This job takes up 8 hours of my day. 9-5. Every weekday. That’s great and all but it’s killing my sleeping time. Before I was employed, I slept until 10 or 10:30. Now, I have to get up at 6 am to run four blocks to my car in the icy cold Milwaukee air and drive to the gym and workout for over an hour then drive to my friend’s house to take a shower and pretty-fy myself and then I have to run to Alterra or The Roast for my morning latte. At least I can afford my espresso addiction now.

I can’t make coffee at my friend’s house because my friends are still sleeping and their coffee maker makes a repetitive noise that sounds as loud as a fog horn and the LAST thing I want to do is tick off my sleeping friends when they let me use their shower, electricity and internet for FREE. To justify my latte costs I could claim that what I spend on coffee is payment for mooching off of my friends. I like it. I’ll go with it.

Budgeting.

I’ve heard of it. I’ve read about it. I’ve ignored it.

It’s been great. A few pennies here. A few pennies there. No. Big. Deal.

Until last week.

I received my Student Loan Payment information in the mail.

Great.

That was sarcasm, I hope you caught on. To say the least, I owe a lot of money. To understate my loan amount, I owe almost double the average of student loan debt. Woop-dee-do. Ready for more sarcasm? Because here it comes. I’ve never been more excited in my life to pay the government and private banks almost twice what I borrowed over the next 14 years. $500 a month isn’t nearly enough for me to show my gratitude to these large corporations and government programs.

In my free time (which I have a lot of) at my new job, I made a fun chart for the next two months to help me track my money. I’m dorkishly excited about seeing where my money goes and what I can make cutbacks on. After analyzing all my income and outcome, I’ve come to the conclusion that I spend way too much. Ok, so it’s not that much. Including EVERYTHING I do (groceries, coffee, gas, bars, shopping, etc) I spend about $600. FYI. I drive a lot. Since I don’t really have a permanent residence I’m on the road for a couple of hours a day. Gas money is killing my budget (coffee is as well but that’s my life blood so I’m not going to speak about it in a negative light). At a minimum, I now need $1,100 a month. I’ll be making more than that but my goal is to spend all of my savings on my loans so I only have to worry about them for the next 5 years, not 14.

I’ve decided to put more time into my novel. I love the characters I’ve been creating and playing around with. It’s time to follow my plot line and finish this book! Of course that is much easier said than done. Sometimes when I’m writing (or reading back over my literature), I’m in my attic (technically my residence is in this attic) and I end up scaring myself because my book is a thriller.

Last night I decided I need to make more money than I had originally planned because if my boyfriend moves back in with his parents (for extra cash for his endeavors) I need a place to live that he can visit. Otherwise, I’m never going to see him and that just isn’t going to work for me. He does not know of my secret plan yet. I haven’t told anyone my secret plan yet. That’s why I call it my ‘Secret Plan.’ I plan on enticing him to basically move in but not really because he’s not going to pay for anything and he doesn’t get a drawer. Well. Maybe a drawer. Half a drawer. If he begs. Or says Please. He can have refrigerator space. I’ll give him that much.

To end this looooong but wonderful blooooog (hahaha pronouced ‘bloog) post, I will tell you my two favorite words.

Kinky.
Eyeball.

Have a Super Awesome day.

Sand Eye View

One more glass of white wine and I’ll be able
To call you up and tell you I miss you
One more hour to wait before I’m too drunk to care
If you tell me I’m not worth it

I haven’t heard from you in four days four nights
That would be ok if you weren’t mine
But you asked I said yes so where did you go
I’m starting to doubt if you’re worth it

One more glass of white wine and I’ll be able
To fall asleep when you don’t reply
Just one simple conversation is all we need to have
To make or break and see if we’re worth it

I haven’t heard from you in four days four nights
Ninety-six hours of no sleep and day dreams
Don’t make me cry don’t tell me lies
Because I’m worth more

-SV

The Orange Rose

Sometimes, I have a bad day. People around me are cranky and suddenly I’m considering all the negatives in my life and before I realize what’s happening I’m more bitter than sweet. Some of the disappointments of yesterday are reminiscent in my mind but I plan on a grand day.

