That's right, everyone, I'm outta here!
It's been real, blogspot, but I need my space. My own space. And now I finally have it.
My own space is right here! It's a work in progress right now, but I have BIG plans for its future.
Come visit me!
And come follow me on Facebook, Twitter, Pinterest (give me your e-mail address if you want an invitation!), and StumbleUpon!
Hooray! I'm so ready for this new chapter of life!
Friday, August 5, 2011
Thursday, August 4, 2011
Super Spicy Beanless Chili
For the last month, I have put cayenne pepper in and on EVERYTHING. I can't stop. I'm beyond obsessed with spicy food.
I get food obsessions. They last about two months and then they go away. And God bless Andy for putting up with them, because my last little obsession was with FunDip, and you can't get that in stores anymore.
So the other night, I was going to make this chili, but Andy wouldn't let me because we already had one soup in the fridge, and we don't need another, blah blah blah, whine whine, eat the soup before it goes bad.
Not to mention I told him I was going to put the chili on hot dogs and Andy is not a hot dog fan. Even a little. At all. But that's another story for another time.
The soup is gone now, but I still felt like a little rebel when, while Andy was at work tonight, I made this. I'm not going to lie, it made my lips sting a little, but I wish it was hotter.
The true problem, my friends, is simply that I do not have access to ghost peppers. That and there's only one habanero in my house right now, and I'm saving that for some special recipe that I have yet to make up.
BUT, without further ado, here it is. Enjoy!
Ingredients
Directions
I get food obsessions. They last about two months and then they go away. And God bless Andy for putting up with them, because my last little obsession was with FunDip, and you can't get that in stores anymore.
So the other night, I was going to make this chili, but Andy wouldn't let me because we already had one soup in the fridge, and we don't need another, blah blah blah, whine whine, eat the soup before it goes bad.
Not to mention I told him I was going to put the chili on hot dogs and Andy is not a hot dog fan. Even a little. At all. But that's another story for another time.
The soup is gone now, but I still felt like a little rebel when, while Andy was at work tonight, I made this. I'm not going to lie, it made my lips sting a little, but I wish it was hotter.
The true problem, my friends, is simply that I do not have access to ghost peppers. That and there's only one habanero in my house right now, and I'm saving that for some special recipe that I have yet to make up.
BUT, without further ado, here it is. Enjoy!
Ingredients
1 lb ground beef
2 cloves minced garlic
1 (16 oz) can tomato sauce
1/4 yellow onion, chopped
2 Roma tomatoes, diced
1/2 c. chili powder
1 1/2 tsp cayenne pepper*
1 tbsp crushed red pepper
1 tsp paprika
1/3 c. Frank's original buffalo sauce
1/2 tsp sea salt
*If you're not as big a spicy fan as me, I'd recommend 1/2 tsp cayenne
Directions
- Brown the ground beef and mix in the minced garlic at the end
- In a large sauce pan, combine beef and garlic with the remaining ingredients; bring to simmering over medium heat
- Reduce heat to medium-low, stirring occasionally, and let simmer for 40 minutes, or until desired thickness is achieved
I ate about half a cup of the chili as it cooked.
I told myself I was making sure I had the flavor right.
Which I did. I totally did.
After I let the chili simmer for a good 45 minutes, I cooked up some incredibly delicious Hebrew National hot dogs (seriously, if you haven't tried them, DO IT RIGHT THIS SECOND. Most amazing hot dogs EVER), plunked 'em right down in some buns, slathered them in chili, then topped the whole thing with a "fiesta cheese" blend. Ole!
Now CHOW DOWN!!! Then prop yourself up on about a dozen pillows when it's time for bed, cuz you're gonna have some heartburn. But if you're anything like me, the desire for tongue-sizzling chili far outweighs the aversion to a little bit of indigestion.
Tuesday, August 2, 2011
Rummage through Rubbish
When I was about 7 years old, I told my mother I wanted to be a garbage collector. When she asked me why, I told her it was because I wanted to be the first person who got to see all the cool stuff people threw out.
She makes fun of me for it to this day.
I wanted to be a lot of things as I grew up; I was totally not one of those kids who knew their dream career by the time they were expelled from their mother's womb. I know plenty of those, and I always felt like there was something wrong with me because for the longest time I just had no freaking clue what I wanted to do or be. Nothing ever felt right.
I wanted to be a math teacher, an English teacher, a history teacher, a garbage collector, a massage therapist, a stay-at-home mother, the President, a Spanish teacher, a writer, a Giordano's dancer, and, of course, a nurse.
I'm not sure I've ever admitted this to anyone, but it was Dr. Jon Dorian and the staff of Sacred Heart Hospital that made me want to go into medicine.
