Archive for the 'Whoopdie Doo' Category

Like a Superhero

June 16, 2008 | Filed under: This side of the Hudson, Whoopdie Doo

“I always loved running… it was something you could do by yourself, and under your own power. You could go in any direction, fast or slow as you wanted, fighting the wind if you felt like it, seeking out new sights just on the strength of your feet and the courage of your lungs.” ~Jesse Owens

At some point during the Interminable Break Up of Hell Fire and Doom, probably after I realized that I needed something else besides dairy products to keep my mind off of wanting to kick the shit out of something (Or someone). I needed something else to help channel my anger so that I didn’t feel so consumed by it at all times. There had been these brief moments where I was somewhere between a rock and a hard place on the emotional spectrum. It was a toss up between really fucking sad and really fucking angry. I must say that if there is one thing I can never be faulted for it would be sharing how I really feel; crazy pissed off and all. So while this was going on, I contemplated writing away the rage but that just turned into me sitting and staring at the computer screen and missing deadlines and writing half assed movie reviews. Then I decided to bake but that took up more time and effort and because the light in my kitchen sucks, I could only bake and photograph my process between the hours of 9 and noon when the sun was at a perfect tilt in the sky so it would properly luminate my mixing technique. So I decided to start running.

Though running would be a very generous way of putting what I do when I strap on sneakers and a sports bra. It starts off at a nice little pace and then gradually turns into this half walk trot type thing and I’m pretty sure if you saw me ‘running’ you would start to place bets as to when exactly I would keel over and die. It’s like this awful hop, step type gait thing that kind of makes me look like an animal that got hit with a BB gun but must. keep. going. But in a half assed kind of way. It’s all rather sad and pathetic but it is my new thing. To half trot my way through 5Ks and weekly trail runs.

A few weeks ago I announced on Twitter that I would be going running again. Because look at me! All athletic and shit! If you’ve ever seen me in real life, I’m tall but wide-ish. And I am probably making myself sound really attractive right now but it is what it is. My athleticism is rather non-existent but with the whole half trot thing, I’ve been busting my ass and activity points are activity points, and it doesn’t matter if you look like a deranged and injured fawn while completing the activity. The wonderful Bill Braine tweeted (I hate that word) back that we would run together. To which I said Yeah, sure! While thinking that it would never happen because I would never and could never run with a person who runs, runs. Like for real runs with proper form while I most likely trail along behind him huffing and puffing like an injured animal. Days later he emailed me to suggest that we run a 5K together and again I said yes in hopes that he would promptly forget or that I could make up some reason to be halfway across the country. Of course despite my apprehension of coming in dead last or embarrassing myself in front of someone I’d met once – in a bar, while drunk – I allowed Bill to woo me with promises that he would run with me and that afterwards there would be brunch and mimosas. Then he mentioned mojitos if I came down the evening before. And I was all sign me the hell up because if you want me to do something offer up alcohol and I will be yours. Again, it is what it is and I have no shame.

Now to effectively put you to sleep I will make a ridiculously long story even longer and completely pointless by saying that we ran. Well Bill ran and I did my half limp thing until the very end when I actually did run and then I felt like throwing up in a church parking lot but I had managed to shave 1:30 off of my 5K time in less than a month. So I was on my runner’s high and in a good mood and feeling rather kick ass if I do say so myself even if I did look like a sweaty, limping, round buffoon who probably had no business running and dreaming of mimosas even though I hate champagne but my, wouldn’t it would be refreshing. But instead of mimosas I had the great fortune of babysitting Bill’s children while he and his wife went out which was so not what I was promised at the start of this. Sorry I should say that he and his wife left their very adorable children with me, a person that Bill had met once before while in a bar but I have a blog where I talk about how much I enjoy wine and they enjoy wine so I probably won’t be some psycho serial killer. I will instead be very normal and discuss why Luke’s father is such an important part to the overall Star Wars saga and perhaps promise a five year old that I will watch the other three movies with him. Because I am an emotional lush who is just so damn nice and a giver that way.

And now that this story has gone nowhere fast I will sum it up in 9 words: This weekend was fantastic, cathartic and all around perfect. The other morning, Bill came bounding down the stairs before our run and asked if I felt like a superhero. I said no and he told me that I should feel like one because I am. And while I remain wary of proclaiming myself in top superhero form, I can say that after five long months, I seem to have a bit of my (relative) bad ass back. And not a moment too soon.

For now

June 3, 2008 | Filed under: Whoopdie Doo

“What matters is not the idea a man holds, but the depth at which he holds it”. ~Ezra Pound

I will write a more extensive post in regards to politics come Thursday or Friday but for now I shall leave you with this:

My father is from Birmingham, Alabama. He grew up there during the dead heat of the Civil Rights Movement. It was to the point where he stopped reading Jet magazine because they put a full spread of Emmett Till in their centerfold and then when I saw those photos I didn’t sleep for months because I thought someone might do the same to me*.

