Another "Almost" Post

It's almost warm out. Which means it's just about time to watch all of the movies I love that give me Spring Fever - I have found that it is devastating to do this prematurely. It's almost time for shorts, and warm sun on your pasty white legs, and floral breezes, and sitting on the porch after dinner. 

I'm almost finished with Grad school. There's just about four weeks left. That doesn't feel real or good to me because I finally found "my people" in my school program and since we all live in different states, not seeing them every week will make my life a little less shiny. I've decided that I would recommend animal advocacy (as an interest, as a career, as a volunteer effort) to any gentle people who haven't found other humans to be very validating. There's a whole big spectrum of personalities in there, but one thing everyone shares is a powerful ability to step into other peoples (and animals) shoes, and feel life through their soles. (Souls?) I am consistently amazed by the compassion, intelligence, and selflessness of my school peers. 

I wish the program could go on forever.

I might have almost gotten a job but I can't tell you about it because of the cosmic sabotage. In any case, it's almost time to decide on my next chapter. 

I've almost built up enough arm strength to do some new acrobatic stunts up against the wall by the front door.

Nora is almost comfy enough to fall asleep next to me in bed. (This is shockingly rewarding.)

Most importantly, the biggest "almost" in the Guy/Ray family has officially moved into "it's here" territory after an agonizing years long countdown. 

Uncle Dave has retired! Happy adventuring to Big Dave!!!

Gigs hosted a gut-bustin' semi-surprise retirement party with lots of familiar happy faces. 

Though this is my favorite photo from the night...

More good things to come.

Cosmic Sabotage

An early winter's morning at Oak and Palm Acres.

There some kind of phenomena in my life whereupon I notice something, observe, ruminate on, or endure it for some time, and when I finally declare it to another human being it suddenly ceases to be true. 

Some examples:

Two years ago my heart was hurting. Sometimes it felt like it would forget to beat for a second. Other times it would beat real quick for no reason for just a moment before going back to normal. Sometimes, it just felt sharp in there. This was disconcerting to me of course, but because medical things can make me unreasonable, I just endured the beatings. Brett didn't seem as concerned about my heart's mutterings as I wanted him to be, and since medical things can make me unreasonable, I just kept waiting to die. Finally, I compiled a list of rapid-fire health questions and made an appointment to see my doctor. 

"Does this bone feel weird?"

"No."

"Is this normal?"
"Yes."
"Is this broken?"
"Possibly. Does it hurt?"
"Only sometimes."
"Wouldn't worry about it."
"Should I be able to do this?"
"No."
"My heart hurts sometimes..."

A chilly beach venture.

She was also not concerned with my heart, which should have been a relief but since its my heart and all, it seemed more like the opening dialogue to the documentary film of my life that interviews all the people I spoke to leading up to my untimely demise by a rare heart condition.

"Didn't seem out of the ordinary," my doctor would say from the mirrored interrogation room at our local precinct, handcuffs searing into her wrists. My parents would be devastated. It might even tear up their marriage. Ellen would be bummed out. Brett, precious Brett, he's the one who hired the film crew. Avenge my name, Bubba!

My doctor told me to "pay attention to it for a while" which seemed like what I had already been doing. "If it keeps up we'll give you a heart monitor." Presumably so they could pay attention to it for a while. Meanwhile my aortic walls would be dissolving into tissue paper. Sure hope there isn't a timeline on this sort of ailment. 
Anyways, it stopped hurting and dancing around after I proclaimed its presence to my doctor.

Christmas Cuddle Trap.

Similarly, there was this very sharp pain deep down in my brain for a while - mostly when I exercised or tied my shoes. I figured it was some kind of pre-aneurysm but I didn't want to be unreasonable so I waited around until I got scared enough. Then I went to my doctor.

"Well, pay attention to it for a while and then we can do a brain scan."
"But I have been paying attention to it. That's why I'm here. How long do I confirm that it's still there before it kills me?"
"Come back when you feel very concerned about it." 
I went home angry, and my brain never did that sharp aneurysm thing again. 

"So-and-so is coming to the party!" I'll declare. They'll go on to not show up.

"This restaurant serves the best dinner rolls." They've switched to breadsticks.

"I'm going to go for a jog today!" Existence will wear me thin.

Things like that. 

