Monthly Archives: September 2011

Awkward Moments at the Podiatrist

September 27, 2011

Yesterday I had my first, and I hope last trip to the podiatrist.

It was for horrible pain in the arch of my left heel and arch. It turns out that all my running, flip flopping and bare footing does not love me back. Neither does my new love of step classes, which are so 90′s and so fun, but basically consist of me stomping around on my foot for 55 minutes. In fact, my foot has been making me hobble around like a babushka.

So after 2 months of doing my own research and techniques I decided it wasn’t going away. And I called the doctor. Who had a rather unfortunate last name (I won’t mention it here, but I can only imagine the schoolyard taunts).

I hobbled into the office so they could see how extreme the situation was and maybe even give me a grape lollipop.

Instead they put me in a chair with my feet propped up and raised the chair so high that I think I would have gotten hurt if I fell off.

Then the doctor pushed on my foot until he found the worst pain then asked if I had ever heard of plantar fasciitis. He clearly has not read my blog. I research everything within an inch of its life.

Then he had me get an X-ray and offered me a variety of options, including a cortisone shot which he highly recommended. I am not terribly squeamish about needles. But one through my very painful foot sounded horrible and I told him so. Dr. Unfortuante-Last-Name told me it could hurt. Or maybe not. But that 90% of cases are cured through shots.

He left me on my throne for a few minutes while I did yoga breathing and gathered my courage. When he came back I told him I was in. And so long as I didn’t watch him maneuvering the needle through my foot it was okay. Then he put a band-Aid on me and left the room, closing the door behind him.

By now my chair was not too high. And my foot was only aching a little. But then I had a dilemma. Was it time to leave? Had he just dismissed me? Was a nurse going to come talk to me? I waited. And waited. And put my flip flops back on, and waited some more. Finally I left the room and a nurse gave me a weird look and said “Is there anything else we can help you with?” And I said, “Uh, no.” While I really thought “A dismissal would be nice. And maybe a grape lollipop.”

And then I hobbled back out.

Sunday Morning Frittata

September 26, 2011

I know it’s Monday morning in Corporate America. Believe me when I say I’m not trying to be cruel. But can we take a moment to talk about why we love the weekend?

Breakfast. Lazy mornings. Farmer’s market. Cooking.

Put them together and you get my Sunday morning frittata. Yesterday I was assembling my ingredients and realized how dreamy, (yes, dreamy) they looked. So I snapped a photo.

Yes, I would have laid out my ingredients this way even if I weren’t taking a picture. I’m 17.6% Italian and generally pretend to be at least twice that, so please indulge my food craziness.


My favorite thing about frittatas is their versatility. You can use almost anything in any combination and they turn out great. (I once incorporated a piece of string cheese with a mysteriously absent expiration date, so trust me, I know what I’m talking about.) I could give you a step by step recipe, but that really isn’t necessary. Here is a loose recipe that you can play with to your heart’s content.


  • 1 tsp oil
  • eggs (3-4, egg whites are good too)
  • Splash of milk
  • Vegetables (bell peppers, spinach, mushrooms, tomatoes, asparagus, zucchini, pepperoncini)
  • Onions (Green onions, red onion, white or yellow)
  • Meat (totally optional, but I like a couple of thin slices of prosciutto or ham, and occasionally when I’m feeling fancy, diced up chicken sausage)
  • 1/4 cup of cheese (mozarella, parmesan, swiss, feta, cheddar)
  • Salt & Pepper (dried or fresh herbs are great too)

Get creative. If you’re a cheesy kind of person use more. If you have 1/3 of a red onion and 2 green onions then use that. If you have leftover cooked spinach throw it in. If you want a large frittata use more eggs. Just don’t come crying to me when its suddenly all you ever want to eat. Now here’s what you do.


Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Dice up your vegetables and meat. Shred your cheese. Whisk your eggs with a splash of milk and season them.

Heat your oil over medium heat in a small oven-safe skillet. (My pan says “convection safe.” Just make sure it can handle high temperatures without the handle melting.) Sautee your “tough” veggies (like onions, asparagus, peppers and zucchini) for about 3 minutes. Add the rest of your veggies (spinach, mushrooms, tomatoes) and sautee for another few minutes.

Add meat and cheese to the skillet then pour the eggs over everything, mixing lightly to distribute everything. Let the frittata cook for a several minutes until the edges can be pulled from the side of the pan.

Put the whole thing in the oven and cook for about 10 minutes or until it the frittata is set and the eggs are cooked. Remove from oven, cut into wedges and serve.

(*BE SO CAREFUL WITH THE HANDLE: I have burned myself approximately 3,678 times. *)

This is your finished product (pictured here on my rather scrappy coffee table).

