COOKIE

While a number of more significant things occurred today during my 13 hour workday (13 minus 1 hour minus 15 minutes minus 30 minutes minus 15 minutes) one of the more pleasant happenings was receiving an email from our Executive Director, complimenting the chocolate chip cookies that I had brought into our office's pizza party birthday celebration for three of my very pretty coworkers who all happen to be in their thirties.

The recipe yielded about 4 dozen cookies, as my preference is that the dough is rolled slightly smaller that a golf ball before cooking. Someone once said of these, "there is something virtuous about small, single bite-sized cookies." To my delight, the cookie tin was completely empty at the end of the lunch, and ours is a small office.

I never enjoyed baking or cooking except in recent years. I still don't like it like Hannah, or, god forbid, my sister (I'm not sure why god should forbid it, but it felt right). I recently visited my sister, and from the second I got off of the plane we went straightaway to two grocery stores, and then she wanted to talk recipes, and plan what we could try to whip up in the kitchen over the next few days. My sister is thin. She has no excess of body fat. Anywhere. She runs, and lifts weights and was a soccer player from elementary school to college. She has impressive biceps and I believe an occasional 6-pack. I idolize her, but not for those reasons. I just think she's amazing. Her discipline is impressive though. She's a person I'm pretty sure who has never smoked a cigarette, doesn't really like drinking... she works as a therapist with disabled children who sometimes smack her, and otherwise act out... and she's funny and nice and family oriented and beautiful. But!I just can't get as excited about cookbooks or how the body functions-- she should be a doctor-- as she does(And my brother is really cool. and my stepsister is really great. But I need to get back to the cookies. My brother makes a mean breakfast, though we're more alike in the kitchen I think).

My sister used to bake even when we were in high school, which isn't odd, but was foreign to me, as this was the height of my love for taquitos and all things pre-made from Costco. I moved out of my parent’s house without knowing how to cook. I remember I thought, at age 21, that I had discovered the best in cuisine with this delectable recipe: a cheese totino's pizza--the party pizza! (Shout out to Grant! Every night a party pizza and two bricks of ramen) a cheese totino's pizza with a fried egg over easy and yellow mustard. I recommended this to people. I once ruined spaghetti that same year, when trying to make dinner for a date. I served undercooked pasta, complete with my own special sauce: Marinara, red wine and cream of mushroom soup. On the side was french bread, layered with a thick paste of mayonnaise, onions and paprika (this can actually be tasty when prepared right, a friends mom's special). He chewed politely and said, "well... it's not great," and offered me some pointers.

By the time I was 24 I had progressed slightly. I had been working at a food co-op for a few years and was getting a little sensitive about my ingredients. I was surrounded by people who loved food: good, quality, healthy food, and this was something of a new education. I know that cookies are not "health food" per say, I'm just trying to put it out there that I was on the cusp of learning how to follow a basic recipe and the realization that I didn't need to go to the frozen section to sustain myself.

So, last fall (completely by my own fault), I ended up squatting in the house of a new friend I had met when I sublet a room from her and her friends during summer. I paid rent, and was in everyone's way as they started the school year. I had all of my sh*t piled in the corner, and slept on the ground without a mattress in either the kitchen or the living room. I would bring home old produce from the co-op, sort of as a peace offering and a thank you for invading-your-most-personal-space, and the young woman who was letting me stay would whip up the most amazing dishes. Maybe it was sleeping in the kitchen, but it made an impression.

Anyway, I had to move out. It was a completely unsustainable, temporary living space. I had the good luck of running into one of my good friend's former housemate's girlfriend (whew) and she invited me over for a pizza night at her boyfriend's house. I went and they happened to have a room for rent, Hannah (my good friend)'s old room. I had pleasant memories associated with that house. The people seemed great. It was clear that I needed to leave the house I was currently in sooner, rather than later (I sound like I was a mooch. I wasn't! But I was an imposition), and I had just realized in the past few days that I probably wasn't going to join the coast guard (my plan at the time) and would be in town for at least awhile.

