There was a girl who stared at the moon. Once upon a time she used to dream of it. Once upon a time she used to be, with its waxing and waning, within its cycle of breathing and turning and … Continue reading
I’ve seen them on Pinterest loads of times and kept it in the back of my mind – Gluten Free, Low Cal but packed with tons of potassium and protein AND it’s a pancake recipe? It’s hard to find fault in the recipe, but it seemed, well…weird. A few days ago a friend posted a picture on Facebook of her own attempt which brought it back to my mind. This morning, as I perused my kitchen for day-off-brunch-food before I hit the grocery store, I took stock of what I had: four ripe organic bananas, cage free/hormone free brown eggs, carrots, tortillas…when it hit like magic – Banana/Egg Pancakes!
When I decided I would make them, the first thing I did was go to Pinterest and type in: 3 Ingredient Pancakes. All the results showed Bananas, but not all of them showed eggs. Some were Banana, Peanut Butter and Flour–which sounds delicious, but I have been having weird reactions to Peanuts lately
I may have an allergy so it was easy to scratch off. I found what I was looking for – 1 Banana, 2 Eggs, Pinch of Cinnamon.
But no one had a recipe! Why, Pinterest, Why? I love Infographics as much as the next Pinterest Addict, but they need to give me enough information to replicate. Whatever, I thought. It’s a banana and some eggs. How hard can it be?
How wrong I was!
I started by pulling out my Magic Bullet (love it to pieces!) because I know from experience mashing bananas by hand is a pain in the
bitch…y’know. I decided to go ahead and put the eggs in there, because, it seemed like a good idea. And also the hint of cinnamon. When I grabbed my cinnamon, I saw the vanilla extract and the last time I made pancakes (Banana Pecan) I used it and it was good, so I splashed a tiny bit in there, too.
I will say all of the above was a good idea.
My cast-iron was warmed when I was ready, so excited to start this endeavor I ladled out the first pancake. Whoa, this batter is really runny. I waited three
hours minutes for the pancake to get slightly golden and flipped it with a bit of scrunching – y’know, when the pancake decides it doesn’t want to flip, so it just smooshes a bit? Scrunching was minimal so I continued. After another three hours minutes, I put it onto my Pancake-Waiting-Plate and started on Pancake Number 2.
While I waited the appropriate time for it to cook on one side – these take a lot longer to cook because of all that egg, I ate the first pancake. That’s what I do, every single time I make pancakes. I don’t even pretend that’s not what I’m doing when I pour my half-size “test pancake.” And…it tasted like scrambled eggs in a pancake. Which is great if you want scrambled eggs, but not when you’re promised Pancakes.
As the second was cooking, I grabbed another banana and Magic Bullet-ed (I made that a verb!) the second in. That was my mistake. The extra banana made the batter dense. I had three failed attempts at cooking pancakes after that – they all came out of the skillet looking like stirred eggs – a bit more intense than scrambled, the kind you make for fried rice – because they all scrunched. There was no even cooking. As soon as I slipped the spatula under a corner, it would bunch up. Eventually, I just scrambled it around and vowed to get the next one right. I didn’t.
So, I bit the bullet and dumped in half a cup of flour. I do not regret it. The last three pancakes I was able to make were golden and fluffy and delicious. I topped them with Orange Blossom honey and ate them pretty quickly. My Dog was the lucky recipient of Banana-Pancake-Scramble-Mash. He gives it 5-Stars, crumbled over dry dog food.
After consulting the friend who posted them on facebook, I have learned that these pancakes are more of an acquired skill. Proceed with that warning! 🙂
1. I will not let others dictate what I can and cannot wear because the only person who has that power is me.
2. I will still love my body when others won’t.
3. I will still find my body beautiful when others don’t.
4. I will wear short skirts and not worry what my legs look like.
5. I will not hide underneath baggy clothes to mask my body because I am not ashamed of it.
6. I will not declare a “bad hair day,” because I am beautiful every day.
7. I will wear skinny jeans because I can.
8. I will look in the mirror, after I take off my makeup and still see my beauty.
9. I will not make negative comments about another person’s looks because everyone is beautiful.
10. I will determine my worth and not be influenced by outside opinions.
11. I will love my “love handles.”
12. I will always wear whatever makes me look good and most importantly, feel good.
13. I will wear whatever bathing suit makes me feel good, unapologetically.
14. I will show my body love by taking good care of my skin.
15. I will embrace my imperfections as quirks that make me unique.
16. I will love myself, inside and out, always.
It seems like guys complain all the time about getting put into the “friend zone,” by the girl they’re into. For those of you unaware of the concept, I bring to you, from urbandictionary.com:
A state of being where a male inadvertently becomes a ‘platonic friend’ of an attractive female who he was trying to intitate a romantic relationship. Females have been rumored to arrive in the Friend Zone, but reports are unsubstanciated.
