My absolute favorite webcomic in the world, A Girl and Her Fed, is looking for new readers. It’s almost a graphic novel, really. It features conspiracy theories, ghosts, and a super-intelligent koala. Also, inappropriate jokes. I know it sounds weird, but it is very, very good.

www.agirlandherfed.com

You all need to click that. Especially you, Aunt Mary. You’d love it. The archives are extensive, but there is a page which catches the reader up to the present plotline. Check it out!

Yeah, right.

I’ve spent the past two (now three) days studying like a maniac to get my license so I can be officially hired. The material is a bit dull, to put it mildly. Thankfully I have a system- study all afternoon, and I get to swim a mile when I’m done.

Right now I’m taking notes from the glossary. The exam is scheduled for Friday. Wish me luck!

Thursday, while trying to ponder my decision about the job in the sweltering heat, I decided to swim.

Long story short, it felt good.  Friday, I did 25 laps. Saturday, I decided to go for a mile, and did 67 laps.  Then it turned out my dad’s math was faulty, and I only needed 60 laps for a mile. Sunday, I only did 50 laps.

Today, I called the office and agreed to take the job. Then, I went out and swam. The water was still warm from last week’s steaming weather. I swam 25 laps, and took a break. Once I no longer looked like a prune, I did another 25. I repeated the process until the evening.

All total, I swam 120 laps. Two miles. I’m very sore now, but as I think about my appointment to begin the employment process tomorrow… I feel at peace.

“Ok, black raspberry chip, or mint chocolate chip?”

“BLACK RASPBERRY CHIP! I mean, uh… whichever you want. Really.”

Not so difficult.

On the other hand, big decisions. I agonized for a week over whether I should or shouldn’t skip a year of college. I flipped the hell out when I got the grant to study abroad in England (I had about two weeks notice before I had to leave. I panicked a little).

And now I have my first (and currently only) job offer. And I’m not sure what I want to do with it.

It is an offer, which is something. But it is pure commission. High risk, high reward. Hours are 8-5, which is at least reasonable and normal.

And so I shall spend my weekend thinking.

So… once again I have forgotten I have a blog. Oops. VERY quick update before I get into the thick of it.

1. I now am a Bachelor of Arts, cum laude
2. I am living back at home
3. I am job hunting

 This post is about number 3.  See, I think job hunting is like being a lion on the serengeti. You’re just waiting for a nice, juicy gazelle to come along, only your stomach is rumbling, and you want a gazelle now. So you start hunting. Some trails run cold, the gazelle long gone. Some gazelle outrun you, and others turn out to not be nourishing, because they are so small.

I tried to summarize this to my boyfriend as “job hunting makes me feel like a hungry lion, and I hate trying to find a damn gazelle! Can’t one just wander over and let me nom on it?”

Then I realized what I had said.

It is reasons like this that I sometimes wonder why the nice man dates me.

So, those four months… let me try and summarize the major events. I spent most of January in a very happy and very confused state of mind. For this I blame one of my best friends, who, to my complete surprise (but apparently no one else’s) became my boyfriend. I call him Ninja. He calls me Kitty Cat. We are very weird. For the sake of irony, I must quote an entry from March of last year.

“Men are still thin on the ground here, the most contact I’ve gotten was decidedly (thank goodness) platonic. During martial arts we were sparring, and when the guy knocked me over I kicked him in the groin. Didn’t really help much; must learn to kick harder.”

“The guy” would be Ninja. We still spar (is it weird? We think it’s fun. Our friends find it a little odd). I no longer try to kick him in the groin. Now I aim for his shins.

In February I turned 21. It doesn’t feel much different than being 20, except for the obvious ability to buy alcohol. I don’t really drink though, so that’s not a big deal. I did have loads of fun on my birthday though. Chinese food with friends, then a raspberry daiquiri. Very delicious. Although, I don’t think a regular daiquiri tastes any better than a virgin one. Both are delicious, and frankly, I think alcohol is a bit overrated on flavor.

Pi day (March 14, or 3/14) was celebrated with a blackberry peach pie, and blackberry mini-pies. They were yummy. My roommate got me into Merlin. It’s a BBC series that re-imagines the Arthur legend with Merlin as Arthur’s put-upon servant boy who must hide his magic. Uther Pendragon is King (and Arthur’s magic-hating father). The plot is formulaic, yet it works. The characters are so lovable (or, in Uther’s case, despicable). Merlin and Arthur are hilarious as they bicker and Merlin saves the day with magic (and without Arthur noticing).

I also rediscovered my love of Casablanca. That movie is… I mean, for pete’s sake. Bergman and Bogart have such tension and chemistry. Claude Rains is absolutely delightfully corrupt. The cinematography is gorgeous (all that light and shadow only black and white can capture).

