Cookery Round Four: Greek Style Quinoa Salad

I know the odds were against me, and most people gave me a matter of days before tossing in the bounty, but I am proud to report that it's been more than two weeks and I'm still going strong on the Gluten Free diet. In fact - I've never felt better, and I'm 1000% a believer. Dare I say, I think this may have changed my life forever!

I spoke with a dear friend today about elimination diets, and I think he's on to something. DK has been a huge supporter of my efforts, and has even offered to lend me his rice cooker (stand by for more exciting recipes!). I'm so sold on the diet that I'd seriously consider starting a GF line of treats (if ever I could master the kitchen, ha), and I've even started a new blog on the subject. Check me out!

Ok - on to today's recipe: Greek Style Quinoa Salad

I first tasted this fluffy pile of deliciousness at the Jr. League Tour of Kitchens. The dazzling dudes from MetroFresh were cooking it up and put on quite a performance. I tried to recreate the deliciousness, and I must say, I'm quite pleased. Here's the run down...

Ingredients:
Grape Tomatoes (sliced in half)
Red Onion (diced t-nicey)
Crumbled Feta
Hot House or European Cucumber (diced)
Fresh Basil (sliced thin)
Fresh Dill
Kalamata Olives (not a fan, so left these bad boys out)
EVOO
Red Wine Vinegar
kosher salt to taste
1c Quinoa
2c Veggie/Chicken Stock

Directions:
Rinse Quinoa 3 times. Bring stock to a boil and add in Quinoa. Bring to a boil again, then reduce heat and let simmer for 10-12 minutes. You can tell the goods are ready when the Q becomes translucent and you can see the tiny tails pop up. Drain and cool thoroughly. I'm told that I was supposed to "fluff" the Quinoa, but this remains a mystery to me, so I squished it around a bit.

In a separate bowl, combine tomatoes, olives, onion, cucumbers, feta, basil and dill. You can put as much or as little of these ingredients as you want -- making this Quinoa with a shake of veggies, or veggies with a side of the Q. Totally your call. Mix ingredients with kosher salt. For the dressing, use 1/3 acid to 2/3 oil. Again -- your choice on how dressed you like it. Add the vinegar in first mixing thoroughly, then slowly stir in the oil. This creates a killer Israeli salad, which you can make with or without the Q. Once thoroughly mixed, add in the Quinoa and bon appetit!

This was delish and incredibly filling. Rockstar and Mitchell, you guys are phenomenal! DK - I heart you! We all need great friends like you in our life :)

So Long Dear Jimmy Dean!

Alright kiddos, after 26 years of tummy issues, I'm finally fighting back! My doctors, dad, and my dear Franzy have finally convinced me to be proactive and go gluten free (GF) for at least a month. In honor of my big purge, I'm having a gluttonously gluten-packed week, concluding with a Banana Bread blow out with some of my fave ladies.

Yes - it's true, I've probably gained a mazillion pounds this week with my pizza, thai, Jimmy Dean d-lights and krystal chik binges, but world be damned! I need one last taste of magic before I give in to the GF g-ds.

So what's in the danger zone as far as GF is concerned? Certainly the obvious contenders are bread, pasta, pizza, donuts, cereal, cookies, and other flour-based delicacies. But did you know such everyday products as soy sauce, salad dressing, beer and soups can be in the danger zone, as well? And even though rice is in the safe territory, forget about Asian aspirations in the future, since most MSG-ladden sauces are thickened by none other than our fave powdery white substance (well, at least MY fave white)...

