Diplomacy

Recently, I got to exercise the unique privilege of turning down a job offer.

Last month, I passed the AALAS (American Association for Laboratory Animal Science) LATg (Laboratory Animal Technologist) certification test, which is the highest level of certification in my field.  I've worked my job for two years now, and it's clear that I'm a big fish in a small pond.

 And I have the awards to prove it.

I rareely feel stimulated mentally.  My job includes husbandry, breeding, feeding, ensuring proper light, temperature, humidity, clean bedding, and so forth, plus record-keeping and minor procedures like trimming nails, teeth, give antibiotics, et cetera. It's a good job but it's frankly a little boring; I'm over-qualified and I'd like to move on to something more challenging.

So I applied to a laboratory that's part of the same institution I already work for. The job was a step up; it would be more research-based and require more work with tissue collection, dosing, et cetera, in addition to my usual health monitoring. The interview went incredibly, but I had some doubts, because it was mentioned that I would have to work Saturday and three evenings a week. Also, although the work was interesting, it involved a lot of animal modification. I generally do chronic studies and behavioural studies with very low mortality counts; this lab studies liver cirrhosis, so most of the animals are expected to die. I understand the necessity of this type of work, but I'm a bleeding heart and I love the animals, and animal death really bothers me.  I couldn't imagine losing several animals a day, every single day.  (Although the surgical demands on the job and the tissue-harvesting aspect appeals to me quite a bit.  I love dissections.)

Welp, I got a call about two days after the interview, and they told me my references gave me glowing reviews and they wanted to offer me the position. "Can you come in for a background check?" they asked.

I was confused because I'd been told that they would contact me next week, and that there would be a second interview.  They'd made it seem really competitive.

"What about the second interview?" I asked.

"There isn't one."

"Oh... well...  I really need more information before I can accept," I said.  "Could we schedule a sit-down meeting to discuss the terms of my employment?"

"...oh?" was the reply. As if it was unimaginable that I wanted to know how much they were going to pay me.

"How much would I be compensated?" I asked bluntly.

"$15.50 an hour," they said.

Fifteen-fifty an hour? Are you kidding me? I have a B.S. and over two years clinical experience, plus I'm a registered AALAS technologist. (The AALAS certifications are not cheap.)

 There are plenty of times to put on your shit-eating grin and nod and go with the flow.

But this was not one of those times.

The average college graduate in America gets $16.81 an hour out of school, according to CNN.  And that is a nation-wide average.  We live in Los Angeles. The cost of living here is not cheap.

Ask any hobo.

Side note: I already earn that much an hour.

There wasn't a polite way to say I felt insulted, so I said, "I'm sorry but I can't accept your offer. The compensation doesn't really make up for the hours."

The woman I was talking to, an administrator, said okay and hung up, but then I got a call from the lab's primary investigator (the big cheese, head honcho, et cetera) who asked why I hadn't accepted the offer. Was it the compensation or the hours? Well, both. I would need to be compensated quite a bit to sacrifice my Saturdays and evenings.

He said that he was willing to discuss compensation, but I had an idea already that if I said I would need at least $18 to even consider it, I would be laughed out of the field of animal research altogether.   (This is a grant-funded study and the money is fixed.)

So I said that I didn't think he could offer me enough to make up for the hours, and he said, "Well we were very clear about the hours. You really shouldn't be applying to this job if the hours don't work for you."

I felt an intense feeling of guilt and irritation; I already have a hard time saying no, and fuck him, they didn't tell me the hours until the interview, so how would I have known not to apply in the first place? But I gritted my teeth and said, "Well, I really appreciate the offer and thank you for your time. I hope you find a more appropriate candidate." And he said good-bye and hung up. (I got the impression he put the phone down rather hard.)

He threatened to find me, and to hire me.

Only two days later, I got a text from the guy who was rude to me.

"Hi, Julie, this is Dr. X," it said. "I'm still interested in recruiting you. Can we discuss this? Call me on my cell, (number), thanks."

I was blown away. This guy was a jerk and now he's crawling back. Look, buddy, if you want a workhorse, you can't shop bargain bin. That's just common sense.  You get what you pay for.  Don't expect to get a star employee for chump change.

I double-checked his job posting and discovered that he had listed compensation as $16.50 - $22.50 an hour. Oh really? And I got offered $15.50? Give me a break!

I text him back: "Thanks for your interest, Dr. X. Unfortunately, based on your initial offer, I don't think this is the career opportunity I've been looking for, and I have several other offers on the table right now. I don't want to take up any more of your time. I hope you find a suitable candidate for your lab. Thanks again, Julie."

It feels so validating to have this guy come crawling back, and it really bolstered my confidence. Also, it makes me feel good to have the privilege of turning down a job offer. Only a couple years ago I lived in abject poverty, and $15.50 an hour would have seemed like a million bucks. So I'm very conscious of just how lucky I am to be in a position to say "shove it" to that offer.

