I joined Facebook mostly at the insistence of my friend Ange.  She’s a vivacious and curious person who gravitates towards connection and fun. At the time I didn’t know what was going on, and signed up because I thought she was inviting me to a party.

So, I joined Facebook, hacked together a profile, accepted and made friend requests, cyber-stalked the people who’d opted to only have sex with me once, and mostly took it all with a grain of salt.  It was a tool to stave off loneliness and keep myself from ordering expensive Schleich animals off of Amazon.

Yet it took hold.  It’s was easy.  It made me feel close to people I didn’t know very well.  People whose names I vaguely recalled, but whose faces I couldn’t remember, suddenly wanted to be friends. Several Chinese people messaged me, curious to know what I thought about modern architecture.  A kid I knew from high school made a vaguely sexual remark in response to a picture of my new haircut.  The power was intoxicating.  For the first time in my life, I felt what it must be like to be asked out on a second date.

Then, I locked myself out of my house.  Now, this will seem off topic, and it is, but in elementary school a motivational speaker who was very good at volleyball came to talk to us.  He said, “When you get in the back seat of some dude’s car and find yourself pregnant a month later, Bon Jovi ain’t gonna be there.”  Other things might have happened.  I’m not sure.  But I think I understand what he was getting at.  It’s all fine and good to have fancy friends from China who care about the aesthetics and structural integrity of large steel structures, but when the shit hits the fan, like Bon Jovi, they won’t be there.  It’s about time I get out into the real world and find a dude who owns a car.

Key Lime Avocado Pops

• 2 ripe avocados
• 400 ml coconut milk
• 1/3 cup honey
• 2-3 limes, juiced
• 1 tsp vanilla
• pinch of salt

1. Blend everything in a high speed blender until smooth.
2. Pour into popsicle molds and freeze overnight.

It was just pointed out (very nicely) that I posted the same recipe two weeks in a row.  Funny thing; I was just about to complain about a friend who called me “half-formed,” and said that while in some ways I was “well-rounded,” I was also “peppered with holes.”

I smiled, but inside I was like “fudge that, motherfudger.”  But, I kind of get it now.  Fairly often I have NO IDEA what I’m doing or what I’ve done.  Then, other times (like in my quest to uncover whether that was, in fact, Aleksander Skarsgard’s penis in episode six of “Big Little Lies”) I am as sharp as a motherlicking tack.  (Alexa Chung has not returned my calls, but I have not yet contacted the cast of “Zoolander.”  I will get to the bottom of this…I promise you.)

So, here is a sriracha recipe I haven’t put up before, because I thought I put it up before…but I searched, and apparently I didn’t?

Sriracha

• 475 g/1 lb red chilli peppers (total weight after deseeding and stemming)
• 6 cloves garlic peeled
• 100 ml apple cider vinegar
• 2 TBS tomato paste
• 2 TBS honey
• 2 TBS fish sauce
• 1 tsp salt

1. Puree all ingredients in a high speed blender until very smooth.
2. Bring to a boil.
3. Reduce heat and simmer for 15-20 minutes until the white frothy foam that develops, disappears.  The sauce will be bright red.
4. Adjust seasonings to your liking.
5. * This is important.  You may think you have washed your hands, but that chilli is still on there. Do not wipe your eyes or masturbate for at least twenty four hours.

My world careens between ordering everything I need to survive from Amazon, and paying strangers to massage my feet.  Sometimes I get invited out to dinner or to a party, and must practice smiling in the mirror for a couple days beforehand.  Because, well, you know…I need to see if I can look normal. We can’t all be Kelly Kapowski from “Saved by the Bell.”  Some of us have to be lonely janitors, or serial killers.

Anyway, I was feeling down, and at a loss of what to do with myself.  Then, like a a gift from Jehovah himself, two Jehovah’s Witnesses came to my door.  They didn’t even know me, yet invited me to a party.  It was all so relaxed.  There was no pressure, except for the solemn and private commitment I was forced to give.  Plus, they radiated exactly the right kind of sex vibe.  I’m not sure if Jesus will literally be there like they promised, but it all sounds good, clean, fab, and fun.

Victoria’s Beef Stroganoff (I don’t have a picture because I forgot and ate it all)

• 1-2 lbs beef cut into strips, or meatballs
• 1 tbs olive oil
• 1 onion, chopped
• 1 garlic clove, chopped
• 1 beef stock cube
• 1 teaspoon soy sauce/tamari
• 3 teaspoons tomato paste
• 1 cup of mushrooms, sliced
• 1 cup of cream
• salt and pepper to taste

1. Heat oil in frying pan, and caramelise the onion and garlic.
2. Add beef or meatballs.  Cook until brown.
3. Add mushrooms while browning beef.  Cook for 12 minutes or so.
4. Stir into tomato paste, soy sauce, cream, and seasoning cube.
5. Simmer 5 minutes.
6. Serve over rice or cauliflower rice.

Well, Happy Chinese New Year!  It’s the year of the Rooster.  I don’t know what that means for all of us, but I bought a golden chicken icon to worship just in case.

I found the statue yesterday as I explored Chinatown looking for some ornaments to buy for a  New Year’s party I’m throwing.  It’s a celebration for me and several four year olds, so it’s going to be totally baller.  Sorry, you can’t come.

Anyway, on a strange whim, I decided on a foot massage at an establishment that claimed it did not mind performing foot massages.  Now, a Dutch guy I know once said, (of visiting the red light district) “It’s nothing.  It’s like changing your shirt.”  I still don’t know what the hell he meant by that, but I am now aware of what it’s like to pay someone for a totally soulless experience.

