5 Weird Things...

Allrighty, folks. I've been tagged to name five weird things you probably don't know about me.
Here goes:

1. I am a huge Buffy the Vampire Slayer fan. I blame this entirely on my younger brother, who showed up with all the episodes on DVD when he moved in. I'm in love with Giles, the librarian. And as trivia note, in 9th grade I went to school with Charisma Carpenter (Cordelia). Younger Bro and I will have Buffy marathons where we shut out the world and cycle through the seasons. Every once in a while, after a particularly difficult day, we will throw one in for some "Comfort Buffy." Hey, it's less fattening that Ben and Jerry's.

2. I must not have any light in my bedroom when I go to sleep. The blinds must be tilted at the correct angle so the sun doesn't come streaming in at 5 a.m. and wake me up. Ditto for lights on in the hallway. I can see the strip of light under my door. Hotels are a big problem as curtains don't close all the way, and I can see the hall lights on. I'm trying to work on this.

3. I've never really liked mainstream music. I grew up on Oingo Boingo, The Cure, Depeche Mode, New Order, INXS, U2, Psychedelic Furs, The Ramones, B-52s, The Squeeze, etc. Some of these bands are mainstream now, but in San Diego in the 80s, where Lisa Lisa & The Cult Jam and Debbie Gibson ruled, they were not.

4. I love decorating magazines. I especially loved the ones I got in Scotland because British design is so different. The irony is that I am a horrible decorator. It's a big accomplishment that I even have curtains in my house. I have a mental hurdle with putting pictures on my walls. I'm so afraid if I do then I'll have to move. Or that my "decor" will look amateurish. I've considered therapy to address this situation, but I'd rather spend that money on the latest Real Simple or Cottage Living.

5. I don't know that this is weird, but I'm happy being single. I write this simply because I sat next to a woman in class last night at church who, when we brought up the topic of singles in relation to our Financial Peace discussion, talked about how lonely is must be. Well, I'm not sure that I'm any more lonely than your average married person - and I've been around long enough to know a wedding band does not equal never being lonely again. I can be happy alone, and there is a big distinction between lonely and alone. Yes, I would like to get married some day, but there's just so much I've been able to do because I am single. So many people and places and experiences and memories that I would have never had. And yes, it can be tough at times, especially when you get into all the "coupley" situations and you and yourself seem to stick out like a sore thumb, but it certainly isn't some horrible pit of despair. I think, married or single, your situation in life is what you make it.

Mute

Lately, it seems as if several of my close friends are coming in at the top of the life-altering stressors chart. Death, disease, health problems – things aren’t going well in their worlds.

I want to help. I want beautifully crafted words of comfort and support to fall from my lips (or flow from my typing fingers), yet I’m paralyzed with worry that I’ll say the wrong thing or do the wrong thing.

What do I say to the friend who is watching a family member die from cancer?
What do I say to the friend who miscarried? Who struggles with infertility?

Any helpful advice?

The deep things of life...

It is quite possible that much of my life could be characterized by an ongoing search for a decent hair care product. In an effort to be thrifty, I bypassed my regular, expensive-but-it-mostly-works Frizz Ease Serum for a $2.99 bottle of something called No Frizz!

Normally, I don’t pay much attention to these cheap brands that try to lure me in with their exclamation marks in the logo, but I decided to take a chance. Just to kind of stick my tongue out at the Frizz Ease folks, as they know they mostly have me over a barrel, addicted to paying insane amounts for half an ounce of serum.

Sadly, No Frizz! did not live up to its perky name. It is quite evident it was perhaps made for women who consider frizz to be one or two strands escaping from a hair clip on a humid day.

My hair defies that description. It is quite curly and is never more happy than when it gets to kick up its heels and spiral and corkscrew to its heart’s content. Every once in a while I torture it with a straightening iron, thereby causing longstanding church members to introduce themselves to me and my own father to peer at me warily. “I don’t like it,” was his wordy opinion on the matter.

My mother, meanwhile, merely looks sad, as she has stick-straight hair and prayed while she was pregnant with me that her little girl would have curls (I kid you not). She simply could not understand why I work so hard to make my hair look exactly like hers while she had sought divine intervention to keep me from smooth locks.

That woman has an “in” up there, is my only conclusion on that matter.

Anyway, thanks to No Frizz! today my hair fluffy and puffy and kinking like no tomorrow. It is even a very autumn type of day, with really no great humidity, and it is having the time of its life. No restrictive serums, conditioners, or hot irons for this head. Oh no, only one small clip trying to hold the mane back from completely covering my head a la Cousin It.

It had better enjoy it. Tomorrow, it’s back to the expensive stuff again.

A Headscratcher for Monday

As I entered the merge ramp on I-65 today, I saw a man standing on the side of the road. He had long hair tied back in a ponytail and held a carefully printed cardboard sign in block letters that simply stated "South." Peeking out from his Jimmy Buffet inspired shirt was a pair of distinctive white IPod ear buds, and he was bobbing his head along to the music.

