Winter is Coming 'Round

Yeah, yeah. It's been too long. November is over half done already. Craziness.

I won't bother with a long update. Don't much care to consider the past few weeks, to be honest. Life is still trudging along.

Mom brought back a computer from Grandma's house (I think it was Grandpa's) and Wes got it set up for Allenna and I. We both suffered computer crashes in the last few months. The new computer is a good ol' desktop, and I've been avoiding having to use the keyboard. I was just getting used to Dad's, which I've now decided I don't dislike half so much as I'd said I did. There's no Microsoft Word installed yet, which means I can't access my writing files. (For some reason, they all turn to gibberish if opened with WordPad or Notepad.)

But now I'm blogging, at last.

We got snow last Tuesday. Granted, it was just flurries and it didn't stick, but it was our first snowfall of the season. Since Friday we've had foggy nights and mornings. Cool to look at, but scary to drive in. I actually haven't been the one driving yet, and I'm not too eager to try. We've also seen plenty of sunshine, which is great.

I've been fighting a cold since last Tuesday. It started as a tickle in my throat and, by the next day, had developed into a nasty head and chest cold. Then it was a stuffy nose and a cough. Now I have remnants of the cough and a slightly runny nose. And just when I was thinking I would be the only one in the family to get it, Wes and Allenna mentioned sore throats. I'll get blamed for that.

Besides the massive headaches that make it feel like my head is going to explode, having to breathe through my mouth all night, and getting a coughing fit in church, I discovered another problem with having a cold: stuffy noses make it very hard to read books out loud. I babysat on Friday night, when my cold was reduced to sniffles and a choke. I felt bad just trying to maintain a conversation with the parents. Then the kids decided they both wanted me to read a whole bunch of books to them. Normally, I'd be loving that, especially because the boy prefers to be more active and only his sister begs for me to read a third and fourth book, but they both insisted on Friday. If they understood half of what I was reading, I'd be surprised.

On Saturday, Mom, the girls, and I went on a shopping trip with some ladies from church. It's an annual thing, and the intention is to get a bulk of the Christmas shopping done. Neither Mom nor I am are much of shoppers. We both like to go, get what we need, and leave, and neither of us much cares for window shopping if we don't have money. However, on occasion I don't mind it, and the mall we go to is bigger than our own (and also nearly 2 hours away, but worth it). I've been on the last three or four trips. Last year we went twice; once with the ladies and once as a family a couple weeks later. It was nice then because I had a significant amount of money for the first time, and I got most of my Christmas shopping done.

This time, I got some things for Mom and Heather, but.... Yeah, I spent the rest of my money on myself. I do feel kind of bad about that, but the rest of the family wants things that require all of us pitching in, or things like gift cards and money to spend at the local used bookstore (don't worry, she already knows). Plus, the mall had a Teavana store!

Teavana tea was on my Christmas list, but I figured I make it easier on Mom and Dad and take care of it myself so they wouldn't have to worry about it.  :p  I also put the Underland Chronicles on my list, so it's all good. (If my family doesn't understand my desire for books as gifts, they understand tea even less so. Which usually means my Christmas presents are a complete surprise, which I enjoy.)

Okay, I know there was something I wanted to post about, but I can't think of it right now. Bother it all. I should know by now that this is what comes of waiting so long between posts. I didn't mean to. I started writing one last Tuesday, but I didn't get very far.

Oh, well.

It's hard to believe it's Thanksgiving week! For us, this means morning routes during the week and pizza for our Thanksgiving meal (still not sure how that became a tradition). Our house seems to run through a cycle of cleanliness and disorder, and, in honor of the holiday, Mom bumped things up so the clean part of the cycle is coming around. (Yes, roll your eyes. It's a stupid pattern to which I contribute and from which I ought to withdraw my support.) This means that, while I write this, the counters are waiting to be cleaned and the laundry to be put away. We're also planning to move our old, very used table out into the garage and bring in a "new" table given to us by some friends a while ago. Somehow that hasn't happened until just now.

That's life?

Someday, my prince will come?

My cousin is getting married tomorrow.

