by Ryker Suicide

I love experimenting with stuffed peppers, especially bite size mini’s! This colorful finger food is great to serve for any summer time party, but I particularly like to serve them during the 4th of July celebrations. There is something about the explosive flavor and bright colors that makes this the perfect holiday treat.
– Ryker Suicide

Ingredients

• 7 jalapenos, halved lengthwise and seeded/deveined
• 7 serranos, halved lengthwise and seeded/deveined
• 7 banana peppers, halved lengthwise and seeded/deveined
• 1 lb sweet Italian sausage, casing removed
• 16 oz pancetta, diced
• 1/2 orange bell pepper, minced
• 1/4 cup red onion, minced
• 3 TBS minced garlic
• 2 cups cream cheese
• 1/2 Parmesan plus more for garnish
• 1/4 cup chopped flat leaf parsley
• Salt/pepper
• 1/4 bread crumbs
• Olive oil for roasting

Directions:

1. Set oven to 350 degrees and roast peppers until soft, about 10 minutes. Remove from oven and allow to cool.

2. In a small pan sauté 1/3 of your onion/bell pepper/garlic until soft. Add pancetta and allow to brown. Remove from pan and allow to cool at room temp.

3. In a medium pan crumble and sauté sausage. Once cooked add the rest of your onion/bell pepper/garlic and cook until soft. Remove from pan and allow to cool to room temp.

4. Take pancetta mixture and mix with 2/3 cup of cream cheese. Add 1/8 cup of parsley, and salt/pepper to taste. Add 1/4 cup of Parmesan. Mix well and fill banana peppers. Sprinkle with parmesan and bread crumbs.

5. Take sausage mixture and add remaining cream cheese, Parmesan cheese, and parsley. Salt/pepper to taste. Mix well and fill remaining jalapenos/serranos. Sprinkle with Parmesan and bread crumbs.

6. Broil until cheese is melted/browning. Remove and serve!

Eat and enjoy!

[..]

by Nahp Suicide

A column which highlights Suicide Girls and their fave groups.

This week Vesta Suicide tells us why SGs Health And Fitness Group is good for her.

Members: 1578 / Comments: 8,800

WHY DO YOU LOVE IT?: It’s an amazing place to share tips, gain support or challenge others. It’s so much fun to see how people progress as they take on a new healthy lifestyle or fitness regime. It’s great to have one place with food and nutrition threads too!

DISCUSSION TIP: Take your aggression out at the gym, not on opinionated members.

BEST RANDOM QUOTE: On how to get healthy for cheap: “Seduce a gym instructor. And/or a fruit-and-vegetable vendor.”

MOST HEATED DISCUSSION THREAD: The “What pisses you off at your gym?” thread.

WHO’S WELCOME TO JOIN?: Anyone who could use a shot of endorphins, needs a recipe for an edible protein shake or needs to share their best gym jock pet peeve.

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by Laurelin

I promised I would never write about him again, and it’s amazing how easy that promise has been to keep. (This totally doesn’t count.) I haven’t wanted to, needed to. I’ve had nothing to say worth even remotely remembering. I remember this feeling before, just like all the others. That slow creeping suspicion that you feel fine, that he’s on your mind but not as close to the surface as he was the day before. With it comes this really stupid lost feeling: like, what am I going to DO now that I’m not thinking about it all the time? The answer is very simple: anything I fucking want.

I find myself smiling for no reason throughout the day because all of a sudden I’m no longer trapped in my own mind. I’m acutely aware of the sunlight shining off the top of the Prudential Center and how my city is so beautifully illuminated in the summer even in the midst of concrete. The Charles River glistens as I listen to the sound of my own feet slapping against the sidewalk and I’m running for me, not because he’ll only like me if I’m thin like all the other girls. I feel almost like this was a test, to see if I could pull myself out of the quicksand and be all the better for it.

Granted I haven’t been tested yet. I’m dreading the moment I run into him somewhere. I can imagine my blood turning to ice and my stomach turning. That’s one thing that never changed, feeling like I’ve been punched in the gut every time I see him. One can only hope that whatever dreams he chooses to chase take him far away from where I’ve already found mine.

It’s cloudy in Boston today, and I’m shivering writing this on my porch on my day off. I’m planning my usual Tuesday night city waterfront sangria crawl and I have a new phone number in my phone and the memory of smiling last night at my bar, my heart pounding as I’m pouring this guy a drink and inviting him to come out –– someone new. I’ll go to the same spots and do the same things, but it will be different. Maybe tonight’s the night I’ll stop looking for him every time the door opens.

“What do you guys think?” I ask the waitresses once he finishes his drink and walks out.