If I really want something I have to keep it to myself - but I suppose if I want it to go away, I just have to spend the money to tell it to a professional. Consider it a convenience fee.

This is all Preamble to telling you that I've changed my school project because I foolishly declared it in this public forum and then all the ends refused to meet (so to speak) and now I've had to change it. It's hard to make yourself wad up an idea and throw it over shoulder when you already spent a whole big bunch of time working on it and you could see exactly how you wanted it to go. I still want to do it, but I've got more things to learn first. Bleh. I can't tell you what I'm doing instead or else that'll go up in flames. 

It's almost like the world wants me to stop talking about myself.

Fruitless efforts - The early stages.

In fun news, we've continued our home improvement efforts to thrilling outcomes. We took our sad, empty living room wall and turned it into an abundant book display, with accompanying decorative accoutrements. It makes our living space feel much larger than before, which was an unexpected outcome. Second, EisenEars made some fake beams to cover the tension rods in our ceiling and it really cozied up the place. 

If I had been able to take pictures of how we hung those things...

A New Phase of Aimlessness

Pippa helps me study.

I'm currently in the most challenging semester of school so far. I've never cared for challenges, but I do still love the program. Human Rights is the class that's really working my little goldfish brain. There's a whole lot of bad news involved, and we all know about the assorted bad news bits, but when you do a historical deep dive overlaid with policy making and corporate greed.... well. That's like... a total bummer?

Additional Lue responsibilities include: volunteer commitments, a few weddings here and there, organizing a speaker event at College of Charleston, an ongoing and halfhearted job search, a bit of political activism ( I hung out with Andrew Yang a few weeks ago!), and never-ending home repair and animal control.

The farther I get into my school program, the more confused I feel about what my next move is. While I'm learning a lot about things to advocate for and the importance of educating the'm'asses on the impacts of their decisions, I'm not learning what to do with that information. My "skills" aren't so obvious when it comes to changing policy. "How about a great story about echo-stones, Mr CEO?" My classmates think I'm great and they shower me with compliments after each of my presentations....but they haven't realized that my toothy grin and comedic timing don't equal out to any numerical data or economic strategy. I appreciate their appreciation for my disposition... now give me something productive to do. It's awful to care about something but have nothing you can do to help. 

Can I entertain people into changing their lifestyles to end animal abuse? Is that a thing? Would this involve more social media? I don't love that idea. So anyways, I'm in a new phase of aimlessness. Does this happen every decade or so? 

Ferguson hinders my studies.

A Summer Bustle

Here I thought that a few months off from Lux would mean a long, slow-moving, contemplative summer. I thought there'd be lots of lemonade and reading my school books out on the porch. 

Remember that internship I did at the beginning of the year with that media company? Well they got such kick out of my nonsense that they asked me to "cohost" the program for their next batch of interns. They called me "unique" the way Don Hon called Brett and me unique during our wedding ceremony; emphasis on the unmentioned but obvious kookiness factor. "Each of them is unique... very unique."

So I've been over there encouraging the new interns. "If I could do it...." They put this on the website and I'm quite embarrassed and tickled about it. I made sure business was in quotes. Sounds too serious.

While I'm doing that, I'm also attending my college classes on Tuesday and Wednesday nights. We are halfway through the trimester already and boy do I love it. What a brilliant bunch of compassionate butt-kickers. (Myself excluded.) 

I had a grad-school wake-up call on my very first week when I came to class prepared to discuss our assignment and everyone else came to class prepared to debate the assignment with the supreme court. That's when I realized grad school is very different from undergrad school. "So like, you mean I should have been uhhh... taking notes?" 

I'm in the groove now and am usually prepared. When I don't know the answers, I deflect with humor. My professors are cheerfully confusing my wit with wit. You can imagine they don't get many giggly smilers in a program based on fighting systemic injustices. 

Here's what I've had to read so far. I recommend Sapiens and Earth In Mind. Interesting reads through a different lens.

Also, because that's not enough, I've started volunteering at Pet Helpers twice a week. It's "Kitten Season" which means that people are finding (and dumping) kittens all over town. I found Pippa through Pet Helpers so I'll forever be in debt to them. They sent out an email begging for help (they have 200 kittens to find homes for) so Big Lue arrived on the scene with a toothy grin and a paralyzing fear of this new commitment. 

