deep blue collar

surreal work moment: the male dalmation with urethral and bladder stones, unable to do more than trickle, sedated and held down by 2 technicians while the doctor tried unsuccessfully to catheterize. "i need an extruder!" she barked, and i was the lucky, gloveless one to lean over the dog's piss-dampened body and unsheath its penis... for what ended up being about 15 minutes... as the other new doctor, a surgeon a mere 4 years older than myself (very quiet guy... kisses the asses of the dvms, ignores the nurses...) fiddled around with another catheter... all of us ended up being covered in various layers of lube, urine, dalmation hair, and saline. never did get the fucking thing passed. cost constraints... euthanized. i did a urinalysis afterwards. unneutered, 10 years old... the sample was filled with tiny urate crystals and many motionless sperm. canine sperm looks exactly the way a photograph of human sperm does.
and as i stood there, hand cramping, slightly cyanotic and unspeakably ugly dog penis drying out in my hand, i thought about how peculiar my vocation is. i had that thought again today as the 40#, dead weight spaniel i was holding proceeded to urinate all over my shoe. or when i was syrine-feeding a baby squirrel. or when i was doing a cardiac stick to euthanize a stray cat with a maggot-filled abscessed foot. at one point one of the techs emerged from surgery (pylorectomy on toodles the poodle) and loudly proclaimed that the treatment area "smelled like butt."
but as i was driving home, through the forgiving glow of downtown seattle, "ride on" played, my favorite ac/dc song, and i got a renewed burst of energy... or a boost of morale, at least. 'tis the li'l things.

unfortunately mired in a cynical world

i already knew this...


Your answers suggest you are an Idealist
The four aspects that make up this personality type are:
Summary of Idealists
Make sense of the world using inner values
Focus on personal growth and the growth of others
Think of themselves as bright, forgiving and curious
May sometimes appear stubborn
More about Idealists
Idealists put time and energy into developing personal values that they use as a guide through life. They may seek fulfilment by helping others improve themselves and often want to make the world a better place. Idealists only share their inner values with people they respect.
Idealists are the most likely group to say they are vegetarian, according to a UK survey.
Idealists enjoy discussions about a wide range of topics, particularly those that deal with the future. They are typically easy-going and flexible, but if their values are challenged they may refuse to compromise.
In situations where they can’t use their talents or are unappreciated, Idealists may have trouble expressing themselves and withdraw. Under extreme stress, Idealists may become very critical of others, or lose confidence in their own ability to cope.
Recognition for their work is important to Idealists; however, they are also good at spotting false praise.
Idealist Careers
Idealists are often drawn to jobs where they can help people reach their potential. They are also attracted to careers that allow artistic creativity.
It's important to remember that no survey can predict personality type with 100 percent accuracy. Experts say that we should use personality type to better understand ourselves and others, but shouldn't feel restricted by our results.
Overall results
The graph below shows the percentage of people with each personality type out of everyone who has taken this test.
Big Thinkers
Counsellors
Go-getters
Idealists
Innovators
Leaders
Masterminds
Mentors
Nurturers
Peacemakers
Performers
Providers
Realists
Resolvers
Strategists
Supervisors
[
{
'PercentShare' => {
'leader' => '5.04973866127129',
'counsellor' => '5.75788231326926',
'idealist' => '8.69162030011802',
'supervisor' => '5.70730062384084',
'big_thinker' => '6.68521328612376',
'peacemaker' => '5.80003372112629',
'provider' => '3.55757882313269',
'strategist' => '6.70207384926657',
'performer' => '3.44798516270443',
'nurturer' => '7.91603439554881',
'mastermind' => '5.90119709998314',
'resolver' => '6.42387455741022',
'go_getter' => '4.10554712527398',
'innovator' => '8.63260832911819',
'realist' => '11.3555892766818',
'mentor' => '4.26572247513067'

