Tamalada Time!

#6) Hot Tamales

So optimistic at the beginning....

  I've always heard that it's quite the ordeal to make tamales.  It's a social affair where families gather together and spend an entire day catching up with one another while prepping ingredients, making the masa (Spanish for "dough"), stuffing and rolling the tamales, then steaming them.  My friend, Nestor Martinez, hosted a tamale making party.  His sweet mother agreed to come over and teach all of us the entire process.  

Supervisor/Teacher and Nestor 

  We started at 8am on a Saturday (which for someone who works nights and/or went out with Messy Nessie the night before can prove to be quite unproductive).  When I showed up, everyone had an assigned job -- chopping cilantro, deseeding peppers, deboning chicken, etc.  I thought I would be able to get away with loitering and chatting for a bit -- but Nestor's mom was not having it.  She said, "You need to be working!  Someone give her a job!" Tamale making = hard core.  

   (as you can see above, literally everyone was doing something and I was clearly just going around taking pictures and getting in the way...)  I was assigned me the job of mimosa maker, the most critical position -- you may be thinking it has absolutely nothing to do with making tamales and you're right.  But at 8am with this group -- it is vital to the process.  I've learned though that "too much orange" means make me a new one with more champagne.  

  Even though I'd made everyone drinks, I made myself appear to be busy so I didn't get yelled at again.  Taking mercy on me as she saw me running out of things to "do" -- my roommate let me help her peel garlic.  We thought our hands would never shake the smell, but discovered if you rub this pampered chef metallic circle the odor of garlic goes away.  Weird, but true story.  Once all the ingredients were prepped and good to go, we made the masa.  We got a massive bowl with masa, baking powder, water....and to my horror, a large amount of melted lard.  

  It had the texture of really thick playdough and we used our hands to mash it all together.  By the time it was all said and done our forearms and hands were cramping up.  Each time we thought we had it perfect, Nestor's mom would walk by and say "No, not good enough."  It really felt like we were working in a factory and she was our supervisor.  Over lunch we even discussed the possibility of forming a union.  Once the masa met Mama Nestor's high quality standards, we started the process of smearing the masa onto the corn husks which had been soaking in water overnight.....nightmare of a job. 

Getting dirty!  

  Getting that masa onto the husk and off your spoon/fingers was an act of God.  For the life of me I couldn't get it to look right so I got fired from that shop and promoted/demoted to rolling the tamales.  We finally made a run to Fiesta for these presses that made our lives SO MUCH EASIER!  Put the husk and a ball of masa on there with a plastic bag to prevent sticking, smash, voila!  God send.  Apparently there is only one side of the husk you should use so the tamale doesn't stick to it when you unwrap them -- we didn't discover this small tidbit of info until halfway through the process so it was too late to turn back.   

Stones weigh down the husks so they can soak overnight

  Later, Nestor went and got a WHOLE new chicken to be deboned because he didn't think we had enough chicken tamales....which meant we had to make MORE masa, just when we were finally seeing the light at the end of the tunnel.  He did not win friend points with this move.  Although when we are finally over our tamale coma and decide to start eating them again -- I'm sure we'll all be glad we have more chicken ones.  We spent an entire day stuffing, rolling, eating, complaining, etc.  On one of our supervised timed breaks, we were exhausted and trying to find ways to delay going back to "work".  I even fell asleep at the lunch table.

Hard day in the factory

  By the time it was all said and done, we made about 50 dozen tamales!!!!  It was messy, tedious, frustrating, difficult, and tiresome -- and SO MUCH FUN!  Of course everything is fun when you're stuck in the trenches with good company.  Thanks Nestor and Michael for hosting, and thanks Andrea (Nestor's mom) for your patience/whip cracking!  My family doesn't know it yet -- but we are having tamales for Thanksgiving this year (and the next 3 years to follow)!

Finished product!

Packaging the goods -- all 50 dozen+ of them.

