Wicked Good Eats: 4 Ingredient Frozen Burritos

Wicked Good Eats: 4 Ingredient Frozen Burritos

I don’t know about you, but I’m tired of eating this frozen processed shit.

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But it’s so easy that I inevitably grab it from the frozen section every time I go to Market Basket (my local grocery store).

Recently I found an alternative to Lean Pockets that is healthier and tastes better: 4 ingredient burritos with chicken and quinoa, from The Reluctant Entertainer.

These burritos are not only wicked good, they’re wicked easy to make!

I adjusted the recipe a little, since I don’t have a family and I’ll be the only person in the house eating these. Also, I made medium sized burritos instead of large since I tend to eat smaller meals. Feel free to double the recipe if you need to and/or make larger burritos.

For one batch, all you need are about two cups of the following:

Grilled chicken
Salsa
Canned beans (black, kidney or pinto)

Then you’ll need tortillas to wrap your burritos. I just bought a couple packs of store brand medium sized tortillas.

First thing’s first:

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Pour yourself a glass of wine. You deserve it.

Then, put on the quinoa. Cook according to directions.

I used 2 cups of dry quinoa, which translates to TOO DAMN MUCH cooked quinoa:

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Oh well. Supper is made for the week! Yayyyyyyyy

But seriously, I will probably use a 1/2 cup of dry quinoa next time. I went a little overboard.

Next: grill the chicken while the quinoa is simmering. In your pajamas and sans makeup. Because who gives a fuck.

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Then cut the chicken into small squares. Remember to cut your chicken like someone with fingers. Pretend your hand is a claw. I sometimes make it into a fist, because I’m super clumsy and paranoid.

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Then, drain the canned beans. I will usually run a little water over them as well so they have less sodium. But that’s up to you.

Once everything is ready, mix it together in a large mixing bowl.

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Then, get out your tortillas and start rolling!

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Finally, wrap your burritos in saran wrap and throw them in the freezer.

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THAT’S IT. This batch gave me 14 burritos- almost three weeks worth of lunches!

To heat up in the microwave, simply remove the saran wrap and wrap the burrito in a paper towel. Cook 1-2 minutes per side, depending on your microwave power.

These can stay frozen up to three months, if you wish to plan that far in advance!

The best thing about these burritos? They’re delicious AND filling. Quinoa tends to be more filling than your average carb due to the fiber and iron content. I felt so much fuller after eating one of these than Lean Pockets. I didn’t even feel compelled to eat my usual snacks that I have with lunch.

I’d like to find a similar recipe for breakfast burritos. I could certainly use those for those mornings when I’m in a rush!

In the Spirit of Robin Williams, I Will Try to Bring More Joy Into the World

In the Spirit of Robin Williams, I Will Try to Bring More Joy Into the World

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I’ve been feeling angry lately. Some of it has to do with getting over a chronic cold and not being able to abide by my normal routine of working out, cooking food that isn’t crap, and being social.

But a lot of it also has to do with the fact that I’ve been spending too much time on Facebook. I scroll through my phone and sigh at depressing news headlines, read hateful comments with disgust, and sometimes offer my own color commentary. Commentary which typically reads like a mathematical equation of why I think so-and-so is an idiot.

There is so much hatred and divisiveness in our world. And I know I’m part of the problem.

This week, Robin Williams’ death was officially deemed a suicide.

When Robin died in August, it really affected me. I knew about Robin’s history with mental illness and addiction. And I always sympathized with him, because I also struggle with mental illness. Coincidentally, I am on the same depression medication that Robin was taking before he died.

When Robin died, I couldn’t help thinking, “Is there still hope for me? Will I eventually end up in the same boat? Despite all the medication and the various treatments, will it one day just be too much to take?”

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According to reports, it seems that Williams’ suicide could have been due to several factors: a combination of mental illness and a form of dementia that could cause hallucinations. There were no drugs or alcohol in his system. Just normal levels of anti-depressant medication and caffeine.

But that evening in August, I sat in our home office and sobbed uncontrollably, wondering if it was all hopeless. I watched the clip of Robin’s brilliant, Oscar-winning performance as Sean Maguire in Good Will Hunting and how expertly he cut Matt Damon’s character to the core with his character’s brutal honesty and life experiences. I could see Williams channel both the dark and light side of himself into that unforgettable character.