It’s usually saddening when someone has no desire to do the simple things you want to do. Being together is the substance that matters.

A grand day always begins with espresso. I spent hours on the Pottery Barn website. I now find myself discovering job opportunities all over the country. I’m excited. The state of mind I am in isn’t letting anyone, anything, get in the way.

What else makes a grand day? Spending time with a best friend from high school. Watching Midnight in Paris. Reading Kerouac. Eating a cupcake. Taking a hot shower, using soap. Smelling the rose your significant other bought for you even if he isn’t on your happy list at the moment. Daydreaming about growing up, growing old and growing wise.

One day I'll return to Spain

Out In The Middle

Autumn is coming. I’d like to admit the wonderment has already struck earth in the Midwest but according to the official calendar of weather, it hasn’t. I cannot wait to pick apples back home at Ski-Hi. The weekend the locally famous corn maze opens I’m grabbing my boyfriend and driving two hours to Lodi.

Today the weather felt like fall. The air smelled like thick sugar and rotting leaves-a strange comparison but you get the point. Winter coats may be closer than I anticipate so I’m going to enjoy this crisp turn on the weather while I may.

I’m on the search for a “real job” and not having a lot of luck. Not only am I selective in what I’ll apply for, but there’s also this rumor that the economy is in poor condition. Recently, I sent my resume and cover letter to three different companies. I didn’t get the gig in Verona. I’m waiting to hear from the one in Minneapolis and I’m patiently waiting until next Monday when I shall call the one in Waukesha. It’s funny when I apply for a job and the company specifically says, “Do not call to follow up.”

This is a photograph taken of a place I’ve fantastically nicknamed Windsor Lane. It holds personal and sentimental meaning to me. I also love the framing and angles.

Windsor Lane

Thank you for reading bloggers. Have a wonderful day.

Why Haven’t I Heard from You:

Now, I shall finish with a short poem:

I sit and I wonder what goes through his head
Why does he not speak back after what I’ve said?
After all he is the one who started it all
And caused a hurricane in which I was destined to fall.

As if I don’t matter and am never on your mind
I’m not one to beg or to wander lost behind
The rest of the world, my friends, our life
This life, the one we created with blood and strife

On his list of priorities where am I considered?
The last of my wishes is to be his life’s hinder
Questioning his apologies I grow angry
I’m too hurt to say it’s ok with legitimacy

People look funny when they type on a tablet.

I suddenly want to use my computer screen as a touch screen. I’ve clearly been using my boyfriend’s HTC Android something or other thingamajig too often.

Microsoft Word accepted “thingamajig” as a legit vocabulary term. My day has been made.

I wonder what it means when he talks to everyone but me even though I’m the one who belongs in all those conversations. It’s as though no one hears me because his ears are all that matter in the end.

Sometimes I get an overwhelming urge to put a tattoo of an anchor on my foot.

I have chicken stuck in my fake tooth. And no, I’m not trying to save it for later.

One time, a friend of mine was boasting about, “Never spending more than $250 on a purse.” I kept my jaw from falling as I thought about how I’d never spent more than $25 on a purse.

I could really use $250 right about now. Hell, I could use $25.

Watching an old sci-fi flick this morning, I noticed that the gadgets people predicted for the future are so out of date.

I’m going to be genuinely bummed when my computer dies.

Why does everybody put everyone into a category?

Maybe, one day, I’ll be secure enough in this relationship to ask, “What the hell?” and then get the truth that I deserve.

I wonder how much he remembers from when he’s drunk.

Why do people make ugly things? Ex: That man’s shirt or that lady’s shoes

Why do people go to any length for pretty things?

I’m still caught up on the fact that thingamajig is a word.

I found this thumbing through Facebook. I wish I could give credit to whom it is owed.

