Spicy

Once upon a time there was a girl who loved to eat Mexican food, especially the hot and spicy, I-need-a-glass-of-milk, type of cuisine. This self-same girl loved to talk, listen to music, and bop around the kitchen while she cooked, thus was somewhat distracted at all times, which may or may not be the reason for the misfortune of this story.

As the girl and her parents sat down to enjoy the extremely colorful and delicious meal, a dull burn began to irritate the young ladies' hand. "Ahh, I think some of the jalapeño got on my hand while I was cooking, but I don't understand why my hand is burning." She said, nonchalantly...Hmm.

As the evening continued the young lady started a running commentary about the increasing acuteness of the burning sensation in her hand. As it turned out, during the course of preparing the meal, this bold girl, had used her bare hands, not only to cut said spicy pepper, but also to scoop it into the pot of delicious goodness.

Needless to say her burn tolerance level was quickly breached, and it was time to begin web-searching the best remedies for "Jalapeño hand."The first remedy to pop up was of course milk, or dairy products, however, this unfortunate spicy chica is allergic to dairy, thus alternative solutions had to be found.

Remedy #1 : Olive Oil.

Pros: Offers momentary relief. Cons: The oil actually seems to spread the jalapeño oils further and deeper into the skin.

Remedy #2: Lemon Juice and Coconut Lotion.

Pros: The acidity in the lemon juice relieves the burn while it's being squirted on. Cons: Never try to use any kind of lotion!! The oily creaminess rubs in and locks in the burn!!!

Remedy #3: Dairy (We finally succumbed!)

Pros: Very relieving while soaking. Cons: Does not take the pain away, only slightly dulls it.

Remedy #4: Cup of Ice

Pros: Very soothing. Cons: Very Cold!

Remedy #5: Alcohol/Vodka

Pros: Very effective in extracting oils dulling, and relieving pain. Cons: Expensive!

So there you have it, alcohol does the trick, imagine that!
Honorable mention also goes to this site jalapenomadness.com for it's wisdom on jalapeño remedies.
As well as to Ibuprofen, which was administered, yet not shown in this list.

It's been awhile

I am not the best blogger, sorry guys! Since I last updated we have harvested Clancy, she did indeed yield yummy tomatoes!

 Three awesome ones!

 Looky!

Juicy!

Clancy still resides on our back porch, and due to our un-green-thumbness, she has kind of taken over her little corner of the deck, but at least she is happy and healthy in the new rainy season that has truly moved in overnight! Seriously, Portland has seemed to go straight from summer to winter, at least for these tropical weather girls! It was really overnight that I went from sleeping with my window open to sleeping in boots. (True story!) I am still surprised to find breaks in the rain though, when the sun breaks through for ten minutes, I smile and think it's all for me!

Yellow

So there seems to be a trend here, we are girls and we often have car trouble, but because we like to laugh in the tough moments, and aren't afraid to embarrass ourselves on the world-wide-web, here is another entertaining scene from the lives of Sav and Jo.

Today was a peaceful day off. Jo and I decided to treat ourselves to sushi and a bit of retail therapy. After our shopping we headed home, looking forward to a lazy evening of movies. We were cruising down the highway, when suddenly my car, which I have named Asher, stalled so I coasted him to the curb. I called my insurance to set up a tow, and got the full rigamarole of questions. Are you with your car and are you safe? What is your insurance number? What is your phone number? Where are you? What is the year, make and model of your car? Once we got that taken care of, I was told it would be an hour before a tow truck could make it to me.

So as not to be helpless women, Jo and I called our resources and troubleshooted, trying to get Asher to restart, while waiting for the tow truck. After fifteen minutes he started so off we drove, once again heading home. One thing you must know about Asher is that although he is a great car, he has his quirks. For example, Asher's fuel gage does not work right, and so when I fill him up, he tells me he is still hungry, only half full. The problem is worse, in that he will not tell me when he is empty until he is dead empty!

Now we are cruising along again, about four miles from home, and once again Asher dies. So for a second time I call my insurance. I had just canceled the tow, and so we had to start the conversation over, with a new insurance agent firing off the questions. I was trying to answer the questions with confidence, although, having moved only three months ago, I was a bit unsure of where we were exactly. But the questions were raining down and I was trying my best to keep up. After asking me the year, make and model of my car, she asked me it's color, to which I answered with a resounding, "Yellow!" and then followed up with, "...I mean white, my car is white."

