Day 2

Wherein There Is Trouble In Boo-Boo Animal Paradise

There was something of a surprise for me when I arrived at the vet clinic yesterday morning. Not only was the power on, but there were lots of new faces. Newly hired faces. One new vet and three, count 'em, three new techs.

Whereas everybody was very nice, I found this very discouraging. Here they'd been telling me how desperate they were for assistance, and acting like they were chomping at the bit to hire me, and suddenly here are all these new people getting paying jobs before I can even apply. That was cause one of my disgruntlement.

Cause two was there were just too many damn people there. It turned out to be a semi-slow day, and with the youngest assistant - a kid who looked to be a teenager, the size of a basketball player in baggy jeans, with a soft voice and sweet smile - jumping on all the much of the feeding and cleaning, I began running out of things to do. Not that I missed the mopping, and I still did a lot of cleaning, feeding, administering meds, etc., but I began to feel superfluous. I felt stupid following the techs around reminding them that if there was anything I could do for them or I could observe, I'd appreciate it. I did get to learn how to run the autoclave and observe a skin parasite in the microscope out of that, but pickings were slim.

The nice tech who often guides me took pity on me and got me to collating radiographs (never call them x-rays or you'll sound like a yokel!), and teased me when I got all in a tizzy because the "W" section was alphabetized in the exact opposite order of everything else. (Yes, I am a mess in my home life. This is just a necessary adaptation after years of an overactive perfectionism gland nearly gave me multiple aneurysms. You should have seen how meticulously I used to sort my record albums).

Later, she showed me how to take a heart rate, which, although quite straightforward, I nearly failed spectacularly. The sweet dog we were practicing on was panting heavily, and for the life of me I could not hear anything beyond that, nor feel her pulse beyond her chest expansion (I was also busy worrying neurotically that I was getting my ear wax on somebody else's stethoscope, which was a bit of a distraction). Finally, after feeling that poor dog up for ten minutes I found a spot by her armpit that worked. I still wasn't sure that I got it right, because the rate seemed very elevated. It turned out this was the same dog whose x-rays, I mean, radiographs I'd seen earlier and thought "I'm no vet, but something looks very wrong in the chest region there." Shortly thereafter, I heard she was suffering from some kind of pulmonary disease. It's kind of hard to be proud of my powers of observation when it meant that this sweet pooch was close to death.

After that, I got to observe my second anal gland expression (that never gets old), and had a conversation with the head vet about my turtles. I wanted to see if anyone there did exams on turtles, since I've been worried that our monster girl, Edamame, may be eating her plastic plants and is not laying eggs yet. I figured we might need to get her an x-...radiograph, but this vet said, "oh, you can't do that with turtles, it's blocked by the shell." I narrowly avoided giving her the hairy eyeball, because I'd seen radiographs taken of a turtle with impacted eggs just that week on Emergency Vets, but I figured that a.) maybe that took a special machine, b.) most vets are not well-versed in reptiles and c.) bad idea to mouth off to the head vet when I'm not even hired, yet. To her credit, she recommended an exotic pet hospital to me, saying she or no-one else there knew enough about turtles for me to waste my time or money there. She also came up to me later with some books on turtles from her office, with appropriate pages she'd marked with post-its, and said I should feel free to look at them and photocopy what I wanted. It was really very sweet, and I had to go and ruin it by snorting to myself alone in her office later when I realized I already knew everything on the marked pages, including the part that clearly said one way to diagnose impacted eggs in turtles is with radiographs. Smarty-pants me.

And that, plus the stethoscope incident, illustrates a lot about what I was feeling that day. I'm finding myself in a strange suspension between being smart and dumb, the new kid and an old hand. Many of the people there are younger than me, and have less formal education than I do, but they have years of experience in that field. I go there willing and eager to clean litter trays and do laundry because I want to learn how to do what they do and see if I want to do it. At the same time, having that teenager there doing essentially what I was doing got my invisible hackles of ego up. I'm a well-educated, smart woman who's been working in a professional environment for years, taught myself web production and design, and worked as a paid and respected animal communicator. I also happen to be loping towards forty. So, every time someone kindly asks something like "do you know what the normal average temperature range should be for dogs?" or "have you ever drawn blood?" I want to slam my head against a wall, because no. I do not know those things, and I feel stupid about it, and I'm getting paranoid and reading condescension (probably falsely) in your voice because it I'm a fast learner, really I am, and how can I not know those things but know that you can take x-rays, fuck, I mean radiographs of turtles, and feline chin acne is often related to plastic allergies, and canned pumpkin filling treats canine diarrhea, and something was sure the hell wrong with that dog's insides?

So, anyway, stupid and smart at the same time. I suppose it's the price of trying a new career track later in life. I'm just going to have to try to leap at chances to learn and show them that I pick up things fast, without coming across as frustrated and arrogant as the little voice inside me sometimes is. That is, if they even turn out to have an opening to hire me.

I had a pretty good talk with the director of the place again, and she said she'd email the head tech who handles hiring and training, whom I haven't met, yet, so I can talk to her about possibilities when she's in on Tuesday. I felt like a got a few brownie points when I asked if there was anywhere I could stash my bike if I cycled there, and she pointed to her bike behind me in the corner of her office and said that that was how the clinic started - she and her partner, the head vet, had met at a bike show. On the other hand, although she'd sounded desperate to hire me full-time before, this time she mentioned something about "summer openings" when people take time off, which does not bode well. I have enough to worry about considering taking a full-time position that would involve a big pay cut. To have that position be overly tenuous would not be good. She was still very nice to me, but I came away worried. Even if I do get the month of severance my old job's HR said they might give me (which surprised the hell out of me, and I'm not counting on until I see it in my bank account), I will need income fairly soon. If it's not looking probable that they'll hire me by the end of the next week, I may start looking at other clinics. And, in the meantime, it's back to trolling the Interwebs for animal-related office jobs more in keeping with my current resume, just in case.

So, that was the gist of it. I was getting tired at the end of the day, even though it was earlier than I'd left the last time, and rung up Mrs. Nator on the phone. She answered in the tiny, pained voice that says she has a major migraine before she can even form the words. When I got home after the long bus ride, I found her curled on the bare mattress in the dark, my grubby fleece robe wrapped around her upper body and over her face. I promptly flopped down beside her, shoved my face under the lapel with her and passed out. I didn't awake for several hours, and I missed going to a good friend's birthday party. Then, I got my period. Wheee!

On a positive note, I did get to learn more and care for the animals, including OMG-THE-CUTEST-L'IL-FURRY-BUNNIES, Y'ALL! Yep, three silky-soft bun-buns, two up for adoption, and one boarding. They are messy as all get-out, but so inquisitive, and you should see when they get their fresh lettuce and carrot greens, numnumnum...

Moreover, if I'm this alarmed and upset that they may not hire me full time, it means I care about it. I'm not saying a big part of that care isn't that I'd be mad if I couldn't make an easy transition right into a new job without having to hunt any further. But, I think I really do want to try working there, yo. Why else would I be so excited to get there, so anxious to be given a chance, and so shaken when I think I might not?

I may have found something I like, there. How much money is that worth?

A Word on the Pet Food Recall

It's been all over the news: huge amounts of pet food made by Menu Foods have been recalled after a number of kidney failure-related deaths were linked to it. Now, it has been announced that the key suspect ingredient in the food is wheat gluten, and it may have been contaminated with rat poison. Rat poison!

Let's step back a moment from the case at hand and the investigation of how it happened, and take a look at the bigger picture. If you are a concerned pet caregiver, it's time you learned what's really in most commercial pet food. Studies have shown that a great proportion of brand-name pet food is made of "food" unfit for human consumption. This includes not only any portion of the chicken, fish or cow you'd refuse to eat, but past-expiration meats, rancid grains, additives, and even the bodies of euthanized pets. That's right, in 1990 the American Veterinary Medical Association and the FDA confirmed that not only diseased livestock was rendered into pet food, but cats, dogs and other pets. Meaning that you could be feeding your cat another cat, or your dog could be eating not only a relative, but the chemicals that were used to put that relative to sleep, too. I know, disgusting.

Besides the dubious meats, the large amount of grains in pet food, particularly cat food, is not conducive to good health. Whereas dogs are technically omnivores with carnivorous leanings, cats are built to eat meat, period, with just the occasional bit of vegetable matter sometimes thrown in. Eating food full of corn meal and wheat is like you or me eating candy as our main foodstuff. Believe me, one of my cats would much prefer to eat Saltines and Meow Mix at every sitting, but I can't let her do that, just as I wouldn't feed my child Big Macs and Pixy Stix for every meal. Sure, there are some people who feed their kids that, but we all know that's not healthy by now, right?

