The Taboo Cancer and the Delicious Recipe that Will Help You Cope with it

You know, chances are that you are reading this and there’s a high probability that you’ve been with more than one person. Yeah, been with. In this day and age it is extremely rare (but does happen) that someone has only been with one person. Did you know that it only takes one person to cause cervical cancer? Yeah, that’s right, one. Do you know how many people have had or do have HPV? Damn near everyone. I had no idea that HPV was that common, did you? Did you also know that if you are a male, it can go undetected because it is not treatable in males? Yup.

What do you think of first when you hear HPV? Dirty? Loose? Well, it turns out that there are over 60 different strains of HPV and each and every one of us has carried at least one of them and didn’t know it. It just depends on your body and how it reacts.

When I was first told that I had an abnormal exam, I didn’t know what to think. I told my husband that it could possibly be because of pre-cancerous cells. Well, what causes those – HPV. My first initial thought was, no, it couldn’t be me that brought this into our marriage. We went back and forth on a drive to visit his brother about who it was, but wait a second – we are a team. It doesn’t matter who did what or where or when, we are married and this is just one of those marital bridges we cross…together, hand-in-hand.

It wasn’t until my second biopsy, scary by the way, that I found out that I had CIN 3 – severe cervical dysplasia, or stage 0 cancer.

“Well at least we caught it”, my hubby said.

We thought we did. In pain and a day away from two weeks since the procedure, I hurried to my doctor to see if there was something still going on. It turned out I didn’t have an infection, but what I did have was a tumor they “think” they got. I will never forget that moment. A doctor speaks to you, in a concerned and comforting voice, telling you that you have cancer. I kept the smile on my face and thanked her as I hopped down from the table. A million thoughts. A million. Your head spins. The doctor hugged me and stepped out of the room after telling me I needed to see an oncologist.

“Why am I so f*&$ing happy right now?” I thought.

My eyes grew wide and I looked to every wall in the room, as if searching for answers to questions that I didn’t even have yet. I picked up my phone and texted my husband.

“I need a drink. You will, too, after I tell you why. Call you in a few”, I wrote.

Imagine being on the receiving end of that text. Completely composed, I walked out of the office and to my car. I started my car (because it was as hot as Hades’ balls outside), and picked up my phone. One missed call. It was my hubby. I dialed.

“What’s going on”, he asked.

“She said I had cancer, but thought they got it all”, I said.


“I have cancer.”

His voice was as calm as he could be, but I could tell he was almost frantic. “What stage are you?”

“I don’t know, I didn’t ask. She said she was making an appointment with the oncologist for me and that it wasn’t urgent, so we can get our answers then.”

“Not urgent?!” He said.

He asked some other questions that I can’t remember, nor could I answer. I was in shock. And so began our first marriage milestone, albeit a horrifying one. No longer did it matter that I once had HPV that turned into cancer, I had cancer. That’s it. I no longer had control over my body, something else did. It was as if a body snatcher took me and I was trapped. I was at this thing’s mercy until I had answers. Thankfully, my husband is the biggest badass on the planet and took the reigns from me so that I could sit back, watch Netflix, and stew in my own thoughts.

Because of his persistence (and possible ability to send poor admins, secretaries, and nurses to therapy), we were on our way to MD Anderson Cancer Center within a matter of weeks (unheard of). How? He let the administrator know that he would call every half hour until my paperwork was released to MD Anderson.

Fast forward almost three weeks…I am scheduled to have surgery on July 29 with one of the best and top gynecologic oncology surgeons in the world – Dr. Pedro Ramirez. Not only is he extremely skilled in the highly specialized surgery that I am having, but he is one of the pioneers of doing the procedure robotically. Let me take a few moments to give that guy some kudos…First, anyone that leaves my hubby without any questions is doing his/her job and doing it well. We sat in a conference room with him where he explained my procedure – the radical trachelectomy. I just kinda looked like I was listening, cuz that’s what you do when you have ADD, but what I did hear is the 97% cure rate, along with the high probability of having children. (YAAAAAAASSSSSSSSSS! Mini Jim Harbaugh here we come!) All of this was said to us in words we understood, slowly and methodically, and with a confidence that didn’t exude cockiness (all EXTREMELY important when trying to win over a couple like us). We found our doctor. Better yet, my hubby found our doctor. Have you ever heard of a doctor calling his patient back to answer questions? How about calling your husband back to answer his questions? Do you have any idea how big MD Anderson is? No? It takes up multiple city blocks and only specializes in cancer. It’s gigantic, but they make you feel like you’re the only patient they are seeing.

