#obama2012

With everyone and their mom on facebook – no really, my mom is on facebook. And even her mom – it seems like everyone has a soapbox to stand on. Social media is kinda cool that way, especially during a time of crazy important elections. Except when people don’t agree with you. Or they say something you don’t agree with. Then everyone’s all stop filling my news feed with your political opinions blah blah blah and then we’re like I’m right and you’re wrong so shut up. And then everyone’s all, like, angry and stalking people’s pictures isn’t so fun anymore. Because no one wins, really. Except maybe Mark Zuckerberg. That fucker laughs all the way to the bank. Remember when your status had to start with is? And everyone was so mad about it. There were even petitions to remove it and everything. Simpler times back then, my friends. Simpler times.

So rather than stand on my soapbox and tell you what to do, I’m just going to tell you what I’m doing. I’m voting YES on 37 because Dave Mathews told me to and he’s never steered me wrong before. And I’m voting for BARACK OBAMA because I am a decent human being who cares about human rights. It really is as simple as that. Well, maybe not Prop 37 because I think there’s probably a little more to it than the pamphlet I read at Whole Foods would like me to believe. But regarding the presidential election, it is just that simple.

I’m voting for Barack Obama because I’m voting for the candidate who shares my politics and values PEOPLE. I’m voting for the candidate who believes marriage is between any two loving people, regardless of sex. I’m voting for a candidate who trusts me with my own lady parts. I’m voting for a candidate who will allow any brave person who’d like to serve our country do so, regardless of sexual orientation. I’m voting for a candidate who thinks I deserve equal pay for doing the same job as a man. I’m voting for a candidate who believes no one should be denied a basic right like health care. And I’m also voting for a candidate who saved the auto industry, killed Bin Laden blah blah blah whatever. I’m voting for a candidate who cares about people. Sure, these are social issues. But you guys, if we don’t care about each other – we’re screwed.

So I’m voting Obama. I’m voting Obama because I believe he is what our country I needs. And I believe he needs four more years in office. I think it’s absurd to expect him to fix in four years what someone else spent eight years destroying. I also think it’s absurd that in the year 2012 where a candidate stands regarding such platforms as marriage equality and women’s rights can swing a voter one way or another. But that's the way it goes. What I think is most absurd is that there’s a chance someone like Mitt Romney could potentially be the President of the United States, sending our country back decades in time. The thought honestly scares me.

Maybe I’ve lived in Los Angeles too long and Obama’s star studded celebrity following has hypnotized me. Maybe my yoga practice has taken me to higher plane of spirituality. Or maybe the pressed juices I’ve been living off of aren’t providing enough nutrients for my brain to function properly. Or, maybe I just prioritize my politics differently. And I look better in blue.

If we’re still friends, and you’re interested in what I thought about the election four years ago, you can read it below. I think it’s hilarious how apologetic I was. Four years later my beliefs are even more cemented and I’m proud to say I’m not sorry about it at all. I’ve copied and pasted it from the facebook note I wrote after election day - which sounds like a prehistoric medium. But remember, I still use a blackberry. And not using capitalization? How cool and trendy was I?

From my one and only Facebook note, dated November 7, 2008...

jesus loves me this i know, for the bible tells me so

little ones to him belong, they are weak but he is strong. so, i think that song is about all i got out of sunday school. i don't know where other people learned it, but church never taught me to hate or discriminate against people different from me...hmm.



so i've never actually written a note before. i've always thought it was kind of weird. the idea of using facebook a platform for your thoughts strikes me as odd. but this most recent election really has me thinking, and apparently i'm not alone. so now i guess writing a note about all of this makes me kind of unoriginal. but whatever, if everyone's doing it...it must be cool, right?



before you start thinking of your response prior to even reading this, let me stop you. facebook was made for stalking people, not attacking them for their beliefs or debating their politics. i am by no means well versed on the bible, and only slightly better when it comes to politics. at least i can acknowledge it, that is the first step right? however, that has never stopped me from being extremely opinionated. so i'm sorry if i offend you. that is not my intention. take this as merely me thinking out loud...except its on paper. 



i think it's so incredible that the first presidential election i was able to take part in was so historic. the first time a presidential nominee has been a black man, or half black if you're technical. the first time a woman has been on the republican ticket...although she is an entirely different story. if this note thing works out, maybe she'll be my next topic of thought :) with so much on the line this time around, i felt so empowered. and personally, i couldn't have been happier with the outcome. i feel so proud to say that barack obama is our country's president elect. i feel honored to have voted for him. however, i wasn't as happy to hear some of the results later on in the night.



can someone please explain to me why topics like abortion and same-sex marriage are even propositions for the public to vote on? i'm not really down with the idea of people voting on what i can or cannot do with my body and who i can or cannot marry.



i understand prop 4 didn't pass, and i'm so thankful for those results. but what i'm not super stoked about are all the status updates and posts about poor unborn babies. please. i think its really uncalled for. and i think its creepy that some perverted, old, hairy, fat man in nowhereville california has a say on the matter. here's my take. some girls aren't blessed to have a supportive family that would understand and help make such a tough choice. if they aren't able to talk to their parents and get their consent, they'll find other means to abort the child. i mean, marijuana is illegal and people still find ways to smoke that. why would we force young girls to take matters into their own hands? instead, let's provide them a safe environment where their health isn't at risk. and i'm really tired of people thinking pro choice is pro abortion. no one is pro abortion. it's a terrible choice that no one wants to make. pro choice is just that...choice. if you don't agree with abortion, you can choose not to get one. 



prop 8 is a different story. though as a country we have just elected our first black president, i feel like i'm in a time warp. it's 2008. how can separate but equal still be ok? are gays going to have to use separate water fountains too? i just can't understand what the issue is. i'm so tired of people saying that same-sex marriage ruins the sanctity of marriage. divorce ruins the sanctity of marriage. if you don't agree with it, its simple really. don't marry someone of the same sex. i don't see how who other people marry affects anyone other than the couple involved. and i can't understand people who use the bible to justify this saying that god only sees marriage as between a man and a woman. well, according to the bible, god also sees women as inferior to men. we don't stand for that, do we? i don't know how someone can believe in a god that would condemn a person to hell because of their sexual preference. honestly, it disgusts me. the god i believe in is blind to those factors and has an open heart ready to embrace anyone who will let him in. i can't fathom how someone can supposedly live their life for god, while they discriminate against others. it just doesn't seem very godly to me.