The same week all this went down, a supervisor's position opened up at my current job.  I applied, was interviewed, and was put on the short list.  Ultimately it came down to me and one other candidate, and by all accounts it was a very, very close decision.  The other candidate got it, but she has seniority over me, so I can't say I'm bitter.  Besides, you could say I'm next in line, in a way.  And I presented myself well during the interview, and my boss said everyone was very impressed by my manner of speech and the way I presented myself.  So that at least counts for something.  As usual, my annual performance review came back as "above average, and commendable."

I was given some more awards.

In personal matters, things are going both well and poorly.  I'm extremely depressed and overwhelmingly anxious about the upcoming wedding.  However, I finally called Andrew's mother and spoke to her about some of the things she's said about me behind my back, and she was fairly apologetic and unexpectedly kind to me.  We sorted our problems out in the sense that I consider us as starting over with a clean slate, and we've since had a couple of phone calls and exchanged a few e-mails.  I don't know if we'll ever see eye-to-eye on some things, but we at least get along, and for Andrew's benefit, that's enough for now.

I've begrudgingly upgraded her from "Disney villain" to "secondary protagonist" or "Disney hero in a poorly constructed sequel where Mandy Moore turns into a bear at the end."

I'll be happy when this month is over.  I'm struggling very hard against the feelings of sadness and anxiety, but I feel confident at least about my job and about most of my interpersonal relationships.

Post-blog note: Andrew and I went horseback riding on Valentine's Day.  Pictures to come.

Here's one to tide you over, also available on Andrew's more frequently updated but frankly much less interesting blog, Shrad.org.  Naw, I'm kidding, it's okay.  Go check it out.

Spring Thaw

I think things are getting better for me, because I've started writing a little bit again.  I've definitely been down in the dumps, but I have hope that the year can be salvaged yet.

For example, when I read that Disney was making Frozen 2, I decided to write my own sequel.  (NOTE TO DISNEY: I am willing to negotiate a deal on this.  Why won't you guys return my calls?)

Here's my idea for how it should go down:

Plot

Anna and Christof are in a relationship but Elsa has her doubts. She is protective of her little sister and fears that Christof isn't good enough for Anna. After all, he's not even royalty! But after Anna is kidnapped by the Duke of Weaselton, who plans to ransom her to force Elsa to re-instate trade between Weaselton and Arendelle, Elsa and Christof are forced to team up to save her. They discover that the Duke has an older brother who was locked away due to his powers, just like Elsa was a child. Can Elsa, Christof, Sven, and Olaf free the rightful ruler of Weaselton and rescue Anna? In this sequel, Elsa learns to let loose and have fun from Christof, and Christof learns a thing or two about refinement from Elsa.

Why it would work

• Elsa gets more screentime.
• It examines a male-female relationship that is not romantic.
• It resolves the trade dispute between Arendelle and Weaselton.

Subplot:

• Sven meets a female reindeer.
• Olaf lets Sven take his carrot nose to give to the girl reindeer. He spends the rest of the movie trying out various new noses.
• When Sigvard, the rightful heir to Weaselton, is coronated and the Duke is locked away, they resume trade with Arendelle. Their main export? Carrots!

Scene 1: In which Elsa expresses her concerns.

ANNA: Isn't he wonderful, Elsa?
[Elsa glances at Christof. He is cleaning out his ear with a pinkie. He removes his finger from his ear and examines it.]
ELSA: ...I don't know, Anna. He's a bit... rough.
ANNA: Elsa, what is your problem with Christof? He's a great guy, and he's perfect for me! Don't you see that?
[Elsa glances at Christof again. Now he's aggressively scratching his head like a dog.]
ELSA: ...I just feel like he's... a bit... well, he's not like us, Anna. I mean, he's the ice delivery guy, and we don't even need ice. He didn't grow up in a castle. He doesn't understand.
ANNA: He understands me. Isn't that what really matters?
ELSA: I just want what's best for you.
ANNA: And that's Christof! Please, Elsa. Trust me.
[Elsa looks at Christof. He is examining a fancy vase. He pokes it, and it wobbles. He awkwardly tries to right it.]
ELSA: ...okay. Just... think about it, Anna. You're a princess, and that comes with a lot of responsibility.
[Off-screen, there's a shattering noise. The girls turn to Christof, who whistles innocently and shoves the pieces of the vase behind the vase's stand with his foot.]

SCENE 2: In which Anna is captured.

ANNA (in a cell): My sister will find me! You'll never get away with this!
DUKE (outside the cell): I already have!
[He laughs evilly. The camera pans out to show the ship they're on, gliding silently away from Arendelle on still water beneath a full moon.]

