Overheard in NYC

"This looks cool...does anyone want to go with me?" Asks a young woman looking at a flyer just handed to her as she wandered the streets of NYC the weekend before Christmas.

"I think you have to be 21 to go." Responds her companion.

"Then why did she hand this to me?!" The young woman asks incredulously.

"She hands one to everyone, honey." Her companion gently explains to her.

I didn't hear the rest. I was too busy laughing. I'm easily amused.

Home

For the first thirteen years of my life I lived in the same house. My mother kept it and all of it's headaches after she and my father divorced. I loved every square inch of that house. When I was thirteen my step-father's last surviving parent died, leaving her house unoccupied, so my mother and her husband saw fit to move into the newly uninhabited abode.

That house was where I lived until I was 19 and left the nest. It never felt like home to me. I remember coming to that realization when I was about 16 years of age. From the time we moved in until the time I moved out, I felt like I was living in someone else's home. Of course, it didn't help that we acquired all of his parent's furniture, antiques, drapes, and dishes, as we couldn't afford to replace everything and his parent's belongings were nicer than anything we owned prior. So, I guess, in essence, we were living in someone else's home; filled with their decorations, their tastes, and their memories. It was a house filled with ghosts. It still is, but that's another post all together.

Tonight, as I was baking Christmas cookies while 2x4 and the kids were reading books in the next room, I shut off the hall light and suddenly found myself overflowing with a sense of being home. It's not a house, it's not as big as we'd like it to be, and I can't afford to decorate the way I would like; but it's our home, and I can't think of anything more comfortable or appealing than that simple feeling.

Christmas Confusion

Sometimes I'm a little slow, mentally I mean. Here's an example:

When I was somewhat younger than I am now, I sat down and really thought about the Christmas song wherein mommy is caught smooching Santa Claus. I was really upset by the whole thing. I couldn't believe that someone would go and write a song about mommy cheating on daddy with old St. Nick. It was so wrong! I felt so bad for daddy, the poor unsuspecting soul!

It wasn't until about the age of 14 (approximately 8 years after discovering the truth about the jolly old elf) that I got it.

Der.

Tis the Season for Giving

Check out this guy's photography. His name is Gilad Benari, he lives in Israel, and his work is just plain incredible. I've been admiring his stuff on the DeviantArt website for a while now, and since he's selling his work I figured I'd use my blogging powers of good to spread the word.

I know nothing about him that isn't on the Deviant site. I sent him and email today just to compliment him...I think he deserves the kudos.

These are the Screwed Up Days of Our Lives.

My coworkers periodically find occasion to hang out together. Some individuals give open invitations to the entire staff to come and hang out at their home and some simply go to the bars to party together. Either way, they all have a single goal and that is to get as inebriated as possible.

I do neither of those things for two reasons.
One: I don't really like my coworkers.
Two: Drinking to oblivion got old when I was like, 21 and 3 days old.

As of this evening I can add a third reason to the list.
Three: The cook, his son, and a third man will beat some unsuspecting soul to a bloody pulp.

Our cook is an interesting man. He has a bit of a temper but I've yet to meet a cook without that quality...you try working in a room that feels like Hades and be chipper all the time-it's a tough proposition.

Our cook's son was recently released from prison. He's 22 and was involved in several incidents which cumulatively lead to him spending a year in prison. The cook's 19 year old daughter recently had a baby and is supported by her dad as she hasn't worked since well before the baby was born, and of course the baby's father isn't involved. The three of them have a friend who washed dishes in the restaurant for a while and gave me the creeps from day one. You know how some people are just bad news? They ooze it? Well, this guy fit the bill.

Last night one of the waitresses extended an open invitation to the entire staff to join her and her boyfriend in their home for a holiday party.

I'm not sure of the specific events leading up to the horrific bloody scene that became their living room, as all of this is via other people (I, of course, was not there, for reasons one and two)...but the long and short of it is the host wanted The Cook and his entourage (son and creepy guy) to leave. The three of them decided instead to beat him almost to death. He is hospitalized with a busted nose, he has a huge gash on his neck and he has several broken ribs. Oh, and they trashed his house; broke windows and destroyed the interior.