“So. Hot,” they say, and I smile.

Outside on my porch, the clouds roll in as the wind picks up. It’s getting colder but I don’t care. For once it’s beautiful, not gray to match my mood. I could sit out here all day.

[..]

by Laurelin

I had this post written over a week ago. I had just walked home from his house for what I knew would be the last time. I was so sad that I could have cried, but I didn’t. I sat down and I wrote about it. When I woke up later and re-read what I had written, I knew it could never see the light of day. He didn’t deserve those words, like he didn’t deserve me. Words help me remember, and I desperately need to forget.

I had written something like it before: ten years ago sitting in an ex-boyfriend’s house in Providence. He was going to leave me, I knew it, so while he slept I would look around. I memorized the way the black curtains fell across the dirty cracked window pane, the way I could see the black bars of the fire escape over the setting sun and Providence skyline. I memorized every poster: Marilyn Manson, The Crow, the black and white kissing girls. I memorized the way it smelled, like Yankee Candle’s Moonlight Path mixed with the shavings from the snake and iguana cages. But most of all I would look at him.

The way his two metal gauged hoop earrings clinked together when I touched his face. (Years later I would buy the same earrings just to hear that sound.) My fingers had traced every outline of his body and just watching him sleep was enough to make me want to cry. Because I knew he was going to leave me, and I wanted to remember. I didn’t want to ever forget a single thing.

And when he did leave me, I wrote it all down. I said that the sky would never be as beautiful as it looked though his window. I was foolish; that that one didn’t deserve those words either. But I always treasured them. I remember being caught scribbling by one of my sorority sisters, and when she asked me to read her something I had written I hesitated before deciding to read her that essay. I got about halfway though when I noticed she had tears streaming down her face. When I was done she grabbed my hand and told me that I should never stop writing. We cried, but I was happy to have finally shared him with someone.

Last Friday after creeping in from his apartment I decided that enough was enough. I would never again notice how leaving the bar drunk my hand slides so easily into his. I would never again get so drunk that I would try to not feel ashamed for winding up in his arms, knowing he was only holding me because he had no one better. Last Friday I wrote my final piece about loving him, and I said goodbye.

I had traced his every outline, but his feeling will fade, and in time so will this sharp feeling of total loss. I might run into him again down the line, and hopefully by then I will be able to genuinely smile. Hopefully by then I won’t have to turn away so he won’t see my lower lip trembling. I write to remember, but some things need to be forgotten, erased. Hopefully one day I can come back to this and remember how last Friday was the start of something worth remembering.

[..]

by Ryker Suicide

I’m a huge fan of playing with grilled cheeses since there is really no limit as to what you can do with them. Most recently the man and I came up with our new favorite grilled cheese recipe. It’s great for a quick lunch and full of flavor 🙂
– Ryker Suicide

Ingredients (enough for two sandwiches):

• 1 avocado
• 1 hunk of brie cheese
• 2 tsp of brown sugar
• Sourdough sliced bread (or whatever bread is to your preference)
• 1/2 sweet onion
• butter

Directions:

1. Caramelize sliced sweet onions in butter slowly. Do not overcook! Let them cook slowly.

2. While they are cooking, butter outer sides of bread with soft butter and slice brie and avocado. On each inner side of the bread, layer brie and then avocado slices.

3. When onions are finished, add them on top of the avocado. Sprinkle with 1/2 – 1 tsp of brown sugar (to taste)

4. Grill sandwich in a buttered pan or press in a panini grill until cheese is creamy and melted.

Eat and enjoy!

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by Laurelin

It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that I’ve been in a serious rut lately. I don’t know if it has to do with my approaching 30th birthday, my increased responsibility at work, my lack of any romantic interest in anyone besides an ex that I just want out of my head, or a lethal combination of all of these things. Either way, I haven’t been very happy lately, and I really don’t feel like myself. I feel…lost. Sad. Alone. Rejected. Like I’m standing in a crowded room screaming — and no one can hear me, or the ones who can just don’t care.

I know it is nothing more than a temporary hiccup in an otherwise smooth existence, so I have been dealing with this the best way I know how: drinking, reading, working out, whatever. I’m choosing one night a week to do something really fun and taking it to the next level in a vain attempt to forget that for one second, when I go home, I will probably just start to cry about the same thing over and over again.

The one constant in my recent fall from my ever-perfect life is my ex-boyfriend from a few years ago. He was the person who inspired me to start writing this column; first in anger, then as time went on in friendship and in unwavering support. He moved to Los Angeles about five months ago. His leaving made me feel like a part of my life was seriously over. I felt conflicted; devastated and happy at the same time. This city eats bartenders alive, and he was ready for a change. We always said we would go together, and when we broke up I was the one dead set on leaving… but I wound up staying, and months later, he left, and I cried.