She's the first grandchild on Mom's side of the family to get married. It's a tinny bit bittersweet, since Grandpa died this May. That's where Mom and Wes are. They took a train! Of course, it was in the middle of the night, but still. A train! I'd take that over a plane any day.

Meanwhile, I'm home alone. Again.

Well, not entirely. Dad's here, just at work. By now, I'm pretty used to this routine. Possibly too used to it. I had Hershey pick the movie last night. And then I cried through the movie. ("Ms. Potter", if you were wondering.) And then I watched "Push", about superheroes. Well, superhumans. And ate macaroni pies. Which I made while listening to Christmas music.

I was going somewhere with this, I know it. I think it was going to be deep and thoughtful. Somehow.

Oh. Right. Weddings.

And, no, I'm not going to talk about my wedding dreams. (Oh, goodness! Last week I had another. Well, it wasn't the wedding exactly. And the guy had a face! But I digress.)

Years ago, when I was, like, twelve, I fantasized about being married by the time I was 18. Probably in part because that's when Mom got married. I've always been in favor of marrying young. (Not absurdly young, mind you.) As I got older, I waited and waited for "the ONE" to magically appear and sweep me off my feet.

Is it because I read too many fairytales? The only romances I like are the old classics, like Pride and Prejudice, where there's more to the plot than just the romance.

Anyway. Obviously, I'm even in a relationship yet. And whenever I consider the fact, I feel begrudingly grateful. I doubt I would have been ready emotionally for a relationship even 6 months ago.

Mind you, I don't agree with the whole attitude of "waiting till we're ready", because my experiences with life have proven that things never line up the way we imagine. That's life for you.

As time went on, I found more and more people and books talking about having contentment in singleness. For a while, I agreed with my mouth but not with my heart. Somehow I figured God would agree with me and toss a shiny knight into my path just because my heart said I was ready.I built all my dreams around it. I spent my time staring off into the distance, waiting for Mr. Right to crest the horizon, wondering if maybe his horse threw a shoe on the way over, and generally pining away for something I'd read and fantasized about and about which I still have no clue.

Finally, I got jogged on the head hard enough that it clicked: singleness is a stage of life, not a transition. Life doesn't run childhood-transition-marriage-happily ever after. After the big mental/emotional growth spurt, when we start realizing what life is about, is a new stage. Where I'd been spending all my time waiting for the next stage to arrive, thinking of it as being what my life was all about, I was wasting valuable time.

Singleness is an opportunity, just like every other stage. It has its own challenges, its own chances to grown and learn and do important things. It's to be embraced, not endured.

Some of you might be rolling your eyes. "Yeah, duh. Is that what you've been thinking all this time?" Give me a break. I take a while to catch on. I'd actually welcome a helpful slap every once in a while.

Here we go again. Another thought I can't quite put into words. Bother it all.

Okay, fairytales. Most of those ditzy princesses and scullery maids had one goal in mind: find the prince (or otherwise exceedingly dashing, witty, chivalrous, well-built, man) and fall in love-at-first-sight. Subconciously, I'd made my role model more like Ariel the dreamer (sorry, Jessi) and Snow White, the whistful maid singing into wells and listening to her own voice echoing obnoxiously. In fact, it's supposed to be more like Rapunzel (the Disney one): reading, painting, learning to cook and play guitar and make candles, and carrying on lengthy conversations with a sarcastic amphibian. You know, not wasting her time gazing out of windows thirty stories in the air. She wasn't even thinking about being resuced by a dashing rouge with what, frankly, I think is a ridiculous smolder.

Okay, so maybe not quite like Rapunzel, but I hope you get my meaning.

Yes, I really just wanted to try to make a comparison to Disney princesses. Then there's Belle, who sees the true man behind the hideous face.... Ah, I give up.

My point goes back to my ever-present theme of making the most of every moment; something I still fail at quite regularly. I spend my days waiting for the perfect man to come along, and all the while I'm not working to grow into the strong, spiritual, helpful, smart woman he deserves and is looking for. I have at my fingertips everything I need to grow into that person. Or - deep breath - I may never get married. (I hate considering that alternative, but this is reality.) Either way, God has a plan for my life, and He's shown me the kind of person I need to be in order to be the most effective, with a man at my side or all by my brave, adventurous self. I'm the same person either way. I know what I need to do, and instead of wasting time waiting for God to take my advice and just give me the guy and expect it all to work out beautifully despite my lack of efforts to prepare, I should be doing something. Anything, really.

