A Brief (Ha!) Encounter with Italian Medicine

Sorry, it's been awhile. I haven't felt like writing for awhile. Going back to life was rather tiring and then I got a cold... Basically, when you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all! I spared you many a complaining post.

My Italian doctor experience was comical. I went to the emergency room for a few hours, got an x-ray, etc. The main doctor I had was straight from a novel. He was short, had a very Sicilian face, wore a v-necked shirt that exposed his grizzled chest hair and a gold chain. Don't let me forget to mention his age: in his late fifties. Nor was I ever in the same room as him without three other useless people standing around. I'm not exaggerating. No wonder I had to wait so long...

...to be told "Wear your wrap... for..." (here he pauses to pick an ARBITRARY NUMBER!) "TEN days... Yes, ten days."

This is why hillbillies don't believe in modern medicine. Sometimes it's total crap. My third cousin Billy Jean Jimmy Cake could have told me that medical advice last week at the bean peeling circle. 

My first Italian exam is on Monday. I'm pretty nervous because I didn't have a chance to study yet this weekend. Eeeeekkk..

Friday was my roommate's birthday. We went to lunch and then went to a tattoo parlor for her to get her birthday tattoo: an anchor on the back of her forearm. We chatted with the tattoo artist Andrea.... poor guy. His dream is to go to Los Angeles and blossom as an artist... He also had an obsession with American "traditional symbols." Unfortunately this meant Eddie Hardyesque designs... Good luck, Chuck.

Then we got Carnivale Italian donuts called Struffoli... basically giant dough balls smeared with honey. Oh oh... so goodddd. Even though my cold made taste practically non-existent, I could tell it was good.