7-Year-Old Wisdom

Mack's mom is in the Philippines for work this week, and before she left she gave me an assignment to wash Laila's hair. Normally, I think that a 7-year-old should wash their own hair, but I like Laila and her mom and so I do everything they tell me.

Laila has a mane of hair, long wavy hair that is such a rich brown color it makes wood jealous. It qualifies as luscious. I would love to have her hair, but after last night, I realized I would also love to have her life.

While she sat in the tub gabbing about how she'd played with not just one friend but two and how she spent the afternoon in the hot tub and the pool and how the day was just so much fun that when her mom called she had to tell her hi-bye so she could get back to her insanely wonderful life, I sat on the edge of it, trying to get the temperature just right and planning how I was going to wash and condition her hair without getting a drop of water on her forehead or -- god forbid -- near her eyebrows. She was carefree, completely solid in the fact that she was just going to live life and other people would make sure she was fed food she likes and didn't go around smelling like the inside of a shoe.

I asked her, "Laila, why don't you wash your own hair?"

"Holding my arms up for that long makes them tired." Then she looked at me like I just fell from outer space and that these questions, these ideas that I have, they need to stop annoying her or I will not be given the privilege of washing her hair again this lifetime. Clearly, she cannot be asked to exert precious energy on holding her arms over her head for 38 seconds when that energy would be better used playing for 14 hours a day.

Then she said, "Besides, when you're in the bath you're supposed to relax." And she is right, which is precisely why someone better be showing up to wash my hair every other day or I quit.

The End of the Beginning

I took my GRE today. For those of you who've been there before, this may look familiar. For those of you who haven't this is a taste of what I've been swimming in for the last month+. No, it doesn't smell like grape.
I think I was out of the testing room all of 19 minutes before I cracked open a Coors, sat down on plastic furniture in the carport, broke out the knitting (this one's for you, Kristin!) and watched Mack work on his Ninja motorcycle. Maybe because when I start to feel "smart" I get freaked out and the part of me that was brought up thinking ambition meant stomping all the beer cans in the garage to make $40 takes over. Sometimes I utter the words "Troyer brothers." I'm so glad that stupid test is over I feel like I just got a clean bill of health. I didn't do great on the test, make no mistake, but I did just fine. Fine enough to pair my test score with my work experience and my irresistible self to get into a school that will teach me something. If I decide to go in the next 5 years.

I haven't felt this good about getting through something as I did when I finished college... when I looked at myself and said, "Guess what? You NEVER have to write another essay again in your life!" And then immediately started a job writing a journalistic version of essays.

Now that I've got my free time back to get absorbed in such brilliance as The Real World: Hollywood (if I see them out I will punch them in the face and be fine going to jail for it) and Shot at Love with Tila Tequila II (because I still can't quite put my finger on why she reminds me a praying mantis), my next big plan is to christen the $8 grill I got off Ebay with a big, fat stack of vocabulary words. I am just that brilliant.

Wake & Shake

When I moved to California, I got all kinds of fear injections from people wanting me to stay in Kentucky. What about the EARTHQUAKES? The BIG ONE? The DEATH LOOMING JUST BELOW THE SURFACE ON THE SAN ANDREAS FAULT????

Well, I've been here two years and haven't felt a single wobble. If I'd moved from here to Kentucky, I couldn't say the same thing.

So, come on and tell me, what were you doing when it happened? Drugs like the lady in the video? Did your nightstand shake, too?!?! Apparently I have to live vicariously through you Midwesterners for my earthquakes...

In Honor of All Things Elephantine

My mom and dad (the Greg dad, not the Steve dad) gave me a stuffed elephant when I was really little and part of the reason I loved it so much was that it had a little purple "scar" on its tummy.

I took it with me when my marching band went to Washington, D.C., for Bill Clinton's inauguration, and the maid in our hotel, Ngo, stole it.

I cried, my friend Erica Herren called the band instructor, we tried to fight the injustice through the front desk clerk, I wrote an impassioned letter to the maid so she could see it the next day and return Elliot to me, and nothing happened. Elliot and I were separated for life, and every happy memory of my mom and dad being married seemed to disappear with him.

