Creamy spinach eggplant pasta. Yep.

Guys.

You know when you want something really, really badly but you are too scared to go for it for fear you’ll fail so you muddle through your current existence just wanting and waiting and wanting and waiting until you finally snap and do irrational things like quit your job and end your relationship and blow through your life savings to make it happen and then it does happen and you’re like, “Holy… shit. It’s happening.”?

Of course you do. Hypothetically speaking.

I’m teaching my first yoga class tomorrow and I want to vomit. I’m told this is normal. When I say I want to vomit I am not talking metaphorically like, “Oh I’m so excited I could just PUKE.” No. I mean that tomorrow when you would see most teachers walking around with a towel in their hands, I’ll be carrying a barf bag.

In an attempt to not get me all riled up, let’s talk about food.

By popular request, this is the “recipe” for the creamy spinach and eggplant pasta I ate the other night. If we were speaking face to face I’d air quote the word recipe because it’s not a real recipe. It’s a little bit Sandra Lee. Just throw some things together and TAH-DAH… cocktail time!

This meal is simple and accessible to any cooking level since I’m pretty sure everyone knows how to boil water and open a jar of sauce (you’re welcome), but it involves lots of layers and textures and tastes and techniques that make it seem like you worked a whole lot harder than you did. If you eat alone like I do, this is impressive only to you and your cats. But I’d totally stand behind serving this meal to someone else. It was really good.

With wine. (not optional)

I used Trader Joe’s kale and spinach Greek yogurt dip because they sent me home with a free tub to try last week. It.is.so.good. You could use any creamy dip (vegan or otherwise) or, alternatively, just plain Greek yogurt.

You can easily feed two people with this and will still have leftover eggplant slices to gnaw on throughout the week. I speak from experience.

I kept mine pretty just long enough to take pictures and then promptly mauled it while watching Dr. Oz. (I typed Ox and should have left it.)

Go time.

I’m off to hyperventilate for the next 23 hours. What’s that thing they talk about in yoga all the time? Oh right. Breathing.

Quinoa-kamut burger at Luna's Living Kitchen

I am having a very productive day.

First, I woke up at 5:30 and realized I got kicked out of my last grad class (that started today) because I didn’t pay for it. (Story of my life.) I went to yoga to mull it over (read: run from it) and finally got it sorted out. I think I was kind of hoping the course requirement and/or my unpaid tuition would just magically disappear or someone would offer me a job without noticing I was just one class shy of my Masters. That was a stupid idea.

Anyway, back in business and with my debts paid (or at least temporarily displaced), I enjoyed this hideous breakfast of soysage, avocado and leftover Chinese takeout.

Do not judge me.

Breakfast of champions. It was really good. I can’t stop eating those soysages. I’m ashamed.

I dropped off my laundry (a task that I always feel deserves a round of applause) and hightailed it down to class. I know I made a big deal about being done after last semester, and I do consider myself done, but technically on paper I have this one final three-week summer intensive seminar to cross off my list. It’s easy and exam-free so it doesn’t even count in my mind. Mentally, I have checked out of the academic sphere and am in 100% job hunt mode.

Seminar fuel.

Speaking of job hut mode… that is going very well. I had quite possibly the most productive 30 minutes of my life between the hours of 2:30 and 3pm today. While in a meeting that is very exciting I scheduled another meeting for tomorrow that is also very exciting and also got some news that is squeal-inducing. The pieces are falling into place. It’s happening.

Before my meeting I had lunch with a friend at the happiest place on Earth: Luna’s Living Kitchen. I could eat here every single day. I got the quinoa-kamut burger and macaroons and we shared hummus. That bread for the cranberry walnut crostini is made at a local bakery and can totally stand alone, which means that pairing it with their outrageously good hummus is pretty much the best idea ever.

Hummus and best bread ever.

Yin & Yang chocolate and almond macaroons

After that excitement I ran my boss-teacher-friend-person to the airport, stopped by to visit his nugget pugs that I’ll be taking care of for the week (I cannot even look at these dogs without laughing; wait until you see their ridiculous faces) and am now running to assist Jen’s class at Y2.

She’s letting me teach the first 10 minutes. Watch out, world.

Veggies, fried tofu, brown rice and avocado

It was another teacher training weekend (second to last one, nooooo), which means I am currently floating on a yoga high and sinking into bed with tea and cookies. Sounds about right.

This was one of my favorite weekends yet, but I think that maybe I say that every time.

Friday night we did LSD (Long, Slow, Deep), which is a deep stretch class with 5-minute holds, and watched Ashtanga, NY, a documentary about Pattabhi Jois’ monthlong visit to New York City that happened to fall on 9/11/01. (Watch that.)

