Dog Eat Dog?

So, I have an interesting, disjointed story for you all.  And it isn't depressing. (Hopefully...)

So me and the boyfriend-now-fiance doohickey (as well as Kaye, whose totally awesome video game blog you should read, if you don't already) are working at moving in together.  And anyone who knows me knows that I love dogs.  And am fully planning on getting one as soon as income allows.  So, when there's a fifty foot billboard around the corner from my house that says ADOPT A GREYHOUND and has a picture of two adorable hounds cuddling, you can imagine what happens whenever I'm in a car/get behind the wheel:

"Omigawd Sam! Can we go? Please? Can we? Saaaaaam? Pleeeeeeeeease?!"
"But...its such a long drive...and gas prices...."
"PLEASE?!!?!!!?!?!!"
"...fine."


So, anyway, we've been there quite a few times now.  And, yes, I've developed a favorite.

(His name is Trapper, and he's part dingo I'm pretty sure.  Also, he doesn't have a tail anymore.)  Sadly, my favorite would eat my cat...soooo that's out of the question.

But, what this is really about is me finding these dogs... fascinating, quite frankly.  They're like, the big dog breed for cat lovers. For serious.  And, they're surprisingly chill.  Also, they want to eat small dogs.  Which is always fun.

Wait, what?

Yeah.  So I was walking one of them yesterday, a littler one that the guy in charge of the kennels said was "Probably cat-friendly.  I guess..."  We took her out, she was super happy and excited to go outside ("Do you wanna go for a waaaalk?")... and then she saw a little dog.  Well, her ears perk up and she's suddenly there is nothing in the world but this little dog.

I'm sure most of you have seen the look that dogs get when you hold their favorite toy right out of their reach. Yeah.  That.

I swear, I could almost hear her thinking.

"I wonder if you squeak like my toys.  I'll bite you and I'll pull out your stuffing and I will FIND that squeaker and squeak it all day long." - Juliet the Dog.


In fact, it took until we were very...very far away from it (completely out of sight, and probably out of scent) for her to focus on anything else.  Like sniffing poop.

Yup.  Poop always wins out over living chew toys.  That's a lesson we all should learn and take to heart.



If you're interested in helping ex-racing Greyhounds find permanent homes and/or live out the rest of their days in comfort, you should check out the National Greyhound Adoption Program's website, by clicking that link.

The most awesome TA EVER!

(Warning...this is going to be long and probably very disjointed. Read with caution!)

So, it's taken me awhile to get back to this. Sorry. But I have my reasons, and for once, they don't involve me being horribly uninteresting! So, cutting straight to the chase: I'm a TA (ish). Yay! I should elaborate, I guess.

I went to my old high school/middle school, and visited one of the art teachers. She was always super cool to me, and when I was in 8^th grade, co-ran the After-School Art program that I was majorly involved in. So, yeah, I went to visit, and she kind of forgot that I went to college. So, she was downright astounded when I said I was a college grad (which I TOTALLY am now!). I asked her if she ever needed any volunteer stuff let me know, and it so happened that the next day (Wednesday, two weeks ago) her Service Through Art group were painting murals and I should "totally come and check it out."

I went to a Quaker school. We're all about peace and service and generally being a good person, there. Yes, I am a proud alumn; and even if my high school years sucked (which they did, cuz it's high school) they were probably better than yours, so NYAH!

So, I did go the next day. Remembering that I'm not a morning person, waking up at 8AM to traverse public transportation to get to a middle school by 10AM... I was not a happy Jazzy. But, I got there, twenty minutes early, and out of breath because I scrambled up there so I wouldn't be late. First thing, she sprang on me that I had to do a presentation to a group of hungry, judgemental 10-14 year olds. (I had to do it right before lunch. So cruel...) So, I was automatically nervous. Then the REAL artist came in.

Meet Jonny: a really (really) tall, scrawny, scraggily mural artist and sculptor. Mid-thirties (I'm assuming) assistant to the biggest mural artist in Philadelphia, and practiced art teacher.

So, I'm awkward. You know that by now. Luckily, my former teacher did all the introducing. We shook hands and shot the shit for a minute or two, before setting up for the muralling. My old teacher (who will now be refered to as Mrs. Dice [not her real name]) asked me to take pictures for them, and, with my brand new, wallet murdering, DSLR camera, I gladly obliged.

Thus, the first week passed. I chatted with real adults for awhile, took some pictures, and had...well, the best presentation I could manage considering the short notice.

The second week I missed, due to only sleeping about three hours.

Now, lets get into yesterday. My second day. I got there a bit late, due to a fiasco with public transportation, construction, and mud. Mrs. Dice and Jonny were pushing the art cart to the hall they were painting when I ran over to them. We went to the enclave that the kids were painting, and Mrs. Dice went to wait for the kids. As I chatted with Jonny, I realized a few things:

1. I haven't quite shaken the whole "giving college critiques" thing, and I was terrified to advise these kids because I might be a dick and make them cry.
2. I might be more seriously considering being a teacher.
3. I will never, never be as cool as Jonny, the mural artist. Seriously.

