I don't know how much emotional manipulation your parents used on you to keep you in line, but let me tell you what...my mother is good. First, let me tell you about Little Winnie.
My mom had taken me to some sort of craft fair where I fixated on this tiny doll that came in a wicker basket. It was a plush doll not porcelain or plastic. Those always creeped me out. Anyways, upon checking the price tag, my mom explained to me that the doll was much too expensive to buy. I don't know how much it actually cost, but the legend goes that it was exorbitantly overpriced for what it was. In my mind I had already named the doll Winnie (yes, like the Wonder Years) and I HAD to have it.
I rarely asked for toys. I wasn't very materialistic or greedy as a child. I was really the opposite. I didn't like a ton of stimulation. Devotees to this blog will remember that I may be half-retarded, and I mostly just stared straight ahead smiling and laughing. Anyways, my mom said as long as I promised to take extra special care of Winnie, I could have her. She wouldn't be an ordinary toy, but a special treat I had to take responsibility for.
I promised up and down I would care for Little Winnie like she were my own flesh and blood. I would keep all the tiny accessories that came along in the basket and the doll would exist on an altar above all other toys.
After a time, I lost Little Winnie. I remember being like six years old and thinking, "Oh my god don't panic...mom has totally forgotten that toy exists....it'll blow over"
Well it didn't, and mom started asking questions. Eventually I had to confess that Little Winnie was MIA, AWOL...gone. We tore the house apart looking for that damn Little Winnie.
After the initial search party had been called off, my mom pulled out the big guns....emotional torture. "Oh I just wish we could find Little Winnie! She's probably somewhere dark underneath something where we can't find her. She's all alone and probably can't breathe and she's away from her basket and all her things. Oh poor pooor little Winnie. What if there is a fire? We won't know where Little Winnie is so we can save her!?"
That was the first time I remember feeling a gut reaction to guilt. It's that uneasiness of disappointment when there is a crack in what you believe to be right and wrong. I never found Little Winnie. The maid may have taken her for her kids, she may have gotten thrown away, the point is we'll never know. I do know that I sobbed hysterically for DAYS over Little Winnie not being able to breathe. I hope wherever she is now, 20 years later, she's finally free.
Yesterday someone was terminated at work. It all happened so fast. It was in response to an animal welfare violation. I understand my bosses point that we can't afford negligent staff when we care for live animals, but I didn't realize the termination was coming so....fast. Did I say fast?
I came out of a meeting with my veterinarian and there was a security guard in the hallway. There are only two reasons for hospital security to be in the animal building: animal rights hippies or someone got fired.
In a flash I was back to being 6 years old plagued with stomach pain over my own values system my mother went to such lengths to program into me in the first place. When I saw the security guard I almost doubled over. What's the biological mechanism behind such body signals? How does my stomach know before I do that something isn't fair?
As he was leaving I let him give me a big hug (I'm really not a hugger at all...) and he said "I love you leslie! good luck!" and I died a little more inside. Being an adult sucks just as much as being a child.
But I'm on a little bit of a work break despite the fact that I have a TON of touchy-feeling writing to do. I'm being recruited at another university in the area to work in their animal welfare/compliance department, and they want to see a sample of my writing as a personal statement about lab animal science/career goals, blah blah blah. I think we all know I'll write the SHIT out of that one.
I'm flying to Nashvizzie today, I'm in good spirits. I'm not going to be a baby about having to go home for the holidays. I'm lucky I have a good home that wants me there. My mom called yesterday to ask me to bring home this silver bracelet I borrowed from her when she was visiting San Francisco. I informed her that I had no idea where it was and I'd try to find it if I remembered. "Oh my mother's bracelet? You lost your dead grandmother's bracelet?! I hope you find it. I can't believe you'd just let my mother's bracelet lie somewhere forgotten underneath something all alone in the dark...."
But you know what?....I'm about to be a 25 year old grown-ass woman so I said, "Don't start that Little Winnie shit with me, Mom. I'll find it when I find it."
Champagne is the one beverage that I have trouble predicting and controlling. It tastes like a special treat and it comes in such small quantities that it's so easy to just down it and get a refill. I didn't last long at Brandon's holiday party last night. It was total amateur hour on my part. I got a little queasy, threw up in the bathroom after someone had, ahem, dropped a bomb in there, and in a drunken panic decided to leave lest anyone think I was the one that be-fouled the bathroom in such a way.
