At least there are options

All I wanted to do was get his vitals.  Make sure I didn't have to grab any narcotics, or administer anything IV for a skyrocketing blood pressure.  Both were quite possible, considering the makeup of the typical clientele on this unit.  I really didn't expect to walk out with tears in my eyes.  I've gotten to the point now where it's hard to make time to care anymore. This man, however, had a different story.  Well, maybe not different, but he was honest about it.

They all start kind of the same.  Chronic Obstructive Pulmonary Disease.  Maybe he was a smoker.  Nausea and vomiting were the admitting diagnoses.  I made sure when I came in to introduce myself that he was not currently experiencing either.  He wasn't.

1.5 years of nursing experience on a lung transplant floor has taught me a few things.  For starters, don't encourage transplantation.  That holds true for most of the global population.  Secondly, if a patient's admitting diagnosis is nausea and vomiting, it's probably due to receiving, or not receiving, the very drugs that they need to stay alive.  In my patient's case, he had gone a period of time without taking a prophylactic pill that wards away aspergillosis, a potentially fatal organism to which the immunosuppressed are particularly susceptible.

How could this man do something so irresponsible?  Someone had to die in order for him to receive those lungs.  Well, we grow up and learn that money is the root of most of life's problems.  He and his wife just couldn't pay for the damned V-fend.  Now he is hospitalized in a step-down bed, at the cost of approximately $10,000 per day.  He's retired, but his wife remains employed.  She has insurance but it cannot possible cover all these transplant-associated costs.  He's exhausted Medicare Part B.  Lucky for him, there are other alternatives to explore. 

Divorce?  It's not ideal.  He's been married to his wife for 49 years.  They met with a lawyer last week.  Together, the income he shares with his wife surpasses any eligibility requirement that would allow him to receive assistance in affording the $850 per month medication (this pill, sans insurance coverage, is roughly $50 per each).  Eight hundred fifty dollars.  That's what Walmart charges him.  It considers the twice-a-day dosing that allow his body to maintain these purchased organs. 

So.  Divorce?  If it'll allow him the ability to remain transplant-disease free a little bit longer.  I was clearly upset about his predicament.  His response to the situation?  Acceptance.  "We would have made it 50 years next December.  I can't wait that long.  It's just a piece of paper, anyway."  Maybe the transplant consent form has an asterisk at the bottom stating that additional decrees are necessary.

Keeping busy

I've been doing tons o' night shifts lately.  I like it better, at least for the time being.  I start precepting in a few weeks.  A bit of a daunting thought.  Not sure I'm ready, but I'll have to be. 

Last Thursday, walking home from work in the morning, I noticed something a little disheartening.  2 areas of smashed glass littering the curbsides.  A jog later that day, after some much needed Zzzs, revealed 3 more areas of the same, all in my neighborhood.

 

I just finished another class and start a few more this week.  Intro to Cultural Anthropology is next on the list, via (none other than) the magnificently comfortable LCCC.  They must've forgotten that I live in PA now, as I was charged in-county tuition.  Phew.  I had to fork over 500 less than I had anticipated. 

The past month or so, I've gotten around a bit.  It helps.  Columbus, Philly, Gettysburg...Robb and I even managed to sneak NJ in there somewhere.  I *almost* forgot about my upcoming November trip to NYC.

Scenes from a Filipino Funeral

How are you?

I'm good.  I've been in party mode.  I know I'll crash and burn later, but mom would have wanted a party.


That exchange between my Tita Terry and me made me realize I'm not Filipino enough to bring myself to laugh at the overabundance of rosaries adorning my Lola.

She died a few weeks ago.  My last living grandmother.  I never thought I'd use the word "beautiful" to describe a funeral, but the events that occurred over the next few days surely changed my mind.



Tito Agape briskly walks into the viewing room and looks at Tita Josie with a look of terror, anxiety, and worry on his face.  She stands up, walks over to him, and grasps his hand.  It sounded like he said, "Alex is down!"  

There are countless people with medical backgrounds here in the funeral home.  But I'm not sure who else heard this dialogue, so I thought it my duty to investigate what could have possibly happened to my "uncle-in-law".  

