LIKE A FRIGGIN ADULT!

Guys. Not only did I find a whole chicken for $3.77, I ROASTED THAT MO'FO LIKE A CHAMP. First time ever roasting a chicken, and I didn't entirely mess it up!

Please pay no attention to the black sludge on the bottom. Those were just there for the aromatics  Right. But the crispy skin is perfecto.

Now I have chicken all week. You're jealous.

If you find an insane deal on a whole chicken like I did, here is what you do (more in-depth recipe on my other blog to come): layer the bottom of your roasting pan with onions, carrots, celery, and if you're feeling really ambitious, potatoes. I was more into the flavor these things would give off, so it's okay that my onions and carrots turned to sludge. Really.

Rinse your chicken well, inside and out. Then, stuff the open cavity of your chicken with as many lemon halves as you can, and any herbs you have lying around the house. I did thyme. Also, slice a head of garlic in half and put that in there too. You can NEVER have enough garlic! Truss the bird, if you're able (position wings under bird, tie legs back) but I just kind of cooked it in the twine it came in and it was all good.

Place the chicken over the veggies, sprinkle GENEROUSLY with salt and pepper, and drizzle butter over the bird. Bake at 450 degrees for an hour to an hour and a half, until juices run clear when you pierce with a fork and when, you know, it's not RAW inside when you cut it.

Ta-daaa! Chicken sandwiches for ALL!

How the Boston Police participated in my Job Interview

Well, it's that time again where I am going through the job interview motions. Currently, I'm in the initial phone call phase of the interview process. I have a few lined up--today I happened to have one at 1PM.

Sure enough at 1:05PM my phone rings, my interview starts and things are going very well. I am just in the middle of talking about a successful Twitter campaign I ran when my apartment doorbell rings.

My room happens to look right out onto the street and thus also has a great view of our front door stoop. I peek out the curtain, not stealthily because stealth is not a word that my body or brain recognizes as a potential attribute, and standing on the stoop is a man in plain clothes who I do not recognize. What do I do? Ignore it. Looks like he is selling something or like he wants to tell me how my cable bill can be reduced if I switch providers.

Of course, this interruption does not help my concentration but I get back in the groove of talking about how awesome I am and the bell rings again...then again...then again again again! I am cursing myself at this point for not learning how to spy properly as a child and adolescent. I ask the woman on the phone if she will please hold one moment and in my PJs (yay funployment) I open the front door.

New Girl

There are now not only one but two men standing there in plain clothes with something bright and shiny hanging around their necks. Because I am a girl who loves shiny glittery things my eyes immediately focus on this talisman and I realize it is the fucking Boston PD...in normal clothes! That means detectives right? They look me up and down and I start to IMMEDIATELY apologize for not opening the door sooner and explain that I am on an interview call and that I suck.

The two detectives (I mean if Law and Order taught me anything it is that detectives DO NOT wear uniforms but that officers ALWAYS do) looked me up and down and said "We just have to get upstairs."

Law and Order: SVU (not saying it was a case for SVU just LOOK no uniforms!)

There are two apartments above ours. One has a few girls in it, one of which is German Christian and for some reason I had a feeling that was not the destination apartment for these detectives. I tend to think it is the apartment directly above mine with at LEAST three families living in. It also happens to be the one that police and an ambulance visited the first week my roommates and I moved in.

Thank God I am fantastic at recovering from weird shit like that because I was able to pick my interview right up and finish with finesse. I was told I will definitely be hearing from her on Wednesday. GO ME!

But now...I want to know why the police were upstairs.

Dollar Store Heebie Jeebies

Why does everything there smell like dust and sadness? Considering I am in a constant state of Broke, I know this is something I have to get over. I'm getting good at utilizing the Dollar Store for decorations and random things like jars or cooking utensils or things that don't really need to be top-of-the-line. But some things I am still iffy about.

I still won't eat food from the dollar store. The dusty off-brand names make my stomach turn. Even the brand name ones. I don't know why, I wish it didn't. Full sized bags of chips for a dollar would be nice. Or cereal. Or anything because IT'S ONLY A DOLLAR.

