Artistic Finale*

This evening is my big art show. As an art therapy major, I am required to do a "senior project" which means I have to concoct a theme and create some artistic creation to be hung in the school gallery at the end of the semester, sort of a culmination of my artistic experiences and accomplishments thus far.

Of course, I am now stuck on campus because my only class of the day ended at 10:30 this morning, and the reception doesn't start until 4. The price of gas is too damn high for me to drive home and back, so I'm stuck on campus trying to figure out what the hell to do with myself. I am so not going to miss this when I graduate.

I also won't miss the empty purse, the lack of free time, complicated scheduling, the sneering snide witches in the student services office, the late nighters sitting in front of the computer, zombified, waiting for an eloquent paper to flow the long bumpy path from my brain to my fingers (thank GOODNESS for thesaurus.com). I won't miss the hours spent combing Ebscohost's pages of journal articles and reading abstract after abstract, skimming twenty before I find one that just might be relevant to my topic. I won't miss APA format or the bear of a commute in a winter wonderland as my white knuckles grip the stearing wheel and I quietly mumble "stay on the road, stay on the road..." I won't miss due dates, ugh, not one bit.

As unenticing as all of those things are, I will miss academia, the buzz of energy that constantly flows through the campus. I'll miss open minds, constructive criticizm, people thirsty for knowledge, the crammed computer lab at the end of the semester, full of clicking keys and camaraderie about impending due dates and exams. I'll miss those AHA! moments, when that concept which has evaded me finally clicks into place. I'll miss my classmates, the ones who have been in the trenches with me, the ones who truly understand how amazing this profession is, and can relate to the lack of respect we receive from all the other departments on campus. I'll miss commiserating over papers and artistic endeavors, and our choices for the future. I'll miss being around a group of people who share my passion, and can truly understand how freakin' awesome it is that I ran an art therapy group with 15 adolescents ALONE.

I think I'm ready to start opening the doors in front of me. I just hope I don't choose the room holding the famished lion.

*I'll try posting my artist statement and pictures within the week, so that those of you who are interested can get a glimpse of my wonderous accomplishment.

Acceptance*

My sister recently adopted a puppy from our local animal shelter and had to stop in to ask a question. I accompanied her. It was awful. BIG mistake. It smelled, and there were sad animals in cages everywhere.

I'm an animal lover from way back. I'm also allergic to just about any kind of fur. I decided as a child that the fates were playing some depraved prank...like they decided, "This child shall love all animals and be miserable, watery, itchy and wheezy every time she comes into contact with one" (cue the heartless deep laughter).

Now I realize that the fates were preparing me for the fact that I would fall in love with a dog hater.

My sister and I left the shelter and immediately contacted our significant others, pleading with them on behalf of the 80 plus puppies, 20 plus adult canines, and who-knows how many cats. We both were ready to be the saviors of at least one of the numerous lost mammal souls.

My sister's beau actually humored her for several days. They even commited to taking a puppy until her beloved decided, the night prior to puppy acquisition, that he wasn't ready for slobbery raucous devil number two. She called me in a fit of tears, sad that the puppy would spend Thanksgiving alone, and riddled with guilt because she had told the shelter she would take him off of their hands and now had to rescind. I consoled her, explained that puppies are the first to get adopted, and assured her that this cute little pup had no idea that the country would be gorging on dead turkeys while he misses out on serious table scraps.

Later that afternoon a much more chipper Spaz left me a voice mail. She convinced our mother to adopt the puppy, and one more dog has been saved.

As for 2x4...he was much smarter than my sister's beau. He actually agreed to go with me to look at the dogs. This left me stupefied. 2x4 does not like dogs. His disdain for the canine population is no secret to anyone who knows him. In response to my amazement that he agreed to seriously consider my doggy proposition he said, "If getting a dog will make you happy, then I will go with you to choose a dog". Sly huh? He made me feel guilty for asking. Immediately he made it obvious that he was willing to sacrifice his own comfort for my happiness.

DAMN he's good.

Needless to say, we didn't adopt a dog. Nor did we look at the poor homeless miserable mutts or felines residing in my local animal shelter. I don't think I could go back there without a being on a well defined mission to save an animal soul by accepting it into the family. If I was capable, I'd save them all. For that matter, I'd save all of the poor souls the world over (human and otherwise), the oppressed, the victimized, the poverty stricken, the sick...but I can't.

That's a tough pill to swallow. Maybe Magoo will find a good home. Let's just assume he did, on a farm owned by animal loving happy people, with lots of room to run. Yeah, that's what happened.

Luckily, this particular shelter is a no kill shelter. That's why they have so many animals. The kill shelters bring in the ones that are on death row.

Nice huh? Seriously, I'm sure Magoo has a home. For real.

*Why is coming up with a witty title so difficult for me?

Humble

At the restaurant we have a dessert cart that I have the pleasure of wheeling from table to table. We have a large variety of desserts such as Key Lime pie, Creme Brule, Bread Pudding, Cheescake, Cherry Cobbler Pie, Apple Crisp Pie, Blueberry Pie, Strawberry Rhubarb Pie, Tiramasu, Triple Chocolate Pound Cake, Toll House Pie, Peanut Butter Pie, and Chocolate Pecan Pie. In my spiel I frequently mention that my favorite selection is our Oreo Mousse, and that I consider myself somewhat of a dessert connoisseur (which is true, I've had more than my fair-share of desserts in the last 29 years).

I am never prepared when the response is, "You sure don't look it", or "You look too skinny to be a dessert connoisseur" or, "How is that possible, you're too slim?". I am by no means a large woman. I am however, not exactly petite. I have struggled with my weight since well before puberty hit; when I lived on mayonnaise sandwiches, cinnamon toast, and hot dogs with the ends cut off because they looked like belly buttons. I am caught off guard because I don't think of myself as slender enough that strangers should feel compelled to comment and I NEVER know how to respond. My responses have varied from, "Ummmm, thanks" to "It's the black pants, they're deceiving". It's uncomfortable, though clearly the delivery is meant as a compliment. Compliments are nice, right? Indeed, we all need them sometimes.

During the last twenty four hours The Girl has innocently informed me that I have a lot of gray hair and look old, that I have a yellow tooth, that I have a lot of acne, that I have a large portion of eye lashes missing, and that I have weird ears. It's a good thing she's around. Otherwise all of those compliments might just go to my head.