That's right. Scrubs.
I got into the classes - high school A&P, biology, organic chemistry, A&P in college...I love it. I adore it. Every second of it. I can't explain the draw, but I can't avoid it. There is nothing in the world more fascinating to me than A&P and medicine.
Fast forward through my CNA classes, my nineteenth birthday (finding out I was pregnant with Logan), working from 3 - 6 months pregnant, giving birth during a blizzard, then going back to work and back to school.
And there it is. Even writing about it, it's the exact same feeling. It's a sickening anxiety that starts just below my ribs and tightens every muscle as it creeps upward and finally just sits like lead right above my collarbone and makes it hard to breathe.
I am not a fan of leaving my son for long days of school and work. Just thinking about it is terrifying to me. I hate it. And I go back to working, at least two and up to four, eight-hour days per week on August 10.
For the last 5 years, I knew I wanted to be a nurse. Eventually I wanted to get my Doctorate of Nurse Practice. There would be no stopping me.
About a month ago, I wrote about how I wanted A Thing.
I still want A Thing. Because all of a sudden, I have no idea what my Thing is anymore.
I feel like I should still want the BSN and the DNP and the six-figure salary that comes with having a jillion letters behind my name...but what does that mean for Logan? Where does that put him between now and when he starts going to school? And even then, who is he going to come home to?
Damned if I do, damned if I don't.
If I plow through school I'll be leaving my son with babysitters and relatives and (oh my gosh I can't even imagine this one right now) day care providers. Sure, I'll be successful and I'll have a career and a degree and nice high earning potential and blah blah blah, but...who's raising my child then?
But...if school goes slower or I have another child in the next couple years (which, as many know, may not even be medically possible for us) or choose something, anything besides nursing, I know there are plenty of people out there who will think I'm taking the "easy" way out. And, of course, I'll wonder, What if?
What the heck is my Thing now? What am I supposed to do?
I guess if all else fails, I can just be a garbage collector.
She makes fun of me for it to this day.
I wanted to be a lot of things as I grew up; I was totally not one of those kids who knew their dream career by the time they were expelled from their mother's womb. I know plenty of those, and I always felt like there was something wrong with me because for the longest time I just had no freaking clue what I wanted to do or be. Nothing ever felt right.
I wanted to be a math teacher, an English teacher, a history teacher, a garbage collector, a massage therapist, a stay-at-home mother, the President, a Spanish teacher, a writer, a Giordano's dancer, and, of course, a nurse.
I'm not sure I've ever admitted this to anyone, but it was Dr. Jon Dorian and the staff of Sacred Heart Hospital that made me want to go into medicine.
That's right. Scrubs.
I got into the classes - high school A&P, biology, organic chemistry, A&P in college...I love it. I adore it. Every second of it. I can't explain the draw, but I can't avoid it. There is nothing in the world more fascinating to me than A&P and medicine.
Fast forward through my CNA classes, my nineteenth birthday (finding out I was pregnant with Logan), working from 3 - 6 months pregnant, giving birth during a blizzard, then going back to work and back to school.
And there it is. Even writing about it, it's the exact same feeling. It's a sickening anxiety that starts just below my ribs and tightens every muscle as it creeps upward and finally just sits like lead right above my collarbone and makes it hard to breathe.
I am not a fan of leaving my son for long days of school and work. Just thinking about it is terrifying to me. I hate it. And I go back to working, at least two and up to four, eight-hour days per week on August 10.
For the last 5 years, I knew I wanted to be a nurse. Eventually I wanted to get my Doctorate of Nurse Practice. There would be no stopping me.
About a month ago, I wrote about how I wanted A Thing.
I still want A Thing. Because all of a sudden, I have no idea what my Thing is anymore.
I feel like I should still want the BSN and the DNP and the six-figure salary that comes with having a jillion letters behind my name...but what does that mean for Logan? Where does that put him between now and when he starts going to school? And even then, who is he going to come home to?
Damned if I do, damned if I don't.
If I plow through school I'll be leaving my son with babysitters and relatives and (oh my gosh I can't even imagine this one right now) day care providers. Sure, I'll be successful and I'll have a career and a degree and nice high earning potential and blah blah blah, but...who's raising my child then?
But...if school goes slower or I have another child in the next couple years (which, as many know, may not even be medically possible for us) or choose something, anything besides nursing, I know there are plenty of people out there who will think I'm taking the "easy" way out. And, of course, I'll wonder, What if?
What the heck is my Thing now? What am I supposed to do?
I guess if all else fails, I can just be a garbage collector.
Monday, August 1, 2011
This. This is Marriage.
I miscarried a baby at 10 weeks in May.