Saturday we did superflow in the morning, talked the business of yoga (pay scales, launching a career, opening a studio, insurance, etc.) and spent hours (hours, I tell you) workshopping handstand variations in Freedom Park. My shoulders ache.

I dropped Tanner several times.

The only time I didn't drop him.

And today we practiced twice (Ashtanga–Mysore style–in the morning and a hot power class in the afternoon), reviewed Thai massage techniques (don’t you guys want yoga teachers that give massages?) and were videotaped teaching so we can see/hear ourselves. It was awesome.

I’ve been incredibly tame the past couple of weeks so Mitch and I made bad decisions and stayed out drinking vodka until 2:30 in the morning last night. It was so fun.

Standard.

I cried pretty much nonstop all weekend. I’m simultaneously sad that we’re almost done and so happy to see how far we’ve come since beginning in January. Personally, I feel like a completely different person. But I’m sure I’ll have a nice long emotional rant about that after graduation next weekend.

For now, look at the glorious night I had:

Chinese takeout from Ho Ho Cherry House

Not good.

Super charge me cookies, duh.

Spoiler alert:

The Vow is like The Notebook except it’s not good. At all.

Honestly, the highlight of the movie is when a shirtless Channing Tatum tries to feed pizza to a stray cat and then picks it up… shirtless.

You bet I Googled it.

It should come as no surprise (considering my recent discovery of iTunes) that this was my first experience with Redbox. Ever. I know. I have to take it back now, right? It just goes back in the box, I presume? What is this, the future? When will someone create a Catbox? Would you have to take the cats back when you’re done? Details…

I have a very big week ahead–freelance deadlines, fingers crossed on job applications, final weekend of teacher training and back to school for a quick and dirty two-week intensive to check off my last and final grad class. Boom.

This post is not going to get any more coherent so I will leave you with my equally incoherent fortune from dinner:

Are you kidding me?

Quiet. Dr. Oz is on.

Happy flashback Caturday.

I was entering the date and mistakenly typed the year 2010. When I realized Sweet Tater actually existed in 2010 (coming up on three years in August, WHAT?), I decided to go see how terrible my posts were from that point in time.

This terrible:

Yogi Lives on Air

Eatya Vegetabowls!

I cannot believe you suckers even started reading this thing if that is how it started. I should take down the entire first two years. For real.

But Caturday has always been a winner:

Caturday 5/15/10

I still do not have a Cat Genie and three apartments later the MF litter boxes are STILL in my living room. How long do cats live? Forever? Perfect.

Here’s a gem from 5/1/10, Ralph and Weaz not trying to kill each other:

What is the meaning of this?

If ever you feel so inclined (or so painfully bored and depressed), you can see every single Caturday ever here.

So… Weaz and I have started watching Dr. Oz. There is no excuse for this except that I have too much free time now and it plays at night here and it’s on one of the only channels I get on my antenna and usually the internet I’m stealing cuts out in the PM hours and I don’t have anyone to talk to. I suppose there are actually lots of excuses, then.

Anyway, Ralph doesn’t like Dr. Oz because she finds his antics completely over the top, his topics totally sensationalized and his desire to stand inside life-size uteruses (uteri?) way out of line.

Whatever, Mehmet.

Next time on Dr. Oz... MORE VAGINAS.

Yesterday he made some kind of concoction out of cottage cheese that he likened to a yeast infection, a problem he claims every single woman ever has had. Au contraire, Mr. Inaccurate Medical Statistics. Remember that time he told parents they were poisoning their kids with arsenic every time they gave them apple juice? I’m gonna go write him hate mail now…

I eat things.

You know when you think you’re going to take over the world (or at least tackle your to-do list) but then you dick around on GOMI, play nutritionist for your mom, go for a run, shower, eat breakfast, sit in traffic forEVER, mail a bunch of Mother’s Day cards (how many moms do you even have?), make an impromptu lunchtime grocery shopping trip (mistakes!), eat lunch consisting of foods you already had in the house pre-grocery shopping, check your bank account against your current debts, eat chocolate to make it all go away and then go to work?

Me neither.

I don’t really talk about food so much anymore, do I? I guess it’s because my meals got so horrendously monotonous there towards the end of the semester that I all but gave up. Plus, the lighting is terrible when I eat before the sun comes up and after it goes down again. I do still eat food. I’m back in a slightly more normal routine that looks a little something like this:

Breakfast: Oats in a jar – oats, almond milk, raisins, walnuts, cinnamon, maple syrup in an almost-empty PB jar

Lunch: Tempeh sandwich – toast, hummus, tempeh, feta with carrots, pickles and baked Kettle Chips

Snack: Tea and chocolate – iced green tea and dark chocolate with sea salt and almonds

Dinner: Creamy spinach and eggplant pasta – brown rice noodles, creamy spinach, baked eggplant, marinara, feta

Oats in a jar

Tempeh toast with hummus and feta

Iced green tea and dark chocolate

Creamy spinach and eggplant pasta. And wine.

