Tag Archives: personal

Chicken Burritos

At Casa Christel, we love burritos of almost any kind. So tonight I’m sharing our dinner…













1 lb. boneless, skinless chicken thighs, diced

4 flour tortillas, burrito  size

1/2 c. diced red onion

1 small can green chiles

Rice-A-Roni chicken flavor

1/2 env. taco seasoning

1 can black beans

1 small tomato, chopped

2 green onions,chopped

Now that the ingredients are out of the way…saute your chicken with a little oil or butter for a few minutes.

Add the red onion.

Throw the rice in there, and let it brown. Mostly you just follow the directions on the package, adding your own stuff.

Add the water & spice packet from the box of rice, and the taco seasoning.

Add the green chiles & black beans.

Cover & cook on med-low for 17 minutes.

Go smoke, have a beer, whatever…

It smells pretty good in your house now…

Grate up some cheese if you want…

When the chicken/rice stuff is done, squirt lime juice on it. Yum…

Viola! Burritos!

Garnish with the tomato & green onion.

Add some salsa & sour cream.

I’ve got salsa from The Original Taco House, and Daisy sour cream.

I like Daisy. There’s always random saying on the label inside.

Anyway…enjoy. Now I’m starving and have to go eat! ūüôā



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Filed under recipes


life sets

like sunsets

chasing dreams


my love

my nights

where life

can be

more ordinary






lies like grass


under my feet


all the lies


what I’m feeling



Filed under Poetry



I spend my time

swimming inside my head



away this sadness


Loathe this perfect

life I will never have

and I spy


a longing to

wish upon stars



to keep these

memories  from

seeping into my


I seek





and wait patiently


hoping for tomorrow


Filed under Poetry


caught between

screen and glass

truth and lies

denial of self

banging on my window pane

remorse breathes steam

in dreams

as I draw designs

making marks

slicing into soul






that drip



blinking down

and in that brief moment

before they disperse into air


I see


visions of the future

I have not yet attained


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Filed under Poetry

beind these eyes

I long to breathe you in

a moment

a pause

in the universe

where our time is

not so rushed,

this starving,

breathless desire.


I long for brief

respite from repetitive


mind wandering

waiting patiently

for my never-ending


eyes of fire.


I long for hours


an envelope

of quiet

lips, tongues

trailing down

into this void



one with you.


Filed under Poetry

God is a woman

A.K.A. Gender stereotypes and the construction of Self.

WARNING: This is a post where I get all smart and bookish and feministy…continue if you will…

Originally, this post was inspired by Christina Vincent‘s shared link on Facebook, entitled “Gender stereotypes easing more for girls than boys.” by David Crary. Click it. Read it. This is the easy part…

I knew from the get-go that there was a blog post for me in there. So, I braved the allergies, and dug out all my old papers and references from my college Literary Criticism and Theory class, and did a bit of research. Plus, I found a bunch of poetry from 1994, so that alone was worth it?!

English 419 was my favorite class in my four-year stint at UO. In fact, I loved it so much, I took it twice?!

Okay, so I flailed miserably the first time around, and retook the class the following year, receiving a much higher¬†grade. This was the only course I took twice during college. Apparently, taking a split Undergrad/Graduate course as a sophomore is not recommended. I agree. It was too soon the first time around, and I was still in the “Omigod, let’s party!” mode…..such is the life of the undergrad. My professor, Linda Kintz, was my mentor. I learned more from her than anyone else in the whole four years?!¬†I’m positive she has no freaking clue who I am, but still…

I have always found that it’s the teachers who tormented forced believed in your mental abilities to be the most inspirational. For example, my senior year of high school, I had the most gruesome AP English teacher, whom we all despised. But now I look back at him as an inspiration for what I’ve become. He was a complete¬†jerky-pants, but he made me think, gave me the classical base I’d need to eventually study English in college, and subsequently graduate with a BA in English Lit.

I saw him on the bus a few years ago, and thanked him.

He had no freaking clue who I was…… ūüėČ

Alas, I digress…..

My point, originally, was that this article about gender stereotypes reminded me of a classroom experiment we did in English 419, regarding gender stereotypes in males versus females. There was a brief questionnaire¬†(about 10 questions) in which we were asked generic questions and our answers where then lumped into categories of male or female. For example, one question was whether or not you wear nylons….

And I can’t believe I just gave myself allergies again, and can’t find the damn questions?!

