Mix blueberries in the donut batter, cut out the holes, toss out the circular bones, and you’re left with this week’s food offering: Blueberry Cake Donut Holes.  Unlike some donuts where you only taste the blue when you bite into the berry, this QT treat has blueberry flavor throughout.  Never stale and covered in a sweet glaze.  They also come in a handy container, perfect for a free hand that isn’t intexticated.

Excerpts of fiction and non fiction from the past year or so.

—-

I turned around and walked back into Central Park after a pleasant walk from the West side to the East. Sunday was the first day I’d seen New York at seventy degrees in quite some time. I’d visited Holly in the winter and spring, and then we spent the summer in Los Angeles, and then I visited in the spring again, which did lend to an exorbitant amount of.  Now living in New York, and expecting rain the following day, half way to the metro, I turned back to spend more time in the park.

It had rained a couple days prior and most of the they’d taped of the Great but after walking north through a quarry I found a patch of grass that seemed suitable for a read: scattered tress, plenty of sunshine, no ultimate frisbee, and not too many kids. I knelt to feel the ground hoping for it not to be damp, and without any evidence, sat down. Apparently the pressure of your hand on the ground isn’t pressure enough to force water up through the blades of grass, but the weight of your entire body is, at least enough to soak the entire ass of your pants. I felt like an adolescent who’d sat on a whoopee cushion. Fucking central had punk’d me, sans Ashton Kutcher.

—-

All week I had been dying to get in the Atlantic Ocean. I put my hand it in, but nothing more. Since landing in Miami I wanted to be in the ocean – all of me, for the first time ever. My plans were significantly botched for subtle reasons that crept to the forefront of my agenda each and every time I felt maybe I could afford a trip to the beach, ending on the only real viable opportunity came at ten in the morning, four hours before due to check out of the hotel and fly home.

I ended up in the ocean on a whim I didn’t quite anticipate. I figured I’d round up everyone, or just walk from the hotel by myself, sometime midday, then sit on a beach chair for a while, drink a beer, go back to the hotel, work, and continue my day. Well, part of that is an apt description of what happened. Instead, we left a party in Downtown Miami at about six am (I’m reluctant to describe the events prior, it would take a few days) and headed straight to the Hotel. Anyone in their right mind – this means pretty much everyone not on the beach at 8am – would not be up, nor fantasizing about jumping in the ocean at this hour. At any rate, we ran up to our rooms to change into swim wear. I had, of course, forgotten to bring swim trunks, but I did come across a pair of boardshorts in a gifting suite. I knew I’d either have to give up at least $40 dollars to buy a pair so I instead picked up a pair of knee length cargo-boardshorts in the suite, accepting the fact that the worst thing that would happen is I’d assimilate into the Miami beach no-shirt-Ed Hardy throng with my new look – oh well. Nevertheless, I changed into shorts, tags and all, tossed on a hotel robe, and met my two friends in the hotel lobby.

Once in the sand we looked up to realize that we were the only people on the beach and our hotel had not even set up the chairs and umbrellas on the beach, but luckily the hotel next door had done so

—-

Upon passing through the metal screen door, my five days of loping and possessing a gait laden of contentment had begun to diminish. Without an ample time for nostalgia to even take effect, I entered my room, sitting on the front of my bed for only enough time to find myself back on my feet, pacing right, just in front of my closet door only to kicked some of yesterday’s clothes to the top of the pile, where they probably came from, and will probably come from again. About thirty-five books littered my bed side table – it’s really a table, doubling as a reading desk where no reading has taken place to date – including three books left to me: Dream Prom, The Art of Loving, and an English translation of Proust’s Remembrance of Things Past, which later I found out to be actually titled In Search of Lost Time. After thumbing through the latter piece, growing uninterested, intent of reticent, I reached for a shirt, or rag rather, that had been worn and left behind. Coming to mind, the night prior and three before that we had spoken of mock women I could create while being apart. This woman would be made of items left behind. Outside of this, we could only ponder shedding hair – I’m still finding them. Scanning the room I saw a myriad of items, not all suitable for the task at hand though: one-quarter full bottle of juice, a bracelet, books, and a t-shirt. Still discerning wistfulness in affection that had passed only fifteen minutes ago, I still stood, stolid, passive, drinking what was left of a Orange Mango Motion variety Naked juice and remains Madeleines Petite French Cakes bought at Starbucks earlier that morning.