Of all the animals in the world, I think elephants are the most magical. To be so hulking and huge and intelligent and still be vegetarian and able to live peacefully with mice and men (for the most part). There's this one episode of Planet Earth on the Discovery Channel where elephants swim... SWIM!!!... and that turned nature on its head for me. Elephants are beyond definition, beyond any other creature in the animal kingdom. Including people.

In Case You Were Wondering Why Me & Mr. T Won't Be Having Children

When Mack and I were dating we did one of those photo booth things where it takes your faces and smooshes them into a kid. I accidentally made the kid pale white with blonde hair -- just like neither of his parents -- and then quickly gave up on the prospect that we would make beautiful children. Oh, our kids would be strong and smart and bossy and funny, but beautiful, it's not looking good.

Not that either of us are ugly people. Mack has been publicly called out as being the hottest straight guy in the gay bar, and as long as I look over my glasses and remember to cock my head at a slight angle, I can be pretty photogenic. But when our genetics collide, holy moly.

When I found this new Baby Mama Baby Maker thing in honor of Tina Fey's new movie (where she hires Amy Poehler to be a surrogate), I thought I'd give us another shot. I uploaded our wedding photos, waited the appropriate load time, circled the correct features, and crossed my fingers.

And then I decided we're enough of a family without having a little troll running around.

This Is the New Mullet. Please Stop It Already.

I'm not sure how this happened or why, but this ridiculous hairdo should be illegal in 49 states. It can be allowed in New Jersey, but other than there, no way.

I think it might have been inspired by Growing Up Gotti on A&E, but it's been a while since that show was on and I can't imagine this style lasted longer than that reality show. Although, to be fair, reality shows can't be gelled into permanence.

For some reason, it seems that this hair style is always coupled with an unbuttoned shirt with popped collar, a fitted wife beater tank or a tee shouting "ARMANI EXCHANGE" in a dangerous font. I presume the unbuttoned shirt is for the pleasure of the people, who, unbeknownst to us, like looking at prepubescent chests and finely manicured happy trails. The wife beater and the Armani Exchange garb, I think that's just so they look rich... or at least too sexy to care that they're poor.

Please Note: This guy is partying in a utility room.

The other thing that's interesting to note about this style is that it's just not complete without a layer or ten of fake tan, preferably in a hue that matches an Oompa Loompa. Especially if it's prom night. And you're barely 5 feet tall. 

The finishing touch to complete this look is what I call "the asshole pucker." I think boys do this because they think it makes them look tough, like they're getting their mugshot taken and they just don't give a fuck in fact they care so little that they want to look like their blowing a kiss to all their bitches. It actually makes them look like they're signaling for a "daddy."

Please Note: This guy waxes his eyebrows and wears lipgloss. 

I can't explain what's happening with the chin strip.

Is there no limit to how awful this look can be? No. Which is why it must be stopped.

[On a side note, while looking for photos that could help me express these sentiments I stumbled across Hot Chicks with Douchbags, a site that needs no further explanation. Although I should add that it has commentary and addresses accessories such "the ubiquitous red cup."] 

Things Are Not as They Seem

Apparently my devotion to blogging has run its course. I've enjoyed doing it for the last couple of years, but life has been stealing my soul, and I can't commit to putting up new material any time in the next few months.

Plus, it doesn't seem like anyone actually reads my blog anymore except for Shannon, Heather, Jen and Lisa. My mom is not even included in that list. When your mom quits finding you interesting, it's a sign to throw in the towel.

Rest assured that I'll keep accepting your phone calls and reading your blogs and chatting with you on IM when I see you there, but as for blogging, it's time to hang it up. If Phil can't find the time to update, why should I?

I still hope to write, but instead of putting little snapshots of things no one cares about on Like A Twister, I think I should spend more time seriously writing. About things that matter. And the pain of living. Serious things. Things that I understand. And that don't get enough attention.

Lately I just feel like I have to put on a facade when I write, like I have to be this perky, introspective, witty person, and I'm not. Not anymore.

For all of you who have enjoyed my blog, I'm glad I made something you liked. I know not many people care about my cashew cheddar cheese or the porn artwork I found in Santa Barbara, but if anything I said made you laugh, then it was worth it.

One of the things I'll miss the most is putting up pictures of all the reunions I get to have since moving away. They really do show some of my happiest moments, and it's nice to have a virtual scrapbook to scroll through sometimes.

