Final Farewell

I've lacked access to a proper computer moreso than I'd prefer, but maybe it's just as well, so that I'm not bogging down the facecrook lines of The Philippines, or my head, for that matter.

I'd been spending more time meeting other family members still.  Lola Nini is really proud to introduce relatives from overseas.  I think one day, I went to seven different relatives' homes within two hours.  This was after about 3 days of the same activity, with meeting new family members each time.

I spent a day touring Manila with Tita Marlen and Jonathan, who are here from the States for a few years while Tita Marlen finishes nursing school.  On this day, I learned the most about Filipino history while exploring Intramuros with them.

The past week, I've been getting to know cousins on my Lolo's side of the family.  Roxie (Tito Noel's fifth and last child) and I went to Puerto Galera for the day and night.  We hired a tricycle driver for the day, who brought us to Tamaraw Falls where we jumped off the cliffs of the waterfall and took photos with the Filipino boys who always, no matter where we went, insisted that they get a chance to take a photo with a foreigner.

Our trike driver, Medell, then took us to a cockfight, per my request.  We did not place any bets, but the experience of hearing the betting and hustling alone is more than enough.  It's deafening.  Roxie and I were two of three women there, with the first being an owner of one of the soon-to-be-defeated-or-stitched-up cocks.  We stayed for two fights, which had ensued very quickly, as Kuya Medell was fetching us soon to head to the bay for snorkeling.  This was, hands down, my favorite activity.  We were at times, probably four feet away from the coral reefs, swordfish, sea urchins, and starfish.  This proximity made it very easy for one who gets a little water-anxious to remember to JUST FLOAT, as I kicked some coral right in the nuts.  The wound is still healing.

I've already got a list of places I need to either return to, or just see, or hopefully recommend to my siblings if they get the chance to come here.  Eric (Tito Noels' fourth child, and only son) and I bussed to Tagatay this morning.  It requires more than a day trip.  It's two to three hours by bus from Manila to this mountain city.  Perhaps every point in this town has the awesome views that I had been looking for the entire trip.  Something as simple as sitting at an anonymous international coffee chain reading about the climate-induced genocide of the bangus becomes the most breath-taking activity, as you're surrounded by mountains, sky, and the volcano impregnated Lake Taal.  I want to own property here.

My flight departs in five hours, at the ripe time of 6 am, which means that I am not sleeping tonight.  I'll have the next 18 hours to do so until I reach Detroit.  This flight itinerary is ungodly, with only one layover in between Manila and Pittsburgh. 

I've grown quite fond of the family that I have here, and look forward to a return trip at some unknown point in the future.  I have surprised myself the most, throughout the entire past two weeks, in learning that I like both (1) cockfights and (2) using the tabo.  And I'm not ashamed to admit either.

Foods

Several nights ago, I made the mistake of asking about balut.  If you don't want to eat balut in the Philippines, then you should pretend you don't know it exists.  Tita Jane assured me she loves it, it's healthy (it's really not, and you have to remember what it is--a cholesterol factory for baby chickens), and that we'd get beer and balut on our trip to Subic Bay.  Well, Subic Bay happened, but balut didn't. 

I was at her house a few days later, and made mistake #2 of mentioning balut again.  Damn.  She said she had San Mig (I guess it's like their Bud Light here in that it seems to be more popular than the full-calorie version, except that it doesn't taste like complete crap).  I told her I'd need Red Horse.  The label tells you it's extra strong, but I couldn't tell the proof from the bottle.  There's some joke about when you drink it, you'll feel like the horse has kicked you.  I have already experienced that this trip.

Anyway, the next thing I know (there was no further mention of balut) while sitting at their dinner table, full of bangus, pork asago, green mango salad, and Sans Rival, Tito Edward arrives back to the house via scooter with a sack full of hot eggs.  I mean, they are hot to touch.  Like, extremely.  I don't know how high temperatures are able to keep here, but I've noticed that with several other hot foods.  They claim it's just the styrofoam, or "styro" packaging, but it must be like space material or something.  I have to watch Tita Jane slurp the egg/chicken juice from the egg first.  That in itself makes me gag.  I really can't handle the thought of eggs, period.  The inside of the shell is a windy interstate of blood vessels.  Kind of pretty, really, if you don't think of the function. 

EAT IT!!  EAT THE BALUT!!! is what I'm commanded.  Ugh.  Why did I have to wonder aloud about this "food"?  I really knew I would do it, but for some reason, decided I needed to look and poke at it and whine about it for about 15 minutes before shoving the delicious morsel of hot vinegar-soaked chicken embryo right in my trap.  Actually, it was the bottom half of the little chickee.  I saw the outline of the head and beak within the white of the egg, and I just couldn't do it.  In fact, Tita Jane couldn't do it either--her balls seemed to ascend as she retracted her statements that balut is delicious.  That juice she drank?  That was it for her.  She then looked at my fate, lying there helpless on the dish, and decided she couldn't go through with it. 

I continued without her.  The yoke shows up as a little yellow disc, also covered with blood vessels.  Ew.  That was my first bite, taking the whole thing as one bite, and I almost threw up.  I dawdled some more before eating the "stone," the round white bit that lies flush against the shell, so named for its hard consistency.  Really, it is tasteless.  More dawdling ensued before the camera was flipped to video mode and all eyes were on me to eat this half developed chicken.  San Mig in hand, I did it.  It was dipped in vinegar, and, surprisingly, not *quite* as detestable as I had anticipated.  Will I do it again??  Ayoko.

