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. 

Big Pimpin while spending little to no 'cheese' OR Living Life to the Full When Your Tank is on Empty

You guys wanna hear my sarcastic voice?

Check it:

"My oh my! The economy is simply booming these days, don't you think? I honestly can't keep track of my dividends! Oh my heavens, I just MUST get to Nordy's (Nordstrom's for all you simple folk) today. I hear the new Cavalli is finally in. Besides, on the way over I can have Jean-Claude swing by Cartier...."

Yeah, I just got a little nauseated. Sorry for the abrupt ending.

So as most of you have probably gathered from my last two posts, a huge influx of excess cash is not one of my 99 problems. Remember? My phone doesn't connect to the internet! I'm practically a pauper!

Unlike the endless stream of celebrity wealth that I digest during my daily entertainment consumption, I don't have to agonize about choosing between taking the Benz or the Rolls to the Hamptons. (I'm rocking a used Honda Civic, baby.) I don't walk into a Carrie Bradshaw clothing mecca each day only to whine that I have nothing to wear. Don't get me wrong, I do my fair share of whining. I just do it crouched in the back of the closet that I share with Husband (usually after I've hit  my head on his t-shirt drawer).

When entering a store, my carnal instinct is suddenly bypassed by the uncontrollable need to speed walk past the shimmering beauty of new merchandise straight to the back on the hunt for beloved red tags and clearance signs.

The bane of my existence is summarized in this sad fact: I'm plagued with the consistent constraints of living ...DUN DUN DUUUUN......on a budget.

And let's be honest. As fiscally responsible as this is - it's boring as anything. Yes, I know. It gives you a chance to be creative and learn how to 'live lean'. It sounds so nice when you put it that way, but even the biggest homebody (which I am) can only stand so many nights of playing 'bored'-games and stealing my parents' Netflix.

Saying no gets old pretty fast.

I want to work out. Can I go to the gym? You need a membership for that, so no. I'll just awkwardly do pilates in my living room. Can I try on this dress I'm drooling over? What if it looks good and I want to buy it? The pain of leaving it lonesome on that hanger isn't worth it. No. Can I drive to Acadia at the drop of a dime to enjoy a hike? Gas is $4 a gallon. $4!! And where is my tank now? Oh a 1/4? So..No. Would I like to go on a date with Husband more than once a month? Yes. Does going to a restaurant/bar/movie theater/bowling alley (don't judge) still cost money? Okay, then no.

See what I mean?

Living on a budget in the colder months....Well, sometimes I get cabin fever.

When I do, it usually results in going shopping impulsively or forcing Husband to take me to dinner where I have more than my share of rich/fried food and beer. It always seems like a great idea at the time (YEAH! DAMN THE MAN! I'M GONNA EAT THIS WHOLE PLATE OF SWEET POTATO FRIES!) But at the end of it all I end up in the line at TJ Maxx with bags of returns (yeah, even my splurges are calculated) or with a stomach ache and low self-esteem from shoveling trans fats into my body.

So this past week, I started spiraling into self pity. It was not one of my proudest moments. I basically wanted to conduct my life like a Real Housewife...you know, "Oh I'll just order the blah blah blah...because I can. Oh these sunglasses? $24 thousand. Did you know? And then I'll flip a table because I have so many real problems...like gossiping about my fake friends."

I told you - not a personal high.

Regardless, I decided there must be another way to trick myself into feeling like I'm rolling in it. As usual my solution was food related. (This should not surprise you.)

What can I afford?

Ah, the beauty of post-Easter candy sales.

After diving into the red bin in the front of Rite Aid (yet another low moment), I quickly decided I'd be making a dessert. Not just any dessert. A peanut butter chocolate layer cake stuffed with 80% off Easter peanut butter cup eggs.

Feast your eyes on this goodness.

Step One: (PREHEAT OVEN to 350 F) Whisk together 2 cups flour (I use whole wheat pastry), 2 teaspoons baking soda, 2/3 cup unsweetened cocoa, and 1/4 teaspoon salt. Set aside.

Step Two: Combine 1 stick softened butter (1/2 cup) and 1 1/3 cup granulated sugar and beat until well combined.

Step Three: Add 1 cup egg substitute (I'm trying to save your hearts, people) and 2 teaspoons vanilla to butter/sugar. Beat well.

