Now, as I have spent the past two and a half years painstakingly outlining, I am a woman with a few vices. Health vanity? Check. Leopard print lust? Sure thing. Hairspray? Color me guilty.

Food…where do I even begin? Short ribs and carrot cake and pig in a blanket, oh my. But you know this. You get me. You really do.

One thing that I have never craved is candy. Sure, of course, if it is in the office, I will eat it. I find this to be more representative of my complete lack of impulse control than a true love of candy, though. At CVS or the grocery store, never has a Snickers or Baby Ruth called my name. I am thankful for this; I have enough problems.

Yet, despite my ambivalence regarding candy, I recognize most people love it. Hence, when I bring a treat in to work, it is nice to cart in some fudge. It is easy, cheap, and I won’t be tempted to scarf half a batch. This recipe is on most cans of condensed milk and is so simple, I almost didn’t share. Does this even count as a recipe? All I know is anyone can make this and with holiday parties around the corner, it is a helpful treat to have up your sleeve. Swap in anything you want in here; nuts, dried fruit and other candies would all work. It is tasty, but so sweet; teeth achingly so. If I had a dollar for every time someone said “this is awesome, but it hurts my teeth”, I would a rich woman..or at least able to buy more leopard print.

Reece’s Fudge

Recipe found on condensed milk cans, all over the internet, in your grandma’s recipe file

1 can condensed milk

1 bag high quality semi sweet chocolate chips

1/2 stick butter

1 pinch salt

Reece’s pieces

Line an 8×8 pan with wax paper. Over medium heat mix together condensed milk, chocolate. butter and salt until melted. Make sure to stir constantly. Remove melted chocolate mixture from heat. Stir in candy pieces. Pour in to pan. Top with more candy.

Female friendships are largely misunderstood and poorly represented and exceedingly complex. I’ve witnessed and been part of enough fiery crashes of female passion and emotion to know it is to not be taken lightly. It is a complicated thing.

When a woman breaks up with a boyfriend or her marriage disintegrates, we know how to behave. We rally, we comfort, we trash talk the no good dog. A few years back I had a severe rift in a very close friendship. It caused me more pain that any man ever had and I’d be as bold to argue that it is the only true heartbreak I have ever suffered; there is still a tiny cracked corner of my soul from this lost friendship. With men and women, it is tangible, understandable. Romantic love has a set of steps and identifiers. Friendship between women is a bit trickier.

With men, we love. We trust. We share hopes and dreams and believe we can build something lasting. We hope they can see through the bullshit and defenses and see who you are under it all.

Girlfriends know who you are without having to look past anything. They see your fears and accept them. They know the bullshit and defenses are all part of the package, they understand it is hard earned. They are trusted with your scariest hopes and wildest dreams and they hold on to them tightly.

Your best girlfriend knows when you have pinned your hopes on the wrong guy or have wedded yourself to the wrong dream. She pushes you to be better, to work harder, do more. She is an anchor, a rock, a tether, but never, ever a weight.

It isn’t about Cosmopolitans and cat fights and shopping sprees…but sometimes it is. It is about frivolity and drunken phone calls and “God, his dick was small.” It is anger more passionate that yours when you don’t get the job and jubilation equal to your own when you catch a break. It is about holding hands when you are scared beyond belief or elated beyond your wildest dreams.

It is unwavering, blindly supportive and without agenda. It is about home and knowing when you are with them you always are there…home.

In adulthood, my list of quirks and charming attributes has grown to a sometimes alarming level. I am sure I have foibles I do not even realize, but I have no doubt it grows by the day.  I am also sure plenty of you would be happy to point all my idiosyncrasies out to me.

Thankfully, while I have acquired some quirks, I have shed some as well. For instance, I used to be a raging hypochondriac. I would convince myself I had lupus or scurvy or sickle cell on a regular basis. I paid no attention to the fact that I wasn’t a British sailor, or ya know, black. God dammit, there was no doubt in my mind that I would be the first French Canadian girl diagnosed with these diseases…it would happen to me. If I had known any Jewish people, I am sure Tay- Sachs would have made the cut. Thank God for my suburban isolation.

Somewhere along the way I lost the inner hypochondriac and found a special kind of denial about my health. I’m not quite sure which is worse. I am hideous about going to the doctor, always shrugging everything off. Of course this leads to longer, lingering sicknesses but I am slow to learn these things.

