Domestic House[life]

Last night, I made tomato soup and it was not good.  The saying is “if you can read, you can cook.” But that’s wrong; what it should be is “if you can read, follow directions, and use a little bit of common sense, you can cook.”

I can read, I swear!

In the cold, rainy, cuddle-weather days we’ve been having, I had a craving for some creamy tomato soup and a grilled cheese.  But I didn’t want that Campbell’s canned stuff, no.  I was feeling domestic.  I went out to the store marching up and down those produce aisles feeling healthy. “That’s right, y’all. Fresh ingredients, suckas.” Except for basil; I couldn’t find basil.  This will prove itself to be a problem, but more on that later.

My first addition to the saying: follow directions.

“Alright, what do I need to get? Celery? Nah, fuck that, I hate celery. Carrots? Onions? God! I hate all this stuff. “I thought tomato soup would just be like…..tomatoes. “Whatever.”  So, with that, I chose not to buy celery (because it’s awful) but sucked it up and bought everything else because I’m really into keeping my immune system straight. Strike #1: buy the celery, Kristian. You don’t know how it’ll affect the taste, trust the recipe.

“Let’s see, let’s see….heavy cream. Where’s the heavy cre—Um. No. That’s way too big of a container. I’m only making this one time! I’m not trying to spend that much on heavy cream. What do people even use cream for anyway? Is it like milk? UGH.”

I notice a tiny ½ pint carton of whipping cream.  Thinking about how little I would have left over to waste and the crazy price difference, I gladly place the tiny carton in my cart. Strike #2: It’s called heavy cream for a reason. Stick with the heavy, Kristian.

Last thing, I need to pick up is fresh basil leaves.  These are nowhere to be found.  I don’t know if it’s seasonal or something; don’t even know what they look like.  So after 20 minutes, I give up and pick up some dried basil from the seasonings aisle thinking that’ll be okay and head to the checkout.

Everything starts out lovely.  The aromas of the roasting tomatoes and the sautéing veggies, oh! I was ready to kiss myself.  It’s all coming together until I reach the penultimate step: Add [¼ cup chopped fresh basil leaves] and cream, if using.

My next addition to the saying: use common sense.

“A ¼ of a cup? No way. That’s an awful lot of basil.” Yes. Yes, it is, Kristian. “No. Way. No one pours dried basil in a measuring cup; that’s too much. Just do a couple teaspoons. …NO, you’ve already changed two things about this recipe. Do not question the amount of basil. Just pour it in, ya dumb.”  Strike #3: Everyone, please listen, DO NOT EVER use ¼ cup of dried basil in anything you ever cook. Ever.

So my basil soup is simmering nicely.  I pour the non-heavy whipping cream in and read the last step: Puree with a hand-held immersion blender until smooth.

“Hand-held immersion blender? Uhhh…..I have a regular blender…?”

So I know I’ve reached my limit for strikes, so at this point, just eject me from the game.  I don’t have experience with hand-held blenders, but they have to exist for a reason.

Ladies and gentlemen, pouring that concoction out of that blender, I had produced Italian baby vomit.  The consistency of that mess was unspeakable.

But, I ate it. Even though, it tasted like I was sucking on a basil bush and felt like I was licking up the remnants of a sick dog, I ate it.  It had carrots, and onions, and garlic, and tomatoes, and olive oil.  So many healthy things! I am not trying to get sick, yo.  So, I ate a heaping bowl of it…

…and threw the rest away. (Good thing I make a baller grilled cheese.)

Tonight, I’m making seared mahi-mahi with zesty basil butter, but I’m really concerned about this butter.


Color Me Inspired

Within a week, one of my best friends applied for a job, accepted the offer, found a place to live, got a car, and moved to try to start her career.  She set herself up where she wanted to be in less than SEVEN days.  That’s incredible.  She’s out there ready to face whatever challenges come her way.  Her passion motivates her…always has.

She’s always had that inside of her: tenacity, enthusiasm, courage.  All the qualities that superheroes and some parents have.

Back in grade school, we rode hard together. Completely inseparable.  People often switched our names, our parents hardly ever worried about us if as long as we were together. You know, all the clichés that apply to best friends. Though we were close enough to consider one another sisters (and this sort of behavior from people was to be expected), I never liked being confused for her.  Don’t get me wrong, she’s incredible, lovely, blah blah blah, but I was my own person.  I’ve always had issues with people calling me outside of my name.

I thought that we were OBVIOUSLY different – dress, hair, the way we sounded, the superficial stuff that mattered in school. But I had it backwards. Externally, we were very similar. Turns out it was our character that was drastically different.  I refused to see that back then. (Involuntarily? I don’t know.) The good-natured, resilient woman that she was becoming, I couldn’t see any of that forming in me. I was (and still am) hyper-sensitive, exclusive, and one hell of a cynic.

