The First Supper

I know. It's okay. You can say it. Fine! If you won't, I will!!

"Hey, Mr. Neu-FUCKIN'-rotica....When in the bloody HELL did this become a cooking blog?!?!"

Hey, somebody had to say it.

So, alright. I know I've been talking about cooking a helluva lot. And yeah, I know it's probably starting to get annoying to some of you (well, maybe not so much American Idol guy. Dude!!! Sanjaya is still in the game!!! What up wit dat?! Hollaback, yo!!) Normally, I'd say fuck off and go read a copy of Us Weekly if you want something juicier than my growth in the culinary arts, but even I'm starting to get bored writing about the cooking thing.

So, with that, I'm going to cut down on the cooking blogs. However, not before writing about the lovely evening I had with my mom, yesterday. Once again, I cooked the Mexican chicken and beans recipe. As always, it turned out beautifully and my timing couldn't have been any more perfect as it was done by the time my mom arrived with the puppies, at eight.

I want to give you a little bit of perspective on the evening. All my life, my mom has been at my side. She's given me so many things. Hell, I might not be walking or even sitting here, typing this if it weren't for my mom and her (tough) love. Every single night, she has provided me with meal after meal...even after I moved out!! So, please, dear reader, imagine how wonderful it felt to sit her down at a set table and serve her a Caesar salad and a dish that I prepared all by myself. Picture how amazing it felt to have her--the same woman who will eat just a bowlful of spinach and Basmati rice and call it "dinner"--wolf down two giant tortillas and ask me for the recipe at the end, not to mention suggest I go to culinary school (Nahhh...I like to cook just for fun.)

Yes, I get it: It was just one meal and I probably owe her around 9,489 to catch up (if you must know, I went 26 x 365 to come up with that number, so shush!!).

After dinner, mom laid down on the sofa with the puppies and we watched "The Holiday" (love it!!!!). I must say, it was weird seeing them on my couch like that. And yet, it was so satisfying having my mom relax at my place for once and just chill out with me. I think, when it all comes down to it, the reason the evening was so perfect was because for once, my mom and I were hanging out, rather than me just...hanging around.

And for the first time, I felt like I was an adult, a grown man in her eyes and not just her little boy. It's funny. Normally, I tend to eat and run while I'm at their place; like I can't get out of there fast enough. So, it struck me as odd that I felt a twinge of sadness when she and the dogs left. Oh, well...they'll be back.

They all come back.

Hula Hoop Girl--The Journey Continues

So, today, I did it! I broke the ice with Hula Hoop Girl!!

After a week-long absence, Hula Hoop Girl made a welcome return to the gym, this afternoon. I have to be honest, I was really afraid that my mom had actually frightened the poor girl away indefinitely!! Hey, you know me: Always thinkin' the good thought.

Anyway, I got to the gym with my dad around 6:05 and there she was, hula hooping her heart out (wow! nice alliteration!). My heart started to race, my mind blanked. All the ideas I had regarding what I wanted say to her just vanished inside my head.

So, for the majority of the time, I did what I normally do: watch her from afar with puppy dog eyes and looks of longing. But then something happened toward the end of my work-out routine. Something that had never happened. She stopped hula hooping, looked at me and smiled. I proceeded to melt for a good 30 seconds or so.

Apparently, she was done hula hooping for the day and, as luck would have it, I was about 15 feet away. From behind me, I could hear my dad whispering, "Go! Now! Talk to her now!!"

So, I did.

I quickly--a little too quickly, if you really wanna know--approached her and asked, "hey...how do you do that?!" She pulled one of her ear buds out and pointed to her eyes, which have sort of like a butterfly design on the sides (hot!) and said, "Oh, you mean these?" Now, the smart man would have said, "why yes! That design really brings out your eyes!" Perhaps it would have made her blush and it would have launched us into a flirtatious back-and-forth.

But nooooo...!!

I pointed to her damn hula hoop and said, "No. How do you do, um, that. You know...hula hoop for hours on end. How do you do that?" She answered back with a single word and smiled: "Practice."

I quickly threw out my hand and introduced myself. I told her she had met my mom the other day (WHY, G-D, WHY?!?!). She then gave me her name and we shook hands. All the while, I could feel my face and my ears start to turn a bright tomato shade of red. Before I walked off, I let out a little nervous chuckle, looked at her hula hoop again and heard myself say "so, wow...craziness!!"

