Rule of thumb: if you're closer to my dad's age than mine, you're too old.

Sometimes I wonder if God is just playing a joke on me with my love life. Something along the lines of, "Well, since Carolyn's single and all, I'll just send her a few eligible young...well, I mean, um...interesting men to ask her out. Tehe. Hehehe."

I'm not kidding.

First there was the license plate incident (see #6) of a year ago, and the young kid (we're talking MAYBE 20) who told me to add him on Facebook so that he could "maybe make my day some other time" back in February. Then, after the tire rim occurrence of Saturday, I was asked to coffee this evening by a gentleman on a motorcycle.

Now, before you go thinking, "Hmm...girls do like guys on bikes," allow me to elucidate upon the matter:

I came upon this gentleman while walking Bennet. He was stopped at a green light, and waiting for the 2nd coming of Christ to cross the intersection, for all I could tell. He started talking to me, which is not all that unusual. There's something about being out with the cutest little dog in all of Texas that seems to make me approachable. So Mr. Motorcycle, who is rather old and balding and not all that attractive makes it quite clear that he's not intending to cross the road, so I do (I'm not terribly patient with lights).

But he continues to talk to me. Halfway across the street, he asks me a riddle: "How do you catch a unique rabbit?"

If I had ignored him, that would have been very rude.

And so I stopped and waited for the answer: "Unique up on it."

(Say it out loud. It makes more sense.)

Then he asked me another riddle: "What do you call a hundred rabbits in a row taking a step backwards?"

Are you ready for this?

Come on now, I had to go through it. You can join in my misery for a moment.

It's a "Receding hare line."

Har. Har. Har.

THEN Mr. Motorcycle, who had rolled around the corner and sidled his bike up to the edge of the sidewalk to tell me the answer to that last joke, said to me, "Now you might make my day," (oh, how I'm beginning to hate that line), and proceeded to ask if I was married.

I said no, and played it off. I thought he was joking. You know, the old-man-asking-a-young-girl-to-marry-him-because-it's-cute sort of thing.

No. He proceeded to then prattle on in all earnestness, telling me his name (John?), about his work (he's an electrician) and why he's here (working on the hospital repairs), and how he found this nice little place to rent just around the corner (11th & something), and Oh, wouldn't I have coffee with him sometime so he could introduce himself?

(Didn't you just do that?)

Mildly horrified, I mumbled "No thank you" and then had to repeat it louder a second time. I followed it with some excuse about how Bennet and I had to keep running, turned, and dashed up the sidewalk, praying he wasn't following me.

I didn't mean to be rude, really.

But how the devil was I supposed to respond to that?

The good news is that I saved ten dollars.

There are two parking spaces in front of our house, but you'll seldom find my car there. Somehow I always end up parking across the street or around the corner. It never really bothers me, but when I am so privileged as to find one of these premier spaces open, I get a little excited.

Like yesterday; we all were late coming home from work, and despite leaving the office at 5:40, I was the first to pull up.

Reveling in my good timing, I pulled in to secure my place in front of the house.

Did I say pulled in?

I'm sorry; I mean I slammed in. Because I apparently didn't turn far enough, fast enough. And my bumper/tire collided with the massive curb in front of our house. There was a loud, crunchy smack and my car reeled from the impact. I jumped out and couldn't figure out what the big deal was; it didn't look all that bad. And I was awkwardly angled into the street, so I hopped back in to set about straightening it out.

It was a little tricky.

Because my tire was flat.

Somehow I managed to not only put a rather large dent in my bumper, I also bent my tire rim.

It's no big deal, really. I haven't replaced two tires, a serpentine belt, and a battery on top of dealing with one other flat in the past month or so. NO problem.

So I did what any rational 20-something woman would do: I called my mom.

Luke pulled up when I was on the phone (or maybe it was while I was readjusting from my collision - it's all a blur). He looked at the tire, then at me, smirked a little and pulled a tire iron out of his own car. You know, just in case I wanted help.

I refused to deal with it last night, so Luke helped put on my spare this morning, and off I drove (slowly, with great caution) to Firestone.

