The Longest. Like, Ever.

The Gentleman and I are in the midst of the longest we have ever been apart.

This fun marathon of long-distance comes courtesy the fact that we got really, really spoiled last spring/early summer, where - despite the fact that we live 7,500 miles apart - we got to see each other in March, April, May, AND June. It was a LOT of Transatlantic flights. And time changes. And foreign currency.

Currently, we are on Day 79 of an epic 115 days apart. Reunion commences next month at Dulles Airport, and from thence we shall do some fun things in Baltimore and then head to the West Coast.

There are a million moments when you think, "Wow, long distance really, really sucks." It happens when you're stuck in traffic, when you're surrounded by couples, when you're eating a really, really amazing steak and think, "He would so love a bite of this thing." It happens with the good - because you don't get to share it; and it happens with the bad - because you're dealing with shit alone.

The only time long distance doesn't totally and completely suck is the moment you're reunited. And then it's weird for about thirty minutes, like - oh, this person is holding my hand...oh, this person is - WAIT, OH MY GOD, IT'S YOU!! And then it's normal again and you're like, "What 115 days apart? That was nothing!"

I basically can't wait to get to that point.

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COUNTDOWN CLOCK WIDGETS

Dulles is going to be so embarrassed. 

The Grossness Continues

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I digress.

First, this happened. You should prolly get caught up on that first.

Are you with me now? Ok, good. So, yesterday, I was thinking to myself - "ya know, I've been popping these prescription-strength Ibuprofens every 6 hours for the past 5 days...maybe I should back off a little and just see how things go."

Horrible, horrible, HORRIBLE idea.

I'm taking the equivalent of 12 Ibuprofen a day. I guess that's kind of a lot. And - for once - I decided to think respectfully of my liver and innards. A little break from constant medication would be nice.

So, I'd like you to close your eyes for a moment. No wait, don't - because then you won't be able to fall down the rabbit hole fairy tale of pain I'm about to take you through.

Imagine that you take one of those gorgeous $40 Williams-Sonoma cheese graters. The really shiny kind. Let's say you shrink it down, real small, and have a tiny helper (an elf, if you will) carry it inside of your mouth and proceed to vigorously grate the roof of your mouth for minutes on end. 

Let's start there.

Then, let's say that this elf then goes down and repeats the procedure to the gum line just below your lower front teeth. 

Still with me? Do you need some Ibuprofen? YOU CAN'T HAVE ANY OF MINE.

Now, let's say that the elf recruits his or her much-larger buddy - say a giant of sorts - to come and punch you square in the face. 

Adding to this funness, let's say that the stitches on the roof of your mouth have now carved an irritated swath across your tongue. Kind of like a gentler Williams-Sonoma cheese grater. 

Basically - my entire mouth and jaw felt like one massive, oozing canker sore. 

It took almost an hour for the Ibuprofen I frantically took to take effect. In between crying, "I'm not ready for this!" and holding ice water in my mouth trying to dilute the pain, I questioned my ability to carry on with life.

I am only being slightly dramatic here.

No, but seriously - this shit is Pain. Ful. I don't think I realized the extent of it, because I've got more Ibuprofen in my system than Miley Cyrus has...well, just about anything short of nutrition. Plus I'm back to trying "solid" foods (beans, tiny bits of pita bread, sauteed spinach, and eggs - if you count those) and trying to get back on track with half-marathon training, so all of these things are really sort of pushing my system to the limit. 

I have an appointment to assess healing tomorrow. I can only hope that it comes with another prescription for 800mg Ibuprofen because I'm running dangerously low. And I just can't cope with the cheese-grated mouth.

Even if it is a really nice cheese grater from Williams-Sonoma.

Not A Pie Chart

I've been out of commission lately thanks to a lovely procedure I had last week which was not, in fact, a pie chart.

"You're getting what?"

"A gum graft."

"Gum graph? Like a pie chart?"

Not quite.

My dentist (whose assistant is emotionally and physically abusive but whom I see anyway because I'm too lazy to find a new one)  has been after me for awhile to go and see this specialist (periodontist? Maybe?) because my gums on my lower jaw are receding thanks to years of orthodontia, aggressive tooth brushing, and good old-fashioned Western European genetics that sensitively erode anything that comes into contact with acidic things (one of my favorite food groups: lemons, pickles, tomatoes, booze). I finally shelved my dental anxiety and went in for a consultation. She was neither emotionally nor physically abusive so I trusted her instantly even as she explained to me what a gum graft is.