WHO SAYS THAT?!?!

I walked back over to my dad, pissed with myself for coming across like such a freak. Apparently, my dad had pretty much heard everything. He he had this look on his face that was a mixture of bemusement and pride. He said to me, "hey...ya broke the ice. Good for you. Ya did it." I went on one of my little self-bashing rants about how I probably came off looking like a date rapist or a mentally-challenged man. He finally was like, "Hal. Stop it. Give yourself some credit. You made a first step and now she knows who you are. You did good!"

I wanted to continue being angry with myself. I wanted to continue calling myself names and knock my head up against a wall, but I couldn't. My dad was right. While it may not have been the introduction I'd been exactly dreaming about, it was still an introduction. People are always saying that you should pick your battles. What they fail to mention is that you should also pick your victories.

Like my dad said, now Hula Hoop Girl knows who I am. And yeah, now I know who she is.

She's Beth.

Happy Endings--Part 2

As I've mentioned in a few past blog entries, this blog is my own version of therapy.

I remember going to my former shrink, a few years back. I would talk and talk and talk (and talk!!) and I never really felt like I was getting much help from his end. He would just sit there with a blank expression like Droopy Dog, only once in a while offering a comment along the lines of "I'm a little confused about..." or "How did that make you feel?"

And yet, I would always feel better just talking. I didn't really need any feedback. Having said that, I could talk to a wall and get the same results--and it would cost me absolutely nothing!

The same goes for this blog. As I've said in the past, it's nice to know that people read my entries and leave me feedback (well, except for those "American Idol" comments!! I mean, Jesus!! Don't you have anything better to do?!), but at the end of the day, this blog is for me to get things out of my system and make coherent, rational thoughts out of them.

As for last night's entry, well, that was an entry for me. I'm glad that y'all--whoever you are--read it, enjoyed it, whatever...but that one was for me. It was me saying, ya know what? I think I'm doing okay. It was sort of like my own self-distributed progress report. If you pay attention to the comments I receive, you'll notice I got one telling me to stop obsessing. Well, it's really not me obsessing. It's me working through my own issues the best way I know how: writing.

This entry, dear readers, is for you...

Every Saturday night, I go to the same Greek restaurant. I have been doing this for nearly four years. I have friends who work there, you see. So, I come in, we chat, I leave. The end.

This last Saturday, however, was different. I had mentioned to Chef X on Thursday that I was going to make the stuffed shells again and she suggested I make something else with pasta. After all, there are a zillion things you can do with pasta. I said, I should make pasta with olive oil and garlic. She gave me a quick tip to infuse the oil with the garlic...or whatever.

So, later on, I got three general guidelines from my mom and on Saturday, I had an amazing experience.

I got off of work at 5pm and stopped at Whole Foods, where I picked up a fresh herb salad, Caesar dressing and olive oil. After that, I stopped at the Kroger's next to my place and picked up some penne pasta, Roma tomatoes and a loaf of freshly baked bread.

I met my friend Crystal at the apartment and it was off I went. I boiled the water and THEN threw the pasta in. It came out perfectly. Yes, it was al dente (hey, I learn from my mistakes,alright?!) Oh, while waiting for the water to boil (remember, I have a crappy-ass electric stove so everything takes forever), I rinsed and sliced up those Roma tomatoes I mentioned earlier.

After I drained the pasta, I let it sit for a while. From there, I thawed out two chicken breasts and cut those up. I put a little olive oil in a pan and browned the chicken, sprinkling some basil leaf on top.

Then came the moment of truth. The pasta sauce. I placed a nice-sized sauce pan onto the burner and poured in the following:

1/4 c. of olive oil
1/4 T of butter
1.5 T of fresh minced garlic

I let it simmer up on medium-high heat until it started to sizzle and then I threw the pasta in. I tossed the pasta and the olive oil for about 5 minutes or so, before throwing the fresh tomatoes and the chicken in. I poured in about a 1/2 cup of grated parmesan cheese and sprinkled a little more basil on the pasta and it was done!!

I'll admit, the last few things I've made have been awesome in terms of taste and flavor but kind of lacking in the aesthetics department. Not this time. The pasta dish that I made on Saturday was so beautiful, so pleasing to the naked eye, I couldn't help but take a few photos of it with my camera phone (...and when I figure how to transfer the photos from my phone to laptop, I'll upload them onto this entry).

