Little Angeleno's Open Salon Blog

The Emotional Eater

Sun, 8 Aug 2010 21:08:28 -0400

They say that the road to recovery begins with the first step: acceptance. The funny thing about being in a new relationship after being single for a long period of time is how much it teaches you about yourself and what a bad person you could potentially be. When I was single, one of my favorite stupid and reckless things that I used to enjoy doing to blow off steam was to go to a bar downtown, knock back a few whiskey's and entertain my girl friends by picking a fight with a guy twice my size. I was an incredibly stupid single girl with a bad temper and probably a drinking problem. I stopped drinking as regularly a while ago, but my temper hasn't completely gone away, nor has my love of drunk and disorderly behavior. I would have never realized how badly I need to deal with both if I hadn't started dating someone seriously.

I'm learning that part of being in a relationship is being able to accept the responsibility you have for the other person's feelings, especially when a fight erupts. I wouldn't say that my boyfriend and I fight. I would say that we are discovering the things about each other that annoy us to the point of distraction. The first time this happened, I exacerbated the situation by acting like a feral cat going into fight or flight mode. The claws came out and I attempted to give him a vicious tongue lashing, followed by a sleepless night, and then an afternoon of vodka and orange juice. I do not recommend this course of action if you are expecting your lover to apologize to you, which is what he would have done had I not gotten so drunk I found myself puking well into the night. I take full responsibility for that one, and believe me, I learned many lessons; the most obvious one being that I'm definitely too old to be drinking that much.

Now, instead of saying mean things and getting drunk when these moments come up, I've focused on cooking. My emotional palate looks a lot like the homeland security advisory system. At the more peaceful, non-threatened end of the spectrum, I make a lot of miso soups with seaweed and tofu, or salads with avocados and cucumbers. The other night, the boyfriend and I had a misunderstanding, leading to frustrated feelings, which could have very well resulted in another vodka-induced outburst, but I decided to control myself and headed to my grocery store instead. I was in high alert mode: I needed to eat red. As red as I could possibly get. I bought some blood red beets and wanted to just set them on fire.

Broiled Beets

Ingredients:

as many beets as you want, sliced 1/4 inches each
4 cloves of garlic, chopped
drizzle of olive oil

Directions:

Fire up the broiler
Toss the beets, oil & garlic together in a broiling pan
Broil the beets until tender, about 10 minutes, but keep an eye on them.
Enjoy!

I also wanted to try the beet greens. I'd heard they were bitter, so I wanted to make some sort of sautéed bitter greens dish.

Beet Greens

Ingredients:

stalks and leaves of the beets, chopped into smaller, edible pieces.
1 small onion
1 clove garlic
1 drizzle of olive oil

Directions:

Blanch the greens in a boiling pot of salted water for 10 minutes, until the stalks are tender.
Drain the greens and press until they are dry.
Sauté the garlic and onions with the oil in a skillet until the onions are transparent.
Add the blanched beet leaves and sauté.
Enjoy!

I served the beets on top of wild rice, and also a Red Machine Naked Smoothie with additional omega-3s, and afterwards, felt very satisfied. I saw the boyfriend a few days later, and he more than made up for whatever it was I was annoyed with by treating me to a Saturday morning round of Frolf (or disc golf, as he likes to call it). We were back to being adorably happy together, chasing after frisbees and squirrels on the Frolf course, the left over beets sitting cool in the fridge.

Love Me For My Nom!

Fri, 6 Aug 2010 20:08:43 -0400

My boyfriend suffers from seriously heinous food allergies. On top of that, he's vegan. No yeast, no wheat, no corn, no blueberries, no cheese, no eggs, no poultry, no meat, no oranges or citric acid for that matter, and the list goes on and on. I, on the other hand, am utterly in love with food. I love the sensation of different flavors dancing on my tongue from all over the foodie spectrum. Balsalmic vinegar strawberry gelato? Yes please! Roquefort cheese? Mmm, of course. Brazillian garlic steak? Yes! Yes! Orgasm in my mouth! For a moment he thought he was allergic to garlic, which would have justâ€¨ended our relationship right then and there, but we managed to checkâ€¨that one off the list without injury.

I wondered how we'd be able to get along, considering I've got a stomach made of steel and his trembles at the sight of rye bread. The compromise of dinner has actually become a fun part of the new routines we've been establishing as a couple. We take trips together to our local natural food store and dissect every ingredient on every box, veering away from the bakery and deli. Instead of being a thorn in my side, I find his particularities more and more endearing every day, each allergy presenting itself with another challenge.

