Adding chocolate

There's a family cookie recipe my mother would make every Christmas called "thumbprint cookies". These little cookies were a slice of heaven the way the simple sugar dough would combine with the tartness of red plum jam and just melt in your mouth. They're killer cookies.

When I was little, my mother modified them to a peanut-buttery dough and strawberry jam. They were the cookie of choice for any little kid -- especially one like me who never had her fill of peanut butter and jelly.


I've now modified them again. This time, I took the simple dough of butter, sugar, flour and vanilla extract and added some cocoa and chopped up chocolate chips. The dough was a little less stiff than normal, but I had to play with the cocoa amounts until I got the right chocolate flavor. The raspberry jam provided a much smoother flavor than red plum or strawberry.

In all, I'd say these cookies were a success. Now I need to get them out of my sight so I stop eating them all the time.

Shifting gears

So, several conversations, several days lacking news posts and several bouts of frustration later, I've decided to take this blog in a new direction.

This was mainly started as a bit of an experiment -- a way to get used to the informality and conversational style of blogging. I feel I've failed miserably at both and that it would be best to take this post up from the bottom-dwelling subject that is my own personal thoughts and feelings to a level less self-absorbed and boring.

I also became disenchanted with the idea of discussion through blogging. From what I can see, there is very little actual conversing and even less that is edifying. An atmosphere in which outrageous insults are thrown for merely expressing an opinion (however uneducated or naive it might be) is not a sphere in which I would like to call myself a member.

Without further ado, in the next few weeks, I'll begin posting about one of my hobbies. I like to cook.

It has always bothered me how there will be left-over ingredients from some recipe in amounts not usable for another round of whatever dish called for them in the first place. So, from time to time, I take such ingredients and try to come up with something new to do with them. Sometimes it's a surprising success, other times it's a complete wash.

Before I go much further I should say that I am wholly amateur in this cooking endeavor. I have no formal training save for the instruction provided by my mother. It's simply an enjoyment of mine to take an assortment of "castoffs" and make something entirely unexpected and tasty from them.

As this develops, I hope shortcuts and cheats will expose themselves so I can further my ability to ad lib in the kitchen. Take notes at your own risk.

Self-fulfilling prophecy

I wish those were by-and-large positive things where we said "I'm going to be more successful by the end of the year," and then it happened. But no, self-fulfilling prophecies are always these stupid little things we say that make us blog at 3 in the morning because we haven't been able to fall asleep before 5 in the morning for the past few nights.

I read about that time right around oh, the age I'm at where people go a little insane. Things aren't like we thought they'd be. This has already happened numerous times in all our lives, but this age seems to carry some sort of finality that leaves us wondering if we missed the bus.

For one, we're adults. There's no one there to cook your food, buy your clothes and pay your bills except you. And after spending the greater part of your life up to this point in school making sure you came out the other side happy and successful ... something is a bit lacking.

And all the eye-rolling clichés about the grass being greener over there, the future being brighter than the past and hindsight being 20/20 are apt but taste like corn flakes when you wanted Honey Bunches of Oats. They don't quite make it.

Anyway, I was reading the confessions of people experiencing this phenomenon known as "Saturn returning." Sadly, this was my first experience with such terminology, but it didn't seem all too unfamiliar and I'm slightly more than pissed off about it.

You see, I was under the impression that I would get to this point and I'd feel a certain amount of satisfaction about how things have gone thus far. I worked hard to get here. I paid for it in a number of ways, but I'd like to think I learned a lot along the way. And ... I do ... feel ... some satisfaction ... I think?

I mean, I haven't died yet. I'm on my own and doing fair to middling. I read the confessions and thought, "Well the problem is they're focusing on their lives like everything would be accomplished at this point."

And I get that. That's what's pissing me off. You mean we're not done? You mean I have to keep doing this and doing this over and over again for the rest of my life? I don't get to take a break and say "OK, I'm moving on to something else."

It's too expensive and too time consuming to go a different way. I'd set myself back even further from any goals I might possibly have were I to switch paths. I'm stuck. Whether or not I feel good about the decisions that got me here, I can't change those now.

The inexorable pull of anything is enough to make me rock back and forth muttering to myself incoherently while hugging my knees and scratching until I bleed. Having it in my everyday life because it's my everyday life makes me want to scream. I can't do anything. I can't make decisions. The ones I had made got me here in the first place.