Here's the skinny on the diet that will hopefully make me just that (oh, and if it saves my tummy from future tragedies, even better):

Chex cereal/soy milk or eggs/canadian bacon for breakfast (sorry Mr. Dean, our love affair has officially concluded)
Salads and homemade soups (hold the croutons!)
Meats and cheese (so long veggie-ville... and forget about my lactardation...gotta keep some form of goodness in my diet!)
Veggies/hummus
Fruit and yogurt
Mexican inspirations (corn tortillas only please)
Nuts galore (thank you lord for honey roasted peanuts)
Rice, risotto, and GF pasta (gag)
Sweet & standard potatoes
Baked sour cream & cheddar ruffles (my fave)
Some other odds & ends from the GF, all natural section of my grocery

Last night I purchased my first loaf of GF bread... weighed more than 2 lbs and consisted of rock solid crumbles of I don't know what! Tragic indeed, so I spent my afternoon making a bag of bread crumbs for a future cookoff. I'm thinking eggplant parm...yum! Wish me luck...

So let's conclude by taking bets... How long can I sustain this treacherous diet?! More to come...

Damaged Goods: The Birth of a Beast

When I moved to Atlanta, I decided once and for all that I needed to invest in a furry friend. After scouring the internet for months prior to the big move, I set my sight on Zoey, a beautiful fawn pug rescued in a small town outside of Oklahoma City. For a modest $200, she was all mine. Well, $200, a plane ticket to Oklahoma for $787 + $100 for a pet passenger ticket, and a psych eval to ensure that I was “up to snuff” to take on what was later identified as a socially inept, angst-ridden 4 year old pugger.

I had already passed the written and oral examinations commensurate with pug adoption; however, I was not prepared for a more than 2.5 hour NYPD-style grilling by her foster mother, questioning my care, skills, and ability to take on said animal. After many warnings from friends who worked at the Humane Society concerned by tale tale “red flags,” more than three verbal lashings from the foster pug coordinator, and a few meltdowns resulting from the “DO YOU REALLY CARE ABOUT ANIMALS?” drill sergeant like approach I received for having second thoughts about this troubled investment, I concluded that rushing into an adoption was perhaps not the best idea.

Less than a month later, I was contacted about a pug in Athens, Coco (as in Chanel), who had a “few minor issues” but an excellent disposition, a pleasant pug, and a perfect match. I had been warned of Coco’s luxating patales (aka bad ass knee problems) and prolapsed vajajay (WTF?). Imperfections aside, I embarked on the journey with my mother, hereto forward referenced as “psychotic pug pleaser/lover” with a stomach full of butterflies eager to meet my future child.

When we arrived to the sprawling country abode, my mother nearly rocketed out of the vehicle, chasing, capturing, and scooping up a quaint black squash-faced, curly pigtailed pug, tears swelling in her big brown eyes over her newfound grandbaby. For better or worse, Kloey’s fate was officially sealed. After a quick flurry of paperwork, Kloey (her adopted name) and medical papers were exchanged for the money order, and we were off. Finally, I had a beautiful black fluffball of my very own!

After two days of acclimating Kloey to her new home, we were invited to our first pet romp, so I loaded her bed in my front seat and took off. As I was turning off Piedmont onto the Interstate, I noticed Kloey was standing up taut. “SIT DOWN KLOEY!” No movement. “KLOEY! PLEASE SIT!!!” Shaking, and sheepishly looking at me, she crawled into my lap, leaving a massive puddle of pee behind her in my newly purchased vehicle.

Let’s just say, leather never quite recovers from this type of rain shower! Of course, many can image my pure disgust as her soaked paws and extremities snuggled in my lap, slightly petrified and awaiting the response of her new mama. O.M.G. For the record, a urine bath will officially skyrocket any degree of germaphobia to a new record high. DELICIOUS. This marked a very special new level of personal tolerance on my part, as well as the birth of Kloey’s alterego: BEAST.

The following weekend I scheduled Kloey’s first doctor’s appointment for a full review and opinion. Dr. Empel, a longtime trusted confidante of the Stern clan, was poised for a full veterinarian review of Beast and her medical oddities. In addition to her knee issues (count on a several thousand dollar knee replacement in her near future), he identified a heart murmur. But the icing on the cake was revealed when our examination room became a revolving door for docs. One by one, he brought in the other veterinarians on call for what he described as “A once in a lifetime educational moment.” As Kloey stood on the cold aluminum examination table, Dr. Empel poked and prodded at her nether regions while the room filled with OOhs and Aahhs from his wide-eyed pupils. “THIS, ladies and gentlemen, is what you call a medical mystery. Very rare, indeed.”

