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

Vacation, All I Ever Wanted

I've been working hard all year for little or no pay. I'm finding myself exhausted and depressed pretty often, even though I do love working with the animals. I just find myself pooped and stressed a lot.

So, imagine my delight when Mrs. Nator said we should take a vacation. As is our usual way, she gave me a budget, and I researched places we could go. Then she upped the budget, and I gave a rundown of more places we could afford. We narrowed down the list, and I started to get excited. Maybe we could be on a beach for a week - even one with sea turtles!

But then she went away for a week. I told her to do it. She'd been unable to focus at work with all the crazy stuff going on there, shortly after her grandmother's passing. I told her she needed a week off not thinking about work, just relaxing and bonding with her mother down in Atlanta. And so, after much prodding, she went. She slept. She swam in the pool. She read by the pond. She went shopping and saw a movie with her mother. It was just what she needed.

And then she came back and decided that we couldn't afford a vacation, with our finances and employment (and the economy) all in flux, nowadays. Maybe we should just both take a week down at her mom's to relax, she suggested.

Her mom's is nice. But it is not really a vacation. Her mom and I love each other, but it is still her house. We still would be guests of hers and her husband's, subject to whatever their schedule and car availability allow. And forget feeling comfortable walking around scantily dressed, much less having any real couple time, with both Mrs. N's mom and the rather conservative stepfather in the house. Yes, it may be considerably more relaxing than staying in Brooklyn. A vacation? Not so much.

So, I am disappointed. So disappointed, I feel a little sick. I knew realistically that we shouldn't spend the money, and was surprised when Mrs. N even suggested it. I know that most people I know aren't even fortunate to be going on a vacation this year, much less those who are students. Still, I spent several weeks researching and planning, and I got my hopes up. Now I am sad, and I'm not sure how to readjust my expectations, however realistic and sane it may be to do so.

Moreover, I don't want to get Mrs. N all stressed out again by pouting and whinging about something I know it would be unwise to spend our money on, anyway, especially since she is the breadwinner of the family, now. But I kind of can't help it. I don't even know how to face my next semester, where my schedule and classes are going to be considerably harder than this year, without getting some quality relaxation time.

Perhaps vacation is just a state of mind, and I should be able to have one right in my living room. But I'm not feeling it.

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!

For God's Sake, People - Keep An Eye On Your Pets!

I'll be the first to tell you I'm not always the best pet parent. I get annoyed by the cats' neurotic behaviour, Mrs. Nator and I put off cleaning the litter or aquariums for too long, and I get frustrated at not being able to get our female turtle to nest. But some of the terrible conditions I have seen in my first couple weeks at the vet hospital could have been prevented by some very basic attention.

The main thing I want to tell people is, look over your pets! This means running your eyes and hands over them from stem to stern, if not every day, then at least a couple times a week. Get to know how they look and act normally, and if that changes, make sure they aren't sick! We had the sweetest kitty ever in the other day. She was 15 years old and had never been fixed. Somehow, her people claimed not to have noticed the chain of mammary tumours, some a good deal larger than golf balls and oozing, running down her tummy. How did they not notice this?! What's more, if she'd been fixed, this probably would not have happened! This poor elderly feline ended up having major surgery - excavating growths from the entire front of her torso, plus the removal of two rotten teeth. Afterwards, she was still as sweet as ever - purring and stumbling over to be scratched. But she would have been far less traumatized and in pain had this been caught earlier.

Another thing I need to advocate is crates for puppies. Many people think they are unnecessary and maybe even cruel. They think of them as dog prisons that their pets see as punishment. But crates are only punishment if you make them so. In truth, they can be safe spaces for your pet where he or she can feel cozy, take breaks and stay out of trouble. All you have to do is make them an inviting place to stay and train the dog to think of the crate as his or her special space. In the case of puppies, if you are not able to watch or have them watched 24 hours a day, this is extremely important. Just the other day we had two adorable puppies in. One had been in a couple weeks before for eating an entire pack of cigarettes! After some emergency care and nursing, he was released in a few days, only to come back in a few days later after eating a package of allergy medicine! Apperently, the first episode was not enough for the owners to puppy-proof their house. I wonder if anyone told them about crates.