Have mercy.

If you’d like a video demonstration watch this Food Network YouTube demonstration by Giada. I just have to warn you about the way she says “frittata.” It may give you the desire to imitate her voice for 10-14 days, thereby causing marital stress.

“She Tried to Be Good”: Pulp Fiction Covers & Contest

September 7, 2011

Every writer has their inspiration. For some it may be the work of Dickens. For others, a particularly well-crafted work of macaroni art. But a select few, through no fault of their own, seem to find all manner of inspiration in 1950’s pulp fiction novel covers.

I happen to be one of those writers.

In fact, at the moment I am typing away under a large picture entitled “The Original Pulp Fiction Collection.” It is a framed photo of 5 Pulp Fiction covers titled Love & Marriage. It brings me no end of joy.

Perhaps you don’t know what Pulp Fiction is. Let me enlighten you.

Pulp Fiction refers to a collection of literature that spanned the first half of the 20th century. This was cheap and dirty literature, called “pulp” because of the inexpensive wood pulp paper the novels were printed on. A good one cost you 10 cents. A really good one could be as much as 25 cents. They multiplied like ants in American newsstands and were soon hidden under mattresses all across the country. They were dramatic, racy, shocking, and all around delicious.

I must admit I’ve never read one.

But that really doesn’t hinder my enjoyment. Because what I really love about these novels are their covers. They are bright, cheap looking, racy, colorful, and downright delicious. In fact, the covers were so important that it became common practice for an artist to create a cover then ask a writer to come up with a story to go with it. Their titles make me laugh. Their descriptions make me laugh harder, and their pricing make me absolutely giddy. Let me give you a sampling.

This one is my absolute favorites and hangs on my wall for all to see. There are so many things I love about it that I’m not sure where to start. Here we have the typical Tall Dark & Handsome (alternately known as black-haired Ken doll) hoisting a buxom blonde whose blouse seems to be coming undone. There’s even a hint of a bed which suggests hanky panky. But not too luridly. This novel screams “sexy with a moral.” And who doesn’t like their morals sexy.

This one is a close second. I love the delicate pink blossoms and whimsical daisies that suggest vitality, youth and spring. I love that she is pink-cheeked with love while Tall Dark & Handsome is completely out of place in their pastoral haven, decked out in a jacket and tie. I also find the pipe to be a nice touch that brings a touch of class to the scene. I try to model my own love affair after this image.

First off, the title is a homerun. Because if there’s one time in your life that should be downright shameless it’s your honeymoon. Obviously this author gets that. I love her gigantic lacy boobs, the placement of her left hand, and the way Tall Dark & Handsome stands shaving in the background in a wife beater and high waisted trousers. Please, let us never be parted.

This cover and I have a history. But I just saw the book’s subtitle for the first time and immediately started howling. In fact, David just asked why I was “cackling” and after I showed him made several remarks over the next twenty minutes or so along the lines of “Where did I find you? You’re perfect for me.”


I made the mistake of taking a journal with this cover on my study abroad to London with a very conservative Christian school. I made a bigger mistake when I accidentally left it out in the common area of our house’s living room.  Unfortunately, it was found and deemed trash. If only they could have read all the sultry details inside.


(Guaranteed to up the sauciness factor of your life by at least 17%).

To enter, post a comment to this post. To enter multiple times subscribe to my  blog via twitter, facebook, email or RSS feed (located under “Subscription Options.”

Oh I love you Green Lemon readers. I will announce the winner on Friday.

Now here’s a title I can work with. It’s more like a challenge. I also love the diversity of our characters. We have a blonde AND a brunette. And, I’m not sure, but one of the Tall Dark & Handsome’s appears to be a redhead. This is obviously a very progressive novel

You have no idea how badly I want a copy of this. First off, the dress is fabulous. So is her dreamy, faraway look. And the brilliance of the three ghosty heads (are they triplets?) adds all kinds of mystery. And what is she writing? So many questions and so few answers.

This one speaks for itself. Please notice the authorship.

Men didn’t marry her kind. The mirror affect is positively alluring. I can hardly tear my gaze away. And look at the drama captured in that one claw-like hand. How does she destroy everything she loves? And why is that man so angry?

There are 38 words on this cover. That’s longer than a dissertation I once wrote on the aspirations of potato bugs. Please notice that this one had not just 3 printings, but 3 LARGE printings.

And finally:

Ohy, the irony. This girl is clearly no bar of Ivory Soap. And what horrific tragedy affected her hair but missed her brows entirely?

I’m sorry I’m not more sophisticated. Some of you may be thinking along with my husband “Where did I find her?” And to that, I would respond 7th grade gym class and respectively.

Don’t forget to enter the contest!