On turning 30.

My unflinching youthful wisdom has dwindled and I've come to the conclusion that I don't know shit.
And the uniqueness that I've embraced so tightly for most of my life has faded to the point where I realize I'm really just like everyone else. I'm thirty now, and the carefree, irresponsible days of my twenties are replaced by the age where I should know better, be settled and be adult enough to not feel awkward shaking another thirty-something's hand.
But I don't feel thirty and I don't feel the adultneass I'd imagined would come with my advaced age. I still describe other females I meet as "this girl or that girl" because the word 'woman' just sounds so matronly.
So I launch head-first into this decade where one is still considered young and where life is supposed to happen and solidify and adulthood becomes official somehow - only to be stopped cold by forty - that sort of half-way point in life and the start of being considered old.

Work sucks.

So I've given it 2 weeks and the new job isn't going so great. The pace is painfully slow and the people are largely painfully dull - save one or two people. The owner of the clinic is a sixty-something barracuda who likes nothing more than to bully her lowly techs. Her favorite game is to tell you to do something and then chew you out for not doing something else. Nice. She has all her older techs intimidated and miserable, and it's totally beyond me why they stay. With their years of experience, they could get jobs elsewhere effortlessly.
Sadly, I am growing tired of working in clinics. I know I've only been doing the job for 3 years, but it's very demanding physically and emotionally - plus almost 3 years at Banfield = 6 years of normal experience. Also, I'm just plain tired of getting bit, scratched, shit and pissed on. My left knee has been bothering me more and more each day so I've got to get that checked out.
Lastly, I need to make more damn money. Ian and I will never get out from under our mountain of debt if I don't start making a larger salary. I'm starting to look into jobs at veterinary supply and diagnostics companies - not the most rewarding work probably, but more normal hours and much better pay.
So that's where I am. Miserable with work, yet again.

New job

I started the new job yesterday. A little boring, but I think I can deal with that. It's strange working somewhere that's staffed - if someone runs around the corner for a cup of joe, all hell doesn't break loose. No one is stuffing their faces with vending machine candy because there is no time to eat a proper meal. We take hour lunches, sometimes they're longer and even have a few minutes here and there to bullshit. And when we do, no one glares at us like we're neglecting our jobs. The doctors rely on their techs as techs and take care of the client aspect of the job. We do our specialized work, they do theirs. I think there is less tech/client contact here than at other clinics, but they don't completely rely on the techs for almost everything like is done at Banfield. The one thing I don't like - techs have to do a lot of phone answering - but it seems that the phone calls are really straightforward and not a bunch of freaks seeing the name in the phone book and looking for free advice so they can avoid paying an office call elsewhere - people are such d-bags. So far, so good. I slept like a baby last night (due to hardly sleeping at all on Sunday night because of new-job jitters.) My schedule is really odd so I'm back to work at 2 today.
And my complaint - I am broke!

Employed again!

Yes! Excellent job interview pays off and I start my new job in a couple of days! Now I can sit on my ass and be lazy and not feel bad about it because I am employed again. I've also started editing some fishing articles for a friend who is trying to be a professional fisherman. What do I know abut fishing? Nothing! How much interest do I have in fishing? Zero! But that's ok because I am bartering my editing skills for fish and I figure I can learn the jargon and all that other fish crap as I go along. So in one day I am an employed veterinary technician and a fish-article editor! Woo hoo and it's not even 1 o-clock yet, and I did all of that in my pajamas.
On another good note, my dog is feeling better. Unbeknown to me, he ate some artichoke leaves 5 days ago and he barfed them up yesterday. Ouch, those prickly leaves must have been poking the crap out of his stomach. Great mom and vet tech I am.
Oh and what to complain about - ah, the hours at the new job suck. I am off on Sundays and Wednesdays - but Saturdays are only 5 hours so I kind of get a weekend. And my condo smells like dirty cat litter - better go do something about that.
And for all you visual peeps out there - a photo of Saffron, one of the smell makers.

Day of Complaining #1

I thought I might put this journalism degree to use and finally do some writing - I know blogging is hardly literature or journalism or anything even resembling something most people want to read, but I don't have a lot of pride invested in anyone reading my drivel anyway.
For all my loyal, yet to be discovered readers who might delve into my blogging archives, I'll give you an unabridged history on myself.
I grew up in a smallish town in eastern Minnesota having a less-than-awesome childhood. I got over it and set out into the big, big world with nothing but a rudimentary understanding of photography and a dream like many other teenagers - I was going to be an artist and hang out with other artists who are by nature really interesting people and go to really cool parties, smoke a lot of pot and have really deep conversations that the rest of the world just wouldn't understand. On to art school at a private and very expensive college in St.Paul in a very expensive neighborhood with coffee shops that display the overwhelmingly crappy art of the local art students. I met a lot of people who were supposed to be cool, went to a lot of parties that did indeed have a lot of pot but none of the stimulating conversation - it mostly went like this "art history is really fucking boring, hey who ate all the fucking Doritos, man I am so high." Sure it was a fun year and it confirmed my suspicion that I wasn't really good at drawing and I was certainly lacking in the creative department and photography not being in the first-year curriculum, I was falling behind fast.
On to first summer after art college and going to Europe to "study" art and drink a lot, smoke a lot more pot and meet some really cool people. Great summer - England one month, France one month with a couple of side trips to Belgium and Italy - and of course more student loan debt. I returned home broke, ridiculously thin and yearning to move to Europe and leave all this American bullshit behind ... yes, I know - how original.
For the next few years I floated. I was going to do hair and work my way through college = beauty school dropout. Then I ended up at community college finishing my generals then off to the University of Minnesota to do God knows what. I ended up getting accepted into the journalism school based on, well I don't know what they based it on because I was never a very good writer and I don't even like doing it all that much. I planned on doing photojournalism which was a great choice for me because the program had all of one class on the subject - in which I got an A. I graduated with a really good GPA to prove to myself that I do have some talent and was birthed into a world in which I was totally unprepared and had no plans. Coupled with my dwindling interest in journalism, I wasn't exactly in great shape.
So another year of twiddling my thumbs and working crappy retail jobs, I decided that I wanted to be a veterinary technician because I cleaned up shit at an animal shelter like 5 years before and I really liked working with the critters. Two years and another 20G in debt and I'm am now a certified veterinary technician. I've put in 3 years at a local corporate beast of a clinic and decided to chuck that in and go back to the shelter that I so loved.
So we're getting closer to the present now and it's about to get marginally more interesting. Two days at the shelter and I was disgusted and voluntarily unemployed. They've started using temperament tests on their dogs and the majority don't pass. If you know anything about dogs, most of them are very possessive of their food and don't usually take to other dogs immediately - both offenses are punishable by death. Puppies too.
After crawling back to my old job and being told my position was filled but they could find me fill-in work at their other locations (one whole day they've found in a week) I am basically unemployed, extremely bitter and bored off my ass. I had an interview that went great today at another clinic and I eagerly await their call. Until then ... I will post really boring blog entries that no one will read.
By the way, I did get married during that whole disaster that I call my twenties. My husband is a great guy and is supporting me through all of this bull shizzle. He's a lot nicer than me.
Here's a picture of my dog, Ike.