Archive | February, 2011

New (Old) News: UNadopted

27 Feb

–edit–

this reads like fiction, but this story is 100% true and about my former mentor who is a hometown hero.

—-edit—

Lately, the only way I hear of events unfolding at the Cabin0Mansion are through my mom, who hears bits and pieces of diluted information (+/- notable significance)  from Shaun Minor.  Hearing everything months after the fact, anachronistic with when they occurred is still better than knowing nothing.  Though I must admit, hearing all that drama just enfeebles my psyche.  I am better off the less I know about Kim and especially, Mary.

In November, I was devastated when I heard (months after it happened) that Mary had taken in a credulous child with the intension of adopting him.  I had the presage that no good would come from that.  It was a moment of alertness because both Kim and Mary had been emphatic that they did not ever want kids.  I had heard it from both of them on multiple separate occasions, and as a unit.  They were heedful of the fact they could not live their lives in the same (selfish, self-indulgent, spontaneous) way with a naive baby on board.  I heard it from them when I was sixteen, up until I was 24–it was a fact neither of them were interested in raising their own young.  The omen that this was a terrible decision on their part would not go away.

I couldn’t believe they were so incautious about adopting a child with all the problems in their relationship, and in their lives, especially since Kim had just told me in 2008 how Mary’s lesbian friends had broken up over an adopted kid that was a lot of trouble.  Those friends had been together for a decade or more, and Kim said they blamed the boy on their problems.  I had auspices of more of the same for Kim and Mary.  This portent was based on the fact that I was still wary about how a child could survive their dysfunctional lifestyle, since I myself, had been crushed by their nonsense at aged 24.  They had debilitated me to such an extent that I sometimes still cry over the scenario.  It wasn’t a stretch of the mind to prophecies that a younger, more innocent child, who was already damaged would be affected negatively in the Cabin-Mansion.

I was also mindful that Mary has very little time or patience.  More than a time or two, she had become irascible with me.  And I was a very obedient, hard-working young adult.  Mary had the capability to become irritable at small slights or indiscretions too.  Also, she was downright ornery if you wronged her–in her mind, and she would play (power) games forever.  If I were Kim, I would not have been so unaffected in this decision.  I would have been prudent about the fact I was already doing all the cooking, taking care of the animals, and doing the grunt work at the hospital.  Who did she think was going to do the dirty work of raising a child?  Certainly not the prominently known Mary!  But then, I am assuming Kim was consulted about this life-changing action of fostering a kid.  It is a strong possibility she did not know a little kid was coming into her life, just as she had no idea I was moving to the Cabin-Mansion.  If I were Kim, I would have been cantankerous and testy if I was made to be someone’s “bitch,” but Kim just took it obsequiously.  Which is why, as soon as I heard the news, I was not happy, but circumspect about what would befall this 8 year old boy. . .

Mary’s motivations for adopting a child were very clear to me:  She was getting Kim a friend–a friend that couldn’t leave her.  Mary intended to appease Kim’s demands for her own friends and family in one, fell swoop.  One of Kim’s big issues was her loneliness–it had enervated her to the point of alcohol additction.  Mary had moved her away from family, and disallowed visits for the most part, she also vetoed friendships Kim formed at work.  Mixing work with private life was too risky, and Mary didn’t want her secrets to become public knowledge.  Mary also refused to let Kim meet bar or casino friends–for obvious reasons.  Mary got someone who could comfort Kim, and pacify her needs while outstandingly social Mary was gallivanting around being important.  What wasn’t so transparent was how the normally clever Mary had overlooked the consequences and commitment of raising a kid.  I’m curious if Mary’s family had limpid insight to her sudden change of heart.  They must have thought it was out of character for Mary to adopt a little boy.

From the start, Mary was probably disinterested in an elementary student.  She had impassively gotten hold of a companion for Kim.  I’m certain she was disinterested in the little guy’s plight or emotional welfare.  After all, Mary is unconcerned about much of anything aside from herself.  She displays a lack of emotion in all her relationships.  I have seen her act phlegmatically time and again:  She had been my mentor and friend for 7 years before coolly extricating me from her life.  Her and Lana had been friends for 30-odd years when she indifferently got rid of that liability.  And she had been married to Kim for over 13 years when she stolidly began cheating on her.  Mary is obviously unresponsive to emotion and has a marked lack of sensitivity for other people.

On a different note, I remember reading in YM and Seventeen magazines about how babies never mitigate relationship problems, and end up exacerbating them.  I figured it was common knowledge that kids do not mollify relationships.  I guess Mary must have not read teen magazines as an adolescent.  Instead of learning her lesson that bringing youth into the Cabin-Mansion does not temper problems, she blamed me as being the wrong type of youth.  She had high hopes for me, because I was very compliant and servile when I worked for her during high school.  But I came back more intractable and independent, and she hated that.  She figured a younger male, more subservient and deferential would palliate the strife between her and Kim.  Also, Mary didn’t pay attention to the tribulations of her lesbian friends who had adopted.  She must have been unaware of the fact he did not alleviate their stress.  I think Mary expected that little boy to moderate Kim’s loneliness, lighten Kim’s drinking, and assuage the hole in their quickly deteriorating marriage.  Why else would Mary bring a child into that house–if he wasn’t supposed to somehow provide enough distraction to assuage Kim’s growing resentment?

