Question

Just curious... What would you think if you were driving home late one night and you saw a man with a huge Tweety Bird doll (almost as big as I am) crossing the street? Just what would you think? It was 1:00 in the morning, so I really didn't know what to conclude.

Bite Me!

Housesitting is the "easiest" of jobs. Stay in the house, munch on snacks, watch TV, occasionally let the dog out, and bring in the mail. Not much more and no less. That is the job. And it is supposed to be quite safe.

I had an overnight stay at a house in Seattle last night. The family has hired me for two weeks in June but they wanted to give me a practice night before the long-term. It was easy money. They had two small pomeranian dogs named "Jezebel" and "Jackson". If you've never seen a pomeranian before, all you need to know is they weigh no more than ten pounds and the majority of them is made of fluff. They are quite social and exciteable little dogs.

The whole day went fine, as well as the night. However. Morning came, and little did I know that I was in for an experience. It was shortly after dawn and wasn't quite light out yet. I woke up early and wasn't able to get back to sleep. The dogs were already up, so I rolled out of bed, remade the sheets, and got dressed. I followed the dogs down the 80-year-old spiral staircase, which wood boards creaked under my every step. This house was built in 1927. And I get to live there for two weeks in June. Joy to my soul.

First thing I did was let the dogs into the backyard through the back kitchen door. I followed them out to make sure they did their business. The yard was fenced so they couldn't go anywhere, but I wanted to make sure. We walked around a bit and I kissed to the dogs, encouraging them to do whatever it is they needed to do. Suddenly, they both became quite restless and started running around the yard, barking wildly. They were getting loud, so I decided to take them back in, to avoid waking the neighbours.

They followed me into the house and I closed the door. I went into the kitchen to prepare their breakfast and both Jezebel and Jackson eyed me as I did so. They sat on the tile floor and watched as I scooped kibble into their dishes. I chatted with them a little, "Are you guys hungry? Ready for breakfast?" But in the middle of my rambling, both dogs turned and bolted back through the doggie door and into the backyard. I heard their barks and I wondered if they were barking at the paper boy or an early morning walker. However, soon their barks turned from a sound of warning to shrieks of terror and panic. I darted for the door and watched as Jezebel leapt through the doggie door. Jackson started to climb through, but he suddenly stopped and started to struggle against something outside. Something wasn't letting him back in!

I swung open the door and found a huge raccoon attacking Jackson's back and legs! It was growling and snarling and wouldn't let Jackson go. "Tigger", the pet cat, sat a few feet away, hissing and batting his paws at the raccoon, but it didn't make a difference. I was so scared, I did the only thing I could think to do and I kicked the raccoon as hard as I could. This freed Jackson and he bounded into the house, however the raccoon turned its rage onto my leg and bit me through my pantleg. One more swift kick and the raccoon backed off.

Back in the house, both dogs were frantic. They were panting and barking and appeared to be in as much shock as me. I looked them all over and luckily, found no injuries on either of them. Even the bite on my leg wasn't serious. He hadn't even drawn blood.

The daughter who lives in the spare cottage had heard the noise and came out wearing nothing but a blanket. The whole thing had happened so suddenly, she didn't have any idea what happened. I explained the whole story and she could hardly believe her ears. I showed her my hands and how badly they were shaking. But she encouraged me and said I'd done all the right things. She said her mom wouldn't be upset with what happened and I should simply lock the dogs in the house and call later to explain what had happened.

So that is what I did. And Cindy was very understanding. In fact, I think she feels even better than she ever did before about me staying in June. Like she can completely rely on me to come through for her dogs. For goodness sakes, I kicked a raccoon. And took a bite for it. How many people can say they took on a raccoon and won? Although there are few who would have to take on a raccoon in the first place... Nonetheless. I'm glad I had a tetnus shot four years ago.

Late Night Curd

1:30am

Amy stirred her bowl of cottage cheese and tangerine pieces, "You know... I always wondered what cottage cheese is."

I spooned a mouthful and managed to speak. "Well... It's not cheese."

