Welcome to My Quarter-Life Crisis

My First Job Ad – Can’t Wait to See What the Cat Drags In! September 23, 2009

Fact:  There are a few things that apparently are “my responsibility” at the vet that I have no idea how to do.  So far all of these things I have muddled through and everything has been okay.  I mean, no one has died or anything like that.  Well, no one that wasn’t supposed to anyway – sorry Bootsy.  My point is this…  I have no idea how to interview and/or hire someone.  Like AT ALL.  I know what I’ve been asked in interviews, and I know that it involves filling out some paperwork and stuff like that, but other than that?  Total loss. 

It came to my attention that I will have to master the art of the hiring process sooner than anticipated, because our kennel girl is starting school.  So, good for her.  Bad for me.  My first challenge?  Creating an ad for literally the shittiest job on the planet.

Here’s what I’ve come up with so far:

Position Available:  Kennel Technician at a local animal hospital

Job Description:   Applicant must own a watch and/or timepiece of some description.  Punctuality is a job requirement, so mastery of telling time on said timepiece is paramount.  Applicant must be able to monitor the urinary and bowel production of multiple animals (of both the canine and feline persuasion) and consequently pooper-scoop the aforementioned bowel production for placement into the most putrid smelling of all trash receptacles.   Applicant must also be able to empty trash receptacle sans regurgitation, and carry the contents a short 100 yards to the dumpster. 

Applicant will also be responsible for bathing animals.  Bathing includes hoisting writhing, feces-encrusted, often ferocious animals, into the tub.  Once in the tub, animals must be cleaned throughly.  A through cleaning includes a detailed shampoo (removing any fecal mats around nether regions), clipping toenails (a muzzle may or may not be required), and using Gladiator-sized q-tips to remove waxy, repugnant build-up from animal’s ears. 

Kennel tech will also be responsible for cleaning out kennels once boarding animals vacate.  This includes removal of any waste materials such as feces, vomit, and urine, and sanitation of kennel floors and walls. 

Applicant must also be willing and able to clean toilets, mop, vacuum, empty trash cans, and/or any other task deemed too revolting to be completed by the office staff.

Applicant must be up to date on tetanus shot.  Position pay is minimum wage. 

I feel like the applications will be FLOODING in.  And I think that dealing with the caliber of person that applies for this particular type of job will be a real personal treat for me! 

The first unsuspecting bastard strolled in to apply yesterday.  One of the questions on the application questionnaire is do you own any pets?  He wrote (God’s honest truth):  “Yes but they is all fishes.” 

Let the hiring begin!

What Being Nice Will Get Ya September 19, 2009

There is this old man that comes into the vet about twice a week for two cans of dog food.  That’s right – he buys TWO cans at a time, specifically so that he can come in to the vet twice a week.  And that isn’t even the weirdest part.  The weirdest part is that we don’t even see the dog at our vet.  In fact, until just yesterday I had yet to lay eyes on his dog once.  Whenever this old dude comes in he is usually abrupt and sorta half-rudish, but I figured that it’s just ’cause he’s old and lonely and obviously had nothing better to do than come to the vet twice a week during his routine of “errands”.  So I made it a personal mission to get this crotchety ol’ fella to talk to me.  (Mistake #1.)

For several weeks in a row I attempted (and failed) to strike up a conversation this this guy.  I tried talking about the weather, whippersnappers, Piccadilly – you know, all the stuff that old folks love! – and he still wasn’t goin’ for it.  Well the week before last he came in wearing a Flordia State hat.  So, knowing that they had played the night before, I asked him, “OH did FSU win last night?”  Well let me tell you what, forget the Picadilly folks, FOOTBALL was the way to this man’s heart.  The floodgates opened and he just starting blabbering every single detail of every single play of the game off to me.  He was wildly gesturing – even reenacting some of the plays – it was crazy!  He must have stood there for fifteen minutes telling me his thoughts and emotions about every play and every player on the entire FSU team.  When he was done yappin’ he headed out the door but stopped midway to wink at me and say, “I’ll see YOU in a coupla days.”  AWWWWWWWW – YAY!  I had finally gotten the pissy old man to talk to me!  And he was actually kinda nice – ya know, in that cute old man grandpa kind of way!  I felt all proud and accomplished.  I even bragged about it to my coworkers later. (Mistake #2.)

