Sweat the Small Stuff. No, really.

The sun is shining. It's going to be a balmy 73. I accomplished my work out early this morning and loved every second of the glorious 4 miles. My cocoa butter body wash has left my skin smelling like vanilla pudding......

And I could spit nails. 

Seriously, I'm about to take my earrings out and smack this day in its stupid face!

Do you have these days? The kind of days where in reality things seem quite peachy, but for some reason you are caught up in a Hulk-like rage that can only be quelled by copious amounts of reality TV and the safety of your bed? 

.....Well, maybe the remedy differs, but you get me, right?

No, thank you condescending readers, but it is not "that time of the month" nor am I grouchy due to some crash diet or "cleanse" (if any of you actually had that thought cross your minds you must be new to this blog). 

I'm just annoyed at life today.

It all started last night when Husband and I made our almost nightly trek to the kitchen for a post-dinner-pre-breakfast snack. I had already decided on my morsel of choice. Envisioning the perfect bunch of bananas that sat poised on my counter gently calling my name, I walked into the kitchen. AH! To my utter dismay, the bananas that I had anticipated dipping into melted dark chocolate were spattered with brown spots of death. Premature browning! NOOOOO! 

Cut down in the prime of their lives!

So I suppose my anger was still ruminating around my brain when I passed out watching Storage Wars drifted off to sleep, which must have resulted in my proverbial poo colored glasses today. 

Here I shall outline my list of grievances that have since been noted:

1. The lovely (and rare) professional manicure I got with my sister for her birthday has now been irreconcilably chipped.

2. My hair takes WAY too long to dry and leaves my neck feeling cold and clammy.

3. Sam's Club had NO bananas (yeah, I buy my bananas at Sam's - don't judge) . Thus, I am resigned to return home and stare into the mushy brown skin of my precious bananas as they succumb to a slow death by oxidation and humidity.

4. The damn birds are SO loud this time of year. I mean, I get that you're excited to be alive and all, but puh-leez SHUT IT while us normal non-birds are sleeping at 3 am.

5. I had to eat a tomato sandwich for lunch. ONLY tomato. Doesn't Sky Mall sell a grocery shopping robot by now? It's 2012, people. Get on that.

Okay that's enough of that. As you can see, I was in quite the state when I started this day. I felt incapable of accomplishing anything while in such a foul mood....so I didn't. I sat for about 30 minutes doing nothing.....except mindlessly picking at my already ruined manicure and watching the Barefoot Contessa make scrambled eggs....

It was then that I realized how simultaneously obnoxious and blessed I am. 

It doesn't take a licensed psychoanalyst to figure out that these problems are miniscule in the grand scheme of life -- in fact it only took Ina Garten a few minutes of whisking to snap me out my funk.

So here it is: Not to get too morbid on you all, but there was a time when I seriously wondered whether or not my mom would be alive to see me graduate. Yes, she rocked that bald head, but I like her much more with her glossy brunette locks and health intact. 

Since the C word took our lives for a turn, my family developed a new life philosophy: 

It could always be worse. 

I know, we're not always the most creative bunch...but that's what we say...and it's the truth. 

What we (and you) consider our worst day is what others would consider their best. How many people would LOVE to be complaining about nail polish instead of being told that they need 4 more rounds of chemo? I've already been in on that kind of conversation and let me tell you - nail polish wins.

I'm not trying to guilt you all. This is not a diatribe against having a comfortable life. I'm just trying to point out that sometimes when there is nothing to complain about - we make problems for ourselves. I would place every penny I ever earn on the fact that all the grievances I listed (and all the rest of them I kept to myself - you're welcome) would never have drawn my attention under more trying circumstances.

Quite frankly, sometimes my mom annoys me with her chronic optimism (as I'm probably annoying some of you), but I'm thankful for it.

Knowing how lucky we are makes me realize that being annoyed is really a luxury. It allows us to really go for the drama sometimes - just for the fun of it. For example, "Oh. My. Gosh. This lemonade I paid 3 bucks for is SooOOo diluted! Where is my sugar in the raw, Jeeves??" 