Who could know Kim’s beloved grandma would die during that time period?  She had to take an unexpected trip to Missouri.  I’m sure the situation left Mary with the dilemma of being short-staffed at the vet hospital.  It also gave her a taste of what it would be like to be the sole provider for a young man.  In Missouri, surrounded by greiving family, and faced with the finality of life, I’m sure Kim had time to reflect upon the ambiguity in her daily life.  She had been dithering around for years:  She was sort of married, kind of had a job, and almost settled into Dayton–but not really.  I’ll bet the incongruity in what Kim had expected and the reality of the situation were pressing.  Did Kim finally realize that all she had been doing for the past 5 years (or more) was wavering?  Seeing all the family there to extol her grandmother may have prompted Kim to quit hesitating and take action.  Surprisingly, after three-plus years of waiting for things to improve, Kim stopped waffling, got back to Dayton after the eulogy only to tell Mary that she was leaving–for good.  And I laud her for finally making that decision.

I am glad Kim became more lucid.  Maybe her grandma’s death showed her life is too short and it prompted her to be more pellucid.  Mary had a hand in making Kim more impure through the years.  She isolated her then debased her by bullying her.  Maybe Kim just had enough of all of Mary’s adulteration.  It is possible Kim finally saw through Mary’s chicanery and realized she was never going to change.  I know for a fact, Kim was tired of Mary’s duplicitous paradoxic life.  And who could keep up such artifice, save for Mary herself?  All of Mary’s cheating and deceit and trickery had to get old sometime.  I guess a death really made it apparent.  I do not think Kim sees Mary for the conniving selfish, and heartless mass of homophobia she is, but I’m glad she got tired of being alone with the daily responsibilities.  After hearing the news, Mary did not falter at all.  Kim’s leaving must have sapped Mary’s reserves, because she abruptly made some huge decisions of her own.  From the indiscretion that resulted, it must have been Mary’s nadir.

Without fanfare and certainly no vacillating, Mary pulled the kid out of school on a random Thursday.  No one recognized it as a rash decision, because Mary never tells anyone around her anything.  She didn’t inform the school or his teacher that this was permanent.  She had impulsively wrecked this little kid’s life.  Mary had misrepresented herself–she did not actually want to raise a child.  In true Mary style, she planned to hastily and clandestinely requite the little boy back to the foster system.  The Minor family had to have an argument with her to convince her a goodbye dinner between the boy and her extended family was necessary, because she wanted him gone in a hurry.  Just like every other person that she considered a liability in the past.  And she had refuted that notion of a family goodbye dinner so much, her mother and siblings, and in-laws had to get harsh with her in order for her to do the right thing.

The logistics of the matter were polemic as well.  Never-mind Mary had signed a six month contract to foster the kid–she had fibbed about wanting to adopt.  After Kim left, she promptly decided that she no longer wanted him.  When the agency told Mary she had to forget this impetuous prevarication and honor her contact, she found a friend (of course) that worked in foster care to help her beat the system.  The friend did not like this sudden untruth, but Mary was adamant that she returning the little boy back–now.  She hurried the system, and gave him back.  No time for the boy or anyone else to say goodbye, and no time for anyone to lament all that was lost.

Nothing could soothe the hurt of that little boy.  My mom was saying the kid had 8 siblings, and each of them were sent to live with extended family members back East.  He was the only one who was not placed with a relative.  The poor little guy was probably in the pit of depression, heart-broken.  Nothing will ever ease his pain.  Then, here comes along some relief in the form of Mary promising to adopt him.  Mary has a large, caring family who reached out immediately.  He gets to live in a big house, on a roomy ranch with a lot of animals.  He is placed in school and makes friends and anticipates having some security and staying somewhere constant.  Everything is finally looking up, and life isn’t nearly as unpleasant.  How could he know it was all a lie?

I don’t think I am unjustly criticizing Mary for what she did to that little kid.  It is not a peccadillo offense to lewdly screw up an innocent person for life.  Maybe the blame for marital strife between Mary and Kim can be equally assigned.  The failing was the fault of both of those adult parties.  They signed up for the situation, had full control over their behaviors and lapses in good judgement, and had control of what they were willing to tolerate from each other.  And at 24 years old, I had the tools to cope with the sins at the Cabin-Mansion and the freedom to extricate myself.  I also had my own missteps and wanton and moments, but was able to dictate my feelings and actions toawrd Kim, Mary, the hairdresser, “Bill,” and everyone else to some extent.  This orphan child?  He was guileless and unsophisticated.  He had no chance.  At just 8 years old, he was completely dependent on Mary, innocent in his own actions, and she showed her cold heart–again.

