Merry Christmas one and all!

Atta Boy, Clarence!

George Bailey, I will love you 'till the day I die.

Gallery Opening

So I took a drawing class last quarter, and I was very nervous about it, because I've never considered myself an "artist." But not all artists come out of the womb with drawing utensils in their hands, and they had to take classes to get better.

I am going to show you some of my favorites from the quarter. Now, I am not comparing myself to anyone with real, viable talent, but I am pretty impressed that I drew anything that looked like anything remotely recognizable. Here they are:

Oops. The last one is sideways.

Where's the Rug for My Nap?

In case you were wondering I did get into all three classes at the community college. And I have loved every minute of it. My classes are engaging, I am gaining all sorts of new talents, and the instructors are very approachable. (Much more so than my experience at a particularly well-known university where I received my first degree.) The other nice thing about the community college is that I am not the oldest student there. I saw a few older students when I went in to get my parking pass, and I wanted to fist-pump all of them in some sort of recognition of solidarity. Anyway, in my classes, I am not the only one with a previous degree, nor am I the only one starting over.

It really has felt like I am completely starting over....like, kindergarten starting over. This quarter I did a lot of:

cutting and pasting. I am pretty good at it too. Two of my cutting and pasting projects are still at school and will be displayed in the hallway. I should have taken pictures before turning them in. Somehow I am not sure if I will ever get them back...

I've also drawn kitties and houses. Not to mention all sorts of other things.

Last, I re-learned how to write the alphabet and numbers. And unlike my penmanship grades in kindergarten and 1st grade, I actually did pretty well with the new style (which requires a drafting table, straight edge, and 45-degree triangle to accomplish).

I am also a straight-A student. I'm pretty sure that never happened at BYU, either.

Esther, The Plans Have Been Changed

One of my favorite movies growing up was Vincent Minelli's "Meet Me In St. Louis." Really, what's not to love: fun-and short-musical numbers, fabulous "ginger-peachy" catchphrases, creepy Victorian Halloween practices, and the joy of knowing that I won't have to wear a corset to make a move on members of the opposite sex. (Hmmm...maybe that would help...)

Recently a certain part of the Christmas ball scene has been replaying in my mind. Esther and her sister Rose plotted to get back at Lucille Ballard for going to the ball with Warren Sheffield (Rose's beau) instead of their brother Lon. Rose and Esther filled Lucille's dance card with the city's less-than-optimal dance partners. Once Miss Ballard arrived at the ball, she insisted that Warren pair off with Rose, and she would then get to spend time with Lon. Rose was more than pleased with the arrangement, and unbeknownst to Esther, agreed to the new arrangement. Soon Esther joined the party with the filled dance card from you-know-where, when Rose hastily, and and rather snootily I might add, stated that "The plans have been changed," and then waltzed off with Warren. (Or maybe it was Virginia Reel.) Esther kept the wicked dance card for herself, and had a tortured Christmas ball until her grandfather (and later heart-throb John Truitt) saved her.

You are now probably wondering why this particular scene has been playing in my mind. As you all know, I've been unemployed and trying to get a job so I can save up money to go back to school next fall. Needless to say, I've been a little impatient and worried that I've maybe made yet another poor decision. I may live at home, but it is still no fun to be without pocket money--especially with the autumn approaching and I seem to have misplaced my long-sleeved shirts and closed-toe shoes.

One day I was pondering my situation and thought about starting to school early--at a local community college, and paying for it along the way with a part-time job. Like, at the mall or something. The idea didn't sit well. It didn't match my plans to spend my first paycheck at Boden, Anthropologie, and the Nordstrom shoe department. All of a sudden I heard Rose Smith's uppity voice telling me the "the plans have been changed." I knew that I would not be dancing with the 20 most eligible St. Louis bachelors circa 1903. I am dancing with the rejects. I know, I know....there is nothing wrong with training at a community college, or working at the mall. It just wasn't what I planned.

