Sordid Tales to Entertain Your Guests, Or How to Cook a Chicken

Want to learn to cook a whole chicken? Here are a handful of simple, yet bleak, steps. Follow along!

1. Cut open the plastic wrapper around your chicken. This will explode pink chicken slime all over your shirt and contaminate your entire counter. 

You will probably hose down the counter with bleach afterwards as if you are a fireman and the counter is on fire.

2. Reach inside the body cavity to pull out the “accessories." If this is your first time handling a whole bird you may vaguely wonder which end of the chicken gets groped. You'll figure it out. 

The chicken accessories are all the interior bits (organs) that they thoughtfully saved for you, which will bring you some small amount of horror. You will pull out the organs one by one, vaguely feeling like you should know which organ you're looking at but 7^th Grade was so long ago.

3. Rinse the chicken corpse under cold water. Around this time in the process is when you'll drop the chicken into the sink by accident.  

While you rinse the chicken you also may make it dance, flapping the wings a little. Then you will know for certain that you are broken on the inside. Proceed to the next step.

4. Assess your chicken to decide which way is "up." If helpful, recall a Norman Rockwell painting.

Who decided that the breast of the chicken should be up and perkily on display? Some man, probably. 

5. Add chicken right-side-up into the slow cooker and shut the lid before the chicken comes back to life. Cook until your soul feels clean, or about 3 hours, whichever comes first.

Prepare yourself for a little disappointment when your chicken doesn't look like it came off the deli rotisserie counter. It's kind of like the cooking version of “photoshop versus real” celebrity comparisons.

6. When the chicken is cooked through, carefully remove the bird onto a cutting board and begin carving the chicken as if you actually know what you're doing.

If you're like me, after you finish carving, you will look at the carcass that remains and think, “I don't know much about biology, but didn't this chicken used to have ribs?” Somehow the ribs always disappear. Then you'll discover that the tail, which previously was kind of cute, has turned into a horrifying greasy sponge from which tiny vertebrae pop out.

 

Bonus Round

One of the exciting chicken “accessories” is the neck. Yes, they save the neck for you and cram it up inside the chicken. I feel like there is a “jerk chicken” + “head up your butt” joke somewhere here but I can't find it. 

But I digress.

One time while I was pulling out the accessories I didn't notice that the chicken neck went down the drain. Imagine my horror when I later stuck my hand in the drain only to find some bony, fleshy thing caught in the garbage disposal. Good times. 

Serious Thoughts From My First Yoga Class

I'm trying to be more well-rounded (see what I did there?) in my exercise regimen, so I recently decided to give a yoga class a try.

You know how in the movies when they do a stereotypical clip of yoga it's always someone contorted in an impossible position with their legs wrapped around their head? Yeah, that actually happened just like in the movies. The class went from "hey, I'll try that" straight to "LOL NOPE" faster than you can say “sun salutations.”

During this class, I found there's a certain peace involved in being completely out of your depth. You can joyfully hold yourself absolutely not one drop accountable for the desecration and unavoidable failure that is growing by the moment.

That's not to say that I didn't do my best to follow along. My determination must've been a glaring neon sign in the room full of peaceful and impossibly flexible women. As the instructor sweetly said for me to relax my face, I'm afraid my inner response was a less sweet, “Excuse me, I'm trying not to fall on my Asgard here.”

I learned that black underoos under your black yoga pants is a great idea. Apparently, when those pants are stretched to their limit in some amusing pose they become see-through and everyone gets to see your underdrawers.

Relatedly, if you are on the edge of the classroom, the entire class gets to stare at your caboose (underduds and all) for about five minutes. When the teacher tells everyone to “focus your eyes on a single point” you'll spend those five minutes wondering how many people chose your butt as a focal point.

Since I have the maturity of a 10-year-old, as I was thinking about butts, I suddenly remembered the “wind relieving pose” and laughed inappropriately. The grownup part of me turned the laugh into a well-timed cough (“allergies”). In case you need it, here's a handy guide for what to do if you fart in yoga class.