I get up, go to work, come home just to get ready to do it again. There are different details every day, but it's more or less the same. It makes me feel like I'm not my own person since everything I do is driven back to "because I do." There's no point to the cyclical nature of it.

I know I'm ranting like a lunatic about how life isn't anything other than ... well, life. But this is what leaves me awake at 3 in the morning doing random crap around my apartment. I just mixed up some ingredients in a bowl. I'm about to go clean the bathroom. It's not that I don't have any other time to do these things ... I just don't have any other option.

Do the things that need doing. Do them again. And again.

I don't know. I don't exist for the purpose of existing, do I? Then again, I don't think life is about "living to the fullest" or whatever that bullshit saying is supposed to mean.

I went from "saturn returning" to the meaning of life. That's quite a leap. But if I can't figure out what my own life is about, how am I going to get any closer to figuring out what all life is about?

I'll revisit this another night ... after I do all my anal retentive stuff.

Duty calls.

Subcutaneous

I give myself nerdgasms for remembering biology terms. It's the little things ...

Anyway, it should be apparent right now that plenty of things get under my skin in a hot hurry. That skin is far thinner than it should be. I know. I'm working on it. But I don't think I'm very aware of just how thin other people's skins might be.

Here's the enigmatic punchline for all but one: I don't care if you agree with me or not. It's your life anyway and I'm certainly no one to tell you I know better. However, I know I was the conductor of my own little emotion-filled philharmonic who used all the same tactics to get back where I thought I wanted to be. So, at least in my case, finality was a must.

I hate to be the situational jerk since I do think there are absolutes in life, but we all want to think we've got the answer. I'm right and you're wrong. It's not that simple when you're talking about society and I tend to forget that a lot.

I want there to be something absolute to stick to because I get tired of the same things happening over and over. I get tired of people being how we all know people can be while forgetting that I haven't changed a bit. And maybe that's the crux of the problem. I'm frustrated that I can't figure out how to fix these interpersonal clusterfucks, but maybe I'm just frustrated I can't even figure out my own problems most of the time.

We don't need fixing. Ultimately, we need the bitch who won't realize she doesn't know what the hell she's talking about. We need the doormat. We need the sniveling little prick who stabs us in the back. We need the insecure, quiet one with the nervous laugh and we need the swaggering asshole who doesn't even realize how condescending he sounds.

To be frank, I hate when I feel like a problem is all about striking a balance. It's that nasty little running theme to my life that bores me to tears. Why couldn't it be something exciting like learning how to tap my inner strength or learning how to express compassion? Instead, it's got to be how to figure out how the hell not to go off the deep end all the damn time. It's far more interesting to launch myself toward one end of the spectrum and watch the fireworks than try to figure out where to stand so I can keep the least amount of sparks from flying.

I'm fascinated by the Pucks who wreak havoc, turn the tables and upset everything in their path. I would much rather be the fire than the salve and I hate not getting to.

Steady, girl ...

Parentology

I really need to pick Theogeo's brain about her nifty little add-on that shows her how people found her blog. I want to know if anyone searches on Google for "parentology" and ends up in my La La Land.

My mother came to visit me last week. She's gone now, and thankfully doesn't read this blog.

Parents are infuriating, aren't they? To them, you're this kid who never really grew out of that awkward phase in between adoring them and hating them. I think that's what they're most comfortable with, really. That's the point where they're ok with the jerk because they know you're human. It's also the point where you still think they're amazing for all that parental stuff.

At one point during my mother's visit, she looked at me and said one thing she'd really like to experience in her life is "seeing that twinkle back" in my eye.

Yeah, I'll get right on that ...

Her significant other is an intensely perceptive man, God bless him. He picked up right away on that slight eyebrow raise I ardently tried to suppress. "Well, she just got contacts, so you can't see it." I of course voiced my agreement right away. "Yeah, I really do think the slight blue tint cuts down on the glare ..."

Mom didn't bite. "No, I just want to see you be your happy self again."

Alright, back the truck up a second. This whole weekend, they've been drinking at least a bottle of wine between them at each dinner. That's not much for the boyfriend, but my mother is as much a lightweight as I. Also, not two hours earlier, she had been standing in my living room in my apartment while I was in my kitchen preparing their damn food deciding where I should put the couch that she just thought was the greatest and best and bought for me without asking. I would like to think it was just the wine talking like when I became increasingly emotive this time.