I thought I was over the hypochondria until I splashed the sauce from this pasta in my left eye. For a whole damn night my eye twitched. I was not unconvinced I was going blind. I whined about it copiously, but dammit, it hurt.  It was quite the evening.

This pasta was definitely worth it, though. For you people who say you cannot cook, this is for you. It is simple, fast, and fool proof. Plus, I used healthy pasta and more mushrooms than the recipe called for in an effort to keep it healthier. The sauce is hearty and creamy without tons of butter and cream. Also, vegetarian! See, I am showing the veggies love, too. I was really impressed with how delicious and hearty this simple dish was; the mushrooms made it earthy while the tarragon added an interesting twist.

Look, I almost went blind for this. It better have been worth it.

Pasta with Goat Cheese Sauce and Mushrooms

Adapted from Food and Wine

Pam spray
2 teaspoons olive oil
1/4 smallish onion, sliced thin
2 portabella mushrooms, cut into thin slices
Salt and Pepper
2 teaspoons chopped fresh tarragon, or 2 teaspoons dried tarragon
1/4 cup mild goat cheese
2 tablespoons grated Parmesan, plus more for serving
2 tablespoons skim milk
2 servings pasta (I used Smart taste spaghetti)
1/4 cup reserved cooking liquid from pasta

1. In a large frying pan sprayed with Pam, heat the oil over medium high heat. Add onions and cook for about 3 minutes until softened. Add the mushrooms, 1/2 teaspoon of the salt, the pepper, and the dried tarragon, if using, and cook, stirring, for 3 minutes. Reduce the heat to moderately high and continue cooking, stirring occasionally, until the mushrooms are golden brown and no liquid remains in the pan, about 5 minutes.

2. In a small bowl, combine the goat cheese, Parmesan, milk, and 1/4 teaspoon of the salt. Stir until smooth.

3. Meanwhile, in a large pot of boiling, salted water, cook the fettuccine until just done, about 12 minutes. Reserve the pasta-cooking water and drain. Whisk the pasta-cooking water into the goat-cheese mixture. Toss the pasta with the mushrooms, the goat-cheese sauce, the remaining 1/4 teaspoon salt and 1 tablespoon olive oil, the fresh tarragon, if using, and the chives. If the pasta seems dry, add more of the reserved pasta-cooking water. Serve with additional Parmesan.

Friday night I was out with some friends, having a girls night and catching up. A woman sitting alone at the bar made room for us and we invited her in to our conversation. Now, she seemed harmless enough. I am not one to think it too odd when someone sits alone at a bar as I have been known to do it myself. It was a bit weird that she was alone on a Friday night, but hey, whatever.

While she seemed friendly enough at the beginning, it quickly became clear why she was alone. She was grilling us on where we were from, what college we attended, and our places of employment. For God sakes lady, we are just trying to chill out and you our giving us the equivalent of a verbal rectal exam. We were losing our patience.

So then she asks what we do at our jobs. I reply “I am the EA to the Head of Government Affairs”.

She replied “So, a glorified secretary.”

First off, what the hell is wrong with being a secretary/administrative assistant/receptionist? Secondly, What. The. Fuck.

She saw the look of shock on my face. In a certain sense, I almost respected her in that moment. It is not often one encounters such flagrant lack of manners. She quickly said “Just kidding” about 10 times, but the thing was, she wasn’t kidding. That is what she thought. She was just regretting her moment of honesty.

It is an odd thing when you are going along, living your life, happy with your decisions and then someone says something that makes you take pause.

I think the most jarring part of this whole interaction was how in my face it was.  She said what I know a lot people think. In a city like DC, where what you do is everything, I have certainly faced some under the surface scrutiny at my career choice, more questions than I ever care to answer, and lots of inquiries of what my plan is “after this”.

Well, this is it for now. I can see it being my now for a very long time. I am happy. I get to let my inner control freak flag fly. I make enough money to subsidize the life, the sometimes lavish and over the top life, I enjoy living. I am exploring my hobbies and indulging my whims on a regular basis. Of course, I work through my lunch some days and occasionally have to stay late, but I keep pretty great hours. I have friends I haven’t seen in weeks due to them working themselves in the ground. While I respect their jobs and the sacrifices they are making, it isn’t a lifestyle I am eager to live. I have too much stuff I need to do.

Yet, obviously I am thinking about this stranger and her open condemnation of my choices. It has niggled at me a bit; I cannot lie about that. Frankly, though, even if some stranger wants to judge me for my choices, I wouldn’t change a thing. She seems lonely and a bit bored; I will let her have her judgment while I will happily keep my margarita and my time.