Like everyone else on the planet, my New Year's Resolution is to lose some weight and get healthier. I roped a few friends into doing this with me, so I feel confident I have an actual shot at it. One of the mantras I keep hearing in all this is DRINK. MORE. WATER. So I got a neat little metal water bottle from the dollar store and, after using it to make Skittles Vodka for new years (Skittles + Vodka + 3 days, shaking occasionally = SKITTLES VODKA) I soaked it overnight in soapy water and then rinsed in the hottest water I could handle, three times. It's worth noting here that I also have a "phobia" of plastic, since I feel like everything plastic touches makes it taste like plastic and that, also turns my stomach, so a metal water bottle seemed ideal. Metal doesn't keep smells as easily as plastic does, so I figured a metal water bottle from the dollar store was safe. And I didn't end up with dust-flavored-vodka either, which was a good sign.

I filled the bottle this morning and after my coffee was done I took a giant swig of water and immediately my mouth was filled with the distinct taste of what the dollar store smells like. This was ten minutes ago and I CAN STILL TASTE IT. I CANNOT GET IT OFF MY TONGUE.

Uuuuugh.

New Year's Peeved

New Year's usually gives me a mild panic attack every year. To be fair, I am prone to panic attacks but there's just so much pressure that comes with the new year that this kind is especially potent.

Everyone is always demanding to know what your New Year's Resolutions are, what your plans are for the night of, and what your plans are for the year to come blah blah blah.

People who know me know that my life is stitched together with silly string and therefore they should know not to ask stupid questions like that of me, unfortunately these people are few. When I am asked this question, I just say what everyone else says:

1. Be healthier (mentally and physically)
2. Be more optimistic
3. Be more open to change

Pretty good, right? But those will never happen. Mostly because that is not who I am as a person.

Number 1 I can do for about a month before one of the two drops off and it all goes to shit.

someecards

 

Number 2 just isn't part of my personality. I have been cynical almost my entire life and that isn't going to change anytime soon. Sorry, folks.

Number 3... bahahhaaha, there is nothing that terrifies me more than change. And that's not changing anytime soon.

Sure, I can try and work on these things, but it is unrealistic of me to try to completely change myself. I might be able to tackle one, for a month.

Here are my REAL New Year's Resolutions:

1. Find full-time job (no more contractual work)
2. Hang out with people that make me happy, not people who make me miserable
3. Consider graduate school

These are three attainable goals. These, I might just be able to do. Why pick goals you know you aren't going to achieve? Why lie to yourself? You are just going to feel like a failure later when you don't accomplish them. Keep it simple and attainable.

New Year's Eve party plans? Just thinking about the planning that is involved makes me want to bang my head against a tree.

This year was quite a different experience for me, in that I didn't completely hate myself afterwards. I did something I wanted to do, with people I wanted to be with. There was no pressure to get trashed, to dress up like an ass, or to do something everyone else would be envious of. It was a simple party and bar kinda night.

partycity.com

People tend to make New Year's Eve a mandatory MUST of some sort: MUST have fun, MUST get drunk, MUST get laid, MUST kiss the love of my life, MUST MUST MUST...no thank you.

I am going to stick with my own approach of New Year's Eve.

Me...

As for the question of this coming year's plans...there is nothing to say. How the hell am I supposed to even think about that? I am adding a number 4 to my REAL New Year's Resolutions:

4. Live day to day and relax about the future.

What are your New Year's Resolutions? I want your real, honest ones, not the answer you give your parents friends when they ask.

The Paradox of an Office Heating System

In the summer, I wear my usual polished-casual office outfit at work--we are allowed to wear "dress jeans," whatever that means, but no graphic tees or sneakers--plus a zip up hoodie or sweater of some sort because our air conditioner makes my workspace sub-Arctic. One time, no lie, I wore gloves. It is difficult to type in gloves.

In the winter, the heat is cranked so high that I struggle to find office-appropriate attire without showing too much skin because it is boiling hot inside, while having layers nearby for the frigid New England temperatures outside for the mad dash from the office door to the car. I felt bad for EVERYONE the day I forgot to slather on some deodorant.

Today, I am wearing a light sweater and am seriously contemplating throwing on my down coat because it is unusually cold in here. I am hoping my blatantly outdoor winter scarf can pretend to be fashionable and that nobody thinks I look like a Chou-Chou* collared weirdo. If I felt comfortable revealing where I work this all would seem somewhat ironic, but not in an Alanis-Morisette-doesn't-know-the-meaning-of-the-word way. Really.

