I really want to post recipes with stories - pair things we've made with a few things we've done (all relatively legal). Gather 'round the camp fire ya'll cause here we go.



I'm not entirely sure whose idea it was to have Caleb tattoo us - meanwhile it was his own birthday and he was the one who did all of the giving. As far as experience goes though, does his own leg count? Because that's what we were working with that night, and his talent and ability to inflict pain upon all of us. I should admit that these weren't normal tattoos, 'prison tats' or 'stick and pokes' if you will - it's the same idea as any other tattoo but without the continuous and less painful motion of a tattoo gun.

You dip the single needle in tattoo ink aaaaaaaaand stab yourself. Then again. And again. And however many pricks it takes. And you pretend it doesn’t hurt that bad and that this was a brilliant idea from the start because all your friends are sitting on the couch next to you in sheer, slightly drunken delight waiting their turn and you’re struggling to blink tears out of your eyes. UGH. There’s a slice of pizza on my arm now though so, I’m over it (sorry mom).


I like to make easy, picky, appetizer type food when everyone is over so BBQ CHICKEN ROLLS

YAY.

You need one or two things of pre-made pizza dough, cubes of cooked chicken (buy it already made or do it yourself) bbq sauce, cheddar cheese and whatever else you think tastes good. Sometimes I'll put peppers and onions too, depending on what doesn't have mold on it in my fridge or what kind of mood I'm in.

Preheat the oven for whatever temperature the pack of pizza dough calls for blah blah, spread out the pizza dough on a cookie sheet and slab everything on top. Make sure it's nice and even because you're going to roll it up into a big fat mess. Once you're done decorating the dough, start from the bottom and roll up - into a long cylinder type thing.  Go nice and slow - make sure the dough doesn't break and everything doesn't spill out on the floor for Cous to eat. Now slice it horizontally, about an inch thick. When you lay it flat onto the cookie sheet it'll look like a cinnamon bun.

Spread them out, throw them in the oven for 7-8 minutes until they look good and done. Cool.


Unfortunately I don't have any pictures of these, I'll have to make them again soon. So here's Cous eating candy corn instead.

I always planned on writing this, an ode to what was, what will never again be.

Lately I've come to terms with how I attach myself to everything...people, stray and unwanted animals, pints of Ben & Jerry's, fish named Beyonce, apartments - 1357 was our kingdom. Our safe haven from reality, our escape from destiny and authoritative figures with badges and shiny shoes. A dusty, unmopped gathering of mistakes and occasionally, learning. I didn't think I would miss it, given the brick walls in our new palace but I'm having a hard time feeling like myself without it. Somedays I feel as though my soul is stuck there with my 3 years younger self that didn't owe money to the government.

Every expired condiment spewed out of the fridge when you opened the door, we only ever had cold pizza on hand, guests showed no boundaries, and every day another piece of cabinet and/or ceiling hit the floor. It was our first real home, our own place to discover how harsh reality was. A place to make our own mistakes, a place of shelter when we were truly lost and a place to discover ourselves when the time finally felt right (....still waiting).

Honestly the place needed to be burned down. You couldn't stretch one arm out in the bathroom, I ruined the wall with gallons of red paint and it was only a matter of time until the rats staked their claim. Friends came and went, tradegy occasionally struck and happiness flowed as free as the beer. But whether you partied with us, slept on our roof, tumbled down our stairs or made dinner with us, 1357 was once a home for you too. Raise a glass with me as I finally it let go. TEARSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS.

I can barely figure out what to make for breakfast let alone plan my future. A New Years resolution? Forget about it. You see, I'm not the type to give up on them, I just don't even make them. I change my mind so much in one second, what's the damn point?

But this year, this year has been oh so different. It's barely May and it has already been the best and the worst year of my life. It has been the year of promising to get every little piece of my life together, on my own terms - as usual. Even the cat and dog are enjoying better days.

1357 IS NO MORE. CUE THE SAD AND HAPPY TEARS. I'm sure you've seen the pictures or heard about it from my mother but I am now the tenant of the most beautiful apartment. Ever. And yes, wow, we finally moved. Karlos and I have literally been talking about it, dreaming about it, having nightmares about it, for over a year now. But picture this - no more mold, no more cabinets that fall apart at the most delicate touch, no more leaking ceiling, no more leaking toilet, no more cat and dog vs. mice, no more nasty neighbor, and goodbye Stanley the kinda friendly ghost. I already miss my people though, the guys at the corner store and the local crack head, CD, with his worldly advice and gut-wrentching jail stories. I spent over 2 years in that forsaken place. I miss the memories the most though, the good and the really really bad. We all managed to grow up there, even those of us who didn't live there. Part of my soul will always be lost behind that door.

