Life Lessons from Edible Spaghetti

Long story short, cooking is HARD!

Many of you probably know this, but I moved out on my own for the first time this May. Ridicule me later for living at home till I was 24, ok, that's not the point of this blog. As a result of being sheltered and cared for by my dear mommy for a solid 24 years, I never realized how hard cooking was until I moved out. And I am not kidding, it is HARD. I know I've said that already, but it bears repeating... HARD! For some reason, I had the idea that since I could read recipes and use measuring utensils that meant I was qualified to make gourmet meals. Jeez, no need to laugh so hard, I got set straight quick. I managed to screw up spaghetti 3 times. SPAGHETTI! With sauce from a JAR! I screwed that up. I am actually pretty sure that is kind of a talent in and of itself! First time, I over cooked the pasta, by alot, even the homemade pasta sauce I got grocery shopping in my mom's freezer couldn't redeem the congealed mess of noodles that used to be angel hair. Second time, I go for meat sauce... nothing fancy, I even called my mom to find out how the heck to do it so I didn't E-Coli myself. She gave me tips about seasoning the jar of sauce to give it a bit more homemade taste, I was so ready. I defrost the big old package of ground hamburger, throw it in a pan with some olive oil and begin the browning process.... so far so good. Open the jar of Prego... apparently one jar of sauce to like a pound and a half of meat is not a good ratio. It tasted like bland hamburgers with crazy noodles. Strike two. Third try, this one is the topper. I decided the over meated sauce into two containers, put one in the freezer for a start of a meal later on (Mom's Idea) and the other in the fridge to attempt spaghetti again the next day with an extra jar of sauce. Texted my personal cookbook "aka mom" for tips on seasoning and went to work. Apparently, when one says salt and pepper lightly, a teaspoon or two is too much salt. And don't get it confused, Oregeno and Parsley arent the same things, who knew! OMG, you guys, it was the worst thing i've ever tasted. Seriously, screwing up a jar of spaghetti sauce. I am just that good.

I think as we grow up we forget our optimism of youth. Do you guys remember the little engine that could? "I think I can, I think I can, I think I can." Or the little tugboat fella, what was his name. Or even Dory! "Just keep swimming, Just keep swimming." Think of that toddler with the blocks. Trying and trying to figure out how to get that damn square peg into the round hole, children don't give up, at some point they find the square hole. When we are young, EVERYTHING is new, EVERYTHING is hard, that's why we have stories like the Little Engine. When we are kids, we don't give up cuz something is hard, we don't even notice its hard, we are too busy figuring out how to do it to waste time thinking about how hard it's going to be. Where does that go when we grow up? Do we just get used to being good at stuff, so when things actually get tough, we get frustrated and quit. I think I might, Its a character thing, I am working on it.

Starting with spaghetti. I took the other half of the saucey meat out of the freezer Saturday. I am not going to say it was the best Italian food I've ever eaten, but it was edible. There was a good meat to sauce ratio, pasta was al dente, and most importantly it tasted like tomatoes not a salt lick. Sunday, I made stir fry on the FIRST try. The chicken was more then edible, it was GOOD. Ok, the broccoli was a bit under cooked, so was the rice, but again... edible. I am figuring next time I make stir fry, its going to be more then just edible, it will be good. I am like a little kid again, because right now, I don't have time to waste with HARD, all I can say is "I think I can," and remember the old adage, Practice makes Perfect.... I am still on the practice phase, wish me luck on the perfect.

Welcome to CrazyTown

Ok boys and girls, you might wanna stick close to me for this one. In a few short moments we will be taking a trip into Crazy Town. Hold on to my hand though, I am well acquainted with Crazy Town, I will be your guide. :)

So, its been a few months since I've blogged, I know, I am sorry I've disappointed all three of you. :) It's hard to blog when you have been living in Crazy Town though! Let's be honest with ourselves, ( I mean me and you, Loyal Reader. Not all the crazy people in my head, I will get to them later. ) I've had a monthly time share in Crazy Town since puberty, but its been a good few years since I've set up permanent residence there like I have this past month or so.

Welcome to Crazy Town, population 2. That would be me, and my hostage, my boyfriend Paul. Lets take a little stroll into my world.... July 24th, after about 2 weeks of hanging out daily after work and on the weekends, I told Paul to hang out with his family for the 24th. I will repeat, I TOLD him to, jot that down, it is important to the story later. All day long that day, I am being completely sane, some might even describe it as rational. Hanging out with my roommate, BBQing, having a beer, all and all having a really good day. Bout 7 pm, I decide to take a nap before fireworks, so I walk into my room. Apparently, on that day, my bedroom door was the portal into Crazy Town, because I suddenly got annoyed that Paul wasn't with me. Now children, refer to your notes, to remind yourselves why he wasn't there. I went to lay down, and got pissed that he wasn't there. I took a nap and woke up sad that he wasn't gonna be watching fireworks with me. Sometimes when I am living in Crazy Town, I am aware of my insanity, tonight wasn't one of those nights. By about 10, I am seesawing between pissed off and disappointed so I text Paul, who then stopped studying and came to my apt with an apology and a homemade muffin. You would think having your boyfriend apologize for not reading your mind would snap you on out of it, but no, I remained pissed for about an hour after. Poor guy. The good news is, I tend to bake when I am sorry about something, so so far he's gotten a molten chocolate lava cake, cookies and some cupcakes out of being my hostage. I am wondering if maybe he has Stockholm Syndrome.

The good news is, I am writing this blog, which maybe means I've moved back from Crazy Town, and can return to just my monthly time share again! Wish us luck... (this time I do mean me and all my crazy.... :) )