Fantasy is Better

Thursday, December 08, 2005

Round and Round we go...

When you're used to working in an office where the environment is clean, the people are very stiff and proper and you never get a laugh or smile out of anyone unless you're discussing the weather, working a weekend job at a vet can be very interesting.

This weekend, happily, I was spared the chore of cleaning cages. I was, however, severely tested on my resolve to not be squeamish. The first thing I did (after walking two dogs and feeding them) was give a huge Golden Retriever three great big shots. As I was doing this, the thought occurred to me that at one point I had to close my eyes to watch the vet give my pup a little parvo vaccine. Ha ha. If only that me could see this me now!

Not long after administering these shots, a distressed woman came into the clinic asking how much a cremation was. I knew we did these things, but I didn't realize we did this even though the animal did not die at our facility. This was new and intriguing. The poor woman paid and I couldn't believe how well she held up. I burst into tears when my pup died and I'd only had her for ten days. This dog was 14 years old and she'd had it, its entire life. I felt a little wimpy and decided that if she did bring the dead dog in, I would see it just to toughen up. Sure enough she brings the poor thing in a clear plastic Rubbermaid box and I get a full look at it. It was an odd sensation, I wasn't grossed out, just sad that she had to let this part of her life go. I tried to imagine this animal walking around, playing, barking, annoying people, and what it was like to see it like this after a lifetime of being alive. The woman said good bye to her dog and at this point she did actually cry. I was happy to find out I'm not the only person who cries over dead pets.

After she left and I was sure we had the correct information to send the ashes to, I was told to put the dead dog in the surgery room. So I got to pick up the 50 pound rottweiler in its Rubbermaid box. I have to admit, that was creepy.

Soon after I've finished this and I've run back to the reception desk, a woman comes running into the clinic with a big blanket in her arms. For all I know, she's trying to give us free bedding for the animals. I say Hi and ask her if she has an appointment and she says "My kitten's on its last breath". The other Vet Tech comes running and they carry the blanket into the back room. There they unfold the bundle to reveal the smallest cutest little white and orange cat I've ever seen in my life. And I hate cats! But it's not moving at all. The poor woman is in tears and trying to explain what was happening. She'd found it a few days ago after her other cat died and had taken it in. All of a sudden that morning it wasn't moving much and seemed to be having a hard time breathing. The Vet Tech checked its heart, listened for a breath and pronounced the kitten DOA. The woman almost ran out of the clinic crying. I was a bit shaken by this and felt awful about all the death around us.

Of course, later, after the doc had come in and we'd been running around all the live long day, the rottweiler on the surgery room counter, the kitten on...just the counter, I was then to explore more avenues of death and tragedy...sort of. When the first two dead animals had been properly bagged and put somewhere for someone to pick up (don't ask me where when or how) and the clinic was closed for the day and we were just doing the last clean ups and treatments, I find out that we're going to put a cat down. It's a stray (I think) and hasn't been doing well at all. That afternoon was his last chance to perk up. He failed. So we had to put him to sleep – way to fail a test bucko! If ever you wanted to get an A+ in a test, this would have been it! Oh well, tough luck.

So, first the Vet Tech (the same one that pronounced the other kitty dead) gets out the Euthanasia and wets the cat's paw with alcohol. Apparently this is not for sanitation purposes (cause this guy's already gone), but to help find the vein easier. She puts the shot in and starts to empty it (this has to be done slowly), at this point either the cat twitches its paw, or she jerks accidentally and the needle comes out. So the little bit of poison that got in there is making its way to the cat's heart and I have no idea what it does if there isn't enough to stop it completely. The cat doesn't do a whole lot. Obviously he didn't care too much about living, so it stands to reason that he wouldn't care too much about dying. The Vet Tech now frantically tries to find the vein again. Oh by the way, I'm holding the cat so that it doesn't bite us while we're trying to kill it. It really isn't moving much, so my job is pretty simple. Anyway, the needle doesn't seem to be finding any purchase and things look grim for the cat – as in, he’s not dying the way we expected him to. I could just hear him saying "Shitty kittenhood, shitty life, shitty not-death!" with a despondent sigh. When the Vet Tech finally gives up and calls for the doctor, he walks over and sticks the needle in the cat's torso area. I'm immediately relieved of my duties as they pertain to this cat.

