Monthly Archives: June 2009

RQ Cooks- Carnitas

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It takes very little to get a party started at my house. This weekend’s excuse for merriment was “Lizzie bought a pork roast”. And it was on.

Traditional carnitas done Yucatan style means giant hunks of pork slow roasted in a dirt pit and then deep fried. But I am way too lazy to go dig a hole in the back yard. So this recipe isn’t much different from my standard pork roast, just the seasonings are different.

Find the biggest hunk of boneless pork shoulder you can get. Make sure it has a nice layer of fat on the bottom. Throw it in a big crock pot fat side down.

Cover roast in achiote sauce or paste (if you live in a neighborhood with a lot of Latinos- you can probably find this in the grocery store along with yummy yummy apple soda). Add grapefruit or orange juice (a cup or so), chopped garlic and onions, salt, pepper, a little bit of oregano, some red pepper flakes and the juice of a lime or two. Set to low and cook 8 to 10 hours or until the roast is shredding itself in the sauce.

(a quick note- onions and garlic will pickle a bit in the citrus juice. For onions they turn a bit pink, which is fine. The garlic will turn minty green. Do not freak out. It tastes fine)

Now for the ultimate lazy “deep frying” part.

A little while before serving, shred the pork into an oven proof baking dish. I use a pyrex lasagna pan. Pour all the sauce and fat from the crock pot over the shredded bits and throw under the broiler for a while. You want the top bits of pork to get crispy and a little blackened. I know it’s done by how it smells. If it smells like you want to crawl in the oven and die from a pork induced coronary RIGHT NOW, then it’s probably done.

How to serve

Like any taco, this is meal is all about the condiments. We do fried corn tortillas, half assed Spanish rice, pickled onions (when I can remember to set them out), homemade pico de gallo and guacamole, 3 minute refried beans (can of beans, glob of sour cream, generous pile of shredded cheese all mixed together and microwaved for 3 minutes. The sour cream makes the beans fluffy and light.
But pork needs a little something sweet to balance out all the savory and sour flavors.

Normally, you could make a pineapple or mango salsa to go with the pork. But i am lazy and I just made a vat of pico de gallo and I don’t want to touch another onion. So I cubed up some fresh pineapple (DO NOT BUY CANNED! A fresh pineapple is cheap and way way better than metal flavored sugar syrup nastiness)and like our friends to the south I covered it in chili powder. Peeps- if you have not had sticky sweet fruit dusted with chili powder then I feel sorry for you. It will change your life.

Pile everything into the fried tortillas and prepare to eat (with one hand poised to unbutton you pants because you will not be able to stop stuffing your face).

Fun with school counselors

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One of the things that DV victims who escape learn is that you need to ask for help/ warn people in authority that you have this crazy person trying to do damage to you and your loved ones. You have to tell bosses so that exes aren’t allowed to stalk you at work (which can be problematic because they can fire you rather than run the risk of having a crazy person shoot up their job site) and you have to talk to your kid’s school.

Getting the kid a safe preschool, back when all this shit started, was a frightening. I ended up picking a school with a locked door/ buzzer/ video camera system for letting parents in. It’s a little freaky, cause as a parent you want to be able to drop in on a school anytime to make sure your kid is safe, and the getting through that much security eliminates surprise visits. But eliminating surprise visits from violent exes is a good thing.

This time around, I am not finding the school to be nearly as helpful as they should be. His counselor, who claimed to have a “well developed bulls hit meter” when we first talked about her supervising the Kid’s meeting with his dad, has apparently had NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO domestic violence training. When I sent an email to ask about safety at the Kid’s graduation, she told me that Kid’s dad “seems like a nice family guy who would never hurt anyone”. I then had to explain that they ALWAYS look like “nice family guys”. That’s their shtick. No one would sleep with them if they started out as violent asshats. Kid’s dad is absolutely the kind of guy that friends and neighbors will describe as “such a nice guy, I could never imagine him doing that” to tv reporters when they find our dead bodies in his basement.

