Pineapple Hitting a Wall Cake

Ingredients:

• An unlimited # of times missing the 1 train by literally 2 seconds literally every time you approach it. Literally.
• A plethora of elevator doors that do the same thing
• 2 nail salon technicians who can provide a similar embarrassing situation to the following:
  You enter a nail salon off Park Ave. with the 11-year-old you babysit and her friend. You interact with them like the mature humans they are. Having stepped into a nail salon never, (holla!, small town middle class particular priorities!), your kid shows you around & points to where you should sit down. [By the way, you've chosen pale yellow for your color. Lucky Magazine said it's the new nude for fall nails, so.] Once you've all sat, tow nail techs come back, one of whom asks you a question.
  "How old are you?"
  "What?" you ask, merely not understanding her quiet voice.
  She repeats, "How old are you?"
  "Um. What?" you think, merely not believing what's happening.
  After what you can imagine was a lengthy pause, you say,
  "22." The woman then taps and leans into her fellow employee and enjoys saying--doesn't even attempt to whisper-- "22", with some sort of odd mix of shock and satisfaction on her face. All roads lead to them having taken some sort of bet while preparing our manicures in the back. The manicures of 2 11-year-old girls and their ambiguous third party. Are you a potentially sad older teen who hangs out with either her sisters or simply much younger friends? This makes you three those young girls who go to nail salons all the time without their mothers in the middle of the day with no care in the world, who you can only imagine annoy these women. Or, are you... well-- what other option was there for you to be than that? And also-- WHO CARES?!?!?!?!?!?!
  Next time, I'm the one taking bets. 
• 1 scene in High School Musical where the quiet, awkward composer trips on a piano bench, falls, and spills all of her sheet music-- the one single part in a movie all about putting on a musical that your babysi-tee decides to react to with "THAT'S SO YOU!"
  
  And this wouldn't be a pineapple cake without the most important ingredient yet:
• 1/2 of a pineapple. That you eat. In one evening. By yourself. 

Instructions:
Never-- not once in my wildest dreams or nightmares-- have I suspected that "Pineapple Side Effects" would be even a valid concern of mine.

-- OK, I know I'm breaking the 4th wall here, but let me tell my own story so I can tell you what NEVER TO DO EVER PLEASE SAVE YOURSELF--

I hate pineapple. I've always hated pineapple, but I guess on my recent produce kick over the last couple of months it's been growing on me. Somehow, for some reason, I decided to pick up one of those styrofoam trays of fruit. Think of this:

 only with half of a pineapple instead of salmon cream cheese pinwheels. Which, OK, interesting first choice of fruit tray on Google Images.

So, having not really eaten a hearty meal at all and being starving at 8pm, I ate my dinner of vegetables and beans (yeah!) and then had some pineapple. Then I was still hungry, so after a while I had some more pineapple. Then I fell asleep on the couch (per usual past aprx. 2pm) and woke up in a narcoleptic frenzy, needing a sudden bolt of energy to help wake me up. So, I had some more pineapple. Then, I must've suddenly realized the taste and sugar of pineapple that I have never liked before. So, I had some more pineapple. (Also, let's be honest, I had nothing else reminiscent to eat in my apartment. It was either pineapple or straight up peanut butter with some beans and carrots, and maybe a rice cake.) Along the lines of the last couple of pieces of pineapple, my mouth starts to feel... burny. Like, I had eaten too much salt earlier, or something, and the juicy pineapple was burning my lips. Or maybe I had a cut on the sides of my mouth, or my lips were too dry. No bother. More pineapple! Ooo, but it's getting worse-- now it's moving to my tongue, like my tongue is on fire. Who cares?! We're almost out of the pineapple! Finally, my mouth could not take any more. I felt sweaty. My face cringed. I couldn't close my mouth and water hurt my poor wittle tongue.

It was time for another Early-20's-Hypochondriac Google Search.

This is quite possibly the most accurate photo I've ever seen.

Cue "Pineapple Side Effects": for light, straightforward reading, try this. For a more entertaining and upset/disappointed-at-fruit-charged critique, try this. We obviously know which one I relate to. 

If you're too lazy to do either, which shame on you because you really should know about this serious Bromelain issue, I will give you some key quotes, along with my initial reactions while reading:

"Although the fruit is bursting with healthy nutrition, too much pineapple can produce unpleasant side effects. " Shoot. 

"After eating a large amount of pineapple, you might experience swelling or tenderness on the lips, inner cheeks and tongue. " Oh, gosh... oh, man, that's me!

