Dietary Options

Yesica is so going to kill me for this but I'm going to write about it anyways. Well firstly, I don't like cooking. I feel it is a freaking waste of time to spend more than 30 minutes on a meal when it is literally gone in less than 10 minutes. For 10 minutes of taste we spend hours on the food? No way. There are so many other things I could be doing with that time, like working out, or writing, or drinking. So the fact that my basic meals consist of salad, burritos, and rice bowls should not be at all surprising. Also, I like to think I can make myself follow the rule that it doesn't really matter what a meal tastes like as long as it's healthy, because what sits on your tongue for so little time actually nourishes (or destroys) your body for hours afterwards. That is what I tell myself when I would rather have that amazing looking hamburger, but instead look down defeatedly at my salad and half sandwich. It's sad, but it makes creating meals rather easy for me. And also, afterwards I think, thank GOD I didn't eat that hamburger, I feel so healthy and my self-control has been proven once again!

However, when I go out and let someone ELSE cook for me, it is REEEALLY hard to stick to that damned rule. Because instead of messing around in a kitchen, I can sit back and enjoy a nice beverage and have a chat with whoever is out with me. I don't mind waiting a long time if I have good company and a Mirror Pond to sip on in the meantime. So I forget about the rule, and end up in the exact position I was in last night.

Claire had texted me that she was having an overwhelming day, and mentioned that she wanted either candy or chicken strips. I asked her if she wanted a beer, as all good friends do, and she said only if it was on the side of one of the aforementioned foodstuffs. I said we could make that happen.

**Sidenote: My only redeeming factor in this story is that I DID jump-rope for 20 minutes before we went to the bar. So there, Yesica. You can only be a LITTLE disappointed me, rather than a WHOLE CRAP-TON of disappointed.

So then we sit down at the new bar we were trying out, and the menu does consist of a healthy food option that I really SHOULD have taken (Vegan Rice Bowl), but this bar reminded me strongly of my grandmothers house; it had wooden paneling, fake plants, twinkling lights that had white pine cones over the bulbs, and shag carpet (probably). I felt as though my grandmother had built a bar in her living room, and stuck in a pool table there for us too. It was pretty cozy, but my grandmother would NEVER serve us a "Vegan Rice Bowl" in our LIVES. My grandmother is the wife of a DAIRY farmer. I don't even know if she could even SAY the word "vegan" without a drip of disdain in her voice. I didn't even consider ordering it because it just didn't seem appropriate.

My eyes skipped down the menu to a "Reuben Sandwich," which I knew would be the winner here. When the waitress came over and I gave her my order, she responded with, "Great! Just to let you know, it's made with pastrami, and also would you like it on a pub roll or a cheese jalapeno role?"

Oh dear God, cheese and jalapeno? That is a TERRIBLE IDEA! My healthy side yelled at me. There is NO WAY IN HELL you are going to order that!

But you already broke your healthy code and ordered a sandwich in the first place, might as well just go for it! My lard-loving side whispers encouragingly into my ear. I've got to say, she has a point.

"Cheese and jalapeno!" I said, feeling a bit rebellious. And wow, what a fantastic sandwich it was. Full of spicy jalapenos with crusty cheese on the outside and melty cheese on the inside with the pastrami with all the makings of a perfect Reuben sandwich. It was glorious during the 10 minutes I was eating it, but the ending of this story is predictable. I should have stuck with my rule, because though those 10 minutes were a great time, afterwards I felt like crap and could swear the fat was already conspiring it's assault towards my ass at that very moment. But I knew what I was getting myself into, and decided to just ignore it. It was in the past! Tomorrow I will work out. And not drink. And also there's the fact that my grandma would have shook her head in disappointment if I would have eaten the vegan thing. We don't want to go upsetting my family.

So there's that. But at least I'm not my roommates. Today, I did great! I ate a salad I packed myself for lunch, and I worked out when I got home from work. After I worked out I was friggin starving, so after about two seconds of deliberation I decided to make myself a breakfast burrito (no surprise there, but I was lazy). As I was grilling my burrito, as you should ALWAYS eat it, Kyle came into the kitchen which was already crowded with Peter (who was making toast with butter) and I (still grilling).