Suddenly the room was flooded with a barrage of questions: Is it really? I can’t believe it! I’ve only seen this in textbooks. This is AMAZING!!

I stood dumbfounded and curious about the hullabaloo, whilst Kloey stood mortified by what appeared to be a nearly endless gynecological probe. Finally, I interrupted the inquisition. WHAT ON EARTH IS SO BAFFLING??

After a few moments of silence, the truth was revealed. “Ms. Stern, you may want to sit down for this one.” Oh Lord! I thought to myself. What now? As the doctor cleared his throat, his compassionate eyes filled me with much despair. “Well, there’s no easy way to say this. Your pug Kloey, she…well, it is…how shall I put it? A hermaphrodite.

SPEECHLESS. It’s as though a gameshow host had just made the big reveal: if you had selected door 1, you would’ve had a brand new car!! But alas, you chose the rotten apple door, so here’s your very own herm! Just my luck.

As I sat speechless staring at the doctor, unable to process this new discovery, he continued: Personally, EJ, I would return her. She, well it, has a great deal of how shall we put it, “issues” for a pug still shy of one year. You have a rocky road ahead of you, and your better off with a new one. You’ve got yourself damaged goods.

HOW COULD THIS HAPPEN TO ME?! Hermaphradism is an extremely rare trait, and yet I end up with a bad egg. My heart was already sold on Kloey from the moment I laid eyes on her. Could I possibly fathom a life without her?

After several days of battling between the emotional and the practical, the magical vs. medical realities of Beast, I came to a painstaking conclusion. My life had always been filled with the ridiculous, and never once did I shy away from such atrocious happenings. So it seems, once again, I accepted my fate and embraced my hermaphroditic daughter, err son. Afterall, life is full of imperfections. What’s an extra appendage when you have a lifetime of love?

Cookery Round Three: Baked Ziti

I'm well aware this is an easy out...I've pretty much perfected this recipe, but since I volunteered to cook dinner for a dear family of four with kiddies, this was an obvious choice. So easy and definitely a crowd pleaser!

Ingredients
16 oz. ziti pasta
15 oz. ricotta cheese
1/2 tsp. garlic powder
italian seasoning to taste
2 cups shredded mozzarella cheese
1 jar spaghetti sauce
1/2 cup grated Parmesan cheese

Preparation
* Preheat oven to 350.
* Prepare pasta according to package directions for "al dente."
* In a large bowl, combine ricotta & 1 cup mozzarella cheese, garlic powder, italian seasoning, and 1/4 cup parm.
* Add cooked pasta and 1.5 cups of the sauce.
* Coat the bottom of a 9 x 13 pan with sauce and top with the ziti mixture.
* Top with the remaining sauce. Sprinkle remaining mozzarella and Parmesan cheese over the sauce.
* Cover with foil, and bake 20 minutes. Remove foil and bake another 10-20 minutes until golden brown and bubbly.
* Let the baked ziti rest 10 minutes before serving.

Lessons Learned
(1) If you're a lactard, steer clear!
(2) This is extremely cheesy. I use part skim or 2% cheese when available, but I honestly think you can cut back on the ricotta if you're trying to slim down
(3) Don't ever trust your pals to step in and concoct this delicious dish -- they add an extra 2-3 cups of cheese (which of course is scrumptious, but definitely not waistline approved!)

Final Tally
Cost - $15
Servings - 6-8
Unit Price - approx $2.20/serving
Damage Done - nada. May be the only full proof recipe in my repertoire.


