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Life at 29

Sometimes, you are 29 years old and living in Massachusetts. You have way lowered your career standards, mostly due to to a failure at all career ventures. You hope nursing school will fix all that.

You get a shitty temp job that pays $14/hr. This is actually an amazingly high rate, considering that most previous gigs of the past year have paid like $10/hr. (Note: The cost of living in this state costs much more than the national average.)

To celebrate, you buy a six pack of Harpoon Summer Beer and a 21 pack of American Spirits. (Besides, this stuff will be needed over the holiday weekend.)

You proceed to watch a whole lot of the Bachelorette, Season Five. You buy like 50lbs of hay for the bunny.

Isn't how I turned out, but I'm pretty satisfied at the moment anyhow.

I am a lazy slacker

It was almost a year ago that I lost my editorial at this medical compliance publishing company. I have no real job, but I do not miss the place. Lo, it was a business entirely funded by health care providers who have a bit of cash to throw around, but who also obviously don't ask the Little People what they need, since all the materials we produce suck. I had to drive an hour to get there. The authors were unfamiliar with the concept of an article outline, and doubly unaware of the sheer banality of their subject area, as well as the quadrouply unaware of the irony of their overinflated egos. The other young women on my team never invited me to lunch with them, and in fact, often made plans for lunch in front of me. I was criticized on my performance review for appearing "visibly upset" at times when the stress made me cry in some meetings, but I'm sure that this document might have noted my inability to show that I gave a shit if I remained stoic during my very short tenure. Fun stuff.


A year later, and I don't have a fucking job with benefits. I also can't really find a fucking job. I've applied to Target twice, only to be spurned. I have applied to a shitload of social service jobs that ask for nothing more than a high school diploma and a clean CORI. Hey, I've never This would make me feel like a loser if other really smart people with even better work ethics than me also didn't lack jobs.

But, unlike a year ago, Obama is in office, and Obama believes in hope. I hope that I find my UMass transcript so that I can show I took Intro to Psych in 2004 and enroll in a slightly less remedial Psychology Through the Lifespan course at community college. I can hope that the registrar at community college notes that I took graduate level psychology courses as an undergraduate in 2000 and 2001 and 2002, and clearly thus probably know the material that got covered at enroll. If the whole hope thing doesn't pull through, I'll roll with this Obama theme and believe in the power of change. Maybe Beacon Hill Community College will change its prerequisite requirements in the psychology department, so I can take some fucking prerequisites to get into motherfucking nursing school.

If that change in BHCC registrar protocol doesn't happen, I'll believe in the power of the computer to change into a sentient being. That retroactive FASFA for the 2008 - 2009 school year I need to get reimbursed for some other nursing prerequs isn't going to fill out itself, you know. Not yet, anyway.

I am a lazy motherfucker in other realms as well. For instance, I have pretty much posted interesting (to me, but perhaps the readers have a different opinion) stuff to Facebook rather than on Livejournal. (Sometimes images and prose lack a certain artistic and/or literary jouissance if the author doesn't expound a bit on them. (But, I like to be long winded sometimes, and perhaps this belief is self serving in that it fules the rhetorical inter referential circle jerk of blogging.)) Also, I really need to get to that Renaissance art exhibit at the MFA. Also, need to make an appointment with my uberfancy rheumatologist and dermatologist because my palmoplantar keratoderma* is spreading a teensy bit. Perhaps unrelated, my best friend worries that the form of scleroderma I have that also defies textbook definition or anything my docs have ever seen might be slightly more active. But that's still two counts of medical laziness.

I do not underachieve in the arena of critter appreciation. Also, since I'm going to school full time in two weeks, I think I'm gonna get me some cable tv. It is like a brain vacation in a relaxobox. Till those two weeks come, I might just watch a whole lot of cable tv. Not because I'm a slacker or anything. It would be to fortify my reserves of relaxify before the academic rodeo, replete as it is with psychological whip lash, commences.

*That's fancy medical speak for generic bumps on the hands or feet that could look like anything, and could have any cause. And no, it doesn't look as gross as anything you might see on the internet.

This American Life!