It's an attitude I have to force myself to adopt every day. It's painful and itchy and two sizes too small for my silly day-dreaming heart, but it's the goal. I've been laying out all my dreams like the plot to a fairytale. Have you noticed they don't usually get far beyond "I do" and the happily-ever-after spiel?

Fact is, it's still life. It will still have its challenges, and I still have to be ready to meet them. A kiss doesn't magically solve everything.

So here I am, 18 and...more than a half, and learning to make the most of it. Or trying. And I'm starting to realize that, unfortunately, we never stop growing. Maybe growing up, yes, but not growing. Again, that's life. Why does it have to be so confusing?

November and Playing with My Hair

It's November now. I'd like to be well into the first day of NaNoWriMo, but between not having my own computer and being in the middle of two stories, I'm not. Ah, well.

It's freezing cold. Like, barely 50 now. Cold enough to warrant snow, which we still don't have. (By the way, I said I wanted snow, and then along came Sandy. That wasn't what I had in mind. We ended up getting freezing rain and lots of wind.) And I can't find my good pair of fingerless gloves. So my teeth chattered while I waited for Heather's car to warm up when I ran errands.

Mom and Wes are on a trip, and the girls have a youth retreat coming up, which leaves Dad and me for routes on Saturday and Sunday. (Our subs are the youth pastor's family, and they'll be at the retreat.) I'm just oozing enthusiasm. Not my idea of quality time with Dad.

Anyway!

For a while I've been looking for ways to curl my hair. It's not that I've always dreamed of having curly hair. Okay, for a while I did. Now, however, I am perfectly content with my hair color and type. I rarely use a blow drier (unless I've been moving slow and don't want to go to work with wet hair) and never use a curling iron. I have a hard time styling my hair because I'm not big on messing with it, like ratting and gunking and hair-spraying.

But once in a while, it's nice to change things up. Jessi learned this new way of curling her hair, but I don't think I have the patience for it: constantly twirling my hair while it dries isn't for me.

There's always the whole putting-my-wet-hair-in-curlers-and-sleeping-with-them method, but usually I style my hair for church, and I am not a fan after doing that last year for the Christmas party (especially doing routes like that).

Yesterday, I saw the hot curlers Mom got a while ago and figured, "Why not? It's worth a try." I'd just taken a shower, and to use the curlers my hair needed to be dry. I gunked it up with my favorite styling cream (Noodle Head, if you care to know), and scrunched a little. Then I mopped the kitchen floor. (Sadly, mopping doesn't happen nearly as often as it should.) I ended up doing it Cinderella-style.

My hair was still a little wet, so I added more cream and blow-dried. And didn't brush it. I have a hard time letting my hair get messy like that.

Then I added the curlers. I was going for loose waves, but for some reason I couldn't manage it. Maybe I left them in too long? While they were in, I mopped the entry way floor. Then I took them out.

Not loose waves. Try tight, bouncy ringlets. Like, my hair was almost to my shoulders, and straight it hangs down to the middle of my back (or thereabouts).

Add some hairspray, finger-comb, pull back a little, and swish in front of the mirror for a good 10 minutes giggling like an idiot.

I don't normally do much with my hair; a fact that got it chopped when I was fifteen. I prefer long hair, but it takes more effort to dress it up. I've learned a lot of ways to do braids. However, I don't do a lot of loose, hanging styles. Curls are a nice compromise. Now I just have to figure out how to use the curlers so I get waves.

Allenna saw me when I had finished making faces in the mirror, and I offered to try it on her hair. She has shorter, finer hair and layers, so it took some work, but we finally figured it out. We both were actually quite dressed up for church.

I didn't brush my hair before bed, and when I woke up some of the curls were still intact. When I managed to brush it all out, it was a poufy mess. Braid it is!

What's in a Name?

Recently - I don't remember why - Jessi was talking about googling herself and people she knows, and telling me about the funny (or weird) results. I think I've tried it once or twice for myself. Out of curiosity, I googled myself yesterday. Just my first and last name.

