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It’s Earth Day today. Whoop de fucking doo. We live on this planet every single day, from cradle to grave, astronauts excepted, and one day out of 365 we concern ourselves with our impact?

I usually miss the boat on holiday relevant posts. Actually, I am late on most every post. Tote bag giveaway? Ended two weeks ago or something, but since no one wanted it I am donating it. Someones got to like magenta. Part of the reason this blog has been around for like, two years and I almost never post is because it is really difficult to pour energy into something with no momentum. I get it. It’s okay. Environmental concerns are depressing. American Idol is more interesting to you.

I try really hard to be gentle and encouraging. It goes along with my whole hopeless-cause-but-I’m-doing-it-anyway schtick. I try not to be the Sara McLaughlin of blogging. People don’t like guilt. So I try not to guilt.

But you know what? Fuck that. Today I am going to guilt.

I am going to rant and make people feel like giant assholes, because you know what? We are. Myself included. We are giant assholes to this planet every single day, and one day very soon, there are going to be a number of terrifyingly tragic natural disastery events on a scale most people choose not to comprehend, and we will freaking deserve it.

I understand that it takes a certain amount of privilege for people to be able to concern themselves with stuff like informed consumerism, less waste living, going veg for the right reasons, having access to healthy foods, or even having the education and critical thinking skills that make the concerns possible. I am, to a degree, lucky to live so close to health food stores and non-chain restaurants.

I am not blogging to my demographic. It’s a niche, I get that. But it’s hard to keep all of that in perspective when something like, oh, I don’t know, finding out that people close to me don’t even take me seriously. My parents still drink out of plastic water bottles. Some of my best friends will accept plastic shopping bags, cringe, and apologize to me. Instead of just effing refusing it. When I am standing right there. When I have just attempted to gracefully refuse one. When I have offered them use of my tote. ARGSDFSD;LKFHWF HWAFHWSADHF;SAKFH;LSAKDFHSL;A

Don’t apologize to me asshole. APOLOGIZE TO THE PLANET. APOLOGIZE TO THE SEA OTTERS AND DOLPHINS AND FISHIES AND WHALES. Also go fuck yourself.

I may not be able to muster the kind of lyric intensity that the deranged sorority girl offered her sisters, and I am definitely not going to threaten to assault anyone, I know better than to put that shit in writing. In fact, I may return to my regularly scheduled and VERY uncharacteristic gentle prodding after I post this. But it’s Earth Day motherfuckers, and I am here to serve you some hard earned well-deserved realness. Fuck off with your measly tree hugging, you aren’t doing fuck-all for the tree, and I know you are going to resume wasting paper, driving unnecessarily and shoveling down bacon tomorrow. Did you have a ~*fAbUlOuS*~ time at your beach clean-up, which you followed up by dumping just as much trash, if not more, into your dumpster, to eventually make its way into landfills and back out to sea? Wake the fuck up.

Yeah, it’s Earth day, but you know what, every fucking day is Earth day. And we are all not doing enough.

*drops the mic*

Pura vida, jerks.

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I’ve spent a good portion of time today scrolling through Twitter, Tumblr and Facebook looking at all of the Boston Marathon bomb updates, and a bad-good portion of time watching CBS News’ broadcast of the event. By which I mean they replayed the same initial footage over and over and I got to watch the same marathon runner mowed down by either the concussive pressure or flying shrapnel about fifty times before I turned it off.

It’s sad, and it’s hard to look away. Media circus aside, there is something absorbing about tragic events, a sense that they are grave and demand your attention, especially when they are “local.” Los Angeles is about as far away from Boston as you can get and still be in the contiguous United States, but I know people in school there, people who have family there, I follow a few people on Twitter, like Amanda Palmer, who live there. It’s a tighter connection for me than say, for the nearly 40 people killed and the hundreds injured in Iraq today, or in Afghanistan, or wherever, which I may not have even heard about amidst the furor about Boston. That’s tragic too. It’s all tragic.