Therefore, here's a tip: if you look at the back of your can or bag of cat or dog food and the first few ingredients say "by-products," "meal" - as in chicken meal - or grains, like corn? It is bad pet food. It doesn't matter how much you pay for it, or if the label says "Kozy Kitten," "Fancy Feast" or "Science Diet" - it probably comes from the same factory, and it is not good for your pet. Take a look at the recall list for the recent scare. You'll see everything listed from "generic" grocery store brands to the Iam's and Science Diet pushed at many veterniary offices. They are all pretty much the same, and if you read the labels, you can tell. The one uniting factor in this case is that the type of food was the "cuts in gravy" variety, and if you look at the ingredients, you will realize that most "cuts" are actually formed masses of extruded meat and grain proteins - like the targeted wheat gluten - that have no resemblance to actual carved meat and gravy.

So, why do vets sell foods like Science Diet and Iam's if they're the same as bargain food, and what should you feed your pet? The answer to the first question is pressure and money. There are a few types of SD food that are formulated for special needs animals like diabetic cats or dogs with allergies. Vets often stock these because they are the easiest way to get clients to feed their animals something vaguely within their pets' dietary restrictions. The important thing is to address the specific disease and offer a type of food that the caregiver will actually buy, because it is relatively inexpensive, readily available and requires no preparation, even if it isn't as good for the animal as feeding it higher quality food. Let's face it, most people don't want to go through a lot of effort to feed their pets, or spend a lot of money. So, this food fits a minimum basic need.

However, companies like Science Diet routinely pressure veterinarians to not only stock their foods, but to sell a variety of them. I've heard tales of vets who would not be left alone by major pet food companies. On top of that pressure, selling food can be a vital financial source for veterinary offices. Basic veterinary care is not a high-profit business, so if they have the space in the reception area, most practices will elect to sell food and other products. The clients buy the food because they feel it must be good, since it's in the vet's office, and the practices are not only able to furnish the clients with restricted diet food, but boost their bottom line with sales of regular food. The pressure to sell, therefore, comes not only top-down from the pet food industry, but up from the clients, who want the reassurance of having "vet approved" food available, and from the very monetary needs of the vets, themselves.

Finally, the answer to the second question, what should you feed your pet? As I mentioned, dogs are borderline omnivores who lean towards the carnivorous, and cats are carnivores. This means that both species should eat mainly meat. However, just like you wouldn't eat any meat you happened to find (I hope), neither should they. The food they eat should be reasonably fresh and healthy, just like what you would feed yourself.

Does this mean you should cook specifically for your pets, or feed them a raw or BARF diet? Lots of people think so, and blend raw meats with veggies and probiotics, or cook meat and veggie stews for their animals. But, if that seems too expensive or like too much work for you, you don't have to go whole hog. Other options include:

- Buying commercially-available raw diet mixes. These are blends of dehydrated or frozen veggies and vitamins that you mix in with your own raw meat. These can be found online or at premium pet food stores.

- Buying commercially-available frozen or dehydrated raw-food diets, like "Stella and Chewy's" or similar brands. These are basically like little frozen hamburger patties, only with appropriate ingredients. Just defrost in the fridge, and plop 'em in the food bowl - easy! They are available now online, at many pet stores and in better vet offices, like the one I'm interning in.

- Buying commercially-available canned or dry food that has good ingredients. How do you know they're good? Read the label. If you see meat, like chicken or turkey, first, then limited amounts of grains like brown rice, vegetables and fruits, with a few vitamins or supplements like taurine added, those are good ingredients. As I mentioned, the word "meal" is bad, as are by-products, artifical flavourings, colourings, preservatives or sodium. If the can says "organic" or "human grade," all the better.

Remember, even if you have limited money, there is enough of a range of foods now that you should be able to but something decent. So maybe you can't swing the 100% organic, yet. Try to at least eliminate by-products and corn, or meat "meals". Maybe you won't find them at your local mega-mart grocery store. Look online or at a local pet food store, and you should be able to find something.

As an example, here are some food brands I regularly feed my cats:

- Merrick
- Wellness
- Eagle Pack
- Newman's Own
- Innova
- Wysong
- PetGuard
- Felidae
- Evolve
- Natural Balance (yes, the one by Dick Van Patten of Eight is Enough fame)

There are few more, but you get the picture. I am enough of an animal freak that I'm becoming at vet tech, and I worry about what my "kids" eat. Still, my busy life and budget mean that raw-food meals for them are rare, and mainly I serve them canned and dry, bagged foods. But there are enough brands of this that are decent now that I can pick them up at the local pet food store - or our vet clinic - and know that my critters will be eating healthy grub.

The bottom line on all this is that, with a little bit of extra effort, you can not only help your pet have a healthier, longer life, but you can probably save yourself not only some extra medical care bills for them, but the panic of this sort of poison scare. If the food they eat doesn't come from one of the country's largest, anonymous plants and isn't crappy to begin with, chances are you won't find diseased chickens or contaminated wheat in it, much less chemical toxins or the former residents of the local pound.

Thus endeth the lesson. Thanks for bearing with me, and I wish all of you and your animal pals good health.

tags: recall, pet food, cats, dogs, listen up people

You know you’ve been home sick too long when:

You start to enjoy a nice “Airborne” cocktail.

You can smell yourself, even after a shower.

Your dreams resemble a Busby Berkeley version of Saw III.

The cats are like, “damn girl, you sleep too much, yo.”

Not having chills or the sweats makes you want to do a little dance.

Sunlight burns your delicate eyes.

You’ve watched enough episodes of “Emergency Vets” that you start contemplating checking your cats’ bowels and drilling surgical holes in your turtles.

Ha ha ha! That crazy Hobbes is taking Calvin to a land of dolphins in the clouds!

If I ever find that “Gypsy” who invented this “Cold Care” tea, it’s on, motherfuckers.

What the hell time is it?

Mais Non

Well, all flights to Montreal are cancelled due to the winter storm here. The rest are full until Sunday, so it looks unlikely that we'll be going this time. Not sure if we'll try to reschedule, as our time is limited these days, or just cancel. We bought flight insurance, but need to work out the details.

The good news is, we could go back to sleep after getting up at 4:30 AM. And I'm starting to feel borderline sick, so maybe it's for the best. Lord knows a few days just totally vegging out at home are looking pretty good right about now...

"Look How The Sky's All Silverrrr..."

If you get that reference, you are at least as big a goofball as I am.

Yes, we're on our way to Montréal shortly, Natorettes.

It should be cold, but pretty.

Ah, Romance!

Be good, kiddies...

Ooh, Ooh!

I missed the Muscle Cars pattern for scrubs!

Who knew medical uniforms could be so bitchin'?

Day 1

Things were a little odd from the beginning. I made myself late lollygagging due to nervousness, and ended up taking a car service to the clinic. The place was dark when I arrived, and it turned out it would be for most of the time I was there. The power was out on the block.

The man who let me in was a vet tech who wasn’t expecting me, but he was friendly all the same and started to show me around the place. My first task was to clean the enclosures and change the litter, food and water for the cats, both boarding and residents. There was the group up for adoption in the reception area, the crotchety crew in the cat room, residents in a couple offices and the group in the ill-named dog ward, which at this time contained no dogs.

Things kind of sped up from there. More staff kept arriving, and every one was nonplussed by the power outage. I was to receive several apologies over the day with the explanation that it wasn’t a “normal” day to start on, what with no x-rays, analysis machines, computers, phones or even lights working in the exam rooms. It probably turned out to my advantage, however. No phones meant fewer clients on a usually chaotic Saturday, and my acclimation was probably easier for this.

The majority of my time was spent cleaning: litter trays, dishes, surfaces and floors. I did more sweeping and mopping alone than I’ve probably done in the last year at home. If nothing else, it got me over the phobia I’d incurred when I slipped a disc while mopping. The physical labour was actually refreshing, and felt like I was doing something useful for a change, rather than sitting staring at a computer all day.

Patients came in and out. One woman brought in her elderly dog who had been seizing, and clearly on the brink of death. She came in shortly after I did at 9:00 AM and sat with him in an exam room all morning. She was still there with him when I left at 6:30 at night, and he was still motionless. She wasn’t ready to put him down, yet, and the staff wasn’t pushing her.