The Cook's son and creepy guy are both on probation, so chances are they're both going to be locked up again (his son called the waitress today begging her not to press charges). The waitress and her beau are of course pressing charges, so chances are that The Cook will also spend some time behind bars.

What do you think the odds are that The Cook's grandson will be an upstanding and contributing member of society one day?

As promised.

Here it is. After much anticipation (I'm sure) I give you my senior art project...You've read my artist statement (hopefully)...so you understand that each piece of artwork represents a role that I currently play.





This one is Sister. Done with graphite pencil and tissue paper collage.









This one is Friend. Watercolor.












This one is Woman...you can't see them in the picture but she is balancing a variety of adjectives such as nurturing and fierce, aloof and available, etc. It's a combination of charcoal and chalk pastel.










Der...Waitress. Acrylic paint. Does she look miserable? 'Cause that's what I was going for. And she looks nothing like me so that my role as waitress will not live on in infamy.












This one is Environmentalist. Incase you can't tell what the hell it is...it's a landscape scene created entirely out of found objects like used Hershey Kiss wrappers (damn those were good cookies!) and oregano, and grass clippings and pine needles and crumpled autumn leaves...







There are more, but I'm either uncomfortable showing them (because they're not all that good) or because I'm too lazy to upload any pictures, either way, I figure this should be enough, right?

Merry F^#*ing Christmas

The other day I took 2x4's daughter (henceforth to be known as Judy) to the mall to run a variety of errands. Whilst in the parking lot, at a four way intersection, I was about to take my rightful turn when a guy hugged the bumper ahead of him and doubled up as they both slipped through. I hit the brakes in order to keep from hitting the Jack-Ass (and of course couldn't say or do anything that I normally would because there was a 9 year old girl in the back seat). THEN the guy flips ME off as he barrels through! Gawd was I pissed!

Last night 2x4 and I ventured to the mall so that I could purchase an outfit for his company Christmas party. 2x4 is like my fashion consultant. He puts things together that I would never even give a second glance, but then fall in love with. He was blessed with the fashion sense that evaded me. So, I was in a tiny two stall dressing room, and he would periodically show up with a shirt or jacket for me to try on. At one point a woman came in and used the other stall. It wasn't until later that I realized her intermittent mumbling was anger towards me. I just thought she was a little weird. Then as she left, she snidely asked me "Does your husband always dress you?"

I was in the stall with my shirt off and the door closed, so it took a minute for me to detect the hostility. I simply responded, "No, he doesn't ever dress me, but I value his opinion" (you miserable self-righteous bitch). Then a minute or two passed and I asked, "Do you always ask inappropriate questions of strangers?" The much more pleasant woman who was now occupying the stall said, "She's gone." I replied, "I know, that's why I said that" She laughed and we agreed that the woman was miserable but that it takes all types.

Then the miserable bitch went and complained so a sales person who then came to tell him to take 2 steps back so that he was technically outside of the bath tub sized dressing room because store policy says that men cannot be in the dressing room.

It's the most wonderful time of the year...but I guess jerks are jerks all the time. I shouldn't expect a reprieve just because mistletoe is in season. Humbug.

I still love the season...I think the random hostility is bothering me more than usual because I'm feeling festive and I want it to be contagious.

Artist Statement

This is my statement, as it appears next to my work. 2x4 said it was too wordy, what does he know? The reception went well although I got bloated on cheese and crackers, and my feet hurt from walking around town in my high heels all afternoon. My camera battery died, so I don't have pictures of my work. Consider this a teaser, I'll post the art work later. (BTW, that's a watercolor I did in the background)

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.

Can I?

As I take in the negativity
I wonder if I have the strength in me
To help those who have yet to decide
If they're willing to embark on the long ride
To a place where their troubles no longer have control
A place where the bad doesn't have hold
A place where excuses are no longer a crutch
A place where they can count on themselves in a clutch.
I wonder if I have the fortitude
To see past the tough guy attitude
To tap into their inner vulnerability
To show them that they matter to me.

Art Therapy 101

Have you ever lost yourself in creating something? Perhaps you're upset and you bake cookies, become absorbed in creating delectable goodies, and the experience is cathartic. Maybe you enjoy crafts, and you lose yourself in scrapbooking, or candle making, or Christmas gift creating. Maybe you enjoy drawing, or painting, or writing, and you're aware of little else while absorbed in accomplishing an artistic product. Maybe you listen to music, and are carried away to another conscious level by a melody, or lyrics. Quite possibly you write poetry or journal and find that this form of expression is soothing.

