Who says food can't be artistic?

Kyle made it yesterday for the students. I had it for lunch today. And how lovely.

Wednesday night.

The dryer's running.

Great Big Sea is playing on my Zen.

I vacuumed.

It's much nicer in here now.

I should be working on things tonight.

But I decided vacuuming was a higher priority.

Then I blogged.

Not here.

In secret places.

I don't tell you everything.

Not because I don't love you.

But because some things are just mine.

For now at least.

Bennet.,

Bennet's next to me.

She's trying to type.

She typed the ., next to her name, and then started a new line.

She's cute.

I'm glad she's here.

She makes me happy.

I'm a month from my end of AmeriCorps service.

And I'm scared.

I need a job.

I want a job doing what I love.

What I love is creating.

Organizing.

Planning events.

Formatting documents.

Making lists.

And helping people.

Even if it's indirectly.

I like nonprofits and community organizations.

I want to work for one.

In Austin.

So I need a job with a nonprofit in Austin.

If you know anybody up there, I'd like to know about it.

Please don't tell them about this blog though.

If they used this post as a writing sample, I'd never get a job.

That's what I'm most afraid of.

Walking away from here unemployed.

How would I pay my bills?

How would I pay rent?

How would I feed my Benne-Boo?

Being an adult is scary sometimes.

I guess being a kid is scary for some people.

I had a pretty good life.

My parents had jobs.

We weren't well-off.

But we did okay.

A lot of people aren't okay right now.

It seems like too much to ask to want to do something I like.

Rather than just something that pays the bills.

Maybe I'm selfish.

Maybe I'm just human.

It's Mazlow's hierarchy.

I'm hanging out at the top.

I want fulfillment.

Fulfillment and a paycheck.

Yeah, both would be great.

Much love from Texas,

Carolyn (and Bennepupster)

He's Just Not That Into...Her?

When I got a dog, I knew I'd have to share my bed and my room and my life. But my books? That's taking it a little far.

You can't blame the girl, though. She and Zebra had a thing at the dog park, but he never calls anymore. Maybe the move to Houston is just an excuse. Maybe he really is just not that into her.


Okay, I admit it: I turned the book to face her. But I didn't put it under her. She laid herself across it in protest that I took her toy away. I merely saw and seized a prime photo opportunity. Don't judge.

Is it July now?

Sometimes I like to make lists. Tonight I'll share one with you.

1. I spent four hours watching Firefly this evening. Four hours. Finished the series. Watched some special features while waiting for people to come watch with me. Had a view of Nathan Fillion's bare arse.

If you're not familiar with the show, here's the gist: Nine wayward souls in a universe part John Wayne, part Star Trek who come together on the good ship Lollipop Serenity to face all sorts of adventures, some of which end well and some of which end with Captain Mal Reynolds left naked in the desert. It ran not quite a full season back in 2002 before being canceled, but apparently there was such an uproar from fans that a movie was made to close out the story. I'll be watching that next.

This is one of my favorite scene progressions. Enjoy.


2. I've had no semblance of a real schedule since returning from Michigan on Wednesday. I guess it was technically Thursday by the time I got home, thanks to a delayed flight. So the last four days have come and gone, my schedule, plans, and activities fluctuating with my moods. I haven't run, my avoidance of grocery shopping means I've been scavenging for food and eating horribly, and I'm up way too late this evening typing this ridiculous list for you to read. Surprisingly enough, I actually have been exceptionally productive at work, even spending several hours reading Spanish text aloud to myself as I formatted it into our Parish Emergency Planning guide (guia, except w/ an accent on the i).

3. While waiting for my delayed flight and flying across a darkened country, I read half of the rather thick novel "The Time Traveler's Wife." Excellently written, incredibly imaginative and well-thought-out. A little too much graphic sex (you know, even in a novel with a fictional couple...I just don't need to know some things) and the never-ending question of circular logic that tends to get mixed into time travel: Henry meets Clare while she is a child, thus she grows up knowing and loving him, thus she marries him, thus he goes into her childhood because he loves her. Where does it actually begin? There's no real cause-and-effect in time travel, and it bugs me. Nevertheless, I'm a sucker for a love story. I want to see the movie.

