Where the hell is my coconut oil?

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 I love coconut oil. It’s so wonderfully versatile and I can use it for lots of things that I normally would use other less convenient things for.

Skin sensitive to most shaving creams? That’s me! I use coconut oil to shave my parts. No bumps. No fuss. And everything winds up silky smooth and wonderfully moisturized. It’s better than using hair conditioner which is what I used to do. It just put my conditioner to shampoo ratios off. It was slightly inconvenient.

My waterproof makeup is actually waterproof? Not an issue because it sure as shit ain’t coconut oil proof. It also keeps me from having to keep makeup remover for the makeup that I rarely wear.

I need an oil to cook my food in? You bet your sweet patootie that I’m reaching for coconut oil.

Dry skin or psoriasis flare up? I’m grabbing coconut oil to moisturize myself.

Lubricant? Yup. Coconut oil works wonderfully. But not with certain sex toys or condoms because coconut oil can break certain materials down. I’ll let you do your google searching on that. I’ve checked and my coconut oil is great with my current toy collection and I love it.

Basically, if duct tape can’t fix it, I think you should try coconut oil.

Which brings me to my main issue. It’s kind of expensive and I can’t bring myself to buy more than one jar at a time. So I’m left randomly toting my lone jar of oil around my home as I need it. Along with the jar I have to carry a clean spoon for scooping out the oil because I know I shouldn’t just be shoving my hand into the jar as I need. I know where my hands have been and I don’t need that in the stuff I rub on to my face and lady garden, and use to make/burn my food.

And because I’m me and usually don’t think things through, my coconut oil is usually in the last place I used it. Kitchen. Bedroom. Bathroom. Car. It’s somewhere. Your guess is as good as mine about where I left it.

Which is exactly why I wound up running out to my car at 11pm one night wrapped in only a bed sheet.

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 This happened last week. I got home from personal training and as usual my body didn’t want to move because my trainer is great at what she does. So I laid on my floor and did none of what I should have done. No eating, no showering, no cleaning up the awakard pile of dirty socks that I could see accumulating under my bed. Nothing. It was great.

 Eventually I got up and dragged myself into the shower. As I scrubbed and washed and conditioned I noticed that my legs were…kind of hairy. The patch that I had missed shaving before was even longer and thicker while the rest of my legs had grown a stubble that any 5 o’clock shadow would be jealous of.

I glanced out onto my bathroom counter. No coconut oil. I stepped out of the shower and looked in my room. Nothing. I wandered out into the kitchen and didn’t see a thing. I was already dripping all over my apartment so I did another quick wander and didn’t see my coconut oil. I tried to remember where I last had it, but couldn’t remember where I had left it or used it last.

There was a vague memory of using it on my elbows in my car. Plus it wasn’t in any of its usual places, so by process of elimination, my coconut oil had to be in the car.

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 Naked, wet, and alone. I stood in my kitchen and had a very brief debate with myself. I love freshly shaven legs. I was looking for my coconut oil anyway, and I would probably forget about all of this later so…

I wrapped myself up in a bed sheet and ran out to my car in search of my oil. It was 11pm so no one saw me. It was just a dark and empty street with a very vain woman rooting through her car until she found her coconut oil.

Which I found in my gym bag on my passenger seat. Along with a weeks worth of dirty socks.

 That night I shaved my legs and cleaned out my gym bag. That was the extent of my productivity for the rest of the weekend and it was amazing.

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Trying to make friends

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All my life, my friends have been built in. My younger sister is 15 months younger than me and she’s always been my wingman of mayhem. Then I grew up on a rural area where most of my family lived on the same street as me. Plus I went to a small school so the 5 other people in my grade were instant friends. Then I started playing sports and my teammates became my friends. Basically my whole life has come with friend making opportunities!

Except now that I’m almost a full-blown adult, I don’t have many friend making opportunities. And…I don’t really know how to make friends. Seriously, how does one make friends when you’re no longer in forced group situations where you have to bond with the people around you because you live with them in dorms, are on the same team, or get forced into horrible group projects together?

I have no answer to that question.

So I’ve been winging this “make new friends” thing since the new year.

It mostly happens when I go to the gym because that’s where I’m the most surrounded by people. Which can be awkward because everyone is sweaty, wearing headphones, and occasionally grunting out reps. It doesn’t help that I’m also usually sweaty and occasionally grunting out reps too.

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It started with this one lady at the gym who sat next to me one day while I was stretching. She sat next to me to stretch too. We were both sweaty and looked worn out. So I smiled at her while I stretching my groin and she awkwardly smiled back. Before I could work up the courage to say anything, she got up and left. This is basically how all my almost friendships have started at the gym. I smile at someone. They smile back. They move on. I smile at someone else, they smile back, and then they move on too. I look like a serial killer with all of the people that I awkwardly smile at. Or maybe I look like a brown Gym Time Barbie.

Except I’m not a serial killer. Or a brown Gym Time Barbie. I’m just trying to make friends!

Sometimes I just jump right into talking to people.

When I see someone more than a few times and know that they’ve seen me, I wave at them and say hi. Then I shyly ask them how they’re doing. They say they’re doing ok and then they move on. So I wave and say hi to someone else. They usually move on too. Again, I feel like a serial killer awkwardly trying to pick their next victim. I also feel like my gym could totally hire me as a greeter with how great I’ve gotten at saying hi to people.

Except I’m not a serial killer! Or a gym greeter.  I just want to make friends!

