Category Archives: Cravings

Vice Parade

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6

Ok so I’m a creature of comfort. I like it. Domesticity=heaven in my book. Making breakfast in heels and panties makes me happy.

A wannabe pin-up for sure. I’d put my hair in pigtails if it wouldn’t risk ruining the perfect eggs.

Looking at the day ahead and breathing, finally. Itching to go for a run in the fog.

Cleaning the kitchen… emptying the dead food from the refrigerator and deciding to sink into my own little parade of vices.

So I iron a dress, and curl my hair. Fake lashes, the whole nine. Why not. I feel better and nobody needed to see me for the past week- I’m starving and there’s nothing to eat. Hell I might even go to two stores, or even three. I love grocery shopping. Love it. Especially at Super 1 after my whole Mr. Flintstone crush.

Call it a retail high, or my Mormon roots shining through… but I go down every aisle, happily. I curled my hair for this, I’m gonna enjoy it!

First things first, a dozen roses. Fuck Valentine’s day this year, period. But I’ll be damned if I’m going to be tortured by the displays and not see roses in my kitchen. Nope. That’s the beauty of being a self reliant, single woman. $15 is cheap to avoid another boyfriend.

Olive bar… oh gawddd… this is gonna be one of those days. Prawns, fresh basil, grape tomatoes, fresh mozzarella pearls…prosciutto and marinated artichoke hearts. Be still my heart.

Pizza… bacon… and my favorite little Ham & Swiss Lunchable. Oh my. You absolutely CAN buy happiness.

This girl intends to feed this broken heart until it’s full again. Emotional eating? Absolutely- don’t judge.

Fresh tuna, lobster tails, wasabi and baby fingerling potatoes. Everything to make Husband soup. Inoki mushrooms, praise God.

Rootbeer, vanilla ice cream… and everything to bake myself into the white zone.

Two bottles of Sauvingnon Blanc and a bag of beef jerky… because I’m still that pathetic broken hearted girl and it reminds me of him. I’m being honest. Ugh. Ouch. Time to get baking.

Dicing vegetables is zen. I’m meticulous. I have to have perfect little square potatoes, and they have to be fairly uniform. I don’t like haphazard soup… and I enjoy the process. Washing mushrooms and peeling carrots. Making the dough for the noodles and diving deep into my favorite things to save myself.

I’m sad, and it’s awful- and I miss him… and I know that I just have to miss him from now on… and it sucks when you know you just have to survive it, because the pain is not going to end until you let it. It was so right… so incredibly everything I ever wanted… and it’s confusing how it all ended and it’s hard having him hate me. How’s that for truth. Ugh.

Making noodles makes me feel ridiculously attractive. Funny huh? I’m the sexiest noodle making old fashioned girl on the block, lol. I like doing things the old fashioned way. I love making it from scratch. I’m Jenni Crocker Stewart on overdrive, consider this my public service announcement. Y’all are about to gain some weight if you stop by.

Why not make bread if I’m making noodles, right? Sure. Honey whole wheat rolls, for my daughter to pack for lunch this week too. If this nightmare has taught me anything, it’s to stick to my core values and true feelings. I knew something was wrong when he wasn’t waiting for me at the airport. I’m a fucking hypocrite if I tell my kids to listen to their heart and ignore my own. I ignored some red flags here and there because it was just so good. Funny and intimate and amazing. Until it wasn’t. I’m really determined to be thankful for the good moments because the pictures make me smile and the memories are priceless in knowing what it feels like to have someone be wonderful to you. It’s a hell of a story, if nothing else.

My life is a damn movie, lol…

Complete with Puerto Rican Police and being roofied. Word. Come on, laugh with me about it. I’m still in shock. A week ago today I was walking in the rainforest with him, so in love and so sad to be leaving him I dissolved into tears all day. It was fantastic and I am thankful for the memories.

Bake, woman… stop thinking… grating lemons, melting butter… mmmm…. Meyer Lemon Bars.

Fresh pesto with the basil I bought… Mmm the house smells amazing. My bread is rising, my noodles are drying and the broth is simmering lightly on the stove.

Success. Grin. Let the fun begin.

A delightful cigarette before filling a glass of wine… and a bubble bath with my favorite coconut scented bubbles. Scrub my feet and shave my legs… anything to get rid of this tan that is a constant reminder that I just got back. Bruises here and there. My aching heart. It all just sucks to go through. Haven’t I done this enough already? Haven’t I learned my lesson? What the fuck is wrong with me and my judgement? Seriously.

He’s more worried about how I portrayed him than the fact someone put something in my drink… while telling me I don’t know what real love is. To be honest, I think he’s right. I don’t know what it is… but I do know what it’s not.

This is a prime example of what real love ISN’T. Perhaps it could have been, but without faith, love doesn’t stand a chance.

