I cannot begin to express how angry and betrayed I feel by life and society. My cousin is expecting her second child at the tender age of 19 this August and has, what I feel, “stolen” the name that I chose long before this pregnancy and long before the first.
I feel that I have done “everything right” in that I’m doing things in the “proper” and acceptable order. I graduated high school in the top 11th percentile of my class (stupid band/choir/jocks – it could’ve been the top 10th percentile if I had chosen band, choir or a sport for an elective – more on this at a later date) and I had a job in high school not to mention I paid for my first and second car during this time. I went on to college, I paid for college (though I only went part time but I’d rather do it slowly than be in debt thousands of dollars) and I graduated with a 3.23 GPA, Associate of Arts. I took care of my ill grandfather and held a full-time job. I paid for my health insurance, my car insurance and any other expenses that came my way. Thank God for my good health and His guiding hand at the steering will, too, or I’d really be paying out. I practiced safe sex and even paid for my own birth control pills every single month ($360 a year for 9 years) not to mention that I took them religiously. I found a really great and respectable man, got a great job with the State, married that man and will be attending UALR Spring ’10 to finish with my B.S. in Secondary Education.
I’m ok with the fact that, at one point, this cousin wanted to better herself. She understood that she messed up and did what she thought was the right thing to get back on her feet and take care of her responsibilities. She was enrolled in all the assistant programs so that she and her first born could get medical care and be covered by insurance (she even did this the second time but on her own – no help from Daddy from what I hear), she applied for scholarships in the nursing programs that were offered and was accepted with full tuition paid, she even found a respectable young boy that wanted to not only be with her but be a “daddy” to her daughter. She was on birth control as well but how religiously, who’s to say. Now she’s pregnant with her second child. A boy. I’m thrilled for her if this is what she wants. She was going to move out and marry this boy but decided not move out or marry him (yet) because she wouldn’t get any assistance and would not have full-paid tuition for school.
I’m just pissed at the fact that the one “treasure” I wanted more than anything was to have my own Mason Lee Cornell – a name that meant more to David and me than any other name that we’ve thought about. Mason honoring David’s history and lineage going all the way back to his great-great-great grandfather (and my great-great-great grandfather, too, on the Thompson side) who was a member of the Masons. Lee was a name honoring me, my maiden name – the name that has been passed down for generations and marks the only link I have to my paternal family. Lee honor’s this cousin’s baby daddy in that it honors a tradition of “naming every [first-born] boy” on his side. Mason? “It sounded neat and we fell in love with it.” Do you not realize that you will have a Jason (the uncle) and a Mason (the nephew) in your family??
Some will read this and think I am being catty and/or unfair. Keep in mind that this is my opinion of the situation at hand and I feel that I can freely represent this opinion at my own discretion. I feel that I am more “entitled” or have better “right” to name a child Mason Lee (it sounds ridiculous as I type it but I can’t find other words to better clarify my feelings). But, lucky me, always doing everything the right way and in the correct order, gets beat with the stick again. Ah – thank you Life and all your fairness. Oh wait, was that sarcastic?
Monday, June 29, 2009
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
...
I am a living, breathing archive of my parents' failure. If you know my past, and if you think about this very thoroughly, you will know how true the words are.
But on the "sunny" side of things, I am a living, breathing archive of my grandfather's joy.
But on the "sunny" side of things, I am a living, breathing archive of my grandfather's joy.
Friday, May 22, 2009
Newlywed Brownies and the Breaking Point
My husband, David, is a Biology major and a Chemistry minor who just so happens to love cooking and baking. When you’re a “down home” girl, like me, who just so happens to love cooking and baking as well, things can get tricky in the kitchen. “Scientists” are taught to measure; “down home” girls are taught to eyeball it.
I love my husband. I love him dearly. This includes all of his little quirks and annoying habits. I knew this going into marriage but when it comes to cooking, these little endearments rub the fur off my patience. David had never made brownies, or seen the process of, until the other night. If you are a knowledgeable cook, like David and me, you know that baking is chemistry and all the “formulas” must come out exact or you end up with either salty petrified wood or sickeningly sweet glue. But if you’re baking with Betty Crocker, her boxed “formulas” are fool proof. Really fool proof.