It can actually be fun. For example, "Oh. My. Gosh. This diluted lemonade is so much better than drinking cement!"

Once you realize that you are no longer dealing with life and death real-life drama and fear, it makes everything else a cake walk. So go ahead, sweat the small stuff - just because you can! For real, if my biggest problem today is a chipped manicure....well, in the immortal words of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (your welcome, Husband) "Right on! Righteous! KOWABUNGA!" ....and all that other exuberant surfer-type stuff.

I can choose to love everyday and make it into something better. What's more, I can actually learn to love my petty problems, my daily annoyances, the close talker in the elevator, the There's-Something-About-Mary-thing my bangs do when I wake up, even gross bananas....

You know how the saying goes, "if life hands you brown bananas, make banana cake!"

Another cake?? I know, I know, but it's really more of a really spongy banana bread. Go with it.

Step One: Preheat oven to 375. Whisk together 3 cups of flour (I already scolded you all about white flour, don't make me tell you twice) with 2/3 cup of sugar, 2 teaspoons baking powder, 2 teaspoons baking soda, 2 teaspoons cinnamon, 1/4 teaspoon salt.

Step Two: Mash 6 bananas (give or take a banana) by removing them from their skins like so...

 Get a Masher of some type....Like this....

Available at your local torture implement store...or Homegoods, whatever.

 Mash the heck out of those buggers...

This shot goes out to any babies that read my blog. Looks tasty huh?

Step Three: Mix mashed bananas (should yield about 2 cups) with 1 cup non-fat (or low fat if you want to live on the edge) sour cream, 1 cup plain fat free yogurt, 2 lightly whisked eggs,  1/2 cup canola oil, 2 teaspoons vanilla extract.

Step Four: Pour batter evenly into two greased 8x8 (or 9x9) glass baking dishes (or metal pans).

Step Five: Bake for 30-40 minutes or until golden on the top and solid through (test with a toothpick, don't wiggle the pan, you silly kids). Let cool. Or don't...Just try not to give yourself third degree burns on your esophagus like I probably did...oops.

So tomorrow, when you sleep through your alarm and are frantically brushing your teeth in the shower to try avoiding tardiness at your job, be thankful you have a job to be late to. Then indulge yourself a little drama and loudly lament to your husband/roommate/sibling/parakeet. Oh, and grab a slice of this cake. It makes a great breakfast, too. Or at least it's better than cement.  

Thor says HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MORTAL!

If you live in Maine and happened to be awakened by the riotous thunder last night, you can blame my sister, Becca. 

Becca is 21 today. 

Her boyfriend, Thor-god-of-thunder, was wishing her a happy birthday in true Norse style.

After being jolted awake by that Avengers-esque birthday greeting, I suddenly grasped what I had been trying to avoid in the weeks prior:

My little sister is 21 today. 

My little sister is 21?

MY little sister is 21?!

MY LITTLE sister is 21?!?!

Wow, my little sister is 21.

B and I have been through some pretty amazing adventures through the years. We've spanned the danger spectrum from benign (sneaking out of bed to host meetings of "the sticker club" in our closet) to life-threatening (that one time I saved her from being dragged out to sea by an intense under-toe current...thanks rec center swimming lessons!) and somehow we're no worse for wear... Or at least we're still breathing having incurred only minor damage to our emotional state... and pride.

We don't have any other siblings and have always lived far away from our crazy awesome clan of Italian/Irish cousins, so for the most part it's just been the two of us.

We've survived a flurry of bad fashion: middle parted bangs, butterfly clips, chokers, matching sweatsuits, Looney Toon embellished items, etc...

We've managed a number of tremendously devastating break-ups stupid boys.

We weathered the ice storm of 1998 with ease. (no power for 14 days means no school, epic amounts of board games, make-believe, and showering in the locker rooms at our town's indoor pool = a 7 and 10 yr-olds' dream come true)

We've fought over: the remote, clothes, chores, the Nickelodeon "gak" that we got for Christmas, etc and yet I've only knocked out 1 of her teeth and she only punched me in the face twice!  (granted one was an accident.....I think)

She's 21. How is this even allowed to happen? I'll admit, I'm slightly outraged at the prospect of my little nugget of cuteness officially becoming an adult.

