Thank you for your uselessness.

This is an example of some responses I receive when asking for more information about apartment listings:

RE: Ad Interest: Beautiful 2 bedroom appartment for rent on SMB on canal close to beach

Hi Saskia,

unfortunately they don't allow pets at this appartment. It's beautiful though.

Sorry

__________

(spelling preserved for full effect.)

And then later this afternoon I got this one:

Hi Saskia,

The best thing to do is to bring your dog with you when you view the apartments. If you like one of them we can decide whether we would be happy with your dog in the apartment. We would have to take an extra pet deposit to cover us for the risk of damage to the apartment.

7th/8th April is fine to view, let me know what date/time would be most convenient.

Best Regards _____________________

And finally:

Hi there

this place would be ideal for you if you are attending the uni. There are also other students staying in this complex. [YAY!] Unfortunately however, they don't allow pets. [BOOOO.]

If you woul still like to view, please let me know (allow a day or so's notice) and we can arrange a viewing. [Um, seriously? That apartment better be lined in gold/diamonds and come with matching young, hot, Yacht Club Millionaires.]

Regards

___________

(names have been rescinded, since I'm pretty sure I'll catch hell enough from mom for this without telling you yahoos the names of these lunatics kind souls.)

(oh, and those are my comments in [red].)

So basically what I gather here is that I'm missing out on the seriously beautiful apartments due to our pets, and if I really want the apartment I will bring my pet down early. Despite the unbelievably excruciating pet import process. Or maybe FR and I should wait until we get there in May just to let them interview her Ruby who despite all perfection (which I do not in any way doubt) may not pass their inspection and then we can be homeless bums together living in a refrigerator box outside of campus.

Miss Kitty could catch our food for us while we were in class (I've heard iguana is very tasty blackened and then grilled over a garbage can fire). And Ruby can stand guard over our box/belongings.

Thank you, benevolent landlords, for your kind words of wisdom.

Suck it.

Told you so.

I mentioned in passing that I was looking to update the blog's look, and I think I've come up with a pretty unique look.

I added a poll at the top right, feel free to vote. Also, I welcome comments with any suggestions regarding fonts, colors, sizes, etc.

(I do realize that this poll will probably only end up hurting my fragile ego when it ends with 3 votes: Karen, mom, and dad.)

(It will also give me just one more internet neurosis to add to my ever-growing list.)

(But I'm willing to try it out.)

(Just please don't vote Hate it.)

(Unless your name is Ron, in which case it's pretty much expected. Jackass.)

My doctor says my boobs are normal. I beg to differ.

My immigration to The GC required a chest xray (WTF?) to check for Tuberculosis. Because that is just super prevalent here.

Anyhow, I had to get a written report from the doc who read the xray, and this is what I got:

I'm really quite indignant, I wear altogether way too uncomfortable bras & tight T-shirts to be called "Normal".

And to prove this point:

(you might need to click on the pic to see the text. have I mentioned my need for Photoshop?!)

This pic has a double meaning, actually. Not only does it do my chest justice (take that, doc.), but it also shows my support (*snicker*) for my Rossie peeps who are enjoying some Phun with Pharm today/tonight/tomorrow. You guys are gonna rock it, and then you'll rock finals, and then I'll expect all of you to return your full attention to me. *Ahem.* I mean, have a safe trip home and stuff.

I forgot to include the pic of my "After" unpacking. I figured while I have everything there I should go through all of my clothes and weed out unwearables/threadbare/etc.

I have entirely TOO MUCH CRAP.

Oh, and today I got my Open Water card! Yay!! I'm official and can even dive during my trip with dad next week! Except for that whole find an apartment, open a bank account, get car insurance, meet my new peeps, etc. all within 2 business days. Sooo, maybe we'll just settle for some snorkeling. Or a shore dive. Aw, hell.

I stomped grapes today and my friend Jay told me I'm going to get ringworm.

Technically this is my second post in....well...ten minutes. But really, the other one was written last night and this one was too good to wait, so whatev. Suck it up, my 7 faithful readers!