Tamale making crew -- before the tears 

It's NEVER a Game

Roaring 20's

  When I was in college I never did the whole study abroad thing because....I had a boyfriend (world's worst reason for not doing something awesome).  Hindsight incredible mistake -- as it usually is to base a decision off of a guy.  But that was the route I chose in undergrad.  When I graduated and realized I'd gotten a degree in a field of which I no intention of working -- I pursued some short-term, random jobs that didn't really lead anywhere.  In Spring of 2007, my roommate from college was coaching football in Ireland (actual American football, not soccer) and invited me to come visit.  I was single, in between "careers" (drastic exaggeration to describe what I was doing at the time), and in the whole post-graduation "I'm searching for myself and my place in the world" phase -- so I thought, why not?  I booked my one-way ticket (frowned upon by most customs officials) to Shannon Airport and left for an indefinite amount of time.  I had no idea what I was getting myself into -- but it turned out to be the most life-changing and best decision I ever made (of either well-planned or completely spontaneous ones).

Coach Levy

  I'd traveled overseas before -- but never completely alone.  It is really different going by yourself (in a good way).  It's just really empowering navigating your own way through the airport, customs, etc.  And considering nothing else about post-graduation made me feel like a grown-up, it was nice to have that sense of autonomy.  I'm one of those weird people that LOVES the airport -- I love people watching, getting lost in the crowd, knowing I have a completely legit excuse to turn my cell phone off, the normalcy that comes with downing a beer in 15 minutes because my flight is boarding, and pretending I'm not American by putting on the best (aka worst to other ears) accent of my choice.

Gave the accent the best I had......my best wasn't good enough

  I boarded my flight, completely stoked, until I saw that I was in the window seat of the two-passenger section -- next to an incredibly large, disheveled man who took up his seat as well as a portion of mine.

I awkwardly squeezed by him to my seat as he refused to get completely up and out of the way.  As the plane took off, the Russian man (as I discovered later) started to sing Frosty the Snowman -- very slurred, very pitchy, and very alcohol-induced.  To make matters better (heavy sarcasm), he removed his shoes only to reveal bare feet, both of which suffered from neglect of toenail trimming for about a decade, and one of which suffered from serious clubbing.  The remainder of the flight continued to play out in a similar fashion when I got food poisoning from my airplane-fresh chicken dish (shocker) and had to hurdle over the now passed out Drunk Russian Man in order to sprint to the bathroom and puke about five times.  I thought, if this is foreshadowing for the trip to come, God help me.  As all good things must come to an end, we finally landed in Ireland.  I couldn't get off the plane fast enough -- but of course, as it would happen, I got stuck behind Drunk Russian Man who moved at the pace of a slug and I was the very last person off the plane.

Made fresh daily

  I walked as fast as I could to baggage claim, ready to be done with my airport experience.  I spotted my bag on the carousel, pushed Russian Drunk Man out of my way, snatched my suitcase and headed for the exit -- when I heard a beeping noise.  At first I didn't know what it was, but quickly realized it was coming from my bag.  It started off beeping slowly, then faster, faster.....sounding like the countdown just before a bomb is sure to go off.  As this is happening, two flight attendants started looking around anxiously.  I heard one say, "Who is it? Where is it coming from?"  I thought, oh my God -- CATCH PHRASE!!!!  I had to pack the damn games, didn't I?!  The flight attendants got more and more frantic as the beeping noise sped up and I made myself look even more guilty by trying to sprint out of there before I was spotted.

  Apparently a girl running for the exit as she drags her bomb-like beeping suitcase frantically behind her tends to draw too much attention to herself from an airport security standpoint.  The ginger flight attendant pointed directly at me, then yelled, "It's HER!  It's in HER BAG!"  (yet another strike for the ginger population).  Other passengers started looking at me, some with fear and some with curiosity.  Security was on me in 0.2 seconds and there was no escape.  To keep from getting tazed on site or pinned up against the wall, I kept saying, "It's just a game, it's just a game."  They pawed through my suitcase in full drug raid fashion, throwing my clothes out until the "bomb" was discovered. 

TSA's worst nightmare

 The security guy pulled out Catch Phrase and it went off in his hand. I had so many inappropriately timed comments I was tempted to say:  "Woops, you didn't pass it in time", "I guess the entertainment category wasn't your thing", or "Team America gets the point!"....but I assumed he wouldn't see the ironical humor in the situation.  That assumption was confirmed when his response to my comment of "It's just a game" was, "Miss, it is NEVER just a game." (say in voice of Nicholas Cage during his worst acting moment -- just pick one; and insert slow, dramatic return of Catch Phrase game here).  I took the game, half wanting to laugh at the situation but half wanting to cry from the relief that freedom was still mine.  

