The Girl's birthday, and why I didn't remember it was so soon

I was just informed tonight that the Girl's birthday is in three weeks. Um, CRAP! I was still walking around with my head up my butt thinking I still had LOTS of time to plan and invite and shop and order cakes and blah blah BLAH! NO! I DO NOT! Three weeks, for crap's sake.

However, my brain stopped working with good cause. Let me tell you about it in excruciating detail, because just saying, "I have a buttload of schoolwork to do" doesn't really encompass the enormical scope of what I'm doing. Between today (Monday) and next Monday, I have to:
- Read 164 pages from 9 different books (normally, reading a lot doesn't phase me, but John Grisham these people ain't.)
- Read 10 scientific articles
- Watch 2 videos
- Do 16 written assignments
- Post to 2 discussion boards
- Take 4 quizzes
- Take 3 midterm exams
IN ONE WEEK, PEOPLE! And then I have to do it 6 more times! Thankfully, I am not yet dead, although I'm beginning to wish I was, just a little bit. Can you imagine what it'd be like if I didn't LIKE what I was doing? Hell would've broken loose in Texas, I tell you what.

So in three weeks, the Girl turns 6, and has been telling me about all the things she'd like to have, and I bring those requests to you, Dear Readers.

Zoe's Wishlist <----- CLICK ON THAT! It will take you directly to her wishlist on Amazon, whereupon I have put on shameless display many of the things she and I think she would like to have because she doesn't have enough stuff already, and also we don't feed her.

I had all these amazing ideas for this post--stories and anecdotes, amazing things I was going to tell you all, but in reality, what's going on is that my eyes burn, I haven't gotten enough sleep, and I still have to look up the bakery that'll be making the cake, plus design an invitation, and find a place to actually HAVE the party, because for once in my like, I'm NOT doing everything myself. For her birthday, anyway. Now, Halloween is a totally different story. . .

Things I Suck At, and also, Despair

Began "work" at the clinic again today, and discovered anew that I suck at the following:
--drawing blood from the jugular vein of a dog
--even FINDING the jugular vein of a dog
--drawing blood from the cephalic vein of a dog (although I suck less when the dog is less puffy)
--expressing anal glands
--scruffing a cat effectively
--remembering ANYTHING from my education thus far
On the upside, I did manage to fashion a small nest from a rolled-up towel for a small poodle to relax in.

I did find this morning that my dosimeter had finally arrived, and was unduly cheered by this. It means I'm finally able to stay in the room while an x-ray is being taken. See, nobody actually cares if I'm getting anally probed by a beam of x-rays, but they DO care HOW MUCH radiation is violating me. And the best part? On my dosimeter, my name is "Stephonie." I can't decide if I like this as much as I like the name on my credit card, "Shephanie." So I got to wear the dosimeter today while an x-ray was being taken, but it was during that procedure that I was reminded how much I'm not good at scruffing a cat. And it was a cat so sick that it was euthanized later in the day. I guess now I'm pretty glad I didn't do anything to make his last day unpleasant.

The whole anal gland thing--it can be pretty disappointing to realize that you can't figure out how to do something so unpleasant. I knew shit was going to happen in this job, literally, but there really is very little to compare to actually feeling shit while it's still on the dark side of a butthole. We hold a tissue over where the gland is theoretically going to express its contents, but I suspect I'd do it without a tissue just to be able to see what was going on, and then maybe get a faceful. Really, the stuff that comes out of there is a special brand of stinky. More or less like fish 'n' shit.

Ah, the despair. Really, I just despair of ever remembering all the names of the tests we run and the procedures we do. I listened to one of the techs rattling off one acronym after another and someone else answered her like they understood what she'd just said! I couldn't believe it. It's a totally different language, and if I remember correctly (which I do,) I was allowed to take Linguistics to satisfy the second half of my language requirement in college because I was so rotten at learning Spanish. (Yeah, the fact that it was Spanish I couldn't learn makes it even more pathetic.) No se puede ensenar a un perro viejo nuevos trucos. En serio.

In order to indulge in some after-work shopping therapy, we went to WalMart after I picked the Girl up from school. (Her first day, by the way. A good time was had by all.) She was barefoot, because her stellar mother had let her put on shoes two sizes too small this morning, and her toes hurt. (Of course, the fact that a kid who starts school two weeks later than every other kid in Texas because she goes to a special school for GIFTED children put on shoes two sizes too small for her AND DIDN'T IMMEDIATELY TAKE THEM OFF shall go unremarked upon.) I was feeling a bit woozy from a medical indiscretion.

Do you like that term, "medical indiscretion?" It's like the term "dietary indiscretion" in veterinary care, which is a code for "ate garbage and rocks like a dumbass." In this case, it means "while cleaning the kitchen, put her Paxil somewhere she couldn't see it, and didn't take it for several days, thus confirming her suspicions that she is one of the 4-10% of people who have withdrawal symptoms when she forgets to take it" or, "Dumbass."

So I was feeling less than completely healthy. And it was hot. And I was tired despite 4 nights of actual sleep with Ambien. I carried the Girl out to the car, which becomes more and more difficult as she nears 6 years old. Went to WalMart. Carried the Girl into WalMart. Set her down and immediately hear the greeter at the door say, "Ma'am? She's gotta be wearing shoes if she's gonna be walking." My choices were: 1. Take the petite machine gun I carry in my purse, spray said greeter with a cheery hail of bullets while introducing my little friend, or 2. Not. So I sneered at him and picked her up.

Okay, so COME the hell ON! WalMart? I know this is probably a liability issue--they don't want me suing them if she steps on an alligator while she's in there, but seriously. Here, do me a favor. Think of these two things together: WalMart and Texas. Do you think being barefoot is the worst thing you can do there? Do you really expect to see Ivana Trump and Paris Hilton shopping for Faded Glory flip-flops around the next corner? Gimme a break. And so, very neatly getting back to the title of this post, WalMart can just SUCK IT. And by "it" I mean the porn-sized Johnson of a man unwashed after 4 days of hard-core workouts at Golds. In Austin. In July. Just suck it, Wally.

Eleven more to go

Having officially finished my first week of classes through San Juan, I can look back at my decision to take all 7 classes at once and say, with all honesty, "WTF!?"

No, seriously, it wasn't too bad. I have to do some tweaking as far as how I complete the assignments, but aside from being a crapload of writing, it has been a relatively okay process. Last week I tried doing ALL the readings first, then doing all the written work. This week, I'm reading for a class, writing for a class, and testing for a class before I go on to the next one. I'm expecting to be able to finish one class today.

This coming Monday also marks my return to the hospital, and as I write that it makes me realize that my supply of scrubs is markedly low. Okay, my supply of scrubs that I LIKE is markedly low. I have enough to get through a week and a half or so without repeating, but most of my scrub pants are too short, and more than anything, short pants make me really self-conscious. I doubt anybody cares much, but I feel like a dork. And you KNOW how dogs are--one glimpse of highwater scrubs, and boy, do they laugh at you.