Monday, October 3, 2011

Who's Excited? I AM!

Hello kids.  It's been awhile, but I've been in kind of a "if-it's-not-good-enough-to-come-out-of-my-own-mouth-it's-not-good-enough-for-cyber-space" kind of mood of late.

But something changed all that today.

My "cousin" Carolyn, (long story long) is in advertising, marketing, web design, project managing etc., who works from home, has a client that is working on a website to rival those of,, and  He is looking for a chef/demonstrator to do videos for his website. He asked her if she knew anyone, but she had no idea. he called her back and she thought of me.

And "cousin" is a loving term.  Her parents were my God-Parents, and my parents' best friends, so respectfully, I grew up calling her parents Aunt and Uncle and her and her 3 siblings cousin. She was even named after my mom, who is her God-Mother.  There you have it.

Back to why I'm blogging again.

I will be doing the video demonstrations for the website and YouTube channel right from my own kitchen.

This is my dream job. PERIOD.

This is the exposure/platform I have been hoping for ever since I submitted an audition video for The Next Food Network Star, August 2009.

I have no expectations, other than to do the very best I can, be myself on camera, and teach people about my passion for food. Hoping to make others passionate about food in the process.

This could not have come at a better time as The Moonlight Chef is not doing very well at all right now as far as bringing in business.

The wind from one door closing opens the door in another room. Or so the proverb goes.

Who's excited? I AM!!!



Tuesday, July 5, 2011

Case in point

I have not posted in a long while.  When I created this "blog", I decided immediately that I would not write anything unless I felt compelled to write.  In a free thinking, cathartic, stream of conscious thought, idea.

Something happened today that prompted me to put my thoughts out into cyber space.

Casey Anthony. Not Guilty. As judged in court. By that of her peers. PERIOD.

While I do not know the ins and outs of the case, and honestly do not care, I do care that the public wants to bash and criticize the American Justice system.

What I believe personally will have no impact on the outcome of this trial, nor will it bring back that pretty little baby.

Is Casey Anthony guilty?  Was OJ Simpson?  That's not for me to decide.  The court of public opinion and the 3-ring circus that is the Media seems to rule these days.  Reporters should report the news.  Not create more melodrama.  I can't watch news programs for that reason.

I believe in the United States Justice System, and I do believe in honest lawyers that are hard working. HONEST.

In retrospect, Back to the Future II had some sense to it: "The justice system works swiftly, now that they've abolished all Lawyers."

Case in point.



Thursday, February 24, 2011

Birthdays and Centerfolds

My husband's birthday is tomorrow.  He'll be 37.  For his 40th birthday I have Fantasy Baseball Camp with the Boston Red Sox planned for him and his twin brother.  Or a week at Spring Training.  So excited!  I want to go, too.

But back to the present.  I haven't purchased a gift as of yet.  He didn't ask for anything, nor does he really need anything right now.  I was going to get him a Wii, an iPad, or triplets on a trapeze.  All seemed superfulous at this point.  We hardly use the Original Nintendo/Super Nintendo, we both have fully functional computers, and he never has time to fuck me stupid, let alone the triplets I might supply.

I had the greatest idea to be a Playboy Centerfold.  Now I've come up with the most scathingly brilliant idea of making a faux volume!  Dated on his birthday, with articles and jokes written by friends, advertisments that are all inside jokes  And even those annoying little postcard "subscription" papers that fall out of a magazine.

Not sure where this is all leading, but now I have to figure out a new plan.  I have to come up with something fantastic, for my equally fantastic soulmate.  He deserves the Moon.  I'm always more prepared than this.  It's not fair to him.  I'll sleep on it.  I have all day tomorrow to come up with something.

Until then, I have birthday candles and Playboy Centerfolds to dream about.



Wednesday, February 16, 2011

Wine, weed, and whining.