They're going to know me by name at that place before too long. It's great though; it's right across the street from West Isle Urgent Care, my other frequent hangout. I'm a one-stop shopping kind of girl.

Even though today required two stops. Firestone doesn't stock rims. So they sent me around the corner to a shady-looking garage with a young mechanic who kept calling me "mama" and teasing me ("No no, the curb jumped out and hit YOU, not the other way around.").

They had a rim, and he sold it to me for ten dollars less than it should have been ("Well, normally it's forty, but I'm going to give it to you for thirty."). In 15 minutes, I was fixed up and on my way. I didn't even have to replace the tire I bought a little over a month ago.

So that was pretty cool.

And I'm never parking in front of the house again.

Sick. Again. Fail.

I was up late last night. As I was changing for bed, I got a chill, and it didn't leave me for more than an hour. I spent forty minutes shivering in bed, wanting to get up and put on more clothes (despite already wearing sweats and having two blankets on myself), but not wanting to leave the relative warmth of what I had.


Finally I dragged myself up, pulling my blankets with me. I put on socks and a hoodie, then plodded downstairs to ask if anybody had any tylenol to kill what I suspected to be a fever. Maggie got up and checked my forehead - not warm. She told me to go take a hot hot shower and to jump right into warm pjs when I got out.


That shower felt so good, I didn't want to leave it. I spent quite a while in there, then hesitatingly climbed out, bundled back up, and went back downstairs. She handed me a mug of hot tea (sorry, Blood:Water....it was necessary), and I sipped it for a while, then went back upstairs to cuddle back up in bed. With an third blanket. In Texas. In March.


So this morning when I got up, though my teeth were no longer chattering, I was still lethargic. I spent the morning working from home, which went surprisingly well. Normally "working" from home means hardcore nap time. But I fiddled around with some documents I'm working on, decided I made them worse, did some other research, and finally decided at noon that I needed to go into the office.


Where I am now.


Where I should be doing work instead of blogging.


You win some, you lose some.


Proof that I'm at least partially working: The 2010 hurricane season is going to be a doozy. 12-15 named storms, 3-5 major hurricanes.


I'm going to go write about that now.

These are the nights that I love.

Miss Bennet is currently nesting herself in my clean laundry. I probably shouldn't let her do that (and probably should put it away), but in all fairness, I did drop it on her bed.

Yes, she has her own bed.

It's actually a double stack of extra mattresses, and they happen to be in a corner of my room. So she took them over. It just also makes a great landing spot for my yet-unfolded-a-week-after-washing laundry.

I meant to fold it earlier today, but didn't. I meant to do a lot of things today, on my day off. But I didn't. I didn't renew my license or finish filing my taxes or read The Great Gatsby, all of which were on my mental to-do list.

But I did take Bennet for a loooooooooooooong walk which has resulted in both of us being rather quiet and sleepy this evening. And I bought garbage bags. And unloaded the dishwasher. And I went through half a stack of fitness and health magazines to compile a notebook of workouts and inspiration.

And I started a couple more loads of laundry. Which I should probably finish and put away before somebody nestles in them too.

Fact: Water is good.

Today is day 16 of 40 Days of Water. I haven't had coffee in 17 days. Two and a half weeks.

But it's cool. I don't miss it. Seriously.


I've learned a lot, even in just one third of the whole experience:



One:
Coffee is optional.


Yes, you read that right. We're dependent upon it because we've caused ourselves to be. We believe (with some help from advertisers and the Starbucks generation) we can't focus without it, can't function without it, and (most of all) can't be pleasant without it.

And nobody wants a cranky us. Though it's not us, it's the deficiency speaking.

So we drink it. And then we DO need it because chemicals are funny like that.



Two: Non-Caffeinated Carolyn = Happy Carolyn.

It's strangely freeing to look the coffee bar in the face and say, "Psh. I don't need you." Even better, there are no jitters, no caffeine sweats, and no crash when the drug wears off.



Three: Coffee habits are expensive.

