I swear, as if I wasn't brainially challenged enough before vet school, it's rough having to prove over and over what a ditz I am. Honestly. I've always felt since I was accepted, 'wow, I fooled them, huh? They have no idea what they've just invited in'. And now look. I am completely unable to do even basic math; I get lost in parking lots; I can't remember what day it is most of the time, especially if it's not on my schedule.
Ha! Sounds like old-fart's disease! And I'm not even that old!
I've a story to tell and a test tomorrow... so the story must wait, I'm afraid.
Tuesday, May 03, 2005
Monday, April 04, 2005
Entourage
This is why it's good to be blonde!
I went to a local alternative/goth/gay club on Fetish night with my lovely open minded man and a few guy friends. I was dressed not to kill but to entrance... red mesh dress, flamenco heels, yummy!! I felt the need to really break loose because school has been killing my spirit and what I feel I am or was...
I brought with me a two foot long black ostrich plume that I would dance with and tease my lovely entourage... a little teasing glance from behind the fluffy plume here and there... not quite a veil, but certainly a lovely experience dancing with it!
My feet began to throb after a few hours of dancing in these lovely torture devices with three inch heels. Beautiful and incredibly impractical, kind of like a miata. I found myself in the midst of a massage at that point, my lovely boy on one shoulder and my favorite hunky dance partner on the other, and a handsome gentleman taking care of the pesky lower back muscles. I felt like I could finally recover and let go of the horrendous tests I have been having lately.
Finally as the dark haired lovely one went to get me a drink, I found myself escorted to a throne like chair; plush red velvet, dark wood detailing, the works. As soon as I was seated, my shoes were removed and my feet found themselves in capable hands. Aaaaaaahhhhhh!!!
So there I was, my lovely dark boy on my left holding my drink, my hunky dance partner on my right making meatballs with my feet when up walks a man in a thong and a slave collar.
Does this sound shocking? Perhaps I forgot to mention some details of the club like the amount of flesh covered in vinyl and leather (or perhaps the amount of flesh not covered). As long as your nipples and nethers are covered, you're legal. And I mean only covered; electrical tape is A.O.K. So is mesh. Hmmmm. Anyways, I believe in the sexiness of leaving some things to the imagination (parts of me are still a lady and I like the old method of seduction; leave them wondering...) but I certainly don't mind looking at what other people consider legal, interesting or sexy.
So back to my new slave.
He had asked before if he might have the 'privelege' of serving me, so I told him to get on the floor as I had a spare foot that needed care. So down he went, and took great care in his massage. I was careless in all this, laughing with others who were somewhat drawn to the scene to see what it was all about; at one point I had my dark lovely on one side, my hunky dancer on the other, the slave on the floor and two other male friends standing about my chair; I handed S my plume and said, "please, complete it, if only for a second!" and he obliged by 'fanning' me with my feather. Again, I say aaaaaaahhhhhh...
I have always said that I will someday move to Utah and turn them on their ears by being a woman with a polyandrous family. Why not? A man to take care of the yard, a few more to tend the children, a few to work, and each one to satisfy me how I like. If men can have it why can't I? I could probably do a better job handling it all anyhow.
So there you have it. Why it is good to be a blonde.
I went to a local alternative/goth/gay club on Fetish night with my lovely open minded man and a few guy friends. I was dressed not to kill but to entrance... red mesh dress, flamenco heels, yummy!! I felt the need to really break loose because school has been killing my spirit and what I feel I am or was...
I brought with me a two foot long black ostrich plume that I would dance with and tease my lovely entourage... a little teasing glance from behind the fluffy plume here and there... not quite a veil, but certainly a lovely experience dancing with it!
My feet began to throb after a few hours of dancing in these lovely torture devices with three inch heels. Beautiful and incredibly impractical, kind of like a miata. I found myself in the midst of a massage at that point, my lovely boy on one shoulder and my favorite hunky dance partner on the other, and a handsome gentleman taking care of the pesky lower back muscles. I felt like I could finally recover and let go of the horrendous tests I have been having lately.
