Working Girl. No, not that kind!

Sooooo, I haven't posted awhile. Yes, I realize I say that at the beginning of every post. And that is because it is almost always true. I am what most people would call a creative person. My creativity is usually expressed in visual mediums, and I like to think that most of the time it is expressed pretty well. And though my vocabulary is not what you would call expansive, or my grammar perfect, I tend to at least amuse others with my writing. An especially proud moment came this most recent Christmas time, when I learned that my sister's fiance's grandmother enjoys my Facebook statuses.

I am pretty sure my motto in life falls somewhere around "If all else fails, try to make people laugh". Well, that, or "Never ride an airplane if I can help it". I always enjoy a good stroke to my ego, whether it be admiration of a picture I created, or a chuckle inspired by my wicked-wit/base-sarcasm.

So...

Creativity - Check

Self esteem heavily dependent on the compliments of others - Check

Plenty of Reasons to write more blog posts - Check

So why? WHY, can I not produce blog posts on a regular basis? The answer lies somewhere between motivation and inspiration.

I'm going to be pretty honest. I am lazy. Shocking I know! Usually when given the choice between flopping on the couch and watching hours of television, and actually doing something worthwhile with  my talents, the more sinful option wins out. I have to be very invested in an activity to have it win against television. For example, it is usually only when I am struck by a strong image or idea in my head, that I actually pick up a pencil and pen and produce a final, completed product. Or something hilarious happens in my life that I simply must blog about. But, there's the real answer. The reason blog posts don't flow as well as they used to. The reason my art often falls by the way side. What have I been doing with most of my time lately?

Working.

Yes, I'm going to blame the man! The man is keeping my creativity down! The man is making me sit at a desk and do boring paperwork (cough-and watch YouTube-cough). No, it is not my fault at all. How am I supposed to have interesting things to blog about if I'm stuck in a cubicle for most of the day? Do stuff on the weekends to blog about, you say? Impossible! Weekends are used to avoid doing anything that even remotely resembles work. And though I like to draw, and write to some extent, both of those things require work and effort. And weekdays? Forget it! I'm not going to come home from a long day of sitting and staring at a computer screen, to then go home and stare at my personal computer screen to write a blog post! Staring at a TV screen after work is completely different! My entry into the real world is to blame! The dark damp recesses of a government office has stifled my creativity!! My well has run dry! It is no fault of my own! I have perfectly GOOD REASONS NOT TO WRITE MORE BLOG POSTS!

*Disclaimer* The previous paragraph  was supposed to be ironic *Disclaimer*

Okay. I'm done. I'll be honest now. I have become too lazy. Too ready to let my creative outlets fall by the wayside, all the while blaming "a hard days work" for why I don't take action. So that will change. I will blog more often, maybe. And draw more, probably. And I am going to follow someone else's suggestion.

Yesterday, Emily the Great, sent me a link for a Groupon deal. A huge discount for an online course that teaches you how to create and maintain a web page. And though I was initially hesitant about the 80$ price tag (down from 400 bucks), I finally decided a year long membership to this course would be worth it--lead to good things. And! I can take it during the quiet times at work, when actual work to do is scarce. It looks great on a resume and will provide another creative outlet for me, the visual person that I am. So thanks Emily, The Pun Master of Africa. Great idea.

No more excuses. Less laziness. No more telev.... HA! hahaha, let's not be ridiculous.

Aw, Look at Da Liddle Baby

There comes a time in every pet owners life when they feel they must gush about their newest addition. For me, it is time. Yes, I already wrote a post/impassioned plea about not fearing my little one, but did I mention how pretty she is? No. It's time to correct my egregious omission.