I am only 3 years older than B and yet I have always felt responsible for her safety. Anyone who is an older sibling in any capacity (particularly all my first born peeps out there) will understand this. 

For example, in elementary school, a kid threw a piece of broken pavement at her. I promptly pinned him up against a dumpster by his neon windbreaker and threatened him with all the 3rd grade power I could muster....by telling him I was a 4th degree black belt and would break both his legs if he ever came near her again...for the record I've still never taken a martial arts class. (But if you're reading this kid, Husband actually does martial arts, so don't get any ideas.)

Or...One year, she had her birthday party at McDonald's (don't judge - this is back when people thought Sun Chips were considered health food). Some random (and uninvited) kid kept pushing her and her friends - which can be treacherous when you're in the plastic depths of the Play Place. Once again, I rushed to her aid, cornered the kid (leaving him teetering on the edge of the ball pit), and informed him that I was a 6th degree black belt (note the increased confidence in my charade) and Darth Vader was a friend of mine (nerd alert), so if he knew what was good for him, he'd get lost. He cried and his mom just bought him more chicken nuggets (is there no justice in the world?!).

I digress...the point is, my little sister is no longer little. I think that's why I'm so weirded out. As much as I'd like to, I can't protect her from life. I can't shield her from the reality of career let downs, failed relationships, or Sallie Mae's all-prevailing tenacity to get their money back. Besides, I doubt they would be intimidated by my claims of martial arts proficiency. 

Let's face it. I'm not Thor. Firstly, I lack upper body strength. Secondly, well frankly, the thunder last night gave me a severe case of goosebumps. Flying in to save her will not work to her favor in interviews or final exams.

The good news is, my sister is awesome. Despite some turbulent adolescent years (let's face it - we all had them), she has emerged a beautiful, fearless woman. Maybe that scares me a little bit too. For the first time, she doesn't need me to protect her. She's wielding her own sense of purpose and drive that is sometimes so convicted it intimidates me. 

So Becca, while I don't have golden years of wisdom to share with you, I do have a little something. And yes, it obviously involves food.

Becca, I love you. I love you so much I decided to make you a cake. That's one of the things I can do for you. It's your favorite flavor, of course, and the recipe is easy-peasy-lemon-squeezey. This cake is basically the opposite of life. Unlike most other things you will encounter, this process is simple. Unlike other things you will want in life, this cake is easily attained. 

You'll soon find (as if you haven't already, you brilliant thing, you), that the things you want the most, the things that taste the sweetest, are the most difficult to achieve. But I promise you they're worth every bit of striving, every ounce of patience and lessons learned. When you want something for the right reasons and you're ready to work to get there - you will.

But enough of the seriousness! Sheesh, Fryer. All we want right now is cake!

Not just any cake...Tiramisu Cake!

Step One: Preheat oven to 350. Combine 1 cup of strongly brewed coffee, 4 egg whites, and a boxed cake mix. Yes, you read that right - a boxed cake mix. I already warned you. This is a fantasy cake full of shortcuts that can't be utilized in daily life. (or shouldn't be) Now, don't go all Betty Crocker on me, get something organic or at least not chock full of preservatives and death. I recommend Dr. Oetker or Cherrybrook Farms. Mix until well combined and then beat for 2 minutes.

Calm down people, he's a Doctor.

Step Two: Finely chop 4 Skor bars (Fun fact: one of the few candy bars that does not contain trans fats - along with my favorite peanut butter cups - win!) Fold into batter.

 Halloween Flashback...except those would be empty wrappers and I would be sick.

Step Three: Bake in two 8-9 inch rounds that have been greased and floured for 25-35 minutes  or until golden brown on the edges and cooked through.

Thanks Doc! These look swell!

Step Four: Combine mascarpone cheese and powdered sugar with a few splashes of coffee (measurements will differ based on your taste) and whip into a frenzy of simple pastry cream to fill and ice this masterpiece!