I didn't find myself until the second page.

I did find a photographer, a couple restaurant employees, an ancestry.com page to a lady b. 1908 d. 2000, and a character for a Percy Jackson fanfiction. I enjoyed that last one.

Strange how googling myself and finding many people with the same name who are not me can make me feel so insignificant. I guess that's what middle names are for. Although one search result informed me there were only five people in the U.S. with my name. I find that hard to believe.

We were watching a TV show on Netflix the other night - one of those apocalyptic/world collapses kind of shows everyone seems so interested in - and one of the characters mentioned how she couldn't remember her dead husband's face.

Dad jumped in with a comment about how that has a scientific explination: We have a hard time remembering what the people we know most and love look like because there are so many images of them in our brains that they all jumble together, whereas we recognize people we've only seen a few times because there are only those couple images to link to them.

And here I was worrying that it was just my weak memory that made me incapable of recalling the features of a friend's or relative's face.

I did get to pondering something like this a while ago, while I was feeling especially poetic. It seems to me that for the people we love, it's less what they look like and more who they are that comes to mind when we think of them. Less physical features and more of their...essence, if you will (though I don't mean to sound creepy). I've often heard pastors talk about our bodies as just being the shell for who we actually are. When I think of my family, I think of what they mean to me, what I know and love about them, not the color of their eyes or how tall they are.

I don't know why I find this so comforting. Maybe it's the knowledge that, though I'm bound to forget the face, I won't forget the person.

At one point that was going to tie in a little better with the name thing. Something along the lines of "it's not the name, but the person", and how a name is just what someone is called by. (And that, in turn, was going to link to my dog.) Maybe I'll give it a try.

First off, my dog. Don't y'all love hearing about her? In those brief moments when I find the will to train her, I realize that one key component to her training is the fact that she doesn't answer to her name. In the training guides I found through google, they tell you to say your dog's name, and every time she (most dog training manuals always refer to the dog in question as "she") responds, "click and treat". Dogs don't answer to their name because it's their name, but because it's the word they know to  mean we want them. If that makes any sense.

In a lot of the fantasy books I read, especially Tolkien's, the characters have multiple names. They have their given name, and then sort-of-nicknames based on their characteristics, or terms of endearment, like the Elvish word for "laughter". Names are used to identify, but often the name used identifies with the true person, and it's not the name they were born with.

It's a concept I can't quite put into words, and I almost feel funny trying. I don't want to sound bizzare or anything. This isn't supposed to be deep and un-Biblically spiritual, just a thought.

That whole thing about our body just being a shell makes me think of Jesus. He was God incarnate, God in a body prepared for Him. Even His name wasn't unique. It had significance, of course, and then He was also called "Emmanuel, which being interpreted is, God with us". All this junk about how Jesus looked makes me roll my eyes. (Especially when He's depicted as Caucasian. It's not racist to be firm in the fact that Jesus was a Jew.)

Do you understand what I'm trying to say? Because I'm having a really hard time trying to explain, and it's frustrating.

Names do have significance. They can define you, especially last names. People associate names with things. A child with a good, upright family will have more expectations put on them to be like the others who carried that last name. Names can connect people. But names and faces aren't all we are. They aren't the impression we'll leave on people. It'll be the attitude, the spirit of joy or of depression, the laughter or the temper, the hope or the sorrow, friendliness or pride, love or hate. They might never remember our name - they might not even know it at all - but there's a chance that, even for a couple hours, they'll remember who we were because of how we lived in front of them.

Dreaming of a Real Winter (Also: Back to the Issue of Titles)

Last year around this time (okay, in September) I wrote a blog post about autumn, and about the different "visions of autumn", like gray and drizzly with the bright colors or sunshiny and clear and vibrant. This year, I haven't even been able to enjoy the colors all that much. Our color peak came a couple weeks early, and then wind and rain brough most of that color to the ground in a few days. We're still getting some shifting trees, but mostly it's all brown. And it's been gray and rainy.

There's snow in the forecast for next week. Considering our poor winter last year, I'm super excited. I'd love to actually have snow on the ground for Christmas - Thanksgiving, even - and be able to build a few forts and things like that.

