Wednesday, June 14, 2006


I invented a recipe, and I think it's pretty much awesome. You tell me, though, after you prepare it for yourself. Which you should, because it's great. I just ate it!

Thanksgiving Summer Salad
By Megan

Prep time: less than 10 minutes

2 cups Salad Mix - Radicchio, Endive, Escarole
2 tbs Good Goat Cheese, crumbled.
2 tbs Dried Cranberries
3 slices Herbed Turkey Breast (Nitrate-free)
3 tbs Raspberry Dressing
Fresh Cracked Pepper to taste.

Dump salad into a big bowl.
Throw Goat Cheese in there.
Add Cranberries.
Roll up Turkey Breast slices and cut rolls into edible pieces.
Pour Dressing.
Toss for like, 20 seconds.
Pepper it up if you like.

That's it! DELISH!


This Cold is diabolically evil! It is STILL HERE even though I've run the gamut of my usual arsenal against it. I fed it fresh strawberries and bananas and my Cold just laughed in Fruit's face (my Cold is RUDE). I steeped bags of green tea and my Cold just swatted at the Antioxidants like a tiger with some catnip (my Cold is FELINE). I took vitamin C AND bought one of those C Monster Odwalla juices, which are really just overpriced jugs of liquid sugar, and my Cold seemed to grow Stronger, Greener, and Meaner (my Cold has a CATCHPHRASE).

Last night was just TOO MUCH! I could take NO MORE and actually used some symptom-relief medication: Rite Aid's Nighttime Flu Formula for Body Aches, Headaches, Fever, Sore Throat, Nasal Congestion, Runny Nose, and Sneezing. I thought, "This should do it! I will DEFINITELY sleep with this generic drug!"

But: no. Because the Nighttime Flu Formula doesn't prevent post-nasal-drip, which means it doesn't prevent COUGHING, and my Cold decided that last night would be THE NIGHT for a Post-Nasal-Drip PARTY. Phlegm was the guest of honor, and he made quite a grand entrance (into my tissues) over and over and over again. Talk about overstaying your welcome! It's like, Phlegm, buddy, haven't you heard the phrase "Always Leave Them Wanting More?" Honestly: I've really had enough of you. The only party guest more annoying then Phlegm was Snot. But I feel like Snot is one of those guys who just refuses to miss a party. He thinks he's so awesome but really he's just disgusting. And currently all over my pillows.

Maybe I did things all wrong! Is it Feed A Fever, Starve A Cold, or is it Starve A Flu, Feed A Cold, or is it Starve A Baby, Go To Jail? I DON'T KNOW! I'm feeding the fuck out of this Cold, though. Should I not be doing that? Liquids only? Boo hoo, if that's the case. I really don't love liquids. Why, just last night I told a waiter when he offered me water, "No thanks. I hate the stuff." And he looked at me like I was obnoxious, which I am. Because 10 minutes later I asked for water. "Sorry," I said, "I seem to be a jerk."

I never do this, but I'm raising the white flag, Cold. Let's truce it up, okay? You've got other, more interesting people to invade and knock down, and I've got...well...uh, I've Yes! I have Stuff I need to get to! IMPORTANT stuff! I'll go my way, you go yours, cool? I'd shake on it, but your hands, Cold, your hands: they're covered, LITERALLY covered, in snot.

Monday, June 12, 2006


And another thing:

I can't win! Either I eat alone too often, or I eat socially too often! I can't seem to hit it just right. I say this because I caught a tremendous Spring cold this weekend, and it hit me like an Acme anvil. Except that I'm more than two very colorful dimensions so I'm having a bit of trouble recovering.

Friday night I was at a birthday dinner but let's be honest: this dinner was all about the soup course, the soup being alcohol. But I did eat, and when I did I ate by sticking my fork in other people's plates and sharing. I love to share! I love to share molten chocolate cake and ice cream, and linguine, and whatever you're having! And well, I suppose I also shared, in the process, some kind of virus which resulted in my body falling apart on Saturday.

I woke up thinking I was just hung over. I felt a slight physical malaise, but certainly not bad enough to skip the potluck barbecue to which I had been invited. I mean: potluck barbecue! And not only that: it was an opportunity to see some old college friends and some newer friends of college friends who I reconnect with about three times a year in spite of how much I genuinely like them. I was really excited! I brought an abundance of goodies from Trader Joe's, and was ready to make a real day of it. I ate spicy jerk chicken wings with my bare hands, and I ate a tremendous sausage in a bun with mustard with my bare hands, and I ate communal cornbread and chips and hummus with my bare hands and when I think about it now everyone was eating and cooking and touching food with their bare hands and well, I was having a pretty great time but I started to get chilly, and as I layered on my friends' sweaters I realized I was getting really really chilly even though I should not have been what with all the sweaters. And I ached. Hardcore. And it didn't feel like a hangover, and I stopped having a great time and started to feel TERRIBLE. Fortunately I'd been at the potluck for a bunch of hours, so making my exit wasn't the worst thing in the world, but I was bummed to leave while things were still, literally, cooking. Those things being the longest strip of lamb sausage I have ever seen.

