As an addendum, my aunt did finally send the picture of me holding the chickens with a look of absolute horror on my face, but MAN I looked like shit that day, so I’m not posting it. The video is way better anyway, and representative.

Also for your reading pleasure, some amazing and/or funny things I have bookmarked lately:

Transformation and Transcendence: The Power of Female Friendship I cried so hard I had to close my door.

The Love of My Life This is by the woman who writes the Dear Sugar column at The Rumpus. She just came out as her true self on Valentine’s Day and I am super excited about it because now I can stalk her other essays everywhere. Everything she writes makes my heart swell up like a balloon.

5 Embarrassing Social Blunder You maybe Have Made Why yes, I have.

Do Not Send This Text Too late.

Feet in Smoke: A Story of Electrical Near-Death I bought this guy’s book because I loved this so much. Check out the gushy comments. I think personal essay is the most exciting form of writing happening in America right now. There is just so much good stuff out there (as this list attests.)

The Fourth State of Matter From The New Yorker archives, this may be the single best thing I have read this year.

On Want Cosigned, as the kids say on the Twitter.

A Poem: She Let Go Found via Malphigian Corpuscle.

And another: Nightsong

2. Sweet Dreams Are Made of This. Turns out this song is essentially about a thousand repetitions of two lines, and those lines are really more “chanted” than “sung”. If you try to sing it, you will wind up in a weird fugue state where part of you is twitching your hips in time with the relentless tempo and trying to chant in a hypnotic manner, part of you is frantically wondering when this stupid song ends, and none of you resembles Annie Lennox in any way, shape, or form.

3. Anything by Adele, Whitney, or Mariah. I was going to say “any one-named female pop diva” but you can pry “La Isla Bonita” out of my cold, dead mouth. You know how good you sound in your car with the windows rolled down singing along with “Rolling in the Deep”, how you feel it deep down in your bones, and Adele has that low register anyway and you know the crowd will be with you? I admire your self-esteem, but no.

4. Informer by Snow. Although this was only a minor hit and is now old, I’ve seen several people try to perform it, and it has been excruciatingly painful for everyone each time. Don’t be one of those people. You think you know the lyrics, but you don’t, and also you don’t have the breath to spit them out even if you did. It’s way too fast, which is why it’s unintelligible to begin with.  Many Blues Traveler songs also fall into this category, as do many hip-hop numbers and that godawful thing by Chumbawumba.

5. Songs where you only know the chorus. Yes, you’ll have the words in front of you, but still. You have to have a basic grasp of the song’s structure and story or you will do it wrong, and then get nervous, and be so anxious to get to the part you do know that you’re stumbling all over the place. Trust the woman who tried to sing “People Are Talkin’” by Bonnie Raitt and nearly died from the stress of it. There was phrasing in there I couldn’t nail with a hammer.

6. Soulful ballads from Disney cartoons. Can you paint with all the colors of the wind? If you are a man and you try to sing about it, ESPECIALLY if you gesture with your arms while doing so, your penis automatically shrinks by 25%–and everyone sees it happening. (There are a few exceptions to this rule, but I’m nearly certain that you’re not one of them. If you were, you would already be triple-sure of it and your friends would have marveled several times, unprompted, about how great your rendition of “A Whole New World” was. Don’t you dare close your eyes!) (Certain exemptions also apply for gay men.)

7. Songs in another language. Yes, Spanish is largely phonetic, but guess what? Los Lobos actually understood what those words meant! That’s why they did such a bang-up job delivering them. You, sir or madam, are no capitan. You can baila la bamba, but don’t sing it.

8. Anything that requires more than two people to be on stage. If you are drunk enough to think that you and all your girlfriends should perform “I Got Friends in Low Places”  or “All the Single Ladies” together, you will live to regret stepping up on that stage. One per mic.

9. Son of a Preacher Man, Me and Bobby McGee, Black Velvet, I Will Survive, She’s in Love with the Boy. These songs are mine, so step off.

Of course, none of these rules apply if you a) are genuinely good; or b) genuinely don’t give a fuck what other people think.

Except rule number nine. That stands.

2. Speaking of the DSM, do you think the men at my pharmacy are jealous when I fill prescriptions for my ADD meds and Xanax at the same time? They should be.

3. I just received a mysterious pair of black leather heels in the mail. I am virtually certain that I did not order them. They’re nice, too. Question: Am I living inside the matrix? Because I do need fancy black pumps, and I’ve been looking at many online. But I never looked at these.