The other day I was talking to someone, a fella, and he said something incredibly stupid. Now, this wasn’t a guy I am interested in, but he fits the Lexa mold…kind of dumb.

Now, full disclosure dictates that I am honest with you and myself; I have never met a big, dim, and pretty boy that didn’t make my heart skip a beat. I have a bit of meathead lust.

I was so aghast as his gaffe that I had to share with a friend. I messaged her and related the story with this commentary: “Ya know, all in all, I am of fairly average intelligence, but sometimes I have conversations where I am convinced I am a genius and I think ‘Lexa, GO CURE CANCER’ “.

Well perhaps genius is a bit of an overstatement, but I have my moments. Take this bbq chicken meatloaf. God damn, am I smart. I made a homemade bbq sauce inside the meat and then brushed the tops with the jarred goods. I used ground chicken which kept it lean, as did using egg beaters, and all the vegetables kept it plenty moist. I then used my meatloaf cupcake approach to make individual portions; perfect for lunches. These were crazy good, unique but not weird, and super easy to make.

Sometimes being this smart really is a burden, but at least it is to your benefit. You are welcome.

BBQ Chicken Meatloaf

1 TBSP olive oil

1/2 large onion or one small onion, diced

1 clove garlic, minced

1 carrot, shredded and then chopped in to tiny pieces (I grabbed shredded carrot from the salad bar)

1 TBSP dijon mustard

1 TBSP catsup

1/2 TBSP brown sugar

1 TBSP cider vinegar

1 TBSP maple syrup

Tobasco/Hot Sauce to taste

Salt and pepper

1 egg (or two egg whites or egg beaters)

1/2 breadcrumbs (I used panko)

1 package ground chicken (about 1.5 lbs)

Prepared BBQ Sauce (I like Jack Daniels)

Pam Spray

1. Preheat oven to 375. Spray a muffin pan and set aside.

2. Heat large sauce pan over medium heat. Add olive oil and let it heat for a minute. Add onions and garlic to pan and cook for about 3 minutes. Throw carrots to pan and cook for an additional 3 minutes. You just want everything kind of soft.

3. While vegetables soften, whisk together in large bowl the catsup, mustard, brown sugar, vinegar, maple syrup, hot sauce, and salt and pepper.

4. Add ground chicken, egg and breadcrumbs to bowl. Dump in softened vegetables and mix together with hands.

5. Divide meat in to muffin tins and brush tops with a generous portion of bbq sauce.

6. Cook for 45 minutes. Enjoy.

So, male bloggers.

Let’s talk about them.

I need more in my life. I mean, JP and Peter and fB and Narm and Matt are lovely. I read them on the daily.

And then there are Jason Mulgrew and Matt Logelin. The big hitters, famous for blogging which is one part awesome and one part ridiculous, but 100% enviable. I have a harmless internet crush on Jason Mulgrew and when I say harmless I mean I sometimes think about stroking his beard…and staring in to his eyes…perhaps even holding his hand.

Where was I?

But where are the guys? Unscientific polling on my part tells me that the blogsophere is about 80% female. It makes sense as us girls have a lot of stuff to talk about and boy, do we love to talk. But guys surely have stuff to say, no? I mean I have to believe they do. If nothing else, it is a pretty sweet way to meet some ladies. One of the men above (ok, maybe more than one) constantly discusses my boobs with me; do you think this would fly at a bar or coffee shop? I think not.

But I dunno, I just need a little male loving in my life. Come out, guys. I want to hear what you have to say.

It is the weirdest feeling when it is brought to your attention that you are pissing people off and you had no idea.

A few months ago I wrote a blog post that offended certain members of my family.  When I wrote it, I truly didn’t anticipate much of a problem, but good freaking God, it caused a problem.  A problem of gargantuan proportions.  It caused the kind of problems that caused a certain faction of my family to defriend me on Facebook. They emailed my grandmother.  Oh, they taught me.

The thing is this: what I said I would say to their face except these members of my family?  I don’t know them.  I have met them perhaps 7 times in my whole entire life so it isn’t as if I have them in mind when I write.  I am sure it can be argued that I am further fanning the flames by writing about it here, but they assured me they would no longer be reading as I am an embarrassment so write about it I will.

