Introducing Our Neighbor

I sit here, watching The Hobbit with Boyfriend, enjoying our house. Things are hung on the walls (most of them). We have tons of eggs in the fridge thanks to our chickens. We're learning to remember where things are in the kitchen. Boyfriend cleaned up the garage the last two days. The wood we've gotten is 6split and stacked.

While we are enjoying our new house, there is one thing we are not enjoying. Our neighbor across the street.

It began the week we moved in - their dogs barking incessantly. One night, they barked non-stop keeping Boyfriend up between 1am and 4am. Finally Boyfriend was fed up with the dogs on our property (yep) barking incessantly that he went outside and chased them back home across the street. He knocked on their door and eventually the wife answered the door. Boyfriend asked her nicely if she could keep the dogs on their own property and quiet and she acted all bewildered and had no idea what he was speaking of. He replied with, "You can't hear that?" pointing at the (still) barking dogs. Nope, she apparently couldn't hear it.

A couple days later, the husband came over after getting home from an elk hunting trip to discuss the incident, dressed to the nines and wearing $1000 alligator boots. And by discuss, I mean using his 6'6" frame to intimidate Boyfriend into never ever scaring his wife that way again as she is ill. (Like Boyfriend was supposed to pyschically know that.) Boyfriend is not one to be intimidated, and therefore, got back in the guy's face telling him that his dogs bark incessantly. The neighbor said, "Dogs will be dogs and they'll bark. I also like them barking because it keeps critters away." Boyfriend clearly stated that his dogs barking like that are a nuisance and there are laws against it, and that he's simply asking that the guy keep his dogs on his own property and quiet. He questioned how Boyfriend knew they were his dogs, and Boyfriend replied with, "You have two Chesapeake Bay Retrievers, correct? Your two dogs have been getting into my yard, attempting to bother my chickens, pooping all over my yard, and barking at me while in my yard. By law, if your dogs are threatening my livestock, I have every right to shoot them. I don't want to do that. I'm simply asking you to keep your dogs quiet. You're argument that 'dogs will be dogs' is not a valid argument. It's a bother to your neighbors." After a few choice words (started by the neighbor), the neighbor finally said he would do what he could.

About a week later, that dogs were barking incessantly during the evening, for three hours straight .As a side note, it amazes me that dogs never seem to go hoarse. Boyfriend and I decided to go over and talk to them about it. Off we went, knocked on the door, and the daughter answers. We politely ask if she could quiet the dogs as they've been barking for three hours and we can hear it through closed windows and over the TV. She crosses her arms in front of her, gets an extremely pissy look and says, "Dogs will be dogs and will bark. I can't make them stop." I asked if there was a pen they could be put in, or put in the garage for a bit until they quieted down. That wouldn't work either. Boyfriend tried talking to her for a few more minutes and she got pissier with each minute. Because it was dark, we had walked over with a flashlight. Boyfriend began to turn Italian while talking and at one point, the flashlight smacked the door. It was by accident, but that's all it took. She started hollering that she was going to call the cops.

I dragged Boyfriend away. Back home, he left a message with the Sheriff's department regarding the issue. Two hours later a deputy calls back and Boyfriend has a lengthy conversation with him. He told his side of the story, and the deputy eventually told Boyfriend that the daughter called claiming she was scared for her life and that of her toddler. When her dad got home, he also called the sheriff. The deputy told Boyfriend that he does have a right to shoot the dogs if they are bothering his livestock. And asked us not to go back over to the neighbors house.

Now, when the daughter drives by, she stares at us, makes rude faces and flips us off. No joke. And the guy just stares at us when he drives by. Nice.

The worst thing about all of this? This neighbor is a minister. He's unlike any minister I've ever known. Now granted, I don't know very many, but I have never met a minister like this. He has shown us absolutely no respect whatsoever. We both admit that he has made an effort to keep the dogs quiet, and we do appreciate it. When he's not home however, his wife and kids don't give a shit.

And as it turns out, the entire street hates him.

To be continued . . . 

I am the world's biggest idiot

Yeah. That's me. World's Biggest Idiot.

Please give me a pat on the back. I already have.

Last night, while using my phone to accept new comments on a recent post, while trying to make the writing on the screen bigger so I could no only read it, but actually be able to hit the right links and stuff (and you know, not hit the wrong ones), I somehow managed to actually delete the most recent 50 freaking comments. You literally could have knocked me over with a feather.

Holy crap. And I can't figure out a way to get them back.

I nearly cried.

I love your guys' comments. I try to reply to all of them. And all of those are gone. Well, at least the most recent 50.

My forehead stung for an hour because I hit it so freaking hard.

How could this have happened?!

Oh right. I know. My bumbling fingers did this. Managed to hit all the wrong buttons. Literally. This is what I get for using my phone . . . right?

So, yeah. You can just call me WBI for short.

I am going to continue to wallow in shame and stupidity.

Hope y'all have a better, non-comment-deleting weekend.

*sigh*

I (and other good women) have been insulted

Due to a sudden rash of "anonymous" comments, I'm now enabling comment moderation. Don't worry, no captchas to worry about, at least for now. These "anonymous" comments are complete spam, and one of them was actually quite offensive. My friend from Tilting at Windmills I know saw the comment I'm speaking about, and actually replied to the spam comment, calling the guy a "case" and stating "you're posting this on an American woman's blog".

Now, I know I shouldn't let what this asshat says get to me. But being that I've been hit with this spam multiple times, I think it's only fair that I get out my frustration.

I'm sure other bloggers out there have been hit with the "Boycott American Women" comment. I have been more than once. And to the douche-bag who posts the comment, you might want to take note of where bloggers live, and whether it's a woman's blog you're leaving it on. I'm sure that the reason you, as an American man (so you claim), hate American women is because you have a certain "type" you always go for. And it's this "type" who has used you and abused you and made you into the headcase you now are. I, however, am not this "type" of American woman. In case anyone is curious, this is what he basically thinks all American women are:

He believes that American women are mostly likely to cheat on you, divorce you, to get fat, to steal half your money, don't know how to cook or clean, don't want to have children, etc. They are immature, selfish, extremely arrogant and self-centered, mentally unstable, irresponsible, and highly unchaste.