There were an unusual number of euthanasias for some reason. I counted at least four, despite the old dog lingering, and there may have been more. The clinic director apologized to me for it at the end of the day, saying it was certainly not normal, but seemed to happen sometimes during drastic weather changes. I was surprisingly all right with it. I’d had a fear of being overly emotional, but I was mainly just focused and busy. Interestingly enough, I found the same thing that I had when I’d volunteered at a cat shelter in the past: it was the largest male vet tech who was the most outwardly emotional. Several times during the day, young women half his size were bustling about taking care of business, as he paused to mourn over a cat he didn’t want to die. It didn’t stop him from doing what he needed to do, but it was arresting seeing a beefy man frozen on the verge of tears, while ballerina-esque ladies in lavender scrubs brushed by with just a glance.

I only got a few hands-on moments with patients, besides petting some of the boarding and resident cats when I had a minute. At one point I gently held a tiny cat, skin and bones, barely breathing, with one lost eye and the other closed. I was asked to touch her and make sure she didn’t fall off the table while they prepared an injection. She didn’t move, and I began to wonder if she would die right there while waiting. I gently stroked her and tried to send her loving Reiki. The large male vet tech entered and was upset – she was another one of his favourites, who had apparently been brought in after being hit by a car in the past. This time she was in to be euthanized. I thought they might do it right then, but apparently they were giving her something else. He took over holding her, and as another vet tech tenderly tried to insert the needle into her small, fragile vein, the kitty’s back legs came to life. Eyes still tightly closed, her body resisted, kicking and squirming, making the insertion difficult. I wished she could just die in peace. The insertion done, they whisked her up and into another room.

For a moment, I wasn’t sure what to feel. But then I realized, I felt that she was ready to go, and it was a good thing that she’d be beyond pain soon. From then on, seeing the euthanized animals gave me less pause. Besides, I had tasks to do.

Due to the lack of lights, many procedures were done in odd areas. An elderly dog, blind and mostly deaf, was examined in an upstairs, unfinished room with a skylight. Slowly, her person lead her down the stairs, explaining that the dog was still fine on the stairs at home, and they didn’t want her to get used to being carried. “You’re amazing, Martha!” the head vet encouraged, as, wheezing and shaking, the dog reached the bottom. It took several minutes for them to coax her down the hallway. She kept expecting another stair step.

A tiny Yorkie puppy was examined at the communal lunch table, where it was bright. The vet would look from the puppy’s tiny face up at me and whisper “she’s so cute," while I munched my cookie. An old German Shepard was laid down in the middle of the floor in the back room, while his person, three vet techs and no less than two vets at a time observed him. He had recently had a tumour removed, and they were checking the wound. While they were there, his person mentioned he had a constant erection. Everyone gathered around to see what the cause was, and whether his glans could be retracted. He maintained the sweetest look of puzzled surrender throughout, a big, former athlete with gray fur on his muzzle. When the problem was fixed, there was the natural joking as a younger vet complimented the head vet, saying she couldn’t have done it. “If we chose by sexual preference, you’d be much more experienced with the area than I am,” was the rejoinder.

Another animal went through some genital changes, the first surgery I’ve ever seen in person. A simple neutering procedure, this one went awry as the aptly named “Snip-Snip” went ballistic on the table. Unable to use the mask, the techs placed him, hissing and twisting, into a plastic box, then inserted a tube to administer the anaesthesia. There was a sudden moment of concern when he began a repetitive, spastic moaning while going under, accompanied by a leg twitch. They hauled him out, and tried the mask again. This time he was fine within a moment, fully out, tongue protruding pinkly.

The neutering was fast and surprisingly a bit violent. (Gentlemen, cover your ears.) At first, it went quickly. The vet made a small incision in the scrotal sac with a scalpel head, and with a quick squeeze, the testicle plopped out with an almost audible pop. As a second vet observed, however, it seemed that the cat’s unusually large balls and penis, along with some tough ventricles, were posing a problem, and I found myself blanching a little as the vet pulled and pulled to get things disconnected. By this time, my view was partly obscured, and I was also looking at the cats in the cages through the window, wondering what they could see of all this. The yanking apparently finished, the operating vet began to tie the tubes in a knot, prompting a conversation with the other vet about how this technique worked better for her than sutures, and neither of them could get the method taught in school to work right. Snip Snip’s parts were shoved back in, his claws clipped, and within a few minutes he was partially awake and stumbling around angrily in his cage. By the time his person came to get him a couple hours later, he was back in fighting form, and rightly pissed off. The largest vet tech had to close the area door and herd him into his carrier with a towel. You go, Snip Snip. Stay bad.

Near the end of the day the power came back on, and I could stop hand-washing dishes and start doing laundry. The towel and blanket pile could have rivaled a small hotel. By then, it was also time for the evening feeding. So, now that I’d been shown how to read their feeding charts, I was able to take care of most of them, including special diets and medicines that went into food, although the pills and shots would be left to the techs. It actually took close to two hours to take care of everybody, in-between other tasks. After that, there was one more mopping, one more load of laundry, and I was ready to head home. As I bought some cans of cat food at the counter, the young receptionist gave me a discount, and then said “oh, you’ll get a bigger discount when you work here. The director said you’ll be starting, soon, right?” I hope this meant I made a good impression.

During the slow rush-hour bus ride home, I took stock. My feet were very sore, I was tired, and extremely hungry (I hadn’t known there was no lunch break, and that we all were to graze when we had a few minutes). However, although I knew I’d be tired and a bit sore the next day, it was nothing as bad as I’d feared, used to sitting my fat ass in an office chair for hours on end. And yes, I felt a little like a peon, having done mostly cleaning all day, and only handling animals intermittently. But I felt good, as well. I had helped animals and the people who treat and love them, if even in a small capacity, and I had started to learn. It was enervating, exhausting, and felt like a day well spent.

Day two will come in two weeks, after I’m back from my vacation, and right around the time I start training my replacement at my current job. I’m looking forward to experiencing a “normal” Saturday with rounds, x-rays and full treatments. I’m interested to talk to the resident massage therapist about the hydrotherapy treatments, the vet who’s studying acupuncture to whom I outed myself as a former animal communicator, the vet who had to see a patient in the middle of our conversation about her vet training on a Caribbean island. I want to learn more from the big, sensitive tech, the efficient one who’s planning on becoming a vet, and the kind one who, after ten years, is not sure what she wants to do next. Most of all, I’m looking forward to learning more about myself, and to helping the animals. This may be the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

I Don't Want No Scrubs

Well, actually, I do, because tomorrow is my first day at the vet clinic! Whoopitty-kai-ai-yay!

Of course, I'm nervous. I want to do a good job, but I know I've got a lot to learn. I'm also not used to being on my feet all day, so that will be different.

The pressure is somewhat on because I've wanted to try working with animals for years, and I'm really hoping this will turn out to be something I like and I'm good at. Of course, it can't be too hard, because they're training a 16-year-old the day after me. But, if I do end up liking it, it would be a little humiliating if I wasn't better at it than a 16-year-old. I'm not looking for being a volunteer forever; if I enjoy it, I'll want to aim for a paid position, and probably some further education.

All that said, I can't let myself psyche myself out about it, especially since I'm sure the first few days, at least, will consist mainly of cleaning up poop, piss, blood and vomit. The good part about this is, now I can use this fact to both as an excuse to pawn off cleaning the kitty litter at home to Mrs. Nator, and distract myself from my nerves by asking "what in the world am I going to wear?"

T-shirts and jeans will do at first, but if I plan on staying awhile, and I want something that both gives me an air of professionalism and washes out easily, I'll have to get some scrubs. Now, we all know your basic blue or green plain scrubs, and those are fine, especially at $10 a pop, but it gets boring. That's when a young girl's fancy turns to specialty scrubs!

1. NFL Scrubs. These have got to be my first choice. They're a little more interesting than plain scrubs but, because although I'm a chick, I'm also a big, fat dyke, there's a whiff of testosterone about them. The model pictured is the Steelers, but you know I'd have to get the NY Giants version, dude.