Today my folks and I mosied over to The Italian Festival in Centro Ybor. Initially the plan was to walk around and gorge ourselves on every yummy thing imaginable and then wander over to the activities tent to cheer on the Animal Coalition of Tampa team at the Grape Stompin Competition.

Then I got the call. JoAnne, flustered (as always), because it seems no one from ACT was going to show up. Ever the team player, she called in her Awesome Backup Group made up of me and her husband. I was informed that I had to leave immediately for the event, no moseying or meandering or wandering allowed.

After lighting a firecracker under my parent's respective asses (i believe today was the first time my father actually called me "annoying".) we set off to the festival. Between parking in the garage and walking to the entrance I received no less than 17 phone calls from JoAnne (well, one from her husband Nestor) frantically wanting to know where exactly I was at that very moment. You know, the moment right after the last time I called.

We arrived at the Stompin site with seconds to spare. JoAnne and I heaped all of our accessories onto my mom, gave my dad the camera, and went to work.

There are really no words I can use to describe the actual contest; well, nothing that is even remotely as amusing as the video. So watch it. Cause it's pretty much awesome.

[NOTE: there is music to this video, so if you are sitting in class ignoring your prof you might want to make sure the mute is on. and if you can, turn it way up. cause it's best when you get the 'whole picture'.]

In conclusion, have a wonderful night. And please don't hate me if you're catholic.

(i only find it mildly amusing to imagine the congragation's faces as they sip "the blood of Christ" and it's a goopy mess of yuck.)

OH! And check out what my mom made for dinner:

Squash Soup Stuff?

Or is it Grape Surprise?

Its PRICELESS, whatever it is.

Future Roommate. That is what I shall call her until it actually happens. (because there's a good chance i'll scare her off before then.)

Sometimes I lie in bed at night, and it's late and my brain is just moving at a mile a minute and nothing can make it stop short of a bullet or writing whatever it is running around in there down on some paper.

Which is why you will always find a pen/pad near my bed at all times.

(and you will find me quite perturbed if someone moves it. mom.)

Last night was a night like any other, but instead of having sultry romance novels fly through my brain (I swear I'd make Big $ if I'd just learn how to daydream AND type at the same time) I was thinking about school and the Big Move and my new super cool Future Roommate.

(i figure she's got to be introduced sometime, so why not at 2am and with a cat trying to compete with the pen for my attention?)

I guess it's as official as official can be without a contract in blood secret handshake pinky swear.

Her name is Robin and I'm pretty sure she is my soul mate my twin taken at birth normal. She had me at Frou Frou.

(those of you who don't get that reference, don't worry. that is why you are not my roommate.)

Anyhow, Robin and I have been chatting back and forth via FaceBook for about a week now. I've learned some very important things about her that include but are not limited to:

1. She lives in Illinois. Which I've been told is a very cool place (Yay Karen and Mark! More reasons for me to visit!). And they also wear knitted stuff there, so that's awesome.

2. She majored in journalism before deciding to jump ship for whore island a career that leaves you covered in shit vet school in the Caribbean.

3. She likes to swear. Which is pretty much awesome because I like to swear. A lot.

I can just see us now, two hot chicks kickin it on SMB (that's SEVEN MILE BEACH bitches!) on a Sunday afternoon sounding like a couple of Turrets victims because there is no alcohol.

What?! What was that?

Um, yeah. Seems for all it's awesomeness (did you get that memo about a SEVEN MILE BEACH?! it's in your TPS report.) this island basically shuts down at midnight Saturday and all day Sunday.

Boo.

Okay, back to my FR. Despite how stoked I am at the thought that at least one person will (hopefully) laugh at my jokes, I can't help but be trepidacious about this union. I mean, we did meet on FaceBook. It's like the eHarmony for schoolmates. For all intents and purposes, we're internet daters. And we all know how that works out. One of us is a pervy old man and the other a prepubescent child.

I mean, for all I know (and despite all appearances) this girl could end up being totally......normal.

That would kinda suck.

But something tells me this is gonna work out.