Well. Alrighty then. Let's see, I've never cheated on anyone I've ever been in a relationship with. I've yet to be married, so I don't have a history of divorce and taking some poor schmuck for all he's worth. I have a little more on me to love, but I don't weigh a million pounds. I don't steal. I don't like to cook much, but I will. I do know how to clean. If I don't, I ask my mother and she tells me what works best. I do want children, but I'd prefer to be married. I doubt anyone who knows me would say I am immature. I try not to be a selfish person, but no one is perfect. I don't think I'm arrogant or self-centered (unless it's my birthday, but hey, it's my freaking birthday). I'm no more mentally unstable then the next person. I try to be responsible, and hopefully I am 99% of the time. And I'm about as freaking chaste as you can get, dude.

So, in a nutshell, this guy is a whack-job. And I'm sure in coming years as I continue to blog, I will be spammed with his bullshit comment about how horrible all American women are. Go find a therapist. Oh, and I'd love to see how long your mail order bride that can't speak English lasts - because it won't take long to see what a jackwagon you really are.

Thanks for insulting a GOOD American woman.

And before you ask:

 

Just so we're clear.

 

 

Cement vs Semen

Some days a simple and hilarious conversation at work can just make your day. And could quite possibly be labeled "best moment ever".

Last week, as I was starting my new schedule over the main clinic in Town and was therefore there on a day I normally wouldn't be there, this sort of thing happened. Hell, it still makes me giggle.

I think it happened before lunch . . . a gal came into the vet's office, needing some cement for eye patches for cattle. It's not actual cement, like cement shoes or anything, but its an adhesive for eye patches for cattle that have a problem like pinkeye. Here's how the conversation played out:

Gal: I need some cement for eye patches for cattle.

What I heard was "I need some semen . . . " but I didn't say so; mostly because by the time she finished her sentence I knew what she really said. And I didn't want her to think my mind was in the gutter.

E and I were kind of like, "hmmm" because no one has ever come in for just the cement part. So we started looking around, not finding anything. Dr. J comes over and asks what we're looking for . . .

Me: She's looking for some cemen---

Dr. J: You totally just said semen! (and laughed)

Me: (getting slightly indignant) No, I said cemENT.

Dr. J: You totally said semen!! (laughs even more)

E: Yeah, you totally said semen. (laughs)

Gal: (laughing)

Dr. J finally runs off to find some cement. As he walks away:

Gal: I just need a tube of the sticky stuff.

There was maybe a three second pause where the three of us thought "um, not sure that was any better!!" before we all three started laughing so freaking hard we were crying. The gal was quite embarrassed by her latest statement, and once she could catch her breath, admitted, "That really didn't sound any better, did it?"

Dr. J came back to the three of us laughing ourselves silly, and wanted to know what was going on, and the gal told us not to tell. He had found the cement, or tube of sticky stuff as it were, and was handing her a tube. She paid for it, and left. E and I thanked her for making our day as she was heading out the door.

E and I kept laughing over it during the remainder of the day, and we finally told Dr. J what had been said. He got a kick out of it, too.

And so, in an office where we are supposed to veterinary professionals, we were quickly and easily reduced to teenagers by the very thought that someone said "semen" when they said "cemENT" and the phrase "tube of sticky stuff" . . .

 

Donkey Basketball

I kid you not, folks. I. Kid. You. Not. This truly exists.

Last Friday I was sitting on the couch playing some horrifically stupid yet addicting Facebook game around 4:30 p.m., when I got a text from our new vet, Dr. A saying, "are you going to donkey basketball at the school tonight? we are coming over and then having dinner if you're interested."

I kind of just stared at my phone for a minute. Donkey Basketball?! WTF? Are the donkey's playing basketball? Are people playing basketball on donkey's? Is it real donkey's??

So I sent a text back saying, "donkey basketball?! never heard of it!"

She replied with, "ffa fundraiser at 6:30."

Of course I replied with "see you there." I mean, who would not go and witness a possible total absurdity. It's not like you'd see something like this in the big city.

I drove to the high school (whose initials are SV which totally works for my made up town of Sticksville!) at 6:30 which is just a few blocks from my house and drove by it to find parking and saw a line out the gym door. There wasn't a place to park for three blocks in some cases. I found one about a block away. I paid my $9 to get in and found Dr. A and her friend L. A couple other gals from work were also there, E and C. Oh, and for those of you who are unaware, FFA stands for Future Farmers of America; it starts in high school and there's also a collegiate form as well, promoting ag education and all that jazz.

The gym was full. They had to set up folding chairs on the small stage for people because the bleachers were full. And there were still people standing. Evidently, this is quite the popular event, but I don't think it's necessarily advertised very well. I guess this happens every year, a basketball game between girls/boys varsity and the faculty and it's an FFA fundraiser.

The basic rules were thus: One person from each team was in the center circle - they had to keep at least one foot in it at all times. A player could get off the donkey to get the ball, but had to take their donkey with them (which is much harder than one thinks, trust me). To shoot the ball the player had to mounted on their donkey.

And then it happened. A side door opened and in trotted donkey's with high school kids and faculty. And thus the laughter began. And continued until the game was over. I laughed so hard I cried.

 

Oh and you bet your blogging asses I took video. Even though my phone battery was dying, I totally took video. Unfortunately, you'll hear me and L laughing our butts off (okay, so it's probably mostly me). And don't worry, the donkey's had rubber cushions attached to their hooves so they couldn't slip on the gym floor. This first one is mostly the warm-up lap.

Now, this second video will feature a, um, "cheerleader". In fact, in the first half of the game, he was part of the pooper-scooper team (one carried a shovel, and the other carried a broom to sweep the gym apples and they wore ponchos and sombreros. I'm so not kidding. The second half was a bit wilder than the first . . . in the sense that the antics from the folks in the center circle, as the pushing got a bit rougher, and then cheerleader guy started trying to mess with the faculty guy in the center, so that the students would win the game.

In the end, the students one, 24-22.

After laughing so hard my stomach and my face hurt and my face was also streaked from the tears of laughter, four of us went to dinner - myself, Dr. A, E and L. Where we laughed even more. I'm so proud of myself for having two social engagements last week. They are pretty much the only two I've had since I moved up here that were technically not work (i.e. cattle vet office) related. I had so much fun!

