Dead Limb Friday

Friday was a hot, slightly paralyzed mess. I woke up at 2am and realized I couldn't use my arm. Not in a numb way, in a where are my muscles, why can't I lift my dead extremity kind of way. This was supposed to be a post about rice pilaf and kebabs. Instead I'm adding to my list of weird afflictions. I'm a conduit for accidents, medical anomalies and reasons for The Beard to miss work.

If an ant bites my foot, it swells up to the size of a football and I have to take steroids and antihistamines. The possibility of roid rage makes me feel like I'm living on the edge, giving me an excuse to flip a table or punch holes in the walls. "Myke, I couldn't help it. I was raging." I'd start hanging out with Danny Bonaduce because he'd be the only person who "gets me." My foot would go back to it's normal size but now I'd have a steroid addiction. It wouldn't all be for not because Bonaduce and I could have a reality show until our falling out over my attempts at sobriety. Then we'd go on VH1's Couples Therapy to work it out. (#anyway)

I have been rushed to the ER three times, once with a police escort, after my face started to swell and my airway began to close. The nurse said, "Five more minutes and you would've been dead." She had an amazing bed side manner. Such a nurturer...really. I like to think her next patient came in with a stomach flu so she put his arm in a sling and she finally got fired. Maybe she'd join the reality show with me and Bonaduce. If she hadn't been my nurse I think there's a real possibility that we would've been great friends. Her personality was just so salty and I put salt on everything. I saw multiple allergists who couldn't tell me what I was allergic to besides answers. I was given an epi pen and sent on my way.

There was that one time I got married. I decided to break my toe in the middle of the night while trying to find my way back to bed in complete darkness. I wore flip flops under my wedding dress. My entire foot was black and blue. After our nine hour flight to Hawaii for our honeymoon my foot looked like a caricature of itself. It was the size of a newborn and kept me from scuba diving, hiking, swimming, really anything The Beard wanted to do. Feels like one of those times someone probably said, "You'll look back on that trip years from now and just laugh." (#ummno)

Have you ever heard of pityriasis rosea? Yeah, me neither, until my upper body was covered in spots that looked like hives. When they didn't go away after being at work all day I went to urgent care. I thought it was simply an allergic reaction to a nine to five. The doctor said it was a pretty common skin disease. (#mmk) She said there was no specific cause, no treatment and it would probably linger for three months, spreading it's way across my body and possibly my face. Great information and totally worth my copay. I would walk around the house topless because the rubbing of fabric on my person was irritating. It was a gift to our neighbors since we are still without window coverings. And by gift, I mean a sac of coal...

There's also that time my little (#big) brother and The Beard had to push me around Disney World in a wheelchair. I had a fractured foot and a free pass to the front of every line. My dad would yell, "it's a miracle" every time I stood up. My brother, Spencer, would see how fast he could push me while weaving in and out of the crowds. At the end of that trip I developed strep, you know, just to punctuate that sentence.

I started having aura migraines about a year ago. I see flashing lights in my vision as a warning sign for the nausea and dizziness to come. The first time this happened I got a shot of morphine in my arse and a satchel of anti-nausea pills. Maybe I still use those...

The Beard, my sister from another mister and I decided to take Snelson and Stanley to Stone Mountain for a bit of a hike. We were at the base of the mountain, taking in the view. We got maybe twenty feet when my foot got caught on a tree root and I went down like this here oak tree. I don't remember the last time I've felt that much pain. On the same path was a father and his triplet girls. (Yes, I'm serious.) They were taking a health class at school and decided to take this learning moment to keep me calm and tell me how to breath. They were maybe eight years old, standing around me like I was a sacrificial lamb. The father whipped out a splint from who knows where. His fanny pack was fully equipped in case a thirty something year old woman didn't watch where she was walking and took a tumble in the middle of the woods. The Beard called the Stone Mountain police who called the Stone Mountain paramedics. We heard sirens and suddenly I was on a stretcher being hoisted by five to seven men. They carried me out of the woods and of course had me sign a stack of waivers. They offered a ride to the ER in the back of an ambulance that would set us back $500. Obviously we passed because you CAN put a price on good health. The Beard and Mary turned the back of the Element into something quite comparable. Like if Uber decided to show up for emergencies it would look like my sweet ride to the hospital. I had a blanket, I could lay down fully extended and Mary inserted an IV. (Not really but wouldn't that have been amaze?) Something, something, cast, something and my friend Lara pushed me around in a wheel chair at work for a few weeks. I should really invest in my own wheelchair.

