The Cure For Paper Cuts

So I had this long beautiful post-NCLEX post all typed up for ya just in the final stages of filtering out the excessively wacky brain leakage and then yesterday happened. Yesterday was a huge brick in the face and ended with 3 therapeutic measures,

1.  burning stuff

2. sugar

3.  grandpa’s old cough syrup.

…all combined unapologetically.

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Before I share this antidote for the paper cuts of life, I want you to interpret this sign:

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You are probably a smart cookie and perhaps can translate this to me.  I wish you were in the baby subaru with me when I parked in the most fateful zone and came back to a subaru-less spot just 1.5 hours later.  Let it be known that it is the worst time of the year to need to drive your vehicle anywhere within the downtown state college area (ArtsFest=FartsFest.  Used to like it but now I hope it drowns in parking tickets).  After forgoing more than 2 other parking spaces that I believed were risky zones to park in, I chose this spot, practically a state away from where I had to be so looking back I might as well have simply parked perpendicular to the road in the middle of Beaver Ave and it would’ve cost exactly the same amount.  You may be looking at these 4 bass-awkwards signs and see exactly what the powers that be see but I am a lowly civilian who saw this as a “park here for 2 hours, but after that=towed”.  Turns out that red arrow did not mean the tow zone was in the yard (which I figured was a silly sign to make anyway because most people probable know not to park in people’s front yards, but maybe that had been an issue here?….whatever.  I park.) Came back.  No Car.

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After calling all 3 towing companies in the state college area, full of motherly anger and rage at whoever was the evil-doer that kidnapped my angel of a car against her will, I was informed the baby subaru was out in Timbuktu awaiting pickup with a hefty $115 kidnapping charge AND an extra smack in the nose from the local police in the form of a ticket (slowly pouring salt water over the mother of all paper cuts).  The towing guy was the nicest person all day so I couldn’t be mad at him, “oh, ma’am…you do look upset…”-Friendly Tow Man (I decided he was my ally and the real enemy was the State College Borough).  After picking up my angel car and feeling like the worst car-parent ever I went back to the war-zone of downtown to (in my mind) wreak justice upon the horrible government and their ability to park wherever they @#%$ well please.  (Sorry, the last time I cursed as much as I did yesterday was junior year of nursing school). That visit went just as realistically as you’d think, they don’t really give two cares about fresh penniless nurses trying desperately to follow the parking laws.  As I seethed in the corner of the parking department, paying my ticket with smoldering eyebrows, I silently wished the biggest IV needles and un-lubricated catheters upon their future hospital stays.  (WOAH, that is mean.  Sorry I’m not sorry yet.) End story:  If I ever have money to burn (never will this happen) I will use it to park wherever I want in the most obscene places all over State College, PA.  I will continue to do so until my penalty fees are funding 90% of the local government, to which then I shall immediately stop parking like a nut leading them to a financial car crash.  (yes I understand that also would never happen but let me pretend).

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Well, yesterday just wasn’t my day.  But this year has been at least an A- so win some, lose some.   SO. It’s been a little while since an update and a lot of things have been in the works…in a nutshell:

I’M A BONAFIDE HONEST-TO-FLIPPIN’-GOODNESS REGISTERED NURSE.

Can I get an “R-N”???!! (pronounced like “AMEN!”) 

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So yes, there’s that, and there’s also way more detail and story where that came from, which I will tell you in a future post.  Anyways, I’m Registered and I want those parking villains to KNOW IT.  Not that it would help my futile cause at all but I will say that walking into the Mordor The Parking Office I had a little extra sass in my off-balance step because all I could think of while stomping up the cement steps (refraining from a very tasteless gesture I was a little too tempted to make at all security persons in view) was “Do they KNOW who I AM?!?!….I’m A NURSE.”   …“I’m a limo driver!” …. Kind of wish I’d been in some real scrubs-y attire with my stethoscope of righteousness around my neck for this encounter.

Guys, sometimes I’m a butthead.  But you knew that.  I wasn’t a butthead to the people in real life, just a very clearly frustrated, smelly, sweaty, tired 22-year-old lady who…just can’t.

Let’s get back to how I enticed you here.  And that would be this:

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Whiskey-Kissed Salted Caramel Sauce (barely adapted from this blog. Essentially the exact same recipe but with a little salty action)

1 1/3 cups sugar
1 cup heavy cream (room temperature)
2 Tablespoons unsalted butter
4 Tablespoons whiskey of choice (or whatever was on sale)
1/4-1/2 teaspoon salt

**follow directions on this blog, just use these measurements (too lazy to type). Anyways, this is a cure if I ever did have one.  Administer in large quantities PRN till relieved.  Happy Thursday!

 

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