Well, maybe I just need to blog -it-out here because my crabby pants are wound super tight tonight!
Reasons why I could POSSIBLY be so damn crabby the day after the oh-so-holly-jolly-Christmas-day....
1.) Felt like I was going to work on a Saturday as the roads were dead, weary was my head, and I didn’t feel particularly “alert” in any fashion.
2.) My boots were in slush for like 1/2 a f’n second and the socks were already wet before I stepped into work.
3.) I was all geared up to NOT eat shit today and was greeted by an 8 lb carrot cake someone brought as “leftovers.” Played the whole not-gonna-have-any, wait-maybe-a-little-slice, should-I?, no!yes!no!yes! game and the next thing you know I ate way too much carrot cake and scolded myself continuously all morning long. F%#k!
4.) Was told that I looked tired. Granted maybe I WAS tired but I don’t need confirmation .
5.) Felt sad. Just cuz. People aren’t always nice. A reminder that no one needs to be “good” anymore as Christmas is over.
6.) The Christmas tunes played extra loud today and I wasn’t in the mood for any more chestnuts roasting on an open fire lyrics. Do people really do that anyways?! And what the hell are chestnuts?!
7.) I realized that I am lonely. Lonely for friends and companionship and laughter. Things that should happen more often in my life than once every few months. Realized that I need to call more people. Got sad again. Realized no one calls ME.
8.) Got my period. Realized I had no tampons. Ran out to my car and found one in the glove box. May as well have been an icicle. I had to crank up the thermostat after that one.
9.) Realized how much I despise Winter and darkness and all things COLD. Realized I cannot escape this.
10.) After working a 10 1/2 hr day and finally starting to drive home I had the pleasure of being greeted by a douchebag on wheels right up on my ass within the first 2 miles. I impatiently switched lanes and so did he. Tailing my ass like a f’n moth to a flame. My inner road rage demon of which I never allow to release herself suddenly ripped through my chest with a vengeance that no part of my conscious mind could contain. GAME ON. I’m not sure what happened after that but I snapped. Suddenly it became the first scene from National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation. He sped by me just so I could see him wave his middle finger at me only to then slow down and revert back to tailing my ass again because the other lane was slower. I was now doing 75 in a 55 for fear his bumper would end up inside my trunk. This shit went on as I spewed words that would make a trucker cringe and literally was out of my mind. He then thought it would be a smart ass move to blow past me in the right lane as the vehicles started to veer towards the exit ramp. I saw his finger once again begin to raise although it never quite made it’s full erection because a yellow van with no windows suddenly decided it was NOT the exit they were to take and quickly veered directly in front of douchebag on wheels, cutting him off in such a manner that his only option was to veer off into the ditch. Where he stayed. Stuck I presume. My cuss words turned to praise. A loud, singing, hahaha, jubilantly revenge ridden type of ditty. Eat my slush succcckkkkkaaaa!! Ha!
Anyhow, so the day after Christmas wasn’t so jolly. In part I think it’s because there’s this ridiculously over-rated hype and build up for December 25th. What goes up must come down. Once it’s over, it’s kind of like “huh, well I guess life goes on now...” Life is good, life is great, but it’s possibly a reminder that we shouldn’t just feel this way once a year. The gathering of family and loved ones, the dressing up and cooking a nice dinner for those who mean something to you, or sending a card just to say hello with a few pictures inside could go on all year round at random instead of just this one month. I think that’s what hit me. I need more excitement in my life. I need more real conversation. More real moments. That is what makes me tick. Everyone goes into hibernation in Winter! Come out and play people! (Just not in the snow, I can’t stand that stuff)
So tomorrow? I vow to not be crabby. And if I run into douchebag on wheels again I’ll keep my mouth shut and be polite with a smile and a wave as I run him off the road.
Thursday, December 26, 2013
Tuesday, December 17, 2013
~Love Actually~
Love Actually....