  As I walked out of the airport, I was convinced this abroad thing was going to be an absolute disaster from start to finish -- but what happened I've chosen to tell briefly through these next photos....I got to:

          

                        Make lifelong friends like this....looking at them now it's questionable if this is a "pro" of the trip

                                       

                                                 Live with fun guys like this....717!!

                          

                                     Embrace spontaneity/bad decisions like this....English Channel bridge jumping

                                        

                                                    Dated a guy like this.....available in NYC ladies

Travel to awesome places like this.....Prague

See incredible view like this....Cliffs of Moher

Eat delicious (pound packing) Irish homecooking like this....Mama O'Sullivan

Have crazy nights like this.....Kings of Leon

 Tons of awesome experiences, so I'd say the trip took a turn for the better.....such a good turn that I ended up moving there the following year.  Well worth enduring Russian Drunk Man, food poisoning at 35000 feet in the air on an international flight, and almost getting form tackled by airport security for carrying a "bomb".....I'd do it all over in a heartbeat.  Here's to 717 lads and our reunion next week!  

  

Beauty Is Pain

#5)  Epilady = Epic Torture

  When I was brainstorming things for my 30/30, I originally had laser hair removal on my list.  However, a friend from work convinced me to try an alternative.  For years she has been using something called an Epilady and swears by it.  She promised me that my legs would stay smooth and I would never have to shave again -- an idea that appeals to every female (and I guess male, too?).  I asked to cop a feel of her leg for some physical evidence and I must say -- quite silky.  Apparently you can't even see the follicles any more (the ones that even after you shave make it look as though the hair is instantly regrowing).  I was impressed -- but had one final question....how bad does it hurt?  I mean you're plucking every leg hair out, it has to be unpleasant.  NOTE:  She SWORE to me that it was at most, "uncomfortable".  Oh Leanne, you will pay for your dirty white lies.

  I headed to Target to purchase my Epilator (sounds inappropriate).  Just before I walked in, I made a promise to myself to only buy what I came for.  No detours to the clothing, jewelry, handbags, or athletic wear section.  You know how it is, walk in there to buy batteries and walk out having somehow spent $200 on stuff you in no way needed.  I bee lined to the razor section, spotted my Epilady by Braun ($100) but decided to opt for the cheaper Remington version ($60) because it was cuter and it came with an alternate head for "edging".  Pretty much looks like an electric razor and is equipped with a rotating head that has 40+ tiny tweezers opening and closing to pluck out each and every unwanted hair.  Eek!

Torture Device

  When I got home, I chose my left leg to be the guinea pig.  I wrapped it in a warm towel to "loosen" the follicles then put the Epilator to work.  Turns out, Leann is a MASSIVE liar.  The "slight discomfort" she described I would experience was more like Chinese torture.  I could barely finish a 2x2 area of my leg without having to take a break.  I decided to suck it up and forge onward with my hair removal process -- but I swear to God I was sweating, saying every word in the book -- and finally resorted to having a glass of wine in hopes of numbing some kind of nerves long enough to allow me to get to a hairless state.  After that experience I'd like to say -- whatever that "edger" is meant for will NEVER be attempted.  My leg looked like I'd been running through bull nettle -- it was red, inflamed, and on fire.  I decided my right leg would have to wait it's turn to be epilated at a later date.  I'd had enough self-inflicted pain for the day.

Left leg post-epilation -- photography does NOT do the damage justice

  Unlike Leann, I will not lie to you -- it hurt like hell.  However, I've done it several times since then and the first go around was definitely way more painful than the follow-ups.  And it does actually work so I guess you just have to decide if the benefits (hairless for life with no shaving) outweigh the costs (the feeling of microscopic lobsters pinching and annihilating your legs).  Note:  I do not advise you go running directly after you try it unless you like the sensation of having rubbed icy hot into an open wound.  Now go forth and epilate!