However, I did find a questionnaire about heterosexual stereotypes, but that’s another post altogether. ūüėČ

Have I mentioned that I minored in Women’s Studies, as well as Creative Writing? Unfortunately, there were no minors actually given at the time I went to college, so I guess more¬†of an¬†emphasis than a minor….


I¬†answered all the questions with the stereotypical¬†male answers…

Dudes…I’m a chick.

But apparently not a girlie-girl. Or perhaps¬†I just hate nylons?¬†I’m okay with that. In fact, I’m more than okay. I embrace it.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not all feminist-head-bashing-assholey¬†about it. I just believe that EVERYONE, no matter what sex you are conceived as, has a right to make their own choices about life, love, and pretty much anything. Except killing people.

Apparently, they haven’t legalized that yet. ūüėČ

But here’s the odd part: everyone in the class fell on both sides of the gender spectrum, regardless of their physical sex.

I thought the jocks were gonna shit themselves. Which made me wonder just what the hell they were doing in that class?!

So to say that gender is somehow ingrained in our collective psyche seems ridiculous. Of course gender is constructed?! It’s the old Nature versus Nurture question.

I always said that if I ever had kids (not gonna happen), or more appropriately, sons, that they’d probably end up gay. Because I don’t care. I’ll let them play with dolls, wear nail polish, and just generally do whatever they want. They’re kids?! At that stage of development, society does NOT need to be making judgements or attempting to rationalize…simply leave them be to grow up however they would like. Easier said than done.

Personally, I always wanted Legos. I got Barbie.

The world is full of stereotypes. I’m just happy that I live in a country where it is permitted for me to express my thoughts, without risking a lot.

I’m a feminist. And no, not a head-bashing feminist. An educated one.

Apparently so:

  • I hate nylons.
  • I enjoy porn.
  • I’d rather shoot the shit with the guys and chug beer than go shopping with the girls.
  • Sometimes, I like to dress up and feel pretty.
  • I wear make-up. Not that I wouldn’t leave the house without it…
  • I walk into bars and drink by myself.

Speaking of……the alone-drinking-thing…

Years ago, I had a male friend (Chad) tell me that because I readily walked into bars solo and engaged people in conversations, that I was basically “asking for it”.

Um yeah…….I didn’t speak to him for months. And even later, never truly respected the man again. But honestly, this gender-based construct is everywhere?! Granted, the bias is more reticent with an older generation of males, but it’s still there, even in the younger crowd.

I know…they hit on me.

They don’t get very far…

And if they’re lucky, I don’t punch them in the nose…

Ugh…seriously. That shit pisses me the fuck off. What gives some jackass-douchebag the right to ask me why I would sit at a bar alone drinking, when they are doing the same thing themselves?!

Talk about stereotypes?!

And on that note, I will leave you with a video of kick-ass girl proportions and short shorts. Cuz I can.

Blainey, this is your ringtone. Cuz you’re my fist-bumping chick friend. ūüôā

So go ye forth¬†and purchase¬†Legos¬†and Barbies. Just give them to the opposite child. See what happens…

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Filed under Blogs 2011


I feel

no poetry


sex & smokes

my love

of the sadistic

satanic side

I feel

no guilt


this lust


me & myself


Filed under Poetry

conversations over coffee


I hate you

for dating stupid women

I hate

the way you smile now

I hate

your small-talk at me

in my face

I hate

that bedroom voice


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Filed under Poetry

21: A Guest Post by my Mom

In honor of Mother’s Day, I am posting a poem written by my mother, for my twenty-first birthday.

Twenty-one, yet I remember . . .

Holding five pounds of a newborn miracle

who could barely drink 4 ounces of fluid at one time.


Twenty-one, yet I remember . . .

A one-year-old’s Easter birthday,

sitting on her new rocker (just like mommy’s)

and sliding off onto the floor,

because of a wet diaper!


Twenty-one, yet I remember . . .

A two-year-old, whose daddy just left

and who decided to forego her potty chair

and remain in the security of being a “baby”

just a little longer . . .


Twenty-one, yet I remember . . .

A jubilant three-year old emerging from her room

like a butterfly from a cocoon,

decked out in every color of clothing she had,

announcing “I’m a rainbow!”


Twenty-one, yet I remember . . .

A four-year-old who had to have explained to her

that Jim was mommy’s boyfriend, not hers.

