began shaping the meat into red, round patties. It didn't hit me until later that they might not have washed their hands. Hemp, meat AND unsanitary food preparation? Bring it on!
I got in line and put some carrots, chips and a hamburger bun on my paper plate. Most of the patties were small; mine was about the size of a deck of cards. (That's the correct helping size for meat, just FYI.) I topped it off with classic ketchup and mustard.
Whitney, her sis Lindsey and I sat down. I picked up my burger and took a bite. I haven't had a burger since turning to a green diet, so I have nothing to compare it to, though Whitney said you could definitely taste the difference.
Taste was good, not going to lie. Yet something in the back of my mind kept reminding me I was eating animal muscle. I didn't completely not enjoy it, and knowing this had been a well-cared-for creature eased guilt and fear of chemicals and disease. But the experience reaffirmed the fact that I don't really want to incorporate meat into my diet again. I left it behind and therefore don't find it as delicious as I once did. I'm a creature of habit and it's no longer for me.
Happy cows come from California, and organic ones come from Farmer Bill's, but I'll let each one have their beef.
Whitney, a friend who works at the dry cleaners next to our bakery, helps organize these rallies. After many invites I finally went. It was the perfect day for the park: rainy and cold. I kept thinking of Seattle, though the one day I was there the skies were blue and the sun shone upon my back. I think the older hippies who lead H.E.M.P. also had something to do with my Northwestern thoughts.
One of the group leaders, Farmer Bill, brought some organic ground beef from his farm. Whitney assured me the cattle were grass-fed and well treated. I'm not a hard-core animal activist or green person but my flower child tendencies figured it was OK to try it. After all, it wasn't hormone-filled, grocery store meat, no?
Two ladies opened the packets and began shaping the meat into red, round patties. It didn't hit me until later that they might not have washed their hands. Hemp, meat AND unsanitary food preparation? Bring it on!
I got in line and put some carrots, chips and a hamburger bun on my paper plate. Most of the patties were small; mine was about the size of a deck of cards. (That's the correct helping size for meat, just FYI.) I topped it off with classic ketchup and mustard.
Whitney, her sis Lindsey and I sat down. I picked up my burger and took a bite. I haven't had a burger since turning to a green diet, so I have nothing to compare it to, though Whitney said you could definitely taste the difference.
Taste was good, not going to lie. Yet something in the back of my mind kept reminding me I was eating animal muscle. I didn't completely not enjoy it, and knowing this had been a well-cared-for creature eased guilt and fear of chemicals and disease. But the experience reaffirmed the fact that I don't really want to incorporate meat into my diet again. I left it behind and therefore don't find it as delicious as I once did. I'm a creature of habit and it's no longer for me.
Happy cows come from California, and organic ones come from Farmer Bill's, but I'll let each one have their beef.
Sunday, May 9, 2010
Graduation Day 2010
It doesn't seem like 7 p.m. It doesn't seem like my roommate moved out. It doesn't seem like life changed today. But of course it has.
Another year officially ended with Union's graduation weekend. The school is my alma mater and I live across the street, hence my life rhythm still being synched to the school year. I may be out but I still feel a slow down coming when May comes.
My cousin, roommate and several good friends marched down the isle, received their diplomas, and bid farewell to our little college. I couldn't help but be nostalgic. I remember my cheeks hurting from smiling and being tired from a packed weekend.
I'm exhausted. I went to three receptions and hung out with my family. But this time even my surroundings seems tired. My apartment is a quiet mess, except for Ferdie, my parakeet, who keeps jumping through his swing and puffing his feathers from my window's cold draft. I like the idea of my own space now that Crystal moved out, but knowing she won't be coming back will be odd for a few days. The weather outside is not helping: it is May and in the low 50s, complete with a chilly wind and overcast sky.
Today has become a tired day. I feel like napping to recharge but I tried and couldn't fall asleep. That's why I'm here. Maybe reflecting will help me readjust of my surroundings and life. Ah, thank goodness for writing.