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Sadly it’s hard to make friends when you’re either smiling weirdly at people or scowling because you’re doing one exercise or another that requires concentration. Smiling is hard when I’m trying lift heavy things and put them down. When I’m doing that I feel like I either look constipated or look ready to actually murder someone.

My resting bitch face game is strong.

All of this just makes making friends harder! Either I’m smiling or I’m scowling and either way I’m convinced that I look like a murderer.

But all of my trying hasn’t been in vain! I’ve managed to strike up a few conversations with one lady who sometimes works out at the same time as me. We usually end at the same time so we chat to each other while we get ready to leave. We laugh about how we struggled through another workout and how it feels good. We make jokes about being sweaty and sore. Then we go on our way. I never thought I would get so excited about consistent small talk with a person, but I am. It’s nice being able to chat with someone at the end of a brutal workout. It’s like having a sister in arms!

Except without the murdering that might come with being sisters in arms. I already feel like a serial killer with all the smiling at strangers that I’ve been doing in 2018.

All of this has taught me that despite my criminology background, I have a very weird concept of what a serial killer looks like. It’s just honestly how I feel with all the smiling and awkward waving at people that I’ve been doing. I’m now probably that weird girl at my gym that everyone is scared of because she always has that weird smile on her face and maybe her face is stuck like that. All of their parents warned them that it would happen and now I am proof that if you make a face then it might get stuck like that. Though if my face were to get stuck anyway, I would want it to get stuck in a friendly smile.

In conclusion: I am 31 years-old and I know how to do lots of things. I can meal prep for myself, do my own laundry, bake a cake as long as it comes from a box, and buy nice wedding gifts for friends. What I don’t know how to do is make friends. Instead I am just that awkward sweaty girl that weirdly smiles at people and randomly waves at others.

So…how do you make friends?

My 31st meal prep!

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I just did my first 31st consecutive meal prep! I mean, I took a week off when I took my mom to Las Vegas for her birthday, but even then I prepared snacks for our drive to the airport. So, that’s 31 weeks of me cooking for myself, not poisoning myself, and generally eating way healthier than I used to. Mostly not poisoning myself. I am really pleased that I haven’t poisoned myself in well over 3 years. I’ve set a lot of fires, flooded my kitchen twice, and exploded some muffins, but I haven’t poisoned myself in a while. 31 meal preps is a big deal for me because I don’t like cooking so my weekly meal prep is a special kind of torture for me, but every week I get ‘er done and I’ve learned some stuff along the way.

Mostly I’ve learned that there are consequences for my actions and they are often swift and just. Like this past week when I decided to make pancakes muffins and get a little experimental with them. The recipe called for milk, but I didn’t have any milk. Nor did I want to sacrifice any of my chocolate soy milk.

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Which is also something I’ve learned while meal prepping: how to buy exact amounts of what I need so nothing goes to waste. So sacrificing chocolate soy milk for pancake muffins and not having a breakfast shake for one day just didn’t sit right with me. I wasn’t about to use my chocolate soy milk. I also didn’t want to go down the street to buy milk because I only needed a little bit.

So I went rooting through my fridge to find a potential milk substitute.

The other lesson I’ve learned about meal prep is to only buy what I need. If I buy more than I need I wind up with science experiments in my fridge and since I’m an arts student, no one cares about my science experiments. OK, some people might care about my science experiments, but mostly because they might be biohazards that I’ve accidentally cultivated in my fridge.

This is one meal prep with several lessons. I swear most other meal preps have gone a little more smoothly than this one. The other lesson I learned was that I should stick to my meal plans and not deviate because then I wind up rooting around for a dairy substitute to put into pancake muffins. All I had on hand was my chocolate soy milk and Greek yogurt.

After some quick google searching, I decided to use one of my yogurts. I had one spare yogurt that I was probably going to eat as an extra snack, but I figured that I could sacrifice it for my pancake muffin experiment.

I measured out my dry ingredients and things seemed to be going ok. There were no explosions. Then I gooped my yogurt into my dry pancake muffin mix and stirred everything together with all my other wet ingredients. I stirred, whisked, and did all of the things that the recipe told me to do until I had what looked like pancake muffin batter that I dumped a couple handfuls of blue berries into. I was actually really proud of myself for mostly following the recipe.  I mean the only part of the recipe that I didn’t follow was the part where I was supposed to use milk, but yogurt is just clumpy milk right?

WRONG.

I don’t know what went wrong, but the pancake muffins…turned into an overflowing, gloopy, molten mess in the oven.

At first my kitchen smelled amazing. I was a baking master. I was going to be Canada’s next top chef. My life was good and I was excited for blueberry pancake muffins.

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Then my kitchen started to smell familiar. It smelled like burning, but that was usual for me. There is always something burning in my kitchen because elements are never as clean as they should be. Everything was fine. Until my kitchen started to smell like smoke.

Because there was smoke coming out of my oven. My pancake muffins had flowed out of their holders and had turned into the before mentioned overflowing, gloopy, molten mess. Thankfully there wasn’t a fire, but the batter had started to bubble and pop. It was also in my ovens element making sizzling noises.

It was all just a smoky, burning mess and all I could do was turn my oven on, let everything cool off and continue on with my meal prep.

In the end, I didn’t get my pancake muffins, but I did finish my meal prep. In this case, I think that’s all that matters. I didn’t have a fun snack, but the rest of my prep was finished.