Then I saw someone share a clip from the movie Hook. It was the scene where one of the lost boys takes Robin’s face in his hands, examines it, pushes it into a smile, and declares, “Oh there you are, Peter!” The person who shared it said, “This scene kind of depicts what people like him suffering from mental illness need. Someone who sees who they really are and will stand on their side… no matter what.”

Oh man. That one really got me.

Tuesday was Veterans Day and my husband watched Black Hawk Down. After watching it, he said, “Man, that was sad. I could really use a happier Veterans Day movie.”

“What about Good Morning Vietnam? That’s kind of happy,” I offered.

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So we put it on. And as Robin belted his famous, “GOOD MORNING, VIETNAM!!!” and hammered through that brilliant first monologue, I became teary-eyed from both laughter and sadness. There he was, being Robin, dishing joke after joke and doing what he did best: making people smile and laugh. I know the movie is a work of fiction loosely based on a real person. But to think of it… his character’s antics boosted morale in what was the worst place on earth.

And that’s what Robin Williams did throughout his career. He boosted our morale through good times and bad. He took his pain and instead of letting it destroy him, he breathed joy and happiness into the world. He encouraged us to not take life so seriously. He inspired us to be kinder to each other.

I think that was part of Robin’s personal regimen for keeping his mental illness at bay. I know I’ve used humor myself to cope with depression and anxiety. Humor helps me forget. And if I can make someone else laugh in the process, that brings me joy. And it makes me feel like I have a purpose.

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But I know I haven’t been that person lately. And due to that, I’ve questioned my purpose.

Glenn Beck also made the news this week, with the revelation that he has suffered and undergone treatment for a neurological disorder.

While I feel sorry for Mr. Beck, I think he is an example of someone who has used his gifts to inspire more hatred and division in this world. I hope that changes. Maybe it will now that he is well. But time can only tell.

Robin suffered as well, but he used his gifts to bring people joy. And that’s not what killed him. I think that’s what kept him alive for 63 years.

This week I decided that I want to be more like Robin was. I want to try to bring people more joy instead of bringing them down. I want to stop arguing with people so much and dismissing them for ridiculous reasons. Instead, I want to make them laugh. I want to encourage them. I want that to be my legacy.

It’s worth it to at least try to leave the world a happier place than it was when you entered it. I’m going to try.

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The Last Letter Hemingway Wrote

The Last Letter Hemingway Wrote

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Ernest Hemingway is one of my favorite writers. History sometimes paints him as a jerk and a brute, which is completely true, but it’s also not true.

Hemingway was mentally ill and may have suffered from a combination of psychiatric disorders, including disorders possibly caused by traumatic brain injury near the end of his life.

I recently finished Hemingway’s Boat, a biography of Ernest Hemingway that covers most of his life. Author Paul Hendrickson centers the narrative around Ernest Hemingway’s beloved boat, Pilar, the only constant in Hemingway’s life; a life that included 4 marriages, countless broken friendships, and estranged familial relations.

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The book begins with (as far as we know) the last letter Hemingway wrote. When he wrote it, he was in the psychiatric ward of St. Mary’s Hospital at Mayo clinic. The letter was addressed to a nine-year-old boy in another hospital who was being treated for a congenital heart condition. The boy was the son of one of Hemingway’s friends.

Here is the letter (some grammatical errors kept intact).

Dear Fritz,

I was terribly sorry to hear this morning in a note from your father that you were laid up in Denver for a few days more and speed off this note to tell you how much I hope you’ll be feeling better.

It has been very hot and muggy here in Rochester but the last two days it has turned cool and lovely with the nights wonderful for sleeping. The country is beautiful around here and I’ve had a chance to see some wonderful country along the Mississippi where they used to drive the logs in the old lumbering days and the trails where the pioneers came north. Saw some good bass jumping in the river. I never knew anything about the upper Mississippi before and it is really a very beautiful country and there are plenty of pheasants and ducks in the fall.

But not as many as in Idaho and I hope we’ll both be back there shortly and can joke about our hospital experiences together.

Best always to you, old Timer from your good friend who misses you very much.

Mister) Papa.

Best to all the family. am feeling fine and very cheerful about things in general and hope to see you all soon.

Papa

Ernest Hemingway

The overall theme of the biography Hendrickson promotes is “Amid so much ruin, still the beauty.” It compels us to look at Hemingway’s troubled life through the lens of compassion.

The letter was the most touching part of the biography for me. Another part of the book that was really touching was an anecdote about Hemingway and one of his sons. Pauline, his second wife, demanded that Ernest spank one of his sons for acting out of line. Hemingway couldn’t bring himself to do it, likely because he was abused as a child. So he took his son into another room and told him to yell loudly as he hit the wall with a brush.

