I posted this on Facebook this morning because I’m just in a mood. I wish I could truly vent and just get it all out there and off my chest, but unfortunately, my blog is public enough I cannot do that. And in a way, I hate it. Days like today, I want to scream “Eff it, I’m gonna say what I want, damn the consequences!” However, there is enough self-preservation-instinct in me that I dare not reveal all–At least not to the internets.
I’ve been told before that because I’m rather reserved, I sometimes come across as arrogant, snobbish, or somewhat of a bitch. I don’t consider myself shy–I’m just one of those people who doesn’t speak unless she has something to say. I don’t do well with small talk or mindless chit-chat, unless I know you well-enough. But beneath my quiet exterior lies a person. A person with real, raw feelings, that sometimes get hurt, and while I might try to present a tough exterior and try to pretend that certain things don’t bother me, sometimes I can’t hide it. Sometimes things cut me to the quick, especially when I feel like I’ve been blindsided or when I’m doing something like busting my ass or trying to do something nice, just because. It’s insults and snide comments (among other things) that sometimes make me want to tell the bambino not to bother being a nice person. Nice people get stepped on, screwed over and stabbed in the back. If you want to get anywhere in life, learn to manipulate, and look out for #1 only. Actually, the bambino right now is such a sweet, caring little boy that I wish he never had to learn such horrid life lessons. I’m only half-joking when I tell people I wish I could lock him in a bubble until he’s 50. As an example of how awesome he is, after I got home from work, he and Jay popped out to the store for a few things. He picked out these for me:
And normally, when I’m in this kind of mood, I’d be stuffing my face into a bag of chips or something, just to dull the emotional pain. That’s one thing I discovered the last time I did Weight Watchers. I don’t know when I started doing it, but I eat my feelings. And I don’t exercise like I should, but the bigger issue is that I do emotionally eat, and that’s never good. What I should do is go back to cleaning, which is how I used to vent my frustrations. And in a way, I sort of did that tonight–I cleaned up the kitchen, while waiting on dinner to finish cooking (and my guys to come back home).
Chicken Tortilla Soup. It was simple to throw together when I came home on my lunch break–I just tossed everything (1 lb. of chicken breasts, 2 cans of diced tomatoes, one with green chiles, some cumin, salt, pepper and half a cup of chicken broth) except the tortilla strips and cheese into the crock pot, turned it on low, then walked away. Beautiful.
And filling. I did also work out some aggression while shredding the chicken. It reminded me a little of the tortilla soup from Max & Erma’s. Not quite as spicy, and without crispy tortilla strips, but there was something about it that reminded me of Max & Erma’s and my friend Annette. We’d occasionally go out to eat there and we’d get the tortilla soup, I’d get a bacon cheeseburger and cheese fries with bacon, no scallions, while Annette would get a buffalo chicken sandwich (I think). Ah, the good ol’ days, when my metabolism could handle a meal like that without my ass expanding!
But now that I’ve gotten that off my chest, I am relaxing with some Baileys on the Rocks and Are You Being Served? Hopefully tomorrow is a better day, and I am a little less bitter and cynical.