It’s the movie of all movies. From the moment it starts, ten different baits are cast at my heart, hooked at all angles and reeled in. My soul is taken to a magical land of emotion for over an hour and a half then returned to my fluttering chest. Swollen, burning and beaming with sensations that only a good film can create. Every time I watch it I pick up on something new and the lessons so eloquently imbedded in this motion picture are endless. It’s like some intense educational course that rides you along a roller coaster of love, wisdom, and the ever-changing adventures of the heart.
Here is my take on the top TEN lessons on love brought to you by the glorious film “Love Actually”
1.) Love speaks no language, knows no age, and has no agenda. It has no comprehension of inconvenience, no sense of time and no control, yet if you let it, it can still conquer all.
2.) There may be more than one person in the world for you but nobody in the world will be able to tell you that when you are deep in the throes of love. If someone has it bad for a particular person they get tunnel vision and there is nothing you can do to change their mind.
3.) It’s true. Women love musicians. If you don’t have looks on your side I suggest you pick up a guitar and give it your all. Even the ugliest of musicians can find love! Look at Mick Jagger and Steven Tyler.
4.) If you go to a bar in Wisconsin it’s pretty easy to get laid, especially if you have an accent and are willing to shell out a few bucks to buy her drinks. Or just hit up the Midwest in general. Preferably the small towns, those girls like to party and are drawn to guys that “aren’t from around here.” It’s like a moth to a flame.
5.) Music touches the soul. Joni Mitchell writes from down deep and even though she claims to not know love at all I think she has a pretty good grasp at the strings of it. Evidence found in lyrics such as:
“Tears and fears and feeling proud to say "i love you" right out loud,
Dreams and schemes and circus crowds, i've looked at life that way.
But now old friends are acting strange, they shake their heads, they say
I've changed.
Something's lost but something's gained in living every day.
I've looked at life from both sides now,
From win and lose, and still somehow
It's life's illusions i recall.
I really don't know life at all.”
6.) You can’t help the ones you love. Whether it be your best friend’s wife, your much older and very married boss, or a brown eyed beauty that doesn’t speak a lick of English. It’s really worth saying again: You can’t help the ones you love. Sometimes it feels wrong and sometimes it feels right but either way sometimes it’s out of your hands. It may work in your favor or it may teach you a lesson. Do with it what you may but be aware that love can be a gamble. Know when to held ‘em and know when to fold ‘em.
7.) Love is everywhere. You can’t escape it. Even if your heart feels like it has been ripped out of your chest by a dagger and left to wither away slowly, aching and swollen and totally disarranged. I assure you love is waiting on the side lines. You may lose a spouse. Your wife may be sleeping with your brother. Your husband has a wandering eye. These things happen every day but I assure you LOVE will still be there, in a new form just around the corner. It waits patiently. You cannot hide from it, love will find you.
8.) The purchasing of jewelry is reserved for your significant other. Women always appreciate a nice piece of jewelry and don’t think otherwise. Nothing says I Love You more than diamonds.
9.) If you can’t say it show it. When you have no voice whether you’re too shy or just plain scared remember there is always the written word. Even if their ears can’t hear your voice, their heart can still be thrilled by the message. Remember that your eyes are the window to your soul, use them to your benefit!
10.) If you want the rainbow you have to put up with the rain. What could be worse than the total agony of being in love? The unknown. The risk. The rejection. The happily ever after dream that taunts you in your sleep. Loving someone who doesn’t love you back? Ugh, it can be brutal. But love, TRUE love is worth it in the end. It’s worth the fight. It’s worth the tears. It’s worth the risk of knowing you could lose it. Believe and open your eyes....
because love actually IS all around you. And love actually IS worth it all.
It’s the movie of all movies. From the moment it starts, ten different baits are cast at my heart, hooked at all angles and reeled in. My soul is taken to a magical land of emotion for over an hour and a half then returned to my fluttering chest. Swollen, burning and beaming with sensations that only a good film can create. Every time I watch it I pick up on something new and the lessons so eloquently imbedded in this motion picture are endless. It’s like some intense educational course that rides you along a roller coaster of love, wisdom, and the ever-changing adventures of the heart.
Here is my take on the top TEN lessons on love brought to you by the glorious film “Love Actually”
1.) Love speaks no language, knows no age, and has no agenda. It has no comprehension of inconvenience, no sense of time and no control, yet if you let it, it can still conquer all.