And I'm sooooo going again next year!

 

Oh. My. Gawd.

Saturday's at the vet clinic can be a variety of things: slow, busy but easy, busy but rough, or downright insane. I'm putting this last Saturday on the downright insane list. Not only were we busy, but it was my day for the crazies and the talkers. You know the type: they never once take a breath while speaking the entire time their on the premises. I had not one but two of those.

Walking in I looked at the book and though, well, we're busy, but not insane. I think I may have jinxed myself.

Things were going well early on, but somewhere between 9am and 10am I noticed a slight spiral. First, I get this gal who calls in about a pregnant Yorkie who is having some discharge out her hoo-ha and they're not sure if this is normal. So this tells you that these folks are backyard breeders because they have no idea what they are doing. A person who has bred dogs before or is a professional breeder would know what's normal or not. So I took her name and number and told her I would talk with the vet, Dr. A and get back to her. Poor Dr. A has no idea as she's still a recent vet school graduate. So she starts looking stuff up. Eventually this gal calls back and then asks if they brought the dog in to be checked out how much it would cost and what would they do? I start by telling her the price of a regular exam, and then eventually hand her off to the vet. The vet then comes back to me and says this gal is coming in. They show up shortly before lunch, and I start taking down the dog's information as it hadn't been in before. When I asked a question, both mother and daughter answered in unison. Which of course I didn't understand because it wasn't perfect unison. I kept thinking, this isn't rocket science folks - just one of you answer me. The dog goes into the back and as I'm closing up for lunch the owners start panicking that we were going to leave the dog all alone suffering in the back. Seriously? I explained that we were giving her a drug to induce her labor and that we would keep checking on her about every 20 minutes, but that she did need some peace and quiet. I don't think the puppies survived as they were a bit premature - the vet did a c-section and then spayed the dog.

Also in the morning I had another gal call who literally never shut up. She had a service pet that was bleeding from it's rectum, and she had no money as her husband had taken $300 out of their account, and she was worried that her neighbor had poisoned her cat. She spoke so disjointedly about where she was from (as in, couldn't get the name of her town right the first time), the story of her service pet, and this cat that I had no idea what the hell she was talking about. I talk to Dr. A and she said that we're not taking any new charge accounts, and to have her call the Humane Society to see if they might help her out. Now the first time I talked to her I couldn't get her to stop talking. The second time was just as bad. I called her up and told her that we are unfortunately not taking on any new charge accounts (this is ruined of course by the idiots who make us take them to collections/court over $30), and then she runs her story by me again, which I had already heard twice in the first phone call. I gave her the number of the Humane Society, telling her that maybe they can help her out. She calls back a little later saying the Humane Society was going to loan her the money and she'd pay them back. Then I heard the whole story again. I kept trying to get her off the phone as I had other lines on hold and people waiting at the front desk. I finally say, "Okay, well we'll see you when you get here," click.

While I'm dealing with that lady, another lady comes in for her appointment. I grab her file and say, "Are we seeing Mugsy?" She replies with, "No, she's dead. This is Sophie." Um. Okay. So while she doesn't shut the hell up either, I'm trying to figure out why she keeps telling me we've seen this dog before but I have no record of her. Finally she says to look in a certain file. I tell her that's the file I have - hers. Then she says to look in her mom's file. Um. Okay. Well, there's the dog's record. She has yet to shut her trap. I have no idea what the hell she's talking about, but she keeps talking. I, of course, have a ton of other things to do, and don't have time for her chatter. Finally one of the girls takes her back to an exam room, and she continues whatever she's saying to the poor girl as if she's been there for the whole conversation. Yeah. When she comes back out, she's still going. Non-stop. And continues as I'm trying to check her out. In my head I was screaming, SHUT UP! And go get me a Cosmo! I need a drink!!

After lunch (sans Cosmo) it was just busy. We were still dealing with the pregnant Yorkie, had our scheduled appointments, phones ringing off the hook, and random people coming in for shopping. Plus I had payment checks to enter not to mention other stuff to finish.

Around 2pm, the phone call gal came in - with the service pet. Turns out, this service pet is a cat. It's a therapy pet, suggested by her mental health professional. Yep. She was a few sandwiches short of a picnic. From the minute she stepped foot in the door, she wouldn't shut up. I heard the story at least once more. After that I just tuned her out, saying, "yeah . . . uh huh . . ." every so often. I was never happier to hear the phone ring. And guess what? She still rambled on while I was on the phone. While I was on the phone, a guy came up to the counter. Once off the phone I wrote up a ticket for him, and during that time, the mental lady was still talking to me. The guy kept giving me a funny look as I was trying so hard to concentrate on writing up the ticket, and I kind of just looked at him. One of the girls took the gal back, and she was still rambling. No joke. I'm not sure how the vet ever got a word in, but she did. Once we got her all squared away billing-wise, it took me forever to get rid of her.

Then at 5 minutes til 4pm (which is closing time), some gal walks in saying she needs to get her dog his shots. Dude. Really? When she tells me her last name I paused and checked the appointment book. She had an appointment. For 11am. OMG. Seriously? So I mention that fact, and she mumbles something that I can't understand. *grrrrrr* Luckily, because we were so behind, our vet had called in one of the retired guys who had popped in earlier in the morning. He was doing some cattle work that was scheduled at the clinic while she did that spay on that Yorkie. So I had the girl go get him to do the vaccines instead - on a dog that had on a serious muzzle and the gal could barely control. Yeah.

Oh. My. Gawd.

In the end, I realized there's just not enough chocolate or Cosmopolitans in the world.

My head hurts from all the talkies that wouldn't shut up.

Are you freaking kidding me?!

I'm speechless.

This is infuriating.

This is about as wrong as you can go.

I just read this article on Yahoo! about a school in Georgia having some very odd questions on their math homework. Questions like, "Each tree has 56 oranges. If 8 slaves picked pick them equally, then how much would each slave pick?" or how about my favorite, "If Frederick got two beatings per day, then how many beatings did he get in one week?"

