Tag Archives: food

The Price Is Right

If you don’t get a little bit excited for Sundays because the new grocery ad and coupon books arrive in the paper, then you probably won’t relate to this post.

You see, I love Sundays for that simple fact (and because I don’t work and usually don’t wash my hair or do much of anything productive, which is why I usually don’t wash my hair. That would be productive.)

My only true ad interest is in the produce section and my “staple” items, as many of my specialty food purchases rarely go on sale. Boo hiss.  But when my “staples” go on sale, watch out.

Mad woman with a cart* coming through!

*For the record, I’m 2,456,667 for 2,456, 667 in picking the one cart that will be stuck inside another cart, forcing me to get all Jackie Chan on said carts until I admit defeat and just push both of the bastards around stuck together.

I have pride.

Anyway, seeing as I do the grocery shopping for my mom and uncle as well, I become rather familiar with the ad by about Wednesday. At that point I’m more knowledgeable about the products than store staff is and can be found counseling shoppers about how to save on their purchases.

I consider it community service.

I also clip the coupons on Sunday for them and organize them in my little coupon keeper. Every Sunday I weed out the old and add in the new, but sometimes an old one gets missed.

This old one will most likely be the one I want to use on the grocery trip one day after it expired. Seeing as this wasn’t discovered until I’m already in the checkout line, I’m forced to make a decision—try and sneak it through or throw it away? Unless I know the cashier is a badass who’ll bust me, who are we kidding? Of course I’ll try and still use it.

In fact, I should try my hand at high stakes poker because of how good I am at keeping a straight face when knowingly using an expired coupon.

I usually make sure to sandwich the expired one in between two “valid” ones, if those are also being used. In my demented way of thinking, I believe the cashier is going to think, “She’s using two good coupons, so this probably slipped in by mistake! Of course I’ll give her 50 cents off of this cereal! She’s practically a saint, for god’s sake!”

When passing over the expired offender, I also try and busy myself with the rest of my bags and coupons while she tries to scan it in.

Some don’t care and figure the machine is just being funny. Others immediately get all CSI: Coupon and check the expiration date that I forgot to “accidentally” clip off with the scissors.

Again, I assume the internal dialogue of the cashier is running along the lines of, “This coupon is expired, but she looks really busy rearranging the bags I just filled with her stuff—pulling things out to examine them before glancing back up and then rearranging the bags yet again. She needs to save $1 on two cans of chickpeas.”

Of course the situation often arises when I am busted, at which point I put on an Oscar-worthy performance of feigned ignorance about what the date is. (To be fair, I usually don’t ever know what date is, but these cashiers don’t’ read my blog and are unfamiliar with my level of neurosis.)

But I act surprised, tell her to toss it—as if she’s going to keep it for her own collection or something if I don’t—and after paying, raise my head high and push my two conjoined grocery carts out to the car.

I have pride, you know.

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Perishable Puns

It started off simple enough with this lame Facebook status:

“I’m just a fungi with high morels looking to shoot the shiitake with a cute little button like you.” -Mushroom at a single’s bar.

To put it in a nutshell, people relished the update and even mustard up the strength to ketchup with me and contribute to the fray (there was mushroom for improvement.) So that simple update planted the seed for this post, a series of perishable personal ads you probably won’t find on Craig’s List.

Dig in.


Hi. I’m Herb. I’ve been hurt before, but I’m gingerly throwing my caraway and trying to find love one more thyme. While I’m no sage, chive got a feeling that if we share some common interests—conversation peppered with laughs, the desire to curry on a new friendship—thistle work and we’ll become the pesto friends.


Born and bread in Coloradough, I’m just a simple guy wondering what I am doughing here. My past attempts at dating have gone a-rye, and I’ve found myself in seedy bars with weirdoughs thinking, “I donut belong here.” But I figured I kneaded to try this again, and placing an ad was the yeast I could do. I’m looking for someone to loaf around with who is willing to go against the grain, roll with the punches and rise to any occasion. If this is you, please reply and I will millet over.