2.) There may be more than one person in the world for you but nobody in the world will be able to tell you that when you are deep in the throes of love. If someone has it bad for a particular person they get tunnel vision and there is nothing you can do to change their mind.
3.) It’s true. Women love musicians. If you don’t have looks on your side I suggest you pick up a guitar and give it your all. Even the ugliest of musicians can find love! Look at Mick Jagger and Steven Tyler.
4.) If you go to a bar in Wisconsin it’s pretty easy to get laid, especially if you have an accent and are willing to shell out a few bucks to buy her drinks. Or just hit up the Midwest in general. Preferably the small towns, those girls like to party and are drawn to guys that “aren’t from around here.” It’s like a moth to a flame.
5.) Music touches the soul. Joni Mitchell writes from down deep and even though she claims to not know love at all I think she has a pretty good grasp at the strings of it. Evidence found in lyrics such as:
“Tears and fears and feeling proud to say "i love you" right out loud,
Dreams and schemes and circus crowds, i've looked at life that way.
But now old friends are acting strange, they shake their heads, they say
I've changed.
Something's lost but something's gained in living every day.
I've looked at life from both sides now,
From win and lose, and still somehow
It's life's illusions i recall.
I really don't know life at all.”
6.) You can’t help the ones you love. Whether it be your best friend’s wife, your much older and very married boss, or a brown eyed beauty that doesn’t speak a lick of English. It’s really worth saying again: You can’t help the ones you love. Sometimes it feels wrong and sometimes it feels right but either way sometimes it’s out of your hands. It may work in your favor or it may teach you a lesson. Do with it what you may but be aware that love can be a gamble. Know when to held ‘em and know when to fold ‘em.
7.) Love is everywhere. You can’t escape it. Even if your heart feels like it has been ripped out of your chest by a dagger and left to wither away slowly, aching and swollen and totally disarranged. I assure you love is waiting on the side lines. You may lose a spouse. Your wife may be sleeping with your brother. Your husband has a wandering eye. These things happen every day but I assure you LOVE will still be there, in a new form just around the corner. It waits patiently. You cannot hide from it, love will find you.
8.) The purchasing of jewelry is reserved for your significant other. Women always appreciate a nice piece of jewelry and don’t think otherwise. Nothing says I Love You more than diamonds.
9.) If you can’t say it show it. When you have no voice whether you’re too shy or just plain scared remember there is always the written word. Even if their ears can’t hear your voice, their heart can still be thrilled by the message. Remember that your eyes are the window to your soul, use them to your benefit!
10.) If you want the rainbow you have to put up with the rain. What could be worse than the total agony of being in love? The unknown. The risk. The rejection. The happily ever after dream that taunts you in your sleep. Loving someone who doesn’t love you back? Ugh, it can be brutal. But love, TRUE love is worth it in the end. It’s worth the fight. It’s worth the tears. It’s worth the risk of knowing you could lose it. Believe and open your eyes....
because love actually IS all around you. And love actually IS worth it all.
Friday, November 1, 2013
~The Tree In Me~
Lay down my roots and plant me up
a portrait of sorts and mixed up muck
through heat and chill and winds whipped raw
I sprouted. I weathered. I owned. I saw.
There’s a fire that burns. Inside the tree of me.
It gleams of love dripped in mystery.
It’s bolder than a forest of vibrant dreams
Twisted weeds. Torn up. Laced tight at the seams.
My colors are sporadic, adapting to my tree.
I open one eye. Tuck it all inside of me.
Swaying within the winds of my mind
Hope flutters. Wilts. Leaves burdens behind.
Seeds can flourish but with knowledge and might
A regret. A whisper, A struggle. A fight.
But it’s when the worst has finally past
Then the truth sets in. Blinds you. Like a flash.
Delicate am I in my firm little stance
Unaware of the beast. A game. A dance.
Of mingles and spice and leaves and rain.
Lifts you up high, cuts your branches to shame.
The storm can be bred from a glimmer of sun
Starts softly. Solo. Hugged up in a hum.
Rumbles of thunder haste to tackle your core.
