Hard Work, Fire Tacos, and a Small Town

Day three on the mountain was productive, and tiring. But in a good way. We cleared half an acre of land for  green houses, and cut and split firewood. I helped for a couple of hours, and then I hurt my wrist when I was carrying a fallen tree trunk with one of my friends Casey, and he dropped his side of the log suddenly, and my wrist bent the wrong direction. Luckily it was just  minor sprain, and I can still type, but my wrist swelled up, and looked pretty scary for a couple of hours.

Spanish rice, and taco meat cooking over the fire.
I almost set myself on fire twice.

Since I couldn't work for a while, I was put in charge of  making dinner. We didn't have much except beans, rice, pasta, and bread, because we made the mistake of letting the men shop, so I decided to drive into town and get the ingredients for tacos. Cusick is a tiny town in eastern Washington. I don't mean small like say, Savannah Georgia, but small as in there's only one church, and only one school. There is one gas station, and a tiny little library. The police department consists of one sheriff, and three deputies.
I pulled up to the town general store, which is also the town gas station, and you should have seen the looks on their faces when I stepped out of the farm truck with my burgundy hair and red lipstick. Everyone was surprised, but extremely friendly and warm. The elderly lady behind the counter smiled, and asked me if she could help me find anything, but since there were only four tiny immaculate aisles, I said no thank you, and proceeded into the store.
I'm glad I decided on tacos, because more than half of the store consisted of Mexican food. There were so many different types of hot sauce, and they all had names like, Hogs Inferno, Coonskin Revenge, and Slap Yo' Mama. I have never heard of half of them. There was everything I needed except for ground beef, so I bought some frozen hamburger patties. I grabbed an 18 pack of Kokanee beer, and headed up to the counter. The cashier eyed my stuff, smiled, and asked me if I was sure I got enough hot sauce. I told her yes, nodding sincerely when she looked skepyical,  paid, and headed back up to the mountain.
Cooking tacos over the fire was certainly a process, since I could only fit two pans safely over the fire, and I had to stir everything with a blackened stick. I burned myself almost twenty times before I was finished, but I succeeded, and they actually turned out pretty good. We all torched our mouths with Slap Yo' Mama hot sauce, and drank Kokanee, and had a night of tacos, beer, and weed. I

laughed so much that night, my abs felt  like I had done an Insanity work out the next morning.
This is turning out to be one of the best trips I've ever taken.
C'est La Vie.
Viva La Vida.
And Fuck The System.
Peace.
Signed, Esther Dolezal ♪♫

The Squid Incident

As I have mentioned before, I grew up in a pretty messed up family. And by messed up, I don't necessarily mean dysfunctional (we were that too), but just plain strange. My parents had the weirdest palette, enjoying things that should have never been yanked out of nature and slapped onto a plate. I have no problem with hunters, even though I never felt it was my calling. But seriously, when your mother sets a plate of skunk in front of you at the dinner table, something isn't normal. My mother used to cook all kinds of strange creatures, and when we moved from the US to Cape Town, South Africa, things just got worse. I'm not saying that my mom couldn't cook, in fact she was a wonderful cook. But when it comes to pickled field mice, I don't think there is any possible way to make it taste anything but plain nasty.
In Africa, people eat a lot of things that most Americans would run screaming from. For instance, horse milk, and camel meat. My parents, however, seemed to take the strange food as a challenge. My mother seemed determined to cook and eat every single creature that roamed the Motherland. Including every creature that swam the seas.
I'm serious. You haven't experience life until you've had to gag down a whale tongue steak. I've had to eat everything from rat meat to horse milk. But nothing compared to the time my mother cooked squid. My mother was a wonderful cook, but her methods of making food were a little lacking. In summary, she cooked everything in a cast iron skillet. Steak, pizza, antelope, you name it.
My older brother was the only one who actually enjoyed trying all the unusual foods, and one day down at a local Green Market near Somerset Beach in Cape Town, he found a tank filled with live squid, and begged my mom to make it for us. Of course she accepted the challenge.
And so she heated up her cast iron frying pan, slapped the still squirming squid inside, and proceeded to heat it into a slimy gelatinous mess of tentacles and suckers. I won't even begin to describe the smell that filled the kitchen. It tasted like burned watermelon, with a hint of vomit. It was then that I decided that I needed to learn to cook, because I was sure that I was going to shrivel up and turn into something horrible if I continued to consume the strange food my mother created.
I can say, that I can not stand most seafood now.
I will spare you all the image of the squid.
I can guarantee you do not want to see it.