I walk out into the lobby and ask what the problem is, holding Tita Josie's hand and greeting her with a delayed hello.

"He's forgotten his camera."



Really, it was all too strange for words.  I'm not sure what my siblings thought of the occasion.  At times, I found it difficult to assign the typical sad and regretful feelings to this period.  We celebrated, we socialized, we ate, we were reunited with relatives whom we hardly ever get the opportunity to see.  We rekindled relationships.  We smiled, laughed, and enjoyed each other's company.  We told stories about Lola and Lolo's amazing life together.

And later, I smiled about every single piece of Lola's lavishly strewn jewelry.

I'll admit...I did have my camera with me.  I embraced my background, 

and have decided to include a photo, just for Filipino posterity.

Birdeye Fascination

I've taken 16 credits over the past 10 weeks.  It's time for a damn break.  I worked the beginning of this week, and made this morning the last I'll see of 10D until Labor Day evening, when the next term also commences.

I have the next couple days off, no obligations.  I finally got around to making the fascinators that have haunted me so since that wonderful, wonderful day in Inverness at whatever the hell department store it was where we raided all the church hats that an 80 year old widow's pension money can buy.  I'm most proud of this little flowery darling, although it is not without its many flaws:

I am way more tired at 2 am than I should be for just having worked the previous 3 nights.  Bah.  Tomorrow we leave for the golden land of pizza and Jay Krevens.

Shakaround Shakcago

My third official vacation this year.  It was kind of a mistake, but when you have to throw in your vacation requests in November, you're kind of taking a gamble, hoping that something will be going on/you come up with some plans, 10 months into the future.  The plan wasn't to be enrolled in school right now during the summer months (I would therefore have a bit more time to truly relax during this week) but switching universities changed all that crap.  Still have a lot of projects/tests to take over these next several days of PTO, but I figure I can still get something done in the meantime.

This past weekend Jon Scott and I went to Detroit for a rally where he won a super cute lipstick red 1965(?) Vespa SS 180.  My hatred for the color red has been relinquished.  We decided to ride it back home, as I had to be in Grafton so I could leave for Chicago the next day.  He still had to get himself to Pittsburgh, however.  Well, we made it. We stopped at a cupcake joint in Birmingham and were out by 2:30 or so. Arrived in Grafton at my folks' house by 9.  My parents had dinner ready when we arrived and Jon decided he wasn't gonna mess with trying to get home in the dark, as the tail lights were out and it was still going to be another 4 hours back to Pgh.  He made it home without fault the next day.  I, on the other hand, have an ass that's bruised in at least a dozen different places.


Now I'm in Chicago.  Jay and I spent the day drinking coffee, watching the balloon ladies and chicharrones  men sell their wares on the beach shore, and riding bikes around Andersonville.  Up next is pizza.  PIZZA PIZZA PIZZA.  No matter how many times I come here, it never gets old.  


The agenda consists of Chicago for a few more days, a wedding in Pgh, then a weekend camping with some girlfriends.  


Relatedly, Jay did a quick tarot reading for me today at Kopi Cafe and mentioned something about me cramming too much stuff into my life.  

Patients are more than just a source of aggravation

I cannot explain how darned excited I get when someone has good taste in television programs.  I'm talking specifically about patients at work.  I've not had proper cable for over a year.  So when I see the Food Network on in someone's room, the only decent thing to do is to quit working, sit down, and watch with them.  Hell with that weeping wound dressing change or incessant IV pump beeping.  Only kidding, of course.  But when my patient and I began to talk about baking, she told me she'd share with me one of her best recipes.  It's for strawberry nut bread, and she had this particular recipe published in a magazine back in the 70s.  She said that she makes it every year, but her health has really dwindled recently, and this is the first year she hasn't made it. 

I tried it last night for Daniel's birthday.  And.  Totally a recipe worth the ink on paper.




FC's Strawberry Nut Bread


2 c sugar
3 c flour
1 t baking soda
1/2 t salt
2-3 t cinnamon, depending on personal preference

4 eggs, slightly beaten
1 1/4 c canola oil
2 c fresh strawberries, cut into quarters or eighths
1/2 c walnuts or pecans




Preheat oven to 350 degrees.  Grease 2 loaf pans.