Mostly I clean cages and litter boxes, and sweep and mop floors but I'm encouraged to cuddle and play with the kittens so that they get used to humans. I'm on it! The kittens are adorable and lots of fun to watch, but I especially love the older cats in the shelter. I've really fallen for an orange fella named Blake but special mention goes to Billy and Glen. Billy swats at people that pass his cage in the hallway. Glen has his own room because he figured out how to escape from the kennels. Now he's living the dream in his own kitty suite. I've enjoyed getting to know all the personalities. That place is also made up of a bunch of compassionate butt-kickers.

Meanwhile, Brett has been alternating working from home with some in-person office hours, and is also on a tomato pie baking kick. Homemade crust and all. 

I have one homework assignment and two proposals to update before we head to North Carolina for a beach vacation with the Eisenhauers. From there I'm headed up to DC for Jessie's bachelorette weekend. Things really kick into gear when I get back, but more on that later. 

Let's end for now with another great shot of Pippi.

Do I take too many pictures of her? Am I blinded by love?

Big Lue Goes to Grad School

You read that right. I start in three weeks so it's too late to talk me out of it. 

This blog wouldn't be called Awe Geez if I didn't elicit that response from my loved ones on regular occasions. All the thoughts you're having now about my previous excursions in educational institutions are still valid and I assure you the points have been thoroughly considered. I hated everything about school the whole way through and I still never want to go back to that place. 
The difference this time is my free will and my interest in the subject matter. See I never had those things before, thereby ensuring that I, in fact, am not headed back to that place. I chose this. No one to blame but me. Rest assured I've done extensive research on the expectations of the program, chatted with students and professors, and then confirmed my suspicions that it's perfect. 

There is a short answer and a long answer to what I'm studying, because the name of it doesn't tell you much. The short answer is that I'll walk out of there in two years with a Masters in Stickin' it to The Man. The longer answer is that it's a degree program designed for people looking to make positive changes within established systems, most notably ones that are ethically unsound or have "unintended" negative outcomes as a result of their efforts. 

It's a solution-based activism school. No picketing or paint-slingin'.
I'll admit that I mulled and toiled, hemmed and hawed, but with overenthusiastic encouragement from Brett, (the kid loves education) I applied, wrote a real knee-slapper of a personal statement, aced the interview, and was accepted to start this summer.

You won't be surprised to hear that I found out about the program through my farm animal advocating efforts.  I have been joy-filled, heart-broken and inspired since finding these organizations and meeting and scheming with the wonderful people within them. I've also been kind of grumpy too because no one ever told me activism is a real thing and I'd have been on this train ages ago. I probably could have skipped that decade of aimlessness. What's more like me than being gentle and kind and then forcing others to behave properly? I mean it. 
I thought "activist" was a hobbyist label like "tarot card reader" or "jigsaw puzzler." I didn't know people made a living making good changes - except for lawyers and politicians but how dull. That highlights my poor education. 

"What about people who run non-profits? Surely you've heard of them?" I have indeed, but I thought they actually made "no profits." I thought the people who kept them up and running were using their retirement money and government assistance. Also they always seem to be based on some icky medical thing that makes me woozy. How am I almost 32 and no one has ever explained that I could be doing good for the animals and still pay my bills? I'm legitimately mad about this. 

Enough about that. The school is in Maine but I can do all of this program online except for one class that I have to do in-person over two weeks. While I'm in it for the animal advocacy side of things, we will also study human rights, environmental ethics, and some other optional goodies like advocacy writing, solutionary education, creative activism, veganism, etc.

My friends have all been very excited for me, which is lovely, but a few folks have said, "Come on Lue, there's no money in activism." They might be right, but lucky for me I've never been money motivated. I'm way more excited about doing something good.

The Fourth Grade

My fourth grade teacher was a man. It was the first time I had been left in the care of anyone besides an older woman with a motherly bosom to curl into for safety. I was a nervous and sad little elementary student. I never wanted to go to school, and in the first grade, used to bring a picture of Mom with me that I would look at and cry. (I'd like the record to show that I did get past that low point quickly.) The fact was, I didn't want to be anywhere but at home, which is still how I feel about existence to this day. 

