Feeling so creative that I can’t even get up to turn the lamplight on. Though on second thought, the twinkle lights with the lamp on lowest setting seems warm and sublime. I wonder how I got so lucky to control my life as such. Electricity, friendship, and fresh vegetables—what more could a cephalopod girl ask for?

I was ruminating on escape earlier today. Whether it’s in the face of natural disaster, or the more plausible personal crisis, the tools necessary to do so seem quite exotic to my mind. Take the latter situation for example, and keep in mind that as a Year of the Rabbit baby, I’m wont for luxury.

I picture a car whose prowess is such that rapid acceleration and rail-like handling make the closest approximation of disappearance possible. I picture a passport with false credentials, and a supple leather vintage briefcase filled with cash. I picture a really nice wig; shiny black hair and a playful yet reserved style. Definitely one of those prosthetic noses, and a compound in the hills of Mexico City, waiting with a key under the mat.
Disappearing is hard work.

So I’ll work for that, but today, I was thinking about a much more feasible escape. Was wondering what stone I’ve yet to upturn in this city and it’s surrounding enclaves. Wondering where I could go and sit and bring a journal and feel that simultaneously free and heavy feeling where your thoughts are clear and concrete and of such quality that as you think them your mind scabs over with the lesson they are teaching you and slowly you take another heaving step forward in the path to enlightenment.

I needed a “yelp” for introspection. Though I must point out and feel joy in the fact that such a terror doesn’t quite exist; for that is the beauty of arriving at such a spot, it’s a melange of inexplicable forces that bring you into those exact coordinates, and it’s hard to do and difficult to find, but once you’re there, you’re not merely sitting on a park bench, or in a vivacious garden, or on the shores of the Pacific, you’re powerfully rooted to infinite possibility, if only you will be receptive to the coordinates the universe is plotting for you.

Car shopping when you could be writing. Snooping when you could be reading. Drinking when you could be learning. The vices of youth and indecision.

Of course you’ve had one of those days like mine today. When the shoes of the negative eclipse the footprints of the positive. When your answer to “but what about that awesome __________?” is :((((((((.

Worries and doubts squash the lovely cosmic energy that normally radiates out of you in waves of “Yes please, more, thank you.” Fatigue or exhaustion, premonition or dismay, there’s a reason for it and you don’t really care what it is.

So here I am, at my fortnight’s rock bottom, redeeming myself by planning monthly expenses, investment opportunities, and travel. Hoping to start the rolling stone (which will gather no moss) again towards positivity and radiance.

And I’m not going to go deeply into this, because I’m not going to sound like a drama queen, but being skinny really does make everything easier. See, I shouldn’t have even said anything. Even the way it reads is dastardly. But it’s true. And when you don’t feel that way because you’ve been having the time of your life drinking expensive wine and some cheap wine, and creamy rich cheeses and breads of warmth and crustiness and staying out until all hours of the night but then you realize your pants are starting to fit just a bit tighter and your arm flaps just ever so slightly more in the wind, then you forget about the tannic love letter of the wine and the sweet saltiness of the cheese and the cool spring breeze of the night and you wonder why everything in life has to be so hard because all you want is happiness and joy but it’s elusive damnit, it’s elusive.

It’s lovely convenient how modern technologies allow you to so cautiously detail a temper tantrum.

Usually this is where I’d come to a somewhat sloppily wrapped but heartily intentioned moral of the story, as all great writers do, but as someone once told me, I’m a better restaurateur.

So peace out party people and don’t catch a case of the Mondays.

Few things I spend more money on or take more delight from than food. Good food, I should qualify. Besides nature, sans the money spending part. Though it still is a scarce resource, it seems a lot less costly to enjoy than food.

So, recently, in desperate need of a soul and mind reviving weekend, I embarked. No real plan in mind, just a tent in my trunk and a campground in mind.

I could wax poetically about this lovely campground I stumbled across in pursuit of the State Park Campground across the highway, or vividly describe the delight I felt in starting my own fire and enjoying the s’mores that resulted from them, but I’ll refrain, and keep it simple.