Amy's brow furrowed and she stared at her bowl. "You're right... It's not..."

I swallowed, "It's curd."

There was a pause. We looked at each other. Amy answered, "Right, but... What's curd?"

It was a puzzle we knew not how to answer but with laughter and to repeat the word "curd" to each other, because it only became funnier the more we said it.

A funny moment between roommates.

Northwest offers students to study abroad in London, England. And I intend to go. My friends have had their turn to go somewhere far away for an extended period of time and I want that same chance. They offer the program for junior and senior honour students. I must become an honour student. It may be tough, but I have the will. Everyone knows how stubborn I am.

Can you imagine the stories I could tell and the pictures I would take? And if I can help it, I'll go during the best time of year. When snowfall is constant and I always have an excuse to wear a scarf. Imagine me, trotting down cobblestone walks, honing my skills and practicing my British accent. A semester in England will look great on my resume. Leah was right and I find myself drawn toward travel journalism. While housesitting last week, the newest issue of Travel + Leisure came in the mail and I found myself digesting every article. The first I read took me through Poland, Czech Republic, and Slovakia. The method of each journalists' style paralleled my own. The best part was how much the writers focused on the people themselves. People are the best subject of all time--they cannot be beat.

My appointment with Admissions is tomorrow afternoon. Time to put on a show, putting on my best--clothes, makeup, smile, etc--and impressing the living shite out of them. Carly, in her prime and everso slightly awkward in her pantyhose. I don't mind. This is definitely where I want to go to school, so it's well worth the effort.

If I successfully nail my interview and promise to send them a breathtaking letter of recommendation, I'll find myself starting school in the fall. And with any luck, I'll manage to make honour roll and start filling out study abroad forms for my senior fall semester. With a prime minister like Tony Blair, how could I refuse? He is one sexy older British gentleman, only a bit less handsome than Hugh Grant.

I don't like it. Not at all. Never have I had so many friends at one time all in committed relationships. Allow me to rant briefly...

I have friends who are coming home for the summer and I have been anticipating their return for several months now. However, I've come to realize that while I want to hang out with them, they probably don't want to spend too much time with me, because well... They'd rather spend their time with that other person. Because the benefits of kissing and spooning are those I can't offer. The reality of the situation is that while my friends are coming home, they probably won't be around much. And I'll be honest--it pisses me off.

What's even worse is that even if my friends do take a day to spend with me, they'll probably bring up their significant other and mention how much they miss them. And while my natural reaction will be to roll my eyes, I'll force myself to sympathize and say, "I know." Worser still, I'll have to remind them of the fun they could be having with me and say, "But we're here and this'll be fun! Cmon! It'll be great!"

Of course, when I invite everyone over for pizza and movies, the couples will smoosh together on my couch and those who don't fit will sit on the floor, propped up against each other. Will anyone want to sit next to me? Not likely. Not when they have someone whose hand they can hold while sitting. I can picture it all now. Everyone divided into two's, while I sit at the dinner table, secretly plotting against them, Oh what will I blog about you tonight??

I truly miss having single friends. Because then, I could actually talk about something besides how great someone else is.

"Isn't he so great? I love him so much."

"Yeah, I know." I KNOW.

"He would love it here. I wish he could be here."

"Yeah, I bet." Don't say you miss him.

"I miss him."

"I can't blame you." Prepare to die.

"It's okay. I'll see him tomorrow."

"That's good." Look at me! Look at me! Look at me! Look at me! Look at me!

"I'm gonna call him."

"Tell him I say 'hi'." And that I plan on killing him tomorrow.

Please don't let this happen. All of you who are going home to your families and friends, spend your time wisely. I'm not telling you to not be with that special someone, but I want to remind everyone that you have other friends who are still fun and longing for your time. The majority of people express love through quality time and I am no exception.

I'm tired of feeling alone already.

In Memory of Columbine
The following is true...

