Oatmeal Pancakes

OK, I’ll just put it out there. I’ve had a  hard month, the culmination of which, after three years of couples cooking, has me cooking for just one. There’s no hate, no anger, just a lot of sadness, and hopefully a friendship again in the future somewhere. Thank goodness I have amazing friends and family both here in Indianapolis and over the phone. I also have these sweet girls.

And Matt Nathanson, whose music has an uncanny ability to fit the lovey-dovey beginning of relationships and the heartbreaking end of them, too. And then there’s food. Saturday afternoon I stood over a mixing bowl, beating together butter and brown sugar for cookies, crying, and I literally muttered through those tears, “At least no matter how little sense everything else makes right now, butter and sugar will always make something delicious and magical.” It’s nice to know that I can combine ingredients in a certain way and know that they’ll be tasty. It is not nice to know that every time my cat visits the litter box, she’ll emerge stinking and desperately wanting to cuddle. These things are certainties.

OK, so enough about me and my wah wah wah life. THIS WEEK IS THANKSGIVING WEEK! I love this holiday. It’s the Pie Holiday. It’s the Food Holiday. It’s the Hang Out with Family and Just Eat and Be Happy Holiday. I’m sure you’re all planning menus, grocery shopping, and getting ready to start cooking up a storm. I’m going to try to document all the wonderful things my family and I cook and eat. I am not going to give you the few sweets recipes I have in my queue right now. Instead I give you: breakfast. Because you will need a good breakfast to prepare you for a day of cooking and family time.

Breakfast is my absolute favorite meal of the day. I love brunching with my lady friends. I love, love eggs with runny yolks that ooze in a buttery fashion all over toast and potatoes and greens. And I love fluffy, sweet pancakes and waffles. My dad makes the best waffles, but alas I have no waffle maker. My mom always made the best pancakes growing up, these quick and tasty ones from Betty Crocker I believe. I have sweet memories of standing on a chair by the counter, helping to mix ingredients for waffles or pancakes on weekend mornings.

So these pancakes are not the ones my mom made for us growing up. They’re full of oatmeal goodness that fills you up properly. I’ve been making them since the summer, when I topped them with strawberries, powdered sugar, and syrup, and I have no idea why it’s taken me so long to share them with you. Seriously, these are the best pancakes ever. I’ve been mixing cut up apples into them lately and smothering them in honey. Or mixing in some pumpkin puree.

So, OK, you should make these during your holiday weekend. In your robe. Lazily. With a cup of coffee.

Continue reading

Ocean Make Out Sesh

No, I did not make out with someone in the ocean. I would never. I did however almost vomit up everything I’d eaten yesterday while watching Ali and Roberto make out in the ocean on the Bachelorette.

Yep, I’ve gotten sucked into watching the Bachelorette. Mostly because  one Monday night during last season’s the Bachelor, I got bored. I flipped on ABC and there was Jake. Suddenly I found myself inexplicably drawn to the T.V. every Monday night. Why I don’t know. Jake wasn’t that cute or interesting. Maybe it was simply the fact that the season was called “On the Wings of Love.” Gag me.

So of course I fell for sweet, freckled Ali, who had the chance to find love snatched so rudely away from her thanks to her job. When ABC announced that she would be the next bachelorette, I knew I was in for trouble. I’ve been watching off and on all season. I’ve wondered a few things.

1. How do you fall in love with someone and know you want to marry him within, what, two months? Especially when you’re surrounded by not just The One, but 25 other “The Ones.”

2. How do you fall in love while traveling the world? These people go on dates in Iceland, Portugal, and Tahiti. They dine in castles, they travel in helicopters, they ride horses in the mountains. Maybe it’s just me, but I think the real falling in love happens while you’re cooking dinner together, walking the dog, crying hysterically over the phone, taking naps together, sharing “how was your day” stories, and hanging out with each other’s families. Just the regular, every day stuff.

3. This show is obviously incredibly put on. It’s a wonder any of the couples have survived into a real relationship and marriage.

4. Frank is a creepy douchebag. Frank cries like a little girl on national T.V. Frank breaks someone’s heart. Ew Frank. I’m glad Frank has found happiness with his lady in Chicago. Couldn’t Frank have found his happiness before he was in the final three? Frank just wanted a free trip to Tahiti.

5. Why do the producers of this show think that all we want to see is Ali and her date making out in the ocean?! I would say we got at least ten minutes of footage of Ali and Roberto lying or standing in the water while kissing. Did they do anything else on this date? We’ll never know.