I went home and went to bed at approximately 8pm. Total night sweats fever. Body aches and chills. I'd remembered seeing a report about meningitis on the news earlier in the week and had a mild panic attack at 11:15pm when I woke up, but I brought myself down and called my brother to see if he would bring me Tylenol and an Orange Gatorade (my two favorite things for a fever, which I refuse to keep in stock for myself, as I am an optimist), but, unfortunately, he was already in bed himself, recovering from the night before. So I was really not feeling good. Really really sick. Bad achy fever chills sick. This happens to me about twice a year. And...I needed a little help. My roommate was home, but I'm pretty sure she was having sex with her boyfriend, so I didn't want to interrupt her by asking for a Tylenol. So I did a mildly foolish, but completely feverish thing: I texted the ex, who lives in my neighborhood. It said: "r u in the hood?" I was thinking, if he were in the neighborhood on a Saturday night at 11:15pm, maybe he'd be up for bringing me a Tylenol and Orange Gatorade! Oh, in case you were wondering: I am kind of an asshole. Looking at it now, it reads like a booty call. Which it was not. The ex did not text me back, which I interpreted two ways: he DID interpret my text as a booty call, and did not dignify it with a response, OR, he was preoccupied and could not text back (ie he was having sex with a gorgeous blonde, which is what I wish for him, always).

In any case, I made it through the night without any help. Today was better. And this afternoon, during my brother's birthday brunch with my family (more social eating, many shared dips and spreads), the ex texted back: "i was at A and B's wedding." I wrote back, "oh! hope it was great! i was really sick and was gna ask 4 a favor. inappropriate." To which he replied: "Ok. hope you're feeling better. " And I wrote "yeah. thanks. sorry."

Oop. Ack. Eek. It's called a Learning Curve for a reason. There are peaks, and there are dips. Just don't double dip, and remember to wash your hands.

Sunday, June 11, 2006


I'm going to stop saying "I was raised RIGHT!" because, honestly, even if I WAS, in fact, raised RIGHT, I certainly don't behave in a way that comes close to demonstrating that, and I'd hate to come off like some kind of hypocrite.

Case in point: this weekend. The eldest of my older brothers celebrated his birthday, which was sort of a milestone, so the weekend presented an opportunity for me to interact with his friends...who are all older, settled, and, let's face it, TOTAL BREEDERS. At his birthday dinner, a minor banquet for 18 people at swanky place in Chelsea, I saw more pictures of newborns than I would have if I logged onto I had to act like I was impressed EVERY SINGLE TIME. And like, I think babies are cute, but COME ON: I am DRINKING TEQUILA WITH A SPLASH OF GRAPEFRUIT AND A HIT OF TABASCO (try it, it's delish) AND WHEN I DO THIS THE LAST THING ON MY MIND IS THE PHYSICAL CONSEQUENCE OF SOME STRANGERS' INTERCOURSE. Yes, Chloe is gorgeous! and I love how even though you're Jewish she is sitting on Santa's lap! IS that the definition of irony?! Okay, sure it is...Excuse me, waiter? I will have another Corazon with grapefruit, please, no ice this time, I really want to TASTE the tequila...What? SURE! Let me see that picture of Myles! Oh, he is CUTE! Wow, gained seven pounds in a month...that's...a...lot? I'm sorry, did you just say something about sore nipples? Huh! Breastfeeding is harder than I thought. Oh, but he's sleeping four hours a night? That's amazing! I think? Where did our waiter go...he sure is TAKING HIS TIME WITH THAT DRINK!

So I did my best at dinner. I tried to be interesting and interesTED. It...was...hard. I really just wanted my brother to have a good time and I know that he really wanted me there, but I'll be honest: laying down $100 for food and drinks and watching these married, employed ADULTS leave $50 as they made their goodbyes was kind of a bummer. Especially when you're cheap. Which I sort of am. But trying not to be. Which is why I spent $130 on my brother's birthday gift, a trio of some very fine cognacs, recommended to me by an EXPERT named Warren. Hey, I love my brother, nothing's too good for him, except for the $300 bottle of 35-year-old scotch that I REALLY wanted to buy but, alas, was well beyond my budget. So when I presented my $130 gift and my brother was like, "Hey, thanks!" I kind of wanted more of a reaction. Not his fault: he didn't KNOW those cognacs were, as Warren put it, The Best, and he didn't know they COST, as Warren put it, One Hundred and Thirty Dollars, and, well, I certainly couldn't TELL him. But I wanted to! Because I have no couth! But honestly: I wanted to tell him the cost because I wanted him to know how much I love him. I wanted my brother to know I love him way way more than money. And I couldn't articulate that by mouth so I did by wallet. I spent a lot to demonstrate my love even though he'd never know how much I spent or how much I love him. Which IS the definition of irony, and also what it means to be Jewish.

I was raised right, but I act ALL WRONG.