Crazy as the Day is Long 1.0

The funny thing about being crazy is that it makes you interesting. There is harmless crazy and harmful crazy and I love me some harmless crazy. Though the “less” part may be debatable, I love Nancy Grace because she is what I believe to be, a harmless crazy.

Soothe me with your lovely voice, Nancy. Soothe me.

(If you kill yourself based upon a 15 second interview with Nancy Grace…then I have to believe something else in your life has gone horribly wrong.)

I’m crazy. I’m okay with it. I think everybody sort of is. Or, at least, everybody I would ever want to spend any amount of time with. The crazy is what keeps things interesting, and funny, and by golly, keeps me on the edge of my seat.

This is a poster I have above my bed. No. It isn't. I'm not a fucking loser. Who made this and why do they hate life so much, that they would subject their fellow humans to a fucking panda kicking us in the face with this horrible message?!? This is only appropriate to be sold in gift shops at insane asylums. Seriously. For real.

The older I get, the more types of crazy I see.

Personally, I don’t do “anger-crazy.”  I don’t yell. I don’t slam doors. I have never raised my voice to any boyfriend I have ever had. (And if any of them stumble across this, they will verify that….or else). I just don’t get crazy-angry. I don’t see a point in yelling, and on a purely psychological and physical level, I don’t get angry like that. (except at kittens. watch yourselves…baby cats.) (just kidding, guys.)

While I wrote this post, I ate two orders of this. Crazy bread is my muse. Along with cheesecake, guacamole, and Alf.

But I’m food-crazy. Oh, how I’m food-crazy. Aside from my very obvious unhealthy relationship with food, that alternates between rapist-victim, to mother-child, to ex-boyfriend-with-a-new-hot-fiance-and-old-girlfriend-who-has-a-major-breakout-happening-at-this-mutual-friend’s-holiday-party.

I figured since nobody ever reads this blog..."fuck it" I'm just gonna post a pic of my tummy. Took 8 hours and 300.00 bucks to do that, guys. Worth. Every. Penny. They don't call me "Chicken & Biscuits" for nothin'

It is a complicated and disgusting relationship that all too often involves 6 trips to the grocery store a week, binge eating blue corn chips dipped in pesto, and then crying in the shower afterwards. Jealous? Yeah you are. Turned on? You’re fucking gross. Get out of here.

Why is Little Ceasars trying to make mental illness fun again? Let it go, Ceasar Pequeno. Let it go. But keep the dipping sauces.

So speaking of grocery stores-here we go. The crazy.

I lived in a dorm freshman year at Arizona. I had no cell phone, as I have previously mentioned, and so we had a nice land line phone with a great answering machine. Jealous? Yeah you are.

The dorm assigned us a phone number. For Christmas, freshman year, I received a cell phone from my dad. Hooray! No more land line.

But I had started over in Arizona, and as my only phone number, I had given the land line number out to a million places.

Like Safeway. To hook up my Safeway club card.

I have little to add to this gem. But...offer accepted.

Everybody knows Safeway club cards are altruistic measures taken by grocery stores to ensure their very loved customers are getting the absolute best discounts available and not over-paying for groceries.

Just kidding. Its a way to ensnare, track, and hunt you until you are so exhausted from playing their  “this is 9 cents less with a plastic card” game that you curl into a ball below a palm tree and pray for a swift death. Death comes, and you are mummified in long receipts and your body turns into garlic salt. This is all true. I saw it once.

Fuck. I'm hungry.

So when I moved, I still had the one number connected to my Safeway club card. I never carried the actual card around…I’m not a plebian, for Christs sakes.

But I always used that number. Safeway cashiers would always say, at the end of our interaction “Thank you Ms. _______, have a lovely day”

But whomever had gotten that number after me had switched over her name.

Her name was Amy Bernal. To be precise.

So for years, they’d say “Thank you, Ms. Bernal, have a lovely day.”

Sometimes they pronounced in Burr-nall. Sometimes they pronounced in Burr-nail. Sometimes they pronounced in Burr-nawl.

One day. A full four years after I got a new number and never changed over my Safeway card, I was checking out of Safeway, and the cashier said “Thank you, Ms. Burr…nail?” and before I even realized it, I said in a authoritative voice “Its Burr-nawl” and corrected her pronunciation of a last name I don’t even have.

I caught myself and stopped breathing. Realizing just how deep I had gone down a crazy hole.

I had assumed somebody’s Safeway identity and had the audacity to correct a cashier on my fake name.

I lived in Arizona for 5 years after I got rid of that original phone number. I never did get a new Safeway card. I lived as Amy Bernal, buying oatmeal and produce under an assumed identity for years before I left. So, wherever you are, Ms. Bernal, however you say your name…I apologize for being absolutely insane and boosting your coupon output, but probably lucky for you—I’m a harmless crazy.


Marry me. I thank God you exist, good sir.


2 Shakes

Lets talk about food. Please try and restrain your surprise that this is what I want to talk about.

I have another post I’m editing right now- and I am trying to update this blog more than twice a year-but usually whenever I get around to doing these sorts of things- I have a glass of wine and turn on Bravo and that is the end of that.

