An unhealthy obsession with a blender

Sometime last fall, I stayed over at a friend's house, and when I got up, he was making smoothies. All he had to do was just throw together a bunch of frozen fruit from Trader Joe's and soy milk. And it was amazing. My God, even I could manage this! If I had a blender. Which I do. At my grandmother's house. This fluttered in and out of my head all winter, but I found out it was in her shed which was totally blocked by ice. Then March came and it had been nice for a while so I figured I was safe. I bought a bunch of frozen fruit and yogurt and was ready for action.

The shed, however, was not.

So now I have all this stuff, and all this momentum, and no blender. I did consider that I have an electric mixer for my baking, and there's a slight chance that might work, but that's not really a 7:30 am kind of experiment. So naturally, I immediately ceded defeat and bought a blender, as patience is not my virtue (don't let the knitting fool you).

And then, it was ON.

I've been making morning smoothies every day, always trying new combinations of things. Thought I'd share some recipes here. Unless otherwise mentioned, everything comes from Trader Joe's. You could probably buy these things elsewhere if you're not a disciple of Joe like me. This has also lead to me having a constant supply of bananas in the house, and doing things like going to Trader Joe's at 9:30 pm in flannel PJ bottoms with cupcakes on them, because THERE IS A STORM COMING AND I ONLY HAVE ONE BANANA.

The Elvis Smoothie

1 banana

2 spoonfuls raw honey (it will never die)

3-4 spoonfuls of whatever peanut butter you have - mine is chunky

1 teaspoon flax seeds if you're into that sort of thing

Couple of spoonfuls of yogurt/kefir/something along that line to thicken, or a splash of non-dairy milk & handful of ice cubes if you're Vegan

Blend all of the above, put on blue suede shoes. Note - it doesn't really matter if you're already using chunky peanut butter, but if you're using creamy and don't want random chunks of stuff in your smoothie, you could use flax seed meal or oil instead of the seeds, as there is no way in hell you're going to blend those down to invisibility.

The Standard

1 banana

Handful of frozen strawberries - I have small hands so around 4

Generous amount of rice milk, soy milk, real milk, or yogurt - whatever you have. Note that the differing thicknesses of these will alter the consistency of your smoothie.

Basic strawberry banana smoothie. You can add any number of things to make it more interesting. I like to throw in raspberries to make it a little tarter, and make it a little more berry than banana.

Tropical Smoothie

1 banana

Big handful of pineapple chunks

Handful of mango chunks

2-3 slices of orange (or you can use a splash of orange juice if that's what you have)

The nice thing about mango chunks is that they blend so nicely into such a nice smooth texture that you don't have to use any additional thickeners like yogurt. If you like your smoothies to be easy to get through a straw, though, you might want to water it down a little with some rice milk/skim milk.

Peanut Butter, Chocolate, Banana Smoothie

1 medium banana

3 spoonfuls chunky peanut butter

1 teaspoon flax seeds (very optional)

Half bar of chocolate

Splash of dairy-like beverage - I use rice milk

Few squirts of chocolate syrup if not chocolately enough

4 ice cubes

I use the flax seeds because, well, someone I like suggested them, and I already feel smug about eating stuff with all natural ingredients (ignore the chocolate syrup) so I might as well level up the health benefit with something that doesn't add much flavor, though it's kind of fun to eat the little seeds. For chocolate, I used half a bar of German milk chocolate that I had on hand, when a friend gave me a bunch of them a while back. I found this wasn't enough chocolate flavor, so I added few squirts of some chocolate syrup I bought at Wal*Mart (I'm sorry) a while back for mudslides. This helped greatly. I'm sure this would be just as good, possibly better depending on how smooth you like your smoothies, with creamy peanut butter - this is just what I had on hand.

I've made a million more different combinations, but these are the ones distinct enough to remember. I really approach ingredients like Rachel Ray - just throw stuff in until it tastes right - so I don't know about exact numbers. As always with food, adjust to taste and preference.

Transition

My last post was about taking meditation time, looking at the moon, reassuring myself about the coming changes in my life. Some are good, some are bittersweet, some are wonderful, some are terrifying. But all are happening and all are important.

I won't go into the ones that need not be on the internet, but I've made it clear that my job at a homeless shelter was extremely important to me. Note the use of past tense. I've had an opportunity to take a full time job with a new agency. Having a full time job that won't disappear after 4 months due to grant funding is huge, and a massive step for me. It's also one if those things that's too good to pass up, even if that means incurring losses.

I grieved my job at the shelter, grieved the friends I'd made there on staff, grieved the relationships I'd built with clients who I no longer have the time to check in on. This has been my world, my self-definition for the last year. And now everything is different.

The first two weeks have been sort of a terrifying learning experience. Week one was orientation, which I suppose I got something out of, like long drives in the snow, which can be nice if you're not trying to get to an unknown place on time. This week has been the real thing. Or at least, shadowing the real thing. It's been a variety of things to watch, some useful, some perplexing.

As with all things, this transition will work out for the best. I'll get the hang of the job. It's just exacerbated by everything else going on with school, family, relationships. I'm at a point with school where the assignments have piled up and I so don't care, much like happened last time I started a job. And because research methods is a horrible class. Which I am currently sitting in.

All things for a reason, and a plan for everything. Always my mantra, no matter the transition.

Moon

Tonight, a friend texted me about how the moon was amazing. After another friend and I lamented missing the "super moon," I figured I better go see while I still had a chance. I wandered all over, somehow being unable to find a giant moon, which resides in the sky. I ended up at a giant grassy hill that overlooks the water, sort of my happy place for the last year. I looked at the moon and the stars, and I contemplated life's transitions. I thought about a lot of the things that change for me this week, and how it'll all be okay. About how peaceful this all is, and how it's ok to just be idle, no book, no phone, no knitting. Trying to stop my mind from racing, always racing, is hard. And why I don't sleep so well. But maybe I'm on my way there.

A rundown of Jenna's day

7:15 am: Wake up, contemplate death, meeting for job #6 in Augusta.

7:45 am: Get to work, work on the desk from 8-10, then do the mail from 10-11:15.

11:15 am: Get gas, after one failed attempt when I can't get to the pumps on the same side as my gas tank. Go to library, pick up Sex, Drugs, and Cocoa Puffs. Attempt to make phone calls to figure out where this meeting is, fail.

11:45 am: Back to work to supervise lunch. Eat cheesecake.

1 pm: Bail as fast as possible to car. Plug in GPS, having used phone's mobile internet to figure out where I'm going. THROW THE HAMMER DOWN.

1:15 pm: "Drive 52 miles on I-295 North."

2 pm: Is that the State House? Do I have time to slap Paul LePage?

2:01 pm: Oh dear God I have no idea what I'm even looking for here

2:05 pm: Oh, hi, giant sign with the name of my employer.

2:15 pm: Begin meeting.

3:30 pm: Finish meeting. Feel hungry. Decide to look for some nice local place.

3:40 pm: Eat at Burger King.

