Food Network Syndrome

I'm not sure if it exists, but I have Food Network Syndrome. In other words, I'm obsessed with cooking. All of a sudden, I can think of nothing but flavor combinations and chopping techniques.  I pour over episodes of Master Chef and Chopped and Pioneer Woman. I eye vegetables in the store, imagining them in a mystery box. I find gluten-free desserts I can imitate and improve. Starches are no longer carbs, but blank canvases upon which explosions of flavor can be built.

In other words, I will never look at food the same way again.

There is only one problem with this. I'm not the greatest cook. Sure, I'm creative, but as far as execution and condition of the kitchen following my escapades, I'm rather hopeless. I usually end up with a fairly good but terribly over seasoned concoction and a royal mess.

Tonight I tried again. I made a vanilla cake with key lime frosting, and in 11 minutes, we will see if I succeeded.

My Western Fetish Continues

My new computer has required me to move things over and sort through a lot of files. This is a royal pain for someone with absolutely no techy skills. But, I did manage to upload my Vienna pictures and Norton Antivirus. In that order. And as I looked through files, I came across some poems I wrote for my tenth grade poetry project. Now, some of them are Dumb with a capital D. But others, and one in particular, I like. 

So I will share it.

I know this may seem like a cop-out, but I just got back from Spinning class and I need to study for Mock Trial and iron my clothes. And I like the poem. It reminds me of Cowboy Kent and Ree Drummond and John Wayne and all other cool cowboys and cowgirls. So there.

At Home on the Range

I step off the plane and take a deep breath.

I can tell I am deep in the heart of Texas.

Although it is December, warm, sweet air fills my lungs as I breathe. 

I love it here, where everything is big, and the land stretches all around me and goes on forever.

I love the smell of brown leather chaps and tamales cooking in hot oil.

I love the mixed music of the horses ad tractors and roadside stands.

I love the long green gras tat dances in the wind as if to say "This is where you belong. This is where you feel free."

I love eating real Mexican food outside on New Year's Eve.

I love the rows and rows of ranch houses, as far as the eye can see.

Someday, one will be mins.

And then I see the familiar face that has called me to the prairie.

I run toward her, picking up my cowboy bots with the speed of a prairie dog.

For it is not just the long grass or the lack of wintry mix that calls me here.

It is not the enchiladas or the habaneras or the turquoise.

It is something bigger, something stronger.

It is friendship.

And as I gaze at the clear prairie sky with my best friend,

I realize that someday I want to say

That I would not exchange my home on the range

For all of the cities so bright.

And Ashoken Farewell just came on Pandora. That song really gets me. 

I am just testing something.

Sorry, nothing profoundly clever at the moment. I'm just trying to figure out why my post are delayed.

I'm Officially A Dork

I just cried at the end of the Chopped: Grill Masters Grand Finale.

I cried real tears at the end of a cooking show. A cooking show.

I just couldn't help it. Cowboy Kent won my heart. I'm so sorry for your loss, Kent. You should have won it.

I will now crawl into a hole of embarrassment forever.

Why did I tell you that?

The Great Japanese Steakhouse Adventure

I know, I'm a little late with this post, but I promise I started it on Saturday! I recently acquired a new computer, and I'm still getting the hang of it.

Some friends and I met at a local Japanese steakhouse for dinner last night. Although it was certainly not my first time at such a place, it was my first visit to this particular establishment, causing my to make the following observations about Japanese steakhouses.

1. I am always exceedingly skeptical about the cleanliness of the grill, cooking utensils, and butter. Especially the butter. It sits out all day and is used over and over again, quite possible by different people.

2. Speaking of people. The entire success of the evening is dependent on the chef. In my experience, the personality of the chef can make or break the evening. We had a good chef last night. His name is Pedro and he's from Micronesia. Or so he says.

3. I probably should have put chef in quotation marks. Does anyone know if they actually attended culinary school?

4. The set up of steakhouses is not at all conducive to small groups. Unless your party is large enough (in number) to fill up an entire side, your meal will probably be awkward. Last night the group across from us was facing this dilemma. There was a group of three on one side, a couple in the middle, and another couple with a small baby on the end. The middle couple appeared to be oblivious to the world around them, but everyone else was attempting to make small talk. You are eating food that's all prepared together right in front of you, after all! But being complete strangers and unlikely ever to see each other again, the small talk only goes so far, leaving you and whoever you are with to tilt your chairs towards each other and avoid eye contact with your fellow diners.

5. All of the aforementioned "chefs" are pyromaniacs.

6. Babies dislike fire, leading them to dislike the "chefs" and the entire dining experience.

7. There are two types of diners. The ones who take home leftovers and the ones who do not. It's very easy to tell them apart.

8. The leftovers are even better the next day.

9. I guess anything that is drowning in white sauce would be, though. Can I get an amen? Amen.

10. I strongly dislike people who throw shrimp at me and expect me to catch it in my mouth. Perhaps that should have been mentioned earlier.