Okay, so most of the time my lattes are free, courtesy of Willie T's. But then there's that day off, when I just might wander down to Mod. Or that night we go to the bar, and I buy a round 'cause other people bought a round, which included me. Or when I'm stressed and drop by McDonald's for a sweet tea and fries. Or I'm lazy and drop by McDonald's for coffee because I don't feel like making my own at the office.

It should be noted that this is not money that I should be spending on unnecessary drinks. But I do. Frequently. Which results in a $43.29 total on my 40 Days tracking page just two weeks in.



Four: Everything I do or buy has an impact.

Last weekend I went through my closet, purging good intentions and poor decisions alike. The result was a basket of clothes that I'll be taking to Goodwill very soon.

As I pulled each piece, I wondered what would have happened if I just hadn't bought it in the first place. Would I have had $10 more? Would I have given a little more to the offering plate, or not felt so guilty as I passed it along because I knew I spent all my money on me? Would I have kept that charge off my credit card, where it accumulates interest and costs me far more? Would I have used that money to buy lunch for a friend, or to buy a little gift for my World Vision child?

By sacrificing some of the luxuries that I've grown accustomed to, I can do so much better for myself AND for the world.





What about you? Did you give up anything for Lent, or for life? What have you learned?

Setting the stage for greatness. Or at least doing things.

I have a table.

It came from work, and I often used it when I needed to escape my normal three-person office in search of a quiet place. It turned out that Kyle wanted to get rid of it. And I wanted it. So that was that.

For a long while it's just been hanging out in our entry way. I wanted to do something with it, to paint it, but I didn't have the time (or the go-get-em). Back in January I started working on it, but I didn't get more than one coat of primer on the top before setting it aside again.

But that wasn't the end. Eventually I do finish some projects, and early this week I applied the final coat of lacquer.

It was done.

Lacquer is really smelly, though. So it sat outside for a day. I'd rather not sacrifice brain cells for beautiful furniture.

It looks fantastic, and I'd show you a picture if 1) my camera wasn't super duper dead and 2) it wasn't already covered in stuff.

Like really covered.

With things like CDs and candles and fedoras and other unfinished projects.

And my computer.

Where I'm now typing.

I'm super excited; this table will be a place to write, to blog, and to sew.

Which means maybe I will actually do all three of those things.

Much love from Tejas,

C-Jo

It's been a long night.

I'm exhausted.

Tonight I called my mom, crying, while Bennet ran around in the street, and told her that I was thinking about taking my little dog to the pound.

I had just watched her nearly collide with a moving car, and I couldn't bear the thought of watching my dog die. Taking her to find a new family seemed a far better option.

I've been thinking about it for a while, wondering if I'm really the best family she could have. Wondering if I made a mistake back in October, when I impetuously hopped in my car and drove to Cypress to pick up the little white furball who'd stolen my heart with just a photograph.

And tonight when she wouldn't come, when she ran further and further from me, I lost it.

Less than a year ago, my Shacky was hit by a car and died. She was like Bennet; she hated being caged. In so many respects she was the best dog you could have asked for, but no modification to the fence around her yard could contain her.

My parents called me to tell me the bad news, and I cried for hours that night.

Tonight, watching my less-than-a-year-old puppy stand in the street with cars approaching at various speeds, my heart shattered. For the little black lab that my dad put into my arms when she was just a tiny puppy. And for the white terrier-schnauzer-God-only-knows-what mix that I brought home of my own accord.

The thing is, I don't know what I'd do without her. In five months I've adjusted my entire life to being a puppy mom. She pounces on me in the morning to wake me up, and snuggles beside me when we fall asleep at night.

So instead of dropping her off at the Humane Society, I bought a long chain, one that reaches all the way to the door, so that there's no excuse for not hooking it to her collar.

I hate putting a dog on a chain. I hate that she can't roam freely in the yard.

But it's the only way to keep her from roaming freely outside the yard.

We're still figuring this thing out, Miss Bennet and I. We're still figuring out how to live together, how to be the best duo we can be. More often than not, I feel inadequate to properly care for her. And more often than not, she responds to my concerns by climbing in my lap and licking my nose.

I guess we'll be okay.

But thank God for dog chains.

And for my mom.