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My Big Fat Greek Wrap

I was hesitant about sharing this recipe today because while it’s certainly good, I think it could be improved.

(Well technically any recipe could be improved, but I like to post things I love and wouldn’t really change much.)

It’s called Pork Souvlaki and can be found here, but I just like to call ’em Greek Wraps.  You know, to keep it simple.  The pork in this recipe is cubed and skewered and roasted in the oven.  Now, I might not have been crazy about it because I bought pork chops; however, I think this would’ve been really tasty (and worked better for the wraps) if it had been shredded, pulled pork.  But that’s just me.

The flavor of these babies is fantastic.  Because of my “Life ADD,” I’m always experimenting with different ethnic flavors.  And I think Greek flavors might be among my favorites – oils, olives, and feta cheese.  What’s not to love?

Speaking of olives, there aren’t any in this recipe.  But maybe there should be.  Because olives, in my humble little opinion, are one of the best. foods. ever.  Green, black, kalamata… mmmm.  I love them so much that when I was little, I used to ask Santa for cans of black olives for Christmas.

You say crazy, I say practical.

Now back to your regularly scheduled program.  These wraps are pretty simple.  Just cook your meat, prepare your veggies, warm your flat bread, and assemble!

You will need:

  • 2 tsp. salt
  • 1 tsp. dry dill
  • 1 tsp. dry oregano
  • 1 tsp. garlic powder
  • 1 tsp. lemon juice
  • 1 Tbsp. olive oil
  • 1 lb. boneless pork, cubed
  • Flat bread
  • Vegetable accoutrements (optional – I used red bell peppers and cucumbers)
  • Feta cheese (optional, but why wouldn’t you use it?  It’s cheese.)
  • Tzatziki (optional, but highly recommended – this is a Greek yogurt/cucumber dip.  I found mine in the deli section at Wal-Mart.)

1.  Combine the first 6 ingredients to create the marinade for your pork.  Or is it a rub?  It’s kinda wet, kinda dry.  A marirub?  Rubamade?

This doesn’t look like a lot of wet/dry marirub, but it will cover the pound of pork quite nicely.

2.  Cube the pork (again, I used chops, but please educate me, those of you who know your meats, about what kind of cut might have worked better for this) cover the pieces with your rubbinade.

Just mix it with your hands if you like the feeling of squishiness between your fingers…

Mmmmm…

Cover the meat and let it marinade in the fridge for at least 2 hours (but as with any marinade, letting it sit overnight would be even better!).

3.  When the meat is ready, preheat your oven to 350-degrees F.  Stick the meat tightly on some wood skewers, place them on a foil-lined pan, and let them bake for 30-40 minutes.  (If I make it this way again, I will probably increase the oven temperature to 400 for the last 10 minutes or so to get the pork crispier on the outside.)

4.  Meanwhile, chop up your chosen vegetable accoutrements and sauté them in a little oil.  If you have a double-oven, these would be phenomenal roasted in a pan at 400-degrees.

5.  Just before your pork is ready, start heating the flat bread on the stove in a pan over low heat.  Get your other garnishes (feta and tzatziki) ready as well.

Tzatziki is the perfect accompaniment to these wraps.

And if you have to eat some of it with pita chips while your pork is cooking, I won’t judge you.

6.  When everything’s ready, set it up assembly-line style.

Just assemble the wrap to your liking!

Don’t forget the tzatziki.  Tzatziki makes the world go ’round.  (Or at least it makes my world go ’round.)

Or you could put a little Windex on it.

JUST KIDDING.  Do NOT put Windex on your wraps.  Windex should not, under any circumstances, be ingested.  But can you name that movie?  (The title of this post might be a slight giveaway.)

The flavors in this are wonderful. If you try these and figure out a more satisfying (less chewy) way to cook the meat, please let me know!

Wonderful Deathless Ditties

I knew what I was going to name this post before I wrote it.

That never happens.

Or has never happened, I should say.  Up until now.

I once read a book by Mark Haddon called, The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time.  It’s written in the voice of a 15-year-old autistic boy named Christopher who, at one point in the story, expresses his dislike for “proper novels” because they are essentially lies.  And the beauty is that his disdain for lies is not a question of morals – he doesn’t care that lies are wrong – what bothers him is the fact that while only one thing really did happen at a particular time and place, “there are an infinite number of things which didn’t happen at that time and that place.”  And when he starts thinking of all of those things that could happen in a lie, they keep filling his head until he feels shaky and scared.

There are too many options.

And sometimes, that’s how I feel about writing.

When I try to write fiction – to make up a story – I become lost with possibility.  I’m afraid to let a character choose a direction and get too far, only to find out that direction isn’t where I wanted him to travel at all.  My head swims with the possibilities and I give up before I even start.

