Annoyance

Keeping good records has never been one of my strengths, so I guess I should not be surprised that I cannot find the title to my car. However, one might think that I'd at least remember whether I ever received the title. I paid off this car years ago. I went through all manner of craziness moving it from state to state. You'd think I'd notice that the title never showed up when I finished paying off the loan. Apparently not. Also, Indiana still seems to think my title is registered there, and the New York DMV line has been busy all day, so I can't ask them if it was ever transferred. I am annoyed.

Probably not remarkable in anyone else's life, but...

Tonight I went to the grocery store and bought actual groceries. Groceries that were not Lean Cuisine meals and South Beach breakfast bars (standards in the Life of Stacey). As in, produce not packaged in a convenient microwave steamer bag, eggs, milk, and fresh fish.

Also - hold onto your hats - I am in the process of using said produce and fish. I am making one of my favorite foods in the whole world: ceviche. There are many versions of this dish, but I am making my own variation, because even though I have been told that "real" ceviche does not include tomatoes, I like tomatoes in mine.

So, there is tilapia marinating in lime juice in the fridge, and there is a mixture of onions, tomatoes, peppers (jalapeno and a tidge of habanero), cilantro, and salt waiting for it. I am so excited for tomorrow to come so I can eat it.

'Roid Rage

My blog has been pretty lame lately. For quite a while, really. The sheer boringness of the blog has caused some people I know in real life to ask if I'm okay. FYI, the alternating silence and blogging about inane things is not indicative of any negative stuff going on in my life. On the contrary, I'm just not sure what to write about, because my life is pretty doggone good lately. Sprained ankle aside, things are fabulous. I love my job and the people I work with. I'm not all angsty about things going on in church. Just about everything going on at church right now is exciting and positive, and for the most part, it's not my job to deal with the complaints anyway. If I were feeling angsty, I'd have friends to talk about that with, because, well, I have friends here - real live ones whose faces I can see, who are not connected with my congregation.

I started this blog as a way to process things, but I just don't need it for that right now. So, perhaps my blog is having an identity crisis. I'm sure someday my little happy streak will come to an end; no one can have it this good for long, right? But for now, random, pithy updates on my life may have to suffice. And now for one of those...

Yesterday, the weather was gorgeous, and I decided to take my dog to the patio of one of my favorite hangouts for a leisurely dinner. I was reading a book and minding my own business when a huge, steroid-enhanced man emerged from the bar and vomited in front of the door. Lovely. I was happy to keep reading my book and pretending this was not happening while his equally muscled wife tried to get him cleaned up.

Another guy brought him a cup of water, which apparently riled him further, and he began to get quite unruly. Laila, being such a fan of large, hostile men (not), stood up and barked at him - once. Suddenly the guy was charging our table, threatening to kill me and my dog (actually, the threats varied; everything from biting my dog's derriere to smashing my sprained ankle to strangling both of us). Then he was kind enough to throw his glass of water at us.

As I'm sure you can imagine, this made Laila quite pleased. She is a skittish dog anyway, and she gets defensive when men come at me, for which I am generally grateful. But I'm sure her snarling didn't do much to calm him.

So, we're wet, Laila's somewhere between irate and terrified, and I'm trying to dial 911 without him noticing. Finally his wife drags him away...but no, it's not over there. He stands in the middle of the street so that multiple cars have to stop. One of them revs his engine at the guy, who responds by sidestepping and punching the car's windshield, which shatters everywhere. Then he and his wife get into their car and drive away, just before the cops arrive, of course.

A couple of thoughts...
1) No one has screamed or thrown things at me since I was a bartender. It was a little strange to deal with that situation without the barriers of the bar and the job.
2) Usually you only see this sort of thing late at night, not at 7pm. If it had been late at night, there would have been a bouncer and other assorted large men there to help me out, rather than just the mild-mannered businessmen who admitted that, while they wanted to step in, they were pretty sure they'd have the pulp beat out of them.
3) 'Roid rage is an ugly, ugly thing.

Worship in the Dark

Thunderstorms in the area meant that we had church this morning minus electricity. Ours is not a naturally bright sanctuary. It's stone, with stained glass windows that are fairly opaque and small in proportion to the walls. The minister emeritus was there to preach for the first time since he retired two years ago, which might have created some weirdness. We'll never know, because the lack of lights put us in an "I guess we'll just do our best and see how it goes" frame of mind. The organist moved to the piano and played by candlelight. All the reading and speaking happened from the floor rather than the raised chancel and pulpit. We ditched the assigned hymns because no one could read the hymnals in the dark, and instead sang "Holy, Holy, Holy" and "Amazing Grace." It was fun.

Having had some experience with uncontrollable disruptions to the way worship is normally conducted, I notice that our "interrupted" services often feel the most joyous, and maybe even most genuine. There's less critique, and more recognition that we're all just there being imperfect together. (However, it seems to take a big interruption. Little glitches just bring out the worst of the griping.) From time to time, we need to be interrupted that we're not in control...and also that it doesn't take lights, a sound system, and everything running flawlessly for us to worship God.