So I moved in. It was great. My housemate and coworker Grant (remember, totinos party pizza and two bricks of ramen?) became one of my best friends. He is one of the funniest, if not the funniest, most quick witted people I know. Marriage material I say! Ladies, take notice. Anyway, when I first moved in I was not immediately comfortable. I was comfortable, but I wanted my housemates to like me. I lived with four men and was the youngest person at the residence. I remember, one day I decided to make cookies for my housemates... maybe we were having a house game night. I just remember that I chose the simplest recipe that I could find-- the cheapest as well. It had, I think, peanut butter, sugar, and butter. they were okay. they became my standard for a quick minute. I progressed to chocolate chip, and then discovered the joys of soft-baked *I will never understand the appeal of a crispy cookie.

It was cookie mania! I was baking cookies sometimes more than once a week, filling the plate on the counter as soon it was emptied, most often I suspect by a hungry grad student, given name Zach. I was mailing cookies to friends out of state, bringing in cookies to my coworkers at 4 am, baking cookies for family members. It was like I had finally found my hidden talent, although it wasn't really a talent, it was just committing to memory a recipe that is printed on the back of most packages of chocolate chips.

My aunt cheryle once commented that feeding people is in my blood and that might be so. Observe my grandmother, whom I believe I have many, many adorable, funny stories about, that I am reticent to regale you with, as I don't want to seem like I'm mocking the woman. Case in point: Christmas Eve, this year. Nana is putting the pressure on me to accept her offer to bake me a batch of cookies. I am declining because 1.) I'm weight conscious and always give them away and that seems unfair 2.) she is always trying to give me something, whether it's old thank you cards, or tupperware, or once, a girdle. *Note, sometimes it's lovely stuff. Other times I'm pushing back plastic basket woven napkin holders. "Nana, thank you, but I don't want any cookies." I say again. "Don't you know anyone who likes cookies?" she says. "Just take the cookies." my mom whispers loudly. "Alright nana, I'd love some cookies." "Well, I don't want to force you..."

Whenever I am a host, or know that someone is unhappy, my first instinct is to feed them. I have played the humble cookie troll for my long-suffering (not so long) gentleman friend when he has scary work/school obligations. One of my many, most likely never going to happen dreams is to open a health food restaurant with my sister, somewhat like Sprouts, a casual eatery in Tahoe. We have a system at our parent’s house, she cooks, I clean. Our restaurant could be like that, I manage and she cooks, both of us researching delicious food-- I would specialize in the vegetarian and vegan fare, she would look for non-dairy options (she is lactose intolerant, like most of the world's population. Fun fact).

Anyway, I moved out of the house with all of the dudes and into one with Hannah (whose old room I had been living in-- had my own bathroom. Quite a step up), which happens to be occupied (at present) by four other girls and only one boy, whom is romantically attached to Hannah (which has a gender neutralizing effect?). A difference. Come to think of it, I have lived with either all gentlemen or ladies in intervals.

(Hannah has said more than once that she only wants to live in a house with a gas stove. So it is clear where she stands. I mean, a lady who has a stove preference. Call me uninitiated.)

One of my first impressions of this household was the impossibly cool Laurel (since moved out, I went into that bedroom and Diana moved into my previous abode) making cookies for herself and her then boyfriend Johnny, with maybe no sugar, no salt (Johnny didn't eat salt)... vegan. healthy. I figured that everyone in the house must have an aversion to salt and butter and sugar and chocolate and went into temporary retirement from my cookie baking career.

However. I have since learned that although everyone in this house is abstains from most junk food (with the exception of that pop tart eating, ramen noodling minx sydney), they all enjoy cookies, cakes, pies, ice cream, nutella, waffles, stroopwaffles, etc. Even with this knowledge I have not resumed my baking schedule. It was another time perhaps, another place.