(and by the way, this entire post was written on a napkin at my bedside with a fairly annoying cat bumping my writing arm. you are allowed to show your envy, MacGyver.)

My mom's new name is Captain Obvious.

Went to dinner and a movie tonight with my folks. Yup. Hot date.

At dinner mom was quite the Witty Woman.

After reviewing the menu:
Mom: What's in the 4-Cheese Ravioli?
Me: Well, there's four cheeses. And they are tucked inside ravioli pasta.
Mom: Huh.

In discussing the makings of a True Cosmo:
Dad: A real cosmo has Contreau. It's like $40 a bottle!
Mom: Well, that's something we get in the duty free.
Me: We'll have to remember to grab a bottle when we're on GC.
Mom: And don't forget you have to pack that in your checked bags, you can't bring it on the plane. They don't like that.
Me: Wow. Thank you Captain Obvious.

Did I ever mention my mom's Lent routine? Each year she gives up wine for Lent. Which would be really honorable if A) we attended church and B) she didn't trade up to Manhattans and Cosmos.

The last time I was in a church that didn't involve European sight-seeing or a wedding was when I was seven. Our family are more like invisible silent worshipers. And who drinks Manhattans anymore? Seriously.

We walked into the movie theater behind a blind guy. I just couldn't help but wonder if he shouldn't be offered a 1/2 price ticket.

Yeah, I'm waiting for the lightning strike from above. Daily.

(But since I'm a invisible silent worshipper, does that mean the lightning will be invisible silent? Cause that's kind of a spooky thought.)

In case you were wondering, we saw the movie Duplicity. It was slow moving, similar in style to the Oceans movies, and starred a very handsome guy with a fantastic accent.

Mmmm. I love me some accents.

Anyhow, I got to thinking as I watched this movie that I would make an absolutely awesome terrible spy. For one thing, I simply cannot keep my mouth shut (fired banned from volunteering ring a bell?). And despite my witty banter I'm really not that great at conning people. I don't bluff. And I forget things easily. Between leaving my hotel room and meeting my mark at the bar, I would completely forget my cover and during my escape when I shed my clothing in an effort to change my appearance I would forget my wallet in the jacket and my cell phone in the purse. Cause that's just the sort of dumbass things I do.

So I guess its a good thing I'm not set on being a spy.

Or am I?

People and Trauma and all of the Beauty in between.

So I finally unpacked today.

Yeah, you heard me right. Don't judge.

I have good days and I have bad days. When they are good, there's love and happiness and puppies and smiles and laughs. When they are bad....there's anger and frustration and tears and confusion.

Confusion. A lot.

The worst is when I am alone. Particularly when I am lying in bed at night trying to fall asleep. For the first month or two after I got home, I had some serious insomnia that was more than likely a subconcious attempt to not be in that position to lie awake and think.

As time went on, I began to forgive myself a little bit more each day. I got myself some melatonin and Bach's sleep remedy and peppermint tea to help with the over-thinking in the night. I am by no means complete yet, but I am working on it. Baby Steps.

Some of you out there may have no idea why I am so 'hung up' on these friends from Ross. I can understand, I really only knew them for less than a year when I left. Logic says the bond can't possibly be that strong. I have friends that I have known since high school; we rarely see each other, speak sporadically, and that's just how it works. I'm not sure why this time it is different, why these people are different. It could be the struggles we shared, the support they gave me (and continue to give), the intimacy in which we played out our lives. When we moved down to that island, we all left everything we knew and loved and held dear.

All we had was each other.

And when I came home, I had nothing. Or so it felt.

I realize quoting a show like Grey's Anatomy at a time like this may lead to a perception that my previous words are not as serious as they seem. Please do not allow that thought to enter your mind. Because as the little old lady tried to die to satisfy the schedules of her terribly distracted relatives, she said to the frustrated doctor:

They are my people.

People keep you going.

People are better are than no people.

And I had to work very hard to hold back tears gushing from my eyes This is why I still mourn the loss of my people. And yet every day these same people continue to reinforce the belief that it was not in any way a loss by their continued communication and support and love. And that is why I love them.

