It’s Not All Puppies and Kittens

I’m currently trying to write a profile of myself for our practice website. I got the practical, factual stuff out of the way fairly easily but then got completely stuck at the bit where I should write about myself. You know the bit where in my spare time I am supposed to be exceedingly fit, exploring far away places or plotting world domination. I’m not sure that people want (or need) to know the truth. I either sound like a nanna, a nerd, a drunk or a drunk nerdy nanna. It’s not so hot. But oh well, here it is…

Dr VJ is a serial procrastinator with a distinct lack of motivation. She has a propensity for starting projects that are never finished, but has the determination to create more ‘grand plans’. In her spare time, she likes to knit, and bake, and read good book. She also likes to drink alcohol, is on a first name basis with the proprietor of the bottle shop across the road and has on more than one occasion had more vodka in the freezer than food. She is intimately familiar with the local takeaway food offerings and in the last week has had waffles and ice cream for dinner. Twice. Despite Dr VJ having completed a post graduate certificate in Behavioural Medicine, Dusk the Dog still has the attention span of a gnat and frequently gives herself concussion by jumping on the couch, from underneath the coffee table.

DrVJ has an appreciation for classic literature, but will defend her right to read the Twilight series as an educational experience. If anyone cares, it’s Jacob FTW. She may also own more books than she will ever actually read but considers this point irrelevant, after all the thrill is in the chase. DrVJ can’t actually remember the last time she saw the entire surface of her desk, but knows that it was more recently than the bedroom floor. She would also like to acknowledge dust bunnies as a companion animal species, but hopes they like their life in the Dyson. DrVJ is also a closet nerd and despite being a card carrying, badge wearing member of the Facebook group titled “I judge you when you use poor grammar”, enjoys her semi frequent adventures in 1337 speak. She also studied maths at university once and kind of liked it.

I admit to having a kind of short attention span. I get distracted easily and I’m really good at procrastinating. That said, I’m currently actually making progress with a set of case reports for a continuing education course that are, say, a few months overdue. On top of actually writing the reports, the most frustrating thing about the whole process is Microsoft Word’s inability to deal with medical terms. Writing the reports is one thing. The seemingly eternal process of ‘right click –> add to dictionary’ for simple little words like ‘oesophagus’ and ’supraorbital’ and ‘hypothalamic’gets really old, really fast.

I figured there had to be an easier way, but never did anything about it. However, I’ve just come across a custom dictionary called MeDic. I have just installed it and like magic, it’s reduced the number of red squiggles under words to zero. This is of course a neccessity, lest I find the red e-pen too confrontational and aggressive like the poor school kiddies.

I recommend trying it. It’s tiny and it rocks. Did I mention that it was free?

It’s Valentine’s Day. Most romantic day of the year, or a pile of steaming Hallmark claptrap? For some it’s a day of expectations and romance, for others feelings of contempt or loneliness. It’s only one day, it gets to have a brief appearance between other commercial performances like Christmas, selling made-in-China Australian flags for Australia Day and Easter (the fact that there are already Easter eggs in Woolies is something altogether terrifying). I’ve never really understood the significance that people place on one single day, where the events (supposedly) have the power to make or break relationships. That is not to say that I’ve never you know, been bitterly disappointed by the failure of a secret admirer to deliver a rose or soppy card to me in the middle of a class at school. This obviously, is an entirely realistic expectation according to most teen movies and The Babysitter’s Club. 

Of course, for everlasting love and adoration, there’s always the option of owning a dog. Or cat. Or goldfish if you’re that way inclined, although my efforts have never been entirely successful (this is why I am not a fish vet). I have two adopted pooches, and Dusk in particular is nothing if not adoring.  She loves nothing more than to be ON a human. Not just cuddled up next to, or resting a head loving on a knee – the closer and more inconvenient she can be the better. Lying on your chest while you try to sleep, stretching across both forearms while you’re trying to type…bonus points for licking faces before anyone can stop you. We frequently joke about how she has only 3 brain cells and they occasionally bump into each other in the ether.  She lives for simple pleasures, well, maybe even only one – filling her belly. A mere mention of “Food” or “Chicken” or even “Kitchen” (which I can only assume sounds reminiscent of “chicken”) sends her off like a frog in a sock. 

