Posts Tagged ‘Hannah Montana’

Inevitable Summer Regression

August 3, 2009

…Hiii. It’s been awhile, right? I guess I didn’t really the need to blog at all during the school year. That was pretty dumb.

But yeah. Really, this summer has been awesome. I’ve found that, as expected, I’ve regressed to the mental state of a 9-year-old. I spend all my time listening to Britney Spears, playing old Pokemon gameboy games, and don’t even get me started on how many times I’ve seen the Hannah Montana movie. Really.

I guess what’s keeping me partially anchored at age 19 is all the sex work. Not the kind you’re thinking of. I’ve been volunteering manymanymany hours a week at Planned Parenthood, training to become a Reproductive Health Specialist. It’s hard to think about Pokemon when you’re discussing the various ways to transmit gonorrhea.

Grapefruit is calling. I’ll finish this later.

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#1 Disease I’d Rather Not Contract At Work

July 20, 2008

I work at a vet clinic as an assistant/occasional technician. Usually, my job is working the kennels and cleaning the building. Occasionally, I get to do the interesting stuff. And that can be fun.

The downside is that there are lots of things you can contract from animals. Worms, mites, skin problems…whatever, curable. And then there’s rabies. Totally rare, though. EXCEPT…

Today, I was changing cat’s kennels. This involves picking them up off the pee-soaked newspaper and moving them into a new cage with clean newspaper. Simple, right? Unless the cat is a total bizznasty. Then you have a problem. It’s a pretty common one, too.

So, I picked up a cat to move it (its name was Kitty. I love when people are creative), when to my surprise, the little shit turned around and bit my thumb. Naturally, I threw it into the nearest kennel, swearing profusely while wiping the blood onto my scrubs. I go to check out the cat’s kennel card (where it’s name and medical issues are listed) to see why it was in the clinic in the first place. And there it was: RABIES QUARANTINE.

FUCK.

Right? Yeah.

So I dragged my boss over. Our conversation was pretty one-sided:

“DR. JOHNSON, DOES THIS FUCKING CAT HAVE RABIES? WHAT THE FUCK? AM I GOING TO DIE?”

I get to swear at work. It’s basically the only perk of working there, unless you’re into minimum wage cleaning gigs. He replies:

“Oh, you’re toast.”

Then he laughed at me, and pulled the cat’s file. He showed me proof that it had been vaccinated.

“Just kidding. You aren’t going to die, at least not from rabies.”

Then there was some relief swearing, and the conversation ended.

Apparently, it was there for “rabies quarantine” because it bit a dude that was stupidly trying to pick it up, and that dude automatically suspected rabies. Way to go. Psh, vaccines be damned. The cat’s a biter, must be rabid. Take it in to the backyard and shoot it, that’s what we did in the old days, and we never had a problem.

So, long story short, I don’t have rabies. And I get to wear Hannah Montana band-aids on my finger. Happy ending.