The only thing that worries me is driving in the snow. I took driver's ed in November last year, but it wasn't really wintry weather yet. (And when we finally did get snow, it didn't last long.)

Mom and Dad like to use the old-school methods of predicting the weather; chiefly, how the animals are behaving. (But then, this is Michigan, and our wildlife is always a little abnormal.) I've seen some pretty obese squirrels lately, which Mom says could mean either lots of snow or lots of bitter cold. I'm hoping for the former.

The bad weather all year meant poor crops. Where the apple trees were overloaded two years ago, they're empty this year. The next time someone complains about having too much snow and wishing for more southern weather, I'm going to point to last winter and the one before and the subsuquent harvests. And I'll probably be struggling to refrain from kicking them solidly in the shins. If you want southern climates, move south. This is Michigan, for crying out loud!

Of course, the warmer weather last winter meant I was puddle-jumping for my birthday instead of throwing snowballs, and that part was fun.

My biggest problem with a decent winter is that I'm going to have to be careful to not spend all of my money on fun winter clothing. And boots. With colorful winter inserts. And fingerless gloves. And a new NaNoWriMo t-shirt. Especially with the big ladies' shopping trip coming up.

Speaking of NaNoWriMo, this will be the second year in a row that I'm not doing it. I'm still struggling with my superhero story ( and to any of you reading this who read that, I'm so sorry) and the story about the dragon who can't fly (which I'm wise enough to only share with my sister before it's completed). There's also the matter of my not having a computer of my own. Hopefully, a couple more paychecks will fix that (although the other thing that needs to be fixed is my dog, and that's a more pressing issue), but until then I'm using Dad's computer, and that won't work for word wars.

I'm sure about mid-January I won't be half so happy about snow (if we do in fact get it and not the alternative of bitter cold), but right now I can't wait for it. Actually, about the time we start subbing our youth pastor's boys' paper routes is when I'll be hating it.

I finally broke out the Christmas music this week. Sometimes we start listening to it in August, but this year and last we started late. I'm not very excited for when the radios start playing it, though. How many different versions of "I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus" can they come up with?

In other news, I've still been pondering the matter of a new blog title. Yeah, even I'm beginning to wonder if it's worth it.

What about "Slapdash Serendipity"? Yup. I seriously just made that one up. But I really do like the word "serendipity". However, "perfunctory" is rather a fun word as well, but it's definition isn't all that great ("lacking interest, care, or enthusiasm").

Something that's been stuck in my head since yesterday is the phrase "banana guilt", a concept introduced to me last week. It's where we look at a banana that's not yellow but more brown and a tad mushy, and we would prefer not to use it, when in fact that's the best time to use bananas, because that's when they have the most flavor. Which explains why banana bread recipes call for overripe bananas.

I had the idea yesterday that, were I ever to write a biography of sorts, even fictionalizing it a little, "Banana Guilt" could be a fun title.

Seems that, currently, I'm leaning toward fun phrases as opposed to a title with my name in it. I even briefly considered "Defying Gravity", because I'm thoroughly enjoying the "Wicked" soundtrack I borrowed from Jessi. (Up until a few weeks ago, I'd only heard a few songs.) Then there's my continued attempts to think up a good phrase from a favorite poem, quote, or verse.

It's probably because I can't track down a decent adjective that flows with my name. I don't even care right now if it starts with "a".  I still like "abstract", "absentminded" suits me, "anecdote" is fun, and "ambidexterity" has the same first three letters as my name, but none of those really seems to work.

Did you know that "somniloquence" is talking in your sleep? Yes, I'm browsing dictionary.com.

Ah, well. Guess I keep pondering that. Maybe eventually I'll come up with something.

Sleep-overs, Book vs. Movie, and the Definition of "Classic"

It's been repeatedly brought to my attention lately that I am "deprived". "Culture deprived", it might be called, because it's all about the movies and TV shows I haven't seen and/or don't desire to see. I only just saw an episode of "I Love Lucy" last year upon Jessi's insistance, followed by "Gilligan's Island". Yeah, I wasn't impressed with either. I'm not much into watching or reading things because it seems to be the thing to do.