But maybe things are working out. A couple in my ward hired me to work at their store in the mall selling fancy olive oils, vinegars, etc. And with any luck I'll be starting school tomorrow. Since I'm a late registrant I have to beg the teachers to add me. If it is "meant to be" then it will work out, and my dance with the circa 1903 St. Louis rejects will pass quickly, and my figurative John Truitt will show up the make the rest of the ball fabulous.

Keep in mind, however, that I reserve the right to have more changed plans.

Don't Sign Me Up

Clubs are supposed to be things that people want to join. It just so happens that I am privileged to have the right pedigree to join either the Daughters of the American Revolution (DAR) or the Daughters of the Utah Pioneers (DUP). This is not to say that I am planning on joining any such club at the moment--I am pretty sure I lack the funds--but I could if I really really wanted to do so. Also, I am not 100 percent certain what I would do with any such organization. All I know about the DAR I learned from Gilmore Girls: meetings, luncheons, and fundraisers. All I know about the DUP is that my paternal grandmother joined, but I don't recall her mentioning any tea parties. However, being a member of either, or both, society does have one important benefit: being well-connected. If there is one thing I have gained from my time with Jane Austen (in either book or film form) is that it is important to come from a well-connected family...should one want to rub shoulders with good society and get hitched to a well-to-do single fellow who is naturally looking for a spouse.

Just as the DAR and DUP could help in social situations...or whatever...there is one club that could take all the benefits of connectedness away in one mighty swoop: The Crazy Cat-Lady Club (CCLC). Let's face it, while it is perfectly O.K. to like and own a few cats, loving and owning a horde of them is socially and hygienically a really bad idea. Unfortunately for me, just as easy as I could join the more high-class organizations, it appears that I am capable of being a member of the CCLC.

I'll be honest, I do like cats. I like to pet them, hold them, and I'm kind of fond of the way they purr. But that's where I'd like to keep it. Unfortunately, a couple of the cats at home are a little too hell-bent on making me look like a member of the CCLC.

Here are the Kitty Troublemakers: (on the left) Charlie, an 11-year-old male with a loud, chirpy meow, and a thick coat that he completely sheds whenever I wear black; (on the right) Mr. Bingley, a 1-year-old male, with a silent-to-squeeky meow, wild curiosity, and the ability to adapt to his lack of opposable thumbs.

Maybe I'm overreacting a little; all I know is that up until three-and-a-half months ago cats wouldn't give me the time of day. Now I have to put with 3:00am cuddling; constant requests for attention; "help" when I am typing on the computer or making my bed; an audience while washing my face; following me around; demands that they sit on my lap (this even happens with other people's cats these days...); exercise "assistance"; and having to hold them.

This behavior is relatively tolerable, but I have had to put an end to them following me into the bathroom whilst I shower. Mr. Bingley followed me in the other day. I thought I could get rid of him once I turned on the water. It didn't work, so I proceeded to disrobe while trying to avoid his staring eyes. Since the water takes its time getting warm, I thought a nature break was in order. So as I sat on the toilet, completely in the buff, Mr. Bingley thought it was an opportune time to sit on my lap. That was uncomfortable. It is one thing to hold a cat fully clothed, but it is another thing entirely to hold one while naked. Awk.Ward. It is a moment that totally propels one straight into the dreaded CCLC. I love our cats, but I don't want to love our cats. Needless to say, I didn't let him stay.

I am very certain that CCLC acts like that could keep me out of the DAR and DUP, and well, the rest of respectable society.

Why Dating Should Be a Lot More Like Shoe Shopping

Since I have been home my main focus--however unfocused the process has become--is to get a job, save money, and figure out a good-enough career path for me to follow. Unfortunately certain people in my family seem to think I should also be concerned about dating. And a certain member of my family thinks it would be a good idea to set up an online account for me. (I have warned this person that I will never ever ever speak to him/her again if it happens. Consider this your second warning.)

I'll admit that some people have been very successful at finding a match via the internet. My cousin met a completely functioning individual that we have been more than happy to have as part of the extended family. Maybe I could be just as fortunate. My biggest issue is with the whole process of searching on the internet. It's not like, say for example, shoe shopping online.