We were practicing cartwheels in her living room when Breaking News took over the broadcast. We ignored it for a while and continued flipping. Eventually, she asked if she could go nextdoor to jump on the trampoline with her friend. I granted her request. Out of breath, I plopped on the couch and grabbed the remote, ready to change it to Nickelodeon. There was usually something good on Nickelodeon. But before I could, they cut to live footage. I immediately started trembling. A swat team stood with their knees bent, pointing their guns at a line of teenagers who were escaping from their school building. As the authorities waved their guns, the children quickly raised their hands and pressed them to the backs of their heads. Because they didn't know who was a victim or who was guilty, they couldn't risk it. The view from the helicopter showed a boy's body* laying face down on the concrete, his blood streaming into the street. And that's when I started to cry. And I prayed.

Kids my age were murdered. Kids my age were murderers. Kids my age were care-free. Kids my age were evil. Kids my age... I was only fifteen.

We still remember you Kyle Velasquez, Daniel Rohrbough, Rachel Scott, Daniel Mauser, Matthew Ketcher, Kelly Fleming, Cassie Bernall, Steven Curnow, Lauren Townsend, John Tomlin, Isaiah Shoals, Corey Depooter, and your teacher, William "Dave" Sanders. You have changed my life in an awesome way. Please keep soaring. The breeze from your wings remind us of God's grace.


*Dan Rohrbough was supposedly the first Columbine victim. He was holding the door open for other students when he was shot outside. He laid there for 24 hours before being moved. I always think of him on this day. He would have been 20 this year. My age...

Enough to make you say "Holy freaking crap..."

We were sitting in Coldstone when Erin asked me, "Who do you think will get married first?" She was referring to the girls in our Sunday small group, fondly referred to as "Smag", which we formed during our last years of high school. I distinctly remember both our answers. Erin said, "Molly." But I said, "You." She laughed and asked me why I thought she'd be the first on the marraige hit list, but no matter how many times I said "You're the oldest", she was never satisfied.

This afternoon, I puroused Travis' blog and learned of a recent engagement between two beautiful friends of mine. Erin and Josh are to be wed May of next year. I should have made a bet with Erin. I would probably be looking at some money right now. Or a neck rub at least! But who knows if one of us will decide to elope in the next twelve months--it's never certain until those final "I do's".

My friends are getting married. Holy freaking crap. I have friends who have fallen in love. They have found the person they want to spend the rest of their lives with. Erin and Josh. Ryan and Sarah. From my weak-minded 20-year-old perspective, it's one of the strangest concepts. Soon, I'll be attending married couples' house parties. I'll find myself amidst other singletons, admiring our hosts and all asking ourselves when it'll be our turn. And oh, the stomach churning I will be forced to endure upon hearing the words, "Well, it was nice to have you. But we have to go to bed now." It is no longer a matter of taking his girlfriend to her home but to his bedroom instead.

I am not envious. Or jealous. I don't even suffer from a ridiculous case of wishful thinking. Plainly speaking, I'm just wierded out. We dream about falling in love and getting married and where we'd love to spend our honeymoon, but actually experiencing those things is completely different. There's a reality to it all that is vastly misunderstood. This is it, kids. You're done. You are bound to each other from this moment forth. Kiss and be merry. Toast your glasses to each other and remember how it all began, with a simple "Hi, my name is..."

Seattle isn't the downpour everyone makes it out to be. It's been like this since the end of February.

Jon Johnson was at the open mic tonight. He played and in his usual Jon Johnson style, dedicated his last song to the girl working behind the counter who he described earlier as "too hot, dude." From where I sat, it didn't look like she was very flattered or impressed. Especially since he got her name wrong.

Playing for people is extremely fun. Not to mention how much easier it becomes with every try. My songs are well-received. I won't even begin to describe the feeling I get when someone asks me afterwards, "Do you have a CD I can buy?" Oh man... There just isn't anything like that!

I'd really like to be a journalist. I'd also really like to be a songwriter. Is it possible to be both? When there's so much passion for each, how could I choose one over the other? I really feel that I coudn't. There are people in America who knew what they wanted to be when they were eight years old and they'd never be anything else. I give them props. Someone like me, however, hasn't always wanted one thing their whole life. I have always wanted many things and I think I always will. I'm very selfish that way.

