buying a new car / key lime & coconut tarts

My husband and I recently bought a subaru.
Go ahead. Tell me that I'm a liberal, a lesbian or a homeschooling mother of three because to you I will simply say Ha! I am destroying that stereotype, one granola bar at a time. But let's be honest, stereotypes develop for a reason...
Take my car buying experience. As soon as I walked through the door, I was royalty; the most beautiful and interesting person they had ever met (translation: ignorant car buyer going to slaughter). Everything I said warranted a light chuckle and a nod of the head. I could do no wrong in this fantasy world of shiny cars and shinier smiles; all they wanted to do was help me. Or so I thought. Now I'm not so ignorant as to be fooled by these kinds of sales tactics, and fake niceness is right at the top of my list of least favorite things. Believe me, I've been there, on the other side, handing out orchids to tourists and pretending to care about their Hawaiian vacation when I'll I really wanted to do was con them into buying timeshares. And I did. Again and again with the slyness of a used car salesman. All they wanted was directions to the Cheesecake Factory and now they are going to a free luau with orchids behind their ears after buying a timeshare they don't want = Job done (I quit that job to save myself from becoming the slime of the earth). But I digress...
So I'm buying a new car and I don't know about you, but in my estimation there can only be so much conning going on. I know the msrp is a joke and I can work with that. I just have to play their game, hem and haw over everything and scrunch up my face so that I appear to be in deep contemplation. Lie and tell them I'll come back later after I've thought about it some more (even though I already know I'm going to buy the car). I know what I'm doing...
The sales guy I'm working with keeps disappearing with a line like "I don't have those numbers in front of me, in fact I'm not privy to them, but I can check with my manager and see if he can work something out for you". Because I'm special, right? Wrong, they say the same bs to every poor slob who walks in, and you know what, most of them probably eat that crap right up.
I finally get the numbers in front of me after negotiating with the guy for an hour (translation: I ask for a deal, he theatrically sighs and carries on, then talks to the manager, then comes back, then sighs and tell me that they don't normally do this, but he wants me to be happy, etc...bs, bs, bs).
Then it gets interesting...I buy the stupid car so they should be happy, right? Well they are, but not until I've bought all of the extra crap that I don't need. The extended warranty I understand, but why doesn't it include everything? I have to buy tire and wheel coverage separately, dings and dents separately, and the worst of all? A little extra called glasscoat. This is a poly-based paint that bonds to the paint job on the car and apparently protects it (translation: covers it with an extra coat of paint that it doesn't need so the dealership can make more money off of you). As I write this, I'm embarrassed/pissed that I fell for it. The salesman that sold me the car hands me off to the king of slime balls, the dreaded "manager". He's a greasy, baldheaded guy stuffed into a wrinkled shirt, who's about to see how stupid I am. A few stories and two framed photos of his family later, we're big buddies and he's let me in on a little secret: this glasscoat stuff really works, and it's only $7.99 per month. With horror in his eyes he recalls to me the dangers of tree sap and road salt. How could my precious new baby subaru handle it? So I sign up, then realize three days later (thanks to my father's brilliant opinion: "that's *$%^!") that I don't want it anymore. Now upon signing, my "new best friend" had told me that I could easily alter anything if I changed my mind. Yea, right. I called them up and told them I didn't want it anymore. They were shocked! stunned! stupified! and told me I had to bring in my contract and that it was going to be very complicated. Great. So I went in and my same bff tried to sell me on it again with the premise: "I'm not going to try to change your mind, but...(enter sales pitch here)". After he ranted on for several minutes, I told him that I didn't understand why a brand new car needed another coat of paint. He brought up the tree sap again and I started getting antsy.
"I don't want it, period", I finally said. And that was the end. No more glittering smiles and fake chuckles; I had become the dreaded customer with an opinion. He grumbled and started punching keys on his computer, all the while telling me that no one had ever canceled glasscoat before, so he wasn't even sure if he could cancel it. Now I really hate this guy. Not only is he blatantly lying to me, he's making me feel like I'm the problem. I want to say "I'm on to you, you money grubbing snake!" but instead I say, "you expect me to believe that this is the first time a customer has ever canceled glasscoat?" He looks at me with beady eyes and lies to my face again. Then he says he can't change the contract because it's already "in" (in where? a secret vault of untouchable contracts?), so he'll have to write me a check for the amount.
"Does this mean that I'm going to be paying interest on it?" I ask. In a nutshell, yes. Then he asks me if I want the tax back. Um...duh, I think to myself. He says he might not be able to get it back. I am ready to scream at this point and my unicorn friend has decided to test drive the new outback while waiting for me. I whisper to him to park under a pine tree and wait for sap. Then I look back at my enemy, the stuffed turkey of a manager, and ask "if I return something to a store, do they give me my money back and keep the tax? No, because that would be illegal." He smiles and says he totally understands, but somehow this is different, more complicated (translation: he wants to keep the tax because he's a thieving bastard). He calls someone named Debra who must have all the answers, but alas she's unavailable. He's going to have to get back to me on that. Oh, but he'll take my credit card number and call me once he finds out. I look at him square in the face before I leave and say, "you're on my side, right?" His sweaty palm grabs my hand and I want to say so many horrible things to him, but my unicorn friend anxiously flags me down. I go outside and we get into my shiny new subaru, and my unicorn friend tells me that he accidentally stabbed his horn through the sunroof of the outback he was test driving. "Great", I say, "there goes my tax."