4:15 pm: Back on the road. Become consumed with finding a Wal-Mart to buy a blender. Ignore fact that there is $125 in Wal-Mart gift cards in my apartment.

5 pm: Pull off random exit looking for Brunswick Wal-Mart. Am actually in Topsham. See sign for Target. Rejoice.

5:15 pm: Locate blender for $17.99. Declare victory.

5:40 pm: Back on road. Decide to go to Freeport to go to LL Bean to try on hiking boots for no apparent reason.

6:00 pm: Somehow succeed in totally driving past all 5 exits for Freeport. Get off interstate in Yarmouth, backtrack via Route 1.

6:10 pm: Try on many pairs of hiking boots of various heights. Am slightly unsure how these are any better than my clunky black shoes from Payless. Decide I like the higher cut better because they look more like hiking boots and thus I can lie to myself that I need them.

6:30 pm: Attempt to leave, somehow run into two different past-coworkers from two different former jobs.

6:45 pm: Back on road again. Still not planning on going home. Go to school to go to gym.

7:00 pm: Go to gym, work out while reading book. Feel so intellectual.

8:15 pm: Change clothes, go home.

8:30 pm: Put away yesterday's laundry, wash some of yesterday's dishes. Make smoothie. Fail at getting the balance of ice right. Do not spill all over self and kitchen. Therefore, victory.

9:00 pm: I should probably work on that paper.

9:15 pm: Add two sentences and a cover page. Decide any further editing will rip my soul in half.

9:16 pm: Begin endless blog entry, try to remember exact minutes of entire day.

9:35 pm: Write this sentence. Remember have endless job application to fill out.

9:57 pm: Finish application. Remember rest of smoothie on counter 10 feet away. Contemplate how little I want to get up to put it in the fridge. Back to Facebook.

10:18 pm: Seriously. Get the smoothie in the fridge.

10:23 pm: Sleep for the next... not enough... hours.

Push it to the limit, give it more

I've had this bug up my ass about wanting to go the gym for a while. See, I live in Portland, Maine, where everyone rides bikes and swims and runs and my body slowly decays. Honestly, my grandmother, who's been smoking for 60 years and has cancer (more on that later) and I probably have similar lung capacity. But I'm skinny, so you wouldn't know.

Every once in a while, usually when my pants don't fit, I get gung ho about the gym. But if I have to pay for it, fuck it. Of course, I've been a graduate student since September, and it finally occurred to me that implies I could probably get into a gym for free. But whatever, I don't like to sweat.

But then there's that cancer thing.

Something about the fact that my grandmother has a tumor has made me do a lot of re-evaluating of my own life. Like that makes me so unique or something. I feel like I have a lot of energy - as noted by the thirty seven jobs - and I often feel like I could really be pumping it for all it's worth and really pushing my body. So I walk to work when it's nice. I realize this is bullshit. But when I used to try to run, I'd make it about 10 feet and feel like my lungs were about to explode. I can walk for hours. But fuck running.

But everyone runs.

And goddamnit, if there's one thing I've always wanted to be, it's marginally normal.

And then of course, someone had to ask me WHY it is I don't go to the gym. And that little question stays inside you and eats you and makes you think and makes you contemplate ridiculous things like "I couldn't run from a rapist" until you can't take it anymore and DO SOMETHING. So I packed up my sneakers and my stupid windpants and my big Electric Six shirt and went to the fucking gym.

I spent about half the time I was there texting a friend about how much I hated it. But I was texting while treadmilling, so, I've got that going for me. I'm not like other girls that go to the gym. I do not want to be seen. I want to be invisible. When I saw all the guys lifting weights, I wanted to sink into the floor, lest anyone see me power-walking on the treadmill or using the bike at zero resistance. I do not wear short shorts. I do not wear spandex. The large yellow shirt with a cobra on it may be pushing it, but at least you can't see my figure. I wear the giant windpants I've had since high school gym, when I also wanted to disappear in shame. And not shave my legs for class.

I hated this so fucking much. My pants are too big and I was terrified of tripping on them. And then, against all reasonable judgment, I got on the godforsaken treadmill. And it wasn't too bad. No incline or anything, but when I turned it up to power-walk speed, I felt like I could go faster. And I actually found myself jogging. At a respectable speed. And this was after I found 5 pound weights too light and moved up to the 7.5s. Suddenly, I had confidence.

So I came back the next day.

And then the next.

And suddenly, I loved this. I could feel it. I could feel my body being able to be pushed more. I could see that I could move a little faster up the stairs at work. I could sustain a harder pace longer on the machines. I felt okay around other people. I texted a friend about the quality of the "mancandy" here. I found myself dancing on the elliptical as I worked it. Because I'm sophisticated, I was listening to Usher and Willow Smith and actually whipping my hair back and forth. I... actually like the gym.

I sicken myself.

I took the next day off, since I didn't want to be sweaty for my evening plans, and I took Friday off because those evening plans involved puking at 7 am. But Saturday, after I baked a cake (so clearly, weight loss is not the goal here), I went back. And I ran 10 minutes at my fastest pace ever. And I lifted more weight on some machines. And I had a great time. No time to go today, but I'm sure I'll be back Monday. I even bought decent workout pants on Friday so I could feel a little more confident and a little less at risk of imminent harm.

The most important part of the gym is the iPod playlist, of course. So here's some of songs that always get me going.

1. Willow Smith - Whip My Hair

I don't care how shameful this is. I love this kid, I wish her nothing but the best, I admire her positivity and confidence and style, I love that this isn't about getting validation from a boy. And it gets my confidence way up. Even if I did just cut my hair and can no longer whip it back and forth.

2. Electric Six - Jam It In The Hole

Anything by Electric Six is good for the gym - upbeat, fast tempo, and easy to keep pushing yourself with.

3. OKGO - You're So Damn Hot

After all, when I'm doing cardio, I'm so damn hot. In order to be so damn hot.

4. Usher - More

I like any song that I can generalize to what I'm doing, as every moment I spend on the repetition of exercise, I'm pushing it to the limit and trying to do more. Plus, it's just so uplifting.

5. Scissor Sisters - I Don't Feel Like Dancing

Most any Scissor Sisters song is good - anything that just keeps me rocking keeps me from saying "oh god, it's only been two minutes?"

6. Jay-Z - Dirt Off Your Shoulder

When I get full of myself for actually going to the gym, well, I am the motherfuckin' greatest.

7. Cee Lo Green - Fuck You

One song I can't help but sing along with... while wearing headphones. Ain't that some shit.

So, if we've learned anything here, it's that I really, really like pop music. Oh, the shame, it burns my hipster soul.

It hasn't gotten any better.

I have a job interview Tuesday.

I started a job yesterday.

I still have strong potential to be interviewed somewhere else as soon as the interviewer is back from medical leave.

I've already worked at five other places this year.

This is not how normal people live.