That whole week with my mother around left me scratching my head. Is it just a parent thing?

Maybe I should change the name of this blog to "I don't get it" because that seems to be a running theme. But really, I don't understand the parental mind. It's a completely different value set from mine. Different issues take on different significance for parents and the gravity of these issues grows exponentially. This whole "just be happy" thing is making me crazy at how ludicrous it is and the only conclusion I can get to is one I already knew: I don't ever want to be a parent.

My mother spent half the trip trying to act like her relationship with Mr. Perceptive was all daisies and demure conversation when I was around. She even messed up a bed she didn't sleep in so I wouldn't guess (well duh) that they weren't in separate rooms.

*Side note: There are 2 points to pulling this off that she completely missed.
1) If you always make the bed, then just make it look like you made the bed. I'm going to know you're trying to make it look like something if you always do the exact opposite.
2) If you do leave the sheets mussed, at least leave a head dent in the pillow. No one leaves the bed unmade but still fluffs the pillows.
I had to mention these because, well, it's kind of funny.

The only reason I mention that is because it's so goofy and ridiculous that I can't help but attribute it to this parental sense of responsibility for the delicate psyche of ones children. She's trying to make sure she doesn't shock me with normal human behavior because I see her as my mother, not some random chick on a getaway vacation with her boyfriend.

I could take issue with her and say it's really stupid posturing since she brought me up to observe what's really going on, stick to the truth and all that good parenting stuff. I could point out that she taught me to grow up and be a productive member of society. But none of that conversation would accomplish anything. No matter how parents hope and plan for the best with their children, it still seems they're not willing to admit that baby started drifting away as soon as he or she started walking in the first place.

I don't get how that could be sad to a parent since ... I wouldn't want to deal with dirty diapers and "spit up" in the first place let alone forever.

How could you not be happy or at least relieved that all your planning and training grew up to be self-sufficient and generally functional in a grim and messed up world?

I'm not really getting at the point I'm trying to make and I guess that's just as well.

Now where'd I leave my paci???

This is certainly an incomplete thought, but ...

I was trolling along through one of my favorite blogs. I'm too chicken to tell you which blog it was, but she's very witty, ballzy as hell and funny. It led me to a blog post by someone of the opposite sex ruminating over part of what the former had said.

I'm still pondering, but they both have me sitting here thinking I understand where they're both coming from, but it seems like neither of them can move past the limitations of their positions.

The first blogger is very candid about her personal life. She talks about just how she'd wipe the stupid grin off some guy's face and make sure he never forgot how badly she handed him his ass. The second blogger was saying he sympathized with wanting to do that, but he edits himself constantly for fear that desire to dominate be misconstrued as something sinister.

Something about the whole thing is bothering me and I can't put my finger on it.

These two people who seem to be travelling completely different paths and philosophies of life are essentially stuck on the same problem from opposing sides. The woman senses she can't actually do the very thing she wants to do. She'd have to go through too much trouble and manipulation to set it all up. She can't be that dishonest to finally reveal the truth in the end.

The man seems convinced being too real and being too much what he wants to be is offensive. He can't shed the façade that makes everyone else comfortable no matter how much he'd like to challenge and disprove other people's impressions.

And I don't believe either of them.

I've read through blogs where the woman pretended to be something other than the vixen she is and I'm quite confident the man has misjudged his inner strength. Maybe I judge them too harshly, but it seems highly probable that both are operating under skewed self-perceptions.

I have a theory that every time a person tries to honestly evaluate themselves on a psychological level, it's wrong and they're not being honest at all. People don't want to look at the real motivators. People believe they're generally good, right? Why would they ruin that ability to cope with everyday life by being honest about who they are deep down inside?

This woman could be as maniacally conniving as she wanted and she'd have every guy within a 50 mile radius under her thumb inside of 2 weeks. She would love it and she'd probably hold onto the position of authority for quite a while, but she's telling herself "no, that's not me."

This man more than likely simply wishes he had the guts to seize some control, some power. He wants it and he thinks he could have it all. He's telling himself "that's me, but I can't show anyone."

What's worse is I can sympathize with both. There are myriad instances where I've wanted to lash out and show people that I'm not going to be pushed around. In fact, I'm going to kick ass and take names. I end up checking myself saying "no, you don't charge in with both barrels blazing. You're too worried about the consequences." And I am. There are other times that I think "if he wasn't married I would do so many things to him ..." No I wouldn't. Who am I kidding?