4. Did you know that there is an underwater city of gnomes in Britain? I’ve long been obsessed with this idea.  ALERT: a gnome appeared on my TV AS I WAS TYPING THIS SENTENCE. WTF matrix?

5. It’s Valentine’s Day and I took myself out for two beers and a chicken sandwich. That may explain the tenor of this post. I also may or may not have listened to that sadgirl Adele album three times today. Honestly, V-Day has never meant much to me one way or the other, until I had a really good one last year. I’m trying hard not to think about that–Except the part where I just linked to a blog post about it–because feeling one’s feelings is quite unhealthy.

6. I have one special talent that makes me unique in the world. Just one, and it’s more of a party trick, really. I used to hate it when people would make me perform my trick during high school, so my skill is largely unknown among my DC friends, but still. It was my special thing. MINE. And now this stupid girl did it and it’s on YouTube,  AND she has way better hair than I do.

I am only pretending to be pretending to be upset about this.

7. This might be my favorite tweet ever, from @slashleen during the Grammys:

The only way I could love Adele any more is if she stuffed her Grammys in a pillow case and beat the shit out of Chris Brown. #grammys

I know, that was two Adele references, which is many. But I have to tell you, between growing up in the 90s with Whitney and getting my heart smashed to bits during the year of Adele’s ascendancy and availing myself of her music on those days when I was having a hard time crying (oh that is hilarious, I kill me), I knew more about what was going on at the Grammys this year than I have since I was 12. Which is also the last time I watched them, I think.

8. As long as we are being super au courant, here is a link to Whitney Houston singing “How Will I Know” without an instrumental track or back-up singers. It’s her voice only, and it is stunning. (I was going to say I have nothing snarky to say about this situation, but then I also wanted to tell you about this other tweet that I saw: “BREAKING: Kevin Costner failed.” I can’t help it, that shit is funny.)

9. VERY IMPORTANT NEWS: Amid a sudden sickening realization that I had a week off between jobs and no way to fill it except by panicking about upcoming challenges, I booked myself a solo vacation in Key West next week. I’m a little bit jittery that I will be sad and lonely, but better sad and lonely in a bed and breakfast in the Keys than in my wintry DC apartment, right? I’m going snorkeling. And eating shrimp.

10. And finally, via my foster sister at Doin’ the Grownup:

Last night I dreamt that:

– I was wrong about the time of my new job orientation and missed it;

– Wandering around the endless maze of my new building trying to find the orientation, I kept seeing people from high school. They were all the really smart kids, and they were all doing terribly menial jobs like scraping gum of the floor.”I thought you were a chemist?” I said to one girl (She was wearing one of those navy blue smock things.) She averted her eyes. I was very worried about how I was supposed to succeed if these people–much better bets than I–were pushing brooms.

Later, I found out she had a blog about how much she hated her life, and I was equal parts sad for her and excited that she was allowed to have a blog, because it meant that I could, too. (It was themed with corporate colors, and I also noted approvingly that she had obeyed the guidelines for logo usage.)

–Still wandering around looking for a conference room, I saw that there were floors and floors of employee apartments above the office, so, naturally, I broke into one. I was taking a nap in the bed (I’m  stress sleeper)  when I heard people come in, so I got up and wandered out. “Oh hey, I was lost and wandered in here…” They did not seem fazed. As I left, they folded a table down from the wall (it was a small apartment) and started playing cards.  ”What game is that?” I asked, trying to be friendly. Looking up at me with a vaguely threatening expression on her face, one of the women replied, “Snarl.”

–In the hallway again, I called my sister and asked if I should take one of the employee apartments.”They’re really tiny and kind of weird,” I said, “but I would save $800 a month on rent and it would be really convenient.”

“You might as well,” she replied, “you know you’re never going to be able to leave there anyway.”

–Apparently having given up on orientation, I was trying to find an employee assembly. I was running late (of course) and had to bike up a muddy hill in the woods to get there.

–At the assembly, I was distracted by the fact that the room was set up badly and should have fewer chairs to encourage people to sit in the front so that the space felt fuller. (This is something that we are OBSESSED with at my current job.) As I was pondering who I should tell about this, I was handed a sheet of paper with an agenda on it, and realized that  a) we were there to talk about a series of murders that had taken place; and b) my mom, sister, and I had committed them and were about to get in big trouble. I thought I had covered mine up by dragging the body into the woods so that the wolves could dispose of the evidence and using a blacklight to make sure I’d scrubbed up all the blood, but no. My lack of attention to some detail had sunk us all.