I was also a little freaked out that men were talking to me. I realized that I have not socialized with straight men outside of work in months and months. It's pathetic that I've sunk this far into low self esteem. Flirting is one of those things you have to be conditioned to. I was about to make an analogy to conditioning pigs to an indwelling catheter for blood draws, but analogies like that are the reason I don't have a boyfriend in the first place. Basically whenever these attractive men were being friendly to me, my first reaction is just confusion. Why the fuck are these people being nice to me when they don't need me to write a letter to their grant agency or something? Also, why would a straight single man be friendly to me before I've even done my funny-smart-Leslie performance for them. It makes no sense.
I gotta snap out of it. I think I just feel like a failwhale (emphasis on whale) since I've been doing a lot of stress eating/pot-smoking/eating. I'm pretty, god damnit, and it's irritating when people can't just get overrrr itttttt. Low self esteem is boring. Onwards!
I woke up today and immediately burst into tears, which is totally my favorite way to wake up. At first I thought I was in New Orleans (bc it's warm in December here) which sent me into a violent panic. Then I remember how work yesterday completely fell apart in front of me. My resignation has set off this HORRIFYING string of events some of which I have a hand in and some I do not. There has been a second staff pregnancy, another resignation, and someone is getting terminated next week. I hate knowing someone is getting terminated before they do. The ACOS cornered me at the holiday party and wants me to narc on everyone and animals are just sick right and left.
I was holding a mouse in my hands on thursday who was paralyzed in his hind feet. The paralysis was completely preventable had the surgeon not been so negligent to not check up on the animal post-op. The poor animal had been just dragging the rear of his body around for over a day before anyone noticed. (me, i was the one that happened to notice because I just HAPPENED to go in that room...had I not then it may have never been noticed) I just stood there holding the animal for what seemed like 20 minutes just thinking about the people who work in child protective services. I said the best prayer this bitter atheist could come up with to myself for those people who have to deal with negligence on such a higher level. Everyday I search my brain for new and innovative ways to educate and invoke some sort of guilt or shame or sense of responsibility. Whatever the fuck it takes for people to realize that no you don't have to feel for or take care of every animal in the world, but you DO have to take responsibility for the ones you are mutiliating in the name of human medicine.
For anyone interested in the outcome I told my supervisor who called her husband, the young surgeon's, boss, who came down to the facility personally and sat this woman down, a chinese girl not much older than myself fresh out of medical school, and laid into her until she was crying so hard she couldn't breathe. This is not the first time I've been witness to a scene like this. I had to smile though. Yes she was terrified and ashamed but I knew that after this, she will never ever neglect an animal again. I euthanized the mouse personally.
And on tuesday I have to fly to fucking Nashville for the next week. I haven't been home since june of '07 and honestly I could wait another year or two or 20. I don't love going home and seeing high school friends. I love the friends, I just wish I could see them individually and not in this drunk screeching holiday mass of makeup and perfume and hugging and "oh my god how is everrrryyythinggggggg?" And of course I'm a total drag when I'm honest and say "my life has, over time, become a 24/7 Tool music video filled with mutilated, surgically altered animals, the smell of urine and blood, and gaggles of squealing asian people who don't believe in pain management as a culture. How's everything going in your career as an interior designer or whatever chipper Susy Chapstick horseshit you are doing now?"
It really gets under my skin when people take something that is either fairly obvious or easily predictable and try to skew it so that it appears they are powerfully intuitive. One example of this is a person who makes the most obvious bets like "I bet you ten dollars Obama will win the state of California!"
Let me give you an example from real life.
So on Thursday I had to stay late to moderate an animal welfare violation meeting. This particular meeting was going to be more formal than ones I've done in the past due to the fact that the violators were two world renowned vascular surgeons trying to patent a device that will save humanity or some shit. The chief of surgery asked if he and his compliance officer could sit in. So for those of you counting at home, that's 3 BIG TIME a-holes and one compliance officer. I wanted it to look professional so I reserved the fancy conference room at the hospital and wore grown up clothes. My boss came in his unseasonal khaki shorts and college sweatshirt.
