pup
pup
Tuesday, January 7, 2014
Today at work I...
Today at work I went out for a quick lunch to a local sandwich shop. I pulled into the crowded parking lot at about noon with the lunchtime rush in full swing. As I crept through the lot, I spotted a nearby car backing out of a space. That car and I traded places and I quickly determined that I was parked awkwardly in the spot. I reversed and re-parked perfectly between the lines. As I gathered my things to head into the restaurant, my phone rang. It was my mom. I placed my purse back onto the passenger seat. These calls usually lasted a few minutes.
I had immersed myself in conversation when suddenly my car was jolted forward from behind. "What the hell!" I shouted into the phone. "Mom, someone just hit my car. I'll have to call you back." Although infuriated, I calmly got out of my car and walked around to the passenger side back bumper. Despite having pulled into the neighboring spot, the driver had yet to emerge from the car. I knelt down to assess the damage this reckless driver had inflicted on The Soul. The driver side door of this sporty white Mercedes slowly opened. It was not a person that emerged first, but an over-sized purse that was plopped onto the ground. Several seconds passed before a white-haired elderly woman slowly slid out of her car. Her attire was very Scottsdale. She was dressed in flowy white pants with a matching top, high heels, too much wrist bling, and big diamond earrings. She gathered her purse, closed her car door, and finally turned to find me kneeling beside my damaged car. "Oh!" she said very surprised, "I didn't think I hit it that hard." Is that why you've taken your sweet-ass time getting out of your car, hoping that anyone who may have seen what you just did has gone about their way? I'm not buying it!
"Well, you hit it pretty hard. I happened to be (unfortunately for you) sitting in my car when you hit it." The woman walked over to the back of my car as I rubbed the area where paint had been scraped from The Soul. "Are you sure that wasn't there before, sweetie," she asked patronizingly. I looked up at her through the gap between my sunglasses. "No. That was not there before." "In fact, this here is the paint from your car." I smudged the white paint from the side of my car and thrust it into her face. "Is there any damage to your car?" I asked. She walked over to the driver side door of her car and began running her hand over the smooth panel. "Nope, no damage," she responded passively. I could barely contain my anger. Seriously, lady!? "That's not where you hit,' I said as I walked to the front of her car. "This," I said pointing to the massive scrape on her fender, "is where you hit." "Oh, I did that pulling into my garage a few months ago," she said waving off the scratch. I couldn't believe she was continuing to deny what she'd done. "My paint is on your car!"
"Well, what do you want me to do?" the now angry woman snarled at me.
"Look lady, you ran into MY car. I'm not sure why you're getting so upset with me."
"Well, if it wasn't for the angry man behind me flicking me off as I tried pulling into the spot...! I'm here trying to get soup for my sick daughter," she said exasperatedly.
Well now I feel bad for you, so disregard the fact that you misjudged the parking spot by a LONG shot, slammed into the back of my car, and then tried to pretend nothing happened. No biggy.
"I'm going to need your information," I said with a smile.
As it turns out, Rose from New York is 82 years old. People from New York are infamous for being horrendous drivers, but mostly from an emotional standpoint. This woman was horrendous at navigating a simple turn into a parking spot at 3 miles per hour! Her license doesn't expire until 2019, so the parking lots of Scottsdale will remain unsafe for five more years. Be cautious.
Thursday, March 15, 2012
3/15 Today at work I...
Today at work I…
Went to Vegas and did some sports betting. I placed a $100 bet on a six-team parlay. You know, those types of bets that all of the stars have to align perfectly for you to win big. I bet on all of the college basketball games being played that day. 6 games, 12 teams, 6 winners. Five games had passed with luck on my side. I had correctly guessed all of the outcomes from those games.
Sitting in the sports book at my little station, vodka cranberry in hand, I watched glossy-eyed and skeptical as Duke entered its final minute against Auburn. I had Duke winning by 2 and they were down by 4 with 59.6 seconds to go. A 6-0 run had to happen in 59 seconds. Doubtful. Play resumes and within 10 seconds, Duke’s freshman stud sinks a 3-pointer. “Oh my sweet God.” Could it happen?
After the ball changes hands a few times within the next 30 seconds, Auburn finds themselves at the line with 2 free-throw. Clank! Off the front rim of the bucket. No good. Second shot… clank! Same exact shot! What a schmuck!