Finally as the dark haired lovely one went to get me a drink, I found myself escorted to a throne like chair; plush red velvet, dark wood detailing, the works. As soon as I was seated, my shoes were removed and my feet found themselves in capable hands. Aaaaaaahhhhhh!!!
So there I was, my lovely dark boy on my left holding my drink, my hunky dance partner on my right making meatballs with my feet when up walks a man in a thong and a slave collar.
Does this sound shocking? Perhaps I forgot to mention some details of the club like the amount of flesh covered in vinyl and leather (or perhaps the amount of flesh not covered). As long as your nipples and nethers are covered, you're legal. And I mean only covered; electrical tape is A.O.K. So is mesh. Hmmmm. Anyways, I believe in the sexiness of leaving some things to the imagination (parts of me are still a lady and I like the old method of seduction; leave them wondering...) but I certainly don't mind looking at what other people consider legal, interesting or sexy.
So back to my new slave.
He had asked before if he might have the 'privelege' of serving me, so I told him to get on the floor as I had a spare foot that needed care. So down he went, and took great care in his massage. I was careless in all this, laughing with others who were somewhat drawn to the scene to see what it was all about; at one point I had my dark lovely on one side, my hunky dancer on the other, the slave on the floor and two other male friends standing about my chair; I handed S my plume and said, "please, complete it, if only for a second!" and he obliged by 'fanning' me with my feather. Again, I say aaaaaaahhhhhh...
I have always said that I will someday move to Utah and turn them on their ears by being a woman with a polyandrous family. Why not? A man to take care of the yard, a few more to tend the children, a few to work, and each one to satisfy me how I like. If men can have it why can't I? I could probably do a better job handling it all anyhow.
So there you have it. Why it is good to be a blonde.
Saturday, March 26, 2005
Fahk you, you fahkin fahk!
Ahh, today dawned so beautifully, birds singing and grass growing... I even saw the crocus leaves poking their way through the dirty mounds of garbage on the lawn the retreating snows have revealed. Garbage, garbage everywhere, multiplies overnight.
Worcester, dirty old armpit of a sad ghetto white trash town.
So I smile at the sun and head down the walk between the piles of garbage towards the sidewalk.
Is that MY sportsbra on the sidewalk?
Why yes, yes it is. Uh oh.
Well I did give blood yesterday, perhaps when I was bringing in the groceries it got snagged out of my gym bag and dropped on the sidewalk.
Not bloody likely, you are saying this to yourself already.
So I go to the car. I was expecting the worst because I already had the feeling. THAT feeling; someone has violated me YET AGAIN.
Yes. Someone broke into my car. AGAIN. For the second time this month, and also for the second time this month stole really stupid meaningless things. I don't get it. I really don't.
They took my rainbow print gym bag, complete with smelly sneakers, worn out yoga pants and a vet school T-shirt, shorty socks and a CD walkman that doesn't even FAHKIN belong to me!!
Not to mention a cd book with cd's in it, and... my perscription glasses?
Yes. They stole gym clothes and glasses.
WHAT.
THE.
FUCK.
I mean it's not like there is a hot market for used sneakers, is there?
Last time, they smashed my window and stole a leather bag on the floor of the front seat. What was in it? Three other bags. All to donate to a fundraiser. Hahahaha! They missed the stereo and expensive cross country skiis, and the leather jacket... all safely in the house now...
but it was the morning of my grandfather's funeral, and I came out of the house to find glass all over the sidewalk and all over the inside of my fucking car.
Which, I might add, was not all taken out by the replacement glass company and as we speak still lines the floor under the mat and was witness to the SECOND FUCKING TIME I was violated.
I.
HATE.
WORCESTER.
I can't wait to move out and back into the safety of the countryside. These people are animals.