But honestly, what’s not to love about this face…

Back to relationships, if getting a pet isn’t going to work, then you could always try a self help book to improve the situation. I’m still not entirely sure what to think about the fact that my very own copy of that book came from MrIT’s mother…  Speaking of MrIT, you could be forgiven for thinking that we don’t actually like each other all that much, given that I am a twisted, ruiner of worlds, with a crazy book fetish.

Apparently I am also a strange, messed up woman. Today, we were watching  an early episode of Men Behaving Badly. In one particular scene, the two central characters are doing what grown men do in share housing – drinking beer while lazing on the couch watching TV. Apparently it’s inappropriate to laugh at the following dialogue, but I do anyway. Apparently, says MrIT, this is exactly something that I would say and do (because I am such a loving girlfriend). Apparently, this is not funny, as hilarious as I think it is. 

Dorothy: So Tony, has Gary sapped all of your life spirit, alienated your friends and made you want to strangle him with an electric flex yet?

Tony: No?

Dorothy: No…no….well you haven’t been going out with him for 3 years have you. 

Gary: (laughs nervously) Bit of the old banter, you know…

*Dorothy slaps Gary across the back of the head*

With that I will leave you with a thought provoking parting comment…

“The secret of a successful relationship is to become irretrievably embroiled in a bitter struggle to the death.”

For the purposes of maintaining a professional facade  and a reputation of being highly educated individuals with a solid grounding in the sciences, it’s probably a good thing that the general public are not party to many of the conversations that go on in a veterinary hospital. Not only do the people who exist within these places often possess slightly a slightly…strange… sense of humour, but after a few late nights at work, not enough sleep or caffiene and a few crazy cases it becomes quite difficult to construct coherent sentences or use multisyllabic words.

‘Brain farts’ are a common and quite real occurence – you can almost hear the little “whoosh”. Of course, the other point of concern is the propensity for veterinary staff to try to describe everything and anything by comparing it to food. Oh, and lets forget the fights over who gets to pop the abscess…

So (hopefully) for your amusement (or horror) here are some real examples:

• “Everyone, meet Kitty the cat. Kitty is yellow, yellow is bad”. Followed by badly sung snippets of “We all live in a yellow submarine” and “She should join Coldplay, then we could all be yellow”.  (Kitty is jaundiced and has a big liver). 
• “oooooh, this pus is really cheesy”
• Anal sacs are frequently described by the food item most closely approximating their size – pea size, walnut sized…
• The discharge from anal sacs, for some unknown reason is described as “fishy”… and it’s not live fish…
• Foul, stenchy ear infections are often described as “rod soup” (‘rods’ are one way to classify bacteria by shape, they’re often antibiotic resistant). 
• As I laughed at the LOLcat above, I felt a little pang of horror. I’m quite sure I’ve (quite seriously) told an owner that her kitten had ear mites and it “Has so much gunk down there that the ear mites are having one big party”. 
• I often recommend that I do ear swabs in animals with ear infections “to see what is growing down there”. 
• “I think he’s cooked!”  (or “I believe that the premedication has had sufficient effect to induce general anaesthesia”…)
• “What’s wrong with that cat?”. “He’s broken” (can refer to any body part, lately right forelegs and hindlegs are a popuular choice). 
• Let it be known that “garbagitis” is a legitimate diagnosis. 
• Most external parasites can be accurately described as “creepy crawlies”. 
• Birds lay bum nuts, none of this egg business. 
• “Thingy” is a sufficient descriptor, usually said while pointing vaguely in the opposite direction to the item of interested, or searching frantically for it (often while it is in direct view). 
• Goo and gunk are scientific terms. Gunk is thicker than goo. Let’s not forget the multiple applications of the word “goober”. 
• Describing a dog as “tubby” has a smaller chance of inducing a look of horror and feeling of denial from an owner than “fat”, “obese” or “he’s a coffee table on legs”. 
• Smegma is boring, why not “willy goo”.
• Let’s not forget the old favourite, “strawberry jam faeces”…