Outcome: CHEESE-A-LICIOUS

Rando Factoids of the Weekend

1) Beast has a new found love for Thai Tofu
2) ER (formerly the Leopard Lounge) has stripper poles upstairs and a wicked rave down
3) Boys should be required to don wasp wear at all times (not simply during Golf-inspired bar crawls)
4) Mama Sanj schooled me on her magical banana bread recipe, and I officially made my first batch of BB babies today – AMAZING!
5) Shameless confession: The Glee soundtracks are life changing. I’ve been listening on repeat for the last week… no judgment!
6) A pollen saturated yellow Beast woke up all the rolypolys in Buckhead this week
7) My alter ego Julie has been at bay for nearly 3 months. I fear she may make an appearance later this month at the ever savory Clermont Lounge in honor of a very special Bachelorette!

Black Market Madness*

*originally published Feb 10, 2006
---------
It seems that every year I have another story to tell, more ridiculous than the last…the type so insanely moronic and naïve that four years after the fact, your best friend’s parents are telling “the great EJ tales” to their friends, and laughing at the incredulous behavior of a seemingly good-natured, mild-mannered, bright young lady from the South. It all started with my Y2K adventures of ringing in the New Years in custody on a military base with tongue ring Kevin, just barely escaping arrest as my dear parents sat in the bathtub bracing themselves for dooms day. The laughs continued over the years with my wise decisions to test run the mace in my dorm room, scream lewd obscenities in the streets of our nation’s capital (a la OBHBD) at a boy who made the vile mistake of hitting on me while wearing a W shirt, and my 3am drunken toast in the oven, eggs frying in the pan, and EJ sound asleep for the night….luckily I have a fabulous set of best friends who have gotten me through my momentary lapses of judgment.

In this great tradition, I can add yet another brilliant moment to my life. Yesterday one of my dearest friends Shoshie and I decided to take on Chinatown in all its fake designer handbag glory. For those of you who have not been to NYC recently, over the past few months there has been a serious crackdown on the illegal distribution of rip off handbags. If you go to any of the dozens of Chinatown storefronts, it would appear that the Gucci, Prada, LV, and Coach bags are no longer in existence.

As we stood on the corner of Canal and Centre Street moments away from throwing in the towel, a nice Chinese gentleman whispered softly under his breathe, “Coach? Prada? You want? I have. Follow me.” He looked left, he looked right, and suddenly he pushed us through an obscure door and into a small plaza. As we stood at the base of a set of stairway looking up into the dingy darkness that lied above us, our eyes were met by the gaze of predators, looking for their next set of prey. Before we could react, we were swept upstairs to a locked door of what appeared to be a closed store, “Chinatown Jewelry.” As we stood in silence, the woman again looked left and then right, quickly opened the door, pushed us in, and locked it behind us. We were trapped.

Writing this in reflection, we should have known better. We shouldn’t have followed the man inside, nor should we have allowed them to push us up the stairs, much less lock us in a windowless room. But we did it all, without a second thought. In the small room, there was no jewelry in sight. The jewelry store facade was in fact a cover for a black market designer handbag market—a market that penetrated so deeply into the corrupt abyss of Chinatown that we were both immediately appalled and yet fascinated by our discovery. After we agreed to purchase several items, the door was unlocked and we were set free.

Instead of running the other way to get the hell out of Chinatown, we somehow convinced ourselves that we should go on an expedition to discover more about the black market handbag industry. Thus, we set off, store by store, to uncover the deep dark mysteries of Chinatown. Each time we walked into a store, we said a few choice words to “the man in charge” and started walking to the back. Our actions evidently were code for “show us the goods,” so silently they would follow our lead. We even uncovered some of the tricks of the trade; many stores had a random plastic shopping bag hanging in the back of the store. For an unaware eye, it is absolutely unnoticeable. Just prior to stepping into the hidden room, the store owner would stroke the bag. Sure enough, our inquisitive minds got the best of us, so while they were unlocking the secret room, we would sneak a peak. Each bag had what appeared to be a garage clicker, perhaps a simple signal informing others that they were entering the illegal room or maybe even a door unlock mechanism that could be hidden from the police. We uncovered countless bags of this sort.

