Quinoa

It's pronounced Keen-wa, not Queen-Noah I've just learned. I've never paid attention to it before because, frankly, I never had to…to me it was weird, hippy-grain that was an odd man's risotto. Or an allergic woman's… who knew? I have now been educated and apologize to any of the hippies that don't like quinoa and to the quinoa who aren't fond of hippies.

Don't worry – you'll all be sick of my allergies l-o-n-g before I am, I promise!!!

So here we are…allergy watch – end of day 2. Only 28 to go and already I'm feeling super healthy…NOT!!! So far I feel pretty much the same as I did on Sunday – minus the hangover, of course. My environmental allergy symptoms have not abated, and my insides, to date, are still inside. Good!

A trip to Whole Foods this evening proves to me one thing – no one is allergic to everything. Except, seemingly, me. There are breads and pastas and cake mixes and flours up the whazoo – but all have at least one of the following ingredients: wheat, yeast, gluten, rice, potato, soy or sunflower.
I want to cheat, but can't fake it. I'm trying to be good and follow the rules. Anyone can do anything for 30 days, right? Shows character and stick-with-it-ness. Like college – minus the hangover, of course.

There is hope, says my doctor as he shines a bright light into my dark, carb-free room. Quinoa. The one grain I am not allergic to. YIPEE!!!! I'm on it… I have no idea what it takes like (probably chicken) but am hopeful that it's good!

Question: what the hell do you make with this stuff??? All the recipes I've found so far have at least one of the "bad" ingredients in it…I am hoping that I can cook it up like rice or cous cous, but no luck with recipes so far…can anyone help me out with a recipe that is both good and good for me?

Here's hoping you won't find me keeled over in a huge vat of quinoa when it probably would have been healthier for me to eat some s'ghetti on occasion.

Maintenance Squared

Ah, Hollywood (probably Los Angeles, in general)…where nothing is ever shocking. Where , in other parts of the country, conversations usually confined to a quiet corner bistro on girls' night after a few cosmopolitans are discussed casually over a non-fat decaf double shot with a twist at 7:00 a.m. This is my home. Where I live and love. Where I get my hair and nails done. Work on those love handles. Groom the chin hair. Chatting with my pal Kate, I've been enlightened to the existence of such strange grooming "maintenance" as vaginal rejuvenation and anal bleaching. Dear Lord…!!!! Really!?! http://katedating.blogspot.com/2008_04_01_archive.html These things to me are like Mikey from the Life Cereal commercial dying because he ate Pop Rocks & drank a Coca Cola at the same time…and the Ban du Soleil gal dying of skin cancer…rumors, but surely unfounded and untrue.

Tomorrow promises to be one of the warmest days of Spring. Ergo (that's Latin!) (I watched Rome on HBO!) I decided that I will probably want to put on a pair of shorts – maybe a bathing suit if I have enough wine – so I place an emergency 9-1-1 call to the person that knows more about me than my priest and manicurist combined….Lottie, the gal that waxes my unmentionables. And Lottie, understanding gal that she is, says yes, Bubbula, come in, we'll fix that embarrassing mess tout suite. Thank God, because the pasty white skin is enough to scare anyone away…I don't need the Fay Rae Stalker Hair to go with.

So I tottle in, disrobe & wait. And Lottie comes in with Someone Else following behind her. "Is it ok that Lily practices on you? She's new, but she's good and I am here, too. She'll do one side, I'll do the other. OK?"

um…"practice" ?????

If you've ever had your unmentionables waxed you know that this is not an enterprise you take up lightly. There is a comfort level that (for me, anyway) that needs to be achieved. I can't just have any Jane, Sally or Mary maintaining my hoo-hoo. Is it too late to dress & leave?

But Lottie rocks and what can I say? I got a last minute appointment that I was told was a 'squeeze in' because I'm me (yep. Thankyouverymuch) so I wanted to return the favor. Besides, Lily seemed sweet, if a bit nervous. Which is never good when you're holding a hot wax wand & a cloth.

Neither here nor there.

If you've ever had ANYTHING waxed in your life, you know it's not a pain free experience. But, have you ever had your hairs ripped out from the belly button south, you know it's an exercise in zen. Remember the beauty that comes after. No shave-rash. No Shave Rash. So I lie down. And then I'm thinking, I'm getting waxed tag-team? Oh. My. God. I can't even begin to tell you how weird and painful and strangely clinical the experience was. It was definitely a teaching session. "No, you missed here. Don't be afraid to just pull. It hurts worse when you don't". LOL! Small fumbles aside (no shave rash. no shave rash.) I was done lickety split (no pun intended) which was the really good part of it but when I got to the car I let out the primal scream of all primal screams. OWWWWWWWWWW!!!!!!!