What I’m getting at is a lot of people, like me, hear about stuff like this and can’t realistically DO anything about it. Heck, I felt guilty for complaining about the bag I ordered from Topshop getting send to Belize. Guilty and materialistic. I still really love that bag, and am still really envious it got to go to Belize and I didn’t, but it didn’t seem appropriate to talk about normal material things when somewhere in the world, terrible things were happening.

Then, because my brain does this despite being medicated not to, I start thinking about how EVERY MINUTE really really bad things happen all over the world. How can I ever worry about anything when BAD STUFF is going down all the time. There are some really terrible perps out there (I have been reading a lot of crime novels lately, can you tell).

Luckily I stumbled on some stuff immediately after the thought spiral began that helped me put it in perspective, so I thought I’d share.

My friend Tory shared this status by Patton Oswalt.

patton

Or, if you’re an old fogey who is not so into reading, there is the old standby I’m sure a lot of you have seen before, probably after Newtown. It’s been making its rounds on the interwebs today too:

Fred_Rogers

“When I was a boy and I would see scary things in the news, my mother would say to me, ‘Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping.’ To this day, especially in times of ‘disaster,’ I remember my mother’s words, and I am always comforted by realizing that there are still so many helpers—so many caring people in this world.” — Mister Rogers

 

Hope it helped. Keep wishing and praying, if you do that.

Pura vida.

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Swaggy

I got a package in the mail today. It was from Amanda at DSW, and as much as I hate corporate branding, I have to give DSW props for this. They sent me the best consolation freebies I could have asked for… if I had the werewithal to ask for them.

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After I posted about the labeling mishap on the shoes I still haven’t returned (forever lazy, but when I went to the store it was closed), the DSW Facebook account commented asking me to email them. I did, and they offered me a “small goodie bag” as an apology/incentive for me to stop lambasting them on the internet.

I wasn’t sure if I should accept it, because I have trust issues when it comes to packaging, so I asked Twitter and Facebook what they thought. What I learned from that was if I ever wanted to buy the silence of my FB friends or family members it would be very easy because they are quite unscrupulous when it comes to free stuff. Bea from The Zero Waste Home pointed out something thought provoking:


So true. Did I really need the stuff? No. I didn’t even know what it was. I’d already accepted it, though, so I waited to see, promising myself I would blog it and deal with the consequences of my swag-greed.

But I got so lucky, right? Both items came packed into one large cardboard box and one smaller box to protect the ceramic mug (both of which I will reuse until they need to be recycled). I am of the opinion you can never have too many giant mugs, and the large reusable tote, while fabulously shiny and large (it’s actually darker and more metallic than you can see in the picture), is reusable and functional.

Giveaway

Since I benefited from this saga, I figure you guys should too. I already have a ton of reusable totes, so I am going to give this one away to you! All you need to do is leave a comment on this post, and I will randomly select a winner by next week. (btw, the company did not ask me to do this, in fact they don’t even know about it, but I doubt they will mind)

Comment to win this "I AM A SHOE LOVER" shopping tote on Project Pura Vida!

Pura vida!

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Three days ago I did something wildly out of character: I unironically deactivated my Facebook account. - Project Pura Vida

Here is a picture of TJ being cute to set you up for this train wreck.

It’s a rainy Christmas Eve. (disclaimer: this blog is not about Xmas in any way. It’s actually srs bsns) I haven’t posted a blog since September. If I had it would have been a list of reasons/excuses why I haven’t been posting.  I didn’t want to do that. It would have been boring, and it probably borderline dishonest. I despise liars and think self-delusion and denial are the greatest of man’s follies. After cruelty. And wearing Ugg boots.

If living the “pura vida” mantra has hurdles, for me, blogging it has gotten increasingly harder. It would be tough anyway, because I never quite conditioned myself into the mindset that I should be photographing every single thing I do (I am a chronic over-sharer, but that is some next-level shit. I can only spend so much time picking out Instagram filters in one day, people, I have to sleep sometime). It’s been extra tough this year, though, for other reasons.