To begin with, if I want to shop for shoes online, I can log onto Zappos or Piperlime without having to announce myself first. I don't need to create a "Shoe Shopper Profile" stating that I am a "tall brunette with an 8 1/2 shoe size looking for a classic yet modern black pump to wear to work, church, and fun social gatherings." Shoe stores do not care if I am a Taurus or if I like candle-lit dinners and long walks on the beach, and they don't need a picture of me. The best part is that I don't have to cross my fingers and hope that the pair of shoes I like will also choose me. Zappos and Piperlime just want me to look, find the right shoe (and the left, for that matter), purchase, and live happily ever after in my sleek, black Calvin Klein pumps with the wicked high heels.

Plus, I have never had to pay a fee for the privilege to shop for shoes. Sure, we have to fork out the cash when we find something, but I do believe it is one of our inalienable rights to shoe shop for free. I am pretty sure it is categorized under the "pursuit of happiness" part of the deal. After all, who wants to pay a fee, and then not find anything, or worse--be rejected? I generally do not pay to be rejected. That is just mean. Cruelly and unusually. I can get rejected for free.

Truthfully, when I look for shoes I would rather go to a brick-and-mortar shoe store to do the shopping. I have to try on before I buy. So my whole approach to dating is similar: look for the fellows in the places where fellows I would want to date should be, and if I am lucky, talk to them. Normally I got to places like church, social gatherings with friends, or through worthy recommendations from other friends. Please note, I am dismally unsuccessful, as you probably have guessed. For example, nearly two weeks ago my sister and I dragged ourselves to a Single Adult Conference filled with the region's selection of "shoes". I met some nice girls, too bad I shop for men. I did talk to some options that were nice and probably normal...loafers. I am in the market for sleek, black, classy-yet-modern pumps of the Calvin Klein variety (kind of like the ones I saw at Macy's this May but didn't have enough money to purchase) but will be perfectly happy with Nine West, Jessica Simpson, Miz Mooz, Cole Haan, Franco Sarto, etc. you get the idea. There were some there that looked like they could fit the bill, but they either act like custom-made, one-of-a-kind Salvatore Ferragamos, and not interested in communicating with someone who just wants a pair of Calvin Kleins, or they were already taken. Should I just settle for loafers when that shoe isn't what I want/need?

Shoe shopping can have challenges just like people shopping, but when I find the pair I want, that fits perfectly, and is in my budget, I can proceed to checkout. In the dating/relationship world it would be nice to go a certain place, pick out what I want, present myself, and then...proceed to checkout. But people just don't work that way. With my luck, after going to a certain place, picking out someone and presenting myself, I will most likely get laughed at.

So, I either need to make my peace with a life of loafers, or I will just have to splurge and buy those nice Calvin Klein pumps I saw this May. Or the yellow flats I saw at Target. Either way, I just want to go shoe shopping.

Am I Home Yet?

I have been home from Dubai for three months, and I have retitled my blog to show that I am home, but I am still talking about the Middle East. This is because I am not so quick about blogging things, and I figure talking about strange locations is more interesting to people who read this blog. However, it is time to move on (in so many ways) so this is most likely my last post about my time in the Middle East. Maybe I'll infuse a few stories in now and again, but this is the Last Official Middle East Post on this blog.

I had a fabulous Last-Month-in-Dubai. It's amazing how wonderful a place can be when one isn't working 12+ hours a day and 6 1/2 days a week. The first thing I did was move out of my apartment (that I shared with a Pakistani family. Have I ever mentioned that?) and into my friend Toria's house with her family. (ThankyouThankyouThankyou Toria, John and Kids.) It was the first best decision for my last month. I also rented a car that allowed me to go all over the place. I've already written about the fun I had with Trish and our trip to Jordan. The rest of time I spent hanging out with the friends I made, doing some last minute shopping, and thoroughly enjoying Dubai. Well, except for the many times that I got lost whilst driving around.

Do I miss it? It is hard to say. I certainly do miss a lot of aspects of the place...and that definitely includes the items in my What I'll Miss posts. What I would give for some Handi Chicken Achari, cheap waxing, and obscure Brit Rock on the radio.

