New England Here We Come!

Somewhere between bitching at the dog and bitching at Matt and bitching at inanimate objects, I realized I needed to get away.  Scratch that: they needed to get away from me, but someone had to be in my ridiculous vacation shots so I dragged Matt along.  (He also makes nice company.)

We spent a few days in Provincetown, Cape Cod and an overnight in Boston.  It rained the first two days, which only made me bitch more, but I stuffed my face with lobster and clams and that seemed to dull the pain. 

Here are a few of our vacay shots from the trip:

Sometime amidst the 8 1/2 hour drive up to the Cape we stopped for lunch.  I think it was in Rhode Island.  Regardless, it was the "middle of nowhere"....

We finally arrived!  Matt showed his appreciation by taking in  the hotel decor.

This was posted next to all the literature at the hotel.  The last sentence is our absolute favorite; we're totally in love with Charlie.

It rained for two days when we arrived.  I made Matt pose with a forlorn expression.  I think he nailed it.

Every visit to Provincetown requires a visit to The Lobster Pot - or so Trip Advisor said.  Here we are, waiting for our table - instead of a disk that lights up when you're called, you get a lobster!  We're easily amused.

This is my come hither look.  Actually, this was on top of Pilgrim Monument in Provincetown, which commemorates the Pilgrims landing there (they landed there before Plymouth - take that, Plymouth!).  The monument is 255 feet or something and big mama (me) climbed the whole thing!  Then I stood in the wind and gave this sexy little look.

This is my love.  I think he looks a bit like a porcupine here.

This was a dike that crossed from one end of Provincetown to another.  It was rocky and over a mile long.

 

This is me saying, "Enough of this, beyotch!" and walking back after we made it to the other side.

OMG right before we got to the Cape there was a GREAT WHITE SIGHTING near our hotel.  This is the northern most sighting of a Great White in years (I'm too lazy to look up the exact amount).  Anyway, this made Matt very happy and he immediately asked the ranger where this shark attack took place (the shark ate a seal) so he could swim at that beach the next day.  He was annoying me that day so I said fine, and into the water he went.

I'm just loving the colors in this.  And Matt's hair...there are no words....

This is a photo of me and my beloved before the Great White got him.  Good times, good times...

Matt was really annoyed I made him sit on this fake whale, called "Bubbles".  But I think he's a bit scared of my wrath so he obliged.

We saw tons of Humpback Whales!  Here are two of them sticking their mouths out of the water. 

And this is a tail.  (Wait - is that what you call the tail of a whale?)

The scenery was gorgeous as the boat made it back to the harbor.  Unfortunately, Matt didn't really notice as he was solely on the look-out for sharks.

This photo brings me to tears.  It was sheer minutes before Matt met his fate with the shark.

The view from our hotel room, which looked onto the pool and harbor.  And a lot of fabulous people sunning themselves.

Cape Cod National Seashore has miles and miles of uninhabited, protected dunes.  So we got in a gas-guzzling SUV and explored them all.  (In all seriousness, Art's Dune Tours were a lot of fun and the scenery was as gorgeous as the ride was bumpy.)

Nestled amidst the dunes are little shacks that namely artists and recluses live in.  They have no electricity and no running water and are relics of ...well, a long time ago.  There are 19 shacks in all and I found myself wondering about the residents. Having Crohn's, I was also intrigued about the bathroom facilities.

Okay, fine!  You got me: he wasn't attacked by a shark.  Here we are at dusk in the dunes.

Then we ate clams and lobster on the beach because we're fancy like that.  Because, obviously, only fancy people wear lobster bibs.  And hold up their dead lobsters for the camera.

Matt's new "man chair".

View from our hotel.  This was the morning we had to leave, and it was gorgeous after a few rainy days, so I took photos to remember how lovely it all was.

I adored, adored, ADORED Provincetown.  It's at the tip of the Cape and a haven for artists and gay men and women, and nerds like us.  It was beautiful, fun, lively, and above all, VERY dog friendly.  Here are two men with their dogs walking in the harbor at low tide.  I vowed to Matt that we were coming back, but next time with Penny in tow.