March also saw plenty of biking with my friends. During one ride we found a stray dog, a young beagle. The animal shelter was already closed for the evening, but fortunately we were able to leave him in a professor’s garage. My friends had class in the morning, so I drove him to the shelter. On my lap. And he fidgeted. A lot. I never want to repeat the experience. Ever.

At the end of March, it snowed. I don’t think I will ever be ok with snow on March 29. That should not happen. It just isn’t allowed. Especially if the end result is sparring in the snow (Ninja was visiting, so of course we worked out. It was fun). Sparring is fun. Sparring in the snow is slippery. My hand-eye coordination is bad enough without slipping and sliding.

There were a couple of choir concerts, and they went well. I had a duet, which was very fun. I’ve wandered around Madison, carted my friends to Wal-Mart, and tried a burget at the local sports bar (it was tasty, but the sliders were even better. Om nom nom). I’ve been job-hunting and reading and goofing off.  That’s about it. Thursday is the Honors Convocation. I’m up for two essay prizes, and I really hope I’ll get one.

To sum up: I got an A on my senior thesis. Woohoo! I also had my highest GPA: 3.9224 for the semester, bringing my career total up to 3.6753. Woohoo! And now on to the stories.

Tis the Season

“It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas, everywhere you go…”

The voice is clear and bright as the lady in the bright emerald skirt dances around the room. The man in the slacks stands in the doorway, smiling and shaking his head. He knows that she is quirky. He knows that she is in some ways a little bit childlike, this girl-woman of his. But when she said she loved Christmas, he didn’t quite seem to have understood what she meant.

She’s been humming incessantly since the day after Thanksgiving. Almost everything she hums is either a hymn or a traditional carol- her favorites seem to be O Come All Ye Faithful and Carol of the Bells. Her voice isn’t bad, and depending on the song she is either bright and cheerful, or thoughtful. He found it strangely touching to watch her dance around her apartment last week singing Santa Claus Is Coming to Town while swinging her nephew around in her arms.

Hoping to surprise her, one Friday he took her out to an ice rink, rather than dancing as usual. He was startled to learn ice skating was one area in which she was not proficient. As his family had played hockey for fun, he can skate well enough. Teaching her to ice skate has been interesting, especially once she overcame her fears and threw herself into learning. While she is a good dancer, her hand eye coordination on the ice really is dreadful. The first time she fell down no less than ten times; the second time she glided wobbly across the ice, her smile wide. It was then he first noticed: she had a dimple in each cheek.

It hadn’t occurred to him yet that, marvelous as this girl is, strange as this girl is, she isn’t perfect. The realization somehow makes him love her more.

“Hey! You don’t get to eat any of these unless you help!” she teases, interrupting his reverie. She’s holding a bowl full of sugar cookie dough, and there’s a smudge of flour on her nose. He grins, but refrains from informing her about the stray flour.

“Come on then, silly,” she says, pouting slightly, then grinning. She turns to the counter and begins to roll the dough. A large collection of cookie cutters is already set out on the counter. He smiles as she begins humming to herself again.

“Did you see where the tree went?” She asks as she cuts out a star. He smirks, unable to resist teasing her.

“Which one?” He ducks as she tosses a small ball of dough at him and laughs.

“The cookie cutter one!” She says, sticking her tongue out at him.

“Oh. That one,” he replies.

Her apartment is covered in Christmas trees, and he’s been ribbing her mercilessly about it. There’s a real one in her living room, two tiny fake ones on the kitchen table as centerpieces, a small one in the bathroom, and a four foot tall one in her bedroom. He’ll never admit it, but he finds them, and her, adorable.

“Found it!” She says happily, picking the cookie cutter off the floor and rinsing it off.

“Oh, come on. You’ve done nothing but stand there, you great lump of a man,” she teases. He gives her a wounded look.

“I did help you hang all the garlands in the living room,” he says, defending himself.

“Only after laughing at me because I couldn’t reach high enough,” she retorts with a smile.

“Yes, and I helped carry in that monster of a tree,” he continues. She chuckles in amusement, no doubt remembering how much he swore as he tried to get it up the stairs.

“And, most importantly, I got you an early present,” he concludes. She blushes and shakes her head.

“You didn’t need to do that,” she says in halfhearted reproach as she puts down the dough to come give him a hug. She wraps her arms around him and rests her head against his chest. He hugs her back, then pulls away for a moment and looks at her. There’s a hint of uncertainty in her dark eyes, and the smudge of flour on her little nose. It is at that moment he realizes he is lost.