Being that this relationship is still relatively new, I'm eager to surprise him with a delicious new meal. Maybe it seems a bit antiquated to express my affection for him in such a domestic way. Lord knows his idea of cooking is rice a roni with fried tofu with Braggs Aminos; just thinking of him eating the same dish night after night just curdles my tongue… hurts my soul… makes me sad. The only way I'll be happy is if he eats my cooking and likes it.

The first dinner I ever cooked for him was one that I'll never forget. I'd asked him to send me the list of things he couldn't eat, and then brought the list with me to the grocery store. I delicately picked out my ingredients, triple checked my list, went to two different stores and when I got home, put on some Sade and got down to business. I was so nervous and excited to introduce him to my kitchen, my culinary world.
That night, I made Stuffed Portobello Mushrooms. I broiled the 'shrooms, but you can also grill them and they'd be delectable for a stomach as sensitive as my man's.â€¨â€¨

Ingredients
   1.   4 portobello mushrooms, stems removed
   2.   1 cup chopped FRESH herbs of your choice (I prefer rosemary, oregano&thyme)
   3.   1 cup uncooked wild rice
   4.   olive oil
   5.   2 cloves garlic, chopped
   6.   1 small onion, chopped
   7.   salt&pepper to taste

Directions
   1.   Cook your rice in a rice steamer. You'll want to add a little more water than usual so that the rice flowers.
   2.   Chop the herbs.
   3.   Brown the garlic and sauté the onions in olive oil until the onions are transparent.
   4.   When the rice has finished cooking, stir in the garlic, onions and herbs. Set to the side.
   5.   Fire up the broiler or the BBQ. Prepare your mushrooms, drizzle each with a bit of olive oil, and sprinkle with salt and pepper.
   6.   Broil or grill the mushroom caps until the meat of the shroom is tender, like a nice steak (about 15 minutes, just keep your eye on them)
   7.   When mushrooms are done, fill the center of the mushroom where the stem had been removed with a mound of the rice mixture.
   8.   Enjoy!

I served these with a fruit salad and mixed vegetables.

He loved the meal, and furthermore, I didn't kill him! We sat on my lawn and had a nice candlelit dinner on a warm summer night, the smell of earthy mushrooms and fresh herbs mingling with the cut grass and evening dew. The night was a success and marked a real beginning for the first relationship that I'd had in a very long time, and with someone who seemed to be my complete opposite. From our bellies to our hearts, we're very different, but I'm hoping that we'll find a middle ground somewhere in more than just the kitchen.

Also located on my YoTango.com Blog.

Check Back With Me In Five Years

Thu, 24 Jun 2010 13:06:26 -0400

I'm sitting in a bedroom in my grandmother's house in Hawaii the morning before my flight back to Los Angeles. It's about 7 am here. There are sounds of snoring and morning news permeating the atmosphere. Even though it's cool, the humidity is making my hair stick to my neck. I don't want to go back. That's the child in me who doesn't want to go to school. I don't want to do the work it takes to survive in the city. I want to play and frollick and be young and hip. I'm tired of every resume I send out being met with silence. I don't want to be poor and unemployed anymore.

Yes, I'm still unemployed. I came home to celebrate my grandma's birthday and also to clear my head. That's the thing about money, especially when you don't have it. It's a cancer that never really goes away. Even if I had money I'd still be worrying about it. Probably not as much though.

I'm in a waiting period of my life. I applied to grad school and I'm waiting to hear if I got in or not. It's a program I'm very excited about and getting in would mean that I know what I'm doing for the next two years. That's stability! So I'm just waiting.

I should probably tell the guy that I'm seeing that this is the absolute worst time to get to know me. I'm scared and broke and I'm not doing the best job of taking care of myself. I'm very glad that he's in my life, though. Whenever I break down and freak out, he tells me, "This is only temporary." And then he tells me that I'm a stone fox and then I feel better.

I recently gave some advice to a friend of mine, advice that I'm apparently unwilling to take myself. She told me that she doesn't want to continue with the bad habits that have become patterns in her life. I told her that she should imagine her ideal self five years from now. Five years because that's still realistic and attainable, but an improvement on the current situation. I told her to imagine and describe specifically how she saw herself in five years, what she looked like, what she's doing, where she is, and if that is her ideal self, what small steps can she take to work towards that. It made her feel a lot better.

Inspired by the wisdom that my current situation is temporary, I'm going to take my own advice.

