Back? Maybe? Kinda?

OK, so the whole other blog thing didn't work out. I'm just gonna transfer the posts I had there below this one. So, if you're interested, keep scrollin'.

Am I blogging again?  I dunno.  I do have a blog for my business, which remains completely disconnected from my identity here because, hello? The Internet is full of spies? I mean, you know your next job interviewer/loan officer/dominatrix is going to Google you at some point, and then you'll have to explain yourself.  And also prove you're a U.S. citizen, change all you credit cards, and/or go on the run, because someone else now has your identity... and maybe your wife, too.

Anyhoo, mainly I'm just popping in because I'm so delighted to see FirstNations has been blogging again.  Not that there's any point in anyone else blogging once she is, because she's just that good, but... well, you know.  I'm always hoping I'll improve, or something.  Or maybe get all evil and leech on society and get lots of money. I'm still working it out.

Just in time for the holidays...

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Move Along, Nothing to See Here...

So, where I have I been? Working at the toughest fucking two years of school I've ever experienced. I will never make community college jokes again. Graduate school had nothing on this vet tech program. My brain is constantly fried and I am lucky if I have time to scratch my ass in between classes and studying.

I only hope that I am learning the skills and diligence necessary to be a good veterinary nurse. I have a feeling I will not stay in that particular profession for long, but I have learned more and more how important it is to be at your best at all times to provide the best possible care and comfort in a medical profession. Also, you have to be able to put up with a lot of shit, both metaphorical and literal. If it's not shoveling puppy poo, it's dealing with people so obnoxious you can't believe they haven't been killed by somebody, yet (and they may yet be, before long). One of my instructors seems to have dedicated her life to making people miserable. I imagine that once I get into practice, there will be the usual asshole clients, supervisors and coworkers. But once I graduate and pass my state exams, I will gladly exercise my right to fight back or quit if anyone ever treats me that way again. Until then, I remain quiet and persevere.

So, that's my life in a nutshell. Mrs. Nator is fine, still keeping out an eye for that dream job. We have a warm apartment and the cats and turtles are all as neurotic as ever. In a few days, we will have the first ever black president of the U.S., which is still amazing, even if we are mad at uncle Barry for Rick Warren.

Maybe I will get more time in the future to re-instate this blog. In the meantime, peace to you all and try not to do anything stupid.

XOXO,

- DN

Life Is Like A Roller Coaster

Lately, with my knee injury and trying to stay in school and find a new job, it's felt that way to me. My first memory of a coaster, however, is a little bit different than most. I've carried to this day a visceral but clear memory of in my head of the first "big kid" coaster I ever went on when I was probably no more than five. It wasn't a traditional coaster, but a toboggan that when vertically up a dark tube, then out into the sunlight and down and around in spiraling turns to a few gentle dips at the bottom. For some reason, the period in the tube, tilted onto my back staring up in anticipation, is the part I get visions of every now ant then.

That ride in Wildwood, NJ, is long gone, but thanks to the interwebs, I've found POV footage of an exact replica in Altoona, PA. Watch and enter deep into the recesses of Da Nator's mysterious psyche! (Or is that id? Apply your own school of psychology!)

What strikes me most about this now is how much it mimics being born. Seriously, you're put in an uncomfortable position, faced with an irreversible path into the dark where you don't know what will happen next, thrust through a scary tube into blinding light and whirled around in a vantage point you've never seen before. No wonder it's stuck in my subconsciousness!

That or, you know, it was just something I'd never done before and a very cool ride. Here's hoping your coaster ride doesn't malfunction and throw you off into space...

Testing, Testing

click me. click me now.

Is this thing on?

Not Fooled

Listen, airline customer service people. I expect my call to be routed to India. Even if the person on the end of the line speaks flawless English, I am not convinced he or she is in the United States. I only hope to get decent service. However, when the guy who answers has an accent that is like unto Apu in The Simpsons (only more unintelligible), I will not, for one minute, believe that his name is "Steve Johnson."

Okay, Feeling Better Now

Took a nap, a walk outside, saw the first crocuses poking up and had a good AC session. And I'm actually a little excited about going to classes tomorrow!

Until the next mood swing...

Why do I?

...stay up all night so I feel awful the next morning? ...take every mistake I make to heart and beat myself up for it? Judge simple, impersonal circumstances as mistakes I made or faults that I have? Worry so much about people disliking me, betraying me and hurting me? Shut out the fact that I am loved?