Sometimes I just want to pour wine to another me in a similar dress.

So I’m going to update a small post here- about 2 shakes I made recently. One, was a delectable, rich, take off of a shake I had recently in New York from Stand.

The other- is me attempting to deflate myself back into someone who can wear things besides leggings. Here’s hoping.

Lets just disclaim right now-before we get into the good stuff. I’m not a doctor. I have no training in nutrition or cooking. If you want to know why I think these things are healthy- I can post links. Or, you can google “protein” and “coconut oil.”

Here we go.


Toasted Marshmallow Milkshake




10 jumbo marshmallows

2 c Vanilla Ice Cream

1/2 c Heavy Cream- plus more for garnish

1/4 c Milk

Toast the marshmallows- really char them, and while we’re at it- lets talk about who doesn’t like charred marshmallows and charred hotdogs? What’s your deal? You like bland things? Do you also like well done steaks? Who are you?

Add 9 of them to a blender with the ice cream, about 1/4 cup of heavy cream and 1/4 cup of milk. I’d add some ice cubes if you want a thicker shake. Or, you can whip some of the heavy cream and add the whipped cream to thicken it.
Blend everything together- and whip up some fresh whipped cream. I like to add vanilla and powdered sugar to my whipped cream. But the bottom line is, this isn’t my shake-so if you want to cover the entire thing with cool whip (which I HATE) its really no concern of mine. Stop trying to bring me into it.

Use the 10th toasted marshmallow to garnish, or just eat it immediately. Or, just put two scoops of vanilla ice cream into a bowl, cover with whip cream and toasted marshmallows and eat it with a spoon while you cry. Whatever works for you!


Coconut-Banana-Peanut Butter Protein Shake

5 ice cubes

1/2 c milk. I use coconut milk, or almond milk. But you can use dairy milk, soy milk, rice milk. Whatever.

2tbs all natural peanut butter.

2tbs protein powder (I use egg protein powder-but use what you like)

1tbs agave syrup. I use this because according to the interweb-which is always right, this does not spike your blood sugar. But if you don’t care, and you probably don’t-you can use honey or sugar or whatever.

1 Banana

and now for the magic ingredient…

One big scoop of solid coconut oil.  Thats right.  A giant scoop of solid fat. Again- I could get into why I think this is necessary and helpful, but people with “training” and “degrees” can explain it better. So google it.

marvel at my photographic skills

blend this all together and drink it down. It will not taste weirdly of protein powder-which is a plus. If you’re really talented, maybe you can blend it correctly so that it doesn’t have ice chunks floating in it. (see above) It is filling, and once you get the ingredients once, it is pretty cheap. The coconut fat, agave and milk should last you awhile unless you put them all in a bowl every night, cover them with chocolate syrup and eat them while you cry.

Enjoy! Whether you’re trying to blow up because some man just put a ring on your finger (try and leave me.) or you are trying to drop weight to make it through the second call back of America’s Next Top Model- one of these will work.



CandyLand Tarot

Well first of all, welcome to my newly minted blog.

In the first sentence of my first blog post,   I have already used a word that could be driven back to a food item (minted) and now I want a mint ice cream shake. So far so good I’d say.


Due to some quarter-life-crisis issues that I am currently dealing with- or, really, not dealing with. I have decided to get my tarot read tomorrow by somebody well-rated on yelp.


Yes- I’m going out on a limb and seeking magic, and I’ve chosen my warlock by reading Yelp reviews in a library. As you can see- I’m shaking things up in ways many can only dream of.

School me wise witch

Obviously I take this very, very, seriously

For some reason, when thinking about the scenario of a gentle magician, telling me my fate by flipping over mystical cards- I imagined how awkward it would be if a Candyland card came out of the deck and just plopped right down next to some beautiful sorceress that means I’m in for some “life altering changes”.

What if, amid the wizards and angels or whatever is on tarot cards these days- a gloppy card just plopped right out. That’s right. Gloppy the molasses (or I guess Chocolate) monster who sits in a glob all day eating fudgsicles.

Globs of molasses can be professionals. Not really though.

Probably won't get the you're made of molasses.

In the middle of me hanging on every word of this mystic truth-teller- looking at my future, past, present by analyzing the mystical orbs of the sirens- and out plops a Gloppy card.

Keep pounding fudgsicles though- you don't look heavy at all.

Keep pounding fudgsicles though- you don't look heavy at all.

That’s right! It’s your future, and lets not lie, its probably your present.


If you’re anything like me…you’re sitting right now, in your own glop on the floor-scrolling with one hand and pounding fudgsicle-after-fudgsicle in the other.

This is me. Right now.

Guess what? You just lost a turn because just like every other time you’ve tried to get ahead-you are now stuck in molasses.

So in this scenario- I see the Gloppy hit the table, and I sort of chuckle,

because-how cute- my magical warlock medium must have been playing CandyLand earlier- and I say:

“Is that a CandyLand card for Gloppy?”

and he looks down- and with all his wisdom- he says

“Yeah, I don’t know where it came from-but it sort of does make sense…doesn’t it?”

I just nod and take another hit off my fudgsicle.