The nurse who did my discharge paperwork at the hospital wasn't kidding when she said I'd "have some really intense mood swings" in the aftermath. Things at home are still recovering.
Not to mention Andy and I were together a year, got pregnant, lived together, had a baby, then got married.
We did it all backwards. So. There's that bonus.
We've now been married 9 1/2 months. We're still working out what it means to be sort-of-newlyweds and parents AND living farther away from my parents (our strongest supporters) than we ever have. It's complicated, to say the least.
I found this song (and I don't even remember how) when we were planning the wedding. I cry every single time I hear it, and the more I listen, the more I realize that it's truly marriage. Like...it's the way marriage really, actually works.
I may have been married less than a year, but Andy and I have been through a lot, so I think maybe I know a little of what I'm talking about. It sure as heck hasn't been a 9 1/2-month honeymoon.
So here it is. Please listen to it (through the link), because it's a thousand times better when you actually hear it.
Jaosn Mraz, Beautiful Mess
You got the best of both worlds
You're the kind of girl who can take down a man and lift him back up again
You are strong, but you're needy
Humble but you're greedy
Based on your body language and shoddy cursive I've been reading
Your style is quite selective, but your mind is rather reckless
Well, I guess it just suggests that this is just what happiness is
Hey, what a beautiful mess this is
It's like picking up trash in dresses
Well, it kind of hurts when the kind of words you write
Kind of turn themselves into knives
And don't mind my nerve, you can call it fiction
'Cause I like being submerged in your contradictions, dear
'Cause here we are
Here we are
Although you are biased, I love your advice
Your comebacks, they're quick and probably have to do with your insecurities
There's no shame in being crazy
Depending on how you take these words
They're paraphrasing this relationship we're staging
And it's a beautiful mess, yes it is
It's like we're picking up trash in dresses
Well, it kind of hurts when the kind of words you say
Kind of turn themselves into blades
And the kind and courteous is a life, I've heard
But it's nice to say that we played in the dirt
'Cause here...here we are
Here we are...
We're still here
And what a beautiful mess it is
It's like taking a guess when the only answer is yes
And through timeless words and priceless pictures
We'll fly like birds, not of this earth
And tides, they turn and hearts, disfigure
But that's no concern when we're wounded together
And we tore our dresses and stained our shirts
But it's nice today
Oh, the wait was so worth it.
The nurse who did my discharge paperwork at the hospital wasn't kidding when she said I'd "have some really intense mood swings" in the aftermath. Things at home are still recovering.
Not to mention Andy and I were together a year, got pregnant, lived together, had a baby, then got married.
We did it all backwards. So. There's that bonus.
We've now been married 9 1/2 months. We're still working out what it means to be sort-of-newlyweds and parents AND living farther away from my parents (our strongest supporters) than we ever have. It's complicated, to say the least.
I found this song (and I don't even remember how) when we were planning the wedding. I cry every single time I hear it, and the more I listen, the more I realize that it's truly marriage. Like...it's the way marriage really, actually works.
I may have been married less than a year, but Andy and I have been through a lot, so I think maybe I know a little of what I'm talking about. It sure as heck hasn't been a 9 1/2-month honeymoon.
So here it is. Please listen to it (through the link), because it's a thousand times better when you actually hear it.
Jaosn Mraz, Beautiful Mess
You got the best of both worlds
You're the kind of girl who can take down a man and lift him back up again
You are strong, but you're needy
Humble but you're greedy
Based on your body language and shoddy cursive I've been reading
Your style is quite selective, but your mind is rather reckless
Well, I guess it just suggests that this is just what happiness is
Hey, what a beautiful mess this is
It's like picking up trash in dresses
Well, it kind of hurts when the kind of words you write
Kind of turn themselves into knives
And don't mind my nerve, you can call it fiction
'Cause I like being submerged in your contradictions, dear
'Cause here we are
Here we are
Although you are biased, I love your advice
Your comebacks, they're quick and probably have to do with your insecurities
There's no shame in being crazy
Depending on how you take these words
They're paraphrasing this relationship we're staging
And it's a beautiful mess, yes it is
It's like we're picking up trash in dresses
Well, it kind of hurts when the kind of words you say
Kind of turn themselves into blades
And the kind and courteous is a life, I've heard
But it's nice to say that we played in the dirt
'Cause here...here we are
Here we are...
We're still here
And what a beautiful mess it is
It's like taking a guess when the only answer is yes
And through timeless words and priceless pictures
We'll fly like birds, not of this earth
And tides, they turn and hearts, disfigure
But that's no concern when we're wounded together
And we tore our dresses and stained our shirts
But it's nice today
Oh, the wait was so worth it.
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