That’s generally the kind of treatment DV victims get from people who are untrained. People who have been trained, like the judge who gave me full custody, and the social worker who did the family studies that recommended full custody and supervised visits, didn’t fall for his bullshit. But Kid’s counselor has no idea how to deal with shit other than try to discount my fear. There is a concrete history of physical abuse. Kid’s dad was arrested and made a deal with the prosecutor for probation for stalking me. He has a criminal record for this shit. But still I am dealing with a dimwit who thinks nice family guys don’t do this stuff.

Except that’s exactly who does this stuff.

Fucking fuckstains

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So the saga of domestic violence continues.

I tried to give the Kid’s dad the benefit of the doubt. We were young, it’s been 13 years, perhaps he really has changed.

(I know I know I know)

But………..

After the Kid saw his dad (in the presence of the school shrink) I got some pretty belligerent emails demanding that I let him see the Kid again. It was vintage abuser shit. So I said no. The first time I was pretty pissed and not very polite about it, but I have always been consistent in saying that if he wants access to the Kid he has to prove he’s no longer a threat. Part of proving that is by paying child support, because economic abuse has always been part of his abusive bag of tricks.

I told the Kid what was going on and that I told his dad no. Kid understands. I told him he’s allowed to be mad at me if he needs to. He says “meh- it would be nice to see him but your reasons are perfectly logical”. Then the Kid told me that his dad has been harassing the school shrink to get her to let him see Nate without my knowledge. Would have been nice if the shrink had talked to me about that instead of talking to the Kid, but whatever. Now I have NOOOOOOOOOOo doubts that I made the right call by saying no.

His dad could have done a couple of things. He could go to court and try to get a judge to grant him visitation. But the last time that happened the judge told him that he would have to pay the cost of having the visits supervised by a social worker ( a minimum of $40 an hour. He only used that option twice in the span of a year) as well as take monthly drug tests and under go anger management counseling. He would also have to risk a judge issuing a bench warrant for his massive failure to pay child support. Rather than taking either risk and showing that he is willing to do the hard work to be in the Kid’s life, he is once again trying to dodge the system. The Kid isn’t a person to him, but a wayward piece of property that he must get back under his thumb.

Now it gets tricky. I could go and get the protection order reinstated, but I would have to disclose where I work and where we live to do so. So far I don’t think he knows either of those things. He only knows where Kid goes to school, and school is out next week. I am bit worried about the Kid’s graduation, as it’s a public event and it’s totally like his dad to show up and cause damage there. If I had a protection order, then both the school and the police would have the legal means of stopping him, but then he would have our address and our home would no longer be safe. Without the protection order, I have to wait until he does something violent or threatening before the police will step in, but there is only one place and time that he would have the chance.

This is the kind of risk taking mental gymnastics that you have to go through when dealing with an abuser. You weigh your options, which are never quite fair or easy. The Kid deserves to have a dad, but not at the cost of our safety. He deserves to go to his graduation in peace, but I am scared shitless.

This is why the shack in the desert seems so tempting right now.

For I don’t know what reason

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old(er) men like to chat with me. I don’t know why, but they do.

So today I’m sitting outside at work enjoying a smokey lung treat (back off you anti-smoking crusaders, nicotine is the only reason I haven’t turned into a violent outlaw- yet) when random dude walking down the street stops to talk to me. He’s probably in his late 50s, white, bearded former hippy looking dude.

Random dude: That’s my favorite thing, sitting in the sunshine and having a smoke. But I’m all out.

Me: (because while I may or may not believe in god- I do know that cigarette karma is real!!!!!!!!!!!)Here, have one of mine.

Rd: I’m divorcing my 3rd wife

Me: That sounds like 3 wives too many

Rd: Nooooooooo. I love them all. A warrior never stops loving a woman. I still love all the girls I loved in high school.

Me: I just think some people are the marrying kind and some people aren’t. I am not.

Rd: I don’t care what you think, or what you know, I just care what you believe. What do you believe is the color of truth in a warrior society?