And here is where I, Jo, put my two cents in.  From the moment Sav first pulled the car over I tried to be both quiet and calm. Having been the one in the drivers seat for previous such car debacles  (as you may remember from past blogs) I understood the stress and utter frustration of the moment. The difference between my dear roommate and I is that in such situations I will stomp my foot in true temper tantrum fashion and most definitely shed a tear or two, Sav on the other hand will go with the flow and inevitably find a way to make me laugh. As I sat in the passenger seat trying to quietly listen to Sav answer  20 questions from the insurance agency for a second round, the word "yellow!" proclaimed from Sav with such certainty as we sat in her very much so White car made any and all composure slip out the window. Yet again I was brought to tears over the hood of a car and Sav had to tell the insurance agent the reason she could not answer any further questions was because she was too busy laughing over thinking her car was yellow. Have you ever seen one of those shows where a person is asked a series of rapidly fired questions and is told to answer with the first thought that comes to mind? After this latest round of car hooligans I have concluded that Sav secretly wishes her car was yellow, and so after miraculously getting the car to start for a second time, canceling the tow truck yet again and a few gallons of gas later. I am contemplating stopping for a few cans of  yellow spray paint.

Next time you need to find dear Sav and I seek us out at the end of the Oregon trail where we may just be pulled off on the side of the road mechanics, high heeled, and comedians to boot.

Notorious

This story is long overdue, but because you have been patient, and because I don't want to spoil it, I will just say, read it to the end, it will be worth your time!

On a weekend, not too long ago, Jo and I decided to travel to the Oregon coast. I have lived a majority of my life near the ocean, however, the ocean fronts I have lived by have always been tropical, and the weather very hot and humid. I am accustomed to long white sandy beaches, warm sand and ocean view as far as the eye can see, and thus I was excited to see the mystical Monoliths of the Western coast. You see for weeks leading up to my epic, across-the-country move, I had been following beach trips of my Oregonian friends on Instagram. Inevitably in the back ground of every photo, there was a unique rock formation towering over the person in the photo. This was the Oregon coast in my mind.

Now back to my story. Jo and I set out on our adventure on a blissful sunny day. We drove through the farmlands and made a stop at the legendary cheese factory in Tillamook. There Jo (a native of Washington) introduced me to the glories of Northwest dairy products. After filling my belly with creamy cheesiness, we drove forward to the scenic Three Capes Scenic Loop. Windows down, and ghetto stereo blaring, we arrived at our first stop, Cape Meares Lighthouse.

This was my first glimpse of the Oregon coast, and so with great gusto I grabbed my camera, and rushed out of the car, ready for some photographic action. Then, bam! I was met with a chilling breeze that did not agree with my shorts and tank-top ensemble. Eager to get to the sweeping views, I rushed back to the car and retrieved my jacket, deciding on second thought to leave my bag, so as not to drag me down.

We dutifully stopped at each viewpoint, checking out the friendly park ranger's telescope to see the bird life here, walking around the lighthouse lobby there, taking photos of the coast, and small rock formations over there, and then eager to continue our quest of the the Monoliths, we headed back to the car: Cue nervous laughter. Jo gave me a quizzical look and tentatively asked, "Did you lock your keys in the car?" Cue my mind rushing ten hours ahead to a scene of, "Puff the Magic Dragon," with Jo and I stranded on the cape during a terrible storm, housing up in the lighthouse shack, trying to stay warm.

"Um, yep! Maybe someone here will have a hanger?" We commenced our search, blanketing the neighboring RV owners, and motorists, only to find heads shaking at my stupidity, and lost-in-translation moments from visiting tourists. After our last ditch effort at the lighthouse gift shop, and Jo's insistence that I would get arrested if I destroyed the chain link fence, we sat down beside the walkway, in the only spot of cellphone reception in the park. We pretended that we were just sunbathing, but that did not fly with the nosy cape-patrens who kept asking, "Are you ok? Did you fall?" Nope, we are just the weirdos who like to sunbathe by the port-a-pottys, nothing to be seen here! Just waiting on the nearest lock-smith to trek an hour out of the way to let us back into our car, nothing out of the ordinary!

Finally our help arrived in the form of a bearded savior. It ended up being a quick fix, but we became the main attraction of the cape, as bystanders came and observed the lock-smithing procedure as if we were the viewpoint they had come to see. Needless to say, we had a good long view of the cape, and decided to head onward to our beach goal, as soon as keys were in hand. Forget about the rest of our "scenic" route, we were ready for the sand between-our-toes!

Now back to my quest to find the Monoliths. As I drove down the coast, I quizzed Jo as to where we might find these mythical formations. You see, she had told me she had camped on this very coast several years ago, and thus was my only link to coastal knowledge. (My dear i-phone had no connection, and so we were back to the dark ages as far as directions go.) We were headed towards Cannon Beach, which Jo informed me was known for it's sand-dunes. "But do they have giant rock formations on the beach?" I asked. "I don't remember," she replied, "but there are rock formations like that all along the Oregon coast."