And only then did I take two seconds to consider the oddity of the appointment. On one hand, everyone has to learn, but why was I chosen as the human guinea pig…or Rhesus monkey? Clearly lots of material to work with. On the other? Weekend beauty, worth the price.

Happily Mikey and the Ban du Soleil gal and the aforementioned fringe grooming practices are still a mystery to me.

 

Allergies and the Art of Gastronomic Maintenance

Unbelievable! It's been about three weeks, but the irony still makes me laugh.

Allergies. These are the things that make you sneeze when Fluffy or Butch or Floppy come into the room. The invisible floaties that make your eyes water and nose run when Spring begins to spring. The mistaken anaphylactic reaction that sends Scully to the floor – interrupting The Kiss not seen 'round the world in the first X-Files movie.

Allergies. I've had them my whole life. Cats, pollen, dust, cheap perfume…they've been as much a part of me as the brown hair and perfect pitch. All right. The brown hair.

As recently as two years ago, Happily Ever After and I had become convinced that I've developed an allergy to avocados. A food allergy. I've heard of them. Poor little children that can't get peanuts at the ballpark because they're allergic. My nephew is allergic to mangos. I pretended to be allergic to spinach simply because I don't like it. But I've never had a food allergy in my life. Then we arrive at that one fateful Cinco de Mayo: I made a vat of guacamole and proceeded to drown my corn chips in the green yummy goodness. Then the rash started. The tingling swelling I felt around my mouth was only slightly less scary than the tightening in my throat that was beginning to occur. EEK!! OK. Not to be paranoid – and because I dig me some guacamole – we decided to try again another day – another batch of guac made with different avocados. This time with the Benadryl insta-tabs at the ready. And once again, the rash & swelling begins. When I awoke from my Benadryl nap, we decided that avocados were something to avoid. I mourned. But it was ok. There were moments that I was sad, sure. Something you ate your whole life is now verboten. It sucks. A pal makes guacamole, you have to content yourself with just salsa. You're at lunch with your gal pals, request no avo, but somewhere along the line the request gets lost, everyone's lunch comes, and yours has to go back. Making you late. You content yourself with chips & salsa, but you feel bad for dragging the lunch on when everyone (including you) has work to return to. We're all grownups, but still…ya know?

But just to be sure, I made an appointment with the allergist. And for laughs, let's just test everything. (Thanks, Blue Cross!) I knew I was allergic to everything out- and in-doors in the Western New York area, but CA? The land of the allergy-free? Surely I'd be spared.

First the news we already knew. Cats are cats – West or East coast. Apparently their allergic magic works on both sides of the Mississippi. Pollen? Dust? Tree spores? Yep. Still allergic. (Thanks, Zyrtec!)

Now the good news (yay!) NOT allergic to avocados! Not at all! Not a whit!! Tested twice just to be sure!! Oh Happy Day!!!!!!!!!

Now the not-so-good news. Apparently I'm allergic to the corn chips I was woofing the avocados down with. HUH???????? Corn? Oh, no, boys and girls…not just corn. Baker's yeast, wheat, potatoes, rice and soy. All Nature's starchy goodness. All of it. Why, Dee, that doesn't really sound TOO bad…Aren't you indulging in a bit of self pity?

Let's quickly take a look, shall we?

Baker's yeast – anything that rises…cookies, cake, bread, brownies, everything along those lines. Everything.

Wheat – cookies, cake, bread, brownies, pie crust, pasta, four tortillas. PASTA!!! What kind of Italian girl is allergic to pasta!??!?!??!

Corn – those guac'ed out corn chips…corn on the cob, corn bread, corn tortillas, popcorn.

Soy - Every. Processed. Food. In. America. EVERY. Besides soy sauce, tofu & edamame, the dreaded "partially hydrogenated soybean oil" which happily makes an appearance in things like salad dressing, mayonnaise, jarred pasta sauce, many processed cheeses and lots & lots of other things. LOTS.

So my friends console me…"That's ok – you can't have pasta, but you can have gnocchi"…no. potatoes."You're allergic to gluten…easy! There are lots of gluten free products on the market now." Yep! They're all made with rice as a substitute. "At least you're not allergic to avocados!" Tru Dat.

