Granola Bars and Garbage Bodies

After about 10 pathetic tries at making granola bars, I finally managed to make a granola that sticks together. Kind of. Only in tiny squares that then surrender to the pull of gravity and fall apart in my hands. But still. I made granola bars/squares/lumps! VICTORY! (?)

I love granola bars. In fact, granola bars contributed to my becoming a fat girl. I was 9. We were supposed to bring a mid-morning snack as our grade was assigned a late lunch period. I would always bring a chocolate-covered Chewy brand granola bar. This alone is not enough to make one fat; however, this chocolate-covered delicacy was combined with the freight train of puberty. I went from a flat chest to a D cup in about 2 months. Skinny kid hips to “holy shit, dem hips” in less than 6 months. And it wasn’t cute. You don’t go from little kid to full blown adult in such a short period of time without acquiring the battle scars known as stretch marks. Whenever I read all these mommy bloggers lamenting about how they have bigger feet after pregnancy (I’ve been a size 11 since I was 13), or how they have stretch marks now (had those since I was 9), or how they have saggy tits now (honey, mine came IN saggy! I’ve never once had nipples that can find the North Star), I become terrified. I’ve had all of those things since I was 9 and I’ve never had kids. How much worse can this shit get?  Can one become globulous? Did the movie Wall-E truly predict my future body? 

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Crabs (and Steak!)

As a middle class child of the flyover, the only experience I had with crab came from our occasional “It’s Friday. It’s Lent. And we’re Catholic.” trips to Red Lobster.  Luckily, crab is one of those things that hard to fuck up so I remember my crab experiences fondly. (I always ordered just a side of snow crab legs. My parents loved this because they were only like $3.50 or something insane with the order of a full-priced entrée. My reputation as a cheap date started young.)

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Quinoa post

What’s more obnoxious – blogging about kale or blogging about quinoa? I’ve blogged about kale before, now it’s time to be a total dick and blog about quinoa. And be prepared for at least one more post about it – I bought a 5 pound bag of quinoa at Costco. Who the fuck buys 5 pound bags of anything if they aren’t feeding a freaking army? Me, that’s who. Looking back, perhaps that wasn’t the best purchase.

“Quinoa” is one of those words I’d read before hearing anyone pronounce. I spent a lot of time thinking about the pronunciation of quinoa before thinking about if I’d actually like to eat the food itself. Key-No-ah? Quinn-oa? Oh, Keen-Wah. Of course.  Another word I had no idea how to pronounce for years? Beau. I read a lot of books about this or that lady with her dashing “beau” and, not being Southern or French, I assumed this word was pronounced like the beginning of the word “beauty”. Nope! Pronounced “bow”. Maybe if I was one of those girls who inspires boners I’d have learned to pronounce this a lot sooner than I did? What else would I have called my many gentlemen callers? Bro? Dude? Tried both of those – it just resulted in guys thinking I was funny and cool but did not result in any tumescent man parts. My life has been decades of flaccid dicks and shitty pronunciation.

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Italian (or whatever they’re called) Cookies

Hey everybody, guess what’s over? CHRISTMAS! That’s right, time for us all to declare a truce in the War That Doesn’t Exist (WAR ON CHRISTMAS! CUE SCARE MUSIC!) and go back avoiding Christmas carols for the next 364 days.

Not surprisingly, I’m not big on Christmas. Everyone who has met me (or read this blog) knows I’m not real big on fake joy, creepy elves, and spending time with people I don’t actually like. However, I do like pretty lights and wrapping presents. What can I say – it’s another one of my completely useless talents. I’m good at precisely 4 things:

  • Swearing
  • Writing smut
  • Wrapping presents
  • Taking selfies at angles that kind of minimize my fat face

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…WTF do I do with all this leftover turkey?

Let’s face it – Thanksgiving is AWESOME. Thanksgiving is proof that God loves America – why else would he give us all this food and Black Friday fights? Obviously starving kids the world over should just become American – I bet they go to bed hungry and they don’t even dream about punching a dude in a Wal-Mart over a cheaply made flat screen TV! (Bootstraps, USA, USA, etc.)

I made Thanksgiving dinner. Like, the whole thing. The turkey, the stuffing, the potatoes, the cranberry sauce (fresh cranberry sauce is my jam); I even made (insert your favorite Thanksgiving dish here. You know the one. The one your grandma makes and you weep uncontrollably while eating because it’s just so damned good. I made it JUST LIKE YOUR GRANDMA DID)!

IT'S SO BEAUTIFUL! :tears well in eyes:

IT’S SO BEAUTIFUL! :tears well in eyes:

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Fish Tacos and…Mangos???

Keeping up with this blog is a struggle for me. It’s obvious by my posting history that I’m not good with consistent updates. Really, the only person who suffers because of this is me. There’s a reason I’m not writing for TV right now, besides not knowing anyone in the industry and having the audacity to hit 30. I’m not writing for TV because I find it extremely hard to sit down and crank out spec scripts. Especially for shows I’m not into. And the shows I am into, I don’t feel worthy enough to spec them. Mad Men is too good to be spec’d, you know?

Maybe I should try writing about other things for this blog. “Generate content” or whatever some SEO/ad exec guy would recommend. Swear-y food musings will still be A Thing That Happens Here. TV reviews? Book reviews? Tales of Doing Exciting LA Things? Ugh. That last one means I’d have to leave my house and interact with other humans. As an introvert and full-time cynical jackass, I really hate doing that. There are people out there! PEOPLE!

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Here fishy, fishy, fishy…

Know how you can tell that Comic Con is totally over and played out? I went. That’s all you need to know.

I had a lot of fun, and I saw my favorite cosplay ever – OLD SUPERMAN. I’d seen him at WonderCon and I loved him so much that when I saw his red robe from the back I pointed and yelled “YAY!” I’m a grown woman in my 30s. I have bills and a job and shit. And I yelled “YAY!” when I saw a man clad in Superman boxers and red slippers. That says a lot about my maturity level.

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Pic of Old Superman from WonderCon ’13

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