Me: What does a warrior society mean?

Rd: You can’t answer my question with a question! A warrior society is a good society, not like this one. This is a predator society. Answer the question. What is the color of truth!!!!!!!!!!!!

This is turning into the kind of argument that you have with wingnuts and religious fanatics and libertarians, basically anyone who holds that there is only one good answer to everything and it’s theirs. It’s a disingenuous style of debate and people that use it are almost always douchebags (and wrong).

First, answering his question with ANYTHING other than a question would mean that I subscribe to his view that there is such a thing as a warrior society and that it is a preferable thing to what we have now. Since I don’t know what a warrior society is in his mind (and in my mind I’m pretty sure it’s paternalistic and old fashioned) I needed him to provide information before I could even think about answering.

Second, I was being polite, friendly and not argumentative. I asked him what he meant while maintaining the demeanor of a well trained shrink. But just asking him to clarify his views pissed him off enough to start yelling. (Ahhhhh the patriarchy does NOT LIKE TO BE QUESTIONED!)

So from this little exchange I’m going to give you all some tips for dealing with disingenuous debaters (works very well on the forced pregnancy shitstains).

1. Stay calm. It’s hard, cause dammit sometimes you just want to punch them in the face with a sack full of their own stupidity.

2. Biggest fallacy ever when you’re debating someone is that you are going to change their mind. That is not your goal. Sometimes (rarely) it happens, but the real goal is to sway the minds of the listeners. If you’re arguing and no one is there to watch, use it for practice. But if you argue with someone only to sway them, you’ve already lost the fight. You’ll take it personally when they don’t change their mind and that will make you less focused on finding the flaws in their logic and more focused on trying to find a way to frame your argument so that they can see your point of view. Forget it.

3. Answer questions with questions. Make them clarify exactly what they believe. You will either get them mad enough to storm off by doing this, or they will turn themselves around in their mis-logic until they’re confused. For example, a guy once said to me “there is no speaking for the white men anymore!” I countered with “Well the president is a white dude (this was pre-Obama) the supreme court is almost entirely white dudes, congress is mostly white dudes, so are most of the CEOs in this country. Which one of them isn’t speaking for you?”

4. Don’t let them set the parameters. This is where framing comes in and it is most important. For example, any phrase that sets the moral high ground in their territory like “we can both agree that abortions are bad”. Counter with “Why are abortions bad?” the response will be something about killing bayyyyyyyyybies! You can come back with “But abortions save the lives of women, especially 3rd trimester abortions. Are you saying that abortions are bad because they save women’s lives?” Or when weirdos on the street ask you about “the color of truth in a warrior society”. It’s total rubbish and his question has no logical answer, but by answering it I would have to acknowledge things that aren’t true.

After I refused to buy into Random dude’s worldview of a warrior society without him clarifying exactly what that means, he stormed off saying that I must be a “very sad person”. Which means I win. While I am a lover of the personal insults to the package size of your average troll, when someone flounces off because they can’t be logical then the game is over. And anyone who saw that just saw a big whiny ass baby go crying home to mama.

The world is falling apart

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slowly. Like an old house. At least my world is.

It certainly doesn’t start with the Kid’s dad, but he has a shit ton to do with it. Right now, I feel just like my 21 year old self. Terrified most of the time. Jumping at shadows and panicky over everything. I have less than a month to figure out how we’re going to live on no money and where we’re going to live when our lease is up. 21 year old me had the same problem when the Kid’s dad left us 6 months behind on bills.

And now I feel the same urge to run. Run as far away as I can. Get away from him, get away from the constant fear. Get to a place where I’m not terrified by every red haired person or car doors slamming or baseball caps. (it makes sense in my head, really). Get somewhere where I can breathe and relax and not worry all the time. What’s really funny is, I’m not a worrier. I’m not normally one of those people who wastes energy on what horrible things might happen. But now, I freak out if the Kid is 10 minutes late getting home from school. I can’t be around people (even ones that I love and adore like Ruth and CJ) for long because it interrupts my brain’s campaign of Constant Vigilance! when I try to be social.