School is going to be perfect. No more required courses like Geology 101, which mean nothing to me. I'll study and write about things I actually care about and I'm so thrilled. I have been impatient and lazy while going to Cascadia, but the motivation to get into Northwest and finish my bachelor's is strong. I may even strive for Teacher's Pet.

The nights are getting warmer. The days are growing brighter. And my smile is stretching wider. This is how life ought to be.

There's something about Kate Winslet that I love. This is a shallow, vain, and pointless topic, but ever since watching Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind (which you should see right now if you haven't already), I have developed a strange obsession admiration for the actress. And I'll admit to having an innocent, non-sexual crush on her. By "crush" I mean that there are so many things about Kate that I love, I wouldn't mind being like her.

Basically, this is a weak attempt to plug the movie. You should see it if you haven't yet. Because it's brilliant and I wish I could write screenplays with as much beauty. So much of the movie's dialogue has existed in my head at one time or another. There's a balance between both Jim Carrey and Kate Winslet's characters that I can relate to. I've seen the movie twice now and both times, people walked out of the theatre. I figure they are those people who thought Eternal Sunshine was just another one of Jim's slapstick movies. Thank goodness it's not. Please go see it.

I didn't realize it until just this very second, but I have subconsciously copied Jason at jasonkill.com. I'm such a poser!

I keep going back and forth, I know. What I want to do, where I want to go, and why-oh-why will God lead me in one direction, only to go in a different direction the next day? Why, God? Oh, why??

Like I have mentioned, I'm currently riding my last quarter at Cascadia. After this, my education will proceed at whatever university that will find me acceptable. In a mere eight weeks, I will need to decide where to continue.

Those who have been reading for the last several months likely have many ideas as to what I want to do. And who could blame you? I've been spouting out sentences left and right, proclaiming my newest and truest revelations about where my life is headed. Each one completely unrelated to what was written before it. And I must appear a fool! But soft... I am reminded of Sunscreen, "Don’t feel guilty if you don’t know what you want to do with your life. The most interesting people I know didn’t know at 22 what they wanted to do with their lives, some of the most interesting 40 year olds I know still don’t." If only I could write something so profound...

There is a college about 15 minutes from here. Maybe your friend has gone there. If I wanted, I could ride my bike there. They offer a bachelor's in Communication and a minor in Writing. If that doesn't sound like "Carly" to you, I don't know what would.

I've booked an appointment with an admissions counselor. And that's more than I can say about most things. Believe me, I know how much this sounds like just another "I know what I want to do!" schemes... But I know myself pretty well and the feeling I have inside of me right now is the same as how I've felt in the past. That feeling I always get when I'm sure. It fits just right.

So, if you would please pray that my meeting with the Northwest College admissions counselor would go well; that perhaps I might impress them enough that they'll want nothing more than for me to attend their school... I'd be very much obliged.

Calling all 20-something's. Be nice and fill this out for our blogging friend, Amber. I did and it didn't take more than a couple minutes.

Wow. Happy Easter, everyone. I feel, in spirit of this amazing celebration, I will ressurrect something from my blogger past.

Why I won't date... I suppose it's because of my obnoxious and unrealistic hope that the next man I invest my heart in will ultimately be the last man I fall for ever again. I'm not interested in casual dating and I don't need to meet a variety of men to learn what I like and what I don't. I know exactly what I admire in men and in all people. However, the combination of aspects I look for in a person are not common or apparent in most. Over the last six months, I have become exceedingly picky about who I will consider getting to know in a "romantic" fashion. It's not that I'm a snob or think I'm better than anyone, as many people might and have the right to think. Everyone can be my friend, but the bar has to be met if I think someone could be morethanafriend.

Maybe I'm jaded. I have even accused myself of this. However, I believe my friend Josh put it best when he said, "You know, Car... For someone as whimsical and romantic as you, you're shockingly reasonable." Somehow, I have not only managed to become a seeker of magic but for the meaning behind magic. It may be contradictory, but there is a balance. Yes, I live in a realm of wonder and reason. Is it really that impossible??