But this time Dayton is sure to notice.  The little guy’s teacher is not keeping quiet.  She is in the process of denunciating Mary’s immorality to whomever will listen.   It’s about time, I say.  Mary’s salient family, who have always known Mary’s faults through bit and pieces of information and personal experience, are also confronted with this most licentious of misbehavior.  I think they are having to look at Mary as less entitled and innocently self-serving and more of a deviant for sure.

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Myspace Withdrawals (or Why I’m on WordPress)

20 Feb

Everyone left Myspace.  I kept my account for a long time hoping, Facebook was just a (boring) phase and I would be re-joined by legions of friends.  Other than all the spam and pre-teen drama, Myspace was really awesome.  I loved that I could customize my profile, and wasted countless hours getting it just the way I liked it.  I also liked the music lists that could be created.  You could listen to all kinds of artists and post them to your page if you liked their stuff.  But it was the blogging that really made Myspace superior!  The stats soothed my OCD and my blog background was very cool and custom.  It was ink-well rainbow thingies.

Instead of trying to copy Facebook, creators of Myspace should have played up their OWN assets.  After awhile I realized people had left for Facebook in droves never to return.  It was just Tom, me, and the bots so I collected my blogs, mourned the loss of all the great music, and deleted my super-cute profile.

I found LastFM to replace the music, and I love it.  Check it out of you haven’t already.  They keep listening stats, compile all kinds of lists, and put millions of (even obscure) artist bios, music samples, and related people right at your fingertips.

I joined Facebook for my social networking needs, and I’m not the biggest fan of it.  I think all the rules that keep getting added are sneaky, the format is plain, and I can never get a representative selection of friends on my feed, even though I have selected the option to show all most recent posts.  But, for social networking you have to be where everyone else is, so I guess I’m stuck with Facebook.

I did not know where to turn for a blogging forum.  I loved the daily, weekly, yearly view count Myspace maintained on each of my blogs.  I loved the blog comments, and I had a large readership there.  I pasted some entries to LiveJournal and here to see which I would like better.  I guess LiveJournal is becoming antediluvian just like Myspace, so I turn to WordPress.

Now I struggle to find some sort of readership for my own blogs, and find blogs I’m interested in reading.  Also, I want to customize my blog to the hilt, but it’s a slow, arduous process that will take time.  Anyway, if I randomly subscribed to your blog, that’s the explanation.  Any hints, tips, tricks regarding WordPress?  I’d love to hear them!

Animal Commercials [posted 11-13-08]

15 Feb

I have been in veterinary settings since I was eleven years old.  I’ve seen trashy people that could not take care of themselves, let alone their pet.  I have been offended by their off-color remarks, rancorous at their apathy, and resentful of any irresponsibility on their part.  They show up bare foot with a train-wreck problem and no money.  It’s a bad time!

I think maggots crawling out of wounds or orifices bring me the most umbrage in the veterinary world.  It makes me itch all over and it has a certain horrid smell.  It makes me feel a ton of ire toward a person who could let their pet get that way.  You know the animal must be miserable—which I empathize with.  All you can do is shave and clean the area, it really doesn’t seem enough!

I’ve seen horrible accidents and animals in serious pain.  I mean, limbs ripped off, or chain collars that have all but decapitated the poor dog.  In the case of the former, I feel so much antipathy and dudgeon that I actually believe that owner will go to hell.  I’ve been there when pets died, and seen even the toughest owners weep about it.  Sometimes my job is pretty tough.  You sort of have to tune out—just to keep a healthy psyche.  Those that do get used to a certain amount of asperity are hardened to the point that they can start believing the worst of all people.  Naivety–most people in any animal industry do not have it long.

Despite seeing real-life animals every day at work, I cannot even open my eyes during those terribly effective animal commercials they show on TV.  You know the ones where they are asking for donations?  Whoever is writing those is very proficient at pulling on people’s heart-strings (not to mention their purse-strings).  That Sarah McLachlan commercial has the power to make me cry—I really hate seeing it.

Those commercials are probably not even real—but artifice staged to look that bad to gain sympathy and money.  I’m not certain I respect any rescue agency that uses trickery and deceit to gain money–even if it is for something good.  I do not really want to be connived out of my dollars by duplicitous tactics.  That new polar bear extinction commercial is terribly heart-wrenching as well.  I am not sure whether I hope these images are chicanery so I don’t have to worry so much, or am angered that guile is used to get sympathy. . .

So good job dynamic advertisers.  Your money was well spent and your force, strength, and vigor have not gone unrewarded–you got me, and I’m a hard nut to crack.  If I HAD any money, I would certainly donate it to your cause.  As it is, I’ll just have to go to vet school and do my part that way.

Taylor Swift Tells My Life Story

13 Feb

“You with your words like knives, and swords and weapons that you use against me–you have knocked me off my feet again, got me feeling like a nothing.” That was Mary’s specialty–not just towards me after she turned against me, but to all her perceived enemies.  I felt like every positive aspect of my personality was quiescent.  Even though I felt my work ethic and motivation were the same, suddenly my talent and success was concealed.  Mary was a major factor in this attitude and impending depression and sloppiness I was about to undergo.