Scene 3: In which Christof and Elsa scale the tower.

ELSA, hopelessly: There's no way to the top!
CHRISTOF: There's got to be.
[He thinks.]
CHRISTOF (snapping his fingers through a mitten): An ice ladder! Make an ice ladder, Elsa!
ELSA: An ice ladder?! Christof, that would never work. I can't make an ice ladder. And how did you snap your fingers through that mitten?
CHRISTOF (grabbing her shoulders): There's no time to explain! If you can make a castle, you can make an ice ladder. You can do it, Elsa! Do it for your sister!
[Elsa looks hesitant, but the music swells and she knows she can do it. CUT TO: Elsa is climbing a ladder of ice.]
ELSA (gleefully): This was a great idea!
[The camera pans sharply down. Christof is shivering ferociously and trying to rub his hands together for warmth.]
CHRISTOF: T-t-this was a t-t-terrible idea.

Scene 4: In which Elsa, Anna, and Christof convince Sigvard to come out of his tower.

ANNA: He's the Duke's brother. He's the rightful heir to the throne.
[In the shadows, an older man sits hunched.]
ELSA: ...is this true?
SIGVARD (voice quavering): It's true that I am the first-born, and was the next in line for the throne. But I cannot be king. I... I am... a monster.
[The chair he sits in begins to grow frost.]
ELSA (shocked): He's... he's like me.
CHRISTOF: You're not a monster! You're just... different. And so's Elsa, and she's a great ruler!
[Elsa looks touched.]
SIGVARD: No. No... I... I cannot take the throne. The people of Weaselton deserve better.
ANNA: Better like the Duke? Sigvard, it's a mess out there! Ever since he seized control, he's been taxing them more than they can bear, and destroying all your trade relations! Your kingdom needs you!
[She approaches him, but is blown back by an icy wind.]
SIGVARD: Stay back! Please! I... I don't want to hurt you!
[Elsa steps forward.]
ELSA (quietly): You can't hurt me.
[Elsa goes to him and takes his hand. Both their hands are quickly enveloped in frost.]
ELSA: I used to be scared too. I used to hide too. But I learned to control my powers. Sigvard, we can help you.
[Sigvard looks up at her, not quite daring to hope.]
SIGVARD: But what if I hurt someone?
ANNA (touching the white lock in her hair): You just have to trust yourself, Sigvard. It'll be okay. We'll help.

Scene 5: Olaf's new nose.

ANNA: ...is that an old boot?
OLAF (adjusting his boot): It sure is!
CHRISTOF: Does it work?
OLAF: It smells!

 I posted my idea on Reddit, where I was quickly informed that it was the worst possible plot for a sequel and that I should go suck mega shitdicks in hell forever.  They're not entirely wrong, of course.  Disney would have to be very, very careful with Sigvard. His role is purely as a plot device... he is not meant to be a character we actually care about. The screentime should be all Elsa's (and the others), and the focus is really on Elsa and Christof's relationship. Sigvard is only a secondary protagonist.  But I think his existence is necessary.

• Sigvard having powers justifies the Duke's over-reaction to Elsa's powers in Frozen 1. The Duke is the only one with such an intense, negative reaction when Elsa starts freezing stuff at her coronation, and it doesn't make sense for him to react badly at all if he's trying to maintain trade relations with Arendelle.
• Having someone else take over Weaselton absolves Weaselton. When Elsa creates trade sanctions at the end of Frozen 1, she's not punishing the Duke, but the entire kingdom of Weaselton. This closes the loophole and gives the Duke more personal come-uppance.
• Most importantly, Sigvard acts as a foil character for Elsa. In Frozen 1, she was frightened of her powers and hid them. In Frozen 2, she is now so in control and confident that she can act as a mentor to someone in her previous position. This highlights her personal growth.

As for "worst sequel," I took that as a challenge, and replied with my top 5 idea for "worst sequel:

Frozen 2: Elsa's Engagement

• Plot: Elsa may have control of her powers consciously, but when she's asleep, all bets are off! During a dream, Elsa accidentally freezes herself into a block of ice, and it's up to Anna to fix things! Knowing that only True Love can melt a frozen heart, Anna calls on the 8 older brothers of Hans from the Southern Isles to come act as suitors to Elsa. May the best man win! What follows is a delightful romantic comedy in which Anna and Olaf drag Elsa the Ice Block on 8 different first dates in an attempt to lift her curse. Meanwhile, Hans is back and he's going to cause trouble! Hans attempts to sabotage Elsa's dates for some reason but is thwarted by Anna repeatedly in various slap-stick ways. At the end, Elsa chooses the quiet nice guy.
• Why it doesn't work: Self-explanatory.
• Horrible twist: Elsa wakes up at the end and discovers it was all a dream. Then she rolls over and she's sleeping next to the quiet nice guy. It wasn't a dream at all!