2. Striped or colorblock scrubs. The next step up in simple, yet a bit more interesting than plain scrubs. The colorblocks are made by Dickies, which makes me think that, actually, I could just get a bunch of Dickies work shirts. Being a lesbian, I've already worn them frequently and know they look good on me. As a bonus, they have collars, chest pockets and come in color blocks, too (see fig. 2c).
fig. 2a

fig. 2b	fig. 2c

3. Geek-boy prints. Yes, there are all kinds of prints out there, from cuddly cartoon kittens and victorian florals to American flags and giant, neon polka dots. But why wear those when I can wear Retro X-Men or Marvel heroes scrubs? And yes, flames. Perhaps less nerdy than an embroidered Starfleet insignia, but less potentially offensive than an iron on of Ratfink or The Cramps. Hmm. Come to think of it, I could just get plain scrubs and fire up the jet-printer with some iron-on paper...

4. Hawaiian shirt-inspired prints. Although I don't like the girly foo-foo florals, I have been known to wear retro Hawaiian shirts, and I really have been in love with Hawaii since I visited. The key is to either not go too loud, or just go so over the top that it's visually offensive.

6. And finally, there are the... specialty prints. Yes, these include everything from safari animals and fur-pattern prints to NASCAR and African Kente-cloth morifs. But really, even if you can pass up the "Geishas & Swans" or the... uh, "Disco Witches" patterns, how can you turn down the "British Babes" on Vespas, or the perfect marriage that is "Choppers and Palms"? (I know which ones First Nations would recommend.)

Oh, and fine. Just for the days I do feel girly, Hello Kitty in a kimono. So sue me.

What do you think I should wear?

Howdy, Natorettes!

Thanks for all the comments on my latest update. Let's see if I can answer some of your questions.

Yes, I am excited about trying out working at the vet clinic. I've been thinking of switching to working hands-on with animals for a while, and this looks like a really nice place to start. The clinic is an easy bus ride from my home, has a warm feel, and everyone there seems very friendly and progressive. The ladies who started the place are a gay couple - one is the head vet, and the other is a clinical social worker, who runs the office and also special programs like counselling and groups for people with chronically ill animals, etc.

As soon as you walk into the place, you can see it's different, too. There are big windows and blonde wood in the reception area. Parts of the walls are restored, weathered brick, and instead of the usual IAMS or Science Diet on the shelves they stock human-grade, organic and holistic foods, cat litter, etc., all at reasonable prices. Also in the reception area are several stacks of cat housing where cats up for adoption through their shelter program are sleeping, playing, or haughtily staring at the passing dogs.

The vet we saw was super-nice, and into holistic treatments, as well. She prescribed Feliway and a nutritional supplement that is calming for cats, rather than anti-depressant drugs, and gave us free samples of enzymatic treats that help clean kitties' teeth for us to try. She mentioned that she was studying acupuncture for animals, and we got into a fun conversation about what modalities you could use for turtles - acupressure? Far-infrared, ultrasound or lasers? All of these are good signs that this would be a place I might fit in.

As for getting full-time employment as a vet tech, from what the manager (the social worker) said, there's a big shortage of vet techs in NYC. I would imagine this is partially because it is a relatively low-paying job, especially for those living in an expensive city. It's also a job that can be dirty, exhausting and emotionally difficult, as well as meaningful and fun. The upside to all this is doing something you care about and having 4 day work weeks, at this place.

I have to say the manager's and vet's desperation was a little scary, if reassuring in terms of the chances of me getting hired for pay down the line. In another market, vets might be more choosy about wanting to hire people who've already been through vet tech schools (usually a two-year accreditation) or had on-the-job experience. In this case, however, my showing up and showing immediate interest, along with having some experience as a shelter volunteer, was enough to have them practially begging me to start. (I didn't mention the animal communication work I did. I'm not sure how that may come up or apply, later, but it's not what I'm looking to do, right now.)

Anyway, I'm excited enough that I'm going to see if I can get started this weekend. Everybody put on your propeller beanies (or share FN's) and send me wwOOooo-wOOOoonns for good luck!

Now in answer to FN's questions:

i am also proud to be a Natorette. do we have a song? what about a pledge? i think we should have a beer volcano too.

I think these are capital ideas. Considering my affection for both volcanos and the Flying Spaghetti Monster, a beer volcano is a must. Also, you will all wear propeller beanies, whereas I get my official Napoleonic Pyrate Newspaper Hat. Which is fitting, because I just figured out how to burn pirated movie torrents to DVD. The Cap'n would be proud.

As for a pledge and/or song, I haven't had time to work on those, but suggestions are welcome. References to lesbianism, cats, Mrs. Nator, Brooklyn, football, geekery and chocolate are all highly suggested. I do, however, think that the perfect anthem might already have been created right here.

Bye, kids! See ya real soon!

Ca Plane Pour Moi

Greetings, Natorettes. Let's catch up on what's been going on in Natorland, shall we?

1. We're not sick anymore! First I had a lingering stomach bug, then Mrs. Nator got it. Thank goodness that's over.

2. Our bathroom is mostly done! It's not exactly as we'd like it: our landlords installed bone white tiling and then painted the new walls and trim in blinding white, so it clashes. They're also insisting it should stay that way, using the excuse that it's "authentic to the period of the building." This is silly, as not only do we have a clause in our lease saying we can paint, but according to catalogues I've seen of era bathrooms (around 1906), they usually had white tiling but different coloured walls. Let's face it, if they wanted it to be authentic, they wouldn't have put in sheetrock or cheap new fixtures and the paint would have had lead in it.

We don't have the energy to contest it, anyway. We're just glad everything seems to work. We'll spruce it up with some nice accessories and leave it at that.

3. My job situation is changing! I had a good talk with my boss, and it looks like they'll have someone new ready for me to train within the next two or three weeks. She'd be happy to be a reference for me and so forth, so all is good on that front. However, as you all know by now, I'm not entirely certain if I want to transfer right to another website job. So, I'm taking a couple different approaches.

In the first approach, I've bought a bunch of web-software related books to update my skillz and am working on an online portfolio. This covers things if I decide I should get a job or temp in this area, once I'm a bit over the burnout of my current occupation. (And let's face it, I'm burned out. What Web Producer worth her salt doesn't realize her blog is appearing strangely on FireFox for months, and still doesn't have the entergy to fix the formatting on her comments page?)

In the second, I spoke to some folks at the awesome new veterinary clinic we took The Schmoo to (she's fine, BTW, just has a little OCD that's making her lick her belly bald), and it looks like I'm going to start interning there in a couple weeks. The head of the clinic said that if it all works out they are definitely looking to hire vet techs, so if I like it and they like me, it may have been the easiest job interview I've ever had.

Ms. Nator is very excited about the vet clinic position. She loves the vibe at the place and is really hoping I will find this new direction makes me happy. I am cautiously optimistic, on my part - very cautiously. I'm glad I'm going to try it out and see what's what, though. The only problem will be if HR at my old job tries to dick me over regarding my unemployment, but I'm hoping that after my discussion with my boss where she said expressly that she would advocate for me with them, that won't happen.

4. Lastly, we're taking a little vacation! Yes, this is probably very financially irresponsible, considering my present employment situation. But, we both need it badly and hey, we'd just about paid off our credit cards, anyway, so away we go.

I wanted to go to a nice, warm beach somewhere, but time and monetary restraints ruled that out. As for going somewhere close to the city, it's just as expensive as going elsewhere in the U.S., if not more so, so we're off to Montréal for four nights in a couple weeks. Yes, it will be cold, but we got an excellent deal on a great hotel, and Mrs. Nator says she will probably want to spend a good amount of the trip lolling in bed, soaking in a jet-tub, getting massages, etc. She's never been, but I remember from my visit there in high school, that when I wasn't drunk or performing in a singing competition (or both), it's a very nice city, with a European feel to some parts of it. I think it will be a nice little getaway, both as a stress reliever for her, and a transitory cushion for me to temporary unemployment. Also, I can start saying everything in an outrageous accent. Zout alors!

So now you know what I've been up to during the radio silence around this blog. Now I can get back to posting stupid commentary and silly pictures!

Groan

I don't think I'll be getting a Thursday Thirteen up today, friends. I think I pushed it too much yesterday, because I'm sick again today. I did make it in to work, but I was afraid I was going to lose my breakfast toast on the subway. The only reason I didn't turn around and go home was I knew the contractors would have my bathroom disabled until later this evening. At least here I can fall out in the nurse's office, if I must. (Yes, we have a nurse's office at my job. You never know when a stagehand is going to get beaned by a piece of scenery or an elderly patron is going to have a heart attack.)

Where I should be right now.

If I still had my own office with a door I'd be lying on the floor with the lights off right now. But, I must... soldier on... somehow. For the children...

Mmm. Comfy wristwrest makes nice pillow.

