Recipes A Cometh!

Yes...this is what you can look forward to...

My mother flat-out told me she's worried about my mental health.  My sister confirmed this the other day and said, "I think you just need to relax!"  Thanks you two.

I'd like everyone to know I am a happy, well-adjusted and fabulous woman.  To prove it, I'm going to post some equally fabu recipes I've made lately.  Earlier this week I made a healthy roasted cauliflower soup that made me go "Hurrah!" every time I took a slurp.  It was delish, and even better with a little grated peccorino romano on top. 

And then this past weekend Matt, Penny and I went apple picking.  We picked our hearts silly with Jonathan apples, Rome, and Golden Delicious.  I also drank cider until my stomach hurt, so a good weekend all in all.  But what's a girl to do with 20,000,000 pounds of apples?!  It's simple, really: make apple, brie, and arugula quesadillas.  Give me cheese, any cheese: the stinker the better, and I go crazy. 

And tomorrow night we're sashaying into our first neighborhood get together and I made pumpkin fluff (it took four ingredients and two minutes) and is delish with gingersnaps.  It's all about the presentation and I'm putting this dip in a hallowed out pumpkin because I'm festive like that.  Here's to hoping we don't embarrass ourselves....too much.

Thanks for reading and stay tuned!

The highest highs and the lowest lows

When you are on hormone supplements you have highs and lows.  Very high highs and very low lows.  Take this weekend, for example.  We went apple picking, country drivin', and I unilaterally decided we will have a fabulous mosaic tile backsplash (I didn't get around to the project specifics, but I spent a good 30 minutes in the bowels of Lowes so I think that's making good progress).

Then, last night, Matt brought home the wrong bread.  I was making roasted cauliflower soup and had asked for a French baguette.  He brought me a short, stout sour-dough loaf.  I was enraged.

My rage can take on many manifestations, but this particular variety was: cry, scream, plea (for a new loaf), and yell some more.  I'm not proud of these moments.  My face gets puffy and red. Mascara runs down my neck.  And I am at my worst.

Someone else I know going through fertility treatments described the very same thing: crying, screaming, and a terrified husband holding his breath for the next rampage.  My descent started with bread, went to "You have NO idea; why don't you just GO AND PLAY SOME GOLF and live your EASY life!" and went to, "F--- kids!  I just want a goddamn PACK OF DOGS!"  I really said this.

That's not to say Matt is all good and no bad.  Boys, on a whole, can say supremely insensitive things and not even realize it.  Yesterday Matt said he will make a "sacrifice" and be "okay" with one child.  It was a relatively innocuous statement, but I was at my brink, and I was incensed.  "Boy, at this point, you WILL be ELATED with ONE child!  And you say you're sacrificing?!?!  You get to sit at home as I drive to all these doctor appointments and spread my legs!  You are STILL IN BED when I've been on the road for an hour!  So I'm SOOOO sorry you are sacrificing!"  Again, I really said this. 

Matt then went outside with our dog, and I cut up my cauliflower for the soup, alone.  Twenty minutes later he peaked through the front door, and there I was, sitting on the couch thumbing through a catalogue.  It was almost as if this was a normal Tuesday.  We then enjoyed our soup, and yes, even the bread.

IUI Insanity

This morning, at my bi/tri/whatever weekly ultrasound/blood appointment I learned this month's round of IUI (intrauterine insemination, aka artificial insemination) failed.  Everything looked good on Friday and I was scheduled for Sunday morning.  Sunday is tricky: they perform IUI and IVF procedures but there is very limited staff present, so I was not given an ultrasound to ensure I ovulated.  We took it that I did, or was about to, because of my ultrasound and blood results from Friday.  Matt also gave me an HCG shot Friday night to induce ovulation.  This morning I went to the doctor to make sure all was well, and wouldn't you know it, my (now huge) follicle was still hanging out in my ovary.  It's now past maturity and not viable.  Matt and I can't run home and have sex in the hopes it drops today because my cervical mucus (yes - very sexy) is hostile due to a side-effect of my medication (the medication that grows that sucker of an egg).  So you're just left feeling hopeless.

I called Matt on the drive into work, crying.  I always cry in the car now: first of all, it kills two birds with one stone because I cry nearly everyday, and really, with television shows premiering these next few weeks, I don't want it to intercede with my trashy tv viewing.  Crying in the car is perfect because it also gives you a limit on your self-pity: you have to stop by the time you arrive at your destination.  And if you're going to work you can't get too blubbery because you're wearing mascara. 

I cried because I was sad and frustrated.  And that's the beautiful and tragic thing about infertility: each cycle is independent of the next, so you grow hopeful (again) and invariably are disappointed (again).  I cried about all the appointments, the money spent on the medication and the procedure, and I cried because, damnit, this positively, absolutely, 100% sucks.

But there's definitely some beautiful moments in all of this.  Matt and I are closer because we're going through the up's and down's together (although I wish he was probed half as much as I was).  We tack on a lunch or breakfast out with our weekend appointments.  We've retained our humor (hard to believe with my recent posts, I know).  And we know we'll be parents, somehow, someday.  Until then, we have no problem doting (just a little too much) on our dog, Penny.

Lazy September Days

I suppose when you’re out of options, you’re much more willing to leave your comfort zone. That’s how I found myself laying on the acupuncture table for the fifth time this summer. That’s right – I have an acupuncturist. And I really don’t know what’s become of me.

Infertility has thrown me for a loop. I haven’t written about it for lack of news, but because it’s just sad and in my haze of self-pity I couldn’t muster the strength to be witty. I wish I could be stoic in my grief, but I am not, and I hoot and a holler any chance I get. This does not make me a fun house, dinner, or anything mate. Matt and I did IUI (inter-uterine insemination, or commonly known as artificial insemination) for the past two months (to no avail as of yet). We will try again (and then move to IVF) but my last "I'm so sorry; you aren't pregnant" call was a surprise: not because of the news, but because sitting at my desk at work I put down the phone and just…cried. And I can’t fully articulate that feeling of emptiness, and I was expecting it to be negative at this point, but with all this effort – the meds, the monitoring, hell, even the acupuncture—I suppose I was holding out more hope than I realized.

So sluggish and sad (and, come on, curious) I made another appointment with the acupuncturist.

I am completely, utterly, out of my element in the acupuncturist’s office. I feel awkward and think odd hippie-ish thoughts like, "You should really eat wheat germ" even though I don't know what wheat germ is, or "Why don't you ever wear your Birkenstocks?". I know nothing about Hinduism or Buddhism except that Buddha statues are very “in” right now and Richard Gere is friends with the Dali Llama. I have no spirituality in my life, but I want to believe so badly in all of this, so I just nod vigorously when my acupuncturist, one of those gorgeous women in wispy linen and no make-up, says I have major blockage to my heart for my energy isn’t in line. Who knew?

So this is what I have been doing when I haven't been writing: and the truth is, most of the time I'm doing nothing, lazing at home watching Netflix. But I find I need that time more and more - that time of nothingness after work and before bed - to get my head in the game for the next round to face tomorrow. And the day after that. Because I'm not quitting anytime soon.

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.