I also ate approximately half a watermelon while cutting it up and am currently drinking mint tea with soy creamer and carob powder. My favorite.

The day was not a total loss, actually. I did mail out (mail??) a resume and cover letter for a job I quite honestly think I would dominate. I feel good about that one. I also cleaned out my email box(es), made some job lead connections, picked up another freelance gig (hire me) and maybe, just maybe found a place to live.

(Praise the sweet baby Jesus.)

It’s shiny and new and has a pool and all the bells and whistles and it’s dirt cheap. It’s kind of funny how it happened… Being the entitled lazy snarkface that I am, I have been half joking but fully whining (literally) about how one of these rich people I hang out with all the time better pony up with a pool house or something that I can crash in until I figure out my life.

Ask and ye shall receive, my friends.

I have been offered (almost) just that at not one but two locations. Nothing official yet, but two very, very promising options.

Exhale.

Rice & beans w/ soysage. Kale, broccoli, hummus.

Welp.

The apartment hunt didn’t go so well.

It’s hard for me to figure out what I’m looking for (wait… apartments or men?) because I don’t know what my budget is. If we’re working under my current income, then I should be sleeping on a park bench. (Don’t tell the landlords I’ve been talking to because as far as they know I’m a frigging surgeon. Don’t worry about it.) But since I’m assuming I’ll be gainfully employed at some point over the course of the next seven weeks (SEVEN?!?), I kind of feel like it’d be silly to move into another dump and then wish I’d aimed higher.

It’s kind of like how I kiiind of feel like a completely worthless pile right now. I have too much free time, not enough money and a slightly battered ego after the whole “Heeeeeey I still like you a whole lot but you don’t like me at all” conversation. In this current state, I suppose I could oh she easily fall into the arms of some willing and able sleazebags until I decide I’m a total catch again. But, as is the case with the apartment search, I’m assuming that at some point over the course of the next seven weeks (or hopefully 24 hours) I will snap out of it, at which point I will wish I’d aimed higher.

(I am not dating.)

Anyway, this was on the door of the place I looked at today:

Hmmmm.

Probably not the best neighborhood, right?

I actually loved that little hellhole and probably would have tried to rent it had someone not been there to be my voice of reason. (I like to roll deep when looking at apartments listed online lest I end up the next victim of the Craigslist killer.) I still argue that I could just get a gun. Nevertheless, I will soldier on with my hunt…

Mitch came back from Denver today. (Thank God.) I kind of thought she’d go and never return. I wouldn’t even hold it against her.

We caught up on our exciting weeks and sobbed about the impending end of our lease (seriously) and tried not to panic about all the unknown in our lives right now.

Will we get jobs? Will they be Charlotte? Will we live together? Where will we live? What if one of us moves? (Yeah I’m throwing that out there. I’m expanding the geographical limits of my job hunt.) What if come June 30th we have answers to none of these damn questions?

Just as we were starting to toss around the idea of staying right where we are (literally, in this apartment) a MF roach the size of Weaz came scurrying out of the lamp (that I turn on daily, mind you!), a glaring sign from God read loud and clear that this little venture has run its course.

It’s time to move on. We’re ready, whether we know it or not. And we’re aiming high.

Greeeeeen smoothie. Obviously.

Oof.

I’m apartment hunting.

I kind of want to throw up and can’t decide if it’s a result of realizing (again, just like last year) that Charlotte is a city for rich people or a result of having slammed that smoothie bowl in approximately 60 seconds while rummaging through Craigslist ads, which we all know is the apartment hunting equivalent of looking for a wedding dress at Goodwill. Slim pickings.

Let’s just say I put in my search criteria and the first result was a doublewide. Mmmhm. You heard me. This is about to get ugly, folks.

As one who totally judges Craigslist ads by their covers, I will admit that I would absolutely move into this place I can’t afford simply for the use of hippos in their ad:

Haaaaahaha.

(I’ve been in those apartments. There are no hippos there.)

