2010, filled with zen

Every New Year's, I get very nostalgic. I mean, it's a holiday devoted to vowing to make yourself better at life! and who needs stupid goals about working out? (I totally have this goal, against my better judgment and knowledge that I will FAIL). I am also going to try to be more zen. What do you mean, Mara?

Every year, our high school student council advisor has a reunion. All of the student body officers from years past come and gets nostalgic about high school, is pretty much what happens. We find out what everyone is up to now that they OH MY GOSH, are so old. The picture albums from the days of yore (way back in the 1990s) and everyone looks through them. In our year, there was a final we had to take covering the events over the year. My fellow officers looked at it together. There was a question about who did the most work every day in the StuCo office. And we were all, WHO WAS IT? It wasn't Sparks. Was it me? Libby? Andrew? No one knew!

This brings up such crazy implications. There were so many times in high school when I would have a mental breakdown or go into cardiac arrest because of.... I DON'T EVEN REMEMBER. I distinctly remember these freakouts but CANNOT, for the life of me, remember why! It was such a huge deal then, but, in retrospect, did not matter at all.

This is something I definitely wish I could remember when I face my next problem. Unfortunately, if anyone were to remind me of this and confirm that this, in fact, was not a big deal, I may, in fact, kill them. It's one of those dangerous statements that would put one in the direct path of The Crazy. So I am going to make it a New Year's resolution to try to handle things a bit more calmly, with a bit more zen, and look at the big picture in my life.

So what was one of the StuCo final questions that we did all remember four years after the fact? That the officer that ripped her beltloop and couldn't make it up the wall at the challenge course.... was me.

Awesome.

Happy New Year, all.

models in training

Saylor and Sophia did their makeup, so we had a photoshoot. I told them that a lot of models do the pouty face when they get pictures taken. Here are their future headshots.

go bake!

I can't recall whether I've blogged about this or not............ I should really start tagging. But there is this fantastic food blog called Annie's Eats where she creates another fantastic concoction every day and is breathtaking at life. She recently put up a recipe for Pumpkin Blondies. It was at the beginning of the pumpkin shortage, and I was trying to find the perfect pumpkin thing to make with my only can. It shouldn't be surprising that the pumpkin, butterscotch, and ooey-gooeyness of this dessert was phenomenal. I keep waiting for another excuse to make them! Since making and eating them myself is frowned upon.


You can find the link here.

2 cups all-purpose flour
1 tbsp. pumpkin pie spice
1 tsp. baking soda
¾ tsp. salt
16 tbsp. unsalted butter, at room temperature
1¼ cups granulated sugar (or brown sugar)
1 large egg
2 tsp. vanilla extract
1 cup pumpkin puree
1 cup white chocolate chips
1 cup butterscotch chips
½ cup chopped, toasted nuts (optional)

Directions: Preheat the oven to 350° F. Line a 9×13-inch baking dish with foil. In a medium bowl, combine the flour, pumpkin pie spice, baking soda and salt. Stir together and set aside.
In the bowl of an electric mixer fitted with the paddle attachment, beat together the butter and sugar on medium-high speed until light and fluffy, about 2 minutes. Beat in the egg and vanilla until well combined. Mix in the pumpkin puree. With the mixer on low speed add the dry ingredients and mix just until incorporated. Fold in the white chocolate and butterscotch chips (and nuts, if using) with a rubber spatula.

Spread the batter evenly into the prepared pan. Bake until the edges begin to pull away from the sides of the pan and a toothpick inserted in the center comes out with just a few crumbs, about 35-40 minutes. Transfer the pan to a wire rack and let cool completely before cutting.
To serve, lift the cake from the pan using the foil and transfer to a cutting board. Peel off the foil and using a sharp knife, cut into 24 squares.




P.S. Brown Eyed Baker is doing a KitchenAid giveaway for holiday recipes! Check it out and look at all of the yummy Christmas traditions people have entered.

soooo..... K BYE!

hahahahahaha!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

pros and cons

con:

I am unable to drink coffee fast because I am a temperature wimp and it is too hot.

pro:

I only have to leave it in my igloo, oops, I mean BEDROOM, for about 44 seconds and it's far below room temperature.

consistent!

More reliable than my school reading never getting done, than me getting the new John Mayer album, even more reliable than Macaroni Grill's bread being mind-blowingly delicious, are my tears EVERY SINGLE TIME I see this commercial.





Food Network from October to January is like a whisper of love from the Lord into my soul.

half of my heart's got a real good imagination, half of my heart's got you

There is a part of me that really, TRULY, wants to stop loving John Mayer so much. I mean, duo with Taylor Swift on his new album? Dating Jessica Simpson? writing political propaganda music?

But, me oh my, what a delicious treat.

Therefore, my hands are tied.

See you at Target on Tuesday, John.

directionless

WHERE IS MY LIFE EVEN GOING.

Why is it that we go to elementary school, which is followed by middle and high school, which we learn is followed by college, and then... ?! WHAT?! WHAT IS NEXT?! the question that is slowly sucking the soul from my body.

Some people evade this question by choosing [real] majors. My oldest sister was an education major, so naturally she became a teacher. My middle sister majored in biology to become a nurse. ever the rebellious one, I chose family studies which is just as vague as it sounds. don't get me wrong, I wholeheartedly believe in what I am studying. helping people, building relationships with them, giving them resources, being poor with them, etc. but it turns out that the very thing that drew me to my major-- the endless possibility of career paths-- is now what I am DROWNING IN.

WHY DID I DO THIS?! I clearly did not realize that four years later, the days until I graduate and am thrown off the gravy train would dwindle away faster than I could find gainful employment. I realize this is a common college-senior feeling but I'M NOT READY! I'm not ready to stop looking for jobs and start looking for a CAREER. to have to PAY BILLS. and to NOT BE A STUDENT ANYMORE.

and so, as I sit in my car awaiting my phone interview, I not-so-slowly realize, GROWING UP IS TERRIFYING, and there's nothing I can do about it but jump in.

public service announcement

If I don't say hi to you on campus, it is only like a 3% chance that I was trying to dis you in front of a mass of people. The other 97% accounts for you being more than 6 inches from my constantly-forgetting-how-bad-my-vision-is eyes.

