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.

Published!

My first music write-up came out yesterday with Drawl Magazine!  I'm very excited so please head on over and check it out!

TP Trauma

I rely on two techniques to ensure that my butt doesn't come into physical contact with the toilet seat when using public restrooms.  Like most normal women, my method of choice is squatting.  However, if there is something preventing me from properly executing the squat (ie: laziness, inebriation, or loss of balance due to wearing heels), then I turn to option number 2, which is to line the seat with toilet paper before sitting down.  These two strategies have pretty much served me well during my 23 years of life (24 years, as of Saturday!).  That is, up until that fateful weekend in September.

It was a big weekend.  The Avett Brothers were playing two nights in a row at the Charlottesville Pavilion and one of my best friends, Julia, was coming to visit from Baton Rouge.  After a day of wine-tasting, a group of about 8 of us decided to go out to dinner at Michael's Bistro on the Corner.  After we finished eating, I ran to the restroom before we left the restaurant.

Some useful background information: I also had laryngitis at the time and had spent 15 minutes in the bathroom blowing my nose at one of the vineyards earlier in the day.  You can imagine the kind of jokes this warranted.

With this in mind, I was determined to pee as quickly as possible and haul ass (literally) out of the bathroom.  As I was facing every squatting obstacle possible, I lined the seat with toilet paper, did my thing, and rushed out.  I didn't notice anything unusual and no one else seemed to, as we put on our coats and descended, single-file, down the long staircase that dumped us out onto the sidewalk.  

My friend, Margaret, had followed me down the stairs and when we finally stepped outside, I heard her say, rather loudly and not so covertly, " Desire'!!! Is that...TOILET PAPER?"

Naturally, I looked down at my boots and started inspecting the bottom of my heels.  I didn't see anything. "Nope! I don't know what you mean...there's nothing!"  That was when I realized it.  Margaret was pointing between my legs.  I looked down, and there it was: a long trail of toilet paper peeking out from beneath my skirt.  The toilet paper that lined the seat must have stuck to my butt when I stood up, and was now secured on one end by my tights, allowing the other end to billow in the wind behind me as I walked, like a kite tail.

Suddenly, I felt a tugging, and there was my friend, Kim, taking one for the team and pulling the toilet paper out.  However, it wasn't going anywhere without a fight and it didn't take long for Kim to scream, "There's resistance!!"  When the toilet paper decided to give, Kim kept pulling and pulling.  Everyone gasped and awed, as the squares of toilet paper multiplied.  Kim promptly threw it on the ground and we all glared at it, gleaming against the stone walkway.  Everyone burst out laughing (including a random couple who had stood nearby to watch the spectacle) as I tried to explain my seat-lining method.  But it was no use.

At the end of the night, we were standing on the same street corner, trying to hail a cab, when an ambulance pulled up the area where my strip of toilet paper had been abandoned just hours earlier.  "I'll bet there was a bar fight or something," I surmised.  "No, no, no.  Let's be honest here," my friend Patrick responded.  "Someone obviously tripped on your toilet paper."

A couple weeks later, I received this card in the mail from Julia:

There I am.

Things That Amuse Me

I knew that today was going to be a good day when I awoke to a facebook message from my friend that said:

"i spent tonight at a weird work dinner entertaining a CREEP named GORDON. then i had to take him and his boring friends out for drinks and then i got home and had a package and it was something i ordered friday night while not in a proper state of mind (like now) and it is a box of 50 owl finger puppets! why would i order that?!"

Here's some other things that are keeping me entertained today:

Gadhafi had a secret Condoleezza Rice scrapbook?!

Literal "Look At Me Now"

My Cat Ate My Doctor's Note

My Dog Cat Ate My Homework Doctor's Note.

Yep.  That's right.  My cat has struck again.  As I've mentioned before, I had gall bladder surgery a few months ago.  Having a major organ ripped out through your belly button doesn't really leave your body in the best condition to go to Zumba or Cycling.  In order to get my money back for my gym membership, I had my Doctor write a note explaining my situation.  All I had to do was fax the letter to the Scary Gym Lady (see below):

and hope that, having already ruined enough lives that day, she would spare a little mercy and honor my request.

But once again my laziness prevailed and the Doctor's note sat under a pink magnet on my fridge for approximately a month and a half.  It wasn't until I needed to use that pink magnet to hold something way more important (tickets to two Avett Brothers concerts in September) that I decided I should do something about the note.  I'll take it to work with me in the morning and fax it from there, I thought.  Apparently, the note caught my cat, Roux's, attention at the same time.  (I'm not going to lie, there are times when I think Roux can read my mind...she really freaks me out...)  Except Roux didn't wait until the morning to take action.  She decided to do something about it in the middle of the night.

When I woke up in the morning, I saw it.  My Doctor's note was on the floor with a bite taken out of it.  And not just any bite.  The most crucial bite that could have been taken.  If this were a cinnamon bun, Roux had eaten the moist center, where the spiral ends and all the cinnamon-y goodness is contained.  Let's just say that Roux knows how to eat her paper.  She managed to take the most bland dish and find a way to savor it.  She had eaten the date.  Desire' had surgery on ------.  Without a date, I had nothing!  No proof of when the surgery actually took place.  I could have had this surgery 3 years ago for all they knew.  How Roux even got the note down is a question I'd rather not know the answer to.  How inconvenient!  Just when I had decided to be slightly motivated, Roux foiled my plans!

Aftermath:

Thanks, Roux.