"What should I have for dinner? I might just go to Subway." Kyle states, eyeing our meals.
"I don't know, what food do you have?" I ask.
"Tortillas, cheese, and that's pretty much it. I'm out of frozen pizzas. My eating habits have really gone downhill since 'the separation.'" This was the event in which Claire and I decided we would separate our grocery bills from the boys because, to put it lightly, the distribution of food seemed to be uneven (AKA boys eat SO MUCH DAMN FOOD).
"I know," Peter comments, "I didn't buy anything healthy for like a month after 'the separation.'"
"Oh! I just thought of something awesome!" Kyle exclaims, heading for the cupboard. Peter and I watch him suspiciously as Kyle grabs a protein bar, then opens the fridge and grabs a tortilla.
"What the HELL are you doing?" I ask. That. Looks. DISGUSTING.
"That's awesome!" Peter yells as Kyle puts the protein bar on the tortilla and sticks it in the microwave. I shake my head in disgust. Who are boys? I will never get them.
When the microwave dings, Kyle opens it and folds his tortilla around the protein bar, and without hesitation takes a huge bite. Peter and I wait for the verdict, though honestly I can't trust anyone's taste-buds who think THAT is a good dinner plan.
"It tastes kind of like Nutella on a tortilla! Its pretty good!" Kyle happily chows down his chocolate protein burrito. Gross. When he is finished he says, "Dang, I'm still hungry. I need to buy more frozen pizzas so I can make a calzone."
"You mean cooking the pizza then folding it in half?" I ask.
"Yep."
Good God.

Inspiration Whores

Do you ever feel like barfing when someone posts and "inspirational quote" on Facebook? Why is this still a thing? Haven't people realized that, just because they need to read some "inspirational" words written by some random famous person to make themselves feel better, doesn't mean that the rest of us want to read them too? What is this terrible trend of which we have all become victims?

"Just because the past didn't turn out like you wanted it to, doesn't mean your future can't be better than you've ever imagined."

"Whatever you decide to do, make sure it makes you happy."

"Believe you can, and you're halfway there."

I have a hard time not commenting, "DUH." Of course we always try to do things that make us happy. Why would we try to do things that make us upset or depressed? Of COURSE we keep the hope that the future can be better... it can also be worse, especially if you continue to post things like this. And OF COURSE thinking about doing something preludes actually doing it! All of these statements seem so obvious to me that they don't come anywhere near true inspiration. It seems that some people in this age have become what I would like to call "inspiration whores," posting so much meaningful crap that it all cancels out to become white noise.

I am all about being inspired, everyone loves the feeling of thinking, "Whoa, my mind is blown." But it is the scarcity of these moments that really makes them so impactful. I was inspired when I saw the Alhambra in Granada for the first time. I was inspired when I was out on the ocean on a catamaran while the sun was setting over Oah'u. I am inspired when I see people being kind for no reason except kindness, fathers dancing with their children at the fair, and a goal scored for my team at a soccer game. I am inspired by the tears shed every time I get to hand an immigrant their work authorization card after a lifetime of living in the shadows. I know what inspiration is and I do not need to read posts of obvious statements and overly-used celebrity phrases get me there. If that is really what we need to feel inspired, we must have a severe lack of real life inspiration, and that's just sad.

Feeling inspired makes you want to be a better person, and many of these quotes seem to address how exactly to go about being a better version of yourself. This is really easy. I can give you three steps on how to be a better person and you won't ever need to read an inspirational quote again.

1. Don't be an asshole. Be nice.
2. Don't be dramatic. Be positive.
3. Do the best you can, and don't freak out when things go wrong. You'll be fine. Move on and try again.

One evening about a year ago, Claire and I were so annoyed by this virtual bombardment of encouraging images, we decided to create our own inspirational quotes, on beautiful inspirational backgrounds, images that we knew would lift sad people up and make happy people nod in appreciation. And here they are. We hope that you, too, will be filled with a newfound hope for the future and for our world in general.

Advice to live by. You're welcome.

The Adventure of Sailing

I have almost completed my training as a sailor. I missed the last class because of my trip to Hawaii, so I will make that up in August, but by now I am practically a pro. I have made enough mistakes to know how to do things correctly, which, really, is the only way to become good at something. 