When living in Savannah I had pain in my abdomen that had me doubled over and screaming for my mommy. I went to the ER and they admitted me to the hospital where I spent the next three days. I had no control over my bodily functions. Three different specialists came to my room to poke and prod me. This is where we get real, REAL. I had soiled all my undergarments and asked if they had something for me to wear. The nurse handed me mesh underwear and I looked at her with tears in my eyes. Had she not been privy to what had been going on for hours on end? Maybe it was the same lady who kindly let me know I almost died. Let's just say yes.

These stories could go on forever but it's almost time to cook a turkey... 

Lara, my co-worker and friend, took me to my first appointment on Friday. We bonded in a way that someone who drives a person with a dead limb to their doctor's office would. She saw me topless like our unfortunate neighbors. We decided the physician's assistant was relying on Dr. Google when she would leave the room for long spans of time. Apparently the intrawebs didn't know what was wrong either so she sent us to another doctor. 

Both doctors asked if I had been doing any new, unusual activity. My mind ran wild with things like, roller skating interpretations of Stephen King novels or hang gliding while knitting a throw. I said, "No." The second physician's assistant at the second appointment at the third building seemed very concerned. She told The Beard to rush me to the ER if I had blurry vision or if my speech was confused and uncharacteristic. Without the ability to verbalize this to him how would he know that this was different from the everyday? I'm like an amusement park ride, sometimes I run smoothly, sometimes a bird hits Fabio in his gross, romance novel face and sometimes I get stuck upside down with twenty people, blood rushing to their noggins.

Over the weekend I gained use of my arm and still have some lingering pain. I'm waiting on my MRI results and for now, I've put away my roller skates. I'm going to look for merit badges chronicling my medical afflictions and sew them onto a denim jacket. I'll wear it every time I go to the hospital so I don't have to fill out the medical history form. I'll do a quick spin and then tell them my height and weight. 

I think we've established my tendency to over share. I just wanted to cement this fact and make sure you were still (#allin).

Happy Turkey Day and here's to making it out alive!

Finding Your Place And Stuffing Your Face

Cooking for me is more of an experiment than a science. I tend to take what's available in the fridge and come up with my own concoction. I know flavors and what works well together so this hap-hazard approach has served me pretty well thus far. Ask me for a recipe and I'll have to rack my brain, mentally searching for the ingredients I used. It's like an episode of Chopped. What can I make with this one piece of sliced sandwich ham, a granola bar and lasagna noodles? Don't worry, that hasn't happened, yet. (I usually don't have lasagna noodles.)

My "approach" stems from a desire to use things up and to never be wasteful. I'm that person who keeps the to-go ketchup in case we run out of the good stuff. I find some sort of weird satisfaction in using something up and throwing away the remains. (That just got real #Dateline.) One of my dearest friends was dating a guy who threw out all the hot dogs and burgers after a cookout. I just stared, mouth agape, like he had just run over a tiny dog, backed up and ran over it again. I glanced at Myke and he knew exactly what I was thinking.

Somehow I got sidetracked by leftovers, experiments and guys who will never be good enough for my bestest lady friend. What I'm trying to get at is my cultural curiosity led me to make a meal with purpose AND recipes. This meant a little bit of research and a little bit of measuring. I mostly measure with my eyeballs when it comes to cooking. The Beard is the baker and Snelson is our candlestick maker.