When we have house dinners (which are... so great.) I usually try to make something healthy, without cheese or bread or any of the sinful things that I tell myself I can't eat, which normal people enjoy and don't obsess about. But whenever I want to delight or otherwise impress I pull out my novice baking knowledge. My boyfriend's parents I have tried to woo with pie. On Christmas Nick unfortunately witnessed a meltdown as I realized that chocolate chips were subpar and my split seconds (my FAVORITE cookie) were too under baked, and not worthy of serving.

I thought about that email that I got today as I bike home from the train station; it feels like so long ago, first thing this morning. The depressive in me is ready for some sunshine, but I do love fog. I love biking through fog in the cold; this morning I felt like I was a fish or frog cutting through a vat of ice water. Speaking of ice water, when making an all butter crust, use ice water. And when making cookies, bake them until they look like they are firm, but still pale, and they will cool into the softest, most soft-bakiest cookies ever. And whenever everything else is in doubt, remember that given the right tools, you have something to contribute at work, even if it wasn't what you had hoped for. Like baking cookies that people liked, even if this has no bearing on your job at all. This is all terrible. Goodnight my lovelies.

I failed creative writing in high school. Twice.

 That half packet of snack sized peanut butter has been my saving grace. Low blood-sugar, it's no joke! [I thought after I fished the packet out of my bike bag, after deciding that Taco Bell is not real food-- delicious, delicious junk food-- and biked past the establishment on my way to the station, I felt my mood begin to change dangerously. It happens so quickly. Thank goodness I was unable to find that packet last night!]

Before I even tucked the stray d'anjou pears in for the night, under the tissue paper I had hastily torn off their comrades-in-arms who made it into the display basket at the grocery store where I am currently employed, I I thought tonight might be night for a blog entry. Why? Oh I don't know, one spends the past eight hours daydreaming and crazy ideas just start to creep in.

I believe that I have been unjustly maligned by rumors that I have bad taste in movies and in music. Rumors! Observable fact for some. Well, the buck stops here, kiddo. I am here today, naked (not naked. never naked. the shame!) before you, to declare my love of the genre of romantic comedy, and for musical artists like Randy Travis and Dwight Yoakam.

This sort of thing is totally subjective, and I will tell you, I don't like the movie Donnie Darko, or Napoleon Dynamite, I thought that  Rain Man was dumb, I don't like listening to the band Pepper, or the Doors... I'm trying to remember other things that I don't like, but that seems pointless. We all have our preferences.

My sister and I used to watch Sleepless in Seattle or While You Were Sleeping everytime that we went to visit our nana when we were younger (this may have been a couple of times a month). Sleepless in Seattle is one of my favorite movies. FACT: Tom Hanks is a good actor. He is incredibly likable. He is (or was the last time I was paying attention) box office gold. I would say that he is not unlike a less virile (sorry Tom) Paul Newman of our day. Meg Ryan was the creme de la creme of female leads. Who could hold a candle to her? Julia Roberts? Pffft. Please. I am clearly not a student of film, and I have said this before, but let me say on the internet that I think in the most simplistic terms that the romantic comedies of the 1990's were created in the perfect storm of conditions for fluff. What's that? Economic prosperity? Political correctness? Less muss and fuss there. Men and women as equals at home and in the workplace, shifting dynamics that are new enough to be a part of the conversation, but established enough that Meg Ryan can play a savvy, capable journalist without it being a thing. (Come to think of it, she was a journalist in another of my favorites, When Harry Met Sally as well). Also, in some of those movies you've got some Robert Downey Jr., you've got some Sandra Bullock, you've got some other people who make some waves when they star in more serious roles.