Step Four: Alternately add dry mix from step one and 1 cup of low-fat buttermilk starting and ending with dry mix. It's worth the hassle for batter maximum fluffiness.

IT'S SO FLUFFY! I'M GONNA DIE!

Step Five: Split batter into two buttered and floured cake pans. What? You don't own two round cake pans? Me neither! So in my case, two square glass baking dishes. (Not ideal, but you can make it work)

Step Six: Bake for 30-50 minutes. Yes, it can differ this much depending on what pans you use and how lame or awesome your oven is. Keep an eye on these bad boys and you should be set.

Step Seven: Let cakes cool completely. Remove from pans. If you're blessed with real circular cake pans - good for you, you're done! If you're a sap like me with square pans - take a small plate that fits inside the square cake and trim off excess. Eat excess. (haHA! Saps for the win!)

Now for the best part...the filling.

Completely worth losing the respect of all the cashiers at Rite Aid.

Step One: Acquire a large bag of peanut butter cup eggs after shamelessly pawing through piles of leftover Easter candy at your local drugstore. Chop into small chunks. Place in freezer. Don't worry if your freezer is stuffed full....see below

Where there's a will there's a way.

Step Two: Make peanut butter frosting. And no, I'm not giving you the recipe.

You're probably like, "Oh Lily, you're so funny. You're going to give it to us. This is just the set up for some cheap one-liner, right?" Wrong, friends. Frosting is made from butter, milk, confectioners sugar, and good salty peanut butter, but I'm not giving you the ratio. Combine them to your taste and make sure it's sturdy in texture and can hold up to being squished between two glorious cakes.

If you're lucky (or awesome like me), it should look something like this.

Step Three: Take half of the frosting and mix in 3/4 of the chopped peanut butter cups. Spread mixture on top of bottom cake layer.

Step Four: Stack second cake and spread remaining frosting on top.

 

Step Five: Make a simple chocolate ganache by combing approximately 9 oz of good dark chocolate chips with 1 cup of half and half (or heavy cream if you're going big) in a double boiler over medium heat. Stir until smooth and thickened.

 Step Six: Remove from heat. Pour over cake.

 Step Seven: Avoid drooling on cake while smoothing with angled spatula. Cover with remaining peanut butter cups

Step Seven: Cut, Eat, Soak in the glory of being spoiled with chocolately goodness, Repeat.

Hopefully by this point most of you beautiful readers have caught on that I haven't really stopped being sarcastic. My life (and statistically speaking probably yours, too) is not pathetic, constrained, or empty. Although, I'll be the first to admit that I feel that way sometimes often. Why? Well, we have good fortune to live in a world where status has become the crux of how we rate the success of our lifestyle. How many times can we shop per week? What model car do we drive? Where do we go on vacation and how often? What logo shamelessly promotes itself on our t-shirts?

For example: "Is the new iphone out yet? How about NOW?? Only 4 days, 3 hours, and 31 minutes! I swear I'll be the first one to get it!"

Followed by..."I GOT THE NEW iPHONE, SUCKERZ!

Followed by..."ARE YOU KIDDING there's already a NEWER model being released?!?!!"

Even if I had the resources of Jay Z, Ryan Seacrest (that guy has really moved up since American Idol Season 1), and all the Real Housewives combined, there's no way I (or anyone) could keep up unless I made it my utmost priority.

Yes, you're catching on.

That's exactly my point. I like knowing how to survive without being able to act on my every whim. I'm proud to know how to 'live lean' and be creative with my time and resources. I bet Ryan Seacrest doesn't know that Monopoly gets infinitely more fun when Free Parking includes getting the last chocolate chip cookie and landing in jail means you have to yell embarrassing facts out the window of your studio apartment. I bet Willow Smith doesn't enjoy drawing sidewalk chalk portraits as much as I do.

So, when that new car mocks you from the dealership or the sparkly dress taunts you from the store window, go home...make this cake...and remember that it probably tastes a lot better when traveling from your 1990's oven onto your paper plate than ordered from a menu.

When gas prices get you down or cutbacks slash your income in half, remember that you have knowledge and wealth in your life that Madonna could never buy (or choke out of you with her terrifying biceps).