We decided to make lehmeijun, an Armenian meat pie. We asked Snelson to sit this one out since the recipe did not call for candlesticks. (Also, he has no thumbs, which I hear is integral to cooking Armenian food.) 

Meat mixture:

1 lb ground lamb or ground beef (we used a combination of the two)
1 14-oz can whole tomatoes, drained and crushed
1/2 medium yellow onion, finely chopped
1 tsp. minced garlic
1/4 cup finely chopped parsley
1 tbsp. chopped mint leaves
1 tbsp. tomato paste
1/2 tsp. paprika
1/2 tsp. cumin
1 tsp. salt
1/2 tsp. crushed red pepper flakes
1/2 tsp. black pepper

The dough:

1 package quick rising yeast
1 cup warm water
1 tbsp. olive oil
3/4 tsp. salt
1/2 tsp. sugar
2 3/4 cups all-purpose flour

Now you have to read stuff, like directions and you have to follow them. I thought it might be comical to take the lead from Ikea and use stick men to tell you what happens next. I want you to like me and stick around for awhile so I changed my mind. Also, this should not be a four day process.

Go ahead and chop, chop, chop until you have all of your ingredients for the meat mixture. I recommend using those onion goggles they sell late at night on the picture tube to limit the amount of salty tears that fall into your meats. Remember, you are following a recipe, DO NOT DIVERGE.

Add everything together in a mixing bowl, you know, to mix.

Adjust the seasoning however you see fit. I guess that would mean tasting raw meat. If you're into that no one is looking. Set aside your mixture and move on to the dough.

The Beard made the dough for this recipe. Again, science, measurements and accuracy are not my strong suit. You'll need to dissolve the yeast into the warm water. Preferably these next steps should be done in a stand up mixer. The Beard used god's ultimate tools, his hands, like a man. Stir in the olive oil, sugar, salt and 1-1/2 cups of the flour. Mix the dough for about five minutes or until it looks smooth. Knead in the remaining 1-1/4 cups of flour and continue to knead until it is again a smooth texture. Continue to knead until the dough is elastic, about 10 minutes by machine, 20 minutes by hand, 3 days by foot.

 

Form the dough into a ball and cover with a large bowl for 1-1/2 hours. This will allow the dough to rise and double in volume.

Get ready to work through your issues by punching down the dough. Then make nice and shape it into twelve or so balls. Flour your surface and roll each ball into a six to seven inch circle. You don't want to make them too thin.

Arrange the flattened dough onto a lightly greased baking sheet and allow to rise slightly. Cover the surface with a thin layer of the meat mixture.

I put on a scarf so this picture wasn't entirely inappropriate.

 Bake your beauties in a 375 degree oven for 25 to 35 minutes. THEN, put them in your mouth hole.

So there you have it, Armenian lehmeijun. I'm looking forward to sharing a few more recipes in the upcoming days. That'll give you some time to grow in a uni-brow and to digest your first culinary creation. Wait, maybe that's just me. Until then...

My Sweet

Hello, my name is Anna Sirdanoush Chapman, previously known as Anna Sirdanoush Garabedian Bohon, previously known as Anna Sirdanoush Garabedian (my actual birth name).

I have been three different people at three different points in my life. I am half Armenian and on the surface that means my part time job is grooming my eyebrows and wishing away Kim Kardashian/talking about her more than I would ever admit. Beyond that I can't say I know a whole lot about my heritage. My Armenian father was an artist and Argentinian transport living and working in Los Angeles. There he met my Oklahoma-bred mother who was thirteen years his junior.

My father

My sister Rebecca was born after their courthouse wedding.  Soon after, my father developed throat cancer and unknowingly his time left on earth was limited. I am the the product of the last intimate moment my parents shared as his cancer became more aggressive and his health worsened. To type that is both weird (in a TMI kind of way) and very touching. He lived to see my birth but passed when I was still an infant.