When I got home I wanted to see a newborn anything (dog, cat, rat, snake) just to reassure myself that there continued to be life, even though there was so much death on that gloomy day.

Tuesday, October 18, 2005

Invaders!

We got home and started to search our cabinets for any signs of food that we could use as “dinner”. As it turns out, most of our food should really be used for feeding farm animals. But we managed to rummage up a can of “Beef and Ravioli” – that name is very loosely based on the red sauce, brown clumps of something or other and white pasty creations that I can only hope started with flour. Whether or not the original creator of Ravioli would ever consider Chef Boyardee (or in our case, some knock off named Chief Boy Hardy) capable of making anything like ravioli, is highly questionable, but we’re game for anything that’s on discount. Just as we’re convincing each other that this can of ravioli will make a great meal, we notice a small black line. Sort of like one of those cartoons where people/animals/characters leave that dotted line behind them as they make their way from one place to another, covering large areas in one or two steps. First a smile flickers across my face as I play this happy little image in my head. There’s me, there’s my dotted black line and…one step, two step, three step…and it’s Paris for me baby! And then it suddenly occurs to me that I am not (would you believe?) living in a cartoon world. As if that wasn’t sad enough, I realize that there is no such thing as a cartoon world. For one very disheartening moment, I nearly burst into tears with all the sadness of it.

And then it hits me that there are ants in my kitchen!

Quick as a flash I holler for our dog, Madison, and tell her to lick like the wind. Apparently these biting obnoxious little brutes are a delicacy for her. She sniffs them and then in a very Paris Hilton kind of way turns around and walks away. I scratch my head and think again that I should have named her “Paris”, but as I watch her find a comfy spot on the carpet and begin to lick her unmentionables, it all comes back to me…no, Paris would not suit her!

So now the girls and I are looking at this army of pests. We all have a quizzical expression on our faces and that’s when I notice we’re all on our tippy toes. What can I say? Three girls, a line of…bugs! on our kitchen floor and not a man in sight.

Well, we’re on our own and we must fend for ourselves. Putting our brilliant minds to work, we begin to follow the black dotted line. No, it does not lead to Paris. Suddenly we see that the line branches off as if headed for a quick trip to Italy, but no, it leads only to another room in the house. And as we follow the intricate lines of these wretched monsters, we come on their entrance into our home! Little corners in each room are teaming with black spidery ants, their glistening bodies seem to make a quiet sort of hum as they clamber over, under and around each other.

Quickly, the horrible ravioli is forgotten, we’re caging our dog and rushing for purse and keys. It’s a jumble of confusion as we rush out the door. Even though we’ll never admit it, we’re just glad to be away from those monstrous things! In the car we leave marks on our street as we screech away to the nearest Wal-Mart. Once inside (and far, far away from the invaders), we locate a completely unwilling associate who unwillingly takes us to the poison section where there is a whole array of poisons and pictures of just what we’re looking for: ants in a highly compromised position, possibly screaming in pain as they die and give up their last breath, the poison (which we are about to happily purchase) surrounds these miserable beings and proudly takes the blame for their demise. Our beady little eyes light up at the prospect of our invaders dying “on impact”. We’re ecstatic till we get to the register and they tell us how much we owe them for our weapon of destruction. We sadly and painfully hand over what little moneys we have and with mixed feelings, walk to the car in a sort of hop, skip, sigh, hop, skip, sigh pattern.

Once home, we unleashed a fury of poison upon these pests like no pest has ever known. Being girls and being mildly terrified of these biting, gnawing little creatures, we sprayed till there were green fumes rising from our floors, door cracks, and window sills. The fight only lasted ten minutes. But when it was over, our home was a battlefield covered in the dead. Their bodies littered our kitchen and dining room floors, their last wails of pain just a silent whisper in the wind. Victory was ours!

Monday, October 10, 2005

>30,000 Dead in Pakistan

I was running around like a psychotic moron on caffeine overdose this weekend, so it was to great shock and surprise that I spied the news first thing this sad Monday morning to see the disaster that has struck this wretched little planet of ours again this year. While I may not be the first to say that this has been my worst year ever, I'm sure that everyone can agree that this has been Nature's cruelest year yet, or at least as far as I can remember.