Fun With Home Repair

Since I was home sick yesterday, I got to experience first-hand what the contractors are doing in our apartment (and, by sound, what they’re doing to our downstairs neighbours’ apartment, too).

They were supposed to be there at 8:00 am and leave at 5:00 pm with a functioning bathroom (i.e. one in which we could use the toilet and shower) in their wake. They didn’t show until around 10:00, which was fine, as I was working through a fevered sleep and a half-bottle of bismuth at the time, but it was less convenient when I was still begging them to finish up at 6:30, before my colon exploded. There was a tense period where I thought I’d have to decide between getting an assfull of dirt and plaster dust, or trying to clean off the toilet seat and possibly re-plastering the walls with my own special brew, but I made it just in time.

The toilet and shower do work – although I immediately had to clean them, and the plastic sheeting draping them makes attempting to shower feel like being slowly laminated. The walls are… well, let’s just say they’re olde-timey. As in, the slats and horsehair plaster have been exposed, then most of the plaster disintegrated, leaving a frontier bathhouse sort of feel. On inspecting the condition of the plaster (look! It’s got hunks of actual horse hair in it!) and wood, I suspect they haven’t been touched since the building was built, sometime around 1900. Layer after layer of plaster and paint had just been slapped on top of them for the last hundred-odd years. No big surprise considering the shape we’ve found the rest of the place in.

While I don’t think horsehair plaster is as evil compared to sheetrock as this guy does, he’s got a point in that it’s incredibly messy. I doubt the contractors had much trouble removing ours, considering its deterioration, but the dust is pernicious. Even with plastic sheeting everywhere, we were hacking and sneezing all morning, and the cats, once roused from the protective flanks of their Mommy Who Would Defend Them From The Strange, Noisy Men, quickly became coated. That’s the most troubling part to me, so if you hear I’ve become rich after inventing a claw-proof filter mask for pets, you will know the inspiration. As it is, they won’t even stay out of the piles of debris when we try to isolate them. (“What’s this? Some kind of chemical-soaked rag? I must roll in it!”)

At any rate, with a much improved stomach and most of the dust hacked out, getting to work was actually something of a relief this morning, considering I have the detritus of sheetrocking to look forward to tonight.

Until I discovered they are doing construction on the office next to mine.

Technorati tags: rant, stress, plaster, contruction, contractors, cats

Meltdown

My poor sister. I called her and my brother in law late Friday night blubbering and babbling. My job has been even more crazy since they told me they're eliminating my position. I had a good talk with my boss, who said she really appreciated me working so hard rather than blowing things off what with all that's going down, and that she'd be happy to be a reference for me. This after telling her that I wasn't going to apply for the new job (with more work and about the same pay) and that we both know it's time for me to move on. I told her I'd be happy to do my work well and train a new person, but I had one request: please don't let HR screw me over by offering me a job I would hate and then saying I quit because I refused it. I know how they work there to try to avoid paying unemployment. She couldn't make any promises, but she said she'd do her best.

At any rate: crazy busy. There's this huge rush to get the subscriptions for next season on line right away, in less time than we've ever done it before, but with more features and information. I wouldn't be surprised if the rush partially has to do with them knowing I'll be gone soon, one way or another, and trying to do it without me would be a huge pain in the ass. So I'm working extra hours at a place where they've refused my raise and laid me off. Am I too conscientious and ethical, here? I can't help it. Plus, I really could use that reference.

I also haven't been sleeping. All week I'm working, stressing about what might come next, trying to put together my design site, looking for and applying to jobs and, oh yes, trying to get the writing assignment (that I hate) for my new class done. Even my usual night-time meds are having a hard time countering all that agitation. So, I'm up past midnight, up in the wee hours, up before the alarm goes off, with bad dreams inbetween. Fun, eh?

All of which leads me to the call on Friday. I had planned to go down to Maryland for the long weekend and see my sister, bro-in-law and niece and nephew, whom I haven't seen in months. I even cancelled the last visit for similar reasons of stress and not feeling well, but it's getting ridiculous. At this rate, the kids will be driving by the time I see them again, and my sister... well, I don't know, but let's face it: my fear is that they're all going to hate me. I know it's ridiculous, but that's what stress does to me. One minute I'm behind on a project, and the next I'll never get anything done and if I did it'd be terrible and everyone hates me and maybe I should run off into the wilderness and be eaten by feral ferrets (I hear it can happen). Or maybe I need a little less caffeine. You pick.

So, on Friday night it all came to a head and I just couldn't see myself schlepping to Port Authority to catch a bus five hours down there and back (which Mrs. Nator was bitching about the whole time, I might add - neither of us likes long rides like that). I called my sister & her hubby and the next thing you know, I was blubbering incoherently about how stressed I was and how I just couldn't make it down there. They seemed okay about it, but maybe they were just glad they wouldn't have to deal with the drama in person.

Oh, who am I kidding? They hate me now and they're telling their kids that I'm an evil Sith Lord. If I ever see my nephew again, he's going to clout me on the head with his plastic lightsaber.

Along with all that, my poor girlfriend, because I am a mess. She's generally quite understanding - as well she should be, considering she went through the same mess a few years ago - but I know my mood swings are hard on her. Sometimes if I'm being cheery she gets this frozen smile on her face, like "oh God, here's the manic, when's the depressive shoe gonna drop?" Don't think I don't see it, hon.

Ah, yes, and one more thing - we got the message on Saturday that the contractors have decided to start tearing apart our bathroom on Monday from 8am - 5pm every day for the next week or two, which I should be happy about on one level, but on the other hand, there goes my one holiday off for a while, as I'll have to make myself scarce from my own home for most of the day, rather than getting the relaxation or time to work on my job hunt that I need.

Deep breath.

So, in summary, I didn't go down to Maryland, which makes me a terrible person. Oh, and I've decided to quit my writing workshop and hope they'll let me take one at a later time, when I don't have all this unemployment shit hanging over my head. Or, you know, I'm a big quitter who will never amount to anything or even figure out what she really wants to do, because she doesn't have the fortitude to shoulder on, etc. Whatev.

So, my main focus will have to be looking for a job, now. The crappiest part is, I can't imagine finding something I like or want. I am so burnt out now, I feel like I'm getting desperate to find a job with a paycheck immediately, and just assuming it will be just as bad or worse than the one I've had. It may very well be that I have potential in a lot of areas, but since I can't pick one and potential doesn't pay the rent. I feel trapped, even though Mrs. Nator assures me she'd rather I be unemployed for a while or work as a barista or something than be miserable.

But do I know how not to be miserable?

I do feel a little bit better for having opted out of travelling and the workshop. The truth is, I need to concentrate on finding a job now, and the more I focus on that in a less-than-hysterical way, the more likely I am to land something that I might actually like, as well as bringing in some cash. Plus, all this desperation and stress is bound to affect me in job interviews. I'm nervous enough about the whole process as it is. Nobody likes it when the interviewee sobs and clings to them.

So, that's my story, for now. Wish me luck. I hope to be able to work a little on the writing on my own, but as much as I want to be dedicated, I can't use writing as a distraction from getting these other things done, right now. At least those couple sessions at the workshop made me realize that I'm a decent writer. If that's all I can get out of it right now, that's enough.

Unless anyone wants to pay me for blogging? Bueller?

Technorati tags: rant, stress, job, writing, family, neuroses, c'mon and give me a big kiss

Hi, Dad!

So, my sister gave my father my blog address.

From now on, my posts will be all about kitties and angels. Or maybe even about kitty angels. But definitely not about porn.

Unless it's kitty angel porn.

Technorati tags: cats, kitties, angels, porn, behave yourself, young lady

Thursday Thirteen: Possible Sperm Donors

Since Mrs. Nator and I have discussed having kids a few times recently, I thought I'd dedicate this Thursday to thirteen gentlemen who might be acceptable babydaddies for our spawn.

1. Neil deGrasse Tyson. Incredibly brilliant, handsome and funny? Tyson is a leading astrophysicist, the director of the American Museum of Natural History's Hayden Planetarium, a columnist for Natural History Magazine, the author or coauthor of six books and a witty match for Jon Stewart in his guest spots on The Daily Show. This one is a no-brainer. I mean the pick, not him. Ba-dump-bump.
Alternate: Kip Thorne. Sorry, Hawking, ALS might be genetic.

2. Nelson Mandela. 'Nuff said.
Alternate: Muhammad Yunus. Another brilliant Nobel Peace Prize Winner, currently working to end world poverty. What more can you say?