4. I picked up "He's Just Not That Into You" from Goodwill for $.99 today. I've heard it's excellent. I enjoyed the movie. I anticipate it to be an irreverent, hilarious, and brutally honest examination of the relationships between men and women. And perhaps one day, when all the men I know are not well, all the men I currently know here in Texas (sorry guys...she's just not that into you), the lessons I learn will come in handy as I sit on the sofa with my hands clasped in anticipation waiting for that swell guy to call for a date. I'll let you know how it goes.

5. Neither of the aforementioned books are on "The List." But given my rate of consumption for the acclaimed novels on The List, I didn't figure it would hurt that much to veer away from classics for a spell. Besides, I was in the middle of reading an approved List book en route from Houston to Atlanta a couple of weeks ago, and apparently left it on the plane. This being the book that I shouldn't even have checked out given the $8.50 fine currently standing on my account (the library ladies were doing me a favor...shame on them). I need to go in tomorrow with a remorseful expression and my checkbook out to remedy this situation. In the meantime, I'll read novels and self-help books that I own and can't feel nearly so bad about losing.

6. I have important news this week, but you have to wait for it. You can guess if you want to. Note #4 above to mean that it's probably not about a guy, and I'll tell you right now it's not about a job (speaking of which...I need to get back on the application wagon. I didn't even go to Mod today).

7. One last thing, because I just remembered it. I was nearly in a car wreck today, because a woman decided it was okay to make a left turn at a green light. Thank God for my brakes. It was like everything slowed down, and my brain kept asking, "Will we stop before we hit that very large SUV with our very small Cavalier?"

It was terrifying, but we didn't even tap. However, as I crawled through the intersection, my heart pounding, the other vehicle pulled over, the driver got out, and was inspecting her car while on the phone. With no collision, t wasn't actually an accident, but not being sure if she was reporting it or something (and knowing that it was 100% not my fault), I drove over and pulled in next to her. Quick chat about the cars - everybody and everything was okay. But then, in poetic irony, given that Luke has been telling me where the Seawall is located in regular intervals since I met him more than a year ago, she looked at me an asked, "How do I get to the Seawall?"

Yeah, it's an island. It isn't that hard to find. Oh, and go away and don't kill anybody on the way.

8. My puppy is passed out on the end of my bed, which means it's probably night-night time for this lady as well. So I bid you all a good-night.


Much love from Texas,

C-Jo

Houston, we have landed.

I'm back.

My eight days in Michigan are nearly over.

Three years ago, I moved to Ann Arbor, MI. I had just finished my junior year of college, and wanted to spend the summer near friends. Late in April, I packed the contents of my dorm room into my car and headed northeast to my temporary home, without a single inkling of what I was getting myself into.

That first summer, I fell in love. Not with a boy, but with a town. A culture. A way of life.

From the homeless guy who parades around downtown in women's clothing (and not even tasteful women's clothing at that) to the Mr. T look-alike I once passed on a run, it's full of hippies and intellectuals and geeks and nerds (they're not the same) and engineers and philosophers and wealthy folk and poor folk, who all, for the most part, get along because they they're part of the fabric of the city.


I liked that. I liked the freedom to be whoever it was you wanted to be. And just three months after I moved away, I moved back. I had my own place this time, a tiny apartment on a hill. I found an amazing church, and a small group that I adored. I learned the art of walking everywhere, while leaving my car buried under snowdrifts in the parking lot. I laughed (a lot), I cried (dumb boys), and I grew up a little.

And then I left for a new adventure.

Tonight I traced a path I took a thousand times that first summer in the city, from Ingalls Mall where I'd been watching a movie on a big blow-up screen to Lawrence Street where I'd lived in a rickety house with five other girls. This time, I didn't walk into the house. I simply got in my car and drove away.

The truth is, Ann Arbor isn't my home anymore. Sure, there are people I love there, and it's been wonderful these past few days to be around them, enjoying their company. But the day I turned in the keys to my tiny apartment on a hill, I surrendered my claim on the city.

Before this, I didn't know how attached a person could be to a place. I never was all that fond of my hometown. Ann Arbor is different.