It's the middle of winter and you've just gotten screwed over by a car dealership. Solution? Indulge in some velvety smooth key lime tarts to lift your spirit! This recipe is raw, free of refined sugars, gluten free, soy free, and guilt free because it's made from healthy ingredients like avocado! Hooray!

Key Lime & Coconut Tarts

Crust:
1/2 cup almond flour (I use Bob's Red Mill)
1/2 cup dates, pitted
pinch of sea salt

Filling:
2 avocados, pitted and removed from skins
1/4 cup fresh lime juice
1/2 cup virgin coconut oil (I use Dr. Bronner's)
2 T coconut nectar (you can substitute agave nectar or honey)

Topping:
Handful of shredded, unsweetened coconut (I use Let's Do Organic)
Zest of one lime

Add crust ingredients to a food processor and blend until crumbly and moist. Press mixture into six ramekins or muffin tins or vessel of your choosing. Now blend the filling ingredients in a high-speed blender (like a Vita-Mix) until smooth and fluffy. Add a dollop of the filling to each ramekin and spread over crust. Top with a sprinkle of zest and coconut flakes. Chill in the frig for at least an hour before serving. Makes 6 ramekin-sized tarts, enough for 6 unicorns seeking revenge.

and now for something completely different / fettuccine with cashew alfredo

Sometimes I like to write poetry. And since I'm on a cleanse right now (translation: no life), I'm feeling less cynical and more contemplative. I know...boring, boring, boring. But what else am I supposed to do when it's 20 degrees outside and I can't drink? Exactly. Poetry is the answer. Here's one that I wrote about my mom and I...

“I had a thought today,” said my mother to me,

“and it didn’t make me sad or glad. It was just there in front of me

like a wide-eyed creature.”

A sparrow landed on the slate patio and picked up a piece of millet.

I asked her what it was.

“That we are insignificant. I mean, in the grand scheme of things, 

we don’t matter.” 

The sky was ocean blue with white-capped clouds.

“We are dust gathering in a corner, we are blades of grass

hanging onto the earth;

we are the small things that no one ever sees, we are seeds blowing on a wayward sojourn;

we are the raindrops that never reach the ground,

splattered on a bough, a fence, a rooftop—we are nothing.”

The phone was ringing. Mom always answers, but she didn’t get up. 

I guess she didn’t hear it. 

I smiled. She knew that I knew exactly what she meant because I always did. 

I agreed, of course, and asked her how this insignificance made her feel. 

“Like a wet blanket lifting from my shoulders,” she said, “like the first burst of radiant sunlight over a sleeping field—shouting—go on and do it Kim! 

Go on and wear the clothes you want, go on and tell the world how you feel about it, 

because in the end, none of it will matter!”

We shared a maniacal laugh. 

The laundry announced that it was clean. 

Yes, I thought to myself, this is one of those pure moments. 

This is what really matters.   

Now that you're feeling nostalgic and want to call your mom and tell her you love her, why not indulge in a sinfully rich dish with your unicorn friends and watch Steel Magnolias? This fettuccine alfredo will blow you away with its creaminess without the added nastiness of dairy. In fact, this dish is soy and gluten free too so I can't think of one person who won't be able to eat this (unless you're allergic to cashews in which case, I feel sorry for you because they are the greatest nut on the planet). 

Fettuccine with Cashew Alfredo

for the pasta:

1 box of fettuccine noodles (use whole wheat noodles or brown rice noodles to make it gluten free)

1 large yellow onion, sliced

1 box of button mushrooms, sliced

1 red pepper, sliced

*optional* a few handfuls of spinach or kale or chard (everything I make has greens in it because I am a dirty hippie...and unicorns love their greens)

sea salt & black pepper to taste

for the sauce:

2 cups raw cashews

1/2 cup stock or water

3 T fresh lemon juice

4 cloves garlic (sliced and sauteed in a little olive oil for 1 minute)

1 cup almond milk (I use unsweetened, but if you want to use "original" then omit the coconut nectar)

1 tsp dried thyme

1 tsp coconut nectar (I love this minimally processed sweetener, but you can easily substitute agave nectar or brown rice syrup)

2 T nutritional yeast (buy it in the bulk section of a natural foods store)

1 T tamari (naturally brewed, gluten free soy sauce. You can sub with regular shoyu too.)

pinch of sea salt

Get out a big pot and fill it up with lots of water and a generous pinch of sea salt. Cover, and bring to a boil, then add noodles and cook according to package directions. Meanwhile, saute your onion in some olive oil until soft, then add mushrooms, stir once or twice, then add the rest of your veggies. Season with salt and pepper. 

In a high speed blender (buy a Vita-Mix! They're amazing!!!) add all sauce ingredients and blend on variable speed until combined, then pump it up to highest speed until creamy and smooth. If you're using a Vita-Mix, leave motor running until sauce is heated up. If you're using a conventional blender, remove once creamy and smooth, then gently heat in a saucepan until warm (if your blender is a little weak, soak the cashews for an hour first, then add to blender with everything else). Toss noodles with sauce and a bit of the starchy water from the pot to thin out the sauce, if desired. Add veggies and serve to four nostalgic unicorns who want to feed their emotions.