And if I had road rage at you yesterday... when I blatantly knew who you were... and then felt SUPER guilty, I'm going to go ahead and blame that on the glasses too.

Cool?

Cool.

Dear Nazi Feminist,

I was truly entrhalled today by your strong argument for having a female president elected in our lifetime. I was particularly intrigued by your use of the word "betray" instead of "portray". I really appreciate your call to the media and men worldwide to stop thinking women are so emotional. I would, however, like to remind you of that one time? in a class discussion? when you wept and left the room in a tizzy because of someone mentioning women cutting their hair when the join the military?

Anyway, I just wanted to extend a warm welcome to The Crazy, a club for most women nationwide. Please leave your denial at the door.

Girl Power!
Mara Cavallaro

If you are sitting 10 feet away from me in a CROWDED coffeeshop, and I can hear every word of your crappy Shins knockoff music from your headphones... your music may, in fact, be too loud.

I say this in the most considerate fashion.

I was KICKED. out of a BAR.

So it's homecoming week here at K-State, right? And each year, Kappa has a little shindig with our fraternity partners. So I'm at this function at Kite's in Aggieville, where the seniors GET TO DRINK! BECAUSE THEY ARE OF AGE! AND NOT UNDERAGE!

So I walk into Kite's, and the doorman chases me down with his Sharpie and puts Xs on my hands. I do not think about the implications of this until I see my lovely sisters with their drinks. I go back to the doorman and I'm all, WAIT! I'M TWENTY ONE. LOOK, I HAVE PROOF. And he turns the Xs on my hands into OKs and shows the bartenders that I'm legit. (too legit to quit).

So I get my Dos Equis, and I'm all minding my own business, drinking my beer, wondering with my friends why two freshmen just got kicked out. this HUGE BOUNCER runs up to me and points to my hands and is all, "THAT'S WEIRD!" in his little Sassy Linebacker voice. He GRABS MY WRIST and pulls me out of the bar. and I'm all, EXCUSE ME, UP THERE, I AM TWENTY-ONE AND MY HANDS CLEARLY SAY OKAY, NOT X.

So he's all PUSHING ME OUT THE DOOR (because apparently that is ever appropriate for a 6'4" linebacker to do to a 5'2" girl wearing pigtails).

Internet, I WAS BEING THROWN OUT OF A BAR.

an experience I never thought I'd have.

so the doorman is all, DUDE. SHE IS TWENTY-ONE. and Sassy Linebacker rolled his eyes like HIS LIFE. IS SO DIFFICULT. and shoves my beer back in my face. without...so much...as an acknowledgment of his unnecessarily sassy and shovey manner. I tried to find him and demand an apology, but he escaped into the dark and hazy crowd never to be found again. That, and he was SASSY LINEBACKER, let us remember, and I wouldn't trust him to not beat my 21-year-old bottom up.

Taco Bell Banter

me: so what is with the black taco shell? does it taste different than the regular one?
guy 1: nope. it's the same.
me: oh. that's anticlimactic.
guy 1: it's what? what is that?
me: oh. just like, a let down.
guy 2: yeah they're exactly the same. the only thing that might be different is maybe they took some stuff out and put some other stuff in.


uhh... thus qualifying as "different".

farmer's market honey

Can someone explain oatmeal to me? Is there at all a possibility of ending up somewhere between soup-consistency and bubbling-over-onto-your-microwave? What am I doing wrong here?

possibility: trying the stovetop method. but I'd like an easier possibility.

Mara = bitter

[edit]

my guilt complex is second to none.


BUT YEAH, SAM! AMEN!

update

As far as that whole running thing goes...

the snooze button owns my life.

OWNS. MY LIFE.

SHINGLES!

I PASSIONATELY ENCOURAGE YOU TO CLICK ON THIS.

There is this woman, named Heather Armstrong, at dooce.com and she as revolutionized parenthood. In a nutshell, she blogs about her life as a mom and wife and person living on the planet. She is real and talks about things that are great and fun and also the things that are hard to deal with. It's this movement called "mommyblogging" and it is this fantastic support for moms so they all have someone to talk to who has been there before.

Allow me to just say that this woman is hilarious. and full of truth. but there are some people-- or shall I say, excuse my French, schoolboy bitches-- that like to send hateful things to her for no real apparent reason. Out of a STROKE OF GENIUS she turned all these ridiculous things into a website so she can profit from their stupidity when you visit it. so do it. and then read dooce every day. You won't regret it.

I am going to start documenting a change I am implementing. I am going to be a runner. And by runner, I hope you know that I mean One Who Runs When Feeling Somewhat Fat. It is a new dieting strategy wherein I base my entire fitness regimen on what I see when I look in a mirror in my bathroom. The only other part of this fitness regimen is drinking lots of water. Nothing else will really change about what I eat. Because I love food. And God gave that to me, so I might as well embrace it, right?

I should probably also mention that this has a good deal to do with the fact that I accidentally told my sister I'd do this church 5k with her, only to realize that I THINK I HAVE ASTHMA, AND I AM NOT JOKING. I will spare you how ridiculously few blocks I can run before I am gasping for air, tackling passersby, and writhing on the ground in agony. An exaggeration. Or not.

I am only doing a mile right now, because otherwise there's a fair chance I'd die. BUT, today my mile was 10 minutes, which is 5 minutes shorter than it was when we were required to run that mile in sixth grade and I was one of the very last people past the finish line. Woo!

If you stay tuned, I might even treat you all to pictures of my I've-run-16-steps-and-I-look-like-a-tomato face.

Lucky you.

shady things

What my textbook says this is: a hypertension test






What this looks like: malpractice.

Please note eye contact.

recruitment is over...

...and this is the only thing on my to-do list.

oh, and blog more than once every two months maybe.

because I lack creative words at this juncture

see if you can successfully play this ridiculous game. use the letters to see if you can guess what poster they came from. something you'd think would be easier for someone who watches more movies than anyone actually should.

show me where you want your gift

I'm going to choose to believe that this song was not actually ever written. My hope in mankind depends upon it.

my beef with Edible Arrangements

I think that this is a fantastic idea. Fruit! In a bouquet! As a gift!

That being said, I wonder if it is really plausible. A) there is a lot of bad fruit in the world. B) Isn't pre-cut, anonymously gathered, shipped-through-the-postal-service fruit a little... sketch?