I begin the process. Fresh eggs? Check. Enough vegetable oil? Check. Paid the water bill? Check. The directions called for either a 13x9, 9x9 or 8x8 glass dish or metal pan. Even after all the wedding registry work, we failed to register for, or receive, a 13x9, 9x9 or 8x8 glass dish or metal pan. No big deal. I found a glass baking dish that “looks” like would work. I’m a “down home” girl; you don’t use exact measurements, right?
“What size is that?” David points to the dish.
“I don’t know but it should work,” I assure as a reach for a mixing bowl.
“What size does the box call for?” Another query from my darling husband.
“Thirteen by nine, nine by nine or an eight by eight but this one will be fine.”
“Are you sure?” DING! Unknowingly to him, my patience is being pushed.
“Yes.”
I cracked 2 large eggs into the mixing bowl and measured out a little less than 1/3 cup of oil. One third of a cup is what the box called for and I remember that this was the exact measurement because of the following:
“Is that enough oil?” He asks.
“Yes.”
“Didn’t the box call for a third of a cup?”“Yes.” Why lie? I know what I’m doing. This isn’t my first brownie rodeo.
“Then why didn’t you add the full one third?” It wasn’t a derogatory question. It was actually really naïve but I’m about to smack the boy. “I normally don’t add ALL of the oil. I figure the less amount of fat the better.”“I thought the oil was there to make them moist…” he trails off.
Oh. My. God. I reach back into the cupboard and, without measuring which I’m sure made him ancy in his pantsy, I poured what I thought to be enough to make a WHOLE 1/3 cup of stupid vegetable oil into the mixing bowl.
I stir everything together including the three tablespoons of water (“I wouldn’t think it would make that big of a difference” he says but, trust me, it does) and ask him to grease the baking dish.
“I’m curious,” he says as he walks out of the kitchen. He comes back with his measuring tape. He measures the dish. What the f… He’s measuring the dish! “Hmmm…” he says. “Looks like it’s a six by ten baking dish. Are you sure this will be ok?”“Yes, David.”
“Hmmm…” he pauses and whips out his cell phone. “Let me check and see if the volume would be right.” THE VOLUME. He’s doing the calculations for the freakin’ VOLUME of all four of the baking dish sizes on his cell phone calculator. First, he has the formulas MEMORIZED and second, HE’S CALCULATING THE FREAKIN’ VOLUME OF ALL FOUR BAKING DISHE SIZES.
“It looks like this dish has a volume that’s between the nine by nine and the eight by eight,” he concludes.
You gotta be freaking kidding me, I think to myself. “Trust me, Dave. This will work. Now, can go and grease this for me, please? Get the edges and corners.”
I try to pour the batter into the greased, almost volume correct, dish. I say “try” because Helpy Helperson is, well, TRYING to help hold the bowl while a scrape the goo out with a wooden spoon. We registered for rubber spatulas and our registry shows that SOMEONE bought the damn things for us but the utensils are no where to be seen. I scrape the mix out as best as I can. Stupid registry. “Give me the bowl.”
I put the dish of brownies into the preheated 350 degree oven (the first thing I always do before baking because THAT’S WHAT THE BOX SAYS).
“It says 30 minutes but we’ll check them in about 20,” I say.
“Ok.” I FINALLY got an agreement.
Twenty minutes roll by and I decide to check them out. Now, the box said to insert a toothpick 2 inches from the side of the pan and, if the toothpick comes out partially clean, the brownies are ready. I’m pretty sure that when I checked them with my toothpick it wasn’t EXACTLY two inches from the side but it was the side and it came out partially clean.
“Are they done?” Dave asks.
“Looks like it,” I say, very satisfied with myself.
He then gets himself a toothpick, measures out exactly two inches from the side of the dish, inserts the toothpick (which comes our partially clean) and says, “Hm. Guess they are.”