And what is so wrong with just wanting to watch two nice people fall in love anyhow? In Sleepless in Seattle, Tom Hanks's character is just a nice man who loses his wife, whom he was madly in love with, to cancer. Her just wants to be a good dad (and is one) to his son, who is fairly well adjusted and likable considering. Meg Ryan is a nice lady who does a few crazy (and sneaky) things for love that might not fly in real life, but who cares. Bill Pullman's character is a nice guy too, they don't make him look like a jerk just because he's wrong for Meg Ryan. And now onto music... I need to go to bed.

I like Randy Travis and Dwight Yoakam. I think is this fine. Their millions of fans would think this is fine. However, however... you know who you are. Their music is fun. I kinda think that's the point of music sometimes. Right? Right.

Randy Travis sings one his most famous songs, "They say time takes it's toll on a body, Makes the young girl's brown hair turn grey, But honey, I don't care, I ain't in love with your hair, And if it all fell out well I'd love you anyway." Well, that's just sweet. I'm not even a person who conducts myself in a way where I put my sexuality out there (frankly, I'm uncomfortable talking about it here), but ( I am neurotic), I do fear what I believe will be my loss of sexuality as I age.............. This is a sweet love song where someone is telling another person that there's a bond that remains after the bloom of youth has faded. This reminds me of a man who was briefly employed the first job I ever had. This man, who was older (not old) got a job in the store after he was laid off from the company he had been working for, his career, and this was a temporary paycheck. He had an anniversary coming up and he talked about how important it was to have things that you love about the person that you're married to after gravity starts doing it's work and life throws you a few curveballs.

When I was younger I feel like I used to seek out some things that made me unhappy. Sad songs, unrequited love stories, things that I thought were romantic and fitting of what life was really like, the experience of being alive, TO BE ALIVE! TO FEEL PAIN! Oh, my, oh, goodness. Well, I think that life is challenging, and I don't think that even the schmaltziest romantic comedy could ignore that. Even the terrible ones (I can't remember the name, the one where Katherine Heigel is a newsperson in Sacramento. Putrid. Terribly written, I couldn't finish it) have to deal with some conflict. However, in these movies you get optimism. Hope. Comfort food. I like it. There is that quote, "If you want a happy ending, that depends, of course, where you stop your story." Instead of being a story about Tom Hanks character's wife dying, or about his son going to college, or about he and Meg Ryan's character getting a divorce or one of them eventually passing away, it's about them falling in love. falling in love, which is one of the most wonderful things that a person can experience. And they don't even meet until the end, so it's all possibility, no details, no mess.

Nick was making fun of me for my sentence, "I understand canned beans" in a previous post, so I'm sure that I've left myself open to a little more ridicule here. Oh well. That's opening my mouth. Some of my favorite movies: It's a Wonderful Life, Annie Hall, Sleepless in Seattle, When Harry Met Sally, The Royal Tenenbaums, The Odd Couple, The Godfather, The Notebook (yes and I forgot to say that, while I have never read a Nicholas Sparks book, yes), and etc and so on. None of these movies are terrible. They are quite enjoyable and well made. E-n-d.

p.s. my mom's favorite movie is The American President, which is another good one. If you haven't seen it, you get a progressive, yet cautious president played by Michael Douglas who delivers speeches written by Aaron Sorkin (not in the movie), and falls in love with a strong (redheaded.) lobbyist, played by Annette Benning.

In bed, thinkin thoughts.

I'm at home today, not feeling great. I can't actually eat anything, and this is not fueled by my desire to be the oldest person in the Russian Ballet. I was thinking about having babies. Not casually like, "today I will have babies!" But more in the sense that if you have children, your love and various bullshit has much more weight than if you skip that step altogether.

Like, if you marry someone or don't and don't have kids, if you're a shitbag (whether you can make justifications or blah), it's something that gradually disappears. Your partner (or, partner is a misleading word, when you've been treating that person like less than an equal partner) moves on, or if they don't, their friends can only be so supportive. Initially, they're like "jimmy is such a douche! F*ck (I still have standards) him!" but eventually it's like, "hey lady, get over it. you crazy. no wonder he dumped your ass."