Hardee’s (wikipedia) — You have done it!

You have lowered the marketing bar and used the timeless “gross-out” technique in an attempt to stir my hunger. I wish I could count the number of times I have awoken next to my beautiful wife, looked at her and thought Is this going to be an A-hole or B-hole kind of morning?

Oh wait, I can do that… ZERO!  That has never happened.

Yeah, yeah it’s funny to hear someone say that A-holes taste funny and are small and nasty.  I’ll admit I laughed at B-holes being tasty and flavorful and the dude saying he’s a B-hole kinda guy. However, my next reaction was not “Let’s eat”. Those adjectives aren’t setting my taste buds a flame for any type of holes. There’s a whole marketing campaign around naming these things. You can go to NameOurHoles.com and suggest names. Some of the funnier ones: Goody Balls, Hole Munchers, Sweet Balls, Iced B-Holes, Cinnanuts, and my personal favorite… Glory Holes. Again, HI-larious but it sounds more like what you would find browsing the culinary section of the adult film store. What’s next… pinch a Loaf chocolate banana bread???

Ewwwww.

- Mister Jeremy McDonald

No, you’re not hallucinating. The Riese Organization that operates several different franchises in Manhattan including KFC and Lindy’s rebranded thirteen Dunkin’ Donuts this past Monday.

After concluding that it was not as profitable to operate Dunkin’ Donuts due to the increased advertising costs they decided to “show ‘em who’s boss”  and converted all thirteen to Tim Horton’s. The Canadian icon is more than welcome if only because they actually call their donut holes Timbits.

Can wait to sink my teeth into some Timbits. They are especially good warm. Mmmmm…. Fire in the hole!

To locate a store click here and put in your zip code.

Another fun bowl of oats!

Today started out with a bang! It seems that’s how a lot of days end. What caused this explosion? I swirled some boysenberry jam in my oatmeal and it reminded me of a PB&J sandwich. I want to share Heather’s favorite bowl with everyone. It’s one of the best ideas ever! This “bowl” had another inspiration in it. I boiled my oats in chai tea just like Jemima. Yummy idea, girl!

Oats were served with peach slices, blueberries, and some special sauce I made.

I finally got around to baking something! I was looking through recipes and I settled on Angela’s doughnut recipe. However, I opted to make doughnut “holes”. I made a vanilla apple glaze for them. These were delicious! I can’t wait to try out some more of her recipes.

I

Cooling down.

Fully dressed and ready to go out on the town, or in my belly!

A wrap stuffed with beans, corn, eggplant, and tomato.

Can you feel the love?

A little pecan pie.

I saw the cutest little idea for a date the other day in a post from Erin on Care to Eat. A mini “pecan pie”! Let’s just say I wanted to go on another date, and another, and another… I basically ran out of dates. Uh… I should probably find myself a real boyfriend, huh?

My favorite grilled cheese sandwich recipe!

I discovered the most wonderful recipe in a magazine a few years ago when I hosted a gourmet grilled cheese sandwich party. Since I didn’t have pumpernickel bread, I just used what I had on hand.

Grilled Cheddar Cheese Sandwich with Mango Chutney

2 slices pumpernickel bread
1 tablespoon butter (room temperature)
2 slices cheddar cheese
1 tablespoon mango chutney

1. Assemble the sandwich and grill until the bread is golden brown and the cheese has melted.

I mixed avocado oil and balsamic vinegar for the tomato slices, which were topped with a ginger “rose” and fresh oregano. In that cup on the left hand corner is an incredible protein smoothie my dad made. I’m not sure what was in it, but it was awesome! On the other plate is a Wasa rye crispbread with peanut butter spread on top and some blackberries.

And some delicious honey to smear on top of my peanut butter!

Tomato slices topped with chopped macadamias, fresh oregano, and an oil/vinegar blend.

I looked through my box of samples to look for the perfect pairing for my veggies.  I decided on the Crispy Parmesan flavor to go with some TJ’s horseradish hummus. Since I’m doing a review I think it’s only fair to be honest. I wasn’t a big fan of this particular flavor. It just seemed to be lacking something, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on it.

Zucchini and almonds are so delicious together! My plate is making a face at me.

Goat cheese crumbles on top of the beans were a wonderful last minute decision.

