Put Your Big Girl Panties On.

Basements. Basements are not all that common in California...at least not that I'm aware. Every basement I have ever been in has been finished to look like a room, in which case it is then referred to as a "den."

Basements. The word alone gives me the hibity jibities.

Basements. We have a basement. Ours houses all of our landlords furniture cast-aways, including a crate of old playboy magazines, retro chairs, paintings of demonic looking kittens, bathtub bubblers, and mini ovens. It is also where our washer and dryer are housed, as well as the only way to get into the garage from inside of the house, which houses our trash cans

Basements. I am afraid of basements.

Because of this, Any time I want to do laundry Shawn has to accompany me.

"Hey, Em, could you go switch the laundry?"

I look at him like a small child looks at their parents for reassurance after learning about the Boogie Man.

"I'll stand at the top of the stairs..." he says, trying to coax me.

My fear remains piercing him through my eyes.

"Alright, I'll go with you," he always replies, defeated by my irrational fear.

It's musty. It's dark. It's infested with spiders, bugs, and who knows what other kind of creepy crawlers.

I managed to trek into its dark cold depths on my own once, but had to call my mother in case the monster I KNOW resides down there should decide that I would be a tasty mid-day snack.

He's lurking....
Maybe he ate my big girl panties, and that's why I'm unable to put them on to go down there by myself...

Testing, Testing.....Is this thing on?

Hello friends and family! I am requesting that you become a follower of my blog. By knowing how many people are reading, I will not only post more frequently, but I will be sure to give all of the nitty gritty details to make you, the reader, feel as though you were with me during my learning mishaps. It's a win win!

If you aren't sure how to become a follower, I have included directions to do so below:

1. To the left of the page, there is a white rectangle with a colorful "g" on it that says "Follow." Click on this.

2. A pop up will appear. (you may need to make sure your pop up blocker is off) If you don't already have a google, twitter or yahoo account, click on the link at the bottom that says "Create a  new Google account"

3. Follow the instructions and click "I accept. Create my account."

4. Click on "Follow this blog"

BAM! You’re a follower.

So, if you are, I don't know, say a grandparent, an aunt or uncle, or maybe a Vietnam vet who doubles as a rattle snake hunter, please please please sign up. Let me know you're out there.

Never Fry Naked

I have been a VERY busy girl. thus, my slacking in updating this diary..as most of you have noticed, and alerted myself, my family members, and anyone else who may be following along with me. Believe me when I say that you have not been forgotten. I have not lost interest in keeping this diary, and I am very grateful for all of your encouragement.

The truth is, being an unemployed 22 year old is a messy job. Literally. Between scrubbing the cupboards and floors of my house, and trying to continue looking for jobs, I have been driving up to visit Shawn's mom on weekends, trying to discover new things to cook, painting, unpacking etc. etc. Yesterday I even walked down to the local cookie shop and bought enough black and white cookies, calnolies and tarts to stuff a pig. It's a hard job, but someone has to do it. And besides, the pay's not too great.

Back to the topic at hand, however. Let me begin by saying that in order to fry ANYTHING, one should wear the following attire:

1. A full ski mask. Better yet, one of those welding masks that shields your entire face.
2. Large flame retardant gloves, preferably that cover everything up to your elbows. If these are too pricey, oven mitts will do just fine.
3. a hooded sweatshirt to be worn under the above stated articles.
4. Pants. Not shorts, not capris. Pants.
5. Boots.

No, I did not fry anything in my birthday suit, although, scalding my hands with molten hot oil has taught me this lesson in advance...had my common sense alert failed to warn me of such things in the future.

Tonight, after Shawn left for class, I decided to play the house wife roll and have dinner waiting for him when he got home. I also planned to bake sugar cookies. My intentions were for him to walk in the door, take a deep breath, and feel the plethora of flavors dance upon his senses. I planned out my meal:

1. Mild Italian Sausage sauteed with garlic.
2. Pasta with Alfredo sauce.
3. Baked yams with cinnamon, vanilla and nutmeg.
4. Sugar cookies.

I had made the yams for my lunch, so those were taken care of. The pasta and Alfredo was easy enough, but I had never cooked a large sausage. Small, breakfast sausages, or chopped up sausages, yes. Large, Italian sausages, however, were a new addition to my cooking repetuar.

I pulled out my non-stick frying pan and added in my sausages. I placed my heat on low. My sausages weren't making a sound. No simmer, no crack. Silence. I added in my garlic. Still nothing. I thought to myself "Maybe I need some olive oil.." I added it, accordingly. There was a soft crackle that began. Content with myself, I walked to the fridge to pour a glass of juice. Apple. My favorite. Suddenly, my pan erupted into a symphony of popping, snapping, and spitting...spitting flaming hot oil everywhere. Including on me. Don't fret. I'm wounded, but alive. Any horrific scarring that my hands undoubtably have coming in their future from the grease splatters will simply make me tougher, and allow me to educate those younger than myself about grease safety. (p.s. does sarcasm come across through text?)


Needless to say, my sausages turned out perfect, my pasta, although in need of a little seasoning, was superb, and the rest never got touched. Shawn was a very happy, very grateful camper. My kitchen, however....