I have been flying on civilian airplanes since I was 18 months old.  All shapes, sizes, models.  Fixed wing, prop. You name it.  When I was around 8 years old, Mumah and I went to visit my Grandparents in Florida.  On the way home, there was a terrible storm that the pilot tried to avoid, but did not succeed.  It was an awful flight, and I never forgot it.
I absolutely LOVE to travel.  I love driving anywhere and everywhere.  "Push the pedal down, watch the world around fly by us".  I've been to California, Canada, the Bahamas, and everywhere in between.  I'm the dog with it's head out the window wanting to see and experience everything the world has to offer.  I adore the Travel Channel and want to be the female version of Anthony Bourdain.  He's my hero, and in my honest opinion, the second coming of Dr. Hunter S. Thompson himself.

After that particular flight, I've always had trepidation about flying.  But I always enjoy the excitment of getting on an airplane.  I actually love to fly, but the whole fear of not being in control rattles my brain.

This brings me to the topic at hand:  An impromptu trip to Amsterdam.

I'm excited, in a holy-crap-I'm-going-abroad-for-the-first-time-in-my-life kind of way.  Amsterdam would not have been my first choice of European cities to visit.  France, London, Rome.  YES.  Amsterdam has this haze (yes, puns a go-go) of strange press for it's tolerance of marajuana use.  I'm not even interested in the weed, space cakes, mushrooms, or any other drug laden edible that can be thrown at me.  I am interested in the food, the canals, the beautiful architecture, and the culture.  Mostly, how Europeans exist and live.

I'm terrified to get on an airplane for that long, over the "Pond", and to another Continent.  This should be a time of great excitment.  But my brain cannot shut off about the "what ifs".  I know, very deep down in my soul, that it is not my destiny to be ended in an airplane crash.  But I will always worry, as a dog worries a bone.

In order to be forward thinking, embrace the chance of a lifetime, and just stop worrying about what is out of my control, I should drink some wine, smoke some weed, and quit whining about the "what ifs", and be grateful for a once in a lifetime experience.



Tuesday, February 8, 2011

Fading away.

This is where it all begins to fade. No one knows exactly where or when it all began to fall apart. But this is the moment. Right now. Right here. I snap my fingers and it's begun.



Friday, February 4, 2011

Pavlova and Turtles.

I keep thinking about it.  Keep wondering and making myself a maniac about it.  Why do we have to get old?  There are breeds of turtles that can live over 300 years.  But humans, if we're lucky, crank out 60 really good years.  Because honestly when you think about it, we don't start "living" and appreciating life until MAYBE high school/college.  Then the years at the end of our lives are not so great, depending upon the genes you get dealt.  Shitting your pants, memory loss, broken bones, etc.

So, starting at age (insert your "start age" here) what kind of life have you had?  Will you have?  Now this does not apply to everyone, OBVIOUSLY.  I have a Great Aunt at age 98.  My Father is going to be 75 this year and is in great shape.  Save the cancer.  Twice.  Broken hip, dislocated shoulder, screw driver up the nose, catching his nuts on a flagpole cleat while trying to catch the flag before it hit the ground, both knees replaced, and light one kidney.  And now potentially an issue with his bladder.  Other than that, he is on point!  Sharp.  Funny.  Quick.  And one of the most brilliant you will ever encounter.  Not only by his intelligence, but a human soul.  An artist.  A great beacon if you will.

Whilst on Staten Island today, driving along Richmond Avenue, my mom pointed out that the snow had this sheen to it.  That nothing could get through it but a jack hammer from all the snow/ice/melt/refreeze.  I told her it reminded me of meringue.  A Pavlova dessert, all glossy and pretty with fruit.  The snow did have the perfect sheen to it though.  Maybe humans could be preserved, or at least live a little longer, and make like a turtle.



Thursday, January 27, 2011

Liquid Draino.

How ironic that sleep is an illusive thought lately.  Like a thread that will not mate with the needle.  I really don't know what is going on.  Usually I sleep too much.  But it was pointed it out to me today, that I may be experiencing a "mid-life crisis".  At age 35, I sincerely hope 70 is not my end.