Hemingway could admittedly be a complete jackass, which Hendrickson doesn’t gloss over, but he was also incredibly sensitive. Fellow writer Gertrude Stein claimed this was the reason Ernest acted so macho. He was trying to hide his innate sensitivity, which he was taught to be ashamed of as a man living in the first half of the 20th century. This sensitivity was a filter to some of the greatest writing of our time.

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Hemingway’s Boat is a good read, but I only recommend it if you’re REALLY into Hemingway. Much of it is dry, going into so much nautical detail that it’s reminiscent of Moby Dick. But you’ll probably enjoy it if you’re a nautical person.

What I liked most about the book was that it was incredibly well-researched, it focused on Hemingway’s mental illness rather than his alcoholism (a result of mental illness in many people), and it made him more human to me. The thing I liked least about it is that it completely skips over Hemingway’s third marriage to Martha Gellhorn. But I assume that is for legal reasons. Gellhorn made it clear she did not want to be a footnote on Hemingway’s life.

I give the book an overall 3.5 out of 5 stars, mostly because it is not something I would recommend to everyone. Also, the narrative gets a little off track toward the end and focuses too much on Hemingway’s son Gigi rather than the man himself. However, Paul Hendrickson’s research is remarkable. I would give the book 5 stars if I graded solely on research.

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I Am Maria Von Trapp Singing Atop The Freaking Hills

I Am Maria Von Trapp Singing Atop The Freaking Hills

Today is the first day I’ve felt alive in at least two weeks.

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Being sick sucked, but I think about people undergoing chemo right now and believe I have nothing to complain about. I just had this terrible cold that wouldn’t go away. Above all, it made me dead tired, so I was essentially dragging myself to work then dragging myself home and going to bed.

I didn’t go to the gym at all, which screws with my self care for depression and anxiety. So I turned into a heinous bitch for the last couple of weeks who barely spoke to anybody and got pissed off at stupid things. Sorry everyone.

The thing that sucked the most was that I didn’t get to see my niece and nephew on Halloween. But I didn’t want to get them sick.

Anyway… I’m back now!

I didn’t get a chance to write much this week, but will have more to share next week.

I plan to start trying some new recipes and sharing them, since I am culinarily challenged. I am not your typical woman when it comes to cooking and baking. I just cannot even.

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I’m the lady who likes to order take out and drink on her couch.

But I need to do better! For my health and so I can have cool things to take to parties that aren’t store bought. The holidays are upon us, yo!

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What else?

Be sure to check out the Worst Episode Ever podcast. My husband is on the podcast, along with four of my good friends. It airs each Saturday at 1 p.m. (for the time being). You know your Saturday could use a few more laughs, so listen in and chat live with the guys.

I will now commence acting like a whirling dervish now that I’m no longer sick.

Leaving Him

Leaving Him

This is the final installment of my story about being in an abusive relationship as a teenager.

Here’s Part 1.

And here’s Part 2.

I’m sharing this because October is Domestic Violence Awareness Month, and this is an issue that affects so many. If you suspect abuse in your own relationship or that of a loved one, please call the National Domestic Violence Hotline at 1-800-799-7233. And please consider donating to an organization that supports victims and raises awareness. Thank you.

Leaving Him

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1/17/02.

I feel fine. Notice how my penmanship is completely normal right now.

Dick thinks I’m not fine. He thinks that I need to learn respect and what I believe in, etc. I need to find out who I am and what I want even though I’m like, 18 years old.

I’m afraid of him. I know he always apologizes and that he “really doesn’t mean it.” But this feeling I have inside just doesn’t sit right.

If my friends drove me home, I would have been fine. I wouldn’t have cried my eyes out, or gotten stuck in the middle of nowhere being yelled at. I wouldn’t have almost been killed going 110 miles an hour on the highway in a car where the passenger seat seat belt is broken.

No. None of that would have happened.

If you love me, then why do I fear you?

You said you would blame it on me if the car crashed. You said you would tell the police I turned the wheel because I was “drunk” (after three drinks over the course of three hours). You said you would make it look like my fault.

FUCK YOU.

1/18/02

Had a nice, long talk with Dick tonight… phew. It went very well. We covered a lot of topics that we needed to cover and decided to cool off for a little bit… because I really don’t know what I want and I need to figure it out… alone.

