I made Mushroom Pâtè!

To be truthful, I'm a big pussy and I don't want to know what is in Pâtè. I know it's liver and such...I'd just rather live my life without knowing the specifics.

Enter my recent, explosive obsession with Banh Mi.

I don't need to know exactly what it is, but I cannot get enough Banh Mi on the daily. If I could eat it three times daily, I totally would. The thing is, my restaurant with the best Banh Mi is very far away (about 25 minutes, an eternity in Colorado Springs). So I decided to try and make it, saving myself the drive, and treating myself to the mouth-watering goodness that is this Vietnamese delight.

Banh Mi has some French influence, like baguette, Pâtè, and rich mayonnaise. I was eager to make my own version of this street food, so I went ahead an Googled a mushroom Pâtè recipe from Food Network. I'll pretty much trust anything that Emeril Lagasse makes, so this recipe was the winner. As usual, I made a few changes, specifically substituting 8 ounces of mushrooms for bacon bits and ends that I found at Trader Joe's, which is seriously the best store ever.

Here is the recipe I followed:
1/2 cup finely chopped shallots
3 teaspoons minced garlic
8 ounces shiitake mushrooms, stems trimmed, wiped clean and coarsely chopped
8 ounces fresh cremini (baby bel), stems removed, wiped clean, and coarsely chopped
8 ounces bacon bits and pieces, fried in small saucepan
1/2 cup dry white wine
2 teaspoons dried thyme
1/4 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
2 tablespoons dried parsley leaves
1 teaspoon olive oil
3 ounces softened cream cheese
5 ounces softened goat cheese

In a large skillet, cook bacon until just cooked but still soft. Remove bacon to save for later, and add the shallots and garlic to the same skillet and cook, stirring, until soft and fragrant, 2 to 3 minutes. Add the mushrooms and cook, stirring, until wilted and starting to brown. Add the wine, thyme, and pepper, and cook, stirring, until the wine is nearly all evaporated, 5 minutes. Add the parsley and EVOO and cook for 30 seconds.

Add cheeses to skillet and allow to melt. Transfer to food processor and blend until creamy. Refrigerate and use on EVERYTHING!

Being With Me

I have totally adopted the feminist, girl-power mindset that any man would be lucky to have me...It's my understanding that a lot of women feel this way...an unfamiliar concept to someone who has literally NEVER acted like herself. I think (selfishly hope, rather) that the reality is that most women feel inadequate, but we are very good at hiding our insecurities.

I can walk into any room with the air that I don't care what anyone thinks; but the actuality is that everyone is judging, and sometimes I do feel rather self-conscious. It's the reason I occasionally force myself to go out of the house without makeup on, something brand-new for 2015.

I was talking with someone the other day about how I've "robbed" everyone I've been with (romantically) in the past of being with the "real Morgana". I didn't know the real me until I came back to CO early this year, so maybe that's a true statement. I've never felt free or confident enough to just be, so everyone I've been with in the past has tasted a version of me that was not 100% authentic. I wanted to be that "perfect girl": skinny, tasteful, intelligent, classy, blah, blah, blah...So I censored my shit to be that girl. The fact of the matter is, there is no perfect girl, and the ideals I was striving for were unrealistic, not to mention insulting to me as a human being. Why not be myself?

The year of 2015 has brought me great things; most importantly, freedom. I started over; again; to find myself and become who I was meant to be. I am a family-oriented, career-driven, social butterfly who would simply die without Alex and Cathie close by. The loves of my life are those who listen to my bullshit and like me anyways. I no longer have the desire to hold back anything, because I know that even if it will be judged, it will also be forgiven by the right people. That's what I hope to find in a romantic partner. Uncensored, sloppy, "classity" behavior that will absolutely be embarrassing at times. I want someone who will take that and love it to pieces!

So, I got a bit distracted (GD ADD!), but this is why I started this post, because it's 9pm and I'm cleaning my house, blogging about my life, cooking bacon and making Banh Mi sandwiches for my two girlfriend's lunch tomorrow...Being with me means late nights and early mornings; a tiny apartment blasting Ciara, Nicki Minaj, and Beyoncé; LOUD and sloppy cooking on the daily; golf tournaments and happy hours at my fave watering hole; with a splash of seriousness to keep my career on track, because I deff want to make more money than you do.