Give you noise, and dilemma, and utter uproar.
Though withered up fierce and wrinkled inside
I took the beatings, I groaned in stride.
A strong arm pierced amid that gust
Spins all the maybes into one big MUST.
Mighty fierce am I. Tough as bark can be.
Grace ignites. Flares up. Batters the coat that covers me.
It nurtures through every ache. It weeps.
Tears shed. And water. Grinds the roots in deep.
Through contorted vines built on twisted lies
It glows. Truth burns. Pokes holes in jagged lines.
Roots intertwine around deceitful tales
A heart withers. Rebuilds. And thy will prevails.
Between Summer’s scorch and Winter’s freeze
Of farewells and loss and dampened dreams
Blossoms of Spring weaves the gold of Fall
My soul flies away while my insides crawl.
A trunk of secrets bears leaves of remorse.
I scoff. They shed. Grow up. Trek the course.
Inhale come together. Exhale fall apart.
Acceptance wraps me up. A noose around my heart.
Weathering it all. Those roots won’t quit.
Day in day out. They endure. They Commit.
Wrongdoings hidden in the shadow of dark.
Light brings out truth. Wisdom strengthens the bark.
I stand tall. I stretch far. The sky is my domain.
It fuels me. Heals me. The Earth. It knows my name.
I am shining in the NOW. That is the tree in me.
Beautifully weathered.
Firmly planted.
wild
scarred
.....and Free.
Wednesday, September 11, 2013
Not such a bad day after all....
I had a rough morning. A rough night rather. My little biological extension, my munchkin, my only, my 6-year old little boy with the longest legs on the planet was not doing well. He had an unexplained outbreak of hives all over his tiny frame and an itchy scalp, rashed up belly, a fever, and according to him “a tongue that felt scratchy and hot”. Poor little boo. He slept beside me as I lay awake to his scratching and rustling about trying to get comfy. His refusal to let us put any type of cream on the welts (because that would require us touching them) had left Steve and I to watch in sorrow as he chose the burning and inflammation over a remedy.
So yea, my night was not of the sleeping kind and by morning we had decided to split the day staying home with the little munchkin. I headed to work at 7 a.m. with a numb headache and a hot cup of coffee to save me. By 8 a.m. the hot cup of coffee in my cute new ceramic thermos had gotten knocked off the counter by my elbow during an urgent situation at work. It shattered and took 1/2 roll of paper towels to clean up. I had to shout out a quick “F my life!” just to validate the fact that this was NOT my morning. The icing on the cake of course was that I had my period and had forgotten to toss tampons in my purse (that would be the cherry on top of it) No pun, really people. My mood was sour and stressed until I started to print the reports for the day and clicked on the calendar day of Sept.11th.
Then I snapped into reality. And felt like a shit.
The switch flipped and I felt sorrow, regret, and then deep THANKS for the good news in my life. Such as:
I am ALIVE.
This is a day of remembrance for many lives lost but not for the life lost of MY husband, MY sister, or MY child.
I am glad to have a child covered in hives because that is all it is: HIVES. It will go away, he will get better, and the hugs I get will continue to multiply.
The sky isn’t falling. I am safe, worry free and loved.
I have a beautiful home that awaits my return every day.
I have the most exuberant free spirited bunch of giggle boxes for friends. I couldn’t have molded a better selection from my dreams than what I already have in my reality.
I have all my limbs and they work. My lungs have air and my eyes are clear. (I was really feeling grateful here...)
I have money to buy a new coffee mug.
I have the ability to create light at the end of the tunnel no matter how long or twisted that tunnel may be.
This is very important: I am having ice cream for breakfast tomorrow because life is too short to not spoil myself and because I CAN.
Lesson being is this: No matter how crappy your day is someone in the world is always having a worse day than you. No day is really that bad so as long as you can retire at the end of it and start a fresh one again in the morning. Be grateful for what IS and forget about the minor things that don’t really matter. Difficulties pass. Days move on. Life slips by. Hold onto the good things, blink away the hardships and keep looking forward towards the light because that is where the beauty is.
Saturday, August 10, 2013
Friday Night Confessions...