Now that I got the boring stuff out of the way, let’s talk about the questions I’m going to ask. I already asked how many women hit on him in front of their husbands, so that one is out of the way (seriously, I’m not sure if he’s single, but if you are he would be a catch since my guy is taken already). I found an old presentation from a conference about robotic radical trachelectomies, so I might whip that one out and ask some of those as long as I can pronounce the words.

So, let’s digress a bit. My mom, being the online research fiend that she is, told me that birth control can cause cervical cancer. She’s not necessarily wrong, but that wasn’t my cause, and I’m sure it certainly didn’t help it, either.

I took a deep breath. “No mom, it’s from HPV,” I said.

(GASP) “YOU HAD WARTS?!” she proclaimed.

“No, mom,” I chuckled, “I did not and do not have warts,” I said, nervously.

“But that’s what it causes,” she proclaimed once more.

(Here is where your education and hers comes in) “Yes, it can, but that’s not the strain I had. There are several different strains and I happened to catch the one that gave me cancer,” I explained.

I was tired, but I gave her the whole lecture at it only taking one person to cause this. She obviously thought I got around, as I’m sure would be almost any parent’s first thought, but it wasn’t like I had. I gave her a couple scenarios until she seemed pacified.

“Who gave it to you,” she asked.

“I don’t know and it doesn’t matter. It’s just a speed bump that the hubby and I are getting over together,” I said, patting myself on the back with my bitchin answer.

At that, this is the problem with cervical cancer awareness. No one talks about it because it’s associated with STDs, sex, dirtiness, and getting around like a 2001 penny. It is the second cause of death for women in the United States and we STILL don’t talk about it! It is also the most preventable!!! So, get checked regularly, educate yourself, and ponder the Gardasil shot for your daughters when it comes time. Save yourself some heartache because not all doctors are familiar with radical trachelectomies and are certainly ready to give hysterectomies.

That being said, here is the recipe that will help you cope:


1 Fifth of Tequila
The juice of 10 limes with one extra (unjuiced)
A jug of your fav margarita mix
orange juice (50 calorie for us big babies)
1 Lemon, juiced
Bloody Mary salt

Get a jug (because you’re not going to wanna measure this shit) and throw all of your lime juice and lemon juice in. Put about two shots worth of orange juice in there, too. Add a bunch of tequila (to your taste) and then throw in your margarita mix. Stir all of that business together like there’s no tomorrow. Next, cut a wedge of lime and run it around the rim of your glass (margarita glass, sippie cup, solo cup, I don’t care). Shove your glass in some of that bloody Mary salt and put a smile on your face. This is gonna be frickin delicious. Either shake some of that bitchin mix and pour it off into your cup, or throw some ice in there and fill ‘er up. However you take your cancer-coping margarita is completely up to you. Sit back, relax, and enjoy the company of those that you love and love you most because life is too short to do otherwise.


“I” is for Introvert, So I Made No-Bake Cherry Cheesecake Cups

Give me cheesecake.

Just this morning I took the time to read an article about introverts, because well, I am one. I perused through the article of 18 people that explained what it was like to be introverted, and, most of the time, misunderstood. This lead me to revisit my night last night.

Last night was a special night where we (my hubby and I) were each celebrating a big milestone, and since he had lost some weight due to endless hours of studying for his PMP Certification (of which he passed), he thought it was a great opportunity to celebrate over some beers, March Madness, and Little Caesars’ Deep Dish, Bacon-Wrapped pizza. Ugh. Begrudgingly, I agreed.

Before he left me in the car to make a run for beer, he asked me to phone the pizza place to put in our order. If you’re like me, introverted, you recognize the sinking feeling at the thought of having to be social with someone you don’t know in order to get something you don’t even really want. After the horror movie music rang dramatically through my mind, I agreed and he made way for beer.

I sat in the car trying to quickly find a solution to the predicament that I was in. I searched for a Little Caesars application to potentially order my pizza that way. No app. SHIT! I Googled Little Caesars to see if I could order from their site, and dammit, it wasn’t loading! As the slight panic washed over me, and knowing that my hubby’s return could happen at any moment, I did what any red-blooded introvert would do in an emergency situation like this, I broke down, took a deep breath and hit “call”. (*Note: when this happens, please expect that I must recharge my batteries after interaction with any human being via phone or in person.)