Frozen 2: Legend of the Moon Flower

• Plot: During an important royal meeting, everyone expresses a lot of interest in Elsa's powers and Elsa becomes very self-conscious. She discovers that she can "cure" herself of her powers by making a potion of moon flowers and causing a lunar eclipse. But after she drinks the potion, she casts her kingdom into eternal darkness! Now Elsa has to make things right without her powers, and along the way, she learns to appreciate just how useful her powers were, as well as a thing or two about being herself!
• Why it doesn't work: The magic makes no sense and it's completely inconsistent with the first movie.
• Horrible twist: The directors can't get any of the original crew to agree to the sequel; Olaf is voiced by John Goodman.

Frozen 2: Heir to the Frone

• Plot: Anna and Christof's son, Erik, is 10 years old and desperate to get powers like his Aunt Elsa's! He embarks on a journey to get ice powers with his pal, Sven Jr, and an overly-perky, trying-way-too-hard-to-be-quirky young witch named Ilsa, who has a sassy black cat named Jenner. Together, the foursome meet trolls, wizards, and elves, and learn that their true powers aren't ice... but friendship!
• Why it doesn't work: The title is a tortured pun, the original cast gets no screen time, and all the new characters are shallow and one-dimensional.
• Horrible twist: Sven Jr. can talk.

Frozen 2: The Prequel

• Plot: Basically it's 120 minutes of "Do You Wanna Build a Snowman?"
• Why it doesn't work: There's just not that much to explore.
• Horrible twist: The whole thing is narrated by the troll in Frozen 1 who says "And I don't see no ring!"

Frozen 2: Elsa's Palace Pony Party!!

• Plot: Elsa's birthday is coming up, and Anna has a big surprise for her... a pony party with all of their princess friends! There's only one problem... Elsa doesn't know how to ride! Can Anna, along with her pony pals Sundance, Starskip, and Dreamdancer, teach Elsa how to ride before the big day??
• Why it doesn't work: Cloying, girly, vomit-inducing.
• Horrible twist: One of the princesses is a snobby "mean girl" who gets put in her place during the grand finale, which involves a dance competition.

 In the coming week, look for blog posts about my relationship with my mother-in-law (improving!) and turning down a job (satisfyingly validating!), as well as pictures from Valentine's Day.  (We went horseback riding!)

Weird Hobbies

Hi there blog. The last month has been really, really rough for me, but since I dedicated my last blog post to drama, it's time to focus on, as Mary Flournoy would say, “a much nicer topic.”

First, let's talk D&D. What is D&D? It's Dungeons and Dragons, a tabletop roleplaying game. If you're not aware of how this works, it's a bit like one of those choose-your-own-adventure books. There's a Dungeon Master (DM) who creates a world with items, characters, culture, rules, and so on; the players all have characters with traits and their actions either fail or succeed based on dice rolls, which take into account their traits. It looks like this:

I mentioned in my last post I wanted to talk about Lucious Bloodsmythe, my orc, who is a character that is 4th in his line. The BloodSmythe family has a curious legacy; they have a son, wait until he's old enough to understand, tell him to avenge them, and then go off adventuring. They all die in battle; they all get their legacy name from the manner in which they died (or their singular accomplishment in life). The Bloodsmythes are not very smart. They're strong, brutal, and a tiny bit gullible. They also have a reputation for fucking up campaigns beyond all belief, and accidentally killing their own allies.

Behold the BloodSmythe legacy!
(Click for larger size.)

Now, Andrew thought it might be fun to play as a DM and I agreed. As a DM for our main campaign, I am supposed to act as a neutral “interpreter” for the game, and am not really allowed to have real characters myself or to get invested in them. Letting Andrew take over referee duty let me whip out one of the Luciouses. Enter Lucious IV, son of the Cutter of Strings, who got his name when he smashed an invaluable magical fiddle that allowed one to control legions of the undead. 

Lucious IV is generally a nice guy, but is dumber and more gullible than his predecessors. For one thing, he's absolutely awful at any sort of subterfuge. In the current campaign, our group (Sonya the alchemist, Sincy the monk, and Honton our guide) has infiltrated a group of pirates and are trying to take down a slave-trading ring. To keep Lucious from fucking everything up, they've convinced him he's actually a pirate, since he's frankly too dumb to be expected to deceive anyone. Recently we had two hilarious “goddammit Lucious” moments.

The first occurred during an escort mission. An orc on an escort mission is like putting a bull in charge of a china shop. The man we were escorting, Lucky Tobias, had one eye, one ear, one hand, and one leg. He was called Lucky Tobias because he was very well-endowed. His weapon of choice? A huge spiked codpiece.