Tonight a black man became the presumptive nominee for the presidency from the Democratic party. My father called me and his usually snarky tone in regards to my short game in golf was replaced by tears and seriousness because he honest to God never thought he would ever live to see this day.

*I was eight at the time and I insisted that I see what he looked like when he died and then I did and I cried. IN FRONT OF HIS MOTHER none the less.

These Soul Soothing Cookies

May 29, 2008 | Filed under: "The Pot Licker", Fotografias, Whoopdie Doo

“You could do a lot of good in the world with cookies” - Moose In the Kitchen

Way back in March-ish my dear friend Moose had a horrendous break up with her boyfriend of five years. It was one of those things that might have been looming but to the rest of us, those who loved her and read her regularly well I can say that we were shocked. I distinctly remember my heart breaking for her because at the time, I couldn’t imagine what that could feel like. Of course now that I know what it feels like, we’ve been commiserating via email for several weeks because misery loves company. And I like to hear myself talk. The end.

Moose has the great fortune of living in San Francisco with the other ladies who freelance. A group of women that I envy and am in awe of because of their talent and the way they can put a few words together to make an actual sentence whereas I just look at a blank Word document and get diarrhea of the brain. Everything comes out in nonsensical bullshit and what could be said in one sentence gets said in a rambly paragraph full of digressions. Case in point: READ ABOVE. Anyway she is one of those people that I genuinely like and enjoy. If you ask she will tell you all about that time she cried in the Chicago Children’s Museum and while Chris Jordan sat and did some motherly comforting for her, I just stood there all opened mouthed and said “Um OK. I’m gonna go now.” I totally score on being the understanding friend.

Anyway because I love and because she is such a nice and lovely person I did what anyone would do from 3,000 miles away; I offered to bake cookies. Then I gave myself a hearty pat on the back for being the good friend who bakes and overnights cookies from the other coast. Then little brown sugar fairies danced in my head as the possibilities were endless.

That was in March. March was like two months ago. And in that two month period I myself suffered the break up from Hell and because I generally get distracted by shiny things I kind of put my cookie baking to the wayside. For the record I am also that friend that will say “OH YEAH! I will totally do that random thing for you” and then when push comes to shove I’m that friend who you’d like to kick in the shins because I’m full of good intentions and zero action.

Several weeks ago I had the great pleasure of sitting across from Deb of Smitten Kitchen fame and I remembered that I had to bake cookies and since she was sitting right across from her I made nice conversation and then interrogated her on some cookie recipes. She in turn sent me the loveliest email full of cookies for me to bake and I had to purchase a new laptop because of all the damn drooling. (Note to self: Invest in a bib. Also an apron).

The recipe that caught my eye though was for Peanut Butter Chocolate Chip Cookies. Here is how I feel about the commingling of peanut butter and chocolate: It is like an orgasm for your taste buds. In fact after consuming the two put together in perfect harmony, your tongue hangs out of your mouth for a bit – inadvertently of course – searching around your lips and if your tongue is as long as mine, down to your chin trying to grab those last few drops. For surely there must be more and your tongue is programmed to search and destroy. And do not think for one instant that I’ve never taken a spoonful of Skippy, sprinkled chocolate chips on top and called it dessert for my ever refined palate.

I clearly remember Deb saying that these cookies were addictive and perhaps I should put them in the far recesses of my kitchen. I just nodded and said sure then baked one batch for my family with my seven year old cousin. Now my family does not see me as the baking type. They see me as the woman who would like things delivered to her doorstep and ‘from scratch’ is some foreign lexicon. ‘Hostess’ is a word I am familiar with. Well imagine the surprise and broad smile that came across my incredulous and curmudgeonly, Republican uncle’s face when he put my cookies to his lips. In fact he asked for seconds just to make sure they were there and were for real. My Aunt Rachel ate four and my no carbohydrate eating mother kept eyeing them in hopes that maybe they were carbohydrate-less and calorie free and possibly made of air.

With the first batch a success I then made a second batch for Moose’s Mouth ONLY. She received them yesterday and had to shove two cookies in her mouth so she could type an email to me as to their deliciousness. Then told me that I was awesome. Well, duh.

I made the cookies out of love and because it was the only thing I could do for her. And since I’ve been going through what I’ve been going through people have been offering (and I’ve been declining) baked goods because nothing makes another feel better like a fresh pie or a pan of brownies. Really it’s the thought that goes beyond words and says that there are friends out there, amazing people who want nothing more than for you to feel better and normal again. So they put out what effort they can to make something and do something that really can mean more than words. Which leads me to yesterday’s post and all the posts of sadness and agony before; the words do mean more than you can ever know and if you really want to send me something, package up some French fries and a giant bottle of wine and call it a day. Or you can be straight up Canadian and send me a box of Smarties and declare your undying love for me. Either way, I’m easy.

