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.

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.

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!

Kitties 1, Saskia 193.

Mine will heal, but they will never have their balls back!

The day began with a lovely sunrise drive across town to the clinic. Did I mention how much I love sunrises? About as much as I love slamming my finger in a car door or having someone punch me repeatedly in the face. Read: Not a Big Fan.

As I pulled up to the clinic, the chaos was already apparent by the sheer number of cars and the incredibly tall lumberjack of a man directing traffic in the middle of the intersection. I found a parking spot and wandered into the clinic from the back entrance where the double doors were open and people were streaming in and out. I found a volunteer shirt and started feeling very excited about the prospect of spending the next few hours hanging out with my Vet BFF JoAnne (not to be mistaken with my Main BFF Jen). I had been promised (bribed) the position of doctor tech in order to lure me out of bed at this ungodly hour.

Sigh. My Mentor.

As I pulled my shirt over my head in the office, I was not-so-gently informed that my assignment had changed slightly and that I was now going to be helping with anesthesia. You can imagine my surprise (indignation) at this (crappy) turn of events. Why would I get out of bed so early just to prep cats on anesthesia?

Oh No. Not PREP. Administer. As in: hey you, we don't have enough people with experience working in clinics, so we're taking away your Fun Happy Place and replacing it with Hell, also known as The Pre-Med Station. We want you to spend the next 5 hours restraining mostly semi-feral and quite a few completely feral pissed off male tomcats who are quite sure something is up since they have been piled together in a mass of kennels where they can mark each other's space and scream at the top of their lungs as they fling themselves all over their box testing it for weaknesses.

Just in case we didn't know where we were.

Our little slice of Heaven (Hell).

Oh Saskia, you say. Such the dramatist. Everyone knows ferals come into clinics in traps. And those are easy to pre-med, you just stick that funny extra-large tong looking thing into the trap and force the cat against the side.

HA! That covers about 9% of the surgeries for the day.

The rest were either 18 pound cats stuffed into 12" wide kennels, itsy bitsy teeny kittens in cardboard kennels who flipped out at the injection as if we were tearing his balls off right there, and kennels containing seemingly innocuous kitties but with stickers on the front top that had statements like: "Hi! I used to be feral until about 2 months ago. Now I'm sweet. I just don't like to be handled very much." (Winner: Understatement of The Year)

To be honest, the first hour and a half was great. Every cat let me pull him out of the kennel with no fight, barely resisted restraint, and hardly flinched at the injection. I'm pretty sure they were all night owls like me, and thus had not yet had their morning coffee to perk them up.

I suppose what came next was my fault, although to be honest I blame the first hour and a half's worth of kitties for being so nice. Big White (well, more dirty yellow-white with all the urine, but who's being picky?) wasn't too keen with the poorly faked soothing voice I was using and he rudely slapped my hand away. Course, with talons that hadn't been cut in 6.34 years, my thumb came away in ribbons.

This is why I dislike restraining animals of the Feline Persuasion. They have an unfair advantage.

I realize it may look tame, but it certainly stung like a bitch. There was no way I was sticking my hand back in that cage to tangle with Mr. Yellow-White.

Thankfully, my partner Tim was quite the Squeeze Cage enthusiast. Not to say he was frightened (like his partner), actually he is quite the Cat Whisperer. But he's also a realist, and since the Number One Rule of the day was:

You think I'm kidding. These were posted all over the clinic a la New York Subways.

Tim wasn't playing games. Any growls, major hissing, swats or attempts at escape earned them a one-way ticket to The Cage.

Have I told you all how much I love Tim? I think we'll have a Spring Wedding.

Anywho, the day wore on as group after group of cats were brought into our little work space, popped with yummy drugs by us, and sent off to the next station. That's one of the great things about these Spay/Neuter-thons, they really have them organized (despite the potential image of chaos). There are these great volunteers that just sort of hang out watching in the different stations who are called "Transport". No one (and I mean NO ONE) is allowed to leave their station at any time, so if you have cats that need to be moved you just yell Transport! and these kids come running from all directions. It's really fun to just yell it every once in a while, just to make sure they're paying attention. It might seem like a stinky job, but really those Transporters make the pace of the entire operation!

Toe Tag and Pain Meds Station

(this was the next stop for our victims, and though you can see the proximity between us &them via Tim's left arm and the kennels behind him, but we still used Transport as often as possible so their feelings weren't hurt)

Surgery Prep Station.

Surgery Station

JoAnne giving this Tom a quick Happy Ending before giving him the Other Happy Ending.