You may want to make more than needed for the cake...excessive tasting is inevitable.

Step Five: Stack. Cake-PastryCream-Cake-PastryCream

The fact that I resisted eating the second layer is proof that I'm a good sister.

Step Six: Wish Becca the happiest 21st birthday ever and enjoy.

Creepy face. Sincere heart. ...Hey, I tried.

Happy Birthday to you 

Happy Birthday to you

Happy Birthday my dear, sweet, incredible Becca

Happy Birthday to you

World, get ready. This girl is coming for you. 

Jeni-Cat

This Sunday is Mother's Day and I'm feeling so sneaky.  Through lies and well-planned trickery, I deceived my dear mother on what I would be writing about this week...

**SURPRISE MOM!**

This week I am dedicating my post to you and all your maternal glory!

For those of you who know me outside of the cyber universe, you probably also know my mom. Although she is most commonly confused as my sister or general-gal-pal-BFF, 

This is why...

Left = MOM  Right = SISTER

I promise you she is indeed my biological mother...and I have the creepy birth video to prove it.

She defies genetic science and laws of human aging, but somehow I still love her. (Even when 90% of people we meet insist I must be her sister...thanks world, but I'm 24)

My mom's name is Jeni.

Yes, J-E-N-I. (much to the dismay of her elementary school teachers who insisted she needed an extra 'N') 

Most people call their mothers things like:

"Mom" (if you're a typical kid)

"Momma" (if you want something)

"Mommy" (if you REALLY want something - or are just annoying in general)

"Ma" (if you're Southern)

or maybe 

"Ma'am" (if you're REALLY Southern or part of a cult)

But I call my mom Jeni-Cat.

I'm actually not a huge fan of cats and neither is she.

However, we have a strange familial sense of humor and it's all pretty well encapsulated in this:

One day, my mom accompanied me and a few friends to Good Will. (I love me some bargains) We found an object that was so hysterical and terrifying that it had to be purchased. (Those of you who have shopped at GW will know that this is not a unique event) This object became the mascot of our house and currently resides on my bookshelf. We named it Jeni-Cat.

The perfect name for something that brings us all tons of laughs, reminds us of fond memories, but somehow still strike us with fear out of pure respect....(or should I say "purr" respect? hardy har!)

BEHOLD: Jeni-Cat...not sure what's going on with the gourds, but yes, she's a candle.

All that to say, my mom is one of a kind. 

A gem. 

A woman beyond compare.

She's taught me a lot and since seeing Jeni-Cat in that shrine-like picture is putting me in a fantastic mood, I thought I'd share some of her wisdom with you.

My mom has taught me that:

1. you don't have to pay full price to feel like a million bucks.

2. sometimes it's okay to eat because it tastes good and not because you're hungry.

3. being bald can still be beautiful with the right attitude.

4. a sense of humor is invaluable.

My dad rocking my mom's wig: See #3 and #4

5. every stage of life is different and there are treasures to be found in each.

6. a really good burger is one of the greatest joys of life.

7. once in a while you just need to cry it out.

8. street smarts are just as important as book smarts.

9. contrary to popular belief, investing yourself in your faith is worth it.

10. loving people is more important than being right.

11. a little leopard print is a wardrobe necessity.

12. resting and taking care of yourself is not a waste of time.

13. worrying about the future is just borrowing trouble.

14. no matter what anyone tells you a woman should look like, you are beautiful.

15. if your favorite song comes on, dancing in the grocery store is completely acceptable.

16. you can't pick your family, but you can adopt other wonderful people into it.

17. chocolate and peanut butter were made for each other.

18. snorting when you laugh should be encouraged.

19. living in fear is worthless.

20. you can accomplish anything with the right pair of shoes and a smile.

21. the right man WILL treat you like a princess.

22. the ocean is one of the most peaceful places to be.

23. prayer works.

24. homemade pizza should be eaten at least once a week.