In my second class, the instructors showed us another powerpoint. We then walked out onto the dock, prepped our boats and raised all the sails, watched an instructor show us how to use the rudder and change sides when we switched directions on our boats, and were told, "Okay, go!"

"...What?"

"It's time to sail! Get in and sail!" We all look at each other, bewildered.

"...Just like that? Just... sail?" I ask the instructor.

"Yep. Go!"

My eyes widen. We are just going to jump into the boat and go? How do we know what we're supposed to do?! I rack my brains to try and remember everything the powerpoint said, why wasn't I listening better?!

"Well... I guess you better get in the boat." James, a fellow student, suggests to me. I nod and jump in the boat, and he jumps in after me. I start out as the crew, just in charge of moving the small sail from side to side when the skipper (James) decides to change the direction of the boat. Changing the direction of the boat, or "tacking," is actually quite difficult when you are a beginner. First you must say, "tacking" to the crew so they are ready, then you have to stand up, duck down so the boom doesn't concuss you as it swings over, pass the rudder behind your back and the rope to the main sail in front of you, sit down on the other side of the boat and keep the boat on the course you want it to go during the whole process. 

James and I have a hell of a time getting this process down during our first sail. James says, "tacking," so I loosen the jib (the small sail), and as I wait for the boat to turn, I hear a lot of banging around, ropes moving, wind in the sail, and some cursing while the boat is turning in a jerky manner. I look back and James is just sitting down after a huge struggle. When he gets the boat back on course, I tightened the jib in the other direction. "Dude. That sounds difficult." I say once he is settled.

"Shit." He says. "You gotta get really low to get under the damn boom." James is a tall guy.

"This is just a great way to practice your dancing skillz." I say.

"Seriously, gotta get low."

"Do you have your apple bottom jeans, and the boots with the fur?" I ask.

"...What?"

"Dude! Did you not get my joke?"

"I guess not..."

"You know, the song!" Then I sing a little bit of the song for him. He does not seem to think it's as funny as I did. But then it's my turn to be the skipper, so I cautiously trade places with him and settle myself on the left side of the boat, rudder in one hand, rope to the mainsail in the other.

We get a little too far to the right and I know it's time for me to tack, so I tell James, "Tacking" and push the rudder away from me, duck under the boom, fall onto my knees and get tangled in the rope, grab the other side of the boat and kick my foot out to get the rope off of me. I end up sitting on the other side of the boat but I now have a massive bruise forming on my knee.
"Wow." James says, "You really had some trouble with that."

"Psh. Just wait till next time." 

Next time, the instructor is watching me, and instead of passing the rudder behind my back, I turn backwards and duck under the boom while I'm facing the back of the boat. The instructor calls to me, "Ashley! Don't put your ass first!" At least, I think that's what he says... "WHAT?!" I yell at him. "You need to face front when you switch sides! You were backwards!"

Ahh, crap. At least I didn't fall down this time. 

By the end of the class though, James and I have got the whole switching sides thing down. I have figured out how to smoothly push the rudder away from me, duck under the boom, pass the rudder behind my back and switch sides of the boat. James even admits that I have turned out to be a better skipper than him so far. Little did he know that he would be eating those words in a later class.

In our third class, Courtney and I decide we will sail together. We get our boat ready, push it off the dock, and as we are holding it waiting to get on, a gust of wind picks up and pulls the boat away from me. The angle of the boat and the momentum carrying it makes me realize at the last second that I'm going to fall in the water. It's too late to push myself back up onto the dock so I do the only thing I can think of: I jump in the boat. BAM! I slam my elbow on something as I swing clumsily into the boat and my foot hits something at a weird angle, and I cling for dear life onto the mast as the boat sways uncertainly. After a second I get my footing and try to sit down unnoticed, but Courtney says, "What the HELL, Ashley! Are you okay?" 

"I was going to fall in!" I say to her, massaging my elbow.

"That was the most awkward way of getting into the boat!"

"I WAS GOING TO FALL IN THE WATER." I repeat. After a moment, Courtney gets in the boat much more gracefully and we set off on my second day of sailing. Courtney is a great sailor already so she is pretty good at getting the boat on the perfect angle for fast sailing. I try to learn from her and start to feel the wind and how to get the boat at it's best speed.