–When I woke up, I was exhausted, my mouth tasted like blood, and I had an email from my new boss asking if she could postpone the meeting we were supposed to have today because she has to work all day. All day Sunday. Aaaalllll day.

So, that happened. I’ll tell you my pop psychology interpretation in the comments.

My career, such as it is, has just kind of happened to me. I was a waitress, and then I decided that unlimited access to free booze might not be my best life choice, so I started temping. I was hired there, and then someone called me about another job, and I got it, and another, and so on. I have been extraordinarily fortunate to have great mentors who look out for me and to often be in the right place at the right time. During certain periods, I have worked my ass off (usually to impress someone whose favor I courted, but it still counts.) During times when I’ve had to work for people I don’t respect, I’ve sometimes phoned it in.

But wherever I’ve been in my career, ever since I hung up my Guinness-stained apron at age 25, I have reminded myself frequently that I am commuting under a serendipitous star. In the highly competitive DC marketplace, where your alma mater is the second piece of information people ask you for*, the fact that I’ve done as well as I have without a college degree is amazingly lucky. I am privileged to do the work I do, at organizations I’m proud of, surrounded by smart people, and I don’t take that privilege for granted.

I’m very grateful and excited for my new job. (Which, by the way, the intuitive TOTALLY predicted–time frame, sector, salary, and all.) It’s a wonderful opportunity, and a chance to really advance my career. I’m suffering through my usual anticipatory anxiety–I’m not ready for this, I don’t have the skills, everyone will see that I’m a fraud, no one will like me–but I’m old enough now to know that this anxiety is what revs me up for new challenges. Panic-induced adrenaline is to me what performance-enhancing drugs were to Jose Canseco: I’m much better with it than without. I like to think of it as preparatory  anxiety.

So I’m reluctant to say this, because I don’t want the universe to smite me in retribution, but here is the worry that keeps me up at night: what if my life’s share of luck is being misdirected? What if being successful in my professional life means I will never be successful in love?

I know there are people out there who are serene in their belief that they can have everything they want in life, that they deserve it. I am not one of those people. I feel like every little scrap of luck that blows my way must be snatched up and hoarded lest it’s the last of its kind. True story: I am fanatically paranoid about buying lottery tickets for people or giving scratch-offs as gifts, because what if I had the winning ticket in my hand and let it go? I know my jealous little heart: it would kill me, quite literally, to know that I’d had freedom in my hands and let it slip away.

I remind myself every day that I have more love and opportunity and security and potable water than 99% of the other human beings on this planet. How will I ever be happy if I can’t be happy with that?

As part of my continuing quest for improved mental health, I’ve been attending group therapy. (And hating it. But that’s another story.) A couple of weeks ago we were asked to imagine what a perfect two days might look like at some future date of our choosing. Where would we be, who would we be with, what would it look like and smell like and feel like. One by one, the other group members shared their visions: a quiet beach, lunch with a loved one, an afternoon nap, a long walk. Hot tubs figured prominently.

I profoundly and deeply did not wish to do this exercise. The whole time everyone else was jotting down notes about what sushi they’d order on their fantasy getaway, I just gripped my pen and tried to breathe slowly and evenly through my nose. When we started going around the room and recounting our visions, I concentrated on the clock, willing time to run out before they reached me.

And when it was, inevitably, my turn, I opened my mouth to speak and burst into tears.

This is the thing. I think that, in my heart of hearts, I don’t believe any more that I am going to get what I want–a man who loves me for a long time, and a kid who resembles both of us. I can no longer see the path from here to there; I feel like I’m so far away from it now that it might as well be on the moon. And when I look into the future and try to imagine what my life might look like without that essential piece, which has been the only thing I’ve ever been certain I needed, I can’t see anything. That space is filled with crushing dread.

And so, this fear that I have unwittingly made a devil’s bargain at some point along the way is tempering my happiness about the new gig. I’m afraid that I’ll spend the last few years of my 30s scrambling to succeed at my first Big Job (while finishing school) and by the time I emerge on the other side, my chance to have the life I want will be that much further out of reach.

