wit & shit @witandshit - Tumblr Blog

Questions literally no one has asked me.

Why are you back on tumblr after such a pronounced hiatus?

Because I need to do a silent-scream into the void for a minute, duh.

But where you been, girl? What have you been up to?

Ooh girl, you don’t know the half of it. Life’s been fucking buckwild lately. When I think about the reality of the last several months, it’s no wonder that my heart rate is nearly always elevated these days. Hashtag super chill drama-free restraining order lifestyle.

Okay, but then where are you right now?

In my bed, vaping, and eating french onion dip for dinner at 10 pm despite the fact that I’m a fucking wellness coordinator. Living in a tiny, isolated, beautiful, disturbingly white ski town even though I fucking hate winter and have zero interest in learning to enjoy it. Sorry not sorry, humans (especially those with shitty jew genes) aren’t supposed to live in this kind of climate. So basically everything is peachy!

Okay, okay. A little blunt, don’t you think? But really- why are you blogging again?

For posterity. To hold these truths to be self-evident and be recklessly honest with myself.

#for posterity #oh shit look who has a voice again!

dailygyllenhaals-deactivated202

Jake Gyllenhaal at the 72nd Venice Film Festival.

joaniepepperoni

no..it’s too much.

witandshit

Do you guys think Jake Gyllenhaal ever gets really sad that he hasn’t met me yet?

#probably right?

On The Last Year.

You guys, a lot can happen in a year. Especially in a difficult year, one in which you more often than not feel frustrated and stressed and overwhelmed and burnt the fuck out. Between my last two birthdays, a fair amount of shit happened, and throughout the year, I kept a running list of some of the small, silly, and weird highlights in a note on my phone (a new tradition, DAWG). These aren't really major life lessons, but more of a look back at how much year I fit into the last year.

Below, some of the life that ya girl experienced between 24 & 25.

I discovered that I love, and am also slightly allergic to, radishes. Somehow I had never tried radishes, only to discover that I LOVE them, they make a great desk snack for work, and... they make my entire mouth itchy super quickly. Tragedy, point for you.

I dyed my hair pink. I spent SO MANY HOURS & SO MANY DOLLARS on this process, and especially in removing it, hence my current mega-blonde (yikes) situation. I loved it, and, like the truly camera-averse moron that I am, do not have any acceptable photographic evidence.

I made an actual decision to leave New Orleans. I am still finding the right words for how I feel about that beautiful, complicated, sticky, depressing, magical, insane little city, and especially about leaving it. I talked about leaving NOLA for two full years before I finally left, with plenty of false starts along the way. There was the family I was going to au pair for in Switzerland (I fucking hate winter, am I insane??). There was a potential move to Colorado. There were a lot of ideas, but I kept getting drawn back into the swamp. Ultimately, quitting my job and moving to New Zealand just kind of happened (more on this soon), and I found myself ready to leave, for real. I still can't say with certainty that I'll never move back, but damn, New Orleans will fuck you right up for any other city on this lil planet of ours.

I dewormed myself. Yes. I'll say it again: I dewormed myself. Let's be real- ya girl has IBS- as I like to say, my grandmother's spirit lives on in my gut- we buried her with Immodium and a soft pretzel (shout out to my Philly jews, what up). I was desperate and curious, so I did the most rational thing I could think of- I looked online for self-deworming tips. The process consisted of taking 4 pills a day (filled with crazy amounts of herbs) for a full month, and, um, getting rid of waste. This was an... interesting month. It was intense, and not super pleasant, and in the end I can't really recommend the deworming process. Unless you've actually got serious worms. Terrific! Aren't you glad I figured that out for you?

I kind of, sort of, vaguely learned how to do my taxes. By this I mean that I had my roommate's boyfriend do them for me (thanks, buddy, appreciate you!) because he loves taxes (there is a taxes dance involved), and I did not run away while he did them. I sat there, next to him, and looked at the whole process. I started to understand the whole mess of our tax system, and did not cry even when I felt incredibly overwhelmed because numbers and paperwork and I'm poor as fuck. So thanks, dad, for refusing to do my taxes for me anymore.