In other parts of the clinic JoAnne was popping balls like nobody's business. And despite her distance from me, it was like she was right there since her voice carries quite well into multiple rooms. In fact, there was probably not a person there who couldn't hear her thoughts when she chose to speak them aloud. One of the Hot Topics of the day was who would win the Biggest Balls contest. Yes, that's right. They were saving balls on glove wrappers to measure after all surgeries were complete to determine who had the Biggest Balls. I think the winner got a free surgery or something.

JoAnne hard at work. This is a rare photo, as most of the time she appears as a blur.

This may seem like a joke, but it is Serious Business here in Testicle Town.

After Tim and I gave the last cat his Nice High, we wandered off to watch the rest of JoAnne's surgeries. I think they were having way too much fun in the surgery suite, personally. Not that I didn't have tons of fun with Tim. But he's just not JoAnne... (they are actually quite amazing opposites: tall/short, dark/light, taciturn/loquacious) Though it was kinda nice to get my hands back in the game.

Side Note: The most terrible injury by far was the one I incurred via closing a kennel door during the clean-up phase. The kennel door bit me.

Mortal Wound to the cuticle. Ouch!

All-in-all, that first day of the two-day event we neutered 193 Toms! And while that wasn't quite our goal for the day, it is still a nice little dent in the overpopulation problem, and for that I salute the Team Neuter-Thon! With a nice well-earned bottle of wine! Yay!

Wendy and JoAnne. Two Very Interesting People.

(Who should, for future reference, probably NOT be allowed in the same room at the same time.)

hee, hee :)

Oh, and JoAnne could you update us on the numbers for the second day? I'm just sooooo out of The Loop. Or is it The Circle of Trust?

UPDATE:

Seems the two-day Squeezing of the Balls was quite successful! They neutered well over 500 cats over the entire weekend! Congrats all and thanks for such a successful event!

Let see....Two days....500 male cats....that's 1000 testicles of Tampa's Finest!

Today begins the preparations for this weekend's Two-Day 500-Male-Cats
Neuter-Thon.

At least, today it begins for me.

I will be spending the majority of my afternoon helping the staff at ACT draw up 500 rabies and FeLV vaccines for use this weekend. And tomorrow I will be spending my afternoon drawing up 250 distemper vaccines.

It will be a miracle if I come through this without making a trip to the emergency room with a finger the size of Texas.

Saturday is the BIG day. I have been given the dubious honor (if you knew her, you would know this is not an exaggeration in the least) of personally assisting JoAnne in her quest to rip the testicles out of as many male cats as physically possible.

(Sorry guys)

I'm hoping I can get permission to document this event in pictures, because if you've never seen a spay or neuter event then you really haven't seen anything. These things are organized so well, like well-oiled conveyor belts of primed and ready testicles just waiting to be squeezed.

(sorry again boys)

Pictures or not, I'm sure there will be stories to tell of shenanigans galore, so stay tuned.

And please don't forget to spay/neuter your pets. Seriously folks. Don't make me break out the statistics.

What A Day. Er, Weekend.

This weekend was quite busy, what with Gasparilla and police tickets and homeless men. Surprisingly, all three were independent events.

First, the parade. What a disappointment! Don't get me wrong, had a lot of fun hanging out with friends and having a few beers in the warmth of the winter sun. But I barely saw any of the parade! That's not for lack of trying; there are simply too many people crowded around barricades and too many parade floats have shrunk to a ten-foot level - way too low to see if you are farther than three deep in the crowd. This was my view:

It's like a game of Where's Waldo trying to find the actual parade.

I did learn that to get beads, you have to have a Wingman. Enter Talbot:

My really really really tall Wingman.

There were some other amusing things to keep our attention, however. For example, this guy:

He looks like he's just leaning over to pick something up. What gave him away was that it took him over two hours to pick up whatever it was.....

He sat on the curb for close to two hours, passed out, before the parade even began! Eventually he reclined to a lateral position, during which numerous passersby stopped to take a pic with him.

Ew.

I won't deny we took advantage as well...

[I will insert this pic just as soon as Kameron gets it uploaded :)]

Myself, passed-out-drunk-guy, Kameron, and Ruth.

Of course I almost peed my pants when Ruth started tossing beads at him in an effort to loop them around his head, sort of like a passed-out-drunk version of horseshoes. Very amusing.

What wasn't amusing were the Porta Potties and their lines:

Yes, all of these people are waiting hours in line for a chance to hover-pee over a hole filled with human excrement.

Eventually we tired of standing around with dirty, drunk people, so we took off for dinner at Bella's Italian. It only took us about an hour to travel 2 miles in the post-Gasparilla traffic. We were way too exhausted to complain, however, and dinner was quiet as we all stuffed ourselves in energy-depleted response to the miles we walked during the day.