“You. . .  calling me out when I’m wounded, you picking on the weaker man.  You can take me down with just one single blow.” I was at my lowest point, just looking for someone to be there for me, when Mary could not conceal her antipathy for me anymore.  I was in a position of helplessness, and depended on Mary for housing, a job, a professional recommendation, and little did I know, basic amenities, friends, and freedom.  It was certainly no challenge to take me down.  She took full advantage of this dominance over my life and perverted it to make me look bad and live miserably.  Her outright hatred of me was not dormant at work or at social events either.  Mary made no bones about the fact she was trying to ruin me (before I could ruin her).

“You. . .  and your humiliation, you have pointed out my flaws again, as if I don’t already see them. . .  Trying to block you out, cause I never impress you, I just wanna feel ok again” All I wanted, the entire time I lived at the Cabin-Mansion was to find some peace and comfort.  Someone I could trust, who could tell me everything would work out.  I wanted a support system.  When things did not work out that way, and were in fact, the complete opposite it just crushed me.  Mary embarrassed me time and time again.  It made me feel bad when she had parties in the yard where people could see me, and I was not invited.  I felt horrible when the reticence bled over into the workplace and my coworkers would ask why Mary oscillated between ignoring me and yelling at me.   I didn’t like it when Mary offered everyone at the birthday party a shot, then yanked it back out of my hand in front of all the guests.  It sent me into a great depression that nearly immobilized me, and for a full year after I felt I could not get over that pain.  The hurt is still latent, and I still want to forget the whole thing so I can feel better.

“The cycle ends right now. . .  cause you can’t lead me down that road.” I had to decide on my own that I had awesome potential and it did not matter if anyone else saw it.  Maybe my ambition was inert when I was depressed, drinking-heavily, and in the midst of the Cabin-Mansion, but I was still the same, good person the whole time.  I decided that my behavior had been remarkably estimable while I lived at the Cabin-Mansion despite the gloomy circumstances.  It was Mary that acted less than admirable, with her cheating, and beating, and warring.  SHE is the one who should have really been suffering, not me.  The hairdresser was far from respectable, Kim and her drinking were not honorable, and my parents’ retraction of support and common sense were hardly commendable.  The veterinary school admissions dean was not creditable either with his bad advice, and trading information about me with Mary.  It’s a wonder I didn’t act more terrible looking at the unworthy people surrounding me!  I wanted to move on with my life, so I extricated myself from each of these terrible situations and influences and concentrated on living a venerable life.

“Some day I’ll be big enough. . .  and all you’ll ever be in mean.” One day, when I am a meritorious veterinarian and lauded writer, I’ll look back and laugh.  Each one of these people, especially Mary are not happy, and they are not going anywhere.  They will never truly be estimable. They may vacillate between the moral high ground and depths of unethical mores, but it doesn’t make them better than me.  Mary will always be a homophobic, over-worked big fish in a small pond.  “. . .  But nobody’s listening, washed up and ranting. . .  and all you are is mean, and a liar, and pathetic and alone in life, and mean, and mean, and mean.”

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Debi

10 Feb

Debi was a superficial ex-hairdresser with a penchant for gossip, and a scintilla of bawdy drinker.  I found her long, manicured nails, dyed blond hair, and bright lipstick quite meretricious and inappropriate for the dirty, animal-related  work of veterinary-assistant.  I’m not sure why Mary would hire such a superficial person–it must have been to mitigate some of the burden at work.  I think Kim got along with Debi because she was in proximity, then Mary had no choice but to partially let Debi into the inner circle.  I know for a fact Mary could not be placated that Kim kept mixing work and personal friends–Mary wanted to keep them entirely separate for secrecy purposes.  I also know Mary complained of the age difference between Kim and her friends–first me with 17 years difference, then Debi with 10 years.

I have no idea how Kim and Debi’s relationship burgeoned to best friend status–I was unable to see what Kim saw in Debi.  Maybe she was just the only person around Kim could drink with, which appeased her loneliness.  Kim liked Debi’s family just as well as Debi, so maybe it mollified some need in Kim to be a part of family–Lord knows Mary kept her at arm’s length from the Minor family.  Maybe Debi was the only one of Kim’s friends Mary partially approved of so they were “allowed” to hang out.  It’s possible Kim just was so far gone she was comforted by any sort of drinking buddy.  I figured if Kim liked her there must be good reason.

Despite my misgivings I trusted Debi to some extent–because Kim did.  I ould chat with Debi at work, sometimes about Kim and Mary and what was going on at the Cabin-Mansion.  Also, when I was cut out of Mary’s life I felt like Debi could alleviate some of my burden.  She seemed to be an insider and I thought she might know something I didn’t.  Talking to her relieved a bit of pain that was building in me–it was a small thread between someone I encountered often and my former closeness with both Kim and Mary.  She was also one of few that understood the situation even if it was a very meager knowledge of what was really going on.  I was soothed to have one person that vaguely knew what I was talking about.

