Why I Take Selfies

1) I get worried I will die and my loved ones won’t have any current pics of me at my best

2) I want to remind myself that I don’t look as hideous as the world makes me feel sometimes

3) when I look good, I want to record it. Not so I can gloat about it later, but so I can build up a library of “i was looking good that day” – sometimes I will look back a month later and swipe through thinking “actually I had a lot of good days!”

4) Sometimes, it really is nice to have people say “wow, you look great!”

5) it helps counteract the reactions I get on the street sometimes

6) mostly I do them without makeup (or much makeup – sometimes I hide my face-picking which I think is totally fair) so later I can remember that I can look nice without exaggerating anything. I look okay as JUST ME

7) I imagine someday Lil Miss will look through my pics and maybe she’ll see her own looks peeking out behind my eyes and i want her to not be afraid of looking bad when she gets old

8) Some days I just feel good about myself and want to record that feeling

9) I remember looking at old photos of my parents (My step-mom and my birth-mom) and thinking many thoughts, all of them warm and wonderful. I want to pass that moment on to my kids

10) sometimes a selfie is a reminder of something that happened that was important. One of my favorites was “this is the face of someone who has taken her last final” – the day I earned my bachelors by taking my final final. It was a unique expression and I love looking at it because I feel that feeling all over again

11) I like to record how my hair changes

12) I notice how little my face changes

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Food: pear tartsorta

Lots of times, I get a weird hankering in the wee hours of the night to make something like a treat. I confess I have a sweet-tooth but my problem is that my sweet-tooth is rather picky about how it is sated. So I often end up experimenting during those weird hankering nights. Because I’m not just jonesing for a treat, I’m usually jonesin to create.

Some people say I’m a creative person but let’s be real: my creativity isn’t all that and a bag of chips. It’s more like a plate of french fries: I make good things that are satisfying but nowhere near impressive. Good, fulfilling but not terribly otre, yaknowaddahmean?

So tonight, I remembered that I had some leftover cooky dough in the fridge and I ought to do something with it. Make cookies? Oh please, how dull. I dont’ mean dull as in my cookies are dull because they most definitely are not dull, but dull as in something to bake. Finishing off some cooky dough by making cookies is more like a *job*.

So me being me, and not being somebody else, like say, Anthony Bourdain, I usually take a “dull” idea for sweet treats and dress it up… with fruit.

I think its too bad America has lost it’s love of fruit. Damned shame.

Anyway, I took my leftover cooky dough, one of my favorites that I like to call “the vanilla action cookie” and decided to marry it with…. spiced pears.

All I did was roll the dough out, cut it into vaguely triangular shapes and roll it around some sliced bartlett pears that had been tossed with brown sugar and nutmeg and cinnamon. That was pretty much it. I didn’t go all crazy with the shapes or rolling or whatever fancy shit you do when you’re cooking for an audience that has paid you to make the stuff, I essentially stuffed my vanilla action cookies with spiced pear slices and tossed them in the oven at 400 for about 10 minutes.

 

The results were astoundingly good. Better than Donald Trump’s hyperbole, in fact.

If it wasn’t 3:30 am I’d put the whole recipe down here. Along with a picture of those delectable pockets of warm yumminess. But I’m tired so I won’t.

I’ll probably get around to it tomorrow. Assuming all the pear pockets aren’t gone by then.

 

the things I have learned about men from OkCupid

THE FOLLOWING IS SATIRE AND SNARKY

1. Men clearly are more interested in finding “that special lady” than women are in finding “that special man” In fact usually women are trying to find “new friends”
2. Saying “just looking for new friends” translates into “SKEEVY MEN PLEASE MESSAGE ME”
3. Many women are actually a couple
4. Signing up for OkCupid is enough; there’s no real need to waste anyone’s time telling them about yourself
5. Further: don’t even bother filling out basic personal information. Just post a blurry photo and mention how you’re a laid-back uncomplicated man
6. Exchanging one or two messages is plenty. Move on before you get attached to them
7. There is no need to actually read an entire profile before messaging someone
8. Further: there is no need to actually write a personal message – make up a form introduction and send it out as soon as you see a new profile go up. Form letters are proper corporate etiquette so it will be super-impressive to make one for a dating site
9. Photos are for wusses. If you must put one up, either get your work pic or take a selfie right now. Don’t worry about the lighting or your expression. Sitting around scowling in the dark is what you do normally anyway
10. If someone seems interested in you, answering with any enthusiasm is foolish. Appear aloof and cool

(note: I am bisexual and so far have managed to make contact with exactly three women in the two years I’ve been on OkC. All I’ve learned so far is that women are really unlikely to actually use OkC for its intended purpose)

apologies

I haven’t been super active in here (except for the almost-monthly Cleaning Lady series) because things just got…. intense. If you’d been reading my posts prior to the divorce you’d agree I needed to take some time away to just BE. But now I’m back in classes and things have settled and I want to get back to posting in here. SO I will.
If I finish my readings tomorrow, I have a post I’ll get started on.