Sieve the dry ingredients in a large bowl.
Create a well in the middle.
Add eggs and oil, stir until just combined.
Add strawberries then nuts, stir after each addition.

Divide batter between loaf pans.  Bake for 55-60 minutes or until a toothpick inserted into the center comes out (mostly) clean.


FC said to let it cool completely before cutting.  It's pretty crumbly.  She also said that it is absolutely divine with strawberry or plain cream cheese.  I had picked some up yesterday morning before Daniel came over, but we never touched it.  This quickbread does not need it.

Enjoy!!!!

Take THAT, food nomer "purists"

http://www.nutritionexplorations.org/educators/faqs.asp

I never put fruit on my burgers, and I always learn something from class.

Accutrap

Oh, the things we do for beauty and self-esteem.  I don't usually require much more than a semi-annual trip to Victoria's Secret and a Rite Aid brand eyelash curler, but the past year of city-livin' has really wreaked havoc on my mediocre complexion.  I've been on a number of medications of different classes, via different routes, since I was an awkward adolescent (I'd just like to point out here that I was never really that awkward).  Whatever, teenage years come and go and at some phase of life, you look how you're supposed to look.  That is, unless you live in something like one of the most polluted cities in the country.  After a several failures of new-to-me medications that my dermatologist had prescribed, he suggested Accutane.  Yeah, yeah, my skin really isn't all THAT bad, but after just 5 short months, I'll look like a Disney princess.  I'd totally settle for Pocahontas.

The catch??  Well, there are many.  More than a fisherman could ever want.

Urine pregnancy screening EVERY MONTH
Blood pregnancy screening EVERY MONTH
Liver function testing EVERY MONTH
Obtaining new scripts EVERY MONTH
A visit to the dermo EVERY MONTH
Psychological screening EVERY MONTH
Online quizzes about the drug EVERY MONTH

Let me spell out the implications.  Accutane has the potential for HUGE teratogenic effects.  No babies for me, or anyone else in the US of A who is on this drug, as a matter of fact.  Massive, massive birth defects.  Also, the risk of suicide or other psychological mishaps have been known to occur.  And you better not have any birthdays, job layoffs, or any other causes for celebration because Accutane is harmful to your liver.  That is why you get blood drawn on a monthly basis.  This shit needs to be monitored.  As far as the blood AND urine pregnancy screening goes?  I'm not sure why both means are required, but I guess the USDA wants to be more than sure that little acnified girls aren't running around producing mutant babies.

Once upon a time, as per my dermatologist, some senator somewhere had a son on Accutane.  The son (who most likely had underlying psychological issues) committed suicide.  This *may* have been what broke the camel's back.  See here, Accutane was removed from pharmacy shelves.  No one was allowed to have the stuff anymore.  Obviously, there are way too many side effects and adverse drug reactions than this pill is actually worth.  Or are there???

The thing is, Accutane is apparently so darned effective that pharmaceutical companies (I think) wanted it back on the market.  I'm sure dermatologists vouched for it as well.  The only way it would then be allowed to be sold again (at a little over a grand for a one month supply) is to make the patients sign up for something called the iPLEDGE.  I had to promise my doctor that I will not get pregnant (my friend Daniel and I have a joke that Mountain Dew and coitus interruptus are just as, if not more, effective than IUDs, condoms, oral contraceptives, abstinence, hysterectomies...etc.) under any circumstances.  Miss a period?  You damn well better come in to the physician's office for a Plan B and for heaven's sake, skip that dose of Accutane!!!  The iPLEDGE registry also makes you take monthly quizzes about the drug and the importance of not making babies.  Your doctor has to verify you in the system, then you verify you in the system, then the pharmacy verifies you in the system before you can turn in the script.  This whole process didn't happen so swiftly for me this past month, and I was taking off to Virginia with Jon Scott to visit his family for the weekend.  Since there was no time to waste and we had to get on the road, I had to leave Pittsburgh without my filled prescription.  Really shouldn't be that big of a deal.  After making a phone call or two to the local pharmacies in southwestern VA, I found that one store doesn't even carry it.  I'm not sure if this speaks to the cruelties/nastiness/dangers of the drug, or just to small pharmacies.  Perhaps I might find out from the former Midview Drug peanut gallery?