Yesterday Mr. FSU comes back in to the vet, only this time he has his dog with him.  He wanted one can of food (specifically requested my assistance, thank you very much) and he wanted to check his dog’s weight.  We have this scale in the waiting room that is flush in the floor, so all you have to do is walk the dog onto it and their weight shows up on the meter on the wall.  Well, it’s a great concept, but getting a dog to be still on the thing long enough for the weight to register can be a chore.  So, (since Old Man River only wants to deal with me now) I stroll over to help him hold the little mutt still on the scale.  The dog was only about 10 inches off the ground, so I had to bend over to hold his collar (while Grandpa is holding the leash that is still attached to the dog – point being, we’re close) and keep poochy in place.  Finally I got the scale to read, so I let go of  the collar and popped up to announce the dog’s weight.  Well apparently while I was bent over, something else popped up, because I damn near poked my own eye out on this wrinkly bastard’s raging boner.  Are you FREAKIN kidding me?!  The dude is like EIGHTY.  Unbelievable. 

I was so sicked out that (while simultaneously avoiding all eye contact and directing the receptionist to – pardon the pun – finish him up) I threw up a little in my mouth.  I immediately ran to the back and told everyone (including the same coworkers that I bragged to) about what had just happened.  Well, during my explaination of the horriffic event, I demonstrated how I was holding the dog’s collar.  One of my more crude colleagues said, “So he was lookin’ at your tits then?” and I was like, “HUH?”  I then looked down (mid demonstration) to see that the way I had been standing allowed that old fuckstick’s pervy eyes a clear shot down my shirt.  Sonofabitch. 

SEE?!  That’s what you get for bein’ nice.  An old man’s meat and veggie plate in your face.  Hope he doesn’t pull that shit at the Picadilly.

Cinderella Can Bite Me September 16, 2009

I was thinking about fairy tales and what a crock of shit they are today.  Remember all of those ridiculous Disney stories that we watched when we were little that all end up “happily ever after”?  I’d like to meet the eternal optimist who even came up with that phrase.  “Happily Ever After…”  Happily ever after WHAT?  After some prince swoops in and makes everything wonderful?  How ’bout a little self-responsibility here ladies?!  I think that it is beyond moronic that the idea that someone else can be fully responsible for your own personal happiness is implanted into the heads of young girls from the moment they can say “prince charming”.  All it does is set them up for disappointment.  It just doesn’t work like that.  Life is messy and sloppy and the second you think you’ve got it all figured out, it dumps you right on your ass and says, “try again!” 

I think that there should be someone who is brave enough to make real-life fairy tales.  I realize that’s sort of an oxymoron, but just go with me here.  What if “Beauty and the Beast” had been “The Average-Looking Girl with a Really Great Personality and the Beast”?  Better, no?  And what if when “Sleeping Beauty” woke up she had terrible morning breath – I mean she had been asleep for 100 years – and the prince was like, “SEE YA!”?  There’s a big ol’ dose of reality for all you kids out there.  And how about if Cinderella had paid more attention to her curfew and gotten her happy ass back home on time?  No running = no glass slipper = no prince.  Now THAT’S life.

But that’s the bitch and the beauty of it.  (Or should I say the bitch and the average looking girl with the really great personality of it?)  When you fall on your ass, you learn something invaluable, get back up, and keep going.  If everything was just castles and white knights and and riding off into the sunset, would we ever learn anything about ourselves or what we’re capable of?  Probably not. 

So three years ago today is when my fairy tale and happily ever after began…  (that picture at the top is where I got married on September 16th, 2006) and, as most of you know, princess I am no longer, and my carriage just recently turned back into a pumpkin.  

So what now?  

I think tonight I’ll have a beer and carve that pumpkin into a jackolantern, because fall is almost here, and life goes on.  Happily ever after or not.  I guess that part is up to me.  That’s my self-responsibility – no thanks to Disney.

Euthanasia & Granny-Panties – A Winning “Pair”? September 13, 2009

yeah wishful thinking that my ass is this small anyway

Remember how in previous posts I have mused about how interesting it is that the brain works in such mysterious ways sometimes?  I may have deleted the main post that I am referencing, but the gist of it was that I just find it flat out fascinating that right in the midst of tough/shitty/horrible/emotionally draining/difficult situations the brain (well, MY brain at least) will focus on the most mundane of details.  The example from the previous post was that while I was in the lawyer’s office signing divorce papers, all I could think about was how cheap the lamps were, how annoying it was that one of the lightbulbs was out, how the rug was wrinkled up, how ugly the receptionist’s shirt was, etc., etc…  I literally thought about ANYTHING but the situation at hand. 