My New Year's resolution is to spontaneously develop lizard blood so that I can adapt to my environment seasonally and not be in a constant state of discomfort due to temperature.**

Did I mention I hate winter? I am over it. The snow was pretty for Christmas but my beach bag is on standby for whenever summer, prodigal season, decides to return to me and encase me in its warm, loving embrace.

*You know, those dogs with the huge fluffy mane around their necks? I thought I was clever with this one...
**Actually it's to lose ten pounds, and by lose ten pounds I mean I'll complain about my butt constantly but continue to sit on it for hours at a time stuffing my face with ZebraCakes because the world no longer has Twinkies and that is a TRAGEDY--though the bigger tragedy is the whiney explanation on Hostess's website as to why they closed. But maybe I'll Zumba once or twice? Yeah?

ER Griping

Last night I held my boyfriend's hand as he writhed in pain next to me while trying to put on a tough face. We were in the ER--my second time there in a month, a different reason but still the transportation--and the waiting room was entirely empty. We were told "any minute now" every hour on the hour, and soon it was 6am. Neither of us would be on time to work, that was for certain. And while I have a precious few vacation/sick time hours left, his current job does not allow him the luxury.

He would nod off next to me for a couple of minutes, only to wake again with the pain moments later. The frustration and anger built up in both of us. How busy could they be with only us in the waiting room? Why couldn't they DO something?

For a while the only other person in the waiting room was a homeless man who had come in trying to get warm. He had garbage bags with random articles of clothing that he seemed to be taking an inventory of. Then he left and it was just us again.

Maybe it was because we were two young, able-bodied 20-somethings. Maybe they assumed we only wanted to get our hands on some prescriptions. Maybe the invisible ambulances that the front desk kept telling us were arriving--we were right next to the ambulance bay and saw none--had too important people waiting to be seen. I tried to comfort him best I could, while trying not to freak myself out over the fact that my seemingly indestructible 6'5 boyfriend was experiencing pain that made him keel over in pain every few minutes.

Once we were called, after 5 hours of waiting, his temperature and blood pressure were taken, and then we waited another stretch of time I will estimate at about an hour and a half. Finally a doctor saw him, and the entire transaction took ten minutes. He was told it was a pinched nerve, and given a prescription. The doctor was gentle and apologetic, but seemed to be suggesting that the pain he was experiencing did not warrant an ER trip to begin with. He seemed concerned that my boyfriend had self-medicated with painkillers from a previous injury and I almost heard a condescending tone. I gritted my teeth and thanked him. During this exchange three elderly people were pushed past our room in stretchers, all seemingly awake and responsive and some even smiling. I wondered how many grandmas had taken a fall during Christmas celebrations and if elderly people should consider not living in homes with stairs. Then I felt like a bad person for thinking ill of the elderly.

The entire time I couldn't shake the feeling that we were being put off just because we are young. I feel this sort of discrimination regularly, but I also feel like complaining about it would fall on deaf ears because of a sort of "young privilege" or something. Like how I cannot compare my years of people scoffing "EAT A SANDWICH!" at me to someone being teased for being overweight because I happen to have a slimmer body type. I'm young, I shouldn't complain, and I should respect my elders and let them go before me in all things in life. My chance will come. Right.

I cannot count how many times I have gone to work feeling ill, only to have a smiling coworker say "party too hard last night, eh?" as they noticed the bags under my eyes or that I looked somewhat off--typically on a day where I choose to not wear makeup, ugh. I feel like whenever I am sick for any reason these days, it is assumed it is because I have "partied too hard." Yes, occasionally I have to deal with a hangover. But, as a somewhat responsible young adult, I try to keep my "partying" contained to the weekends and NOT on a work night.

I've heard stories of young people faking illness to get meds. And older people too. But do they wait for six hours, or do they give up? I don't know. Maybe that's the minimum wait to make sure you're not going to sell them or whatever--as he did end up getting painkillers or some sort. I don't know how the ER works, and I understand this is just going to look like me complaining. The fact that a ten minute meeting with a doctor needed to wait six hours is just mind boggling to me.

I do hope everyone in the ER that night was able to be discharged quickly. I'm just irritated I suppose. And sleepy. Very. Very. Sleepy.

Merry Day After Christmas

I'm sure all of us who are back at work today wish we had one of these things.