I planned on going to the beach today, but I was too lazy to drive. Too lazy to drive? What is that you say? Instead I just lounged around by my pool and started reading the sixth Harry Potter book.

Matilda is my little poolside buddy!

I am now trying to even out my tan, no thanks to these shoes. They also happen to be my favorite!

365 Everyday Value®

So I thought buying things from the bulk bins were supposed to be cheaper than packaged items. Well, yesterday Whole Foods proved me wrong. Their private label 365 Everyday Value® is $3.00 cheaper per lb. for cashews. I don’t understand why, but it is what it is. I even checked online, and they were actually cheaper per lb. than any other website. I’m not sure if it’s like that for their other products, but I’m going to go back to Whole Foods to find out! I need to stock up on nuts anyway.

I made a chocolate banana shake using one of the samples Sun Warrior sent me.

The verdict? I wish I had more!

I found out that the folks at Sun Warrior are practically my neighbors. Convenient? Yes. Coincidence? No – just meant to be! I have yet to try the vanilla flavor.

I spot a TJ Maxx find.

I wore this shirt with my new shorts.

I met up with my best friend, Pilar, for coffee.

I usually don’t drink cold things, but today I was so glad they had iced cinnamon dolce latte… with soy! She ordered an iced chai latte. We walked to the library with a mission. I had to find Roald Dahl’s Matilda. I also picked up Haruki Murakami’s What I Talk About when I Talk About Running.

I figure it's time to read the book one of my favorite movies is based on!

Matilda is one of my all time favorite movies. I’m not sure how many times I’ve watched it, but it never gets old! As a matter of fact, one of my projects in my first year of college was to recreate a movie. I suggested this movie to my group and everyone was okay with it. On top of that, they said I should be Matilda! Here’s the trailer I made for the project. I’m wasn’t too happy with the final outcome, but I had fun making it. And yes, my doggy is named after her!

Today when my mom came home she announced something that surprised me, and I still can’t believe it. Michael Jackson died earlier today. I know a lot of people are quick to judge him, that’s a part of human nature, but I try not to do that (with anybody). I can’t imagine the life he had and how I would’ve led mine if I were in his situation. I’d imagine I’d be very confused, but proud at the same time. Unfortunately, we lost a legend, but he had such an impact to the world of music and so many other things as well.

Jenny inspired to come up with a concoction to go along with these yummy So-Delicious sandwiches. I found the neapolitan flavor the other day, and without question, I put it in my basket! This reminded me of a fresh banana split, but where’s the whipped cream? That would’ve been perfect.

Enter Iowa Girl Eat’s PURE bar giveaway!

Guess what tomorrow is?

Buttermilk Donut Holes

This recipe came to me at a good time! Thanks Betty! My family planned a local one night camping trip. In the morning, we cooked donuts over the fire. It’s quick and easy and my daughter loved the hole process!
Click here for the recipe.

...the cover of my book!

I did it!  My book is published. Ok, ok — so I self published thru Amazon.com, but I did finally do it.  And, as Sid once sang — or was it Frank? — I did it my way!

You can find it on Amazon.com — “Donut Holes” by Matty Stanfield!

No one will be reading it, but I did do it! Yay for me!  It will also be in many of the indi-book stores throughout the Bay Area by mid June.

Between various personal issues, this is what I’ve been working on. Now, if I can just figure out how to format it into the Kindle mode! Damn technology!

...the back of my book!

…I’ve been listening to Juliette & The Licks as of late.  …One hot kiss!

matty

Posted by: Brandi

My Sil, April, gave me this recipe!  It is very versatile!  We use it mainly for our pizza crust.  I make mine with a mixture of whole wheat flour and all-purpose flour.  It is very sticky this way , and was very hard to roll out(it rolls out great when using only all-purpose flour).  What I do is make a fist, and then use the side of my fist to press the dough out onto my pan(sprayed with cooking spray),  works very well this way.  I then bake the dough for 5 minutes at 410 degrees, and then top it with whatever toppings we desire, and then stick it back in the oven, at 410 degrees, for another 15-20 minutes.