Rebecca, my parents and that sweet ride

I know he spoke five languages, loved to cook and was unwavering in his christian faith. I know him through stories, his art work and hand written messages to my mother when he could no longer speak. He would ask that I be put at the foot of his bed so that he could watch me.

Etched ivory drawing

Plans for a stained glass window

My favorite story my mom tells is that of my birth. Maybe it's because it's all about me or maybe it's because my entrance into this world was so dramatic.

I don't know that my storytelling ability is exactly accurate but this is how I remember my mom telling it...

 My mom was on the phone with my grandmother who lived in Tulsa, OK. They were chatting late one evening when my mom saw a mouse run across the kitchen floor. As she was trying to get off the phone to take care of the "situation" she saw an army of ants marching across that same floor in dedicated formation. She rushed to get off of the phone and at the end of her pregnancy found herself crouching down to rain poison on that ant parade. It was then that she went into labor. To get to the hospital meant packing up Rebecca and getting her to the babysitter's house across the city. During the commotion my father decided that he wanted to go to the hospital as well. My mom was having close contractions by this time and now had to pack up my father. He was frail and thin and by now had great difficulty maneuvering on his own. My mom was able to get both him and Rebecca into their van with all the accouterments needed for a one and a half year old and an ailing man. My parents lived in a small house behind a larger, main house. Once all in the car she realized the neighbors were parked behind them blocking the street. Being very late and realizing the neighbors were probably asleep my mom knocked with the urgency of a pregnant lady in the midst of labor. This family of three, soon to be four, was on their way. They dropped off Rebecca and headed to the hospital. With worries of not making the trip they arrived just in time. My mom got a wheelchair for my father and told the front desk that she was actually in labor. With one push I came into this world and at the same time my father fainted from weakness. He was also admitted to the hospital. We laid side by side in our hospital beds in the same room. The thought of that sweet picture makes my heart smile. My mom returned home to the same line up of dead ants, a mouse in a trap, a toddler, a new born and a sick husband.

My father, who wanted us to grow up calling him papa, wanted to name me Sirdanoush, meaning "sweetheart" in Armenian. My mother fought for a more suitable name for a girl being raised in America. So the decision was made and I was given the name Anna (pronounced like "Ana") Sirdanoush Garabedian. So now we are here, in the present and Sirdanoush "sweetheart," was the catalyst for the name of this here blog. One of my closest friends, Lindsey, thought up the name and the rest is history.

My mom remarried and the man who courageously took on three women was Randy Bohon. He adopted my sister and I and raised us as his own. My name changed  to Anna Sirdanoush Garabedian-Bohon. Fast forwarded many years and I married one Michael Chapman and dropped two of my four names, becoming Anna Sirdanoush Chapman.

I've visited my Armenian family in Buenos Aires once as an infant after my papa's passing and once as an adult right after high school. To know there are relatives living their lives in another country has always been hard for me to wrap my head around. Thanks to social media I have small glimpses into their lives but have always longed for more. I spent some time learning a few Armenian recipes in hopes of a connection. I will share these in upcoming posts.

It's hard not to fantasize about what my life would have been like if cancer had not taken my papa so early in life. I had a great childhood and was raised my the only man I call dad. Sometimes I feel something missing but more than that I have a desire to learn more about my culture. Now that we've addressed all the serious stuff I can get back to being hilarious. (Yes, I just said that about myself.) I have obviously been affected by all of this and have very low self esteem...

Next time we connect will be over some delicious food!

Getting Political - The Campaign Trail

Maybe I'm piggybacking on current events or maybe current events are piggybacking on me. Let's not get caught up in the minutia.

Perhaps the title of this blog post is slightly deceiving. If you thought I was going to talk about politics, well, you'd be wrong and you don't know me. I wanted to talk about something with almost as much coverage but with a greater ability to hold my attention. The ballots are in and the campaign dresser has been re-elected for another term. (#cheesemo) (Pssst...You should probably click on that hash tag. Just take my word for it. I haven't been that entertained in awhile.)