Children are like the oral storytellers of their parents misspent youth. Oh, I'm so hurt! Oh, this was so hard! And who will tell you otherwise? Children are innocents. This is why it is so dangerous to have kids before you're ready to give up your own childhood. You may feel like a child, but you have more of an idea of what the consequences of your actions are than a nine year old would.

I think that parenting has to be the hardest job ever. Ever. I've seen parents that don't want to tell their kids "no" because they don't want to give any sign that they don't love them. There are plenty of parents who are not at all involved in their kid's lives, which is a shame and sometimes a gift. Or some well-intentioned parents have had their relationships with their kid's altered for the worse as a result of their relationship with their partner. Or, whatvever. Families do.

Today is my mom's birthday. She's great. She had three kids by the time she was my age. Man! I look for her approval before I make any big decision. I ask her advice about everything and I probably tell her too much. For most people, our relationship with/without our parents is one of the most significant relationships we will ever have. This is the person who (in theory) will know you from the day you are born until the day that they (or you, in rarer cases) die. My idea of ideal parent-child dynamics is very much an American or western standard, or I regret to say that i know too little about most other cultures to know how they operate. I am grateful that my parents have tried to be realistic with me in regards to expectations about jobs I could have, and emphasized that I need to know what my priorities are. They have never been prejudiced about who I should love... they might object to my bringing home a Republican, or someone way outside of the mainstream (not that republicans are way outside of the mainstream. think... cher impersonator. my parents might initially have a problem with my bringing home a male cher impersonator. but they would be won over if he treated me well. eventually), but as far as ethnicity or gender I know whoever I decide to date it's cool to come home for the holidays. I know because they have told me so.

The greatest gift, besides raising me with material comforts and teaching me the importance of manners, is that my parents accept me as I am as an adult. Sometimes it is begrudgingly (my mom hates tattoos) and if I were truly destructive, I know that would not stand... but on the whole, I am very appreciative for this. My mom has emphasized  that you can really do whatever you want until you have kids. But, and I know this is what she really means: you can do whatever you want, within reason, and kids are awesome. But it's best to not before you're ready.

No, no, happy MLK day to YOU

I am so delighted to say that I have monday off from work. GLORIOUS! Hear it from the mountaintops, shout it to the heavens. I was talking to a nice young man in my office, who has the same first name as my sister and the same last name as her boyfriend, and he casually mentioned being excited about the three day weekend. "What three day weekend?" MLK Day Muthaf*ckas!

I wish, I wish so much right now that I could capture (with some magic image keeping box... my camera is broken :/) the view from outside of my window at this moment. the sky is a beautiful burning pink, with mere hints of blue, contrasted to the yellow house behind us, little bulbs of orange from the neighbor's persimmon trees... with the bare branches scraping the atmosphere, all of this even through the ugly netting over the left side of my lovely windows (they are the kind where you can open one side with a crank, 8 panes in all). My yellow and white striped curtains make a lovely frame for this visual feast. And it only gets more lovely as the sun is going, until it'll all be disappeared from view. (too much? wax poetic with me)

Anyway. I don't remember what I had intended to write about. Maybe it was last year's MLK Day. My mom's birthday happens to be the day before, January 16th. Last year was a milestone, and instead of spending it in Paris like she had talked about (too pricey) we went to Yosemite. It was so great. My aunt and uncle and cousin went too. We stayed in a hotel room that was really like an apartment, it had a full kitchen so we could make all of our own meals. We went snowshoeing (a word that breaks the rule about dropping the "e" before "ing"! Cool!). It was so much fun. We stocked the  fridge, I had some delicious eye of the hawk (I haven't had a beer in months. I'm convinced it will make me fat), we all watched a movie in our jammies.