Ingredients:

1 T yeast

1 T sugar

1/2 c. warm water

2 c. sour milk, buttermilk, yogurt (to sour milk add 1 T vinegar per cup and let sit for a few minutes)

1/2 c. sugar

1/2 tsp. soda

5 tsp. baking powder

1 tsp. salt

7 cups all-purpose flour (I use 4 cups whole wheat flour and 3 cups all purpose flour)

Directions:

Dissolve yeast in water w/ 1 T. sugar.  Add remaining ingredients.  Mix and knead well. Will keep in fridge for 2-3 weeks in covered container (makes a lot, so is handy to have in fridge). No need to let rise.  Bake at 425 degrees  for 10 minutes.

Bread sticks: brush w/ egg whites and bake at 400 degrees.

Donut holes: fry in hot oil and sprinkle with sugar

Cinnamon rolls: roll out into rectangle, pour on melted butter, sugar, cinnamon, and nutmeg.  Roll long roll starting with long side.  Slice and place on greased pan.  Bake at 400 degrees.  Icing: confectioner’s sugar, vanilla, milk (added a T. at a time).

Pizza dough: roll out as desired and either bake first, or cover with toppings and then bake – will rise considerably in oven, so for thin pizza roll very thin.

Regular white bread: put in bread tin and let rise some before baking at 350 degrees.

-and all other things that call of biscuit dough, such as monkey bread.  It is very versatile.  Makes alot of dough at one time, which is nice, too!!

Note: With April’s first batch, she made one pizza, a dozen cinnamon rolls, and 10 crescent rolls used to wrap hot dogs, she liked it for all three! 

Thomas walked into the alley, kicking pebbles forward, and spat to each one, only hitting one. The rocks passed each one by four or so feet and sometimes he’d kick a pile, leaving him only to sit and think which to spat on. He’d only walked into the alley when she’d return from Portland. One a month, sometimes more, in midday he’d set out and pace past broken televisions, scrapped lumber, graffiti, and pebbles he’d already kicked once before.

She came into the house while he scraped the Nutella off the knife and slid it into the pantry. With the intonation of the door closing Thomas knew it had been Portland. That drab city, Portland. Where old elephants go to die. Where the rain sticks to the walls and washes  basic senses of morality into the sewer. The screen door didn’t slam. He put the two pieces of bread together and listened to the door slowly let to a close, the back of her hand pressing against the screen, the bottom hitting first and the warped top to follow. Portland, Oregon, Portland fucking Oregon.

He left through the back door while she came through the living room into the kitchen. He shut the back door with the handle pulled as she  simultaneously pulled the French doors leading into the kitchen open.

A group of four kids rode their bikes towards him as he lumbered along.  He’d wished they were actually Cholos. Cholos with neck and face tattoos and he wished he wore his red shirt and that when they rode past he’d tell them to fuck off and they’d take some of the scrap wood out of the garbage can and beat him with it. He’d be laying in the middle of the concrete and he’d see nothing but his own blood pool into his eyes and they’d deliver the last blow and he’d die and everyone would be sorry and he’d never have to be home when his stupid wife came home from Portland and he’d never have to watch her turn away and look away, and bite her stupid broken flapping bottom lip and be sorry. He’d never have to read letters she left out. Correspondence from this rube, poor little rube, sent to the city, to only ruin a stranger’s life.

The children rode past; one skidded with his back brake for a few feet and carried on. Thomas lit a cigarette and sat on couch that had been in the alley the last time he’d been there. Some wrote, “UPTOHERE” in spray-paint across the backrest and another person had gutted an entire cushion. The graffiti caused him to laugh for a moment before he sat. The filter of the first cigarette began to burn but he inhaled in anyway and used it to light another.

He’d memorized three of the letters and the first one had been salutated, “Come up to here.” Sometimes laziness seems more compelling than life itself. Every repetition of the salutation make him laugh a little more. After thirty or so times his bottom lip bounced to the though and he began repeating, “Up to here” until the morphemes gave way to laughter, and then the words themselves joined and he pulled his cigarette from his lips, flicked it at a post and the cherry shot out of it while the butt fell behind a trashcan. Within a few minutes the cherry gave way to ash. He lit another, propped his foot up on a television and laughed again.

I smoked more cigarettes than I probably should have. Nevertheless, I walked to 7-11 with the average ‘uninterested in walking anywhere a block away in Los Angeles’ gait that I always carry with me, and bought pack more. On the walk there I remembered how a doctor once told me how I, in fact, was a light smoker.

A few months after turning eighteen I promptly moved to Seattle, leaving behind a the chance of acquiring cancer in a paper mill, as most of the men who had worked in them for decades had done. I cashed in whatever you could call chips and moved to the big city – the biggest city I had seen anyways: Seattle.