I will shut up before I say more because I am pissed, and justifiably so.
fuck you worcester and your white trash ghetto denizens. You can fahkin keep 'em.
balls.
Worcester, dirty old armpit of a sad ghetto white trash town.
So I smile at the sun and head down the walk between the piles of garbage towards the sidewalk.
Is that MY sportsbra on the sidewalk?
Why yes, yes it is. Uh oh.
Well I did give blood yesterday, perhaps when I was bringing in the groceries it got snagged out of my gym bag and dropped on the sidewalk.
Not bloody likely, you are saying this to yourself already.
So I go to the car. I was expecting the worst because I already had the feeling. THAT feeling; someone has violated me YET AGAIN.
Yes. Someone broke into my car. AGAIN. For the second time this month, and also for the second time this month stole really stupid meaningless things. I don't get it. I really don't.
They took my rainbow print gym bag, complete with smelly sneakers, worn out yoga pants and a vet school T-shirt, shorty socks and a CD walkman that doesn't even FAHKIN belong to me!!
Not to mention a cd book with cd's in it, and... my perscription glasses?
Yes. They stole gym clothes and glasses.
WHAT.
THE.
FUCK.
I mean it's not like there is a hot market for used sneakers, is there?
Last time, they smashed my window and stole a leather bag on the floor of the front seat. What was in it? Three other bags. All to donate to a fundraiser. Hahahaha! They missed the stereo and expensive cross country skiis, and the leather jacket... all safely in the house now...
but it was the morning of my grandfather's funeral, and I came out of the house to find glass all over the sidewalk and all over the inside of my fucking car.
Which, I might add, was not all taken out by the replacement glass company and as we speak still lines the floor under the mat and was witness to the SECOND FUCKING TIME I was violated.
I.
HATE.
WORCESTER.
I can't wait to move out and back into the safety of the countryside. These people are animals.
I will shut up before I say more because I am pissed, and justifiably so.
fuck you worcester and your white trash ghetto denizens. You can fahkin keep 'em.
balls.
Wednesday, March 09, 2005
The short bus
Dr.S from Immunology took pity on us sub-level geniouses and allowed us to have a 'special' study group with him.
He's the nicest man, truly he is; he really truly believes it will help (though he doesn't get the fact that we all understand it and either couldn't understand the language of his questions, or just suck in general at testing. Who knew that over analyzing a multiple choice question would be my downfall?)
So we were embarassed but sticking it out together, as the 'special' kids. We were sitting at a table together, we know who we are now, laughing in that embarassed way that people have when they have done something bad... like farting loudly in the library or something.
Anyway, we were trying to make the best of it, putting ourselves down for the amusement of others.
At one point, it got out of hand; we were all feeling dumb and J.A. said, "Looks like I'm riding the short bus today!"
Now, poor Dr.S, not knowing what was coming, looked genuinely concerned and said,
"Oh! You have bus or train to catch? I will hurry." Nice man, foriegn, not up on the jokes, you know?
We started laughing even more, and he looked confused so I did my best to explain.
"You see, here there are two kinds of buses. There is the long bus, that all the regular normal kids get to take to school. And then there is the short bus. For the 'special' kids. And today, that's us."
He looked confused.
"Special?"
Someone chimes in,
"Yeah, you know, window lickers!"
It goes bonkers at that point.
I started doing that incredibly un-pc thing that we ALL did as kids to make fun of the 'special' kids, you know what I'm talking about because you DID IT TOO or you are lying, you curl up your hand and thwap it against your chest. Someone else pretended to lick windows. Other people were throwing in behavioral suggestions, all for the education of our beloved Dr.S.
He got it.
We settled down and he said,
"Well sometimes I feel that I am driving the short bus."
hahahahahahahha!
He's the nicest man, truly he is; he really truly believes it will help (though he doesn't get the fact that we all understand it and either couldn't understand the language of his questions, or just suck in general at testing. Who knew that over analyzing a multiple choice question would be my downfall?)