Each time we found a new secret room, our excitement level rose. In total, we walked into at least a half dozen black market rooms, each completely solitary and windowless. In almost every instance we blindly followed a man into the room, let him close and lock the door behind us, as we gazed at the illegal merchandise. Never once did we stop and think, perhaps this isn’t the brightest idea. After all, we could have easily been locked up indefinitely, held up at gun point, sexually assaulted, or worse. And if they had a hidden back room for black market handbags behind door number one, what else was lurking behind the walls of our false storefront—child laborers? Kiddie porn? Sex slavery? Or the unimaginable…

Yes, arguably this was one of my poorest judgments over the years, and yet somehow I found a way to top my ill actions…This morning before the severity of our actions sunk in, I was speaking to my mom and somehow in my excitement for having Shosh in town, it all came out. Again, not the smartest move. For those of you who know my mother, you will understand my poor judgment to share my Chinatown experience with her. For those of you who do not have the pleasure of knowing her, she is the most incredible and yet incredibly overprotective mom around. Lets just say four phone calls and lots of motherly tears shed later, mom imparted her anger, fears, and concerns, “you could have been sold into sex slavery or worse—you could’ve been the next Natalie Holloway!! And what if they cut you up into a million pieces and scattered you around NYC? How on earth would I ever find you?” As if that is not bad enough, my dad chimed in with a few phone calls of “YOU HAVE AGED ME 20 YEARS WITH YOUR ACTIONS YOUNG LADY!” Keep in mind, the only other time I have heard OJ raise his voice was the mace incident four years back…Yes, this brilliant event will be forever memorialized as one of my shining moments of clarity. Perhaps someday my friends parents will chuckle over my behavior....better to laugh than cry over such instances of insanity.

Cookery Round Two: Veggie Delight

Starting this week, I have officially vowed to offer one cooking experiment weekly for the rest of eternity...Or until I (a) find a new hobby or (b) torch the apartment. Hmm... on second thought, I take back (b) since we all know I have just about the worst luck in the universe when it comes to housing...cranes, fires, flooding and the like be banished -- I'm knocking on wood and smudging to avoid any negative byproducts of this blog.

Back to cooking. This week is quite hectic, so I kept it simple with a veggie bonanza featuring roasted sweet potatoes, roasted broccoli with garlic and parm, and a veggie rice medley. Recipes are included below...

Roasted Sweet Potatoes

Preheat oven to 400. Dice two large sweet potatoes into cubes. Foil a cookie sheet and add 2 tbsp of EVOO to coat foil. Add sweet potatoes, kosher salt & pepper to taste and toss, lightly coating. Bake for 40 minutes, turning potatoes occasionally.

Roasted Broccoli with Garlic and Parm

Preheat oven to 400. Chop 3-4 crowns of broccoli into florets, and coat with kosher salt, pepper, and EVOO; add minced garlic from three cloves. Place on foiled cookie sheet. Roast for 20 minutes, turning occasionally. Once edges are browned, remove from oven, add lemon zest, lemon juice and grated fresh parm to taste.

Veggie Rice Medley

Brown rice, lentils, barley & bell peppers with a perfect blend of spices. I wish I could take credit for this masterpiece, but alas -- my dear friend Ben deserves all of it!

Lessons Learned

(1) As much as I hate rice, this lentil, veggie concoction is pretty darn amazing.

(2) Garlic presses make cooking infinitely easier

(3) My weekly Whole Foods visits for roasted sweet potatoes are hereto forward on hiatus. This recipe is killer!

Final Tally

Cost - $7

Servings - 2 or 3 full meals (depending on appetite)

Unit Price - $3.50/$2.33

Damage Done -

(1) Accidentally grating your finger can hurt like hell!