So, in the spirit of full(ish) disclosure, this year has sucked. A lot. I’m not the kind of college student who can manage my time anyway, but when you add on that it’s year six of undergrad for me (though technically since I took a year off in halves it’s only 5 but seriously it feels like a decade) and that I am totally and completely burned out, the fact that I can still walk and talk is pretty impressive, in my opinion. When I can’t even manage to complete tiny writing assignments blogging seems like a particularly heavy and awkwardly shaped albatross.

So there is that. But the thing I’ve really been dreading being open about are the real kicker. Depression and anxiety. They work together like the worst possible super villain duo to compound my normal eccentricity, create breathtaking levels of abject self-loathing (over 9000), morph me into a terrified cave troll who can’t bear to leave the house most days, send me into 20 minute crying jags because the clerk at the post office was rude to me, make me circle the block endlessly trying to convince myself to park and go into the party, but end up going home because I just can’t do it. Or mentally replay moments of social interaction endlessly and obsessively in fear and certainty that I definitely said the wrong thing.

Hopefully this comes as a surprise to most people who know me. I’ve always been kind of loud and jittery around people, but it’s gotten crazy bad in the last two or three years. It’s not something I’ve ever felt comfortable talking about because a) it’s not ever really relevant or anyone’s business and b) there are a number of serious social stigmas at play here. I feel more comfortable putting it out there into the internet void because of the openness of Jenny Lawson (The Bloggess), and Wil Wheaton, who spoke out recently about their own struggles, but also because after the Newtown, CT shooting Americans are having to face the consequences of neglecting the national conversation about mental health.

I’m not a danger to other people, unlike Adam Lanza, but I do think writing about it openly might help humanize over-looked or trivialized issues many people face. I think it’s pretty harmful to act like mental illness isn’t just as legitimate an illness as an infection or a broken leg. It’s not like I wouldn’t be better if I could. I hear happiness is pretty cool.

So I’m trying to be the best I can be, even though the gas tank of my soul is empty (you may roll your eyes at that, I did). I’m trying to be honest. I’m really scared actually, that this post is going to come back and haunt me someday, but I’m sticking by what I said, it needs to be talked about.  I’m doing what I can right now, and hopefully one day veryveryvery soon I will be able to be a functional human being without excuses and therapists and tiny little pills to prevent me from being a basket case all the time.

But for right now, all I can ask is that you try not to hate me if I haven’t been calling. It’s because I care enough about you that you terrify me (the lack of reasoning in this astounds me too). Understand that as much as I want to see the pictures from your Christmas party or all of the Grumpy Cat memes or the wildly inappropriate pictures of your baby belly in tacky lingerie, I can’t.

My hiatus may not be permanent, but after 7 years on Facebook and their worrisome ToS, this is probs necessary. I’m going to reactivate for a day or so to spam everyone with a page suggestion, so if they want to know where I went, they can read this. And also see when I post to the blog. *cough*& share with their friends to drive up the site traffic*cough* I’ll probably stick around on Instagram for a bit. Who knows. Twitter is a bit different because I don’t feel so socially constrained to interact or view things by people unless I wanna (I ain’t no follow back grrl). So call me, beep me if you wanna reach me. If you don’t have my email, my contact page  has everything you need. I’m going to try to get some sleep so I can last minute clean/pack/drive to my parent’s house for Christmas. Try to bake things with my sister. Play with my brother’s German Shepherd. Eat all of the things.

(All you can do is try. It’s okay) Happy holidays. Pura Vida.

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Yes, I know it sounds impossible, but I did it. A couple years ago when my friend/hetero life partner Kelly found the recipe online (potentially this instructables recipe) we nearly lost our damn minds. CAKE. IN 5 MINUTES (OR LESS)? Shut. Up.

How is this green, or more sustainable, or waste free, you ask? Well, frankly, it technically isn’t. I mean, YES IT IS, all of the ingredients could feasibly be found in bulk, fair trade, vegan, made of moon beams, etc. It’s not 100%, but it’s a step ahead of making a whole chocolate cake, or a whole batch of brownies and then eating them all yourself…like I NEVER ever do. Regularly. Ahem.

