Classes and Interns and Puppies, Oh My!

I missed the deadline to apply for summer admission to the Masters program at University of South Florida. To be completely honest, I wasn’t going to start this summer.  I wanted to take a break from classes, and I was still shopping around.  But I saw that I’m done with this writing class I’m taking in three weeks, and the idea of not having papers to write or a place I’m required to spend an hour or two a few times a week for the first time in forever threw me in a tailspin.

So I decided to apply to the program closest to me at USF.  I checked their deadlines for the program.  Missed it by six weeks.  I sent the following email:

Dear Ms. Person in Control of My Future:

Just wondered how hard and fast these application deadlines are.  I got a bit sidetracked, but I was hoping to begin classes this summer. Just one to start – in Summer Session C.

Is it possible for me to attend XXX 5020 as a non-degree seeking student while I’m waiting for formal admission to the program in the Fall?


Future Student Who Admits to Frequent Periods of Indecision and Apathy

Keep your fingers crossed…


Email Buddy Eric is gone for five weeks.  He’s out in California for training.  Ugh! What am I going to do while I’m at work for the next month?  Who am I going to email to tell when someone does something stupid or crazy?  Do you ever watch The Office?  I am the Pam to his Jim.  Without the sexual tension, of course.

His son is interning for me right now.  When Email Buddy Eric left, I told his boy that he’s got to be my bitch while his dad is gone.  He just said, “I can do that, Ms. Lacey.”

EBE’s not completely underground, though.  We’ve resorted to texting and phone calls while he’s roaming the hills of Northern California.  This is how you know when someone has become one of your best friends, isn’t it?  That even when they go away, they’re still with you.


Carrie’s gotten a new dog. She’s a mastiff.  Now the size that puppy is going to get would throw off some would-be owners.  They’d be afraid of owning a dog that would end up owning the house, drooling all over the rug and couch.  Greeting every person who comes near the house with a deep bark and a toy in its mouth. Expecting food, water, and walks on demand.  Wait. That’s my dog.  My couch that covered in drool…

No.  I expect that Carrie’s new puppy is going through a rigorous training program even as I type this.  Carrie’s a no-bullshit kind of gal.  That dog doesn’t have a chance of running her house no matter how big it gets.  It’s one of the things I love best about Carrie.  She has strength of character.  She decides and moves forward.

Granted, Carrie moves forward in three-inch heels, but she can totally pull that off, too.   ;o)



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