For those who are squeamish, this is about to get real nasty.

Basically, they numb up your mouth (which is THE WORST - isn't there anyway they can make those Novocaine shots less terrifying?) and then shove a tiny metal spoon down in between your teeth and gums in the graft area to create space. Jiggle that thing around until your gums are nice and destroyed. Then, they shred little tiny pieces of gum out of the roof of your mouth, transplant them to the graft area, and pack them into the pockets of gum they just created with the tiny metal spoon thing. Lash the whole package of gum and grafted gum material in with yards and yards of stitches, lash up the roof of your mouth with yards and yards of stitches, and send you on your way.

I mean, Saw couldn't come up with this shit.

She then explained that this procedure doesn't require anesthesia. But that if I have qualms about it, I can opt for an Ativan prescription and make arrangements for someone to drive me to/from the appointment.

Yes, please.

So, my buddy Jessica kindly agreed to drive me to/from the procedure, and really, I think she got the better end of the deal because she got to experience me on copious amounts of Ativan. 

I woke up the morning of the surgery and ate breakfast (doctor's orders, which made me happy because I hate being hungry and she insisted that I eat prior to the procedure) and then popped two Ativan. I immediately went back to sleep until Jessica came to pick me up. I don't remember much from the drive there, and I only vaguely remember handing my paperwork to the assistant and getting settled into the chair. Epic fail on Jessica's part - she let me take my phone back into the room with me where I proceeded to Instagram myself looking drugged out of my mind. Behold:

I have a feeling those pictures will be back to haunt me someday.

Anyhoodle, the procedure itself actually wasn't bad at all. The Novocaine was the worst part (HONESTLY with all of the medical advances we have, WHY HASN'T SOMEONE LOOKED INTO THE PHYSICAL AND EMOTIONAL TURMOIL CAUSED BY NOVOCAINE INJECTIONS?!?!?!) and then I mostly just tuned out. I was allowed to bring headphones and so I started out trying to listen to This American Life before quickly realizing that I lacked the mental capacity to follow it and switched over to music. 

The procedure was projected onto a large screen TV in front of me so that the specialist could get a magnified view of what she was doing, and I found myself watching it. Normally, the site of something like that would send me doubled over into my bed for days questioning my own existence but, thanks to the Ativan, I instead found it mesmerizing. It was like watching Planet Earth, if Planet Earth was your mouth and someone was excavating and relocating portions of it. 

The graft site - it's covered with a putty-like bandage so you can't even see it. This is a couple of days after the surgery and the swelling has gone down significantly.

Stitches on the roof of my mouth with putty-like bandage over them so you can't see the whole thing, just the ends of the stitches poking out. I can't stop touching them with my tongue. It's kind of maddening.

I don't remember leaving the clinic. I vaguely remember them finishing up and taking off my bib and glasses and telling me that I could go, and I was very confused about this. I was certain we weren't finished yet, but they insisted that everything was done and that Jessica was allowed to take me home. 

Jessica did not, however, take me home. She took me to CVS to fill another prescription. I have barely a glimpse of recollection of being in CVS but apparently we had a very long, in-depth conversation about nail polish and I was extremely judgy and opinionated about people who elaborately paint their nails and post that shit on Pinterest. Which I would never, apparently in my Ativan-state, do. Cue two days later when I was bored from lying around recovering and elaborately painted my nails and posted that shit on Instagram. 

I also apparently informed Jessica that I am not allowed to run for 48 hours post-surgery and asked her, very seriously, "please do not let me go for a run." As if.

Once I got home, I immediately took a very long nap. I had some soup, watched Breaking Bad, Skyped with my boyfriend (I'm sure we had a very meaningful conversation), and napped some more. Jessica came over in the evening and we had an eventful time on the couch with her studying and me "watching tv" (sleeping in an upright position). I went to bed around 9:30 and slept until about 7:30 the next morning, and then went into work. 

Pain-wise, I felt nothing that first day. The Novocaine and high doses of prescription-strength Ibuprofen did the trick. In fact, nothing really started to hurt until the afternoon of the second day. And then, it mostly just ached like a bruise. 