3. David Bowie. If David Bowie is not one of the coolest, most artistically brilliant men on the planet, I don't know who is. Also, he once spoke to me after stepping on my hand. Really!
Alternates: Rufus Wainwright, as long as the spoiled ego doesn't carry through, or Daniel Craig: English. Cool. HOOOOTTTT.

4. Tiki Barber. Anybody who has been reading this blog long enough knows I loves me some Tiki. Not only is he one of the best running backs to play in the NFL, but he's smart, a shining example of old-fashioned sportsmanship in a game that's become filled with conceited prima donnas, and totally H-O-T-T. I'm going to miss seeing him play for the Giants, who he pretty much carried on his back to the playoffs the last couple years, but I think NBC had the right idea in snapping him up for Today. With his instant likability, crisp delivery and that sweet smile, women all over the U.S. are going to be tuning in to NBC in the morning. Trust me, I'm about as lesbian as you can get, and I still squeal "oooh, Tiki!" every time I see him.
Alternate: Tom Brady, who would get his own entry if Mrs. Nator didn't have something against him.

5. Sir David Attenborough. Unparallelled naturalist and journalist, he has raised awareness of environmental issues and made people the world over fall in love with animals.
Alternates: Animal Planet's snake-handling hottie Jeff Corwin, or Fabien Cousteau, grandson of Jacques and People magazine's "Sexiest Man of the Sea", 2002. How do you say grrrr-OW in dolphin?

6. Sir Ian McKellan. A brilliant actor, witty raconteur, activist, sexy and gay as the day is long. Every time Mrs. Nator and I see him we pine to have him as our friend and mentor. What more could you want?
Alternate: Tim Gunn. Squeee!!!

7. Jamie Hyneman. A modern Rennaissance man, Hyneman has done some seriously cool stuff. Build a killer robot for Battle Bots? Check. Run a SCUBA diving business? Check. According to his bio, he's even wrangled animals. His work ethic, organization skills, drive and smarts are all impressive, and he's clearly a sexy gay daddy type, even if he wants to claim he's married to a woman.
Alternate: Christopher Meloni. Just because he's hot. (And how many biographies prominently include the phrase "sociopath bisexual serial killer"?)

8. Michael Fay. No, not the kid who got caned in singapore. This Michael Fay is the ecologist who completed the Megatransect, a 2000 km across Africa, and the MegaFlyover, a 70,000 mile photographical survey of the continent taken from a small plane at low altitude. Not only does this guy love nature, but he's passionate about conserving it. Not to mention it couldn't hurt to carry the genes of a guy fit and determined enough to hike through huge tracts of jungle documenting every tiny detail.
Alternate: Hugo, AKA "Grub", the son of Dame Jane Goodall. Because maybe some of her would carry over.

9. Jon Stewart. Do I really have to explain?
Alternate: Larry Wilmore, partly for being the creator of The Bernie Mac Show, but mostly on the basis of this clip.

10. Dr. Kevin Fitzgerald from Animal Planet's Emergency Vets and E-Vet Interns. A laid-back, veterinary guru, he won my heart by saying that as a vet sometimes you get to save animals, and it's "good karma." He loves everything from pythons to malinois, is exteremly smart and skilled, kind and patient with animals and interns alike, and adventurous. How many veterinarians host their own show, perform stand-up comedy and have toured with George Clinton, The Rolling Stones and Bob Marley?
Alternate: Dr. Kevin Drygas, because he is a bright, up-and-coming veterinary surgeon who's learning from Fitzgerald, and is also clearly the hunk of the show.

11. Prince. Adewale-Akinnuoye Agbaje. Seal. Like Prince, Seal is very musically talented, and even worked with Wendy & Lisa - big points for that in my book. However, he is not as wierd, short, full of himself or Jehovah's Witness-y as Prince is.
Like Adewale Akinnuoye-Agbaje, Seal is British-Nigerian, charismatic, conscientious, spiritual and intense. His father's name was even Adebisi, the name of the character Akinnuoye-Agbaje played on OZ that made us love and fear him. So, best of both worlds, here. The only cons here are are that he may carry a genetic predisposition to the lupus which scarred his face and Heidi Klum might not approve. To which I say: he makes lupus scars look attractive, and Mrs. Nator can take Heidi in a fair fight any day.
Alternate: Taye Diggs. Actually, maybe Seal should be the alternate for Taye...

12. Fareed Zakaria. He may be a bit too centrist for my tastes, but has international relations punditry ever been more yummy? Of course, he'd be off the list if Christine Amanpour were a man.
Alternates: Nicolas Kristof, Lucian Perkins, Keith Olbermann.

13. The Olmos. Because he could act you to actual death, and is a passionate activist.
Alternate: Martin Sheen. He may not have facial scarring like Olmos, but knowing he produced Charlie Sheen bumps him to alternate.

Honourable mention: Ishmael Beah. Because even though I haven't read his book yet, any person who can recover from being an orphaned, forced child soldier on multiple drugs and become a positive, creative human being should have his genes spread around.

Naturally, this list is subject to change. Mostly, it should not be seen as evidence in a sudden interest on my part in actually having a baby soon. But I will give Mrs. Nator the allowance that if she can actually convince one of these men to donate, I will seriously consider it.

Well, the first few, at least.

tags: thursday thirteen, sperm donors, celebrities, heather has two mommies

La-Di-Frickin'-Da, I'm The Queen of The World

So, I read my first story in the writers' workshop, last night. I read first, because I was overcaffeinated and nervous, and just wanted to get it done. I was pleased to get laughs at some laugh lines, but wasn't completely sure how it was being received until the end, when a couple people immediately said "well, shit -- now I don't want to read my story." They really liked it!

Seriously, pretty much all good comments. Even during the break and after class, people came up to me and said how great they thought it was. Cue head swelling, horn fanfare -- now.

But here's the problem. I'm not usually an overly confident person, but when I heard the rest of the writers' pieces? I honestly thought mine was the best in the class. There were maybe three people who had some good, solid writing in their stories, all of which needed some cleaning up in one way or another, but mine was the most developed and complete. Does this make me a giant jackass?

Listen, I don't want to put people down, but a lot of the folks in the workshop really haven't written before, or in a long time. And though they are lovely people who may have some interesting ideas, their craft is, at this point, in the early stages of development. Honestly, it has been rare that I have been in a class or workshop situation where I didn't think a least a few people's stuff was as good as or better than mine, even without accounting for differences in style and taste. So what does this mean? Have I suddenly developed a huge ego, do I just happen to be in a low-level class, or am I really that damn good?

I feel a bit full of myself, but unsettled. I'd like more of a challenge than the exercises we're being given, and I'd like to have more experienced writers to share comments and ideas with. I even looked into whether there's an intermediate level workshop I could transfer into. But, it seems that this particular organization has "mixed" courses for beginners and intermediate writers, and advanced courses for published authors; that's it. So, what do I do?

Well, I suppose I can just work the assignments and get what I can out of them. You can always learn something new, after all. But I feel disappointed, because I now realize that I'm ready to move a bit farther forward than that, perhaps working towards publication of some other pieces I've been noodling with, and the format and level of this workshop just won't allow for that.

Besides, I'm doing all this while working on my portfolio and looking for a job. I'd rather go at writing full force or have my time free for now to work on those other things. Or, you know, get some sleep.

What do you think? Stick with it, or try to engineer something else, maybe by asking the instructor? Would that make her think I'm an ass?

Honestly, it's nice to really feel that I can write. And hey, if I ever get too big for my britches, I can always go read First Nations. Like my writing could ever be that interesting.

P.S.: They made me switch to New Blogger. Everything look alright to you?

Tags: writing, ego, look at me I'm Samuel Clemens

When in Doubt, Say Mean Things About Celebrities

1. I wonder if anyone else who caught the Grammies last night was as horrified as I was by the plastic surgery parade that was the Smokey Robinson/Lionel Richie/Chris Brown segment. Smokey and Lionel had both had enough skin sliced from their faces to have as few wrinkles as 17-year-old Chris Brown. The effect, however, is eerie. Smokey, in particular, has that look of perpetual, wide-eyed surprise that comes from several too many face lifts. Classy.

