Navigate / search

Why So Serious?

I am bored.  I am so bored right now, that I’m thinking about climbing over the railing of the loft area here in the coffee shop and balancing on one of the beams that crosses the loungy room below, just to see what happens.

I felt the need to leave the house because Justin is working nights this week, which means I’m supposed to somehow find it within myself to remain eerily quiet while he sleeps throughout the day, which – let’s face it – doesn’t come naturally to someone like me.

Yep, I’m one of those people.

I’m one of those people who doesn’t generally get invited to formal events or fancy work dinner parties because I believe using things like “inside voices” and “refinement” and “muted chuckles” as opposed to boisterous enthusiasm and inappropriate comments and uncontrollable laughter is for pussies fictional characters.

It’s fake.

Unless you’re at a funeral, or something.

But if it were my funeral, I hope you’d laugh.  Most likely because I would’ve died trying to walk the second-story balance beam at my local coffee shop.

Now wouldn’t that be embarrassing?

But you know, the older I get, I’m realizing that the idea of “embarrassment” is really only a state of mind.  And I can say that because I’ve done plenty of embarrassing things.  Like this.  And this.  Oh yeah, and this.

And I’m really not afraid to share those stories, because, you know, they happened. And I can choose to curl myself up into a little ball or worry and regret and wait for people to stop looking at me, or I can just say, So?  What are you gonna do about it? And I hope the answer is laugh, or at least learn, because otherwise I just completely wasted a really good embarrassing story on you and your dry sense of humor.

I will admit that I’m not completely immune, however.  There are some events that have been so ridiculously mortifying that my mind has done everything in its power to repress memories that would serve no purpose but to form an imprengable mental wall of blushing shame.  Events that, when someone unexpectedly brings them up, I can actually feel my throat dry out and heart stop beating – but it only stops for a second, because the relief of dying in the moment of reliving that embarrassment would be only too kind.

My friend and former college roommate Marissa was nice enough to remind me of one of those moments the other day when, as an introduction to her response to this game of internet tag, decided to say this in reference to me:

This is the woman who borrowed my metal pot to make popcorn in and put in the microwave thereby setting the alarm off and directing the wrath of our dormmates and fire brigade at me.

Okay.  Whoah.  First of all, Marissa – low blow.

Second, I was making Ramen noodles – not popcorn.

Third, I’m pretty sure the wrath (which wasn’t really wrath, but mild irritation, disbelief, and intense laughter) was most definitely directed at me, not you.

But no, I’m not really mad.  Everything else Marisa said was completely complimentary.  And you know, sometimes it’s good to be reminded of these things.  Humbling, even.

In my defense, I have been nothing but honest in saying that I didn’t start learning to cook until around 2006 – well after the metal-in-the-microwave incident.  The incident that, much to my horror, forced all of our dorm mates (thank god there were only like 23 rooms in our dorm) to pile out onto the grassy lawn in their pajamas because I had a hankering for some thirty-nine cent beef-flavored goodness.

What can I say?  I thought that the pot (the cooking pot, not the other kind – though wouldn’t it be nice if I could blame that?) was a shortcut.  A means to and end of my hunger.

Turns out it was a means to meeting one of the hotest guys on the campus fire department.

I only wish the circumstances had been a little better.  Like… you know… I hadn’t just almost burned down the dorm.

But, like any other embarrassing moment, there’s a lesson to be learned:

Kids, don’t put metal in the microwave.  And, if you do, make sure you at least look cute when the firemen show up.

Thank you.

So raise your glass if you are wrong
In all the right ways
All my underdogs
We will never be never be
Anything but loud, and nitty gritty
Dirty little freaks!

Do you have an embarrassing story to share?  Let it out!  It can be therapeutic.

Because I’m Just a Waitress

Have you ever noticed that when television shows or Hollywood movies want to make you feel sorry for a female character, they usually cast her as a waitress?

I mean, really, the biggest thing that makes waiting tables a crappy job (besides the minimal pay, odd hours, and cleaning up other people’s messes) is that obnoxious woman who, as I tell her our specials or bring her another wine spritzer, lets herself think that she’s better than me.

It doesn’t happen often, but I can tell which ones they are.  There’s this expression of relief that washes over her face as she makes the conscious decision to not say thank you and instead, turns to her dining partners (who, more often than not, look embarrassed to be seen with her), so she can regale them with stories of her own personal intelligence, wit, and charm.

Because she, after all, did not end up a food server.

(Is that the same blonde actress giving our leading lady the evil eye in both movies?  If there’s anything worse than being the waitress we feel sorry for, it’s being the waitress we don’t even think about.)

But I’m here to tell you, friends, that you should never make that mistake.  Not only do you portray yourself as a repugnant, judgmental ass, but it’s just plain not nice.

