I'm It.

Mel tagged me. The idea of the game, apparently, is to list 6 weird things about myself and 1 thing that isn't true. Then, in the comments section, you all get to guess which is the untrue statement. Truthfully, I'm having a difficult time coming up with strange things, which is peculiar, because, I'm an odd duck. So...guess away!

1. I have a black thumb (figuratively of course). House plants shudder when I come nearby, knowing that despite my best efforts, I will be the death of them. Pansies and ferns alike have suffered my unintentional murderous ways. Despite this, I can't wait to buy a house, so that I may have a bountiful garden and oodles of fresh produce.

2. I am immune to the smell of baby poo. The substance is gross to me but I have some freak resistance to the smell, it doesn't bother me. This has made me a popular babysitter for friends and family alike (the fathers who have diaper duty especially love it when I'm around!)

3. My ex-husband and I had bed bugs at one point. It was one of the most disgusting and horrific experiences of my life. Unbeknownst to us both our bedroom was infested with the little blood suckers and we had to douche our entire apartment and purchase a new bed. I swear I am NOT a dirt-bag. I'm convinced I got them from a laundromat and will not ever go to them anymore. The one requirement I had for my solo apartment after leaving him was a washer/dryer hook-up.

4. I can't function with long fingernails. I keep them really short because simple tasks such as pulling up my pants become nearly impossible for me. This is tragic because I LOVE the look of a French manicure. For that reason, when I get a pedicure (which is very infrequent, mind you) that I get a French Pedicure. I even have a picture of my toes adorning their first French-style pedicure!

5. I have never imbibed alcohol to the point of vomiting. I REALLY hate to puke. If I feel I am anywhere close to the puke limit, I stop immediately. The idea of upchucking into a throne while inebriated is all the motivation I need to put on the brakes. I have, however, eaten till I puke. Which is, of course, something I'm not proud of. I just didn't want you all to get the idea that I'm perfect ;-) We're not talking eating disorder either, we're talking no self control where chocolate is concerned.

6. One of my baby toes faces the wrong direction. I broke it on a pool side chair and it turned so that the nail is facing out. My sister calls it my alien toe. The other baby toe experienced a similar incident with a door jam, but that one stayed at a 45 degree angle from the rest of the toes and a trip to the emergency room to have it set was in order. Ahh, good times.

7. I don't wear makeup of any kind. Don't get the point. For me, there is an acne issue. I put on makeup, then zits pop up like chicken pox. Then, more makeup is required to cover said zits. It's a vicious cycle. And, mascara makes my eyes itch. Inevitably, I forget that I have it on, I rub my eyes, and spend the day looking like a raccoon or a victim of violence. Luckily, I have a natural type of beauty that doesn't require artificial enhancement :-)

So....what's your guess?

The New Girl

I started my new job. I've put in three 10 hour days and foresee lotsa mounds of paperwork in my future. I'm still undecided as to whether or not the job will be rewarding, but at this point I do feel as though I made the right decision. I think the experience will help immensely in future job pursuits. And there are perks, like, I have my very own desk. I never had my very own desk before! I've spent the last three days agonizing over how I should go about decorating my personal space. Currently I'm going minimalist but I think I'm going to commission a couple of artists I know to make me some pieces. They work cheap, a couple of cookies as incentive and these artists will put paint to paper like Picassos in the making.

And, I work with some really nice girls. Really nice. Super duper nice.

Too nice.

Like, gag me nice.

Like, you can't possibly be this nice for real nice. I can't handle chicks like this with their singsong voices and their super sweetness. I'm not one of those chicks. I'm nice, and I'm friendly, and I'm outgoing. But I don't raise my voice several octaves while carrying on a conversation. And, I'm not excited every time someone comes in the room (HI!!! HOW ARE YOU?! I know we just saw each other yesterday, but HI, HOW are you??!!!!) And I'm sorry, I realize that the folks we work with are mentally ill, but they're not children. If you spoke to me that way, with your singy songy tone I would slap you. I have a feeling I'm going to be the outcast in super fakey catty nicey girl land. But that's ok. I can handle it.

Perhaps I'm being to harsh. Perhaps these girls are sincerely very nice people. I don't intend to be mean or rude, and I intend to keep an open mind, but I sure as hell have no intention of acting like every person that walks into the office is my long lost best friend. I intend to continue speaking at the same decibel and for the love of all that is holy, please do not invite me to a purse party.