The second puppy is an even sadder story. The owners reported that they came home to find he had somehow knocked the television over on his head and lain unconscious and convulsing for some time. What a horrifying homecoming! The dog had irreparable brain damage, and had to be euthanized. My heart aches for both the puppy and its people, knowing that if he had been crated while alone in the house, this would not have happened.

I'm not telling these horror stories to make anyone feel bad. As I noted, I, like everyone else, am ignorant of some things and make mistakes with my pets. I just want people to know that there are a few simple things they can do to help insure their animals' health. And if we love them like they love us, isn't that the least we can do?

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.

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.

Please Pardon The Interruption

What kind of idiot mutilates herself with a granny cart?

I have a giant hole in my leg!

I am so behind on everything in school I am never going to catch up!

The universe is trying to tell me that I made a mistake in going back to school!

I don't WANT to have to go back to doing computer work to make enough money!

I don't deserve anything better!

I am a failure! And unlovable!

It's NOOOT FAAAAAIRRRR!!!

WAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!

Sigh.

Well. I wonder if that got it out of my system?

Well, Then.

So, remember how I said I was back from the hospital? Well, that lasted all of about three hours.

Yup, I took a nap and woke up with a high fever and my leg all inflamed again. I do not know why they discharged me, but I don't trust that hospital anymore, so I went to my regular doctor. He took a look at it and sent me immediately to another hospital, where he is friends with the director of the ER. Fortunately, this meant I was able to get in pretty quickly.

Long story short, I was admitted, tested and given many more rounds of antibiotics. On top of that, a surgeon was called in to look at my wound and, after making all of the disgusted faces that everyone seems to be compelled to make when they see it, he said I needed the stitches removed immediately, and to have it debrided. This meant that they knocked me out, opened that puppy back up, and cut out all the worst parts with a scalpel. Fun, fun, fun!

After that, it's been a few days of more antibiotics, wound cleaning, monitoring and Percoset as they saw how things went. It was not until yesterday, Friday, that I was finally allowed to go home, much to my relief (and Mrs. Nator's and Ma Nator's, who had come in to visit me). Now that I'm home, however, I still need a visiting nurse to come in every day for a while to clean the wound and change the packing (yes, packing - it's basically an open trench in my right shin about 7-8 inches long and 1-2 inches wide, and down almost to the bone, stuffed with loose gauze). Plus, I'll be on antibiotics and the occasional narcotic, as well as restricted movement, so I'll be out of classes for at least another week.

It's all so strange. Who knew a shopping cart could be so deadly? The good news is, I can walk - just not for long distances - and it doesn't hurt terribly most of the time. The bad news is, THERE'S A GIANT FREAKIN' HOLE IN MY LEG!

Not only that, but from what I learned from the surgeon, the first hospital did pretty much exactly the wrong thing with my wound (which - did I mention? - he compared to a "serious shrapnel wound"). Stitching it up tight and sending me home without making sure I was on antibiotics - then, later, discharging me after one night and keep thing the stitches in - made everything work. Now we have to talk to a lawyer friend and consider taking some action, which is not something I'd ever expect myself to do, but CARNFARN IT, I'M MAD!!!

Ahem. Anyway, I'm back and all that, for now. Perhaps I'll post next time on Percoset, just to make it entertaining.

P.S.: Shopping cart = my new KHAAAAANNNN!!!

What The...?

Y'all, the last week has been doggone crazy. As if the unfortunate Cart of Dooooommmm accident wasn't enough, being out for that one day put me all behind. I think I did alright on the Intro to Vet Tech quiz, despite falling asleep while studying that afternoon and thus being late for class (no blue workbooks, though; I guess my dreams aren't that psychic). But then I had to stay up late that night to finish some materials I promised to design for my mom's art show, and thus ran late this morning, stumbling into Chemistry class to find out we were having a surprise quiz - O, Joy! I don't think I did very well on it. It wasn't that I didn't know the material, per se, so much as I was so exhausted and frazzled that I couldn't tell where the donkey should go, how significant those places between him and the f*ck-chain were, and whether his name was Kelvin or Celsius.

THEN I get my Chemistry homework back, and Yay! because I got all the answers right, but Boo! because the prof took 30% off my score for "lateness." So, I had to follow him around for ten minutes until I could get him to pay attention to the fact that I had contacted him the morning after my night in the freakin' emergency room, so it had been an excused absence. He said he would change it back to 100%, but I have a feeling I'm just another face in the crowd to him, so I'd better watch him like a hawk.