Of course, there's always Snapfish and Photobucket for that. I don't need to maintain a blog.

Lastly, I just want to say goodbye, good luck and good riddance.

So, I guess the best way to sum it up would be to read the first letter of each paragraph going from top to bottom, and then leave me a parting comment.

This Is What Vegan Looks Like

Yes. I made that. It was delicious and amazing. And it was 100% vegan, which means it used absolutely NO animal products. Even that cheese you see there, that mouthwatering, delectable, melty, gooey cheese, that cheese is vegan!

Here's how the magic happened. I ate Better than Cheddar Nachos at Real Food Daily when my mom and sister were visiting and remembered how awesome they were. I got a bit of gumption and a chunk of time, prerequisites for making vegan food, and decided to make the nachos at home. I can't eat regular nachos because of that 10 Pound Challenge thing I'm doing, so I figured, hey, vegan nachos gotta be healthy.

Making the cheese was actually a lot easier than I expected... once I found the sea agar, nutritional yeast, and yellow miso at the health food store... and it made a lot more than I thought it would. We had enough for nachos and I've got two more plastic containers sitting in the fridge waiting to be put on more nachos or tacos or macaroni or sandwiches or whatever I feel like putting cashew cheddar cheese on. It's going to be a good week.

Here's the recipe if you get some gumption and time with your craving for nachos. Try making the cheese just to see if non-vegans can tell it's vegan. They never can. (And if you get a lot of gumption and want to try some of the most amazing vegan food ever created, get the Real Food Daily cookbook or the Candle Cafe cookbook. Both are in my collection of kitchen treasures.)

1 1/4 c. raw cashews

1/2 c. nutritional yeast

2 tsp. onion powder

2 tsp. sea salt

1 tsp. garlic powder

1/8 tsp. ground white pepper

3 1/2 c. unsweetened plain soy milk

1 c. agar flakes (about 2 ounces... this makes the cheese its final consistency and each brand is different, so you may have to tweak it once you get a feel for it. I used two 1-oz packages and it was a bit too much. Next time I will probably use 1 and 3/4 packages.)

1/2 c. canola oil

1/4 c. yellow miso

2 tbsp. freshly squeezed lemon juice

Get a Cuisinart. It will change your culinary life and make this cheese possible. 

Using the pulse button, finely grind the cashews in a food processor.; don't allow the cashews to turn into a paste. Add the nutritional yeast, onion powder, salt, garlic powder, and white pepper. Pulse a few more times to blend in spices.

Combine the soy milk, canola oil and agar in a heavy saucepan. Bring to a simmer over high heat. Decrease the heat to medium-low, cover and simmer, stirring occasionally, for 10 minutes or until the agar is dissolved. 

With the food processor running, gradually pour the soy milk mixture through the feed tube and into the cashew mixture. Blend for 2 minutes, or until very smooth and creamy, and then blend in miso and lemon juice.

For grated and sliced cheese, transfer the cheese into a container, cover and refrigerate about 4 hours, until very firm. Then, grate or slice as desired.

For melted cheese, use the cheese immediately. Or, make the cheese in advance, and when you're ready to use the cheese, melt it in a saucepan over medium heat until smooth and creamy, stirring frequently. If needed, as more soy milk for a thinner consistency. 

For jalapeño cheese, stir in 2 tbsp. minced jalapeño chiles into 2 c. melted cheese. 

Vegan foods are alive, just like veggies, and will expire. This one will keep for about 5 days, covered and refrigerated, so plan what you want to use it with when you make it. Invite me over and I'll help eat it.

Dulywed: Making Small Talk like the Amazing Technologically Advanced Teenagers Do

I happen to find the fellow I married a totally inspiring conversationalist. As a result, I find our chats to be glimpses into the hilarity that he is capable of. He will not like me for this, but you, privileged reader, will.