I’m simply reminiscing right now. I wish I could show the wonderment of nature, fishing in the dark and target shooting to my closest friends. But the symbolism is so close to my heart I’m afraid of negative judgement. I suddenly want to list a bunch of things that makes me redneck: I park my car in the grass, I’m used to cow crossing signs, I can play in the street, My coffee is black, The nearest convenience store is 10 minutes away via hwy, country music stations outweigh all others, main street is made of bars, fried food restaurants and the post office…

Well bloggers, it is time for me to brave the sticky humidity and the burning black top and walk to my car to begin my day Have a good one.

I’m new at this relationship idea. I guess I shouldn’t call it an idea since it’s an actual occurrence. And it’s currently happening to me. I have a few main things that people learn about me as time goes on and we grow closer. The biggest and most important is that I don’t put up with bullshit. I’m a no nonsense kind of person. And I like it that way. I have a tendency to be harshly honest when not expected. The thing I don’t like about feelings is when I feel them for someone else. I have enough of my own that I try to avoid so when I’m taken aback by suddenly feeling what another person feels I want to run away (or punch that person in the face). And when that other person freezes me out because they can’t deal with their own feelings that TICKS ME OFF. Don’t hide them from me, I’m already feeling them. Don’t confuse me by not explaining them. My goodness, where is your respect?

I haven’t posted my current favorite songs in a while. Here we go:

NUMBER ONE. Eric Church’s Homeboy song hits home. The lyrics are real, the story is real, the singer is real, yes, Eric Church is a real person, I wouldn’t lie to you. Well, maybe just a little. But I’m not.

NUMBER TWO. Taylor Swift currently has two songs out. My preferences is The Story of Us. Mean is also a good one because everyone can relate to it. But The Story of Us was describing my life to an X (I would say T but I prefer X) until about a week ago. AND. The video takes place in a library and I really want my own library.

NUMBER THREE. Blake Shelton’s Honey Bee song is adorable and country and sweet and a great summer tune that makes me happy

NUMBER FOUR. I am in love with Jason Aldean, I have been since Hicktown and Amarillo Sky. Dirt Road Anthem is the best song I’ve heard in a long time. I don’t know if I’ll ever be sick of it.

NUMBER FIVE. Barefoot Blue Jean Night by Jake Owen. I don’t have much to say about the awesomeness of this song except that you should listen to it.

I’ll stop at FIVE although I could go on. I think it’s time to get in my car, roll the windows down and sing on the top of my lungs. Have a nice day

I’ve read about organic, green, rGBH, MSGs, saturated fat, and the benefits of local food. The ideas behind eliminating certain things and choosing certain products usually add up to one main idea. It’s a fantastic dream-save the planet! Who wouldn’t want that? But really, I’m a broke college student. I’d rather buy a bushel of gala apples from the nearest grocery store than drive to the nearest orchard. When I was younger I used to live near an orchard. Every harvest we’d purchase caramel apples covered with chocolate chips or nuts. I live in a city now. My hypothesis is that my carbon footprint would be smaller if I bought an apple that was imported from Chile than if I drove 3 hours to the Ski Hi Fruit Farm in Baraboo, WI.
I decided to challenge my usual microwavable meal habit. What’s the most intriguing mission to give someone who prefers one step to make dinner? Answer: a five course French dinner. Why a five course meal? Because that’s how the traditional French do it! Why go French? Because when I think real food, I think France. The culture, the location, the history, the cuisine-it’s rich and revered all over the world. Just ask the French.

I watched random cooking shows on TV to pump myself up for my all-night cooking session. I noticed that the chefs tend to express things incorrectly.

How does that steak look? Luscious.
How does that steak taste? Beautiful.
How does that steak smell? Gorgeous.

All of their describing words are mixed up! That steak might look beautiful and taste delicious and smell like…steak. And why oh why is everything beautiful and gorgeous? I don’t date my food so I don’t flatter it while I bite into it.
After watching a few hours of “Deep-Fried Paradise” and “Man v Food,” I developed a theory: If Anthony Bourdain, the sarcastic bitter host of the Travel Channel show ‘No Reservations,’ can enjoy cooking, so can I! I’ll be cooking in my messy tiny kitchen and not on the streets of an obscure shop in the Philippines but there are still lessons to be learned. Well, I hope so.