I do love Dick. I will always love him. But I’m not sure if we’re perfect for each other. We are so different in so many ways. So this is good. I feel a lot more relaxed right now.

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5/26/02.

It seems like every time I’m with Dick now we argue. I don’t know what keeps us together. I wish we had more in common. I wish it could work out better, but I’m just so afraid of life. Whereas he’s ready and set to go. What makes me so immature? I don’t know.

I want it to be fairy tale-ish. I want my parents to love him and for his parents to love me. I want to have someone who makes me laugh all of the time. I want it to feel new and exciting every day. I don’t want it to be predictable.

I want someone spontaneous and someone who doesn’t mind my spontaneity. I want someone not to tell me to quiet down when I feel angry or upset. I want to have the right to raise my voice. I want to have the right to make a scene, because what do I care what others think?

I want to be free to be different. I want to be and act like the person I am.

I want to have time to be with my friends alone. I don’t want to be afraid of offending Dick by some trivial action I make.

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9/8/02.

Today was a fun day. I just wish Dick and I didn’t argue so much. And I wish he didn’t leave me at Six Flags by myself, waiting for the last bus to Amherst at the end of the night.

But I guess I had more fun by myself. I waited in line for two hours to ride the Superman Ride of Steel. It was well worth the wait.

12/23/02.

Got into a big argument with Dick (once again) this afternoon and it wasn’t cool… apparently I’m a very difficult person to communicate with.

My friends understand me. At least my close friends. We don’t have to speak one word to express how we’re feeling. We just know how the other is feeling. It’s hard to describe.

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Life feels like such a movie lately… the constant struggle, the high stakes, the music playing in the background of my mind. I don’t know if I like it much, but it sure makes life interesting.

Christmas is almost here. I don’t deserve anything. I’m so awful. Dick is going to get me something nice like he always does, yet all I do is hurt him and bring him misery. I’m such a bastard. Sometimes I just want to punish myself.

7/9/03.

Went to Sebago Lake in Maine the weekend of June 28th. It would have been great if I was with anybody but Dick. I’m sure he felt the same way.

Went to the Cape with Robbie J. and Greg Squared for July 4th. Good times, good times. (Lotsa burgers… mmmmmmmm)

P.S. I met a guy who’s really cool and nice. Ohhhh Jesus.

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The Aftermath

That weekend at Sebago Lake was the last time I willingly saw Dick. I didn’t journal about it all, but that weekend he hurled literally every insult in the book at me. He was mad that I “got fat” at college (I only weighed 135 lbs. at that point), that I continued to wear clothing he didn’t like, that I didn’t have my life figured out yet, that I was disrespectful, you name it. I felt like complete shit. And I felt like I deserved every hateful word he spewed at me. Because he made me believe I deserved that.

I became so upset that I considered drowning myself in Sebago Lake.

Instead, I cried the entire day and begged Dick to take me home. He refused, but then agreed to do so early the next day. He treated me like I was being such a pain in the ass and disrespectful to our hosts.

When he dropped me off in front of my house, I told him to never contact me again. He continued trying. Luckily, I was two hours away from him when I returned to college in the Fall. He kept trying to call me, and my roommate kept taking the calls, telling him to never call again, and hanging up on him. He also showed up at my brother’s wedding, even though I didn’t invite him to be my date. He acted surprised when I told him he couldn’t come to the reception.

One day that Fall, I was visiting home and went out to a movie with friends. When I returned, my Dad told me Dick had called.

“Why?” I asked.

“He told me he’s engaged.”

“Oh. Why does he think I care?”

Dad shrugged. “He wanted you to call him back.” My Dad is such a nice guy that he likely spoke with Dick for a little while and congratulated him.

After that, he finally left me alone. I was lucky.

10 years later, Dick Facebook messaged me to apologize, because he ran into a mutual friend of ours. It was only then he realized that he had treated me poorly.

I accepted his apology, asserted that yes, he was abusive toward me, and essentially told him to have a nice life.

And I hope he does. I hope he has changed.

The happy ending to the story is that during that July 4th weekend I mentioned above, I began dating Greg, the amazing man who is now my husband.

Looking back, I’m thankful for the experience I had with Dick. If I could go back in time, I would still choose to be in a relationship with him. It taught me that I deserved better. And it led me to being with someone who is kind, caring, and accepts me for the person I am.

I’ll count that as a win.

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Fun With Dick and Jane

Fun With Dick and Jane

This is Part 2 of a series of throwback journals. Read Part 1.

Warning: Some mild sexual content (Don’t read this, Mum).

