The dog

Because someone actually requested I write another blog, I have decided to reward you all, or y'all as I picked up from the Midwest, with probably the best story that has happened thus far.

When I first moved out to Oregon, before I had income coming in, I found myself volunteering for the lowest of the low jobs and ways to make money.  I was hired to dog/house sit for a month while the owners were vacationing in South America.  This is my story:

For starters, this dog has more health problems than a hypochondriac could dream of.  When I arrived at the house, the dog had a cone around his neck to keep him from scratching his stitches from his most recent surgery. He has arthritis, auto-immune disease, digestive problems, and acid reflux to name a few ailments.  The dog had a tendency to run off into the neighbors yard and eat directly out of the compost pile which resulted in diarrhea during the night and a $1000 carpet cleaning bill.  He would also pull food off the counter if he was left alone for more than 2 minutes and eat until he was sick.  This dog was a nightmare.

My first day on the job was super fun.  I got home from work at 6pm and walked into a house that had been torn apart.  The dog had pulled stuff off the counter including his daily medicine which had me worried at first (he obviously had not gotten into the pills, thank goodness), so I scolded him and started damage control.  As I was cleaning up, I noticed there was an empty bucket lying on the floor.
"What's this?" I asked myself.  "No, please don't tell me this. PLEASE."
Turns out, the owner had left the bucket of the dog's medicated arthritis chew treats out on the counter.  Instead of eating the allotted amount of chew treats, 2 per day, he ate around.... 200.

Pet Poison Control charged me $60 for a phone call to tell me, "Yeah, he needs to get to the vet, ASAP." Thanks..... that was certainly worth the money. So, I loaded the dog into the back seat of my car and as I rounded the front and reached for the driver's side handle, the dog projectile vomited all over the inside of my car.  We're talking vomit in the CD player, vomit in the gear shift, vomit in the parking brake, vomit EVERYWHERE. When I opened my door there was a puddle of dog vomit on my seat that had a waterfall cascading to the floor.  It was spectacular.  One of those miraculous wonders of the world people long to see their entire lives, and it was right in my car.  How lucky am I?

Needless to say I was not going to drive while sitting in a puddle of vomit, so after I recovered from my momentary defeat, I got the dog out of the car and cleaned up as best I could.  To be honest, I still gag when I think of the smell and picture the sight.  It was phenomenal.  I finally got the car cleaned out enough so I could sit on towels and a garbage sack.  I then proceeded to drive the dog to the emergency vet during rush hour traffic with the windows rolled down for air.
Transcript of car ride:
Dog: "Whine, whine, whimper."
Me: "@#$%^#%&&^!!!!!!   Please, please don't let him puke in my car. Please, just make it to the vet. Please, please, please, please, please, PLEEEEEEEEEASE."
Dog: Whine, whine, whimper."
Me: "!$%*%^&#*$%&^#$%@%$^#$&*!!!!! PLEEEEEEEASE."
(Repeat 7 times)

I barely made it to the vet before the vomit started again, along with the next thing in this adventure, diarrhea!

For those of you worried about the dog, he survived and was back to eating compost within a week.

For those of you worried about me, I'm now officially a cat person.

Facebook is the new Post-it

This story has nothing to do with my post-doctorate life except that it explains my decision not to date until degree completion.

Last fall I returned home from a 2-month trip to Italy, Greece, and Turkey.  I had one year left on my doctorate in which I was to focus on my dissertation and comprehensive exams so I could get the f--- out of school.  So, I decided that single life was the life I would lead.  Boys distract.  Two days after I announced this decision to friends, I met someone- we will call him DB for the sake of this story.

DB and I met and he seemed nice.  We had quite a bit of fun together despite his love of a "midwest" university that I think is highly overrated and totes lame.  After about a month, however, it was obvious our little relationship wasn't going to work.  So, I told him we should meet up for a little chat.  DB did not respond to this request.  After awhile I resorted to a Facebook message stating we should at least "do this in person since we will still have to work together this year." Still no response.  I decided to go about my business  because I had more important things to do, and I had a big concert coming up.

The next day I was getting ready to leave for the concert hall.  I checked Facebook one last time, because let's face it, I'm addicted to Facebook and I can't even go to a concert without checking the latest updates- this was pre-iphone for me (I shudder to think of life back then).  Anyway, I finally got a response from DB an hour before my concert.  Long story short, he broke up with me via Facebook message. A 32 year old broke up with me on Facebook.  What a douche bag.

I informed my roommate of the incident.

Her response was succinct and acute.  "Douche bag. Facebook is the new Post-it."

Following DB's douchebaggary, I realized I should have stuck with my original decision to remain single for the academic year.  The good news is, post-doctorate dating is just as eventful.  Hilarity has ensued.

Watch Sex and the City Season 6, "The Post-it Always Sticks Twice" if you don't get the Post-it reference. 