NEXT it turned out that there was a message on my voicemail that I could make my missed lab class up, after all, but ONLY IF I RUN RIGHT NOW TO THE OTHER BUILDING AND TAKE IT CHOP CHOP RIGHT NOW DON'T STOP JUST GO! So, I did. And it was... fine. Like being in junior high once again, really, including having the partner who seemed a little slow and thus I ended up doing everything while she watched and copied my notes, except for the one thing she did do which messed up the experiment and would have ruined our results, had I not gone back and doctored the numbers.

Are we having fun yet?

Then, it was RACE back to Brooklyn to meet with my pet sitting partner, who had been circling in her car for over a half hour with two little dogs, waiting for me to meet them. They are cute, but I am not convinced they won't gnaw my face off when I go to walk them without her. I'm planning to Shake 'n Bake myself in a leaf bag full of crushed dog treats, hoping that they will then decide I'm worth sparing.

Now I'm late to get to my mom's house before the massage she's giving tonight, so I have to pack and await a call from her. Then it's schlepping to New Jerseyfor one day full of hanging her show, printing her materials, doing some store returns and hanging out at some harvest festival for a few hours while she gives chair massages. If there is a God, there will be fair weather and funnel cake.

Finally, on Sunday and Monday, I have to catch up on all the studying I'm behind on, try to do some of the neglected housework, and let Mrs. Nator know I'm still around, as well as resuming pet-sitting duties.

One day, and everything's backed up. And I'm only taking three classes right now (well, more like 2 and 1/2, since the student seminar is a gut course of sorts), y'all. God forbid I get the flu, or something, in Spring, when I'll presumably be taking at least 4 or 5.

Oh, and now my wound and shot site are beginning to hurt pretty regularly, thanks for asking.

And my Mega Millions ticket was not a winner.

Sigh.

 

...funnel cake?

AAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRGGGGHHH!!!!!

School? Things are not going well.

So, I thought my schedule was all set. Not so, grasshopper. Once again, it proves that no one in admissions, financial aid or the bursar's office at that school knows diddlysquat. Oh, they may proclaim in loud, indignant tones that they know diddly and they know squat, but it is all smoke and mirrors, my friends. Those, and giant turds.

The bottom line is, after finding out in my first Intro to Vet Tech course that 1.) the way my schedule was set up would basically disallow me from being considered for the clinical vet tech program until next fucking year, and 2.) Intro to Vet Tech is probably going to be a brain-draining asskick of a course, I spent the ENtire day today trying to get things in order. I got a person with half a brain in admissions to override the glitch in the system that was not allowing me to register for Vertebrate Anat & Phys in the Fall II semester, even though I was qualified. Now all I need is one measly chemistry classes: one in one of three courses - that's seventeen sections, total. And how many seats are available in these classes? None.

So, let's recap. After months of misinformation and incorrect advisement, I've missed out on getting into the one class that will qualify me for the program. If I take the class after the Fall I semester, I do not qualify for the program this year. Which means, they took my money and gave me a spot in a program which has no room for me to participate. Rage, anyone?

I'm still working on my options. I had a sudden rush of joy when it looked like someone had dropped the course and a slot was available, but then it turned out that it had already been filled, and the online system was lagging behind. I'm still trying to reach the head of the science department, who I'm told used to authorize "over tallies", i.e. shoe-horning people into already full classes, up until last year, when she decided she wasn't going to do it anymore. I'm hoping that either she will reconsider once I tell her my sob story, or a bunch of people will get knocked out of the classes tomorrow when they do automatic drops for outstanding bills, and I'll get in. But if I don't? I don't know. I'm not sure it would make sense to continue going to school this year. Not that they're going to give me my money, much less my wasted time, back, for sure.

Anyway, please send me giant wooOOONNnnns of good luck for this, and tune in later, Natorettes. I'm trying not to let this make me question whether the universe is telling me I'm supposed to be going back to school or not, and figure I should accept that I'm supposed to be a desk jockey for the rest of my life. Melodrama! But that's me. Must've been all that Morrissey I listened to in high school.

Further bulletins as events unfold...

It's Not The Heat, It's The... Tornadoes?