Duke rebounds, down 61 to 62 with 17 seconds on the clock. The teams move down the court where Auburn’s coverage seems to be impenetrable under the basket. Duke’s options begin to dwindle as the clock winds down. 10 seconds, 9 seconds, Duke passes furiously trying to open up a shot in the paint, or anywhere near the basket for that matter. 8…7…6 MY GOD, pass it out, pass it out!
Dukes hot-shot senior snakes his way around two defenders on the far right side of the court, moving behind the three-point line. A quick pass and the clock is down to 3 seconds…2… and then the ball floats in slow motion toward the basket. My heart is in my throat and I’m gripping the table so hard my hands are tingling. Before I can fully process it, my body takes over and I’m sprinting around the Sports Book, screaming and flailing my arms. I’m ripping the betting papers out of their plastic holders as I run by and flinging them into the air. Other patrons are high fiving me as my victory lap turns into excessive celebration. I circle back to my chair where I leap onto the seat and begin playing air guitar to the celebration music blaring from the TV where the players are still celebrating. I grab my bets and make my final athletic moves up to the counter. Slamming down the papers, I lean on the counter and hop up and down like a small rabbit. The bookie attendant, who has just watched my idiotic display of self-celebrating victory, looks curiously at me. She takes a pen out of the drawer and circles something on the paper…( my huge winnings for sure!) She hands the paper back to me and very nonchalantly says, “You were off by one point in the Wisconsin/ Montana game.”
Went to Vegas and did some sports betting. I placed a $100 bet on a six-team parlay. You know, those types of bets that all of the stars have to align perfectly for you to win big. I bet on all of the college basketball games being played that day. 6 games, 12 teams, 6 winners. Five games had passed with luck on my side. I had correctly guessed all of the outcomes from those games.
Sitting in the sports book at my little station, vodka cranberry in hand, I watched glossy-eyed and skeptical as Duke entered its final minute against Auburn. I had Duke winning by 2 and they were down by 4 with 59.6 seconds to go. A 6-0 run had to happen in 59 seconds. Doubtful. Play resumes and within 10 seconds, Duke’s freshman stud sinks a 3-pointer. “Oh my sweet God.” Could it happen?
After the ball changes hands a few times within the next 30 seconds, Auburn finds themselves at the line with 2 free-throw. Clank! Off the front rim of the bucket. No good. Second shot… clank! Same exact shot! What a schmuck!
Duke rebounds, down 61 to 62 with 17 seconds on the clock. The teams move down the court where Auburn’s coverage seems to be impenetrable under the basket. Duke’s options begin to dwindle as the clock winds down. 10 seconds, 9 seconds, Duke passes furiously trying to open up a shot in the paint, or anywhere near the basket for that matter. 8…7…6 MY GOD, pass it out, pass it out!
Dukes hot-shot senior snakes his way around two defenders on the far right side of the court, moving behind the three-point line. A quick pass and the clock is down to 3 seconds…2… and then the ball floats in slow motion toward the basket. My heart is in my throat and I’m gripping the table so hard my hands are tingling. Before I can fully process it, my body takes over and I’m sprinting around the Sports Book, screaming and flailing my arms. I’m ripping the betting papers out of their plastic holders as I run by and flinging them into the air. Other patrons are high fiving me as my victory lap turns into excessive celebration. I circle back to my chair where I leap onto the seat and begin playing air guitar to the celebration music blaring from the TV where the players are still celebrating. I grab my bets and make my final athletic moves up to the counter. Slamming down the papers, I lean on the counter and hop up and down like a small rabbit. The bookie attendant, who has just watched my idiotic display of self-celebrating victory, looks curiously at me. She takes a pen out of the drawer and circles something on the paper…( my huge winnings for sure!) She hands the paper back to me and very nonchalantly says, “You were off by one point in the Wisconsin/ Montana game.”
Friday, May 28, 2010
Get Your Own!
I was reading an article this morning about the increase in single women going after men who are taken. They've been dubbed "Husband Hunters" who find it thrilling to chase after and conquer men who are in relationships. This trend began in Hollywood and has seemingly leaked out into society. These days, girlfriends, wives and wedding rings mean nothing to women who are lusting after taken men.