Quick Update

First of all, I apologize for the lengthy time period between posts. I had some kind of weird seasonal depression set in and I didn't want to doom and gloom my readers. Nobody wants the amout of sad negativity I would have spewed had I posted.

But, I seem to be better now. I accepted the job and just completed my second full day. It has been an eventful week. I had to call in sick on my first day because I was attacked by a stomach bug that tried to take my life (okay, that's a slight exaggeration but it sure as hell didn't feel it at the time) and I couldn't stray far from either my bed or the bathroom. Then we had a winter's worth of snow dumped on us in less than 24 hours. Then our computer crashed. So...I'm attempting to compose this post on our new laptop which is seriously testing my typing skills. I can't even begin to guess how many times my left pinky had hit the caps lock instead of the a in the last 10 minutes.

It's late, and I just got home from a 10 hour shift wherein I saw lots of mentally ill adults, so please forgive me if this post is short and slightly less than inspired. I promise to update soon...damn blogger made me switch to beta today. Forcibly! Can you believe that?!

Summa Cum Laude Naivete

I got my degree in the mail today. In September of 2004 I returned to college. Having survived my divorce, stood on my own 2 feet financially, and having had a wonderful taste of being on my own, I set out to return to school and attain an education which would render me able to help my fellow man. Mind you, not a career path that would lead to my being in the financial category of Bill Gates, Donald Trump, or the Bushes, but one that would leave me comfortable at the end of a work week; comfortable that I had spent at least 40 hours doing my part to better the lives of others, and making myself and family comfortable financially. I spent the last two years in a caffeine induced trance, stressing over grades, commuting weather, and trying to understand the new fangled way of doing research*. So, here I am, a Summa Cum Laude** graduate with a Bachelor's degree, anxiously anticipating a great job. One that will make me feel as though this education was a good idea. One that will make June not stressful when those student loans come due.

The universe is laughing at me today. HA. Poor naive creature.

I have until tomorrow to accept or decline a job offer I received yesterday. I will be making the same wage I did while working in retail before returning to school. The hours are crap and the pay isn't enough to cover my monthly bills. I will have to continue waiting tables for the time being in order to make ends meet. There is no guarantee that I will advance to a higher position, but the job is a county job and the benefits are really good. I'm told my job will be broken into thirds, one third client contact, one third paperwork, and one third cleaning.

Yup, that's right, one third cleaning. C-L-E-A-N-I-N-G.

But, theoretically, I will have the opportunity to assist adults with mental illness to either move onto, or return to fully funtioning active lives in the community. I will be mentoring, teaching life skills (like CLEANING), and being a source of support. I have to put my money where my mouth is, and decide what it's worth to me to help others. Am I willing to work a little harder? Start at the bottom, in the trenches with those that need my help? Or do I want to take the easier path. The one where I hold out for a Monday through Friday job. One that's less messy, and has a little more distinction than "residential counselor".

I want to be an art therapist, but a Master's degree is in order for me to do so. A Master's degree is not in the cards right now. I have to get several more ducks in a row before I pursue that dream.

So, I have to make a decision tomorrow whether or not to take this position and make the most of it, or whether I should hold out a little while for something 'better' to come along. It's a gamble either way. As our poker buddies would tell you, I'm a lousy gambler. I'll let you know what I decide.


*When I was a wee lass, we went to the library and combed through articles. Nowadays it's all about random article searches on your home school's data base. Sounds easier, but I'm not convinced.

**Wanna hear something funny? I had to google Summa Cum Laude because I thought Magna was higher and I was pissed. Perfectionism is hard to overcome!

I Know Memes are stupid...

...but this one looked like fun, so, indulge me for a moment, OK?

A- available or single? Der.

B- best friend? 2x4, J, whoever gives me a good tip.

C- cake or pie? Warm apple pie with vanilla ice cream. Or blueberry. Or Key Lime. Or pecan.

D- drink of choice? Alcohol.

E- essential item I use every day: Deodorant. Otherwise, I wouldn't have any friends. I sweat. Secret is Ph balanced for chicks like me.

F- favorite color? Is it possible to have a favorite color? I like the combination of sage green and yellow, and the combination of red and purple. This is a dumb question.

G- gummy bears or gummy worms? Neither, how about I just chew on some sugar coated candle wax? Mmmm.