I openly cried at a painting I keep over the sofa in the living room.  Stared at it.  Stared at it until I thought it might become a chalk drawing from Mary Poppins, and I could jump in and be part of it.  Live it.  Smell it.  Taste it.  Breathe it in and never exhale.  Forever have it be part of me.  For I know this painting well.  To the point of visualizing every detail about the inside of the house, from squeaking floor boards to how the morning sun peaks through the windows, to a vineyard that has yet to be harvested, and hot air balloons that are so fresh on their morning journey, they've yet to crest the mountains they seek to rise above.  My heart aches for that one moment visualized.  I wait.  But my patience is thin.

Orphanage and schooling.

I want to finish school.  I want a culinary degree, but do not want to take courses that have no use in my discipline.  I do not require Biology, Algerbra, or the Mating Habits of Dung Beetles in Africa.  I need Culinary Mathematics, Business Management, and how to properly make the "Mother Sauces".  Tools for a great Chef.  Oh, and a proper omellette.  I seriously SUCK a fat one when it comes to omellettes.  Sometimes I'm genius.  Most times, not so much.  Room temperature butter and eggs. OBVIOUSLY.  The wrist and flipping that fucking pan so the mess ends up IN the pan and not on my stove top?  FAIL.  EPIC FAIL.  A work in perpetual progress.

I seem to have a deep belief that I need to be an orphan before I can truly visualize my dreams.  Not Daddy, but Mumah holds me.  Binds me.  I've said it before: she is an enabler, but only if it suits HER wants.  What about setting your children free and letting them fly on their own?  Not enabling them to create bad habits and behavior.  Not having them be forever dependent upon you, that they cannot survive on their own.  Holding them in your space until you no longer need them, want them, have use for them.  I obviously still have unresolved issues.  Some thoughts go too deep.

I had an epiphany this evening.  Children. Several reasons why we procreate.  Foremost, to love them, teach them, family line, etc..  But I also see now it's because THROUGH children, parents can be young again.  See themselves in their children, in genes yes, but more so in getting another chance.  For themselves.  To live forever.  But what if you had kids for the wrong reason?  What if you had them because you're supposed to have them?  And never loved them.  Never wanted them in the first place, and put all your pain, hurt, and misery on an unsuspecting, perfect vessel?  Wanting all the wonderful things for them, after a fashion and when it was convenient for you, only to have them turn out damaged, hurt, and completely fucked in the head anyway.

Parents, friends, and family reading this, do not attack me.  I had an epiphany today, and it made all the sense in the world.  A fear of getting old, a fear of death, and a fear of having no worth in this life.  I know this is not a new idea, and I know that it's taken me all these years to figure it out, but I feel enlightened.  Am I responsible in thought alone to HAVE a child?  I don't think so.

But there may be time for me just yet.  And I mean that on many, MANY levels.

You want irony?  I was up at 4AM to... well, let's say the short ribs were Draino to my gastrointestinal tract like Draino is to, well, a drain.  I tried to go "avatar state" again only to fail and stay awake for the next 3 hours until my husband needed to get up.  NOW, I cannot sleep.  Tired as I am, sleep will not grace me this night.  Liquid Draino in the form of Braised Short Ribs.  Outstanding.



Tuesday, January 25, 2011

Atomic Weapons Testing.

Okay, so my penance for being so eager for vitamin D and sunshine has left me a bit itchy and pink.

And for all the perverts reading this, I WENT TANNING THIS MORNING.

But I must say, this new place makes my old place look completely pedestrian.  The old place went out of business last May, and I still had 7, that's SEVEN sessions to use.  Not happy.

BUT, as a "Beach Bum", I can choose my basting settings, music, fan speed, and the beds even spritz cold water on your face every 30 seconds!  Much like the produce section at your local supermarket.  I guess tanning has evolved.  I actually got very excited when touring the facility and the machines that would render me "Native looking and sexy", as I like to put it.

Now if I just didn't feel so puffy, and look as if I fell asleep ground zero at an atomic weapons testing facility.



Thursday, January 20, 2011

35 and marching drum corps?

This whole turning 35 and deciding to march drum corps again after a 3 year hiatus is really getting to me.  Not only will I be the oldest female marching in the ENTIRE drum corps, I will be the only one over the age of 30.  Most, if not all, of the women will be in high school and college, and none older than say, 25.