I'm learning that yoga is as much a “mind” practice as it is a physical practice. I'm not sure whether the mental (fart jokes, anyone?) or the physical practice is more difficult.

Doing yoga directly after watching Captain America: The Winter Solider was a questionable choice. It's really hard to clear your mind for meditation when there is a grand finale nerdsplosion going on in your brain.

When all was said and done, the instructor gave us each a piece of chocolate. It sort of felt like we were getting a treat for good behavior. I'm not sure I earned my piece.

I really enjoyed the realization that I am doing better at being kind to myself when trying new things. I also felt a small bit of satisfaction in not taking myself too seriously.

When you start to take yourself a little too seriously, do yourself a favor. Do the wind relieving pose and let it all out.  

Mustaches & the Invisible Orchestra: A Visit to the Salon

Whenever you go into a salon (hair salon, nail salon, spa, etc.) they always try to get you to purchase some sort of add-on service. For some reason, their favorite suggestion for women is always an upper lip wax.

Actually, I know the reason. They know that at the slightest mention of facial hair a woman will react violently out of paranoia and say, "By all means, get rid of it! Kill it with fire, if you must!" 

But, if you are like me, you turn down the service because 1) you don't think you need it, 2) you're offended, and/or 3) you're cheap. Unfortunately, you then spend the next 3 days paranoid about your upper lip and you may ask honest friends if you actually have a mustache. You will also pass every mirror afraid that you will suddenly see this: 

At some point you start to feel annoyed that you are giving headspace to someone who merely is after a bigger commission. After several days, the offense wears off and you go on your merry way until the next time you go to a salon and the cycle starts anew. 

One time, this happened.

Woman: "Would you like your mustache waxed?" 
Normally, at least they "pretty it up" by calling it an "upper lip wax." I tamped down a bit of outrage, but responded with a polite, "No, thank you."
Woman: "Really? You don't want to have a smooth lip for your boyfriend? I'm sure he would like it."
Me: "No. My husband likes me as-is."
Woman: [Sullen silence] 

During the rest of the appointment, in my heart I was exuberantly conducting an invisible orchestra using only my middle fingers.

This woman didn't want to let it go. After a bit, she broke the silence. 
Woman: "You think he likes the mustache?"
At this point I was having a hard time staying cool.
Me (in my best deadpan): "Yes. It's his favorite."

I led the invisible orchestra into a crescendo. 

Normally, I just keep it to the most polite "no, thank you" I can muster, but when they push me I get more creative. Sometimes I just want to say: "No! I'm growing out my mustache as bushy as possible to deter the throngs of suitors who have been camped out on my doorstep."    

Later in this seemingly infinite appointment, she also offered to wax my "sideburns" and my neck. I started to feel like I was slowly morphing into Beast while I sat in her chair. Man, she really wanted that sale. 

And the orchestra played on.

Labels Are For Boxes, Not People (AKA The Post Where I Get Rant-y)

We put labels on boxes so we can know what's inside. The labels are there so we can evaluate what's inside the box without looking, learning, or investigating for ourselves. We take for granted that the label is all we need to know.

How often do we do the same to people? We quickly label them and decide their “worth” by whatever quick label comes to mind.

      Unemployed. Employed. Poor. Rich. Middleclass. Upper class.

When was the last time you sized someone up based upon a quick label?

      Fair skinned. Dark skinned.

Do you put labels on people and take for granted that you know all you need to know?

      Introvert. Extrovert.

After nearly 10 years of marriage, I can tell you that I am still learning about my husband and he is still learning about me. Believe me when I say: In the most intimate of relationships, with open sharing, we can still misjudge each other.

      Fat. Skinny. Health nut. Junk food addict. Vegetarian.

So, why do we think we have strangers all figured out by a simple label? Why do we presume to guess the motives of others based on a label?