Believe it or not, I actually have a bachelor of science in environmental geoscience with a minor in geology.

I even took a class called Geomorphology.

I could go to grad school, if I felt that would make me any happier.

I’ve worked for both the U.S. Air Force and the Army, as well as a private environmental consulting company – a job that, may I remind you, was not easy to get.

Does this make me better than you?  Of course not.

It just makes me better than you think.

In fact, some of the most intelligent people I’ve known have worked in the food service industry at one time or another.  A girl with whom I work right now is an RN.  So, snobby waitress-hater at my table, the good news is she can save you if one day you choke on your snide-laced pride.

Whether they’re doing it for the social aspect, as a transitional phase, or because it was the only thing preventing them from knocking over cubicle walls or beating the crap out of copy machines, it doesn’t really matter.

More often than not, it’s the catch-all career for those who, while pursuing all of the “shoulds” in their lives, realized they lost sight of the “wants” and decided to try again.

Is that really so degrading?

They’re impulsive.

They’re driven.

They’re biding their time until the next big thing.

But, most important, they bring you your food.

And if you’re as smart as you think you are, disparaging woman at my table, then you already know that you should never, ever bite the hand that feeds you.

See you tonight!

xo,

Katie

 

Getting a little R&R

Rest and Relaxation?  Definitely not.  Not after my browser decided to eat my post and I had to start all. Over.

Nope, this “R&R” stands for Rant and Recipe.  Because that’s what I’m sharing today.  Feel free to skip on down to the recipe (it’s really good) if you don’t want to read the rant.  I won’t mind.  Promise.

A fellow blogger and online friend Dennis, creator of Musings on Life and Love, called me out on something in my “Defining Domestiphobia” post the other day.  He basically pointed out that I sure do a lot of cooking (and home renovations, and crafty projects) for someone who’s a self-professed Domestiphobe.

And, if you didn’t read my post extremely carefully, you might be wondering the same thing:  Why all the cooking if I’m Domestiphobic?  It seems kind of counterintuitive.  And you (and Dennis) would be right.

It’s not what you would expect.

But here’s where I feel like I need to explain a little something about myself.  I don’t like to be told that I can’t do something – that there’s a particular goal or challenge or achievement that’s beyond my reach.  Cliché as it sounds, it’s just a fact.

Don’t get me wrong – I know my limits.  I know I’m not going to ever play for the WNBA or become a famous singer.  There’s a difference between natural talent and learned skills.  It’s the same reason I know I will never cook at a Michelin star restaurant.  I’m just not that good.

Like I’ve said before, I’m a follow-specific-instructions-and-hope-everything-comes-out-edible kind of girl.  And I certainly don’t create the recipes myself.

But I like cooking.  So I cook.  Simple as that.  I used to be afraid of it, then it became a challenge, and then I started enjoying it.  And if you’re still wondering how that can be possible for a Domestiphobe, the reality is that it falls in with my goals quite nicely:

1.  Cooking helps me “tie together the things I’m fortunate enough to have” (family, nice kitchen, drive to learn) “…with the things I’m crazy enough to want” (new skills, variety in my life, experience new foods).

2.  Not only is cooking a valuable skill to have, it expands my knowledge of world cuisine.  While I’d love to taste ethnic foods by traveling all over the world eventually, cooking at home makes it so I don’t have to wait.

3.  Cooking is therapeutic.  Instead of going home from my old job, ordering takeout, and plopping my ass in front of the television, I chose a recipe before I left work, picked the ingredients up from the store on the way home, poured myself a glass of wine and turned on the tube or the tunes, made the dinner, and then plopped my ass in front of the television.  I still unwind this way at the end of many days, even though I no longer have the 9-5.  I even do this when Justin’s out traversing the world with the military.  I do it for me.

4. I like food.  I like to know what’s in my food.  I’d like it to be relatively healthy.  And, when it’s not (which is quite frequent), at least I can control the amount of additives, preservatives, hormones, steroids, etc. that are going into the individual ingredients.  If I’m eating something that I know is going to congeal in my arteries, I at least what to be able to pronounce what’s congealing in my arteries.

So, with that long-winded introduction, I have a recipe for you today.  It’s one of my favorites EVER. Spinach Feta Quiche.

I know quiche sounds fancy if you’ve never made it before, but it’s just a savory (aka. not sweet) pie with some fillings and egg thrown in.  Even those of you who say you can’t cook (I’m talking to you, IWOM) can make this quiche.

It will definitely impress any people you whom you try making it.

Unless they don’t like cheese, sautéed mushrooms, or spinach.  In which case, you’re probably better off without them.  (The people, not the mushrooms.)