I did not enter into these conversations blind.  Debi’s mannered concern barely masked her desire to learn as much gossip as possible about her boss.  I realized that she was fishing for as much fodder as she could get.  I tried to placate a little of her strong curiosity by divulging mere details, while mostly keeping secret things under-wraps.  It seemed either Debi was two-faced or she wavered between liking and disliking Mary.  Debi would allay any of my concerns by bringing up how Mary treated Kim badly, was obviously cheating with the hairdresser, and was generally a different person at home and at work.

I didn’t really like Debi’s caustic, almost mean-spirited sense of humor and remarks.

I regret talking to Debi at all.  I wish I had not trusted her at all, because she is just as much of a transparent, status-seeker as Kathy.  I think she remained on Mary’s good side to take part in the fun-times, free food (and drink), and money.

Can You Blame Me for Being FRUSTRATED?!!

6 Feb

I tried to tell myself not to be bitter.  I maintained my integrity and probity throughout my college years, tenure at Noah’s Ark, and application process.  What do I care if other listless, (shit-heads) misrepresented themselves in order to succeed?  Things ended up working out for the best—even better than my original plan.  It still angers me that Mizzou accepts a deplorable caliber of (lying) people these days.

Don’t get me wrong—I think the school conducts its business with veracity and is stellar (or used to be, anyway).  Every veterinarian I have worked for has graduated from the school, and couldn’t be doing better.  They are smart, talented, and caring—excellent examples of the profession.  I look up to the people I worked for (maybe not in their personal lives) professionally.  Lately though, Mizzou is letting. . .  Just unsatisfactory people in!  I would like to talk to the crazies on the admissions committee, because they are obviously clueless.

I started to question them when “Katrina” entered into a class, when she didn’t have as much animal experience as me.  I felt we were equal candidates, except she was a year ahead of me in school and had already obtained her degree.  I felt I gave up my own spot in that class by getting her a job at a veterinary hospital.  She didn’t really work before that, and I kicked myself for giving her that advantage.  She was my friend though, and had fantastic grades, so I was happy for her.

When they let in one of the M’s, who portrayed herself all exactitude and fidelity, but really followed through with, and did as little as possible I was horrified the school couldn’t see through her prevarications of “hard, honest work.”  I saw firsthand how this Unaccountable M was treated differently in our college classes.  She lived in a “bubble” so to speak, where her attractiveness garnered her many perks that no one else had.  I thought the school was crazy.  While I would accept mediocre quiz and test grades, knowing that I got the questions wrong, and should of studied more, Unaccountable M would meet with the professor and nickel-and-dime extra points out of him.  I can NOT tolerate this form of deception!  I would never even have the audacity to ask–her answers were just as wrong as mine.  I felt mine was the more truthful way to complete a class.  Her connivery got her an A, while I got a C–so I guess she IS smarter, in a duplicitous way.

This M did nothing but attend college, until her Senior year.  A lot of veterinary students take this route, but it doesn’t make it right.  And the last year of college is a really late start for pre-vet students.  She hadn’t even done any clubs or sports in high school, probably because she is so flaky she is unable to stick with anything.  THEN, in an act of guile, she joined a lot of clubs, and took on 2 jobs (working minimal hours at each-12/wk?) in that last year just so she could write in on the application.  The worst part about this chicanery was she did not put much time into any of these endeavors, and she half-assed everything she did.  As a matter of fact, she worked 6 hours a week at one job so she could keep her housing, and worked only weekends at Noah’s Ark—though we were short-staffed and could have used her waaay more.  Also, I say worked, but really mean chatted with everyone while other people finished the tasks needing to be accomplished.  I forgot to mention she FAILED her freshmen college classes because she was too wild.  The vet school still let her in, while denying me.

The latest undeserving person, (that prompted me to write this blog) also worked with me.  I use the term ‘work,’ loosely.  This girl was late almost every weekend—not just 10 minutes, we’re talking HOURS.  She would offer some sort of artifice to explain away the lateness, over and over.  Then she would offer some lame canard only to do the exact same thing the next weekend.  She literally left work to go get lunch one Saturday and got high–on work time!  This is not conjecture, her and the other offending co-worker were open about how they were “pulling one over” on our employers.  AND she (they) came back to work (high) and sat there stoned.  Luckily (or un-luckily, depending on how you think about it), my employers are naive and didn’t notice.  They didn’t even have to offer any falsity or fib to avoid getting fired.  Just the kind of person you want making life and death decisions for your animals, huh?  She was always up to something, using trickery to deceive our kind employers.

During that time, she would also take random pills with alcohol on weekends (or whenever).  This happened on a few occasions, because she was so sloppy.  Once she was so messed up that she was wandering the streets, had to be carried to an apartment, than peed her pants!  This girl ended up quitting her job “because she didn’t want to wake up early in the morning.”  She never actually told her employers either—she quit through a phone call with a co-worker.

At school, she failed her first 2 years of college and dropped physics and chemistry cause she missed so many labs.  She had to re-take science in the summer, and (get this) her mom came to lecture with her—to make sure she made it to class!  This girl just got accepted into MU’s 2013 veterinary class.  What the FUCK??!

