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DAMN YOU ALTER JO. I'm letting the bison meatloaf rest overnight, in an attempt to get it all to come together, but damn you! Jo's boyfriend doesn't eat beef; he's unable to, considering that nobody in his family has done so for more than a thousand years. So they eat bison. And I've got two poundses of the stuff, Precious, sitting in the fridge and freezer, on her recommendation. If this doesn't turn out, I'm fingering you and RatBoy.
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Somehow, without meaning to, I've gotten tasked with working out a diabetes education program for our patients with strokes. Considering that the majority of our stroke patients are poor and diabetic, this will be a challenge. The main problem is going to be writing up instructions in a fashion that people with only a fourth-grade education can understand, without it being condescending or oversimplified.
Nurse Ames will be helping, but still: the majority of the responsibility falls on me. Yikes.
How did this happen, again?
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The NP for the stroke service introduced me to the new resident group as the local expert on drugs and STDs. Hi! I'll be your Big Ol' Ho today!
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Is it unreasonable for me to want to hike the UK for my forty-second birthday? That's a year from now. I'm starting tomorrow, looking for people who can put me up.
Or maybe New Zealand. I've always wanted to go to a place where you could dig down into the beach sand and end up with a hot tub. There's something about visiting the youngest habitable spot on the planet, geologically speaking, that appeals to me, even if I don't have any history there.
Why can't Kiwiland be closer to The Old Country, so I wouldn't have to choose?
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Not safe for work or Mom. Or maybe safe for Mom, because My Mom is pretty damn cool.
Oh. My. GOD. (fuckit!)
I want a Hello Kitty merkin. This might be why I'm having so much trouble on OKCupid.