Fortunately, we didn't capsize our boat, and we looked on in pity at the group who DID. Their boat capsized so bad that it did something they call "turtling," which means that the mast ends up STRAIGHT DOWN under the water, their boat totally upside down. One guy had to get on the side of the boat and grab the centerboard while the other guy had to grab the dudes life jacket and pull him down, adding more weight to their effort. I really hoped that wouldn't be me. 

Our next class I end up sailing with a guy named Eric. Our task is to make a triangle around the buoys the instructors set out in the river. We are doing pretty good and I'm feeling more confident with controlling the boat, though Eric has some catching up to do. At one point we decide it's time to switch so that I can be the skipper instead of the crew, so we stand up, and suddenly a gust of wind catches us, the boom swings over us and we both fall down onto the deck to avoid being taken out. Then, I have no idea how this happened, our boat is whipping us around in circles, and we are holding on for dear life. We have no control over the boom, which is swinging wildly out of control, we are yelling and simply trying to keep our boat from capsizing, which it almost does at least twice. "WHAT THE HELL IS HAPPENING?!" I yell as I hold onto the deck."
"I have no idea!" Eric says, trying and failing to grab the boom and control it. As we are gripping the sides of the boat for dear life, James and his sailing partner pass us. "Hey guys! It looks like you are in a washing machine!" This is probably when he decides to take back that comment about me being a good skipper. 

"Make it stop!" I yell as we make yet another turn on our boat, the boom swings over us again, and my shin hits the side of the deck. I suddenly reach out and grab the rudder and try to get it straight as Eric and I clutch anything we can hold onto and Eric lets out the mainsail. The boats rotation slows and eventually we are just sitting there, bobbing innocently up and down in the current. I look at Eric. "What the hell was THAT."

"I don't know, let's try to avoid that in the future."

"Done." I say. We cautiously get back into our positions and slowly begin to move forward. For the rest of the class we do pretty well and avoid repeating the washing machine incident. Besides that, I feel pretty good about my feel for the wind and the sails. I end up telling Eric which way he should point his sails so that we can go faster. I like knowing how to control the boat.

In my last class, Courtney and I end up sailing together again. She is even better than the last time we sailed together, and we have a lot of fun trying to race the other boats. We come in third our first round, but on the second round something stops us. We are sailing along when suddenly the sails catch some wind we are not prepared for, and our boat tips to the side. I try to lean against it, but when I see the edge of the boat catching the water, Courtney jumps in. Well, I guess we are capsizing. I think to myself, and fall in after her. 

The water actually feels really good, but my first thought is, we will NOT turtle our boat! We will not be like those sorry suckers from the other class! Courtney immediately goes to the other side of the boat where the centerboard is, leaving me to deal with the mast. Even though I know you're supposed to swim to the bottom of the mast and hold it up from the base, I swim out to the top of the mast to try and keep it out of the water, but my life jacket sucks and I feel that I am being pushed down into it. That thing is HEAVY! I can tell that Courtney is trying to pull the boat down, but nothing is happening. The sails are waterlogged and pushing the mast down. I keep trying to hold it up.

"Get to the base of the mast!" The instructor yells from his motorized boat.

"I don't want to turtle!" I yell back, refusing to move.
"Ashley, go to the base!" I give up and go where he wants me to go, and grab the strap inside of the boat. Suddenly, the boat is righting itself, and I hold on while I am swept inside. Then I go to the back of the boat and help Courtney get in. I later find out several things: Firstly, that Courtney WANTED to capsize, so that when she saw it going down, she just let it and jumped in. Great. Secondly, that when I was finally at the base of the mast, the instructor reached down and pulled the mast out of the water for us, making it much easier to right the boat. How were we supposed to do that on our own?!

After the capsizing, we never really re-enter the race, but kind of just mess around and sail on our own. At the end of the class, we all re-group and discuss the day. Our capsizing comes up, and one of the guys says, "I didn't even hear you girls scream or anything when your boat capsized." 

"That's because we are bad-asses." I reply. We aren't little girls! We don't scream when bad things happen! We deal with it. Because we are prepared, and we are that cool. 

I have one class left. I think I've learned a lot from these mistakes, and mistakes keep life interesting. I wonder what mistakes I'll make in my last class... As long as we don't capsize our boat again, I think I'll be doing great.