So we were embarassed but sticking it out together, as the 'special' kids. We were sitting at a table together, we know who we are now, laughing in that embarassed way that people have when they have done something bad... like farting loudly in the library or something.
Anyway, we were trying to make the best of it, putting ourselves down for the amusement of others.
At one point, it got out of hand; we were all feeling dumb and J.A. said, "Looks like I'm riding the short bus today!"
Now, poor Dr.S, not knowing what was coming, looked genuinely concerned and said,
"Oh! You have bus or train to catch? I will hurry." Nice man, foriegn, not up on the jokes, you know?
We started laughing even more, and he looked confused so I did my best to explain.
"You see, here there are two kinds of buses. There is the long bus, that all the regular normal kids get to take to school. And then there is the short bus. For the 'special' kids. And today, that's us."
He looked confused.
"Special?"
Someone chimes in,
"Yeah, you know, window lickers!"
It goes bonkers at that point.
I started doing that incredibly un-pc thing that we ALL did as kids to make fun of the 'special' kids, you know what I'm talking about because you DID IT TOO or you are lying, you curl up your hand and thwap it against your chest. Someone else pretended to lick windows. Other people were throwing in behavioral suggestions, all for the education of our beloved Dr.S.
He got it.
We settled down and he said,
"Well sometimes I feel that I am driving the short bus."
hahahahahahahha!
So, Veterinarians are doctors?
And they say I'M BLONDE? Come on, really!
Went on a date with someone for the first time and it turned into an interview about what veterinary school is like, and what vets do. Now, I don't expect the public to understand the particulars, but you'd think a human surgeon would at least have a clue.
But to not know that veterinary school is a medical school? Hello, we do surgery!
Boy has clearly been living under a rock. No, I take that back; under a surgery table. Sheesh.
To say the least there will be no more dates with THAT one.
ha!
I am a little put out with people thinking that veterinarians are all touchy feely and that all we do is pet puppies all day long. We do what meds do, even more so; at least their patients can at times tell them what is wrong. We get paid less and our schooling is harder (we have way more than one specific type of primate to work with!). People expect us to work miracles and be specialists in any animal we come across; and then act surprised when we say the schooling is hard. Oh brother is it hard, harder than anything I have ever done in my whole life. Try smashing your head against a stone wall, because you WANT to, and then tell everyone you LIKE it; and because you want what is on the other side of the wall, you will ritualistically smash your head against that wall every single day because you believe in the greater goal of it all. That ladies and gentlemen is vet school.
I think it is going to permanently warp me and make me unable to deal with regular people after a while. I was freaky before! Whew!
Went on a date with someone for the first time and it turned into an interview about what veterinary school is like, and what vets do. Now, I don't expect the public to understand the particulars, but you'd think a human surgeon would at least have a clue.
But to not know that veterinary school is a medical school? Hello, we do surgery!
Boy has clearly been living under a rock. No, I take that back; under a surgery table. Sheesh.
To say the least there will be no more dates with THAT one.
ha!
I am a little put out with people thinking that veterinarians are all touchy feely and that all we do is pet puppies all day long. We do what meds do, even more so; at least their patients can at times tell them what is wrong. We get paid less and our schooling is harder (we have way more than one specific type of primate to work with!). People expect us to work miracles and be specialists in any animal we come across; and then act surprised when we say the schooling is hard. Oh brother is it hard, harder than anything I have ever done in my whole life. Try smashing your head against a stone wall, because you WANT to, and then tell everyone you LIKE it; and because you want what is on the other side of the wall, you will ritualistically smash your head against that wall every single day because you believe in the greater goal of it all. That ladies and gentlemen is vet school.
I think it is going to permanently warp me and make me unable to deal with regular people after a while. I was freaky before! Whew!
Thursday, February 24, 2005
Pussy... cat?
So this takes place back in the archives of tender childhood, when I was young and innocent... about 10 years old or so.
The phone rings and I answer it...