I’m going to look at a couple places today. One I love, love, love already. It’s my my current ‘hood, old but adorable, renovated, washer/dryer (praise baby Jesus). But… the kitchen is a nightmare. And when I called the landlord to see it, our exchange went like this:

Me: Hey, I’m calling about the property on ______ Ave. Can I come see it?
Landlord: Well, before I say yes… what’s your deal? Just you? Roommate? Cats? Dogs?
Me: Just me. And a cat. (I never pluralize when talking to landlords.)
Landlord: What is this cat’s name?
Me: Uhhh… Ralphie? But it’s a girl.
Landlord: Oh yeah? I think I’ve read about Ralphie. You can see it tomorrow at noon.

WHAT. I think he was just trying to make a stupid joke but I’m going to assume that Ralph’s internet stardom is finally working to my benefit. Finally. Now if only I could get her to pay rent…

Bluh.

Anyway. When I’m not busy looking for apartments and jobs, I am practicing or assisting yoga.

Yesterday I practiced Ashtanga (Mysore style) and assisted a class in the morning. I accomplished absolutely nothing with my day and eventually passed out face down on my bed like a starfish for a while. This is one of my favorite ways to nap, second only to the taco nap, which is when you are too tired to get yourself into the bed so you just lay on top and pull the comforter over you like a taco shell.

Eventually I got up, slammed an espresso and attended the inaugural class at Yoga Shala Charlotte. My life is so hard right now.

Welcome home.

My incredible teacher Johnna is a co-owner and some of my friends are teaching over there. I want to be Johnna when I grow up. She’s amazing…

See??

The studio shares a building with Evolution Gym in South End next to Atherton Mill Market and Luna’s, two of my favorite places. It’s a beautiful space and I’m sure they’ll do well.

Pretty.

They’re teaching traditional Ashtanga and Para yoga and are offering first class free so get on over there and check them out. When I’m no longer poor (this day will come!) I’ll start practicing over there, too. No doubt.

When I got home I really wanted pizza but then I remembered this whole apartment thing and the security deposit and the billion dollars I pay in pet fees every year and I made a tempeh stir fry in stead. Damnit.

Not pizza but cheaper.

And with that, I continue my hunt… Say a little prayer for me. If you’d like to wire me some money I will not say no.

Chickpeas & rice, kale, veggie burger, hummus, feta

In case you missed it, today the people of North Carolina voted in an overwhelming 60/40 majority to approve a controversial anti-gay marriage amendment. I was not one of them, not because I didn’t vote for Amendment One but because I didn’t vote at all.

DO NOT FREAK OUT. I can explain.

When I moved to Charlotte last year I decided to cheat the system (shhhhh, don’t tell on me) and maintain my South Carolina residency in order to hold on to in-state tuition for another year. Do not judge me. I have since registered as a North Carolinian but not early enough to qualify to vote in this primary. As such, I will assume personal responsibility for the amendment passing.

Do I disagree with the amendment? Yes. Does it break my heart that it passed? Absolutely. Were tears shed? You bet they were.

But here’s the thing…

You’ve probably noticed that the internet is currently awash with angry, sarcastic, aggressive sentiments from those like me who support gay marriage. Threats to move out of the state, plans for the liberal anti-amendment cities (Charlotte, Boone, Raleigh and Asheville) to secede, general name-calling and, you know, foot stomping.

While I get the emotions, the way they’re being expressed is getting us nowhere.

The way I see it, the passing of Amendment One is a call to action to ignite compassion and understanding in a nation where, it would appear, we currently stand for liberty and justice for just some. But we have to do it right.

We cannot demand love and freedom and justice and then say that the people who disagree with us are stupid, illiterate hicks. We can’t fight for what we believe in only up until it’s voted on and then throw our hands up in disgust and retreat when we lose.

People say they’re ashamed to live in North Carolina right now. Not me. From what I can see I live in a beautiful state that I’m happy to (unofficially) call my home where they hosted a democratic vote and the majority won. Would we have it any other way?

This doesn’t make the amendment any less wrong or its passing any easier to accept.

It does, however, show us how much work needs to be done (and there is a lot). This is a chance for change, for healthy debate, intelligent discourse and, with hope, a change in heart. The only appropriate response to Amendment One, I’m afraid, is relentless, unspeakable love.

We cannot lose.

“You were created to create the good, the beautiful and the holy. Do not forget this. Nothing and everything cannot coexist. To believe in one is to deny the other. Fear is really nothing and love is everything. Whenever light enters darkness, the darkness is abolished. What you believe is true for you. Thoughts increase by being given away. The more who believe in them the stronger they become. Everything is an idea. What we can accomplish together has no limits. I place peace in your heart and in your hands, to hold and to share. The heart is pure to hold it, and the hands are strong to give it. We cannot lose.” – A Course in Miracles

Banana walnut bread by Julian Day (veganized)

I had the best day yesterday. I don’t know what it was but it was just on.