2. We've been watching Top Design since Top Chef ignominiously ended, and let me tell you, it is no Project Runway. Not only are the judges and attempted catchphrases boring ("goodbye" is not equal to "auf wiedersehen", people), but Todd Oldham comes across as kind of creepy. We can't tell if his stilted delivery is due to an attempt to seem Mr. Rogers-esque nice, or if he actually cannot read and deliver lines properly (we can't imagine that he actually talks like that - does he?). There's one thing for certain though: he looks like the secret love child of Ellen Degeneres and Bob Denver.

3. If Anna Nicole Smith was our generation's Marilyn Monroe, the world can't end soon enough.

Now, back to work...

Tags: Grammies, facelift, shame, Top Design, Todd Oldham, Anna Nicole Smith

They Got Me

You know how your junk mail box gets filled up with spam with strident or bizarre subject lines? Well, this morning, somebody actually had the creativity to make me open one. The subject line: "Godzilla's Advice!!!"  I literally yelped, "what?!" and clicked.

The message? "Size does matter!" and a link.

Touché, evil spam writer, touché.

Sorry

I had a great Thursday Thirteen all outlined, but between work, writing for class and doing stuff for finding a job, it had to go on the back burner.

I'm almost done with a kick-ass Flash movie for my portfolio site, though...

How YOU doin'?

Emotionally Dysfunctional Theatre

In which our heroine pries herself from a fetal position and makes a few cautious taps on her keyboard. Hot buttered Xanax sold in the lobby at intermission...

In other words, I've been a bit of a pill to be around the last few days, kiddies. I held up fairly well to the stress of being "restructured" at work and told to my face by HR that they would never do the kind of dastardly things to me that I know for a fact they have done to several people I know well, including Mrs. Nator. I kept a civil tongue in my head and got things done. I also continued looking through job listings, brushing up on various software and composing cover letters. Then the weekend hit, and I suddenly found myself incapable of little more than rolling over and drooling, or rolling over into my own drool, as the case may have been. The stress had sapped my energy and optimism reserves and it was time for two and a half days of solid wallowing. (I also took Monday off, so as to better savour the complexity of this particular wallow. It was oaky, with harsh tannins, notes of despair and corn chip undertones. Or that might just have been my breath.)

The truth is, what's happening to me is not unusual. It's just the first time it's happening to me. I've known for some time that this job wasn't right for me and I wasn't right for it, but we both seemed necessary to each other. That is, they needed me because I was the only one who knew my way around the company site and how to maintain it, and I needed the money and health insurance. Unfortunately, the more I was thwarted in my attempts to use my creativity to better the site and expand my role, the less I wanted to use my skills at all to help the company, and it showed. My supervisors and I knew that we were only going to get so much out of each other, and resentment built up. What I did was necessary, but I was not important, and they didn't want me thinking I was, lest I realize I deserved better. So why didn't I leave?

I guess I'm an underachiever. I come by it honestly, as I can definitely see when looking at both of my siblings. Something in our minister's-kids' upbringing during the recession of the 1970s made us feel that there was only so far we could get. Both of my siblings are of above-average intelligence, personable and highly skilled, but both have been in jobs for years that they don't particuarly like, and that don't offer them the challenges or rewards they deserve. We had a lot of advantages growing up, but perhaps we were taught to be too cautious or "practical," to refrain from tooting our own horns and expecting too much. As a result, there's a big part of me that believes that I could never have a job that I actually like that would support me. Not only that, but that I don't deserve such a thing or am not good enough for it. From an objective standpoint, I know that I am only exaggerating and holding myself back, but it's hard to shake the feeling that The Powers That Be, whatever they are, don't want me to get too big for my britches and succeed. In other words, as my cantankerous grandmother used to say, "Sweetheart, you can't win for losin'!"

The truth is, I know that I sabotage myself. I know that when I consider a career move, I get overwhelmed by contemplating too many possibilites at once and focussing on the worst of them, trying to inoculate myself against projected failure. I know that when I read a job listing, within a few seconds my eyes will focus on the things that don't look good about it - aspects that may be difficult or skills I don't yet have. Even when I remind myself that I didn't know how to use much of the software I now use when I applied for this job over eight years ago, and that employers are usually looking for someone that they think fits with the company, not just a set of specific tools on a list, it's hard for me to check the visceral fear that wells up. It's that kneejerk emotional reaction that floods my brain with paralyzing chemicals, and the next thing I know I'm sleeping most of the weekend and crying during Diana Ross's last song in The Wiz.*

On top of all this, I've never been terrific with change. Yeah, I know, change is opportunity, blah blah blah. Unfortunately, enough of my formative experiences, from my parents' divorce when I was little to my first live-in lover cheating on my with a good friend, have involved changes that were both forced upon me and unpleasant. I suppose if I were an optimist, I'd be gushing about how the difficult times only made me better, and led me to some of the awesome aspects of my life today: a nice home, a loving family and friends, the best damn girlfriend anyone could have. There are even times in my life when I've been in a good space that I realized all this. But I usally revert to my glass-half-empty ways. This means that, for me, change is not only uncomfortable and uncertain, as it is for many, but perceived as a veritable Harbinger of Doom. In my little world, the cable guy can seem like the four horsemen of the apocalypse, especially if he's mucking with my premium channels.

So what's to be done about it? Well, the first thing is to take one step at a time. I can't get myself my dream job instantly, but I can do a little bit of resarch each day, and I can send out a couple applications every weekday, too. The second is to speak calmly and positively to myself. I have people rooting for me. If I have eight out of ten skills listed in a job listing, that's pretty good. The worst thing prospective emplowers can do is say no to me, and since I don't know the details, I can't even know if I want the job, yet. I also don't have to know I have one grand purpose in life that I must fulfill right away. Who does that? Shut up, Mother Theresa, who asked you?

Maybe it's time to consider that if I am overwhelmed by the range of possibilities in my life, that's a good thing. I am interested in writing, so I'm starting my writing workshop today. That doesn't mean that I must be the next Shakespeare or die. I can also explore other things I find interesting, and while all of them can be included in my future employment, none of them have to be forever. Likewise, I may be limited by certain factors, like what I can afford and how much time I have, but I'm not in a forced labour camp in Siberia being given the options of break rocks or starve (or both). I may not get to live the life of a leisurely gentleman scholar of centuries past, but I have more open to me than the majority of people in the world.

Good things are possible, and I not only need to believe that, but be able to imagine and be open to them. Right after this nap.

 

*Okay, it actually started during Lena Horne's turn as Glinda the Good. As she sung to Dorothy, I found myself whinging "why can't I believe in myself as Lena believes in meeeee?"

I Find This Very Disturbing

There's no way a computer-generated M&M character should look this much like me. Besides the fact that I don't usually wear a corporate logo on my cootch, that is.

At least I got to put myself on a nice beach.

Thanks for the link, Trish.

The Gayest, Geekiest Thing Ever

Are you ready?

It's this.

Want to know something else?

I would actually play that game.

Maybe I am the Gayest, Geekiest Thing Ever.

 

That's it for now, kids. The Lying Liars Who Want To Screw Me Over at work have exhausted me this week. Have a fabulous weekend. And go watch the Superbowl, even if you don't like football. It's got men in tight pants, and Prince! (If that's not redundant.)

The Dangers of Google

It is becoming more and more clear to me that I am not the only one who Googles myself. Some of y'all probably remember the incident wherein I blogged about a Margaret Cho stand-up routine being unfunny, and noted she had mentioned that she was in a lawsuit with her ex-manager. Shortly thereafter, her former manager actually contacted me, wanting to know more about what Margaret said. Not wanting to get caught in some kind of spat/legal proceeding I had nothing to do with, I dropped the matter. Not so with the manager, as I noticed her address showing up in my site meter records now and again for months afterwards. (Of course, she could just like my blog. If so, hi there, Margaret Cho's ex-manager! Can you get me a comedy writing gig? Let's do lunch!)

Now, something a little bit more unsettling has occurred. It seems a certain well-known mentalist/paranormalist/magician who shall go unnamed in this post in case he's still Googling himself, found a post I'd written several months ago that mentioned him, and decided to email me about it. It was a nice email, flattering my blog in the beginning, saying I'd made keen observations on his routine and noting that I'd tried to be objective. Taking a bit of a wounded tone, however, he then mentioned some sources I'd referred to that indicated an organization he is affiliated is a nefarious, pseudo-religious group for the purpose of making its leader rich and powerful. He said that wasn't his experience, and he'd be happy to "dialogue" with me, to better represent himself authentically.