The kids came, and started painting, and I started taking pictures. Here's where it gets interesting though. Jonny and Dice now gave the kids almost complete creative freedom now. And, I was quite frankly impressed. Like, some of these kids were GOOD. Really good. The ones that weren't particularly great artists were impressively creative, or had a really entertaining sense of humor. I'll show you some pictures.

 The background: root/tentacle thingies.

 The art cart!

 Jonny.  One day I'll make it to this guy's level of awesome.

 A kid painting words.  They were told to collect words that they overheard in the enclave to paint.  It was only a guideline, really, and the kids wrote everything from memes to pictures to...I dunno, the actual assignment.

One amazing "Amazing." 

A kickass horse. 

Eyeball.

My personal favorite little corner.  I'm a sucker for pretty geometric patterns!

Meme-kids' doodle corner.

Remember, most of these kids are ten, twelve, fourteen years old, at oldest. I advised and encouraged as best I could. What struck me, though, was that these kids remembered me. One girl, who two weeks ago mentioned that she wanted to go to a creative arts high school in the city, came up to me, excitedly, telling me that her mom decided to let her try to go, and started doing the paperwork and stuff. She then found me right after they went to clean up, and started talking painting and techniques and mediums with me. Yes, I was having an intelligent conversation with a sixth grader about painting. I remember how it felt to be talking to adults at that age, and I did my best to talk to her like an equal, not like a little kid. I'd like to think I did a good job.

Anyway, the day wore on, and I was invited to stay for Dice's clay classes. And lunch. AT THE TEACHERS' TABLE (hoh man!). All the teachers were really cool and surprised that I was all graduated and stuff. I had real conversations with my old Drama teacher and a new middle school English teacher.

This raises the question: when did teachers gain three dimensions? It's almost like they're real people, and I was too self-serving to notice! Nahhhh...

Middle school ceramics. I didn't see myself ever qualified to help teach a class like that, considering I only took one Ceramics class in college, but...I actually knew what I was talking about. At least enough to advise middle schoolers. I helped a girl with building a ceramic dollhouse (very ambitious, cuz it's going to be really big...), a boy make an octopus lamp (super cool idea!) and tried to convince a girl that her vase was super cool and she shouldn't break it into a million pieces. Then the fifth graders came in. Ten year olds are scary. I already knew that, but I've never been closed in a room with twenty of them. They were fun kids though; quite proud to explain what their projects were (cartouches...not sure if I'm spelling it correctly). By the second set of fifth graders (and the end of my day), they decided that I needed to be quizzed on all of their names, and I was followed around by a kid who wanted nothing more than to talk video games.

Even if you're only 4.5 feet tall!

Apparently, it's amazing that GameBoy was invented the year I was born.

Who knows, I might have found my thing. I forgot how much I liked kids and enjoyed teaching, being around fellow awkward college students for the past five years. We'll see.

Or Jonny.  Whatever.

What ever do you mean, socially inept?!

I used to go into the city a lot more than I do now. That changed for a few reasons, the most important of them being I'm unemployed. I've passed the age where there's nothing for me to do anymore. Now I'm just broke.

Interesting fact. Living in a city between the ages of fourteen and twenty is rather lame. There isn't really much for someone who isn't still in awe of The Duck, but isn't old enough to drink legally, to do.

Anyway, yeah, I don't really go into the city much anymore. But in my more recent forrays into the Philadelphia Metropolitan area has left me with some rather interesting hypothesises. For those of you who don't know (which I'm assuming is none of you, since probably the only people reading this are people I'm friends with) I am a chubby, generally cheerful, socially awkward black girl who suffers from a caustic stew of mental problems. (ADHD and Depression being the big ticket items. They're like, the the bleach and vinegar to my mental chlorine gas.) So, putting me in a small, building with three, young, skinny, pretty, likely fairly well adjusted white girls is bound to leave me feeling kind of awkward.

They were the happy, cheerful kind of girls that generally make me uncomfortable. Customer service should never be so upbeat.

Anyway, I was at an animal rescue in Old City. There were these girls, two adorable Pit Bull mixes, and fifty bajillion cats. Yes, that is a real number. It's hidden between fifty-two and fifty-three. Anyone who knows me knows what I was drawn to, but for those who don't, there was a freaking adorable Pit/Lab mix puppy that just pissed all over the floor of its very nice kennel that I wanted to hug and love and never let go. The problem now was, I needed permission to go into the kennel. That meant I had to talk to Peppy McHappycheer. The conversation went uncomfortable quickly.

"Hey, I wanted to know if I was allowed to check out that little black Pit pup in the back kennel."

"Oh yeah! You just have to make sure you stay in there for at least fifteen minutes."

"Oh, yeah, I know. I used to volunteer here. A few times...a couple years ago. Then I moved out of town. Um, but I moved back now."

"Mhm..."

-long, awkward pause, filled with Jazzy pacing the rescue-

"I, um, I'm just waiting for my boyfriend-doohickey to come back."

-Peppy McHappycheer gives a look like I just said I had sex with Stalin and enjoyed it-

"Shit...um...where is he?"

Yes, Jazzy has the magical ability of breaking happy people by making them think they're dealing with a psychopath. Can any of YOU do that without trying? Yeah, didn't think so.