CHEDDAR
During my senior year of college, I noticed that I was peeing all of the time. Like, all of the time - upwards of 20 times a day. I couldn't sleep through the night without getting up to pee, and having to go up and down a lofted bed made it a whole ordeal. I drink a lot of water so I thought that was why, but something seemed amiss. I went to the doctor to get a check-up for my summer job and mentioned my issue. He sent me to a urologist, who sent me to get an ultrasound. It came back abnormal, so off to outpatient surgery I went.
To make a very long story short, it turned out there were cysts in my bladder. And they weren't even paying rent to live in there! The doctors had never seen anything like it before, which made me very special, but also made me very scared. When I woke up from the anesthesia I was crying because of how freaked out I was. I couldn't really see, so I can't picture this part very well, but one of the nurses gave me a bag of cheez-its to eat post-surgery, either because I asked for them or she intuited it because nurses are SAINTS, but then I started crying more because my mouth was so dry that I couldn't eat the cheez-its. It was a rough day.
I was talking to my parents on the phone last night, and I started the conversation with a cheerful statement: people are terrible and girls are growing up with habitual predators literally everywhere. Everywhere! I knew this before the Harvey Weinstein news hit, as did every other woman on the planet, but now that we're openly acknowledging and condemning sexual assault, it feels simultaneously better and worse. Better, because people (ahem, men) are finally, FINALLY listening and believing, but worse, because, well, after seeing man after man after man whom I admired be accused of sexual assault, the little faith I had in humanity is pretty much shot. Bye forever, grain of hope. It was nice hosting you for a while.
I do some bat mitzvah tutoring on the side, and lately I've been thinking about how to empower girls of all ages in a realistic way. When Hilary Clinton lost the election, it was a major fuck you to the idea that a girl can grow up to be anything she wants. She can try, but if a man, regardless of his qualifications, is vying for that same position, she's screwed. So what is there to do?
Whole Foods has unreal prepared foods. It should be known that this post is the opposite of sponsored - we spend so much money there (silly millenials!). But seriously, they make killer food . One of my absolute favorite things used to be their take on a torta, a Mexican sandwich that's kind of like a choose-your-own-adventure book, but edible. Their torta was vegetarian, with cheese, veggies and a killer chipotle sauce. I say it used to be one of my favorite things on the menu because they no longer sell it at their sandwich counter. Trés tragique, I know.
Anyway, it fell upon me to re-create the sandwich of my dreams, so I decided to do some research on this hefty sandwich. I am a food nerd, through and through.
Yesterday, I found out that one of my kickball team's favorite bars closed. It was a pretty tragic revelation for our whole group, to be honest. We had spent many evenings there - from rained-out kickball games to Saturday night skee-ball matches - and, despite the beer towers and stronger-than-words Moscow Mules, we always returned for one thing - the soft pretzels.
Now, these pretzels were hardly what you're thinking - they didn't come from a heated glass box, spinning on a mindless rotisserie, drying out by the minute. No, these pretzels bigger than your head, fluffy and flavorful, full of thick, bread-like texture and accompanied by an out-of-this-world honey mustard dipping sauce. Exactly what you need before (or after!) a night of drinking with great friends.
My partner and I run on completely opposite schedules. I wake up at around 7:00 each morning to get ready for work and ease into my day, while he stays burritoed for a few more hours. By the time I get home from work, anywhere from 7:15 to 9:00 or later, he’s already well on his way to a gig. Once he’s home, I’m the burritoed one.
Now that we live together we see each other a bit more than we used to, but not by much. What to do? Stuff a week’s worth of dates into one Sunday. Normal!