H- hometown? Yeah, like I'm gonna tell you that.

I- indulgence? Anything chocolate. And organic, fair trade products. It's expensive being ethically and environmentally aware.

J- january or february? What the hell kind of question is that?

K-kid's names: Judy and Peter. You know, from Jumanji? The brother and sister with active imaginations that get into and out of all sorts of trouble together? Yeah, that's our kids.

L- life is incomplete without? Good wine, romantic evenings, friends and family, sunny days, and oxygen.

M- marriage date: THIS SUMMER!

N- number of siblings: This is complicated. Technically? 1 half sibbling, and 3 step stibblings. Truthfully? A sister. She's all that counts.

O- oranges or apples? Apples, with sharp cheese. Oooh...and they make a great grilled sandwich together too, on multi-grain bread, or sourdough!

P- phobias or fears? Drowning. Heights. Spiders. Driving long distances alone and getting lost.

Q- favorite quote? "I do not believe in the creed professed be the Jewish church, by the Roman church, by the Greek church, nor by any church that I know of. My mind is my own church. Sin lies only in hurting others unnecessarily. All other "sins" are invented nonsense." -Robert A. Heinlein

R- reasons to smile? Farts. Farts are funny. Well, except when the smell lingers for too long, then the humor seems to decrease.

S- season? Autumn. Summer's a close second. Spring's too soggy and winter's too damn cold.

T- tag: Nobody. Tagging is stupid unless you're in elementary school and running around on the playground.

U- unknown fact about me: I could not tell you the location of all the contiguous United States, but I could list them for you alphabetically on demand.

V- vegetable you don’t like: peas, brussells sprouts and lima beans. What's the point of any of those? They're all NASTY.

W- worst habit: Procrastination. Why do today what you can put off for tomorrow? That's my motto.

Y- your favorite food? If I had to narrow it down to one thing: Chocolate. However, food is one of those things that life would be much less enjoyable without. The key is in variety, and trying new things.

Z- zodiac? The big dipper. ;-)

Wasn't that fun?

Dumb-Ass

Lets say that you go out to a restaurant for lunch. Then, let's say that you leave your $300 sunglasses behind on the table with your doggie bagged food. Let's say that your server then puts both the food and the sunglasses aside and assumes you'll be back for them. Then we'll assume that you didn't come back right away (didn't notice that these things were missing until the next day) and when you call the restaurant they've lost your glasses. They were put aside but apparently someone swiped them.

Is this the restaurant's fault? Or maybe, just MAYBE it comes down to personal accountability. Maybe, instead of calling the restaurant 5 times a day every day, pulling strings with your state trooper husband who has the waitress come down to the station to make a statement and practially accuses her of stealing the prescious commodity that is your eyewear (the very eyewear that you LEFT BEHIND), maybe, just maybe, you could accept the fact that you screwed up. You made the mistake of leaving your beloved sunglasses on a table in a restaurant and didn't notice when you stepped back out into the sun that your eyes hurt. Yeah, it sucks, but let's face it, with your husband's trooper salary, you can afford a new pair. And if you can't, maybe this should be a lesson to you. If you're incapable of taking care of your stuff, buy cheaper stuff. Loser.

Here's Why I'm Not in Science

At about 1:40 this morning the alarm in the living room began screeching. I hopped out of bed, adrenaline flowing, to see what was going on...expecting smoke or some such. By the time I got to the living room the alarm had stopped, and there were no signs of fire. Moments later 2x4 yelled from the bedroom, "What is it?" By this time I had decided there was no imminent danger and was mid way through bladder relief, because if I'm gonna have to get dressed and get out the door quickly, I need an empty bladder. "I don't know" was my intellectual response from the throne.

Then I went back to bed, asked 2x4 if the alarm is a carbon monoxide detector or a fire alarm. He didn't know, turned off the furnace, and went to back to sleep in .02 seconds, just enough time to mutter, "Well, at least if we die, we'll die together." Great.

So I spent the next 2 hours wide awake in bed trying to recall if it's carbon monoxide or dioxide that's the deadly gas. I couldn't remember this basic tid-bit of high school chemistry knowledge and it was keeping me awake. When I first went to college, it was as a science major. I was going to go into environmental science and save the world. Then I took Chem. 101 and within two weeks of the first class changed my major to liberal arts. I just couldn't wrap my artistic brain around the concept of letters and their little number buddies representing atoms and elements and such. Don't EVEN get me started on calculus! The area beneath a curve? You're KILLIN' me! Ask me who painted "Scream" (No, it wasn't Van Gough!) but don't ask me if the tasteless, odorless, faceless gas that is potentially going to kill me while I sleep has one or two Oxygens. I. Don't. Know.