But blogging?  This makes more sense.  I can pick a topic on which to focus – or not focus, as the case may be – and just have at it until I’ve exhausted the details to my satisfaction.  This writing is train-of-thought – typing the words as they run through my mind, with little thought of how they’ll sound or backtracking to make them be… better.

Because it’s something I have yet to accomplish, I admire those who can create a story, beginning to end, complete with developed characters and coherent, conceivable plots and inspire joy or compassion or hatred or grief.

I feel the same way about poets and lyricists – writers who can instill these same emotions or conjure vivid imagery without excess words.  I can’t tell you how many times I’ve found immense inspiration from just the right lyrics heard at just the right time.  They have the power to find ways into your subconscious like water through cracks in cement and

alter moods,

break hearts,

change minds.

Perhaps no one pays better homage to these artists than Arthur O’Shaughnessy in his poem, Ode.  Although you may not know the poem, you’ve likely attributed its opening lines to this guy:

“We are the music-makers,
And we are the dreamers of dreams”

But it was O’Shaughnessy who first said it – who said what the rest of us feel but can’t express about those who create from scratch – novelists, poets, playwrights and musicians – those “wonderful deathless ditties” that leave marks on our souls (*if you don’t like poetry, pretend these are song lyrics):

We are the music-makers,
And we are the dreamers of dreams,
Wandering by lone sea-breakers,
And sitting by desolate streams.
World-losers and world-forsakers,
Upon whom the pale moon gleams;
Yet we are the movers and shakers,
Of the world forever, it seems.

With wonderful deathless ditties
We build up the world’s great cities,
And out of a fabulous story
We fashion an empire’s glory:
One man with a dream, at pleasure,
Shall go forth and conquer a crown;
And three with a new song’s measure
Can trample an empire down.

We, in the ages lying
In the buried past of the earth,
Built Nineveh with our sighing,
And Babel itself with our mirth;
And o’erthrew them with prophesying
To the old of the new world’s worth;
For each age is a dream that is dying,
Or one that is coming to birth.

The poem is actually nine stanzas long, but you get the idea.

Think of some of your favorite song lyrics.  How have they changed you?  Defined you?  Affected your spirit?

Maybe I’m just an idealist, but I think in the end, that this is the status for which all artists strive – perhaps not for the ability to “trample an empire down” with their words, but to make an impact.  Inspire change.  Become a “mover and shaker” of the mind of at least one person.

That – more than wealth, more than education, more than caste – is power.

 

How to Make $7.88 Per Year

Today I did something that scared me.

Not something that scared me a little (like opening a tube of refrigerated biscuit dough), but scared me a lot (like hand-serving a select portion of my insides on a platter to Hannibal Lecter and, for some inexplicable reason, finding myself hoping he likes it).

I wrote something and submitted it to an online publication.

Well that’s not a big deal.  You do that practically every day on this blog.

True, but I can write whatever I want on this blog.  There are virtually no restrictions except for the ones I place on myself.  And the people who read this are not under any delusions that I’m an “actual” writer – I’m just a girl with a blog.

Well I checked out the link and it looks like anyone can submit to that site.  Just like anyone can write a blog.  That shouldn’t be scary.

Theoretically, no.  It shouldn’t.  But this is the first step of a process through which I am trying to gain viable freelance writing connections and start building a portfolio.  I’m trying to get them to like me.  (And they will even more if you read my posting and hit “save” – you might need to sign in to the site to do so.)

Haven’t you ever been the new person at a job and you’ve had to head to the break room for lunch on your first day, frozen Lean Cuisine clasped in your nervous little hand, wondering how the hell you’re going to break the ice with these people?

Photo source

That’s a little what this feels like.

The editors at Trazzler are going to judge me based on 124 words over which I agonized for over an hour.  (Wow, it kind of sucked to admit that.)

What lit this fire under your ass?  We thought you were happy with this blog and your renewed passion for serving people food and alcoholic beverages?

I do love the blog.  And I’ll choose to ignore the food comment.  But honestly?  This stemmed from a surprising little email I received with the subject line:

“Demand Media, Inc. sent you $7.88 USD.”

And I was all, Who sent me $7.88?  In U.S. dollars, no less?  And how do I get them to send me more?

Turns out I finally got a payout from Ehow.com for an article I wrote… I don’t know… about a year and a half ago.

But did the tiny payout deter me?  Heck no.  Turns out this is exactly what I needed to realize there is just a slight possibility that I could actually get paid for something I write.  I’ve just never tried, because I’ve never known where to start.

Turns out you start by writing.

So that’s what I’m doing.

I know there will be rejections.  I know there will be failures.  But in the end, I’d rather have the feeling that I failed after trying than failing without trying at all.