This simple idea, finding catharsis in artistic expression is one aspect of art therapy.

Does a piece of artwork ever speak to you? Does the image say something that words cannot? Have you ever viewed art that transcends words and becomes another form of communication?

This idea, that an art creation may become another form of communication, one beyond words, is another aspect of art therapy.

Within an art therapy context, creating an image utilizing art materials and metaphor is a way for individuals to make a problem external, and easier to solve, conquer, or manage.

Also, art creation can, on occasion, reach into the unconscious, tap into thoughts, emotions, and feelings that are under the surface; things that haven't emerged, but are causing turmoil within.

I am just skimming the surface here folks. This field is multi-faceted. It is complicated. It is amazing. It is underestimated and underappreciated.

Art therapists work with a HUGE variety of populations. There is group work and individual work. Some facilities use art therapy with patients on an extremely short term basis (gotta love managed health care). Yet some art therapists are fortunate enough to work with clients over an extended period of time.

Generally, and art directive is given (I'll give specific examples in another post) the client creates art work, and then the therapist and client discuss the piece, or what the client thought about while creating the piece, or what emotions were invoked while creating...and a myriad of other topics.

Ahhh...but that's not all! My degree will be a Bachelor's in Creative Arts in Therapy with a Visual Arts concentration. My school has 4 concentrations. The others are; Dance/Movement, Music, and Theatre. Each one is pretty amazing, but I won't drag this post out any longer with details on each one.

I needed to write this post tonight because I had an awful night at work. I needed to remind myself that I won't be a god-damned waitress forever, and that I really, really believe in this field. I needed to give myself the reassurance that there is a light at the end of the tunnel, and that all of the choices I've made so far have not been wrong.

If you're intrigued and would like further info on art therapy please check the following link, because, like I said, I haven't even skimmed the surface on this stuff and it's incredible.

American Art Therapy Association

Oh, and there are internship details to follow as well as more entertaining writing, I graduate in December. Then, LOOK OUT! I'll have time to blog once again.

I'm not Alexander Today*

Do you ever have a day when your senses seem to function on a higher level?

A day when the autumn colors are more vibrant and intense, and you're dazzled by their beauty?

A day when you notice a lone Blue Jay soaring through the treetops as you're driving down the highway at 70 miles an hour?

A day when that upbeat song on the radio seems to put you in an even better mood than usual?

A day when you drive by the diner where you had those savory waffles and you can taste the strawberries and whip cream once again?

A day when you see a woman smoking a cigarette, dressed in a puffy down jacket, driving her mini-van out of a gas station; and imagine that she is hurried to drop off her children at the sitters in order to make it to work on time?

A day when you imagine that young guy walking down the road, clad in Dockers, a dress shirt, and a neck tie is someone who has finally decided that going out with his friends and getting drunk on the weekends isn't as enjoyable as it used to be, and he's decided that he's ready to settle down?

A day when you can sit down, break out the watercolors, and not worry at all if the final project will be a masterpiece?

A day when you seem impervious to the minor annoyances that occasionally make you tense and anxious?

A day when the sky seems bluer than usual?

A day when you're inspired to take the time to compose a blog post, and don't care in the least if it's full of run-on sentences?

Today I'm having one of those days.

*I'm referring to the children's book, Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day. If you don't have a copy of this book, you should get one.

**And the sketch is mine...a totally random selection.

------------------------------------------------------------------------
Addendum:

2x4 is making vegetarian crab cakes, and we're drinking organic red wine.

*sigh*

This is such a good day...

Returning to School as an Adult 101

I promised a post about my internship, but I think this requires a little background information. If I've mentioned all of this before, I apologize, I don't want to be redundant, simply efficient, but I can't remember if I've said all of this before.

Anyhoo...

After my divorce I decided that I needed some major life changes. I didn't like the general direction in which my life was headed (working in miserable dead-end retail jobs for crappy pay and barely making ends meet while residing in the town where I grew up and never, ever escaping...get the picture?) So, I did what people do when this is their dilemma, I decided to go back to school. Except, I still had NO idea what I wanted to be when I grew up and had NO idea where to start. I got through step 1: Choose to make a change, but I needed some help with step 2: Choose a path and run with it.