Because of my enrollment in a French Cuisine course, I had the honor of cooking a five course meal with three others: Sarah Krueger, Adam Mucklin and Colin Thompson. At least I wasn’t alone while venturing into the unknown. We researched a French meal that a family in the Rhone Valley would enjoy. By the time everything was bought and paid for we had food for all five courses and only spent about $160. We decided to use my kitchen and I had no choice but to tell them that if they wanted a sharp knife, they should bring one themselves because I don’t own one. I also advised them to bring their own strainer, stirring spoon and pot if need be.

Krueger’s residency was another option for gathering and cooking. Her kitchen was smaller than mine. “Living in a one bedroom apartment, I have what I like to call my ‘easy-bake oven,’ which is essentially just an apartment size oven…I have to be sure that I am using dishes that can fit inside the oven, or else I am out of luck.”

Our festival of flavors began with a French baguette and white wine. I haven’t been to France in nearly seven years but no matter-I know a good baguette when I munch on one. This particular loaf was baked at the local Bread Smith shop that Milwaukee residents know about but don’t tell others of. If everyone knew about the miracle bread those ovens were capable of baking, then the locals would never be able to buy some for themselves.

For an appetizer, we chose ‘Fondue Savoyarde.’ Despite the bizarre consistency the melted cheese and corn starch created, the dry white wine and variety of cheeses added flair to the dish. It was simple to stir and craft the fondue. To eat, dipping bread pieces into melted cheese was all that was required. Now which Wisconsinite wouldn’t go for this?! It was an all around favorite among the four of us. Thompson, who cooks most days of the week and is no amateur, said, “I think that people rely on recipes too much when cooking. They need to understand how cooking works if they really want to become a good cook, and not just blindly follow recipes.” Keep in mind, he was the one who mixed the ingredients for this dish.

The memorable part took place about 10 minutes after we finished eating the fondue. After allowing the leftover mixture of cheeses, wine, spices and cornstarch sit something peculiar occurred. Suddenly, there was a cheese-ball in the middle of the pan. It looked strange and I had no choice but to pick it up with my bare hands. It was like play dough! But runnier! And gooier! My mother always taught me to not play with my food. But my mother wasn’t around and really, we weren’t going to eat the cheese-ball. Except for when Sarah and I decided to put a chunk of it between bread and feed it to Colin. Not our proudest moment, but most certainly unforgettable.

The main course was supposed to be ‘Chicken in Vinegar Lyon-Style.’ Key phrase: supposed to be. The recipe called for a free-range chicken. Free-range? As opposed to a confined-pen? Fine. I’ll get the happier bird who had the chance to eat grass and smell fresh air. Although, if I think about it, wouldn’t it be more humane to kill the chicken with less opportunity in life? But this is a French dinner and the French take their chickens seriously! Or so I hear.

The part that went wrong with this recipe had nothing to do with the liberty chicken. It had nothing to do with the garlic cloves or the freshly ground black pepper. It didn’t even have to do with the white wine vinegar. No. What went wrong was that Adam, the man in charge of the main course, decided to show up late without most of what he needed. We had to improvise. And our improvisation turned into laziness. The chicken itself had pizzazz and a tangy taste. But there were no tomatoes or crème fraiche or parsley to add flavor and color. Adam decided he didn’t want to cook the whole recipe. He was more focused on the independent chicken than what made the chicken French.

The French eat their salad after the main course. So up next was ‘Salad Lyonnaise’: homemade dressing atop fancy greens, chopped bacon, buttered croutons and a poached egg. I’ll be frank. Best. Salad. Ever. The way the dressing of olive oil, wine vinegar, Dijon mustard, salt and pepper tasted gave way to flavor my taste buds had never experienced. The lettuce wasn’t frisee-as the recipe called for-because we weren’t entirely sure what that was. And the egg wasn’t poached after all because, let’s face it, none of us understood how to poach an egg. We decided on a fried-almost sunny side up-style instead. The croutons came out of a bag instead of French bread. But my goodness, I savored every moment with that salad. I came close to calling it beautiful and telling it my life story but I held back the urge. I didn’t want to move too fast.

