Posts tagged ‘lists’
1. Organic Milk. 2%.
This isn’t that weird — except for the fact that I’m craving non-raw milk right now. Maybe it’s the consistency of raw that is turning me off. The first few cups of raw milk are practically cream; the last few cups are like drinking skim ::vomit:: Sometimes the place I buy my raw milk runs out, which is how we’ll end up with a gallon or two of organic, and I’m totally hoarding it.
I just finished Orange is the New Black and it was the best book I’ve read in a long time. Which is really saying something when you consider that I probably read two books per week. Another recent nonfiction winner? Women, Food, and God by Geneen Roth. I’m on a wait list for the Oprah bio; I can’t wait for that one either. Along with The Imperfectionists, which is supposedly creative non-fiction.
I love to cook, that’s not a secret. Baking has never been my thing because it’s so scientific; you really can’t play around with it. You can see or taste if you put in too much flour or not enough baking soda *Not that I would ever do that. Perhaps baking is appealing to my current control-freak tendencies, leading us to #4…
Yes, that evil witch with her stupid fairy wings and lace-up shoes — and her ridiculously clean house. I’m trying to form a long-lasting relationship with my “swish-and-swipe” routine. FlyLady is probably improving my marriage: she has taught me that expecting My Chemical Romance to do all the dishes is futile; six people plus a Dog Without a Downside use more plates and bowls than one person can keep up with. Even when using that modern convenience called a dishwasher — and we always use a dishwasher. I am morally opposed to washing dishes by hand. It is perhaps the one way in which I’m totally not-crunchy.
5. My Sixth Sense for Pregnancy
Recently I’ve noted that two women were pregnant long before they even announced it. One, I realized it on the very day she peed on a stick. Another was from a Face*book status. I thought it was abundantly clear to everyone who read it, but so far I’m the only one who has even guessed. Clearly I’ve got some ESP going on with my fellow breeders.
Oh, whine. If I pick up one more book that involves a “birth gone wrong” scenario, I’m going to live webcam my homebirth so that people can see that birth is normal. Seriously, even that bestseller that I waited on a library lists for months for, The Postmistress, somehow brought in a HORRIBLE TRAGIC BAD BIRTH STORY. The most frustrating thing is trying to find a book that (1) is well-written (2) doesn’t involve HORRIBLE TRAGIC BAD BIRTH STORIES (3) is well-written. Seems like you get either well-written or you get normal birth/no birth.
2. My therapist
Actually, I love her. Possibly too much; I want to know how much longer therapy is going to continue. I started seeing her because I needed a note from a psychologist clearing me for weight-loss surgery; two years later I’m skinny and still problem-plagued. At least in my mind. But having a therapist is a bit of a crutch for me: I use her to gauge where I am, and I need to trust myself to gauge where I am. She says I’ve made progress. Eh, I probably have, but who’s to say I wouldn’t have progressed on my own without her and her $10 copay?
3. Pregnancy brain
What was I just typing about? Where am I? What time is it? I got on this computer to do something, and now I find myself doing something completely different with absolutely no recollection of what I am supposed to be doing, and a vague sense that I’m forgetting something important when I go out in public, like my purse. Or a bra.
4. The Library’s New Hours
Or lack thereof. Due to city budget cuts, my local library is currently open four days per week, two of those days only until 5pm. All I want to do is read (nonfiction; or well-written fiction about non-breeders) and I get agitated when I realize it’s going to be three days before I can even browse paperbacks again. The next closest library is 20 minutes away.
5. The Heat.
GO. AWAY. Seriously.
I used to spend approximately half of My Chemical Romance’s paycheck at a large warehouse-type store.
I looooooathe driving to multiple stores, so I filled my house with store-brand everything, from paper towels to crackers. You would not believe how many items come in warehouse store brand.
And then things changed. First, we watched a documentary on W*l*Mart called The High Cost of Low Prices, and stopped shopping there completely. (Thus, the move to Kirkl*and, which may or may not be better.)
Then My Chemical Romance became interested in growing his own vegetables. Soon we had a beautiful organic garden, and slowly — really, really slowly; like at the pace of a dying tortoise — I started incorporating greens into our food.
Then I met my friend Wii, who is very particular about what her family eats. Nothing with high-fructose corn syrup, nothing partially hydrogenated, no trans fats, and a variety of other rules that can be summed up best in Michael Pollan-speak: Eat food.
I can’t say for sure whether or not I wouldn’t have needed weight loss surgery if I’d learned to eat real food sooner; I can only say I feel better when I eat it, no matter what I weigh. Learning to eat real food has been a gift.
However, this whole real food thing means I spend my weekends driving all over Charlotte and Fort Mill to buy my family’s food.
In my utopia, where things like anal fissures don’t exist, there exists one store where I can buy an entire (grass fed only) cow, mechanic towels, c*ttonelle wet wipes, handmade organic tortillas, organic bread, chocolate chip cookies, Che*rios, Wholly Wholesome pie crusts, frozen organic vegetables in bulk, organic chicken, printer ink, crayons, raw milk cheese, organic fresh produce, Tri-Spy, tshirts, organic canned chicken, legos, spices, pasta, Tom’s of Maine flouride-free kids’ toothpaste, raw milk, underpants, Duke’s Mayonaise, kids’ craft supplies, and my often-obscure vitamins, like Tender Dry A in 25,000 IU tablets.
That is seriously my utopia. I call it “Cream of Mommyland.”
