In Which I Whine, on 3 Counts.

Hello again, friends.  Long time, right?
I've been using the excuse of 13-hour days as a reason to stay sedate on my days off, so just back the hell off, right?  Wrong, maybe.
Because now I've forgotten how to write about anything.  I could tell you of my day.  Very exciting stuff.  Today, dears, was the 2nd day in a row, mind you, that a frightened dog *ahem* expressed on my scrubs.  Have you heard of anal gland expression?  If not, then rest assured, it's not something you want on your clothes, or a smell you want following you on your commute home.
So, maybe work is out.

I could wonder aloud why women are so awful to each other.  Back to work.  I'm spending these long days with 20+ people at a time, only 1, maybe 2 of them are men.  As a new person, you expect to go through certain trials, proving yourself and all that.  As a new person, you DON'T expect to be put through tests similar (I assume) to that of a sorority pledge.  Girls are mean, more often than not, it would seem.  Making me all the more grateful for my wonderful female friends.  It is these few personalities that raise me back up and allow me to enter a new week, once again trusting women.

Lastly, I could bitch about the boyfriend's man-date.  How he sees certain people more often than he sees  me, and doesn't seem to miss me at all.  He talks extensively about hanging out with a friend, never mentioning that I'm not invited.  It seems small, especially in writing, but it's my only day off this week and it would have been nice to hear that he wanted to spend that time with me.  He says he can squeeze me in for a couple hours, but, frankly, I'm not so into that idea.
Bitch, bitch, bitch, I guess.  But it IS my blog.  Where better for it.

How 'bout you?  Any new jobs, mean women, or man-dates you've been dealing with?  How's your week going?

In Which I Have a "Puppy Day"

For those of you not in the know, I got a new job.  Today marks my completion of the first, tumultuous week.  I'm a vet technician, which basically means I'm a nurse for animals in an exotic animal hospital in San Francisco.  I work 11 hour shifts, 4 days a week.  Add commuting, and you've got yourself a 13 hour work day.  It's long, is what I'm trying to say.  I am, quite literally, on my feet all day long.  Taking temperatures from fractious cats.

Side note: "fractious" has become one of my new favorite words.  It's a nice medical sounding word for basically saying, "That cat is an asshole!"


I've assisted in drawing blood, I get all the vaccinations ready, watch surgery and tooth cleanings, and all kinds of other small jobs that are beyond fascinating to Yours Truly.  Then again, I was also that kid who would stay in to watch surgeries on the Discovery Channel, and I still never pass up the opportunity to watch some program on parasites.  Man, that botfly is disgusting!


All in all, it's wonderful and exhausting.  Euthanasias are something I don't think I'll ever get used to.  You should know, pet owners, that once we've gotten the job done in a calm manner and done the best for you and your pet, we then collapse in back and pass boxes of tissues around.  It's not easy.  Not for anybody.

Yesterday was my last day of the first week, and also the first day there were NO euthanasias, making it kind of awesome.  In fact, I called it "Puppy Day," since ever patient was under 15 weeks, and little wiggly creatures.  Every one of them is happy to take all kinds of shots, if you'll just let them kiss you.
My favorite was a 10 week old Irish Wolfhound.  That calm temperament, those sweet eyes, it was hard not to just sit with him and sniff that puppy smell all day.  His mother came with him, as company, and I got an eyeful of just what this pet owner was in store for.  The mother was over 160 pounds!
160 pounds of dog!  She could reach the shelf where we keep the treats, and as my feet were pinned under her, I was more than happy to allow it.

Rounding the day off were Burmese Mountain Dog twins.  2 years old, full of energy and hair, and not at all happy to be at the dreaded vet's.  They were in for anal gland expression.  If you don't know what that is, count yourself lucky.  Very, very lucky.  The smell will linger, either in my clothes or memory, till my last days.

Beans for Dinner, and No One Got Hurt

Just a quick note here, since I'm knocked out by a severe head-cold and boyfriend's welcome heavy-handed use of whiskey.

I saw these today and nearly died of happiness.  It might have been the cold, but I think it was happiness.

That's right, Subtle Butt.  For those times when your friend made beans for dinner and nobody is buying your story that a rat crawled in during conversation and died right beneath you.


Subtle Butt: when you dealt it, and NO ONE smell't it.

Subtle Butt: we haven't had to blame the dog since 1908.

I Want To....