Midnight Meat Medley

So, I've been spending more and more time hiding out in my bedroom trying to keep sane while I count the days until I get my own place.  The other night I was hanging out in my room and trying to go to sleep when out in the house arose such a clatter.  It was almost midnight and I heard loud repeated pounding coming from the kitchen.  After about a minute of hearing this I decided I should go see what was the matter.  I thought perhaps one of the Elephants who lives upstairs was stuck outside and pounding on the glass door.

It sounded pretty urgent, so I got up out of bed and shuffled down the hall towards the kitchen.  As I approached I heard some chatter amidst the pounding.  I rounded the corner  with wide inquisitive eyes to find the Elephants preparing a full course meal... at midnight.  The pounding I had heard was the sound of Mr. Elephant using a mallet to tenderize the chicken.... at midnight.....  

Mrs. Elephant looked up and asked, "Oh! Were you sleeping?"

"Yeah...."

"I'm sorry, we didn't know you would be asleep by now."

"Yeah...."

"Is mom asleep?"

"Yeah...."

"Oh gee, we just didn't think."

"Yeah...."

"Sorry about that!"

"Yeah.... goodnight."

If only I could train them to do their dishes..... at midnight.

It's a good thing the Elephants aren't Gremlins, or I would have had a horror movie on my hands.  Although, I think I'd rather live with Gizmo.

2 more days until I have my own place....

Once upon a time....

..... there lived a flute doctor who was just starting out in a new job and could not afford her own place yet.  Luckily, she had a fairy godmother who said she could live with her.  The fairy godmother was so kind and helpful, the kind of fairy godmother you only see in... well, fairy tales.  The flute doctor felt eternally grateful and tried ever so hard to help out around the house.  Little did she know that should would find herself turning into a modern-day Cinderella.  She ended up cleaning up after the fairy godmother's daughter and son-in-law, Mr. and Mrs. Elephant, every day.

The Elephants live upstairs and emerge from their lair to use the kitchen.  I call them the Elephants because it sounds like there is a heard of elephants living upstairs.  Sometimes I imagine they are getting chased by lions at the watering hole (in my brain, the scene has a very "The Lion King" aesthetic to it), but alas they seem to elude the lions and continue to terrorize the downstairs.  There are stampedes throughout the day and night, and I'm pretty sure the ceiling will collapse before I leave this place. I fear for my life.

The Elephants are extremely messy.  One day I walked into the kitchen and there were 5 used frying pans, each with its own spatula or turner.  The frying pans, I assume, were used to fry super healthy food like a dozen eggs, large fatty sausage links, and overly sugary French toast, and then left to crust overnight.  There were plates stacked up next to an empty sink and dishwasher, and the food had crusted to them as well.  I spent a good hour cleaning up the kitchen so that the fairy godmother would not come home to the mess after a long day of godmothering and fairy work.

While I was cleaning, however, I couldn't help but think that although I had vowed several years earlier to never live with disgusting people again, here I was back where I started.  This vow followed the second most disgusting roommate incident in my entire life....

One dark and misty night, back in Kansas City, I returned home after a rousing orchestra concert.  It was after midnight and I was startled to see all of the lights on in the house, yet my roommate was not at home.  I went into the kitchen to get a glass of water and saw that a metaphorical tornado had hit my small tornado alley house.  I was quite worried about my roommate; it looked like she had left the house suddenly.
Here is what I saw:
1. Spaghetti sauce splattered all over the walls
2. Drawers and cupboards left open
3. The pot in which the spaghetti noodles were boiled had been overturned. The spaghetti had fallen out and was hanging down the side of the oven.  When I got closer to it, I saw that the spaghetti had in fact crusted to the side of the oven.  Who does that?! Seriously?!

My roommate was ok, in case you were wondering.  She had an "emergency" where she had to go meet a friend for a drink.  It was obviously a third world problem and warranted an immediate cease and desist all actions in the kitchen.  That was that night I vowed that when I was done with my doctorate I would be done with roommates and their crazy antics forever.

So, you can imagine the crushing blow I felt when I found myself cleaning up, again, after the Elephants.  Elton John was right, there is a circle of life.... despite my education and hopes of bettering myself, I will always end up cleaning up after people, or in this case the Elephants.  The good news is, if I fail in my music career I can start a house cleaning business to pay off the $100k+ loans I have!

Hakuna matata, people, hakuna frickin' matata.

Daily Defeat

I think the toilet is conspiring against me.

This is not my toilet.  I am staying with people until I get my own place, so it's their toilet that hates me.  