I didn't want to schlep to Queens today in the 90-plus degree heat to try to sort out my registration issues. I knew that the guy who had been helping me with my loans was still out, and that the new head of the Vet Tech department, who I spoke with several times this week, had not yet been able to schedule another section of the course I need. Little did I know, the storms that briefly woke me up in the wee hours with raging thunder and rain would insure I wouldn't make that trip.

Although reports coming in to the New York Times, Gothamist, NY1 television and WNYC, the local NPR station, point out that there is no verification from the National Weather Service yet that one or more tornadoes came through Brooklyn last night, photos and calls from residents testify to some very-tornado like phenomena. That's right, large trees uprooted and flung tens of feet, roofs ripped off, a low roar like a train coming through in the middle of the night, and clear demarcations between blocks of severe destruction and blocks with no damage. In Brooklyn.

On top of that, rain upwards of three inches in an hour have flooded out and shut down pretty much the entire subway system, save one line. While Mrs. Nator slept in unusually late, commuters from New Jersey and Long Island found themselves stuck in the city, and subway and bus riders in all boroughs wandered, trying to find a running train or a bus not immobilized by traffic with space for one more body. It is a mess out there, my friends.

Of course, it reminds a lot of people of some of the other big recent crises when transportation and communication failed. Callers into local radio shows are complaining that nothing has changed since 9/11, as the MTA still neglects telling riders exactly what is going on, or makes announcements that are not only unhelpful, but unintelligible. When are they going to get it together?

For my part, it also reminds me a bit of that infamous day, because Mrs. Nator and I were both lucky. Six years ago I was the one who slept late and missed getting on a train before the event, and Mrs. Nator has made it safely to work beforehand. This morning, I had nowhere I had to go, and she couldn't seem to wake up on time. What's more, no major damage seems to have hit our neighbourhood.

Of course, it's still dangerously hot. As I listened to the callers from around Brooklyn complaining on the radio about what looked to them like tornado damage and the MTA's incompetency, I was leafing through An Inconvenient Truth. To my delight, the book was given free to every new student entering my new school this Fall as assigned reading. As I listened to weather experts connecting global warming with record-breaking heat and severe storms like hurricanes and tornadoes on the radio, I came to the section of the book that proved the same thing. In other words, it's not just New Orleans and Florida that have to worry anymore. The gangstas in the Boogie-Down better start rapping about whether they're tough enough to survive twenty-foot rises in sea levels, yo.

It made me feel slightly better that I had ordered biodegradable trash bags and recycled toilet paper yesterday. But not much.

 

P.S.: Best commentary of the day, courtesy of Gothamist:

Update: The NOAA has now confirmed a tornado touched down in Brooklyn. Forensic evidence suggests wind speeds of 111-135 MPH, making this about an F2 level tornado. Crazy!

Beware The Crankenmonster!

1. I swore they wouldn't make me cry this time. They didn't, yet, but it was close. It turns out that after months of telling me I had to get my financial aid status worked out before I could register, not only was the rep who was helping me out for two weeks when I came in to register yesterday, but it turns out that I could have registered before the aid paperwork was done. Imagine my rage and frustration, then, when it turned out that not only will my loan paperwork not be processed for weeks, but two of the core courses I must take to enter the Vet Tech program are already filled.

I can't take other courses in their place because, as someone who already has a BA and some grad work, I've already fulfilled most of the credit requirements for the program! Which all means there may be only one or two courses open to me this semester, i.e. I'd be less than a half-time student, not eligible for any loans, still responsible for paying interest and payments on my pre-existing loans and have to return to work full time. Da Nator is Not. Pleased.

My only hope at this point is that I will be able to reach the director of the program (who is probably God Knows Where during August) and convince her to allow my a spot in the courses. Wish me lots of luck. Groveling Hat... on!

2. On a much less important note, "the most beautiful thing ever"? I think not. While I think Mia Michaels is a great choreographer, if she hadn't shared the backstory that this piece on So You Think You Can Dance last night was about her and her recently deceased father reuniting in heaven, would everyone be crying and raving at the end? The piece was good, but nowhere near as wonderful as her Emmy-nominated "bench" piece from last year. To cap it off, Neil's extra-Caucasian one-note dancing drained much of the spirit out of it, and Lacey, who normally is a bit better at conveying emotion (at least outwardly), must have been brought down to his level, because she spent the whole dance with a precious, frozen grin plastered on her face. Let's face it, what everybody loved about the piece was the dead father, and possibly the fake flowers all over the stage.