Anything else I tell you about adventurous foods will be unimpressive.  But I'll say that every time I manage to keep a morsel of shrimp, prawns, squid, or octopus down without it coming out the wrong orifice, I give myself a hearty pat on the back.

Venn Diagram

The other night on the beach, one of the staff members of the hotel asked what were the differences between here and Nepal.  I hadn't considered it yet.  Seems like kind of a silly comparison to make, as these countries are vastly different, but I would like to point out some of the more head-hitting nuances that I have noticed during the first few days.

The Philippines
less lizards
ease of breathing
porkivores
ants are a way of life
roads are drivable
security EVERYWHERE
if someone is clearly speaking about you in Tagalog, they are probably saying that you're beautiful

Nepal
less humidity
crazier drivers
vegetarians
far more mangy dogs
strikes are a way of life
police force is useless
if someone is clearly speaking about you in Nepalese, they are probably asking if you are married

Similarities
hazy mountains
rainy season (typhoon & monsoon)
overall fear of drinking tap water
tuk tuks and jeepneys feel the same
scooters/motorcycles
rice, rice, rice everywhere
instant coffee & tea
intensity of religious devotion
apparent infatuation with whitefolk (maybe that is a bit presumptuous, but it's a finding I've gathered)

Of course, this list is ongoing.

The Journey So Far

I'll never be the travelogue keeper I want to be.  Deal with it. 

I arrived in The PH real late Sunday evening.  Tito Elmer and his family fetched me at the airport.  It was kind of a mess trying to find each other.  I was told to meet at Bay 5.  Simple enough, as everything is labeled as it should be.  It took me about 15 minutes, however, to realize that his car wouldn't be parked there, as he was standing amidst the hordes of Filipinos across the parkway.  Oy!!  We eventually spotted each other.  Don't ask me how. We happened to make eye contact despite the literal hundreds of people standing around him.

The 1.5 hour ride through Manila to Pulilan, Bulacan was easy enough, as his kids are outspoken, intelligent, and humorous.  I mentioned elsewhere that the first Tagalog word I was taught in The PH was "mabaho," or "stinky."  I've had plenty of opportunities to practice this word so far. 

In the morning, Lola Nini brought me around her community to meet, oh, I don't know, probably 20 different relatives I didn't know that a) I was meeting and b) I was related to.  It doesn't matter if they're your fourth cousin or first; they are all family and all excited to meet  a new relative. 

We had lunch with a few other relatives (Titas, Lolas, I'm not sure, and am still in the process of learning the ropes of Pilipino kinship ties) and after some subjection to squid pancit and being told that I would be converted from atheism to Catholicism by the time lunch was over, Tito Edward, Tita Jane, and their adorable daughter Sam retrieved me for a trip to the mall. 

Now, if you know me even the slightest bit, you might realize that malls generally make me want to fake a seizure just so I don't have to endure the experience.  NOT SO IN THE PHILIPPINES.  Oh my word.  I mean, OH MY WORD.  I will never again take mall foods for granted.  The bibingka: stupendous.  There are a ton of built-in restaurants, not only the food courts like we have in the states.  I had my first legit Pilipino halo halo.  I'd like to say that my family knows where the best ice cream in the world is, but the second best is definitely here.  Maybe it really depends on the brand, but I've had two flavors since arriving here, and it's sooooo creamy, it'd give Kate Winslet's thighs a run for their money.

At night, Tita Elsie and Tito Jowell treated me to dinner at one of their favorite restaurants in town.  Pork and other fried fare were involved.  Now, there was evidence that Elsie and I are related when, before this trip, via email, she clued me into the fact that she'll eat anything so long as it's covered in cheese.  This relationship was verified when she and Jowell told the server that it was my birthday so I could get free dessert.  Really, I feel at home here.

The next day, Tita Jane and Tito Edward picked Lola Nini and me up for a getaway to Subic Bay.  We saw a dolphin show, a sea lion show, and went through a tiger safari.  As far as the dolphins and sea lions are concerned, I can imagine that they are treated well here.  The message at the end of each show was for the kids: treat our animals nicely and do not pollute our oceans.  I mean, it was really more than just fine print at the bottom of a pamphlet.  I felt like less of a jerk being wowed by the agility of these animals.

This morning, after a breakfast buffet of bangus (heh) fish, Four Seasons, and garlic rice, I found myself sunbathing at 8 am with Jennifer Toth's The Mole People against the backdrop of mountains and hazy skies.  I am gonna come back home more nut-brown than anyone can ever believe.  I almost feel like no one bothers wearing sunscreen here because it's so damn hot that sunscreen melts right off the skin. No point in putting the lotion on its skin.

It's a 2 hour leg from Subic Bay to Pulilan.  I read more under the nipa hut Lola Nini and Lolo Carling have in their front (side) yard before Lola Nini and I hopped in a hired tricycle (a rickety type of sidecar, very common form of transportation) to meet more relatives and meet Tita Elsie at the grocery store.  But wait--THERE'S MORE!  How could I have ever expected that this trip would be complete without a visit to church?  I'm no poono (fool, or tree, depending on inflection) and I didn't actually think I'd get away without it. 

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.