As always, the phone call was awkward. Was it me? Was it the girl on the other end? I don’t know and I don’t care, I just want the call to end. As I stumble and bumble through my words, I get the amount of time it will take for the pizza to be ready and finally hang up.

Hubby returns. As I celebrate internally over this personal triumph, my hubby asks if I made the call, of which I have. Satisfied, he suggests two, large orders of queso “Because it would be delicious,” while we wait for our pizza. Again, begrudgingly, I agree.

No-Bake Cherry Cheesecake Cups

1 box of no-bake cheesecake

1 box of sugar-free black cherry jello

3 tbsps brown sugar

5 tbsps butter, melted

1 cup of water plus 1/4 cup

1/4 cup of fat free half and half

Get 1 cup of your water going on the stove. Turn around and make some magic happen. Melt your butter and mix in 2 tablespoons of your brown sugar. Yum. Next, take the package of crust mix and throw that up in the bowl and start stirring until combined. Set that aside and line a cupcake tin with some of those snazzy cupcake liners I talked about previously. At about this time, your water should be boiling. In a separate bowl, pour in your mix of jello and remaining tablespoon of brown sugar. I know I said sugar free, but this just leaves more room for the awesome called brown sugar. Pour in your boiling water and stir until dissolved. Now, mix in your half and half and remaining water and stir that mix up a bit. Add your cheesecake mix and stir, then whip out your electric beaters and get that stuff combined. Set that aside while you spoon in some of that crust mix into each of the cups. Be sure to press down on the bottom and a quarter of the way up the sides. Now, spoon in your jello mix and place in the fridge for an hour. If you’re like me, though, you won’t wait but half an hour and tear into two of them. They’re good.

“SCarol’s” Cookies from The Walking Dead and My Case of RBF

If you haven’t been caught up on The Walking Dead, I’m sorry for you. Carol is turning into one of my favorite characters as her inherent bitterness is cloaked in her poorly-matched soccer mom outfits (sorry soccer moms). She makes a killer batch of cookies on top of having a wicked side that I find almost relatable. Carol’s gift of masking her utter evilness with the sugary-sweet demeanor of a doting mother is intriguing. It also leads me to relate back to an experience I had at the bookstore just a week and a half ago.

When I’m tasked with a big project, I find it best to get away from my familiar environment and head to one that gets the creative juices going. In this instance, it happened to be my favorite place – a book store. I went with my hubby so that he could study for his certification and I could gain inspiration by my surroundings.

As we sat in the cafe, we both worked on our assignments. Distracted (easily), I listened as a woman spoke loudly on one end of her phone. On occasion, she would let out a cackle at something she had said. I didn’t see any humor in it, so I got up and walked around a bit. Unhappy with my selections for my current topic, I returned to my seat.

“You look mean!” My hubby said.

“What, what are you talking about?”

“You looked mean walking around. I was watching you,” he said.

“Oh, that’s because I suffer from resting bitch face,” I said. (insert mean guitar riff here)

He went back to his studies and I went back to listening to a terrible phone conversation, and needless to say, I nailed my project. How does this relate to Carol? She’s able to hide her emotions where I can’t, so I guess not at all. Let’s hope I don’t get bitch face wrinkles. At that, let me share the recipe I found from Chris Hardwick’s Instagram for Carol’s Cookies. They sound infamous enough, so I thought I’d share. Also, the proper amount of corn starch will make them fluffy ;-).

*By the way, these aren’t guilt-free, low fat, or healthy. I gave that shit a rest after I expanded my waste line. You’re only supposed to eat one cupcake per serving, not 12. Ugh.

There Are Times When Guilt-Free is Flavor-Free and This Was One of Them…But at Least I Bought a Mystique Orchid

I had another one of my cravings again today. I have a sweet tooth (and the dental history to prove it). There was nothing in the house save for some remnants of my ravenous outing on Tuesday, which weren’t going to cut the mustard this time. I had to make the trek to the grocery store. I threw an outfit on my dog and shoved her in her carrier to join me in my excursion.

She helps me put this on...

She helps me put this on…

Grocery Trip

She’ll get in any bag if it means she’s goin somewhere

I was actually pretty pumped. I was going to grab a bunch of cake mixes, no-bake cheesecake, and some Jello. I was going to create a masterpiece. Suddenly, I smelled something afoul – it was my dog’s breath. I zipped her up into her carrier and tried to put myself back in the moment of finding the perfect baked goods.