Who also asked, when Jim ate his first meal with us,

“Are you going to marry my mommy?”


Twenty-one, yet I remember . . .

On her fifth birthday, on our way to Day Care

asking me, “Am I big now, Mommy?”

I responded, “Yes, I believe you are.”

Her acknowledgment that “I knew it, I felt big.”


Twenty-one, yet I remember . . .

My tiny, little, vulnerable six-year-old girl

traveling by plane, alone, to Connecticut

to visit her dad . . . and, me, pacing all day

until I heard that she arrived safely.


Twenty-one, yet I remember . . .

The trauma for a seven-year-old losing your first tooth,

but the joy of a visit from the “tooth-fairy.”


Twenty-one, yet I remember . . .

When she was eight, almost nine . . .

wondering why she couldn’t go along

on Jim and my honeymoon.


Twenty-one, yet I remember . . .

My nine-year-old becoming a “ballerina”

and trying to teach me a “grande pli√©” with

disastrous, yet hilarious, results!


Twenty-one, yet I remember . . .

My ten-year-old, who, on her birthday,

found our ten month old kitten, hit by a car

and dead on the roadside, while walking home from school.

We had a family funeral for Sydney before we had

her less-than-enthusiastic birthday party.


Twenty-one, yet I remember . . .

At eleven-years-old, your enthusiastic desire

to learn how to play a flute, and

practicing often, without any reminders~


Twenty-one, yet I remember . . .

Being twelve-years-old, in the sixth grade

and your teacher saying you were bored often

because you were so bright the other children

weren’t learning fast enough to keep up with you.

That same teacher held auctions several times each year

where you could bid on items with earned “money”

from good school work.


Twenty-one, yet I remember . . .

The challenges of having a teenager,

watching you adjusting to middle school,

your wanting to fit in and wear make-up

and doing some acting out to make a statement.


Twenty-one, yet I remember . . .

My fourteen-year-old, in your last year of ballet,

injuring your knee cap and having to wear a

full-leg cast to keep your leg immobile!


Twenty-one, yet I remember . . .

At fifteen-years-old, in the ninth grade,

being in the Marching Band at Parkrose High School,

playing the flute and the piccolo, at times.

That summer, you even taught yourself how to play my clarinet.

Music was so natural and absorbing to you.


Twenty-one, yet I remember . . .

You, at age sixteen and a sophomore,

surprising your parents by getting accepted into

the “Honors Program.”¬† Finally, classes that could

challenge your bright intellect!


Twenty-one, yet I remember . . .

Your being seventeen, a junior in high school,

having gone to Guatemala that past summer and

the impact of this trip on your life and on your

cultural awareness and the bonding with friends

and leaders in the Resurrection Youth Group.


Twenty-one, yet I remember . . .

The blessings and curses of your being a senior and working at McDonalds.

Good for developing a work ethic, bad for developing a smoking habit.

The pride of seeing you, with the Class of ’93, march across the stage

to receive your diploma . . . at my alma mater!  And . . your typical, yet refreshing,

individualism in ordering, for the ceremony,¬† the (men’s) green robe instead of

the traditional (women’s) white robe!


Twenty-one, yet I remember . . .

Sending you off to your first year of college,

seeing your joy, enthusiasm and vision of the future

contrasted with my emptiness and my child-shaped hole

left in my heart.


Twenty-one, yet I remember . . .

The difficult summer and sophomore year it must have been

for you to loose first your grandpa (7/4/94), and then

your grandma (3/6/95), two people who were very much a part

of your daily life as you were growing up.  Yet, I saw

your sense of family ties growing.  Through their deaths,

you gained a new understanding of how precious your family ties are.


Twenty-one, . . . I can’t believe it!

As you probably have figured out, twenty-one is a milestone

in some regards, but in other ways, it’s just another birthday as you

travel on your journey through life.¬† You don’t magically become

an adult, more responsible, more mature, richer, wiser . . .  

Life is a journey, sometimes growing step-by-step, sometimes by leaps and bounds.


And, thankfully, Christel, we are all on the journey together, helping each other out, holding each other up!  Happy traveling, Happy birthday, Christel!

Love you with all my heart,




Filed under Poetry



straight line

down the line

I find


in concrete cracks

of sunlight

through storms

in the night

never tonight

in this twilight

of memory


Filed under Poetry