I tell myself this: That one door opens, and then another, and I just have to walk through each one with an open heart. That no one gets everything they want, and that to look at the bounty I’ve been given and pout about it is the worst, most dangerous kind of hubris. That things work out the way they are meant to, and what will be will be.

But it doesn’t help me to see the path any more clearly, or feel any better about my odds.

*1. What do you do? 2. Where’d you go to school? 3. What’s your name?

1. What would you wear with this dress? I particularly need shoe help. I want the most comfortable ones possible that are also kind of hot. And I obviously can’t go bare-legged this time of year, so do people still wear nude stockings? The idea makes me feel like I’m suffocating, frankly, though I am a big fan of tights.

2. What do you use at work to keep track of your to-do list and stay organized? I generally use a mangy legal pad, but I’m hoping to trick people into thinking I’m better organized at my new job. (I’m also hoping to trick myself into BEING better organized. Or organized at all.) In my current gig, I always kind of know what’s on my plate and don’t have to think about it much, but I’m anticipating a steep learning curve at the new place and want to be ready. Or is there an electronic device I could justify buying for this purpose?

3. Do you have a work bag that you love? I don’t need to carry a laptop often, but ideally the bag should be big enough to accommodate one, plus other files and my Kindle and probably a pair of shoes. I need a shoulder strap, and I’m partial to buttery leather in a not-so-neutral color, like blue or purple or green. But still profesh.

4. Finally, have you ever read or received any advice on starting a new job that you have found helpful? It’s been a long, long time since I’ve walked into a place without knowing the lay of the land, or at least had a strong ally on the inside who could direct me. I want to WIN at being the best new employee ever…and I want to avoid mistakes early on that will hem me in later. (Like saying cheerfully that I love 7 a.m. meetings and then having one on my calendar every day for the next five years if I have another option.)

5. Back on shoes, two questions: Can I wear boots with a skirt or dress in an office that is technically business casual but where I am trying to be very professional? Knee high boots and a dress are my uniform October-March. Without this uniform I am helpless.

And finally, are these shoes the worst idea ever or the best? I know myself and I cannot wear shoes that hurt my feet. I have a closet full of pretty shoes that I never wear. But I am also theoretically opposed to Crocs on principle (the principle being that single women should not own multiple cats, Christmas sweaters, or shoes that appear to be TOO too comfortable.) (These are my own issues, and I own them: I’m sure your cats are lovely.)

Leather Crocs Heels? Possible or Putrid?

PS–I am addicted to Pinterest. I know, so predictable. I am indulging my embarrassing obsession with graphic quotes and obsessing even more about work clothes over there. Let’s be friends.

Don’t think about your work husband, who got a stress nosebleed shortly after you delivered the news of your imminent departure. Definitely don’t think about how he’s going to have to do everything he always does, plus everything you do, plus all of the extra stuff you both have been doing since your boss left a year ago, all by himself when you abandon him. Don’t think about anything that might give you a guilt ulcer, or you won’t make it out that door.

Don’t make the mistake of thinking that all of the projects being discussed in team meetings sound fun and engaging. You know better than this. You know they will be migraine-inducing hellathons, and that any spark with which you try to endow them will be stomped out long before it has the chance to catch fire. You know this because you have danced this dance before, a thousand times, which is at least a few hundred times too many.

Don’t think about how much of your identity is tied up with being the go-to person, the old hand. There will be other copy machines to conquer, other institutional lore to assimilate, other crazy people to learn how to flatter and manipulate in order to get things done.

Stop referring to yourself and your company as “we”. You can’t form a “we” with an entity that only exists on paper. You owe loyalty only to corporeal beings, not limited liability corporations. Save your hand-wringing and concern for things with heartbeats. Like yourself.

Clean out your desk drawers, little by little. Leave room for plausible deniability of what you’re doing. Notice that the New Yorker cartoons and magnets and neon-hued Post-Its you’ve acquired during your tenure don’t actually have any significance to you, and that you don’t care about any of it, at all. Tell yourself firmly that however old you are, it’s too old for green and purple ink of any kind. Throw out everything that you don’t know to be useful or believe to be beautiful–and then throw out most of the “useful” stuff, too. There will be plenty of high-quality thumbtacks where you’re headed.

Ponder the idea that people who make $34,000 or more per year are in the top 1% of earners worldwide. You spent nearly as much at Trader Joe’s in the last month as the average family in Madagascar earns in a year. Recognize that you are a ridiculously privileged human being, that you live like some kind of pasha and don’t appreciate it. Vow to set aside money for charity each month when you fill out your new payroll forms.