Are you effing kidding me?!?!?!?!?!?!?!!?

In the 21st century, you are instilling racism in the South to innocent minds. These children should not be answering questions like this on their math homework. And if I had kids and this is what I saw on their homework I wouldn't allow them to finish it. I would march up to the teacher and the administration and tell them exactly where they could shove their teaching methods. I'm sorry, but what douche-nozzle could even contemplate allowing such questions to appear in the mathematics curriculum?

Unfortunately, most people are aware that racism is not dead. I seriously wish it was dead and in the past. However, there are some people who seem blissfully ignorant that such horrors are still alive in our society. And it's proved by a comment like this from one of the parents whose child attends this school: "This outrages me because it just lets me know that there's still racists."

The school's reason for this racist homework? "The teachers were trying to do a cross-curricular activity."

Okay. So I'm pretty sure that there are other ways to do "cross-curricular" activities. Like, History and English or Literature. If you wish to teach kids about slavery, since it is a part of not only American history, but world history, that's perfectly fine. Teach them about slavery, about the people who stood against it, who fought for equal rights, for desegregation. People who took a stand only because their feet hurt (like Rosa Parks). Teach them about the Underground Railroad, and the families that risked everything to help slaves find freedom in the North. Take them on a field trip to museums, old Southern Plantations, etc. Every one needs to know their history, but they also need to realize it's history. As in Frederick shouldn't be getting beaten and then go fill his cotton basket, and after that go pick oranges with the other slaves. 

The school district went on further by saying, "We understand that there are concerns about these questions, and we agree that these questions were not appropriate."

If you think they are inappropriate as well, then why the hell did you allow something like that in the curriculum? I completely understand that school is a lot different for youngsters than when I was in their shoes in the 80's and 90's. Everything is bumped up, it's faster, and it's more competitive. But me thinks they need to be a wee bit more careful about their "cross-curricular" activities and homework.

Because this is utter ridiculous and unacceptable.

 

Holy Crazy Saturday, Batman!

Let me tell you about my Saturday at Job 3. By 9 a.m. I could have used a stiff drink. And I don't drink.

I got in a few minutes early and began my routine. Put purse away, reorganize a few items on the counter to my right so it's easier for me to reach, double click on the Cornerstone program that we use, go grab money from safe, and by that time, it's usually 8 and I unlock doors and turn on phones.

Everything was going great until 7:59 when I saw this little box on the computer saying that Cornerstone couldn't connect to the server. Uh, excuse me? Panic started to rise in my throat. I ran to find the tech and asked her about it, and of course, she hadn't seen that problem before. The doc showed up at that moment so I told him about and he said he'd go play on his computer in his office and see if he could get it going.

Nope. Negative. He told me he called our computer guy and he'd come in to fix it.

So for the first hour to hour and a half, I was forced to do everything manually. I've done this once before. Technically I do it all the time in the Sticksville clinic because we don't have computers there. But this one is different. Because it's a lot busier. From the moment I turned the phones on it rang and rang. Yep, one crazy day was ahead of me.

One phone call was about a dog that the owner worried had a broken leg. Another was a gal who was concerned her puppy had parvo. Another gal spent ten minutes telling me that I was wrong after telling her that her dog had never had a Bordatella shot (for kennel cough), which was required to board her dog at some kennel in Reno. Others were calling to check on the status of their pets, and were upset that I had no idea because I'm only the Saturday receptionist. (Apparently I'm supposed to be all knowing? Missed that tweet . . . oh I don't tweet, no wonder . . .) And while I was on the phone, people kept piling into the lobby. (FYI, the dog's leg will be mended, and the puppy tested negative for parvo).

And the day started with the doc driving up to a lame horse waiting out back. With the horse, sick puppy and the broken leg, I'm surprised he still made it to his daughter's soccer game from 9 to 10. Once back, he was only in the office until noon, and then he had ranch calls all afternoon. And because of that, everyone in the county wanted an appointment. Literally.

Our computer guy came in somewhere between 8:30 and 9 and got right to work. The Cornerstone issue was fixed within half an hour. And he had one of my two reception computers working. The other computer, come to find out, had a virus. So he spent two hours or more cleaning up that computer. Unfortunately the new reception computer has to bounce to the old one in order to print. So for awhile, I could enter stuff in, but I had to manually write up a receipt. Finally the guy offered to have the computer print in the office manager's office. Even though her office is inconveniently located across our super-sized lobby, I took him up on it because it would still be faster.

Most of my appointments were patient and understanding that we had had some emergencies come in early in the morning making us behind. Only one took me up on the offer to reschedule. If vaccines were needed, I drew them up and had them ready for the doc.

For some odd reason, nearly every dog that came in had to be sedated. Usually we only do that if we're looking for foxtails up the nose or in the throat, or in a really bad case, in the ears. This of course, put the doc further behind because you have to sedate the dog, wait a few minutes, do your thing, then give it the reversal and the owner has to sit around for at least 15 to 20 minutes until the dog is awake enough to walk.

In the midst of all of this, a couple walked in asking about the status of their dog as they the doc hadn't returned their call this morning. I had give the doc his messages as I'd gotten them, but, well, shit happens. And that's what had happened. I apologized that the doc hadn't been able to call them back, but that I had given him the message, and that we'd had a couple of emergencies come in that morning and we were behind schedule with appointments, and that the doc was currently with a patient. The husband was rather rude and hollered that his appointment had started the day before. (Um, I understand that. And there's no reason to shoot the messenger.) I, of course, apologized again and told them I would find the tech and doc to see if I could relay any information.  Unfortunately the other doc hadn't called this doc to inform him about this particular dog, so he was a bit clueless, but the tech told me her observations. I ran back to the crowded lobby with the phone ringing off the hook, and relayed the information. The husband was still hotheaded and said that he wanted to go in the back to try to feed his dog (apparently the dog hadn't eaten for a couple days, possibly something in his throat); I asked him to please wait a moment so I could make sure there weren't any procedures going on in the back and to see if I could find the dog so I didn't look like an idiot . . . well, more than I probably appeared to the husband. A minute later, back in the lobby I see the tech talking to the couple. She took them in the back so they could visit their dog. Turns, the husband chewed her out as well - twice. Each time she said exactly what I had. Apparently, the guy also started chewing out the doctor, who told the guy, "I'm going as fast as I can. Your dog will get treatment, that's why she's here. But at the moment I have a lobby full of patients who have been waiting as long as an hour. I can only do so much at one time." According to the tech, the guy suddenly felt like a jerk and apologized to them. In case your wondering, I didn't get an apology. Both the doc and the tech thought the guy should have apologized to me, too, though.