I know that age is only a number, and I'm in some of the best shape of my life, can march and play circles around most, if not all of them, but deep down there is a niggling itch of doubt.

I'm thinner now than I was when I finished the 2007.  I'm not smoking anymore, and have found air and lung capacity I never knew I had.  Sean dubbed me "Laura Lungs" this past weekend.  I can find air and expand my lungs like never before.  I started smoking at age 21 (1997), and marched all those years smoking at least a pack a weekend.  By 2007 it was 2 packs a weekend.  How I marched, played, was nearly 190 lbs, ate like shit, AND had a solo that season is beyond me.  I have no idea how I got through it.  And I almost didn't in finals as I ran out of air and was close to passing out during my solo.  I ended up chipping one note because I didn't have the support to hit it.  I'll never forgive myself for that.  It's one note, and to the untrained would go unnoticed, but I know I fucked up.  I never wanted to let any one of my fellow Caballeros down, past or present.

Moving on.

Now that I'm healthy and in better shape (not the best, but better) I should be able to blow down a building with my air, march over it without breaking a sweat, and play a solo with all the ease and grace of a true Caballero.

Self loathing is a futile game.  I don't hate myself, my looks, my body, my mind, or my soul.  What I do hate is the cold, not having a tan, being stuck in the house, not having anyone to walk or run with, and just plain being lonely day in and day out.  I need a project.  Better, I need WORK to come in so I have something to do.

Here's to the next phase and starting again.



Monday, January 17, 2011

Fat lips.

After a weekend of drum corps and playing my face off, I have that "good" sore/ache everywhere.  I always love how my muscles feel after a weekend of intense training, music, marching, and being "hard corps".

I'm so happy and excited that one of my closest friends, and fellow mellos is returning to the ranks with me.  Now if we could get another friend to come back to the line, it will be the "Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse" reuniting to barrage people with high notes, volume, sarcasm, and a lot of O&A references. 

I've played mellophone with these guys since 2003, and it's like we share a brain.  We are so insane and tight when we play in a line together.  It is SICK.  When we have staff coming up to us and saying how they wish they could play mellophone and be in the line because we make it sound so effortless, it makes me feel warm and fuzzy, and chomping at the bit to get even better.  And we're already excellent.  As I said this past weekend, "We're getting the band back together".  So, myself, Josh, Sean, and hopefully Mark will be marching together once again in 2011.  ELATION!

On that note, why do women pay a lot of money to have fat injected into their lips to make them look full and puffy?  Play a brass instrument, you'll get the same effect for a hell of a lot less money.  I have "Angelina" lips today from playing all weekend.  They look great, but are abnormally puffy for my face.  Fat lips are easy to make, if you're an excellent horn player.  That I am.



Friday, January 14, 2011

The Hawthorne Caballeros

We'll touch upon this topic quite often, as I am a lifetime member of the organization.  But here is where I'm at right now with my Cabs.

After a 3 season hiatus, I return to my beloved Caballeros with so much gusto and excitement, that I can hardly contain myself.  I CANNOT WAIT for each camp weekend to come.  The music so far is a mellophone players wet dream realized.

I'll be vague because I have to be, but if I wasn't already marching with the 2011 Hawthorne Caballeros, had half my dues paid, and wasn't completely in love with the staff and my corps, I would be running to the next camp, knife in hand to cut the heads off of any horn player in my way so I could have a spot in that hornline.

That is all for now, as it's 1132PM and I have to be up and ready to go by 630AM.

I LOVE my drum corps.




Thursday, January 13, 2011

Astrology. Apocalypse. It's a no-brainer.

New Astrological sign being added to the chart means the coming of the Apocalypse for sure.  Where's my survival kit and radiation suit?

When will this country wake up from its sheep-like state of unconsciousness?  We're always being told what to buy, what to wear, what to eat, where to go, etc.  The plot line from "WALL-E" isn't too far off the mark.  WAKE THE FUCK UP PEOPLE.

