Annal 46: Tale from the Lack of a Title

I'm afraid that today's entry is going to be less about any specific event and more of a general rambling session.  I am feeling somewhat unmotivated while at the same token I am taken my a desire to write.  And so anyone who reads this shall have to suffer through my ramblings.  I apologize now.

My sister recently introduced my to the song "Big Girl, You are Beautiful" by Mika and I have spent the last sixteen hours or so singing it (I could swear it was going through my head even while I was sleeping).  It is my new favourite song, and perhaps the fact that I wish to choreograph a dance to it which myself and my bridesmaids shall have to dance to at my wedding is an indication of this.  Of course the fact that I am currently planning a dance which is to take place at the reception of the wedding which is not in the foreseeable future could contribute to such high readings of my quirk-o-meter.  Regardless, the moment I heard the line "Diet Coke and a pizza please," I was sold on the song.  This is because I so fully identify with it.  When I go out it doesn't matter what I am eating, I always order a Diet Coke to go with it.  Sigh... I definitely identify with this song.  If any woman ever wants to feel empowered and beautiful I would suggest listening to it.

I had a movie night last night and have officially been welcomed into that elite group of people who have watched and loved Monty Python and the Quest for the Holy Grail.  I laughed, I cried in pain, I was moved.  This was followed by watching a couple of episodes of Black Books, a BBC television series about a drunk, Irish bookstore owner.  It was decided that were my one sister and I in that show, she would be the grouchy owner, and I would be the one who cooks, cleans, leaves boxes of books in the hallway, and walks around in a housecoat and fuzzy slippers.  What does this say about me?

Looking up a the picture I have created of myself: a slipper-wearing, book-in-hallway-leaving, Diet-Coke-drinking woman will forever respond to questions with the word "Nih!" I feel that the blinders have come off.  The proverbial scales have fallen from my eyes and I see clearly.  I am quirky.

Wait.  I feel like I have come to this realization before.  Like perhaps this blog has been a record of all my dealings with Mr. Wickham... oops... slipped into some Pride and Prejudice quoting there.  My apologies.  What I mean to say was that this blog has been a record of my recognition of my oddities.  Strangely, I find myself at ease with them... for today anyway!

Annal 45: Tale from the Playboy Mansion

I went for another invigorating run with my dad today and as always our conversation was inspiring.  We started off talking about a Joshua Harris book I'm reading right now, Dug Down Deep, a book on the doctrines of Christianity (excellent read, by the way), and then the talk evolved (is evolution always a good thing?). 

We were on the homeward stretch, which was good because I felt like my legs were going to give out and my lungs were going to collapse, when we passed another woman running.  She smiled and said hi.  The following then transpired between my father and I:

Dad: "Women runners are a lot friendlier to me when I run with you or your sister."
Me: "I guess they don't think you're a creepy old man, eh?" *Yes, 'eh.'  I'm Canadian so I figure I can get away with that*
Dad: "I guess not.  As long as they know you're my daughters and don't think I'm Hugh Hefner."
Me: "That would be a good thing for them to know."
Dad: "Of course if I was Hugh Hefner, you would be a bit old for my tastes."
Me: "Thanks, Dad, it's good to know I'm passed my prime for Hugh Hefner."

Yeah, apparently I am too old to be considered eligible for Playboy's founder... darn (I'm really choked up about this, can you tell?).  I guess I'll never get to live out my dream or residing in the Playboy mansion.

Such is the life of a Christian single.

Annal 44: Tale from Sudoku

I had another one of those awesome moments at work today where I realized that my life is somewhat pathetic and that may perhaps be why I am still single.

I worked the early shift (started at four-thirty) and was taking my lunch break.  I have come to the point where I always bring a pen with me to the staff room so that I can do the sudoku puzzles in the newspapers that people put on the table in there (cool, I know... just wait for it, it gets even better).

So there I was completely immersed in my puzzle when one of the cashiers suddenly leans over to grab another paper.  The following is the conversation that ensued.

Cashier: "Excuse me." Reaches to grab paper.
Me: "Oh gosh, no worries.  Sorry I wasn't paying attention."
Cashier: "I just didn't want to interrupt you doing your puzzle."
Me: "I tend to get a little involved in them." Laughs slightly.
Cashier: "No worries." Smiles nicely.
Me: "Yeah, I am just that cool, you know.  I can't wait to get into the staff room so that I can do the Sudoku puzzles.  I'm kind of pathetic."
Cashier: Laughs.

So not only am I the epitome of cool who does newspaper Sudoku puzzles on my lunch breaks, but I then ramble on to the nice cashier about how pathetic my life is that I get excited to do them.  Did I really just tell a nice stranger about my pathetic life?

Just a shift or two ago one of the ladies I work with vowed that she would find me a man by the end of the summer.  Apparently she has her eye on some attractive officers.  I laughed and wished her luck.  After today's encounter I am beginning to think she will need more than prayer... she will need divine intervention!

