*Written Thursday September 20, 2012*
It's Thursday night and I'm home alone. The roommate is away at her parents' house for the evening, the boyfriend works a night shift, and I've got an early morning ahead--so I'm doing the only reasonable thing. That is to say, I'm walking around naked, drinking orange juice straight out of the jug, and watching PS I Love You while contemplating life, love, and sadness; and how I wish I had a cool accent. Or a motorcylce. Or a castle in Ireland. Alas, instead, I lay "blogging" in this spiral notebook because we have no internet in our tiny duplex.
Lately I've been thinking about how nerve-racking and terrifying it can be to love and invest in people. As the Bible says, "perfect love casts out fear." But we aren't capable of perfect love, are we? I always tell people that it's worth the risk. Even if it goes down in flames, it's worth the awesome things you feel and learn when you lay yourself bare. I always talk a big game. And it's true that I outwardly bounce back pretty quickly. I've got the "Sassy Single Lady" mentality down. I give good love life advice. More couple-focused friends of mine stand in awe of my skills. However, doing these things--throwing my whole heart into friendships and relationships--it may look like a set of fearless endeavors to an outsider...but anyone who really knows me can testify to the fact that I am as big of a mushy scaredy-cat nutcase as anyone else. I don't let it keep me from what I want, but I spazz nonetheless.
On one of the most mortifying nights of my life, for example, I had been hit with a double whammy. Firstly, my friend-soulmate, the illustrious Whitteny Stinnett, had abruptly moved away. Then, after two years of being single and subconsciously surrounding myself with douchebags who were only interested in dragging me through their bipolar whims, I had developed legitimate feelings for someone. To top it off, that someone I still was trying to pretend to feel casually about actually wanted to be with me as well. Typical Haylee can be dramatic, admittedly. That night, though--well, I was like the most insanely exaggerated caricature of myself. I went dancing, as was my weekend custom at that time, and overindulged on girly mixed drinks (embarrassing enough in and of itself). After a lot of pinballing around, getting sick, and dropping my phone on sidewalks, I called Whitteny. "Why did you leave? No one else gets me. Blah blah, sob sob, incoherent thought." (obviously verbatim) Sharon, who I had only just begun to become close friends with, saw firsthand what a pitiful weirdie I can be. Hey, just because you can take a lot doesn't mean it doesn't do its damage. Nerd example: Boromir took like 12 arrows whilst fighting the Uruk-Hai to protect the little hobbitses. He was seemingly going strong--until, you know, all the bleeding and pierced organs killed him. Just saying.
Anywho, back to me being a nutcase. Aren't most people nutcases when love is a factor? What if our friends abandon us? What if our significant others find us wanting and pick someone else? What if any of them die or let us down or decide to hate us? Not that I ever freak out about such things. Nope, not me. And never do I worry enough to make a fool out of myself or get disproportionately upset about silly things. No sir. the thing is, you can't control what people do; you CAN control what YOU do. If someone breaks my heart, I have to decide that I will remain confident and strive to be my best. It's knowing that you were passionate and that you loved despite your fear that gets you through. I'm rambling now, like I do. The point is, well, even though I work hard and take care of the people I love and refuse to quit, I am still just a squishy puddle of sentiment who can be crushed with the simple act of someone forgetting my birthday or by never being surprised by a kind word or gesture. That's not the point of this, actually, even though I said "the point is."
I don't know what I'm saying really except that though love brings perhaps the greatest happinesses, it also brings the big scary. Tiny things suddenly seem significant. You're self-assured and self-doubting all at once. To sum it up, I'm a stupid girl and writing all this nonsense is my way of puzzling out my own ridiculous nature. I need a hug. And maybe some hot fudge cake. And to pretend for a few minutes that being self-reliant and able to be alone for a night without being sad and fussy isn't important. But I will have none of those things. Just a big dose of reality and the memory of the spider that I didn't kill on my ceiling earlier today and oh God--I'm going to die of its poisonous venom...maybe I should put clothes on for when the paramedics come...
