American Dogs and Egyptian Men

Well, I consider myself duly chastized by Andrew U. Sorry. To tell you the thruth, I've been collecting things in my head that I want to write on here, but my things are like a mere picture representation of a spectacular fireworks show in comparison to the fabulous real-life fireworks experiences that I read about in your stories about Israel and other such exciting travels. So since this blog is obviously a competition to see who has the best story, I have neglected to post thus far because my stories will probalby lose sadly.

But I have been making a list of things I've noticed--world traveler returning home, as I am. Here goes:
1. American dogs are a little like Egyptian men. Think about it: they have nothing to do, so they sit in their cages or in their tea shops all day, paying special attention to any strange person who walks by. In the case of Eygptian men, they seem to especially appreciate American girls. In the case of American dogs, they bark loudly and try to jump on you. I'm not sure if the dogs discriminate according to gender or nationality.
2. Large groups of white people make me nervous. After puzzling about this strange phenomenon for a while, I deduced that it must be because I can now understand all the silly conversations going on around me. After four months in an Arabic speaking country, my little ears perk up at the sound of English, and so I am forced to pay attention to all the conversations going on around me--thus my anxiety.
3. The houses are stinking huge here! And there are these huge spaces around them! I think they call them yards . . . .

Hope that placates you at least for a little while, Andrew. I apologize for not posting much before now. (Refer to my excuse at the top of the page.) Things are going well. I'm working for Dordt--cleaning dorm rooms right now. I'm pretty sure it's not what I want to do with the rest of my life though--good thing I almost have my B.A. I looked inside my diploma folder at graduation only to find rather than a diploma signed by president Carl Zylstra, a note saying that I must return the folder immediately after convocation, and that my diploma will be mailed to me when I complete my program (student teaching.) I was so close! Those secretary people--you can't put anything past them.

Ma Salama