What makes you squirm and say 'yuck'? Test your sensitivity to disgust

i was once told i had tie-dyed eyes

that decadent melancholy when the air on exposed skin is like the last touch you know you'll get from your true love... yeah... that was yesterday afternoon. i went to one of my favorite places, the conservatory at volunteer park, and drew the plants i was most fascinated by. euphorbia balsamifera: "this plant radiates peace," i scrawled next to the picture. apparently i was feeling rather schlocky. i sat on a park bench and watched people watlk their dogs, long shadows over lurid green. "bin gay?" someone had written on the concrete beneath me. i wondered how many acts of sodomy had occured where i sat.
irvine welch did a reading at elliott bay books. i got there in time to hear a story of a man who thinks he's accidentally put a hex on someone, so he goes to a witch to see if it is, in fact, possible, and reversible. he has no money. she says she can only help him if he has sex with her. she is a corpulent, homely woman. but he does. in grotesque detail. irvine welch stories make me want to never stop bathing. the man himself: about six feet tall, bald, untucked t-shirt, delightfully incoherent brogue, smiled a lot. someone asked if he got his ideas from personal experiences. "based on what i just read, i am reluctant to answer that" he answered. he said that the early twenties and mid-forties are the ages he's most intrigued by, because they are both eras of dissonance, personal reevaluation, confusion... when you question who and why you are. i agree. afterwards i walked through downtown, which grows incredibly seedy at night, and waited at the bus stop as a tiny, glowering man slumped over in his electronic wheelchair glided back and forth. he would stop in front of me and glare from the corner of his eye. it was rather unnerving, especially since his head only came up to my waist. "hello" i said politely. he hacked a bit and drifted off.
today: triage, relentless, hot sun, nonstop running. one of my coworkers made fresh rolls in the lounge. they seemed to put everyone in a good mood. i fucking love my job. it is almost one a.m. and i am still riding the high of competency. i am not even going to waste time on worrying when it will abate.
blasphemous confession: i really do not like elvis' music, never have, and i never need to hear any of his songs again. the pop-culture, peacock-windowed, sweat-soaked myth: transfixing. thank you, random sirius station, for reminding me of this.

sinking into siesta

met with a friend from work to see camper van and cracker on tuesday. they were brilliant, as usual. they also encapsulate the flux of the last 8 months. the last time i saw them was the night i got the apt in seattle, the 1st place, and thereby solidified the end of my marriage. it is interesting to note how much fucking happier i am now. and the songs still sound fantastic. after the show we went to beth's, ubiquitous beth's, and then she crashed on my sofa. it is an amazing feeling, to have a friend. i sound like a pathetic little kid. things are looking up. again.

"aunt jessica was dreaming about food... LOTS of food..."

it is true: 'magical mystery tour' is a fucking dreadful movie. i couldn't even watch it straight through. the only redeeming parts: the zabriskie-pointiness of 'flying', and seeing bare breasts in a beatles film. (aside: did not know until today that 'death cab for cutie' got their name from this. i always thought it was a randomly horrible monniker.)

this has been a very good day. it is hot, the sun was shining, and i felt more frivolous than i had in a while. went to hempfest. it is held at myrtle edwards park, which encircles the 'shore' between downtown and the grain silos of interbay; the water was sparkly and the air smelt of marijuana and barbequing meat. i was offered a hit before i even got there; i politely declined. the sweaty masses were a pleasing olio of grey-haired, tie-dyed couples and teenagers in paraphenalia t-shirts. lots of fake marijuana leis and coronets. a man on stilts. i bought a hardbound book from the hare krishnas. learned i can qualify for medical marijuana, should i desire... so shall begin my second career as a dealer? one of the bands was absolutely horrible, a tuneless drunken lemmy, if one can imagine. the other i heard was a reggae band, of course, but it made me quite cheerful.
i have been resonating from the movie i saw last night. 'lost in translation'... hadn't gotten around to it until now. my fucking god. the ending was brilliant. i was laying on my floofy rug in a shirt and underwear, 2 in the morning, and i audibly said 'oh god' and began to cry. his smile was the best part.
loneliness allows for instant rapport. i know this well. would such situations work outside the moment? i think not.
when i was in paris i met a guy from zambia -white, of the british-invader variety- and we impulsively went out for the evening. we walked to the eiffel tower, he bought me a flower, i don't remember what we talked about, but it was so marvelous to be in that fantastic, succulent city and SHARE it with someone that everything had an exaggeratedly sexy patina. we got back to the hostel and mauled one another in the stairwell. and then... morning, AWKWARDNESS, a feeling of the night before not being any part of my life- not my dull little existence!- and he left town, and i left a few days later, and... that was that. i must say, though, that being by myself the next day was even more depressing, because i'd had a taste of how fun and rich things could be.
everyone is 18 at heart, and believes in true love, and feels that same giddy rush when the right person grins back... and nothing, nothing is more sensual than a touch with nervous restraint. everything after that is, in a small way, a bit of a letdown.