What I will elaborate on is the chance discovery I made on Friday morning, during my Mascarpone and bacon french toast breakfast. That is not only that Santa Barbara hosts what looks like a positively lovely annual film festival, but also that there exists a place called San Ysidro Ranch. It turns out that for free, they will park your car and let you roam the acres of quaint bungalows, historic adobes, organic herb gardens, and citrus orchards which are beautifully maintained year-round on their property. THEN, if you give them $38, they will give you a magnificent 3 course lunch in a perfectly shade-to-sun ratio’d patio. Hamachi crudo, Alaskan Halibut, and picture perfect Meyer Lemon tart (citrus plucked freshly from their property), all complimented by a local and salaciously delicious wine list? What’s not to die of happiness about?

If we’re being honest, the beach was rocky, the camping was an uphill battle (minus the salt water hot tub), and the fire required a Duraflame to ignite. But the food, oh the food. The food is what reminds me that there is joy and creativity and love in the world.

I constantly wage war against the likely probability that I will one day be a restauranteur, refusing to bow to the forces of economics that have kept me in “hospitality” for so long. But on a day like that day, sitting under a canopy of nature’s hospitality and protection, I recall the words of my uncle: “There’s nothing wrong with providing the backdrop against which people can enjoy their lives.”

I have to blog (/let off steam) about my new homeless friends: Alfie and Lucky. I swear I’m quasi turning into my mother. I just couldn’t stop talking to and petting them, respectively. Am I crazy? First off, any homeless person with a dog (Lucky) gets immediate props from me. Then you have to wonder how they got there. This is where I go all soft and liberal and feel for this person who obviously suffered through some kind of terribly abusive/neglectful/drug-fueled childhood home-life situation. A person so unable to dream, visualize, and manifest their success and stability, that even in explaining to them what they SHOULD be doing, they miss the obvious and divert to the nonsensical. But then there is this totally vulnerable side of them that takes joy and solace from their dog—maybe their only family. Probably their only family. And the dog always comes first. Like an extension of the innocent side of themselves that must be protected and nurtured at all costs.

Alfie is a 30 (or maybe he thinks, 31) year old homeless man who’s “really tired of bouncing around places.” Especially “now that his dog is getting more tired, and weary from walking.” They can’t really sit down or stop anywhere without catching a case from local law enforcement. Makes sense, I get it.

But it sucks.

And here I sit, very sad. I don’t know a solution.

Besides education. But how does that even work?

I’m frustrated. I don’t want to just throw money (which wouldn’t even be much) at him, because I’m 90% sure that wouldn’t work. What else is there?

Why is life so complex and exclusive

And why is it so terrifying to help, and even more terrifying to commit? Offline.

getting something rad in the mail and then realizing they sent you the wrong order.

Rare, but monumentally disappointing.

“Hey, cool bed Hayly!”

“Oh thanks Rudy. It’s too bad the mattress has to just sit inside it on the bare wood floor because the meth heads at this warehouse in Fontana didn’t send the slats that go across it and support the mattress.”

“Yah, that is a real bummer!”

Ok…that’s all the sketch writing I’m feeling like right now. All criticisms welcome regarding character development and nuance.

Some great advice for the week is this:

Don’t worry about success. Worry instead about being the president of your company. And as the president of your company (which is a company based on your gifts, skills, and abilities), your job is to make sure that the work that is right in front of you gets done in the best and most excellent way possible. Whether that work is menial or monumental, it is your job to to it to the best of your ability. This may seem elementary or even trivial, but if you can open your eyes to the work that is waiting to be gobbled up and turned into a stepping stone that is right in front of you, success will follow.

Maybe that’s an idiotic way of saying, “approach all things with joy,” or maybe what I’ve pondered upon seem laughable. However, too often myself and those like me get bogged down or frustrated in “pursuit of success,” but the truth is that, like PAC-MAN, you must gobble up the dots right in front of you before you can get the fruit.

I’m just venting. But this seems like a 32-oz prime New York steak for thought.

Namaste y’all.

Here I sit on Halloween night, a domestic goddess this evening. With my barage of random condiments and alcoholic curiosities, I’ve created two lovely recipes tonight that I’ll share with you sans qualm. 

Oh, you want to know what they are? 

Sure. Egg Salad and a Wine-groni. 

Yep. I’m both that good at procrastinating other more important things, and that much of a homebody. 

First, to the booze. This is very simple. I made it up because I was desperate for a drink and had weird things on hand.

“Wine-groni”

3 oz dry Reisling
1.5 oz Apple Cider
.5 oz Campari

Shake it, or don’t, but make sure it’s served cold, or in a frosted glass. Preferably both.

