Ohhhh kitchen...

Chef F is running the restaurant right now.  Today was the first day and I have to admit--I'm completely overwhelmed.  

El C and the PDX, head to head.

The ex called me on Sunday.  He's the good one.

"El C" calls me to shoot the shit almost every Sunday, like it's a bad compulsion.  Since the first week we met he has called me every Sunday, like I'm his one religious habit.  I used to find this incredibly annoying (right after the break up) but it's now taken on a certain endearing quality.  For all our arguing and the world's most dramatic breakup, it doesn't derail the fact that we want to be in each others lives.  I thought this meant it was becoming a real friendship.

Apparently not.  El C is all declarations of love these days, all tears and whines that I left Chicago, nothing but long lists of apologies...he keeps saying this awful phrase: "I can be the man you want".  He doesn't seem to understand that there's nothing wrong with the way he is right now, never was anything wrong with him.  It's been a year now and I still have to explain that I adore him, adore all the people in my life, but we're just not going to be in the same place for a while.  This time though, when I tell him, he offers to move out here.

You know, I almost said yes.  I thought about how much I need a friend, a person to hang out with and talk movies with and make stupid faces at.  Someone who understands that I'm quiet when I think and loud when I don't, which is why you want me quiet during a conversation.  He knows the important stuff:  leave her alone when she's reading, unless real madrid is playing.  Make sure the books are around, there is food to cook, things to do with my hands.  He gets all that, of course I want him here!  Until I remember he wants to be here to be with me and that's just something I can't have right now.

So, I say no.  He demands to know if there is anyone else and I tell him the truth, I've got nothing but me and a few close friends.  No boyfriends or lust on the horizon.  I'm busy though, career is in check, I am in check, life is mostly in check...I'm making it work, you know?  I miss him being my best friend but I can't invite him back into my life in any other way.  He insists this means he needs to stop talking to me.  I guess that was inevitable but it made my Sunday totally miserable.  Luckily, there were a couple of bright spots to the day.

The whole ordeal made me homesick.  I know why I came here, at least the reason I put on paper, but I miss home in an unimaginable way now.  Maybe it's because I spoke to so many Chicagoans on Sunday, maybe it's because one of them was hating Portland so passionately (or hating me, that's a story for another day entirely) or maybe it's just because it's fucking Chicago but I lost my shit today.  I started calling people, craving news from home.  Started making mexican food like I was possessed by a dozen abuelitas--I fell into complete regret about the choice I had made.

I'm okay now but for a while there...too, too rough.

Let's see what this week brings.

Poverties

I gots a bad case of the poverties and an even worse case of the no externships.

Whaddaya think about them apples?

Random Before Bed Thought

I keep getting asked why I don't have a food blog.  Here's the business:

I don't want this to be a food blog.  I love food blogs, I read them all of the time but I can't make this a food blog.  My own love of food is rooted in my love of people and that happy tummy face someone makes when you feed them right.  My life is pretty wrapped up in food learning, food fixing and food talk right now.  

You'll get food musings, no doubt.  This blog is for word vomit though.

When I feel like writing something with a purpose, I'll at least clean up my fuckin language.

Espain

I just sent an email to a potential externship site in SPAIN.

Consider me super nervous.  Fingers crossed.....now!

Canada? No. I don't live in Canada.

The first thing I should mention is that I moved to Portland, Oregon.

                                                                                                                                      

 

In the most unpredictable of moves I decided to not only stay in the country, but leave 

the one city I insisted was the only one worth living in: Chicago.  

Let me break it down for you:

I was in Chicago, wrapping up my senior year of college and working as a nanny.  I liked being a nanny a lot but I don't want to spend my whole life watching other folks' kids and I knew I certainly wasn't going to use my Latin American Studies degree.  I went into total life-crisis mode, brought to me live and in technicolor by the wonderful people at Depaul University and the tuition bills I will be paying back until I am 105.  So what did I do?  I crawled into bed and I watched the food network.