Well-cultured woman looking for a gouda time with a minimal margarine for error. It a curd to me that I in no whey deserve to settle for less than jam-packed excitement—which is a nice way of pudding it—so the more spontaneous you are, the butter. I cannoli imagine the fun we will have!


Single chick with chili disposition looking to stop floundering around. Past dating experiences have been offal, dare I say the wurst, and I won’t make that missed steak again! I’m accident prawn with a bit of a fowl mouth, but would love to meat someone who I can bacon for companionship and fun. If that sounds like ewe, carpe diem!


I yam hoping this ad will produce some grate replies, as I’m tired of medi-okra dates with men who think a huge celery means we make a great pear. Bean there, done that and sometimes I wonder why I even carrot all. But if you march to the beet of your own drum, lettuce meet and see what might turnip.


I know. I know. Any way you slice it, these are corny and I falafel about how cheesy they are. But don’t worry…I won’t milk this anymore.

That’s a wrap.

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A Raw Deal

Now I don’t want to curse anything, especially seeing as I haven’t heard back yet, but I think there’s a really good chance my ship might have finally come in, my friends.

While I was perusing Craig’s List, I came upon an ad that, well, I guess I should let it speak for itself. 

(Reprinted exactly as listed, despite grammatical errors that make me twitchy. But with fate, one can’t be picky!)

Hello,

We are hiring for a one-time professional model for one evening. We will be celebrating a birthday and we will have Sushi Chefs carve the most delicate and fattiest Tuna there is right before our eyes, we’ll be pouring the most satisfying sake, and all we need left is YOU. A beautiful, yet professional model who we will eat SUSHI off of.

It’s simple. You come to our designated location. You undress. Get one the table. We will cover your goodies with bamboo leaves so no it’s not full nude. Our chefs who we also hired will be preparing sushi and plating directly on your body. We will eat and dine for approx no more than 2 hours. It will be awesome! If you’re interested please email back with an attached photo of yourself.

Pay is negotiable but we will start at $100/hr + travel expenses/accomodations, heck you can take the leftover sushi home with you!

sushiad

Actual picture they included in the ad.

I was a little hesitant at first, but the fact they offer to cover my “goodies” with bamboo was a nice gesture. However, what really sold me was that not only will it be “awesome,” but heck! I can take the leftover sushi home with me!

Never mind the fact I’m not a professional model—details, details—I felt compelled to reply with a couple questions I had.

(Email reprinted exactly as sent, despite erroneous description of my concave chest region. But again, one can’t be picky!)

Konnichiwa!

I came across your Craig’s List ad for a sushi model and before I send you my picture, I was wondering if you could answer a couple of questions.

Because I’m rather large in the chest region, how will that work when I’m lying down? My large breasts will most likely flop to the sides, and I would hate for any of the expensive sushi product to be wasted. I was thinking that perhaps each boob could be propped up on the sides with a chopstick?

Also, have you considered what might happen if the model were to sneeze? Do you have a backup supply of sushi in case this incident occurs?

It’s not that I’m prone to sneezing, but the last time I was used as a human buffet, pepper was spilled. I don’t think I have to tell you how messy it can be when a baked potato body bar experiences a violent eruption! I’m still picking chives out of my hair (Don’t worry though. Those will be gone by the time I show up for this event.)

I am rather tall, and so my figure would make an excellent table for your meal. In addition, I also have an “innie” belly button that could be used for a wasabi holder or Sake shooter, if needed.

If you can guarantee that it will be no longer than two hours—I have a bladder the size of a Cheerio. Ha!—that it will indeed be “awesome” and that I will be supplied with a Styrofoam cooler to take home the extras (I only need the veggie option,) I would love to be considered for this position.

Thanks so much!

Like I said, I haven’t heard back yet, but I’ll be sure to follow-up if I do.

*Fingers crossed!*

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Where Do I Send the Check?

Being a single woman who supports herself and an increasingly needy feline, I’m kind of picky on how I spend my increasingly decreasing money.