Also, it uses less energy, sort of. I took a World Religion and Ecology class this spring semester, and the first class my professor asked who still uses a microwave, and it scared the daylights out of me. I love my microwave. I use it every day, and often lean on it and talk on my cell phone while it is in use…I KID.

So I was scared, right? And I came home and immediately launched into one of my declarative question statements Justin has learned to fear and loathe. They usually start, “So…I was thinking, and because [X event happened], I want to [drastic lifestyle change].” They usually end with him trying to talk me out of it by any means necessary. He is usually about 40 per cent successful with this tactic, depending on the subject.

This time I said “So today my professor was asking the class what kind of stuff they use at home, and its environmental health impact. He mentioned microwaves.”

To which I think Justin responded with an all-out defense of microwaves and radiation in general. Probably also nuclear fission and the 2nd amendment. I don’t really remember. He also said that microwaves, the way they’re built anyway, are supposed to shield their surroundings from harmful waves and that you can only be really affected when you stand right next to it/touch it. I didn’t buy it. I had another conversation about it with Ana, my lovely pre-med friend and Kelly’s flatmate. Her parents are both doctors, and she confirmed all of my deepest darkest fears by saying, “My mom never uses the microwave. I think she broke it intentionally years ago and just refuses to get a new one.”

So I spent the next two to three weeks using the oven and stovetop for EVERYTHING. Yeah, I didn’t do any personal research at first, I just kind of let fear rule me. Sometimes you need food (or for me most of the time, tea) in a hurry.

But then for my class, we read a book called Serve God, Save the Planet, in which Dr. Matthew Sleeth suggests using a microwave is a the most efficient way to cook food, since it uses a smaller amount of energy in a shorter amount of time. And he’s a doctor. Not an oncologist, per se, but a doctor nonetheless. So maybe Justin was right? The internet is no help on this one, there is a lot of conflicting squabbling on the subject. So is it safe?

Not sure, but the microwave habit is hard to break, especially knowing that a brownie is achievable near-instantly. But the jury’s out on this one.

My most frequent uses of the microwave are for:
1) Hot water (for tea).
2) To bring margarine to room temp for baking.
3) To thaw frozen veg, beans, or soup.
4) Rarely: to heat up frozen food, like tamales. I almost never heat refrigerated food. I don’t see the point, or the difference. Cold pizza has its charms.

Potential solutions?
1) Electric kettle, though it violates my “I don’t need more stuff” philosophy, or regular kettle on gas oven (more energy usage?) So, no good solutions. Maybe just less (hot) tea? My English heritage is horrified. Sun tea is an option, though it terrifies me how many people make sun tea in plastic bottles. Terrifies.
2) Plan ahead, and wait for it to defrost/warm up, duh.
3) See #2
4) Hmm. Probably # 2 again. Let it thaw in the fridge. I can live with that.

Anyway, if you have solutions, shoot them at me!

& now, finally, MUG BROWNIE!

YOU WILL NEED
A mug
A microwave
¼ cup (4 tablespoons) flour (I use organic unbleached all-purpose for extra sinfulness, but 100 per cent whole wheat works)
¼ cup sugar (I use unrefined evaporated cane, but you can use any sweetener. My most recent scary declarative was that I’m going to try to give up refined sugar…but this isn’t refined, so…it doesn’t count?)
2 tablespoons cocoa powder
2 tablespoons margarine, at room temp (the original recipe calls for vegetable oil, I always used olive)
2 tablespoons water

OPTIONAL EXTRAS (for maximized awesome)
handful of chocolate chips
handful of walnuts
1/4 teaspoon vanilla extract (or just a couple drops, really)
powdered sugar or raspberry preserves (or both!) for topping.

Stir the flour, sugar and cocoa powder together, add the margarine. Mix well, then add water. Microwave on high for 60 seconds (requires less effort than pressing 1-0-0, right?!). Let it cool for a bit.