The silliest part of it all is that I was more than a little disappointed when I first brought Vixen home. For weeks before the dinkiest reptile show known to man--or at least me--I researched everything I could about corn snakes. I knew the care would be similar to what I gave Henrietta, but I wanted to make sure I would do whatever I could to make my little baby happy and healthy. Included in this research were hours and hours spent poring over pictures of corn snakes. How much time could that really take, you may ask? A lot. There are hundreds and hundreds of different corn snake morphs/colorations. You are probably aware that most animals have a normal coloration and a rarer albino form. Well Corn Snakes can greatly vary between and outside of these two opposites. Herp keepers have played around with an almost infinite variation of breeding pairs in the hopes of 'creating' a pretty new color to brag about. Yellow, black, grey, white, pink, purple, orange, red, brown--any of these colors could be found on a Corn Snake. Anyway, I managed to narrow down my morph preferences to a couple colorations. I even had names for them depending on their gender and color--a female lavender, a male normal, a male grey. An idea/preference for everything EXCEPT an orange and reddish female.

I was entered the smallest convention area I've ever seen, and forlornly discovered that about only two tables had any corn snakes on them at all. If I had been looking for a Ball Python, boy, would I have been lucky. There were absolutely no lavenders, my top choice. Who wouldn't want a pretty purple snake?--well, of those people who don't have a heart attack at the sight of any snake. After less time than I would have liked searching, I half-heartedly settled on a little girl whose first course of action upon me picking her up was to immediately attempt to dart her little head straight into my shirt. A really courageous one she was. She was smaller than any snake I had ever held and I was nervous like a new mother, afraid I might drop her delicate little body straight to her untimely death. I held a few others after her, but for some reason I felt drawn to this little one. She wasn't what I was looking for at all.

Even as the brave friends who had accompanied me drove me home from the reptile show, I stared at my new unnamed pet--who was trying to escape through the tiny airholes in her little deli-cup prison--and felt an uneasy queasiness in my stomach. Maybe in my eagerness to take home a new pet that very day (the next available show was months away) I had made a grave mistake. After all, Corn Snakes can live up to 15-20 years. Would I be saddled with my 'wrong' choice for a good portion of my adult life?

My confidence in my choice was not helped when I put her in her cage for the first time and she promptly disappeared, not to be seen for another week. While she explored/cowered in her new home I looked at my notes of possible snake names, which I had compiled a few days prior. All of the names were comic book inspired, to keep in the same style of the kitten I had helped name Nemesis (finally breaking the cycle of jazz legend cat names in the Churchfamily). The name Vixen jumped out at me for my new Corn. (Vixen is a fiesty superheroine who can channel the powers of any animal she wishes, by the way).

For the first week or so I left Vixen alone, only opening her cage to change her water. Not once did I try to move around her aspen-shavings bedding, or lift up her (intentioned) hide, to catch a peak of my recent purchase. Everything I had read had told me I should not put undue stress on a baby Corn by disturbing her right away. It was painful. All I wanted to do was to spend time with Vixen so that we could bond and I could get over my buyers remorse by falling in love with her. She did not make it easy. I waited a whole five days before I finally tried to pick her up for the first time. Ha!

I opened the cage and lifted up her hide. No Corn there. I moved around every square inch of her bedding, gradually becoming more panicked, as I slowly realized she wasn't there. I had lost my new pet. Maybe it wouldn't matter she wasn't the color I wanted. Maybe someday I would hear a shrill scream from one of my unfortunate apartment neighbors who had discovered an unwelcome gift hanging out near some kitchen or livingroom heat source. That would make me really popular at the Aspen.  I rambled to Alex about ways to find escaped snakes, telling myself in vain not to panic--everything will be okay--don't worry Alex--I'll find her---I'll... Ahhhhh!!! That, my friends, was the sound of me shrieking as I poked something really squishy crammed in the hollow space that I didn't know existed in the Petsmart branch I had bought my then hypothetical Corn to climb on. I had discovered Vixen in her new favorite hiding place. Somehow this incident made me think I had named her correctly. Vixen was one malicious woman.

