Meet Lexi & Guinness. The furry children of Jenn & Zach.

Day 1: Arrive ‘home’ and climb the stairs to let the dogs out of Jenn’s bathroom. Note: door must swing inward to open. It takes nearly 40 seconds for the dogs to stop leaping and jumping enough to back away so they can fit through the crack in the door. First one dog, then another. Pure chaos ensues. Jumping, leaping, yipping, jaws, teeth, tails, fur. Everything flying through the air. Chaos.

Overnight 1: Set up makeshift bed on couch. Guinness & I have a stand-off. He’s determined to sleep with me. Finally, worried that the dogs are lonely and missing their parents, I consent. Guinness jumps up first and wiggles up next to me. Lexi’s next, snuggled half on top of me and half on top of Guinny. All seems well until I fall asleep, momentarily, and awake with the familiar awful dream of falling down a black chasm. Only this time, it’s not just a dream. I land with a thud on the tiles. Enough that I insist the dogs relocate to their pillow across the room. Sleep is lovely until 4:30am. I wake up with the creepy feeling that someone is watching me. Eyes open. Creepy feeling confirmed. Furry black nose meets my nose as a warning of impending licking attack. Before I know what’s happening, I’m fully ambushed. Guinness is on the couch, one weighty foot on my belly. Lexi is on her hind legs, licking my face. I just wonder how long they were concocting this plan.

Evening 2:  Lexi’s got gas.  Sqeaky stink bombs.  The dogs are convinced they’re each lap dogs.  I’m currently stuck between the bums of two snoring dogs.  And Lexi is still passing gas.  bleah.

Morning 3: It seems the dogs enjoy waking me at 4:30am. Maybe they’re functioning under VA time, because they’re ready for their 6am breakfast. Being the cranky, non-morning person that I am, I roll over. Bad idea. They repeat ambush of yesterday.

Day 3: Guinness discovered a new trick on the couch. He’s wedged himself between the couch cushions and the couch.

Day 4: Apparently, the dogs have either given up on Jenn & Zach’s return or their actually now comfortable enough with me that they’ve suddenly stopped following me. Probably good because I seem to have been altering my gait so as to not clock Guinness on my back step. My walking must look wicked funky.

We met in the bathroom, exchanged smiles and greetings. As we made small talk, her hands flowed into wide, smooth circles, her thumbs making rings with index and pointer fingers. I asked after her plans for the holiday. She reworked the words of my questions into inquiring answers. I found myself responding to her questions with her words. Slowly her hands traced circles. Slowly her hands guided my words, orchestrating my sentences. A stringless puppet-master. She flashed a wink and a smile, then passed through the door. I wondered why my chin was tracing circles in the air.

I remember saying it at least once, to a friend, family member or stranger, “I love doing dishes!” As I roll up my sleeves and wage war against the haphazard, unsteady stacks in front of me, I wonder…was this a sentiment I once truly felt or was I simply trying to impress someone with my domestic affections?

In the last two weeks, while I’ve grown battle-worn from adventures in the classroom, my kitchen has become overrun by insurgent mugs and rebel forks, knives and spoons. The bowls have strategically pushed past the line of scrimmage, beyond the limitations of their stainless steel corridors, and into my general living territory. My counter is being held prisoner of war, and glasses balance precariously around the edges of my sink, leaning against pots and lids messy from last week’s chili. Yes, my dishes made advancements that I’m ashamed to report or reveal.

But now, tired as I am, I’m ready to do battle and am determined to take back my kitchen! I crank the volume on my old CD player and begin my campaign to the warbling voices of the Dixie Chicks, my longtime dishwashing companions.

And slowly, slowly, I make progress.

My hands become prunes. Puddles across the kitchen floor corroborate my efforts. And suddenly, I’m no longer grimacing. I’m cleaning my kitchen so that I can dirty it again with more nasty, crusted-over dishes. But tomorrow, the dishes will be welcome. They will be evidence of time with family and friends, of good food, of belly-aching laughter and of tears and hugs of sympathy and joy. Food is love. And to make food, one must also make dirty dishes. Simply a necessary evil.