I’m going to stop now, while I still had a few shreds of respectability left…

It feels a little odd to be celebrating anything given the state of the world right now, but for a moment of self indulgence and reflection – I’m another year older today(well, yesterday by the time I post this). Meanwhile over here on the east coast of Australia, we have one state under water and another engulfed in hellish flames. It seems sort of inappropriate to be cheery about anything right now. It’s hard not to be affected by the extent of devastation and destruction, not to mention the feeling of sheer helplessness, inadequacy and awe in the face of natures fury. There are many hundreds of tireless emergency services people and volunteers out there working selflessly to help others in need but sadly Mother Nature is bigger than all of us.

Birthday celebrations were low key. A sleep in, tea and toast on bed. The announcement from MrIT that my presents were, quote, “In my (his) pants”. Charming. An iPod nano to replace my now almost vintage 1st gen Shuffle, plus an accessories kit. Shared nachos for lunch, a 1hr massage (a.k.a paying small change for the opportunity to be pummeled into tiny pieces by an angry little Asian wo/man) and a sojourn around a giant bookstore to spend Christmas gift vouchers. Yes, more books – though in true style, there were 3 for 2 and 30% off the 4th… and no, there were no screams of pain from MrIT either.

I’ve got quite a substantial ‘to read’ pile, as one could reasonably expect if you’ve seen my bookshelves. Although I’ve also got a ever growing ‘wish list’ kept in a pretty journal, but as much as I love writing lists, I’m not one for writing journal entries in an actual book. Far from being a pro writer, I thought I could still keep track of what I read here. They’ll only be short, they might not even be useful but hey, here goes.  

The Unknown Terrorist by Richard Flanagan.

Important point –> I don’t actually own this book, I’ve borrowed it (so thats one more book I can fit on the shelves later). I was really   looking forward to reading this book, the reviews promised a thriller with an interesting premise – ordinary day, ordinary person becomes the country’s most wanted terror suspect. I can’t say it failed, but I can’t help but feel that what this book is promoted as and what it actually is are quite different. It’s a great commentary on the social and political situations of ‘present day’ Australia, the widespread fear of ‘terrorism’ and the influence and power of the media. It even manages to be mostly well written.

There are some really excellent bits of prose, but they are thinly spread amongst some fairly mundane, overly descriptive text. Then there’s the plot. It had definite potential but it just didn’t get that exciting,  unless you count an increasing desire to slap some sense into the main character ( a pole dancer with ’secrets’ known as “The Doll”. Some unexploded bombs are found in stadiums at Homebush. The Doll meet a nice guy, spend the night with him and was caught on security footage entering a building. The guy is a terror suspect and “they” (the government) are searching for his accomplice. Who looks a lot like The Doll. A real lot like The Doll. Oh wait, silly, it IS her.  Quite obviously, the appropriate thing to do when you discover that you are an innocent person suspected of terrible things, is to start to act like a criminal. Go underground, steal guns, try to shoot people, get your friends in trouble and what not. Not say, seek legal aid, or profess your innocence. Of course not. Similarly, the time for self reflection is right after you decide that your life is actually all a lie and before you try to get yourself shot. 

Despite my negativity, this is a decent read if you’re not expecting a fast paced, tightly written crime thriller. It’s had mixed reviews even from actual, respectable critics. If you like books that comment on life and current affairs with a story thrown it, it’s got a lot more going for it.

If  you’ve read some of my previous posts you’d have noticed that my dear, sweet boyfriend likes to profess his love for me in strange ways. First twisted, now I’m just the bane of his existence. No sorry, wait – I was just informed that I have always been the bane of his existence (thanks for reading over my shoulder, dear). This is becoming a little like “Things My Girlfriend and I Have Argued About” only I am (I think) less dangerous and I have the right of reply.  What MrIT says is true but as often occurs, there is more to the story (where more story can equal less blame).  