Day One?

Two days down, many more to go. Yesterday was my first day of school. Well, sort of. Yesterday was the first day we had to be at school, but I'd probably say today was the first real day.

Here's what yesterday consisted of:

6:52 I woke up in a panic that I had missed the Student Body program that I am in. I had not.

7:00 I headed out for a run. It was already hot.

8:30 My friend comes over before we go out for breakfast. She has recently been gallivanting around the Middle East doing some top secret spy work. Just kidding. I think. We hadn't seen each other in so long, and I was so happy that she wasn't kidnapped. She brought me back what is quite possible the best souvenir ever, a Burkah Barbie. A Barbie wearing a burkah. And a head scarf for me. I decided against wearing it so that no one would have to say,

"This is Margaret, our Student Body President. No, she's not Muslim. I really have no idea why she's wearing that head scarf."

Just thought I'd save everyone from that potentially awkward conversation. Maybe another day.

9:00 We meet many other seniors at a near by International House of Pancakes for breakfast. We don't see all the other seniors, so my friend and I settle into a booth on the other side of the restaurant. It is only after we have ordered our drinks that we see the enormous group and move all our stuff over there. I'm beginning to wonder whether or not the waitresses are spitting in our food. I, for some unknown reason, order black coffee and drink it all. I never drink coffee. I also order a fruit cup because that is about all I can think about eating without getting sick. At this point my nerves are in full swing.

9:20  I leave in order to meet the other officers. My fruit cup had still not arrived, so my friends agree to bring it. I fill a Styrofoam cup with more coffee and hit the trail.

Something about coffee makes me feel adventurous.

10:55 After several hours of practice and being nervous, we head onstage to do our program, a continuing skit called, "The Acad Bunch." I play the mother. Go figure.

After the program we have an hour for lunch and then 20 minute classes. This is why I say the firs day doesn't count. There is no way that 20 minutes is long enough for me to form my opinions on each class, and it's certainly not enough time for the teacher to completely introduce the class, leading to a partial lesson the next day. It really takes about a week to get going. By that time you've settled in, hunkered down, and are ready to brace the storm. You've also taken the first test, opened your crayons, attended opening meetings, and made new friends.

And formed opinions. That I am good at. 

Thus it Begins Again

Tomorrow marks the beginning of my senior year of high school.

Ahhhhhhhh!

Ok, I'm done panicking and ready to get this thing called high school done.

Think of me tomorrow around 11:00 a.m. I'll be doing something crazy onstage in front of hundreds of people.

I better go learn my lines.

I Slept in a Tent Last Night

What you are about to hear may blow your mind. Especially if you know me. And my phobias.

I went camping.

In a tent.

My youth group has an annual camping trip, and this year, I was in attendance. I couldn't leave until late last night due to prior obligations (too bad) and didn't arrive until almost 10:00! By that time the camp fire was over, and I had successfully avoided smelling like smoke. Check. I got into my pajamas and found my tent. Then I laid out my sleeping bag. I did not, however, get into the sleeping bags. Sleeping bags were invented by the arch nemesis of some poor, claustrophobic person, and they are intended to make said person break out into a cold sweat. Thanks, but I'll pass on sleeping inside a cloth bag tonight. I got on my bag, wrapped up in a quilt, and, in true Margaret fashion, was asleep in three seconds. As I fell asleep I heard this,

"What time are you getting up?"

"6:00."

"What in the world?"

"I just want to see the sunrise. It rises at 6:24, and I want to be there."

"Oh, how great. I'll come too. Do you think Margaret will want to come?"

No, Margaret did not want to come. In fact Margaret apparently slept through a baby crying, a thunderstorm, the struggle to close the flaps during the thunderstorm, all attempts to wake her, and the sunrise. I slept like a rock all night, and while everyone else was making morning memories, I was far, far away. In a world that's disappearing I'm afraid.

Sorry about the random Sound of Music reference. Really not sure where that came from.

Please tell me you knew that was Sound of Music.

Anyway.

I rose right before breakfast, ate, had devotions by the lake, and tried out my new camera with some beautiful landscape shots. Then it was time for the annual canoe race.

Did I forget to mention I got in a canoe? And while I can now cross that off my list of possible Olympic sports, I didn't fall out of the boat. Ahh, sweet, sweet success.

The rest of the day was spent eating, taking pictures, tubing followed by showering, and watching sand  volleyball. Notice I said watching. Actually playing would have put me over the edge. I can only be so adventurous in one day!

Now I'm home. I'm clean. I'm tired. Being outdoorsy is exhausting! But I'm glad for the adventure.

And for running water.

Clogging Cousins

It's still Tuesday. I can still meet my goal. Phew.