To be fair, with the exception of the forthcoming interviews, all of these gigs are per diem. As much as I'd like hours at some of them, they just don't exist. Or one schedules a month in advance and another schedules 3 days in advance. I might rather work at the 3 days place, but I can't risk not getting called and losing hours I could have gotten at the 4 weeks place. So what the hell choice do I have but to keep increasing my ability to get some work? There's only one solution, and that solution is a job with a SCHEDULE. For four blessed months of my life, at the best job I ever had, I had a schedule. I changed it up once in a while if I didn't have classes or had to come in or leave early for whatever reason, but in general, I knew what days and what hours I would be working. Because I'm an asshole, I also worked more hours everywhere else on top of it, and those fluctuated, so my free time didn't hold to any schedule, but at least most of my work week could be predicted with accuracy.

And of course, not having a job with a schedule means your employers don't have to give you benefits. I have not had health insurance since May of 2009. It is March of 2011.

Everything is wrong with that sentiment, but that's a rant for another time.

And then of course there's the fact that while I've had jobs with schedules, none of them have been permanent. I was a long term sub when I was teaching and I was grant funded when I was at the shelter. I can assume I'll always be able to get a few hours at least at the day shelter, but there's no guarantee of getting enough to live on.

In lieu of all this, it gets easier to see why I hoard jobs and why right after I got contacted for an interview today, I went back to http://jobsinme.com to see what else was out there. I haven't felt safe for a long, long time. If I could just land a regular, full-time job, or even a regular part-time job, just to have some sense of permanency in my life, I'd finally breathe a little easier.

So I still have a work addiction. But under these circumstances, wouldn't you?

Be gentle, it's my first time

When I do something, I do it hardcore.

I got it in my head that I was going to finally do my first blood donation in honor of someone that might have cancer and finds out next week. When a close friend heard us, he got us scheduled right away for a drive today. Ahh shit.

I was scared and against this for a while, even though I only had a week of warning. So I started prepping right away. I started drinking more water. I researched iron-rich foods like it was my motherfucking JOB. I decided to take a few days off from being vegetarian and learn to cook a steak. I ate half a pound of raisins in a day. Which mostly made me fart a lot. I ate a shitload of almonds and drank buckets of water. I ate so much red meat in the last 48 hours. See, the problem is, this ended up being period week (hello, internet). I've never been diagnosed as anemic during that time, but I wasn't about to take the chance. So I started an "Iron Woman" campaign to get my hemoglobin rockin'.

The appointment was at 1:45 today. I worked all morning until 1, and then Paul took me out so he could support me through my first donation. I did feel much safer having him there. I brought a million things to distract me, as if there was some way in hell I could knit a scarf during this. So we got out to the movie theater it was being held at, and oh shit, it was on.

My time came, and I was pumped. I got to answer all these weird questions about my history with drugs, people that use drugs, time spent as a prostitute, if I’ve ever had diseases I’ve never heard of (obeiosis? The fuck is that?), or if I’ve ever slept with someone from Africa. I passed, surprisingly. Then came the finger prick. Which was totally the worst part. Couldn’t look. So now I wait and see if my iron-loading was successful.

2 full points over the cutoff. I fucking win.

Of course, then it sets in, I’m really doing this.

The nice, fairly attractive young guy who did my preliminary stuff gets me set up for my donation. I was turned away when he was drawing the dot on my arm, because I’m an idiot and thought that was the needle. I was also a little concerned by the massive swath of skin he disinfected, wondering how much of a target he needed (I know, gotta make sure nothing can get in). So he warned me not to look while he put the needle in, and before I knew it, it was in!

I did so great. I played checkers on my phone the whole time. Then he said I was already halfway there, and of course, that’s when I started getting lightheaded. But he just put my feet up a little and I came right back. I was NOT going to pass out. And before long, I was done! I think maybe 7 minutes, max. Paul was taking pics of me and sending them to me the whole time. I was listening to all the nurses tease each other. I had to sit for a little while, and then I was approved to go sit in the cookie and juice section. I was feeling a little hot and blurry, so I just held the cold can until I felt better, and then I was great, scarfed down two cans of juice and some Oreos, and played Bejeweled on my phone to kill time. I felt great! Not tired, not dizzy, great!

I took myself out to a huge late lunch to celebrate, as the best way to up one's fluids is with a milkshake full of chocolate cake and cherries. I'm so proud of myself. I'm going to do it as soon as I can again.

For anyone interested, I’ve linked pics of the experience. Fair warning, I do look dead in one pic because I have no makeup on, it was the end of the donation, and I was still coming back from the lightheadedness. But I wanted to get a pic of the bag of blood, because I’m a grim bitch, so Paul snuck it for me. Thought anyone who’s thinking about their first donation might be interested in seeing some of the process.

Me in the chair - no blood content
My arm with the tube taking the last of the donation - blood content
At the very end - bag of blood and corpsey looking jenna content

Who the hell gets a cold without leaving the house?

But you know what's good for a cold?

Raw honey.

I think I've been set up.

I started sneezing and having a really stuffy nose last night while a friend was over. I thought it was a pretty inconvenient time for my perpetual sniffles to come on. And then today it's definitely a cold. HONESTLY. Two days back in the shelter and my immune system freaks out. So I did nothing today, although to be fair I would have done nothing either way, and watched the mound of tissues on the floor slowly build up. My tea cup now permanently tastes of the honey that I keep adding to it. Which I've been eating straight out of the jar and enjoying its waxy goodness. Of course, with the shape of that bottle and the fact that it's completely solid, it's sort of impossible to use. I couldn't spread it on my toast, so I had to put chunks of it all over the bread and then microwave it into submission. Perhaps then making it into regular honey. Still good, though. I suppose eating honey straight out of the jar as a snack means I'm turning into Pooh Bear. I'm okay with that.

I get to work at Frannie Peabody again on Wednesday. Then I paid-work at the restaurant. I get to go out to Indian food on Thursday. Maybe Friday I'll get to knit with friends, although it looks like I could be used at the shelter for my first full overnight. That might be nice - I like the two regular staff that are on Friday overnights. I'm planning a cupcake party for the 22nd, with a pre-party for 2 friends that want to bake with me. Things are going very nicely for me. So I earn a lot less money for a month. It's time to just be happy for a while instead.

What in the sweet hell am I going to do with a pound of honey?

I can be talked into anything (hello, fellas). As my friend Kate once described her shopping habits, "is that a sparkly bag of NOTHING? $50? I'll take 2!" This is the real reason I don't go shopping. It's not that I just don't feel a need. It's that I know I'll just buy a sparkly bag of nothing.

And is there anything more awesome than grocery shopping? I live alone, and I'm rarely home, but I have the kitchen of a professional chef trying to feed the Duggars. I will grocery shop like there's an apocalypse coming and I'm the only one that knows, so I better buy all the food now. Realizing this, I try to at least hold back on the fresh vegetables I'll probably never eat. I also have food rules, like "nothing goes in the crisper." The crisper drawer, while seemingly a good idea, is where food goes to die in my house. If I can't see it, I have no recollection that it was ever there. And that is when I learn science lessons like "lettuce, left to its own devices, can become a liquid."