“Get in there,” I growled, as I gently pushed her tiny head into the carrier. She was nonplussed that I had done so, as she stared at me through the netted side and grumbled as I shopped.


Had to zip up the top. Groceries got her too excited.

I got all of my goods home (including a gorgeous Orchid that stopped me in my tracks) and lined them up on the counter. Deciding that I’d first attempt to make apricot cupcakes, I got to work. As usual, most of the batter ended up in my mouth, but that wasn’t going to stop me from baking.

Mixing all of my ingredients together, I masterfully dropped the batter into the jazzy cupcake liners I had purchased.

Jazzy Cupcake Liners

As I leered into the oven through the window in the oven door (seemingly the way the witch did in Hansel and Gretel as she baked kids), I was becoming proud of what this masterpiece was to become. Some minutes later, they were out and I wasn’t waiting for them to cool for me to eat three of them. I was disappointed. I had not added enough jello to the mix to make them apricot-worthy, and the soda water was just that for the mix – water. Trial and error, my friends! I will still share the recipe as it can always be improved upon, as I am going to do today! Nonetheless, I shared them with my friend, whom took them to work the next morning. She says they were light and delicious, and the perfect addition to her and her boss’ morning coffee. I will definitely make them again, but with some slight changes to the recipe.

Guilt-Free Apricot Cupcakes

1 box of Yellow Cake Mix

1 can of diet soda of your choice (or soda water)

1/4 teaspoon of cornstarch (for added fluffiness)

1 box (3oz.) of Apricot Jello

Preheat your oven to 350*. Though in the next variation, the Jello will be cooked and set for about 20 minutes, humor yourself and add half of the box of Jello to the cake mix and corn starch. Add your soda and watch it foam up, getting distracted for a second because it’s mesmerizing. Pile it all into a cupcake tin lined with jazzy cupcake liners, then shove it in the oven for 19 minutes and stare at it through the hole until the dinger goes off.

Remove from the oven and either let them cool like a normal, civilized person, or, if you’re like me, start gorging immediately. You’ll probably burn your finger tips and that piece of skin behind your front teeth, but who cares, it’s for the love of baked goods.

There’s a Hunger Inside Me…And a Walgreen’s Hand Basket in My Car

I turn into Joe Pesci and don't know what I'm doing when I'm hungry.

As I listen to one of my favorite movies playing from YouTube in the background, I write this post. With that, let me tell you about my evening browsing the aisles of my local Walgreen’s.

They Walk. They Talk. They Kill.

Every now and again I get this wave of ferocious hunger that comes over me; profuse sweating, weakness, overheating, shaking, irritability, and no self control when it comes to food items that have not yet been paid for. Last night, it happened. When these waves of emotions start to come over me, I head to the aisle that never lets me down; the candy aisle. With my hand basket on my arm, I was feeling confident that my selection would satiate my craving. Things that wouldn’t normally end up in my basket did. For instance, Peeps. Peeps? I HATE Peeps, but hell, they look good enough to maul once I reach the safety of my car. And cake batter flavored?! Forget it!

“Chocolate covered cherries?! YEAH!” In the basket they go.

“Blueberry licorice?! YEAH!” In the basket it goes.

Among other various snacks and confections, my wave of the Joe Pesci’s was becoming overwhelming. I decided that I must head to checkout. While waiting for the woman in front of me, the need came over me to unzip the top of my licorice and start gorging right there. Catching the side-eye of the cashier, I snuck one more piece and resealed the bag. I piled my items on the counter and watched as the line behind me started to grow.

“Well, you can tell I’m hungry,” I snickered, trying to make light of my situation. The cashier wasn’t amused.

I paid and hurriedly grabbed my treats. I clamored into my car, but not before realizing that something crashed against my car and I couldn’t get my arm in. Ugh. The hand basket. Too hungry and too weak, I just threw it in my car. Now I’m stuck with a hand basket in my car and the need for an extra trip today to return said basket.

