Bananas are the worms of the fruit kingdom

Ah, springtime. The air is warming, the breezes are slight and welcome, the cherry blossoms are emerging, the lawns are slowly greening, and the occasional rain is perking up the tired shrubberies and encouraging tiny crocuses to burst forth from the thawing soil.

Do you know what else the gentle, sweet-smelling rains of spring are doing?


FLOODING OUT THE MOTHERFUCKING WORMS.

Now, don't get me wrong, I totally dig the nature scene. What I lack in actual wilderness skills, I attempt to make up for in enthusiasm. I will watch (and enjoy) a two-hour PBS program about the world's largest crocodiles, killer bees, sloths, or the mating habits of invertebrates of the sea. In fact, a good portion of my winter break was spent learning about the snakehead fish, or Channidae (well, that and Freemasons...). My leisure reading currently includes "The Life of Prairies and Plains", and the stupidest excuse of a state I've ever lived in (Maryland) is only redeemed by its state parks and woodland creatures. I hang nineteenth century biological prints of beetles and snakes in my dorm room. I know what Michigan's state flower is (trillium), where to find it (low-lying, in shady to partial sun areas of woodlands), and why I shouldn't pick it (it's pretty rare 'n' stuff). My favorite books as a child were "The Root Children" and later "Where the Red Fern Grows". What I saying here, and I think you've picked up on it by now, is that I am by no means ANTI-nature.

Here's where the beetles an bugsies come in. I'm kind of...not totally okay with all of them, PARTICULARLY worms. Oh gosh, I shudder to think of them, actually. In the days when I walked the one and a half blocks to Willow Elementary, I came close to hyperventilating on many a rainy morning in April. Worms are just...icky. They're all squishy, and squiggly, and...ew. I'm grossing myself out here just thinking about it.

Actually, the real reason I'm grossing myself out is that the means by which I evaluate a bug's relative ickiness is by evaluating its hypothetical mouthfeel.

Now, I know what you're thinking. "Krissy. Um. So like, you imagine...so wait, WTF?"
And I know what you mean! But see, I don't actually ever EAT bugs. I don't WANT to. And I don't imagine how they would TASTE. I just, you know, contemplate their texture and chewiness. So, not actually weird at all. If a bug seems like it would be squishy or slimy (I don't like melted cheese, Portabello mushrooms, pudding, or bananas for a reason, people), then chances are I am either grossed out by or afraid of it. If a bug seems like it'd be crunchy or at least kind of firm, then no problem (I'm a fan of the exoskeleton, apparently)!

In conclusion, I can't wait for it to be May.

Lunch today was splendid

Lamb with pancake sounds utterly unappetizing, doesn't it? Actually, it's not.

Today I had Ethiopian food for the first time, and it was delightful. Everything is served on a large, communal platter, and is eaten not with silverware, but with a velvety bread that was the exact texture of a pancake (it wasn't sweet, though). The food is delicious, a combinated of stewed meat dishes (kind of like Indian), chutney-like salads, stir-frys, and lentils. Heavy on the tumeric, the spicing is otherwise similar to some mild Indian dishes, like Rogan Josh. And eating without utensils was awkward at first, but made for a really intersting experience. I think it would be really fun to go for Ethiopian with a few new friends, or even a date. How better to break the ice than over a platter of foreign food?

I do regret, though, turning down a cup of Ethiopian coffee after the meal.

Menu

Lunch today:

Couscous Salad

Plain Couscous

Chicken broth

Cucumber (from garden)

Red and yellow cherry tomatoes (from garden)

Fresh mint (from garden)

Feta cheese

Lemon juice

Extra-virgin olive oil

Grilled Eggplant

Eggplant

Olive oil

Sea salt

Pepper

Rosemary Olive-oil Bread

(Purchased)



It was extra yummy.

I'm health-conscious, I swear!

I tend to get a little weird when I'm grocery shopping. Well, actually about a lot of things, but today I went grocery shopping, so that's what I'm talking about.

I really like to grocery shop. I'm kind of a foodie, not to an extreme, but I like to cook and I certainly won't deny I enjoy the snobbish satisfaction it gives me. I buy organic canned goods, because Lord knows Miur Glen crushed tomatoes taste waaaaaaaaay different than Hunt's. I refuse to buy any bread except whole-grain (unless it's a baguette or something). And I definitely, definitely, do not buy McCormick taco seasoning.