It's not so beautiful outside anymore. Monday will feel like that sunset did, I hope. That vacation was like an extended sunset, or at least it is in my memory. My mom and Carl are in Boise with my sister this birthday weekend. I will be working, but not without fun. I'm going to take Nick to the movies tonight. He wanted to see Tron, but I thing he wants to see The King's Speech more, which is good news for me. I would see Tron, and probably like it, but I don't go to the movies very often and just yesterday I heard of The King's Speech, and that it is very good. And now I'm adding the buzz. Go movie, go! I'm going to go and make an omelet. Goodbye!

In A Gadda Da Vida Baby, I'm the creepy guy staring at you at the other end of the bar

In a stroke of good luck, I have been gifted an opportunity at one of my jobs to take on more responsibility. This would mean (potentially-- nothing has actually happened yet... in the next month they could observe me and say, hey lady... we actually made a mistake. you're a nice kid, but you're not ready for this yet) that I would have actual, real tasks that I would have to do that would take mental effort and organization. Not to knock retail, but it would be a challenge. I graduated from college three years ago (how has it been that long?) and I've tried taking classes, I've wanted to go back to school, I've tried things... various things. International things? I've repeated jobs that I had when I was 19. I've calmed down. A lot! I've made some really good friends, and have in general (in general) become healthier and more stable. Man, that is not a statement to make on the first date. I think my boyfriend is beginning to suspect that I'm insane, but I hope that I have ensnared him into the love trap (complete with shoulder rubs and freshly baked cookies) so that he'll hang out with me for a while longer.

Also not a statement to make at a job interview. Big brother, if you're watching, just joshin! Totally normal lady right here! I never think that *mumble mumble incoherent rambling*

Well, I don't think that any way that I'm feeling is anything but normal. Maybe ungrateful (which I would dispute!) or not conventional (meh.), but I think it all makes sense.

I have not had by any means a hard life. I am very blessed in many ways. Have you met my family? Seen my teeth? Okay, not the bottom row, but I've been gifted the awesome gift of orthodontia! Oh, jokes! None of these actually seem like jokes, which will make my next statement seem even more silly: earlier this year when I had lost some hope, I just started telling people, "I'm going to be a stand-up comedian." And I totally believed it. I was like, "f*ck it," which I'm sure is not the way that comedians actually conduct themselves. It takes a lot of work and sacrifice. And I have terrible stage fright. And don't tell jokes! Well, sometimes. But most of my friends are funnier than me, something I won't complain about. Keep 'em coming!

But, I swear. I heard that this opportunity might come about, and at first I was excited. And then I was kind of... I don't want to say anything that might make it seem like I will be incompetent or that I'm ungrateful... but I was a little freaked out. I guess I'm still a little confused.

Naive as it may seem, I never wanted to be motivated by money. I am not very good at picturing the future and have a really hard time making long term plans that I actually believe in (I'm also not very good at believing that the future actually exists, which it has been proven to, time and again). That said, I want to do good work. I think I'm okay with working hard. I went to college with the idea that I want to have a job that requires me to think and that is doing something that helps people in some way..

And I think I have the opportunity here. Or, if it doesn't work out, in some other function. My instinct though, was to move to Hollywood and try to break into showbiz. I joked at Christmas that "Phil Hartman is one of my heroes, I'd say Gandhi, but that wouldn't be as honest." Nooo. (Please focus on the "as" honest part. Still honest!) Have I ever been in a play? In elementary school and junior high, each time I was terrified and flubbed.

Have I mentioned this before... would I have mentioned this before? This insignificant moment where I was in high school and had my mom watch the movie "SLC Punk" or told her about it or something. I just remember how I said, of Matthew Lillard's character becoming a lawyer at the end, that he "sold out." My mom said, "it looks like he grew up." Have I mentioned this before? Have I told the same Matthew Lillard story on the internet before? That's the problem with being self-absorbed and talking about/thinking about yourself a lot: Nothing seems original.