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4/8/01.

Fuck Dick. Fuck him for being so God damned obedient to scripture. Today he asked me if I “pleasure myself” and I said yes. How stupid can I be? I shouldn’t have even told him.

He started going off about how scripture says that it’s wrong and all. Well I don’t care. I don’t see the big deal. I’m not hurting anybody. Not even God.

SIN, SIN, FUCKING SIN. Everything to Dick is a sin.

He needs to loosen up. We went to a movie tonight and he kept trying to cover my eyes during the nudity. The movie showed only a little flesh. Not even significant parts. I just wanted to yell at him in the middle of the theater, “FUCKING STOP!”

Christ, I’m a big girl. I’ve seen a bunch of nude bodies in movies, paintings, and real life and I’m totally fucking over it. Looking at a body doesn’t even turn me on at all… it’s just a human body. It’s beautiful and all, but I’m not going to get all wet over it or anything. I simply see a human body as art. As a work of art by God.

Who is Dick to tell me what’s right and what’s wrong? I don’t know, but I can’t help but listen to him because I love him. My love makes me weak and therefore I barely argue with him. I just get depressed. Like I am right now.

I know he’s right. I know God’s right. But sometimes I don’t like what God likes. I can’t help it. Some rules were meant to not be abided by. I mean, why can’t God understand this?

4/19/01.

I’m so lonely. Nobody calls and I have practically nobody to call. Perhaps I’m exaggerating, but it seems like nobody likes me anymore. I’m so scared of losing everybody.

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1/1/2002. New Year’s Day.

My New Year’s Eve was depressing. Rebecca, Jenn, and Melissa didn’t invite me out with them because apparently I “don’t drink anymore, so [I] wouldn’t want to come.” I still drink, just not as much as I used to.

I don’t care. I just wanted to spend time with them. But they decided to not invite me out with them anyway. They’re so fake that they can’t even admit they dislike me. They’ll probably pretend everything is okay the next time they see me. Fucking cowards.

Then I got into an argument with Dick over this and he concluded that he was, quote, “Tired of [my] games. Bye.”

I cut myself a few times, took a few Sominex, and went to bed around 9:30. I didn’t care about the New Year. I didn’t care about watching the ball drop on TV. I didn’t care about eating Chinese food and staying up until midnight to ring 2002 in… I had nobody to experience it with anyway.

I hate everyone except my family. They’re the only ones who care. Not even God cares anymore.

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1/2/02.

I miss Dick. I want to call him, but I don’t know if I should because he’s the one who hung up on me. Therefore, he should call me back.

I have such a big pride issue. I feel like I will be giving in to some weakness I have for him and will therefore allow him to walk all over me. I don’t want that.

But I love him.

I think it is love. I imagine myself spending the rest of my life with him. I’m so scared that if I don’t spend the rest of my life with him then I won’t find anybody else and I’ll be lonely forever.

I don’t know what to do except cry. I don’t want to be alone. I’m so afraid to lose him. Will anybody ever love me like this again? Will I ever love again? What is love?

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1/7/02

Top Things That Are Bad About Dick:

  1. He’s pushy.
  2. More than half of my friends don’t like him and think I shouldn’t be with him.
  3. He doesn’t appreciate the things I appreciate.
  4. He criticizes me all the time.
  5. He has incredibly high expectations that I can’t live up to.
  6. He doesn’t know how to do anything domestic, such as laundry, ironing, or dishes.
  7. He can’t tolerate my mood swings.
  8. He thinks I’m trying to offend him when I wear something he doesn’t like.
  9. He has bad taste in movies and music.
  10. He doesn’t understand me.
  11. He is chauvinistic.
  12. His mother buys his clothes for him (he doesn’t know his own sizes).
  13. He drives crazy when he’s mad and won’t slow down when I ask him to.
  14. He gets mad over trivial things.
  15. He complains that I never call him, even though he knows I hate talking on the phone.
  16. He gets jealous easily.
  17. He thinks he should have more priority than my friends.
  18. I can’t act like myself around him.
  19. A lot of his friends are superficial, ignorant assholes.
  20. He gets mad when I don’t invite him out with my friends.
  21. He makes it a point to hang out with my friends without me, even though they’re MY friends.
  22. He gets horny and expects me to “take care of him,” because if I don’t, I don’t love him.
  23. He is trying to convince me to attend school somewhere nearby, even though I totally don’t want to.
  24. No one makes me feel as bad or guilty as he does.
  25. He can’t accept the fact that sometimes I have a bad day.
  26. He thinks I “can’t deal with life.”
  27. He’s arrogant.
  28. He thinks that just because a guy has a nice car and is attractive, he will have no problem getting a girlfriend.
  29. Whenever I tell him about another guy, the first two questions he asks are: “Is he bigger than me?” and “What kind of car does he drive?” Like it matters.
  30. He sees nothing wrong with women who dress like prostitutes, even though he wants me to dress appropriately for church.
  31. He thinks I’m “weird.”