So, here's a list of things about Dubai I love remembering:

1. The beauty of the desert, and the softness of the sand.

2. Mingling with other cultures: the Philippinos at work, Pakistanis at home, and Arabs--to name a few.

3. Wicked crazy luxury goods.

4. Henna--although I only had it done once. Where are the henna parlors in Spokane?

5. Camels, but not so much camel milk.

6. Large photos of leaders along the side of the road. The following is Crown Prince Sheik Hamdan.

7. Access to exotic fruits.

8. Getting my feet wet in faraway bodies of water.

9. Last, and certainly not least: my friends at church. I have met some nice friends at church here--and everywhere for that matter, but nothing can really compare to the bond in Dubai. I guess since we were all so far away from family, we became a much stronger and united group. They were all so good and kind to me, and I miss, miss, miss them. They make me grateful for friendship and all of my friends.

10. Now here's some random photos:

So now I am back in the U.S. and living in Spokane. Let the adventure begin.

All Fun and Games

Since Trish and I were able to visit Petra, we only had one more thing on our Jordan To-Do List: The Dead Sea. (Well, if we had more time, trust me, we would have had plenty to do. So keep that in mind when planning your Jordanian vacation.)

A friend at church claims that the Dead Sea is his favorite body of water, and it is the best place to be shipwrecked. First of all, it is so salty that no one drowns. And second, since the sea has no fish, there wouldn't be anything odd either nibbling or brushing up against one's legs. I think that makes it tops in my books, too.

My friend and I were the only ones who boarded a mini-tour bus to the sea. The bus drivers in Jordan must have some kind of deal going on with the tchochke shops along the way to each major destination. On the way to Petra, it was kind of nice because the shops have bathrooms (but without toilet paper, by the way). But the Dead Sea was maybe an hour away, so it wasn't necessary. We looked around to be nice, but even though it was obvious that we weren't pulling out the pocketbooks, we waited a long time for our driver to get done with whatever it was he was doing. However, soon as we announced that we were going back to the bus he mysteriously got done.

Here's some fun facts about the Dead Sea. It is below sea level. The Jordan River flows into it, but there aren't any tributaries leaving it. Thus it is a huge collection of minerals, sediment (and salt), and cannot support life. That's why it's called the Dead Sea.

My Jordanian friend recommended that Trish and I hang out at the Movenpick Hotel and Resort for the day. We had to pay a small fee but it came with towels lunch, and mud. The mud is very important; it's full of minerals and exfoliants and it helps makes skin smooth and pretty.

So, I bet the one question you have in your mind is: Do you really float? The answer is a resounding Heck Yeah! It is impossible to drown. While floating I tried to make myself "sink" up to my chin, but my shoulders obstinately stayed above the water line. The Dead Sea isn't so great for swimming, because when spreading the body out to swim, everything floats to the top. The best thing to do: just recline and relax.

One thing to keep in mind: don't get the water in your mouth, nose, and especially not the eyes. Poor Trish got water splashed in her eyes each of the times we went out to float. I got it in my eyes and nose just once. It burned like the dickens. The hotel has lifeguards, and I am pretty sure their only duty is to flush burning eyes with salt-free water.

We did get to relax on the beach as well. Most of the time I have whirlwind let's-see-everything-vacations, and it was kinda nice to sit on the beach and do nothing. Nothing, but try to avoid looking at the old heavy-set Russian man with his thong bikini and a t-shirt cut-off at the top of his belly. Yikes. No pictures of him, most fortunately.

Alas, we could not stay there all day; we did have to get back on that mini-bus (ice cream cones in hand) and head back to Amman. This time we were joined by a French couple, and we all stayed on the bus during the obligatory souvenir shop layover.

Once back in Amman, we got in a cab and headed directly to the Citadel. This site, gloriously situated on top of a hill, is a museum and archeological site containing artifacts and buildings from pretty much every civilization that moved through that part of the world. We arrived when the museum was closing, but were able to stick around to take photos. The light was perfect, and I am more than pleased about the results.