Look at the Waaay… We Gotta Hide What We’re Doin’

Okay.  I’m pretty much having an awesome afternoon so far.  It’s too bad it’s gotta be dampened by the fact that I’ll have to go to work later, but we won’t worry about that just yet.

Right now I’m sitting outside, wearing short sleeves, doing this:

And earlier, on my way home from getting Thai food for lunch, I opened my car windows.

That’s right – while much of the country is struggling to dig themselves out from under massive inches of snowfall, I was able, through some miracle of being in the right state at the right time, to finally air out the Tracker after months of soaking in the smells of sweaty clothes, hairy dog blankets, and leftover pad Thai.

It.  Was.  Awesome.

What’s that?  You thought the good news ended there? ‘Fraid not, my friends.  Just when I was about to give up on the radio and pop in a CD, I heard this:

Oh, yes.  Windows down, crankin’ some power chick music of the late ’80’s.  I cared not about the bemused stares of the surly truck drivers I passed while belting out, I’ve been a fool before – Wouldn’t like to get my love caught in the slammin’ door.  How about some information – Pleeeeease?

Straight up, now tell me – are you really gonna love ME forever?

Oh.  Oh.  Oh.

Paula and me go way back, and you can’t make me feel bad about jammin’ with her.

And it doesn’t stop there.

After Paula, I switched stations.  And who should greet me, but…

…wait for it…

HER!

Un.  Be.  Lievable.  I’ve never had this kind of luck when it comes to ’80’s music on the car radio.

Children behaaaaave… that’s what they say when we’re together.  And watch how you plaaaay…

It was so naughty for the times.  Or maybe just the time in my life.  You know what I mean.

If you’re anywhere close to my age and this doesn’t bring you to a smiley place in your memories, I don’t know what will.

When I got home, I went digging through the bowels of my closet looking for a cassette tape my older (and much cooler) cousin Kris made for me waaaay back in the day.

And I found it.

*If you don’t actually know what this picture depicts, you should probably remove yourself from this blog immediately.

**Just kidding.  Don’t leave.  Hold On and Hang Tough.  I Need You because You’re My Favorite Girl.  I’ll Be Loving You because Johnny’s Got the Inside Moves.

It was my favorite cassette tape ever.  I’ll admit that disappointment got the better of me for a second when I realized I have no actual way of playing this tape.

But that’s okay – that’s what Youtube is for.

Banana-lama-ding-dong

Soooooo apparently my crack at relationship analysis was a flop, because no one commented.  At all.  And I know you read it, because I can see the numbers.  It’s like magic.

Maybe no one wanted to tackle such a difficult question?

Maybe you were afraid I’d tear you to shreds with my lioness prowess if you dared counter my opinion?

Rawr.

Anyway.  I guess this means I need to stick to recipes and travel and backsplashes and embarrassing stories and not-so-embarrassing stories.

Because it’s not what I know – it’s how convincingly I act like I know what I don’t really know.  You know?

But if there’s one thing I really do know, it’s that almost nothing will make your house smell better on a cold winter day than a baking loaf of banana bread.  Except maybe Snickerdoodle flavored hot cocoa.  But that’s more of an in-your-nose type of smell – not a makes-you-want-to-lick-the-walls-in-your-kitchen-because-the-snozzberries-taste-like-snozzberries type of smell.

But the banana bread?  It makes me want to lick the walls.

Banana Bread

Is that weird?

Banana bread is not something I never really set out to make.  It’s just what happens when we neglect to eat our bananas and they start to get all brown and nasty looking, and then we really don’t want to eat ’em.  So they either go to the dogs, or to the bread.  Those dark, mushy, horrible-looking bananas are perfect for banana bread.

I actually mixed a bunch of recipes together to come up with this one.  The nice thing about these dense bread loaves is there is definitely room to play when it comes to flavor.  Think you might not want it as sweet?  Cut back on the sugar.  Think you want it spicier?  Add more cinnamon and nutmeg.  Want it richer?  Add chocolate chips.  Want it to have that disgusting texture that happens when you add nuts to something that should be smooth?  Add nuts.

Anyway, my point is that you don’t need to make it exactly this way just because I made it this way.

Even though you should make it my way, because my way is best.

Just sayin’.

Here’s what I used:

  • 1/2 cup butter, softened
  • 1/2 cup white sugar
  • 1/2 cup brown sugar
  • 2 eggs
  • 3 mashed bananas
  • 1 1/2 cups flour
  • 1 teaspoon baking soda
  • 1/2 teaspoon vanilla
  • 1/4 teaspoon cinnamon
  • 1/8 teaspoon nutmeg

If you’ve never made a loaf of dense bread like this, I’m telling you there’s really nothing much easier.