Me at 31

It's 10:30am PST, June 24 of 2015, and I imagine myself pregnant. I'm newly married, and I'm working right up until the moment my labor pains start. I see myself in my own small and beautiful office in downtown LA, where I'm talking on the phone to vendors, other non-profit organizations and philanthropists. I'm discovering the newest, most exciting artists and musicians in the city and building relationships with them and their managers in hopes of supporting them and their community. I have a wooden desk, an Apple laptop, a plant for my office and I'm surrounded by art and sunlight.

My hair is still long, but very nicely maintained. I have bangs. I'm still not wearing much make up, and there are a few smile lines appearing around my eyes. My maternity dress is from some cute, bohemian boutique in Los Feliz or Silverlake. I'm wearing comfortable flats, a shawl and long earrings.

At 6pm I lock my office door and head outside, and I walk to my apartment a few buildings down. I nod at the passersby, the people walking their dogs, the businesspeople, the artists, the homeless men and women. I take the elevator up to my loft apartment, where I live with my husband and our dog (an English Bulldog). My husband has just come back from walking her, and I set about making us dinner and straightening the house.

We are a young couple, and very much in love. Although we'd prefer to stay home and rub my growing belly, I have to attend a networking event of some sort, and he is a great date. I'm meeting a lot of very important people in the world of politics and social change, and maintaining my relationships with my friends in entertainment.

At around 10pm, I'm starting to feel very tired and my husband takes us home. We fall into our queen featherdown mattress and he talks to our baby in my belly until I go to sleep. I'm not worried. I'm happy. My business is growing and although the future is still mysterious, I know that I'm doing good in the world. I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be.

Wingman: The 26 Year Old Babysitter's Club vol. 2

Tue, 30 Mar 2010 16:03:14 -0400

I do a lot of things for my buddy with the gallery. I shred papers for him, I book bands, I make phone calls to creditors, I schedule meetings, I clean and I cook. I call him my boss, even though he's always been my friend first. He's been helping me out in my time of unemployment by giving me something to do and paying for some of my bills as a reward. I guess you could call it a job. There is only one thing I told him I wouldn't do. I would not be scheduling his dates for him. That is where I draw the line. I didn't realize how diabolical my boss is though. How calculating and plotting. Because that sucker found a loop hole. For some reason, he thought that I'd be a fantastic wingman, and he was determined to take my wingman skills out for a test drive.

Boss: Guess what time it is!

Me: Time for me to find a final band for the April 21 show?

Boss: Nope! Time to score some points with the ladies!

Me: Haha! Well, have fun with that. Where are you gonna meet ladies at this hour?

Boss: What are you talking about! It's like Prime O'Clock at the coffee shop!

Me: Seriously?

Boss: Come on. Lets go to get some coffee. I need to talk to you about some stuff that needs to be taken care of for the non-profit lawyer.

Me: Oh this is work-related? OK.

So I just thought the whole "scoring points with the ladies" thing was a joke. I thought that we were actually going to talk about the gallery's non-profit status. That's how clever he is! If he tricks me into thinking that he's joking about the whole Love Quest, he can drag me into whatever plot he's plotting and I won't have any control over the situation.

We hop in his truck and he drives us down to a little coffeeshop in Los Feliz. On the drive over, there are a few things mentioned about the gallery. We're batting around some ideas, I reiterate the challenges we're facing. It feels like a productive conversation. Upon arrival at the coffee shop, my boss buys a cup of coffee and immediately starts hitting on the prettiest girl in the place. I stare slack jawed for a second, but then I sit down on a couch with my notebook and roll my eyes. I can't escape now: he drove and all of my stuff is at his office. I just wait.

Boss: Let's go.

Me: Done? Already?

Boss: You think she was into me?

Me: Um. I guess? She seemed to be laughing at your jokes a lot.

Boss: You think she thought I was attractive?

Me: Why wouldn't she?

Boss: You think she thought I was awkward?

Me: I don't know, man! Did she give you her number?

Boss: I didn't ask.

Me: What? Why? You seemed into her.

Boss: Meh. I'm just getting warmed up. Come on. Let's go to this bookstore.

We walk to the bookstore next door and I'm getting anxious. What kind of annoying situation is he going to drag me into now? My boss buys a book. The trip to the bookstore ends without incident. But the afternoon isn't over. We still have to walk past people on the sidewalk, and 50% of those people are likely to be women, which means that the possibilities are endless.

We walk past a cafe and my boss sees a woman sitting alone with a laptop at a table. Without warning, he veers off the sidewalk and starts talking to her. He sits down at her table and I don't even know what to do. The only thing I can do is start texting people about my ridiculous situation and try not to cringe when my boss says something completely inappropriate.