My first two weeks there resulted in disaster after disaster. Those first fourteen days equated to one persons life of tragedy. In fact, my first two days may have accomplished it well. On my first day I nearly died while skateboarding through traffic on my way to the local library. A fucking car hit me. My skateboard broke in two and I slid over the car hood without my sweatshirt giving me any friction to slowdown, until I hit the asphalt. Trying to get up, before realizing a car had hit me, or rather I hit a car, I noticed blood soaking through my sweatshirt – not flowing, seeping through. After getting to my feet, trying to find my skateboard (which I couldn’t see broken under the car), I noticed gawkers with their hands over their mouths, on all four corners of the intersection. Not doing anything, just standing and watching and if not watching, calling 911 on their cell phones.

In the minute and a half it took me to get up and figure out what really happened, the man in the car had already written a check to me for $500 – I asked for $600. In the moment it took to reach to a wallet and out to my hand, I held a check for $500 and a one hundred dollar bill. Hitherto, I never held so much at any given time in my life. Thank you Jeff Anderson.
The following day the Seattle Police Department shot and killed an unarmed black man with no weapon in my Carport. They pulled him over for speeding.

Two weeks later I contracted a severe case of Pneumonia. For the first time I sat in a doctors office without the company of a family member. In 10th grade I decided I would run track (until I did, I had no idea I could fail so easily at a sport). To participate I needed to take a physical examination proving to the State of Washington I was fit to run. In the doctors office with my mother the doctor asked me the standard questions.

“Do you smoke?”
I thought yes, but my mother glared over and I remembered and replied, “No.”
“Do you smoke Marijuana?”
Uh, yes I thought, nearly smiling, but replied, “No.”
“Travis, do you drink?”
Of course. “No.”
“Are you sexual active?”
What do you mean am I sexual active? I’m sixteen, of course I am. Also, does masturbation count? Can you not run well if you have had an orgasm?
“What do you mean?” I replied.
“Have you had sexual intercourse with a woman?” he asked me while my mother ogled me, really interested to hear about this one.
“No,” I replied.

Now a grown man of eighteen years, independent for a week or so and having my own case of Pneumonia coupled with scab running down my arm, I found myself able to be in a room with a Doctor one of one abandoning explicit thought. What’s to fear being a room with a complete stranger? Someone I will never meet again.

She asked, “Do you smoke?”
“Yes”
“How much,” she asked staring at her clipboard while taking notes in a very uninterested fashion.
“A pack a day.”
“Oh so you’re a light smoker”
A light smoker? What the fuck are you talking about doctor? I smoke like a chimney and you a telling me I’m a light smoker? That’s what it comes down to I guess. I’m in fact a light smoker.
“Do you smoke Marijuana?”
“Yes”
“How often?”
“Three to give times a week.”
“Are you sexual active?”
“Yes” I told her, trying to not make eye contact, cough, or smirk waiting to tell her all about if I drank or not.

People have many misconceptions so it’s time to set the record straight; thus possibly a new A Frank Angle feature.

1. Human blood isn’t blue, it’s bright red or dark red.
2. Bacteria causes tooth decay, not sugar.
3. Hot air doesn’t rise, it’s pushed up.
4. If you bought real doughnut holes, you wouldn’t get anything.
5. Evolutionists don’t say humans evolved from apes, only antievolutionists make that statement.
6. The heart rests more than it works.
7. Aspirin is a specific chemical (acetylsalicylic acid), not a generic name for a group of chemicals.
8. Dihydrous monoxide is not hazardous, but certain dissolved stuff in it can be.
9. Potatoes are enlarged underground stems, not roots.
10. No snake grabs its tail to roll downhill … but that would be interesting to see. Hmmm … the Hoop Snake?

…. and now you know.