We've seen it every which way. The crowd favorite and also one of mine is the kelly green version from Lonny. This image has been splashed all over the intrawebs like Ebola. And just like Ebola I haven't gotten sick from it...just yet.

This one, in a more neutral gray, is also stunning from Little Green Notebook. Here it is a re-purposed piece used as a kitchen island.

When I came across a set of four, campaign style pieces on Craigslist I felt my palms getting sweaty and my heart started to race. Of course I emailed the seller within a few seconds as she was asking $125 for all four pieces. She also said that her email was blowing up with interested buyers. She was in the area and less than a mile away. I played that neighbor card like a seasoned poker player (err...seasoned go fish player) and scheduled a meet up for that same night.

I wish I had all of the images from her original post. I do still have this one...

This was the longest of the pieces and shortest in stature. Myke thinks it needs a vertical boost like the lifts in Tom Cruise's shoes. It's living in the dining room as a buffet right now. All I've done thus far is give it a good spit shine. (Which is quite a lot of saliva. (#trust)) Along with it was a taller, more vertical piece and two side tables/night stands.

My latest project has been our master bedroom. It was a low priority with everything that has gone wrong in this house. (I can't believe that I still haven't filled you in on that nonsense.) I've just recently started making changes. One being to utilize those nightstands on either side of the bed.

We're working with this color combination in the master bedroom...

This rug is so demanding and insistent on a color palette I have never used before. Ummmm, purple?

The room is painted a bright white. I thought with the pops of color we needed a neutral background. There is also an indescribable amount of light pouring into this room. I wanted it to be bright, clean and cheery. And that it is. So in stark contrast to the brightness I wanted to pull from the darker tones in the rug for the night stands.

Here are some before pictures of these little lovelies...

You can see in this photo that the tops were quite damaged a la Courtney Love. And they too needed a new face.

I sanded down all the surfaces to help the paint adhere. The next logical step would then be to prime everything. Some how this completely escaped me. Most paints have a built in primer but the color and finish I chose did not. I am hoping that the paint endures. I will be heart broken if not.

I used Behr's Hi-Gloss Enamel in Black Suede. I wanted something dark, rich and with a mirror like finish. This campaign dresser, originally from 1st Dibs, was my inspiration.

There are multiple processes when applying a hi-gloss paint. You'll want to stay away from brushing it on as all those brush marks will be highlighted due to the finish. You can use a small foam roller to apply the paint in light layers. I turned to my trusty paint sprayer.

This guy takes some getting used. You have to spend some quality one on one time to really build the foundation of your relationship.

I managed to spray my knife block, back splash and cabinets when trying to clean it after the first use. It was very dramatic/traumatic. It was reminiscent of spilling green food coloring all over our butcher block island while trying to make sugar cookies a few years back. Myke walked into a scene of flour, tears and defeat. (Mind you this was a packaged mix from Sam's Club that all you add is water.) He helped me turn those ruined cookies into something glorious. We made them into teenage mutant ninja turtles. I mean, the island was still ruined but at least there was a little comic relief. Baking is not my strong suit, which you may have already gathered.

Moving along...

Okay, so the next thing I tackled was the hardware. I struggled with what should be done. There were thoughts of trying to restore it with a little elbow grease and some Bar Keeper's Friend. Since I had already spit shined the buffet in the dining room I was feeling over exerted and parched. So I took the easy way out, as I tend to do. I have used this method once before on the hardware of the kitchen island. Yes, the same one that scoffs at my baking ability and throws it's ruined surface in my face every chance it gets.

I primed the handles with RUST-OLEUM's Clean Metal Primer.

Then I used my trusty gold spray paint, Design Master's Gold Medal, as seen in this previous post.

Now for the fun stuff, the after photos....

