Have you ever called your friends looking for a ride to the interstate--- not for something that requires travel on the interstate, but just a ride to the interstate?

"Yeah, hey man, it's me. I just need someone to drop me off on the I-75 ramp. It's ok. I'll get it from there."

So I found my ride to the highway, exited the matchbox-sized Miata, and climbed aboard the auto-towing semi truck waiting for me on the shoulder of the highway. Two tries to pull myself the six feet the get in my seat, but I got in. By five the next morning, I had returned to my hometown of Pensacola, where I had been gone all of three days. My sister was to graduate high school the next day. To me, the girl is still the little squirt who sucked her thumb until age 9, but she has blossomed into an incredible young woman, finished with the Florida school system and ready to enter that phase of responsibility and balancing checkbooks we call adulthood.

Just three years before, we had all been inside this auditorium, but it was I who sat on the ground level, wearing that maroon cap and dress. Now I am a spectator, sitting in the stands, waiting ages and ages to hear one particular name. Camille's name is called, and she gets one of the loudest ovations of the 461 graduates, though my perception may be clouded by the fact that I was surrounded by fifteen Camille supporters. After the ceremony we are supposed to find my sister among the herd outside the Civic Center, but I am tackled by the calls of old faces. I chatted with old friends from high school. Not much is different, but everything has changed. I even spotted a girl I used to have a crush on. She was even hotter than ever... it has to work out that way, or else you wouldn't get to kick yourself in the head. Camille later tells me that the girls I knew from her graduating class told her I was hot and inquired about my dating status, which admittedly makes me wish I were more into the traditional girl-a-few-years-younger-than-guy relationship model. Blasted Mrs. Robinson fetish!

As a graduation present, my parents are accompaning Camille and a few of her friends on a cruise to Mexico. The last time my family left town for a lengthy period, we brought our dog to one of those doggy hotels. He got his own little walking space, a window view, a bed, and a bad case of homesickness. The kennel manager lady said she had never seen a dog so miserable, and that he could get really sick if he was back (JR has a tendency to not eat when he is depressed). My mom tried to find a place where JR could stay without attacking someone or starving himself. We were running out of possibilities, so I volunteered to shelter JR in my apartment for the week.

We're not allowed to have dogs here at Country Village, so I'm keeping this on the downlow. I've already discovered some things about being alone with my dog for the week:

1) He still has no clue where he has been sent.
2) Whenever I leave, he just sits on the couch waiting for my return, staring at the front door until he hears the knob turn.
3) He loves to play ball when he is bored.
4) Sleep takes a great chunk of his day.
5) My bed is a power struggle between the two of us.
6) He will wake me up for his 7 am breakfast.
7) He will wake me up for his 8 am walk outside.
8) He loves to lick and will plant his tongue across my face whenever I entertain him in the slightest.
9) My apartment will be forever embedded with jack russell hair.