Being a student in Mr Dangerfield's class felt like just that, a danger field; risk, exposure, uncertainty. Even his name was scary. Surely this giant man will do nothing to comfort my grief-stricken heart. And he didn't, though he was a nice person who never gave me cause to eye him with the suspicion I carried for him. On two occasions he looked past my unwillingness to speak to him and help me fix my broken glasses and open a fruit cup that had defeated me. Each time I collected my belongings from him and went back to my seat without acknowledging his help. If anything, I was the cause for suspicion. 

I do have to take points away for his impromptu musical performances. He played a guitar and would sing one of about three songs, but most commonly he selected, "Puff The Magic Dragon." He'd put a lot of emphasis on "puff" and then would speed through to get to "dragon." It went like this, "PUFF! themagic DRAgon, lived BYYY thesea." I eventually warmed up to having a man teacher and viewed him as a big fourth grader himself. We all just existed in that room together. I don't remember anyone getting in trouble or getting too excited. The only memory I have about the fourth grade was my curiosity of having a man teacher. 

What made me think of the fourth grade, you ask? Well I'm not sure. It was my scariest year of elementary school because of my aversion to grown men, apparently. I imagine that Mr. Dangerfield, in real life, is a gentle soul, what with teaching small children for a living and playing soft music on such an amiable instrument. He must have a good sense of humor and a lot of patience. It's a shame I was so hard on him. 

I mean look at my outfit. Who was I to judge?

Tumbleweaves

Mornings look different these days compared to how they looked back when I wrote this post. Brett and I may or may not get up at the same time and I likely won't eat breakfast unless Brett wants breakfast badly enough to make it himself. The pups sleep in these days and Brett tries to get an hour of reading in before he goes into the sunny room to clock in. But one morning ritual has withstood the test of quarantine. Brett and I still have our coffee chats about any and everything before we start our day. Admittedly, some mornings I sleep through coffee hour or Brett's book is too good to put down. These are the new luxuries of having nowhere to be so it's easy to let them slide. But most mornings we choose a chair and settle in to discuss the day ahead, the blunders of the day before, politics, cuisine, weird dreams, dogs, etc. 

This morning we both discovered that we had school dreams which led us to tales of high school heros and bullies and general idiots. Brett went to a private prep school in Charlotte called Country Day. The local public school kids and subsequent arch-rivals called it Country Gay. Brett told me about a friend who had some high ranking in the class who went to Stanford and then became a Navy Seal. I told him how we had so many girl fights in school that there were tumbleweeds of hair weaves in most of the hallways. Tumbleweaves. 

Brett graduated with 108 kids who all headed off to esteemed colleges and universities. I graduated in a class of 240 who's destinations could be grouped into tech school, state school, or straight to the construction site. My two hour drive to college in Savannah was one of the more farfetched fates. Only six us left the state. Dream big, kids.

Brett played lacrosse. He won't tell you but he was quite good at it, though it took such a distance to get those long legs to reach their max acceleration that Brett was described as "the sloth"- a player that was "deceptively slow." One time, Brett got knocked in the head and had a concussion. Unbeknownst to anyone else, the play continued and while all the other players ran across the field, Brett woke up and staggered around and ran the wrong way and tripped over his feet. His coach yelled, "Eisenhauer! Get your thumb out of your ass!"

Meanwhile I had a brief stint as a flag twirler. I didn't want to do it but one of Ellen's bossy friends needed people to go to tryouts - something about the school only renewing the flag twirling team if a certain number of people were interested. I agreed to go to tryouts but I would not join the team. Well I'll tell ya, I was born to twirl. My command of the flag was astounding. I could toss it, flip it, roll it across the back of my hand and then whip'er back with a flap flap flap in a grand crescendo of ostentation. Unfortunately I made the team, so I politely attended a few practices and then bowed out before the first football game performance. Everyone knew the flag twirling girls were bimbos. It was only the beginning of their long careers with poles.

Here is Big Tan Lu and her petite blonde friends in 2007.

And here is little Shaved-head Brett in 2006.

In 2006 Brett and his Dad actually came to Charleston to go to Jump Little Children's last concert in a tiny theater downtown. Ari and I were also at that concert, probably just a few rows over, and Brett and I like to think about just how close we were to our spouses without knowing it. 