The career counselor at the local community college where I earned my Associate's Degree in liberal arts was my savior. I took this test-sorta-thing called a Strong Interest Inventory. It weighs your interests against those of professionals in a variety of careers and determines with whom you share the most 'interests'

My top three:
Photography
Fine Arts
Social Work

Great. THAT'S helpful. You know how lucrative the fine arts are (incase you don't, they're not for like 95% of the world's artists). I live in a small town with about 5 professional photography studios, yeah, that market's been tapped. Everyone I spoke with told me that social work is awful and thankless.

I posed the following question to the career counselor, "Is there such a thing as 'Art Therapy'?

He said yes, found me a college within commuting distance that had a program and I began step two...BOY did I run with it! I ran with it in a totally irresponsible way. I didn't check the job market, I didn't research what the hell art therapy was, and I didn't punch numbers to figure out how ON EARTH I was going to make ends meet for the duration of my schooling. I wanted a direction, I didn't want to plan it all out (for once in my life), I wanted to go crazy and chase a dream (how's that for cheesy? It's true though!)

As I've mentioned recently, I'll graduate at the end of this semester. I have studied art therapy for 2 and a half years. I believe in it, I'm passionate about it, and I'm thrilled that I've had this educational experience.

However...the problem is...well, I didn't check the job market. And...there are.no.jobs.

I think I have options...I think. I won't really know until I officially graduate and start pounding the pavement, but I'm panicking right about now about what on earth I'll be doing 6 months from now...I don't have a plan, and that's REALLY not how I've done things for the last 29 years.

Well...where am I going with this? To my inspiring, wonderful, exciting, informative, and helpful internship...which I have to go to in the morning. Right now it's eleven o'clock, and I'm kinda awfully tired.

So...my next post will be: What the heck is art therapy 101. I know people will ask this question, I've been trying to figure out how to answer that question in 10 words or less for two years. It's impossible. It will require an entire post, which I will of course offer to you, my faithful readers, who I'm certain are on the edge of your seats!

I'm Still Here!

I realize that I have been awful lately when it comes to posting. Rest assured, my blog has not been the sole victim of my malaise. I've been procrastinating with papers, art projects, housework, work, and just about anything that requires motivation.

I don't seem to have any.

It's not that I'm unhappy, I'm not. I'm still happy overall, I'm still madly in love, intending to get married, finishing up school and all that jazz. I think I'm suffering from extreme burn out. I dislike my job, I'm tired of school...how much text book reading, research, paper writing, test taking, graded art projects, and commuting can one person do in 2 and a half years? Well, whatever the quantity, I fear I have reached my limit.

I think this is one of the reasons I've been 'obsessing' (2x4's word) about changing my blog skin. I need to eke out inspiration from wherever I can.

So...I bring you the new look.

It's a little plain and simple, but hey, so am I!

See that blank margin on the right? I wanna put some of my artwork and such over there. Eventually I'll figure out this damn html stuff enough to do just that. For now, I'll try to be inspired by the subtle turquoise margins.

I have to jet off to my humbling job right now, but I intend to do a post within the next day or two about my internship, so please come back. I know I've been neglecting my limited faithful readers.

Oh, and this blog skin change thing only happened because of the advice I got from commenters. I seriously had no idea where to begin. I found this skin on Blogskins.com. They have LOTS of stuff. Thanks, shpprgrl! (she recommended them).

Anger Management

I realize that it's been a while since I last posted (as ThursdayNext pointed out in the comments section!). I apologize to my faithful readers, but I've been both unmotivated and had too many time restraints since school began. I'm interning with an art therapist this semester, and although the experience is wonderful, it is also draining and time consuming.

I'll get into internship details another time, as it is an inspiring experience worthy of multiple blog posts. Today, I'm going to rant a little. I am on campus as I type this amazing literary accomplishment. Why am I on campus typing a blog post, you ask? Well, I'm killing time waiting for a phone call from the Dean's secretary. She is currently researching to whom I need to direct my extreme dismay and incredulity that I must PAY a $50 fee in order to apply to graduate.

