Desiré Tries To Do Stuff: Paleo

I've hit plenty of lows in my adult life. There was the time my dad tried to set me up with a Harry Potter look-a-like ("What's wrong? I thought you liked Harry Potter!"), the summer I was so broke that I strongly considered working on the Tumblebus (a child's gym on wheels -- AKA a death trap), and the time I went to a concert with my mom and every college aged male around us proceeded to hit on her while I took long, sorrowful sips of my strawberry margarita out of an extra large guitar-shaped sippy cup.

But it was the new low I hit when I was visiting my friends Patrick and Chad at my alma mater in Charlottesville last month that made me realize I should probably reevaluate my life. There are only two things to do when you return to Charlottesville: eat and drink. So after a hearty dinner of enchiladas and a night of bar hopping, I was determined to hit up my favorite late night eateries from undergrad. Since the Last Call Dogs food truck was nowhere in sight, my options were narrowed down to two: The White Spot, home of the famous "Gus Burger" topped with a fried egg, or Christian's Pizza, the best pizza in all the land. Patrick and I opted to go to Christian's while Chad and Cari went to The White Spot.

Me, Julia, Nick, and Laura flashing the "extra mozz" hand signal.

The Christian's run down is that they have a variety of pizzas already made and you simply go down the line, pick the slice you want and they warm it up in the oven for you. But one life-changing night in undergrad, my friends and I discovered that the pizza maestro would smother your slice in extra mozzarella if you asked nicely. This wasn't a secret everybody was privy to, so it didn't take long for us to establish the "extra mozz" hand signal to flash to the maestro when we ordered our slices. With one flick of the wrist, we were like elite members of a speakeasy for late-night cuisine.


So while waiting in line with Patrick, I decided it was time to bring the "extra mozz" hand signal out of retirement. Sure, it's pretty much a creepy claw in which you wiggle your fingers, but it got the job done. While waiting in line with Patrick, I also thought it was a good idea to text Chad over at The White Spot, "Git me a Gus Burg," which is how I wound up eating both a slice of pizza and an egg-topped burger at 3 a.m.

I woke up full (but not too full to eat brunch, of course) and decided that maybe it would be in my best interest to start eating healthier. I settled on the Whole30 Challenge -- a Paleo-based 30 day cleanse. This wasn't an easy decision. After all, I had only used my Wendy's Free-Frostys-For-A-Year card twice and the Whole30 meant no dairy, no wheat, no processed food, no sugar, no alcohol. I had tried Paleo before and two hours in I caved and ate a cupcake, so I knew the odds were against me.

I started out slowly. Eggs and fruit for breakfast, a salad tossed in oil and vinegar for lunch, a meat paired with a veggie for dinner. "This isn't too bad," I thought. And then I tried to switch it up and start cooking. The words "creative" and "kitchen" don't jive well with me, so I'm not sure why I thought I could pull any of this off.

YUM BURN.

First I tried to cook sweet potato fries.

























Next, I tried to make turkey wraps without the wrap...

But they creeped me out, so I added lettuce...

And then I made "garlic mayo" which was the consistency of what I imagine breast milk to be. Needless to say, that's still sitting uneaten in  the back of my fridge.

Next I tried to make an apple cobbler for dessert.

Facing the fact that I simply cannot cook, I went back to making my boring old eggs.

But look closely. Yes, that is a rather large bubble protruding from that yolk.



















A few nights later, I actually succeeded in making Megan's Jalapeno Kale Miracle, but not without some trouble. I washed my hands at least three times after slicing the jalapenos. Approximately four hours later, I went to take my contacts out before bed. I pulled my contact out of my right eye and my eye immediately started burning. "WHYYY?!!" I threw my contact down on the counter. I took my contact out of my left eye and it started burning "WHAT IS HAPPENING?!!" I threw that contact down on the counter. I turned the faucet on and used my fingers to splash water in my already burning eyes, only to be met with more burn. "AHHH!" It was like the outtakes from Home Alone in my bathroom. The next day, I ended up putting my contacts in the opposite eyes because I mixed them up during my jalapeno eye fiasco.

Maybe I should quit trying to do stuff.

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Here I Am

Hi friends,

So it's been a while (oops). Here's what I've been up to for the past year and a half:

I resigned from my job in Charlottesville and moved to Washington, D.C. to begin a Journalism Master's program at Georgetown. In true city fashion, I rented a studio apartment in the heart of downtown. It had a single window, which featured a prime view of this parking lot and banana mobile.

While I unpacked and tried to settle into the new apartment, my demon cat, Roux, did this.

Always looking for new things to do, I went to the "drive-in" near my apartment, which was a movie projected onto the side of a renovated warehouse. But I forgot the wine key...

I explored new restaurants with friends and when gratuity was included, if our server did a good job, we tipped them a little sumthin' extra.

I joined a pretty serious band. Clanky D & Tha Whistlas, anyone?

And a hip-hop duo. Dr. Dray and Kimbaland dropping beats in a city near you.

I drank copious amounts of coffee, but only poured my cream out of a Tupac shot glass.

 In D.C., they sound it out.

Tired of sitting with Roux and staring out of my one window at the banana mobile, I moved into a bigger apartment with a roommate. My roommate got tired of staring at my apartment troll garb and bought a nice pair of satin pajamas for me.

I picked up new hobbies, like collecting novelty salt and pepper shakers.

I went out to dinner with Sarah, and she ordered a platter of Fancy Feast cat food. Or Spam. You decide.

Halloween came and I dressed up as Roux.

And drank some beer.

Most of the time I took the metro, but if I had to drive anywhere, I let Roux take the wheel.

A year ago today, I started my dream internship at NPR Music. I showed up in black dress slacks and heels. But instead of casual Fridays, the music team opted for casual Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday and - if anyone remembered - dressy Friday, which meant that Stephen wore his jeans that only had one hole in them. And then there was the one Friday that Jacob actually wore blue suede shoes...
What an amazing bunch.

I took a stab at being healthy and started running outside. But weird bumps popped up on my shins, proving I'm allergic to exercise and giving me permission to binge marathon Orange Is The New Black and Pretty Little Liars on my couch. Because I'm a hypochondriac, I decided to have my bumpy legs inspected at the orthopedic surgeon and the kind doctor gave me these awesome shorts to wear. 

My fashionable medical accessories didn't stop there. I had to have all four of my wisdom teeth removed and I spent the last two weeks of 2013 looking like this.

But it's okay, because I had the golden ticket to a solid toothless diet. This baby guarantees me free frosties for the rest of the year.

And last, but not least, I casually drank wine in a field with the musician whose concerts I've been structuring my life around since I was 15 years old. He put his arm around me and his face touched my face. That is all.