At the latest "singles'" evening get-together, Jessi and I got to talking with one of the fairly new guys about this topic. They both gaped at me with a mixture of shock and mild disgust when I said I hadn't seen or even heard of this show or that. At one point, the guy said, "What about Star Wars?"

Ha! I know about Star Wars because I'm American. I "get" the references. However, I think I've seen about 30 minutes in total from all the movies. (I don't even know how many movies there are.)

"Never seen 'em," I proudly informed him.

His head sank onto his arms, folded on the table.

"Actually," I continued with a smirk, "my dad's a Star Trek fan."

He groaned, and his head sank even lower.

As a kid, the worst form of punishment one could give me was to take away my reading privileges. Especially when I was two chapters from the end of the book or someone had either died or was just about to. I rarely got grounded from TV or computer, and if I was, it didn't bother me too much, because Sims could wait. It was when Mom told me I wasn't allowed to read another sentence until my chores were done that I fell into the depths of despair. Such a concept leaves most of my peers flabbergasted, and the remaining, the kindred spirits, settle down to discuss their favorite books, so it's not like my feelings are hurt.

Don't take this to mean I only read great literature and all the old classics. I did just finish A Wrinkle in Time and the sequels (personal favorites), but now I'm reading Gail Carson Levine's Two Princesses of Bamarre, which has "Ages 8-12" on the back.

Last night, I went over to Jessi's, because she was going to be all alone with her eccentric dog and wanted company. She was determined that I was going to watch this movie called "Quest for Camelot", which evidently every '90's kid should see, but of which I'd never heard.

First off, it took me about half the movie to adjust to the old style of animation. Second, it was on VHS and the sound quality was whacky, so I couldn't enjoy the music numbers because I didn't have a clue what was being sung. Third, Cary Elwes (Westley from "Princess Bride") played the main guy, who was blind, had awesome Jedi moves (See? Star Wars), and had a silver-winged falcon for a best friend. Fourth, the main girl made a huge show of being adventurous and independent, but leave her alone for two minutes and she was so incompetent that she almost ruined everything. Fifth, I was again reminded of how of much those old kids' movies were actually cheap comedy to keep the kiddies interested and didn't add anything to the storytelling. Looking back at all my old favorites ten years later, I have to wonder why I loved them so much. This is why I can't write children's stories.

Jessi did warn me in advance that the movie wasn't spectacular, but she built it up as this epic thing I simply couldn't miss. Ha!

But it was fun anyway. Nothing like dorky, harmless entertainment to laugh about while we eat pizza and tackle the dog. We followed up with "Race to Witch Mountain", though I fell asleep half-way through. Some nights we have deep discussions while trying to dicipher things like "Inception", and other nights we snack and avoid boredome only by commenting on all the silliness, having put aside all expectations of being blown away by epic storytelling and visual effects. It's all good. I still think A Wrinkle in Time is a must read for everyone, no matter how much they like or hate reading, and for Percy Jackson, The Lord of the Rings, and all the Chronicles of Narnia, the books are better than the movies. As far as Princess Bride, however, I prefer the movie.

Just "One of those days"

You know "those days" you have sometimes? Where it's just one thing on top of another, and eventually you either go to bed early or brace yourself and ask, "What's next, while I'm ready?"

Yeah. I have plenty of those days. Sometimes I have those weeks. Once, I was convinced it was one of those years.

Usually, "one of those days" is Thursday. Don't ask me why. Last week, things kept building up. Not dangerous or even directly impacting us for the most part. Just things like having to stop at the gas station more than twice for various reasons, seeing emergency vehicles and accidents all over the place...that kind of thing.

Today was "one of those days". Big time. (Okay, maybe that's hyperbole....)

Whenver I need to be up and moving by 9, 8 always seems to come too early. I go through stages; sometimes I'm happy to be up by 7, and other times I'd rather sleep until 9, despite the fact that I always go to sleep about the same time. Maybe it has to do with the weather. It's been getting colder and it's also been rather rainy lately.

In any case! I had a slow morning where I shambled around the kitchen, took a shower, and almost waited too long to leave for work.

Work itself was fine. Actually, the poor weather didn't discourage business very much. Twice in five minutes the electricity blinked off. Wasn't that fun!