25. with sweet and sour moments: life is tart. yes, she was my inspiration for this blog (and basically everything else I've ever done)

While mulling over these pieces of advice both comical and endearing, I realized (yet again) how incredible the role of a mother is and how remarkable the women are who undertake it. For many of my dear friends, this will be their first Mother's Day. For some, the journey has only just begun and for others, like myself, motherhood is still being observed from the receiving end. 

So...Ladies and gentlemen, here's to our mothers! A recipe fit for the high tea of Queen Elizabeth...or the queen of your proverbial castle. It's 2012 people, our moms definitely share the ruling of the roost and should be treated as such.

This recipe also happens to be one of Jeni's all time favorites.

LEMON SQUARES! 

Just like the life that our darling mamas help us navigate it's got a little sweet and a little sour. And just like them it's layered and dainty while still packing a punch of flavor.

And let' be honest, like any baked good, our moms are also able to withstand the firey temperatures of an inferno and emerge not only unscathed, but somehow improved and solid....Ladies, I tip my hat to you with this scrumptious recipe.

Step One: (Preheat your oven to 350) beat 3-4 tablespoons softened butter (depending on how buttery you like your crust...I obviously added 4) with 1/4 cup sugar until creamy.

Yum! (butter) with guest appearance by Ah! (knife)

Step Two: Gradually add 1 cup of whole wheat pastry flour or whole wheat all purpose (or white flour if you don't care about your health...tsk tsk) until mixture is crumbly. Press into 8 x 8 baking pan.

Step Three: Bake crust for 15 minutes. Let cool.

Buttery crust, I love you.

Step Four: Beat 3 eggs until foamy then add 3/4 cup sugar, 1/8 teaspoon salt, 1/3 cup lemon juice, 1 tablespoon lemon zest. 3 tablespoons flour, and 1/2 teaspoon baking powder.

Culinary newbies, this is a zester. Use it carefully. This recipe does not call for finger zest.

Step Five: Pour mixture over partially baked crust and bake for an additional 20 minutes or until set up.

Step Six: Sift powdered sugar over the cooled pan, cut into squares and remove.

Step Seven: Deliver to your mom accompanied by her favorite flowers/crossword puzzles/fly fishing lures/or whatever your mama digs and a hand written note thanking her for putting up with your runny noses, eye rolls, and adolescent idiocy. (If you're still an adolescent, thank her nonetheless because trust me - you are an idiot - and hopefully she'll continue to resist the urge to kill you before you emerge a relatively competent young adult)

 

 

 

And to you Jeni-Cat, I'm proud to be your kitten.

I love you. 

You make me stronger.

You challenge me.

You're honest with me. Always.

You're laugh is fantastic.

You are my best friend.

Happy Mother's Day.

I love you forever. I'll like you for always. As long as I'm living your baby I'll be.

Golly, thank you ever so much!

Is what you will NEVER hear me say, when I get inundated with unsolicited advice. 

I think most 20 somethings are giving me internet "amen"s right now. (at least I hope so, since I just high-fived my computer screen...somebody met me on that one, right?) 

I mean, I'm the first to admit that most guys and gals in their twenties are complete imbeciles in some (if not all) areas - myself included. 

Unlike a few of my other blogging claims, (I'm not actually sure of Willow Smiths sidewalk chalk skills) I'm not lacking on evidence on this one..Have any of you watched the Jersey Shore for even .6 seconds? 

Those ultra-tanned, leopard-printed, fist-pumping, Mensa candidates are millionaires controlling huge amounts of commerce not to mention broadcast time and media saturation...and with all that 'smushing' going on...one day...they WILL reproduce.

Yeah, I'll give you a minute to let the goosebumps fade and the flow of air to return to your lungs. 

But hey, here's another fun fact - despite the severe idiocy being displayed by our generational peers, some of us are actually trying! 

Yes, I graduated in four years from a real school with a real degree.

No, I didn't major in keg stands. (I'm lame enough that I'm not even sure if that should be 1 or 2 words)

Yes, I have a job. I actually have 3. 

Yes, they all pay. 

No, I don't consider this blog one of them. 

No, I don't carry credit card debt.

Yes, I am paying on all my exorbitant student loans.

