Sicilamente

The thing with Italy is that when I arrived I spoke zero Italian, really, the entirety of my vocabulary consisted of thank you and what do you want (which I only knew because it's what Al would yell when he was angry). After two weeks my vocabulary has increased dramatically but due to having spent these two weeks with a four year old girl this is made up mostly of words relating to princeses and simple comands.

Words I now know in Italian:
Princess
Fairy
Barbie
Cow
Puppy
Crown
Sit down
Stop
Pretty
Ugly


As it apears, I am no closer to interacting sociall with anyone above the age of four. The only sentance I can make out that would be of any use might be, °Sit down, you ugly cow° and although I can think of a few instances when this might come in handy it is certainly not going to help me get a bus ticket to Polermo.

This is me, addicted

Italy has taught me one thing: I don't want children.

okay, maybe two things, I have also learned that granita is man's greatest invention, it is a type of sorbet ice cream thing which cannot be put into words. it is better then sex, and probably more addictive then crack but I've never actually done crack so I can't say for sure.

This is me, parenting?

It is fantastic to be in Italy, although getting here was quite an adventure. It involved me in an airport in northern Sicily with no money, no phone, and no working debit card attempting to find my way to the south of Sicily. I have learned two important lessons since being here, 1. I am no where near ready to have children, 2. Children destroy everything. Luca, who is almost 2 decided that the tassels on my Aldo shoes would make very good toys and so he pulled them off, and when that got boring he threw up on my new dress. While attempting to wash out the stains right away he started chewing my purst so now it is accented with a perfect representation of his gum line, which I am pretending was part of the design. I can't wear anything he can grab onto, so no earings or necklaces and if I don't keep my hair pulled back he chews on it. Babies may make a great fasion accessory, but they only seem to go with puke colored cotton tops and old jeans.

Adv entures

Here begins my epic journey of adventure and self discovery (aka me stumbling through Europe attempting to not be hit by cars or lose my passport). Packing up my room in London has been harder then I expected; This really became a lovely little prison cell, which is what it is once I have taken down all of my art and tapestries to pack away.

Clothes over Carbs

Thanks to a certain very tall blond who I am told resembles a sexy game of ker-plunk, I have been introduced to the world of fashion blogs. They are allot like food blogs except less likely to end with me eating peanut butter and jam sandwiches at 3 in the morning in my nighty. Instead, I am going to put on everything i own at ONE TIME, and take pictures. ok, no. I am going to attempt a fashion post centered around, well, erm... my closet? prepare yourselves now. I am aware that if you are reading my blog you are a. my mum, b. really wishing you still lived in London (Allison) or c. confused because this is not the website you were looking for. Most likely, you already know that my fashion sense is mostly delusional. I am inspired by colors, trousers outfits that have not been acceptable since I was 7, soft things and a desire to work at LF.

This is me, whining too much

Congratulations to everyone back at Bard who graduated! I wish you all the best as you go off and start your lives as real people. I didn't think I would be this upset to be missing out on such an occasion. I really wish I was there, finishing what we all started together four years ago. I never thought about the things I would miss when I came to London, only how happy I would be to be traveling and living somewhere new. I am fantastically happy here, and the people I have met are most wonderful. Still I can't help but to be sad about what I will never get to share with you, and angry at those involved in the nonsense that led to my leaving. I am sure they have moved on with their lives, as have I, but there are consequences that only I am having to live with and now more then ever I am seeing that.

Au Revior America!

I have returned to London, and to you, my fellow bloggers. After a much extended visit to the states I have finally made it home. I can't describe how happy I am to be here, although it is a rather lonely place and I only have one window. The weather is fantastic and the sun stays up until past half eight. It is fully spring and I am surprised at how green the city is. There is a 6 block sand box along the south bank, where I plan on spending the majority of my time eating over priced popsicles. I can't think of anything worth telling about the states except that it was nice to see some friends and I ate more pancakes then I thought humanly possible.

Travels

I am off to New York tomorrow, and so spent today saying my goodbyes to London (not that I will be gone very long). Carolyn was kind enough to accompany me on a long walk down the river, crossing all of my favorite bridges and periodically squealing at just how spectacular this city is. It was so warm we left our coats at home and periodically sat down outside (mostly to eat food). We watched street preformers at Covent Garden, and I made a fool of myself at lush by putting what I thought were free samples in my mouth without reading the sign. There were these tablets to clean your teeth and the instructions were not too clear:

1. place tablet in mouth
(I put the tablet in my mouth)
2. grind tablet into powder between your teeth
(I bit several times till the tablet was completely crushed)
3. brush teeth
(I DON'T HAVE A TOOTHBRUSH)
4. Rinse mouth out well with water as it will create a foam
(NOW MY MOUTH IS RAPIDLY FILLING WITH FOAM AND I AM IN A SHOP)

I had to run out to the side walk while foam dribbled out the sides of my mouth and being oh so classy, spit repeatedly as into the street. Without water I had no way of expelling all the powder and periodically my mouth would foam up and I would have to spit again.