After work was when things really started happening. Nothing huge, like a car wreck, but the little things that build up until I'm like, "Okay, really? This too?"

Mom had me run home to grab something and drop it off at the church for her before I went to babysit. Sasha and Hershey thought I was home for good, so when I ran them out and then went toward the door, they freaked. They make me feel like such a horrible human.

So I ran to the church, dropped off the stuff, and climbed back into the car. Moving around, I knocked the steering wheel thing (you know, the thing to which is attached) and suddenly the hazards were flashing. What?

And what do I do? I start slapping at the steering wheel trying to turn them off, of course. The button is on the top, so how I turned on the hazards in the first place is anyone's guess. Meanwhile, I was running short on time to get to babysitting, which only made me more frustrated. Commence grumbling/shouting in the harshest words I can manage. (Which aren't much beyond "stupid", but still sound severe in a low tone.)

Finally, I realized I was trying to move the little switch in the wrong direction. Without knowing it at first, I nudged it in the right direction. It took me another 30 seconds or so of unintelligible muttering to notice. Then I was off.

When I got to the house where I babysit, I was in a rush and didn't make sure the seatbelt retracted. (It has an issue and likes to droop where the driver leaves it.) I shut the door, seeing as I did that it would hit the seatbelt but not much caring. Smooth, Amber.

Babysitting didn't last long. When I arrived, the kids were having nap/quiet time, so I did  little writing. When they woke up, we read some, played some, ate some, and then I was off!

I had to run by Wal-Mart for dog food, because we were completely out. (It's like Sasha knew I gave her and Hershey the last of it this morning, because she devoured it in near-record time.) Wal-Mart is only about five minutes from where I babysit, which is good. About half-way, I noticed a windy sound coming from my door. I hit the lock button, but had a feeling it didn't matter. I would have clung to the door, but I was driving 30 MPH on one of the most winding sections of road in this city.

And then, right on the curb, the door started to open.

I'm proud of my level-headed reflexes in situations like those. I caught the door, tugged it closed, and gripped the wheel with my other hand. Wal-Mart was in sight!

There's a sort of turn lane into the parking lot, angled and with a sharp turn. Here my door pulled as if to swing open again. I got through the turn and stopped to try to close the door. It wouldn't close.

I hunted down the closest parking spot (well, sort of, because I wasn't parking in the sticks) and turned off the car, then confronted the door.

I had some vague memory of this happening before to Heather's car when the seatbelt gets caught in the slamming door. I knew the latch needed to be fixed, but I couldn't do it. So I called Mom. She was also at Wal-Mart!

However, my loving mother who never fails to encourage me to do things on my own told me to take care of it myself. Yeah. Love you, too.

There was a guy who had walked to his car, parked next to me, about the time I pulled in. He was sitting in it, probably waiting for me to deal with my issues and move. Admittedly, I made a bit of a show of grumbling at the car while I knelt next to the door and tried to fix the latch with a key. Eventually, my damsel in distress act worked.

"Are you having a problem with your door?"

Yes! Oh, yes, yes, yes!

Of course, he fixed it with no issue, and behind him I'm fist-pumping in joy. I thanked the man profusely and skipped off to get dog food.

I'll admit: I thoroughly enjoy the occassional reminder that I'm the "weaker vessel" and deserve a little sympathy, a little patience, the door held open, and to go first in line. Why would any girl want any less? In moderation, of course, but it was just what I needed to help me cool down after the frustrating door issue.

I called Mom just before leaving to ask her something, and she told me to take the back way home like normal because there was an accident near the other way out of the mall area. I soon saw proof of this when the winding-most road in the city was backed up with traffic. Thankfully it cleared quickly, because I hate leading a pack of cars driven by frustrated drivers, and that's the situation in which I temporarily found myself.

Okay, so now that I've reviewed it all, I guess it wasn't truly "one of those days". Maybe it was more like a "you had to be there" kind of day?

One more thing. On the way to Wal-Mart, before I really noticed the door issue, I saw a little toy monster truck sitting right in the middle of the road. My immediate reaction was pity for the poor little kid who lost their toy car. That kind of thing (abandoned objects in strange places) always makes me wonder how they came to be there.