“You’re adorable,” he says softly before leaning down to kiss her. It would be quite some time before the girl saw the mistletoe he had hung over her head.

Twas The Night Before Christmas

The lady in the candy cane stockings hums to herself as she pushes the cart. The man and the children are in the Christmas section of the store, playing with display music boxes and looking at wrapping paper. But she has dashed off for some last minute shopping, away from wide curious eyes.

First, the toy section. A jump rope and bicycle basket for Katie- the lady suspects Katie will want to decorate the basket, but that can be dealt with later. A set of building blocks and army men for Davy, though that will make his room even more crowded For John, a mildly fancy calligraphy set and journal. He needs the practice. And finally for Rose, the softest stuffed duck she can find.

The gifts safely in her cart, she heads for the grocery. Pot roast, potatoes, carrots, onions, apples, oranges, chocolate covered raisins, dark chocolate, chocolate flecked with almonds, and candied apricots. Yeast, cinnamon, ginger, confectioners sugar. Coffee, the expensive brand they never buy. The children get out of school tomorrow, and she has plans for the last few days before Christmas.

Her purchases made, the children and her husband greet her at the exit. John makes a blatant attempt to peak into the shopping bags, earning him a tap on the head from Davy. John ducks too late, then rubs his head sheepishly and grins.

Once home, the lady shoos the children into their rooms with crayons and paper. The man has unpacked the grocery bags by the time she’s straightened out the children’s coats and boots, and is chopping the onions. She joins him and starts peeling the potatoes. Soon they have the pot roast bubbling away inside the oven.

“Check on the kids, would you? I need to find the wrapping paper,” she says, standing on tiptoe to kiss the man. He smiles and they walk upstairs.

As usual, the ladder to the attic gives her some trouble. But finally it slides down with a reluctant creak, and she climbs up. The attic is a little dusty, and she shifts a few boxes of pre-baby clothes and a cradle. Behind them is a basket, and beside it several rolls of wrapping paper. She grins and grabs them all.

Soon the downstairs table is covered in paper, ribbon, and tape. When the man walks in from shoveling the porch, the lady has ribbon tied in her hair, little bits of tape stuck to her arms, and tissue paper clinging to her apron. She looks a little sheepish.

“Um… wrapping stuffed animals is difficult. Really, really difficult.” Next to a row of neat boxes tied with ribbons are several very lumpy, defeated looking packages.

“We are never, ever giving Rose stuffed animals again,” the lady sighs. The man quirks an eyebrow.

“Until her birthday. And next Christmas. Why couldn’t she like dolls? Those come in nice, neat, easily wrapped boxes,” the lady groans.

“Let me try,” he says, smirking.

Five minutes later, the lady is giggling as the man swears under his breath.

“Told you so” she teases in a sing-song voice. He glares.

“Daddy?” Rose calls from upstairs. The man looks at the woebegone package, then at the lady, eyes pleading.

“Go on then,” the lady sighs. The man grins.

“Thank god,” he says, kissing her before heading upstairs. The lady smiles, then looks at the package. Oh dear.

An hour later, the smell of pot roast is permeating the house. The pile of presents is stacked under the tree, and the table cleared of paper and ribbon. One by one the children emerge from their rooms, noses aquiver.

Katie is the first out, and she is quickly recruited to help set the table. John appears soon after, and at his father’s direction starts crumpling papers for the fire. Rose wanders down next and is put in charge of folding the napkins. Davy has to be called several times before he finally turns up. All four pairs of eyes keep straying to the colorful array of packages.

At last they sit down to dinner. Remembering that Santa is watching, all four children watch their manners carefully. The lady has to resist snorting with laughter when she hears Davy warning John not to slip any vegetables to the dog, or Santa might skip their house.

After dinner they sit down in front of the fire. The stockings knitted by Gramma are hanging in a row, and every now and again a pair of eyes darts to look at them, imagining the treasures that will fill them in the morning. Finally it is bedtime, and the children circle around Dad. While Mommy makes cocoa he begins to read.

“Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house…”

The children hang on to every word, except for the momentary glances at the stockings and presents. Though Katie has begun to be quietly skeptical about a chubby man visiting every house in one night, she keeps her questions to herself. Mommy has warned her about letting the others know her suspicions.

Mommy brings the cocoa, and they all drink it quietly, with occasional pleading for more marshmallows (mostly from Rose). All four are beginning to be wound up, as anticipation grows. As soon as the cocoa is done they help Mommy set a plate of cookies and cup of cocoa by the fire, along with a few carrots for the reindeer. Then off to bed, lest Santa pass them by. The lady doubts any of them will fall asleep for a while yet, but they may as well try.