Lacey has been mostly consistent and vote-worthy, but Neil should have been gone a long time ago. He has been getting by on his WASPY, non-threatening-to-tweens looks, rather than his dancing or emotive ability. Boo, I say, BOO!

Thus endeth the gripe session for the day. Now I'm off to try reaching the program director again, setting up some work ours with my pet-sitter friend, and moping in the most obnoxious way possible. Maybe I'll work on vacation photos tomorrow. Today, I'm missing Hawai'i too much...

technorati tags: so you think you can dance,sytycd,vet tech,school

Fuck. We're Back.

Fresh lychee breakfasts while watching sea turtles and tropical fish frolic from our balcony.

Snorkeling, snorkeling and more snorkeling.

Semi-successful sea kayaking (sure, we tipped over, but at least we didn't try to drown each other in a panic like one of the other couples).

Scenic hiking to a secluded spot ringed by lava rocks, coconut palms and basking green turtles.

Reeeeally good potato-mac salad.

SCUBA diving for the first time (with sharks!)

Sunset tropical cocktails at Don the Beachcomber's.

Frolics on scenic and secluded beaches.

Traversing several climate zones to partake in scenic views (mostly of cows).

Minor nervous breakdown while realizing one's own universal insignificance while hiking across a huge volcanic caldera full of baby Earth.

First helicopter flight - over flowing lava!

Approximately one squillion photos and videos of trip to go through.

Airplane breakdown and weather resulting in over 48 hours of travel home, including a forced layover in scenic Pittsburgh, PA.

Return to very happy cats and very stinky apartment.

Mrs. Nator's newly hired staff member emailing that he won't be able to take the job after all, as his partner has been transferred.

Landlords claiming that we will have to pay for damages to the drop ceiling of the apartment below due to a minor amount of water getting through the floor that they've known for years is hole-ridden subflooring that funnels any spills right through.

Trying to figure out if I'll get student loans, how to register on Wednesday and how the hell I can start making at least $400 per week immediately.

... any questions?

Chompin' at the Bit

The hotel on the right is where will be staying in less than a month, my friends. See all that beautiful bright blue water with brownish bits in it all around? That's prime snorkeling reef, with gorgeous fish, coral of several kinds and a family of placid green turtles.

Have I mentioned I am going mad just waiting?

Goody Two-Shoes

I am terrible at being a criminal. Sure, I sneaked liquor from my parents' cabinet a couple times. I went to a lot of clubs when I was underage and drank and did other illegal substances. But all of those were pretty much given to me for being pretty (shut up - I was back then!) and didn't require a whole lot of effort on my part. Actually, I'm pretty sure it was that lack of effort that left half the Haitian drug dealers in late 1980s Manhattan with blue balls. Poor Haitian drug dealers. Hi-yo!

Anyway, my point is, my life of crime has been negligible. There was the time when I was working three student jobs to get through college that I'd sometimes under report the earnings at the student lounge/pool hall by a couple dollars, so I could get a juice and some crackers from the vending machine for lunch. Horrors! The thing was, I felt terribly guilty and I like I was going to get caught every time. I knew that I was fortunate in that I appeared to be the last person anyone would suspect of stealing: a small, shy, lower-middle-class white girl with good manners and a semi-midwestern accent (my parents hailed from out there, even if I was raised in New Jersey). Of course, many teenage girls will tell you that's why they know they'll never get caught. But I genuinely hated doing it and thought I was a terrible person the whole time. Plus, above and beyond that, I was always waiting for The Man to catch me and stomp me down with the iron-heeled boot of justice. "I have terrible luck and am a terrible liar, and therefore, if anyone gets caught, it will be me," was my reasoning. It still echoes today.

Thus, standing by the line for the Rufus Wainwright show trying to sell my tickets was an alarming affair. It didn't matter that there was a geeky-looking kid of maybe 15 or 16 beside me who'd bought his tickets at the original rate of $40, and was trying to sell them for over $200, while I wasn't even hoping to break even on the $220 Mrs. Nator had spent on seats in the same section via eBay. The whole time I was sweating, and waiting to be accosted by the ginourmous bouncer at the front of the line.

