Torture and the Sea

As many of you, my family, friends, fans, and stans may know, I’m Catholic. And with this being the season of Lent, there were some sacrifices that Sister Aidan and all the other nuns in my life taught me to make. So in an effort to be an overall healthier me, I gave up meat and hired a personal trainer. The whole give up meat thing wasn’t that much of a sacrifice I must admit. I love seafood so eating various types of fish and other ocean crustaceans almost daily has been quite enjoyable. This has also forced me to cook more. I actually enjoy cooking but never make the time to. Now I’m making pretty flavorful think outside the box I should be cooking on TV kind of dishes. Steamed, grilled, broiled, stuffed, baked, pan seared. You name it. Except fried (hello, I did mention a healthier me….hahahaha). Marinades, salsas, reductions, oh my! I’ve made them all over the past couple of weeks. I thought about doing a recipe blog and share some of my Columbus-esque discoveries (like I know I’m not the first to discover stuffing a snapper with garlic cloves, fresh basil, onions, cilantro, sweet (not really) peppers and slices of mango but my palate discovered something new and in true Christopher Columbus fashion, I’m claiming it…hahahaha). While I contemplated the new direction this culinary creativity could take me in, I was reminded of one impeding factor: I don’t measure shit. Hahahahahhaa I only break out the measuring cups when I bake and that’s only because baking is really like science and even though my dad is a science teacher, I’m not science minded at all. But whenever I cook a meal, I just gather the ingredients I need and make it work. So I could tell you the ingredients I use but never how much. I’m also not methodical in how I put stuff together so my step by step directions may not work for everyone. I don’t need anyone suing me because they burnt down their kitchen following my recipe. Hahahahaah (By the way, I’ve never burned down a kitchen. I just needed to clarify that.)

My second undertaking of this Lenten Season really deserves a blog all by itself. My adventures with Terrorist X. That’s not just a blog name. It’s actually what I call my personal trainer. I used to work out semi-regularly but I had to quit going to that gym. So I recently upgraded and joined a new gym, and needed something to kick my ghetto bootay into high gear. In comes Terrorist X. He and his wife are really good friends of mine and unlike my first trainer, he is actually serious about this ish. During our talks about my fitness goals I told him I never want to be a gym rat where all I do is talk gym, workouts, protein shakes, and more gym. However, I don’t want to be one of those who say “yeah back in my twenties, girrrrrrrl, you couldn’t tell me I wasn’t shaped like Beyonce” but now I’m looking like Madea. Aww hell to da naw! I told him that I still want to look like a girl, meaning I don’t want a hard bodybuilder, muscles for boobs, bench pressing beemers type of body. I want to maintain my womanly curves, my assets if you will. And thus began what I can only describe as torture. He is killing me and not softly either. After a recent workout I updated my Facebook status to say: “whoever said no pain no gain, can kiss my a$$”. Hahahahaha Yeah yeah yeah, I know its all worth it and I will soon have than slamming centerfold body (without the fake boobies sitting up high on my chest) but damn it, this is H.A.R.D W.O.R.K. And usually, I’m all about the lesson in the journey, but sheeeeiiiiiiiit I just want the final destination lesson this time around. Is there anything wrong with that???