- Go to a concert that's entirely too loud, get deaf for a day, and spend the next morning in our pj's shouting above the ringing in our ears, drinking coffee.

- Get massages in the same room, sneaking glances, and giggling.

- Stay up all night, drinking wine, and listening to music, telling secrets of what memories each song evokes.

- Camp out, eating around a campfire and sleeping intertwined, reeking of smoke.

- Take a painting class together, and astonish ourselves.

- Go on a road trip, crooning with the radio, windows open, dog's ears flapping in the breeze.

- Dance in the rain.

- Have a thunderstorm, lose the power, and share a quiet moment.

- Have a picnic upon a checkered blanket.  You in a tie.  Me in a dress.  Both of us wearing hats, and lightly brushing hands.

- Spend a weekend in Vegas, lounging around a pool, sharing headphones and a playlist.

- Lie together on a golden beach, under a golden sun, staring at the blue, blue water.  Laughing quietly with the surf.

- Live happily ever after.

In Which I Love on Children's Stories ....that title sounds awful.

So, I've been reading a new book lately, The Name of the Wind, recommended by my brother.  It's a fantasy novel, which I don't tend to think of as my genre of choice, but I have been so pleasantly surprised by it.  I'm not going to go into description, you can read it for yourself.  It's a little bit of everything, and most recently it's reminding me of a Harry Potter for grownups.  Not that Harry Potter isn't perfectly perfect for grownups.  I loved that series.

Then, today I was thinking about movies I like.  And when I'm in a relaxed mood, not looking for anything too serious, I always go for children's movies.  Or those films that are somewhere in between childhood and adulthood.  Because (and this is a concept brought up in The Name of The Wind) they always have a distinctive outline.  Child faces danger and loses.  Child goes into the wilderness to learn about the foe, and learns about themselves along the way.  Child often encounters wacky, outlandish mentor, and must prove him/herself.  Child faces danger again and succeeds.  All is well with the world.

There's something so satisfying about that formula.  I'm sure it's the last bit of it, but I also think satisfaction lies in the foe.  The danger is always immediate, not some metaphorical bit of nonsense.  It's a witch, or a bogeyman, something that actually can be defeated.

Then I thought about a famous childhood movie/tale we're all familiar with.  Old Yeller.
That movie was just plain mean.
Where the Red Fern Grows, as well.
I don't know how we're not all a little more psychotic having lived through those experiences.  To this day I'm kinda ticked off at wild boars.  ....and red ferns.

At least in my book, it's only the bogeymen he has to fight.

On How You Know You've Found the Right Man

Earlier this evening, the boyfriend received an email from me declaring: "The lady of the house wants ice cream for dinner!"
This was post-workout madness speaking (sorry Jillian Michaels), and since I didn't get a response, I assumed he allowed common sense to rule and ignored me.
A couple hours later, after I'd showered and simmered down a little, he arrived home with a grocery bag full of goodies.  Among said goodies were my 2 favorite kinds of ice cream.  "Because you said you wanted it."
My heart went all mushy.  But that might just be the cholesterol.

Well, She's No Bryan Adams

When did I first tell myself I couldn't paint?  That I am not a good dancer, lacking any and all rhythm?  That I am not artistic, aesthetics losing the battle?  Exactly when did I relegate myself to a boring life full of greys and browns?  All I remember is when I decided I couldn't sing.

I was 10.  In music class, our teacher would have us line up on these mini-bleachers in the classroom.  While we all sang whichever ditty (most likely, "Everything I Do, I Do it for You" by Bryan Adams.  Teacher had a real hang-up on that song), she would walk down the line and listen to each of us.
As class went on, she would point out the good singers among us, and ask the bad singers to stop and listen.  Most of the people she stopped would be allowed to start up again after hearing the talented choir she'd cultivated.
When she halted my spastic harmonies, she kept it that way.  Sat in silence the rest of the period.
About the 3rd week in, she testily asked me if I wanted to go to the principal's office.  I was so bad at conveying Bryan Adam's melodious sensibilities, she thought I was misbehaving.  She asked me to stop and listen to what singing is meant to sound like, and then proceeded to down some aspirin she had conveniently stored inside her piano bench.

Your father has a nice singing voice, too.  That's what my mum told me, as we drove about town one day.  It's the "too" that's misleading.  The implication being that among my many inherited traits, a vocal acumen was bequeathed.
Looking back, that was awfully kind of her.
Maybe she had a value size of Tylenol stashed away in the glovebox.