This One's for R.J.

One of my favorite things to have for breakfast is a Baked-Potato Egg. I love it. It's all the best things about "big breakfasts" tucked into a small ramekin. Less guilt? Sure. Let's go with that. I'll share how I make it which differs just slightly from the original recipe I learned it from. You end up with 4 ramekins full of goodness. Mark and I usually eat two each, I won't lie.

2 large baking potatoes
2 tablespoons butter
1/4 cup grated Parmesan
2 sausages of your liking, precooked, diced
4 large eggs

Oven to 400 degrees. Scrub taters, pierce with fork. Bake for 45 minutes. I don't wrap them or put them on a tray. I slap 'em right down on the rack.
Carefully cut open baked potatoes and scoop all the innards into a mixing bowl. Discard skins.
Stir in the butter and cheese, fold in cooked sausage. Spoon mixture evenly into your ramekins and make a hollow in the center of each. Break 1 egg into each hollow.
Arrange on a baking sheet and cook 10-15 minutes until your eggs are set.

The key to success is making sure all your whites are not runny but that your yolk still has some runniness inside of it. Because when your yolk breaks and mixes with the sausage and potato that's when it emulates that awesome Sunday morning diner breakfast flavor.
Hot sauce, ketchup, salt, pepper: Pick your poison and enjoy!The picture is of the day I used bacon instead of sausage because that's what I had on hand. Personally, I don't recommend it. It rocks way more with the chopped sausage.

Because I'm Just That Lucky

So here in NYC, schools have had off all week and a bit of next week too. It's Spring Recess. I think it's funny that with all this separation of Church and State our vacations are still totally dominated by the dates of Passover and Easter. We just don't actually acknowledge it. Well, I'm not going to complain.
Or am I???

But that's not the point of me writing this. Mark and I weren't going anywhere. We had moved the week earlier and on one hand we thought it a financially wise idea to not compound moving expenses with travel expenses. Also, we were really excited to have a week off to get cozy in our new place and get done all those little things that help you personalize an apartment. Maybe throw on some downtown excursions, some burger eating, maybe I could squeeze a movie out of Mark and you've got yourself a not-so-terrible staycation.
Except on Saturday I was feeling all gung-ho. Ready to battle the laundry. Start using our new laundromat down our new street. I got down two steps holding one bag of laundry in my right hand, the old lady shopping cart in the other when the wheels got caught, the cart apparently being too large for me to carry that way and I fell down a flight of stairs. I remember the pain shooting through my ankle. I remember covering my face so that the cart didn't crash onto my face and that's about that.

I started to cry pretty loudly almost instantly. I recall trying to muster everything in my body to stop crying but it was totally involuntary, the pain was so intense. I was definitely a little in shock that it had just happened. I called for help and no one answered. I felt "let down" by my new neighbors. I've decided that maybe no one could hear me.
I called my mommy and she headed over. While I tried to figure out how to hobble back up to my apartment a man, who turns out to live next to me, came up the stairs from outside and helped me stand, deposited my stuff next to my door and bid me a "feel better".

So of course we hit up the ER. Everyone was impressed with my swelling which the picture does no justice. (Though a nice reminder of how poorly maintained my feet were. Luckily I had shaved that morning!)I overheard the nurse be surprised that it wasn't broken but it's as sprained as you can get I suppose. So here I am. On vacation. On crutches. On futon. On Motrin. On frozen peas.
Some people try and say "Well at least you don't have to go anywhere. At least you don't lose any sick time." But I'm still pissed. I don't lose any sick time (not that I don't get crap for using it anyway) But I do lose Jamie time.

Le Sigh.

A Really Shallow Example

I can't say I totally, without a doubt, believe in it but sometimes when things work out (in my favor, I'm a fair weathered optimist) I think it truly is Destiny.
Here's what I'm all smiles about:
Back in May. As in last May when I moved to Vermilyea I was constantly walking by this little local shop. You know those trendy boutiques on 207th street that are totally overpriced but the closest thing we have to real fashion here in Inwood? (Though I am so far from fashionable) So one day last year, as I was all bald having recently buzzed my head, I peeped in the window and saw hats.

I'm obsessed with hats. I buy them constantly and then don't wear them. The last two years I've been really cracking down on myself. While I still indulge here and there I actually make myself wear them. Having bitter-cold winters helps.
Anyway. I loved this hat at first sight. But I refused to go in and spend money. I've been cracking down on that, too. Having a relationship with Mark helps.
But then one day I was feeling all Carpe Diem! and I went in and tried the hat. My sincere hope was that it would look really crappy on me and I'd move on. But it looked cute. I loved it. And I still didn't buy it. I couldn't deal with $40.