1.  Start by preheating your oven to 350-degrees F.  Grease and flour a 9×5″ loaf pan.  You might be able to use that nonstick spray stuff, but when it comes to baking, I usually prefer good old-fashioned Crisco and flour.

Just use a paper towel to spread the Crisco around the bottom and sides of the pan…

…Then plop a spoonful of flour into the pan…

…And then shake and rotate the pan around (preferably over a trash can) until the flour coats the whole thing.  Just dump out the excess flour when the pan’s fully coated.

Your grandma would be so proud!  Except for the fingerprints you left in the grease.  Grandma wouldn’t leave fingerprints in the grease.

Moving on…

2.  Grab your really brown, overripe bananas and mash ’em up with a fork.

This should be fairly easy if your bananas are at the optimal level of ripeness.

2.  In a separate bowl, cream together the 1/2 cup of softened butter, the 1/2 cup of white sugar, and 1/2 cup of brown sugar.

3.  Move the mixture to the side of the bowl, and add the 2 eggs.

Beat the eggs with a fork.

Mix the eggs in with the butter/sugar mixture.

Booyah!  I just saved YOU from another dirty bowl.

4.  Stir in the vanilla and mashed bananas.

5.  In a separate bowl, mix together the 1 1/2 cups flour, 1 teaspoon baking soda, 1/4 teaspoon cinnamon, and 1/8 teaspoon nutmeg.

6.  Add the flour mixture to the banana mixture, and fold it in just enough until everything is moistened.  You don’t need to overwork it at this point.

7.  Pour the batter into the prepared loaf pan, pop it in the oven for around an hour, and let the heavenly smells commence.

About 50 minutes into the cooking time, the top started to look a little dark even though the center was still undercooked.  This happens because my oven sucks.  If your oven sucks too, just cover the loaf loosely with foil and commence with the baking.

You’ll know it’s finished when you insert a toothpick in the center and no bread boogers stick to it when you pull it back out.

8.  When she’s done, pull the loaf out of the oven and let her cool for a minute or two before you remove her from the pan.  (I suddenly have this inexplicable feeling that my loaf is a girl.)

Let her pose for a couple of pictures.

You know she wants it.

Banana Bread

Before she cools down too much, run a knife along the edge to loosen her up and then tip her out onto a cooling rack or plate.

If you’re lucky, you can slice and eat while it’s still warm.

Immediately spread with a little butter or margarine so it gets nice and melty…

Oh my.

Ooh baby.

You know I can’t resist your sexy dance of seduction…

Until next bite, my friend.

Until next bite.

Free to be You and Me. As Long as I Like the You that You Are.

My friend Matt over at Inside the Nice Guy posted a link to an interesting article a couple of days ago.  Interesting, because it’s written by a man for a women’s magazine (aptly named Woman’s Day) and claims to debunk the 10 biggest myths [women believe] about men.

Now, you know me.  I don’t tend to delve into relationship issues too often on this blog, for the main reason that I have no clue what I’m doing most of the time.  And really, who am I to dispense with the unfounded wisdom?  I tried it once, when I went on some extra caffeinated-induced rant about an article about romantic comedies.  And it didn’t really make me feel better.

But now I’m trying again.  Because apparently I can’t learn my lesson.  But before you get all crazy on me, keep in mind this is all in fun.  We all have our flaws – it’s just more fun analyzing the flaws of others.

Initially, there was something about this man myth article that rubbed me the wrong way.  Maybe it’s the unspoken implication that women must think men are mindless, emotionless, inhuman robots, and thank god for articles like this that remind us that men are, in fact, people too.  Or maybe it’s the way the author follows every explanation with a note of what women can do to play into these special male personality quirks like it’s our job to pull men out of their protective, emotionally unbalanced cocoons so they can emerge as the butterflies they were always meant to be.

Because women, why wouldn’t you always say yes to sex, even if you really do have a headache or a yeast infection or haven’t shaved your legs in 4 days?

And men, who doesn’t love a woman who continuously encourages you to reveal your true feelings because she understands that you’re not “fine” even though you say you are?

But eventually I got over my indignant self, and I came to understand the intent of the article.  The author, Brendan Tapley, really  is just trying to get women to understand why we [women] might have certain misconceptions  about what’s going on inside the heads of our sexy-yet-irritatingly-stubborn counterparts.

That didn’t, however, stop me from making just a few comments.  Because I’m a girl.  And that’s what we do.  But bear with me, guys – I’m going to have a question for you at the end of this.

For example – myth #2, sex is what matters the most. Tapley thinks this myth exists because men rely on sex to achieve a “bonded feeling” of solidarity with their partners.  In other words, sex makes the relationship real.  It means we’re on the same team.  The problem?  Women usually need to be at least somewhat emotionally invested to get the most pleasure out of sex.  And even if the emotion wasn’t there before the sex, it definitely tends to creep in after.  In fact, some studies show that this is a physiological probability.  We can’t help it.