After letting these losers in, the school wonders why they have such a high rate of transfers, failures, and drop-outs.  Let’s see, 9 people in the 2010 class and 11 in the 2012 class!  When you only have a class size of 80 to begin with, that’s a huge deal.  It also means some person that wasn’t accepted to the school (me) got gypped.  Some etard that left those classes took my spot (I was on the alternate-list) and wasted it.  But really–what does the school think is going to happen when they let these people in their school?!  It shouldn’t upset me, cause hello, the veterinary school I’m going to is in a WAY better climate than the Midwest, but c’mon—is this for REAL?!

Baby Steps [2009-2010]

6 Feb

I have always been empowered by a list, so maybe making this one will make me feel less helpless and frustrated.

Firstly:  Get out of Seattle before it makes me impure and pretentious!

Get Cool out of the debased frat house so she can save loads of money
search for Spokane jobs
get temporarily cheap housing
give notice to the doctors at AVH
leave!
get cavities drilled
save more money
get an apartment to stay
get all the stuff to Spokane

#2:  Save money, money and more money.

Work at said job
limit expenses
pursue financial aid
look for outside funding
combine resources and save like the dickens
look for scholarships
call Pullman financial aid office for questions
fill out FAFSA

#3:  Get a head start:

Write/schmooze 6 prospective letter of recommendation writers
study GRE
work on essay
hone job descriptions
do mock interviews
request transcripts

#4:  Do it!

Call the school and ask questions
pay for the appliication the day it opens
send everything immediately
write it all out early
check it twice, later

Homeless + Vocab

6 Feb

t the acme of my worst financial situation, I was lucky to have people who were able to mollify my poverty by providing financial support, so I wasn’t at risk of becoming homeless.  Something arbitrary could happen to anyone and cause them financial trouble–especially if no one is in a position to assuage the monetary loss when they need it.  I can’t imagine losing my job and having to abdicate my house.  When you are in money trouble, you need to react with alacrity to avoid real trouble.  Irresponsible people, who live only for bonhomie can get themselves in economic trouble quickly.  People should be able to forestall poverty at least enough to keep shelter.A strung out person probably could not articulate that they need help–so they will get more and more desperate.  In my mind, it takes some time to become impecunious–it seems people should be able to avoid it.    If people spent wisely and used more prudence in financial decisions, there wouldn’t be nearly as many homeless people.

Adults learn these behaviors that get them into trouble starting at an early age.  Kids can be whimsical, but if they don’t have a grip on reality as adults, they will be at risk.Maybe if their parents had given an damn and upbraided their kids when they were naughty, teaching them responsibility, those kids wouldn’t have grown up and failed at life to become homeless.  That spoiling does nothing to propitiate the situation once the parent is unable to extend any more help to their irresponsible child.  Homelessness and addiction go hand-in-hand:  People that are addicted or that have some sort of mental disability are often impetuous–so that could explain some of the people that have no shelter.  People are usually reticent about why they are living on the streets-it’s probably not a pretty story.  A lot of homeless people use tangential reasoning for why they are in dire straights–them blame other people.  Homeless people are quick to go into a tirade about how it isn’t their fault. . .  Yeah. . .   Like addicts, probably every single thing that comes out of a homeless person’s mouth can be repudiated.

The only reason people would be living outside rather than in a shelter is they are somehow intractable, addicted to some substance, or are otherwise unable to follow the rules.  Instances of homelessness could be reduced substantially if people would just abstain from drugs.  It is ostensible that homeless people lived a smart, pious life and just fell on hard times that could not be avoided–but it doesn’t seem to happen that way often.  The transient people are either that way because they were bad in someway or get impious as a result of such a hard life.  Bifurcating with an addiction is very difficult and requires outside help in most cases.  I believe homeless people are in that situation because they have made decisions that are less than judicious.

When Mike brought the homeless girl into our house, I was very mannered, and didn’t know how to act.  My disbelief, discomfort, and phobia could not be placated.  It reminded me of  the “Ellen” episode where she unknowingly invites a homeless man to her repast is easy to criticize–they were so awkward!  Though it does little to conciliate the real problem, I advocate laws that keep homeless out of sight and away from the public–desperate people could do anything.  Homeless people are hardened to such an extent they become adulterated in some ways.  I have a constant phobia that the homeless will assail me to rob, rape, and render me dead.

There must be a juncture in someone’s life where they just give in to what ever tribulation they are facing and decide they don’t care if they have a place to live.  If homeless people could kindle any motivation there are always crap-jobs they could do–even felons.  The life of a homeless person must be so ambiguous–I can’t imagine having no place to go and no schedule or routine.  The homeless people by the Spokane River were languidly drinking beer when we saw them at 10:30 AM one Sunday morning.  What do you expect if you are nothing but listless?  Of course you will lose everything!  On one hand the number of homeless people makes me lugubrious, but on the other, I can’t help to think they are responsible for their situation.  For some reason, the homeless are the most gregarious when they are outside of grocery stores.  Panhandlers are so verbose about their need–when does pride go out the window?  When the homeless approach me, I am laconic as possible and attempt to disengage, because I am afraid of what they might do to me.  It is so annoying that homeless people feel they have to deface underpasses and train cars and walls with their graffiti.