Since starting school, friends and family have expressed their high hopes for me to "finally start dating". It's true that I'm lonely. I would love nothing more than to have someone to spoon with on my couch on a Friday night such as this. But unless there's a connection--one that is intellectually stimulating as well as emotionally--I refuse to spoon with anyone, "innocent" or no. If a man and I can enjoy an argument over why a band is good or bad; if we can discuss one of life's falicies and what we've learned; if we can sit on a floor tossing a deck of cards into a hat and love it... Then maybe, just maybe, I'll think about the possibility.

But only then.

If you are a UK resident, I will reimburse you for the tape. Please.

I've never been a big spender. I don't have a shoe obsession or a ridiculously large collection of purses. I don't go out to dinner and besides filling my gas tank and restocking art supplies, I don't spend much outside my apartment. At most, I enjoy going to see a movie whenever I have a friend in town, which usually occurs once every month. However, while I hardly spend at all on material possessions, I still manage to use the money that would have bought me 20 different handbags.

The money that would have gone toward new clothes, books, CD's, DVD's, and other pleasures, instead goes toward traveling. If you add up every item an average person bought during the course of a month, you'd be shocked to find that they could have bought a round trip ticket to Orlando, Florida for the same amount, or even less.

Flying to new places is a passion of mine. Soon, I will have to invest in a frequent flyer's card. Because I've started thinking about it daily. Where can I go next? What would I like to see? Oh, the possibilities! The people I'd meet! The pictures I'd take! The stories I could write!

I realize it's expensive. I realize it's the worst hobby I could ever participate in. I know how much it sounds like financial suicide! I know, I know, I know!

But in truth, I just don't care! People think I'm crazy for wanting to go somewhere I've never been before where I technically don't know anyone, but I think they are the crazy ones for not wanting the same thing! We only live once! What is up with this unneccessary fear of dying simply because you don't know where you are? I could die tomorrow while driving to the grocery store! People are dangerous and threatening and scary in every part of the world, so why have any more reservations about one place over the other? I'm not stupid, I'm not naive, and it's not like I'm going to sleep in a dark alley somewhere! I can stay three nights in a local Holiday Inn for a whopping $60 and I'd be completely safe!

It hurts me when I am criticized for something I love so much. My life is my own. I'm not addicted to drugs or sex or alcohol. I'm addicted to travel. Travel. I'm addicted to the wonderful people that are out there, just waiting to tell me their stoires. Just because I'm not afraid to go somewhere extravagent doesn't make it right for someone to judge me for something they're too scare to do.

I mean, honestly... Where's the harm in somewhere new?

It's official.

'jeffersonair' has moved.

carlybish.com

Amy's best friend, Jenn, is due to have a baby boy in two months! She and her boyfriend are so excited to meet baby Dylan. And tonight, we did some baby belly bonding.

John and Kevin come from a magical place called Stanley Steamer. John and Kevin are cleaning my carpets. John and Kevin are superheroes. I've decided to marry them. Both.

Or maybe I'll poor them each a glass of ice tea... Either way, my carpets are being cleaned.

So people have been asking me, What's going on with you, Car? It's been nothing but "Canada Canada Canada" since you got back--What's happened in the meantime?

Well, besides a private Switchfoot performance and the loss of my favourite companion, not an awful lot.

I started school this week. After this, I'll have finished with my Associate of Integrated Studies and I can transfer to a four-year university and proceed with my Bachelor's. School is a good thing right now. I've had five months off. I feel ready to get back into it.

Since coming home from Canada, I haven't needed to get a job. Housesitting and selling paintings has been enough to support myself. There isn't a lot of room to breathe, but I'm okay with that.

There aren't many people around to hang out with. My roommate and I are the only ones who know exactly what's going on in each other's lives. But we're in the process of cleaning our apartment. We even have Stanley Steamer coming out to clean our carpets. And once all is set, we're having a big party here. All are invited. Even the Kiwis in New Zealand. You should come too.

Amy and I just got over being extremely sick. My throat is still recovering.