me: dude... wanna watch basketball tonight? i have to root for michigan state because it may earn me 120 bucks
Mack: dude... where's my car
what time
me: aafter work
Mack: maybe.. depends on if I go to judo
ill let you know
me: come on toshi.
hang out with meeeeeee for a second
Mack: im about to get a haircut... then I have to go do launry
maybe
wanna hear some bad news?
me: DYING TO!
Come on, don't keep BAD NEWS all to yourself!!
Mack: my bike will cost 112 dollars to register, and a piece of rubber flaked off the interior of the fuel line -- went to the carbuerator and now I have to rebuild the carb
so i won't be riding anytime soon
me: ouchie. stupid rubber.
Mack: stupid dry-rotted rubber
where do you watch game
me: maybe someplace fantastic with boobies.
like hooters or the shack, if they're playing it.
Mack: probably i will go
hoe-bag
me: i'll wear my cowboy boots for ya.
and say yee haw a lot of times in a row
Mack: will you stomp on my ballz
me: with my heel
mmm hmmm
Mack: u r so cool
me: omg like totally
Mack: my bff jill
me: lol; rotfl
Mack: kthxbai
me: l8r g8r
:)
Mack: < style="font-weight: bold;">me: you worked entirely too hard on that
Mack: =====() - - - - - - (.)(.)

Can Someone Please Tell Me What's Going on Here?

Mack sent me this before Christmas. When I opened it back then, I remember thinking, "Strange." Then, for whatever reason, I left it on my desktop, and I've been looking at it periodically trying to decide if it's funny or disturbing.

I have never been this indecisive before in my life. So I ask you, is this oddly comical or not?

I'm a Loser Baby...

Got a text from Jen a couple weekends ago saying, "I JUST RAN 16 MILES."

That alone made me winded. So, I'm on a Weight Loss Challenge. It's like the 300th one in my life, but this time I have a very clear goal of 10 pounds and am doing it on Capessa so if I don't stick with it, more people than just me and Mack will know. Nashvegas and Meanestmom will also know.

Check out my 10 Pound Challenge blog (there are videos!), and join up if you feel so inclined. Also, invite your friends, family and co-workers who may want some friendly support during this tough, Victoria's Secret swimsuit catalog time of year.

I Hope My Husband Doesn't Mind that I Just Fell in Love with Another Man...

I was all for Hillary until she beat a dead horse into a bloody pulp. And, while I think I could love her again once she gets out of the madness that is an election, after watching this, I'm excited to give my vote to Obama. Because I need to believe in this country again, and today he made me proud to be an American.

Family Reunion

My mom and Betsy decided to come for a visit... finally... and it was amazing. I've realized that I am my best self, the self I most like to be, when I am around my family. Around other people I'm a little more reserved, a little more insecure, a little more static, but when the people who really, really get me are around, I can just be me, pushing the envelope between funny and inappropriate and being forgiven simply because there is a smile behind what otherwise might be cruel. Ahh, balance.

The few days they were here were a whirlwind. We woke up, we walked on the beach, we walked through the canals, we hiked through Mandeville Canyon, we watched a depressing movie Shannon recommended (it was better than Suckerbaby), we walked all over Hollywood, we went shopping, we bought clothes that made us look rich, we ate glorious fuel food, we walked on a red carpet, we tattooed Betsy, we took on Chinatown, we bought fart bombs, we toured historic Olvera Street, we got courted by mariachis, we watched the sun set, we drank fresh squeezed mango juice, we examined real live Emmy and Peabody awards, and then, just as it was getting going, Delta came down and swooped them away.

Stupid Delta.

I've been too tired living life the last week to commit any more thought to this post, so the photos will have to do. And I hope that the people who rejuvenate my spirit become a part of my day to day asap.

Sam I Am

If he's anything like his momma, the world just got a million times better.

Congratulations to my dear Elijah and her new baby boy, Samuel Abbot Maples, born on Wednesday, March 5, weighing in at 7 pounds, 12 ounces and sporting what his momma claims is a mullet.

Since Liz always says things better than me, "Samuel, y'all remember, was called by God, and he anointed David, the scrawny kid in the field. Abbot is the superior of an abbey of monks. Put it all together and his initials spell S.A.M."

I'm looking forward to watching his life unfold and can't believe mine is already at a point where my childhood friends are now parents.

A Trip Back in Time

I'm behind. Because my life is so full of Awesome, I guess.

A few weeks ago, I took Mack on a surprise to Santa Barbara, which, it turns out, is an actual town and not just a soap opera I used to watch when Grandma took a nap and I promised to be quiet as a mouse. There was a lot of sex in Santa Barbara -- the soap opera, I'm talking about the soap opera -- which is probably why this wasn't quite as shocking as it might otherwise have been.Yes, that is a painting of an orgy.