I prioritize—general bills, quality food that I want and enjoy and catnip so the hairball will leave me alone while I stare at a blank page on the screen. I don’t buy fancy clothes or makeup, I rarely eat out or party and obviously I don’t have cash to spend on a fancy blog design—or any at all.

Wow. That would be the worst singles ad ever.

With that out of the way, there are some things I will never hesitate to pay someone else to do. These are things I could probably do myself to some extent if I was willing to a) learn and b) pay for it by losing what sanity I might have left.

I can’t afford to lose any more sanity, so instead I just lose a few bucks.

My Taxes

This time of year everyone is buzzing about trying to find their 1099 or WD40 forms or what have you. I am a creative person. I am not a numbers person. All I know about taxes is that the small woodland creatures I keep fed in my back yard cannot count as deductions and that people dressed like Uncle Sam/Lady Liberty holding “Fast Tax Services” signs dominate busy street corners.

Considering the penalty for making a mistake on your taxes isn’t as simple as crossing something out and writing “Oops!” like I do in my checkbook, I’ll gladly pay a trusted professional—not one dressed in a costume—to figure all these things out.

Anything Automotive

Aside from putting gas in my Blazer and scheduling oil changes, I’m clueless when it comes to automotive repair. As a female it pains me to say that because it’s such a stereotype, but it’s true. If there’s a problem that can’t be solved by turning up the radio so I don’t hear the dysfunctional sound it’s making, I’m calling in an expert.

I can’t be trusted to not accidentally triple-knot my shoelaces, so this includes changing a tire.

Cut My Hair

I’ve accepted the fact that my hair’s “awkward phase” has lasted about seven years. Because of that, I’m not above coloring my hair from a box.

But ever since an unfortunate incident when I was six and cut my own hair (and that of our dog,) put it in envelopes and hid it under the couch, I have not gone near my hair with scissors. Considering my hair is lame anyway, it’s worth it to me to pay a lovely woman a few bucks to trim up what’s left and blame her for how it will look.

Anything with My Computer

I have basic computer knowledge in that I can overshare on Facebook, send out email writing pitches that I never hear back from and find pictures of sloths wearing makeup. I cannot do HTML or self-host my blog, and when I receive an error message or my computer freaks out in some way, I freak out in every way.

A phone call is made. A check is written.

Make Sushi

While I’m all about making my own food 99 percent of the time, I don’t understand people who make sushi at home. Okay. I get that it can be fun to have a “sushi rolling party” or whatever, but when I want veggie sushi I don’t want to spend three hours trying to get rice and perfectly sliced veggies to stick to a sushi mat before rolling it up, getting distracted and knocking the roll off the counter.

It will probably cost me three times more in supplies and 100 times more in frustration to attempt this on my own. Plus, when I’m hungry I get cranky, meaning there’s a good chance sharp chopsticks should be nowhere in the vicinity.

However, that tantrum might be worth paying to see.

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Aside from major medical procedures and house construction, what are the things you never hesitate to pay someone to do?

A Matter of Taste

The fact that the employees at my local grocery store pretty much know me by name is no secret. Along with multiple stops during the week for myself, I also do the grocery shopping for my mom (she hates it) and for my uncle (he’s physically unable.)

I don’t mind it, so I do it.

Grocery shopping for someone else is entirely different than grocery shopping for myself. Considering I’m not going to actually eat any of the items I’m purchasing, I’ll admit that I’m much less particular. A banana is a banana and an apple is an apple.

When I’m shopping for myself, I morph back into that delightful (annoying) person who carefully selects the best green beans out of the bin one by one and performs a full body of scan of a potential potato purchase with the intensity of a DNA expert on CSI.

Given the amount of produce that I eat in a week, I consider it necessary to ensure that the money I spend is going towards quality stuff. I will NOT be satisfied with limp beans, people. I will not!

Once my purchases are home, I am vigilant about washing the items before they wind up in my mouth (or on my shirt first, in all likelihood.) I’m not a freak about it, but I’ve witnessed people sneezing on open produce and little kids licking a vegetable and putting it back more times than I’m comfortable with.

That’s why a recent trip to the store has prompted this long-winded post.