Why do we make life hard on ourselves? I've reviewed my issues and the childhood experiences I've had countless times. I've gotten better at taking care of myself, but it still does not come easily, naturally. Is it the personality I was born with, or how I was raised? Do you do the same things, too?

I know that most people do. Remembering that makes me feel less faulty and alone. Too bad my memory is so bad... especially when I don't get enough sleep!

Memememememememe....

Howdy, Natorettes! I've been spending my day recovering from what I hope will be my last 10-hr shift at the veterinary hospital for a while (not to mention my last viewing of a dangling eyeball for a while, which was a first for me, thank you). It's hard to go from laying around on one's ample ass most of the time to constantly moving for that amount of time, especially at a certain age and weight. The 8-hour shifts are alright, though. Or least they are now, while I'm not yet back in class. After that, whether I have to clone myself to get by remains to be seen.

Anyway, not having much time (or anything of interest to say), I'm finally getting to the 123 Book Meme Corn Dog tagged me for a little while ago. Here are the rules:

1. Grab the nearest book of 123 pages or more.
2. Open it to page 123.
3. Find the first 5 sentences and write them down.
4. Then invite 5 friends to do the same.

And here goes:

"Everything comes and goes
Pleasure moves on too early
And trouble leaves too slow
Just when you're thinking
You've finally got it made..."

Kind of leaves ya hangin', doesn't it? And do those count as sentences? Anyway, that's from Joni Mitchell: The Complete Poems and Lyrics, which I suppose isn't so complete anymore, since it came out in 1997.

Actually, my quote in my senior year high school yearbook was from Joni Mitchell. It was from the song "Black Crow" on the album Hejira, and went thusly:

"In search of love and music
My whole life has been
Illumination
Corruption
And diving, diving, diving, diving
Diving down to pick up on every shiny thing
I'm like that black crow flying
In a blue sky"

No, I wasn't no damn hippie. Just pretentious and full of passion hormones.

Now I tag First Nations, oneofhismoms, Qenny, Chaucer's Bitch (whenever she gets back from Sith Efrica)and Warrior Two. I imagine they will have disparate and interesting reading at hand. Now, do the meme and send it on to five friends or little Jimmy will die!

The News from Here

1. I officially got into the clinical vet tech program!!! OK, it was unlikely that I wouldn't, but that didn't keep my hands from shaking when I opened the letter. Next stop: Modell's, where I can finally cash in an old gift certificate for my first set of scrubs! (And possibly a Giants cap, for obvious reasons.)

2. Skype kicks Yahoo Messenger's ass, yo. I mean, I've been trying to get this VOIP thing going for months so I could record my AC consultations for my clients, and I could not stop my calls from getting dropped. First the headset was for crap, then I was afraid it was my cable connection. Now I know I just should have been paying the extra money for Skype. It's worth it to actually be able to hear both ends of a conversation and not have malfunctions every few minutes. Now, if I can just get my recorder to register both speakers at a reasonable volume...

3. I still don't have a job. But! I had two AC clients today, a follow-up on a web job, and a referral from a classmate to an opening at the vet hospital where she works. Progress?

4. I am disturbed to inform you that now I cannot look at my cats without imagining their skeletons. Unfortunately, my first cat dissection will finally happen on Tuesday. I think I'll get through it okay; I just hate the thought of imagining slabs of dessicated meat every time I hug my critters.

5. Tomorrow night we see Kathy Griffin! Woo!

Further bulletins as events warrant, y'all.

Did You Ever Have One of Those Moments

... where an entire song you wrote when you were maybe seventeen years old, but had completely forgotten, comes back to you in its entirety, and you think "wow, that was actually a really good song," but you realize that, although you could put so many deeper nuances of emotion into it now that you are older, you probably can't sing all that well, anymore, and maybe weren't as good at the time as you thought, either?

No? Well, then.

P.S.: I had a really intriguing job interview yesterday. As in, I'm beginning to think it might be possible to have an interesting job I care about while going to school to study something else I care about. Hmmm.

What I Learned In Lab Class

Behold the lamprey: not quite an eel, not quite a fish, not even quite a vertebrate. In other words, one weird-ass mothafukkin animal, my people. Damn.