Most importantly, I visited the three new Picasso paintings at the Tate Modern, and said goodbye to a few of my favorites that I often visit. Now I am as ready as I could possibly be for my trip, but I am still terrified. I don't know what's so scary about it honestly, but I have absolutely no clue what to expect of anything and I think that is what makes me so nervous. I watered Mitchel and unplugged everything in my room.

This is me, interacting

Of late my life has consisted 97% of revising in my room wearing all my jumpers and avoiding direct sunlight. The other 3% is split between ingesting caffein and eating cake. So to everyone who has been checking my blog daily just hoping I would grace the internet with another awkward story of adventure (this would be my mum), I apologize. Being ill has put me far behind in my course work, and with finals just around the corner I am beyond panicked.

But luckily, Tom had a birthday, giving me an excuse to leave my room and interact with society for a few hours this weekend.

My baby girl!

SOUP

It has recently come to my attention that the miller serves soup. How have I lived across the street from such a place for so many months and not known this?

All better!

In celebration of being completely better and off my antibiotics, I took myself shopping. This way I could fully appreciate standing up for extended periods of time and being outside. It feels like forever since I've just wondered around the city with my headphones, and it was amazing to be out in the almost-warm sunny weather. I am feeling like a real person again, and am so happy to be in London for the spring.

Since most my friends here are boys, and none of them are particularly willing to watch me prance around modeling my new clothes (an essential part of the shopping process) and since I am pretty sure my mum is the only one who reads this blog, I have pranced around in front of my computer, so you (mum) can ooo and ahhh at my pretty new dress instead.

Mitchell

To deal with the fact that I live alone in a tiny flat I decided to buy a cactus, which Dave has helped me name Mitchell.

The thing about a cactus is that it only needs to be watered once a month so 96% of the time I have to resist the urge to be nurturing and feel useless. Plus I recently remembered that one the way desert plants deal with a lack of water is by not opening their stoma for gas exchange very often, meaning the ten minutes I spend trying to donate carbon dioxide like a good cactus mum is just ten minutes of me talking to a cactus for no apparent reason. Still, I love my Mitchell and I love having something to come home to and to sit quietly with me while I memorize protein signaling cascades.

This is me, being just too american

Joey was kind enough to read over my essay for biology of aging. This has resulted in her siting on my bed, laughing at my computer screen exclaiming, "It's just so American!" and periodically singing the theme song to the OC. After all the progress I have made not sounding like a foreign ninny in conversation, apparently none of this has carried over into my writing. I am doomed.

Things I like

I realize this blog has gotten really whiney due to impending deadlines and illness. I would like to think I am a positive person, and weather or not that is delusional, I have decided to cheer things up a bit. I made a list of 10 simple things that make me happy for no reason.

These are:

1.     Tea

2.     Stickers

3.     Rain storms in the summer

4.     Tequila

5.      Flannel

6.      Ironing

7.     The word boogers

8.    Dryer lint

9.     Peanut butter

10. Kissing

Very tall (but hairy) buildings

It's raining, which should not surprise me at this point. I love the rain, how it makes everything so cozy, how I get to wear my super cool rain boots and how perhaps it will clean the outside of my windows. Dave really needed a hair cut but refused to go somewhere he would have to pay, so I figured, I can probably do this. I am still not sure why he let me cut his hair as I thoroughly explained that I had only ever cut curly hair and only owned safety scissors. Luckily, youtube has a video tutorial for everything and after watching several of these I felt confident enough to cut my son's hair (there were no videos about adult hair cuting). The hair cut went well (I was shocked), it was the clean up where I started to have problems. In an attempt to not go all the way down to the ground floor to shake out my now very hairy towels, I opened my window as far as it would go, which is not far due to safety reasons. I shoved the towel out the window and shook furiously. It wasn't till the next day that I realized all the hair I had shaken off the towel was now stuck to the outside of my windows. My spectacular view of London is now completely covered with Dave's hair. Creepy hairy London.

It is also much easier to be sick when it's raining, I don't feel as much that I should be outside being a real person.  I am perfectly content hibernating in my bed with a hot water bottle and all of my text books. My bed is a bit small for this many text books, and leaves me curled awkwardly in the corner to make room. I am still to ill to do much outside of bed, which is terribly frustrating when it is not raining. I am desperately ready to be a real person again, someone who can walk themselves to the market and not worry about passing out in front of the cereals.

This is me, fighting with organs.

