Cravings

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Professionally, it’s been a banner month… but with great power, come some ugly responsibilities that have forced me to grow in ways most uncomfortable for me. For a girl who can’t sleep without writing, I have a horrible time saying the difficult words. I hate hurting people and I am absolutely happy to swallow my own heartache to spare someone else. I internalize a lot more now, because I used to be reckless in lashing out with anger or righteous indignation. I’ve calmed down, if you will. I’ve learned what’s worth fighting for and over.

The Dumpling gets the grateful version of my mothering. I was so worried about barking orders and having “good” children with my first two, that they heard far too much nagging. I’m not surprised my son hasn’t come back. I don’t miss that old hag either. I’ve learned how vital it is to chill out and read with her. Even if the house goes to hell and she eats pasta 3 nights in a row. Nobody dies… in fact, they thrive in exactly the way and time frame they should. I say yes a lot. She eats a lot of popsicles and I cave far too often when she begs for crab legs. I learned the hard way how fast and fleeting childhood is and I am treasuring every second of getting another chance to be better, kinder and more involved playing instead of ruling.

I got hit by the worst migraine of my life yesterday. I’m alone in the office for the next two weeks so leaving wasn’t an option and it’s lit up like the top of the Chrysler building. We were exceptionally busy for a usually slow day and it was definitely a grueling push to get it done. My boss came in twice to rub my neck and bring me ice packs while urging me to go but I’m a masochist and can’t leave things half-assed or unfinished. I started thinking and realized I’ve eaten about 600 calories in 2 days and ran for 3 miles last night with a beer.

Maybe not the most healthy dinner, albeit delicious………and definitely the perfect storm for brewing a migraine.

I’ve been fantasizing about steak and barbecued chicken… so I know I need protein. The biggest hurdle to being hungry and indecisive is that I just eat a handful of almonds and ignore the struggle, but I find myself daydreaming about a pound of perfect Wood’s bacon, a rotisserie chicken and a pound of jumbo cocktail shrimp. Talking about food is sexual to a starving woman.

I would do some pretty questionable things for fettuccine alfredo.

I’d consider anal for a pint of coffee Häagen-Dazs.

See what happens when you allow your mind to run wild? Anal is awful, but starvation does weird things to you and I love coffee ice cream. As soon as you open that door and allow yourself to fantasize about the things you can’t have and want, it’s somewhat stunning at how much time your brain can spend torturing you.

Food is easy for me to manage, lately. I make dinner for the Dumpling and a salad for myself. I’ve lost my inspiration to bake. It’s a consequence of being single, as disgustingly 50’s housewife as that is. I’m Catholic, with Mormon roots… practically born in an apron. I’ll tie it back on at some point, but the absence of inspiration is helping my diet, immensely.

A text from Incredicock has me running through the highlight reel at work because I have hours to think. Craving him is a delicious guilty pleasure that keeps me inspired while I’m juggling too much stress. I was doing paperwork this morning when I was hit by the recollection of him biting my lips when he kissed me. I had a full body shiver. Goosebumps. Damn it. It’s difficult to have your body utterly betray you when you’re doing your best to put your celibate, cat lady panties back on. Christ on the cross, the first person to create a pharmaceutical cure to stop these barn-burning flashbacks will top the Forbes 500.

Take. My. Money. Please.

I find myself sympathizing with crackheads, meth addicts and heroin junkies. He’s more habit forming than an opioid and I’m a terrible quitter. I’m doing my very best to knit, run and masturbate him out of my system. It’s not working very well, but I get a solid C+ for effort.

If only I were craving a day of vacuuming and dishes, because I can make THAT happen.

SO Hungry

I stepped on the scale the day my eldest daughter graduated, and was horrified. It wasn’t that I didn’t care, it was that I had no reason to. Going through a devastating breakup when you’re 9 months pregnant has a way of leaving you gun shy. It wasn’t that I hated men, but I absolutely never wanted to see one naked, again.

I live in a very small town and her graduation was a walk down shitty memory lane, with a bakers dozen of my bad choices for good measure. All of whom are married. Now don’t get me wrong, I have no desire for captivity but when you’re the fat, single one… you feel it.

