Thursday, March 10, 2011

come on over, valerie

Something really kind of unusual but fantastic is happening right now.  I am cooking as a form of stress relief.  Or maybe it's a diversion from an even less savory task at hand (writing cover letters).  Let's not question it, ok?

I'm bouncing around the LKTC singing along to the Glee cast (knocking off Amy Winehouse, among others) and dicing potatoes and garlic for what will hopefully become a tasty/healthy/filling roasted potato and green bean concoction.  I'm sure those above and below me are really happy about the sing along part, because in case you haven't heard it, my voice is something special.  I should probably worry about how much you're judging me right now, but I figure if you're still with me at this point, you're either not the judgey type, or we're the same kind of quirky.  

Anyways, this is a particularly welcome development for me (the cooking as stress relief, not the off-key singing).  I've long been known to stress bake, but never to stress cook.  Stress baking is great (assuming you can find enough non-weight obsessed people to consume the end result), but you can only call cookie dough "dinner" so many times before you start to worry that someone is going to knock on your door and tell you that you've failed at adult life.  And considering I ate wine and leftover spring rolls (from Fat Tuesday, relax people) for dinner last night, I decided I needed to move in a slightly more nutritious direction (or at least stop my whining when I find myself face down on my keyboard throughout the day due to "inexplicable" exhaustion).  This might be followed by some stress baking if my potatoes end up undercooked and my beans end up mushy...

On an only slightly related note, I had my first brush with serious food envy today.  I went to Pentagon City with my work friend Sarah to keep her company while she was indulging her fried chicken craving.  (Yeah, I hear you...going to a food court at prime lunch time while hungry but incapable of purchasing food was TOTALLY NOT MY BRIGHTEST IDEA.  Stay with me here, I have a larger point).  Sarah got a biscuit with her meal.  I love biscuits.  Seriously.  For my 18th birthday, my best high school friends kidnapped me at the crack of dawn and took me to Biscuitville for birthday biscuits, complete with candles and a serenade (and people look down on the South...)

Anyways, this biscuit of Sarah's made me want to go to extreme lengths to consume it.  And it made me think of this article I read a while back (either in Cosmo or NYT...I'm guessing the former, but the latter makes me sound less vapid).  The male author was perplexed by his girlfriend's near-constant fad dieting, and in an attempt to see what she was going through, he decided to undertake her diet of the moment (a liquid-based fast).  About a day in, he went to lunch with his long-time best friend, who ordered something predictably tempting (a cheeseburger I think?) and the author's hunger and self-deprivation made him literally want to attack his friend.  

I did not actually jump across the table and swipe Sarah's biscuit, but it's only day two and I can already sympathize with the author's thoughts.  So, friends beware. I probably should not be trusted at restaurants for the next 38 days.  Now back to those potatoes (and, sigh, cover letters). 

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