Picky Eater

The other night I tried Ethiopian food for the very first time at a small cafe near ASU (Arizona State University, for you foreigners). I don't usually consider myself a picky eater, but most people would probably say that I am. I can't help it that my Scandinavian taste buds hurt just by hearing phrases such as "red hot chili peppers" or "medium salsa." So anyway, I went with 3 other girls and we ordered beef, chicken, and vegetables. The food is served on a big piece of injera (pronounced in-jeer-ah), which is a crepe-like sourdough-tasting bread (I didn't like the smell of it), with the meat in the middle and vegetables surrounding it. You also get a basket of smaller rolled-up pieces of injera, which are used as your silverware. Tear off a piece of injera the size of your palm, scoop up some food off the main platter and eat it all.

OK, so the eating with my fingers I can do. I've been doing that with all types of food for quite some time now; it's only right that I be able to do it in a public place and without my mother telling me to grow up. The problem was with the taste of the food. It wasn't overwhelmingly spicy, but it just had an odd taste. No, wait. It was the smell and texture that bothered me more than anything. I basically tried 3 of the 5 vegetable globs and determined that I would be better off sticking to the beef. I ate enough to be polite and let the others take home the leftovers.

To sum up my feelings toward Ethiopian food, let me just say this: if I were to move to Ethiopia, I would lose 10 pounds....the first week.

Joe Mamma

Yesterday I wore my Joe Mamma shirt (for those of you unfamiliar with it, it is a green shirt with "JOE" written in yellow across the front and "MAMMA" written in yellow across the back) to Best Buy. My studies have shown that this is quite possibly my most popular item of clothing. Every time I wear it, someone (usually a complete stranger) comments on it. Yesterday was no exception. One guy, who appeared to be in his late teens or early 20's, said to me, "Hey, that shirt has my name on it!" I replied with, "Your name is Mamma?" He laughed, blushed, hung his head and said, "Very funny. My name is Joe." I smirked and kept walking.

In the beginning...

In yet another attempt to conform to those nearest and dearest to me, I have started a blog. I know this excites most, if not all, of you. I can't promise that I will update this often. However, when I do post, the subject matter will probably be an amusing or awkward story from the chaos I call my life.

Stay tuned!!!