So here I am, typing away on my sister's computer. I took the road less traveled and rearranged my work schedule so I could get into town last night instead of waiting to drive in on Sunday. I would have arrived earlier in the evening, but, well, has anyone ever seen First Wave? I only saw first season episodes, so I don't know how it ended, but I know those aliens are after me. As I was trying to leave town, one of my car's tires decided that it was tired of being full of air. I didn't get on the road for another three hours.

Now, truth be told, it's lucky that this happened before I left town. It's lucky that someone noticed that the tire looked rather sickly before I got on the interstate. I just can't help shaking that "there's a conspiracy against me" feeling sometimes. However, I am well aware of the fact that the situation would have been much worse had the tire blown/exploded/flattened/etc. an hour or so into the drive.

Since that wasn't enough fun, I decided to have an even bigger adventure. Using directions my sister printed from Mapquest, I drove to a house I had never been to before. The problem was, my sister neglected to give me the return directions. No problem, just reverse the directions, right? The problem is, I don't always have an easy time reversing directions, plus I lost the directions somewhere in my car.

I took a personal moment, reminded myself that there were only two short turns out of the subdivisions before the long stretch of road that would get me to where I wanted to be. No problem. Easy. Three miles later, I was listening to Carry on Wayward Son by Kansas and feeling confident. I was so happy and proud that little old directionally-challenged me was finding my way without directions. And then... it happened.

My first clue that something was wrong was when I passed by a "Welcome to {Name} County" sign. I had started the drive in one county, knew I was heading to a house in the same county, and was pretty sure I wasn't supposed to leave the county. I called my sister.

ME: "Hi. Um... am I supposed to be in {Name} county?" There was a slight pause.
HER: "I don't think so."
ME: "Well, I just passed a 'Welcome to Name} County sign."
HER: "Where are you?"
ME: "I don't know. Wait... there's a split! I don't know where to go! Crap!"
HER: "Are you on {Name of Street}?"
ME: "I don't know! Crap! I think I just went off an exit I wasn't supposed to!"
HER: "Didn't you stay on {Name of Street}?"
ME: "I don't know! No!!! I'm coming to two turn only lanes! Do I turn right or left?"
HER: "Where are you?"
ME: "I'm about to turn onto {Name of Different Street}!"
HER: "What street are you on now?"
ME: "I don't know!!"
HER: "Well, I can't help you if I don't know what street you're on."
ME: "I'm about to turn onto {Name of Different Street}. There's a Waffle House and an Exxon gas station. Do I turn right or left?"
HER: "I'm sorry, if I don't know where you are I can't help you. Call Aba." {Aba is Hebrew for father)

I pulled into the parking lot of the Waffle House and made the call. The problem was, he also wasn't quite sure where I was. I asked a Waffle House employee for the address and gave it to my father, but he was unable to find the directions on Mapquest. He ended up giving me directions to the exit closest to the house I used to live in. He wanted to give me highway directions to my sister's house, but I opted for the "horse to a stable" approach and drove the way I used to drive when I lived in that house.

So here I am, finally. I stopped for gas and went inside to get a milkshake. I was so riled up that I spend five or so minutes staring at the various frozen concoctions before opting for a gas-station-quality frozen cappuccino combined with whatever a frozen steamed milk drink is.

I got lost less than 4 miles away from my destination. Is it any wonder that driving is far from being my favorite activity?

The copy machine at the school I broke into this morning is not a Xerox machine. I'm not quite sure what it is, as it appears to have two names on it, but I know it's not a Xerox brand.

 It's amazing how brand names creep into everyday speech. It's interesting how some make it and some don't. Some make sense. For example, Band-Aid. Band-Aid is a brand. All plastic/fabric bandages are not Band-Aids, yet I think it's fair to assume that a large majority of people refer to these items as Band-Aids. Asking for a Band-Aid is a lot quicker than asking for a thin, elongated plastic bandage. You could just ask for a bandage, but then people might think you needed something a lot more heavy-duty.

I call tissues "tissues." I call them tissues no matter what brand they are. Even if I'm using Kleenex brand tissues, I call them tissues. That's what they are. However, I know that many people will say something like, "Can you pass me a Kleenex?" rather than "Can you pass me a tissue?" I'm not quite sure why. I don't think anyone ever asks for toilet paper by a brand name.

Oh, and for those of you still gaping about the "school I broke into this morning" thing... My mother has report cards that are due today. She decided to go see if anyone was at the school so that she could use the computers there. I tagged along to see if I could use a computer as well. We pulled up to the front of the school and saw one car in the parking lot. "Go see if the door is open," my mother told me. Ever the dutiful daughter, I pushed on the door, not expecting it to be unlocked. To my surprise, the door swung inwards. I turned around to tell my mother that the door was open when suddenly.... BEEP! pause BEEP! pause BEEP! pause Uh-oh.