wow, who knew i had so much to say? :) again, i'm sorry if i offended you. that was in no way my purpose. and i don't want this to be used as a platform for negativity and debate. this is just facebook, after all. but personally, i feel so fortunate to be involved in this historic election. more so, i feel so lucky to have a loving, open family who will support any decisions i make regarding my body and my partners. i'm so happy to attend a school that registered more voters than any other university, and to live in a community that doesn't stand for hate and discrimination. 



so i'm off to vallejo to marry a girl. they're still performing marriages until the very last vote is counted. who knows, maybe i'll even stop at kaiser on the way and get an abortion or two without telling my parents. 
you know you love me xoxo gossip girl

Blackberry.

This should probably come as no big surprise to a lot of you. But I’m not the biggest fan of technology. Not like I want to go to Burning Man and renounce all of my worldly possessions or anything like that. But like, I went without internet for months because I couldn’t figure out how to recover my password. Or like, I don’t have an iPod because my last iPod decided to delete every single song I’ve ever owned/illegally downloaded since the seventh grade, leaving me with nothing because obviously I never backed them up to my laptop. Or maybe I’m just bitter because I did back them up once, but that laptop was stolen out of my very own car in my very own secured, underground parking structure. Whatever. I’m one of those weird people that buy actual compact discs, reads actual hard copy books, and I prefer a pen and paper to a keyboard any day of the week. Technology and I, we just don’t get along. Case in point: Cell phones.  

While you guys are all so stoked on your new iPhone 5’s, I just received my sixth blackberry in seven months. But no worries, it has MySpace already installed on it so I can stay totally current and up to date with social media. It’s fine. Really, it is. I honestly don’t mind my blackberry. And at one point, my blackberry was super cool and highly respected. I can make spreadsheets, and message people internationally, and play Brick Breaker, and probably do a lot of other really professional and exciting shit too. And don’t forget that the BBM emoji’s were the predecessor to your dumb iPhone emoji’s, so I guess that makes me original or whatever. Try not to be jealous. My blackberry does lots of other neat things too. Like, I had one blackberry that liked to nap. Yeah, nap. Or freeze. But I like nap, because obviously it’s exhausted. So sometimes, it would save all of it’s energy and wait for just the right time to send and receive any messages. It’s like an instant ego boost because I’d receive tons of text messages all at the same time. Those little bells just wouldn’t quit, making me the coolest, most popular girl in school for three seconds every afternoon. I had one blackberry that could read my mind. Sometimes, when it knew I probably didn’t want to talk to someone, it would send them straight to voicemail and never even ring on my end. I wouldn’t even know they called, relinquishing all feelings of guilt for not answering, until I checked my voicemail four months later and learned that somebody needed me to take them to the airport or something else dumb that I probably didn’t care about or want to do anyways. This current blackberry won’t install facebook, or email, or browse the interwebs or send and receive pictures. But it’s cool. I got a cell phone ticket last summer for tweeting and driving, so it’s probably just looking out.

The coolest part about my blackberry  - is that they keep sending them to me. No matter what I do to them, they just keep coming. Seriously. I’ve dropped a blackberry in the ocean, brought it in to a Verizon store, and walked out with a new one. If anyone else is using a prehistoric phone, you know about that stupid white box that turns red revealing water damage? Yeah, well if you leave your phone in the bathroom when you’re showering, steam can do that too, probably. That worked for me, anyways. Maybe they’re aware I’m most likely the last person on the planet using a blackberry so they don’t want to lose my business? But as long as they keep sending them, I’ll keep using them. Unless of course, someone would like to buy an iPhone for me. And subsequently another one in a few months after I destroy the first one. And probably a few more after that too. Maybe I play too rough? Okay, thanks. Love you, mean it. 

XXX Summer Olympics

I just love the Olympics. Nothing like a little friendly competition amongst nations to bring peace to the world and make me sit on my ass for hours on end watching television, right? Totally. I seriously can’t help it. I don’t even know why I’m so invested. You’d think I was an athlete or something. I’m such a complete freak, I even downloaded an app so I could watch Michael Phelps and Ryan Lochte compete in the 200 IM live, as opposed to later in prime time coverage, hours after the race had actually occurred. I don’t know whether I should feel proud and patriotic or obsessed and embarrassed. I’m going with the first one.

Okay, so I guess this is where I have a confession. Yeah sure, I love the Olympics. I’ve had a girl crush on Dominique Moceano and The Magnificent 7 since the third grade. And we all cried when Michelle Kwon was denied the gold in her last Olympic games. But if I’m being completely honest, I just really love swimming. I don’t even know why. I barely doggie paddle. I don’t even get my hair wet at pool parties. Okay, mayyybe I know why. Maybe it has to do with my fish of a boyfriend, Michael Phelps. I said it. Boyfriend. We had a moment back in 2005, so yeah, I’d say things are getting pretty serious. Fresh off his Olympic success in Athens, Michael Phelps and a couple of other swimmers who’s names I can’t remember toured around America visiting swim clubs and inspiring the future generation of swimming super stars. Obviously, I needed to be there? I can’t even write this without LOLing at the sheer hilarity of the situation. Playing hooky from school, my mom, a friend, and I camped out in lawn chairs in the freezing cold at the crack of dawn, 100 miles from home, waiting for a prime spot around the pool to see the guys swim a couple of laps and a chance to schmooze our way in to the meet and greet. Successful on both accounts. The things I do for love, I swear. They swam, we cheered. Some old pedophile mom asked how they felt about older women. They blushed. I asked how they felt about younger women and they blushed more. Then we fell in love. And then he became the greatest, most decorated, sexiest Olympian in history. And I couldn’t be prouder. So you could imagine how I upset I was the past week when everyone was bagging on him. Saying he wasn’t as prepared as he should be, wasn’t as fast as he used to be. Ryan Lochte this, and Ryan Lochte that and blah blah blah. I don’t know if you guys realize, but Michael Phelps could not give less fcks. I mean, did you see his mugshot official athlete badge photo? He said he “just woke up from a nap.” Sure. He’s retiring. And he’s retiring as like the greatest Olympian. Probably forever and always. Now, even if he really doesn’t want to retire, like say he has a change of heart or something, he has to. Everyone has made such a stink about this really not being the end and whatever. And he’s so adamant about it, he can never go back. He probably can’t even swim at pool parties. Poor guy. I feel so bad for him. And his estimated 45 million dollar net worth. And his real life model girlfriend.