When my results came back I asked the doctor how I could possibly be allergic to foods that I had no idea I was allergic to? I've never ever had a reaction to these foods. He very ominously replied, "Not that you're aware of. We don't know what these foods are doing to your insides."

YIKES!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The game plan is to put me on an allergy diet – take me off everything I'm allergic to for one month then slowly reintroduce speisen
verboten back into my diet one at a time to see how my insides are reacting. Dear Lord. Again I ask: how can a gal that can honestly say that she hasn't had a meal in her life that hasn't included one or more of the above foods, abstain for a month?

Apparently I have to look at bread & pasta like pre-marital sex…

Hail Mary, full of Grace…

Mental Vacation

Well, I'm sure you were all convinced that I've won the Mega-Millions and run away from it all – living scandalously, surrounded by fun-house thin-mirrors, sipping on domestic sparkling wine (come on – you know you like it better than real champagne, too), eating Alaskan crab and Maine lobster and mocking the corporate servant I used to be. Sadly, no. I'm still here. I've just been on a mental vacation, trying to figure out some of the larger questions in life, not the least of which are as follows: why is it that I don't know (or care about) the words to the top 20 songs on the radio like I did when I was 15? Why are all my friends feeling the same way? Relatedly (is that a word? spell check says no), why does Madonna sound like Olivia Newton John (pre-"Physical") compared to some of the lyrics I DO understand? Didn't she used to be scandalous? I mean, the 80's weren't THAT long ago – were they? Also, what's up with the frosting in Twinkies?? Didn't the frosting used to be less sticky, more fluffy? It's keeping me up at night.

And purpose. Do we need purpose? Not in a genuine cause and effect kind of way…just in a "why" kind of way. Because the idea of purpose, or reason, if you will, for our (my) actions was laid at my feet too long ago – about a month ago – about the time of my last post, actually. Here's the tale:

I was asked recently, "Why blog? What purpose do you have in doing this? Do you want to be famous? Get a movie deal?" (For the record, I'm not hoping to get a movie deal by doing this. I couldn't script a scene if I tried. And paparazzi annoy the fuck out of me.) "What is it about blogging that has given you this bug? Do you all of a sudden have this need to tell secrets to strangers?" After stammering around a bit (because not surprisingly, my oral skills suck) I thought of all kinds of things to reply, but this is what I came up with: that this was more or less just an exercise to get me writing everyday – practice, if you will. It was akin to an on-line diary. "Practice to what end? And, if it IS just practice, why blog it? Why put it out there on the internet? Why not just write & save it on your computer?"

Scratch the needle off the record. GOOD QUESTION. And one, honestly, I had no answer to. I was a bit embarrassed – OK, a lot embarrassed. I got caught. Or caught up. Or seduced by the (real or imaginary) Potential of The Blog. And then it got me thinking: why DO I want to do this? Besides the "all my friends are doing it" thing. What did I truly hope to get out of this? I really ruminated. Thus my mental vacation.

Secrets are definitely not it. Again…the window to my life is pretty curtain-free. If it was about secrets, you'd be getting charged a very hefty per-minute fee. I had to stop and think about it for a good long time: What is it that makes me believe that blurting out one's every thought (or at least the ones that we think are clever) to an unseen audience is not only OK, but also desirable? Is it arrogant of me to think I am so damn interesting that these others actually care what I have to say?

I lost my mojo. I couldn't write a thing. I had gone from being pertinent to silly in one short hour. I had no direction, no "plot", no purpose to any of this. Even the name of this blog is non-definitive…on one hand, I am the wind, shapeless & free formed; I have unbridled potential to talk about anything, and on the other hand, I am the wind, shapeless & free formed; really all about nothing and very quickly gone. Therefore, to what end, this?

So, like my old friend Winnie the Pooh, I sat. And I thought. Think, Think, Think.

I'm not sure if I came up with a solid answer, but here is what I have come up with:

I am certainly not speaking for the hundreds of thousands of other people out there that blog, I can only speak for me, but I think that there is a little piece inside all of us that secretly wants its 15 minutes of fame.

Another reason might be shyness. I am incredibly, ridiculously, cripplingly shy. People are shocked when I tell them. The expressions on their faces are akin to what I imagine they'd look like if I told them I had been born with both male & female body parts (see hefty per-minute fee, above). They don't believe me. But my mask has been honed & shaped lo these many years, so now no one would guess that being in front of people is so terrifying that I try to avoid it if at all possible. This is why I could never be a movie or tv star. Writers are rarely chased for their autographs. Hardly anyone knows what they look like. Now, I know that you get your Stephen Kings & J.K. Rowling, but mostly, writers can blend into the world unobtrusively. And blogging can be even more anonymous: perfect for a shy gal like me. I get to write, people can know what I have to say, but not in a way that scares the Halloween out of me.

