Adventures of Willow

Rants and Ravings

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Careers, Orca & Toilets

That moment when deciding your career is always a scary one. What happens if I don't like it after wasting years of my life and emptying my pockets this year and for the future 10!? I've always been "artsy" as my family liked to term it. Anything that required a keen eye in creativity sparked my attention. In middle school and high school I took every art class I could, so when I made it to college it only made sense to stay with art.  Science was interesting, but not fun. History was boring. (That stuff already happened, move on.) Math....well let's just say I still count on my fingers. But Art! you could get your hands dirty and express anything your mind could come up with (good or bad is a different topic).  As a wide-eyed youngster I really thought being a marine biologist would be cool. I mean come on, swimming with dolphins? Studying whales, which is one of the largest creatures EVER to live on this earth. That would have been cool. Then the sea world trainers had to start dying like ants under the magnifying glass of a mischievous boy. (my deepest sympathy to those who lost their lives. NO laughing matter.)Those poor Orca shouldn't be locked up in those tiny pools. Think about living in one of those overly exaggerated Hollywood mansions, then someone kidnapping you and locking you up in a small shack. Sounds like a horror movie right? Or at least a suspense film that would lead to Liam Neeson coming to your rescue. 

 Anyway, I'm getting off topic like I usually do. The point of this was to talk about my career, right? Right. So being "artsy", and enjoying my daily computer time, it only made sense to go into the field of Graphic Design. So here I am! A graphic designer with a real job, making real money, living in a real home, with a real husband and a real dog. I guess I'll include my snooty cat in case she makes it in to one of these stories. After she pooped on the rug though, I'm reluctant to even claim her.

Every job has its perks and it's negative aspects. I can't really say many bad things about being a graphic designer, when you actually get to design, it's quite fun. You get Designer's Block, which is much like Writers Block, but just with design. You'll stare at an empty art-board with your eyes wide, and drool dripping off the edge of your mouth.  Then you get up, go play with the dog, and come back an hour later with new ideas and a fresh perspective.

 I work for a company that....uh...we will say manufactures toilets. To keep the integrity of those I know, I won't say names or state things that could pinpoint people or places. So I'm in charge of designing posters for Poop Conferences, banners for the Plumbing Conventions, or marketing material for the selling of our toilets.  It can be fun sometimes, creating things...but then some days our events come to a standstill. There are no marketing efforts in the works, no new toilets to illustrate, so then i sit idly at my desk trying to make up things to do, or going back to projects that I've been putting off (for good reason!).

By far, my favorite thing about being designer is designing. So when people try to pass of THEIR work or make me do things that don't have ANYTHING to do with graphic design, I get a little pissy. That's normal right? That's like being a doctor and someone asking you to draw something for them. Uhm, No. I went to school to be a doctor, draw that testicle yourself.

I was walking through the hallway and a colleague spotted me. Honestly I don't think this person understands what I do, so I wasn't surprised when they asked me what they did. "Hey, I was wondering if you could mock up something pretty for me." They would say, looking at their desk more than me. At the term 'pretty' i usually twitch. It's always the beginning of a project that really has nothing to do with being pretty, or has no need to be. The conversation continued:  "I've been asking for weeks for someone to put together a letter that we can send to our customers, saying that we've changed some purchasing requirements. It would really need to say this..." They would continue, verbally writing out what the dang thing would say anyway. 'Why can't you just write it yourself....' I would think to myself. My face dead as I watch them spurt it out. I respond, hinting that this is possible for them to do, but they find a way to avoid that and it ends up on my plate. 

Let's just say I have a problem with the word "No." I can't tell someone no, I feel like I need an excuse in order to turn down work. And most of the time, to be frank, I don't have an excuse other than the work they are giving me is NOT related to graphic design. But i talk myself into it, saying I'm helping them out, and sulk back to my office. The project took me 5min, maybe. For this person that was so busy, to be unable to find 5min was bologna. They spent 15min of their time explaining the project to me! Oh, hierarchy. How I hate thee.

So my work days usually go something like that. There is a taste, and here the peon signs out for the day.

Until next time....

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A Bloody Mystery

Having a dog is always interesting. Sometimes they brighten your day, other times they make you practice the art of zen. Willow has reached the ripe age of 1.5yrs old; that’s about 16 in human years (according to this chart I found). So she’s a teenager, and besides the mood swings and attitude, teenagers tend to get acne. And this is no exception for Willow! We noticed that she was getting a few blemishes on her pretty face, but they would go away naturally in time like they do for humans.

But, the main course of this story is to talk about the mysterious blood that kept popping up around the house. There was a splotch on the kitchen table….WTH is this? Then later, a splotch on our arm. It wasn’t our blood, and that would have to be one ginormous mosquito. (Could you imagine? Omg, they would be like vampires.)

So where is it coming from? Ah, Willow must have bit her tongue or lip or something. So I get down on my knees and stick my hands all in her mouth looking for the source of the blood. Ten tons of slobber later, I pull my saturated hands out…clear. No blood.

WHERE ON EARTH IS IT COMING FROM! But then it stopped showing up as suddenly as it started, and we relaxed.

Then one evening I was taking a shower and heard Willow doing her usual “zoomies”. This is the ritual in which she sprints circles in the bedroom (which is large and covered in carpet), jumping back and forth and exerting dangerous force and energy. She rubs her head on the ground and flips over, and continuously enjoys the feel of the carpet on her face. Yay. Thanks for making the room smell like dog.

My husband was in the office working when I stepped out of the bathroom and into the bedroom, releasing a holler. The bedroom looked like a crime scene! Blood was smeared everywhere all over the carpet! I swear, I thought my husband or dog had been murdered and the body disposed of.

Thinking someone lost an arm, I cling to my towel and yell at my husband running out of the room.

He turned in his chair confused, pulling off his headphones. “What is going on?!” I told him what I had witnessed and we both went back into the bedroom.

There sat Willow, looking at us curiously. No doubt confused after my dramatic scene and exit from the room. She was alive, and even more so, uninjured as far as we could tell, tail wagging.

It was then we took a long look at our dog, and every inch of her body to see what was going on.

Then we discovered the source of the mysterious blood that had been haunting us for the past week...her chin had been the breading ground of a cluster of pimples!

The acne obviously itched, so the romping around I heard her doing, was her rubbing her irritating chin all over our carpet. My husband and I looked at each other, baffled by the amount of blood that had come from her acne, then went to fetch the carpet cleaner. 

What a bloody mystery, solved at last!