Gotta wanta needa havea Bojangles

Saturday was a day in the making for almost a year now. Ever since the first report that Bojangles was coming to DC. Actual DC, not a suburb. 

Bojangles. In my current place of residence. Accessible via metro anytime I need it. 

Bojangles. Too many people up here have never heard the word without a "Mr." in front of it. 

Bojangles. The North Carolina institution making home feel just a tiny bit closer. A home that, at least in this case, is made of seasoned fries, spicy chicken, biscuits, and sweet tea.

Our little piece of the South finally opened in this not-North, not-South city on Thursday. And on Saturday two Carolina girls planned their day around a visit to Union Station to partake of those famous chicken 'n biscuits. And it was just as good as we knew it would be. (Though, the fries could have used a bit more seasoning.)

The sign as we waited in the long line. A line that was never shorter than 10 people the hour we were there.

Getting closer! The counter and the menu. And a menu, by the way, that does not include my beloved cinnamon biscuits. I will be writing a letter.

Is there anything more lovely than the iconic yellow box filled with a four-piece chicken supreme meal, seasoned fries, and a biscuit? (Hint: No.)

Brandie enjoying her chicken.

Just a little bit excited. So excited, in fact, that I actually ordered the sweet tea. Even though I don't really like sweet tea. But it just seemed like the right thing to do.

I haven't been home since Christmas and last week was long and exhausting. And at one point I decided hush puppies were needed. Needed badly. But they aren't easy to come by up here so I tried to put them out of my mind. Then on Friday night I went to dinner with some friends and we ended up at a restaurant with hush puppies. In fact, they checked the menu before we even put our names on the list. So I got my hush puppies -- even though they were onion batter based -- and I felt better. 

Until Saturday when I just wanted to go home. But I have a busy month ahead of me and as much as I want to say screw it and just book a ticket South, it's not possible. So instead it was a Bojangles lunch with a best friend and things were ok again. 

Like a smell or a song, food evokes certain memories and feelings. And whether it's hush puppies or Bojangles, wedding soup or potato pancakes, I associate certain foods with my life, with my home. They have the power to take me back, even if it's just in my head, and make things better.   

Plus, it's just really, really good food.

Just having a good time

Josh: This magical land in your head where everything just happens because you want it to, is it fun there?

Brent: I'm having a good time.

-Fabulous Beekman Boys

First of all, if you aren't watching "The Fabulous Beekman Boys" on Planet Green, you should start immediately. My family got me watching this show last year and I am obsessed. I just read both of Josh's memoirs and ordered my second batch of soap from their website. And speaking of their website, their recipes and how tos have me craving heirloom tomatoes. I have no idea where one finds heirloom tomatoes or why they are any different from my Giant tomatoes, but I need some desperately. My favorite of the boys is Brent. He's from North Carolina and is a bit of an OCD perfectionist. He reminds me of someone I know.

The above quote is from this week's episode. It made me laugh because I live in my head a lot. And for the most part it's not a big deal. It's well-organized and warm. Everything is Carolina blue and shiny. I never lose things and there's always a show on I want to watch.

But last week I made a mistake at work that was at least 50% my fault and it caused a bit of a freak out on my end. (Seriously, who is the OCD perfectionist I am thinking of?) I'm slowly learning that certain things that make perfect sense inside my head, quite frequently, are completely nonsensical once outside my head.

I beat myself up over this and decided I should just start voicing out loud any of my thoughts that might be crazy, just to get a second opinion. But a friend and I agreed that might not be the safest option.

So instead, I'm just going deal with it. And I'm going to stay inside my whacky head. Maybe just ease up on the perfectionism a bit. Because I'm having a good time.

WIWW

Cardigan: Gap

Shirt/dress: Tucker for Target

Belt: Urban Outfitters

Jeans: Paper, Denim, and Cloth

Boots: Belk

Necklace: Forever 21

This week's photos courtesy of my work friend and fellow blogger, Gloria. Location courtesy of the stairwell outside my office. Cheesy smiles and awkward arms courtesy of me. And maybe my parents. Genetics, after all.