I cannot stand to look at television, unless it's the Food Network (which is REALLY getting on my nerves of late), Cooking Channel, Travel Channel, and some terrific HBO/Showtime series that I thoroughly enjoy.  The news, the media, the politicians, the GARBAGE that is spewed forth and thrust upon us on a daily basis is enough to make me curl up in a corner, naked, shuddering, weeping, and mumbling to myself, "Why didn't I eat more Foie Gras?".

I think this is where "They" want us to be.  Comatose, and easily manipulated.  This IS a conspiracy.  Keep feeding them war, anger, hate, and fear, and all they'll want is more.  Same goes for kids and junk food.  What a coincidence.

Have a mind of your own, and think before you scream, "THE SKY IS FALLING" and bury your head in a shit pile.

But maybe that's where most of these mindless heads belong.  In a big, hot, gloriously stinky pool of diarrhea.  The morning after a drunken bender, creamed corn, and bad sushi.  Insert head, open mouth, swallow.  One less sheep.

Here's my Apocalypse:  The end of great suffering and anger.  To no longer fear the unknown.  Take responsibility for ourselves, each other, and our planet.  Emerging on the other side to a vision of enlightenment, hope, peace, and above all else, a society free of mindless morons and shit eaters.

But then, the world could just suddenly explode in a giant fireball.  Sending particles scattering across the endless expanse of space.  Nothing left.

The Universe will probably be way better off.



Wednesday, January 12, 2011

This to shall pass.

I don't watch the news for a reason.  That's just the way I am the past two years or so.  I'm content to live in my own head, for the most part.  If I thought, and worried about, all the things wrong with the world (and trust me, I have, at great length, to the point of madness) I would be dead.  I had to stop caring and worrying about what I cannot control. As part of getting healthy.  So I remove all reminders of the horror in the world to keep myself quite functional and sane.  Savy?

Yet, I feel this depression taking hold again.  Wrapping it's fingers around my throat and applying just enough pressure to make me panic.  But not quite enough to make me scream.  Like a frog in a pot of water.  Setting it to boil, the frog remains in the pot until it slowly cooks to death.  But if the frog is dropped into a boiling pot, it immediately hops out to safety.

When will I hop to safety?

My brain never seems to shut off and just... rest.  It's always going, going, going.  One thought into the next.  An endless cycle of thoughts, images, voices, ideas, and fear.  I can hear my heartbeat in my ears at night.  Thumping along, in the irregular way that it exists.  And it IS irregular.  In its rhythm and existence.  I fear so much, that at times when I calculate my heart rate, I feel as though my heart will explode in my chest.  I always wonder what it will feel like.  It scares me, but makes me curious.  A quandary.  An utter paradox.  That is my mind.  That is my irregular heart.  THAT is succinct.

I believe a lot of this has to do with the winter months, and the great amount of snow these past few weeks.  And the endless cold.  So cold.  I feel as though I'll never be warm again.  From my marrow.  I can never get warm enough lately.  It breaks me.  Despair is common this time of year.  And something I consider useless.  Yet, here I am.  In great despair.

Spring is coming, this I know.  But how long must I wait?  I think it won't be too long now.

This to shall pass.



California Dreaming.

So, getting back to California.  I cannot wait to move to NoCal and get away from East Coast living.  First time I visited California was in 2006.  Right at picking and pressing.  For those of you that have no idea what I'm talking about, it is that magical time of year when the grapes are harvested and pressed into the elixir of the Gods: VINO!

I have never been so completely moved by a state of being.  Californians, from the Oregon border all the way down to San Ysidro and the Tijuana border know how to enjoy life completely.  The landscapes, the food, and of course, the wine.  My final wishes are to be cremated and scattered off the Bixby Bridge at Big Sur.  THAT'S how much that area of Califonia effected me.

Now getting to the reason I'm not a resident of the Golden State as of yet.  I'm not an orphan.  I stay in New Jersey, yes because I'm settled here, have all of my friends here, my husband's job is here, but mostly because my mother insists upon laying guilt on me that I shouldn't leave her and move away like her parents did to her when they moved from Staten Island to Tampa in 1970.  Don't you think she should be happy for me and WANT me to fulfill a dream?  No.  Not Carolyn.  As I mentioned earlier, she is the poster child for Enablers Anonymous, but only if it benefits her.