First I was cruising through the aisles in pursuit of the two containers of overpriced pineapple my uncle has me buy every week when a middle-aged man walked by the green bean bin, grabbed a handful, started chomping down like a small woodland creature and continued to walk through the store.

What the hell?

Who walks by a bin of green beans and treats it like a buffet with no regard to the fact that a) it’s technically stealing and b) it’s technically gross (see above for snot and saliva encounters, which in this case, serves the dude right.)

Brushing it off, I wheeled my cart towards the grapes and spent 42 minutes trying to open the plastic produce bag before being joined by an elderly lady. From her lowered position on a Hoveround, she began popping grapes in her mouth from a number of bags with the dexterity of a Wack-A-Mole champ.

At this time, please see the paragraph above under “What the hell?” replacing “beans” with “grapes.”

Noticing that I was simply grabbing a bag of grapes without much fruity fanfare, she went on to lecture me about how I was wasting my money by not tasting each batch. She had been “scorned in the past” and was forced to throw out a batch of (literal) sour grapes, and now appeared determined to help others avoid a similar fate.

I politely told her that I was fine and that I would “buy on blind faith.”

Looking at me as if I had two heads—neither one of which was being supplied with green grapes—she went on to warn me of the perils of my decision. At that point I told her I wasn’t shopping for me, but for my uncle, and gestured to the denture cleaner and Right Guard deodorant spray.

Still skeptical, she was either full or thought I was full of it, because she shrugged her shoulders, popped another grape and left me with, “Well, suit yourself.”

As she turned and left in a motorized huff, I couldn’t help but notice that her basket contained no grapes. I guess there’s truly no accounting for taste.

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It’s the Little Things, Part 2

I wrote a post about those little things that simply make you want to freak out, so to speak. Big picture? They’re not a big deal. Small picture in that moment? THE BIGGEST DEAL EVER!

In the interest of appearing balanced in at least one facet of my life, I’ve decided to take the opposite approach and talk about a couple of those delightful surprises that can perk up your day. Big picture? They’re not a big deal. Small picture in that moment? THE BIGGEST DEAL EVER!

Let’s begin.

There have been a couple of times when I’ve spent almost a whole hour attempting to “shop,” AKA “buy nothing after destroying many piles of neatly folded shirts and vow to never shop for clothes again.”

On the rare occasion that I do find something that a) kind of fits b) I don’t hate or c) doesn’t qualify me for “What Not to Wear,” I usually end up not buying it anyway because I’m cheap and have a bigger budget for paper towel than I do for new clothes. But when I do take the purchasing plunge, there is no greater delight than getting up to the register and finding out that the item rang up on sale.

Well, I wouldn’t buy it if it wasn’t on sale, but I mean like, clearance sale prices! For me? On this shirt I spent 45 minutes pretending to try on over my clothes? It’s like the purchase was deemed acceptable by the universe and for that one brief moment in time, shopping isn’t pure hell.


The greatest lie I tell myself is that I don’t need to write something down, so when I actually remember the great idea I had either right before I fell asleep or stepped into the shower, it totally makes my day. (This is rare though, as evidenced by the content of this blog.)


Going back to clothes, how great is it to reach into your coat or pants pocket and find something like a $5 bill? I’ll tell you—pretty great.

In fact, sometimes when I put away my winter coats for the year, I will stick a small bill in the pocket as a little present for myself when the snow rolls around the next year…or when I remember it’s there during the summer and need $5 for the Farmer’s Market. Whatever.


What’s even better than finding $5 in the pocket of your coat? How about finding one more of whatever kind of food thing you’re craving you thought was gone forever — a piece of chocolate found in the cupboard, a container of frozen deliciousness shoved in the back of the freezer, one more piece of Shredded Wheat that fell out of your shirt when you stood up.

If you ask me, that’s like winning the lotto.


Because I’m a dinosaur, I do not have an iPod or anything similar to that. For that reason, it’s kind of awesome to get into my car and find my favorite song just started, meaning I get to listen to it in it’s entirety—singing at the top of my lungs like the car karaoke queen that I am—without driving around the block to hear the end or cursing the fact I missed the beginning.