"Sure you’ve heard of “collagen” from one of those skin care adverts, but it provides a much more useful property in our tissues, basically, it holds everything together, providing us with a sturdy support for our internals, but more annoyingly, making our steak incredibly tough. To counteract this, we need something which can break up this collagen, and cue our friend (and enemy somewhat), the pineapple." ANNA! Of COURSE! A MEAT TENDERIZER!!

So, after 4 hours of not speaking, drinking, or moving my mouth (because I couldn't do any of the 3, ask my roommate), I decided to stop looking like Tim Allen: Botox mandarin oranges, remember?

Thankfully, upon waking today, my lips feel tingly and large and my stomach full of protein-tenderizing acid, but I am able to continue life as a human.

Lesson/instruction of the week? You're going to hit a wall. Soon. Very soon. I personally think it happens about every couple of weeks, maybe months. So, when was the last time you hit a wall? A couple of weeks ago? Psshh, brace yourself, then. Because tomorrow someone might tease you about getting nails done with 11-year-olds, or your 11-year-old might have finally figured out you're the awkward pianist from a teen movie. You might eat half of a pineapple for honestly God knows what reason and not be able to feel your lips or tongue except for the feeling of fire for 4 hours. Or you might quite literally get every single door shut in your face. We all have these weeks. It's not a good or a bad thing; it's obviously not a good thing. It does give you some pretty funny stories, if you are able to just laugh through your Pineapple Botox face. The good thing about Wall Weeks is that once they're over, you're WALL FREE for, like, at least another couple of weeks!

Part-ay!

But don't you dare bring a fruit tray.

No One Likes Fruit (fly) Cake

Isn't this cute?!

No.

Ingredients:

• 1 seemingly normal fridge, until...
• All the fruit flies
• 1 bathroom, too
• 2 nights of deep cleaning-- scrubbing and disinfecting, that is
• 4 calls to management
• 1 Google search a la Girls: "how do you get rid of fruit flies in a New York City apartment"
• 5 homemade fruit fly traps
• 1 sleepless night, fearing for my life (skin)
• ¡%@#! (insert uncomfortable number in fake expletive) number of fruit flies
• 1 Bug-ageddon

Instructions:
You wouldn't be living in NYC in the summer and not experience fruit flies. Right? That's what I tell myself, reassuring my soul that Mother Nature isn't targeting our apartment specifically for the next potential bug takeover of humans. However, I do think there is  something to be said of the cleanliness of my neighborhood and produce sold here versus, say, I don't know, the area of Park Ave. where my beautiful babysitting job is located. Perhaps the small joy (large joy, come on, throw me a bone) I felt when paying $1 for a container of blueberries or strawberries on the side of the street from the nice produce vendors was NOT meant to make my day. Any day. Ever. Because it really just bit me in the behind. Probably quite literally; I still haven't figured out if fruit flies can bite yet...

Now that that one simple albeit monumentous (which my computer thinks is not a word! ha!) (Dang it, I think it's right. Monumental? Yeah. That's right) reward for living in the neighborhood no one will come to visit because it's "too far" and "what's Inwood?", etc. etc. has been taken away from me. I will no longer buy produce at the cheap, cheap price that, well, I guess it deserves. If it brings in fruit flies. :( I weep for it.

SO! What do you do when you have fruit flies in your apartment? Good question! We still have a few/many/not sure lingerers hangin' around after Bug-ageddon 2013, but I won't be shy about what kind of a warrior I was in the battles. I was manly. Beastly. Scary. Here's what I've done so far, and I'll update you next week as to how it's panned out-- because by then the life cycles of these crazies will have ended muahahaha! Unless they are still procreating. In which I've failed:

   - Deep, deep surface clean every deep surface of your kitchen, bathroom, wherever they're congregating. Especially: the insides of trash and recycling cans, your stove top, every square inch of your fridge and freezer
   - Take that trash out NOW! Continue to take the trash out daily. All of it. Every day. And make sure there's nothing hanging over the edge of the can-- everything needs to be in that bag!
   - If you're composting, stop. Just. Stop.
   - TRAPS! Take wittle bowls, like low tiny ones, or jars and fill them with apple cider vinegar. Now, most articles will tell you that's all you need, BUT I've found that ineffective: I also add red wine.     
 ** I do this because my delicious wine comes from Paper Moon Winery in Vermillion, OH, which sells a tantalizingly sweet VERY SWEET like juice red wine, which my roommate Rachel was once drinking, or shall I say not drinking but protecting from all of the fruit flies swarming near her cup. Deliciously tantalizing to all God's creatures. Paper Moon. **     
(I'll take my $$ residuals in the mail any day now, Paper Moon.)
Then, mix in a drop or two of dish soap-- this seals the surface and traps them once they've swam in for a drink of the hard stuff. Set out 5 of these, in your kitchen and bathroom, and you'll see some flies swimmin'!  + After the first round of traps, I then learned to put saran wrap with tiny holes punched on the surface tightly around the jars or bowls, to really make sure these nasties weren't escaping.
   - Throw away any and all questionable or almost over-ripened produce, bottles with anything sticky on the outside, or potatoes/garlic/any natural organic matter (yes, I'm using science terms here, orgaaaanic maaaaatter). It's called another trip to the grocery store you were already going to make anyways, boo hoo.
   - Avoid leaving wet wash cloths or towels out in warm places or bunched up. I threw away our sponge and wet hand towels in the kitchen. Well, that was 60 cents I'll never get back from Ikea!

These are just some tips of actions, but I suggest, like any good actor, that you look up the motivations and history behind your actions in order to live fully on stage-- I mean, in your Bug-ageddon. I found this Bug Squad article very insightful.


* If you are willing to spare some extra effort to finish off your recipe, go ahead & add the frosting on the cake. You only need 2 ingredients:

• A phone
• Your parents' utter horror & disappointment

Thank goodness they love you. Considering.

What's My Age Again? by Blink 1-ATE-2

Listening to my daily fix of emotional Bon Iver melodies, I am feeling a little more 22. When I listen to Taylor Swift, though, I ironically feel smaller and younger. For those who want a quick, tasty little treat of what this feels like, read below:

Thank you for this, Mom.

Ingredients:

• 1 pink Minnie Mouse Tervis cup. The ones w/ the sippy lids.
• 1 response from (literally) all of your friends about your upcoming audition for a women & teen health center photo shoot: "are you the baby or the mom?"
• 1 attempt at a voiceover side for a 20's-something girl at a bar that you fail
• 1 attempt at a voiceover side for the character of a "Little Boy" that you nail
• 7+ shows that you watched that you were proud to report to your VO teacher:
    Rugrats in Pairs 
     - 
    Phineas & Ferb
     - 
  
    Bubble Guppies (so freaking good. but also a little scandalous, no?)   - 
  
    Team Umizoomi   - 
  
    Max & Ruby (OK, honestly, all they do-- every time-- is make cakes and wait for grandma to come. Am I right?!)   - 
  
    Mike the Knight
  
     -   Many clips from Sprout TV online
  (whether any of these were via babysitting or fun is irrelevant)
• 1 "artist-for-a-day"-type employee who asks you if you and the girl you babysit for are sisters
• 10 min. late to your PT appointment because you were hastily printing cover letters & resumes to send in the mail TODAY that you didn't get up early enough to print, only to realize, as soon as you get on the train, that do you NOT have them... Elementary, Anna. Elementary. 

Instructions:
Maybe spending 5 hours a day with a 5-year-old has had its effects on you. Or maybe you're reverting to childish tendencies because you are alone, generally according to the outside eye unproductive, and now, some may call, a "real adult". Or maybe you're Benjamin Button-ing this. Regardless, carrying around a Pink Minnie Mouse cup in East Harlem is just not acceptable. Seriously. I'm all for individualism, but let's reevaluate here: First of all, that's just dumb. Second of all, there are some things that need to change now that you are graduated and an official NYC resident. You need to set up a bank account, change your USPS address, find a doctor, transfer your prescriptions, and walk a little straighter. Do these things. It will make you(r parents) feel much better.

ALTHOUGH, you do not have a full-time job, salary, or consistent schedule; your income is based solely on babysitting; you spent all day Friday with an awesome 11-year-old who knows more about getting around Park Ave. then you ever will and took you to lunch, that craft place, and to get ice cream; and watching cartoons is part of your homework for class. So. Yes. You are allowed to enjoy certain... childish privileges-- like... not working every day, and... thinking that writing a blog is a viable and productive use of your time... right?

Don't disagree with me.

Anyways, put these ingredients together in a 4" watermelon fondant cake (like my 11-year-old and I made) 

and reap the benefits of being AGE AMBIGUOUS! And enjoy your audition in a few weeks for the role of a child.