Everyday I use this particular toilet it takes multiple flushes to work.  This is not my fault.  Sometimes it won't even flush when empty, this toilet is taunting me.  You can see the water thinking about leaving the bowl, but then it's like it changes its mind or is too lazy to care. Every time I go to the bathroom I have to gear myself up for the possibility that the toilet won't work.  The bathroom shouldn't be this emotionally upsetting unless you're weighing yourself.  The toilet gets moody when it's most inconvenient for me; in the middle of the night when I'm cold and am half asleep, when I have to rush out of the house quickly, or when I'm feeling especially down about not having my own place yet.  

Each time I flush and it doesn't work, I have to stand there like an idiot and wait for the incessant noise of a running toilet to stop before I try again.  The record number of flushes is 4 so far.  

Each time I flush the toilet and it doesn't work it makes me feel defeated.  This is my daily defeat.  The toilet is constantly mocking me "You don't have your own place AND you can't flush me properly."  

Stupid toilet.  Four more days and I will have my own toilet that works. No more hanging my head in shame every time I leave the bathroom.  I will hold my head high in four days and show the world that I, Flute Doctor, can flush a toilet!

Are you EVER going to get married?

My parents were so excited that I was finishing my doctorate they wanted to throw me a graduation party.  I was not digging the idea of a graduation party, but my parents were like kids at Christmas, so I obliged.  Mostly, I just wanted to be done with school and not think about it anymore, I certainly did not want to think about the future for that matter, and a graduation party would not allow me that luxury.  The life of a zombie seemed very appealing around that time.  Zombies only have to worry about one thing: eating flesh and brains.  They don't have to worry about finishing a terminal degree and then proving to themselves, and others, that it was worth all of the hard work and money.  Zombies are lucky.

Anyway, the parents were in full party mode when I got home.  They were bragging to everyone they bumped into, even the cashier at Walmart got an ear full. Poor guy.

This party gave me hives.  The last thing I wanted to do was spend 6 hours talking to people who were going to ask THE dreaded questions:
"So, what next?"
"Do you have a job?"
"What exactly does a doctorate in flute get you?"

Just thinking about those questions was enough to make my stomach churn.  My stomach was already going to be put through the ringer due to the cheese table.  My dad was dead set on having a large table with gourmet cheeses galore.  Did I mention I'm lactose intolerant?

So, the party started and it was actually bearable. I had gotten my spiel down to a science and was able to answer all of those dreaded questions without breaking a sweat. I was almost enjoying be surrounded by my friends, loved ones, and those random family members whom I hadn’t seen in years and who kept saying my name slowly as if they were trying to remember it each time they spoke. 

Then bam. Out of nowhere….

“Congratulations on getting your doctorate... are you ever going to get married?”

Seriously?

After asking me this question, my aunt just stared at me with a sweet-as-honey look of judgment on her face. 

Just smile and respond sweetly. Whatever you do, don’t tell her to piss off.

“… Thanks…. umm, you know, I would totally love to get married.  Unfortunately for me, Kansas City is like the San Francisco of the Midwest.”

Blink. Blank stare.

“Everyone is gay there,” I whispered to my conservative aunt.

“Really? Are you serious?” she gasped. 

“Yup. Gay. Everyone.”

“That’s too bad.”

 “Sigh, I know.  Alas, I had to settle for a doctorate.” 

I followed that statement with a little pirouette and shot across the lawn to the wine table before she could realize I was messing with her.  

Best graduation party EVER. 

P.S.  Walking Dead is an awesome zombie show. Watch it. Think of me.  

My life after my doctorate

I recently graduated from a midwest conservatory with a DMA.  What is that you wonder? I have a doctorate of musical arts in flute performance, let the money flow....

I spent 26 years of my life in school with no breaks.  I started at the age of four in a French program in Canada. Then I moved to the US where I had to repeat the 2nd grade in English.  I did a double degree in music and history with a minor in French in my undergrad in a small college town in the northwest.  I then pursued a double masters in flute and music history at another university in the northwest.  I finally moved away and spent four years working on my doctorate in flute performance in the midwest.  I was ready to enter the workforce at a low point in arts and education funding.  I have the BEST timing EVER.

I've been told over and over that you need at least 3 years of college-teaching experience in order to teach at a college.  This makes no sense.  You need the experience before you can get the experience?  Really?!  Lame.  Luckily, I was able to scrape up a job teaching flute at a small university in the northwest.  So, I packed up my house and forged my own Oregon Trail.

I thought my life was looking up after I landed this job.  Perhaps I could finally be a grown-up at the age of 30.  Nope.  Life loves to mess with me, no matter how big or small the situation.

Listen up kids, just because you get a doctorate, it doesn't mean you are in the clear.  In fact, you find yourself having to deal with situations you thought you'd outgrown.
To quote Buffy the Vampire Slayer: "The hardest thing in this world is to live in it."

But you have to laugh about all of this.  As a fortune cookie from my favorite Chinese restaurant in Kansas City said: "Life is a tragedy for those who feel, and a comedy for those who think."