Cheers. 

Second: EGG SALAD WITH HOMEMADE MAYO

Mayo: Break one egg yolk into a clean, dry bowl. Get your biceps ready because you’ll be whisking like a madperson for about ten minutes as you SLOWLY pour in 8oz of vegetable oil (laced with 1 tsp of water) over that timespan. It’s important to 

THERE’S A CRICKET ON MY WALL RIGHT NOW 

pour the oil slowly, or the “emulsion” will “break.” Once you’ve got the concoction concocted, put 1-2 cloves of crushed garlic, a splash or three of vinegar (distilled white or red wine), a gurgle of lemon juice, and for GREAT measure, some tahini in there. 

Stick that sucker in the fridge. 

Now. Take yer eggs, put them in a pot that gives them ample space to enjoy their hot tub, covering them with +1 inch of cool tap water. Put them to boil and as soon as the boil really gets going—cut the heat. Then cover the pot (with a lid, not with your face or buttocks) and let them sit there for 17 minutes while you chop yo othah shit. 
(Sidenote: when  17 minutes has passed, put them gently in a bowl of ice water to stop cooking and make peeling easier)
(Second Sidenote: Try to use eggs that are slightly less than brand new, as they’ll peel easier)

So here are some things you can put in an egg salad, to taste. There are basically 4 components you need in a good egg salad sandwich: Crunch, cream, pep, and depth. Feel free to choose what you like from each category; I’d recommend no more than two from each. 

Crunch:
-Pickles: finely-ish chopped, they can be kosher dills, sweet gherkins, or cornichons.
-Pepperoncinis
-Celery 
-Raw Broccoli

Cream:
-Aioli (same as recipe above, but more garlic and substitute olive oil)
-Mayonnaise
-Mustard (I love using honey mustard. If you don’t have it, add a bit of regular honey)
-Plain Greek Yogurt (very Abbott Kinney)
-Olive Oil
-Tahini paste 

Pep:
-Chili Flakes
-Cayenne Pepper
-Sriracha

Depth:
-Lemon Pepper
-Salt & Pepper
-Dry Mustard (if lacking “wet?” mustard) 

And one last thing, I always like to throw out about half of the yolks for a lighter, healthier, still deliciously-textured egg salad. 

Ooh grapes. Which ones are out of the bag, seedless, and have the most turgor pressure?

Bulk food. Yes.

Can I afford the calories?

How bad do I need a bottle of water?

yogurt covered papaya chunks. If I don’t use my hands at all and just use the scoop, there’s no way they can get mad at me.

ooh. toffee almonds are over in that other bulk area. No. Better not.

Damn. I wish they put out sample cups for that clam chowder. But seriously, who comes to the raw fish department to get soup? So weird.

a $2 apple. Eh, whatever. It’s good for my teeth.

Yogurt would be a good breakfast. Damn it. But my skin! Not supposed to eat dairy. But doesn’t the bacteria in this make it, like, not dairy?

bottle of wine since I’ve been a good girl?

Oh snap. Cheese and cracker samples. Now if only they sampled wine like Trader Joe’s.

Hmmm that guy is hot. Ew, but look at the way he shops. Chicken breast every night in a week? No thanks. Life is for the living.

If they still had those game shows where you have 60 seconds to run through a store with a shopping cart and put everything in it that you can, I would totally make out like a bandit. I’d just put all of the beauty products in that I could, then all of the wine, and start a little operation out of my apartment.

Ooh, I should open a wine bar.

They totally changed their pizza format. Tricky bastards—you used to be able to ask for a sample of the big rectangular pie, and now they sell it by the slice. Damn.

Ooh, that girl is totally ana. Look at the way she picks through that salad bar. Yikes. Uncomfortable to look at.

Sushi. Sandwich. Pretzel Roll?! Tempting…

Is it $5.99 a pound Wednesday?

Which line?

Does that guy REALLY have 12 items or less. If I were more of a dick I’d call him out for that.

Yes. This girl looks like she rocks and rolls. Look how fast she keys in those PLU’s.

    “I live by those things.”

“Excuse me?”

    “Think Thin bars.”

“Oh, yah, they’re pretty awesome.”

    “Totally.”

“Yah.”

               “That’ll be $2.80.”

“Great.”

“No cash back.”

This is so uncomfortable.

               “Have a nice day.”

“Ok, thanks. You too.”