To maintain your exalted position in the world financial hierarchy, resolve to quit looking at everything on the internet except the thesaurus during work hours. But find out if your new company’s network is monitored closely, anyway.

Resist the urge to start giving away your best desk supplies before the news is official; people may worry that you are suicidal.

Draft your letter of resignation. Appreciate how typing it makes your fingers tingle. (With anxiety or ecstasy? It’s hard to tell.) I am resigning my position at ______ effective on __/__/__. Boom. That’s your line. It’s the only one you need. Rehearse it in the mirror while you are patting on concealer to cover the dark circles under your eyes.

Picture yourself in a new outfit, something fashionable yet adult. Add a surprising, whimiscal element–hipster glasses or a purple scarf–and a handsome leather satchel of some sort to this image. Envision walking into an office where no one knows anything about you. You can make almost anything true, with your clean desk and a notebook full of crisp white pages tucked into the crook of your arm. You will show up for a meeting and whip out copies of a concise yet ambitious agenda that makes people sit up and take notice. You will be clear-eyed. You will not pretend to be checking emails on your phone while looking at Facebook in meetings.

You will not be the person who (everyone knows) cries in the ladies room; that’s all behind you, for now.

You will go eight hours without looking at Twitter–you will go nine, ten, the world is your oyster! You will maintain appropriate professional boundaries, but still not be lonely at lunchtime. You will have a social life that is not primarily comprised of complaining about your job. Your lipstick will last all day. There will be straight, single men in the same building as you, and some will think you’re funny and that you have nice breasts. Maybe this new office is where all of the good guys have been hiding.

Now, take a deep breath. Buzz your boss and ask if you can come down for a minute. Re-read your one line and take a fortifying sip of water from a coffee mug you’ll throw away tomorrow. One door is about to open, and then another. Anyone might walk through. You’ve got this.

The Greatest TV Show in the World

…in my best estimation, the blueprint for the greatest television program the world has ever known. The year is 1914. The location, outer space. Tensions are running high between Mars-tria and Germoony. The United Asteroid Belt of America tries to remain neutral, but the murder of Spaceduke Franz Ferdinand touches off an intergalactic conflict that involves all corners of the galaxy.

On one small asteroid, a man named Jeremy Van Buren prepares to go to war. The Van Burens are wealthy, landed aristronauts…

2. Tim Gunn has not had sex in 29 years. I seriously teared up reading this. A broken heart can ruin your life.

3. Embrace Your Inner Girl (Eve Ensler at TED)

…and then let’s think how compassion informs wisdom, and vulnerability is our greatest strength, and that emotions have inherent logic, which lead to radical, appropriate, saving action. And then let’s remember that we’ve been taught the exact opposite by the powers that be…

4. Not to make this blog even more uterine than usual, but the above reminded me of this video, which I love because it’s so creative and fun to watch. The Girl Effect

5. My ex-step-brother posted a picture of himself asleep on the toilet on Facebook this week. I know, it sounds like the set-up to a joke, but I assure you it is not. America, I know this is an unpopular opinion, but sometimes divorce is the best gift you can give your children.

6. How many hipsters does it take to screw in a lightbulb? Oh, it’s a really obscure number; you’ve probably never heard of it. <——That was a joke.

7. They thought it was funny.

8. What’s your favorite quote? Here are some that I’ve been digging. I started a Google doc to collect them. It’s the fulfillment of a lifelong dream. I might steal the Carrie Fisher one for the site’s new tagline.

Hope is definitely not the same thing as optimism. It is not the conviction that something will turn out well, but the certainty that something makes sense, regardless of how it turns out.–Vaclav Havel

If you want to build a ship don’t herd people together to collect wood and don’t assign them task and work, but rather teach them to long for the endless immensity of the sea. — Antoine de Saint-Exupery

You can only see as far as your headlights, but you can make the whole trip that way.–E.L. Doctorow

Nobody wants to read about a good looking happy person–Carrie Fisher

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School started this week. I like the classes I’m taking (Irish history and psychology, whaaaat) but the idea of keeping up and doing the work I need to do is daunting. Online classes don’t have the kind of accountability I need–generally, the prospect of being publicly shamed by someone else–to get motivated. I guess some people have that “within” themselves, somehow? Is there a pocket of some sort for it, maybe right beneath the diaphragm? Because that is right where I feel hollow and crampy and sick when I start to let things slip due to a lack of the aforementioned personal accountability.