Part 3 will be posted next Thursday, documenting when I made the best decision of my life: leaving Dick.

 

Super Talkie Mom and Why We’re Perfect for Each Other

Super Talkie Mom and Why We’re Perfect for Each Other

My husband Greg and I flew to Wichita last Thursday. Our friends Justin and Prema got married Saturday and Greg was in the wedding. The wedding was a lot of fun and we think Justin and Prema will be really happy together.

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We spent most of Thursday traveling. Greg is a great traveling and life companion. It’s strange how much our personalities have melded over the 11 years we’ve been together. We think alike. We often have the same thoughts at the same time.

For example, there was this lady on our flight to Wichita who I will deem Super Talkie Mom. She sat in front of us and actually greeted us as we made our way to our seats.

“Oh hey! You guys were on my last flight!” she smiled, holding her whatever-month-old in her lap. Like we were friends. I offered my best dynamite smile in return, along with a little wave, trying not to reveal my complete social awkwardness (I’m from Massachusetts. We don’t talk to strangers unless it’s absolutely necessary). Super Talkie Mom sat next to two men and proceeded to gab at them the entire flight. Mostly AT them, not necessarily with them.

And you know what? She was perfectly charming. Also very pretty. A real American Sweetheart type. I thought, having recently read and watched Gone Girl, “People would really give a shit if this woman disappeared like the woman in Gone Girl. Everyone would be absolutely torn up over it. Her face would be all over the news.”

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This would be the photo that would surface if I went missing, and absolutely no one would give a shit.

Her seatmates really liked her too. They chatted with her about her baby, swapped stories about their own kids, and enjoyed every last tidbit she shared throughout the entire flight.

But as soon as Super Talkie Mom shared her first story about how little Tommy no longer fit into a 4T and how he’s becoming more and more devious as well as curious lately, both Greg and I turned to each other, rolled our eyes, and just wanted her to shut the fuck up.

Why? Because we’re assholes.

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Yep.

We then learned that Super Talkie Mom HATES living in Kansas and made it very clear from the get-go that she’s from WYOMING, which is so much better. This offended Greg, who was raised in Kansas and knows that there’s fucking NOTHING in Wyoming.

One of the guys then sympathetically asked why Super Talkie Mom preferred Wyoming.

“Oh boy. So many reasons. It was just such a GREAT place to grow up. A lot of hunting, blah blah blah.” Then she told a lighthearted story about how her Dad missed her birthday party once because he was out hunting some big game or whatever. I made a display of rolling my eyes in her direction and then looking at Greg, and he rolled his eyes as well. I put in my ear buds at that point.

As we de-boarded the plane, Super Talkie Mom was shocked that her baby’s stroller wasn’t at the ready as soon as she got off the flight and asked the flight crew where it was. Once she received the stroller from the crew, she rolled it along without putting her toddler in it. The toddler walked along, rolling the stroller with her, and I was like, “why the hell was she making a big deal about the stroller in the first place if she isn’t even going to put her kid into it?”

Sometimes I feel like a psycho when I want to shove a sock in the mouth of someone like Super Talkie Mom. And I realize it’s a me problem that I want to punch Super Talkie Mom in the face for no real reason. But then I share that with Greg, and he gets it. Completely.

And I smile and laugh with him about the lady we find obnoxious and I don’t feel so crazy.

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Introducing Dick, The Asshole

Introducing Dick, The Asshole

It’s October and I’m frankly tired of pink. It’s so overdone and I don’t think wearing pink really honors or helps breast cancer fighters. But that’s just cynical, awful me.

October is also Domestic Violence Awareness Month. The official color for the month is purple. I really would prefer the NFL ditch the pink gloves and make a monumental donation to the issue that so recently shamed them and continues to trouble them.

stop the violence

Domestic violence month is important to me. I’ve known more women affected by domestic and dating violence than breast cancer (but that doesn’t mean one issue is important than the other). I also personally knew a young woman whose life was stolen by an ex-boyfriend with a gun.