It's times like these when I hear about these disasters in these all ready devastatingly poor countries, that I get antsy and begin to squirm in my seat and want to stand up and run around for no reason. I hate the thought of being so upset about these disasters and yet not being able to go there and do anything about it. That's when I envision some rich idiot doctor (you’d have to be an idiot to deal with me) who takes me along as his assistant and I catch a free ride on one of those planes that looks like they drop parachuters from (cause they’re cheap), and then we fly in helicopters to get to those remote areas and then we get down to the dirty work. Spend hours and hours in mires and questionable make-shift hospitals pulling people out of the streets and giving them medical aid. At some point in this picture in my head, I totally get over my fears of icky stuff and help the doctor with a harrowing operation on a small child who walks again after seven hours on the operation table. Of course, this expedition entails an all out fight with children traffickers, where I nearly take one for the little kid who’s being hauled into the back of the dealer’s van. Then I miraculously find her parents and share in the joy of their reunion and then shamelessly use the situation for a really good photo op.

But I’m stuck here in my perfect little world where the only thing that has gone wrong is, well, a few things, but nothing like losing my entire family to an opening chasm in my home, or wandering aimlessly through rubble and massive devastation looking for family, friends and food. How does one cope with that? When I am sad and/or stressed out, I block things away and become just sort of numb to certain things. As I’m sure that is the only way to deal with pain without committing hari-kari, I can only imagine the total departure from human emotions that they have to force themselves to go through just so they can get up and continue looking for survivors and ways to keep each other alive.

It’s funny though, even though this disaster outweighs the Katrina disaster 30 times over, I heard nothing about it on the news last night. While I was scrubbing away at my messy house trying to get it ready for the impending week of work, school and more messes, I had the evening news on and not once did they mention this overwhelming story of horror. The quake happened on a Saturday morning, but on Sunday evening they were still not mentioning it. How is that possible?! We had incoming news of the Katrina disaster as it was happening, but elsewhere, where the damage is 30 times more devastating, they don’t even feel the need to mention it on local news? Are they worried we might be too stressed out to go to work on Monday? Well, it does stress me out that the pres wants to put $60B towards the Katrina disaster. Why go to work? He’s just going to take all that money right back out of our pockets.

Morons!!!

Thursday, August 25, 2005

Here's to You!

I realized recently, that a blog is simply a way for people to show themselves to the whole world. Everyone wants to be able to show people their real thoughts, make sure everyone they know and love know what they're up to and what they have been doing. It's all about me me me. I mean, read one of my blogs and ask yourself if it is about anything but me. Well here's what! I'm dedicating my blog to someone else. So that even though I don't deny that I will continue to write about me and stuff I find interesting, I will have gotten rid of that bit of guilt I carry for being so self absorbed. Not that anyone who writes a blog is self absorbed, but writing is my thing, so I have to admit that's it's my way of showing ME to the world...or anyone who cares to listen, or rather, read. So I'm going to pick a worthy subject to dedicate this rambling blog to.

Now I know that these days it's very popular to feel for the Soldiers in Iraq and, sometimes, the people. But what has escaped popularity and most people's attention and I have barely even seen mention in the news, is the children in Iraq. There was a day when nearly 30 of them were killed on "accident". They got one mention on CNN and BBC. Elsewhere on the news, I saw little to no mention whatsoever. And that makes me mad. Because everyday there are parents here in America who are so concerned about their little kids and the horrible influences of the great big world and how miserable life must be for their poor little pookums who have had to "survive" a divorce and they're just doling out the drugs for the poor little bastards to sedate them and make them the good women and men of tomorrow. But when you think about it, seriously, they are living in the midst of paradise while these little kids in Iraq don't even have a good chance of surviving, and by "surviving", I mean living! People complain about how we won't have social security benefits when our kids get old. Well, what the hell do these kids in Iraq have to look forward to?? When this war is over, they get to face a destroyed country, ruled by the strong arm of one very big bully and any chance of making any money to restore their country is more than likely going to go straight into the hands of that bully that destroyed them. What the hell do they have to look forward to?? And every night these kids aren't just listening to their parents fighting, which is admittedly, stressful for a kid, but try listening to gun fire in the night or having soldiers raid your house because of something most people can put quotation marks around (i.e. "insur gents", "ter ror ists", "w m d", the list goes on). There aren't any pills available to them to fight that horror, heck they probably don't have enough medicine for real diseases - and I don't mean something made up in some mad scientist's lab and labeled "Attention Deficit Disorder" because the original idea of "Attention Span Sucks" wasn't as sellable. Dumbasses.