"get thee to a nunnery!"

yesterday was a well-controlled clusterfuck at work- i was floor tech- felt harried and competent and useful. stayed an hour and a half late. got into my car around 11.30 pm and started for home... and the exit onto the freeway was closed... and the high of work dissolved with a thud, and i was left alone in the dark with my neuroses and a complete disorientation of my surroundings, frittering around the Bad Part of Tacoma (insert "all of tacoma is a Bad Part" joke here), having a full-on fucking panic attack. my hand started to feel odd, heavy, stiff, and terror over 'is this a new bout of symptoms? what happens next? what if i never recover? how am i going to get up the stairs at my place? did i not appreciate the last 10 hours of physical fluidity?'... i took deep breaths. i smoked a few more cigarettes. i sang along with the radio. i held my arm out the open window and fully relished the tangible air. and eventually i found the way to the freeway. a deceptively tidy metaphor, that.
sometimes i really hate my mind... like a chatty, sloppy roommate who lolls around all day... i want to slam the damn door in their face.
things really are good... apart from my fear of the unknown/impending, i am asymptomatic. i dig my vocation. my place feels more like mine. i walked downtown tonight after i got home from work. it was a purely through-glass-observer feeling, and not a terrible one. i passed restaurants with windows open and people smiling in candlelight; one place had a banquet table laden with wine glasses and the group was clapping and taking photographs of each other as i walked by. celebrations... big events in their lives... and just another day in mine... interesting. the cinerama premiered 'snakes on a plane' tonight; on the radio they were interviewing people who'd been camping on the sidewalk since yesterday. when i walked past the movie had already started and the street was littered with debris and someone had written in chalk "this way to SoaP heaven!" and i laughed out loud.
when i got to the silly internet place that i love because it stays open until 1 am and they have good tea and it's always incredibly hot inside, 'i'll be your mirror' was playing, and i had a serene solidified moment of "this is all i need", and i feel much better now.

running the risk of dislodging the clot

i was relieved of my left upper wisdom tooth today. the extraction took all of 2 seconds, with me saying "seriously? is that all?" through a wad of gauze. i haven't even taken a painkiller. tops are the way to go, man. when my bottom 2 were removed it was 24 hrs of blurred hell and gerbilled cheeks. my face isn't even swollen now.
curled up on a purple velour chair at the university bookstore to read time magazine- excellent article about 'everyday life in baghdad', accompanied by a horrifying photograph of an iraqi boy in a plastic bag at a morgue. there i was, curled on a purple velour chair... sleeves pushed up, head exposed, nothing more than sunshine and harmless transient urine hitting the picture windows, freedom to amble about, freedom to smoke, to read almost whatever i want, able to live alone and have a job and drive a car and use tampons and have an iud and get a divorce and get an abortion and go to a dentist and have a sanitary, efficient experience... fuck... i could go on ad infinitum, but shan't. nothing is appreciated until it is threatened, really, and this can be applied to everything.
shall cease the stoner epiphanies now, i swear.
placed my first female dog urinary catheter yesterday! in a stray chow with a shattered pelvis! it was a moment of triumph. i was grateful that my boss was there to witness it; i fear she may think of me as a hyperactive, albeit earnest simpleton.
i am drinking hot tea against doctor's orders...
so a while back i wrote some chirpy dreck about 'this REALLY good song, 'i'm feeling good' or something', and have spent the last few months quietly obsessing over who the singer might be. appropriately, my humbling enlightenment came at a fucking barnes and noble... it's michael fucking buble`, whom i know nothing about except that his name is usually in magazines in the same breath as, say, sarah maclachlan... so i always assumed it meant 'music for forty-something divorcees to fuck to.' nevertheless, it's still a pretty good song... egad.

perhaps it's the weather, hot sun and frigid shade, buildings appearing clean-lined and shiny- autumnal clime, shall i say. this weather reminds me of certain things to the point of aching. i was on the bus, light slanting through smears, looking out over the (from a distance) brick austerity of the u-district (up close it is a rather shitty neighborhood), and i felt homesick for my past. does that make sense? i thought of riding my bike through the rare snow here, coming home to someone, making love in the afternoon, hungover mornings with hungover company, kicking dead leaves on seneca street, the swingset at elderberry park. immediately i have to consciously remind myself that throughout this nostagic ballyhoo, the present -the well-lit, very satisfactory present- is slipping by. and then the fact that i have to REMIND myself of such plebian notions makes me rather depressed.
but when the bus got downtown i witnessed a purse-snatching (a purse-snatching! it sounds so indignant, so nellie bly!) and the resultant busload of comment cheered me somewhat.
my landlords are out of town and i am watering the hillside of flora in their absence. the neighbor on the other side of them, brian, came out to talk whilst i hosed. he has lived in the building for "embarrassingly enough, 20 years." nice guy. apparently the building was built during the '62 world's fair. it is lovely to live among plants. my sunflowers have already died.