I played the open mic at Victor's in March. It went incredibly well. There wasn't anyone I knew there and it felt great to be playing for strangers. I only played two songs, but they were well received and I felt great when I was done.

Most recently, I went to a small concert at Seattle Pacific University yesterday. The headlining band was horrible, but the opening band was great. The best part of last night was actually being where there were people. I got to be with friends and I hadn't done anything like that in months.

So that is life at present. Not too extravagent. Just trying to stay alive, emotionally and financially. Your prayers are appreciated. I will probably be writing more often in the next few days. Lots of thoughts to be vented. Thanks for reading.

Canada, Part Five

We drove to Kingston. Juliana's college town. We watched Rick Mercer's Monday Night Report on CBC and while it was very funny, I was more amused by how much John and Juliana were laughing about their country and its leaders. "Because Paul Martin is a wanker!" If you can think of something funnier than the word "wanker", I'd really like to know what it is, because I can't think of a blasted thing.

My adventurous days were dwindling down to relaxed site seeing and simple time away. I had my camera and I took pictures. We went out to dinner and we made friends with the waiter. John installed the Chariot with its own stereo. Juliana and I flirted with the pizza guy for a "better deal". We went to Bethany's Chorale tour two days in a row. We sat around and told stories, like "What was the stupidest thing you ever did for a guy/girl?" John's answer had me crying. Picture a young 17-year-old Jetchick clinging to the back of a semi (after missing his bus), bracing the bitter cold and holding on for his life, just so he could get to school to see the "special dress", which She had told him about the day before. I'm sorry, Jets, but the story is too good. I had to tell it...

The day before I left, John took me to Montreal. It was windy. There were clouds and some rainfall. It appeared dirtier than Ottawa, but John assured me that it was only due to the weather and the melting snowbanks. "Come back during the summer," he said. "It's gorgeous."

Uncle Dick was right. Montreal is full of culture and history. Everything was influenced by Catholicism, it couldn't go unnoticed. Cathedrals were everywhere and all of them appeared holy and ultimately religious. We visited St. Joseph's, the most amazing holy building I've ever been in. We walked in and John told me that there was absolutely no speaking. I couldn't talk, but oh, could I take pictures. And take pictures, I did.

We drove all over the city. I even pulled my video camera out for a bit. I managed to get John, hater of video cameras, to say something "profound" on film. Because it's a requirement. And my favourite moments were when I'd ask John what a certain building was and he'd laugh and stammer and finally say, "Uh... Actually, I don't know." That was the best. Because then, my imagination was forced to dream of what it could be.

Going home was different that night. John and I spent our whole time listening to several different songs that he could possibly sing to. Our goal was to write a song some time before the night ended. My goal was only to hear John sing, because I'd been told it was awesome. We must've listed to 20 or so different tunes. Most of which were in John's range, but beyond my guitar playing skills. Eventually, I pulled my guitar out from the back seat and played a riff, thinking John might come up with a lyric. Three hours in the Chariot spent dedicated to music. But did I ever hear him sing? It was a huge goal of mine to hear that man sing, but did I? Not once. Bollicks, John!

But we had fun, didn't we?

The next morning, John drove me to the airport. He stayed with me until it was my time to go through security. That airport is so much fun, I was actually late checking into my flight. I was the last one to board my plane. I arrived to the gate and before I could say anything, a lady looked at me and said, "Are you Carly?" I answered her and pulled out my ticket and photo ID. She looked at them, smiled big, and let me through. And I took my seat across from the man with no arms.

Obviously, I've left a lot out. I cannot include every last detail, because they wouldn't matter to anyone but me. But what I've written has been the jist and I'm sure, if you've read it all, that you now have a fair understanding as to how happy the trip made me. And I can sit and boast about how great Canada is and how much I'd like to live there one day, but the truth is that the people are what made it worthwhile. I'm not just saying. Well... The Chariot might be to blame too. John will tell you, the Chariot is the hotness. So, to sum up my trip in one opulent sentence:

Give me life or give me death, so long as there is the Chariot, I'm a happy girl.

My Favourite Photo Album (Four).