I could look past those two things, but this most recent commercial about Fathers' Day? Getting your dad a fruit bouquet, to make him feel special? That is RIDICULOUS. No dad I have ever met would like a fruit basket for a masculine holiday. Why don't you just give them a pair of your stilettos and send him off for a day at the spa. Because a FRUIT BASKET-- and I could be wrong here, as I am a chick-- but I think a FRUIT BASKET looks masculinity in the eye and says, "You're so cute!"


________________________________________

In an unrelated note, I want everything here and am a sin-haven full of lust.

Boojiboo Flirty Apron GUEST GIVEAWAY!!!!

Boojiboo Flirty Apron GUEST GIVEAWAY!!!!

how cute is this thing?

measuring worth through colors

One of the blogs I read posted a little color test, found here, linking your favorite color with a brief synopsis and judgment of your character. My favorite color is, of course, brown. But reading the description could not be further from my actual personality.

"You are down to earth, comfortable with who you are and have a great ability to find joy in life. You don't take things personally, you can rebound from failure, and you go for what you want."

Down-t0-earth is a stretch, but is leaps and bounds ahead of, "comfortable with who you are," and, "don't take things personally," and, "can rebound from failure". I took this test and had to look aorund and laugh at the irony of the universe's practical joke on me.

So I went for color number 2: Gravel. (I am a paralyzingly neutral person, apparently).

"Pressure stimulates you and you like setting goals for yourself. You are exciting, very curious, and are great at parties. You surround yourself with lots of unusual people and have loose boundaries."

Unusual people and loose boundaries. Now THAT'S something I can hear resonating within me. They must have left out the character trait of, "hating yourself for being unable to be something stupendous like people who are PAPAYA or POOL and MAKE THE WORLD A BETTER PLACE because come on, Gravel, these traits are all euphemistic ways of telling you YOU HAVE THE CRAZY."

Just kidding.

But seriously.

believing God can talk through the Chronicles of Narnia

"I was the lion." And as Shasta gaped with open mouth and said nothing, the Voice continued. "I was the lion who forced you to join with Aravis. I was the cat who comforted you among the houses of the dead. I was the lion who drove the jackals from you while you slept. I was the lion who gave the Horses the new strength of fear for the last mile so that you should reach King Lune in time. And I was the lion you do not remember who pushed the boat in which you lay, a child near death, so that it came to shore where a man sat, wakeful at midnight, to receive you."

"Then it was you who wounded Aravis?"

"It was I."

"But what for?"

"Child," said the Voice, "I am telling you your story, not hers. I tell no one any story but his own."

I don't know which way I'm going, I don't know which way I've come

This weekend I went to Des Moines. It was super fun. I had some of this:

and some of this:

and went antiquing and found satanic-worship thrones and this thight thing:

We stayed with my sweet Betsy and saw the Coldplay/Snow Patrol show. It was fantastic. Snow Patrol didn't play very long, but it was good. and Coldplay was, of course, brilliant. No pictures because taking pictures at shows makes me feel SUPER lame. But here's a little video, because this is one of their best live songs. Kinda shakey because W.T.EXPLETIVE CHEAP-SECTION-PATRONS?! THERE'S A REASON WE DON'T STAND UP.

(I have to figure out how to do the video...)

domesticity

I made this delicious treat, courtesy of Annie's Eats (one of the most fantastic food blogs, because she has a NEW RECIPE, LIKE EVERY DAY, AND THEY ALL LOOK SCRUMTRULESCENT): Sour Cream Coffee Cake. Coffee cake is, in and of itself, a kiss from the Lord himself. But I really like how the sour cream gives it kind of a... tangy moistness. Not an overwhelming tangyness. Okay, my spiritual gift clearly is not using words to describe delicious food. But drop by my house and I'll be glad to share a piece with you.

Then, breakfast was so on my mind that I gave in to eating blueberry pancakes for dinner.

You may say, Mara, do you think that was a healthy decision? I'd say no. And I admit that I ate them guiltily. But um, if eating something like that for dinner is wrong? I'm not sure I want to be right. Please do not ask me what I drank with it. Because I was NOT out of milk. and I was NOT raised to think tap water is something fish have sex in. and I absolutely did not drink a Boulevard.

Lastly, I have picked up a new pursuit. Long story short, I am new Mara. (a phrase which must have been used in this blog upwards of a million times) and new Mara is going to be a proficient seamstress. Even if the learning to sew does take place on my bedroom floor sitting Indian style. (politically correct?)

kiosks

Can someone tell me when in this society we started telling people to put an entire store on a cart in the middle of an aisle at the mall and call out to passersby telling them they needed this! a new motorized helicopter! a cuticle cream! a new straightener!* by means of harassment and verbal assault? Because I think this causes nothing but dissension. And does our society REALLY need more dissension? Let's bring the consumerism back into the stores, okay?


**At Oak Park mall, there used to be this kiosk outside F21 that sold straighteners. They would always do everything in their power except literally grab your chin to make eye contact. They'd be all, YOU! HEY YOU THERE! DO YOU USE A STRAIGHTENER?! To avoid this nuisance, I once was all, Yes, thanks! And they were all, COME SEE HOW WELL THIS ONE WORKS. The next time, having learned my lesson the hard way, I responded by saying, NO, thanks! And then they said, COME SEE THIS ONE. This, you crazy foreign straightener-pushers, is called a TRAP.

embarrassing moments

What is the most embarrassing moment of your life?

I have several. Several memories that, upon reflection, were small glimpses into the depths of the potential of human humiliation. Most of which, I'm sorry to say, have no place being mentally relived, much less broadcasted on a blog. Perhaps, someday, I will feel comfortable with that level of self-disclosure.

What I'm wondering, though, is if you guys handle embarrassment the same way? Because, for a long time, I experienced this thing where I remember humiliating experiences and it was VISIBLE that I was reliving the trauma. I get this face. The face looks a lot like I am staring at something bright, or looking through a telescope with my bad eye. And it a lot of times requires sound effects.

I say this because I recently found out from my friend studying Psychology that this is more universal than one might think. There have been actual STUDIES on physical reactions when people are thinking about how mortified they were at some point. Everyone has an embarrassment face. And while maybe everyone else doesn't revert mysteriously back to Kenny Rogers featuring Wyclef Jean lyrics while squinting with Telescope Eye, it is interesting that the physical reaction is something a lot of people encounter. This, I think, is evidence of God's sense of humor. Because how hilarious would it be to watch 6 billion people have psychosomatic instances of humbling themselves?!