C'est La Vie.
Viva La Vida.
And Fuck the System.
Peace.
Signed, hot_tunes♪♫

Life and Spaghetti

Life is like a plate of spaghetti.  You spend all this time trying to figure out the twists and turns, all the tangles and knots of the noodles, and every once in a while you find a meatball. And it’s delicious, good times- times when the perfect opportunity presents itself just for you. When the sun is shining, the sky is blue, and the noodles are coated with the perfect mixture of butter, garlic, oregano, and basil. When you bite down on the meatball and it’s even more flavorful than you expected. But then it’s gone and you have to tackle the noodles and hard times once again. During those difficult noodle struggles it’s easy to just give up; drop your fork, stick your face in and just slurp. But then, whether or not you find a meatball, you end up in a stickier, messier situation then you were in the first place.

It’s hard to stay positive through those times.  To remind yourself that there is a meatball, a good time, an opportunity, around the next bend. This is the predicament I often find myself in; trying to keep my head up even though I know that it’s going to take me several turns to locate my meatball. Knowing that no matter whether or not I put down my fork, the chances that I’m going to find an opportunity are slim. Sometimes, I forget what it even felt like to taste a good moment.  Sometimes, I feel like the only thing left to do is to set down my fork and throw the entire plate of spaghetti in the trash. Give up completely, abandon the entire meal, and never pick up a fork again. Those are the times when even the delicious flavor of the noodles and spices cannot distract me from the fact that my life has become a hopeless tangle of knots and dead ends.

 But then I tell myself that, yes, even though these times are difficult, and it seems like there’s nothing else I can do, I’ve made it through situations just as tough and tangled as this one, and there’s no reason why I can’t do the same again. That even though my meatball may be countless noodles away, there is no reason why I can’t enjoy a forkful of perfectly coiled up flavorful spaghetti. I can make something good out of these tough times. They are a good opportunity for me to learn how to handle the kinks that are sure to come in the future. Those knots help me to realize that life is not all meatballs and good times (Honestly if it was, it would be really boring).

Through the noodles of life, sometimes it feels like I’m the only one struggling; like I’m the only one who hasn’t found a meatball. But no matter how much I feel that to be true, I know it’s not. That is a very selfish outlook on life, yet unfortunately it’s one I choose to view time and time again. Even looking outside my bedroom door, I see people who have spent years and years searching for their meatball; sometimes even managing to touch it with the tip of their fork before it rolls back into the twists and turns once again leaving nothing but a sense of hopelessness and frustration. These are the people who, if they were like me, would throw down their fork, and never pick it up again. But instead, again and again, they set aside the search for their meatball, in order to help others find theirs. Selflessly, they bear the knots in silence, in order to loosen the tangles in the plates of others. They help me realize that even though it might be tough at times, I love life. Life is beautiful. Life is ugly. Life is happiness. Life is pain. Why should that mean it’s not worth living?  Even though it can be difficult to eat, who doesn’t enjoy a plate of spaghetti?

 

Life is like a plate of spaghetti. It can be good. It can be bad. There are those instances when you want to dance around singing in a horrible fake Italian accent because you just tasted the perfect combination of sauce, spices, and noodles. Times where you feel things couldn’t get any better, and you’re truly happy. Then there are those times when a snarl you never expected throws itself in your path, and you want to give up and throw the entire dish down the disposal. But that’s the great thing about life. It’s a mystery. It is full of the unexpected.  It’s neither all good, nor all bad. It just is.

My Strange Addiction

Many people have addictions, whether they know it or not. Very common ones are their cell phones, coffee, or their job. I, however, have an incurable addiction to lemonade. Yes, lemonade. Something about the sweet, tangy, sour flavor of lemonade is completely irresistible to me. It's like it speaks to me. If I see a pitcher of lemonade anywhere in the near vicinity, there is almost nothing that can stop me from running over snatching up the nearest empty glass, and filling it to the brim. My addiction goes even further than that. I love things that taste like lemonade, no matter how remotely. For instance lemon drops, lemon meringue pie, even lemon Jello. If it has any sort of lemon flavoring in it, I'm your girl. My addiction is so intense that I even love lemon scented cleaner. I mean I don't know anyone who doesn't enjoy a crisp, cool, glass of lemonade on a hot summers day, but I'm so far gone that I'll choose frozen lemonade over hot chocolate in the dead of winter. Now every time I mention this, I get very strange looks, but you have not lived until you have had a steaming mug of hot lemonade. It's the perfect thing to satisfy you on a cold winter day, or the to sip as you sit and watch the rain on a chilly spring evening.