      Sinner. Saint. Bigot. Religious. Athiest. Agnostic.

When you put someone in a box with a neat little label you stop learning about them.

       Republican. Democrat. 

Don't label and certainly don't stop learning.

      Highschool education. Higher education.

The nature of human beings is that they will surprise you. We aren't meant to be kept in a box.

You are the sum of your life experiences, the choices you make, and the people you influence. Not the sum of the labels society places on you.

One day, can we just stop evaluating someone's worth all together?

You are a person. You live, you breathe, you matter. Full stop.

*********

POST SCRIPT BLAH BLAH BLAHS:

I don't consider this to be an end-all-be-all on the topic of labels in any way. This is just a brief introduction to the giant Rant-y Land I wander into when we talk about labels and putting people in boxes. This topic started with this tweet or the tweet started the topic? Chicken vs. egg. Any way.

Legit Box I don't mind if you put me in.

Night Birds

One of the perks of living in the southern parts of the U.S. is that while much of the country is still covered in snow, we are starting to see spring. Hate us or love us for it, spring is here.

The flowering trees here are stunning in the spring. Unfortunately, right now, the Bradford Pear trees are blooming. While they are particularly beautiful they have a soul-wrenching odor. Look upon the trees but do not stand downwind from them. The fumes wafting off those blossoms smell like a giant vat of urine that's covered in mold. Wikipedia actually describes the smell as "a cross between rotting fish and semen."

But I digress.

This weekend it was warm enough that we opened the windows at night for fresh air and a breeze. My husband and I cuddled a little, awake in the excitement of leaving the windows open for the first time this year. 

We made hushed small talk about how much we enjoyed the fresh air and I commented on how much I enjoyed "to just lie here and listen to the birds chirping."

We cuddled some more and listened to the night noises. It suddenly occurred to me that the noises were from bugs, not birds. From the sound of it, these were giant, mutant crickets of a violent sort.

As is my brain's natural inclination, I started to wonder exactly where those bugs were. Are they on my windowsill? Do they live in the trees? Did one climb in our bedroom?!? My brain helpfully supplied lots of thoughts about the bugs we were hearing (why is the word thorax so disturbing?) and it started to damage my calm. 

About this time, my husband caught on to the "bird noises" and he clarified, "Actually, I don't think those are birds, I think they're-"
"I know. I'm trying not to think about it."

"I mean – those are night birds," he corrected in an innocent yet manly falsetto, trying to redirect the conversation. "The birds that chirpy at night!"

"Uh, night birds, yeah."

We lay in an uneasy silence for a while, the magic of the moment lost. Finally, I got up and shut the window. He thanked me, saying, "I didn't want to listen to the bugs- uh, BIRDS any more either."

Ah, the perils of spring. If I haven't mentioned it previously, I do not like bugs. This is only the sweet chirping of crickets. When we hit the foul days of summer and cicada season you will find me in the fetal position trying to find my mind palace. 

May your windows be open, the breeze be pleasant, and the midnight chirping be night birds.

-Rachel's spring proverb

Random Thoughts on Tea

Judging you.

I had the most majestic cup of chai today at Starbucks. The fact they couldn't make it sugar free tells me they made it from a syrup, but I can live with that.

People ordering at the Starbucks counter use such careful and thoughtful mannerisms like they are receiving important advice from a consultant rather than ordering a beverage.

Starbucks always makes me think of that scene in You've Got Mail. "Tall. Decaf. Cappuccino." It really does make me feel like I accomplished some small thing in life by choosing a beverage and bravely facing the barista/consultant with my choice.

I rarely go to Starbucks. I normally brew my tea at home, and I'm always fascinated by the directions on the side of the box. 

Apparently, pouring the water over the teabag is a very important, non-negotiable step to making tea. Adding the teabag to a cup of hot water is “right out” (vague Monty Python reference). Google this if you wish to read a lot of people have anxiety over the pour vs. dunk debate.