Vikings game? Free tickets? Whoo-hoo lezzzzzzgo! Ok, so perhaps I was more sold on the idea of a night out with friends and some cold beer at the end of the work week but what the hell. Game on however you want to look at it.
So we hip hop over to Grumpy’s bar last night to meet up with a bunch of our friends pre-game. Rocked a big ol’ plate of tater tots and some drinks then we walked our purple attired bodies over to the dome. I wore my one and only dark purple colored tank so at least I looked the part of a legit Viking/football fan, but that was about the extent of it.
This blog is a confession actually. So it’s not like I despise football or anything, it’s just that... well it’s not my “thing.” I used to cheer for it in high school and all, but that was mainly because I liked to dance and wear a short skirt and watch the boys run around in tight uniforms (that would be confession #1). Confession #2 is that I never truly understood all the rules of the game and thank god the other cheerleaders had somewhat of a clue or I would have been totally confused as to when I should be jumping and rah-rah-ing for joy or when to put on my cute little concerned face when the play didn’t go in our favor. Ok, so I’m not dumb (my I.Q. is pleasurably above average), but like I said, the sport isn’t really my choice of interest. I’d rather be shopping. (When wouldn’t I rather be shopping?) Or reading a book for that matter. I’m a book worm shop-a-holic who isn’t into football. Yup that’s me.
It was a blast though! Not because of the game or anything, I maybe watched 1 minute total. The conversation with the ladies though? Fabulous. We debated the "age span" of a Vikings cheerleader and how often we shower a week, it was great. I could sit and chat with women all night long while sipping beers and munching on popcorn. That was some damn good popcorn by the way, but $9 for a beer was completely nonsensical.
Oh yeah, this is a confessional. So confession #3 is that (*WARNING: this is cringe worthy) for the 2+ hours I spent sitting in my seat, semi-peeking up at the players running and tossing a ball 'round the field and no doubt some touchdowns happened (yes I know what that is), I can honestly say without a shadow of a doubt that I have NO idea what team they played. Not a clue. I know! It’s horrible! And the final confession I have is this: I have NO idea what the score was. Tsk-tsk. I’m still a fan though because I was wearing purple and I did scream a few whoo-hoos when prompted by screams and fireworks.
What I can tell you though is that the cheerleaders had gold pom-poms and white boots. Oh and my seat was blue.
Excuse me while I go figure out my penance....
So we hip hop over to Grumpy’s bar last night to meet up with a bunch of our friends pre-game. Rocked a big ol’ plate of tater tots and some drinks then we walked our purple attired bodies over to the dome. I wore my one and only dark purple colored tank so at least I looked the part of a legit Viking/football fan, but that was about the extent of it.
This blog is a confession actually. So it’s not like I despise football or anything, it’s just that... well it’s not my “thing.” I used to cheer for it in high school and all, but that was mainly because I liked to dance and wear a short skirt and watch the boys run around in tight uniforms (that would be confession #1). Confession #2 is that I never truly understood all the rules of the game and thank god the other cheerleaders had somewhat of a clue or I would have been totally confused as to when I should be jumping and rah-rah-ing for joy or when to put on my cute little concerned face when the play didn’t go in our favor. Ok, so I’m not dumb (my I.Q. is pleasurably above average), but like I said, the sport isn’t really my choice of interest. I’d rather be shopping. (When wouldn’t I rather be shopping?) Or reading a book for that matter. I’m a book worm shop-a-holic who isn’t into football. Yup that’s me.
It was a blast though! Not because of the game or anything, I maybe watched 1 minute total. The conversation with the ladies though? Fabulous. We debated the "age span" of a Vikings cheerleader and how often we shower a week, it was great. I could sit and chat with women all night long while sipping beers and munching on popcorn. That was some damn good popcorn by the way, but $9 for a beer was completely nonsensical.
Oh yeah, this is a confessional. So confession #3 is that (*WARNING: this is cringe worthy) for the 2+ hours I spent sitting in my seat, semi-peeking up at the players running and tossing a ball 'round the field and no doubt some touchdowns happened (yes I know what that is), I can honestly say without a shadow of a doubt that I have NO idea what team they played. Not a clue. I know! It’s horrible! And the final confession I have is this: I have NO idea what the score was. Tsk-tsk. I’m still a fan though because I was wearing purple and I did scream a few whoo-hoos when prompted by screams and fireworks.