Last night I had a very serious and completely wonderful conversation with my friend Karen about our fears and depression and Basket Full O Crazy (that last part might have been more me). In the end, we made the promise to try and see something beautiful in each day. Totally cheesy awesome goal to have, and I decided that today my beautiful would be my room. Or more importantly, the potential of my room once all three bags were unpacked and stored properly.

So yes. Today I unpacked my bags.

It was cathartic and necessary and revealing and slightly torturous. There were moments when I had to stop; a sweet note from Jen, a shirt I bought in The Circus with Kristin, the little doctor bear JoAnne gave me before I left, my stethoscope. All reasons I didn't unpack earlier. And all things that had to be dealt with.

So like I said. I have good days, and I have bad days. Today was an interesting blend of both.

My life right now can be summed up with Alex's parting words on Grey's. Perhaps I should get one of their writers on retainer, this shit is pretty good. They're probably the same people who work for the Quoteable Cards company.

Trauma is what pushes us forwards.

Maybe we have to get a little messed up.

Before we can step up.

And by the way, I am completely and utterly ruined for any future man due to Derek Shepherd in the elevator with the CT scans. For serious. Fuckers. Screw giving them a retainer after all.

Shoe Size/Penis Size Theory. Denied.

I visited JoAnne again today. She has a theory that my visits create some sort of vortex that brings with it complications. In my last three or four visits there have been interesting occurrences that I really shouldn't write about in a public forum. But what I can share is this:

Check out that freaking paw. And this was a PUPPY.

Proof that foot size does not coincide with penis size. It was pretty sad, actually.

I think I might try going there 2 or 3 days a week now, just to provide her and the staff with unending hilarity and challenges.

PS - I've only had my new Sprint phone/account for one day and I'm already irritated. Stupid picture option requires adding monthly charges just to upload the pics onto Sprint's site for me to download onto my computer. Hence the pretty awful pics above. Whatev.

Trivialities of Life.

Got my chest X-ray results back today. Here's how the convo with my nurse practitioner went:

Me: So, no TB then.

NP: No, all clear.

Me: Um, great. Listen, can you tell me something? How do my heart & lungs look? Abnormally small perhaps?

NP: Uh...nope. Everything looks good.

Me: Are you absolutely sure? Because I seriously cannot run longer than a fifth of a mile before I am completely and utterly out of breath. I just assumed that since I have abnormally tiny ears that my lungs and heart were just as small.

NP: Hmm.

Then she said something about getting back to work and hung up.

I'm pretty sure the lesson learned here is when you have something as important as an x-ray done, you should have a real doctor review it.

[That was a joke. I do not in any way mean to belittle NPs. I have been seeing this woman for 5 years now and as far as I can tell she is super smart.]

I spoke briefly a bit ago about my upcoming trip with dad to the GC. Dad sorely needs a vacation, and I get to go by default. We'll be looking for a place to live (Miss Kitty puts a serious dent in the available accommodations) that won't suck all remaining pennies from my pocket (seriously. this place is Prada expensive). We'll also be checking out the surroundings, the school, and taking loads of pictures. My mom will be out of town on business, as she is for about 350 days out of the year. Her loss.

Anywho, I'm really looking forward to this trip. It's the first real physical step towards my next adventure. Plus I get to meet the three (yes, three) friends I've met from Facebook. Since I've decided not to pretend to be what I think those people would want me to be and instead to be myself right from the start, I'm pretty sure I've already landed a label along the lines of: "the kooky old lady with a cat." Katie was even kind enough to offer storage space and in return I was kind enough to promise not to fill my bags with illicit substances that may or may not get her visa revoked upon discovery by local police. These people are so lucky to get me, they simply have no idea.

By the way, it's trying desperately to rain today. Which is sort of awesome. Bye Bye Pollen. Sucka.

Balls of Cuteness and Pieces of Hell.

What the fuck.

Seriously.

Here I am, working my ass off with trainers and treadmills and sit-ups and Special Torture (aka turning away GS cookies) and what does my lovely mother bring home from work today?