So with my boyfriend leaving the sport for good, I guess we’re all stoked on Ryan Lochte now? Who in my humble opinion had a poor showing at these Olympic games. I really don’t know why we’re all so excited about him all of the sudden. Are we forgetting that he’s been around the whole time? I guess it just goes to show you that a new hair cut and a douchebag personality really make all the difference, and can basically get you anywhere in life. You guys, he wears American flag, jewel encrusted grills. And not even in a joking way. He’s serious. His own mom even thinks he’s a douche. She told the Today Show that her precious son is only interested in one night stands because he doesn’t have time for real relationships. I don’t know whether to purchase a ticket to London immediately, or throw up in my mouth. Confession – it’s probably the first one, but I’d never admit that out of embarrassment and respect to my mom and the entire female population. Our boy Ryan even told ESPN that he was looking forward to these games more so than the last because in Beijing, he had a girlfriend. Seriously? I can’t even. Side note – the Olympic Village is stocked with 100,000 condoms. I mean this is the XXX Summer Olympic Games…

It really is incredible what a few years and a hair cut can do. 

(Left, Right). 

So if Ryan Lochte is the future of swimming, I think we’re in trouble. My thoughts? Two words. Nathan Adrian.

So with the games coming to a close, I'm hitting the gym to perfect my ribbon dance. Rhythmic Gymnastics, Rio 2016. You guys, this is happening. 

Three.

Remember that one time when I had a blog? Yeah, me either. But the other day my mom asked me about it and I felt a panic, like I had left my baby in the backseat of the car rushing in to yoga or something. My poor, forgotten blog. Clearly I don’t have children. How about like finding a favorite pair of jeans. Like the jeans you wear everyday of your life. Until maybe one day you decide to wear shorts or a dress or whatever. And then your poor jeans are out of sight out of mind, at the very bottom of the massive pile of everything else you tried on before you left the house. Maybe they’re lost until who knows how long it takes you do laundry and you find them again. But once you do, you put them on, and all is right with the world. Yeah, it feels a lot like that. This blog is a lot like my favorite jeans. Now that I’ve most likely offended all parents of the world, and definitely compared this blog to an old pair of jeans– what I’m trying to say is, I miss you. And it’s nice to be back.

You guys. The other day, I celebrated my third anniversary of moving to Los Angeles. July thirteenth, to be exact. Which happened to fall on a Friday. Even better. Fitting that Friday the Thirteenth would mark three years of my living in Los Angeles. Black cats and superstition aside, I can easily say that the last three years have been some of the best ever. Three whole years. I graduated college on June thirteenth and moved down here exactly one month later. I’ve wanted to live in Los Angeles my whole life. To be honest, when I thought about my future, I kinda thought I’d have a star on the Walk of Fame by now. You see, when I was younger, I was destined for stardom. Like, you guys, I’d have my mom put my hair in sponge curls and I’d pretend I was starring as Little Orphan Annie and perform You’re Never Fully Dressed Without a Smile in my hallway. When I was eight, I made my uncle take headshots for me. For reals. I put on a blue sleeveless polo, to make my eyes pop obviously. Tied my hair in pigtails, to look all American duh. And climbed a tree, because that’s what kids do, right. So I listed my interests – gymnastics, the Backstreet Boys, whatever – compiled my model card and had my mom send it out to a bazillion casting agencies in Los Angeles in hopes of being discovered. Much to my surprise, no one got back to me. A lot of little girls submitted their photos this summer, Samantha. Just be patient, they’ll get back to you, my mom said. Yeah, right. When I was twelve, I chopped off all of my hair to play Christopher Robin in the Napa Valley College’s critically acclaimed performance of Adventures of Winnie the Pooh. Talk about dedication to your craft. I even visited elementary schools and signed autographs. As if I needed a bigger ego. For Halloween when I was thirteen, I dressed up as my idol Marilyn Monroe. Obviously I wasn’t really aware of her biography or how it ended. But any excuse to convince my mom I needed to bleach my hair orange blonde, I took advantage of. 

So flash forward a decade or so, and here I am. And I can honestly say that while I’m not doing exactly what I thought I’d be doing down here, I couldn’t really imagine doing anything else. So while you’re probably vomiting over how cheesy that was, I’m gunna go be super Los Angeles and hike Runyon Canyon, or hang with underage Disney Chanel stars at some new club, or I don’t know, drink a mocha iced blended at the Coffee Bean on Santa Monica Blvd. But don’t worry. While my mom is searcing through boxes of old photos for my homemade model casting card, I’ll leave you with this… and I had braces to boot. Sometimes, I can’t even. 

Mid Twenties.

This is me. I think I'm eight? Have you ever seen a happier birthday girl? Or what appears to be an American themed birthday party, for that matter? Well I'll have you know that the theme of this party was The Olympic Games, and the best part about it is that this was in fact my little sister's birthday party. Yes, those are candles in my cupcake. And yes, I was that obnoxious of an older sister growing up. 