My lunch hour quickly turned into my lunch half-hour.

Not only did I have to deal with all of the above, but on top of that was the annoying kid. He kept running (literally) through the clinic halls to get from point A to point B. A few times he nearly ran me over, and I said, "Perhaps we shouldn't be running." Didn't stick. The tech kept hollering at him to put stuff back where he found it, and the retired doc who showed up for something actually had a smile on his face as the tech was yelling. After lunch, the kid picked up a long whip (people use them when moving livestock) and started cracking it in the lobby. I hollered his name, shook my head and told him, "That's not what we call an 'inside toy'; put it back." He then jokingly tried to say that it was an inside toy. Since he apparently had nothing to do, I said, "Trash, sweep, mop." He was confused because it's just after 1 p.m. and we're open to 4. I explained that our doc was on ranch calls, so we had no appointments, therefore, the chores I'd given him were just fine. Finally the tech and I just sent the kids home, because we had the time to do it, and they didn't need to be paid to do nothing. The kid is a nice kid, outgoing and friendly. But this kid is totally ADD and could use some Ritalin. This kid can't seem to retain anything you say, doesn't do as instructed, has the attention span of a carrot, and apparently likes to hear the cracking sound of a whip (which is probably more than I needed to know . . . but lacks the "finesse" to make the whip 'crack' each time). I'm not sure how many more weekends I can handle with this kid.

After the kids left for the day, the tech and I each just sat up front, eating a much needed candy bar (hey, better than mixing up stiff margaritas in the break room), and reveling in the silence.

I spent the gloriously slow afternoon trying to catch up on everything. I had piles with sticky notes: "entered, print receipt", "to be entered", "new patient, enter", "new client, enter", "to be charged out", and so forth. I wanted to make sure I got everything, as now, the doctors check the receipts to make sure there are no mistakes. I guess with all the new people attempting reception, there have been several.  After getting that cleared, I filed away that mornings mess of files. Then went to the mailbox to see if there were checks to be entered. Oh yeah. There were. Then I helped the tech with trash and end of day cleaning. And for my last five minutes, I pulled Monday morning's files; didn't have time to get all of them though.

I left feeling like I'd been drug though a knothole backwards. Because I think I had been.

Scary Water and Politics

Evidently Mexico is not the only place with water that you shouldn't drink. Or swim in. Or possibly be in the same zip code as.

Three people have died from a brain eating amoeba in the water.

What the . . . ?

This little brainless organism was discovered in the 60's, and it doesn't kill everyone it comes into contact with. Picky little buggers. But it seems that 3 or 4 people die each year from this single-celled organism as it climbs up their noses and eats their brains. One kid died after being dunked in the water at a fishing camp. Another after just swimming. And the last guy from using tap water for his "neti pot". The CDC found that it was just his house that was contaminated, not the general supply and suggests that only distilled or boiled water be used for "neti pots".

Moral of the story?

Plug your nose.

Know what else is scary? Brain eating Politicians. Now, normally I don't talk politics. One, because it's typically not discussed in my family, because in some cases, it's polar opposite views. Two, I'm pretty much of the "middle of the road" mentality. Three, all politicians lie to varying degrees. Four, it's getting worse - like to the point I'm ready to claim I'm Canadian. And five, it's just a really big can of worms, because it opens up all kinds of worm cans.

Politicians have always seem more full of hot air than the average person. However, the new crop of politicians for our Presidential 2012 race is scaring the heebie-jeebies out of me. The Republican front-runners, to me, come off as more Evangelists than politicians. And that kind of combination has me shaking in my Skechers.

Now, this where all the other worm cans get opened. Anymore, politics isn't just "politics". It's religion. I'm not sure how religion became such a huge part. Maybe it's always been there and I've just been completely blind. That's entirely possible. But this Presidential race seems worse than just four years ago. I myself am not very religious. I have never attended church, and it actually just doesn't appeal to me all that much. I do have decent moral compass and try to be a good person and citizen. I recycle my bottles and my cans. I don't make fun of people with disabilities. I volunteer when I can. I don't believe in cheating on a significant other. And I try not to hold other people's decisions or beliefs against them; I try to keep an open mind.

But this . . . this I don't get. I recently read this about Michele Gagman Bachmann:

“She’s a perfect product of the religious right…” In detailing Bachmann’s biblical world view that stemmed from Francis Schaeffer, “All reality is determined by theological starting point, and so basically every single aspect of public life, science, history, economics, everything is determined by your religious beliefs and only those with the correct religious beliefs can correctly perceive any sort of reality, and it’s a way in which you can dismiss huge swaths of history, evolution, you can basically say that anything that doesn’t fit with your ideology is the product of mistaken theological premise.” source

Call me crazy, but I'm not sure I understand. I understand religion plays a huge role in a lot of people's lives, but I'm not sure even the Pope is so extreme. What really confuses me is this:

" . . . everything is determined by your religious beliefs and only those with the correct religious beliefs can correctly perceive any sort of reality . . . "

Yeah. I don't get that. Just stick a dunce cap on me and stick me in a corner. Religion is one thing. Extreme is another. I'm not really sure I want someone who thinks that way to lead my country. Actually, I'm damn sure. Religion isn't really going to help get our country back on track, it will only divide the masses further. What the candidates should really worry about is the economy, jobs, the country's credit rating and debts.

God didn't have a hand that mess. Man did. So man needs to fix it.

So, if the world ends in 2012 as the Mayan calendar suggests, do we get to blame the world leaders (at the time) for that? Or an ancient civilization?

According to a recent poll, 35% of those who support Michele Bachmann thought the rapture was coming on May 21.

Yeah. That is scary.

Hmmm. Politicians or brain-eating amoebas?

Anyone got a coin to flip?