In the article some brainless woman was quoted having said, "I think men are made to spread their seed. Women need to accept that. If you're going to be married to somebody, you need to know that men are not meant to be with one woman. I think you can totally love your spouse and still sleep with other women. That urge will always be there, if you're a man. I believe you can love your wife 100 percent and still stray.”
What the hell happened to the sacred vow of monogamy?!! Never ever, EVER will this be acceptable for me. Regardless of whether I'm dating or married, my man will always know that he can either chose to be with me, and only me, or he can find himself a women like the one quoted above.
This article worries me because of how impressionable young women are today, particularly when it comes to Hollywood trends. It's bad enough to see a trend like "Husband Hunters" becoming more prevalent, but it would be worse to see women simply accept that "men are made to spread their seed."
I think it is important to note the biological truth of the idea of men spreading their seed to multiple partners, but to also recognize how archaic the concept is. It has been proven that men were indeed wired to produce as many offspring as possible to ensure that their genes were perpetuated. However, we live in a very different society today than we did in 1.5 million years ago.
Before the married couples of the 1970’s came along and shot the concept of marriage to hell by quadrupling the number of divorced individuals in the US, marriage was a commitment punctuated by “‘til death do us part.’” Now, 43% of first marriages end within 15 years, 75% of those people re-marry, and 65% of those second marriages fail. Maybe Disney needs to do a few remakes of the “Happily Ever After” classics to better prepare the next generation for commitment. Or at least to provide a safety blanket to hide under while Mommy smashes Daddy’s car with a baseball bat when she finds out he’s been sleeping with his groupies.
Ladies, the groundwork to a monogamous marriage starts during the selection process. First off, if you’re a “Husband Hunter,” take a second to really think about the “65% of second marriages fail” statistic. Even if you do win the conquest of the married man, and he becomes your husband, chances are it won’t be for long. Do yourself, and the married women out there a favor and find your own man! Don’t go meddling through someone else’s hard work and dedication.
Second, All the Single Ladies! It’s our job to ensure that we not only find the right man for the job of husband, but that we take the time to understand the type of commitment we want from a marriage. If we repeat those vows, “for better or worse” and “’til death do us part,” mean it. If necessary, throw a couple of specific ones in: “Even if her stripper name is Bombshell…” “Even if she is a hot intern…” “Even if it is Madonna, I will keep my damn hands to myself!”
In the article some brainless woman was quoted having said, "I think men are made to spread their seed. Women need to accept that. If you're going to be married to somebody, you need to know that men are not meant to be with one woman. I think you can totally love your spouse and still sleep with other women. That urge will always be there, if you're a man. I believe you can love your wife 100 percent and still stray.”
What the hell happened to the sacred vow of monogamy?!! Never ever, EVER will this be acceptable for me. Regardless of whether I'm dating or married, my man will always know that he can either chose to be with me, and only me, or he can find himself a women like the one quoted above.
This article worries me because of how impressionable young women are today, particularly when it comes to Hollywood trends. It's bad enough to see a trend like "Husband Hunters" becoming more prevalent, but it would be worse to see women simply accept that "men are made to spread their seed."
I think it is important to note the biological truth of the idea of men spreading their seed to multiple partners, but to also recognize how archaic the concept is. It has been proven that men were indeed wired to produce as many offspring as possible to ensure that their genes were perpetuated. However, we live in a very different society today than we did in 1.5 million years ago.
Before the married couples of the 1970’s came along and shot the concept of marriage to hell by quadrupling the number of divorced individuals in the US, marriage was a commitment punctuated by “‘til death do us part.’” Now, 43% of first marriages end within 15 years, 75% of those people re-marry, and 65% of those second marriages fail. Maybe Disney needs to do a few remakes of the “Happily Ever After” classics to better prepare the next generation for commitment. Or at least to provide a safety blanket to hide under while Mommy smashes Daddy’s car with a baseball bat when she finds out he’s been sleeping with his groupies.
Ladies, the groundwork to a monogamous marriage starts during the selection process. First off, if you’re a “Husband Hunter,” take a second to really think about the “65% of second marriages fail” statistic. Even if you do win the conquest of the married man, and he becomes your husband, chances are it won’t be for long. Do yourself, and the married women out there a favor and find your own man! Don’t go meddling through someone else’s hard work and dedication.