I don't simply limit myself to frozen lemonade concentrate, or bottles of Simply Lemonade in the store aisles. I consider myself a connoisseur of lemonade. Every summer when I have the time, I spend hours juicing lemons, and slicing up different fruits to create the perfect flavor of lemonade. I've spent so much time making lemonade that my family once attempted an intervention to weaken my infatuation with it. They removed all of my lemons from the refrigerator, and all of the frozen concentrate from the freezer. They hid my favorite lemonade glass, and filled the fridge with soda and fruit juice. I was Horrified! All of my sweet, lemony beverages were gone! They even went so far as to hide my stash of lemon flavored sweets from me! All my lemon drops, all my lemon chiffon cupcakes, all my raspberry lemonade Jolly Ranchers! Oh the Monstrosity! I hardly knew what to do with myself. Waking up in the morning, instead of a rich slice of lemon pound cake, I had to settle with boring coffee cake. Instead of that ice cold glass of lemonade after my morning jog, I had to settle for apple juice. Even my lemon flavored toothpaste was replaced with generic Aquafresh. No more lemon meringue pie. No more lemon sorbet. I was forced to eat regular boring food, and use Orange scented cleaners (Awful stuff). The lemon pepper disappeared from the spice cabinet so I was unable to make my favorite, lemon cashew chicken. Now I know all this sounds ridiculous, but something about lemons is just awesome to me. Eventually, due to my midnight shopping trips to buy more lemonade when everyone was asleep, my family realized that they would never truly be able to cure me of my obsession with lemons. Things slowly returned to normal. Fresh lemons reappeared in the fruit drawer of the refrigerator. Lemon extract returned to the spice cabinet. Lemon sweets once again inhabited my desk drawer, and I resumed my search for the perfect flavor of lemonade.
Through the years, My infatuation with lemons has diminished some, but my quest for the perfect cup of lemonade continues. Since I have been at college, my lemonade antics have been limited to consuming bottles of Calypso, and Simply Lemonade. My friends think I'm crazy; they can't comprehend how someone when offered a sweet minty mojito, would turn it down for a can of  Minute Maid. Even I don't fully understand my obsession with the beverage or when it started. I remember when I was little, and someone would pour me a cup of lemonade telling me to hold it carefully with both hands. After taking a sip, I would shudder and hand it back, saying it was "too sour" and could I "please have some juice instead?" I don't know at which point in my life, the smell of lemons became so intoxicting. It makes no sense to me how one little fruit can be so wonderfully addictive; I guess I'll never know. My love for lemonade goes deeper thatn just the occaisonal glassful by the poolside; quite frankly I'm glad my addiction is lemonade, not meth.
Because I love you all so much, I am going to share with you one of my top secret recipies; the Strawberry Lemonita.

You'll need:
3 cups sugar
5 cups water, divided
6 to 8 lemons (about one cup of lemon juice)
Ice
1 cup of fresh strawberries
1 cup tequila (optional)

1. Combine sugar and 3 cups of the water in a small saucepan and bring to a gentle simmer over low heat. Once sugar is completely dissolved, remove from heat to cool.
2. Juice the lemmons in to the sugar water syrup once it is cool.
3. Puree the strawberries in a blender, or chop very finely and crush with a fork.
4. Combine all ingredients in a pitcher. Chill and serve over ice.
5. Enjoy

C'est La Vie.

Viva La Vida.

And Fuck the System.

Peace.

