Archive for June, 2011

I’ve been on this kick lately where I’m trying to buy foods that contain only ingredients that I can pronounce and understand. This means I’ve been reading the label on everything, which is something I’ve had to train myself not to do upon exiting a meticulous calorie-counting family. It turns out calories don’t mean anything if the food doesn’t fill and nourish you. (Surprise-surprise, right?)

Today, I really wanted to make a Frito pie. If you live in Texas, you already know it is the tastiest slapped-together food innovation since peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. So I bought Fritos, which, while not exactly healthy, contain corn, oil, and salt. Totally fine as long as I don’t overdo it.

I also needed chili. I have my regular brand, the brand an ex turned me onto, the brand I know I don’t like, and the chi-chi organic stuff. Chili comes in a wide variety of flavors, textures, and artery-hardening potentials. As it turns out, a lot of them contain mostly the same stuff. They all have a little soy, with the exception being the organic kinds, that have a ton of soy. I’m also finding that soy isn’t the fucking godsend vegetarians make it out to be. It’s okay in small amounts, but it can fuck with your thyroid if you use it as the sole replacement for meat. (I’ll still eat boka burgers and drink soy milk sometimes.)

Anyway, I’m was reading a can of turkey chili and the main ingredient is “mechanically separated turkey”. I immediately imagined some poor little turkey being tied by the feet and wings to some horrible machine that would slowly draw and quarter him while his wild, gobbly shrieks filled the dark, cold room.

And then I bought two cans.

It looks like Seattle is getting the once-over from yarn bombers, which I think is pretty cute and funny. On my morning walk with Zoey, I saw a collection of crocheted lamp posts and bench armrests on the north end of Cal Anderson Park. Apparently, this has already been done in several parks around the city, including Occidental.

I wouldn’t mind one bit if these new knitted knickknacks took the place of the traditional spray paint graffiti. Also during my walk, I saw a black leather couch with white illegible tags on it. And to think for so long it was taboo to remove tags from furniture…

SoldSold by Zana Muhsen
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

Holy shit.

Seriously, I have little to no words to describe this book. It’s not the most well-written piece in the world, but I’ll cut her some slack for being ripped from her native country of England at the young age of 16 and forced to speak another language for 8 years while she was beaten, raped, enslaved, and lied to, and as an added bonus, she got to watch her younger sister go through the same shit in the next town over.

See that run-on sentence? We can’t all write beautifully when we’re frazzled out of our minds. As of the writing of this book, Zana’s sister Nadia was still in Yemen. Part of Zana’s motivation for writing the book was to let people know what had happened to her and to raise enough awareness to get her sister out of there. Nadia has since returned to England with her children.

I don’t know what became of their father, the man responsible for selling them to two Yemeni families for 1300 pounds each. Toward the end of the book, when Zana is about to get a divorce from the man she was forced to marry, her father called, begging her not to leave Yemen. “I’ll be so ashamed, I’ll kill myself!” he said. The way their story was blowing up all over the world, I’m sure quite a few people would line up to help him out with that.

On a personal note, I read this a few months after a rather disconcerting conversation with my own father in which he repeatedly suggested that I require a husband and children to be happy, and I should change myself to accommodate this. Although he claimed his children are his greatest accomplishments, it was difficult for me to tell, since this was the first conversation we’d had since my grandmother (his mom) died. It sucks that he feels qualified to tell me what I should do when he has such an inactive role in my life. I’m happy already, and thankful every day for my comfortable home, stable job, unique side business, and fun activities. Yes, I’m sad my father can’t see that, but he never tricked me into going to Yemen so I could be abused by a miserable, impoverished family and forced into an arranged marriage.

So I got that goin’ for me… which is nice.

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I’m not usually a college humor fan, but this was spot-on.

Posted on Yelp: Ever since I moved to Seattle in 2007, I’ve had bad luck with hair stylists. I don’t know if the weather makes all the good stylists head south so their work can be appreciated or what, but it seemed impossible to find a good one up here.

I decided to buy a groupon for Chemistry Salon because they are conveniently located. I went in virtually blind, but figured it had to be better than the kinds of cuts I’d been getting. My hair is curly, but I wear it straight, so the type of cut I need is pretty straightforward.

I am very pleased to have met Ashley. She was easy to get along with from the start. We had a good conversation before she began working and I felt secure that she was going to do everything she could to make sure the cut looked right. It may seem a little silly to be so concerned out having everything “just so,” but your hair is like an outfit you have to wear every day, so it should look good on you.

Throughout the cut, Ashley asked me relevant questions and listened well. She is an excellent communicator, which is what separates a truly professional stylist from a self-proclaimed artist carrying a pair of scissors.

I’m happy with the results and can’t wait to go back!