My box of decaf chai says that not only should I pour the hot water over the teabag, I should by no means squeeze the teabag. My husband theorizes they were thinking of male body parts when they included this instruction.

There are no real rules to how I make tea. Tea is supposed to be relaxing. The more rules applied to the tea making process, the more I've defeated the purpose of the tea.

To "real" tea drinkers I imagine my methods and tastes for tea are something akin to a Neanderthal bludgeoning a small rabbit and eating it raw. *crude grunting*

I have many different varieties of tea, and I'm often struck by how the different brands of tea show different personalities on the box. 

The Celestial Seasonings box makes me think of a fun bunch of laid-back people. Twinings makes me feel a little inadequate, like I'm not worthy, but I drink it anyway because 'Murica. Bigelow is somewhere between Celestial Seasonings and Twinings, for me.

The Tazo box makes me think that "maybe I should've accomplished something with my life today, but if I'm yearning for an accomplishment I may miss the path to inner centeredness and is this tea done steeping yet?"

On that note, I have a cup of freshly made tea waiting for me. I performed a hybrid "pour + dunk" maneuver with the teabag, in case you're wondering.

2011 Books I've Read

I love reading but I haven't had much time to read in the last couple years due to school. (I suppose I should say "reading for fun" since I read plenty for school!) So, one thing that I worked on during 2011 was reading just a little bit on most days.

It felt good even to read "just one chapter" because that was so much more than I'd been able to read in years. (Although, some days I stayed up nearly all night reading a book because I couldn't put it down ... even though I had a test the next day. Don't be like me!)

Just for giggles, I looked back through all of my library “overdue notice” e-mails (haha!) to compile a list of the books I read this year. (Seriously though, if you live in my area and I was holding captive the book you wanted, I am very sorry.) There are probably a few books missing from this list because I forgot about them, but I think it's a good representation of what I've read. It's good to see that "just one chapter" really made a difference.

What are some of the books you read in 2011?

Fiction

1. I Am Number Four – Pittacus Lore
2. Girl with the Dragon Tattoo – Stieg Larrson
3. Dead Reckoning – Charlaine Harris
4. The Hunger Games – Suzanne Collins
5. Catching Fire – Suzanne Collins
6. Mockingjay – Suzanne Collins
7. Real Murders – Charlaine Harris
8. A Bone to Pick – Charlaine Harris
9. Three Bedrooms, One Corpse – Charlaine Harris
10. The Julius House – Charlaine Harris
11. Dead Over Heels – Charlaine Harris
12. Ouran High School Host Club – Story & art by Bisco Hatori (manga)
13. Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance – Robert M. Pirsig (Read for a class. I wanted to hang myself.)
14. Specimen Day – Michael Cunningham (Read for a class. Fascinating, unnerving, and depressing at times. The final “story” had Asimovian flavor.)
15. Balzac and the Little Chinese Seamstress – Dai Sijie
16. Mr. Muo's Traveling Couch – Dai Sijie
17. Robot Dreams – Isaac Asimov

Non-Fiction (Stuff for your brain)

1. “The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks” – Rebecca Skloot
2. Day Trips From Raleigh-Durham – James L. Hoffman
3. The House of Hope – Elisabeth Gifford
4. Pagan Christianity? – Frank Viola and George Barna

Non-Fiction (Cookbooks, Health, Self-Help, etc.)

1. The Eat-Clean Diet Recharged – Tosca Reno
2. The Total Money Makeover – Dave Ramsey
3. Cook Yourself Thin – Lifetime Television (just typing that is embarrassing)
4. Making the Cut – Jillian Michaels
5. Master Your Metabolism – Jillian Michaels
6. The Master Your Metabolism Cookbook – Jillian Michaels
7. The Pioneer Woman Cooks – Ree Drummond
8. The Power of Positive Fitness: Maximizing Physical, Mental & Spiritual Health – John M. Rowley