charlatan psychic

J recently bought a cookbook that focuses more on fuelling athletic performance. The authors cook for professional cycling teams, so they know about cooking on the fly, cooking for hungry guys, and cooking for maintaining athletic performance. The recipes in the book are some they have used on the road. They hope to give athletes the means to eat healthy on their own. I actually sat down and read through the introduction and explanation sections before delving into the recipes. The book?   The Feed Zone Cookbook, by Biju Thomas and Allen Lim . J had found one recipe online to try, a simple chicken fried rice. We modified it a bit (something they encourage) by using brown rice instead of white, and adding carrots to the mixed veggies, instead of just corn and peas. It’s delicious. I love it. This week, J is gone for work and I have cleaned up the leftovers from the fridge. With meals running low, I flipped through the cookbook and found one of my favorite Indian dish...

A long time ago, in a land far, far away….. I created a cleaningschedule . Seriously. Me. I made a little monthly calendar and had household chores for me to do each weekday. I put that little calendar in a plastic sheet protector on my fridge and marked off the chores as I did them. It actually helped me keep my house a little neater than it was. Then I moved, and moved, and moved again. I need to do that all over. I don’t seem to have saved a copy of that cleaning schedule, but guess what? I blogged it!! So I can take the old schedule, tweak it to fit the needs of my new house and home, and get organized. (ha! Me? Organized?) I gotta make this happen. I will be working here. OH hey! Guess what! I got a job! I haven’t blogged. I know, bad blogger. I am only working part time, which means keeping my house clean shouldn’t be a struggle, right? I mean really, how much mess can 2 people make? I suppose, since it’s been so long since I posted, I owe you all an ...

I haven’t blogged much here. But then again, we all know I’m a bad blogger. But now I’m getting ready to move again, and it’s time to think about my (short) time here in Maryland. For starters, I’ve been spending every Monday with my BFF, Misty. She works from home 3 days a week, so I watch the girls while she works. It’s mucho fun. I love getting to spend time with her, and I’m bonding with my goddaughters. I usually take Rem with me, and he loves having a yard to hang out in. My whole health and fitness thing hasn’t gone all that well. Getting a new tattoo meant a few days off while I healed, then I had a swollen ankle, then I got Hand, Foot, and Mouth from my darling goddaughter. But I feel like I’m starting to get back in the swing of things. In fact, in the few months I’ve been here, I’m able to use heavier weights on some of the moves J and I do on weight days. My bench press started with 10 pound dumbbells and now I can do 20s! (We don’t have barbells at our fitness ce...

Girls are supposed to grow up and become their mothers, right? Not me. I’m becoming my dad. I play with kids and animals the way he does. I make up my own words like he does. I find myself using nicknames for my nieces and nephews that he used to use with me. And I make silly sounds for little kids just like he still does. I have his sense of humor, and his DGAF attitude. My dad has a shoe collection, mostly work boots. My shoe collection is mostly running shoes. I once compared signatures on driver’s licenses: mine, dad’s, and grandpa’s (dad’s dad). They were all very similar. My dad has a tendency to just set things down wherever is handy. I do the same thing. I’m working on that, trying to assign a place for things and put them in that place. My dad can walk past something 10 times without seeing it. We used to leave his presents sitting on the table, unwrapped. We’d wrap them just in time to give him his gift, and he would be surprised. No clue it had ...

I have to get something off my chest, and this won’t sit well with quite a few of my acquaintances and even some friends. However, it’s something I’ve thought long and hard about, and I think some of you will agree. I am not a mom.   Having pets does not make me a mom. I admit, I refer to myself as “mommy” and J as “daddy” when talking to my pets. I am willing to call myself a pet-parent, but I cannot equate that to being a mom of human children. So often these days, especially around Mother’s Day, you see everyone sending special well-wishes to pet-moms and saying, “You’re a mom, too, just with four-legged, furry kids!” They try to say that I’m just as much a mom as all those who’ve grown and birthed a human child, that I deserve to celebrate motherhood as well. Well, I disagree. I am not a mom. I did not go through pregnancy (the thought of which scares the shit out of me, honestly), I did not give birth. Yes, I adopted my pets from a shelter, but let’s be hones...