First on the list is my apartment. I don't like my computer being on the ground and Ferdie probably doesn't appreciate being crowded by DVDs, CDs and LPs.
Another year officially ended with Union's graduation weekend. The school is my alma mater and I live across the street, hence my life rhythm still being synched to the school year. I may be out but I still feel a slow down coming when May comes.
My cousin, roommate and several good friends marched down the isle, received their diplomas, and bid farewell to our little college. I couldn't help but be nostalgic. I remember my cheeks hurting from smiling and being tired from a packed weekend.
I'm exhausted. I went to three receptions and hung out with my family. But this time even my surroundings seems tired. My apartment is a quiet mess, except for Ferdie, my parakeet, who keeps jumping through his swing and puffing his feathers from my window's cold draft. I like the idea of my own space now that Crystal moved out, but knowing she won't be coming back will be odd for a few days. The weather outside is not helping: it is May and in the low 50s, complete with a chilly wind and overcast sky.
Today has become a tired day. I feel like napping to recharge but I tried and couldn't fall asleep. That's why I'm here. Maybe reflecting will help me readjust of my surroundings and life. Ah, thank goodness for writing.
First on the list is my apartment. I don't like my computer being on the ground and Ferdie probably doesn't appreciate being crowded by DVDs, CDs and LPs.
Monday, April 26, 2010
B-Tan's B-Day
Yesterday was Brandon's 24th birthday. (Oh. He's the unromantic love of my life. We hang out at least once a week, I love him to death, but there is no attraction.)
Him and some other close friends went to a local Mexican eatery. (After taking a detour to the wrong Mexican restaurant.) Afterwards his roommate and our friend, Tammy, and I went out for what is hands down the best ice-cream in our town.
We discussed birthdays as we ate our scoops of snickerdoodle, hazelnut latte, peach cream, and apple. Brandon hadn't had a birthday at home since high school. Tammy thought she would be married by now (24), especially since she had been engaged. The only birthday that felt different was my 21st but as I don't drink I'm not sure why that was.
"What's it like to be 25?," Brandon asked me. I felt my child just asked me, "Why's the sky blue?"
What IS it like to be 25? I don't feel like my age. I don't feel like life "officially" started two years ago after I marched down the isle in a cap and gown to receive two diplomas. I don't feel like I'll ever be old enough to get married, have children, own a house.
Tammy's right though. Life has started and we might realize we're already behind. I think I procrastinated. One day it will hit home if we're not married. For her it's by 30, but only because chances of tying the knot decrease as we age. Single-hood seems to be my "destiny" at the moment and I've come to accept that fact.
This wasn't my birthday but I dare say it's the most reflective I've been in. I don't want to realize there wasn't much living between blowing out each set of candles. The thought of not being around people I love to celebrate our yearly milestones with is a bad note to a perfectly unperfect rendition of "Happy Birthday." Fumbling while trying to pin the tail on my life is still discomforting.
Our ice cream was sprinkled with melancholy but knowing we were still together helped take away the after taste. In the end that's you have.
Happy birthday, Brandon. Hope it's a good year.
Him and some other close friends went to a local Mexican eatery. (After taking a detour to the wrong Mexican restaurant.) Afterwards his roommate and our friend, Tammy, and I went out for what is hands down the best ice-cream in our town.
We discussed birthdays as we ate our scoops of snickerdoodle, hazelnut latte, peach cream, and apple. Brandon hadn't had a birthday at home since high school. Tammy thought she would be married by now (24), especially since she had been engaged. The only birthday that felt different was my 21st but as I don't drink I'm not sure why that was.
"What's it like to be 25?," Brandon asked me. I felt my child just asked me, "Why's the sky blue?"
What IS it like to be 25? I don't feel like my age. I don't feel like life "officially" started two years ago after I marched down the isle in a cap and gown to receive two diplomas. I don't feel like I'll ever be old enough to get married, have children, own a house.
Tammy's right though. Life has started and we might realize we're already behind. I think I procrastinated. One day it will hit home if we're not married. For her it's by 30, but only because chances of tying the knot decrease as we age. Single-hood seems to be my "destiny" at the moment and I've come to accept that fact.