A little background:
Surgeon A is very well respected around the hospital. He's saved the lives of literally thousands of men, women, and children. He's never been in violation for any animal protocol or human clinical trial. Unfortunately for surgeon A, his accomplishments are severely overshadowed by the fact that about 15 years ago he hurled an amputation knife past the head of a medical student at the wall of the human OR in a fit of anger like it was a fucking ninja throwing star. Additionally, Surgeon A has smashed a stainless steel mobile surgery room table with his fists so hard the ball bearings came out. And once I heard him on speaker phone with my boss screaming "You better be god damn grateful I am not in the same room as you right now" Oh yeah and he threw a scalpel in the animal OR. And his mustache is a crime against humanity.
so before this meeting my boss waddles in like the proud rooster he is and declares, "I bet Surgeon A comes in and starts acting like a total dick" (paraphrase)
And true to form, Surgeon A comes in hurling f-bombs at everyone and then interrupts the meeting to take a phone call at the table from his son. Apparently Surgeons A's 16 year old cat had had surgery that morning and he was incredibly concerned. (wtf?)
After wards a committee member said to my boss, "wow you totally called it!" This comment sent me into a bit of hysterics. YOU DON'T GET BROWNIE POINTS FOR PREDICTING THINGS THAT ARE TOTALLY WITHIN CHARACTER! And as I was sitting there plotting how later I was going to sap all joy out of his minor victory, it hit me: work spouse.
It's the Jack Donaghy/Liz Lemon set up. Older high maintenance man, younger control freak woman. We differ politically and ethically. I need him for his status, experience, and connections. He needs me to basically babysit and coddle him while we both pretend that's not what I'm doing. I do a lot of work for him that he takes credit for. Often while I'm in the room. I've mastered a new facial expression that in one icy stare, it is clearly communicated "I'm letting you use my work now but later I will make you so fucking sorry."
I was recently reading something about the work spouse relationship. It's such a strange yet common one to fall into. The situation we're put into at work is so unfair and unrealistic. We're set up for failure from the start. We're asked to work alongside members of the opposite (and same) sex for 8+ hours a day. We see these people more than we see our own friends and family. Of course, you have to be completely professional and respectful every step of the way. It's asking humans to be robots. It's just way too much to ask for. Overtime we've developed these compromising relationships that aren't as intimate as being lovers but aren't as platonic as co-workers. And everyone seems to accept this.
I guess I'm starting to realize that I'll miss the son of a bitch. I can tell he's starting to realize the same. I'm not sure he'll find another employee willing to remind him to wear long pants and administer his eyedrops after cataract surgery and calmly talk him out of a rampage. Without me, who will be there to stop him from making threatening phone calls?
1. About once every several months, on the way home from from work, I get off of the bus and make a quick stop in the ghetto. I make sure I am in the shady neighborhood because I don't want anyone I know to see me. I go to popeyes and I order three spicy chicken strips and red beans and rice and of course, mardi gras mustard. I sit ouside and I eat the entire thing. I never tell ANYONE.
This last time I went there was this bird harassing me. It ruined the whole experience:
I'm just kidding, the experience was still glorious. That dumb dirty bird bastard is mentally ill. It squaked in my face. I almost strangled it. (please don't tell the admissions committee at veterinary school I said any of this...also, don't tell them about the time I put facepaint on the pigs)
2. When babies are born in this country (and most countries) there is a collection of blood tests that is done right away to screen to rare and serious diseases and conditions. They usually just call it newborn screening. Over time these lab tests have gotten more accurate, but back in 1983, a cold december day, my parents found out that their new baby (me) had creatinism. They had to wait a week before they could take any blood out of me due to the size of infants for a second test. In the meantime, my parents and older sister attended classes at Vanderbilt hospital about raising severely disabled/special needs children.
Although the second test came back negative, and if I had actually been a cretin I would be about a foot shorter, unable to do anything for myself, and probably wouldn't have even lived this long, my parents have always looked at me in this certain way, and I know they are studying me. I think they never fully let their guard down after the false positive.
I didn't speak until a ridiculously late age. My older sister says I just sat and played alone and smiled at everyone. I didn't speak like I should have I just smiled and laughed and observed. My sister and her friends thought I was a weird and creepy baby. I think I was just content doing whatever I was doing. Apparently the only thing that illicit a vocal response was the telephone ringing which got me so exicted I would run around in circles squealing with delight as a toddler.