As I scrub the last plate and knife, relief seeps into my back and soap-soaked arms. Quietly I admit, tomorrow, I will love dirty dishes.

Last fall, City Parks and Recreation drained a lake at Washington Park in hopes of catching a rare species of crocodile whose presence had been repeatedly reported. No creature was ever trapped. Some residents regard the event as a hoax.

As his hands encase her face,
she eagerly moves closer to meet his embrace.

My little brothers have a gecko named Amanda. She doesn’t move much. Her diet is composed primarily of small, brown crickets coated in calcium powder.

Eyes closed and lips poised. Waiting. Waiting.
Soft, warm, tender kitten kisses swirl in her head
preparing to savor the sweet succulence of her beau.

Pam Schmidt, 8th grade science teacher at Thunder Ridge Middle School was named teacher of the year for her efforts to integrate snakes into her biological studies classes. Every spring, her class wanders the fields on rattle snake round-ups catching neighboring snakes for relocation to safer habitats.

Cold, rough clamminess awakens her from the love-spun stupor.
Surprise and anxiety force her eyes open.
Before her, prince has turned frog.
No. Not amphibian. Worse. Reptile.
No choice but to succumb to the lizard’s bite.

Members of the reptilian and amphibian families are renowned for their faculties in camouflage.

aPParently, I’ve unofficially been a doctor for just under 1 week. craziness! for those of you who haven’t heard, i defended my PhD last monday…successfully in sPite of several moments of Pure stuPidity. if you haven’t yet endured/survived the Process, after comPleting x number of years of grad school researching your own sPecial Problem, after Publishing your work and convincing your advisor that you’re ready to be done and a future emPloyer that you’re worthy of emPloyment, you get to give an hour long Public seminar Presenting your work, then undergo a closed door defense with your committee. in my case, i began my day of reckoning at a modest 8am, drove directly to umPleby’s for a triPle latte, found out through random morning greetings that the barista…in Hanover, NH…grew uP with my college crush…who grew uP in Cairo and left DU to Pursue a career in firewalking, amongst other things….i then made my way to lab and then down to set uP my comPuter for my Presentation. when suddenly, my comPuter had difficulties interfacing with the Projector system, I Panicked and tried to call wilbur, who was on call to helP with such difficulties. much to my dismay, i got his voicemail and in my haste to redial the alternate number, i tiPPed my lovely latte which dribbled onto the keyboard of my misbehaving laPtoP. lacking other absorPtive materials, I grabbed my gym shorts from my backPack to soak uP said sPill, and then returned to my Previous dilemma. with helP from my labmate and one of my committee members, the comPuter connected, and life went into fast forward. an hour later, i finished my acknowledgments, closed my comPuter and marched down to give my defense. sadly, my comPuter was down for the count. or so i thought. but it wasn’t quite dead, just mostly dead. after my committee shook my hand, called me doc and toasted me at dinner, I frolicked with friends at an irish Pub then meandered back to lab to check email. comPuter is alive. but exhibits symPtoms of a major stroke. in other words, the far right side of my keyboard is now inert. thus, my ode to the letter P. i assumed it’s loss would be considerably more innocuous than it has been. And, delete and enter and end Parenthesis and down arrow and zero. yes, these are keys that I Previously took for granted. Steve, in another act of Pure heroics, brought home his extra comPuter, with which I’ve been comPleting my final PaPer and thesis revisions. and once everything is turned in…hoPefully tomorrow…I can send in my Poor comPuter for a makeover. which, of course, will Probably be even more Painful than the current tyPing exPerience. but never again will i discount the imPortance of these lovely keyboard comPonents. i guess, however, in the whole scheme of things, the loss of these few keys Pales in comParison to the acquisition of my three new letters…just slightly ironic that I can’t quite sign them yet…

Steve has joined the rankings of my hero-hood.  He managed to find the photography poster that I’ve been pining for for about 6 years…even with my description including the completely incorrect photo subject!  I somehow had it in my head that it was Andy Rooney.  Perhaps because I can imagine him doing something so punkish.  But actually, it’s none other than Charlie Chaplin in a photo taken by legendary American photographer Richard Avedon.  We haven’t yet found a place to buy it, but knowing is half the battle, right?!

check it out:

http://www.poster.net/avedon-richard/avedon-richard-charlie-chaplin-9903368.jpg

More on my hero-hood later.