I walk away.
If I don’t break this man, I will have to break this man.
I love my husband. I love him dearly. This includes all of his little quirks and annoying habits. I knew this going into marriage but when it comes to cooking, these little endearments rub the fur off my patience. David had never made brownies, or seen the process of, until the other night. If you are a knowledgeable cook, like David and me, you know that baking is chemistry and all the “formulas” must come out exact or you end up with either salty petrified wood or sickeningly sweet glue. But if you’re baking with Betty Crocker, her boxed “formulas” are fool proof. Really fool proof.
I begin the process. Fresh eggs? Check. Enough vegetable oil? Check. Paid the water bill? Check. The directions called for either a 13x9, 9x9 or 8x8 glass dish or metal pan. Even after all the wedding registry work, we failed to register for, or receive, a 13x9, 9x9 or 8x8 glass dish or metal pan. No big deal. I found a glass baking dish that “looks” like would work. I’m a “down home” girl; you don’t use exact measurements, right?
“What size is that?” David points to the dish.
“I don’t know but it should work,” I assure as a reach for a mixing bowl.
“What size does the box call for?” Another query from my darling husband.
“Thirteen by nine, nine by nine or an eight by eight but this one will be fine.”
“Are you sure?” DING! Unknowingly to him, my patience is being pushed.
“Yes.”
I cracked 2 large eggs into the mixing bowl and measured out a little less than 1/3 cup of oil. One third of a cup is what the box called for and I remember that this was the exact measurement because of the following:
“Is that enough oil?” He asks.
“Yes.”
“Didn’t the box call for a third of a cup?”“Yes.” Why lie? I know what I’m doing. This isn’t my first brownie rodeo.
“Then why didn’t you add the full one third?” It wasn’t a derogatory question. It was actually really naïve but I’m about to smack the boy. “I normally don’t add ALL of the oil. I figure the less amount of fat the better.”“I thought the oil was there to make them moist…” he trails off.
Oh. My. God. I reach back into the cupboard and, without measuring which I’m sure made him ancy in his pantsy, I poured what I thought to be enough to make a WHOLE 1/3 cup of stupid vegetable oil into the mixing bowl.
I stir everything together including the three tablespoons of water (“I wouldn’t think it would make that big of a difference” he says but, trust me, it does) and ask him to grease the baking dish.
“I’m curious,” he says as he walks out of the kitchen. He comes back with his measuring tape. He measures the dish. What the f… He’s measuring the dish! “Hmmm…” he says. “Looks like it’s a six by ten baking dish. Are you sure this will be ok?”“Yes, David.”
“Hmmm…” he pauses and whips out his cell phone. “Let me check and see if the volume would be right.” THE VOLUME. He’s doing the calculations for the freakin’ VOLUME of all four of the baking dish sizes on his cell phone calculator. First, he has the formulas MEMORIZED and second, HE’S CALCULATING THE FREAKIN’ VOLUME OF ALL FOUR BAKING DISHE SIZES.
“It looks like this dish has a volume that’s between the nine by nine and the eight by eight,” he concludes.
You gotta be freaking kidding me, I think to myself. “Trust me, Dave. This will work. Now, can go and grease this for me, please? Get the edges and corners.”
I try to pour the batter into the greased, almost volume correct, dish. I say “try” because Helpy Helperson is, well, TRYING to help hold the bowl while a scrape the goo out with a wooden spoon. We registered for rubber spatulas and our registry shows that SOMEONE bought the damn things for us but the utensils are no where to be seen. I scrape the mix out as best as I can. Stupid registry. “Give me the bowl.”
I put the dish of brownies into the preheated 350 degree oven (the first thing I always do before baking because THAT’S WHAT THE BOX SAYS).
“It says 30 minutes but we’ll check them in about 20,” I say.
“Ok.” I FINALLY got an agreement.