Around pre-school/kindergarten, my mom started noticing the weird memory quirks I had and still have. I'm very good at memorizing lists, numbers, and especially direct quotes. If someone says something to me, no matter how minor, I can recite it back word for word years later. I remember sentences or phrases just like lists. I mean it's really just a list of words in order, right?
They took me to see this woman who would do these puzzles with me. I have some memories of her. I remember showing her how to cut out those paper dolls that hold hands in a line. She asked me things like "name all the words you can that rhyme with 'letter'"
I forgot about all of this until the other day my mom sent me this picture of myself with the text, "look at you just studying your hand...I would love to know what you are thinking about" It reminded me of the fact that my parents always thought something was going on with my brain. That I was in some way different like that. There was no autism movement back then, but I'm sure my parents would have been on it. To this day I know they think I'm some sort of rainman. They try to shelter me from things they think I'm too sensitive or crazy to deal with. I don't have the heart to tell them I'm not an idiot savant, just a lost urban self-centered neurotic. A little more somber than some but never without some joy.
Personally, I think I look like the future leader of some sort of political Labor Party. The Power of the Gente!!
3. A really rad temporary tattoo came with my poptarts.
It's hard to see but that girl is trying to trick the poptart into getting in the toaster to try on that pair of pants. It's actually quite dark.
Sometimes I struggle with my quirkiness and eccentricities. Actually I struggle with it a lot. I think everyone must. One of the things I've learned from animal behavior, is that social animals, when alone, can't function normally. It's against Animal Welfare Act regulations to house social animals (rodents, domesticated livestock) singly unless they are post-operative or fighting with each other. When alone the mice become listless, or depressed and show paucity of movement. They don't eat. They won't play in their plastic enrichment tubes. They get lonely.
Sometimes we have to strike a balance between being who we are 100% of the time and being someone that fits well into the architecture of social society. Sometimes I'm walking down the sidewalk and I feel like breaking into song. I don't. Because that's weird right? I don't want anyone thinking I'm weirder and crazier than I am. But sometimes I don't care. I wish I didn't care more.
Last year I was at the airport waiting for my brother-in-law to pick me up and I saw a little girl, probably about 5 wearing the most fantastic outfit I've ever seen. It was pepto bismol pink, had a puffy sleeves and a huge collar. It was the ultimate princess dress. I think it had a little train. She was of course decked out in a tiara and wand. She held her father's hand. "This was just not worth the fight that was going to ensue..." was the message clearly read on Dad's face.
My B-I-L Spencer said, "oh my god that little girl GETS IT. I hope my daughter is that confident at that age." He's right; she totally got it. At that age I would have still been hiding halfway behind my mom or dad, pressing my face into their sides in embarrassment whenever addressed. Even to this day, sometimes there is nothing more humiliating than having your existence acknowledged. It's terrible to be ashamed to be visible.
Now I am not a social outcast. I've always had the most fantastic friends. It would be incredibly misleading for me to say I was ever unpopular. I'm funny and witty on command. I'll always be able to make friends if need be. But like most people who are naturally funny, the reality is a lot darker and self conscious than it appears. I've never felt like I "fit in", though. I was sort of a satellite of everyone my own age. Watching from just outside the perimeter of the circle.
If there was ever a social role I failed thoroughly at it was the role of college student. I failed. Miserably. And I was miserable. I made the all too common mistake of thinking that college would be this fabulous pretentious meeting of minds in a diverse and liberal intellectual environment. I would wear all black and talk about important things with my peers and professors while making emphatic hand gestures at the campus coffee shop. My professors would hone in on my intellectual curiosity and I would be invited into their personal research projects. I wouldn't ever think twice about the immature land of high school where all you are concerned with is boys, parents, cell phones, not having a new car like everyone else, how to acquire cheap beer, and the thousands of petty fights with female friends. I mean college was a place adults voluntarily go for the sole purpose of learning and meeting one another. (you're laughing at my naivite already right?)