Even getting to the place was surreal. It being one of those sudden summer weekends in New York where five million events were going on at once, the subways were full of a mix of rainbow-bedecked Brooklyn Pride goers, Puerto Rican flag draped Boriquas making their way home from the PR parade, and blonde tourist families in matching sneakers and golf shirts whispering to each other "Daddy, is that man speaking Hispanic? And why is that fat lesbian sweating like she's been caught in Singapore customs with a condom full of crank up her ass?"

Outside of the subway was more weirdness. Hordes of people surrounded food tents in Madison Square Park, supervised by far too many irritated-looking police than I wanted to see at that juncture. Then, just as I was drawing up to the venue, a mob of bedraggled bicyclists came barreling down 23rd Street, taking up the lanes with everything from tiny foldable bikes to weird, double-cranksetted contraptions about eight or nine feet high. This did nothing, I assure you, to make me feel more comfortable.

I suppose I could have imagined that, what with all this going on, little old me trying to sell a couple of tickets would hardly be on major law enforcement's radar. I also must confess that, in actuality, I'm not even sure this whole deal was illegal at all. Still, the first pair of gays that talked me down to $110 for the pair got the tickets, because I just wanted to get the hell out of there. (I just know the kid beside me was grateful to see me go. There was no way he was going to make a profit with the weenie with the air of desperation throwing better tickets than he had at people at a loss.) Besides, I had to get back to Brooklyn to get a quart of Italian ice and Mrs. Nator's anti-inflammatory prescription before the stores closed.

As I made my way home, circumnavigating stocky women plastered with Puerto Rico stickers and Gay Pride buttons and sniffing the rare sea-tang in the air from a front blowing in, I took stock. I got $110 for the tickets, half of what we paid for them, and $60 of which were blown on frozen desserts and medications within 20 minutes. Not so great a deal. If I had hung in there, no doubt I could have made a lot more. Ah, but the relief from fearing that I was going to get hauled in and ass-raped in the hoosegow? Priceless.

Progress!

So, things are humming right along here in Natorland, despite my attempts to sit on my ass as much as humanly possible. To wit:

• I believe I can tell you all now that Mrs. Nator is getting a promotion! For quite some time now - say, since she started working there - Mrs. Nator has been frustrated by [something that I've edited out by Mrs. Nator's request]. Over the last several months, Mrs. Nator, who was recently promoted to Assistant Director of her department (of three people, but still, they made a new position for her and gave her a raise), had begun to realize that in order to advance her career (and take the next step in her plan to RULE THE WORLD!) she would have to move up to Director and make more money. She figured this meant that she would have to leave her organization, even though she really loves what they do and the people there. Unfortunately, the Director, who, although a nice enough person, really was thwarting Mrs. Nator's ability to grow by... well, by being the Director.

  Long story short, the Director announced several days ago that she would rather be a second-in command somewhere and quit! In other words, Mrs. Nator used her crazy mental powers and manifested her own destiny! She will now be the Director, with an appropriate raise, and has plans to overhaul the department and hire new people to improve performance within the same budget. Go, Mrs. Nator, go!

  I didn't want to say anything before, because it wasn't sure, yet, and sometimes the board decides to fuck with things because they hate the CEO... and just love to fuck with things. But, although it's not a 100% done deal, the chairman of the board and the head of the finance committee have informed her privately that they will back her hire, so it looks like it will most likely be going through. Whew!

  Keep your fingers crossed, and then how about a hand for my honey?

• It's looking very likely that I will be going to vet tech school in the fall. I've got all my paperwork together, save my high school transcript (I want to see if there are any courses on it that will get me out of stuff like mandatory pre-calc...ugh) and trekked out to school today for an orientation session. Being a city community college, it's not exactly scenic, but it turns out it takes me a little less time to get out there than it did to get to my old job, so that works. Also, included in my tuition will be a membership with their decent gym and pool, which will effectively knock down the price several hundred dollars right there, since I won't have to renew with my gym. It's the little things, people!

  The major thing was, although it definitely felt weird to be the oldest prospective student in the room by far (I mean... far), I kind of dug the whole experience. Sitting in a sterile college meeting room, looking at the facilities, imagining studying in the library or sitting in the student café with a checked-out laptop... It all felt good. I feel trepidatious, but also excited about going to classes and learning and doing new stuff while being a student again. After all, there was a time in my life I thought I would be happy being a perpetual student. I think this all may be a really good thing for me...