I took a bunch of herbal medicine classes, and learned so much more, especially about adaptogens and nervines, and realized that this shit is my jam. More herbalist classes will be in my future, y'all. Let me fix you up if yr sick, it's my favorite thing to do. Matzo Ball Soup will also be involved because DUH.

I got an IUD. This was a fucking excellent decision (for me, yr uterus is yrs and yrs alone, duh), and I am glad as fuck that I did it, but going back to work 20 minutes after getting it inserted was a fucking terrible decision, and I DO NOT RECOMMEND that path.

I became a certified Acupuncture Detoxification Specialist through the NADA Protocol. Many hours of study and practice went into this, and I am now allowed to purchase little tiny needles and stick them in yr ears (with yr consent). In all seriousness, this was something I'd dreamed of doing secretly for a while, and when the opportunity to get trained presented itself, I said hell yes. My practice was temporarily halted because I also...

Got cataract surgery. Like a fucking old person. Do you know other twentysomethings who have had cataract surgery? Because my eye doctor hadn't. Or my surgeon. Or the anesthesiologist (I forced them to knock me out because fuck that shit), or the nurses in the recovery room, or anyone else. I'm just super fucking special, and despite 24.5 years of perfect vision, I suddenly developed cataracts and lost a good portion of my vision. I'll write more about this soon, but here's a picture of me looking reaaaally cute in the lil eye shield I had to sleep with for a month:

I traveled more within the US to places I had never been. I really liked Chicago (but not the weather, humans are not supposed to live like that), fell in love with Ann Arbor (again, what is up with the weather up there? A big ole NOPE), was fascinated by Detroit, and had a brief and beautiful trip through Arizona. I'll share more about all of these lil trips later, but dang, y'all- the states are full of some goodness, so get out there and explore!

I booked a one way flight to New Zealand via Hawaii. I'll explain more on this soon, but the fact that I actually did it instead of just talking about it is the important part. This process also involved getting a Working Holiday Visa and quitting my first 'real' job, which were super fucking easy, and super fucking difficult, respectively.

While in Ann Arbor, I learned how to drive a Gator and a tractor, which is something high school-era me would be mortified to know. Coming from a small town and making fun of John Deere led to an aversion to all things 'farm' for a long time. So of course, I now happily work on farms and am fucking thrilled about it.

I finally learned how to make fresh pasta. Why was I so scared of this? It couldn't be more simple. Nowadays my life revolves around pumpkin marscapone ravioli with brown butter sage sauce and every other pasta dish I can dream of because GLUTEN IS DELICIOUS.

I bit the bullet and bought my first big girl camera. I held off for so long because hello MONEY and I have a real talent for breaking every piece of technology that I touch. I'm so glad that I hunted for weeks, because I found a great deal, and my camera is now such a big part of my day to day.

Okay! So those are some things that happened. If you read this far, I'm kind of astounded (but flattered, don't get me wrong), since most of these things are really only relevant to me and only me. Til next year...

Shit to Eat on Oahu

You guys. Oahu is a magical place. The scenery is absurdly gorgeous, the pace of life is pretty damn chill, & y'all? The food? It's fucking tremendous. Sure, Hawaii has it's problems, but we're not here to talk about them today. Today we're here to talk food, because food is my e'rrythang. Here are some of my favorite places to stuff your face in paradise. Listen & learn, nerds.

START YR DAY CORRECTLY

Kokohead Cafe- YOU GUYS. If you find yrself on Oahu and don't go here for brunch (served all day, motherfucker), then I will never forgive you and you will never forgive yourself. I had a Lilikoi Fizz (gin, lilikoi, ginger beer, thai basil, and YUM) and the Ohayou Eggs Skillet (baked eggs, heritage ham, local mushrooms, parmesan dashi cream, and bonito), and I'm here to tell you that it was an enlightening experience. My mouth was so happy, y'all. I sat at the bar and watched everyone's food come out, and not a single dish looked less than fucking mouth-watering. I will be back for the dumplings, Cornflake French Toast, fresh-ass dranks, and baked goods. They don't take reservations, so just fucking go already.