The best part about eating is dessert. Ok, that’s a stretch, especially after my previous salad adventure. But I have a sweet tooth. When I was younger I baked homemade (yes, homemade) brownies every week of summer vacation. If I ran out of cocoa I switched to cookies-preferably Russian tea cakes. The recipes were simple. Fast forward to present time and I have to admit I haven’t baked since I was about 14 expect for my high school graduation party. I decided to bake something French and simple: ‘Cherry Almond Clafoutis.’

After mixing eggs, sugar, flour, cherries, and vanilla together, I sprinkled almonds on top and put the dish in the oven for half an hour. The aroma of pancakes took over the kitchen. I checked on my dessert after 30 minutes and I thought the entire thing was going to explode. The top resembled a giant muffin in a 9-inch circular pan. The sides were hanging over and the top was domed. Before I describe the emotions I felt while cutting into my masterpiece, I must admit that I cheated. I didn’t roast the almonds! My reasoning? It would have taken an extra hour to do so. Raw almonds are healthier. And I used maraschino cherries instead of black cherries so really, roasted versus raw almonds wouldn’t matter.

As my knife sliced the clafoutis, my excitement matched my nerves. Would the final course of our dinner taste as good as the rest? I felt that it was up to me to make impressions last in a positive light. Everyone took their share of dessert and the result? Success. The clafoutis tasted as though a giant crepe was decorated with cherries, almonds and sugar. No complaints.

After a victorious five course meal, I must wonder what I’ll have for breakfast in the morning. Chocolat Chaud with homemade buttered croissants or black coffee with instant oatmeal? Probably the latter but at least I thought about it.

Quote 1 makes me remember when I was younger. My sister and our neighbor who was a friend of ours, would run around outside in our swim suits during rain storms and splash in puddles. We embraced the raindrops. Nowadays, I grumble and become annoyed that my hair might frizz. Something is wrong with this change.

Quote 2 makes me sound like a hippie. And I don’t care.

They want me to fall in love. They want me to find a real job. They want me to live in a nice house with a dog.
They want me to wear nice clothes. They want me to travel. They want me to be happy.
They want me to excel in athletics. They want me to think but not think too much. They want me to smile and never frown.
They want me to find the balance between socializing and time alone. They want me to be independent. They want me to have a lot of money.
They want me to wear eye liner. They want me to floss. They want me to work out but not too much.
They want me to be well nourished but not too much. They want me to enjoy food but not too much. They want me to break the rules but not too much.
They want me cut out the drama. They want me to listen to good music. They want me to know big words. They want me to be a better version of them but I can’t be better than them.

I want a lot of these things, too. But you know what? Maybe love isn’t for me.
And if I end up working at a bar on the beach for the rest of my life, I want everyone to know I’d be ok with that. If my nice house is more of a large shack with a fish instead of a labrador, I think other people should keep their harsh judgments to themselves. I’ll wear my nice clothes and I’ll wear sweat pants and shirts that have been shrunk in the drier.
I’d love to travel but I’d rather go to the rainforest in South America than Corsica or London. I’d rather see the wolves or a blue footed booby or a poisonous snake than lay in the sun getting skin cancer all day doing nothing.
I’ll excel in tennis is someone wants to play with me. I’ll run a marathon every year if my shin splints go away.
I’ll always think too much.
I’ll never smile all day long. I’ll never frown all day long either.
There’s no such thing as a normal balance between time spent with people and time spent without. Both aspects cause insanity and loss of self. No one is independent. No one has enough money.
I’d rather wear lipgloss than eye liner. I love to floss my fake tooth. No joke. I enjoy food as much as I hate it, there are a lot of mixed emotions there.
Rules are meant to be followed but really, no one cares.
Drama creates lessons which creates life which is purpose.
Music snobs will always tick me off.
My vocabulary might not be grandiose, but my intelligence could kill a denotative dictionary with logical theory and sarcasm.

No one is better than me and I am better than no one.