Well, I did it again.  Not got divorced, or mentally slammed the lawyer’s office, or anything like that, but just two days ago I again found myself in a tough situation and upon reflection after the fact, I wondered, “why the hell was I thinking about THAT?!” 

Allow me to explain.  I went to work on Friday knowing that we were going to be short-staffed.  Somehow the schedule got screwy and one of the vet techs that usually works on Friday mornings was scheduled to be off.  We had a full day of appointments, plus a fairly involved surgery, so I knew already that we were  going to be backed up.  Well then the other vet tech (the one who was scheduled to work) called in sick.  So SURPRISE!  Guess who gets to be impromptu vet tech for the day?!  That’s right – ME!  It actually was okay and (other than being completely and blindly thrown in to a “trial by fire” situation and worrying that I would really screw something up) I was really pretty glad that it happened, because I love being more hands on with the animals, and I definitely want to get the experience. 

So the day was clipping along and things were actually going pretty smoothly.  I learned the proper way to restrain everything from a 120 lb. (and quite ornery) Husky named Orion, to a hissing pile of teeth and claws named “Big Al”.  (Sidenote:  The scariest moment of the day was opening the lid of the cat carrier and knowing that I had to reach my hand into the dark abyss from whence the most ungodly and ferocious sounds were emanating.  I’m not sure, but I think that at that particular moment I would have rather reached into my garbage disposal.  Truly terrifying.)  I also learned how to draw blood from the jugular (no, Big Al didn’t teach me – thank GOD), how to insert an IV catheter, and how to get a fecal sample (yes, it’s as gross as you think).  All in all, a very productive and educational day.  Five o’clock rolled around and I was mentally planning dinner and walking around with a well earned sense of self-accomplishment.  Only one tiny hour until I could go home, put my feet up, have a nice glass (or bottle) of wine, and know that I would get a goooooood night’s sleep!  Then I heard it.  BING-BONG.  Noooooooo – who could this  be?!  We don’t usually have walk-ins after 5:00 p.m.!!!  WTF?!  A few seconds later the receptionist comes back to tell me that Mr. & Mrs. Carson are in exam room four with Boots (a thirteen year old lab mix) and, “They think it’s time.”  UMMMMM excuse me WHAT?  “Time” for WHAT?  Surely not.  So I pull up their chart on the computer in the back.  Alllllll of the dinner dreams, self-accomplishment, and sugarplums that were dancing in my head evaporated in a millisecond.  Boots had been diagnosed with cancer two years ago and truth be told, it probably should have been “time” long ago.  Well fuck me.  I hang my head and pick up Boots’ chart knowing that the only thing left to do is head to exam four to face the Mr. & Mrs. 

When I opened the door the first thing that I saw was a tear in Mr. Carson’s eye.  Well, if a grown man crying over his beloved pet doesn’t just rip your heart out, then you should jerk the wheel into a bridge embankment, because you don’t have a soul.  Then I looked down and saw sweet little Bootsy Baby.  Even though it was easy to see that she was in agony, she had the most precious face – tear-stained little places under her eyes, her nose was running, and she was panting like crazy, but still when she looked up at me she wagged her little tail.  Must.  Not.  Cry.  So I had to stand there and talk to the Mr. & Mrs. about what was going on, how Boots had been doing, what their thoughts were – all just prolonging the inevitable it seemed, but “getting the patient’s history” is part of the job, so I had to do it.  After a few minutes, I went to get the doctor.  She talked to them for a few minutes and then came out and informed me that they had made the decision to put Boots to sleep and that they wanted to stay with her until the end.  I then had to go back in there, knowing that in ten minutes the sweet panting face by my feet would be gone, and get payment from these poor people.  “Hi, I know you’ve essentially just made the decision to kill a member of your family, but umm HAND OVER THE CASH, cry baby!”  I’m sure that whatever I said was much more tactful and kind than that, but that’s sure how it felt.  So once all that was done, the doctor told me the correct way to carry out the procedure (with as much dignity as possible, of course), she drew up the big pink shot, and we headed back into the room. 