What you see at its front is essentially an extended upper lip with nary a lower lip in sight. Lampreys are jawless. They sort of have heads, but you'd be hard pressed to find exactly where they end and the body begins (not to mention their brains are barely more than a cluster of cells). Their front ends are basically sensory organs with that big mouth at the end, which functions like a suction cup with teeth in it. They glom onto a hard-spined fish, stick to them and rasp away with those teeth, ingesting the fish's blood and tissues. Their tongues even have teeth on them!

I have stuck my finger into this maw - and lived!

Their skeletons are cartilaginous, like sharks, and they have both a nerve cord, which is similar to a spinal column, minus the vertebrae, and a notochord, an early version of the vertebral column which is much less rigid, and is now found in mainly lower forms and embryos (yes, you had one, too, early in your development). A bizarre throwback to ancient times, fossilized records show that they may not have changed in over 360 million years. Judging from the condition of our dessicated dissection specimen in lab class, it was probably among the first.

1. nerve cord, 2. notochord, 3. the eggs that become millions of little lampreys waiting to suck your braaaaiinnns!

My first dissection went fairly smoothly, considering the condition of the specimen and the fact that the scalpels in those dissection kits are about as sharp as prison-issue sporks. The lamprey was actually pretty small, so it's a stretch for eyeballs over thirty years old to see all the mushy parts, especially since doing so meant getting close to that smell. However, I did it, and I made a new friend in one of my new lab partners. It turns out she is a geeky gay white girl, too. In fact, she's so gay, geeky and white, she makes me look like Snoop Dogg. Let me put it this way: we ended our conversation by talking about the origin of slash in Star Trek fiction. For further research in lab: how did the idea of Kirk, Spock and McCoy all getting it on at once not kill slash in its infancy, if not actually kill homosexuality altogether? Discuss.

Do not try this at home.

After a long-ass lecture, delivered in an outrageous French accent by our professor (thank goodness I did the reading), I filled in an application at a local vet's office, and then went home to find my lab coat had arrived in the mail. Question: if you found out your animal health care professional had run around the house in his or her lab coat and underwear singing "(s)he's the one they call Doctor NOOOO PAAAANTS!", would you entrust him or her with your beloved pet? Does it help to know it was to the tune of an old Mötley Crüe song?

All in all, a very productive day. I think I'm going to enjoy this class. It makes me feel AAAAWL RIIIIGHT!

May Your Life Be Interesting

What do staring up at a giant whale shark, joining in with a sing-along in a nursing home, getting frisked in an airport after losing your i.d., getting scheduled for a root canal after experiencing blinding pain, purchasing a dissection kit, being called by a NY Times reporter for an interview and having sudden onset diarrhea on a mass transit train all have in common?

These are just a few of the things that have happened to me in the last few days.

I'm going to take a nap now.

P.S.: My cat has just decided for the first time in her life that she must watch me from atop the monitor. What is God trying to tell me?

P.P.S.: Please don't say it's "vote Romney."

P.P.P.S.: Go read Water for Elephants now. It will make you forget all of this kind of shit. Really.

New York Holiday

I turn off the news quickly after finishing my coffee. Benazir Bhutto has been killed this morning, and if the headlines aren't shrieking about that, it's a more local atrocity, or fluff about New Year's Eve champagnes I can't afford. I've got an appointment at a job agency for creative tech workers soon, anyway, and I can't be late.

Exiting the subway, I fish out my umbrella to fend off the oddly warm drizzle. Bryant park looks festive, nonetheless, with a Christmas tree, shopping stalls, a skating rink tent and a small but ornate merry-go-round. I'm rarely in this part of town, so I wish I'd left myself more time to wander and brought my camera, but instead I silently hail Patience and Fortitude, the NY public library lions, over my shoulder as I cross the street.

Some kind of meeting is taking place as I enter the agency, and my interviewing rep asks me to wait outside for a moment. I take off my coat, pat my hair, and check to see if my laces are tied. I should be wearing my good brown shoes, but I couldn't find them, so I ended up in the fraying ones with the recalcitrant laces. They're tied, but I realize just then that these work pants that I haven't worn for weeks sometimes unzip themselves, and my hand flies to my lower belly. Wide open! I sneakily yank it up, but a woman rounds the corner as I finish, and I wonder if she saw me with my hand around my crotch. I turn to examine a nearby print on the wall of a Scottish castle and pretend I was searching my pockets, but I'm sure I'm sporting a giveaway blush.