I don't know how long it will take me to get over the disappointment of college. I'm certainly not over it yet. I feel almost angry and betrayed. Mostly at myself for not seeing what was actually going to happen to me once I got there. Tulane was the worst choice for me. I just wanted to live in New Orleans so so bad. I was going to learn about jazz and meet eccentric people and speak arcadian french and write. I wanted to go to Tulane medical school and live my life forever in one of the most magical cities in the world.
But it was all jungle juice and skinny women with really wealthy parents and boys with popped collars, and drinking until 4 am before an 8 am class. I tried. I really really tried. I tried to fit in to the point where I completely lost myself. LITERALLY. I survived on one subway sandwich a day and bottles of ephedrine. I would weigh myself in the girl across the hall's room. I got down to like 117. I was skinny and gorgeous but everyone still thought I was weird. I overheard some girls in the hall of the dorm talking about it. "Whats up with her? She's strange" I wore short skirts and flip flops even though it felt wrong. I reluctantly went out to places I knew I would hate. Like The Boot, an on campus bar known for it's willingness to serve alcohol to 18 year olds.
At the beginning of freshman year the school rents a huge boat and the freshman class goes on a tour down the Mississippi river as a get to know each other party. I got on the boat and when I looked around everyone was already in these clusters. It was the first week of school! How was it possible everyone already had friends? I sat in a chair and watched the water and scenery for most of the cruise. I should have tried to meet people but it was all so intimidating. I didn't know anyone and they all seemed to know exactly what they were doing. They were all so good at fitting in, at being college students. Finally two girls came and sat on either side of me. They were so obviously cool. They had the orange tans and the stick straight hair. Ruffled mini skirts and flip flops. They felt sorry for me. We talked for a while and it somehow came up that I had a really good fake id. It was a real driver's license it was just a friend from back home that looked like me. It worked like a charm. Well I said I had bought a bottle of tequila to hope to make margaritas at some point. Later that night after the cruise I get a knock on my door. The two girls were inviting me down to their dorm room to meet their friends. And oh yeah, bring that bottle of tequila! I get dressed and head down and watch as they pass the bottle around until its gone. I never got any of it. When it was finished everyone stands up and I hear, "allright well we're going out to a bar now! Thanks for the tequila, Leslie!" and in a flash they were gone. I was sitting on the floor of a strangers dorm room alone with a face full of makeup, slutty clothes that I only wore because I felt like I should, and an empty bottle of tequila.
I left and went behind the humanities building, Newcomb Hall. I sat between the dumpster and the recycling bin on the ground and sobbed with my knees pulled to my chest. It was the kind of sobbing where you have to rock back and forth in order to comfort yourself. I was so ashamed that I hated myself so much that I was working so hard to be someone I wasn't. I was homesick for a home I never had, a place where I felt I flourished while being exactly who I was born to be. It's a sense of home that I still haven't even come close to building for myself. Everyday that goes by, though, I feel more at home in my own head, my own body. It's a house of cards. Sometimes I just want to be more normal, god damnit.
I left Tulane in 2005. I would do it again. And while I miss the city of New Orleans like I miss an old friend, I can't regret my decision. I read diary entries from that time and it makes me nauseous how much pain I was in then. It makes everything I feel now seem so minor. I guess I was hit so hard because I never saw it coming.
The institution of college is so hard to work around. Since I left Tulane, I have had a next to impossible time getting back on my feet. I fell out of love with the idea of medical school. I fell out of love with the idea of getting a PhD in cell biology. The only thing I've liked and been good at is this job with the animals. I have thought long and hard and I've made the executive decision to work hard to prepare my application packet for the October 1st deadline for veterinary school. That is what I want for 2009. It's a weird and unpredictable career choice, but that's what I'm here for. To be the weirdo.
I like to watch videos of horrible things being extracted from the body. I don't like it I love it. I watch the videos on youtube whenever I feel anxious or stressed. My favorite video is this one of a man having botfly larvae removed from his back. The eggs of the botfly stick to the outer surface of mosquitos which get transferred to humans when bit. The botfly eggs then grow into larvae under your skin until about 8 weeks later they'll crawl out on their own. Obviously, people want them out of their body before 8 weeks. The problem is, they have spines that hook into your flesh so if you attempt to pull them out with tweezers, you'll rip the larvae and infection galore. You have to cover the airholes with ky jelly and duct tape until they lose oxygen and release their spines in a desperate attempt to crawl to the surface for air. Then and ONLY THEN do you pull with tweezers. Have a look:
My most recent favorite is the removal of a hydatid cyst in the brain. These cyst are membrane bound sacks of tapeworm larvae that travel through the bloodstream while microscopic then grow in a targeted organ. As the cyst gets bigger the brain compresses and tumor-like symptoms occur. When the cyst is removed, over time the brain plumps back up to fill in the void. Just like that. Extraction:
What I love about these seemingly horrific videos is how clean the extraction is. Here you have something so conceptually revolting, yet it happens so cleanly. You have something that is killing you, sapping your strength, making you crazy, and you can go in, find it, and just take it out in one piece. It comes in a membrane bound pouch and everything horrible inside is carried out of the body.