Tuesday, September 25, 2012
Monday, September 10, 2012
Blog 58: Courage and Kickass Cookery
Today I decided that nothing sounded better to me than some potato soup. I went in search of recipes here, there, and everywhere. And by that, I mean I looked on Pinterest and then Googled it. Looking for healthier options, I chose the Baked Potato Soup from Skinnytaste. It is definitely a great recipe if you're looking to be all healthy and shee-it. But it is difficult for me to follow any recipe to the letter. It makes me feel...claustrophobic. That' s sort of how I live my life. I once told someone that I am not a perfectionist--I'm an approximitist. I'm sooo copywriting that word. If something is mostly right, I'm happy. I think flaws or weirdness add character--to me as a person, to my delectable quasi-gourmet dishes, or what-have-you. Once I had livened up the recipe (effectively transforming it into something much less healthy, mind you), I fed it to two of my favorite guinea pigs: my boyfriend Tom and his brother, who I call Mr. Benjamin. I think they kind of loved it. (My recipe is posted at the bottom of this blog, by the way) After telling them a couple of the odd things I added toward the end of putting the soup together, Tom, seemingly impressed (and probably legitimately so), said: "I really never would have thought of adding those things to anything." Mr. Benjamin, with somewhat of an indifferent air, added: "I'm not that brave." And it was in this moment that words tumbled out of my mouth, as they often do, that later made me stop and ponder. Without pausing to think, I replied: "Bravery is what makes a good cook." I stand by that. Then I began to consider the thought that courage and a willingness to take risks are necessary for true success in all areas of life.
When I was younger, I was all too concerned with never screwing up. It was kind of a burden, actually. People had me on a pedestal and I made myself sore teetering and tottering to stay up there. I was so easily embarrassed by the weirdest things. I wanted to be flawless. I wanted to be cool. I remember this one occasion--I think I was somewhere between 10 and 12. My dad took my younger sister Emily and I to the Museum of Appalachia. There was a combination comedy act/bluegrass band playing and they were picking members of the audience at random for a generational "hillbilly-hip hop dance contest" or something silly like that. They picked me and I was so mortified. I don't remember who else was in it besides this goofy middle-aged lady. She had long, bleach blonde hair and was wearing a fanny pack. I recall everyone else participating. The goofy lady won some sort of gift certificate. What did I do? Well, I was too cool for that weird stuff. I stood off to the side and crossed my arms, shaking my head and turning red when my turn came around. I remember my dad cheering me on, encouraging me to just have fun. But I cared too much what other people thought or if I'd look like a dork. It sounds silly, maybe, but even with all the stupid or horrible mistakes I've made, not dancing that day is one of my biggest regrets. I regretted being a snotty brat, I regretted disappointing my dad and not making him laugh, and I regretted not winning us gift certificates. We weren't exactly rolling in money. When I got a little older and thought back on that day, it made me ache a little. I suppose that sounds dramatic. It wasn't so much the incident in itself as much as the precedent it set for my teenage years of being petulant and pathetic. I missed out on so many awesome opportunities simply because I wasn't brave enough to take advantage of them.
I can't say I'm the most courageous person right now. There are times when I'm quiet when I should speak and there are times when I shy away from the spotlight when I could truly shine. However, I can gladly say that I love a good risk. Whether it's fearlessly concocting a delicious dinner or just following my heart and dating or befriending the people I want despite popular opinion or even telling some guy off for leering at someone on girl's night out, I like to blaze trails. I want to really harness that bravery and expand it. Blah blah, I sound so after school special. I'm just saying--I'm tired of people being big fat chickens! Guys silently pine after the girls they want, no moves made, and then complain or cry when those ladies end up in some other guy's arms. Girls let guys treat them like worthless sluts because they're too afraid of not being liked to stand up for themselves. People make bland food because they don't have the cajones to throw in an ingredient that might completely ruin things. The list goes on, ya know? Just...everyone stop being so scared. It certainly doesn't enrich your life at all. And it's not something you want to infect the people around you with. That's how mindless mobs happen. That's how pointless wars happen. That's probably how things like UGG boots and the popularity of Twilight originated. And do you want that kind of evil in your life? I don't. I just don't. Cowboy up, people. Cowboy up.