When I'm taken in for the interview, the rep seems very nice. I'm encouraged, also, that this is a small agency that caters specifically to creative techie types, which is exactly what I've been for the last eleven years. I'm beginning to have a little hope that I won't have to start begging the regular agencies for corporate receptionist work, when she cautions me that while my resume looks good, clients usually look to hire people for a solid week of day hours, an option which my two mornings of classes will not allow. I try to remain upbeat and tell her that I am absolutely open for late night hours, weekends and one-day gigs, if they get them. In my mind, I am already rehearsing the call I intend to make to a local veterinarian, in hopes he has an opening in his office, instead, as a part time assistant or just to update his mess of a website.

Back out into the drizzle. I call my girlfriend and she's feeling so sick she doesn't want me to go to TKTS to look for show tickets, after all. She just wants me to pick up some vegetarian soup. I decide, since I am in the neighborhood, to swing by Grand Central Terminal to see if the holiday light show is still in swing. It is, and I perch on a balcony overlooking the throng in the glorious, historic main concourse waiting for it to begin. While waiting, I people-watch. Mostly I see what looks to be groups of tourists, clutching cameras. I begin a game of spot-the-gays and realize it's almost impossible to pick out gay people in Grand Central, at least today. Is my gaydar damaged? Where are they? I briefly imagine my voice ringing against the marble as I shout out "where my gays at?" à la Kathy Griffin. Fortunately, the light show begins first.

The show is pretty, mainly kaleidoscopic light effects with music, but I find myself disappointed that there are no lasers. What's a light show without lasers? The setting is lovely though, with dancing stars projected over the famous constellation mural on the ceiling. It is even more fun, however, to watch the children who are watching the show; eyes bright, laughing, dancing.

Better get home to continue sending out resumes. I treat myself to a piece of chocolate and a book at Hudson News. It's usually when I'm at my most desperately broke that I find myself compelled to buy fiction I can't afford, just to have some escape. The book is about a young man in veterinary school during the depression, who ends up caring for animals in a traveling circus. It's almost as if it were written for me. I almost wish for a life like that, except I know it would be incredibly hard, especially as a woman. I glance up and see a poster for a new cartoon movie about "The Pirates Who Don't Do Anything." On second thought, that sounds more like my ideal lifestyle.

My mood is strange as I exit the subway and head out for soup. It's been a week of grey weather, and I've been alternately bored, wracked with fear and depression over job hunting, and filled with holiday spirit just by looking at our tree or outside decorations. It's almost a miracle I got all A grades my first semester, but I'm finding it hard to be proud of myself while I don't know what kind of work I'll find when, and everything is constantly in flux. As I head up the block I glance at the mini-yard in front of the house where the local evangelist lives. I usually think of the neighbor as a bit of a nut, as he has a giant, bloody cross on the front of his brownstone year-round. This time of year he also breaks out the lighted nativity scene, though, and I observe Joseph, Mary, the wise men and angels standing solemnly in the mist, grubby but steadfast. Suddenly, my pace falters as my eyes flick down at the manger. It holds just some straw and a sign: "please return the baby Jesus."

I know just how he feels.

Quandaries of a Privileged White Girl

So, the holidays are upon us. While I should be spending all my time looking for a job (okay, okay - I've started!), I am equally sentimental, hidebound and and premenstrual enough that I've decided to dedicate a few hours to making cookies.

Like many families, mine has a tradition of making Christmas cookies. My mother used to make dozens of dozens, filling large boxes full to send to people as presents (particularly the kids when we went off to school) and keeping plenty on hand to snack on for months. Sometimes there would still be some stored in the freezer by the time the next Christmas rolled around.

For a few years, I followed her example and would wind myself up into a tizzy of cookie making. However, eventually, she and I both realized that, while cookie making is fun in the short term, once you get past a couple hundred dollars' worth of ingredients and a half-day's worth of cooking, it gets overrated real fast. Neither one of wanted to have stress-related breakdowns over whether we'd get all the damn cookies done, or who burned what, or how to get them shipped in time, anymore. And so, every year we try valiantly to resist making too many cookies. Yet, every year, the urge to bake returns.