Getting Around

It's been an interesting week. I am terrible at being sick or injured, and basically want to jump right back into doing exactly what I usually do as soon as possible. This tendency leads to many mornings of waking up in pain and wondering what I was thinking the day before. On a positive note, my arms and shoulders are getting quite accustomed to the whole crutch thing. Instead of that "Aaaiieeeeeeeeee, I've ripped every muscle in my upper body" feeling, I now just have a constant, generalized ache.

On a related note, hobbling around on crutches has given me a little insight as to how difficult it would be to be handicapped. I don't know how on earth people do it. I thought it might be a good idea to go grocery shopping this week, as my house is utterly devoid of food. When I arrived, I discovered that being on crutches means that a) I can't push a cart, b) I can't carry a basket, and c) the limit of what I can carry even if I put it in a bag that goes over my shoulder and thus works with the crutches is somewhere in the 5-10 lbs. range. More than that completely throws off my balance and threatens to leave me with a matching injury on the other leg. I bought ramen noodles (light and compact) and then gave up and took myself out for dinner.

I have never noticed before how many places have stairs, uneven or slippery flooring, and heavy doors. It takes me eight years to get anywhere. People will hold doors for me and then sigh at how long it takes me to get through. Yesterday I went to see the Sex and the City movie (more on that later), and the snotty girl taking tickets started asking me for mine when I was still about ten feet away from her. "Do you have your ticket?" "Yes, just a second." "Do you have it with you?" "Yes, just a second." "Can I see it?" "Yes, if you can wait until I get to you so I can stop walking and have use of my hands, thanks."

Basically, it's just a huge pain to try to do anything without help, and since I generally do almost everything without help, my whole life is a huge pain. Hence I'm trying to be a good invalid today and staying home for a while with my idiot foot elevated and iced again.

A brief note on SATC, trying not to give a spoiler. I found this movie to be kind of traumatic. It was not funny enough to counteract the constant emotional tragedies - which was the beauty of the show. It ended well, but I left the theater feeling like I had been through a two and a half hour wringer. Not all that different from trying to go to the grocery store.

When the Treatment is Worse than the Injury

The ankle still hurts, but do you know what hurts more? My hands, arms, shoulders, and back. It is not easy to propel oneself around on crutches. Fortunately, it is my day off, and I am going to spend most of it lying on the couch, with cold on my ankle and heat on my back, reading magazines and working my way through "The Tudors," courtesy of iTunes.

Stupid Ankle

I write this from my couch, where I sit with my legs stretched out across pillows and a bag of frozen peas settled on my left ankle. Yes, folks, I have managed to give myself the worst sprained ankle I've ever had - and I've had a few in my time, although it's been several years since the last one. I'm making up a variety of interesting stories to explain how this happened, but the real brilliance of the situation lies in what I did afterward.

I knew something was wrong, more wrong than that twinge that comes when you turn an ankle slightly. But I was in the midst of walking somewhere to meet friends, and didn't have much choice but to continue walking. So, I figured I'd walk it off. As I sat with the friends, I realized that my ankle was swelling and in more pain than it should have been. It seemed wise to go home. It would have been even wiser if a) my car or home had been less than a half mile away, or b) I asked someone to take me home. Sadly, the former was not true, and the latter didn't happen. I walked home. It was painful, but I didn't feel like I was dying. No, that was reserved for the morning, when I couldn't move or put any weight on my foot, and my ankle was almost twice its normal size. Sweet.

You know, it is really quite a pain (sometimes literally) to live alone when you're injured. Imagine, if you will, what I must have looked like as I alternated crawling and hopping through my apartment to acquire the necessary food, pillows for propping, and ice packs. Elegance all the way, baby. But none of this had any comparison to my attempt to "walk" the dog.

Also, at this point, my car was a mile away at the church, so I had to take a cab to my car, so that I could drive to the pharmacy and procure some crutches and a compression bandage. After nine hours of elevating and icing my ankle, I managed to hobble into Rite-Aid and find the crutches, but that was the limit of my pain quotient. I ended up unwrapping the crutches right then and there and using them to get myself out of the store.

The real fun of being injured is relearning how to do everything without the use of a foot, and in this case generally hands as well, since they're pretty absorbed in maneuvering the crutches. A purse I can manage; a coffee cup, not so much. The dog-walking continues to be interesting. Everything happens slower when you're gimping, and I have to actually ask for help, which is something I don't usually do. Should be an entertaining week.

Dreams

I know I'm feeling stressed out when I remember my dreams. Last night I dreamed that it was Youth Sunday (which is this week), and none of the youth showed up for the service. Then the service ended and it was time for the congregational picnic...but there was no food, because it turned out that I was in charge of the picnic but never knew it. So, we were all milling around in the church lawn, looking for hotdogs, and they were nowhere to be found. I woke up in a panic, wondering where I was going to find a grill and hotdogs for 400.