Second, All the Single Ladies! It’s our job to ensure that we not only find the right man for the job of husband, but that we take the time to understand the type of commitment we want from a marriage. If we repeat those vows, “for better or worse” and “’til death do us part,” mean it. If necessary, throw a couple of specific ones in: “Even if her stripper name is Bombshell…” “Even if she is a hot intern…” “Even if it is Madonna, I will keep my damn hands to myself!”
Thursday, August 6, 2009
Playing House
Ah yes, two of us will soon be moving on to the wonderful world of marriage, with two others not far behind. Then there are a few of us who are in serious or semi-serious relationships and may or may not have already begun looking at rings… And then there are the rest of us. The lone rangers who try to put a weekend like this into perspective. "OK… I’m 23 years old, a year out of college, at the beginning of my career, still trying to get my feet under me, I'm not in a long term relationship…AND IT’S REALLY OK THAT I’M NOT FALLING MADLY IN LOVE, PICKING OUT RINGS, GETTING ENGAGED IN PARIS, OR PLANNING MY WEDDING...... REALLY!"
Really? How in the world did this happen? How is it possible that spending 2 days around a few engaged people can make a girl crazy. Well, here’s my logic… followed by a little perspective. Every girl wants to fall in love with Prince Charming and have a fairy tale wedding. (Now, I know some of us just want to marry Mr. Right and have a wedding where Uncle Paul doesn’t get drunk and try to dance on the table, but just go with it.) From a young age, we begin incorporating marriage into our lives. Playing make-believe, better known as “House” typically involved a husband and a wife. Or at least a wife, for that matter. Some little girls are smart enough to know that the “husband” is not always a reliable “character” in make-believe, so they leave him out all together.
As we get older, we move on to the teen-bop stage. The “Oh, he is so hot, I’d marry him” stage. Then we move on to our first few serious boyfriends. It’s at this stage where we occasionally start putting ourselves into the “wife” role. Cooking dinner for a boyfriend who just got home from work and gives us the “Hi honey, how was your day?” followed by a kiss on the cheek. We’ve all snapped into Make-Believe world where we’re happily married and making dinner for the husband we love and living the perfect life. If we’re smart, we snap out of it just as quickly.
Here’s the perspective: My friends who are engaged have been with their boyfriends for at least four years. Four Years! That’s a long time. They know at this point that they want to spend the rest of their lives with those men. So those of us spending our time flittering around in la-la land, pretending to make dinner for a “husband” we’ve been dating for a few months, and then getting emotional about the fact that EVERYONE around us is getting married is insane. Don’t worry, I’m fully aware of how crazy this rant sounds. Luckily, I’ve already had my epiphany and snapped myself right out of Make-Believe.
So, in closing, for those of us lone rangers out there who are feeling the pressure from “everyone else” a few steps ahead of us on the relationship path, we need to relax. Let’s join the rest of the twenty-something year olds who are busy dancing on bars, driving cars like they’re stolen, and dating for the giddiness of a first kiss. Love and marriage will come along in their own time for each of us. And look at the bright side, at least none of our friends are having kids. Oh wait…
Sunday, May 31, 2009
Merlin's Memorial Day Weekend Adventure
A few weeks ago I purchased my first car, a Kia Soul. I love my new car. The interior is shiny and new, and it's got that fresh "New Car" smell. The car came with several features that I didn't even know it had. One particular feature, which was a last minute addition, made for a story I'll never forget.
Over Memorial Day Weekend, my friend Erica was in town for a slew of graduation parties, one of which was for a good friend of ours from high school. Erica and I decided that the only way to show up to this party was with a fantastic gift that would blow all of the bottles of Captain Morgan out of the water. Naturally, our first instinct was rodents. We quickly agreed that a hamster would be the most logical choice.
The afternoon of the party, we went to Petsmart to make our purchase. As we made out selection, the young man who was helping us immediately began hounding us with questions. "Is this pet going to someone who wants a hamster?" "Is this pet going to be taken care of?" "Has this person owned pets before?" Between giggles we responded reassuringly that this hamster's new owner was expecting him and was very excited. As the hamster was lifted from his cage, squinty eyed and all, Erica decided that "Merlin" would be a fitting name. Little did we know just how fitting this name was to be. After paying for Merlin and his starter kit, we managed to make it out of the store before bursting into laughter. This was going to be the most entertaining gift at the party, for sure.