So, I wait patiently for my turn and the day when I can pick up and go West, and never look back.  My husband has 5 offices in California.  One in San Francisco in fact, and 40 minutes south of where I would eventually like to live.  That's about his commute now.  He can be an engineer anywhere, and I can certainly cook anywhere.

I have a grand plan of what I would like to do with the land we buy, potentially a small vineyard.  We'll touch upon that another time.

Until then, here's to California Dreaming, and making dreams into reality.



Tuesday, January 11, 2011

Firewood and Ribeyes.

I watch a sleeping Border Collie as she dreams of squirrels, human food, and ESPN.  Some moments in life are just sublime.

I haven't been sleeping well, and I really don't know why.  Not being able to fall asleep at a normal hour, then tossing and turning all night long only to finally fall asleep as the sun is coming up.  This is not a good pattern.  They say the body changes every few years, well, I seem to be in for a major overhaul.

I did have a dream last night about firewood and ribeyes though.  Maybe it was just my chore list for today permeating my thoughts as I tried futilely to get some rest.  Or maybe it was a Border Collie's dream invading my own.



Monday, January 10, 2011

Taking it all back.

Today is the day I take my life back again. I was on track for a long time and then got lazy and complacent. So, starting today, I get back on the path the lead me to lose 30 lbs, get healthy, look better, and above all else, feel better from the inside out.

That being said, alcohol consumption will be reduced to twice a week. Breakfast will be eaten every day.  I will start running or at least fast walking once more of this snow melts.  I need to get more cardio into my daily life.  I posses the knowledge, I just need to motivate myself.  Motivation should come like a gunshot every time I look at my fat, lazy body in the mirror every morning.  A healthy tan should be mandatory year round.  WOW am I a fat, pasty mess.  I should say, "skinny/fat".  I'm flabby and out of shape.  Maybe I should get off the couch and DO something.

Next up, finding a part time job to get out of the house a few hours a day, a few days a week, since TMC has no business coming in at the moment.

There is no try.  Only do.  Thanks Yoda.



Sunday, January 9, 2011

Duck, Duck, Duck.

I decided to take on the task of boning a duck.  It was actually easy.  You must have the proper instructions, a very sharp knife, patience, and of course, excellent knife skills.  I possess all of these things.  The interesting part was stuffing, sewing, trussing and wrapping the damn thing in pasrty crust.  That being said, I succeeded.

I hope it tastes as good as it looks.  I know it will.



Saturday, January 8, 2011

Nothing of worth.

I will not make an entry unless there is something of worth to make an entry about.

But I will make an entry to keep up with making entries so I keep entertaining you.



Friday, January 7, 2011

One of my favorite topics.

On the precipice of attending a wake for a friend and Caballero, I find myself thinking about one of my favorite topics: Death.
Everyone has a different opinion about what happens to us after we die, and I suppose I'm not any different.  I feel that there is irrefutable evidence from the paranormal arena that suggests the presence of ghosts and "lost souls" trapped in limbo.  I've personally felt at times that I was not alone in a room, knowing full well I was the only person in the house.  I believe that my maternal Grandfather is always watching out for me.  I suppose, simply, it is because I want to believe he is.

I think as human beings we have a fear of the unknown, a sense of feeling lost, being disconnected, and alone.  Like searching for alien life, death is no different in that we want to know we're not going through all of this alone.  Why do people have to get old, sick, and ultimately die?  I know death is a part of life, a journey we all must take, as Gandalf says, but it can still be a mind fuck of epic proportions.

A human life in length is infinitesimal in the scheme of things as it is, now add cancer, irresponsible drivers, murderers, catastrophic events, heart attacks, etrc. and that life expectancy drops considerably.  I have a great Aunt that recently celebrated her 98th birthday.  She's never been married, never had children, I'm absolutely certain she has never been with a man, or woman for that matter, and she is well taken care of in an assisted living facility on Staten Island, and she doesn't have to pay a dime to live there.  The irony?  All she does is complain about everything from the food to the staff to her dining tablemates, and that her feet hurt.  She is still sharp as a tack and misses nothing.  Boggles my mind.