It is about 8 inches wide by 12 inches tall, and it was hanging over the fireplace in our penthouse hotel room at Ala Mar Hotel. Don't let the word "penthouse" fool you; it was the top room of the very simple, somewhat Nordic feeling, actually affordable, on the beach hotel that we stayed at for one night.

When we walked in, I was glad to see a jacuzzi tub, a refrigerator, and a view of the beach from our window. But when I spotted this little number, featuring midget swingers and possible pedophiles, I knew we'd found a diamond in the rough.

In addition to taking in hotel artwork, we also hit up a Santa Barbara winery. Santa Barbara is where they made the movie Sideways. Plus, it is feasible to drive there from LA in a day. That's why I chose Santa Barbara. Here's a snapshot of the drive.It was so nice to be out in the middle of countryside, I kicked my shoes off and starting kicking back wines every color of the rainbow. When the horses from a neighboring rehabilitation farm sauntered over our way, I felt like I was home again. Although, to be fair, the only place I ever lived that was next to horses was Grandma's house, but you know that back then I was too obsessed with sex and soap operas to really appreciate these animals being so close. Breathing in the untainted air, looking out on mountains and trees and green spaces, sitting in close proximity to enough wine to last me a lifetime, I had no choice but to start dreaming about my retirement. We also got a little bit of beach exploring in. We went to Carpinteria Beach, which is named for Spanish carpenters like Jesus, because allegedly it was a seal haven. Mack had told me how awesome the elephant seals are, and I was hoping that we could see some. No. This was a Harbor Seal Safe Haven, devoid of any seals, probably because this was also an RV Safe Haven. Can someone tell me why you would get an RV and drive a long way to a natural spot where you will then park in a parking lot less than 3 feet from another RV? Why not just live in an apartment?

Aside from the RVs and the absence of seals, Capinteria Beach did deliver. If you consider tar pits on the beach delivering.

It was pretty smelly, and it felt weird seeing pollution in nature, but something about the oozing black gold was awesome. We paused at one point to look at a flower and Mack started drifting down the path. When he lifted up his shoe, there was melty oil underneath. It had been covered by the dirt of the path, and if you just keep on walking it just feels like soft ground. But if you stand there, it starts to slime you. Which is precisely why you don't go swimming on the beaches of Santa Barbara. Just have sex instead.

Dulywed: What's Beneath All Those Vows (A Series)

My Dear Partner in Life,

I promise to love, honor and cherish you even though you wake up with random and inconsistent songs in your head and decide to share them with me despite how dreadful they are. I agree to let you sing, even though the morning hating monster in me wants you to shut the f up, because I know that your sunshiny way of greeting the day is better than my frowny way. I commit to tolerate your sleepy dance moves as you walk in the buff from the bedroom to the bathroom, where we both get ready at the same time because we live in The Most Expensive Place in the World. And I vow, that on mornings when you walk in singing Squeezebox and start hitting me in the butt with your morning wood as part of your dance routine, I will blog about it. Because it is special and hilarious and, although publicly inappropriate, a really fun way to start the day.

Love,
The Keeper of Your Secrets

Something I Haven't Blogged Because of the Shame

Earlier this year, I had to send Venus to a retirement home.

The poor dog has become tragically neglected since we moved out here. She went from having a bedmate in David, to having a roommate in Shannon and then Nikki, to having her Mom start working from home, to having no one around for a minimum of 9 hours everyday.
She'd been doing better since we moved to our new place, but better still wasn't good. Her quality of life is completely tied to having people around her, and ever since I had to start working and Mack went back to school, she's been getting by but not being anywhere near as happy as she used to be. After we got back from Jamaica and Mack started going to school all day 6 days a week and I kept my regular work schedule, she took a turn toward decay. I had to make the terrible decision to save myself from the guilt of giving her up or to save her from the impending crazy and broken that I saw creeping into her eyes.

No one I know has a farm or the space to take on a dog, which not only made me appreciate Phil and Dave and Leigh for being so nice to babysit her so many times but also made it a heart-wrenching challenge. Let's face it. She's old and crippled and she bites. She's not good with kids or dogs or elderly people, and she's especially unkind to blondes and black people. I knew if she went to the pound she'd be put down in a matter of days. I just couldn't live with myself knowing that would be her fate.