Solo At The Cinema

#4)  Movie Date...With Myself

  I can always find something to do, whether it be productive or not.  Many times I start off with ambitions of high productivity but quickly digress to other "more important" projects (like instead of doing all my laundry, I decide it's a higher priority to paint my nails).  Every now and again, when I'm in the mood to go do something, literally every friend I have is busy.  Since social norms have convinced us that certain social activities have a two-person minimum requirement, unavailable friends = night spent at home (cleaning, reading, writing, listening to music, playing the piano, or piddling idly around the house with a Law and Order: SVU marathon on as background noise....).  I recently decided that I would go against the grain and try one of those elite, "two-person only" social activities out all by my lonesome.  Lame? Or AWESOME?  (this will be your point to ponder my friend, I've made my choice -- it was a split decision).  So when the most recent "unavailable friends" night occurred -- I packed up me, myself, and I then headed to the theatre to watch Argo (which was really good by the way, even with Ben Affleck).  

Movie selected without difficulty...only one person involved

  

  Originally, I was going to head to a movie theatre that did not serve alcohol.  But on second thought, something sounded less lame about going to a movie by myself if I was having a beer while I was there (hindsight says: this may have actually made it more lame...meh).  Sounds weird, but I was actually a little anxious parking and walking in by myself.  (insert dumb self pep talk here)  Momentarily feeling like a social outcast, I made myself feel better by creating a list of reasons of why people would assume I was at the movies alone:  they will just think I'm meeting someone here, maybe I'm dropping something off for a friend, or I got stood up but went and saw the movie any way (at the time, even being stood up actually sounded better than just going alone).  In reality, I'm sure no one I passed on the way in thought anything about it -- if they even noticed me.

  Once I made it inside, movie tavern's lovely cashier (Herlinda) greeted me and asked "Just one ticket, dear?"  I laughed and said, "Yes, just one ticket but two beers."  She laughed, more AT me and less at what she THOUGHT was a joke.  Joke was on her though -- because I did in fact want two beers.  I told her about my 30/30 blog and she volunteered to take my picture, as well as offered to come and sit with me when she was off her shift (outreach program for the solo movie-goer).  Odd, yet nice.  I politely declined as I explained her accompanying me would defeat the purpose of my task at hand.  

Background selection and photography done by Herlinda

  I walked into the theatre for Argo, and I was seriously the ONLY person in the entire place.  At first I was relieved, but then once the lights went off I was freaked out.  I'm kind of a scaredy cat and throughout the entire film I kept looking over my shoulder every time the projector made a noise.  Theatres are scary when you roll solo -- fact!  I nestled in with my Blue Moon(s) and made a point to remember the movies from the previews that I always want to see but can never remember once I leave.  (example:  This Is 40 with Paul Rudd...done.)  I'm going to be honest -- I don't do well with suspense and half way through the movie I had to get out my phone and google what happened to the 6 hostages.  Some say spoiler, I say sanity.  

Empty theatre = Death Trap...

  I thought going to the movie by myself would be just short of knitting at home on a Saturday night, but turns out, wasn't a big deal and I actually enjoyed it.  No one to interrupt your movie watching experience when they get back from the bathroom and whisper in your ear, "I'm lost.  Explain to me what I missed"; no one's phone playing Lil' Wayne because they forgot to put it on silent, no argument over the choice of the movie or the time -- all smooth sailing.  Not saying I'm going to make this a regular occurrence, but this experience gets a thumbs up from me.  Cheers to movie-going independence!  

Gamblin' Granny

#3)  Choctaw Nation

Choctaw: Durant, Oklahoma

  I'm not a big gambler -- maybe because I suck at it and/or don't have delusions that I'm going to walk out of the casino at the end of the night carrying sacks of cash.  I've been to WinStar and Vegas with friends when I was in college.  I usually played Blackjack -- with the exception of the time I branched out to play craps and in my first roll, accidentally threw the dice off the table.  That is NOT how you make friends while gambling.  Lesson learned.  I did a quick fade out and opted to just enjoy my free adult beverages the remainder of the night.  My grandmother, however, is a different story.  She is a gambling queen -- loves the races, roulette tables, slot machines -- and doesn't get to do it near as much as she would like.  For a while she has wanted me to take her to Choctaw -- so I thought as part of my 30/30 I would take my sweet Mamie to throw some money into the wind.  I loaded her up, along with my mom (after a lot of convincing) and my cousin.  Three generations headed to Durant, Oklahoma for some late night debauchery.