I was in an abusive relationship myself at one point. It became mildly physical only a couple of times. I was really lucky. Most of the relationship consisted of emotional and verbal abuse.

And you know what? I verbally and emotionally abused him too, in response to his consistent insults and controlling behavior. Because I thought, at 18 years old, that is what couples do. Couples fight. They don’t agree all the time. That mindset made it really difficult for me to recognize that what I was experiencing was abusive behavior.

Fortunately, I was able to leave the relationship without much consequence and I didn’t end up marrying him.

My favorite organizations that support domestic and dating violence victims are:

The Shannon Lee Meara Foundation – educating high school students about dating and domestic violence
The National Coalition Against Domestic Violence
New Hampshire Coalition for Domestic and Sexual Violence

Please donate if you can.  Here’s part 1 of my story.

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This is how I met Dick* The Asshole.

*name changed so he can’t sue me.

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Wednesday, 3/7/01 12:34 a.m.

I met someone. I met someone who is really nice and actually smells good, too. (I broke up with my last boyfriend because he had terrible hygiene. True story.) He might have a personality also… but I will have to get to know him a little better before I decide on that one.

His name is Dick. He is an average male height with black hair and mysterious brown eyes. He has a sly smile and a passive walk. He doesn’t stick out. He tries to blend in and not be noticed.

Yesterday we played pool. I thought I was okay at it, simply out of practice, until he taught me how to actually shoot. He kept criticizing my every move. I almost wanted to go somewhere and cry, but I held my own. His advice and constructive criticism were helpful. He said, “It doesn’t matter if you get the ball in, as long as you have a good shot.”

“I feel the same way,” I said. “I usually only play pool just to feel myself hitting the ball.”

“Me too,” he said. “I don’t really care about the game itself.”

He won all three games. But I suppose I’m just a beginner.

Then we went to dinner. We talked about religion and found that we have the same beliefs. We are both Christian. He was so excited that we have the same beliefs. I’m happy too, but even though I believe in God, I’m not that religious. That is, I don’t let religion take over my entire life. Perhaps I’m a hypocrite. I don’t know. But Dick is definitely one of those people where religion is like, his life.

Oh well. Maybe he can lead me closer to God. But yeah… we talked about religion and stuff and he is really, really nice. He paid for dinner and opened doors and all.

I am hopeful. Perhaps this will lead to something good.

Thursday, 3/15/01 7:55 a.m.

I don’t really know where to start. I was talking to Dick last night and we began talking about how some of our friends and family are going to hell because they don’t serve God and that we need to help them change.

This is what I hate most about my religion… changing everybody and realizing that a lot of people I know are going to hell. I can’t stand it. It makes me want to cast away my beliefs, reject everything that’s true and go to hell with them.

I got angry at Dick because he told me I need to lessen my association with my best friends because they are going to lead me into temptation. He said that I needed to tell them that they’re all wrong because they don’t believe in God. I got so angry… I told him I had to go. He wouldn’t let me go. He wouldn’t let me go…

He wanted to know what was wrong with me. I began to cry, saying it was too hard to be a Christian. That I couldn’t do it. That I just want it all to be easy again.

I am going to be hated by most everybody I know… and I don’t want that. I cried out of love for my friends, my family, and Dick. Even though he was making this so difficult and trying to make me speak through my tears, I loved him. He was trying to do something good for me. He was trying to encourage me. He said that he only wanted the best for me and didn’t want to see me fall into sin because I’m such a great person.

I cried and cried, but I loved him. His words encouraged me and made me feel so much better.

He said that no matter what, he and I would always be friends. Even if it doesn’t work out relationship-wise. He said he would always be there for me, day or night. He would be near me in a second if something went wrong.

I cried so much, and I think it was because I was angry, but weak with my love for him. I was totally helpless. I knew he was right.

Alewife Station, 5:30 p.m.

Alewife Station, 5:30 p.m.

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Danny McCormick looked down at the bloodstained tracks at Alewife Station. The police cleaned up as much as they could. You couldn’t tell anything happened there unless you really looked, unless you remembered where you left her.

Danny remembered. He remembered the awful, deafening screech of the train’s brakes. He remembered the screams. He remembered running down the stairs.

He used what was left on his Charlie Card to walk her to the track. To make sure she was all right. Then he left her there.

He left her there.

The last thing she said was, “I’m gonna make things right.” There was a certainty in her overflowing blue eyes, shining with the reflection of the subway station’s lights.