Most of the chefs on the food network are total nuts; women who cook cleavage first, men who have more ego than salt (and, let me tell you, a cook needs a helluva lotta salt).  I started thinking about food though, thinking about who was making it, wondering what was happening beyond the celebrity chef/foodie world.  I started picking up cook books and really reading them, I mean READING them.  

Know what happened?  I didn't learn shit but I got jealous.  I got jealous that all these people were devoting their lives to food and I was on the fast track to a cubicle job in some dank HR department.  How dare those assholes devote their lives to what they love, I can't do it!  Yeah, well, fuck that, turns out I can.

I decided I needed to get out of Chicago and do something with food.  I loves me the Chi-city, but I knew I'd be stagnant if I stayed there.  They have a wonderful food scene, one of the best in the nation, but I just couldn't be there anymore.  I started shopping around for something new and I found Portland.  I've been here since August 2008.

It's relaxed here.  I feel like people move the way I move, and I like the way we move.  I like the food carts and the farmers markets and the generalized laughter at the hilarity and weirdness that is my life now.  Currently. I'm a culinary student on a massive job hunt.  

I'm not saying this is the right choice.  I'm broke as a joke but I don't feel the nausea on this path that I did when I was on the cubicle trail.  Before, I was familiar with food as an occasional hobby but never even considered it as a career.  Honest: I'm no hot shot, no superstar.  Hell, by no means am I even skilled in a kitchen.  I'm going to be though.  I might not be good (yet) but I'm super food-curious.  Oh, and I also carry a big knife.

Maybe...

...I haven't posted anything in about two years.  

A lot has changed (reference image) and after I walk my dog, I'mna update the shit outta ya.

My X-rated Life.

I used to be an average college student. I ate ten cent wings, knew where all the dollar specials were, drank without rhyme or reason and stressed about all my finals. I'm not saying I've forgotten the past but the future is looking bad. The future is looking like it'll be covered in the fluorescent orange that comes off of Cheetos and sticky with Dr. Pepper. I am officially obsessed with the X-files.

Am I nerd? yes, always have been. Do I like sci-fi? NO. I have no idea what's gotten into me. An example of recent psychosis? When the credits are ending the words "the truth is out there" always flash across the screen. It sends me into a trance. I actually said "yes" in response the other day. I said it out loud. I had to judge myself after doing that.

A week later, I started wondering why I never got into comic books. I am NOT an indoor kid!

Within a month, I'll be holding D&D tournaments in the basement.

From the title of this post, did you think I finally got a job as a phone sex operator? Yes, I too am aware of my voice and what my obvious calling in life is.

Notes on a foul ass mood

I'm about to go take a final. It's my very last one, so afterwards, I can say goodbye to the quarter of misery. The whole not studying thing is about to boot me in the ass.
I feel like I'm jumping off a cliff right now but, I might also be on fire. I'll do okay on my exam. I just need to get this whole quarter over with, clear my mind and start over.
I'm like the new jan brady...only more butternut squash shaped and with a dash more of flava.

In other news:
I declared myself celibate. I draw the line at cuddles. I am not religious enough to become a nun so I will probably just buy another dog and move to wyoming. Maybe montana. The sort of place where I won't run into too many people.

I am a total crab ass about some friend issues right now. Like, pass you a nasty note in class and not send you the invite to my 12th birthday party crab ass. No fights, I'm just being uppity for no reason.

I saw the Kathleen and Nancy for St. Patrick's day. I enjoy a good drinkery, especially when I'm not irish and it's with the old friends. good times.

End Transmission?

But is it REALLY your space?

Sunday night rolls around and the red house dream team (i.e. Thomas, Hannah and I) are watching our Family Guy/American Dad power hour. Thomas and I are too slow to move and end up watching 10 minutes of Fox News...

