About This Blog
A blog about my life, universe, etc. At any given time you might find something endlessly interesting or just me ruminating on something else, which no one (not even myself) finds interesting. That's the way blogs go, I suppose. Anyway, I was eleventh in line, and you weren't. Hah!
Scripture of the Moment 2 Nephi 2:27 Wherefore, men are free according to the flesh; and all things are given them which are expedient unto man. And they are free to choose liberty and eternal life, through the great Mediator of all men, or to choose captivity and death, according to the captivity and power of the devil; for he seeketh that all men might be miserable like unto himself.
The views and opinions expressed herein are not attributable to my employer, Blogger, Google, those who link to me, or anyone other than the author (as indicated). Comments of visitors are the responsibility of the invididuals posting. No responsibility is taken for the content of materials linked to from this site. Any questions relating to the administration of this site or its content should be directed to Sarah Marie Parker-Allen, at email@example.com.
-- If I mention something that's been published and is still available on the Internet, I will link to it. Well, if I know it's there, anyway.
-- Once I've posted something, I will not make substantive changes to the body of the post. Any changes will be noted with an "EDIT" tag at the bottom of the post in question, or will be noted in a subsequent post. Typos, stylistic errors, and link updates will occur, without time limit (though if it's been a while, I'll let you know). If I really really regret a post, it's likely I'll post about cats or something for a while in pennance. You've been warned.
-- If I find something through the efforts of another blogger (in fact, of anyone I can link to), I'll credit them with a link (the style of such a link is pretty much up to my mood, so don't expect consistency in that area).
-- My comment policy is listed below.
I like comments, and I'll keep them activated. HOWEVER, if you want to start a flamewar, go somewhere else. If you want to get me to start arguing with you about Ohio State vs. Michigan, whether Mormons are Christian, how stupid being spoiler free is, or pretty much anything else inflamatory (inflamatory is in the eye of me in this case -- if you don't trust my judgement, too bad), go somewhere else. All links to pornography, all instances of vulgar language, and anything else I don't think is appropriate for my sisters, brother, neice, and nephew to see (ages 1-18), or quite frankly appropriate for ME to see, will be edited as I see fit (probably with links to something else, or alternate words, or what have you). All spam comments, including blatant off-topic self-promotion, will be deleted. If you've been banned, feel free to email me; if you're uncivil, please know that I'm interested in finding out exactly how many people I can add to my killfile without bringing my processer speed to zero, and don't mind using your address in my experiments. I reserve the right to delete and/or ban anyone I want. If you need to say it that badly, go get your own blog. They're free, you know.
A Note About Chatting and Emails
I'm not what you would call an extremely social or extraverted person. As a matter of fact, I tend to test 100% introvert on Myer-Briggs and other personality profile tests. Therefore, please be aware that most of the time, if I don't already know you (either in person or through weeks/months/years of email contact) the chances are I won't be very talkative if you IM me. I like having a long time to consider what I say, and that goes double for what I say to total strangers. Please don't think me scary, rude, hateful, or even just someone in a perpetual bad mood, if chat efforts are unsuccessful. Quite frankly, it's probably better for you to go find someone else to chat with, unless you have something significant to say. And if it's that important, you should probably email me. Which reminds me to let you know now that if you do choose to email me, it might be days, weeks, months, years, or never before I email you back. It takes a lot of energy for me to come up with replies to random inquiries from strangers, and most of the time there's something I'd rather be doing instead. Your understanding is appreciated. I'm not saying don't try, I'm just saying -- have minimal expectations, okay? Thanks. Oh, and if you DO know me, don't treat this statement as an excellent excuse not to talk to me. You know who you are.
My own monumental stupidity...
Really throws me for a loop sometimes. There comes a moment, every once in a while, where I prove to myself conclusively that I'm an idiot. Tonight, at 1:23am, that moment came again. Though really one ought to place it closer to 1:46am, which is when I found out that the car that I THOUGHT had completely died on me (I was already three-fourths of the way to a cohesive coping plan, and had figured out how to get to work and back for the next few weeks, at least, without a car at all), had simply gotten a flat tire. No, I didn't mistype that, I'm not guessing, THAT'S ALL THERE WAS THAT WAS WRONG WITH MY CAR. I was practically in tears with the (very calm) AAA representative, and couldn't remember the name of the place that we always always ALWAYS take the car to. I was completely in panic mode. I was extremely worried when I told the AAA mechanic/tow guy (I hope he makes more than I do, coming out to halfway hysterical girls in the early hours of the morning just to find out they're also DUMB GIRLS who don't need to get towed anywhere at all!) that I'd try to back up for him to hitch my car up. I didn't detect laughter or derision in his voice, for which I will be eternally grateful, when he told me I had a flat. Thankfully my dad thinks more clearly than I do regarding such matters; the Ford Taurus standard spare tire was in the right spot (for reasons unknown to me, I actually knew where it was). Watching the AAA guy change my tire was very instructive. The tire is fine-looking on the outside, but on the inside (the side that faces the interior of the car) it's completely ripped to shreds.
It occurs to me that my mom once told me she'd never let me drive without knowing how to change the oil and the tires, and I don't know how to do either. It also occurs to me that the reason my parents never told me my official IQ is probably NOT because the number is really really high. The smell of burning rubber (who DOESN'T know what that smells like????) is probably permanently scarring the interior of my car, not to mention everything in it (*sniffle*), and yet it didn't even OCCUR to me that my car might have something as utterly mundane and common as a flat tire. For the record, the car started making slight klinky noise around Ball and Beach (don't laugh) Blvd., but only when I accelerated from 25 to 35. It began making more serious vibrations and noises about a mile later. THEN it began chugging and making violent noises and smelling horrible about two and a half miles after that; I drove another 100 yards or so to the next light and managed to park it legally (and just beyond the "no parking 8am-12pm Wednesday" zone!!).
My only excuse is that I was going 35-45 the whole time, and have never been in a car with a flat tire before. It's a lame excuse. I'm treating the Taurus to a new tire and fluid check (possibly four new tires, though THAT would be a lot of money to spend on a car with 214,000 miles on it) Speaking of which, I had practically written a eulogy for the car for the blog in my head by the time the tow truck guy arrived. Suffice to say I am awash in my own lameness. posted by Sarah at 5:46 AM. |