Twenty minutes roll by and I decide to check them out. Now, the box said to insert a toothpick 2 inches from the side of the pan and, if the toothpick comes out partially clean, the brownies are ready. I’m pretty sure that when I checked them with my toothpick it wasn’t EXACTLY two inches from the side but it was the side and it came out partially clean.
“Are they done?” Dave asks.
“Looks like it,” I say, very satisfied with myself.
He then gets himself a toothpick, measures out exactly two inches from the side of the dish, inserts the toothpick (which comes our partially clean) and says, “Hm. Guess they are.”
I walk away.
If I don’t break this man, I will have to break this man.
Monday, April 20, 2009
My Food "To Do" List
Whole Roasted Suckling Pig
What can I say? I’m a meatatarian. They say the skin is super crispy and the meat super moist. I am there … with some roasted potatoes and carrots.
What can I say? I’m a meatatarian. They say the skin is super crispy and the meat super moist. I am there … with some roasted potatoes and carrots. Roasted Leg of Lamb
I’ve never had lamb but I would really like to try it. White Asparagus
I love the green I might love the white more.
Bon Bo Hue 
A classic Vietnamese spicy beef noodle soup with some unusual vegetation containing but not limited to lemongrass, dried chiles, mint leaves, bean sprouts, lime wedges, shredded banana blossoms and rau muong (a native aquatic tropical plant). Sounds interesting and delicious. Think Ramen but more classy.
Kobe Beef
The best stuff on Earth from what I hear. Melts in your mouth … like all steak should only better.
Louche Absinthe
“Traditionally, absinthe is poured into a glass over which a specially designed slotted spoon is placed. A sugar cube is then deposited in the bowl of the spoon. Ice-cold water is poured or dripped over the sugar until the drink is diluted to a ratio between 3:1 and 5:1. During this process, the components that are not soluble in water, mainly those from anise, fennel, and star anise, come out of solution and cloud the drink. The resulting milky opalescence is called the louche. The addition of water is important, causing the herbs to "blossom" and bringing out many of the flavors originally overpowered by the anise.” http://foodproof.com/blogs/view/post/100-things-you-should-eat-before-248
Caviar and Blinis
I want the traditional with creme fraiche; the works.
Haggis
Gnarly lookin' fellow and the traditional Scottish delicacy. You gotta try it at least once. Foie Gras
I’ll have to eat it on a non-diet day since it’s basically nothing but fat but I’ll counter act it by drinking some read whine and smoking a fine French cigarette. They say they are some of the healthiest people on Earth so why not?Chrysanthemum Tea
Chhyrsanthemum is my birth flower so I feel that I must indulge my ego a bit. Plus, it's really pretty!
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
ODWA: List ten things you need and ten things you want.
This was a challenge. In a society dead set on materialistic things, it's hard to distinguish between what you need and what you want. This assignment really makes you ask what is selfish and what is not. A lesson my young cousin Ryan needs to figure out. I tried my best not to sound too selfish. Humilty and grace are hard concepts to accomplish in life.
1. A great attitude. I need to be happy and content with what I have. I also need have a more cheerful out look on life.
2. A better paying job. This one just isn’t going to cut it in 3 years time.
3. A bachelor’s degree. See number 2.
4. A hug. There has been a hug/snuggle deficit recently and we must get out of the red.
5. A newer car. I drive a 1998 Nissan Maxima and the thing is just about ca-put. I don’t need anything fancy; just a four door sedan with low travel mileage and great gas mileage.
6. A 30lb weight loss. According to all the BMI charts and all the world’s doctors, I’m “obese.” I don’t feel obese and I don’t even think I look that bad but regardless, for my future and my family’s future, I need to drop a few.
7. A good marriage. Marriage is work and I need to be the best possible partner that I can be.
8. A time-out. I’m stressed. I feel it. Yesterday, I was so worried about wedding planning that I could barely eat because my stomach was so upset. My thoughts are clouded and my body is sluggish because of the stress.
9. A fresher approach to work. I can’t focus on work because it bores me hence the blog posts.
10. A better connection with all of my friends. I’ve lost touch over the years. Everyone is busy with their own lives including myself but this is no excuse not to have meaningful relationships with those who love and support you. I need those connections because the years are progressing and I need to be grounded by my girls.