These are the good kind, all gooey and chewy and lite on the nuts but heavy on the FAT.

If there is a God, please grant me the strength to resist temptation.

And if there isn't. Well, I'm just screwed.

On a cuter note: how freakin adorable is this Ball of Adorableness?

This is how I trick you into thinking that I care.

I melt your eyes with my adorableness.

This is my Furry BFF Sheila (aka Sheebs, Monster, Booger, Sugar.)

Just after this moment of cuddles, she lept off my lap and left me with a pee spot on my leg. Which I really can't blame her for since her urine sample grew bacteria insanely within 5 hours of creation (aka UTI-mania). She really couldn't help it. Don't be all judgy.

PS....

....what is it about three glasses of red wine that makes you want to put on your headphones and belt out love songs at the top of your lungs?

Read: Cannot wait to move into an apartment. Anywhere. Need a night of cheesy love song belting while drunk on wine.

[Promise to Sugar Bear: wine night will be before classes start. Because after I will be studious, responsible, sober student of veterinary medicine whose only interest is gram negative bacteria and mucopurulent green pus.]

How to make free long distance calls and other ideas that (might) land you in jail eventually.

Today dad and I wandered into the Apple store to check out the MacBooks (don't get excited, we were looking for him). While dad was playing with the laptop, trying to get the hang of the awesome fingering abilities (which I sooooo had to hold back a snort when the cute little Apple Dork mentioned the 'fingering abilities'), I picked up the iPhone because I love it's fingering abilities (*snicker*).

All of a sudden I had an intense impulse to test out the phone. Calling St. Kitts. Twenty-five minutes later I got off the phone with SugarBear and an idea was formed. Who needs calling cards and long-distance phone plans when you can just wander into any Apple Store on a Saturday afternoon and make calls at any of their 20 working phones? Considering how busy they are on weekends, you could potentially make a call at the phone near the front of the store and then meander down to the back corner for another call. I'm pretty sure they won't catch on. Just make sure to mix up the days/times you go, since if there are regular calls at 2pm every Saturday to Japan you can bet their will be cops standing at the door eventually.

And I don't think you can call St Kitts as your one phone call in jail. So going there really isn't worth it.

I love the iPhone.

(since my graphics programs are limited [anyone have photoshop for me?] the funny line under "your credit" should read "What the Hell is Credit? It's FREE.)

(seriously? anyone? free photoshop?)

In other news, my family is insane. While I don't actually have confirmation from a shrink, I'm pretty sure its true.

At dinner tonight my dad described someone as my soulmate and I vehemently denied it because to me Soulmate implies love and marriage and making out. And that was not the case with this person. So my mom begins to agree with me about the Soulmate = Romantic Affiliation part and dad starts seriously defending his definition that Soulmate = Person With Whom You Have Strong Affinity (not to be confused with affinity of chemical substances). Mom tells dad to look it up in Websters, the dogs are panicking because they hear yelling but can't stay away because there's food involved, and I'm just sitting there in disbelief at how a simple comment can become a full-fledged battle royale.

Until we find that Soulmate is not in the dictionary. As if it doesn't exist.

Of course, Wikipedia has a very full and diverse definition here. But then they also have an incredibly colorful definiton of the formerly Canadian turned British pop group b4-4 that states (and I'm For Serious here) "the group performed impromptu rimjobs for the CEO of Sony USA" among other interesting tidbits. So can we really rely on Wiki for important information like the definition of Soulmates?

I'm of the mind that they don't exist at all. But then, I'm still in one of those Glass Half Empty of Vodka phases. So perhaps my opinion shouldn't count either.

This is like the best thing in the entire world. True Story.

Note To Self: lay off on the wine until after writing blog entry for the evening. Or at least save as draft until the morning when head is clearer before publishing.

Heaven is a thin little chocolate covered minty refreshing cookie. Hell is knowing the box isn't for you.

I had my first workout with the trainer at the Y today. My mom kept scoffing at my use of the word "trainer". She corrected me with "instructor". As in: "Those people at the Y are only there to instruct you in the use of the machines, dear."