This shirt is technically a dress. Yeah, that will never happen. Especially since I'm convinced that spring is never getting here. We had some snow on Sunday and there may be sleet tonite. Both were described as "light" or a "dusting," but a week into spring, there should not be any!

I have nothing of note to add. The past two weeks have been very busy with work, juggling projects and deadlines. Last week I spent two days at a photo and video shoot. It was exhausting and stressful but seeing words I wrote read by actors and shots I thought of being photographed is, admittedly, kind of neat.

But to counter the neat, after the first shoot I lost two SmarTrip (metro fare) cards in the span of one hour and two trains. Each with $20 on them. Two. And my UNC card holder. This is also eerily reminiscent of the week in December where I lost one card and broke another. Though the lost one did eventually turn up. But is now lost again.

And that's that.

 

Things I Should Stop Buying: Cardigans

At the mall tonite, Banana Republic was having a nice sale and I bought a tank top and a cardigan. Once home, I realized that this makes the 13th cardigan hanging in my closet. (Not counting any spring/summer cardigans under the bed in storage. Or the two sweaters I cut up the center to make cardigans. Or the open front sweaters may also be cardigans. But don't cardigans technically need to have buttons? Should I type cardigan one more time?)

To be fair, this one was originally $60 marked down to $22 and in a pretty apple green color. It was also a petite, but still fit me. The cashier, however, also noted it was a petite and pointed it out. Just trying to be helpful, I guess? Though I really did want to scream, "This is a bulky coat! It's very cold up here and I have a little winter weight! I can be petite!"

Instead, I took my purchases, nicely wrapped in tissue, and left the store. To go down to the food court and buy some Taco Bell*. Which was the reason for having them wrap the clothes in tissue anyway: To put the taco bag in with the clothes and only have one bag. Classy, right?



*I know it's bad for me and they've proven something about the meat not being real meat, but it's so good!

This would have been me

Had I taken ballet as a child, this would be me. Ok, fine, if I were to take ballet now, this would still be me. Because, yes, I do occasionally try to stand like ballerina and I maybe occasionally/always tip over. Legs aren't meant to bend that way!

I did baton for six years as a kid and think I did quite well. My inner klutz didn't really appear until high school. Well, aside from the black eye (not my fault), the fat lip (break dancing), running into a pole (not paying attention), and two objects up nose incidents (no comment). But even with those, it was just being young, not necessarily lacking grace.

So I just want to find this girl and give her a hug. She can still have a graceful presence and personality even if she lacks the ability to gracefully stand.

At least that's what I keep telling myself after every trip, slip, or fall.

WIWW

Cardigan: Banana Republic

Husband beater*: Old Navy

Jeans: Gap (still with the ripped belt loop)

Flats: Primark in London, four years ago for £4. 

Necklace: No idea.

I should have taken pictures earlier in the week because, if I do say so myself, I looked way cuter. This morning I had to get up early but was still late, got delayed watching a segment on Good Morning America, and then tried on about 10 different things before settling on my pajamas. But, since I don't think my work dress code is that casual, I threw this on.

Then there were metro and bus delays, so despite getting up an hour earlier than usual, I barely got to work a half hour sooner. And the day just kept going from there, some good, some bad. Ready for weekend, that's all I know for sure.

*I've been using the term "husband beater" to describe tank tops off and on over the years as I find the term "wife beater" terribly offensive. I've grown more adamant in recent weeks because of a friend's insistence on calling them "wife beaters." Pretty sure he's doing it just to anger me, but two can play that game. I'm also trying to make "breasty" or "she's got breasts" have the same meaning as "ballsy" or "he's got balls." I disapprove of the association of strength or intelligence, weakness or emotion, with gender-specific body parts, but as long as it's out there I'm going to counter it. (I've been really feminist-y lately. Not sure if it's the recent gender studies books I've read or following Feminist Hulk and NOW on Twitter, but I've been wanting to punch patriarchy squarely in the [fill in the blank.])

Two years

"[Patti] Smith was 29 when she recorded Horses. Joan Didion was 29 when she wrote her first novel. Tina Fey was 29 when she was named head writer of SNL. bell hooks was 29 when she published her first major work. Oprah had just turned 30 when she got her first local TV talk show.