As we pulled up to the party, we prepped Merlin for his entrance. He looked fantastic. His fur was well groomed, his cardboard carrying-box was clean, and he had a smile on his face. Merlin was ready for the spotlight.
Upon entering the house, Erica and I decided we would put Merlin in one of the bedrooms and bring our friend inside to present him to his new pet. This was where our plan took a nose dive. Our friend's mother had seen us enter the house carrying a suspicious box, and our giggling drew her attention. As we took Merlin into one of the bedrooms, our friend's mother quickly followed and confronted us about the contents of the box. Thinking that this joke would be well-received by all, we told her that we had bought her son a pet hamster! Our friend's mother was less than pleased that we had brought a rodent into her house, and she intended to make it very clear. As Erica and I struggled to comprehend why our friend's mother was now shrieking at Merlin, people began to trickle in from the backyard. Merlin's presence in the house was not going to be accepted, and we were now creating a scene in the back room.
In an effort to save face, and Merlin's life, we took him into the front yard where we waited for our friend to come see the gift that he was not going to be allowed to keep. After an anti-climactic introduction, we were asked to take "the thing" elsewhere.
Thankfully, a friend of mine lived only a few blocks away, so Merlin spent the first part of the night there. When I returned that evening to pick him up, I found him cowering in the corner of his cardboard carrying-box. He knew that he had been rejected. The poor thing had been publicly scorned, and was now forced to wait until morning to return to his previous home. Heartbroken, I took Merlin out to the car and placed him on the floor in the front seat. I drove back to the party where I then cracked the windows of the car (it was about 70 degrees by this point, so Merlin was just fine in my car), and told Merlin I would be back shortly.
A few hours later, Erica and I got into the car and headed home. Holding Merlin's box in her lap, Erica noticed that Merlin wasn't moving around the way he had been earlier.
"What if he's dead?" she asked nervously.
"Just check," I responded.
"No, I can't. If he's dead I'm going to cry." "We'll just wait 'til we get home."
As we walked through my back door, Erica noticed that Merlin seemed to be moving around in the box. Relieved, we took him into my bathroom and opened the box. As Erica pulled back the flaps of the box, she gasped, a look of shock on her face.
GASP! "Is he dead?" I asked.
As I peered into the box, I was hit with several different emotions. Shock, anger, and dread, in that order.
Merlin... was gone! He had spent the evening chewing around one of the air holes in the box, making it just big enough for him to slide through. Merlin was now somewhere in my car.
The sheer irony of this story can only now be fully appreciated by watching this video. Please take 30 seconds to visit this link.
www.youtube.com/watch?v=UFHCfwF87_o&feature=related
So, you now understand where my feeling of dread came from when I realized that Merlin was somewhere in my car. The ungrateful little SOB was surely planning so steal my car, go for a joy ride, and blast out my new audio system. I was not about to have this!
Erica and I grabbed flashlights and headed back out to the car to find Merlin. It was during our search that another wave of irony washed over us. We had brought this upon ourselves by giving the hamster the name "Merlin!" Of course he would find a way to escape from his box and run a muck in my car!
The next day, we scoured the underside of the dash of my new car several times, searching for any indication that Merlin was still present. There was none. No droppings, no teeth marks, and no indication that he had attempted to start the car and drive off. Merlin was no where to be found.
That evening, convinced that Merlin had somehow escaped my car, we decided to take the Soul out for a spin. As Erica opened the passenger side door, Merlin zipped from the back seat up under the dash. He was alive! After a mini celebration of life, Erica and I decided it was time to say our final goodbyes to Merlin. We each took our turn talking to the dashboard of my car, and then left the car door open for the night.
When we returned the next morning, there was no evidence that Merlin had left. I think by this point, we had at least expected him to leave a note, but there was nothing. Merlin had braved the 12 inches from my car to the ground, and had made his escape into the wild.
So, what did I learn from this experience, one might ask?
1. Hamsters do not make good gifts
2. Cardboard does not make for reliable housing
3. If a hamster takes up residence in your Kia Soul, turn off the speaker lights, remove the ipod, keep the keys out of reach, and within 36 hours he'll be pissed off enough to leave
Over Memorial Day Weekend, my friend Erica was in town for a slew of graduation parties, one of which was for a good friend of ours from high school. Erica and I decided that the only way to show up to this party was with a fantastic gift that would blow all of the bottles of Captain Morgan out of the water. Naturally, our first instinct was rodents. We quickly agreed that a hamster would be the most logical choice.