Apparently the shot works pretty quickly, but takes a long time to inject because it is so thick.  So, my job was to basically half bend/half lay over Boots, hold her head in one arm (basically a bear hug) and hold her left paw forward and steady for the shot.  Then, once the shot takes effect I was to lay her over on her side and let her go.  Mind you, I am almost crying just as the doctor is explaining all of this to me – I am positively about to have a panic attack at the idea that I might bust into the waterworks in front of the owners.  I mean, they have NO IDEA that I’ve never done this before.  Nor would they give a rat’s ass if I somehow messed it up!  Talk about pressure.  So the way it worked out once we got in the room was that Boots was facing away from the owners, which meant that my back was to them as well.  I got into position – half bent over, with Boots in a bear-hug – and saw the needle go in.  From that moment on, this is what went on in my mind:

“Oh my God this is bad.  Unbelievable.  I mean this is really bad.  WHY didn’t I do laundry before today?!  How friggin’ stupid was that?!  I mean REALLY I just haaaaaaad to wear these underware?!  On THIS day?!  Here I am with my ass pretty much in these people’s faces and I know they can see my granny panties sticking out of the top of my pants.  I just know it.  They are probably thinking, ‘Wheeeeew-wie!  Sexy there GRANDMA – what are you?  27 or 72?!  HA – and what the hell are those?  White cotton briefs?!  LOOK OUT – Hot Momma comin’ through!  Haaa ha ha ha.  What a dork’.  But wait – wait just a second!  Their dog is dying right here in front of them.  They don’t give a shit about my undies!…..  Do they?  Well hell, maybe they do.  Maybe they are both looking and maybe they are thinking, ‘why the hell is such a young girl wearing underware like that?’ and then maybe later they’ll think, ‘how weird that our dog was being put to sleep and all we could think about was how ugly that girl’s underware were!”  If that is the case then these granny-panties have served their purpose!  Hey if they DID think that later, that would be just like that time I was in the lawyer’s office and MY mind started to wander to all those crazy things.  HA!  The human brain is so weird.  I’ll have to blog about this….” 

“She’s gone.”  The words from the doctor’s mouth broke me out of my strange rambling inappropriate undies train of thought, and I layed Boots over on her side.  Once again, I had successfully avoided crying because my mind did it’s own bizarre thing.  Don’t get me wrong – I definitely knew what was going on.  I could feel Bootsy getting heavier and sleepier in my arms.  I could see when the doctor put the stethescope to her chest.  I could feel when she stopped breathing.  And it was sad.  It was SO sad.  I really just think that by some genius design, the body knows when you are about to get emotional overload and just goes into a rambling trance sort of mode.  Well again, MY mind does that anyway.  I do think that it catches up with you and you have to let it out at some point though.  So far I’ve been okay with this one though.  There’s the self-accomplishment and sugarplums dancing in my head again!  Guess I’m tougher than I realized!  Maybe this one won’t catch up with me after all! 

Well, wait.  Wait just one sec.  On second thought, I wonder if sobbing hysterically in the middle of the Publix deli that night really was because they were out of Boar’s Head turkey?…

Turning the Page… Irony SUCKS September 7, 2009

I have definite ups and downs on the roller-coaster of emotions that comes along with getting divorced.  Don’t let my silly stories about dog crap fool you – I am definitely still going through some emotional shit of my own.  A few days ago I had an interesting chat (ah the magic of FB instant messaging) with a member of my family that I had previously not discussed the whole divorce with…  it was a little tough to hear some brutal honesty, but I respect and appreciate everyone’s opinions – and I love my family more than life – so I listen and understand, and in the end, know that I make the decisions that are right for my life.  I just have to hope that when it’s all said and done, my family and friends will love and trust me enough to know that (although it is NOT easy by any means) I am doing the best that I possibly can. 

After this chat I was feeling a little down (okay, ALOT down)…  one of the toughest parts has been the feeling that I’ve disappointed everyone and hurt people that I care about…  so naturally I went to the kitchen for a little snack.  (Eating your feelings helps, I’ve found.)  I started flipping through the mail and saw a big thick envelope that I hadn’t really paid attention to before.  I opened it and saw the back of 50 copies of the same magazine and was thinking, “WTF is this?”  Then I flipped it over and saw this…

That’s MY dining room on the cover.  Well, my old dining room.  I had completely forgotten about this article for a magazine that my (old) house was to be featured in.  They came months ago to take the pictures and it was just supposed to be a one or two page article about interior design and us building the house.  Well, apparently their plans changed and I never got the memo, because my (old) house was on the cover and had a 5 page center-section spread of a FEATURE ARTICLE.  Ouch.   

The house looks gorgeous.  The actual article was weird because the writer had to seperate me from being the actual home owner and the designer, plus I literally did the phone interview with this woman for the article while I was actually physically packing boxes to move out, so I had no idea what I even said.  I do know I was crying, so that should have made the interview/writing this article super fun for this poor lady. 