Scratch Kitchen & Bake Shop- Ooh, y'all. I had a BLT Benny and a Kimchi Bloody Mary with Jicama (the heart wants what it wants, and mine wants Bloodys, every day), and may or may not have also sampled the chilaquiles. All of it was delicious, and Chinatown is a neat lil area of Honolulu, so get yrself over there and check it out.

KEEP EATING, BB

The Pig & The Lady- Another Chinatown spot, The Pig & The Lady can also be found at several of the local farmers markets, so you have zero excuse to not eat this deliciousness. I went for the Pho Au Jus (12 hr roasted brisket, sauteed bean sprouts, thai basil chimmichurri, and pho au jus), and pretty much died of happiness. It was my first meal in Hawaii, and I will remember it forever. The portions are massive, the flavors are fucking phenomenal, and by the end of yr meal you'll be messy, full, and deliriously happy. Doooo it.

Giovanni's Shrimp Truck- Do you like things that taste amazing? Good. Go to Giovanni's. There are other shrimp trucks, but this is the one you need to fuck with. Don't mind the lines, and don't mind the flies outside (get over it, already). Fresh as hell, and so fucking delicious that when I am inevitably super wealthy, I will hire them to drive around behind me at all times just to smell their delicious smell: Garlic. Lemon, Butter. Shrimp. Sweet Jesus, y'all, this shit is killer. I say got for the classic Scampi, and grab a side of the hot sauce, which is seriously, beautifully, hot. I might cry just thinking about Giovanni's right now.

Farmers Markets- There are so many farmers markets on Oahu, you have no excuse not to check at least one out. Hella fresh noms, and supporting local producers and growers is a powerful, and fucking easy, action. Do not miss Nalo Juice.

HEY THERE, SWEET STUFF

Liliha Bakery- I have no pictures from Liliha Bakery because I was too busy eating. I do not apologize. Go for their infamous coco puffs (chocolate filled puff pastry, which sounds kinda basic, but is elevated as fuck). They sell between 4,800 & 7,200 e'rry damn day, so you know this shit is good.

Bubbies- Mochi. So. Much. Mochi. Lots of ice cream and cakes too, and gleefully odd names. Get to it, y'all.

So.

Did you book yr flight yet, or what? There's no excuse for a bad meal on Oahu, and if I find out you went to a goddamned Popeyes or some shit, I will flip this desk right over in a dramatic gesture. If you've got other recommendations that I missed, let me know in the comments, y'all- I'm for sure heading back for more good eats.

Change up yr pits game, bbs.

Ooh, you guys. Spray deodorant is just getting hot in the US, but abroad they know what's up. I was reaaal skeptical of this shit, because y'all? I sweat. I am not an 'I just worked out for an hour and I'm still socially acceptable in public' kind of girl. I am a 'Is there 1% humidity outside? Have I walked more than 5 minutes today? Cool, I'm sweating' kinda lady, and I'm okay with that. Sweat that shit out, y'all. But you can understand my apprehension at the effectiveness of a spray deodorant. It seems like the kind of fake bullshit models say they use but real people would spend $13 on and then be like 'WTF, Karlie Kloss?'.

Wrong. So wrong. I don't care what brand you use, or what scent you get (live yr own pit truth, you guys). But do try this shit. It's quick and even ...fun to apply? Did I just say that applying deodorant is fun? Fuck you, it is. It's cold and wakes me the fuck up. Streak-free, even when you get dressed immediately after, or, GASP, apply it when you're already dressed. Even when you wear black.

Live a little, kids. Leave that Old Spice stick in the aisle and change up yr pits game (I still love you, Old Spice!).

Wet Brush, saviour of yr scalp

Go buy a Wet Brush, if you haven't already. Actually, even if you have, go buy another one.

You guys, I have some hair on my head. This is not in and of itself a very special trait, there are lots of people who have hairs on their head, I've met quite a few. But my hair lives it's own journey, separate from me and the rest of the body, despite my (admittedly minimal) efforts to wrangle that shit. The individual hairs are super fucking fine, but there is so much of it that it functions neither as fine or thick hair, but instead as a goddamn mess.