Ha. Hahahaha.

Hugh absolutely KICKED MY ASS. (yes mom, I said ass. Twice now.)

They start out with an interview to find out more about my personality and fitness history. Of course, the interview can't be held sitting at a table. Instead, I was put on the treadmill at an incline of FIFTEEN and speed of 3.5 MPH. Because it's Super Easy to talk when you are heaving for oxygen.

Gradually, as we finished up our chatting, Hugh brought the incline down and had me alternate walking/jogging with an increase in the jogging time. I was pleasantly surprised to find that as the time passed I was actually able to jog for extended periods of time without feeling like someone was standing on my chest. Seems I've been trying to train my body incorrectly for some time now. Perhaps eventually I'll even be able to run one of those hashes. Baby steps.

On my way out my new Husband-To-Be told me I have a little Dirty Sexy goin on.

How proud he would have been to see me at my next stop. On the way home I stopped at Publix because this weekend is the last weekend to buy Girl Scout cookies.

[I'll pause while you run out to the store for a "loaf of bread".]

I promised some people on GC that I would bring them cookies when dad and I head down there in early April. (Did I mention this trip? No? Later then.) Anyhow, I bought the requested boxes and a few extras as bribes for new friends backup for the customs dogs treats for mom and I. As I walked away from the table $21 lighter and 6 boxes heavier I came to realize that I am now a Girl Scout Cookie Whore. And everyone is staring at the hypocritical girl in her spandex workout gear power walking across the parking lot with the evidence right in her arms.

Thus I will take all 6 boxes and place them safely in my carry-on without opening a single one. Because to be honest, I like the idea of fitting into a size eight (yeah, you heard me right) better than the idea of being a Cookie Whore with a thin mint habit that rivals that of meth addicts.

Thoughts. (Someone should really stop me from thinking. Hello? Anyone?)

I've been wondering lately about this disappointment that I can't seem to shake. Perhaps it's not all about the F word (fail) after all. I think I'm also disturbed at the thought that I just couldn't hack it. Seriously.

I once had a boyfriend who told me in the course of a conversation about travels that he just couldn't see my living in a third-world type of environment. I remember this conversation pretty well because of the hugemongous fight that ensued, where I adamantly defended my ability to adjust to any type of environment. I felt that I was open-minded enough, and flexible enough, to handle living anywhere.

But maybe he was right.

I suppose we all have our limits. I used to believe that I was so self-reflective, and that I knew myself so well, that I had complete control over my limits. But in retrospect, none of us can truly know our limits until we're put to the test. And it's not a huge negative that I failed that test. Because at least I tried.

Saskia, I want you to meet Saskia. You two should get along pretty well. Just make sure you both work on your Active Listening Skills - cause your gonna need them.

Terror Alert: Code YELLOW.

Seriously folks. Our gov'ner should be calling out the National Guard, declaring a State of Emergency. The pollen count has reached a critical high.

And my poor poor car is just sooooo sad. Normally she shines bright and green and happy. Now she's a dull chartreuse and no matter how many times I wash her she is just COVERED 5 minutes later. Unfortunately I have not been able to convince my parents that it's about time we cut down the Centenarian+ Oak Tree that canopies our drive. Thus, each year, I live with this:

You can see the dust from HERE!

Ack! My nose runs just looking at this!

My leaf collection. I'm pretty sure I could make a whole new tree.

My windshield. Boo.

What is the point of having a sunroof?

The left side of the shot is the part of the window that doesn't get washed by the wipers. The right side shows one day's worth of junk since driving yesterday. You also have a nice reflection of the hateful tree that causes this nightmare.

I have to clean my wipers before I can use them to clean my window.

Sadface Car.

"View" from the sunroof.

Course I don't want to imply my car is the only victim of the Pervasiveness of Pollen. Here are some pics from around the house:

Patio table. So clean you want to eat off of it, right?

Grapefruit tree via a sea of haze. On the plus side, the buds will bloom soon and that is a scent I want to bottle and sniff all year.