I felt thirsty but didn’t have anything to drink so instead I ate. I opened the fridge and saw some extra pulp orange juice – a favorite of mine, but it wasn’t mine and earlier I already stole a glass. The rice from last night’s midnight dinner stacked to the ceiling in of fridge on top of the eggs, nearly touching the light, but I didn’t feel like eating it after seeing the water had congealed and being brown rice it congealed to a bramble appearance of sorts. I ate the ice cream for breakfast and didn’t buy the oranges either.  I had bacon and eggs for lunch and popcorn for a snack and any one item I noticed that varied from those I either didn’t buy and therefore could not eat or if I saw anything else it simply wouldn’t wet my palette. I hadn’t smoked a cigarette since the night prior and would have certainly loved to do that instead. I forgot to turn my apartment’s heater off. In the past I’d sit next to the window, smoke, and let in a little cold air and snowflakes to settle in, but it simply wouldn’t make sense for me to sit on the edge of the couch with the window open and no cigarette. So instead I walked to the bodega. Usually I’m smoking on the way to the but since I didn’t have any cigarettes I thought of how I didn’t have a job and how I need a job and how I have to pay to credit cards in eight days and how I had to pay rent in fifteen, and utilities in fifteen, and how much the subway costs, and how much food costs, and how I’ll probably find a job soon.

The snow had melted. My shoes are fine for walking on snow, and even sometimes in snow, but never in rain or melted snow. Within fifteen paces I could tell the temperature by the water in my shoes. Usually I just known from the wind striking my nose – I have an enormous nose, or by how cold my smoking hand is, but since I don’t smoke anymore and I hadn’t been outside long enough, I gauged it by my feet. If you feel how cold your feet are and add that by how cold you think the snow is and add how cold you remember it being last, then divide that number by three, you should know what the temperature is. Today the temperature was twenty-five.

I usually buy coffee for fifty-cents at the bodega when I’m there to solely defeat cabin fever, but never in the evening time, so I settled on donut holes. My grandmother use to buy donut holes for me as a child and I had only eaten them once since. I’d show up and she’d either have donut holes, Jello, or hot dogs with mayo. I remember really enjoying them all. The last time I ate donut holes I ‘d been walking home after my car broke down. I stopped in at a diner for some food, tired of walking and really just wanting to just be home – cell phones hardly existed at this point, especially with teenagers. I glanced over the pictured menu and couldn’t decided between chicken fried steak, a steak, or eggs when a homeless man came and sat across from me, pulled a Swiss Army knife from his dirty shirt pocket, pulled out all of the blades one by one, set the built in tweezers and plastic toothpick on the table, and slid it across the table and said, “ I’ll sell it to you for five dollars. There’s twenty-six knives on here, that’s 35 cents a knife.” I’ve never been exceptional at math and certainly couldn’t do that sort of math in my head so I declined the offer, not because his math had been wrong, but because I already had a knife. Instead of ordering chicken fried steak, steak, or eggs, I walked across the street to a gas station and bought a half dozen donut holes, a jalapeño and cheese corndog, and my first pack of cigarettes and started smoking – and starting eating corndogs.

I took the donut holes back to my house. On the walk home the water in my shoes became warmer and I couldn’t tell if the body heat in my toes just rose to compensate for the degrees lost from the melted snow or if the melted snow just became warmer since I had been in the store. For a moment I thought my theory of temperature might be flawed, but became distracted after the idea of using Christmas trees for legs on the table top I had found a day earlier. I’d need a hatchet – I stopped to think of how to spell hatchet because I’d forgotten. One Ts or two? I remembered hatchet had only one T and that I didn’t have a hatchet and it’d be cheaper to buy 2×4s to use for legs on the chair rather than buy a hatchet.

I decided to take the elevator to my apartment because I thought it’d be funny to use a freight elevator to bring donut holes up to my apartment. The terrible graffiti distracted me and I got of on the fifth floor instead of the fourth. I took the stairs down, guessing how many times people had slept in the stairwell, not wanting to know how many times people have pissed in it, nor remembering if I had or not.

Finally I turned left into the fourth floor door and started to walk towards my apartment. I turned the corner as the same time as an ugly woman wearing an old coat and scared her. She didn’t seem to forgive me after I said sorry and even her dog ogled me for a moment.

Finally home, I set the donut holes on the counter and realized they were sugar rather than glazed.  Glazed was always my favorite and I really never have once in my life cared for a sugar coated donut, or donut hole. Since my roommates weren’t home I poured a glass of orange juice and added about a half cup of water to the carton so that if they noticed I had dipped into the orange juice they wouldn’t notice that I took so much but maybe would let me off the hook because sometimes you really need orange juice, and besides, they ate a bag of my rice. I cooked a half-cup of rice last night and couldn’t finish it; an entire bag would fill up the sink. Then I took out the cookies and cream ice cream and ate it out of the carton and felt guilty. I put it back, drank the juice, ate a donut hole and fell asleep on the couch.