I've had a thought over the years that might not make sense to anyone, but it makes perfect sense to me:

If we cannot remember being born, how can we remember dying?



PS- RIP Jack Kotran, you will be missed my great friend.  I know you're up there with your bottle of yellow Gatorade, spiked with Absolute and a bucket of Tootsie Pops ready to cheer on your Caballeros in 2011.  =D

Thursday, January 6, 2011

Obscure Tangents

While in the midst of yet another fitful night of sleep, my thoughts bouncing around in my head like an Arkanoid ball on acid, I had a few I'd like to share.  If only to get them out so I can make sense of them.

First off, getting back to my parents.  What parents don't want to eagerly take their child off to visit colleges and help them make a choice on a fine institution of learning?  Mine.  I wanted to go to the Culinary Institute of America in New Hyde Park, NY, and was accepted to my utter elation and surprise.  When the weekend came for me to go visit the school, my Dad had "something come up" and couldn't take me.  Somehow later I found out that my Mom had gotten his ear and told him not to take me.  An enabler she is, but only if it suits her needs.  She never supported my cause or ambition when I auditioned for, and made the Crossmen in 1996, thus making me practice harder and raising all the money myself.  (she was ecstatic when I busted my knee and had to leave tour early, though not saying it in so many words).

It still hurts, knowing I wanted be a chef since I was 16, and being told to "give it time and see if that's really what you want to do", "you have no idea how hard those hours are with no holidays or weekends off".  And on and on.  I went and did the Manhattan/cubicle rat thing for a while, and temped at every place imaginable only to be completely miserable and empty.

I met and married Glenn and suddenly I had to cook for someone.  I remembered that I had a passion for it and thus went looking at culinary schools, to finish what I never got to start nearly a decade earlier.  I never went to culinary school, although I was accepted to 6 different schools in the NYC Metro area, as it was just too expensive and too much stress on a new marriage.  Instead I found work anywhere I could in the hospitality/food service industry.  I learned a lot from a lot of great people, and some life lessons from a few misogynistic douche bags that felt women had no place in "back of the house" work unless it meant getting chased around a desk or fucked stupid in the walk-in.  I had no interest in either scenario, so I moved on from those places only to find a better environment, and people to learn from. (Still mostly men, as the women in a chef's position can be more of an unholy ass munch than the men).

My Mom made it decidedly easy for me to hold off on having a baby, if only for the way she held me back from so many things I wanted to do in life.  Remind me to tell you all about California someday.

I really feel deep down that Glenn isn't in a rush to have kids either.  He lost his father at age 11, and never really had a father figure around to teach him all the big boy things.  Glenn is a mans man, and I do not, by any stretch, mean to imply otherwise.  I also think that he's comfortable with his life the way it is and is okay with no offspring.  Hooray for more Border Collies.


I need to practice my mellophone sometime before next weekend and get the warm-up book and Opener under my fingers and somewhat memorized, I just can't seem to motivate myself.  I learn faster and memorize easier at ensemble anyway.  Some things never change.

On that note, boned stuffed duck in a pastry crust is my task this weekend that I am going to thoroughly enjoy.  Did I mention this was about tangents?



Wednesday, January 5, 2011

Who will take care of me?

Lately I've been thinking a lot about children.  Here I am, 35 years old, and married over 11 years to a wonderful man.  We have a full life of travel, friends, family, a terrific Border Collie, etc.  But something is still missing.

My sister never had children, and my Mom, as great as she is, was never "Mother of the Year" material.  She always preached how much she hated kids, wasn't going to change her life or have her life revolve around that of her children.  Is it any wonder why I can't bring myself to have any?