What are these? These warped perceptions that plague us from both sides. Are we who we really think we are? Are we at this point on the cycle or this one? Are the proud among us fooling themselves? Are the humble being too harsh in judging their own actions?

I don't know what to do with it. I don't know how to define this person that is me ... this person who can despise a character trait and defend it in the next breath.

Mirror mirror on the wall, tell me who I am. Tell people who they are. I don't think we're up to the task.

some-odd things

So, I'm completely ganking theogeo on this list thingy here. She has two lists, the most recent of which is here.

I'm not going to number mine, though. I don't know if I'll make it to 100 or not. I might go past, I'm not sure. Anyway, this is MY blog which means I can make you suffer through all things ME including my vanity. Shuttup and read, damnit. *

• I have a hard time believing people since I think most are too self-absorbed to tell the truth.
• If you chew on pens, I think you're kinda stupid. If you chew on my pen, I lose all respect for you.
• I don't like eating in front of other people.
• I spill stuff on myself.
• I accidentally just deleted two of these I wrote ... and now I can't remember what they said.
• That was stupid of me.
• Without pizza, I would starve through many meals.
• I wash my hands many times a day, but it's not ritualized. I don't count how many times I scrub and I don't have to wash several times in a row.
• It's not OCD, it's germaphobia.
• I'm erratically anal retentive. I will be overwhelmingly fastidious about one thing for a time until it's pushed out by something else.
• I'm a very visual learner. It's bad enough I can't close my eyes and listen to someone talk.
• In a battle of wits, if you win, I love you and want to have a thousand of your babies.
• But I won't ever tell you.
  
• I'm frustrated by my own incongruities.
  
• I like not having a TV.
• I hate not having a desk.
• I bought one yesterday.
• Imitation coconut and imitation cinnamon are two of the most revolting smells to me. I'd rather smell body odor.
• If you put your feet on my pillow or even threaten to, I will exact my revenge.
• Feet belong on the floor just as shoes belong on feet and on the floor.
• I still paint my toenails ... and then wash my hands after.
• I tend to cry when I'm stressed or angry.
• I hate that I tend to be overdramatic, too.
• I don't remember my dreams most of the time - if I even have them - yet I'm part of a dream blog. Hopefully I'll have something to post this year.
• I'm a cheap drunk and mildly proud of that.
• Whenever I have somewhere to be, I'm always early. I have to force myself to be on time.
• I still have days when I'm late, though. It's usually because I became engrossed in something utterly meaningless and embarrassing.
  
• I'm the only person in my family whose handwriting sucks.
• I love cars ... especially if I get to drive them fast.
• Deep down, I still want to go back to school and become a lab rat running tests at a hospital.
• My pizza is almost done, so I'm going to stop and go eat.

MORE!

• I think most people in high school and college thought I was shy, but I was really too vain to wear my glasses. I couldn't see faces clearly enough to recognize them.
• Even now that I have contacts, I still tend to walk with my head down.
• I once got free coffee because the barista thought I looked like I had been having a bad day. I wasn't, I just tend to look mad.
• I was bitten by a copperhead because I picked it up.
• The ending to that story sucks because there was no venom in the bite.
• When I was younger, I had an extensive stamp collection. I wonder if any of it is remotely valuable.
• I don't have a favorite song.
• When I was little, I wore a dress every single day.
• If I couldn't, I wore a tutu.
• Now I almost never wear dresses.
• I once had an argument with my dad about what direction to turn the twist tie that closes the loaf of bread. He said counterclockwise. I said I shouldn't be yelled at for how I turn a twist tie.
• He said years later that I was the one yelling about how to twist the damn thing.
• I made that comment about pizza and now I haven't had pizza in a couple weeks.
• I miss Texas.
• I don't plan to move back for a while, though.
• Several times in my life I've been told I look like someone's cousin Rachel or someone they knew named Rachel. One person even insisted I was some runaway from their hometown.
• Whoever this Rachel chick is ... I sorta hope I'm the evil twin.
• I tend to be fearless only when other people are scared.
  
• I'm afraid to wear flip flops in public not because I don't like feet but because I'm afraid that one day I wear them will turn out to be the one day I need to run for my life.
  

Thanks for reading.


*In some ways, this is a disclaimer to the people who know me in real life. Ha!