The original recipe is here. I change the seasonings a bit and use fresh mushrooms instead of canned, but otherwise it’s not too different. You will need:

  • 1/2 cup butter (I know… but butter is good for the soul.)
  • 3-5 cloves garlic, chopped (The recipe calls for 3, but you know how I feel about garlic: go big, or go home.)
  • 1 small onion, chopped
  • 1 (10 oz.) package frozen spinach, thawed and drained (I cut a slit in the plastic and microwave it for a couple of minutes until soft, then I squeeze the plastic bag to drain all of the liquids.)
  • 1 container fresh mushrooms, washed and sliced (The recipe calls for a 4.5 oz. can of mushrooms, but why would you do that when you could have the aroma of fresh mushrooms sautéing in butter floating around your house?)
  • 1 (6 oz) package herb and garlic feta (I can never find this, so I buy plain feta and throw in some Italian seasonings)
  • Italian seasonings (optional)
  • 8 oz. shredded Cheddar cheese (The recipe calls for the pre-shredded stuff, but I prefer to buy a block and shred it myself.)
  • 1 (9 inch) deep, unbaked frozen pie crust
  • 4 eggs, beaten
  • 1 cup milk
  • Salt and Pepper to taste

1.  Preheat your oven to 375-degrees F.

2.  Melt the butter in a large skillet over medium heat.  Sauté the garlic and onion in the melted butter for a couple of minutes.  Add the sliced mushrooms (if you’re using fresh mushrooms) and sauté for 3-5 more minutes, until the onions are soft.

At this point, your house will be filled with one of the best aromas you could possibly create. Take a step back, enjoy a sip of your wine (or beverage of choice), and bask in it for a minute.

This is why you try to cook.  You can’t buy this smell.

3.  Stir in the spinach, mushrooms (if you’re using canned mushrooms), feta cheese, and just 1/2 cup of the Cheddar cheese (don’t worry – you’ll use the rest soon).  Also add whatever seasonings you plan on using.

This last time, I used these:

4.  Spoon the spinach mixture into your frozen pie crust.

5.  In a separate bowl, whisk together the 4 eggs and 1 cup of milk.  You can use a fork if you don’t have a whisk.  Season with salt and pepper.  Pour as much of the egg mixture into the pie shell as you can, moving the spinach filling around with a fork to create “holes” where the egg mixture can seep in.  You probably won’t have room for all of the egg mixture, so just pour in as much as you possibly can.

6.  Now.  This is the only difficult part of the entire recipe (unless you decided to make your own pie crust for some crazy reason).  VERY carefully, transfer the quiche to the oven.  It’s a little nerve-wracking because it’s flimsy, and liquidy, and very near spilling all over your floor or the inside of your oven, but you can do this.  I have faith.

7.  Bake it for 15 minutes so it starts to set up.  Then take it out and add the rest of the Cheddar cheese.

It seems like a lot of cheese.  That’s because it is a lot of cheese.  And it’s delicious.

8.  Bake for an additional 35-40 minutes until you can insert a toothpick or knife into the center and it comes out clean.  Then let it stand for 10  minutes (if you can stand it) before cutting and serving!

*If the crust or the cheese starts to burn while it’s baking but the center still isn’t cooked, just cover the top with foil until it finishes cooking.

The cheddar forms a soft “crust” on top of the quiche, which is absolutely outstanding.  I didn’t take a picture of my piece that night because it somehow ended up in my stomach before I could pick up the camera, but I did get a shot the next day:

It’s excellent re-heated, and it’s one of my all-time favorite dinners.  Or lunches.  Or breakfasts.

It doesn’t really matter when you eat it, just as long as you eat it.

All You Ever Wanted to Know. And Then Some.

I was debating on either sharing a quiche recipe with you today or ranting some more about my job, when the intriguing International Woman of Mystery tagged me in my first ever game of, well… Internet Tag, I guess.

Can you believe I’ve been a blog tag virgin for almost an entire year?

So the deal is I had to answer a bunch of random questions.  Nineteen, to be exact, which makes me think that someone somewhere along the line decided to delete one of the questions.

Naughty, naughty.

Read carefully – you might just learn something about me that you never knew.

Here we go:

1. If you have pets, do you see them as merely animals or are the members of your family?

Family.  Sounds crazy, but my dogs understand my moods and act accordingly.

But kids?  Kids just don’t get me.

2. If you can have a dream come true, what would it be?

Small scale:  My hard drive, which I still haven’t had the heart to throw out, will magically restore itself and give me my life back.

Large scale:  I’m an internationally famous world traveler, eater, and t.v. personality who has all her shit together and makes everyone around her happy all the time.

3. What is the one thing most hated by you?

I don’t really hate much.  I guess it disturbs me when people misunderstand me or overreact or don’t give me the benefit of the doubt or tell me to “chill.”