My parents were older when they had me, and had already gone through all of the "kid things" with my sister who is 10 years older than I am.  My sister tried everything, and got bored, or sometimes kicked out of things like Girl Scouts, class trips, etc.  When it came to my turn to join and do and be, my Mom said no to all of it.  I couldn't be a Girl Scout because my sister hated it, and/or lost interest.  Why couldn't I just try at anything?

When I picked up the trumpet in 4th grade, my Dad was happy, my Mom was like, "I give this 6 months".  27 years later.  I think I kept at it just to prove her wrong, but I was actually good at it and it came naturally to me.  I was never athletic or particularly brilliant, but I took to music like a duck takes to water, or to my roasting pan.

I remember having to beg my parents to come to a football game on Saturday mornings just so they could watch me perform with the Marching Band.  Daddy came to a few games, but never my Mom.  They never came to watch me perform at band competitions.  They did come to most of the Staten Island parades, and to my Senior year Christmas concert, and I remember my Mom saying of my solo in Concert Band, "I had no idea you could play like that!"  What do you think all those years/hours of practice amount to?  SERIOUSLY??!

They came to one show in 1995 and another show in 1998 when I was marching with the Sunrisers.  They never saw me perform as a Caballero or saw my featured solo live in 2007.  There's still time though, as I'm marching in 2011.  It's not just about me, now my husband is head drum major and it's a family affair.  If not for me, come see your son-in-law, for pity sake.

As I watch several of my close girlfriends have babies, and see the joy as they raise them, it makes me yearn to be a mother.  Am I terrified at my age now to have a baby?  Absolutely.  Not only for the health risks involved, but for all the awful jokes I've said over the years about such things as retards, baby in a blender jokes, etc.  What goes around...

Back to my parents.  Daddy was/is great, and I never realized how amazing that man is until I got older.  My Mom is amazing, too, but as I get older I realize also that she can be narrow minded, prejudiced, and just plain ignorant at times.  Frustrates me to no end some of the things that spew out of her mouth.  And age is no excuse for being uncouth.

If I am blessed enough to have a child, I don't want to be smothering or Soccer Mom of the Millennium, but I want to be there for them and share all their accomplishments and support them in anyway I can.  I want to take them to Disney World and see the happiness on their face at seeing that magical place for the first time.  Take them to California and teach them about Redwoods.  Take them to my favorite places, show them music, dance, art, theater, movies, hot air balloons at dawn.  Have them love food as much as I do, but teach them moderation and discipline at the same time.  Is this selfish of me?

The biggest thing:  Who will take care of me and my husband when we're older?  Like I take care of my parents now.  Who will I pass all of our things onto?  Who will continue our family line?

This is where I'm at for the past, oh I don't know, 8 months or so.  I feel like I haven't accomplished anything in my life.  I seem to fail at life. I hate the winter rot gut.



A beginning.

January 5, 2011. Two years ago today I started a life change of personal improvement, better health, weight loss, and overall well being.  I lost 30 lbs, gained back 10 this past year, but have maintained for the most part.  I now want to lose another 20 lbs before Flag Day in June in order to prepare myself for my return to the drum corps field with my Hawthorne Caballeros after a 3 season hiatus.  My body will hate me for it, I guarantee it.

This will be a challenge, and I will get lazy and apathetic about it, but that's how I roll.  I'm a chef and love food and all that it involves.  I just bought a 6 lbs duck and Liverwurst yesterday.  Did I need to?  No.  But I did it anyway, and will surely suffer for it, but it's SO good.  Duck Confit anyone?  Liverwurst and onions on Naan bread?  Divine.

It annoys me sometimes when people come to me for advice about health and weight loss.  I'm no expert, I just didn't want to be a fattie pig fattie anymore.  I was on my way to type-2 diabetes, a heart attack, and potentially being harpooned on the beach, mistaken for a beached whale.  It took for me to lose the first 10 lbs for my husband to tell me, "You were getting fat".  It hurt, but he was right.

Anyway, I don't want this blog to be all about weight loss, as most women blog about such things all the time.  Do I expect this to be my breakthrough into greatness?  Probably not, but I do expect it to be a place where I can really say what's on my mind, uncensored and unapologetic.