Peanut Butter Soul Soothing Chocolate Chip Cookies (yields 36)

1 1/4 cups all-purpose flour
3/4 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon baking powder
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/2 cup unsalted butter, softened
1 cup peanut butter at room temperature (smooth is what we used, but I am pretty sure they use chunky at the bakery)
3/4 cup plus 1 tablespoon (for sprinkling) sugar
1/2 cup firmly packed light brown sugar
1 large egg, at room temperature
1 tablespoon milk
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1/2 cup peanut butter chips
1/2 cup chocolate chips

Preheat oven to 350 degrees.

In a large bowl, combine the flour, the baking soda, the baking powder, and the salt. Set aside.

In a large bowl, beat the butter and the peanut butter together until fluffy. Add the sugars and beat until smooth. Add the egg and mix well. Add the milk and the vanilla extract. Add the flour mixture and beat thoroughly. Stir in the peanut butter chips. Place sprinkling sugar on a plate. Drop by rounded teaspoonfuls into the sugar, then onto ungreased cookie sheets, leaving several inches between for expansion. Using a fork, lightly indent with a crissscross pattern, but do not overly flatten cookies. Bake for 10 to 12 minutes. Do not overbake. Cookies may appear to be underdone, but they are not.

Cool the cookies on the sheets for 1 minute, then remove to a rack to cool completely.

Milestones

May 26, 2008 | Filed under: The District Of Columbia, Whoopdie Doo

“Children make you want to start life over.” ~Muhammad Ali

Scene: Amy’s backyard. Amy and I are talking and Noah is standing on top of his brand spanking new play structure.

Noah: Hi Heather! Heather! Heather! HI HEATHER! HI HEATHER!

Me: Hey Noah!

Noah: HEATHER! HEATHER! HEATHHEEEEEERRRRR!

Amy: So then we decided on the Subaru even though we were thinking about the Volvos…

Noah: HEATHEEEEEERRR! HI HEATHER!

Me: Yeah, you might as well get the Subaru since it’s cheaper and it has the FWD.

Noah: HI HEATHER!

Me: HI NOSE!

Amy: Noah, what does an elephant do?

Noah: Demonstrates general elephant behaviors including stomping and using his arm as a trunk.

Amy: Are elephants tiny?

Noah: Nooooo.

Amy: Is mama tiny?

Noah: Noooo.

Amy: Mama is always medium in pictures. Is Heather tiny?

Noah: Heather is tiny

Seconds later

Noah: Petalsssss…

Amy: Yes flowers. We’re nice with the flowers. What do we do with the flowers?

Noah: Give them to Heather.

Me: (Dies)

Not five minutes later kid proceeds to sneeze in my face and then laugh at his effective germ spreading and then eats crackers all over my brand new black sweater. But this is a lovely improvement from screaming, hysterical flailing on the floor, puking because of his grand gag reflex due to teething and that time he pooped all over my freshly dry cleaned black pants. Thus leaving me more in love than I was before and very discreet tearing up because y’all HE SAID MY NAME. He likes me! He really likes me!

And then my ovaries popped out of nowhere and said, “Hahahaha! We’ve got you now, SUCKA!”

Familia

May 19, 2008 | Filed under: Familia, Fotografias, Humdrum, Whoopdie Doo

“Happiness is having a large, loving, caring, close-knit family in another city.” - George Burns

“So should I thank them?”

“Thank who?”

“The readers. I don’t want them to think I’m not appreciative. You know, my legions of fans”

Eye roll. “I think I mentioned you were away, but yes, you should thank them or I’ll thank them or something”

“Good, because I saw all of the comments and I’d like to do it again. I don’t want them hating me. So are you going to write about this?”

“About what?”

“About your family being here and visiting for your brother’s graduation”

“I have no clue.”

“Yes. You should write about your family being here and all of us converging here together at the same time and how it all just worked out and how great it is to be around family…and WHAT IS THAT LOOK FOR?”

“I mean, hell, are you going to start writing my posts now? I was just going to say ‘My brother graduated, here are some photos. Enjoy!’”

“Nooo. You should write about the importance of family and how we all came together and how I have to FORCE YOU to come to your brother’s graduation… and stop looking at me like that!”

The next day:

“What are you writing about?”

“Remember that conversation we were having the other day about how I should write about my family and how great it all was?”

“So you’re not writing about your family but you’re writing about the conversation we had when I was trying to force you into spending the day with your family?”

“Yup.”

“And look! You did it! You feel better now don’t you?”

“GOOD LORD, WOMAN. YES. I DO”

“Thank you”

And I meant it. Really. Even after 36 solid hours of complete family togetherness and seriously contemplating permanent celibacy, I still had a lovely weekend.