Even without a bookbag...

I was amused by Sister's post of two days ago, which you should now stop to read....

It seems odd to me that she's so fixated on the idea of looking like a prostitute. Sister is not nearly trashy enough or unhealthy-looking enough to be a prostitute -- unless she's really let herself go since late December -- and I doubt her workplace encourages the wearing of slutty outfits. I can think of several more probable explanations for the incident described:

1. He might have been trying to be nice. I know, you find that inconcievable, but there ARE people out there who have failed to catch the exaggerated paranoia that infests modern culture, and who honestly don't realize that some of you might be frightened by them.
(Personally, I find it inconceivable that so many of you are terrified of being attacked, and yet still choose to walk around unaccompanied, unarmed, unfit, distracted by your cell-phones, and wearing shoes that prevent you from running. You're getting a "worst of both worlds" situation there.)

2. He might have been trying to pick up a woman who DIDN'T look like a prostitute. He can't very well offer to buy you a drink when you're not in a bar, can he? As Jerry Seinfeld once pointed out, most men really have no idea how to meet women, and will often try things pretty much at random. "You know that guy honking his car horn at women in the street?" Jerry asked. "This is a man who is out of ideas!"
(When I was in college, girls tried to pick me up a couple of times by asking if I needed a ride somewhere... I don't think I looked like a prostitute, even without a bookbag.)

3. He may have been a homicidal psychopath, and you happened to fit his profile. I find his low-skill strategy somewhat pathetic -- sure, that works on little kids, but you're not going to transfer it to adult women just by removing the offer of candy. Clearly, he has no real talent or experience at this, and you should be glad you avoided the embarrassment of being ritualistically disemboweled by a complete amateur.

If not for my book bag....

This morning I was two long strides away from my bus stop (a glass shelter with a bench) when I heard a honk and saw a car had stopped in the road, even with the shelter. The driver--a man--pointed and sort of gestured at me. I thought maybe he needed directions or wanted to ask which buses came by the stop. (People always seem to pick me to ask for directions. I almost always know where I am and how to get to wherever, but I fear my typical style of giving directions is an incomprehensible mixture of "turn somewhere near the big chicken" and "travel exactly 2.43579 miles west.")

I took one more big step in the direction of the bus shelter and the car and leaned down a bit so I could see the driver's face and maybe hear him. He said, as he started moving things off his passenger seat, "Do you need a ride? Where are you going?" Ummm, what?!! I responded, "No. I'm fine, thanks," and waved him away with my hand. He drove on.

So, while I waited for the bus, I started thinking, "What thirtysomething woman (in her right mind) gets in some strange man's car?" When I got to work, I told a co-worker what had happened. I said to her, "Who would get in a strange man's car? Do you think he thought I was a prostitute?" She said, "Did you have your book bag with you?" "Yes, my book bag and my lunch bag." "Well, then, he wouldn't have thought you were a prostitute."

Now, logic was a bit of a struggle for me in college* and I often leave the logic puzzles in those big books of games--the ones that come from the grocery store--blank, but I think from the exchange with my coworker we can make two conclusions:

1. I usually look like a prostitute--however it is that a prostitute looks.
2. My book bag is the only thing that makes me not look like a prostitute.

Great. Just. Perfect.


*This is what I remember most from my semester of logic: The philosophy professor who taught the class had a completely bald--maybe shaved--head and wore a black leather cap. Oh, and arguing against an idea by exclaiming, "That's a logical fallacy!" is really satisfying. Unfortunately, the only logical fallacy I can reliably recognize is ad hominem, so I don't get to say it very often.

House... no, not the TV doctor

I moved into my new house last week. Well, that's not technically correct, since the house isn't actually new, and I didn't have a house to begin with, so it's not like there's my "old" house and my "new" house. I moved into the house I recently bought, how's that?

I had no idea I had so much stuff to be moved... my father criticized my decision to get the 17-foot Uhaul truck, but after we got all the stuff in, he changed his mind and realized I had been right. Now, of course, I'll be slowly unpacking for weeks, as I gradually find that I need this or that item which is still in a box.

Can I be a czar, too?

I just heard on the news the U.S. now has a "Border Czar." I told TZM that I'd like to have a job with a title that included the word "czar." (I'd be fine with "tsar," too.)

I told TZM that the appointment of this new "Border Czar" job reminded me of when former Florida governor Bob Martinez was named "Drug Czar."

By the way, I think the word "czar" used to describe anyone but a Russian ruler sounds illicit.

At the time of Martinez's appointment, I thought, "Why is the news media reporting this? A former governor has had to turn to heading a drug cartel? This isn't good!" Of course, now I know what "Drug Czar" means, but I believed for several months that the former governor had turned to a life of crime.

I explained to TZM that I was quite young at the time--thus, my confusion. But, Wikipedia suggests I was actually about 18. I think it's pretty clear I should never be the Politics Czar or Current Affairs Czar.

Happy Anniversary, Blog!

Tomorrow is our blog's 5th anniversary. I believe that means a gift of wood. Brother will be closing on a home this month--a LOG home--so I think that covers the gift. Next year, the 6th anniversary, the traditional gift is candy. I'll handle that--no problem.