I am chill.  WTF is your problem?

4. What would you do with a billion dollars?

I’d buy you a monkey.  (Haven’t you always wanted a monkey?)

Oh wait, that’s a million.

You said a billion.  That’s a lot of money.  I’d travel.  Buy art.  Pay off my loans.  Buy each of my parents and in-laws fabulous vacations (but not to the same place at the same time – that would be cruel).  Charities.  Investments.

Pour millions into researching ways money can, in fact, buy happiness.

5. What helps to pull you out of a bad mood?

Happy people.  And puppies.

6. Which is more blessed, loving someone or being loved by someone?

Although I’m sure this question is referring to parents unconditionally loving their babies or a husband still loving his wife after 30 years of marriage even though she doesn’t remember him because she has Alzheimer’s; however, those situations aside, IF you love someone who doesn’t love you back, that could truly feel like a curse.  So I’m gonna have to go with being loved, even though that sounds like the more selfish answer.

I guess that’s because it is.

7. What is your bedtime routine?

Remove contacts, wash face, floss, brush teeth, put on chap stick, get naked, sometimes read or watch t.v. while Justin rubs my back, go to sleep.  There are other factors that vary, obviously, but those items are the most… routiney.

8. If you are currently in a relationship, how did you meet your partner?

At an Irish pub, introduced by his sister.  He wiped off my boob when I spilled some of my drink on my shirt.

Instant connection.  ;)

9. If you could watch a creative person in the act of the creative process, who would it be?

Oh, wow… Way too many choices on this one.  Kurt Vonnegut writing a book.  Kellie MacQuoid creating a painting.  Avett Brothers composing a song.  Anthony Bourdain doing anything he does.  (Well, not quite anything.)

Kellie MacQuoid Print
(Click photo for link to artist's website)

10. What kinds of books do you read?

Anything I find that looks interesting.  Fiction and Nonfiction.  I realize that’s vague, but there ya go.  My favorite book is still Hatchet, by Gary Paulsen.  I don’t know why.

11. How would you see yourself in ten years time?

I don’t.

I don’t know what I’m doing this afternoon, let alone in 10 years.

12. What’s your fear?

See blog title.  And this post.

And the sound biscuit tubes make when they pop open because you never know when they’re gonna pop.

And Sponge Bob Square Pants.  Has there ever been a scarier creature in all of cartoon world?

Salmon Crescent Bundles - Crescent Rolls

13. Would you give up all junk food for the rest of your life for the opportunity to visit outer space?

Gut reaction?  HELL to the YES.  But I think I would need a more concise definition of “junk food” before I could 100% commit.

14. Would you rather be single and rich or married, but poor?

Well that’s kind of an unfair question, considering I am married, which means I have to say “married but poor” so my husband doesn’t think I’m telling him I want a divorce.  BUT, if I were answering this question 5 years ago, I probably would’ve said “single and rich” due to the lack of qualifiers in the original question.

Huh?

Allow me to explain:  Since financial problems are one of the biggest issues with unhappily married couples these days, and the question doesn’t specify that the marriage would be happy, I can only presume that if I answered “married but poor,” not only would I be completely miserable with my spouse who’s probably developed drug or alcohol abuse problems to emotionally deal with the fact that he squandered the last of our savings at the race tracks trying to fund his next big idea, but I also wouldn’t be able to buy things like flat screen t.v.s and big houses and nice cars that would at least allow me to pretend that I’m happy.

Oh, and he’d probably hit me.  Because I tend to mouth off.

So obviously the better choice here would be “single and rich.”  I could live comfortably, pay friends to like me, give money to charities to make me feel good about myself, and have a hot, young cabana boy named Alejandro to take care of my “other” needs… like back rubs and foot massages.

And let’s be honest here:  single does not imply loveless or sexless.  But sometimes, marriage does.

Think about it.

15. What’s the first thing you do when you wake up?

Start wondering whether it’s actually time to get up and debating whether opening my eyes to check the clock is worth the risk of not being able to fall back asleep.

16. If you could change one thing about your spouse/partner what would it be?

I wouldn’t.  I’d change me.

17. If you could pick a new name for yourself, what would it be?

I already did that, when I got married.  It wasn’t a fun process.

Besides, if nothing else, I’m always Katie.

18. Would you forgive and forget no matter how horrible a thing that special someone has done?

No matter how horrible? Seriously?  Of course not.

Like… If Justin tied me to a chair and force-fed me French toast and simultaneously made me watch Sponge Bob while opening refrigerated biscuit tubes, I could never forgive that.

Or forget.

19. If you could only eat one thing for the next 6 months, what would it be?

I seriously think only eating one thing for 6 months would be torturous.  I need variety in my life.