Such is the life of a Christian single.

Annal 43: Tale from the Future... Via the Past

I had the most horrible sense of foreboding earlier this week.  Really, it was quite traumatizing.  I was watching Cranford with a friend (because as I have mentioned I seem to spend most of my free time watching BBC adaptations of classics), and I saw what could be my future through this view into the past.

Cranford follows the lives of the women who live in a rather small town.  All of the women are either widowed or have never been married and are well into their fifties and sixties.  The result of this lack of marriage is that when a young doctor comes to town, half the women become convinced he is in love with them, while the other half try to convince the previous half of his interest.  It turns into one incredibly tangled, love hectagon that has you cringing by the end, just hoping that something will work out (specifically for this doctor who doesn't know what he has done to make so many women believe he loves them).

I'm odd.  I'm single.  I live in a small town.

I have discovered that perhaps my greatest fear is that I will turn into a Cranford woman.  And so I have devised a list to keep this from happening.

1. Pray really, really, REALLY hard that this never happens.
2. Not a big fan of big cities, so simply move from town to town so that I don't have the chance to set up roots like these women.
3. Once I pass the age of forty I will stay away from all attractive doctors (does this include optometrists and dentists?)
4. Pray really, really, REALLY hard that this never happens.
5. I never thought I would say this: never allow my single friends to outnumber my married friends.
6. If it seems like all hope is lost, apply to be a mail-order bride.
7. Possibly pray... I have heard it helps!

Such is the life of a Christian single.

Annal 42: Tale from Watering Plants

Today has begun as a day of epic coolness.  A friend was out of town for the last few weeks and I agreed to water her plants.  It has rained every day since she left, but now that we had two days in a row of sunny weather, I made my way over to see if her flowers needed any watering.  I took my more-or-less-nephew (who from here on in I will just refer to as my oldest nephew) with me, which he thought was just the coolest thing.  I'm going to insert here that my oldest nephew likes to assign each member of our family a superhero.  For example, everyday I am Jean Grey (telepath and telekinetic from the X-Men) while he varies.  Today he was Spiderman.

We watered the plants without a hitch, but it was as we finished up the job that things began to get exciting.  All of a sudden my little guy took off running from the backyard to my car yelling, "The monsters are after us!"  So we hustled to the car, I got him in his booster seat, and we "sped" out of the alleyway.

From this point on the bad guys just didn't leave us alone.  I tried to put up a force field on the car so that bad guys couldn't see it, but they were already on the vehicle and tearing it apart.  So my oldest nephew started shooting his webs at them, and then we were free.  We made it to the bank, and as we got out of the car he started looking around cautiously.  The next words out of his mouth were, "I'll protect you.  Where are the bad guys?"

Hearing those words from the mouth of a four year old can't help but make you feel safe and taken care of!

While I sometimes think that being single is a superhero job all in itself, I sometimes think it would have been much more manageable if God could have given me the ability to fly or move things with my mind... besides, superheroes never lack for romantic attention!

Such is the life of a Christian single.

Annal 41: Tale from a Witch Hunt

I just got back from a run with my dad this morning.  While we were gasping for air, he was asking me about my courses for next year.  My excitement has been mounting daily at the prospect of going back to school--I think I may even be missing essay writing (mind you I will be rescinding that comment within the first week of classes).  Anyway, I was telling my dad that I'm really excited about one of my classes as it is about witch hunts in the eighteenth century.

This then led to a discussion on witch hunts.  My dad remarked on how long they have been around; that for ages anyone could be hunted down under suspect of witchcraft.  I commented that they would be hunted down for that or for owning cats and being single.

This then leads me to my current train of thought.  Two hundred years ago would I have been burned at the stake?  I may not own a cat, but I'm single, a major introvert, and am known for my eccentricities.  I find it incredibly romantic when Rochester calls Jane a witch in Jane Eyre and have said that I would love for a man to tell me I am bewitching.  Hmmm...

My thought train is now gaining more cars.  While we may not be burning people at the stake, in many church settings single women are looked on as oddities, especially, I find, in smaller communities.  If you are not married by age 22, people begin to wonder if you ever will be.  In many settings, single people are then excluded (perhaps not overtly, but it does happen) from group get-togethers as their friends marry and their group only extends to other married couples.  Singles are excluded in what I shall now dub the metaphorical witch hunt.

Do I actually think that people are convinced I'm a witch?  Of course not... at least I sure hope not!  But I do find it interesting that a parallel does seem to exist.

Such is the life of a Christian single.

Annal 40: Tale from Bing

Confession time.  One of the men I find the most attractive is Bing Crosby.  Yes, I realize he is dead and that he made movives roughly sixty years ago, but I still find him quite wonderful.  Truth be told I think this has a lot to do with his crooner voice.  That and the fact that he stars in my favourite Christmas movies and always plays such a wonderful hero.