Mack helped me track down a dog rescue in Los Angeles called Save a Life. It's a no-kill animal sanctuary, and we called to see if they ever accept dogs whose owners couldn't keep them anymore. They said they did, on the condition that the owners give a sizable donation. I looked at Venus, losing weight by the day and looking more and more defeated, and I made one of the hardest decisions I've had to make so far. I decided to give her up.

In a lot of ways, giving her up was giving up on the part of myself that thinks I can handle everything. It was me being honest instead of blindly optimistic, and it was me admitting defeat in the face of present circumstances. There's just not enough time to be all things to all people and places and pets, and doing everything halfway wasn't good for anyone. Save a Life probably saved a couple of lives by taking Venus in.

The lady who runs the place called us a couple days after we dropped of the V to ask us to send over her vet records. She'd given her some vaccinations, put her on antibiotics for her skin/itching problem, and was feeding her "more premium food," which means "stuff better than the Pedigree crap you were feeding her." (In my defense, it's hilarious to watch Venus eat Pedigree with rice in it because somehow she manages to eat all the brown pieces and spit out all the rice pieces, and that's why I was a Pedigree loyalist.) I asked how she was adjusting and what the lady said was music to my ears. A puppy they'd just brought in had decided Venus was her friend and the two of them were sharing a bed and laying in the sunshine.

It's still not easy not to think about her without getting sad. But the truth is the dog she was changed into the dog she was becoming because of our new situation. I loved her for being the rotten puppy who ate cigarettes, for pushing Ruble off the couch, for all the pizza crusts I found under my pillow, for laying at my feet when I'd write and letting me rub my toes in her fluffy hair. I loved the life we had together in Kentucky, and that's a life every dog should have. She deserves better, and I hope that her final few years in the California sunshine with little puppies keeping her annoyed but secretly delighted will let her forgive me for giving her up.

Part of the Reason I Chose to Move

Just in case your minds had frozen and you started to believe winters have to be like that. Thinking of you suckers warmly as I dine on sunshine and fresh ocean air.

Everyday the 14th

Last year Mack was in charge of Valentine's Day, and when I came home from work he had a margarita on the rocks (with salt) waiting for me. I hopped in the tub to sip the Mexican nectar while he executed his "surprise." When I got out, coconut fried shrimp and macaroni and cheese (with spiral tube noodles) was waiting for me. Not exactly what I would have picked to go with a tart margarita, but a very sweet gesture nonetheless. Especially considering I didn't do anything beyond speak the words, "Happy Valentine's Day."

This year, I am in charge of the celebration. He has no idea what we're doing, but I have crafted a President's Day Lover's Saturday Night Special complete with an Evite and an adapted Gettysburg Address. Because I am an awesome Valentine.

Because Mack is also an awesome Valentine, he gave me a gift first thing this morning. In addition to displaying his full body in all its natural glory while he puttered from the bed to the shower, he also made me eggs, which reminded me of last year and started this year's V-Day off with a smile.

Virtually Best Friends

Melissa mentioned on the ski trip that she *loved* the blogs that I have introduced her too (okay, she loves ONE of them), but I found another one back in May that I haven't bragged on enough yet.

Here's how it happened. We had a contest for Mother's Day where women dished on that one naughty thing they did and kept secret from their mom their whole lives. (I broke some crystal wedding candlesticks that used to sit on the mantle that I used as a microphone when giving live performances on the fireplace, but we always just glued them together so no one knew.) This lady Erin revealed that she peed in her mom's shoes and blamed it on the dog. She won free maid service for a year. I called to tell her and she said she kept a blog to deal with the insanity of being a mom to three (they write on the walls with Sharpies a lot). I read her blog. I laughed my butt off.

Now Erin blogs for Capessa. And still for herself. Check her out at Finding Yourself.

She is also trying to finish a baby nursery (she had a little boy a year ago and is preggers again) and is a finalist in a contest for Lifetime. It's neck and neck between her and some lady named Nancy, so I figured I'd use the almighty power of MY BLOG (hey mom! you there?!!) to throw some votes her way because I want her to win.

Please go there and vote for Erin from Oveido, FL as many times as you can. She deserves it.