That should have been a clue to us that he was both insane and evil.

At some point in our travels, Honton and Sincy made the incredibly preventable mistake of leaving Lucious alone with Lucky Tobias at the dock, with the ship. (This campaign takes place at an island chain and involves a lot of sailing.) (Sonya was there, but didn't want to get involved with Lucky Tobias, who had been acting like a bit of a creep.) Lucky Tobias decided to cause mayhem. Espying a poorly-guarded boat, with only one crewman aboard, he asked Lucious, “Sonny, do you know how to create a diversion?”

Andrew had me roll a die. Did I know what a diversion is? Turns out, no. Lucious is not smart enough to know what that is.

Having been left alone by L.T., he walked up to the nearest person, screaming his simple little orc head off:

“EXCUSE ME,” he bellowed to a young dock worker, in a voice not dissimilar to Christian Bale's Batman voice, “DO YOU KNOW WHAT A DIVERSION IS?”

The boy ran, and so Lucious went up to the next person: the old man on the boat that Lucky Tobias was boarding. He began talking to the old man about what a diversion is, and how to create one. Lucky Tobias, meanwhile, snuck up behind him, and promptly shoved the spiked codpiece through the back of his skull, killing him instantly. From Lucious's perspective, of course, he was having a pleasant conversation with someone when their head suddenly exploded. He panicked and began attacking the man's corpse, screaming bloody murder. Sincy and Honton heard him clear from the tavern, and came running. Sincy arrived on the scene first, to find Lucious sobbing and holding a mangled, bleeding body.

“What happened?!” he cried.

“I created a diversion!” wept Lucious.

They disposed of the body, and Sincy left to get back to what he was doing, giving Lucious strict instructions not to fuck up anymore. Lucious went back to the ship to take a nap. But even sleep can't stop him. Sonya, bored, cast a spell: phantom sound. The sound? Fiddle music. 

Lucious, son of the Cutter of Strings, has something of an issue with fiddles. He woke up to an orchestra of fiddles, went into a rage, and charged up onto the deck, ready to kill whomever was playing the fiddle. (Since the destruction of the Fiddle of Death and subsequent death of Lucious III, all Luciouses now have an insane fear of fiddles and will automatically kill anyone playing one.)

Sonya, who had witnessed the death of the old man and concluded (correctly!) that Lucky Tobias was evil, merely pointed.

Lucious charged the dozing figure of Lucky Tobias and cracked open his head like a ripe cantaloupe. Sonya, in a moment of uncharacteristic bloodlust, cast electric jolt, charring the body. Lucious kept swinging his falchion, mashing the body to pieces; Sonya eviscerated him; Lucky Tobias spread across the deck. At some point in his rage, Lucious cracked open a hole in the ship (on the upper deck, luckily). Slowly calming down, he realised Sincy would be back soon, and attempting to nudge the body into the hole. Lucky Tobias's organs slid into the hole, but his torso got stuck. And so, when Sincy returned a second time, it was once again to see a guilty-looking orc standing in close proximity to a mangled corpse.

Sincy has since come to conclusion that any time he leaves Lucious alone, he will probably return to discover a body and hear Lucious give him a confusing, child-like version of events leading up to the murder. Though, as Sincy pointed out, it could have been worse. It could have all gone down on the lower deck.

SINCY [returning to the dock]: Hi guys, I came back with... uh... er... [He stops, seeing LUCIOUS standing on the pier holding a CORPSE. Behind him, a MAST sticks out from the water.] 

SINCY: ...where's the boat? 

LUCIOUS: I know this looks bad, but hear me out, okay? ...This guy here... [indicates the CORPSE] ...was playing fiddle music. [He pauses.] When I hear it out loud like that, it sounds like it's possible that maybe I over-reacted just a little bit. 

D&D, as you can see, can be a really fun game, but it's not for the faint of heart, and it really helps to have good players and a flexible DM. A lot of the game depends on the roleplaying (as opposed to roll-playing) aspect, and a person has to be decent at both improv and math to play effectively.

Do I recommend it? You bet I do!

I envisioned putting a "seal of approval" here, featuring a seal in medieval battle armour.  
But searching for a "seal in armour" gets you the Navy Seals, and searching for "medieval seal" gets you actual wax seals.  Then I searched for "battle seal" and found this.  Enjoy.  More photos here.

Another little hobby I enjoy is RedditGifts. RedditGifts is a community of people who do year-round Secret Santa exchanges. Most exchanges have a theme. There's a two-week period for signing up before sign-ups close and you get your “match.” Matches are, for the most part, random, though considerations are made for some things, like whether or not you'd like to ship internationally.

After getting your match, you have another two weeks to buy and ship a gift, with proof of shipment. Then there's a two-week period where people post what they got online for others to see. I've done 12 exchanges so far.