The Kill

The Huge, Hairy, Eight-Legged Culprit:

The Naive, Hopeful, Baiting Solution:

The Bait:

The Stroke of Brilliance:

The Happy Ending:

dying inside

Perhaps some of you remember when I had to come to the realization that Tom Hanks was a complete Scientologist. This led to a search for other people who believed in this. Will Smith was among them. Which is fine. I mean, my roommate pointed out a very legitimate point that stars with other religions are CRAZY. Their marriage falls to shambles because of decades of infidelity, their kids get subjected to the fallout that can only come from The Crazy, etc. But Scientologists, she pointed out, generally had stable families. They had long-standing marriages, well-rounded kids, and generally didn't really show up in the tabloids for shaving their head or addicting themselves to cocaine and losing 285 pounds in 4 days.

So maybe, just maybe, I can look past the fact that the Sci-Fi author openly EXPLAINED that the religion was not REAL, just a figment of his imagination, and focus on the good fruits of this religion.

But then, in my class today, I learned some horrible news.

Will Smith and Jada Pinkett-Smith have an OPEN MARRIAGE! The implications of this mean that they are allowed to have sex with other people, so long as they ask their spouse first. What Will says about this arrangement:

"Our perspective is, you don't avoid what's natural and you're going to be attracted to people... And if it came down to it, then one would say to the other: 'Look, I need to have sex with somebody. Now, I'm not going to if you don't approve of it. But please approve of it.'... In our marriage vows, we didn't say 'forsaking all others'. We said 'you will never hear I did something afterwards'. Because if that happens the relationship is destroyed."

This CANNOT be true. This is WILL SMITH. and while it is not my intent to judge someone's marriage and how it could possibly work, this is one of the media's ONLY healthy relationships, and how can they just sleep with other people and still say how completely in love they are with the other person, and FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THINGS HOLY AND GOOD, THIS CANNOT POSSIBLY BE A GOOD IDEA, SMITHS.

June 12-- the day I...

fall in love.

what I wanted to say / what I said

Allow me to set the scene: I am at a coffeeshop that will remain nameless. I ask for a vanilla iced coffee.

guy: Okay! What size?
me: Uh, medium, please.
guy: Okay! 2% milk?
me: Actually, could I get skim milk in that, please?
guy: Okay! (writes 2% on the cup)
(shows me the cup)
guy: Does that look right?!


what I wanted to say: No.
what I said: Uhhhhhh...Yep!

this is a part of my personality I will never understand.

my current obsession

this

(the minute 3:35 sounds a lot like the minute 4:40 of this... yeah?)

injustice

So I'm at the Royals game, right? And it's college night. And so there is supposed to be $3.50 beers. So the guy is walking around, calling out, "BUD LIGHT! MILLER LITE!" ever so seductively. I beckon him up to the top section and see the button on his shirt says $7.25. and I'm all, "WHAT?!" Because what in GOD'S CREATION, would cause a cheaply-produced blend of barley, yeast and hopps, that probably cost mere CENTS to make, SEVEN DOLLARS AND 25 CENTS. This is an outrage. This is MILLER LITE we are talking about, people. So no, kind sir, I do not want that beer. I will instead go searching around the entire stadium for these supposed $3.5o beers, come to find out that they failed to mention the time constraint on these [still grossly overpriced] beers, and still end up buying a six-dollar Bud Light because here I am, in the middle of Kauffman stadium, left without a choice. It's one of those duties, like eating another slice of cake when you're already full, or buying that chair on the infomercials, that just makes you damn proud of being an American.

festering

I'm at Radina's. and I'm watching a catastrophe unfold.

This middle aged couple ordered lunch. Two sandwiches. I think the person who brought the sandwiches out brought the guy's sandwich to the wrong table. So the couple, the one whose one sandwich didn't show up, is just sitting there. Getting increasingly upset. And I was just thinking that this is a lot like life, right? We get upset about something and then just let it fester until we go and demand our money back. From the outside, I can tell that it is just a misunderstanding and, JUST GO TELL THE PEOPLE AT THE COUNTER AND THEY'LL MAKE YOUR SANDWICH, DON'T GET UPSET! But how often do people probably want to say that to me? This should be a learning experience about how I should just let people know when I am hurt or upset or feeling like I haven't been treatly justly. Just share these feelings, before they become HUGE AND LIFE-THREATENING.


I am fairly certain, however, that I will continue in my silent, bottling ways.

Ah, well.

people love me in the hood, they don't want me to stop

this entered my head randomly yesterday. and I've been listening to it ever since. and why should I be the only one to benefit from my spontaneous memory?

stfu

the people from Slumdog Millionaire?
those people who are the Dreamfest 2009 couple of the freaking LIFE?

they are dating in real life.


and far be it from me to want anything else out of life. because now? now that these people are dating? my life is complete. all those dreams about marriage? and babies? and changing the world one underprivileged child at a time? those are all unimportant if these two people are together. which is only a slight exaggeration.

phases

I'm in a phase. This phase is called Wanting To Make Every Possible Variety of Scone and Perfect the Art. I think I'm going to do this. Radina's has inspired me. Blackberry Spice scone. Apple Cinnamon scone. Banana Nut scone. It's the perfect variety of sweet and salty. I'm going to use this recipe and make scones my life for a while. THANKS, SMITTENKITCHEN!

Makes 12 to 16, depending on how you cut them

2 3/4 cup pastry flour (all-purpose is also fine)
1/4 cup sugar1 tablespoon baking powder
1 teaspoon baking soda
6 ounces of butter, in 1/2-inch cubes
1 cup golden raisins plus
1 tablespoon caraway seeds -or- 1 cup fresh fruit of your choice, chopped
3/4 to 1 cup buttermilk (use the smaller amount if using fresh fruit, the larger if using the raisin-caraway combo)

Turbinado or sanding sugar for sprinkling (optional, not in the original recipe)

Preheat oven to 375°.

Place cubed butter in freezer for 15 minutes. Meanwhile, measure other ingredients (except buttermilk and fruit) and mix in the bowl of a food processor.