The stories are standard. Bears fever has hit Chicago, a wicked fun viewer's poll--if the city of Chicago was throwing a super bowl party, would you go?--and just how people can get down to the Bears song, polka style. Then the news took a sad turn.

The next story was about some suburban deaths. I guess some teenagers were driving around, police suspect they were drag racing, and they ended up hitting a tree. Of the four in the accident the two in the backseat were killed, the driver was trapped in the car for a while and the passenger in the front seat walked away with minor injuries. By all accounts, this is a terrible story.

How did the story end? Fox News decides to show pictures from the myspace pages of the dead teens! MYSPACE PAGES! They didn't even show the pictures, they showed pictures of computer screens with the picture pages on them.

I understand that Fox news has limited value as a news source but how deeply has Myspace permeated the american psyche? President Myspace in 2008!

note: yes, of course I have a myspace. I'm a twenty something in the US aren't I? I was one of Myspace's later victims.

Balls to the Wall

Rumor has it that your 20's are supposed to be the loneliest time of your life. Lately, I'm inclined to believe it.

I've been in a bit of a rut lately. Okay, a deep dark hole. You're probably reading the above lines and hearing my voice coming from below ground...not so much. Think about it though--you've hit your 20's, good chance you've graduated, you're out of school and probably working and maybe even in a brand new city. How the hell are you going to make friends and form your little crew again? This is why getting used to a wingman can be a dangerous thing.

But all that is the deep dark hole talking.

Yes, we're in different places and things have changed. Things are tough and times can get lonely and honestly, I'd have it no other way. Life is too good to be stagnant. We're at this time where we're stepping out of our comfort zones and having adventures, even if it's getting a 9-5 job, it's brand new.

So, as I climb out of the whole deep dark hole, I realize I'm really proud of my friends and the people I know. I miss everyone, miss having the free time to shoot the shit and do all the ridiculous things we used to do. And I know that people get on my case about how I tend to wander out of the country a lot...

but you're all trying something new, moving out into the world, taking on the threat of loneliness and in some cases, doing things you never imagines yourself doing. (the latter is in a good way, not in a doing coke of a hooker's ass way/being that hooker)

you guys are real adventurers. Balls to the wall, folks.

The Mexican Cow and Obesity

When I was younger, I loved cows. Most girls wanted a pony or I don't know...a rainbow kitten coated in glitter. I just loved cows, they seemed so damn Mexican. They were brown, curvy and had these huge eyes...Telling a person they looked just like a cow was my highest compliment. I had this bizarre idea that the cow and I understood eachother, that we related on a deeper level. I'm starting to think, as odd as this sounds, that this was when my ideas on body image were healthiest.



I am obsessed with obesity. This is a recent obsession which involves watching many Discovery Health channel programs, regular trips to the gym, my own personal fad diet and constantly wondering at which point in my life I decided that I had an ideal body image. Has the media really gotten to me?

Turns out it has. I am hypercritical of the human form and, let's face it, a big fat hypocrite. My body is nothing to brag about. Sure, there are some good theories going on but in execution it's absolutely nothing to write home about. I am usually unconcerned with the way people look, it's your deal and I know I have my own heinous moments. My own bizarre judgment of people doesn't change my reactions to them, nothing like that. But part of me is mentally noting these really shit thoughts and I feel bad about that.

I think it's pretty normal. I mean, everyone has the things you would never say out loud. You know what you want to say, but just can't because it's wrong. Due to a few days of extreme overanalysis however, it's strange to really think about some of these things.

The condition of my condition

The inhabitants of the red house, pictured below in finer days, are all in foul as shit moods.



Actually, we're just coming off a 6 day shitty mood bender. Some unwelcomed (by most of us, anyway) guests invaded the house and three of us spent the weekend hiding out in our rooms. The guests are gone, the house is filthy and my mood is starting to life.

The red house shall rise again.

Oh Lordy! It's 2007!

And a happy new year to all you fine beasts out there.

