It’s Tortilla Time| Hi I’m Tori and this is my Story

Co-op was utter mayhem today.

It began as I observed a Yorkshire Terrier undergo a routine dentistry. I find dental procedures fascinating, don’t get me wrong, but I much prefer invasive operations such as spays and neuters. As I was watching teeth being extracted from the petite pooch, a vet tech suggested that I clean a few kennels. This shouldn’t be a problem, I thought, I can get this done in five minutes.

I had barely begun this task when another veterinary technician instructed me to walk the dogs in boarding and clean the floors. I hurried to complete the cleaning of the kennels and went to walk the boarders. I was tickled when I saw the two dogs that I would be walking; a fluffy little Bichon puppy and an adorable Westie mix. Piece of cake.

Though as it would turn out, the Bichon would crap all over its kennel, resulting in me cleaning this particularly smelly mess. Amidst gagging and nose-plugging, I would look at the sweet faced puppy and wonder how it could possibly produce such a foul-smelling odour.

The Westie mix was a high-strung little dog with horrendous leash manners. It pulled with such gusto that it would strain on the end of the leash, walking on two feet. It was quite a sight to behold.

When I returned to the clinic, I was then told to begin a load of laundry before I started the floors. As my luck would have it, there were about three loads that required folding. I began this tedious task, but was interrupted when a call from upstairs asked for an extra pair of hands to aid in a nail-trimming. A vet tech told me to go.

I don’t particularly mind holding animals for nail trims. I envisioned the sweet little dog that I would restrain for the nail-trimming, but realized I was sorely mistaken when I was told that it would be an ill-behaved 100+ lb. German Shepherd. Great. I wrestled with this dog as it screamed bloody-murder, but eventually needed the help of two other veterinary technicians and a veterinarian.

I returned to the downstairs area out of breath, and quickly continued my folding. ‘After you’re done folding, can you please take out the garbage? It’s REALLY stinky.’

And she wasn’t lying. It smelled like death. Far worse than the puppy shit I had cleaned up earlier. If hell had a smell, it would undoubtedly be the aroma of that garbage bag. I began gagging, my eyes watering. I could feel my stomach churn.

As if the smell wasn’t bad enough, the bag was ridiculously heavy. I had to use every ounce of strength I could possibly muster and drag that baby up the stairs.

As I replaced the garbage bag, my boss stood before me with a cheerful aura. ‘So, how was your weekend?’ she asked. Well let’s see, how would you rate being branded a ‘back stabber’ by your friend for no apparent reason?
‘Pretty uneventful but okay,’ I lied.
‘UNEVENTFUL? You mean you didn’t do anything young and hip or go to any parties???’
‘Well not this weekend,’ I calmly responded, resisting any urge I had to jump on an exam table and begin hurling random objects across the room.

As I was about to begin the floors, yet another veterinary technician approached me and asked me to feed and medicate a cat in boarding. I complied, and was instructed how to properly give the cat its medication. I took a syringe and filled it with the medication. I had inserted slightly too much, so I began to push some out. As I did so, the medication shot about five feet in the air and got all over the ceiling.
‘SHIT!’ I gasped, though fortunately no one was within earshot.

I cleaned up that mess, mopped the floors and ran the hell out before anyone could ask me to do anything else.

She-who-shall-not-be-named’s name isn’t Jane, by the way. This was before my father revealed her to us, so he told us that her name was Jane Doe. Being barely eleven at the time, I believed him and thought that that was legitimately her name.

I don’t want to go to school today.

I don’t want to play my band test.

I don’t want to write my chem test tomorrow.

Yesterday my friend Tammy and I were hanging out at her place, as per our usual regime on weekends. We had already had a sleepover and I had spent the majority of the day with her. Our visit was cut short when my mum called and instructed me to come home for dinner. I knew that we were going out proceeding dinner, so I told Tammy that we may or may not be able to hang out after, depending on the time I got home.

We returned home from our outing and decided to have a fire in our backyard (this is a post in itself, I will elaborate later.) My mum’s boyfriend and his daughter were over, and we were having a good time. Tammy called whilst we were around the fire, and I told her that there wouldn’t be time to hang out tonight, but possibly tomorrow.

I then received an angry text message on my phone from Tammy, stating that I wouldn’t hang out with her last night because I was ‘roasting marsh mellows’ with Asia. Asia is my good friend that Tammy despises, as they often competed for my friendship as children. I responded to her text and said that no, I was doing no such thing. Also included in my text was the fact that I was possibly doing something the following day (today) and that we may not be able to hang out because of this. You see, my mum wanted to go to the art gallery.

Fast forward to this morning, I notice that Tammy responded to my text message. She was absolutely livid. Her response was really heated, saying things such as ‘how dare you blow off our plans,’ ‘you don’t care how you treat me,’ ‘don’t bother texting me back.’

I had to stop and ponder. Was this foreal? There was no way she could be serious. First of all, we had never made any legitimate plans. I had made a specific effort to say that we could ‘possibly’ hang out today, as I had not yet known what the day would entail. And as it had turned out, my mum wanted to go to an art gallery. It wasn’t as if I had said ’screw you, I’m going to the mall with other friends.’

I then logged onto MSN messenger and noticed that she had changed her screen name to something along the lines of ‘I can’t believe that my family would back stab me.’ She had always told me that she had thought of me as family.