Maybe we got along so well because she was my opposite.  She (along with my family) pushed me, gave me not only someone to compete against, but with.  Sometimes, trying new things isn’t so scary when you have someone by your side.  That’s how I got on this theatre train. I never would have had the balls to do something like that if it wasn’t for her telling me to join. Before her recent moves, I could see my friends and peers making their own big moves, while I just felt more and more left behind.  And with that feeling swallowing me whole, it’s easy to want to give up. Quite a specialty of mine, really.

I knew I loved her, but I think I forgot how important she is until just a couple of weeks ago.

No. That’s not right.

I delved a little deeper into why I hold her so dear to my heart.

So, thanks again, Candace, for reminding to fight for what I want.

Well, Candace and Mindy Kaling, of course.

Dear Fans, I Know We’ve Been Gone a Long Time….

So, I was going to write a post about how some things have stuck with me since early childhood (and I may still do that) and I was going to sum the whole thing up by quoting never-forgotten lyrics by a 90s R&B group. But a quick Google search led me to something horrific…..


Oh. God. I know that they weren’t around very long, but c’mon, they were still a boy band……………IN THE 90s. Look, I’m gonna drop a little nostalgia on ya. Get ya to smiling.

Enjoy. (and seriously, listen to that album. I am.)

Walk on the Wild Side

Let me start with the fact I love my parents, and I appreciate that I come from a conservative, sheltered background, but I’ve always been a bit…off. Though none of us can really identify what it is about me, my fam has alllllll noticed that I’m different from the rest of the group.  I’m not a rebel; just incidentally unusual.  Now that we’re older, my sister has opened up to me and said she admires me for always being myself (whatever that may be) and that she considers me a free spirit.

But let’s remember, “free spirit” is relative. By society’s standards, probably the most freeing thing I’ve done is get a little rowdy a college rager.


When I was a baby, apparently, people always thought I was a boy.  Maybe it was the big, bald head or something.  I don’t know.

I got 99 quirks...

I got 99 quirks…

My family always dressed me up in the cutesy OshKosh B’Gosh outfits; they pierced my ears when I was a couple of months old. Those gigantic headbands with the huge bow attached that screamed “My baby is a GIRL, and if you call her a boy one more time, I’m going to kill you?” Yeah, I wore those.

Maybe that was the start of how I learned to express myself.

I was a desperately shy kid. I was polite as I was taught to be, but I just preferred, when in the company of strangers, to not speak and bury my head in a good book. Social skills were not a strong suit.

But that didn’t stop the rest of my personality from developing.  I needed an outlet.

First stop: clothes. I was a big tomboy coming up and those dresses weren’t cutting it anymore.  I didn’t want them….ever.  I ended up fighting my mom and aunt every time we went shopping until they gave in and realized that I wasn’t giving up until I got that matching denim Sean John set that was only in the boy section because “girls don’t ever get good clothes.”  So there I was, beaded braids pulled into pig tails, pierced ears, and Rocawear tees with the newest Nike sneaks.

Thank God that phase is over……kinda.  But clothes were the first step showing who I felt I was and what I liked.

Next: hair.  I won’t go too much into this, because it gets really embarrassing after a certain point, but just know that I did just about everything I could think of with my hair outside of coloring it.  Middle school was just, woof, rough.  And yes, I did learn the hard way to NEVER CUT YOUR OWN BANGS!


Champ of cliché pictures.

Champ of cliché pictures.

I found out around age 16 that my dad doesn’t like short hair on women (which is weird because my mom had hella short hair like every summer), so I wasn’t allowed to get my hair cut until I was 18, and could take hair of the maintenance myself. So I waited; like I said, I’m not a rebel. Graduated high school, turned 18, packed for Tech, and 2 hours before the going away party, I got all of my hair chopped off. Everyone said they liked it…..except my dad. But he got over it.

Third: Piercings.  Once I got to college, I started getting compliments on my style. Go figure. In fact, I think there was one point during the Myspace era that I readily admitted “Style is not my forté.” Chic wasn’t a word I think anyone could use to accurately describe my look. Nonetheless, I appreciated the nice words, but I was bored with myself. I needed to change something, alter the look.  Tattoos were too permanent for someone with my personality, so piercings were the only logical choice.

I have 7 total.  It’s my favorite number.  They’re all on my ears; nowhere freaky. But still, it was a shock to my family. Piercings were a shocker. So I’m not quite sure how to introduce this new change to them.

Lastly: Tattoos.  Hopefully, since I’ve already eased my way into the body art world, it won’t be too much of a surprise.  I mean, my hair has been maroon and spiked into the air.  Let’s be real.  And also, I think my sister may have softened the blow slightly (at least for my mom) since she got a couple a few years ago.