This confession leads me to yet another confession.  I love Christmas and not in the traditional "Yay-it's-December-first-now-I-can-put-up-my-tree" way.  More in the "What-do-you-mean-I-can't-keep-the-tree-up-all-year" way.  I bring this up because I found myself longing for my favourite holiday while working the early shift in the deli today.  Perhaps this was because I worked until eight last night and started back at four-thirty this morning, or perhaps it has to do with the fact that I feel like I haven't seen the sun for about two or three weeks (it has been a rather wet summer thus far), but regardless, I was wishing for Christmas.  This then resulted in my singing Christmas carols, ranging from "White Christmas" (thus the thought train of Bing) to my own deli version of "Jingle Bells."

Yeah, if I ever begin to wonder why I'm single, the fact that I have rewritten "Jingle Bells" to work in a deli setting is probably a good indicator.  Why?  Because I actually dedicated a shift to coming up with wording that rhymed.  And so between the hours of four-thirty a.m. and one p.m. I could be found singing and dancing throughout the deli to Christmas carols.

Somedays I realize how happy I am that God loves me.  Despite my quirks, oddities, and unusual personality traits, He still loves me.  He probably shakes His head at me and sighs, but He loves me!

Such is the life of a Christian single.

Annal 39: Tale from the Little Town on the Prairie

One of my best friends recently had her second child, and as I had the day off, I drove to go visit her in the little town on the prairie that she lives in.  First of all, her daughter is gorgeous and I received plenty of cuddles from the newborn so I was definitely in my element.  I also brought a present for her: a children's book and Pride and Prejudice.  Obviously every woman needs her copy of Austen's classic, right?

While there I decided that instead of spurning villages for their small population, I should instead move to them. 

I was helping my friend load her children into the car so that we could drive into the neighboring city for some shopping, and while standing at the front door, a rather attractive construction worker walks past, looks at me, smiles, and nods.  Yeah, that more or less made my day.

Then it got better.  As I was leaving town to return home, I drove past a vehicle with two men sitting in it.  I can't say as I have ever met them before, but there they were, smiling and waving at me.

Maybe these people are just excited to see someone new.  Maybe the community is overly friendly.  Maybe God is telling me to move to a little town.  After all didn't Laura Ingalls meet her man after moving to a small town?  Of course most towns in those days were relatively small.

Or maybe I'm just reading too much into the whole event.  Not that I would ever read too much into anything!

On a side and totally unrelated note I decided that should I ever marry Frodo Baggins, I would name my daughter Whim Z. Baggins... has a nice ring, don't you think?

Annal 38: Tale from the Sandwich Bar

Over the holidays I work in a deli.  It's terribly exciting.  I mean, who doesn't find slicing meat, making salads, and putting sandwiches together rivetting?  Everyone loves working at four-thirty in the morning so they can put an order away right?  After all, sleep in the summer is highly overrated.

However, the point of this entry is not that I work in a deli.  The idea of this will be the great care the matchmakers--I mean, women I work with, take when it comes to finding me a man.

There was the summer of the police officers.  During this time the women I worked with did whatever they could to place me in a position where I was serving the attractive officers of our community.  No matter what I did, they placed me in their way.  It was at times very embarassing.

There was the neighbour of one woman.  She thought he was perfect for me; she even claimed he didn't do hard drugs (which in this community is apparently a pretty big deal).  Alas, he was not quite what I was looking for.

Then there was the fact that no matter where I was in the deli, a voice would call me to a service counter any time a man (whether he was attractive or not) came near.

I did have one week where the same guy came in to get a sandwich every morning and I made it for him.  I rang up his order, handed him his sandwich, and there was eye contact.  This eye contact led to sparks.  The sparks led to me never seeing him again.  Go figure.

As I accustom myself to working in the deli again after teaching all year, I find myself on guard.  Already one woman had me checking out of eyes of one man at the sandwich bar.  Sadly, trying to explain to the women I work with my standards as a Christian single are a little difficult.  And so I shall see what this summer holds for me.  Will more good-looking police officers make their way to the deli?  Will eye contact guy ever come back?  Or will I spend a summer in quiet, single solitude.

Such is the life of a Christian single.

Annal 37: Tale from a Drive to Remember

Today started off as a relatively encouraging day.  I took my kinda-nephew and his friend to Vacation Bible School, took my youngest sister for a run, and planned a nice long walk with a friend for the afternoon.  Very productive start to a day, the kind of day that makes you feel confident, and in turn attractive. 

Just to put this out there, I am not Mandy Moore.  I think she's lovely and has a beautiful voice, but I am not her.  Apparently this does not stop me from pretending to be her, which in turn leads to dire circumstances which give rise to great humiliation and the realization that there are reasons why I am still single.