What I can tell you though is that the cheerleaders had gold pom-poms and white boots. Oh and my seat was blue.
Excuse me while I go figure out my penance....
Saturday, July 13, 2013
The heart's connection to a pan of brownies: A dedication to my Mom
I believe that memories and feelings are tied to certain “objects or tastes” throughout our lives. For example, the smell of bubble gum (Hubba Bubba watermelon flavor) instantly takes me back 20 plus years and puts me in my childhood driveway, colored chalk in hand and drawing a hopscotch game onto the cement. I’m in jean shorts smacking and popping bubbles under the sun and can feel the warmth of the driveway on my butt. When I smell suntan lotion I can also simultaneously smell the fabric softener my Mom used on my beach towel and feel the sensation of my body laying on it, the tiny blades of grass poking through onto my back and the feel of sunshine on my face and the tightness of my ponytail.
Smells are huge for me and memories flood back once I catch a whiff of something familiar. Wrigleys Spearmint gum makes me think of my Grandma’s purse as she always carried that green gum with her and gave me a piece every time I rode in her car. Fried fish, boom I’m a child back at our cabin in Alexandria, I can hear the waves of the lake and my dad is standing over the frying pan with a spatula in hand and I can hear every sizzle. One of the biggest memory trips I get is when I smell baked goods. In particular, bars, cookies, and brownies. Oh, my Mom’s brownies were divine. I remember running through our front door when I got home from school and right away I’d know that she made them even before I saw the 9x13 pan on the counter. The scent gave it away. I’d open the lid and the frosting was still warm and gooey as if she had timed it just perfectly to when we walked in the door. She was so sweet like that. They always had a tiny little corner piece taken out because she always had to give it a taste. Damn they were good and I haven’t had them in years.
What I do have though is the recipe and so today I decided to glance it over. Hmmmm, well the only healthy ingredient on the list was the 1/2 cup of boiling water and I’m trying to eat very clean and conscious as of late so I thought I’d make a few substitutions. I mean it can’t hurt to swap a few things out right? So instead of butter I used coconut oil. White flour, bleh, I used some gluten free flour mix. I thought it looked a little thick so I added another egg. I didn’t use the regular white sugar Mom would use but opted for some raw cane sugar and a little coconut palm sugar. The mix looked the right consistency so I crossed my fingers and stuck it in the oven, getting excited for the wonderful smell that would soon fill my house.
Five minutes passed, then ten, then fifteen. What the hell? Did I forget to turn on the oven? Nope, it’s hot. I walked outside and walked back in, and still I smelled no chocolate. Did I remember to put in the damn cocoa? Yes, I had. Is my nose broken!? I opened up a jar of peanut butter and sniffed. No my senses were definitely in working condition. Then the timer went off but the smell never came. WTF!? Ok so I stuck the toothpick in and it was perfectly done and looked really good even though the smell was blank. Maybe the taste will make up for the non existing aroma?
Um, yeah, not so much. I let them cool just enough to dig a fork in and take a nice big bite. Huh? Where’s my Mom’s brownies? I got a hint of candle wax flavor on my tongue. This rectangular pan of dark brown something was a mirage to what should have been a sweet moist bite of warm chocolate sin. Granted, I hadn’t attempted to create the frosting yet but why bother if the base is all jacked up? Crazy enough though, the kid thinks they’re great (under a mountain of whipped cream that is).
Lesson learned: Some things you just can’t mess with. If it isn’t broke, don’t fix it. And honestly? Sometimes it’s worth it to just keep things as they are, even if they’re on the unhealthy side for the sake of memories and satisfaction. My Mom had tons of cookbooks and recipe boxes and this was the ONE AND ONLY brownie recipe she reverted back to for as long as I can remember. Obviously, she knew it was the best and if she knew anything it was how to bake. So I’ll put a little star in the corner of the recipe and note “No adjustments” because at the end of the day, you just can’t mess with perfection.