Signed, hot_tunes♪♫

Candy, And What It Says About You

I have a theory about people. Its based on their favorite type of candy.
For instance, if you simply love Bubble Gum, you're fun loving, and a generally cheerful person. You tend to get along well with others, and you make friends easily. Bubble gum chewers, however, can tend to be annoying, though they never intend to be. They can be a little too chipper at the wrong moment, and sometimes can be unable to really relate to a person who's down. Bubble gum chewers can also tend to be arrogant and snobby, liked by only a few people, and quite content to remain so. They tend not to be openminded about things, and they look down on people who are different from them. Also they do not  deal well with change, and they are rather self-centered. Bubble gum chewers often get along well with Lollypop Lovers. People who just love to suck on lollypops are generally fun loving, like bubble gum chewers. They are usually the best kissers, and they are the most romantic. Want a steamy relationship? Ask out a girl with a lollypop in her mouth. Lollypop lovers love to be close to people, but it takes them a while to truly trust people. Lollypop eaters tend to be cheery like bubblegum eaters, but they tend to be able to relate to people better. They also tend to be creative, and are the most fashionable. But people who love lollypops usually live in their own little world, blissfully oblivious to what's going on around them in the world.  Though they get along well with bubble gum eaters, they usually disagree with those that eat Jelly Beans. Jelly Bean eaters are usually generous and open minded. They love many things and many people. They tend to be silly, colorful, and unpredictable. The only thing that is truly sure about them is that they are having fun. Even when they're not having fun, they are thinking of ways to make the situation more fun. There are many sides to their personality. One people think they know them, Jelly Bean eaters surprise them with something new.  They tend to be a bit experimental with their lifestyle. They are not judgmental, and they always try to keep an open mind. They love new experiences, and are the most adventurous.  They like change, and are always ready to
move on to the next step in their lives.  Jelly bean lovers also strongly feel that Jelly Beans are not only limited to Easter, and become strongly irked when someone suggests otherwise.
A very broad and difficult to translate type of candy is Chocolate. Chocolate is usually associated with women, but as I know plenty of men who cannot resist a mouthful of chocolate, here is my theory about it.
If you like Milk Chocolate, there's a sort of innocence about you that many people love. You are very nostalgic, and you tend to live very much in the past. You also are the most sensuous, and love to cuddle  and  are the best listeners. You tend to be fun loving, but sometimes, you hide your love of fun in an attempt to fit in, or seem more professional.  If Dark Chocolate is your favorite, you are a problem solver. You are visionary and imaginative; if it involves creativity, you can do it easily. You have a love for worldly things, but can be materialistic at times. You make good leaders, but sometimes you struggle to get people to listen to you. Dark Chocolate lovers are very passionate, and are usually the best in bed. Even though they both love chocolate, Dark Chocolate eaters very often disagree with Bitter  Chocolate eaters. People who like Bitter Chocolate are connoisseurs, and are very critical about almost everything in life. They are authoritative, and well respected by many. They tend to micro manage others, and pressure people into doing what they want. They are determined and unwavering and often inflexible and stubborn. They do not like to be told what to do, and they absolutely hate not being in charge. They are often alone, and make very few but lasting friendships. They are almost the exact opposite of people who like White Chocolate. White chocolate lovers are the eternal peace keepers. They try to be honest and fair with everyone, and in everything they do. They try to keep options open, and they rarely close any doors. They are always open to a new opinion or point of view, and are the best at understanding new ideas. They can also be indecisive. They keep so many doors open that it can become difficult for them to close the right one when the time presents itself. They are usually very submissive, and follow orders well. And lastly my take on people who like Any Chocolate, So Long As It's Chocolate.  These people are the social butterflies. They are always hip, and always in style, and they are well liked by others. They are flexible, and know how to roll with the punches. No matter  how surprising a situation is, they can always take things in stride, and they rarely get worked up about anything.

Chocolate is a very broad range of personalities and people. My theory is most likely not completely accurate, and is based on the different types of people I have come across during my life. I don't think there is truly an accurate analysis of chocolate, because there are so many different types of truffles, flavors, and fillings. An easier personality to analyze is Gummy Bears. If you love Gummy Bears, you are a total goofball. You can't help but be silly most of the time. In your opinion, life is way to short to be taken seriously. You love playing pranks and telling jokes, and you live to make others laugh. You're the type that was most likely the class clown in middle school, and you are the type to play with your food before you eat it. You have a short attention span, and are very easily distracted. Your eye can't help but be drawn to colorful bolt things. You are a kid at heart, and you're drawn toward anything fun. You love sweets, and though Gummy Bears are your favorite, that won't stop you from eating as much candy as you can.
There are tons of other candies to analyze, and tons of personalities, that can be judged from them. But these are my most complete analyses. Tell me what you think, and which sweets I should do next!
C'est La Vie.
Viva La Vida.
And Fuck the System.
Peace.
Signed, hot_tunes