(2) Little Beast was my taste tester; I think she may have burnt her mouth on the irresistible taters!

Outcome: QUITE TASTY!

Community -- Trendsetting TV at its Best

As many of you know, I'm an avid tv junkie. In fact, my masters degree in Media Ecology (which, to this day, I'm not exactly sure how to explain, much less comprehend) had a focus in television media -- which gave me an excellent excuse to watch infinite hours of brain rotting goodness.

One of my favorite shows of the moment is the fabulously penned comedy Community, featuring an ensemble cast led by The Soup's Joel McHale. The series follows an eclectic, misfit posse of Community College students, ranging from Troy, a lovably incompetent yet unnecessarily arrogant beyond belief washed up ex-high school football star, and pill popping, anxiety-riddled Annie to Abed, the brilliantly portrayed autistic Indian who has a wicked penchant for film direction. The cast is rounded out by Chevy Chase, the hopeless duntz who thinks he's as suave as Don Juan, and Senor Chang, the odd ball Asian Spanish teacher best known as the naked trunk-hopping villain from The Hangover.

While I could write for hours on how witty this series is, I'm going to focus the remainder of this post on one particular character who has an insanely minor, yet comical role in the Series: Starburns (left image). While he's not the traditional looker, he sure has something special going for him.

In fact, I fear he may have sparked a trend in the quaint metropolis of Atlanta, GA. Just a few weeks ago, I had the pleasure of spending my evening at Medieval Times. While this experience was a social experiment in itself, I found myself utterly baffled by the people in attendance. Yes - you have every right to mock me for paying to eat with my hands (kill me!) and watch grown men play dress up while engaging in a round or five of dragon slaying in a dirt ring filled with horse poop.

I was particularly taken by one very special gentleman in line for the delicious fishbowl of frozen mind numbing medicine that would inevitably help me cope with the remainder of my excruciating evening at Medieval Madness...He took the star burns to a new and exciting level of disaster. Yes...this was the ONLY photo I took of the evening...Well worth it.

A digression well made from the amazing TV series, and one that may spark the latest revolution in hair fair. The Farrah? LONG GONE. The Rachel? OUT. But the Starburns... fashion history may have just begun! Special moments indeed.

Cookery Round One: Lentil Soup

Much like Mama Sanj, I have a horrible proclivity for not following recipes. I like to wing it, and as I've been chided by my chef extraordinaire pals, perhaps this is the root of my failures in the kitchen. Alas, despite their warnings, I continue to march to my own beat.

For my latest culinary exploit, I trotted out Georgia's very own Alton Brown and his famed Lentil Soup Recipe. Here's how the ingredients shake out:

Alton's List
2 tablespoons olive oil
1 cup finely chopped onion
1/2 cup finely chopped carrot
1/2 cup finely chopped celery
2 teaspoons kosher salt
1 pound lentils, picked and rinsed
1 cup peeled and chopped tomatoes
2 quarts chicken or vegetable broth
1/2 teaspoon freshly ground coriander
1/2 teaspoon freshly ground toasted cumin
1/2 teaspoon freshly ground grains of paradise

EJ's spin
2 tablespoons EVOO
TJ's Myoplex of chopped onion, carrots, celery
1 teaspoon kosher salt
1 c lentils
1 qt chicken broth
1/2 teaspoon ground coriander
1/2 teaspoon ground cumin
1 clove garlic, minced
2 shakes of garlic powder
Roughly 3 oz tomato paste

2 cups water

freshly grated parmesan

Directions

Heat EVOO in Dutch oven or other large stock pot. Combine myoplex, fresh garlic, and salt and sweat it out, stirring frequently (approx 7 min). Add other ingredients (except parm), bring to bowl and then turn on low, simmering for 45 min. Using hand blender, emulsify ingredients, leaving minor chunks. Add salt, garlic powder, and pepper to taste. When serving, add fresh grated parm on top.