Depression feels like a parasite. Wouldn't it be amazing if you could take depression and self-doubt and self-loathing and just have someone cut open your brain and it plops out in one clean sack. Everything bad about you. Everything that makes you miserable. All comes out in this hideous disgusting sack. Then you're all better again. If it were only that easy.
1. Vegan food is both tasty and abundantly available.
When my parents come to visit I trick them into eating at least one vegan product without telling them. My dad's first reaction is always "ew" which I don't understand because he LIKES all the ingredients its vegetables for chrissakes not rat poison. He just doesn't like to hear me say "vegan food". Most restaurants, cafes, sidewalk shops, you name it have at least one vegan option. Most places you would be doomed to cook for yourself all the time.
2. San Francisco is years behind other major cities in fashion trends
You never have to worry about being cutting edge or dressing particularly stylish. Fashion is on the back-burner here. I mean we're just NOW getting to footless leggings under skirts. It's both a relief and a disappointment.
3. San Franciscans would rather be deaf than blind
This is debatable for sure but San Francisco is far more visual art focused than musical. When living in Chicago, the wicker parkers couldn't wait to paw through your ipod to judge your worth by what you listen to. Here its about who you read. What artists you like. What independent design magazines you pretend that you read and enjoy. This is definitely a relief for me. I was born without the music-fanatic gene but I can talk bookworm shit all day.
4. You will be judged on how you vote
and if you don't vote, you might as well be dead. I saw one, ONE (1) John McCain yard sign in the several months before the election. I made the mistake once of mentioning my republican past and here this isn't an amusing coming-of-age story. It's like I told them I used to slit the throats of kittens and offer them to the gods so they would lower the estate tax.
5. Never say anything that could be considered racist or homophobic no matter how mild even as a joke
Trust me. This includes calling your straight female friend "faggy".
6. You don't even KNOW from quirky
If you have ever felt like an odd duck or used the word "quirky" to decribe yourself, hie thee to San Francisco for the biggest clown parade you've ever seen. I may be the most vanilla person here because I don't go visit my polyamorous lovers while sleepwalking and eating tunafish while reading russian poetry from Spain.
7. Everyone smokes pot
Your doctor, your boss, the old lady at the pharmacy. It's legal for anyone with 100 dollars to get a prescription and it's way less of a big deal than drinking alcohol or smoking cigarettes. Pot here is like coffee. Most people do it and don't really think twice.
8. If you live in the Haight/Hayes Valley or the Mission area, and you have a graduate degree, you're an environmental lawyer.
I've been so absent lately, huh? Here are some things I have accomplished in the meantime:
1. I resigned from my job. It's open ended. I'll have to stay as long as it takes to replace me, and I'll have to hand train that person.
2. I got a fairly interesting job offer on the same day that I quit. More later as I don't want to jinx it.
3. I broke my front tooth which was really just a crown but important none-the-less
4. I have a huge crush on my dentist. He finds me adorable he just doesn't know it yet. I'm terrified to find out he is gay. He seems like one of those "confirmed bachelors", always talking about nieces and nephews instead of their own children. If this is the case I will seriously light myself on fire.
5. My hair went from brown to red to brown in about a week
6. Now that I've resigned I've begun to refer to my least favorite person at work (a supervisor in his 60s I'm convinced is addicted to prescription painkillers) as "Captain Prostate" to his face. Is this a professional move on my part? Maybe.
7. Accidentally slept with my ex-boyfriend two times. Must do better in 2009
Speaking of which, is anyone else ready for 2008 to be over? This year has really hiked me up against a steam pipe.