Tomorrow's duties include scrubbing my kitchen ceiling, floor, stove top, and counters, and trying to get my parents to send me a splash screen.

Is She Ok?

So far, this blog has been about my life lessons being out in the world on my own, and, for the most part, they have all been rather humorous. Well, my friends, a LOT has happened in the last two weeks, and writing is therapeutic for me. With this in mind, I guess I'm writing this particular entry as a personal release, and a way to dissect the events that have occurred in the recent past. Let's organize in chronicle order, shall we?

1. I got a job working as an office assistant for a Chiropractic Office. I got the job rather quickly, actually. I submitted my resume on a Friday, got a call to set up an interview on Monday, Interviewed on Tuesday, and was working on Wednesday.

The interview process was the ODDEST interview I have ever had. I felt like I was auditioning for a job. "Very New York," I remember thinking to myself. First, I was seated in a room of other applicants. We were called into separate rooms one by one. Each girl was in their interview for maybe a half hour. I watched as each was called in, and each walked out of the office. Finally, my name was called.

I was quizzed on a sheet that I was given to read, asked to sell the Chiropractor a container of alcohol wipes, asked to sell a coloring book without coming across as selling it, asked to follow a manual and enter myself into their computer, asked if I smoked weed because I'm from California, asked if I liked dogs, asked if I was offended by swearing...My interview lasted an hour and a half.

2. I got really sick. I was in bed for 3 days with stomach problems and migraines. This caused me to be out of work for 2 of the 3 days. Fantastic first impression, right? Unfortunately, germs do not wait for a convenient time to attack your immune system.

3. I turned 22 this past Monday! Unfortunately, I was too sick to do anything for it, but Shawn assures me he has a big surprise in-store for me. I will update on this after it happens.

4. Shawn's mom was in a car accident this past Tuesday. We immediately hoped in the car, and drove the 7 hour drive to his hometown to wait for news at the hospital she was taken to. The only information we had at the time we left, was that she was hit on the driver side of the car, and was being rushed to the E.R. I, of course, called in work to let them know my plans.

5. I was "let go" from my job.

6. Today, 4 days later, Shawn's mom was taken off of her respirator, and will soon move out of the ICU. She suffered 3 broken ribs, which caused a hematoma in her lung cavity, which caused her lung to partially collapse, and a broken pelvis. She underwent surgery to remove the hematoma and her lung is now re-inflated. She is bruised, and quite annoyed by the constant poking and prodding of the nurses, who have been extremely kind to us might I add, but is doing well and joking with everyone who comes in the room. She's a fighter, and is fighting with a smile on her face.

Needless to say, Shawn and I have been sleeping very little. We leave the hospital for a few hours every day, but have slept here every night. The first few nights we slept on the floor in the ICU lobby. As you can imagine, it was extremely uncomfortable, and extremely cold. Thankfully, one of his mom's nurses has become a bit of a friend to us, and got us two reclining chairs to place in her room. They recline into a bed. It's fantastic.

This entire month has been a bit of a whirl wind. Usually, I am a Halloween fanatic, and my birthday is celebrated the entire month. This year, however, October doesn't quite feel like October. I don't feel like I'm missing Halloween, or that I didn't really celebrate my birthday. Maybe I will throw a Halloween party in November. ;)

New Monthly Cure

I woke up this morning in a cloud. A big, black, thundering, rumbling cloud. The kind of cloud that I ignore when in public. The kind of cloud that only those "special" few get to see. The kind of cloud that comes once a month to let me know that my beloved Aunt Flo will soon be arriving.

I've become addicted to a game on Facebook called "City of Wonder." I try and stay away from these games for this reason, however, this one sucked me in. I get to create my own little town, explore, generate a population, etc etc. This is what I spent the morning doing. I thought that it was in the best interest of Shawn and myself that I do so.

Shawn went into school early today, but before doing so, thought he would be nice, and take me to pick up my prescription from CVS. This was at about 2pm, and was the first real time we spent together all day. I walked into CVS, all the while trying to ignore my grumpy cloud.

"Hi," I said to the pharmacist in my usual perky tone. "I'm here to pick up a prescription." With that, I handed the man my medical card, and patiently waited for my prescription.

"This isn't the card I need," he said after a few moments of typing away on his computer. "You need a different card."

"This is the only card I've ever used," I replied, trying to readjust my hair to cover the red horns I could feel emerging from my scalp.

"Well, I don't know," he said staring at the card. "Without the other card your total is $35.00, with the card it will only b $5.00. You need a different card."

I sighed, and unhappily handed him my debit card.

"Did you want to take the prescription with you today?" he asked me, looking the prescription bottle over. The bottle that says in all capital letters "TAKE ONE PILL EVERY DAY."

I stared at him, "Yes please," I said growing impatient.

Now, I am normally a very perky, very patient person. I have worked Customer Service, and I understand what it's like to have something be out of your control, yet, to the person, you represent the company/department. I have been screamed at, yelled at, verbally dismissed, etc. and I have always been able to remain calm, and respond with a smile and helpful advice to solve the issue at hand. This guy wasn't wavering. He wasn't being helpful. He wasn't responding to me with a smile or helpful advice. I made it outside before the cloud began shooting lightning bolts, and I sprouted a tail to match the horns that were now un-disguisable.