I don’t know why guys don’t think it happens to girls, but then again, of course, I would be lying completely if I said I even remotely understood how guys think.
…but it does. Happen to us, too, I mean.
Today, a guy texted me after work and said, “Hey! How’s my –my name– Friend?”
He really could have just said, “Hey! How are you, person I feel for only platonically?” That would have been more direct, certainly.
Of course, because I’m a girl, I had to text a friend to analyze it, and all we really figured out is that guys are weird. Girls are weird. Which led me to this realization: friend zoning isn’t just a thing girls do to guys, guys do it, too. And you know why?
Because sometimes we care about someone, we may even love them, but we aren’t attracted to them. And you know what? That’s really okay.
I’ve accepted my body, my frizzy more often than smooth curly hair, my hooded eyes, my tiny imperfections. I have accepted them, embraced them…and the hardest step, loved them. I love my body. But I do not love that I have to wear glasses.
I’ve ended up fairly lucky. My left eye is 20/20, but my right eye is 20/50. It’s not the worst vision in the world by far, and I can survive without wearing glasses. Life without them is full of headaches as my left eye works overtime to compensate for the shortcomings my right eye presents, but we’ve managed for years. Besides, my optometrist as a child always said my glasses were to be used as I needed them. I don’t need them. Ever.
Lately, I’ve come under fire as several people in my life have noted that when I read, I squint. When I look at something complicated, I squint. When I’m reading a stop sign, I squint. I’ve been having a lot of headaches lately, so I finally caved–I went back to my optometrist over the past weekend (after four and a half years). The verdict? I should be wearing my glasses all the time. As I was walking out she even said, “After you’ve adjusted to your new prescription, look into prescription sunglasses.” I was confused, “But I have sunglasses already…” She just gave me a sad look and set me up with the tech to fit the frames I’d selected.
I’m still waiting for my new frames to come in (they are the most adorable Kate Spade tortoise shell rims) but I’m trying to change my mindset. I’ve had an aversion to having glasses since I failed my first eye exam ever in the fourth grade. I got them then, rejoiced at the “as needed,” prescription and went about my life. I didn’t want them, didn’t think I needed them, so I didn’t wear them.
I’ve been pushing myself to admit what I don’t want to. Why do I hate them?
Society says, “Nerds wear glasses.” Society adds, “Nerds are not pretty.” Oh, it’s incredibly vain but there’s this deep setting dread: now that I have glasses, I’m not pretty. It’s silly, I know. But this voice in the back of my mind can’t help but say, ‘My eyes are my best feature. Glasses are going to hide them…I don’t want to hide them.‘
But then I realized–who says I can’t wear glasses and still be pretty? Still be smokin? No one, that’s who. It’s about working with the glasses instead of trying to ignore them sitting on my face like that secret you sweep under the rug. I wear glasses and I am pretty.
Here I am, at twenty three, and it feels like I’m going to have to re-accept myself like I did when I was fifteen years old. I’m going to embrace them–glasses. And here’s how:
- I started by picking a pair of frames that are perfect for my face. Before, I’d just grab whatever my friends with glasses were wearing. I have a round face, so I looked for something that a bit more geometric, slightly larger lenses (for women’s frames, anyway), lightweight, that hit my cheeks in just the right spot and didn’t cover up my eyebrows. Thanks to the wonderful designing goddess Kate Spade, I found exactly what I wanted.
- When my new frames come in, I’m going to get a trim and new bangs. Bangs are bold, glasses are bold–it just seems like a perfect combo.
- I’ve been thinking about mixing up my style for a while, why not now? It’s the time to play! Geek chic? Old school prep? I’m not anticipating a full wardrobe rehash, but experimenting with the way I combine the pieces I already have. Black and white striped shirt? You’d be rockin’ with that red floral scarf. 🙂
- My go-to makeup look has always been cat eyes and a bold lip…that’s perfect for glasses. Unfortunately, with glasses, you do have to approach eye shadow a bit differently than you would sans glasses. But now is the time to be bold with my lips! Berry stain? Here I come!
Sometimes I long for fabulousness. Maybe its just a bleak, cold winter—three days of ten degree days can do that to you. I can’t help but feel my sandpapery hands, see my dull hair, my printer paper white legs and pine.