Look, some of my past wardrobe choice are embarrassing as are half the men I have dated, but I am not embarrassed by my opinions.  Of course, I do my best to not be disrespectful or overly aggressive, but I speak my mind.   I am kinda bummed grandma has to deal with folks harassing her but I have a big mouth and I know she sees it as part of my charm. To know me is to know I am going to say what I think and do what I like, but they would that know that, yanno?

But just so you know, you all are part of a great family shame.  You better feel dirty and I hope you love it.

Another thing I have been doing for years and I will not apologize about? Eating pumpkin.  Love it, that pumpkin. Apparently some people hate it; I am just realizing this year it is a very divisive squash.  I think it is delicious and a great way to add add flavor, moisture, and texture without a ton of fat.  When someone mentioned yesterday they would love a pumkin soup, I rejoiced.  This pumpkin chili isn’t soup, but it has the same warming and delicious effect as it’s thinner brethren.  I love the green chiles in this dish; it adds a depth not found in most conventional chilis.  The pumpkin thickens everything and they turkey keeps everything healthy. I topped it with some reduced fat cheddar and low fat sour cream and I was in autumnal heaven.

So there it is, pumpkin turkey chili.  If it offends you, I am sorry.  I will not apologize…just please dont call my grandma.

Pumpkin Turkey Chili
Adapted slightly from Serious Eats

1 tablespoon oil, I used olive
1 cup chopped onion
1 green bell pepper, chopped
1 (4 ounce) can chopped green chiles
3 large cloves garlic, minced
1 pound ground turkey (or a package, doesn’t have to be exact)
1 (14.5 ounce) can diced tomatoes
1 (14.5 ounce) can red kidney beans
2 cups (1 14.5 ounce can) pumpkin puree
1 1/2 tablespoons chili powder
1/2 tablespoon cumin
3/4 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
Cayenne pepper to taste (at least 3 good shakes)
1/4 cup fresh cilantro, chopped

1. Heat oil in a large skillet or Dutch oven over medium-high heat.

2. Saute the onion, green bell pepper, green chiles, and garlic until tender, about 10 minutes. Make room in the center of the skillet, add turkey, and brown, about 10 minutes. Stir in tomatoes, beans, and pumpkin. Season with chili powder, cumin, pepper, salt, and cayenne.

3. Reduce heat and simmer at least 20 minutes. Stir in fresh cilantro. If preferred, serve topped with Cheddar cheese and sour cream.

Lately folks have been telling me they wish I would write more about food again, go back to my roots as it were. Maxie and LiLu are among the louder voices, but there are others and I have to admit that it is flattering. Oh, my ego, please stroke it.

I have had food on the mind since my initial slow down but it has been great to take a break from cooking. I mean, food is my first and most dedicated love. I just can’t quit it, but I wasn’t going to force it either.

I actually want to start trying new things again. I have been cooking. It has been lovely. My computer is splattered with new food stains. All is falling back in to place.

So, here we are, back to cooking. I have some recipes in the kitty and I hope to roll out a few a week. The first one will be posted tomorrow, but I have a question for you.

I know, I know. Blog posts with assignments and questions are pretty fucking annoying, but I hope you can indulge me. Anything you have been wanting to make but have been hoping for a good recipe? Something you wish you knew how to do in the kitchen? Throw out some ideas and/or questions and let me see what I can do. I am your monkey…I dance for you.

Besides drunken binge eating, my favorite past time has to be swinging the ax of justice on Facebook.

We used to work together and we haven’t spoken in ages? Good bye.

Went on a few dates and now you have fallen off the face of the Earth? Nice knowing ya.

We shook hands at some networking event? Hasta la vista.

We went to high school together? Sure, I will accept your friendship because I am just as nosy as you are…then, you are out with the garbage.

Broke my heart? Now, this one is tricky. I’ll probably keep you around a good deal longer than I should so I can inflict an inordinate amount of unnecessary pain on myself. Plus, ya know, I am tough, so I have to prove I am the bigger person by keeping you around…then eventually, gone…bye bye.

Really, Facebook serves two purposes; online stalking and indulging my narcissism. And frankly, I am narcissistic enough to think that only a select group should stalk me and see just how awesome I truly am.

The rest? Have fun running your marathons/going to your parties/welcoming your babies/painting your house. There are plenty of people whose babies I actually love. I don’t need you.

**A post by Just a Titch got me thinking about this.

Are you reading Indie Ink? You should be.

I am not even saying that because they featured something of mine, either.

It is a really unique space where people are sharing great photos and composition and I think if you aren’t reading it, you are missing out.

There.  I have spoken. Go check it out and submit.