Friday, I'm in Love, v.7

It's Friday and I'm in love with...

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Dashing any chance of looking hawt in my comfies, giant fuzzy socks are on my feet on a regular basis these days. I never actually buy these, but they typically show up in my Christmas stocking and I am elated. They're so comforting and make me feel like a little kid. Get you some.

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Ever since my success with the lentil taco recipe, I've been positively enchanted by this legume. I nommed some of the excess lentils that had only been boiled in water--no salt, no pepper, nothin'--and they were fantastic. They're full of iron and protein, keep well and don't require soaking. Lentil soup has been such a comfort food for me ever since my college roomie's Greek mama introduced me to it, and I'm so excited to explore other recipes and uses for lentils.

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As I obsess about proper recipes to contribute (finally) to the Thanksgiving meal this year, the Epicurious app has been more helpful that you can shake a stick at. Most of the recipes have photos, and all of them have reviews, which I love reading for substitution ideas and real-life expectations. ("This dish took 4 hours to make and used all of my pans. But yum!" Yeeeeah, I'll pass.) 

Wishing y'all a great weekend and a lovely week ahead as you prepare for Thanksgiving. Remember: things will go wrong, there will be spills, there will be naps...so embrace the hoopla and don't forget to take some time for true, prayerful thanksgiving.

...Oh, and hug your host/hostess! They work hard, y'all!

iLose

I was fairly disappointed in myself as I set out on the journey of a lifetime upon finding my baggage encumbered by a giant bag o' cords for all my contraptions. I should have just thrown machinery to the wind and vowed to commit 100% to the road, embracing the moments. (But then how would I have shared it all with you, right?)

I hate that I've become one of those people who can't be away from their Crackberry for more than an hour without having a meltdown.* I get the shakes if I can't find a WiFi connection for my laptop. (Starbucks, FTW!) It's sad that my local road-trips (1-3 hours in length) are dampered while waiting for my iPod to charge back up for use. (Seriously, turning the damn thing on drains half the battery. Where you at on that, Apple? And don't even try to talk me into buying a newer version. A contraption is a contraption, and I expect results, yo.)

I have a dear friend who refuses to give in to the iWorld, and I can't say I completely blame her. (Earmuffs, my sweet Mac.) In terms of contraptions, Apple is doing some nice work (minus the aforementioned iPod battery fail). But in creating such lovely machinery, they've made it far too easy for people like me to become completely reliant, even subservient, to my gadgets. And readers? I'm so not that girl.

I was the one who rocked the pager in high school...and wasn't a drug dealer. (My high school years were 1996-2000, by the by. I.e., way past the era of the pager's coolness. If there every really was one.) And while everyone else was in 2009 enjoying the awesome world of sweet apps and uber-fast internet via mobile phone, I was exploring the cutting-edge world of...wait for it...ringtones. Look. Out.

And now I have a GPS. My Garmin literally tells me what to do. IT'S A MACHINE. Now, granted, I bought this particular contraption because it tells me how to get places, which, that I am relying on a talking box is inherently sick. But it sasses me! The thing actually argues with me. Call me crazy, but I swear the tone changes from pleasant to pissed when it has to recalculate because I've (once again) chosen to trust my own sense of direction over its "short cut." (Things have actually improved with this contraption upon changing the voice from the American broad to the sexy Aussie. Chicken and I also named him "Chauncy.") (Indeed, I realize I named the robot. Which means I'll keep it forever. Or until the technology is defunct. Next month.)

So while my affinity for the gadgets troubles me deeply, I do justify it ("Danger, Will Robinson!") by insisting that such contraptions allow me to connect with real people: my phone to text and email (and occasionally even call someone), my camera to take pics to share, my iPod to reminisce, and Chauncy to get me to social gatherings. That's got to count for something, right?

...Bueller?

*Can you imagine if I owned an iPhone?!

Kitchen Therapy

Given everything that is going on around here, I find myself in need of some serious distraction to keep from going straight loopy.

My friends have been wonderful by continuing to invite me out, fully knowing that I am going to turn them down 95% of the time. (Side note: this is the perfect way to be there for someone in this situation. The offer is there, no strings attached, no obligation or feeling like I'll be forced to talk, and every so often I'll actually take them up on it.)