I instantly burst into tears when I saw this.  It’s just really sad.  I picked out that paint color, – it’s Sherwin Williams Spicy Hue, fyi - I filled those glass things with that dried fruit stuff, that is my collection of little figurines in the china cabinet (which is now currently in a plastic box in my garage)…  I can even see where I forgot to dust that bottom trestle of the dining room table.  I always forgot to do that. 

House to Home.  Hmph.  More like from china cabinet to Tupperware.  It’s just really tough to see a part of your life that is now over all glossy and pretty in a magazine.  How intolerably ironic that I can literally turn the page on this chapter of my life. 

Does anyone remember that Sex & The City episode where Charlotte’s apartment is featured in Home & Garden magazine while she is going through a divorce?  One of the lines in that show is “by the time the magazine hit the stands he had moved out”…  When I saw it I remember thinking, “aww.  sad.”  And let me tell you, yeah.  It is. 

P.s. does anyone else this it’s funny that one of the other cover stories is about dog’s dental health?  I can’t tell you how to be “at home in Midland” anymore, but at least I can tell you how to keep your dog’s teeth clean, damn it.

Crap on My Desk & A New Folgers Jingle September 2, 2009

The first is when a couple (two guys who are clearly more than friends) came in with their precious pooch.  So I’m chatting them up and just the way the “wife” is talking is about to make me crack up hysterically.  Soooooo dramatic and prissy and hand gesture-y.  So they go back for Chance’s exam and come out about thirty minutes later.  I went to the computer to check them out and notice that the doctor has put on Poochy’s chart “OBESITY” in biiiiiiig red letters.  It is then I notice that Wifey is on the phone and borderline hysterical.  This is the side of the conversation that I could hear:  (think prissy, dramatic, hand-gestures, and lots of “ssssssss” sounds)

“OH MA GAWD – Tony guess WHAT!  My dog is FAT.  No.  Yes.  No, I’m not kidding.  My dog is f-a-t, FAT.  No.  Yeah, he has to go on a DIET.  I KNOW.  Yes.  She put “OBESE” in big red letters on his chart.  Ohmagawd I just have to deal with this right now.  I’ll call you later.”

It was all I could do to calm them down and get them out of there.  Especially without me first cracking up laughing right to their faces.  Poor guys.  I see a treadmill and 8-minute Abs in Chance’s future. 

The second thing that happened (that I didn’t so much laugh at) was when a lady came in to have her dog’s anal gland expressed.  ‘Nuff said.  I realize that for some people it’s part of having a dog, but it’s gross and it makes me cringe when people call to come in and have this done.  So Mrs. Client comes in and is sitting in the waiting room for a few minutes.  We take the dog back, do the deed, and I bring him back up front.  The receptionist checks Mrs. Client out and as she’s breezing out the door she looks at me and casually says, “Oh, my dog whizzed right there” and points to the shelf by the door containing the dog biscuits and treats and such.  And then she’s gone.  I mean SERIOUSLY?!  Who the hell does that?!  I know there’s lots of smells and stuff and then dogs get excited and all of that, but DAMN.  You’re not even gonna pretend like you are going to clean it up?!  Nope.  The one good thing I can say about being the manager is that I can easily delegate the task of cleaning up the dog’s “whiz”, which makes me really popular with the staff.  (j/k – they love me, seriously.)

Now the third thing didn’t so much make me laugh in a “ha-ha funny” kind of way, but more of a “ha-ha-wtf?” kind of way.  I know that if any of you have not actually uttered the words, you have at least heard them…  “MAN I have so much crap on my desk!”  Well, so far it has only been at this job when I say that sentence do I mean it quite literally.  You know it’s going to be a good day when you walk in and THIS is the first thing you see…

well good morning to you too!

 Yeah that’s right, to begin my day at 7:30 a.m. there is an envelope with shit in it sitting on my desk.  Wake up and smell the coffee?  Nope.  Wake up and smell the terd that is sitting on top of your notebook.  Could be a catchy new jingle for Folgers though…  “The best part of wakin’ up is doo-doo on your stuff!”

The owner of this particular dog called later that day to make sure that I had received her little package.  Apparently she had taped it on the front door of the office on her way to work.  She said, “I was crackin’ myself up leavin’ poop on your door!”  To which I replied, “At least you didn’t light it on fire and ring the doorbell.”  She didn’t see the humor.