A post about Food

Food's an old friend of mine. You could say we go back almost thirty years now. One of the first things I can remember tasting was a tomato that was fresh from the garden. I almost immediately spit it out, because four-year-olds think Skittles are a food group.

I started learning how to cook once I was on my own. I figured out that stews were nearly foolproof and I make a mean Beef and Guinness and Scotch Broth. I cooked a sirloin steak with port wine sauce perfectly on one occasion two years ago and haven't managed it since. I pwn baked mac and cheese, however.

Living in the Midwest, we don't have a lot of access to exotic dishes. Omaha has some decent Indian restaurants and sushi places. The greasy spoon diners and holes-in-the-wall are regularly edible. I can readily recommend Sinful Burger, Choo-Choos, Pudgy's Pizza, Mama's, The Indian Oven and Tanduri Fusion if you find yourself here.

I'm not creative with cooking by any means, however. I find the recipe and I follow it to the T. The Man makes fun of me sometimes; I don't think he's ever used a measuring spoon in his life. His intuition is good because I have yet to eat any Mulligans from him.

Up until now, I haven't worried about counting calories or portion control. Over the last year, though, that's begun to show, at least to me. It seems like I'm having to go up a size every few months; that's not such a worry when you started out at size 4, but it is a pain to have to replace your pants constantly because the waistband is digging into your hips. I'm also on the tall side of average, so I don't tend to show an extra fifteen pounds, but my jeans will testify under oath that they are there. I am going to attempt to cut most of the junk out of my diet just so my energy levels improve.

These are the times I wish I lived in a state where Runzas are not available, however. Happy weekend and good eating to all!

Major Trouble?

I always dreaded answering the question, "What are you majoring in?". It was because I knew that after I mumbled, "Creative writing," the smirks would start. The rolled eyes, the stifled laughter. "Oh, so what can you do with that?" My all-time favorite was this gem, after I had graduated and was telling a coworker, "So you graduate high school and decided you want to write even though you have no idea what the world is like? You thought you had something to say?"

I have not talked to that person by choice since.

At times I understood the sentiment behind the mocking; I used to join in it. My standard reply was "Wait tables the rest of my life." I probably was a bit too sensitive when my major got mocked, as well. I wouldn't have done it if it wasn't something I loved, after all. I got to read and analyze literature and even though the writing workshops were horribly uncomfortable for me, I enjoyed getting the feedback on what I wrote. So mock my major and you're mocking something that's very near and dear to me. 

In my opinion, it's too soon to say I wasted the time I could have spent earning a more "worthwhile" major. I'm not dead yet, after all. Am I going to write the next great American novel or become a Poet Laureate? I don't know. My life's not even half over yet. We'll see what I come up with.

I do remember the first time I told someone outside the family my major and did not get any kind of mocking reaction: 
Time: Last July. Place: The Library (pub). I had been asked out for a birthday drink by one of the guys I played DnD with. We were sitting at the bar, making awkward small talk. He asked the dreaded question, and I can still remember how I framed my answer:

(Me) "It's Creative Writing.
(Him) "Oh." Contemplative silence.
"Go ahead. Laugh. Everyone does."
"No, I wouldn't."
"It's really okay, I won't be offended."
"I wouldn't have much room to laugh. I majored in music."
"Oh." Contemplative silence.

We started dating a while later and we're still together now. At least a very small part of it is due to the fact that he didn't laugh.

Moral of the story: THINK before you MOCK.

What's in a Name?

Anyone reading this who is exactly where they thought they would be in life, with the exact person they thought they'd be with, living in their dream house with their ideal job is now excused. Take a walk. This blog is for the rest of us.

Was there ever a time in your life that you felt helpless? Where you thought no matter what you said or did, things wouldn't change? I would wager to guess most people have. Change is not impossible, but it's also not painless. That's how your mind can make you stay exactly where you're at, even if it's slowly killing you.

Stagnation is comfortable. It requires no effort other than to stay where you are, as you are, who you are. Changing means questioning yourself: "Am I the person I want to be/ought to be?" The stagnant life will say, "I haven't killed or raped anyone or robbed a bank, and my friends and family all say I'm a nice guy/girl!" It's a life without risks and minimal reward. After all, if you don't make the effort, you can't be rejected. It's a life that kills you so slowly you won't feel the dying.

I've been there. I hesitate to say that I'm not there right now, because stagnation is tricky like that. If you're in a deep sleep, are you thinking to yourself, "This is some awesome sleep I'm having! I pwned that sleep!" Three years ago I was depressed and on the verge of thinking about doing something irrevocable. Two years ago I was beginning to grasp that I could fight back. One year ago, I told myself I would never be in a relationship with a boy who didn't respect me, and I haven't made that mistake again. It was by no means painless.

In order to change, life kicked the shit out of me until I figured out how to swing back. It's not out of anger, however I don't know how anyone who comes to a realization of how much time they've wasted chasing the moon couldn't be angry. I am not the woman I want to be yet. I will spend my life trying to become her, and I may fail. That doesn't give me cause to give up before even beginning to fight. 

So even though stagnating is easy and "safe", I will fight to change for as long as is given me, against the inclination to be satisfied with what I am.

That's what's in the name. Any questions?

Emm's First Post

This is not a happy tale.

Nor is it particularly sad.

It's a story about a girl who became a woman. She took so long to do it because she was desperate to be loved. She thought if she tried to please everyone, pasted a smile on her face and always put her own needs last, it would happen. It HAD to happen. Couldn't they see all she did for them? Couldn't they see she needed them?

One day, she said, "Enough. No more. It's my life." She walked away from the people that used her. She remembered the things she liked to do: watch terrible horror movies, read anything from history books to trashy romance novels, go window-shopping with no intention of buying anything and buying far too many bottles of perfume.

She said, "I refuse to change for anyone, to compromise what's important to me in order to make someone else happy. If you want something different, you are free to leave." She deleted phone numbers that never called or texted back anyway.

In the culling, there was one thing she stopped that she never meant to. Pen to paper, typing on a Word document; the desire to tell stories hadn't gone away, it just got lost.

For now, it's back. I hope it doesn't go away again. This is me. I hope you'll be back.