I eventually changed her branch to one without any hollow spaces and gave her a new hide, since the one I had originally bought her was clearly way to big for her to feel secure in. Like a cat who completely shuns the cat bed you buy for it and then curls up in a box, Vixen greatly preferred hiding under the lid of an Apple product box I had cut a few enter/exit holes into. And it made her so much more accessible. Lifting a box from a cage and grabbing the wriggly thing underneath is ten times easier than trying to pry a determined body from a tiny hiding space.

Okay, so the point of this post has gotten away from me a little bit. My original intention was to gush. What I've been leading you up to (completely intentionally of course) is how I've fallen in love with my baby, after much adversity. I was conditioned not to be happy with her color, and her hiding-in-terror-or-fleeing-at-the-sight-of-me behavior was not endearing to say the least, and yet I am now very happy that I bought her. Wha Happen'd?

The answer is two fold. One, after making her more accessible we have had numerous handling sessions. Quite a few have ended with her entire body in my shirt, or me hurriedly putting her back in her glass home when she has gotten too rowdy. But every so often, she will settle down on my shoulders, seeming to prefer being at the highest point she can find--she's my little tree climber--and we will watch TV together. During these calm moments I really feel like we're bonding. Two, I have come to really admire her colors. Yes, a purple snake would have been awfully purrty, but probably pretty boring compared to my Vixie. Over time, her colors have gotten more magnificent. With each new shed, some colors become more subtle and others begin to pop. Originally I had decided that if I did get an orangey Corn, I would want to see reds, oranges and yellows on it. It seemed at first that Vixter would only have red and orange. Luckily, the yellow that is on Vixen's neck has become more pronounced. She's my beautiful little sunrise. My citrus baby. My Vixen.

But don't just take my word for it. See for yourself.



Vixen about two months ago

Vixen a week ago.

In a few days Vixen will shed again. (That is part of the reason I made this post. The week before Vixen sheds she hides the whole time. Looking at pictures is the only way I can see her, which makes me unhappy.) I can't wait to see what subtle changes will come with her new skin. 



The yellow/ yellowish-orange on her neck/first half is getting more yellow. I am happy.

 

And I can't wait for her to be adult sized. Then, there will be no way for her to hide from me!



Access

It is 9:06am on a Wednesday and I am not in my bed. What unholy twist of fate made this terrible fact come to pass? I am…*dramatic pause*…employed.

You may ask, why I am writing a blog post when I am at work. Don’t I have other things I should be doing? Like working? Long story short, no. But because this is a blog post, you shall not get the short story.

To get the basics out of the way, I now work for a contracting company—let’s call it CT—and my contract is with a large organization of the Federal Government, which I shall call HQ. (I am erring on the side of caution, as I have recently been reminded of the dangers of not editing yourself on a public blog). I was officially hired on August 1^st, I started work on the 27^th, and today is my 12th day on the job. So, again, why am I writing a blog post at 9:34am on a Wednesday morning while at work?

The really important word/concept in this absurdity is ‘access’. Funnily enough, when you are working at a government office, you need access to things—information, email accounts, resources…a building. In order to get access in the Federal world, you must meet all the conditions of security.

Step one was getting finger printed for the first time. I went to HQ and after walking through an empty door frame of security, a HQ grunt led me down into a creepy, extremely sterile basement. As I sat down on a very firm couch, I thought about what being fingerprinted would be like. And now I must admit something embarrassing. In my mental simulation of finger-printing I put the tips of my fingers on an ink pad and smudged a piece of paper with my genetically individual mark. What decade did I think I was living in? After a short wait, a surly middle aged man gruffly barked at me to come in. He took each of my fingers firmly in his hand and, one at a time, pressed my finger onto a little scanner, moving it from left to right. Apparently, I didn’t know how to do it right because for every finger he grabbed he would harshly exclaim, “Make your fingertip flat! Relax your finger! Don’t pop it up. Flat!! RELAX!” Relaxing is not the word I would use.