There are parts of me that are all at once excited about my potential job change, worried about failure, confident that I will do a good job, think I will enjoy it, apprehensive I won't... but, as I told my mom today, I generally am okay with the job part of my job as long as I am not bored and don't feel incompetent. And the bar for what makes me feel  not bored has gotten way lower, as my belief that if I do my best and pay attention I will be competent has increased. Just don't put me in high pressure sales. Won't. Can't. Or anything that I am genuinely unequipped for. Being...  and I generally want to please people, so there's that employers!

Without telling too much of the biz, I have to say that I do know that my mama had to make a lot of sacrifices and compromises for us kids. My dad just did whatever he wanted to do, and I know that that's not the way I want to live (even if it sounds like he got to do a lot of fun junk). I want to be responsible, even if I make mistakes or am selfish sometimes. I also sometimes feel trapped by situations greater than myself, but then I question how much they are of my own making. Well, money is a reality and this opportunity I have is a good thing. What incredibly nice people to give me this chance-- a chance I have wanted.  I really confuse myself. I just have my head in the clouds all of the time, and clearly, in referencing the people who made me I don't feel entirely like my own life have evolved to a point where I can stop making so many comparisons.

Also, being a lady has its scary parts. Am I going to have kids? Not something I want at all at this age, and I do have some time, but if I want to be financially stable when this happens that will be at least a few years from now... and what if I do become financially stable (if. IF!) and (whether imagined or real) for the first time ever can buy i pods at will or take myself on vacations and want to do those things... and there are time frames for these decisions. Who knows what will seem right in the moment that I will regret later, or chances that I wish I had taken, or commitments I should have made... you can't know.

You can't know. You can just try to be reasonable and think about what is good for you and what is good for the people who matter in your life. I think. The end.

My love letter to vegetables

"Mmmmmm... mmmm... this is so yummy. I must get this deliciousness into my belly as quickly as physically possible." This is was I think my unconscious must be saying as I eat. My meals are usually taken while standing up in my kitchen (away from the windows, away from the view of my housemates), over the countertop, me shoveling food as quickly as I can get it into my unbreathing mouth. Little chewing is involved.

What is remarkable to me about this little story, is that for the past few months my meals have almost all (two out of three a day?) consisted of a salad, made with lettuce or kale, raisins, hulled sunflower seeds, shredded carrots, and dressing. The dressing is the sneaky part. With little exception I use a liberal amount of goddess dressing and olive oil and balsamic vinegar. I have been eating this for days (months!) and it fails to not please me. I think it might be the perfect meal... well. depending. I might say the same for the sunflower drive-in's super avocado with cheese (and a sip of chocolate milkshake), I might also say the same for a Jimboy's bean burrito-- but I probably wouldn't. Beyond hearing that Jimboy's refuses to carry a local magazine because of the paper's support of gay rights, plus the icky feeling that sometimes accompanies consuming fast food, I would not give Jimboy's the honor...

I repeat myself a lot, and I've become slightly worried that if anyone reads this I'll be redundant later in real life. It makes me want to be very secretive-- my thoughts! get out of em! But then I assuage those fears with, "how important do you think you are that everyone is just hanging onto your every word?" Clearly I'm trying: bloooooog.

I love vegetables (as the title of this may have made you guess). What could anyone say about broccoli that was negative? You stay out of this H.W. Bush. Dated cultural references= my acquired affectation that I've been paying attention for so much time. It's the untruth! Is acquired affectation redundant? I don't think so...
 In fact, as a child, negating the myth that kids don't like veggies, I was hard pressed when asked (in school) what my favorite food was. I remember the two at the top of my list were pizza and steamed broccoli with mayonnaise (gross).

I love food. I used to eat until I made myself sick. Then there was a crazy period when I would make myself sick whenever I would eat. Thank goodness neither is true now. There have been distinct, wonderful years of my life when I would eat donuts every day... Talk about the sweet life! But now, oh discipline has been gifted on me. I don't make myself crazy anymore (says the obsessive salad lady. whatever works).