I've been trying to remember where I was (physically and mentally) on each of the past April 8's:

• 2004: Man, was I ever unhappy in 2004! I didn't realize it then, but that year "ate it," as TZM would say.
• 2005: By April 2005, I'd moved somewhere then moved back to almost the same location I was in 2004. I had a new job that was nearly the same job (only full-time instead of part-time) I'd had in 2002. Looking back, it seems I hadn't really grown in any aspect of my life.
• 2006: By April 2006, I'd ditched my new-old job, had a new-new job, and moved to a new city. I had new friends and was about 2 months away from having to get a new car. New, new, new! Everything was new.
• 2007: In April 2007, I was really happy. Nothing major that I can remember happened. Oh, yes, that's right...I showed Tizzy that I could open a beer bottle on the edge of a trash can. It was a formative experience in my life.
• 2008: In April 2008 I was in the midst of what TZM and I call "the long, national nightmare" of dental work. The roots (ha-ha) of said dental work can be found here and also here and then again here and should have rightfully been mentioned 100 more times to equal the number of dental appointments I had by the time 2008 was over. Despite all that "open, open a little wider, hold open just a little longer" time, 2008 turned out to be a good year. TZM and I declared ourselves engaged (secretly) not long after April 2008 and married in July.
  
• 2009: Most of 2009 is left so I can't comment much, but I finally realized how important it is to floss!
  

Quick update...

I suppose the big news is that I'm buying a house. One of my friends insists that this is the cause of the recent rally in the stock market -- my cheapness has obviously attained quasi-legendary status among my peers, although my complete inability to navigate still gets more comment.

It took me a long time to find something that suited my preferences. If anybody's read "Black Order" by James Rollins, that mansion in South Africa toward the end is right up my alley -- hidden in the middle of an unexplored jungle (under a forest canopy so dense that satellites can't get infrared images through it) which itself is in the middle of a huge wildlife preserve in a district controlled by officials who are mostly in the pay of the house owners. Oh, and surrounded by aggressive wildlife and bands of unsociable tribesmen. With something like this as an ideal, you can imagine the multitude of compromises I have to make when trying to pick something within my price range and driving distance from work.

My new alarm clock is smarter than your honor student.

I bought myself a birthday present: a new alarm clock.

Maybe that doesn't sound like much of a self-present--why not a massage? or some shoes? or a whole box of chocolates just for me to eat? That stuff pales in comparison to this clock. It's by far the best self-present....maybe ever.

When I started dating TZM, I was using my cellphone as my alarm clock. Right after we moved in together, I cancelled my cellphone. TZM had brought his alarm clock into the relationship so I continued to be awakened in the morning at the correct time. By the way, the clock was on his side of the bed--that detail is important in the next paragraph.

Almost eight months ago, TZM retired. Not long after that he told me he thought the alarm clock should be on my side of the bed so it would be easier for me in the mornings. "Okay, whatever," I thought. "Big deal." Well....oh. my. god. "Big deal" is right because that alarm clock was THE most frustrating, confounding piece of....crap! If I had to write a review for overstock.com, you know I'd call it "The Devil's Alarm Clock."

I'll give the clock its due: it told time, the alarm sounded when needed, and the display was not so bright that it could double as an airport runway light. But, changing the alarm time and the regular time was a nightmare. The little buttons that controlled the hours and minutes required a particular amount of pressure on one specific part of the button. Too much pressure or too little pressure in the wrong spot, and nothing happened. On top of that, I'm positive the pressure and spot to push changed EACH TIME.

Sometimes I got up earlier than I needed to just to avoid having to fool with the alarm time. "Spring ahead" and "fall back": I dreaded those words each year because that meant I'd have to reset the time. And when the electricity went out.....ARGHHH!....time to reset the &$%@#!$ clock! (I have my suspicions TZM retired so he'd have a good reason to move the clock from his side to my side of the bed. Clever.)

Now maybe you can understand why I decided a new alarm clock was the best present I could give myself. It may not be as great as Brother's old clock, the Optimus Prime....I mean Spartus Neptune*......but it's pretty great:

• The new alarm clock has two alarms that will remember on which days I want them to sound: weekdays, weekend days, or both. I can forget turning the alarm off on the weekends because the new alarm clock knows I don't want it to wake me up.
  
• The new alarm clock has one, simple up/down button for setting the hours and minutes.
  
• The new alarm clock has a little battery inside it that helps it remember things, like the time and date when the electricity goes out. (I'm afraid to imagine what else the new alarm clock may be storing.)
  
• And, oh yeah, the new alarm clock's display is so bright I have to cover it up at night. ("My [new alarm clock's] so bright, I gotta wear shades.") That's a negative, but I think I can live with it.
• Added 3-8-09: The new alarm clock remembered to spring me ahead an hour even though I had forgotten about the time change.
  

I keep asking myself why I put up with that clock for a year and a half. It was made out of plastic not gold. And TZM admitted--after moving the clock to me, of course--that he hated it, too. I think I forgot there was a better way to live.


*Turns out the "Tale of the Spartus Neptune" is one of Brother's most commented upon posts!