You wanna spay what?

Dogs? Yes. Cats? Of course! A horse? ..........

Wait - what?

The good doctor and I took what I believe to be an "odd" phone call this afternoon. A gal called inquiring about fixing a horse. And not just "fixing" it as in fixing a problem or a wound, she meant fixing as in spaying the horse.

Now, for those that may have been living under a rock for the past half century or so, it is highly suggest that you spay or neuter your pets. Um, pets as in dogs and cats. And for the those that are still in the dark, "spaying" is where the lady bits get taken out so she can't get pregnant, and "neuter" is where boys get cut so they can't impregnate half the neighborhood pets.

Oddly enough, "neuter" is the term for dogs/cats; "gelding" is the term for horses; "castrating" works for every single thing.

Anyway, back to the horse. A gal asked if the clinic could spay a horse. I was a little taken by surprise as I've never heard of anyone actually spaying their horse. I mean, yes, it can be done. Apparently the good doctor informed me that he's done the procedure before. I handed the phone to him and let him answer the lady's questions because I was obviously not qualified as I would have told her just the geld the boys. Far less invasive and much more cost effective.

I about coughed up a lung when I found out that it would cost a minimum of $600 to spay a horse. It costs about $90 for a dog spay, and that's a lot.

Apparently, the way they spay a horse isn't exactly like a dog or a cat. Dogs/cats get cut along the abdomen, just below their belly buttons. For a horse, they lay it on one side, and make an incision on the flank, and take out an ovary. Then they have to flip said horse over onto it's other side, make another incision on the other flank and take out the other ovary.

The "flank" area is the number 3, just in front of the hip.

 
Not every large animal clinic has the same set up for equine surgery. One clinic I worked for had a special padded room dubbed the "fall room" which was where we anesthetized horses and guided them as to the floor as they got sleepy. In essence, we were helping them fall to the ground so they didn't hurt themselves. Then their feet would be bound and they would be lifted on a hydraulic system and pushed to the padded surgery table. After surgery, the horse would be lifted again on they hydraulics and pushed back into the fall room to wake up.
 
The clinic I work for doesn't have that kind of set up, although I'm sure they'd be like kids in a candy store if they could get their hands on one!
 
The easiest and most economical way to prevent a mare (female horse) from getting pregnant is to keep her away from a stallion. Or house her with other mares or  geldings. No problems there. The least economical way is to spay the 1200 pound mare.
 
Although, there is another idea, and it's probably more economical than spaying a horse. That is to stick a sterile marble where the sun doesn't shine. I've heard of this being used on sport/show horses where owners/riders don't want the attitude a mare can get when she comes into heat. Yes, even mares get a little nasty. It's not just humans. Anyway, the idea behind the marble is that if there is this thing bouncing around her uterus, it fools her body into thinking she's pregnant. Therefore, she won't come into heat. Therefore she can't be bred because she won't ovulate.
 
So, before you go getting any bright ideas about spending a small fortune on spaying a 1200 pound horse, you might consider more economical ideas. Like keeping it alone. Working on the boys. Or sticking a marble up it's hoo-ha.
 

Oh. My. Gawd. Seriously?!

What on earth would posses someone to wear this in public?!



Worst. Monday. EVER.

You might think I'm exaggerating, but I'm not. Okay, it definitely could have been worse - it can probably always get that way. However, barring any emergencies, today was, in fact, the worst Monday ever. (aka I was at job 3, the vet).

I left for work early as it had been snowing over my pass the night before, and I wanted to give myself enough time in case the roads were icy or the roads were slushy. I got to work a bit early, so I finished some stuff up that I hadn't had time to do on Saturday. There was a guy knocking at the door before 8am, which is when we open. And yes, our hours are posted on our front doors.

Our first appointment ended up being a pet for euthanasia. That's not exactly the greatest way to start.

The phones started ringing about thirty seconds after I took them off the night message. And they didn't stop. My boss was going to be doing "end of day" from Saturday, so I knew I wouldn't have access to the computer for at least 30 minutes. I went about my business. At 8:45, I asked if her I could log-in, and she then tells me that we're waiting on some computer technician to call us back - something to do with updates. And until she calls, we were sitting ducks.

Enter your choice words here. Because I'm quite sure I said them all under my breath. She agreed with my sentiments. Suddenly, the people never stopped coming in. I had a gal come in, telling all who would listen how her landlord set her up, and dumped her dogs food/water dishes and then called animal control claiming this person had abandoned her animals. So she needed rabies certificates and shots. Between us and animal control she was back and forth at least three times. And because I couldn't easily print up a rabies certificate because our computers were down, I had to manually write up a certificate. Which took forever.

To top it off, the clinic has been getting some kind sales call for "updating our free listing". Yeah, I don't have time for that. I hate being rude, especially right off the bat, so I politely tell these nice people who are calling from India that I don't have the time. And really, I'm not lying, as I really don't have the time to sit and talk with some guy I can barely understand. Besides, I have no idea what they're really talking about. Again, because I can't understand them. So, I politely tell them to bugger off, and they come back with, "Oh we're almost done". Hmm. A true quickie, eh? I call it like I see it, and hang up.

Our computer person finally calls in late morning and slowly each computer comes back up. But we're still not ready to go. My office manager still has to do "end of day" and back up the system. So, I'm still manually writing up receipts, adding stuff up, trying to remember what's taxable and what's not. After a few hours, my pile kept growing - my pile of stuff to enter, new patients, new clients. I finally had to separate them so I could keep stuff in order. I wrote sticky notes on files that needed special attention. I had a pile for cash, checks, and credit cards.

Then a doctor pulls me aside during a very brief lull; I had unknowingly filled a gal's vaccine order with the wrong vaccines. It wasn't life or death, but these days there's two or three choices for something. So, when this gal on Saturday had told me she wanted 300 doses of Ultra Shot, I picked out 300 doses of Ultra Shot. I didn't know that there are two kinds of Ultra Shot. One is just one thing, and the other option is plus the 8-way vaccine. Nope, not confusing at all. They weren't mad or annoyed, and told me not to apologize - which I kept doing. Even my office manager says that it's gotten worse over the years, and it'll still happens to her.