A few weeks later, I had to take the next step in the security process. I completed two infuriatingly complicated, for no reason, training sessions on a website that is so temperamental and obsessive compulsive that I wanted to recommend a good psychiatrist to it. After making my computer fit all of the requirements it needed to play a little video that I ended up just reading the transcript for anyway, I spent three hours of my life proving that I am not, in fact, a total idiot. And that is all I should say about that.

And then on August 27^th ‘work began’. That week I spent the first three days at the CT office and the second two at HQ. (It looks like I will be splitting my time in a similar way for the foreseeable future.) CT is a very nice place to be. I get unlimited free bottled and canned water (which I’m told is a gift in DC where the water quality is similar to that of a pond located in a third world village) and a cozy little cubicle to call my own. But, best of all, I can come into the building without a security screening. At HQ I am not so lucky.

By the first week I had access to my CT email and…and…internet explorer? However, I had no access to anything HQ related, including, the right to walk through the front door as I please. In order to bypass a daily security screening, awkward nametag, and a HQ employee escort  who takes me up three floors in an elevator, I need a HQ badge. Without it, I’m about as self-sufficient as a baby panda. I have given them my finger prints, I have completed their training, and given references to send security background check letters to (which HQ has not sent out yet because...they don't feel like it?). But I can’t go into their building or look at any of things I need to do my job, which is kind of a problem since I am supposed to take over someone else’s job at HQ in less than two weeks.

Luckily, yesterday brought with it a breakthrough. I now have remote access to HQ’s internal servers. Meaning, I now have an HQ email address and a CT one! But still no access to anything else. And the real kicker? As it is now, I can’t access the HQ system at the HQ office, but I can at CT’s office. This makes about as much sense as a superhero that can hide his heroic identity with an insubstantial pair of glasses. The reason for my ‘access’ paradox lies in the HQ badge. HQ recently set in place a system where you have to insert your badge into the keyboard in order to log on. Man, I’m telling you, once I have a HQ badge (and access to the five databases/systems/websites I’ll need for my position) it’ll be puppies and rainbows from then on.

For now I am helplessly and unproductively stuck in the mire of bureaucracy and security requirements that will eventually (i.e. probably, I hope) lead to pure unadulterated (i.e. heavily managed and specific) access to everything (i.e. the things that HQ deems I absolutely require access to) I need to be the best (i.e. moderately productive and helpful) CT/HQ employee I can be.

Let the additional paperwork begin!

**********************************************************************************

Postscript:

Sorry, for some reason this post felt fragmented. Maybe I am just too tired—haven’t got used to the new sleep schedule yet. Connections and smooth transitions are easier to make when brain power is at your disposal. I apologize.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, it is 10:45 am. I have to go draw a picture of Batman riding a baby elephant now.

 

 

 

Fearssss

Ever since I can remember, I’ve liked snakes. I can’t be certain when I was first exposed to my slithery friends. I suspect it was at some birthday party or nature center where a friendly, often awed at corn snake or ball python was being displayed around to a bunch of snot nosed brats—myself included.

“Do you want to pet his scales? He’s not slimy, is he? No, I promise you, he’s perfectly harmless. Very friendly.”

During these demonstrations I don’t remember any effect of gender on who wanted to touch and who kept their distance—contrary to my sister’s elementary school book that declared “While boys love to catch frogs, girls may find them icky and scream!”, which infuriated mother to no end.
All I know for certain is that I felt no fear at ogling or touching the legless creature presented to me. My interest, and eventual love, was cemented at the animal science department of the Arlington Career Center. My favorite day camp during the summer was Animal Care at the CC. I annoyed my teacher to no end with endless requests to hold the numerous snakes available for my hands and shoulders. Undoubtedly, my favorite was the black and white banded California King Snake. I held that thing every chance I could get. Something about his beautifully contrasting, smooth skin caught my heart. I loved it so much I decided to get one of my very own.