I did go to work (and had back-to-back meetings, naturally) and my face was a little swollen. Mostly I just felt tired and my jaw ached as though I'd had my braces tightened. More prescription-strength Ibuprofen to the rescue.

Day after the surgery - selfie at work.

That ice pack and my face were intimate for about 48 hours post-surgery. 

Two days after surgery - swelling completely gone. Yes, I take selfies at work.

I'm now four days post-surgery and my biggest problem now is eating. I can't eat anything with seeds or that might stick in the stitches, and I have to take teeny tiny bites of things. I can only eat on one side of my mouth and I look like a freak because I kind of tilt my head to keep the food away from the stitches. I went to an Orioles game last night and had what I'm sure was a disgusting procedure of eating a hot dog (the meat part only) by picking tiny chips of meat and packing them into the side of my mouth.

Mostly, it's soup and smoothies. My mouth feels tender and I'm still on antibiotics and taking the pain meds, although much less frequently. The stitches will come out in a couple of weeks and hopefully reveal a lovely new healthy gum line which I will probably proceed to destroy because I can't stay away from acidic foods. But here's hoping it takes another 31 years to do. 

All in all, the procedure was really not bad and much, much less painful than I'd anticipated. 

But definitely ask for the Ativan. And have a trustworthy friend drive you, who will later be able to fill you in on all of the fun things you said and did while drugged up.

Pittsburgh - The City That Drinks/Eats/Looks Nice

A little break from the Middle East posts (but don't worry - I still have some gems lined up for you) to talk about a trip a little closer to home.

My friend Dr. Emily did her residency in Pittsburgh, and back in June she invited me to take a weekend trip up there to run the Color Me Rad 5k and visit her friends. 

By the way, I don't know what it is about all of these random runs (colors, mud, obstacles, zombies, etc.) , but I dig 'em. They seem to have become immensely popular in recent years, or maybe it's just that as a runner they're more on my radar now. 

Anyhoodle, so my friend Dr. Emily and I drove up one Friday evening in June. It took about four and a half hours to get to Pittsburgh. Dr. Emily docked me nine minutes for stopping at a Starbucks halfway (I REALLY, REALLY HAD TO PEE) and then tried to make up the time later on down the Pennsylvania Turnpike. We did not make up those nine minutes, a fact that Dr. Emily reminded me of frequently throughout the weekend.

Our first stop of the weekend was the Hofbrauhaus. Now, I have been to two Hofbrauhauses - the original in Germany, and the clearly not original one in Dubai. I had no idea there was one in Pittsburgh. But there was. And it was pret-ty darn close to what you'd think of when you think "German Beer Hall." (Just in case you were wondering - the one in Dubai was NOT. The food was legit, but the atmosphere...not so much.)

The batteries in my camera were dying at the Hofbrauhaus, so my pictures are not the best, but here you go:

Live music - an oompah band playing everything from Top 40 to old Beer Hall Favorites and Favorite Wedding Songs, Volume 4. 

As expected, patrons stood upon benches and waved their beers in time with the music. Excellent German heritage.

After several beers, it was decided that we should go to a gay club called Cruze. I don't have any photos (because my camera died), but lemme say - this was the best damn DJ I have ever heard. And I've been to Vegas. This guy was mashing up Jackson 5 with Florence + The Machine and - I don't know, probably Nine Inch Nails or something. It was amazing. We danced for a very long time. Also, we learned that there is a whole LINE DANCE to "Wobble." "Wobble" is secretly the song that makes me pound it out on the treadmill. Don't know what "Wobble" is? Go ahead, I dare you. (DON'T JUDGE ME - I LOVE THIS SONG.)

After dancing all night, we headed out for late-night pizza (duh) and then went back to our home-away-from-home for the weekend - the apartment of one of Dr. Emily's Doctor Friends. She lives in basically the most awesome apartment building ever. Behold, Union Station:

Once a train station, it's now apartments, valet parking, and a wedding venue. Apparently.

Wouldn't you want to get married here?!

Or live here?!