Haylee's Kickass Potato Soup
Meanwhile, boil cauliflower with water in a large covered pot until tender. Drain and place in a large bowl. Add chicken broth, milk, and sour cream. Puree in blender. (You'll probably have to do it in two halves so as not to overfill the blender. That's why I recommend putting it in a bowl first). Return pot, with the pureed mixture, to the stove. Adding the cheese and potatoes, bring to a boil. Stir in half of the chives. At this point, add the seasonings, Dijon Mustard, and Ranch. I only used the salt, black pepper, and paprika, but remember--take risks. Use different herbs/spices if you like. I bet cayenne pepper would be nice. I let it simmer, stirring occasionally, for about 10 more minutes to really let the flavors meld together.
It should kind of look like this:
Remove from heat. Ladle soup into each bowl. Top each serving with remaining chives and bacon.
Yeah...it's pretty glorious. Enjoy and ignore the fact that it's now only a more nutritious fat kid soup.
When I was younger, I was all too concerned with never screwing up. It was kind of a burden, actually. People had me on a pedestal and I made myself sore teetering and tottering to stay up there. I was so easily embarrassed by the weirdest things. I wanted to be flawless. I wanted to be cool. I remember this one occasion--I think I was somewhere between 10 and 12. My dad took my younger sister Emily and I to the Museum of Appalachia. There was a combination comedy act/bluegrass band playing and they were picking members of the audience at random for a generational "hillbilly-hip hop dance contest" or something silly like that. They picked me and I was so mortified. I don't remember who else was in it besides this goofy middle-aged lady. She had long, bleach blonde hair and was wearing a fanny pack. I recall everyone else participating. The goofy lady won some sort of gift certificate. What did I do? Well, I was too cool for that weird stuff. I stood off to the side and crossed my arms, shaking my head and turning red when my turn came around. I remember my dad cheering me on, encouraging me to just have fun. But I cared too much what other people thought or if I'd look like a dork. It sounds silly, maybe, but even with all the stupid or horrible mistakes I've made, not dancing that day is one of my biggest regrets. I regretted being a snotty brat, I regretted disappointing my dad and not making him laugh, and I regretted not winning us gift certificates. We weren't exactly rolling in money. When I got a little older and thought back on that day, it made me ache a little. I suppose that sounds dramatic. It wasn't so much the incident in itself as much as the precedent it set for my teenage years of being petulant and pathetic. I missed out on so many awesome opportunities simply because I wasn't brave enough to take advantage of them.
I can't say I'm the most courageous person right now. There are times when I'm quiet when I should speak and there are times when I shy away from the spotlight when I could truly shine. However, I can gladly say that I love a good risk. Whether it's fearlessly concocting a delicious dinner or just following my heart and dating or befriending the people I want despite popular opinion or even telling some guy off for leering at someone on girl's night out, I like to blaze trails. I want to really harness that bravery and expand it. Blah blah, I sound so after school special. I'm just saying--I'm tired of people being big fat chickens! Guys silently pine after the girls they want, no moves made, and then complain or cry when those ladies end up in some other guy's arms. Girls let guys treat them like worthless sluts because they're too afraid of not being liked to stand up for themselves. People make bland food because they don't have the cajones to throw in an ingredient that might completely ruin things. The list goes on, ya know? Just...everyone stop being so scared. It certainly doesn't enrich your life at all. And it's not something you want to infect the people around you with. That's how mindless mobs happen. That's how pointless wars happen. That's probably how things like UGG boots and the popularity of Twilight originated. And do you want that kind of evil in your life? I don't. I just don't. Cowboy up, people. Cowboy up.
Haylee's Kickass Potato Soup
- 2 russet potatoes, washed and dried
- 4 red potatoes (best if previously sliced and broiled with olive oil and Montreal Steak Seasoning)
- 1 small head of cauliflower, stem removed cut into florets
- 1 8-ounce can fat free chicken broth
- 2 cups 1% reduced-fat milk
- salt and freshly cracked black pepper, paprika
- 1 8-ounce container reduced fat sour cream
- 1 large block extra sharp cheddar cheese, grated
- 6 tbsp chopped chives, divided
- 2 T Hidden Valley Ranch Dressing
- 1 T Dijon Mustard
- 10 slices bacon, cooked and crumbled
Meanwhile, boil cauliflower with water in a large covered pot until tender. Drain and place in a large bowl. Add chicken broth, milk, and sour cream. Puree in blender. (You'll probably have to do it in two halves so as not to overfill the blender. That's why I recommend putting it in a bowl first). Return pot, with the pureed mixture, to the stove. Adding the cheese and potatoes, bring to a boil. Stir in half of the chives. At this point, add the seasonings, Dijon Mustard, and Ranch. I only used the salt, black pepper, and paprika, but remember--take risks. Use different herbs/spices if you like. I bet cayenne pepper would be nice. I let it simmer, stirring occasionally, for about 10 more minutes to really let the flavors meld together.
