Lost in:

Well, not really road so much, as sidewalk.

Monday night I was walking to the common room with my slippers on (well, kinda) with dinner in one hand, and a cup of soda in the other. Tripped over just about nothing in the middle of the yard, flew 6 feet, dropped dinner, spilled half of soda, scraped hell out of elbow.

Did not drop cup. If it’d been a glass bottle, I would have cut my hand, but at least I didn’t drop it. Did shout “fornicate” (or something just like it) on the way down, tho.

So scraped hell out of elbow. it bled. A lot. Stung too. washed it, patched it with gauze, went to sleep.

Tuesday I woke up, it was glued to my arm, peeled the gauze off, washed it again, and tried to go to the doctor.

There are several interesting holidays in NZ when just about everything shuts down. In Palmy those days are christmas day, new years day (maybe) good friday, easter sunday, and this Anzac day. Guess which one was on tuesday?

So no bus, obviously. Gave up after about an hour of waiting in the rain for a bus that wasn’t coming. Wednesday I went into town, got some bandagey stuff, and fixed myself up all nice and good and stuff.

By thursday night there was lots of goopy green stuff seeping around the edges of my non-sticking bandagey stuff. Today (friday) I went to see the nurse to get it fixed up. It was green and slimy, and rather gross. But no nasty hard crusty scab. I love that second skin-type bandage stuff.

So that was gross, and the bandage the nurse used is sticking to my arm, and my ouchy, and all sorts of other stuff that I don’t want anything sticking to, but that’s not the point.

New Zealand has this thing called ACC which is basically like super basic insurance to cover accidents. Pretty much all accidents, so far as I can tell. What does that mean to me? it means that, because I did not trip on porpoise (do people really do that?) It’s an accident. Which means it’s covered. If I’d broken my arm, that’d be covered too. So slimy green road rashy arm o’ infected doom (+1) is covered.

This has a lot to do with travel, actually. Because it doesn’t just cover people living here, or citizens, or residents, or people under 30, or people who’s names end in r. It covers anyone having an accident in NZ (people who “just couldn’t hold it in” excluded, I think). So far as I can tell, it covers *everyone* having an accident in NZ. So, don’t go crazy, and fall off tall bridges, and try to leap tall buildings in a single bound while you’re over here, but know that if some dumbass hits you with his bicycle, and you end up with a broken finger, the local government will cover at least basic care for it.

Can’t help but wonder what life would be like back home if everyone had this kinda basic coverage. No more of the “I cut myself cooking, but I can’t afford a dr. visit, I’ll just wait it out” type stuff. Nice, yes? No worry over whether you can afford to eat if you walk into a wall (I’ve done this part) and break your nose (but not this one) and need to have it set.

And they keep sending me home with spare dressings, so I can change the bandagey stuff over the weekend.

Sometimes NZ isn’t so bad. Now if only they had decent food.

j.

I am not allowed to cook beans anymore. Not without a crock pot, anyway.

For the 3rd time since moving over here, I have nearly set beans on fire by trying to cook them. Why? simple. The easy way to cook dry beans is to rinse them and toss them in a slow cooker. I don’t have one. Next easiest is the same, but into a pressure cooker instead. Don’t got one of those either. So we move on to my least favorite method, and the one most likely to have the entire building standing around outside while I look like an idiot. Rinse and toss on the stove, in a pot of water. Only I don’t like waiting forever, so I boil the water.

Then I wander off to do something else. This is where the problems start. Eventually, all water burns off. It just happens. Then the beans burn. Then you get greasy slimy black stuff all over the inside of your pot, a stinky kitchen, and people trying to get you to evacuate. This sucks

This time, the beans got to the “whole room filled with smoke/ steam bad that you can’t really see the window 12 feet from the stove” point. Yeah, I’m not allowed to cook beans anymore.

Of course, I could fix this so easily it’s not even funny. All I have to do is remember to check on them regularly. Or not try to boil them the whole damned time. Or just buy a freaking crock pot. Or hire a hot guy to do my cooking for me. Or a chick, but that kinda lacks the visual appeal, ya know?

j.

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