This did not bode well with my odds I thought, and my internal monolog sounded allot like this, "With my luck today, we will drive right by the beaches with the formations, and end up at a flat beach, that is like a cold version of any beach I have ever seen." But I felt bad because we were running way late getting to the beach, and it was my fault, and so I came to terms with the fact that this time around, I would miss the Monoliths.

After a short stop in Wheeler, a quaint coastal town with awesome antique shops, we finally made it to our destination, Cannon Beach! We were so excited, but in need of some major caffeine, and so after finding an open coffee shop, (quite a hard thing a 6pm) we finally walked out onto the beach. I was still coming to terms with the fact that I had missed the Monoliths, but then I saw some off in the distance, way off in the distance, and across a stream of water, that proved to be too deep and too cold to cross in my skinny jeans. 

Oh well. Next time. Let's just enjoy the beach. But then to my great delight, I saw it, Haystack Rock. (What I now know to be the most iconic symbol of the Oregon coastline.) My dreams were complete, my day was redeemed, and Jo's I-told-you-so moment was supreme. 

Reviving

I know you are all hanging on the edge of your seats to see how Clancy is doing. Thank you for all the "Get Well Soon," cards and the well wishes. (Just kidding, but really we did get some.) After a few days of giving up on Clancy, she surprised us and produced fruit. What?! Check your dictionaries, a tomato is a fruit. So today I decided that Clancy deserved a new home, and some nourishment. I trekked right over to the local garden store and bought her a bigger pot and some soil.

While waiting in line, I asked the kindly old lady behind me if she thought I picked a good soil for tomatoes. (She was carrying several herbal plants and got praise from the cashier for snagging the last of the what-and-what that she was holding.) Of course I had overlooked the pricey organic soil, for the cheaper, but double the quantity, Miracle Grow. She gave me a kind but knowing look and said, that it would do fine, but that I should get some special tomato Miracle grow to apply once a week. Then she went on to add that I needed to insure to water my tomato plant daily since it was a potted plant. (I swear she can read minds!)

So now in her new pot, still sporting a weakened stalk and a deep stick-like gash, Clancy sits all pruned and pretty in her new home. Maybe now she will forgive us and produce some juicy plump tomatoes, or maybe she will keel over from the weight of them, and leave the pot to the next doomed shrub, only time will tell...

The Story of Clancy

I cannot believe we have officially been here for two weeks. Some days it seems like we have lived here longer, and other days it seems like we arrived yesterday.

When we arrived, we made it our first line of business to furnish our apartment, however, we quickly found out that the cost of furnishing far outweighed the money we had in the bank. We also quickly deduced that, while there are awesome deals on Craigslist, most require self-pickup with something that involves a truck or hauling vehicle that we do not have. However, we did not allow this small deterrent to keep us from Saturday morning garage-saling.

Our fist Saturday here was bright and sunny, perfect weather for scavenging. We bopped around our neck-of-the-woods, finding odds and ends at really good rates, but nothing to write home about. (Oh wait that's kind of what I am doing!)

By the end of the day we had only spent $10.95, but we each had our favorite finds. My treasure of the day was a $4 shelf with a chicken wire screen ,very Pintrest-esque. (A future staining project that I will most likely post very soon.) Jo's find of the day was her $3 beloved Tomato plant, which for all means and purposes shall be named "Clancy."

We were very excited about the prospects of having our own ripe tomatoes, our own green-thumb herb garden on our deck, the beginnings of self-sustained urban-hood. Jo even discussed her father's tomato growing prowess, and vowed to get his wisdom before transplanting Clancy. Jo placed Clancy on our sunny deck, and after watering her, decided to place her on the railing so as not to drip through to our unsuspecting neighbors.

A few days later I remembered Clancy, and wanting to be a faithful green-thumb, inquired on her watering schedule. Jo explained that she had watered often, and with the daily rains, had not worried about it for the last few days. She then walked onto the deck and suddenly reappeared in the doorway, and with look of distress on her face said, "It's gone! Someone has stolen my tomato plant!"

Yes, it is quite logical to think that someone would break into our house, or shimmy a whole floor to our upper-deck, just to steal a priceless plant such as Clancy. What other explanation would there be to her disappearance?