I woke up and felt bad because I forgot to read a NY Times I stole from my neighbors. I fell asleep again, hoping I wouldn’t wake up for a very long time, but instead I woke up thirty minutes later. I tried again and woke up fifteen minutes later.

This morning I gorged on 2 dozen donut holes. 

What was I thinking!!!  2 dozen, that’s 24 little round nibbles. Why?  because I have a few minutes to kill while waiting on the bus. I stuffed these bite size bits of fatty sugar into my mouth one-by-one. I washed them down with Mountain Dew. 

If Richard Simmons was around he would have shrieked and probably stabbed himself. I have felt terrible all day, about eating 2 dozen donut holes. Not physically bad, but emotionally and mentally bad.  I felt like shit while I was eating them, too.  Every time I popped one in my mouth I thought people on the bus were judging me.  Thinking to themselves, “how does she continue to shove those down her throat.”  People where no doubt asking, “is that a never-ending bag of donut holes?” and “Where does one buy something so wonderful?”

Then I started to think about the caloric impact on my bodacious bod.  Check it, here’s the math…

  24 donut holes
x52 calories, per hole
1,248 calories  (add my Mountain Dew, the total is 1,398)

1,398!!! that’s my total daily calorie allowance.  I’m a fat cow! 

Sweet on Nov 11, 2008

 I need Richard to sweat into the oldies with me.  Have you ever watched these videos?  After the workout the whole gang dances through a Soul Train line. When they reach the end of the line and they’re standing in front of the camera they give a cheesy smile or a head bob and we see how much weight they lost.  It’s usually 50-200 pounds.  Some people wear  legwarmers or a fun sweat band and some people have on regular clothes.  You know, because regular people loose weight.  Lucky for you all I found a video on You Tube of this fun dance off!!!  It’s wonderful!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AVeINlrliXk

My husband was thrilled to see a donut hole recipe in Ani’s uncooking book! I finished reading it today and this recipe is right near the end. He is also living to try her pancake recipe. Well, anyway, he decided that he wanted to make them tonight. We aren’t doing the hand-out candy thing so I helped him throw together a batch of these decadent donut holes! Oh My! These are soo gooooddd! But holey-donuts they are sweet! You better be ready for sweets. I needed a glass of milk (which I didn’t have because I hadn’t made any) to go with them! They were better than most sweets I remember eating before we started eating raw foods. This is one of the first raw deserts that I have ever had. I am afraid they may have opened the flood gates!  We are taking some to his mothers and over to our friends as a little Halloween

treat! I can’t wait to try these with apples in them! YUM!! Maybe a little maple syrup (we have a quart that needs to be used and I can’t bring myself to throw it away…it from good ‘ol VT!). I hope everyone has a wonderful and safe Halloween!

Be Well!

Studies show that when chocolate tastes like ashes in your mouth, you’re less likely to overeat!

With poverty and unemployment on the rise and a devastating economic crisis threatening our society’s very foundations, the thought of the grim future ahead is pushing many Americans into the depths of despair. So why not drop a few dress sizes on your way down?

Readers, if we know you, you’ve been through your fair share of hard times. Chances are you recall those miserable days through a haze of listless melancholy. What you may not remember is what you ate during those difficult times—probably because food had lost its appeal. As a matter of fact, right this moment, depressed people all around you are shedding pound after pound because in their abject misery, not even eating seems worthwhile. Why let those savvy sad-sacks have all the fun and look great in the latest fashions? We’re here to help you attain their level of miserable apathy—just in time for bathing suit season!

A key inspiration for this diet plan comes from the life and ideas of Jean-Paul Sartre, an influential French philosopher (and you know how skinny the French are!) Sartre—or, as we like to call him, “The Thinking Woman’s Jenny Craig”, knew that life was a never-ending struggle against the paralyzing self-annihilation which comes from complete acknowledgement of the futility of existence. You’d better believe that man could suck all the fun out of a piece of birthday cake. But he wore a size 6 smoking jacket until the day he finally escaped the crushing agony of the responsibility of existence.