Add butter to processor bowl and mix until the butter and flour mixture are the texture of coarse cornmeal. Transfer the mixture to the bowl of a mixer and add buttermilk and fruit, mixing on the lowest speed until the dough just comes together.

Turn out onto a lightly floured surface and knead gently a couple times. Roll dough out to approximately one-inch thickness (I skipped the rolling pin and just patted it out with floured hands) and cut into squares. Cut those squares again on the diagonal, creating triangles. Sprinkle with coarse sugar, if you’re using it.

Bake on an ungreased baking sheet (mine stuck ever-so-slightly, so I might line it with parchment next time, though no biggie if you don’t) for 25 to 30 minutes, until lightly browned.


Any requests?

shockingly similar to pre-Europe, actually

gmail chatting that makes me love my Love even more:



Libby: i just heard god bless america and almost started crying

me: HAHAHAHHAHAHA
HAHAHAHAHA WHY!!!!!
You miss America?

Libby: because i love our country
yes. we really do live in the greatest country in the world.

me: HAHAHAHAAHAHAHA

Libby: after living overseas i totally understand why america is so great

me: YOU ARE HILARIOUSLY CUTE

Libby: seriously
i can't WAIT for the 4th of July.

me: STOP IT. GET IN MY POCKET

Libby: ok! except i gained weight here so its gonna have to be a HUGE ASS pocket
but for reals, im going to download proud to be an american and play it as i walk through customs.

Welcome back to America, you Sasspot.

there's a hole in my pocket about her size

So I'm having this problem I like to affectionately call, "Chick Mania," which is similar to, but not the same as, "The Crazy".

I spent a significant part of my adolescent years dreaming about my life to come. What would I want to do? What would I look like? Would I even get my braces off? Would I ever stop driving a sicknasty Plymouth van? Would I go to K-State like my sisters? And what about Joe? (HAHA, a personal shout out to those of you who were my friends then. or who pretended to be my friend, when in actuality, you hated me.)

In true feminine form, I had intricately planned details of my FUTURE future. What would my wedding colors be? (brown, ivory, and wine; or yellow and stark white, depending on the season) Where would I get married? (in Kansas City at Colonial, duh, tradition) Who would be standing behind me? (depends on when you ask me) How would I walk down the aisle? (Coldplay--Amsterdam)

The reason I thought about these things was because I operated under the assumption that by the time I was leaving college, I would be engaged. That's what you do. You go to college, find Dream Man McGee, date them for years, then get engaged and have a candlelighting at Kappa where everyone gushes over how lucky you are and how glad they are that you found the one person that makes you happy for the rest of eternity.

oops.

This is what I'm saying: DON'T ASSUME. NEVER ASSUME. AVOID ASSUMPTIONS LIKE THE PLAGUE. I think God hates assumptions with the white hot intensity of a thousand suns. Assumptions: Lion; Me: Unsuspecting lamb. Assumptions: open manhole; me: blind. Assumptions: dollar section at Target; me: me.

It has recently come to my realization that this plan that I made? is now an IMPOSSIBLITY. Am I okay with that? I'm getting there. Are questions such as will I have a paying job and will I ever find a place to live and what is a W9 and will I go back to Old Chicago for another 5 years flooding my mind and making me lie awake at night making endless to-do lists? ...Maybe.

The candlelighting thing is the biggest problem I have. As my friends have been getting engaged lately, I have become INCREASINGLY aware of my aloneness. I don't think that I am any more insecure than the next girl. God only knows why women were made for this companionship in a way that makes long to be in an intimate relationship with another person. Literally-- God only knows. Am I not happy for my friends? Hells nah. I love their loves and am so excited for their lives together. I just have to adapt to the fact that although I will probably get married one day (HERE'S HOPING!), it is not going to be on my time. Although I have my candlelighting quotes picked out, they won't get used. And I definitely think it is fine for me to mourn the death of this dream.

And while I may not get to come home late one night and wake someone up to tell the news, at least I have wonderful people surrounding me that I'm willing to bet will be around when I do have news.

I completely recognize that this is a creepy thing for me to do. Since I know of these people in real life, and I have many friends in common with them. But how could I not post this kick-a proposal that made me cry in Hale whilst small high schoolers are running around for open house?!





To my future husband: take notes.

kudos to you lovely kids.

Romantic Things Men Yell in Aggieville

HEY YOU. GET YOUR SEXY ASS BACK HERE!

uhh...what?

HEY YOU. GET YOUR.... CUTE ASS BACK HERE!**

me?

YEAH, IT'S OKAY, I'M NOT MARRIED!

oh, well...uh... I am! nuts!

THAT'S OKAY! I'M A HOMEWRECKER!




**Thank you for rephrasing, because "sexy" was the only degrading and objectifying thing the first time around.

TRUTH

This is going to seem like I have an obsession, considering the last post, and maybe I do. But John Mayer's twitter is the most hilarious thing I've ever read. Hilarious in a way that is mind-numbingly accurate.

Things to consider: "johncmayer: Robot wanted: must be able to brush my teeth and wash my face while I lay in bed, plug my Blackberry in and turn off my lights. $1200/wk"

you should read it. twitter.com/johncmayer.

2 artists I would give my left hand to see together live

sincerest apology

I'm sorry for seeming somewhat absent.

Unfortunately, somewhere between spilling coffee and water on my already-dying laptop permanently killed it. (I know, I'm ambivalent too).

I will come back soon.

And blog.

From a NEW COMPUTER! THAT STAYS ON!

yeah baby.
mara

haiku

"Mascara: Every Woman's Inner Dialogue"

Always a new brand.
"Make yours THICKER! LONGER! MORE!"
but do you? really?

I mean, MASCARA.
How different can it be?
....just one way to see.*



*because you better believe a little advertising and high quality fake lashes get the best of us sometimes. don't deny it.

wwjd

One of the biggest problems between God and I is that I feel He will talk someone else's head off and never once can I say that I have really HEARD God. (Hindsight is 20/20, and I can say that, at certain points in my life, He was telling me to do something and I was giving a firm NO THANKS. But never at the time can I say, OH, God gave me a vision, told me I was loved, yadda yadda yadda). I am FULLY aware that this is probably a problem of my perception and listening skills, but that is neither here nor there.