But I’d probably have to say Reese’s Peanut Butter EGGS.  They’re peanut butter cups, but in an egg shape.  And everything’s better in an egg shape.

Which means I’d have to start stocking up like… right now.

Oh, and all the calories wouldn’t matter because my body would probably try to physically expel that crap even faster than I could take it in.

So weight loss would be like a bonus.

I know this is a bum thing to do, but I’m not going to tag anyone specifically.  If you follow my blog, have a blog of your own, and want to answer these questions, I’d love to see your answers!

Some Revelations

This month will mark one year since I started this blog.

When that realization hit me last night, I decided it was time to do something I’d been putting off this entire time.

That’s right.  I needed to define domestiphobia.

What does it mean, anyway?

The truth is, I’ve never really known, because I’ve never taken the time to define it myself.  Until last night.

And honestly, I think its meaning to me has morphed and evolved a great deal over the past year.  The word is fluid and subjective, and when you read it, it might mean something different to you than it does to me.

The following is my current perceived definition and subsequent explanation that I wrote on my newly revamped “About” page:

do.mes.ti.pho.bi.a

noun də-‘mes-ti-‘fō-bē-ə

:  the exaggerated, inexplicable and/or irrational fear of domestic life

Example:  Her fear of leading a stagnant, lethargic life devoid of personal growth and meaningful experiences could be described as a mild case of domestiphobia.

do.mes.tic

adj. də-‘mes-tik

1   :  tame, domesticated <the domestic cat>

2   :  of or relating to the household or the family<domestic chores>

3   :  devoted to home duties or pleasures <leading a quietly domestic life>

 

My name is Katie, and I’m a domestiphobic.

I didn’t know it when I married my wonderful husband in 2006 at the ripe age of 23.  But, for reasons I didn’t yet understand, I slowly began to feel a terrifying sense of suffocation as all of the “expected” pieces of a “normal,” domestic life began falling into place.

Stable office career?  Check.

Fixer-upper in the ‘burbs? Check.

Couple of mutts?  Check.

Kids?  Now wait just one damn minute.

These were the things I was supposed to be doing, but did I really want them at all?  My actions were leading my life into a revolving door of repeated days, weeks, years.  The same morning traffic, the same weekly meals, the same company parties, the same family gatherings.  Maybe it’s because traditions are one of the most painful castrations in a divorce-torn family like mine, but my newfound sense of repetition provided me no comfort.

In fact, it was quite the opposite.

In what can now only be described as a quarter-life crisis, I quit my job in 2010 to travel to Costa Rica with a dear friend (and temporary blogging cohort) for a couple of months.  The experience only further spurred an itch I’ve been longing to scratch for a long, long time.

Now I realize some things.  I have some wants that lethargy simply won’t feed:  I want to be a better person.  I want to be a better partner.  I want to change, and grow, and experience new people and new cultures and new cuisine.  I want to learn how to play the guitar and become fluent in at least one other language.  I want to write and make people think.  I want to inspire.  I don’t ever want to leave without leaving something good behind.

I’m not afraid to say what I want.  I’m not afraid to be selfish or make mistakes.

Because, it turns out, I can’t be who anyone else needs me to be until I embrace who I need me to be.

Today, I still live in the ‘burbs with my (astoundingly supportive) husband, the mutts, and zero babies.  But now I’m trying to find that thing that feeds my wanderlust – both physical and emotional.

This blog is a journal of my domestic and non-domestic experiences – where I struggle to tie together the things I’m fortunate enough to have with the things I’m crazy enough to want – where you will find me learning to cook and working on home renovations when I’m not playing with ‘gators in the Everglades or jumping out of planes in Hawaii.

Welcome to my world.

 

 

Fish, Rice, and Little Gold Men

There are many things I could talk about this morning.

Like how Anne Hathaway’s first dress at the Oscars is one of the most beautiful I’ve ever seen.  Ever.

Or how while Scarlett Johansson’s dress was pretty, she looked like she hadn’t washed her hair in 6 days.

Although my male friends will attest to the fact that it’s Scarlett Johansson.  It doesn’t even matter if she has hair.  Because, you know – she has boobs.  To which I replied, Yes, but her Oscar dress didn’t even show off her boobs!  I mean, whenever I go 6 days without washing my hair, I have to practically show nip to make up for it.

That shut them up.  (Thanks Jeff and Mark.)

Or how I admittedly have a girl crush on Mila Kunis.

Mila, will you be my friend?

Or how James Franco looked like he did one too many bong hits between bits.

But the thing is, I’m not a fashionista.  I don’t really know what’s hot or not.

I’m the girl who owned about 6 shirts and 2 pairs of pants that I rotated wearing to work, hoping no one would notice but not really caring if they did.