• Not that I've made any progress in bringing in money. Shut up. It's my last week of severance and I started it out having a minor breakdown realizing that I couldn't get started on any of the freelance options I'd pondered or look at a job listing without wanting to puke. I just don't want to work, right now, see? I know, I know: who does? But I'm really not feeling it, lately.

  Fortunately, the combination of a talk with Mrs. Nator wherein she said it was okay if I just stay on unemployment a while longer (thank goodness for her raise!), my excitement about school and my excitement about vacation are making me a little more optimistic about the idea of working, now. Now that my goals are a little clearer, I'm more determined about working to attain them. Oh, and "what's that about vacation," you say?

• Mrs. Nator badly needs a vacation, but, for obvious reasons, we needed to set a strict budget. I, however, in all my internet-research wiliness, think I have figured out a way for us to be able to afford to go back to Hawai'i for around the same amount as the discount places we were looking into. And no, it doesn't involve doing a porn shoot. If it works out, I will be one seriously happy camper. Green turtles and helicopter volcano tour, here I come!

• Finally, I actually worked out today, for the first time in a few weeks. I know! And I think I might do it again!

And that's all the news that's fit to print, for now. More updates anon, or maybe I'll decide to write about something other than myself, for a change.

Nah.

Harmonic Convergence

I'm edgy all morning knowing I'm going to see my Reiki master for a session. As I've been going through months of disbelief in all things spiritual and scientifically unproven, I am nervous about what might happen. In the past it has always helped me and made me feel more expansive and attuned to the universe and myself, but in my present state I think that this was all delusional: wishful thinking in the face of a reality that is not so magical. Stressed into exhaustion, I decide to take a nap.

When I am awakened by the clock radio, it is playing an episode of Radio Lab called "Placebo." The program traces several kinds of healing methods that have been outside modern medicine:

• A man apprentices with Amazonian shamans in the hopes of learning their secrets and debunking them as charlatans. When they teach him a bit of a ceremony involving stashing bloody feathers in his mouth, acting as though he is sucking out an illness from a patient and spitting it out, he thinks he has discovered the truth about them. Through a set of circumstances, however, he is forced to perform the ceremony on a very ill European woman, even though he believes it is no more than an act. Miraculously, she is cured.
• Patients with Parkinson's disease are implanted with electro-stimulants to short out the part of their brains that cause uncontrollable tremors. The electrodes, when turned on, work. However, surprisingly, many times when a doctor tells them that the electrodes are active, their tremors stop, even when the stimulators are not, in fact, on.
• A scientist explains that every drug and medicine humans take already exist in our bodies. If our bodies and brains did not have the receptors for these drugs built in, he reveals, then imbibing them would have no effect. Therefore, if we could find a way to stimulate our bodies to produce and use these substances internally, we would never have to take medicine again.
• Believers in Franz Mesmer experienced what appeared to be real, involuntary seizures when encountering objects they are told have been charged with Mesmeric energy, even when the objects had not. Likewise, believers in faith healers claim to have been cured or freed of pain, simply through the power of belief and prayer.
• A young doctor experiments with hypnosis and discovers that it can cure patients of ailments that were seemingly purely physical, like warts. Finding a challenge in a boy who is admitted to the hospital with a condition that appears to be millions of warts covering, cracking and blackening his skin all over his body, he hypnotizes the boy and tells him that his right arm will heal. A week later, the boy returns. His entire body is still covered, except for his right arm, which is new, pink flesh. The excited doctor takes the boy to a medical conference, where a head of the English medical field, amazed and enraged, informs the doctor that the boy's ailment was not warts, but a congenital condition that is "incurable." From then on, the doctor is unable to duplicate his success with hypnotism. When asked why, he answers that he believes that hearing that word from a man he looked up to destroyed his confidence - his "childlike omnipotence" - and this loss of belief in himself made him incapable of making others believe in, and thus affect, their cures under hypnosis.