And yes, I do have my nose pierced... Let me get you my smelling salts.

Oh and...Yes, kind lady who constantly offers me financial advice whenever she sees me (at one of my 3 JOBS), I am living with my parents by a fiscally responsible choice. NOT because I maxed out my credit cards buying Snuggies.

**shocking pause for dramatic effect**

I realized that by putting facts about my life on the web I would avail myself to certain stupi...valuable pearls of wisdom, but my goodness....

So yes, this blog post turned into a bit of a rant. Oh well. It's actually been rather eye opening to be on the other end of the gossip train. 

Don't get me wrong, I have been known dish some serious dirt with my best friends once in a blue moon (or more often than that if wine and copious amount of Indian food are involved - you know who you are)....Hey, I'm not saying I'm proud of it, but at least I'm honest.

Basically, I've decided that the everyday use of coy, scandalous banter a la Sex and the City is bologna. 

It literally doesn't exist. 

You can't spend your days blabbering about so and so and judging blahdy blah about their life without it coming back to bite you. 

Maybe it's time to start with our own integrity. 

Sorry I was distracted by the epic depth of my own thoughts *sarcastic cackle*...What else was I supposed to write about? 

Oh right...the most reliable thing in my life...Food.

I'm joking, please don't stage an intervention for me...unless I start noshing on pure corn starch or couch cushions like those gems on TLC...

Let me ask you: What's more all around honest and genuine than a roast chicken and vegetable dinner?  It's a solid meal. No corners cut, no ingredients you can't pronounce, nothing to second guess, and a very dead chicken that will NOT be clucking at you...you're getting enough of that...

So let's get down and dirty with this classic and simple recipe....and in keeping with the honesty theme I will disclose that my dearest Dad helped me prepare this feast, thus the lack of photos - but hey, he rocks, so digital kudos to him!

Step One: Preheat oven to 315. Rinse whole (raw) chicken 5-8 lbs in cold water - NO SOAP!.... I hate that I have to say that, but it's for the same reason that my stove came with a warning tag reading "do not insert live animals" ..sad days, America.

Anyways...

Step Two: Remove any innards - don't worry, they should be in paper or plastic bag inside the bird - unless you bought your chicken on the black market. Rub whole bird inside and out with sea salt, black pepper, and rosemary. (Insert a halved lemon into the bird if you're brave)

Step Three: Cut 3-5 sweet potatoes, 6 large carrots, 1 sweet onion. Place in ceramic dish.

Step Four: Crush and chop 6 cloves of garlic. Add to vegetables with salt and olive oil enough to cover all. Cover with foil.

Step Five: Place bird upside down in a ceramic (or glass) baking dish. Cover with foil.

Step Six: Put both dishes in the oven. Bake veggies for 1.5 hours and remove. Bake chicken 1.5 hours or until skin is golden brown and flesh appears solid white inside. 

Step Seven: Allow the chicken to rest 5-10 minutes while you enjoy the drool-worthy scents wafting through your kitchen. EAT.

 

Smell-o-Vision, why do you only exist in cartoons?

 

So...

Sick of Aunt Mabel and Uncle Marvin whispering when you enter a room and following it up by asking if you're ever going to 'settle down'? 

Fed up with your parents' friends somehow knowing the intimate details of your life and interrogating you about it?

Twenty-somethings, let's grow up a little faster, eh? 

You've got a couple options.

1. If you're a capable, bill and tax paying adult who suffers from a steady wave of obnoxious, albeit well-meaning, advice, first of all - I'm sorry. Word to the wise: A well-practiced plastic smile will get through hours of useless chatter... However, maybe it's a good reminder to keep your nose in your own business and not poking through all the potential dirt of those around you. Notice I said potential...You know what they say when you ASSume...I need go no further.

2. If you're a Snooki wannabe who is currently meandering across the globe depleting the world's alcohol supply while simultaneously smearing the reputation of any and all 20-29 year olds...well, maybe you should reconsider your choices and stop giving Aunt Mabel (or perhaps a someone who actually exists) reasons to gossip about your life and corresponding failures. Harsh? Oh well.