Curious about statistics? Out of 12, eight were female and four were male. Ten of them were under 30 years of age. Out of 12 exchanges, I had only one where I received nothing, though I had two where I got a cheap, shitty, thoughtless crap gift. I had five of them not upload pictures of the gift I sent them, though all 12 acknowledged getting my gift, at least.

On Monday, I have two new exchanges: Colours (get someone a gift themed with their favourite colour!) and Socks (just what it sounds like!). I undertake each gift like a craft project and I like to decorate each box just so.

 Above: these were actually pictures of me hand-painting ornaments for the LAPCC Christmas Blind-Bag exchange, but nonetheless, this is an accurate representation of what our kitchen table looks like when I get involved in a project.

 The 2014 Secret Santa exchange!

Here's a PostCard exchange.  My match said she lived in a small town and was enchanted by large cities. 

Lucky for her, I live in a big city!  

My crowning glory was the Apocalypse Exchange, which included a knife, a bottle of whisky, a first-aid kit, a canteen-style water bottle decorated with biohazard symbols, and a few packs of beef jerky.  I'm pretty excited and it's something to look forward to. So far, giving out my address to strangers online has had zero negative consequences, lulling me into what is no doubt a sense of dangerously lackadaisical security. Just wait until I get a Lucious...

"I GOT HER A DIVERSION!"

The only downside to these exchanges is that they cost money, in the sense that you have to buy someone else a gift.  Fortunately I was able to sell another short story to the NoSleep podcast so I have some extra money to keep gifting.  Things have been tight since Ruby's surgery and Andy and I won't be able to attend Sin in the City this year.

But, she's recovering well.

In other news, my friend Dan visited us back in December.  It was good to see him again.  I haven't seen most of my friends in two years, since I moved to Los Angeles.

Here's Dan.

No, wait!  THIS is Dan!  That last one was a freak show we took him to.  

Sorry about the potato quality of this one.  It's hard to get a good photo from inside a columbarium,

That's about all I fancy talking about today.  Like I said, January's been a rough one for me.  But today's a new month and I'm hoping it'll be better.

This is the view from my front porch.  So inspirational.  So many colours.

Better feels.  Many comforts.  Wow.

But seriously, it's got to get better, right?  ...right?

Old Business (In Which I Alienate New Readers by Presenting Awkward, Out-of-Context Situations)

Hello there friends!  I recently checked my blog and noticed an unusual amount of traffic.  I was confused as to why, until I discovered that the NoSleep site has a link to my blog!  I, um... I don't know what to say to you.  I'm sorry.  You were probably expecting better than this, weren't you?

Let me back up a moment here and recount.  You might remember I wrote a few short stories like Mailbox in the Woods and A Short-Cut Home and Safety Precautions and The Rabbit Story.  Well, I got contacted by a gentleman who produces a podcast called "NoSleep," and he wanted to air my story on his show!  So you'll find it read here, season 4, episode 23.  I was really pleased with the production quality and how professionally the whole thing was.

As long as I'm getting traffic and giving plugs for stuff, check out my boyfriend Andrew's new site, which you'll notice is shamelessly riding my coat-tails and also doesn't link back to mine.  (Weak, Andrew.  Real weak.)

Now, on to business!  Sorry, new readers, but it's time to tie up some loose ends!

Two of my recent posts mentioned that Andrew's cousins decided not to invite me to their wedding out of spite, and that a woman Andrew hit in a car accident last year is suing both of us.

He dented her aura, so she wants both damages for the injury 

and compensation for the rented aura she had to get from Hertz.

Well, the case was settled for an undisclosed amount, and the insurance took care of it, so we don't have to worry about the legal stuff anymore.  Although it really rustles my jimmies that she got anything at all, considering her "injury" seemed really... how to say this... fake.  Like, super fake.  I don't know why I'm even surprised that there's fakeness here in southern California, but yep, here I am, pissed as hell on AAA's behalf.

But as I said, the bright side is that it cost us nothing (well, except my car, which was destroyed), and that now we can rest easy knowing it's over and done with.  

Now, about Ben and Cara, the soon-to-be-wed Spite Cousins (I mean, they're Andrew's cousins, they're not cousins to each other).  (Ben is his actual cousin.  Cara is going to be an in-law.)

Remember how Andy's mother visited in December and rustled my jimmies?

I've been rustled a lot lately.

Well, Ben's mother (Andy's aunt) called her sniffing for dirt.  She asked "how Julie was."

Drunk as a loon!

In a rare show of kindness, she didn't take the opportunity gifted to her to complain about me, and instead told them I was polite and a gracious host.  Thanks, Gail!  I really appreciate that she's trying so hard.  It's a long, slow, uphill climb, but I hope someday, I'll be able to stop posting a picture of a Disney villain every time I mention her.