I know that I was against getting one for the longest time, but I really want one now.  I think it’s good for me. I’ve already started the process; the artist is drawing it for me now. I plan to get it on my right foot. So, with ALL that said, I’m very excited! I can’t wait to get it.

…..And it’s not such a bad thing that I’ll probably be moving away pretty soon.

Master of my Domain

I don’t know why this is such an interesting challenge to me. I do know that I’ve been fascinated with it since I saw Josh Harnett’s struggle in 40 Days and 40 Nights.

I’ve made so many of my friends do this, and to no one’s surprise, they failed…quickly.

The funny thing is that they were all like Jerry, George, and Kramer when I said I would join in on the fun.  Why does everyone think it’s so much easier for women? I know that I can’t speak for every female, but as far as I’m concerned, we all like sex just as much as guys do.  Let’s get really personal here for a second:  it’s a part of my daily routine.  Like seriously. Morning and night.  And if for whatever reason it doesn’t happen, my day is completely thrown off. So, quite frankly, I’m a little upset the guys won’t let me play.  Chances are they would win.

The other thing that gets me: the first (and possibly only) time I’ve used the word “masturbating” in this post is in this sentence. Why is it so taboo? Especially in this day and age.  I just sat here and told you internet folks that I have a routine. A routine! And yet, that’s not the embarrassing part.  What the hell is that about?

Just something to think about.

Also, if you’re feeling it, try the challenge.  I think the longest anyone I’ve ever been around made it was 9 days.  I can’t tell if that’s pitiful or impressive.

Girls Gone Wild

MotownPhilly’s Back Again? Whoa, whoa! What year is this?!

Boyz ii Men is back, baby, and next week, I shall be in Raleigh jamming out to some smooth 90s R&B.

I’m pretty excited, and to be quite honest, I don’t feel like I should be.  I mean, really, I only know about 6 of their songs. But come on! They just sound so good! I’m ready to get nostalgic.

The only other concert I’ve been to: Nickelback with the opening acts, Saving Abel, Papa Roach, and Hinder. Oh, Summer 2009.  Twas a good time.

I can’t imagine this will be the same type of atmosphere.  In fact, this Boyz ii Men thing feels like I might be surrounded by people on date nights…..damn. Ya know, I didn’t really think this through.  I guess it’s alright, though; I’m taking my friend, Justin, so I can pass him off as my faux date.  So I won’t look totally out-of-place.

Anywhosies, I’m looking forward to being one of those girls drunkenly screaming lyrics all throughout the show, but let me tell you… if someone’s underwear hits the back of my head, there’s gonna be a problem.

Girls Just Wanna Have Fun

[I read Jessy’s post after I decided to write about this, but I like that we’re sharing similar experiences right now. Boys and tacos, girl. Boys and tacos.]

I made a vow that I was going to stay away from guys, until…….I feel ready for them (with the exception of peeping in on my lovely twitter crush, @PhilthePill).

It wasn’t like a new year’s resolution or anything, more like a revelation I stumbled upon back in February.

See, I know that I hate being alone, and that hatred has propelled a lot of my friendships.  Don’t get me wrong, I absolutely love the people I’ve surrounded myself with. (All both of them.) However, my luck when it comes to developing meaningful, lasting, intimate relationships has never been on point. Since I’m the common denominator, I thought it best to take a step back.

Flirting is like a pastime of mine.  I love playing the game, the back and forth.  I love the chase. It’s good fun.  Completely entertaining. But of course, I have found myself in some weird/uncomfortable situations because of it. No bueno.  Last summer, I was talking with two friends of mine. Both of them admitted to having grade school crushes on me.  I knew about them, but what I didn’t know was that they, along with most of the other boys I dealt with, considered me a tease. When I look back, I was selfish, and just manipulated everyone’s hormones for my personal entertainment. Granted, I was younger and dealing with my own hormones. But, the problem is that I never grew out of that teasing phase. Now, I find myself still working guys up until I’m psychologically satisfied. I don’t think I’m a prude by any means, but my agenda wasn’t to end up in some hookup.  It was just to feel desired, unobtainable, and validated. It was (and still is) a sick mind game, I admit, but I’m trying to get better.

Honestly, I’ve had a couple of relapses since I’ve made the promise to myself. But, even with my backslides, I’m still pretty proud; I’ve been holding myself accountable, turning down drunken offers, and overall, validating myself. For every slip up I have, there’s a tiny success in controlling myself around each attractive fellow.

So yeah, I’ve decided to sit on the bench for a while, figure myself out, and not spend so much time obsessing over guys. Flirting is still allowed, though (Can’t stop cold turkey. I’m still me, come on.) But for the past forever, the term “boy crazy” readily applied to my life and now, I want to spend my time doing other things; I need somewhere else to place my thoughts.