Hiding from Folks

When I was in college I spent an inordinate amount of time hiding from people.
(With this post comes completely unrelated photographs of SCAD friends.) (Like this one...)

Oddly enough, I was constantly finding myself in compromising situations so I would simply tuck myself away and pretend it wasn’t true. I would also flee from folks I didn’t like or worse, those pesky “school ambassadors” who invite you to cringe worthy campus events and then hold you accountable. “Where were you?” they’d ask suspiciously, as if they couldn’t fathom my distaste for organized fun. My second year R.A. was particularly overzealous with invitations and would make up nonexistent events to get me to go out with him.

“Are y’all going to the BBQ thing?” I’d ask Jared and Parv.

“What BBQ thing?” Jared would ask.

“You know, they’re doing BBQ at the park along the riv...”

“That’s not a thing.” Parv would interrupt. “It’s just your creepy R.A.”

Parv loved my encounters with Creepy R.A. (that’s what she called him and not really behind his back either.) and was delighted to hear that he came to my rescue when my smoke alarm went off. One time I locked myself out of my room and had to get him to let me back in. I found it disconcerting that he had a master key to every room and occasionally I’d check the shower before bed. It cost $25 to be let back into your room (don’t get me started on SCAD SCAMs) and Creepy R.A. told me he wouldn’t make me pay if I gave him a hug.  

So I hugged that jackass and told this tale to Parv and Jared with proud vigor, pleased that I had beat SCAD’s system. They listened patiently with smirks on their faces. I finished my rant and snuggled back down into my favorite chair at the coffee shop where we spent every Tuesday and Thursday night. Parv and Jared looked at each other and smiled.

“You know, Laura…” Jared said delicately.

Parv cut him off. “The first time you lock yourself out it’s free.”

On two separate occasions I hid from my roommates in my bed. It wasn’t that I was trying to hide but rather I was burrowed so far down into my bed that they didn’t see me and I realized very quickly, on both occasions, that they thought they were alone. So I laid still, hesitant to scare them or expose that I now know their secrets. The second time this happened, I woke up in my cocoon to the sound of juicy gossip between my girly roommate and her best friend. I laid there for an hour and a half, sweating up under all those blankets. I blew my cover by sliding my leg three inches to the left and both girls gasped and stopped talking. I immediately shut my eyes and pretended to sleep while they peered up over my covers to stare at me. They whispered about not knowing I was in here and then they packed their things and left.

Of all the time I spent hiding at SCAD, the most uncomfortable one took place in a parking lot. It was nighttime and all the malnourished eaters were leaving the school café and heading back to their rooms to endure their nightly stomach brawl. I was coming back from buying sculpting supplies and I parked my car in a dark corner, away from the crowd. While I gathered my things and turned off my car, I called Mom to chat and complain about life. About five minutes had passed when I noticed two kids walking towards the car next to mine. I assumed they were going to get in it so I turned my attention the other direction and continued chatting for a good half hour. When I finally hung up and turned to hop out of my car, I realized the couple was still standing there, between my door and their passenger door and they were doing some big time makin' out.

I experienced instant discomfort and sat motionless with bugged eyes and a hideous grin. I couldn’t open my car door without whacking the pair. I started going over my options and working on something clever but understandable to tell them when they glare at me like the unintentional voyeur I had become. While I worked this out in my mind, the pair got closer and closer and within moments were leaning entirely on my car door. I was trapped. I struggled to not laugh but l also got super anxious. What do I do? I’d been sitting in a dark car for half an hour. I can’t suddenly jump out now. What if the girl opens her eyes and sees me looking back at her? So I did what any normal person would do.
I climbed into the back seat and laid down on the floor.

I remember texting Jared and telling him to come pretend to get into my car but he never responded. So I laid across that bump on the floor in the back seat for a good 25 minutes. And I felt extra creepy emerging from the backseat of my car in an abandoned parking lot.

"I hate this place." I muttered to myself, hauling a bag of plaster mix back up to my room.

Celebratory Things

You know, I really did "graduate" this weekend. Sure I skipped the ceremony but those are painful anyways. Dad was very pleased with my skipping all the hoopla. "Didn't want to sit through it anyways" he said. Mom however was quite put out with me about it. To ease her sorrows I told her I would prance around in the backyard in a white dress and let her take pictures. She has yet to make me do this but I know better. Just when I start to get comfortable she's going to whip out the camera and make me "dance monkey dance!!!"