Y'all, I can barely get a brush through this shit. And as a result, I rarely do brush it. In fact, over the last 7 years, I would estimate that I have brushed my hair an average of maximum 3 times a month. Instead, I shed like a damn cat everywhere I go, which I don't mind because I watch a lot of Criminal Minds & Law and Order: SVU, so I just tell myself I'm leaving evidence everywhere I go.

ANYWAY. Enter Wet Brush. This is a magical, magical tool. Suddenly, I can brush my hair without pain, snarls, tugging, or becoming so exasperated that I give up and lay on the floor in a puddle of tears and fallen hair. I can even brush my hair wet. Some of you may be able to do this on the reg without damage or pain, and I would like to congratulate you and also tell you to fuck off with your perfect doll hair. But even you, she-godesses posessing perfect manes, can benefit from the gospel of the Wet Brush.

Wet, dry, thick, fine, short, long- doesn't matter. This brush will be your best friend. If you love yourself and your scalp, you will buy one. If you love me, you will buy me one (I want 30 and to make a damn bouquet of them).

Salmon Cakes because YUM.

Oh, dudes. Y'all are in for it today. Salmon cakes are my SHIT. This is a super fucking easy recipe, and makes enough food for approximately one million people/meals. That is a slight case of hyperbole, but this recipe makes a shit ton, and that is a very scientific amount. Delicious, simple, and makes for an impressive lil lunch or dinner (or both, GO CRAZY, you wild thing, you). Let's dive right in.

SALMON CAKES, adapted from Choperella

HERE'S WHAT YOU NEED:

2 salmon filets, fresh or defrosted, skinless and deboned unless you want to spend your whole afternoon/evening doing that shit, which hey, it's yr journey

1 cup cooked and cooled quinoa (I don't fucking care what color it is)

1 cup cooked and cooled rice (I like brown rice here, but again, this is yr journey so don't let me tell you how to live yr life)

an egg, beaten into submission

fresh ginger (just a wee bit, and if you only have dried then OKAY but go get yrself some fresh ginger and treat yourself- you deserve it)

half of a red bell pepper (you could use orange, I won't tell anyone)

half of a red onion

2 good-lookin' green onions (none of that stringy bullshit around here)

chili powder

smoked paprika

oregano (again, we prefer fresh but we don't discriminate against dried)

salt & pepper

1 cup of panko bread brumbs (all of the heart eye emojis)

coconut or grapeseed oil (we're using high heat, motherfuckers, this is not the time for olive oil's low smoke point BULLSHIT)

HERE'S WHAT WE'RE GONNA DO:

First, get some goddamn mise-en-place happening because we are not rookies here. Not sure what the fuck mise-en-place is? Basically I'm telling you to get all of yr ingredients out before you start, to read through the recipe FIRST, and to chop up the shit you need to chop up before you really get movin' (in this recipe, we're gonna let the food processor do most of the work for us, because we are lazy and food processors are bae).

Throw those lil salmon babes in the food processor and pulse that shit. Lightly, my loves, we aren't making baby food, just breaking that shit up into some big pieces. Throw in your red onion, green onion, and red pepper, and pulse everything until it's all about the same size.

Get a big ole bowl out, throw in that salmon mixture, yr rice, yr quinoa, yr egg, and all those spices- play around with the amounts! I fucking live for smoked paprika, but it might not be yr jam. This is a choose-your-own-adventure blog. Mix all that shit up and sing songs from Into The Woods while you do it. That part is mandatory.

Let's make some damn patties! Get a lil bowl with panko and salt and pep ready, and a baking sheet out to set those guys on while you make the rest. If you're smart, you'll line the baking sheet with foil so you don't even have to clean the pan later. Grab a small handful of the mixture, roll it into a ball and flatten it a bit, into a... patty. Coat it in yr panko and set it on your baking sheet. Admire lovingly, and repeat.