Any suggestions?

There She Is!

Oh my goodness, where have I been?!

I wish I could tell you I’ve been productive. You know, looking for jobs and what not, but really, I’ve just been sulking. …or something like that I guess.

I really have just tried to take my time and reboot: figure out where I want to go and what I need to do to get to that point. So, in my month hiatus, I’m happy to inform you on my progress.

I. Am. Nowhere.

Man, literally nowhere.  So far, a couple of my colleagues have accepted offers and already put in their two weeks.  Me? I just try to moonwalk my way out of every conversation involving the future. I don’t like talking about it.  I thought it was because I was worried about what on earth I’m going to do. But if I can just be honest, it’s because I’m pretty embarrassed that I don’t have a plan.  I’ve never been a planner.  It’s a running joke between my sister and I.  Things have always been decided or done for me, have fallen into my lap, or I’ve been able to charm my way into whatever I wanted in that moment without actually having to work for it.

Since the announcement of the consolidation over a month ago, I think I’ve applied to maybe 3 jobs. Yep, three.

So, since I would like to think my charm hasn’t completely run out, I must be at the state in my life where I have to start growing up and working. Like, actually working. And THAT is terrifying. How do y’all do it?

I’ve known that I’ve been in a state of arrested development for quite some time. And while I’m excited about change and being forced to grow up since time won’t stop, the excitement doesn’t negate the fact that I’m scared shitless.

Sometimes, I think it would be easier if I didn’t have to do all of these new things alone. Maybe I should hold a search for a sidekick.  …or a puppy!

Sing it for me, Alex.

State of my Union

Monday, February 11, 2013

I have had a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.

But it’s all relative, I suppose.  Today, I found out that I’ll be losing my job come May.  It’s not because they’re going broke or anything sensible like that; it just seems to be a decision made by the big dogs.  And it sucks.  They said that they will be accepting applications from us to join their team in Houston, TX, so hey, maybe my user name was a bit of a prophecy.

I mentioned before about how I love my small town, and I do.  I really do.  But it just feels like everything is falling apart here, and there aren’t a lot of places to go.  In the past month, three huge employers in the community have either closed or announced that they will be closing soon, ultimately displacing over 300 people here.  I know there are companies in the world that have over 300 people just working logistics or whatever. I get it. We’re small. But 300 people is about 6% of this town’s population, and that’s just one month’s worth of layoffs.  There are people here that have been struggling for much, much longer than that.  It’s killing me; my town is shutting down.

It’s always been a running joke with my family that SoHi (that’s what I call this place since I’m coo’ like that) is a rest stop.  We’re an exit right off of a major highway that runs down the east coast and we pretty much thrive off of when travelers and businessmen need our hotels and a good burger or something.   I don’t know how much longer we can make it like that.  The places that employ the majority of the people who actually live here just seem to be rapidly dying out.

If something big doesn’t happen soon (and I’m not talking about the new Five Guys they’re opening this year, though I love myself some Five Guys), SoHi is going to become a ghost town.

….or a retirement community.

I’m pretty young, haven’t been out of college that long, so I’m still feeling a little resilient. I’m sure I have other opportunities out there for me waiting for me to take advantage.  Problem is: I’m a HUGE punk.  Ain’t no shame in my game. I know this; I admit it.  I don’t like new and I don’t like real challenges. But I’m being forced out. I know that I can’t stay here, but I’m not sure where to go or how to get there.

The adventure begins…

One thing I do know: my family’s 2013 is starting off with a bang, and not a particularly good one.

My girl, Kristin, tweeted this short article she found:

Forgive me, Father, for I am not Catholic.

Alright, confession time: I have a twitter crush, and his name is @PhilthePill.

I don’t know much about him; in fact, I don’t know much outside of his name being Phil, and that he seems to care a hell of a lot more about politics than I do. Though political activists aren’t really my jam, the thing that gets me is that just about anything he tweets cracks me up.

My motto that I’ve tried to live by was taught to me by my favorite movie, The Lion King. “Hakuna Matata.”  I love laughter and I always tell people, “If you can make me laugh, you win.” It’s like the key to my heart.

But it’s not just that: dude is passionate.  If he’s not telling someone to fuck off, then he’s ranting about how certain legislature is stupid, or intensely critiquing some movie.  He’s like the totally opposite of me.

So yeah, I know, it’s weird. Judge all you like (I would). Never met the guy, don’t know what he looks like or anything.  But if it’s possible to have one…. I. Have. A. Twitter. Crush.

Hey, hey, hey: but the other #52ers are hot, too.  I just want them all.  I believe at some point, I was called a “sexy vulture?”