6. If I ever mention wanting to watch another season of the Bachelor/Bachelorette, please shake me.

Til Death Do Us Part

I think I have finally figured out why I dislike The Notebook.  I know, GASP!  Don’t kill me, K?  Most of my friends love it because it’s a story of true love, standing strong until the end.  The husband falls in love with his wife and fights for her, despite the fact that she’s marrying another man, and they live this love story.  Even at the end, when she cannot remember who he is, he still comes and reads to her and reminds her of their life together.  Yes, I agree wholeheartedly that this is true love at it’s finest.  It’s the kind of love I hope to have when I grow old.  But this story, the tragic present that the old Noah and Allie live in, is not romantic.  Yet somehow that’s what the movie has become.  Some epically romantic movie of prevailing love.

Earlier this week my mother’s uncle Herman died very suddenly of a heart attack.  He left his wife, Willy, who is nine years older than he was and is in very poor health.  She can hardly see anymore and in recent years he had done everything for her.  Grocery shopping, cleaning, all paperwork, money, everything.  My grandparents, my mom, and I visited them a few years ago when I was in Holland, and I remember him even carefully helping her carry coffee into the living room, guiding her around furniture.  Yes, it was overwhelmingly kind and touching that he was doing all this for her, that he was there for her through it all, but at the same time it was so incredibly sad and horrible.  
The night Herman died, Willy sisters and brothers told my mother of a scene that I can’t quite shake.  Willy sat in her chair in the living room, maybe the light was muted and dust floated in the air, much like it did the day we visited.  Over and over she said, “how could he leave me?  How could he?”  She seemed utterly lost without him.  Her brothers and sisters offered their houses, begged to stay and help her through the night, but she refused.  She just wanted to sit in that chair, “I probably won’t even go to bed, I can’t sleep.”  
If this was The Notebook, Willy’s story would be spun to look romantic.  She spent her entire life loving him, he took care of her, now she’s pining away for his lost love.  I just can’t see it that way.  I just see an old woman, lost without her other half, who can’t even bring herself to move from her chair and go to bed, so she sits there, helplessly all through the night.  How is there even a shred of romance in that?  I know my grandparents and great aunts and uncles will take care of her.  They’ll stay with her, they’ll eventually insist that she comes to stay with them, but right now I’m only sad for her.
That was quite a depressing post.  

the W word

I got two Christmas cards in the mail yesterday, one from my aunt and uncle and one my grandparents. I opened them before I had even taken off my coat because getting real in-the-mail mail these days is exciting. (that’s not a hint, I’m just as guilty of sending 100 times more emails than snail mail.) The card from my grandparents started out innocently enough with my grandmother’s note, followed by my grandfather’s note, which took a sudden turn when he wrote this sentence, “maybe in the new year you will be planning a wedding.” That was followed by this sentence, which escaped loudly from my mouth, “What the fuck? That is not OK! Why?!”

It seems as if the whole world (besides my close friends, and for that I thank you) is planning my wedding. Oh, and the two most important people in said imaginary festivities, and the w-word has not even crossed their lips. Not once. I know it’s in fashion these days to get engaged after a year or less of being in a relationship, but I’m not a fan of being fashionable. I’m more a fan of doing things at my own speed and knowing that if they’re meant to happen, they will.

I’ve never been the wedding obsessed sort of girl. I know people who have had their weddings planned out since they were little girls, dress, colors, place, table settings, the whole deal. Oh I played my fair share of “wedding” and my friends and I even forced my brother to participate in a pink tutu, even though he was the obvious and logical choice for the groom. My cousins had the most beautiful wedding dress that had been their grandmother’s in their dress up box. It had long sleeves and a long row of tiny buttons up the back. I loved that dress.

The second I realized Adam was awesome though, I did not start to plan our future. I have no timeline, except for the one which involves moving back to North Carolina. I’ve thought about the future, but only in an abstract sort of maybe someday sort of way. Honestly the thought of being the center of attention in a white dress, which I would obviously get dirty immediately, makes me feel like puking. Walking down the aisle with my dad is hysterical. Being sentimental in front of lots of people is unthinkable. And the planning? Holy yikes. The only fun part in my mind is the party. Ask me to elope and come home and have a “HAHA we got married and you didn’t know” party and I’ll be yours forever.

So don’t mention the W-word around me unless I bring it up because I’m sick of people making assumptions about a relationship that they are not in. Plus, you’ll probably give me a heart attack:)

She got it so good

Update on my noisy neighbor.

The weather has cooled off considerably. My windows are now closed, as are my neighbor’s. I crawled into bed on Sunday night after a long day of driving and, floating into the night came the familiar sounds of the girl next door having a giant good time. THROUGH CLOSED WINDOWS! OK, enough is enough. I composed a letter and stuck it to her door this morning. Honestly, I’m a little nervous about the results or possible consequences but I complain a lot and figured that it’s time to take some action.