So, you're telling me that a tuition of between $25,000 and $30,000 a year, additional applied art fees for every class I take, completion of 70 credit hours, and a 4.0 GPA isn't enough? Must you SMACK me in the face with a fee to graduate? Am I not poverty stricken enough? Seriously? FIFTY dollars?

So, here's my question, what if I don't have $50? Does that mean I can't graduate? Because, seriously, I don't have fifty dollars. I don't have $5. I don't have enough money to pay rent which is due in 3 days. I'm crossing my fingers, hoping that the tipping Gods smile upon me this weekend so that I can pay my rent on Sunday. Graduation applications (and their ridiculous FEES) are due by tomorrow!

Now what?

The secretary has just called and informed me who I need to speak with, but she added the caveat "I want to tell you, all colleges have this fee, so don't get your hopes too high."

Should I deflate my spirit's belief that I'm going to graduate after working my ASS of for the last 2 plus years?

Oh, and another funny thing, my wonderful state of residence says that since I make over $10,000 a year, they won't give me any aid. Can you imagine surviving on $10,000 a year?

No wonder my parents were so poor for their entire lives.

Our system is set up for the rich to keep having little rich babies who get ahead, while the rest of us schmucks try and fail to get ahead.

Aaaargh!

When I started, I swear, I didn't mean for this post to sound so negative. I guess today was "use your blog to bitch" day.

More upbeat entry promised next time around. I'm off to fight with the director of student services. Wish me luck!

***Update***

Mr. Director of Student Services was unreachable, not in his office, didn't answer the phone. I was told next to email him. Here's Our email correspondence:

Mr. Director of Student Services ,

I would like to discuss with you the graduation application fee. I anticipate graduating in December. However, I simply cannot afford the fifty dollar fee.

I'm curious what I should do at this point. The application (as I'm sure you know) is due by October 1st, and I have no way of paying the fee. Does this mean that I can't graduate?

I've been informed that you are the person with whom I should speak regarding this matter. Please advise me on what my course of action should be. Should we discuss this in person, on the phone, via email? I commute an hour, and am not on campus tomorrow, but I could make a special trip if that is the best course of action at this point.

I thank you for your prompt attention to this matter.
WiP

His response:

WiP,

The diplomas fee cannot be waived. Do you need an extension of time? If so, that is not a problem but we would have to agree upon a date.

Mr. Director of Student Services

So, there you go. I put the stupid fee on my charge card (while crossing my fingers that it wouldn't be declined). Apparently Mr. DoSS has no desire to communicate further about the fee and its relevance. What I find interesting is that the application states that you must pay this fee every time you APPLY. But he calls it a 'Diploma' fee. It should say, 'Fee must be paid for every DIPLOMA received', right? Can we opt for cheaper diplomas? I want the bargain basement one, it's just a friggin' piece of paper! It's not even a Master's degree! We're talking Bachelor's!

I want to email him back and tell him I'm thinking June 15th of 2020. Can we agree on that date Mr. DoSS?

Anyone?

Do you have to be a computer genious to customize your blog skin?

I'm bored with mine, and with all the other cookie cutter skins. I want to use my creative nature and make mine more mine. But, well, what the hell is the html code for: I want a better look? And what exactly is html? How do I do this? Where do I begin?

Suggestions please.

How Proud am I?

It's been a busy weekend. It's too late, and I'm too tired to offer up details, but we threw a surprise birthday/slumber party for The Girl this weekend and I've been too busy to blog. This post will be another short one, but I have to share because I had a proud parent moment the other day.

The four of us were in the car and Frank Sinatra came on the radio singing a song I've never heard. From the back seat of the car 2x4's (7 year old) boy pipes up, "This is Frank Sinatra, right?"

How many seven year olds do you know that can recognize Mr. Sinatra's crooning? I was so proud! I looked at him and said, "YEAH! You 'da MAN!"

Ok, so, the kid's cool, and I'm a little lame.

A Short Funny

The other day 2x4 and I were having a conversation with a friend/coworker. The subject came around somehow to my art work. This friend posed the following question of me:

"Have you ever hung your work in a gallery for sale or anything? I could use some cheap artwork."

*Pause*

"Wait, that didn't come out right."