I hope that after all this crap I'm putting myself through I'll be so fresh n so clean and that it will be worth the risks.  I just thank heaven that god invented birth control.

PVSC say FUCK SWAMP ASS!!!!

It was difficult for Selena to get a good shot of me n J Sco as the zippy little extra-points asteroid,  but insert scooter + gold boots, stage left......

This was my last little vacation before school started again this week.  It had been a damn fine 6-week break.  Puerto Rico, Columbus, Cleveland, and a scooter rally.  Even had some time to bake a cake or two.

Spelling Puerto Rico with...

Selena and I went to Puerto Rico together.  The one thing we learned from our experience?  Puerto Ricans like to promote safe sex.  Seriously, we found about a baker's dozen of condom shops, all with almost grotesquely hilarious names:  Condom World, Condom City, Hot Pleasure Condom Shop, Honey I Shrunk the Condoms...and the list never ceases.

This little gem of a photo was taken in San Juan while we were on our way to retrieve our rental car.

"A picture of toothless and perspiring ecstasy..."

Last year, I tried reading The Jungle.  It took me 9 months to realize I'd never finish it.  I was in Nepal and did not have as much downtime as I had imagined I would.  Tariq just emailed me asking for Shyam's phone number.  I had it written down, somewhere, I was sure.  It was hidden in my little blue journal, with all of my favorite quotes, signs, images, that I had encountered on that journey.  Upton Sinclair's words made the cut.

Third floor apt: 1, First floor apt: 0

First floor apartments don't allow for free range nudity.

I like getting pinned

...especially during Nurses' Week!  My white scrub jacket now tells me that 10D nurses are the bomb.  With a bomb.  Still, I'm not convinced that cleaning up urine is on my list of choicely performed activities.

Last year I started at UPMC the week immediately following Nurses' Week.  Suppose I could have technically celebrated, but this time I actually have a job that will reward me with a modest supply of junk food during this short period of recognition.

Let's hope it starts to rain soon so I can sleep soundly today for another messy night at work...

Allrecipes, you ole dog, you

I'm not sure how many times I've tried to make brownies from scratch.  I usually get discouraged at the inevitable cake-like texture that so many recipes yield.  It's completely horrendous.  Who wants cake when they are expecting the moist, dense, rich, delicious brick we all know and love so, so well?  I discovered the perfect recipe last night during my attempt to stay awake until dawn (all zombie-ness and no sleep make Jordana go crazy).

Angie's Best Brownies recipe are the best brownies indeed.  Although, to be completely honest, I'm not sure I can actually tell where Betty Crocker boxed mix lies on the scale.  That woman sure knows her KitchenAid mixer.



Best Brownies

Preheat oven to 350 degrees
Oil/butter and flour an 8x8 pan

Ingredients:
1/2 c butter
1 c sugar
2 eggs
1 t vanilla

1/3 c unsweetened cocoa powder
1/2 c AP flour
1/4 t salt
1/4 t baking powder

Directions:
Melt butter in medium saucepan.  Remove from heat.  Add sugar, lightly beaten eggs, and vanilla.
Stir in cocoa powder, flour, salt, and baking powder.
Pour into prepared pan.
Bake for ~25 minutes.
(When doing the toothpick test, I like to ensure the toothpick still has bits of brownie on it).

I did not frost these brownies.  They are just sweet enough.  Perfect.  Also, I did not beat/whisk this batter at all.  I think that beats in too much air and yields the cakiness I loathe so much.  I think next time I will try to use parchment paper as well, as the brownies did not lift so famously from my oiled, non-stick Wilton pan.  I suppose it matters only if presentation is your thing.