The program, particularly the part about the doctor's ability to heal being destroyed by a lack of belief in his own power, deeply affects me. Discussing it with my partner, I weep, explaining that I am torn between a scientific self that wants to be "realistic" and only acknowledge the tangible, and a spiritual self that misses having faith in animal communication, energetic connections, and powers beyond understanding and explanation. The scientific self wants quantifiable answers to life's questions, and looks in awe at the amazing changes doctors and other scientists have affected with their discoveries. The spiritual self acknowledges that there are still millions of questions which the doctors and scientist must answer with "I don't know."

If, for example, my animal communication sessions were merely psychological/emotional interactions between me and the human clients, how does one explain the cases where the information would have been impossible to impart through conversation and inference? How did the lost dog return before dying, the words of an epitaph or the entire layout of a house I'd never seen appear to me in detail? How did creatures with no capacity for complex verbal language as we know it change behaviours, even heal, after sessions? Just how far do coincidence and subliminal suggestion go?

I am excited yet fearful of how the Reiki session will affect me regarding this dichotomy - that I will be changed or unchanged, restored to faith or confirmed in "realism". After all that, the session is revelatory. My Reiki master knows me and the fears that limit me. After talking with her extensively and undergoing the treatment, I feel more powerful an open than I have in months. I realize that, although our modern intellectual society instructs us to "put away childish things" and views beliefs in omnipotence or greater powers as childlike, narcissistic and deluded, (except in, say, the case of a particular God - but that's another story), it is the very belief in such a power within ourselves to affect change that makes us capable of doing great things. In other words, belief can affect the physical world, and not just our perceptions of it.

When I return home, my cat follows and clings to me day and night. It's like she has sensed a change, feels a difference. Is it my imagination, my mood? Cleared chakras? Has something in me "opened"?

In the following three nights, I dream:

• I am on an island beset by both zombies and a "perfect storm" at the same time. However, by focusing my chi, I am able to emit blast of energy that repel both the hungry undead and the raging tsunamis.
• I am not one person, but two seemingly identical twins. Although both appear as slightly androgynous women, one is known to be the "masculine" one, while the other is the "feminine." However, they are always together, and take great joy in journeying together using their power: to fly.
• I am a crew member on a photo shoot involving models. The client is a wealthy sheik, and when he comes to visit the set, we are all told to dress in the traditional garb of his culture and act in accordance with its customs. I am extremely irritated as I am covered nearly head to toe in colourful fabrics, complete with head scarf and veil. The outfit reveals no flesh, but clings a bit to the figure - a combination of belly dancer and burqa. An assistant to the sheik passes among all the women - models for the shoot and others - and picks those that the sheik wants to join him for conversation, dancing, or whatever. He picks me and, fed up, I bark "No!" and stomp away. He and the director of the shoot follow me, disbelieving, explaining that it is meant as a "compliment" and that, even though it is not my culture, the sheik's ways should be respected. At which point I tell them, in so many cutting yet intelligent words, to kiss my giant dyke ass.

It would seem that I am beginning to realize again that there is power inside me - power that I have been suppressing for some time. It could come out as curiosity, imagination, joy, determination or anger. It is time, however, that it started coming out.

I have some important decisions coming up, and now is the time for some changes in my life. I must believe in something, and I can start by believing in myself.

Blah Blah Moooo de Mumble, Corazoooonnn....

1. Because I am being completely unproductive today (again), here's a quick video of the kind of "music" we are forced to appreciate several times a week, courtesy of the church down the block. Besides proving that I walk like a duck, this video shows just how bad it can get. Actually, I will say that while sometimes the singing is slightly better, it is usually louder. And it gets loudest right about when I'm trying to go to sleep at night.

Please, people - ask God to cure your tone-deafness!

2. Speaking of unproductive, please send me some WOOOooooOOOONNs of good energy this week. For one thing, now that I've actually figured out some local vet offices I'm interested in, I actually have to go there and ask if they'd consider hiring and training me. Yes, I am just jumping at that opportunity for rejection, let me tell you!

3. Randomly, I also need WOOOOoooOOOONNs for finding my second fram damn SD card. I want to go down to Brighton Beach and Coney Island and take some photos before the place is completely destroyed, but I seem to have hidden that memory card someplace "safe"... from myself. I don't have a lot of money to buy a new one, so if y'all could ask the gremlins in my apartment to choke it up, that'd be great.

4. Last but not least, am I the kind of person who takes satisfaction in another person's death? Let's just say my dancing shoes may need more re-soling than they did after Reagan passed.