I spent Summer and Fall working across the street from a farmer's market. Every Wednesday, I can go buy BERRIES! Oh, and you know what, why don't I get some lettuce. Maybe I'll try this squash. Oh, pears. Wow, you can grow hot peppers here? I should get some. Oh shit, they have the farmer's market on Monday now, too? And there's ANOTHER one down the street on Saturdays?!

So when I discovered the "winter farmer's market" was about to be starting, I knew I was fucked.

I debated dragging myself out of bed for this on Saturday, as 1), I am astoundingly lazy, and 2), I knew exactly how this was going to go down. But having not showered or changed my clothes in 3 days, I thought it might be nice to get out of the house. I still didn't shower or change my clothes, but at least we both got a chance to air out a bit.

The farmer's market had a lot of gourds and squash, mostly, and while that was tempting, I had to remind myself, I am never going to learn how to cook that. There was also a table with big jars of Dilly Beans for $5, so that was a given that they were coming home with me, but they also had a lot of honey. Some of it looked like honey. And some of it looked like a giant jar of beeswax. Hooray, wax! Because my life is a 4th grade field trip, I asked about why some honey looked different. Apparently that was "raw" honey. What the hell is raw honey, you ask? So did I. That's honey that's unpasteurized (that already sounds appealing and not dangerous) and unfiltered, so it looks thick because of the chunks of beeswax still in it.

Well sign me right up!

As I'm going back to my car, I'm excited, since I have dilly beans for the first time in a long time, and they come in a mason jar, so I can FINALLY join the hipster scene here and drink out of a mason jar. I still don't understand why the hell that's any better than a travel mug, but apparently I'm just so bourgeois with my cup that doesn't splash hot liquid all over me. And the honey comes in a pretty neat bottle too, and I have a friend whose wife melts bottles in her kiln (it looks awesome) so I bet she'd love it.

Of course, I still haven't solved the problem of what to do with a pound of unpasteurized beeswax. Apparently this is better for you, as all gross-looking things are. So, I'm going to chronicle what I've managed to do with this stuff, so watch for the tag "raw honey." I don't even really like honey, but, as stated, I will buy anything. Today's experiment was on French Toast. And it was fucking awesome. So, honey. I think this might work out just fine.

Other ideas:

• I used to make this sandwich in college I saw on TV once, called "The Flying Elvis." Peanut butter, banana, and honey, warmed up and pressed flat in a panini grill. There's an alternate version where you spread peanut butter inside a hot dog bun, plop a banana in the bun, and drizzle honey over it, but you look like an idiot eating it.
• I bought a new cupcake book, and want to make everything in it. Honey might make a good topper.
• I realize honey can be used as a sweetener in baking. But I want to take this a little more hardcore first.

I should stop going to the farmer's market on an empty stomach.

It Hungers!

Let me begin this story with some scene-setting. I am 5'2", 117 pounds. I am not someone that you look at and think, I bet she can pack away the food. Today, however, I was Takeru Kobayashi.

We're pretty much the same person.

So, I'm not working at all this week. I've had the opportunity to do so, but I just said fuck it and decided to call my life "vacation" instead. Which means every day I hang out with friends and either go out to lunch or dinner. I've managed to spend more when I'm not working than when I am. I also had some grand plans for the week (visiting friends out of state, power levelling on WoW, finishing the godforsaken curtains) that never came to fruition, as I chose instead to be incapable of getting out of bed, reading there for a while, falling back asleep, and eventually getting up when I was too hungry or had to go to the bathroom too much to ignore. Then, it's time to move to the couch. For 6 hours. Where I experience such wonders as staring at Facebook, watching Intervention on Netflix, knitting and then frogging a sweater sleeve, and texting furiously to plan human interaction. Strangely, this has been amazingly satisfying. The sheer fact that I can do something before 9:30 pm, or have 15 minutes to walk to the bank (not that I actually did) is an amazing and liberating change.

Last night, while watching Big Fan on Netflix, I became consumed with needing Chinese food. I wasn't actually hungry, though, and it was like 8:30 pm. I opted to table the desire. But soon, it would be on.

I have to work 6-11 tonight, so getting people together for dinner was out. I could try for tomorrow. But fuck it. I want food now. So I walked up to Pom's Thai Taste, which is not Chinese food, but whatever.

It's always slightly nerve-inducing to eat alone at a restaurant, but it's more annoying to try to coerce a friend into finding a mutually agreeable time to go out to eat, coordinate where and when and how to get there, make conversation, and then go through the "oh, I only brought a card and you only brought a $50 bill" check splitting nonsense, when you just want to eat. And eat I did.

The first order of business was seaweed salad. Anytime I'm at any sort of vaguely Japanese restaurant, I must eat a seaweed salad. It's such a given that I don't really factor it into the final total or the amount of food I'll eat. I'm here, I'm eating a seaweed salad, these are the facts. Of course, there's also nothing more terrifying than an Asian restaurant menu, particularly if they have a sushi bar, because there are FOUR HUNDRED THINGS on the menu. And you don't want to stick to your comfort zone, what with the four hundred things and all, but you also need a week and a half to read through it all. And because I am the personification of an anxiety disorder, I can't make decisions. If someone suggests a restaurant I haven't been to, I have to sneakily get online and look for their menu. I don't even know why. I just have to. So at least the seaweed salad is a given. Now I just need to form a meal.

Okay. Sushi restaurant. I need sushi. Spicy crunchy tuna is always a given. But there's so much sushi here. I need to expand. I could try this. Or that. Or this. There's all these noodle dishes, too. And appetizers. I could skip the sushi. But I really want sushi. But 6 pieces of sushi and a seaweed salad isn't much of a lunch.

I know.

Seaweed salad.

"Godzilla roll," which, disappointingly, did not contain Godzilla.

Sesame noodle dish, with chicken and "shrimps."

In the words of Jay-Z, you are now tuned into the motherfuckin' greatest.

The waiter comes to take my order. I tell him I'll start with a seaweed salad, which at this point, Portland Asian restaurants should just start readying when they see me. And then I tell him I'll have the Godzilla roll. At which point he says very good and takes my menu away.

Err.

I wasn't done.

I start to wonder... perhaps this is enough food. This is lunchtime, after all. When normal people eat less. And I'm not dying of starvation. But I came here to gorge. And gorge I shall.

I caught the waiter's attention when he came around again and asked him for the sesame noodle. For here? Yes, for here. Because I'm about to go all Man Vs. Food on this place.

Usually, when you order a seaweed salad, it's the size of a coaster, just enough to get you started, not enough to be a legitimate appetizer on its own. Instead, I received a bucket of seaweed. This was when I began to suspect I may be in over my head. The waiter again asks if I want the noodles for here. In for a penny, in for a pound. Hell yes, for here.

My bucket of seaweed was excellent, and as an added bonus, very confusing to the old women sitting near me. "WHAT are you eating?" The ocean, bitches.