IT'S BEEN ALMOST A YEAR.
For almost a freaking year I've stared at this $40 summer hat and wished it belonged to me. At one point it moved from the window and I was sad thinking someone else bought it and then it reappeared and I felt better. It still wasn't mine but it wasn't anyone else's either.
But now I'm moving and I won't be walking by this window constantly and it was sunny and my eyes were bothering me because I've stopped wearing contacts which means I've stopped wearing sunglasses and I'm trying to do little things to enjoy myself so I went into the store.

And I bought the hat.
And it was on sale.
And the label with the Designer's name?
It says Grace.
WHO IS ONLY MY BFF!
(even if she is only 5 yrs. old)

Destiny.

Peace Out!

I don't think I can underestimate how excited I am to be moving to our new apartment over this weekend. It's literally just a few blocks away and it's a world of difference.
Since the weather has been warm every cretin and scoundrel and asshole and degenerate that lives in my current building complex has taken station on our stoop and it's like running the worst gamut ever created just to get to our entryway. It's fucking horrible is what I'm trying to say.
I truly believe that if we had resigned our lease and then started experiencing the warm weather crowds I would have plummeted into a suicidal fog knowing that I was stuck here all summer. But we didn't! We're escaping!

Of course life has been hectic. Because I'm trying to pack but probably haven't been as efficient as I could've been. The apartment has been a giant mess as I deconstruct it and so it's frazzling my nerves and I haven't grocery shopped in awhile to avoid having to move perishables so we've been eating some takeout. My anxiety ridden self is about 4 more days from an implosion. I spend my whole work day surrounded by loud chaos and I need my home to be an oasis. I need order! Neatness!!!!

DEEP BREATH.

It's okay. I'm moving and it will be messy and crazy but I have some great family and friends helping me so it will all work out.

Cats and Dogs

I like going to the gym after work because it lets me blow off some steam but I also feel overwhelmed after work with things I need to get done: try and make it to my parents to walk the dog, get home because there are lonely birds, get home to make dinner, get to the gym quick enough because it gets unbearably crowded. All those things would get the best of me and I would find some excuse to not do most of them, including getting to the gym.

So this past week I thought I'd give the 5am gym routine a go. You know, wake up early and get it out of the way. Uh...not so successful. Tuesday was painful because it was Day One. I was EXHAUSTED all freaking day. No matter what I did I just couldn't snap out of this fog.
Day Two was the same. I'm just tired all day and I can truly feel my cells in my body tingling with pain and exhaustion.
Day Three I just stayed in bed. And I felt great all day.

I just couldn't do it. It wasn't the waking up at 5am so much as it was having to stay awake for the rest of the day. I never felt rejuvenated, ready to face the day. I was so out of it for the workout that I could never put the same effort I could do at the end of the day so I was barely breaking a sweat.
I also learned that coffee doesn't so much make me more awake than it is an actual joint lubricant. Which is just f'ing crazy. Apparently I need coffee not so much to think better but just bending down to pick up a dropped item hurt my achey knees so much more before coffee than after.
I guess this New Yorker needs to learn to embrace the crowds.

*******

So it's total shit outside and that's a total bummer because Mark and I are down to the wire in laundry and we were really hoping to take some things over to the new apartment. Ahhhh that new apartment. It's lovely, exciting...and empty. I'm dying to get in there. Everytime I run late in the morning because I had to wait for water to appear in my shower I dream of the day when I can turn on a faucet and there it will be. Hot, gushing, ejaculating water. It's so exciting. Mark and I have set the move date. It will be next Sunday, March 21st. We're just going to bite the bullet, rent a van, pull a favor card with friends, and make our escape. I pray that the weather is nothing like this weekend.

Also Known As...

There isn't much to say so I'll just get right down to it. Mark and I were talking the other night and I really wish I could remember what we were talking about but the entire conversation ended with Mark saying "You should totally rename your blog Cynical Bitch."

I can't agree with him more. I mean the problem is that it's a dead giveaway. But if you read this blog it's because you already know me so it's not like you'd be surprised. You'd be more like "Cynical bitch? Oh yeah, totally. But I have a good job where I can sit around and check her blog so I'll keep reading anyway."

And for that, I thank you.

But if I warn newcomers with the title then perhaps I'd stop getting really mean comments about my Colombia posts where I whine like I've never whined before. But really...we know that's not true.
White people from the Midwest would never just accept me for who I am. They just want to gush about South America because they're afraid to ever talk bad about an ethnic place for fear of sounding racist. They want to love everyone. Unless they are a nameless entity on a comment page. Then they have no problem being mean as shit. Trust me. Why do you think your comments have to be approved?