Other news:
Parental units are visiting this weekend
On Sunday I am going to eat birthday cake until I can eat birthday cake no more
I am working tonight
Jenny is coming to play soon
I finished my Public Health Nursing course last night
I am TOTALLY DONE with Pitt forevermore (hell to the yeah!)
Jon Scott got us tickets to see one of my favorite UK singers
Selena and I leave for Puerto Rico in 15 days

That is all.

All you can eat bacon

will apparently give you heart palpitations.  Thank you, thank you, Harris Grill, for I thought this was a condition that would be medically unknown to my cardiovascular health until at least the age of 52. 

AH HA!!

I've figured it out.  I think I have.  I've heard a few too many ghost stories, compliments mostly of my bff.  She and her family have this long history of creepy happenings.  Shan't get into those presently.

It's not that.  It's not that I'm afraid there's a ghost lurking about (although, I must say, aside from a confusing odor permeating this building, the air is a touch different.  Just, different).  I have no clue about this man.  Why does that bother me?  The unknown is so scary!  I've been literally afraid to leave my apartment in the morning before work.  I've been afraid to come home at night after work.  I've been too afraid to leave after dark to go someplace, anyplace else, because I'll have to go through the lobby on the first floor, which is close to the basement.  The chandelier has its lights out.  I work early in the morning and late into the day and the sun hasn't peeked its face through the windows quite yet.  It's still dark.  So I've been anxious trying to get anywhere that's not here.  When I'm not here, I get anxious before the ride/walk/drive home.  And I certainly can't speak aloud to anyone about this while I'm physically in my apartment.

On the bike ride home from work tonight, I had a private brainstorm session.  I thought it might make me feel better.  Who was this guy?
He might have had a job.
He might have had a daughter or two.
He might have been paying child support.
He might have hated HHP like I do.
He might have liked to cook.  He might have had a specialty.
He might have been annoyed when it rains.
He might have been missed.  He might not have been.
He might have went to his mother's house on Christmas.
He might have always been on time with his bills.
He might have said hello and thank you to every bus driver in Pittsburgh.
He might have been a good student in school.
He might have grounded his kid for getting bad grades.
He might have loved his boss.
He might have liked to shoot the breeze with Nick.  He might have gotten annoyed if with Nick if he didn't have the time to chat.
He might have been a vegetarian.  He might have been allergic to eggs.
He might have liked to go to the drive-in in the summertime.
He might have been really sweet.
He might have hung out at the library every day.  He might have been one of the patrons that drive Daniel assuredly insane.
He might have liked to have a beer after work with his buddies.
He might have liked to garden.  He might have over-watered every plant he ever tried to grow.
He might have read the paper every day.
He might have separated all of his recyclables from the trash and put it out every week like clockwork.
He might have liked to shop for antiques.
He might have built model airplanes.
He might have had a really irritating family.
He might have held the door open for others at the grocery store.
He might have cut people in line at the grocery store.
He might have had a season pass to Sandcastle.
He might have worked out 7 days a week.
He might have kept a journal.
He and I might have made eye contact with each other sometime in this tiny city.

I made a point to myself.  He had a personality, whether he was an asshole, kind, patient, grumpy, shy, or reclusive, as I had once heard.  And I think that makes it a lot less scary.  I'm not sure what it is about the fear of the unknown.  I have to keep making up stories for this reason.  He was probably like lots of people I've met before, and if I make that association, I can be sad instead of afraid.  I haven't been able to sit alone in my living room, which is closer to the door, which is closer to the stairwell, which is closer to the basement, since Wednesday.  Now I think I'm okay to go out there.  It's Sunday night and I think I hear The Simpsons calling my name.  It's about damn time.  Brent keeps texting me random Simpsons quotes and I've been getting extremely envious that he's taking the time out of his "busy" school schedule to spend some quality hours with the tube.

Reason #286 May Cannot Come Soon Enough

My Jonnyboy Scott and I were off to Wednesday night banjo club. Sitting in the backseat of the car, I hear a Le Tigre ringtone...and quietly hit ignore. When the tone goes off a second time, I inspect further to learn the root of this minor interruption. It is none other than my neighbor Amit who lives in the apartment next to mine! What on earth could she be calling about?