So, what to do? I want to make a few cookies - enough to make us feel cozy, indulgent and satisfied as we loll around over our break, despite not exchanging presents due to a tight budget. But which to make? When you have multiple kinds of cookies enshrined as family traditions, how can you choose just a few?

It's puzzling enough that Mrs. Nator and I are setting aside a particular time to talk about it. I happen to know that Ma Nator is making gingerbread and chocolate chip, and Sis and Bro-in-law Nator usually make pinwheels and ranger cookies, so those are out. For me, I think I'm going to set the rule that I am not going to make any cookies just because they're someone else's favourite. If the Mrs. & I can do without 'em, they're off the list. Also, we don't need multiples of particular flavours. One kind of chocolate item, like brownies, will do, as will one fruity item and one buttery item. And for heaven's sake, no kinds that have to sit around for several days, or be chilled overnight, or what-have-you, just to get done. Let's keep it simple, people. This is supposed to be fun and fulfilling, not a chore.

So, my short list this far? Brownies, macaroons and jewel brooches (a buttery cookie with jam in the middle). And possibly those white trash concoctions made of Saltines, butter, sugar and chocolate chips that my ex-roommate introduced to us. That's it.

Now watch me break these rules just because we "must" bring those pecan sandies and/or lemon cookies to Mrs. Nator's family in Atlanta, or everyone will cry and think we don't love them.

What are your holiday cookie musts?

Boo

Philly lost. Well, congratulations to all the choirs on COTC for working so hard and putting on a good show. I think everyone had a good time, anyway.

Now, let's go cheer ourselves up by playing addictive games to end world hunger (my highest score so far is 48 49) and making plans for Saturday.

Happy Eid al-Adha, everyone!

Photo-a-Go-Go

Two more of my photos got randomly picked up for schmap.com, a travel guide site. No money in it, but it was another nice surprise. The odd thing is, I think the pictures they chose (this and this) are some of the crappiest ones I have up on Flickr. No accounting for taste, I guess.

Anyway, this may just have motivated me to finally process the photos of Hawaii and NYC I've had on my computer for ages, and get them up. I may have a bit of free time, now that I'm on winter break.

Also, maybe I'll take some photos of the Messiah concert we're going to at Trinity Church tomorrow. Unless I fall over and injure myself on the ice and snow we're supposed to get overnight. Hey, this is me we're talking about.

Things Made of Awesome

Last week of finals, my lovelies, but I haven't forgotten you. Here are a couple little things to entertain you in my absence.

1. I love the National Geographic Atmosphere podcast. Here is one filled with faboo cinematography and surprising animals. Bonus points if you know the name of the first critter without looking it up.

2. If that's not enough for you, spend some time perusing American Science & Surplus. It's not just the fun products and cheap prices; it's the little drawings and droll descriptions that get me.

Stay warm, kiddies!

Habblthy Habbloweenthbl!

Oceana.org is having their annual Halloween Freakiest Fish Contest. While I don't think any of this year's nominees are quite as disturbing as last year's winner, the Blobfish (aka Fathead, see above), it's always fun to see some of the alien life forms our deep seas have to offer. So, go vote. I'll let you know who I voted for, if you tell me who you picked.

P.S.: For some more fun, freaky fish fotos, check out the links from this page. The specimens seen are from deep-sea expeditions, not the tsunami, as labeled, but they are certainly interesting. My favourite has got to be the spotted pink gunard. How is that not an Sanrio character?

Well, It Hurts Now

Just popping in to say that I'm back from the hospital. I was admitted overnight for a couple courses of intravenous antibiotics because my wound was infected and it turned out I had a fever of 103.6. Stupid broken home thermometer.

Anyway, being in the hospital was just a barrel of laughs, but at least my fever broke, and I got to get out today. Nobody wanted to be clear on how to treat my wound, and it was like pulling teeth to get an excuse note for school (again) even though they told me I'd have to take a week off. I'm off to see my regular doctor, who I trust more, this evening, in hopes he can make things clearer.

Later, Natorettes...

 

P.S.: While sweating out my fever last night, I had a dream that I met a couple including Mia Kirshner from The L Word and some random annoying guy, and I ended up having an affair with the random annoying guy. The moral of the story: 1.) Any dream about Mia Kirshner is a nightmare, and 2.) As Jenny on The L Word, Mia Kirshner is so annoying that she could turn me straight.

The End.