When I see the homeless people walking around the community, they are always cursing and loud, very plebeian in character.  At night, walking alone, I see wraiths of homeless people and transients in my mind’s eye.  I can’t help but to wonder what they are capable of doing to me, and my fears can not be palliated easily.  If I were homeless, with no comforts, I would be terrified–nothing could appease me, and I would hardly remain imperturbable.  If I were homeless, I would be hustling to improve my situation, but it seems the people I see living on the streets arequiescent and resigned to their fate.  Maybe my phobia has made more invidious towards the homeless–but I feel the fear is based on fact.

Government assistance alleviates a lot of hardship, but they don’t have enough money to support everyone–and there is a lot of hoop-jumping required.  I give encomium to the people charitable enough to help the homeless with donations or time.   Tabitha talked about volunteering with the homeless, but it was more meretricious than sincere.  I think there are government programs designed to teach a technical skill or provide education so the homeless can bolster their position in life.  Hopefully when the economy recovers, jobs will burgeon, and there will be less homeless people, mollifying the problem.

I feel sorry for veterans and other people with mental disorders that end up homeless-as a nation it is grievous that we treat war heroes and incompetents with such disdain.  It comes down to the fact that people heterogeneous to well-adjusted population are homeless-they fail somehow.  Living outside, by a river, especially in a northern state could be zephyr and cold in a hurry.  I wonder if homeless people ever feel mirth again?

Skid Row + Vocab

6 Feb

Skid Row seemed terrible–all decorous behavior vanished, apathy everywhere, everyone lived like animals.  The food offered by the missions is meant to be sustenance, not known for its tastefulness.  On Skid Row, pretty much anything goes–appropriate, socially correct behavior is relative.  Anyone who uses proper English on Skid Row would be marked as an outsider in no time–education is disregarded there.  No one is courteous–instead using brawn and viciousness to obtain daily needs and wants.

The filth surrounding Skid Row is appalling–certainly far from comme il faut.  How can you expect manners or politeness from heroin addicts and drug dealers?  I noticed how most of the people on “Skid Row” were ultimately indifferent which made them fallacious–reverting back to the same ‘ol drugs when it came down to it.  One of my favorite quotes:  How do you know an addict is lying?  His lips move.  It seems like all addicts are sophistic andspurious by nature.  Homeless people don’t want to be that way so they say plausible things about their goals and aspiration to get help, but the addict part kicks in.  Also, they become listless in changing their situation.  It is ostensible that a drug users are enjoying themselves–when they’re under the influence, but being an addict isn’t fun.  It’s really sad that spurious junkies involve their families in their addictive behavior and its consequences.

The people on Skid Row are mostly addicts–70-90% of them, so the police know they are beyond reproach.  To vituperate one person on Skid Row would be pointless, because there are so many criminals right there, and they would fill up all the jails in California–so they are pretty much left alone.  The authorities become unresponsive to the scene as well.  Even recovered people fall victim to their previous vices, and become sophistic about hiding their behavior.  The illusory solution to the problem is to segregate the homeless junkies, but that creates new, larger problems for L.A. and the nation as a whole.  This segregating attitude combined with stolidity by the homeless themselves, the government of California, and society as a whole is what contributed to and upheld Skid Row in the first place.  The specious solution is throwing money at the problem, and sure, that would help, but for long term success, America has to fix the housing market, instill education, help inequality–it’s a multi-faceted problem with no easy solution.

Most of the homeless featured in the documentary parry questions, and insult interviewers to remain invisable–there is astigma in living on Skid Row.  They had to use hidden cameras to film the documentary because the people on Skid Row were so Evasive about being taped.  The derelicts living on Skid Row were paranoid about cameras and camera crews, repelling all media from the streets.  The residents on Skid Row also avoided police offers, and knew the documentary guy was a phony impostor when he approached police to ask what was happening.  When asked if they wanted to be homeless or do drugs the people would deflect the question by asking for more drugs.  Skid Row inhabitants figured police, FBI, etc had a conspiracy against them.  The homeless addicts living there hated the police because they feared an insurrection.

Skid Row is not a new phenomenon–having established fusty, prehistoric roots back in the 1870’s!  Seattle coined the superannuated term “skid road” because the loggers would sleep in Pioneer Square on their off-season having no work or money.  It’s weird to me that these skid roads are right next to downtown metropolis areas–I wonder which is superseded.  Drugs were introduced to Skid Roads in bygone times–quite early due to people down on their luck and desperate.  Vancouver’s Skid Row has the highest instance of heroin deaths, starting in dated times on the North American continent.   The dowdy hotels and cheap housing attracted out of work fisherman and loggers, then the drugs made it even more of a seedy area.  AIDS, HIV, and Hepatitis-C are not obsolete in the areas of Skid Row even with the aid of programs like the IV drug safe injection site in Canada.

Central City East is the outdated term for Los Angeles’ Skid Row.  An outmoded name for an area of 5th street occupied by homeless is “The Nickle.”  There were stale accusations that the police and hospitals in L.A. transported the homeless to Skid Row instead of offering services to them.  The name Skid Row is so passe‘ that the fire station (#9) that services the area has “Skid Row” emblazoned on the sides of their fire-trucks.  New York’s “The Bowery” had the vintage name of Skid Row.

