Frozen burritos

For the past few days, the state of my kitchen has been…mostly disgusting. But between working Thursday night, partying Friday night, and then working my tail off Saturday night to the point of exhaustion, I just couldn’t manage to do dishes. Every time I thought about the dishes, I just wanted a nap. I wanted anything except for doing dishes. I posted on Facebook:

“Sometimes I…I just wish there was a clean dishes fairy. Like, if I leave all of them under my bed and promise to sleep all afternoon, will they get washed? If I leave forty bucks under my pillow, will the dishes fairy come? Looking at my kitchen has now exhausted me and I need a nap.”

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Unfortunately…no fairies or elves showed up. Not one. Instead, over a foot of snow arrived, starting during my late, late Saturday night shift. I worked so hard during my shift that, after only a few hours, I was doubling my painkillers. I could barely walk or stand, but I had to keep going. It was busy and the money just kept rolling in. Beyond that, some voyeurs showed up from the party I’d attended the night before. I’m never shy about letting people know what I do, but I surely don’t tell them where I work. I felt like, because of those voyeurs, I had to try even harder. What if my friends heard I was a terrible dancer? The night went on, and I was in more and more pain. Being an athlete for a living is no cakewalk…and for as much as people think the money is “easy,” the permanent injuries throughout my entire body can surely tell you that it is anything but “easy.” Fast, maybe. But never, ever easy.

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By the end of the night, some drunks came in, demanding dances with me and berating me for telling them that I just couldn’t do it. I physically, absolutely, couldn’t make my weak, powerless, exhausted body zapped of sleep and nutrients take one more step in stilettos. Not only was I sore to start the night, but I knew there was no way I was cleaning the kitchen at five in the morning to make whatever the hell I could think up with such a cloudy, starved brain. Plus, I still had to shovel my driveway, and my neighbors’ while it was snowing and sleeting heavily. And then over and over and over again, I lifted hundreds of pounds of watery, wet, slushy, frozen snow gunk until our driveways were clear, just for a minute as the snow kept coming.

I’ve been trying so hard and sticking to the spirit of this cooking thing, but after work, I hit the grocery store with the intention of buying a bunch of prepackaged garbage food to microwave and wolf down. And you know what? I did. I found a package of way, way overpriced and questionable grocery store sushi, corn chips, frozen gluten-free burritos, goat cheese, and three rolls of 100% recycled paper towels. I barely ate much, and fell asleep quickly. A second burrito served as an okay breakfast at 3pm today, just until I could start cleaning up the mess.

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Cleaning the kitchen has so far taken me almost two hours, and I’m still not done. I’m boxing up two sets of dishes to give away, and trying so hard not to see the real convenience of paper plates. I’ve even cooked again, making a mess of several pans, plates, and utensils that I’d just cleaned. The dishes will never end. On December 31st, when someone asks me how the year went without restaurants, I’ll just have to say: “I don’t know. I couldn’t quit doing dishes long enough to eat.”

Leftovers: breakfast tacos

I had just a little bit more of that taco meat left over from making stuffed tomatoes, and couldn’t stand to not use it and the other ingredients that I either had to use or let expire. The avocado was perfect, the cilantro was use-it-or-lose-it, and the tomatoes and tortillas needed to be used, stat. I was feeling like a big burst of protein and needed the extra fat, so I whipped these up in less than five minutes.

Zapped the tortillas in a skillet for a minute each. Two eggs, scrambled in a skillet with 1 tbsp unsweetened almond milk for fluffy-ness. Reheated taco meat in the microwave. Chopped cilantro and cherry tomatoes. And mushed-up avocado with a touch of lime, cayenne, salt, pepper, and a tiiiiiny bit of white sugar.

While making the eggs, I remembered how my mother used to make our scrambled eggs in the microwave. She’d fill the glass measuring cup with two or three eggs, break the yolks and whisk in a bit of cow’s milk with a fork until they were a bit bubbly. After a minute, she’d stir again and break up the solid egg mass that formed. Another minute, and the easiest scrambled eggs ever came tumbling right on to our plates. I only ate them with ketchup and even then, barely tolerated them. In my most broke years of college, when I had my first studio apartment, I’d make my eggs this way because I didn’t know how to make them any other way, and I couldn’t afford a failed experiment.

It wasn’t until I discovered eggs cooked over hard much later that I began to love the flavor of the yolk of the egg. I put up with the whites occasionally to get to the yolks, but hated their rubbery texture and the lack of flavor. After I spent a few years working in breakfast diners, I no longer wanted anything to do with eggs, or fake eggs, or whatever that smell was from those generic plates. It was several years before my desire to eat eggs came back, but now I happily eat them — my way.

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The Last Supper

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Tamales are such favorites of mine, I’m having them two days in a row from the same restaurant before I say goodbye. Like everyone else in the service industry, I’m working tonight, on New Year’s Eve. Instead of fighting the crowds before I have to go entertain them, I decided to enjoy my Last Supper at home, peacefully alone before the chaos of working until 4am.

To new goals and challenges! Happy New Year.

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