"Hello?"
and a dark and dirty voice answers,
"Hello little girl... do you have a pussy?"
Now, I have lived and still live my whole life with cats. Back then I slept every night with my good old kitty cat on the bed, snuggled in, keeping warm. He was my best friend and when you're 10, friends are everything.
So I say;
"Oh, yeah!"
and that dirty ol' perv replies,
"Well what does it look like?"
So I say, in all my young innocent honesty,
"Oh, well, his name is Sammy and he's gray and has yellow eyes, and he's kinda fat but I think he's cute. He sleeps on my bed every night and he's soft and I like to pet him."
there is this long pause while ol' perv gets the idea that he's not getting anywhere...
"No, not... I mean, not a... aw, fercrissakes, nevermind!" all pissed off he hangs up.
Well I was pretty confused. My mom asked me who called and I said it was some guy asking about the cat, so she wanted me to tell her everything we said... and she never explained why she laughed herself senseless.
The phone rings and I answer it...
"Hello?"
and a dark and dirty voice answers,
"Hello little girl... do you have a pussy?"
Now, I have lived and still live my whole life with cats. Back then I slept every night with my good old kitty cat on the bed, snuggled in, keeping warm. He was my best friend and when you're 10, friends are everything.
So I say;
"Oh, yeah!"
and that dirty ol' perv replies,
"Well what does it look like?"
So I say, in all my young innocent honesty,
"Oh, well, his name is Sammy and he's gray and has yellow eyes, and he's kinda fat but I think he's cute. He sleeps on my bed every night and he's soft and I like to pet him."
there is this long pause while ol' perv gets the idea that he's not getting anywhere...
"No, not... I mean, not a... aw, fercrissakes, nevermind!" all pissed off he hangs up.
Well I was pretty confused. My mom asked me who called and I said it was some guy asking about the cat, so she wanted me to tell her everything we said... and she never explained why she laughed herself senseless.
Monday, February 14, 2005
Why blondes don't get tickets
I love my car. I love to drive fast and I refuse to drive an automatic, because I like the feeling of control in a standard and the way you can really get it moving. Driving an automatic just fucks me all up and leaves me feeling useless and bored.
So the main road was freshly paved, after months and months of raised manhole covers and grooved pavement. I was psyched! So were the cops. You know the story, small town, no crime; so they are bitterly rabid about speeding. I mean, they get you if you are 4 miles per hour over. Sigh.
So, it was freshly paved, and I was fucking goddamn late. As usual. But I wasn't worried, because I was driving a fast little car (my old Jetta, sweet little burgundy piece of German engineering, complete with sick stereo and sunroof) and, well, I'm blonde. Yes, blonde. Why would that keep me from worry? Allow me to illustrate.
Ok, so freshly paved, me in my little car, late. I pull out of my road onto this slick sweet blacktop, smiling broad, disco on, and whip the car into a frenzy, got it up to 55 in the space of 15 yards. Yeeehaw! Shit. That. Was. A. Fuckin'. Cop. Yep, on the side street, sweet as can be, he saw the whole thing. Crap. I knew he was coming for me so I slowed only just a bit, real casual, I'm not doing anything wrong...
Blue lights... and over I go. Nicely dressed, hands on the dashboard, sunny smile, turn the music off. Roll the window down, get all ready, compliant and sweet...
I look in the rearview mirror... Oh, Joy! This is gonna be TOO easy!! Young rookie, chubby, not in the least attractive. Poor guy, doesn't even know what's coming.
So he steps up to the car, and mumbles his opening lines. Asks me if I know why I have been pulled over, so I dimple at him and say, "no, officer." Hee hee!
He said, "You were speeding; I clocked you going 55 and this is a 35 mph zone."
My eyes widened (as if in) surprise and I said...
I actually said, groaning inside (you idiot, he's never gonna fall for that shit!)