 "It's beeping! I just broke into {Name of School}!," I cried.

 "Don't joke about something like that!," she scolded. She called the principal and told him that we heard beeping but that the alarm wasn't going off. I tried to tell her that the beeping is what happens before an alarm goes off, but no one ever listens to me. Five seconds after she hung up the phone, the alarm began to wail. She called the principal again and got the code to turn off the alarm. We entered the school, turned on the computers, and got to work. My mother did real work. I did "work" with my sister for an online group she belongs to {insert grammatically incorrect red flag here}.

OK, so I didn't really break into the school. The door was open. In order to break and enter, you actually need to break something. I just pushed a door. It's not my fault that somebody forget to push the door hard enough to lock it. I didn't even enter, because as soon as I heard the beeping I made a hasty retreat.

Now try convincing the SWAT team that it's ok for you to be the only one at a school on a Sunday morning. Fine, so there were only two SWAT guys. Plus, I had my mother talk to them. After all, it was her bright idea to have me break into the school. They told her to come outside and turn around to be handcuffed. I guess SWAT members think they have a sense of humor. Actually, I did find it funny; my mother did not.

 Don't worry, neither one of us is spending the night in jail. Everything is fine.

And that's how/why I broke into a school this morning.

The school year is just about over.  I'm looking forward to no longer needing to answer the question, "When will you be coming?" or "When will you be ready" with the answer, "It depends on when the last parent picks arrives."  If things work out, I'll be working at a camp, but I know they have a concrete late fee policy.

Why do I have to have spaces between my paragraphs?  Why are we going through the level 0% thing again?  Why doesn't a certain editor accept/reject submissions?  It took him forever to look at my submissions a few months ago and it's happening again.  Of course, I never knew for sure that he was accepting my submissions.  He hasn't had a new blog or a forum post for six months, so I have the sneaking suspicion he isn't around very much (possibly isn't around at all.)

Before, I e-mailed him and asked him to look at my submissions.  I figured that he might not check his queue regularly because this is a show that's been off the air for over 30 years and is not available on DVD.  Now, it's easy to see whether or not there are any submissions waiting in the queue.  No one should have to be e-mailed to be told.

Why does the Evil Library System's computer network keep telling me that I only have a few minutes left?  I can look at the clock, thank-you very much.  The message just cuts out my time and breaks my concentration.

In other news, the sun is shining and it's a beautiful day.  Well, not exactly, but it sounds nice.

The following is an actual conversation I heard this weekend between an Orthodox rabbi's 5-year-old son and one of the congregants:

BOY: Do you have any kids? MAN: That depends on whether you mean the two-footed kind or the four-footed kind. BOY: What? MAN: I have two dogs. BOY: A boy and a girl? MAN: Yes, one boy and one girl. BOY: What are their names? MAN: Sophie and Jack. BOY: Are they big? MAN: Jack's bigger than Sophie.  Not that all girl dogs are smaller than boy dogs. BOY: Do you have a wife? MAN: No, I don't. BOY: Does anyone else stay at your house? MAN: The dogs live there. BOY: Do girls sleep over at your house? At this point I couldn't help myself from breaking into uncontrollable laughter.  When told what the boy had said, both of his parents were shocked and a bit embarrassed.  One leading theory is that the boy overheard a discussion about people needing to stay at someone's house.  Another theory is that he's beginning to figure out that not everyone has a family like he does.  All I know is that the next day he questioned someone else in a similar manner and wanted to know where one could find a wife.

Lady Ta'aluma's Not-So-Random-Question: What would you have answered the boy?

Yes, later I will tell you what the man actually said.

Apparently, getting a mini-makeover and then not showing people the new you for three weeks doesn't work out very well.  Three people noticed.  I gave one of them a hug.

What am I talking about?  Before I left for Florida, I lopped six inches off my hair and colored my naturally brown hair a temporary shade of red.  A few shampoos and 10 days of Florida sun later, the red has faded somewhat.  I have no clue what color to call my hair now.  Directly under the sun as well as artificial light, the reddish tint is obvious, but otherwise the change is not as noticeable (note: when I mention that I colored my hair, people instantly notice that it's redder.) However, six inches of hair!?  How can people not notice that?

I was thrown for a loop by what one person had to say about my new hairstyle. Upon seeing me for the first time upon my return home, she looked at me and said words that stunned me into saying, "What did you say?"  So she repeated the following words: "Your hair is getting long."  I nearly flipped out right there in the restaurant.  "What are you talking about, getting long?! I cut off six inches!"

I guess I'd have to cut my hair to shoulder-length and dye it blonde for anyone to notice. Oh well.