He knows me better than most of my girlfriends, and when I call him drunk and crying about another guy at 4 AM, he always answers and he always knows just what to say. Just hearing his voice on the other end of the line is like being thrown a rope, something to keep me hanging on for just a little bit longer.

“You were crying about birthday cake,” he said the other morning, “it was cute, and sad.” Birthday cake, the one that I had custom made for a guy who never showed up for his party I helped plan in Boston, and who shut off his phone when I called to ask what was going on. Instead, I carted the cake home to my apartment and my roommates and we tore it apart; ate half of it and threw the rest in the trash. And I got drunk and I cried, because I was an idiot to care about someone who never cared for me, again.

And then, a few weeks ago, my ex called from LA to say he was coming home. He had had enough of California, and for once, I didn’t cry. He was coming home and finally, maybe, things could get back to normal. He’s been back for two days, and when I woke up this morning I was tangled up in him and for once, I didn’t feel lost.

I woke up, I took his clothes and I washed them with mine. I pulled his old dusty Tupperware container out of the closet and got him new socks and underwear and one of his T-shirts. I made coffee while he slept, and when he woke up he rubbed my back because I had run twelve miles in the rain the day before and I was cold and sore, and we were happy.

We might not be together anymore, and I don’t want to be, to be honest. We’re clearly both lost, but we take care of each other, for now. Sometimes, when you’re in a rut it’s nice to have someone throw you a rope. Other times it’s nice to have someone climb down and sit there with you until you’re ready to muster the strength to get out on your own.

[..]

by Laurelin

It’s been a long time since I’ve done this. I remember the feeling like it was yesterday, a once sharp pain now only a memory that makes me cringe only because of the way I almost remember feeling. It’s faded now, the sharp feeling of loss from so long ago to be replaced with this new experience, one that’s a bit more bittersweet and almost entirely silly.

I remember the first time. I was standing at the Ocean Mist in Rhode Island at an all ages rock show. The bar was perfect; on stilts that went into the ocean so when you looked away from the crowded stage and sticker covered walls you could see only the blue of the ocean. The windows were open in the summer and you could taste the salt on your tongue while you breathed in the bass from the speakers. As a teenager, it was heaven.

I had had a crush on this guy forever, and I had decided that while we were all out that night I was finally going to tell him how I felt. The music faded to a dull pounding in my brain as I walked over to him, and my stomach flipped somersaults. I somehow managed to spit it out, not remembering exactly what I said but distinctly remembering his face, his blank expression that told me that I was wrong, he would never like me back, and I turned and ran. Later a friend told me that he was embarrassed, that I was too tall, disproportionate. I wanted to die.

All these years later, finally comfortable with who I am, how tall I am, my life and my choices. All these years later still struggling with the truth and just finally giving up and telling someone I still have feelings for them even though I know nothing good will come of it. I don’t know why I said it. I don’t know why I felt the need to tell him, it’s not like I couldn’t sleep or live without finally getting this off my chest. I know it was stupid and it does nothing but makes things awkward. (All these years later that still hasn’t changed.)

I don’t feel better. I don’t know if I feel worse. I don’t think things can be the same, but they shouldn’t have to be different. I imagine that in the grand scheme of my life, this is going to be something I look back on and laugh at. A psychic once held my hand and said, “You have already been so lucky, you’ve had two great loves and two great heartbreaks. This thing you hold, this is neither. So why can’t you move on?”

It’s something that now, I can remedy with calling other ex-boyfriends and drinking with girlfriends, where as back then I cried myself to sleep for days. This time, only a train ride home with a bit of smudged mascara, a woeful realization that I’m not as tough as I make myself out to be. I feel bad for myself. I feel bad for making him struggle to find the right words to not hurt my feelings. I feel bad for the past three guys I’ve dated, because I have kicked them all to the curb with a handful of lies and half truths once we hit the one month period. Better off alone until I figure this out, don’t like to be alone so I start things I can’t finish.

“It’s okay, because you know this is silly,” my roommate says as I’m trying not to let anyone at the bar see me cry. “I know,” I mumble, and I DO know. I don’t even notice the guy walking up behind me and ordering shots. “Two please,” he says and passes one to me with a kind smile. My eyes dry almost instantly, and I know how stupid I must look. We cheers and the shot goes down like fire, but I seem to have found my coy smile, and this guy is kind of cute.

“Rough night?” he asks.

“It’s nothing,” I say smoothly, and the lie spreads like butter on warm toast, so well that I almost believe it. Almost.

[..]