Having reminded myself that I am not actually in charge of the picnic, I went back to sleep, and this time dreamed that I was the one who missed the service.

I hear that other people have more subtle dreams, full of plots and symbols begging for interpretation. Mine pretty much just say whatever it is my subconscious has to say.

I have resorted to more random late-night blogging

Is it just me, or has my font changed? From this vantage point, it's kind of hard to read. I didn't do it, I promise. Not really sure what to do about that.

Today I met with a woman whose job is to walk around the streets of the worst neighborhoods in my city and offer resources and services to prostitutes. She spoke fairly casually of the potential that she would be shot or otherwise harmed. Sometimes I realize that my job is not so edgy.

Late Night Notes

Wahooo!!!!!!

That's all I have to say about that.

I think I might have been confusing in my last post, given some of the comments. I forget that not all of you actually know me in person, and therefore have a perception of me shaped mostly if not entirely by the often self-deprecating things I say about myself in my blog. For the record, I have worn and do wear high heeled shoes. They have yet to catch in my robe, although I had to remember to walk around the grate in the aisle of my last church. I wear them less now because my church has a stone floor, and the heels make a somewhat distracting clacking sound. I make fun of my own klutziness, but I actually manage surprisingly well in "the big girl shoes," as they are referred to by Carrie Bradshaw. I will wear a robe when it seems to be necessary, but I prefer not to do so. It makes me feel separated from the congregation, and I'm a ministry-from-and-of-the-people sort of person. And I have had pink hair. Some members of my congregation did too, and that made it even better. I'm contemplating some pink or blue streaks for summer. I don't expect my entire congregation to show up with pink hair now, but if a few people showed up with hair outside the natural spectrum of color, I'd be delighted.

Whatever shall I wear?

Dear readers,
Please do my friend a favor! Pop over here and take a brief survey on clergy apparel and appearance. Everyone is welcome to take the survey, although personally I'm more interested in what the non-clergy among us think. Will my bright fuschia nail polish in open-toed shoes be too much this Sunday? How much do you really care whether I wear a robe? And about that pink hair...

Things I Thought Went Out With the 80s

Chain letters? Seriously? Coming through the actual postal service? Please. And back then, they came from people you knew, not from strangers who bought your name and address from some service that sells them preprinted onto labels. Good grief. I thought the return of pleated pants and shorts to the clothing racks was quite deja vu enough for me, thank you very much, but this is a blast from the past that is just plain irritating.

Solo

The longer you are one thing, the harder it becomes to be - or even imagine being - something else.

I am pondering this today because I am in full Day Off Mode, which for me involves a number of what I suspect are Single Person Behaviors. On the rare occasions on which I have a true day off, I tend to flop out of bed at about 11am, tie a bandana over my crazy sticking up hair, and put on my glasses. This appearance discourages me from going any farther from my house than my doorway, where I stand while the dog takes care of business, scanning for neighbors who might see me looking like this. I wash about five of the dishes in the sink while waiting for the coffee to brew. Then I lie on the couch for a while and watch bad reruns while playing a particularly mindless computer game called Snood and drinking an entire pot of coffee. At some point I usually get up and clean something, just to make myself feel slightly less lazy.

Then, as a reward for my productivity, I watch a sappy chick flick. (***Spoiler alert...but you could probably guess this one on your own anyway***) Because I am a geek even while I'm being lazy, I then analyze the ending, and whether it might be better with or without a wedding, and what the ending says to and about women regarding relationships, and I start to get irritated at movies that end with weddings or pairings-up, and then I realize I'm getting irritated and begin to analyze my own reaction and wonder whether I am too cynical...or perhaps even too sappy and idealistic, because there was part of me that was happy that the girl got the guy and the dress and overpriced flowers. Because what kind of terrible person isn't at least a little heart-warmed by people falling in love?

Meanwhile, I eat nothing but microwaved convenience foods all day, and don't shower until about 6pm, when I finally get grossed out by myself and realize that I have to be cleaner and better-dressed than this, even if it's just to walk the dog. And I contemplate unpacking the second wave of moving boxes that have been sitting in my apartment for nearly a month, but contemplation is about as far as that goes.

I supposed paired people could engage in these behaviors, but I can't imagine ever allowing someone to actually view me in this state. Although, since I apparently don't mind people knowing that I do these things and choose to publish them on a blog, one never knows.

All this is to say that I sometimes wonder about my solo state. I am a conflicted person. I have been a single person all of my life. I've dated people, and I've had some relationships of varying lengths, but in hindsight I realize that I have never actually thought of myself as paired. I've lived with my dog as my only roommate for five years. And I'm happy this way. I like the freedom of my life. But it worries me a little, because I don't actually believe that people are meant to live alone, and I wonder about my own ability to function well in a partnership or a community. My extreme extroversion is bolstered by weird single person habits, and I just don't know whether I'm willing to either give them up or let someone else into them. On the other hand, I'm pretty glad that I like my life the way it is and am not pining around for some other state of affairs, so maybe I should just leave well enough alone.