The Godzilla roll arrived soon after. And this is when I realized why my menu was taken away. All the sushi I've eaten lately is from grocery stores and each roll is the size of a quarter. Of course I can put away 6 of those in a minute. Any asshole can. But restaurant sushi is different. According to Pom's menu, the Godzilla roll is "White fish, and yellow tail roll (Seaweed outside), lightly Tempura style. Topped with crab stick salad and hot sauce." They don't mention the tiny orange balls. And that is for a reason. But the sushi is delicious. Oh holy crap. I chose wisely. But between all this sushi and seaweed, I could probably be comfortable and good. But there is still sesame noodle. YES FOR HERE. Bring it the fuck on.

At this point, my table is covered in plates and tiny dishes and sauces, to the point that there's no way I'm going to fit ROUND THREE on the table. I manage to condense down to one plate, only slightly covering myself in a variety of things from the ocean. I goddamn inhale the sushi. And I get to thinking. Tiny unidentified orange balls on top of my raw fish in an Asian restaurant. I am eating fish eggs. Strangely, this does not bother me, it merely enhances the experience. Hell yeah, I'm eating a fish egg. Why the hell not.

Sesame Noodle arrives. At this point, the staff is coming by to make bizarre comments like "you skip breakfast!" It is at this point that I begin to realize... I have terrified this restaurant with my gargantuan hunger. For I am a beast, a beast that demands the ocean be drained to satiate my mighty, mighty appetite. Yes, I could have stopped before this. But I demand to see things through to completion. And I shall complete this meal.

A woman arrives with a paper bag and a take out box. "I know you need this." Oh hell lady. Now it's a challenge. Now I have to eat all this, because I'm one of those assholes that when they're told they can't do something, must. And then I think about it rationally. I could stop. I could bring this to work tonight. I could have a nice dinner. There's a box already here for me. But oh my God, it's such a tiny box. How will I ever fit all these noodles in it? What the hell am I supposed to do with such a tiny box? And why would I crap out with such a tiny little amount of food left? Now the pressure's on. This tiny box is just here as a taunt.

I finally brought this afternoon to its inevitable conclusion and opted for "only a moderate amount of pain and a nice dinner" instead of "unspeakable pain to prove a point and leftover soup from 2 days ago for dinner." I left a $7 tip on a $25 check because of the terror I wrought upon the kitchen. She is but one tiny girl... but wants food for three people?! Alert the authorities; there is a monster afoot.

In the words of Ice Cube, today was a good day.

Work it out

(post partially redacted due to clearer thinking)

I've been driving myself crazy working 14 hours a day. Grinding it out because I'm not sure if either work place is going to be able to offer me a full time job. So, I'm home, and dealing with it the best way I know how: chocolate peppermint fudge truffle cake I made myself from scratch (validating that I have mad skillz at many, many things), tea (always good for calming me down), mellow music (Jack Johnson and Freelance Whales), and e-mailing my dad, who apparently I talk to now. For the first time in... my entire life. So... that's a switch. We've been e-mailing every night, sharing pics and little personal things. I told him about all my job bullshit. I figure I spend enough time seeking father figures, I might as well tell it all to my actual father. He reassured me that sometimes the best people don't get the jobs they're best for whatever reason, and it's happened to him. It's nice to have a little father daughter solidarity. And he's really excited to be talking to me. This is so great.

I just checked out some music by a new band, Fitz & The Tantrums. I got invited to join a friend at their concert in January, and I really dig their stuff so far. I'm looking forward to it. He and I both love this one venue, Port City Music Hall, so we go see whoever we've vaguely heard of that comes there. I'm also planning on seeing Eytan and the Embassy next week, who I saw open for Okgo before. I'm really enjoying going to concerts. It's good to be in a place where there's so many opportunities to enjoy music. I saw Dashboard Confessional recently, too. Mostly because I have a friend who would have loved to go but never would have if I hadn't just bought the tickets and said "good, we have a date on the 12th." But it was a hell of a show.

Trying to decide which pictures of my knitting to send my dad. I need some that aren't photographed so shittily. I can only take attractive pictures of myself with my webcam, but then the color quality is off. And my camera may or may not be being held hostage in Boston. It's making me want to actually finish the bunch of things I have almost done right now, if only to get some needles back. My interchangeables are currently holding on to a hat made to donate to a shelter currently overloaded with knitted hats and not really well-sized, half of a fair isle sock, and the beginnings of a chair cushion that was rendered moot by receiving two much better colonial blue chair cushions for Christmas. And let's not even discussion the curtains I've been making for 3 months, which get worse and more complicated every time I try to work on them. Fun fact: I can't cut for shit. I'm currently most invested in a sweater I'm doing right now, which has a fair isle pattern at the neck. I took some time between jobs yesterday to work on it at the Public Market House, drinking flavored cocoa and eating really awesome vegetarian soup that a very cute girl sold me. It was a nice break from this 14 hour day bullshit I've been doing lately.

It bothers me that my most popular tag is "work." On facebook, it's the word that comes up most in my statuses. Jenna... get a life. There's so much more to the world.

Consider that a New Year's Resolution.

Get it over with.

Waiting to hear from a job that any reasonable person would say should be mine. Every day I get up, turn my phone on, check my e-mail a hundred times, try to fish for info. At night, I numb out with Nyquil if I have to. I should have gone to bed an hour ago, considering I have to get up in 7 hours for a 14 hour work day, as I am 100% incapable of saying no to anyone. I'm not sure why I feel compelled to say yes when someone asks if I want to take their shift without even giving me a reason. SURE YES I'M ALREADY AWAKE LET'S DO THIS. At least if I get this job, it would allow me to work less since it's at the place that always sucks me in for those extra hours. Of course, I'll just end up waitressing again. Because I never, ever stop. Nor do I ever learn.

Apropos of nothing:

For at least 6 months, one side of my hair has been significantly longer than the other. Because I'm Cyndi Lauper. What I don't get... NO ONE has ever addressed this. And my clients are the bluntest people on earth. I get compliments. But never "why the hell is your hair long on the right and short on the left?" Which makes me worry that perhaps it's SO awful that no one dares say anything. But I suspect it's more an issue of people just taking these things as a given with me at this point.

Went to the Homeless Persons' Vigil tonight. Cried. Knew I would. Started choking up when my friend started playing bagpipes. Choked up as I was walking. Deliberating on the seriousness of my role in people's lives, while coworkers around me were playing with phones or complaining about the cold. During the moment of silence I prayed for everyone we lost that I knew, that they were finding their peace, finding the home, safety, security, sobriety, food, health care, and services they damn well should have had down here. Prayed that I could help others. Prayed for all I was up against. Prayed that next year, I wouldn't hear the three names I fear the most. Watched someone I'm close to silently hold it together, knowing he was fighting. Lose my ability to hold it together when we addressed that the person whose name I read "would be - no, IS" happy it was me.

I can't really fathom not doing this for the rest of my life.