So I’m not really buying Tapley’s argument.  I mean, if sex made men feel bonded too, then it would be nearly impossible for them to have “meaningless” sex.  And I’ve known enough women who never received the promised post-sex phone call to be fairly certain that many times to men, sex is just sex.  I’m not saying that’s a bad thing.  That’s just how it is.

“But honey, sex makes me feel like we’re truly bonded!”

Unless…

The first man myth addressed by the article is the myth that men are not emotional.  Tapley counters this by explaining that not only are men emotional, but they might even be more emotional than women!  Now this I believe.  Ladies, how many of you have said something you thought was completely innocuous to a guy and he just completely shut down?  Turns out (at least according to Tapley) that this shutting down doesn’t reflect a lack of emotion as we lead ourselves to believe, but instead a complete emotion overload.  But because he doesn’t know how to deal with said emotion, he just shuts off.  Huh.

So maybe this explains the sex thing.  He’s so overwrought with raw emotion after you have sex that he doesn’t know how to deal with it.  And that’s why he doesn’t call.

Riiiight.

I think this ties in nicely with myth #6: guys don’t communicate. Well.  Tapley doesn’t really have a good argument for this.  He says that men do like to talk, but they often censor themselves from talking about anything deep or meaningful because they’re worried women might find them less masculine.  Sooo… this really doesn’t debunk the myth.  Men really don’t communicate.

And we all knows what happens now.  A woman says something that ticks a man off.  He experiences an emotional overload and shuts down, refusing to tell her what’s chapping his ass because doesn’t want to look like a crybaby pussy.  So the woman gets frustrated because she’s a “fixer” and can’t fix a problem when she doesn’t know what’s wrong, so she ends up going into crazy bitch mode, constantly writing or calling or texting because she’s sure that if she just does what Tapley says and encourages the man to be open about his feelings, all will be right with the world.

So you can see that this is where I disagree with Tapley.  And this is where I have a question for the men:

What’s a girl to do??  If we pester you about what’s wrong, we end up in crazy bitch mode.  But if we back off and let you work it out yourself, we run the huge risk of you thinking we don’t care (which, I can assure you, we do), and worse, we never understand the heart of the problem and risk a repeat of the situation – something neither of us wants.

Unless you’re into the suspense and the drama and the (usually) fantastic make-up sex.

But that can’t be healthy on a regular basis.

Or can it?

 

Tips From the Pros: How to Satiate Those Late-Night Cravings

EDIT:  It has been brought to my attention that it might not be easy to pick up on my intended sarcastic tone in the following post.  Therefore, this is your notice that if there were such a thing as a “sarcasm font,” this post would surely be written with it.  Thank you.

Just when I thought I was in a heap of trouble and started to become desperate because I’ve finally, officially, gotten sick and tired of trying to figure out what to make for dinner night after night*, the ultimate foodie guru Rachael Ray has come to my rescue.

*Note:  It’s not the physical act of cooking I can no longer stand – it’s the pouring over recipes online looking for something new and interesting and not eight-five thousand calories and doesn’t contain crazy-expensive ingredients and doesn’t make more than enough to feed 8 people and why isn’t there a cookbook out there called, Katie, This is the Cookbook You Need.  Buy Me and You Will Never Have to Search for Another Recipe Again?

So last night I got home late.  With this new job at the bar, I’ve gotten used to feeling awake as though I’ve drunk 3 cups of coffee in the middle of the night; the ghostly darkened roads with blinking lights devoid of traffic; and the dark, quiet house where even the dogs don’t want to wake up to greet me.

But what I can’t, for the life of me, seem to adjust to is the feeling that I am absolutely starving at 2 o’clock in the morning.  I might eat dinner at 4 to get to the bar by 5, and then, before I know it, 9 hours have passed and I’ve barely had time to take a few sips of water, let alone snag some bar food from the kitchen.

So.  All I have to say is, thank God for Rachel Ray.  She has seriously saved me with this recipe:

Late Night Bacon.

Photo source

Now, I realize it sounds a bit complicated, but bear with me.  You will need 8 slices of bacon, 4 sheets of paper towel, and a microwave-safe plate.  Oh, and a microwave.  Place 2 of the paper towels on the plate, and place the bacon on top of that.  Do not, for the love of all that is holy, let your bacon slices overlap.

Now here’s where it gets tricky:  You will need to take the remaining 2 sheets of paper towel and place them over the bacon.  Then place the plate in the microwave on high for 4-6 minutes.