This wasn't my birthday but I dare say it's the most reflective I've been in. I don't want to realize there wasn't much living between blowing out each set of candles. The thought of not being around people I love to celebrate our yearly milestones with is a bad note to a perfectly unperfect rendition of "Happy Birthday." Fumbling while trying to pin the tail on my life is still discomforting.
Our ice cream was sprinkled with melancholy but knowing we were still together helped take away the after taste. In the end that's you have.
Happy birthday, Brandon. Hope it's a good year.
Thursday, March 18, 2010
Bailey's and the Saints Blessed Me on St. Patrick's Day
St. Patrick's Day isn't really on my "holidays to celebrate" list. Wearing green is the extent of my involvement. But this year I decided it was at least a good excuse to get friends together. Brandon and Becca came over and we watched "Boondock Saints." How Irish is that for ya?
I had some Irish coffee cake from the place I work at and brewed up some coffee. It wasn't the greatest cup of joe I've ever brewed but it was passable. To top it off with some Irish flavour I put about 3 teaspoons of Bailey's.
Contradictory to what I just wrote, I don't drink. I might try a sip from a friend's drink if offered or I'm curious, but I don't order alcohol. Once I had a concrete reason to abstain, but now it's just habit as I try to find a strong, rock-solid conviction. (More on that later.)
The only reason I had some was to satisfy my curiosity. I don't and won't apply this to every curiosity I have, but this one seemed OK. It was a mini bottle and I only had part of it. Definitely not enough to get me plastered. St. Patty once again gave me a decent excuse. Sorry I seem like such a conformist.
I don't plan on drinking; it's not really for me and it's just something else to spend money on. I also don't want it to somehow get out of hand, or with my luck have it be "that one time" when something happens to me.
Anywho, hope you had a happy St. Patrick's Day. Now to figure out a "constructive" use for the rest of the Bailey's.
I had some Irish coffee cake from the place I work at and brewed up some coffee. It wasn't the greatest cup of joe I've ever brewed but it was passable. To top it off with some Irish flavour I put about 3 teaspoons of Bailey's.
Contradictory to what I just wrote, I don't drink. I might try a sip from a friend's drink if offered or I'm curious, but I don't order alcohol. Once I had a concrete reason to abstain, but now it's just habit as I try to find a strong, rock-solid conviction. (More on that later.)
The only reason I had some was to satisfy my curiosity. I don't and won't apply this to every curiosity I have, but this one seemed OK. It was a mini bottle and I only had part of it. Definitely not enough to get me plastered. St. Patty once again gave me a decent excuse. Sorry I seem like such a conformist.
I don't plan on drinking; it's not really for me and it's just something else to spend money on. I also don't want it to somehow get out of hand, or with my luck have it be "that one time" when something happens to me.
Anywho, hope you had a happy St. Patrick's Day. Now to figure out a "constructive" use for the rest of the Bailey's.
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
Not Quite Mrs. Robinson
Mrs. Robinson (from "The Graduate") and I could maybe be friends. I've been seeing a boy lately. Yes, "boy": he's six years my junior and a college freshman.
For inexplicable reasons I like younger guys. Maybe it's the innocence. I'm not trying to take it, it's just that it suits me, as I feel I'm still naive for my age.
I met my pseudo-significant other in January thru my friend Kaity. We hit it off but I didn't think much would come of it. A month later he randomly called me and we've been hanging out since then.
Unlike the assertive and manipulative Mrs. Robinson, I'm terrified.
The last time I was vulnerable and open with someone I fell hard. My heart sports a nasty proverbial scar to prove it. After almost two years I feel I'm starting to wake up from a sad haze and live my life. It feels good, hopeful.
There is still a nasty side-effect to my case: I've been doubting my "honey's" sincerity. In what can be considered a metaphorical soul strip I told him I am still recovering from my last relationship. Yeah, it's been that hard. He's been surprisingly supportive and says he even wants to help me trust people again. It's not people I mistrust: it's a possible romantic relationship that has me almost sick with anxiety.