One person got an apartment today after I helped him get to GA, helped him find security deposits, made the appointment, got him the taxi out there. One person isn't homeless today, of all days. I know I can do this. Have done this 34 times over. But God, it's just a drop in the bucket. And that's very, very overwhelming.

I'll be okay. Whatever happens, once someone finally makes the decision I'm waiting for. I'll be okay.

Blogging for Paul.

One of my favorite people on earth mentioned finding my blog recently, and that always spurs me into wanting to write again. I just have been a moderately functional human being for the last 3 or 4 months. I haven't gotten anywhere near the amount of sleep I should, and I was fairly willing to sacrifice that, thinking I was doing fine. But of course, pushing and pushing and pushing catches up with you eventually. I've been doing at least 50 hours a week between the two jobs, and going to class for 6 hours a week, plus studying or researching or paper writing, if I felt like it. There were a few times I was ready to drop out, realizing that I was going home to read about applied psychodynamic theory instead of accepting an invitation to go bowling with a guy I have a crush on, and wondering what the hell I was doing with my life.

See, I'm already living the dream. At least 30 people aren't homeless because of me. Because I've been grinding my ass as hard as I can for 3.5 months to solve a major problem. Because I've been watching some of these people since March and I've always had a "if I want action taken, take it myself" attitude. So my life has been bursting with success stories. My focus has been on what to do with difficult cases. When I was in class, my mind didn't drift to TV or hanging out with friends or relationships. It drifted to "if that assisted living home won't take him, where can I put him?" and "I need to call that property management company to see if they have a 1 bedroom" and "I haven't seen this guy in a while - is he safe?" Eventually I caught myself and got caught back up with work. But for a while there, I felt like I didn't need a MSW, because I'm already doing exactly what I want.

Of course, there will come a day when I'm not doing exactly what I want. In one sense, that day is January 1st, as, due to grant funding, my job is over at the end of this year. In another sense, I thought I was living the dream as a special ed teacher until I found my gift for the homeless population. But maybe I'll find something else. Something that requires an MSW. And then I'll regret dropping out.

So, I stuck with it. And I aced it. I really don't enjoy the thought of having to rearrange my life every 3 months for the next 4 years to accommodate USM's asinine scheduling - if someone's going part time, chances are, they have a full-time job, and how the hell are they supposed to keep it with a class at 1:15 on a Wednesday? That's one more problem I have to solve in the coming weeks. If I have a full time job. I'm interviewing. But there's already been rejections and bizarre interview cancellations. I'll be up for a while longer tonight, so I imagine I'll draft at least one more cover letter. I loathe it, but I just don't feel safe with anything right now - organizations can always surprise you with rejections.

I sobbed uncontrollably in the soup kitchen today when I heard about a client's passing. Perhaps I might not have been so devastated if I wasn't such a mess myself right now. And I hadn't quite realized what a mess I am until that all processed. Sure, my apartment is cluttery and junky and my sink was full of dishes until I finally did something about it tonight. And I hated that yet couldn't work up the motivation to fix it. I can fix everyone else. I just don't care enough to fix myself sometimes.

I always put myself last. I've had very bad relationships where I refuse to acknowledge that perhaps I'm entitled to equal treatment, to also be shown love and support. I just give and give and give because I don't want to see someone hurting, so if there's something I can do, I will. I've actually used the phrase "I don't matter. Let's just worry about helping you." To be fair, I realize the hundred things wrong with that statement. Now. But why not do extra hours when they're needed or a cover a shift for someone with an appointment or come in early unpaid to do more research on apartments? I'm needed. And I've always needed to be needed.

I don't foresee any change any time soon. I'm somewhat at peace with that. It's part of what makes me me. I just need it to be a little less damaging. Or recognize when it's doing me in a little sooner. But as awkward as it is to cry in public, and have clients ask you what's wrong, or ask the person that told you "what did you do to her?!" with a hint of menace, I hope I never stop being that torn up about something like this, and never stop putting my heart into everything I do. It's so immensely valuable not to be jaded. I may only be 24, and may not have experienced much loss, catastrophe, heartbreak, or trauma, but I hope I keep giving my heart to every situation that has the opportunity to produce it. Otherwise, I just wouldn't be Jenna.

And I'm not okay with that.

Heil Seitan.

I've lived in what is essentially the most hipster neighborhood in Maine for a month now. I know, hipster + Maine = does not compute, but just trust me on this. Accordingly, I have a fridge stocked with PBR at all times, I'm attempting to learn to ride a bicycle (yes at 24 shut up), my landlord must think I never leave the house because my car never moves since I always walk everywhere, I wear skintight jeans pretty exclusively, I do a lot of journaling, I listen to music no one's ever heard of, and I throw tea parties. So it was only a matter of time until I became a vegetarian.

I've reached a point in my social circle where it's weird for me NOT to be a vegetarian. I opened myself up to lots of other food options, since I often finding myself attending things like Vegan pot lucks. At first, I was overwhelmed and stressed at the prospect of what to bring to one of these, but now I see that as long as I'm mindful of ingredients, it's not too hard, and there's so much good food out there that's still respectful of animals. I even have favorite brands of veggie burgers now, and I know lots more about Vegan baking and cooking thanks to the terminally adorable Vinny, who I will miss incredibly when he moves to Oregon, having just started getting to know him. Back in college, I decided I wanted to go a week without meat, since I was finally a place where I could control my own food choices. I ate so much grilled cheese I'm surprised I didn't cause a blockage. And the worst part is I made it 6.5 days but then crapped out on the last one because I had a very rare date with my then-boyfriend and I decided, in 20 year old wisdom, "it's lame to eat salad on a date." Granted, if we ever went to places other than TGI Friday's maybe I could have eaten something more substantial. I always wanted to try again, but living with my grandmother, who is an incredibly picky eater, and will not cook herself something I don't want to eat, I just sucked it up for the greater good.

This all got started again after a 95 degree day when I felt it necessary to make a hamburger. I'd bought meat during a "oh my god i have MONEY" grocery shopping trip, and was all proud of myself for deciding to thaw it out, cook it, and eat something besides canned soup. Of course, when I got home from work that night, the damn burger was still frozen. Fuck it, whatever, the oven will thaw it.

This is where it becomes essential to note that I have a gas oven, and have never used one before moving here. At my last apartment, we had a sweet oven with a digital thermometer which was nice enough to count down and beep when the oven was ready. Now I'm pretty much just winging it. So I set the thing on broil, because that's what I've always seen my family do and I was unaware of this "cook a burger in a frying pan" phenomenon. Put the burger in the oven. Done.

As stated, it is 95 goddamned degrees. I'm lying on my fake suede couch, watching Arrested Development on Netflix, sweating to death, and feeling a lot of pain. My eyes are stinging like hell, but I assume that's from the sweat causing makeup to drip into my eyes. As most people assume. It's really getting bad, and eventually I get up to go in the kitchen and see how this burger is progressing, because fuck if I know how long this will take. And oh snap the kitchen is full of smoke. I yell "oh shit my house is on fire," open the windows, turn on the fan, and find myself happy I had never plugged the smoke detector back in after I replaced the battery because that would just be an aggravation I don't need right now.