DEVOUR ALL OF THE THINGS.

You’re welcome. Pura (in that only your happiness is pure) vida!

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Yeah, now I really want some chana masala.

So, it was a close run—mostly due to the overwhelming number of comments (3)—but the winner of the free upcycled wine cork soap-dish is the very witty and beautiful Samantha “The Sam” Lamph.

Soap not included.

Let’s overlook the fact that I’d promised her a free one anyway, because I love her and she is awesome—she even offered to pay for it, which means she is definitely getting one for free.

Everyone else who commented can have one too. As you can see I am obviously a very successful entrepreneur. But considering there were only two other people, one of whom was my mother, I just may not empty my stock.

I’ll set up shop after I make them, which may not be for a while. I just finished a scarf last week I’d promised a friend I’d make in October, and deities only know when I’ll mail it. Not to mention my pen pal who hasn’t heard from me since July and my BFFL, whose Christmas and birthday presents languish in a cupboard.

In other news, this week I’ve made orange oil out of leftover peels and have hopefully, after months of blog trolling, found a suitable cracker recipe. Homework? What’s that? Hang on, I’ll get back to you on that after I finish this episode of “Buffy the Vampire Slayer.” At this rate I’ll get through re-watching all 8 seasons by February.

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So, it’s been a while. An embarrassingly long while, but I feel like too much explanation would be about as horrible as my hiatus was, so, in brief: I had a hellish semester and I was working way too many hours. Consequence=abject misery.

Okay, I’m being dramatic (as usual), but in addition to being overworked/tired and angry pretty much all the time, blogging fell by the wayside, and then became a nagging item on my to-do list, and at that point I just started avoiding it at all cost. Luckily, my less-waste goals didn’t, so that’s something.

The thing is, though, that I love having this blog, and I have so many ideas, and there are so many ways it could become a resource for someone other than Justin, who uses it to look up my gallo pinto recipe, but that’s never going to happen if I don’t actually use it.

A dog and a cute Dachschund.
So here I am, in a picture with a dog. An adorable dog. On Christmas eve. Trying to move past what was a pretty horrible train-wreck time. Highlights? Let’s see. There was the heavy course load, plus the poli sci class from hell (it was a US Senate Simulation, so I’m sure you can imagine how that went), in which one of my esteemed colleauges decided that being a dick was the best way to maneuver politically. Accusing me of forming coups and calling me while I was at work to bitch me out when his plans got messed up by other people, you know, the norm.

Imagine an unattractive, self-righteous 20 year old jabbing a finger in your face, screaming “You torpedo-ed the bill!” while you stare back with a slack-jawed expression of incredulity pasted on your face. Yeah, I totes torpedo-ed that shit. Because the bill was unconstitutional, duh. Sup, bro?

Not to mention the fact that I spent months of my life researching and writing and then, at my editors’ requests, expanding on ideas and further revising an article which was then too long to publish for my university’s paper. Months. It was really not that serious. So that was September-present. I will get that monster published if it is the last thing I do. I have yet to see an environmentally centered article in print. Mostly because that one was the first I tried to submit, and we all just heard what a success that turned out to be.

Anyway, those things are kind of throwaway. The big thing was that I was working my ass off at school, as aforementioned, while at the same time working 30-35 hours a week at my restaurant job. I finally had to ask my boss to cut my hours down because it was affecting my grades, and then my hours got cut down even more because of a customer complaint (which was totally my bad, unfortunately for both of us), and then, right as the year ended and my grades turned out to be even worse than I’d imagined (I got a C+ y’all, in an English class), and I’d realized I was going to start 2012 dead broke and depressed, they fired me. Theories abound as to why, but I suspect they only wanted employees who were okay with working overtime and not being paid for it. So there was that.

I sound bitter. Probably because I AM bitter. I am really very deeply and grossly bitter about, frankly, a lot more things than I should be, and that is NOT what living a pura vida is all about, people. As Amanda Palmer says in her “Ukelele Anthem”: “Quit the bitching on your blog, and stop pretending art is hard.” I’ve never pretended art is hard (good art on the other hand…), so I guess I need to quit bitching on my blog. But I’ve only just started!