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Even though I’m not saying many interesting things here, I have been polishing up some old stuff and posting it at Thought Catalog.  This piece in particular is one of my favorite things I’ve written.

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Do any of you watch Torchwood? I just discovered it and I am obsessed. I would like to have someone to exclaim to over things like what just happened to Owen Harper, the man I planned to marry (or at least shag rotten.)

I’m also concerned that my love for Torchwood is a slippery slope to Dr. Who and then BAM–my dating pool is limited to men who enthusiastically speak Klingon at Star Trek conventions and own a lot of books about dragons. (Not that I don’t own some books about dragons. But I’m well-rounded! Especially in the butt.)

And I say this as someone who really likes dating geeks. If you ever remember anything I tell you, remember this: Very smart people who had awkward adolescences are awesome in bed. Truth.

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I’ve been pondering the idea of forming an online writing group, a loose collective of people who bounce ideas around, brainstorm pitches and outlets, and read each other’s drafts with an eye toward getting our work out to a broader audience somehow, whatever that may mean to each individual. It would be nice to have a mix of men and women, I think. Would any of you be interested?

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I’ve been making this really good thing. It’s low-carb, vegetarian, and can easily be made pretty low-fat.  Feel free to stop reading now if you don’t care. It will not hurt my feelings. Much.

So, last week was a doozy. My poor head was spinning twenty different ways–mostly good ways, but still.

A friend of mine who has successful lost weight and kept it off said that the two most important things she did were to learn about what proper portions actually look like and to remove as many opportunities as possible to make bad food decisions. She did this by figuring out what a good breakfast and lunch looked like and eating the same thing every day. (I’ll give you the breakfast recipe at the end–it’s delicious.)

She had a small-ish rotation of dinners, but breakfast and lunch rarely varied. This way she could basically dial it in, and not accidentally undo a week’s worth of diligence by eating loaded baked potato soup in a bread bowl for lunch just because it’s convenient. (And delicious.)  (God, doesn’t that sound good?)

This approach is very attractive, except that it would never work for me because I need my food to be both really tasty and really engaging. I like new things. I crave variety. Sometimes, I really can’t live without tofu and vegetables (true story, I love tofu) and sometimes, I want a steak. This is the genius of Fresh Diet; the menus are varied and the food is fun. I never felt deprived of anything. The breakfasts and snacks–two per day–were especially divine. It’s he closest I’ll ever come to having a personal chef.

In my week of meals–which I chose myself from their menus–I only had one thing I didn’t like. My aforementioned desire for variety typically leads me to order several more mistakes than that in a normal week. (Don’t get my friends started on this. I am frequently abused for my dining choices–olive oil ice cream sounded good! It wasn’t.)

I think a week of really intentional, healthy eating set me off on the right foot for the New Year. I learned a lot about the importance of portion size, satisfying breakfasts, and adorable snacks. Those three things are a winning combo, let me tell you.

(Speaking of adorable, have you ever lost an afternoon looking at the awesome things people put in bento boxes? Me neither.)

Fresh Diet is offering a deal right now for you lovely people–Start today for $29.99 per day and get 3 days free. The promo code is: singlejan3.

Now: before your fancy Fresh Diet food starts coming, make these. They taste like banana bread, freeze like a dream so you can heat them up at work, and are endlessly adaptable. EVERYONE likes them.

You can omit the banana, add apple sauce or peanut butter, put pistachios in it, flavor with dried cherries and almonds…you get the idea.

Baked Oatmeal (is such a boring name for these wonderful things)

Ingredients:

1 cup skim milk

2 cup uncooked quick oats

2 mashed-up bananas and/or 1/2 cup unsweetened applesauce

1 1/2 tsp baking powder

1 tsp vanilla extract

1/4 tsp ground cinnamon

1/4 cup dark brown sugar

2 eggs or 1/4 cup egg substitute

Possible additions:

1/2 cup unsweetened applesauce

1/4 cup raisins

1/2 cup peanut butter

etc.

Instructions:

Fold everything together. Spray non-stick spray on muffin tins. Bake at 350 for 35 to 40 minutes. Freeze them so you don’t accidentally eat them all at once.