Knowing people found my blog with “bedazzled squirrel life preservers,”  “it’s chickpeas, not dudepeas” and “Eminem wearing a babushka and shitkicker boots.”

 

Like I said, it’s the little things.

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Your turn. What are your good “little things?”

Spoon Me

There’s something I need to get off my chest—and that would mostly likely be a hunk of food that failed to make it into my mouth.

While I’m generally a pretty neat person, sometimes that gets lost in translation somewhere between my mind and my mouth. Actually, a lot gets lost in translation between my mind and my mouth, but let’s move on.

I do my best to avoid any spillage and eat a majority of my meals out of bowls for that very reason. Putting most things on a plate without edges acting as little barriers increases the likelihood that I will be wearing a piece of the meal.

asp

But I do sometimes use this awesomeness my mom got me a couple of years ago.

And while most people thrive on variety—it’s the spice of life!—I’m one who is perfectly content eating the same things over and over again. In fact a majority of my meals are the same few things with an easy variation on the staples. It’s not that there’s no variety available with a vegan lifestyle—the complete opposite is true—but I know what I like.

Part of what I like is to eat certain things in a certain way.

I admit it’s a bit OCD, but it’s also something I’ve been doing since I was little and picked certain things out to eat first—I’m told I called them “beaks”— and I still do that today.

farrobowl2 I eat some variation on this combination every day.

When it comes to my daily hippie bowls, I always eat the veggies first, then the protein (chickpeas, for example) and then the grains. And even if I’m at home, I still use a plastic spoon for some reason that is decidedly unclear to me.

Much like the Ziploc bags I rinse and reuse, I’m pretty sure I’m common law married with a few of these spoons.

With a sandwich, I cut it diagonally and then eat the crusts before eating the smaller half first—something about saving the best part for last. The thought of picking up an uncut sandwich and eating it as is is foreign to me.

However, my avocado sandwiches are usually cut in half and then eaten open-faced with a knife and a fork in part because I’m not entirely confident I won’t end up wearing a piece of the thing if I didn’t.

avosandwich2

Apples are always cut up for the same reason, and if I’m eating anything that has some sort of layers—like a mini-Twix or a peanut butter cup—the outside edges are eaten first, then the top, then the rest.

I have at least three cups of my tea a day in one of two cups, and it has to be drunk with a small straw. This is also to ward off spillage, but also to ward off staining my teeth with the tea (you know, in case Hollywood calls.)

But I draw the line at drinking it with my pinkie finger up. After all, a girl must have standards. 

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So spill it (pun completely intended.) Do you have any weird food things?

And if food’s not your thing a) I will never understand the kind of person that you are but b) stay tuned later this week for my annual holiday poem. ‘Tis the season!

Take Notes, Hollywood

As I was fishing chickpeas out of the sink the other day, I was reminded that I’m why I can’t have nice things—and also why I will never have a movie made about my life.

id-like-to-think-im-more-ghostdini-than-howard-hughes-but-id-probably-be-wrong

But if Lifetime’s Meredith Baxter-Birney retires from storylines involving a drug-addicted woman scorned by conjoined twin husbands and decides to go a new route—enter my life as a movie—I have a few suggestions for the writers.

  • A montage of me wandering around the kitchen wondering why I went in there, each scene featuring a different, stylish T-shirt.
  • Plot twists around why the cat’s head is wet and covered in catnip and an existential crisis upon realizing the excitement for electric tweezers exhibited by people in infomercials far exceeds any emotional reaction I’ve ever had for anything with my job.
  • Simple dialogue involving key phrases such as, “I’m confused,” “Not now, I’m eating,” “Ouch” and “Why is there such a high divorce rate among my socks?”
  • Marvin Gaye’s “Let’s Get it On” would play every time I sit down to eat a meal, with “I Am Woman” supplying the background music every time I remember to put out the recycle bin.

And if you need more storylines, it might be helpful to take a look at a few of my tweets from the past couple of weeks.