Smells are huge for me and memories flood back once I catch a whiff of something familiar. Wrigleys Spearmint gum makes me think of my Grandma’s purse as she always carried that green gum with her and gave me a piece every time I rode in her car. Fried fish, boom I’m a child back at our cabin in Alexandria, I can hear the waves of the lake and my dad is standing over the frying pan with a spatula in hand and I can hear every sizzle. One of the biggest memory trips I get is when I smell baked goods. In particular, bars, cookies, and brownies. Oh, my Mom’s brownies were divine. I remember running through our front door when I got home from school and right away I’d know that she made them even before I saw the 9x13 pan on the counter. The scent gave it away. I’d open the lid and the frosting was still warm and gooey as if she had timed it just perfectly to when we walked in the door. She was so sweet like that. They always had a tiny little corner piece taken out because she always had to give it a taste. Damn they were good and I haven’t had them in years.
What I do have though is the recipe and so today I decided to glance it over. Hmmmm, well the only healthy ingredient on the list was the 1/2 cup of boiling water and I’m trying to eat very clean and conscious as of late so I thought I’d make a few substitutions. I mean it can’t hurt to swap a few things out right? So instead of butter I used coconut oil. White flour, bleh, I used some gluten free flour mix. I thought it looked a little thick so I added another egg. I didn’t use the regular white sugar Mom would use but opted for some raw cane sugar and a little coconut palm sugar. The mix looked the right consistency so I crossed my fingers and stuck it in the oven, getting excited for the wonderful smell that would soon fill my house.
Five minutes passed, then ten, then fifteen. What the hell? Did I forget to turn on the oven? Nope, it’s hot. I walked outside and walked back in, and still I smelled no chocolate. Did I remember to put in the damn cocoa? Yes, I had. Is my nose broken!? I opened up a jar of peanut butter and sniffed. No my senses were definitely in working condition. Then the timer went off but the smell never came. WTF!? Ok so I stuck the toothpick in and it was perfectly done and looked really good even though the smell was blank. Maybe the taste will make up for the non existing aroma?
Um, yeah, not so much. I let them cool just enough to dig a fork in and take a nice big bite. Huh? Where’s my Mom’s brownies? I got a hint of candle wax flavor on my tongue. This rectangular pan of dark brown something was a mirage to what should have been a sweet moist bite of warm chocolate sin. Granted, I hadn’t attempted to create the frosting yet but why bother if the base is all jacked up? Crazy enough though, the kid thinks they’re great (under a mountain of whipped cream that is).
Lesson learned: Some things you just can’t mess with. If it isn’t broke, don’t fix it. And honestly? Sometimes it’s worth it to just keep things as they are, even if they’re on the unhealthy side for the sake of memories and satisfaction. My Mom had tons of cookbooks and recipe boxes and this was the ONE AND ONLY brownie recipe she reverted back to for as long as I can remember. Obviously, she knew it was the best and if she knew anything it was how to bake. So I’ll put a little star in the corner of the recipe and note “No adjustments” because at the end of the day, you just can’t mess with perfection.
Thursday, July 11, 2013
Exclusive: Kim, Kanye, and baby North "take naps together!"
Warning: Venting ahead.
OK so I just saw this “update” in my news feed as if it were some ground breaking-OMG-can you believe it?! type of jaw dropping news and well I have to blog it out and give it a big old “WHO GIVES A F#@K?!”
So let me break it down for you famous people who think that spending 5 hours on your Swarovski encrusted fingernails and 1/2 day in the make-up chair, oh and wearing a $10,000 pair of socks equates to your worth, you need a reality check (no your Kardashian show does not count as reality). This is not how normal people in society function.
Just because you are so busy spending money and time trying to look hot (your double plumped lips are not by the way), this does not constitute as a job. Just because people publish ridiculous articles about how doting you are to your child or how miraculous it was that you actually made the time to sit by your (not yet divorced) girlfriend while she pushed a baby out of her (Brazilian waxed) vagina, this does not mean you are actually worthy of any praise doing what all of us other normal people in the world would do without thinking.