I prepared a PowerPoint to show my parents that I knew everything there was to know about competently and safely housing a furless friend. (This was a massive technological improvement on my impassioned case for getting a dog, which involved dragging a raggedy stuffed animal around the block and picking up leaves with a ‘poop bag’.) Somehow I convinced them, and father accompanied me to the Mid Atlantic Reptile Show in Maryland where I bought Henry, the ambiguously gendered, black and white banded California King Snake I could call my own. She became not so ambiguous about a year later, when I discovered she would have to be renamed Henrietta.

I loved that big girl—and she definitely got big—for about eight years until her death from cancer, my second year of college. I mourned her loss and took a multiple year break from herpetological bliss until about three months ago when I bought a new little girl, Vixen—a baby Corn Snake.

*******************************************************************************

Some might say that I’m one of those people who don’t mind the creepy crawly things that are the stuff of other people’s nightmares. Those people, however, are very wrong. There are plenty of bugs with enough legs and speed to make me scream internally and flee from the room. (I’ve never really been one of those people who show their fear with significant volume, except for one very unfortunate, very barefooted encounter with a slug.)

On Monday, the first day of my new job, the human resources manager had sent out an email with a short introduction to CT’s new employee—Me! She mentioned I have a snake named Vixen, which I had mentioned to her earlier when she directly asked me if I had any pets. She, in return, showed me pictures of the gigantic rattle snake she had encountered on a recent hiking trip. Not everyone in the office responded to the announcement of Vixen as well as this HR person, however—as I expected. My cube neighbor asked in horror if I really had one. She could not understand how the creature that is one of her primary fears could be my beloved pet. She told me that any picture or sight of a snake sends her into fits of hysteria: heavy breathing, screaming—the whole shebang. I assured her she was not the first person I had encountered with this phobia, but that I love my pet just the same. At that moment another office mate popped up and declared that he had a family of rock-spiders as pets in high school. The girl afraid of snakes said she had no problem with spiders. The girl afraid of my beloved pet was INDIFFERENT to one of my mild fears.

This got me wondering about the nature of fear.
 
In intro to psychology at Grinnell, we were briefly taught about fear in relation to evolution. According to evolutionary theory, some fears are adaptive, especially the fear of snakes and spiders. In the past and present, venemous spiders and snakes have posed a threat to humans’ health and, in more rare cases, life. It is adaptive to fear and avoid something that could potentially hurt you. But how does that explain other phobias unrelated to our evolutionary survival? I’m sure someone in this world has a phobia of something like chairs. Why? Of course there are other psychological explanations like past traumatic experiences, but we have lots of bad experiences that do not cause phobia. I and many of my friends have been scratched and made-to-bleed by a cat countless times, and yet we still love our furry pets. Why does one species of creature make one person afraid and one person completely unmoved? How can the creature I find beautiful and interesting, cause another person to hyperventilate?

And if fear should be logical, why do so many people hold onto a fear long after they learn all of the reasons their phobia is uncalled for? If someone with a fear of snakes, objectively and calmly observed Vixen for ten minutes, they would see that she is the biggest fraidy-cat of them all. All I’ve ever done is feed her and give her a warm place to live. I’ve never even once tried to eat her! That’s better odds then she would get in the wild. And yet the briefest glimpse of my hand is enough to send her fleeing in the other direction. Despite her fear, she has never once tried to bite me. Biting just doesn’t seem to occur to her. She would even rather cuddle with her food than eat it. I have to literally put it .0005 centimeters from her mouth for her to even consider opening up. And despite what some people mistakenly believe, Vixen will never, even at adult size—even if she wanted to—be able to strangle me or swallow me whole. She will not inject me with venom because she doesn’t have any. And if she ever does decide to bite, it won’t hurt because her teeth are tiny and Corn Snakes just do not care enough to hold on.

The fact is, I’ve been holding snakes for at least 12 years and I’ve never been bitten. I am not going to say all snakes are not dangerous. That is a lie. Although I still think they are beautiful, I would be afraid to stand in close proximity to a cobra or viper. Some fear is adaptive. Keeping your distance initially is a good strategy.  After some research and introspection you can approach or walk away fully informed. But to close yourself off completely from something you could come to respect, or maybe even admire, is tragic. Keep an open mind if you can. Listen to facts. And don’t rule your life by fear.