It is crazy to think the Skid Row statistics are not embellished.  Estimates of 7,000 to 8,000 homeless people in Los Angeles are not enhanced–there are really that many people on the streets on Skid Row.  It is not embroidery of facts that California government deemed the number of shelter beds inadequate for the amount of homeless and now allow camping on the sidewalks within boundaries of Skid Row from 9 PM to 6:30 AM.  It seems to me that the government just gave up on the problem and became insensible about finding a true solution.  Seeing the streets bedecked with tents, addicts, and human excrement is quite shocking from my living room–I can’t imagine seeing Skid Row in person.

The streets are adorned with 51.4% Hispanics, 25.5% Caucasians, and 16.7% African Americans.  It is no exaggeration that the per capita income for Skid Row is 41.8% below the poverty line.   It’s hard to elaborate on the problem of Skid Row without seeing it.  Almost all the residents of Skid Row suffer some sort of stigma.  They are marked by poverty, blemished from addiction, tainted with mental disorders, and stained from living hard.  The opprobrium falls not only on the homeless themselves, but on a impassive society–because we had a hand in putting those people there.  It is a blot on our country that there are Skid Rows scattered throughout with a throw away population living in filthy, horrid conditions.  The third world conditions on Skid Row discredit us as a nation.

Seattle + Vocab

5 Feb

I was getting more and more distressed about paying rent on the vacated 12th avenue room, but the acme of my devastation occurred when my Jetta broke down for good.

Despite their awkward and decidedly unhandsome appearances, Kidron’s male roommates always had a bevy of females ready for fucking.

Kidron’s revolving roommates all had several things in common: A penchant for constant bonomy all night, extreme messiness, and a shortage of funds.

Upon moving here, I hadn’t realized Seattle was an abyss of pretention, rabid environmentalism, and narrow-minded liberalism.

Once I moved to Seattle, my life became wracked with constant chaos due to the necessity of living with morally corrupt strangers and working with the entitled public.

In both my 12 Ave duplex and Kidron’s shared house, irresponsible roommates mindlessly defaced the rental property.

The dissonace of honking horns and rude drivers was bested only by the dischord of every living arrangement in the city.

Joe-Cool became fractious, requiring Prozac in order to use the litter-box rather than our sheets, after listening to the constant dischord in the house.

The expensive nature of Seattle housing, taxes, gasoline, groceries, entertainment, etc, etc  is contrary to any frugal lifestyle.

Garrulous Tabatha often forced me into conversation when all I wanted was relaxing peace and quiet after working with the public.

Instead of the lifelong friends I had hoped for, my roommates and I were instantly heterogeneous, not agreeing on anything.

When Kidron wrote a blog questioning the lack of chain restaurants in the city, Seattle individuals invidiously ganged up on her and told her chains were not welcome, and attacked her character for suggesting such an atrocious thing.

When  first came to Seattle, I believed whole-heartedly in recycling, but after being inundated with veracious environmentalists who criticized ignorance of the complicated trash systems and recycling policies, I started to rebel against green-living.

Almost as soon as I arrived in Seattle, and realized I would be unable to afford individual housing, I began to lament my days in Missouri when I had my own one bedroom apartment all to myself.

I was leery about walking on sketchy Aurora Avenue or going to work in the dark, because of the addicts, prostitutes, and delinquents hanging out on the street and at the motels nearby.

First the douchi-brothers than Party Animal would be constantly home using the utilities, listless all day after night-long, loud debauchery.

I came to dread Auntie’s loquacious and repetitive chatter.

We called Tabitha “Elephant-Stomper” because she lumbered around so hard at all-hours that the floor would shake.

Despite her own sloppiness, inconsiderate behavior, and inability to finish any project she started, Tabitha was a martinetabout everyone else’s minor slights around 12th avenue.

I once made the mistake of riding the bus to The Ave late at night and realized the overabundance of mendicants made the solitary walk home very dangerous for a young woman.

In the night and wee hours of the morning it was difficult for me to be good-natured about the noisy mirth of my roommates’ parties–it made me tired and bellicose.

It nettled me that every person showing a shared property asked me if I liked to garden, but never inquired about my ability to pay rent.

My male roommate was perfunctory to the extreme, keeping his night job without even handing out a resume anywhere else, locking himself in his room rather than directly dealing with Tabitha, and even skipping meals because he didn’t care enough to heat anything up.

Night after night, day after day, the number of people in Kidron’s shared-house would proliferate to the point we never recognized the faces staring our way when we ventured out of the bedroom to go to the bathroom.

As a sort of head-count, Tabitha would always initiate conversation upon entering the house, prattling on endlessly about nothing.

The stentorian sound of traffic and roommates in Seattle is constant.

Tabitha refused to wash her own dishes or clean up after herself–for weeks, but when I cleaned she would go into a tiradeabout how she didn’t like anyone touching her belongings.