Hey Amit!! What's going on??!!

Hey, have you been home at all today?
No, I've been out at work since 6 this morning and spent about 20 minutes at home tonight. I got home and pretty much left...I'm in the car now. Why? What's up?

Well...have you noticed that really bad smell in our apartment the past week or so?
Ummmmm...no...

Well, I came home today and there was an ambulance in front of the building. Apparently there was a guy who lived in the basement...he died. The groundskeeper found him today. They think he was there a month.


WHAT THE HELL HOW DO I RESPOND TO THAT???!?!?!

Once upon a time, back in the summer of 2009, I was outside examining the mail boxes near the front door of my apartment building. Twelve??? Who lives in apartment 12? These bastards at HHP really need to get their shit in gear and update their mailboxes, for there are only 11 apartments here!!!

That's what I thought. I have a sweet relationship with my next door neighbor. Nick, who lives the next house over. He's always out grilling, reading, lounging, and always asking, "Hey kid, how ya makin aht so far?" Considerate ole guy. Was out one day having one of my weekly Chats With Nick. We were BSing about my landlord. The number of apartments/mailboxes was the topic of the hour. He informed me that there's this big, black, reclusive dude living in the basement, in apartment number twelve. His deal? No one really knows. And my neighbor knows EVERYTHING about EVERYONE in this 'hood. Known tidbits:

He's big.
He's black.
He's a recluse.
He lives in apartment 12.
Apartment 12 is in the cellar. Its entrance is on the side of the building.

Yep, that pretty well covers it.

Oh wait, and he died. And no one knew. For at least long enough for the other tenants in this building to go, hmmm, what a funny odor.

Amit had told me that the smell had improved greatly today, since the ambulance came. I hung up the phone with her and about two minutes after I did, I realized...YES, THERE HAD BEEN A FUNK FLOATING IN THE LOBBY THE PAST FEW DAYS!!!! Silly me thought it was some strange unappetizing ethnic dish. I'd be an asshole if I said, yes, some might call it that.

The thing that jerks another tear to my eye (and sends a chill up my spine)? This is the second story involving stench, lonely people, death, and basements that I've heard in two weeks. That's far too many. I feel like some of these should be in those Scary Stories books from Ohio.

Oh, Alvin Schwartz, you really do put the Oh in Ohio.

After Allllllll, That's What Wishes (Taxes) Are For

so many choices:

sewing machine
courage to quit my job
digi SLR cammy cam
R1100R
gold plated manjo
a trip to the canary islands



uhhh...a little help?

Things that make me go UGHHH

I've been thinking lately. It's been twelve days of this. Which may be enough to call it a permanent thought. I need to quit my job.

I went to Film Kitchen a few weeks ago. It's something I like to do with a few select friends (and sister and brother o' mine, should they be in town). It's a little monthly movie night, which for 5 bucks gets you food, popcorn, beer, and an hour and a half of local filminess presented by neighboring Pittsburghers. This month's was a showcase of snapshots (artfully pieced together and dubbed over) by a few of the major newspapers here. The one documentary I can't seem to get out of my head went something like this:

On May 2 (yeeeaaaaah buddy!) last year, the Children's Hospital located by my current workplace closed. It moved to a bigger, better, newer, more colorful building in Lawrenceville (1,000,000 times more appealing than Oakland, dreaded Oakland). What this means is that not only do the beds, diagnostic equipment, linens, charts, bath supplies, computers, and monitoring systems have to move, but the patients and nurses do too! That's something I hadn't actually thought about. There was a systematic way of doing it, and I have only a very small grasp of how it was done. The move was talked up for awhile before the big day finally came. Each patient had a personal ambulance that took him and his nurse to the new facility, about two miles away. The documentary that has infested my thoughts presented the cutest little trached toddler and his mother, as well as the nurse taking care of them over a several day/several week span. I'll leave out the details of this boy's illness. I'll insert a bit about the joy on his face, the eagerness to get better, the motivation, and the uplifting atmosphere. Not all cases with pediatric health are like this experience, I am very well aware of that. I am also very aware of the fact that children tend to be smaller than 260 pound rude, incontinent older adults, i.e. they are way easier to provide bedside care for. This actually may be directly related to the reasons I don't particularly care for my job. I don't know. Should I go to outpatient? A physician's office? Insurance agency? I'm not ready to quit the field. That's not what's supposed to happen. All I'm saying is, once upon a time, I had an idea that included taking care of little kids. And this idea disappeared until a Post Gazette photographer reminded me of that old resurrected wish.

