HBO

In my house, "HBO" isn't an acronym for Home Box Office; instead, it stands for Honey Bunches of Oats.
With almonds.

Regardless, I've been lucky enough to watch some of HBO's 'Californication', which is not actually about the Red Hot Chili Peppers. They might do enough drugs on the show to qualify, though. Basically, the main character is a sex addict living in LA and hopelessly attached to his baby mama, who continually refuses him. It's a pretty typical story, of course, so it hits home in all the right places. It's brilliantly written. It made me think about toxic people.

When I speak to my friends about relationships, they usually have had one relationship where the other person didn't treat them very well at all, and yet they stuck around. Of course it's a bad decision. No, you shouldn't expect it to go anywhere - even if they promise you it will - but when it comes down to it, are you going to listen to yourself?

Nope. When you're in love with someone, that's it. Even if they constantly pick fights with you, break you down, and barely touch you. They will tell you they love you more than anything, and you will believe it. Them. Whatever.
I know that I never want to go there again, yet something in me stirs when I review that relationship. It's like all the best prose I have gushes from my fingers and sits there, naked and without apology. It's not patient or kind.

It is completely wasted - utterly useless. That doesn't matter, as it's good practice. I'm not angry, I just don't care.

Labels for this post: a, little, different

Heavy cream

Ever since I was able to eat solid food, my mother has been a zealous disciple of healthy eating habits. As a result, most of the things I don't like to eat are unhealthy and usually fried, and I gravitate toward healthier choices naturally. In most ways, I am grateful for this. I love vegetables, and I like to eat things that make me feel great. Except pizza. I love pizza, and we only eat it about three or four times a year. Mmmm.

However, right now I'm experiencing a distinct lack of gratefulness, because I seem to have convinced myself that it is possible to make delicious, perfectly peaked whipped cream without using heavy whipping cream. I'm trying to make it with 2% milk and it just won't whip it. Where is Devo when you need them? Seriously.
But the worst part is that I KNOW THIS IS POSSIBLE. I KNOW IT. My grandmother is lactose-intolerant and can make wonderful whipped cream which isn't even cream. So there must be a way to do it, and I am most stubbornly putting this delicious frothy milk into the freezer to set. If you want to know the mixture, it's just milk, sugar, a little espresso and dark rum. It's the tastiest destroyer of self-esteem I've ever met.

So help me God, I am going to eat you, tasty cream.

Labels for this post: sweet, frothy, frustration

Ms. New Booty

Happy New Year, everyone. I've been reading some great status updates on Facebook and Blogger about the upcoming year. I really enjoy optimism.

My personal resolution is to purchase my meat and dairy from organic/local farmers. I know it's more expensive, but I really believe it's worth it. It's so much better for your body and for the environment. Speaking of bodies, let's talk about them.

Last spring, I had a rough semester, and in response to it, I either didn't eat, or I ate a piece of cheese. I barely slept, and I walked constantly. It was incredibly unhealthy in most aspects, and I shrank down to a sickly low weight for my body. Now, I'm not advocating that the exercise was bad - in fact, that was the only healthy thing I was doing. The shadows under my eyes looked like tattoos, my boobs swam in my bras, and my legs were stilts. My fingers shrank and I could hardly play the piano. I lost my period for months. And the very worst part of all of it was that I loved it. I could sleep next to a boy in just my underwear and not worry about 'back fat'. I loved being so skinny, the way that clothes hung on me and the absence of love handles. Ironic, that I should lose both love and handles at the same time. Once, I got myself a Shimmy Shake from Sheetz (one of my favorite things) and my body literally would not process it. I think it forgot how, and I felt awful. But I still didn't eat.
I used my appearance as venom. I used it to play upon the insecurities of other people. I would feel so proud that I could pull my skinny jeans out of the dryer and onto my body and still pull them off without unbuttoning them.
It was bad.

I'm sure that a certain friend of ours who frequently comments on the weight of females has said some nasty remarks about my rediscovered curves. Probably something like, "Well, now that Jenni has a boyfriend, she's letting herself go." Haha. Yes. Because I love negative attention, and I was starving myself to get it. Clearly.

The other day, as I was getting dressed, I was looking at a birthmark on my back to make sure it wasn't trying to be funny, and I had a revelation. I love my butt.
Really, I know that society says as a woman that I'm not supposed to like being so curvy, but I was looking at it, and it's so cute! It fits the rest of me, and it has a little "booty mark" to boot. It's like the Marilyn Monroe of butts or something. I'm kidding, but really, I love it, and it makes me love the rest of me too. Maybe not all the time or in all outfits, but all the same, I know where I should be, and it's not skinny.

Labels for this post: love, of, self