trivial details matter the most!
1. what is in my refrigerator?
red grapes, black grapes (not as good), organic butter, fake mayonnaise, soy sauce, mushrooms, unopened honey-mustard salad dressing, hi-cal canned cat food for the helix, iced green tea in a water bottle
2. what is in my car?
disco ball, glowing octopus, nodding armadillo, dirty scrub tops, empty cans, cigarette butts in a bottle, 'from a basement on a hill', bag of pennies stolen from my yelm days
3. last movie seen?
match point or happiness... it's been a while
4. last song heard that didn't cause revulsion?
u2 'zooropa'
5. last book read?
'the way it spozed to be'- nonfiction of a first-year teacher at an inner-city school and the CALAMITIES that ensue
6. new experience of the last 7 days:
seeing a spinal column and the connecting nerves on a dog having disc surgery

allow me to interrupt myself! disc surgery is refreshingly primitive. the incision is done with laser and electrocautery, the inflamed disc-bits are chiseled out, and the column is left bare at the surgery site, covered with cellophaney material so the tissue doesn;t stick to the nerves during healing. the skin is stitched up and voila. i imagine it is not too dissimilar in humans. the dog recovered on valium and morphine. she was still sleeping when my shift ended.

"a woman, a dog and a walnut tree, the more you beat them, the better they be." -george sanders

spent the day sweaty, watching couples with their arms around one another, hands lazily gliding up backs, giggling smugly into warm necks. i am not bitter. perhaps slightly nostalgic and rueful... or still residually revolted by the clusterfuck crowd at the show last night. went with a coworker and her friend to see hell's belles (the female ac/dc cover band) in tacoma. they are amazing and i wholeheartedly recommend anyone with the means to see them immediately. but NOT if they are playing in an area near an army base, for the crowd will be rife with thick-necked groping fools. the first man to fondle me was, truly, all of five feet tall. he followed me around, stroking my arms, my torso, until i finally told him to "please fucking STOP right now", or something. then there was an older man with a MOUSTACHE who kept trying to put his arm around me... it's never the appealing guys. perhaps that is what makes them appealing.
my coworker was drunk and in a very good mood. i was sober, fresh off a long shift at work where i was squinting into a microscope all day (interrupted by the exploratory on the dog who'd eaten a rock... the rock was in the colon... i got to glove up and dig it out through the anus... such a glamorous career). her friend was also pretty sober. we stepped outside for a cigarette (no longer can one smoke indoors in washington, bastards) and agreed that it would be a much better show if it was all-female.
today: bought sunflowers and a suzanne vega cd that i used to obsess over when i lived in fremont. played 'headshots' repeatedly. the moon is almost full, the air still heavy. everything up to this moment has a path, a story. the onus of being in the same general vicinity over the last few years: i have a clear recollection of what i was once thinking, doing, hoping, and where it's gotten me now.
okay, fine... i want to get thrown down and ravaged. i want a novelty fuck.

peace? could this be? for now, it is. I AM DOCUMENTING IT FOR FUTURE PERUSAL, or disbelief. things are looking up.

first the digs, then the lovin'?

i was moving until 7 am. i watched the sun rise from my new lair. i feel really, really fucking good.
there is nothing more disgusting than cleaning an apartment i am moving out of. mostly unbeknownst to me, i'd been living on a fairly substantial layer of cat hair, potting soil, claw sheaths, dried-out plant bugs (they look like tiny shrimp...?), shards of cat litter... as well as a tub lined with black mold... and i swept with a broom that reeked of cat piss. i didn't think i'd let the place go as badly as i apparently did. it was also an icky reminder of how i'd ignored the half-assed way the place had been cleaned before i ever moved in; behind the stove was a huge hair-encrusted food stain that extended to the refrigerator door... and i never used the stove while i lived there. yesterday was an unrelenting series of grime, sweat, bruises, and stairs, blessedly interrupted for a few hours when my folks drove up in their el camino (the "conquista"!) to help me move the big stuff. we went to sushi afterwards. veggie tempura rolls are highly recommended.
there is a window above the (lemon yellow!) bathtub in my new lair. i took a shower whilst listening to my neighbors talk and cook something that smelled very good from the open kitchen window below. i am able to admire the hillside of petunias and feel the breeze whilst the upper half of my body is naked to the world. it is a glorious feeling.
tiresias (the blind cat) navigated his first staircase, and a brady bunch-esque one at that, with admirable aplomb. i only saw him fall once (7 stairs up?). all the beasts seem extremely happy with the new digs. perhaps they were tired of slovenly collegiate shitholes as well.
i did come to one realization: i have too many fucking plants. 4 carloads of plants, actually. i may never move again.