The best part? I looked at the burger, and the outside was still red. What the hell?

I turned the oven off, but the more I thought about that still-red burger, the more it seemed like a waste. I started googling "how to cook in gas oven," because google is my problem solver. Apparently there is such thing as a broiler DRAWER. I thought I just had a bizarrely small pots n pans drawer. Look at this shit:

Fuck if I know what that's all about.

With it getting later and later and me running out of food options, it occurred to me that I had a can of black beans and a bag of rice. Let's get it on. Since I can't cook, I just add hot sauce to everything to mask the taste of "burnt" (burnt rice smells like peanut butter). I ended up with 3 or 4 meals worth of rice and beans, and I actually found it totally enjoyable. I kept bringing a tupperware of it to my new job (that's a whole other entry) since I no longer had the luxury of just eating whatever's being served. After 3 days of eating nothing but rice and beans for dinner, pb&j for lunch, and cheerios and milk for breakfast, it occurred to me that I was eating like a vegetarian and still totally satisfied. Decided to try the one-week experiment again. I didn't find it too limiting, since I had some good staples on hand. I cooked three servings of pasta and brought those as my work dinner every night, combining them with a can of spaghetti sauce I had as well as some spices I got super cheap at Big Lots. At one point, I cooked ramen, realized that while the chicken packet probably contains no actual chicken, I shouldn't take the risk, and so I threw it out and flavored my noodles with, naturally, hot sauce. Probably greatly reduced my sodium intake, too.

Last night, after having made it a week, and starting to run out of non-vegetarian canned soup, I decided to treat myself to a trip to Whole Foods. Last time I went there I almost cried because everything was so expensive and I felt like this was a life I could never have. Then I got a huge pay upgrade at the new job. I decided as a celebration, I could buy whatever I wanted, as long as there wasn't a reasonable substitute at the regular grocery store. I had a great time picking out tofu and veggie burgers and frozen stir fry mixes. I've finally accepted that even though it's cheaper to buy vegetables that aren't cut up, and do it all myself, I'm just not going to. I always have the best of intentions, and then I forget, and the food gets wasted, and so I feel bad and rarely buy fresh produce. If I have it all cut up in the freezer, I'll not only actually use it, I can forget it for a month and no harm. I have a myriad of ingredients for stir fries, lots of kinds of tofu, and all sorts of snacks I hadn't considered before. It's not like I usually ate meat, meat, and more meat, but just walking around the store was giving me lots of good ideas, like reminding me how much I like grabbing a bagel and going in the morning, and that I'd be treating my metabolism better if I was getting more breakfasts in in the mornings.

So, the obvious question. Why am I doing this?

• To some extent, it's a personal challenge. With so much else out there, it's kind of lame to default to meat. I want to expand my horizons and try everything.
  
• I have so many friends that are Vegan/vegetarian and I want to be respectful of their culture by giving it a shot. While I definitely don't have it in me to be Vegan, I can totally do vegetarianism for a while. And maybe I'm working on wrangling a date by inviting someone over for some tofu.
  
• I watched Food Inc. Yeah. Enough said.
  
• Before that, I read The Jungle, and I'm pretty sure standards haven't changed since then.
  
• I'm concerned about the environmental impact of meat, such as how much grain is required just to get a pound of meat.
  
• Although I have no issue with meat eaters, or humanely treated farm animals, I feel a little skeezy encouraging the meat industry through my purchases at the grocery store when I could just as easily make some vegetables
  
• I think a vegetarian lifestyle is just healthier overall, since you have to try a little harder, and that tends to result in eating food with much better vitamin and nutritional content
  

And no, I don't think I'll do this forever, 'cause I really do get into a good buffalo burger with bacon and blue cheese, or some sushi, but for a while, I want to rock this and see how I adjust. So far, I'm not missing anything. If I was trying to go Vegan, chances are, I'd already be dead, but thus far, my willpower has been strong enough to help me avoid the "temptation" of hot dogs from a homeless shelter. Since this all started by accident, it's been easy enough to keep it up, since a lot of this is how I would have been eating anyways.

I knew this would happen

I am an eternal optimist. I believe the best about everything, I think everything happens for a reason, and I have faith that everything pans out exactly as it's supposed to. So there was no hesitation in my mind at all that once I moved to town, I'd be a much better friend and a much more social person, once I no longer had to weigh my interest in driving back here after work, didn't have to worry about making sure I was safe to drive home, and didn't have to consider the feelings of a person who shouldn't have any say over my social life. Accordingly, I've become incredibly social, ad my life has become that much more fulfilling. This week, for example:

Wednesday: The most epic night of partying ever, starting with a couple of shots with a coworker friend in my living room, progressing to beers at the Crowbar, meeting up with 4 other friends, and then going back to my house to, as one does, do shots of rum in my attic and cut my best friend's hair. And then, because a friend and I are still so wasted, stay up until 6 am, realize in horror that it is 6 am, and then pass out. Proceed to get 3 hours of sleep.

Thursday: Bowling and perhaps hopefully some dancing for my coworkerbestfriend's birthday

Friday: Knit night before goth night. Of course.

If I live to see Saturday, it's gonna be an accomplishment.

Still here

After Bic reminded me that oh yeah, I haven't blogged in a while, I've been itching to write again, but that doesn't mean I ever actually remember it when I'm at a computer. I've been doing a lot more paper journalling, and I find that when I'm doing that, I'm not writing online, and vice versa. I'm sitting on MY couch in MY living room at MY apartment, and have just a few minutes before I have to get in MY shower and run to work. It's all still sort of surreal. The first days, I'd just pause, choke up, and mutter "I live here." I know it seems like it could be lonely, living alone, but as someone who's used to doing things on her own, it's not a big deal. I'm also someone that can easily become a hermit, so I use it as an impetus to push myself to be more social. Since I can finally have people over without a grandmother monopolizing them, I do invite people over, and I also get out of the house, whether it's for a tea date with a friend or even just taking a walk. I live near a little beach and trail, so I go down there a lot when I have days off. Not that I really have days off... afternoons off.

I'm still, as expected, working a million hours a week - no one tell my boss, I'm over yet again since I miswrote my schedule and thought I could easily pick up a shift elsewhere - and juggling positions. I just started waitressing instead of hostessing. It's better money and keeps me moving around. As a hostess, there were plenty of nights where I wasn't really doing anything, but as a waitress, I'm going all the time. Granted, my first night, I was one of two servers, so it was a much bigger customer load than I was expecting.

It's pouring today, which bums me out, since I really like to walk to work. I've been considering saying fuck it and walking anyways, but... it's raining. And I have a car. I just like to avoid using it as much as I can since I'm so close to everything now. I'm also incredibly sanctimonious and think things like "walking to work in the rain will bring me closer to empathizing with the struggles of my clients!" but it also results in working from 9:30-6:15 and being soaking wet. Granted, either way, I'm going to be soaked, since 5 hours of that is hanging out in the courtyard, begging people to talk to me. Generally, I enjoy this, because there's some real characters out there, and I get to meet people that don't usually open up, but they don't tend to be out in the rain.