Is this so hard?

BOOORING!

I am sitting in a seminar in beautiful Denver, Colorado on an 80° day.

I am dying.

Our speaker is from the IRS, she is a small business auditor who was never taught how to dress appropriately--her T-shirt dress is an unflattering mid-thigh summer ensemble. Adorable, but not appreciated by those of us who do know how to dress for business; and are sweating in suit jackets and close-toes shoes. This entire room reeks of sweat and boredom. I didn't notice the stench until after the last break, when half the attendees ad mysteriously disappeared, and the rest of us slowly returned to our seats, armed with coffee and Mountain Dew.

I sit in the front row, half because I enjoy being teacher's pet, and half because my ADD will surely keep me from learning anything amid a sea of ladies and gents who are begging to be (silently) judged.

The two presenters on break in front of me are both playing on their phones. The one with the open-toes sandals on can't seem to stop frowning. I can't help but think that she's going to put such deep lines in her pretty face! The other one is making a lemon-sucking face; and I just saw her take a nap-blink. You know those extra-long blinks you take when you're about to fall asleep?

I'm praying my Mountain Dew prevents me from doing the same.

Mrs. T-short dress opens with, "I'd really rather sit, but I speak so quietly..." she fades off and glares at the stationary microphone attached to her pedestal. She also mentions multiple times throughout her deadpan presentation of 40 slides that we must want to get out of this classroom. YES! We do! But we are stuck! Stuck in a stinky room on a gorgeous summer day, watching you read slides while barely moving your mouth. If you are so obviously bored with the content, how am I possibly supposed to care? She zips through the slides because it's almost rush hour, and she would like to beat traffic. "Dammit, I came to learn!" I want to scream that, but I don't, mostly because I'm pretty sure I would get tackled by the few folks left, who obviously share the same sentiment as our speaker.

Although our last speaker of the day may have gotten on the road in time, the rest of us have to endure a 30-minute Q&A session. On my survey for the course, I try to be honest but constructive, requesting knowledgeable speakers who are comfortable with the material (One of our speakers looked like she was having a panic attack right in front of us).

It takes me two hours to get home. I blast music and finger dance, and promise myself that I will never be like those speakers we had to endure today: Bored in life, Eager for the day to be done, Uninteresting and Uninterested. Life is simply too short!

I Am Not A Monkey!

The message I receive on Facebook makes me cringe as soon as I read the two sentences.

The man on the sending end thinks he is giving me a compliment on my "big butt" and "nice boobies"...nope! These are not for you, Sir! I look at my friend incredulously. "Is he drunk?" It is 2:45 in the afternoon, so likely not the case. Which leaves the more probable solution that he thinks it's appropriate to talk about my body like it's his business.

I don't live in a big city, so thankfully I don't have to deal with the cat calls and verbal abuse that women have to endure on the daily. But this advance is just as unwelcome. My body is not on display for anyone. It is mine and I love it. But I am not a monkey! I am not in a zoo, and I demand more respect than the average bear. So treat me like a bear, and I might not maul your face off. (Cue sweet smile.)

What About, "For Better or For Better"?

When I moved into my own place, I bought a TV just so I could listen to Pandora like Cathie. I loved walking into her apartment and hearing "Nasty Girl's Radio" blasting (obvi the best station). I thought I would use my TV for more than just music, but it's rare unless golf is on a local station and I want to take a nap.

So I'm listening to Beyoncé radio today, which is a fantastic mix of artists like Destiny's Child, Drake, Nicki Minaj, and Sam Smith. This results in a random playlist throughout the day...sometimes it's love songs...most the time, it's raunchy rap. As any teenage girl or sappy adult can attest, love songs mean guys promising they'll love you forever, and women asking if they'll love them for better or worse...blahblahblah. One such lyric that caught my ear this afternoon was by Sam Smith, in "I'm Not The Only One". He croons, "You and me, we made a vow, For better or for worse, I can't believe you let me down..."