I have also been editing like a madwoman to get my demo reels up to speed, a task which my pretty lil Mac has made positively pleasurable. There's no better way to get through a day than throwing your head into a project that requires total concentration.

But I have to say that my favorite distraction as of yet is cooking. I have never been much of a chef and my idea of preparing a meal generally involved a lot of boxes and powdered spices. Yum. (/sarc) However, over the past six months, I have become really interested in cooking and food in general (which, oddly enough, has coincided with me eating a lot less but a lot better, if that makes sense). (Not that I don't still inhale Spiral Diner's Philly Cheez Steak in less than five minutes. But that's a treat, really. Especially for those watching.)

It may sound silly, but much of my zeal for cooking can be attributed

to the Food Network. I used to think it was so weird to be watching show after show about cooking considering my specialties were mashed potatoes and mac 'n cheese (from a box, natch). But I've learned so much about ingredients and how simple it can be to make yummy, elegant, healthy meals. I'm giving Giada a run for her money these days!

(Today I whipped up a delicious pasta salad by cooking up some orzo al dente in vegetable stock, then mixing in oven roasted cherry tomatoes and garlic, organic basil, and herbed feta. I didn't even use a recipe! And yes, I mixed regions a bit, but it didn't bother me as I scarfed down a large helping of my multi-regional dish.)

Another benefit of cooking? I know exactly what is in my meal. I select my own ingredients, ensuring that they're vegetarian and organic (produce especially), and can control how much crap I'm asking my body to process. I can limit the salt/sodium, the fat, the calories, etc., which, believe it or not, does not mean that I'm sacrificing taste. The beauty of reading recipes and educating myself about food is learning to enjoy the process and savor the true flavors of what I'm preparing. Not to mention, I know that I am supporting a more environmentally-sound way of life in my culinary decisions, and that makes me feel wonderful.

Although I've always considered myself a lover of food, that meaning has changed drastically in the past six months. (As in it no longer means my idea of a "snack" is a plate full of cheese-drenched french fries with jalapenos, sour cream, and bacon. But you? Knock yourself out.) I can't wait to see what I discover and whip up next!

What is your favorite "therapy" during tough times?

Someone should probably put CPS on speed dial...

First of all, I'M BACK!! I got my MacBook in the mail today, and even though I could have punched the FedEx guy in the teeth for ignoring the "DON'T RING THE DOORBELL...FOR REALS" sign on our front door, I also wanted to kiss his mouth for bringing the most wonderful present this Type A lunatic could ask for. He basically delivered my life renewed, tucked safely in a sleek little white box.

Second, thank you so much for all the wonderful support. This community is amazing and your words mean the world to me.

And now, a pithy little bloggity blog... (I mean, I don't want to pull anything.)

As if I'm not already fundamentally ill-suited to be a mother, I realized today yet another reason why I should never, never be responsible for another life (unless that life is covered in fur and exponentially less demanding than human babies): I clearly don't respect the learning curve of babies.

Case in point...

I've got chickens. (Yadda, yadda, yadda, Dorothy Gale, Wizard of Oz...moving on...) We had two baby chicks hatch on Easter morning, which was just all sorts of exciting for me! I love me some fuzzy little babies.

At this juncture, however, they are sort of like snotty little pre-teens: they make loud noise 24/7, disrespect boundaries, keep their room a HOT MESS, and think they don't need you for anything.

I have had it.

This morning I walked into the kitchen (which is my happy place, if y'all haven't figured that out already; it's where the espresso machine lives) to make my coffee, and there I see the two brats, running away across the floor so I can't see that they've flown the coop. Literally. They've crapped all over the floor of the breakfast nook (which is actually where exercise equipment and house plants go to die, so it's not quite as disgusting as it sounds), and they're chirping like mad at the impending lecture. (Yes, I lecture birds. Birds. I know.)

My solution? Throw them out of the proverbial nest. That's right, I threw their still-fuzzy asses out of the house. Because I'm not a total jerk, I did at least put their bucket/house out there to create a little nook so they'd still have access to food and water...and hopefully stay clear of that bastard hawk. But now it's storming. And they're cuddled up together, shivering and chirping their little heads off. And I? Only feel kind of bad.

To be fair, I wouldn't do this with real babies. I mean, you can't put babies in a bucket.