So here's to the kids in Iraq! Here's saying that someone is thinking about you when you're lying in your bed (assuming you have one) scared at night. For what you are going through today and what you will be going through in the future, I apologize.

Monday, August 22, 2005

I just don't know

I was just thinking today about all sorts of stuff, but mainly about decision making. Just exactly how do you know when you've made a bad decision?? Most things work out anyway, even if they seem bad to begin with, but then it all evens out in the end. So how do you know when you've made a bad decision? It's just not physically possible that I haven't made a single bad decision in my life, and yet, as I said before, everything evens out so each decision seems to be OK. But then again, since I don't know what things would have been like if I had chosen otherwise, there's really no way of telling, is there??

For example: I bought a laptop a while ago for very, very cheap on Ebay. It is now getting older and slower and I'm eternally annoyed with it. However, I have used it more than just about any other device in my apartment (except maybe the one I keep in my bedside drawer), I LOVE it simply for it's pick-up-and-go powers and I would faint dead-away if it ever broke or got stolen or whatever, possibly even cry. But sometimes I think that maybe that was still a bad purchase. As much as I have used it and as much as I like it, maybe I shouldn't have gotten it. Maybe I should have waited, set aside the money and then tried to get a better one. But if I had done that, I doubt I would have gotten as good a deal as I did, and I would have missed months and months of communicating with family and friends around the world - which has been it's primary purpose. So I just really can't decide if that was really stupid or a smart way to jump on a bargain when I saw it.

Well, I hope this house-buying thing won't turn out too badly. He he. Not that I'm nervous or anything...

Friday, August 19, 2005

I'm going through a phase

Lately I've noticed that I've been using quotation marks in reference to so-called words and names a whole lot lately, both in my writing and in regular conversations. For example when I'm talking about the "president of the US", there are all sorts of hand motions going on, you know what I mean - hooking the two first fingers of each hand and motioning quotation marks in the air (anyone know if there's a name for that?). I think it's because I'm tired of referring to things a certain way just because people have started to call them that. Really good example: "The President of the US". He didn't get voted in, why do we keep calling him that? Or how about those people defending their country in Iraq who they keep referring to as "insurgents" or "terrorists"? I never agreed to call them that. Oh here's a good one; "freedom fries" (glad everyone's kicked that bad habit). And now I just refer to "P-Diddy" with the quotation marks hand motion. Don't really care what he calls himself. As long as I have quotation marks around his name, people will know that I know that he's just calling himself that and doesn't actually know what his name is - therefore he is so-called "Diddy". Trust me, it's the safest way to speak/refer to/write of the man. And I find myself doing this little hand motion even when other people are speaking. For example when my ex-sister-in-law says she's "buying" a house, I automatically put up my fingers and go for it, because it sort of sticks in my mind as a mental note that she is "buying" (otherwise known as borrowing from a friend) a house. Simple, isn't it? Same with TV. When they start making all sorts of wild statements about who is and who isn't a terrorist, I can't help but adding the "so-called" hand motion just to make it clear to myself that these folks really have no idea what they're talking about but are trying to make up their own names for things anyway. You'll notice how people start referring to those things/people in the same way! What an easy way to get people to see things your way, just start putting "bad guy" names on things/people that you don't like and people will start thinking of those things/people as bad. Ha ha. Stupid people. They're funny. Maybe if I start referring to the pres as "Moriarty", it will catch on. Ha ha.

Try using those hand motions sometime. It makes things more interesting and really works out those finger muscles.

Thursday, August 18, 2005

Moving Day

Well, that's it folks, I'm in the last stretch of this very long and complicated journey towards owning a house. The Appraiser just came by and did what his name suggests he would - appraised the house. If he put the house's value at less than the amount of the loan I'm applying for, then I'm screwed. But I've gotten a "it should work out" from a few people involved in this process. And in house-buying terms, that means that he has "worked" with the number we wanted and I will be able to get the loan!

Understand any of that? If so, I feel sorry for you the same way I feel sorry for myself. Hopefully I won't have to deal with this again for a long time and terms such as "adjustable rate mortgage" and "out of closing, closing costs" and "PMI" will begin to fade away into the cobwebs of my memory. That is, of course, until I have to do this all over again in three years due to that "adjustable rate mortgage" mentioned previously. Wish me luck!!!