Now, I know I need some financial planning help, but when your main mode of transportation is hitchiking, and when the entire contents of your life fit into a duffel bag, you have to wonder if perhaps, just perhaps, that IPod purchase was technically prudent.

Update - *This* is what happens when you don't sleep well...

You write the water company a check for the entire balance of your checking account instead of the few bucks you actually owe them.

This causes your bank account to go into overdraft fees.

*sniff*
Small puddle of tears.

*This news just in...*
A huge tip of the hat to the ladies in the Harpeth Valley Utilities District business office for-

1. Having a live person answer the phone,
2. Having that person promptly call me back when they tracked the problem down in their system,
3. Having their office CUT ME A CHECK for the overpaid amount and,
4. Having the check ready for me to pick up at their office TODAY!

Sometimes, the kindness of strangers manages to touch our lives. They made my day.

Confessions of an Insomniac

For some reason, I have not been able to sleep for the past three nights. No matter how tired, the minute my head hits the pillow my thoughts begin ping-ponging around until they resemble nothing quite coherent. So for today's post I leave you with the late-night thoughts of my poor, exhausted mind:

Does anyone else think it is tacky that the inflatable children’s slide at that kiddy fair was made to look like the prow of a ship sinking? That it actually had “Titanic” printed on it? A hundred years from now will people make rides out of today’s tragedies?

It’s amazing how customized the menswear department is. They can get a pair of pants and a shirt to their exact measurements – waist, length, arm, neck and chest sizes… Why can’t women’s clothes be like that? Why can’t I buy a dress based on my exact measurements? Oh yeah, now I remember, I can. It’s called “couture,” and I can’t afford it.

I think it’s funny that Patrick has not untied his tie for the past two years. He just keeps loosening it.

I really like my Norah Jones CD.

I can’t believe Christy is pregnant. I’ll bet when I’m pregnant I will be fat all over, not like those cute women who carry a small basketball in front of them but look fashionably slim from the back.

I need to caulk the kitchen.

Have I taken on too much at church? Foreign missions committee, domestic missions committee, inner city learning center, visitation team, and now the financial peace seminar. In the spring I’m supposed to teach second graders on Wednesday nights.

Should I make nametags for the inner city class? Maybe flowers with glitter…

Does the church have a flower punch? I’m not going to sit there and cut out petals all night.

Stupid cat. I wish he’d just leave the cabinet doors alone.

Did I unplug the iron?

Should I drive or fly home for Christmas? I much prefer to fly. It’s going to be really weird if I can’t take my contact lens solution with me. Or lip balm. What if my contacts need to come out? Will I have to wear my glasses? That prescription is so old I won’t be able to see much. Maybe that’s a good thing on the plane.

I wonder how many Weight Watcher’s points are the Jim Nachos at Cancun’s?

Are my corduroy slacks clean? I think I’ll wear them tomorrow.

What’s that noise? What would I use as a weapon if an intruder came in here? My clock radio? I’ll bet I could put the lamp to good use.

Arghh! Stupid cat.

Bits and Pieces

On Exercise
I’m not sure who selected the music for the women’s center at the YMCA this evening, but it was, umm, interesting. As I huffed and puffed my way through various apparatus (apparati?), “I Need a Hero” came blaring over the loudspeaker. One minute I was a simple woman working out - the next I felt like I was in some cheesy 80s workout video montage.

It was a little disturbing. But when that song finished, along came the refrain of “The Neverending Story.” I couldn’t do anything in time to that, so I sort of hummed a different song in my head, trying to think of something very upbeat and exercisy.

Happily, we ended the session with Bob Seger & the Silver Bullet Band’s “Ole Time Rock and Roll,” which kind of redeemed the whole experience in some respect.

On How NOT to Win My Heart
Please, upon discovering I was a missionary in Scotland, do not attempt to talk to me in a Scottish accent. Unless you are 100% confident you are dead-on accurate, which you weren’t, just resist the impulse. And while we are at it, let’s not put me on speakerphone, okay? It’s a little nerve-wracking when I hear you give a shout out to your buddies. Who else is in on this call?

On Shakespeare in the Park
I saw MacBeth Saturday night and nearly froze my Capri-panted rear off. Who knew the temp would plummet? Certainly not I, nor the concession stand gurus who stood forlornly trying to sell Sno-Cones while the coffee line grew progressively longer.

On Old Friends
One has known me since I was 16 and a young whippersnapper running around the beach in San Diego. The other pledged my club with me my freshman year, became my roommate my sophomore year, and has seen me through thick and thin. We got to share dinner and The Bard Saturday night, and I couldn’t have asked for a more perfect birthday treat (okay, an extra blanket would have been the icing on the cake).