This time last year, my roommate was picking me up from LAX. Fresh from a pool party - still in a swimsuit and cut off shorts, with tangled hair and sunglasses on my head - my maid of honor Jaclyn and I had just flown back from Las Vegas. Because that’s what you do when you turn twentyfour. You have a bachelorette party in vegas. Things like that are okay in your early twenties. But you guys, an entire year has passed since that day and in a few short hours I will be turning twentyfive. A quarter of a century. No longer in my early twenties, twentyfive is straight mid twenties. Like no joke. After tomorrow, I will be closer to thirty than I am to twenty and that makes me want to cry. And then apply a wrinkle serum around my eyes to prevent crows feet and talk about the importance of sunscreen and how much cheaper gas prices were back in my day and I DON’T KNOW ISNT THAT WHAT YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO DO WHEN YOU’RE OLD OR SOMETHING LIKE THAT? I’m sorry. This is all very new to me, this whole mid twenties thing. And if you couldn’t tell, I’m kind of freaking out about it. I experience a twinge of this every year and usually it’s remedied by a fabulous celebration and a killer pair of shoes. But I don’t know about this one, you guys. Twentyfive has a certain sting to it.

It’s not like I’m upset about growing older. I’m thrilled about growing older.  Being old is cool. You can do whatever you want when you’re old. You could eat Oreo’s and chocolate milk for breakfast if you wanted to. Because you’re old and you can make your own decisions and all that stuff. But you guys, that’s the problem. I ate Oreo’s and chocolate milk for breakfast. And I just don’t know if that kind of behavior flies when you’re in your mid twenties. Early twenties, sure. But mid twenties, not so much. I think that’s what freaks me about this birthday so much – not necessarily the age, but what goes with it. Growing up, this age felt ancient. But also growing up, I told my mom I wanted to work at Victoria’s Secret so I could wear a black pantsuit everyday, (because obviously that is only profession that wears such attire?) so maybe my opinions as a child should be null. You guys, people are married at this age. People have babies at this age, on purpose. And that is crazy to me. So I think I’m going to start with a wrinkle serum. That seems more my speed. And it doesn't cry or require me to change a diaper. And besides, what says welcome to your mid twenties more than an anti aging skin care regimen? Nothing. Nothing is more welcoming than an anti aging skin care regimen.

Book Club: Hunger Games

Okay, so I’m jumping on the trendy bandwagon. This should come as no surprise as most of my life is spent riding the trendy bandwagon, so I have a question to ask you - are you Team Peeta? Or Team Gale? This is serious. You guys. Hunger Games has completely taken over my life and there is nothing I can do about it. And I don’t think I even would do anything if I could.  It’s that bad. Obviously I had been ignoring others’ suggestions to read the series for quite some time, opting instead for such classics as Skinny Bitch and the spring issues of InStyle and Vanity Fair. But the second I heard the trilogy was hitting theatres, you can guarantee a copy was in my hands faster than you can say OMFG LIAM HEMSWORTH.

If you haven’t read the book or seen the movie, please reevaluate your life choices and our friendship in particular read no further, as I would hate to ruin any surprises. But seriously, why haven’t you read it? Lenny Kravitz is in it. He even read it and, correct me if I’m wrong, he doesn’t seem like the reading type. For those of you who have, holy cow is it incredible or what? What district are you in? This is of course assuming you’ve visited the official Panem website and identified yourself. Which is super nerdy and I’m not saying I have or anything like that. But if I did, I’d be a Trawler from District 4 and I may or may not receive personal emails from President Snow. Just saying.

My sister says I have a problem. All because I compare my dire need for an iced coffee to the severe dehydration experienced in the games. And I liken momentary hearing loss to my ear drums being blown out by land mines. And obviously the side braid is now referred to as the Katniss. And I now measure love by whether or not I would volunteer myself as tribute. And for my sister, my little Primrose, the answer is of course a resounding YES. I don’t see anything wrong with this. It’s not like I’m obsessing over glittery skinned vampires or whatever. But seriously you guys. Team Peeta or Team Gale? Just when I think my heart belongs to the strong and silent Gale, Peeta will do or say something so romantic my heart melts. Then I’ll be reminded of Liam Hemsworth and I’m back at square one. And then reality will set in as I realize these are fictional characters we’re talking about here and question whether or not my sister was on to something. In related news, I was up until 4:30 reading Catching Fire, the second installment in the trilogy and I may be delirious from lack of sleep.  The odds are definitely not in my favor today. 

If I did visit the official website, and if I was an official citizen of Panem, this would be my identification pass. Key word is if. 

Baking Powder

You know those people who can just whip up things in the kitchen? Like, oh I have x, y and z so I’ll just pull together this incredibly delicious gourmet meal in matter of seconds. Yeah, I hate those people. Okay, hate may be a strong word. Envious of may be a better option. I’ve never been the best at navigating the treacherous roads of the kitchen. But what I lack in skill and ability, I more than make up for in appetite and enthusiasm.

When I moved in to my own charming place in Los Angeles, the kitchen proved to be one of the hardest obstacles. I mean, I had nothing. Have you ever tried to stock a kitchen from nothing? It’s harder than you may think. Once I had all of the appropriate utensils, I decided to start cooking and opted for a buy as you go philosophy. The very first thing I made were cookies. Obviously. So I guess that means I decided to start baking and not cooking? Tomato/Tomato. I googled “Healthy Cookies” (I know, who was I kidding?) and came across these essentially healthy chocolate chip cookies. They are butter-less, flour-less, egg-less, and sugar-less that call for what I like to refer to as a banana batter. And that sounded super delicious to me? So I skimmed the directions and headed to the store with a list. You guys, you absolutely c a n n o t skim when it comes to baking and allow me to tell you why. Did you know that baking soda and baking powder are not the same thing? Yeah, they’re not at all. The recipe called for powder, but while cruising the baking aisle I saw soda and thought Tomato/Tomato. No. It’s like tomato and whatever is so completely and utterly not tomato it’s not even funny. But of course I didn’t realize that until the first batch came out of the oven. Eating one tasted like swallowing a salt lick. And it wasn’t until I was so discouraged I called my mom and gave her the play by play, that I realized my mistake. But since I have realized the error of my ways and made the easy switch, these little nuggets have easily become one of my favorite treats. The oats give them texture, the coconut makes them sweet, and the banana keeps them tender. Use gluten free oats if you’re trendy, or have an allergy to gluten. And carob chips instead of chocolate if you’re vegan. And you guys, you don’t even have to feel guilty. In fact, they’re kind of good for you. So have at it. Just remember to use baking powder. Ugh, such a rookie mistake. 