It should kind of look like this:
Remove from heat. Ladle soup into each bowl. Top each serving with remaining chives and bacon.
Yeah...it's pretty glorious. Enjoy and ignore the fact that it's now only a more nutritious fat kid soup.
Monday, September 3, 2012
Blog 57: The Importance of Being Earnest
earnest: characterized by or proceeding from an intense and serious state of mind; grave, important.
Long time no blog. I've moved into girl world and it's populated with couple activities, painted fingernails, and a lot more thought about sophisticated couture. I disgust myself a little...yet also love it. So there's my necessary excuse for being absent. Now, to the meat of the blog...
The older I get, the more I realize how important it is to possess the ability to be serious and introspective. I feel like my late teenage years up until just a few months ago were populated with constant ups and downs of trying to ignore my problems. I think a lot of us do that--us meaning people in our twenties. We pull a Scarlett O' Hara and say "I'll think about that tomorrow." When does tomorrow come, though? Yes, we're young. Yes, we've got plenty of time to get our shit together. But how long do you want to wait? I'd like my life to have substance now.
I'm all for having a good time. Anybody who knows me could tell you that much. What I don't want, however, is for my whole life to be an endless pursuit of noise and hype. I can't imagine spending another few months waking up every morning thinking of how empty and pointless my activities have been. If your whole life is a party, what are you accomplishing? Sometimes, you just have to get serious. You have to freaking think about things, even if it isn't fun. Like, hmm...if I make out with this guy he might think I like him. If I don't like him, I probably shouldn't lead him on. Or hmm...if I'm a whiny jerkface at work, it might be a little difficult for me to move up. Or hey, if I'm sleeping around, I could not only get knocked up or diseased, but I could end up with some serious emotional issues and a horrible reputation. I know all the "cool" kids can weasel their way out of considering those things with a simple exclamation of "YOLO!" but that's because they're shallow dumbasses. So there's that. On that subject, you do only live once. So your idea of living life to the fullest probably shouldn't be slobbering all over strangers and getting so drunk all the time that you barely remember what you did the day before.
Furthermore, if I hear one more guy say "nice guys finish last," I'm going to start cracking some skulls. Every time I've heard that phrase lately it's been some guy thinking with the wrong part of his anatomy. Just some advice I've been doling out: if you meet a girl in a club or some other late-night hangout who is constantly surrounded by other guys and is known by all the bartenders/bouncers...she is not going to be the love of your life. She may be pretty, she may be fun, and you can probably get in her pants--but don't go all soap opera dramatic or be surprised when she belatedly tells you she "isn't looking for anything serious." Don't get attached. She's not necessarily a bad person, but she's clearly working out her issues on the dance floor. And it could take years before she's healed up enough to think unselfishly and really know how to love anyone. When she gets there, you likely won't see her partying 24/7. Moral of the story? Don't think you're going to get a happy and full relationship out of a shady and empty environment. I like dancing and drinking on occasion, but clubs certainly aren't a breeding ground for personal fulfillment or achievement. So stop being a dumbass and whining about all the bad relationships you've had lately. You're inviting that dysfunction into your life, broseph. In many cases you're going out and trying to romance the emotional equivalent of a browbeaten prostitute. Not pretty. Not pretty at all.
Basically the point is, you can let the good times roll--but you should also know how to get serious and get work done. Maybe I would rather be living a life of leisure, but you know, right now what I have is a job at Starbucks. And I find at the end of the day I can feel fulfilled if I work hard and try and do things for other people more than I do them for myself. That said, I've been doing so much for other people lately that I'm 99% I won't have the money to do anything for my birthday. And I don't really have high hopes about pleasant surprises. haha. So you have to find a balance. Some things for you, some things for others. Some things for work, some things for play. Some things for idleness, some things for productivity. Being excellent requires balance. I'm not there yet. Maybe someday.
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