Jo here - as painful as it is I will relive the moment I lost my dear Clancy. Ready to water my future of endless pizza sauce, pasta sauce, and salad fixing tomato goodness, I went to the porch rail where last I'd placed my Clancy. Seeing the rail empty my first thought was that I had left Clancy to the rain and she had ran away from me. Assuming she plummeted 15 feet to the ground I peered over the rail thinking I would see the remains of Clancy's carcass. Close but no Cigar, the ground below the porch was empty. Where had Clancy gone and what had happened to her? (Dun...Dun...Dun.)

After an evening walk, and a great discussion as to Clancy's whereabouts (Jo- my favorite theory being that our downstair neighbors highlighted as masked tomato bandits), we decided to investigate around our neighbors deck, just in case Clancy did indeed join the ground floor shrubbery. We looked for a few minutes and then suddenly we saw her.

The sad demise of Clancy the tomato plant. She must have been blown off the rail, plummeted to the ground below, and then kindly propped up by the building in the shade, by our friendly non-bandit like neighbors below.

So now we are hoping to revive poor Clancy, she is now keeled over, and looks beyond repair, but if there are any true green-thumbs out there, who have a plan to resuscitate Clancy, your horticultural insight would be invaluable. 

The Dredging

“We have arrived! Adulthood here we are!” Jo and I, well at least I muse every waking moment since landing my feet here at, “The End of The Oregon Trail.” (To be said in sing-song voice of course.) But my rose-colored glasses were very quickly stripped off to reveal the true state of adulthood.

Day one started with promise, Jo had a job interview, and I had an internet date to find a car. Now, just let it be said that coffee is essential to life, and good coffee makes the world go round. So naturally my internet location of choice was at a coffee shop, and consequently, at a coffee shop that would soon be my place of employment.

We arrived at said location with plenty of time for Jo to make her interview, only one problem, the engine light was on. So Jo, maybe not so cool headed at the time, raced to the trunk of the car to get extra oil, commenting only that she had found the “red cap!” I tried, in the twenty seconds that she was behind the car to read the labels, but alas they were in Japanese (Hondas!). Funnel in place, and oil in hand, Jo poured in a fury, racing the clock to insure a timely arrival at her interview. Oil immediately began to flow and gurgle out of the funnel, all over the engine. “$&***! What do I do?” Jo pleaded with eyes wide. “Well it shouldn’t have overflowed if the oil was low,” I deduced, eyes still scanning the car. Suddenly it all became clear, I found what I had been sub-consciously looking for, a dull black cap that read O-I-L.

“I think you just poured oil into the power steering,” I said. “F***!!” Jo exclaimed. (We don’t usually use this language, but you see, it was a dire situation, the kind you see in the saddest part of movies when everything is going wrong, and then it rains.) Welcome to the Pacific Northwest, because at that moment it did start to rain.

Jo here – It’s important to know that in that moment I felt defined by my stupidity and quite frankly my not so long blonde locks. With my yellow strands of hair screaming to the world around me, “Oops, my bad,” and hood propped open in front of the grocery store, I sadly called to cancel my interview, a thirty-minute impossible car ride away.

Next on the call list was the big brother, 276.8 miles from where I stood. Amidst the laughter I heard orders to walk across the street to the beacon of hope called, “The Auto Store.” Popular opinion was that my blonde due and Sav’s innocent blue eyes would garner sympathy and a few ounces of chivalry on our behalf.

The Auto Store proved to be a little less fruitful than we had hoped. After a few cringes at the pronouncement of what I had done, we were told to buy a turkey baster (a turkey baster? Really? Sav and I exchange a look half horror/half amusement) and prepared to hunker down in the parking lot for the long haul. It would be dirty, it would be gross, and it would be time consuming. I looked down at my black stilettos, a few tears rolling down my cheeks. Welcome to adulthood, where growing up feels like making lots of mistakes and not being spared any of the consequences.


This is the moment where Sav offered the very wisest of advice, “We need coffee.” 


With the helpful input of brothers, fathers, the friendly strangers of Yahoo Answers, and a few jolts of caffeine we were spared the fate of the turkey baster and decided to become the two-girl wonder engine repair team.

Armed with high heels, pliers, and an oil pan we were able to empty the power steering reservoir, clean it out, and refill it. My favorite moment of this experience may have been before Sav discovered that we could remove the whole reservoir from the engine and we emptied the lethal power steering/oil combo one solitary ounce at a time, using a mystery bottle cap found in the trunk. At least you can’t call us un-resourceful.

I must admit that as a couple of men wandered near to investigate the two girls elbows deep in a Honda engine and a few random women called out, “You go girls,” I felt the empowerment of learning to take care of our own.

Back to Sav- So there you have it, we may not be the sharpest tools in the shed, but we do know how to dredge through tough times, find resources and carry on. (And after a few days of recovery, laugh and post to the world about our silly mistakes.)