But SOMETIMES, I get the urges to do the SILLIEST things. And by silly, I often mean socially inappropriate, creepy and/or restraining-order-provoking. Need some examples?

• This lady I took an Early Childhood class from was such a wonderful teacher. She inspired me (She is not very good at being unbiased, but she inspired me nonetheless) to make natural childbirth one of my top lifetime goals. When the semester was winding down, I really, I mean, REALLY wanted to make a little card for her, telling her how great I thought she was, and how wise and all these things. I didn't, however, because who writes their teacher a card? I know now that it would have been fine-- ney, GREAT-- but it's easy to justify cowardness in the moment.

• My car battery died. (note: wtf, esmerelda?) So I took it to Midas in Manhattan and the guy tested it for free and said I needed a new battery. I could have gotten that battery cheaper somewhere else, but he tested it! for free! and was sa'damn nice! so I went back and got it there, only to get the notion that I should offer that man the Easter candy that I had gotten that morning from the MOPs lady. That is creepy. I didn't do that part. Just the battery, sir.

• One time (maybe I already blogged about this?), I was in a class where this guy was on the Interfaith council on campus. Christians had been presidents of the council for the last 50 years. and this guy is a Buddhist. He ran and got elected president for the club. Then he timidly and woundedly explained that every, single, Christian gradually left the council. Some right away, some later with every excuse in the book. WHAT?! Later that semester, we filled out t-vals and I wrote this long, blubbering apology, that was not even coherent because this MAN, guys! I felt so guilty.

Since, on my own, I am selfish and self-driven and desirous of every piece of Easter candy in the world, would you say that this little situations are ones in which God was telling me to do them? Or is it just coincidental?

sorry about all those commas.

fantastic news

I am pleased to share the information that I learned from the FYI section of the newspaper today. Wes Bergmann-- remember the guy from Real World who was super crazy and from Leawood, Kansas?-- is opening up a frozen yogurt store in Leawood this weekend. What are the implications of this, you might ask. Well, the only answer I can give you is HAVE YOU EVER EVEN TRIED PINKBERRY?!

Pinkberry is this delicious little slice of heaven that, what do you know?, is sold virtually everywhere but Kansas. UNTIL NOW. It is fat free frozen yogurt. Which might make you think ice cream, but it is actually literally frozen. yogurt. And it has fruit toppings or granola or all these delicious little bumkins. And it is healthy. Read: So healthy that it is, in fact, healthier to eat it than not eat it....I say.

So if you are around the KC area, visit this little shindig on Saturday. It's called Mochi Yo on 119th and Roe. Saturday they are giving away free cups of yogurt. And, for the love of all things HOLY and good, it is going to take every ounce of strength I have to not drive 2 hours each way just to get some of this scrumtrulescence in my mouth. So, hey, Internet, eat one for me too.

really?

I'm in this class called the Helping Relationship. It's required for Family Studies majors but is completely ridiculous unless you're planning on being a therapist. Anyway, we talk a lot about what NOT to do when you're a therapist, and we watched these videos by a "dating coach from NYC" named Donna Barnes. It won't let me embed the video, which I applaud them for doing, lest people find out how ludicrous she is. In this clip, she shares with us how to get our boyfriends crazy about us.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZbiOj0xKwi4

Reasons you should go watch it:

• "The best way to get your boyfriend crazy about you is to appeal to his sexual desires."
• "If you think you're not in the mood, think again."
• "If you never say no to him, he will be so appreciative and desirous of you."

Just what we needed in the world! More selfish, shameless pursuits for sexual satisfaction! No wonder it's taken us so long, ladies. Thank you, Donna, for the answer we've all been looking for.

yum

I want to try to make this. Yes, I know that raw fish is what makes sushi sushi. However, I do not like that part. I love those sushis with the avacado, cream cheese, and whatever fish is in there delicately poked out. Rice? Good. Vegetables? Delicious. Cream Cheese? Uh, yeah.

Thus, vegetarian sushi.

I'll let you know how it is when and if I ever make it.

Why is blog-stalking so fantastic when you have 35 papers to write?

NEW!

I'm going to market a new product. It's aimed at people who want it to rain, but are not interested in doing a rain dance. My new product is foolproof, it will work every time. What do you have to do, you ask?

merely buy me a car wash, thus ensuring rain within HOURS.

driving home tonight

not found:
ATM slips to go to the bank

found:
two twenties and an uncashed check

sometimes, irony is delicious.

confession 1.5

So since I had so much support with the last confession, I might as well make a much more embarrassing one.

I. LOVE. WIFESWAP.

This is something that I am truly ashamed to admit. I am hypocritical. I think The Hills and the Bachelor are completely asinine because of their ludicrous amount of staged drama. But, deep inside, I love a show that takes two POLAR OPPOSITE FAMILIES and trades their wives. Example: Prissy-Beauty-Queen-Princess-Does-Nothing-Mom trades with Frumpy-Has-Seventeen-Pets-And-Wears-No-Makeup-Mom. Traditional-Housewife-Servant-Mom goes and swaps with Dad-Does-All-The-Work-And-Is-A-Doormat-Mom. And, a personal favorite, Crazy-Fundamentalist-Christian-Mom trades with Crazy-New-Age-Christian-Mom (FYI-- I think you soiled the name of Christians worldwide...both of you.)

Today, watched Smoochy-Lovey-Couple-Member, Parties-All-The-Time, Has-No-Job-but-Constantly-Shops-Mom trades with Cowgirl, No-Affection-in-My-Home, "No-Crying-Unless-You're-Dying, Daughters", Shovel-Poop-Every-Day-Because-RODEO!-Mom.

So the entire premise of the show is that you watch it and say, WHO THE HECK IS WORSE?! WHO WOULD I RATHER LIVE WITH!? WHO IS THE LESSER OF TWO HORRIFIC EVILS?! And, for a week, the wives have to live in their swap homes living by their rules. Rodeo-Mama, for instance, had to sleep in and get drinks while Dad did everything and pampered her. The other Mama had to shovel crap out of the barn. And she is prissy deluxe, and she DID IT. I mean, bravo, lady. Better than I could have done.

The next week, they get to change the rules, and the family has to see what it would be like living with their swapmom's rules. And Rodeo-Dad (now "living" with Party-Mama) is the BIGGEST CHAUVINISTIC PRICK THAT HAS EVER GRACED THE PRESENCE OF THIS EARTH. He will not do ANY of the rules, he tells this woman (WHO HE JUST MET) to shut up, and calls her fat incessantly. Unbearable.