Like I said, it’s a bit complicated, but I’m so thankful to have access to someone like Rachel Ray on the Food Network website to walk me through it.  I mean… microwaving bacon instead of pan-frying?  Genius.  Because we all know I shouldn’t be messing with the stove at 2 a.m.  And writing this high-calorie recipe specifically to be consumed late at night?  When my metabolism is probably at its all-time lowest?  Well.  I feel like she wrote it just for me.

And here are some of my favorite reviews from the site, because it’s always helpful to learn from the mistakes of others:

“The recipe didn’t say anything about removing my hand from the bacon, so I ended up microwaving my hand with the bacon and paper towels. I passed out twice from the pain, but once I awoke, the bacon, the paper towels and my hand had all melded into one yumm-o baconey flavored blob, which really was crispy and delicious. I’ve got one hand left, and oh yeah, I’m making this again tonight!”

-latenightbaconman

Wow, thanks for the tip, latenightbaconman!  I probably would’ve done the same thing – I mean, I need my directions to be explicit – so thanks for saving me the headache.  I mean handache.

“Hey Ray Ray! I loved the recipe, but thought it needed something to be a late night meal. Could you please post your recipe for toast? I’d like a recipe for a glass of milk as well, but I don’t think I could do all that in one night.”

-ShanonSharp

Oh, Shanon.  I feel  your pain.  I do.  I mean, it’s late night bacon.  Who has the energy to make an entire glass of milk?  Hopefully Ray Ray will respond with a solution to this problem, pronto.

“Personally, I think this recipe could be improved by the addition of a bit more bacon and a bit less paper towel. The taste of the towel was pretty good with all that bacon grease on it, but the texture was *awful*. I’ve tried this preparation a few times for my guests, and they always leave the towels behind. Sometimes slightly gnawed, but it’s clear they don’t enjoy them.”

-BaconMan

Ooh, nice suggestion, BaconMan.  I can really see how reducing the amount of paper towel might improve the overall flavor of this recipe.  Or maybe you could try what yet another reviewer suggested and marinade the sheets in Pam first?  It’s worth a shot…

Photo source

How to Grow a Muscle and Other Motivational Tools

So I just finished my workout with Jillian for today, and I’m writing this post while still sitting in a puddle of my own sweat because I’m suddenly, inexplicably motivated.  And these days motivation seems hard to come by, so I grab it when I can.

You know how it is when life just doesn’t seem to be going the direction you want, so you find yourself in a bit of a slump, and it gets harder and harder to pull yourself out of the slump over time?  To use an over-used analogy, it’s like quicksand.  The harder you struggle, the deeper you get, and eventually you just want to give up.  Lethargy becomes second nature.  Even the idea of picking a recipe for dinner and going to the grocery store for the ingredients seems like too much work, because didn’t I just do that two days ago?  And what’s the point if it’s just going to be the same thing, day after day?

If you’ve never known that feeling, then I envy you.  Truly.  But if you have, I’m here to tell you that you can’t let it hold you down.  In fact, all you can do is keep struggling against the quicksand, and eventually you’ll see progress.*

*Actually that’s not true – if you’re literally stuck in quicksand, I’ve heard you shouldn’t struggle because you will get pulled under.  So wow… what a f*cked up analogy.

For the time-being, I’m doing little things that have started improving my opinion of my own self-worth.

1.  This blog.  Sure, it’s mostly just a bunch of introspective rambling and random recipes and an overall log of some (but definitely not all) of my most notable life experiences, but it’s my blog.  It’s my thing that I do when I need an outlet.  Some people journal, some people play guitar, some people paint.  I blog.

Photo source:  Me

2.  Found a job.  Okay, so waiting tables at a bar isn’t exactly the dream job I hoped I might find when I quit the cubicle all those months ago.  But in a way, at least for right now, it fits my personality so much better.  No one looks at me funny when I randomly start singing, because I’m just singing with the night’s performer and everyone else is doing the same thing.  And I’m no longer getting strange looks for taking running leaps down the hallway or pretending I’m on an escalator behind someone’s cubicle glass, because I don’t have excess energy to expend at this job and therefore don’t act quite so entirely nutty.  I’m always moving.

So while I still do aspire to do something more meaningful to me, this definitely works for now.

Photo source

3.  Working out.  This isn’t a New Year’s resolution for me.  In fact, you know my resolution is to be worthy of a holiday letter, so working out really has nothing to do with it.  (Unless I end up saving someone’s life by lifting an SUV off of someone who’s crushed underneath it because I’ve been working out and am now obviously strong enough to walk around town lifting SUVs off of people.  Now that would be letter-worthy.)

I’ve never been one of those people who gets a high from working out.  In fact, it usually leaves me feeling sweaty and exhausted and there’s only one type of scenario I can think of that leaves me in the same condition and I feel really good afterwards instead of tired and disgusting.  And working out with Jillian Michaels ain’t it.