"Gasp!" whipping my head towards my speedometer, "I didn't know this little old car could get up that fast!"
so, feeling a sense of doom (you've pushed it too far, you really are a dumb blonde, you idiot...) I felt elation when he actually leaned casually on the door of my car and said,
"Heh heh, yeah, I know, it's so easy to get going on the fresh blacktop, you just gotta take it easy. Where you going in such a hurry?"
(oh my god I can't believe it the gods are smiling on me today)
So I dimple at him again,
"Oh, I'm late for class, I am never late I don't know what my problem is!"
So he asks for license and reg, the usual, and of course I don't have my license so sweet as pie I say,
"Oh, it's in my backpack which is back there" (pointing to the backseat) "I could get out and get it for you if you like?"
So he said to me,
"No, no that's alright, I take it you live right down there? Listen, though, I am patrolling this neighborhood, lots of speeding cuz of the new pavement, just take it easy huh? You have a good day."
Ahhhh, a triumph for the blonde.
Some people will say it's evil, and perpetuates the myth of feminine wiles and manipulation. I say, if they're dumb enough to fall for it and think that I'm a dumb blonde, they deserve it. Hah.
So the main road was freshly paved, after months and months of raised manhole covers and grooved pavement. I was psyched! So were the cops. You know the story, small town, no crime; so they are bitterly rabid about speeding. I mean, they get you if you are 4 miles per hour over. Sigh.
So, it was freshly paved, and I was fucking goddamn late. As usual. But I wasn't worried, because I was driving a fast little car (my old Jetta, sweet little burgundy piece of German engineering, complete with sick stereo and sunroof) and, well, I'm blonde. Yes, blonde. Why would that keep me from worry? Allow me to illustrate.
Ok, so freshly paved, me in my little car, late. I pull out of my road onto this slick sweet blacktop, smiling broad, disco on, and whip the car into a frenzy, got it up to 55 in the space of 15 yards. Yeeehaw! Shit. That. Was. A. Fuckin'. Cop. Yep, on the side street, sweet as can be, he saw the whole thing. Crap. I knew he was coming for me so I slowed only just a bit, real casual, I'm not doing anything wrong...
Blue lights... and over I go. Nicely dressed, hands on the dashboard, sunny smile, turn the music off. Roll the window down, get all ready, compliant and sweet...
I look in the rearview mirror... Oh, Joy! This is gonna be TOO easy!! Young rookie, chubby, not in the least attractive. Poor guy, doesn't even know what's coming.
So he steps up to the car, and mumbles his opening lines. Asks me if I know why I have been pulled over, so I dimple at him and say, "no, officer." Hee hee!
He said, "You were speeding; I clocked you going 55 and this is a 35 mph zone."
My eyes widened (as if in) surprise and I said...
I actually said, groaning inside (you idiot, he's never gonna fall for that shit!)
"Gasp!" whipping my head towards my speedometer, "I didn't know this little old car could get up that fast!"
so, feeling a sense of doom (you've pushed it too far, you really are a dumb blonde, you idiot...) I felt elation when he actually leaned casually on the door of my car and said,
"Heh heh, yeah, I know, it's so easy to get going on the fresh blacktop, you just gotta take it easy. Where you going in such a hurry?"
(oh my god I can't believe it the gods are smiling on me today)
So I dimple at him again,
"Oh, I'm late for class, I am never late I don't know what my problem is!"
So he asks for license and reg, the usual, and of course I don't have my license so sweet as pie I say,
"Oh, it's in my backpack which is back there" (pointing to the backseat) "I could get out and get it for you if you like?"
So he said to me,
"No, no that's alright, I take it you live right down there? Listen, though, I am patrolling this neighborhood, lots of speeding cuz of the new pavement, just take it easy huh? You have a good day."
Ahhhh, a triumph for the blonde.
Some people will say it's evil, and perpetuates the myth of feminine wiles and manipulation. I say, if they're dumb enough to fall for it and think that I'm a dumb blonde, they deserve it. Hah.
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