 

There are some drips on the front of the night stand that I want to remedy eventually but right now I'm loving them, faults and all. I also noticed that the hardware is crooked. I don't know that this can be fixed as the grooves in the drawer fronts were predetermined in order to make the handles flush. 

The bedroom is coming along slowly but surely. It feels clean and serene, just as I imagined it. Hopefully we'll be in a place to share all the details soon.

Thirty-Two Fifty

I was going to start this post with an elaborate, well fabricated story about being lost at sea. Something about a pirate, the coast guard and a parrot. Then my conscious got the better of me and the voice inside my head was saying no one would believe such a tale, especially in land locked Atlanta. Instead, I am writing the truth and wearing an eye patch. (#halftruths)

The truth of the matter is, I broke my phone (i.e. my camera) and words without visuals are so dang boring. So let's take a moment to travel back in time to a couple of weekends ago when I was particularly productive, except when I wasn't...

I spent my Saturday morning driving around my neighborhood hunting for yard sales. (I'm originally from Wisconsin so I thought a good hunting reference would really boost my fan base/give me a fan base.) Usually I am more thoughtful, with all of my stops plotted out on my cell phone. I do this with the help of my main squeeze Craig, and his list. I probably hit about five or six sales and did pretty well for myself. Success is measured by how much money is left in my wallet and if I can see out the back window of the Element. I have a real problem.

My grand total for all of my goods was $32.50. (#word) Here is what I got...

How pretty is this blush pink bowl, rimmed in gold? It is perfectly perfect for the living room color palette. I will spare her the misery of hosting a plant, only to watch it die. She is way to innocent to be confronted with my murderous ways.

The little, yellow container was from the same owner and is so simple in it's form and a wonderful punch of color. At another sale I scored that plant in the styrofoam cup for fifty cents. The woman assured me he was nice and hardy and easy to take care of. To which I said, "You don't know me." I figured for fifty cents I would go all in. Sadly, that cup will live forever in a landfill and the plant is probably a week or two out from seeing the pearly gates of heaven. Thank goodness you don't have to hand over references and partake in a home visit to be a plant parent. Someone would surely find all the dead souls hiding in the laundry room and garage just waiting for a final burial. Moving along...

I guess things do get even weirder with this small, domed cloche. Maybe not the cloche itself but that I chose to put a little plastic hand inside. It was right before Halloween and it just seemed fitting. I believe it was originally a watch display, hence the little hook. I'd either like to take that out or find something equally bizarre to hang from it. So, suggest away!

Let's not get all crazy and assume that this whole set up was included in my total. What was purchased is that sweet, little, round, fuchsia pillow in a shantung silk. If you haven't noticed that color is kind of my jam. Also, jam is not my jam. (I thought that was important enough to share.)

I have no idea what these baskets were used for, nor did the owner. I love them because I saw potential. The brass lined rims and the nesting ability spoke to my innards. They could be put to work in a number of different ways. Of course the obvious task would be for storage. You could turn them over to make an adorable plant stand (#deathstand) or use them as wastebaskets. The lids could do double duty as decorative bowls. I have an urge to paint them a bright white to really highlight the brass. That seems a bit out of character for me so it's either that or this fun project from The Marion House Book.

 

These two pieces are not particularly special but they were lumped in with the baskets for an overall price of $10. The sculptural, wood bird had a sibling that must have suffered a horrible accident. It was missing it's beak. The old adage "what doesn't kill you makes you stronger" seems to apply. I'm sure that mangled bird found a home. What it lacked in physical appearance it made up for in personality. That bird was hilarious.

Can you believe we are still in conversation ten items in?

This might be my favorite. I have some pondering to do before declaring a true connection. Look at that detail and that color and the brass lining right inside the wood frame. Okay, I guess this IS my favorite. I just had to talk it out. It was a steal at ten dollars and that may be the best part. What's better than being good looking? Being cheap AND attractive...

Well I'm exhausted just thinking about all that finding, negotiating, carrying and falling in love. May all my tired moments be this fulfilling.