I defend my thesis in appx. 72 hours. Well, give or take about 4 hours, but pretty close. About 12 hours ago, my dear, beloved advisor (yes, please note the sweet-as-honey cynicism) informed me that not only was he not planning to defend me to my committee, but in fact, he didn’t even think he would say anything kind in his intro of me. Well, seeing as I’m down to the last 3 weeks of having to deal with him after 6 years of a hellish work environment, this was a bit disheartening. Yes, I am ready to be done and am more than ready to check out. But I’ve been working my tail off for the last few months, scrambling to finish experiments he decided would be useful. They were interesting, but not particularly fruitful. Which made the final push just that much more exciting. I haven’t been the best student/employee lately, but the thing is, when he finally started acting decently, and actually gave a hoot about my work, it was just a little too little, a little too late. He’s all but broken my spirit and exuberance for science, and I finally decided it wasn’t worth investing my heart into something that just hurt so much. Not that that’s much of an excuse, but it’s the truth. Once you despise someone or something so much, it can take all your energy to just go in and face that person on a daily basis, much less to actually be productive or even to excel. I knew, somewhere deep inside, that it was going to end up being a battle, tooth and nail, at the end, I was just hoping it would be a bit better. Amity helped bolster my spirits, but man oh man, the next few days are going to be painful. I think I’d better cry plenty this weekend so that I don’t on Monday. All I can hope is that, even if he gives a scathing intro, I’ll be able to maintain my composure and not try to toss it back at him. At at time when I should be celebrating my accomplishments and enjoying being able to actually “tell a story” for my audience, it’s kinda a bummer that I’ll probably be battling just to get through my intro. Just gotta try to be the better “man”.

Some people fear death, some people fear life. Some fear heights, or fire or dogs. Some fear old age, some fear disease. Somewhere inside, I’m guessing every one of us fears something. Me? Well, I’m definitely scared of heights. The make me nauseous. And snakes make my skin crawl. And pain and/or blood make me so uncomfortable that I sometimes forget to breath and manage to pass out. But deep down, the one thing that causes in me a bone-chilling, heart-pounding, sleepless night for weeks fear is something different. It’s the fear of being alone. Always and forever alone. Silly coming from a girl with, technically, 14 siblings, from someone who lives amongst 340+ students, whose mom is always just a phone call away.

When I was younger, I’d always go down to my room, shut the door and either read or watch tv or just keep myself busy. I became a step-sister at the age of 4. I can’t really remember much of life before then, but suffice to say, my older siblings do (and did). When the boys came along, they were virtually inseparable. And the Nicholson side–well, I know things about my dad and siblings simply because I can feel them, as some intrinsic part of me, but I don’t know really any of them very well. Although dynamics have changed, our family has become much closer and stronger with age, there’s still a part of me that feels like I’ll always be the complete and absolute loner. All I ever wanted was to meet someone who was my other half, who understood me, appreciated me, argued with me, challenged me and wasn’t afraid to call my bluff. I wrote about him in Mr Schmeiser’s 8th grade English class…I’ll never forget because that wast the day he called me on a spelling mistake: “He should be smart, or at least not dum”. Yup. I wrote “dum”. Kinda like dum-dum. Ironic?! Naturally. In any case, I’ve grown up hoping that someday I’d find that one person who would be all mine, who would choose me, who would fill that lonely void that’s always been there. I guess that’s what we all want, right? Someone who loves us, who knows our better and worse selves and loves us still in spite of and because of them. I guess I just never expected it to be so difficult to find him.

One of my greater flaws, I think, is my ability to excel when I work alone. I’ll happily work with teams, interact with others, facilitate, lead, follow. But when push comes to shove and I need to get the job done, I fall back, bite the bullet and just do it myself. Not the best example of a solid team player, but at least I know my abilities, limitations and reliability. It makes me worried, however, that I’m a bit too comfortable going solo to ever succeed as part of a pair.