Just because you are famous does not make you more special for oh let me see here...holding your child, napping with your child, or giving them a bottle. Wake up people this shit is normal, even if you think you came up with some erratically cool, “no one will ever be able to copy” name for your wrinkled baby such as North West. It isn’t original, it’s obvious. It’s not cool, it’s desperation. The shock wore off after 6 seconds. Poor little North West (who will likely end up directionally challenged) was worthy of about 10.5 million eye rolls before he hit his first 24 hours of life all for a little “oh they finally reveled the name!” publication.
Word up Kanye and Kim: No one gives a shit. Nobody cares that Kanye is by your side certain hours of the day during his busy schedule, or that the crib cost $10,000 (they just piss all over the sheets anyway fyi) or that Kanye refuses to change diapers (really!?). Just because people know your name it doesn’t make your baby any more special even if the gossip mags do pay you multi-millions for a brief (likely exaggerated) 1/2 page print of a few sweet words that you whispered or photos of the cute baby blankets and booties you bought. Ugh.
Get over yourselves. I’d like to see a nice real article about how the baby pooped on your Gucci skirt or how you only got 2 hours of sleep because your bawling baby kept you up all night and it took 2 more hours in the make-up chair to fix the under-eye bags. Because honestly? Having a newborn is not all sunshine and roses (even if you toss out the money to make it appear so in the glossy pages of a magazine). Us real people know better.
So shut-up. Put away the false lashes and put on the sweat pants like a new mommy should. And Kanye, I don’t care how much money those jeans cost or how toned your ass is, you still need to pull up those damn pants.
Vent over. Aaaaaand breathe.
OK so I just saw this “update” in my news feed as if it were some ground breaking-OMG-can you believe it?! type of jaw dropping news and well I have to blog it out and give it a big old “WHO GIVES A F#@K?!”
So let me break it down for you famous people who think that spending 5 hours on your Swarovski encrusted fingernails and 1/2 day in the make-up chair, oh and wearing a $10,000 pair of socks equates to your worth, you need a reality check (no your Kardashian show does not count as reality). This is not how normal people in society function.
Just because you are so busy spending money and time trying to look hot (your double plumped lips are not by the way), this does not constitute as a job. Just because people publish ridiculous articles about how doting you are to your child or how miraculous it was that you actually made the time to sit by your (not yet divorced) girlfriend while she pushed a baby out of her (Brazilian waxed) vagina, this does not mean you are actually worthy of any praise doing what all of us other normal people in the world would do without thinking.
Just because you are famous does not make you more special for oh let me see here...holding your child, napping with your child, or giving them a bottle. Wake up people this shit is normal, even if you think you came up with some erratically cool, “no one will ever be able to copy” name for your wrinkled baby such as North West. It isn’t original, it’s obvious. It’s not cool, it’s desperation. The shock wore off after 6 seconds. Poor little North West (who will likely end up directionally challenged) was worthy of about 10.5 million eye rolls before he hit his first 24 hours of life all for a little “oh they finally reveled the name!” publication.
Word up Kanye and Kim: No one gives a shit. Nobody cares that Kanye is by your side certain hours of the day during his busy schedule, or that the crib cost $10,000 (they just piss all over the sheets anyway fyi) or that Kanye refuses to change diapers (really!?). Just because people know your name it doesn’t make your baby any more special even if the gossip mags do pay you multi-millions for a brief (likely exaggerated) 1/2 page print of a few sweet words that you whispered or photos of the cute baby blankets and booties you bought. Ugh.
Get over yourselves. I’d like to see a nice real article about how the baby pooped on your Gucci skirt or how you only got 2 hours of sleep because your bawling baby kept you up all night and it took 2 more hours in the make-up chair to fix the under-eye bags. Because honestly? Having a newborn is not all sunshine and roses (even if you toss out the money to make it appear so in the glossy pages of a magazine). Us real people know better.
So shut-up. Put away the false lashes and put on the sweat pants like a new mommy should. And Kanye, I don’t care how much money those jeans cost or how toned your ass is, you still need to pull up those damn pants.
Vent over. Aaaaaand breathe.
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