Nikki's Healthy Cookie Recipe

recipe and image via 101 Cookbooks

You can use unsweetened carob, or grain sweetened chocolate chips. You can make your own almond meal by pulsing almonds in a food processor until it is the texture of sand - don't go too far or you'll end up with almond butter. Or you can buy it from Trader Joe's, as I obviously did. And lastly, be sure to warm the coconut oil a bit - enough that it is no longer solid, which makes it easier to incorporate into the bananas. If you have gluten allergies, seek out GF oats.

Ingredients

3 large, ripe bananas, well mashed (about 1 1/2 cups)

1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1/4 cup coconut oil, barely warm - so it isn't solid (or alternately, olive oil)


2 cups rolled oats
2/3 cup almond meal
1/3 cup coconut, finely shredded & unsweetened

1/2 teaspoon cinnamon


1/2 teaspoon fine grain sea salt
1 teaspoon baking powder


6 - 7 ounces chocolate chips or dark chocolate bar chopped

Directions

Preheat oven to 350 degrees, racks in the top third.

In a large bowl combine the bananas, vanilla extract, and coconut oil. Set aside. In another bowl whisk together the oats, almond meal, shredded coconut, cinnamon, salt, and baking powder. Add the dry ingredients to the wet ingredients and stir until combined. Fold in the chocolate chunks/chips.The dough is a bit looser than a standard cookie dough, don't worry about it. Drop dollops of the dough, each about 2 teaspoons in size, an inch apart, onto a parchment (or Silpat) lined baking sheet. Bake for 12 - 14 minutes. I baked these as long as possible without burning the bottoms and they were perfect - just shy of 15 minutes seems to be about right in my oven.

Makes about 3 dozen bite-sized cookies.

After the Final Rose

Okay, friends. So The Bachelor ended last night. Ben obviously didn’t hear me screaming through my television, and despite everyone’s advice, he proposed to Courtney as I cried into a glass of red wine and stuffed my face with chocolate covered pretzels. Oh, such is love. 

I must confess, I knew Ben picked Courtney long ago. And yeah, she was a nightmare, but let’s be honest, Lindzi had some red flags too. You guys, her only serious boyfriend broke up with her via text message. A text message that read Welcome to Dumpsville. Population YOU. Now, I don’t know this ex-boyfriend personally, but maybe he was on to something. And I hate to remind you, but her second serious boyfriend broke up with her on national television while she was expecting a proposal. So Lindzi, as history has shown and you’ll most likely be the next bachelorette, I have some advice for you. A heinous trashbag dress reminiscent of the black swan doesn’t exactly scream ASK ME TO MARRY YOU. And please to do not wait until what could potentially be one of the most incredible days of your life ever to try out a new hairstyle. Those two factors alone could have been your demise. And you guys, as Ben was kicking her to the curb she told him to call her if things don’t work out… I can’t even. I’m sure Ben and his center part are very happy with their choice.

In all seriousness, I really think I missed the boat this season. Ben is a winemaker from Sonoma. I am a wine drinker from Napa. Come on! But really, I’m kind of a Bachelor casting director’s dream. I fall in love in about 2.43 seconds. Parents are obsessed with me. I have zero commitment to my current job and a current passport. I’m a blast at cocktail parties. I have a great family. I drink champagne. I pretend to love adventure and athletic activities. I love a good cat fight. I have a killer eye roll. And most importantly, I’ve already purchased every rose ceremony dress I could ever possibly need for at least 17 seasons of The Bachelor. I’m not saying I’d receive the final rose, but I just hope I’d last long enough to score a segment on Good Day LA. Or at least a spot as a contestant on Bachelor Pad.

Shoot. I hope I didn’t just completely ruin any chance of being cast for next season. How well do castings directors research anyways? Probably not that well. I mean, we all remember Bentley.

Cupping

Confession. When I’m sick, I’m totally one of those woe is me, I’m just dying – but don’t worry about me I’m fine types of people. Maybe it’s because I’m a tad dramatic. Or maybe because I’m not the biggest fan of visiting the doctor. But most likely because I’m a tad dramatic. Like a few weeks ago, for example, I got a massive headache. One of those headaches where you can pinpoint the exact location of pain. For me, it was behind my left eye and at the base of my skull. Like my brain was cramping and my eyeball was retracting into my head. So naturally, instead of taking ibuprofen or something, I called my mom in hysterics because a brain tumor had emerged inside my skull over the course of .65 seconds and I wanted to tell her I loved her because I was certain this was the end. She suggested Excedrin migraine, I opted for cupping. You guys, sometimes I don’t even know. Cupping is an ancient Chinese form of alternative medicine, and apparently I’m in to that type of thing? (Remember when I tried acupuncture?)

Yeah, so cupping, as I’ve come to understand it through Wikipedia, is where glass balls – err cups – are placed down your back, on either side of your spine. A little vacuum sucks the air out, creating a suction cup on your back – thus drawing blood flow to the area. This makes sense to me, as the spine is your central nervous system and increased circulation would promote healing and health throughout your internal organs and the rest of your body. Seems simple enough. Now, as for this suction action pulling toxins out of your body through your skin part, I’m not quite sold. But these cups did leave gnarly hickies down my back. Hickies that I proudly sported to yoga the next morning in an attempt to look more zen and worldly, obviously. The picture to the right was taken a few hours after my appointment when they were more like welts. Then they developed into weird spotted bruises, and finally faded away entirely over the course of a few days. And I haven’t had a headache since. With cups applied at the base of my neck and shoulders, the suction drew blood to the area and my muscles instantly started to relax, almost like a little ripple across my back. No joke, like my muscles siiiighed. I could literally feel my shoulders drop out of my ears and my neck grew at least 17 inches. Okay, so maybe not literally. But maybe it’s not a brain tumor after all?