Maybe I have that seasonal affective disorder. Summer is synonymous with fabulous. With soft, sunkissed skin. I miss glowing, instead of floating like a Spector, a phantom in sweaters.
I long for balmy, eighty degree weather. For laying in the grass in my backyard with a book and music and, when I tire of that, watching beautiful white clouds in an expanseless sea of perfect blue.
I miss the way that summer feels on my skin, like a soft kiss, a perfect embrace. I miss green. Green grass, green bushes, thick green foliage of the trees overhead. I miss birds, chirping before the sun comes up because too many daylight savings have thrown their clocks off, too.
I miss the soft, gentle breeze of spring, so unlike the bitterness of winter that brings tears to my eyes. I miss summer thunderstorms, when lightning lights the sky purple at night.
I miss packed sidewalks, full of people laughing, happy and sweaty in shorts and tank tops. Miserable because of the heat, but so blissfully happy it doesn’t even matter.
I miss gentle nights with the window open, the soft chorus of insects and birds and the freshly cut smell of grass wafting indoors. I miss walking outside barefoot, my feet getting covered in early morning dew. I miss jogging outside, the unrelentless sun beating down on my back.
I miss the sun.
I’m going to write a memoir and its going to be called, “Everybody accomplishing their dreams without me.”
And it will be sad, and funny, and bittersweet. Because that’s me.
I also did not steal anything from Mindy.
Girls who dream of weddings, and white picket fences. Who long for a family, a life of job promotions and security and well planned trips to amusement parks and cruise ships. Most girls want the safety of well balanced family life. A quiet life.
I have never wanted those things.
I dream of being too bold. Of spending my life, laughing too loud. I dream of spreading my wings, with or without someone. Going to Prague. Getting lost in Ireland. Lazing about the canals of Venice. Kissing on the top of Notre Dame. I want to stand at the points of the earth, and feel so small, but like its me against the world. That is my dream.
I wrote this about a year ago and posted it on my old tumblr account. I still feel the same way.
Oh, man. I just finished one of the most heart wrenching, devastatingly beautiful books by the utterly fabulous Melina Marchetta. She’s started writing fantasy, but I don’t read it. What I’m talking about is her wonderful fiction. They’re the kind of books that make you bawl your eyes out because you’re so sad, and life can be so unforgiving, but also because of the beautiful way that it all falls together, and that in the darkness there is and will always be light.
She writes about life exactly as it is, especially the ugly. But the good always prevails. Its happy-sad.
I see people tell authors all the time, “Your book changed my life,” and most of the time it makes me roll my eyes. How can THAT book have changed your life?
The moment Marchetta’s books entered my life, I was forever changed. This is tumblr, so I’m not going to get overtly personal. Lets just say my mom suffers from acute depression.
Fourteen year old Hayley signs up for a book club at her high school. The librarian suggests ‘Saving Francesca,’ and since its the only book with enough spaces left for all of my friends, I immediately went for. I expected to have fun with my friends. I didn’t expect for everything to be overturned.
Saving Francesca is about a girl with a happy, normal life. She wakes up one morning and her mom won’t get out of bed—stricken with acute depresssion. Frankie is lost, alone, and doesn’t have any idea who she is. This book is poignant and funny and deep and meaningful all at the same time. Frankie saves her family. And the best part is that she doesn’t, the author that is, treat Frankie’s depression as a one and done deal. She’ll always have dark days, but the beauty of it all is that she’ll have a hell of a lot of light ones, too.
I’m not kidding when I say this book saved my life. Literally. Saved it.
Depression is such a taboo subject. We don’t talk about it. Some don’t think it’s even real, or at the very least a serious hurdle. Others act like its curable, or that it makes you insane. But it’s none of those things.
And then there’s a Saving Francesca follow up, just as haunting yet uplifting, The Piper’s Son. And the so beautiful it hurts, Jellicoe Road.
Her books are hope. Francesca Spinelli. Hannah Schroeder. Thomas Mackee. Taylor Markham. Josie. They give me hope. And maybe it’s crazy that I’m using book characters as hope, but that’s the secret to light days.
You have to find it somewhere.
(I previously posted this on haylstorms.tumblr.com!)
Well, obviously because they must think I am. But what on earth does that mean? It’s such a vague adjective, painting such an aloof description. I know that it’s far from a bad thing, but it drives me crazy.
I went to the dictionary for some assistance in this matter, this is what it said:
Interesting: arousing curiosity or interest, holding or catching the attention.
Well, that cleared it up. I’ve piqued interest.
I guess I need to start replying with, “Interesting, how?”
Because the way I see it, it’s one of two ways: either I’m a breath of fresh air or a mother frexxing train wreck.