BUT, WELCOME 98. And hello natural sun light! And brand new appliances! And central heat and air! And 2 bathrooms! And 3 bedrooms! And a video intercom! And getting to buzz people in! And brick walls! And higher rent! And a brand new view! And classy exposed ceiling beams! And nice woods floors! And people that are still sketchy as fuck (I've already had the local private detectives knocking on my door)!





Moving was awful, terrible, more than terrible. Packing and packing, and throwing shit away and more packing, and lifting and falling and dropping and lifting and breaking and stairs and stairs and stairs and ouch my legs and stairs (we're still not classy - or rich - enough for an elevator). But thank you, Aaron especially, for driving the uHaul and doing more heavy lifting than me. And everyone else for your moral and physical support.


I can literally stretch both my arms out in my kitchen and spin in a zig-zag of circles - that was my test when we went apartment hunting, if I couldn't spin in it I couldn't live in it. I've been slacking on this project though - but with good reason. Between the birthday celebrating (a full week of Karlos enjoying 21), the searching, the packing, the moving, the working, the sleeping, the money hoarding, the taxes, the shopping, the living, the returning of game of thrones, the coffee drinking and the drinking drinking..what do you expect? But trust me, there has been a great deal of action in the kitchen. Now that we finally have our gas turned on (again, fuck moving), the kitchen has been splattered with bits of random sauces, bacon grease, and smears of cheesecake. But, it's about to get real. More real than it's ever been because now all my gadgets and world conquering devices fit in my kitchen!



All in all it's been great. Come visit. We have a liquor store directly across the street. Which is next to Crown Fried Chicken, which, doesn't usually close till 4am. How great does that sound? HA.

I keep reminding myself that no matter how stressful this has been, or how overworked we've all been , or how busy we are, or how much sleep I can't catch up on or no matter how much money the government is demanding from my sad, dried out and completely shriveled bank account, good things are still coming. I get to be poor and tired in a beautiful apartment, so really, I'm always winning.

And summer is coming!

And we're going to Canada!

And I just chopped all my hair off!

Really, I'm great.

PS - how great is our new view?


And here's Cous, enjoying his new bachelor pad, as expected..

You'll never catch me in an apron, but in sequins? Probably.

Just a small glimpse as to what the past month and a half has looked like.. (9ft christmas tree not pictured and yes, Karlos is under there).

I've been thinking a lot about who I would dedicate the book to - if and/or when this becomes one - because you're supposed to dedicate it to someone, right? At least that's what they tell me. It's that sentimental first page where there is a quote that's way too serious and a loving declaration to the person you supposedly owe your life to. My friends are already in it so screw you guys I've had enough with writing about all of you. Just kidding, not really, but really - I think it'll go out to Joey.

He's the man who taught me what it's really like to feel love, to be loved and to love in return. If you spent any minimal amount of time with the gigantor you knew how proud he was of his family, especially his grandchildren. We were like his grand prizes for successfully conquering his life. I mean, c'mon, you couldn't catch him talking about anything else.

Growing up I heard so many stories and harsh examples about how he wasn't the easiest or even the best father but with us he had a chance to start over. We were fortunate enough to never have to witness that side of him, and I'm thankful my mom never really told us the gory details to salvage our image of him.

I swear you could tell whenever he arrived to anyone's house -  you could already feel his happiness radiating from outside, from down the street even. His doofey smile as he struggled to get those long legs and weak lungs up the stairs. He would always be so anxious to come and greet us all. "Poppy's here" he would like to announce, as if we couldn't already feel him towering over us. He'd yell at you for coffee at some point, and hug you and kiss you and call you the wrong name. And beg you to tell him all the bad things you really do in the 'big city' and "I bet it's scary living by yourself" because it "can't be safe for my beautiful grand daughter, Lauren, I mean Paula, Olivia, Jill.....Julia, JULIE. What the hell is your name?" That doesn't even tell you much about him, but I'm too greedy about my memories with him to share them all with you. Maybe that'll be my next book.

What kind of 80 year old can you confide in about your tattoos before your own mother - that's who Joey was (sorry mom). And if you had the opportunity to meet him you know what I'm saying, and you know how fortunate you are. He touched so many of us with his greatness and he left behind such a legacy, such a name for us to live up to. How could I dedicate it to anyone else?




I swear this blog will get up and running within the next two weeks or so. We're planning a friendsgiving, post thanksgiving, prechristmas pajama party and feast. If you show up without pajamas on Cous will escort you to the street. Bryan (the funny one) is bringing the coquito, Caleb said something about pie (challenge accepted), Pilar will pull through for Steph and Chels, depending on what time they get there, and rumor has it I have to make a turkey. It's going to be the most cultured, spanish and anglo-saxon-white-privilege day fiasco you ever did see. Here's hoping we're even lucid enough to document it, that shit is toxic (coquito I mean, and probably our cooking).