I have been completely out of touch with the world for the past week or so as I have been undercover to research NHS care (which I believe sounds better then I was ill and stuck in hospital for the last week or so). I am still to ill to do very much but I have begun catching up on the important things, mostly eating food that does not taste like cardboard and watching being human. It is not time to catch up on revision. damn revision. My plan is to spend all of today memorizing the bones, joints and muscles of the lower limb, tomorrow I can finish accumulating my papers for aging course work and finalize my outline, then on Wednesday I can just dive into my cancer text book and learn everything. Oh god, this is overwhelming.

Things I have learned about the NHS

1. Because they see so many patients they are a bit over eager to diagnose based solely on symptoms and send you home.
2. You don't actually see the same doctor more then once, which means every 7 hours you have a new opinion and new diagnosis.
3. Day nurses are much nicer then night nurses.
4. Male nurses wear too much make up and will judge you based on the Pjs your friends were kind enough to drop off but which my not actually fit very well. 
5. DCU is essentially purgatory and they keep the lights on 24 hours so you can ponder what you have done to deserve such a punishment and perhaps upon realizing your sins, be admitted into a real ward. 
6. Bring your own cinnamon.

My friends were all lovely enough to sit with me for hours on end while i stared into space in my drugged state, and Tom was even kind enough to shuttle me to all my appointments and supply me with a constant supply of tea. Joey packed me a bag of all the essentials, including loo role (why she thought a hospital would not supply loo role i still don't know). Dave brought cinnamon which was surprisingly useful. Having visitors makes the experience significantly better, especially when they bring treats and resist the urge to fold you into your own bed. The upside to being in hospital is that my room was on the 8th floor overlooking the Themes with Big ben and parliament directly across. This view was absolutely incredible and my days consisted mostly of staring at it while listening to music, drinking tea and being pumped full of antibiotics. 

Peanut Butter Cookies

This wonderfully american cookie keeps me from getting homesick. I stress bake at Joey's flat periodically and leave them treats in exchange for use of the kitchen; partially because this keeps me from eating as much as I bake. I could not find a simple peanut butter cookie recipe so I made this one up, and it's pretty good if not a bit sweet.

50g Peanut butter (preferably chunky)
127g Sugar (It is best if you can do half granulated/half brown, but brown sugar is rather expensive so I usually don't)
1 Egg
127g Flour (add slowly until it resembles cookie dough)
1 pinch baking powder

Roll dough into balls and flatten with a fork to create that peanut butter crisscross pattern.
Bake at gas mark 6 for about 10  minutes, or until golden on the edges
Sometimes I add chocolate chips, or drizzle melted chocolate on top since british people don't believe it's a cookie until it has chocolate.

Sometimes we just have too much time on our hands.

Or are desperately avoiding the large pile of work on my desk...

Dragons.

It's a grey day in London (shocker) but it is finally getting warmer and I am ecstatic! I went out yesterday in just a sweater. Raj and I went down to celebrate Chinese new year and buy hoop earrings (I am a very important person, doing important things). It was so crowded that at one point we could not even cross the street, we just stood and tried not to be pushed backwards by the mass of people struggling down the street.  This was my first drinking in a pub in the middle of the day experience, which is shocking since it is what everybody does here all the time. I managed to only embarrass myself minimally, which I think is an accomplishment given the circumstances.

Raj turns 22

In honor of such a monumentous occasion I decided to bake a cake. Anyone who knows me understands what a terribly risky endeavor this can be. I was going for a sort of chocolate cheesecake in a crust-less pound cake. After a few tries and with careful supervision I created a cream cheese pound cake with dark chocolate chips, a chocolate ganache icing and more calories then I previously thought possible for a single cake.  My one mistake was in making an excess of ganache. I should have known, that in a house full of boys (OK, maybe just in a house full of Raj), an excess of melty chocolate could only lead to my being completely drenched in said chocolate. I did however, manage to get a fair amount on him as well as Joey who was unlucky enough to be in the kitchen. This was all resolved with a nice group bath, for which we had to heat water in the kettle, and shampoo.

More plans?

This was not the plan, and I did have a plan. I was to be graduated now, living in the city with people I loved working some silly job and applying to nursing schools and PHDs. Instead I am in a foreign city, struggling to keep up with course work and living alone. Coming here was the best decision I ever made, or allowed other to make for me, but it's draining at times. I am so blatantly American, and so incapable of communicating properly. Sometimes I think I could spend the rest of my life here, and sometimes I just want to come home. I miss American beds, and American showers. I miss knowing where the hell I am and not constantly afraid I wont find my way home.