Boss: You're here by yourself, huh?

Girl: Yep. Aren't you ignoring your friend over there?

Boss: Oh yeah. Hey, have a seat here next to me.

Me: (rolling my eyes) Thanks Buddy.

Boss: Don't worry about my friend. She works for me.

Girl: Huh?

Boss: So. What are you into?

Girl: Excuse me?

Boss: What have you got going on there with your laptop? You writing?

Girl: Well... I was trying to get some work done.

Boss: What are you working on?

Girl: Am I a part of some kind of experiment or something?

Me: I have no idea.

Boss: We're just talkin. I mean think about it. You and I never existed to each other before this moment. And look, now we do.

Girl: Now we do...

Me: (roll my eyes)

Waitress: I'm sorry to interrupt. Would you like to order something?

Boss: I'll have a pink flamingo.

Waitress: Certainly. And you miss?

Me: Oh I'm fine.

Boss: Let me get your number.

Girl: No.

Boss: What?

Girl: I never give it out. Ever.

Boss: That has never happened to me before. Ever.

At this point, the woman sitting at the table next to us bursts out in a little giggle and hides her face. She's about as baffled as I am. I just have to wait it out. Because the waittress still has to bring that pink flamingo he ordered, he still has to pay for it, and this poor girl has to endure my boss hitting on her, and me staring at him hoping that this stupid adventure will end.

But it doesn't. On our walk back to the car, Bossman tells me to hang a right. And I fall for it. Because guess what's just around the corner? Two chicks having lunch at a table outside of a diner. And guess what! They've got a dog! It's like someone was just setting all of this up for him and making it so easy. He sits down next to these girls, pets the dog and I have to sit at the table behind him and wait. Again, the girls mention the fact that he's ignoring me.

Boss: Oh, that's just my friend! We're having fun! Are you having fun?

Me: Can I go to the coffee shop down the street?

Girl 1: Did you just ask his permission?

Boss: She works for me.

Me: Yep. I'm gonna go.

Boss: OK. See ya. Hey, let me have one of those chicken wings.

So I go back to the coffee shop and wait for my boss to finish doing whatever the FUCK he's doing. And the cute girl is still sitting there. When he finally comes back, my boss finally grows the balls to talk to her again, and he gets her number. And I can finally get back to work. The work that doesn't involve me getting suckered into being my boss's wingman.

I know this seems horribly inappropriate, painful, and just plain annoying, but you have to understand that I wouldn't be friends with this person if he wasn't exactly the way he is. Crazy and all. Part of the adventure that is my life right now is taking care of this very frustrating person and observing how he interacts with the rest of the world. Fabulous and creative people are kind of like that in some way: frustrating, crazy, socially adventurous/retarded. They make it fun to be around them. The next time he tells me to go to coffee with him though, I just have to remember to drive myself. I'm onto his tricks now!

Oh My God, Am I A Cougar?

Sat, 27 Mar 2010 11:03:12 -0400

On of my favorite Twitter celebrities is Ken Jeong, star of The Hangover and Community, and a few days ago, he kept tweeting with the hashtag "whothefuckisjustinbeiber." And I realized that I had no idea. So I began to Google. I guess he's the 16 year old kid that sings Never Let You Go, and... I'm not gonna lie... I had been shouting Baby, Baby, Baby Ooooooh! along with the car radio without realizing who the singer was. That's when I came upon this youtube video and the one that inspired it.

My mind must have been overcome with inspiration because later that evening, I went to bed and dreamt that Justin Beiber was in love with me. So desperately in love with me that he was brought to tears. I had to tell him that I was too old for him, that he should meet someone his own age. He threw himself prostrate before me and cried out, "Noooooo! You can't do this to me! I love youuuuuuu!"

I woke up thinking, "Well. That was probably the creepiest dream you've have in a long time, Self. I hope that doesn't mean you're a cougar."

Grocery shopping the other day, there was this guy and his buddy walking towards me down the refrigerated aisle. For a split second I thought to myself, "He might be cute," and I checked him out. It was a SPLIT second when I realized that he probably wasn't of legal drinking age. I think I heard him pop his bubble gum as he passed by.

I'm a creepy old woman! At 26, you can't be a cougar. At 26 you're a pedophile. I feel so dirty.

So I guess I'll be staring at pictures of a weathered old George Clooney for the next few days trying to imagine the two of us in compromising positions. Who doesn't find old George Clooney sexually appealing? Not this girl. This girl is all about George Clooney. Yessiree, Bob. LOVE older men.