In one of Sartre’s most popular works, entitled “Nausea”, he wrote in detail of his character’s fear of being touched by inanimate objects, because of their indifference to him. Inanimate objects made him sad! The very walls around him made him want to toss his existentialist cookies! The guy was a pro. An unfocused but ever-present feeling of nausea is a great way to cut calories. And you barely have to change your lifestyle—just modify the way you view the world around you and your responsibility toward it, and we bet you’ll see proven results within weeks! As your grip on reality loosens, so will your jeans!

Readers, we know how unhappy you are, deep down. Try as you may to forget it as you go about your pointless daily routine, you know that existence is ultimately nothing more than relentless suffering. To be alive is to be constantly teetering on the edge of madness as you contemplate the futility of being. Still see the point of eating breakfast? Maybe you should go bikini-shopping instead.

Keep in mind that your efforts may be derailed if you do not dig down until you find yourself in a place of complete and total misery— that is, if you are merely unhappy. Unhappy people tend to seek comfort in food—and they often find it there, if only temporarily. A box of chocolate-glazed donut holes will offer at least a few moments of lingering solace to a person who has merely had a rough day. If you are following this program correctly, however, donut holes will be unable to move you. In fact, the very concept of donut holes will be devoid of significance, except inasmuch as they represent the missing part of a donut, which reminds you that your capacity to find meaning in life is also missing. You will be aware that the glaze which obscures them is only their way of hiding their pain from the world. There is nothing tasty about it, because it is a sugary coating of lies.

Now you’re thinking like a size 2!

Since today was a good day, I am not too embarrassed to share the email exchange…although I still sound like a child.

Me:  “School has been going well today.”

Joey:  “Oh good. What are you guys doing today?”

Me:  “So of course first of all we had to get some munchkins.  Then to the gas station to fuel up and get the car washed (the kids LOVE that.)  When we got back we did EVERYTHING but tonight they both need to do math and then tomorrow I am just going to have them do this measurement thing together (cup, pint, quart, etc.) before 10am … Also, Luke AND Isabel did some cub scout stuff.  I helped him make a two week chart for the whole brush teeth drink water (personal hygeine blah blah blah) AND he hammered it up in his room with a hammer and nail (checked him off on that one) AND Luke and Isabel learned the four ways to not spread a cold (another check off.)”

Luke and Isabel were very involved and excited about school today.  Probably because I was more involved and excited as well and worked with them more (or maybe I should give credit to the munchkins.)  Speaking of, here is the rest of our email exchange.  It is all about my new pregnancy love for Dunkin Donuts Munchkins.  To those of you who don’t speak Dunkin Donuts, Munchkins = Donut holes.

Joey:  “Cool. How were the munchkins?”

Me:  “Well, I was very naive and didn’t realize that they would have another other kind except for the awesome chocolate cake munchkins….(why bother having any other kind, right?)  But it was an assortment with only TWO choc cake ones.  The kids loved the variety though.  They thought the jelly filled and powdered ones were cool.  Also, I asked if they are open 24 hours and she said they were when they first opened but not enough people come but that later on when they think it will be busier they will have it open 24 hours again.”

i love DUNKIN DONUTS.  in fact i’m addicted.  i get the 2 donuts and a coffee special at least 3 times a week.  then sometimes i’ll go in for a bagel.  i can never go in just for the coffee, because the food looks and tastes so goddamn good.  i like the coffee, because when you tell them to put cream and sugar into it, they dump in an entire cow & an entire field of sugar cane into your drink, so it tastes like a liquid donut almost.  i can’t stand the over-priced & burnt tasting sludge that starbucks likes to push on people.  so besides the impending future of being fat and having diabetes,  i should be perfectly happy in my relationship with  THE DUNK.

but it is not so.

i mean have you tried their breakfast sandwiches?  what is with the meat?  maybe its different at your local dunkin donuts (because god knows in philly they are on every street corner–it could differ from place to place–but i doubt that because i went home for Easter and the DUNK in the ‘DING had the same meat problem!  madness!  i know!)  those meat patties taste like burnt rubber asshole.  DUNKI DOE’S, I LOVE UUU.  but you have to fix up those meat patties.  they are just gross.  mmm.  donuts.  what?  i’m hungry.

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(note) –  i just added “donut holes” in the keywords for this article.  who the sam hell is sitting at home on their PC and looking for blogs about donut holes?  if the answer is “hey, i am!” -please leave a detailed comment, outlining your intentions for doing a blog keyword search for donut holes.