To celebrate my exoneration, I had everyone over for a big, Dad-made, Lebanese feast. 

I'd been talking up all this ethnic food for so long that I finally had to show these white folk what they're missin'. I say that knowing full well that I am a white folk. It was most delicious though and everyone seemed to like it. 

I do believe I've not yet told you about Pig, a dice game Dad has become fixated on. He picked it up on a trip to Florida and has since made score cards and a felt-bottomed, pig-shaped, wooden rolling tray to make the game even more of an aesthetic treat. After dinner he forced us to play a few rounds. Everyone seemed to enjoy it.

As a final note on official celebratory things, look... it really did happen.

Well That Was Irritating

 I'm free now. I've waited years for this. Apart from maybe beekeeping, zip-line operation, or foreign language, I don't intend to ever take a class again.

Oh Hello Real World. I'd heard you existed...

One More

This coming Tuesday is my last day of school. I have to read a story to my class and then I can leave.  This is all oddly anti-climactic. Isn't something extraordinary supposed to come falling from the sky and land at my feet? Shouldn't people be enthralled with my ability to make it through college? Should I not be on the cover of People Magazine?

I didn't think so. I remain apathetic about this ending, as though I've finally made it to the counter after a lengthy line at the DMV or perhaps boarding a perpetually delayed flight to Orangeburg. Perhaps I'm too preoccupied with my jobs and trip planning to notice any extraordinary details. You know what I've been thinking about?

Bougainvillea

Greece is covered in Bougainvillea. It's the only color around besides their bright blue doors. It grows best in hot places and it's one of my favorite plants. I've read that there are a bunch of different varieties and in Brazil it grows an almost neon purple color.

...and look how nice the green ivy leaves look next to pale red brick.

Should I be more concerned? I feel like I need to write something at least mildy profound about my college experience and what I've learned and blah blah. To be honest, I've felt very detached from the whole process since day 1. 

I was flat out angry when Mom and Dad dumped me out in front of my dorm in Savannah. "Can't believe they left me here." I muttered to myself, slinging my one bag over my shoulder and hiking it up the stairs to my room, passing people I considered to be children that were excited about this new "adventure". Mentally I was a thousand miles away, climbing mountains in New Zealand, kayaking off an island in South America, or living with foreign friends in Italy -picking olives and learning Italian. Yes, I can laugh at this but nevertheless, it was true. I spent my time in class figuring out the fastest way to get my work done so that I could go to sleep, making the next day come faster. This would bring me one day closer to the weekend whereupon I would drive home and seek refuge from the college experience on my rickety, wooden dock. 

I dreaded going back a second year. I still didn't care about memorizing fun facts. Perhaps if I had a goal or a job I wanted I would have enjoyed learning about it and working towards a specific future. But you know, the future's gonna show up whether I'm working for it or not. My bills will only increase, my ability to eat recklessly will fade, life will age my face, and I'll learn what I need as I go. College doesn't change that.

I've caused such a stink about this whole college thing that I'll be really embarrassed if it pays off. I need it to all have been for nothing or else I'm going to look foolish. I'm not doctor material. I'm not a scientist or a lawyer or even a business person. I'm laura. I like plants and sunshine. I'd rather cook for you than try to figure supply and demand for the newest ringing technological irritant. I'd rather we go sit outside for a while. 

So Congratulations Laura! You can frame the most expensive piece of paper you can never doodle on. You can hang it in your house for all to see. You can put "BFA" next to your name and scoff knowingly at people's tales of dorm food, roommates, and know-it-all professors. 

I know I sound like a jerky kid. I'm sorry. And who knows what will happen. Maybe one day the lightbulb will go off and it will all make sense to me. But for now...I think I'll go for a walk...

Union's Lately

Oh so much has happened since I last updated you. Yes, I know and I don't intend to continue with my lengthy gaps between posts. Which brings me to my first point. Actually, I'll get to that in a minute. But first, look how lovely things are around here...

It finally feels like Spring after such a harsh week of winter we had two weeks ago. I'm tickled to see the azaleas and am impatiently waiting for the jasmine. That's the best part. 