I came home and made myself get to it. I dug my stupid weights out, rolled the elliptical machine into my bedroom and pulled out my measuring tape to take stock of just how bad things were. It was dismal, but the beauty of being single is that I have ample time to change it. Something happens to me at a certain point, and I get obsessive about running, so I knew I just had to put one foot in front of the other until then.

It’s been 4 months, and we’re there. I’m running first thing in the morning and into the late hours at night. I’m squatting my ass into a prettier shape than it’s ever been and I have muscles in my back I didn’t even know I wanted.

But.

I. Am. Hungry.

I’m pretty sure it’s why I can’t shake the sexual frustration off. Chocolate is off the table, and that comforting bowl of carbs would only ruin the progress I’ve suffered to achieve. As much as I can physically taste the memory of buttered pasta, it doesn’t hold a candle to how much better I look in my panties.

My friends are the most amazing cheerleaders. I walked in to work yesterday and the Songbird beamed at me.

S- Dude. Your ass looks amazing in those jeans.

J- I love you. I’m fucking starving. I’d perform sexual favors for a Lunchable.

I’m not kidding. Thinking about food is just as bad as fantasizing about Incredicock. I could spend all day long thinking about eating the perfect steak, but its only going to make my salad taste worse. Along those same lines, once you do eat what you’ve been craving, you want it every day. Abstinence is never fun, but it has carved 55 pounds off of me.

I follow an amazing woman on Instagram who has inspired me to find my hot body again and I’m sharing my suffering with y’all to keep myself accountable.

Oh and…

because it really does look amazing in those jeans.

buns

 

 

 

Hungry

Something happens when I start running again. The first week is agony, the second gets a lot easier and by the third week? I’m running before bed and getting up early to squeeze in a half hour before I have to get the day started.

Obsessed? Sure.

However, I could spend a good half hour discussing the magic of ice cream and talking to me about pasta could turn you on because I have pornographic feelings for carbohydrates. I had half a peanut butter and raspberry jelly sandwich for lunch yesterday and my Songbird laughed.

S- That is the saddest lunch I’ve ever seen.

Honestly? It’s so fucking delicious that I have to close my eyes to chew it. Peanut butter is contraband. Bread is off limits. Jelly is a complete waste of calories.

But MY GOD. I can still fantasize that sandwich back into my mouth. It was worth it. I’ve been eating kale and swiss chard for months. By some stroke of good luck, a deer got stuck INSIDE my garden fence last week and annihilated every last leaf. The blessed sandwich was a result of that & nerves over my date tonight.

I bagged up another size to take to the thrift store and zipped into my very favorite jeans. Aaaahhhh. There are huge rewards to starvation and pain. These jeans are worth a year of kale. The sight of my ass in these pants is more satisfying than food and I know from previous experience that the beautiful man I’m seeing is an ass man. I added two new squats this week and it feels like I got stung by a bee when I sit down. That means it’s working, right?

Reaching for my coffee feels like an aerobic move and I can feel my entire muscular structure when I type. To say I’m sore is quite the understatement. I’m a tightly wound bundle of nervous tension and my mind is wandering in places it shouldn’t. I sent Mr. Incredicock a picture, thanked him for putting my fingers back on the keys and fucking me so well I have the confidence to go on this date. Then deleted him out of my phone for my own good because I crave him in the worst way. Great sex is a mixed blessing when you can’t have it whenever you want, and fucking him is like experimenting with heroin.

Even the thought of him gets me back on the damn elliptical machine. Contrary to popular belief, you can actually run from your problems. It does amazing things for your ass.

I’m mid run when Mr. Grey calls. I can’t talk so he’s telling me about his day and the cases he’s litigating in court tomorrow. I’m trying not to pant and he stops mid sentence.

G- Where are my manners? Hello Miss. How’s your day?

J- Great!

G- I can’t wait to see you.

Off the elliptical. Breathless, sweaty and a little sick to my stomach with nerves.

G- Bring your appetite. They’re known for steak and I know you’re hungry.