My mother does. And here's where I have a problem: I can't deal with seeing it in the cart. When I grocery shop, I look in other people's carts and judge them. Like, for fun. Examples:

Bananas+cat food+low-fat bologna+velveeta=old lady

Gatorade+Poptarts+Cheez-Its+Sponge-Bob fruitsnacks=brand name snack foods soccer mom

frozen lasagna+frozen "burrito casserole"+frozen fishsticks+frozen chicken pot pie=grandmother with a deep freeze who feeds her grandchildren food they hate

Etc.

So anyway, since I judge people, I assume other people do the same thing. Because of this, I insist that the cart be fulled at least halfway with fresh produce, contain only fresh meats, at least one kind of fish, only organic/health snack foods, whole grain breads and bakery products, and cheeses costing at least seven dollars. When I go shopping with my mother, though, I end up with things like McCormick taco seasoning thrown in the cart.

And I feel compelled to hide it. Yes, I actually stop the cart and act like I'm rearranging so things will fit, when really I'm hiding the taco seasoning and wonder bread (my mother's favorite) under my organic green tea and yellowfin tuna steaks. I don't know why. I mean, It's not like I have to eat my mother's bleached-out bread, but I get paranoid that someone will see it in my cart and assume that I am going to consume it. It makes be nervous.I have no problem going grocery shopping with tangled hair and mismatched clothes, but I am afraid of the contents of my cart misrepresenting me.

Go figure.

Her Glorious Return

Home again, and the cat meows and my dad never stops conference-calling the plant at Lake Charles on speakerphone and we get kicked out by prospective buyers and a slightly pushy realtor and I have piles of missed schoolwork to do...it's good to be back.

I was released yesterday with four new prescriptions that I'll never remember to take, three scheduled follow-ups, an order to be home-bound for up to another week, and no dietary resrictions. NO DIETARY RESTRICTIONS!! The first thing I did with my dizzy and drugged self when I got home was to break out the gorgonzola and order Chinese. Hell, I don't care if my heart momentarily spazzes and I sieze unconciously, it's better than my no dairy, no acid, no spices diet. I can eat cheese! And asian food! Mexican! Italian! INDIAN!!

I am happy. That's right, not angry, not cynical, well, still cynical, not depressed or anything else I normally am. I feel wonderful. It's truly awesome, as awesome as ten billion hot dogs, what a bit of salty, smelly, viened cheese can do.

In Desperate Need of some Bulgarian Lovin'

Feta cheese. Is that all I've got? Is that really the only thing that makes me excited, satisfied, and validated? Is it possible for a salty, crumbly, smelly, hunk of dairy product to affect me more than any other pursuit of interest? I should certainly hope not...

...And yet, it does. I think, and I write this with utmost despair, that it is time for a bit of a change.

The problem I am now faced with is this: What to do with myself? I'm obviously not going to ignore my feelings for feta cheese, but I feel moving on is not only inevitable, but necessary. How can I, without betraying my feelings for feta, move on with my life and direct my passion towards a more fruitful, sensible, and accessable interest? Is it possible? Will I learn to live with out the constant cravings for some good Bulgarian lovin'(er, eating...they're very similar, you know), or will I distance myself from the cheese, but never really stop craving it, and thus starve?

These are truly times of uncertainty for me. As it is, I find the notion of anything replacing feta's high position in my ladder of appeal and desire slightly ridiculous. But then, all things can change. Maybe with time and a little direction, feta and I can, while maintaining a fairly close relationship, function apart.

I think it might get a bit lonely, really. I'll be lying awake at night, worrying, only I won't have a tasty companion to distract myself with. I'll have to resist my urges to slice off a hunk, close my eyes, and just devote myself entirely to the pleasure which feta brings. I'm going to become independant. I don't want to have to rely on something that I can't always have, or something that when thought about, triggers only salivation. No, I'm going to focus on something else. Something, perhaps, that actually matters. Maybe it will be Russian literature, or current events. I could become an activist or a devoted fan of something. I could be a writer, a painter, or a volunteer for a worthy cause! I could be passionate about something that has influence and bearing in this world! I could broaden my mind, help the less fortunate, stand up for what is right! For some people, these things are like feta. They think about them, dedicate time to them, and look forward to enjoying the benifits of these activites.

Maybe someday. Right now though, there's a little bit of feta in the fridge, and even if never again , it's got my name written all over it.