The afternoon of the party, we went to Petsmart to make our purchase. As we made out selection, the young man who was helping us immediately began hounding us with questions. "Is this pet going to someone who wants a hamster?" "Is this pet going to be taken care of?" "Has this person owned pets before?" Between giggles we responded reassuringly that this hamster's new owner was expecting him and was very excited. As the hamster was lifted from his cage, squinty eyed and all, Erica decided that "Merlin" would be a fitting name. Little did we know just how fitting this name was to be. After paying for Merlin and his starter kit, we managed to make it out of the store before bursting into laughter. This was going to be the most entertaining gift at the party, for sure.
As we pulled up to the party, we prepped Merlin for his entrance. He looked fantastic. His fur was well groomed, his cardboard carrying-box was clean, and he had a smile on his face. Merlin was ready for the spotlight.
Upon entering the house, Erica and I decided we would put Merlin in one of the bedrooms and bring our friend inside to present him to his new pet. This was where our plan took a nose dive. Our friend's mother had seen us enter the house carrying a suspicious box, and our giggling drew her attention. As we took Merlin into one of the bedrooms, our friend's mother quickly followed and confronted us about the contents of the box. Thinking that this joke would be well-received by all, we told her that we had bought her son a pet hamster! Our friend's mother was less than pleased that we had brought a rodent into her house, and she intended to make it very clear. As Erica and I struggled to comprehend why our friend's mother was now shrieking at Merlin, people began to trickle in from the backyard. Merlin's presence in the house was not going to be accepted, and we were now creating a scene in the back room.
In an effort to save face, and Merlin's life, we took him into the front yard where we waited for our friend to come see the gift that he was not going to be allowed to keep. After an anti-climactic introduction, we were asked to take "the thing" elsewhere.
Thankfully, a friend of mine lived only a few blocks away, so Merlin spent the first part of the night there. When I returned that evening to pick him up, I found him cowering in the corner of his cardboard carrying-box. He knew that he had been rejected. The poor thing had been publicly scorned, and was now forced to wait until morning to return to his previous home. Heartbroken, I took Merlin out to the car and placed him on the floor in the front seat. I drove back to the party where I then cracked the windows of the car (it was about 70 degrees by this point, so Merlin was just fine in my car), and told Merlin I would be back shortly.
A few hours later, Erica and I got into the car and headed home. Holding Merlin's box in her lap, Erica noticed that Merlin wasn't moving around the way he had been earlier.
"What if he's dead?" she asked nervously.
"Just check," I responded.
"No, I can't. If he's dead I'm going to cry." "We'll just wait 'til we get home."
As we walked through my back door, Erica noticed that Merlin seemed to be moving around in the box. Relieved, we took him into my bathroom and opened the box. As Erica pulled back the flaps of the box, she gasped, a look of shock on her face.
GASP! "Is he dead?" I asked.
As I peered into the box, I was hit with several different emotions. Shock, anger, and dread, in that order.
Merlin... was gone! He had spent the evening chewing around one of the air holes in the box, making it just big enough for him to slide through. Merlin was now somewhere in my car.
The sheer irony of this story can only now be fully appreciated by watching this video. Please take 30 seconds to visit this link.
www.youtube.com/watch?v=UFHCfwF87_o&feature=related
So, you now understand where my feeling of dread came from when I realized that Merlin was somewhere in my car. The ungrateful little SOB was surely planning so steal my car, go for a joy ride, and blast out my new audio system. I was not about to have this!
Erica and I grabbed flashlights and headed back out to the car to find Merlin. It was during our search that another wave of irony washed over us. We had brought this upon ourselves by giving the hamster the name "Merlin!" Of course he would find a way to escape from his box and run a muck in my car!
The next day, we scoured the underside of the dash of my new car several times, searching for any indication that Merlin was still present. There was none. No droppings, no teeth marks, and no indication that he had attempted to start the car and drive off. Merlin was no where to be found.
That evening, convinced that Merlin had somehow escaped my car, we decided to take the Soul out for a spin. As Erica opened the passenger side door, Merlin zipped from the back seat up under the dash. He was alive! After a mini celebration of life, Erica and I decided it was time to say our final goodbyes to Merlin. We each took our turn talking to the dashboard of my car, and then left the car door open for the night.