Take notes, Hollywood. Take notes.

A squirrel just ran by the deck with a piece of bread. If another one shows up with a Mimosa, does this count as hosting a brunch?

As she watched her little dog pee into the wind, she took pride in the fact at least this time, he didn’t tip over.

“That girl graduated from college and still goes out in the snow in PJs and flip-flops to fill the feeder. Money well spent.” – My neighbors

If they don’t want an impromptu dance party in the store, they shouldn’t play Michael Jackson’s “Shake Your Body (Down to the Ground.)”

Tortillas are like little warm blankets for food.

“The best option here is to panic.” – My brain when I think that I’ve lost my chapstick.

Days when my underwear matches my outfit make me feel like I’ve really got it together.

I came across two decapitated Barbie torsos on the sidewalk. I’m disturbed, yet slightly intrigued.

When I’m feeling down, I make a list of things to look forward to. Today’s just said “food” and “sleep.” Pretty good list.

“You must do the thing you think you cannot do” she said to herself as she prepared to say Worcestershire sauce.

I dreamed about work last night and now I’m at work. I’m not impressed with this “living the dream” thing.

The irony of watching “Fashion Police” while on the couch in yoga pants isn’t lost on me.

Becoming a member of the Swiffer Facebook Fan Club is the closest I’ll ever come to joining a gang.

I’m for equal rights so I just used the often neglected back left burner on my stove. Follow my lead, people.

“Be the change that you wish to see in the world,” I whisper to myself as I replace the empty paper towel roll in the office kitchen.

My one-woman show “Help Me I’m Trapped In my Sweatshirt!” is garnering some major buzz from the cat.

My Sunday morning walk of shame includes a fabric softener sheet falling out of the leg of my pants at the gym.


Again, that’s just a sample. I suppose that means several sequels could be made, not to mention a line of action figures featuring a variety of interchangeable workout pants and sweatshirts tinged with the light scent of garlic.

All I ask is that the bust region resemble more “Barbie” than “Skipper.” Let’s make this happen, people. 

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It’s time for audience participation!

If you were to have a movie made about your life, what actor/actress would you want to play you in the film?

Ba Ha-Ha-Humbug

It’s the most wonderful time of the year!

While I would debate that fact for several reasons—that is neither here nor there—as the holiday season is here and there, and with it comes a variety of expectations. You see, we are often presented with “ideal” situations that in reality, fall a bit short.

But have no festive fear! No holiday season is perfect, and as long as you don’t hold things to the ridiculous standard often presented to us, your expectations will surely be met.

The Meals

Expectation: Martha Stewart is truly a genius in that she makes her beautiful soirees look elegant and effortless—and calls them “soirees” and not “dysfunctional family functions.” The food is perfect, the conversation is jovial and no one’s career choice, sexual preference or bodily functions are discussed.

And no one ends up drunk under the tree.

Reality: There will not be enough chairs. Someone will pronounce “hors d’oeuvres” as “whores de-vores” (that would be me). The food will be good, but conversation will cover someone’s career choice, sexual preference or bodily functions. There will be a debate over whether the plastic silverware can be reused for Easter and whether it’s pronounced “PEE-cons” or “pick-ONS,” which will lead to an inappropriate joke about nuts from that one creepy uncle.

Romantic Gifts (as presented in jewelry ads)

Expectation: Cue cheesy background music and a setting that involves a fireplace and gently falling snow. Two people are casually huddled around the tree with hot cocoa as he pulls out a small box to surprise her with a rock of some sort. They kiss and live happily ever after.

Reality: What they don’t show you is that later he poses under the mistletoe wearing nothing but a well-placed Santa hat, thinking that small little box with the bow has earned him at least a few nights of appreciation. She will be too busy tweeting a picture of the ring to show off to her friends to notice him—or care when she does—meaning the ornaments on the tree won’t be the only blue balls in the room.

Exterior Illumination

Expectation: That your house can be perfectly decorated with thousands of twinkling lights and décor in no time at all, with your handiwork serving as a beacon of light for all other holidays revelers.