Then again, who likes being low man on the totem pole all over again anyway?

A little humbling death sentence never hurt anyone...

Bloody 'ell, it's sheep!!!

We made it here!!! Aside from the short (~28 hour) delay post-Pgh Snowmageddon, we are intact. Monday morning we arrived to Trafalgar Square and found our hotel. We've been roughing it with pint stops (the n in pint is intentional) roughly every two hours. It's the company I'm with, not me. I'm not sure this is my preferred type of trip. We're (there's 5 of us total) doing slight sightseeing and eating a helluvalotta fried foods.

Best finds thus far:
Lincolnshire pork sausage
Guinness, cask-style
Tesco sandwiches
Digestives!!!!! (actually not a new find)
Space Raiders
Chicken Tikka bits

Ya know, here's something I found. The Trusty LP states that London isn't a bad town to be in if you're a vegetarian (we've got two of 'em in tow). I find that to be semi true. You must must must like Indian food. The McDonalds has a chicken tikka masala wrap. Ahhhh to be at home in Nepal in London.

We're currently in transit to Edinburgh. Funniest notes/central themes of train trip:

nuclear power plants
sheep
nuclear power plants
sheep
see above

That's the jist of this 4 hours ride. And I wouldn't have it any other way.



Unsure of what the next few days will bring. It's pretty fly-by, as far as plan-making goes. I know that a soul night, whisky trail, and haggis haggis haggis will be involved.

Maybe this trip will cause headcheese to be a staple in my little apartment refrigerator.


See ya later, Mom.

Adventures, Adventures

Prior to moving to Pittsburgh, I was told by several people that Pgh never ever ever gets snow. Seemed preposterous to me, as my hometown is only 3 hours away, and the weather is generally pretty comparable. "It hardly snows," they said. "Only two inches a year," they said. "Just gray skies," they said. Well. Last night dumped about a foot and a half on us and we are stranded here, much further away from the airport than I'd like to be. Without an egg in the house to bake a cake.

No big deal though. There are movies to watch, banjos to play, and cats to scratch.

We'll fly out tomorrow instead, with a one hour layover in Philly until we reach London town. And. AND. I'll get reunited with a Mister Tariq Patel from my old Chitwan haunts!

Cee Majoring

Christmassssssssssss!!!! Got to hang out with the other chilluns. We made a roundtrip relative tour. I don't think we had hit up the Lawas side for the holidays in years. Thank goodness I had the entire weekend off from work. Jenny and I got each other almost the exact same gift AGAIN. From her, I received an I <3 CLE shirt, as I decided to exchange one of those C-bus Homage Pittsburgh/6burgh/Whoooooo We are Champs! tee-shirts. Some dogs never die.

(How did I get so lucky) in having yet another complete weekend away from Presby, I learned to ski!!!!!! Jon Scott and I, along with several others, rented a house in Seven Springs for a few days. I think I ate my way through a dilapidated backyard shed, there was so much food. Skiing = mostly a success. Aside from the very last run, in which I was cut off by another more experienced skier and thrown (literally) into a state of near-concussion, the weekend, physical activity-wise, went pretty smoothly. In fact, I believe I'm headed out there again on MLK Day.

Two other exciting news of note:

(1) In a few short weeks, I leave for London and various areas of Scotland! It is a bit strange not planning my own trip, but all the dirty work's been did, ie. hotel, transport. We're gonna be gone for ten days, ten long, lovely days...

(2) I'm borrowing a banjo from a retiree I was introduced to at the Elks Lodge Banjo Club, and he's teaching me to play in his grocery store-turned home-turned grocery store-turned antique banjo mecca. Would this be easier if I had kept up with 8th grade clarinet??