Three generations of fun/trouble on the loose....

  Talk about putting some pep back in someone's step -- you should have seen my grandmother transform into a "regular" at the casino as she cruised around trying to find her lucky game of the night.  After asking every single employee whether or not they had the old "pull arm" slot machines and responding with equal surprise each time they said they didn't have those any more -- we finally settled on electronic roulette.  She was like a kid in a candy store and looked so cute!  I made the mistake of taking a picture and within seconds a very large man morphed out of nowhere.  He did a little jacket pop then introduced himself as head of security.  He informed me photos weren't allowed, which I knew but "forgot".  On top of "forgetting", I was dumb enough to take it directly in front of the security booth.  Well done, genius.  I apologized, but he told me I needed to delete it.  I wish I was smart enough to know what you gain from a photo like that and I'd be rich -- but sadly, I don't have that con artist mentality....

Hop Scotch (aka best grandmother ever)

  I made a round by the Blackjack table, then refused to play the slot machines with my mom.  I stand by the statement that it is not only the most boring way to gamble, but also the most pointless way to lose money.  I made my way back to Mamie, who already had a drink in hand.  She was laughing and hitting almost every button on the touchscreen to place a bet (always including the number 33 which was my grandfather's football number -- awww!).    Each time she would win, but she would place so many bets initially it would almost be a wash.  She was oblivious to this fact, however, and every time got really excited like she'd won the lottery.  At one point, she was up by like 80 bucks.  Some people say "walk away while you're up" -- whereas my grandmother's motto is "my winnings are meant to prolong my playing time".

Mamie building a strong (hilarious) case for dancing...

 After a few hours, we were ready to go -- but Mamie was still going strong.  We finally had to cut her off and cash her out by force.  As we were walking out, we passed the stage where the band was playing.  When we didn't stop, she looked at me completely confused and said "Well aren't we at least gonna dance?"  She was ready to go full throttle with the jitter bug.  Little old Mamie outdid us all -- from winnings to energy -- and I'm convinced she is the coolest grandmother on the face of the planet (obviously I'm a tish biased).  Since we didn't stay later at the casino or dance, we compromised with a late night margarita at Taco Cabana.  When we got home, she informed me that she still had one request -- that I promise to take her gambling each week.  Negotiations are still pending....

Mamie = Winner........Emily = 50 cent token fail

  

Old People and Football, Baby -- That's How We Do!

Roaring 20's

  I decided that while working on my 30/30 list, I would fill in the gaps with stories of the shenanigans from the past decade of my life.  I have acquired quite a collection of these little gems over the years through dating, traveling, an absolutely hilarious group of friends, a family that has their roots in humor, and personal endeavor epic fails....Since the statute of limitations for any judgement of these stories is officially over on December 2 (in my mind) I thought it would be okay to go ahead and put them out there.  So enjoy these throwback snippets.....

  I went to Texas Christian University during undergrad (GO FROGS).  With TCU homecoming this weekend, I thought it would be appropriate to share an experience from one of the first few football games I went to.  I transferred to TCU from University of Alabama and fell into a group that was crazy, spontaneous, and full of great wit and humor.  I couldn't have hoped for better friends.  I was meeting them at the TCU football game one Saturday (have no idea who we played -- but I'm sure we won) and was running late.  Apparently choosing between several similar purple articles of clothing is a difficult decision making process.  By the time I got to the game, they were already sitting in the student section -- which let's be honest, that's like searching for Waldo on the last page of the book where all the people are Waldos and you have to find the only one that has the complete Waldo outfit (still never found him, haunts me to this day).