When we returned the next morning, there was no evidence that Merlin had left. I think by this point, we had at least expected him to leave a note, but there was nothing. Merlin had braved the 12 inches from my car to the ground, and had made his escape into the wild.
So, what did I learn from this experience, one might ask?
1. Hamsters do not make good gifts
2. Cardboard does not make for reliable housing
3. If a hamster takes up residence in your Kia Soul, turn off the speaker lights, remove the ipod, keep the keys out of reach, and within 36 hours he'll be pissed off enough to leave
Saturday, May 16, 2009
One year later
Exactly one year ago, I stood on the sidewalk in front of my on-campus house at Dickinson College, the chaos of a large block party swirling around me, thinking how life seemed to be in fast-forward. My 7 housemates and I, like all of our neighbors, were hosting our final swaray at Dickinson. Tomorrow was graduation- the day when the 530 people I entered college with 4 short years ago would be gently nudged out of the world of frat parties and keg stands and into a world just waiting to kick us around. As I stood on Louther Street, watching the Pennsylvania winds push the foreboding graduation day rain to the edge of Carlisle, I realized that I was going to miss much more that just the social life and freedom of college. I knew that even the things I hated about Carlisle, like rain 360 days a year, would become part of my treasure chest of fond memories. (I was right. The day I arrived back home in Phoenix, AZ it was 112 degrees.)
Graduation Day was a very wet day in Carlise: neither a dry eye nor a dry seat in the house. We graduates spent three rain-soaked hours appreciating our four years at Dickinson, looking forward to the future, and developing hypothermia. As the ceremony drew to a close, and the sun ironically made its first appearance of the day, I again found myself thinking that despite the lengthy, wet ceremony, time was still flying by too quickly for me to appreciate what was going on around me.
Why is it that the best times in life always go by too quickly? I believe it's the sign of a life well lived. Life moves by quickly to deliver you to the next exciting event. Over the last year I've experienced four months of travel, starting a new job, friends get married and having children, and to be completely honest, it's freaked me out. Only a year out of college and my friends are already having kids!? But wait, I'm an entire year out of college! Look at all of the things that have happened in just one year. I thought life would slow down a bit after I graduated... I was WRONG. My schedule is just as hectic, if not more hectic, than when I was in college. The stress level of a new job rivals that of finals week. And I'm still trying to pack eight days worth of life into a seven day week. But I have never once wished that life would slow down. Funny how some things never change.
The Dickinson class of 2009 will begin this journey tomorrow as they descend the steps of Old West, in what is predicted to be dryer weather than '08. I've spent a lot of time over the last week being envious of the '09 seniors at Dickinson as they make their way through the haze of Senior Week and graduation. For me, there will always be a time in life that is worth returning to. However, I figure that the present and the future, if lived at full speed, might just end up rivaling the best times of the past.
Graduation Day was a very wet day in Carlise: neither a dry eye nor a dry seat in the house. We graduates spent three rain-soaked hours appreciating our four years at Dickinson, looking forward to the future, and developing hypothermia. As the ceremony drew to a close, and the sun ironically made its first appearance of the day, I again found myself thinking that despite the lengthy, wet ceremony, time was still flying by too quickly for me to appreciate what was going on around me.
Why is it that the best times in life always go by too quickly? I believe it's the sign of a life well lived. Life moves by quickly to deliver you to the next exciting event. Over the last year I've experienced four months of travel, starting a new job, friends get married and having children, and to be completely honest, it's freaked me out. Only a year out of college and my friends are already having kids!? But wait, I'm an entire year out of college! Look at all of the things that have happened in just one year. I thought life would slow down a bit after I graduated... I was WRONG. My schedule is just as hectic, if not more hectic, than when I was in college. The stress level of a new job rivals that of finals week. And I'm still trying to pack eight days worth of life into a seven day week. But I have never once wished that life would slow down. Funny how some things never change.
The Dickinson class of 2009 will begin this journey tomorrow as they descend the steps of Old West, in what is predicted to be dryer weather than '08. I've spent a lot of time over the last week being envious of the '09 seniors at Dickinson as they make their way through the haze of Senior Week and graduation. For me, there will always be a time in life that is worth returning to. However, I figure that the present and the future, if lived at full speed, might just end up rivaling the best times of the past.
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