Let it not be said I somehow stood in progress’ way

I did something I’ve been thinking of doing for quite some time. I started a recipe blog. Because, I don’t know how to quite describe it, but I don’t like cooking as much as I like making good food. Like the having an audience who praises the dish is as important as the skill it takes to make it. At least for me. But there’s officially two personal recipes on there. I’ve always really celebrated the odd fragments of my personality that somehow mainline it enough to make me seem usual, at least in one regard. But because of how I am, I’m not going to do something in front of people until I’m really good at it. So I’m only submitting recipes to the internet lexicon when I know they’re good and have made them personally at least three times.

Plus, I don’t know the exact deal with it, but my preparing of meals has always been something that’s meant a great deal to my husband and I. You obviously should pacify yourselves with food, but people do that all the time, so.

And also, I do so distinctly remember being told all of the time by my Grandma that I’d ‘make a good wife’ someday because I was so diligent about things about the house. Even my mother in law was telling me she was impressed at everything I did because sometimes people rebel against what they had to do when they were young. I guess my general survival instinct has always been to just go with whatever flow you have to to get by/get out. And that just really shows in certain aspects of my life. It’s not all bad though, because having a “well, it’s not like anyone else is ever going to do this…might as well do it myself.” sort of attitude is never a bad thing. Sometimes you feel like you’re everyone’s bitch, but other times you’re like….well, let it NOT be said I wasn’t willing meet everyone even more than halfway on things. Let it not be said that I was unwilling to do even more than my fair share. As a child, I tolerated a great deal more than my brother was ever expected to tolerate, even though he was a boy and three years older. It was strange, almost. But then it’s like why did they always coddle his horrid behavior? What possible favors did they think they were doing him? It’s like I got away from it because I was smarter than both of them, but unfortunately that wasn’t true of my brother. If I’d been the older sibling I might’ve been able to help him too. But maybe not. My best friend has a little sister I think 7 years younger than herself, and she feels like a nagging old harpie if she even begins to question anything her sister does, because that’s what their mom would do, I think.

So, I helped cook the meals when I was a kid, because it was kind of expected of me, and because I was like, well no one else is going to help mom (unless my Grandma were over, which was only on Sundays unless my mom had the day off work which happened two weekdays per month for most of my childhood). And when you’re cooking meals for yourself and assisting with meals for the family from a young age, you’re better at cooking than a lot of the people you know by the time you’re 18. When I was 18 I went to a 21 year old friend’s bridal shower. Among the gift she received was a trivet, and I’ll never forget her opening it and saying, “A trivet? What’s a trivet?” I almost laughed. I’d known what a trivet was since I was about 8.

So now that I’m perfecting recipes, I’m releasing them back into the wild. Like the catch and release fishing my brother used to so staunchly believe in. I’m sure he still does, but it’s not like he fishes anymore. By the time he was 18 he had an impressive fly fishing outfit, even better than what my dad had (my dad was sure to point that out a lot). But, the drug problems he was to have in the upcoming years would see to the selling off of all of his valuable possessions for heroin money. It would get really, really bad before it got better. And I don’t know how better 4 times a week methadone for a really long period of time (think years and counting) is, but that’s where that’s at. Not to mention he smokes enough weed to kill a horse, and that’s coming from me. I was into weed before he was. He totally copied me, like he always does.

But I don’t want to think I started ignoring my far more important blog for the sake of recipes. But also, I mean I’ve explained the high value I’ve placed on the normal aspects of my personality. I’m also lucky my general frame of mind makes me really complacent, because I feel like I’m playing the really long game, so it doesn’t matter that I’ve been broke af for years now, because at SOME point I’ll really unravel this whole writing thing and actually publish something and supplement my regular income and maybe somehow get out of this debt cycle. Or if not, at least have written something like I always thought I was meant to do.

Either way, I feel bad for the people who want to know about healthy chickpea salad and wind up reading some terrible childhood memory of mine, or vice versa. Although anyone could benefit from bean-heavy protein intake. It’s how I roll. I also so love that chickpeas have two really well known names. It’s how I want to be one day.

I’ve withdrawn as myself online and am establishing a presence as Cassie Stevens.

The full name, I shit you not – is:
Cassandra Santina Cooks Stevens
That’s the nom de plume I gave myself in the 4th grade. Okay, I added the Santina in the 8th grade when I was deeply obsessed with the novel The Godfather (Puzo) as the feminine version of Santino, who I thought was the best for some reason…
I changed from Cassandra to Cassie when I met two absolute cunts named Sandra, and didn’t want to accidentally remind myself. Plus, now I like Cassie a lot more.
I don’t remember where the Cooks and Stevens came from, other than I think I thought Cassandra Stevens sounded just like an author. And I agonized over whether it’d be one S or two in the first name. This was a serious deal to me, even two decades ago.
And it still is. Obviously. Sunday afternoon is the one time I have true free time. All of the work I’ve left for the weekend is complete, finally. There’s always so much and so little time, especially when you meal prep. It sounds nice in theory, but then you spend all of a day off standing in the kitchen and you’re like….could have been at a fucking beach…..

Although going to the beach is kind of tainted for me now. Because we went two times this year, in the middle and end of June it was. And both times were between when my husband fucked a stranger without telling me about it, either before or after, and had planned on keeping a secret forever and when I caught him. And the day I found out, that Thursday, July 20th, so fucking easy to remember because it’s exactly 3 months after my birthday and 6 days after our dating anniversary, we’d been texting about going to the beach a third time. So it really just seems like a revolting concept to me now. I remember being like wow we had such good days when we went there….and now I know it was him feeling appropriately guilty.

So I guess I’m sick of the summer at this point. Especially since I’m no longer biking or grilling outside. Both lose their novelty and you’re like this is probably more bad for me than anything.

Hope your weekend was grand

~Cass

Also, you know, in case you’re a gluten free vegan, or you just like healthy shit:

https://cassiecooksblog.wordpress.com/2017/08/13/supremely-perfect-chickpea-salad/

 

 

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