Because while I enjoy looking nice, there are other things I’d rather spend my money on.

Like travel.

And sushi.

Speaking of sushi, my post from last week generated a couple of comments and questions, and I wanted to come clean about the source of my sushi knowledge.  It’s only fair.

In my humble little opinion, a website called Sushi Day is the primary source for anyone who wants to try making sushi at home.  The site’s owner, Allison, says that while she’s not a professional sushi chef, she “loves making sushi in her free time.”  Umm, yeah.  I’d say.

The girl is amazing.  Her photography is stunning.  And her sushi concoctions are out of this world.

South Wedge Roll from SushiDay.com.  Beautiful photo by Allison Day.

She covers everything – From how to make the sushi rice (it’s not just plain rice, people!), to how to make delicious eel sauce to drizzle over the top of your rolls (it’s simpler than you’d think!), to tons of inspiring recipes, like the South Wedge Roll and the Bling Bling Roll.

She even shows step-by-step photos on how to roll and cut your sushi.  In fact, the only thing she hasn’t been able to help me with is figuring out how to get the roll tight enough and my knife sharp enough to cut the rolls without the pieces falling apart.

But like anything else, that’s just gonna take practice.

What?  We might have to make and eat sushi every week for the next month until I get this right or we use up all of my expensive sushi-grade tuna?

Damn.  It’s a rough life.

*I did not follow proper blog etiquette and ask Allison permission to use her photo prior to posting this, since I didn’t know until this morning that this is what I wanted to write about. So Allison, when you see all the links to your site from my site and come over here to check it out, just let me know if you want me to take down the photo.  I’d be sad, but I’d do it.  Thanks!

You See What I See, and I See Sushi

Last night we had sushi for dinner.

Normally, that would entail the hour-plus drive up to our favorite sushi restaurant in Durham.

Last night, however, it involved me making a trip to a grocery store and an Asian market, and then slaving over a hot stove, rice cooker, and cutting board to create the various appropriate sushi roll accoutrements, after which we could assemble them into lovely (mostly), bite-sized (mostly), tasty (always) morsels.

One of our rolls had spicy sauce…

Sashimi-grade tuna…

Imitation crab…

And cucumber.

Then we rolled it on up…

And cut it into nice, purty pieces.

Okay, so maybe they weren’t too purty.

(The messily-rolled roll pictured above contains avocado, smoked salmon, and… BACON!)

But when you drizzle them with homemade eel sauce (which, much to my disdain, contains no eel parts whatsoever)…

And lovingly sprinkle them with decadent black sesame seeds…

No one really seems to care.

Until it’s time to clean up.

(Photo taken with camera phone.)

Alaina’s Kitchen Before-and-Afters

Well, it’s finally here.  The post we’ve all been waiting for.

No, I’m not showing you a picture of my awesome abs.

It’s not because I’m shy.  And it’s definitely not because they’re not there.  Oh, they’re there.  It’s just that they’re hiding behind a small layer of leftover holiday pudge.  I’m sure they’ll come out when they’re ready.

This is a process, people.  It can’t be rushed.

So.  Do you remember my friend Alaina and how I started telling you about her kitchen remodel back in April of 2010?

Well.  I finally – finally have photos of the end result.

And let me just tell you – it was well worth the wait.

“A” and her husband Dirk gutted their dated, boxy kitchen (cabinets, floors – even some walls!) and completely transformed the main level of their house.

In case you missed them, here are the series of posts that take us through some of the more painful aspects of a full kitchen remodel:

Other Peoples’ Messes: How we Thoroughly Demolished Alaina’s Kitchen
Other Peoples’ Messes: Alaina’s Kitchen Progress
Other Peoples’ Messes: Alaina’s Kitchen – Wall Removal Before & Afters
Other Peoples’ Messes: Alaina’s Unique Flooring Solution
Other Peoples’ Messes: How Alaina Shopped for Granite Counter Tops

And if you want to see other kitchen related posts, you can read through the mess we created in our own much smaller and budget constrained kitchen renovation, including layout planning advice, how to choose the right appliances, and even a step-by-step guide to tiling your own backsplash, right here.

But now on to the good stuff.

Don’t mind the phrase, but I’m just going to start with the “money shot” because that’s what you all came to see.  Then we’ll follow up with some details.  Okay?  Okay.

Before:

Alainas Kitchen Remodel

After:

Ummm…. WOW.  Even with the darker cabinetry and counter tops, the entire room is much brighter thanks to some strategic wall removal and an additional window behind the sink.

Back in the pre-kitchen remodel “dark days,” this lovely wall used to greet you when you looked into A’s living room from her front door:

Alainas Kitchen Remodel

Unfortunately, this is a load-bearing wall.  So it couldn’t come down completely.  But, with the help of a contractor, they were able to remove a portion of the wall to create a breakfast bar and pass-through, and, most important, stunning views of the lake right when you walk in through the front door.