It's all I can do to tear myself away from the Olympics. But I do, because of my dedication to this blog. And the fact that I hate to mess up on a goal.We'll see how that goes with the school year quickly approaching. I'm sure my school adventures will be fabulous blog fodder.

Speaking of adventures.

My wonderful grandparents celebrated 50 wonderful years of wedded bliss last Saturday, so we had a party for them the night before. We invited a bunch of their friends and family members to join us for dinner at my grandpa's favorite BBQ place. This was a great idea that my mom and aunt had. They also made a video documenting their marriage and a quiz about my grandparents. Also great ideas. My mom wanted to make them a calendar. My aunt wanted all the cousins to clog. We did both.

I repeat. We clogged. As in clogging. Dancing.With loud metal strips on your shoes. All six of us, ages 12 to 22 (poor, poor Kai), clogged for my grandparents on their anniversary. Here's how it happened.

July 4th: My aunt lets us know about her big idea. We watch a hilarious how-to video and vow to practice often.

July 30: The week of the party we practice for the second time. A clogging friend of my uncle's agrees to help us out. Bless him. My mom and aunt go about getting taps for our shoes.

August 1: First taps-on practice. We all diligently try to get this dance down so as not to make complete idiots of ourselves if at all possible. During the course of the evening a majority of the 12 taps fall off. The situation is looking grim. Even grimmer than ever.

August 3: We practice on the stained wood floors of the restaurant right before the party. We are afraid that the waitresses will ask the Clogging Cousins to leave before our debut. We kind of hope they will. Our routine goes smoothly, though. I don't fall on my rear, which, knowing me, is a real miracle. We also manage to stay relatively together, with the exception of my poor youngest cousin, who was perfectly opposite every time. We even got our next gig! We're supposed to clog six years from now for my great-aunt Sally's 50th anniversary party!

I'll be 23. Fun.

Happy Anniversary, Gram and Gramps!

We love you!

Tax Free Weekend

I had my last day of work yesterday, and I was all ready to post "Things I Hear at Work, Part 2."

And then I went to Walmart.

Da-da-da-dun. (My best attempt at dramatic music)

Today, I, along with every other living being on planet Earth, went shopping for school supplies, and I discovered the following:

The Four Groups of Back to School Shoppers.

1. The Mothers with Children
This is, by far, the largest group. And I mean large as in percentage of shoppers. This group is easy to identify. The mothers are wearing either jeans or sweatpants and a t-shirt. She is followed by a group of anywhere from two to four elementary aged children wearing shorts and Miley Cyrus tank tops, one teenager in a hoodie, and one or two babies. One or more of said babies is in the cart, the teenager is dragging behind texting, and the rest of the children are screaming and trying to talk their mother into letting them buy a Hello Kitty notebook. She instead goes for the traditional, and cheaper, black and white composition books and buys Bic pens in bulk.

She looks very tired.

2. The Unnattendeds
This group is also very easy to spot. It is comprised of mostly middle school aged children wearing the same thing as the aforementioned elementary school children, plus a cell phone. They are usually in groups of three or four girls, and their mother is who knows where. Probably in the home goods section taking a nap. They spend most of the time texting each other, browsing the Justin Bieber paraphernalia, and applying lip gloss.

They speak very loudly.

3. The Grandmothers
Grandmothers are usually found with one child. They have no idea what they are looking for, so they have to rely entirely on their grandchild, leading them to buy a bunch of unnecessary things, like locker lamps. They actually have those! The cart is full of brightly colored Sharpies, sparkly binders, and almost nothing of educational significance. The child is taking full advantage of his or her grandma. I especially love it when the child is wearing a "Spoiled Rotten" shirt.

How true.

4. The Fathers
My personal favorite. Why is it that men with children act as if every trip to Walmart is their first ever? They wander around, unable to find a thing. The child gets lost in the mayhem. The father finds said child in the electronics department, and then is unable to find his way back to the school supplies. So they call the mother, who is, undoubtedly, relishing the break from children and school supply shopping. Below is an actual conversation I heard today.

Father: "Hey, hon, it's me. We're at Walmart, and I'm having trouble finding the 1/2 inch binders. The list says it has to be 1/2 inch. If I get 1 inch, do you think the teacher will know? Call me back when you can. I will probably have more questions. Oh, Timmy wants to know if he can get an Avengers lunch box. Bye."

Nothing like tricking the teacher with another 1/2 inch on that binder.

However, with credit to the dad, it is hard to find things. You know what the hardest thing to find is? Crayons, the most necessary school supply in history. There are huge displays of locker shelves and hand sanitizer (also very necessary) and pencil pouches filling the aisles, but you know where the crayons are? In a tiny corner at the end of an aisle that doubles as the beginning of home goods.

Now, you say, why were you buying crayons? Aren't you too old for that? Well, I say, it has been six years since crayons were a school requirement. But I buy them year after year, because the first day of school is not the first day of school without a new box of Crayolas.