This is technically cheating at blogging.
I wrote this my freshman year.
However, upon rereading it, it became apparent that I didn't believe in editing at the time.
So I edited and rewrote some.
The pulp in orange juice created trust issues for me as a child.
when you are young, you put unrelenting trust into certain things,
thinking that all items of this nature are the same,
Kind of like -- this will always taste this way, these dont change colors, and so on.
One of the earliest things I learned to trust, were beverages.
Drinks are liquid.
Somewhere along the line, I'm not exactly sure when, I encountered pulpy orange juice.
I have never been fond of stringy, sharp tasting citrus sensations on my mouth, so this immediately infected my schema of what beverages were meant to be, and I was forced to adapt a new perspective on liquids.
Some drink are incorrect.
Can you imagine?
Little curly headed Baylea, gets a glass of orange juice, notices, "Hey, is there something floating in there??.. oh I must be mistaken, because beverages are meant to be liquid through and through, and therefor I shall assume that I miscalculated and there is indeed not anything of solidification in my cup... *sip* oh dear, that was a chunk i believe... I am finished with this."
(.... because thats exactly how I talked as a child..)
And so, at the early age of (??) I washed my hands of it and dealt with the matter of pulp, and citrus all together, in the way I do all things that displease me--
I denied its existence and cleanly tip toed around it for many, many years.
For the most part, I’ve been very good at that, except for a few times when a cruel, sick minded, devious, foul person may hand me a cup of something orange and ignore my inquiries as to the content, and thus more or less maliciously tricking me into a near death experience where I will then be reduced to a withering mass gagging on the floor trying to dislodge a lemon seed from my esophagus.
So back when I was in middle school, my mother, or better known as Ole Beth, went on a citrus tree rampage, and bought every form of hybrid fruit under the sun. And in all these years, I have had not one slice of anything from those trees of pulp and devastation.
Over christmas break this year, my step dad was sitting on the couch eating a tangelo (orange+tangerine if I am not mistaken)
I have observed him eating very many of these smaller-than-a-fist sized half breds for several days, and I cant say exactly what urge compelled me, but I asked for a slice.
small, juicy, delicious.
and, very little pulp.
no seeds.
Where have you been all my life.
That was my gateway slice.
From then on I commenced to eating several a day, taking bags with me on the weekends back to Galveston, sitting in my little apartment kitchen late at night eating tangelos and contemplating life, eating them while I go ride my horses, feeding them to my horses, peeling them out the window of my truck on the way to practice and throwing them off the sea wall, sneaking them into my night class, even putting the slices in my fruit juice. One time, I had 8 in one sitting. I love tangelos.
So last time I was home, my mother offered me several other kinds of fruits, all orange, but none actually being oranges...to my knowledge... and, hoping that they would be as amazing as the tangelo, I accepted the walmart sack of orange fruits varying in sizes from a golf ball to kid’s bowling ball
Tonight, I decided to try something new. Not that my sweet tangelos aren’t good enough, but the ones I have are getting considerably soft, and I am getting curious about the expiration date on home grown fruit... if there is one...
So, I tried the navel orange.
named so, for the belly button that it possess.
Until now, I have peeled all fruit with my hands.
I prefer to use them in most matters... fruit, art, murder, such things.
I have a small artistic obsession with finding the flaws in foods I can peel by hand, and appreciating them slowly and feeling the textures... its gotta be some kind of sickness.
So, I took on the bigger-than-a-softball sized navel orange the same way.
Assuming it was logical to start at the actual navel of the thing, I started peeling back the skin from its belly button.
This was wrong apparently. For the next 15 minutes I pulled tiny, tough, bit by bit away from the damn thing, to find, that the stuff that attaches the skin in the fruit, the sticky white skin, was approximately 76 times thicker than that of a tangelo, and didn’t seem to have those little veins that you can pull on to get it off.
Also, the navel was an actual thing, like, a small pulp ball that makes it incredibly complicated to peel.
I had intended to do all of this while reading about sex, for my human sexuality class that I am writing a paper for, about which sexual theory describes my sexual point of view. Over all, I went in with high expectations that it should be a cinch to write, so easy in fact, that I could tackle the navel orange at the same time.
Needless to say, I only noticed my book when it fell off my lap to make room for the paper plate heaped in navel skin.
Peeling became so intense, that I was void of all thought,
other than that of the navel, and its orange.
Finally, reaching the other end, the stem part,
where I learned that I had peeled orange backwards.
I pulled out the cord thing, which is one of my favorite parts, cause that rips up those little veins that help you get the remaining white parts off.
It was very satisfying.
Feeling deeply content, I split that identity confused fruit in half, not knowing exactly what to expect, from a fruit that dresses itself in orange, and then surprises you with its dark pink insides...
At this point, I am sitting on our uncomfortable little couch, pigeon toed trying to balance my plate, mp3 player, splattered in navel juice, and surrounded by fruit carnage totally engulfed.
Upon inspection after pulling off the first slice I realized, that like so often, I had pulled off two. This particular fruit made you feel guilty when you separated the slices, because they die trying to stay together. Its incredibly hard to get them entirely apart without ripping one in half or totally shredding it because the slices love each other so divinely, that they would literally die for one another.
So I canceled my attempt to separate the two I was holding,
in favor for eating them both at once.
I wasn’t exactly sure how to go about this, seeing as the slices are about three inches long, and two wide, so I just shoved the whole thing into my mouth and slowly bit down.
I am sitting here, in my workout clothes, my hair is unmentionable, one hand covered in juice and pulp, the other still holding the remaining half, with a look that appears on someone’s face right before they ask a question.
My mind was totally blank, The Bee Gees "more than a woman" playing in the background. Fragments of half finished sentences floating through my mind, while I try to logically rationalize the sensory overload taking place in my mouth.
sweet explosive pulpy ...
intensely satisfying...
smooth...
curiously...
And then it was over.
so, I murdered another slice, and in the same style, tried to make sense of what was happening in my mouth..
and again....
no explanation.
Again, and again, until I had finished the first half, where I sat staring at my mountain of shredded skin and confusion and the second half-- and I realized, one thing that did make sense- I am full.
And that was a lot of naval orange.
And so, of course I had to do what everyone does when they are full.
Eat more.
Upon completion of the belly button fruit, I was so deeply moved, I was forced to take a moment to reflect on my life's meaning and ponder the origins of many deep things.
In conclusion.
The navel orange fruit was a successful attempt at furthering my fruit sampling endeavors, as I continue to broaden my horizons in the edible departments of life.
However, I feel like once every five years or so is enough for me.
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