But I do it because I know it’s good for me.  Like flossing and not consuming a diet exclusively comprised of cheese.  And today, after I was finished, I noticed an actual muscle!

And yes, I took a picture.

And yes, I’m about to show it to you.

So don’t laugh.

For me, this is BIG.

Woohoo!  Maybe this is the workout high people are talking about – that point where you finally notice some progress.

So right now I’m feeling pretty good.  I wrote a blog post, I grew a muscle, and I might make a little money tonight.  Motivation is creeping back into my life.  And I wanted you to know, even though my posts have been a bit emo as of late, that I’m not just sitting here, all pitiful and lethargic day after day.  (Well I’m literally sitting here now, in a puddle of my own sweat, no less, but my point is that I’m not just a couch-drooling zombie.)

What I want to know is, what do you do to pull yourself out of it when you’re feeling a little slumpy?

Chicken Salsa Biscuit Things

As I sit here drinking a cerveza, thinking about what to write on this thing that some people are actually reading, and contemplating life in general, I’m starting to think I was too harsh in my assessment of drunk-in-public people from last night.  I mean… if someone wants to hit on me regardless of whether I can understand what he’s saying between hiccups and slurs (something about my ponytail and my nice smile, but that’s all I could make out)… or if someone wants to literally attack my manager and rip her shirt because she thinks she’s hitting on her boyfriend… or if someone wants to vomit all over the floor in the ladies’ restroom… who am I to judge?

*One of those 3 things has not happened (yet) at my place of employment – anyone care to guess which one?

I mean, if you’re someone who’s never done something remotely stupid or regrettable in your life, then I probably don’t know you.  Because you probably don’t exist.

And while there are surely many negative aspects of getting stupidly drunk, one of the inarguable positives is that you gain the uncanny ability to eat the crappiest of foods completely guilt-free.

Which brings me to my recipe for tonight.  A recipe that, coincidentally, I’ve never made or eaten while intoxicated.  Which proves I’m horrible at segues.  But it is one of those things you might look at and think, Umm, no.  I will not be making that for dinner.  Ever.  It’s juvenile and you can eat it with your fingers and for crying out loud, what IS it with you and those damn tubes of biscuits that scare the panties off me when they pop open??!!?

But the thing is, sometimes we need food like this.  Sometimes we crave it.  Something simple and fun and tastes really really great with a beer.  Or a soda.  Or a big glass of milk.

I used to make these for my favorite guy friends and they went down quicker than Courtney Love when courted with Heart Shaped Box.

I call them Chicken Salsa Biscuit Things.  And the original recipe is found here.  They’re basically like homemade hot pockets, but So. Much. Better.  And you can customize them any way you want.  Like more filling?  Add some mushrooms, or shrimp, or bell peppers.  Like more flavor?  Add some cilantro, minced garlic, or red pepper flakes.  Like more heat?  Add your favorite hot sauce.  The sky’s the limit!

But here’s what you need to make ’em my way, usually in their most basic form (I like to keep it simple):

  • 3 skinless, boneless chicken breast halves (I actually usually only use 2 if they’re pretty big)
  • 1 chopped onion (I actually skip this sometimes when I’m feeling particularly lazy… I use a chunky salsa to make up for it)
  • 1 cup salsa (I use Pace mild thick ‘n chunky – or something along those lines)
  • 2 cups shredded cheddar cheese (I try to freshly grate cheese to avoid all the extra additives and preservatives and gunk they put in the pre-shredded stuff in the bag, but again, this is a lazy recipe.  Sometimes I do what I gotta do.  And the recipe uses refrigerated biscuit dough – who are we kidding?)
  • 1 (12 oz.) can refrigerated biscuit dough  (NOT the flaky stuff – just regular, original biscuits.  Or the buttermilk kind.  Whatever floats your boat.)

1.  Preheat your oven to 350-degrees F.  Set your tube of biscuits on the counter (I find they’re a bit easier to work with if they’re less chilly).

2.  Start off by boiling some chicken.  Just get a pot of water boiling, add your chicken breasts, and cook them for around 15-20 minutes until they’re no longer pink and the juices run clear.  When they’re done cooking, remove them to a plate and shred them with a couple of forks – or a fork and a knife, depending on how dangerous you feel.

*My little photo disclaimer still stands – I am still sans my favorite lens AND Photoshop, so I’m doing the best I can.  Please don’t judge me by these images.  Thank you.

Shredded Chicken

3.  If you’re using an onion, dice it and sauté it in a sauce pan until it’s soft.  The recipe doesn’t say this, but you’ll probably want to use a little butter or oil.  Like I said before, I tend to skip the onion since I use a chunky salsa.  Add your cup of salsa to the pan and let it heat up for a minute or two.  Then add the 2 cups of shredded cheese and let it kinda sorta melt.  I usually remove the pan from the heat just before adding the cheese.  It’s okay if it doesn’t melt all the way because you’ll be cooking these babies in the oven.  Finally, add the shredded chicken.