After Provincetown we spent an overnight in Boston and went on an amazing bike tour (Urban Adventours - very highly recommended).  Here is a photo one of our guides took of Matt at Fenway Park.  Matt didn't know, but he looks like a total badass here - LOVE IT.

Unfortunately Matt killed his badass persona by wearing a decorative bed pillow as a hat back at the hotel.  Some things never change.

Two dummies walk into a park...

Last weekend Matt and I went to Grounds for Sculpture, an outdoor museum of sorts featuring all styles of sculpture throughout the lush grounds in Jersey (see - not all of New Jersey is bad). We found ourselves wondering and stumbling through the acres - it was delightful. I was determined to get my culture on! But instead of being mature patrons of the arts, we went and did this:

"Onward ho, beast!" (said the statue)

Doesn't this look familiar?

Here's the real deal by my boy Claude Monet.

Crossing a bridge I saw this bather. Because I have no sense of personal privacy, I took a photo.

A classic by Manet.

Me ruining a classic by Manet.

‘Le déjeuner des canotiers’ (1881) by Pierre-Auguste Renoir.... It's nice and all, but don't you think it's missing something?

Ahh....there we go. A bit of dufus goes a long way.

This is Matt having a conversation with a statue in Renoir's painting. See that glazed-over look the guy in the top hat is sporting? That's what happens when Matt waxes poetic about coding.

Believe it or not, this was the least creepy photo of Matt and this statue. I just don't know what to make of that grin.

I made two decisions upon seeing this sculpture: 1) I need a pond. 2) I need a huge, steamy head to put in my pond.

This is me mid-conversation to pretend dinner-mates at a pretend table. (Please note: I wasn't pretend hungry - even bread made of rock looks tempting to me - damn my large appetite!)

I also rubbed her belly for good luck in addition to my (sadly) trademark thumb's up.

One of my favorites in the park. Mainly because she doesn't have a modicum of modesty, and I like that!

Something looks familiar here...

Here is a statue, painting the scene below by Monet - made of statues! It was like a statue in a statue in a statue or something. All I know is that it BLEW MY MIND!

Please note two things: the baboon king, and Matt's sweaty back as he bows down to the aforementioned baboon king.

"What, you're having a private dinner conversation?" Not anymore. Check out the peeved waiter to the left as I crashed his dinner party.

Here we were at this fancy pants park, and I spot a sculpture of a girl PEEING. Obviously, a photo was in order.

Near the end of the day, Matt was getting tired.

So he relaxed with some light reading with statue Sally. Or, that's what I called her, anyway.

Steak Bun...and it's not a cheesesteak

Bun is a Vietnamese cold noodle dish.  And it's delicious, and perfect for summer, and easy to make, and yummier than all heck.  We indulged and got the steak, but I can see it easily without, although a little protein power is nice and satiates the beast in me. 

Steak Bun

Courtesy of Eating Well Magazine.

• 1 tablespoon canola oil
• 1 pound sirloin steak or strip steak (1-1 1/4 inches thick), trimmed
• 6 ounces wide rice noodles
• 1/2 cup rice vinegar
• 2 tablespoons fish sauce
• 2 tablespoons sugar, or to taste
• 4 cups shredded napa cabbage
• 1 1/2 cups shredded carrot
• 1 cup thinly sliced radishes
• 1 cup slivered fresh basil and/or mint
• 1/2 cup finely chopped unsalted roasted peanuts

1. Heat oil in a large skillet, preferably cast-iron, over medium-high heat until shimmering. Reduce heat to medium, add steak and cook, turning once, until cooked through, 3 to 5 minutes per side for medium-rare. Let rest on a clean cutting board for 5 minutes.
2. Meanwhile, bring a large pot of water to a boil. Cook rice noodles until just tender, 6 to 8 minutes or according to the package directions. Drain the noodles and rinse under cold water.
3. Whisk vinegar, fish sauce and sugar to taste in a large bowl until the sugar is dissolved. Slice the steak into thin matchsticks. Add the steak and any accumulated juice to the bowl along with the noodles, cabbage, carrot, radishes, basil and/or mint and peanuts; toss to combine. Serve immediately.