[I will insert this pic just as soon as Kameron gets it uploaded :)]

Six tired revelers ready to go home and sleep. We are such losers.

Today I made the poor choice to leave the house and run some errands. I got into a left turn lane, stopped at the light, and looked down at my purse absentmindedly thinking about my things to do.

The light changed to green while I was lost in thought, and as I looked up it changed to yellow. I thought, oh geez I'm holding up traffic and went. And immediately pulled over for the officer's lights behind me.

Seems I broke the law. Running a red light, you ask? Potentially causing harm or danger to fellow drivers, you ask? Oh no, something much more sinister than that! Apparently I was dangerously obstructing traffic. Yes, by holding up the light so that Mr. Officer couldn't get through legally, I broke the law. To the tune of $151.00.

Good thing I wasn't on the phone, listening to the radio, drinking a beer, or playing with my Gasparilla beads.

I'm really at a loss for words as to this alleged crime. So enough about that.

On to this afternoon, which to be honest might have brought my Karma Points down even farther (since my criminal offense earlier in the day, that is).

I met JoAnne at my Happy Place (Starbucks) for a quick coffee and chat session. It's actually the first time we've gotten together since my banishment from The Rock, not for lack of trying. When I walked in I passed a rather haggard looking gentleman sitting at a table outside, obviously homeless and on the streets for some time, who was sitting cross legged and talking to himself about something quite important. As I walked inside I brought this gentleman to JoAnne's attention, and we spent the first ten minutes of our visit discussing the many and varied possibilities about his life and who he might be talking to/about.

[Please Note: I already mentioned our Karma Stock plummeting; it really doesn't get any better from here, so just stop reading if you're getting annoyed.]

Once his conversation with [Jesus/Gandhi/Casper] finished, he wandered inside to a table where he had left his three quite filled bags (one was pink with Dora the Explorer) and sleeping bag (which we knew came from one of the employees at the Bucks, they are so humanitarian!). He proceeded to peruse his newspaper, and by peruse I mean repeatedly flip through the sections apparently counting and/or cataloguing the contents. At one point he jumped from his chair and briskly moved to the nice squishy chair where he could continue his OCD tendencies (which, I might add, went as far as the bathroom...I think he went at least 4 times while we were 'observing' him).

On one of his bathroom trips he left his newspaper on his table; since JoAnne and I had just been discussing my need for employment she felt it was completely acceptable to 'borrow' his Classifieds. I, of course, told her we promptly be going to Hell; JoAnne said we were merely borrowing and therefore no Hell would be needed.

Well you can imagine this poor man's reaction upon returning from the bathroom to find his paper was not quite the same (oh yes, he immediately went back to cataloguing it!). I kept trying to warn JoAnne, I really could not imagine what terror this man would rain down upon us and the poor hapless customers around us should he realize we were the thieves instead of the voices in his head. After recounting two or three times, he ran over to the squishy chair and began shifting through the papers there, intent to find the stolen artifact. It was at this point that I insisted JoAnne return the section while his back was turned, as we were surely going to Hell for torturing a helpless crazyman now (it didn't help my fear when the trio of Tampa's finest showed up for their coffee & donuts cliche; how do I explain to my father that I got a ticket and got arrested for harassing the homeless all in the same day?).

Since she could see him now, the squishy chair being in her line of sight, she made the right choice hurriedly folding up the paper and running it over to his table. Just as she sat back down with me, he scurried back to his table and found the section in question sitting right on top of his paper pile. I really do wish I had a picture of his face right then, it was absolutely priceless. He was so confused, so disoriented; he immediately unfolded the section and began laying out the pages on the floor in front of him. Poor JoAnne of course could not see this, she had to make due with watching me try and maintain composure as I watched him reassemble his Classifieds all over the Starbucks floor.

Eventually he was able to reassemble the entire paper the way it was, only crumpling up the front page of the classifieds and throwing it away (we decided it smelled too good, like JoAnne). He then proceeded to take that paper with him everywhere - to the bathroom (twice), outside for a cigarette (still cataloguing and chatting with Jesus as he smoked), even as he passed the officers waiting on their coffee (where he bowed to the male officer, I swear it he bowed).

Eventually JoAnne and I decided it was time to take our leave of this amusing event, and while we were saying our goodbyes outside another homeless gentleman rode up on his bike. As if to seal our deal with Hell, we turned to each other and said at the same time: "Look! It's his friend!" The guy then proceeded to ask us for change for the bus and then rode off into the sunset. We were saddened for a moment that he didn't join the man in the Starbucks, until we remembered that our friend still had [Jesus/Gandhi/Casper] to keep him company.