Even the dog's water bowl falls victim to those wretched pollen thingies.

Sadface patio.

Sadface Front Porch.

Sadface Railing.

This is just a small image of the amazing powers of Pollen. It's EVERYWHERE. I'm seriously concerned that if enough of it gets together it will learn to combine into some massive Blob-like form and chase me.



The Bane of My Existence.

Oh, and have you ever smelled pollen hanging in the air? It's like the lovely scent of honeysuckle, except that this honeysuckle hails from the 7th Circle of Hell.

On a lighter note, here are some shots of the cutest Ball of Fluff ever. Well, top ten anyhow.

I am not amused by your camera flash.



Bask in my glory, mere mortal.

You can't handle this amount of cuteness. I'm so cute that to photograph me in color would melt your eyes.

I am weary of your attentions. Leave me now. I must rest.

Oh, Hai. Don't mind me. Just checkin out your butt.

It's a Blogger's World.

Most of my (6) readers don't have blogs. Or at least, don't have blogs that they obsessively actively write in on a regular basis (ahem, you know who you are. tsk, tsk.).

I have been writing on this thing for nearly a year (Yay! for celebrating TWO birthdays a year!) and have amassed more than 140 entries. That's pretty massive, at least for me. The girl who tends to get really excited about a new project only to Oh! that looks like fun. (Read: ADD)

Over the last few months I've had absolutely nada to do some extra time on my hands and have been exploring other blogs. I have always found people's thoughts and opinions interesting, so reading other people's public inner monologues is my idea of Super Fun.

I don't search out any of the blogs I read. It all started for me with Laurie at Crazy Aunt Pearl. She wrote a book that is simply hilarious called Drunk, Divorced and Covered with Cat Hair. I read her blog rather religiously for some time before venturing into the world of The Others.

From Aunt Purl, I found a sassy chick named Tia who has a seriously wacky sense of humor that I adore at Clever Girl Goes Blog. Through Tia I was introduced to Jamie at Oh! How Lovely!, whose constant updates of Project Runway keep me in the loop and whose post Trying put into words things I couldn't.

Through Jamie I found what has to be thus far one of my Top 5 (to The Others, please note the number of blogs mentioned actually can be counted on one hand, thus that was NOT a dig at your site!) and most recently added blog-read addiction. It's like I'm....mmmagic! is a cleverly written blog that has almost made me pee my pants numerous times. Thank heavens for my incredibly well-trained sympathetic pelvic nerves.

In perusing these various sites, I've come to feel that my site is, well, a bit...bland. Oh, the content is alright (if I say so myself...and if I stay away from the Basket Full O Crazy. and wine.). But the layout leaves something to be desired. I mean, really kids: I'm a freakin interior designer. My site should be Bling! and Super Colorful and reflect the Awesomely Cool Person that I am.

Wow. I think that was the most self-centered thing I've said in a long time. Felt nice.

Anywho, keep on the lookout for my new layout coming in [insert lead time on ordered layout here]. Oh please, just check back every once in a while, K? I promise Good Things. The end of April is my new New Year. And it's gonna be a damn sight better than last year. I hope promise.

Oh, and have you noticed my new fancy for the strikethrough HTML? Yeah, I'm a pro. Feel free to envy.

(I'm not really a pro. I stole borrowed was inspired for the idea from The Bloggess. Who I basically worship. So I hope she won't mind.)

In Progress.

The days are passing swiftly as I prepare for yet again another immigration nightmare. Had my blood drawn Friday (not fun) for the typical round of STD tests (what is it with tropical islands and sexually transmitted diseases?!). Have to get a chest x-ray done next week (let's cross our fingers that I'm TB-Free!) and then submit all of my medical stuff for my visa.

I also have some fun coordination to do for bringing my kitty with me. Thankfully all of her titers and vaccinations were done already, but the Caymans have such a weird permit system it's driving me nuts! I have to apply to receive a permit that will then entitle me to apply for importation of my pet. Basically, I apply twice. And knowing bureaucracies, probably pay twice.

Having been on this ride once before, packing will be a breeze. Especially with my aforementioned uniforms.