After the main dish was done, I tore off a piece of aluminum foil and spread some olive oil and minced garlic on it. Upon it I placed five or six slices of bread so they could sit in the garlic/olive oil mixture while it was in the toaster oven. In the meantime, while the bread was toasting, I got the Caesar salads going.

Finally, at long last, we ate the spectacular meal. It was, in a word, heavenly.

I might have been good with that, too, but at around 11pm, Kevin came over. I got his dinner ready--salad and all--and he sat down to eat it. He took a few bites, looked up and went, "Hal...um, yeah...this is amazing!! This is the kind of stuff you have to pay tons of money for in a nice restaurant. We both know I could be a dick about this if I wanted to be so obviously, I'm not blowing smoke up your ass. This is so good!!"

Now, granted, Kevin is not the end-all and be-all of compliment-givers, but it felt so great to get one from him. Yeah, it was just one compliment, but as hard as he can be on me sometimes, his one irony- and sarcasm-free compliment kind of validated everything I've been doing this last month. I could feel myself get all warm and emotional inside.

I've always been that friend who wants to make all of my other friends happy--not necessarily with me...but just, you know, happy. It's just who I am. I'm a people pleaser.

I mean, here was Kevin who worked this horrific shift at the Med Center until late at night. He was tired and hungry and I was there for him. He got to my place and filled his stomach with something that I made. Not from a recipe, but just from the top of my head. Aside from those three guidelines, this was something that I concocted on my own.

Saturday night finally made me realize what Kevin was talking about the week before. I now know what kind of power I have--the power to make the people I love happy. I'm realizing that this really has been inside of me all along. It may not have been a desire to cook at first, but I've always had that intrinsic desire to please. Finally, I have a way for that desire to manifest itself.

Really, there is so much inside of us that we never knew existed. It's all there! It may not be one specific skill (cooking, sewing, musical instruments, etc), per se, but there are those emotions and feelings and desires inside of us that amazing skills are born from.

When one can finally come to such a conclusion on their own terms, in my book, that is a happy ending!!

Happy Endings

I have this bitchy gay best friend named Kevin. Think Jack on Will & Grace but with a million times more dignity and a helluva lot less tact and you may begin to get a picture.

He can be the most infuriating, offensive asshole on the planet. Sometimes, I just want to grab him by the collar, slap him across the face several hundreds of thousands of time and just scream at him until he's covered in spittle and, depending upon how many spirits I've imbibed, bile. He gets under my skin that much.

But by G-d, when he speaks, he speaks the truth--even if it's a truth I don't particularly want to hear. At first, anyway.

A week or so ago, I went on a rant--albeit an extremely drunken rant--about how sad I still felt and blah, blah, blah about the demise of my relationship with The Girl. Thank goodness Kevin's tolerance for alcohol is higher than mine, because what followed really knocked a lot of sense into me. He just looked at me and just started yelling at me. Really yelling at me!! Big time!! He basically said, "Hal! Do you think you're the only one who goes through this shit?! Everyone goes through this!! Why do you think you're so fucking special?! Fuckin' MAN UP!!"

Wow! "Man up!" I never thought I'd ever hear those words come out of, of all people, his mouth. No, I don't mean that as an offensive and stereotyping commentary about gay men not being Real Men (In my experience, the gay men that I've known have actually been better men than many of the straight ones!!). It was just so not a Kevin thing to say. Hell, even he laughed a little in disbelief after he said it!!

And then he got onto the topic of my cooking. He was like, "Who are you kidding?! It's obvious that you're doing this to maintain some sort of connection with The Girl!!" I then asked him why he was getting so mad at me and why he was yelling at me and he finally answered: "I'm yelling at you because you think you're this amazing person because you're cooking and the truth is...you could and should have been doing this all along!! It has always been inside you!! I've always known you could do it!!"

I hate, hate, HATE admitting when he's right. But hey...when you're right, you're right.

As you know, I've been doing a lot of cooking, this last month. And I love it. I can honestly say that watching people eat and enjoy my food--not to mention eating it myself--has been better than any marijuana high I ever had (Okay..there WAS that one time when I watched "Apocalypse Now" absolutely blazed. Now THAT was crazy!!). And yet, I started my culinary adventures for the completely wrong reasons. In fact, a lot of the cool things I've been doing lately (cooking, grocery shopping, the whole cutting of the parental umbilical cord, etc.) started for the wrong reasons. Mainly, it was to get The Girl back. I figured, if I worked on myself as a person, maybe I could win her back.