There is a reason "boy genius" rolls off the tongue more naturally than "girl genius." By the time most of us accept the fact that we have earned this label for ourselves, we are most decidedly no longer girls."

-Ann Friedman article on Patti Smith's "Just Kids."

I know I've been heavy on the quotes lately, but there have just been a lot lately that have spoke to me. And now there's this one. This one I just love so much. 

An inordinate amount of my time is spent worrying over the fact that I haven't figured out what to do with my life yet. Panic attacks because my calling hasn't been found. Anger at working myself sick in high school and college, and still somewhat now, all with the goal of being something when I grow up, and having no idea what that is. Tears because my passions can't pay the rent. 

But, it turns out, I have a little time. I'm 27 years, 2 months, and 22 days old. So I've got two years. I have two years to figure it out. No problem.

Also, must add this. I read Smith's "Just Kids" last month and it's the best book I've read thus far this year. And Tina Fey is my idol and Joan Didion is just brilliant. I read some bell hooks in college and should read more and Oprah has an empire. All are most definitely geniuses.

More (mis)adventures in cooking

Occasionally, I will get creative with my dinner options. Not often, but occasionally. Like the thrown together guacamole. Or when I'm out of everything and have to make do with some mustard, mozzarella cheese, and  bacon. That's a slight exaggeration. But only slight. 

However, something similar does happen far more often than I'd like to admit. This is primarily because of my supreme aversion to both the grocery store and to spending money on something as fleeting as food. Tonite was one of those situations. The only thing I had all the ingredients for were my patented crescent roll/pizza roll/pocket things. (Ok, patent only pending if a better name can be found.)

Now that my fear of opening pressurized breading has been conquered -- post for a later date -- my refrigerator is never without crescent rolls. And after a Pillsbury commercial showed a mom -- because it's always a mom -- making pizza pockets with the rolls (and pepperoni, sauce, and cheese) I gave it a shot.

Except I don't know how she got those perfect little triangles so mine became Mega Flaky Pizza Rolls. (Better name?)

But tonite I wasn't in the mood for Pepperoni Bonanzas! and decided to try my hand at making some rice. My mom makes fun of me, but I have trouble making rice. Which is why my rice was exceptionally chewy tonite. But it wasn't too terrible.

To spice it up I found a can of red kidney beans in my cupboard. (I know, I was shocked too.) And there was a recipe on the side for red beans and rice which, apparently, requires a few more ingredients than just the red beans and rice. But I managed to "throw" something together with some oregano, Adobo seasoning, garlic, onions, and tomato sauce.

I don't feel comfortable calling it red beans and rice; the name is just too iconic. So I'll just call mine some rice, and some red beans.

Just a bit bland, probably needed more tomato sauce and onions, but very filling and, most importantly, different.

Choices

"Adulthood is nothing but a series of choices: you can say yes or no, but you cannot avoid saying one or the other. In the end, those who are successful are those who adjust and adapt to the decisions they have made and make the best of them."

-Grant Hill in his New York Times editorial

I'm such a history dork that just about any kind of history intrigues me, including sports history. So ESPN's "30 for 30" series is fascinating to me. Though I have to admit to not yet seeing the Fab Five documentary -- though it is on my DVR -- I have been following the controversy with the remarks the Michigan players made about Duke players. Hill's letter to the editor was eloquent, well-written, and had a lot of good points that apply to far more than just basketball. This point in particular jumped out at me. As I still struggle to get the hang of this "adult" thing, it's nice to get some concrete advice, wherever it appears.

The last few days in somebody else's photos

My weekend in photos, with the assistance of Google Image search.

Explanation and image sources:
A stressful Friday that resulted in a happy hour with a little basketball, a little pool, and a little tapas, that didn't end until almost 2 a.m.

Lazy Saturday with a little help from some ibuprofen and some Tivo.

Slightly more productive Sunday with some more basketball, a little work, a Fabulous Beakman Boys marathon, and some laundry.

As you will see, the weekend didn't include a lot of getting outside my apartment, other than Friday night. Very lame? Or very smart? In preparation for the busy week and weekend I have ahead of me, I'm going with very smart.