I want…
1. … to be finished with this wedding. Gah! Is this day EVER going to get here?!
2. … to eat as many indulgent foods WITHOUT gaining any weight.
3. … to enjoy my job but I just can’t.
4. … to travel to Europe especially Germany and Austria.
5. … to travel the U.S. as well.
6. … more vacation time to spend with Dave and my family.
7. … to not worry so much.
8. … to be a racecar driver.
9. … another puppy for Kaitie.
10. … a happy healthy family with Dave.
11. ... (I added one) a bigger house in Hot Springs.
1. A great attitude. I need to be happy and content with what I have. I also need have a more cheerful out look on life.
2. A better paying job. This one just isn’t going to cut it in 3 years time.
3. A bachelor’s degree. See number 2.
4. A hug. There has been a hug/snuggle deficit recently and we must get out of the red.
5. A newer car. I drive a 1998 Nissan Maxima and the thing is just about ca-put. I don’t need anything fancy; just a four door sedan with low travel mileage and great gas mileage.
6. A 30lb weight loss. According to all the BMI charts and all the world’s doctors, I’m “obese.” I don’t feel obese and I don’t even think I look that bad but regardless, for my future and my family’s future, I need to drop a few.
7. A good marriage. Marriage is work and I need to be the best possible partner that I can be.
8. A time-out. I’m stressed. I feel it. Yesterday, I was so worried about wedding planning that I could barely eat because my stomach was so upset. My thoughts are clouded and my body is sluggish because of the stress.
9. A fresher approach to work. I can’t focus on work because it bores me hence the blog posts.
10. A better connection with all of my friends. I’ve lost touch over the years. Everyone is busy with their own lives including myself but this is no excuse not to have meaningful relationships with those who love and support you. I need those connections because the years are progressing and I need to be grounded by my girls.
I want…
1. … to be finished with this wedding. Gah! Is this day EVER going to get here?!
2. … to eat as many indulgent foods WITHOUT gaining any weight.
3. … to enjoy my job but I just can’t.
4. … to travel to Europe especially Germany and Austria.
5. … to travel the U.S. as well.
6. … more vacation time to spend with Dave and my family.
7. … to not worry so much.
8. … to be a racecar driver.
9. … another puppy for Kaitie.
10. … a happy healthy family with Dave.
11. ... (I added one) a bigger house in Hot Springs.
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
Top 10 Annoyances
Today's ODWA was the top 20 things that annoy us but I could only think of 10 really good ones. They change on a daily basis so this is just today's list.
1. Disrespect. Complete and utter apathy towards your fellow man.
2. Migraines. Self explanatory.
3. People who don’t use their blinkers. The things have been around for over 50 years. Use them.
4. Someone asking for advice and then getting mad when it’s not what they wanted to hear. If you’re not making sense, I’m gonna tell ya.
5. Calories. They make me fat but all the nummy foods have a TON of them.
6. Swindlers. You know who you are.
7. Money. You can’t live with it; you can’t live without it.
8. Dishonesty. Do I have to explain?
9. Sunday drivers. The speed limit is 70 mph. They drive 62 mph … just to be safe. How the hell are you driving “safe” when everyone else is driving 70 – 85 mph?! You are in the way. Especially when you drive in the middle or left lane. Move! And don’t get me started on the bitches who do their hair and makeup in the car … IN THE FAST LANE. Speaking of bitches ...
10. Amy. LMAO!!
1. Disrespect. Complete and utter apathy towards your fellow man.
2. Migraines. Self explanatory.
3. People who don’t use their blinkers. The things have been around for over 50 years. Use them.
4. Someone asking for advice and then getting mad when it’s not what they wanted to hear. If you’re not making sense, I’m gonna tell ya.
