Wednesday, July 28, 2010

i drank pond water for breakfast

ok, i didn't literally scoop a cup of water out of a pond, but honestly the entire experience felt very similar. You see, for breakfast, i decided to try my raw food detox diet's main staple: green lemonade. the book describes it as tasty and healthy (i should have realized trouble was a'brewin right then). all it takes is a head of romain lettuce, 5 stalks of kale, 2 apples, a lemon, and two tablespoons of ginger, which when thrown into the juicer becomes this magical concoction. yes, i can hear what you're saying now: kelli, there is no way that was going to taste good. and in my defense, i will admit that i in no way expected it to taste like a strawberry milkshake. i did not quite believe, though, that it would be as much of a process and overwhelming failure as it was.

i bought a juicer just for the purpose of making this special lemonade. (looking back, bad decision, but i digress.) after i got all the various ingredients, i had to go through the slow process of cramming them down into the little opening of the juicer as it roared away, grinding up the solids and turning them into liquids. i should have taken notice from the very beginning that this was going in a direction that was not gonna be pleasing. (if you see a trend, this entire adventure, or misadventure, actually, was a trail of signs that should have warned me to not even start this process. signs i completely ignored.)

so when i was finally done, i was left with a cup of dark green juice. it was a really pretty color, but would be more appropriate as the shade of a shirt or maybe a pillow, but not the color of "juice." and it smelled like grass. since i am not a cow, horse, or any other grazing animal, i don't happen to be interested in eating grass. this left me with quite a dilemma.

i poured this mix of nastiness into a cup--it was a lot of freakin juice, like an entire gallon! ok, not that much, but seriously, you wouldn't think that lettuce would make that much juice. i was immediately afraid to even taste it. so i added ice (because i figured iced pond water would be more appetizing than hot, right?) and a straw. i can suck down anything with a straw, i thought. i thought wrong.

i make it to my car, on the way to work, and i still have yet to actually taste my "lemonade" (which i refuse to call it anymore, because that is just giving a bad name to the tasty deliciousness that is real lemonade). i get halfway to work before i even touch the straw to my lips. after several painful attempts that made me resemble a three-year-old who doesn't want to eat her broccoli, i finally take a drink. this results in an immediate face that rivals that of any tantrum throwing three-year-old. I do the whole shake my head, stomp my feet, close my eyes (which was dangerous while driving) and mumble random words that resemble yuck and gross and uggghhhhh. it tasted exactly like it looked. and this was only the first drink.

as i continue to stare at my drink, which now resembles pond water more than ever- and not a clean pond that has recently been treated to look more blue, i'm talking a cow-inhabited, nasty old pond complete with all that green filmy moss floating on top. that is exactly what this looks like, and i'm trying to drink it! i tell myself that this cup of crap probably cost $5, and i can not waste that, but every time i try to take a drink, it is a repeat of the bad taste dance.

i manage to drink half of the devil's swamp water by the time i pull into my parking spot. i decide to carry it in with me, just in case i develop a complete loss of smell and taste on the way into the building. this does not occur, and so now i am left with hot pond water that is now corroding to the side of my breakfast cup. moral of the story: if it smells like pond water, looks like pond water, and tastes like pond water, then no amount of ice, straws, or procrastination is gonna make it taste any better. being healthy sounds much better than it tastes :)

Thursday, July 15, 2010

hey, hey, i wanna be a rockstar

For the first time in months, literally months, i am excited about something. I have this bubbling passion and anticipation that i almost can't believe. for so long now, i've felt like i'm just dried up inside, depressed and just sad because i thought i screwed up, and made the wrong decision about life. i thought that coming to uk to get my master's was a huge mistake, that i let myself down and gave up on my dreams. and, in a way that is still true. i should have been more adventurous but it's too late now to change that. anyway, i was afraid that I was stuck with my decision, and doomed to a life of boredom, pursuing my more responsible plan of being a 4-H agent, as opposed to a some version of a rockstar (or at least a normal person with some semblance to a rockstar lifestyle.) As i whined and complained about the misery of my life for the 123,156,315 time at work, J told me the same things that I have said to myself, but never really heard out loud. i can be a 4-H agent for the rest of my life. now is the time that i can actually do something real, something that will make me feel alive. so i'm going to :)

i know i love music. i love shows. the thrill of a rock show is what makes me happiest. yes, i love the thought of 4-h agent-ing, but this is different. i feel so alive watching a band pour their heart's out, seeing the audience feel and react to every note, every drum beat and sing every word. going to shows makes me happy, its something i'm not ready to grow up and give up.

so anyway, when J and I were talking, he said all the things before, but then said "i want you to call [local arts magazine]." i nearly cried like a baby as i informed him that i can not do that, simply because i am terrified. and then i thought, what a completely and totally stupid reason not to follow my dreams.

i mean, its like i have been slowly leading up to this decision for my entire life. i've been a rocker since i sat in the front seat of my daddy's truck, listening to the Stones and Rush and all the other oldies they played on 103.7 and WKDF before it went country . My first real boyfriends: they were both rockstar wannabe's in a band. (granted, they were in the same band, but that's not an important part of the story. and dont' call me a groupie. cause im not- yet. i kid, i kid. groupies are trashy. i'm too classy for that. i wanna be a wife.)

i got a subscription to Rolling Stone & Revolver, and not just to have a magazine to read. I got them because I wanted to study the writing, to subconsciously pick up on the verbiage that those guys use and be able to do that myself. i added journalism as one of my majors (that makes me sound so intelligent, right- "one of my majors." bahahaha.) and graduated, so i guess that makes me qualified to be an official journalist as much as i can be.

so now, i have to actually put all this preparation into action. i need to step up and actually start writing about something that i like, something that i know, something that matters to people like me who love music like i do. but where in the world do i start? and how do i get over the fear that goes along with doing the one thing that i have always been too scared to attempt? and how in the world can i force myself to use capital letters!?! dilemmas, difficult ones at that, but they are just items on my checklist that i have to cross off. i intend to do my first music related blog soon, reviewing the new avenged sevenfold cd. we'll see how that goes, and how it feels to stretch out those writing muscles that have been at rest for quite some time. i can't wait to start this new journey, that will hopefully lead me to the place in life where i want to be: on a dang tour bus, being a rockstar :)