I know, lame, right? Yeah, it is lame. Lame, but--sorry to say--true. In a way, it kind of reminds me of a great line that Albert Brooks had in the film, "Broadcast News": "Wouldn't this be a great world if insecurity and desperation made us more attractive? If 'needy' were a turn-on?"

But now that some time has passed and the dust has settled, here I am. I've come to terms with the fact that, other than friendship, there will be no Happy Ending with The Girl. While the end of a romantic relationship is hard on anyone, people like myself tend to forget that life around them keeps moving, And yeah, like Kevin said, it happens to everyone. I'm starting to learn that, once you have experienced the ordeal that is heartbreak, what you take away from it and how gracefully you bounce back...that's what counts.

Admittedly, for the first few weeks, I was neither bouncing nor graceful.

And now, look at me: I'm cooking for my friends and family, I'm visiting my parents' house (read: leeching) less and less. I'm finally--FINALLY!!--starting to live my life!! And I'm loving every minute of it!!! Does it matter that my original reasons for starting this life-changing journey were the "wrong" ones? Ya know, I really don't think so. In the end, it's whatever works, whatever pushes you in the more positive direction, right? I may not have the Happy Ending I originally imagined or desired, but this one really ain't so bad. In fact, I'm enjoying my life more now than I previously had in a very, very long time.

As for Kevin, well, he's still a bitch. Always has been...always will be. But I love him and I'm grateful to have him as a friend. Sometimes, tough love is the only way to break through the madness of self-doubt, regret and insecurity. As far as the whole manning up thing goes...I just don't know about that. By nature, I'm an emotional, high-strung guy. I always have been and I suppose I always will be. Then again, always is a really long time.

Growing up, on the other hand, well...that's completely doable.

The Z Factor

I'm afraid that I'm not of much use to you, this evening, dear readers and read-ettes.

For the last three weeks, I've been getting less than five hours of sleep a night. Don't ask me why. I tend to go through long stretches where I have trouble getting to bed at a decent hour, due to various distractions in my apartment or because I just get caught up in other things.

As I write this, I look like absolute shit. I'm starting to lose color in my face and my eyes are so red and bloodshot, I look like I just walked off the set of the sequel to "28 Days Later." In terms of energy, I'm drained.

And yet, I feel up. Happy "up." I mean, lack of sleep aside, it's really been a good week.

I had a nice Passover Seder with my family and friends on Monday. The food was great and so was the company! Plus, when mom gets so drunk on kosher Manischewitz wine that she can't do anything but lay her head on the table and let out the occasional cackle toward no one in particular, you know it's bound to be a grand evening for the books.

Tuesday, well, you know how that went. With the power of my cooking--and the whiff of a free meal--I reunited two long-lost friends!! Does it get much better?!

Well, yeah...actually, it does!!

Wednesday was even better!! As I mentioned in one of my previous entries, I went over to my friend Christina's house and cooked her dinner. Unfortunately, I had a (former) stoner moment and forgot to bring the movie (Yes, I know what you're thinking: You?! Forget a movie?!), so we went to the bar our friend Nichole works at and had a few drinks. As a result of Wednesday night's fun, Christina and I have decided to make Wednesday night a regular thing: Cook together and then go to the bar. Not only is that exciting news because I love hanging out with Chrissy, but because it's one more night I'm not mooching off my mom for food. Baby boy is really growing up!! Top o' the world, ma!! Top o' the world!!

Seriously, though, there are times when you start to question who your friends are and, even worse, you start to have doubts about yourself as a friend. Wednesday flushed those insecurities down the toilet because it proved, without a shadow of a doubt, that there's a helluva lot of magic left in my friendship with dear ol' Booty Pants (Christina...not my mom. 'Cuz wouldn't that would be weird!!!).

Thursday, well, OK...Thursday was kind of shitty and nondescript, but at least I got work out with my dad!!

That brings us to tonight. Well, OK...not much happened. But hey...ya can't go wrong with Chinese food. Tai Chin Chicken and Shrimp!! YUM!!