As in the previous case, my first reaction to this was "how did this person find my little corner of self-indulgent chatter?" We all know that Google (and other search engines) and Technorati have made it possible to find thousands of instances of certain words one is seeking. However, the fact that these people are able to find my obscure blog this way is not just impressive ("wow - Google really can find anything") and alarming ("yikes - guess my little rants aren't as under-the-radar and anonymous as I thought") but somewhat telling.

I say telling for two reasons. One, it shows that the folks writing me are actively looking to see what information is drifting about the Intrawebs about themselves. It's something most of us do at one point or another, but one has to be especially circumspect to find a minor outpost of the blogosphere like mine, which proves a certain hyper-vigilance. Two, it is telling because of the search terms they would have to enter to find my posts that referred to them. In the mentalist's case, for example, if you search for his name on Google, my blog doesn't seem to come up - at least for the first ten pages of results I bothered perusing. But, run a search for his name and the word "cult"? It's right there on the first page. Very interesting.

I mean, does someone search for the word "cult" attached to their name because they've been unfairly associated with that word, or do they search for that word with their name because they are affiliated with a cult and that information has been posted before on the Internet? It's a little chicken and egg, but it's a curious quandary, and it brings me to my next reaction to these emails: "why do these people care what I wrote?"

Seriously, both of those posts were throw-away bits in pieces rife with purely subjective opinion on this matter and that - ramblings and rants, if you will. To search for a mention of oneself so thoroughly is one thing, and to take the mention so seriously as to contact the author, however little-known, is another. On the one hand, I can understand the impulse - I'm sure if I found a blog mentioning me I might be tempted to clarify things or say howdy. On the other, I'm not a public figure, so I wouldn't expect to be mentioned, and I imagine if I was a public figure, I'd ignore it or let my PR rep handle it, you know?

I guess my third and final reaction, then, is... just being kind of squicked out. Not only have my toss-away comments been noticed, but these people attempted to communicate about them with me in private. It just seems too personal, somehow. Not to mention, anyone affiliated with a strict religious/spiritual group scares me a bit, anyway, whether it's technically a "cult" or not. When it comes to true believers and my fear of attempted indoctrination, I'm just as wary of priests, imams and rabbis as I am of gurus and "enlightened ones". Hey, organized religion? I'm an equal-opportunity eschewer!

So, yeah. I don't think I'll be answering that email. No offense.

At any rate, all this leads me to one last question I've been pondering, and maybe those of you who regularly visit here can give me your opinions on it. As you know, in the past I worked as an animal communicator, but I don't anymore. My practice and its results were pretty successful, but I gave it up after being overwhelemed with work and stress, plus going through surgery, which seemed to alter my outlook on a lot of things, somehow. Now that I am applying for jobs in more traditional, AKA scientific or hands-on based animal organizations, I've wondered if I should take down my old AC website in case one of my interviewers Googles me, sees it, and thinks I'm a big crank.

The problem here is partially my own ambivalence about my past practice. At this point, I think of myself as neither a strict believer or non-believer in AC. I cannot deny some of the freakishly accurate readings and results I got in my sessions, things I never would imagine. On the other hand, I know that people tend to believe in things mainly because they want to and it's comforting, and I want neither to deceive others nor myself, even unintentionally. I've also been mentally blocked in terms of AC, and whether that is because I'm anxious and unresolved about it or my anxiety is causing the block, I can't say. Another chicken and egg.

My point being, if I thoroughly believed in AC, I probably wouldn't want to "closet myself" by hiding my past, just to get a job. I'd figure that if the interviewer wasn't open to what I'd done, that job wasn't the right one for me. However, if I truly had given up on bellieving in AC, I'd have taken my damn site down, already, and it wouldn't be an issue. Unfortunately, when it comes to animal behaviourists, advocates and researchers, it's very like religion: you believe in Science or you believe in God (or something spiritual beyond science, at least), and there's little room for anything in-between.

So, what do you think? Take down the old site for now, or leave it up? In the past I've been proud of its design and writing, but now I'm not sure. On the other hand, it's a part of who I've been and am, and it's not like I'm going to be able to erase the Village Voice article on my old career that comes up every time I Google myself. If someone wants to find out what I've been up to, they probably will.

I'll be taking votes and comments. In the meantime, I'll also be making a list of who NOT to blog about, lest they take offense track me down. Can someone confirm the spelling of "Kim Jong-il"?

P.S.: No Thursday Thirteen this week, kiddies. I think this is enough.

Take This Job And..

Thanks, y’all, to those who’ve commented on the job mess I’m in. I really appreciate your support!

As for the terms of my transition (to whatever might come next), I'd like to think getting fair treatment was a simple as following the letter of the law and otherwise threatening a lawsuit, but I happen to know the company counsel - I worked across the hall from her for five years and am friends with her assistant - so I know she is wily, heartless, and never loses. (Also? A big, giant closet case who is fooling no one.) Anyway, who has the time and money for a lawsuit? No, my best bet here is to suck it up and behave as nicely as I can to try to get semi-decent terms from the powers that be.

Ay, there’s the rub, too, because it’s not the fact of being “restructured” that bothers me – heck, I’m the one who was asking them to figure out a way to lay me off not a year ago. It’s that they have so much power over me that makes me crazy. I know that it’s for the best that I get out of this job and find a career that makes me happy, but they’ve taken away my opportunity to do it under my own terms. I was looking for a new job without the duress of possible lengthy unemployment hanging over my head, and now I feel just that much more panicked and stressed to find something now, now, NOW – even if it means just accepting what comes along next.

What’s more, I’ve let them get to me again. The announcement put me into a state of shock yesterday, and triggered my low self-esteem and fears that I don’t have enough qualifications to get a job where people are treated like human beings, again. That’s what I’m mad about: not the loss of the job, but the degrading treatment. Now I find myself having to ask them in writing for the terms in writing, while I keep one eye peeled over my shoulder to see if security is coming to my desk to unceremoniously escort me from the building at any time (trust me, that’s par for the course, here).

Oh, and yesterday afternoon, I got to go to the endocrinologist, who had a distinctly Russian bedside manner (i.e. blunt as an boxer and no sense of humour or gentleness) and kept informing me how very fat I am. To her credit, however, she’s the first doctor who’s ever told me straight up that I clearly was born with a crappy metabolism, and although it’s unfair and will be harder for me than it is for most people, I just have to deal with the cards I’ve been dealt with and work harder accordingly. You’d think that would be depressing, but I already knew it, so it’s nice to have it confirmed and addressed, rather than getting some kind of saccharine pep-talk about how I can do it and things will be great in no time. (Saccharine because it’s sweetly false, but also a diet-related pun. See what I did there? Ah, I’m a genius.)

Anyway, I’m feeling a bit better and clearer today. I’m setting up a list of things I have to do, goals, etc., which gives me a better handle on it. Mrs. Nator has been wonderful, reminding me of how it was when the same thing happened to her, and letting me know that she fully expects me to have episodes of anger and crying jags, and it’s okay to do that, even if I also believe this will end up being a good thing.

Also, apparently Qenny has invited us to live with him and his Lovely Husband in New Zealand, so that’s nice. “Alternative families” are always cooler with with non-American accents. ;o)

I swear I’ll blog about something else, soon. Thanks for “listening” and being kind, gang. Kiss, kiss!

Fury

Well, I just got called into my old boss' office. In the hugest coincidence ever, three weeks after I asked for a raise, they have decided to "restructure" my job. This means that they are creating a new job - essentially my job with a few other things thrown in - and eliminating mine. Surprise!

I am told that I am "welcome" to apply for the new job, but that it probably won't pay as much as what I was already dissatisfied with for my present position. Well, draw a line down my forehead and call me Fanny. If I don't apply for it, I'm out of here sometime in February.

I suppose I should be happy, since I've been trying to engineer my way out of here for some time, and have started looking for something else. My outrage, however, stems from the duplicitous, eeeeviiil way they do things around here. What's more, now I have to dick around with the lying liars who lie in HR, to find out if I don't apply for the new position if they will try to say I quit and deny me severance or jeopardize my unemployment pay. So, where I realize that, overall, this is probably a good thing that will get me out of here and moving towards a career I actually like, I am, for the moment, consumed with anger and hatred for the entire administration of this organization. Not surprised at their behaviour, which is business as usual for them, mind you - just enraged.

Meanwhile, I just discovered these on Friday, and now I am going to the endocrinologist and nutritionist today to try to set up a weight loss plan. Life just isn't fair.

On the other hand, at least I wasn't born into a culture that hunts for days to happily consume the delicacy of unwashed warthog anus.