In contemplating my past relationships and my choices in entering/exiting them, I’ve noticed a few trends. First, there always seems to be a choice–and, rather than going with the person I actually care for or am attracted to, I go for the one I have a “chance” with. No, not consciously, but in retrospect, I think that must be the underlying logic. And, I seem to end up with the “wrong” guy while avoiding another wrong guy. Even going back to high school. I like guy A. Guy A likes me. I’m stubborn and won’t ask out guy A. So, somehow end up with guy B interested. Realize that, although I was at one point interested in guy B, he’s not really what I want, so I ask out guy C to avoid guy B. Meanwhile, guy A is left a bit confused. And, of course, while I could have simply gone for guy A, I was stupid and ended up with one of the two wrong guys. Again, grad school. I’m head over heels for guy 1. As it turns out, friend A likes guy 1. So, when guy 2 suddenly shows interest, I go for guy 2. My logic? Actually choose friend A, so leave guy 1 for her. Still flattered that guy 2 is interested, even though I’m not. How did that turn out? 8 months later, drama happened. Spent next 5 years avoiding guy 2, pining for guy 1. Meanwhile, guy 1 and friend A hook up, break up, then friend A blames me. Ultimately, lose friend A. End up still single. See?

The truth is, I’ve got a bad habit of avoiding making the choice that might actually make me happy, as I’m too afraid of what will happen if it doesn’t work. So, I go with the wrong choice. And, when you start on the wrong foot, there’s little chance that things will ever get any better from there.

Well, admitting the problem is the first step of change, right?! I decided that before I actually contemplate trying to be with anyone, I need to be happy with myself again. I need some work before I meet my own expectations.  And right now, that’s really all that matters.

Although summer has finally arrived in all its glory, there is still a crispness in the early morning sunshine that makes me shove my hands deeper into my pockets. After years living in the North East, I finally started embracing the local tradition of looking away when crossing paths with an oncoming pedestrian. In my state of decaffienation, I’m not ready to flash a smile or exert the energy of lifting my eyebrows or shifting my chin for a nod. I’m a night owl. No, I’m nocturnal. My head hit the pillow at 6am, and 8:30 feels like an ungodly hour to be walking into work. As I pass the corner of Baker Library and Tuck/Thayer Drive, I pick up the pace. Three minutes to walk another 3/4 miles. Definitely going to be late.
A small clinking sound makes my head jerk up. For the briefest of instants, our gazes meet. We each breath in and hold the air, the sensation seeping beyond our lungs, through each microscopic capillary into each of our hearts. We are breathless, filled with the electricity of a first kiss, of possibility an eternity in the making. Time stands still. And then it is over. The chirping of the birds pierce my ears as his bike slices the air next to me. My heart pounds my ribcage and I am awake.

in an effort to calm my nerves and in anticipation of hopeful (and hopefully not just wishful) success, i decided to make a small investment today. yes, jenn, this post is mostly to alert you to my devotion to our future enterprise…i figure maybe the pain of spending will temporarily halt my daydreaming so that i can wrap up my thesis writing! and, i’m going to call this an investment rather than a splurge because…well…it’s my third official piece of “professional” grade photography equipment and i think any money spent at B&H, especially when it’s supplemented by the thoughtful kindness of my beloved hockeymates is money well spent.

so, welcome to the family, new camera lens! i’m looking forward to your imminent arrival. cheesy? yup. but frankly, i’m too excited to care!

http://www.bhphotovideo.com/c/product/108421-GREY/Nikon_1933_Telephoto_AF_Nikkor_85mm.html

on a side note, i think it’s pretty funny that on the b&h site, you have the choice of publishing your wish list. do ya think, if i were to ever get married, anyone would think it was funny if i registered for camera equipment?! not that i wouldn’t really drool over a kitchen aid mixer or a full set of matching silverware…but really, i don’t think i’d ever mind having a few more camera gadgets. i guess that would be partly dependent on my future other half. hmmm. very important things to consider…