Every day Shawn and I walk into town, we pass a cookie shop. Every time we pass, I drool and insist that we devour something staring at us from the glass cases, begging us to eat them. Today was the day that this was honored. Shawn ushered me into the cookie shop. Instantly, my horns tucked themselves neatly back into my skull, and my tail retreated. The cloud, however, remained just to see if it would be a match for the power of the cookies I was about to ingest. I ordered three: a chocolate chip cookie, a sugar cookie with chocolate sprinkles, and a house cookie lovingly called "Black and White." We got into the car, and immediately, I pulled out the Black and White. It was easily the biggest cookie I have ever eaten. Not wide, THICK. The cookie is made out of white pound cake. They bake them upside down, then frost half of the bottom of the cookie in white frosting, and half in chocolate. I took a bite. My cloud didn't stand a chance.

I am now happily chomping away at my sugar cookie, and my cloud is nowhere in sight. This, I have decided, is going to be a monthly ordeal.

Is Anybody Listening?

Writing daily is therapeutic for me. It's a way to release the built up emotions that I acquire throughout the day, and reflect on the positive, and humorous, rather that brood about the stupid and insignificant. I know my parents, and my mothers co-workers read along to "stay up to date" on the little girl who ran off to the big city.

With that in mind, is anyone else reading my posts? If so, I would LOVE LOVE LOVE it if you would subscribe, if you haven't already, so I know who is following along with me on my journey, and my experiences. Please feel free to post comments, disclose your own experiences, or give me advice. Just because "my mother never told me," doesn't mean you can't!

My goal is to post once a day, although I understand that things come up, and I may not always be able to do so. In any case, I hope you enjoy keeping up with me.

P.S.
I got call about a job interview! Did I mention I've been unemployed since March...?

Things Your Mother Never Told You: Potatoes and Cheese

Last night Shawn and I were cooking dinner. Shawn was going to steam some cauliflower and broccoli, and fry some Italian sausages. I got the fabulous idea to make twice baked potatoes. Just thinking of them now makes me drool. I had never made them before, but thought I could figure it out.I sat down at the table and pulled out 4 potatoes. I sliced each in half and, using a metal spoon, began carving out the innards and placing them in a bowl.

"This is much harder than I thought it would be," I said to Shawn who was busy at the stove. "I wonder how I get the outsides softer, or if they just soften when I put them in to bake.." I put aside the thought, and hallowed out 4 of the 8 halves. It was at this point, when my arm was about ready to give way, that I decided to call my mom.

"Do I have to boil the potatoes before I cut them in half to make twice baked potatoes?" I asked.

"No, you bake them," she said matter of fact. "That's why they are called TWICE baked potatoes. You bake them twice."

I was silent.

"Why? What have you done so far?" she asked.

"Cut them all in half, and emptied the innards out of half of them," I replied.

"Wasn't that hard?" she replied laughing.

"Well, yea, but I just figured they would soften after I baked them."

It was at this point that she informed me there was no way to continue on the beautiful road leading to twice baked potatoes. Instead, she suggested I chop all of them up and make mashed potatoes.

My dreams were crushed. My hopes were dashed. My glorious potatoes were not going to materialize. I angrily chopped up the potatoes, recalling my conversation with my mom to Shawn.

"They'll still be good, baby. You make awesome mashed potatoes," he said, trying to perk my spirits.

He was right. I do make some B.A. mashed taters, but it was the fact of the matter.

I boiled my potatoes, angrily.
I mashed my potatoes, with a whisk mind you, angrily.
I seasoned and mixed my potatoes, angrily.

Finally, I thought to myself, I'm gonna make these good. They will be BETTER than the glorious twice baked potatoes, and will take less time. Now, usually, I broil cheddar cheese on the top of my taters. We didn't have any cheddar. Instead, I found American cheese squares. I tiled them onto the potatoes, and tossed them in the broiler.

Cheddar cheese, and American cheese squares do NOT melt the same. Nor do they broil to the beautiful crispy golden brown in the same way. American cheese squares burn. They didn't burst into flames, but they might as well have done so. They were black. Charred. Very un-glorious. These potatoes were going to be the death of me.

"You don't have to eat them," I said to Shawn, very disheartened.

"They'll be good!" He said giving me a kiss on the cheek.

That boy piled his plate with my ugly potatoes. We sat down at the table and looked at our plates. Then we looked at each other. The pressure was on of who was going to taste test the hideous mound of mashed dreams that was resting on the white and black plastic dishware. He took a bite.

"Oh-ho my God, baby," he said laughing, "These are delicious!"

I took a bite. He was right. These potatoes were great. They didn't burn, the cheese had just crisped to a different color. And the American Cheese gave an amazing creaminess to the potatoes that Cheddar isn't able to provide.

Although I still want to make proper twice baked potatoes, I'm glad I made this mistake to learn this delicious lesson.