Pittsburgh is really a beautiful old city that has somehow made it out of the wreckage of the Rust Belt that was once the production heart of America. Now, it's a fun city with plenty of character, in part thanks to one of its more famous former inhabitants:

The Andy Warhol museum is multiple stories of room-sized paintings and installations to scraps of paper, all meticulously curated. Seeing some of these works is like being in the unreal presence of a celebrity, only in Warhol's case they usually are just as big, just as beautiful, and just as stunning in real life. 

Naturally, we started the day off with Bloody Marys at Meat + Potatoes, which had not only a fantastical brunch but an epic make-your-own Bloody Mary bar. I can't remember everything that went into my vodka salad, but I know I used the bacon vodka and stuck a whole jalapeno pepper and a stalk of onion in it. The one on the left is Dr. Emily's, and the blob floating in it is an entire artichoke heart. I wasn't even that hungry after drinking my drink.

Homage to one of Pittsburgh's former industries 

Beautiful architecture downtown

The night before the race, I told our team about my usual pre-race rituals: plenty of water, a good dinner, and a decent night's sleep. They informed me that my pre-race rituals are overruled by their Saturday night rituals: Hot Pepper Hot Peppers at Round Corner Cantina, and pizza at Piccolo Forno. Since I love spicy things and pizza is technically 75% carbs, I decided that when one is in Pittsburgh, one must do as the partiers Pittsburghians do. 

A descriptive name.

I was pretty excited to see a Pimms Cup on the menu, but I was assured that THE REASON to go to Round Corner Cantina is their Red Pepper Red Pepper margarita....

...and the decor of the patio.

Red Pepper Red Pepper margaritas - Espolon Silver, Chartreuse, elderflower, basil, lemon and, of course, a chili pepper. I looooove the combination of sweet and spicy, and these things pack a punch.

It gets deliciously spicier.

Round Corner Cantina is conveniently located right across the street from Piccolo Forno, so we put in a reservation, had a couple'a Red Pepper Red Peppers, and then our table was ready. 

The pizza was amazing. Aaaaaaaahhhhhhhmazing.

Tirimisu for dessert. You know, because we're running a big race tomorrow and need to be prepared.

After an evening of pizza and martinis, we were bright-eyed enough the next morning to fit in a trip to The Strip for some breakfast and Pennsylvania Macaroni Company.

This was in June. I guess pride all year round?

Meeeeeeat.

Yes please.

This is the Pennsylvania Macaroni Company, the finest purveyor of imported Italian (and sometimes German, British, Polish, Turkish, Indian, Japanese, etc. etc. etc.) goods. We spent approximately 15 minutes in here, and I walked out with about $30 worth of random groceries including Italian cookies, ground hemp for smoothies, curry sauce, and dried mangoes.

And then it was time to head to the race, which was held a little outside of the city at the First Niagara Pavilion. On the way out, I was told that Pittsburgh is nicknamed "The City of Bridges." I can see why. Here are only two of the 10,003 bridges we crossed over the course of the weekend:

And the race. 

I am kind of competitive when it comes to races - even 5ks - and so I was absolutely delighted to learn that after our weekend rituals of Bloody Marys, museums, martinis, and pizza that this 5k is not timed. I have no idea how long it took me to run this race, but I'm betting it wasn't pretty. The point of the whole thing, however, was to get beamed with spray paint. We did good. Basically, the race was a sort of "obstacle course" roped through the parking lot with volunteers waiting to beam you with bags of dyed corn starch. Towards the end of the race, you get to run through the ampitheater - up and down the aisles - which was pretty fun.

Temporary tattoo. Everyone else put them on their faces, but I had a work meeting the next morning and didn't want to take any chances.

After this feat of athleticism, it was decided that we needed beer, more martinis, and some post-race pirogis at Harris Grill. Delightful.

And thus ended our weekend in Pittsburgh. It was a delightful time and, as always, I was glad to be traveling with, if not natives, people who had lived there for some period of time and knew just where to go. 

And seeing all that Andy Warhol made me want to be more eccentric. But that may have been my vodka salad thinking.

Mac

After years of being a droid user, I woke up this morning and my phone was completely dead. Granted, it was so antiquated that the guy in the cell phone store laughed at it (WHATEVER, THAT THING SERVED ME WELL) and it did have one of those shift keyboards that made it extra bulky. I may have needed a new phone for awhile. I may have had to consistently delete updates because the phone couldn't handle them. Whatever.