But the holidays were good! I actually cut up my pumpkins from Halloween (which never got carved because Justin had started his new job in September and I was struggling to find time to sleep) and made them into pumpkin cheesecake for both Thanksgiving and Christmas dinner. That was cool. I posted pictures on Instagram, because my life is fabulous and needs constant documentation. /sarcasm.

Speaking of, I lost my phone in a bar sometime in October. My really nice awesome former coworker Aurora up and gave me her old iPhone, which is pretty much the nicest thing ever. I would probably not (and could not) buy a new phone, and based on EWG’s cell phone radiation report, a used Samsung Galaxy S would be the least tumor-causing, but I will not look a gift iPhone in its 3mm audio jack (something my G1, which I’d had 3 incarnations of in 3 years, couldn’t give me), regardless of where Apple is buying those conflict minerals.

It’s funny, because before I got the new phone a customer I was waiting on one afternoon had a Galaxy S II, and I asked him how he liked it. “It’s awful, I hate it,” he replied. When I asked why he told me it was slow and functioned badly compared to other smartphones. I told him about the EWG radiation report and how it was the lowest emitting smartphone. “Better than the iPhone?” his yuppie lunch parter asked me. I said yes. She totally didn’t believe me and probably looked it up on said iPhone. “Well, that’s why,” the man with the Samsung said, “It’s not emitting enough radiation.” And then he chuckled smugly into his lame salad.

Anyway, by some freak happenstance (Justin and I getting a tree) my parents decided it would be cool to do Christmas day dinner at my apartment. I’m not sure it’s an experience I’d like to repeat (getting the tree, the dinner was awesome. I made tamales) because while I’m aware it’s 1000x better to get a real tree than to buy a fake one, because they’re ugly and polluting and will be here longer than anyone alive, it’s also better to not chop down trees just to make your house look pretty. Tree farms are not forests y’all.  Anyway, I got really stressed about cleaning the apartment and making it guest-ready after several months of neglect. But I made this cool soap dish out of wine corks:

& am considering making a few more and selling them on Etsy. Would you buy one? No? Fair enough. Everyone knows what they’re getting for Christmas next year though…I’ve got about 300 wine corks to upcycle. No, they’re not all from me, I’d been collecting them from work.  Do you even know how long it would take me to drink 300 bottles of wine by myself?

Ok, yeah, like most of a year. Quiet, you.

And my container gardening finally bore fruit! By fruit I mean a tiny tomato, it has long since bore me a bell pepper and various herbs, but I don’t think peppers count as fruit? Not by anyone other than botanists, and if they’re not cooking me things I care not for their opinions, sir. Anyway this picture’s super ugly, and my plants had just experienced a pretty intense windstorm. I really need to do a post about my plant struggles. You’ll be amazed how many things I’ve killed.

 

So that’s all for now I guess. I’m going to go on trying to not be so bitter and slough off the callous around my entire self that I’ve developed recently, and hopefully find a job and make decent grades and maybe start to love things again like I did before. And maybe things will work out well. Maybe they won’t, but either way, they’ll pass. I’ll leave you with this picture because I want to be on that plane, to parts unknown:

Oh save me today / Help me forget all the worry, worry / Just split the sky and free me, / to be golden

Pura Vida!

postscript: First person to tell me the song from which I took my title and that quote gets a free upcycled wine cork soap dish.

post-postscript: I suppose that gives people I’m friends with on Facebook a distinct advantage…and y’all are probably a pack of Googling cheaters. Ok, new contest, I will (somewhat) randomly pick a commenter, who will win a free upcycled wine cork soap dish. Because they’re fucking cool. And if you have one everyone will think you’re a libertine badass with a poet’s soul, a devil-may-care attitude, and fabulous hair.*

 

*I reserve the right to later deny making this statement.

 

 

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