And perhaps the most important factor is the dream factor: location, location, location. Not only do I live in the United States where a peanut farmer can become President, but also in Los Angeles, where there are no waiters, only directors and actors in training. Where one conceivably can be seated next to Mr. & Mrs. Spielberg at dinner, or Ashton Kutcher and Demi Moore really could be sitting next to you at parents' night. As a result, I think that somewhere floating near the surface is the belief that if our light shines brightly enough, that someone very influential will notice, and the fame and fortune will closely follow. In Los Angeles, this belief feels almost tangible.

I've been told that I write well…but that is within the safety of the Hundred Acres Woods in which I live. Maybe outside in the real world I'm not such a hot ticket. Has anyone read Orangette's blog?? www.orangette.blogspot.com Her blog is about life and food: two things I know about and love a lot. The blog is lovely and well written and I think, "I can do this too!" So I try. And it's OK. But she? She makes her food articles sound like Harlequin Romances for the Hungry. Frankly, I'm jealous. She's good. Really good. And The Universe has rewarded her talent and hard work with a cookbook and a monthly article in Bon Appétit. Well done, her. And I think "I want one, too!!!" But do I really aspire to these lofty heights?" If we're being honest, sorta, yeah. As I said, I think it's pretty normal for one to dream about being famous in some capacity. But it's the level of commitment to that fame that sets us apart. And if we're being honest, I'm not trying that hard.

So round and round and round I went, trying to existentialize then internalize then rationalize my blogging. After all that – a month of pondering - did I answer my question? "What is my purpose in doing this?"

I think the bigger and more accurate question is, "Do I need a purpose to do this?" The answer is no. I don't. I do it because it's fun and I like it and if you, Kind Reader, keep reading, I'm thrilled.

Who the Ef is Sarah Marshall?

It started near the end of last week. I'm driving my usual 3 blocks home from work and I see a poster that says "You Suck, Sarah Marshall http://www.ihatesarahmarshall.com/" and I laughed! Oh, Goody! Summer movies starting early!!! I gotta look this website up!! In one eye and out the other, I completely forgot about it.

Two days later, I'm at the video store. I look up, and there's this HUGE billboard that says "My mother always hated you, Sarah Marshall!" HA!!! HILARIOUS!!! This is gonna be GREAT!!! I have GOT to remember to look this up when I get home!!

…long story short: 3 more billboards, an exercise in memory retention gone awry and one week later I STILL have not remembered to look up this movie when I was anywhere near a computer. Until tonight. In a nod to the spirit of this blog, it was, as most things are in my life, a classic A.D.D. moment…clicking randomly around the Yahoo! Home page I notice that most popular search #8 is – you guessed it: Sarah Marshall! OOOH!! Thank God! 'Cause this movie will be on video before I remember to look it up!

Click…click… http://www.ihatesarahmarshall.com/

click…

Oh, Boy. This is NOT a movie…this is a high velocity train wreck…This poor schmuck, Peter Bretter starts a video log and blog about how much he loves his girlfriend, Sarah Marshall, and how he can't wait to marry her and in one month his story goes from "Happily Ever After" to "Where's the warm bath, pills and razor blade?"

And I'm thinking the billboards really are all about telling off Sarah Marshall! HOLY CRAP!! He took the engagement ring back and spent the money on a bunch of billboards, taking his pain public, and trying to exorcize his demon! WOW!

And as I'm feeling all kinds of pain and pathos for this guy, my poor heart bleeding for him, remembering the pain of an unexpected breakup, etc., I click over to another (looks like related) website "Forgetting Sarah Marshall" - and lo and behold - it IS a movie - coming to a theater near you - soonish - and the guy - Peter - looks a helluva lot like Poor Schmuck Peter and the girl - Sarah Marshall - looks a helluva lot like SuperBitchBreakUpGirl Sarah Marshall and the lightbulb goes off...and I feel like the schmuck.

One one hand, kudos to my gut instincts! I watch enough E! to have heard of these people, this breakup - Ryan Seacrest never said anything about this! I know these things!

On the other, to be totally manipulated by the machinations of fiction gives me pause. Am I that much of a sucker? At my age? Shame on me. High five to them.

I guess clever is as clever does...