This made me question: Why does marriage have to mean "For better or for worse?" This implies things will inexplicably get worse. Instead of the vow meaning what it intended, ensuring that a couple understands it won't be all rainbows and unicorns every day, it more often provides a cop-out. It essentially allows one or both partners to act however they want and use this as a Get Out of Jail Free card. You fall in love with someone when they are at their best; when your day revolves around the next time you get to see them; when you can't wait to take them somewhere new or tell them a funny story. Sadly, new, shiny things (and people) fade, but by then you've been together that "right amount of time" and what else can you do besides get married? So you make this impossible promise that you really have no idea the extent or intensity of, in the blind hope that you will defy the other half of married couples who don't make it.

All this to say, I love the idea of marriage; it's beautiful: Find someone who loves you just as you are; Forever. But in order for marriage to become more realistic, the phrase in question should be removed. It's BS to expect me to stay in love with you if you act like a jackass. Why wouldn't we give our best selves to our spouses on the daily? How are you supposed to stay in love with someone who doesn't act as they did when you first fell in love? Or worse, someone who changes completely once they "have" you?

I would hope that if I ever pull the trigger, "For better or for worse" would mean that every day we try to be good to each other. And when shit hits the fan, we will be the other person's support so we can make it through, united. Complacency is what kills marriage, not the concept of marriage itself.

Hands Off

I went out last week with my besties, and witnessed/experienced multiple sexual harassment scenarios...

I got my bra unhooked (expertly, and too quickly to protest) by someone trying to prove they "loved breasts" (BTW, who doesn't?). My girlfriend got her tits squeezed by a male who is "just a friend". Someone put their hands around my other friend's throat and kissed her neck (not her boyfriend)...Three girls, at a bar, getting steadily molested by strangers and friends...What fun!


I'll admit I didn't get angry until later, when I was thinking about the culmination of events. I should have said no, I shouldn't have giggled when it made me uncomfortable, I should have stood up for myself. We all probably should have. But what if you're in a public place and just want to be treated with some respect, and not manhandled by everyone who has had a drink. Just because I may participate in flirting doesn't mean I want your hands on me. Like, ever.

So what is acceptable behavior? If I smile at you does that give you permission to treat me like a whore? (It does not.) If I make a raunchy comment because we are in a bar and I've had a few cocktails, does that tell you, as a man, that you can do whatever you want to me? (Also, a screaming no.) Having boundaries and demanding respect doesn't mean I'm a prude, and it doesn't mean I'm a bitch. But I'll bet if I slapped your hand away, or better yet, slapped your face when you deserved it, you'd be eager to call me one!

I'm allowed to show my sexuality in words, flaunt my awesome cleavage when I can, and still be treated like...a human being. Look all you want, but like Kindergarten, how about keeping your hands to yourself?

My Jiggly Thighs

Strength is beauty.

I don't know that a lot of people believe in that notion; it's sadly obvious that our society is obsessed with thin equalling beautiful. We completely disregard the fact that true beauty stems from the strength we have within us. Possessing emotional strength to overcome adversity is only part of it. Strength that shows itself on the outside is also beautiful, although we are constantly pressured to think that only a size 2 is perfection.

Let's talk about the current rage of the "thigh gap". I've not had a gap in my thighs since high school, and I have no desire to return to that awkward, skinny phase of my life. How is that sexy? I pondered this while hiking up a mountain last week. My thighs do not have a gap, and therefore do not fit the societal measurement of leg beauty; but I wouldn't change a thing.

These jiggly thighs of mine send me up mountain trails on daily adventures; they give me strength to run and (usually) not fall on my face; they support me when I pick my niece up and swing her around till we're both dizzy. I thank my strong thighs for giving me purpose, for allowing me to simply walk into a room when so many don't have that ability.

Yes, my workout shorts may be a splash too short (let's be honest, all my shorts are too short), and when I sit down, my legs squish delightfully together. I don't care. I'm proud of my jiggly thighs and the places they are able to take me.