And thus concludes my eventful weekend of fun. I'm beginning to wonder if the ticket was actually some sort of Precognition Karma...

Day Three: I Had To Pee.

There I was, sitting in my physio exam having a mild heart attack as I filled in the last few bubbles, when my body decides to compensate for my hypertensive state by sending out the signal to pee. (signal induced by what physio graduates all?)

[Yes mom, I'm talking about having to pee on my public blog. I'm sure you are sitting in front of the computer aghast. Readers: please note my mother taught me better than this. I'm just a stubborn little girl and don't listen.]

Anyhow, I tried desperately to fight the need to hit the bathroom as fast as I could in exchange for just a few more moments to review my exam answers. Unfortunately, I only got to #3 before the urge was just too great and I could literally feel the bruising in my bladder.

Turns out my renal urges were the best thing that could happen, since in those three questions I changed one of them to another answer and ended up missing that question even though my original answer was correct. Who knows how many more answers I would have missed by doubting myself if I hadn't had a case of The Exploding Bladder?

This is a syndrome I am well acquainted with...called Doubtacoccus retardus. I cannot tell you how many professors (and my father) have told me to go with my first instinct. It's all good and well to hear that over and over, but really when you're hopped up on stimulants and haven't really had your head on straight for days its not so easy to follow that advice. Logic and reason go out the window when Dr. Reich comes in the room.

I have this screensaver that slide-shows a bunch of quotes that I downloaded, and this one sums it all up:

It was like Joanne was sitting there with me channeling her thoughts into my computer...creepy.

In the last few days it seems every time I looked up at my computer that quote was flashing across the screen. So much so that the very first thing I did when I got my exam this afternoon was to write that quote across the top. Just a gentle reminder to myself that all of the answers were there, I just had to find them.

Whether I did that successfully, however, is anyone's guess. But its done, only one more to go. And that one is covering all of the things I love and adore (immune systems and vaccines and hypersensitivities Oh My!).

As Anna said to me earlier this evening, I've gotten off the Stress Train (she took my seat, mind you) and am now standing on the platform at Delusion Depot. Waiting for tomorrow afternoon to come so I can break open my extra large bottle of Grolsch in the fridge. You know the kind...with that snazzy flip stoppered top thingie. Oh yeah.

[Sorry again mom, this time for publically talking about being excited for drinking.]

Less than 17 hours.

Mentors, Inspirations....Friends.

Ode To An Inspiration

Roses are red
Violets are blue
JoAnne is the most awesome vet ever
And she's a damn good friend, too.



Yeah yeah...what were you expecting? My brain has turned to mush; vet school has sucked all of the creativity out of me.

I just realized this evening that I have written many blogs about my support staff here on The Rock, but I haven't said a peep about the one person who writes comments for 75% of my blog entries! I'm sure all of you out there (who don't already know this crazy cat JoAnne) were wondering just Who Is this Mysterious Lady who writes in ALL CAPS?

She is none other than JoAnne of the DMV fame (no, that's not a typo; you had to be there). When I was nothing but a fledgling groupie making $12/hr as a supervisor at the Humane Society it was JoAnne who saw promise in my curious gaze and convinced me I was smart enough to become a vet. When I stood over that metal table and pointed at various internal organs it was JoAnne who yelled "Don't touch the BLUE!" (and thus my introduction to sterility). When I helped out in the exam room too much (seriously? shelter staff can help TOO MUCH?), it was JoAnne who ruthlessly mocked The Hand so my anger would dissipate quickly. And when I needed anything, anything at all, it was JoAnne who would answer my call.

JoAnne's seemingly endless energy and constant drive for doing what is best for animals and people is what inspired me to become a veterinarian. I've worked with other vets, and they have ALL influenced me tremendously. But JoAnne's friendship, dedication to my goals, and support have been immeasurable.

I miss her every day that I am here, and cannot wait until the day we are working together again. I just hope we are both on the same side of the table when that day comes. And I only hope that I can be half the vet, half the person, and half the inspiration to future vets that she is for me.

I love you kid.

Party on Dude!

Just one more thought for the night, dedicated to my good friend and inspiration, JoAnne.
Quote from Nature Magazine: On the Caribbean Island of St. Kitts, some vervet monkeys have developed an taste for tropical drinks. About one monkey in seven here prefers a spiked drink to pure fruit juice. Some researchers speculate that a taste for alcohol may give monkeys a survival advantage. The alcohol in slightly fermented fruit kills off disease organisms.



Photo taken from Nature website.

Don't worry JoAnne, the monkeys here are always working very hard to keep themselves free of diseases. I'll let you know if I catch one trying to swing home post-binder.