Andrea was making strides in her recovery. At the 4:00 meeting she received a coin commemorating her 60 days of sobriety.

“It’s been the hahdest thing I ever done, but I’ll do anything to get Sydney back,” she paused, wiping tears away.

Whenever a woman at the meeting didn’t have a ride, Danny walked her to the T to make sure she got there safely. There was safety in numbers at the T station. Even though Danny hated crowds, he knew people were safer in one.

Danny touched Andrea’s shoulder. “Yahalready makin’ things right. I’ll see ya at the Tuesday meetin’. You have my numbah, right?”

She nodded. “Thanks Danny.”

No… that was the last thing she said.

Thanks Danny.

As he stared at the tracks, his eyes welled up with tears. He eyed the red “Danger – Third Rail” sign posted above them. He clenched his teeth.

Was that the last thing she said?

“No problem. Take ceah,” Danny said, turning around to leave the station. He almost forgot that it was rush hour. He knew the station would get busy when the next train came, unloading thousands of commuters getting off from work in Boston. Danny wanted to beat the crowds out of the station.

As he reached the top of the stairs the thunder of the arriving train filled the station. This was a sound Danny was so familiar with. He was also accustomed to the soft screech of the train’s brakes. Loud sounds made him nervous, but the sounds of the T became everyday sounds that fell into the background of his life.

But then the screech grew louder and didn’t stop. Danny immediately clenched his teeth because of the sound. Then he heard the screams.

He turned and ran back down the stairs. He couldn’t see her. He saw mothers covering their children’s eyes. He saw old men pointing down at the rails. Then the wide-eyed college students, speechless, covering their mouths in shock.

“Call 911! There’s a woman under the train!” A young man in a suit dialed frantically on his iPhone.

No.

No.

No.

He left her there.

Thanks Danny.

Working at the Newspaper

Working at the Newspaper

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6/13/07. 11:46

I am eating my lunch outside today, even though it’s a bit humid and cloudy. I have been going to lunch at different places in town or eating outside lately because the break room is so unpleasant. Same goes with the entire building- it smells like ass, there are cracks in the ceiling, and I think I might be breathing in mold. (Side note: black mold was later found in the building and had to be removed).

The building, in general, smells like old water damage (kind of a musty smell), body odor, and shit. Why would anybody want to eat their lunch in this kind of environment? It’s gross and can ruin your appetite.

6/15/07. 16:46

Today was all right. Writing down police reports is so boring and such a pain in the ass! The police department here sucks and they are too lazy and stupid to make copies for us. Instead, we have to sit there for hours copying shit down by hand. What a waste of time. I’ve only done it for two days and I’m sick of it already.

My boss thinks he’s hilarious. Yesterday he called PBS “The Communist Channel” and implied that women are raped and kidnapped because they wear revealing clothing. AWESOME.

He’s such a fucking idiot.

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6/18/07 17:42

I partially tore apart this beautiful journal today, and I feel awful about it.

What happened was I was covering the circus set-up this morning and I had absolutely no paper to write on- nothing! We ran out of reporter’s notebooks at work and the new ones hadn’t come in yet. I was a nervous wreck this morning because I was supposed to take pictures of the circus set-up, then run to some antique shops to interview their owners for some stupid Summer Fun Tab story. I hate tabs so much. They’re full of stories that just pander to the local businesses.

One antique shop owner was a complete BITCH to me today and almost made me cry. Apparently, two ads that she ran in our paper were wrong somehow and she felt like taking it out on me. I don’t make the ads. I have hardly anything to do with them anymore. FUCK OFF.

I felt like quitting today.

I also had no batteries for my recorder, which was great, plus the newspaper doesn’t supply them. All they supply are the reporter’s notebooks. I have to buy my own pens, tape recorder, batteries, and gas (they only reimburse 20 cents per mile, which is pathetic and makes it not even worth it to turn mileage sheets in). (Side note: the newspaper regularly disregarded labor laws, including not paying workers for overtime. This happened very often and I was regarded as a problem when I refused to work overtime without being paid.)

If I had my choice, I would have stayed and covered the circus all day. There were oodles of people to talk to and there was so much going on.

I can honestly say that I hate my job, but I don’t know what else to do.

I hate it! My editor is a sexist, homophobic idiot and everyone in the newsroom has this awful, defeatist attitude that I can relate to now. I don’t want to relate to it. The whole place is so fucking depressing!

The entire town seems to have that defeatist attitude as well. I wish they would wake up and smell the damn coffee.

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