Lessons Learned

(1) You cannot sub tomato paste for chopped, peeled tomatoes. I originally purchased a 6 oz can, but after a few spoonfuls and a blood red pot of soup, I decided to cut back quite a bit!

(2) Garlic is your best friend. Add it to anything!

(3) The hand blender is pure magic.

(4) If you freeze this savory soup, be sure to rejuvenate it by stirring in some hot water.

Final Tally

Cost - $7

Servings - 5

Unit Price - $1.40

Damage Done - 1 burnt finger

Outcome: PURE DELICIOUSNESS!

Mace: Armed + Dangerous*

Fall semester of my sophomore year brings back plenty of memories…mostly fond thoughts of absent-minded, utterly ridiculous moments of idiocy. You know, the type of moments that your best friend's parents still laugh about over dinner at a fancy restaurant six years after the fact, frequently choking back tears of "Remember when E.J. did this…?" and "How insane can that child be? Maybe it has something to do with her Alabama upbringing."

One would think such memories could fade away, yet years later they continue to haunt me, lurking in the shadows. It's as though every time there is a lull in a conversation, mom, dad, a friend, or even a random stranger reminisces on my "peak moments" as some poor unassuming soul who thought I was a splendidly terrific young lady is ultimately made aware of the truth. That's when, like clockwork, my run in with mace leaks out.

You may be asking, what on earth could be this embarrassing? Well let me explain. But before I offer up the what, I thing some justification is needed. I truly, in my heart of hearts, believed that what I was doing at the time was for the betterment of mankind, or at least for my own personal safety. Now that you have heard the disclaimer, I suppose I can let you in on my personal moments of weakness, or shall I say lack of foresight?…Either way, I assure you, I am still an intelligent individual despite my momentary lapse of judgment…

At the end of my Fall semester of sophomore year, I had the pleasure of living in a suite with my three best friends. While everyone was busy writing papers and preparing for finals, I found myself bored to tears, with only one exam to prepare for. I offered my services to whoever would accept: tutoring in subjects I had never endeavored, cleaning rooms, packing up friends stuff, and of course eager to lend my services to a wild evening out. By the last Tuesday of exams, everyone was exhausted, focusing on finals, and no longer in need of my services, which left me in an absolute state of boredom. So I decided to start rummaging through my drawers trying to find a way to busy myself.

As my three roommates sat glued to their computer at 2:30am (one with a final due at 8:30 the next morning), I was stone cold sober and desperate for a diversion. Suddenly, as I opened my final desk drawer, I found just the distraction I needed: my handy dandy mace that Daddy Stern gave me for protection. While I promised Daddy I would carry it with me at all times, I found myself in a slight white lie with the canister accumulating dust in my bottom drawer. That, of course, got me thinking.

As many of you know, I have a terrible habit of thinking in stream of consciousness. But somehow, no matter what I think about, I can always, in every single instance, find an explanation for my behavior. Keeping that in mind, I started to think about following daddy's request and actually keeping mace with me at all times. But then my mind started to wander. What if I was running late at night and someone was coming after me in a dark DC alley, and as I tried to get away, I reached for my mace, and the thing was shooting blanks!? Now, it never occurred to me that I am A) not a runner, B) rarely out late at night alone, and C) highly unlikely to carry that large mace holder with me at any instant. Instead, I was perplexed and genuinely concerned that my life could be jeopardized because of a stupid faulty can of pepper spray.

With all of these anxiety-ridden thoughts whirling in my mind, I couldn't bear to wait it out and g-d forbid find out the mace was a bum can in a moment of desperation. That's right; I had to take proactive measures in the present moment to prevent a possible future attack (yes, I know, sounds a lot like Bush's foreign policy). With absolutely no more thought put into the matter at hand, I abruptly stood up, walked to the mirror in my room, held my arm out (approximately one foot from the mirror) and sprayed the darn thing at my reflection.

