Pizza in the morning, pizza in the evening, pizza in the bathroom at 4 a.m.

I posted several months ago about D.'s stomach's aversion to pizza. In that post, I wrote about his severe acid reflux, and how ever since he became my roomie, I've had to re-think the spice factor in everything I cook.

Well, after months of nagging (and years of nagging from my aunt and other cousins), he finally made an appointment with a gastroenterologist, and upon hearing D.'s symptoms, the doc immediately scheduled him for an upper GI endoscopy (or more specifically, an esophagogastroduodenoscopy, which I would type out every time, but my hands will start to cramp). This procedure was of special interest to me, because I work for the medical device industry, and I've been to lectures and presentations about our endoscopy procedures.

Anyway, D. needed someone to drive him home, so I went with him. Everyone kept thinking I was his wife. Fortunately, I was able to answer the nurse's questions while he was getting the procedure done. When they wheeled him back in after the procedure, he was hilariously drugged up.

D.: [mumble]
Me: What? Do you need anything?
D.: ... what?
Me: I didn't hear you. I asked if you needed anything.
D.: What? No. Get out of my shit.
[five seconds later]
D.: hiiiiiiii cuzziiiieeeeeeee!
Me: Hiiiii. How you feeling?
D.: Fine. I was here and now I'm here again.

A few minutes later, the doctor came in. He showed us pictures of D.'s esophagus, which is blotchy with esophogitis -- but no Barrett's, which is difficult and painful to treat, and I believe it also quickly leads to esophogeal cancer. D. also has a very small hiatal hernia, which could be contributing to the acid reflux. The doctor has put D. on a medication meant to regulate the acid in his stomach, and the intent is to get the esophogitis to clear up. He's also on orders to quit smoking (which we'll do together), lose a little weight, and refrain from eating right before bedtime. I must say, as someone who works for the medical device industry, I was excited to see an endoscope in action and view the pictures.

Since that appointment, D.'s stomach has been doing great. After dinner the other night, he said he felt bad in a "weird" way. After he thought about it for a while, he suddenly said, "Maybe I'm just... full? Maybe I'm full in a 'normal' way?" I just looked at him, and he said, "Usually when I'm full I just get indigestion really bad and I throw up." It didn't occur to me that he didn't know what feeling full actually was like. He's also managed to go from his usual 15-20 Rolaids-a-day habit to one or two, if that.

So, because of all this, we decided to do an experiment last night: we ordered pizza. He ate about two slices and later a couple of breadsticks... not all that much, at least for him. He stopped eating around 9 p.m. and went to bed around 11, so a full two hours between dinner and bedtime. From what I saw, he only visited the Rolaids bottle once.

Yet he still got up at four this morning to vomit.

And I was so hopeful to eat pizza every day for the rest of my life. :(

In other news, I'm about to come in to some money, and I'd like a new kitchen gadget. Something, anything. Maybe something organizational, or... I don't know. Send your suggestions. I'm already getting things for the rest of the house, but kitchen stuff is new to me.


A romantic holiday named for a Catholic saint. Makes sense.

I didn't celebrate Valentine's Day with P. We might've said "happy Valentine's" with a kiss or something, but I always insisted he not get anything for me. We didn't go to dinner, either, because for most of the time we were together, (1) I knew restaurants would be busy; (2) I didn't make a fuss over Valentine's in the first place; and (3) I waitressed for a while and would rather be at a restaurant, turning over parties of two with lightning speed and coming home with $200.

Chocolate makes me a bit sick. Flowers die. But casinos ARE FOREVER.

D. and I drove down to French Lick, IN this weekend to a resort owned by the man who owns my company (read: discount). I can't even begin to describe how gorgeous this resort is. Just... just look up West Baden Springs. And the town of French Lick, see if there are any pictures. The Americana, the paintings on the buildings, the old street signs... "it's so cute I could eat it," I said as we drove around, and D. shot me a look that said, "good thing you're a good cook... because you're crazy."

As soon as we got to the hotel on Friday night, we went to the buffet in the other resort. We were starving. I had probably ten breaded shrimps, some salad, macaroni and cheese, some pizza (D.: "If you eat pizza at a $22 per person buffet, I am gonna smack you." Me: "Will you smack me with the pizza? I want some.")... D. had a ton of prime rib, mashed potatoes, etc. We didn't really eat all that much, but I was just so happy to be there. I love love love going to French Lick. I'd only been there once before.

So later, we left to go to the casino, and we had a good time. Leaving the casino that night, I had a bit of deja vu -- I got engaged on March 21, 2009, in the French Lick Resort, the Saturday morning after spending that Friday night in the casino. But D. and I went to West Baden instead. And he didn't propose. ;)

Saturday, I got a really refreshing massage, then stopped at a hotel deli, where I got a really great chicken gumbo. I actually ate the vegetables in it. Another stop at the casino, where D. bet on our birthdays in roulette (we were both born on the 12th of the month) and snagged some money. We then headed home and crashed for the rest of the weekend. Finished off the leftover chili from Super Bowl Sunday, which is somehow just as good a week later.

That reminds me: My chili recipe is still being tweaked. The only thing that I consistently do is use ground turkey instead of ground beef. I'm trying to find a way to make the chili that involves using fresher ingredients, instead of canned tomato sauce, etc.

That's my Valentine's in a nutshell. A lot of people are probably going to make romantic and festive meals for two this evening, or go out to a restaurant, but I think I'm going to stick to something simple and inexpensive. Maybe I should make the most unromantic meal ever. Like sloppy joe's or something.


I'm being blackmailed because of my chili

So the Super Bowl party was a hit. In attendance other than D. were my parents, my aunt and uncle, my cousin Kristy and her husband, my friend Dan and his wife, and my friend Katy from work. Then on Monday, I discovered the elusive yet powerful Food Hangover.

I made chili, since it was such a big hit at a poker tournament we hosted a few weeks back, and spinach dip. Katy brought gorgonzola and walnut-crusted grapes; Kristy brought brownies and oatmeal cookies; Dan brought a swiss, garlic, and wine fondue; my aunt brought sausage calzones and taco dip; and I got rid of some of the walnuts that I bought for Thanksgiving. ;) So yeah, people went all out, I think. Usually when I go to a party, I'll bring chips and salsa or a bottle of wine. I have now discovered my perfect guest list, it seems.

My guests weren't just great because they actually worked on the snacks they brought; they were great because the personalities seemed to mesh really well together. I love it when that happens. My cousin Kristy gave this long disclaimer before kick-off that she gets really loud and crazy when she watches football. Then during the first play of the game, Kristy was quiet, but my little aunt Carol yelled out, "OH, SHIT, GET HIM!"

After the game was over, I brought the spinach dip upstairs with me to my office. I can't explain why. I was unbelievably full. But I couldn't stop. I tried to stop. But I couldn't. The next day, I think my pores were seeping out the smell of garlic and onions. I actually kept smelling food somewhere, even though I'd showered. It was gross.

Anyway, so now D. and I are planning a dinner party and another poker party. One invitee says he won't come to the dinner party if I don't serve chili at the poker party.