Instead, I buy certain things at certain stores: bulk organic meat and frozen vegetables (and Cheerios) at C*stco; bread/cheese/cooking/baking ingredients at Tr*ader Joe’s; produce and toothpaste at E*rth Fare; the rest at my local T*arget, which has a large variety of organic items.
I buy 1/4 of a grass-fed cow every few months from a Cow-pool. I use a DivaCup and cloth pads (also known as “mama cloth”). I buy my vitamins from Vitalady — who carries the most obscure vitamins for the post-weight loss surgery set — and Vitacost, which is somewhere in North Carolina, so they deliver fast.
And I dream about my store that carries everything from grass fed cows to cray*la.
Actually, I kind of hate Lortab, that pain-relieving piece of crap.
I used to love it — I had some leftover from my weight loss surgery, and once in a while when I had a reaaaaaaaaaaaaaally bad back ache or headache I’d take one and drift off into my purple-land of joy.
Meanwhile, now that I need Lortab in order to function without shrieking in pain, it’s kind of a downer. No purple. No flowers. No bliss. Just absence of pain, and the ability to sit down properly. Humph.
Here are some things I do like:
1. I like onions. I think this proves that I’m truly a chef; I don’t really like onions, but I appreciate the flavor they bring to my cooking. My Chemical Romance is like Pavlov’s Dog when it comes to onions sautéd in butter. He says the same thing every time, with great shock and reverence: “What smells so GOOD?” I tell him it’s onions (just like I told him the day before and the day before that, and it’s like he doesn’t believe me or something; he is always so surprised that it smells so good).
Onions sautéd in butter is the basis of nearly everything I cook. Soup, chicken of all kinds, shepherds pie, even hamburgers. I don’t like them. They make me cry. But I appreciate them.
2. Comfortable shoes. Usually ugly ones. If a shoe is cute and supposedly comfortable, it’s not. (See: my Dansko clogs that I got for Christmas and ended up hating because they were so uncomfortable, and re-selling on eBay.) I’m talking UGLY comfortable shoes, like Tevas.
I first noticed Tevas when I was a teenager; they were the ugliest things I’d ever seen. They’ve only gotten worse with time. They only look appropriate if you’re like rappelling down the side of a mountain or something, wearing (useful) khaki shorts that have lots of pockets and a tshirt. And even then, I’m thinking, “OMG, take those off as soon as possible,” and shuddering. Meanwhile, I now officially own a pair, after borrowing my mom’s while we were at Disney. They are hideous. They do not go with anything I own. Anything. Their only slightly redeeming quality is that they showcase my pedicure.
3. Talk radio. I have satellite radio in my car, and I’ve always enjoyed music. The kids bop along, sing along, and I can “rewind” their favorite songs. (By the way, I never listen to kids’ music. My kids like U2 and Train and Gavin DeGraw.) But when I was driving to Florida and they were watching VHS tapes — yeah, my car is old school and has a VHS player in it! — I listened to talk. I listened to Dr. Laura berate the moronic idiots who call her so they can be berated for being moronic idiots. I listened to Faux News station, for a laugh (recent headline: “No, the head of the RNC was NOT at a strip club, despite being identified as being AT a strip club! How dare the democrats even suggest such nonsense! Just because he was IDENTIFIED as being at a strip club, doesn’t mean he was actually AT a strip club! And by the way, even if he was, there’s nothing wrong with that — unless the democrats go there!”)
I listened to Alexis Stewart, daughter of Martha, swear a lot and talk about how just because she had an abortion when she was 15, she still deserves to get pregnant at 45 when she now really really wants a baby, for fuck’s sake. (She does like to swear. And whine.) And I listened to my favorite, Rosie Radio.
I love Rosie O’Donnell. I think she’s fantastic.
She’s brutally honest about very emotional issues — I have no doubt she’d be as candid as I am about my ass pain. She’s almost hypersensitive, she’s aware that she has a zillion and four issues, and she’s very open. I dig her. I’m sad that I can’t listen to Rosie Radio much when my kids are in the car — I’d miss half of what she says — but listening to her was fantastic.
ETA: I just discovered that Rosie’s new girlfriend, Tracy, is a DOULA! Love!
Tonight’s dinner, courtesy of AllRecipes.com is Shepherds pie. I’m having a mashed potatoes craving.
- 4 large potatoes, peeled and cubed
- 1 tablespoon butter
- 1 tablespoon finely chopped onion
- 1/4 cup shredded Cheddar cheese
- salt and pepper to taste
- 5 carrots, chopped
- 1 tablespoon vegetable oil
- 1 onion, chopped
- 1 pound lean ground beef
- 2 tablespoons all-purpose flour
- 1 tablespoon ketchup
- 3/4 cup beef broth
- 1/4 cup shredded Cheddar cheese
- Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil. Add potatoes and cook until tender but still firm, about 15 minutes. Drain and mash. Mix in butter, finely chopped onion and 1/4 cup shredded cheese. Season with salt and pepper to taste; set aside.
- Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil. Add carrots and cook until tender but still firm, about 15 minutes. Drain, mash and set aside. Preheat oven to 375 degrees F (190 degrees C.)
- Heat oil in a large frying pan. Add onion and cook until clear. Add ground beef and cook until well browned. Pour off excess fat, then stir in flour and cook 1 minute. Add ketchup and beef broth. Bring to a boil, reduce heat and simmer for 5 minutes.
- Spread the ground beef in an even layer on the bottom of a 2 quart casserole dish. Next, spread a layer of mashed carrots. Top with the mashed potato mixture and sprinkle with remaining shredded cheese.
- Bake in the preheated oven for 20 minutes, or until golden brown.