Swamp Food


Is it just me or is it physically impossible to get full eating pancakes? I swear there are several foods I can eat and never get full. Pancakes are one of them. They have to be one of humankind’s greatest creations.

I don’t discriminate against any form of pancake. Flapjacks, griddle cakes, crepes, plain, fancy, sweet, savory…they all whisper to me sweetly and intoxicate me with their glorious carbohydrate goodness.

Do you know that most countries outside the U.S. find it excessive & gross that we enjoy stacks on stacks of pancakes? I’m all about embracing other cultures and cultural awareness/competency/proficiency but that fact alone evokes a weird compelling notion to yell ‘MERICA!

My favorite pancake of all the pancakes is from a nifty Austin gem called Pacha. They put two of my favorite things, bacon & cheese, into my favorite carb and I get to drizzle it in sticky sweetness and butter. Tell me you aren’t a little turned on right now.

Last Monday I was having a “working” aka “stare at all my e-mails” breakfast at Pacha before my therapy sesh and a miracle happened. The barista had an orphan mocha and I was magnanimous  enough to adopt it into my stomach for free. In the excitement of documenting such a magnificent occasion I got syrup all over my arm. Which lead to getting it in my hair, and finally on my winosaur t-shirt. I feel like there is only so much you can do to get rid of syrup. It’s contagious. So after licking it off my arm hair and doing my best to wipe the rest away I quickly headed to therapy.


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Of course I arrive late to my therapy session because I always do. I CANNOT seem to get there on time. Maybe it is some subconscious avoidance of dealing with my swampiness but I really don’t want to pull at that string too much.  Any-who…I apparently just didn’t have much to say this week, so the last 5 minutes we had a staring contest. But see- I’m a social worker and the daughter of a therapist. I could win an Olympic gold medal for allowing silence.  It is how we Jedi-mind-trick you into baring your soul. BUT I HAD NOTHING TO SAY…it got awkward. I almost had to start making stuff up but then luckily she asked for payment.

At the end of the session you have to pay the therapist which is always weird considering you just told them such intimate stuff. I feel like I’m giving them hush money for what I just disclosed. Anyone else?

Well, I forgot my check-book and had no cash. Cards are not an option.  Whoops.

So… now I’m that client that:

  • Always shows up late
  • Wears a winosaur shirt
  • Leaves syrup on a throw pillow accidently
  • Awkwardly has a staring contest
  • Doesn’t pay you

Bet you she could use a delicious stack of Pacha pancakes and mocha with a shot right about now.