I dream of running away to wide a open desert. Of a little shack on hill where I can see anyone coming for miles and miles. I want to be in a place where the biggest things I have to fear are scorpions and rattlesnakes and sunburn, instead of violence and poverty and homelessness and hunger.

I ran away from all this before. And we did alright for a long time. But damn if 13 years of reality and a busted economy don’t make a girl a wee bit more pessimistic at 34 than at 21.

There are very, very few black and white issues in the world

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Most things are a spectrum of grey. Politics, economics, environment, even free speech all have a grey scale.

But there is one that is soooo black and white, either good or bad. And it’s the one we have the most trouble with.

Bodily autonomy. The idea that any and every single person on the planet has the right to do with their own body whatever they want, so long as it doesn’t harm another living, autonomous human being.

This idea that ownership of ones body is flexible is the reason for drug laws, prostitution laws, abortion laws, slavery, the prison system, torture, rape, executions, child abuse, domestic violence, human trafficking, “honor” killings, and a whole host of other horrific things. We come down hard on people using their own bodies for survival (prostitution) or self medicating their own bodies in the only way they can (drug abuse) while ignoring or excusing the thousands of ways we allow people to abuse another body with violence, abuse or exploitation.

You either believe that your body is the one true thing that any of us ever get to own in this world, or you don’t.

It is the most basic of property rights. You don’t have to be rich, or have good credit, or be educated, or straight, or white, or male, or able-bodied, or even an adult. As soon as you are born, as soon as you no longer require another person’s body as a life support system, you have the right to your own body. But before that, you are relying on the good graces of your mother, because she gets the same rights to her body as you get to yours, once you are born.

It’s black and white. There is no middle ground on this. The middle ground means that there is justification for rape, for child abuse, for slavery. The middle ground means there are enough good things that come from these atrocities to make it okay. And there isn’t (if almost 40 years of the War on Drugs hasn’t shown you that criminalization is a racist means of control minority populations then you’re a hopeless idiot).

People who don’t understand this fundamental right are the people who kill doctors, or bomb buildings, or make new categories so that they can claim they have a sex life and not a rape record. People who don’t get this explain child abuse as discipline. People who don’t get this treat women like children and take away the availability of medical procedures. People like this are always coming up with new reasons to justify their own violence.

But they almost never apply those same justifications to themselves. For whatever reasons, they believe that they are more autonomous than others.

I’ve been watching a lot of crime tv lately. I saw (back to back) a show about Fritzel, the fuckwad in Germany who held his daughter in the basement for decades, and another show about a rich American who also held several different women in an underground dungeon for years at a time. Neither one of them thought what they were doing was wrong. I saw another guy, who raped his stepdaughter, who didn’t think he was as bad as his cellmate. What he did was okay, but his cellmate raped little boys and that was really wrong.

And I think about the talking heads like O’Reilly, who spout off venomous attacks on others, inciting violence and even stalking opponents. They don’t think what they are doing is wrong either. Because, just like those horrible men mentioned above, they believe that some bodies are not fully autonomous.

But they are just trying to find a shade of grey in a black and white issue, and there isn’t one. Ever.

You’ll all thank me for this later

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Or more inappropriate conversations with the Kid

Last night, coming home on the insanely hot bus. Kid gets the window seat and then proceeds to do the dudely spread leg sitting position that pisses off female mass transit riders world wide.

I asked, repeatedly and nicely, for him to scoot over so that I’m not falling in the aisle. It works for a minute, then he forgets.

I’m hot, I’m cranky, I’ve lost my patience.

“Okay kid, either you sit nice and share the seat or I get the window side”.

That doesn’t work.

So I broke it down and told him the truth.

“The only people who get to sit like that are guys with watermelon sized private parts. Guys who sit like that and aren’t packing a watermelon just piss off women. We all know that sitting all spread eagle is a cover up for tiny bits”.

That worked.