Either way, I've got to get ready. Hair and makeup seem a little superfluous, and really, so does showering, so I suppose it won't take me too long today. Expect more and better posts again soon.

Gearing up

I'm moving! For real! On Sunday, August 1, I finally move into my own place. It's in the same city I work in, so my life is about to get much more convienent. I'm so tired of driving home on 295 every single night, especially lately when it's night time and there's so much construction to drive through. And I hate having to go home tired.

I was paranoid about how telling my grandmother that I'm moving out was going to go. I was sure she'd get incredibly upset and make my life hell for the next month. Turns out, she was happy for me and excited. Well, at least outwardly. Had I known it would go this well, I probably would have planned on moving out sooner. But I don't think this apartment would have been available then, so everything for a reason, really.

I'm nervous about everything, since that's my style, and right now my current obsession is the fact that the apartment has absolutely no closets. No bedroom closet. No linen closet. No coat closet. Nothing. I know this is workable, and all I need to do is buy some shelves, and put up with looking at some things I might prefer to keep in a closet, but it's just weird to go from always having something like that to not having it all. You kind of take for granted that you can put your towels in a closet and you're not constantly looking at them. So now I have the added expense of looking for shelves, baker's racks, and garment racks. My landlord is leaving a wardrobe in the bedroom, but that won't even touch my monstrous quantity of clothing. The room I'm in now has a bedroom closet that stretches the entire length of the bedroom, so I've been able to not only hide things away, but to shop without restraint, since it never looks like my closet is bursting. And I'm way too attached to everything I own, so the cleanout process has been unpleasant, to say the least. That said, working in a homeless shelter makes things easier, since when I decide on a few shirts or something to get rid of, I just throw them in my work bag and bring them in. Much easier than the big wicker trunk of crap I'm coercing my friend into hauling to Goodwill for me. The fact that I have to actually look at all my stuff instead of just shoving it in a corner of a closet does make it easier to decide to part with it, at least.

Part of me wants to go shopping and get all the essentials and cute things and buy stuff like crazy so my apartment will feel whole right away. The logical part knows that this will just result in having to move more stuff. It would make more sense to just buy it all once I get there. I had to restrain myself from buying toilet paper three weeks in advance. That will probably still be available.

I'm excited, definitely. Happy. Proud. Just nervous as hell. I'm glad I'm doing it before I'm in school, but now it feels like a month isn't enough time to really be able to adjust and enjoy the place before I'm thrown back into the chaos of school. The closer I get to really starting grad school, the more I'm losing interest. I'm seeing jobs I can get without my MSW and seeing how much this is all going to cost, and I think I'm freaking out a little. I know school is the right thing to do, but I guess I'm a little overwhelmed with everything else going on too. If it weren't for the internship, I'd probably be a little more relaxed, but since that'll take up a good portion of my time, it inhibits getting another job or taking the casework job I've been thinking that I really want. Of course, the internship is the most valuable part of school, since it'll pad my resume and actually get me the field experience I've so needed. I'm just paying someone else for the privilege instead of getting a paycheck.

I've thought about going down to part time, and doing this over four years instead of two, so that I can explore different work opportunities, but really, in the grand scheme of things, two years isn't a very long time, and I'd rather be stressed out for 2 years than for 4. I'll have to do a lot more juggling and a lot more at once this way, but at least before I know it, it'll all be over, and I'll have my degree and one more thing I can say I've accomplished. And I'm so glad I'm doing it at USM, instead of one of the big name Boston schools that I was so sure I needed to go to. For one thing, the years of financial destitution could be much worse, and another, I've actually grown to like Portland a whole lot, and there's too much here that I don't want to leave behind.

Gah. Maybe in 2 years, I'll stop being overwhelmed.

Silly Hats Only

Pattern: Porom by Jared Flood
Yarn: Kollage Corntastic
Needles: Size 4 for ribbing, size 6 for body
Completed: June 26, 2010

Modifications: Only did one inch of ribbing instead of the usual 2. I decided that I wanted the pattern to be more noticeable from the front and all that ribbing was really cramping my style. I screwed something up pretty hardcore on the decreases, but I did a fantastic job of covering it, so the mistake, wherever it was, blends in very well. It's just like when I make a pair of socks and fuck up the second one - I get overconfident.

Made this one largely because a coworker gets a kick out of my silly hats. I loved the raspberry one so much, but it's hard to find colors that it goes well with. Fortunately, off white goes with everything. This yarn is so nice, too. So much nicer to work with than cotton.

Get the fuck ready.

http://knarlyknitter.blogspot.com/2009/10/i-would-not-survive-hells-kitchen.html

I'm trying it again.

This time, I'm using butter to grease the muffin cups, and at no point will a turkey baster be involved. And I know where to locate the pan. All I need to do is avoid getting myself stuck to a vermin trap and it'll be a massive improvement over last time.

One of my best friends is having a birthday tomorrow, and one of my coworkers is having a farewell party on Friday. Because I feel this obligation to bake for all things, I'm going to see what I can do before I have to work at 2:30. I did tell the coworker I'd make her chocolate chip cookies, but, there's nothing I enjoy more than disappointing people on their last day of work. (honestly my cookies have been going right to hell lately and I have no faith in their ability to come out successfully) I'd like to vegan up the stuff for work, but, I know this recipe works, and I honestly have very little interest in figuring out a way to make vegan buttercream. Chocolate buttercream is the only frosting I can make that doesn't have a horrible consistency, off color, and runny consistency, so I know better than to mess with a good thing.

12:23 pm: 1 hour later: Update: I only had 1/4th of the chocolate powder I needed. So frosting them will have to wait until I get home from work. I made up the difference for the cupcakes themselves by melting chocolate chips. Let's see if they suck.

Shamed into action

"How's your Spanish going?"

errrr.

I kind of hadn't studied at all in a month. So, I actually did a lesson when I came home. I worked on question words and professions. We'll see if I retain any of it, but at least I put in the effort. I need to make myself practice verb conjugation more often, though. I have a Spanish for Dummies book - I should really go through that.

I got accepted for an apartment, but, like, man. Apparently it's the last place in Portland you want to live. So, I thought I had a good thing, but apparently I don't, but I do think a lot of people are overreacting, but still. It's all very confusing. And then today I saw the most beautiful apartment known to mankind, but it's a little expensive, but I'd be willing to pick up extra work just to try to afford it. It's so incredible. I applied. I'm hoping and praying.

I have no idea what I'm doing any more. I just know that I saw one that had a filthy oven and stained carpets they weren't going to replace and that was just a total turn off. If you care that little to show the place, I can only imagine how efficient your maintenance is.

Working on a small Summer bag in Plymouth Kudo. It's a good little distraction. And it uses my cache of rainbow yarns. I meant to start this a year ago. Oops.