Chunky salsa.  Mmmm.

Stir, stir, stir.

Add shredded chicken.

4.  Open that crazy tube of biscuits (why are they so scary???) and flatten them out with your fingers on an ungreased cookie sheet.  Fill them with your chicken/salsa mixture and fold up the biscuits to form these nice little pockets.

Flatten dough.

Fill biscuit.

Fold dough.

5.  Bake at 350 until the biscuits are golden and cooked.  Pay attention because in my oven, these often take less time.

I’ll have you know that these have a tendency to pop open while they bake.  And if they happen to pop open on you, it in no way means you are an inferior human being.

They are warm and cheesy and delicious.

And they happen to be excellent to grab for quick lunches or to gobble down in the back kitchen before you go wait tables at  your favorite local pub.

Just sayin’.

Enjoy!

While I’m In-Between

Well, shit.

Some of you think I swear too much on this blog.  You’re all like:  I mean, people read this, you know.  Decent people.  What if your grandmother saw what you write?

Well rest assured, she does.  She reads my blog regularly.  And I get the swearing from her.

Hi, Grandma!!

I’m writing this post because it’s been a while since I’ve written anything, and I feel almost obligated to let you know how this whole employment situation is working out.  But it’s important to me for you to know that I’m writing this under the influence of half a glass of wine (it doesn’t take much these days) and the cotton ball state of mind that stems from sheer emotional and physical exhaustion.

So try not to judge.

You think it’s tiring drinking at the bar until last call?  Try staying at the bar for an hour after that to to wipe, sweep, mop, scrub, and basically clean up the mess you made while you were there, and oh yeah you’re doing this completely sober while getting paid $2.13 an hour if you’re lucky.  We won’t even speak of those dimwitted enough to agree to do this under the table for tips only.

Although, that might be nice come 2012 tax season because I can already tell you that this job will be but a short blip on the radar.  And I hate to admit it, but this really isn’t unusual for me.  One year I filed taxes for 7 jobs in 3 different states.  So really, I’m right on par with my record, discounting the past 3 years I spent in a cubicle-induced coma while attempting to be a grown-up.

But unfortunately, I’m also figuring out that I’m not a kid anymore.  While the job is certainly fun, I’d forgotten what it was like to have sore feet, an aching back, and slamming your thumb in a cooler door.  I forgot what it was like to give someone everything you have and they leave you a thirty-four cent tip like they’re doing you a favor.

Keep the change, honey.  Wink.

Blech.

And let me tell you something you might not realize:

Drunk people are gross.

And since I often am the drunk people, I feel like I can say that.

They slur and slobber and act like you’re their best friend just because you keep bringing them more of what’s making them disgusting, and you might be okay with pretending that’s true for a bit, just to see if they tip you like you’re their best friend.  Many times they don’t, but here’s the kicker – They think they did.

I’m not knocking drinking.  That would pretty much make me the biggest hypocrite in the entire known universe, but I’m just sayin’ – slovenly drunkenness is best achieved in the comfort and safety of a small group of intimate friends, preferably at a personal apartment or home.

So right now I’m feeling like Britney Spears in that song that goes, I’m not a girl…. not yet a woman.  Except I think she probably sang that when she was like 18 which only makes me a decade late on this whole thing.  And I’m pretty convinced that I am, in fact, a woman by now.  A woman stuck in a girl’s job.  So maybe it’s not like that song at all.

But honestly?  I’ve had fun.  The people I work with are amazing.  I’ve been out of the game for a while, but I’ve reaffirmed the fact that the restaurant/bar biz is pretty much the same anywhere you go.  The surly cook, the angry waitress, the chill bartender – all the same characters, just with different faces and names.  And I love them.  I can honestly say that.  It’s a camaraderie I’ve never experienced in any other type of job.  But that, my friends, is because working in this business is a shitstorm unlike any you could imagine in any other type of job.  Extreme highs, lows, punches and blows.  It’ll make you happier than you’ve ever been and then send you a shot to the stomach that’ll knock the wind right out of you and then, because you kind of have to and you kind of want to, you go right back in for more.

It’s sick.

So, needless to say, I’m going to continue sprucing up the resume in case something a bit more… boring comes along.

The irony of all of this is that you need the least amount of education to work in the lowest paying, most challenging job I know.  Because frankly, I’d be hard-pressed to believe anything else exists that demands a more exasperating combination of physical labor, personality, perseverance, and yes, brains, than working in a bar.

We have a love/hate relationship, the bar and me.  And I’ve never been good at those.

But we’re content to use each other until something better comes along.