Informational Webcast: "The Voices of IC" - Listen In On Tuesday, 8/10!

For those suffering from IC – or having an inkling you may be affected – I wanted to forward the following information regarding an informational Webcast next week – “The Voices of IC”. Although feeling well, I definitely have my share of flare-ups (okay – at times self-inflicted – coffee, anyone?) and will be listening in. All registration information is below. I look forward to hearing you then!

The Interstitial Cystitis Association (ICA) has partnered with Ortho Women’s Health & Urology™ to host an educational Webcast, “The Voices of IC,” on Aug. 10 from 8 p.m. to 9 p.m. ET, available at http://www.voicesofic.com. “Voices of IC” features a panel of patients with IC and healthcare professionals who will give a voice to those patients who may be silently struggling with IC and work to raise awareness of IC and the challenges faced by adults dealing with this commonly misunderstood condition.

The webcast will give you the opportunity to learn more about…

• Recognizing IC symptoms
• Diagnosis and the diagnostic process – a patient may be symptomatic for 4 to 7 years before the correct diagnosis is made, and research suggests that up to 12 percent of women may have IC
• Working with physicians
• Lifestyle and social issues facing people with IC
• Resources and support available for patients and their families/friends.

As part of the discussion, participants will have an opportunity to opt-in online to submit questions to panelists.

A Delicate Dance

“Wow, you’re a gassy one. Look at those intestines!” the ultrasound tech said as she searched for my specks of ovaries. They can never find my ovaries, which skirt the ultrasound wand and shrink behind organs and scar tissue. I also imagine them the size of shriveled peas – greenish, wrinkly orbs –so I’m sure that can’t help matters.

This is our third cycle with the fertility specialist. Getting my blood drawn yesterday the nurse asked how I was, and I replied, “Oh, you know, the usual,” and she said, “This is old hat already, isn’t it?” and she was right. Like the drive to work, I arrive at my doctor without knowing how I got there. The crease of my right arm is perpetually black and blue from needle pricks, and I can fill out their insurance and call-back forms with my eyes closed. Somehow along the way I even memorized my insurance ID, a long code of letters and numerals that I recite like my social security number.

Sometimes I think, “Why are we doing this?” With my Crohn’s, IC, and everything else that has run amok, why? With the strong possibility of passing on an auto-immune disorder, why? With overpopulation, American super-sized carbon footprints, a future and quality of life I worry about – why? I have no other answer that it is a biologically selfish need. That we feel we’d be good parents, have the love and resources to raise a child sensitive to others and the world around him or her. And that my body – my breasts, my hips – ache to do what they were meant for.

Sometimes I feel we can’t win. I read articles on the population crisis, or numbers of unemployed, and comments linked to these articles chastise “the breeders”. And I can’t deny: I raise my eye at large families, too. I, too, learned about carrying capacity in 11th grade and vowed never to have more than a couple of children. But still. It doesn’t feel right – it feels I’m doing something wrong. Then I read commentary about the rise in fertility drugs and how these families should just let nature take its course. “It’s called survival of the fittest; there’s a reason some women can’t get pregnant,” they’ll say. Today I read an article regarding the lax regulations in adopting Haitian children after this year’s earthquake. There was no due process, no checks and balances to ensure these children didn’t have families. It’s an admittedly questionable situation, but readers chimed in and said adoption is nothing more than child trafficking – a child-hungry, rich, Western convention to exploit the children of developing nations. "And how dare you take these children from their culture and language!" they cry. And I know all of these things aren’t true, but they have nuances of my own insecurities in all of them. I feel defensive and judged. And I start questioning everything.

What about the people who just want to nurture one child? Is it wrong to want my body to work as it should? To have the ability to do what so many others may take for granted? So now when I disclose to anyone our course – the fertility drugs, the doctor visits – I’m quick to add, “But we’re not looking for a gaggle of children – just one!” and laugh.

The business of having a baby is a delicate dance.