Yeah, obviously, with its inevitable grammatical and spelling errors (this is the one entry I will not sift through with a fine-toothed comb. THAT is how tired I am!!!), I need to get some sleep. But I will leave you with this uplifting, after-school special-ish message: No matter how tired you get, no matter how weary and overwhelmed and insignificant you feel, there's alway room for even the smallest hint of a smile.

That's how you win.

Baked...And Loving It!!

Not to crib from a fellow blogger, but MY OVEN WORKS! MY OVEN WORKS!! I know this because tonight, for the first time ever in my life, I baked.

Chills, people, chills.

For my first baking experience, the great and oh-so-spectacular Chef X recommended that I try her Stuffed Shells recipe:

Stuffed Shells

1 lb. box jumbo shells (pasta)
2 lb. ricotta cheese (it will be by the sour cream at the store)
1/2 c. grated parmesan cheese
2 eggs
2 tbsp chopped parsley
salt and pepper to taste
garlic powder to taste
26 oz tomato sauce (spaghetti sauce. this is also where you could buy a jar that already has meat in it)
1/4 c. grated parmesan cheese

Cook shells as directed on package. Mix all ingredients, except tomato sauce and 1/4 cup parmesan cheese, thoroughly and fill cooked shells. Line a 9x13 baking dish with enough tomato sauce to cover the bottom of the dish. Place filled shells in pan in a single layer and cover with the remaining sauce. Sprinkle with 1/4 cup parmesan cheese. Bake at 350* for 20 minutes.

I have to say, surprisingly enough, this was the toughest recipe for me to make, A lot of it had to with the fact that I screwed up on the pasta. Yeah, memo to self: do NOT place pasta in the water before it has come to a boil!! It makes the water starchy and utterly nasty to look at and the pasta gummy in texture. I realized that early enough that I could get a new pot, bring some fresh water to a boil and drop the half-cooked (read: soft and chewy, but with a nice crunch. Ick.) pasta in the new pot. Admittedly, a lot of the pasta shells kind of got thrashed and ripped in the transfer from strainer to pot, but everything seemed to come out OK.

Naturally, when the going got rough, I started to doubt myself and my ability to make this dish. At one point, the thought crossed my mind to throw in the towel and make the Mexican dish for my two guests, but I quickly pressed the eject button on that one, clearing my brain of any negativity. When I was a young lad, my mom always used to drill one thought into my brain: the word "can't" was not in my vocabulary. Tonight was no different. I saw it through to the end and the result was nothing short of a small miracle.

Not necessarily for the reason you might think, though.

In the end, when it was all said and done, we didn't eat until 8:45pm. It was worth the wait. Not just because the meal was delicious or because watching my two dinner guests eat until their bellies were full made me beam with pride. No, it was deeper than that. See, this was the first time in several years that my two friends, Derek and Crystal, had hung out together. I really never thought I'd get them in the same room again. We all went to high school together but once we closed that chapter in our lives, as is the case with that type of situation, Derek and Crystal just kind of lost touch and faded away from each other. The food that I made brought them here tonight and watching them reunite, embrace, catch up, relive old times and laugh together made me well up with emotion and a feeling of self-satisfaction that I can't even begin to describe.

I'm starting to realize that cooking really is good for the soul. It has not just fulfilled me emotionally, but it has boosted up my confidence immensely. It has made me start to ask a very important question: If I can do this, what else can I do? It's so easy for one to be complacent or satisfied with they think they can do. Much harder is being willing to push things further and risk staring into the face of possible failure. Tonight, I'm happy to say that I did just that.

And yeah...using an oven? Not so bad either.

Hula Hoop Girl and The Great Snip-Snip

So, I'm gonna just cut right to the chase. There's this girl I'm into.

I see her at the gym all the time and I just can't keep my eyes off of her. It's like I'm hypnotized. And it's not just because I find her extremely attractive--which I do! Man, oh man, I do!!--it's because she hula hoops the whole time. Seriously!! The girl does this exotic (no, pervs...not the Jessica Alba/"Sin City" variety of exotic dancing) dance for 45 minutes to an hour listening to music. All the while, she manages to, um, hula her hoop. Must be some pretty great music.

And the thing is, I watch her every time I'm at the gym. Not in a weird, sexually-charged, I'm-a-salivating-creepazoid way, but well, I'm just--I find myself intrigued. I'm always turned on by women who beat to the tune of their own drummer. As I've mentioned in previous blogs, people have always told me that they'll never meet anyone like me. Truth be told, I guess I'm looking for someone who is kind of quirky and different like me.