I think I will be forever reminded of how I killed the Skyline, the only car that can bend space and time. I also think it takes a special talent to crash a reasonably loud, fast car at an intersection where there are already several police officers and a couple of tow trucks (no, I wasn’t planning ahead).  The rest of the stuff? I was just there when it happened. I like how *I* killed the tyre on the M4 – yet he failed to mention what happened to the other 3 tyres? Oh, what’s that, they all busted one by one over the space of a month because they were poxy? Oh, wait, there were 3 different drivers? Nice. 

The CD stuck in my car stereo? Nothing to do with it being (another) known fault with my car, nor a magnet for other people who want to just hurt something (I’ve found a new streak of red paint on my wheel arch this week). 

Ah, then there’s my glorious bookshelves. There’s also a glaring error – dear, those shelves will not contain every book I own, I just leave spaces on the shelves so you don’t ask questions. Mwah hah hah, there are still more books.  As for owning 3 copies of the same book? It’s Persuasion by Jane Austen – an old hardcover, a movie tie-in and a standard classic paperback. I’m not really seeing the problem. And what’s this “enough”? There will never be enough!

Edit: I just noticed MrIT edited his post. I said it would be cooler, from a design point of view if the display said “1337″,  thinking that he might pull out his mad Photoshop skillz and modify the photo. Not make things explode.

So my dear boyfriend thinks I’m twisted, bless him. I think I should have a chance to explain my actions, even despite the possibility that it might make matters worse.  Something not mentioned in his description of event was how I hid the camera and the lens behind books on the bookshelf. I felt justified in doing that, making him go into foreign territory for reward. I also felt justified in pretending that I only bought the camera, no lens. Why? Because that is something that I thought he would think I would do. The quivering bottom lip look of little boy who got the most budget Christmas present ever suggests I was pretty much on track.

I think this is the time where I should point out that my dear, sweet, loving boyfriend often (not always!) assumes that when something doesn’t work,  I have done something retarded and broken it. The response to something such as “Dear… the lights in the kitchen aren’t working” is “What did you do!?!”. Noooo, it would not be the fact that the bulbs, or the transformers are busted, but obviously that I have DONE something, lol. Ditto getting my car key stuck in the ignition. It is not because sticky ignition barrels are a known fault with Holden Astra’s, rather that I DID something stupid, because it is something that I would do.  Pardon me for expressing a little glee when I had power…

(P.S. I love you dear)

Sometimes you find things that are just gold…I’ve edited for amusement value.

From The Herald, Newcastle – November 20, 2008.

Man caught with penis in pasta jar

A man caught near Nobbys Beach with his penis in a pasta sauce jar led police on a 20 km/h car chase…
Police drew their weapons when they suspected Keith Roy Weatherley, 46, was armed…
Instead, they found him partially clothed with his genitals in a jar… (always a safe place to keep them).
Police believed he was doing something with his hands in his lap and thought that he might have a weapon (be afraid, be very afraid)…
He refused to leave the car. Four officers used batons and capsicum spray to remove him.

A search of his car uncovered pornography, a home-made sex aid, women’s stockings and a Jack Russell terrier.

The mind boggles.

Here, I suppose the use of the word ‘problem’ depends entirely on whose perspective you’re taking. Note also the my reference to “the” problem, it’s not my problem – and see, I’m even conceding that other people could find the number of books in our reasonably small apartment to actually be a problem (oh, the horror).

In my eyes, the ever increasing number of books on my (glorious) shelves is something wonderful.  I may have a tendency to return from any particular shopping trip with one (or more) new books. I may also have a problem with leaving books I’ve always wanted to read, or even just books with pretty covers, on the shelves in the local op shop. Only maybe. It should be a consolation that I rarely actually buy new books, and when I do they are rarely at full price. These are all positives.  As for the question “What will you do when you fill the bookshelves up?’ – the answer is simple, get more.

As for my dear boyfriend, I believe he’s coming to terms with this issue. That is not to say he agrees that books are good, or even understands why I keep bringing them home – but he did facilitate my habit so that has to be worth something. The tale of the man mission in involved in acquiring the (glorious) shelves I will leave for him to tell, suffice to say, I feel happy on the inside everytime I look at them.  Meanwhile, I think, if he were one to dream, they’d give him nightmares… something about triffids…