Letter To Me

Dear immune system,

I know I don’t treat you right and for that I’m so sorry. I think part of it is that I never really had much role modelling about how to treat my body and instead inherited a very strict work ethic and ego-destroying philosophy. On the whole, I’m okay with that (I get stuff done! I’m responsible! I’m humble! I mean, I think I’m humble, maybe I’m not?) but I do recognize, at the fresh young age of 47, that I am probably making things harder than they have to be. I have friends and I have seen them do strange things like stay in bed all day because they are sick. This used to baffle me because the only thing that would make me stay in bed all day is broken legs or being in a hospital bed (even then, I’d probably be getting up and trying to vacuum the floor or something)
Its the incessant work ethic in me. The incredible self-denial legacy my father handed down from his Buddhist belief system. Thanks dad, I learned that my own desires are no reason to do anything. Everything must be decided upon by how it affects everything outside of me, but MY desires? Inconsequential.
Now I know my dad doesn’t really believe that so strictly as I learned it but it’s kind of too late: his experiment to raise a self-denying child kind of worked. I have managed in all these years to learn to embrace and love my desires but for some reason, health just hasn’t really been included in that quest. Frankly, I think that’s your fault, immune system. Maybe if you didn’t work quite so well I’d be more inclined to give in to occasional lassez-faire.

Anyway, I’m getting away from the point here. I’m trying to explain, dear immune system, how sorry I am that I treat you so bad. Granted, we both know that I actually eat pretty good; I’m not a packaged food kind of person and I really don’t like fast food. I love treats but I don’t eat them every day. I triumphed over my eating disorder many years ago (and what a battle that was, right?) and I don’t fret over my weight too much. So we both know its not diet that’s the problem here. I’ve even been exercising again (taking a while to get back up to speed but we’ll get there)

Its the sleep and the work, isn’t it?

I know, I know, I hate to “rest”. I hate to stop doing things and go lie down. Hell I have a hard time watching the few TV shows and movies I like, don’t I? I can’t even play a game for more than an hour before I”m ready to jump up and go do something “more productive”

And now you’re compromised often because of some stupid disease I contracted in some mysterious way a decade ago. I’m real sorry about that. It was not my intention to saddle you with little parasites you are forever fending off. I know it sucks to be invaded and now live under military threat all the time but its already done, they aren’t leaving any time soon so we both might as well move past apologies and entrench ourselves for the long haul.

There’s just one little issue I really want to bring up here. You fight too much. There are times, dear immune system, when you aren’t really going to win this battle right away. There are times you need to wait for reinforcements. But you keep slogging away, at half-capacity. This is not cool: I wish you’d just either do your job or take a break. My problems with allowing myself some relaxation and recuperation aren’t going to get any better when you fight with dying breath. I can’t decide “its time to take some time off” and do the right honorable thing like “I’m sick, I need to take it easy” when you keep the sickness barely at bay. I mean, its obvious I’m “getting” sick but I never seem to ACTUALLY get sick here. Just a kind of almost-miserable sort-of sick. Never enough to justify being laid up but never quite leaving me alone either.

Please, just make up your mind: do you want to eradicate the invaders or do you want to wait for back up? Cuz I can tell you right now, either method would probably be more effective and less time-consuming than what you’re doing right now.

Whatever you want me to change, I’ll change, I swear. I am sworn to start really taking good care of all of us around here but its really hard to do that when you make me too miserable to do important helpful things (shopping and cooking, exercising) but too functional to just hang it all for a few days.

I’m not mad, lord knows you do an amazing job! but dang I am getting frustrated. Like I said, I see my friends do this amazing thing called “days off” and I’d really like to give that a try… I hear staying in bed is the way to do it right but the last time i ever did that I was so doped up from surgery I couldn’t even begin to remember what it was like. As I understand it, resting is something that is really beneficial when you get sick. I’d like to give it a try. I can’t do that if you won’t work with me here.

Let’s do this together, shall we?

Love,
Me

snapshot

Lil Miss and I are at the grocery store. This is always a dicey thing because she has a tendancy to get a little demanding at the grocery store. We always talk about behavior before we go in. Sometimes she tells me what she wants (I get her one thing of her own every trip, just like my mom did for me) and sometimes she’s not sure. Other times, she wants many things and we have to whittle it down. Good exercise in patience, negotiation and priorities. She learns from it to, I’d bet.

So we’re at the grocery store and I can tell this trip could go either way; she’s a bit amped up and unsure as to what she wants, changing her mind every couple of seconds prompting me to remind her she only gets ONE thing. Most often, its a toy. Okay, yeah I’m a softie and sometimes I end up getting her a thing AND a treat. It depends on how smooth the trip goes.

She’s pretty excited, and I’m trying to keep her focused. First she wants fruit. Not a treat, so of course I buy fruit. I usually put my foot down about buying more than two kinds depending on what kind she wants. She has a tendency to like the expensive stuff.