Slutty Brownies

Yes, you read that correctly. These brownies are super slutty. Super slutty, and amazingly delicious. Oh so easy, and a little bit dirty, these brownies more than live up to their name. My friend Chloe was in LA for the weekend, and these were the first thing on our agenda after I picked her up from the airport. And wine. Brownies and wine. Our priorities could not be more in order. This layered treat is as simple as three easy steps. Chocolate chip cookie. Oreo. Brownie. In that order. As per the directions on their respective boxes. Yes boxes. Life’s too short. Start with the cookies. I’d advise adding an additional teaspoon of oil and water to the batter to keep them moist, as they will cook a little longer than usual. We forgot to do so – remember the wine? – and wished we had. Push the dough into a parchment lined baking dish, creating the bottom layer kind of like a crust. Next, place a single layer of Oreo’s over the dough. We used nearly a whole pack. Finally, make your brownie batter and pour over everything. Bake at 350 degrees for about 30 minutes. Remove. Slice immediately into generous squares and top with vanilla ice cream. You guys, this ooey-gooey-chocolatey orgy of flavors is sinful. Come on, they’re slutty brownies! I had to. For the complete play by play, pictures included, check out The Londoner.

Meanwhile, Chloe and I spent the rest of the weekend eating and drinking, generally getting in to trouble, and hanging out in Richard Castle’s living room on the set of Castle. 

The Getty Villa

It’s crazy to think I’ve lived in Los Angeles for over two and half years. It’s even crazier to think until a few weeks ago, I had never been The Getty Villa. It’s embarrassing, I know. In an attempt to become more acclimated with our surroundings, more cultured, more angeleno, Austin and I headed up the coast to the villa to see what all the hype was about. On second thought, I’m thinking we may have cemented ourselves as tourists, because obviously everyone in LA is too cool. They always mean to check it out, but Malibu is just so far, and they never make it out to the West Side, but if you were to ask, it’s totally awesome. Well, I live on the West Side. And I’m a nerd. So I have no excuse.

Just to be clear, I said I was a nerd – and not a geek. That in no way qualifies me in any capacity to be mature enough to appreciate such ancient history. So naturally, Austin and I pretended we weren’t in a museum, but a showroom, and that these ancient Greek and Roman artifacts were for sale. Like The Getty Villa was Ikea. We picked out pottery for the house. Ordered glassware and dishes in sets of 8. Neglected the pieces plated in gold because they were just too gaudy, and not quite our style, and argued over which color pallets complemented the livingroom. But the real fun started when we came to a room of jewelry. A security guard caught on to our game and offered us a 10% discount on anything we purchased that day if we paid in cash. Well played security guard, well played. After chuckling a bit, the security guard – who smelled just like an old library book – leaned in, as if to tell us a secret. Intrigued, we got closer – thus, how I’m able to tell you of his aroma with certainty. He said, in his most raspy and secretive museum security guard voice, exit the exhibit and travel out the doors counter clockwise, passing two other exhibits and a staircase. Do not take the staircase. Instead, use the elevator and travel up to the third floor. Upon exiting, you will see double doors to your left. The doors will not open on their own, no matter how hard you try. Find the gold square button to the right of double doors and press to open, revealing a balcony that has not been open to the public in decades. The balcony will you give you the most incredible views of the garden, all the way to the ocean. But do not tell anyone I told you.

You guys, this is not even a joke. I love secrets. My eyes were seriously glowing with every detail. This was some serious National Treasure business and I, my friends, was Nicolas Cage. I’m not even kidding. I had a mission. I was focused. And I was ready to go. Riding in the elevator, I was seriously giddy. Why didn’t anyone else know about this secret? Why did the security guard choose to bestow this information upon us? I didn’t care. Emerging from the elevator, it became clear. Obviously he told us to take the elevator, because who wants to climb three flights of stairs? Oh, we found the double doors, alright. And that magical gold square button? Yeah, that was the handicap button to automatically open the doors. And the secret patio we were in search of? Yeahhh, that was filled with people, all posing for pictures, who somehow all miraculously found this place as well. I was duped. In a big way. Like this old man, who smells of old books and trickery, probably laughed the whole way home. He probably told his wife about it. And his dog. Maybe he even wrote about it in his diary, I don’t know. But he got me good. It’s cool though. I mean, the view was pretty incredible. Have you seen it? If the picture above isn't enough, you should check it out. And tell the security guard I sent you. 

I couldn't help but think that fountain in the center resembled someone familiar.

Peanut Butter Balls

I hate bowling. I hate things I’m not good at. Like board games, for example. Folding laundry. Catching things. Anything that requires hand-eye coordination, really – hence, bowling. Somehow, no matter how hard I focus, the ball never seams to strike it’s intended target and always finds itself in the gutter, like a magnet. With a high score of 38, you can imagine my dismay as a child, growing up when bowling birthday parties were the thing to do. But when a friend suggested bowling for Austin’s twentyfifth birthday, I jumped for joy. There’s something so perfect about entering your mid twenties and celebrating just like a kid. And after I started out strong, I thought maybe a hiatus was just what I needed to get my game on point. Then I bowled gutter ball, after gutter ball, after gutter ball. Not frustrated at all and totally a good sport, I bowed out gracefully and cheered from the sidelines, a skill I’m much better at. That's the birthday boy on the left.

To celebrate, I made Austin’s favorite cookies. I’m not sure if you can call them cookies, as they’re more like giant balls of peanut butter and chocolate chips, but delicious none the less. I mean, it’s peanut butter and chocolate. So, duh it’s delicious. And they’re vegan and gluten free – meaning no egg, no flour, no butter. And there isn’t any oil or sugar either, so technically they’re good for you, if you’re like me and you’re able to convince yourself that the absence of such ingredients makes something healthy. A friend shared the recipe with him, so I’ll share it with you. I've made them a few times, and they're really simple and essentially impossible to screw up. Unless you forget about them in the oven, like I've never done before, ever. But if you do, even then they're not terrible - I've heard.