5. Calories. They make me fat but all the nummy foods have a TON of them.
6. Swindlers. You know who you are.
7. Money. You can’t live with it; you can’t live without it.
8. Dishonesty. Do I have to explain?
9. Sunday drivers. The speed limit is 70 mph. They drive 62 mph … just to be safe. How the hell are you driving “safe” when everyone else is driving 70 – 85 mph?! You are in the way. Especially when you drive in the middle or left lane. Move! And don’t get me started on the bitches who do their hair and makeup in the car … IN THE FAST LANE. Speaking of bitches ...
10. Amy. LMAO!!
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
I Still Get Carded!!
You hear people say that they don’t feel their age. Well, what age do they feel? Older? Younger? I feel “on time.” I don’t feel old though I know I’m somewhat wise beyond my years. I don’t feel young, either. Just about every morning I wake up with some sort of ache or pain and then hear the crackle of my joints as I walk down the hallway. I do yard work and I’m stiff the next morning. So I know I’m not young.
I’ve had many experiences in my life that have aged my mind. Maybe it’s not so much my mind but my conceptions of the world. I’ve grown up fast because of those experiences, too. You have to because you’re forced to. At the tender ages of adolescence, a child who is immature of the mind cannot begin to grasp or reason why the world, and the ones they trust, can be so cruel. It’s not fair and thus the lesson.
I don’t fear age. Yes, I have several grey hairs sprouting out of my head right at my natural part that I’m not fond of but I am by no means vain about my appearance. I threaten to dye my hair but I know I won’t do it. It’s my sheer laziness that prohibits me from maintaining beautiful, dark auburn locks for the rest of my life though the color is quite appealing to me. I don’t wish to by young again. It was hard growing up. I was teased when I was in grade school. I was fat. I was loud. I had braces and bad, frizzy hair and worst of all I was smart and I knew it. You were that age. You know how it went.
I don’t want to go back to seventeen either unless I can have that body with it. That was equally frustrating. It was fun being somewhat naïve and carefree but looking back, I did some STUPID things that I wish I hadn’t. I know what they mean when they say “I would go back but only if I knew what I know now.” My early twenties are out of the question, too unless, as mentioned before, I can have the body with it.
Here I am cusping on the edge of 30 and I’m quite happy. There are ups and downs that I struggle through but knowing how proud my family is of me (and a “thank you” for the ones who voiced this to me) makes me feel better about the decisions I made. I can’t change the past. And I’ll ruin the present by thinking of the future, so why not just be content and happy that everything turned out “ok”?
I can’t help but be giddy about the next step in my journey.
I’ve had many experiences in my life that have aged my mind. Maybe it’s not so much my mind but my conceptions of the world. I’ve grown up fast because of those experiences, too. You have to because you’re forced to. At the tender ages of adolescence, a child who is immature of the mind cannot begin to grasp or reason why the world, and the ones they trust, can be so cruel. It’s not fair and thus the lesson.
I don’t fear age. Yes, I have several grey hairs sprouting out of my head right at my natural part that I’m not fond of but I am by no means vain about my appearance. I threaten to dye my hair but I know I won’t do it. It’s my sheer laziness that prohibits me from maintaining beautiful, dark auburn locks for the rest of my life though the color is quite appealing to me. I don’t wish to by young again. It was hard growing up. I was teased when I was in grade school. I was fat. I was loud. I had braces and bad, frizzy hair and worst of all I was smart and I knew it. You were that age. You know how it went.
I don’t want to go back to seventeen either unless I can have that body with it. That was equally frustrating. It was fun being somewhat naïve and carefree but looking back, I did some STUPID things that I wish I hadn’t. I know what they mean when they say “I would go back but only if I knew what I know now.” My early twenties are out of the question, too unless, as mentioned before, I can have the body with it.
Here I am cusping on the edge of 30 and I’m quite happy. There are ups and downs that I struggle through but knowing how proud my family is of me (and a “thank you” for the ones who voiced this to me) makes me feel better about the decisions I made. I can’t change the past. And I’ll ruin the present by thinking of the future, so why not just be content and happy that everything turned out “ok”?
I can’t help but be giddy about the next step in my journey.
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