Awkwardly Social

Astute readers will have noticed the “Life List” tab that I snuck into the tab bar above.  I didn’t write about writing it, because it’s still very much a work in progress.  Also, I feel slightly like I did in junior high when the cool girls in the grade above me started some lame trend, the details of which seemed so important at the time but are now completely escaping me, and me and my friends (I use that plural loosely, I think at the time my only friend was Callie) attempted to imitate said trend and we were publicly shamed in the cafeteria during lunch by the mean girls.  I was mortified at the time.  Now, I’m clearly emotionally scarred because I am embarrassed to make a “Life List” -  something that is not trademarked, but that some girls in the grade ahead of my in blogging life have kind of “branded” as their “thing.”  But whatever, I’ve been writing “Life Lists” since I was an awkward teenager in Camp Verde, Arizona trying to convince my parents to buy me a horse.  Which reminds me, I need to add “own a horse” to my list.Without further ado, at #31 on my Life List is to try 100 recipes I’ve never made.  This weekend I did two!  Both from the cookbook my mom put together for my sister and I.  Below is the recipe for the Peach Cobbler.  The other will follow later this week.

Peach Cobbler

• 1/2 cup sugar
• 1 tablespoon corn starch
•  4 cups sliced fresh peaches (this is about 3 large peaches, I think you should use 4 large peaches.)
• 1/4 teaspoon cinnamon
• 1 teaspoon lemon juice
• 1 cup flour
• 1 tablespoon sugar
• 1 1/2 teaspoon baking powder
• 1/2 teaspoon salt
• 3 tablespoons shortening
• 1/2 cup milk

Heat oven to 400 degrees.  Blend 1/2 cup sugar and cornstarch in medium saucepan.  Stir in the peaches, cinnamon and lemon juice.  (Note:  when I did this I was totally nervous that there wouldn’t be enough liquid.  Somehow, there is.  It’s really amazing.  Fear not!) Cook, stirring constantly until mixture thickens and boils.  Boil and stir 1 minute.  Pour into ungreased 2 quart casserole.  Keep fruit mixture hot in oven while preparing biscuit topping.Biscuit toppingMeasure flour, 1 tablespoon sugar, baking powder and salt into bowl.  Add shortening and milk.  (I think I messed up my shortening measurements because something was off with the biscuits, they didn’t taste like my mom’s.)  Cut through shortening 6 times, mix until dough forms a ball. Drop dough by 6 spoonfuls onto hot fruit.  Bake 25-30 minutes or until biscuit topping is golden brown.  Serve warm, and if desired, with ice cream.  Six servings.

I think the next time I make this, I’ll use more peaches, my peach to biscuit ratio was off.  Also, I think I’ll leave it in the oven a little longer, it just tasted slightly different than my mom’s.  I know it wasn’t perfect because 3 days later, we still have leftovers.  Cobbler never lasted that long in my mom’s fridge.

Jezebel is one of my favorite sites, and after this headline “Meg Whitman is a Bad Mother,” I’m furious.  I don’t like Meg Whitman.  I don’t believe she is the right person to run California.   Let’s reinforce the patriarchy and attack a woman with grown children on her “mothering” skills.  Because if a woman is running for Governor of the State of California she better be a good mommy.  Maybe because she RAN eBay she’s a bad mom.  She should have stayed home with those kids!  Or, maybe it was when she was getting an advanced degree from HARVARD, maybe she should have forgotten about that silly MBA and raised her FAMILY.

Now, Jezebel is at fault here too.  They’re reprinting a sentiment - making a splashy headline - and while they’re questioning the motives behind the sentiment, they are still repeating the same  patriarchal bullshit their sibling sites publish.  It’s offensive.

She has two douchey sons running amok.  Let’s give those idiots no responsibility for their actions and blame it all on their mama.  Because she was too busy to raise them right.  Because she had the audacity to be a woman and have a career.  I am livid.

I don’t like her politics but she deserves a better headline than being a “Bad Mother.” Talk about her bad voting record.  Talk about her questionable antics while at Goldman Sachs.  Talk about her poorly run campaign.  But her being a bad mother?  What do you want America?  Do you need your mommy to tell you how to act when you’re in COLLEGE?