My youngest sister was called into work early this morning, so I was dropping her off.  She keeps the soundtrack from A Walk to Remember in my car, and so we were listening to this.  In a moment of brilliance I decided to sing as high as I am incapable of singing (have I mentioned that when driving I like to sing loud?  I feel it makes up for any poor singing).  Apparently singing this way also requires me to contort my face (have I mentioned I'm a face contortionist?)

So here I am driving, face contorted and singing as offly as I possibly can, when I turn my head to look out the passenger window.  I somewhat attractive mailman is watching me.  At this point my sister loses it and starts laughing, I start laughing, and I once again realize that there is a reason I am single.

Such is the life of a Christian single.

Annal 36: Tale from a Nerd

A friend of mine was recently browsing the internet and came across a webpage called "The Nerd Machine."  She told me that they sold shirts with the word NERD plastered across the front and I have to be honest: I was intrigued.

Do I wear pocket protectors?  No.  Do suspenders hold up my pants?  No.  Do I mimic Steve Urkel?  N... okay, at times, yes, I will fight the urge to say in a nasally voice, "Did I do that?"  Regardless, as my father tells me, I'm not your typical picture of a nerd.  I tend to feel like I fall more under the category of dork, but I will take what I can get.  I do love super heroes, I play video games, I have the theme song from The Legend of Zelda: A Link to the Past as my ring tone, and my sisters gave me an X-Men comic 196- for Christmas this year, and so I feel that I can still identify with the social category of nerd.

Now that I have established why I feel like I would be justified in purchasing one of these shirts, I will share something that perhaps reveals the extent of my dorkiness.  I will be participating in a half-marathon this summer, and am trying to get some other people to join me.  I thought it would be cool if we all got NERD shirts to go together.

Here I am, the person who still cringes when I look in family photo albums and see pictures of my younger sister (five year age gap) wearing our matching outfits (go leggings and big sweatshirts!), and yet I'm will to submit myself to further matching faux-pas. 

My theory?  If the jocks used to be the "it" crowd, followed by the preps, and now the geeks/nerd, I can only hope that pretty soon it will be time for the dorks and freaks to step into the spotlight!

Such is the life of a Christian single.

Annal 35: Tale from Blah

Today has felt like a "blah" sort of day.  It was productive, but right now I just feel at loose ends.  I woke up, had coffee, did my devotions, went to the gym with my dad and older brother, came home, had lunch, spent two hours cleaning my car inside and out and cleaning the outside of my parents' car, and then had a bath.  I feel proud of my day, but I also just feel... well... blah.

I'm supposed to go to a neighboring city tonight to hang out and play games with some people a single friend of mine knows.  I've been anticipating this, but again, today I feel blah about.  I'm thoroughly exhausted and to be quite honest with you, I don't trust myself to drive the hour and a half later to go to this.  I've driven tired before and it is never a good idea for me.  My body and brain seem to be begging me to crawl into the nearest bed and hide out there. 

The last week has felt like a really good week for me.  I've felt encouraged and I've had a few days to relax.  And then I get hit with a day like today.  Am I just tired?  Am I getting sick?  What does it mean when I am willing pass up an evening of possibly meeting single men because of exhaustion?  Am I not being proactive?  Do I not care (okay, I know it's not that one)?

Maybe I should just go take a nap.

Such is the life of a Christian single.

Annal 34: Tale from a Summer of Pre-Teen Stories

The summer I was eleven I started reading a new series.  These books had to do witht he concept of spiritual warfare and were also my first introduction into occultic practices and satanists.  Naturally, when my cousin came to visit, I had to introduce her to these stories as well.

The result of these books was that my cousin and I proceeded to write our own short stories, all of them centered around satanists who were trying to get our main characters.

I was talking to this cousin on the phone last night and we both began to remininsce about that summer, shaking our heads and laughing at what we thought were brilliant plot lines.  Our characters were always beautiful, were always rescued by some guy who was a total babe, they always doubted the sincerity of this gorgeous man, and then they always got together in the end. Oh, and they usually got together after the main character had ended up in the hospital with some mild injuries and lots of bruises.

You can shake your head, but when you realize that this was the same cousin who polished my mother's silver with me while we pretended to be a part of Henry VIII's court, or who did dishes with me while pretending we were servants in a grand castle trying to solve some bit of court intrigue, this will all make sense.  Naturally we would read such novels and our imaginations would assume that there were satanists behind every rock and that that would create the perfect plots for the stories of eleven year olds.

I suppose my whole reason for writing this, beyond the fact that it continues to prove what a dork I am, is that this story gives me hope.  This same cousin whose imagination was just as rambunctious as my own will be celebrating three years of marriage this summer.  She found a man who loved everything about her, including her creativity and imagination.  I can now only hope that there will be hope for me as well!!!

Such is the life of a Christian single.