Peanut Butter Balls

Ingredients.

1 ½ cups peanut butter

¾ cup maple syrup

1 ½ teaspoon raw apple cider vinegar

1 teaspoon vanilla extract*

½ cup whole spelt flour

½ teaspoon baking soda

½ cup rolled oats (I used gluten free)

½ cup unsweetened shredded coconut

½ cup vegan chocolate chips (I used carob)

Directions.

Preheat oven at 350 degrees. In a bowl, combine all wet ingredients – peanut butter, maples syrup, apple cider vinegar and vanilla extract. In another bowl, combine dry ingredients – spelt flour, baking soda, rolled oats, coconut and chocolate chips. Combine both wet and dry ingredients and mix well. Scoop onto nonstick cookie sheet and form into ball shapes (mine are about the size of a beer ping pong ball). Bake at 350 for 8 – 10 minutes. Remove. Cool. 

Enjoy.

*You guys, no joke, I used homemade vanilla extract. I didn't even know such a thing existed, but it does. And my friend Sarah made it, and generously gave it to me for Christmas. You can read all about it HERE at Sarah's new blog - Extraordinary Adventures of Taste (EAT, get it?). I know, I have incredible friends. 

One.

Holy smokes, you guys. Samantha, Herself turns one today. One whole year old! Can you even believe it? Maybe you can, Mom. But I, myself, am shocked. Shocked and thrilled. I can’t even believe how fast time moves sometimes. Like, you know when you wake up in the morning to check the time and you’re the happiest you’ve ever been in your whole life because you have a whole hour before you actually have to wake up, only to blink your eyes for one second and suddenly you’ve overslept by 15 minutes? Yeah, that’s kind of how fast this feels. I remember vividly sitting in Coffee Bean, so nervous to press publish. Fresh from a shopping high, with the audacity to liken myself to the Carrie Bradshaw, I was so eager to introduce myself to you. And you guys, one year later and we’re still going strong.

I had a funny thought while watching The Vow the other day. After a car accident, Rachel McAdams’ character loses all recollection of the past five years. So confused and unsure of her current life, she asks if she kept a journal. My first thought was, umm don’t you have facebook? But then it dawned on me. I mentioned before that I’ve never been one to keep a journal. But one whole year later, I guess that’s kind of a lie now. 

And honestly, I don’t know what is more hilarious – the fact that I’ve kept up a journal for the past year, or the fact that when I look back on it, I’ve managed to give the illusion of someone who crafts and bakes. So cheers to one! I think I’ll celebrate with a cupcake, most likely one that someone else made. 

Love Drunk

Remember Valentine’s Day when you were little? Teachers would distribute class lists so no one was forgotten and you had a mailbox on your desk carefully constructed out of doilies and glitter. Browsing the Valentine’s Day aisle at Target, I was reminded of those sweet love notes and decided to send out some of my own, a grown up version of a childhood tradition. Grown up means involving alcohol, in case you weren’t aware. Inspired by this post I found on Pinterest [duh], I headed to BevMo and loaded up on mini liquor bottles – did you know they’re called nips? Me either. With heart shaped stencils, pink and red pretty paper and enough glitter to drown Ke$ha, I got to work. Taking cues from the classic conversation hearts I love so much, I wrote cheesy sayings on pink sparkly hearts and tied them to the tops of the nips with red ribbon. Valentine, you hit the Mark, on Maker’s Mark. Your love takes me Skyy high, on Skyy vodka. You’re number One, on Kettle One. I’m sure you get the idea.

But grown up valentine’s can be tricky. There isn’t a teacher with a class list. And mailboxes aren’t a mere matter of steps away. You have to go to a post office, and after a miserable afternoon at that dreadful place, never had I understood the phrase “going postal” so completely. I also failed to mention that the BevMo five cent deal is in full effect. So my apologies to anyone who didn’t receive a love note from yours truly. My memory isn’t the best after a bottle of sauvignon blanc, my patience wears thin and my ability to tie a perfect bow flies out the window. But boy, oh boy, you should see how crafty I get. Can you say heart shaped confetti? 

be mine?

Happy Valentine’s Day, lovers. Do you have a valentine? Are you doing something romantic involving chocolate and roses? Or maybe you’re seeing The Vow with your girlfriends and drowning your sorrows with champagne and visions of Channing Tatum? Not that one is better than the other, by any means. I actually haven’t seen The Vow yet. But I feel like I have from the previews. And if I woke up from a coma married to Channing Tatum I wouldn’t be complaining, Rachel McAdams. Just saying. Whatever your day entails, I hope it’s just lovely, filled with all things pink and red and heart shaped. Literally. I mean, it’s the day of love after all.

Sandy and Danny. Totes true love, yeah?

I love today. I really do. Who doesn’t love a day devoted to love? Okay, so maybe a lot of people. People who call it singles awareness day. People who think it’s just a Hallmark holiday. People who lack romance. But to those people I ask, don’t you at least love chocolate? I know there are people who say you shouldn’t need an excuse like a cheesy commercial holiday to show your love, but let’s face it – no one is that thoughtful 24/7/365. Because honesty, if such a person existed, you can guarantee I would have already found them and tricked them into impregnating me, thus being stuck with me forever. There’s just something about today that makes me love love. I sent valentines {that I’ll tell you all about}. I froze heart shaped ice cubes. I made pink rice crispy treats. And my valentine was a homeless woman in Studio City.

Let me explain. After an exhausting cardio barre class, I immediately drove to the nearest starbucks, in fear I may pass out on my way home without at least three shots of espresso. Walking up the front steps, I completely ignored the down and out woman at the door to order my drink. As a lover of all things valentine, you can imagine my joy upon receiving my venti Americano no room in a festive cup. So tickled pink, I wanted to share the love. Giving the homeless woman out front a dollar on my way out the door I said, “Happy Valentine’s Day.” With a heartfelt smile and a squeeze on my hand, she thanked me and responded, “Would you be my valentine?” Filled to the brim with love I screamed yes! and then ran to my car and cried hysterically. Happy Valentine’s Day…? 