Maybe someday she'll stop LION about her feelings and we can have an open, frank discussion about our relationship.

Yesterday Andrew and I got a wedding invitation in the mail from Ben and Cara.  Addressed to both of us.  I suspect that after Andrew's mother vouched for me, Aunt Kate talked to Cara and Ben and told them they ought to invite us after all.  In other words, they are trying to save face as opposed to actually feeling regret, but the jury's still out on whether or not we plan to go.  Personally I want to just be straight with them and ask whether we're genuinely wanted or not, but Andy wants to wait to see if more information appears.

That about covers old business.  In new business, we went to Disneyland on Sunday, but it was awful.

The crappiest place on earth!

The mistake we made was accepting free tickets from a friend of a friend, who hung out with us in the park and turned out to be a little nutty.  In between hitting on Jack and talking about her cat, she revealed:

• She has an eating disorder.
• She's bipolar.
• She was kicked out of college at some point for an unspecified psychiatric episode.
• She thinks her parents, who she lives with, bully her, and that's why she has an eating disorder.
• Her parents arranged a marriage for her.  (Dunno what to make of this.)
• She doesn't have many friends 

Now look, I don't want to judge, and I'm not saying any of those problems are really her fault, but when someone who never even introduced themselves to you reveals multiple major personal issues like this, shit gets uncomfortable.  And she only said this to me.  I don't know why (because we're both females?), but I felt so acutely awkward and couldn't even think of a good way to get away, considering she'd just given us these tickets.  I didn't want to be impolite or ungrateful.  She wouldn't un-cling from Jack, though, and kept saying how she was single, and it set off major alarm bells.  I was worried that at any moment she'd unhinge her jaw and just swallow him whole.  At one point while we were alone-ish in a line she started asking me about dating advice and I had to bite my tongue from telling her to back off.  I don't want my (already sort of messed up) best friend to end up with someone with all those issues, but I also didn't feel comfortable being the one to say that.  I mean, Jack should be the one to say it.  But she wasn't acting crazy around Jack, only around me.  (Besides, Jack already had a date lined up the next day with a hair photographer he met online.)  (I wish that were a joke.)

We cut out early, around 5 pm.  The whole thing was so, so, so uncomfortable.  I cried.  Like, a lot.  Disneyland is (was) sacred to me.  Andrew and I had planned to go in lieu of the wedding but with recent updates I don't know what's going to happen.  I'm just trying to forget it happened by memorialising it here forever on my blog.

I guess that sums up everything that's happened recently.  I have to go now because it's Tuesday and we have D&D.  Look here later in the week for a brief recap of a great D&D session we had, in which my big dumb orc character makes an ass of himself because of his total lack of self-awareness, not at all like I do in real life, shut up.

Things were simpler when we were kids.

Here's the crew from one of our games!  Lucious Bloodsmythe IV, the orc, is mine.  
He comes from a long line of absolute morons who fuck up every campaign they touch.

"Free" to a Good Home

I don't know if I mentioned or not recently that I accidentally adopted a third dog. Much like our second dog, Ruby was "unplanned." How, you ask?

The usual way.

Well, I was biking home from work when I saw her. She was on the curb, bouncing in and out of the gutter, entertaining herself in the way that puppies do. Andrew and I had been talking; our conversation came to a screeching halt along with our bikes when we spotted her.  I crouched to call her. "Hey! Hey! Hey! C'mere!" I cooed. She bounded over, her gait uneven with enthusiasm. Her tail wagged with delight and she squirmed when I touched her, unable to contain her glee. I looked around but the area was quiet.  Where was the owner? Adams Boulevard was busy and this particular dog did not seem very smart. After all, she'd literally been in the gutter when I called her to me. So with a shrug, I picked up the dog, put her in the basket on the handlebars, and biked home. It's probably worth mentioning, at this point, that the dog was smaller than most dogs. Smaller than most cats. Less than 5 pounds, she fit easily into my bicycle's basket; when we biked past the school, a wave of "awwwws!" followed us.

Awww.

We wouldn't have taken her if she hadn't been so small and literally in the street. We have a strict non-intervention policy with most strays. The exceptions are the ones who clearly, desperately need intervention. Our last project, Wobbles, was a blind cat with ataxia and an enormous mass on his neck. For weeks we'd syringed food and water and medicine into him. He hadn't made it, but he'd been comfortable at the end, which is all we could have asked for, really. Anyway, this dog didn't appear sick, or injured. Just small. So small that a bird of prey could have eaten her; so small that no car would have ever seen her. Seeing something so unbelievably tiny in the street pulled at our heartstrings. We shouldn't have intervened... but of course we did. What kind of dog is she? Hard to say. Her teeth were clean and she was obviously a girl. She had the domed head and huge, gelatinous eyes of a chihuahua, but the scruffiness of a terrier. Her skin was freckled like a Chinese Crested. Her demeanor was that of the average puppy.