Most technology I have was given to me in pity by my boyfriend. At work, as a communications manager for a nonprofit,  I am so up on every update, every new Adobe product, patches, social media trends, you name it...but in my personal life I just get lazy and don't feel like dealing with it.

I never knew I wanted an iPad until my Dad gave me his old one when he got a new one, and I fell in love. Aside from my nano, I've never been hard core Mac or PC or Droid or anything. But, dude, I really, really love that iPad. 

So, when it came time to buy a new phone, I kind of really wanted the iPhone but only because I love my iPad so much. So I got the iPhone 5. And have spent the last four hours playing with it. 

To be fair, I took a break to go see Elysium. Not bad. Entertaining. 

The whole point of this post was that I wrote it on my new iPhone. You're welcome. Siri, lets party. 

Sandance

The whole point of going to Dubai for the weekend, originally, was because we'd all bought tickets to go to Sandance. And although we wound up doing plenty that weekend, Sandance really was the culminating event.

A month or so before I flew out there, I'd seen that Florence + The Machine was slated to play Dubai. I saw F+TM open for U2 a couple of summers ago, and she is just as amazing in concert as she is produced. But not only that, she was appearing with a pretty fantastic line-up at Atlantis Dubai. 

Sandance is really an all-day event, but we went just for the night portion of it. Traffic getting out to Atlantis was pretty bad - it's located on the very outer ring of the Palm Island that Dubai is so famous for, and there is one way onto the island and one way off - a four lane highway/tunnel that was completely chock-a-block. We took cabs as far into the island as we could, and then managed to get out at Atlantis - but only because we happened to have a friend staying at the hotel. They don't let any other riff raff in, and the actual Sandance concert is located a half mile or so away on a beach. 

Atlantis:


View Larger Map

Because we had a friend staying there, we were able to take an open-air little shuttle bus from the Atlantis grounds directly to Sandance. I'm not entirely sure how everyone else was expected to get there, but I'm told that for Sandances past, a lot of people wind up getting out of their cabs and walking the rest of the way.

I should also mention that it was about 90 degrees, at 9 o'clock at night, with about 80% humidity. Which was actually quite pleasant compared to what it could have been, believe it or not.

I think tickets were going for about $80 a person, and there were options to purchase tables (which come with varying levels of alcohol packages), but we opted for General Admission since we only went for the night portion. The dress, supposedly, was "beach attire" for daytime, but it seemed like everyone was barefoot in shorts or dresses. Also, I'm pretty sure Sandance might have been one big gathering for every ex-pat in the United Arab Emirates. Either that, or a looooot of people flew in from out of town for the event. Sponsored by Toyota, bee-tee-dubs.

The main stage. And 40 bajillion ex-pats.

Drinks were an interesting process. You could buy your drinks individually, standing in a long line and hassling for the bartender's attention, or you could purchase a party pack. Which consisted of this:

That's two bottles of vodka, cranberry juice, coke, and Red Bull. Kind of an excessive amount of sugary mixtures. 

So, basically, I drank vodka and cranberry all night. With some Red Bull.

Getting ready for the headliner!

And...there she is. (On the big screen.) Amazing. SHE IS AMAZING. AND PRETTY. AND AMAZING.

At some point, it was determined that our cooler of vodka and Red Bull was not going to be enough to sustain all of us, and so someone purchased a flat of Heineken. It did not take long for all drinks to disappear. At this point, I think we wondered if maybe the bottle service at the tables would have been a better choice.

 

The concert was pretty amazing, but to be honest, it was one of those large-scale festival-type concerts with a lot of highly intoxicated persons and so the music sort of took second stage. That also could have been because we didn't get there until late, when many of the younger and less-seasoned but more-voracious partiers had been there since like noon. Still, it was a pretty awesome time, the music was fantastic, and the port-a-potties had bidets in them. No lie.

The end of the night got a little hectic as the whole group somehow got separated, but we all made it back to the hotel in various ways. Some of us more efficiently than others (a network of buses and cabs took concert-goers back inland to Dubai, but there was some confusion about which bus was headed to which hotel, and blah blah blah), but we all made it back safely.

And thus ended #ballerweekend in Dubai. As spectacularly as it began.