With that, I give you the recipe for a much more successful evening than I had…

Crockpot Tom Yum Soup

  • 2 tbsps red curry paste
  • 2 12 ounce cans of coconut milk
  • 2 cups chicken stock
  • 2 tbsps fish sauce
  • 2 tbsps brown sugar
  • 2 tbsps peanut butter
  • 1½ pounds chicken breasts, cut into 1½ inch pieces
  • 1 red bell pepper, seeded and sliced into ¼ inch slices
  • 1 onion, thinly sliced
  • 2 heaping tbsps fresh ginger, minced
  • 4 limes
  • 1 package of lettuce wrap powder mix
  • 6 tbsps of white vinegar
  • 1 bunch of cilantro, coursely chopped
  • 1/4 cup plus 2 tbsps lime ponzu
  • 1 container of sliced button mushrooms
  • ½ cup of water

Roughly 1-2 hours before you pile your delicious ingredients into your crockpot, take your sliced chicken breast and throw it into a giant baggie to marinate.

Chicken Marinade

In large baggie, throw your chicken into the baggie with 1 tablespoon of ginger, your package of lettuce wrap mix, 4 tablespoons of vinegar, quarter cup of ponzu, the juice of two limes, and half a cup of water. Let sit for 1-2 hours.

Yumtown, USA Soup

In your crockpot, throw the remaining ingredients minus some cilantro for a fabulous garnish. While those babies are in there melding together, take your chicken out and heat up a pan using a tablespoon of olive oil or cooking spray. Throw the chicken in the pan and let it brown, pretty much cooking all the way through. Once cooked, add it to your crockpot and leave it alone for 3 hours.

3 hours later, remove the lid and gorge. It’s delicious.

Grocery Stores, Recipe Inspiration, and My Inner Voice in the Beauty Section

There’s this unmentionable phenomenon that comes over me whenever I’m in the beauty section of any store, but specifically the grocery store. Perhaps it’s the way they masterfully arrange my beauty needs (or rather, my wants because 95% of the time I need nothing from that area), or perhaps its my feminine side kicking in telling me, “F$#k yeah, glitter!”. Who knows. All I have to say is that my inner voice kicked in today as I was perusing the wares at my local grocery store, but not in any way that anyone would find normal.

“I f&*$ing love makeup!” rang my inner voice as I turned the corner into, yet another, aisle of fabulous colors and sparkles.

Then it dawned on me. That inner voice wasn’t my tone at all, but the voice that mimicked an otherworldly being from the depths of Mordor. What the hell?

“Shit, that’s a good deal!” I said aloud as I reached for some eyeshadow and the coupon that stuck to it. This struck me immediately after saying it because, Jesus, I had just had a weird moment with my inner dialogue and now I’m saying ridiculous things out loud? I moved on after saying aloud, “In the basket”.

Like traveling through a video game, I advanced myself to the more difficult sections of the grocery store – food. Though I absolutely relish my time at the grocery store, as I love cooking, they are, at times, challenging. I often think of those moments as a kid at the old Farmer Jack’s in Dearborn Heights, Michigan where my mom would schlep her two kids along with her for three hour grocery shopping extravaganzas. I hated them. I always wanted to hang out in the beauty section because, why not, I was five years old and needed to garishly paint my face with every color under the sun…preferably blue.

Now, in my thirties, I find myself enjoying the grocery store more than any store – other than shoes or beauty stores. I mean, your feet don’t get bigger, so the shoe will fit, and makeup is just amazing because it can sometimes make you feel amazing, or else you find yourself treating yourself to a new pair of gym shorts instead of pants because the pants don’t fit.

So, with a grocery store trip like the one I encountered today, what would one find themselves facing when they returned home? Well, a fabulous new eyeshadow palette and lots of delicious goods to make something phenomenal for dinners this week.

On the menu tonight is a homemade meat sauce with a low-carb pasta substitute, my favorite, spaghetti squash. Dress and prep it right and you have your guests singing your praises and asking you how you made the squash and sauce taste so good.

Homemade Meat Sauce with Spaghetti Squash

*FYI, this medley made a ton of sauce, so make at your own risk because I’m not going to measure everything for you.

2 Cans of tomato sauce

2 Cans of tomato paste

1 box of low-sodium chicken broth

1 Can of diced tomatoes

1 Pound of 96/4 Ground Sirloin

1 Pound of 99/1 Ground Turkey

half an onion

1 container of sliced mushrooms

4-1 billion cloves of garlic, or however many you can handle

1 bunch of curly leaf parsley (finely chopped)

balsamic vinegar

garlic red wine vinegar

olive oil

grated parmesan cheese

1 tbsp butter (or I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter)

ground pepper

garlic powder

cayenne pepper


zesty italian dressing mix

seasoning salt

italian seasoning

a pinch of whatever you choose (my “what is that?” spice happens to be cinnamon)

Heat up a pot under low heat and a pan on medium before you add anything to them. Be sure you’re heating up the right burners unlike me. Then you end up with sauce that has been sitting at room temperature for two hours as you throw sautéed ingredients in thinking it’s gonna be awesome sitting on the stove all day. Oh, and you end up heating up the lid that you rested on the burner that wasn’t supposed to be on at all.

