Bachelor of Arts in Awesomeness

So I'm in this process of creating an actual office for myself, which requires sifting through things and OH MAN, I REMEMBER THIS RANDOM THING FROM COLLEGE or high school or whatnot, because as I arrange this office area, I have to actually move stuff. Stuff that got tossed into this side room when we moved in a year ago and, well, there it's sat.

Anyway, I say this, because a moment ago I was poking around all of these boxes of good and bad memories, when I stumbled upon this envelope on the floor. Now I must say that this room isn't cluttered with stuff. So to stumble upon something without knowing it was there takes quite a bit of effort.

Especially when that something is your college diploma.

Alright, folks. Here's my big, bad confession. I've only looked at my diploma like twice in my life. I mean I'm pretty sure I checked it after receiving it to make sure it had my name spelled correctly. And I probably glanced at it after I pulled it out of my trunk (where it had lived for roughly a year post-graduation...because yes, I was that kid who left college with nothing but a car of possessions and $500 to my name...oh, and a diploma in the trunk. Quite Hallmark, wouldn't you say?). But other than those two probable events, I haven't looked at the thing.

Until now.

Am I the only one concerned by the fact that it nowhere states what my major was? I mean what happened to Bachelor of Arts in Dance or Bachelor of Arts in History or Bachelor of Arts in Guitar-Making? I mean this makes me look as though I had no major at all!! Just one of those "general studies" types, who end up working pottery studios where fifth grade birthday parties are held while the workers smoke pot in the back room!!!!!!

Okay, breathe. BREATHE, I SAY!!!!

But the school could so eeeeasily afford the stupid little protecitve tissue paper. Couldn't they afford ink for three more words? Three more simple, clarifying....

SNAP OUT OF IT!!!!!!

There has to be an upside--a way to turn this into a positive...

Like telling people I have a Bachelor of Arts in Medicine or Neurology or World Peace or ... SUPER MODELING.

You think they'll fall for it?

Helo, Mr. CrazyMan

I work from home. And on occasion, I have to make very important phone calls. I mean, we're talking 212 area code phone calls. And every time, I have to very carefully plan when these calls take place.

You see, Helo is still a puppy, albeit a 95-lb (and quickly fattening up) puppy whose shoulders come to my waist. And Helo has very specific times during the day in which he likes to be a crazy man.

Now whenever it's revealed that Helo is the reason I can't talk before 11am or after 3pm, I always get the same, sweet, well-intentioned but highly ignorant response:

"Oh, I LOVE dogs!! Don't worry about it! We'll be fine, I'm sure."

No, my friend. No we will not be fine. Because unlike most puppies who can be ignored during their romp around the dining room table or incessant banging into your leg. when Helo plays, couch cushions are flying through the air, the rug is skidding across the floor, and every once in awhile, my lap appears to be the perfect launching pad for his ginormous frame.

In other words, when Helo decides it's time to play, my work day comes to a screeching halt.

Here's what a very tame play time looks like...anyone want to suffer through the no-holds-barred version?

My Juvenilia: A Cat

When I was in Kindergarten, I had a sort of epiphany--the epiphany went something like this:

I like books!!!!
But where do books come from?
They don't just appear out of nowhere.
*Gasp!* Someone has to MAKE them?!!!!
How fun!! How fun to make a book!!!
That's what I'm going to do!! I'm going to make a book!!!

I imagine this epiphany involved a very serious conversation with my mom, because before I knew it, I was in the living room, surrounded by my "Publishing House." My "printing press" was my baby doll's high chair. Then of course I had my illustration desk and my writing desk and so on.

And I did not leave until I made a book.

The result? The 1990 Newberry award-winning classic, A Cat. 

It appears that early on in life, I desired to be mononymous. It was quite epic of me, really. That, or I couldn't spell my last name.

 

Sorry for the low quality images ...scanner was having difficulty with the staples.

Wow! What a fantastic opening line. It evokes suspense and concern. Truly, an attention-grabber. Brilliant! Now, if only someone would have told me that despite my left-handed tendencies, page numbers for all right-side pages go...on the right.

 

Is it just me, or am I getting lazier with my illustrations? I mean Cat used to have thicker legs, right? Also, the letter 'e' was a doozie to write.

 

I specifically remember drawing each and every one of those rug tassels. I was sure that more tassels = better artistic quality. Boy, I was right. Those tassels are spot on.

 And there it is! The great conclusion!! What IRONY! What symbolism!! (And in case you can't see it, that gray blob amidst the black blob is the mouse, standing in his mouse hole. Laughing, of course. Just like my super-comedic manuscript describes.)

P.s. I had to ask for my mom's help with spelling the -ing words.