So then we’re walking along, chattering about this and that, when she asks if we can get some ice cream. “Sure!” says I. So far as I’m concerned, ice cream is one of the four food groups: protein/dairy, grains, fruits/veggies, and yummy. Its also a good time to help her with patience and anticipation: the ice cream aisle is at the end of the labyrinth and during our walk she invariably wants something else. One reminder “do you want that thing, or ice cream?” and she usually puts it back. So getting ice cream is actually a developmentally enriching exercise you see.

We get to the ice cream aisle and pick out our flavors. She generally only likes vanilla which is good because I only like to buy brands that use sugar rather than HFCS. I don’t give a shit whether or not HFCS is the devil or not, I just hate how addictive it is. And it makes ice cream seem gummy to me. I don’t like it. I want my daughter to have good taste is all. So she gets her vanilla (Turkey Hill natural brand) and I get my coffee flavor (same brand) and we start on our way. I always try to move quickly after getting the ice cream because at the end of the aisle no matter what store you are in, there are the toppings, cones and whatnot which pretty much ruin any chance I have at acting like ice cream isn’t a peripherally dairy-enhanced sugar-bomb. Lil Miss is now six years old and I have been successful all her life at not letting her know those things even exist on that aisle. Don’t get me wrong, she knows about toppings, sprinkles, cones and syrups, she just didn’t know they could be got at the store.

Well guess what she discovered that day? M’yep.

“Oohhh!” she said while I was looking carefully at the wahp biscuits and wondering if I should get them or stop being lazy and make my own. By the tone of her voice and how it trailed away from me as she said it, I knew what had happened. I looked up and saw her slowly moving towards that shelf at the end of the frozen treats freezers. Her arms outstretched, eyes huge and dark like some character from an anime, she was clearly enraptured as she moved, almost zombie-like, to the flame of the sundae-makings. I winced.

“maaaahhhm… loooooook!” she said dreamily with her hands carresssing a box of cones. The kind which every kid looks longingly at until they finally get to taste one. I believe the brand name is “tastee-cone” and once you bite into it you realize your ice cream would have been better served atop a styrofoam cup. I doubt there is any disappointment for an ice-cream-lover quite like biting into their first tastee-cone.

There was no way in hell I was buying those deceptive cones.

“uh, Lil Miss, I’m not getting any of that stuff”

“but mom!”

“no. We don’t need any of that stuff.”

“oh. Okay.” She slumped, and turned to come back to the cart. But before she did, something caught her eye, a little higher up the shelves.

“MOM!” she yelled

“What?” I said, inching my way out of the aisle, hoping her easy defeat was all I’d have to deal with but I might as well have been hoping the wind wouldn’t blow in January.

“Look! What is this?” she tilted her head, leaned forward and started reading aloud.

“Ice Cream M-m?”

“Sound it out” I said on autopilot and moved closer to find out what fascinating thing I was about to be begged for.

“Ice Cream Mm-aa-gick! Ice Cream magic!” she said triumphantly. “oooo! Mom I WANT THIS! I WANT ICE CREAM MAGIC!”

I walked up, looked at the box of “ice cream magic”. ON the box were two kids clearly in ice cream ecstasy. The object in question appeared to be a plastic ice cream cone. What the hell? I plucked it off the shelf, turned it sideways and read.

“oh, this is an ice cream maker”

“I KNOW! I KNOW! YOU PUT THE ICE CREAM STUFF IN IT AND SHAKE IT TO MAKE ICE CREAM! CAN WE GET IT! CANWEGETITPLEASEPLEASEPLEASE!!!PLEEEEEEEEZ!?”

She was actually jumping up and down.

The price was $20. Jayzuz tap-dancing cripes. It was clearly cheap China-made crap worthy of a late night commerical by Ronco. It made aproximately two scoops of ice cream. You had to shake it. I could just see this. We’d put the stuff in, shake the shit out of it until our arms were sore and then open it,  and find a goopy mass of whatever. Meanwhile Lil Miss would have gotten bored (and who would blame her?) and expect me to finish it up. There was also the distinct possibility it would leak or be broken when we took it home. Or she’d get a little too exuberant and drop it on the floor. Or the wall. OMG the mess that would make. At the very least, we could get the SAME effect by using objects around the house we already own. Lastly, we HAVE an electric ice cream maker. So this thing? Pointless, apt to be disappointing (more so than the tastee-cones) and possibly a huge mess.

No. Way.

I’d buy a real crank-style ice cream maker before I’d buy this cheap plastic junk.

So you can imagine the drama that ensued when I said no. The tears, the protests, the arguing, the yelling. All in all, not as bad as I thought since there was no planking on the floor and no attempts to get me in a headlock. Either she was tired or just feeling more mature.

That was four days ago. Since that time she’s been to a birthday party where she got pinata candy, stitched together a Hello Kitty doll of her own, and had at least one bowl of ice cream per day.

Today, I got a text from J:

“what’s ice cream magic?”

ROTFL