I had the best New Year's Eve I have ever had. Granted, this is the first NYE I have ever celebrated by going out-- but the statement stands.


I'm hoping 2007 is a great year. My only resolution is to achieve ultimate hotness. This is not so much an external thing but an internal process where I make it okay to go out and seek what it is I need in the world.

For real, 2007. Let's get it on.

Oopsies! I forgot to document my life!

I recently finished another quarter at Depaul, my first quarter back in a long time. Admittedly, it was overwhelming. There's something about my neverending attempt to get my undergraduate degree that is starting to lose its charm. I'm happy to be back and happy to see people and all that but something is not right. Anyway, I'm going to take December to be introspective and really think about what I'm doing. To put it mildly, I intend to be totally introverted for most of it. Nothing against anyone or anything...but you can't be happy with the world until you're happy with yourself, yes?




news flashes: went to miami to visit my best friend. I miss her, it's nice to have the friend you don't need words with.

The Rut

I got sick. No excuses, I probably wsn't taking care of myself. I just got nasty sick. It lasted for weeks but I can now say it's over. I'm back.

I feel into this sick-lady rut. I have been frighteningly lethargic the past few weeks, it's gross and unlike me. I'm holed up in Crystal Lake, my friends are far away and I am ready to get back to school. Actually, I am beyond ready. I've now read books on the history of pirates, female body image, new trends within urban society, globalization, travel narratives, mountain climbing, surfing, sex workers in Lahore and the unique situation of the american nun. Yes. I need knowledge to survive.

I have also decided that I need the man from cold case files to narrate my wedding.

Oh, and that commodore dingo is indeed a wonderful dog.

And then some

The last family member to visit this summer has gone home. I will be coming out of seclusion. Sorry I've been so away. Busy and stressful times which, admittedly, normally doesn't stop me from writing...but I've got a new project and it needs focus and time. It's going well.

When Mexicans Attack

My family has slowy been invading my house. I am doing my stint in parent land, so along with the invasion of Commodore Dingo and me (is it and I if it's a reference to more than one person and I or what? Recent speculations...), Einstein the family dog, mom, dad and my brother, julian. Last week we had my 13 year old cousin and an aunt visiting and this week another cousin and my younger brother's best friend are staying with us. I have absolutely no problem with any of this. It's nice to see the outer-family. I rarely get back to California anymore and it's tough to be the only ones not living there.

but I lived semi-alone in Madrid and the noise of my family home isn't so much annoying as surprising. I am a pretty loud person but...wow.

on that note,

I'm going back to my dream of one day being a shy person. If I work hard at it, someday I wil be shy!

Oh, and I know that this little post has no flow and makes very little sense but I'm exhausted and hey, gimme a break, I write these things for my own entertainment.

A Healthy Sort of Vengeance

Oh? You've heard? Yes. It's true.

I am the shape of a Butternut Squash.

I saw it coming and I should have stopped it. I'm not saying that all you other squash like ladies aren't beautiful, the squash is a perfectly sexy vegetable, go out and work that squash-ass. The shape just isn't for me though. It must be destroyed.

My mother convinced me to join weight watchers. I agreed, I'm not really doing anything this summer so I figured it might keep me busy, though I was unsure how much time watching my weight would actually take. I was under the assumption that I was really just pure muscle that had taken on a fat-like look so that my enemies would never see me coming. After the first weigh-in, I suspected I was wrong. Very, very, very wrong.

Weight Watchers is not a place where I go to socialize. I appear to be taking this American Gladiator approach to the whole situation, developing my own method of competitive weight watching. This method is known as Project Beat Tams.

There is a woman in my group I call Tams, she is about 4 years older than me and initially I thought it might be nice to have someone around my age to talk to. I was wrong. Very, very, very wrong.

