When Did This Happen?

It has come to my attention that my dad reads this blog. Furthermore, it has come to my attention that he would like a shout out. So, here it is:

HI DAD!

Mission accomplished.


On to the subject of this post. OH MY GOSH ITS SENIOR YEAR AND I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT TO DO NEXT. I realize that the abundance of capitals may seem a bit melodramatic to some. But let me paint a picture of the current situation:
You have spent 21 years of your life well fed, housed, cared for and generally taken care of. For fifteen or more of those years, you've been well educated. In fact, you are three-quarters of the way through a pretty prestigious school, getting a degree in something you love. And, being a well-adjusted young adult, you realize it's about time you did some of this feeding, housing and caring for myself. This is a little scary, but you breathe deeply and take it in stride. This is the circle of life. Suddenly, you have another realization, and it is truly horrifying: This very coveted, very expensive degree, has taught you how to... read. And write.
So... yea. Are there any jobs out there for a very proficient elementary schooler?

Seriously though, I have learned quite a bit at my very prestigious school, both in and out of the classroom. I have work experience, and a little bit of life experience (only so much can be expected from a 21 year old who was spared the school of hard knocks), and have volunteered for worthy causes, and care a lot about a lot of things. I can be organized, and I can multi-task, and I'm good with people and I'm motivated. And I think I look pretty darn good on paper, and make a pleasant first impression.
But even still, with all that said, it's a bit frightening to be so unsure what I've spent four years preparing myself for. I am not entirely convinced it was the real world, as Duke tends to seem very unreal to me most of the time. And as I'm preparing for the end of this journey, it is becoming more and more apparent that I have no idea what's next.

I've been told this is normal, and age appropriate, and at least I'm starting now and I'll be fine. I think that this is probably true. But, once again, I'm just putting it out there:

Smart, adaptable, motivated soon to be Duke graduate, looking for job (in New Orleans or Washington, DC preferably)...
References and resume available upon request.

Learning what it means to miss New Orleans

I'm home. That's Maryland for any non-family or friend who happens to have stumbled across this blog. (Welcome, by the way, and please comment if you promise to play nice.) Maryland, I must say, is not New Orleans. Compounding this great misfortune is the fact that I'm finally getting all the only child moments I want, and have remembered why I always wanted siblings. Be careful what you wish for, no? And so, now that I must make my own dinners and cookies and pancakes, lets just say I've cut back on the carbs. There's no one to run down the hall and see, and as much as I love my mom I don't think she'd understand if I burst in her room after 10... Actually, I don't know how she'd feel about bursting... We're a peaceful household.

But luckily, I can see my Dukies (by definition) back at Duke. So I'm gchatting them, and saving all my mourning for Crescent City: the lack of shrimp and oyster po' boys in my life, and the crawfish etouffee I should have eaten more of. I miss the live music, and regret every night I stayed in (even though sleep and budgeting and being prepared for work seemed like good ideas at the time). I miss the new friends I made there, and the street car passengers, and the random palm trees in the middle of downtown. I even miss the weather, though I'm quite happy without the mosquitoes. I miss how adorable the musicians village is, and although I can't wax poetic about the stench of Bourbon, I do like knowing that it's there in its inferiority to Frenchman. I miss Superior Grill and Trolley Stop Cafe and a dozen other restaurants, and snowballs and getting hit on every day. I miss Magazine Street, and kitschy souvenir shops, and sitting at Audubon Riverview on a Sunday afternoon, and walking for five minutes and having sweat trickle (I liked to pretend I was getting excercise). And second only to the indomitable and loving spirit of the people, I miss how much possibility there is down there, and how everything has the potential to make a difference. I'm thinking it could be just as meaningful as my Peace Corps aspirations, only much less likely to give the parental units anxiety disorders.

So... yea. I don't just want to go back, I need to. I've contemplated "Walking to New Orleans" (a la Fats, see below) but I'll wait until I can afford less taxing transportation.



Oh, and I'm looking for a job. Maybe I can get one like that guy on Twitter who got fired?

(Resume and references available upon request)