Someone should warn him just how right he is.

Candace, Queen of the magical granola.

You GUYS.

You’re all so nice and I get the sweetest emails. ♥ I try to keep up on correspondence but I kind of suck at it. The nicest lady asked if she could send me a present and it came on the hardest of days. I was mystified opening it because I haven’t done any shopping in ages.

I have to preface this by saying that I am a HUGE granola snob. I make my own because I don’t like anybody else’s as much….

and Candace’s granola kicks my granola’s boring ass.

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Beyond that, Candace saved my whole heart on the saddest of days when I lost someone incredibly special to me. I accidentally deleted the Facebook page for this blog, so I can’t thank her directly. I hope she sees this, because WOW. You all need some.

You can get some too, at http://www.colleycreek.com

Candace,

I love you, sweet friend. This was an unbelievable surprise and my  heart is full of gratitude for your generosity ♥ Thank you, thank you, thank you!

xoxo J

Plan B.

I woke up before dawn on Sunday, to a sweet smiling toddler with an an avocado obsession.

B- Cado, mommy. Cado.

We’re out of ‘cados, so we have to get up and get dressed to go find some at the store. I’m exhausted and in desperate need of coffee, but realize as soon as we walk in to Safeway, that I’ll need something to distract her with if I really intend to wait in line. Everyone else wants coffee this morning too. I consider the immediate options available to me and remember that she’s learned the magic of a band-aid this week. Her last tattered Minnie Mouse bandage had fallen off on our way out the door this morning. We rush down the health/first aid aisle first… in search of some new cartoon icon band-aids  to replenish our stash.

I catch sight of an old man, slowly searching through the disposable razors, the antacids and shaving cream. I hear him grumble about not being able to find something.

I’m a server. I really cannot stop myself from helping someone, no matter where or when. I’m tired… but I love the grey-hairs and he is looking more anxious by each frantic second.

So I offer.

J- Can I help you? I hate to eavesdrop but you seem to need a little help and this is the only place I shop. This is my store. I hate to say I know where everything is, but I do.

He looks relieved and because his phone is on speakerphone, I can hear his wife, clearly.

W- You never look. I could be standing beside you holding it and you couldn’t find it in my hands. For Pete’s sake.

He turns his back to me and barks briskly into the phone.

H- Would you like me to put the nice woman who offered to help me on the phone? I’m doing my best.

W- Oh My GOD damn it, Howard, you asked for help? How embarrassing.

I smiled at him to let him I know I was not a crazy person, and he opened his mouth and leveled me.

H- I’m looking for Plan B or the Morning After Pill.

W- It’s not called the morning after pill anymore, it’s just Plan B.

You could have knocked me over with a feather. I fought back laughter and leveled with him.

J- I’ve only gotten it once and I had to get it from the Health Department.

Which he relays, loudly, over the loudspeaker on his phone.

H- It’s not here Dear. She got it from the Health Clinic. Is this, Oh for hell sakes, stop shouting at me.

W- We sound like perverts. Come home. I’ll get it myself.

Meanwhile, I’ve led him to the condom/pregnancy test/tampon aisle. The pharmacy is closed and it’s the only place I can imagine it’d be.

It’s not there. You can cure a stinky vag, replenish your feminine hygiene basket and prevent pregnancy… all in the same 10 feet.

Alas, you cannot stop a misfire spermatozoa from landing his lady outside of pharmacy hours.

She’s furious. He’s frustrated. I’m crimson and biting the inside of my cheeks to hold it together.

W- Let the poor woman go. How embarrassing.

H- You’re embarrassed? A complete stranger just led me to the condoms and pregnancy tests.

I’m coughing to keep from laughing. He stammers a “thank you” in my direction and I walk away before dissolving into giggles. I was shopping for Band-aids, so we went back down the other side only to hear more of their conversation.

W- I should have gone myself.

H- It’s the Superbowl and the pharmacy is closed. I can buy condoms or pregnancy tests, which feel late and early, considering.

W- Take a picture and send it to me.

H- I’m never shopping here again. Pour me a scotch.