Dad and I will be visiting the island early (April 6 - 9) in an attempt to get all of my ducks in a row before the Big Move. Really, I think this is just a much-needed Mini-Break for pops, but I'll tag along (hello? Seven Mile Beach anyone?). Hopefully while we are there we will find me a fabulous apartment that is way underpriced and a nice place to store some stuff (like books, super heavy). I'm also looking forward to meeting some of the students whom I've spoken to on the phone, everyone has been super nice. And it's comforting to know (also sad, but definitely comforting) that I am most certainly not the only person with a Rossie past. In fact, I'm starting to wonder if the population at St. Matt's isn't close to 50% Ross Cast-Offs. Which is alright by me, hopefully I won't stick out too much that way.

Did I mention the adorable rain boots I got today? They are fuchsia and brown plaid, totally comfortable and ready for some messy formalin in anat lab. Course, they totally clash with my bright red coveralls, so there might be a future purchase from Dickie's in order...

In other news: the pollen count here has reach seventy bagillion and our cars have officially become permanently yellow tinted. Awesome. I have never wished for rain so badly.

Work Schmerk.

I worked yesterday.

[just a brief pause to let the gravity of that statement sink in.]

JoAnne had a staff member off and they needed a quick fill in, so I unwittingly volunteered (yes, volunteered, as in unpaid) to help out. Again, I was excited at the prospect of working at JoAnne's side again, being her Special Tech (hidden issues there? we'll explore later...).

So I got my butt out of bed at the crack of 8, cleaned up and headed out to my Happy Place for an early morning pick-me-up. Made it to work with minutes to spare for the 9 o'clock surgery start time. After chatting with J for a bit, we were interrupted by Le Motivator who informed me that I will not have the pleasure of hanging with my homie that day but instead will be in Prep for the day. Prep. As in Anesthesia Prep. Again. What is with this place assuming I enjoy jabbing animals with Happy Drugs and shaving their privates? Oh wait...that's why I'm on this crazy vet adventure. Duh.

I ended up spending a lovely day with Jon knocking out animals and playing with anesthesia machines. I swear, for all of you vets (and vet students for that matter) out there, you should really try and spend one day every year you practice working as a technician. Just to remember what it is like being a technician. Perhaps then we wouldn't have such a problem with vet/tech relations or turnover of technicians. I realize that we as vets (vet students) work extremely hard to get that DVM, and as such we earn a level of...respect?...that some vets are all too ready to require from their techs. But we DVMs must also remember that we are only as good as our techs, and their job is CRAP. I mean seriously.

Don't get me wrong. I love the job, even all of the little stresses and irritations and mean people. But if the vet does not respect the technician (and all of the little stresses and irritations they experience on the job) then the work environment will not be conducive to long term employment. Just an FYI to my vet student friends.

Okay. Saturday Afternoon Special PSA is over.

On to happier things. Today I get to go shopping! Not for anything fun, just khakis to wear as my uniform at school. But it will be a lovely afternoon spent at the mall, and maybe I'll even treat myself to one of those yummy Double Doozies I never got on V-day.

Yay for Uniforms!

I promise not to look nearly as creepy happy nor armless in my uniforms. But I will look as svelte. Yay Size Ten!

Seas of Change.

It's funny, for days now my dogs have been staring at me in some sort of anticipation. As if they expect me to do something. Cute.

Anywho, it's official: I am heading off once again for school (see newly updated blog description just under title of blog). We make mistakes, we learn from them. This time will be different.

The situation is similar; I will be going off to vet school, living on an island, etc. This time the school is St. Matthew's University and the island is Grand Cayman. Class sizes are significantly smaller, the island is significantly pricier, the beaches are pristine and the diving is divine. Oh, and did I mention the uniforms? At least I look good in red.

I plan to keep up with the blog, considering I'm just as likely to loose my mind on this adventure as I was on the last. But I will be leaving the needles & yarn at home (I promise Sugar Bear) and will be bringing with me a renewed sense of determination. On the plus side, I might find an apartment in Hell.