To make a long, boring, and pointless story short, the woman put on a pair of plastic gloves and weakly massaged my feet for half an hour.  Listen, I’m well aware my lot in life is not a difficult one…but until a person reluctantly caresses you with gloves normally reserved for rolling burritos…well, lets just say, it’s a brand new experience.

But, then I came home and made this salad.

Chinese Cucumber Salad

• 1 large cucumber, smashed and cut into bite size pieces
• 1/2 tsp salt
• 1 tsp sugar
• 1 TBS rice vinegar
• 1 tsp sesame oil
• 1 tsp soy sauce
• 1/2 TBS avocado oil
• 1/2 garlic clove, pressed
• red pepper flakes-to taste
• sesame seeds-to taste

1. Place the cucumber in a colander and salt.
2. Leave to sit for 15-20 minutes
3. Squeeze out as much liquid as possible.
4. Add the remaining ingredients.
5. Chill.

Please bear with me while I try to incorporate things from the 1950’s that I can, in fact, tolerate.  I’m all for drag racing, bold lip colours, malt sodas, and having sex in cars designed to look like rockets…but there’s some crap I’d rather do without.

I won’t go into it because this is not a political blog.  This is a blog about a lonely woman with crippling anxiety who likes to dress like a Mexican wrestler and make food nobody wants to eat.  I know my audience.  I’m not about to mess that up through having an opinion.

Hot Diggity Hash Browns

• 4 potatoes peeled and grated
• 3 spring onions sliced
• salt and pepper to taste
• olive oil-a splash for the mixture, and some for frying

1. Squeeze the potatoes in a towel, and get out as much moisture as possible.
2. Mix in the remaining ingredients.
3. Heat a few tablespoons of oil until hot, and add the potato mixture to the pan in a thin layer.
4. Cook the potatoes for 5-7 minutes, leaving it to set, until golden brown.
5. Flip it nicely, (don’t be a dumb broad like me) and get a good crust on the other side too.

*Serve it to your man with some eggs and thick cut bacon, after you go to town on one another in a 1957 Ford Thunderbird.

I looked up “Blue Monday” on Wikipedia, but my attention span mimics that of a man on Tinder trying to get out as many dick pics as possible, so I only read the last sentence of the first paragraph.  Essentially, it said that “Blue Monday” is pseudoscience.

Pseudoscience or not, it did make me reflect on what I failed to accomplish last year.  In a flash of nauseous remembrance, my list of 2016 goals came back.  All that was missing from that insane rider was, “Number 26. Genetically engineer a lesbian pre-Marc Anthony J-Lo,” Needless to say, I didn’t get there.

This Blue Monday made me mourn the person I might have been if I’d tackled just a few of my projects. Maybe right now I would be…

• The proud owner of a UK driving license.
• Wearing cropped jeans with confidence.
• Living within three miles of a Mighty Taco.
• Not devastatingly lonely.
• Speaking Chinese.
• Getting paid to play my accordion at Bat Mitzvas .

Who knows what 2017 will bring?  I’m taking two classes: Painting and Drawing and Creative Writing.  I know that sounds promising and normal, but so far I’ve sketched a still life of a toilet paper roll, and written a free form poem about the conflicting emotional attachment I have to my cat. But today, the sun is shining, and I have my driver’s theory test booked for February 23, 2017.

Moist Chicken Nuggets

• 10 chicken thighs cut into chunks
• 2 eggs, whisked
• 1/4 cup arrowroot flour seasoned with salt and pepper
• 1 cup almond meal
• 1 tsp salt
• 1.5 tsp paprika
• 1/2 tsp coriander
• 1/2 tsp cumin

1. Preheat the oven to 425f/220c.
2. Mix the almond meal, salt, paprika, coriander, and cumin.
3. Line a baking tray with baking parchment.
4. Dredge the chicken pieces in the arrowroot flour.
5. Dip the chicken pieces in the whipped egg mixture.
6. Coat in almond meal mixture.
7. Arrange on the cooking tray and bake for 16-18 minutes.
8. Really, really good.

I’m at a loss at how to describe this year’s Thanksgiving.  I could blather on and on, but I’ll stick to the lonely meat of it.

What I did:

1. Ordered sushi.
2. Watched “The Way We Were.”
3. Gave a homeless entrepreneur a probiotic chocolate bar.
4. Dissected the Amanda Knox Netflix documentary with a orphaned drifter on Facebook messenger.

How I made peace with being alone and unloved:

1. Appreciated not having to eat jello with nuts in it.
2. Experienced the thrill of watching a young Robert Redford get a second chance to shrug off the oppressive yoke of 1950’s whiskey dick with Barbara Streisand in front of a roaring fire.
3. Delighted in the perfumed shame of feeling as out of touch as Gwyneth Paltrow.
4. Most of all, I was thankful for this quote regarding Amanda Knox from my friend, Shawn Doherty: “I’m interested in your thoughts because it seems like all Americans think she’s innocent and the British think she’s guilty.  But as an Italian I know the truth is that it was a satanic ritual.”

Ann Wall’s Artichoke Dip

Now, I get that I’ve been lazy as of late.  But I’m not feeling my best.  I’ve been living  off of protein cookies and fighting an alarming premonition that, very soon, women will be required to carry a note from a male relative in order to travel freely in North America.  These are tough times, so I went back to basics.

Here’s a gem from “The Best of Ann’s Kitchen, Volume I.”

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dEtFNUZQekc