Black Friday

My father's summation of his midnight trip to Walmart: "It was all asses and elbows."

Phobias

Last month, I listened to this story from NPR with great interest. See, I have two secret phobias. I tell everyone I am afraid to fly, which is true; but I will do it when absolutely necessary. What I really can't do, though, is sleep with 1. any appendage hanging off the bed and 2. the closet doors open. I am absolutely convinced that if I have my arm or leg hanging off the bed, I will surely get pulled down and sucked under the bed by some sort of grotesque undead. I have no idea where I got this notion, but I am CONVINCED it will occur. Therefore, you will often see me right in the middle of the bed so as not to risk any accidental appendage overhang.

I absolutely can not sleep if the closet doors are open. Now you will think I am really crazy. When I was a tweenager, I am sure that I saw ghosts in my closet. There were three of them and they looked like they were from the 1920s-kind of like old newsboys. They appeared to be around 15 and good friends. They weren't mean and looked like they were having a good time. While they weren't threatening, it was unnerving and I made sure to keep the doors closed!

Should I chalk this up to an overactive imagination? Probably. Does it still affect how I sleep today? Most certainly.

Crows

Actual picture of church tonight taken by C.T. - check out the tree!

Every year a large group of crows "rests" in our church's trees. I don't know if they are headed south, or, really, if they are actually crows. What I do know is that they are large, black and number in the hundreds. They congregate around mid-November and stay to mid-December. Going to any meeting at church turns into a scene from Hitchcock's The Birds. It is CREEPY.

Creepiness, though, is not the problem. The problem is the incredible amount of poop they produce. I was blissfully unaware of this issue until last year. Last year, I wandered into the church for an evening event. As I walked in, I looked up and thought, "wow, there are a lot of birds in those trees." And went on my way inside. I quickly forgot about them - until I left. It was late when I left. I stepped outside and the door slammed behind me. In that instant, I realized I was S.O.L. (literally). As the slam reverberated through the air, a huge mass of birds took flight. I was fair game and without an umbrella. I took off in a run with poop flying at me from every angle. It hit my clothes, my purse, my hair, and, worst of all, my face. I had to drive home with it running down my forehead.

This year, I was smarter. I quietly closed the door and tiptoed to my car. Hah - take that crows! Poop on me once, shame on you - poop on me twice, shame on me!

Chairs

I was talking to my MIL the other day. Her mother is approaching ninety and has the typical health problems of a near ninety year old. Grandma recently had an incident involving a family heirloom - a rocking chair. She is fine, as is the chair. Since we were on the subject, MIL asked if I knew what grandma wanted to do with the chair when she died. Now - I was very tired, my allergies were really bothering me, and we were headed to the mall (my least favorite place) - so I wasn't thinking so clearly. I wracked my brain for possible ideas and all I could think of was (and this came out of my mouth): She wants to be buried in it?

As I was saying it, I knew it was the wrong call. But how can you stop it? The statement had a life of its own. You don't joke about death with the lady's daughter! But, really, it wasn't a joke. I seriously couldn't think of anything else to say. Another simultaneous thought (thank God I didn't say this out loud), was: can they make a grave big enough for a rocking chair? how do they position the body in it?

MIL gave me a strange look and said, "no, she wants to give it to your son." Well, obviously I was VERY off base.

Cat Attack!

I play the clarinet in a very informal woodwind quintet. Last Sunday, we were rehearsing at the flute player's house - as we have been for years. Things were going along smoothly and I was feeling like I was holding my own. When, out of the blue, I see something out of the corner of my eye, flying towards me. The CAT ATTACKED my clarinet! It leapt up and landed on my hands (since I was in the middle of playing) and I screamed. I jumped up and the cat went flying across the room. Since I am super allergic to cats, my hands started welting up. But why did it attack me? Why not the oboe or the bassoon? What about the clarinet did it not like? I think it sensed my incredible dislike for all cats and intuitively new I was the one to attack. Little does he know that he has now earned the #1 place on my cat hit-list.

Why?

I decided to start this site as a place to chronicle the funny, embarassing and awkward things that happen in my life. It is a place holder for when I need a laugh!