 

  I walked into the stadium and started heading up the stairs to our usual section.  I was holding onto the railing of the stairs while crowd surfing the sea of purple -- not paying attention to anything but the people in the stands.  All of a sudden, that rail gave way and I almost completely fell over.  I looked down in my hand, expecting to see the rail there, except it was a carved wooden stick.  I was completely confused at this stage, glanced at the bottom of the "stick" and saw a small, rubber stop.  At this point, with the same face you had after you tried to analyze the movie Inception, I looked up and met the glaring eyes of a man -- a very, very old man -- about 80 give or take?   The light bulb went off as I realized instead of the stair rail, I had grabbed this old man's cane out from under him.  Literally jerked it out from under him.  And I'd like to point out for those questioning minds, I was in fact completely sober.  I immediately started apologizing and tried to explain to him what happened (still holding his cane at this point), but that furrowed brow and wrinkled old face offered no forgiveness.  I single-handedly reinforced and confirmed the "kids these days" stereotype to older generations everywhere.  As I walked off, cane returned and still apologizing, he never stopped staring at me with that look of utter disdain and disapproval.  I'm sure I ruined his TCU grandparents weekend or something......I felt like the worst person ever!

In reality, he was much angrier and without a cane (obviously)...

  Of course I told my friends what happened when I finally found them in the stands.  They all died laughing.  I thought it was a funny story but would blow over.  But to this day, if we are in a group and there are some new people there, my friends (mainly just one...cough....LEVY) will tell these strangers who don't know me at all that I once took a cane from an old man, laughed in his face, then threw the cane down the stairs as he cried.  And while that is funny because we all know it's a joke, you can tell the new people aren't quite sure what to believe and each time they look at me, it's with questioning eyes.  Makes for a comical story though and we had some good laughs about it through the years.  This weekend if I go to the game, I will make sure that I don't repeat history.... 

Disclaimer:  no old people were injured in the making of this story.....

  

Photophilia

#2) Photography 101

  I've loved taking pictures for a while, then with the evolution of Facebook and Instagram my picture-taking increased four fold (joke, well kinda).  I've always had an interest in taking photography up as a hobby.  However, I seem to have these great ideas about things I want to try with little follow through (I will not admit that to my parents, ever).  So when I expressed an interest in photography and was offered free lessons randomly, it was like the 30/30 mother ship was calling me home.  

 
My personal photography guru, Joel Galvan (above), is a creative jack-of-all trades.  He is a musician, artist, and photographer -- photography being his main passion.  He first got interested in photography during the pre-digital era.  Now he has gone full throttle with the camera technology of today -- which means I got to play with some bad ass equipment during the "skills" portion of my lesson.  

I wonder what this one does....(confident)

First, we had "class" which involved me actually taking notes and/or Joel stealing my pen to correct my note taking technique.  (Made me rethink the possibility of going back to grad school.....)  Then I had to tackle all those little buttons on the camera that I usually avoid like the plague.  The ones that have forced me to turn my camera off then back on because I accidentally pushed one and have no idea how to recover.  Crop factor, shutter speeds, aperture, ISO, WB ('white balance' for those of you that didn't know) <-- read this aloud with undertones of new knowledge superiority.  All these terms were both foreign and irrelevant to incredible amateurs such as myself.    I knew there would be a lot to learn, but I had no idea how much is involved with taking those cool, arsty pictures that I love so much.  Once Joel was sure my head was going to explode from all the information and/or coffee I'd consumed at this point -- it was time for the fun part!

Shouldn't have pushed that one...(defeat)

  We launched into our "skills" part of the day which consisted of walking around and taking pictures.  Location:  Deep Ellum, one of my favorite areas of Dallas.  Great art + great people = great for photos.  We shot everything -- vintage shops, graffiti, wall art, each other, plants, and the occasional accidental photo of part of my face or the sky taken by yours truly because I was still learning my way around the camera.  Note:  the cameras weighed a lot -- like big, metal babies hanging from your neck.  And if I'm being honest, when I woke up this morning my arms and chest were a little sore.  Time to hit the gym perhaps....pathetic.  I literally took hundreds of photos...and quickly figured out this was going to be an addiction for me.  LOVED IT!   

My very first photo attempt....

  Five hours of shooting; with a few breaks for beer, lunch, and the times when I would get side tracked in the vintage shops with my "oh, something shiny" mentality.  Joel was okay with my purchases of vintage buttons, jars, and bracelets -- as long as I was taking pictures of them.  It was an all-day affair and worth it.  From learning the skills, to shooting, to editing -- there is a lot of work that goes into all those great photos that we love so much.  I have a new appreciation for photographers and their artful eyes.  Below are a few of the photos I took, but all of them are on my facebook.  So have a looksy at the evolution of an amateur to an amateur + one day photographer!