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.
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