Oh hai! I am totally stoned on this weed that my friend, a resident of the Spring Chateu, only described as "From Up North." Do you know what I'm doing? I'm listening to This American Life with the Begonia as she fits a new Ikea desk into her bedroom!
So I'm browsing the New England Reptile Expo website, and come across a list of exhibitors. I stumble upon Scott Crowe Reptiles. I do not know who Scott Crowe is, except a man who propegates bad ideas. I might even venture so far as to call him a dumbass for reguarly spending time with alligators, an animal that can kill the fuck out of stuff much larger than a human.

But Scott Crowe wants to show you the beauty of keeping alligators as pets. To facillitate this process, my man Scott has posted a series of videos on YouTube extolling the appeal of keeping gators as pets. In the first video, we see him warning potential purchasers of the potential size of reptiles. On the plus side of ownership, though, the website proclaims, "They are really cool to have though if you have room for one, there's nothing like watching these guys eat."

Then we move on to the second video, with mid-sized reptiles. We note the tattooed dudes poking around, till they fish a half eaten rat from the bottom of the warm pool where the gators reside. They throw the rat to a mean croc, and then proceed to wade into the warmed gator water. Yes, there's nothing cooler than having a 5,000 gallon room full of water continually warming the feces of your reptile friends. One of the dudes notes that a two and a half foot long gator did "some pretty good damage" when it bit his hand awhile ago. Then he pulls a gator by its tail, and holds its head down with a stick. This move supposedly demonstrates the size of the gator, but I prefer to think of it as some perverse freudian manifestation of some really unique personal problems.

Are we having fun with this pet yet?

We also see a discussion of gator personalities. A repdude holding a baby declares that with a lot of handling, your small gator will grow up into a gator that won't "give you any problems." In the next video, we see the same dude searching for one of his gator in the said 5,000 gallon warm poo cessspool / croc habitat as he declares, "this one used to try to kill me all the time." So, where's a gator that shows the benefits of this handling of baby gator that supposedly allows their personalities to flower? It doesn't matter, because we're moving on to the really big gator! The big gator is pissed to get pulled by the tail, but a repdude sits on top of it and uses his body weight to hold its mouth closed. The dude has to cover the gator's eyes to make it calm down. I guess because the gator doesn't try to pull anybody into a death roll, the repdude comments that this alligator "is being pretty good."

OMG, this is just like riding a pony, so fun!

Then, for the money shot, we see the largest gator living in the poo stew. To prove how badass he is, a repdude grabs the gator out of the water and manages to hold it sorta still while noting that in Massachusetts, they have to keep the gators' mouths covered when they present to school groups. I just do not understand the rationale behind that law. It makes about as much sense as gay marriage. The dude adds that "this thing could destroy me right now if it wanted to." Well, since gators live about 60 years, I guess it'll get that chance to have you for dinner when you are frail old men with out of date tattoos.

I mean, after 60 years of nothing but rats, a bet a human would taste pretty darn good.

At any rate, you've got to have a bit of sympathy for Scott Crowe. I'm pretty sure that Scott'll never get laid by anybody under the age of 40 (which could be a problem when he is like 50), or anybody who spends some first person quality time in the croc room. I could be wrong on this, but I sort of doubt it.

This is relevant to my interests

Lucy and Edina
Originally uploaded by bunnyhop
Okay, so I'm browsing the Flickr looking at intersting images and whatnot, and then I come accross images of a bi-weekly event called the "Hoppy Hour!" And what does Hoppy Hour involve? Lots of bunnies scampering about and crazy bunny ladies and dudes thinking about how they want to get it on with you and other bunnies humping your bunny while your cuteness quotient gets blown away like woah.

Do you see how engaged all the humans in the background are in loving on all the bunny interaction? None of my friends understand, quite, and my attempts to get into touch with two Ok Cupid dudes who also have pet bunnies and seem rather pumped about the said pet bunnies have all but fallen flat. (I would like these attempts to succeed with a binky!)

I would like to know why this only happens in the Twin Cities. I want to go to a Hoppy Hour post haste. I want to pet five bunnies all sniffing and scritching and feeling soft under my fingers. I want my bunny to finally bask in the presence of her species, a group that understands how over rated manners can be (her usual housemates, the cats, just don't understand.)
Because I have a sinus infection, and the neti pot doesn't work for me. (It is like taking steroids for poison ivy this summer: the cure
was even worse than the disease.)

I'm too cheap to buy a neoneti pot that just sprays the water up your nose in a huge ass jet, so I was thinking maybe tea tree oil? I already have tea tree oil in a bottle for when the rabbit pees on her blanket. (It isn't like I'm underemployed and have a lot of free time or anything, and searching down a bottle to just put warm salt water in sounds sorta like a trial. The tea tree oil bottle is here right now.)