Now. Tell that to my deeply ingrained phobia of house centipedes!

 

Doh!

Soooo. If you're wondering where all my photos are. Well, you can blame that on my new cellphone. While the ways all the apps and programs you use sync together and share information is very helpful in some ways, in other ways, it's really obnoxious. Long story short, I tried to make one app not sync with one website and in the process all the photos on my blog were ripped from their original place on this here blog. Which sucks. A lot. Oh well. Maybe I'll work on replacing them, or maybe not. We'll see. But I've learned a very valuable lesson. Don't fight the technological machine that grows larger and larger each day. Your information and photos will be shared everywhere no matter how hard you try to stop it.

Plug in and give up.

Resistance is futile.

Yep, Nothing Much

As you have noticed I have not been posting about my life. That is because I have not had one. I have been unemployed. My days have been boring boring boring. Not worth writing about. So to fill the void of nothingness here are some great synonyms for unemployment that have been recommended for my use.

                                                          What have you been up to Abigail?



Oh, just living off of my investments.

Oh me? I'm funemployed!

Looking for long term employment.

Enjoying life as a trust fund baby.

Aggressively not working.

Contemplating existence and the secrets of the universe without the distraction of employment. 

Being a bum.

Brooding Loner With Outstanding Computer Skills

As you well know, my blog posts are usually filled with a whole bunch of bla bla bla about my life. So this time I’m going to do something a little different. But first a little background of why why why.

One day Alex and I were sitting in our living room. Alex was bemoaning his unenviable task of cover letter writing. In his desperation, he pleaded me (hyperbole? Me? Noooo) to write his cover letter for him. I brought up the excellent point that I have very little knowledge of his work history. In response, he proposed a compromise. I should write his cover letter, but instead of using his work history I could use Bruce Wayne’s instead. And so here you are Alex. What I imagine the rough draft of Batman’s cover letter might look like:

Dear hiring manager,

I am writing to express my interest in the computer analysis position with your esteemed IT company.  My butler saw your job announcement on Monster.com and recommended that I apply. I believe my mental fortitude, physical honed body, bachelor good looks, and intimidating demeanor would be an excellent fit for this job.

I became a billionaire philanthropist and the head of Wayne Industries at age eight. For the next twenty-two years I traveled extensively across the globe training with masters of detection, martial arts, technology and acrobatics. Oh and ninjas, lots of ninjas. When I returned to Gotham I continued to practice all the skills I had learned in order to stop all the hoodlums and freaks plaguing our once great city with their superstitious, cowardly and dastardly deeds!!!

While I have reached overall mental and physical perfection, I also have many skills directly related to this IT position. Both my legitimate business company and personal cave are at the forefront of technological invention. I have vast experience using the most technically advanced computer system in existence to assist me with crime fighting, and some light stalking of my girlfriends. Though I prefer to work alone I can also work with others. I have experience tutoring and mentoring youths to help me with my war. Though there hasn’t been a great mortality rate so far.  Once I am offered this position my tenacity will ensure that nothing and no one, (not even you blasted Joker! You rogue!) will stop me from completing any task that I am assigned. After all, I have persevered through a broken back, false imprisonment, and death itself!

I can be reached by sky signal and am available to work until sundown. I would be pleased to provide any additions, financial encouragement, or clarifications to this application. And remember I have unlimited resources and a very practiced punching hand if you choose to not hire me for this position.

Sincerely,

The Batman

Wayne Manor

Bat Signal

I.Am.The.Night@hotmail.com

Post Afterward: So there was my attempt at humor unrelated to my life experiences. Could I have possibly used the energy and thought expended writing this post to write an actual cover letter for a real job application for myself? What a silly question!

p.s. I.Am.The.Night@hotmail.com is now a real email address. So if you feel like writing anything to Batman feel free.