This also makes me an incredibly annoying and ridiculous dinner guest. It makes me not really look forward to eating with others either. I won't eat meat, I don't eat bread, I have very limited dairy and cheese, I dislike soda, I've somewhat lost my taste for sweets... Yet I am always worried about being hypoglycemic, because not eating makes me a zombie or a psychotic. I am riding my bike home, thinking that the sky is falling and life couldn't get me more down, then I arrive, eat a snack and everything is okay.

I am so satisfied right now. I just had the aforementioned meal, plus delicious cooked red cabbage.
I know that it would be cheaper to live on bread and cheese, but at what cost? feeling worse, I think. In nature the generalist fare better than the specialists, right? Who said that? I read that somewhere. But it sounds right. Whatever the evolutionary disadvantages of being a finicky eater, not only do I find "health food" to be super tasty, but also as my medicine for my mind as well as my body. I can eat a delicious meal, stuff myself to the gills, and not obsess over what it'll do to me. I'll take it.

Now, while I rejoice over produce, cooked raw or otherwise, I am reminded of a couple of things that I get a little peevy over. Here it goes:

1.) hip breakfast meats and otherwise: I wanted to say something about what I believe is the unfortunately predictable state of hipness these days (wouldn't you then expect me to be more hip, making a statement like that? Yet, like an art critic who never took to paint, here I am).
Who would have expected my generation to go nuts over zombies, bacon, or the teenage mutant ninja turtles? Initially, no. However, now you can practically devise a formula for the gobbledygook we'll just lap up. And devise a formula I'm sure is exactly what they do, right to these ends ---> $$$. Breakfast meat is becoming ubiquitous and even ending up flavoring chocolate, vodka, and Op-Eds. Who anticipated this? I don't eat bacon, so maybe I'm not the not the lady to call for an end to this fad, but isn't its 15 minutes up? Haven't we enjoyed ninjas and stunner shades long enough?

2.) "washed three times so you don't have to": so read the label of a prepackage salad mix. People. Wash your produce. Or don't but don't be so silly as to buy lettuce in a plastic container (that will take a bajillion years to disappear) because you're too lazy to rinse it off. I understand canned beans (and occasionally buy them), I buy pre-made food. I sometimes enjoy fast food. But why do your Romaine leaves have to live in a plastic box? Will it stay fresh longer? It's lettuce. It has to go bad eventually. No need to shelter it too long from this callous, misunderstanding world. I might be a hypocrite and one day you might see me buying something like this. However! I still think that buying something like pre-washed, encased in plastic lettuce is dumb. The same goes for pre-peeled, encased in plastic garlic. You probably think it's dumb too, it's just darned convenient. I think cars are dumb. However, if you would like to give me a car, I would gladly take it. Wink!

Misanthrope lady doesn't often come out (well, duh. she obviously doesn't like to party). I have a not well developed spine and I want people to like me. However, this I would say in public. On the bus. On the internet. Ta da! But not when a guest in someone's home. Especially if that person had graciously made me a meal. That would be terrible. It'd be like the time I was going on about how I think that goatees are awful, and turned around, forgetting that my friend's (silent, sitting in the corner) boyfriend had one. I felt like a jerk.

Feel free to tell me if anything I do bothers you. I might start weeping, or maybe I would feel justifiably defensive and lash out, and call you all sorts of unfair names, making personal attacks... but we would remain friends. I hope. Because that sort of thing isn't really important.

It's just an entirely different world view.

But it make sense that we all process information differently based on our experiences and sensitivity, and the weather, and stuff like if we had friends when we were kids, or if we had in place of actual human interaction 40 barbie dolls and lots of stuffed animals, the most beloved being chee-chee the monkey who was our best friend until we were an adolescent. Hypothetically.

I now plan to watch hours of 30 Rock on my computer. Now, there's a woman who know the value of a good sandwich! (even as I'm convinced that Tina Fey no longer actually eats donuts).