Here it is mid-reno:

Alainas Kitchen Remodel

That small change really opened up the main floor.  Alaina and Justin are standing in what used to be their tiny, closed-in kitchen.

Here’s how it looks today:

*The brackets under the bar will soon be fixed by the granite installers and that wall will get re-painted.

They also removed the wall that divided the breakfast area from the main part of the kitchen, creating an eat-in kitchen (they already have a separate dining room).

Here it was before:

Alainas Kitchen Remodel

And here it is right after they removed the wall surrounding that open doorway:

Alainas Kitchen Remodel

And here it is today!

Beautiful, no?  And that’s not all.  We still have a special treat.  You might be noticing that there doesn’t seem to be a lot of space in the way of wall cabinet storage and food storage (that “room” to the right of the refrigerator is actually a utility room – not a pantry).

But no worries – See that doorway to the right of the microwave cabinet?  What used to be a narrow hallway that held their washer and dryer and leads to their office has now been transformed into a stunning “butler’s pantry”:

On the wall to the right, Alaina created a “message center” with a calendar, dry-erase board, and place to display photographs:

On the other side are two large pantries for food and small appliance storage, as well as a sink and a space for a future wine cooler:

I have to say, I’m pretty much in love with this new space.

From the stunning granite, to the custom cabinets – it looks as though this kitchen has always been there.  And that old monstrosity with the cheap white cabinets, worn linoleum flooring, and psychedelic backsplash tiles is but a bad dream.

Here are a few of the deets:

  • Cabinets:Travis Alfrey
  • Cabinet Hardware: Lowes
  • Granite Name: Atlantis
  • Granite Fabricator: World Granite and Stone Art
  • Granite Supplier: Cosmos
  • Fridge and Dishwasher: LG
  • Oven and Microwave: GE
  • Porcelain backsplash tiles: Best Tile
  • Pendant Light: Light Bulb City
  • Faucet: Lowes (They bought theirs on sale)
  • Range Hood: Overstock.com
  • Flooring: DuraCeramic, by Congoleum in “Sunny Clay”

So what do you think??

Where I Follow, You’ll Go

Every so often in life you find a person.

This person isn’t necessarily your soul mate.  Not necessarily your lover.  This person is… something else.

Someone special.

Someone you can’t. get. rid. of.

That’s right – I’m talking about friends by default.  Or maybe it just starts out that way.  Initially, you might be drawn together due to circumstances beyond your control.  But it doesn’t take long for the dynamic to change.  You no longer simply acknowledge the other’s presence in your life – you begin to like and, Fates willing, expect it.

This isn’t just a friend or a short-lived acquaintance.  You can go for months, sometimes even years, without speaking – not due to any particular reason or rift, but simply for the perfectly understandable fact that life occasionally gets in the way – and then carry on right where you left off when one of you finally makes the call.

It’s like no time passed at all.

Is there a word for these people?

I’m fortunate because my life is filled with people like this.

People like Alaina.  (Remember her kitchen? I finally have the “after” pictures.  They’re burning a hole in my email right now.)

Alaina and I came together out of necessity.  She needed a roommate and I needed a place to live.  But we stayed together, long after I moved out, through mutual co-dependency.

The emotional kind.

We lived together at college in Ohio.  Her parents “adopted” me, taking me in for various holidays and family weekends since I was so far from home.  I moved back to Nebraska during my sophomore year to help with some family things and take a 5,500 mile road trip.  You know, normal stuff.  Alaina finished school in Ohio.  I moved to Georgia, finished my degree, and got married.  She moved an hour away to Florida and earned her Master’s.  Then Alaina moved to North Carolina and got married.  I moved an hour away to North Carolina and bought a house.  She stayed in North Carolina and bought a house and got pregnant.  I stayed in North Carolina and…. well sorry Mom, I’m not sure I want to follow her there.

But my point is, Alaina and I take turns following each other through life’s milestones.  We are meant to be.  We don’t have to try.  Our relationship just is.

And I have to say, when I think about it, that’s one of the best feelings in the world.

Congratulations, Alaina and Dirk!  Our lives are about to change again, and I’m so happy I get to be a part of it.

*I really, really, really wanted to use the baby bump picture, but I’m fairly certain Alaina would cut me off from things like finished kitchen photos, basil mayo with sweet potato fries, “mom” and “dad” and their Tennessee Snot wine, and, most important, my soon-to-be niece or nephew.  And who can live without Tennessee Snot?

**Post title taken from Collide, by Howie Day.

Up with Caffeine and Down with a Shot

I’m going to be honest.  I’ve been having a hard time lately.  You know, in case you didn’t figure that out here, here and especially here.