Back stab her? I couldn’t believe this, I had done nothing! And this was the frustrating part, knowing that I had done nothing wrong.

I’m still seething. I cannot believe that she is making such a big deal out of nothing at all. I wish I had that kind of energy.

I’m the only one in my family not watching the Canada vs. Russia hockey game. I’m the only one that doesn’t give a damn.

Periodically I hear an ‘OH SHIT!’ coming from the television room.

Today in English class something marvellous occurred. Something so profoundly wondrous that I have dreamt of this day for months.

WE FINISHED MACBETH!

Though one of the last few scenes did inevitably bestow confusion and disappointment upon me.

I was sitting in class, of course only half following the goings-on of Macbeth. All of a sudden I heard my English teacher say ‘blah blah blah C WORD blah blah blah.’

Wait a minute. Hold up. Rewind. They use that kind of language in Shakespeare? AND I MISSED THIS ALL ALONG?

Oh how stupid I was for falling asleep during the play.

My attention was immediately restored, and I began to search profusely for the C word.
‘Where is it? I CAN’T FIND IT!’ I thought in a fluster.

Then he said it again, ‘C word.’

I finally managed to locate where my teacher was reading, though I was unable to uncover the ‘C word.’ I followed where he was reading, and then learnt that there was a character named ‘Siward,’ pronounced ‘C word.’

I then, despite the fact that nobody knew, felt like a tool.

While Greece brought many good times, it also meant that I was forced to spend a considerable amount of time with people I cannot stand.

I was forced to room with two of such people. I was in Mexico when the rooms were determined for Greece. I was defenceless, vulnerable. I returned to find that I would room with Laura and Megan, news that was met with profound disappointment.

I like to think that I’m generally an easy-going person. I’m peaceful, I don’t like to initiate arguments. I prefer to get my point across in a series of subtle and not-so-subtle hints.

Laura’s friends (who are about as annoying as she is) were perpetually in our room. I would lend them my magazines, to receive them back with crosswords and the like completed. I allowed them to listen to my iPod, just to get it back on the very last leg of its battery life. This resulted in no music for my flight home. I was understandably pissed.

And it must have been a miracle, because with a mere sip of an alcoholic beverage Laura would claim that she was completely trashed. What was humorous at first soon became agitating, as she would begin to describe her ‘drunken’ tales that had obviously never occurred.

And she never got any of my hints. Not even the not-so-subtle ones.

She assumed that the ‘one-sip-Laura’ nickname was one made in fun.

As I was standing on an elevator, she began to walk toward me.
‘Where are you going?’ She asked.
‘AWAY FROM YOU!!!!’ I countered, and began to press the ‘Close doors’ button in a fluster.
‘Close, close. dammit!’ I yelled in frustration as I profusely hammered on the button.
‘Oh Tori, you’re so funny.’ She giggled as the doors shut in her face.

I was, if for only a second, safe.

I quickly peered up at the bookshelf and noticed that it is lined with books titled ‘Understanding Your Teen,’ ‘Kids Are Worth It,’ and ‘Surviving Your Adolescents.’ This is only but a taste, there are hundreds more like this in the basement.

I never thought that I was so complicated.

My Mum’s friend Lora can be surprisingly wise.

Ben and I were essentially raised with Lora’s two children. The four of us shared a common thread; the fact that we were raised by strong, single mothers. Our fathers left, married and began new families shortly after. We both lacked a liking for our new stepmothers, and even developed a series of jokes inspired by them.

Mum was catching up with Lora a few days ago, as it truly has been a while since the two conversed beyond brief ‘hi’ and ‘bye’ conversations. They were discussing our fathers, Lora was saying that her children hadn’t seen their father in a while, much like Ben and I.

‘As much as people like to complain about the teenage years,’ Lora said, ‘they truly are the best years in our kids’ lives. Sure, nurturing them when they were young was great, but now we can talk to them as people. These are the best years to build a relationship with our kids, and if their fathers don’t want to make an effort to get to know their kids now, they’ve lost them forever.’ My Mum thought for a second and quickly realized that what Lora had said was extremely true.

Has my father ‘lost me’ forever? I’d say that that is a fair assessment.

He has never shown an ounce of remorse for the pain that he caused when he went away. I was a mere child, lacking an understanding of his absence. She-who-shall-not-be-named quickly appeared on the scene, and my father allowed himself to be manipulated by her into not seeing us. He then moved far away, married without informing us, and began a new family.

I could probably count on one hand how many times I’ve seen him in the past couple years.

It’s now nearing seven years since the divorce.

It has profoundly changed me as a person. But apparently not my fashion sense.

I should probably be studying for biology, though I’m not because BIOLOGY IS BORING AND IT GIVES ME HIVES.

As you can see, I’m a motivated learner.

At present I’m contemplating blogging anything possible to prolong my pre-studying time. Seamus is standing at the door, peering in, as if saying, ‘Hit the books, you doltish human being.’ Though I do strongly suspect that Seamus, if given the ability to speak, would lack the vocabulary to vocalize this.

The stuffed squid that rests atop my computer monitor appears to be staring at me with a profound sense of regret, as if immensely disappointed.

The words reverberate in my mind, as if swinging from a pendulum. STUUUUUUDY. STUUUUUUDY.

Well, I’d better be off. My conscience is getting the best of me.