It's where I locked my keys into my bedroom and had to wait nearly 24 hours before management would come and open it up. Where I learned to despise the show 24, having to to drag Gina away from episodes on DVD in order to maintain our friendship. Where Siew and I became friends bonded by not just height but mutual appreciation, and where Amanda and I got to know each other beyond being Gina's respective friends. Where I first started to run and began to consider the possibilities of my strength. Where I played MarioKart until 5am with Siew, Brandon, and Frank. Where KP shot Frank from two feet away with an airsoft gun and Frank screamed words I never thought I'd hear him say. Where Siew and I discovered the joys of homemade monkey bread -- and the benefits of making it in a house full of boys.

Ann Arbor is where I entertained several crushes, started a relationship, and had my heart broken. It's where I discovered just how many people CAN fit into a 350 square foot apartment. It's where I broke trespassing laws (no further comment on that one), and where I found out that friends with (limited) benefits is more complicated than it sounds. Where I learned to appreciate the taste of alcohol (for better or worse), and the art of letterboxing. Where I joined/formed a secret dinner party club with Chris, Katie, and Dave, and developed some pretty fantastic friendships along the way. Where I met an Olympic runner, and discovered they're human too. And where I learned to love football...University of Michigan football, that is (GO BLUE!).

Tomorrow evening I'll board a plane bound for Houston. I don't know if or when I'll be back. But about 1500 miles from where I sit tonight, a little white puppy is waiting for me. I really miss her furry little face, and though I'll miss this place, the memories, and the people who made it so great, I think I'm ready to head home.

Re: Dear Monday Evening

My blog-friend Amy Beth posted this evening a series of letters to friends, acquaintances, and puppies alike. She might have suggested in one (or three) that Northerners are rude, demonstrated by an unfortunate incident in my beloved Great Lakes State. And, as I am Michigan-born and Michigan-raised, and currently typing this from a little house in that particular state, I felt it my duty to defend its honor:


Dear Amy Beth,

I'm very sorry that the woman in a diner in my home state did not return your toast-prompted "thank you" with a sincere and smiling "you're welcome." You are right, even us Northern girls are taught better than that.

I would like to note that while you Southern belles think we might be rude in some of our actions, we are simply acting in a matter appropriate and polite to the Northern culture. For example: no little Michigan boy is going to call you ma'am. Speaking from experience, some of us are taught that it is downright rude to use that particular  conjunction in deference to ladies, whether older or younger.

You might see it as devaluing a lady, but au contrare. Up here, we know that our women are strong and confident. We value them not only wives and mothers, but as leaders and individuals who contribute to all levels of society. My tiny little alma mater was a front-runner in offering higher education for women; no person of any gender, race or ethnicity was barred from enrollment, even in 1859 when the school was founded. Young, old, male, female, black, white, or blue, most of us Northerners believe that everyone is deserving of equal respect.

For us, this equality sometimes means overlooking those traditional terms of respect. Why should a plumber defer to a lawyer with words like "sir?" They're both human beings, after all. One is no better than the other. And a man may not think about opening a car door for a woman -- not because he does not love or honor her, but because he knows that she's capable of opening a door, and not so dainty as to worry about soiling herself on the handle. Truth be told, there's quite a number of women who actually prefer to do these things themselves.

I have to admit, there are those of us who enjoy the whimsy and romance of having a car door opened for us. And there are those gentleman who are happy to fulfill our whims. And there are those of us who recognize the Southerner inside, and have relocated to the South or the near-South. Though I'm still not sure the Texans have figured out what to do with my loud, brash, non-deferring ways. I guess you can take the girl out of Michigan, but you just can't take Michigan out of the girl.

I hope that I have helped you to understand the unique culture of the North. And thank you for helping me to see the conceived notions some may have of us.

Give my love to Snuggles y Cuddles.

Loudly, shamelessly, and respectfully,

Carolyn Jo

P.S. My apologies for the length of this reply. One more thing us Northerners often aren't is concise. Or maybe that's just me.

Take me out to the ballgame, take me out to the crowd....

Go Tigers!

(And just so you know, they won!)