I was never so happy to see noon arrive. We lock the doors and turn off the phones for the hour. It was bliss.

Sometime around 1:30, the computers were finally up and running. How sad is it that we are so dependent on computers that when they go down, we suddenly can't function? My only saving grace was that all the clients were patient and understood. No one got irate or cursed me out. I even had a doctor helping with the phones at one point! There was nothing to do but plug along, and just keep swimming.

By the time 5pm rolled around, I had three people knock on the door to drop off their pets for the next day - surgery or whatnot. Dude. We close at 5. I stayed a few extra minutes to at least get the filing done so the regular receptionist didn't have to do it.

I really hope she doesn't decide to take another Monday off anytime soon.

Friday Randomness

So, Wednesday I had a fit of coughs. I was out of cough drops, and I only had Robitussin and DayQuil in the medicine cabinet. I decided I'd stop by Wal-Mart on my way into work that night. I despise Wal-Mart with every fiber of my being, but they are the only store open that late at night. And I wanted some kind of relief. I walked in, and in two minutes had some cough drops. It then took me nearly 45  minutes to get through a fucking check-out line. You think I'm kidding. At 10:30pm, they had 3 lanes open and each one had a line over a mile long. And 90% of those carts in line were so full they were taller than me. Not one single express lane was open. Ass. Holes. I get in one line. Fifteen minutes later, I haven't moved an inch. Ten minutes after that, I switch lines to one that's actually moving. About 15 minutes later, I finally reach the actual checker. I hand him a ten dollar bill and he slowly gets my change. But there's a snag. He's out of pennies. This idiot was going to make me wait for three fucking pennies. He kept trying to call out to one of his peeps to bring him change. When I realized what was happening, I said, "Are you waiting on pennies?" He said yes. I said, "I've waited 45 minutes in line, I'm late for work, you can keep the pennies." He looked panicked and said, "Are you sure?" I replied, "Dude. It's three pennies. Give me my change please." And I literally sprinted out of the store, to my car and showed up nearly 30 minutes late. Thanks a lot.

I'm also loving Mother Nature this week. (please note sarcasm). My sympathies go out to everyone affected by the blizzard, which I believe was over half the country. However. My company has labs scattered all over, and they all had to send their work to us. I find this interesting. They package everything and send it to us. Fed Ex can get off the ground and get it to us. Because we don't have enough work. We had about half a dozen labs send their stuff to us.  So, Mother Nature, knock this shit off, because I'm tired. Oh and if you read my blog and you're in the area that had a blizzard and your animal needed blood work, we here in CA might have done it. Sorry for the delay, but seeing as we are apparently the only state in the country not buried under 20 feet of snow, it had to come here. Because we here in CA don't have enough pets to work on. Especially considering we barely have enough people to do our own work. (I love corporations). And don't think I'm mad at the pet owner or vets. Every time a lab is down for whatever reason, all the work comes to our lab. However, if we break down some how, we have to wait for it to get fixed. Our work doesn't go anywhere. We always get the short end of the stick.

So, I am not always up on my current events. I see headlines on Yahoo! or see the paper occasionally at work. That is, when it hasn't been destroyed by the other shifts first. But I try to at least skim headlines and whatnot when I can see the paper. I hate being in the dark all the time. Wednesday night, while on my lunch break at work, I was peacefully eating while reading an article on the goings on in Egypt. This whole protesting of Mubarak has me interested. One of the department supervisors sat at my table to her lunch. At one point while reading, I must have said something or murmured something as the topic of Egypt came up. I said something like, "Oh this whole thing going on in Egypt. It's getting nasty now." She comes back with, "Oh? There's something going on in Egypt?" Luckily I was mid-bite of food so the jaw drop didn't show. I mean, after two full weeks, who doesn't know that there is something going on in Egypt? I mean, journalists and their crews have been attacked. Mummy heads have been stolen. There have been fights from horseback and camelback. After I explained all of this, she says, "Oh, I'm not up on my current events." Then I started mentioning that the article stated other Middle East countries are threatening protests or other countries have already taken action. I started listing the countries, "Jordan, Tunesia, Yemen, Omar . . ." And she asks, "Are those men?" Um. No. Read. A. Fucking. Paper.

Now I'm going to try to sleep. I've had little sleep this week and in the past few days, I've captured enough over-time to add an extra day to my week. It's my day off. I'm going to nap some. Pack some. Nap some more. And try not to cough up an internal organ.

Have a great weekend.  :o)

A Serious Case of the Mondays

I don't often have a horrible case of the Mondays, but yesterday was a different story. The worst part about it was that (since I work graveyard), my Monday started well before Monday itself did.

First off, I worked Sunday night. That part I didn't mind so much. What I did mind was the fact that I had to work with person that I despise more than my boss. This person will be written about after I've left. Sort of along the lines of my Psycho Suzi posts. So I had to endure 8 hours with a person I don't want to speak to or be around. Who kept trying to chit-chat with me as if we were bff's. I spent most of the night with both ear buds of my Zune in my ears so that I could ignore this person and so that they (hopefully) would get the damn hint. It sort of worked.

After work, I drove home to unload some more boxes before driving to Redding for a dentist appointment.  I was on my second trip when, after opening the door, I heard a weird sound. I looked around and it dawned on me what I was hearing. "Hissssssssssssssssssssss". My reaction? Oh shit. I looked down and saw a big ass nail in my left rear tire. I ran up the stairs with some boxes, and lost half the stack on the way up. If my neighbors weren't up yet at 7am, then they were after half my stack dropped. I finally got up them upstairs and tossed them aside in the living room and ran into my room to grab my overnight bag. I grabbed it, tossed in a clean pair of underwear and socks, my jammies, and tossed my makeup in it and I ran back out, shouting, "By Harriet!! See you tomorrrow!" to the cat as I ran out.

My goal was to make it to Les Schwab for them to patch it up before I ran out of air. I was losing pressure fast. I was praying that they opened at 7am, so I could be on the road by 8am. It takes about 2.5 hours to get to Redding. That's where my dentist is. Of course, you may be asking yourself, "why doesn't she get a freaking dentist in Sacramento, considering she lives there?" Valid question. I hate changing dentists.  With a passion. I screeched into Les Schwab at 7:20, and found that didn't open until 8am. How dare they not be open when I was in dire need! I called my mom to let her know I'd be leaving town late, and she offered to call my dentist office to let them know and see if they could fit me in later.