Big plans

It is amazing how many things can be made in the microwave! I am hoping this means cooking is a lost art and no one will notice how truly horrible I am at it. I am a bit worried about this whole fainting in surgery business, obviously I am not better at medicine that cooking. It's that time where everyone I know will be finishing school and making big plans for their lives, and it is quite nerve wracking. I have no big plans, I had plans and then everything turned upside down and I started over, with less plans. It has been amazing to have the opportunity to choose classes based solely on what sounds most interesting, and not be thinking about grad school or being a real person. I don't know for how long it is acceptable to fath about this way with no big ideas, but it feels like that time is almost up. I am headed to NY in April and by then I am going to need a plan to graduate, and ideally some ideas about what to do next, and a visa.

This is me, being useful

I scrubbed in on two hysterectomies yesterday and got to hold the retractor! Which basically made my life complete, and almost makes up for the fact that I promptly passed out. Watching the surgery was very surreal, I have been dissecting a cadaver this year and so I thought I had a pretty good idea on what insides look like, but I don't. Everything was so bright and colorful. The bowel seems not to be held in place at all, as when the surgeon opened the abdominal cavity she just started shoving them up and out of the way. The smell, when they first open the skin and then cortarize the superficial vessels down to the fascia, is horrific. Burning epithelium and melting fat. It wasn't until the second surgery, when I got to actually hold things and be useful that I felt ill. It took me by surprise because I couldn't see any of what was going on, and so it wasn't a reaction to all the blood. Perhaps I was overexcited, or perhaps it started to actually become real, but either way it was embarrassing. I did, however, manage not to fall onto the patient or any of the doctors, which I consider an accomplishment.

Alison Pope

We must take a moment and mourn the loss of poor dear Alison Pope, who was forced to return to the states by university and something about pre med requirements. She will be truly missed. Let us also collectively remind her again that, swords are not for throwing and no pick up line should include the word tarsus.

This is me, and cheesecake

Tonight Joey and I decided was a good night for british comedy and cheese cake. Of course, as soon as you mention MS cheesecake everyone wants a piece, which is how you end up at a petrol station on a Tuesday night buying three boxes of cheesecake and full of self respect. It's the kind of experience that makes me want to walk up to the till and ask, "do these cheesecakes come with a larger pair of trousers?" because they should. Then the till man asks we if i would like some petrol. There are no cars at the petrol station, there is no one else in the station, this man watched me walk across the parking lot from my non-car and into his shop; and still, maybe I need some petrol, for after I eat all the cheese cake and need to burn what's left of my dignity? But the actual cheesecake eating experience is worth it, especially while paired with some live at the apollo .

At least it's getting warmer out.

I have spent this weekend studying for yet another anatomy exam. I am starting to think this class will be the death of me. Although if I hadn't been studying the wrong sections for the past week and a half I would be in better shape. Now I have the next 24 hours to learn everything that is going to be on the exam and a great understanding of many things that wont be. Obviously this means I should be blogging. Back on Friday, when I thought I had this all under control, I went out with Steven and Raj for what was supposed to be one cocktail, and ended up being a rather epic night of dancing. I learned that I am not the kind of girl who can wear heals, and spent most of the night dancing barefoot. It is good to be back in the city and it is even better to have a hot water bottle to sleep with.

All things not anatomy

In the sprit of the new year, and of not revising for my anatomy exam i shall share with you a list of possible resolutions. I don't know anyone who actually fallows their new years resolution, but it is always good to begin the year by evaluating ones own life in a self-deprecating manner.

This year I will:

1. Revise for my anatomy exam
2. Eat protein
3. Go to the gym for more then a shower
4. Sleep in my own room at least 4 nights a week
5. Cook noodles before eating them

This year I will not:

1. Impulse buy vegetables I have no means of cooking
2. Nap everyday
3. Get involved with men who are stupid
4. Judge people for their bad haircuts on the tube
5. Use the words "pants" or "gobble" in any context, as to avoid confusion

And on a related note, how I actually spent the new year...

As always, there was dancing

 The Kauai scene is pretty lousy, but I managed to go to the point with my sister and Ishan

HAPPY NEW YEARS

Goats and other rural things

I have spent the last week at home, and as home is a rural island in the middle of the Pacific I decided to spare you the details and not blog about it. Then I came to my senses and realized that if you are reading my blog you are either:

A. My mother
B. Tragically bored
C. Conducting an in depth study on social awkwardness in young adults

I spent the better part of this week adjusting to the 10 hour time difference, eating all the free samples at Costco with my sister and playing with chickens. The great thing about living on Kauai is that none of these activities require trousers. Although at one point I found myself feeding the chickens in my knickers and had a very sister-wife moment. I could suddenly hear banjos being played in the background, and not even the good kind of banjos that I find inexplicably attractive, but the kind played by inbreds in bad movies (and my parents when they find me feeding the chickens in my knickers). My mum and I went shopping, which involves taking an airplane because we actually live in the middle of nowhere. I also did a fair amount of revision for the exam I have monday and avoided all direct sunlight.