I have an hour before I have to shape my dough into rolls… and I’ve avoided my knitting because I’ve been too depressed. Knitting makes me happy and I have brand new fuzzy brown yarn. Within a few stitches I’m at ease. Calming down. Breathing deeply and allowing myself to miss him even though it’s gone so horribly south. It’s a lot to deal with in a week and I’m still reeling. Nevermind the impact of the climate change on my body, my whole world has been turned upside down and I have been in both heaven and hell in the last 7 days. I don’t recommend it.

This darling little bunny face is shaping himself in my hands and I’m wistful. He wanted me to knit him something and I naturally start. I’m so ridiculously predictable it’s sad, lol. I’ll make him for myself and it will be a reminder that I shouldn’t do too much. Cute little seed stitch ears, a little pink nose… he’s adorable already and he’s simply a decapitated bunny head. Sitting down to quietly make something with your hands, even if it’s nothing more than folding rags into squares is soothing, routine, and peaceful.

Sunday cleaning, fresh fluffy towels in the bathroom and clean sheets on my little darling’s bed. Fluffy white socks, a freshly washed blanket and one of many glasses of wine needed to face this day. Stupid shows about weddings… ya know- cause that’s what you watch when you want to wallow in your breakup.

Because ultimately… if it can work out for that crazy bitch on the TV?

It can definitely work out for you.

Cheers… and give me a call if you’re hungry :)

Poisoned.

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10

I feel like I got kicked in the chest by a horse.

Holy Mother of God… I may will never touch a grocery store chicken salad, ever again.

I’ve admitted my laziness in cooking for myself. I’m a Mormon girl at heart- I can’t cook for two. I cook for twenty. It’s in my blood. So on an already crazy busy day off, I clung to my lazy habits of late and cruised by the grocery store for lunch.

Hmmm…. nothing fried- I’m not a huge fan of anything cooked by submerging it in boiling grease. Ew. I found what looked to be like a divine chef salad. Tukey, ham, cheese… etc… yummy. Chuck it in the cart and lunch is ready. Amen… or so I thought.

I flew home to get ready for the impending snow storm, inhaled my salad without really tasting it- and went to work getting everything locked down, picked up and ready for the dreaded white crap.

I went to bed early- happy my baby girl would be home the next day and delighted with all I’d managed to get done. Looking forward to my first football-free Monday shift in ages. I love football, but it’s gotten insane lately.

By 3 in the morning… I woke up to my stomach flip-flopping. Within an hour of that I was in a ball on the bathroom floor, thanking God and all that is holy that I’d already cleaned the bathroom the day before. I fell asleep some time around 9 the next morning, with my head on the edge of the bathtub… eternally grateful for the icy cool porcelain.

Not in the clear, by a long shot.

I threw up all day… until I had to call work at noon and beg for someone to cover my 4 o’clock shift. My body was caught in some sort of firestorm of chills, nausea and fever. My stomach waging a vindictive battle rivaling the civil war. In tears… and desperate for relief.

Popsicles… nope. I swear they were still cold when they were rejected.

Water? No. If you’ve never thrown up ice cubes, say a silent prayer that you never will. They feel like cold glass- and that’s precisely how they feel in your throat.

My dear friend covered my shift, as I threw up the nonexistent contents of my evil stomach.

I swear on a stack of bibles that I will never eat another salad from the grocery store.

It got to the point that I started to bargain with God. I promised to volunteer more, go to Mass and grasp the lazy lesson I was being taught the hard way.

I finally kept a glass of water down around 10 o’clock last night as my poor little angel tucked blankets around my trembling body. She got me a cold wet washcloth for my forehead. She snuggled in next to me and flipped the rag so it stayed cool and told me all about her week and playing with her baby brother, who she treasures more than anything.

We watched the Smurfs movie, which was actually really pleasant in my weak and vulnerable, near comatose state. I could see the concern on her face and she actually started asking me about going to the emergency room after the 5th or 6th time I had to run to the bathroom. Little did she know I was on hour 15+ of my body fighting to get every single bit of that godforsaken salad, out.

Waking up to my sweetheart this morning, I feel like a damn beauty queen. I jumped out of bed giggling and my princess sat up, sleepy soft and rubbing her pretty green eyes. Opening them and smiling sweetly, she grimaced at me.

D- Ohhhh mommy… you look horrible.

I turned around and looked in the mirror and OH. She’s not kidding. The blood vessels in my eyes are shot. I look like I’ve been to war. My skin is dull and lifeless, my hair is still damp from the fourth bubble bath I took late last night. It’s going to take some effort to look presentable for work this morning.

But…

Life is beautiful.

I am so happy I don’t have to worry about getting snow in my shoes because I’m inches off the ground and beaming sunshine at anyone in my path.

It’s all a lovely bowl of delicious hope and anticipation, precisely what my soul has been hungry for….. and in a matter of weeks?

Someone may have to tie a ribbon around my wrist to keep me from floating away entirely.

I’m so damn excited I’m stuck in a perennial happy dance.

Come on… dance with me ♥