I’m hoping to tell another story for SpeakeasyDC at one of their open mic nights, and so I need a story.  A true story.

I’ve been trying to think through the crazy and weird events in my life, but of course I don’t want to talk about anything too crazy or weird.  Like, say, nothing involving my divorce or that time I got divorced.

So I was thinking about the time I was 21 and…well…I’ll just say it involves at least two out of three of the following: Disneyland, drugs, and Dancing with the Stars.  And it’s a funny story.  Me, neurotic nerd girl, and equal parts pothead slackers and unfulfilled security guards.

It could be good.  It is a funny story, and a crazy story.  And one of the themes is summer and this did happen in the summer.  It was sultry evening in…Anaheim.  Yes, with an opening like that, how can you not want to hear more?

So it’s promising, right?  But I don’t know…I’m not sure.  And then I read this blog post on the Speakeasy site, and it totally described why I’ve been struggling.  You can have a funny story.  You can have a sad story.  But in order for a story to really be good, there needs to be something at stake.

So…what’s at stake?

Maybe not enough.  It was a lifetime and many boyfriends ago.  Okay, a few boyfriends.  Definitely at least a couple.

I suppose what I need to remember is that right now this story is just a crazy, awkward, potentially humorous memory, but at the time it was pretty spectacularly terrible.  Or at least it felt that way to a 21 year old about to face the real world and life after co-op living, Cafe Strata hanging Berzerkley.

Well.  Okay then.  I just need to channel my inner angsty post teen self and forget my inner angsty heading towards forty self.  Ah, how far I’ve come!  I guess I can keep those stories about the big bad other d-word under wraps for a little bit longer.

The process of writing is really a struggle for me.  I kind of hate myself the entire time until it’s done.  And it’s never done because there are always rewrites.  Maybe I’ll get better at being in the process, but somehow I doubt it.  Well, I suppose there is actually always a lot at stake.

Is pork belly uncool?  Is it like cucumber foam on Top Chef when the challenge is a cookout on the beach?  It is on the menu at a lot of H Street establishments, and my dad says Portland loves its pork belly.  And Portland is very cool right now.  Besides, it’s uncool to care about whether your food is cool, err, right?  It’s so foie gras foam on a lamb popsicle.

I don’t think you’re going to find pork belly in a lot of clean eating cookbooks, but screw it, I love pork belly.  The other “clean” challenge is the sugar.  I’ve made pork belly without it but I don’t think it’s as good.  You just need a little brown sugar to caramelize the pork.

So the rub was one tablespoon each of the following: freshly ground coriander, smoked salt, brown sugar, freshly ground coffee and cumin, plus a teaspoon of ground pepper and the seeds from about a handful of green cardamom pods.

Mix the ingredients together and massage onto about a pound to a pound and a half of pork belly.

Next you need to sear the meat in an oven safe pot into which the meat fits snugly.  Take your time.  Make sure all of the meat is properly seared.

Next preheat the oven to 225 and add the braising liquid.  About 1 1/2 cups good red wine and 1 cup chicken broth, preferably homemade.  Cook in the oven for about three hours, or until a knife slips through the meat easily.

You’re not done yet.  Slice the meat, and then add it to a fry pan over medium heat.  Add another tablespoon brown sugar, about a teaspoon of dry mustard, generous pinch salt and ground pepper, some black cardamom seeds if you have them and about a half of an onion, sliced.  Cook for about ten minutes, until the onion is soft.

I served it with a green salad and some freshly baked whole wheat bread (artisan in five recipe).  It was so good.  And I’m so in love with cardamom right now!  I’m dreaming of banana chai smoothies…

Both times I gave birth I didn’t feel like I had a lot to say about the experience.  In fact, that feeling of is that all there is? is part of what prompted me to write the story that I performed last night.  So now I’ve told my boring and ordinary birth story in public.

I think it’s as ordinary as Rosie Pope’s birth tweets but hopefully more entertaining.  I love me some Rosie Pope, but did we really need a play by play on the dilation of her cervix?

I was really nervous before I went out on stage.  A part of me doubted whether I could get through it without fucking it up, but I tried to ignore that part of me and pretend I was brimming with confidence.

And you know what?  It worked, more or less.  I had weird flashbacks from high school when I used to compete in…(wait for it)…forensics.  That’s competitive speech, by the way, for those of you normal folks who spent high school cutting classes and shopping at Wet Seal.  Okay, so it wasn’t exactly like a forensics tournament, but there were people talking to the wall beforehand and pacing…ah, the memories.