We love watching movies, talking, cuddling. I think we got to the latter a little faster than we should've but he adores me for who I am, thinks I'm "absolutely lovely" and calls me "darling." Though he's sometimes a bit too teasing he likes intellect and philosophy. He's a gamer and a nerd, a type that I'm quite familiar and comfortable despite having "N008" tattooed on my forehead.
Adorable as he sounds, a few things have me wanting to bolt the other way:
1) He's six years younger- I've dated younger guys before, but I feel six years is pushing my limits. I had my college years and an overall good social experience; I don't want to take that away from him and keep him from meeting other people.
2) I don't date for kicks and giggles- Dating for "practice" was never been my thing. He says it wouldn't be for fun, but I'm still not sure how serious he is.
3) I'm scared of getting hurt again.- Though self-conscious, I've tended to be a very trusting (sometimes a little too trusting) person. Mom says it's important to be transparent but understood why I didn't want to feel exposed anymore. I'm having a harder time sharing myself this go-round.
4) I'm don't think I'm emotionally healthy enough to have a relationship yet.- While he knows my story and I appreciate the patience, I don't want him to somehow become a band-aid to a deeper riff I need to fix within. Just because I'm happier doesn't mean I'm well.
I'm over thinking to the point of slight anxiety. I don't want to do that. I want to enjoy his company and get to know him better, maybe to the point where I can firmly say, "Yes, I'm with him." Not sure how compatible we are yet, but I am curious to find out. I'm just really, really scared about taking a jump off this diving board.
For inexplicable reasons I like younger guys. Maybe it's the innocence. I'm not trying to take it, it's just that it suits me, as I feel I'm still naive for my age.
I met my pseudo-significant other in January thru my friend Kaity. We hit it off but I didn't think much would come of it. A month later he randomly called me and we've been hanging out since then.
Unlike the assertive and manipulative Mrs. Robinson, I'm terrified.
The last time I was vulnerable and open with someone I fell hard. My heart sports a nasty proverbial scar to prove it. After almost two years I feel I'm starting to wake up from a sad haze and live my life. It feels good, hopeful.
There is still a nasty side-effect to my case: I've been doubting my "honey's" sincerity. In what can be considered a metaphorical soul strip I told him I am still recovering from my last relationship. Yeah, it's been that hard. He's been surprisingly supportive and says he even wants to help me trust people again. It's not people I mistrust: it's a possible romantic relationship that has me almost sick with anxiety.
We love watching movies, talking, cuddling. I think we got to the latter a little faster than we should've but he adores me for who I am, thinks I'm "absolutely lovely" and calls me "darling." Though he's sometimes a bit too teasing he likes intellect and philosophy. He's a gamer and a nerd, a type that I'm quite familiar and comfortable despite having "N008" tattooed on my forehead.
Adorable as he sounds, a few things have me wanting to bolt the other way:
1) He's six years younger- I've dated younger guys before, but I feel six years is pushing my limits. I had my college years and an overall good social experience; I don't want to take that away from him and keep him from meeting other people.
2) I don't date for kicks and giggles- Dating for "practice" was never been my thing. He says it wouldn't be for fun, but I'm still not sure how serious he is.
3) I'm scared of getting hurt again.- Though self-conscious, I've tended to be a very trusting (sometimes a little too trusting) person. Mom says it's important to be transparent but understood why I didn't want to feel exposed anymore. I'm having a harder time sharing myself this go-round.
4) I'm don't think I'm emotionally healthy enough to have a relationship yet.- While he knows my story and I appreciate the patience, I don't want him to somehow become a band-aid to a deeper riff I need to fix within. Just because I'm happier doesn't mean I'm well.
I'm over thinking to the point of slight anxiety. I don't want to do that. I want to enjoy his company and get to know him better, maybe to the point where I can firmly say, "Yes, I'm with him." Not sure how compatible we are yet, but I am curious to find out. I'm just really, really scared about taking a jump off this diving board.
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