Whatever. XO 

I Love You, hanging in my kitchen. Thank you, Auntie <3

Cake Pops

My senior year of high school, while I waited in line for an iced caramel macchiato at Starbucks before second period leadership, something very profound happened. Something that changed my life forever. You’re all probably on the edge of your seat thinking, eww why were you ordering a caramel macchiato? But I was young. It was here in line that I met a little girl, who’s name I don’t remember because I didn’t really care at the time, who told me that she was getting a hot chocolate this morning because it was her golden birthday. Confused, I asked what that implied and she told me she was turning eight on the eighth. Mind. Blown.

Luckily, I met this little nameless girl prior to celebrating my own golden birthday. I turned twenty on April 20th <insert hilarious 420 joke here, because obviously I haven’t heard them and they’re so funny>. So, my sophomore year of college, I had a Gold Party. And it was marvelous. It was golden, if you will. Contemplating finding the old facebook invite and digging up some incriminating photos, because it was that good, but for everyone’s sake I’ll pass.

My friend Sedona’s golden birthday was epic in itself. She turned 25, a quarter of a century, on December 25th, Christmas. So needless to say, she went all out. Waiting until after the holidays, we celebrated in January. Reserving Ma’Kai in Santa Monica, the place was packed with only her closest friends and family and filled to the brim with balloons, paper lanterns, hanging stars and confetti, all in the theme of black and gold. Obviously.

In preparation of the party, my friend Jaclyn and I made cake pops – inspired by this post on Cupcakes and Cashmere. The edible gold stars sold us. So incredibly perfect for the theme. We followed this recipe, and you guys, it was so easy. Literally, you bake a cake, as per the directions on the box. Yes, a boxed cake. Combine the cake with a tub of frosting, I put it all in a Kitchen Aid mixer. Roll in to balls. Dip in to melted chocolate. Decorate. We preferred a more cake to frosting ratio, and since we were baking in bulk, 100 pops to be exact, we used 4 boxes worth of cake and 3 tubs of frosting. We used Funfetti, duh, but you can use any mix of your choosing. You could probably even make a cake from scratch if you wanted to get crazy. But that’s all you. They were so delicious. The perfect bite of cake in one mouthful. But more importantly, they looked fantastic. And the party went off without a hitch. Maybe the most fun I’ve had at a birthday that wasn’t my own.

Happy Golden Birthday, Sedona!

PS. That last photo was before the party even started...

NYE

I’ve never been a huge fan of New Year’s Eve. Yeah. It’s February and I’m talking about New Year’s Eve. I hate things with crazy anticipation. I feel like there’s always so much build up, so much pressure, that by the time it gets here it ends up being a disappointment. That could just be me, being a control freak and needing a signature cocktail for every gathering, but in my wise old age I feel like NYE’s without structure are some of the best ever.

I’ve always spent NYE at home with my family in Napa. My parents would make their rounds at other parties, but everyone would always make their way back to our house – my dad in the kitchen with a big pot of chili, my mom playing host in silk jammies and a NYE hat. I don’t know how this tradition came about, but it’s been one of my favorites. Even just last year, I sat in my parents’ kitchen, in a sequin party dress, toasting two of my closest friends, with a glass of bubbles that was always full.

This year, I stayed in Los Angeles. A big believer in the idea it’s not what you do, it’s who you’re with, I didn’t really have much input in the aspects of planning, just as long as I was with the people I loved the most. Essentially, I was just along for the ride. And you guys, I’m not even kidding. I ended up at a party sponsored by Vivid Entertainment. So with a spray tan, padded bra and hair extensions in place, I was off to Hollywood to ring in the new year with the people I loved the most - and a handful of pornstars. Remember when I said it’s not what you do, it’s who you’re with? Oh brother. Meanwhile, my mom partied the night away in Napa, wearing leopard print silk jammies. And honestly, I don’t know who had the better evening.

Cheers 2012, I’m liking you already.

Did you make any resolutions? I've been flossing. I heard that people who floss their teeth regularly live five years longer than those who don't. 

Merry Mad Men Christmas

Joy to the world! With temperatures in Los Angeles reaching 80 degrees this past weekend, thank sweet baby Jesus this is the last you’ll hear of my Christmas festivities. It’s getting a little ridiculous. But I really do think I’ve saved the best for last.  You know I love a good themed party. And this one really was the bee’s knees. This time period party was hosted by The Jensen’s (Heidi’s mom), and not a single detail was overlooked.

With a dress code enforced, everyone looked fantastic. The men looked so handsome sporting skinny ties and cardigans. Ladies pairing stockings with shift dresses and authentic vintage finds, with teased hair piled on top into a beehive. I found a silk shift dress in the back of my closet perfect for the occasion, with a rather mod octagon pattern in orange and black. It was actually the dress I wore to celebrate my twentyfirst birthday. And while I admit it didn’t fit quite the same as the last time I wore it nearly four years ago, with a pair of black stockings and sky high heels it did the trick. Heidi wore a frock she found in her own closet as well - a killer Marc by Marc Jacobs shift dress adorned with gold jaguars. Funny how fashion is always repeating itself.

Stepping into Susan and Kirk’s home was like stepping out of a time machine and straight in to the 1960’s. Greeted at the door with a Lucky Strike cigarette, I headed right for the bar to grab a Manhattan -  complete with a maraschino cherry and twist of orange. Champagne was chilled in an ice bucket filled with cranberries – an idea I’m totally stealing. Shrimp cocktails and Swedish meatballs were some of my favorites to snack on. And when it came to dessert, jell-o molds were plentiful. We ate and drank and played Pictionary until we couldn’t keep our eyes open any longer. A total 60’s success. Merry Mad Men Christmas to all, and to all a good night. 

                  all images via Heidi, over at The Blabbery