A couple minutes before 8, they opened their doors. When I found the nail in my title, I was at 30psi. When they opened, I was sitting at 14psi. They had my tire patched up and me on the road in about 20 minutes. And the best part was they didn't charge me. I so love those boys.

I pulled up to the dentist office at ten minutes to 11, about 20 minutes late for my appointment. I walked in, and they took me in a few minutes later. They told me that no matter what, they would get me in, as they had no choice. It was the last day I was officially covered under my dental insurance. They took me back, and proceeded to get started. This was all preemptive dental work, to make sure that nothing spontaneously happened or got worse while I was uninsured. My dentist didn't want to take any chances that something they would normally "watch" would turn into a horrifically expensive dental issue for me later. They worked on a total of 6 teeth. Yeah. That's what I said, too.

They worked on the right side first and before they were done, they worked numbed the left side.  By the time I left a hour and a half later, my lower jaw was totally numb. My lower lip felt like what Forrest Gump's friend Bubba's looked like. My mom had asked if, after my dentist appointment, I would drop by my grandparents house to say hi. I was so numb I couldn't talk well, and had to concentrate to swallow. I decided to just head to my parents house and try to nap.

Now, the really unfortunate part of this day was two-fold. First, by the time I had left the dentist, I had had no sleep. I was so worn out. Second, I was, um, a wee bit hormonal. During my drive to my parents house, the tears just flowed down my cheeks. There was no way I could have stopped them. Yes, I have had worse days. I have had real things to cry over. But, still, I couldn't stop the tears. I got to my parents house and curled up under two blankets and tried to nap. The fact that I had a hard time swallowing prevented serious sleep. I cat-napped for a couple hours, and by the time my dad walked in at 4:15, I could finally feel my mouth.

My mom was cooking me my birthday dinner early, as we won't be able to get together for my birthday, which is next week. Dinner was the best part of the day. My mom's parents came over for dinner, too. My mom fixed ribs, macaroni salad, garlic bread, and corn on the cob. One of my favoritest meals. Ever. And Nana made birthday brownies. Complete with frosting and sprinkles. My mom put a candle in one brownie and had me make my wish. Nana and Sonny gave me some wonderful smelling candles and the cutest birthday card ever. My parents got me a Giants World Champions hooded sweater.

I was in bed not long after and slept 14 hours.

I awoke this morning to find that my Granddad was being admitted to the hospital. We believe it's a bronchial infection. My dad had taken him to the ER, so that they would start doing stuff right away while they waited on his room. Before I headed back to Sacramento, I ran into Redding and went to the hospital for a quick visit. Hopefully, he will start feeling better soon.

Not long after getting back home in Sac, I had a nice long conversation with my BFF. She wanted to let me know that she wouldn't be able to help me move, like she did last time. We had a good laugh over it, because I told her I wasn't expecting her to help again, and I actually wasn't going to ask. Last time I moved I had a huge moving party of 10 people. This time, we are loading in the morning, and taking it to Redding. The next day we'll drive early to Sticksville and unload.

She will be coming to my Send Off/Belated Birthday dinner on the 12th, and she said she can help me pack that weekend. What a wonderful best friend I have. Eager to help me pack my shit. ;o)

Rain Gear Fail

So the past few days here have been rain, rain, rain, rain . . . you get the idea. For two straight days it was a mere drizzle. More annoying than anything. The suddenly, since about 4:30 Sunday morning, it's been raining. Hard. Like, windshield wipers on high and near hydro-planing on the freeway to get home from work this morning. Around 2:30 this afternoon, I awoke to such a racket. A torrential downpour that was pelting the windows. Forget raining cats and dogs. Shit. This was raining hippos and elephants.

As I looked out the window I saw what would be categorized as an "epic fail". One would think that in the face on such a downpour that one would fully understand how to dress in this situation.

Okay, while the guy in the middle looks like a complete arse, at least they are prepared for the weather. Perhaps only missing the umbrella. At the very least, one would have a hooded sweatshirt on, with hood up, and an umbrella.

Not wearing gray tights, skin tight yellow t-shirt, and ballet flats. Nor would you want to run shrieking through the rain carrying a weather unprotected baby in your arms, running pell-mell into drive without properly looking before the possibility of a car coming through. And why the hell are you shrieking anyway? It's not like you had any fucking idea it was raining outside!!

I guess at least they weren't dressed like this:

 

 

Right. Perspective.  Gotta keep that perspective.

Ummmm . . . Really? LOL

If only I had gotten a picture, this blog post would oh-so-much easier. Alas, I couldn't. I could easy be seen and I didn't want to appear rude.

I was having lunch with a friend today, at a nice little cafe in town. We'd been there a couple hours having a nice time, talking laughing. I suddenly stopped dead my conversation at on point because of what I saw. I can't even find anything to do it justice on Google looking for similar images. 

I couldn't speak for fear of bursting out laughing in front of the poor woman's face. I just started sipping my water while my eyes watered up because I was holding in my fit of laughter. I then buried my face in my hands, trying not to laugh out loud. Nothing was working. I was rather surprised at the fact that this was allowed inside the establishment, but maybe because it was technically contained they were okay with it. I have no idea. All I know is that this woman stopped about half a dozen conversations as she was led to her table by the hostess.

Imagine, if you will, an nice elderly woman, of maybe 60-ish in  a pink track suit.

Pushing a stroller. 

A pink satin stroller. 

With a long haired chihuahua in a vest.

I shit you not.

Like I said, I sooooo wanted to take a picture, but I thought it might be rude just taking one when the gal could see me and all.

We decided we could no longer have any conversation as we were both trying so hard not to laugh that we were nearly crying. And all we could think about was the little dog laying in it's pink satin stroller, getting caressed by it's mom as she ordered herself a glass of wine. Oddly enough, it was pink in color, too.

And no, the dog was not disabled - it had all four legs. And it had use of them.

Overkill, lady. Overkill.

But, thank you oh so much for the laughs!