I was so pleased with the whole show.  All of the women killed it.  Their stories were high energy and heartfelt.  And the audience!  They were such givers.  They wanted to laugh and cry – they were right there in the moment with us.

I would love to do an open mic night or some other storytelling thing but I have to think about what I want to write about.  I have a few crazy true stories but I’m not sure I’m ready to bring the good stuff out of the vault just yet.  Then again, life is short.  Then again again, if I want to work in this town again…ha, only kidding.  My stories aren’t quite that good.

It’s almost here — my storytelling debut.  Doesn’t that sound important?  Well, I suppose it is.  It’s in the Washington Post and the Washington Times!

Our cast picture is even in the Times.  That would be just slightly more exciting if I actually read the Washington Times.  Slightly!  I’m still excited!  But I associate it with Tony Blakely.  I was going to make a crack about him on facebook until I discovered that he actually died earlier this year.  So now I’m an asshole.

In any event, I have been tweaking and rehearsing up a storm, so let’s hope this goes well and I don’t flub it.  Fingers crossed!

With all of this hulaballo, I haven’t done much new cooking (just the old standbyes) beyond the lamb bacon.  I did make this fab recipe a bit of a regular around here. It’s veg, relatively affordable and delish. And then I bought some pork belly at Whole Foods this week, so that should be a fun little addition to this week’s menu.

Speaking of fun, I ate out twice this week. Once before rehearsal, at the Queen Vic, and also tonight at Granville Moores with my son, an early mother’s day gift from my husband. The waitress did ask if it was date night — I suppose I was a bit gussied up though I was far from MILFy. Everything was appropriately under wraps.

Anyway, here’s a thing I’m learning about weight maintenance and eating out — eat something small and fabulous.

Of course, that only works if you dine out occasionally. I mean, I think. Maybe it would work if you ate out all the time too. Supposedly that’s how those skinny French bitches do it, right?

I had been craving dessert, so at the Vic I had Sticky Toffee Pudding for the first time. OHEMGEE that was some good eats. I ate about half of it. I also ordered an appetizer of, um, pork nuggets. It’s exactly what it sounds like and so, to paraphrase that Jewess and Real Housewife Heather Dubrow, it wasn’t my cup of tea. Tonight at Granville’s I had a pork belly appetizer which was fabulous. Tender with a crispy skin. Oh, and on a white bean puree that was garlicky and tasty. Or, if you ask my son, it tasted like guacamole. No it didn’t, but his palate is still developing. Tonight he ate an entire bison burger! And a chocolate tart for dessert.  What a life.

Have you ever tried lamb bacon?  It’s a lot like regular bacon, but…(wait for it) it tastes more like lamb.  It’s leaner than pork, but more flavorful than turkey bacon.

I bought a couple of packs from those Amish guys at the H Street farmer’s market.  The ones who take credit cards.  I know, I know.  Who am I to judge?

I made an amazing salad with french lentils, chevre, local greens and spring onions (also from the market) and the bacon — fried crisp and tossed with olive oil and red wine vinegar.

Then later in the week I made a whole wheat pizza using the Artisan in 5 whole wheat pizza dough recipe, and then topped it with the lamb bacon, local ricotta and local wilted baby spinach.

It was so delish, both my husband and son loved it.  The baby was asleep but I’m sure she would have approved as well.  We actually had a similar version last night with store bought bacon and Trader Joe’s ricotta.  After enjoying fresh ricotta from a local farm, store bought ricotta is quite humbling.

In other news, the bad mommies have been busy bad mommies.  I’ve had to tweak my piece multiple times, and it was really unnerving.  I really wanted a particular part — about loss — to be in the final piece, but it didn’t seem to fit.  Or at least so it seemed to everyone else.  I understood how it fit but I wasn’t making it work.  It was so frustrating, but then finally at our last rehearsal it seemed to click.

This week is also the big convention for trademark attorneys — otherwise known as attorneys gone wild — reminding me that I am in limbo.  Not quite an attorney at the moment and not quite a writer.  Scary.

Finally, my son declared that we ought to have another baby.  I mean, not him and me.  He’s past that stage.  He would like us to have a boy, if that’s how they come.  He is willing to swap rooms as long as he can retain both closets for his “armory.”  Seems reasonable.  And most likely more about control issues (his) rather than an actual desire for a baby.  Well, okay, perhaps equal parts.

Enough for tonight.  Tonight I’m still a not-pregnant stay-at-home mom who needs sleep to be a good mommy tomorrow by day and a bad mommy tomorrow night at rehearsal.

Oh, also I have reached my goal weight.  I’m so very “not fat.”