So, at the end, all 4 parents meet up and usually delicately bash on one another and say what they learned. The Rodeo family, however, starts being all condescending up on their high horse (ha, get it? punny?) and calls Party-Mama a slut. How mature. So Party-Mama throws her drink at Rodeo-Obsessed-Mama. Lacking judgment, but she just had her character defamed. And this is where IT GETS SO REAL! GROWN PEOPLE ACTUALLY DID THIS!

Wife Swap Fight

Rodeo-Obsessed-Dad (AFTER VIOLENTLY PUSHING HIS OWN WIFE! HELLO, DOMESTIC ABUSE?!) ended up punching Lovable-Embracing-of-change-Dad, and he threatens to sue. But doesn't, because he is lovable. And from Jersey.

But, Dear Cowboy, kindly realize that the world does not revolve around you and your self-righteous, "cowboy tough", chauvinistic ideals. And this is even coming from a Anti-Feminist, man. You are OUTSIDE. YOUR MIND. You must be hurting.

weak and wounded sinner...

confession

I have a confession:

There is this obsession I have. It's a movie. I could watch this movie every single day for the rest of my life and never grow weary of it. I know this, dear Internet, because I have put this theory to test. Its name was Over Winter Break. See, I have this tendency to not leave my house over breaks. I have no idea why this is. The Cavallaro family can get pretty sassy, so you'd predict it to be the other way around. And while I sit at home, I can watch this movie virtually ON REPEAT.

What is this movie, you ask?

You've Got Mail.

I think it might be one of the ultimate chick flicks. I have thought many times on why this is. And here's what I have gathered thus far:

1. Meg Ryan is the ULTIMATE posterwoman for chick flicks. I do not know why this is. It probably has something to do with that she is HOT. And I mean pre-collagen Meg, not post. She is just hot. and empowering. Which is hard to be, simultaneously
2. Tom Hanks I think might be the posterman for chick flicks. I know that doesn't really make sense. But also, it does. And did I mention that Tom Hanks is even hotter than Meg Ryan? I might not have a perfect sense of good-looking men, considering my dream man was Vince Vaughn, who has recently broken my heart and got himself engaged (go figure), but MAN, THAT MAN IS FINE.
3. there is something about their mundane banter that is fulfilling to a woman's soul.
4. THE DRAMATIC IRONY OF IT ALL! You know, dramatic irony, which is when the reader knows something that the characters don't yet. it's like a secret.
5. if you aren't moved by that scene where they are theorizing about the 152 in NY152, you're not human.

Enough with this. I have to go watch it again.

the sound of spring break

singing is the standard of communication at the Cavallaro home.

and this is what you'll find us singing for the next amount of time that is probably too long to think it is funny, but we do nonetheless.

gimme back that filet-o-fish.
mara

dear The Fuzz,

I will pay you 200 dollars for allegedly running a stop sign that really shouldn't even be a stop sign because no one ever stops, you know?


I will accept responsibility for an accident in high school that really? REALLY? was undoubtedly the fault of the OLD LADY WHO LEFT THE SCENE OF THE CRIME.


I'll even pay for a ticket in Aggieville for being parked for 4 hours right next to the sign that said don't park more than two hours.

Okay. Fine.

But is there a sign anywhere within a 10 foot radius of where I parked my car saying anything about the duration for which I can be parked there?! NO. So, RCPD, pardon my French, but I I'll be damned if I don't fight that ticket to the death.

Or at least until I feel guilty and pay.

thinking of investing in a typewriter

A Day in the Life of an HP Owner:

So there I was, walking into Java to study for a test. I look around creepily, trying to find an outlet, because God forbid my 27 pound computer even turn on without being plugged in. I don't find one and, instead, ask the adjacent table to borrow their outlet. Which always makes me feel like a stalker, because you always wait a little, just to see if they'll leave. They never do though, so you finally have to go over and be all, hey.... can I use that? Sorry. Thank you. Sorry, and thank you. Thanks.

So I sit down and look at tickets for The Fray performing with Jack's Mannequin because, what? is that not how you study for a test? And right as I am contemplating driving back to see a concert I'm almost too embarrassed to say I'd enjoy out loud, screen goes COMPLETELY. BLACK. Because the people had unplugged it. For a moment. A MOMENT.

Is it really a laptop when it turns off when you unplug it? because... I'm fairly certain that is the one and only criteria for something NOT to be a desktop.

this is what I'm saying.

"eem time" --Laura Koger

Emotions and I are friends. Our friendship, after years of time spent together in solitude and talking out our problems, we are quite close. There is, however, an emotion which proves to be the DRIVING FORCE OF MY LIFE. What is that emotion, you might ask? Guilt. There is nothing like a guilty conscience to drive me to action. Or at least to take what I like to call, "5 Minutes of Emo," where I can be emo for 5 minutes in the sleeping dorm, and then I have to return to real life. Year of Rejuvenation, babay!

Does Guilt drive some wonderful actions in today's world? I'm sure it probably does. I bet people help a lot of less fortunate people when they feel guilty. As well as apologize to friends for being an a-hole. Guilt might play into picking your friend up from class. Or, I don't know, buying your wife a phat ring because your sports career got to your head and you cheated on her.

But, and this is the little nugget I've been wrestling with recently, if I'm doing something because I feel guilty, am I really doing it for the right reasons? Down in the deepest part of my heart, if I am only doing this one thing because I feel like I should, or I feel like other people need me to, then should I do it? I'm not talking about the obvious things, like apologizing when you were an idiot, or doing something nice for someone. But I mean, where is the line? What kinds of things would Jesus tell me to do half-heartedly, and what are the things He would say to leave alone if I'm not in it? Tricia and I went to a new church on Sunday, and we talked about grace and how it would play out in our lives. And, for that one word alone, I don't really think that God would watch what we do and hold it over our heads. Or walk around wallowing in self-loathing out of guilt. Which just happens to be one of my hobbies.