If you want to read where this “Bill of Goods” thing started.  Read my previous post.

I want to say hi to all the readers coming from Kristin, my dear friend, someone who has always inspired me to be more honest and say what I’m really feeling.  I am fortunate to have met someone like her, no matter how hard I tried to sabotage our meeting each other.  I used to be really scared to meet new people.  Now, I’m just older, and don’t really worry as much about what people think of me, also, I take xanax.  It’s amazing what modern pharmaceuticals and a couple of years of black out drinking can do for a person.  So, welcome!   

This weekend I spent Saturday in bed, when I told my friend that he said, “Oh!” as only an openly gay man can, and I shook my head and said, “No, not that way.”  And he said, “Oh….”  And we laughed.  I’m trying to get pregnant, but not like all day long.  Mostly this weekend I was trying to fight the plague that a certain group of story producers leaked into our shared bullpen. (Their show rhymes with rodrect prungay, they are the sickest! I think because they work harder than we do, their show is 3 times longer than ours, and they have 3 times the staff…)  Still no baby, but a full fledged cold has been incubated.  Yay, me?

I just read an excellent post by Cecily about personal blogging and how we oversharers, people who talk about their addictions, their fuck ups, their lady parts, are rare in the current “blog market.”  New bloggers fiercely protect their identity and their brand because they want large corporations to pay them cash money to write about a small segment of their lives.  Cool.  Just, not for me.

I’ve never been a brand.  I’ve never advertised on this page.  The only money I’ve made on this blog is on this post about how much I love my insurance company.  I wrote the post, it showed up in my poor insurance company’s new media guy’s google alert 5 years later, and they offered to pay me to include a link to their page.  That’s about how much effort I’m willing to put into making money on my blog.  I admire writers who are able to turn their blogs into money making ventures, but that’s just not ever what this place was for.  I was inspired by Pamie, and then I found a small group of people who were in the same place in their lives writing about their experiences and I connected with them and laughed and tried to make them laugh.

The best part about writing here is that I’ve been writing about my life for six years.  Not the weird rambling repetitive shit I write in my paper journal about my idiotic obsession with success, how I wish certain people were dead because I hate their guts, and why I am so ever loving sad and nervous all of the time. The stuff I write here, while it might not appear so to the casual reader, is edited, refined and written for a reason other than to complain.  I can sift through my own archives and figure out where I was 5 years ago.  (Oh god, I just did that, wow, it’s been a long 5 years… different boyfriend, different house, different Tamara.)

Now, six years later, I write for a living.  I work in reality tv partly because I know there are smart people out there who will see the ridiculous moments we’re putting in there for their pleasure.  I think I also work in reality because of this page, writing here has helped me see how the reality of a situation can be made funnier.  How the reality of a situation can be improved with a wink, wink, nudge, nudge.

This Robitussin isn’t going to take itself, so I best get on that.  I hope it doesn’t kill the yet to be conceived baby…

It’s Friday the 13th, I almost stepped on a rat on the way to the City Hall, and as it turns out City Hall and The Courthouse aren’t the same thing!  But, as my muppet friends will tell you, somebody’s getting married!

1. To the seaweed sample lady at Wholefoods: when I said I love seaweed, but didn’t want to try any right then? And then you pressed and I had to tell you that, no really, I’m not eating seaweed right now and then, you stood there and sort of stared at me, while I looked at prepared salads that was you making things awkward, not me. I just wanted you to know that because it gave me what a friend of mine likes to call “retarded tingles.” Getting those kind of tingles and not giving them, makes me very happy. So, I guess, thanks?2. There’s something so very special about having a life partner who knows you so well that he gets a key made for you with your favorite baseball team logo plastered on it and he calls it your “yankey.”3. I cannot help but look at wedding dress options even though I know that this means I’m part of the hetero- capitalist machine. I refuse to wear a white dress to the courthouse, so I’ve promised myself I will wear something in my closet.4. Inspired by Bitter Sweetly, I wrote down some goals for myself this week. So far I’ve actually been trying to achieve them. Who knew I could so easily manipulate myself?5. I am really glad Prop 8 was overturned, because I really want to be invited to my friend’s gay wedding. It’s going to be so fantastic.