Wouldn’t you know it… that coffee line had emptied by the time we’d secured our Doc McStuffin’s and Hello Kitty Bandaids after the wild goose chase for the Plan B.

Never a dull moment. Never a bad day.

Fresh Butternutty Goodness

I love love love seeing 10 hits on my blog. I feel like celebrating.

Gone are those 1000+ days. Amen.

I deleted all the baggage and cut all my ties.

I’ve been watching Hoarders lately and felt the same way about my blog. It had piles of shit I didn’t like, recognize or want anymore. It was so infested with douche bags and liars that the clean up would have been exhausting and endless- so instead I just burnt the whole fucker down- like most of the people on that show should do with their houses!

🙂 Ahhh. Peace. Clean sheets, new socks and your favorite sweatpants, sort of cozy freshness.

I’d documented my midlife crisis and sad attempts at having faith in the worst of humanity and took the last, very necessary response… and threw it all into the fire.

When you don’t like the view in the rear-view mirror anymore, you need a change of scenery and a fresh perspective.

Now I don’t mind writing anymore, though I may bore everyone to death with recipes, teething woes and too much gardening…

but at the very least… you’ll get to eat great food because I’m a domestic whirlwind these days. Behold! The perfect butternut squash soup, in my not-so-humble opinion… to celebrate this nice clean house.

My Better Butternut soup

8 cups good chicken stock. I make mine- you can do the same easily or buy it pre-made. Buy the organic one, really… because commercial chickens are perhaps the least respected meat raised and you should do your part to stop it. Even if your part is lazy- it counts. Ish.

1/2 c. Butter

2 c. Shallots. They’re the Filet Mignon of onions- trust me- spend the extra $.

3 cloves Garlic, minced, and while you’re at it- plant some! Garlic goes in to the ground this week and it’s so delicious home grown!

3.5-4 lb Butternut squash. Peel, seed and chop it into cubes. It’s a smooth textured winter squash and its glorious if you’re type A like me and want to see perfect orange cubes in a big white bowl.

2 c. Pumpkin puree. Finally something to make with all those pumpkins from the garden or in a can from the store- it all tastes the same.

1 c. Half & half

Just typing this recipe up makes me want to go make some more, and I just finished the batch I made this week for breakfast this morning.

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Dice your shallots and garlic while the butter melts in your stock pot. Let them soften over low-medium heat until they’re translucent. Add your chicken broth and bring to a boil over medium heat. Add your butternut squash cubes and pumpkin puree.  Simmer until the cubes of squash are soft and use your stick blender (don’t tell me you don’t have one. Go buy one!) until roughly half the cubes of butternut squash are blended. It will be a creamy lumpy texture and smell like heaven. Salt & pepper to taste.

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Add your half & half and stir, stir, stir. I usually make some naan or croutons to go along with it, but it’s good all by itself too. Enjoy a fresh & happy fall!

mmm

Salsa for Canning Recipe

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This is absolutely my favorite recipe and it’s taken a decade to perfect. Enjoy!

Heirloom Salsa

10 c chopped tomatoes

5 c bell peppers

5 c onions

2 1/2 c peppers. (Be sure to remove the seeds if you want to keep your salsa mild!)

1 1/4 c lime juice

3 cloves garlic, minced

1 bunch of cilantro, chopped

3 tsp salt

1 tsp pepper

1 can of tomato paste (optional)

This is so easy and so ridiculously time consuming… but worth every minute spent until you’re placing the jars in your pantry! Throw all your ingredients in a stock pot and let simmer on low until the flavors are combined and your salsa has thickened to your liking. Fill sterilized canning jars, adjust lids and process in a hot water bath canner. 20 minutes for pints, 30 minutes for salsa

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I can’t recommend highly enough to mix and match your flavors. I made a batch of Brandywine tomato & habanero pepper salsa this week that is amazing, and my Aunt Ruby’s German Green tomato & jalapeno mild salsa is equally as delicious. You can tailor this recipe to fit your heat preference and favorite flavors. Be sure to remember that salsa continues to get hotter after canned if you leave the seeds in the peppers!

Happy dipping!