Once the children are all tucked in snugly, the man and lady return downstairs. The fire has nearly burned out, but with a fresh log it begins to gleam anew. The lady sits down on the floor, knees brought up to her chin as she watches the flames.

This, she thinks, is one thing she appreciates about their new house. The fireplace is wonderful during the winter. She smiles, firelight glimmering in her dark eyes, reflecting shades of gold and orange and hints of blue. Tongues of white flame devour the few pieces of kindling left on the edges. The man sits down beside her and wraps his arms around her as she leans into him. Outside flakes of snow are beginning to fall.

I got home last night from college, and settled in. The dogs have been petted, my warm weather clothes unpacked, and my sweaters hunter down mercilessly. I had a lovely dinner with my parents, and just enjoyed being home.

But tonight- tonight, it was time for pie. I started by making three recipes of dough. Not joking, my lovelies- three recipes. Here’s the recipe, if anyone is interested.

Best Pie Crust Ever

• 2 cups flour
• 1 teaspoon salt
• 2/3 cup shortening, plus 2 tablespoons
• 4-5 tablespoons water

Mix the flour and salt, then chop in the shortening. Use a pastry cutter. Then, add the water using a wooden spoon. DO NOT overwork the pie dough! This recipe makes a two-crust 9-inch pie, by the way.  

Then I rolled out the bottom crust for each pie and lined the pie plates. I made three sets of filling- one blueberry, one cherry, and one peach. I’m sure you’ve got a good recipe for the filling, as filling is easy to get right. Just mix 4 or so cups of fruit with the appropriate spices, some flour, and some sugar.  I filled my pies, rolled out the top crusts, then popped them in the oven at 425. It should take around 45 minutes to an hour. Here’s how they turned out.

The blueberry pie. Yum. Made from blueberries my mother picked over the summer.

Cherry Pie, oh so delicious. My brother has cherry trees, and they did their part for this pie. Mmm.

Peach Pie. Must...not...drool...

They technically aren’t mine, they’re my parents’ dogs, but still. I miss Jack, he was still a puppy when I left. And Lupa isn’t getting any younger, the poor thing.

This afternoon the headache I’ve been nursing all week finally died down a bit. My friends and I ran to Wal-mart and I got yarn to start making an afghan for the winter. Then we went to the animal shelter.

First I walked a couple of dogs. The first was a gorgeous blonde-tawny dog named Donald. He had, I kid you not, gold eyes. Golden eyes. He was very hyper, and he kept marking everything. Very friendly too. I also walked a dog named Cecil. He was a bit more subdued.

Then I went for the cats. We helped bathe four kittens, then I snuggled some adult cats. The best was a sweet tabby named Wendy. She was very, very sweet. She nuzzled against me, purred like crazy, and climbed all over me without clawing. I got fur all over me, but it was completely worth it.

When I get a place of my own, I’m actually considering a cat. A litter box does terrify me, but I have friends with cats, so it might be worth it.  And I think apartments tend to be more cat-friendly than dog-friendly. Hrm. At any rate, revisions on my IS are going well, and I’m signing off for now.

Sorta.

Mostly. The page minimum is thirty pages. I currently have thirty seven. My first draft is complete, and my advisor has looked it over and marked it up. The changes required aren’t very intensive- mostly formatting errors or clarification issues. I also have to finish inserting my primary sources and annotating my bibliography. These finishing touches should take no more than a day.

And now I feel at loose ends. The Independent Study is something everyone here tends to worry and panic about. One of my roommates (not a history major) is writing an IS that is at 70 pages or so. Another friend spent almost all semester revising, writing and revising like a maniac.

I wrote my IS in…three days. My advisor sets deadlines for me, as I work better when I have direction. On Monday, he said he wanted ten pages by Thursday. I started to panic (always a good sign). I put out twenty pages on Monday, ten on Tuesday, and ten on Wednesday. When I turned it in to him, I had a complete first draft. I got it back with his notes yesterday, and the revised version is due this Thursday.

It feels rather anti-climactic. Senior year is supposed to be difficult, painful, lots of hard work. And… it isn’t. My classes are the same as usual, other than being all in my major for once. But most of the other seniors are starting to freak out. I’m not sure whether to feel more smug or guilty.

At any rate, I do have something to worry about- finding a job. I know most people don’t have only one career. I know that most people don’t even know what they want to do with their lives at this point. But I’d still like to have some idea of where I could be both useful and happy. I’ve been going to the Career Center, and so far my ideas are Marketing and Advertising. But graduation is looming closer, and I need to start job-hunting.

It’d be easier if I knew if I was hunting a deer or a bear. A gun would help too.