I feel like all of my internal turmoil boils down to: how the heck does one walk in the unfettered limits of grace?

mara


p.s., if one more person tells me to vote in the SGA election,
may God have mercy on your soul because I may hurt you.

a bone to pick

What is with people who say, "I could care less."? I mean, this implies that it is possible for you to care less than you currently do. That means that this would only make sense if you were talking about something you cared about. If you DIDN'T care about it, wouldn't you say, "I couldn't care less"? Meaning that it is physically impossible for you to care less than you currently do? Because you are at the absolute bottom of the spectrum of caring? I could care less about people starving all over the world. I could not care less about the material I learn in statistics. Right?

heaven

on Thursday night, I went with some lovely ladies to the Jon McLaughlin show in Lawrence. It was fantastic. A band called Parachute opened, and it was so good. You should go give it a listen. Then came Jon. Now, as I've told you before, I really don't like things that everyone just swoons over. I mean, he is musically talented and everything. But these girls and their swooning. Unfortunately for me, however, this is what we are dealing with:






So I had to internally swoon like everyone else because oh my GOSH, THIS MAN EXISTS?! LOOK AT THOSE HANDS! BUT BE CAREFUL TO AVERT YOUR EYES EVERY FEW SECONDS BECAUSE, LIKE THE SUN, THAT MAN IS HOT AND WILL FOR SURE SCORCH YOUR FREAKIN' CORNEAS.

Wanted: hot, holy, devotedly monogamous, drop-dead-gorgeous piano player boyfriend. Apply within. Amen.

love,
mara

genetic, life-altering differences

Something I wonder all the time is whether it is better to be a chick or better to be a dude. The OBVIOUS answer is being a dude.

Chicks are raised being more emotional and dependent on other people. It's hard for chicks to be friends with anyone. A chick's friendship with a dude is ALWAYS sketchy territory. Can some girls and guys just be friends for their entire lives, with no romantic feelings? Sure! Does it happen often? NO! At some point or another, one of them is going to like the other one. Being friends with other chicks, though, is even harder. Because they get mad and don't tell you, or talk about you to someone else, or steal your boyfriend, or eat McDonald's every single night without EVER GAINING ANY KIND OF WEIGHT. We have to wear makeup to look like people who do not even EXIST. We have to wake up earlier to shower and then do our hair...usually. Women have to* push a HUMAN out of their BODIES.

On the other hand, dudes have a lot of difficult developmental tasks too. They have to keep very close track of their thoughts. And they have to deal with emotions without society actually LETTING them deal with emotions. And proposing?! That would scare the life out of me. Not to mention, all those girl problems, they have to deal with the side effects. Women's The Crazy has the power to threaten their very lives at one wrong word choice error. (Note: stay away from "crazy", "too emotional", "irrational", and "FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, WOMAN!"). Men have a more embarrassing puberty development. Boys get less support from people, usually. Boys have a bad rep, be it true or not (it is). Men even die sooner.

What it comes down to, I think, is that women have to shave their legs.

In conclusion, being a boy is easier.

amen.
mara

*GET TO

Kappa: A Day in the Life of the Left-Six

it takes a lot to make my roommates and i watch something more than Beyonce and her call to all the single ladies. but a very close competitor:

compliments of Tricia Robben:




you might also want to watch Natalie's "Portal: A Day in the Life of a Turret". It's for nerds, but it's hilarious.

love,
mara

chilly

So why did they make gloves? Correct me if I'm wrong, but I would think it would be so that one can maintain finger dexterity whilst getting hypothermia. HOWEVER, Why is it impossible to text or button buttons or do anything else while you're WEARING them. In essence, we should just all wear mittens. They're easier to make I bet and provide the same level of access to one's fingers. That's all I'm saying.

2 orders of business

1) Last night, I saw Slumdog Millionaire. I regret to say that, despite the fact that everyone was saying how BRILLIANT it was, and that I usually do NOT like things everyone else likes (how scene I am....), it. was. brilliant. I want to buy it. No, I want to date it. No, I want to spend the rest of my life with it in my arms. It was so fantastic that I can't ever be with anyone who is not Jamal. It was so fantastic that I cried of joy-- which is rarely a reason I cry. It was so fantastic, that all I could do on my way home was turn off the radio and praise dear sweet Jesus for divinely inspiring that brilliant idea.

2) Apparently, people with large, prominent chins cheat on their significant others. I have never read this website, but my dear, sweet, loving friend showed me the link so that I could be aware of my innate cheating nature as well as how this affects my chances of marriage. (See: "less attractive to men looking for a long-term partner", and, "men will shun women with such masculine features when looking for a long-term partner".)

I can't say I'm surprised.

She with Masculine Features and Sexual Assertiveness,
chinny mara.

revolutionary road

I have this tradition, right? I sincerely love movies. And ever since an incident in high school (where I had plans to see The Holiday with my friend, and she said she'd meet me there, and she didn't, and I inadvertently saw THE HOLIDAY. ALONE. TRAINWRECK.), I really see the beauty of self-dates. Yes, that means going alone. Considering I have no class on Monday, Wednesday, Friday, I have a lot of times where I can fit in a self-date. (cue: all Internet's eternal damnation and judgment for this saddest of traditions. Get it all out now, or else you will entirely miss the point of this story.)

This has led me to some great movies. The other week, I saw Last Chance Harvey. I feel like it kinda got lost in a swarm of new movies, and it was surprisingly great! I would even--brace yourselves-- buy it. And my standards are fairly high, considering I am poor. And also that movies have LOST my favor on account of SINGLE SCENES, people. Adam Brody ACTUALLY kissed the mom in The Land of Women?! Jim Carrey ACTUALLY received sexual favors from a slutty grandma in Yes Man!? Not that these two were exemplary movies before, but I digress.

Last night, I went to see a movie I have been fairly excited about: Revolutionary Road. It's the one with Leonardo DiCaprio and Kate Winslet. On the one hand, it was one of the most fantastic casting jobs. The acting blew my mind, it was so fantastic. That being said: I hate this movie. I can't go into why, clearly, because some of you will see it. But WHAT IS THE POINT, of making me lose hope in MANFREAKIN'KIND?! I am a fairly pessimistic person usually. and I left that theater in despair. Unless the movie is based on real life, there is no reason to cause the second Great Depression. Leave me SOME SEMBLENCE OF JOY TO HANG ON TO. This is all I'm saying.

Sorry this doesn't pertain to real life.
But they can't all be winners.
Love, mara.