Banana for scale.

We did what we were supposed to. We made up fliers (in English and the most broken Spanish ever) ("ENTRADA PERRITO!  MUY CHICA!"), checked her for a chip, cold-called people on CraigsList who posted lost dog ads that sounded like her. But nothing came up. We went from "just finding the owners" to "fostering" her.

And then there were three.

We never actually posted any ads to find her a home, though.  Not without shots, we said. She needed all of them, of course. Distemper. Rabies. Bordatella. In the first week, we began noticing small, white, writhing worms in her feces. Tapeworm. We treated it; a fecal test revealed she also had giardia. We treated that too. The first visit was $217, the next was $300, and the one after that was $237.  After a certain point, we were forced to admit we were keeping her.

Say it with me, now: AWWWW.

The oldest dog had a birthday less than a week after Ruby came to us.  We'd named her Ruby so that we could stop calling her "Tiny Dog," which was giving Carlisle a complex. So it was Seamus's birthday, and we made a cake. She ate a slice, too. She went comatose immediately afterward; her entire body was limp, her eyes rolled back in her head, her mouth dripping drool the colour and consistency of the frosting. At first it was funny, then frightening. She threw up the cake in a huge wad that looked largely unchanged from when it had initially entered her body.  Then she bounced back immediately, and we agreed not to feed the puppy cake. A 4-lb. dog could not be expected to digest a generous slice of frosted cake, anyway.

We take cake really seriously in this household.

December rolled in and we agreed to have a small Christmas.

I had to limit myself to one onesie.

I'm not really very good at doing a "small" Christmas.

But more about Christmas in my next post.

The dog's bills were adding up and we didn't want to over-spend.  It was shortly after the third round of vaccinations (after hundreds of dollars on shots ad de-worming) that I asked for a blood test. There was no reason for it. I just had a feeling. An intuitive gut feeling. Her fecals were clean; her worms had gone the way of the cake and she was for all intents and purposes a healthy little dog. She'd picked up housetraining like a pro and already learned "sit." Her baby teeth had fallen out and we were discussing when to get her spayed. But there seemed to me that something was just off.   Maybe it was the cake incident that gave me cause for concern.  Or maybe it was that her movements were awkward, even for a puppy, and she often became lethargic, more than one would expect, even considering the amount of cake we occasionally fed her. The blood test, purely optional, purely voluntary, came back with bad results. Her liver enzymes were elevated. We paid for the blood test, and then we had a bile acid test. Her total serum bile acids were above 100; she was diagnosed with a liver shunt.

Warning: physiology lecture ahead.  Yay science!

What is a liver shunt? In utero, as a baby, your blood circulates with your mother's (by way of the placenta), and you have no need to use your own liver. So there's a large blood vessel (the shunt) that bypasses it. After you're born, the shunt deteriorates and your blood is re-routed through your liver for detoxification. In Ruby's case, the shunt had never gone away; very little of her blood was passing through the liver for detoxification. The result was a slow build-up of poison that would, if left untreated, eventually kill her. But not before taking its toll on her neurological system. The answer seemed clear. She needed surgery. Clamping off the shunt would fix her for life; 95% of dogs respond well to the surgery and live the rest of their lives normally. The surgery was quoted to me at $4800 - $5200. That did not include a pre-diagnostic scan to locate the shunt. Another $1,500. How on earth could I be expected to afford it? With four other pets, one already chronically ill and on medication three times a day, I saw no way. But not treating it seemed cruel, and she was part of the family. She was only a baby with her whole life ahead of her. There didn't seem to be any other option.

Behold the two most expensive fucking dogs on the planet.

With a sigh, I called the credit company and got my limit raised. I began other calling veterinary surgeons to see if I could locate a cheaper surgeon. I could not. The vet called me the next day. She'd felt awful about the situation, and talked to the hospital. They agreed to do all the work on the dog for a capped figure: $5,000. This would include pre-diagnostic scans, post-operative care, anesthesia, spaying, and anything else that needed done while they were in there. We arranged to have the surgery. The dog was blissfully unaware of her situation. She'd hit the dog jackpot. She'd achieved the dream of every orphan: she'd been adopted by someone who literally fed her cake until she was ill.  She went to surgery on Friday and came home Sunday.  As I type this, she's frolicking through the house, bandage flapping around her stomach.  Yet another thing in this world that's just too big for her.

"Free to a good home" my ass.

"Good, good... let the cute flow through you."

"Good, good... I can feel your pity.  She is defenseless.  Take your credit card.  Charge it will all your unexpected veterinary bills, and your journey toward being a crazy, destitute dog lady will be complete."