Add your tomato sauce, about a quarter cup of balsamic vinegar, diced tomatoes, and tomato paste. Let that hang out under low heat while you chop up onion, mushrooms, and garlic. In the other pan, coat it with olive oil and let it heat while you’re chopping. Once finished, add your onion and sprinkle seasoning salt on top. Push it around with whatever utensil works best for you, then turn around and start roughly chopping up your mushrooms. Add those bad boys, stir them around, and add some balsamic. Go back to the cutting board and chop up your garlic. Add it and sauté briefly because it loses its flavor and tastes too strong. Add it to your sauce.

Next, coat your pan with olive oil and let it sit for a few while you mix up your meats. Thoroughly spice your meats with garlic, seasoning salt, Grub Rub, cumin, Zesty Italian Dressing mix, and whatever else you might think would taste good. Mix it all up, then add it to the pan.

Meanwhile, spice up your sauce with all of the same spices plus italian seasoning. Once you have browned your meat, add it to your sauce.

Lastly, rinse your pan and return it to heat. Coat it with a thin layer of olive oil and add your chopped parsley, along with some italian seasoning. Stir it for just a couple minutes, then add it to your sauce. Stir your sauce and let simmer until the end of time…or until you’re ready to eat it.

Spaghetti Squash

Preheat your oven at 400*. Halve that bad boy and then gut it with a spoon just like you would while carving a pumpkin for Halloween. Line a baking sheet with parchment and spray with cooking spray.

Once you’ve tackled the squash, rub down the flesh of it with olive oil. Next, sprinkle some seasoning salt, ground pepper, and garlic powder over it. Flip it flesh side down on the parchment and shove that thing in the oven for an hour.

Once baked, let it cool for a few. Next, pull out a bowl and a fork and go to town on the thing. It shreds very easily, so the work is minimal. Once you’ve removed all of the goodness from the shell, take that tablespoon of butter and add to your squash. While that melts, add some parmesan cheese and a bit more garlic powder. Mix it all together. Once complete, serve just like you would regular spaghetti and meat sauce.

Supposedly, when Stephen King wakes from a wacky dream, he writes it down and this is what most of his brilliant works are based on. What if I did the same and used those ideas for books? I think everyone would think I’m crazy, delusional, or just plain weird…if they don’t already.

I’m inspired with these thoughts after a run-in with a wild dream or two last night. Around 1:13AM this morning I awoke myself, my dog, and my hubby by yelling out. In my sleep-induced haze I tried to explain my dream.

“I was looking under the bed expecting to see a monster, but I saw a cat. I’m sorry I woke you.”

If you’re familiar with obscure and ridiculous B-rated horror from the 80s, you may be familiar with one of those Saturday night specials aptly named ‘Rawhead Rex’. Not familiar? Check it out above or watch the full movie on YouTube and imagine expecting that sex on wheels to crawl out from under a bed in your dreams; you’d yell out too. I’m not sure whose bed it was, though, since I’ve tried to shove everything under the sun under my bed…for cleaning purposes (much to the chagrin of my neat and calculating husband), so I couldn’t tell you where I was or why I was dreaming about this. I had also just watched The Walking Dead, so it could have been there. Who knows.

To adjourn this ridiculous and nonsensical post, I will supply you with a recipe for delicious:

Roasted Parmesan Butternut Squash

1 medium-sized butternut squash, diced
Garlic Powder (a light dusting)
Seasoned Salt (to taste)
1/4 cup of grated parmesan cheese
1/2 tsp cayenne pepper
1 tbsp butter
1 tbsp olive oil
Juice of 1 lemon

Pre-heat oven to 400. Line a baking sheet with parchment paper. In bowl, mix diced squash with olive oil and butter. Sprinkle squash onto the pan, careful to keep the pieces separate. Dust the squash with your garlic powder, seasoned salt, parmesan cheese, cayenne, and finish with the juice of the lemon. Place in oven for 25-30 minutes.

Remove and serve!