I woke up and practiced Ashtanga (I have recommitted myself to that and it feels good), assisted two classes and settled in to my “office” (also known as Starbucks) to apply for jobs.

It’s funny how things played out, but I swear my interactions with strangers, incoming phone calls and never-ending emails were like a string of fortunate events. One step in the right direction after another. Good news here, job lead there… high fives all around.

I ate good food made with vegetables that were not frozen.

Chickpeas, olives, soysage

Over kale

And hung out with this creature:

Tuuuuuuubs.

Who happens to look just like Danny Devito.

AM I RIGHT?

And practiced some of my more challenging poses (especially arm balances from the workshop on Saturday) in jeans because I do what I want.

Only on the right side, sadly.

Crow... crane... whatever.

Side crow

This one.

When the fact that I was alone in my apartment with no one to talk to started to cancel out the day’s goodness that preceded the night’s loneliness I did what I do best and started baking.

Like a Xanex.

Julian Day's Classic Artisan Baking

This recipe is from Julian Day’s Classic Artisan Baking, which I was sent to review from Ryland Peters & Small. (The coffee walnut cupcakes from last week came from this book, too.)

This 7-ingredient, 1-bowl, mix-and-dump recipe is as easy as they come. The final product is an ultra-moist, dense, perfectly sweet cake. I subbed the egg for one flax egg (1 tablespoon ground flax + 3 tablespoons warm water) and used Earth Balance instead of butter and found the exchange to work just fine.

One word: WALNUTS.

Breakfast. Soysage scramble, watermelon, banana bread.

“I’m a real Starbucks junkie, you know,” an elderly man says to his wife, signature green straw still hovering near his lips. He’s probably in his early 80s and slamming what appears to be an iced caramel macchiato. His wife is reading the paper next to him, scone in hand. With the rug and wingback chairs you’d think this commercial coffee shop were their living room.

The scene delights me to no end as I shamelessly eavesdrop on so public a moment of ho-hum-here’s-another-day intimacy that only comes after a lifetime together and usually in the privacy of one’s own home. It’s like taking a stroll at dusk and sneaking a peak at your neighbors gathered around the dinner table or the fireplace or (these days) the TV and catching that unguarded authenticity. Those brief moments of being with who you love and being who you are when (you think) no one is watching.

I’m working my way through the sutras (yoga, not kama–perhaps one day…) and have been underlining, starring and dog-earing up a storm. While Patanjali’s 196 lines are a quick read, the commentary that usually accompanies them in modern interpretations is far denser. There are about a billion different commentaries, I’m sure; I am reading Gregor Maehle’s in the back of my Ashtanga Practice & Philosophy book.

Sutra 1.3: Then the seer abides in his own nature.

Maehle places great emphasis on 1.3, stating after his explanation, “If you have not understood the preceding paragraph, reread it until you do. It holds the secret of yoga.”

And since I know you’re all dying to know, the explanation is this: “To abide in one’s nature simply means to stop projecting oneself outward. Projecting outward means to identify with the perceived. Giving up this projection is to abide in the core.”

In the core, Maehle says, is where our state of permanent, infinite bliss and awareness resides. Getting there, as explained in Sutra 1.2, requires that we quiet our thoughts.

Sutra 1.2: Yoga is the suspension of the fluctuations of the mind.

For anyone who has ever tried to meditate (or, hell, even just go to bed at night), we know this is easier said than done. It’s difficult to quiet the chatter in our minds, difficult not to identify ourselves with those thoughts and difficult not to adjust our behavior according to our perception of those thoughts.

Being the creeper that I am, I saw that the old man eventually spilled his drink all over the rug. I had a very brief moment of hesitation wherein I questioned what effect the action of my springing up to help him might have on his ego. After all, I have four very proud, very capable grandparents (a blessing at 26, I realize) who get by just fine on their own and prefer things this way. (My maternal grandmother still tries to climb up on the roof with a leaf blower.) I got up anyway.

I gathered paper towels and quietly cleaned up, signaling the barista to bring him a new drink. He didn’t say a word. I went back to my computer and he followed me over.

“I’d like to buy you a drink,” he said.

“Oh no, you don’t have to do that,” I fumbled. “It’s really no problem.”

“No,” he said. “To thank you for being kind. I insist.”

“A small iced coffee with soymilk then,” I smiled.

He brought me a large. “Old people,” he laughed, shrugging.

I’m trying really hard to do things based on what I know is right or what I know I want. Essentially, to the extent that I can comprehend it right now (which is not even close to the true yogic definition), to reside in my true nature without regard for how I will be received.

That’s way harder than supta kurmasana, let me tell you.