Dear #19,

All throughout the spring and summer months I’ve had my windows open, as have you, so of course we hear things in each other’s apartments like the tv and people talking and me yelling at my dog. I have also heard, and most of the time been awoken in the middle of the night, you having sex. I’ve been regularly woken up a few times a week by your passionate screams.

As the weather has cooled off I have closed my windows and figured that I would no longer hear your nocturnal activities. Turns out I was wrong and you are louder than anyone could imagine. Last night as I lay in bed reading with my window closed, I heard, yep, you guessed it, you having sex. OK so it probably won’t wake me up anymore but I am really tired of being a third party to what you do with your boyfriend. Honestly, I have no problem with what you do with your boyfriend, it’s your business and I’m glad that it’s obviously so great. I just really don’t like hearing two people have sex. I’m really just hoping you guys could try to keep it down a little bit. I understand that sometimes it’s hard but I’d really appreciate it. Unfortunately we have thin walls and apparently thin windows too! Thanks so much!

#17, Julia

We shall see.

Might post some NC Vacation Pics later on.

Late night ballad of a neighbor girl

Have I told you about my neighbor? I don’t know much about her other than her name and that she has this one skirt that I really like. Oh and what time she and her boyfriend (whose name I also know…) have sex, and how great it is.

This is what’s been happening for the past, well since the spring probably. Two or three times a week I climb into bed and disappear into dreamland. Anywhere between the hours of 3 and 6 AM I am awoken, from a dead sleep mind you, by the joyful noises of my neighbor and her boyfriend having sex. This sex must be pretty good, and every time, for the elation I hear floating out of her open bedroom window and into mine.

I’m not gonna lie, I really dislike being awakened in the middle of the night, and especially by sex noises. I’ve been pretty goodvnatured about the whole thing. Her escapades make for pretty funny stories. The other night though I woke up to, not only the orgasm screams, of which there were more than usual this time, but the sound of bare skin hitting bare skin in the heat of the moment. SICK. Pushed over the edge. So now I’m trying to decide what to do, because honestly, I’ve had enough. My initial thought was to write her a note and stick it on her door. Just politely saying “I have no problems with what you do in your spare time and in the privacy of your own home, but please keep it down!!” A few of my friends told me to fight fire with fire and have my own loud mid-night sex. I think next time it happens I just might yell out my window “KEEP IT DOWN YOU FUCKING FREAKS!!” I mean I can’t be responsible for what comes out of my mouth in a state of just having been rudely awoken.

She loves him She loves him not FYI

First things first – I GOT AIR CONDITIONING!!! I do not care that I broke down, Mira and I are happily cool now. Aaaaaah. That’s me breathing in the refreshingly cold air in my apartment. Or imagining it since I am at work.

Facebook gives me a lot of grief. People publicize so much of their lives on that thing. The amount of personal information in my profile sometimes makes me uncomfortable and I think I’m a pretty middle of the road Facebooker. I had a friend in college on the equestrian team. She was a lovely girl, very sweet and fun. We’ve lost touch, as I have with many of the girls on the team (some more purposefully than others) but through her profile I discovered that she has a boyfriend these days.

OK, I am going to insert a disclaimer here. I realize that if you only read my blog you may think I am obsessed with my boyfriend. He’s just managed to sneak into most posts lately. I am completely crazy about him but I do not excessively Facebook about him. Maybe because I am convinced that only a few people read this blog and therefore I can say whatever I damn well please. Anyway.
My friend has posted plenty of pictures of her and the BF. Fine except that she’s gone to the extent of posting kissing pictures (seriously, who takes pictures of themselves kissing? This is a very bizarre phenomenon which I am convinced started, or was at least encouraged by the advent of Facebook). One of said kissing pictures is even her profile pic! Egads! Her statuses have also started to revolve around the boy. “B is loving him…”, “B is in bed with her manly man…” and so on. Her wall has been taken over by overly sweet posts from him. I don’t quite understand the need to flaunt a relationship on the internet. I have nothing to prove to anyone, not even really myself. As long as we are happy then why should I care if people I don’t give a rat’s ass about on Facebook know that I love my boyfriend and that we make out in front of the camera? (we obviously don’t do this. Narcissistic much?) Let’s keep it classy folks.
What follows is a few pictures that I would like to share taken on Friday night when Sam and I wandered up and down Mass Ave looking for art galleries to poke our heads into. Of course the weather, which has apparently lost its mind, got bad and we ended up running into a bar as huge forks of lightning tore across the sky.