Tams approached me and started chatting, exprssing a really strange interest in my romantic life, asking me if I had a boyfriend. I said no and wondered why on earth she was trying to pick me up at a weight watchers meeting. I may be tubby, but I prefer men. I was thinking about how to let her down gently when she then told me that she was married to her high school sweetheart and had 3 kids. I said "oh, how lovely to have children" or something along those lines. She said "yes, it is. Anywho, that's me. At your age I was perfect. Tiny. What's your excuse?"

Excuse me?

Perfect?

I need an excuse?

ANYWHO?

And so Project Beat Tams was born. The conversation continued, it got more offensive and there was a point where I thought she might be a good candidate for an excorcism. So now...I have to win and be reaching maximum hotness before she does. I feel this is a healthy sort of vengeance.

To clarify, I'm not a mean person. I am sarcastic, dry, random, kinda goofy and currently obsessed with Dubai. All this and more, totally true. But how do you get your jollies looking down your nose at other people at a weight watchers meeting? Those are people who are trying to better themselves for their health or for their self-esteem, and some of them have been dealing with it their whole lives. Some of these people grew up ridiculed and teased and to try and put them back in that place so you can feel better about yourself is obscene. I hope that for her own sake, Tams has a good cup of tea or buys a scented candle or spoons with her high school sweetheart. Whatever she needs to do because the whole situation and the fact that I've seen her corner other people...man, she needs to go to a good dance party.

But, hey, the project keeps me motivated. I'm doing what I need to do to avoid eternal Squashdom and getting healthier. It's been a good few weeks and I intend to keep it up. I might even give myself a good American Gladiator name. Any ideas?

And if you say "squasher", I'll sick Tams on you.

The Infamous Stories of Dogs 1 and 2

Dog 1: A Tale of Betrayal

Meet my first Dog of the Summer. In order to get over his loss, I have convinced myself that he was satanic. This is obvious if you only look into his demon eyes, glowing with the light of the million souls he has eaten...




In a previous post, I mentioned negotations for this dog. How I had been shown this dog by Family Member M (people I love to hate protection program) and then told he wasn't available. One day, I decided to take a different dog from the family where I got him, as they have many, many dogs.

When I got to the house with my father, a family member told me that I could take the dog I wanted, (pictures above) he was indeed available. I questioned several times, I asked and asked, I made very certain. Family member (we shall call him D, for protection) D said to go ahead and take the dog, as he obviously loved me. and oh, he did.

That night phone calls from M and her children started. The next day, a gigantic email war was waged, filled with negotiations. I had been given a dog, I intended to keep it. You can't just change your mind. You cannot be an AmerIndian (native american, if you prefer) giver!

The last email however, which was sent to my father, was from M stating that the dog was needed back because M did not feel any love was coming M's way from anyone, especially D, so Dog 1 was needed for love. D apparently was drunk when he awarded me with the dog and M wants to leave D but does not have the money. Yes. This shit happens.

My parents have a heart of gold, they agreed to this. I agreed too...but I had to give back my dog because someone was without love, and they only had enough dogs to form a pack in their yard...but really, who wants to be the bitch who refuses others love? Not I, said the brown girl...Not I.

Dog 2 on the Rise

This is my dog, Rusty. I found him online. He was going to be euthenised at a shelter in Indiana because he had been there for a few weeks. He is a golden retriever mix, trained, housebroken, up to date on shots, does not bark. Playa, even like cats.

I'll admit, I wasn't as excited about adopting a shelter dog. I sort of applied like "meh, poor thing is going to die, I might as well, probably won't even get accepted". Well, I got accepted and next thing you know I was driving 3 hours to Indiana for a dog I had only seen online and was told "don't worry, he's been aggression tested, they have to be after their abused". Turns out he's cool and I take him everywhere now. They named him Rusty at the shelter, but I try not to call him by that slave name. He goes by Commodore Dingo.

So, yes, I finally have a dog. Yes, he is strange. Yes, you may play with him.

info for the friendly reader: I realize this story was filled with potential for punning. Honestly, though. Honestly.