Somehow, I'm thinkin' that a girl who hula hoops non-stop for an hour at a time seems to fit the bill on that count.

So, getting back to the point--I think there's a point, anyway!--for the last several weeks, this girl has caught my eye and I've really wanted to talk to her but for various reasons, I just can't. The most glaring of those reasons being that the girl is doing her own thing, ya know? She's doing her special Hula Thing to her tunes. What kind of approach should one have for that type of situation ("My, my, my!! You must be a hit at the Bar/Bat Mitzvah parties!")? I'm a nervous guy with low confidence to begin with, but THIS--it's impossible!!

On Sunday, though, a window of opportunity seemed to present itself. Unfortunately, it's kind of a mixed bag. You see, earlier in the day, I made the mistake of mentioning to my mom that I kind of dug Hula Hoop Girl. Well, we got to the gym later on and, to my horror, I saw that my mom <gasp!!> had decided to strike up a conversation with her. JESUS BLOODY CHRIST!!!

About 10 minutes later, their chat session ended and mom--Master of Subtlety that she is--scurried over to me to unload all of the information she got. If I'd previously never known what it's like to have my eyes glaze over, I certainly can't make that claim now. As my mom continued to tell me about Hula Girl, I could feel the color drain out of my face. I was mortified, to say the least.

Here's the deal, I love my mom. She's an amazing woman filled with soul, passion and life. Sometimes, though, she can be just a tad much. This was one of those times. Lately, I've been trying to make myself this self-sufficient individual but it's hard, because I know she wants nothing more than for me to be happy and that desire gets in the way of just letting me breathe, letting me live and just letting me be. And that's partially my fault. I've been so dependent on my parents for so long that now that I'm finally up to the challenge of going my own way, cutting that parental umbilical cord has become increasingly difficult.

And I appreciate what she was trying to do with this girl at the gym. I think it's so sweet how she's constantly trying to help me out, whether it be providing me with cooking utensils, food (one can never get enough Raisin Bran, people!!) and coupons or "helping" me out with Hula Hoop Girl. Like I said, my mom is a lovely woman who means well and has the best intentions. However, in the latter case, meaning well and doing well are two completely different things. And make no mistake, I already feel as though I've been struck upon the head by her Giant Magical Staff of Jewish Guilt for writing these words. And she hasn't even read this yet!!

On the plus side, however, despite my objections, my mom really did get some good info on Hula Girl. For starters, she's 23, single and, according to my mom, very nice ("Oh, my GAWD!! SHE IS SO SWEET AND RECEPTIVE!!!"). Plus, she got her name. YES!! Hula Girl has a name!! I'm in business, people!!

Oh, but there's just one thing: How the FUCK can I talk to this girl now?! I can only imagine what she'll think when I start talking to her (great...the guy had his mom pump info out of me for her son. Nice.) Now, not only do I not have an approach, but I also look like a Mr. Vagina Von Vaginasteen without an approach. Great! Yes, this is the kind of shit that goes through my head. I'm once and forever more the King of Over Analysis.

But I'd be lying if I said I'm completely at a loss for ideas.

See, music is a huge deal in my life. Well, listening to it anyway (I tried learning how to play piano but quickly realized that I was out of my element when, during my first and only recital, I fucked up the second verse of "Mary Had A Little Lamb." Yeesh!!) Music has such a profound effect on my mood as well as the way I live my life. So, having said that, I have to say, I've always been curious about what kind of music gets a girl pumped enough to hula her ass off for such an extended period of time.

So, in the next couple of days, when she's there, I'm going to go up and ask her about it. It's not exactly a grand introduction, but hey...ya gotta start somewhere, right?

Any (serious!!) suggestions from the Peanut Gallery would also be immensely appreciated. Drop me a few comments, peeps (yes, you read that correctly. I said "peeps." Gosh, I'm so street!), if you feel so inclined.

As for the Mom Situation, I think that, in time and after further conversation, she'll come to realize that hearing the inevitable snip-snip sound shouldn't be cause for fear, panic and anxiety. On the contrary, it should be cause for celebration and a newfound sense of hope and trust that I'll make the right choices, decisions on my own. Even if there's a twinge of pain at first.

Hell, is there ever not?