You will never have to launch an investigation over this carnage. But on a positive note, Frosty has been fixed. A Festivus miracle!

Reality: Despite trying to put the light strings away “neatly” last year, they will come out of the storage container in an arrangement that looks suspiciously like a Noel noose made of tangled up wires. The ordeal will begin with a joke to make sure to call 911 if you fall off the ladder—ha, ha, ha!—and end with a simple wreath on the door after the discovery that half of the bulbs just don’t work, despite testing each one and hanging them up.

But even though most will experience a less-than perfect meal, sub-par gifts (make donations, not debts people) and defunct decorations, remember what’s truly important—family, friends and your holiday spirit(s).


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A Season of Change

The quote below has always been one of my favorites, but until recently I never really put it much into practice.

“We can never judge the lives of others, because each person knows only their own pain and renunciation. It’s one thing to feel that you are on the right path, but it’s another to think that yours is the only path” ~ coehlo

This is where I tell you if you’re here for grocery cart drama or drunk nuns, you should probably skip over this post, as I’m going to philosophize a bit. If you choose to stick around, buckle up (and quit rolling your eyes.)

I’m making changes—not just empty, sweeping declarations — and it all comes down to one word:

Why?

Why am I doing what I’m doing? Why am I living a life that is full of disconnect between my authentic beliefs and the seemingly contradictory actions that follow? Why is my mind full of things that really don’t matter to me, but that I tell myself still do? 

555704_4426353217087_1577550058_n Insecurity can lead me to look outside of myself for guidance, validation and the way things have to be done. Heck, even when I look inside myself at times, I often smother the rational voice in favor of familiarity, distraction and ease.

Needless to say, this struggle is stressful and damaging. It’s been more than a decade of severe depression, exercise addiction and living each day waiting for the one answer that would change things, make things right, make me happy and content with my life.

It’s been a decade of survival, of “retreating into intellectualizing everything and just being a quiet observer of life rather than fully immersing myself in it,” as a wise woman once shared.

The problem is that through all my searching, I never found that “one” answer I needed, but rather the answers for somebody else. Trying to hold myself up to some conflicting standard I’ve imposed is really the source of my struggle and imbalance.

So I come back to the question of “Why?”

Why haven’t I let go of false assumptions, limiting beliefs and habits that don’t serve me? Why can’t I forget who I was yesterday, last year or a decade ago? Why can’t I let myself be the person I feel I should be? Well, I can and I will.

But in order for a new beginning, there needs to be an ending.

The old behavior —we all know what that is — must be faced and renounced. I have to cut ties with what no longer serves me other than causing me (self-inflicted) imbalance. But before I can let go completely, the way has to be paved for a new one. I want to feel relief at releasing that burden and experience it as the start of something new, not the loss of something important.

That all sounds fine and dandy, now doesn’t it?

Well, don’t kid yourself. Sure, the whole, “enlightenment and peace” package sounds great, but the “release the chains of exercise, mindless computer time, comfortable routines, isolation and basically everything you’ve come to know as an adult” thing sounds like a pain in the ass. As maladaptive as it is, I’ve become extremely comfortable with being uncomfortable.

But you know what?

My answers will always be out of sync until I start living an authentic life, until I surround myself with like-minded people and things that honor my (true) interests and not those of my ego. I’ve dipped my toe in in the past, but it’s time to jump in with both feet. 

And no, this isn’t going to suddenly become a vegan Buddhist blog completely void of sarcastic rambles and snark. I like to keep things lighter here, and plus, I’m a smartass. But there will be some changes on my end and I’m refocusing the time that I spend to align with the things I want healing and filling my body and mind.

I have a lot to say, and this is the place I can say it (not this post though, as it’s already ridiculously long.) I will still be here blogging as I forge this path of change, bastard groundhogs, vegan lifestyle, Buddha and spending the day watching nuns and seniors in wheelchairs dirty dance with an Elvis impersonator (spoiler alert: that’s my next post.)

Why?

Because what we resist persists, and I don’t want to resist anymore. Plus, I have issues. We all do.

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