Sometimes I’ll be working at the bar and some customer will feel inclined to comment on my boobs or my tantrum-loving boss will throw a public conniption my way because, you know, it’s okay to do these things in a bar.  And then I’ll think to myself, for the umpteenth time, why the hell did I quit my awesome-paying, cozy little cubicle job for this?

You know, the boob thing doesn’t even bother me so much.  I expect that kind of behavior from drunk people and, if I’m going to be honest, I have nice boobs.  And taking it in stride leads to much better tips.  But the conniption thing?  Why someone this prone to high blood pressure and stress-induced hissy fits and all-around bouts of purely childish behavior would ever, ever own a bar is beyond my comprehension.

Photo source

When my boss is in the middle of a tantrum, I stand there and stare with disbelief for a few minutes because I honestly thought, at age 28, that my days of standing in front of a “grown-up” and enduring a verbally abusive rage of hysterics were over way back in my teenage years when I actually deserved it.

Then, when he finally stops to take a breath, I calmly ask, Are you finished?

Which is a little amusing to me because that ticks him off even more, and he gets revved up again with consternation and petulance, and his energy builds like the Little Engine that Could, painfully trucking his way up the hill, face turning red from the exertion of it all, only to putter to a stop at the top in an extremely disappointing and anticlimactic excretion of watered-down anger and spent steam.

It’s like emotional erectile dysfunction, and it’s exhausting just watching him.

Photo source

Now here’s something you should know about me.  I can get mad in certain trigger situations very, very easily.  The trade-off is that my anger is ridiculously short-lived.  So if you ever tick me off, don’t worry about it because we’ll likely be bonding over a couple of beers like the BFFs we were always meant to be in a matter of hours.

Which is how I’ve managed to continue working at this bar.  I get mad at my boss for his asinine behavior, but then I get over it.  That’s the nature of the food/beverage service industry, after all.

But anyway.  My hard time.

When I ask myself why I gave up my career to revert back to my college and pre-college days of professional food distribution, I have to force myself remember how I felt when I wrote this post, and specifically, this paragraph:

First, let me just say that the hardest thing about going to work when you know you want to quit, is going to work when you already have quit.  The gray cubicle walls seem a little… grayer… and the harsh neon lighting seems a little… neonier.  It’s like the last couple weeks of a prison sentence.  Except with coffee breaks and I don’t have to worry about my co-workers shanking me on my way to the bathroom.  Usually.

That place is not where I’m supposed to be.  This much I know.

But neither is the bar.  Not by a long shot.

So.  Where does that leave me?

I remember my 2-month adventure in Costa Rica and how it’s when I’m traveling that I feel the most alive.  I remember the sinking feeling I had when a dear friend invited me to India with her next month and I felt like I had to turn her down because travel costs money, and I don’t feel justified in spending money I’m not actually earning.  I want to earn money from traveling and writing, but can’t travel without money and can’t write without travel.

Huh?

Exactly.

That’s not 100% true.  I can write without travel, although the ability to say “yes” to these lofty excursions when the opportunities arise is my ultimate goal.  (And another opportunity has arisen.  It may not be as exciting as a trip to India, but it does involve a road trip and one of my favorite bands ever, but more on that as plans – or my typical lack-thereof – evolve.)

In the meantime, I’m going to jump into this writing thing with renewed zest.  I know it seems like I keep saying that on this blog, but that’s because I get inspired to write a post every time I’m on the up-slope of this emotional roller coaster.

I don’t write as much when I’m down, because… well… it’s dark down there and it’s hard to see the pages.

But then, then I get an encouraging comment on this blog or an email from a reader, and it’s like I can breathe again.  It makes me feel like I’m on the right track.  So thank you for that.

Sincerely.

You’re the best uppers ever because you’re free and just as addictive.

I’ll leave you with a question and some lines from Talk on Indolence by the Avett Brothers (hint, hint) because, as usual, they can express how I’m feeling much better than I ever could.

Question:  Have you ever had an extremely shitty boss, and if so, how did you deal?  I could really use some advice on this one.

Avetts:

Well I’ve been lockin’ myself up in my house for sometime now
Readin’ and writin’ and readin’ and thinkin’
And searching for reasons and missing the seasons.
The Autumn, the Spring, the Summer, the snow.
The record will stop the record will go.
Latches latched the windows down,
The dog coming in the dog going out.
Up with caffeine and down with a shot.
Constantly worried about what I’ve got.
Distracting my work but I can’t make a stop
And my confidence on and my confidence off.
And I sink to the bottom and rise to the top
And I think to myself that I do this a lot.
World outside just goes it goes it goes it goes it goes it goes…
And I witness it all from the blinds of my window.