In Union news, Dad has boycotted desserts, found a new bike, planted a garden, and begun letting Buddy out to run free through the night and hope he shows up again in the morning. On account of my lacking journalism you wouldn't know that Baxter went missing for one week and one day. Mom has been quite distressed about this and finally put up two cardboard signs. Baxter promptly returned the next morning, talking and purring, and having no interest in his Meow Mix. We believe he was being harbored as a fugitive in some old folk's home. Mom has also been on a Spring Cleaning rampage, relocating things and finding balls of Buddy hair. She insists we look at the balls of hair. I'm not sure why.

Ellen has finally closed on her house and moved in all of her crap and cats. It's a cute little place that I'll give you a tour of once she hangs pictures. Ellen had lofty goals when she first moved in. "I'm going to plant a garden here, some flowers here, I want to put this here...". She saw a wasp the other day and has since turned her back on gardening of any kind. She is enjoying working for Mr. CnU and sometimes gets to ride around in the car with the boss. On occasion he brings her home for lunch and she gets so excited to see us that she is shocked and dejected when he stuffs her back into the car 10 minutes later to go back to the office. On account of her new house being only 3 minutes away, Ellen has been showing up for dinner fairly regularly and even staying for a round or two of Shanghai- if there is ice cream involved. 

Mom cleaned off the patio for our first meal outside.

Mom forbids me the publishing of her "old" face. 

In Laura news, well let me tell you. I finally broke down an had one of those milkshakes. Just knowing there are magical gems of ice cream blobs like that just right next door to my oversized desk is both a heartbreaking and riveting thing. I have not yet assessed how I will coexist with this knowledge as I now crave the icy chill of that first drop of frozen cream on my hot tongue, the bewilderment of finding a perfectly sized chunk of Oreo cookie just waiting to be crushed between my teeth and carried delicately down my throat. Gosh I'm drooling a little. 

I have approximately one-ish week of school left. I am oddly calm about the whole thing and simply feel as though I have a week until Spring Break or something equally as inconsequential. This does not feel like the end and while I am more than tickled that it's almost over, I feel no sense of relief or accomplishment. I have however decided to sell my Graduation tickets for flight booking purposes. People pay a lot of money for those things. I told Dad this is the only money I will ever make off college. I have also decided that instead of Graduation I would like everybody to go to the beach for sunshine, burgers, and a celebratory margarita. You're all welcome to come.

I have one more drawing, two more paintings, and a "reading performance" to partake in before I'm finished. I have the day off today which has not happened since February 2nd- not that I'm counting. The Boone Hall strawberries are here and ready for picking and the Mt. Pleasant housewives are redecorating for Spring. Busy stuff. 

As for today, I've decided to bake a carrot cake.

Negligible News

As of late I have kept myself busy with trivial school tasks and substantial social outings. My one and only note of importance; I finally received news on the Graduation front...

See the catch, if you successfully complete all course work currently in progress. Well I never! 

I'm very happy about this and have already found myself wondering if I'll miss school. HA!

I've also started attending my painting class. We actually have quite an exciting studio, up on the fourth floor of a building made of windows.

I frantically did this painting in one hour.

and that is because I recklessly stayed out late the night before. Allowing one of the friendly bartenders to give me a haircut on Surf Bar's back porch.

This seems like a bad idea I know, but he did a great job. And anyways, nothing can be worse than the haircut I let Jared give me with a pair of safety scissors one late night during my SCAD days.

Ari and I have continued to follow around our musical friends, singing songs and meeting new folks at every gig. We're groupies now. It's thrilling.

Basically I have no news. Ellen is about to close on her house, forcing me to move my all my crap once again. I am secretly pleased that I have to work all weekend so that I might miss out on the excessive heavy lifting and painting of the new place. It's a perfect excuse. Mom and Pops continue their daily activities and nighttime squabbling. Buddy has found a secret escape from the backyard and I often find him sitting in the road somewhere in the neighborhood when I come over. He knows the sound of my car and immediately sits down and hangs his head when my headlights shine into his eyes. It really makes me laugh. 

I must go now. I'm off for my Thursday. I wrote this post-tantrum mind you. Oh another day of cave dwelling. Did I tell you my drawing class is in a cave? Gosh it's dark in there. I hate it. 

I HATE IT!!