As soon as the tears started streaming down my face and the pungent odor filled my nostrils, I realized I had made a dastardly mistake. It's as if everything was moving in slow motion. My roommate, overcome by the stench, spun around in her chair and said: WHAT THE HELL? As she covered her eyes and ran out the door, pointing to the red dye slithering down the mirror. Moments later my suitemate screamed: "EJ, What on earth did you do THIS time?" How could Laura possibly know it was me!?!

Suddenly I heard bags packed and a door slam. The suitemates had abandoned ship and were camping out down the hall. Soon, the commotion (and horrific, burning smell) woke up many others in our hall as I had to answer to everyone. I was reminded by some angry roommates that finals were due early and the morning and that I "MUST FIX THE DAMN THING NOW!"

Many angry groans were exchanged that evening, and it all ended with a 2:45am call to Daddy dearest. For anyone who knows my two wonderful parents, you are keenly aware that they may be two of the most overprotective people in the universe. So a middle-of-the-night wake up jolted them with some serious concerns: "Honey, are you okay? Are you in the hospital? Did something happen? Did someone die? Were you attacked?" I sheepishly answered on the other end: "No Daddy, I am okay." "Well then honey, what's wrong, honey you're so quiet. Who hurt you? WHAT HAPPENED!!?"

After many moments of silence, I tried to offer an explanation for myself. "Daddy, I was bored and scared and thought I needed to take the mace for a test run to make sure it worked. Only I did it in my dorm room, at my reflection in the mirror. And now everything reeks, and everyone's angry and crying, and well I just don't know what to do! But I thought you would understand; after all, I just would've hated to be attacked late at night all because that stupid mace didn't work."

Silence. Perhaps the longest silence I have ever endured from my father. Keep in mind, my Daddy is a Southern gent, so I think I have heard him raise his voice perhaps twice in my entire life. This, of course, was the second of these incidents. "WELL GENIUS. GET IN THERE AND CLEAN IT UP!" Gasp. Daddy yelled. "And one last thing, NEVER DO THAT AGAIN." I stood in my hallway in utter shock, partially from the mace, but also because my father had yelled AND managed to hang up the phone in my face, all in one swift move.

Next I found myself being badgered by the roommates: "Finals due in 5 hours!! Clean it up NOW." So I did it. I ran into the danger zone, armed with my swimming gobbles and oven mitts, I attempted to clean off the redness. The suitemates barricading themselves in their room, stuffing socks under both doors that separated us, and I'm pretty sure we didn't speak for quite some time following "the incident." It took days for the smell to vanish, but I guess you could say I learned my lesson. Daddy put me on mace probation indefinitely, which I suppose I can't blame him…

When I moved to NYC some time ago, my father sent me a small package, which I had not expected: A small canister of mace. Attached to the mace, I found a lovely little note: "Genius, don't you dare test run this one. I assure you it works! Love you and use good judgment!" Yes, Daddy's faith had been restored! Beware New York City, I am once again armed and dangerous!

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*This story has been republished from its original myspace.com version. It remains dedicated to my wonderful sophomore roomies and life long friends--Laura, Fran, & Jen.

Cookery: The Challenge Begins

As many of you know, I'm not the most adept in the kitchen...Perhaps with the exception of my late night, ever so slightly intoxicated Southern hospitality moments, most of my meal time attempts turn into utter fiascos.

I've somehow managed to botch everything from eggs and boxed mac-n-cheese to instant jello, and I may be the only person alive who has ever created a disastrous (dare I say) meal in the "foolproof" crockpot. Not even edible! In recent months, my friends have even threatened to submit my name for Food Network's new hit tv show "Worst Cooks in America." Delightful indeed. Subsequently, I've become quite savvy in the freezer aisle, and have my favorite thai and pizza spots on speed dial just in case an epic failure commences...

Bearing this in mind, I've set out to prove my friends wrong. YES - I can be a success in the kitchen! And if not, I can at least ensure lots of laughs along the way...