This morning I decided to make biscotti. (Yes we survived the evening, it seems as though the alarm simply wanted us to be aware of its presence and had a little melt down. The alarm once again feels appreciated and has calmed itself). Anyway, I LOVE biscotti. We have a local bakery that charges 2 bucks a slice and I've decided that's too damn much, so I'm making some.

Except, I couldn't figure out how much 1/3 a cup of butter was in terms of conveniently portioned tablespoons drawn on the label of my butter stick. I actually had to ask 2x4 to do the math for me. He took a knife to the stick and handed me a chunk.

"I'm not retarded, you know!"

"I never said you were." Was his calm, loving reply.

I guess I'll just go sip my coffee and eat my biscotti while I make the world pretty with my art. I'll leave the hard math and science to others. Maybe that's why they charge two dollars a slice...all that hard math.

Stuff

Be forwarned, this post will be completely random, and jump between topics that to the reader seem disjointed and unrelated. However, it will make total sense from my perspective. This is how my brain works...and there will be zillions of gramatical errors.

I have had several shots of alcohol tonight in spite of the fact that I decided a week ago this coming Monday that I will not have alcohol for a week. I didn't make it. Sometimes, you need a little something to make it through.

Why?

Because I'm still a waitress and people still suck. Oh, wait, I'm a waitress with a Bachelor's degree (I think) but I can't seem to find a job.

Why do I only think I have a degree? Well, you see, there are holds on my account. That means I owe the college money. I just put $1200 on my charge cards a couple of weeks ago to pay my tuition, but I'm thinking those damn library fees are coming back to haunt me. If I don't pay the $60 late fee for the books I never read, they'll hold my diploma (that I paid $50 for). Jerks.

So why am I drinking? Because I'm tired of being treated like trash by strangers and being forced to take it. I actually got in a customer's face tonight and sarcastically told her that it had been a pleasure waiting on her. Why? Because she was throwing my tip money back into her daughter's lap while announcing, "She doesn't deserve it!" Details: Irrelevant. I did deserve it after putting up with that heinus bitch for the length of an entire meal. (I have no idea if I spelled heinus correctly). Oh, and that waiterrant guy? No WAY is he that calm and collected all the time. NO. WAY.

How the hell do people find jobs in fields that aren't main-stream? They sure as hell didn't teach me THAT in college. The career counselors helped me write a resume and cover letter, but that's where their useful assistance ended. The director of my program spoke of 98% placement rates and such, but, um, I must be in the 2 percentile that sucks at searching for a job and is doomed to waitressdom.

Oh, and I did take a moment to contemplate the idea of losing my job tonight over that woman. I paused and reflected on how long it would take me to find a job after being fired for harassing her in the parking lot about how sorry I am that her life has been so awful that she must be cruel to perfect strangers who have done nothing to her. I decided against it. Searching for a job while you have a job is tricky enough. An unemployed job search, I imagine, would be slightly more stressful.

I waited on the proprietor of my restaurant tonight (no biggy, I do it all the time, guaranteed 20 smackers) he's in his late seventies, and somehow suckered me into a conversation about religion. That was fun. The topic of religion is RIGHT up there with politics. No, I don't like George Dubya, and yes, I'm a bleeding heart liberal who doesn't believe in organized religion. If you really want to have either conversation with me, be prepared to provide the alcohol.

Today, I seriously had a knot in my stomach because it was too warm outside for this season. Rush Limbaugh (I'm too lazy to google the proper spelling, but you all know who I'm talking about) is an asshole, global warming is real, der.

I won't put people's take out food in plastic bags becuase they're awful for the environment. I've had altercations with management about this. I win. You've gotta stand for something, right?

Well, the DiSaranno sedative is kicking in now. So, my reader, I bid you goodnight. I used to have more readers and commenters, then I stopped blogging so much, and they went away. 2x4 on the other hand is a regular blogging jock, he's got bloggers all over the place who just love his blog. It's not that I'm jealous or anything, it's just that I'm, well, jealous.

No, not really, der. It's a BLOG.

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.