You gotta love the high pitched sounds resonating in your face as the sick sinuses equalize pressure after blowing your nose . . .

I'm thinking I might end up with an overly antiseptic feeling after the spraying. Not burning, necessarily. Just sorta like all-natural floor cleaner.
Here is an Ok Cupid message that I recieved:

=====gedbo wrote=====
You're a great looking woman.  So you had me intrigued you said"you have the most unique looking tongue" do you have a picture ?  I have a fetish for long tongues! lol   Mike


Clearly, some folks don't do their research on the J. Breezy before writing. Yes, I have 19 messages in my inbox, but they mostly read like this.

I am a great looking woman by this guy's standards if my hardcore atheist friend is a saint by the standards of the Catholic Church.

Sometimes, my weird tongue is just my weird tongue, and not an invitation for you to write me about your boring fetishes. (I have decided that people who think Panera sammiches are tasty and exciting are also the type of peple who think that dressing up as a maid and/or a little spanking every now and again counts as really raunchy sex.)

Whew, that Target interview sure was exhausting. I am not sure that I made it apparent the extent to which I'm willing to lower my standards to work in the same city where I reside. Panera pays me $9, and I'll stoop to $8.50. Come on, Target. Bite. Um, pretty pretty please? I'll show you my lack of shame if you show me the cup I get to pee in for a pass drug test that'll seal my "provisional" offer of employment.

Anybody who didn't knwo the economy was in the shithole before they started reporting on it on NPR was clearly more economically secure than myself and my Virginia Ladeez.

Will somebody just pay me for 40 hours of work a week? Did I mention that my credit card got suspended for lack of payment? WHERE IS MY SELF-ACTUALIZED SUGAR MAMMA AND/OR DADDY?

Sometimes my fianncial situation sucks so much that I almost wish I was talking to my parents so that I could borrow some of their cash. I said "almost" and "sometimes," people. Jesus, I'd like to hold onto my sanity, plzkthx.  I spent nine months in my mother's womb, and I've been trying to get as far away as possible ever since.

This is the portion of the program where I throw a temper tantrum.

I feel like a million 2009 Britney Spears crying about the Justin Timberlake she let go back in 2003, only I am 2009 Calamity J crying about that decision to go to acupuncture school in 2004. Whatevs. The metaphor is vague, but the pain is real. Like, real Hollywood real.

There is genocide and global warming, and then there is the pain of Britney Spears and the next 11 months of my financial insecurity, k? CLEARLY, ONE CATEGORY IS MORE MONUMENTAL THAN THE OTHER, PEOPLE!

It sure is a good thing I figured out that I could get that nursing degree in like 15 months.

Nature - more lethal than you

Here is a picture I located via Pixdaus, which I located via English Russia. You might have a bigger brain than nature, but nature has millions of years of trial and error on its side. You might get to live away from the elements, but just get close to nature, and nature will try its darndest to get you.

Below, we see what badass predators want to do with your sorry ass:

"We have to put this in the context of an American administration which when it was flying on Air Force One to escape the bombs of Sept 11, Condalezza Rice, who is no fool, actually quite openly said that we had to get a map out to find where Afganistan is. We're not dealing with a government lead by leading intellectuals who have a full grasp of hte world. So yes, they are open to these influences."

Crazy rat ladeez

I was surfing around the net, looking for trouble in all the right e-places when I came across a rat costume. Then, I came across some more rat costumes.

Making rat costumes has got to be a labor of love. I mean, they poop and pee everywhere. Which means they'd poop and pee on their costume.

I do not deny that I would like to dress my pets up in costumes. I do not deny that I'm just that sick. But the cats would run away and the bunny would just eat her costume by the time I'd gotten the camera.

The Rat Fan Club begins its webpage with an image of a rat on top of a pile of stew. Is the fate of these becostumed rats as ominous as the critters at the Peruvian Guinea Pig Festival? I can not tell you; I was not there.

Whatevs. Here are some pictures of some rats.

Here is a rat dressed as a jester.

Angel and devil, according to the perceptions of the rats. Known to consume the flesh of under-attended to babies and invalids, these rodents apparently see the head of their stupored caretaker as a gord ripe for nibbling.

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