Heat yr oil in a big ole pan on medium heat. Cook each patty for a couple of minutes on each side, until the outsides are golden brown and holy shit, that looks good, you guys! You're fucking doing it!

And guess what? You did it. You made salmon cakes, which are super fucking chic to serve to guests with a little aioli if you're into that sort of thing. I wish I had a picture of the finished product for you, but every time I make these, I end up eating them instead of photographing them, which is how you know they're good. Plus, I am not a food blogger and therefore am shit at remembering to take photos of you know, the food.

Enjoy, babes!

Treat yr face, nerds.

Y'ALL. I am here to change yr damn lives today. This shit right here? Fucking magic potion.

Garnier Ultra-Lift Miracle Sleeping Cream Anti-Age + Anti-Fatigue Night Cream is the longest and most pretentious name for a product but I'm more than happy to overlook that shit because YOU GUYS. Does your skin ever get dry? Or kinda sad and tired looking? Or discolored and red and stressed? Because mine does, despite my insistence on at least 9-10 hours of sleep every night, drinking a shit load of water, and a veg-heavy diet. This shit is what keeps me sane, and was the first toiletry I packed for a year abroad, even before my toothbrush. And you guys? I really love brushing my teeth. Teeth are the best friends you can have.

It's a tad expensive for my broke=ass budget, but you need the tiniest amount, so one jar will last you approximately forever. My skiseriously drinks this shit up every night, and thanks me every morning. Gone are the days of flaky dry spots and red spots brought on by stress (though quitting my job also helped with that one).

Fucking love this shit, 10,000+ points on the Wit & Shit Scale. Treat your face, idiots.

thatwhitebitch

On the Shit No Travel Blog Ever Talks About

I have a lot of things I’d like to write about, kept neatly in a notebook I carry with me, and in an ever-growing Note on my phone. But I don’t write. I never write.

I’m in New Zealand, a place I dreamed of moving to for years and years and years until I finally bought a one-way flight and left office life, and New Orleans, and Baltimore, behind me. So here I am. So here I’ve been, for 2 weeks. Not miserable, but certainly not happy. Lonely to the core (though this is no different, and no worse, than in the states, just more pronounced for the lack of distraction in the form of friends). Tired, all the time, despite plenty of sleep.

Something about the last few weeks, and, more realistically, the last few years, has drained me thoroughly, leaving me feeling devoid of personality or interesting thoughts . I think I used to be funny, at least to myself and to those closest to me? Now just typing that sentence makes me cry. I cry over everything now, but never for more than a second, and the tears never actually come out. Maybe when they did the cataract surgeries they poked and prodded my tear ducts something fierce, and that’s all it is.

It’s a strange feeling to be so far away from anyone who knows or cares about you. I’ve traveled before, and there’s always a tough transition, but it feels different now, to be doing it completely alone, without the built-in support of a single friend, a study program, a travel group. I feel invisible, and inconsequential. It’s an odd feeling to know that no one, for thousands of miles, has any investment in your well-being. Something I didn’t consider before boarding a plane, though I might have known.

Solo travel is, I imagine, difficult even for the most well-adjusted among us. Adding anxiety, deep-rooted loneliness (stop getting engaged, friends, okay? I’m happy for you but if I have to hear about one more fucking proposal I am going to light every ocean on this planet on fire), and good, old fashioned depression, to the mix was bound to lead to stress and exhaustion.

It will get better. I’m by no means in a state of despair, or even really depressed. Leaving Auckland will be good, and finding a home base will be good, even if it’s not happening until late January. I’ll see the things I have been wanting to see for forever, and I’ll be in the sun (with plenty of sunscreen, duh- this hole in the Ozone above NZ thing is NOT GREAT for my delicate jew skin), and I’ll probably meet at least one kind and interesting person. That seems like a reasonable and achievable goal.

There is no real point to this, except to say: travel is not all butterflies and beautiful views (though I did work for a week on a butterfly farm, and the views are pretty great, even in Auckland). But hopefully, I’ll at least be able to start writing, and remember what my voice sounds like.

#travel shit